Something really fucked up happened to me. It's my fault that it did happen. It's like my punishment for less than holy behavior. I mean, seriously, I did something really, really bad. Something so bad that it's unspeakable. Like a later season Simpsons episode. If it was dedicated to someone I love. If love is actually a real emotion, and not something we created out of fear of being alone. Did you know that a queen ant will enter a foreign ant colony, kill their queen, and cover herself with the dead queen's scent while the workers obliviously continue to work for her? They made a Burger King cologne and it sold out because people like to smell like hamburgers. Eye sockets with ice cream in them. And also, crystal meth. "Crack will kill you." Quoth the Herman, never more.
You should at least have to pay to hear what I'm about to say. But because I'm a nice guy, I'm going to tell you about it anyway, because videos about doing bad shit automatically result in clicks and views. And possibly the creation of a meme. In fact, let's make up one now. HOT POCKET BLABBER. There. Now every time your friend makes a thread on 4chan about politics, post a picture of a frustrated cat with the words "HOT POCKET BLABBER" posted underneath him. Or her. I guess. It's not like you're going to check if that fictional cat has balls or not.
So. Back in 2012, I cheated on my girlfriend. It wasn't because she was putting on weight or being less responsive to my cutesy talk (though she did tell me it freaked her out when I said I wanted to 'lay' with her... I meant the potato chip brand! I wanted to romantically, selflessly share a bag of grease-laden cuisine with her! Gawwwwd!!!!), but whatever. I felt like she was no longer satisfying my needs, so I got together with a slut at a bar. We got drunk, and we talked dirty. We discussed the degree of price rigidity in LICs and implication for monetary policy, and she told me that she was Judith Smith from the planet Kolob. Then I took her into the bathroom. I penetrated her. Man foam spurted out of me. I was dressed like a monkey. We had an amazing night. She gave me her phone number--she scrawled it on a piece of toilet paper, and wrote it in my foam--but I never called her, because I felt all sorts of shame for not being considerate about my girlfriend's feelings.
One night (about a week later), I couldn't take the pangs of guilt anymore. My girlfriend, Jane, returned from her shift as a cart pusher at the local Wal-Mart. I could tell she was tired, so maybe she'd be more strung out than usual, but I just couldn't take the pain anymore. My heart was full of scrambled eggs. My conscience had me in a police state, and I had no choice but to obey.
"Jane, we need to talk."
She grunted, and I felt a bit aroused--especially because her tongue was purple from eating those candies they sell that color your tongue purple-but yeah. "Kevin, I need my sleep. Can't this wait 'til tomorrow?"
I shook my head no. I gave her a sad, sad look-- one of those Droopy Dog faces that you do when you know you're in the wrong but you're begging the wronged party for sympathy... which is a really douchebag thing to do--and I pulled out a chair for her. She sat down, and I let her in on the news. AC/DC had a new album coming out next month. Also, I cheated on her with a fucking bar slut.
I'll tell you what, I thought the next couple of minutes would be the most painful of my life. She just sat there, eyes full of tears. Kind of. She was born without tear ducts, so instead she just made a bunch of air or something. I was really panicked that she was gonna leave me, and I figured the least I could do was offer her a coupon for paper towels. We didn't have any, but she could cry into the coupon, because that's also made out of paper. Unfortunately, I misplaced the coupon (plus it was actually for hair gel), so I did something really, really fucking stupid instead: without thinking, I handed her the piece of toilet paper with my one night stand's phone number on it. After sneezing into the number and likely tasting my dried foam--which she seemed to lick--she realized there was writing on it. She put two and two together, and yeah... she made 22.
After several more minutes of her crying up air and coughing up blood, and me expecting to have a heart attack the size of Subway's Jared before he lost the weight... something really strange happened. She turned to me and smirked. Her eyes went from being crushed and tormented to... kind of fierce. Like when you eat a bunch of jalapenos but you forget the water. She had black eyes, and it kinda freaked me out to look at her. Also, I have an anxiety disorder.
"Jane, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you... PLEASE let me know. ... I'll even let you have my 50 cents off hair gel coupon that I've been saving for my retirement!"
She didn't even hesitate to respond to that; not to my coupon offer, though. "I know exactly what you can do, baby." This was the first time she called me a pet name in weeks--weird time to be doing that, but I figured it couldn't be a bad sign, right? "Let me get on Google for a second."
Was she going to revenge fuck with some fat, hairy, greasy guy named Google? No, not at all! She hopped on the computer (literally.) Then she wrote a phone number down in the same bar restroom snotrag I had handed her just a couple minutes prior. "What's this?"
"The number to Papa John's", she cooed. "I want you to try something."
"... And what would that be?"
"Their Fritos Chili Pizza. It's only for a limited time, you know."
... Okay now, what the fuck. I cheated on my girlfriend, and instead of, y'know, her packing her bags and leaving, or at least telling me to fuck off and sleep in a doghouse for the weekend, she wanted me to order a fucking pizza. Then I remembered something horrifying.
I'm lactose intolerant! Eating that pizza could very, very well kill me. ... Besides, it had Fritos on top, and that's just stupid.
" I guess it's the least I could do.", I muttered. Like the mutt that I am. I knew that if I ate it, I might die. But if I said no, she'd probably stab me to death. Like she did her previous boyfriend. Really, I would've dumped her when I found out about that one, but the sex was just too good. I knew I was saving pez dispensers for a reason...
So, I shivered in terror, but literally hopped onto the computer and placed the order, knowing that it would likely be my last supper. I waited in anxiety for a few minutes and sweated through my clothes. Then I grasped my car keys, and prepared to drive to my fast food laden death. It was time for me to meet my maker. And I was prepared. For every cheesy, oven-baked moment of it.
"Oh no, sweetie. Let me drive.", Jane cooed to me.
"Ehr... okay." It was only a mile away, and plus, I just fucking cheated on her, so I didn't understand why she was so eager to do me a favor before she killed me. Regardless, she was the type you didn't want to piss off, so I wasn't about to tell her no. She wore tons of white make-up, colored her lips black, and again, those black eyes really bothered the shit out of me. They reminded me of olives, and I am also intolerant to olives. God hates me.
Anyway, I'll spare you the details. She wrapped a blindfold around my eyes and giggled. She walked me into the restaurant with what was supposed to be a gun to my back, but I knew it was actually just a delicious bar of Snickers. My ESP told me that the Spanish cashier was kinda freaked out, but he handed us the pizza anyway just so that we'd get the fuck out of his house. He asked if the pizza was for a 'Mr. Mann' or something. His accent was really thick, but he said the first name was 'Slender'. Again, he was a foreigner, so... fuck it. We got back into my car, and Jane pulled the seat back. She picked up a slice, and I could smell death. It smelled like mozzarella. Because it was.
"Open wiiiiide!", she teased. And I did just that. Because I had an ingenious plan! I'd just spit out the food instead of swallow, just like that one bar whore did to my foam! I stretched out my tongue Gene Simmons style, and then...
... And then it all happened at once.
I could hear the car door slam open.
There was a scream.
I could feel coldness emanating from whoever the hell opened up the driver side door.
I ripped off the blindfold, and I let out a shriek of horror. What I saw was unlike any other person I had ever seen in all of my life. It was a man, but his face was all white, with no features on it. He was... it was blank. Swirling out of his back were big, winding black testicle--tentacles... and he hissed at me somehow, despite not having a mouth.
"Hooowww's the pie...?".
The monster did not hesitate to do his worst. He reached for my cock but I was wearing a football player cup, so it was no use for him. The cup snapped back and punctured my scrotum, but I just dealt with the pain. I panickedly shut the car door on his tentacles and reached for the keys.
Now, what was really, really fucked up was that, even though I sliced off half his body when I slammed the car door on him, he was otherwise in perfectly fine shape. He shouted some obscenities at me and told me to get HIV/Ebola, but I just gave him the finger. He hopped onto my lap by this point and demanded to be pet, but I knew better than that. I rolled down the window and threw him into a dumpster.
When I got home, I practically fell on the couch because I was tired. I stuck a hand in my pants and turned on the TV. I forgot that my girlfriend was likely dead and I had just likely killed a man--of sorts, anyway. The TV show was pretty funny. A guy with orange hair was talking about balls. Tons of double entendres. He poisoned his son and threw the rest of his family into a trash compactor. Then he sat on a lawn chair that he seemed to somehow pluck out of the compactor, and a guy who looked like Hitler sat next to him and he talked about his favorite flavors of soup. The convo ended with Hitler crying, which made me tear up in laughter... until I realized something really horrible had happened.
All while I was least fucking expecting it... they were gone.
I looked down.
My balls were missing!!!
I don't know how to explain it. I ripped off my cup and stared down, and where my testicles should've been was a void, like a black hole. Except nothing was being sucked in. Except for maybe my fucking TESTICLES! As I stared at the black hole in my pants, a note emerged from my former scrotal era and I felt wind blow it into my hands. It read as follows:
"If you want your precious manhood back, meet me at the Papa John's dumpster that you tossed me into. Also: HOT POCKET BLABBER." A crudely drawn picture of a man dryhumping a cat was attached. I winced and threw the paper back into the black hole. Unfortunately, my right hand got a little too close and my fingers flew off and I bled incredibly badly. After about a half an hour of deliberating I realized I could cover up the bleeding with a piece of paper. I was still out of paper but I found a coupon book full of hair gel coupons, so I just used them as makeshift bandaging.
Now, I'm right handed, so it was difficult to drive back to the dumpster while using my left hand for steering. "Watch where you're going!", one driver yelled. "The government caused 9/11!", shouted another. "All of these stories are exactly the same!", shouted another. I guess they were listening to books on tape or something. I licked my bandaged coupons and after a couple minutes of moderate displeasure, I made it to my destination. I tossed open the dumpster lid, and...
My girlfriend was there. Gagged. Seemingly unconscious. I checked her pulse, and I felt something. Kind of shocking given that she's a cold hearted bitch, but whatever. I threw her over my shoulder after eating what remained of a can of spinach that someone tossed out, and I felt a lot stronger, like Popeye the Sailor Man. With the horrible tentacle man out of my life, I at least had my girlfriend back. And that was second most important to me, other than my missing junk. And by junk, I mean my fucking nuts. Not the trash in the dumpster. ... Duh.
When I got back, I pushed Jane's unconscious body into the house and into our bed by prodding her with my legs. Then I went back to the couch and stuck my other hand in my pants. I forgot I had a black hole in my untouchable area, so my left hand's fingers got sucked off and I was without any fingers at all. Strangely, I felt my sanity snap and I bit off some of my toes thinking I could put them on my right hand and use them as fingers, but that proved to be an impossible task because I didn't have any fingers to use to perform the task of gluing them onto my hands. I nudged around our kitchen cabinet and found a vat of industrial strength guerilla glue--the strongest glue known to man--and came up with an ingenious plan anyway. I stuck my tongue into the glue. Then I licked the toes I cut off onto my right hand, and lo and behold, I kinda sorta had fingers again. I sat back on the couch and put my hands back in my pants, and what do ya know--my fingertoes got sucked into the black hole. I was now without fingers and also without some toes. And by that, I mean I cut off all of my toes with my teeth and I didn't have any more toes remaining.
I cried for a few minutes, and I realized I didn't feel like living anymore. Maybe I could've bitten a hole into my chest and eaten out my heart, but that might've taken years to pull off, and I had an even better plan. I removed my pants and pulled down my underwear, using my teeth yet again of course. Then I knelt down and stuck my head into the black hole. Now it was time... to end it all.
Expecting death and a trip to Heaven or Hell or possibly Limbo even though the Catholic church has acknowledged that Limbo does not actually exist--unless we are discussing the classic children's infomercial game Chicken Limbo--I got... something worse.
I stared up into the sky. It swirled many colors. Red, purple. Kind of a darkish orange. ... Okay, it was really tilted onto that particular area of the color spectrum, so I guess it wasn't very creative, but it was still kinda badass. I lowered my eyes back to normal viewing level and... I screamed.
There was an Applebee's a quarter of a mile ahead of me.
When you die, you end up at a fucking Applebee's.
All of my missing limbs and appendages were back, and, since I was stuck in some other dimension, I now considered myself single. I calmed down since I realized this actually made things pretty freakin' sweet. I strutted my stuff into the building and hoped that it was half-priced app day.
... But wouldn't you know it.
This particular Applebee's had a bar, and soccer was playing on the televisions. I didn't watch much soccer because I'm an American, and don't actually know what soccer is because we don't actually do soccer in America. So, I sat down on a stool and waited for my bartender/server.
A black-haired lady turned around, and... what do ya know.
Let me tell you: It was Jane.
"Hello, Kevin." I shivered. Oh, boy. She was gonna be so pissed at me.
"Kevin... why are you ignoring me? Is it because I'm not a bar slut? Do I not... make you foam?"
I continued staring at her. Something was off about her, even by her standards.
"Would you like me more if I did... this?" She dropped her pants and, just like that whore who's been in the news lately... her ass was excessively round, juuuust like Dr. Robotnik's belly. Or Dr. Eggman, if you played your Sonic games in a foreign land in the 90s.
"It... it wasn't what you think.", I began. I clutched my lucky rabbit's foot, which I keep in my right pocket next to my fake mustache and emergency supply of grape-flavoured Bazooka Joe chewing gum. I was going to need all the love I could get...
"So now I'm stupid... is that it?"
"Dude, bro, your girl's got sass.", hissed whatever stranger was suddenly sitting next to me. I turned around and... and it was the blank faced guy from earlier. He was ripping off his tentacles and chewing on them and eating them, but they kept growing back anyway. Again, I'm not sure how he ate them given that he didn't have a mouth, but believe me, he did.
Jane continued, though at this point I'd have rather heard from Mr. Scary next to me. "I don't think you realize what's going on here."
"No?", I replied, because this had been a really long day and unlike her, I hadn't gotten any sleep.
"Yes!", was her rebuttal. And then she pressed a button on what appeared to be a walkie-talkie shaped apparatus.
I could tell that I had changed. I looked down and... well, I sure did. Listen, I know this is pretty hard to believe, but: I had hooves. And horse hair. And my skeleton was suddenly an entirely fucking different shape. If you didn't guess it by now: I was a horse.
"Or would you rather it be... this?", she squealed.
This time, I was a man, but a very hairy one. I had a long, scraggly beard and I was wearing a beanie hat. I smelled real bad and there was a jug labeled 'XX' in front of me on the bar. My t-shirt read 'Fermented Sloths'. I could tell that I was now a homeless man.
"Is this your idea of revenge?", I replied, knowing that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
"No... not quite.", she cooed. She pressed the button again, even harder this time. I yelped.
Something was... different. I wasn't a horse or a homeless man, but I certainly wasn't me. I ran my right hand through my hair, and my hair was a little thicker than it usually was, but... I didn't know. That wasn't enough for me to figure it out.
"Take a look. It's in a book.", she... well, she hissed at me. I'm not sure why she said it was a book, but what she handed me were dorky looking glasses that reminded me of the character from that classic black sitcom we all watched in the early 90s.
I gazed into a lens, and I... I was horrified by what I saw.
My hair was orange. A few thick strands bound together stuck out on the end. My eyes looked kinda baggy. Middle-aged, tired even. My nose stuck out, kinda Pinocchio style. My shirt was white, and I had a funnel-like collar. I was...
I was the man on TV from earlier.
"I'm... I'm the man from TV?", I asked.
"Yes... yes you are. And you have some work to do."
She poofed into a giant wall of smoke. I started choking and I figured the alcohol would catch on fire and me and Mr. Scary White Guy would die in it. But no... she reappeared. Her teeth...
Her teeth were sharp like a vampire's. She spoke in a Transylvanian accent. She handed me a contract.
"Sign it, or I'll make you lactose intolerant again. And force-feed you that fucking Fritos pizza if I have to!"
I did as was told, because I was beginning to think that maybe there would be a fun side to all of this. I gave the paper my John Hancock--no foam involved in any of this.
"Remember when you lost your balls?"
"And how could I not, Jane?", I responded in some sort of strange accent that reminded me of... maybe a Yiddish-speaking comedian?
"What is it that you want right now?"
... It's funny, but... y'know how kids crave candy, alcoholics crave alcohol, Popeye craves spinach, cats crave delicious tuna, Yogi Bear shoots heroin and steals picnic baskets... you know the deal? I now suddenly had a craving that I could not deny.
" B... balls."
"Yes, George. All you crave now... is balls. And you know what's going to happen next?"
Suddenly, a hologram kinda screen kinda thing appeared in front of us. No projectors were around, so I don't know how it was feasible. I guess it was because I was dead and in Hell, presumably. A lot of wacky, wild stuff happens there. "Do you see... all of this?"
Oh boy, I really wished I didn't. I screamed at the top of my lungs at the pain. I could... I could visualize the entire universe. Everything. The gazillions upon gazillions of miles. Stars and galaxies shined and shimmered in lustrous beauty, but I... it was too much for me.
"JANE! STOP THIS CRAZY THING!!!", was what I wanted to scream. Instead, I probably mumbled some gibberish. Maybe about a chicken sandwich and a Halloween party. Fuck if I know. I just did it. And she understood.
"All of that, that just went through your mind...
you're gonna teabag it."
"I'm... I'm gonna what?", was all I could utter. Several seconds passed, and then... and then something I could never properly explain occurred. It was like a camera zoomed into my face and showed a vein snapping in my forehead. My eyes--I knew--were visibly bloodshot. I didn't see a camera, and I didn't see me. But I could feel the close-up of my grizzled face. But I could feel... my mission.
"I'm... I'm gonna do it Jane.
... I'm gonna find it."
I smiled. I smiled very, very wildlike. And I smiled some more. I smiled so wide that it was wider than a human being should ever be able to smile. But at this point... I was a demon.
"And I'm gonna teabag... the entire mother fucking UNIVERRRRRSSEEEEEE!"
I laughed chaotically. The guy without a face took another shot from the bar. Jane danced all sorts of dances, just like that one guy from the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Then Jane and Slenderman had wild fucking sex while swimming in a flatbed of Lay's Potato Chips, Scrooge McDuck style. But I didn't care. None of that mattered. There was only one thing that mattered.
I was going to make everybody in the universe suck my testicles.
My... beautiful... testicles.
(P.S. I'd later murder Jane by tossing her into a trash compactor and turning her into a lawn chair.)
(P.P.S. You're Next.)