shlingshlonger

[shlingshlonger]

Story 1

Rain spattered the ground like spilled blood. Tack felt himself shiver, the air biting mercilessly at his ears and nose, a dead man fighting for sustenance. The eyes of the body looked through him, they saw Tack’s imperfections, saw his sins, and none of his good deeds. With a sigh and grit teeth Tack started hauling the corpse up the steps of the house, so dreadful was this chore of his. Utterly lacking in the excitement he liked to fill his life with, disposing of a body, how dull, next they would have him taking out trash, ludicrous. The steps, while eroded, were familiar to Tack, having walked them many times. The house was warm, light streamed through orange and yellow stained windows, the stain was not purposeful, rather, a product of the decades the glass has witnessed. Pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, side tables knocked over, multiple spilled glasses of wine, all attributed to the look of an attempted robbery. However, one with a trained eye would notice the cigarettes still smoking in the ashtray, and notice the coats on the rack that were covered in recently seen rain. The house was dirty only in its chaos, mildew and dirt were nonexistent and upon closer inspection, the house was lacking in anything unhygienic enough to cause any real harm. Art in its disorder, a purposeful chaos. Tack sighed, feeling the corpse he was dragging mimic the motion “Timothy! Cmon good man, help a fellow out would you? I swear I haven't done anything quite so horrific as to deserve your damn scraps!” A scraping from the top floor that shook the house was heard in answer. With a muttered “damn machine” Tack was dragging the man through the house to the backyard cellar. Heaving with his slender body he crashed the heavy man through the flimsy and eroded cellar doors, looking down into the stone thing that held approximately 12 and ½ of a body. The mass of corpses are all in varying states of decay, some almost disintegrated, however they all were exposed to rain due to the recent destruction of the cellar door. Scrambling back from the carnage Tack covered his nose hard with a hand, “bloody disgusting” with a shudder “rains got em ripe tonight, innit” with hunched shoulders he picked his way through the crushed wood and down the stairs and with a flash of reflected light, Tack took out a small paring knife, sliced the finger of the most recent body, and scrambled back up to the house. After a lifetime of lavishing amongst the old, the withered, and the haunted, it starts to resemble an odd kind of home. Tack realises this as he steps into the creaking house, feeling the broken heater that just won't stop welcoming him, knowing where the creaky wood that always wakes up Selene is. Age breeds familiarity he supposes. Tack walks amongst the rooms of the house, finds himself in front of his room, and enters to see Timothy, his warmonger, curled up on the floor playing, it seems, with an unraveled sweater of his. Timothy was the affectionate name Tack gave to this old beast, once a god among men, now simply an empty set of armour, kept alive through some unknown magic, having the head of an aquarium bowl. Both froze as the scene registered itself in Tacks mind, the ancient set of armour, was playing with string, as if he was a cat. Tack exploded with anger “Are you aware of the horrific things I was forced to do tonight Timothy? Do you know the trauma that burying a friend can have on someone! Albeit we were not friends, and I didnt so much as bury him rather I dropped him. My point stands Timothy, Steven is large even when he deigns to go on a diet, dragging him around all willy nilly is bad for my back! I could hypothetically be charged with murder and dismemberment if anyone saw the whole pearig knife bussiness! You left me out in that rain Timothy!” The fishbowl looked into Tacks soul, and saw nothing of note. Timothy was as regretful as one could hope from a bowl of water Tack supposed. With a sigh he left the room and threw the paring knife into a decorative vase on the mantle in the hall, it pulsed happily. Tack resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at the aforementioned vase, and returned to his room, sneering at Timothy Tack fell into bed, and as he debated a shower with all the fancy soaps he is so fond for, he fell asleep. The light reflected in Timothy's fishbowl this morning, forcing Tack to pry his eyes open, only to see a horror he had hoped had gone for good this time. The eyes he had seen dead and clouded last night, the arms he had heard snap and pop as he had dropped them into the cellar, they were back, younger and new. “Why hello Tack, what an eventful night I had! I noticed you haven't made any progress on the chore list I left for you? Surely you saw it on the fridge did you not?” the once corpse smiled a smug grin, Tack groaned and kicked his feet “I had hoped you were dead Steven”, “Oh no Tack, not until you decide to do me in yourself ” Steven makes a show of going into Tacks bathroom and using his most expensive toothpaste “i guess killing yourself to get rid of me isn't your favorite idea, is it? Sad i'd love to see you hanging” Steven spat out the sentence and left the room with a smirk.

[shlingshlonger]

[shlingshlonger]

Lookie here— I edited together the moments when Helms talks about Oncest into one spiffy little audio post! [I hope I got everything. Tell me if I didn’t.]

Ed Helms is amazing. And I think his reaction to this whole thing is amazing.   He’s so sweet about it. I mean, he’s creeped out, but he says so in a nice way. Also, he implied that if we raised enough money, he’d provide his voice for a Once-ler porno. He didn’t say it, but he totally fucking implied it. 

Also, the fact that he addressed the fandom publicly means that more people than ever will be looking into Oncest! 

This fandom will keep biggering and biggering and no one can stop it!

[shlingshlonger]

The strawberry jam is odd here

[shlingshlonger]

The flesh diner has opened up for business