u/Ok_Emu_109

I was watching Hunter’s latest stream and creepcast was brought up. They said they might bring back creepTV for Gemini home entertainment. Honestly I really hope they put this on the main channel this time. In my opinion it is one of the top analog horror series and we haven’t had a creepTV in five months now. I think they should bring it back for a bit

Hey everyone I need help. If any of you guys have successfully posted to r/nosleep please comment. I’m currently writing a story and I wanted to put it up onto no sleep. I finally after many attempts got it up there. It was now taken down for “not being on the right Reddit” I don’t know what that means. It might not be the scariest story yet but there’s clearly an intent. It sucks because it was getting upvotes before being taken down. My story is a little explicit, so maybe that’s the reason? Other than that I feel like I didn’t break any rules. So could some explain “wrong subreddit” and to help solve this?Please to any accomplished no sleep writers help a guy out it would be much appreciated

Everyone usually says romance is dead in the modern day with our emphasis on looks, gender, hookup culture, sexism and insecurity.  I don’t totally agree but, I understand those views and why some people hesitate to put their authentic selves out there. Being 5 '10 , a bit on the chubbier side  and a hairline that will go in ten years, I am not perfect, especially to the standard that most men feel they must withhold. Though I’d be considered a five out of ten maybe? I still found myself having a satisfactory dating life, being bisexual made my dating pool a lot bigger and overall I met a lot of great people. Sure there will always be a sour date, but that is just the human experience, and a life lesson for some. Once again I reiterate I liked liking people, and I don't want to change that.

This interest? Came from the end of one thing and the start of another. The end was a not so serious relationship. Most relationships end when both sides are fed up, or a big scandalous thing, or even tiny things that are like crawling ants. You don’t notice one  lone soldier on you, but you’ll notice armies biting your arm Our relationship didn’t fit those categories. It was a slow process, the honeymoon settled so the palling sun could rise. After a talk, a sit down on our couch and his words were the final say. He left, that’s fine but it brutally murdered any future urge for another. It was like I was enveloped by a big fat glob of molasses, slowly pushing myself through bitter darkness.  I went on dates to try to fill the hole, but no attraction or interest. Even if the person asked for a second, I’d told them we weren’t a compatible match and to have a nice day.

The other thing that triggered it was the evening I looked out my window to see something odd.
Behind my apartment complex  is an alleyway where someone, I don’t know who, put a vending machine. Horribly placed, the only people who go back there are, people taking their garbage ouy, drug dealers and homeless people who don’t want to be trespassed. As stated the only reason I knew it was there in the first place was because my window peered down at it. Nobody ever used this vending machine, it was just there like a silent observer to humanity’s mundane sadness. 

My first encounter with it was a few nights ago.  

I took the elevator down to the main floor, shuddering as it lowered. Out of the lobby, into the dark night. All I wanted was to throw away my garbage, really. I was working on my laptop, I thought ten minutes tops.  but the glow of a square moon that lived on earth, made me stay in the alleyway

It reflected off the shining concrete, soft blue LED against hard cold grey. Eight feet, and 400 hundred pounds of consumables, but that moment it felt like more. Cheeto bags were puffed with pride, Pepsi all perfectly sizzled. Carbonation  bubbles rising above the curved caps of every bottle. All of this was behind a glassy protector that made itself only more vulnerable, I could see its mechanical insides waiting for work. Box in form, but, any other shape would be below.  Something like a sphere or dodecahedron would seem complex and haughty, trying to impress someone, but this was simple beauty. Tall broad  luminous vending machine, tattooed with brands, body painted with metal ink. It didn’t speak but its hum squished itself into the alleyway,like two hands, it covered my ears. Its song was the only noise that existed between us. A smell of honey, milk and roses bloomed from the flap of the machine, so subtle like a bashful wine gorgeous but shy in age.
I threw my trash away, making a loud thud that didn’t seem to affect the vending machine.

I strolled past it, that was the intention, but the clicking of cement under my feet stopped. Honey tickled my nose, rose thorns wrapped around myself, milk made me stay. I went to confront the contraption.. It had brought my attention though I didn't starve or thirst. I hesitated. That is when my wallet so magically popped from my backpocket, I dialed in the number G614 for a Cola. I was confused why I acted on my own.I had coke in my fridge.

My fingers brushing over the bill accepter, green being munched up, but spit old. I tried to keep myself steady, casual but the left lobe of my brain would ask ‘why do I need to act cool?’ This wasn’t a casual date with a pretty girl or hot guy, just me and a vending machine. Reason wasn’t helping, it was a whisper under the screaming animal urging, of nonchalant attraction I needed to display. I couldn’t help this burning anxiety in my chest, that hurt my lungs every time my crisp chartreuse was rejected. It didn’t want my cash. I rubbed it against the corner, tried the front and the back, tried a different bill but nothing worked . As I fished through my wallet I muttered a silent pathetic .

“ Sorry,” 

I didn’t wanna question why I must have muttered that. I kept trying, this machine made me feel like disappointment was looming over me. I couldn’t complete a simple task of getting a soda. The presidents on the bills mocked me as their hair peeked back out. Sweat built up on my palms, making it harder so I resorted to shoving the bills in just to be denied. Before I could call defeat, I felt a lump in my pants.

Quarters, dimes and nickels were nestled in my pockets, making them heavy, sinking to my shoes. Did I take these with me? I never carry change with me, Brian used to scold me for not picking up pennies. Now there was nothing but brass pretending to be silver circles  in my jeans. I stared at the coin slot,  looking into the slit. Something I had purposely ignored in my detailed description.

I think I’m crazy, or my mind  is playing tricks because loneliness is worse than insanity. Steel that’s what you’d think from appearance, but appearance was a liar. A finger pressed into the slit, surprisingly it slightly slipped in. Pulsating pulling sterling lips curling, swallowing knuckles deeper than any slot. Instead of ripping a ringed feeler away, more coins pushed in.  Nine quarters, swallowed into the sliding gullet of a metal machine. My nose took it all in, smelling the hot breath of metallic innards chewing on my nostrils, my hand kept brushing over the slit.  Addicting, like a man on the slot, I kept petting, the humming turning to a purr. Lungs worked over time to quell the brain by pumping air in, and out through my framework which at this point was as steady as scrape scaffolding . Pupils dilating, then stopping, then exploding open again each time the slot warmed. If the surface wasn’t that perfect manufactured device, I’d think whiskers were wiping my wrists. Anchoring down my being was the darkness, If it wasn’t for the constant black velvet, I’d think days had passed. In that night it was just a man with a curious hand, and apparatus yearning.  Though no apparatus ever yearned.

CLANK

That was the world continuing on.

A Cola fell to the bottom of the flap. The throbbing, turning back to  icy  indifference painted with the words ‘PUT CHANGE HERE”. I held my finger inspecting it, normal. Just a regular finger, no residue, no substance of past heat. I picked up the Cola, sipping it as my brain ripped its long tubes of pink to find some sort of explanation. Loneliness? Yeah but why did a machine react like that, It’s a dream? Yeah maybe a dream. Do you miss him? Most likely, but we weren’t serious. Do you need a therapist? I think this is a dream.

So I walked back to the lobby, met my old friend in the elevator. I went to bed. I couldn’t handle myself right then or now.

I didn’t see the vending machine for days,  but I started reacting differently towards things. Dreams were me cuddled against the same metal, though warm like skin. Whenever I smelled my candles, the aroma was of honeyed roses and milk. Not the same as the slit which had a hint of mineral burn, like a roll of nickels. Going to the store was a nightmare, bags of chips reminded me of it. I swear they crinkled when they saw me, and I felt my own self going inward as well. Coke Cola tasted bitter when it was in my fridge, i threw up after taste testing a six pack.  My heart abuses my crest from a mix of anxiety and the taboo nature of something stirring.

A week after the incident I went during the day. I didn't buy anything, but I just looked at the thing. It was a big vending machine. Nothing else, even tried the coin slot, the flap and the cash receiver. No warmth, no tingling, no strange smells and no weird feelings, just a vending machine. I walked back, and though I said no feelings I lied.

Now it’s nothing sexual, I’m not getting a boner from a fucking vending machine. It’s just plain strange. Am I developing objectophilia? Personally I like being in love with people. I like people having personality and taste . I'm submitting this to many subreddits about LGBTQIA+ and overall sexual wellness subreddits.  I also am looking if any mechanics know if this is normal, or if coke can be laced before even drinking it. I am not a drug user, and I didn’t drink that night. Does anyone know any good therapists maybe? How do I handle this new side of myself? As I type this my breaths quiver on each letter, fingers like that night .Hesitating. From my apartment window I can hear the vending machine, a viberating a hum from a yearning machine.

Everyone usually says romance is dead in the modern day with our emphasis on looks, gender, hookup culture, sexism and insecurity.  I don’t totally agree but, I understand those views and why some people hesitate to put their authentic selves out there. Being 5 '10 , a bit on the chubbier side  and a hairline that will go in ten years, I am not perfect, especially to the standard that most men feel they must withhold. Though I’d be considered a five out of ten maybe? I still found myself having a satisfactory dating life, being bisexual made my dating pool a lot bigger and overall I met a lot of great people. Sure there will always be a sour date, but that is just the human experience, and a life lesson for some. Once again I reiterate I liked liking people, and I don't want to change that.

This interest? Came from the end of one thing and the start of another. The end was a not so serious relationship. Most relationships end when both sides are fed up, or a big scandalous thing, or even tiny things that are like crawling ants. You don’t notice one  lone soldier on you, but you’ll notice armies biting your arm Our relationship didn’t fit those categories. It was a slow process, the honeymoon settled so the palling sun could rise. After a talk, a sit down on our couch and his words were the final say. He left, that’s fine but it brutally murdered any future urge for another. It was like I was enveloped by a big fat glob of molasses, slowly pushing myself through bitter darkness.  I went on dates to try to fill the hole, but no attraction or interest. Even if the person asked for a second, I’d told them we weren’t a compatible match and to have a nice day.

The other thing that triggered it was the evening I looked out my window to see something odd.
Behind my apartment complex  is an alleyway where someone, I don’t know who, put a vending machine. Horribly placed, the only people who go back there are, people taking their garbage out, drug dealers and homeless people who don’t want to be trespassed. As stated the only reason I knew it was there in the first place was because my window peered down at it. Nobody ever used this vending machine, it was just there like a silent observer to humanity’s mundane sadness. 

My first encounter with it was a few nights ago.  

I took the elevator down to the main floor, shuddering as it lowered. Out of the lobby, into the dark night. All I wanted was to throw away my garbage, really. I was working on my laptop, I thought ten minutes tops.  but the glow of a square moon that lived on earth, made me stay in the alleyway

It reflected off the shining concrete, soft blue LED against hard cold grey. Eight feet, and 400 hundred pounds of consumables, but that moment it felt like more. Cheeto bags were puffed with pride, Pepsi all perfectly sizzled. Carbonation  bubbles rising above the curved caps of every bottle. All of this was behind a glassy protector that made itself only more vulnerable, I could see its mechanical insides waiting for work. Box in form, but, any other shape would be below.  Something like a sphere or dodecahedron would seem complex and haughty, trying to impress someone, but this was simple beauty. Tall broad  luminous vending machine, tattooed with brands, body painted with metal ink. It didn’t speak but its hum squished itself into the alleyway, like two hands, it covered my ears. Its song was the only noise that existed between us. A smell of honey, milk and roses bloomed from the flap of the machine, so subtle like a bashful wine gorgeous but shy in age.
I threw my trash away, making a loud thud that didn’t seem to affect the vending machine.

I strolled past it, that was the intention, but the clicking of cement under my feet stopped. Honey tickled my nose, rose thorns wrapped around myself, milk made me stay. I went to confront the contraption.. It had brought my attention though I didn't starve or thirst. I hesitated. That is when my wallet so magically popped from my backpocket, I dialed in the number G614 for a Cola. I was confused why I acted on my own.I had coke in my fridge.

My fingers brushing over the bill accepter, green being munched up, but spit old. I tried to keep myself steady, casual but the left lobe of my brain would ask ‘why do I need to act cool?’ This wasn’t a casual date with a pretty girl or hot guy, just me and a vending machine. Reason wasn’t helping, it was a whisper under the screaming animal urging, of nonchalant attraction I needed to display. I couldn’t help this burning anxiety in my chest, that hurt my lungs every time my crisp chartreuse was rejected. It didn’t want my cash. I rubbed it against the corner, tried the front and the back, tried a different bill but nothing worked. As I fished through my wallet I muttered a silent pathetic .

“ Sorry,” 

I didn’t wanna question why I must have muttered that. I kept trying, this machine made me feel like disappointment was looming over me. I couldn’t complete a simple task of getting a soda. The presidents on the bills mocked me as their hair peeked back out. Sweat built up on my palms, making it harder so I resorted to shoving the bills in just to be denied. Before I could call defeat, I felt a lump in my pants.

Quarters, dimes and nickels were nestled in my pockets, making them heavy, sinking to my shoes. Did I take these with me? I never carry change with me, Brian used to scold me for not picking up pennies. Now there was nothing but brass pretending to be silver circles  in my jeans. I stared at the coin slot,  looking into the slit. Something I had purposely ignored in my detailed description.

I think I’m crazy, or my mind is playing tricks because loneliness is worse than insanity. Steel that’s what you’d think from appearance, but appearance was a liar. A finger pressed into the slit, surprisingly it slightly slipped in. Pulsating pulling sterling lips curling, swallowing knuckles deeper than any slot. Instead of ripping a ringed feeler away, more coins pushed in.  Nine quarters, swallowed into the sliding gullet of a metal machine. My nose took it all in, smelling the hot breath of metallic innards chewing on my nostrils, my hand kept brushing over the slit.  Addicting, like a man on the slot, I kept petting, the humming turning to a purr. Lungs worked over time to quell the brain by pumping air in, and out through my framework which at this point was as steady as scrape scaffolding . Pupils dilating, then stopping, then exploding open again each time the slot warmed. If the surface wasn’t that perfect manufactured device, I’d think whiskers were wiping my wrists. Anchoring down my being was the darkness, If it wasn’t for the constant black velvet, I’d think days had passed. In that night it was just a man with a curious hand, and apparatus yearning.  Though no apparatus ever yearned.

CLANK

That was the world continuing on.

A Cola fell to the bottom of the flap. The throbbing, turning back to  icy  indifference painted with the words ‘PUT CHANGE HERE'. I held my finger inspecting it, normal. Just a regular finger, no residue, no substance of past heat. I picked up the Cola, sipping it as my brain ripped its long tubes of pink to find some sort of explanation. Loneliness? Yeah but why did a machine react like that, It’s a dream? Yeah maybe a dream. Do you miss him? Most likely, but we weren’t serious. Do you need a therapist? I think this is a dream.

So I walked back to the lobby, met my old friend in the elevator. I went to bed. I couldn’t handle myself right then or now. I didn't sleep that night, I just brewed in my bed like I was a cocktail of confusion, stirred up for unknown drinker. I lie awake my swirling, swivel of a head stopped the rolling when a thought came to mind. I have changed, a foot down a step. I am blind, to a staircase, I don't know if my travel is upward. So as I sit awake blind from the dark I will listen to the yearning automaton, and some strange creature will yearn as well.

Everyone usually says romance is dead in the modern day with our emphasis on looks, gender, hookup culture, sexism and insecurity.  I don’t totally agree but, I understand those views and why some people hesitate to put their authentic selves out there. Being 5 '10 , a bit on the chubbier side  and a hairline that will go in ten years, I am not perfect, especially to the standard that most men feel they must withhold. Though I’d be considered a five out of ten maybe? I still found myself having a satisfactory dating life, being bisexual made my dating pool a lot bigger and overall I met a lot of great people. Sure there will always be a sour date, but that is just the human experience, and a life lesson for some. Once again I reiterate I liked liking people, and I don't want to change that.

This interest? Came from the end of one thing and the start of another. The end was a not so serious relationship. Most relationships end when both sides are fed up, or a big scandalous thing, or even tiny things that are like crawling ants. You don’t notice one  lone soldier on you, but you’ll notice armies biting your arm Our relationship didn’t fit those categories. It was a slow process, the honeymoon settled so the palling sun could rise. After a talk, a sit down on our couch and his words were the final say. He left, that’s fine but it brutally murdered any future urge for another. It was like I was enveloped by a big fat glob of molasses, slowly pushing myself through bitter darkness.  I went on dates to try to fill the hole, but no attraction or interest. Even if the person asked for a second, I’d told them we weren’t a compatible match and to have a nice day.

The other thing that triggered it was the evening I looked out my window to see something odd.
Behind my apartment complex  is an alleyway where someone, I don’t know who, put a vending machine. Horribly placed, the only people who go back there are, people taking their garbage ouy, drug dealers and homeless people who don’t want to be trespassed. As stated the only reason I knew it was there in the first place was because my window peered down at it. Nobody ever used this vending machine, it was just there like a silent observer to humanity’s mundane sadness. 

My first encounter with it was a few nights ago.  

I took the elevator down to the main floor, shuddering as it lowered. Out of the lobby, into the dark night. All I wanted was to throw away my garbage, really. I was working on my laptop, I thought ten minutes tops.  but the glow of a square moon that lived on earth, made me stay in the alleyway

It reflected off the shining concrete, soft blue LED against hard cold grey. Eight feet, and 400 hundred pounds of consumables, but that moment it felt like more. Cheeto bags were puffed with pride, Pepsi all perfectly sizzled. Carbonation  bubbles rising above the curved caps of every bottle. All of this was behind a glassy protector that made itself only more vulnerable, I could see its mechanical insides waiting for work. Box in form, but, any other shape would be below.  Something like a sphere or dodecahedron would seem complex and haughty, trying to impress someone, but this was simple beauty. Tall broad  luminous vending machine, tattooed with brands, body painted with metal ink. It didn’t speak but its hum squished itself into the alleyway,like two hands, it covered my ears. Its song was the only noise that existed between us. A smell of honey, milk and roses bloomed from the flap of the machine, so subtle like a bashful wine gorgeous but shy in age.
I threw my trash away, making a loud thud that didn’t seem to affect the vending machine.

I strolled past it, that was the intention, but the clicking of cement under my feet stopped. Honey tickled my nose, rose thorns wrapped around myself, milk made me stay. I went to confront the contraption.. It had brought my attention though I didn't starve or thirst. I hesitated. That is when my wallet so magically popped from my backpocket, I dialed in the number 07023018 for a Cola. I was confused why I acted on my own.I had coke in my fridge.

My fingers brushing over the bill accepter, green being munched up, but spit old. I tried to keep myself steady, casual but the left lobe of my brain would ask ‘why do I need to act cool?’ This wasn’t a casual date with a pretty girl or hot guy, just me and a vending machine. Reason wasn’t helping, it was a whisper under the screaming animal urging, of nonchalant attraction I needed to display. I couldn’t help this burning anxiety in my chest, that hurt my lungs every time my crisp chartreuse was rejected. It didn’t want my cash. I rubbed it against the corner, tried the front and the back, tried a different bill but nothing worked . As I fished through my wallet I muttered a silent pathetic .

“ Sorry,” 

I didn’t wanna question why I must have muttered that. I kept trying, this machine made me feel like disappointment was looming over me. I couldn’t complete a simple task of getting a soda. The presidents on the bills mocked me as their hair peeked back out. Sweat built up on my palms, making it harder so I resorted to shoving the bills in just to be denied. Before I could call defeat, I felt a lump in my pants.

Quarters, dimes and nickels were nestled in my pockets, making them heavy, sinking to my shoes. Did I take these with me? I never carry change with me, Brian used to scold me for not picking up pennies. Now there was nothing but brass pretending to be silver circles  in my jeans. I stared at the coin slot,  looking into the slit. Something I had purposely ignored in my detailed description.

I think I’m crazy, or my mind  is playing tricks because loneliness is worse than insanity. Steel that’s what you’d think from appearance, but appearance was a liar. A finger pressed into the slit, surprisingly it slightly slipped in. Pulsating pulling sterling lips curling, swallowing knuckles deeper than any slot. Instead of ripping a ringed feeler away, more coins pushed in.  Nine quarters, swallowed into the sliding gullet of a metal machine. My nose took it all in, smelling the hot breath of metallic innards chewing on my nostrils, my hand kept brushing over the slit.  Addicting, like a man on the slot, I kept petting, the humming turning to a purr. Lungs worked over time to quell the brain by pumping air in, and out through my framework which at this point was as steady as scrape scaffolding . Pupils dilating, then stopping, then exploding open again each time the slot warmed. If the surface wasn’t that perfect manufactured device, I’d think whiskers were wiping my wrists. Anchoring down my being was the darkness, If it wasn’t for the constant black velvet, I’d think days had passed. In that night it was just a man with a curious hand, and apparatus yearning.  Though no apparatus ever yearned.

CLANK

That was the world continuing on.

A Cola fell to the bottom of the flap. The throbbing, turning back to  icy  indifference painted with the words ‘PUT CHANGE HERE”. I held my finger inspecting it, normal. Just a regular finger, no residue, no substance of past heat. I picked up the Cola, sipping it as my brain ripped its long tubes of pink to find some sort of explanation. Loneliness? Yeah but why did a machine react like that, It’s a dream? Yeah maybe a dream. Do you miss him? Most likely, but we weren’t serious. Do you need a therapist? I think this is a dream.

So I walked back to the lobby, met my old friend in the elevator. I went to bed. I couldn’t handle myself right then or now.
I didn’t see the vending machine for days,  but I started reacting differently towards things. Dreams were me cuddled against the same metal, though warm like skin. Whenever I smelled my candles, the aroma was of honeyed roses and milk. Not the same as the slit which had a hint of mineral burn, like a roll of nickels. Going to the store was a nightmare, bags of chips reminded me of it. I swear they crinkled when they saw me, and I felt my own self going inward as well. Coke Cola tasted bitter when it was in my fridge, i threw up after taste testing a six pack.  My heart abuses my crest from a mix of anxiety and the taboo nature of something stirring.

A week after the incident I went during the day. I didn't buy anything, but I just looked at the thing. It was a big vending machine. Nothing else, even tried the coin slot, the flap and the cash receiver. No warmth, no tingling, no strange smells and no weird feelings, just a vending machine. I walked back, and though I said no feelings I lied.

Now it’s nothing sexual, I’m not getting a boner from a fucking vending machine. It’s just plain strange. Am I developing objectophilia? Personally I like being in love with people. I like people having personality and taste . I'm submitting this to many subreddits about LGBTQIA+ and overall sexual wellness subreddits.  I also am looking if any mechanics know if this is normal, or if coke can be laced before even drinking it. I am not a drug user, and I didn’t drink that night. Does anyone know any good therapists maybe? How do I handle this new side of myself? As I type this my breaths quiver on each letter, fingers like that night .Hesitating. From my apartment window I can hear the vending machine, humming, possibly waiting..

I was going through old episodes and I remembered the sun vanished one. I think the idea, videos and props made for it were fun and campy but that story was grueling otherwise. It was extremely long, and goes on for way more hours than Hunter and Isaiah read. If you thought the characters were flat in the property story, well at least they were written so bad it was funny. The Sun vanished’s story got longer and more complicated with nothing fun. It was clearly written much longer than it should have gone to keep the traction going with the account’s followers. It was so bad I forgot the episode even existed until it was mentioned in the much better moon story It literally felt like ripping teeth listening to it, I’d rather happy Appy and Property over that story any day of the week

Father throws down the wobbling creature
Bright vermillion and soothing curves are it’s only desired features 
It dances on porcelain plate, dragging me in like sharks to blood 
Spit salivates and drips down in thick strands of flood

“Eat your jello, makes your skin clear”
My hesitation is in admiration not in fear
There glazed in its glare is my entry into manhood 
She soaks the cloth, in all the beautiful ways she should 

Slow soothing circles upon my back 
Pupils on my person, satisfaction came with no lack 
“Tear in my boy”
With a wrenching squeal,  I begin to chew on my toy
My snout slams into the glass lapping at the glistening body 
Jiggling jello spurts out ruby ichor becoming an fleshy attractive oddity 
Finger nails scrape wobbly meat,shoving it into my mouth
Teeth,lips and nose slobbering north to south 

Gushing tumor like burst on my tongue, jelly popping on each side 
The whore knows what it’s doing, the moans of ligaments tearing isn't shied 
Assaulting smelling mess of old cheese and maggots 
Spreading open more of the aroma, body like toast with a jam jacket

Father is proud, like when I shot a duck
Back then he told it was a bullet of luck
Squashed crimson worms squirm from the lips
Today I’ll prove I’m a man, I will not  trip

Gums grab grisled cow bones throwing them to the front for a crunch 
My father was a lady’s man he ate them in a bunch
Grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, we all did the same 
Because all of us had the calling to feast, god is to blame 

All are born in a jar of jelly womb
Knowing we are beasts,  this was a cursed warm tomb
So when chubby baby fingers along with jaws chomped through fast
We had used the vessel, for the Dam we cast 

I had finished the jello, dinner long gone 
He holds my hands, a true man’s job never goes wrong 
He gently took the platter, and kissed my forehead 
“Good work, make sure to wash up before bed”

Sat at my trough, cheeks dripping with acid and skin 
Like the men the past I take my pride and wear it like a pin
Dilated spheres wrap around the room,  chocolate on the floor,  jam on the wall 
To take the cloak in hand, from boy to man the tradition will never fall 

Father throws down the wobbling creature
Bright vermillion and soothing curves are it’s only desired features 
It dances on porcelain plate, dragging me in like sharks to blood 
Spit salivates and drips down in thick strands of flood

“Eat your jello, makes your skin clear”
My hesitation is in admiration not in fear
There glazed in its glare is my entry into manhood 
She soaks the cloth, sticky to the table’s wood

Slow soothing circles upon my back 
Pupils on my person, satisfaction came with no lack 
With a nod my snout slams into the glass lapping at the glistening body 
Jiggling jello spurts out ruby ichor becoming an fleshy attractive oddity 
Finger nails scrape wobbly meat,shoving it into my mouth
Teeth,lips and nose slobbering north to south 

Gushing tumor like burst on my tongue, jelly popping on each side 
The whore knows what it’s doing, the moans of ligaments tearing isn't shied 
Assaulting smelling mess of old cheese and maggots 
Spreading open more, body like toast with a jam jacket

Father is proud, like when I shot a duck
Back then he told it was a bullet of luck
Squashed crimson worms squirm from the lips
Today I’ll prove I’m a man, I will not  trip

Gums grab grisled cow bones throwing them to the front for a crunch 
My father was a lady’s man he ate them in a bunch
Grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, we all did the same 
Because all of us had the calling to feast, god is to blame 

All are born in a jar of jelly womb
Knowing we are beasts,  this was a cursed warm tomb
So when chubby baby fingers along with jaws chomped through fast
We had used the vessel, for the Dam we cast 

I had finished the jello, dinner long gone 
He holds my hands, a true man’s job never goes wrong 
He gently took the platter, and kissed my forehead 
“Good work, make sure to wash up before bed”

Sat at my trough, cheeks dripping with acid and skin 
Like the men the past I take my pride and wear it like a pin
Dilated spheres wrap around the room,  chocolate on the floor,  jam on the wall 
To take the cloak in hand, from boy to man the tradition will never fall 

Father throws down the wobbling creature
Bright vermillion and soothing curves are it’s only desired features 
It dances on porcelain plate, dragging me in like sharks to blood 
Spit salivates and drips down in thick strands of flood

“Eat your jello, makes your skin clear”
My hesitation is in admiration not in fear
There glazed in its glare is my entry into manhood 
She soaks the cloth, sticky to the table’s wood

Slow soothing circles upon my back 
Pupils on my person, satisfaction came with no lack 
With a nod my snout slams into the glass lapping at the glistening body 
Jiggling jello spurts out ruby ichor becoming an fleshy attractive oddity 
Finger nails scrape wobbly meat,shoving it into my mouth
Teeth,lips and nose slobbering north to south 

Gushing tumor like burst on my tongue, jelly popping on each side 
The whore knows what it’s doing, the moans of ligaments tearing isn't shied 
Assaulting smelling mess of old cheese and maggots 
Spreading open more, body like toast with a jam jacket

Father is proud, like when I shot a duck
Back then he told it was a bullet of luck
Squashed crimson worms squirm from the lips
Today I’ll prove I’m a man, I will not  trip

Gums grab grisled cow bones throwing them to the front for a crunch 
My father was a lady’s man he ate them in a bunch
Grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, we all did the same 
Because all of us had the calling to feast, god is to blame 

All are born in a jar of jelly womb
Knowing we are beasts,  this was a cursed warm tomb
So when chubby baby fingers along with jaws chomped through fast
We had used the vessel, for the Dam we cast 

I had finished the jello, dinner long gone 
He holds my hands, a true man’s job never goes wrong 
He gently took the platter, and kissed my forehead 
“Good work, make sure to wash up before bed”

Sat at my trough, cheeks dripping with acid and skin 
Like the men the past I take my pride and wear it like a pin
Dilated spheres wrap around the room,  chocolate on the floor,  jam on the wall 
To take the cloak in hand, from boy to man the tradition will never fall 

In “My Property isn’t Normal” the boys start talking about cringe humor in horror. Hunter brings up the infamous “My Apartment is stupid and I wanna party with a demon”. I think found the story in the smiling dog episode the last story being “Does Anyone Know a Good Plumber I Did One of Those Stupid Rituals and Now My Shower is Leaking and There’s a Faceless Guy in my Kitchen”

It has the same humor they were talking about and is a similar title so do with this information what you will

I dream for her to have soft skin
That’s where I want to begin 
Monsterous molars mull over moles
Tempted to kiss rosado holes 

Like white bread, softer than a cloud 
Something that would make downy pillows proud 
Yellowed bone bites bits to see marks
Aroma of Cotton, draws in the jaws of sharks

I am a hunter with the pelt of a deer 
My mouth munches tight, to remind I’m here
I am a sailor with the coat of a seal
All hooked into the silky selkie’s appeal 

She will stare, and I will back at eachother’s fleece 
All the perfect purple punctures that my teeth released  
In these arms a velvet woman I have though leather a lie 
So asleep in my hands, when sun comes skin will shrivel and die