Burgrr Entries by Jonathan Wojcik

#1: If you're anything like me, you've seen some weird new shit around town

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
I don't know if any of this is going to
get through to anyone. If it does, it's probably because
they wanted it to, in which case I'm really sorry.
Maybe they just don't even care. Maybe it doesn't matter
because there's nothing we can do. If you're anything like me,

(00:25):
you've seen some weird new shit around town, and more importantly,
you've realized it and you've remembered it. But everyone else
goes about their day in ignorant bliss. I don't know
how far it goes, but so far nobody has shown
any capacity to register what I'm saying. I could spam

(00:47):
it up and down the Internet and I don't get
one relevant response nothing. I've considered that I might just
be crazy, But even crazy people to get some sort
of reaction, someone will at least try to humor them,
calm them down. I've tried. I've tried, doctors, police professionals.

(01:09):
You all just stay off in a space when I
start to describe the shit.

Speaker 2 (01:12):
Like.

Speaker 1 (01:13):
Something's actively blocking the exchange of information. My biggest fear
isn't even that I'm all alone. My biggest fear is
that I might still only perceive bits and pieces of
something bigger or worse than my capacity to perceive all

(01:34):
this is shrinking. I can write it down, I could
record every last detail, but it's not going to matter.
If I become like everyone else, I could wake up tomorrow,
look at my journal entries and only see a pile
of mysterious cake recipes. Who the hell knows. The first

(02:05):
thing I ever saw was one of the pickup windows.
It was just like any other that you might see
at a fast food place, but it was right on
the side of my own goddamn house. Nothing amiss indoors,
but outside half the block was lined up on my
front lawn, reading over a glowing menu of scribbly looking
gibberish and receiving their meals, if you want to call

(02:25):
them that. Almost instantaneously, they all acted like it was
their usual mundane lunch stop. Even while the male lady
sucked some rancid looking glop out of a plastic pouch congee,
old blood dripping down her chin, she told me that
it was the best she'd ever had. All my questions
were met with these blank stairs and stupid smiles. Couldn't

(02:49):
tell who or what was actually handing out the food
or where it was coming from. I could only see blackness.
At least that's how I remember it, and maybe I
saw something else, but that it's gone now, God, and
it was only the beginning. All the restaurants in town,

(03:12):
the real ones anyway, are typically deserted. Employees still show
up to some of them, but they don't. They didn't
even realize that no customers are stopping in. Some of
them even host new windows, parasitically siphoning off all their business.
The things seem to multiply constantly. I've seen them indoors, outdoors,
on houses, on trucks, even one on a tree, a

(03:35):
window to nowhere, on the trunk of a fucking tree,
dispensing deep fried slop to an ignorant gaggle of hikers.
Near as I can tell, all the products are meat,
or some vague semblance thereof, they can't always tell what
kind of animal, or even even what kind of body

(03:56):
part it used to be. I've seen things that could
have been dredged from some black, godless deep sea trench,
gelatinous slabs of flesh, and blindingly unnatural colors, fried bugs
just slightly larger than any I thought existed. It isn't

(04:17):
just the windows either. I started seeing this shit right
on supermarket shelves, four and looking packages with that same
gibberish language on it. Occasional bouts of quasi English like
number a Million tastes or it can Dream a great flavor.

(04:40):
It all has the same stupid logo on it too,
sometimes burnt right into the cut's meat, the bug eyed
cartoon hamburger, and little little Chef's hat. Sometimes it's winking,
sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it only is after I've looked away.

(05:00):
There's even people sucking down the shit on live television.
Talking heads come back from commercial looking blood and grease
off their hands. The weather lady shows up looking like
an extra from a slasher movie. Red stains increasingly thick
on a blouse. I don't think she's changed in weeks.
Nobody else cares. Nobody thinks anything's odd or new or different.

(05:30):
Nobody but me. My appetite for meat is thoroughly dead,
to say the least. I don't think I could ever
trust it again. But I've noticed non meat products are
growing steadily. Rarer fruits and vegetables are sitting out longer
between restocks. A lot of things are just getting phased

(05:50):
out to make room. For all the new items. I
shouldn't have to say this if you could already read
and comprehend this far. With the love of God, don't
eat it, don't taste it, don't touch it, try not
to even smell it. The more people eat, the less

(06:11):
they act like themselves, the funnier they talk. If you
know something's up but you can't see what I'm seeing,
I advise you to stick to Cereal. I haven't found
anything fishy about any of the cereal yet you can't
begin to postulate what's behind it all. I mean aliens, terrors, illuminati, reptoids.

(06:32):
I believe damn near anything at this point. The ads
are everywhere, flyers, neon signs, billboards, all of them written
in some weird foreign language. I can't find any match

(06:54):
for plastered with goofy artwork of bug eyed hot dogs,
and and less identifiable things. We will stop and stare
at them compulsively, pupils dilating while they're clouded in mind
register as God only knows. A lot of people say
the same exact thing, the same exact tone and rhythm,

(07:18):
every single time. Mmmmm mmmmmmmm. That sounds good enough to eat.
I hear it on a hundred times a day when
I was going out anyway, then, and they'll head straight
off to one of the impossible windows, the infected supermarkets,
the rapidly multiplying vending machines, or one of those green doors,

(07:42):
those awful fucking green doors. I don't know if they're
actually new or I'm just newly capable of seeing them.
The first one I noticed had grown, for lack of
a better word, on the back wall of our local shop,
right ugly faded sea foam affair smeared window shaped like

(08:05):
the Burger icon, chrome handle, flecked with rust, same as
all the others I've ever seen. People were coming and
going at a steady pace, but even when I staked
it out for a good six hours, I never saw
the same patron come back out again. I guess that
should have been a big warning sign, but I couldn't

(08:27):
take it. I had to know it didn't lead into
the store. Of course, I knew it wouldn't. As soon
as I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the sound
of eating, feasting, wet, breathy, chewing sounds, drowning out everything else,

(08:47):
tugging at my gag reflex. There were bars tables, booths
scattered in disorganized patterns around rows and rows of buffets.
Many seats were occupied, but the bulk of the customers
eating on foot, wolfings shit down right out of the
bars as they went along. I knew none of them
could comprehend what they were really doing where they really were.

(09:13):
The decor was almost, but not quite, in the style
of a retro fifties diner, maybe with a dash of
Doctor Seuss. A lot of the furnishings looked chunky, soft
and plastic, like they were designed for children, though I
can't imagine any child with such depressing taste. Booths were

(09:33):
lined with putrid off green cushions. Tables were hideous yellow
tan with chipped chrome trimmings. The floors were pale blue
tile like a public restroom, many pieces missing or disheveled.
The walls were more of that tacky chrome, interrupted by
fake wood paneling, giving away to glass windows from about

(09:57):
waste height to the ceiling. Windows not visible from outside.
I'd stepped through a door in the middle of one
plane solid brick wall, but from inside it was glass
all around. They were so thick with grime that I
I could scarcely see through them, but I could tell
it wasn't the correct view. From behind the shopwright, it

(10:19):
looked like like some murky storybook vista, simple blocky houses,
rolling green hills. Despite the steady stream of people coming
in through the door, I couldn't see a single sign
of movement or life out there. I began to wonder

(10:41):
if I might look suspicious just standing around and gawking
while everyone else was heading straight for the food. I
thought I might as well make some effort to blend in.
It was a mistake number one. Most of the offerings
were typical shit coming out of those takeout windows invading
the grocery shelves. Heap of raw red steaks sat on

(11:05):
a bed of black clotted blood, oversized pastry, white drumsticks,
dribbled cold yellow juices. A long troth of chunky, pinkish
slop jiggled like putting as people scooped it onto their
trays or straight into their grease caked faces. I think

(11:27):
I pulled my shirt over my nose around this point.
I think I recognized a lot of the exotic fair frogs, legs,
chicken feet, beef tripe, but I couldn't be quite certain.
I wasn't sure if chickens had that many toes, or

(11:48):
any frogs I knew grew exactly that large. There was
a tray of what I thought were fat segmented seed pods,
until one of them abruptly curled and uncurled twice like
a beckoning finger. Almost made my skin crawl. There were tongues,

(12:09):
There were brains. There was something like clear yellow spaghetti
in a pastry brown sauce. At least that's what I'm
going to keep telling myself it was. And there were
fish fins and goat eyes, and even even bones, just
steaming hot, perfectly bare white bones. I could barely take

(12:36):
the sight of anyone eating. Missus Faber, a grim and
crotchety old bag from down the street, was digging like
an excited child through a big heap of what looked
like horse teeth, sucking off whatever scraps of gum tissues
she could find. I felt my stomach shudder. We made
eye contact, and for a moment I almost thought that

(12:56):
I saw a look of horrified clarity, like the fall
was almost lifted from her mind, and she was just
about to ask me what in God's name she was
doing Instead her eyes glazed over, and she smiled that chilling,
idiotic smile, just like Mama used to make, she said,

(13:18):
and a hooky, sing songy voice toned she'd never been
caught dead using and then popping another gnarl yellow molar
into her mouth, sucking on it noisily. I could taste
my own bile by the time I backed away from
that godless orgy of culinary depravity, and that's when I

(13:39):
saw it. It was wobbling around the bar's arms, flailing blindly,
a chalk white, naked, sexless human figure dominated by a
featureless beach ball of a head. The stick figure made
of flesh. The alien invasion theory was already sounding better,

(13:59):
and the thing was working its way down one aisle
at a time and didn't look at first like I
could had any particular goal in mind. It occasionally clutched
at someone's hair clothing, almost as though desperate for attention
or even in need of help, but nobody so much
as blinked in its direction. I assumed I could get

(14:21):
away with ignoring it like everyone else, until it finally
hobbled its way down the opposite aisle and crossed my
direct line of sight, and it froze there, the blank,
smooth egg face turned directly towards me. I don't remember

(14:44):
the sprint home, but I do remember. It was the
dead of night when I exploded out of that ugly,
greasy green door. It couldn't have been later than noon
when I first entered, and I couldn't have been ogling
the horrors therein for more than forty min I don't
know if anything followed me, but I barricaded myself in

(15:04):
my bedroom that night, just to be safe. The doors
and the windows, they are everywhere. If you can read this,
only go out when you must, and don't go anywhere new,
because it might be newer than you think. They used

(15:33):
to be people, the eggheads. I've seen it a lot
in the weeks since the buffet. Not everyone shows the signs,
but some people, the ones who get hooked the hardest
on that sick foreign meat slop, only seem to gain
weight from the neck up. Hair falls out. First thing

(15:55):
to disappear, the eyes, and then the mouth. It seals
itself shut, and the whole head smooths over. They start
to wander aimlessly, invisible to everyone else, forgotten by friends
and loved ones. They do nothing but mumble groping their
arms around like they're hunting for their lost eyes. I

(16:17):
killed one today. It's been my afternoon scrounging around town
for normal things to eat, increasingly challenging task avoiding the
overly weird shit. It's only the half of it. I
have to be careful for anything that boasts a new

(16:38):
formula improved flavor. Sometimes I just have to scan the
package for the Hamburger logo, or check the ingredients for
some new gibberish like extracted bone jellies. There are natural
life parts. Some of the untainted stuff is skipping the
shelves and going straight into dumpsters, which I'd been digging

(16:58):
through when the egghead got the jump on me, cornering
me in a one way alley between a safe Way
and a Walgreens. Its head was bigger than most, an
impossibly bloated globe that almost brushed the walls on both sides.

(17:19):
I don't know how its feeble, chalky body could have
held it up, barely more than a skeleton, thin skin
shrink wrapped tightly to its bones. All that remained of
its former identity was a black dress tie, swaying like
a pendulum from its pencil thin neck. It's incoherent mumbling

(17:39):
sounded at once panicked, apologetic, and threatening as it staggered
toward me, limbs outstretched. I had nothing to defend myself
with but a bag of stale bread and a warm
can of coke. I screamed at it, told it I
didn't know what it wanted, that there wasn't anything I
could do, but just kept coming. It was mumbling, and

(18:02):
the moment my back hit the wall behind me, I snapped.
I grabbed the nearest garbage can lid. I swung it
with all my strength. I slammed it straight into that fat, fat,
bulbous face like a battle axe. Felt like striking a huge,
taut basketball. The mumbling grew more frantic, more confused, as
the thing stumbled backwards, gravity tugging at its awkward cranium,

(18:23):
arms whirling cartoonishly as it fought to regain its center
of balance. It's like some bent slapstick routine, like somebody
struggling not to drop a wedding cake. I charged that it,
screaming like a banshee as I struck at it again,
and the thing finally toppled slowly, like it was like
it was filled with air. As it hit the ground,

(18:46):
that massive noggin exploded like a swollen tick with a
wet splash. Pinkish gore and hunks of rubbery white flesh
gushed out of the alley and into the street. For
one terrifying moment, I wondered how this scene would look
to the rest of the world if they just see

(19:07):
some random, senseless act of murder against a completely normal,
innocent human being. The people already nonchalantly stepping over the
scattered piles of gore, who would have eased my mind
if it weren't for what happened next, and one of

(19:27):
the piles started moving. Something about the size of a
baby was squirming out from the pulverized sludge, a fat,
slightly oblong shape with a lot of thin, wriggling appendages underneath,
still too thick with gore for me to make out
any details, It was still between me and freedom, and

(19:49):
I could only watch in a confused stupor as it
unfurled a pair of big, transparent fins and abruptly took flight,
buzzing off into the afternoon sky like a bloated, fleshy
bumblue bead. Thankfully, and never seemed to notice or care

(20:11):
about me. It's funny how I settled on egghead. I
just thought they looked like eggs. I didn't know they
literally were. A woman stopped dead in the crosswalked a
smile and wave at the thing as it disappeared into
the skyline, then continued on her way with only a

(20:33):
momentary look of puzzlement that what am I doing look,
followed by the well whatever. But when I'd grown so
accustomed to over the past several weeks, when I got home,
I started reading up on diseases, parasites, bugs, puzzle pieces

(20:54):
dropping into place. There's a kind of wasp that lays
its eggs in a living caterpillar. When the larva hatches,
they modify the host's entire metabolism to suit their needs.
The caterpillar it eats more, it grows bigger, all to
provide the developing wasp with more sustenance. This kind of

(21:14):
shit is everywhere in nature. There are microbes that make
my suicidally attracted to cats. There are flies that grow
inside the heads of ants who keep on moving even
after their brains are eaten. It all makes so much sense.
Maybe they're from space. Maybe they're from Hell. Maybe they've
always been here, toppling one species, one civilization after another.

(21:34):
Who knows. They feed us so that we can feed them,
so that they can have a nice, warm body to
keep them safe and nourished until they don't need us anymore,
just a herd of cattle, oblivious to our position in life,
as we're fattened up and slaughtered by something that looms
just above our understanding of the natural order. I don't

(21:59):
know why, and see them why. I can see what
they're feeding us. I'm like a cow who grasps exactly
what goes on in the slaughterhouse, and I can't stop
thinking about what a cow would ever hope to accomplish
with that knowledge. I sure guess this is as good

(22:22):
as mine. Today, I followed one of the flying things.
They eventually break out of the eggheads on their own,
often taking thirty minutes or so to wipe up the
gore off their slimy little bodies with their squiggly legs

(22:42):
before they take to the air. They never shown any
aggression or any acknowledgment that I exist. They just flutter
away like they've got somewhere to be, and apparently apparently
they do. It was in a Walmart parking lot that

(23:03):
I witnessed another hatchling. The egghead was stumbling between cars,
clawing at its own face, reaching feebly out to passers by,
like it still thought that it could be saved. It
hadn't even he hit the ground before its featureless face
started to crack audibly, pink goop drippling out like like
raw yoke. It collapsed against a mini van and slumped

(23:27):
limply to the pavement as a big hunk of its
scalp popped off with a wet, solid crunch. The thing
inside was throbbing, swelling up like a pufferfish to push
open what was once a human skull. It throbbed and
squirmed its way out of the ruptured cranium, looking like
nothing so much as a wet, rubbery horsefly made of

(23:50):
chewing gum or an inverted brain with membranous wings. Its
branching limbs writhed like nightcrawlers, barely supporting its bloated rogus body.
The wings trembled almost cautiously at first, before it took

(24:13):
its first blind leap into the air and smacked wetly
into the ground. Was a dud took another shot at flying,
awkwardly bobbing for a few feet before it dropped like
a rock with another pitiful wet smack. I laughed pretty hard.
When the visible monsters are devouring the human race and

(24:34):
nobody cares, you, tend to take whatever entertainment you can get.
It took off again in the same direction, landing itself
on the hood of a jeep. The little guy was determined,
and that's when it dawned on me the opportunity i'd
stumbled upon. They'd always disappeared into the sky before I

(24:56):
could even get a sense of the direction, but I
could easily tail this one on foot. I figured, worst
case scenario, i'd see nothing new. I'd have to take
a bus back into town. As luck would have it,
it's destination really wasn't that far. I came close to
giving up, waiting for the damn thing to collect itself
every ten or fifteen feet, watching it plummet like a

(25:16):
bent paper airplane and flounder like a dying fish for
a minute at a time. But not an hour had
passed before I learned it's a little secret. Half a
mile from the crumpled remains of the egghead a porta
john between the magic doors, the garish advertisements that mutants
snack food, and the odd shit I can't even begin

(25:38):
to get into. I'd never stopped to think about the
bright blue portable toilets that seemed unusually common as a plate,
I mean, I never needed one With a seemingly perpetual
road work guzzling our tax dollars for as long as
I've lived here, It's not as if they were all
that strange a site. The grimy plastic door quietly swung

(26:02):
open as the brain bug flopped closer. I feigned disinterest,
doing my best to pass by as obviously as everyone else,
but snunk a quick glance into the open honeypot. The
brain fly, as I've decided to dub them, was already
careening down a long, dark tunnel stretching as far as
the eye could see, all somehow contained in a single small,

(26:26):
portable shithouse. Nothing unusual these days. As I made my
way back to my car and drove the rest of
the way home, only one thought persisted. I had to
know reality was unraveling around me. Former neighbors were fighting
in the streets for rancid mouthfuls of fish guts. Giant

(26:46):
hamburgers were lighting up the night sky on neon signs
that dwarfed entire buildings. There were things were eating people
from the inside out, and all I wanted was an answer,
even a hint, any lead I could find. I didn't
suspect there anything I could do, and any day now
I could wake up another deluded zombie, another gluttonous slave
to the deep fried maggots, and then the pickled eyeballs.

(27:10):
They could grind me up and serve me at the
buffets for all I cared. I just had to know
where that damn tunnel went, where that brain eating bastard
was really going. I laid awake that night, my mind
racing with images of alien motherships, parallel realities, subterranean cities.

(27:34):
Tomorrow I'm going in either I die knowing one more
piece of the puzzle, or I somehow kicked their gooey
little asses. Who's to say they'll even be prepared for
an intruder if they think they've got us all fooled.
I mean, I don't expect to be some kind of hero,
but so far, so far, I'm the only one I

(28:01):
know who even has a shot at trying. I was
not prepared for what I found in the tunnel that
stretched on for over a mile, on the back of
which should have been the three x three interior of

(28:22):
a porta potty. I'd been led there by a flying brain,
and what I found it still succeeded to surprise me.
It planned to come prepared, but there was ultimately little
that I thought would be useful. A pact of store
bought survival kit ropes, flares and whatnot, and a heavy

(28:45):
metal snow shovel the only weapon I really thought would
accomplish anything. The eggheads only ever responded to bludgeonings, and
even then that only seemed to speed the hatching process.
No way could I have hit one of the brain
lies with a bullet, but in a closed space, I
suppose I could give one a good black. Besides the

(29:07):
fundamentally impossibility of its existence, the tunnel was wholly unremarkable,
a slightly rounded concrete corridor interrupted only by squarish rusted gates.
The distant droning escalated as I progressed, and soon enough
the tunnel gave way to what I suppose I can
describe as a sort of factory floor. I don't know

(29:29):
how long I spent just standing slack jawed, my brain
fumbling over itself to process everything I was seeing. Think
of everything that comes to mind when you hear machinery,
turning cogs, conveyor belts, churning pistons, fans, mechanisms of every
conceivable design, and then some cranking and pumping away in

(29:50):
a space so vast that no floor, ceiling or walls
could be seen in the distant darkness. Now, iagine somebody
threw all that away and hired clowns to remodel fifty
or sixty years of neglect. Later, you might have something
close to the burton Esque hall I'd stumbled upon. Everything

(30:13):
alternated between cold, grimy steel and a sort of candy
Land motif vividly striped plumbing polka dotted duct work. I
jumped as a shower of sparks flew from an immense
robotic arm overhead, its rusted metal casing and tangled red
wiring a stark contrast to its Mickey mouse glove hand.

(30:36):
I found myself retreating a few steps into the tunnel
as it reached out joints groaning with neglect, and pulled
a tremendous lever with a shrinking pink knob, an action
inexplicably punctuated by a sound like a quacking duck. Instantly,
a checkerboard looking conveyor belt squealed to life, issuing force
a procession of what may have been dead pigs, though

(30:58):
I couldn't see their heads or even the ragged stumps
where any may have once been attached. With a ridiculous
slide whistle sound, another huge object rose into view, an angular,
pink and purple funnel the size of a swimming pool.
One by one, the mysterious carcasses tumbled off the belt
and into the huge trumpet, each followed by a tortuous,

(31:20):
rendering sound and a brief but volumeleous geyser of thick
brown blood. The stink was overpowering. Mesmerized by the spectacle
of Willy Wonka's sausage factory, I nearly fell on my
ass as a large object shot over my shoulder brain fly.

(31:40):
It came up through the tunnel behind me and narrowly
dodged my head by a few inches. As my heart
cautiously restarted itself, I filed away the knowledge that I
was still of no obvious concern to the things, even intruding.
As I was into what may have been their headquarters,
or at least saw extension of it, I wasn't sure whether
or not that was really the parasite may have banked

(32:02):
sharply upwards as it left the tunnel, but I could
still hear the distinct fluttering, big membranous wings between the
whirring grinding an occasional goofy honking of the factory. I
craned my head, waiting for the irregular crackling of the
equipment to illuminate the gloom, and soon enough I could
see hundreds thousands of glittering, pinkish shapes passing a good

(32:23):
ten or fifteen stories overhead, all in the same direction.
I followed. A network of catwalks made navigation relatively easy,
and I was usually able to keep sight of the
concrete wall that i'd emerged from. Tunnel entryways were frequent,
brain flies periodically zipping through to join their brothers and
sisters above. Even if I lost my way, I was

(32:44):
confident that another tunnel might empty back into the real world,
and probably in a populated area. They needed bodies, after all,
shuttered not at the thought, But at how casually the
thought had come? I was growing too use to this

(33:05):
uncomfortably comfortable. The Sussian slaughterhouse offered no shortage of grotesque spectacles.
Rivers of meat slush oozed their way along metallic shoots
as wide as city streets. Putrescent corpses bobbing sluggishly in

(33:25):
the current and sometimes against it. Towering circular saws loomed
like macabre ferris wheels, chewing their way through slabs of
solid fresh meat that could have fed whole towns. What
living thing could even have that much flesh on it?
A steady spattering turned out to be a blender the
size of a small house, literally just a scaled up household.

(33:48):
Blender even had a giant sized dial, albeit with only
one labeling setting excite. I suppose you could describe the
endless truckload of live white mice poured into it as excited.
In a sense. I passed bubbling lakes of entrails, fermenting
tanks of gasping fish heads, mountains of broken, bloodied bone,

(34:16):
an endless procession of meat hooks ferried a bizarre menagerie
of carcasses along a tangled railway system. From skin cattle
to things I doubt you would have found in any textbook.
There were insect like forms as big as a man,
tentacled masses dribbling oddly colored eye corn, something I can
only describe as a hairy swordfish. Their cargo was so

(34:40):
twisted it was it was some time before I even
noticed what was wrong with the meat hooks themselves. They
had no wheels, but clung to their rails by metallic
spider like legs, tip tapping along with this blinding speed.
The further I advanced, the louder the wet, slimy flat
of the alien flock. More and more streams were converging

(35:04):
into a single mass migration, their collective wings nearly drowning
out the buzzing, grinding and spattering of the factory. I
still wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I
knew I was getting closer. I had ascended six levels
from my starting point. When I had my first run
in with non brainfly life. My mind almost tried to

(35:26):
brush it off as a rat at first, a tiny
white shape scurrying in my peripheral vision. We both froze,
but I moved in for a closer look. The odd
little being was only a few inches tall. It was pale,
vaguely humanoid. The large, nearly spherical head it reminded me

(35:48):
strongly of one of the eggheads. But but there was
little chance this thing had ever been human. Where there
should have been eyes, there were only a pair of gaping,
bloody looking holes, and its mouth was a simple circular hole.
Its pale, translucent little hands that carried a chunk of
meat that didn't look dangerous, but it could have breathed

(36:14):
fire for all I knew. I cautiously raised my shovel
and took a step back, not wanting to arouse any aggression,
and then a minute of imp jerked into motion. In
an instant, it crammed the meat into one of its
empty eye holes and took a flying leap off the catwalk,
landing with a soft wet splat on a lower level
and scampering off into the darkness. From that point on,

(36:36):
the tiny creatures seemed to be everywhere. I catched them,
watching me from around corners or busily snatching scraps of
food from the conveyor belts. I suppose the rat comparison
wasn't that far off, But if the brain flies flew,
and the little goblin things were only vermin Exactly who
or what had the catwalks been constructed for? I would

(36:59):
get my answer soon enough. Following the airborne river of
winged brains, I was ultimately brought to what seemed at
first to be a steel wall held together with colossal
beams and rivets to either side. It appeared to gradually
curve away the exterior of a roughly circular structure. High

(37:20):
above me, my stream of brain flies were pouring through
a graded porthole one hundred feet wide, gaps just large
enough to accommodate their wingspan. I could make out additional
portholes to my distant left and right, more slimy flocks
streaming in. This had to be it. This was home base,
the mother ship. The catwalk continued through a significantly smaller

(37:41):
porthole into something like a vast stadium, distant electric lights
confirming a circular shape about a mile across its floor,
solid polished concrete well. Its ceiling was obscured by a
torrential storm of living bodies, dozens of brain fly streams

(38:02):
converging into the open roof of a looming concrete tube.
At the center of it all, a good twenty stories
in height, an eerie green glow pouring from the top
of the monolithic tower, like some doorway to another realm,
a wormhole back to whatever obscene universe. The things truly

(38:22):
came from the three dimensional web of suspended pathways encircled
it all, intertwining with a network of immense, grimy pipes.
A semi could have driven through. It was also magnificent,
so horrific. I almost didn't realize I was still moving forward,
my jaw hanging in a dumb fascination. Nor did I

(38:43):
immediately grasp the significance of a metallic sound from behind me.
I sound like a gate being shut. My brain mulled
over the thought for a few more moments before I
wheeled around in a rush of panic. The tunnel had
indeed closed off. The soft roar of the brain fly
tornado was joined by a new sound, not unlike the

(39:03):
bleating of an alarm bell. And then then came the meat.
I had the good sense to start moving as soon
as the nearest gaping pipe began to shudder and gurgle,
trickling a thin stream of red brown slime for a

(39:23):
few moments before finally erupting with a torrent of chunky sludge,
all meat, meat, and meat juice. A few yards away,
another pipe vomited to life. At first, I thought the
intention would be to drown me. I didn't doubt for

(39:43):
a second that there was enough meat in the factory
plumbing to fill this place completely. But it was quickly
apparent that my demise wouldn't be so simple. The meat
seemed to spread out much further than mere gravity would
dictate wherever I ran. It seemed to flow directly towards me,
winding streams like the pseudopods of an enormous amoeba. Not

(40:04):
my imagination. It was the worst case scenario, but at
this point, far from surprising. I'd already seen moving, twitching
things come out of the takeout windows, things that couldn't
possibly have been alive, but wriggled frantically even as they
were being torn apart and devoured the increasingly fatter, greasier

(40:24):
mouths of my neighbors. A chain of green tingling sausages
rose shakily from a nearby heap, like an intoxicated cobra.
I gagged a little, emerging most from the outer edges
of the chamber. The living flesh was forcing me closer
towards the tower, where I would have no choice but
to ascend the catwalks. I was probably going to die
either way, and it was probably going to be hideous.

(40:46):
At least I might be able to sneak a glance
at an alien world on my way out. By the
time I had climbed only three levels, I couldn't see
an empty floor space below me, only a solid lake
of meat rippling with unnatural life, like a pit of deformed,
blood soaked maggots. I could see pieces beginning to climb
after me, questing blindly until it figured out the stairwells,

(41:07):
simply creeping snail like up the side of the tower.
A few managed to catch up with me, or even
cut me off momentarily, but the shovel. The shovel turned
out to be an excellent choice. But I couldn't smash
or sever I heaved over the side something like an
inside out penguin toddled up to my feet on the
fourth level. One good smack and it crunched wetly into

(41:27):
a perfectly comical disc, still wriggling uselessly, a giant heap
of pinkish slime gave me some momentary trouble on the
sixth level, shrugging off one blow after another until I
was stricken by its overwhelming chemical stink and brandished one
of my flares, hoping it might be flammable. As though
it knew exactly what I was thinking of, it retreated

(41:49):
like a snail into a rusted metal drum that it
had lugged around. Though individually pathetic, the meat creatures were
persistent and increasingly bizarre. Somewhere on the eight possibly ninth level,
I turned around to find a big fish head attempting
to sneak up behind me, tiptoeing comically on a pair
of eerily human feminine legs. It froze up when I coughed,

(42:12):
as though realizing too late that I had been watching
it for a good four or five of its exaggerated
sneaking steps. Some fat white bug like a woodlouse, tumbled
out of the fish's mouth, chittering angrily, and fled on
its hind legs before I knocked the fish thing over
the edge. Huh. The further I progressed, the weirder the

(42:34):
things emerging from the factories, plumbing the things that must
have grown and festered far longer. In its lightless metal bowels.
You could barely liken some of them to any animal
or body part. Pustuled yellow tubes looping along like inchworms,
and tentacled black blobs floundered like strangled fish in pools
of their own yellow green secretions. I was waging war

(42:58):
against hot dog scraps from planet X. I was beginning
to get cocky. No matter how horrendous, every meat beast
had an easy weak spot. I was increasingly confident that
I could make it home alive, wondering if perhaps they
he'd only put the world under some sort of hypnotic
spell because there were simply too powerful, too dangerous for

(43:19):
them to defend against. I was beginning to feel like
a hero, after all, like I was living my own
video game. This self important high was cut short on
about the fifteenth level when the first real wrench was
thrown into my hitting things with a shovel strategy. The
thing blocking my path was not made of meat, not
on the outside at least, it appeared to be made

(43:42):
entirely of iron, rugged and nearly black. A torso like
a department store mannequin, stood a top, three jointed knobbly legs,
and a single arm terminated into a pair of jagged tongs,
periodically clacking shut. The oversized head resembled some sort of
huge pot or a boiler, with a pair of cartoonish

(44:06):
painted on eyes. An orange yellow glow could be seen
through as many cracks and vents. I didn't suspect there
was much of a shovel could do against this one,
and neither backed off nor approached. It simply stood there, waiting,
daring me to make a move. I could see a
dense river of meat bodies slurging along the path only
three levels below, making the same slow spiral around the

(44:29):
tower as I was. Fragile or not, there was no
way I could keep their numbers at bay forever. I
wondered if I'd be taken alive. A dozen images flashed
through my mind. The eggheads, the things I'd seen here,
things I'd seen in peed up propaganda videos. Any one
of them could be my fate. Let's just talk about this, soney, mom.

(44:54):
The voice snapped me back to reality. If you could
call this a reality. It came from in front of me,
from the robot cook or whatever it was. What it
spoke again, it doesn't have to be this way, Missy George.
Besides its mangled grasp of pronouns, it spoke English with

(45:15):
remarkable clarity. Its voice was soft and feminine, with just
a slight metallic quality. I'm sorry, was all I could manage,
still dazed. We can put you right back where you belong,
little thing in doc. We can even fix you up
like the rest. You'll never know. I know exactly what

(45:40):
it was talking about, the brainwashing. As far as I knew,
I was making first contact with a non human intelligence,
and I had a billion questions about what they were
doing to us, where they came from, what else was
out there in the universe or the multiverse or whatever
we might be living in. Only one thing actually came

(46:01):
to mind, Fuck yourselves. It sighed a hollow, metallic sigh,
a little smoke escaping from its face. Vent It seemed
to sink a little at my response, If that's how

(46:22):
you want it, what's your muzl? It rose threateningly on
its three legs, and I realized what it reminded me of.
It was a barbecue grill. In the blink of an eye,
its clawed arms shot out and clamped around the handle
of my precious shovel, effortlessly tearing it from my grip
and dropping it to the walkway. Fuck. It shot out again,

(46:42):
and this time got me by the neck. It slammed
me to the ground, taking apparent care not to choke
me just yet, but at least cause considerable pain. Its
legs clanged noisily as if positioned itself directly over me,
and planted its metal ass directly onto my stomach, pitting
me down. Even tighter lines of black grease began to
roll down the thing's artificial face, sizzling furiously. I screamed

(47:06):
weakly through the creature's grasp with a single tiny droplet,
and met the exposed skin in my arm. It felt
like being branded. The monster giggledee he he he he.
It spoke out the laughter like it was reading it
from a bad script. If its eyes had been real,
it would have been looking directly into mind, and if
it had lips, I'm sure they would have been smiling.

(47:27):
It bent backwards, the grease now cascading in a thick curtain,
threatening any moment to start raining in hissing streams onto
my exposed face. The claw around my neck tight and
finally pinching shut my airways. It was going to burn
my eyes out while it strangled me to death. I
let go of the thing's armed to shield my face
as best I could, wishing I had the foresight to
be wearing heavier gray gloves. As I awaited the torrent

(47:50):
of boiling grease, the things giggling, reaching a fever pitch.

Speaker 2 (47:54):
He he he he he ha ha ha he he
he who it stopped. The grease didn't come removing my hands.
I saw the monsters had now turned away from me.
You it shrieked.

Speaker 1 (48:14):
They couldn't tell what it was looking at until it
unexpectedly loosens its grip around my neck and lurch to
its feet. They could see small white shapes out of
the corner of my eye. Trouse, Grouse, Trouse. It wailed
like a child as the rubbery hobgoblin scrambled up its
metal body like boneless gecko lizards. It started to tumble about,

(48:34):
trying its best to pick off the teeming pests with
a single arm, but they slipped through the claws like jelly.
I wasn't sure how long it would be distracted, and
I dove from my shovel before teetering painfully to my feet.
I could see the swelling legion of meat just one
level below. Vile things, Vile They're in my vents. I
was almost too fascinated to act. The hobgoblins had pried

(48:56):
the lid off that rusty grill head, exposing an oily
black and little form underneath. It was too tangled and
burnt to make out, but I could see various limbs
waving frantically to keep the gremlin things at bay. I
raised the shovel, prepared to strike all at once. The
little creatures snapped their heads in my direction and dropped
like flies from the metal being, falling to the path
and scattering out of sight. The girl face too, turned

(49:18):
towards me. Thank you, you have no idea what. I
let out a berserker howl as I brought down the
shovel squarely on that black, twitching body, splattering it with
a wet crunch and a deafening bang against the white
hot grill it rested upon. The metal construct stood still
and silent for several agonizing moments before it finally began

(49:42):
to pitch backwards, creaking like a rusty door, before banging
to the ground. Dead or sleep or whatever the shit
I just did. I prodded it a few times before
cautiously stepping around it and continuing up. Something didn't want
me to reach the top, and I felt pretty good

(50:05):
about that. The rest of my climb was relatively uneventful,
broken only by the odd a hot dog, squid or
scuttling pork rib. It was a full twenty three flights
up that I was at last roughly level with the
top of the tower. The walkway branched around it in
a perfectly wall to wall spider web. Up close, the

(50:26):
sight of the brain fly was more awesome and more
hideous than I could have imagined. Bathed in the alien light,
the roaring funnel of unearthly life was almost too beautiful
to have burst its way from former human skulls. The
death toll they represented must have been staggering. That terrible

(50:48):
beauty rather harshly clasped with a figure standing a few
yards ahead on a raised rectangular platform, back turned towards
me as I overlooked the tower and appeared to fidget
with a large control console. I blinked hard, trying to
register its strangely familiar shape. It had no apparent head

(51:09):
or neck. Its body only a broad, rounded mass like
a squashed barrel. A pair of dark, mushy limbs extended
from its sides. A white object bubbled around on its
upper surface. I I didn't want to accept what I
was looking at. It was too much. Even now, it

(51:32):
was just it was just fucking stupid. It was a
hamburger in a chef's hat, like the logo. If I
could sneak up on it, I could plunge my mighty
blade straight down into its big stupid breadheads. There was

(51:53):
no way it could hear me coming above the teeming bugs.
I took my first, light, cautious step. It whirled around
and fuck for a long time, we just stared at
one another, the rancid looking beast regarding me with bulging,
bloodshot eyes the size of soccer balls, oozing and twitching
as it looked me up and down. I didn't know

(52:16):
what else to do, what was going to finally break
the staring contest. I lowered my shovel and raised a
hand in greeting hello. The molder sandwich stood still for
a few moments before those slimy eyeballs rolled to their

(52:37):
lidless sockets as if I just said or done something
even more ridiculous than the thing's very existence. I almost
began stammering a follow up statement when one of its
appendages suddenly reached for a huge, bright red switch on
its console and nonchalantly pressed it. It raised one sludgy
beef hand gave a sort of two lou finger wave

(52:58):
as its entire platform abruptly plunged through the floor and
disappeared out of sight. The elevator shaft sealed off behind it.
Moments later, the catwalks began to flood with activity. From
somewhere on the opposite side of that glowing flying brain
tornado came Dozens of new shapes meat beings were pouring

(53:20):
from some unseen new opening, already looking larger and meaner
than any of the oozing rejects I'd been mowing down.
I didn't suppose my little gremlin friends were waiting nearby
with any flame throwers. The first thing to reach me
was a squiggly, bare sized yellow mass of soft tangled
limbs rolling along at a seemingly abnormal speed. It looked

(53:40):
almost like an octopus until a long neck snaked out
from its wardy folds, snapping at me with an orange beak,
a giant, boneless chicken. Why was this my life? With
a surge of contemptuous bloodluss, I hacked mercilessly into the
abominable thing, long after it had ceased moving, only for
something else to whistle just over my head. I spun

(54:02):
around and the shredded remains of an octo bird, coming
face to featureless doll crotch with a pair of skinned
legs six feet high and fused at the hip. I
staggered back, foolishly, slipping into the scattered chicken guts and
landing flat on my back. The legs terminated in needle
sharp lances of bone. Precariously balanced on the metal mesh

(54:23):
of the walkway. They raised one wicked lance into the air, again,
aiming straight for my eyes. And it was a miracle.
I put the shovel between us quickly enough. The legs
seemed to momentarily vanish with the speed of its strike.
It took a moment to regain its balance as it
bounced off the shovel, the thin tip of its bone
holding up distressingly well. I barely managed to sit up

(54:43):
right as it took a stab for my heart. I
scrambled to my feet just in time to deflect a
third strike. Enraged, I swung the shovel like a barbarian's axe,
and the legs toppled While they flailed over the guardrails,
I could swear to God I heard them utter a soft,
high pitched oh. Another direction came a throbbing heart, the
size of a small car, ambling along on its branching

(55:05):
veins and equally gigantic steak knife for shooting from its
center like a metallic snout. It reared back, raising itself
a full eight feet on its tendrils, and led out
a high pitched rat like squeak. Nope, no, no no.
I attempted to flee down another branch of the metal web,
but my horse was soon interrupted by a clattering, scarecrow
like assemblage of bone shards and flimsy sinew, chattering its

(55:28):
many fractured dog like skulls as it swung a large
sawtooth jawbone at my stomach. I struck back with my
own weapon, its skulls splintering even further beyond recognition. My
adrenaline was surging, as single minded as the gore faced
hordes themselves. I demolished one twisted child of Satan's deli
after another. I toppled shuffling gulloms of pork scraps, wailing

(55:51):
ghouls of dripping lard, a serpentine mass of fused chicken feet,
and even that giant squeaking heart, its arteries dousing me
with guyss of hot blood as it throbbing at last subsided.
I was almost disappointed by how easy it had all been.
I shouldn't have been. As I stood in a puddle
of mashed viscera, blood and who knows what else streaming

(56:12):
off my face, I heard mysterious clangs echoed through the
vast space, and felt the walkway shutter under my feet.
It was followed by another clang, the shaking intensified clang.
It reminded me rather uncomfortably of huge, heavy footsteps on
the grating floor. Two guesses what it was? Come on,

(56:35):
I dare you. As the stomping grew louder and even larger,
figure emerged from the other side of the flying brain tornado,
a shape looming fifteen feet tall and the dim flickering
green light like the pressure cooker, bitch or whatever that was.
It had a largely metallic appearance, though at the same
time strangely organic. Its spindley, nearly skeletal body didn't seem

(57:00):
like it should have been heavy enough to rattle the
floor so violently, its long bony feet terminating in thin
swordlike talons. Most of its weight was likely concentrated in
its head, immediately recognizable as the shape of a sausage grinder,
slowly wavering with each laborous step. A pair of slimy
eyeballs like the burger man, stared down at me from

(57:22):
one side of this huge contraption, and where there should
have been a handle was only a black, skeletal arm
ending in another, one of those white cartoon gloves. Its
worst characteristic, by far, was the way it breathed, a hallow,
metallic wheeze of increasing speed and intensity, the pant of

(57:43):
some starving dog who just caught with fresh roadkill. It
stepped effortlessly from one catwalk to another, like a spider,
climbing in slow motion along the strands of its web,
and as it drew closer, something unimaginably worse began to happen.
The meat, all the meat I had just slaughtered. For
at least its second time, was beginning to move once more,

(58:06):
as one the mutated horrors around me began to writhe, stumble,
and drag themselves towards the grinder. Had giant whose single
arms shot out the moment one groping, rolling pile of
giblets came within its impressive reach. It lifted the shiny,
sticky mass up to the filth, cacked funnel on the
top of its grinder ahead, and dropped it straight in.

(58:27):
It continued to stomp its way in my general direction,
scooping up more monsters and dumping them into its upper
orifice until they were nearly spilling over the side, a
churning bathtub full of flesh and innards. The thing was slow,
but as I ran from one end of the spider's
web to the next, I found every possible exit sealed tight,
and by now the meat rising from below had almost

(58:50):
reached my level. There was no way out. There was
nothing to fight. I could only keep running. I turned
to look back at the grinder, being still ponderously but
relentlessly pursuing me in a straight line. As I was
forced to zigzag, it snatched up the last straggling monster,
and some sort of spider legged white pod resembling nothing

(59:10):
I really recognized, and dumped it in with the rest
without slowing down. The monster clenched its now blood soaked
glove and began spinning its entire arm and its socket
around and around the ratchet like noise, the collected mutants
churning and twisting as they were sucked deeper into the grinder.
I turned to continue running, but made it only a

(59:31):
few more yards before a sickening, flatulent, sputtering sound echoed
through the chamber, and something thick, warm and wet slammed
hard into my back. The catwalk dropped away as I
was swung through the air and brought to face the
grinder man's unblinking gaze. I was being held tight in

(59:51):
an enormous, pulpy, pink hand, wavering on the end of
a tenticular limb composed entirely of raw ground me. It
had formed a limb from every walking nightmare. It spent
the last of my energy putting down and flung it
like a lizard's tongue with pinpoint precision, instantly subduing me
from a good twenty meters away. I squirmed and thrashed desperately,

(01:00:15):
but only felt further mired in the dense, tarry muck,
the crank arm continued to twist, and more squirming noodles
of processed tissue slithered along the length of its makeshift appendage,
cocooning me in more layers of raw flesh. I was
reminded yet again of a spider. As I sank deeper
into that stinking, sloppy mire, I suddenly found myself transfixed

(01:00:39):
by what was directly behind the metallic giant. I could
see into the tower, into the vortex, down into where
those wretched alien brain hatchers were all going in such
a hurry. At first, I was confused the significance of
what I was seeing, almost didn't want to register. Bitter,

(01:01:01):
rancid meat juices were beginning to flood my mouth. Tendrils
of beef sludge were probing it my eyes and nose.
My world was going black. I was being smothered to death,
but on the inside, on the inside, I couldn't stop laughing.

(01:01:23):
I awoke the following morning on the floor of my
own house alive. My body was caked in meat gunk,
my clothes sticky with blood. Not a dream, but little
must have been in my stomach promptly emptied itself onto

(01:01:43):
the carpet. I guess I'd be tearing those up soon,
if there was any real point. I staggered into the shower,
my mind racing with all I'd seen in the meat factory.

(01:02:04):
They had apparently neither wished to kill me nor erase
my memories. I guess they knew as well as I
did that there was nothing I could do to them.
After all, if cattle couldn't do much to change their fate,

(01:02:25):
what hope could there be for the cattle fed. I
tried to get a fountain coke at the seven eleven.
Some sort of pinkish gunk coiled out like soft serves,
smelling like hot bloony. I cut open what I thought

(01:02:48):
was a watermelony. Inside was a lot like brain. I
wrapped an almond joy and got nothing but a length
of bone filled with a clear yellow mush. I put
money into a coke machine, so the bottle tumbled at
the bottom. I reached through the door, and all I

(01:03:09):
pulled back was a heart, still beating. I hurled it
to the pavement and stomped it into nothing but a red,
sticky stain. I came home starving, not even surprised by
the flock of chickens hobbling around my front lawn. Plucked
and headless, I staggered to my kitchen and cracked into

(01:03:30):
another box of cereal from my dwindling stash cat food
stink cartoon, Hamburger. The words superior food matter had replaced
frosted flakes. Tony the Tiger was now a grainy photograph
of a bobcat. A box of lucky charms, said, added

(01:03:52):
tissue rind above some shitty jpeg stockhart of a no
body leprechaun. The cheerios had become organ part all fluids.
The rest of the box was dominated by a close
up of a clammy gray intestines. I rummaged through the
whole supply in a day's red blood Materials, marvelous food nugget.
None of this was there when I bought it. I

(01:04:15):
didn't bring home anything with a single letter out of whack.
The last box used to be cocoa puffs, my favorite,
Fred Flintstone, still looking like Fred Flintstone, just far too real.
I could see every pore on his lifelike fleshy nose.
This is now apparently a box of flavored meat substance, whatever,

(01:04:37):
what the fuck ever. I ate it. I ate it,
and it was goddamn delicious. So was the mysterious can
of your sick flavored meat pasties waiting for me on

(01:05:01):
my coffee table. So was the cup of what looked,
smelled and tasted like liquid bacon straight from my own tap.
The black thing in the refrigerator was as sweet as
maple ham, even if it looked like the bastard child
of a caterpillar and a starfish. Best thing, by far
was the steak, the huge, red, juicy steak ready for

(01:05:25):
me in the seat of my car. It wasn't even
the flavor. It wasn't the flavor that made it so good.
It was the screaming Hey, did you like that creepy

(01:05:45):
pasta story that you heard?

Speaker 2 (01:05:46):
That?

Speaker 1 (01:05:46):
I I bet you did because you stuck around to
hear the outro. So if you want to find more
creaky pasta stories like this, check out the links in
the description now below. It leads you over to the
Creepy Pasta Collection Volume one and Volume two. Volume one
and Volume two also have a bunch of stories from
some of the best authors I've worked with in the past.
Fifteen years, which I think is pretty high praising as
this link. What four thousand stories, That's right, four thousand stories.
Subscribe you'll you'll see them. But yes, two books available

(01:06:08):
Amazon linked down below. Check them out. Also, I want
to give a huge thank you to everybody on this
list of patreons. Some of these amazing folks are Diana Kraus,
Acid System, Blake Rattler, Brandon Mendoza, Redda Crow, tw Tuna
Chicago hit Man, Corey Knsher Crusader, Jocobo, Dakota Best, Daniel Pulsen,
Dan taking Kaid Enchanted Buns. That's to Bean Haadie's nephew Himbo,
Jerry how a Minute, Second Time, Inger Girt Salstrom, Jay Curns, Jettis,
Pat mcmode, Mister Marcus Splitz, Psychomel Plant Pis, Red Shadow Cat,

(01:06:28):
Remember the Sun, Salty Surprise, Samara Len Seclude, Simbas, Buddy
Mojo Sky, Harbert Smiley, The Psychotic Sully Man, Tolly Sue,
Team LAO seventy six, The Demented Voice in your Head,
The Chavez Brothers, The Jigger Brs, Tommy Walters, Vice, Roy Scorn,
William Wellington. You're bro Keegan zubub and Shadow Gardens. A
huge thank you to you guys, everybody who shows up
in the description down below, and as always, folks, sweet dreams.