I feel warm.
Not in the way that most people do, like when they feel happy when they've had their first child, or when they're snuggled up onto the couch with mounds of blankets, or when someone has won the lottery. Not with happiness, but with shame. Shame, for not seeing it coming. Shame, for not getting out of the way in time. Shame, because I didn't mean to. Let me explain.
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I've always had an obsession with the internet. It always, well, clicked, you know? Every day, since my gracious parents gave me my first computer, I have spent my time browsing the various articles and pages which were posted each day of each week of each month. It ranged from the funniest videos, to the disappointing media, to the interesting advice; and that, is why I love memes.
Memes are, to any other person, a joke or a laughing point, or a comedic jump to a bait-and-switch troll. But to me? They were special.
Every day, I would browse the various sites such as YouTube and TikTok and Twitter, looking for new material to add to my collection, no matter how dated or recent it was. Perhaps you have never heard of that, to which I understand. It's alright, no worries. It was the same routine, always and always, round the clock. I was looking forward to it all, yet, over time, it felt... what's the word... empty? Yes, empty. It felt empty after a while, because nothing was happening. Nothing new, nothing exciting; just the same old skits, rebranded into a different format. Then, I had my fabled revelation, but, I swear, I didn't mean to. This wasn't my fault.
Okay, still listening? Good. It's to my next point:
People.
People are a beautiful work of nature, bumbling and stumbling through life with the only way they know how to. For a while I used to think people were quite boring and irritating, not quite worth my time due to their noise and clucking. But, then, I had my revelation. What if people are actually fun? Maybe if they aren't, I can spice it a bit? That'll really get it going, y'know? Grinding my gears? Eh, well, anyway. I've never been popular with people, but in the end, they all succumbed to me. My life has been a tad boring, and I've tried everything to diversify. From fishing, to painting, to starseeing and going out to dinner. But, then it got boring, so I discovered internet trolling. You see, trolling is a beautiful thing. It is a tool of both pleasure and pain, like any person who has been online for more than a year can tell you. Some say it's annoying, others say it is pleasurable. But me? I think it is beyond pleasure, because it allowed me to unlock parts of myself I didn't know I had.
I lurked on forums and online chatrooms, looking for people to play with. It was funny, you see? Watching them squabble and squirm at the first touch, it was delectible to even listen to their cries of anger and annoyance. Such a delicacy, can be served cold, hot, warm, or at any time. But, in the end, I got bored of that too. So I started going further, saying the more damning, scary stuff. Going farther beyond any reaches of sanity, but I still kept on sprinting forward, in the hopes of that one reaction to spark it, the one tiny sliver of attention to start a forest fire. I was banned many times, from many places. Yet, I got bored of that too, as did they; it just wasn't real, y'know?
I began to do it in real life, first practicing it on plants. The plants didn't respond when I did anything, but when I started to pull them apart, they started to fray at the edges. So, that gave me basis on the pain needed to inflict and spark this attention. In that, I moved on to insects. Insects were small, but I caught them before they could run away so I could use them. In this, I began to poke them, or make sudden movements, and it did work for a while; but, then it didn't. And I figured I had to crank up the volume, so to speak. In turn, I began my work, from squeezing legs and parts, to puncturing the body, to pulling appendages off the creatures. Stupid insects, you made me do it.
I moved to animals next, and, hear me out, it was more fun than the insects or plants. I caught some mice which were hiding under organic debris or running around, saving approximately seven mice, and each naming them accordingly based on the order of capture, so I began to experiment with them. First, I shook Mouse 1 in my clenched fist, to see if he would give a reaction. He didn't, as me shaking him caused his bones to snap from the force and pressure, so I threw Mouse 1 into a little hole I dug beforehand. Wait, before I go on, I have to reiterate that I was doing this at the bottom of my garden. People would have heard the squeals, otherwise, and then there would be a call, and all that malarkey. Anyway, as I was saying, I threw Mouse 1 into the hole. I turned Mouse 2's limbs the other way, and she began to squeal in pain. The sound delighted me, but I admit I was too overzealous in this, as I bent it too far too quickly, with too much force. So, Mouse 2 died from shock after I broke her arm on accident, so I realised that I needed to apply just the right amount of pressure. But, of course, there were mistrials. Errors. Mistakes.
Mouse 3 died from complications after I squeezed his legs too hard, Mouse 4 and 5 killed each other because I put them face to face and they clawed each other to pieces, and Mouse 6? We don't talk about her. Mouse 7 was the final result, and yet, she died from head trauma after I swung her into a rock to maximise the agony inflicted. All of my test subjects, dead. So, instead of giving up, I began seeking bigger fish to fry. From squirrels, to feral cats, to even my neighbour's dog. Of course, she began asking around after a few days, but, I played it off. Said I heard and saw nothing. And, the funny thing is, as she went back inside after asking me, I went back to the garden for another night of experimentation with her dog.
His name was Samuel, and he truly was the perfect subject. A larger-than-life Golden Retriever. Sure, the mice were okay, and the feral cats yielded their reactions when I pulled and tore at them, but this? It was so much more special. Those stupid things didn't have any name, any attention. But Samuel? He had a name, he was recognized with some standing in the community. He was perfect, so he was now my guinea pig, or dog? Haha.
Anyway, I began with the first test. I went with precautions, because there was only one Samuel, and not 300 of him, so I had to proceed carefully with everything. My first step, was that I began trying to scare him, but after a while of jumping out at him, it didn't work. I also began to realise that his howls and whines were drawing the wrong kind of attention, so I, regrettably, moved my work into the house, into my own little lab. I suppose it's always a cliche to move into the basement, yet I did exactly that. It worked, I suppose, so I'll give it that. I helped Samuel move in by starving him for a few days, and then mixing sleeping pills crushed into powder, into his dog food bowl. Then, he was easier to transport. And, over the course of two weeks, with a calendar on the wall beside my equipment, I ticked off the days to expiry.
Days 1-8:
I began by tying his left foot with string, and observing from a distance when it pulled him in whichever direction I pleased. I got bored of that too, so I increased the frequency of pulls. Afterwards, I went through electrocution, slicing the skin open, shaving fur off, pinching or removing body parts, exposure to acid, but none of those entertained me, and he recovered from all of those, somehow. Sure, he whined, but he was some sort of superdog. However, I had my solution when, on Day 9 of the second week, I was browsing the internet for memes when it finally hit me: memes.
How could I have been so blind?
So with this, I found a suitable meme: "What the dog doin?"
So, on Days 9-10, I prepared what was my most amazing experiment yet. I have seen those gore videos with a funny sound effect overlaid on them on sites like Discord and Twitter, and I planned to do something similar. So, I cleaned up, and went out to the shops to buy some recording equipment. I wanted it to be as high-production as possible, so everyone could be annoyed and angry at it. It was my dream as a certified troll. To boot, I renewed my gun license and bought a double-barrelled 12 Gauge Shotgun, along with some shells, and a Glock 22 pistol for good measure.
And on Day 11, it was done.
My footage consisted of the "What the dog doin?" voice sound effect looping over and over again, as Samuel struggled against the shotgun maw I had shoved down his throat, as he choked and gurgled. After a solid minute, a gloved hand (my hand) crept over the trigger, and blew dear old Sammy's body to little bloody pieces. It was more like a water balloon exploding, than anything else. And, it was fun. Really fun. I giggled after turning it off, it was perfect. But since Samuel was now gone and dead, I forgot that he was my only subject at that time. So I did the usual cleaning, removing the stains and the smell after finishing the recording, bleaching the floor as always. Cleaned up the remains and put them into a hole which I later filled in, placing a little apple seed into the mound, so my little tree could grow big and strong from the gift I gave it down below.
On Day 12, I made bigger plans. Plans to expand. And over the years, I managed to do that. But let's skip to the good parts, shall we? Wouldn't want to bore you, Constable. Anyways, after I secured my career at a charity, gotten a partner, and generally built a good, respectable image around me and my success and personality, I could now use the mask for my own little games. Each person who "participated" in my videos was following a theme of my choosing, all of them memes, yet all of them had a sinister twist to them. Yet, I preferred to randomise a little. Every 6 months, on a randomly-generated date of 1-how many days that month has, I picked someone through a name wheel which I had compiled in that time and place. If someone died, or left, they were removed from the list of names used in the wheel. So, with that in mind, it was funny to see them squirm. Didn't matter if they were colleagues, friends, enemies, lovers, or even complete strangers. They were ALL included in my games, but you spoiled that, Constable. You spoiled my fun. And now, to outline the first three, before your demise comes, your friends burst through the door, and my collection of diverse jokes is finally complete.
The first person was called Dennis. He was an everyday hard-working man, looked out for his family, and enjoyed the country life of a rich snob with money to burn. Yet he was gullible and idiotic, listened to all the evangelist tv programs, donated every day to an adoption home for lost and abandoned pets, and rejected all forms of interaction digitally unless he could talk on news broadcasts in which he would rant on how much technology is driving people apart. Oh, the irony. Anyway, I charmed Dennis into the suggestion that I would host a meeting with some of the most reverred and idolised preachers around the world. He didn't believe me at first, but I showed him a photoshopped photo of me with one of his favourites, and the little pig's eyes lit up with glee. He put on his suit, and waltzed over to my home, pathetically unaware of what he was walking into. I showed him around, then said that we were to host in my recording room, which was in the basement. He began to have second thoughts, but, I reassured him, saying that this isn't a serial killer house, don't worry. It's just that the plumbing issues haven't been so great in the house, so it's much quieter downstairs, I said to his stupid face.
Dennis looked round, then his expression of doubt cleared and he confidently went downstairs. I told him to wait there, and I shouted down there that he might catch a bad whiff of something dead, due to my cat leaving a rodent it caught. He looked up at me and nodded, before turning back to the darkness of the bottom floor. As he entered, I quickly came up behind him and stabbed him in the neck with a needle I filled with a special neurotoxin called Tetrodotoxin, which causes paralysis and death within a few minutes. Right as I did it, I locked the door of the basement, flicked on the lights, switched on my camera, and began shouting yo mama jokes at him. Dennis was confused, but then began convulsing due to the neurotoxin reaching his muscles, and quickly collapsed as I mockingly shouted joke after joke at him. Blood spew from his mouth and nostrils as he struggled to breathe, but he finally succumbed in the last 30 seconds after I relentlessly roared with laughter at him. I watched the life leave his eyes... ooohh it was so fucking exhilarating.
The second and third one are pretty boring, actually, so I'll skip to your demise, Constable. Considering the meme "deez nuts", how about we make it fun for all of us, no? Here's the game:
This is a survival game, so if you win this, you can go free. If you don't, you have to suffer for the camera. So listen up, buckeroo. The game is about saying as many jokes and lines in a certain amount of time, all involving "deez nuts" jokes. Each second, I pleasure your genitals in various ways, and you have to read all the jokes on a sheet of paper, out-loud, without being distracted a single time. If you get distracted, I punish you in relation to the joke you stopped on when you were distracted. For example, if you stop on the line of "You be goblin' deez nuts," then I will go down and begin to chew your testicles, either with my teeth or with a machine clamping down hard. You got that? The girls didn't last long in general when I used a sharp, splintery branch in there, they screamed until they couldn't scream. But, it felt boring, so I moved onto you. So, it really begs the question, Constable.
I didn't mean to. But, did you mean to?
3, 2, 1, 0.
OFF WE GO!!!
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