If you watched the video, you know the first two winners of Krumbine's Epic Comment Contest are Lupine and Spazzy. Sam and I will reveal the third winning epic comment by week's end. In the meantime, enjoy Spazzy's and Lupy's comments after the break (and be sure to show their respective YouTube channels some love!)
WARNING: Lupine's entry gets graphic. If you're easily offended, skip it and just take my word on it's epicness.
Epic? He send her the link, throws the challenge down so to speak, as if somehow he expects The McSpazatron (yes, she's so epic even the "the" gets capitalisation) could deliver anything less.
Obviously he's expecting something or perhaps even someone to out-epic her. Someone with a few less brain chunks and a little more awesomesauce. She's take aback by his expectations or, rather, the expectations she's forced upon him due to her objectional definition of the phrase "creative license"
Someone with more awesomesauce then The McSpazatron? Could such a person truly exist and was this, in all honesty, a competition or a blind date? Though she'd never admit as much she's secretly hoping it's the latter.
She's also craving a cheeseburger something terrible and so, in the end, as the sun sets over the horizon The McSpazatron can be seen driving towards the magestic golden arches she worshipped as a child ready to astound the public with what is, without a doubt, her most notable acheivement...
(But not before typing up the ever-so-irritating "first" in the comment section of some random fuckbucket's first video just for the lulz...karma's a bitch.)
The McSpazatron, signed out
-insert random transformer's noise her for additional epicness-
The Darksider Inn:
It was just another night at Darksider Inn in the outskirts of the favela. The decrepit, squalid hut of a bar was as perfect as the night it was started. The number of lamps were kept to a minimum to ensure that all the luminosity had a purely functional significance, i.e to see the way to the bathroom and back. The decapitated body of Michael Jackson, which had already decayed while he was alive to a saturation point, was propped up next to one of them, with the embalmed pelvic area of Farrah Fawcett placed on top of it, ass forward. Blood and beer mixed on the wall to provide the peculiar aroma that spelt only one thing to the regulars of the Inn - home. Two of these regulars were there that night : Tripp, the AngloBaptist, who jotted down his thoughts on grace on a spit stained, cum drenched napkin and wondered why he wasn't closer to God after all this time. In a far darker corner of the room sat Ibrahim, drinking his home brought goat milk, while solving the word puzzle in the paper. The entertainment as per usual was provided by The Starving Soprano, whose sugary voice sang classics by Metallica, Staind, Butthole Surfers, SOAD and Tool, among others. Baby Smith was there, ukulele at hand, to play when Soprano decided it was time. Indeed, as has been brought up many times, the ukulele isn't as dark an instrument as it appears. Such people have not smelt Baby Smith's ukulele to even have an idea as to where it has been. That's because few have even dealt with it, let alone smelt it, and lived to tell the tale. And finally, as with every bar, there was a bartender. Standing behind the counter, meant merely to hide the fact that he wore nothing from the waist down, was Sabino, Depointless de Mariachi, whose priapistic bottle opener of a penis had made him a star attraction at the bar for some time. And there were the key words: for some time. The bar was not what it used to be. When the town of ALEXia had fallen, like all great towns do, one man had a dream to build his empire out of the ruins of this mini empire. That man was Jordan Krumbine. Sitting near the entrance, he was observing his dreams crash down before his eyes with each passing day. There was a time where he planned on building an empire that would rival that of the Nerdfighters in the neighbouring city. Indeed, that empire was heading towards capturing the city itself. But the darksider empire had not materialized, the Apocalyptic wars did not take place.. perhaps only, since they were so small that the Nerdfighters couldn't even take notice. They were not even a flea on the Great Dane of the Nerdfighters. And why? Why had this been the case? As was the case on planet YouTubus, all empires began with bars, and what Krumbine did not consider was that the world was filled with power hungry people. Ergo, with there being so many bars in the region, there was nothing that made his stand up in the crowd. The boobs of the deviant Misspacman08 did little to elevate the static status of the bar, and Satan knows she couldn't be trusted with furthering the cause. She was a heartbeat away from starting her own bar! And then there was the vain, dramaphile Victor, who despite all that time had gifted him, was a curse unto himself, a plague to society and a cancer in general. In other words, he was perfect, but useless in furthering the cause past a certain point. Something was required other than sperm drizzled beer foam caused by a man popping bottles with his penis to miscellaneous porn all day. Something more was required than music being provided by a woman who sang like a 15 year old girl but whose boobs bounced like a 35 year old cougar, accompanied by a cutesy, artistic ukulele player with a dark history. Something more was required, an edge was needed.
At that moment of contemplation, in walked another regular, carrying around a handful of freshly shot black swans. He was Obsquatch, a bar veteran unlike any other. So many bars had he visited, that he knew the game better than his own perineum. Cackling like a maniacal fucker, he sat next to his friend Tripp and said he was free of bars as he had just discovered something miraculous. Tripp, eyebrow raised, thighs cocked and balls flopped asked sarcastically whilst crossing his arms and legs "Can you turn water into wine my Lord?", before scratching his bellybutton through his silk bathrobe. Obsquatch smiled even wider, had a blue vein pop on his forehead and said "I think I can!". Tripp thinking this to be another joke on him on account of his religious affiliation, began to pay more attention to his earlier activity. The converse was true of the other regular, Ibrahim, who was now noticing the closest lamp with the corner of his eye, and was deeply interested in Obsquatch's every move. Obsquatch took his shirt off, and Ibrahim followed suit with his pants.
Squatch began to mark circles around his carmine nipples,with bubbles beginning to form and pop from them at the rate of the angular frequency he had set up to titillate his nipples. Emily began to drool a bit at the sight of the nippular bubbles, or perhaps it was due to her own circular motion about her nub, which she had begun no sooner after Ibrahim had taken his pants off. Here too was another case in Nature where cause and effect was not too clear. Obsquatch's nipples released their first drop and he exclaimed "It's ready!" Grabbing two mugs from the counter beside a dumbfounded Depointless, he smacked them into his chest; the established suction held them in place over his two mancakes. Then, he simply bent forward and had the glasses hover lightly over the table. A completely nude Ibrahim covered with a bit of goat milk, a saliva drenched pantyless Emily, a curious Depointless and a bicurious Krumbine watched along with a trembling Tripp Hudgins, as a golden frothy liquid began to flow heartily from the nipples of the Squatch into the mugs. Ibrahim on seeing this muttered : "I am become death. The destroyer of worlds" , wore his solar eclipse goggles and pulled out a pack of jordoms from his jacket pocket. Baby Smith began to do questionable things to the preserved, cancerous anus of Farrah Fawcett. Emily's right hand had nearly disappeared into her vagina through a mechanism that goes beyond what modern biology can account for, while she maintained the form of an agitated pretzel. By this point, she was covered in many more bodily fluids. Depointless' prostate had gone haywire, and he was ejaculating unceasingly, with increasing frequency, without any external perceptible sexual stimulation. Obsquatch's activities had activated a dormant region in his brain that had been formed by generations of horny depointlii, the meta rodent part of his brain, just beside the hip shaped cerebral campus of the basal ganglia. Why he was spinning though, remains a mystery. Krumbine's masculine and feminine parts were both going wild, resulting in him orgasming like a 17 yr old girl from Moldova losing her virginity to a 35 year old Arab, while playing with his ding dong and ping pongs through his pant pockets.
As he performed this undulatory motion, he wondered about the power of this gigantic pale man, who had turned his bar into a brothel, and without question could turn a planar barn into a lupanar. He did not ooze sexuality, but just seeing him ooze caused people to fuck themselves silly. His eyes wandered around his bar. He witnessing Ibrahim having protected sex with an active lamp, Emily rolling on the ground in her pretzeline form, Baby Smith violating the anus of Farrah Fawcett with her ukulele while licking her decaying vagina and a trembling AngloBaptist looking desperately for his cross. Then, a POP was heard. The mugs had dropped onto to the table, filled nearly to the brim. The golden foam interacted with the poor light from the lamp that had fallen to the floor, continuing to be violated by Ibrahim, to bring the night sky into the bar itself. Golden stars were all over the thatched roof, moving with the rolling motion of the violated lamp on the bar floor. Tripp had witnessed something that seemed to transcend his divine notion of Grace. Not even Jesus could do what he had seen. Had the man consumed so much alcohol in his time that he became a factory of it himself? Was THIS the one true religion, he thought, to drink until a state of nirvana is reached whereby you can make your own alcohol? And if he could squeeze out booze with his nipples, could he shit out pork as well? Tripp was a bright man, and none of this escaped him, unlike the others in the bar who were merely captivated by the superficial display of suction, fluids and moaning sounds from the pale redwood tree. Obsquatch by this time had consumed his mug and insisted that Tripp try his.
"This is the most awesome beverage on the face of the Earth MAN", he said enthusiastically, "Fuck, I'm gonna be rich!!"
Krumbine heard this last part. He took his moist sticky hands out of his pocket and wished to taste it, IF AngloBaptist didn't mind. Alas, he knew that Tripp had just lost his mind, so asking this was redundant.
Krumbine took a sip, and after doing so, his tongue could not cease to detach from the roof of his mouth.. begging for the taste to linger. He proceeded to chug, as tears of joy streamed down his face and collected on his beard, like morning dew on a very prickly caterpillar. He thought of how insignificant life had been prior to this experience. Sex compared to drinking this concoction was like sitting through one of his ten minute vlogs on nothing.
To Krumbine, sex and watching his ten minute vlogs were on equal footing, but the drink was easily the best thing to have been served in his bar.. even if acquired from the red nipples of a man, and he was sufficiently emo to cry at the mere realization of this point. In fact, it was the best thing he ever tasted. His inebriation increased exponentially with each linear consumption of the liquor. His body was not used to anything harder than Bud light with Koolaid, and thus this response is merely personal as opposed to an indication of actual strength. A speechless, nervous AngloBaptist paid a certain amount of money that more than comfortably took care of what he had drank that night, to an exhausted, perspiring Depointless, whose mind was perhaps at that point more vacant than a black hole getting sucked into another one. He was coming out of cumming out of it, but he didn't want to. He seemed to be glued to the floor by the sheer cohesive force of the, as yet unmelted, highly voluminous release of his sexual juices.
Krumbine's eyes had rolled back to the front, and he smiled at Obsquatch who had a face expressing the desire to fist him violently.
"What did I do?" asked a now cautious Krumbine.
"Nothing in particular, shitmonkey" , responded a smiling Obsquatch.
"So you liked it eh?" asked Obsquatch, knowing the answer well before hand.. and fist.
"Yes.... YES!" responded Krumbine "This bar is going to do so well with this stuff".
Obsquatch seemed displeased at the mention of this and made a slight grumble (causing Krumbine to urinate a bit out of fear, and a bit out of being turned on), before finally howling with laughter.
"What's so funny?" asked the annoyed Krumbine.
Obsquatch : "What makes you think I'm going to give this to your bar? This is just for me man!"
Krumbine: "You can't be serious. You're a Darksider!"
Obsquatch: "What the fuck is a Darksider you testicularly challenged twit?! I'm self sufficient. This is for me. Don't worry though, I'm not going to make a profit out of this by selling this to anyone else, or selling it in a bar of my own.... yet"
Krumbine knew this was something he just couldn't let slip out of his hands... there was no option. This was it, he knew it, he could taste it.. he just had! The man had the gift, and if he could not use it to further the cause of the Darksiders, then no one was going to. He looked at Depointless and nodded. Depointless nodded back and popped open a beer bottle with his eternally erect shlong. Depointless had a pitcher of semen covered beer ready on the counter in a few moments, the semen quantity being drastically less than before on account of having had his prostate wrung out and his testicles dessicated. Krumbine poured a mug for himself and Obsquatch out of the pitcher and got the tray to the table.
Krumbine: "Here's to all the time we've spent together, and to our futures"
Obsquatch:"You want me to drink this crap after you know the kind of stuff my body can produce?"
"But, depointless will feel bad if you don't" said Krumbine, with a somewhat disheartened look on his face, "You don't want to let him down do you?"
Obsquatch looked at an anxious Depointless and decided to chug the beer one last time, the semen topped beer one could only get at the Darkside Inn.
The Darksider Inn (part 4, aka the last part (hopefully)) :
Obsquatch:"Right Krumb, I think that does it for final requests."
"Wha.. Wait, where are you going?" ,asked Obsquatch, looking at Krumbine move unhesitatingly to the counter and ask Depointless to open the door. Depointless pushed a button under the counter and was moments later on the phone with someone.
"Wait, what the .. fuck. What ... was in ...it?" asked a foggy headed Obsquatch with his last strands of consciousness.
"Horse tranquilizer", responded Krumbine, aiming the small, now empty bottle that contained the tranquilizer at a basket, and missing by a pathetic margin (Perhaps this was a consequence of his wild gesticulations). "I figured you'd need at least the whole bottle. That's meant for three horses you giant boozetating fuck!"
Obsquatch rose, fist ready ... but collapsed. His topless upper body lay on the table, as booze dripped from the sides. Ibrahim, Emily and Baby were all asleep, and Depointless awaited Krumbine.
Krumbine: "Is Lupine on his way?"
Depointless: "Yea. He's done licking that chi'it (small pause) in the bathroom. He says it's clean (small pause) in a dirty way"
Krumbine: "Good. Tell his to get rid of the remains of the YouTubus partnership officer in the basement. He can, of course, as usual, eat whatever bodily leftovers are there. Make sure he locks the damn door this time after he's done though.. fucking scavenger."
Depointless: "Doing this chi'it seems a bit extreme (short pause) to one of our friends. He's (short pause) Obsquatch, (short pause) you know."
Krumbine: "Yeah well, he's our ticket to building an empire. We'll chain him up and milk him dry, and in between to destroy his spirit, we'll let Lupine do with him as he wants."
Depointless: "But (short pause) that seems so cruel. That's bad man."
Krumbine: "We're the darksiders. It's all good."
The anguished musings of a jack-of-all trades creative professional based out of Longwood, Florida. Find out more about him here. You know, if that's your 'thing'.
Most of my production music is original but if I need something extra-special, I usually get it from AudioNautix.com: