Episode 613: Creepypasta XXI - The Severance
01:01:37 Share

What if you could turn your curiosity for true crime into a degree? At Southern New Hampshire University, you can. Southern New Hampshire University offers over 200 degrees you can earn completely online, including subjects like forensic psychology, criminology, and crime analysis. And with low online tuition, Southern New Hampshire University makes earning your degree affordable, flexible, and achievable.

Find your degree at snhu.edu slash lastpodcast. That's snhu.edu slash lastpodcast.

This episode is brought to you by Progressive Commercial Insurance. Business owners meet Progressive Insurance. They make it easy to get discounts on commercial auto insurance and find coverages to grow with your business. Quote in as little as seven minutes at progressivecommercial.com. Progressive Casualty Insurance Company. Coverage provided and serviced by affiliated and third-party insurers. Discounts and coverage selections not available in all states or situations.

There's no place to escape to. This is the last podcast. On the left. That's when the cannibalism started. Who's there? Don't be shy, you know you'll find it time. You want to kiss the man, whoa, whoa.

Is it so much worse? Slow it down a little bit. I don't know why, but you're dying to try. You want to kiss the man. Yeah, I feel like it's a good way to kind of flip this whole thing. What whole thing? Like everybody's like being kind of upset with that song. What song? I have no clue what you're talking about. Little Mermaid. Little Mermaid. Oh, yeah.

Yeah, for some reason the idea of like, it's a bunch of fish begging you to kiss that weird older silent man. Yeah. And I think that that's very refreshing. Yeah, that the fish are encouraging that sort of thing? Well, it's not a silent woman. And I think that kiss the girl is so much worse because you're, you know, it's all these people like, kiss that little girl, kiss that little girl, kiss that little girl. Kiss the mute, yeah. But there's something about like people being like,

Kiss that weird man. Kiss the man. That's also bad. Why?

I don't know. It seems awful. You're making people kiss each other. Maybe it's because I was desperate to find some Gene Hackman erotic fan fiction, and it is sorely lacking. Welcome to the last podcast on the left, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Marcus Parks. I'm here with the searcher, the man on the eternal mission for Gene Hackman erotic fiction, Henry Zebrowski. You can't handle my balls! Ha!

That's Jack Nicholson, unfortunately, from A Few Good Men. That's kind of like, but it's the same genre. I'm trying to figure out what the Crimson Tide, not Crimson Tide, right? Is it Crimson Tide? Crimson Tide, yes. Because Hunt from Red October with Sean Connery, he says it's okay to slap a woman.

And U571 is Harrison Ford. Yeah, the bad one. And of course we have the eternal movie critic Ed Larson. Hello! Two thumbs down, you idiots!

Eddie right now is doing his first ever remote recording as a member of Last Podcast on the left. Tell me, Eddie, how's that Ramada treating you? I mean, it's going so well that I'm using the hotspot on my phone to record this. You're coming in nicely, though. It's nice, though, with the bedbugs, you know, I'm not sleeping alone tonight, so it's good.

There's actually a couple of read. I did read a couple of rewrites of the scene between Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman in Unforgiven, where he really gets pretty involved. But it's so hard to do that. It's hard to do both because Gene Hackman's such a good actor. And I think that's the problem is it's hard to kind of capture his gravitas in a lemon slash fix. Yeah.

It's hard to get that into hearing him sucking Morgan Freeman, sucking his dick dry. It's the delivery with Gene Hackman. Yeah, I can't do it. I can't imagine him being like, Morgan, open up.

That's as far as I can. That's Gene Hackman foreplay. Okay. Yeah. Morgan, open up. Flip over. Do you think that he could yell while sucking dick? Because he's one of the great yellers of all time. Come on, man. Come on, man. Beer can show some spine, man. Oh, my God. Oh, man. He really did end his life like old yeller. Except, you know, the bullet was shot by his pacemaker. Come on. Jesus Christ.

He's on the road, ladies and gentlemen. He's on the invasive species tour. He's doing stand-up at night, and he's fucking full of beans. He needs to get it out. Marcus, I got you your jumbo shrimp shirt. Hey, two, three, four. We are the jumbo shrimp, here to play a game. Very good. Still remembered after all these years. It's not hard. It's not a compliment. It's all good.

It was written by an idiot after all. I'll always remember that. That big old idiot who's now a father somehow is upstairs and we continue to pay him. I want to say welcome to Creepypasta number... 21. Jesus fucking Christ. We are old enough to drink. Yeah. Which means we're old enough to die internationally. And I hope that this is really what it's about because Creepypasta 21 is all about you're going to get drafted.

It doesn't matter what age you are. That's creepy just thinking about it, right? You know what I mean? Because the 40-year-olds are going to come for us. They're going to put us in the metal mucil brigade. I think partly what we're going to be doing is delivering adult diapers to people all through Eastern Europe, what used to be the Ukraine.

And now I think that it's important that we party while we can. Sure. Okay. Because that's what's hard is that thing. And creepypasta is all about getting spooky and feeling ooky with it. Yeah. I think the main thing is, is that obviously if you're in your office right now, the scariest thing you can do is work.

So I would say is to just quit that. First of all, quit that. Quit your fucking job, man. Quit your fucking job. Fuck your boss. Fuck this shit. Close the laptop. They're watching you do your keyboard. How creepy is that? Your boss is watching your keyboard from his fucking cubicle, and he's jerking off thinking about your productivity levels. Yeah, man. How frightening is that? All bosses are pieces of shit that suck and shouldn't exist. Fuck your boss. Fuck all bosses. Hey, hey, hey.

Well, let's not say fuck all bosses. Let's not say all bosses are pieces of shit necessarily. You come for me, you best not miss. Some bosses worry, Ed. Some bosses worry constantly. Like RFK Jr. He just worries. He's like, ah, what about the udders? Udders are getting trampled. Now, he's concerned about the udders, not about us. But guys...

I think now you want to go to your weed. You've quit your job. You're on your way home. Your wife or husband's like, what are you doing here? I'm here with our four kids. And you go, shut the living fuck up and let me do what I need to do today. And you're going to go into your office and you're going to pack a bowl. You're going to pack that bong. And you don't care what everybody says. Everyone's crying. You're just trying to detach.

From all your responsibilities. But guess what, man? As soon as you fucking put that rim to your fucking hole, it doesn't matter anymore because you have just become irresponsible. They can't hold you to shit. Forbes be nothing. It's just ink. What's ink? It's from squids.

What's that? Doesn't fucking matter, dog. That's how we shut them down, all right? Oh, auto sign doesn't count. No. We don't know. Auto sign doesn't count, all right? So fucking, you just team that shit and honestly switch the indica in the afternoons for yourself. So you get yourself good and high. You're without a job. You're without a future. But you're ready to get really spooky for our episode. That's right. Creepypasta21, ladies and gentlemen, welcome officially to

I'm going to start off today's episode. I was going to start off with a poem just because I love the title so much. Where trod the black camel?

That's like one of those libertarian journals. It does sound like something you'd buy at a rifle show in 1994. But the poem was terrible. So I'm not going to subject everyone to where trod the black camel. But I will begin with a story. Can you summarize it?

A man goes into the desert. There's a djinn. Of course. Riding a black camel, I believe. And the black camel is trotting upon the desert and steals the man's soul, I think, at the end of it. So it's like that America song. Yeah, Horse With No Name. But it's a black camel. I'm just saying.

Seems similar in theme. Also, you're not doing anything. Name the horse. You're just trotting through the desert. You got nothing to do. Eddie, you have to fill an hour tonight. You need to save this stuff. You're right. I'll go back to sleep.

You know this song? You ever heard this song, Horse with No Name? You ever heard this song? You spent all this time wandering around the desert. How are we not coming up with a name here? Steve! Hey, I did it. Steve. Nay. Eddie, write it down. Eddie, you got to flush out the hour.

Instead, I'm going to start with a story submitted by a man named Daniel Hale to the creepypasta site Bogleach. Still a wonderful site. This is called The Splatterpunk Gospel. Do you think he's related to Nathaniel Hale? The American spy. The American spy, yeah. Yes, I do. Thank you. I'll respect it now. Spies should not have names.

It's bad for them. But they start with names. Yeah, you got to have a name. You got to be called something. And then erase them. Yeah, because they're still a W-2. W-2.

007. The English do it right. I can come up with a good name. You gotta have a boring spy name. You have a great alias. Oh, I have my alias. I can't release it. No, of course you don't, but I just say it's wonderful. Yes. Yeah, mine's too fancy. Wynton Arthur Danforth III. They're looking wet. Mine's Sebastian Maniscalco. Yes! Would you even believe?

I went to get the coffee. Everything's got whipped cream on it. So that's why you smash your metascapo. This is an excerpt from the Clotted Book, being the scriptures and commandments for the Church of Letting Blood. Cool. The vein is the beginning. The vein is the end. The vein is all. This is our world.

This is our world of impure blood, scarred over from centuries-flowing filth and disease, creating the prison systolic diastolic, making anatomy of sin.

Was this written by a disgruntled nurse? LAUGHTER

This is like this person who handles my father's IVs. Make no mistake that we are filth-born. We have poisoned the stream from our first bubbling breath, choking it with our soiled selves. Would that we were fewer. That we had known what damage we were doing from the start. That we had known that this sickened meat creature was getting sicker still as our numbers grew.

Would that we knew. Would that we cared. And beyond? Oblivion? Or redemption? Absence or occupation? Which truly would be better? What is the threat of hell without a heaven? Better that there be after at all. Even if it is torment. It implies respite, however it may come. But none for us! But is this about blood? The vein has soiled us.

It has raised us from the odorous chyme. And will return us there. For none remember the path. None remember death. We practice death, or believe we practice it. Our vessels shudder and disgorge their contents. Our ventricles spasm and tangle the works. We think we would be lucky to die in sleep without pain. Our loved ones pray for this because it would be most convenient.

They hold their vigil by our bedside, clutch our shaking hands, then, when the moment is gone, reassure themselves of the better place that they were so kind to lead us to. And in the casket, or the flame, the dirt, or the ash...

Thus dying quietly, we are complicit in the deception. Death must come obscene and uncaring. It must shake foundations, ruin delusions. It must remind that life cannot be extended, that no favors are owed to grieving lovers, that bloodlines face extinction. Death will be dealt, and it must be dealt harshly. For in so dealing, the

The vein is dealt a slice in its cancerous carapace. Septic blood is spilled into the unknown void. Hastily disgorging the infidel, the blasphemous soul who wore his wound with pride shook his exposed crimson bones and torn scraps of sinews to the outraged carrion flock. Then serum speckled and silent. They cannot deny there is meaningful death.

Then they will know that the Severance is at work beyond these cloying walls. Its Nephilim speak volumes in the quiet behind their masks. They wear totems of our degradation, not to mock us for our fantasy, but to defy the patronage of our heaping host.

They claim nothing. Not the favor of higher power, nor the enlightenment of heretics. The processes of anatomy are awake in the world even when the body is greatly reduced. The severance is inevitable.

And I do not care if you trot upon my dead body to do so. But I shall keep Brie Larson from entering the Marvel Cinematic Universe. No matter what you try to do, ghasting devils! Our work is letting blood. We serve the silver knives and the black galops, the blades and claws and eyes of the severer.

The unbelievers follow the flow of their filth, and thus we must damn the flow. Push its path to them. Judasine, your task is this. Go to the vessels. Speak as they do. Deal as they do. Follow their paths until you surge to the front of the flock. Lead them to the blades, that you may know the severance as they will. Aaronite, your task is this. Caution the vessel. They will be young, with spite in their longing hearts.

Tell them something of what lies ahead. Couch it in the fears their betters have known. Yours is a necessary task, and the Severance may choose to grant you reprieve from your suffering of age. Ensure that the tide flows true from now to the crumbling. The greater the pain of the vessels, the wider the stain their blood shall reach on those who remain in the foundering vein. Let the blood spill the filth. Sever the flesh.

Very intense. Is that the other chapter of the libertarian poetry book? Yeah, that camel poem must have really fucking sucked. Yeah! Yeah!

I like it because I like a performance aspect. Yeah, of course. But he's mostly just yelling about veins. And blood. And blood. And severance. And severance. Yeah, and Ouroboros. And this is not an Apple TV tie-in. It is not. To the show Severance. It is not. Which I think is a different Severance than this, but I refuse to watch it because I don't watch shows while they're on television. Yeah, you can see that performed whenever you see Moody Blues in hell. I'm just kidding.

It would be good. Honestly, that needs some good chugging metal underneath it. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. You need to get that fucking thick ass fucking sludge. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get some sludge in there. No, that definitely calls for some stoner metal, without a doubt. I went the opposite way. Okay. So I got just creepy stuff.

And I think that this is, it's interesting because I went through some of our old listener pastas and I went through some other forums I went through because I always struggle with trying to find something that maybe is genuinely creepy. Yep. 20 times you've tried and 20 times you've failed. Failed. Yeah. And so what I'm going to do now is- Because you are not genuinely creepy. I'm sorry, but you're a clown. I am. I am.

But doctor, I am Agliacci. You could be killing someone and still make them laugh. That's what I hope. That better be my review on my murder Yelp. This podcast is brought to you by Squarespace. Squarespace gives you everything you need to offer services and get paid all in one place. Seems amazing, right? It's because it is.

From consultations to events and experiences, showcase your offerings with a customizable website designed to attract clients and grow your business, which is good because let's just say I need it. You know, as you may or may not know, I lost horsepicks.com in a very, very public and embarrassing auction to a young man by the name of Charlie Bucket, who has decided to take my horse picks and drive it towards the right.

Some of the incendiary horse pics that I've seen, including Steve Bannon on a Clydesdale, one of the worst I saw was Ivanka Trump inside of a mayor. And I know that this is not the direction that I saw horsepics.com. And that little boy, I didn't know that he'd become a full-fledged Nazi and grow his hair into broccoli shapes and do all sorts of things I don't understand, which is why I've started...

emupaintings.com. Thank you, Squarespace, because emupaintings.com are really an exceptional way for me to get you paintings of emus in various positions that emus wouldn't normally be. And in a way, I find it both amusing and inspiring to see what emus can do using the painter's brush and imagination.

And if it wasn't for Squarespace, I would be absolutely effed to the gills. That's the term for being absolutely S out of luck. So Squarespace, thank you for streamlining your workflow with built-in tools because I would not have been able to get this website up fast enough due to the legal fees I've received and the personal heartache and my own health deteriorating.

I just want to say thank you, Squarespace, for all your help. And emupaintings.com is going to be just as good and just as funny and relevant. I promise. Head to squarespace.com slash left for a free trial. When you're ready to launch, use offer code left to save 10% off your first purchase of a website or domain.

Hi, this is Steve Buscemi, you know, the actor. Well, now I'm an actor and podcast host. From Peace of Work Entertainment and Campside Media in association with Olive Productions comes Big Time, an Apple original podcast. Each episode follows the story of one misfit with big dreams who isn't afraid to bend a few rules or take a shortcut to get there. Well, who steals bees? I was duped. I shoot you in the leg.

This is Big Time. Follow and listen on Apple Podcasts.

This episode is brought to you by Progressive Commercial Insurance. Business owners meet Progressive Insurance. They make it easy to get discounts on commercial auto insurance and find coverages to grow with your business. Quote in as little as seven minutes at progressivecommercial.com. Progressive Casualty Insurance Company. Coverage provided and serviced by affiliated and third-party insurers. Discounts and coverage selections not available in all states or situations. Progressive

So let's go and look at, this is a story from one of our listeners. Oh my God. The actor, Ryan Reynolds. Oh, how nice. I didn't know he was into this stuff.

It's from a man named Ryan Reynolds. It's from Peppermint Mobile. It's the other Ryan Reynolds. Ryan Reynolds is quite a common name. Whoa, yeah, I guess it is for you whites. Unlike me. What, the pinks? Oh, yeah. I'm European. The hot white people. Listen, listen, okay? I think I'd know if I was white or not. Mm-hmm.

You bleed mustard. That's yellow. This story is 100% true. A little background information. Growing up, we never really had a close relationship with our grandparents on my mother's side. My grandfather was an alcoholic World War II veteran. My grandmother, a housewife who married my grandfather out of wedlock sometime in the 1940s. Hopefully after the war.

From when I was told they never loved each other and they just stayed together out of convenience and the old adage, misery loves company. In the early 1990s, I would have been a toddler and my two brothers a few years older than me. This time period is when we were at my grandparents' home the most. I believe this was an attempt for my parents to try and garner a somewhat normal relationship with our grandparents. It always works like that. Yeah. Always toss them in extra... With toxic people, more time the better. Yeah.

It always works out. It never backs fires and they never manipulate your children from the inside out. No, no, no, no. Throw children into as many bad relationships as possible. Like if you can show them a really bad example of two people together. I'd let them sort it out. Provide no commentary. Because I'll always remember my grandmother just pinching my sister underneath the table every time she tried to eat. And I always remember my grandmother grabbing me by my side meat and going, you eat chocolate and it's going to give you a heart attack.

I saw one of my great aunt for the first time. I saw her when I was a child, and I saw her again. And how great was she? Horrible. I remember I saw her. I hadn't seen her in 20 years. I show up, and the first thing, you got fat. Right out the gate. As soon as I walked in the door, I was like, I've always been fat. Yeah. Well, you're still fat. Yeah, you were so fat when you were born, they wrote a newspaper article about it. A whole bunch of them.

I still view him as just big. Yeah. Now, my grandparents' home was a ranch-style built house in a neighborhood constructed around the late 1950s. Ranch the dressing or the structure? I think it's the dressing. Because we actually grew up in a Thousand Island-style home. Ha ha ha ha ha!

My grandfather took care of the property. My grandmother had an immaculate home. This is the type of home where plastic was on the furniture and the carpet was a seafoam green with mirrored squares glued to the living room wall. Exactly. I know this home. Yes. My grandparents had a living room we could not enter. I don't remember much of the time spent at this home, too much as they were just fleeting memories of my childhood that me nor my brothers put much value into later life. Later life. Yeah.

But one thing that we all remember was stairs. There was a set of stairs that ran down into a dark basement. A set of stairs. I thought they meant like the grandparents staring at them for hours on end. That's because that's just old grandpa peepers. I love my grandpa peepers always making sure I'm clean. Get your feet.

Now get you to the back of your legs. Get the back of your legs. Yeah, good, good, good. Now it's wet. Now get your front. Get your front. Get your front folds. Play with the tits. That's just my first set of stairs. Yeah, second set of stairs. Let me get my jeweler's glass. Second set of stairs is illegal.

That's when I'm looking inside your porthole. That's molestation, everybody. It seems worse than that. It is. You know what? It's so much worse just to have you bend me over and look me in my butthole and not fuck me. There was a set of stairs. I ran down to the dark basement where my grandfather's workshop was.

This descended about 12 stairs down and sat between the kitchen and the garage. At the top, a landing no bigger than three feet by three feet sat nestled at the top of the staircase. You know, for somebody who didn't really think about it much, he sure does know a lot of details about dimensions. He's upset about the stairs.

As children, me and my brothers would get really, really dark vibes and feelings when standing at this spot on the stairs. This even became like a child's horror game to stand on the landing for as long as you could as some type of play on the Bloody Mary game. I remember around the time I was three, I began having night terrors about the stairs. I do not remember the exact details. It was more in a sense of a fever dream that just rifled me with terror at night.

These images would involve the stairs and a dim red light. This was something I couldn't explain or articulate to anyone as I was so young. Which I understand, I had reoccurring creepy dreams that I could not explain when I was a kid. Like I had to dream always that I was in a crib in a castle on fire. Yeah.

I always had a dream that, you know, Greedo from Star Wars? Yeah. Yeah, a bunch of them, but they were glowing blue and they all had different symbols on their chest with different ways to tickle me. And then they would all surround me and tickle me until I exploded and then I would wake up. You think this is a play on some kind of inner anti-Semitic thought or something? Because Greedo...

Was the evil, obviously he was the Jewish stereotype in a way. No, he wasn't. You're thinking of Watto. I'm sorry. Watto was the obvious Jewish stereotype in episode one. I'm talking about Greedo, the green man that Han Solo shot in the Mos Eisley Cantina in episode four. I feel better now. You're right. You feel good now. Okay, good.

Man, my regular dream was, you'll be ready for this. I'm in Africa on the beach, and then an orca beaches itself, and I'm trying to push it back into the water. And I'm there with another guy who's like a soldier or something. And then the orca rips his arm off and then starts thrashing around, and the dude dies bleeding, screaming on the beach. Is this real?

Yeah, this is real. I've had this dream more than once. Really? Yeah, and then I don't know what... You could say this through your entire SeaWorld series. Well, it had nothing to do with it. It was, you know... It does. It has exactly to do with it. What upset you?

Stop saying it now! So anyway, there's a button. So then I look at it. I don't know what to do. So I take the guy's gun and I can't get the orca back in the water. So I just shoot the orca in the head, you know? And then I look down the beach and the beach is just like 20 more orcas. And so I just got to walk down the beach and shoot each orca in the head. You know, it's sad, but, you know, things happen. You did an entire episode about whales!

And he never said this. And you had to systematically shoot a bunch of whales in your dreams. More than once. Jesus fucking Christ. Of course you're obsessed with it. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. So, you know, but they die in my dreams, but most of them live in real life. Unless they're captured. We don't need to do that episode again. Why?

Why don't we just let the boy go? This reminds me of the murder sketch. Why didn't we let the boy live? As I grew up, we grew away in a relationship with my grandparents. They didn't seem interested in fostering a relationship with us as grandchildren specifically. Without going into too much detail, it was shed to light that they were extremely cruel and toxic people.

When I was in my early 20s, I was having a talk with my dad, like one of those talks when you sit down with a cigar and talk about the crazy stuff you did when you were young, about the repercussions since you are an adult now. The discussion of my grandparents came up as they recently had sold their home and all of their possessions and were placed in retirement and hospice living. Good for them. After a few back and forth jabs about the plastic covers on the furniture and the porcelain cat statues, the stairs came up.

I said, "Hey, remember those stairs to that house? Those were severely creepy, especially for the ambiance of that house." My father became seemingly uncomfortable. He went quiet for a while and proceeded to tell me a personally haunting story for him. My father stated in the 1980s he was a motorcycle mechanic working at a shop that was privately owned. The owner we will call Jack became one of his best friends and they regularly hung out, fixed stuff, drank beer.

cool guy stuff. Did you say thick stuff drank beer? Thick stuff. Thick stuff. Thick stuff like guys do. Yeah. Yeah, it was fixing stuff and they're all fixing each other and they're all wet. What do you think thick stuff would be? Like if someone said like, hey, come on over, we're going to do some thick stuff. Yeah, thick stuff. I know what that means. What does it mean? It means jamming things inside of me in my mouth and my butthole.

Except if it's Eddie. If I'm talking to Eddie, then it means barbecue. Yes. And if Limp Bizkit were carpenters, they could change their song to thick stuff. I mean, that would also hurt the whole brand. They can't be fixing this.

Now, he said that his buddy Jack had a wife and three young children. My father stated that one day Jack had gone home after work and opened the garage door to go inside, and he said that Jack's wife's car was in the garage running. Jack's wife was in the car, dead. Jack went to the door that leads inside from the garage to call 911 from the kitchen, but the door was blocked.

Jack went through the front door to find his three children dead on the landing above the stairs. His wife had committed suicide by running the car in a closed garage and locked the car going into the garage from the kitchen. The children waited on the landing for their mother to come back inside and died as well from the carbon monoxide. This broke Jack as obviously his whole family was dead in a tragic manner. The

The house went up for sale as soon as he couldn't bear to live there anymore. And a few months later, my grandparents bought that exact house. Let me specify, this wasn't because they were financially broke and it was their only option or anything like that.

I turn flush after hearing this. One, that my grandparents were so terrible, they bought a house their son-in-law's best friend family had died in, but also the torture my dad had to endure every time we visited them. I've had a few paranormal experiences, but when someone asks me if I believe in the paranormal or afterlife energy type stuff, I tell them this story.

I was a kid. I didn't know any of the backstory. Yet the same exact spot where his kids died, me and my brothers, three children, just as Jack's family, could feel the despair and horror. I've driven by the house once in a while over the past decade to see a new family living there and wonder if they feel the presence of the dead kids on stairs.

Knock. Ask. Yeah. Also. I'm fucking investigating, dude. But you know the kids died there. Of course you have those feelings. Well, no. They said that they did not know. They didn't know his kids. When they were kids, they didn't know. He didn't know until he was older. Yeah. It was creepy. But this is like, what a great opportunity. Nothing would be better being like, do you know who died in this house? Regis Field didn't. You know, you can make up a bunch of shit.

I mean, you get to stay, who goes there? And all that stuff. You would not go to knock on, like when your Aunt Patty, God rest her soul, if she ever passes. She's alive. She's alive. If she ever passes, I don't think she'll die. Is that if we go to sell that house, which is extremely haunted, it's the same. Then you can hang out outside of that house and tell people that it's extremely haunted. No, she left the haunted house like 20 years ago. We can go to that house and tell them it's haunted whenever we want. We should. Yeah.

That one's in Linden. If you're going to do that, I think the polite thing to do is instead of telling them the whole story, write up a little one-sheet of what happened. Slip it under the door. Slip it under the door and say, I shall return on the morrow to discuss. Man, we're leaving. We've got to do this. Yeah. Well, yeah. That's a good thing to do to just anybody. I'd probably do it at the Ramada tonight. Yeah.

Eddie, can you please do it? Can you please go and be like, is there wailing coming from your room? Like, write it in Sharpie. I hear a ghostly moaning coming from your room. Yeah, if it's not you, duck. No.

All right. I got a story. Marcus sent me this one. It's very sweet. This one that I saw this one, and it reminded me of Murderfest. All right. Wow. Had things gone a different direction. All right. Towards success? Getting a television show? Being a charge of public? All right. It's called Audience.

Audience. It's called Audience. By... The audience. Ron... And we live for the applause. Oh, that's a great song. Ron McGillivray. Thank you, Ron McVote Gillivray for sending this. All right. I had recently moved to New York and I was taking the subway back home. It was just me, this homeless man next to me, and a bunch of other people around my area.

Everything was pretty peaceful, so I decided to distract myself by taking out my phone and opening Twitter. As I was scrolling down the page, the homeless guy next to me moved forward, leaned in and said,

My name's Terry. I was in the show once. I ignored him. Started checking my news feed. I've had so many of these fucking interactions. I've had so many of these. I do comedy, too. You want to hear something? Okay. The gremlin is my brain. Say, don't kill you right now. Looks to me like you got a bag of dildos with you. What you planning on doing with that? You want to see mine?

They're all covered in shit. Yeah. You know why? I'll show you. Yeah, it's right here. The bag is up my asshole. Sorry, that was my punchline. That was my big tag phrase. He started again.

No, really. I was. It was avant-garde. We would walk around town and act out these little plays in public. Some people ignored it, but there were always others who paid attention and loved it. You never, man. How is it? Right? Whatever. Craig Robinson did a show at the store last night, apparently for nine people. It happens. We gave 110%, no matter who was in the audience. That's right. Even if there was nobody.

Some of our best shows were in front of nobody. Really? Honestly, no one ever saw our best work. That's called rehearsal. No. No, no, no. It was in a theater. Oh, no. It was in a theater with an empty house. I've been in... You were there. Yeah, I was there. And I've been in a dozen bands over the years. And when you play to nobody, it's a public rehearsal. But it's kind of almost better than a show. Yeah.

I surprisingly wasn't sad about it. Anyway, I was sad. I didn't answer. I tried to use my silence to tell him to leave me alone, but he kept talking. Yeah, it was pretty great. We'd act like morons, give speeches and shit. Just having fun. Acting out little scenes wherever we felt like it. We were doing it for ourselves. That's what he thought. No, this is not fair. Then we kept doing it, even when we were alone.

We just always felt like somebody was watching. We really realized we were playing it all out in front of a real audience. We started hearing them around us. I was... This is such a... Oh, my God. This really makes me sad. This really fucking makes me sad. We used to say stuff like this. You just say, like, it's all about just building a place. They'll come to the show. They'll have to come. They'll hear the circus. Everyone loves a circus. Yeah.

I was listening to him, if only to know what was going through this crazy person's head. He looked up at me and this crazed look came into his eyes. We could hear the real audience. The one we knew we were playing for all along. So we changed the show. Maybe it was more edgy, you know, exciting. We'd wait till people were alone and then we'd hurt them.

Give a real hard time and shit, you know? The audience loved it. I love this guy. We had total freedom. Anything we wanted, we could. Anything. For anyone. Now, I feel like I'm just at the store. I feel like I'm talking to a stand-up comedian.

Now, I was fully listening to this guy's story, but when I turned to look at him, his hand was deep in his pants. Shocked, I turned to the other people on the train with me, but they were ignoring it. One woman in a suit shrugged her shoulders as if saying, Sorry, your problem. I had never hated someone before.

As much as I did in that moment. Oh, whatever, man. He's just trying to make it. He's a comedian. The pervert next to me continued. Yeah, anything, man.

We started, like, really hurting people, you know? I can totally see you doing this to, like, a lost Asian family on the train that's just visiting New York. You, like, see Eddie at 28 years old. Like, literally being like, yeah, yeah, we do a lot of fucked up shit at night here. You're like, yeah, yeah, you guys are going out to eat. Not me. I'm going out to drink. I don't eat. Yeah, well, the...

The whole show shifted when we first killed someone. Yeah. The first time, it was an accident. But the audience loved it, man. They cleaned it all up. Almost licked it clean. Now we had to give them what they wanted. We started killing more people. Doing awful things to them. He still had his hands in his pants when he said it. And then he began to pant loudly. Ah!

Ah, yeah. We did whatever we wanted, man. Whatever we desired. We catch people alone and devour them. Use them. And the audience cleaned it up. Nothing could touch us. We were primal like animals. Totally free. We've killed kids. Animals. There's so much pent up in us. It was like a breath of fresh air. Letting it all out.

His hand was out of his pants as soon as he stopped talking and he grabbed me by the neck. He forced me to... Same hand. Yeah, oh yeah. Get some hand sanitizer. He forced me to turn to his dirty face and I was too terrified to fight back at all. He looked deep into my eyes and smiled widely. That was when the train started slowing down.

It wasn't screeching to a halt, just slowing, like time itself was stopping outside the window. I stared at the people around me, yet somehow didn't notice. The homeless man's face went blank then, and he let me go. I breathed a sigh of relief, and he got up, said to no one in particular, No guys, she's okay. We'll have a show later. Then the train started to speed up.

but not by much. Time seemed to be shifting back to normal, but we were still in the tunnel. I looked back to the homeless man as he walked casually to the doors. It took a moment to explain to myself what was happening. Then I stared in utter shock as every person that had been around me got up and moved down to the same doors.

They stared at me with bored looks, and a couple of them smirked with pure malice in their eyes. Then the same businesswoman who had shrugged said, "'Sorry, folks. Really. Show's over. Terry said to leave her.' Then from all around me came sighs. From every direction and every place came disappointed, resigned sighs."

I looked around wildly for loudspeakers or microphones, but I found none. The voices were coming from no one, yet I could feel them all around me. Then time shifted abruptly back to normal and the train pulled into the station. I was hyperventilating, not able to piece together the train of events.

The group shuffled out of the station and Terry said to the group, pointing to a teenager going up the escalator to the exit, there, he's perfect. Laughter

Why not the woman? Why not the woman? He didn't like her. She wasn't good enough. And the entire group of people followed him out of the station towards the boy as the sounds of claps and hollers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere echoed through the station. The woman was in on it. Yeah, you know what it feels like? You know what it honestly feels like? This whole thing. It's like the Merle Haggard thing.

You're playing to the audience that shows up. That's right. Like all of this stuff is about like, no, you have to curate your audience. Yeah. You can't just play to whoever's around there telling you what to do. You can't listen to just the audience telling you what to do. What subway station do you imagine here? I imagine Hoyt Skimmerhorn. I literally. Wow. That's weird. Yeah. That's really weird. I also thought G-Train. Yeah. Yeah. For sure. G-Train. It had a definite G-Train feel. You know what there needs to be? A pill. A pill.

that makes comedians feel like this. And we will cut some of the pack down. If we just give people the idea that they're being watched by an audience, maybe that will actually help

Some of us stop. Yeah, so you want to induce schizophrenia in people. Honestly, if I could just feel beloved, I wouldn't have to do this ever again. If I could fill that hole inside of me, I could be a happy person. But I don't think I can. Schizophrenia should be our new sketch group name. Whoa!

Oh, skits. Ofrenia. Yeah, with the skits. Yeah, skitsofrenia. And it's all for free and you're all street musicians or street performers. We bring skits at you. Yeah. You want skits? Too fucking bad. That's the tag. Yeah, but you are bringing skits.

What do you mean? You say you want skits too fucking bad. That implies that you're not giving them skits, but you are forcing skits upon people. I'm letting you know that I'm going to bring skits by asking you. But I don't care what the answer is. And if you say yes, we probably won't do skits. Sketch-a-frania. Ugh. Now it's getting serious. Live from Northridge.

I was duped.

This is Big Time. Follow and listen on Apple Podcasts. Charlie Heller is the CIA's most brilliant computer analyst, whose life is turned upside down when his wife is murdered in a terrorist attack. Wrought with grief, Charlie decides her killers must pay. Without any field experience, Charlie must track the globe and use his biggest weapon, his intelligence, to enact his revenge. Because the most unexpected threat is an amateur.

Starring Academy Award winner Rami Malek and Academy Award nominee Lawrence Fishburne. The Amateur, rated PG-13. Only in theaters and IMAX April 11th.

Have you experienced serious complications with a Paragard IUD, like breakage or fracture? You're not alone. Keller Postman is here to help. Tap the banner now for a free case review. We're helping women hold manufacturers accountable. If eligible, you may be entitled to compensation of up to $200,000. Don't wait. Tap now or visit iudinjury.com slash audio to see if you qualify. Your health matters, and justice is within reach.

Tap the banner or visit iudinjury.com slash audio to get started today. This is attorney advertising. All right. My next story is by an author named Neon Minerva. It's called Dreams of a Rotted Mind. All right. Vignettes. Yeah. A few vignettes. This is a chapter in the Zizian Manifesto. Far away.

In a desolate, horrid, rotten land where almost nobody lives anymore, there lies a small man, rotting on the ground. Even his mind starting to rot. Don't you wonder what his dreams are like? They're bad. They're not nice. They're not nice. Yeah, I just did that character. They're not nice. This is a stupider version. This is a stupider version of Terry. First dream.

The roach says you're stupid!

She looks as though she's about to punch the poor nurse in the nose. She walks out. About an hour passes, and one man checks his watch. The nurse finally walks out again. The wretch says you're a dead man! He feels all his teeth melting in his mouth and spits them out into the garbage can, nearly throwing up in the process. His eyes snap out of their sockets, and blood sprays from them as if under high pressure. He feels like several holes have been poked into his heart. His body shrivels to a point where it doesn't look human anymore! No!

I'm sorry! I think this whole thing's an allegory about healthcare. I think so. Dream number two. The girl knocked on the door. Earlier, a man had complained, said that they were making too much noise. Why are you making so much noise? But it seemed pretty quiet to her. When nobody answered her knocks, she tried opening it herself. It was unlocked. Nothing could be seen in the room until she flipped the light switch.

Cool. Cool. Help me help it. Help me.

Help me! Help! Help! It's a big pink snowman! There's a pink snowman on me! Help me! The woman cried, and her skin rolled down her face with her tears. Whoa! A hand came out of the wall and ran through the woman's hair, pulling out clumps of coagulated blood. Become one! It said. The woman's head fell. The girl screamed and knew she had to get out. She will never forget what she saw then.

I gotta stop taking melatonin. It's not good. It's not good. I'm not good. Dream three. Oh, God. I have one of these dreams. Oh, it's whatever. Nice dream. Me hanging out with Hayden Panetta. Yeah, from Heroes. You remember? Ally Larner. I'm hanging out with her. I'm on my own. It's a whole day of CW stars. I love it.

Oh, yeah, the flesh. That was a joke. Dream 3. I started the day like any other. I ate breakfast and left my apartment. It's weird. Nobody I saw in the streets had any facial features apart from dents where their eyes should have been, which seemed to be colored in with black marker. Then I saw him. The odd one out among the crowd. A guy who still had his face intact. He motioned for me to walk into an alley. Come closer, please. I don't know why, but I trusted him.

I don't know why I trusted him, but I did. In the alley, two other people lay sleeping. I closed my eyes for just a second. And in that impossibly small bit of time, everything went horribly wrong. The man I trusted now had a radio for a head, playing a horrible, grating, static noise that nobody should ever be forced to hear. This is about the media! The person on my right had only a large mouth on his face, constantly screaming in agony. No! Ouch! The person...

The person on my left had become a large, fleshy mass with a zipper down its front, trying to unzip itself with its spindly legs. I'm trying to change into my bathing suit. I want to change into my bathing suit. It's so hot out, Dad. I want to go to a nice hotel pool. Then the entire world fell apart. I don't even remember my name anymore. I don't remember who I am. I don't know where I am either. All I remember is that one day,

The rotted man woke up. He started walking. A large green pyramid looming above him. Fast pro shops. My favorite place in Memphis. He walked and kept walking past all the remnants of a time where life existed. He just kept walking in his own personal nowhere.

Thank God I got my ear pods. Yeah, it kind of sounds nice. Yeah, yeah, I could use a break. Walking in his own personal nowhere towards a green pyramid. Yeah, I could spend an afternoon doing that. Got some neon four edibles on a plane. Yeah, that's like a happy pasta. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, a relax-a-pasta. Yeah. Yeah, because that's kind of nice.

Now, I just took this story from, this is from a random Redditor. This isn't a true scary story. I just read this and it was just, I thought it was interesting. It was a subtle ghost story. Okay. All right. I shall listen closely for the subtleties. Odyssey Pop. Odyssey Pop? That's the name of the person who wrote it. Okay. What's the name of the story? It's called I Heard My Friend's Deceased Husband. Oh, okay. That's fun. Did he fart after death? Yes. Yes.

Yes, Eddie. He was big enough farting and drinking piss. So all he heard, she heard the... Because he always had a big Stanley brim into the rim with fucking hot piss. And he used to just... That's so cool, man. I love that. It's cool. His own piss or somebody else's? Whatever you get. Okay. Whatever was hot. Piping hot. Sometimes it's nice you pop in the microwave if this has been sitting out.

It's cute. It's cute.

That night after everything settled, I went out to the back. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. So the dog died and the friend said, put it in the freezer till I get back. Literally just said, hey, pop it in there. If you could move the nugs to the queen's fridge in the garage, then I could get some time because it's a Yorkie.

Yeah, Yorkies are very small. Also, some people have an extra freezer that's just a freezer. That's what I do. I can't believe that the two of you are not looking at this as an issue of like, hey, put the dead dog in the freezer, and the two of you are looking at it as a space issue? Yeah, you got to wrap it up. I mean, it's better in the freezer than getting out in the elements, exploding. If you wrap it in a bunch of plastic and stick it in a couple paper bags, it's not going to do too much. Yeah, it'll stay for years.

It depends on how it died. If it was hit by a train, don't put it in the freezer. Yeah, I'm not going to scoop it up. It needs to have done, to be honest, in a moment of pure rashness, hung itself with a rope or choked itself in the stove. But I think that, yeah, it has to be one piece.

Yeah, having grown up in the country, when I hear dead dog, my mind immediately goes to violence because I only had one dog that did not die by violent means. No, no, no. This is a dog that had checked its way out old-fashioned style. Yeah. Went under the house, didn't come back. Now it's in the freezer. Beat to death by hammers. You're right. That's the hardest part. That's one of the hardest deaths to deal with as a pet owner because we all go through it at least once. Yeah.

Goddamn automatic hammers. I'm sick of these automatic hammers. Everywhere you go, you got to get the, keep, you know, watch your dog around these automatic hammers. Hey, sorry. So I was like, I was hanging around your house and I saw this button and... The automatic hammer button? I pushed it. Yeah, I should have said, is that dog's dead? Thanks. Yeah, I figured he likes to hang out in the automatic hammer machine. All right. That night...

It's a common mistake. It happens. This is the third time I've had a Yorkie. I need to stop putting it right next to the toilet flusher. I need a great date. Stop my baby. He could just get his head in there, I guess. That night after everything settled, I went out to the back patio for a smoke. Around midnight, I started packing up my stuff, turning up the lights, and getting ready to go home. And then I heard it. But not from a dog.

It was a man's voice. Bark. Yep. Like someone imitating a bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. I stopped, turned around, and looked. My house to the left of Angel's. There's a vacant house to the right. Behind her place is another house with motion sensor lights, and there's no one there. Then I heard it again. Once. Bark. Bark.

Then twice. Bark, bark. Sounded like someone was just standing just on the other side of the fence messing with me. Hold on a second. Marcus, are you an actor? Bark. Bark, bark. That's exceptional. Thank you. Exceptional. I specialize in interspecies performance. Oh, yes. Yes, very much. Now, can you please do a cat? Meow. Perfect. Oh, Jesus. Wow. Hey, I'm allergic. Get it out of here. The barking got louder.

Bark, bark. More frequent. Bark, bark, bark, bark. Like whoever was doing it was having way too much fun scaring me. Bark, bark, bark, bark. And the weirdest part, it didn't feel like a person. Oh. I don't know how to explain it, but something about it was just wrong. Okay. Off. Bark, bark.

That was all I needed to nope the hell out of there, so I ran. The barking got louder as I booked it, but the second I reached the front yard, silence. I didn't stop until I was inside my house. My husband called me down, listened to the whole thing, and said it was probably just some idiot playing a prank. Definitely not him. I wanted to believe him, but I was still freaked out.

Fast forward to a few days. I was outside smoking with my mother-in-law and I randomly brought it up. Told her the whole story. She barely reacted. Just nodded and said, oh yeah, that's Rex. No, she was more like, oh yeah, that's Rex. Oh, fuck yeah, yeah, yeah, that's right, bitch. I more imagine it like, oh yeah, that's Rex. Oh yeah, that's Rex. I was like, I'm sorry, what?

She explained that Angel's late husband, Rex, used to bark at her from over the fence as a joke. And the next day I told Angel and she confirmed, yep, that was something old Rex used to do. I still won't go back there at night. Afraid of the bark. Okay. Afraid of the bark? Afraid of the bark. Bark, bark. Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Bjork.

Whoa, that blind, the one where she was blind. Yeah. Oh, Dancer in the Dark. Yep. Dancer in the Bark. That's just a vocal tick. Now it's just a vocal tick. But yeah, she's just afraid of the guy going bark. Why? Because you don't like it. Is it like what? Is it like a ghost dog?

No, it's a ghost man. No, it's a ghost man pretending to be a dog. And a man with a dog's name. Yes. A man named Rex who barks at people with his voice, but it's not a dog. It's in fact a man. He's actually a ghost. And now it barks as a ghost, as a man pretending to be a dog. And just happened to show up the same night that the friend put the Yorkies corpse in the freezer. Had to pop him in there. Yeah, had to pop him in there. Bark, bark.

because who else would she's the only one there with the Yorkie Yorkie's not going to do it herself and it's true what does one have to do with the other what do you mean

The freezer, the dead dog, and the bark bark. To be honest, it's just one of those weird things when you read these creepypastas, people just throw kind of random factoids in there. They do. And that's one of those where you're like, that's actually the creepiest part of this whole thing. Is that there's a dead dog in the freezer and she still thinks it's a man ghost. You went in there and you went like, oh no. Can you imagine? Because I could just see the Yorkie with the terrified frozen look on its face of death. You know, I get to see it. They're like...

And then a part of me wonders, did she end its life? Yeah, go back to the part where she talks about the dog dying because they really just scooted right over that. She just went, she was like, it was just like, it really was pretty much like an afterthought. Yeah. Maybe the freezer killed the dog. Well, that is Mota. Or finished the job. That's called Mota.

Then while she was gone, I was taking care of her elderly Yorkie. Then while she was gone, her dog passed away. I called her, did what needed to be done, and put him in the freezer like she asked. Now, I feel like the term... Wow, that could be murder.

I called, and then the term, I did what needed to be done, is doing a lot of work here. Well, I think I did what needed to be done is more like I wrapped a dead dog in a bunch of plastic bags and put it in a freezer. Like, I handled a dead dog. Or is it because maybe it got caught in the automatic hammer machine? Yeah. It's actually just lost its legs and organs have been shattered. Yeah. It didn't get the head. The head's still alive, going, yep, yep.

Bark, bark. Yeah, bark, bark, bark, bark. And then she had to beat it to death with her Birkenstocks? No, or she put it in a bag and suffocated it. That's a good way to end the show. It really is. Because people love it.

We love the discussion. Oh, I'd never do that to you, Georgie. No, Georgie's here. Yeah, Georgie came in to record today. Come here, girl. No, Georgie, we'd never put you out of your misery. We're going to elongate your life way past its natural. Yeah. Did you see the stuff where they got the pills that can extend a dog's life? By how long? Do not tell Julie about these pills. It's pills that can extend a dog's life. But apparently, though...

It does sort of... The dog does live, but its brain is in the Event Horizon Hellworld. Yeah. But it's still alive. Okay. So you just have a lump of hairy flesh. I can see... Liberate tu te me. Me. Me.

Where we are going, we do not need eyes to see. Daddy. Carmi. Sounds like something that comes out of the Necronomicon. It's like a Necronomicon pill. Yeah, they're going to make it come to life. But no, it's true. It's going to elongate their lives. But I don't know what that means. I feel like a lot of people talk about this elongating your life process. But it's at what point is getting elongated?

Right? So do I just get to be 100 years old longer? Yeah. Because that seems like that sucks dick. Or do I get to be 50 years old longer? No, well, where we're at right now is you're trying to make your 30s last well into your 50s. That's what you have to do. And you try to make your 50s last into your 70s. That's what you... I mean, you better. And then you make your 70s last into your 100s. And then you make your 100s last into the fucking 200s, and then we can finally eat bugs. Yeah. You can eat bugs now. Yeah.

They're pretty gross. One day we won't even know that they're bugs. And here's hoping. Go to patreon.com slash last podcast and left to look at us. Now we have ended. We've ended the show. Yeah, we've ended the show. Yeah. If you want to see Georgie on camera, go to last pocket patreon.com slash last podcast and left to see video episodes. And while you're there for a very reasonable price, you can see last stream on the left every Tuesday at 6 p.m. PST, 9 p.m. EST. You get to see it raw.

And live and you get to interact with us. And we also have a lot of big, we have special programming coming up for this, the stream, which I'm really excited for. And just like next week, we're coming back, back to series. We're going to do a bunch of, we got a bunch of thick ass shit. Yeah.

Now we're going to push out the hole. And we released our schedule for the rest of the year. So go to last podcast on a left.com and check out all the shows we got coming up. Of course, we're coming to give them a sample joke for tonight. Oh Jesus. Come on. Give him a sample joke. Eddie. Don't do this to him. I did the same, but the other show where we did it in Huntsville, I did the, and now for your closing joke, Ed Larson. Do you know what the, um, the hidden tragedy of nine 11 is?

Never forget used to belong to the elephants. This is what he did at the Huntsville show. Same reaction. No, Marcus left. I love it. I love it. But you're going to see more of that, but he's going to do a lot more specific material. Yeah, this comes out on Friday. Do you have any, if someone's listening to this on Friday, where can they see it? Go to Panama City right now.

I went to Panama City with Amber Nelson. She jumped on just for the Panama City tour. She was just there for spring break. I don't know why. But so she's doing the shows in Panama City. She's trying to get herself a young buck. And then Sunday in Tallahassee with Danny Bedrosian is almost sold out. So make sure you check it out. But more importantly, last podcast on the left, Adam

a shit ton of shows and we're coming to you uh starting after we're going detroit toronto atlanta salt lake city charlotte durham st paul minnesota milwaukee oakland cleveland and portland for two nights go to our website and check that out and get tickets it'd be a great year rhyman was awesome man i had such a good time that was our best show it was incredible

It was. It was easily our best show. It was so much fun. Thanks to everyone in Nashville who came out for that one to come see us at such an historic venue. It's always a pleasure to play the Ryman and to put our own little mark on it. We're going to put a big old mark on your fucking ass. You'll see the show. Hail Satan, pieces of shit. Yeah, fuck all of you. Hail Gein, I appreciate all of you very much. Fuck all you dirty fucking dogs. I think you're very nice. Whatever, dude.

Whatever. Fucking whatever, dude. Go go to buy yourself. Hail Florida. We'll see you guys. It's my hail. It's my hail. It is. Hail a man who made a belt out of nipples every week for 13 years. I can hail whoever the fuck I want. If you read the egg game chapter in the book, I explain it. Okay. All right. Good.

I won't do that. I know you won't. Yes! Alright, bye fuckers! Bye!

Hi, this is Steve Buscemi, you know, the actor. Well, now I'm an actor and podcast host. From Peace of Work Entertainment and Campside Media in association with Olive Productions comes Big Time, an Apple original podcast. Each episode follows the story of one misfit with big dreams who isn't afraid to bend a few rules or take a shortcut to get there. Well, who steals bees? I was duped. I shoot you in the leg.

This is Big Time. Follow and listen on Apple Podcasts.

Have you experienced serious complications with a Perigard IUD, like breakage or fracture? You're not alone. Keller Postman is here to help. Tap the banner now for a free case review. We're helping women hold manufacturers accountable. If eligible, you may be entitled to compensation of up to $200,000. Don't wait. Tap now or visit iudinjury.com slash audio to see if you qualify. Your health matters and justice is within reach.

Tap the banner or visit iudinjury.com slash audio to get started today. This is attorney advertising.