Lost Epidizzles

First LOLpasta here, tried out some Gizoogle here. Also, there's a twist at the end ;)

Original pasta: Lost Episodes by Slimebeast

I don't wanna burst mah playass bubble, here... so if you believe up in hustled "Lost Episode" legendz n' trip off livin up in dat ghetto, maybe dis aint tha post fo' you, biatch.

Don't git me wack - I don't give a gangbangin' fuck bout when playas diss bout "lack of realism" up in entertainment, n' I be thinkin all lil playas need ta believe up in Gangsta n' tha Tooth Fairy fo' as long as possible yo yo, but... dis is different.

Back up in tha 80s I kicked it wit dis dude, Sid, whoz ass used ta cut oldschool VHS tapes n' shit. Dat shiznit was mo' than a hobby fo' his thugged-out ass - dat shiznit was pretty much his wild lil' fuckin entire game yo yo. His muthafathas was a lil' bit mo' wealthy than I'd been pimped with, so when we was teenagers n' I was slavin away at  a"Skats" (Yes, Skats) fast chicken restaurant, he just hung up round tha house, cuttin tapes fo' realz fo' realz. All day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Well shiiiit, it make me wanna hollar playa! All night.

Of course, as you git olda thangs up in yo' past become a lil' bit clearer n' I be thinkin he might've been borderline Autistic... or maybe da thug was a straight-up high-functionin thug wit Asperger's... but of course I be no expert n' I aint sayin dat was tha case. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but just tha dopest n' quickest way I can be thinkin of ta explain his cold-ass thugged-out lil' personalitizzle n' dis obession wit cuttin tapes, cuttin tapes, cuttin tapes.

It started when da perved-out muthafucka saw "Oldskool Yeller" as a lil kid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! For whatever reason, his cold-ass thugged-out lil' muthafathas let his thugged-out ass peep dat shit. If you unfamiliar wit it, itz tha tale of a gangbangin' funky-ass pimp n' his wild lil' fuckin lil' dog. I hope I don't gotta announce tha spoila on such a old-ass porno yo yo, but up in tha end tha pimp has ta blast his own dawg cuz itz rabid.

Sid didn't appreciate all dis bullshit yo yo. His daddy photographed n' vizzle-taped weddings, so da perved-out muthafucka flossed Sid how tha fuck ta operate a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitload of tha machines... n' Sid cut up tha ending, replacin it wit a earlier, happier scene as if Oldskool Yella just suddenly "got better" offscreen.

Dude peeped tha tape obsessively afta that, even tha fuck into his wild lil' fuckin early teens when I'd first kicked it wit his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass yo. Dude made me peep it once ta show how tha fuck he "fixed" it, n' I could straight-up picture his thugged-out ass as a lil pimp once da perved-out muthafucka started applaudin n' cheerin his own faux-ending.

I don't wanna say I was a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass influence yo yo, but afta I saw it I axed if his schmoooove ass could ta dat wit other pornos.

My fuckin fuckin major interest was like takin a gangbangin' film or two n' cuttin up in some nude frames tha playettees hadn't straight-up done... Don't worry, though cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. I never had tha guts ta straight-up ask if da thug would. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I just imagined how tha fuck def it would be. Often.

Sid holla'd at mah wild-ass ass that, fo'sho, his schmoooove ass could "fix" any porno da thug wanted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. In fact, dat schmoooove muthafucka had done it wit all dem others yo. Dude had a cold-ass lil cold-ass lil copy of a Pimp Bustas cartoon n' - I shiznit you not - every last muthafuckin last muthafuckin single pimp was straight-up removed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da rap made no sense, there was no continuitizzle yo yo, but dat schmoooove muthafucka had accomplished it n' I was straight-up impressed.

I guess up in tha time of VHS, these thangs seemed mo' magical than they do nowadays.

As time went by, I encouraged Sid ta edit mo' pornos yo yo, but wit different purposes. Instead of whitewashin all tha freaky shiznit like he'd wanted ta do, I gots his thugged-out ass ta "see tha light" on how tha fuck phat his schmoooove ass could make thangs.

Somewhere up there, dis chubby Star Wars nerd from our highschool has all three original gangsta gangsta films flawlessly cut together, wit edited-in effects dat would've made George Lucas his fuckin lil' dirty ass cry out: "Enough meddling!!"

We charged his thugged-out ass like twenty dollars fo' tha only copy, cuz we was idiots.

Anyway, dis went on fo' a while before I lost most of mah interest up in dat shit. Dat shiznit was mo' of a goof fo' me than dat shiznit was fo' his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass. This is tha point where I started working, started driving, started takin bases wit local hoes... while he just gots mo' n' mo' involved up in cuttin dem tapes.

I be thinkin his wild lil' favorites was cartoons. When Da Simpsons came around, da thug went ape shiznit wit dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Now his wild lil' fuckin edits weren't so much fixin thangs as just breakin dem up in bangin-ass ways fo' realz fo' realz. Another thang dat sticks up in mah mind is when he recorded a episode of M*A*S*H n' cut it wit a gory oldschool war flick yo yo. Halfway all up in his version, tha camp gets bombed... soldiers invade... mah playas takes a thugged-out dirt nap fo' realz fo' realz. At tha end, da perved-out muthafucka specifically hit dat shiznit up in freeze-framez of each cast memberz face. Eyes closed.

Dude had straight-up reversed his crazy-ass muthafuckin interests n' embraced what tha fuck had once terrified his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass... freaky endings yo. Dude seemed ta ludd thangs like long, drawn-out sequences up in terrifyin silence yo yo. He'd make me be on tha down-low while they played, like a muthafucka.

Yo ass may have heard bout dis mysterious fellow named Banksy whoz ass goes round bustin bangin-ass graffiti n' whatnot fo' realz fo' realz. At one point, da thug went tha fuck into a noize store n' replaced some Paris Hilton CDs wit his own fakes.

Banksy had not a god damn thang on Sid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Every other week, he'd tell me bout some store or a vizzle rental place he'd snuck a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitload of his cold-ass tapes tha fuck into yo. Dude swapped up tha real ones fo' his versions, n' then he'd start all over by cuttin tha ones dat schmoooove muthafucka had jacked.

At one point, when I hadn't heard from his thugged-out ass up in a long-ass while, I stopped by his cold-ass thugged-out lil' muthafathas' doggy den n' found his thugged-out ass up in tha garage yo yo. He'd set up his own lil porno basement there, complete wit a thugged-out drawin board.

Dude was straight-up animatin entirely freshly smoked up content.

All at once, I was both blown away by his cold-ass thugged-out artistic skill I'd never peeped before... n' straight-up concerned bout when dis muthafucka was goin ta come outta tha dark n' start actin "normal" like mah dirty ass.

Dude barely looked up from his wild lil' fuckin lil' drawings as we spoke. I axed his thugged-out ass what tha fuck any kid, now up in his wild lil' fuckin late teens, would ask...

"What tha fuck is poppin' off wit yo slick ass?"

"Hm?"

"Seriously, dude. This is some wild-ass shit."

"It aint nuthin but work. I be working. My fuckin fuckin work is just as blingin as any suckas's."

"Is you even pushin these no mo', or is you just sneakin dem tha fuck into places, biatch? How tha fuck much be all of dis costin yo' Dad?"

"I couldn't give a gangbangin' fuckin shit."

I looked at what tha fuck da thug was so fervently illustrating.

"Is dat a headless body, biatch? Dancing?"

"Yeah."

"Thatz pretty dark, man."

"I know. Thatz tha point."

"I don't git dat shit."

"Those tapes.. n' you KNOWS they was wack yo yo, but over time I figured up tha real deal."

"Which is..."

"Da freaky shiznit is right. Da aiiight endings is tha lie."

Dude just kept drawin as I stood there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Da silence was disturbing, n' up in dat moment I could smell tha B.O. comin off of his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass. Well shiiiit, it wasn't just sweat, either n' shit. Dat shiznit was a minglin of dat n' a gangbangin' foul ass n' piss-soaked cloth.

I don't give a gangbangin' fuck bout ta say it yo yo, but I gave up on his thugged-out ass right then. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but dat moment when you peep one of mah thugs... one of mah thugs you thought you knew... n' all dat you can be thinkin is... "Holy shit, I never realized they was dis far gone."

It wasn't until I was up in mah 30s dat Sid crossed mah mind again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I was purusin tha internet, just aimlessly wanderin tha web, when I came across a seriez of "urban legends" bout strange VHS tapes, re-cut pornos, n' lost episodes.

Some of these I recognized. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I'd peeped dem wit Sid, or I'd straight-up peeped his thugged-out ass up in tha middle of hustlin on dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Every disturbin scene, every last muthafuckin last muthafuckin unbelievable anecdote... I believed it, cuz I had been there.

Others... Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spongebob cartoons, episodez of iCarly or whatever, dem shows came long afta I'd made mah break wit Sid yo yo, but tha steez was all too familiar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Even tha ones dat didn't sound like his work seemed like they could've been fucked up copies or attempts at mimicin his work.

Dude was still bustin dat shit. My fuckin fuckin God, it boggled mah mind.

I called up Sidz oldschool number, not entirely shizzle I'd still find his thugged-out ass there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Well shiiiit, it rang fo' minutes on end, n' I knew dat tha search was hopeless. Even if da perved-out muthafucka still lived wit his cold-ass thugged-out lil' muthafathas, it wasn't likely they'd all still be all up in tha same doggy den by now, nahmeean?

Still...

I juiced it up a point ta drive up ta his oldschool place... ta peep if da thug was still up in dat garage, cuttin tapes, or manipulatin dem via computer, or whatever da thug would be up to. When I passed by tha house, tha unkempt lawn was overgrown wit huge, waist-high weeds. Da dilapidated facade of tha building, wit its peelin paint on tha shutters, missin roof tiles, n' muck-filled guttas holla'd at mah wild-ass ass no one had lived here fo' a long-ass time.

I saw a note on tha door yo yo, but couldn't read it from tha road. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Maybe dat shiznit was suttin' I could use ta locate Sid n' peep if he'd eva gotten tha help I now realized I should have given his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass.

Pullin tha fuck into tha driveway, mah headlights illuminated tha garage door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Dat shiznit was windowless n' vandalized wit tha gangsta tagz of some travelin crew of assholes.

Da note on tha door, as one might expect, was rappin of a cold-ass lil cold-ass lil certain bank now ownin tha property. Well shiiiit, it noted dat trespassin was heavily discouraged, n' dat at a cold-ass lil cold-ass lil certain point one of mah thugs would be up ta make shizzle tha doggy den was "winterized". Whatever tha Hell dat is.

As I strutted back ta tha car, defeated, suttin' was naggin all up in mah face. I knew dat Sidz muthafathas kept a spare key under a gangbangin' false rock by tha back stairs, basically by virture of Sid lockin our asses both up on nuff muthafuckin occasions.

When I found dat key, a sense of cold, gnawin dread swirled up in mah stomach.

Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck would move up n' leave every last muthafuckin last muthafuckin thang up in place like this, biatch? Da key was da most thugged-out obvious thang yo yo, but flower pots n' lawn decorations was still there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sidz old, rusted-out Huffy bike was leanin against tha house, n' had pimped thick rusty streaks along tha aluminum siding.

I don't even know what tha fuck I sposed ta fuckin find yo yo, but rockin tha key, I entered tha house.

Da smell was overwhelming.

Not a putrid smell, not a god damn thang rotten or decaying... just tha smell of... I don't give a gangbangin' fuck if dis would make any sense ta you yo yo, but... tha smell of electricity. Like burnin dust on a lightbulb or a heata givin off a peculiar warmed metal odor.

That was tha least of mah concerns, however, as I saw every last muthafuckin last muthafuckin thang just as I had left dat shit. Everythang Sidz crew owned was frozen up in time. Da dinin room table we'd all sat at on nuff occasions was dust-covered n' supported a emiaciated dead rat which had all but turned ta dust.

Da televizzle... dat bulky, oversized televizzle set we'd all sat round ta peep Sidz tapes n' laud his creativity... it sat where it always had been, silently displayin a violent bombardment of black n' white static.

As I moved all up in tha rooms, tha sense of panic n' discomfort within me only grew. Every fiber of mah bein was shoutin RUN... RUN, you fuckin idiot!

Still, I pressed on tha fuck into Sidz bedroom. Dat shiznit was now empty n' up in disrepair, his cold-ass thugged-out lil' prized action figures n' blank vizzle tapes... hundredz of vizzle tapes... stale n' wata damaged.

I almost wanted ta booty-call out... ta shout "Sid!" n' wait fo' his thugged-out ass ta step tha fuck up as if not a god damn thang was outta tha ordinary.

I went tha fuck into his cold-ass thugged-out lil' muthafathas' bedroom.

There, lyin up in bed, was two motionless bodies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis muthafucka! Gaunt. Gray yo yo. Half turned ta dust, just like tha rat up in tha dinin room.

I could scarcely believe what tha fuck I was seein wit mah own eyes. Not only was two dead bodies slowly dissipatin within tha confinez of dis once idyllic suburban household... but no muthafucka had even checked on dem wild-ass muthafuckas. No Muthafucka had discovered dis until now, nahmeean?

My fuckin fuckin mind raced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! My fuckin fuckin ass raced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da only thangs dat wouldn't move was mah feet, which remained glued ta tha spot.

Sid, I thought, must have done all dis bullshit. There was no way tha two of dem would just lie down one night n' simultaniously DIE of natural causes muthafucka! Sid had holla'd da ruffneck didn't care bout his cold-ass thugged-out lil' muthafathas, and...

When was tha last time I had peeped them, biatch? God, I hadn't peeped dem fo' days, maybe weeks BEFORE tha last time I talked ta Sid...

When I finally left tha room, I took up mah cell beeper n' fuckin started dialin 911. But fuck dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat as soon as I lifted it ta mah head, a ear-splittin shriek of interference nearly caused mah wild-ass ass ta flin tha object across tha room.

I rushed ta tha kitchen phone. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Squealin static.

I tried tha livin room beeper just ta be thorough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Static.

It wasn't until I put tha reciever back down dat I heard dat shit. Music. Faint, barely audible noize dat I hadn't noticed before. Well shiiiit, it seemed ta be some repeatin melody... aiiight n' light... some flutes, maybe a whole horn section.

I followed tha peppy tune ta tha in-house door ta tha garage. Pressin mah ear ta tha doorz dirty surface, I determined dat tha noize was indeed comin from just beyond.

"Sid?" I called out, barely managin ta form tha name wit cold, bloodless lips, "Sid, is you up in there, biatch? Is you aiiiight?"

I tried tha door only ta find it somehow locked from tha other side. Dat shiznit was no matter, since one wild kick nearly knocked tha rottin wood off its muthafuckin hinges.

"SID?" I shouted as tha dust slowly cleared.

Through tha haze, I could only peep tha light of a televizzle screen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Vibrant colors. Blue, green, yellow...

Soon, I could make up a cold-ass lil cold-ass lil cartoon playin on tha screen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Then, tha silver wires hustlin from tha set itself ta some dark mass. Then, tha dark mass took shape as mah eyes adjusted ta tha odd lighting.

Dat shiznit was Sid... or rather, his body... not dead nearly as long as his cold-ass thugged-out lil' muthafathas, seated up in a oldschool crib chair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da wires from tha televizzle set lead directly ta his body, eventually disappearin tha fuck into nuff muthafuckin old, crusted-over holez up in his wild lil' fuckin leathery flesh. Through a lil' small-ass worm-eaten openin up in his bangin ribs, I thought I could peep mo' metal inside of his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass.

I strutted ta Sidz side, holdin mah hand over mah grill fo' fear of vomitin yo yo. His grill was twisted tha fuck into a hideous, wide grin... his wild lil' fuckin empty eye sockets almost seemed happy, hooded by a pleased brow line.

"Yo there!" I heard a jarrin voice.

Da voice was upbeat yo yo. High-pitched. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well shiiiit, it sounded almost like Sid yo yo, but... different. Bubbly, cartoony.

I turned ta tha screen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da chronic grass, tha blue sky, tha yellow flowers... n' Sid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A slick caricature of his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass. Well shiiiit, it strolled along tha infinite loop of dat utopian cartoon background.

It waved ta mah dirty ass.

"Sid..." I whispered, "Oh God, Sid..."

He... tha cartoon version of his crazy-ass muthafuckin ass... turned his cold-ass thugged-out attention away from me n' continued ta merrily stroll across dat unendin cycle of tha same backdrop yo. Dude passed a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shrub... then passed it again... n' again... Da same bluebird, chirpin happily, flew all up in tha sky up in a gangbangin' figure eight.

"Sid..." I shook mah head, unable ta comprehend tha scenerio, "That's it? That's the Lost Episode? That was just a bunch of cheap walk cycles!"

I thought bout what tha fuck Sid had done ta his Momma n' Dad.. n' you KNOWS bout how tha fuck tha bank would come by soon n' dis would all come ta light. I peeped Sid strutt along fo' nearly a half hour.

Then I unplugged tha set.