Needs Work

Needs Work. Posted 4-Oct-2014 11:59PM by JeffsBuddy Wow. Did you even get out of middle school? If you did, plz tell me where you went so i can go there and kill your english teacher.

Posted 4-Oct-2014 12:14AM by MerMarth316 0/10. and thats being generous

Posted 4-Oct-2014 12:19AM by xMarvinxMartianx 666, pentagrams, geysers of blood, killer magically appears places... clichépasta is cliché. Oh, and too top it all off, a skeleton. A. FUCKING. SKELETON. ACTUALLY.POPS. OUT. Are you retarded, or a troll? Doesn't matter, please don't grace our site with your "writing" anymore. Can't believe this hasn't been deleted yet.

Posted 4-Oct-2014 12:28AM by Hetalia214 Okay, I've read some bad pastas before, but this is one of the worst. There is virtually no buildup, the main character does things seemingly at random with no motivation, the blood and gore is cranked up to 11, and the twist ending was so stupid that I had it figured out 2 sentences in. Honestly, this is more funny than it is scary. I really hope that this is supposed to be a trollpasta.

response to Hetalia214 Posted 5-Oct-2014 1:26AM by DarkTony12

WHY EVERY TIME I POST A PASTA YOU GYUS SAY ITS SHIT WELL GUESS WHAT I FUCKING QUITE AND YOUR GONNA BE SORRY THIS SITE SUX ANYWAY!1 YOU SAYS I CANT WRITE BUT IM TRYING TO GET BETTER AND u JUST DELETE IT ANYWAYS IM GONE SEE YOU LATER DICKS HEH HEH HEH! SEE YOU IN YOURE NIGHTMARES.

response to DarkTony12 Posted 5-Oct-2014 9:49AM by MerMarth316

Oh Shit, be careful guise! DarkTony is gonna get us all in our sleep! XD

Posted 4-Oct-2014 11:12AM by Hetalia214 Enjoy your ban, Tony. Locked.

THREAD CLOSED

Anthony Samson was rather large for a boy the age of thirteen (Well, he would be thirteen in six weeks anyway, but that was close enough!) and was close to if not actually the tallest kid in the entire sixth grade class. At five feet nine and a half inches, he towered over his schoolmates, and a few of his teachers. His build was what polite a Aunt would call "stocky," however Tony did not have a polite Aunt. In fact he did not know of many family members of his that would pass for anything like polite, so instead of being stocky, Tony was just fat. He usually hung around 230lbs give or take, making him the size and shape of a middle aged man. His age was only betrayed by his pudgy, uncreased face. A face that had not yet grown into the massive head it occupied. With some conditioning, and training, young Tony could have been quite the high school football, or wrestling star, but physical activity was not of much interest to the boy. He preferred to spend his time reading trashy murder novels from GoodWill, and playing first-person style shooting games. These pursuits did not leave much time for school study, and although he was not necessarily a smart boy, Tony wasn't dumb either. Quiet, sometimes to a fault, but not dumb. Sometimes late at night, when attentive parents would try to be sure their children were fast asleep, if there were no pulp murder mysteries or horror tales to read, Anthony would search the internet for works of short fiction to fill his brain with nasty images. He would often visit a certain internet forum where amateur writers could post short horror fiction stories for reading and critique. He read many stories and creepypastas there which greatly pleased him; tales of TV episodes containing hidden images of grisly murder, jaunts into the minds of serial killers, works describing a video game characters massacring one another before the eyes of the player, the list goes on. Tony often found himself daydreaming about the events of these stories, doodling crude corpses on the covers of his schoolbooks when the teacher was explaining something. Inventing scenarios in his head based on the exploits of the murderous madmen about whom he read online. Envisioning the pictures he had seen on various gore and shock websites, and wondering how the mangled bodies of the photographed had managed to get themselves so inside out. Inevitably, He began forming his visions of death, and horror into little plays inside his mind's eye. From there, he would scratch them onto looseleaf paper, hiding them from any passing adults. Not that an adult would be able to make much sense of the scrawlings, the penmanship was awful, and the stories had very little continuity, if any. They were mostly just descriptions of violence and terror loosely strung together my a central character. After many weeks of doodling, and writing about folks getting violently killed, he decided that he might want to share his thoughts with others. As was mentioned, Tony was not a stupid boy, and he knew that the one or two friends (more like acquaintances) he had at school would likely not appreciate his stories, and may even tell a teacher about them. Luckily for Tony, he lived in an age where one can express himself to a group of willing, or unwilling listeners in the form of the internet. Having only lurked in the shadows of his favorite creepypasta forum, Tony was unsure about how to post his work. Following some trial and error, he found out how to make a forum account, hoping that there wasn't a way for the website owners to find out that he wasn't yet thirteen years old. After uploading a picture he found by Google image searching "scary" as his avatar, he was ready to post some stories. From four PM to almost eleven thirty PM with only a few breaks to eat dinner and use the toilet, Tony sat nervously transcribing his work. Using his two index fingers to peck at the keyboard was a strenuous process and he wished that, like the kids at school with their iPads, he could make his digits dance across the keyboard surface quickly and elegantly. Eventually he had gotten three of his stories typed up in three separate windows. He posted them all within one minute of each other. As the forum pages were published, Anthony's stomach tightened with a mix of anxiety, and pride. He hoped that the forum users would enjoy his stories, and he was fairly certain they would. Although he was still giddy and excited, Tony was also feeling weary from his long hours of thinking and typing. It was time for bed.

School the next day went as usual. Tony kept wondering how many people had read his creepypasta, and what kinds of reviews he would get. Being a new user, he was sure that there would be some criticism, and maybe some advice given, but he was certain that most users would enjoy his tales of bloodshed and fright as much as he enjoyed writing them. Stepping from the mold stained and dilapidated front stoop into the house, Tony was careful not to make much noise. He knew that his father didn't like to be awakened when he was napping, especially after a night of drinking and shouting at the television. So Tony snuck through the living room into his bedroom and shut the door. He booted up his PC, since leaving it on all night was "a fucking waste of electricity," and logged onto the internet. When he got to the forum where he had posted his stories, he was thrilled to see that two of them had gotten a few responses. The third was strangely not listed, perhaps there was an error when he posted it. He clicked on the link leading to the creepypasta he posted first called "Bloody City." There were 4 responses, the first read something along the lines of "Soooooo many spelling errors, run-on sentences, almost no capital letters. Who the fuck is 'randy'? You mention him once, and never talk about him again. This is bad." Tony felt like he had been hit in the gut with a baseball bat. He knew that his stories were likely not as good as the ones that he loved to read, he was new at this after all, but actually reading such a scathing review of a story that he wrote was a sensation he had not anticipated. He had read some pretty brutal reviews of pastas on this forum, but reading one about a story that he had crafted himself was a lot different. Scrolling down, the other comments were similar to the first. No-holds-barred critiques from veteran users wondering if Tony had ever heard of a spell check, and telling him that this was a "terribad" pasta. Although he was alone in the comfort of his home, Tony couldn't help feeling while reading these comments as though he were naked, standing upon some kind of gallows. His skin was cold and clammy. Tony clicked the back button and went to check the comments on the other story he posted. He had written this one after the first, so he was sure that it was of better quality than the other one. Scrolling to the comments section below this creepypasta called "Regular Show lost episode 666" induced many of the same emotions as it did the first time. Some of the users commented that this was "a blatant ripoff of squidward's suicide," and that the story "makes absolutely no fucking sense," while another wondered how old the author was, estimating that the story was penned by a nine year old. While reading the comments and reviews of this creepypasta Tony learned what had happened to the third story he had posted; "The Pentagram Man." It had apparently been deleted minutes after it was posted, being deemed "not up to quality standards." Each of his posts had been tagged with one two word phrase at the bottom of the page;

"Needs Work."

After awhile, Tony was able to compose himself. He decided that he would try again tonight, even harder than the first time. He shuffled through some of his notebooks and chose another two stories to type up; "The Executioner" and "Pokemon Hell Red." Once again, he spent the next several hours pecking away at his computer keyboard. The time passed quickly, and within a few hours he had two more stories up and posted to the forum. The next day after school, he did the same as the day before. He logged onto is favorite website to view all the comments he had gotten on his story, he was sure to be congratulated that the quality of his creepypastas had gone up and that they were now very good. Again, each of his stories had a series of comments, Tony clicked to view the comments for his Pokemon creepypasta. They were reminiscent of the comments he had gotten the day before.

"Oh fuck, not another one from this guy."

"how original, a game that talks to the player. please stop writing!"

"I can't believe you posted MORE PASTAS. Did you not get the message?"

"A BLIND, ONE HANDED SHEEP COULD'VE WROTE A LESS CLICHE RIDDLED PIECE OF TRASH"

The comments continued in that general vein, and Tony found that he although he was saddened that no one liked his stories, he was beginning to feel angry. Angry that he had tried to emulate his favorite stories while putting his personal twist on them, only o be ridiculed and made a figure of fun for his efforts. He decided that he ought to get some of his frustration out, and began replying to some of the comments.

"WTF THIS STORY IS AT LEAST AS GOOD AS JEFF THE KILLER I WORKED REALL HARD ON THIS. YOU FAGS DONT KNOW A GOOD STORY WHEN U READ IT!"

"MAYBE IF I WRIGHT SO BAD ILL JUS KILL MYSELF THEN SEE HOW YOU LIKE THAT"

Tony was in a full fit of rage now, even if he had stopped to realize that the opinions of commentators on an internet forum had little to no bearing on his day to day life, he likely would not have calmed down. Rage breeds rage, and Tony was cultivating several generations worth of fury while sitting in from of his monitor. Such emotions can wreak havoc on the mind of a young man, and Tony found that tears were welling in his eyes. This realization spurred even greater resentment and hatred, and he released it in the form of a hard right hand punch to his bedroom wall. He cracked the already crumbling plaster, then flopped onto his bed, fighting tears. After a few minutes of moping, Tony calmed down enough to start thinking rationally again. He made the decision that his furious emotional state would make for good writing. He sat back at his computer and started madly typing with two fingers, this time making the story up on the spot. He wrote the story of a teenager named "Tony the Slasher" who hunts down a bully and slices his face off, after doing all sorts of other unsavory things to the bully and his family. He tried to include as much detail as he could, that would please the forum users. When the clock was about to strike midnight, Tony had finished his mad writing spree and was giggling to himself as he copied the text into a new forum topic page. He signed his work and published the page with a toothy grin on his face. This time the work had not exhausted him, and he was in no mood to sleep. Tony stayed awake, refreshing the webpage every minute or so, waiting for his new story "Blood Soaked Payback" to receive comments. About ten page refreshes later, there was a new comment on the story. After reading the comment many times over, but before responding, Tony refreshed the page to see another comment. He decided to see if any more comments would come in before typing up his responses. Eventually the comments stopped coming in, and Tony typed up as scathing a response as he could think of, something threatening that would command their respect, all in capital letters to emphasize his emotion. Before posting his retort, he noticed another addition at the bottom of the page;

"Needs Work."

For the next several days, Tony did not visit his favorite Creepypasta forum. He didn't think he had the nerve for it, and was afraid of getting as angry again as he had before. But in the back of his mind a tiny pilot light was burning, waiting for the main to ignite it into blazing glory. After awhile, Tony started visiting other Creepypasta forums, not posting any stories, just reading. He witnessed an exchange of comments which intrigued him. A user was spamming links to another forum, and was subsequently banned. The moderator also posted something on the banned user's page stating "Oh, and I banned your other 6 accounts too. Try a different IP next time." This seemingly inconsequential bit of text got Tony thinking. He did some research on IP addresses, and found out a little bit about them, how they can sometimes lead to finding out the actual place of origin of a connection. Through a little digging, he was able to download a few cracked applications that could trace an IP fairly accurately, as long as it wasn't being used remotely. As was mentioned before, the boy was not stupid. He realized that if he was a forum moderator, he could find out where the users who were such assholes to him lived... then he could scare them good. But that was just a fantasy, he knew that if he couldn't even write a story that people liked, he'd never be a moderator on the forum. Eventually, after some time away, Tony returned to the forum where he had posted his work. It was, after all, his favorite place to read creepypastas. When he loaded up the main page, he saw a thread titled "Worst Pastas of All Time." without much thought, he clicked the link, and was brought to a list of ten or so pasta titles with short descriptions. He was somewhat shocked to see that 3 of the stories that he had written himself made up this list. Pokemon Hell Red was #8, The Pentagram Man was #5, and at number one was none other than Blood Soaked Payback. The post read as follows;

Posted 18-Oct-2014 4:28PM by MerMarth316

"Blood Soaked Payback is what happens when a 10 year old primary school dropout gets a butthurt level over 9,000 and decides to vent his rage at the only people willing to tell him the facts about his piss poor writing. This is the one I said could be trumped by a one handed sheep, if you'll remember. I still can't tell if the author is a grade-A troll, or a basement dwelling, CoD playing pre-teen faggot. For the purposes of this list, I choose the latter.

If inane gore laced with terrible and (unintentionally) hilarious dialogue combined with myriad grammar/spelling mistakes and a plot that borders on unintelligible sounds like something you'd be into, this one is a must read. Extra bonus points for including a super sp00ky skurrleton... Holy shit."   Tony read this all with gritted teeth. All he had ever wanted to do was share some of his thoughts and ideas with like minded creepypasta readers. All he wanted was to be told that he had written something good, or scary. What could these people possibly want from him? He poured hours of his time and energy into writing a few horror fiction stories like the ones he loved. Maybe the spelling and grammar weren't perfect, but those aren't the point. Spelling mistakes and run-on sentences, missing capitals and lack of punctuation are things that a reader ought to be able to look past. Maybe the details of the story weren't entirely clear, perhaps some things are skipped or glossed over, but the heart of the story still comes through!    Something inside the young boy changed, some kind of switch was thrown. It took all of his strength, but Tony kept himself from signing in and replying to the post. Instead, he began thinking about what he could actually do. This MerMarth316 user had cut him deeply, and Tony wanted to return the favor. He started thinking about IP addresses, and tracking information. It couldn't be that hard to get, could it? Tony navigated the forum to find a listing of all current Administrators and Moderators. There were about two dozen active and maybe half again that who had not logged on in months. If he could somehow hack into the profile of one of those dead admin pages, he was sure he could get the IP address he was after. Following some searches, and some reading about forum constants he was able to find a simple program which would crack an alphanumeric password given enough time. Despite his rage, Tony was okay with waiting a little bit for this. For the next few nights, He set up his serial cracking algorithm app to try passwords for a few hours. He left the computer on with the monitor shut off, he didn't care about wasting the fucking electricity. One morning, after brushing his teeth, Tony checked the computer, like he now did every morning. He found that the screen was different, and that he was looking at the front page of the creepypasta forum, but it didn't look the way he remembered. He saw that in the corner of the page was an avatar that wasn't his, and there were several buttons along the top of the page reading things like "Ban User," "Delete Thread," "Report User," and also one which read "IP Check." He grinned and clapped his hands over his minty mouth. Throughout school, he could barely pay attention to anything that the teachers were saying. He didn't really listen all that well anyway, but today this was even more true. Most of the day was spent drawing bloody stickmen on the margins of his notebook, clapping it shut whenever a student of adult was in viewing distance. Eventually, the long school day was over. Tony stepped off the bus and jogged his large frame into the apartment. In accordance with tradition, daddy was on the cigarette-burn laden sofa, snoozing off another hangover, or coke binge. Tony raced to his bedroom and flicked his monitor on, it was time to do some work. The administrator that the serial cracker had been able to log in as was named s0ggy_le_biscuit. Were Tony a few years older and knew what the reference meant, he would probably have been either amused or disgusted. As it was, he was twelve, and the name meant nothing to him except an opportunity for revenge. He quickly clicked the IP check tab without thinking about it too much. He selected the user MerMarth316 and was prompted to enter a reason for the IP check. This was not anticipated, but Tony decided to just enter "Possible alternate accounts," as it seemed feasible. Without much trouble, he obtained an eleven digit number, then name and location entered by the user MerMarth316 (Devon T. Pennsylvania, US. Also where Tony's older brother happened to live) and a place to start. Tony did some Google searches, and bounced around on some forums learning how to read the thing, and what it meant. It turned out that the address likely did lead back to Pennsylvania, in the greater Scranton area. After some more fishing, having found some other profiles that appeared to belong to the same user, Tony found the Facebook page of one 27 year old Devon Taylor living in Jessup, Pennsylvania. Looking at some pictures of Devon AKA "MerMarth316" he made a mental note of any details he could find. Makes and models of cars in the photos, if there were mailboxes, or houses in them, things like that. One picture had a very telling comment. It was a picture of Mr. MerMarth316 looking glassy eyed at a bar, the caption read "Gotta love having your favorite pub two doors down! #LuckySOB" The mirror over the bar in the background read "The Side Bar." This was it. Tony was sure that this was the key. He quickly Googled "The Side Bar Jessup PA" and found the bar. After a check on Google Earth, the last nail in the coffin was pounded, a white Jeep Cherokee about two doors down from the bar. The same car that Devon Taylor had taken Facebook selfies in. Tony gathered his notes and grabbed the telephone. He called his brother Jerry who lived in Scranton, 30 miles away, praying that he would pick up. He did, and Tony told him that their dad was having some people over, and that he thought a fight might be about to break out. Jerry let out a disgusted sounding sigh, and said that he would pick him up after he got out of work in an hour. Tony said that was fine. After hanging up the phone, and leaving a note for his father "Dad. went to jerrys. back sometime. Tony," he sat on the front stoop, fully content to wait the few hours to be picked up by his brother. When that time came, Tony jogged over to the car before it had stopped moving and quickly hopped in as soon as it was unlocked. "It's okay now," began Tony, "but they might start arguing again." Jerry assured him that it was okay for him to stay at his house for the night. This was not necessarily an odd occurrence. A few hours after they were home, Jerry said that he had to get to sleep since he was on a split shift. Tony said that he would go to sleep too. He waited a half hour or so to make sure that Jerry was sound asleep, then got off the couch, took his brother's keys off the wall peg, and slipped out the front door. Since Tony was so big for his age, Jerry had let him drive his car a few times to "get the feel for it." Tony wasn't an expert driver, but he was pretty sure he could get across the city without much of a problem. Gas on the right, brake on the left, signals, wipers, lights, bada-bing. In a matter of 25 minutes, Tony was in his brother's car, idling outside the house 2 doors down from The Side Bar with the Jeep Cherokee parked outside. It was time to do what he set out to. It was a single family unit, so Tony was sure he would get the right guy. He rang the doorbell and stood in the ochre glow of the sodium-lamp lit streetlight. Devon Taylor, MerMarth316 answered the door and looked somewhat bewildered as he took in the sight before him. A person his height, outweighing him by at least 30 pounds, but with the soft face of a child, a face with a furrowed brow, pouty bottom lip, and a tear twinkling in its right eye. "Um, who are you? Can I help you," asked Devon. "I'm, I... You don't know me, but... I wrote, I wrote..." Stammered the boy. "Listen, I don't know you, and whatever it is, I don't want any." He made to shut the door, but Tony stopped him. He could see a computer monitor in the living room of the house. "Hey! Listen!" Snapped Tony. "Listen!" "Listen? Listen to what? Who are you, Navi?" Devon smirked at his own stupid joke. "I'm a busy man so-- *ack*" He was cut off by a forearm to his throat. Tony pushed the man twice his age into the house and slammed the door behind him. "I'm DarkTony12!" Tony said, seething. "And you're... you're a asshole!" It was the first time he had said this word aloud. He had heard it many times, and said it inside his brain and in writing, but vocalizing it had an empowering effect. "Dark what? Who the fuck are you? Get the fuck out of my house, you lunatic!" Devon had been knocked over when he was pushed into the house, and was struggling to regain his footing. "You don't even know? You don't even remember? You said I wrote the worst creepypasta ever!" Tears were welling in Tony's eyes now, but not tears of sadness or pain, but of searing, burning anger. There appeared to be a spark of realization of the face of MerMarth316 now. "DarkTony12? You don't..." suddenly, Devon smiled. "You don't mean that troll from the Creepypasta forums! Oh man. Kid who put you up to this?" He was chuckling now. "Was it Kyle? That fucker! You--" he was cut off again, but this time a bit less comfortably. Tony had kicked him as hard as he could between the legs. "You... You cunt!" Shouted Tony, in reality, he didn't know exactly what the word meant, only that it was pretty much the only thing his father said and told never to repeat. "I put a ton of work into those stories! They were really good!" He kicked the man in the face, leaving a boot shaped mark on his cheek. Devon was unable to block the attack, his hands planted on his groin. "That was... that was just a stupid fucking internet post, you fucking psychopath! Get the fuck... out of my house!" Mermarth316 now also had tears in his eyes. "Leave me the fuck alone! How the fuck did you ev--" he was cut off from finishing by another boot to the face. "Shut up! Shut up!" "Get away... get away from me... just go home and write more shitty creepyp..." Devon realized what he was saying a bit too late, and was pounced upon by the large boy. Tony was clubbing away with his meaty fists, adolescent bones still springy enough not to risk a break. "You Motherfucker! Could a one handed sheep beat the piss out of you like this? Huh?" Tony emphasized each word of his sentence by pounding Devon's face. After he had run out of breath, he looked up from the face of the man who had caused him such pain, a face that was almost unrecognizable when compared to how it had looked 10 minutes earlier. It now resembled more or less a pair of steaks with eyes and teeth upon which a jar of strawberry syrup had exploded. As Tony looked up, his eyes met the webcam perched above Devon's flat panel monitor. For the first time since meeting his antagonist face to face, Tony was now smiling again. He dismounted the bloodied and sobbing would-be critic, and walked to the computer. He checked and saw that there were several internet tabs open, one of them was the creepypasta forum which had started all this trouble. He started giggling to himself, and clicked to Devon's profile page, he hovered the cursor over the tab marked "share" and when the drop down menu appeared, he scrolled and clicked the "stream" button.

Stream Started (aux record upload enabled)

Tony squared himself up in the monitor and began addressing the forum at large. "Hi there Creepypasta readers, this is DarkTony12 broadcasting from the home of regular user, and dickhead critic MerMarth316," started Tony, "He had a lot to say about my pastas; he said that they were too gory, and didn't make any sense... compared me to a farm animal." At this point the large 12 year old turned around and grabbed Devon, lifting him into view of the webcam by his hair. "Say hello MerMarth... Devon Taylor." Devon could only muster a weak "hhnngg..." "Not such a big mouth now huh?" Looking at the monitor, Tony saw that he was garnering some attention. There were a few messages appearing in the chat window.

"Dude, wtf? xD" "Mer, I didn't know you were streaming today?" "Who is this goon?" "What the fuck happened to Mer?!" "Srsly what is going on here?" "..." "SHould we get a mod or..."

"You'll know soon," Tony replied to the chat. "Anyone remember a story called Blood Soaked Payback?" he waited for chat replies.

"... no" "That shitpasta from a few weeks ago?" "Yeah that was fucking awful"

Tony looked away before he could read more. "Yeah, it was that one! You all thought it was awful, and too violent... well, is this too violent for you?" Tony held Devon's head up to the camera. "Is this too bloody?" he smashed his fist into MerMarth's face. "Huh, is this?" Another punch. Tony threw Devon's face onto the keyboard and walked off in disgust. He looked to his right and saw a small kitchenette. He decided to walk in, started ripping drawers out, and found a cache of knives. He grabbed a few and walked back to the computer. He looked at the screen.

"Seriously, this is not funny." "Who the fuck is that guy?" "Does anyone know where Marth lives irl? "Dude, the fuck?"

Tony felt empowered by the frightened messages. He lifted a large serrated knife to the camera, and grinned. He held Devon's face level with the webcam, and brought the blade to the side of the victim's face. He slowly began slicing into Devon, from forehead, to temple to chin. Thick blood oozed from the tiny pink slit running down the side of MerMarth316's face. "Oh, how is this for pointless gore?" He bashed his victim's face into the keyboard again. "Is this too fucking unoriginal? Does this need work?" He looked at the chat window on the blood splattered monitor.

"Okay, enough internet for one day." "This is fucking sick" "Whoever set this up is some kind of sfx master.. I hope." "sick shit" "who is that?"

"More pointless blood and guts!" Shouted Tony. He sliced across Devon's forehead again, this time jimmying the blade down between the skull and the exposed skin. He continued this until a large portion of skull was showing. "Oooh, is this too cliché? A spooky skeleton?" Tony jabbed the end of the knife into Devon's right eye and jiggled it, causing blood and ichor to dribble from the socket. "Look here, blood! Crying blood from the eyesockets! Is that too fucking cliché for you assholes?" Tony was beginning to cry again now. He looked at the chat window once more.

"I'm out" "This is either really fucking cool, or totally fucked up" "I opt for the latter" "sick..." "yeah, I'm not watching this anymore"

Tony closed the livestream, let Devon's convulsive body fall to the sticky carpet. The large boy looked at the mess of black-crimson surrounding him, cooling on his hands, and fell to his knees. After several minutes, he found a cell phone in Devon's pocket and dialed 911. He gave the dispatcher his location, and hung up, despite their desire for him to stay on the line. By the time flashing blue and red lights appeared outside, Tony had stopped crying, and had even tried to slide the skin back onto his victim's face. When police finally entered the residence, Tony was pondering, deep in thought... "I wonder if you're allowed to use a computer in prison..."

Written by: Urkel