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I was working at Nickelodeon studios as an intern in the golden years of Spongebob, before the theatrical movie was made and the series went to shit. I mainly just delivered Stephen Hillenburg’s coffee, but the job did have some perks—like Assassin. Assassin was overpowered, and I could never get Extreme Conditioning, Recon or Sitrep to Pro six, but anyways the BEST perk, was, of course, watching the brand new, unedited Spongebob episodes.
One dark and stormy day, I was called in to see a strange episode that had been found in the archives but never officially finished. Me and two other people—Stephanie, and Bob—poor, poor Bob—entered the viewing room and I asked,
Bob, godforsaken, sad, noticeably handsome but not in a gay way Bob, said,
I replied,
Bob sipped his coffee, and replied,
For some reason, the theme song didn’t play. It just skipped right to a creepy title card—instead of the usual fun, blocky font it showed the words
It was already too much for Bob. He screamed,
Strangely, I wasn’t fazed by the haunting imagery. I actually chuckled. Something about it was empowering me, vindicating me, liberating me…I had no time to question my sanity. My erection would soon triple in size when I witnessed the first true scene of this lost episode. It was like it was calling out to my very soul….
It showed Spongebob with a spatula outside Squidward’s house shouting,
Stephanie vomited again and began beating her head against the wall, her tears becoming mixed with blood. I didn’t care that we were trapped anymore. I cheered this new, profane Spongebob on.
Squidward finally opened the door, and Spongebob lunged at him and snapped his neck swiftly yet brutally, with a sickening, blood-curdling CRACK that seemed to echo throughout the room I was in, as if we had HD surround sound. I laughed out loud. What was happening to me? Perhaps I was the chosen one…I would soon find out.
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Stephanie looked at me in fear and disgust. I didn’t care. It was like I was becoming a different person. Who was I? I felt incredibly, wonderfully filthy, perhaps like a serial killer bathing himself in the blood of his seven-year-old female victim who he had lacerated multiple times with a rusty, dull knife while listening to Mozart in a basement. Wait, what? I don’t even know. Oh, right, Spongebob. Spongebob’s next, even more evil actions would further fuel my lust.
Spongebob took out his trademark spatula, kissed it gently, rubbed it’s shiny steel, and then plunged it into Squidward’s thin neck. I screamed
Patrick knocked on Spongebob’s door.
A new feeling arose in me. One of fury. My orgasm had been cut short. I turned away from the screen, and it seemed to pause for me. I said,
Stephanie huddled in the corner of the room.
Stephanie clutched the silver cross she always wore around her neck and took a step towards me.
I picked up the gun and pointed it at her beautiful face.
She got on her knees, and crawled to me. Meanwhile, Spongebob was raping Sandy anally in the video. Yesss. This was perfect. I dropped my pants and underwear, and shoved Stephanie’s face into my sweaty crotch. She squealed like I pig being electrocuted. I said,
After Spongebob ejaculated in Sandy’s furry ass, he strangely let her go. Then he headed to his final destination, the Krusty Krab. Mr Krabs was waiting for him.
Spongebob’s eyes were bloodshot. His teeth were gritted. He raised a rubber mallet, and struck Mr. Krabs thin arm, crushing the bone like a beetle. Mr. Krabs screamed. He tried to fight back, but couldn’t. Spongebob bashed away at him, and then the episode abruptly ended. The image just burned away. And then I realized the room was on fire.
I said,
That’s all I remember. And now, here I am, sitting in a prison cell, writing this. Yep, they caught me. I suppose justice was served. But it was worth it. Just for those sweet few minutes of untold pleasure. Well, told to you, now. Why am I writing this? I don’t know. This isn’t really about Spongebob. It was about the sinful forces that overcame me that day. Maybe the whole tape was a mere hallucination. Maybe I had finally caved, sick of being a failed writer and delivering those goddamned coffees for Stephen. But that’s my story. Maybe they’ll never find this. Maybe
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