Downstairs Basement 2

Hopefully it's been at least several minutes since you jerk-offs finished living up to your names because I'm BACK. With the next part of this epic journey.

And even more new paragraphs for emphasis.

EDIT: Some of you asked how I could have claimed to put a "Part 1 of Anything" or even simply put a "Part 1" considering how I cannot access my repressed memories and therefore should not be able to estimate how many parts my story will take, if it even exceeds one part. Well, I don't really have an answer for that, so I'm just gonna go ahead and claim "repressed memories" on this one too.

So if you recall after my riveting tale previously concluded, I was in the hole that my neighbor dug and I noticed that the hole gave me access to his basement. I was like, "Wow, this fuckhead didn't just straight up kill me. He gave me a convenient way to escape in a way that could potentially reveal some personal information about him."

EDIT: I was 18 years old at the start of the story, if you remember my last post, but by the end I implied in a dramatic way that I was still in the hole in the present day. You morons probably assumed a significant amount of time had passed and I was now much older than 18 years old. NOPE! TWIST! I am currently 18 years old! Didn't see that shit coming, did you?! Do you even know what the fuck I'm talking about? Try to keep up, you Malaysian Airlines pilot! Do you even know what THAT meant? Fuck you, moving on.

So I smashed that window and entered this guy's house. I was in some kind of torture chamber, of course. Blood was everywhere and there was a lot of it.

EDIT: "A lot" is two separate words, not one word, you fucking illiterate Cro-Magnons.

So I looked at a journal that one of his victims had written with his own blood. Honestly I was impressed by the quality of the writing; for someone who was the subject of numerous horrific experiments, this poor soul was a rather adept writer. This journal, written by someone drifting into madness and death, showed an exceptional mastery of descriptive language and varied sentence structure. It was as good as or better than anything I've ever written! You would imagine that living weeks on the edge of consciousness would hamper your writing ability, but no – this journal was an engaging, detailed, and fascinating account of a series of intimately horrifying events. Funnily enough, the journal was signed, "Tryhard." That was a weird name...

Then I heard a sound upstairs and I was scared.

So scared that I needed a new paragraph.

It was the man's dog.

"Sir Barrus!" I heard the man yell. "Go get him!"

So this guy's dog had three heads, which really threw me for a loop. Holy shit, it's like "Sir Barrus" was almost like that one dog with three heads from Greek mythology. What was that bitch's name? Shit I forgot. Repressed memories again, I guess.

Okay so this dog is barreling down the stairs at me, right? So I just straight up murder this fuckin' thing... figuratively. I just stood on a table and he couldn't get me. Then I went upstairs.

Well, shit on my dick and sell your mom a fudgesicle, there was the old man.

Then he was a demon and I got scared to death. Frankly, a blind Jenna Jameson could have seen that one coming.

EDIT: Some of you have noticed that I heavily elaborate on the most worthless information but I tend to save the most intriguing parts for their own brief, single-line paragraphs when maybe doing it the other way around would be better. LICK MY FUCKING BALLS, IT'S MY STORY.

EDIT: Wow this story is needlessly fucking long. Not even gonna dress this up in the guise of a parodic statement. Just, holy fuck. Long stories. Damn.

EDIT: New paragraphs during edits now?

EDIT: You're goddamn right.

EDIT: Wait this is serious, isn't "Sir Barrus" a character from Game of Thrones? Maybe the spelling is different but I swear that's a character on the show. I came up with the similarity to "Cerberus" before I thought of this. But wow, that's funny that I came up with the joke name "Sir Barrus" and it might actually be a serious GoT character. Unless I'm not remembering his name right. Repressed memories, you know.

EDIT: Enough with the tangents, let's get this shit PERPENDICULAR.

EDIT: Actually this edit is kind of important. You know how Part 1 of this story said it was "Part 1 of 22?" Yeah, I fucked that up. It was really just supposed to be "Part 1 of 2." But you can't edit a post once it's submitted, so oops. But maybe that's just another form of a PLOT TWIST! Because that means the ending to this tale is coming MUCH SOONER THAN YOU EXPECTED! THANK FUCK!!!

So I got scared to death by the old man.

But I had one last paragraph to write.

My name is the same one that was written in the journal of the torture victim: Tryhard. I AM TRYHARD.

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Originally uploaded on January 15, 2015

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