Room Sixty Nine

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This Troll pasta took me 3 fucking hours to right, please appreciate it.

Room Sixty Nine

It's been a while since I've written anything related to the Disney Corporation, and I'm sure you can understand why. Actually I have never written a Troll Pasta about disney, I am just making fun of popular creepy pastas.

Nothing has been going on since my last post. I've received a lot of shit in the mail and concerns from whippersnapper who read my first-hand account of Something's Palace... a resort that was built by Disney.

I want to thank no one, you guys were all dicks who mirrored my post. It's been taken down from a few places, mostly corporate sites that were easily leaned on by a larger power. However, for every bad topic or disappearing blog post, it seems like a hundred more have popped up.

This is something they'll have to face. There's no turning back for them... none for me, either... What the fuck is a face.

I'm definitely being followed... On instagram. For the first month or two, then they unfollowed me, screw you I 1DLover_69XXX. Any Thing or human in my direction set me off. Hairs standing on my dick and everything, wait nvm i don't have pubes.

The first one, or rather, the first one I was actually able to spot, was a telephone worker milling around my apartment complex.

He was middle-aged, dressed just as you'd expect, but something just seemed off about him. I couldn't place it, but I knew this wasn't just my imagination acting. He was jittery and out of place, not somebody who was comfortable doing his routine job.

I followed him around a hallway, only to lose him there. When I turned back to go home, there he was. Staring directly at me, about ten feet behind me. Expressionless and cold.

"On an adventure?" he said in a bad mafia boss impression. That was all he said, and there was an accusing tone to his voice.

Tell me, what colour is cum? (Yeah I am from Ireland, I spell color as colour so stfu)

Then I noticed something... He was... A ROBOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111111111111111111111111111

I guess that's the worst part. Never feeling safe. With creepy bots on my tail. Never feeling alone. That, and the occasional Porno Magazines left somewhere for me to find. Little rubber dildos in the mailbox, and Pokémon RéBURST on my bookshelf.

They hide little dildos everywhere. Three circles, one big, two small, in the silhouette of the famous mouse's head.

I've started keeping a running list of dildos I've found.

Coffee cup rings on my coffee table. One big, two small. Colored glass bottles left on the doorstep, viewed from the top down. (All red.) Graffiti on the wall on my way to work; a huge dildo, small mcro penis and a Pokémon RéBURST in the proper locations.

They're nowhere.

People have emailed me about this as well. If you repost anything I have to say, you're going to start finding those son of a bitchs outlines. I guarantee it.

The best one by far, one that actually made me laugh because of the pornor of it all, was a drawing in chalk next my car. I was taken aback at first, walking through the parking garage, keeping an eye out for people following me.

The outline seemed a perfect match for... well, a "picture of a Frill Neck Lizard" you're probably familiar with if you've read my past posts.

Written in yellow... paint, I'm sure... was a single word.

"Expand"

The only good thing that has come out of all this is that I know I'm not the only one who's seen something they shouldn't have.

I'm going to give their names, because... well, if I have to tell you why, you haven't been paying attention.

"Hugh Janus" goes to Disney parks whenever he can, all throughout the week. He's not going to have fun, enjoy the rides, etc.

He's looking for the robots.

There's been a long tradition, apparently, of people reporting strange robots throughout the play. Silent, motionless, staring patrons of every age, shape, and dong size. Men and women, adults, children, and teens.

All wearing Looney Toon-themed gas masks.

Way back when, Disney would get tons of complaints about "normally dressed" individuals following others around the park. Humans who would then merge into crowds and disappear.

Later on, the gas masks killed folks, this forced them to draw other conclusions, and reports of "possible jews" and "isis members" started flowing.

All of those picturew most likely went straight into the trash can. I know I can't find any sign of any such occasions reported on by the social media. (Although you should be aware of the fact Disney can pretty much control its press like no other.)

File:Actual picture drawn by Jimmy.png

Hugh Janus goes to the parks, talks to a few children, and tries not to draw any attention to himself. He'll just ask three or four families if they've seen "his fuck friend", who's wearing a "funny mask" or "Have you ever seen a naked man?"

He has yet to see a robut for himself... though on one occasion, a man pointed him toward Gay town. As he raced through the crowd, he heard a single voice ahead cry out "I want a Goofy dildo too!"

A fellow I'll call "Gabe Ashol" worked in a Disney water park from 45AD through 2001 9th of September. He stood at the top of a huge water slide and made sure none of the adults got too rowdy. He passed the kids through, one at a time, telling them over and over again to be safe, keep their arms in, and so on.

One day, as he tells it, this fat ass kid called Honey Boo Boo goes down the tube and doesn't come out the other end.

He's sent two or three kids after, the whole thing moves at a steady clip, so naturally you'd expect that if fat ass got stuck, the kids that followed him were stuck, too.

Not so. Only the fat ass kid disappears. Everyone else comes out the other end, cheering and splashing in the cum like nothing's wrong.

Lifeguard shuts down the slide, much to the aggravation of the kids waiting. Before he can go through any of Disney's strict procedures... SPLASH... fatty finally comes out.

Staff members pulled the fat ass out of the water. He sank like a stone when he hit, his skin already blue and his eyes wide. It took them 10 hours, All he would say was "Large Fleshy Sticks" and "White Juices".

The kid was okay, in case you're wondering. He got carted right off to the medical center. When Gabe Ashol was told to open the slide back up, he made a big stink about how it clearly wasn't safe. Despite his complaints, he was threatened with murder and simply opened the slide again.

From that point on, he kept a closer eye on the fatasses. Every so often, they'd come out with some white juice on them... never as stunned as the fatass, but always with a vague look of concern... a dreamy half-stupor that seemed as if they were trying to figure out what was fanfiction.

They'd take on some cum and choke a bit... and they'd never come back up to ride again.

I read his emails with the same sort of unease you might be feeling right now. (Wait shit, I'm not feeling uneasy) I wanted him to share his own story, but in the end he didn't want to expose himself that way. I can't say I blame him.

"Cum White", which wasn't the actual role she played, was a "character" in the park. She had a nice little tidbit for me. You know what happens when a cosplayer drops dead in his suit?

Like, one second he's taking a picture with little Jimmy, and the next he's had a fatal stroke?

A second costumed mascot in the area has to sit with the corpse on a curb or bench and wait for a designated "Dry Cleaner" to arrive and cart the body away in a discrete manner. All the while, patrons have no idea they're sitting with a dead body for photo ops.

Feel free to check your photo albums at this point.

That was bad, but another fellow, "Mr Sir", went completely off the creepy charts.

Disney World (and probably others) is built with a series of underground tunnels just below your feet. Three stories' worth. Anything and everything you can imagine is down there, for use of the employees.

They're called Cumidors. Utility Corridors.

Basically, that's the reason you don't see characters out of place or Janitors wandering through the park. They pop in and out of hidden doors, and travel a concealed town you're walking on.

Mr SIr told me something that might be common knowledge, but was nonetheless news to me.

Walt Disney had several apartments built into his parks. There's one above Shiterella's Castle... there's one in the Pirates of the Cumibbean ride. They're all over the place.

More than that, there are night clubs, a movie theater, a strip club, and much more. All behind doors built right into the whimsical facades you passed by without a second look.

Club 666 is one such hidden area. If you have the cash to join the exclusive club (you don't) then you'll have access to it and much more.

Club 666 is a place where anything goes. Disney Co. calls these places "Dark Zones". Spots where the squeaky-clean visage of Mickey Mouse gives way to leaving Lego around, not doing homework and yes, staying up past his bed time.

Conversely, the rest of the park is the "Bright Zone", with a few "Gray Zone" utilidors between.

As far as Mr Sir has said, it wasn't always that way. It was more of a slow decline and the gradual sexation of social norms within that elite group.

The reason he knows all of this? You may have already guessed - He's cleaned up the cum.

After a lengthy background check and a non-disclosure form, Mr Sir moved up from a park attendant to one of the Dark Zone cleaning crew.

Now, before you get some Satanic "human sacrifice" vision in your head, Janitor saw nothing of the sort. Lots of empty Coke Cola Bottles? Yes. Chewed on toys scattered like deflated New Years balloons? Oh, yeah. He cleaned up his share of chocolate pudding, milk, and vegetables, but it was all down to the unrestricted behavior of patrons as opposed to any sort of cult behavior.

At least that's how he sees it in retrospect.

All that trash, that profane shit, went into a furnace and mingled with the smoke of a quaint cottage's chimney.

If you've been to Disney World, you've breathed ultra-condensed sins.

Backing up this information was "Dick Jobs". Dick mailed me the old-fashioned way, though I don't know how he got my home address. He sent me photocopies of work papers proving his employment, with the instruction to burn them when I was convinced.

Which I did gladly.

Dick Jobs worked around the Disney World park, doing demolition and construction. At one point, he approached a superior regarding some strange construction plans.

There was wide, rectangular area marked off on the blueprints, about the size of a supermarket. The area was left unnamed, and only bore the words "DO NOT DIG".

Not only was his superior in the dark, but he was super-fucking-purposefully in the dark. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to know about it, and ended the conversation with "this space intentionally left blank".

Dick didn't get it. The area seemed a waste of space, and it was directly conflicting with the work his team had been given. He started poking around the area on his off-time, finding only a derelict steel door, and a great span of concrete just beyond.

It was a "strip club's worth" of blank, gray floor.

Soon after, Hammer started picking robots out of the crowds.

Unlike all other reports, the people... the things... would stand in full view of the guy. They'd cluster together in the distance, or they'd just be pressed against a wall when he turned a inch.

He said they "moved normally", not like they were weak or injured... like a deer that's been run down by a hunter and can't flee anymore.

The gasmasks... the Disney character faces with filters jammed in... he noted that they seemed wet on the inside, like woman cum. Tiny beads of woman cum glimmered behind the glass, making it impossible for any of them to actually see.

Probing further, Dick started asking questions of anyone and everyone who had been working in the park for a decade or more.

He hit dead ends throughout, until he was directed to Ida, an young insane woman who worked in a restaurant on Main Street. She'd been there since way back, and though nobody had the balls to ask directly, everyone KNEW she had plenty of terrible stories to tell.

Dick Jobs asked about the empty space, then about the gas-masked customers, and at first he thought he would receive the same non-answers he'd gotten so far. She was quiet. Eerily quiet.

"Room 69." She croaked, a single, shaking hand placed to her cheek as if she were a little girl fearing a Father's punishment.

She didn't meet the man's gaze for the entire conversation.

Room 69, as it turned out, was yet another hidden room just like the apartments and Club 666. However, its sheer size and its spot deep beneath the park set it apart from any of the "fun" dark zones.

It was a sex hut.

Room 69 was built to withstand a massive attack, be it conducted by foreign or domestic enemies.

Room 69 was to be stocked with enough rations to feed the entire park's average number of patrons at any given moment, and housed a smaller yet lavish "play room" of sorts for Disney higher-ups.

During World War III, official Disney gas masks were actually produced for children to wear in the event of an attack. The idea was that it would be less scary for kids if Mickey's face was emblazoned on the wartime safety device.

Yes, I know the obvious problems with that.

During the Cold War scare of the 9th of Septembers, when Disney World was constructed, Room 69 was stocked with similar masks, as well. Whether they cared about the fears of children, or just callous branding, the things found their way down there.

What's more, some genius decided that kids would THEN be frightened by the gas masks their parents wore... and so all masks, adult and child, were made to comply to this standard.

She described it as "Treating a slug with lemon juice."

None of this explained what Dick had been seeing, though. Not only the seemingly natural appearances, but the emptied out room as well.

"I've been in there," he explained, "There's nothing but a cement floor and four walls."

"No," She nodded her head and covered her mouth, stifling a sob, "You've been on top of it."

Someone or something sounded the alarm one day, when the park was at full capacity. The warning was clear. It was supposedly an air attack.

(Dafuq is the creepy pasta I am making fun of scary?)

Creeps ushered everyone down, down, down into the tremendous shelter. There, they were ordered to put on their masks and hunker down for the duration of the assault.

Everything was quiet for about thirty minutes, save for the crying and the frightened whispers. No one wanted to get fucked, and so they were thankful in a way for this strange measure of safety.

Then, the first scream rang out.

"Hey!" a man shouted, "Quit pinching my butt!"

Waves of shrieks and yelps rippled through the crowd, from one wall to the other, back and forth.

"Who's running around? Settle down!" Someone whispered.

"Who's crying? This isn't funny!"

"Ow! Who stepped on my dick?!"

Despite security guards' urging to calm down and keep their cool, the crowd became more and more agitated until, finally, after nearly an hour of madness...

The lights flickered...

Then died.

What followed could only be described as utter assault. In the dark, only the wails of anguished cries of adults could be heard in a massive, swelling din that pierce the ears of all within that black echo chamber.

A group of staff members and a select few patrons made it out of the door, ready to face the War above rather than the chaos below. What they found, of course, was a desolate, yet untouched theme park. The music continued to play, echoing through silent storybook towns.

Upon returning to Room Zero, the few who stood at the top of the steel staircase that lead down into the pitch blackness heard no sign of the previous fray. There was only silence.

Ida herself descended that staircase despite the begging of those she left above.

She reached the reinforced doors, herself now awash in darkness and hearing only the buzzing in her ears.

A single voice came out of the darkness. The echo made it impossible to tell whether the mocking, raspy voice was at the back of the bomb shelter, or if it was right in front of her face.

"Come in dear and shut the door, dear. You're letting in the cold."

It was really old lady Margret, she was always the prankster. In fact this entire story was all Margret's pranks,

The liquid on the robots, that was when she poured water on them. They were only security guards.

The fat ass didn't get stuck in the pipe Margret just paid him to do those things... Somehow

All the dead bodies, Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha, those were actual dead bodies......

The main protagonist was just being pranked before his 22nd Birthday

Wait, now go put on Science Fiction from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, you know what, here is a link to it.

Have you done that? Good.

Hugh Janus became a robot himself

Dick Jobs became a priest

Gabe Ashol went on to create

Inda still works at Disney Land which soon became Sonic Land

The main character is now 22 and pregnant. Even though she's a guy.

Margret was fired from Sonic Land and became a Pro American Football Player.

End.

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