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Hello and welcome to the annual cryptids unscripted slam poetry extravaganza.I'm tonight's host.You can call me.Oh my god.Her scene shifter.But tonight.It's all about you and your art.Wow.I've got with me my associate.
I was trying to look like a cryptid.I was like, I guess if Lisa Frank's Muppet actually came to life, this is what it would look like.So in a pinch, this was all I had.You
And I wanted to decorate my background, but then I realized this is a flat wall with no shelves.So I have some pieces with me to let you know what my vibe is from the side of the camera, if you will indulge me.I would please.
This is the first, uh, this is our first up to the mic, M. Schultz.Okay, perfect.
Uh, first we have a bottle of potions and give her a swirl.
And she, she's a little glittery. That's right.We're, uh, all proceeds from the bar tonight go to the, uh, depression hotline for, um, what are those things called again?Squonks.
So, uh, please drink up, tip your bartenders, your star tenders, my, my start.
Yes.The star tenders, uh, my, the next one up, we have a little jar of eyeballs, which has scared the neighborhood children.We do have stories about this one.Um, and then we have my favorite candle right now, which is a brain in a jar.
and oh my that's a candle sure is wow you really like aesthetically made this you know well over here the background is immaculate oh imagine if imagine if we combined like we put the jar of eyeballs on this dingy uh dive bar that i've put as my background i put all the i can imagine it's sliding across the bar be like give me a double and it goes yeah and then they put the eyeballs on a little cocktail stick cocktail sword and and put them in
Okay, my final pieces.I have a haunted radio that I will be listening to cryptids unscripted on later tonight.Now that yeah, that's actually where the sounds going to come out the music.
Jazz music.I'm boomboxing it.And then I've got my favorite little lights where when I turn her on, I'm searching for the best cryptids unscripted there is.They're in the forest apparently.
Okay. That's what I've got going on over here.OK, well, thanks, Prop Master M, who came to the Poetry Slam to do a little show and tell.You are welcome.
We are here this evening to read, in our finest autumnal hour, some of the stories and poetry and beautiful creations y'all have sent in.Eva, our resident, I don't know what kind of cryptid Eva would be.Eva Biva, I call her.Maybe that's it.
She has hand selected curated if you will a list of stories for us to read and We have lucky number 13 stories.
So I think I think we better get this this bad boy started and Folks, I hope you enjoy if you are on YouTube you can see see this in action if not we hope you enjoy the audio version either way there will be some jazzy underlying music and
And oh, and I wanted to point out, we have merch actually for this, which I'm very excited about.I'm wearing our Mothman.So I'm wearing, okay, I love this shirt.
So the- In case you're not on YouTube, Christine looks like Doug Funnie's sister. Oh, right.I forgot nobody could see my outfit.A true actual beatnik with like a French hat or something.
I got a beret.I got some round glasses.It was just, I felt like my moment.And so anyway, here is the shirt.It's It's a picture of Cryptids Unscripted, and it's these old-timey patrons listening to Mothman at an open mic.
It's so cool, and the design team sent it to us, and I went, this is perfect, don't touch it.So we're selling long sleeves, and we're selling, what else are we selling?We're selling little keychains, like motel keychains, you know?Oh, yeah.
Oh, and just wanted to confirm, they're comfort colors, and that's our favorite.So that's how you know it's going to fit great and be cozy.Anyway, that being said, if you want to see our merch, you can go to atwwdmerch.com.
And in the meantime, here is the first poetry submission.This comes to us from Amanda.Hi, Amanda.It's called Misunderstood Monsters.
That's me approving, or welcoming her to the stage.
Yeah, welcome to the stage.Godzilla was just trying to make some friends.King Kong simply wanted someone to talk to.Cthulhu only wanted people to come over for dinner.Bigfoot has social anxiety.Nessie is camera shy.Frankenstein only wanted a family.
Dracula was just a little bit parched.The mummy was simply cold.The zombie just wanted to catch up. Mothman was lonely because he's nocturnal.The Yeti prefers the cold.
All of these monsters simply wanted a friend, but everyone screamed and ran when they came round.They couldn't help how they looked or what habitat they lived in, but people judged them anyway.
So they got together for a monster tea party, and they invited everyone, but they were too scared to attend.The end.Wow.Beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing Misunderstood Monsters by Amanda.Give her a round of applause.
In a way, we're all misunderstood monsters.That's beautiful, Em.Yeah, that's what I always say, and I've always said that, so.
All right, well, there seems to be a chill in here, so let me really get my fur showing for this next one.
I was about to say what you look like, and then I realized you've already said you look like a Lisa Frank Muppet, so there's no more to say.It's a very clear image.
You know, I got this jacket at a drag show, a drag store, like literally meant for drag queens, I think, in Canada.
You know when you go to King's Island, and you pay like $65 to throw darts at a balloon, and then they're like, here's a cool boa scarf you can take home.That's what it looks like.
I remember buying it.It was tray expensive.And I remember thinking, I have to now keep it because of the price and I will find a use for it.
And then you actually walked into the bar, the hotel bar, rooftop bar, where Eva and I were sat eating, having martinis or something, and you just waltzed on in in that coat.Man, heads were turning. SHOWSTOPPER.
You know, you're welcome.Um, she is every color under the sun it seems.And they're all fluorescent.So, my eyes are purple.Which, love that.
She's every neon, neon color under the sun.She's the Lisa Frank palette, color palette.
She, I mean, this, it couldn't be more Lisa Frank if she tried.Lisa would want this, for sure.She'd be like, Lisa probably owns it.This should be on my merch site.This is from Caroline, and this is a submission titled, Big Feet, Zero Drama.
Which, just the way that that's titled tells me it's drama.Okay, here we go.Tells me it's a lie.As I'm wearing this, I'm like, zero drama.Okay.No such thing.Okay, here we go.I'm Bigfoot.Yeah, you know the name.Bigfoot.Big mystery.Same old game.
You're out there hunting.GPS on.But I'm just chillin'.Lawn chair.Gone.
snap a pic yeah good luck with that blurry as heck just my head in a hat i'm not hiding just taking a break it's called self-care for goodness sake where's bigfoot you shout from the trail i'm over here ordering door door dash and kale
Y'all think I'm some ancient beast, but honestly, I just want some peace.I roam the woods.It's my quiet zone.Can't deal with humans glued to their phone.
You've been searching for decades, hot on my tail, but surprise, I'm streaming Netflix in the veil.So keep your footprints, your plaster molds.I'm here sipping coffee, feet getting cold.
powerful powerful stuff when you really feel the burn in that one he just he just wants to be left alone why don't you understand society we all want to be alone it's you know we try to force we try to drag him out of his world into ours and it's just um he's ordering doordash and kale so i think he's okay i think he's having a good time trying to keep to himself
And everyone calls him a monster.So he tries to leave, but then you want the monster back.I mean, tell me what you mean.
Speak on that.So you want the monster present.Interesting.
Speak on that only if you have it written in verse and rhyme.Okay.This is our next submission.This is from Jess.She, they, the title is the forest knows my name. I roam where the trees whisper low, soft secrets that only the pines can know.
My foot falls heavy yet lighter still than the weight of a world that bends to my will.I once believed their eyes would see every rustle, every trembling tree. But it's the earth that feels me best, rooted deep where my soul finds rest.
I've danced in shadows free of fear, cloaked in the green where I disappear.The river hums a tune for me, a melody of quiet, wild and free.No path to follow, no trail to tame, just the wild wind whispering my name.
Who I am is more than they think, a mystery that slips past the brink.The moonlight beams, the stars align, the owl's eyes with wisdom shine.Although they search from dusk to dawn, it's finding myself that keeps me strong.A poem by Bigfoot.
Wow, Bigfoot is really going through it.
Bigfoot really had a big year for his feelings.I think the therapy is finally coming through.
I agree, I was about to say he's really finally opening up and like doing some shadow work, you know?Yeah, he's certainly in his exploration era, I think.Yeah, just like checking out the dark side of things, you know?
Well, well done, Bigfoot.Um, you know, I hope you get better. Next, we have a submission from Luna, and this is an inspiration from the cryptid of their home state of Kansas, a giant worm named Sinkhole Sam.
In the heart of Kansas, the plains wide and still, lurks a creature unknown, stirring up a chill.Born of the earth from a sinkhole deep, where shadows and mysteries forever sleep.
They call him Sinkhole Sam, long and lean, with eyes like coals and a serpent sheen.He slithers through waters, murky and black, a phantom of dusk on a hidden track. Some say he's ancient, a relic untold, a beast from a time when the world was bold.
Others believe he's a myth come alive, a creature of legend too strange to survive.Fishermen whisper of ripples they've seen and waters that shimmer with an eerie sheen.There's that sheen again.
They toss out their lines, but always too late, for Sam's never caught just a flicker of fate.
But in the moonlight on a still summer's night, if you listen closely with ears tuned just right, you might hear a rustle, a soft creeping flow, as sinkhole Sam stirs from the depths below.
Beware of the waters where the shadows play, for sinkhole Sam waits for his next prey.A legend, a cryptid, a tale spun in fear, but is he real or did he just disappear?
Ladies and gentlemen, special announcement.I've gotten my first goose cam of the night.We're going to turn on the goose cam meter and we've got that plane in the background.Yep.There it is honking away.
It's like when you go to like a planet fitness and they've got that like big alarm on the wall.That makes me want to throw up.
Yes.Or like when they do at Orange Theory, when they do splat points and you can like watch your spot and you're like, I want to die actually.
My favorite thing about the Planet Fitness one, it's this big purple light and they only turn it on when someone's being a douchebag.I love that.Oh, is that what it is?Wait, what does it mean?
It's called the hunk alert or something, but it's when you're trying to be too much.
Oh, so it's kind of a shame bell.
Oh, that's way better than my thing.Okay. Because mine's a shame bell, but it's just because I'm not good at orange theory.
I do think all bars, though, speaking of the bar that we're sitting in together right now with all of our favorite critics, there should be a shame bell if there's going to be straight men there.I'll tell you that.
Yeah, which is why there are none here tonight.Oh, my favorite kind of bar.Yeah, we had to disengage it for the evening. There's only cryptids here tonight.There's not even a human in sight.No, just the Goose Cam alarm sitting in the Goose Cam alert.
Yep Wow, that was well done Thank You sinkhole Sam, you know first first first time caller for sinkhole Sam, I think I think so.Yes.Yeah All right, let's see.
This was sent in by Whitney, who says, hello, M. Ivan the Hircine Shifter, who is, of course, here as your host.The emcee.Yeah.The emcee.Thank you very much.OK, so this is a poem without a title.OK, great.
In the dark I lurk, hoping my next attempt will work.The silence is so loud as I cautiously watch the crowd.Right now is my chance.Maybe if I put him in a trance.Quickly I land, hoping this is the right plan.Then the silence is gone.
What have I done wrong?The people, they scream.What a chaotic scene. The cameras are flashing, and now I am dashing.I try to stay strong as I fly along.I can't help but cry.I ask myself, why?I just wanted a friend.I wasn't trying to offend.
Back to my bunker I go.Didn't even get to say hello.I'm just a lonely moth with a heart that's very soft.Again.
And at the end, we are all just moths who hearts are very soft.
That's right.We're all just soft moths and misunderstood monsters.
I mean, now that's the truth.That is.And according, according to Bigfoot, sometimes the understood monster is inside. It's from within.Wow.That's called your shadow self.It's, it's called, uh, generational trauma probably.Yeah.
Um, okay.Well, the, our next one, I'm very excited.This is another poem.This is from Iris and this poem gets a special shout out to snippy the horse, the horse in the field who showed signs of alien abduction. that I covered quite some time ago.
Oh, that was sad.This is a poem for Snippy the horse.In memoriam. Maybe in memoriam.Yes, I think so.Okay.
Snippy the horse.Also, everyone, pour one out for Snippy, but don't pour it on our floors because- We just had the mops for tonight.Yeah, I was going to say, we don't have time to mop again.
And the old creaky wood, it has cracks in it.Oh, we wouldn't want to soak.No, you're right.We don't want to sawdust again.That's an annual thing.Why don't we just all take a jello shot in honor?
No, let's just hold empty glasses that are plastic so they don't shatter and we just maybe just pretend we clean them together.
How about instead of plastic, they're compostable just so, you know, we don't get on the wrong side of the environment, all that good stuff.
Yeah, actually the drinks you can have for us to be the horse are in a trough actually outside.So just go do that.
That seemed to be the most economical and eco-friendly solution.
And helpful to our staff later when everyone leaves.That's right.They can just kind of dump it out. Uh, Snippy the horse.
In the placid midnight of rural farmland and unkept woodland, a barn dots the landscape, breaking natural cloak of night with manufactured yellow light.Light that floods haphazardly.Haphazardly.Onto the dirt path by the door to silhouette a horse.
Snippy's tail flicks absently at gnats now asleep. Snippy hears crickets.She knows these.Snippy sees stars.She knows these too.In the egg yolk yellow barn light, she is safe.In the morning, Snippy will be fed and brushed and cared for.She knows this.
This is how it's always been. Snippy used to look beyond the fence when she was young.When she knew nothing, everything was equal parts promising and threatening.She would leap to clear the fence and miss.
She cuts her belly on the edge, but in the morning she was tended, the fence mended, and she had learned a lesson. Threats are outside, promises are inside.Snippy watches birds fly far above the sanctuary.
She watches stars burn platinum and silver holes into the sky each night.Tonight Snippy sees a shooting star.It glides closer.Snippy makes a wish.A flash of new light, then complete darkness.
Goose cam number two, put it on the board, baby!Wow, that made me sad.So caught on the belly.Oh no.Baby, baby.She just wants to be safe and warm.
And she saw a shooting star and made a wish, but then maybe it was the UFO that takes her.Oh no. Well, thank you, Iris, for that.That was certainly emotional and I'll have to bill you for that one.Thank you.
Yeah, you'll hear from us.Here we go.
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Now up next we have something a little more creative here, or not more creative but perhaps more difficult, unless the others were written in this style and I just wouldn't know.But this one is written in iambic pentameter.
Oh, we have Shakespeare in the house.
Honestly, probably multiple people have written in that and we just don't know how to pronounce, like we don't know how to emphasize it.If it's not a haiku, I can't tell what's going on.
If it's not a limerick, I don't know exactly how to make the syllables sound.Um, so I apologize, but this one is in iambic pentameter and it says, listen, listen.Okay.Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum.So glad this is yours.Okay.
Oh, and this is from Megan.It's called the Tally Po.Come listen all to my most wait. Oh, here we go.Come listen all to my most fearsome tale.I can't do that.I don't understand.Come listen all to my most fearsome tale.Okay, you got it.
Come listen all to my most fearsome tale.In old Appalachia, where we lay our scene.Be careful as you wander along the trail, lest ere you cross this cruel and vengeful fiend.
That's me, the Tally Po, I'm called, and you would be quite wise to heed this warning so.You do not end up like old Hermit Jack, who tried to steal from me my Tally Po.
Jack lived on the mountain all alone, except for his dogs, up where the winter snow fell thick, and all them were but skin and bone, t'was bitter cold, and food supplies were low.
Jack and his dogs went hunting in the wood, but all the creatures hid and hurt his pride.His empty stomach made his sleep no good.Still he dreamt as I sneaked my way inside.Then Jack he woke and boy was he surprised.
He'd never seen a creature quite like me.My giant paws and great long claws and eyes that glowed like fire and lots of pointy teeth. And, of course, my tally-poe I saw.His eyes admire my long and bushy tail.
I chittered prideful till I saw him grab an axe.Meanwhile, the dogs began to wail.I hissed and rushed o'er to the chimney stack while Jack had quickly taken up the chase.I started up but heard a thudding whack.
He'd chopped my tally-poe off at the base.Oh, foul and cruel, oh, tricksy, greedy man, I ran into the woods to nurse my wound. Meanwhile, he threw my tail into a pan and ate it.I'll find you, Tally Poe, I crooned.
As Jack slept sound, his belly nice and full, there came a scratching at the cabin door.The door began to shake, was pushed and was pulled.An eerie voice spoke, chilling Jack to his core. Tailipo, Tailipo, I know you've got my Tailipo.
He flung the door open, but nothing was there.Though cuts slashed deep across the door's hardwood, the stubborn man sat up for the night in his chair.He vowed to put an end to this for good.
The wind lulled him to sleep, I took my chance, and shook the house's reverberating force.He raced to the bed.He raced to bed without a backwards glance, and hid under the sheet I crept indoors.Tally-po, tally-po, I'm coming for my tally-po.
When once again the house stood still and hushed, Jack dared to peek out from his blanket shield.He thought I'd left, but then his hopes were crushed, when from the shadows my form was revealed.
Creeping up the wall and across the rafters, then dropping to the bedfoot, thump, out of sight.Slowly, furry, ears rose up and after, two glowing ember eyes pierced through the night. Finally, the teeth displayed in wicked grin.
Give me back my talipo, I hissed.Be gone, Jack wept, now filling with chagrin.It's eight, I'm sorry, but now it don't exist.I cocked my head off to the side and caught a flash of hope.He thought he might live still.
If he won't give it back to me, I thought, I'll just take it back myself, I will.I pounced, and Jack, he screamed and started crying.
his last sight was my fiery eyes aglow as with my claws i tore him chin to groin and pulled out from his stomach my talipo so now if ever you heard my voice or seen flashing eyes or long black tail you know you shouldn't ever try to come between me and my beloved talipo
Hang on.Hang on.Hang on.Hang on.Look in the back.
Oh my gosh.That deserves a little clap.That deserves a little clap.Um, Megan, I'm so sorry that I didn't know how to do that.
And also it actually was lovely.It kept, it helps me in the beginning, figure out like what my, how to the five beat rhythm to it and all that.
Yeah, it was hard because some words it's like you want to say the syllable a different way, but I will say this is apparently about the talipo and I think I was saying talipo.I that's it's it's an Appalachian legend.
And so I want to welcome the talipo or talipo to our TP to our as a first-time caller to our poetry slam this evening.
Welcome TP.That was lovely.That was lovely.Um, that was also, that felt like you, that someone wrote a chapter of a book.Like that was, that had to take so much effort to like to come up with.
Yes.I actually don't know if I told you this, um, but I recently, you know how I like those, um, story competitions where I like submit like a 500 word story and like, so they had a rhyming one that I've been waiting for over a year to join.Um,
And I just submitted my entry to the rhyming one.It is so hard.Oh, because like, you also have to tell a story, right?And then you're like, okay, I want my story to make sense.
But then you have to rhyme it and make sure when you say it aloud, it like actually tracks, you know, really hard.
That's why a lot of people are obsessed with that How I Met Your Mother episode because the entire thing was in rhyme.Oh, yes, I was.I was doubly impressed.
Yes, I love a good rhyme.
Um, no, that was incredible.I'm very excited for you.I feel like if you waited a year to do it, you already had it written a year in advance, probably.
Well, the problem is that they give you the prompt like a week.So it's like they give you a genre and my genre was action.
You have to hope that you, like, know a rapper who can just, like, help you immediately.
Who can help me spit some rhymes, you know?
Spit some beats, yeah.Um, yeah.
You can ask the Tally Po when the time comes, so... I will, and honestly, maybe I'll read that someday on the show, even though it's more of a true crime tale than a... You could slip it into the Cryptids Unscripted, I would... Yeah, maybe no one will notice.
Yeah, maybe. until everyone's like, why is there a random writing prompt in this cryptid unscripted?
Yeah, wait, why does it say how many words it is at the end and then have Christine's email on it?
Although it does feel like if we're really world building here and the cryptids unscripted bar does exist, there would be a cryptid who went up with their written home project to be like, I'm working on this thing.
And it might be the Hircine Shifter because she's probably drunk. and probably has, she's forgotten the boundaries of this whole event.She never heard the word boundary in her life.
No, she's never understood what that meant at all.Okay.Well, uh, our next submission is from Christie and this is a mystery topic, which I think along the way we're supposed to discover what's happening here.Um, all right, let's see.
This is, is it a poem? I can't tell if it's a poem or try to say a niambic pentameter and then you'll find out Okay, this is the story of Angel Auber, the love child of a cowgirl and a crooked grave robber.
Adventurer at heart, but unlucky as they say, got lost in the forests of Puerto Rico's El Yunque.Oh man, I should have, I should have.Uh-oh.
Yunque.Yunque.Because it rhymes with they say.Oh, yes, thank you.See, you just saved me.Also, I think it's Angel, like Angel.
Okay, let me say it then, let me start over then. This is the story of Ángel Auber, the love child of a cowgirl and a crooked grave robber.Adventurer at heart, but unlucky as they say, got lost in the forests of Puerto Rico's El Yunque.
After three days amiss, not a track, print, or scent, Ángel reappeared again just as suddenly as he went.But trailing behind was something to chill you to the bone, for you see, Ángel Auber did not return alone.
hunched gray and scaly with eyes that spark a fierce glint, a companion fit for Cerberus at the entrance to the fiery pit.Or perhaps a friend for Fenrir, Fenrir, Fenrir, Fenrir?I have no idea.I'm going to say Fenrir.Yeah.
Or perhaps a friend for Fenrir to break his chained lock, ushering in the beginning of Ragnarok. Holy crap!To Anhel's house went this motley pair, this quixotic human seeming not to have a worry or care.
Folks say they catch glimpses in the late evening fog of Anhel playing fetch with something.Well, it isn't a dog.Is it a reptile or a hound?
Yellow eyes glowing back at you from the goat pen at night, worn with a bark that is far less worse than his bite. And that, now that we have finished, is titled Chupacabra Macabre. Now that was beautiful.
The title, honestly, was my favorite, because you know I love a good rhyming.
Chupacabra macabre.Oh my God, that is... Beautiful.Beautiful.Really well done.Beautiful.Chef's kiss.Wow.Wow.That was powerful.His bark is far less... Worse than his bite.Worse than his bite.Wow.Wow.I love that.Beautiful imagery.
I think we can all agree.
A hush falls around the crowd.We all nod.Yes.
Yeah, an agreeable hush, yes.So this comes in to us from Elizabeth and it is titled The Jackalope's Lament.I love this. Sun batters barren soil, crusted split wounds gape open without sutures.The grass has all died off.
Cactus skin stretches taut, parchment curling around, upholstery needles waiting to be threaded.Down below, hidden deep, antlers catching roots and scraping against walls, the husk awaits nightfall.
The warren is too cramped, too hot, too much fur, and too many babies.They have become restless. Evening comes, stars glimmer.One by one they emerge, cautious from their den.Owls hunt them in moonlight.
The jackalope arrives, singing to campers in a low, tenor voice, luring them from their tents.A promise of whiskey, each jackalope pursues a hapless victim, hoping to not get gored. puncture holes in their shin.
Blood soaks socks red and overflows the sneakers, but no reward was found.The camper tells their tale, though not believed.Jeered and laughed at, they know truth.The jackalope is real.
Retreating back to home, all returning to the claustrophobic space, unable to find booze.Tomorrow brings more tries.They will sing their songs and hunt for more whiskey.The jackalope laments.Wow. Beautiful.Beautiful.
Beautiful.Beautiful.Oh, I really, here's what I want for us.This is what I'm, I'm manifesting in 2025.We actually do, we talked to Maggie cause there's no way we can do this alone.
Um, and we put on our best pretty please face and she is size and grumble grumble grumbles.Um, we should have for Halloween next year, a pop up bar that actually is a cryptids unscripted where everyone dresses up as cryptids.
And people can read their own poetry.Yes.Oh, and that's so good.
We just have a big Halloween event where we just get a bar, a bar that's cool with being spooky.Oh my God.A pop-up scripted, cryptids unscripted is so good.
Preferably if it couldn't be in like New England, I would argue it should actually be in my neighborhood of Burbank because we have the most year round open Halloween stores per capita.
So people could come and be part of the spooky stuff and go shopping and it would help the economy.
I'm trying to think of how we pitch this to Maggie.I'm trying to figure out how we pitch.I don't think that's the angle.Let's help the economy.Let's not.I think Maggie wants to help us, and so we need to make it sound like a good idea.
Trying to think of a way that we could really sink her teeth in.Well, we'll brainstorm it.I think she'll be on board.I hope so.I think we could do it.And there's got to be a bar that would let us.Oh, yeah.
We could just rent a place out.Yeah.It would be divine.Divine.
I've got several already in mind.
I'm depending on the size.We'll talk about this off tape, if you will.Yeah, we'll talk about this off the record off the record.Absolutely.So here we have this is from Jordan.And this is a poem to one of the best things to come out of Joy-Z.
That Joy-Z little devil.That's right. Once a brave wanderer with wisdom to share, now lost in the legends all warned to beware.Cursed by his mother, his pain would be known, fated to be a monster from a family disowned.
Born winged as a bat and hooved as a horse, tales of his longing for a bloody main course. a stroll through forests, signs screaming, Retreat!forewarned of the eyes that may follow your feet.
Surely he's lurking and searching for a soul tonight, for a friendly stranger, vulnerable in the moonlight. Falling from a pine and one silent swooping descent, a monstrous sad figure rises, but with unclear intent.
Don't fear me, he calls in a voice soft and low.I'm searching for solace, somewhere I can go.In the heart of the forest, where all shadows blend, the Jersey Devil resides, but not here to offend.
He longs for connection, for kindness and trust, but fate deemed him a monster in a world unjust, for the 13th son's story is one of despair, a misunderstood soul searching in prayer.
One slot to feast on the blood of the dead, but what the devil most craves is fresh Italian bread.So please listen, don't judge, let compassion take a hold, for even in shadows there can be warmth in the cold. Wow.
Wow.I think with all these stories, the goose cam meter is going to, we need to get a new one.She's going to break.Like we, I think we're going to break the thermometer, you know?I think so.
Uh, and you know, I think this Jersey devil really needs to have a kinship with that earlier Bigfoot who they're just looking for some peace and he likes Italian bread.The Bigfoot likes kale.
Hey, and there's that tea party happening.We could make the tea sandwiches out of bread and kale.
They're gonna, they're gonna, it's, this is where we remind everybody that there's someone for everyone.
That's the idea of this.We're all connecting because we're all different, you know, and we've struggled to find connection in the real world with other cryptids and with humans.So you know what, here we can bond and really understand each other.
He longs for connection, kindness and trust.Uh, ding, ding, ding.That's all of us, you know, so look around. That's all we want.
And Italian bread.I want Italian bread too.Damn.All right.Let's get an order in.Um, we're going to have, let's see, uh, we're going to have, it looks like there's a hundred thousand people here.So how many breads is that?
Bigfoot has a DoorDash order, a DoorDash app.
He has the, he has an order open.He could just put us on a group chat, I think for the bread.
Let's just all put a group chat.We add our own individual orders.Um, and then we'll Venmo you Bigfoot.Don't worry about it.
Yeah, don't ask us.Don't remind us really, though, because the Venmo is coming.It's just we're waiting to get paid.Just don't worry about it.It'll come.It will come.Don't worry.
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It's just the usual resume builders, you know.
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This. is from Nicole, she, they, and it is called Citrie Lunai.Looks like Latin to me.
I love that they gave you Latin and I am a tip antimeter and everyone gave me the rhyming ones about bread.
Like you fucking are right.So I don't know.I think I've butchered this far worse than I intended.Okay, this says Citrie Lunai.
Upon a night so spook and drear, the Hurcine shifter, so ver strong, did bring to us the dread, the feared, Lunine Lemonere, e'er the sun.Now I'm gonna start over.
Yeah, okay.Because of your bad attitude.Hang on, let me bundle up before a little citrus rolls into my life.
Cover your face up so you don't shock the crowd. Upon a night so spook and drear, The hercene shifter, so verstrong, Did bring to us, the dread, the feared, Lulaine Lemonere, ere this song.
From algae, P.A., did she strike, With waning moon and mighty roar, Those once afeard with sour pike, To right the wrongs of all our lore.Guided by Mothman, it is true, And by Geo, fluffiest floof,
Did Lunine Lemonere march through air and earth, water and poof to take her vengeance on those who commit the crimes and spook the few.Wow.Also, I love you.I am the few.I am.Yeah, you are.Certainly.
I also love that this is called Poetry Slam submission parentheses safe for work. Girl, what's happening over there?We've had some that were, oh wait, oh, it's a, it's an anagram of Leona's name.
Oh, I didn't even get it.I definitely just heard citrus and lemon and there was no way I was going to hear anything else.
I was like, maybe that's Latin.Okay.Sorry, Eva.Sorry.Actually, sorry, Nicole.Okay.Sorry.It says I spent far too much time anagramming Leona's name to Lonine Lemoner of LGPA.
Which is wild because we have said so many times that Leona's name is part of the anagram for Halloween.That's true too.I don't know if all of Halloween could have been tied with that, but I appreciate the exotic... There's no H in her name, so...
Schieffer.Oh, is Schieffer not involved in the last name?
I mean, not legally.I didn't want to because I was like, I don't like my name anyway.Well, if she ever needs extra letters, you can just sneak Schieffer in there.
It sounds all of a sudden so much more like she's like a spy, like an Italian spy or something.
Like she came without warning and
turned our worlds upside down you know it's amazing how soon as i um revoke the lemon aspect from it i'm like i've got a story you're suddenly so chill with it yeah yeah amazing speaking of which here's something i hate this is from sarah and uh it literally says please have em read it so i feel like i'm about to be tortured
This is called, it's a reading by Zach Bagan, so now I fucking know why I was requested.I have to say it as if I'm ZB, I think.This is a poem called Ode to Zest.So, guess how I feel about this.Let's- I won't, I'll let you tell me.
Let's bring ZB to the stand.Here we go.In the darkened corner of a ghostly cafe sat a lemon. Petrified in the strangest way.Not just any fruit.No, this one had spunk.It traveled the world in a paranormal trunk.I mean, so far we're right.
Zach Bagans here, on the case once again.With a lemon that haunts a citrusy bane.It's been to graveyards, to castles, and Rome.Okay, wow.Okay, man, I'm passing here.
First of all, it sure hasn't unless maybe he has and I just didn't know about it.
But yet it always finds its way back to someone's home.And then Christine, yes, from And That's Why We Drink, got this haunted lemon. What did she think?It rolled off the shelf with a ghostly squeak.She knew right then this lemon was bleak.
This is my life now, Christine would shout, as the lemon would move and wander about.M, of course, had theories galore.Maybe it's cursed by a fruit-loving lore. But I, Zach, wasn't fooled by this citrusy pest.Its traveling spirit was not one to jest.
With night vision goggles, I chased it down.In haunted museums, it rolled through the town.Did you feel that cold spot?I asked Aaron.Aaron is not involved, I just put that in here.I asked, quite serious.This lemon's vibe was getting mysterious.
As it hummed and rattled, Christine shrieked with glee.
This is so on brand, just perfect for me.
So we saged that lemon and gave it a name.Its paranormal pranks would never be the same.Now it haunts Christine's kitchen, right by her sink.A traveling lemon who'd rather not stink. Because it's not in the trash anymore.
And as Christine laughed, she gave it a hug.I love lemon, she said, as it gave her a tug.The mystery persists from dusk till dawn.Will this lemon move on, or keep rolling on?
Only time will tell if it stays in one place, or haunts another podcast with its not-so-hello-fresh face.
From Zachary Alexander Bacon.From Zara, yeah.Wow, that was powerful.Certainly powerful.And also, I started getting really defensive during it.And then I was like, I need to relax.This is not about me right now.
Well, I think we only have one more in our baker's dozen.
Oh my gosh, that went fast.OK, we have one more.You're right.This is from Hillary. And let me see.It is called The Night Before Clawmas.Hell yeah.Wow.Hell yeah.Thank you, Hillary.Ending it strong, girl.Here we go.
I've got a cozy holiday tale for you.It all began once upon a Christmas Eve.The lights had been turned way down low.The children were fast asleep by their glow.The dogs were snoring.The parents were done pouring their eggnog in the rooms below.
Then boom, one child awoke.He had heard a clamor, but no one spoke.He quietly tiptoed toward the noise.It was coming from the presents for all the girls and boys. He peeked around and to his surprise, he saw a large shadow and wait, was that a claw?
He froze at the sight just up ahead.He couldn't run, so he spoke instead.Don't touch my presents, you gross smelly dude.Immediately regretting that he had been quite rude. The tall figure stumbled and looked his way.
The child hadn't recognized him without his sleigh.But something wasn't right about Santa Claus, because out of his mouth hung one of the reindeer paws.
Santa shuffled and huffled as he quickly grew near, saying, my favorite treat are eight tiny reindeer. He continued, my name is Santa Claw, you see.If you see one long claw, then you'll know it was me.
The boy gasped and screamed at the sight, but Santa Claw just yawned, laid down, and said, good night.The terrified boy didn't know what to do.Maybe this is a dream, and none of it's true.
So he forced himself back into bed, and eventually, all the thoughts drifted out of his head.He awoke in the morning to bright sunlight, joining his family with no Santa Claw in sight.
It was a dream, he declared, but no one in his family really cared.They proceeded to presents, and soon he forgot that just the night before, he had been scared a lot.The last present was wrapped in a mess of tape and paper.
His parents shrugged and said maybe his excitement would taper.The boy slowly opened his present alone.His eyes grew wide when he saw a tiny reindeer bone.Mary Clawmiss, the end.
now that's frightening that sounds like at the end of a horror movie when like you think the body's dead and it twitches and it goes straight to the credits it's like it's like an uh inception when the top is spinning and you're just waiting to see if it like yes and but you don't really know oh my god and you'll never know oh powerful
Oh, my God.Well done, everybody.
All of our cryptids all of our poems.
So proud of you.We're so impressed.I can't believe how talented you all are.
Couldn't be me.I'll tell you right now.Unless we have a pop up.If we have a pop up, I will write and I will we will come up with something.
We'll fucking focus.Okay, if we do this for real.Yeah, we will get it done.That would be that would be we could do like a duet like we could do some sort of Well, we'll figure it out.We'll figure it out.
But we haven't even gotten permission to do this yet.
Maybe if the only way we can convince our manager is if there is a cry out to the world.
I wonder how we can ask if people would attend.We'll have to figure out if there's interest.Like a survey monkey.Right?Yeah, let's just send a survey monkey.No, that would be lovely.I think that would be so fun.
I guess it probably also depends on where it is, depending on if people can come.But yeah, we'll try to figure it out.That would be beautiful.I would love that.
Um, okay.Wow.Thank you everybody.This was so much fun.Happy Halloween.Happy Halloween.That's right.Oh my gosh.What a special day.And, uh, I hope everyone's having fun tonight.
I hope you're all going to get dressed or go to a party or do something silly or just like eat candy or just like scary movies, get door dash and some kale, like, like that big foot, you know, Netflix and kale.
Yeah, happy Halloween.They say spooky season is now over for the year, but I just don't believe them.It's just beginning.
It's now the new ramp up to Halloween.
Thank you, everyone.We'll see you tomorrow with a listeners episode.That's right, on Dia de los Muertos.And that's why we drink.
