Part 3 in the COVID series.
To try and make this list more helpful, I have added Weekend Day and Weekend Night, as those can be vastly different than during the week.
I'm trying to monitor Twitter and the Vegas Message Board to get some additional information.
Keep sharing all that wonderful goodness.
I'd like to update the wiki to talk about what sidebets casinos have, so if you know that info, I can add it to the table comments.

Vegas Strip Casino	Day Min	Night Min	Weekend Day	Weekend Night	Dividers	Comments
Aria	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	No	Updated 7/26
Ballys	10	15	10	Unknown		3 tables Updated 8/8
Bellagio	10	25	Unknown	Unknown	Yes, all tables
Caesars	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	No
Cosmo	15-25	50-100	Unknown	Unknown
Encore	10	10	10	10	Yes, on some tables	Updated 8/12
Excalibur	10-15	15	10	15		Updated 8/12
Flamingo	15	15-25	Unknown	25		Updated 8/8
Harrah's	15	25	25	25	No
Linq	15	15	Unknown	25	No	Updated 8/8
Luxor	10	10	15	15n		Updated 8/12
Mandalay Bay	15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
MGM Grand	10	25	Unknown	Unknown	Yes
NY/NY	10	15-25	15	Unknown	Yes	Updated 8/8
Osheas	Unknown	15	Unknown	Unknown
Paris	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No	Updated 8/8
Sahara	5	10	10	10		Updated 8/15
Strat	Day	10	Unknown	10	25	No
Treasure Island	5	15	Unknown	Unknown
Venetian	10-15	25	Unknown	Unknown	No
Wynn	10	10	10	10	Yes, on some tables	Updated 8/12

Downtown Casino	Day Min	Night Min	Weekend Day	Weekend Night	Dividers	Comments
Binions	5	10	Unknown	Unknown		Binions had $5 table several times (opens at noon) Updated 8/17
California	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		Tables open at 11AM Updated 8/10
The D	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	No glass
Downtown Grand	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		Table opens at noon. Updated 8/10.
El Cortez	10	10	10	10	Yes, some tables	2 tables Updated 8/15
Four Queens	10	10	10	10	No	Updated 8/15
Fremont	10	10	10	Unknown		Updated 8/10.
Golden Gate	10	15	Unknown	Unknown		Updated 8/18
Golden Nugget	10-15	10	Unknown	Unknown		$15 with one table open on 8/18
Plaza	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		Updated 7/30
Sams Town	15	15	Unknown	Unknown		1 table

Offstrip Casino	Day Min	Night Min	Weekend Day	Weekend Night	Dividers	Comments
Aliente	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Boulder Station	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Cannery	5	5	Unknown	Unknown		up to 2 tables - now allowing 4 per side
Ellis Island	5	5	5	5		1 table - Updated 8/17 - I just called the pit at Ellis. Craps table opens up at 10am and its 5 dollars 90% of the time
Gold Coast	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Green Valley Ranch	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		2 tables open
The Orleans	10	25	Unknown	Unknown		up to 4 tables, I was asked to wear a mask
Palace Station	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown
Palms	N/A	N/A	Unknown	Unknown		No open date announced
Red Rock	10	15	15	Unknown		Updated 8/14
South Point	5	5	5	10	No	Updated 8/15
Strat	5	10	Unknown	Unknown
Sunset Station	5	5	Unknown	Unknown

Other NV Casinos	Day Min	Night Min	Weekend Day	Weekend Night	Dividers	Comments
Edgewater (Laughlin)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Harrahs (Laughlin)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	no
Atlantis (Reno)	5/10	5/10	Unknown	Unknown		3 tables on weekends
Cal Neva (Reno)	5	5	Unknown	Unknown
Circus Circus (Reno)	Closed	Closed	Unknown	Unknown		Closed table game pit
Eldorado (Reno)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown
Grand Sierra (Reno)	15	15-25 Unknown	Unknown
Peppermill (Reno)	5	5	10	10	3 craps tables
Silver Legacy (Reno)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Hard Rock (Tahoe)	5	5	Unknown	Unknown
Harrahs (Tahoe)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Montbleu (Tahoe)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown
Nugget (Wendover)	5	5	5	5		Updated 7/31
Peppermill (Wendover)	5	5	10	10		Updated 7/31
Rainbow (Wendover)	5	5	10	10		Updated 7/31

Non/NV Casino	Day Min	Night Min	Weekend Day	Weekend Night	Dividers	Comments
Wind Creek (Wetumpka, AL)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown		4 to a table Updated 7/31
Sycuan (San Diego, CA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		Masks required
Barona (So Cal)	10	15	10	10-15		2 tables 2 per side, dealers managing bets for players. Updated 8/21 ($10 at times)
Harrahs (So Cal)	15-25	15-25	15-50	15-50	No	Updated 7/31
Viejas (So Cal)	N/A	N/A	Unknown	Unknown		No live tables
Foxwoods (CT)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown
Mohegan (CT)	15-25	25	Unknown	Unknown		2 were 10, 2
Harrington (DE)	15	15-25	Unknown	Unknown		Must wear mask and face shield
Rivers (Chicago, IL)	15	15
Blue Chip (Michigan City, IN)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown		5 minimum prop bets, 5 min ATS bet.
Caesars Southern IN	10	15	15	25		Updated 8/5
French Lick Resort (French Lick, IN)	15	15	25	25		Tables open at 11am and close at 3AM. Updated 8/5
Harrah's Hooiser Park (Anderson, IN)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Indiana Grand (IN)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	No
Belle (Baton Rogue, LA)	5	10	Unknown	Unknown		one half sized table sometimes they open the big one. $5 small table and $10 big late at night
Hollywood (Baton Rogue, LA)	5	10	Unknown	15		Updated 7/24
L’auberge (Baton Rogue,LA)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No
L’auberge (Lake Charles,LA)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No	1 bubble craps $5 min
El Dorado (Shreveport, LA)	10	10	10	10		Updated 8/17
Horseshoe (Shreveport, LA) 15	15	15	15		Updated 8/17
Margaritaville (Shreveport, LA) 15	15	15	15		Updated 8/17
Ocean Downs (MD)	10	15		Unknown	Unknown
Maryland Live (MD)	25	50	50	Unknown	Yes	5 tables, 4 per side. Electronic craps 15 min
MGM @ National Harbor	50-100		Unknown	Unknown	Yes	4 craps tables 2 were $50 and 2 were $100 mins. Not bubble craps or low roller options.
Firekeepers (Battle Creek, MI)	10	15+	Unknown	Unknown	No dividers, only distancing	1-2 tables depending on demand, did see it at $15 during the day $25 on Fri/Sat night. Masks required, no smoking. $3 Bubble Craps.
Four Winds Casino	15	15	Unknown	Unknown		Digital craps table 5$ min Tuesday and Sunday night. Did not check bubble craps
Gun Lake (Wayland, MI)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	No	Temp check, masks, usually the crapless table is open
Turtle Creek (Traverse City, MI)	5	Unknown	Unknown	Unknowned		2 tables, temp check, masks
Soaring Eagle (Mt Pleasant, MI)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown	Yes	5 players per side with glass. Tough to hear dealer.
Hollywood Casino, Maryland Heights (St Louis) MO	15	15	Unknown	Unknown		1 regular table & 1 no craps. 4 per side. No outside drinks.
River City (St. Louis, MS)	20	20	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	4 players per side. $20 min. You have to have at least a $20 bet for every throw to "hold your spot"
Beau Rivage (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown	unknown	3 tables
Boomtown (Biloxi, MS)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	1 table
IP (Biloxi, MS)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown
Scarlett Pearl (Biloxi, MS)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown	No	Masks required, temp check
The Palace Biloxi, MS)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown
Treasure Bay (Biloxi, MS)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Harrah’s Cherokee & Murphy	15	15	Unknown	Unknown	No
Harrahs River Valley (Murphy, NC)	25	25	Unknown	Unknown
Ballys (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	10		Updated 7/29
Caesars (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	15-25		Updated 7/29
Harrahs (AC, NJ)	15	15	Unknown	Unknown
Hard Rock (AC, NJ	15	25	Unknown	Unknown		2 tables - Updated 7-29
Resorts (AC, NJ)	15	25	Unknown	15	Yes	1 table - Updated 7-29
Ocean (AC, NJ)	10	15	15	25	Yes	4-6 tables
Buffalo Creek (NY)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown
Seneca Niagra (NY)	10	15	Unknown	Unknown		1 table, can go up to $25
Jack/Harrah's (Cincinnati, OH)	25	25	25	25		3 tables, $25 open to close
Hollywood (Columbus, OH)	10-15	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	Unknown	2 tables, masks required
Hollywood (Grantville, PA)	15	25	Unknown Unknown	Unknown		2 tables, masks required
Harrah's Philly (PA)	Unknown	Unknown	15	25		Updated 8/10
Meadows (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown		2-3 tables.
Mohegan Sun (PA)	Unknown	Unknown	25-50	Unknown
Windcreek (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Mount airy (PA)	10	10	Unknown	Unknown
Valley Forge (PA)			10
Parx (Bensalem, PA)	15	25	Unknown	Unknown		15 but maintaining 25
Southland Casino Racing (West Memphis, TN)	N/A	N/A	Unknown	Unknown	Yes	4 tables all closed. Other pit games open with plexiglas dividers. Bubble craps $5 minimum.
Mardi Gras (Nitro, WV)			15			Usually open on weekends - Updated 7/28

*Last update 8/21
Part 1. It's getting buried so I figured we would make a new one. Part 2
Pulled additional info from here.

This happened last year. Nothing major happened but thinking about it still gets chills down my spine. Also, it's too long and I'm not a good writer so bear with me. Sorry for any mistakes.
During college final year, a friend of mine(Rakesh) suggested to check out Dark Web, and a French website where we can earn by betting. I know what you’re thinking, and I thought that too:
A French gambling website? Sounds trustworthy.
However, Rakesh swore to me that the site was legit and it only used PayPal as the payment method, so my mind was somewhat put at ease.
So on a Sunday, I was bored and decided to finally give it a shot. I was put off by bad English used on the welcome page but shit. Registration was painless and it took only a few minutes before I was in the roulette lobby. I had around $100 in my Paypal account which I had earned online, so I bought $100 worth of virtual chips.
The site offered three rooms where I could play, but they were all full. I kept refreshing the page but spaces weren’t opening. I was losing patience. I decided I’d refresh one more time and if it was still full, I’d peace out. Shit, if they don’t want my money, someone else would gladly take it. I hit the refresh button and something changed. The whole layout of the page was suddenly completely different. The original, unappealing brown-ish page was now all black, but more notably, there was only one link on it. A link to a virtual room named “Erreur.”
I found this really strange. I thought that I might have clicked on one of those annoying banner ads (that got pass AdBlock somehow) so I clicked the “back” button, but nothing changed. Whatever man, I already said goodbye to that $100, so let’s try this shit. I clicked on the lobby and after the page asking me if I was sure I wanted to enter (which I found strange, almost as if they didn’t want my money), I got inside the damn thing finally.
I am not sure if you guys ever played online roulette, but this is how it works (at least the ones I played in). You are connected through a live webcam to some shithole casino. You choose your numbers and place your bets and then watch the dealer spin the wheel in real-time and see what you won (or lost most likely). It’s almost like being there. So the webcam loads and the first thing I notice is this girl, I swear she couldn’t have been older than 15-16. She was short, skinny, and blonde. I immediately noticed that she looked tired. They’re probably overworking her like a mule I thought to myself. It seemed like her table was on some sort of a platform because I could see the rest of the room behind her. There were approximately 5 card tables, all full. The place seemed awfully quiet. Then, my desire to lose money kicked in and I decided to place my first bet.
$5 on odd numbers.
All bets are in!
The girl said quietly as she spun the wheel. Usually, dealers yell out that line as a part of the show. I guess these guys were all business.
16.
Shit. $95 left. I wrote down the number in my notebook because that was part of my system. Writing all the numbers down so I can predict the future. Brilliant, right? (not really)
$10 on odd numbers.
All bets are in!
The little asshole ball stopped at 12. God damn it. Oh well, I still got $85 left.
$20 on odd numbers.
As she spun the wheel I started noticing something strange in the room. It almost seemed like nobody…
5.
Hell fucking yes. Won $40. Up to $125. Maybe this place isn’t so bad. $10 on odd again. Yeah, I know, my system is strange.
All bets are in!
she said again. As the ball was slowing down, I looked more over the background of the room. I was right a minute ago when I felt something strange. Nobody in the fucking room was moving. At all.
While I was excited about my account balance going up, I couldn’t help but feel weird about this situation. I mean, nobody was doing even so much as moving a finger. 5 tables, 6 people plus a dealer at each of them. Even the waitress in the back, holding a tray with drinks on it. And they all stood and sat still. I tried rationalizing it by assuming that the website had added a still picture background behind the dealer for the effect of a real casino, but man, this place seemed way too realistic to only be a picture. My timer started beeping and I had to make another bet.
$20 on odd.
As the girl spun the thing, I kept studying her background. I became intrigued by the strange situation that was going on behind her. I mean, there was no way this was a photoshopped picture. They just weren’t moving.
19.
Yes sir, won another $40. Hey, if I can keep winning, these dudes don’t even have to move as far as I’m concerned.
$20 on odd.
I decided to start paying attention to the girl a little bit more. What else was there to do? It’s not like anyone else was moving. As I said, she was young. She seemed tired and perhaps a little worried. At times, it seemed like she was looking directly at me, but I was sure I was just imagining things.
I won't give you play by play now, but I placed 4 more bets, winning two of them. I was sitting at nearly $200 at that point. But then, the curiosity started kicking in. These damn people still weren’t moving. And it wasn’t a damn added photoshopped image, either. Something wasn’t right. I decided to keep playing just so I can watch these strange individuals.
$40 on odd.
I noticed a chat feature to the left of the webcam feed. I decided to type a quick “Hi” to see if I’d get a response. As I started typing, a saw a man walk through the room. I told you it wasn’t a picture. He was dressed in a black coat with the collar popped up, so I couldn’t make much out of him. He was moving very slowly between the tables. He stopped by one of them. Then he bent down and started looking at one of the men who sat there. Like right in front of his face, an inch from it. Just stared at him, and the seated dude didn’t even so much as flinch. Weird shit man.
13.
My balance was now nearly $230 but I didn’t care. I wanted to know what was going on here. I zoomed in on the man. The webcam feed wasn’t HD so I couldn’t make details of the man’s face, but I could tell one thing that disturbed me. The man was all in black and white. His skin color was visibly different than the still people around him, I could tell that even though the few pixels French camera offered. What the fuck?, I thought. The timer started beeping again.
Fuck it, $20 on odd.
I zoomed in again. The black and white man stood up from staring at the motionless card player and walked over to the wall of the room. He started licking the fucking wall, I shit you not. He stood in front of a wall and just started licking it. His tongue seemed unnaturally long even over the low res camera. Not sure if it was his colorlessness, but the damn tongue appeared black. The wall had bright red wallpaper, which just enhanced this man’s unnatural lack of color. Just as I was about to let out an audible What in the fuck is going on here?, the dealer girl interrupted me, almost as if she knew that I was about to break the silent atmosphere of the French casino from the Twilight Zone.
Five! She yelled.
I got startled a little and zoomed back out. I won again, but I didn’t care. I was more focused on a man who appeared to be in black and white and licking a fucking casino wall.
Now, take a second and imagine being in this weird situation. You’re sitting alone in your darkroom, it’s 2 am, and you’re casually gambling when you notice that nobody besides your dealer is moving in the casino. Then, a man who appears to be colorless starts walking through the place, staring at people and licking walls.
I had to keep placing bets to stay in the lobby.
$100 on odd.
The man had stopped licking the wall and started moving again. He walked over to one of the dealers at the other table. He placed his arm on the dealer’s shoulder. Then I heard him say something. It sounded like “Say Tua” if that makes any sense. As he said that, the dealer turned around. That was the first time someone had moved other than my dealer girl and the colorless person.
One! yelled the girl. I swear it seemed like she knew I wasn’t paying attention to her and she wanted me to. I won again, but at that point, I didn’t give a fuck.
The other dealer stared at the man with the utter horror on his face. He didn’t say anything, just stared at him.
$200 on odd.
The staring lasted for about 30 seconds. I started typing a message in the chatbox to the right. I wrote, “Hey, what’s happening over there?” The dealer girl didn’t seem to react when I pressed “send”. Perhaps the chat option was there just for aesthetics, I don’t know.
Eleven!
Somehow, I kept winning. But money was secondary at that point. I needed to know what was going on.
$200 on Even.
The dealer next to the man started shaking uncontrollably. Then he muttered something like “None” to the man and collapsed. Like just fell in front of him. The man didn’t move, just looked down at the motionless body of dealers. Nobody else in the room moved, not even my girl. I yelled “What the fuck!” at the computer and that’s when it all changed. Every man and woman in the room turned and looked at me. I swear to you, every single person looked straight at me. They didn’t move, just looked towards me. The dealer girl seemed terrified beyond belief. She quickly pressed some kind of a button next to her table. The man without color slowly turned in my direction. He started walking towards my table. I got the message in the chatbox.
Run
I had shivers go down my spine a few times before, but never like this. I mean, I knew they couldn’t get to me through the screen, but the overall creepiness of the situation got the best of me.
The man walked up to the webcam and started staring at me. There was no doubt: he was in black and white. Now, I don’t know how to rationalize that shit. A glitch? Poor camera? Video editing? I don’t know, but I do know that he was the only colorless on the screen. The rest of the people were still looking towards me as well.
The man’s eyes were open as wide as humanly possible. He seemed to be studying me. I was scared shitless, man, but I was mesmerized, unable to quit the game. He got closer to the camera and all I could see now were his eyes, looking into me. Could he see me? I don’t think so. I hope not. But those eyes, man, those eyes. They seemed absolutely cruel and terrifyingly cold. They were also black and white, like the rest of the man. When he moved back, I nearly fell out of my chair. All of the people from the casino were now standing behind the man. 30+ still people were staring at me, with their eyes open way too wide. They weren’t moving. I have no idea how they got there so fast; the man took up the screen for only a few seconds.
The only one who didn’t seem like she belonged there was the dealer girl. She seemed absolutely petrified. The man turned towards her, then looked back at me. It was almost as if he noticed that she was out of place in that twilight room. He walked over and stopped behind her. She was shivering. *O..o…one” she muttered, obviously terrified by the man behind her. He started putting his arms around her shoulders. I yelled. I screamed at the screen.
What the fuck are you people doing!”I yelled.
The man started smiling. I can’t begin to explain to you how strange and surreal this experience was. A colorless man was looking at me, smiling, while wrapping his arm around the girl.
She looked at me. I could tell she knew I was still watching. She seemed at peace. Like she knew this was it.
She finally said, with little energy in her voice:
“Thank… thank you for playing with us today… And don’t forget your numbers!”
As she said that, the man’s arms went up to her neck with unnatural and inhuman speed. At that moment, the lobby closed.
I was back at the original, brown roulette page. My account balance was $520.
I sat there, stunned. I was sure I hallucinated, dreamt, something along those lines. This couldn’t have been real. I mean, come on, man. Colorless dude walking through the motionless casino, doing weird shit, and finally looking at me through the camera? Come on. Still, I like to believe that I am a sane person, and I know I wasn’t imagining. That shit did happen. I went to bed and although I had trouble forgetting this impossible incident, I fell asleep. When I woke up yesterday morning, the casino was the first thing on my mind. My initial thought was to try and get back into that lobby.
Fuck that. I decided that it was some sort of a prank. I went on with my day. But, you know what, that damn thing stuck with me the whole time. What the fuck was it? I kept analyzing. I tried talking to Rakesh about it, but he just laughed at me. I told him the whole story. At the end of me trying to convince him that I wasn’t lying, I remembered the girl’s last words.
And don’t forget your numbers!
That wasn’t something dealers say to you at the end of the game. I went back to my notebook and looked at the numbers I got that night. At least I’ve written down most of the numbers from the night before.
16 12 5 1 19 5 8 5 12 16 13 5
And the last three numbers I didn’t write down because I was too focused on the damn horror on my screen. I spent a good few hours analyzing, trying to figure out a pattern. I had no luck. Once again, I decided that someone was just fucking with me. I let the whole thing go. Actually, no I didn’t. I went back on the website and withdrew all of the money back to my PayPal account, just in case. Then I went on with my day.
By this morning, I have all but forgotten about the freaky night at the French online casino. I had two classes today. In the second class, Lecturer was talking about some game where you have to decipher a puzzle. He gave it to the class to solve it. I’ll be honest, I didn’t do shit. So, finally, he called for someone to come out in front of the class and demonstrate how they solved it. A guy came out and started explaining all these principles he used. Again, I wasn’t paying much attention, but one thing he said did catch my ear. He mentioned numbers. Numbers corresponding to letters.
I knew that this was the solution. I went back home after college and opened my notebook.
16 is P.
12 is L.
5 is E.
1 is A.
19 is S.
5 is E.
Please.
8 is H.
5 is E.
12 is L.
16 is P.
Help.
13 is M.
5 is E.
Me.
Please help me. Young girl, trapped inside the horror casino was begging for help and I was too stupid to pay attention. Was this a prank? I don’t know. A coincidence? Hardly.
I didn’t know what to do. I tried logging into the website again, but it was completely normal. There was no “Hata” lobby. I was, and still am, helpless.
I spent hours leading up to me writing this thinking, thinking, and overanalyzing what could have happened. I googled every phrase I could think of but to no luck.
And then, just as I started writing this, I remembered the last 3 numbers.
1, 11, and 1.
A, K, and A.
The first three letters of my name. I would’ve probably gotten the other two letters/numbers if the situation didn’t escalate. I felt sick. My knees suddenly became weak.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
What was worse, they know my name

A man who calls himself Master Joe has been sending the same creepy-ass messages to girls on OKC for going on 7 years now. Behold, the wonder of:
SLUTTY FUCK BIMBO WHORE DOLL
Part 1:
"Oh, I love the way you look, your beautifully made up face with red bulbous lip and coal black eye make up, your great hair, long whore red slut claw nails and great legs spread wide to expose your hot booty ass and pretty clit pole. Your ultra micro minis are never too short and you fuck me slut heels are never too high. Love to see the photos of how you are going to look --- bimbo slut whore fuck and suck doll in action.
I want you to be my big titted platinum blond ultra glam bimbo slut whore fuck and suck shemale doll. Your hair highly teased and colored platinum blond. Your make up heavy slut whore glam makeup will permanently tattooed on your face, so that even after many face fuckings, you make will be whore perfect under the dry cum you wear on your face. And your whorey hot red very plump bulbous lips will be surgically enhanced so that everyone will know that your lips were made to attract and suck cock. Yes Whore Doll I will buy you huge HH breast implants with one inch nipples tattooed whore red. And your Bimbo red six inch nails that make it impossible to do anything but suck cock and fuck. Every finger will be adorned with large rings and you hands will be adorn with fingerless gloves. Three sets of big rhinestone hoop earrings and 5" rhinestone choker with a "D Ring" frame my whore's make up face ... Ready for sucking. Through the "D Ring" is a rhinestone and red velvet leash with which I lead and exhibit you to the world.
I command that Whore Doll continuously recite:
Whore Doll will only feel, perceive, live, and exist on their instinct to obey, suck, and fuck for Master Joe.
Whore Doll will only exist to be slutty, to be bimboish, to be submissive, and to have lots of perverted kinky lustful sex.
Whore Doll will only exist to wear tons of permanent gaudy heavy whore glam makeup, velvet or shiny satin hooker micro outfits, to wear the very highest stripper heels and very longest whore red nails.
Whore Doll will only exist to keep the sluttiest whore image possible through surgical modifications for a fake bimbo barbi plastic face, lips, huge HH size breast implants, dramatically reduced waist and feet that will be made for 10 inch and higher heels.
Whore Doll will only exist to be a whore, tramp, stripper, bimbo trophy toy doll object, escorts and a porn star.
Whore Doll will only exist to suck cock, be fucked, exhibited and humiliated in semi public and public places.
Whore Doll will be the fuck and suck bimbo whore doll lover of Master Joe and his dog Ram.
Whore Doll recalls every memory and thought sexdecillion more times intensely and vividly than the last.
Whore Doll will not understand or care about boredom, consciousness, time or the real world they merely exist in a state of constant lucid trance reality.
Whore Dolls will not question or become curious about their reality they can only accept and perceive their reality.
Any time a Whore Doll asks a dumb question she will become sexdecillion more times entranced, mindless, horny, submissive, bimboish, obedient, slutty, gaudy, and feminine as a Whore Doll.
Any time a Whore Doll goes against any mantra your sub conscious will repeat the mantra perfectly in their mind without them knowing it sexdecillion times.
I command that you dress in red velvet cheek shorts (like the slutty bimbo shorts you love) or 9 inch micro minis with a matching red velvet bra top that only covers the center of your slutty big tits. Your tits will be pierced to accept large dangling rhinestone earrings. To show off your bimbo piercing, each velvet bra top cup will be slit to allow the large rhinestone jewelry to dangle through the center of you bra.
You will always be in 9 inch stiletto fuck heels and adorned with 3 inch wide rhinestone ankle bracelets. In the winter you will wear very short white mink jackets lined in velvet. Otherwise you will wear velvet or leather biker jackets.
I will show you off to the world on a leash, rubbing and "feeling up" your bulbous tits, your bimbo booty and fuckous black fishnet covered legs. I will take you to the malls, clubs, casinos and other great places. Then I will command you to suck my cock and drink my cum. My nasty tramp will be placed on a diet of cum. My hot cock will fuck your slutty ass ... Ramming my bimbo slut into the wall. You will be fuck like the nasty whore you are. You will be shared with my friends and the world as my special slutty whore."
Part 2:
"Dearest Fuckous Bimbo Slut Whore Doll Harlot,
Oh my Fuck Doll, I love your fuckous kinky lustfully “slut meat” thoughts. You are such a hot decadent sinful Bimbo Slut Whore --- I love your decadent hedonistic whorey desires --- and your slut ways --- stroking you clit pole until your clit raged with cum --- I bet you licked up your cum. I love your decadent whorey displays and slutty actions.
You will live a life of extreme ultra glam decadence, lustful perversion and total exhibition without any inhibition was so ever. I will dress you in velvet, satin, rubber latex or lycra PVC ultra micro minis worn very very low on your hips and cut so low in front to exposed your body down to just above your clit pole cock and cut so low in the back to exhibit your whorey ass crack (easy for Daddy to finger in public) and skimpy top with you highest heeled fuck me shoes/ankle boots and black stockings. Your hair must be a highly teased large hair do and your slut face must be heavy made up -- whorey foundation make up -- whore eyes with heavy eye linier extended just past your eye, eye shadow, long false eye lashes and mascara -- the reddest pouty slut lips outlined to make them attract every cock in the room. Red slut nails as long as possible and large rhinestone jewelry (earrings, collar, ankle bracelets, at least 2 rings on each slut finger, bracelets, noise ring and belly jewelry). Your slutty face will have permanent ultra glam Barbi dimples --- each face cheek will be pierce with 1 carat diamond studs to create the ultimate Bimbo Barbie dimples (just like one of the bimbo slut whores on Rock of Love). I love my Bimbo Slut Whore to also wear multiple very large hoop earrings. I will be very proud to display my slut whore and I share your decadent desire that it “makes it kinkier when they know“. I look forward to holding you, kissing you, fondling you and feeling you up and ultimately fucking your whorey red mouth and you booty pussy ass.
I am a six figure salary executive who is financing the surgical enlargement of my Bimbo Slut Whore’s breast to “HH” tits by a plastic surgeon and if needed, removing select ribs to reduce your waste. Your nipples will be enlarged to the size of silver dollars and each will be pierced during your surgery. My Bimbo Slut’s lips will be enlarge surgically to provide pronounced “whore fuck lips“, ready for a long cigarette or a large cock. And yes Whore Doll, you will wear rhinestone and diamond ultra max glam "grills" in your mouth except when you are sucking cock. What a vision... heavy glam whore doll make up, highly teased massive platinum blond hair, ultra max ghetto whore rhinestone and diamond grill framed by extremely plump bulbous velvet red whore doll lips. At clubs and bars you open your whore doll lips and slutty exhibiting… pumping your tongue in and out with three piercings and tattooed tongue with the words "WHORE DOLL" between your ultra max ghetto whore rhinestone and diamond grill.
After two months of practice in platform heels gradually increased from six to nine inch heels, you feet will be surgically modified to walk comfortably in 8, 9 or even 10 inch slut fuck heels. Yes, the nail salon will add extremely long 6-inch claws that will need to be maintained weekly. Such Slut Claws will render you incapable of doing anything but fucking, sucking or exhibiting your slutty whore body at my command.
Your clit pole will be adorned with a big gold ring with a multi-karat rock and I will insert your favorite remote controlled vibrating butt plug in your slutty cunt ass. You would look so great in a white velvet ultra micro mini (yes, I love my Bimbo Fuck Doll to be in micro minis less than 8 inches long --- your skirts are never too short) with matching thong and fingerless gloves. Your large bulbous bimbo breasts displayed in a matching white velvet bra slit for your long dangling rhinestone nipple jewelry. Because most bra tops will only cover the center of tits on a Bimbo Slut with HH tits, Daddy loves to show off his love investment in enhanced boobs for my Bimbo Fuck Slut Whore in this way. Your fuckous legs will be covered with black fishnet stocking, short white patent leather platform boots with nine-inch heels and 4-inch wide crystal boot chains on each boot. Daddy’s Bimbo cock sucker teases up here big platinum hair to nearly a foot high and almost as wide, heavy makes up her whorey hot face and adds inch long eye lashes with heavy black mascara that “pumps up the volume“. Each ear is adorned with four sets of large crystal dangling earrings and a matching 4 inch wide matching choker with a large D Ring for wrist restraints and a leash is displayed around my slut’s neck. The right side of my slut noise is also pierced with a rhinestone chain connecting to a fifth hole in her ear. Daddy’s Bimbo Tramp also has two tongue piercing and a belly button piercing. By now, my fuckous slut whore's red nails are at least 6 inches long and growing with at least 10 rings on each clawed hand. Because you are such a whore, masturbating her slut pussy in public, your Daddy restrains you clawed hands using rhinestone restraints that hook on you choker D Ring and connect to locking rhinestone bracelets on each wrist (over your long white velvet fingerless glovers). Your short white mink biker jacket and a long cigarette dangling from you lips finishes off my bimbo's outfit.
Before we go out to dinner, we have champagne and my whore's enhanced bee stung red lips sucks my large thick cock to completion and swallows my cum. When we arrive at the parking garage in Daddy’s new black Cadillac, I escort you out of the car. You don’t bother to pull down you micro mini skirt so that it is now only cover 5 inches, leaving all of your crotch and part of your ass exposed. Oh, you are such a exhibitionistic Bimbo Slut Whore --- I through you on to the hood of the black Cadillac --- What a vision, your foot high teased up platinum blond hair rising from the hood like an ornament -- Slut clawed arms wide apart and clutch each fender -- White mink and velvet whore contrasting against the shiny black hood (the way a 5 karat diamond ring contrasts with the black velvet box it sits in). I mount my Bimbo Fuck Slut and ram my cock into her booty pussy ass until we both cum with pleasure. After the pussy reaming, I command that you lick up all the cum from the hood of the car.
At the dimly lighted restaurant, I fondle your large HH tits, finger your ass pussy and rub your whorey clit through your thong. I order a double shot of vodka in a drinking glass for you to make a special drink. Holding the glass to the tip of your pretty clit pole and you piss into the glass, stir and drink the double vodka and piss cocktail. We then passionately kiss and feel each other. After dinner, my platinum big haired Bimbo moves under the table and sucks my cock.
After paying the bill we stroll out side, when you say you have to piss again. Daddy tells you to piss in the alley, hoping that others will see my nasty slut pissing in the streets. After my hot fuck slut is finished, Daddy pull up your short velvet micro mini, pull down you thong and remove you vibrator and ram my cock with enough force to knock you against the brick wall. After what seems like an hour of back door fucking, you also cum. What a slut ... after being fuck up the ass, the sight of a heavy make up whore with platinum big hair, displays gobs of cum dripping from her fishnet legs for Daddy’s exhibition to all. As we walk from the alley, three large black high school age males ask me to share my slut whore with them. One boy pulls out his large fat rod and shoves it in my Fuck Whore’s mouth, a second black stud rams his cock in your whorey lubricated ass and the third black boy slides his cock between your huge bimbo tits --- jerking and pounding until his cream cum covers your face and body. My Bimbo Fuck Whore is fucked into a lust frenzy with here big teased platinum blond hair bobbing up and down and her huge tits bouncing in a lusty fever. After three rounds of shoving, ramming and sucking the black boys each shove a $100 bill in your white velvet bra. Daddy will use this money for buying my whore more slut wear and make up. While Daddy could not resist the opportunity of sharing is Bimbo Whore Slut with young street blacks; he usually arranges sharing orgies in penthouse suites in the best hotels.
At night, I will keep you safe in your room covered with red velvet walls, mirrored ceilings and floor. Depending on Daddy’s wishes and my sluts behavior, she will sleep either bound in her heart shaped black velvet bed or in a red and gold velvet cage within the bedroom.
Love Joe
XOXOXOXOX"
SUPER SPECIAL RARE Part 3:
"My Very Dearest Cum Slut Whore Little Miss Harlot Doll,
My Fuck Doll, I command that you becum my Decadent Super Trophy Bimbo Slut Whore -- sluttiest, trashiest, nastiest, hedonistic, sinful cock candy whore in heat. I am looking for a nasty, trashy “teased up” platinum blond cock whore with ultra micro minis that are never too short and large breasts that are never too big… driven by the desire for decadent lustful pleasure, perversion, ultra glam transformation/modification and total exhibition without any inhibition what so ever. I want to display my Bimbo Slut Whore for all to see --- fondling and feeling you up in public --- fucking and sucking --- and whoring you to friends.
Oh, my Bimbo Fuck Doll, I want to fulfill your dreams, including large implant HH tits with pierced silver dollar nipples, your waist reduced surgically (even Barbi would be jealous) and your hot whorey lips pumped up to the max -- creating a red whorey inflated bulbous pout that appears that you are always sucking an invisible cock. Your hair will be volumized with hair extensions and hair weaves into a large teased up foot high platinum blond hair do. Your 6 inch slut claws will be grown to 9 inches. Your feet will be surgically modified so that you will be very comfortable in 9 and 10 inch heels, will no longer be able to walk in any shoe or boot with less than 6 inch heels. Your eye brows will be shaved and permanent black highly arched eye brows will be tattooed on your slut face. Eventually heavy whore make up will also be tattooed on your slut face, but you’ll insist on enhancing your permanent make up with dramatic accents.
For breakfast you have hot cum. After I fuck you red bulbous whore lips and you swallow my throbbing cock's cum, we will passionately French kiss while I finger your ass and rub your clit to completion. Daddy will then fuck your slut pussy ass hole, ramming my Bimbo Slut Whore against the red velvet wall of your room with force. As we cum, you shake with pleasure and scream obscenities that only Satan could have authored.
Two large gold poles are located in the center of your red velvet walled bed room with mirrored ceiling and floor. During the daytime, I tie my Bimbo Whore against the poles with your legs tie with coarse rope so that your slut crotch is wide open for a e-camera to photograph online. You are wearing custom 16 inch heeled black velvet short ballet boots. Since your legs are lashed tightly against the gold poles with rope, my Bimbo Slut Whore has no trouble standing straight up in 15 inch ballet boots. Each hand with, now, 7 in slut claws is tied tightly with red velvet rope that is threaded through a pulley in the ceiling and back down to where the velvet rope is tie my Bimbo Slut Whores large nose ring. Such is the position of the velvet rope, that if you try to rest or relax your arms, the pulley driven rope will yank the large nose ring from you nose leaving a large hole --- thus the Bimbo Slut Whore must spend most of her limited mental capacity on positioning her arms such that her nose does not hurt.
My Slut Whore is wearing a special black velvet bra (size HH) where the short 1/8 inch sharp pins are sew in erect so that all 200 stinging pins fully penetrate your soft flesh tits while velvet touches tit flesh in between the pins. A large black dildo is lodged into your throat and held in place by you red lipstick bulbous whore lips. To take care of your clit rod, Daddy hooks up a large ring around your cock with alligator clips that clip on your balls. Yes, my Bimbo Slut Whore, a another electrode was hooked to a large stainless steel dildo that I inserted in your whorey ass. With a remote control, I apply pulsing electrical current to the device that sends a current to your clit. As I increase the current to pulses become more rapid and shorter in duration until you explode with cum --- shooting gobs of cum across the room. Because my Bimbo Slut Whore soiled her room with cum, Daddy must whip the Whore with a whip made of velvet strips that tickle, rather than mar my Whores body --- but the whipping caused even more sluttish activities --- the Bimbo Slut Whore excretes a mixture of cum and piss from her pussy as she shakes with pleasure.
In the evening, we will go out to a dance club. You will be dressed in fishnet stockings and day-glow pink velvet ultra micro mini worn very very low on your hips so that the top of the crack of your ass is displayed and your 4 inch mini so very short that it barely covers your crotch and stop sign red velvet thong. Matching fingerless gloves and a velvet bra top (with openings for your nipples and nipple jewelry to be exposed and dangling from the center of your huge tits complete the outfit. Matching custom 9-inch chrome steel heeled pink velvet platform boots covered with rhinestones will adorn your legs. A white mink biker jacket with matching pink velvet trim adorns my Bimbo Slut’s body.
After embellishing your tattooed make-up with additional heavy whore make up, your platinum blond hair is teased as large as possible. A 5-inch rhinestone collar with a D Ring and 5 inch rhinestone bracelets are added to your outfit. A pink velvet leash is attached to the D Ring and is used to lovingly display and control my Whorey Bimbo Slut. On each 9-inch claw are at least two large karat rings. Around your cock is a large gold ring with a 7-karat stone. On the way to the club, you beg me to allow you to rub your very obviously hard clit pole cock. I pull your pretty tattooed clit pole cock out from the red velvet micro thong and you start to pump your clit pole cock with your 9-inch claw hand. Pumping slow at first, but faster as we approach the club. WOW... as you step out of the limo... you cum in the gutter outside the club and then place your pretty clit pole cock back into the red velvet micro thong... WHAT A VISION OF TOTAL DECADENCE AND LUST.
When we arrive at the club you start to dance in the most sluttish fashion, open your enhanced bulbous Fuck Red Whore lips wide in a simulated sucking fashion, and grinding your booty ass into my pant cover cock, right on the dance floor. Then my Bimbo Tramp turns around and knees in front of my cock and continues the sucking motion with her bulbous red lips and pierced tongue. My whore then unzips my pants and my rod plunges out greeting my Cock Sucking Fuck Whore. As you open your enhanced bulbous Fuck Red Whore lips wide and insert my throbbing cock into your fuck hole lips, the club crowd cheer and watches with decedent pleasure. Bimbo Fuck Whore Tramp is the best blow job around. Then you crawl over to me and I help you up. We then French kiss, enjoying the grand exhibition and display of my nasty Bimbo Fuck Whore Slut. By now the entire club has followed your decedent example and is fornicating throughout the club.
You have drawn the attention of 10 men who each proposition you to suck, fuck and use you for all their pleasures in a private club room upstairs. Your private whoring income and my six figure income will keep my Bimbo Whore Slut in a decadent and lustful style. During the evening, you would drink vodka cock-tails made with my pee. After all of the men and I have used you, you would lie naked on the carpeted floor while I cum on your Whorey body. Then I fuck your whore booty pussy ass, As I ram my cock into your hole and induce the ultimate sinful pleasure, my Whore’s body starts to shake with pleasure as your 9 inch chrome steel slut heels thrash in the air and your 9 inch claw nails uncontrollably shake with uncontrolled pleasure. After the cum dried, you would dress and we would return home to your velvet and mirrored room where you would be showered and place in your plush velvet cage. What a filthy nasty Bimbo Slut Whore Tramp ....
Lovingly,
Joe
XOXOXOXOXOXOX"
Llllladies?

Hey Moonhorse and moonherd. Please enjoy this Manfred Fanfiction. Manfiction. I'll leave it to you to decide how the voices should sound. Love your videos and keep on truckin'.

Manfred:

The Man Who Tik Toks
It started with a horrifying discovery. In the hot still of the night, complaints had been called in to Station Square P.D. about an unbearable odor leaking from an abandoned building. When I arrived, the scene was lit in the strobing red lights of police cars, and the first bodies were being carted out under white sheets to waiting ambulances. Even from my perch on the roof across the street, the stench was horrendous. This was no mere neckbeard nest; it was a charnel house.
Using my grappling line, I swung across the street and descended into the building via an open window. It was times like this I was grateful for my mustache’s filter. What I found shocked even me. Room after room, corpses lay slumped in corners or twisted up on the floor. All of them, each and every one, bore a sickening grin on their face. The muscles around the mouth twisted up tighter than they had ever stretched in life. Bloodshot eyes rolled back in their sockets and pallid skin completed the grim uniform.
Eventually, I found the man I was looking for, standing awkwardly to the side in a room as two EMTs struggled to carry out another body. His red, white & blue striped shirt and commissioner's medallion stood out against the drab interiors of the run-down apartments. The folds and material of my brown three-piece suit muffled my approach, and he was obviously startled by my sudden appearance. However, shock quickly turned to relief as he realized who he was looking at.
“Oh, Manfred. Boy I sure am, uh, glad to see you.” He said. ‘The chickens have come back, and, um, they’re back and they’re roosting.”
“Commissioner Chandler.” I replied. “What happened here?”
“Oh Manfred. I was. Mmmm, I was hoping you could, uh, help figure this out. We don’t know what it is to make of it.”
“How many?”
“I haven’t counted it just yet, uh, but there’s gotta be at least fifty.”
I had noted a dozen bodies as I moved through the building, nowhere near fifty. Clearly the stress was getting to the commissioner.
“Some of these bodies have been here for days, some, only hours. They all show the same signs of chemical exposure. Have you sent samples off for analysis?”
“Uh, mmm, I was just going to do that. We were going to, uh, sample some for analysis.”
I withdrew a hypodermic needle from my coat’s breast pocket and drew my own sample from the nearest body; one that appeared to be the most recent.
“I’m going to run some tests of my own on the manputer back in the mancave. Keep me informed.” I said as I turned and headed back up the stairs.
“Ah, sure thing, uh, Manfred.”
At a luncheon the next day, I appeared simply as Fred Mann, millionaire playboy philanthropist, rubbing elbows and sharing drinks with the other members of my country club. Greg Onion was boring me to tears with his complaining about all the environmental regulations he had to go through when it came to cleaning up industrial waste. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry Greggy. You have my sympathies. How dare those dirty liberals try and stop you from dumping your fetid shit directly into the river?’ None of this I said out loud, of course. I merely nodded along with the rest of the group as he spoke. Onion had moved on to asking us all if we liked Kombucha, when the TV playing the news on a side table caught my eye. The text crawl along the bottom of the screen read: ‘Ruckersville Asylum to re-open.’ But the news caster’s face was twisted into a smile, and it seemed as though she simply could not stop laughing. She doubled over in pain, the last image before she dropped out of frame, was of her bulging eyes and horrific grin. The same terrible grin I’d seen too many times the night before.
As we stood around the tv in stunned silence, we were in for another shock. A man stepped into the shot. A man with a pronounced underbite and green hair falling to the side of his face. His eyes slowly rolled down to fix the camera with a mad stare. His exact, rambling statement was unimportant; what mattered was his declaration that tonight he would kill the “Onion Boy”. I, of course, recommended to Greg he contact the Station Square P.D. immediately; go straight to the top, to Commissioner Chandler.
That night, I swept silently into the grounds of stately Onion Manor in rural Gig Harbor, just outside of Station Square. Commissioner Chandler had brought out his toughest cops, and ringed the house with them. Without a sound, I swung onto the roof and made my way to the central foyer skylight. Greg was there, pacing about the room waving his arms and shouting at the officers accompanying Chandler. Touching the tip of my glove to the window, I could listen in on their exchange.
“...you TRied thE FBI, and it didn’t WORK!”
“Now, this house is locked up. Tighter than, tighter than Fort Knox. Mmmm. There’s. Mmmm. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“And then you’ve got to LEAVE, and your whole life falls apart because a bunch of PEOPLE online want to troll you.”
Just then, Greg started laughing. I could see the madness enter his eyes and he kept laughing harder and harder; barely able to gasp out: “What’sa matter? DON’Tchu like KOMBU’CHA!?” before collapsing to the floor, convulsing and frothing at the mouth. The madman had already gotten to Greg. No doubt some time-release chemical agent introduced into his system via his beloved Kombucha tea, long before the freak announced his plan. I had to get back to my Mancave. I had to find an antidote to this toxin before he struck again.
What was worse, were the TikTok videos trending when I returned. Tagged with the phrase “Jokes on you!” They showed the grinning psychopath laughing and tossing out guns like party favors to the former inmates of Ruckersville Asylum. It seemed he’d just used the assassination of Greg Onion as a means to draw away police presence and keep me distracted. I couldn’t believe I’d been so blind!
By the time the morning news had caught up with the story, they were calling him ‘The Jokar’. What they named him mattered little to me. I poured myself into my research; determined to find some antidote. The breakfast coffee and McMuffin my faithful butler brought me had long ago gone cold when the Manputer alerted me to a newly trending Tik Tok video.
The Jokar grinned into the camera, eyes rolled up in his head as he gleefully spoke, “Tonight friends in Station Square, I’ll put on a show, like Fred Astaire. It’ll be easy, just like kindergarten, when I murder Michael Matrin. Be sure to SMASH that subscribe button and absolutely obliterate that bell icon so you won’t miss any of my new videos... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
I hung my head; I was no closer to solving this puzzle and the Jokar was already announcing his next victim. My hands stung from how tightly I’d clenched them, the stainless steel surgical tools I’d been holding were just mangled bits of twisted metal now. I cast them aside and rang Commissioner Chandler on the Manputer.
“Commissioner. I’m sure you’ve seen the Jokar’s latest TikTok.”
“Um. Mmmm. No I haven’t, but I’m sure. It’s something that I’ll have to watch.”
“Damnit Commissioner; he claims he’s going to kill Michael Martin next. You have to get there first and run a blood test on Martin to see if he already has the toxin in his system!”
“Ok. Um. I’m sure. I’ll be sure to get right on that.”
I ended the call. I needed to get out there, on the streets. In moments, I was behind the wheel of the Manmobile, tearing through the suburbs of Station Square on my way into the heart of the city and Michael Martin’s penthouse.
Commissioner Chandler had outdone himself this time. Not just police officers, but searchlights and a police helicopter had the building surrounded in an airtight perimeter. I slipped past them into the building’s ventilation ducts and crawled to Martin’s penthouse. Like an unseen booger falling into a cup of coffee, I dropped silently into one of the suite’s bedrooms.
My tactical Manloafers muffled my foot falls, Before either man had realized it, I was standing behind Chandler and Martin. Martin was attempting to explain to Chandler the ins-and-outs of the new viaduct project his company was on the verge of completing.
“Chandler.”
“Oh! Manfred. Mmmm. Yeah. We’re ready for him if. Mmmm. That dang dirty Jokar shows his face again.”
“What were the results of the blood test?”
“Blood test?”
“Oh. Mmmmm. I didn’t, uh, didn’t have time to do the test.”
“What? He could already have been exposed!”
“Well I’ve been under a lot of stress. I have a lot to do here. Mmmm. I gotta do all this. Telling people where to go and, Mmmm, making sure the Jokar doesn’t get in here.”
“Now, see here Commissioner, You told me you’d taken every precaution!”
Suddenly, the police helicopter circling the building dipped down to our floor and shone it’s spotlight directly into the penthouse. No, this wasn’t the police helicopter, this one had a garish red and whtie smile painted below the cockpit. I only caught a glimpse of the jutting lower jaw and half-lidded eyes of the maniac leaning out of the chopper with a grenade launcher before the windows exploded into a million shards of glistening crystal shards of broken window. I dove to shield Martin with the body of my brown suit jacket, throwing him to the floor in the process.
I had one chance, if I couldn’t find my mark, we were done for. I slid a Manarang from my sleeve and threw it at the chopper. The sharpened tip of the metal mustache pierced the cockpit window and sunk into the controls, sending crackling arcs of electricity through the pilot’s displays. The whole bird lurched violently to one side, then the other as it began slowly spiraling down toward street level.
The sound of uproarious laughter behind me, brought me back to reality. Martin was curled up on the floor amidst the shattered glass, laughing uncontrollably. No. This couldn’t be. I’d stopped the attack. Then something dark and glistening caught my eye. Martin’s blood on the glass, mixed with something else. Of course; those grenades had been loaded with the toxin. It must have entered his blood through the cuts he sustained when he fell into the broken glass from the windows. I fired my grappling gun into the adjacent building and swung out into the night.
Most of the helicopter's contents were a smoldering wreck by the time I arrived, but I was able to salvage an empty chemical cannister. Enough of the label remained for me to get an address, and the trail from the wrecked chopper lead me to the Duce Chemical Plant. A quick circuit around the plant didn’t reveal the Jokar or his henchmen, but I did spot something interesting. One of the workers had patches of discolored skin, like the Jokar and his victims. I swung down to have a personal chat.
“You. How did you get those discolored patches on your skin? Talk!”
“Whoa, please Manfred! I didn’t do nothin’. I just got splashed by some of the waste goo when I was doing break down.”
“Anyone else get ‘splashed’ by this stuff?”
“A couple guys get a bit on ‘em every once in a while. I heard one guy put his arm in a barrel one time. Turned all his hand white and his hair green.
“Where’s it kept?”
“Out back, by the loading dolleys.”
I collected a sample and hurried back to the Mancave. Maybe isolating this chemical in its raw form would be the break I’d been searching for.
I was awakened from my slumber, slouched over in the seat at my Manputer, by the beeping of TikTok to alert me to another video upload from the Jokar.
“Ho Ho, amigos! It looks like Station Square’s Suited Savior just doesn’t get the joke. Well, you know what they say, third time’s a charm! And this time, I’m going after Station Square’s leading citizen; Fred Mann! Be seeing you soon, Freddy! Ah Ha ha ha ha ha!”
The video closed, and my eye was drawn to a blinking indicator on the Manspectral analyzer. I had a complete breakdown of the chemical compound. I had a chance, now. A chance to beat the Jokar at his own game. There’d be no way to test it before he sprung whatever devious trap he’d prepared. But this time, I’d be ready. Fred Mann wasn’t going down without a fight.
The hours ticked by as I frittered away money around the games at Casinopolis in Station Square’s casino area. My butler and I were the only ones allowed on the floor, aside from the casino employees and fifty of Station Square’s finest. I’d invited them all to have a drink, play the slots, take a seat at a table; all on me, of course. I had to play the part of the devil-may-care eccentric millionaire, after all. To act as though I was so rich, nothing really concerned me. Pretend I was confident my casino’s security would keep me safe and protected from the laughing madman prowling around the dark alleys of Station Square.
“Would you like to split, Mr. Mann?”
The dealer’s voice brought me out of my daydream. “Huh?”
“Your hand, would you like to split?”
I looked down and realized I’d been dealt a pair of twos. The old double-duce. I smiled, “Just my luck.”
Just then something clicked. The duce. Greg Onion, he’d owned the Duce Chemical Plant. Michael Martin had been building a new viaduct, one that would negate Station Square’s dependence on the river for fresh water. Tonight was a high tide, highest for the year, in fact. That meant the river’s flow would be its slowest and water levels at their highest. I frantically checked my wrist watch; two hours to high tide. If someone were to release a high concentration of chemical pollutants into the river now… There was no plan to kill me. This was all a diversion!
I had to get out of there without drawing any suspicion. Beneath my tuxedo, I was wearing my Manfred suit. The experimental anti-toxin was in the pocket. I had to chance it. I slid my hand into my jacket like I was reaching for a french fry at the bottom of the bag and stabbed myself in the finger on the syringe. Almost immediately I felt flushed.
My hand started shaking first, and I felt my diaphragm flip flop. The first laugh came out like a gasp. Then a chuckle, followed by a roar. I slammed my hands down on the table, veins bulging under the skin. I think the dealer screamed. My butler was there immediately. I looked him in the eye and winked.
“Help us to the car, I must get Mr. Mann to the hospital, immediately!”
Police and personal security lifted me bodily up. I was carried to the private elevator. All around me was gold rings and dazzling light. I fought to regain control. ‘Damnit, Manfred, you’re tougher than this.’ The shakes had begun to subside. I was getting my breathing back to measured breaths.
Loaded into the backseat of my Mercedes, my butler tore out of the parking garage before anyone else had time to jump into the car with us.
“I take it we are not checking into the emergency room, sir?”
I was already shrugging off my tuxedo. “Turn North. I’ll have the Manwing rendezvous with us as you cross the trestle.”
“Are you certain about this, Master Mann?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The Manwing swept down out of the night sky like a great mustache of prey. The ejector seat launched me out of my Mercedes, out of Fred Mann’s world, and into the cockpit of the Manwing; into Manfred’s world. It took mere minutes for the Manwing to cover the distance to the riverfront, I prayed I wasn’t too late. Circling above, I could see lights and movement below. Jokar was here, and he’d brought friends.
I took a run at the garishly painted trucks lined up behind the plant. My Manmissiles streaked out into the night and tore them to pieces. Bodies flew everywhere, and I could see that grinning green-haired fool shouting and gesturing wildly toward the sky. I swung around for another pass, opening up with the Mangattling guns. He dove out of the way, but his remaining men were riddled with bullets. Swinging around again, I caught a glimpse of him fleeing into the plant. I’d have to go in after him to finish this. I brought the Manwing in low and set the autopilot, before folding my arms and letting myself slide out the ejection chute. After gliding down on the spread sides of my suit jacket, I dropped to the ground, eyes scanning the scene.
The bodies scattered around were all obviously hardened criminals and escaped lunatics. I made my way past them, past the pools of blood mixing with bubbling chemical waste; into the dimly lit interior of the plant.
The chemical stink made my mustache bristle. I reached out with all my senses, feeling for my quarry. Suddenly, a shot rang out! I rolled to the left just in time as chips of concrete blistered off the spot I’d been standing in moments before. I had to move quickly. More shots were coming in now. Pinging off pipes and ricocheting off concrete walkways all around me. Holding my arms outstretched behind me, I sped up a flight of stairs and zig-zagged my way along a catwalk, closing the distance between me and the Jokar.
Out of bullets he smiled and shrugged, dropping the gun over the railing. I froze. ‘He was up to something.’ I thought. He hooked his thumbs into the lapels of his Hawaiian shirt.
“I know what you were planning Jokar. Give it up.”
“Well well well, Mans. Looks like you caught me. Guess I’ve got no choice but to let you take me to federal pound-me-in-the-ass jail.”
“You’re going to do hard time for this. Maybe even the electric chair.”
“Don’t you want to hold me over the railing for a bit, first? Maybe threaten to beat my face in?”
“I’m taking you in.” I said as I reached for his arm. “This madness ends now.”
“Oh come on Manfred, lighten up a little.” As he said this, the flower tucked into his breast pocket shot out a stream of liquid, hitting my square in the face. “Ha HA! Smile MANfred, you’re about to be a TikTok star! Now tell the folks at home how my extra-strength die-laughing formula taste?”
I licked my lips and narrowed my eyes before I responded, “Refreshing.”
“No. NO! That’s not possible. Everyone laughs! Why won’t you LAUGH?”
“TikTok is just vine with shittier memes.” I told him.
Drawing myself up to my full height, I thrust my arms out to the sides and held them there, straight as a cross. As I advanced forward, I could feel the heat behind my eyes. With a supreme effort I unleashed my Manlasers on him, forcing him back down on to the floor.
"Please! Please no more!"
I did not head his cries; but drew in a breath that filled my lungs with sweet justice. I asserted my dominance.
The End.

10,000 hours. That's how long it's said to take before someone has "mastered" a skill. Woodworking, Painting, Banjo Picking or Tap Dancing, the medium doesn't matter. You have to put in hours. You earn skill through repetition.
This concept of putting in the tedious effort to learn something is really common among musicians and other performers. Your job is to entertain people. You do that by performing a difficult task and making it look easy. Making something look easy takes time.
For the vast majority of musicians, the fear of embarrassment forces them to sit locked up in their room and get "good enough" to play for people in public. We feel ashamed of the fact that we were once novices, and we don't want anyone to know that we were ever anything less than perfect.
It wasn't always this way. For most of human history, there was no separation between "performer" and "audience." Music was a communal task, participated in by everyone around the cookfire or all of the hands out tending their crops. Music and dance were a natural form of communication, an important cultural dialogue in which everyone took part.
Even after The Middle Ages, when Europe's ruling class made entertainment a commodity for themselves and put musician servants on stage, traditions of folk music everywhere in the world still expected everyone sitting around to pick up an instrument or clap their hands and sing.
This natural, communal form of song still lives on today, and in first-world countries, it is carried by the kindred spirits of travelers. The tradition of busking looks at society's implication that one must be a master to perform, and sticks its tongue out at the whole thing.
If you have a guitar that you barely know three chords on, and two of your more-experienced friends are willing to teach you a couple of songs, you can stand on the sidewalk and get real experience performing for real people. Rather than meticulously sitting alone playing the same lick until it "sounds right," you can learn much faster by putting your imperfect skills out there for people to hear.
This might sound scary. "What if people think I suck? What if I mess up?" My advice is to accept that these things will happen. First of all, every musician messes up. Even professionals who play the same show every night to a packed house could point out errors that they made after each performance. That's what makes live music great. It's provocative and risky and real. The musicians could fall apart at any point, and every moment that they hold it together and keep producing that Golden Sound is another little miracle.
It's okay to mess up. It's also okay to not impress anyone. Just by virtue of the fact that you're playing on the street, some people are going to disregard you or ignore you. Just like hitchhiking, busking teaches you to handle constant rejection with grace. The beauty of playing on the street is that you nave a dynamic, non-static audience. Most people hear you play for about 30 seconds as they walk by. This means that you could totally mess up and fail a song, and then try again, get it right, and two minutes later, the people hearing you will have the impression that you've been playing wonderfully the entire time!
The majority of people who hear you will act like they don't care. Luckily, the people who do react positively make it all worth it emotionally. If I'm playing and getting discouraged and then all-the-sudden a 4-year-old kid stops his parents and starts dancing around to my music, that is worth a hundred scowls from unimpressed people. When I get a sly look from a pretty girl or a thumbs-up from someone driving by or an unexpected tip from someone who I thought was going to just walk by, that makes all of the time I spend playing for non-music-lovers totally worth it.

-What is Busking?-

Busking is performing on the street, usually for cash tips, and can be any type of music. If you play violin and are only comfortable reading sheet music, get some good sheet music and play it. If you have a shitty guitar and only know two blues songs, play those two blues songs until you get sick of them, and them play 'em some more. If you play a weird instrument like French Horn or Harp or Oboe, realize that this actually works in your favor and that having that novelty will make you more valuable than just another kid singing and playing guitar. I make about 10-times as much money per hour when I play saxophone versus acoustic guitar.
"Bucket Kids" can be found in many places where tourism is big. Ranging in skill from "7-year-old out with his big brother, generally bothering the public" to "Holly shit how did that guy learn to play like that? Let's go dance!"
Busking also includes a million other talents besides music. Jugglers, hoopers, fire spinners, and flow artists are some of the most common. Dance crews with portable sound systems tend to be good at drawing big crowds. Tarot Card readers and Fortune Tellers are very popular in places like New Orleans. Street Magic is a whole artform of its own, and can be lucrative if you're a good showman.
Street artists can sometimes make a very good living by selling paintings, sketches, or whatever medium catches peoples' eye. Caricature work deserves special mention here, as do graffiti artists, who remain anonymous and never get paid for their work. The whole world of crafting and selling trinkets and jewelry shares space with street performers. Writers also have a place in the busking world. There is growing popularity in setting up a type writer on a milk crate or small table and writing off-the-cuff poetry "your topic, your price."
Entertaining people means getting creative. There is a whole genera of buskers who take on a character and interact with the public. It can be as simple as dressing up like Spiderman or Darth Vader and making a sign that says "Tips for Pictures." There are Statue Dudes who go to elaborate lengths to draw in audiences.
It really doesn't matter what you do. What's important is that you get out and do it.

-Your Setup-

You're going to need some kind of gear. The most basic, universal object is the "Hat" This is something to collect money from people as you perform. The Hat can be a 5-gallon bucket or a glass jar or an open guitar case or a small cardboard box written on with sharpie. Your Hat should reflect the style that you're exuding. It should be attractive and easy to access. It should be an object that draws people in and makes them want to put nice things inside.
It's common practice to put "seed money" in your Hat. This is just a dollar or some change that serves as a sign that "money goes here."
Many people who do this every day have a whole little routine figured out, and they often address common concerns with a sign, in an attempt to waste less time. The "Tips For Pics" sign, as mentioned above, is a good example of this. If you have to tell every single person that it's not cool to just steal your image for free, and that they need to contribute, that's going to take a lot of time and effort that you could spend on actually performing. There is a fine line here between adding a cardboard sign to your busking setup and "flying a sign" as a style of panhandling.
With music or dance, there is often a need to have amplified sound. This involves getting power somehow. There are many different types of setups with batteries and even generators that one can use to get an electronic speaker to play on the street. In some instances, you can find places to plug in, but that is rare and unreliable.
In my experience, relying on electronics can be a hassle. Batteries die, devices break, it rains. Many times, cops will use "amplified sound" as a specific excuse for running you off of your spot or giving you a ticket. Acoustic music sounds better, and is less of a hassle if you do it right.
Whatever your setup is, know how to set up and tear down quickly. I prefer to have no more stuff than I can carry when I busk. If you do have more than just an instrument with you, you're probably going to need some kind of cart. Even if you're a van dweller and can haul your gear around in your rig, don't rely on being able to find parking directly adjacent to where you want to busk.
Some people lay out a rug, have a bunch of trinkets and furniture and decorations, set up a sound system, etc. All of this is done for their own comfort, and to establish an atmosphere. Having an elaborate setup can work well, but again, practice setting up and tearing down quickly. You are vulnerable during these transition periods.

-Getting Started-

If there is one piece of advice or encouragement I can give you, it's this: the fear and trepidation that you might feel is temporary. As soon as you play that first note or hit "play" on your boombox and start dancing, the anxiety melts away and you're focused on what you're doing.
I've spent a lot of time doing this, and thought about it a lot. I've tried to decipher what it is that makes busking this special magic thing, why it's hard and scary to think about, and why it's so easy once you get going. I think it has to do with your energy level. Before you start performing, you're at the same level as everyone else walking around. You're an anonymous human, going about your day, with your own agenda. You're not familiar to any of the people around you, and society kind of implores us to just tolerate and ignore each other. The amount of attention that you command is very neutral.
Once you start playing, however, you're suddenly addressing all of these strangers and saying "Hey! Look at me! I'm doing this thing and I'm doing it for you! I hope you like it." You are taking a risk for the sake of enriching the lives of your fellow people. This puts attention on you, and it brings you to a higher energy level. Whether peoples' opinions of you are positive or negative doesn't matter, they are paying attention to you and thinking about you. This gives you power. Once you've crossed the threshold and taken this power, it's easy to keep it up.
Once you've got your instrument or your equipment and you've decided to do this thing, the first big step is finding a spot. The only real criteria for success is finding a place that has foot traffic. You want to set up in a place that allows people to easily see and hear you, but not somewhere where you get in the way or block traffic. If someone else is busking in an area, it's probably a good spot.
Most cities have some kind of downtown, and these are often good places to try. Outdoor shopping malls usually have people in a consumerist mood, and are likely to produce some tips before you get kicked out. For times when you're traveling and in a pinch, Walmarts, grocery stores, and gas stations can be your bread and butter.
Big tourist spots are great places to try. Hollywood Blvd. in LA, The Strip in Las Vegas, Bourbon St. or Royal St. in New Orleans, Time Square or The Subway in New York, Haight St. in San Francisco. Those are just a few examples in the US. Every major city has high-traffic areas to try. Go out and explore them!

-Busking Etiquette-

Everyone is out there on their hustle. There are only so many people walking around with money in their pockets, and there are only so many spots, and so many hours in the day. The way that you go about interacting with homebums, cops, audiences, drunk hecklers, and other street performers will either earn you friends and allies or alienate you and make it harder for you to do your thing.
As with trainhopping or hitchhiking, you want to be conscious of how your presence effects the area and people around you. When I say that, I mean don't blow up the spot. Examples of activities that blow up busking spots include performing when you're shit-faced drunk; letting your dog bark, make a mess on the sidewalk, or bite people or dogs; singing racist or hateful lyrics; heckling people, especially women; smoking in an are where people are forced to be exposed to your smoke; getting in fights; or doing anything besides busking to get the cops called on you.
Sometimes police or private security or just employees of businesses will tell you to leave. This is the reason for having a minimal setup, because the best thing you can do is say "okay" and leave. Sometimes you will busk in places where you know you'll get kicked out. Walmarts, grocery stores, and gas stations are all examples of these. The vast majority of the time, store policy says there's "no soliciting" there. Despite this, I often still get a half-hour or more of solid busking before anyone says anything. In American-style freeway stops where there are 2 or 3 or more gas stations and stores in one concentrated area, you can get several hours of good busking time if you just play until you're kicked out of one spot and then move across the street to the next one.
Getting kicked out of a place isn't a bad thing. Sometimes it will actually get you more money. I've had big tips given to me as I was getting kicked out, or even after I left, because people felt bad for me and were enjoying my music before I was told to leave. Be polite, be friendly, try to relate to the person who's kicking you out. More often than not, they don't even want you to leave, they're just following orders because they don't want to loose their job.
When it comes to other performers, in general, if someone is already set up and doing their thing, leave them alone. You can watch and be a good audience member and give them tips to help encourage their audience. You can dance if their music is good and applaud if they're putting on that kind of show. If they're playing music, and you have some kind of musical contribution to offer that you don't think will be over-bearing, you can take a chance and try walking up and playing along. If you do join someone who's already playing, invited or not, don't expect them to split tips with you. The proper way to share tips once a new performer joins is to empty the Hat before you start playing and then split whatever you make after the new person has joined.
Respect seniority when you're busking. Old-timers have likely been busking that spot for years, and probably rely on being able to do their thing there.
Don't get too discouraged by negative reactions to you doing your thing, but do take ques and hints from people. If you see people covering their ears or getting startled by what you're doing, you might be too loud for the particular area you're playing in. If you have songs with lots of cuss words or adult themes, and parents are getting offended, maybe tone it down or find a place with fewer families. If you're finding yourself getting drowned out by traffic or construction noise, find a quieter spot.
Many busking locations have specific rules and regulations that you have to follow. The best way to learn what these are is to blatantly ignore the rules and play wherever you want. Someone will tell you what you're doing wrong. Often, you'll have to buy a permit to busk. A Farmer's Market permit in Moscow, Idaho is $6. A year-long busking permit in Pike Place Market in Seattle, Washington is $30. A permit to sell paintings at Jackson Square in New Orleans is $600 a year, and there are only 192 spots. The rules and prices vary everywhere. As with busking in front of gas stations, you can usually get at least some playing in before someone kicks you out or asks for your permit. Sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

-The Kick Down-

The main type of love that I get from people when busking in 2018 is cash, mostly singles and fives, sometimes pocket change. At Farmers' Markets, I often get fresh fruit or veggies in my case. In Las Vegas, I often get cigarettes, weed, casino chips, and sometimes $20's or even $100's. Many times, I have gotten buisness cards from musicians, producers, and DJ's. A couple times I've gotten numbers from girls. You never know what will end up inside that Hat!
Right now I'm settled down in Santa Barbara. I play for college kids in Isla Vista, which doesn't pay much, but does make me increasingly famous in Southern California. Busking next to one of the popular restaurants, or especially crashing parties with my Saxophone might get me on 200 peoples' Snapchat stories. It helps that Isla Vista has the highest population density of any area West of the Mississippi (there are about 25,000 people living in one square mile, and most of them are 18-26 years old.)
Going downtown to Santa Barbara proper is a totally different scene. It's many tourists, families, international travelers. People are there to shop, wine, and dine. There are many homebums and other buskers there, but again, nearly everyone is playing guitar or percussion, so the Sax stands out. There I more-reliably make money (about $15/hour on average. Sometimes much more, sometimes a little less.)
One great practice I've started to answer the "I don't have any cash" response is to set up a Venmo account and write my username on a piece of cardboard. Simply busking next to a sign that says Venmo: Tall Sam Jones has been surprisingly successful. Sometimes I match whatever I make in cash with my Venmo tips. That is my actual username, by the way, if any of you are particularly appreciative of my writing ;)

Snapchat, Venmo, Instagram, these are the ways in which people interact now, and catering your busk to these services will serve you and help you connect to your audience.

You don't need 10,000 hours of practice to busk. You just need something to play and the will to go out and do it for people. It takes faith, man. You are giving your art away for free and hoping that you might get some appreciation back. In terms of musical development, I've learned as much about performing from 3 years of busking as I did from the same amount of time in music school. Even on days when I barely make enough for bus fare, I feel rejuvenated by sharing music with people, and I feel like it was time well-spent.
As with most of the things I write about here, you'll learn much more from your first real-world experience than you will from reading about it on the internet. Go out there and give it a try! Maybe we can jam together on the street sometime soon.
Good Luck, and remember to drink lots of water.
Peaceably,
-Tall Sam Jones
Edit: Thanks for putting some Gold in my Hat!

During college final year, a friend of mine(Rakesh) suggested to check out Dark Web, and a French website where we can earn by betting. I know what you’re thinking, and I thought that too: A French gambling website? Sounds trustworthy. However, Rakesh swore to me that the site was legit and it only used PayPal as the payment method, so my mind was somewhat put at ease. So on a Sunday, I was bored and decided to finally give it a shot. I was put off by bad English used on the welcome page but shit. Registration was painless and it took only few minutes before I was in the roulette lobby. I had around $100 in my Paypal account which I had earned online, so I bought $100 worth of virtual chips. The site offered three rooms where I could play, but they were all full. I kept refreshing the page but spaces weren’t opening. I was losing patience. I decided I’d refresh one more time and if it was still full, I’d peace out. Shit, if they don’t want my money, someone else would gladly take it. I hit the refresh button and something changed. The whole layout of the page was suddenly completely different. The original, unappealing brown-ish page was now all black, but more notably, there was only one link on it. A link to a virtual room named “Erreur.” I found this really strange. I thought that I might have clicked on one of those annoying banner adds (that got pass AdBlock somehow) so I clicked the “back” button, but nothing changed. Whatever man, I already said goodbye to that $100, so let’s try this shit. I clicked on the lobby and after the page asking me if I was sure I wanted to enter (which I found strange, almost as if they didn’t want my money), I got inside the damn thing finally. I am not sure if you guys ever played online roulette, but this is how it works (at least the ones I played in). You are connected through a live webcam to some shithole casino. You choose your numbers and place your bets and then watch the dealer spin the wheel in real time and see what you won (or lost most likely). It’s almost like being there. So the webcam loads and the first thing I notice is this girl, I swear she couldn’t have been older than 15-16. She was short, skinny, and blonde. I immediately noticed that she looked tired. They’re probably overworking her like a mule I thought to myself. It seemed like her table was on some sort of a platform because I could see the rest of the room behind her. There were approximately 5 card tables, all full. The place seemed awfully quiet. Then, my desire to lose money kicked in and I decided to place my first bet. $5 on odd numbers. All bets are in! The girl said quietly as she spun the wheel. Usually, dealers yell out that line as a part of the show. I guess these guys were all business. 16. Shit. $95 left. I wrote down the number in my notebook because that was part of my system. Writing all the numbers down so I can predict the future. Brilliant, right? (not really) $10 on odd numbers. All bets are in! The little asshole ball stopped at 12. God damn it. Oh well, still got $85 left. $20 on odd numbers. As she spun the wheel I started noticing something strange in the room. It almost seemed like nobody… 5. Hell fucking yes. Won $40. Up to $125. Maybe this place isn’t so bad. $10 on odd again. Yeah, I know, my system is strange. All bets are in! she said again. As the ball was slowing down, I looked more over the background of the room. I was right a minute ago when I felt something strange. Nobody in the fucking room was moving. At all. 1. While I was excited about my account balance going up, I couldn’t help but feel weird about this situation. I mean, nobody was doing even so much as moving a finger. 5 tables, 6 people plus a dealer at each of them. Even the waitress in the back, holding a tray with drinks on it. And they all stood and sat still. I tried rationalizing it by assuming that the website had added a still picture background behind the dealer for the effect of a real casino, but man, this place seemed way too realistic to only be a picture. My timer started beeping and I had to make another bet. $20 on odd. As the girl spun the thing, I kept studying her background. I became intrigued by the strange situation that was going on behind her. I mean, there was no way this was a photoshopped picture. They just weren’t moving. 19. Yes sir, won another $40. Hey, if I can keep winning, these dudes don’t ever have to move as far as I’m concerned. $20 on odd. I decided to start paying attention to the girl a little bit more. What else was there to do? It’s not like anyone else was moving. As I said, she was young. She seemed tired and perhaps a little worried. At times, it seemed like she was looking directly at me, but I was sure I was just imagining things. Won another $40. I wont give you play by play now, but I placed 4 more bets, winning two of them. I was sitting at nearly $200 at that point. But then, the curiosity started kicking in. These damn people still weren’t moving. And it wasn’t a damn added photoshopped image, either. Something wasn’t right. I decided to keep playing just so I can watch these strange individuals. $40 on odd. I noticed a chat feature to the left of the webcam feed. I decided to type a quick “Hi” to see if I’d get a response. As I started typing, a saw a man walk through the room. Told you it wasn’t a picture. He was dressed in a black coat with the collar popped up, so I couldn’t make much out of him. He was moving very slowly between the tables. He stopped by one of them. Then he bent down and started looking at one of the men who sat there. Like right in front of his face, an inch from it. Just stared at him, and the seated dude didn’t even so much as flinch. Weird shit man. 13. My balance was now nearly $230 but I didn’t care. I wanted to know what was going on here. I zoomed in on the man. The webcam feed wasn’t HD so I couldn’t make details of the man’s face, but I could tell one thing that disturbed me. The man was all in black and white. His skin color was visibly different than the still people around him, I could tell that even through the few pixels French camera offered. What the fuck?, I thought. The timer started beeping again. Fuck it, $20 on odd. I zoomed in again. The black and white man stood up from staring at the motionless card player, and walked over to the wall of the room. He started licking the fucking wall, I shit you not. He stood in front of a wall and just started licking it. His tongue seemed unnaturally long even over the low res camera. Not sure if it was his colorlessness, but the damn tongue appeared black. The wall had bright red wallpaper, which just enhanced this man’s unnatural lack of color. Just as I was about to let out an audible What in the fuck is going on here?, the dealer girl interrupted me, almost as if she knew that I was about to break the silent atmosphere of the French casino from the Twilight Zone. Five! She yelled. I got startled a little and zoomed back out. I won again, but I didn’t care. I was more focused on a man who appeared to be in black and white and licking a fucking casino wall. Now, take a second and imagine being in this weird situation. You’re sitting alone in your dark room, it’s 2am, and you’re casually gambling when you notice that nobody besides your dealer is moving in the casino. Then, a man who appears to be colorless starts walking through the place, staring at people and licking walls. I had to keep placing bets to stay in the lobby. $100 on odd. The man had stopped licking the wall and started moving again. He walked over to one of the dealers at the other table. He placed his arm on dealer’s shoulder. Then I heard him say something. It sounded like “Say Tua” if that makes any sense. As he said that, the dealer turned around. That was the first time someone had moved other than my dealer girl and the colorless person. One! yelled the girl. I swear it seemed like she knew I wasn’t paying attention to her and she wanted me to. I won again, but at that point I didn’t give a fuck. The other dealer stared at the man with the utter horror on his face. He didn’t say anything, just stared at him. $200 on odd. The staring lasted for about 30 seconds. I started typing a message in the chat box to the right. I wrote “Hey, what’s happening over there?” The dealer girl didn’t seem to react when I pressed “send”. Perhaps the chat option was there just for aesthetics, I don’t know. Eleven! Somehow, I kept winning. But money was secondary at that point. I needed to know what was going on. $200 on Even. The dealer next to the man started shaking uncontrollably. Then he muttered something like “Non” to the man, and collapsed. Like just fell in front of him. The man didn’t move, just looked down at the motionless body of dealer’s. Nobody else in the room moved, not even my girl. I yelled “What the fuck!” at the computer and that’s when it all changed. Every man and woman in the room turned and looked at me. I swear to you, every single person looked straight at me. They didn’t move, just looked towards me. The dealer girl seemed terrified beyond belief. She quickly pressed some kind of a button next to her table. The man without color slowly turned in my direction. He started walking towards my table. I got the message in the chat box. Run I had shivers go down my spine a few times before, but never like this. I mean, I knew they couldn’t get to me through the screen, but the overall creepiness of the situation got the best of me. The man walked up to the webcam and started staring at me. There was no doubt: he was in black and white. Now, I don’t know how to rationalize that shit. A glitch? Poor camera? Video editing? I don’t know, but I do know that he was the only one colorless at the screen. The rest of the people were still looking towards me as well. The man’s eyes were open as wide as humanly possible. He seemed to be studying me. I was scared shitless, man, but I was mesmerized, unable to quit the game. He got closer to the camera and all I could see now were his eyes, looking into me. Could he see me? I don’t think so. I hope not. But those eyes, man, those eyes. They seemed absolutely cruel, and terrifyingly cold. They were also black and white, like the rest of the man. When he moved back, I nearly fell out of my chair. All of the people from the casino were now standing behind the man. 30+ still people were staring at me, with their eyes open way too wide. They weren’t moving. I have no idea how they got there so fast; the man took up the screen for only a few seconds. The only one who didn’t seem like she belonged there was the dealer girl. She seemed absolutely petrified. The man turned towards her, then looked back at me. It was almost as if he noticed that she was out of place in that twilight room. He walked over and stopped behind her. She was shivering. *O..o…one” she muttered, obviously terrified by the man behind her. He started putting his arms around her shoulders. I yelled. I screamed at the screen. What the fuck are you people doing!”I yelled. The man started smiling. I can’t begin to explain to you how strange and surreal this experience was. A colorless man was looking at me, smiling, while wrapping his arm around the girl. She looked at me. I could tell she knew I was still watching. She seemed at peace. Like she knew this was it. She finally said, with little energy in her voice: “Thank… thank you for playing with us today… And don’t forget your numbers!” As she said that, the man’s arms went up to her neck with unnatural and inhuman speed. At that moment, the lobby closed. I was back at the original, brown roulette page. My account balance was $520. I sat there, stunned. I was sure I hallucinated, dreamt, something along those lines. This couldn’t have been real. I mean, come on, man. Colorless dude walking through the motionless casino, doing weird shit, and finally looking at me through the camera? Come on. Still, I like to believe that I am a sane person, and I know I wasn’t imagining. That shit did happen. I went to bed and although I had troubles forgetting this impossible incident, I fell asleep. When I woke up yesterday morning, the casino was the first thing on my mind. My initial thought was to try and get back into that lobby. Fuck that. I decided that it was some sort of a prank. I went on with my day. But, you know what, that damn thing stuck with me the whole time. What the fuck was it? I kept analyzing. I tried talking to Rakesh about it, but he just laughed at me. I told him the whole story. At the end of me trying to convince him that I wasn’t lying, I remembered the girl’s last words. And don’t forget your numbers! That wasn’t something dealers say to you at the end of the game. I went back to my notebook and looked at the numbers I got that night. At least I’ve written down most of the numbers from the night before. 16 12 5 1 19 5 8 5 12 16 13 5 And the last three numbers I didn’t write down because I was too focused on the damn horror on my screen. I spent good few hours analyzing, trying to figure out a pattern. I had no luck. Once again, I decided that someone was just fucking with me. I let the whole thing go. Actually, no I didn’t. I went back on the website and withdrew all of the money back to my PayPal account, just in case. Then I went on with my day. By this morning, I have all but forgotten about the freaky night at the French online casino. I had two classes today. In the second class, Lecturer was talking about some game where you have to decipher a puzzle. He gave it to the class to solve it. I’ll be honest, I didn’t do shit. So, finally he called for someone to come out in front of the class and demonstrate how they solved it. A guy came out and started explaining all these principles he used. Again, I wasn’t paying much attention, but one thing he said did catch my ear. He mentioned numbers. Numbers corresponding to letters. I knew that this was the solution. I went back home after college and opened my notebook. 16 is P. 12 is L. 5 is E. 1 is A. 19 is S. 5 is E. Please. 8 is H. 5 is E. 12 is L. 16 is P. Help. 13 is M. 5 is E. Me. Please help me. Young girl, trapped inside the horror casino was begging for help and I was too stupid to pay attention. Was this a prank? I don’t know. A coincidence? Hardly. I didn’t know what to do. I tried logging into the website again, but it was completely normal. There was no “Hata” lobby. I was, and still am, helpless. I spent the hours leading up to me writing this thinking, thinking and overanalyzing what could have happened. I googled every phrase I could think of, but to no luck. And then, just as I started writing this, I remembered the last 3 numbers. 1, 11, and 1. A, K, and A. The first three letters of my name. Would’ve probably gotten the other two letters/numbers if the situation didn’t escalate. I felt sick. My knees suddenly became weak. This wasn’t a coincidence. What was worse, they know my name.

As a pre-conceived warning, this MTM will not be as good as last seasons. Due to my own mistake, I should’ve been more specific on it being more of a look description so I could have free range on the episode writing, however these girls and the other ones coming in the next part SLAYED for their first times, and honestly they’ll make this part good themselves. I apologise.
[START]
“What did you see?”
The sudden opening of the first scene occurs, appearing with a booming lightning strike sound, the constant loud splatter of rain drops pouring from the pewter clouds above can also be heard within the storm. The camera panned from the near trees, outwards into the clearing, where a drenched woman small of stature huddles within a blanket next to a police officer, residing next to the camp fire which had clearly extinguished due to the weather; the relentless amount of opaque, thick smog rising and intoxicating the air. She trembles and shakes in the cold night, shook up from something she had seen. The police officer near her leans further in, patting her back, the tense music continuing to crescendo.
“I saw Ev-evi-evita.”
A close up of a mixture of rain and tears rolling off her jawline happens, then the camera suddenly switching to the policeman's frowning face.
“Ok, this girls clearly done drugs. Just take her somewhere, to her home, whatever.”
The man scratches the rubble upon his jaw, and then stares into the distance of the forest, thinking that he saw a dark silhouette moving around, shaking his head and getting into his car, slamming the door in disappointment. One more lightning strike occurs, the intense, blindening blue blast of lightning covering the screen, transitioning into the new scene.
Las Vegas
11:00 PM
“Back, back, back here again. Spinning the wheel one more time.”
The camera pans through the streams of posh, upper class people in formal attire, treading over the crimson velvet floors and leaving behind their footprints. Fantasia can be seen, back in the same spot of last season, before a casino table in which rests the same wheel used from last season, each quarter reading the name of a final four queen. She also wore the same dress from the last time she stood in the spot. Her large, talon-like, royal blue fake nails come into view as she grabs onto the spin wheel, spinning it and watching it slow down. Vibrations emit from her phone, Fantasia looking down as she sighs and reluctantly answering the call, disrupting her attention to the spinning wheel. Whatever it landed on was blurred out as she turned, and awaits to hear the unknown voice on the call.
“Who died? Have I been sent home yet? Oh no what’s the twist? Wait, I don’t want to know, what is it?” She practically yells down the phone, eyeing up those who walked past her and gave her the evils.
The scene cuts to Fantasia rushing to her car, stumbling in her heels, gripping onto the cold handle and swinging the door open, throwing herself in. She ends the phone call, sighing, and then drives down the strip and out into the dessert. The roaring exhaust on the vintage car emitted vast sounds waves and smoke, whipping up the sand into whirlwinds and suffocating the air that lacked any moisture. The night sky was dawned upon her, with a slight red cast as the sun went down, continuing to drive faster as she looked at the time within her car. She eventually leaves the dessert scene, and finds herself pulling out of a police station, rushing into the doors whilst pushing past people and peering around for the sheriff's office.
“What did you see?”
She drops heavily onto the chair next to the woman who was found earlier, rushing her on for an answer.
“No, I don’t care about the cross dressing pedo, and yes you’re scarred by my stunning face, but a faster answer please. I don’t have all day, not all of us work on the same brain speed of… myself.”
“I saw a dark area, I’m not sure where it was. Almost like an empty room. And there were these monsters…”
The scene fades out, transitioning to another one which shows what she saw. A dark empty area, from what we can presume a room, was shown, only lit by a far flickering bulb in the distance, the only sound is of the faulty electrics and loose wires about the room, occasionally emitting sparks. Faint footsteps echoed off the wall, but coming from no sure direction, the camera spinning slowly until it focuses on a series of unknown figures.
The room was, well, as bright as you could expect an abandoned warehouse-y place to be, with walls as dark as the minds of those that entered it, and a thin veil of dust and mist that intermingled as it fell from the damp, mold-encrusted ceiling. Ava Adore slowly stepped into the light, her platforms scraping against the cold concrete floor. Her outfit was fairly simple-she wore a short, neatly-cut bob wig that just scraped her chin, green face paint dripping down her mouth in some semblance of vomit. Her eyeshadow was an acid-bright yellow and her lips a shade of pink in a similar brightness. Her t-shirt was black with neon pink writing declaring the words "Vomit gore", and her skirt was a similar shade of yellow to her eyes, a skintight PVC material. Her leg attire was quite similar in its simplicity, black fishnets with fake blood dripping down from her thighs in a crude simulation of menstruation. She gave the camera a disinterested stare with her white contacts, as if she felt almost a disdain for her situation. The dark scene fades into a confessional.
[AVA | archdukelidl]: Ugh, I'm Ava Adore, I'm, like, 22? and I'm from the west midlands. Or whichever trash bag you pull me out of after a night of partying. Seriously, I've ended up in some wild places. My drag style is best described in two words: Party filth. Like, acid neon, puke and death. As you can probably tell from my outfit. I don't think it fits into the typical conventions of filth drag but I'll go with it. I like to experiment with horror stuff occasionally too. I would say my drag is out-of-the-box but that just sounds cocky, right? Oh, wait, who gives a fuck? Yeah, it's out of the box. If you can even find a box big enough to fit my fat ass. I have high hopes for myself, like, I don't expect to win, but I expect to put up a damn fight and I will cut a bitch with my fake nails if I have to. But winning would be cool so I'm not gonna do that, because that's like a disqualifiable offence, yeah? I got my drag name from a song by the Smashing Pumpkins, even though their music isn't really what filth is about. I just thought it sounded like a classy name. And I am the absolute opposite of that shit! Anyway, laters! I gotta go find some shit to drink.
“How many others did you see?”
The scene of her vision continues, Fantasias voice heard in the background as she continues to question the girl for answers.
The room was dark, thick smoke covers the room as a dark shadow appears through the smog. Anita walks in, one hand on her mask, the other stretched out in a claw-like fashion. She appears in a beaked mask, akin to those worn by the plague doctors during the black plague. The base of the full black mask is made of metal and the beak is made of hard leather, with clear glass on the eyeholes. She is wearing a red leather sex harness as a top with bare chest. The straps of the harness form a crisscross across her chest and the “straps” are thick enough to cover her nipples. She is wearing a pair of flare pants with feather ruffles on the sides that move beautifully with every step she takes. A rope belt with skulls is wrapped around her waist, with the excess dangling on her left side. She is also wearing an 8-inch black stiletto heel with a chunky front portion. Anita has on black leg warmers made of feathers on her forearms over a black latex wrist-length glove underneath. She accessorizes the look with a necklace with 5 skulls spaced out around it and dangling skull earrings. She is wearing a grey thick dread wig with smaller skulls in it. As Anita walks through the smoke, she takes off the mask, revealing red tribal markings on her forehead, with 2 pointed stripes painted downwards underneath her eyes, perpendicular to her lips. She has on a strong dark smokey eye and no brows, with a strong black lip. Her body and right arm also has matching red tribal markings. To complete the look, she is wearing blackout lenses to add intensity. On her back, she is wearing a rusty copper-colored cage, held by chains like a drawstring bag, with a mystery item in it. As she walks to the center, she twists and squirms as if being possessed by a demon. Once she hits the marking, she stands straight and silent, before turning around to release the black crow in her cage. She laughs maniacally as she watches her crow fly around the room, a symbol of her releasing her evil into the atmosphere.
After the camera focuses on the individual, it slowly fades back into the confessional scene.
[ANITA | passingpeaches ]: Sup whores. My name’s Anita Dragname and I am 25 years old from sunny Singapore. My drag is polished, wicked and gagworthy. I signed up to Reddit Dragula 3 cause I’ve had a taste of competing in RDR1 Remastered and thought I could give this a shot too. Some of my looks on that season have been said to be “very Dragula” by the other girls, so why not? I think out of the 3 elements of Dragula, I resemble Horror the most as I’m always turning spooks, stunting creepy.
The questioning continues to be heard, as another figure can be saw in the distance, beside Anita who had just appeared in the light.
“The werent only two, there were lots. Have you ever just saw something and it’s scarred you?”
“Yeah, I saw RDR2.”
“They kept appearing, it was so odd.”
The dark figure moves closer and closer.
Catheterina steps out covered in dirt, head to toe. She begins by standing with her feet far apart and her arms straight out by her sides so you can take in all of her filthy glory. Her dark auburn hair is large and in charge, extremely unkempt and poofy. The hair is waist length, with the top of the wig beginning six inches above her head. Upon closer inspection, you can see that there are dead roaches all throughout her hair. Her lipstick is chocolate brown, with a smudge on her upper lip to the left to give the impression that she’s been eating dirty ass. Her eye-shadow is bright green and each in the shape of a leaf, with a line coming out of each of her eye-lines to appear as a stem. To top it off, she has a roach pasted on her forehead with two worms coming out of each side to appear as a headband. On her extended arms is a brown garter snake, wrapped around her neck and both of her arms. On her left hand it’s rearing its’ ugly head, fully alive and well, with the snake’s body ending on Catheterina’s right hand. Her chest is covered with a tassel of leaves formed in the shape of a butterfly, with two brown leaves arranged vertically across the sternum, and crumpled up orange leaves to form the breasts. She has a belt that is also made of green leaves with two twigs sticking out at each side, holding up her knee-length, upside-down-cone-shaped skirt that is made of tiny twigs and sticks and slants downwards to the point that it sticks out five inches from her knees, still leaving see through areas. She steps forward with her arms still spread out, but then raises her right hand and begins pulling the dead roaches out of her hair, until she sticks out her right hand to show the handful of six roaches, and then eats them one by one like a bunch of M&M’s. The next handful she grabs, she smushes them on her right cheek, wiping the trails of their bodies across her face and then licking up the remnants. She pulls a worm off her forehead and it begins to swirl around. She lets it through one of the holes in her skirt to crawl up her urethra, with her mouth wide open in shock and pleasure at what she’d just done. For her finale, she unwraps the snake from her arms and allows it to hang around her neck for a bit, before bringing it up to her face and allowing it to lick her. She returns the favor by deep-throating its’ head before pulling it back out, still bobbing its’ head.
[CATHETERINA | asiaoharasdragrace]: I’m Catheterina Dick, named after the hopes that my outfits will make you cringe harder than my drag name and like I tell all my male suitors, I’m 18. I’m from Louisiana. Considering no one would recognize the name of my actual town, I’ll just go with New Orleans. It’s like my home away from home because there’s smelly homeless people everywhere so I fit right in. If I had to describe my drag in 3 words, mental illness manifestation. Kidding, sort of, but really I’d say campy, grungy, and trashy. I signed up for this because I need the online validation I don’t get in real life. Jk, but in all honesty I’ve been following these interactive seasons for a while, and Dragula allows you more freedom to be crazy and nasty and shocking, so I figured this was my opportunity to take the nightmares I’ve been having as long as I can remember and bring them to life- on Reddit. I easily resemble filth the most. I’m literally down for anything. This look only scratched the surface of how gross I am. I will drink piss and swallow whole live frogs and chop off toes if that gets me the Reddit Dragula crown. Hell, I’ll still do it anyways.
“Ew, that one sounded gross. Let me guess, there was another one?”
As the exposed queens disappear, the continuation of the sound of footsteps occurs, getting closer and closer, the camera occasionally flickering off and on.
Sue stepped out into the light with a pure air of elegance, embodying the jazz singers of days gone. When she looked in the lense you felt the whiff of whisky and regret hit you. When she twirled and the slit came up on that velvet gown it was as if she was sex herself. Candid, yet with ulterior motives behind it. She pulled a stiff cigar from her bodice, but rather than putting it to her mouth she put it to her neck, seemingly inhaled and then released the fumes through her mouth. The years of sin in the city and vice had made physical differences to her body. Rather than letting it be a catalyst for improvement she simply used it to show how little she cared. Her arm began to jitter, and she ripped off her glove revealing an IV bag of yellow liquid attached to her arm. Her hand began to contort into an assortment of glamorous poses, showing it to be in her nature to keep it beautiful. She pulled out a bottle of red wine from under her dress titled “Jesus juice, tastes like the end of the road”. She yanked out the cork and began drowning her arm in the juice, attempting to get it into where the IV had rested. She needed into her bloodstream, and the way she shook the bottle to get the liquid in was near visceral. Exhausted from the ordeal she fell to the ground, pulling her glove back up above her elbow in an attempt to be seductive, before giving up on this wish (as she likely did with many others in her life), and dragged her makeup while grabbing the cross laden below the throat cavity and saying some short prayers
[SUE PERB | HashtagDeathSplat]: I am Sue Perb, short for Susan Perb and longer for Susanne Perb, I am from The United Kingdom and I’m whatever age you want me to be. Sue is unexpected, polished and pristine. She serves you glamour with a twist. She’ll give you always a simple silhouette but always with a trick up her sleeve. It’s always polished and neat before it all inevitably goes to shit when she destroys the floor. I always try to embody a glamour and a beauty in what I do, and I use that as my way to present the other aspects. I signed up to Dragula to win a motherfucking crown and do something creative with my vacation.
“I mean, they weren’t all females. There was one that appeared quite masculine too.”
“Not a straight right?”
“I don’t know.”
Another daunting silhouette can be seen, as the light flickers Sue disappears from view, whilst the unknown person walks towards the lens.
The king emerged from the darkness of the room, a flash of light coming from the miners helmet he is wearing. Cobwebs cling to the yellow helmet as the dim headlamp flickers. His face is sunken in, the makeup creating deep dark circles under his eyes and sharp, jutting edges of his face. His chin has a smattering amount of dark brown stubble, which is contrasted by his intensely thick brown eyebrows. His face is an ashen gray color with short dirty blonde hair sweeping down to partially shade his eyes, which are blue. His overalls are a dark faded green color, they cling to his body, revealing a thin, wiry frame, and they are covered in dust and cobwebs. He is bare chested underneath the overalls, with the rest of his body painted similar to his face: gray and skeletal. There is a huge tear in the side of his overalls, caused by a large chunk of rock embedded into his side, with blood seeping through at a slow rate. His heavy, black combat boots drag and kick up dust as he shuffles forward deliberately, clutching a spray-painted gray sunflower close to his chest.
[INDIGO CHILD | cloudess15]: Hey, I’m Indigo Child, also known as cloudess15, and I’m 26, which means I’m past my biological prime and my cells are slowly dying. I’m a punk ghoul from the Twin Cities and my drag can best be described as undead, cynical, and comical. I definitely represent horror the best because there is nothing more terrifying than a butch who knows how to do makeup. I decided to do this competition to further develop my drag aesthetic. Let the Purple Reign begin!
The office scene returns, where Fantasia can be seen frowning at the girl whilst she describes what she saw.
“Portia, girl, come on. Please don’t tell me you’re having a relapse from your drug look on the Coachella challenge.”
Suddenly the woman, now known as Portia, snaps out of her depressing mood, turning red as she watches Fantasia rub her head in disappointment.
“It’s not my fault. It got me the win, so why wouldn’t I try again for the finale?”
“Just continue, tell me the others.”
It snaps back to the dark room.
A very tall and very pale figure steps into the doorway. In the half light, all that is visible is the soaring swoop of a skyscraper pompadour, and the glowing ash of a lit cigarette. She exhales the smoke in a perfect circle and steps forward. Razor sharp cheekbones adorned with metallic silver contour draw your attention up to golden brown eyes framed with lengthy spiked lashes. There is a sparkling viscous substance smudged around the eye and delicately spilling down her cheeks. How much of it is silicone glitter versus actual blood is anybody's guess. Her nails are certainly long enough to have scratched somebody's eyes out. Her fur bomber coat is as blood red as her hair, but the artfully slashed sequined chiffon strands underneath it could only be called a shirt by the blind or the generous. The only thing keeping the top half of the outfit from disintegrating is an elaborately woven double wide obi style belt made from sex shop cock rings and bits of old denim. Silver latex high waisted leggings hug a booty that tests the limits of the concept of 4 way stretch, and the surprisingly long and slender legs that carry it are encased in a red latex thigh high boot that matches the hair and the coat. She takes the last drag of her cigarette (stained with remnants of lacquered red lipstick), and crushes it under her stiletto heel in a manner that borders on niche pornography.
[ANGIE APATHY | msmonochrome]: Hello uglies! I'm Angie Apathy, old enough to know better, but young enough to still do it anyway. I'm born and bred in New York City, a place so dirty that my last subway ride was probably filthier that all of last season's runways put together. If I had to describe my drag in 3 words, they would be grungy grindhouse sexbot. I can switch from Fellini to Fulci at the drop of a hat, and bring a Dragula style celluloid cocktail of glamour and horror to the competition, with a dash of kink fueled filth thrown in. As a new face, these other girls might not give me much credit. That's fine, as I prefer to get the cash up front. Why Dragula Season 3? Apathy is nothing more than a fancy word for having not a single fuck left to give, and I am here to snatch the crown away from the tired masses of H.P Lovecraft fanfic and queens who still think blood capsule residue dribbling down their chin with some butcher shop entrails is super spooky.
The faulty light bulb flickers once again, Angie fading from view, replaced by one more dark silhouette that falters in the distance, stumbling towards the ambience of light.
A diadem of black tendrils sat proudly upon her grey skin. The cords intertwined themselves in a complicated manner, tying into thick webs that formed a netting. Only two of the crown's cords were not fitting in this order, instead, hanging loosely upon each side of her face. Her skin was grey, the shadows battling each other upon her visage. Her lips were basked in a deep plum color, with a single drop of blood staining them. Her cheekbones were high, strangely and disgustingly high. Erathelle stares down with her white contact lenses. There was only white in her pupils, the tones of violet and grey that danced around her eyelids being the only drop of color present. Where her eyebrows should have been, another pair of eyes were drawn. They were angular, thin, sharp, staring directly at the camera. Her gown went up to her neck. The lace of it was black, delicate, and torn into several spots, leaving her skin exposed around the shoulders and collarbones. Her abdomen resembled an insectoid carapace, having a series of blunt spine-like structures erupting around her stomach and down to her hips, where the dress falls down into a mermaid cut that hugged her legs tightly, spinning about as she walked. There were long threads of linen that hanged from her hands and diadem, swathing in the wind as she walked. Erathelle brought up a single finger to her lips. Pressing hardly upon her skin with her dark, fake nail, she would cut down in a single swipe as a thin droplet of blood crashed down upon her chin. The goddess Arachne had been dormant for too long - and now, she grows hungry.
[ERATHELLE | cuntaliefondant]: My drag name is Erathelle, but you can call me Era for short. It comes from my religious name. I am a Wiccan priest, and I go by "Erastis". So I took "Era", and added "thelle", because I love French sounding shit and there you have it. I am eighteen years of age. Fresh out the womb, right? I’m from Romania, where all the vampires and gypsies come from. Hide your drag from me, I'm gonna steal it. My drag in three words would be blasphemous, obscene, foul. A girl after your own heart. I think I embody horror the most. I think my purpose as a monster is to defile, and I really can't put it in better words. Everything I touch turns into a horrifying, ugly, repulsive mess.
Fading back to the scene in which Portia and Fantasia sat opposing one another, they both pause for a second and think.
“So, you’ve basically cast S3 for me through a drug trip?” Fantasia quieries her, confused but also thankful at the same time.
“Well, if you want them monsters on the cast then yeah, I guess so. What about the other 6?”
“I’ll go to wherever you imagined, you must’ve been there in the past anyway and find the others. Thanks, you’ve finally been useful for once.” She pats Portia on the back as she rises, heading to the door. “Write that damn finale submission already too, whore.”
She hurries out of the police station, in disgust with the toxic fumes that arose from the severe amounts of men smoking cigarettes, coughing as she regains balance on the slippery steps and gets back into her car. Pulling out a raggedy map from the cabinet, she opens it up and looks down at where she’s meant to be driving.
“I don’t even know how to work maps.”
She scans her finger over certain circled locations, such as one labelled ‘ancient chapel’, even one in Mexico, sighing.
“I’ll just go north.”
Fantasia presses down onto the acceleration pedal, switching on the radio and Euthanasias rap begins to play as the car storms off into the distance, disappearing from view.
[END]
Yet again, I apologise for the quality of the episode. Episode one will make up for it, and just a thank you to each queen in this part and the upcoming one for doing so well and actually making this worth reading.