What Will Happen When Tommy Dies? -
- Thread starter CatParty
- Start date
BradyBunchFan
kiwifarms.net
His music (including his sax and recorders) will all be sold.
Then there would be only one greatest artist in the world, Virgo Rouge
Tommy will actually be dead for a weeks before it's official. At first he'll still be seen walking the streets, smelling worse than usual, pale skinned and staring at people with dead, souless eyes.
One day he ambles out into heavy traffic and gets slammed by an SUV; his broken, battered body ragdolling on the road for a solid fifteen feet before coming to a lifeless stop.
At first the crowd is stunned, the silence deafening when suddenly the heap of creep makes a move; ambling back up onto his feet like a marionette with half the strings missing his gnarled, leathery hands reach for his mouth...his ratty fingers curling into both corners of his crusty maw as he gives a sudden retch and splits his own skull in twain.
What should have been a splattering of viscera, meat and brain matter instead reveals a writhing mass of tendrils; a lifetime of poor health, diet and living in flith had turned Tom Tooter into the perfect incubator for a new type of parasite...transforming the already rancid kiddy diddler into some sort of lovecraftian horror.
Every orifice erupts with more of the slimy, bulbous tentacles, ripping Toms flesh like tissue paper it became little more than some fascimile of a man wearing Tooter like leathery rags; it turns towards the nearest person and opens one of its many maws...unleashing a baleful wail that ushers in the end of our world.
One day he ambles out into heavy traffic and gets slammed by an SUV; his broken, battered body ragdolling on the road for a solid fifteen feet before coming to a lifeless stop.
At first the crowd is stunned, the silence deafening when suddenly the heap of creep makes a move; ambling back up onto his feet like a marionette with half the strings missing his gnarled, leathery hands reach for his mouth...his ratty fingers curling into both corners of his crusty maw as he gives a sudden retch and splits his own skull in twain.
What should have been a splattering of viscera, meat and brain matter instead reveals a writhing mass of tendrils; a lifetime of poor health, diet and living in flith had turned Tom Tooter into the perfect incubator for a new type of parasite...transforming the already rancid kiddy diddler into some sort of lovecraftian horror.
Every orifice erupts with more of the slimy, bulbous tentacles, ripping Toms flesh like tissue paper it became little more than some fascimile of a man wearing Tooter like leathery rags; it turns towards the nearest person and opens one of its many maws...unleashing a baleful wail that ushers in the end of our world.
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A dog will masturbate his dead body insisting he wants it and that he's enjoying it.
That parasite then integrates into society and becomes the productive member that Tommy could never be.
He ate of the trash and to the trash he shall return.
It's not like he has any loved ones. He'll die, and the only reason we'd know something is up is because he's not posting shitty YouTube videos for a while. Then, I don't know. His possessions get thrown in the trash, because honestly, I can't imagine anyone reclaiming his grimy items.
crayolasword
kiwifarms.net
He’ll be a major inconvenience for all the pedestrians that have to step over him.
I don’t know, I guess he’ll be mistaken for a smelly drunk hobo after a hangover.
Gene Wasserberg, a 90-year-old retired electrical engineer, picked up the phone. The voice on the other end was familiar, albeit he couldn't place where he knew it from.
"Hello, is this Gene?"
The elderly man nodded, scowling as he tried to place it. If he heard the person on the other end speak he more he may figure out, in the deep recesses of his mind, who this was. "Yes, I'm Gene. State your business."
"Your son Thomas... I'm sorry to report, he's been found dead."
And that's when it clicked. He heard this voice before in one of those videos his crazy son did, always livestreaming and bullshitting, yellin at random people, making gem art and that kind of shit. It was clearly Officer Winsky down south in Tuscon where the boy moved out to a few years ago. "Officer Winsky... do you know what happened to him?"
The somber police man felt a strange sense of relief ever since Tom passed on, because the man would no longer torment him and his co-workers at TPD's mental health division, but still breaking it to the parents was always going to be the roughest part of this job. He tugged at his collar. "Well. I'm going to spare you the most grizzly details, I'm sure you don't want to know anything too terrible."
Gene answered affirmatively. He was curious, but didn't wish to picture anything to sad or particularly rancid.
Winsky continued, "Well, we found him out in a back alley a few blocks away from his home. He was dead days, uh, er, possibly even a week or two before we even found him. The autopsy just came in a few hours ago and it looks like he over-exerted himself after picking a fight with some homeless hooligans over his haul lifted from the local AMPM's dumpster. Some of them turned themselves in for questioning and their story matches up, seems like it was an accident."
Gene listened as Winsky recalled the details, and solemnly nodded along to it. Tears formed in the corner of the old mans eyes, it was hard to outlive your own spawn. Even harder still when they didn't have any kids of their own, like Tom. Even though Tom was estranged for decades, and even said some terrible things about him and his wife, deep down Gene still felt for him. There was no way a loving parent couldn't hurt even when losing a disappointing son.
"If you need a moment thats okay, the boss told me I could stay on the line with you as long as you need." Winsky re-assured Gene.
"Thank you, young man." he commented dryly, clearing his throat so he didn't choke up too much with emotions. "Thanks for notifying me. I'll... I'm going to tell my wife about this. You can carry on with your work. Have a good day, sir."
Winsky thanked him back and left him alone to grieve after one last reassurance that he could call into his office or personal cell any time he'd like, and they could just talk about life.
Gene gave a melancholy smile as he hung up, the teardrops now rolling down his cheeks. "At least you can't cause or experience any more suffering, crazy bastard." he muttered to himself as he stood back up, knees creaking. He walked out of his study and into the front room where the fireplace was crackling and his wife was napping next to her half-complete sewing project.
"Honey... honey." He shook her gently awake and sucked on his bottom lip. Gene breathed deep and found it within himself. "Honey, Thomas passed on."
She looked at him, processing for a moment before chuckling lightly. "About time the bastard learned to do something right."
"Hello, is this Gene?"
The elderly man nodded, scowling as he tried to place it. If he heard the person on the other end speak he more he may figure out, in the deep recesses of his mind, who this was. "Yes, I'm Gene. State your business."
"Your son Thomas... I'm sorry to report, he's been found dead."
And that's when it clicked. He heard this voice before in one of those videos his crazy son did, always livestreaming and bullshitting, yellin at random people, making gem art and that kind of shit. It was clearly Officer Winsky down south in Tuscon where the boy moved out to a few years ago. "Officer Winsky... do you know what happened to him?"
The somber police man felt a strange sense of relief ever since Tom passed on, because the man would no longer torment him and his co-workers at TPD's mental health division, but still breaking it to the parents was always going to be the roughest part of this job. He tugged at his collar. "Well. I'm going to spare you the most grizzly details, I'm sure you don't want to know anything too terrible."
Gene answered affirmatively. He was curious, but didn't wish to picture anything to sad or particularly rancid.
Winsky continued, "Well, we found him out in a back alley a few blocks away from his home. He was dead days, uh, er, possibly even a week or two before we even found him. The autopsy just came in a few hours ago and it looks like he over-exerted himself after picking a fight with some homeless hooligans over his haul lifted from the local AMPM's dumpster. Some of them turned themselves in for questioning and their story matches up, seems like it was an accident."
Gene listened as Winsky recalled the details, and solemnly nodded along to it. Tears formed in the corner of the old mans eyes, it was hard to outlive your own spawn. Even harder still when they didn't have any kids of their own, like Tom. Even though Tom was estranged for decades, and even said some terrible things about him and his wife, deep down Gene still felt for him. There was no way a loving parent couldn't hurt even when losing a disappointing son.
"If you need a moment thats okay, the boss told me I could stay on the line with you as long as you need." Winsky re-assured Gene.
"Thank you, young man." he commented dryly, clearing his throat so he didn't choke up too much with emotions. "Thanks for notifying me. I'll... I'm going to tell my wife about this. You can carry on with your work. Have a good day, sir."
Winsky thanked him back and left him alone to grieve after one last reassurance that he could call into his office or personal cell any time he'd like, and they could just talk about life.
Gene gave a melancholy smile as he hung up, the teardrops now rolling down his cheeks. "At least you can't cause or experience any more suffering, crazy bastard." he muttered to himself as he stood back up, knees creaking. He walked out of his study and into the front room where the fireplace was crackling and his wife was napping next to her half-complete sewing project.
"Honey... honey." He shook her gently awake and sucked on his bottom lip. Gene breathed deep and found it within himself. "Honey, Thomas passed on."
She looked at him, processing for a moment before chuckling lightly. "About time the bastard learned to do something right."
His smell will improve.
YourUnclesDad
kiwifarms.net
nothing of value will have been lost
Eaten by rats... who will then die of whatever diseases Tommy is carrying.
Shadfan666xxx000
kiwifarms.net
Long ago, there was a young girl who frequented the wastes of society. Trained and groomed to he a willing receptacle for the most distinguished of impure taste she learned to hate the life she was given. Soon, she left and trained for a new role in the filthy and useless circles she was raised in but first she would need a medium. She tracked the exploits of a particularly disgusting man-pigeon she faced before and realizing her chance tracked him and decapitated the deviant. Now, the cultures of untold diseases have grown under her care and now she shall bring a new age of despair to the world with her homegrown muck.
The taxpayers of the county he dies in will pay for his cremation, and other than this site, no one will remember him at all.
His funeral will be attended solely by the 9 kiwifarms members who watch his streams.
