Hello, my name is Dylan.

I write things of varying literary merit, I make some terribly offensive videos as well as a Youtube horror series, I play music, and I may or may not entirely fictional.

You be the judge:


Trailer: 'Inherent Vice' - Dec 12

Written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, starring Reese Witherspoon, Jena Malone, Joaquin Phoenix, Josh Brolin, Owen Wilson, Michael K Williams, Benicio Del Toro, Eric Roberts, Maya Rudolph, Martin Short, Jillian Bell and Anders Holm.


Like, come on, who would put this mirror up in their house? Who? If you’re not an aging rock star trying to prove your cred, like Gene Simmons or Marilyn Manson or maybe Robert Smith or something - and H.R. Giger is dead - I mean, who’s gonna want this thing on the wall? It looks like the book from Evil Dead. It looks like you autopsied one of the demon dogs from Ghostbusters, opened it up, pulled out the guts and put a glass pane in its chest. It’s a bit much. A little bit of a stretch to believe they bought something that looks so obviously evil. I could understand if they were rich people, but this is a upper-middle-class family with a startup. Baroque would’ve been fine, but this is way beyond baroque into gauche evil.

Don’t put something like this up in your house and then get all shocked when all your plants start dying or you see ghost girls with glow in the dark eyes lurking in the night. That’s all I’m saying. White People amirite? Said the white man on Tumblr, like so many others before him.

Jason Derulo watches Oculus.

Monday, September 29, 2014

First-Hand Account of a Car Crash - May 1998

Whenever I grab a beer, I always find myself writing down every little meaningless thought that barely passes. Now, I’m not much of a drinker nowadays, no, but the occasional dullness alcohol brings to my head is welcomed like a favorite in-law. Maybe it’s the slight buzz that makes me feel more open, which I don’t doubt a bit, but tonight I’m feeling particularly contemplative.

Back in the rebellious years of high school, I frequented parties with my quarterback boyfriend at the time, constantly getting into trouble with him and a few friends. A single night from the entirety of my senior year will always be burned in the recesses of my mind, because not only was it one of the best nights of my life but it was also the most unsettling.

Josh (the boyfriend) and I had gotten completely shitfaced at a multi-celebration grad party and in our drunken stupor, thought it was okay to drive ourselves home. Worse comes to worst, as we’re driving home (trying to be as cautious as possible) his hands rip the steering wheel to the side, cursing aloud and next thing I knew, everything was black. I remember waking to the scent of cinnamon, my blurry vision forcing itself to clear and seeing that his swerving had lead us to one of the lone trees dotting along a back road. The airbags served as our pillows in our unexpected rest, both of our noses bleeding from impact. That’s when I shook him awake, my still alcohol-hazed mind panicking that he had been killed. As he cracked his eyes opened, my relief snapped into demand to him to get out of the car, which he was surprisingly coherent enough to following direction.

This is where it gets weird, because despite the billowing smoke from the hood of Josh’s car, the scent of cinnamon hadn’t faded. The front of the car was completely totaled, and for some reason, the still-drunk oaf of a boyfriend wasn’t panicking as much as he should’ve been. The car, for one, was his parents’ and two, the police were presumably going to be there any moment. He kept brushing it off that it was a slight dent and everything was fine, cursing at a dog he swore crossed the street that made him drive off the road. His stupor was making him continuously attempt to wander off, and in return me grabbing his arm as I tried to concoct any sort of plans to get back home.

As my buzz was dying down, his wasn’t and that made our plans more difficult. He kept complimenting the sweet scent I had, though now, I could finally smell the smoke and my own sweat and his alcoholic breath.

Fast-forwarding, turns out we weren’t too far from my house, ended up walking back and sneaking inside and crashing until the break of dawn. We explained to his parents, mine, and the police about a loose dog and barely got them to believe our story. Mostly his, because I don’t remember ever seeing one right before he flipped out. Maybe it was the alcohol.

That experience is mostly why I don’t go out to drink at parties anymore and why we’re no longer together. And whether it’s the memory of breaking my nose after a crazy night out or the alcohol itself, my head likes to trick me into smelling that awful cinnamon smell.

Who in the slenderverse would you fuck?



Sunday, September 28, 2014
What's your opinion on the rise of the homestucks?

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is Homestuck still going on?

YO DYLAN! I read your story! =3 I spent a good 46 hours narrating producing and mastering the story! I want to let you know GREAT JOB on your story

That’s so cool! Thank you for the compliments and for letting me know about the reading.

Here it is for everyone to check out:

If you lying on the short movie demanding facts of there.

Yeah, Tharol. I’m lying about it. I’m a big fat fucking liar with burning jeans.

If you think that you have seen it, heard it, anything, please share.


Stories, pictures, drawings, anything at all. I need all the help that I can get.

You can also contact me at whatistwigs@gmail.com.


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