Hello. It is me, the random SNCA Schlog janny, gay noob. I have hidden this tape near a gas station. Never go to the Shroomcuck Restaurant. I’ll cost you your virginity, and if I wasn’t careful, my life. It all started when I was leaving a western city in Texas. I couldn’t remember the name of the town. I left where I was staying at the 17th of May. The staff at the place was… unhelpful, to say the least. So, I had to go off of was my previous experience driving and my dying GPS. I put the car in drive mode, filled it up with the last gas canister I had, and hit the road. I enjoy, or used to before this experience, going to small restaurants to try their food. I make sure where I’m going isn’t a tourist “grabber”, I forgot the name for what those type of establishments are called. All the other stuff aside, my trip before dinner was as any usual state-wide roadtrip. I went to multiple gas stations, got a Texas souvenir from one of them, went to the bathroom, got food, all the usual stuff. It was 7:00 when I looked at the time after I got done with the stuff mentioned earlier. I slowed down near the Texas-Louisiana border. I was tired and hungry, looking for a place to rest and somewhere to eat. I eventually found a hotel nearby, but I was wondering if there were any restaurants around here. Eventually, I found one. It was a somewhat grody restaurant by the name of “Shroot’s Authentic Basotho Mushroom Cooking Kitchen”. The logo of the store looked rather off-putting. It was the original image of a neutralplier, but with a mushroom cap poorly photoshopped on it. The neutralplier in question had large, rosy, red lips, and skin as dark as the night. I drove up to the store to see if it was open. On the door, there was a taped, crumpled, laminated, and stained piece of paper saying this:
“shroom free taste challenge today”
<reddit space
“hours now 7:00 ay em tu 9:00 ‘p em”
The grammar on the piece of paper was very poor, and it appeared as if it was printed out. I knew some cajuns lived near the Texas-Louisiana border, so I thought that a cajun was responsible for the printed sheet with text on it. As soon as I walked in the restaurant, a rather unappealing and gross smell hit my nose. Before I could rant about it, an obese black man with the nametag “Catter” greeted me. He had a mushroom hat on, the same as the “mascot” of the logo I saw earlier.
>henlo wytieboi how you is are
The grammar coming from this “Catter” individual was poor, so I thought he had printed out that sheet. And also, why would he state my race specifically? He sat me down and gave me the menu. The menu appeared to be horribly translated from some language, and I will provide examples, but only the worst and funniest ones.
>artificial femjanny cum soup basoto
>antiswartee art
>femqvoтe fetus
>jakes stew
I was somewhat disturbed. Why would they go out of their way to mention bodily fluids and parts, as if the sheet was stained by them. I ordered the most normal thing I could find, “cajun ahrimp with shrooms”. Before you seethe at me and call me ESL, “ahrimp” was typed like that before I put it as is in the tale I am writing to you all. I waited a long time for my food, and the stench was getting worse. I found another waiter, this time by the name “jej”. He too was rocking the same mushroom hat and skin as “Catter”. I told “jej” that it smelled very bad in here, and recommended “jej” some sprays that fight bad odor. This “jej” individual was unreasonably mad upon hearing this. Then he said this phrase, in a heavy, forceful, African accent.
>boi you now follow me
I followed him, little did I know, I would be tortured in the most horrific ways possible.
As I walked with him, I heard the swarthy staff in the kitchen quietly chuckle behind my back. As I told Mr. Jej that I was uncomfortable with going with him, he put his hands on my mouth, and dragged me to a secret room. Then, he threw me in there and yelled out:
>shrooht mah kohdxistah beegeen DOLL proseejure
In front of me, there was a huge television screen, and a window near the roof, illuminating only some parts of the room. I was terrified. This “Shroot” individual was about to do something to me, and I was fearing for my life. Then the “mascot” himself, Mr. “Shroot” came in. He had multiple flags on his withered, dark blue shirt. He also had little badges with text, all of them ending in “award”. He turned on the television, it was a screen appearing to be from a Windows computer with five folders. The folder names were disgusting. They were:
>little boy rape gif
>little girl BDSM 3yo
>big trans mommy on 5yo boy
>DOLL’s alice abdl goon folder (DO NOT MODIFY)
>gems to own dem shlogcucks mayne
I had no words. Then, “Shroot” put some duct tape on my mouth, and then forced me down on the chair and tied me up to it. He went into the previously locked room where the chair was, and started to use the computer. He clicked on the “little girl BDSM 3yo” folder. What I saw was so horrific, I would’ve been breaking multiple international laws describing it. Then he clicked on the video…
I was traumatized, but this “Shroot” individual didn’t care.
He made me watch more, more, and more…
I was terrified. “Shroot” finally came out of the room, and then pushed me to the ground. He grabbed my neck with the hardest force imaginable, before unzipping his pants.
I knew it.
He was going to rape me.
Then, I felt it.
I was crying, crying a river of traumatization, torture, and sorrow. I just lost my virginity. It was indescribable. I never wanted this to happen to me just because I complained about a smell. My eyes were shut, forcibly in a sense. Then, something that hurt a lot, later became a miracle as time was getting forward. The noob passed out while raping me. This didn’t help a lot at first, until I noticed the fat fucker dropped something. It was a pocket knife. I didn’t care about the fat noob waking up because I barely felt his heartbeat, so I knew that he was going to ACK soon. I flipped the chair, with its frontside on the floor by attempting to lunge forward. I grabbed the pocket knife barely, and managed to move it towards me. I cut on of the bottom ropes securing my arms, and as more ropes got cut off, the easier it was for me to move my arms. Eventually, all the ropes near my arms were off, and now I had to focus on the legs. I should’ve told you how I got the ropes off, as I almost got caught by… some weird noob creature. I used the knife like a saw, going back and forth upwards until the rope was cut off. I went downwards when I began to cut the ropes near my legs. I was almost done until I heard… something. It had the heaviest accent you could ever imagine, making the simplest, and most identifiable words completely unknown to a native. I forgot to tell you this, but there was a key near the noob. I grabbed it, B-lined it down to the room, and locked the door with the computer in the room with me. The fat “person” if you could even call it that, came in. It had the nametag “DOLL”. The thing had a prolapsed anus, a shirt resembling the infamous “Boyfriend” character from FNF, and way more badges ending in “award”. The thing looked around the place, looking for me. Then it found the noob’s corpse on the floor, and started to whine.
<NOOOOOOOOOO MI KOHDXISTAH SHRUHT MI IS MISS YUO O ALGO YA KUCCH AURR ILI CHTO-TO
It fell on the floor, sobbing on his recently deceased partner in crime. Then left, whining about the corpse in there. While he was gone, I made sure to hurry up when sawing off the ropes on my legs. Then before he entered again, I could now run. I unlocked the door with the key, and bolted out. I looked behind me, and I found the “DOLL” noob insinuating a chase. I ran faster than I ever could in my life. As if more miracles were coming, the noob tripped on the floor and fell on his face. I then found an open back door, wide open, with the moons light shining across the room from it. Like I did with the earlier doors, I bolted out of there. I ran around the building, and eventually reached the parking lot. I found my car, unlocked it, and then speeded off. I have permanent trauma and PTSD of this event, and my friend, Joshua Ryne “MoonMetropolis” Glowberg is helping me pay for therapy. o algo
