Chris Bitty from the Digi Dungeons Studio Stop Watch. It's a miracle test from My Fox has made it to episode 9. If we didn't lose you with that last one, we're sure to offend your sensibilities today. We're going to push your envelopes by sending you out of the dingy dungeon studio and over to our friend, the unreliable narrator himself, Cash Connor, for his eloquent and classy retelling of one night in the life of a Seattle tow truck driver. Today's triggers include a power drill, six zombie, and a pink speedo. My friend Cash Connor takes the reins in Terror in Tow. The clock hath struck the witching hour, and yours truly hath taken the band. Bring you the Cash Connor CV Podcast. So gather around, young truckers, and let me impart my supreme wisdom upon thee. A lot of rookie toe monkeys are working the roads tonight, and I see you out there. I'm gonna tell you something, what? These streets getting wilder and wilder every damn year. The drugs get funkier, the bombs get less human, and that ain't fake news, young buck, but I digress. The subject tonight is RV towing safety, and I want all you rookies to perk up your ears just a little bit. Because what you hear tonight may just save your life. Picture it. Everett, maybe a year ago, your boy Cash was called in to tow a dilapidated RV out of the Mariner High School parking lot late one summer's night. 30 years old, dirty, boarded up, you know the type. What you virgins are gonna learn is the worst part of this job is having to enter the RV. That's where you get to see and smell how the inhabitants' lives were going. This one stunk through the walls, just approaching the driver's door. I had to brace myself. I've seen horrible things in these mobile opium dens, skid marked underwear, bizarre porn, uneaten food that looks like it'll evolve into intelligent life. So I'm not thrilled about this job. I open the door and I hold my breath. I'm gonna tell you something. What this stitch is kind of a fermented piss smell. That piss was built up through a stack of two weak old tampons. Anyway, I wasn't sticking around to identify the exact fragrance. This was just the cab of the RV. I held my breath and I pulled the gear shift into neutral. Ten minutes later, I had that thing ready to hoist. Boss Man says I gotta haul this bitch out of here before the kids show up for school in the morning. Apparently, they got a rowdy bunch at Marin High School, and maybe this close to the end of the year, they might be inclined to mess around with this mobile environmental hazard. I'm about to. I'm all about safety, so here's the moment of truth. I gotta look into the RV itself to make sure it's actually abandoned. Traces of the street light from the parking lot streaked through the empty space. It was unfurnished, except for a wooden chair with several baseball hats scattered around the dirty carpet at its base. I ran that flashlight to the rear of the RV, a small sleeper cabin that was acting as the storage shelf filled with what looked like tools and chemicals. I instantly thought someone had been cooking meh. On the far wall in red spray paint read. Don't open bathroom. That's when I heard the scratching. I didn't know what I was hearing for a minute. Thought I might be tripping, but I heard the scratching again and again, real faint. Now my mind went nuts thinking there was a rat infestation in this RV. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Had to be rats. So I had no choice but to look. I stepped inside and followed the scratching sound real careful. I ran my light across the mini kitchenette that seemed surprisingly clean. A twenty volt Makita drill rested in the sink with a disturbingly long bit still in the chug. Sure enough, it was coming from behind the closed door of the bathroom. I leaned in real close and heard a faint voice. I froze. I had to be imagining this. Why would rats need my help? Crash, a bony hand splintered the wood door and clutched my throat. The skin was adhered to the bone with no sign of muscle powering its iron grip. Make happy. I was breathless, too stunned to move. I panicked and kicked the door holding the thing back as hard as I could, breaking its grip and sending me back into the gnarly carpet next to the baseball hats. I looked up at the top of the hats. Rex towing. Frontier towing. Bucky's towing. I worked for him, he's an asshole. Every single hat on that floor was from a local towing company, and that's when I realized I had fallen into the trap of the legendary zombus. For all you neophy tow monkeys who don't know, a zombus is a mythical creature that lures unsuspecting tow truck drivers into their lair in order to harvest serotonin from their brains. Few have ever survived an encounter, that's why you've never heard of them until just now. This one reached through the hole in the door to turn the knob from the outside. I scrambled up to my knees and held up my flashlight into attack position. The beast came through the door slowly, as if trying to be sexual about revealing itself. The animated cadaver had a long, sinewy, bare torso with hideous gray skin. Whatever genitalia it had was covered up with torn-up jeans held up by an electrical cord ripped off some appliance. Its eyes were sunken deep into its sockets. Several teeth were missing, as was most of its hair. A tiny gold crucifix hung around its neck like a plea for mercy. I got to my feet as it descended upon me in a flash, and I clubbed the top of its head with my flashlight with all the force I could muster. My flashlight broke, and the demon thing just stood there, looking at me. Like we was engaged in foreplay. And that's where everything went black. When I faded back into consciousness, my head hurt like hell. I could barely remember where I was. I just heard the strange voice chastising. Naughty naughty naughty, you are such a very naughty boy. I tried to stand up, but something was holding me down. My arms were tied behind the wooden chair I was seated in. My legs also. My eyes were burning. I could smell smoke and chemicals. Finally my vision cleared up enough to make out the room in front of me. There was another guy in the room now. He was standing over the zombies who was sitting in the corner of the room clutching his knees like a little kid being scolded. The guy doing the scolding sounded real weird, like kind of feminine but not over the top. He was talking to the zombies the way a little girl might scold a doll I had done something wrong while they were playing. Finally, he turned toward me and his eyes got real big. Seeing I was awake. Oh I'm so happy you didn't die. Dude's voice gave me the willies. He was short, fat, not much muscle under it all. Dressed in a cheap white suit with a pastel pink tie. I swear he was wearing some foundation makeup like he had just come off a sound stage. Looked like a pro wrestling manager from the 90s. Get my naughty naughty little bobo scare you. He was holding the power drill from the sink in his hand, using it just enough to make it slowly wind.
SPEAKER_00:You're the only thing he wants so much. Isn't that nice? Now you need to turn that round upside down and give mister Big Pants a pretty smile.
SPEAKER_01:You two will be the best of friends and bring Mr.
SPEAKER_00:Big Pants so much enjoyment.
SPEAKER_01:Wait, you fuck that thing? The words just spewed out. I caught an offended look from the zombies, and Mr. Big Pants recoiled for a moment before his face hardened. We do not use language like that in this family, young man. I knew I'd have to fight this weirdo to the death. The morning sunlight hewed in from behind the drapes. I caught just a moment of relief, as if I knew that the dawning sun made creepos disappear into the ether where they belonged. Maybe I should slip into something more comfortable. Homeboy started to loosen his tie and I lost my shit. The more ice cream, the more he seemed to enjoy the satanic strip tease he was doing. In a minute, he was standing before me in nothing but a pink G-string while spinning his power drill at full speed. His zombus love slave sat in his corner clapping his gleeful approval. I hopped up and down in my seat and screamed as loud as I could at the freaky blob man circling behind me with his power drill spinning. I felt the air of that micromillimeter drill bit on the back of my neck, and I heard Mr. Big Pants give out a little girly giggle as he dropped its tip toward my cortex. A sudden jolt, and the RV lurched forward, sending Mr. Big Pants forward with his drill straight into the meat of my trapezoid. I screamed, it hurt like a son of a bitch, and Mr. Big Pants lost his balance and fell to the floor. We were moving. I heard the cackle of male teenagers, and I knew that my truck was getting stolen. I also knew that this was my chance to escape a lifetime of sexual servitude. The zombies tried getting to his feet for just a moment before we came to a sudden and abrupt stop that sent him to the floor with Mr. Big Pants. I started to bunny hop that damn chair toward the door. Figured I'd risk falling out of the RV while it was moving over hanging out with Mr. Big Pants. I just needed to get to the door. The RV started accelerating again, sending Mr. Big Pants' fat ass rolling across the carpet in his speedo. I reached the door but couldn't grab the handle. I tried using my head multiple times to push the lever down until the gray hand of the zombies reached over and held the handle shut. I looked up at that pathetic creature. He was once a tow truck driver just like me. Happy and free. I pled with my eyes for him to let me out, and for a second I thought I made a connection. Get away from the door. Eddie. Me and Eddie both looked back at Mr. Big Pants, now holding a gun he had taken out of one of the kitchen drawers. Crash! The RV stopped. The gun went off. Eddie the zombies fell into me and pushed the door open, and we both fell out of the RV into a drainage ditch. I was in a daze, but I could tell my tow truck had been driven off the road. I heard two teenagers scramble out of the cab with a panic. Run! The zombies was hanging halfway out of the RV, dead. Mr. Big Pants was crawling over him, holding his clothes and his gun, trying to make a break for it. That's where I blacked out again. Now we're gonna make this long story short. The cops came, no sign of Mr. Big Pants. I was taken to the hospital. The two teenagers came to see me in there and apologized for stealing my truck. I told them they saved my life. So to all you nudes working the roadways tonight, just know somewhere out there, Mr. Big Pants is waiting. He's got his speedo on and his power drill is charged. Waiting for you. This has been Cash Connor, and it's like that. Well, that was offensive to just about everyone. Please be sure to direct your hatred towards Cash Connor and Jordan A. Thomas. Not me. I'm on your side. Completely speechless at the utter disregard for the dignity of sex zombies, high school delinquents, tow truck drivers, and fat men and speedos. I would like to encourage everyone who can hear my words to reach out to media sites all around the world and express your disdain for this insensitive filth. Perhaps we can start a social media campaign to have this show banned, or at least this episode removed. Remember, I am but a severed head in a box. For my dingy dungeon studio, I have no control over the programming content. That is controlled solely by Jordan A. Thomas. You may have heard of him. He wrote an epic vampire audiobook called Coronation! It's available now! We'll play you a sample chapter right now! Until next time, don't open the box.
SPEAKER_02:Keegan, chapter 18. I know all about cars, but I've never experienced one until now. The heavy equipment we use for the temple, loaders, backhoes, and a couple of flatbed pickup trucks gave me plenty of experience behind the wheel. Never at this speed though. We're shooting down the desert road with the speedometer pinned at 120 miles per hour. It's an insane speed and I'm not in control of it. Dashlights cast weird shadows over the face of the most gauntly looking human I've ever encountered. Polk has the wheel and my life in his hands. It's horrifying and exhilarating at the same time. A wire spring in the back of my seat has popped out of place, and I can't seem to shift into a position where it isn't sticking me in the back. The smell of old cigarettes makes me hold my breath for long periods while Polk drones on and on about his life story and the vampire hunting business. What I've learned so far. If you sever a vampire's head clean off the neck, the head will remain preserved, and you can turn it in at a clearinghouse and collect a bounty. However, if the head does not come off clean, everything will turn to ash and you put your life in danger for nothing. I met an Australian fella named Michael Kelly. He was doing trick boomerang shows with the carnival I fell in with after my whore of a mother kicked me out of the house. We got to talking about the occult, and since my horva mother was all into that shit since the time I can remember, I kept up in conversation with him. Must have liked me some because he took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about boomerangs. Once I started hunting vampires, I made sassy here. He taps his jade boomerang with his bony finger. He has the damn thing mounted on his dashboard, as if we might have to battle a vampire while going 120 miles per hour. Kind of a tribute to the master. Poke chatters nonstop for an hour. The calf muscles in my leg begin to cramp up from the nervous contractions I'm making. We can see maybe twenty feet in front of us. Anything appearing the road becomes instant death. But Polk seems unfazed by it all. He keeps talking and talking. I rode solo for a long time until I met my wife, Trudy Mayflower, the love of my life. We were both trying to collect a bounty on Adam Silverspike. He was a famous first generation ghoulie, older than the Bible. Silverspike was about to split my dome with some ancient battle axe when Trudy came up behind him and rolled his head. Saved my life. We never left each other's side until the day she died. He's making me think of Lexi right now. We spent all our lives together, and when it came down to it, she'd rather stay in our little village and die than run off with me. I'll get over her. Plenty of girls my age in the city of Provo. That's where Polk says we're going to turn in the bounty on the sentinel's head. My love is vengeance now. Went off and got hooked up with some junkies in Seattle. Got myself a blood disease that'll ash up even the most purebred creature of the night. Polk adopted vampire hunting as his life's calling one day on the set of Battle in the Bush, a B-grade movie about Australian cowboys. The film crew turned into a bunch of hungry vampires and began snacking on all the pretty actors during the film's rap party. Polk made it out with five heads and a new career. Or so he says. We shoot past him. Even at high speed, I'm able to see the dead look on his face. Vampires? I asked. Mongrel. Vampire breeding has at this point in history been selected. Humans with a very particular genetic coding were considered candidates. You just saw what happens when a human without the vampire gene gets turned. Someone I know is building an army of them. What does that have to do with me? I inquire. You are going to fight them, he informs me. A mob of Mongol vampires appears in the roadway at the edge of Polk's headlights. He lets his foot off the gas, but it's too late to keep us from slamming into the crowd. The cracking of bones on the tires and thudding of bodies hitting the side of the van create an unnatural rhythm. Polk hangs onto the steering wheel as the bodies veer us from one side of the road to the other. He lets out a howl of laughter as a vampire dressed in a three-piece suit disappears under his tire. You wanna know how my old man taught me how to swim? No, I say. Cocksucker took me out to the lake and walked me to the end of the dock. He looks down at me and tells me to kick if I wanna live. The van skids to a stop, and the writhing vampires engulf us, well aware of our presence. What does that mean? I blurred out as a once attractive woman in tattered clothes bears her fangs at me through the window. I know, I mean who says that to a kid? Long story short, he tossed my ass in. And I swear I ain't shitting you here. I went out of body. Like I could see myself drowning in the nasty water with the algae and the fish shit. But I could hear my old man's voice yelling at me through the water. Kick! Kick! Kick! I'm listening, but I'm fixed on a long-haired Asian vampire smashing his fist into the windows far too many times to leave his hand intact. Whatcha getting at, sir? I don't want to know the answer. He reaches over and grabs Sassy off the dashboard with a wild gleam in his eyes and a giddy chuckle in his speech. Kick or die, Buckwheat! I see him hit the electric window controls on the driver's side console. Stop! Don't! Are you crazy? The window retracts, and I'm stabbing vampires before it's halfway down. Why are you doing this? I yell. I'm terrified. For the first time in my life, survival is in question. Shut up and kick! He claps back. No choice. Right foot back to my chest as I pivot in my seat and kick the door with everything I've got. The door flies open. I'm out of the van and striking faster than a bad memory. Nothing else matters at this moment. In my zone, practicing my religion. Working. Haven't felt like this since I can't remember. Got a task, kill vamps. Apply my systematic method of obliteration upon their punk asses. I'm squatting heads off the undead like it's a new dance craze. I glance back at Poke on the opposite side of the van, he's got his boomerang in his hand, and he's fighting off the monsters as if born to do so. I'm not scared. This feels like home. I spear a skinny vamp with an afro through the heart as he dives off the top of the van and toss him into a crowd of bloodsuckers surrounding me before slashing the necks of two vamps behind me on the counter swing. A quick pivot sees my blade across the top of a charging vamp's forehead. The top of his head comes off, but the damn thing still stands. Over at the van, Polk hangs back in the driver's seat, smoking his cigarillo, watching me fight. Okay, kid, quit showing off and get in the van. As he pulls away, I skip out of the diving grab of a vamp in a biker jacket and slash my way past a hissing soccer mom, diving into the passenger seat in full stride before chest kicking the old man who dove in after me. Polk hits the gas and mows down a line of bloodsuckers. He looks over at me with the most serious expression. You know, you have a moral obligation to use your fighting skills to help your fellow humans survive this gooe epidemic. Epidemic? No one believed these things existed until a year ago. A couple of online videos surface here and there, unexplained murders in the thousands sweep the nation, and it has become quite apparent to the people of the world my life's work was always justifiable and important. I do believe myself a chosen one of sorts, and I would like to extend the invitation to you to join me. He nudges the steering wheel to clip a vamp with the corner of the van. I don't owe anybody anything, I reply. Silence. Seems like a full minute. Disappointing, poked Deadpans. You can make a buttload of money. He gestures to the head of the village sentinel perched on the console between us. This guy is rare. He'll fetch a couple grand easy. I'm gonna take you to Provo. You'll see how bad it is. If you want to collect this bounty with me, I'll be happy to give you a cut. You can't help. How did you know where to take me to fight the vampires? Poke takes a long drag off his cigarello and thinks well before he speaks. The thought process shows in his face. He's weighing all the angles to decide whether it's a good idea to tell me or not. They seem to be migrating toward your village.