The drop, p.17
The Drop, page 17
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↑ howmuchyabench 3 points • 789 days ago
↓ Oh shit... if this is true, I'm screwed. I heard The Drop in the gym the other day. Normally I wear headphones when I'm gettin' my shred on, but on Tuesday I forgot them. I haven't been able to get that damn song out of my head since. Oh shit... I got the HFOD.
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↑ 250dollarsworthofpudding 18 points • 789 days ago
↓ I tried calling the guy at the CDC. I just got a recording. Maybe too many of them have fallen ill. What if they were all at a party and someone played The Drop there? We're screwed.
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↑ antifa78 5 points • 789 days ago
↓ Why the hell would the greatest scientists in the country be listening to Whoa-Town?
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↑ 911wasaninsidejob 685 points • 789 days ago
↓ Are you kidding me? This song is everywhere. You can't escape it. Unless you're an anti-social conspiracy theorist that lives in the basement listening to that crackrock steady sound, you're not going to be able to avoid this. Think about that Nathaniel Rateliff song, S.O.B. It's not my type of jam, and even I've heard it multiple times. You go to the bar, someone puts it on the jukebox, or they do it for karaoke. You go to the gym, it's playing over the speakers. You're walking in the mall, and it's some motherfucker’s ringtone. All I'm saying is I'm not going out at all. I'm turning off all TV, radio, everything. Hell, you could accidentally hear their shit while playing video games online. Some asshole with his stereo turned up. Stay away from people until this blows over. I'm out. Radio silence, off the grid. Just me, my Hot Pockets, and a bucket for my shit and piss. Later.
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↑ Kstrike55 97 points • 789 days ago
↓ All this shit is just coincidental. You guys are falling prey to false causation. Music doesn't cause illness. A plus B does not equal C.
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↑ DanzigisaBitch 1 point • 789 days ago
↓ 911 is right. I was standing in line at Subway, and this fucking song comes over the speakers. It's only been out for three weeks, and next thing I know, it's everywhere. The song is in my head. It's a good song. It's such a good song. But... I don't know. I just don't know anymore.
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****
From the Journals of Katherine Maddox
April 23, 2021
Dear Scribbles,
I felt better today. I mean, sure, I expected the police to show up at any second and knock on the door, but they didn't. I think they're too busy with whatever the hell is going on out there. Maybe they'll never notice he's missing. Nah, I left him right in the open. Fucking bastard.
I don't know what I'm worried about. It was self-defense. Let's get that straight. But I know it was wrong to leave the scene. I know it was wrong to take his van. But I was scared, and I just needed to check on my dad. He doesn't have anyone else. When this whole thing is over, I'll turn myself in. I will. God, I'm going to go to jail. Some beefy mama is going to sit on my face for years. I've seen Orange is the New Black. I know how this all works. Like... I'm tough, in small doses, but I don't know if I can make it in there. Maybe it's not like that show. Maybe it's more chill than that. Fuck. None of this is any good.
Dad sat around drooling today. I cooked up some beef. It was a day past the expiration date, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, and I wasn't going to be able to go grocery shopping with him sitting there like that, so I made up some burgers. The entire house reeks like overcooked beef now, and I had to rip down the smoke alarm in the kitchen. Dad just sat there while all of this was going on. I hope he's going to be alright. I don't know how long I can do this. I suppose as long as I need to.
I know part of me is trying to make up for how I was with Mom. And the logical part of my brain knows that none of this is going to make anything better. None of this is going to erase the fact that when Mom was... dying... I wasn't there for her. Because I couldn't be. I couldn't watch her die. I feel like a shit for that. I really do. But I'll be here for my dad. If death is the endgame, I'll play it out with him and make sure he is alright. I just wish I knew where this entire thing was going.
At least he's still eating. Some people on the news are saying that their kids have started to refuse food. They showed a bunch of kids in hospitals with feeding tubes jammed into their stomachs. Crazy. I hope Dad doesn't get like that. The hospitals are full.
Fuck hospitals, fuck HFOD, and fuck whatever is causing this sickness.
****
A Press Release from the CDC
For Immediate Release:
April 24, 2021
The CDC has been working tirelessly on a cure for HFOD. Here is what we know so far.
The Stages of HFOD
1. Obsessive Behavior - Mania
2. Acute Mental Confusion
3. Lethargy
4. Systemic Shutdown
5. Sublimity
The final stage is a new development in the progression of HFOD. Many of the earliest cases have progressed similarly. During stage five, sublimity, affected subjects may exhibit a period of tranquil lucidity. During this time, all other symptoms fade, lessen, or disappear entirely.
The CDC is still discovering new developments in the progression of HFOD. It may be that this is not the final stage. We will continue to monitor developments and work on a cure.
Finally, we would urge media outlets and civilians from spreading disinformation. There have been a variety of reports on the internet and from some more spurious news outlets linking the cause of HFOD to everything from chemical warfare attacks to boy band music. Again, until we know what the cause is, it is best not to speculate. Speculation can lead to panic and hysteria. Bear with us; we are hard at work.
-Krystof Kyrgich - Acting Director of the CDC
****
Excerpt from a Reddit Thread
r/health • Posted by u/MAGAman 788 days ago
The CDC Are LYING (HFOD)
Anyone notice that the CDC is trying to shift the blame away from muslim extremists? Seems rather convenient to me. I think the government knows something that they're not telling us. This is most likely another terrorist attack that the government was unable to prevent. Why are we not doing anything? It's time to ship these moose-lims out. If they don't want to be American, then they don't belong here.
585 comments →Share •••
↑ OntheLeftisRight 185 points • 790 days ago
↓ Stop with this xenophobic bullshit. There's no conspiracy here. HFOD has hit Muslim countries too. Fuck Trump.
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↑ TheRealFakeNews 80 points • 790 days ago
↓ That's because those stupid sand niggers probably couldn't control the thing. I wouldn't put it past them. Fuck Allah.
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↑ MAGAman 20 points • 790 days ago
↓ Get the fuck out of here, lefty. You got your head so far up Obama's ass you can't hear the truth. The moose-lims are ruining the country, and it's about time we fought back.
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↑ ThaiLilly5 103 points • 790 days ago
↓ Before you guys start your race war, I just got off the phone with my brother, who works at the CDC. He says that they're working on a skeleton crew over there. They literally have no clue as to what started HFOD, but no, there was no proof that there was a terrorist component to the illness. I know you guys are just going to keep arguing about it until you get red in the face, so feel free to continue your blind bigotry.
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↑ TheRealFakeNews 80 points • 790 days ago
↓ Sounds like there won't be any help from the CDC any time soon.
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↑ MAGAman 20 points • 790 days ago
↓ Don't worry. The President will fix this, just like he's had to fix everything else in this country. Drain the swamp! Fix the economy! Fix immigration! Build that wall! Cure HFOD!
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↑ OntheLeftisRight 185 points • 790 days ago
↓ God help us all.
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****
From the Journals of Katherine Maddox
April 24, 2021
Dear Scribbles,
There's a smell coming from the neighbor's house. I've smelled it before. It smells like summer roadkill, just that awful, claw-its-way-up-your-nose smell. I asked dad about it, but he just sat there, humming his little song.
I'm not sure he even hears me anymore. According to the CDC, things are supposed to get better. They're not perfect, but they get better. I'm holding onto that thought like a woman hanging off the edge of a cliff by a tree root. He's gotta get better. I can't handle being alone on this earth.
The sound of police cars has died down somewhat. I'm not sure if that's because there's less things going on out there, or because the police finally came down with HFOD themselves. It makes me wonder how many people are infected with this bullshit.
No one is talking numbers though. That makes me nervous. I mean what are we talkin'? Half the country? More? How can we recover from this? How many people have already died in what the CDC calls secondary accidents?
I know what I'm going to find if I go next door and investigate that smell. I'm not stupid. But I'm also in no hurry to go and find out. If nothing has changed, or I haven't seen Mrs. Kittridge (our neighbor) by tomorrow, I'll go over there. In the meantime, I'm just gonna sit by this window and keep watch, hoping that someone goes in or out of that house.
Fuck the smell of death.
****
Transcript of a News Report from Tokyo, Japan [Translated from Japanese]
News reporter Mariko Ito stands in a hospital ward. Behind her smiling parents and family members are talking to a lucid teenage girl.
Mariko: Scientists are baffled by the new stage of HFOD. Most scientists assumed that the disease would progress into a degenerative state, which would end in death. However, as you can see behind me, that has not happened. Some of the earliest victims of the disease have started to awaken.
Behind me, the Sato family is greeting their daughter Ichika. Family members say she has been virtually unresponsive for the last week. Doctors had to insert a feeding tube into her stomach just to keep her alive. During that time, she said nothing, did nothing. She was in an almost catatonic state.
But now, as you can see, Ichika is up and feeling better.
The news cuts to a close-up of Ichika with a microphone in her face.
Mariko: Ichika, how are you feeling?
Ichika: I am great.
Mariko: What was it like when you were sick?
Ichika: I don't remember.
Mariko: What do you remember?
Ichika: I remember sleeping. I remember dreaming the most beautiful dreams.
Mariko: What did you dream about?
Ichika: I dreamed about being safe and being home. I dreamed of music.
Mariko: What type of music?
Ichika: The best music.
The family gathers around Ichika and shoos the reporter away, ending the interview. Mariko speaks to the camera.
Mariko: There you have it. It looks like the world's nightmare is coming to an end. Doctors and scientists caution that this may just be a brief reprieve in the course of the disease, but at least for now there is some hope.
****
From the Journals of Katherine Maddox
April 25, 2021
Dear Scribbles,
I went over to Mrs. Kittredge's house. At first, I just stood at the bottom of the porch, dreading approaching the front door. I don't know how long I stood there, but I do know it was quite a while. At one point, I pulled out my phone and almost called the police. But then I hung up. If I'm ever going to be a journalist, I'm going to have to learn to do the hard things, and not just leave them to the police. Of course, who knows if there will even be a need for journalists once this whole thing blows over, if it ever does.
"Maybe I should get back to my dad," I thought. But I knew he wasn't going anywhere. He was just sitting in his chair, looking out the window and humming his song. I had to change his clothes the other day. It was tough to do. I'm not the strongest person in the world. This is what people must go through when their parents get Alzheimer's or something. He was still able to lift his arms and things like that, but it wasn't easy. On top of it all, he seems to have forgotten how to go to the bathroom.
If someone had told me I would be wiping my dad's ass at the age of 23, I would have laughed them out of the damn room. No one should have to wipe their parent's ass. It just not natural.
Once I was done stalling myself with thoughts about my dad, I climbed the porch. I knocked on the door, hoping that someone, anyone, would come and answer it. But no one did. I listened for any sort of sound, but there was nothing. I tried to see inside the windows, but the curtains were drawn.
This left me with only one other course of action. I took a deep breath and then turned the doorknob. It turned easily in my hand, and I cursed in my head. I was actually going in. The smell from inside was so strong, that I almost couldn't get past the front door. I pulled my shirt up over my face, and placed my hand over it, but even then, I had to fight the urge to throw up. I definitely didn't want to throw up inside my shirt.
The inside of the house was disgusting. I never got the impression that Mrs. Kittredge was a dirty person, but now I knew better. There was a small path that led through the living room. On either side of the path, piles of worthless junk were stacked knee high. Mrs. Kittredge had everything from computer towers to old newspapers stacked everywhere. I spotted porcelain figurines, spatulas, flyswatters, bolts of cloth, clothes with the tags still on. On one pile, I saw a pan filled with old rotting food, and I stopped, and I looked at it, and I tried to figure out how the hell someone makes a pan of food, eats a little of it, and then just leaves it sitting around. What would make a person do that?
I continued my way through the clutter, noting the rat droppings on the floor. I didn't dare touch anything. In the kitchen, I found even more mess. The sink was piled high with dishes that had needed to be washed a month ago. Pots, pans, bowls, forks, knives... they were all everywhere. I don't understand how they could live like that. Black garbage bags sat on the floor, spilling their contents on the ground, as if someone had filled them up and then forgotten to actually take them outside.
"Hello?" I called. But there was no answer. Once I got through the kitchen, I came to a hallway that led back to the bedrooms. And there, among a pile of forgotten scrapbook materials, I found Mrs. Kittredge. I almost ran away.
Her body was bloated... an unnatural gray color. Pieces of her flesh were missing, no doubt chewed away by the many rats that must have lived in the house. I imagined hundreds of red-eyed rats all around me, buried under piles of clothes, boxes, empty Diet Coke cans. And for a second, I had the terrifying feeling that at any moment they would swarm over me. They had a taste for flesh after all. That was when I threw up.
If there was ever any integrity in this crime scene, which was highly doubtful based upon the condition of the house, I had just blown it, along with my breakfast. I stood, bent over, dry heaving, even after I had thrown up. I fought the urge to turn around and leave, but I had to know more. I moved closer to Mrs. Kittredge, though I suppose she wasn't Mrs. Kittredge anymore, just a hunk of bloated flesh decomposing amid her hoarder's collection.
Her body gave off a noxious smell, and I could see wounds all over her body. Her muumuu was cut in several places. I think they were stab wounds. A lot of them. Her floral muumuu was stained a dark brown from the blood that had dried. As I looked at her, a maggot crawled out of her mouth. Mrs. Kittredge had been here for some time.
As I was looking at her and dry heaving, I sensed movement at the end of the hall. It was dark down there, and I prepared to run for my life. A girl emerged, skinny as a rail, wearing only a bra and panties. Her hipbones stuck out. It looked like she hadn't eaten in some time. Stringy black hair clung to a sickly forehead. She stood there, saying nothing, and I just about shit myself.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. Her voice sounded like a ghost, like she wasn't really there and it had to travel from a long way away. "Oh, Mom is dead," she said. Then she walked by me, placing a cold clammy hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she passed by me.
That was it. That was her only reaction. I stood there, forgetting my need to vomit some more, as the girl wandered into the kitchen. I could hear noises coming from in there, and I realized I was trapped. There was no way in or out except for the front door. I saw a back door, but it was buried behind mounds of garbage and junk.
I realized that the only thing I could do was go through the kitchen. I turned around, grateful to stop looking at the dead body of Mrs. Kittredge. Flies buzzed through the air. As I rounded the corner, I spotted Mrs. Kittredge's daughter in the kitchen. She was stuffing her face with chips. She crunched loudly, seemingly unaware of my presence.
"What happened to your mom? I asked.
"She died," she said before grabbing a can of spray cheese, tilting her head back and spraying a stream of yellow, processed cheese into her mouth.
I was stuck. I didn't know what to do. The brownish-red bloodstains on her hands told me everything that I needed to know. I searched the kitchen for something to protect myself with, and I picked up a pan from among the mess on the kitchen counter.
"I'm going to go now," I said, as I began to edge past her.
She just nodded her head before filling her mouth with another handful of chips. As I edged past her, I fought back another wave of nausea. She hadn't bathed in weeks I would guess. Her backside was covered in her own shit, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I finally left her behind. In my haste to leave, I stumbled and tripped, falling into a pile of garbage. I picked myself up, pointedly ignoring the goo that covered my hands and the cold wetness on my leg.
As I left, I heard Amanda say, in her terrifying ghost voice, "Have a nice day."
Outside, I stood in front of the house. I picked up my cell phone and called the police, wishing that I had done so earlier. Damn my curiosity. The phone rang for a long time, and then a recording asked me to leave a message. A fucking message? I left my message, and then I ran to my house to check on Dad.
