The Tragic Trollpasta Gangsta: Pilot Episode - Spl(een Tw)itters(hit)

(Notes: This reboot of Trollpasta Critic, "The Tragic Trollpasta Gangsta", was made as a tribute to the Creepypasta Critic, as well as the old Trollpasta Critic series which is on Godofmemez's sandbox wiki. Please enjoy!)

(Sup, guys. It’s Trollpasta Critic here, or as I'd like to call myself now The Tragic Trollpasta Gangsta, after attempting to fucking kill myself, to fuck up even more shitty stories. Now, before you ask how the fuck did I survive after I decided for no reason to hang myself, that’s probably because the rope somehow split itself off. Oops. Maybe not really, but I think that’s out of the question now, here’s the deal: I restarted this entire series because some mysterious content creator asked me to promote his series and vice versa, so I thought why not, I got nothing else better to fucking do anyways. But, enough of the nonsense and let’s get on to the real thing already!

'''So anyways, the first… “story” I’m going to fuck up in this reboot is called “Splitters,” shat out by the failpasta writer Dubiousdugong, who also shat out the previous review subject “Blood Whistle,” which was an inconceivably cliché-ridden failpasta about a satanic version of Super Mario Bros 3 which pretty much takes shitty writing to about every fucking level possible for a failpasta. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting on how terrible Blood Whistle turned out to be, so when just that wasn’t enough, we now have this pile of buffalo puke that after a skim and a half, not ridden with your typical creepy clichés, BUT ridden with amazingly graphic themes of incest, gore, torture, and horrid sexual fetishes being thrown all around the story in a pathetic attempt at shock value, and yes, I’m not fucking lying, this entire story is full of fucking violent sexual fetishes! So, with that, now you’re probably wondering which one takes the fucking cake for being the worse one out of the two. So, let’s not hesitate, it’s time to dive into “Splitters” and see what this fuckhead of an author has in his mind!)'''

Our story is a painful one. The one of My brother and I (Freaking wonderful! Second sentence already and we see a fucking capitalization error. I believe that is what known as a “red flag.”), that is. It is one full of dejection (Fun Fact: Dejection is basically just another word for shit. So, I’m guessing that the protagonist’s brother probably likes to fucking play with her shit, and that’s basically a great summary of this story. I mean, there’s incest, what’s not to like, assholes?) and despair, but also one of rebirth and a new cause (Holy shit, and NOT even the first paragraph in and this story already tries to be intriguing and pretentious. You can tell how fun diving in this pile of crap is going to be!). What is this new cause? What is said purpose that now drives us to do what we do, that is frowned upon by the masses? (You mean like being hip and weird? Because I mean, apparently normal people doesn’t like introverts who does weird stuff for no reason at all, so that must be the case.) All of these answers will come in good time. I must first tell the story of the pitch black darkness that preceded the blinding light of the dawn. (Wait. What. Are you fucking serious? AND I THOUGHT I WASN’T GOING TO FACE THE FUCKING ANGSTY, POETIC WRITING FROM BLOOD FUCKING WHISTLE TO POP UP HERE AGAIN!!!! OH DEAR FUCK, IT HUUUUUUUUUURTS!!!!)

I am a very pretty girl. (This is neither an exaggeration or an attempt to cry out for attention. This is just what I am, what I have always been, and what I will most likely be until the end of time.) No, I'm not one of those self-titled, conceited bitches whose only goal is to further herself. My beauty is of pure genetic serendipity (What the fuck is a genetic serendipity?). My brother didn't necessarily get the short end of the DNA stick as it happens; At thirteen, he had already been in three relationships (Fun Fact: Being in more than one relationship will guarantee that you’re going to be, more than likely not, be dumped eventually in the future. Seriously, it’s fucking common knowledge, HOW BRAIN-DEAD YOUR BROTHER HAS TO BE TO NOT KNOW THAT?!?!). We were both super popular honor students. Most likely to succeed. Best all-around. You name it, we had probably already attained its status (And this story can’t even escape the inevitable, fearful grip of explanation issues! For fuck’s sake, you’re either honor students, or you aren’t!). But under all of this pronounced fame and acclamation, a dark secret was housed.

Our alcoholic father had been abusing us since we were very young (Fucking wonderful, we already set up our protagonists to be the typical popular fucks, now we have a typical one-dimensional, abusive father shat out straight from Thomas! The stereotyping doesn’t even end here!). He made us do horrible things. Forced consumption of hot sauce, waterboarding (What the fuck is a waterboarding? That sounds real horrible, just like this fucking story.), and beating us until our skin was dabbled with blood were just a few. Our mother didn't care. Often she'd just laugh and encourage our father to continue these heinous actions. (And of course the archetypes of archetypes doesn’t end here! Why have an abusive father WHEN YOU CAN ALSO HAVE A FUCKING ABUSIVE MOTHER TOO?!?!) My brother and I were convinced things couldn't get worse. They did. (Of course they did. What, are you fucking stoned?)

After our thirteenth birthday, our father started bending us over every night. (Um, how come the idiotic protagonists are still fucking alive and breathing and, of course, writing this fucking terrible excuse for a story? I mean if your body is overly bent, it would fucking snap off and severely injure or even kill you………………yeah, I get it, that was pretty fucking terrible, but can you please kindly stop that?) He said it was "the right age" in order for us not to suffer any serious injuries. What a bold-faced lie (Fun Fact: Lies are fucking disinformational concepts, they don’t have FACES for fuck’s sake! This writer has made the shitty writing from Blood Whistle SOMEHOW even worse in this story!.............CAN YOU FUCKING STOP JUDGING ME NOW?!?!). He took advantage over all of our orifices. All three of mine and both of my brother's. (Um… Which is the three of yours and both of your brother’s? WHY IS THE AUTHOR SO IDIOTIC HE CAN’T FUCKING USE EVEN BASIC PUNCTUATION PROPERLY?!?!) It never affected my brother like it did me. The fact that he was heterosexual (Excuse me for repeating this from the intro, but oh god, this story also has sexual abuse themes shat out straight from Clockwork: Your Time is Up! The analogies continue!) didn't cause him too much pain outside of rectal bleeding and a moderate case of PTSD (…Are you fucking serious? We have rectal tearing shoved onto this fucking story just for the sake of shock value? I’m fucking sick of reading this piece of shit already, but goddamn you can’t just throw in… um, graphic stuff willy-nilly like that! Either this author is brain dead beyond belief, or clearly a fucking sex offender high on LSD.). For me it did so much more. I could never have sex with boys I dated. (Author is too afraid to mention what the jackass father did to her yet straight out throws the word sex in the middle of this sentence. Real classy.) I was more than likely rendered infertile (I have never checked; I probably should '''(Yeah, you really probably should. Honor students are well known for their insistence to start families during their school years, after all… or so was it…)'''). This went on for around a year. Then my brother and I got an idea. No, we didn't come up with an idea. We had reached an epiphany. (WHAT THE FUCK IS AN EPIPHANY?!?!)

Naturally, to say we were sick of our predicament would be an understatement. We thirsted for revenge like a child in a third world country thirsts for clean water. (Fucking great, now this writer is making fun of starving children in Africa by comparing them to these poor excuses for archetype protagonists because why the fuck not. That’s a real classy motherfucker right here.) The atrocities committed upon my poor brother and I were too great to involve anyone else in; we had to avenge ourselves. (Yeah, I mean of course if there’s anyone who have to get involved, I don’t know who. Supporting characters and adults are virtually useless in creepypastas, after all.) We soon formulated macabre, yet fitting plan for sweet revenge.

(*in dull tone* I hope every single one of these characters die.)

My brother was very interested into medieval torture devices (How perfectly edgy, I’m sure we won’t have any of that stuff popping up in that story later!............Right? Dumbasses?). Not just Iron Maidens and such, but really weird shit. There was this one that stuck out particularly in his mind. Apparently the Egyptians had made this pear shaped device which entered the nose and split the head open. Since our parents weren’t exactly giving us migraines (like how this headache-induced story is going to do to me), my brother invented a device that would exact (and exceed) the pain they had placed upon us. (Excellent, not only we have foreshadowed incest already, and not only the “action” part fucking comes here, but now we also sadism popping in the mix. So, let’s stop for a bit, and pull out the fucking paraphilia checklist!)

(Incest? CHECK!

'''Force-feeding? CHECK!'''

'''Waterboarding? CHECK!'''

'''Anal mutilation? CHECK!'''

'''Sadism? FUCKING CHECK!'''

Great, now five already on the list, now can’t wait to see what pops up here in the future.)

It had a seven inch drill that protruded out of the front of the device. Stemming from the base of the drill were four slim, turned out fish hooks. It was powered by two handles. When you cranked the first one, the drill digs deep into whatever your intended target is. Once the drill is inside, you crank the second handle. This is definitely the most enjoyable part. The fishhooks spread out in their four respective directions, tearing whatever the drill went inside open. (That description perfectly describes what is going on in the author’s head. Seriously, if you’re really into ANYTHING like that, you need to seek help! And I’ll admit that I do have a fetish, but at least you can guarantee it’s not as insane as whatever this writer has in his mind!)

After two Pepsis and some hugs and tears, we knew exactly what we were going to do. Armed with the device and two duffel bags full of (heroin… I MEAN) clothes, we headed downstairs to turn our gory fantasy into an even gorier reality. (And now we don’t just have sadism, but also gore into the mix, just look how blatant that was! PARAPHILIA COUNT: 6)

As usual, our father was passed out drunk on the couch. Our mother wouldn’t be coming in for her late-night snack for another hour so we had all the time for vengeance we needed. (Make sure to call her by for a snack once in a while while you’re doing your “business”!) Slowly, my brother pulled down our dad’s pants and underwear. (Fucking excellent, be sure to tear down his ass the same way that your ass did, because my sanity might as well be tearing itself down slowly because of this fucking story.) I had the relatively daunting task of spreading his cheeks open as my brother put the contraption in place. (Great, now let watch as this one-dimensional excuse for an abusive father get tortured violently, because that’s the part we waited for, right?)

Gleefully, he cranked the drill end past his anus and well into his rectum. (Right on schedule!) By now he was trying to scream (How the fuck was he screaming now if he didn’t even woke up yet?), but I had gagged him when we found him (I was pretty strong for a girl my age (And I need to know that because?)). A stream of brown-red blood now ran down past his legs. (You know, if there were two words to describe this story, it would be “bloody shit.” Get it? Because this story is gory as a typical snuff flim, and this story is shit?............No? Well fucking then.) Knowing that he had caused much more pain to me than to him, my brother let me crank the second handle. He attempted to scream the loudest now, begging for mercy once I twitched the handle, the mechanical gears signaling part two of his unbearable pain. (Don’t forget to mention that the drill penetrated him and splattered his shit all over the room!) Before I really even started the damage, I asked him this question:

“Where was our mercy? What breaks did you give us? You punished us for doing nothing, and now we’re punishing you for causing this pain.” (I’m sorry but it looks like this story- No, actually, that’s too kind. THIS pile of shit REALLY reminds me badly of Laura, Thomas and Clockwork, with the hatred and the gory execution from the former, and the shitty archetypes and insanity from the second, and the entire fucking plot of the latter, combined messily then cranked up to eleven. This story’s attempts at shock value is so amazingly pathetic, that this pasta has to be basically the shitpasta equivalent of The Poughkeepsie Tapes without whatever the fuck in it is appealing. Honestly, though, you really need to seek help, or what you will end up with is this pile of puke. For real.)

I tugged it back a little to settle the fishhooks in there. The blood now ran in a greater quantity and was noticeably redder (Such great detail, now next coming up will describe how his piss is somehow paler than normal!). The fishhooks were audibly tearing his innards apart, breaking he had any resolve (And how wonderful, I can’t even fucking understand what the writer is supposed to be saying because of how crappily worded this sentence is!) he may have had after the initial penetration. His organs contrasted vibrantly to the stained corduroy couch. His stomach split, his acid burning a puddle in the couch.

I embraced my brother and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek to congratulate him. All of a sudden, something took over me. Something inside. One kiss turned to two and then three. (And that’s where the incest part comes in! Don’t you just love how blatant this story is coming off?) We pushed aside our father's bloody, festering corpse to make hot, sweet spontaneous love on the same couch we had committed murder on. (Okay, this may be a cheap shot but I have to take it. That’s basically just fucking humiliation I tell ya what, I mean if killing your fucking father together only before deciding to make out on the same location the few seconds later isn’t considered humiliation, I don’t know what else to say. PARAPHILIA COUNT: 7) When we did it, I felt safe. I felt comforted. I felt truly alive.

He held me for a few moments after. It was a tender moment of sibling love that I cherished from that day forward. We had fought on occasion, but now we had little cause for quarrels of importance. (Wow, adding to the shitty capitalization at the first paragraph, then managing to fail at explanation, not before misusing basic fucking punctuation, then after that even managed to fail at wording a single fucking sentence, now we have the most terrible pacing ever that would lose to a one-legged turtle! Do you notice a pattern here? IT’S COMING ALL BACK TOGETHER, HOLY FUCK!) Our deeply rooted and deeply passionate love for each other and revenge pushed aside any former reservations as we silently crept into our mother’s room. (With the way this shitty story is written, who said that you wouldn’t fucking decide to go murder your mom next?)

She was fast asleep - or so it seemed. Her Oxycontins(, some Lortabs, crush it up! Hit the blunt, hit the blunt. Crush it up!) were split on her nightstand; her pill addiction may have gotten the best of her. (Wait, now the mother just died from overdosing on her pills due to her addiction, which is never mentioned anywhere in this fucking travesty of a story?..................... I stopped trying to make sense of this shit.) I checked her pulse. Dead. The conclusion that my brother and I came to is that she had drugged herself to death when she heard our father’s (special containment) procedure(s) going on in the other room. The craven whore didn’t even escape because she knew we’d find her. (AND are you fucking serious with this creepypasta logic now? Now analyzing the logic fallacy here, why couldn’t her mother try to call the police except if this family’s house is so broke they can’t even afford fucking gadgets? Or, how about fucking kicking the window open, jump out of it then run away to a nearest police station and shelter in a witness protection program? Either A: The mother is so stupid she didn’t realize she could do that, or B: THIS STORY IS A FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!!!!) Taking our bags, my brother and I set up shop in a nearby abandoned warehouse.

We knew we would have to move from place to place. (Then what’s the fucking point of setting up a shop in the abandoned warehouse? Are you just gonna sell places you stole or what?) Seeing that we were now fugitives, there was no home we could go to. My brother had called three of his friends over to discuss a proposal with me that he thought I’d like. Remember when I mentioned my brother and I’s renewed purpose? Our blinding dawn? It is about to unfold. (Hmmm, I wonder how the meeting will go out…

Brother: Here upon this table, I have called all of you three to discuss a PRETTY big event with my sister today…

Friend #1: Get on with it, I’m busy, you dumbass.

'''Sister: HEY! Don’t insult him like that!'''

Friend #2: I don’t care, just get on with the thing.

'''Brother: Okay, whatever you fucks. So, here my sister will describe our plans for the future.'''

Friend #3: No shit, I’d rather be in school playing soccer all day but whatever.

'''Sister: OK, so we’ve just killed our dad and made our mom killed herself because they ripped our butts off, and now we have to do the same to EVERY SINGLE INNOCENT CHILDREN in the world. Do any of you agree with this plan?'''

 * All of the brother’s friends promptly backed away, scared, before promptly running out of the conference room after*

Brother: …Fucking bastards.)

My brother’s friends already had to leave (their things) behind their lives at home and at school behind for this cause (And seriously, THEY REALLY FUCKING AGREED WITH THAT PLAN FOR FUCK’S SAKE?!?!). He suggested that as a result of our mother’s cowardly escape from seemingly inevitable agony, we form a society that exacts this agony unto all others. (...Is the writer fucking serious? Not only just because of their mom’s suicide sparks a fucking idea to the jackasses to decide to kill everyone in the world, they became the worst archetypes of Mary Sues, for fucking real?) I readily agreed, and now for our purpose and current whereabouts. (OK, so to clear it up, after these dumbasses of siblings got abused repeatedly by their parents, not only they decided to fuck up their father with a torture machine which they somehow invented, BUT THEY DECIDED TO START A FUCKING SECRET SOCIETY ENTIRELY DEDICATED TO TORTURING STUDENTS. A. FUCKING. SECRET. SOCIETY. This is just like in the second part of Sonic.exe where a cult is started around Sonic.exe under his pseudonym “X,” though this takes this up to a new fucking level of nonsense. Thank fuck this story is almost over though, but now we have to read the description about their half-assed secret society. Fuckdammit.)

We are the splitters. (Of course you are you contractual idiots, I don’t know what else would you be.) We know the average college or high school student will be unsuspecting enough to where they won’t commit suicide out of fear. (Um, that’s because some of them may be exclusively trained in hand-to-hand combat, act intelligently during a dangerous situation, owns a bunch of strong dogs or is a crazy gunnut? If you EVER run into one of these, then you’re fucked and you deserve it, you stupid pieces of shit.) Because of our mother’s actions, we want to ensure that everyone feels the pain we have. (And for fuck’s sake, did the dumbass author already forgot that the MAIN reason that the siblings fucking murdered their father was because, I don’t know, HE FUCKING ABUSED THEM?!?! Also, about that reason, I’ve been a victim of bullying before, but here’s a better solution: why don’t they just vent their rage by playing Grand Theft Auto instead, or write about it on the internet? Instead of fucking repeating the same thing which just basically continues the cycle of bullshit forever. Right, because this story fucking sucks ass.) Our numbers eventually snowballed, and now this unit is about ten members strong.

(The central splitters unit, including the siblings and the friends: 15 members

THE ENTIRE FUCKING CHILDREN POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES ITSELF: 74.2 MILLION!

Good luck, you’ll need it!)

Why do I say this unit? We are based in rural Ohio and serve as leadership for our other chapters. (Yeah, right, thanks for telling us the location, jackass, because soon you’ll be saying hello to our friendly S.W.A.T agents!) We currently have chapters in twenty eight states and fifty nine cities. Each night we take two or three, bestowing ineffable anguish upon them in the process. Based on the range of each unit’s forces, you more than likely are the next, reader. (Yeah, I live in Thailand anyways, good luck trying to get to me, you fuckass)

Prepare to be split. (Well… fucking then, who gives a fuck either. END OF THIS SHITTY STORY!

'''OK, so that was “Splitters,” and, IT’S AWFUL!!!! Not a single moment in this story even remotely comes close to being good. This “story,” if you can even call it that, is filled to the brim with extremely one-dimensional archetypes of archetypes, references to seven different fucking paraphilias thrown up willy-nilly, at least each writing error splattered in different sections of the story, and graphic scenes of rectal torture and incest. Plus, adding to that, this story somehow MANAGES to be amazingly terrible with almost no clichés, and it probably doesn’t even deserve a chance in the Trollpasta Wiki! So, let’s get on to the ratings:'''

Scare Factor: 2/10 (This story is pretty much an archetype of a snuff film that only 7-year-olds would get shocked by)

Plot: 1/10 (As mentioned earlier, the plot is basically just Laura, Thomas and Clockwork messily combined)

Writing: 3/10 (There ARE various writing errors in this story but at least Blood Whistle takes the cake for the worst)

Originality: 1/10 (Again, this story is a typical snuff film, filled with Mary Sues and one-dimensional characters)

Logic: 2/10 (A lot of things makes no sense.)

Overall: 1/10 (Absolute Shit)

'''So, that’s all pretty much what I have to say about this horrid pile of puke. And now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go get my shotgun to defend myself because I had the feeling that one of these so-called “splitters” would probably start hunting me down after tearing apart this terrible excuse for a writer that people has the nerve to call a fucking “creepypasta”! I’m the Trollpasta Critic, and I’m always watching you-'''

 * all lights in the room promptly turns off.*

TTPG: Well shit, why does it HAS to be this time?!

 * TTPG starts walking over from his bedroom to his basement to get to the power circuits to get the power back on*

TTPG: That’s kind of weird, the switches are still on so how could it possibly-

 * TTPG turns to the door to the basement he came from to see a female teenager in a school outfit, holding a whip and a seven inch drill, who grinned crazily after being noticed*

TTPG: SHIT!

''' * TTPG quickly rolls over to the side after the psychotic teen charged at him with her drill. He grabs his nearby shotgun on the wall of the basement, then cocked the gun and shot the girl, causing her to fall onto the ground. TTPG walked over to her, his shotgun still up.*'''

'''TTPG: Who are you? How many of YOU are there?!'''

''' * Another psychotic teen walked into the basement with a fishing rod. He walked to the general direction of TTPG, wagging his fishing rod crazily. TTPG was quick to react and quickly shot him dead.*'''

'''TTPG: There’s still four more rounds in this magazine. Watch out, motherfuckers!'''

''' * TTPG gets out of the basement and starts patrolling around his living room, in which he later spots another bloodied teen girl holding a saw. TTPG tried to shoot her, but then she dodges out of the way, ran and slashed his chest with the saw, fortunately the injury wasn’t very severe and TTPG was able to shoot her back quickly, before running to the kitchen to hide. He held his chest for a few seconds, before looking back at the living room.*'''

'''TTPG: Yeah, she’s fucking dead. Let’s check upstairs.'''

 * TTPG held his shotgun up and started slowly walking upstairs to his bedroom.*

''' * A heavily clothed boy was searching on TTPG’s computer specifically on his Trollpasta Critic series for some reason. It was until he finally found the review on Blood Whistle.*'''

'Splitter: Hm… This is definitely contraband. Must remove for the sake of our creator...'

''' * TTPG walks in his bedroom to see the splitter agent on his computer. He raises up his shotgun and shoots him dead. TTPG then walks over to his computer, kicks the dead corpse down and starts inspecting what was done on his computer*'''

'''TTPG: Hmm, what is this search history? “Mario Kart 64: Driven”? “Sweets”? “Amnesia”? “Hell’s Gallery” and “Blood Whistle”- BUT, why would you send someone to break into your house just to search so- Oh, it’s Dubiousdugong. No shit, I don’t fucking believe this shit, no fucking shit. Oh wait, actually Dubiousdugong is a writer who likes to plagiarize other stories and freaks out when getting called out for it, and got banned from CPW as a result. That’s just fucking funny. Hahaha.'''

''' * The same female splitter from the basement sneakily walked into TTPG’s room with the seven inch drill. She raised the drill up and tries to stab TTPG with it, when suddenly an explosive dildo flew from the ceiling and hit the splitter, causing her to scream repeatedly in pain. TTPG got surprised and quickly turned around to see the splitter screaming on the floor on fire until she died. TTPG looked in disbelief, before he heard a familiar voice coming from his computer. A big, red eye on a black screen was present on his computer.*'''

'The Mind: It’s been a pleasure, my old friend. But I can’t let you die just yet. I still got plans for you.'

'''TTPG: …WTF?!?! How the fuck did you come back again?'''

'The Mind: Well, I have come to take my revenge against you for testing my explosion against shitty stories. Are there shitty stories that even you could fear? Stories about Minecraft and Touhou? Could it be that these shitty stories are called Minecraft Satan Edition and Touhou 14?'

 * The two following shitty stories that are mentioned shows up on the computer screen, as TTPG just stares at the screen in silence*

TTPG: And what if I just don’t read them?

'The Mind: You were! You can’t help yourself. You face the dark too long, now you’re drawn to it. It is part of you now. Don’t fight it, embrace it. Because it will never, go, away…'

TTPG: Well, fuck.)

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