DLClayMongoose

For me, the best ones were the 90’s and early 2000’s ads. Always wanted to be one of the babies in them, they looked so fun.

Basically involves holding it, accidents, and implied accidents. Got any examples? Here’s a few good ones.

A lot of Tykables and ABU lines are what I tend to use.

Hypothetically, what if it were a slice-of-life story with an elementary-aged protagonist who still has a lot of “baby” in him/her that was never outgrown?

Down the chute. *Honk! Honk!*

I’d say I’m about 85%-90% DL, but I do love diapers with babyish prints on them. Dunno why… is anyone else like that?

PART 3 Police Department, Oxford, Mississippi. Janet’s Mercedes pulled up alongside Pam’s Carolla in the station’s parking lot. Pam got out and walked around. “Thanks,” she said, “you really helped me out a lot with that digging you did.” “You were looking for that Vornoff man?” asked Janet. “If he’s down there,” Pam answered, “you definitely have a monster.” “Then up to the lake,” Janet said, resolute. “No,” said Pam, “not without me. You don’t have anything to defend yourself with!” “Ms. Sato—!” Pam didn’t back down. “Ms. Lawton,” she said, “some of the victims had rifles and they didn’t survive. You’re sunk if you bump into that thing, whatever it is.” Janet wasn’t going to give either. “I’m going to prove to Dick and all of them once and for all that I’m not crazy. I understand your concerns, but I have to do this.” “Don’t you see how bad it’s clouding up?” said Pam, indicating the souring sky. “What are you going to do when it starts raining? HEY!” Janet took off. Pam tried to chase the car down on foot, but it turned onto the street and accelerated. “You moron…” Inside… In the time since Janet and Pam left the office to try to prod the Lake Marsh case along, Robbins’ office found itself playing host to yet another guest, one whose appearance and accent would have made him the all-time Leon Trotsky lookalike champion. His tweed cap, gloves, and briefcase rested at the edge of the captain’s desk, easily reachable. Craig once again entered, after being summoned once more. Robbins immediately introduced the visitor. “Prof. Vladimir Strowsky, Lt. Craig.” The two men shook hands and Craig took a seat opposite the foreigner. “What’s it all about, captain?” the officer asked. “I’ll let Prof. Strowsky tell you.” “Lt. Craig,” Strowsky began, “have you perhaps heard of Loch Ness?” “It’s a lake in Scotland, isn’t it?” the cop asked. The professor nodded. “Then perhaps you’ve heard of the Loch Ness Monster?” “Vaguely.” “A few years ago,” Strowsky explained, “I was called in by the British police to investigate the appearance of a monster in Loch Ness, with a thought this was some leftover creature of a bygone age. I am considered an authority on the subject of prehistoric monsters. I must admit my investigation failed to get the desired results. I never saw the Loch Ness Monster myself, but others have. There are sworn statements.” “Is it your theory that, perhaps, the Loch Ness Monster crossed the ocean to the swamp?” The professor chuckled at what Craig was thinking. “I consider that possibility extremely remote,” he said. “However, the stories bear certain similarities in that there are so many varied descriptions of this so-called monster—perhaps, with my knowledge of such things, and of course your permission, I could shed some light on this mystery. This is the reason for my presence here.” Robbins still didn’t budge. “Well, the police don’t believe in monsters… What do you think, Dick?” “They’re no denying that we need some kind of help,” Craig admitted. He then faced the visitor. “Will you keep your findings quiet for the time being?” He really didn’t want to be badgered by Janet again. Strowsky agreed. “And you wouldn’t mind a little company?” “What do you mean ‘company’?” asked the professor. “Lt. Craig,” Robbins clarified. “At times, the police are quite useful.” “I’d be most happy to have Lt. Craig’s assistance.” He turned and asked the cop “How soon can you be ready to leave for Lake Marsh?” “I’m ready.” Strowsky smiled. “I suggest we wait until morning. There seemed to be a storm brewing when I came in… and it’s so close to nightfall.” “It’s only at night when this so-called monster attacks,” the captain reminded them. “Undoubtedly true,” said Strowsky, “but the preliminary investigation should take place in daylight. The night, the monster, all in due time.” “Sounds logical,” said Robbins. “Whatever you say,” said Craig. “Now,” Strowsky said, clearing his throat, “since I arrived in town only this afternoon… if you’ll excuse me, I should like to return to my hotel. The three men made an appointment to meet again in the office at 10:00 the following morning. That way, Strowsky would have plenty of daylight. The professor took his gloves and briefcase and left. Craig began to leave as well. “Got a date?” Robbins asked, noticing the attempted exit. “What do you think?” asked the lieutenant. “I’d say you don’t.” “I don’t?” “A girl from her office called not too long ago,” Robbins explained. “Said Janet has a bad headache or something.” Craig could see through that excuse as if it were cellophane. “If she’s gone to Lake Marsh, I’ll take her across my knee if it’s the last thing I ever do!” “It probably would be,” Robbins chuckled. “Watch him, Dick,” he told the cop as the latter started out the office again. “Strowsky?” “Just a hunch. Watch him.” Later… Another evening, another storm. After the dismissive treatment her fiancée and his boss gave her earlier, Janet was in no mood to listen to Pam’s warnings. She was going to prove that her swamp monster was real. Rummaging through the files revealed that, contrary to the rumors that the old Willows place had been left derelict, a man by the name of Vornoff had acquired the property about seven years ago. A strong wind whipped up and it began to drizzle; the precipitation was far weaker than the previous night’s downpour, but the local weather was predicting it to get stronger. Foreboding clouds gathered down the road; a bolt of lightning bounced from the summit of one mountain of vapor to another, like a snake jump tree branch to tree branch. A dirt road came up on her left. Janet slowed down, gave a signal, and turned. The road was rugged with potholes and the previous night’s rainfall had softened the ground significantly. This saturation eventually saw the Mercedes bogged down. Janet tried everything she could to get the car free—giving it the gas, shifting to reverse… nothing budged the vehicle. All the young journo could do was continue toward the old Willows place on foot. She pulled the hood of her raincoat over the angora beret she was wearing, locked the car, got out, and pushed forward. A good three minutes later, a stream of lighting came down on a nearby gum, splitting the trunk in two. Janet tried to dive out of the way, but to no avail. Soon, everything went from a daze, to a dark blur, and then black. Elsewhere… “You said a mouthful, Macho Bunny.” Pam had rented a room at a Super 8 after leaving the police station. She sat on her knees between the two beds—elbows on the mattress, propping her head up—carrying a conversation with her toy as she unloaded into her Cushies. “God, I hope she lasts the night.” Macho Bunny was allotted another chance to “talk”. Nothing was uttered, so his own filled in the blanks of him. Finishing up, Pam rose up and flung herself on the bed. “Macho Bunny, you know I don’t go potty in my diaper around Mom,” she said to the toy. “It’s the same reason I don’t let her see you.” Her eyes met the unblinking “tough guy” eyes and let him have his “turn”. “Yeah, I have had her on my mind a lot lately,” she admitted. “I don’t get it. There’s hundreds of miles between us, but… I don’t know. I hear her clear as day.” The phone went off. The ringtone that played was the one she’d assigned to Agent Huggies: “Let’s make a wish! Oo-oo-ooh! Make it come true! Singin’ along with us--!” “Hey, Big H.! Doing okay?” “Pretty much, kid,” said the man on the other end. “How did that soap opera you were subjected to turn out?” “The cops were no help and lover-girl and I had to do their job for them,” she explained. “Then she ran off to the damn lake to find that monster Baldwin notified me about.” “God!” exclaimed Huggies. “Storm’s rolling in, too,” Pam added. “Now that I know where that place is that Vornoff’s hiding is, I’ll strike out for it at first light. How are things over in Rome?” “Getting ready to turn in,” said Huggies. “Big day tomorrow. Data suggested a werebeast, but things aren’t adding up. Full moon’s not gonna be for another week, but there’s been another death last night.” “Weather’s nuts over here,” said Pam, in reference to the rolling thunder outside. “Probably something to the stories about nuke tests over by the border distorting the atmosphere.” “It’s not even 6:00PM yet where you are, right?” “Nope,” she confirmed. “Gonna send out for some Chinese before things get too nasty.” “Well, have fun tomorrow,” said the other agent. “You got plenty of ammo?” “Yep!” “Diapers?” “Mm-hmm.” “Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Huggies told her. “How about you?” asked Pam. “Big check on both counts,” he confirmed. “Whelp, I’d better go. I’ll ring you up if something comes up. See ya, Little P.!” “Macho Bunny says ‘Nite-nite’!” Huggies chuckled. “Tell him I said thanks.” He hung up. “Well, I’m gonna go get supper,” Pam told her toy. “We’ll eat and watch some Littl’ Bits.” A second of silence followed. “I’ll change after we eat,” she said, pulling a pair of blue jeans over her recently-stinkied diaper. “I’m sure the place has a drive-thru.” END OF PART 3

But what? I’m on sabbatical from Gunpla building.

I can’t be happy for some reason. My mother knows about my DLism and says it’s wrong because diapers are “for incontinent people”. As much as I respect her opinion, it’s something I can’t just get rid of. As such, I’be tried doing stuff for other *BDLs. Yet I barely have any chance of doing anything creative. Right now, I’m in a state where I just go to work, come home, eat, and go to bed. Even when I do make something, it feels like I feel like I’m a pariah here. I don’t know if it’s because I have the wrong politics or beliefs or what, but it seems like nobody wants to bother with me. I’m a terrible artist, and more of a writer anyway, but even in the case of the latter, it feels like nobody gives a crap about what I produce. This came abundantly clear in 2016, when two YouTubers sicked their fans onto my old Deviantart and I got no support. Oftentimes, I keep thinking “What’s the point?” when it comes to telling the stories and stuff I want to tell. I draw, nobody looks. I write, nobody reads. I speak, nobody listens. It’s futile to try.

In case you ask, you can read what I have thus far here: It’s an homage to old monster movies with bits of CASTLEVANIA, CONTRA, and WOLFENSTEIN thrown into the mix, with a side of Pampery goodness! This thread is mainly for ideas and suggestions for this series. First off… 1. What if the main villain kills off this obnoxious minor character who’s basically a Lisa Simpson/Brian Griffin activist type times fifty and uses their blood and corpse for his own ends, the latter being for building reanimated patchwork creatures, Frankenstein-style?

PART 2 Police Department, Oxford, Mississippi. During situations like what she was about to go through, Pam as proper and professional as any woman her age could look, scarcely any clue of what she was like at the motel the night before (though she did have her Cushies on under her dress). Minutes inside the department, the ambience of a young rookie interrogating someone filled the air. “What’s your name?” the young rookie asked the dirty-looking tramp seated before his desk. “JoHN DOe…” the man mumbled, clearly full of beer so early in the morning. He held a lit cigarette in his right hand and sort of waved it around. “Don’t be cute,” he told him. “What’s your name?” “YOu fiNd ouT!” “Hey, watch the cigarette, you? What were you doing in the swamp?” “WHat’s it To ya?” From his change in tone, it sounded like a fight was about to start. “That’ll be enough of that!” Another voice chimed in. A minute later, Pam watched as a sloppily-dressed middle-aged White guy was dragged out of the room by a younger Black officer, who restrained the former in a chokehold. The tramp was shouting so hard, the young lady could smell the booze in his breath a yard away. “NO TANK TOWN JAIL CAN HOLD ME! I’LL BE OUTTA THIS RAT TRAP IN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!” “That’s what you think,” the rookie shot back, “vagrancy’s worth seventy-two. Take him downstairs, Baker.” Pam approached the young cop’s desk, turning her head once more to watch the drunkard writhe as he was dragged off and back to the clerk. “Officer, er, Kelton?” she read off of his nametag. “I am here to speak with Captain Robbins. I have an appointment with him this morning.” “Got an ID?” asked the officer. Pam held up her own badge: it had her photo and info, the latter printed over the image of a single eye, wreathed in feathered wings. “Pamela Sato, SERAPH.” Kelton didn’t look convinced. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” he chuckled, as he stood up and grabbed a folded newspaper nearby. He led her to a door with a glass window, marked “CAPTAIN TOM ROBBINS, HOMICIDE” and knocked on it. “Come in,” the man on the other side beckoned. He was in the same age range as that drunk from earlier, but lacked one finger and was playing with a small parakeet. Leading Pam in, Kelton pointed at her with a thumb. “Captain, this lady claims to be part of some organ—!” “I’m Pamela Sato, I work for SERAPH,” she said. Robbins put his little bird on the leg of his reading glasses and began to sing them gently. “Yes, I was informed by your boss that you would be coming.” “This has to do with the Lake Marsh case, right?” asked Pam. “Oh! I almost forgot,” Kelton announced suddenly, pulling a newspaper from under his armpit and putting it on his desk. “Here’s the late edition, Captain. Look, how about letting me work on this case?” “Get back to your desk,” said Robbins. “Yes, sir,” Kelton said, turning to leave with the demeanor of a scolded child. “Kelton.” The rookie turned around, spirits lifted, hoping he’d be doing something soon. “Yes, sir?” “I told the newsboy to bring the paper in himself,” said Robbins, sternly. “Y-Yes, sir, but if you ask me—!” “I didn’t.” The man’s face melted to defeat once more and he turned to leave. “Kelton?” Once more, Kelton lit up “Yes, sir?” “Where’s Lieutenant Craig?” the captain asked, bringing his swinging to a halt. “In his office, I think,” said Kelton. “Send him in.” “Yes, sir.” Kelton left, feeling stymied. Pam found it hard not to laugh after the barrage of “Yes, sir”s and the way the young cop was trying to scratch his way up the ladder. “Tenderfoot, I take it?” “Indeed,” said Robbins, standing the parakeet on his desk. Putting on his reading glasses, he moved over to the water cooler with a glass and filled it up. “I have to admit, I’m still kinda new at this,” she admitted. “Plus, formalism’s never been my thing." Robbins perched the bird on the rim of the glass and it began to drink. The captain sat down and looked at the headline and read it aloud: “Monster Takes Two!” “I had a feeling,” said Pam. “My boss sent me down here over this monster business, under the assumption that it would lead to our real quarry.” A tall young man entered the office, maybe about five years older than Kelton, based on appearance. “Hello, Captain.” “Hi, Dick,” Robbins greeted his subordinate. “One thing about birds,” he said, turning to his parakeet, still perched on the glass, “they never give anybody any trouble… Oh! Ms. Sato, this is Lieutenant Craig. Dick, this is Pamela Sato, she’s with, uh…” “SERAPH,” she said, shaking the lieutenant’s hand. “I take it you’ve seen the news lately.” “Is there anyone who hasn’t?” asked Craig. “Your girlfriend writes a good story,” said Robbins. “She thinks so,” said Craig. “We got anything new?” “No.” “So, you fellas had twelve disappearances in the same place and nothing to go on?” Pam asked. “And nothing this time, either,” Robbins replied. Craig shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Spent so much time in that swamp lately, I think I’m growing webbed feet…” Pam noticed two items on a nearby table: a camo hat and a rifle. She sniffed the breach. “This gun went off recently,” she noted. “Been fired a lot of times recently,” Robbins told her. “A little while ago, Betty Long identified it as belonging to her husband Jake. As for the hat, she recognized it as being that of Lafe MacCrea, his hunting buddy. Last evening, the two men went up to hunt around Lake Marsh—never returned.” Craig studied the hat. It had a lot of muck on it. “The boys found it washed up on the edge of the lake,” said Robbins. “And the rifle?” asked Craig. “Same place, about a mile from the old Willows place,” confirmed the captain. Craig put the hat back down. “Think there’s anything to those news stories?” “Your girlfriend does.” “What about you?” asked Pam. Robbins took his reading glasses off and stared his guest square in the face. “Ms. Sato,” he said, “We’re the police. The police don’t believe in monsters. Facts are our business—facts and only facts—and don’t you forget it!” Pam smirked. She knew better. The mood was snapped in two by the sound of struggle just outside. The door was thrown open, and in came a beautiful lady, perhaps two or three years older than Pam, with Kelton trying to drag her away by her right arm. “Tell this junior G-Man to let me go!” “I’m tellin’ ya Captain Robbins ain’t seeing nobody today!” Kelton grunted. “Be a good girl, Miss Lawton and go—!” “Let her go, Kelton,” Robbins ordered. The ever-gung-ho rookie quickly released his grip. “Just as you say captain.” He left the office sheepishly. “I half-expected another ‘yes, sir’!” Pam quipped under her breath. The woman leaned against the bookcase, with one fist on her hip. “It used to be a journo could get information around here,” she griped. “Why, Ms. Lawton, what ever in the world do you mean?” Robbins said, feigning surprise. She scoffed. “Now he makes like a comedian!” She looked at the lieutenant, eyes fixed on him. “Dick Craig, I don’t put much stock in the future success of our married life if already you’re keeping secrets from me… You’ve been dodging me all day.” “Where did you get an idea like that?” Craig asked. “You mean you haven’t been dodging me?” “Of course!” “And all those times I called today and Kelton said your line was busy—it really was?” Craig nodded. The reporter cracked a smile. “Okay, let’s have the story on Lake Marsh… and the monster.” No response from either man: Craig turned from her and Robbins started looking at the paper. “I thought so,” the journo said. “There’s no such thing as monsters,” said the captain. “We’re in the twen—!” “Don’t count on it,” said Ms. Lawton. “The monsters, I mean.” “Now Janet…” “Don’t you ‘Now Janet’ me, Dick.” Pam was not in the mood to pay audience to a bickering couple over the state of their engagement. Amid the back-and-forth between Craig and Janet over the ring (and Robbins chiming in from time to time), she whipped out her phone and checked her messages. Her senior, codenamed “Huggies” had fired off a DM to her: About to come down in Rome. Potential Gorgolov connection according to Baldwin. How are things in America? Pam acted a little coy in her reply: Gorgy lead over here, too, supposedly. Wanna trade spots? A cop and his girlfriend are squabbling over an engagement ring right now. Huggies just gave a LOL in response. Finally, Janet got to what Pam wanted: “Now what about the monster story?” “It’s all your story,” Robbins replied. “You wrote it and you’re stuck with it. There’s no such things as monsters.” Pam finally spoke up. “On the contrary, captain,” she said, “monsters are pretty much SERAPH’s bread and butter. The Lake Marsh vanishings got me assigned down here.” Robbins looked at Pam with a raised eyebrow. “You must be joking.” “SERAPH is the foremost organization in combating and documenting such things,” she explained. “Many times, these monsters tend to be artificially-created ones, sometimes from pure humans. Many times, it’s because of some madman with a lust for power and fame going Frankenstein’.” “Going Frankenstein?” “In my line of work, we use that term for scientific overreach,” Pam elaborated. “Henry Frankenstein, in the late 1790’s…” “Ms. Sato,” said Robbins, “Dr. Frankenstein was just a legend.” “You’d say the same about Dracula,” she went on. “But that didn’t stop somebody from making off with his skeleton the other night…” “Are you talking about the theft at that British gimmick museum?” “I thought the remains were fake, too,” she explained. “Mr. Baldwin assured me they were the real deal… and he’s NEVER wrong. I think we need to throw a bone to Ms. Lawton here (forgive the pun). If there’s any truth at all to these monster reports coming out of Lake Marsh, I should find the man I’m looking for.” “Ms. Sato,” the captain said, exasperated, “you and Ms. Lawton may not believe me, but you two got all the story there is.” “You’re right,” said Janet, cross, “I don’t believe it.” “Nevertheless, it’s the truth,” Robbins said, weary of it all. “Except for the monster—a figment of your very vivid imagination—you’ve got nothing more to go on than what’s in your paper!” “Twelve people went down in the same place,” Pam countered. “Haven’t you checked around that old Willows place or whatever it is?” “We’re doing the very best we can, Ms. Sato,” Robbins firmly told her. “We have to deal with facts—evidence! The men disappearing—there’s a lot of quicksand out there—!” “Not quicksand and alligators again!” Janet groaned. “Looks like I’ve hit a dead end around here—if you boys want to play a game of secrets, then all I’ve got to do is drive up to Lake Marsh myself!” “Over my dead body!” Craig said, threateningly. Janet only playfully fingered her lover’s lapel, saying “That can be arranged.” “I might as well go with you,” said Pam. “Not getting anywhere with these two.” The women left, Pam closing the door behind her. Robbins shook his head. “She’s just crazy enough to do what she says,” he told Craig. “You know what, Captain? I believe you’re right.” Transylvania An ancient castle stood atop a ridge at the Borgo Pass. For centuries, the peasants of the Carpathian Mountains refused to go near its vicinity out of a fear that it was a vampire dwelling and that the surrounding land was bewitched. The grim edifice, formerly known as Castle Dracula, had been left derelict since its namesake purchased Carfax Abbey in London and never returned. Two world wars came and went and the derelict fortress would find itself behind the Iron Curtain for nearly half a century. At some point, well over a century after the Count sailed to Britain aboard the Scandinavian schooner Vesta, it gained a new owner: Dr. Vsevolod Feliksovich Gorgolov. For the most part, the interior of the castle remained unchanged, with the exception of electricity and other modern tweaks. An oak table with six places stood in a white room, beneath a vaulted ceiling. Gorgolov was seated at the head of the table, a man in his upper-sixties, wearing a blue house robe, whose meal wasn’t as stately as the castle would have been in its heyday: vegetable soup with a side of buckwheat kasha. A remote sat next to the plate, allowing him to change the channels on the ten-foot-wide monitor mounted on the wall before him: it wasn’t for entertainment, but allowed him access to the caves beneath the castle, now a makeshift munitions plant. The screen showed assembling arms assembling an SU-100, a mobile anti-tank gun used on the Eastern Front during WWII which later fell into the hands of various Second World militaries. While a number of these dinosaurs were still in service, the doctor was watching the construction of a brand new one in the bowels of the mountain. Footsteps approached from behind. A much younger woman with short red hair came up to him. “Igor, Fritz, and Boris have returned from London, doctor,” she said. “Were they successful in obtaining the Count’s remains?” “Yes, sir,” she confirmed. Gorgolov changed the channel to a different part of the complex. An Mi-24 “Hind” gunship touched down onto a helipad erected just outside the castle walls. This prompted him to stand up, take his cane, and leave the table. He walked with a limp in his left foot, so the support was needed. The assistant left with him. “Do we have any status updates, Helga?” the man asked. The lady related the current data, though it was brief. The foundries had made half a dozen reproductions of T-55’s and work had commenced on replicating ASU-57 tankettes. About forty volunteers, partially consisting of disenfranchised college kids from the United States and Canada, were being shipped over for training—though a number had cut their teeth in various riots since 2010. Gorgolov scowled at the news, he knew their type. “More lunatics from a bourgeois background fantasizing that they'd be on the upper rungs of the Party,” he said coldly. “In the old days, they'd be sent to an asylum.” “I understand, doctor,” said Helga, “but they all firmly reject capitalism.” That wasn’t enough for him. “Perhaps even if they’re a waste in their current state, I can still make good use of them one way or another!” “But with Dr. Vornoff severing ties…!” “We won’t need Eric Lvovich to help build our army,” Gorgolov said, undeterred. “I’ve other methods which have already proven effective. Now that we have Dracula’s remains…” “Are we certain the skeleton really is Dracula’s?” Helga asked. “He went to London in 1895, where Professor Abraham Van Helsing hunted him down and drove a stake through his heart. Dracula’s body was stolen the same night and set on fire by an anonymous party. The skeleton was all that remained, but it was identified as being the Count’s by the ring on his left hand. There is no mistake!” Finally outside, they approached the Hind. A little man and a hunchback emerged from the chopper; a bald man, tall and lean came next, carrying a large black satchel. Gorgolov unzipped it and gazed upon its grizzly contents with a smile. “Excellent work, Boris,” he commended. “Take him to the crypt.” Oxford, Mississippi. Driving through the city, Janet couldn’t help but grin that her passenger was siding with her. “You seriously believe me?” “I’m dead serious,” said Pam. “Everything I told the captain back there is true. Special Duty Organization SERAPH’s all about collecting data on monsters and exterminating them if the need arises, though please don’t repeat any of this.” “SERAPH,” Janet mused. “Lemme guess… the Society of Extranatural Research and Preventa… tive…” She was running on fumes trying to glean what the name meant, especially since she used “and” to represent the “A” before sputtering on the “P”. “SERAPH doesn’t stand for anything.” “But you are talking real monsters here, right?” Pam nodded. “Captain Robbins was quick to dismiss your claims because you say one was responsible for the Lake Marsh deaths. We’ve no shortage of documented stories, past and present. Henry Frankenstein wasn’t just a legend, for one, and wait till I tell you the story of Larry Talbot!” “That’s a good sign,” said the journo, easing on the brake as the light ahead turned red. “Every time that thing, whatever it is, kills someone, we have to change the front page, ASAP. The original front-page story for the week was about the big stink being raised about the building code, then a pair of backwoods schmoes bit the big one.” Pam saw a building came up at ten o’clock: the offices of “The Daily Globe”. “Are you sure you’re going to find out who bought that joint at the lake here?” “Won’t be that hard,” said Janet. “If Dick and Robbins were doing their best, they would have recognized the pattern by now.” “All near that house,” Pam noted. “I’ll wait out here.” “You sure about that?” “I’ll check my phone and see what’s going on with my partners,” said the agent. “If you find that someone’s living there, tell me who it is. It could very well be the man I came down here to find!” Janet agreed and went inside the building. With her out of sight, Pam pulled back her dress to check her Cushies; she’d peed in them, though not heavily. Certainly not enough to warrant a change. “You know I don’t like you wearing those things, Pam.” The voice made the girl flinch and cover the diaper. Turning her head left, Pam found her mother Midori glaring at her from the driver’s seat. Pam sighed. “Mom, I told you before…” “Well, I told you before: I don’t want to catch you wearing diapers again!” “I just…” As bright as she was, Pam struggled to talk about stuff like this. “I just… just… like them.” “You like them?” the older woman asked, confusedly. “What you’re wearing is supposed to be for incontinent people—people who can’t use the bathroom when they need to.” Pam didn’t know how to respond. If she were to bring up how comfy and soft they were, her mother would just counter with “Underwear’s soft!” as she did when she first got busted by her two years ago. She closed her eyes and hung her head. “What you’re doing is wrong, Pamela Sato,” said Midori, “especially since they look like the ones for babies! When you go back to your motel room, you take that stupid-looking thing off.” She opened her eyes, still feeling shamed. The older Sato had disappeared. No door opened; no window rolled down. The truth was that the real Midori Sato was back home in Columbia, over five hundred miles east. Just like the night before, Pam’s own internalized guilt had manifested itself. As much as she loved her “baby fun”, she was well aware that it wasn’t for everyone and kept it on the downlow. Even though Pam wouldn’t be caught dead strutting down the street in her Cushies, it didn’t matter to Midori. “But who am I hurting?” was all the young woman wanted to know.

PART 1 London. A lone flashlight pierced the inky darkness. At one point, the white ray revealed a wax caveman dragging his mate toward a cave by her hair; at another, a man trapped under a large board with iron weights and stones being placed on top by a hooded executioner. These displays could be seen with ease during the museum’s regular hours of operation, but this guest didn’t even pay the entry fee. Finally, the stranger found a glass case, with red velvet bedding within. “Fritz,” he said into his headpiece, “I’m at the display. Cut the power.” Trip lasers had been all over the museum, poised to alert the police the instant passed through on. The infrared scope made avoiding these hazards much easier, but priority one was in the middle of a web. It took a few seconds, but the display was finally left naked. The burglar approached. A scorched skeleton lay there with unusually long upper canines and talon-like fingernails. The silence was ended by the high-pitched whirr of a glass-cutting sawblade. A whole sheet was cut loose and set aside. “What I want to know is what Dr. Gorgolov wants to do with a vampire skeleton,” the accomplice in the security room wondered. “I’m still not convinced that it’s real, Fritz,” the burglar remarked as her gathered the bones into a bag. “All I know is that he wants it. Radio Igor, have him bring the chopper to the roof.” Mississippi Two late-night hunters stumbled around through the trees as rain seemed to blow in sideways. Only electric lanterns and lightning bolts provided light; violent thunder combined with the forceful wind seemed to forbid anyone standing up straight. “This is the worst storm yet,” said the elder of the two hunters. “A new one almost every night for the past three months,” remarked the other. “It ain’t natural.” The pair just barely missed being vaporized by a beam of electricity, but a nearby tupelo wasn’t so lucky. The older man was breathing heavily; whether it was from the trek or avoiding the bolt was anyone’s guess. “I’m… getting away from this lightning while… I still can.” “You’d be soaked to the bone before you made ten yards!” “I’d rather be soaked than barbecued!” He worked his way back onto his feet, using his rifle for support, adjusted his raincoat and pushed on into the driving storm. Another jagged beam brightened the area for a second. In that fleeting moment, the faint surface of a body of water could be seen. “Mac, there’s the lake!” the junior huntsman said. “It’s impossible to make our way back up to the road. Maybe we can make it up to the old Willows place--” “Are you out of your mind, Jake!?” “You actually believe in the monster?” Mac wasn’t going to admit it, but he clearly had his own misgivings. “The newspaper stories say—!” “Act your age, Mac!” The duo finally emerged from the swamp. Greeting them at the clearing stood a gloomy Victorian house seemingly being claimed by the very brush the two men had just escaped from. Their heads bent low against the wind, they steadily advanced toward the front porch. “It don’t look good to me,” said Mac. Jake could only roll his eyes. “Aw, you’re just spooked!” “Spooked or not, this place just don’t look healthy.” “Mac, the place is deserted. Nobody’s lived here for over fifteen years!” The front of the building became clearer as the two got closer. With all the wear and damage on the front door, one would have assumed that it was the original. A second door was to the right, but it was completely boarded up, beyond use. A nearby window emitted a very faint, flickering light. “I thought you said this place was deserted!” said Mac. “It was supposed to be,” Jake responded. “I don’t get it.” “Jake, did you hear something?” asked Mac. “There was a splash – like someone stepped in a puddle!” “Prolly just a fish jumping down by the water. Calm down!” Jake approached the ancient door first and gave four knocks. Mac, on his way up, stepped on a rotten board and broke a hole in the floor. He was able to pull himself out himself, however. Nobody came to the door, so Jake gave a few more knocks. Finally, the entryway creaked open and they were greeted by an elderly man with a grim, beardless countenance and a dark-colored smock. The sound of his Slavic accent was as icy as his glare. “What do you want?” “Let’s get outta here!” Mac said through his teeth. Jake wasn’t having any of it. “I’m sorry, we didn’t think anyone lived here.” “It was all his idea!” the older man said, trying to deflect any fault for disturbing the stranger, who didn’t appear pleased at all by their presence. “Thought we could get in out of the rain,” Jake explained, paying no attention to his timorous partner. “Looks like it’ll last all night.” Mac nodded his head and pointed toward the swamp. “Pretty bad out there.” “No, no,” intoned the old man. “You can’t stay!” Jake didn’t want to be turned down. “Oh, now be reasonable!” He didn’t budge. “You can’t stay!” “We’ll catch pneumonia out there!” Mac complained. “You are not welcome in my house! Go away! Now! Go, go, go!” Jake brought up his rifle. Assuming this to be a threat, the old man took a step back. “Lobo!” “GRRRR!!” The hunters turned around to see a hulking mountain of a creature approach the porch. A flash of lightning revealed a bit of the beast’s appearance: he was a bald man with twisted features in white pants and a leather jumper. The giant seemed to be moving in for the kill as he grabbed the two by the shoulders. “No, no,” said the old man. “Don’t kill them, just see that they do not remain here!” “The monster…” Jake said in disbelief. “Now do you believe the newspaper stories?” Mac admonished. “Lobo, you hear this?” the old man chuckled. He faced the pair with a threatening joviality. “They think you are the monster! Be patient! Perhaps one day, you will meet the monster! Go now, before Lobo gets angry!” The grip on them was released. The hunters ran off, jumping from the porch—Jake face-first into the wet grass—and back into the stormy night. The two men raced along the edge of the lake, toward the road. With the old house now surprisingly out of the question, the only remaining option was the truck. Mac eventually slowed down and leaned his right side against a tree, breathing heavily. “I can’t run no more, Jake…” “We gotta keep moving! That-That was the monster!” They kept going after a moment. Finally, Jake pulled a cloth from the right pocket of his raincoat to wipe the rain off of his face. However, when finished, changing the handkerchief from his right to his left brought his gun to his attention. “I so scared I forgot I had a rifle,” he said, realizing this. Mac looked around at what ground he could see. “Guess I dropped mine.” “A rifle and a full clip of ammo… might have to walk back to the house.” Mac took a seat on a nearby stump. “You go if you want to,” he said, “I’ll take my chances with the swamp—what I wouldn’t give to see a couple o’ cops right about now…” “It’d sure be a feather in our caps if we took that monster ourselves,” disagreeing somewhat. “Pictures in the paper… maybe a little cash…” “AAAAAUGH!!” The blood-curdling scream was enough to snap Jake out of his daydreams. As bizarre as it sounds what appeared to be a large python had wrapped its body around Mac’s lower body! Two more from the right of the victim and one more crept toward him. It was then that he realized that these weren’t snakes, they were tentacles! Illuminated by a bright flash of lightning, Jake could only watch in terror as Mac was dragged off the stump and into the water, struggling wildly to free himself from the constricting limb. Three more tentacles emerged to grab him, and he backed away, emptying his clip into the creature, which seemed unaffected by the bullets. As he was forced to change his clip, Jake watched in disbelief as Mac disappeared beneath the lake, amid tentacles and churning water. Before he could make another effort to save his friend, a strong blow came from behind his head. He went down in the grass, remaining just conscious enough to see that horrifying human wall once more before everything went black. Pamela Sato strapped on a colorful bib with a cartoon monkey around her neck. The storm wasn’t as bad some fifty miles to the northwest, but the rain had come down hard enough to force her to pull into a Sleep Inn and grab some chicken nuggets from the Popeye’s at the last exit. No more driving in that mess, she was calling it a night. She sat at the round table near the front of the room and opened the bag. She faced her guest and smiled. “Been a long drive, Macho Bunny, you’re probably real hungry.” Her guest was just a stuffed toy—a white rabbit the size of the average teddy bear. It wore a blue bandana, alongside a patch on its shoulder, mimicking a heart tattoo. It had no visible mouth, but its beady eyes denoted a “tough guy” attitude in spite of it being an adorable plushie. As you can expect, he didn’t answer. Regardless, she stuck a Cajun fry up to his imaginary lips and pretended to feed him, before dipping it into her Mardi Gras mustard and munching it. Halfway through her nuggets, her phone began to go off: “All you have to do is take a cup of flour, add it to the mix! Now just take a little something sweet, not sour, a bit of salt—just a p—!” She put it on speaker. “Hello? Boss?” “Status report, Agent Pampers.” “Just crossed over from Tennessee, but the weather forced me to stop,” she explained. “Grabbed something to eat and got a room. What’s up?” “New intel from London,” said the caller. “The remains of Count Dracula were stolen from the Santley Museum of the Macabre less than twenty-four hours ago.” “He stole a prop skeleton doctored to look like a vampire, you mean?” “You may be still be somewhat green, but if the skeleton wasn’t authentic, I wouldn’t be telling you. It’s a Gorgolov job, no question.” Pam took a swig from the cup of Barq’s which came with her order. “You said that Gorgolov and Vornoff were colleagues?” “Yes, Kazan University back during the latter years of the Cold War. He’s the closest lead we have. We tracked him to Lafayette County.” “Heard a bunch of monster stories coming out of there,” Pam noted. “That’s the tip-off.” “I’ll make for Oxford at first light,” said Pam. “Old Bessie’s ready to go.” “Don’t get trigger-happy,” the dispatcher warned. “I don’t need another Agent Luvs.” Pam laughed. “Keep me up to date, if you hear anything.” “That’s all, Pampers. Goodnight.” “Can you say night-night to Macho Bunny, too? Brought him with me!” The boss heaved a bit of a sigh. “Night-night, Macho Bunny.” The call ended there. Pam looked at the toy “eating” with her, quizzically. “What’s that Macho Bunny?” Silence, but the agent answered for him, knowing what he would have brought up. “That’s right,” realizing what he was “saying”, “I went potty on the other side of Memphis and didn’t change!” She dropped her jeans, leaving—not panties—but an adult-sized, purple-and white diaper with hearts, balloons, stars, and planes printed all over. Furthermore, they had been used for their purpose. She was always prepared for stuff like this: baby powder and baby wipes were in her toiletries bag. Spreading out a clean diaper on the bathroom floor, she sprinkled powder on the clean padding. Within a couple of minutes, she was all clean. Her old one was stuffed into a plastic grocery bag, along with the paper carryout bag and pitched in the garbage bin right outside her room. “All better!” Pam announced. “Say, Macho Bunny, you wanna watch some…” She turned her head over to the little vestibule where the bathroom was. For a moment, a woman older than her stood there, arms crossed and scowling, but for some reason, she vanished the second she blinked. “…cartoons?” Jake had been dragged by the human behemoth to a hidden laboratory with stone walls. The hunter remained motionless as the giant began binding the currently half-naked captive to an operating table with heavy leather belts, alongside a metallic cap on his head. Slowly, he regained consciousness, but panicked when he saw his current situation and the adjacent flesh monolith. “You! Get these straps off of me!” The beastly man didn’t reply. He simply wheeled some kind of large device which appeared to be a cross between a desk lamp and a dentist’s x-ray over to the table. Jake began squirming beneath his binding, trying to get an arm loose by any means. “Let me loose! Do you hear me?” “Lobo hears,” an uncomfortably familiar voice responded from a nearby archway, “but he cannot speak.” It was the old man from earlier, but now he had on a lab coat. He approached the constricted hunter, and circled the table with a threatening smile on his face. “Lobo is a mute,” the man explained. “Because of the storm, I was afraid we weren’t going to have any guests tonight.” He chuckled, but immediately lunged at Jake’s neck. He had a large bruise on the right side and immediately slapped the massive henchman across the face, berating him for his excessive force. All the big fella could do was let out a big “RAAAARR!!” from the blow and back off. Jake kept trying to fight his way out of the straps. “I said let me outta here!” “Already he tires of our humble hospitality,” the captor laughed. “At the moment, it’s quite impossible.” “Who are you?” “Vornoff,” said the old man, as he walked over to a large switchboard on the wall. “I am Dr. Eric Lvovich Vornoff.” He flipped one of the larger switches, prompting a loud whirring noise. “The name will mean little to you.” Jake’s eyes widened with fear as a blinding white light glowed down on him. Vornoff kept throwing switches. In a matter of time that dungeon was host to an invisible dance of electricity. The sound of the equipment rose higher and higher. The trapped hunter began screaming, as unseen streams of radiation pelted him from three directions. “What are you doing to me!?” he painfully demanded. Vornoff spoke above the shrill sounds of the lab. “You will soon be as big as a giant,” he told him, “with the strength of twenty men—or, like all the others… dead!” He turned a dial, intensifying the radiation going into his guinea pig. Glass tubes lit up and down. Electricity arced up thin metal towers beneath a clear dome. Everything seemed to be going off. Jake screamed as his body suddenly erupted into flames and his head went limp as he was consumed. Vornoff, seeing the test go awry, frantically killed the power to the hardware. “Lobo! The fire extinguisher!” Jake’s roasted body was bathed in fire-retardant foam. It didn’t budge and there was no need for Vornoff to check for a pulse after all that he’d seen. The doctor hung his head in shame. Another failure. Vornoff passed the scorched carcass to a large, water-filled window. Turning on a light switch revealed a tank large enough to house a giant, genetically-altered octopus. Such a creature entered through an opening cut from the stone; an empty yellow raincoat could be seen dancing in its wake as if it were a ghost. “Is it not strange, Lobo?” the old man asked with a tired face. “Our friend always returns home after his long swim…” END OF PART 1

Given how hard The Marvels flopped, it’s doubtful a lot of people would watch.

Despite all the wokery of the American Cultural Revolution, they aren’t above kinkshaming. Bravo, Disney. I’ll use some of these lines.

The truth is that Genesis 1-11 was always intended to be flexible, not the way YEC dogma has it. In fact, the idea of a universe younger than 6,000 years is a relatively new thing.

Tried mimicking a boys’ Easy-Ups for this one.

Getting Pamperchu nightmares.

For the record, I’m neither trans nor detrans and I really don’t wish to come off as rude or disrespectful to either group, I’m just curious and the idea is something that I didn’t even know existed until I came across one user’s commentary on a poorly-executed “anime” that took three years to make. I’ve heard enough about the subject of not accepting the sex you were born with and changing it, but I only recently discovered that there’s a set of people who either full or partially transitioned, but felt it wasn’t for them and went back to what they were born as. I have been wondering if such individuals exist in our community.

Just as human beings have to die once, but after this comes judgment, so also Messiah, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to deliver those who are eagerly waiting for him. (Heb. 9:27-28) Reincarnation is not in the cards within the Holy Writ. Ironically, the Pharisees had an unfounded notion that high enough devotion to the Torah would allow for some form of reincarnation versus the Sadducee teaching that you just rot in the ground.

For those of you who don’t know, he first gained notoriety as the Sonic the Hedgehog 4 ranter from about twelve years ago (who whined about GREEN EYES), who went on to attempt an animated Sonic SatAM movie (and only materialized one crummy scene) and attempted to pirate material from the show it was based on. He is also an ABDL… and his shenanigans over the years have made him “the face” of the diaper community in some vanilla circles. As such, I see him as the Chris-chan of *BDLism. I was curious about the community’s thoughts on the man.

True, but nothing obscene.

AtEase Protective Underwear. No leakguards.

Here. And here. Here’s hoping they aren’t creepy.