Down To Folk
Down To Folk

Season 3, Episode 3 · 4 months ago

Inside & Out


Lloyd identifies the shows target demographics, someone goes outside, someone goes inside, and (of course) child death.

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Distribution:The PodFix Network

About Us What happens when you take three people,  put them inside a Secret Government Agency and give them access to the largest collection of folklore, fairytales, and legends that have (n)ever existed?

Down To Folk is manufactured by M.A.S.S.K. The Ministry of Augmented Something Something, and a K.

**Down to Folk is a work of comedy fiction.  The views and opinions related within should be taken as such, and are not the views and opinions of the creators, writers, or performers.  No children were harmed while creating this podcast, although, a few deaths have occurred, but that 'twas the Wendigo I reckon.**

Begin part ficks network transmission in three, two one. Recently someone asked who is down to folk best suited for. I am so glad you asked. Down to folk is a collection of stories, both original and reimagined classics. Our target demographics are people that are into mouth stuff, but stuff back of the envelope stuff. Tub Thumping, dry humping, wet clumping, Klismaphilia, people who earnestly say that's a funny instead of laughing. Family Guy Pawn, family pawn for guys, wirism, exhibitionism, patriotism, necromancy, feeling fancy, feeling Mannekins, Euriphilia, your a vision failure. Disney adult is Um, hot wife Ng cool treating, dairy queen ing, spider worship, saying wow like oh in Wilson, Rheuma, toid Arthritis, Perineum Swiping, doomsday, prepping, tailgating, roadblocks, road head, Antique Road Show, head, treasurer hunting, renting Tom Holland's uncharted for a dollar, watching the whole thing and wishing you had that dollar back, pickle back shots, enjoying blow jobs, being a sexual little rascal and reverse farting. If you are into any of those, welcome you are in the right place. Enjoy. Once...

...upon a time there was a very poor milliner who longed for a child. Though her hats were beautiful, she never tried to sell them, which was why she was so poor. It's a tale as old as time. Talent isn't always great at marketing, and so she made her living spinning Straw into whatever you've been straw into. That one tart spun it into gold, but that was a completely different season. I can't remember the episode title, so you'll just have to go and listen to all of them. You'll know the one I mean. The poor milliner's name was pillywinks, which sounds odd and kind of adorable. That is actually the name of a medieval torture also called thumb screws. Seriously Goog that ship. The story of how she acquired such a name had something to do with thumb screws and her parents, but they weren't actually in trouble with the law. I think they had a pain fetish or something. Anyway, they were dead and not really important to the current tale. So pillow winks sat spinning one day when she suddenly heard a voice from behind her. Yo pilly winks, I hear tell you're searching for a child. Pillow wings had spun to face the strange little man who had appeared to her. It was especially unnerving as she only spun Straw in her basement. Whoever this little ship was, he was brazen. I never said I was searching for a child to anyone, and I'm not searching, I'm spinning my Straw. The odd little fellow watched as the Straw was fed into the spinning wheel, only to be spit out the other side, unconnected in any way. It was literally just Straw. Exactly how it went in. When the pile on the other side was big enough, by the woman's estimation, she would walk over, bundle it up and stack it by the door, where she would then Harriet to market to sell. So basically she sold bales...

...of Hay. Whatever the hideous little troll screwed up his face. In his travels he had met such idiots and this poor milliner was one of them. Look, you want a kid right, you know what you have, you disgusting rodent. The audacity, that's what that a woman who does not have a child must want a child is such an archaic and misogynistic notion. Do you approach men without children with the same questions? No, because they'd kick your tiny ass. Well, guess what, if I had a rubber hose, I would be now, Miss I'm magical, like I figured out you wanted a baby because my magical powers told me so, and it just so happens I have a baby, if you're interested. pillowing snared her eyes at the IMP. And how did you get this baby? The man hopped from foot to foot. That doesn't matter, does it? PILLY winks, you want it, don't you? Of course she did. She's always wanted a child, but she knew as well as any one that all children come with a price, and, for being dumb as a box of rocks, she was rather shrewd in the matter of dealing children. Put a pin in that. We'll come back to it. The pair talked long into the night. The diminutive fugo occasionally danced, the tired milliner yawned and got fucked up on mead, but eventually they reached a price. One healthy baby boy for the prettiest hat she had ever made. The milliner went to her cabinet and pulled forth a shockingly deep blue velvet hat, one adorned with peacock feathers, satin ribbons, two hollowed round eggs and an etched silver pin that caught the light...

...just like diamonds. The little man grasped for his prize greedily, and the child asked pilly winks. Without taking his eyes off the hat, he replied yeah, whatever. Here the baby appeared in her arms and the strange visitor disappeared as quickly as he had come. Pillywinks cradled to the child, who smiled as he slept. Finally, she whispered before tossing the infant into a large pot. I'm hungry as fuck. It started with the fire. My job was to write, record and repeat. I had moved out of the tin can pod and now stayed in the camp studio. It was far more roomier and there was a sense of calm in the woodland setting. I would wake up, eat and sit by the camp fire and the stories would show themselves to me, whether it be in shadows or in the licks of the flames. It could be a feeling I had or, quite simply, a voice that would fill my head while staring at those flames. No, I wasn't on drugs. The fire was a center point of the studio. I never had to add a log or stoke the fire. It was just always lit and well in its own way. It would share stories with me, and so I retold the stories that I was given. Some of them worked, some of them didn't. Most of the time I stumbled, but all in all I was doing my job. Write, record, repeat. Then one morning or evening. I mean the room is always set to twilight, so I could never really tell, but let's just say morning and this morning...

...something was off. The fire was low and barely aflame. I walked around it, seeing it if there was something wrong, but nothing was visibly wrong. The fire was just not blazing. And then the flames flared and a digital message flashed above it. Error Four, oh four, it flashed over and over and over again, and each time the flame flared and then turned into embers. I sat next to the fire looking at the error message and trying to figure out what the hell it meant. I mean, I had my ipad and I did some quick research, but there was no google answer for mystical storytelling fire air correction to be found. So I packed up my backpack and headed through the fake forest to the door that would lead me out into the office building in which the studio lay. To my surprise, the door was wide opened and a bright white light shone through. I walked through the door, thinking I'm dead, this is heaven, but no, it was the hallway of mask, the same hallway that I would have traversed between the tin can and the studio. In the background I could hear Chad reading pop songs as poetry. It was unnerving and gave an eerie sense to the whole scene. I began to walk towards the Tin Can pod, remembering slightly how to go. This place was a maze of blank walls and doors. Everything looked the same whenever you turned them. I had learned to read the signs above the doors and that would help me get back and forth. After a while, learned the turns and didn't really rely on the signs, but it had been a while, so I looked at the signs on the doors to guide me. The magic tailor turned right, baby bear turned left, then right, summer camp. The door was always covered in blood stains,...

...but I knew I was close. The Grotto Arials Studio I was close to the tin can, but this door made me stop cold. It was blown completely off its hinges, like there was an explosion of sorts. There was glass everywhere and the carpet was soaking wet. I peered into the room only to find the grotto was empty. The Serene beach scene looked like Normandy, bits and pieces of charred debrieze all over the sand. I went to the perch in which I first met Ariel and it was empty, with one exception written on the Rock, scratched in the surface. Gone to deal with life and ship maybe back, but who the funk knows? Fight the patriarch. I heard a low rumble from the hallway and quickly exit. The rumble was coming from down the hall. It sounded like machines grinding to a halt and then trying to start up again. At the end of the hall I saw the window in which I first saw all of the hanging chads. The glass too was broken and the sound was coming from just beyond the window frame. I approached cautiously and then stopped at what I saw. The warehouse of robotic chats was completely empty. The machines were still working, but there were no chats to be seen. The sound I heard was the conveyor belt falling apart. Where the funk was chat and Aerial Dana. I had to find Dana. The last time I saw Dana he was going down the elevator just around the corner from here. I sprinted to the elevator and tried to remember the way he hit the buttons to get us to where we needed to go, but I couldn't. So I just hit the buttons and shipped out of times and waited for the elevator to open. And it did and I entered and the doors closed and then it started to move, but not up or down, but forward. Mask is a fucking weird place. As we moved forward, I realized the walls of the elevator were glass and I was now able... see what I was passing. The whole building was empty, doors blown off, hinges, glass broken, small fires blazing, lights flickering off and on. What the funk happened and where was the elevator taking me? The elevator began to slow down and then stopped gently with a Ding and the doors gliding open. Before me stood the large wooden doors that led to the library where I met. It's funny, I can't really remember who was in there, but I knew these doors and I knew what was behind them. I quickly exit the elevator and swung open the library doors. The room was empty. The miles and miles of aisles of books were gone. Hell, the shelves were gone. The large picture window that faced the forest was the only light source of the room and the room was cavernous and empty. Well, with one accepted a chair, a single chair, and on that chair was a rock, and under that rock was a note. Use The rock to escape. Come find us if you are lucky, which was all in caps. You will know where to go, and it was signed L W. Then the air filled with a loud explosion. I looked back and I could see the hall I had come in was now ablaze and filled with fire and smoke. I grabbed the Rock and threw it out the window. The window shuttered immediately and a rush of air pushed me backwards, and then another explosion from behind jettison my ass out of the building. I woke up some time later to find I had landed in a tree. I turned and saw the large building that once was masked, spewing smoke and fire into the ever cloudy sky. What the funk was I to do now? All Right, so...

I've just been left alone in the flotation room. I haven't entered the tank yet. Just showered totally nude except for ear plugs to keep the saltwater out of my earballs. I'm going to bring my recorder inside the tank to give you a blow by blow account of my float. I'm a little nervous but excited. Okay, all right, I'm going to get in the tank now. There's a small door in the wall and inside there's a small room with a large bathtub. There are about twelve inches of water in the TUB. It's warm in there, body temperature, I guess. Blue light smells salty. Okay, I'm getting in. The water feels good. Ah, sitting down, there's a bit of a bit of a sting from the salt water, but it feels nice. It feels pretty good. I'm supposed to get myself situated and then hit the button on the side here to turn out the lights. There's a button for music. I don't think I want the music. I want total sensory deprivation. Okay, I'm going to close the door. Okay, all right, doors closed, and now I'm laying on my back and I'm floating. It feels pretty good. It feels like floating in water. All Right, I'm going to hit the lights and get this thing underway. Here go. Oh, it is a very dark completely dark.

I'm holding my hand in front of my face, right in front of my face, and I can't see it. I wonder if my eyes will adjust at all. I'm just going to put the recorder on my chest so I can put my arms down. M Hm, okay, I need to get steady. The water is still disturbed. I'm bumming into the walls quite a bit. All right, steady, still completely dark and I'm just lying here. I've got my arms on my side. I think that's the best position. I might try putting them over my head in a bit deep breaths. I want to get centered and it's clear that I can't do that and talk into this thing, so I'm going to turn it off. I'll check back in a bit, unless, of course, I'm on some intense psychedelic journey. You've been listening to a podcast of the pod fix network. Discover more audible gems like this at pod fix network DOT com. Make sure to catch up to the minute network shenanigans by following at pod fix on twitter, official underscore pod fix on Instagram, at pod fix network on Facebook, and make sure to subscribe to pod fix presents, wherever you choose to find podcasts, the pod fix network artists owned and loved.

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