May. 1st, 2020

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Your themed episodes for the month of May are "Tornado Days" and "Reality Takes a Holiday"
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Get jumping over your bonfires and decorate your maypoles, gang, because today is Beltane! Let us know how the farming community of Eerie protect their crops and cattle, and ensure a successful summer season.
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It's Friday, Eerie fans, and it's a great time to look back on all the sweet fanworks you've created over the years. Why not revisit some sweet artwork, admire someone's crafting efforts or leave an appreciative comment on an uploaded video?
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The stink of burning popcorn was thick in the unventilated space, and Marshall's eyes stung. There was a thin pulsing whine coming from the shadows above him that might have been the smoke alarm, and might have been some of Polio's followers singing his praises.

The sprinklers came on, the susurration of falling water drowning out the rhythmic beep-beep-beep overhead. Probably the smoke alarm, then.

The knee-high drifts of yellow-white popcorn flakes quickly grew soggy, losing their volume and melting away into a congealed inert goo.

Marshall looked at the cultists. The cultists looked back.

"You just Wicked-Witch-of-the-West'd your army."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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There was a long silence, broken only by the fire suppression system at work and the rapidly-diminishing bleat of a smoke alarm in dire need of new batteries.

One of the cultists coughed.

"No," he said. "No we didn't. This was..." he glanced nervously at his robed brothers, who nodded their cowl'd heads at him.

He straightened, apparantly drawing strength if not dignity from their encouragement.

"This was a test!" he declared grandly. "To see if these newest children of the great Popcorn God were worthy of carrying out His will in the daylit world beyond the Eerieplex!"

Marshall blinked.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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"That's..." Marshall began, then paused, guiltily remembering Simon's admonishment about calling people - even very stupid ones - stupid.

"That's not true," he said instead. "You over-filled the popcorn maker and it caught fire. This wasn't a test, it was just-"

"Silence!" thundered the Popcorn Cult's self-appointed spokesman. "Yours is not to question the ways of the great Poplio! Our God is beyond petty human understanding!"

Marshall frowned.

"The last time I heard that, it was from a car that adopted the form of a five year old girl because it didn't think I understood the concept of a car," he said.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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Even the nubbly and butter-drenched logic of the Popcorn Cultists seemed flummoxed by this. They conferred amongst themselves, black hoods bobbing ominously.

"How does that even work?" asked their spokesman. "Why would a car think a person who owned a car wouldn't understand the concept of a car?"

"Right?" said Marshall. "It's like, I bought the car, I signed up for all the things that went along with car ownership, why would that be more foreign to me than the sudden appearance of an elementary school kid that wants me to feed her gasoline and leave her outside all night?"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"So what happened?" asked the Cultist. "You got your parking validated when you came in, so did you trade her in, or...?"

"Oh," said Marshall. "No, I just checked the owner's manual and put the default setting back to 'car' again. It was a weird few hours, though."

He shook his head.

"Anyway, that's not what this is about. This is about an eldritch horror made out of stale movie snacks trying to up production to the point where all your popcorn soldiers catch fire and stop me from watching Korn Kritters 17: X-Treme Korn."

The Cultist nodded.

"Refund then?"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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The Cultist pressed one bulbous and misshapen appendage to the card-reader on the side of the register. The touch screen chimed softly as it lit up, displaying a name that seemed to be a series of warped glyphs which writhed horribly as Marshall looked at them.

"Cash or a ticket for another showing?" asked the Cultist. "We're showing Korn Kritters again tomorrow at six, but it's an immersive screening where the great God Poplio will eat the entire audience at the end of the second act."

"Cash please," said Marshall, thinking that William Castle had a lot to answer for.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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It was hard to tell, given the ceremonial-robes-slash-ushers-outfit that covered his entire face, but Marshall could swear the Cultist seemed disappointed.

"Okay," he said, handing over a handful of dollar bills slick and yellow with artificial butter flavouring. "Sorry your cinema-going experience was suboptimal. Feel free to supplicate the statue of Poplio outside if you've got any feedback on what we could do better."

"You could not raise a popcorn army to take over the world," suggested Marshall. "Or at least only put them in the popper outside of business hours?"

"Poplio doesn't like to pay overtime," the Cultist explained.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Marshall raised an eyebrow.

"You guys get paid to be in a cult?" he asked.

The Cultist nodded enthusiastically.

"And watch movies and eat whatever we like from the concession stand," he said. "For free!"

He pulled an application form from beneath the counter and slid it over to Marshall, leaving bubbled fingerprints on the white paper.

"We're always hiring," he said. "If you're interested."

Marshall folded the application form into quarters and slipped it inside a ForeverWare ReSealable Freezer Bag. Hopefully pitting one freaky Eerie-specific cult against another would negate any malign influence the paper held.

"Thanks," he said.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"Seriously," said the Cultist, now slipping into the kind of salesman-mode Marshall had seen Mister Radford employ a time or two. "If you do have a genuine interest in the unknowable mysteries of the universe, pledging your allegiance to Lord Poplio is a tried-and-true way to get the answers you seek."

Marshall forced his face into a thoughtful frown.

"I do like answers," he mused. "Can I get some taster answers? Like a free knowledge sample before sign-up?"

The Cultist hesitated, and for a moment Mars thought he might have overdone it, but then-

"Sure!" said the Cultist. "Go ahead!"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Simon might have been right about the relative kindness of calling someone an idiot, Marshall thought, but not saying it didn't make it any less of a fact.

"Okay," he said, propping both elbows on the counter and looking into the patch of shadow that was statistically most likely to contain the Cultist's eyes. "First question: why did Poplio tell you to fill the popcorn maker so high that it ended up catching fire if he's all-knowing and knew that would happen?"

"He was testing the popcorn maker's battle-readiness," said the Cultist. "To make sure we could replenish our forces."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"Oh," said Marshall. "That actually makes sense. So are you guys going to buy a new popcorn maker?"

The Cultist laughed wildly.

"Salt my butter substitute, of course not!" he said. "We'll scrape out the burnt bits and try again! Do you know how thin the profit margins are on a movie theatre? Why do you think we only eat from the concession stands?"

He slapped a spot on his robes where his knees might be, and something crunched and shifted beneath the fabric.

"Fine," said Marshall. "Whatever. Why did Poplio drown the successful popcorn batches made before the fire?"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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The Cultist stopped laughing abruptly. He leaned forward, far enough that he was almost nose-to-cowl with Marshall. Despite the closeness, Marshall still couldn't see anything but shadows beneath the hood.

"Because," he said. "They were unworthy. That's why the popcorn maker caught fire so soon after their birth. It was a sign, you see?"

Marshall shook his head. The Cultist sighed.

"Poplio saw into their salt-sweet souls and He judged them by what He found there," he explained.

"He sounds fickle," said Marshall. "Or maybe incompetent."

"I'm starting to think you don't really want a job here," said the Cultist.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"No!" said Marshall hastily. "No, no, I totally do, I'm just trying to figure out if I'm a good, uh... cultural fit for this place."

"Oh," said the Cultist. "Well, of course, a good culture fit is very important around here!"

He laughed heartily, slapping his not-knees again in appreciation of his little bon-mot.

"Okay," said Marshall. "Third question: will you give me the big Korn Kritters poster hanging in the lobby so I can go home and really, you know, dive deep into the question of whether I want to pledge myself to a Popcorn Monster for minimum wage?"

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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