Alright, welcome to a bonus episode of Crypto Cocktail Party.
I had a few drinks with me, I'm not ready to go downstairs and face my dog, so I wanted
to do this real quick.
We got a couple drinks in us, I figured Sarge, what better way to celebrate Sunday?
Got a couple drinks in us, my son has COVID, let's do it.
Yeah, this is for your son, dude.
Alright, do it for your son.
Also, I love the fact that you open beers and put them into a Yeti cool, a Yeti mug.
Well, yeah, I mean, it stays cold longer.
But it was sponsored now.
Alright, you have to have the can facing out at all times.
And it has to be very...
I'm drinking the blue stuff.
Blue can, bro.
I'm taking it easy because I may have to be up all night with my sick son.
Nah, dude.
I'm only drinking 3.5.
COVID's fine, it's whatever.
I've had it twice.
Vaccinated, still.
Yeah, but you're not a nine-year-old.
I fucking wish, dude.
Being nine was sick.
Yeah, I know.
It was.
It was pretty sick.
You didn't even have to flush the toilet.
People just yell at you.
They'd be like, hey, flush the toilet.
You're like, oh yeah, sorry, I'm nine.
Alright, Sarge, so we don't do a lot of bonus episodes, but we've done a few.
And one of the ones that I really enjoyed doing was AI generated creepypastas.
Now, you're familiar with creepypasta, right?
Yeah.
Okay.
They're fine.
A lot of them are really poorly written, and that's the charm of them.
It's like they're just so bad.
They're all written by a hot topic teenager, you know?
Yeah, and AI does it just as good as a hot topic teenager.
So how this is going to work is I'm going to prompt ChadGBT to write me a creepypasta,
but you're going to fill in some key details of what the story's going to be about.
Okay.
So first thing we're going to need from you is I need like, how do I word this?
I need a word to describe, like, is it a haunted, possessed, cursed, like one of those words.
Oh yeah, no, cursed.
Definitely cursed.
Okay.
And now I need like a proper noun.
Like a, is it like a cursed item, house, specific item?
Like is it a cursed like N64?
Like, you know what I mean?
I'm going to say, I'm going to say a Toyota Tacoma.
Toyota Tacoma.
All right.
How do you spell Tacoma?
I'm a hundred percent on it.
T-A-C-A-O-M-A.
All right.
Are we sure about that?
Wait, fuck it.
Google help me.
T-A-C-O-M-A.
Taco Ma.
What like year is this set in?
Oh, 1983.
Yeah.
Okay.
I don't even think they made Tacomas back then, but I don't care.
83.
I'm just thinking of like one of the silliest times in American history, like where people
wore the dumbest looking clothes.
I think, I think that's an, I think that's enough prompt.
Should we add something else?
Like, what do you think?
Like.
Yeah.
Well, I mean, we got to add the, the, the monster.
Well, I mean.
Or the cryptid.
Why is there a monster?
It's already a cursed Toyota Tacoma.
Yeah.
But we got to add why is it cursed?
Well, I don't know.
Jachi BT will tell us.
Oh, okay.
Jachi BT is going to do it.
Let's go then.
I'll, I'll put in the prompt, include why it's cursed.
How's this?
So this, so this story is called the curse of the 1983 Toyota Tacoma.
Very creative title.
Jachi BT.
Hey man.
I'm just stealing this from other, you know, creators off the internet.
So all right.
That's a fact.
I, I, fuck me too.
Do you know it's, so I didn't put in a setting for this.
Guess where it said it.
Where?
Oregon, the Pacific Northwest.
All right.
You ready for this?
Yup.
All right.
It was the summer of 1983 and the small town of Windom nestled deep in the backwoods of
Oregon was already beginning to feel the chill of autumn.
Stories about the curse of the Toyota Tacoma will whispered in hushed tones around campfires
and in the dimly lit corners of the towns, in the dimly lit corners of the town's only
bar.
But nobody took them seriously.
After all, who believes in cursed trucks in the early 1970s, a reclusive mechanic named
Charlie Morrow lives in a rundown shack at the edge of town.
He had a reputation of being brilliant, but eccentric craftsman known for taking on projects
no one else would touch.
When he wasn't busy fixing up old clunkers, he dabbled in the occult.
Some said he was a warlock.
Others just thought he was mad.
I mean, if I'm being honest, I think my mechanics are warlock, but only because I don't understand
anything about cars.
But, but everyone knew to steer clear of Charlie's place after dark.
In the summer of 1973, Charlie got his hands on a brand new Toyota Tacoma, one of the first
to ever arrive in the United States.
I'm glad they know that it's a foreign truck.
That's, you know, yeah.
Now the truck was impressive.
The truck was immaculate, a gleaming piece of machinery that made even the most jaded
mechanics heart skip a beat.
But something about the truck unnerved the town folks.
Some said it was too perfect, that the engine purred with an unnatural smoothness as if
it wasn't running on gasoline at all, but something darker.
Charlie became obsessed with the truck.
He spent every waking moment working on it, tinkering with the engine, modifying the body
and adding strange symbols to the interior that no one could decipher.
People in town noticed that Charlie had changed too.
He grew gaunt, his eyes sunken in wilds, and he began muttering to himself, speaking in
tongues no one understood.
Then one day, Charlie vanished without a trace, leaving the Tacoma behind.
The truck sat abandoned in Charlie's driveway for years, gathering dust and rust.
No one dared go near it, not even to steal parts.
Rumors circulated that Charlie had sold his soul to some dark force to perfect the Tacoma
and that it had claimed him as payment.
Over time, the story became a local legend, a cautionary tale parents told their children
to keep them away from the old mechanic's place.
But in 1983, a man named Greg Simmons moved to Wyndham, a city slicker with a chip on
his shoulder.
Greg didn't believe in curses or haunted trucks.
What I love is that they made it sound like all this time passed and they were like, also
in 1983.
Oh no, this is in the 70s.
So we're like five years.
We're already in the summertime because I said in 1983 Toyota Tacoma, then it was like
in 1983.
So like a couple of months later, when the trucks all rusty.
No, so all right.
So I mean, that's part for the course with the Toyota, but.
So this is what it did.
The story is called The Curse 1983 Toyota Tacoma.
But so the mechanic got one of the first Tacomas to come over in the 70s.
And then in 1983, this fucking city slicker named Greg, I was very confused.
But yeah, Greg doesn't believe in haunted trucks.
Yeah, no, that's that's nonsense.
Yeah.
He was just looking for a bargain when he heard about the abandoned Tacoma.
He decided to check it out.
The truck was in surprisingly good shape despite its age and abandonment.
Greg made an offer to the town's mayor.
Well, what the?
Hold on.
So if an abandoned truck exists, apparently you go to the mayor to make an offer.
Typically.
Yeah.
He was eager to get rid of it.
And soon the Tacoma was Greg's.
When the moment Greg drove the truck off Charlie's property, strange things began to happen.
The radio would turn on by itself, playing eerie static interspersed with faint whispers.
The headlights would flicker at night, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own.
But the worst was the feeling, the oppressive, suffocating presence that settled over Greg
whenever he's in the truck.
It was as if it was as if someone or something was sitting right behind him, breathing down
his neck.
Greg tried to ignore it, dismissing it as his imagination.
But the events escalated.
The truck began to drive itself, steering Greg steering Greg off the road and into the
woods at night, leaving him disoriented and terrified.
He started seeing things in the rear view mirror, figures that weren't there when he
would turn around, twisted faces leering at him from the darkness.
And always there was a smell of burning rubber and sulfur that permeated the truck's cabin,
no matter how often he cleaned it.
Desperate, Greg sought out the town's oldest president, a woman named Martha, who had known
Charlie before he went mad.
Martha told Greg the full story, how Charlie had summoned something evil to bind to the
Tacoma seeking power and perfection.
But the end thing he called forth was too strong, too malevolent, and it had consumed
Charlie trapping his soul within the truck.
Now the Tacoma was a vessel for Charlie's tortured spirit, cursed to drive its own into
madness and death.
It's not over.
We still got more to go.
Oh my God.
Now, now Greg tried to get rid of the truck, but no one would take it.
Fucking obviously, dude.
Now the curse had taken hold of him, binding him to the Tacoma just as it had Charlie.
He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think of anything but the truck and the dark
presence within it.
The final straw came one stormy night when the Tacoma drove Greg deep into the woods.
Stop getting in the truck, dude.
Like why?
Yeah.
Once you've determined that the truck is possessed, you don't drive it anymore.
Yeah.
Like, I don't know, Colick had to go to the garage.
Like don't even like, now it must not do it all the time because he must have been able
to go get groceries one time and then back and find like, is it a certain time where
he just gets dragged into the woods to like.
Yeah.
So maybe it's only possessed during rush hour.
I don't know.
But anyways, the final straw came was one stormy night when the Tacoma drove Craig deep
into the woods, his engine roaring like a beast unleashed.
The next morning, the town folks found Craig's.
Oh shit.
Hold on.
Here we go.
The next morning, the townsfolk found Craig's body hanging from a tree.
The Tacoma parked neatly beneath them.
No one knows what happened to the truck after that.
Some say still out there roaming the back roads of Oregon looking for its next victim.
Others claim they've seen it.
A phantom vehicle gliding through the fog with no driver, its headlights glowing like
eyes in the dark.
But one thing's for sure.
The curse of the 1983 Toyota Tacoma lives on, waiting for the next poor soul to fall under
its spell.
And that is.
Amazing.
That's the story.
Amazing.
God damn.
Those are some good props.
I'm disappointed I didn't go weird there.
I should have.
I should have chosen like a Volkswagen rabbit.
Well, we can do one more.
No, I got to.
I got to.
I got to jump.
My my daughter is staring daggers at me.
All right.
Well, that is the story of the Toyota Tacoma.
Thanks for listening to this little weird bonus episode.
It was a little fun time.
Yeah, I'll do the next one.
OK.
All right.
Peace.
Thank you.