You are now listening to Cryptid Cocktail Party
Hey everybody, welcome back to another episode
of Cryptic Cocktail Party, a show where we have
a few drinks, share a few laughs, take a dive
into the unknown. I'm your host Dave, joined
as always by my wonderful co -host Sarge. How's
it going Sarge? Woo! What the fuck is up everybody?
It's raining in Massachusetts. It's not raining
right now, but it's rained every weekend and
I'm getting real fucking tired of it. Yeah, it's
rained pretty much every weekend for the past
like, I don't know, two months. I don't think
we've had one Saturday or Sunday where it hasn't.
At least rained at least once, which is very
upsetting. Not a fan of it. Yeah. The new Englanders
are getting mad. There's going to be a riot soon.
Eh, whatever. I'm going to go after God specifically.
It's not like new England's like a real happy
place. Anyways, we're always just so angry up
there. That's true. It's hard to tell when we're
angry because we're always angry. True. It's
like, we're like the Hulk. That's our, that's
our superpower. Is that. The secret is we're
always bad. Baseline is simmering rage. Yeah,
but we'll be super nice about it. Yeah, exactly.
And, you know, we'll just be mean to you while
we're being nice. We'll do something nice for
you while calling you a complete fucking moron.
Oh, yeah, absolutely. Sure, I'll shovel you out,
you fucking moron. Yeah, it's pretty much that
365, 24 -7. I don't know how many weeks there
are in a year, but that many weeks as well. I
think you covered it with the 365. Yeah, but
I kind of did it in backwards order. I feel like
it starts with 24 -7 and then you do 365. Yeah,
that's on me. All right, Sarge. That's okay.
52 weeks a year. We can just go that route. Yeah,
sure. I don't know. Time is irrelevant. It's
a flat circle. It doesn't mean anything. Time
is a flat circle. Yeah, we just reinvented it
for fucking... work purposes it's not great uh
yeah i was using a watch until russ cole joined
the join the chat now i now i just don't believe
in time at all i don't know who that is so he's
the guy from uh true detective who kept saying
time is a flat circle oh sorry um okay sarge
i got an episode for us today whether it's good
or not i don't fucking know but it's fun It's
a fun episode. Maybe. I'm ready. Okay. I'm ready
to take on anything. I'm taking on all comers.
Somebody get a mop. Jesus Christ. All right.
Today, Sarge, we're going to be heading across
the pond to one of London's most prestigious
neighborhoods, Mayfair, a place known for its
polished Georgian townhouses, manicured gardens,
and an air of refined exclusivity. That's the
only time the word refined has been paired with
the word Georgia. It's Georgian. I don't think
it's Georgia -ism. I know. I'm talking about
King George. I get it. And nestled among those
townhouses is 50 Berkeley Square, an unassuming
building for where it is, but behind its polished
doors and fancy facade lurks something older
than time itself. A nameless horror that has
driven men insane and left bodies twisted in
terror. Is it a ghost? Is it a cryptid? Or is
it something beyond human comprehension? Something
that shreds minds and warps reality? Who knows?
But maybe we can figure it out. So today, we
are going to be diving headfirst into the legend
of the nameless thing of Berkeley Square. Are
you familiar with this at all? No, because it
doesn't have a name. At first I thought you were
talking about Monopoly. No, we're not talking
about Monopoly. Nothing sends a man into the
descent of madness like a long drawn out game
of Monopoly. I don't know about that. It definitely
tears families apart. That's for sure. It does.
I haven't spoken to my brother in three years.
But for real though, you're not familiar with
the nameless thing at Berkeley Square? No, not
at all. I'm actually very excited. Okay, well,
before we dive into the Lovecraftian horrors
to come, let's talk a little bit about the history
of the house and the area that it's located in
for no other reason than just to kind of give
a little context and also to pad the runtime
of this episode, because without it, it'd be
like five minutes long. So 50 Berkeley Square
was built sometime around 1730, right in the
middle of Mayfair, which, like I said, was one
of the richest neighborhoods in London. It was
very exclusive, wildly expensive, and if you
didn't have an ungodly amount of generational
wealth, well, sucks to suck. Just enjoy pooping
in your river, you fucking peasants. Goddamn
fucking heathens. No, the house itself is a classic
Georgian townhouse, which at the time, very swanky.
Nowadays, I don't really know. I mean, I technically
live in one, and I'm broke as fuck, so different
time, I guess. Back then, very posh. Now, you
know, I... found human shit on the trail by my
house so it's different times look i couldn't
find a public restroom there's a bear shit in
the woods no but saj does god damn it all right
so its first occupants were largely members of
the aristocracy and the upper middle class pretty
much just a revolving door of high status figures
who could you know afford it the house was originally
built as part of the urban expansion of london
in the 18th century when the city was rapidly
growing and wealthy people were ditching their
countryside manners for more convenient life
near the palace and parliament probably just
trying to work on you know they wanted a shorter
commute i guess to fucking ruin the world yeah
uh but by the late 1700s the house's reputation
started to sour There were whispers around town
about strange noises and unexplainable phenomena
coming from within its walls. And over time,
the once prestigious address slowly became a
place people avoided and talked about in hushed
tones. This can all be attributed to flatulence.
This is what happens when you boil cabbage all
the time. Again, this is the more famous, rich
part of London. I don't think they're just eating
boiled cabbage. Fine, they were boiling organic
cabbage bought at Whole Foods. We have British
food, fucking beans for breakfast. What the hell's
wrong with you? Slow your roll, dude. English
breakfast is fucking amazing, all right? Beans,
blood sausage, come on. Yeah, I mean, it is popular
around here too. And honestly, anything can be
a breakfast food if you eat it early enough.
That's true. Which is why I always start my day
with a pickle. I mean, there are times where
I have eaten pizza rolls for breakfast. Now,
was I hungover and or still drunk? Probably.
But was it? Because really, it still slaps. Yeah.
Breakfast. It doesn't matter whether you're drunk
or not. I'm just breaking my fast. That's technically
what it is. But anyway, so. Exactly. Exactly.
And if you wake up late enough, lunch can be
breakfast. True. Breakfast can also be dinner.
Breakfast or dinner. Oh, OK. We have what a time
to be alive. But the most famous and talked about
room of Berkeley Square was the attic. Now, both
tenants and servants in the home reported chilling
experiences on the upper floors, but especially
in the attic. Stories began circulating about
a presence on the upper floors of the home. So
malevolent, it twisted minds and literally broke
bodies. Despite some sort of eldritch horror
squatting in the attic, the house's status as
a luxury residence continued into the 19th century,
but its growing reputation made it sort of like
an urban legend, even among London's elite. And
it's this dichotomy, like the elegant and proper
facade of Berkeley Square and the horror so unimaginable
that they drive you mad that lurk inside of it,
that set the stage for the stories that I'm about
to tell you. So are you ready to dive into the
legends? inside Berkeley Square, you look excited.
Fuck yes I am. You know what I'm going to love
the most? I want to see what they blame this
on because they can't blame it on Native Americans.
True. We sent one Native American over there,
Pocahontas, and she died like almost immediately.
Yeah, well, you know. Alright, so. It's a horrible
climate in that place and the food is just garbage.
We went over, the food's fine, alright? Most
of it's beige, yes, like a 90s computer, but.
I'm sure it's fine. I haven't bet, so I have
no idea. But like beige, like a 90s computer
that sat in the sun for a while, so it's also
kind of brownish almost. Yeah, like a good oatmeal,
which I assume is what they eat for almost every
meal. It's porridge. It's called porridge over
there. So before we begin, you and everyone listening
should know that most, if not all, of these stories
are pretty much unconfirmed. So whether they
are real encounters, exaggerated stories, or
just outright fiction, I don't know. The sources
for this were scant, to say the least. But what
I do know is that these incidents and stories
are what pretty much formed the backbone for
the house's reputation. So the first widely circulated
tale of death inside 50 Berkeley Square happened
in 1840 when a young man only known by his last
name, which was War Boys. Awesome. I don't know
if that's how it's pronounced, but how is that
a last name? I don't know. I don't think that's
how it's pronounced. I think I'm, but it's spelt
war boys and I love it. I mean, I can't think
of another way to pronounce that. It's spelled
just how it sounds. We're Boas. Yeah, I don't
know. But anyway, I mean, there's no, yeah, your
war boys is fine. So anyways, a man known by
his last name, war boy spent the night alone
in the attic either as a guest or a tenant. It's
unclear, but really it doesn't matter because
by morning he was dead. So his body. His body
was found twisted and contorted, his eyes are
wide open, and his mouth was frozen mid -scream.
A pistol was found near the body with a spent
round suggesting he had fired at something, but
no evidence of an intruder was ever found. A
few decades later, in 1871, Lord George Littleton,
a well -known British politician, decided, hey,
you know what? I'm going to prove that this place
is not haunted and you lot are a bunch of pussies.
So he arranged to spend the night in the attic
and to prove he wasn't scared of no ghost. He
was armed with only a candle. And a double barreled
shotgun. No. When you say armed with only a candle
and then a double barreled shotgun, maybe the
candle is not necessarily what he was armed with.
Both. Unless he was fighting scarecrows. Or just
like the dark. Yeah. I mean, am I wrong? His
pitched battle with the darkness. No. According
to Lord George Littleton, sometime after midnight,
he heard something moving that was described
as a slow, wet dragging sound. Then a dark sheep
emerged from the corner of the room. He fired
both barrels into that motherfucker and then
just immediately dipped out. The next morning,
he claimed to have found shotgun pellets embedded
in the wall, but no blood, no body, and no explanation
for what the fuck happened. Now, whether Littleton
was full of shit or he actually encountered something
in the house, who knows? But due to his status
and reputation combined with this story it lent
the house and the happenings inside sort of like
an air of legitimacy because he was so well known
you know what i mean now what did he live did
he survive yeah he survives okay well yeah i
guess that would make sense because we know how
what it sounded like so he fired into the darkness
at a wet like kind of squishy sound well something
he said he saw like a like a an amorphous like
a form come out of the it was i mean it was dark
okay he couldn't see it but he fucking two two
barrels right to that guy's chest or things chest
the entities chest no another tragedy that occurred
around this time involves a young maid who had
the unfortunate opportunity to be employed by
whoever was living at 50 50 berkeley square at
the time now according to legend She was told
to sleep in the attic. Some say it was a cruel
prank. Others say it was some form of punishment.
More than likely, it was just shit luck on her
part. Yeah. Or they were like, my tea is cold
to the attic. It could be a punishment or just
like that's the only place they had for her.
Either way, it sucks. Now, that night, the entire
house heard this blood -curdling scream coming
from the attic. When the servants rushed to the
room, they found her curled in a corner, eyes
wide and unblinking, shaking violently and repeating
the same line over and over again. Don't let
it touch me. Don't let it touch me. Also, the
name of my sex tape, weirdly enough. You are
the worst. God damn it. It's not my fault. I'm
very pale. It scares people. Now, reportedly,
she never recovered. She was admitted into an
asylum where she eventually died not long after.
Whatever she saw in the attic was so profoundly
terrifying that it literally drove her into a
state of irreversible madness. Then, finally,
the last story I got for you is what is considered
the most famous and for sure the most violent
story associated with 50 Berkeley Square. And
in my opinion, it's hardly the best one. So in
1887, two sailors in their early 20s, Edward
Blunden and Robert Martin of the HMS Penelope,
were on shore leave. This has got to be good.
You know sailors are just going to fuck shit
up. All right. So in 1887, like I said, the two
sailors in their early 20s, Edward Blunden. and
Robert Martin of the HMS Penelope were on shore
leave and were looking for a place to crash in
Mayfair. They were low on cash and more than
likely hammered off their ass. Now, they were
either dared to or decided on their own to spend
the night at 50 Berkeley Square. Now, by this
point, the house is pretty infamous. Everyone
kind of knew about it and well -known for its
reputation for being just an absolute nightmare
of a home. Like I said, whether it was a drunk
wager or just an act of bravado by two drunken
sailors, the two men broke into the house and
made their way up to the attic, which by this
point had just straight up and sealed off, which
I mean, great call. I like that they decided.
Yeah, makes sense. Yeah. Now, when they finally
got in, the room was bare, cold, and thick with
the smell of mold, mildew, and dust. One of the
men lit a candle while the other decided to try
and make some type of makeshift bed from some
items that were left behind from previous tenants,
which not going to lie so far, this is pretty
romantic. This is pretty hot. It is. It's definitely
a meet cute. Now, what stood out the most to
them was just how quiet the attic was. It was
one of those like it's too quiet kind of deals
that always happens to someone like. just before
some absolutely horrific shit goes down. But
they tried to play it off. Cracking jokes, shooting
the ship, playful wrestling, whatever sailors
do when on leave together in a haunted attic.
I don't know. Little Dutch rudder action. But
not long after midnight, something changed. The
temperature of the room dropped sharply. The
candle began to flicker, even though there was
no draft. Then a sound. It wasn't footsteps.
It sounded... More like something dragging itself
across like the wooden floors. It was something
wet. It was a regular and it was alien. Now Martin
claimed that Blunden grabbed a length of pipe
and got in between the noise and his friend or
possible lover shouting at whatever it was to
stay back. Well, it didn't work. Obviously that's
when this thing attack. Now Martin described
that he like what he saw attack. He only could
describe it in fractured sentiments, like statements,
before he inevitably lost his mind, which we'll
get to in a second. He described it as being
a shapeless, amorphous thing. No visible face
and covered in some sort of slime. It had tentacles
or limbs or both that didn't move right. It didn't
walk. It crawled or it slid or unfolded itself
from the corner of the room like it had been
inside the walls all the time. Again, he's losing
his mind while he's trying to. he's also extremely
drunk i'm sure yeah but but we'll get just wait
so anyways this thing lunged and blunden swung
at it with his metal pipe and landed a direct
blow but it barely registered as an attack in
its defense it wrapped blunden up in one of its
many appendages Lifted him off the ground and
slammed him all around the room. I assume it
was kind of like what the Hulk did to Loki and
the Avengers. You know what I'm talking about?
It's just... That cartoon handshake where you
shake the guy's hand so much you're slamming
him into the ceiling and then into the floor.
But now this is... So yeah, so he was slamming
him around the room before the thing decided
he was bored and fucking just chucked him across
the room straight through a window. Now... Let's
flip this. So at the same time, Martin is watching
his friend get tossed around like a chew toy
in the attic. Witnesses on the street and neighbors
reported hearing shouting, violent and repetitive
slamming on the walls, the sound of glass breaking,
and then a single long inhuman shriek. I mean,
those could have just been sex noises, though.
Now, when they went to go investigate just what
the hell was going on, they discovered Blunden's
body impaled on the spiked iron fence that ringed
the property. Oh, damn. Reports say his body
was just torn the fuck up, but not just from
the fall, but from something prior. He was covered
in bruises. He had a shattered arm that didn't
quite match the fall, and his face was frozen
in what could only be described as an expression
of unspeakable fear. Now inside the house, they
found Martin just barely clinging to his sanity.
He was tucked away, huddled in the attic's far
corner. His eyes were wide and unblinking and
his pupils were completely blown out on like
unreacting to the light. They said he was quote
unquote, barely human in appearance. He was pale,
trembling uncontrollably. He had both pissed
and shit himself and his mouth seemed as though
it was stuck mid scream, but nothing was coming
out. Besides a rasp, besides rasping breaths
that people have said sounded more like hyperventilation
mixed with wet sobs. I can only imagine like
the problems, like the, the, the mess that he
must feel like inside, you know? Oh yeah. The
internal conflict. I mean, his buddy was just
looking out for him. Kind of a, you scratch my
back, I'll finish on yours situation. And then
he gets thrown out a window and stuck on a, on
a wrought iron fence. Like, how terrible? I hate
you, Sarge. So much. And the fact that we have
lag and I can't discipline you in real time really
bums me out. Now, for hours after... Now, for
hours after he was... I guess rescued from the
house. He was incapable of speech when he did
finally begin to mumble. It was just in broken
fragments. Now, some of the greatest hits included.
It came out of the walls. Too many arms or none.
I couldn't count eyes on the floor. It touched
me. It knew my name. And this is probably the
worst one. The dark is alive. Don't let it know
you're watching. Not great. Damn. That's a rough
one. Yeah. That's a scary one. It's not good.
Don't let her know you're watching. Fuck. That's
so scary. It's not good. None of this is good.
And you're over here making cum jokes. God damn.
Well, I mean, too many arms did almost send me
down a rabbit hole, but I held it together because
I don't think our audience is ready for a Bukkake
joke just yet. So. He also reportedly tried to
claw his own eyes out at least once while being
restrained. And on the carriage ride... A lot
of women do that after sex with me. You're a
married man, alright? Fucking chill. You proud
of yourself? This is what you want? This is what
you want for our audience, Sarge? Alright, huh?
You're having a grand old time. Sorry. I'm sorry.
I'm a little punchy today. The rain is doing
it to me. This man lost his mind watching his
lover get thrown out a window. You're over here
making cum jokes. I quit. I'm storming off. Oh,
God. Okay. Settled. I'm good. I'm good. Okay.
Yeah. So like I said, he also reportedly tried
to claw his eyes out at least once while being
restrained and on the carriage ride to the local
infirmary, he refused to sit near any windows
or dark corners, which I assume would make travel
very difficult. I can't imagine carriages back
then were very well lit. So you either had to
do one or the other. I don't think you could
sit by a window and or he's a very confusing
man. Avoid a dark corner. Yeah. How does that
work? Just curled up on the floor holding a candle.
Something. Now, once there, one nurse said he
would scream every time someone would enter the
room if he hadn't actually seen them approach,
as if he was expecting to see something else
when they finally popped in. Now, within 48 hours,
he was committed to a psychiatric ward, but his
condition never improved. Now, like I said, official
records are missing or incomplete, but one orderly
is said to have noted that Martin died years
later, still afraid of shadows and having never
spoken again in full sentences. Some versions
say he actually had to be kept in a padded room
that had to remain lit 24 hours a day. Other
stories like to claim that he would draw shapes
on the walls in his own shit. God damn it. Just
the same image over and over. twisting concentric
spirals and blobs with curling tentacles. Now,
I'm not saying all the details are true, but
the essential detail remains the same, and that
is Robert Martin never recovered, and whatever
he saw in that room, it didn't just break his
mind. It completely swallowed it whole. So there
you are. Those are the stories of 50 Berkeley
Squares. They're not great. How are you feeling
so far? Imagine being so scared that you draw
shit monsters on the wall. That's horrifying.
Like, it broke his brain so bad that he had to
draw and poop. It might have been also just the
only thing he had as far as... quote unquote
art supplies go. Yeah. They're probably not giving
him too many. Yeah. They're probably not giving
him too many pens and pencils. He's not getting
like a three B out of that one. I feel like he's
not, they're not just willy nilly giving him
like, Oh yeah, here's a sharp object to here's
some, here's some charcoal and oil pastels. Honestly,
I feel like that's safer. I feel like oil pastels
would have been the way to go. All right. Sorry.
Do you want to talk some theories as to what
this thing could be? Yes. Yes, I do. Okay. So
let's talk theories because for a thing with
no name, People have sure as hell tried to slap
a lot of explanations on it. All right. So some
folks say it's a ghost classic haunted house
deal. Maybe the spirit of a young woman who died
tragically in the attic. Maybe something older,
meaner, something demonic. It doesn't behave
like your average Victorian lady in white type
ghost thing. It's super violent. Yeah, it's physical
and it definitely has a body count. A little
rough. For sure. Others think it's not a ghost
at all, but like. just a straight up creature,
like a legit biological thing. Reports, like
I said, described it as oozing, amorphous, sometimes
tentacled, which has led to this idea that the
attic was home to a giant squid. A giant squid
completely forgetting that they don't breathe
air. Yeah, just a straight up cephalopod, like
in the attic. Yeah, just crawling out of its
aquarium. Yeah, I don't know. And then attacking
and then crawling back in there. Yeah, I don't
know how it's supposed to have gotten there or
what it was eating besides an occasional sailor
or two, but I don't know. People bring it up
more than you would think. You would think the
sailors would have recognized that it was a squid.
Maybe in the dark. It's weird. I don't know.
I feel like on land you might not fucking know.
Yeah, and they might have been busy doing other
stuff. I didn't look. I know I put the idea in
your head and now it's just there. I was being
gentle. It's pride, Sarge. We can't keep making
gay jokes. It's not a joke. There's nothing wrong
with being gay. Jesus. don't turn this on me.
Like I have the asshole. There is nothing wrong
with the love of two sailors. Just enjoy in their
evening. Happy pride, everyone. Um, but anyway,
so there's also the, and it was interrupted by
a perverse octopus. Anyways, there's also the
idea that it was some kind of escaped experiment.
Victorian London had its fair share of bad scientists.
You know, maybe someone whipped something up
unnatural and locked it upstairs when it got
out of hand. Yeah, that Dr. Jekyll guy was a
real fucking weirdo. Yeah. On the more psychological
side of things, you got theories, pretty much
it's like mass hysteria, fear feeding fear. Like
one person panics, another dies under mysterious
circumstances, and then suddenly... anyone who
walks into that place is just expecting to see
something that breaks their minds yeah that makes
sense too though because like you've heard you've
heard the stories of like uh you know when people
hear about a place being haunted they go in with
the expectation Yeah. And so any kind of weird
little noise or whatever is amplified and then
they freak the fuck out. Yeah. That could be
it. Then it's just, then it's just a ghost. It's,
you know, obviously that's what it is. Yeah.
But if you think about it, like you're, you're
also, so for the sailors, I did have a question
about the sailors for real. They, they go up
the stairs, they find a room blocked off. Yeah.
They've got a whole ass fucking house, but their
thought is no, no, no, no. I want to sleep in
the room. That's completely boarded up. Well,
like I said, it was either a dare or the house
already had a reputation. So they knew what was
going on. So they were probably like, if we're
going to sleep here, we have to sleep in the
attic again. It was either a dare or they were
just wanted to prove how brave they were. It
wasn't like they didn't wander into a haunted
house. Why is this blocked off? We got to figure
it out. They didn't Scooby -Doo it. They knew
what they were getting into. Yeah, it just feels
like a really weird choice. If someone was like,
hey, this house has broken a bunch of people's
brains that are in an insane asylum down the
street and there's bullet holes everywhere, I'm
going to sleep adjacent to the horror room. To
be fair, most of them died. Oh, that's true.
Yeah, and these all happened pretty far apart,
I guess. Time wise. It wasn't like a bunch of
deaths in the span of a year. It was like every
couple decades. Well, yeah, because no one else
was dumb enough to sleep in the fucking shotgun
attic. That's fair. He didn't die, though. Maybe
the shotgun is the key. Maybe we're going this
all wrong. You know, maybe this is it. This is
an ash. You need that scenario. Yeah, exactly.
Now, the other angle is that maybe there was
like a. The quote unquote gas leak angle, like
Victorian homes were full of carbon monoxide
and other toxins, hallucinations, paranoia, sudden
death. All those things can be kind of. I mean,
yeah, the fucking wallpaper had arsenic in it.
Yeah, it was not great. And then there's always
the possibility that the whole thing was bullshit.
You know what I mean? Like I'd like maybe like
Lord Littleton. he heard about the ghost stories
and then he himself went in there, exaggerated
the whole thing. And over the years, it turns
into a full blown, like urban legend, or maybe
it's just a real mind bend. It was something
else, like something that didn't belong here.
Like it wasn't a ghost or a beast, something
that like, like very Lovecraftian, like, you
know what I mean? Like very interdimensional
creature. Yeah. Someone called up from the ocean.
Um, but yeah, it's just like, just something
came through. I don't know. It's all bad. None
of us great, but there you have it, Sarge. That's
all I got. I think the thing that really sells
this story though, is that it's like in the,
it ends in Victorian England. You know, what
did you say? 1880 or 1890, something like that.
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. So it ends at like a really
dark time in English history. I mean, you've
got Jack the Ripper, not too far off. There's
a lot of room for creepy fucking scary shit.
Charles Dickens didn't help. No, definitely not.
But there you have it, Sarge. That is the story
of the nameless thing of Berkeley Square. How
are you feeling? What do you think? I love it
and I want it to be so true. Is the house still
there? I have to imagine they probably torn it
down at this point. I left this out. It's still
there. The bottom floor is now a bookstore. And
they do not allow anyone upstairs. So we need
to break in. Paranormal teams have tried to get
in there and investigate forever. I don't think
many, if any, have as far as I know. Okay. Yeah,
it still stands. It's now just a bookstore. It
sounds like we just need to bide our time. I
mean, bookstores can't be doing that well. She'll
get to a point where they have a price and we
can be like, yo. That's true. Let me take my
shotgun and this candle up into your attic. This
was a pleasant surprise. I really like this story,
actually, a lot. I want to look more into it
and find out more stuff. I want to go to this
fucking bookstore for sure. Yeah, information's
all over the place. The stories are different
depending on who's telling them. It's very one
of those type deals. I just kind of picked and
choose my favorite ones. I mean, that's all you
can really do with any paranormal story is like
hunt and pack. And like, just, I just want to
know why it's like that. That's what I need.
I need to know, like, there's no fucking haunting
backstory that I need. Yeah. There's really,
there's no reason why it's because it was, yeah,
I don't know. There's no, they, I'm sure there's
a dark past that I didn't look into. Maybe like
a bunch of people died in the building or something
like that, but it was. It wasn't built long before
it started getting fucking weird. You know what
I mean? I know. It wasn't there long enough,
I feel like, to have a bunch of tragedies. So,
I don't know. It's weird. All right, Sarge. You
got anything you want to plug before we sign
off? Yeah, drink Narragansett beer, you sons
of bitches. I just had Narragansett Dell's iced
tea. Really good stuff. Hey, I'm drinking the
tea right now, too. A little bit of carbonation,
but not, like, too much. Yeah, it's so good.
A little bit of carbonation, not too much. And
it, it just in that lemonade, Dell's lemonade.
So good. It is. It's like a, it's like an Arnold
Palmer, but, uh, you know, they won't let you
into a country club if you're carrying it. Yeah,
they might. Yeah. But like, yeah, it's probably
a country club in like Quincy, Massachusetts.
You know what I mean? Um, but no drink it. Narragansett,
Dell's, uh, iced tea. It's a good summer drink.
I'm drinking it while it's raining. So, I mean,
I'm bringing the summer vibes into the studio
by myself. It's fine. You kind of need to. That's
what I'm doing, too. All right. Yeah, and if
you drink Narragansett, whichever one you want.
You don't have to drink the fucking tea just
because Sarge told you to. You can drink whatever
you want. Just drink it. The Shandy's good. Yeah.
If you want to follow us. Or Fresh Catch is good,
too. IPA. All right. All right. I'm sorry. You
got me thinking about beer. Now I'm just fucking,
you didn't even do it. I did it to myself. You
did. Yeah. So if you want my sex tape, yes, I'm
editing all this out. All right. If, uh, if you
want to follow us on Instagram, you can do that
at cryptic cocktail, follow us on Tik TOK, cryptic
cocktail party. Uh, and just a reminder that
this Thursday, when this happens to go the week
that this episode comes out, we're going to be
on scared all the time. We did an episode with
them about shark attacks. It was a lot of fun.
They unlocked my fucking, my nerd obsession.
Yeah. So definitely check that out. I think that's
all I got to plug. I don't really know. If you
want to follow Sarge on all his socials, you
can find the links in our Instagram. And with
that out of the way, Sarge, you want to say goodbye
and a love to the audience? Goodbye. And if you
are two sailors just trying to find a place to
love each other, don't go to England. I love
you.