Blinding lights that come from washing machines

Tommy and George walked into a room. It had some things in it, most notably a round mirror, a lamp shade, and cow shaped cheese sculpture in the corner.

"Welcome, to my humble abode! And yes, I needed that comma for a dramatic pause effect." said Tommy, showing off his home with unmistakable emphasis on poorly chosen words.

"This is pretty cool," said George, walking around the 4x4x4 concrete cube. "Say, where's the door to this place anyway?" he said, whilst spinning around and staring directly into the camera, if there was one.

"There is none," Tommy replied back.

"Pine or oa-- wait, what?" said George, whilst his eyes glazed over in utter confusedness.

"You heard me right."

"Then how did we get in?"

"You smashed you head on the four foot thick cement until you broke through. That probably caused some brain damage, and that's probably why you can't remember that there is no door."

Tommy pointed at the sign reading "There is no door" that was taped on the wall, as people often forgot there was none after bashing their head through the four foot thick cement walls that made up Tommy's home.

"Wait, whut?"

"You've experienced major brain trauma and are probably going to die within the hour."

"You bastard."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

George stopped and gave Tommy a menacing glare for approximately thirty minutes, fueled by pure hatred. Tommy decided to break the silence.

"Let's continue the tour, shall we?"

"Sure." replied George.

Tommy walked over to the previously unmentioned bird cage.

"In this cage you can see my bird, Timmons."

George looked in, and saw nothing but a few old feathers and several bird bones, including the noticeable skull.

"Hey, I see nothing but a few old feathers and several bird bones, including the noticeable skull. That's no bird!"

"You see, that was a bird, but it is now dead. I added this feature to my home to get my increasingly close to brain dead guest comfortable with that fact that after they die their remnants can be preserved inside the home of an insane serial killer so they can be looked upon the many who follow in their footsteps."

George stared, confused.

"If you fill out this form, you give permission for me to display your bones to my following guests, if you so choose."

George started staring off into space.

"You see, if you sign here I'll throw you into the lottery with my other dead people who I have locked up, and if your name gets drawn I'll leave your bones around for my next guests. Timmons, here, got the lucky draw this week. "

George was drooling, and starting to lean.

"Yes, the effects of smashing his head on four feet of solid concrete have finally set in! I'll throw him into the locked basement to rot and die, just like my many, many others! Muahahah!" yelled Tommy, who once again placed emphasis on the wrong words, making him sound much less menacing than originally intended.

After locking the now dead George away, Tommy opened up his telephone book and crossed "George Cacker" off the list of names. He next had to call Susan Cadman, one below George. Going in alphabetical order, he had only just begun with the letter C, and he had many more people to kill who lived in or near the city of Watcherstonville, Iowa.

"3,246 down, 17,536 to go!" yelled Tommy, whilst laughing as a stereotypical insane serial killer would.

His journey to killing a shitload of people had only just begun, even though he had already killed thousands of people.

Man, I suck at writing stupid horror stories. I guess this noose I've had ready for years will finally have a use.

/hangs himself

THE END, although I was supposed to be dead after hanging myself therefore rendering myself unable to type that. Shit, they caught my bluff.