By: Alex Masse, Peak Associate
Would you spend a devastating seven more bucks a month on a new streaming service for a show unavailable on Netflix, or do you risk some harmless little malware and maybe a housecall from the FBI on a pirating site? I know my pick.
If you’ve been to these sites, you’ve inevitably seen the ads that say, “Local Women in Your Area can’t wait to meet you!” They feature busty women with hungry grins who promise a good time — and they’re just a quick credit card entry away.
When I started episode one of What We Do in the Shadows on one of these sites, they were 10 kilometres away. As I loaded up the second, just eight. I didn’t think much of it: probably just some attempt at getting my attention.
For episode three when they were only six kilometres away, it started to feel like a countdown. My double chins reflected in the computer screen tensed with mild fear.
Still, I did what I do when any stressor in my life risks rearing its head: I click on the next episode. Can’t hurt me if I’m watching a vampire sitcom.
“Local women in your area! Now in your home!” the advertisement told me. Yeah, sure.
Suddenly, my door shot open as though a gust of wind blew through. Only, I swear my door had been locked.
The distinct clacking of heels on wood signalled someone — something — approaching. It came in a seemingly endless rhythm, as if a whole army was on their way. Maybe if I hid under my desk still unused this semester despite it being October already, the monsters wouldn’t find my smooth brain appetizing.
My bedroom door slammed open. To my surprise, it was just one woman. Long, luscious black hair, perky breasts that caught my normally-respectful eyes, and as I continued looking down . . . at least a dozen legs, distinctly insectoid in nature, each perfectly slid into a red-backed Louboutin heel. At least the horrifying (but hot?) insectoid about to rip open my flesh was stylish.
“Ready for a fun time?” She asked, leaning in closer, joints clicking as her neck and face neared mine. I realized her face didn’t move, as though it were a mask. From under her mask-like face (surprisingly blended for the gods?), a black tongue snaked out.
All I managed was to shake my head. I was not trying to find out what this creature meant by a fun time.
“Then we’ll just sssssskip that and get more . . . comfortable,” she cooed. She patted my cheek with a cold, leathery hand. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”
Again, I shook my head. Man, I just wanted to watch What We Do in the Shadows. Couldn’t she have picked on some guy watching hentai or something?
Her visage fell, almost revealing whatever lay underneath. “We’re gonna live here now. Our offspring will hatch and mature under your roof. And either you can bring us raw meat . . . or you can be the raw meat.”
Honestly, all this talk of raw meat just had me staring at her boobs again (respectfully).
Before I could object, she continued. “Also, I bricked your computer. For a laugh. But ssseriously, either feed us or we’ll literally eat you.”
In short, don’t pirate unless you want the sound of a stampede every time your roommate wants a midnight snack. And don’t complain, or you’ll be the midnight snack.