Horror Short: My Experience with the Skibidi Toilet
The Skibidi Toilet — such a ridiculous concept on the surface, but I can't help but feel that it embodies something darker, more ancient, lurking beneath the veil of irony and mindless content. It slithers into our minds through glowing screens, dressed in the guise of absurdity. The elders of our digital generation claim it’s all harmless fun, but I suspect something more sinister. Skibidi Toilet exists not just as a meme but as an egregoric entity — yes, an idea made flesh, or rather, data, formed by the collective unconscious of our doom-scrolling youth.
Skibidi Toilet, born in the nebulous world of forms. This spectral toilet, endlessly rotating in loops of short, clipped videos, flashing in front of our eyes faster than we can blink, has crawled out of the digital ether. It haunts the liminal space between our conscious minds and the algorithms that control them, siphoning our attention span one 10-second reel at a time. And I, too, have fallen victim to it.
It started innocuously, as it always does. A late-night bathroom trip, phone in hand — just a quick scroll while the mundane function of life does its thing. A harmless reel of dancing pixelated toilets, maybe a catchy remix that I had no business listening to at 3 AM, but there I was — drawn in. Little did I know that, as I sat on my throne of porcelain, I was merging with something far beyond my comprehension. The bathroom air thickened, not just from the human scent of what I’d had for dinner, but with the palpable presence of something eldritch, something feeding on my inattention.
As the videos swirled before me, I felt my mind slowly rot, softening under the incessant stream of dopamine-draining clips. This was no place for profound thoughts, no room for clarity or revelation. No, here, in the presence of Skibidi Toilet, my mind was a sponge for junk — endless, brain-rotting junk. I became aware of a growing malaise within me, the sense that I was not alone, that the Skibidi Toilet was there, watching me, feeding off my distraction.
Shower thoughts, those beautiful moments of epiphany that blossom in the steamy sanctuary of self-reflection, are the antithesis of the Skibidi Toilet. Where showers cleanse the body and spark the mind, the toilet is a throne of decay, a place where egregores like this fester. No profound thoughts emerge from a doom-scroll session; only the ever-deepening sense of nihilism that seeps into the soul like black ink into water.
And so, Skibidi Toilet thrives in our modern age. Empowered by us — by every second we lose staring at our phones while seated on our porcelain altars. There’s something deeply horrifying about this realization: We’re feeding it. Every scroll is another sacrifice to the entity, another piece of our mind it devours, leaving behind nothing but fleeting, dopamine-drained emptiness.
Cthulhu has nothing on the Skibidi Toilet.
