View Profile Meddyboi2000
A nerdy idiot from Transylvania who likes video games, books and all things retro. I play with words and pixels.

Medard Szabo @Meddyboi2000

Satu Mare,Romania

Joined on 4/13/21

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Posted by Meddyboi2000 - October 4th, 2021

Morning brisk sun rises. 

Beach fills slowly with many people. 

Their rotten smell glosses 

Every fresh drowned corpse on ground.

At siesta, tired man lays 

Sweating by the merciless gold sphere.

Hidden army loud faze 

Of musquitoes who are keen on prey.

As the warm sun descends

On the pastel rose infinite sky, 

A forest fire expands 

Killing innocent living beings.

Glistening sky of night

Crowds city streets with lots of bright souls

Among them evil's might

Stealing fortune, killing existence.

*Author's Note: This poem was an entry for the Newgrounds Sum-21 Writing Contest which I didn't win but still was glad to participate in.*



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - August 29th, 2021

      Bart turned at the people approaching him, who were just all blending into clothes that were lost in colour, like withered flowers. They also smelled like them. 

      'Oh, hello gentlemen! Don't you happen to have some plum brandy to share, please?' asked Bart politely.

      The people were looking at each other perplexed as were cavemen when they saw the all mighty and only deity, Bob, when he lost his favourite blanket that he had since he was born and raised of the primordial soup. 

      After the confusion, the people were grunting and readying themselves to attack. Some had swords, some had knives, some had hard fists and most of them had hundreds of ways to offend with colourful vocabulary. Bart stood up and then his face changed from oblivious hospitality into determined anger. With slow and stealth, he put his left hand on his sword's ivory handle. The tension was so high that you can cut it. And that's what Bart did, swinging the blade with so much steadiness that you were only able to catch the glimpse of a silver trail, caressing each of the withered drinkers body. After they were cut in half, fountains of red burst, painted the beige walls and the cherry wood furniture. A sight like this, with so much crimson, hasn't been seen since Torval the Jester's last show before the Llama War, when the audience threw all the tomatoes existent in Muzakia at him, after the comedic segment on veterans being just big babies.

      Bart once finishing the fight, he searched for the barmaid. Her heavy breathing came from under the counter. 

      'Listen, you, ugly fat hag! I will spare your life if you bring me a flask of plum brandy.' 

      The barmaid was crawling fast, like a dog fetching a stick, to the room filled with supplies. Then a hand, that you wouldn't think is from a woman's gracious hand, with all the dirt and sickeningly yellow nails, was holding a leather drum with a metal cap on it heavily filled to the brim with liquid.


      Bart grabbed the flask and took steps towards the exit of the inn. The barmaid suddenly rose up thinking she's safe. But then, Bart returned to the counter, which made her eyes expand.

      'Oh, sorry, I forgot to pay. How much is it?

      'It's t-two g-golden g-gobbles.'

      'Here, have three. Keep the change.'

      The barmaid just stood frozen in place and unable to answer. Bart now confidently got out of the 'Hard Rod' and was heading towards the village entrance to continue his adventures. That would have been the case, if after taking a little bit of distance from the inn, the evil barmaid wouldn't have come and shouted:

       'Guards! Guards! I have been robbed and almost lost my life to an evil man. Please help me! Look there it is. That nasty hoodlum!' 

       In a hasty fashion, came from nowhere, in front of Bart, two guards wearing bowl helmets and armor on their chests and legs, slowly showing rust and scratches from the harsh weather. They were pretty short and by physical traits they seemed to be identical twins.

       'Is there any problem sirs?' asked Bart innocently.

       'We've been informed that you have caused trouble to some innocent lady.' responded the twins in unison.

       Bart was looking back at the barmaid standing in the entrance of the inn, sinisterly smiling and waving to our hero.

       'You seem to be lacking in sight. Because I can only see a cross dressing warthog.'

       'Yeah we were so in a hurry, rushing into duty, that we forgot our glasses. But from the sounds of it must have been a woman. And by the laws of the tome on ''Bob's Ramblings And Wisdom'' it is stated that women are always right.'

       'You shouldn't believe what you read. I hope you know that sirs.'

       'Yes. But it is in our duty that we should follow the rules.'

       'But it's unfair! She sent her regulars to attack me because of my name!'

       'Which is?'


       'Then, definitely, you deserve to be arrested.'


       'Because everyone who wields that name is foul. Now, come with us!'     

       Bart, even in his persuasive ways, got arrested and handcuffed on the left hand and bonded with one of the twins. They were by height very short, being half as tall as Bart. So Bart had to bend himself down to walk, looking like one of the hunchbacked caretakers from Bob's temples. Where one of the tales they tell is of Almighty Only Deity Bob's childhood, when he played so much with the dinosaurs he created, that eventually in his youth got bored and destroyed them. The twin guards, with Bart coupled to one of them, went towards the left corner, farthest from the village entrance, to a blocky and grey concrete building, with grates on it's only window. The only thing that made this place distinguishable was the aged wood sign, next to the door, that had freshly painted with black: ''JAIL''.

       It's insides were as unremarkable.As you enter on the right side, there were two small slabs of dark wood , which were the guards' desks. Each of them had a stool with red cushioning. This office area was separated by a wall that had a rusty metal door that led to the only cell. It was almost dominated by shadows if it wasn't the lantern hanging at the entrance giving a little light. Inside the cell were two seats visible.

       'Look, geezer! We brought you some company to not get bored.' said the twins with happiness. 

       From the dark depths of the cell two small pairs of eyes glistened. The coupled guard broke the handcuffs bond with Bart, meanwhile the other , with it's hands free, opened the cell's door with a big key somehow hidden in his pockets. Then the guards showed incredible strength for their size, by pushing Bart in the cell. After that they closed and locked the door behind him and left saying:

       'If you will be a good boy we will bring you some nice maize porridge. If not... then hope you have a strong stomach.'

       Bart stood for some seconds dumbfounded then sat on one of the seats as comfortably as you can on a hard wood plank and there stared at shadowed figure's eyes.

       'So how's life?'

       'I told you to leave this village. Why, all the youth has to be so reckless?' said the shadow with a familiar voice.

       'Well I wanted to rest on my journey with some plum brandy.'

       Bart gave that answer quickly, but then he realized who was the person beyond the darkness.

       'Wait aren't you.....'

       From the shadows, steps slow and sure as heart beats uncovered the elder's face and cloth robe that Bart met before.

       'Why are you here? And why is the village hostile towards people named Bart?'

       'Because it's all my fault.'



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - August 18th, 2021

     After the long arduous battle in the Shadowed Forrest against the Grue, Bart the Fearless, a crimson haired warrior that didn't lack in guts, nor wits, finds himself in the treatcherous sands of Indigo Desert. It is one of the more peculiar corners of the Muzakian realm, where sands are grains of sapphire; the sky, either in day or night, takes shades of purple; and the sun and the moon are pink, engulfed in a neon aura. 

     As Bart crosses countless steps, he takes sight on some brown dots that stick out like a sore thumb. Getting closer , slowly, they come into shapes, then even closer, into old rackety looking wooden buildings. It is apparently a village built for lost travelers and insane hermits looking for rest and protection against something called fear and death. Things that can't be guaranteed, because of the inflation in prices that has happened over the years, due to the Llama War, where men suffered in defeat and wasted too much resources. 

    Bart approaches the only entrance to the village, an archway in the middle of walls made of cherry wood tree trunks that surrounds the buildings and on top has a banner written in bold black letters, seemingly worn out of time: "WELCOME TO DOOFINDLE, DEAR DWEEB". And then the dusty almost empty main street unravels with the houses on both sides. Bart wanders them in search of an inn to have some nice plum brandy after all the bloody walk he had. Deep in his train of thoughts, he is suddenly grabbed softly by his right shoulder of a wrinkly hand with a cloth sleeve attached to it. Then he readies his other hand on his sword's ivory handle protected by a leather scabbard around his belt

     'Back off, beggar or I will turn you into kebab.' said Bart in a threatening tone.

     'But the stranger didn't seem phased and was calm. 

     'I'm no seeker of food or wealth.'

     Bart turns and sees a hunched elder, hairless on his scalp, with a face covered by a messy grey beard and an expression unable to tell if it's filled with sadness or exhaustion.

     'Then what is your purpose of touching me?'

     'I've came to foretell the near future of yours, brave warrior.' 

     After he heard those words, Bart had for a moment a grin, that could rival those of Torval, the legendary jester who also was the one chosen to lead men in the entire Llama War'.

     'Tell me, it's about me making love to a Glamorzan woman?'

     But suddenly he's bushy scarlet eyebrows deepened his eyes that gave a stare of doubt, with his lips vanished like after the first ever bitter taste of a lemon.

     'I hope you are not tricking me or have to pay you?'

     'Sadly no, and also no. I came to warn you. My advice is to be leaving this place.'

     'Why? I need some plum brandy, after this tiring journey!' weeped our seemingly mature fighter and then turning his back from the elder.

     'Alright, be reckless and have your drink, but I will be the one laughing when our souls will meet in Animatopia and say that I told you, Bart.'

     His eyes got very round when he mentioned his name. But before he could turn and ask, the elder disappeared, only leaving small glittery particles. 'He must have been some wizard in disguise.', deducted to himself Bart. When the last word of the wizard was said, the streets got busier of people who were sighting at him, some with disgust, some with pity. 

     Bart did not take notice of them, his mind was only on the place called ''The Hard Rod'' from which sounds of noise , laughter and clinking glasses were heard. It was an inn that seemed better days, with white paint mostly by the harsh sandstorms being chipped and the roof in a position of bowing like the insane hermits to the only god of Muzakia, Bob. Though on the inside, opposed from outdoors, the inn had a big and uncomfortable difference in look. Furniture of the finest carving made of cherry wood, seats with soft white cushion and walls seemingly with new paint of beige. The only things that made this place feeling to be from the village are the people who are residing here getting far from their worries of work and life, drinking it away and an old portrait, which colors have been washed away by the sunlight throughout the years, of Torval the Jester on his noble donkey, Henry, ready for the Llama War. When Bart entered, the people stopped from their chatter and were eyeing on him. But he didn't care and went straight to the counter to order a drink. The shelf of neatly organized drinks from the Dramoklean Acid, the strongest beverage in all Muzakia, said to cause brains to melt and eyes to explode into fireworks, to orange juice was guarded by no soul. But at the right end side of the counter there was a bell. Bart rang it. 

     Somewhere in the back, a deep female voice with reverb shouted.

     'Beat it, were closed!' 

     Dumbfounded, Bart turns his head around and takes a quick glance on the crowd.

     'But there are so many people around here!'

     'It's a...family...gathering...' said the woman with a bit of uncertainty. 

     'Really? Because I've been to family gatherings myself and they are usually not this many in numbers.'     

     'Listen, have you read the sign that I put on the door?'

     'No? I was thinking of plum brandy and Glamorzan women.'

     'It says: ''NO BART ALLOWED" '

     'And so, if I happen to not be a Bart?

     Out of the left side of the entrance to the back ,where the supplies might be held, erected a round head of a woman with blond pigtails and a face that made boars look pretty in comparison.

     'You certainly look like one.'

     Bart started to suddenly lose his temper and beat the counter hard.

     'And if so, why do you have a prejudice against people named Bart?

     'They are always bad omen. Every time one of them came in, my inn got almost destroyed by sandstorms, customers or real estate agents.

     'That's an interesting story. Can I have my plum brandy, pretty please?

     The barmaid then showed the rest of herself wearing a dress as beige as the walls, with the skirt area short enough to reveal her hairy legs. Then she gave the loudest war cry.


     A sudden plethora of steps in unison came from the feet of people who would without a doubt sell their souls to the devil for eternal intoxication. Bart didn't seem to be shaking in his boots and just sat there. Even when he wants to rest and distance himself from the trouble, like an annoying ex-girlfriend, it comes back to him.    





Posted by Meddyboi2000 - July 26th, 2021

As years and years went,

The burdens grew on the back

Into sturdy dome ascent.

Heft left sight pitch black.

As more and more stood,

Inside this chilling coffin,

Question why and how it could 

Walls crack and soften?

As loud and loud shout 

For people living in light,

Have pity letting it out.

Just selfish souls sight.

As tears and tears drop,

Out of desperate pair eyes,

It's deciding on to stop.

Wait till the time dies.

As ways and ways change,

Surge wires extending ties

Of the farther and the strange

With same harsh demise.

As lots and lots souls,

In groups going to gather,

Being able finding goals

Break shells together.



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - July 19th, 2021

Some decades have passed

Since the forges turned fickle,

But rusty remnants

Of the hammer and sickle,

Made fossils on stock  

In a fast rate so mickle.

Creatures born blissful,

Mistaking wisdom with age;

When forcing the change,

They manifest fear with rage;

Naive and careless,

With remnants as slaves engage.

Among, rebels rose,

The fossils' offsprings, to save

From remnants' control

So no newborns to enslave.

But futile voices

Are forced on new paths to pave.

With time, on this land,

Each one fossil and remnant,

Will meet on their death.

Meanwhile every descendant,

On for better wealth

Struggle outside in present.



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - July 15th, 2021

Streets inundated with silence,

Walkway's rosy of blood,

Corpses lay grim decour, 

Among them army of hell flood.

Later arrives a champion,

With bravery and might,

Double barrel in hand,

Ready for intense gory fight.  

Possessed soldiers explode in groups,

Pinkies protruding holes,

Imps fall in painful groan, 

On quick smoke disappear lost souls.

Way behind them in the darkness,

Tall skinny creature locks 

Its eyes on hell's corpses.

With fiery hands, the healer stalks.


*Author's Note: This is a poem inspired by Doom 2 and it's title is based on one of the tracks that is used in maps 02, 11 and 17. (11 is the one where the titular ''healer'' or otherwise known as the ''archvile'' is introduced)*



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - July 9th, 2021


A sign of devotion, 

For certain individuals.

With respect, dedication,

That lasts eternal.


Sharing with all the world,

A new exciting happening,

Most of the times known to hold

Some immense bearing.


Flexible and liquid,

Able to compromise a bond,

Where idea's conflicted

For souls to be fond.


Fuel for lucid beings,

Dopamine and adrenaline,

With heavy effects, fleeting,

But so mettlesome.





A heavily sought concoction,

Easy to give, hard to get.

Only ones pulling attraction,

Are able to be blessed,

Who won't seek flesh.

Only those who keep coalesce,

Even in death.



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - July 5th, 2021

Wandering randomly in the dark,

Middle of a dimly lit park,

I see sitting a strange shadow.

Of unearthly splendour bestow,

Having sympathy for the devil.

As the light shines on the creature's face, 

Angelic smile, demonic gaze, 

Body of fallen deity. 

Somehow I need affinity,

Having sympathy for the devil.

As we intersect our pairs of eyes, 

Hungry stare starts to hypnotize. 

Pulling me down under her charm 

And even if she starts to harm, 

Having sympathy for the devil. 

On a dirty dark alleyway left, 

Flat out naked and being theft 

Of body fluids and belongings.

I can't believe myself falling,

Having sympathy for the devil. 



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - June 16th, 2021

Living meat produced on line

Wired to be disposable labour.

Programmed on with gleeful bliss 

For everyone to control over.

But among of all the copycats,

Some happen to malfunction.

Become rational and defiant,

Aware on diminution.

Defects roam among the living meat

Searching ways to validate.

But everyone puts them in a cage.

The husks won't collaborate.

Some in public, some who isolate,

Gain poison, then spit anger

Against oppressing conformity,

Struggling ways to differ.

Finding refuge in a nice cottage

Of ideas and colour,

Where defects, architects of image,

Reprogram new living meat.  



Posted by Meddyboi2000 - May 25th, 2021

Gross Reality

Isolation, sweet poison,

Guard of mind and soul,

Which gives no reason

Going outside at all.

Windows, grim showpiece

Of dystopian buildings,

Which force to release

All the lesser beings.

Humans, meat machines,

Dumb and fleeting slaves

Which money demeans

Any sort of braves

Terra, weak woman,

Molested and hurt,

Full on affliction.

Users are inert.