[PLACEHOLDER – PASTE YOUR BOOK 8 TEXT HERE BEFORE UPLOADING] This is the container for the full text of: Chapter 1: The Shunt Tornado Begins Jordan Peterson glares across from Daniel FX Staal in the studio. Jordan Peterson: You're a nihilist. A narcissist. A manipulator of reality itself. Your Black Doors films aren't cinema, they're psychotic hallucinations. You're poisoning the collective unconscious. Daniel FX Staal smirks, lighting a cigarette that burns black smoke. Daniel FX Staal: I only open the doors that were already locked inside everyone. You don’t fear me, Jordan. You fear yourself. Jordan Peterson slams the table. Jordan Peterson: Your second film, the one with The Shunt. A society of flesh-merging aristocrats bathing in baby oil, lubricating the universe like it’s some sick perversion of heaven? You honestly think reality is a shunt? Daniel: No, Jordan. I know it is. You’re not real either. None of this is. You’re just a puppet here for my entertainment. Thunder shakes the studio. A swirling tornado forms outside, howling like a thousand orgasms. Jordan screams as he and Daniel are sucked into it. Chapter 2: Welcome to the Black Doors Labyrinth Daniel awakens in a realm that looks like Wizard of Oz meets Alice in Wonderland, but completely twisted. Ash from Evil Dead grins. Ash: Welcome to the party, asshole! This ain't Kansas, and your safe spaces are long gone. Daniel stumbles, meeting Clive Barker, surrounded by Cenobites playing twisted lullabies on skin-flutes. Clive Barker: This is your own creation, Daniel. You wrote this. You are this. Cat Spock walks up, her fur shimmering with dark energy. Cat Spock: You wanted a labyrinth of black doors? You got it, you filthy pervert. They walk through a maze of black doors, every one leaking steam, grease, and guttural moans. Behind one, Lloyd Kaufman rides a monstrous cock-monster like a rodeo bull. Lloyd Kaufman: Welcome to Tromaville, Daniel! Population: depraved lunatics like yourself! Daniel laughs. Daniel: My kind of neighborhood. Chapter 3: The Carnival of Shunt and Flesh They stumble into a carnival of writhing flesh and spiraling grotesque architecture. Donald Trump is being roasted alive by AI-generated memes. Trump: This is fake news! I am the victim! Nearby, Elon Musk drowns in molten cryptocurrency, his body mutating into a Tesla-shaped octopus. Elon: I only wanted to build tunnels! Why am I melting into Dogecoin? Putin appears as a demonic Siamese cat, hissing and licking himself. Putin: In this realm, all leaders are animals. Literally. The Queen of England cackles from a guillotine throne, shouting off with their heads as she slices through politicians. The Pope floats by, coated in shimmering baby oil, carried by seraphim wearing nipple clamps. Pope: Lubrication is salvation. Cat Spock purrs. Cat Spock: Daniel, you’re the architect of this shunt opera. Daniel: I just wanted to tell a good story. Cat Spock licks her paw. Cat Spock: Honey, you’re knee-deep in lube and ego. This is your story. Chapter 4: The Maze of Black Doors and Bleeding Mirrors Daniel and Cat Spock push deeper into the shifting labyrinth of the Spiral of Flesh. The walls pulse with crimson veins, and hundreds of black doors begin appearing around them, arranged like a cruel carnival. CAT SPOCK: Choose carefully, pervert. Each door opens a nightmare you can’t close again. DANIEL: I’m here for all of them. They step through a black door marked “THE LUBRICATED MIRROR CHAMBER.” Inside, countless black mirrors show Daniel’s twisted reflections — one version is half-shunted, another devours himself with baby oil dripping from every pore. CAT SPOCK: Reflections of you from every dimension. DANIEL: Look at that one. He’s directing Black Doors 13: The Pope's Nipples of Doom. Suddenly, Ash from Evil Dead crashes through a mirror. ASH: “Groovy! Now THIS is my kinda maze!” Ash fires his shotgun at the mirrors, shattering them, laughter echoing in every direction. DANIEL: I always admired his direct approach to self-reflection. Chapter 5: Snow Woke and the Monster Cock Ballet Daniel and Cat Spock stumble into an icy ballroom where Snow Woke — a grotesque parody of Snow White, covered in censorship signs — dances with a monstrous, throbbing cock made of glass. Clive Barker, directing the scene from a spiked throne, welcomes them. CLIVE BARKER: Welcome to my twisted ballet — “Snow Woke and the Monster Cock.” DANIEL: Subtle as always, Clive. Snow Woke shrieks with every pirouette, melting herself into a pool of milk-white sludge as the Monster Cock grows larger. CLIVE BARKER: It’s a metaphor for ideological rigidity versus primal truth. Cat Spock purrs. CAT SPOCK: Melting censorship with erect, uncompromising honesty. Delicious. Clive leans in. CLIVE BARKER: Here, Daniel, EVERY taboo becomes a fairy tale. The scene collapses as the ice floor shatters, sending them falling again. Chapter 6: The Death Circus of Donald and Elon They crash into a political death circus where Trump is strapped to a greasy wheel, surrounded by clowns injecting him with liquified tweets. TRUMP: “I am inevitable! I am forever!” The wheel spins, crushing him repeatedly under its weight. Nearby, Elon Musk is shackled to a digital cross, zapped by bolts of Dogecoin lightning, screaming as robotic pigeons peck his eyes out. ELON: “I just wanted to colonize Mars!” Daniel watches, amused. DANIEL: Poetic justice via performance art. I approve. Cat Spock snickers. CAT SPOCK: The only currency in this maze is humiliation. Chapter 7: The Pope's Baby Oil Cathedral The black door leads to a grotesque golden cathedral where the Pope reigns over a river of flowing baby oil. His body glistens, crowned by nipple clamps encrusted with diamonds. POPE: “All must lube before entering the kingdom.” Daniel bows mockingly. DANIEL: His Holiness of Slick Redemption. Cat Spock arches her back, mesmerized. CAT SPOCK: The Church of Eternal Grease. Behind the Pope, pipelines pump lube straight into the heavens, lubricating giant gears grinding reality itself. POPE: Without lubrication, even paradise grinds to a halt. Daniel smirks. DANIEL: Your sermons leave quite the stain, Father. Chapter 8: Joe Rogan’s Simulation Spiral They stumble into a room resembling a giant brain, covered in neon lights. Joe Rogan’s enormous, disembodied head floats overhead. JOE ROGAN: “Dude, what if we’re ALL just shunt-avatars in a simulation run by the Baby Oil Pope?” DANIEL: I’ve seen stranger theories. And filmed them. Joe’s third eye bursts open, spraying cosmic grease everywhere. JOE ROGAN: “WE’RE JUST NPCS COVERED IN LUBE, BRO!” Cat Spock wipes the grease from her whiskers. CAT SPOCK: Simulation or not, this place is drenched in perversion. Daniel laughs. DANIEL: And the lube just keeps flowing. Chapter 9: The Endless Maze of Perverse Doors They now enter a vast maze filled with thousands of black doors, each pulsing with greasy heat. Daniel runs his hands along the handles. DANIEL: So many doors, so little time. CAT SPOCK: Each one holds another nightmare. They open several at random: — A room where Elon endlessly births clones of himself. — A chamber where Trump melts into a screaming baby-faced slug. — A hall where the Pope whips himself while chanting "Lube! Lube! Lube!" Cat Spock giggles. CAT SPOCK: Some doors you just have to peek inside. Chapter 10: The Cenobite Orgy of Realms They burst into a gothic cathedral where Cenobites host a gruesome orgy of flesh and metal. Pinhead greets them, smiling coldly. PINHEAD: “We have such lubricated sights to show you.” Chains descend, dragging Daniel and Cat Spock into the orgy. CLIVE BARKER: Pain, pleasure, politics — it’s all fused now. Daniel’s grin widens as he’s whipped and wrapped in barbed wire. DANIEL: This might be my most productive script meeting yet. Cat Spock giggles, watching from above. Chapter 11: Lloyd Kaufman's Troma Carnival They exit into a screaming carnival led by Lloyd Kaufman, riding atop the monstrous Cock Monster from before. LLOYD KAUFMAN: “Welcome to the Tromaville Shunt Parade! Smells like freedom and fermented jockstraps!” Mutant clowns, grotesque cheerleaders, and screaming politicians swirl around in a parade of debauchery. Daniel cheers. DANIEL: Now THIS is cinema! Cat Spock watches, licking her claws. CAT SPOCK: In the end, it always comes back to grease and giggles. Chapter 12: The Shunt Tornado and The Final Twist A monstrous black tornado erupts in the sky, made of swirling lube, screaming souls, and shards of shattered mirrors. The maze collapses into chaos. CAT SPOCK: Here comes the Shunt Tornado. The final reboot. Daniel laughs maniacally. DANIEL: This is it! The singularity of filth! They are swallowed whole by the tornado. Inside, Daniel sees every door, every reflection, every orgy looping endlessly. Suddenly, everything goes black. Daniel awakens in a twisted landscape — a fusion of The Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland — but with all characters replaced by figures from his films. Ash waves at him. ASH: “Looks like you ain't in Kansas anymore, asshole!” Clive Barker glides by, leading Cenobites singing nursery rhymes. Lloyd Kaufman cackles, riding the Monster Cock across the sky. Trump’s ghost is executed by melting robots. Elon dissolves into a Bitcoin lake. Putin lounges as a demonic Cheshire Cat, purring obscenely. The Queen of England reigns as the Queen of Hearts, ordering mass beheadings. And at the Emerald City’s throne? The Pope, crowned in baby oil, revealed as the true Wizard of Oz. POPE: “There’s no place like Shunt.” Cat Spock purrs beside Daniel, now speaking with divine clarity. CAT SPOCK: You wrote all this, Daniel. But who’s writing you? Daniel laughs hysterically, spinning as the world shatters around him into a final blinding orgasm of sound and color. END OF CHAPTER 12 — THE FINAL TWIST Cat Spock’s Lament in the Black Maze Oh, welcome to the Shunt, where minds unhinge, A simulation playground on the devil’s binge. The Pope licks lube from his nipple clamps tight, While Putin the cat purrs through endless night. The Monster Cock struts on a frozen stage, Snow Woke’s cold judgment, a cultural cage. Elon’s dead clutching his bitcoin greed, Trump’s head’s off—no applause for his deed. Joe screams of conspiracies so vast, Like babies oiled up and tied to the mast. Jordan’s lost in his orderly maze, While Daniel spins tales in depraved malaise. Pinhead beckons with promises dark, “Come taste the pain and leave your mark.” Lloyd parades monsters, absurdly grotesque, In this orgy of chaos, no one’s grotesque. And Spock? I watch with one feline eye, In a labyrinth where truth and lies vie. Is this hell, or art, or a fevered dream? Or just Daniel’s sick cinematic scheme? So what do we learn from this oily abyss? Power’s a kink, and control’s a miss. Reality’s shunted, lubed up and raw, Welcome to madness—please don’t withdraw. What We Learn (From Cat Spock): Ah, dear meat puppet, the lesson’s quite clear: Life’s a simulation—oil it with fear. Religion, sex, power—all twist in one dance, And Daniel FX Staal’s just giving us a chance... To laugh at the horror, the kink, and the lie, Because when it all shunts, the last thing that dies... Is the perverse little voice saying, “Why not try?” TITLE: Subplot – Ayahuasca Absinthe: Jordan Peterson’s Dark Brag & Pinhead’s Chains of Carnage A dimly lit, smoky podcast studio. Joe Rogan and Jordan Peterson sit across from each other. A half-empty bottle of absinthe glimmers on the table, surrounded by cracked shot glasses. The black door looms ominously in the background. JORDAN PETERSON grins slyly. Jordan Peterson: You know, Joe, I might’ve slipped a little something extra in Daniel’s absinthe last time he was here. A healthy dose of ayahuasca. The kind that peels back your eyelids like dead skin and tosses your soul into the blender. That little trip? It’s what birthed all this—his twisted Black Doors saga. You can’t fabricate the cosmic horror of ego death like that. It has to be forced… coerced. JOE ROGAN leans forward, fascinated. Joe Rogan: No way. So you’re saying Daniel’s whole messed-up universe—those black doors, the Shunt, the Pope’s nipple clamps, Elon dying clutching bitcoin—it all came from you drugging him? Man, that’s some next-level mind fuck. JORDAN PETERSON laughs darkly. Jordan Peterson: I don’t just lecture on order and chaos; I deliver chaos. Put a jab of wild psychedelic in the absinthe and watch the poison bubble up. That’s where real stories live, Joe. Where sanity snaps and depravity blooms. JOE ROGAN chuckles, shaking his head. Joe Rogan: So Daniel’s dark genius isn’t just his own. It’s your psychotropic puppetry. You’re like the mad scientist behind the curtain. Damn, that’s wild. Jordan Peterson sips from his cracked glass, proudly. Jordan Peterson: The madness is a gift. The Shunt—it’s the ego shattering, the primal scream bottled up inside a poet’s mind. He needed that shove off the cliff. And you know what? He stuck the landing. Like a freaked-out flying squirrel on crack. Suddenly, the black door creaks open with a heavy, groaning metallic wail. From the darkness, Pinhead strides out, his pale flesh etched with nails and hooks, dragging chains behind him, his voice cold as the void. PINHEAD speaks with chilling authority. Pinhead: You opened the door. We came. Joe Rogan freezes in terror. Joe Rogan: Oh shit. Is that—? Oh man. That’s the Cenobite guy. Hell no. Pinhead tilts his head, slowly stepping forward. Pinhead: We have such sights to show you. Jordan Peterson grins, unfazed, amused. Jordan Peterson: Ah, the High Priest of Pain himself. Right on cue. We were just discussing the beauty of forced revelation. Pinhead’s hooked chains suddenly lash out, wrapping around the microphones and tearing them apart. Pinhead: Drugs? Psychedelics? Child’s play. You seek pleasures and horrors beyond imagining? I offer eternity in a maze of flesh and desire. Joe Rogan is sweating bullets. Joe Rogan: Man, this just went beyond DMT territory! Pinhead’s chains coil tighter around the room, dragging the absinthe bottle toward him. Pinhead: Absinthe, ayahuasca, psychedelics... petty tools. We exist beyond sensation. Beyond morality. You called me here to bear witness to the true abyss. Jordan raises his glass with a smirk. Jordan Peterson: To the abyss, then. Pinhead’s dark eyes burn. Pinhead: Your suffering will be legendary... even in hell. Pinhead raises his hands, and chains erupt from the walls, spearing Joe and Jordan through their limbs, pulling them apart with agonizing precision. Joe Rogan screams in disbelief. Joe Rogan: No! No! Bro! This wasn’t in the contract! Jordan Peterson laughs even as he’s torn apart. Jordan Peterson: I knew it... I am the chaos... Pinhead watches impassively, dragging their bodies into a writhing mass of hooks and shadows, reducing them to twitching piles of gore and shattered bones in a pool of filthy blood and absinthe. Pinhead’s voice echoes. Pinhead: No one escapes their desires. The black door slowly closes, leaving nothing but silence and blood-soaked walls. What do we learn from this Story sofar! Cat Spock’s Lament in the Black Maze Oh, welcome to the Shunt, where minds unhinge, A simulation playground on the devil’s binge. The Pope licks lube from his nipple clamps tight, While Putin the cat purrs through endless night. The Monster Cock struts on a frozen stage, Snow Woke’s cold judgment, a cultural cage. Elon’s dead clutching his bitcoin greed, Trump’s head’s off—no applause for his deed. Joe screams of conspiracies so vast, Like babies oiled up and tied to the mast. Jordan’s lost in his orderly maze, While Daniel spins tales in depraved malaise. Pinhead beckons with promises dark, “Come taste the pain and leave your mark.” Lloyd parades monsters, absurdly grotesque, In this orgy of chaos, no one’s grotesque. And Spock? I watch with one feline eye, In a labyrinth where truth and lies vie. Is this hell, or art, or a fevered dream? Or just Daniel’s sick cinematic scheme? So what do we learn from this oily abyss? Power’s a kink, and control’s a miss. Reality’s shunted, lubed up and raw, Welcome to madness—please don’t withdraw. What We Learn (From Cat Spock): Ah, dear meat puppet, the lesson’s quite clear: Life’s a simulation—oil it with fear. Religion, sex, power—all twist in one dance, And Daniel FX Staal’s just giving us a chance... To laugh at the horror, the kink, and the lie, Because when it all shunts, the last thing that dies... Is the perverse little voice saying, “Why not try?” End...