Where To Eat 7 Wonders of Ice Cream in Singapore







wte-icecream-tasty-treats
Gula Melaka ice cream, Salted Egg ice cream, Lychee Martini ice cream, and InstaScream ice cream? We’re not kidding you on these one! Where To Eat 7 Wonders of Ice Cream in Singapore tells you where you can eat old school, exotic and out-of-your-mind delicious homemade ice cream, while catching up with friends and family in a relaxed cafe setting. Check out our shortlist of where to eat top 7 wonders of ice cream in Singapore!

1) i Scream

i Scream Facebook
Blk 89 Bedok North Ave 4 #01-109
Singapore 460089
Daily 12pm – 12mn
i Scream is a relatively new sultry ice cream parlour in Eastern Singapore. Probably also the only one that is focused on serving cocktail infused ice cream. Even the ice cream names call out to you. Some of their best sellers include YouScream made of Supercasis (grape) and Wow Berries (raspberry ice cream); InstaScream made of Mozart Gold (chocolate cream) and Childhood Favourite (milo ice cream); and Soogle made of Macaroon with ice cream of your choice. i Scream is also coming up with Singapore’s first ever 5 NEW! Beer Floats, which are fruit flavoured beers matched with each their own perfect pairing of ice cream. We’re keeping an eye on this one!
iScream

2) Creamier

Creamier Facebook
‪128, Toa Payoh Lorong 1 #01-835
‪Singapore 310128
‪Tue – Thu (12pm – 10pm)
‪Fri & Sat (12pm – 11pm)
In a short span of 3 years, Creamier has found its way to the heart of many ice cream lovers, especially those who have a penchant for nostalgic local flavours. The cafe specialises in concocting their own unique recipes and small-batch produce of their ice creams, using only high quality ingredients. To them, making ice cream is a craft that requires originality, pride, quality and workmanship all in one. The cafe also curates art collections so customers can soak in the artistic atmostphere (in the heartland, how cool) while enjoying life’s little luxuries of quality ice creams. Best sellers here are definitely the Seasalt Gula Melaka, Roasted Pistachio and Earl Grey Lavender. If you don’t try them you might as well deem not having visited Creamier.
Creamier

3) Ice Cream Chefs

Ice Cream Chefs Facebook
12 Jln Kuras 
Mon – Thu (12.30pm – 10.30pm)
Fri & Sat (12pm – 12mn)
Sun (12pm – 11pm)
520 East Coast Road 
Mon – Thu (1pm – 10pm)
Fri – Sun (1pm – 11pm)
SAFRA Mount Faber
Mon – Thu (12pm – 10pm)
Fri – Sun (12pm – 11pm)
Ice Cream Chefs set up its first cafe at East Coast in 2007. Today, they are into their 8th year of smashing ice cream! Despite the expansion, the cafes manage to maintain similar standard gourmet ice cream on the rocks across their outlets. What’s cool is that the family oriented gourmet ice cream cafe lets you customise your own ice cream with your favourite mix-in. Only the freshest milk is used in their ice creams, with no alcoholic flavours on the menu – so you can bring your kids, nieces and nephews to eat without worrying about them bugging you for rum and raisin. Be sure to try out their best sellers including Chocolate & Hershey, Oreos & Cream and Creme Brulee.
IceCreamChef1_n

4) Ice Cream Frenzy

Ice Cream Frenzy Facebook
Blk 501 West Coast Drive #01-250
Singapore 120501
Mon – Thu (11am – 10pm)
Fri & Sat (11am – 11pm)
Sun (11am – 10pm)
At just 4 years young, Ice Cream Frenzy has made it to several lists of ice cream connoisseurs. It serves more than 60 healthy, innovative homemade Gelato ice cream in a home style cafe setting. Because the cafe is so homely, it takes care to serve only natural and fresh ingredients with less sugar, low fat and no preservatives. If you have a penchant for Masala, you will find particular liking for their newest unusual flavour – Darjeeling Masala Chai, which is a combination of Indian spice tea and Masala. Sounds pretty bizarre but the new ice cream flavour sure packed a punch! Other best sellers here include XO Durian, Belgium Dark Chocolate and New York Cheesecake!
IceCreamFrenzyShop

5) Little Ice Cream Kafe (LICK) FREE WiFi

LICK Facebook
Main Branch
258 Tanjong Katong Road
Singapore 437046
Mon – Thu (1pm – 11pm)
Fri (1pm – 12pm / Buffet 2pm – 4pm or 6pm – 8pm)
Sat (12pm – 12mn)
Sun (12pm – 11pm)
LICK is situated on the locale of Tanjong Katong Girls, Chung Cheng High and Tanjong Katong Secondary School. Operated by a pair of sisters-in-law, the cafe orginally began with no secret recipe at hand, but a whole lot of trial and error. Today, LICK serves up to 30 local flavours and also invites customers to get FREE Mix-Ins on Mondays, half price Waffle with ice cream purchase on Tuesdays, 2 scoops for the price of 1 on Wednesdays, half price Brownie with ice cream purchase of Thursdays, and buffet on Fridays! Some of their best sellers include Mao Shan Wang Durian, Butterscotch and Sea Salt Caramel.
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6) The Daily Scoop

The Daily Scoop Facebook
Sunset Way
41 Sunset Way
#01-04 Clementi Arcade
Singapore 597071
‪Mon – Thu (11am – 9pm
‪Fri & Sat (11am – 10pm)
‪Sun (2pm – 9pm)
‪Closed on selected public holidays
Chip Bee Gardens
43 Jalan Merah Saga
#01-78 Chip Bee Gardens
Singapore 278115
Mon – Thu (11am – 10pm)
Fri & Sat (11am – 10.30pm)
Sun (2pm – 10pm)
Closed on selected public holidays
NEW! Sembawang 
#01-05 Sembawang Cottage
Singapore 758382
Mon – Thu (11am – 10pm)
Fri & Sat (11am – 10.30pm)
Sun (2pm – 10pm)
The Daily Scoop is 10 years old and one of the pioneer ice cream parlours in Singapore! Despite its reputation, wide range of 50 interesting quirky ice cream flavours, and use of real fresh fruits with no gelatin, prices start from a range of only $2.90 to $3.50! In previous years on National Day, The Daily Scoop created unusual Hari Raya Laksa and Mee Siam flavours. When you are here, be sure to try their popular Coconut ice cream made with fresh coconut juice and pulp (not milk), Brown Sugar n’ Sea Salt with Brownies Chunk ice cream for chocolate lovers, andLychee Martini for refreshing tang! Complete your ice cream treat with Waffle or warm Brownie even, from just $6.20.
The Daily Scoop

7) Tom’s Palette

Tom’s Palette Facebook
100 Beach Rd #01-25
Shaw Tower
Singapore 189702
Mon – Thu (12pm – 9.30pm)
Fri & Sat (12pm – 10pm)
Sun (1pm – 7pm)
Tom’s Palette is turning 9 this September! The cafe constantly works on creating interesting and innovative flavours that are not usually found in other parlours. Of which includes Salted Egg Ice Cream, which tastes like Hong Kong salted egg bun, or “流沙包”; Salted Caramel Cheesecake, which is a cream cheese based ice cream with delicious swirls of homemade salted caramel sauce; and Granny’s Favourite, which is a combination of chocolate, malt and cookie dough.
The more enthusiastic few can look out for their new Stout Caramel flavour, which is a milk based ice cream with a sweet initial taste and slightly bittery undertone. Everything is made from scratch as Tom’s Palette believes that through making things themself, they are able to get the full control of quality, texture, and taste of the ice cream experience.
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Abandoned by Disney


Some of you may have heard that the Disney corporation is responsible for at least one real, "live" Ghost Town.
Disney built the "Treasure Island" resort in Baker's Bay in the Bahamas. It didn't START as a ghost town! Disney's cruise ships would actually stop at the resort and leave tourists there to relax in luxury.
This is a FACT. Look it up.
Disney blew $30,000,000 on the place... yes, Thirty Million Dollars.
Then they abandoned it.
Disney blamed the shallow waters (too shallow for their ships to safely operate) and there was even blame cast on the workers, saying that since they were from the Bahamas, they were too lazy to work a regular schedule.
That's where the factual nature of their story ends. It wasn't because of sand, and it obviously wasn't because "foreigners are lazy". Both are convenient excuses.
No, I sincerely doubt those reasons were legitimate. Why don't I buy the official story?
Because of Mowgli's Palace.
Near the beachside city of Emerald Isle in North Carolina, Disney began construction of "Mowgli's Palace" in the late 1990s. The concept was a Jungle-themed resort with a large, you guessed it, PALACE in the center of the whole thing.
If you're unfamiliar with the character of Mowgli, then you might better remember the story "The Jungle Book". If you haven't seen it anywhere else, you'd know it as the Disney cartoon from decades past.
Mowgli is an abandoned child, in the jungle, essentially raised by animals and simultaneously threatened/pursued by other animals.
Mowgli's Palace was a controversial undertaking from the start. Disney bought up a ton of high-priced land for the project, and there was actually a scandal surrounding some of the purchases. The local Government claimed "eminent domain" on people's homes, then turned around and sold the properties to Disney. At one point a home that had just been constructed was immediately condemned with little to no explanation.
The land grabbed by the Government was supposedly for some fictional highway project. Knowing full well what was going on, people started calling it "Mickey Mouse Highway".
Then there was the concept art. A group of stuffed shirts from Disney Co. actually held a city meeting. They intended to sell everyone on how lucrative this project was going to be for everyone. When they showed the concept art, this gigantic Indian Palace... surrounded by JUNGLE... staffed with men and women in loincloths and tribal gear... well, suffice to say everyone flipped their shit.
We're talking about a large Indian Palace, Jungle, and Loincloths not only in the center of a relatively wealth area, but also a somewhat "xenophobic" area of the southern USA. It was a questionable mix at that point in history.
One member of the crowd tried to storm the stage, but he was quickly subdued by security after he managed to break one of the presentation boards over his knee.
Disney took that community and essentially broke it over its knee, as well. The houses were razed, the land was cleared, and there wasn't a damned thing anyone could do or say about it. Local TV and Newspapers were against the resort at the beginning, but some insane connection between Disney's media holdings and the local venues came into play and their opinions turned on a dime.
So anyway, Treasure Island, the Bahamas. Disney sunk those millions in and then split. The same thing happened with Mowgli's Palace.
Construction was complete. Visitors actually stayed at the resort. The surrounding communities were flooded with traffic and the usual annoyances associated with an influx of lost and irate tourists.
Then it all just stopped.
Disney shut it down and nobody knew what the Hell to think. But they were pretty happy about it. Disney's loss was pretty hilarious and wonderful to a large group of folks who didn't want this in the first place.
I honestly didn't give the place another thought since hearing it closed over a decade ago. I live maybe four hours from Emerald Isle, so really I only heard the rumblings and didn't experience any of it first-hand.
Then I read this article from someone who had explored the Treasure Island resort and posted a whole blog about all the crazy shit he found there. Stuff just... left behind. Things smashed, defaced, probably ruined by the disgruntled former employees who had lost their jobs.
Hell, the locals from all around probably had a hand in wrecking that place. People there felt just as angry about Treasure Island as folks here did about Mowgli's Palace.
Plus there were rumors that Disney had released their aquarium "stock" into the local waters when they closed... including sharks.
Who wouldn't want to take a few swings at some merchandise after that?
Well, what I'm getting at is that this blog about Treasure Island got me thinking. Even though many years had passed since its closing, I figured it might be cool to do some "Urban Exploration" at Mowgli's Palace. Take some photos, write about my experience, and probably see if there was anything I could take home as a memento.
I'm not going to say I wasted no time in getting there, because honestly it took me another year after I first found that Treasure Island article to get around to going up to Emerald Isle.
Over the course of that year, I did a lot of research on the Palace resort... or rather, I tried to.
Naturally, no official Disney site or resource made any mention of the place. That had been scrubbed clean.
Even odder, however, was that nobody before myself had apparently thought to blog about the place or even post a photo. None of the local TV or Newspaper sites had one word about the place, though that was to be expected since they had all swung Disney's way. They wouldn't be out there lauding their embarrassment, you know?
Recently, I learned that corporations can actually ask Google, for example, to remove links from search results... basically for no good reason. Looking back, it's probably not that nobody spoke of the resort, but rather their words were made inaccessible.
So in the end I could barely find the place. All I had to go on was an old-as-hell map I'd received in the mail back in the 90s. It was a promotional item sent out to people who had recently been to Disney world, and I guess since I had been there in the late 80s, that was "recent".
I didn't really intend to hang onto it. It just got shoved in with my books and comics from my childhood. I'd only remembered it months into my research, and even then it took me another few weeks to locate the storage bin my parents had shoved it all into.
But I DID find it. Locals were no help, as most were transplants who had moved to the beach in recent years... or old residents who just sneered at me and made rude gestures the second I managed to say "Where would I find Mowgli's---"
The drive took me through an inordinately long corridor of overgrowth. Tropical plants that had run rampant and overpopulated the area mixed with the native species of flora that actually BELONGED there and had tried to reclaim the land.
I was in awe when I reached the front gates of the resort. Tremendous, monolithic wooden gates whose supports to either side looked like they must've been cut from giant sequoias. The gate itself had been gouged in several places by woodpeckers and eaten away at the base by burrowing insects.
Hanging on the gate was a sheet of metal, some random scrap, with hand-painted letters scrawled in black. "ABANDONED BY DISNEY". Clearly the handiwork of some past local or an employee who wanted to make some small protest.
The gates were open enough to walk through, but not drive, so grabbing my digital camera and the map, whose flip-side showed a layout of the resort, I set off on foot.
The inner grounds of the place were just as overgrown as the entryway. Palm tree stood untended and ragged among piles of their own coconuts. Banana plants similarly stood in their own stinking, bug-riddled refuse. There was this sort of clash between order and chaos, as carefully planted rows of perennial flowers mixed with obnoxious tall weeds and stinking, blackened mushrooms.
All that remained of any outdoor structures were broken, rotting wood and various charred bits of unidentifiable material. What was most likely an information booth or an outdoor bar was now simply a pile of assorted debris chopped up by past vandalism and ravaged by weather.
The most interesting thing on the grounds was a statue of Baloo, the friendly bear from the Jungle Book, which stood in a sort of courtyard in front of the main building. He was frozen in a jovial wave toward no one, staring into empty space with a silly, toothy grin as bird shit covered whole swaths of his "fur" and vines ensnared his platform.
I approached the main building - the PALACE - only to find the outside of the building covered in graffiti where the original paint hadn't peeled and chipped away. The front doors weren't just open, they had been taken off their hinges and were stolen.
Above the front doors, or the gaping maw where they had been, someone had once again painted "ABANDONED BY DISNEY".
I wish I could tell you about all the awesome stuff I saw inside the Palace. Forgotten statues, abandoned cash registers, a full-fledged secret society of homeless bums... but no.
The inside of the building was so stark, so bare, that I actually think people had stolen the molding off the walls. Anything that was too big to steal... counters, desks, giant fake trees... they were all resting amid this empty echo chamber that amplified my every step like a slow rat-a-tat of a machine gun.
I checked the floorplan and headed to all the locations that might seem in any way interesting.
The kitchen was as you'd imagine... an industrial food prep area with all the appliances and space, no expenses spared. Every glass surface was broken, every door knocked off its hinges, every metal surface kicked and dented. The entire place smelled like very old piss.
The huge freezer, not even remotely cool now, had row upon row of empty shelf space. Hooks hung from the ceiling, probably for hanging cuts of meat, and as I stood inside for a moment, I noticed they were swinging.
Each hook swung in a random direction, but their movements were so slow and small that it was almost impossible to see. I figured it had been caused by my footsteps, so I stopped one from swinging by clutching it in my fist, then carefully letting go, but within seconds it started to swing once more.
The bathrooms were in much the same state as the rest of the place. Just like the Treasure Island resort, someone had methodically smashed each porcelain commode with coconuts and other implements. There was about a half inch of rancid, stinking stagnant water on the floor, so I didn't stay there very long.
What's odd is that the toilets and the sinks (and the bidets in the ladies' room, yes I went there) all dripped, leaked, or just ran freely. It seemed to me that they should've shut the water off long, LONG ago.
There were plenty of rooms in the resort, but naturally I didn't have time to look through them all. The few I did peer into were similarly wrecked, and I didn't expect to find anything there. I thought there was actually a television or radio in one room, as I really think I heard a quiet conversation coming out.
Though it was like a whisper, probably my own breathing echoing in the silence, or just another case of the sound of flowing water playing tricks on the mind, this is what it sounded like...
1: "I didn't believe it."
2: (short, unknown reply)
1: "I didn't know that. I didn't know that."
2: "Your father told you."
1: (unknown reply, or possibly just weeping.)
I know, I know, that sounds ridiculous. I'm just telling you what I experienced, why I thought there might've been something running in that room - or worse, some vagrants who had holed up there and probably would've knifed me.
At the front doors of the Palace again, I figured I hadn't found anything of note and had wasted the trip up.
As I looked out the door, I noticed something interesting in the courtyard that I had apparently missed. Something that would give me at least ONE thing to show for all my trouble, even if it was just a photograph.
There as a lifelike statue of a python, maybe eighty feet long, coiled up and "sunning" itself on a pedestal right in the center of the area. It was almost time for the sun to start setting, so the light fell onto the object in the PERFECT way for a photograph.
I approached the python and snapped a photo. Then I stood on my toes and snapped another. I moved closer again to get the detail of its face.
Slowly, casually, the python lifted its head, looked directly into my eyes, turned, and slithered off the pedestal, across the grass, and into the trees.
All eighty feet of it. Its head long disappeared into the woods before its tail even left the sunning spot.

Disney had released all their exotic animals onto the grounds. Right there on my floorplan map was the "Reptile House". I should have known. I'd read about the sharks at Treasure Isle, and I should have KNOWN they'd done this.

I was dumbfounded, just utterly stupefied. My mouth must've been hanging open for the longest time before I came back down to Earth and snapped it shut. I blinked a few times and backed away from where the snake had been, back toward the Palace.
Even though it was totally gone, I still wasn't taking any chances and backed my way into the building.
It took a few deep breaths and slaps to my own face to get myself right in the head again after that.
I looked for a place to sit down, as my legs were feeling a bit like jelly at this point. Of course, there WAS no place to sit down unless I wanted to recline in the broken glass and dead leaf carpet or haul myself up onto a desk of questionably reliability.
I had seen some stairs near the Palace's lobby and decided to go have a seat there until I felt better.
The staircase was far enough away from the front of the building to be relatively clean, save for a startling accumulation of dust. I pulled a wedge of metal off the wall, once again painted with the "ABANDONED BY DISNEY" motto I'd become accustomed to. I placed the wedge on the stairs and sat on it to keep at least somewhat clean.
The stairway led downward, below ground level. Using my camera flash as a sort of improvised flashlight, I could see that the stair case ended in a metal mesh door with a padlock. A sign on the door... a REAL sign... read "MASCOTS ONLY! THANK YOU!".
This perked up my spirits a little bit, for two reasons. One, a Mascots-Only area would have definitely had some interesting stuff back in the day... Two, the padlock was still in place. Nobody had gone down there. Not the vandals, not the looters, nobody.
This was the one place I could actually "explore" and perhaps find something interesting to photograph or wantonly steal. I had come to the Palace essentially agreeing with myself that it was okay to take anything I wanted because - hey - "abandoned".
It didn't take much to bust the lock. Well, actually that's wrong. It didn't take much to bust the metal plate on the wall that the padlock was hooked to. Time and decay had done most of the work for me, and I was able to bend the metal plate enough to pull the screws out of the wall - something nobody else had apparently thought of, or hadn't been able to do at the time.
The Mascots-Only area was a startling and very welcomed change from the rest of the building I'd seen. For one, every second or third fluorescent light overhead was illuminated, even though they flickered and faded randomly. Also, nothing had been stolen or broken, even if age and exposure were definately taking their toll.
Tables had note pads and pens, there were clocks... even a punch-in clock on the wall complete with filled-out time cards. Chairs were scattered around and there was even a small break room with an old, static-filled television and long rotted-out food and drink on the counters.
It was like one of those post-apocalypse movies where everything is left in the state of evacuation.
As I walked the maze-like sub-basement hallways of the Mascots-Only area, the sights just became more and more interesting. As I went further, desks and tables were knocked over, papers scattered and almost melded with the damp floor, and a large carpet of mold was slowly overtaking the real rotting crimson floor-covering.
Everything was just sort of "squishy". Anything wood disintegrated into mush when I applied even the least amount of force, and clothing items hanging on hooks in one of the rooms simply fell to moist threads if I tried to unhook them.
One thing that annoyed me was that the light was becoming more sparse and unreliable as I went further into the dank, suffocating depths of the place.
Eventually, I reached a black and yellow striped door with the words "CHARACTER PREP 1" stenciled on it.
The door wouldn't open at first. I figured this was probably where the costumes were kept, and I definately wanted a photograph of that twisted, stinking mess. Try as I might, whatever angle or trick I tried, the door wouldn't budge.
That is, until I gave up and started to walk away. That was when there was a slight popping sound and the door creaked open slowly.
Inside, the room was completely dark. Pitch black. I used the camera flash to look for a light switch in the wall buy the door, but there was nothing.
As I made my search, I was jarred out of my sense of excitement by a loud electrical buzz. Rows of lights overhead suddenly flashed to life, flickering and fading in and out like the rest I had passed.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust, and it seemed like the light was going to just keep getting brighter until all the bulbs exploded... but just when I thought it would reach that critical stage, the lights dimmed a bit and steadied.
The room was exactly as I had pictured it. Various Disney costumes hung on the walls, fully put together like strange cartoon cadavers hung from invisible nooses.
There was an entire rack of loincloths and "native" clothes on hangers toward the back.
What I found odd, and what I wanted to photograph right away, was a Mickey Mouse costume at the center of the room. Unlike the other costumes, it was lying on its back in the center of the floor like a murder victim. The fur on the costume was rotten and shedding, creating bare patches.
What was even odder, however, was the coloring of the costume. It was like a photo negative of the actual Mickey Mouse. Black where he should be white and white where he should be black. His normally red overalls were light blue.
The sight was off-putting enough that I actually put off photographing the thing until last.
I took a picture of the costumes hanging on the walls. Upward angles, downward angles, side shots to show an entire row of frozen, putrid cartoon faces, some with plastic eyes missing.
Then I decided to stage a shot. Just one of the bedraggled character heads on the slick, grimy floor.
I reached for the headpiece of a Donald Duck costume and carefully removed it so the thing wouldn't fall apart in my hands.
As I looked into the face of the wide-eyed, moldering head, a loud clattering sound made me jump with fright.
I looked down at my feet, and there between my shoes was a human skull. It had fallen out of the mascot head and shattered into pieces at me feet; only the empty face and lower jaw remained, staring up at me.
I dropped the Duck head immediately, as you'd expect, and moved for the door. As I stood in the doorway, I looked back to the skull on the floor.
I had to take a picture of it, you know? I HAD to, for any number of reasons that may seem silly, but only if you don't think it through.
I'd need proof of what happened, especially if Disney was going to somehow make this go away. I had no doubt in my mind, right from the start, that even if it was just gross negligence, Disney was RESPONSIBLE for this.
That's when Mickey, that photo negative, opposite-Mickey in the middle of the floor, started to get up.
372reverse mickey
SadofreedomistAdded by Sadofreedomist
First sitting up, then climbing to its feet, the Mickey Mouse costume... or whoever was inside of it, stood there at the center of the room, its fake face just starting directly at me as I mumbled "No..." over and over and over...
With shaking hands, a violently thrashing heart, and legs that had once again turned to jelly, I managed to lift the camera and aim it at the opposite creature now quietly sizing me up.
The digital camera's screen displayed only dead pixels in the shape of the thing. It was a perfect silhouette of the Mickey costume. As the camera moved in my unsteady hands, the dead pixels spread, marring the screen wherever Mickey's outline moved to.
Then the camera died. Went blank and quiet and... broken.
I raised my eyes once again to the Mickey Mouse costume.
"Hey," it said in a hushed, perverted, but perfectly executed Mickey Mouse voice, "Wanna see my head come off?"
It started to pull at its own head, working its clumsy, glove-clad fingers around its neck with clawing, impatient movements similar to a wounded man trying to pull himself free of a predator's jaws...
As it worked its digits into its neck... so much blood...
So much thick, chunky, yellow blood...
I turned away as I heard a sickening tearing of cloth and flesh... only cared about getting away. Above the doorway out of this room, I saw the final message clawed into the metal with bone or fingernails...
"ABANDONED BY GOD"
I never got the pictures out of the camera. I never wrote the blog entry about it. After I ran from that place, fled for my sanity if not my very life, I knew why Disney didn't want anyone to know about this place.
They didn't want anyone like me getting in.
They didn't want anything like that getting out.


http://shaneperez.blogspot.sg/2009/12/discovery-island.html

WRITING ON THE WALLS

I've been lying down for hours now. It's 5:35 AM and there's not much I can do. You know what the worst part about my situation is? I'm in the same room with my parents. They keep looking at me, and I can't help but look back and try not to cry or scream. Their eyes are focused on me and their mouths are wide open. There's the strong scent of blood and I feel paralyzed with fear.

Here's the thing, the second I make any hint that I'm not asleep anymore, I'm completely fucked. I will die and there's nobody around to save me. I've been trying or think of a way out but the only idea I have is to rush for the door and run outside the front door and scream for help, hoping my neighbors hear me. It's risky, but if i stay here, I'll surely die. He's waiting for me to wake up and see his masterpiece.

You're probably wondering what's going on, I get ahead of myself sometimes.

About three hours ago, I heard screaming from the other side of the house, I got up and went to check on the noise before realizing I had to use the restroom, instead of doing the smart thing and investigating, I used the bathroom first. I could've gotten myself killed right then from my stupid actions. But I actually did my business and took a peek outside the bathroom. There was blood on the carpet. I got very worried and ran back to my room, hiding under my sheets like the pussy I was. I tried to convince myself to go back to sleep, that it was just some really vivid dream or something.

But I heard the bathroom door open. Like the terrified child I was, I peeked from under my blankets to see what was going on. I could see something dragging my dead parents into the room. It was not human, I can tel you that. It was hairless, with no eyes and no clothing, it walked like a caveman, with its back slouched as it dragged my parents. But this thing was much smarter than any caveman. It was aware of what it was doing.

It propped my dad up on the edge of my bed, and made him face me. It then sat my mother down in the chair and positioned her towards me as well. It then started rubbing its hands upon the wall, staining them with blood and then drew a circle with the devil's pentagram on it. This thing had made what it probably would call a masterpiece. To finish it off, it scribbled a message onto the wall that I could not read in the darkness.

It then positioned itself under my bed, waiting to strike.

The scariest thing now, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness since then and I can read the message on the wall. I don't want to look at it, because it's terrifying to think about. But I feel I need to see, before I'm killed.

I peek at the creature's masterpiece.

"I know you're awake."



THE THIRD WISH

An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn’t sure of which direction to go, and he’d forgotten both where he was traveling to…and who he was.

He’d sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him.

She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: “Now your third wish. What will it be?”

“Third wish?” The man was baffled. “How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?”

“You’ve had two wishes already,” the hag said, “but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes.” She cackled at the poor man. “So it is that you have one wish left.”

“All right,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t believe this, but there’s no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am.”

“Funny,” said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. “That was your first wish…”


Photo: CREEPYPASTA #113: THE THIRD WISH

An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn’t sure of which direction to go, and he’d forgotten both where he was traveling to…and who he was.

He’d sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him.

She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: “Now your third wish. What will it be?”

“Third wish?” The man was baffled. “How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?”

“You’ve had two wishes already,” the hag said, “but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes.” She cackled at the poor man. “So it is that you have one wish left.”

“All right,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t believe this, but there’s no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am.”

“Funny,” said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. “That was your first wish…”
__________________
*This creepypasta can be found at latenightdarkroom at Tumblr.

*The three wishes joke is a form of joke in which the protagonist is given three wishes by a supernatural being, and fails to make the best use of them. Common scenarios include releasing a genie from confinement - perhaps finding an old oil lamp and rubbing it; catching and agreeing to release a mermaid or magical fish; or crossing paths with the devil.

~Flying Carpet || Red Masterminds

THE END

On his way home that night, as he walked through town, a man stepped out of an alley in front of him. He tensed to defend himself, but the man just stood there. Looking him over, he realized the man looked like a hippie. Something of a comedy caricature of a "Hippie", really. Long unwashed hair and beard, sandals... and a sandwich board reading "THE END IS NIGH". That, he thought, was unusual, even for a hippie.

"You want something?" he asked.

"The world's ending," said the hippie. "I need your help."

He stepped around the hippie and kept walking. High as a kite, he thought to himself. The hippie started walking after him, and fell into step beside him.

"Please, I need your help," said the hippie.

"Look, man, I'm really not interested," he said, and kept walking.

The hippie leaned against a wall, watching him walk away. He wasn't all that disappointed; lots of people gave this kind of response. Another skeptic, he thought to himself, fingering the ragged holes through the middle of his hands.


Photo: CREEPYPASTA #114: THE END

On his way home that night, as he walked through town, a man stepped out of an alley in front of him. He tensed to defend himself, but the man just stood there. Looking him over, he realized the man looked like a hippie. Something of a comedy caricature of a "Hippie", really. Long unwashed hair and beard, sandals... and a sandwich board reading "THE END IS NIGH". That, he thought, was unusual, even for a hippie.

"You want something?" he asked.

"The world's ending," said the hippie. "I need your help."

He stepped around the hippie and kept walking. High as a kite, he thought to himself. The hippie started walking after him, and fell into step beside him.

"Please, I need your help," said the hippie.

"Look, man, I'm really not interested," he said, and kept walking.

The hippie leaned against a wall, watching him walk away. He wasn't all that disappointed; lots of people gave this kind of response. Another skeptic, he thought to himself, fingering the ragged holes through the middle of his hands.
___________________
*This creepypasta can be found at latenightdarkroom at Tumblr.

*NIGH is a common synonym of NEAR.

~Flying Carpet || Red Masterminds

Attack on Titan! 进击巨人!






过无边的雪,掩盖哭泣的夜,望见岁月轮回中不变的容颜。

西泠相见,不舍,留连,只因为多看了你一眼,你便成为了我的劫。


Marriage Is For Losers

You can be right, or you can be married; take your pick. I can’t remember who told me that, but I do remember that they were only half-joking. The other half, the serious half, is exceedingly important. This is why.

Many therapists aren’t crazy about doing marital therapy. It’s complicated and messy, and it often feels out of control. In the worst case scenario, the therapist has front row seats to a regularly-scheduled prize fight. But I love to do marital therapy. Why? Maybe I enjoy the work because I keep one simple principle in mind: if marriage is going to work, it needs to become a contest to see which spouse is going to lose the most, and it needs to be a race that goes down to the wire.

When it comes to winning and losing, I think there are three kinds of marriages. In the first kind of marriage, both spouses are competing to win, and it’s a duel to the death. Husbands and wives are armed with a vast arsenal, ranging from fists, to words, to silence. These are the marriages that destroy. Spouses destroy each other, and, in the process, they destroy the peace of their children. In fact, the destruction is so complete that research tells us it is better for children to have divorced parents than warring parents. These marriages account for most of the fifty percent of marriages that fail, and then some. The second kind of marriage is ripe with winning and losing, but the roles are set, and the loser is always the same spouse. These are the truly abusive marriages, the ones in which one spouse dominates, the other submits, and in the process, both husband and wife are stripped of their dignity. These are the marriages of addicts and enablers, tyrants and slaves, and they may be the saddest marriages of all.

But there is a third kind of marriage. The third kind of marriage is not perfect, not even close. But a decision has been made, and two people have decided to love each other to the limit, and to sacrifice the most important thing of all—themselves. In these marriages, losing becomes a way of life, a competition to see who can listen to, care for, serve, forgive, and accept the other the most. The marriage becomes a competition to see who can change in ways that are most healing to the other, to see who can give of themselves in ways that most increase the dignity and strength of the other. These marriages form people who can be small and humble and merciful and loving and peaceful.

And they are revolutionary, in the purest sense of the word.

Because we live in a culture in which losing is the enemy (except in Chicago, where Cubs fans have made it a way of life). We wake up to news stories about domestic disputes gone wrong. Really wrong. We go to workplaces where everyone is battling for the boss’s favor and the next promotion, or we stay at home where the battle for the Legos is just as fierce. Nightly, we watch the talking heads on the cable news networks, trying to win the battle of ideas, although sometimes they seem quite willing to settle for winning the battle of decibels. We fight to have the best stuff, in the best name brands, and when we finally look at each other at the end of the day, we fight, because we are trained to do nothing else. And, usually, we have been trained well. In the worst of cases, we grew up fighting for our very survival, both physically and emotionally. But even in the best of situations, we found ourselves trying to win the competition for our parents’ attention and approval, for our peers’ acceptance, and for the validating stamp of a world with one message: win. And, so, cultivating a marriage in which losing is the mutual norm becomes a radically counter-cultural act. To sit in the marital therapy room is to foment a rebellion.

What do the rebellious marriages look like? Lately, when my blood is bubbling, when I just know I’ve been misunderstood and neglected, and I’m ready to do just about anything to convince and win what I deserve, I try to remember a phone call we recently received from my son’s second grade teacher. She called us one day after school to tell us there had been an incident in gym class. After a fierce athletic competition, in which the prize was the privilege to leave the gym first, my son’s team had lost. The losers were standing by, grumbling and complaining about second-grade-versions of injustice, as the victors filed past. And that’s when my son started to clap. He clapped for the winners as they passed, with a big dopey grin on his face and a smile stretched from one ear of his heart to the other. His startled gym teacher quickly exhorted the rest of his team to follow suit. So, a bunch of second grade losers staged a rebellion, giving a rousing ovation for their victorious peers, and in doing so, embraced the fullness of what it can mean to be a loser. When I’m seething, I try to remember the heart of a boy, a heart that can lose graciously and reach out in affection to the victors.

In marriage, losing is letting go of the need to fix everything for your partner, listening to their darkest parts with a heart ache rather than a solution. It’s being even more present in the painful moments than in the good times. It’s finding ways to be humble and open, even when everything in you says that you’re right and they are wrong. It’s doing what is right and good for your spouse, even when big things need to be sacrificed, like a job, or a relationship, or an ego. It is forgiveness, quickly and voluntarily. It is eliminating anything from your life, even the things you love, if they are keeping you from attending, caring, and serving. It is seeking peace by accepting the healthy but crazy-making things about your partner because, you remember, those were the things you fell in love with in the first place. It is knowing that your spouse will never fully understand you, will never truly love you unconditionally—because they are a broken creature, too—and loving them to the end anyway.

Maybe marriage, when it’s lived by two losers in a household culture of mutual surrender, is just the training we need to walk through this world—a world that wants to chew you up and spit you out—without the constant fear of getting the short end of the stick. Maybe we need to be formed in such a way that winning loses its glamour, that we can sacrifice the competition in favor of people. Maybe what we need, really, is to become a bunch of losers in a world that is being a torn apart by the competition to win. If we did that, maybe we’d be able to sleep a little easier at night, look our loved ones in the eyes, forgive and forget, and clap for the people around us.

I think that in a marriage of losers, a synergy happens and all of life can explode into a kind of rebellion that is brighter than the sun. The really good rebellions, the ones that last and make the world a better place, they are like that, aren’t they? They heal, they restore. They are big, and they shine like the sun. And, like the sun, their gravitational pull is almost irresistible.