YMMV / 5 Second Films

  • Archive Binge: But it won't take too long. Each video is only eight seconds long (with the occasional special), but there's five years worth of them. Estimated run time? 4 hours.
  • Crosses the Line Twice: Oh so many times.
    Ugh, here comes the guy who watched his wife get her limbs ripped apart by a robot he built named Buzz, but was reprogrammed by the government to kill his loved ones. What a buzzkill. Incidentally, we've taken to calling him that even though he tells us not to, since it reminds him of how Buzz kills stuff now. We do it anyway.
  • Crowning Moment of Heartwarming: Live Fast.
  • Ensemble Darkhorse: The Devil, mainly for his hilarious laugh.
  • Memetic Badass: Tom Watson, MP for West Bromwich East.
  • Nightmare Fuel: Let's see... there's Untitled, In The Mouth Of Madness, Super-Psyched, Face Stomptacular, Masters of the Viewniverse, Hypnotic Southern General, and Christmas Comes Back.
    • Everything from the 2016 Halloween ones. Especially the descriptions. Take this one from "To Make The Perfect Man"...
    Ellen had long since been banned from practicing surgery, but they couldn't stop her in time from barricading the men's bathroom door and filling the room with her clothes and soup cans. Police weren't able to make it to the hospital just yet, so until then the staff would have to make sure no one came in or out. It's not like Ellen was capable of much in there anyway.

    Until Jerry stopped by to use the bathroom.

    Ellen had been screening each potential suitor through a self-made peephole in the door, and finally she found someone knocking on the door who suited her tastes. He just needed a few adjustments.

    ***

    By the time police finally burst open the door and took Ellen away, Jerry was gone. He stumbled out of the room in a daze, shuffling past his car in the parking lot and onto the long stretch of lonesome road towards home. As his skin loosened around the puncture holes, every step jangled the staples in his face more and more, scraping against the open nerves under his flesh. He couldn't feel it, nor could he care. He was beautiful.

    The blood had congealed over his left eye, shutting it completely. But his right eye could still see through the pinhole of the mask to the outside world, to the mirror in front of him. And what he saw was breathtaking. A bold push-broom mustache, the likes of which he could never grow himself. A strong nose, proud brow. Everything was smooth and pliable. He had achieved his dreams.

    It was a shame, he realized, that the rest of him didn't match up. Everywhere else he looked, he saw the flabby, rough, pale skin of his former self. It sickened him that his old body couldn't live up to the promise of his new face.

    He dug in deep to the skin in the crook of his arm, and pulled. Like wet tissue paper, it sloughed off with a bare squick. He saw the tendons underneath, the beautiful bone. He grabbed more, pulling up his forearm until the flesh inverted around the bones of his fingers like a glove.

    He grasped at the skin above his pectorals, his scapulas, his trapezius, peeling them off in globs and strips. The pile of blood and gristle grew at his feet as he shredded more and more of himself in a drug-fueled stupor. All the while, he never took his eye off of his new, beautiful face.

    He reached for his kneecaps, but the blood loss caused him to lose his balance and he fell over, breaking his arms in the process. His exposed muscles twitched and flexed like a symphony in red, writhing like a fish out of water, covering the bathroom tile in his slop.

    He was finally perfect, he thought, before the spark went out in his brain forever.
    He stalked in the night, waiting for the time to strike. With every blink, he whisked away to another location, another angle, hidden in plain sight. He laid with the rat in the wall, peering back to see the scratchings of its words. He watched the arms of Mr. Shadows stretch into the bathroom, watched the faint burst of light in the distance wash away the creature's features like an acid bath. He witnessed the stitches and staples threading the flesh of Jerry Klobb, heard Ellen's piercing laughter as she punctured his body. When he was finished, he would delete them from existence with a pitch-black shroud and the words THE END. If he chose to restart their cycle of want and torture, he did so with a press of a button. Their lives hung, and hung, and hung again in the balance of his murderous fingers.

    Then, when he was through with destroying and rebooting realities, he closed his browser window and resumed working. He never thought much about these lives after he was done with them. He might show the extent of his cruelty to a friend, and see whether they laughed or not. Perhaps sometimes, he'd leave a comment - a humorous pun, a meme, the phrase "I Am the Plot Twist Killer" - but he never, ever, ever cared.

    And why would he? He's you.
  • Retroactive Recognition: Max Geiger from Deadliest Warrior makes numerous appearances here.
  • Squick: ‘The Twilight Saga: Eclipse’ Test Screening. Also, Claus and Susan. Ugh.
  • Tear Jerker:


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