The Content Mill

Mr. Ree was not having a great time. Did not have a great time. He'd been dead for at least a week. But, in a room filled to the brim with newspapers, the body was only the second most unexpected thing.The place had stunk to high Heaven, but I couldn't tell anymore. This wasn't my first rodeo. No, what grabbed my attention was the organized chaos of the newspapers and the red pen circling words and headlines and faces in photographs. My face, specifically. There was a meaning to the madness. Somehow, it all pointed back to me.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Predator. Prey. Stars. Smoke.A drum beat. Pounding. Quarter notes, then eighths. Urgency and danger.And then she blinked. The Dame—that's who she was now—couldn't shake the hollow gaze and incessant beat of the Emptys' drums. Even miles away, pushing the accelerator to the max, she could still hear them...getting louder, somehow? Predator. Prey. Stars. Smoke. Predator. Prey. Stars. Smoke.What did it mean to this her? And what did it have to do with the Emptys?Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

From the first days in the trenches when he found the first, Ellington’s Bones spoke to him. It took him weeks to determine that the dissonant whispers nagging at the back of his mind, edging in from his periphery, were emanating from the bone of unknown origin in the mud. A rat femur. Or rabbit, perhaps.The whispers never calmed though, not until he found more. Overlaying tones coalescing into something, though he was never quite sure what. But they spoke, he was sure of that.He worked them and they helped him. He lived through the war because of them, and he found his livelihood too. The Empties though, he was never quite sure if he found them or the Bones did.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Mr. Ree's apartment door was loosely swinging on rusted hinges. The dial tone of a phone echoed through the hall, an incessant ringing too loud to make any sense.I shoved the door open with a gloved hand and stood in the doorway, my eyes unable to settle on what I saw. Newspapers covered everything. Stacks of every rag and sheet available between the rivers teetered like funhouse skyscrapers. The walls, floors, and furniture were covered with papers, inky contours wrapping every table leg and hiding every speck of plaster on the walls.And the red. It was hard to tell the red pen and the red leaking from Mr. Ree's body apart.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

There were a lot of things that Ellington brought back from the War. Scars, callousness, his crew, and his Bones. Few things in his life were as hard-won and cherished as that vibraphone, built piece by piece over his years in the trenches.When he played, they sang. When they talked, he listened. And right now, they were telling a very interesting story.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Ten years ago. A soirée at War’s end. Combat boots and heels gliding along floors slick with champagne suds and gin. The sound of lost loves and newfound ones pounding in rhythm to the exuberant roars of a band letting loose.Romance was in the air and Ellington was loving it. Four long years and he was back; back in front of a crowd, and backed by his newfound friends: The Emptys.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

The Dame. The Broad. Madame Noir. The Woman with Black Hair. She had so many names and came from so many places it was hard to keep track.Behind the facade, who she truly is was hard to say anymore. They were like oil, glistening and swirling together, a rainbow of identity that only coalesces in unity when looked at the right way.She sipped her drink, waiting for Ellington to say something. Ice swirled in the frosted glass, clinking like neurons. Was the job just a distraction to get some time with the Emptys? Or did she really want that musty detective to find her? Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

I peeled off a handful of bills and handed them to the cabbie, tipping my hat and pulling the collar of my coat close. The weather had not improved since I left Ellington and the Emptys on the boardwalk and I was grateful for the stack of cash the Dame had handed me. The case made no sense, but in this city the difference between reality and fantasy was blurry on a good day.Trash flanked the entry to the building, piled like cord wood. I found Mr. Ree's apartment and rang, getting an electric shock from the buzzer for my courtesy. The button popped out and rolled to the door. Propped open with a Gideon's Bible, I let myself through the door. An out of order sign hung from the elevator.Time to climb.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

The Empty fortune hails from the Pacific Northwest somewhere. There's no real defined story and you'd never be able to nail Earl down on a real answer anyways—believe me, I've tried—but it really doesn't matter.This outfit was masquerading as a normal down-on-its-luck jazz troupe playing dives all up and down the east coast, when at least three of them had generational money from families they were avoiding. Earl, Ellington, and that guy on the sax...what was his name?I'd end up getting to the bottom of each of them in time. For now though, I was chatting business, the first business I've had in a long time. The Dame handed me a telegram, two hundred bucks, and a card for a Mr. Ree with an office in the upper west side.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Patinated brass and well-worn sheets of music. Blue light reflected off the chipped keys of the piano as Earl hammered out some melodious racket. It all blurred together for Ellington, the sound, the lights and the smoke. So much smoke. But through it all, there she was.Ellington—if that was his real name—had never seen a woman quite like her before. Indescribable, but desirable nonetheless. And there she was, sidling up to that musty gumshoe.Ellington set his mallets down and slid off the stage, his stride longer than his shadow. Smooth. Ellington was always smooth.Little did he know how much this year—this new year—was going to be one he’d never forget.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

The juice was pouring and Ellington was playin' them bones like no other. It had been months since that foggy evening I first stumbled into this joint, and times had changed. It was that time of year and every Tom, Dick, or Harry was bustling in for some tunes and a warm-me-up between bouts of boardwalk shopping. I was tapping my toes and slugging gins, watching an Old St. Nick get too deep into his milk and cookies, if you know what I mean. His friend, Jingle or Tingle or whatever, swooped in and ushered him back to some mall, I'm sure. People moved in a blur, patrons cycling in and out, shopping bags and jingling bells the dissonance to Ellington and his Empties' harmony. I was merry for a moment. And then she walked in.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

The track held nothing for me, no dame in a fascinator or the pound of hoof beats could pull me from this stupor. So I walked along the boardwalk, rain slicking the creaking wood. A seafood shack styled as a golden ship, a rinky dink cafe ablaze with the Big Apple's skyline, none of it drew me in.Like a beacon in a storm, a club marquee flickered in the evening fog—it had been hours since I left the office—smoke pouring from the doorway. Names in broken bulbs announced the act, missing letters like teeth punched out. The lilt of oboes, the mournful wail of a trumpet, and the syncopated groove of a vibrakzzkt oozed out as a patron was tossed out the door. My life was about to change that night, and all it took was some gin and an evening with Ellington and the Empties.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

The door hadn’t opened in seven days. The foil letters—an ostentatious facade to this disheveled abode—peeled, flaking away from the reeded glass like the petals of lilies in late spring. Water dripped into a tin bucket, the slow staccato rapping out gunshots. I hammered the “U” key on the typewriter in time. No paper, no ribbon, just the rhythmic patter of a smoke-swirled, scotch-soaked soliloquy.That last case rattled me: the empty house, the thumping…the cardboard cutout with horse ears. It was all too much for my frail mind. I needed to get away. I needed to find something to calm these frayed nerves. Something fast.So, I threw on my trench coat, adjusted my hat, and walked into the early morning downpour. To the horse track. Surely nothing that could taint the soul happens there.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

EXTRA EXTRA: Mr. Shackleton Skellington, Magnate of the Skellington Bones Xylophones fortune found GUILTY of participating in illegal bones trade with Extraterrestrial being! Sentenced to thirty years in MAXIMUM SECURITY. Mr. Skellington alluded capture for multiple weeks, until Kzzshkt Ksshzkkkt found him holed up in a compound on "Bonedown Island." Authorities are now investigating Mr. Skellington's connection to the island.The recipient alien species, HERETOFORE UNKNOWN, has not surfaced since Mr. Skellington's capture, though a blurry image of a towering mountain of meat with a cape of human spines has surfaced.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

The sound of sleigh bells echoed throughout the house, punctuated by staccato thumps. Holiday cheer was all around. Tinsel hung from the mantle and lights twinkled on the tree, a rotten reminder of the happiness that should've been in this house. The thumps continued, but no one answered.I tiptoed through the house. Past the bowling ball, the toaster, and the sharpened keys of a Skellington bone xylophone that littered the steps. I was hired for one job and that machine gun thunking sounded like my first clue. A silhouette stood framed in the second story window, the hazy smoke of a dame's last drag hanging in the air. I looked her up and down, my eyes lingering on her...ears. Horse ears. I touched her shoulder, but it was just cardboard. I knew I was in the right place.Another thump from the drywall. Time to find him.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Tzzzkt tzzkkktzzk "Hello?" zzkt "is—" zzzzktkkzz "—thing on?""Somehow, I got turned around. On the way back from the pr—" zzzkt "—I got lost in the space-time conti—" zwwwripkktt"I'm adrift in time, like that part in my least favorite Christopher Nolan film, Inter—" zzzrookkt"Hold on boys, I'm—" Well howdy kiddos and kiddettes! Welcome back to the Skellington Bones Ragtime Entertainment Hour with me, your host, "Shaky" Skellington! On today's show, we have a new guest who says he flew in from a radio station in 1990!" Pause for laughter "We've got ourselves a time traveler here! Well traveler, mind telling us your name and all about them flying cars in the distant future?""My name is Phil and honestly I don't know what this episode is about because I'm not in it."Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Hello and welcome back to KACL 780, that was “Rattlin’ Bones” by the Great Jingle Tingle Band from their 1996 promotional tour with Skellington Bones.It’s the top of the hour so we’ll have news and weather coming up on the 8s and 10s, but I’m going to open up the lines for a few minutes if you’ve got questions for your local radio psychiatrist, you can give us a call at 555-KACL.“Hello caller, you’re on the on, how can I help you?””Yeah hi “Frizendo” or whatever your name is. I thought this was supposed to be a fun podcast about video game spinoffs and somehow it’s turned into some kind of elaborate prank revolving around some 1990s sitcom.”“Sir, you seem to have the wrong number, I had no idea what you’re talking about.”Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Hark! What doth I heareth upon the moors! 'Tis that the rattle of manacles and the xylophone timbre of thy Skellington bones?That's right, Ghouls and Ghosts, it's our first every Halloween Episode Sponsored by Skellington Xylophones, the premier maker of bone xylophones: "It's not a 'phone if it's not bone."This episode we dig into the spooks and the scares that get our skin a'crawlin', AND maybe the games that our weenie selves get scared by...even when you're just supposed to be having a fun puzzle-solving time. It's a haaaauntingly spooky time at the Haunted Content Mill this week and we're inviting you in...Especially you there, you tall, pale, caped honey.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

2025 has been a banger year for games, but the show isn’t stopping! The Content Mill gets together to talk about our most anticipated games for the remainder of the year. Play along and see if you can guess what each of us is the most stoked for. It probably won’t be surprising, but it will be fun!Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun

Well howdy there, partner. I see you've got quite the iron wagon there. Not seen one of them there wagons with all them angles before; you best mosey on down to the steamyard where The Doc is working hard on his latest concoctions. Oh, I don't quite know what he builds out there, but every few days, the children come out prattlin' about the latest Licensed Video Games. Now, I don't know nothing about no video games, hell, I don't know if the word video has quite been invented yet, but it's a darn-tooting Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory of delightful oddities popping out of there. The metaphor has fully fallen apart at this point, but hey, this episode is about licensed games...the ones we remember, the ones we like, and the ones we wished existed.Visit the website | Join the discord | Follow us on TwitchSocial LinksEric is MrTheHumanGianni is GianniDiCrostaNate is HeroicHeadgearPhil is Phil Bothun