During the course of my career as an alpha Sasquatch hunting, Dogman destroying, pussy crushing, luxury watch loving dude, I have run into this particular woman a few times. She is one part uber sensuality, and the other part deadly. Yes, I am speaking about the lovely, Anna Conda. I bring her up because I had another run-in with her last year.

Anna and I first joined forces, so to speak, when she acted as a go-between in my business deal with the Chinese to sell them bigfoot parts. See, I would hunt and kill the critters, cut them up, deliver the parts to Anna, who in turn gave me a suitcase containing unmarked American hundred-dollar bills, then she would transport the bigfoot parts to the Chinese. I was never really sure of what the sneaky-ass Chinese were doing with the body parts. All I knew for sure is that they are extracting certain materials from them, then synthesizing them with some other shit, creating some sort of drug. Whether it then becomes a bio-weapon or a dick stimulant, I do not know. Neither do I care. As long as they kept the hundies coming, I was good.

Now, while Anna is of Russian descent, she is a freelancer. She will work for any sick, skeevy motherfucker out there. She does not care. She has no conscience, at least not in the traditional sense as we understand it in western civilization. Today she is working for the Chinese, and tomorrow she may be working for Hamas. She is a slippery motherfucker.

So here is how it went down. At 11:32 p.m. on a Friday in September of last year I get a call on my cell phone. When the call came in I was balls deep into this hot little lass I picked up at the bus station a little earlier in the evening from an old swarthy chap named “Colorado Joe”. He wanted to sell me the girl. I was assured she was over 20 years old. I told him I needed to take her out for a test ride, which he agreed to.

So, there I was, balls deep in “Bing Bang Yun”, and my phone rings. Of course, I silence all incoming calls not in my contacts list. Thus, I knew that I must know the caller. In mid stroke I reached over to the nightstand to retrieve my cell and looked at it. It was a call from “Sergio”. I thought, “Oh shit…. I am going to have to cut the Oriental bang circus short.” When Sergio calls, I have to respond…immediately. He has the best blow on the east coast!!

“Hey, Serge! What’s up?”, I asked. All he said was, “Hooters. 2:00 a.m.”, then hung up. This was obviously the rendezvous for the transaction. Now, understand that Serge was not talking about the chicken wing restaurant. Hooters was code, in case the feds were listening in on the line. “Hooters” meant the titty bar out on Highway 69 called “The Plump Rump”. We had a communications code we used.

It was a long haul to the titty bar, so I needed to get moving. I had no time to return the girl to Colorado Joe, so I took her with me. I had her blow me on the way to the meeting with Sergio, telling her that her performance would make the difference on whether I save her from Joe or not. Of course, after she was done I tossed her out of my speeding truck and down, over the bridge, and into the Wendigo River below. I did not need any complications in my life right now.

I arrived at The Plump Rump at 2:00 a.m. on the dot. I saw the manager, Lou Skunt, sitting at the bar when I walked inside. I nodded. He walked over and said to me, “Use my office for the meeting The parties are already in there waiting for you.” I nodded and then headed to Lou’s office. Then it hit me: Lou said the “PARTIES” are already here. That is, parties, meaning more than one person. It was not just Sergio. It was 2 or more people! Lou was probably in for a cut of whatever was about to go down.

Something was bad fucked up!! I know for a fact that Sergio never brings anyone with him on a deal, at least not with me. He is too distrustful of people to do that, and too fucking mean to need protection. Something was wrong. I was just as likely to get whacked when I enter Lou’s office as anything else. I needed a moment to think things through.

I took a spot in front of one of the performance poles to watch a young, swarthy Mexican lass perform. My mind quickly strayed from the problem at hand to this brown chick’s ass and tits. She was not a great looking chick, but her body was smoking!! I quickly became aroused. I thought to myself, “Goddamn Asian bitches!! They are just like Chinese food – after 2 hours you are ready for some more!!”

When the little Mexican chick went on break I motioned her over to my table. “Hola Senior!!”, she said. I pulled out a clear plastic baggie of blow and dropped it on the table. Her eyes grew wide and slobber starting falling from her mouth. Blow is like catnip for strippers. Thus, she fell under my spell immediately.

The next thing I know, this brown girl was on my lap, dry humping me like a feral bitch dog in heat. I had to bang her. I NEEDED to see my wang penetrating her. Just then, someone taps my shoulder hard. I look up to see Lou standing over me. He bent down and said, “Did you forget about my office, asshole?!?!?!” I replied, “Damn, Lou!! You read my mind!!!” I arose, with the little Mexican bolted onto my mid-section, and hastily retreated to Lou’s office. I figured Lou would prefer me to stain this chick in private rather than out in the open.

The door to the office opened easily. The lights were on inside. In a lustful haze, I set the little Mexican chick on her back across Lou’s desk and started pumping the shit out of her, completely unaware of the others in the room with us. In a moment I heard someone call my name. I twist my neck around to see Sergio sitting on Lou’s jizz crusted couch. I think to myself, “Oh shit! I forgot about that shit!”

I figured I would just move forward with the deal as it was proposed to me. “Hey Serge! What ya got for me, dude?”, I asked. He replied, “I have a very special deal for you. I need, uh … yeah, ……Hey, Rod, you want to stop for a moment so we can talk?” I picked up the little tamale and laid her down onto Sergio’s lap as I continued to plow her. She stayed on my cock the whole time. I told Sergio, “No, man. I’m good! Lay it on me!” Slowly, Sergio lowered his face into his palm.

Then it happened. The voice cam from behind me, in the dark corner of Lou’s office. It was velvety yet hard as steel. “Rod. Went need to talk”, it said. Even though I did not stop pumping the little brown chick, a chill went down my spine when I heard those words. It was the thick timbre of the voice, I think, that alerted me.

I turned to look across the room. There, sitting in a red leather captains chair against the wall was the source of the sultry voice: Anna Conda.

I picked up the little taco yet again and turned her around so I could face Anna as I continued pumping her. At this point the Mexican girl was merely a masturbation toy I was using. I increased my pump so I could dump my load and get this over with. Then BAMM!!!, it was over. I removed the lass from my huge rod, after which her body crumpled to the floor. I did not know if she was dead or injured, or what had happened to her. But I did not care either, so I did not dwell on it.

I tried to compose myself the best I could, then walked over to stand before Anna so I could get to the bottom of all this business. “Well, well, well. Anna Conda. We meet again. Tell me, what brings you here, to my little neck of the woods?”

Anna replied, “Rod, put your dick away.” I looked down and, indeed, I had forgotten to stow my cock. Out of pure curtesy, I packed it away. Then I returned my attention to Anna. “Alright, Anna, what’s going on here?”

Anna launched into a startling tale about what brought her to me. As she spoke I became lost in her wanton beauty. She got up from her chair and walked about the room as she relayed her story, presumably to make it more dramatic and demonstrative. I got a full-on view of her body, and it was fantastic!!

She stands 5’10’’ and weighs 105 lbs. She is lithe. She was showing it off too, wearing a black, silk dress that landed just about her ankles. The top was low-cut, betraying just a bit of cleavage from her C-cup wineglass titties. She was not wearing a bra. Anna never wears a bra. Her nips were perfectly outlined through the silk. In fact, I think her nips were hard. It was probably something she did on purpose in an attempt to influence me. It was working.

Anna’s ass was perfect. It was not at all fat, but round enough not to be skinny. It was a fit figure skater’s ass. As she walked, I could see a tiny bit of jiggle emanating from her ass flesh, and then reverberated in the silky black dress she wore. My cock began growing hard again.

Her face was beautiful. Think Scarlett Johanson and Phoebe Cates rolled into one. But any sweetness this may evoke is quickly dispelled by Anna’s throaty voice with its thick Russian accent. I have known Anna for 20 years. Yet, she still does not look a day over 25. Jesus Christ!!! If ever there was a chick to die for ….. If I was one to delve into the belief of the paranormal, then I may conclude that Anna made a deal with the devil. But, I am not such a person.
And literally, Anna Conda is a chick to die for. She is deadly as fuck. She will kill you in a split second without a thought just because she does not like the shirt you are wearing. She can do it too. She is always armed and she knows how to use her weapons. Moreover, she is a total psychopath. This makes her doubly dangerous.

Anna and I have always gotten along for the most part. Like Anna, the dollar is my primary motivating factor. Such a mindset allows for understanding and predictability among people, which are elements that are sorely missing in many business dealings today that go on in the color of darkness.

Suddenly, Anna snapped me out of my thoughts. “Here’s your gun, Rod. Now let’s get started”, said Anna. She and Sergio were halfway through the door exiting Lou’s office when I said, “Hey, wait a damned minute!!! What are you talking about?!?”

They both stopped, and Anna walked back in and looked me in the eyes, saying “The plan, Rod. Let’s get on with the plan.” A little embarrassed, I sheepishly asked, “What plan?” Anna folded her arms and looked cross at me. After a moment to allow me to simmer in my shame, she asked, “You were not paying attention, were you, Rod?” I shook my head and looked down.

I heard a hammer cock. I jerked my head back up to find myself staring down the barrel of a pistol pointed at my head that Anna was holding. I protested, “Look, it is not my fucking fault!! Put that fucking gun down!!!” I continued, “You were distracting me with …. Well.. you know, how you are dressed, and that hot, sultry voice…. You know?”

“So, instead of paying attention to the plan, you chose to eye-rape me. Is that what I am to understand your position is, Rod?”, she asked. Knowing that my life was on the line, I said, “Anna, look, you know I am horny to a fault. Then you come in here, swinging them tits around, wearing that silk dress showing off the crack of your ass…. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT TO HAPPENED?”

Anna lowered her gun. She knew that my explanation of being a total cocksman was truth. “Let’s go”, Anna curtly said. I obeyed.

Anna explained the plan to me again on the drive from The Plump Rump. She made me wear a blindfold so that I would not get horny during her explanation. Here is how it went:

Anna Conda was now working for the Russians. It seems that Putin caught wind of the Sasquatch project that the Chinese were working on. He also knew that the American government have been fucking with sasquatch for decades. Thus, he was very concerned about the existence of a bigfoot gap. He ordered the acquisition of a Sasquatch specimen immediately.

Moreover, said specimen must be prime. It needed to be the biggest, baddest sasquatch of them all – a true alpha – so as to speed things along. Putin did not want some weird shit-creature, is-it-a-sasquatch-or-is-it-a-dogman, kind of monstrosity. He wanted purebred, badass sasquatchery, and preferably from the American Pacific northwest.

Anna got in on it because she sold the intel to Putin about China’s Sasquatch operation. She then told Putin she could produce sasquatch corpses for him. She told him she had a contact (i.e., me). Thus, with Putin’s blessing and promises of riches to come, Anna set out to America to find me.

Now, here is where things got a bit squirrely. See, I agreed to procure some more dead sasquatch. I have no problem with killing sasquatch because, in my opinion, they are an abomination on this Earth. I kind of feel like I am doing God’s work by wiping out as many of them as I can. And given all the not-so-Godly stuff I have done, I feel like killing Sasquatch kind of offsets that to some degree.

But Anna, she was stuck on Putin’s instruction that she must supply him with apex Sasquatch. So she did not want to take my advice of heading to the Pacific Northwest or Alaska. Instead, Anna claimed to have pinpointed the whereabouts of a particularly gruesome sasquatch beast that she KNEW would win her a fortune from Putin if she brought it to him.

“So, where is this beast?”, I asked. Anna replied “Martha’s Vineyard”. I paused. Then I asked her to repeat herself. It turns out that I was not mistaken about what Anna had said. I continued, “Uh, Anna, there are no sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard, just a lot of wealth New Englander schmucks.”

Anna looked at me and told me I was wrong. Then she decided to attempt to taunt me. “Oh, Rod, mighty slayer of Bigfoot! Yet, you fail to take notice of where the biggest, most foul and rotten beast of them all makes its home. Jesus, Rod!! What kind of bigfoot hunter are you, anyway?” Anna then spit at my feet and wondered aloud whether she even needs me for this job.

I decided that I needed to straighten out the hierarchy here in order for this here deal to move forward. I said, “Well, Anna, feel free to truck on over to Old Whitey Beach and battle that beast. But, if there is a big old mangy sasquatch lurking around over there, then it is probably a fucking Nazi-Squatch. You know, those fuckers out there hate the Jews.”

The work “Nazi” visibly shook Anna. Her great grandfather died defending Leningrad. Her entire family there died of either starvation or cannibalism during Hitler’s siege during Operation Barbarossa. Anna despised Nazis. But she feared them too. After landing that punch, I decided to push my luck.

“Now, I am still willing to help you catch this here Nazi-Squatch, but you have to do something for me”, I said. Now Anna’s eyes were on me, and they were narrowing. I continued, “I want you to get bare assed naked and pleasure yourself while I stand over you and jack it.” Anna stared at me silently for a long moment. Then she replied.

“After the job is done, and you can get none of your … fluids… on me”, she said. I shook my head and countered, “Now, and I will ‘try’ to not get my spunk on you.”

However, Anna then turned the tables on me. In fact, she picked up the table and bashed my head in with it. She looked me in my eyes, then matter-of-factly said, “You get the beast, and your prize shall be a night with me, anything goes, darling.” Well, since this caused all of the blood to immediately drain from my brain, I had a lapse in judgment. “DEAL!!”, I said. Then we shook on it.

“OK, tell me more about this supposed monster sasquatch on Martha’s Vineyard”, I said. I still was not ready to believe there was a monster out there. “I show you photo”, said Anna. She took out her phone, scrolled to find the photo, then handed the phone to me. “There. Sasquatch”, she said.

I stared at the photo and remained silent. After a long moment, I turned the phone so that Anna could see the photo and asked, “Uh, Anna, is THIS what you intended to show me?” She replied. “Yes! There…Sasquatch! The biggest, grossest monster around.”

Now, I could not argue with Anna that the image on her phone is a big, gross monster. Hell, it could actually be a sasquatch, and THE UBER sasquatch. It is most certainly the grossest thing on Martha’s Vinyard. But I somehow do not think this is what Putin is expecting.

I turned to Anna and said, “Anna, this is a photo of Michelle Obama. I know it looks vile, and has a huge, hulking body with large appendages where a woman should not have them. But, sweatheart, that ain’t no sasquatch. That’s a big, hairy Chicago street negro.”

Anna did not believe me at first. She was hard in her conviction that Obama was a sasquatch. “I have seen the Sasquatch beast you deliver to me for China. This … Michelle Obama …. It is big, and hairy, and ugly like the sasquatch beast, but worse.”

When the truth finally set it, I could see that it had kind of broken down poor Anna, if only just a bit. I put my arm around Anna and told her, “Look, Michelle O fooled you. Hell, she and her Hamas Hubby fooled millions of Americans, twice! At least you saw Michelle for what she is, to wit: a big, gross sasquatch, and NOT some kind a retarded leftist messiah.”

After that, things took a rather dark turn. “What if we still take her to Putin? We can make deal; sell her to Putin!!” At this point I held up my hands and said, “I’m out”, then turned and walked away. Anna followed, trying to get me to stay. At this point, I could tell that Anna was coming undone a little.

See, she had to produce for Putin. There is no telling what kind of secret deal she actually had with him. She had to deliver a big old mangy Obama …. Er, uh, I mean … Sasquatch, to Putin.

“Ok, Rod, we do your plan. We go out west to kill bigfoot. Huge, monster bigfoot. she said. I turned and looked Anna in her eyes and said the following: First, we bang for 48 hours straight, right now, so I can get my fill of you. Second, you pay me $10,000.00 cash upfront. Third, upon delivery of the dead bigfoot, you pay me $1 million immediately.”

Anna agreed to everything, but noted that at the present time it was her “time of the month”. I grimaced, as I will absolutely not go there (and she knows that). “Fine, next week we bang”, I said. She pointed out that I would be in the woods next week hunting sasquatch. “Fine, once I come out of the woods, then we bang – 48 hours straight”, I said. “Of course, darling!”, she agreed.

Well, it took several days to set up the hunt, but it finally happened. I was in Washington state at high elevation based on intel I has acquired that indicated that there was a monstrous 15’ tall sasquatch on the mountain range that had been murdering and eating hunters and hikers. After 3 months in these mountains without a trace of the creature I began to lose hope, thinking that I probably got some bad intel, or bad coordinates.

I got my satellite phone out to call for an extraction. Winter was setting in fast, and if I did not get off this mountain soon, then I would freeze and/or starve to death. Unfortunately, my contact did not answer. I tried for 2 days. No answer. I had been fucked. I wondered what had happened back in civilization that caused me to be abandoned like this. I resolved that I would get off that mountain and get to the bottom of this shit. There would be hell to pay for this betrayal!!’

I was able to get in touch with contacts from back home. I got old Billy Ray from Ellijay and Rattler on the phone and got them to come out here to Washington State to extract me. Rattler use to fly helicopters in the Army. He has an old Huey sitting in his front yard, to the chagrin of his HOA. He fired that sucker up, and him and old Billy Ray flew out here to my coordinates and extracted me.

After landing at a convenience store to buy some beer for the flight home, we headed east. Through the skies a way, Billy Ray said, “Well, Rod, I guess you is bout ready to git back home to Georgia, eh?” In fact, I was ready to go home. But I had to take care of some business first. I told them both to take me to New York City. They were both perplexed. All I said to them was “I have an old friend there I have to see before I can go home.”

I have intel on where Anna Conda stays when she is in the United States. She stays at certain hotels depending on what month she is here, and whether her check-in date is an odd or even number. This is for undercover work. I came across the code for her stays while doing the sasquatch work for China. She an I were caught in a snowstorm one night in Buffalo, NY, and had to share a room at the Holiday Inn near the airport. We had like 10 big Igloo ice chests with iced down sasquatch body parts with us in the room.

Anna was like, “No hanky panky, Rod. I am tired and I want to go to bed. Tomorrow we finish business.”

Frankly, I did not blame her for withholding her magnificent muff from me. I was tired as hell. But, I could not settle for nothing. So, when Anna was in the bathroom taking a shower, I started going through her suit case. I wanted to find some of her panties to jack off into. Instead, I found a little black notebook. Inside it contained her lodging codes, and some other interesting things. I photographed the contents with my phone and then put it back.

When Anna got out of the shower she was already dressed in her night clothes. She saw me lying on my back, nude on the bed, and jacking it. “Rod!! GROSS!!!! Go to the restroom to do that shit!!!”, she commanded. I just did it to get a rise out of her. LOL!!

So, if Anna is still inside the U.S., then using the codes I stole from her I can locate precisely where she will be that night. I studied it for a few moments then had my answer. Tonight she would be staying at the Dogman Inn on Hwy 95 South, Room 355. I told Rattler to get me there stat!

We had to stop several times for fuel and beer. Those Hueys go just a bit over a hundred MPH, you know. But eventually, we got there. I gave the boys some money and told them to go to the Waffle House for some coffee to sober up. Then they would fly me home.

I should mention that I also had Rattler’s fully auto Russian AK-74 with spare mags. During the long flight with 2 drunks from Washington State to New York City, I had worked myself up into a towering rage over how Anna fucked me on this Putin deal. She had clearly thrown me aside. But for what, exactly? I figured I would storm the hotel room, get some answers, then shower the room with gun fire.

I busted through the door of Room 355 at exactly 3:35 a.m. There she was. My entry roused her from slumber. I was pointing my rifle at her, center mass. She was shocked at the appearance of a gunman in her room at this time of night. However, she was not as shocked as one would think (this was not the first time something like this has happened to her).

I raised my face from the receiver just enough so she could see it was me. “Rod!!!”, she exclaimed. “What happened to you?!?!? I thought you had died up in those mountains when we never hear from you!” I replied, “Shove it up that cute little ass of yours, Anna. You fucked me. And not in the good way. What the fuck was all that shit about needing a sasquatch for Putin?!?”

Anna played dumb. But it struck me that I had been deliberately put out of the loop for 3 months. Why? Who wanted me away for that long, and why? What went on in my absence?!? I was just dying to know!!! I set my rifle down and pulled out my fixed blade knife, ready to get down to some real nasty work on Anna so I could get some truth. The pure evil of what I was about to do to her caused a wide death grin to grow on my face. Anna saw it. She knew what it meant. She swallowed hard and her eyes betrayed the shear terror she felt inside. I was engorged with blood lust. She knew she had fucked up one time too many this time!!

Suddenly came the sound of the toilet in the bathroom flushing. I was momentarily shocked. I did not expect anyone else to be there with Anna. Anna saw it in my face. I glanced at her and saw that the terror in her face was replaced with pleasure, a slight smile creeping over her face.

I was going to have to face off against this person in the bathroom, who would be out in a split moment. When I do that, I will have to turn 180 degrees from Anna, thereby making me vulnerable to her. I had only once choice: Shoot Anna first.

Just as this came to me, but just before I could act on it, the bathroom door opened. I had to deal with that person before Anna now. I spun around to see that it was a completely nude, and fat, white man. He was a real oafish blob. He looked surprised to see me. He also looked sort of familiar.

I next heard the crack of something hitting my skull hard. I remember the immediate hateful pain that shot through my body and the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I remember the dizziness, then falling to the floor. Clearly, as I fixed on the man from the bathroom, Anna had cracked me over the head with a blunt object.

I came to the next morning, Billy Ray and Rattler had manage to track me down based upon coordinates I left in the chopper that said “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY”. Billy Ray filled up the hotel room ice bucket with cold water and doused my head with it to bring me conscious. I was disoriented at first. But after a bit, what happened in this room the night before came back to me.

Honestly, I am surprised that Anna did not just kill me. I presume that she thinks she can leverage her drop-dead hotness to get me to do more shit for her in the future. She is absolutely right about that too. Rattler then said, “Hey, Rod, that snake bitch left a letter fer ya.”

He handed me the letter. This is what it said:
____________________________________________

“Dear Rod:

Sorry about the boo boo on your head. Hope it heals soon. Also sorry about leaving you in the mountains. I was not running a scam on you Rod. Rather, an opportunity arose for me to acquire a sasquatch body from another person. You may know him since you are a sasquatch hunter. His name is Matt Moneymaker. Anyway, until next time…..

Yours truly,
Anna Conda”
_____________________________________________
I could not fucking believe it. That was fatfuck Moneymaker in the hotel room earlier. Anna fucked Matt Fatfuck Moneymaker for a Sasquatch! That fat son of bitch!!

Billy Ray asked, “You ready to go Rod?” I stood up and said, “Yeah, let’s go.” Then Rattler said, “Hey, ya wanna stop and git some beer fer the ride home?” I replied “Hell yeah.”

I felt like I wanted to die. Thank God for beer and buddies. I don’t blame Anna. She is a fucking snake, and I knew that before this started. Also, I cannot really blame fatfuck Moneymaker for wanting to get some of that hot poon pie Anna serves up. I guess I have to blame fate for fucking me over this time. I even started thinking that next time I will just avoid Anna. But I know I won’t, thus making me subject to this sort of shit again. I had Rattler set us down in Charlottesville so I could buy some hard liquor.

LPs

• Gunna - One of Wun (w Offset, Normani, Roddy Ricch & Leon Bridges) [ATL Trap, YSL/300]
• Ryan Castro (🇨🇴) - EL CANTANTE DEL GHETTO (w Rich the Kid, Myke Towers, Ñengo Flow, Jowell & Randy, Arcángel, Peso Pluma + more) [Latin Rap, Sony]
• Chief Keef - Almighty So 2 (w Quavo, Sexyy Red, G Herbo, Tierra Whack, Lil Gnar & Ballout) [Chicago Drill]
• Kaash Paige - Catch Me While I Care (w SSGKobe + more) [R&B]
• Bugzy Malone (🇬🇧) - The Great British Dream [UK Rap]
• Tiwa Savage - Water & Garri (w Olamide, Arya Starr, Black Sherif + more) [Afrobeats]
• Andra Day - CASSANDRA (cherith) (w Wale) [R&B, Warner]
• Yaya Bey - Ten Fold [Neo-Soul, Big Dada]
• Ghostface Killah - Set The Tone (w Ye, Nas, Busta Rhymes, Method Man, Raekwon, AZ, Jim Jones, Fat Joe, Ja Rule, Sheek Louch + more) [East Coast Rap, Mass Appeal]
• Jordan Rakei (🇳🇿) - The Loop [R&B]
• Conway the Machine - SFK (w Joey Bada$$, Method Man, Raekwon, Larry June, Ab-Soul, Stove God Cooks + more) [NY Rap]
• M Huncho (🇬🇧) & Potter Payper (🇬🇧) - 36 Hours [UK Rap]
• The Act (UnoTheActivist) - Omega Music Vol. 1 (w Bear1Boss) [Rap]
• Nigel Hall & DJ Harrison - The Burning Bush: A Journey Through the Music of Earth, Wind & Fire [R&B, Covers]
• Potatohead People (🇨🇦) - Eat Your Heart Out (w Redman, T3, Shadiq Husayn, Ivan Ave + more) [Producer Album, Bastard Jazz]
• Yhapojj - P.S. Fuck You (w Lil Tony Official) [Jerk, Simple Stupid/Geffen]
• Elio Toffana (🇪🇸) - ALIENS (w Conway the Machine, Cruz Cafuné & Nickzzy) [Spanish Rap]
• Anonymuz - We$tSide [Rap]
• Yhung T.O. & Lil Sheik - Ballin' Like TuTu [Bay Area Trap]
• Baby Money - H.I.M. (Hustle In Me) (w Tee Grizzley, Veeze, G.T., Peezy & Skilla Baby) [Michigan Trap, QC]
• Napoleon da Legend & DJ Rhettmatic - LEGMATIC (w D-Styles + more) [Boom Bap]
• Noodah05 - 5 Minutes of Fame [ATL Trap]
• Luh Soldier - Soldier Life: Stand on Loyalty Compilation [Trap]
• Lil Bean - BACK TO BASICS 2 (w ZayBang, EBK Jaaybo & FREDOBAGZ) [Bay Area Trap]
• Cacahouète (🇫🇷) - Vrai igo [French Hip Hop]
• phreshboyswag – VIP* [Rap]
• KY SKYWALKA - Back To Grammy's [DMV Crank]
• Take A Mic (🇫🇷) - M1NDSET [French Hip Hop]
• How to Dress Well - I Am Toward You [Alt-R&B, Sargent House]
• MexikoDro - De Mayo [Plugg, Beats]
• Copywrite - T.H.E. Last Supper (w Slug, Ras Kass, Mickey Factz, Breeze Brewin + more) [Boom Bap]
• Nino Augustine (🇵🇦) - 100% [Latin Rap]
• Jaywill (🇫🇷) - COLD LONER'S REVENGE [French Hip Hop]
• VILK (🇫🇷) - VILKCORE [French Hip Hop]
• Sleep Sinatra & bloomcycle - Memory​(​ummm​.​.​.​) (w PremRock, SKECH185 + more) [Underground Rap]

Deluxe

• That Mexican OT & DJ Lil Steve - Texas Technician: ChopNotSlop [TX Rap, Capitol]
• Adi Oasis - Lotus Glow [R&B]
• 22Gz - Growth & Development [NY Drill]
• Amindi - Take What You Need And Then Some (w MAVI & Vayda) [Rap]

EPs

• BigXthaPlug, Ro$ama & Young Hood- Meet The 6ixers [TX Trap]
• Charles Ans (🇲🇽), La Loquera (🇨🇴) & Ms. Amber (🇲🇽) - Serendipia [Latin]
• Seyi Vibez (🇳🇬) - VBZINC (w ODOMODUBLVCK, Stonebwoy, Bloody Civilian + more) [Afrobeats, Dvpper]
• Pink Siifu - GOT FOOD AT THE CRIB'! VOL​.​2* [Rap]
• Kalan.FrFr - MAKE THE WEST GREAT AGAIN (w Ty Dolla $ign, G Herbo, YG & Spooky Jay) [West Coast Rap, Roc Nation]
• 21 Lil Harold - Sick of Myself (w Quavo, G Herbo, JID & BigXthaPlug) [ATL Trap, Slaughter Gang/Epic]
• 3dnan (🇪🇸)- LUNA NUEVA [Latin]
• Slkrack (🇫🇷) - Jeune, black & qu'en à rien à branler [French Hip Hop]
• Dizzy Fae - Are We There Yet? [R&B]
• 4Fargo - Express&B (w Jacquees, K CAMP & Honey Bxby) [R&B, Republic]
• Mannywellz - The Purple Tape [R&B]
• Kiefer, Luke Titus & Pera Krstajic - Something For Real [Jazz, Live, Stones Throw]
• Cosha (🇮🇪) - MurMurs [R&B]
• Left Lane Didon - INDICATORS: EPISODE 5 [Rap]
• PLAYERRWAYS & GtmoneyDt - GrimeyLocWays (w Ralfy the Plug, Swifty Blue & GoodFinesse) [West Coast Trap, Stinc]
• Vintna B (🇨🇱) - Mal Augurio [Latin]
• AXHE (🇪🇸) - 04:04 [Latin]
• White N (🇫🇷) - DEUX FOIS PLUS QU'EUX [French Hip Hop]
• esone (🇫🇷) - 0-119 [French Hip Hop]
• Butch Dawson & Stan Lane - Keep It Brief, Vol. 1 [Rap]
• MISA (🇫🇷) & YEUZE LOW (🇫🇷) - L'HUILE AU SOL [French Hip Hop]
• Ferris Blusa & Jamil Honesty - Surrender to Gawd Alone (w Maze Overlay + more) [Rap, Free Lunch]
• CHUNG (🇨🇦) - Perdu In Peru (w Santana Fox + more) [Jazz Rap]
• Rhys Langston & Steel Tipped Dove - Polygot on Chloroform (w Fatboi Sharif) [Rap]
• AK (🇫🇷) - BIGDAWG EVO [French Hip Hop]
• Dude (🇫🇷) - K2 [French Hip Hop]

Songs

• Drake - THE HEART PART 6*
• Kendrick Lamar - meet the grahams / Not Like Us
• Khalid - Please Don't Fall In Love With Me (Sango Remix)
• Earlly Mac & Sango - Days of Our Lives (feat. WESTSIDE BOOGIE, Dave Hill & Young RJ)
• Tee Grizzley & Wheezy - Swear To God (feat. Future)
• Camila Cabello & Lil Nas X - HE KNOWS
• BLK ODYSSY - XXX (feat. Wiz Khalifa)
• Omar Montes, SAIKO & Tunvao - Arena y Sal (Remix) [feat. Anitta, Sech, Yandel, FMK & LIT killah]
• Wisin, Anitta, Shaggy & Maffio - Peligrosa
• Megan Thee Stallion - BOA / I Think I love Her Freestyle*
• Rich The Kid & D.A. Got That Dope - Band Man
• Central Cee - CC Freestyle
• NLE Choppa - Stickin' And Movin'
• J Abdiel & iZaak - WYA (White Remix) [feat. Juhn, Slayter, Aleesha] / (Blue Remix) (feat. Hades66, Miky Woodz & Corina Smith) / (Red Remix) [feat. De La Rose, Yan Block & Jay Wheeler]
• Ice Spice & RIOTUSA - Gimmie A Light
• Coi Leray - Lemon Cars
• T.I. & NBA Youngboy - Llogclay
• Key Glock - The Greatest
• iann dior - Edge of Tommorow
• The Game - Freeway’s Revenge
• BlakelANA & Moneybagg Yo - Pricey
• Ellis Quinn & eK! - HOTLANTA (feat. A$AP Ferg, Lee Cash & DRAM)*
• Sleepy Hallow - Winners In Paris
• Ski Mask The Slump God - Headrush
• Mabel & Shygirl - Look At My Body, Pt. II
• DJ Bandz - GTA (feat. Rob49, Fivio Foreign & Skilla Baby)
• Big Hit, Hit-Boy & The Alchemist - Foreclosure
• Falling In Reverse - Ronald (feat. Tech N9ne & Alex Terrible)
• Mach-Hommy & KAYTRANADA - #RichAxxHaitian (feat. 03 Greedo)
• Destroy Lonely - Luv 4 Ya
• Z1NO & ArrDee - C'est La Vie (More Filler)
• Shoreline Mafia (Fenix Flexin & OHGEESY) - HEAT STICK
• Davy Finesse - Your Vibe (feat. OHGEESY)
• Clara La Sun - Talking To You
• DJ Mekalek - Skylines (feat. Westside Gunn & Mickey Diamond)
• BOJ & Ragee - Love Garden (feat. Adekunle Gold)
• ANGEL DIOR & Jisac - Bichiyal
• Fredo - Top G
• Larry June - Meet Me In Napa
• Young M.A. - TRIM
• SoFaygo - TUT
• SLIZZY ENT - MARNI (feat. Cash Cobain, Marni, Vontee the Singer & Matthew Ali)
• Tink - Huh
• BIG30 - SANG TO EM
• Lilbubblegum & REI AMI - I SEE RED
• KingTrey, Mick Jenkins & KOTA The Friend - Right On Time
• Machinedrum - WEARY (feat. Mick Jenkins & Jesse Boykins III)
• Fliptrix, Greentea Peng & Leaf Dog - Cosmic Scenes
• Jdot Breezy - EBK
• MO3 - Tidal Wave
• Groovy - KNO ME
• Jackboy & BabyDrill - No Diddy
• FloFilz - Nightly Passage (feat. Rob Araujo)
• Pak-Man & Steel Banglez - Standard
• 1RealFatty & YTB Fatt - 5 Stars (No Diddy)
• ShooterGang Kony - Real Money
• skaiwater - bleach
• Nappy Roots - Play Clothes
• Wizz Havin - Kardi B (Already Rich Remix)
• Loe Shimmy & Wizz Havin - Zuper
• RJmrLA & Joe Moses - Faces & Names
• SwuM & GRiMM DOZA - BNB (feat. Mike Shaub)
• DeeBaby - Now Tell Me Why
• wewantwraiths & Still Brickin - 5AM In Bali
• Yung Pinch - LUST CLUB
• Komari, Cozz & Anik Khan - Kiwi Mango
• Coach, Pressa & NorthSideBenji - DWTD
• Sukihana - COCAINE (JT Diss)*
• Rexx Life Raj - B&E
• Reese LAFLARE - Pink Range Rover (feat. Foggieraw & PM FRVR)
• CEO Trayle - SuperFly
• lou deezi - Missing His Soul
• Babyxsosa - Be My Baby
• Dwells - Who U Luv (idc) [feat. Babyxsosa]
• Moody Bank$, Kaelin Ellis & Xar - Love Me
• Lil Vada & - Los Scandalous (feat. Lefty Gunplay) / Not Like Us (Remix)
• BigBandz & Louie Ray - Frfr
• Eurohead, JJ & Thaiboy Digital - Let Go / I'm Fresh
• Jake Isaac - OKAY
• HDBeenDope & Scottie Flames - LetColeKnow*
• RyiahG - Housekeeper (feat. ALLBLACK)
• Hardrock - Rascal (Trust)
• 1100 Himelf, Mari Peso, Ranvo & EBK Juvie Ju - Bad Azz Kid
• Kt Foreign & EBK Jaaybo - Oochie Wally
• DaBolyy & Tivi Gunz - Tumbao
• Thizzler on the Roof - Ambitions of a Trap Star (Bar Wars Cypher #14) [feat. Maj4l, 1100 Himself, Kflex & Nemz]
• Lil Maru & DB.Boutabag - Bad
• Rich Rillz, Smoke DZA & Big Tyme - Roll Up
• Smoke DZA & DJ RELLYRELL - U.G.L.Y. (U Gotta Love Yourself) [feat. TheARTI$T]
• Sexton & Lil Gotit - How
• Maxx Air & Lil Gotit - Murder Talk
• Azizi Gibson - Outta My Head
• RMAND - CRV
• Kabwasa & Shaw00p - Just Text Me
• Farma G, Wish Master & Sonnyjim - Créme De La Créme
• Opmquan - Ones To Blame (feat. Leaf Ward)
• Max Limit, ilysm, Madi Serket & RXKNephew - I'M LOSING MY MIND
• HUE SOUND (Mad Keys, Phoelix & Paris Price) - WANTS
• bblink, jaydes & xaviersobased - Vaxstyle (feat. Isocharm)
• André Mego, Georgia Anne Muldrow & Josef Leimberg - You Should Know
• Caleborate - Cold As Ice
• Mitchell - Fake Love
• Deema - LILREDWHIP
• Kossiko - Finally Free
• BreadWinner Lil HK, EBK BCKDOE & Ranvo - Alphabet Boys
• Jeriq - Ije Nwoke
• MW Deebo & EBK Juvie Ju - Politican
• Show Banga - Real First (feat. Lil Bean)
• CLIP - 2 The FACE
• Freshman Woes - Effortless (feat. Fashawn, LMNO & Myka-9)
• Canibus & Johnny Slash - The Demi Side (feat. Rockness Monsta & Hus Kingpin)
• Towkio & Reeseynem - Shake the Floor
• Church & AP - WTF (Remix) [feat. Dom McLennon & deadforest]
• KayFaraway & ROMderful - Sweet
• Laszlo - THIRTY (feat. Len)
• Da$H - MUSCLE MEMORY / Honolulu
• Flavonoids - Not the One (feat. Inspectah Deck & Teeks)
• Swoosh God - Agyal Not Amen
• Struggle Mike & DJ Benoit - GANDOLFINI (feat. OT The Real & Rick Hyde)
• Berm, YSR Gramz, Since99 & $weet-T - Moshpit
• Jynx716 & Che Noir - Intent (feat. Vic Spencer)
• Freddy Got Magic & Supa Bwe - We Live
• Lemuell - Mensajes Ficticios
• deem spencer - pony
• FLOHIO - Make It Bang
• Kaandake & Sa-Roc - Soulmate (Here I am)
• GAWD - Frontin' / Nasty Girl
• R2R Moe - Made4me
• Baby Bounce - Kobe (feat. Tapri Grams)
• Jurdan Bryant - Uknowdat
• Rory Sweeney & Tony Bontana - Departed

BBL Drizzy (prod. by Metro Boomin)

• Masego - BBL Drizzy Sax Diss.wav
• Tim Henson (of Polyphia) - BBL Drizzy
• DigBar & KolossalKocks - BBL DRIZZY DISS TRACK!
• RXKNephew - What Does BBL Even Mean
• PACKGOD & Yumi - BBL DRIZZY (Drake Diss Track)
• christ dillinger - #bbldrizzybeatgiveaway.wav
• KevinKempt - #bbldrizzybeatgiveaway
• Scru Face Jean - BBL Drizzy Freestyle
• Kamui - OVO Tokyo
• yungmaple - FUCK DRAKE FREESTYLE #BBLDRIZZY
• BLACCMASS - not like us x isley brothers
• Nem - BBL Drizzy

Old Drop Watches

2023 and 2024 Calendar

THIS STORY BEGAN AS A BDSM-INCESTY STORY AND TURNED IT FORCED-TRANS! Dale hated his stepmom Helen and caught her cheating. He blackmailed her into becoming his sex slave. But soon he fell in love with her and maybe got her pregnant. Then Dad caught them, there was a struggle with a gun then ended with Dad dead. Dale and Helen fled to Mexico with Dad's millions to where Helen's stepmom lives in a mansion, which is where Helen force-transitioned Dale.
Sound complicated? That's because it takes place over three parts. This is the final part of the story: Dale's new life as Mom's trans sex slave, Dalia. Here's part 3, where the story turns forced-trans:
https://www.reddit.com/transgenderfantasy/comments/1cggg3a/my_loving_mother_forced_transbdsmincest/
My stepmom’s fist pistoned deeply up my asshole, grazing my prostate and making it ache harder with every thrust. Distractedly I felt my precum dripping down my erect cock, but I was too busy swallowing to pay close attention. My mom’s Mexican stepmom kept emptying her bladder into my mouth.
I’d been tricked and kidnapped by my stepmom, Helen, enslaved and force-transitioned from a twenty-year-old dude into a hot-looking, big-titted shemale. We were deep in Mexico, living in a compound that would have cost ten-million-dollars back in Los Angeles. Worst of all, she had framed me for my own father’s murder after she’d stolen all his money, so even if I escaped I couldn’t go back to the USA.
And worst of all? I didn’t know why, but I loved the way it felt, both Mom fisting my ass and her mom peeing down my throat. I guess that since I was trapped in my slavery, my only option was to surrender to it and learn to love it. Second worst was that, despite what Mom had done to me, I was still in love with her.
I wanted her to be proud of her son: the slutty shemale slave.
“That’s it, baby,” Dolores cooed. “Drink the rest of your *abuelita’*s piss like a good girl. Mmmmm. Now lick my pussy nice and clean!”
I buried my tongue in the hot GMILF’s cuntal folds, excited to service the smoldering Latina beauty. And I wanted Mom to be pleased with what a good slave I was. I desperately wanted to have regular sex with her again. Or any kind of sex. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
“That’s such a good girl, Dalia. Look back at Mommy.”
I turned my head as best I could in the stocks and regarded her with shining eyes. “Yes, Mistress!”
“So you love the nasty things your mommies are doing to you? You would gladly do whatever we said?”
“Yes, Mistress!”
She paused fisting me and bent forward to kiss me. “Please call me Mom or Mommy. I like that better.”
“Yes, Mom!”
The relief of her slowly withdrawing fist from my ass triggered a P-gasm and made me spurt a huge glut. My Latina step-grandmother caught my load in her hand and fed it to me while Mom wiped the lube and anal juices from her hand and forearm.
“Let’s take a shower, baby, and I will tell you your future.”
Mom and I embraced and kissed deeply as the hot spray played on out tingling bodies. I loved how my new breasts crushed against hers. The day before, the idea of being a girl and having tits would have been foreign to me but now I loved this. Perhaps all the while I’d jacked off to shemale porn some part of me fantasized of being a chick with a dick!
Mom soaped me while she spoke. “My plans for you have changed, baby.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“Dolores and I have done what we did to you before. Many times to various young men. Ten were sons of men we ‘married.’ I had real affection for all those boys, but you’re the first I ever fell in love with.” She kissed me. “When you released me from slavery so soon, it showed character none of the others have.”
“I just loved you too much to keep you as my slave.”
She curled her hand around my cock. “As you will soon see, my new daughter, the love between dominant and slave can be very intense. Usually we sell off the sissies and shemales we’ve transitioned. Rich men and women who enjoy your kind.” She gripped it hard, making me wince. “But I am keeping you for myself.”
Still locked onto my dick, she kissed me hard and raped my mouth with her tongue. When she was done, she forced me to my knees and told me to lick her asshole until she was satisfied. I was in heaven!
The next day began my intensive training in Femininity, cooking, maid service and Spanish. I also had the joy of being a dress-up doll for my stepmother, who seemed to relish just how girly she could make me look: sweet, sophisticated or slutty. I got massive boners as she showed me how sexy a girl I could be. At night I slept in a doggy bed at the foot of their bed. I jacked off, hearing them fuck every night.
After two weeks I could walk gracefully in four-inch heels all day while I cleaned their huge home, served them dinner, massaged them, and orally serviced them, which they both seemed to love. I could also now hold basic conversations in my new language.
“It will come in very handy when you start your new job tomorrow afternoon, mija,” Mom said using the endearing term for daughter.
The look in her eyes made me shiver. “What job, Mami?”
It turned out on the adjacent property, my stepmom and her mom owned a high-end brothel for the wealthy residents in the region and any horny guy who could scrape together the equivalent of $500 USD for an hour. That was the minimum price to be with one of their whores, of which I’d be one.
Dolores and Mom escorted me to a second-floor hallway when ten of the doors were painted lavender-purple. They explained these were the sissies and shemales, all of which they had transitioned.
“And in here is your room when you’re not serving us at home.”
It was big with a large bed and a closet filled with lingerie and fetishwear. The dresser held a variety of sex toys. Two easy chairs sat on the wall right next to the bed. Mom and her mom sat in them and told me to strip. Soon I stood naked in front of the bed.
“Put on a good show for your Mamis,” Dolores said.
I wondered what she meant until the door opened a minute later. Eleven youngish, well-built Latinos sauntered into the room, all of them wearing shorts, jerseys and sports shoes. Most of them were very handsome. They all looked at me like a banquet.
“This is our regional soccer team,” Helen said. “We’ve arranged this in appreciation of their efforts.”
“She’s all yours, boys,” Dolores said.
They picked me up like a gym bag and deposited me in the middle of the mattress, doggy-style. Save for my frequent pegging by Helen and Dolores, my shemale ass was virgin when it came to man-cock. I’d anticipated them getting a real dick for me at some point; just not eleven all at once! I was intensely glad. I spread my knees wide to provide total access to my asshole and wiggled my ass, whimpering for cock.
By now I knew enough Spanish so when the youngest and cutest of them said, “look how the hot slut wants it,” I nodded my head and panted.
“Anyone can see that, Ernesto,” said his teammate. “You’re the star player so you go first.”
“There is lube on both nightstands,” Mom said.
“My spit will be good enough,” Ernesto said. “Your bitch is so sexy I must taste her sexy pussy!”
I moaned at his hot tongue pressing into my asshole, but my sound of pleasure was cut off by an eight-inch dick pressing into my open mouth. I sucked on it eagerly, thrilled that not one man but eleven of them would take my cherry today.
I groaned in ecstasy as Ernesto’s dick slid deeply into my tranny cunt. I shoved my butt back against his thrusts, driving his dick even deeper into my hungry hole. Another of them crowded in by my face, so I alternated between sucking one, then another.
I lost track of time but eventually one of the guys fucking my mouth announced we was going to cum. Helen and Dolores came up to the bed so they could watch their tranny daughter take her first taste of semen.
“Open wide, mija,” Mom said. “Make your Mamis proud.”
Thick, stringy jizz splattered onto my lips and tongue, jetted into the back of my mouth. The taste made me dizzy with lust as I swallowed it all and sucked the left of it out of his dick. The smell of cum filled the air, and that’s when Ernesto seized my hips and shot his load up my ass.
“Clean his cock, slave,” Mom announced and he pulled out of me.
Without hesitation I followed my mistress-mom’s orders, eagerly sucking lube, cum and my own ass juices of his still-hard brown cock. The guy fucking my mouth moved around to take my ass and a new man poked his tool into my mouth.
It felt like for hours I sucked and fucked those rugged, hunky men while my stepmom and sexy step grandmother watched. The last guy to fuck me peed up my ass, then he smacked my butt with a big grin and got dressed with the rest of them. I lay on the bed, filled and covered with their hot, sticky seed.
Helen took a knee next to me on the bed. “I am so proud of you, my sweet Dalia. You were so sexy, so powerful taking on all those men. Do you know how perfect a girl you make?”
I looked up at her in adoration. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, baby. Tell me the truth. Do you like being Dalia? You don’t have to be her. “We could stop giving you hormones and get a doctor to remove your breasts. You’d still have a girl’s waist, but—”
“I love being Dalia. And I love being your slave. When we left America, I could never have imagined I’d love all this, but now that I have, I want to stay a girl. And a sex slave.”
Dolores smiled down at me. “Didn’t I tell you she would, baby? Our girl was born for this. I’m glad you saw it.”
Mom stood and extended her hand. “Come with me, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up. Tonight you sleep in the bed with Mom and me.”
That night was like heaven. They took me into their bed where they lay together, fully nude. Mom and her stepmom were so gorgeous as a lesbian couple, like a pair of angels. They sat me up against the padded headboard and began to make love in front of me.
“Mamis, you are so beautiful!” I gasped in perfect Spanish.
The sight of them deep-kissing, sucking each other’s nipples, fingering their pussies and assholes, going down on each other got me so hard my dick did pushups. Finally when they included me in their lesbo tryst, I was mindless with lust.
“Just lie there and let us love you, mija,” Dolores said.
For ten minutes they just kisses and caressed every inch of me except my cock. Mom breathed on the blood-swollen head of my cock a few times, making my boner rage even harder. It kept throbbing, lifting off my girlish tummy in time with my racing heart.
“I think she will cum too soon,” Helen said.
“Yes, but I think she will stay hard if she does.”
“You should do it, Mom,” Helen giggled. “Feed it to her.”
That was when my Mexican step-grandmother’s full, bow-shaped lips encircled my cockhead and slurped it into her mouth. Dolores was actually fifty-two but looked ten years younger, her body firm and tight and shapely. Her smoldering brown eyes linked with mine as she sucked my tranny cock while the ache in my balls reached orgasm.
“Oh, Mami!” I groaned as I felt my balls drain into her mouth.
Mom’s sexy mother straddled me, her large tits hanging as she bent to kiss me. I whimpered as my load flooded through my lips. She and I caressed each other tongues, sticky with my jizz, and slowly drank it. Then she knelt over my face and lowered her moist pussy to my mouth.
“Eat your grandma’s pussy, little hermana,” she cooed.
While I licked her mom’s cunt, Helen stroked my cock into a new erection. I moaned into Dolores’ pussy until Mom had got me fully hard again. Then Mom mounted me cowgirl-style and fed me into her hot, clinging vagina. I thought I might die from pleasure.
“Time for a new taste, Dalia,” the older woman said.
She turned around and positioned her asshole onto my mouth. Hungrily I lapped away at the brown-pink hole, while she leaned forward to French kiss her daughter riding my cock. For hours we made love and fucked and cuddled in the bed. They spit-roasted me twice with dildos they had ready for me. We all slept naked, cuddled together.
The next morning began as usual, except I rose from their bed for a change. I donned my household serving lingerie—panties, bra, self-gartered, lacy hose and 3-inch pumps—and served them fresh-ground coffee in bed. They both seemed a bit sad but I knew better than to ask questions of them first thing in the morning.
Unusually, after I’d made breakfast for the three of us, I was allowed to sit at the table with them and eat. Usually I ate standing at the kitchen counter or, if they felt playful, from a dog-food bowl by the dining room table. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand the suspense.
“May your girl ask a question?”
“You want to know why we are being so nice to you,” Mom said.
“Yes, Mommy.”
“We are very sorry, Dalia,” Dolores said, “but the man who owns the soccer team has become interested in you. He offered us a quarter-million dollars American for you.”
“Of course we said no until he said he would make trouble for us. Then he said we’d better take the money or he would take you for free and still make trouble for us with the Federales.”
My eyes filled with tears. “What does he want me for, Mom?”
“A personal slave, baby,” Helen said. “For serving and sex and whatever he wants.”
“He will tire of you eventually and we will buy you back.”
I looked at Dolores, sick with grief and fear. “Really?”
“That is what we hope, mija.”
“Look on the bright side, baby,” Mom soothed. “Nobody can better help you become a woman than a man, especially one such as he. Being his slave will make the lessons that much deeper.”
Mom’s phone beeped. She looked at the display. “He’s on his way here. Let’s get you ready to go, baby.”
They arrayed me in classic, three-piece lingerie: push-up bra, bikini panties, and garterbelt holding up seamed stockings, all white lace. The dress looked like a wedding gown but it was sheer, showing off my large breasts and my tranny cock. Despite my sadness and anxiety, I couldn’t help being a bit excited to be owned by a man!
“Do not fear, my beautiful girl,” Mom said. “Don Ricardo lives very nearby and he believes in family, so we will see you all the time.”
“We will more than see you, Dalia,” Dolores grinned. “He is also a voyeur and wants to see us have sex with you. If we put on a good show for him, he might want to see it every week. Maybe more.”
“I hope so,” I begged. “I love the both of you so much!”
They led me into a room with “Bridal Suite” on the door—the most expensive of their brothel rooms, just for high-rollers.
Mom crushed me to her body, our breasts pushing together, and kissed me deeply. “I love you so much, baby. I really do.”
My grandmom kissed me next just as deeply, and she rubbed my cock through my see-thru dress enough to provoke a boner. “You must go to him alone, mija. And do all you can to please him.”
I entered and closed the door behind me. I heard a sudden inrush of breath, followed by a low, hungry chuckled. He sat totally naked on the bed and looked hungrily at me, grinning and shaking his head.
I got to my knees and lowered my head, hands on thighs. “Your new slave is called Dalia, Master, if it should please him. Command her.”
“Look at me, palomita,” he smiled, calling me “little dove.”
I craned my head as he stood. My new Papi stood at least six-six with strong arms and legs, a broad chest and a hard, muscled stomach. His hair was short and he was very handsome with a trim mustache. His dark eyes gleamed with lust.
“Oh my!” I gasped as I looked at his cock. It was as long as my forearm and tapered, thankfully. I could deep-throat at least part of it. Then I realized my error and lowered my head. “Your girl begs forgiveness for speaking without permission.”
He picked me up as easily as a baby and swept me into his arms. “There will be time for master-slave later,” he said kindly and lowered his lips to mine.
I tingled with the thrill of being so helpless, completely in his power, as his thick tongue probed my mouth and made love to mine. It was a dizzying sensation to feel owned by him, and my cock strained at my lace panties and leaked precum. I wanted to suck him off and take his massive tool deep up my shemale pussy.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whimpered as he broke the kiss. “I give great head! Please let me suck your dick!”
“After I fuck you, baby,” he sexily growled. “Are you ready?”
Helen had opened me up with a medium-large plug and shot an ounce of sex lube deep into me, knowing he might want to fuck right away. “Oh, I’m ready! I’m so ready for you, Papi!”
He dumped me on the bed and tore my panties off as easily as tissue paper. He stroked his mighty dick to its full, pulsating eleven inches and reached down to pick me up, cupping his hands under my thighs.
“Wrap your arms around my neck, baby.”
My arms securely around him, he lifted me up into the air. It was as thrilling as the feel of his hands holding me up, his broad, hairy chest against my breasts and his cock sliding between my asscheeks. I was so ready for him to put it deep up inside me!
“Put it in me, Papi! Fuck my tranny coño good!”
“Guide me into your hole, puta!”
I held onto the back of his neck with one hand and reached down to grab his thick, pulsing meat. The head was slick with precum. I moved it until I felt it touch my twitching asshole and I nodded. I cried out in hot ecstasy as this big dick slid all of the way into me.
I was so filled by his cock the sensations made me giddy, my anal meat clenched onto his hot, thick manhood. Slowly at first, he thrust in and out, his dick plowing through the walls of my ass, sending electric bolts of pleasure into my prostate.
“Oh, baby, you’re so tight!”
“Fuck me hard, Papi! Fuck your horny slut!”
I was shocked how deeply his dick reached up into me, how much it owned me. I was his now—his girl, his slut! I wrapped legs around his and clung to him, thrusting my hips down as he pounded into me. Both of us panted in desire, French-kissing until we needed to breathe and then kissing again. He was as horny for me as I was for him.
Ever since Mom had force-transitioned me, I’d grown into being a girl and slowly, truly, loving being a girl. As this macho man deep-fucked me, as I gasped and moaned and whined with each thrust, I was now fully a girl. I only wish my moms were in here to see this!
“Papi, you slut-girl loves you so much,” I whimpered. I kissed him and he kissed me back, full of passion.
“Would you like your mamis to join us, palomita?” he grinned. “Now that I have made you mine, I want to share you! Go get them, mija.”
“Thank you, Papi! Thank you!”
Papi directed us so we could get the most out of it. Mom lay on her back with her legs spread, while her mom knelt over her face so Mom could lick her asshole. Papi put me between Mom’s legs and sliding my tranny cock into her, which positioned my mouth directly over Dolores’ juicing cunt. I eagerly lapped at her sweet-wild pussy lips.
For a few minutes he watched the three of us having sex until he couldn’t wait any longer. Don Ricardo knelt behind me and slipped his throbbing tool deeply into me. It felt crazy-good: fucking my mom while I ate her mom’s pussy and Papi railed my slutty ass.
We fucked for a long time until we came together in a big, sweaty, sticky pile of lusty flesh. As mom drained her creampie into my greedy mouth, Don Ricardo announced that he was buying out their mansion and brothel, and that Helen and her mom would be living with us.
“As slaves,” he chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Mom, my grandmom and I all looked at each other with delight. “We don’t mind,” we said.
He stood before us, stroking his monster to a new erection. “Which one of you ladies is first?” Then he grinned and dialed his cellphone. “The three of you like soccer players, don’t you?”
The End

This report came in last weekend from a gentleman named “Oscar”. Oscar was on a date with a lady named “Ellen”. As the evening grew late the couple decided to drive to a state park, park their car, and then engage in intimate behavior while sitting in the car.
Oscar said they arrived at the park at around 10:30 pm. They drove into the park on a dirt road. The area is heavily wooded. When they came to a wide spot in the road they pulled over, turned off the headlights, and then started talking.
I am going to assume that you good readers are mature adults and just cut to the chase. After some small talk Ellen began performing oral sex on Oscar as they sat together in the front seat. Shortly after this began something hit the hood of Oscar’s car. It startled the couple. There was nobody around they knew about. Finally, they just assumed it was a limb or a nut falling out of the trees around them. So they returned to what they were doing.
After a few moments more something hit the roof of the car. This time whatever hit the car was much heavier and made quite a noise upon impact. Oscar quickly composed himself, jumped out of the car and shouted “Who’s there?!?” He yelled some other threatening messages, assuming it was somebody out there messing with him and Ellen. He said he had a loaded gun. In reality, he did not.
Oscar was just about to get back into the car and go somewhere else when he heard a limb break. It was a loud “snap”, and it was very close. Oscar jerked his head toward the noise and nervously asked again who was there. Nothing. It was quiet. Then came a low yet menacing growl that enveloped the entirety of the forest around them. It started low then grew in intensity. At this point Ellen was begging him to get back into the car and leave. Oscar obliged, jumping back into the driver’s seat and hastily putting his car into reverse and hitting the gas.
Oscar was intending to back the car around so it would point back in the direction from which they entered, then getting the heck out of there. But while they were rapidly reversing the car hit something solid and stopped with a loud “BAM!” Oscar was perplexed, as he knew there should not be a tree behind him. Then something crashed down on the trunk of his car, hard, causing them both to scream in fear.
Looking in his rear view mirror, and with only the light from his taillights, he saw a big hairy mass of something behind the car. Oscar stared in horror while Ellen had gone into hysterics. Before Oscar could even think to put the car into drive and get away, he saw ... the ARMS.
They were huge and covered in mangy hair. They reached down under the car. The thing was so big Oscar could not see the face. Then the back end of the car lifted up, and off the ground. Oscar says that the thing must have lifted the back end of the car at least two feet off the ground. Then came a loud roar from the thing. It was throaty and gutteral, and very loud. Oscar said it felt like his insides were rattling from the noise it was so loud. It was an angry growl that assaulted the sanity of both Oscar and Ellen. By this point both of them were in hysterics and screaming.
But as fast as this horrific moment came, it was gone. The very moment the growl ended, the car was dropped with a hard bang that jolted them both. Then all was quiet. Oscar looked in the rear view mirror. Nothing was there. Ellen turned in her seat to look out the back window, then quickly directed Oscar to “Go, go, go, go, go!!”
Oscar hit the gas and completed the rearward turn he initially intended to make. He then put the car into drive and hit the gas. He spun the tires as the car started moving forward. Oscar sped down the little dirt road as fast as he dared. Once they got to the paved road Ellen was crying and asking what was that thing. Oscar was quiet, still in shock. They made it home without further incident.
Both Oscar and Ellen have been traumatized by this incident, burdened with nightmares and continuing anxiety. They told nobody about what happened to them lest they be thought of as crazy or lying. After a week of this, Ellen decided to reach out to someone. She felt like she needed answers if she was ever going to come to grips with this. That’s when she contacted BADASS: Bigfoot And Dogman Assassination And Strategic Strikeforce. She had heard about this band of Sasquatch operators from a source who will remain unnamed.
The call came in approximately one week after the event. I was having a Dewers on the rocks at a titty bar in Atlanta when my phone rang. Of course, I did not hear it because of the loud music on the sound system. But, I felt it because I had it set to vibrate. I pulled it out and set the vibrating iPhone high on the thigh of the cute, young blond stripper sitting on my lap. “You like that, honey?”, I asked her. Then I moved it higher and higher, and squeezed her tight just as I started kissing her neck.
After the fascist, and very large bouncers, threw me out into the parking lot, I picked myself up and found my truck. By this point, after the scuffle and all the bad noise and threats, I had forgotten to even look to see who had the fucking balls to be calling me on a Saturday night.
I was too inebriated to drive, so I threw in a CCR CD, rolled down my window, and took off like a bat out of hell. You see, if you try to drive carefully when drunk, the cops can pick up on that. So what I do after I have been drinking is to drive fast and all over the road. That way the cops know I am not trying to fool anybody and assume I am just a sober asshole. It works most of the time.
I could not find my way home that night. I apparently blacked out at some point then came to in my truck. I was parked in front of a seedy little gas station in the hood, it was 8:00 am, and I was surrounded by Mexicans looking for work. I had no idea how I got there. By now I was sober enough to find my way home. Once there I crashed in bed and slept the rest of the day away.
The following day I woke up at the crack of noon. After a little of the old “hair of the dog”, I decided to check my Bigfoot hotline. There it was. I had missed a phone call. But, there was a voice mail. It turned out to be a message from Ellen saying she and her boyfriend had a terrifying encounter with a large, hairy creature. She was all shook up about it. I arranged to meet her and Oscar the next morning for breakfast to discuss the matter.
Ellen was already at the diner when I arrived. She was a right attractive young lass. She had a pretty, sincere face, blond hair cut into a bob, and a nice shape. It turns out that she is a 33 yr old MILF who was recently divorced. She also wears a false left leg. She explained that she is a vet who was medically retired after her leg got blown off in Afghanistan by a roadside IED.
Oscar came lagging in about 20 minutes late. He was apparently the first guy she had been out with since her divorce. He was a real douchebag: one of those millennial hipster types with groomed facial hair and skinny leg jeans.
We ordered before we began talking about the Sasquatch encounter. Ellen had eggs (scrambled), toast, and hot tea. I had only a black coffee. Oscar ordered plant-based sausage on top of a toasted bagel, and a latte. “Jesus Christ”, I thought to myself.
Ellen began telling me the story. She was very engaged and genuinely curious about what happened. But she was also still quite disturbed by the event. Oscar sulked and was clearly agitated. He was really bringing down my investigation, so I looked at him and said “Look, dude, if you don’t want to be here then pick up your ass and fuck off.”
Oscar then got a chip on his shoulder. He shot up to his feet and started getting all up in my space and pretending to be a tough guy. I said to Ellen, “excuse me a minute, sweatheart”, then stood up to face Oscar. I looked him in the eye and asked “What the fuck is wrong with you, boy? I am here to help, but you are acting like a total snot-faced cunt.”
Oscar then went on about the creature most likely being a bear, and it was no big deal. He said he did not believe in Bigfoot. Then he maligned my profession. Ellen tried to calm him, but he was inconsolable. Clearly, the encounter had him messed up in the head. He was faced with something that is not supposed to exist. Now his world had been fundamentally altered. He did not know how to deal with it. He did not possess the coping skills needed for this particular situation. So I decided to take pity on the boy and do him a favor.
Before Oscar even realized what had happened, I violently punched the sumbitch hard right in his throat. The sad sack dropped like a sack of potatoes, lying on the floor, grasping his throat and struggling for breath. I told Ellen “let’s go...I want you to show me where this encounter occurred.” I dropped a $50.00 bill on the table, took Ellen by her hand, and we left Oscar writhing around on the floor.
We took my truck. I consoled her on the drive. I said, “Look, sweetheart, I know things are tough for you right now. You are coming out of a divorce and now you are starting over as a single mom with one income. But that guy Oscar is not for you.” She started crying as she said “I know, I know. He was so bad to me.” After some more talking I learned that Ellen grew up with a sister and a brother, all being raised solely by Ellen’s mother. Her father left when Ellen was very young. Her mom had a parade of men in her life, partly to party and partly for the financial support she could extract from them. In fact, Ellen had a hard childhood and it obviously impacted her emotionally with trust and daddy issues. “Jackpot!!”, I thought to myself.
We arrived at the encounter site. The tire tracks were still there. I also found a Sasquatch print in some soft dirt. It was 18’’ long, a real big beast. Searching the area further I discover 2 tree structures and a pile of bones that appeared to be from hogs (feral, of course). It appears that old Oscar parked his car right in the middle of a Bigfoot’s living room. What an asshole.
I took some photographs and made some notes. Then we headed out of there. I told Ellen that I was 99% sure they stumbled into a Bigfoot’s territory and that it acted aggressively because it wanted them out of there. I pointed out that the creature could have easily killed both of them but chose not too. It just wanted them out of there. This seemed to provide her with some degree of comfort.
I asked Ellen if she would like to come back out there with me that night. At first, she was dead set against it. But I blew a lot of hot smoke up her ass about her being a tough-as-nails retired soldier and about how the Sasquatch did not want to hurt anyone, it just wanted to be left alone. I also told her that I do this sort of thing all the time, plus the BADASS Team would be with us. Then I hit her with this being a good way for her to face her fear, acquire some closure and be able to move forward with her life rather than living with the trauma of that night. She smiled, then agreed to come along.
When we parted Ellen gave me a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. The plan was for me to assemble my crew and meet back up with Ellen at the dirt road pull-off on the main highway where you enter the state park at 8:00 pm tonight.
My crew was all on site at 7:30 pm that night and preparing for the operation. I had my 5 best boys with me. There was Tango, a recently paroled black dude who joined up with BADASS after the New Black Panthers kicked him out for being too crazy for them. Tango was my second in command, and would be on point for tonight’s op.
Then there was Napalm Ned, a Vietnam vet. He was going to be our communications coordinator. The next three were snipers. There was Bobby Big Dick, Stab Wound, and Tommy Two Sacks. Here was the plan. I wanted to recreate the situation Ellen and Oscar found themselves in the night of the attack. Not wanting to get my truck fucked up by a Sasquatch, I borrowed my neighbor’s Mustang. Ellen and I would enter the woods in the Mustang at exactly 11:00 pm., proceed to the make out spot, and wait. Coordinates were given to the 3 snipers. They would be inserted early and triangulate around my position high in the trees. Ned would communicate between everyone. Tango would be the field General tonight while I was being the bait, along with Ellen.
Ellen arrived at 8:00 pm sharp. Good girl! I explained the plan to her. However, I quickly learned that we had a problem. Ellen does not like the idea of killing the Bigfoot. In fact, she hated the killing of all animals. She was a fucking pantheist! Pretty stupid, I know.
I managed to calm her down by telling her that all our guns were loaded with sedative darts that will not hurt the creature. We just want to chill it out, get some photos and DNA, give it a health checkup, and tag it with a GPS tracking device. It was a tricky sales job because the bitch is a hardcore animal rights person, and because Tango and Ned kept giggling the more I said. But finally I had her convinced that we were really a scientific group trying to help the Sasquatch.
Pursuant to the plan, Ellen and I got into the mustang and began driving into the woods along the same dirt path used by her and Oscar. Ellen asked what kind of gun was I carrying in my shoulder rig. I told her it was my Ruger .480 revolver...loaded with 300 grain Vicodin tipped bullets. She grinned, touched my shoulder, and said “You’re so great, Bud. You are a really good guy.” She did not have a fucking clue about anything.
When we reached our spot I parked and checked in with old Napalm Ned on my headset. We left the car running, just like Oscar had done. We also lowered our windows so we could hear what was going on around us. But frankly, my neighbor’s souped up, straight-piped hot rod Stang made listening impossible, so I killed the engine. Wanting some noise to let the Sasquatch know we were there, I turned on the radio.
We sat there for a long time. Nothing happened. Our tree snipers saw and heard nothing. Tango was stationed in a ground blind on the perimeter. He heard and saw nothing. “Shit!”, I thought. Then I looked over at Ellen and asked her exactly what she and Oscar were doing at the time of the encounter. She hesitated and gave me a bullshit, nothing of an answer. I asked her again. Then I noticed her face in the lights emanating from the stereo. It looked like she was blushing. Then it dawned on me. I asked her “You two were fucking?”
Ellen was embarrassed and said “Oh, no! No, no, no. We were just making out and fooling around a little.” I said “Look, this is serious business here. We are not playing around with fucking Fozzy Bear. This Sasquatch will rip our heads off. Now, tell me exactly what you two were doing.” Ellen had a pained look on her face. I asked “Did you have Oscar’s dick in your mouth?” Her facial expression and sudden eye aversion told me that she did. Then I said, “OK, so you were blowing Oscar. So when the first rock or whatever hit Oscar’s car, you were going down on him?” Ellen sheepishly nodded her head.
I nodded once to myself and said “Alright, we know what we have to do”, then leaned back in my seat and pulled out my cock. I said “Ok, get to work, bitch.” At first Ellen said she was leaving and went for the door. I admonished her to “sit your fucking ass down, woman. If you go out there that damn Bigfoot is going to rip off your pretty little head and shit Sasquatch pellets down your neck hole.” Knowing that I was right, Ellen got back into her seat and shut the door.
I said, “Look, you did it for Oscar and he is a total fag. Just look at my cock here, all thick and veiny. You know you want to wrap your thick blow-job lips around it and swallow it up. Plus, it needs to be done for the mission.” Ellen thought about it as she looked at my hardening dick in my hand. Then to solidify the deal I said “Sweetheart, I know you don’t want to see the Sasquatch People go extinct, but that is exactly what’s going to happen if we cannot get some hard data on them and study the species. I mean, what’s a few minutes of having a dick in your mouth compared to wiping out an entire species?”
That was all it took. Ellen started licking and slurping all over my knob. Then she suddenly stopped, looked up at me, and asked if the rest of the BADASS Team was privy to this. I said “of course not”, then pushed her head back down on my salami. In my earpiece I could hear my spec op buddies laughing their asses off.
After about 5 minutes of very motivated cocksucking and licking, a rock hit the hood of the car. Ellen popped up and excitedly said “Oh my God! It’s here!!” I pushed her head back down on my shaft and said “Alright, hurry it up, bitch. I got to go to work.”
Just as I released my demon seed down Ellen’s throat, what sounded like a fucking boulder hit the roof of the car. I radioed the boys, “Ok, boys. It’s here. Get ready.” But before they could squeeze off a shot, the passenger door was violently and suddenly ripped off its hinges and tossed into the night. Then a big - and I mean BIG - hairy arm reached into the car, grabbed Ellen, and yanked her out in a flash.
I heard chatter in my earpiece. The boys were having a hard time getting the monster in their crosshairs. We had assumed the snipers could pick it off on the perimeter as it held back and threw rocks at the car. But this animal proved to be unpredictable and aggressively moved right in to us, unseen by the snipers above. Apparently Ellen and Oscar has really pissed it off and it was not going to stand for any more trespassers.
“Fuck it”, I said to myself. I radioed the boys and told them to hold their fire. I was going into the Kill Box to get this Bigfoot, and whatever was left of Ellen. I pulled out both my Desert Eagles chambered in .50 AE, and went after the beast dual wielding my pieces.
It did not take long to find the Sasquatch. It took Ellen off about 100 yards from the car, ripped her clothes off, sat her on a large rock, and now stood in front of her with a HUGE erection. Knowing that I needed to act quickly and decisively, I fired with my right hand. “BAM!!!!!” The report of the .50 AE in the dead of night was defeating. But the bullet hit it’s mark, right at the base of the monster’s engorged wiener. It fact, my bullet splayed it’s hard cock wide open. It looked like a hot dog that had been microwaved for too long!!
Clearly, my shot hurt the Bigfoot, but it also made it mad - REAL MAD! I took off running right at the beast while dual wielding and blasting it with my Deagles. It absorbed every hit. When I ran dry the squatch was down on one knee and clutching its chest where my bullets hit it. At this point I was standing about 5 feet away from the monster, between it and a very terrified Ellen.
Standing so close to the Bigfoot I noticed a couple of very alarming things. First, the beast’s dick was bigger than mine. Not by much, mind you. But just enough to be noticeable. Second, even with the beast hunched over and on one knee, Tebow style, it was still a foot taller than me. I am 6’1” tall, which means that this was one magnum sized Bigfoot.
My alarm at the size of the fucker caused me a second of delay. I could tell by the chatter in my earpiece that the boys had climbed down from the trees and were, along with Ned and Tango, hauling ass to my location, locked and loaded. But I could not wait for them, as suddenly the beast pulled itself together, looked up and me, and showed its teeth. Now I was going to have to fight it bare-handed.
In a split second epiphany I recalled Ellen and her false leg. As the Bigfoot slowly rose to its feet before me with a murderous lust in its eyes, I spun around and punched Ellen right in her fucking face. She toppled over unconscious. Then I grabbed her fake leg and ripped it off her (I struck her because I did not have time to negotiate with her for the leg).
I immediately swung the leg and hit the monster upside its head, knocking the shit out of him. Then, with the foot end I slammed the beast repeatedly in its balls. The critter bent double then fell to the ground, letting out a painful cry of agony. Just then the boys arrived, and with a point-blank shot to its head from a .50 BMG the fight was over quicker than it had began.
“Shit, man, that was a close call tonight!”, I said, we all agreed, then fist bumped a few times and talked some shit. Then Tango got out his chain saw and cut up the Bigfoot body so we could pack it out of there. After about half an hour we were ready to move out. Then Big Dick looked at me and asked “Hey, Bud, what you want to do about the bitch?” I said “Oh shit”. I had completely forgotten about her.
I walked over to Ellen and shined my light on her. She was in shock, all curled up in the fetal position, shivering, and unresponsive. I walked back over to the boys and said to Big Dick, “Shit, dude, use one of your throwaway pistols and Epstein her.” The boys high fived. Tango and I started our hike out of there. After like 30 minutes we finally heard a gunshot. Tango said “It sure took ‘em a long time to end it. Do you think they fucked her first?” I looked over at Tango and asked “Fucked who?” We laughed and fist bumped.

https://minimalfreaks.co/2024/03/va-miami-sampler-2024-crva24/
GENRE House, Tech House, Jackin House, Minimal / Deep Tech

1. Slicerboys – Work (Gary Caos & Peter Kharma Mix) 05:01 128bpm 5A
2. Amcu, Neverloops – Waku Waku (Original Mix) 05:37 131bpm 4A
3. Adrian Michaels – La Fiesta (Original Mix) 05:17 128bpm 8B
4. Gary Caos – Pump up 24 (Original Mix) 05:30 129bpm 8A
5. Noven – Vamos (Original Mix) 04:17 128bpm 9A
6. Gary Caos – I’m Really Hot (Original Mix) 06:13 129bpm 12B
7. Funkagenda, Angelo Raguso, FAW9 – Sleepy Hollow (Original Mix) 05:25 127bpm 6A
8. Gary Caos, Adrian Michaels – Get Up (Original Mix) 05:02 128bpm 9B
9. Max Mendez – Get on Down (Original Mix) 04:45 128bpm 9A
10. Gary Caos, Peter Kharma, Slicerboys – Short Dick Man (Original Mix) 06:05 127bpm 2A
11. Alonse Burg – Crank the Party Up (Original Mix) 04:28 125bpm 4A
12. Marco Ferry, Thomas Menegazzi – Escape (Original Mix) 04:03 127bpm 9B
13. R3GROOVE – A New Place (Original Mix) 05:01 128bpm 10A
14. Lucci Minati – Lezz Goo0 (Original Mix) 05:45 128bpm 8A
15. DJ Alin X – Fake (Original Mix) 03:33 127bpm 8A
16. Marco Ferry, Thomas Menegazzi – Dame Todo (Original Mix) 03:04 128bpm 10A
17. Glorious, G.Key, Mr. Crystall – Kick Bass Cap Hat (Original Mix) 05:27 127bpm 7A
18. Ector Nina, Mattia Barcellona – Candy Shop (Original Mix) 06:31 128bpm 10A
19. John The RT – Da Dah (Original Mix) 04:52 127bpm 6A
20. Gary Caos, Peter Kharma, Slicerboys – Taka Taka (Gary Caos & Peter Kharma Mix) 05:49 127bpm 6A
21. Gennaro Cannarile – Mexican Brass (Original Mix) 03:56 126bpm 9A
22. Gary Caos, Peter Kharma, Slicerboys – Ayala (Gary Caos & Peter Kharma Radio Edit) 02:36 127bpm 12B
23. Samii – Cómo Te VA (Original Mix) 04:33 127bpm 2A
24. Max Mendez – I Don’t Want Your Number (Original Mix) 06:11 125bpm 9B
25. Mazonni – Bayla (Original Mix) 05:24 130bpm 8A

Hello am currently a 20 yr old student and putting myself through college. Problem is a few years ago, I cracked two teeth (field work where rod struck two teeth but thankfully only contained to those teeth). Lateral incisor and central incisor I was told to get replaced (central is cracked in two(8), lateral(8) apparently has experienced trauma/has micro fractures). Both teeth currently in my mouth and have stayed there for 4 years now(the cracked tooth was bonded). For aesthetics and placement purposes got braces(as once implant goes in,there’s going to be no more movement from that tooth) and recently the bond failed due to shifting teeth but I am luckily at the end of the treatment and have no pain. In two months, my braces come off. That being said, I am currently impoverished and parents are lower class so they can’t help me much. I also have student loans (some small loans but should graduate with a loan balance less than a new car) but have been saving some money up since I’ve known I’ve had to get this replaced for some time now. That being said, should I go to Mexico to replace them or should I try to go through a dental school here in Texas? I would a reputable dentist in Mexico and he seems to be asking the same questions and following procedures as the US dentist. If I go to Mexico, I can pay it off in full though(only up to 5k) it is costly still, like 4k (can pay in full) but I know cheap isn’t always better and I am wary of dentists in Algodones(only other two I considering is Sani dental 3-3.5k or a dentist my uncle used which currently researching his credentials). The dentist in Mexico are asking for Ct scan in case of a bone graft and use such materials such as Hiossen and Straumenn. Also studied from one of the top dental schools in Mexico and is an oral surgeon. Name is Dr Arthur Mendez Valencia https://sm4dental.com/about.php
The other portion is a dental school in the city where I live but process is longer and currently waiting to see if I can proceed in the program, have an upcoming consult. I will update once I get a price range from the dental school. My current periodontist if I recall currently (could be a prosthodontist) is holding off till I get my braces off before giving me a range. His recommendation as of my consult is an implant with a dental bridge of some sort. He did say my bite was favourable(I don’t know the implications of that that). And apologies for my yellow teeth, haven’t brushed since yesterday morning. As for why Mexico,I live close to border and am a dual citizen.
What would you recommend?
US Options - Prosthodontist and Oral Surgeon(Independent Practice) Or Teaching Dental School/Clinic (UT Health San Antonio School of Dentistry)
Awaiting ranges from both US Options, Mexican options are estimates
Mexican Options - Sani Dental(3.5k-4k), Nui Dental(3k), SM4(4k-4.5k), recommendation from Uncle (3k)
Or would you recommend doing extraction + implant + abulment in US and crown and partial denture in Mexico?

Eight seasons, plenty of episodes. Here we go:
Season 1

• Peter's: Italian
• Dillion's: Indian
• The Mixing Bowl: American/health food, I'm going to go with health food because of the name
• Seascape: seafood
• The Olde Stone Mill: steakhouse, but this might also go into the fine dining category
• Sebastian's, I get it, it's a concept, let's just say "Italian," although I know that is going to upset people because Sebastian was focused on frozen pizza dough, but a lot of the menu, besides the kaleidoscope of "flavor combinations" on pizza, seemed to be Italian food.
• Fin McCool's: Irish: although dropping chicken wings on the floor and putting them back in the fryer is about as American as it gets
• Leila's: upscale/ fine dining, but not traditional fine dining in terms of getting Hershey's chocolate sauce on your lamb that you paid fine dining prices for. Also, the Vulture was not the only man ripping off the kitchen, the head chef couldn't tell chicken from beef and knowingly let his staff steal from the restaurant
• Campania: Italian
• The Secret Garden: French

Season 2

• Handlebar: whut a dizastuh, American/pub/bistro
• Guseppii's: Italian, obviously
• Trobiano's, another Italian
• Black Pearl: seafood, no matter where the damn lobsters came from
• J. Willy's: BBQ, even though it was Gordon who gave them their award-winning BBQ sauce
• Hannah & Mason's: American
• Jack's Waterfront: seafood, I guess, although I bet this place just focused on cranking out burgers and fries, but they did serve "krab" cakes
• Sabatiello's: Italian, again
• Fiesta Sunrise: when you store your refried beans in a freakin' trash can, be assured it's a Mexican restaurant. I almost gave this one double points because it's the only time Gordon got so mad his voice cracked, and he might have broken the table he threw the trash can full of refired beans on, but let's respect the numbers and just give this restaurant one vote for now. There will be other Mexican restaurants that make the list
• Santa La Brea: health food
• Cafe 36: American

Season 3

• Hot Potato Cafe: a potato restaurant, so good luck with that. Let's throw this one in American since there's not much of a potato-only category in the culinary scene
• Flamingos: this was technically a Hawaiian restaurant, but I might throw it into the American category, because they didn't seem to be serving much Hawaiian food, not did they ever talk about it much
• Bazzini: Italian with a saucy pastry chef that would do Gordon in a heartbeat
• Mojito: Cuban, with no hope of the husband and wife ever getting back together
• Lido de Manhattan: fine dining, although this is probably in this category simply because it's the place her dad bought her or that she bought with her dad's money, but hey, you've got to give it up for her listening to Gordon, learning from him, and then pulling off a successful restaurant year after year after year after year, etc. That isn't easy. But it could have been "Lido de Italinia" or "Lido de Mexicana" and she still would have pulled it off, so kudos to her
• Le Bistro: so bistro, duhh, but they had seafood and fine dining tendencies, just that they weren't successful at either one. Let's throw it in American
• Casa Roma: Italian
• Mama Rita's: Mexican with a side of a year's supply of burritos and chimichangas
• Anna Vince....Vincenzo....Vincenzo's: another Italian restaurant, damnit
• Fleming: Swedish. Thank god, it was not another Italian restaurant! Also, we can be pretty sure this is the only Swedish restaurant on the list, which might or might not be surprising, but as someone who has been to Sweden, the food sucked. The country and the people were phenomenal, but the food sucked.
• Sushi Ko: sushi

Season 4

• Spanish Pavilion: I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say....Spanish
• Classic American: American, and thank you for making that one so easy
• PJ's Steakhouse: steakhouse, and ditto
• Grasshopper Also: Irish. Also, (ironically), why put "Also" in the restaurant's name?
• Davide: Italian with fine dining ambitions. Never had a chance
• Down City: Ummm, they were striving for "comfort food" in the middle of San Francisco while putting up a high-end front and operation, so I'm just going to put this one in "American," and if any of you have a problem with that, just know that I will hate you for eternity
• Tavolini: Italian. Surprised?
• Kingston Cafe: Jamaican. Thank god, a breath of fresh air!
• La Frite: French by name but probably American by menu, but I'm going with French because of the old man who actually made a success of the restaurant before the siblings took over, and he was French enough that he couldn't terminate his accent
• Capri Capri: Italian. See what I did there?
• Zeke's: Cajun
• Oceana: seafood by name, but I'm going with Cajun by location. Be warned, I'm partly Scottish, so according to the Oceana brothers, that means I speak British instead of English. It's actually one of the funniest lines in KN history, I'm just not going to try and be more accurate because there are four more season to go, and this takes effort, damnit

Season 5

• Blackberry's: soul food
• Leone's: Italian, and screw that lazy son, he never appreciated the gift he inherited
• Mike & Nellie's: technically, steak + seafood. I'm just going to throw this in both the steakhouse and seafood categories. Yes, that will microscopically affect the percentages by putting one restaurant in two categories, but if you don't like it, see Down City....In fact, I hate you already
• Luigi's D'Italia: no comment
• Burger Kitchen: American, and for Alan Saffron and his wife, the world is ready to spit on your grave for what you did to your son and your chef
• The Greek at the Harbor: Greek. Hoping the son has continued on the mythical Greek hero's arc
• Michon's: self-titled as a smokehouse, soooo... BBQ
• El Greco: Greek with a Chef Mike twist, in Austin, TX, no less
• Park's Edge: fine dining
• Spin-a-Yarn Steakhouse: a steakhouse in the fine dining category. This could go either way, but since the obvious gold digger wife spent, what was it, two-trillion dollars on the woman's bathroom remodel, she probably also forced this place further into the fine dining category, which it likely already was, otherwise she never would have married that that older guy in the first place, so there
• Charlie's: god dammint, why so many possessives???? It said "Italian" on their original menu, so here we go: Italian
• Cafe Hon: American
• Chiarella's: Chia pet who? Does anyone remember this episode? Italian
• Zocalo: Mexican, with no hope of the husband and wife ever getting back together, much like Mojito, but this wife was even more toxic and the husband/head chef eventually found happiness by marrying a waitress. Plus, the Zocalo wife SERIOUSLY tried to sabotage her husband on the makeover night dinner service

Season 6

• La Galleria 33: Italian, with two hilarious owners and a sociopath for a head waitress, and some type of shoe shiner guy who thinks he owns the place
• Mama Maria's: Italian, and another possessive tile, damnit
• Ms. Jean's Southern Cuisine: soul food with a wig that rivals any 1970s or 1980s men's toupee, including the last few years of MARVIN ZINDLER, EYEEEEWITNESS NEWS (hint: look for the blue sunglasses)
• Barf-foot Bob's: American and seafood with an cheating wife who wouldn't piss on her husband's hair if it was on fire. And yes, it was called "Barefoot Bob's," I made a joke. Probably a bad one
• Oh FFS, "Olde" Hitching Post Restaurant and Tavern: Damn the owners for making me type that. I guess "Olde" makes it special....no, it just means you are eating Olde food that makes Gordon Ramsey sick. Additionally, THIS WAS A GREEK F*CKING RESTAURANT. WHAT IS GREEK ABOUT AN "OLDE" HITCHING POST, COWBOY???!!! Anyway: Greek. Jesus Christ.
• Levanti's: Italian. At least it wasn't Levati's Olde Italian Restaurant or Levanti's Hitching Post. Thank god for that. Seriously
• Sam's Mediterranean Kabob Room: Sounds like a porno movie, or some show you'd see in Las Vegas at about 3 am from a guy who told you he would take you back to your hotel room if you just watched this first: Mediterranean
• My name is NIIINOOOOOOO's Italian Restaurant: Italian
• Mill Street Bistro: Although it has "bistro" in the title, everybody will agree it was intended to be fine dining, and Joe has the micro-carrot to prove it (pun intended). Ironically, now Joe is selling elk BURGERS from a FOOD TRUCK. One might say "screw you Joe," but his suspiciously jealous goat probably has a couple of steps in that category already
• Yanni's: sounds Greek to me
• Prohibition Grille: American with an obese side of belly dancing and horribly dyed black hair. Also, why the "Grille"? Does that make it fancy?
• Chappy's: Cajun with a side of crappie on a plate, and a wealthy wife who continues to fund her husband's culinary disasters. I mean "dizastuhs." But seriously, Chappy knows which side his bread is buttered on, even if he is such a bad chef he can't butter it himself properly
• Amy's Baking Company: yes, they served soggy pizza and grocery store-bought frozen ravioli, but I'm not going to classify this place as Italian because I'm not going to classify this place as anything but run by pure psychopaths. Gordon is lucky he got out of this place alive, meow meow

Season 7

• Pantaleone's: Italian
• Old Neighborhood: What, no "Olde"? Tough one to classify. It tried to be somewhat fine dining but couldn't pull it off, it tried to be a steakhouse but couldn't pull it off DESPITE OBSESSIVELY SPRAYING BOTH SIDES OF EVERY STEAK WITH PAM, probably tried to be part Italian, etc. Let's just say American
• Kati Allo: Hello. "Kati Allo." I guess that is Greek
• Mangia Mangia: yes, we made it to Mangia Mangia!!!!!!! Anyway: an Italian restaurant served out of a former fast food restaurant, which has since been converted to a Taco Bell, in the podunk Colorado mountain town of Woodland Park (I'm from CO so I can say that. The mountain towns that have skiing aren't so bad, the others, originally based off of mining that isn't there so much anymore can be sort of rural in the worst way, although Cripple Creek isn't too bad, and Manitou Springs is a tourist trap unless you are simply using it for parking to get to the Manitou Incline). Anyway, it was Italian, and they had a ton of pasta to prove it, literally
• Zaynia Flaming Something or Another: it was Mediterranean, although I have no idea why this was a two-parter. Gotta fill those contracts, maybe
• Bile Luna. I mean Billy Luna. I mean why does this episode exist? Bella Luna: It was another god damned Italian restaurant. You see where this is going, statistically. Friggin' Italians can't run their own restaurant and the Greeks can't help them. Americans aren't any better and the Mexican restaurants overcooked a year's worth of various ingredients that are stored in a variety of manners. All I know is that if I was eating at a restaurant and Gordon threw a trash can full of refried beans down on a table so hard it broke that table, I'd consider that to be the greatest moment of my life, even if I was eating said refried beans, and yes, this is all hyperbole. And I've already forgotten about that Billy Zuna place

Season 8
Yes, we made it to the most disappointing season ever!!!!
Bel Aire: This was probably one of the worst episodes because Bel Aire ran a massive ghost kitchen, which Gordon didn't address nor try to save. The show ignored a huge portion of the kitchen's operations and assumed the viewers wouldn't know the difference. It should have never been made into a KN episode, as it did, for many reasons. This one is off the list. Plus, they were probably cooking many different types of food. It was a total failure. Shame on you, Gordon, et al. And it was the lead-off episode for the season
Bask 46: Also from Woodland Park, although it was Woodland Park New Jersey and not Colorado, so this one featured a mob boss wanna-be chef with no actual street cred other than talking an unqualified owner into an over-paid head chef position with a massive kitchen staff to back up his inadequacies. Plus, this guy talked such a big game but ran so fast when Gordon called him out that it is a travesty that he has not become a national meme for stupid, overstated, undeserved incompetence. As far as the restaurant, American
In the Drink: bonus points for seeing Gordon drive a golf cart like one of his many Ferraris. Golf resort American, or just American for the rich bastards that can afford private golf club memberships and who lust after the disproportionately high number of teenage girls who work there
Da Mimmo: third New Jersey restaurant in a row, and 4 out of 10 episodes (10 total) in season 8 were either New Jersey, with the rest being in nearby New York (hint: it saves money for the producers, and as such, when choosing restaurants in tight geographic locations to reduce costs and increase profits, maybe, just maybe, they aren't choosing the best restaurants for the show): Anyway, that says it all now, and it is what KN has become. So: Italian, then a health food (sort of) place, then American with another sociopath, then Mexican, American, American, and Indian + Mexican that I think went to only Indian, with possibly the greatest KN waiter ever.
Now, for the numbers (all number were rounded up to an even number):

• Italian: 24, or 28% of KN episodes
• American: 18, or 21%
• Greek: 5, or 6%
• Mexican: 4, or 5%
• Seafood: 4, or 5%
• Fine dining: 4, or 5%
• Steakhouse: 3, or 4%
• Cajun: 3, or 4%
• Health food: 3, or 4%
• Indian: 2, or 3%
• Irish: 2, or 3%
• French: 2, or 3%
• Soul food: 2, or 3%
• Mediterranean: 2, or 3%
• BBQ: 2, or 3%
• Cuban, Swedish, sushi, Spanish and Jamaican: 1, or 2%

Dipper Goes to Taco Bell Dipper goes to Taco Bell It was a normal day in Gravity Falls, Oregon. Well, as normal as Gravity Falls gets, anyways. Dipper Pines was reading his book, and Mabel, his twin sister, was wondering what he was doing. "Dipper, are you gonna keep your nose buired in that strange book of yours all summer? You gotta go out, have an adventure!" Mabel exclamd. "Not now," Dipper said quietly. "I'm trying to decode this." He was looking at a cryptogram that said, "XSLFA QBE QXZL YBII". Dipper was offically stumped. He could not figure out what it meant. And it seemd very mysterious to him. "Grunkle Stan is gonna take us to the diner for lunch, Dipper!" Mabel exclames. Dipper, however, was not in the mood for the diner. He was publicy humiliated the last time he went, and he thougt the food wasn't very good anyway. "Mabel, I don't want to go to the diner," Dipper said solemmly. "I want to go somewhere else."
"But there is really nothing else in town, ulness you count the Taco Bell near the forest." Mabel replied. "Taco Bell?" Dipper's ears perked up. He had never eaten at Taco Bell before, and ever since last week, he had a craving for mexican food for some reason. "Why don't we go to Taco Bell today?" Dipper asked. "Taco Bell?" Grunkle Stan questioned. "Why d'you wanna go THERE? It smells like the bathroom when it gets clogged." "I had my heart set on pancakes, Mabel moaned." "Listen, you can go to Taco Bell if you want to, but don't come crying to me when you smell like expired onions." "Fine, I Will." Dipper said harshly. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Grunkle Stan said. But as he was exiting the Mystery Shack, the door hit him on the way out. "AH HA HA HA HA HA!" said Grunkle Stan. He was laughing.
So anyways, Mabel and Grunkle Stan went to the diner, while Dipper tried to find the Taco Bell. He had brought with him his book and a couple bucks. But finding the Taco Bell was harder than he had previously thought. He had been looking around town for what seemed like days. The Mysteru Book wasn't helping him either. Until he saw a flicker of a sign in the forest. He went into the forest. "Why would there be a Taco Bell in the forest?" Dipped asked himself. After hiking for about an hour, Dipper finally got to the Taco Bell. But it sure didn't look like any Taco Bell he'd ever seen. It was surrounded by a barrage of giant Oak trees, in an open field, completely different from the rugged terrain of the Oregon forest. The open field was covered with at least three layers of pine needles, which got the attention of Dipper. He stuck his hand into the pine needles.
"OW!" Dipper shouted. A pine needle poked him. It hurts. The resturant, Taco Bell, looked like a silo, sort of. Well, it was very cylindrical. The outside had rusty picnic tables, and looked like no one used them at all. Dipper walked up to the resturant's door. "Should I go in there?" Dipper asked himself. "I'm starting to have second thoughts. Why is there a small, desolate, Taco Bell in this forest, miles from the nearest road? But I guess it's my only option. Mabel and Grunkle Stan are probably don with lunch right now." And they were. Mabel wondered why Dipper hadn't come back yet, but Grunkle Stan didn't give a damn. So Dipper entered the resturant. But he was relieved to see that the interior was normal, except for its high celing. There were also no customers inside, but Dipper thought that was normal, considering how the franchise was so isolated. He went up to the counter. There was only one cashier working the registers. A very old, slightly deaf, bored out of his skull cashier. Dipper decided what he wanted to order, than approached the register. "Excuse me, I'll hav—" "WE ONLY GOT TACOS!" the cashier interrupted. "Ok, I guess I'll have a taco, then." Diper said. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" the cashier yelled. "I SAID I WANT A TACO." Dipper yelled back. "Ok, then." The cahier said, then went in the back for a few minutes. When he came out, he was carrying dippers taco. "That'll one dolla," the cashier said. Dipper gave him the money, and went to sit down at the least grimiest table.
He bit into the hot, spicy, juicy taco, filled with thick, pure, meat, mild, tantalizing black beans, and sour, fluffy, sour cream. He enjoyed the single bite of that perfectly cooked taco, and still tasted it in his mouth after he swallowed it. But as he was about to bite into it a second time, he felt a churning movement inside his body, something that he had felt often. "Uh oh." Dipper said, than rushed to find the lavatory. "Man, that really went through me," Dipper said to himself. For some reason, the bathrooms were hidden in a corner, far from the counter, and far from the table he was sitting at. When he walked in, he found that the bathrooms were surprisingly clean, for a fast food resturant, anyway. And Dipper found this suspisicious. All of the stalls were full, and no one was using the urinals. But, right on cue, someone walked out of one of the stalls. Dipper didn't pay much attention to who was walking out, but he was wearing all black, and had a plastic bag with him. Dipper just had to go. Unfortunaly, he didn't make it in time. He checked his pants and found the worst of all. "Diarreah." Dipper said. "Yeegh." He was about to leave the stal when he noticed a bulge in his pants. He touched the bulge, and once he touched it, he knew excatly what it was. It was an erection.
He found himself completely aroused after touching it, and started to do it some more. Eventually, he was ready to hardcore masturbate. He didn't know what was arousing him, but he knew he was aroused. He took off his blue shorts and his soiled underwear, revealing his medium-sized, but not small, penis. The tip was bright and red, like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Dipper started to yank his Johnson harder and faster. The five-incher was getting pumped. Dipper's soiled hands started to feel bits of pre-cum on his dry fingers. Eventually, the medium-sized dick couldn't take it anymore, and burst in an explosion of cum. The cum got all over the walls and toilet, and Dipper felt proud. He had creamed himself for the first time, but he was upset that it was not over Wendy. "No," Dipper thought. "All this is not enough for me. I need to release all of this!" With his erection still active, Dipper began yanking his penis again. It was much quicker, and Dipper cummed quicker. It was a bigger release than last time, and it began to rain Dipper's seed. Dipper felt more proud than last time, his heart about to burst from all the droplets of cum falling down from the celing. He felt as happy as he felt on the day of the first snowfall of the year. He stuck out his tongue to tast the cum, shiny from the faulty flourescent lighting in the bathroom. He tasted it, and he thought it was the one of the best tastinf things in the world, better than the largest chocolate bar, better than the rarest pig, and better than the taco he was having earlier. By now, he couldn't stop. He couldn't leave now and miss out on this great masturbation adventure. He wanted to taste the cum. He scraped a handfull of it off of the stall and put it in his dirty, wet, mouth. He grabed another, and another, and another. He was getting more aroused by consuming the cum, and he released another load. "So that's where it's all coming from," Dipper said to himself, cum all over his face and teeth.
Dipper came up with a solution to get a more hardcore, adult, masturbation expierience. He was going to put it into action. He tilted his head down, sat down on the cum-covered ground, grabbed his hardened Johnson, and stuck it in his mouth. Once it was firmly in, Dipper began to suck on the very hard rod. He sucked it like the lollipop he got a the county fair a while back. It taste alot like it to. The legs were so expertly over his shoulder that he could've been a gymnast. The more he sucked on his hard dick, the more his aroused legs shook. Eventually, just when he was going to give out, he came in his mouth. It was the best thing he ever expierienced, and kept on performing fellatio on himself. As he was stimulating himself orally, he accidentally fell over to his side. He broke from his his penis and cummed on the floor. The floor was covered in so much of Dipper's cum that he started to make a snow angel in the cum, or, a cum angel. He was eating som in the process. But then he looked to his side, and immediately became so hard that the red tip was touching his short pubic hair. He saw what was causing it. He saw his underwear, covered in dark brown feces. He held up his underwear, which was covered in the cum-filled floor, and marveled at its erotic beauty. The feces were so beautifully ejaculated, so smooth in its sticky browness, so perfect they felt in Dipper's white hands. He wanted his shit. He held the brown underwear like a fish on a lure, and put his sticky white lips into the sticky brown feces. His tongue was rubbing the crap all over his tighty whites, making his mouth all a brownish-white mess. He was biting into the shit and sucked it in his mouth. It was more stimulating than ever before. He now knew that he didn't need Wendy, or Mabel, or any of the other girls in Gravity Falls. All he needed was a big pile of his shit.
He tok a scoop of the feces (He had a lot of diarrea) and began to spread it over his dick. Every time he spread the crap, he was getting more and more aroused. Once his dick was completely brown, he came again. It filled up all the spots in the stall that weren't covered in Dipper's cum. Once again, Dipper took big scoops of cum and consumed it in large gulps. Now Dipper had to put the brown sticky feces all over his penis again, and boy, did he do a good job. The brown stuff was all over his external genitals, and his testicles. He had cummed a few times here and there. Now, his beautiful, brown genitals, needed to be cleaned. But Dipper didn't have any cleaning supplies, so he had to suck the shit off. He brung his erection up to his mouth, and began to suck. This time he made it very clear to lick the feces off with his tongue, and as soon as the tongue touched his dick, he cummed. He was having the most fun he ever had in that bathroom stall and forgot who he was, where he lived, where he was, or what he was eating. All that was on his mind was his sweet cum. He just thought of a great idea. Dipper took a scoopful of diarreah and a scoopful of cum, and put it in the toilet. He flushed it, but before it want all the way down, he grabbed the wet pile of shit and cum, and stuck it in his mouth. Dipper was consuming all of the shit, cum, and toilet water, and it tasted great. He kept on doing it for god knows how long, and one of the times, he hit his head against the toilet rim. Dipper's brain must've been knocked out of place at that time, because this time, instead of putting the shit and cum in his food hole, he started to lather it on his penis again. He wanted more of his Johnson, but that would be a fatal mistake. Once it was covered again, he put it in his mouth and began sucking. But did it too hard. As he was sucking and cumming, he accidentaly bit on his dick. As soon as he tasted the blood, he broke out of coitus, and saw his lacerated penis. He saw a mix of blood and cum coming out of it, like aa lava, and his erectile muscle pointing out. Dipper grabbed it and grimaced in pain. He winced at it, and looked horrified. He snapped out of it all, and tried to figure out a solution to the castration. He put some more diarea and cum on it, but that didn't stop the bleeding. Dipper spit out the piece of dick that he bit off, and tried to reapply it, but it didn't work. No matter how many times he tried to reattach it, they all failed. He put more of his reproductive fluids on the castrarion, but they only made the penis swell up, like the Goodyear blimp. Dipper was licking the blood off the try to stop it, but the blood was coming faster than he could lick. He was now in ultimate pain, and felt nothing like this. He screamed, as loud as he could, and felt like no one could hear him. He was screaming louder and louder, saying, "HALP! I BIT MY DICK OFF!" He was going insane. He started to bang against the stall, screaming "HELP!" as loud as he could yell. After a full 5 minutes, with a large mix of blood, cum, and feces on the floor, he was banging his head against the stall. The banging was louder than the loudest thunderstorm, and yet no one came for help. Dipper was alone in the bathroom, alone in the stall, alone with his beloved dick, now to near death, and unfortunately, he was near death. After one final blow to the head, the now-screaming Dipper was now as silent as Christmas Eve. He felk to the floor, eyes turned skyward, and fell in a mix of his own blood, cum, and feces. At the Mystery Shack, Mable was feeling very worried about Dipper, so she went off and tried to find him. She went off into the forest first, (She knew where it was) and, suprinsignly, got there in less time than Dipper. As she entered the newly cleaned doors, she immediately noticed the once-bitten taco on one of the tables, and immediately knew it was Dipper's. Mabel rushed into the men's bathroom, (she liked to use the urinalls) and rushed into a random stalls. It was her brother's. Mabel looked at how messy the stall was, and how it was used to do the deed. Her pink sneakerswere sticky from stepping into the reddish-brown mess of fluids. She walked around the messy stall for a bit, but then saw the most horrid sight she could imagine. Dipper's corpse. Mabel was welled up in tears at the sight of it, and began to cry. As she was crying, she sat down in a pile of the blood, feces, and cum and looked at Dipper's lifeless face. It was beautiful, as his smooth facial features complimented his circle of cum around his lips. "Oh, Dipper," Mabel said through her tears, "Let me clean the white stuff off of your lips." Mabel brought Dipper's head up to hers, and she kissed him. After pulling out of the kiss, Mabel enjoyed it, and so she kissed him again. She didn't want to let go of Dipper, not now. Not when he had just died. He was her brother, after all! She held Dipper's naked corpse in her arms, and she felt a tingling feeling in herself, an secret dirty side. "No one would care if we just did it, right? He is dead, and know 1 would know in this restroom stall…" Mabel thought. She immediately came up with an answer. She pulled Dipper's head up to her head, and kissed him again, only it was a french kiss. Once Mabel was done, she put the body on the floor, then Mabel got down on the fluid-covered floor, too. Mabel started to go on a kiss-krazy frenzy with Dipper, that made it lok like Dipper was alive. Tongue went into Dipper's deceased mouth, scraping the feces and cum off of the roof of Dipper's mouth. Mabel was shaking even more now, that her tongue was touching Dipper's. She unzipped her jeans, slowly slid them off, and then threw them at the wall. They stuck there from the cum. Mabel revealed her nice, clean, exposed, virgin, vagina. She took Dipper's corpse, not noticing the eternally bleeding penis, and brung it closer to the cervix. She rubbed her clitoris for arousal perposes before she stuck it in, and once the dick was firmly in, she finally felt joy in her life. She loved the feeling of losing it to her dead brother's body, and started to get the oddest feeling. She lost it. She finally lost it. She squealed in happyness, and started to french kiss Dipper harder. Her tongue almost touched Dipper's uvula. She kept holding on to his lacerated dick in her vagina, and sloshing her tongue all around Dipper's mouth. She kept pulling in an out with Dipper's stick. Blood was getting on her urethra walls, not noticing one bit. She did not want to leave the body, not now. She would kill herself if it could mean they'd be in coitus forever. If only Dipper could kiss her back. After what seemd like hours, it wouldn't fit in. Mabel finally looked down at the now pretty messed up penis. Mabel couldn't look away at it. It was now swollen to the size of her head, a whole mix of rainbow colors, and still spewing lifeless cum. Mabel vomited on it, which only made it worse. It grew bigger and bigger. "Oh, Dipper," she said soflty. Then Mabel started to scream. She was horrorfied at the sight of it, and started to barf again. She tried to put a giant mix of blood, cum, vomit, and feces on the dick, but it didn't work. She tries to suck it all off, but found herself enjoying the sucking and the taste of Dipper's penis blood. She kept on sucking on it, tasting the blood, and touching and fondling Dipper's dead erectile muscle. She was esctatic. She was more happy than she ever had been. More happy than she was before. As she was squealing with delight, the stall door started to open a crack. Mabel took notice of this. "Huh?" she asked. The door started to open more (It wasn't locked). Mabel started to get nervous. She didn't want to go to jail for necrophilia, she was only a child, who bit off more than she could chew. She got too ahead of herself, after lusting after her twin brother for so long. If it was the police, she had no hope. She hoped it was just another Taco Bell employee, who would listen to her and help her out. The stall door finally burst open. Standing in front of it, was a man dressed in black. He had a Taco Bell logo sewn on the left of his fleece jacket. He was wearing squeaky shoes, that squeaked across the bathroom floor, He was wearing dark sunglasses. The mysterious man walked up to the two of them slowly. Mabel stood up on her feet, fear and blood on her face. The man stared at Mabel for a long time, until he finally said, "Are you supposed to be in this bathroom, young lady?" Mabel was shaking in horror, now. She turned to face Dipper's naked, violated, dead body, and turned to face the man again. "M-mist-ter, I-idin-din't inten-nd to do t-this to m-my br-bro-brother," Mabel said, shaking with tears in her eyes. The man brought himself closer to Mabel's face. "S-sir, your, your, your, in m-my p-p-per-ersonal spa-ace," Mabel tried to manage. The man was inspecting a red spot on Mabel's cheek. After several seconds, the man touched the spot, trailed his finger in it, and put the finger in his mouth. "Blood," the man whispered to himself. "W-what did y-you s-sa-say, S-sir?" Mabel asked him, not understanding what he was saying. "Little girl, do you know what that is on your cheek?" the man asked. Mabel repeated what the mysterious man did to her cheek, and said back to him, "I-It's bl-blood." "And with the blood being on your cheek, have you developed, shall we say, a desired taste for it?" the man asked back. Mabel did not notice the retractable chisel in his right hand. "Um, uh, y-y-y-y-ye-ye-yes? I didn't m-mean to, I j-jus—" "Ssssh," the man quieted her. "If you like the addicting taste of it, why didn't you say so?" and, without warning, the man cut her across the chest with the chisel. She screamed at the pain of it. Blood started to pour out of the diagonal cut fast, almost covering her stomach. "You can lick that up. Your blood probably tastes better than that kid's," the man said pointing to Dipper. Then the man gave another cut, across her face. She screamed again, louder this time. "Now you can get the blood close to your face. And just to make sure your silent," the man then slit her across the neck. She could not scream this time. The man went into her neck, and pulled out three vocal chords. The man streched the chords out, and he jumped rope with them, while slashing Mabel across the face several times. When her face was cut so many times that her nose fell off, the man decided it was time for the scalping. He took out a bigger knife, and slammed it right above Mabel's eyebrows. The man gripped the knife's handle, still in her face, and began to make a deep cut. The man put all his strength into it, because he decided to make the hardest part, first. He tried to do it right on the skin, but sadly, did not do the job he liked. Mabel's head was now topless, the top of her skull exposed and violently cut, so that you could see her brain inside the skull. Tge pieces of muscle and flesh were still attached to Mabel's hairy scalp, so the man cut them off. The scalp was now thin as skin, and still full of Mable's hair. He hung the scalped scalp up on the hoor on the door. It would be his prize, something he kept for himself. Now the man prepared for the rest of the body, What he wanted to do next was to make it rain. Not water as you may think. He wanted it to rain something else. He got down to Mabel's blood covered slashed chest, grabbed her not fully developed breasts, and began to cut off Mabel's nipples. Once he was done, the blood started to come out, like Old Faithful Geyser. He was amazed by the sight of the fountain of blood, and began to dance around in the stall, stepping in all the fluids that were on the floor. When the blood was starting to flow a little less slowly, the man moved on to the legs. The man hung Mabel's nipples next to the scalp (the nips were his prize too), and started to cut Mabel's legs. He started to cut faster than a race car driver on a smooth asphalt track. Teh cuts kept on appearing on her kneecaps until the capbone was exposed. By that time, her lower legs and her body were only attached by a thin string of cartilage. Then the guy moved on to her toes. With the knife as sharp as knife, he cut every one of her little toes off. Mabel body was losing so much blood that she started to flatten out. The place where it was mostly coming out of, was her toes. The toe blood was making a sea of red on the floor. The man, now with his Taco Bell fleece jacket splattered with red on it, now dug the knife into Mabel's left foot. He began to make another cut, similar to what he did to her scalp, and began to cut ths skin off of the foot. The cut was much better than what he did to the scalp. He did the same to the other foot, and then hung the skin up next to the scalp. Mabel's feet were now just a big mess of flesh, muscle, blood and nerves, Mabel (who was still alive)'s face was now completely exposed to all the cuts she was getting, he mouth hanging open like a gaping person. The blood was already covering her chest, and since the man actually had a soul, he didn't want to subject the little girl to the misery she was about to endure. So he took the long knife, and stabbed her in the middle of her chest, where her heart was. Blood poured out of it more than her cut off nipples did. Once most of the blood was done spewing, the man got down near Mabel's bloody vagina. He very carefully took his knife, got down near the cervix, and stuck the knife's blade up the hole. While in Mabel's cock cave, the man was rotating the knife, cutting up the walls of Mabel's egg chamber. The tip of it got finally inside it, and, very carefully, snipped every one of Mabel's fallopians. It was a hard job. He had to be very careful. He had done it many times before, but today wasn't his best day. He accidentally slit some of the sides of Mabel's vagina, cutting into the muscle surrounding it. The man was very embarrassed. "Shit, hopefully no one will notice that," he said to himself. He took the knife out of Mabel's hole, with ovaries and two Fallopian's on the blood-covered blade. The man got out a big plastic trash bag, and scraped the knife on it, making the contents on it go into the bag. But since the knife's handle was covered in more blood than it usually was, he accidentally let it slip, and it dug into Mabel's right shoulder. "Perfect," the man said ominously. The man got out a pair of vinyl gloves and put them on his hands. He gripped the knife tightly, wanting a deeper cut than he had before. After a while, after digging and digging and digging, the man's knife got throught to the other side. Once the man saw the job he did, he threw the arm in his trash bag. He felt great pride, and felt that he could easily achieve his goal now. So he went to the other side of Mabel's nearly skinned body and began to cut that arm off. It was easier to do than the other one, suprisingly, and once he was done with that, he threw that arm into the garbage bag. Mabel's body was now almost flat, due to all the blood loss. The man tasted some of it, and thought that he should get a jar four later. Now for the legs. The man did the same with her legs, and they felt like they were getting easier to cut off each time. The legs were off, and the man threw it in the bag. Mabel's body was flat now. Almost all the blood from her body was gone. Embracing Mabel's dismembered body, he hugged it, licked the remaining blood off, and put the body in the bag. The man, now, had just noticed Dipper on the floor, and figured, "He must've caused all this on the walls." "Another one couldn't hurt," the man said to himself, and started to cut off Dipper's appendages. He did it in the same order and same manner as Mabel's. It was done quickly, and put all of it in the bag as well. Now it was time to clean up. As you can imagine, the bathroom stall was a big mess of fluids. The man got out a big chisel, and started to chisel the cum off of the walls and into the bag. It took a long while, about 2 or 3 hours. Once it was done, he needed to clean the floor, so he went outside the stall, and got a mop that he had with him the whole time. He mopped the whole mess of things up off the floor and into the bag, until the floors and wall looked respectable, for a fast-food bathroom, anyway. The man got out some toilet cleaner and cleaned the toilet, because it was way more messier than the stall itself. After a few minutes, the toilet cleaning was over, and the stall was a clean as a new car. It smelled like it too. The man left the bathroom, and the stall waited, ready for it's next victim. The man got out of the bathroom, and went into the back kitchen of the Taco Bell. He got near a machine. It was an odd looking machine. It had a crank on the side, a funnel on the top, an something shaped like a taco on the side, near a conveyer belt. "Why do I have to do everything myself?" the man questioned. He hung up his blood-stained jacket and sunglasses, revealing his Taco Bell employee uniform. It was spotless. The man took the bag, and, one by one, started to put the body parts into the funnel. Once the bag was half-empty, he kept on putting more parts in, only this time, he turned the crank. Once the bag was empty, out popped out two tacos. They weren't really tacos, really. They were actually human body parts in the shape of tacos. They went down the conveyer belt, and the employee, using spray cans, began to spray paint the body parts. Once they got to the Taco Bell tissue paper at the end of the conveyer belt, they looked like genuine tacos. The man grabbed one of the 'tacos', wrapped it in tissue paper, and went to the front of the counter. He handed it to the old man cashier, then went back into the depths of the kitchen. "Here's your TACO, SIR!" the cashier said to the fat customer. "You're welcome," Soos said, handing the cashier the money.

​
My mother has always been extremely overprotective of me. Even now in my early twenties, she can’t just leave me the hell alone. I carry a lot of resentment towards her because of that, among a plethora of other things. She always manages to find a way to get under my skin - but this time she’s taken it too far. I could be a homeless college dropout for all I care. I want absolutely nothing to do with her.
Even as a child, I knew that our relationship was different. My dad passed away before I was born, so it’s always just been the two of us - which is why she’s on my ass 24/7. Her family is all estranged (for good reason), so I’m the only one around to take her shit. Well, I have had it. I’m done. She can die in a hole for all I care.
I remember the day that I first realized something was off. I was sitting in the passenger seat of Mom’s SUV, gleefully chomping away at my chicken nuggets from my Happy Meal, when it happened - Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers started playing over the radio. I loved that song at the time (I know, weird for a seven-year-old), so naturally, I began to sing along with the lyrics.
“...And if you want these kind of dreams, it’s Cali-forni-catiooon-”
Smack.
Mom slammed on the brakes as a searing pain began to course through my cheek. Tears welled in my eyes as I turned to face her.
“Wh-why did you hit me?” I choked out through strangled sobs.
“Where did you hear that word, Rachel? Who taught you to use nasty language like that? Do you know what that word means? That is no way for a young lady to speak,” she spat, steam practically wafting from her ears.
“What word? I didn’t say a bad word, Mommy!” I wailed, still trying to comprehend the hurt and betrayal I felt in that moment.
“You know exactly which word I’m talking about.” Mom glanced around as if she was afraid that someone would hear before she hissed, “fornication.”
“But it’s the song name! I don’t know what a fortication is,” I cried, gently caressing my stinging cheek. Just then, Anthony Kiedis chimed back in over the radio, proving my point.
And buy me a star on the boulevard, it’s Californication.
Mom’s furious expression suddenly melted away. My little heart thumped wildly in my chest, still terrified of how she’d react.
“Well, I suppose that’s okay, then. Quit your crying and eat your Happy Meal. It didn’t hurt that bad,” she said, resuming our drive home.
I have countless other stories like that one. That’s just the one that sticks out to me the most, because it’s the exact moment that I realized my mother wasn’t normal. Of course, they probably wouldn’t openly discuss it if they had, but I’d never heard any other kids talk about their parents slapping them for singing along to a pop song. And unfortunately for me, it didn’t stop there.
That kind of erratic behavior became a constant - Mom would hit me or berate me for some strange atrocity she’d assumed I committed, only for her to be completely wrong. She slapped me around quite a bit after that. But the part that hurt the most? She never apologized to me once. She still hasn’t. Not one single fucking time in my entire twenty years of existence.
Her bizarre accusations didn’t begin to subside until my teen years. When I hit a growth spurt. When I was suddenly bigger than her - when I could finally fight back.
I was sixteen the first time I hit my mother. She was screaming at me. I mean, really just going to town. She claimed that I was acting like a whore, flirting with men in public. All I’d done was smile at the cashier ringing up our groceries. That was it. No words exchanged, no lustful glances, nothing. Just one simple, innocent smile.
“I. Did. Not. Raise. A. Slut.” Each word was accompanied by a violent strike to the face. Tears flowed freely down my burning cheeks as I vainly attempted to shield myself.
“It didn’t mean anything Mom, I swear! I just wanted to be nice. That’s all!”
She crinkled her nose in disgust. Mom didn’t believe a word I said. She never did.
“Lies. All of it. I’ll show you what happens to lying little whores.” She reared back, preparing to hit me even harder.
Something in me broke. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was so fed up with being smacked around like a pinball just for being myself. For existing. I couldn’t even enjoy a quick trip to the grocery store without my mother finding a reason to beat the daylights out of me. It wasn’t fair. I was sick and tired of living every day in fear, praying for the off chance that my sorry excuse for a mother might be in an agreeable mood. I’d had it.
Slap.
Mom looked like a deer in headlights. I don’t think she’d ever expected me to stand up for myself. She’d spent so much time beating me down that she hadn’t even stopped to consider that maybe one day, she’d be the victim, not me.
“I… I think I need to lie down.” With that, she despondently wandered to her bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen.
Tears still streamed down my face, but they weren’t pained cries any longer. These were tears of actual, genuine relief. After all the years of torment, I’d finally found a way to end my suffering. Or so I thought…
A few more incidents like that, and the physical abuse quickly fizzled out. I was taller than Mom by that point, and though it wasn’t much, I was starting to put on a little bit of muscle from joining the school’s swim team. Compare that to Mom’s tiny, wiry frame, and physically, she was no match for me.
Things finally started taking a turn for the better. Mom was actually starting to treat me like a human being. Once I started giving her a taste of her own medicine, she decided that it didn’t taste too good. For a while, it felt like things were looking up. Until they weren’t…
Mom was always very interested in who I was hanging around: classmates, coworkers, potential love interests. She wanted every detail on who they were, how we’d met, and what their intentions were with me. Honestly, it was exhausting. Even more so when I noticed said people starting to distance themselves.
At first, I thought that I was just unlikeable. A complete screw-up. I thought I was such a poor excuse for a human being that not a single person wanted anything to do with me. Yeah, Mom had really whittled down my self esteem with all her attacks. People were dropping me faster than a hot potato in the summer heat, and I needed answers.
“Hey Julie, can I ask you something?”
Julie had been my best friend. We’d known each other since we were five years old. But, just like most people in my life, she had drifted away too. Her betrayal hurt the most. I just couldn’t fathom why she was suddenly acting so cold to me. It’s not like she was more popular than me or anything. No, on the contrary. We were both outcasts - which made it sting even more when she abandoned me.
Maybe I’d been too optimistic, thinking that she might still care about me deep down. That she was still the friend I knew and loved. That she’d help me in my time of need. I should’ve known better.
Julie responded to my question by frantically stuffing her things into her backpack. “I’m sorry Rachel, I don’t have time.”
I instinctively grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. Julie glanced back at me. She was trying to act pretentious, but her mask was beginning to crack.
“Julie, please. This is serious,” I begged, locking eyes with her.
Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to maintain a stoic expression. She wanted to open up to me. She really did. But whatever was holding her back won out in the end.
“Leave me alone! Don’t ever talk to me again, you… you freak.”
That word. It felt as if someone had driven a stake through my heart. My hand slipped away, and Julie bolted down the hall, bawling. I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my own cheeks, either. Why was this happening to me?
I wouldn’t receive my answer until years down the road.
The remainder of my high school career wasn’t easy, but somehow, I powered through. I was able to scrounge up enough money from my part time job at the grocery store to move out of Mom’s house after graduation. She wasn’t happy about it, but I had to get out. Our relationship had been rocky on the best of days.
Once I moved into my cramped little one-bedroom apartment, it seemed as if things were finally going my way. I was taking courses at the local community college, and I’d begun working full time at the grocery store to cover my expenses. I was out on my own - well, sort of.
Mom stopped by All. The. Time. With how horribly she’d treated me, you’re probably wondering why I hadn’t completely cut her out of my life yet. While it was true that I was working a full time job, I still wasn’t making much money. So, yeah. I was still financially dependent on my mother. I wish I would have cut contact sooner…
Anyway, once I had my own place, I decided to dip my toes into the dating pool. I wasn’t having much luck meeting guys in person, so I downloaded the festering cesspit known as Tinder. I know, I know. Not my wisest decision.
I began to realize that I had about as much luck with that as I had with keeping friends - none. It was strange. I would really hit it off with a guy, only to plan a date and get ghosted. Every single time, like clockwork. We’d pick a time and location, both of us would say we were on our way, then nada. Radio silence. Complete ghost town. I was starting to get really depressed as a result.
It was around that time that Mom started making beef stew - and a lot of it. She would bring me multiple tupperware containers of the stuff, to the point that I was running out of room in my fridge. I threw out the first few batches. I felt shitty enough about having to rely on my mother for money, but food too? Not to mention, I didn’t really want to give Mom the satisfaction. Throwing out her cooking was my way of giving her the middle finger. But eventually, I caved.
I didn’t do much cooking myself, and it did save me some money. So, I tried her cooking, fully expecting it to taste like slop from a middle school cafeteria. But to my utter shock, it was… good.
The meat was very succulent. Though it looked like beef, it tasted more like pork. Nevertheless, it was heavenly. It melted in my mouth with every bite. I asked Mom where she bought it once. She just smiled at me knowingly and said, “I’ll tell you someday. When you’re older.”
“When I’m older? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Whatever. Must be Mom being weird again,” I thought to myself.
The whole thing was strange, but honestly, I’d assumed that the beef stew was the beginning of Mom’s descent into madness. It was her way of finally losing her marbles, right? It had to be. Come to find out, that had happened a long time ago.
I didn’t connect the dots until around a month before posting this. It was a Friday night, and yet again, I had hit it off with a boy. This one seemed promising, though. Unlike the others, we had decided to FaceTime before planning a date - something I’d never even considered.
Smooth was an understatement. My FaceTime call with Grayson couldn’t have gone better. We talked about everything under the sun. We opened up to each other, and eventually, we delved into the topic of parents.
“Yeah, I’d rather not go into detail. My Dad passed before I was born, and my Mom has a few screws loose,” I admitted, hoping that wouldn’t scare him off.
“Really? I’m in the same boat! Well, sorta. My mom lost her battle to cancer when I was twelve, and Dad has never been the same since. I still miss her a ton.”
“I’m sorry. I know that’s probably tough,” I replied, thanking my lucky stars that he hadn’t blocked me after my revelation.
“It’s okay. I have this tattoo of a dove on the back of my hand to commemorate her. Doves were her favorite birds. I look at it every day to remind myself that she might be gone physically, but she’ll always be with me in spirit,” he said, proudly holding his tattoo up to the camera.
The bird was ornately emblazoned into his skin. Every line was expertly crafted to form a beautiful ode to his deceased loved one. Underneath the artwork was a small golden banner that read Mom 1963-2013 Gone, but Never Forgotten.
Needless to say, I was smitten. A boy who understood my struggles, clicked with me on a personal level, and had a sweet side? Yes, please.
We ended our call by setting up a dinner date for that Sunday. Grayson said he wanted to take me to some fancy Italian restaurant, but I talked him down to a more casual hole-in-the-wall Mexican place by the end of it. I really liked this guy, and I wanted to prove that I was considerate.
I waited on pins and needles for the day in question to arrive. When Sunday rolled around, I was giddy with excitement. I just knew that this time would be different. That he would be different. Oh, how wrong I was.
I’d gotten myself all dolled up, ready to meet my knight in shining armor. Everything was going to plan. Grayson had even called me to tell me that he was on his way. I mean, what a gentleman, right?
I parked my car at the restaurant, and shot him a text to let him know that I’d arrived, then I waited. And waited. And waited some more. After around twenty minutes of anxiety-induced stress, I finally conceded. Grayson wasn’t coming. I was wrong about him. He was no different than every other guy who’d gotten cold feet.
That broke me. I cried the whole way home, mascara running down my cheeks like rivers of ebony tears. Somehow, I made it home unscathed, and upon arrival, I immediately locked myself away in my room.
I screamed and cried into my pillow until my throat was hoarse and my eyes were puffy. It wasn’t just about Grayson. It was the fact that I was twenty years old and still hadn’t gone on my first date. That I was a loser. That I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone who wouldn’t abandon me at the drop of a hat. Anyone except for my mother, that is.
Once I finally managed to calm myself down, my appetite began to return. It was nearly midnight, and I hadn’t eaten a morsel since lunch. I lazily emerged from my room and flicked on the kitchen light. There before me sat a fresh container of Mom’s beef stew - one that hadn’t been there when I got home.
I shrugged and approached the counter it was sitting on. I hadn’t given Mom a key to my apartment, but at that moment, I didn’t care if she had one. I was just grateful for the hot meal that had magically spawned on my countertop.
A note had been attached to the lid. I nearly threw it away without reading it, but I thought, what the heck. Mom was the only person in the world who at least sort of gave a shit about me. And she did bring me the food, after all. The least I could do was read what she wanted to say.
Rachel,
I know you’ve been feeling down, so I brought you some of your favorite! I added a special new ingredient this time that I’m sure will wash all your sorrows down the drain! Enjoy (:
Love,
Mom
My brows furrowed in confusion. She knew I was feeling down? How? I hadn’t even told her about my date. She must have heard me crying when she broke in. That had to have been it.
Without another thought, I tore off the lid, preparing to heat up the tantalizing amalgamation of meat and vegetables in the microwave. Instead, my head began to spin violently and I vomited all over the linoleum floor. Dread consumed me like a python. I had to fight tooth and nail to fend off the urge to pass out.
Because there was a severed hand floating in the broth. One with an ornately designed dove emblazoned on the back.

Goodreads
I saw this book recommended on the front page of my library's website. I enjoyed reading this because it felt nostalgic for me. I'm not Mexican myself, but I am Hispanic and from the Southwest.
This book was advertised as horror (the word 'vampires' is in the title), however it's really a romance. There are very few actual vampires in this book; meanwhile, every chapter revolves around a 'will they/won't they' for the two protagonists. Caveat Emptor: I'm not a fan of romances in general. Overall, I felt it was a good romance, with some fuzziness around the edges.
This review will seem very negative, however overall I strongly enjoyed reading this book. This review will seem negative because when you stick something clean under a microscope, it will be covered in dirt.
One final note before we begin: this book uses a lot of Spanish loan words. For example, instead of saying 'cowboys,' the book will say 'vaqueros.' Instead of saying 'healer' it will say 'curanderos/curanderas.' I enjoyed it; it made the book feel immersive.
Spoilers Below. I'm writing this review in good faith, as one author reviewing another's book, trying to balance positives with negatives.
WHAT IS THE TARGET AUDIENCE? WHAT GENRES? WHAT MAJOR TROPES?
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• YA/New Adult Romance (Protagonists in their early twenties)
• Fast burn romance, but kept apart by circumstances
• Alternate History
• 16+ years old
• Good prose
• Mexican/Hispanic/Spanish culture
• The Mesoamerican/US Southwest Great Plains
• Farm life on a Spanish Hacienda

MY EMOTIONAL RESPONSE/ FUN FACTOR
I'll start out with the negative: I went in hoping for horror, and wound up getting a romance. I'm not a romance reader, so I was disappointed. It's horror-lite at best. Second, the historical accuracy for this Alternate History is mostly accurate but with a few mistakes for small details.
Okay, with that over, I am strongly happy with my time spent reading this. There characters were enjoyable and well described. The prose was delectable, with a robust sentimentality which oozed off the page. The book was short-ish at only 370pages, which I valued.
WARNING! QUIT READING NOW UNTIL YOU FINISH READING THE BOOK!
BIASES STATED
To put this review/study in proper context, you must know my starting point.
I don't like romance books as a general rule.
CONCEPT AND EXECUTION
This book's concept is: the doomed romance between a cowboy and a high-society lady in the early days of Mexico's independence. Meanwhile in the background of the book, the Mexican/American War and vampires.
This book's execution is excellent in some ways, and needs discussion in others.
I'll start with the good. The prose and worldbuilding/setting felt instantly lush and honest and true. I loved reading this book for it's own sake; it is a splendid work of words on a page. The Mexico described in this book was believable, and felt vital and alive. The vampires were feral and animalistic. The book had a strong 'gothic' vibe, with an oppressive sense of monsters being omnipresent yet just out of view.
The romance is a 'personal taste' sort of thing. If you are a romance reader, you'll probably love it. If you're not a romance reader (like me), it's fine but nothing to write home about. I would personally recommend this book to people who like reading book with strong romance themes/sub-themes.
CHARACTERS, CHARACTERIZATION AND DIALOG
This book has two point of view characters: Nena (Magdalena) and Néstor. Of the two, I liked Néstor more. His perspective had more texture/grit/harshness to it. Nena felt a bit generic.
Nena rebels from her family. She follows the standard fantasy trope of 'I don't want to get married because I am an independent woman.' She's otherwise kind and generous, but she can have a bit of a stubborn streak. Nena, net total, is fine. She's a normal protagonist.
Néstor was a more textured character. I really enjoyed him at first. After a rough childhood, he sets out on the road and becomes a wandering vaqueros, laboring for whichever rancho will take him up for a season or two. He sometimes drives cattle all the way up from Mexico into Texas. Néstor lives a rough life; when we first meet him, he's a drinking, womanizing cowboy. But then he falls back into Nena's orbit. As a child, Néstor loved her. When he realizes that Nena is still alive, he once again falls head-over-heels for her.
In short, I felt their romance happened too fast. The rough-edged womanizer instantly vanished, replaced with puppy love.
I wish that after he returned, they slowly regrew into their love as adults. I wanted her to fall in love with his rough, hardworking, lone vaquero charm. In turn, I wanted him to fall in love with her newfound hardened village healer personality. I wanted them to love one another for who they had become in the years since parting and NOT do a redo of their childhood love.
The other characters were middling. Nena's father was the most well-described, with his short temper frequently remarked upon. His mother was harsh, but more fair than her father; same with Felix. Abuela was kind; Beto a teller of tall tales. All in all, they felt a bit flat.
PACING AND STRUCTURE
I found myself struggling to get through the first 50% of this book. I'm a more plot-focused reader, and the 'vampires and Texans' plot really were put on the back foot for most of the book in favor of the love story, where Nena/Néstor were constantly clashing and coming back together. That's fine; not all books are written with me in mind. For people who want to read a romance, this does a good job.
This book had two battles; one at about the 50% mark, and one at the end. Both were strong. The story crescendoed pleasingly into a final battle with both the Texans and vampires invading the protagonist's rancho. The battles were both emotionally evocative and compelling. I wish the author added another battle to the first 30% of the book, it really would have spiced up the pacing. But overall, the pacing was good.
PLOT, STAKES AND TENSION
This book was a romance. Going on parallel with the romance was an invasion plotline of Texans entering Mexico.
Okay, the romance plotline.
I felt the protagonists had good chemistry. They felt earnestly pulled towards one another, and the author never cheated. I wish they had more friction in their relationship, but overall, it was a good romance. I don't generally read romances, but this was good enough that I bought what the author was selling.
The book had a plot hole. Minor spoilers from the first quarter of the book.
There is a nine year time jump near the beginning of the book, during which time Néstor left Nena behind. Néstor ran away because he thought Nena died. For that entire nine year time jump, Néstor exchanged many letters with Nena's brother Félix.
Upon his return, Nena is very hurt that Néstor never reached out to her over those nine years. If this was so important to her, why didn't she send him a letter in that nine year period? Don't get me wrong, it's entirely understandable that Nena is emotionally distraught after being (in her mind) dumped. But being furious he didn't send her a letter is just hypocritical, because she could have sent a letter.
This plothole of 'why didn't Nena write a letter?' typifies this book: the miscommunication trope. This is a romance, where one one of the main barriers between the two lovers is the fact that they don't sit down and have a good heart-to-heart.
The miscommunication trope expands outwards from there. The real main antagonists in this book aren't the Anglos or vampires, but Nena's parents, because her parents are the main obstacle to the romance. At one point, Néstor saves Nena's life from a vampire; not three chapters later, her parents thank him by assaulting him and banishing him from the rancho. Many of the characters feel frustratingly unreasonable because there are so many miscommunications going on.
I understand what the author is trying to attempt with all these unreasonable characters, but it felt forced. Why is every character conflict due to unreasonable characters? I was left annoyed, thinking, "Are you seriously worried about honor right now, when there are vampires and an invading army out there?!"
I often harp on the importance of a reader ‘meeting an author halfway.’ This is the same thing as saying it’s important for a reader to give the author the benefit of the doubt and willingly suspend their disbelief even when that disbelief is broken.
Romance readers will probably not even notice these plot holes because they'll enter this book from the beginning rooting for Nena and Néstor to get together; they read for the HEA (Happily Ever After). They're willing to 'meet the author halfway' when the author leaves things unsaid. That's a healthy attitude to approach a book with.
I'm not this book's target audience, and thus my experience is different. Where a Romance reader easily meets the author halfway, I struggle suspending my disbelief fully because this genre is simply not my thing. There's no shame in this; I'm sure many Romance readers would spot plotholes in the books I read which I don't notice. It just goes to show that target audience really changes a reading experience.
AUTHORIAL VOICE, SETTING, WORLDBUILDING AND ORIGINALITY
The rear cover of this book has multiple author blurbs saying this book is a good commentary about colonialism. The vampires in this book were both literal vampires, and also the vampirism of colonialism of the Anglos coming from Texas invading northern Mexico.
The problem was that this book had very few vampires and very little horror. The strength of this metaphor of 'colonialism is horrifying' was harmed by the fact that the lens of focus for the narrative was on the romance and not the horror. I don't think the Anglos got more than 2 lines of dialogue in the entire book, and one of those lines was swearing. It's hard to interrogate an idea without dialogue.
It doesn't end there. The book focused on the colonialism of Anglos trying to take land from Mexico. However, this book never truly looked inwards. In what way is Los Ojuelos and Las Villas del Norte a product of the Spanish Empire’s colonial project?
This book pointed out that ‘a century ago the Spanish Crown handed out Hacienda land grants.’ Néstor's main goal is getting such a land grant for himself so he can start his own Rancho. This book is aware that this Spanish Empire colonialism occurred. But this book never interrogated Spanish colonialism, in the same way it used the metaphor of vampirism to describe the Anglo invasion. Los Ojuelos must have such a land grant, meaning a king in Europe got paid by Nena’s ancestors. Nena’s ancestors did colonialism right there. Néstor's main goal is to get a land grant; I.E. his main goal is colonialism. This book handled the topic badly because it went unaddressed.
I wouldn't read too much into this complaint by me if I were you. I'm bored of this sub-genre of post-colonial fantasy. I recently read a lot of it in my attempt to stay up to date with what's winning fantasy awards, and I'm burned out. It's not this book's fault; it's my fault for being frustrated with this sub-genre generally.
But it's not all bad!
I liked how this book presented the class divide between rich and poor. IRL, the wealthy landowners would debt-trap laborers to staff the Haciendas/ranchos.
The book did a very good job of repeatedly acknowledging the fact that Haciendas use debt to entrap laborers. At the book's climax, Nena confronts the fact that her father is such a landowner, and using that idea confronts and turns her back on her father in favor of Néstor. This is VERY good of the author. It honestly makes me forgive everything else, because it was so well done.
I wanted the book to really look to contextualize the divide between ranchos and vaqueros through the lens of racism and colorism. Are the vaqueros darker skinned on average? Is Nena lighter skinned than Néstor, because she’s the daughter of a wealthy aristocratic family? It would be both cute and historically accurate to have an interracial romance going on between Nena and Néstor, and helped amp-up the starcrossed nature of their relationship. But I'm not going to complain too much, because what was here worked well.
The prose is filled with a lush sentimentality. At moments I thought the pacing got slow and I was tempted to quit the book, but the prose was so good it kept me reading. I could keep raving about the prose, but less is sometimes more.
However it's not perfect. The book felt overwritten at moments. This book is written in close 3rd person, sticking close to the internal train of thought for whichever protagonist was featured at the time. The narrative occasionally got sidetracked when the protagonist thought of something, or had a flashback.
I got annoyed more than once when a conversation was interrupted mid-stream by the narration going on a side-tangent for several paragraphs, or even multiple pages. Once the tangent was over, the conversation would resume. I'd have to go back several pages to remember what the initial conversation was about. While the prose itself was elegant, the structure lacked refinement. When these mid-conversation disruptions happened, it slowed the pacing.
I'm no historian, but I don't think this book was entirely historically accurate. In this book, the flintlock pistols had safeties. This book takes place in the 1840's; the pistol safety was invented in the 1880's, and not for flintlocks.
While it's not good to have a historical inaccuracy, I don't think this hurts the book. I don't think the average romance reader cares about guns. If this was a more action reader book, I think this would be a problem, but here it's not. It's clear the author did some research about guns, but this slipped through the cracks.
I noticed a three or four anachronisms, but they are so minor as to not matter.
The vampires were cool. They were animalistic, vaguely human beasts. I don't think it's ever explained where they come from. They resemble bats more than humans, with large pointed ears, a strangely petaled nose, and completely lacking eyes. They communicate through chirping at one another.
It's clear that the author is talented at writing horror prose. We witness the 'birth' of a vampire in this book; vampires are not corrupted humans, but created by body horror a la 'Alien.' I wish this book had more horror, because the author is good at it.
Overall, this book aspires to a restrained gothic aesthetic. The vampires mostly take place off-screen. Nena, as a mystical curandera, is able to sense their presence when they are nearby. As a result, the vampires become a psychological pressure on the events of the book, constantly driving the characters forward. When ever the heroes find a drained body (which is frequently), it's terrifying because the heroes know the vampires are hunting them.
I could keep going, but I'm trying to chill out in my reviews. Overall, the message is good, it just needed a little tinkering around the edges.
LESSONS LEARNED
As an author, I want to improve my own writing/editing skills. To that end, I like to learn lessons from every story I read. Here's what I learned from this story:
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• I need to keep an open mind. I heartily enjoyed this book, despite it being outside of my usual wheelhouse.

Here's a link to all the lessons I've previously learned.
SUMMARY
Sometimes judge a book by it's cover. I enjoyed the cover of this book, and it paid off!
Did you like this critique/review? Here are some more: The Rest of My In Depth Reviews
On a personal note, I'm open to editing books. I don't like putting myself out here like this, but I've been told I should. Check my blog for details if interested.

[Editor's Note: some words have been redacted due to Reddit's censorship policies.]
By Nulle Terre Sans Seignur August 10, 2017
[A little detour I got the urge to do following internal debates at Thermidor Mag and various recent bouts of Third Positionist communist apologetics.]
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Pareto said that history is the graveyard of aristocracies.
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It is also the graveyard of right-wing political hopes.
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Postcolonialisms, critical theories of race, of sex; reader-response theories; one-dimensional men, 888-dimensional men; dialectics of enlightenment, enlightenments of dialectic; queer deconstructionists and undeconstructed [redacted] (we have too many of those) — what is a helpless observer to do, but yell “Damn you to hell, [redacted]”?
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The vagaries of the biological process, though thankfully not condemning us to an infinitely malleable tabula rasa, alas do not imprint us with historical consciousness. The predestined losers of yesterday die, and to take their place, the predestined losers of today are birthed.
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These poor sods (I among them), having to undergo the pain of being under the boot of New Lefts, New New Lefts, Lefts of Ever Ascending Novelty, have developed a few heuristics to make sense of where the current New^n (for values of n) has left off from, and what trajectory it is following for the New^n+1 Left to pick up from.
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So, a voice rises up:
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“The Old Left didn’t raise a ruckus over no damned queers!” Indeed, the Old Left didn’t raise a ruckus over no damned queers, by and large. Alas, it did for many other things no less destructive, and I don’t mean just economics.
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Free Northerner gives a good summary of this oft-told story. In come the Old Left, a movement of blue-collar workers just looking for that there fair deal. Economistic, its radicalism thoroughly filtered through a lens of historical materialism, its enemy the capitalist mode of production, its concern with exploitation and ultimately economic justice, not “social justice” in the modern sense. Blue-collar workers being who they are as a demographic, they wouldn’t raise a ruckus over no damned [redacted].
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One thing led to another. The Old Left got coopted by New Dealers. “Coopted” meaning “Why smash capitalism when I can have gibsmedats?” Even in his “socialist analysis” of the New Deal, the shining light of the Socialist Party, Norman Thomas, had to concede it was “bold and radical” relative to what Hoover was doing.
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Indeed, Nathaniel Weyl (son of the illustrious progressive Walter Weyl), who was then a CPUSA member, recounts how he got a nice job in Washington working for the Agricultural Adjustment Administration:
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>Frances Perkins, Roosevelt’s Secretary of Labor, came to the rescue with a letter of recommendation to Isador Lubin, the head of the Bureau of Labor Statistics. This came about because my mother and Madame Perkins were old friends. So I went to Washington, saw Dr. Lubin and was offered a job. Returning to my hotel, there was a message that Thomas Blaisdell of the Agricultural Adjustment Administration was trying to reach me. I made an appointment with Dr. Blaisdell, whom I remembered a bit vaguely as one of the younger Columbia professors somewhere in the social sciences. Tom Blaisdell offered me a job, adding that, if I wanted security of employment, I should go with Lubin; if I wanted to be part of the Roosevelt social revolution, I should choose AAA. Of course, I chose AAA. The Agricultural Adjustment Administration was engaged in subjecting all agricultural processing industries to minute federal regulation of prices and trade practices. In retrospect, the AAA probably did nothing to raise American farmers from the abyss. Farming recovered because of federal mortgage credit, devaluation of the dollar, government payments to farmers to withdraw arable land from cultivation, and in 1934 one of the worst droughts in the nation’s history.

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This Tom Blaisdell chap sounds interesting. What’s his memo? Weyl proceeds to narrate right afterward about an encounter with a certain radical New Dealer, Gardiner “Pat” Jackson:
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> [Gardner Jackson] was perturbed about a meeting he had attended very early in the FDR administration of top insiders, at which someone had told him that the direction of the New Deal would be that of Italian fascism. One day, he took me aside and said out of the blue that he wanted to join the Communist Party. “Why tell me?” I asked. “Because I know you are a Communist,” Pat replied. After the shock of this disagreeable surprise, I questioned him and discovered that Tom Blaisdell had insisted, probably on civil libertarian grounds, on his right to hire a Communist.

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Ah, yes. The place was infested by pinkos peddling their wares. Hal Ware, more specifically. In any event, as the Old Left is out to Make America Red Again, many of the demands of the working class set out in various socialist party planks were being met. But then the New Left enters the scene, and it declares: “Around blacks, always relax!” Soon, the proletariat gets the shaft, and the New Left erects a new base, to quote Free Northerner, “an alliance of academics, technocrats, white-collar bureaucrats (and their unions), and a bought-off underclass.”
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Here we are today.
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Now, to some extent, I think there prevails a certain confusion between the Old Left and American trade unionism, which are overlapping but distinct. Yes, the business unionism of Samuel Gompers, for instance, was immigration restrictionist. Mostly in relation to the chinks, though. The [redacted], like Gompers himself, presented a more complex question. He still enthusiastically favored women’s suffrage, regardless. 270,000+ workmen signed the petition, goy! At best, Gompers’ attempt to position unionism as a “patriotic front” turned him into little more than a gullible buffoon for Trojan-horse “anti-communists” like Sidney Hook, the Deweyan social democrat, to whom, quoting Justice Holmes, liberalism meant that “in the free trade of ideas that the test of truth is the power of thought to get itself accepted in the competition of the market.” It’s not about rights or laissez-faire, fam! It’s about that there exchange of ideas! Ideas like sodomite marriage and the Department of Education. Hook was among the LIBRUHL intellectuals acting for CIA fronts throughout the 50s and 60s to… fight communism, somehow. But more on our sacred right to free speech later. Or earlier.
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In any event, the memory grows dimmer. It is now a popular opinion — and actually it has been around since various National Bolsheviks and Third Positionists like Francis Parker Yockey — that communism, as bad as it was, comrade, was still a blessing compared to the evils of Atlanticist American imperialist neoliberal globalist capitalist fascism. Never mind the Jewish bankers behind Bolshevism, goy! Never happened!
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Social(ist?) Matter says: “Communism, fondly remembered, is really a longing for tradition!”
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Vox Day speaks:
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>What conservatives fail to understand is that even straight-up communism, terrible as it is, is vastly preferable to neo-liberal globalism. — Supreme Dark Lord (@voxday) August 1, 2017

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A host of commentators are prepared to gush about the USSR’s wonderful pronatalist policies.
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Indeed, there’s something of an Old Left nostalgia going in some alt-right segments. Paul Gottfried’s Strange Death of Marxism tells the story of the demise of the blue-collar left almost with a somber and even mildly nostalgic tone, Gottfried having had many acquaintances on the radical left (like Paul Piccone). Rebel Media outright eulogized the Old Left. But even among far less cucked specimens (like Vox Day), for whom communism is that thing that’s no longer a threat (Cold War’s over, f[redacted]!), and for whom capitalism is little more than soulless wage-cuckoldry for impenetrable publicly traded companies staffed by radical middle management (in no small part thanks to the New Deal’s helping hand), the desire for Old Left economic radicalism is rising, and a certain nostalgic tone of “Why can’t we have the Old Left back? Back when the left was about telling bosses to shove it up their asses, and not about racially integrating my gay bathhouses like it is now!” definitely exists. Giovanni Dannato has been calling for such a coalition of Old Left economics and alt-right identity politics for a while now: the “alt-center.”
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But, as comforting as this view of an Old Left that was all about the family and expropriating porkies, it just wasn’t so. The New Left, though certainly less economistic and with a greater focus on identity, were ultimately following through on the trends of the Old.
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Anarchists are part of the Old Left, also. But their depravity is obvious. Galleanist bombthrowers, Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman on free love and sodomy, Johann Most’s lust for insurrectionary violence, nudist communes, it goes on.
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Rather, it is the more milquetoast Marxist groups that are of interest here.
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Our first exhibit is a publication by William Z. Foster, the General Secretary of the CPUSA from 1945 to 1957, ex-Wobbly and one of the most prominent American communists in general. It is titled Toward a Soviet America (1932). If that doesn’t sound bad enough already, the picture of what Soviet America shall be speaks for itself (here on the Negro Question):
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>The status of the American Negro is that of an oppressed national minority, and only a Soviet system can solve the question of such minorities. This it does, in addition to setting up real equality in the general political and social life, by establishing the right of self-determination for national minorities in those parts of the country where they constitute the bulk of the population. The constitution of the Soviet Union provides that, “Each united republic retains the right of free withdrawal from the Union.” The Program of the Communist International declares for: “The recognition of the right of all nations, irrespective of race, to complete self-determination, that is, self-determination inclusive of the right to State separation.” Accordingly, the right of self-determination will apply to Negroes in the American Soviet system. In the so-called Black Belt of the South, where the Negroes are in the majority, they will have the fullest right to govern themselves and also such white minorities as may live in this section. The same principle will apply to all the colonial and semi-colonial peoples now dominated by American imperialism in Cuba, the Philippines, Central and South America, etc.

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Black nationalism before it was cool. Right afterwards, Foster also declares his support for granting citizenship to all illegals: “And logically, foreign-born workers, now denied the right to vote and ruthlessly deported, will enjoy the fullest rights of citizenship.”
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That the socialist movement had an overrepresentation of immigrants is known, and acknowledged by John Reed in 1918, lamenting the state of the movement: “With the exception of the Jewish workers, other foreigners, and a devoted sprinkling of Americans, the Socialist party is made up largely of petty bourgeois, for the most part occupied in electing Aldermen and Assemblymen to office, where they turn into time-serving politicians and in explaining that Socialism does not mean Free Love. The composition of the English-speaking branches is: little shop-keepers, clerks, doctors, lawyers, farmers (in the Middle West), a few teachers, some skilled workers, and a handful of intellectuals.”
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Foster cites the “liberated Russian woman” and endorses the end of “bourgeois sex hypocrisy and prudery”:
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>The Russian woman is also free in her sex life. When married life becomes unwelcome for a couple they are not barbarously compelled to live together. Divorce is to be had for the asking by one or both parties. The woman’s children are recognized as legitimate by the State and society, whether born in official wedlock or not. The free American woman, like her Russian sister, will eventually scorn the whole fabric of bourgeois sex hypocrisy and prudery.

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As for the schools, they must be enriched by the dia-leck-tick:
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>Among the elementary measures the American Soviet government will adopt to further the cultural revolution are the following; the schools, colleges and universities will be coordinated and grouped under the National Department of Education and its state and local branches. The studies will be revolutionized, being cleansed of religious, patriotic and other features of the bourgeois ideology. The students will be taught on the basis of Marxian dialectical materialism, internationalism and the general ethics of the new Socialist society. Present obsolete methods of teaching will be superseded by a scientific pedagogy.
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Foster’s is among the most egregious, hence why I cite it first. 21 years later, another portrait of Soviet America would be written, this time by James P. Cannon, the leading American Trotskyist. His vision is a little more conservative. He acknowledges the theoretical possibility of housewives, but… come on, now, it’s $CURRENT_YEAR:
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>Every man can have his little house as he has it now, and his little wife spending her whole time cooking and cleaning for him—providing he can find that kind of a wife. But he will not be able to buy such service, and he’ll be rather stupid to ask for it. Most likely his enlightened sweetheart will tell him: “Wake up, Bud; we’re living under socialism. You’ve been reading that ancient history again and you’ve a nostalgia for the past. You’ve got to break yourself of that habit. I’m studying medicine, and I have no time to be sweeping up dust. Call up the Community Housecleaning Service.”
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While waiting 8 years in line for the Community Housecleaning Service to arrive, you might however be interested in the black battalions of the revolution:
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>The Negroes will very probably be among the best revolutionists. And why shouldn’t they be? They have nothing to lose but their poverty and discrimination, and a whole world of prosperity, freedom, and equality to gain. You can bet your boots the Negroes will join the revolution to fight for that—once it becomes clear to them that it cannot be gained except by revolution. The black battalions of the revolution will be a mighty power—and great will be their reward in the victory.

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Furthermore, a 1931 editorial by Cannon in the Trotskyist journal The Militant had a protointersectional approach: “Communism cannot be other than the mortal enemy of these devastating prejudices, and the Communist party is charged with an irreconcilable struggle against them. In no small degree the party of the proletariat is to be judged by the vigor, and also by the wisdom, with which it conducts this struggle. And it is self-evident that the Negro question takes first place within it. Communist ideas, Communist teaching and practise must break down the artificial wall which bourgeois prejudice has reared between the races; the Communists must be the heralds of a genuine solidarity between the exploited workers of the white race and the doubly exploited Negroes.”
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The commitment to black self-determination is restated in a CPUSA organizational manual from 1935, following the Comintern resolution on said issue.
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Far from focusing purely on class, a 1928 pamphlet by Hungarian Jewish communist John Pepper (who would ultimately be executed in 1938 by the NKVD in the USSR) declared that: ” The American working class cannot free itself from capitalist exploitation without freeing the Negro race from white oppression.” Furthermore, he calls for an explicit struggle against “white chauvinism” (a plank later officially adopted by the USA).
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The CPUSA’s foreign policy front from 1933 to 1939, the American League Against War and Fascism (which had members of the Roosevelt cabinet in it, like Eliot Janeway), cemented the “popular front” strategy, calling upon “the working class, the ruined and exploited farmers, the oppressed Negro people, the sections of the middle class bankrupted by the crisis, the groups of intellectuals of all occupations, men, women and youth, together, to organize their invincible force in discipline battalions for the decisive struggle to defeat imperialist war.” Nothing archetypally New Leftist about this.
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Indeed, the way the communists called for “struggles against American imperialism by oppressed peoples” (at the time, in their view, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Mexicans, etc.) is quite reminiscent of the stereotypically New Left admiration for Fidel Castro and Ho Chi Minh for the same reasons. Third Worldism was already a present element in the Old Left.
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But while riding on the Old Left train of purely-materialistic-class-liberation-I-swear-mate, we’ll take a stop to examine their views on women’s lib.
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One of the many dead variants of Marxism is that of De Leonism, a sort of hybrid of revolutionary syndicalism as a means for state socialism. Daniel De Leon and the Socialist Labor Party which carries on his mantle, have always held on pure to their “revolutionary industrial unionist” vision. What did Comrade De Leon think of divorce?
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He thought it was groovy (with a dose of Rousseauist noble savagery, too):
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>By degrees, the socialist position is being made good; its prognostics are being realized. The changing laws on divorce are the beam which denotes the current’s steady direction. Quite such a beam is the report of the British Royal Commission recommending positively drastic changes in the existing laws on divorce. Leaving aside the minute considerations of details that rather tends to confuse than enlighten, the recommendations of the Royal Commission ”beginning with the placing of husband and wife on an equality of duty in the matter of chastity” look to the restoration of conjugal relations to where the same stood in the pre-class-rule tribal days. Then, marriage lasted as long as it had the consent of both the parties, and it ended when the consent ended.

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The 1887 Platform of the Socialist Labor Party, among its social demands, listed lastly (but by no means least): “Uniform national marriage laws. Divorce to be granted upon mutual consent, and upon providing for the care of the children.” Among its political demands, the fourth: “Direct vote and secret ballots in all elections. Universal and equal right of suffrage without regard to color, creed or sex. Election days to be legal holidays. The principle of minority representation to be introduced.”
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(It’s quite impressive to note how much of the platform, other than some of the more kooky direct-democratic proposals, has been instated in the United States today. America Is A Communist Country.)
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Eugene V. Debs, the most successful third-party socialist candidate for POTUS in American history, declared in 1909 that IT’S THE CURRENT YEAR (or THE CURRENT CENTURY, anyway), therefore: “I am glad to align myself with a party that declares for absolute equality between the sexes. Anything less than this is too narrow for twentieth century civilization, and too small for a man who has a right conception of manhood. I declare my faith that man, like water, cannot rise higher than his source. I am no greater than my mother. I have no rights or powers that do not belong to my sisters, everywhere.” He had earlier, in 1894, called the women’s movement “one of the most far-reaching and of transcendent importance.”
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It was certainly of transcendent importance in getting the demon rum out of men’s systems. But of course it was normal for Debs to jump on board with the women’s movement. Such respectable, upstanding and pious ladies as Frances Willard of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union had smuggled in the suffrage issue through the backdoor of eradicating bars and saloons. Willard liked the euphemism “Home Protection” (p.22):
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>Of the right of women to the ballot I say nothing. All persons of intelligence, whose prejudices have not become indurated beyond the power of logic’s sledge-hammer to break them, have been convinced already. For the rest there is no cure save one – the death cure – which comes soon or late and will open more eyes than it closes. Of the Republic’s right to woman’s ballot I might say much. Well did two leaders of public thought set forth that right when Joseph Cook declared that “woman’s vote would be to the voices in our great cities what the lighting is to oak”; and when Richard S. Storrs said: “If women want the suffrage they will be sure to have it, and I don’t know but when it comes it will turn out to be precious amethyst that drives drunkenness out of politics”?

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One of these woman voices was militant labor radical Elizabeth Gurley Flynn (of Irish descent), who in 1916 declared: “The majority of our workers are foreigners, one or two generations removed, and with their European home-ties and American environment, internationalism becomes the logical patriotism of a heterogeneous population. America — not as a melting-pot, that produces a jingoistic, mercenary, one-mold type, but as a giant loom weaving into a mighty whole the sons, the poetry, the traditions, and the customs of all races, until a beautiful human fabric, with each thread intact, comes forth — would stretch forth a myriad hands of brotherhood to the four quarters of the globe.”
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Don’t want a melting pot, white man? There’s something better!
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Now, besides birth control and suffrage, to be expected from a red broad, Gurley Flynn was a pioneer in American “civil liberties” — a codeword for communist subversion (apologies to any free-speech advocates reading this).
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In 1939, she exhorts: “Capitalist reaction is intent upon depriving the Communists of their civil rights as the preparation for an attack on the economic standards and civil rights of the trade unions, of the working class, of all who oppose American involvement in the imperialist war. Immediate and powerful defense of the civil rights of the Communists is, therefore, of the utmost urgency for the entire labor movement and all who stand for progress and peace.”
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This “utmost urgency” would be accomplished by an alliance of labor militants with useful liberal idiots.
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The early years of the ACLU were closely intertwined with reds. Besides Roger Baldwin’s own admiration for the Soviets, founding members of its immediate precursor, the National Civil Liberties Bureau (NCLB), included Socialist Party maverick Norman Thomas and pacifist/feminist Crystal Eastman. The NCLB would provide the initial funding for and closely cooperate with Gurley Flynn’s Workers Defense Union (WDU), an organization dedicated to protecting so-called “victims of capitalist class tyranny.”
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Pinko historian M.A. Trasciatti writes of the WDU’s breadth:
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>With delegates from over 170 labor, socialist, and radical organizations, the WDU may have been the one truly broad ideological “united front” created by the American Left. Groups as diverse as the International Association of Machinists, United Hebrew Trades, Teachers’ Union, Consumers League of the Bronx, Socialist Party, Communist Party, Italian Bakers Federation, and the New York Vegetarian Society counted among its affiliates.

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Freedom of speech and civil liberties — nothing more than a tool to undermine the legal controls that local governments may need to impose to protect the moral integrity of their communities. You start by defending the commies. You move on to defend the Nazis. The Nazis get really excited: “That there ACLU helpin’ us to name the Jew!” But, soon, the Nazi is struck by a horrific realization: “Wait, if I’m allowed to march… so are the f[redacted] and t*******[redacted]!” But of course. That was the intent all along.
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The most conspicuous example of Old Left molding between class and identity, as a harbinger of things to come, is that of the black CPUSA theorist Harry Haywood.
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In 1928 and 1930, two resolutions were passed by the Comintern on the Negro Question. In both of them, the idea of the American negroes as a separate nation with the right to self determine and with a mission to specifically fight for social as opposed to simply economic rights, was affirmed. Even further, the Comintern resolution accepted the Negro Question as part of a broader “World Problem” of the struggle of negroes against capitalist imperialism worldwide. Texts reproduced here.
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In 1948, Haywood’s book Negro Liberation (see Ch VII, “The Negro Nation”) would set the foundation for black nationalism, and for the modern contradictory school of left-wing identity politics where race is simultaneously held to be of paramount importance and dismissed as a groundless social construct all the same. Haywood does not conceive of the Negro Question as primarily economic, but following the Comintern 20 years earlier, a national question. To be sure, it follows the Marxist-Leninist analysis of nationality pioneered by Stalin in 1913. But it went beyond in actively treating black culture as an autonomous element rather than a mere superstructure to a capitalist base, and specifically argued that self-government and democratic institutions were the proximate goal of the black struggle, and not proletarian class dictatorship as a more standard Leninist would say.
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Well, that is enough to prove the point. The transition from Old to New Left was neither a simple substitution, nor a radical disjunction. The social radicalism and identitarianism were all present as seeds in the Old Left. The materialist approach to nationality was immanentized into an independent variable of its own, and from there theories of various interlocking modes of non-class oppression could trivially emerge.
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Nonetheless, Old Left economics and right-wing identitarianism will probably be a great combination for getting the genetically pacified white man’s juices flowing, so it’ll be fun to watch how the right gets history to rhyme by reinventing the square wheel, if it even gets that far.
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Hi everyone! Last year, I made of list of 50 Songs You May Have Missed in 2022, and I'm doing it again this year!
I've pulled from a wide variety of genres and artists, but ultimately every song is one that I believe my fellow Popheads will enjoy. I spent a lot of time on this so I'm super eager to hear from people! What songs do you already know? Were there any releases that you missed? What recommendations do you have for people that like a certain song? Let me know! FFO = for fans of.
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Here is the playlist link!

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Now, in order of release, here are 50 songs you may have missed in 2023:
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Tennis - Let’s Make a Mistake Tonight / from: Pollen

• Colorado, US
• FFO: Beach House, Kate Bush
• It’s dark, it’s hazy, it’s groovy, and it’s ethereal. Let’s Make a Mistake Tonight is the second single from indie pop duo Tennis’ sixth album, and it’s giving Running Up That Hill à la 2023. For best results, listen late at night while driving on the highway, as is referenced repeatedly in the lyrics: “Let's cruise in the vesper night / Concrete in the headlights.”

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5p Nips (feat. swaggylotti) - ICH BIN DIE BITCH

• Germany
• FFO: Tiësto, Brooke Candy
• I have no recollection of discovering this song, it simply appeared in my library one day, and it bangs so I haven’t questioned it. ICH BIN DIE BITCH (“I’m The Bitch”) is a club-ready techno track with a super catchy chorus, which, despite speaking no German, I’ve pretty much memorized at this point.

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Käärijä - Cha Cha Cha

• Finland
• FFO: Vengaboys, ABBA
• I had dabbled in Eurovision over the years, but I had never fully gotten into it. That is, until I saw Käärijä’s performance of Cha Cha Cha at Finland’s national selection and I became encapsulated. The strange combination of EDM, metal, and rap. The manic, dead-eyed dancers. The energy, the stage presence, the ridiculousness of it all–I was immediately obsessed. Cha Cha Cha is a boatload of fun–and yes, Käärijä was robbed!

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INJI - THE ONE / from: LFG (EP)

• Turkey
• FFO: Charli XCX, Ava Max
• Maybe this is self-incrimination for having the brain of a toddler, but damn do I love a song with counting! “I got two, three lovers in my life / Four, five fellas on my mind” INJI sings in THE ONE’s refrain. This song is a standout from LFG, her debut EP. Like the rest of the project, THE ONE is a bouncy, cheeky, and lighthearted pop track that shows off INJI’s coy songwriting and nonchalant but enticing voice.

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Jodie Harsh - Hectic

• England, UK
• FFO: Charli XCX, Danny L Harle
• Many drag queens are active in the music industry, but few are as acclaimed as Jodie Harsh. She has many accolades, including production credits on Charli XCX’s Vroom Vroom EP. After listening to her chaotic single Hectic, this shouldn’t be too surprising. The bumping house beat and heavy use of autotune are reminiscent of Charli and make this song a blast. See also: Jodie Harsh’s music video for her rendition of In My House by the Mary Jane Girls, featuring over 50 drag queens from the UK.

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Lil Yachty - drive ME crazy! / from: Let’s Start Here

• Georgia, US
• FFO: Tame Impala, Unknown Mortal Orchestra
• This had to have been one of the most unexpected releases of 2023. Trap artist Lil Yachty (featured on 2016 smash hit Broccoli by DRAM) caught us off guard with his psychedelic rock album, Let’s Start Here. drive ME crazy! is a highlight–it’s upbeat and super groovy, and featured artist Diana Gordan’s voice really makes the song shine.

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RHYME SO (feat. Sophie Ellis-Bextor & Wuh Oh) - DEEP IN VOGUE

• Japan
• FFO: Hikaru Utada, Róisín Murphy
• RHYME SO is the musical duo of Australian musician RHYME and legendary Japanese producer Shinichi Osawa (stage name: Mondo Grosso). They worked with English pop legend Sophie Ellis-Bextor and Scottish producer Wuh Oh on their cover of Malcolm McLaren’s 1989 single, Deep in Vogue, which is stacked with samples and references from legendary documentary Paris Is Burning. Have I mentioned that the song is legendary? The fresh take on this classic has lush and atmospheric production, rich saxophone riffs, and crisp vocals from RHYME and Ellis-Bextor. See also: RHYME SO’s severely iconic and campy music video for Fashion Blogger.

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Samia - Honey / from: Honey

• New York, US
• FFO: Clairo, boygenius
• From her second album, Honey, indie pop artist Samia stated that the title track is about “being drunk all the time and being around people that were in […] toxic relationships,” but you certainly wouldn’t get that from the upbeat and chipper instrumentals. Honey is primarily driven by acoustic guitar strums that you’d hear sitting around a campfire. These allusions continue into the song’s final chorus, where a chanting ensemble brings the song to its hypnotic end: “It's all honey, honey / It's all honey.”

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SG Lewis - Another Life / from: AudioLust & HigherLove

• England, UK
• FFO: Tove Lo, Jessie Ware
• SG Lewis’ AudioLust & HigherLove was my most-listened to album of 2023, in large part due to Another Life. I still remember hitting play on the album right at midnight of its release date, hearing Another Life’s instrumental break for the first time, and absolutely transcending to the swelling of the synths and violins. This is deep house at its finest.

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Anna of the North - Swirl / from: Crazy Life (Deluxe)

• Norway
• FFO: Sigrid, Dagny
• If it’s pop music coming from a girl from the Scandinavian peninsula, you know it’s gonna be good, and Anna of the North is no exception. On Swirl, the Norwegian songstress goes full dream pop. Everything about this song is blissful and carefree. From the hazy vocals to the soft drum beats, this encapsulating song genuinely does feel like a swirl.

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Juan Pablo Vega (feat. Ximena Sariñana) - Tenemos que hablar / from: Despídeme de Todxs

• Colombia
• FFO: Kacey Musgraves, Bob Marley
• Colombian singer-songwriter Juan Pablo Vega teamed up with Mexico’s Ximena Sariñana for the soft and wistful single Tenemos que hablar (“We Have To Talk”). The song is a conversation between two lovers who are essentially mourning their relationship. Gentle guitar strums flow throughout the track and the soulful singing of Vega and Sariñana make Tenemos que hablar a pleasant listen, if not a sad one.

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100 gecs - The Most Wanted Person in the United States / from: 10,000 gecs

• Missouri, US
• FFO: PC Music, SOPHIE
• Written from the perspective of a fugitive on the run from the FBI, The Most Wanted Person in the United States has got to be one of the most relatable songs of 2023! It has a jarring array of samples: 80’s dancehall’s Sleng Teng riddim, the iconic “I’m supposed to run, right?” quote from Scary Movie, a looping Looney Tunes-esque boing sound effect, and much more. 100 gecs have captured the essence of pure chaos in a single song.

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Barney Bones (feat. Channel Tres) - Fashion Week / from: ESCAPISM (EP)

• California, US
• FFO: KAYTRANADA, NEIL FRANCES
• Barney Bones has been a songwriter for quite some time, but the focus he’s been putting towards his solo work is relatively new. In the past, he has collaborated with Giveon, Gus Dapperton, and Channel Tres, the last of whom is featured on his debut EP, ESCAPISM. Fashion Week is a funky house track with great rapping from both Channel Tres and Bones himself. Channel Tres’ signature sexy voice adds a lot of character to the song and makes it extra memorable. See also: Jungle (feat. Channel Tres) - I’ve Been In Love.

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Madge - bbq

• Utah, US
• Slayyyter, Shygirl
• Madge is the enigmatic pop project of Cat Leavy. They were raised by a Mormon family, and something went right along the way, because by 2020, they were collaborating with Russian protest and performance collective Pussy Riot. Madge’s music usually falls into the hyperpop, punk, or rave genres. But on bbq, they’re giving a sound that’s much more relaxed–hypnotic, even. The chorus is especially catchy, as they glide seamlessly between Russian and English: “Я не знаю don't know you.”

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OG MarlynMonROLLUP - Vox (Extended)

• New York, US
• FFO: Azealia Banks, Bree Runway
• OG MarlynMonROLLUP has been active in both the Brooklyn drill and New York house scenes for years, but Vox was her first song to garner widespread attention. Initially less than a minute long, Marlyn later dropped an extended version. And I will say that she sounds similar to Azealia Banks (like, do not let Azealia hear this, otherwise Marlyn is getting hexed), but even so, Marlyn certainly has her own signature flair. She’s been ahead of the curve, and I’m excited to see where she goes in 2024.

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Dimitri from Paris & Chatobaron - I Like The Music (That You Play)

• France
• FFO: Jamiroquai, Purple Disco Machine
• This is song is a hell of a lot of fun. The lyrics are just a chorus of chants being directed at a DJ, but it totally works. I Like The Music (That You Play) is a mix of jazz, disco, funk, and house and it absolutely demands to be danced to.

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Chase Icon - Club Cooter: Reloaded

• California, US
• FFO: Kim Petras, SOPHIE
• Chase Icon’s hilarious lyricism never disappoints. I’m hard-pressed to pick a favorite bar from Club Cooter, but it’s between “Old slow ass bitch on an iPhone 4 / On an air mattress tweeting out, ‘stop being poor’” and “Real cunt I could even rock a terf bang / Rich trade lined up like a chain gang.” Icon is giving me party girl/y2k pop princess/bad bitch, and I’m here for all of it. See also: SoCal Girl.

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Grupo Frontera (feat. Bad Bunny) - un x100to / from: El Comienzo

• Texas, US
• FFO: Sheryl Crow, Shania Twain
• Last year was a big one for regional Mexican music. Grupo Frontera (“Border Group”) had been gaining traction, but they shot to new heights with the release of their Bad Bunny collaboration, un x100to (un porciento, or “one percent”). The breezy, summery song displays the beauty of norteño music with the use of traditional instruments like the bajo quinto and accordion. Bad Bunny fits in perfectly with the six-piece ensemble, showing off his seemingly endless musical versatility. Side note: I know I’m putting a song with 800 million streams on a list of underrated music, but Popheads has been sleeping!

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49th & Main - Crash and Burn / from: B.O.A.T.S.

• Ireland
• FFO: Two Door Cinema Club, Arctic Monkeys
• Irish indie pop duo 49th & Main could have easily fit in among the indie big hitters of the early 2010’s: Two Door Cinema Club, Vampire Weekend, Passion Pit, Arctic Monkeys, etc. Their sound is very upbeat and lighthearted, especially so on Crash and Burn. It’s overflowing with brass instruments and has a summery feel to it. I hear it playing on a clear, sunny day during an extravagant yacht party in the Mediterranean.

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Snakehips (feat. Kilo Kish) - Deal With It / from: never worry

• England, UK
• FFO: AlunaGeorge, Cashmere Cat
• Snakehips has been releasing quality electronic singles since what feels like the beginning of time, and they finally released their debut album last year. never worry is a cohesive album that is stacked with great features from Tinashe, Tkay Maidza, Lucky Daye, Daya, and more. On the extremely groovy Deal With It, Kilo Kish’s voice sounds silky smooth as she sings–rather bluntly–about being a bad bitch up in the club: “And if you don't like it, huh / Then deal with it.”

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Liza Anne - Cheerleader / from: Utopian

• Georgia, US
• FFO: Maggie Rogers, Florence + the Machine
• Cheerleader by Liza Anne has has queer anthem potential. The punchy, bawdy, and infectious chorus is hard not to sing along to: “So cute and you don't even know it / You're walking that talk and I love it, I love it.” Cheerleader sounds like it could have been a B-side from The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappell Roan. It’s like the older, punk sister of HOT TO GO! Why have one sapphic song about cheerleading when you can have two?

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MOTLEY FLOWER & Cherub (feat. Gothic Tropic) - Seasons Change / from: Garden Groove (EP)

• Thailand & Tennessee, US
• FFO: MIKA, Remi Wolf
• This collaborating is quite an eclectic mix of artists. You have MOTLEY FLOWER, an up-and-coming pop act from Thailand, and Cherub, the electronic indie duo responsible for the timeless classic Doses & Mimosas. Additionally, featured artist Gothic Tropic is the music project of Cecilia Della Peruti, the daughter of a Polish opera singer and an Italian composer. All different kinds of influences comes together for Seasons Change, and the result is a saccharine and cheeky love song that’s undeniably catchy.

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Revenge Wife - Fantasy Girl

• New Hampshire, US
• FFO: Ryn Weaver, Sleigh Bells
• Revenge Wife is the solo project of brat pop pioneer Liz Nistico of HOLYCHILD. Her single Fantasy Girl is so severely Popheads-coded: it’s ABBA-inspired Italo disco with brash and fun vocals. Heavy on the electric guitar with some dramatic strings thrown in for good measure, the instrumentals and overall song production are just exquisite.

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Allison Russell - The Returner / from: The Returner

• Canada
• FFO: Brandi Carlile, Hozier
• Americana singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Allison Russell’s second album, The Returner, is all about embracing the present. The title track is overflowing with soul and catharsis: Russell’s vocals are stunning and the use of each instrument feels intentional. The relaxed percussion and wistful strings are beautiful, and the clarinet that comes in after the first chorus is a wonderful little detail. Side note: I want to mention Sage by Imani Coppola–I became obsessed with this song a few years ago and had yet to find anything that hit like it until I heard The Returner, so check it out!

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Carter Faith - Smoke Too Soon

• North Carolina, US
• FFO: pre-Golden Hour Kacey Musgraves, Kelsea Ballerini
• Smoke Too Soon by Carter Faith is so reminiscent of early Kacey, especially the lyrical wit. Faith opens the song: “He walked out, no two week notice / Didn't even notice he was gone / Who's gonna gas up my Ford Focus / Who the hell's gonna mow my lawn.” It’s classic country pop and a ball to listen to.

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Kah-Lo - GD Woman / from: Pain/Pleasure

• Nigeria
• FFO: Tkay Maidza, Rihanna
• This song is dripping in pure funk. The trifecta of Kah-Lo’s smooth voice, the bouncy bass guitar, and the groovy wobble bass synth create a pared-down yet rich sound. While the production on GD Woman is simple, it’s very effective. Kah-Lo’s colorful Nigerian accent and effortless flow transmit her charisma in a way few other artists can do through song alone. Pain/Pleasure was one of my favorite albums of 2023, and I highly recommend giving it a listen.

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Disclosure - Looking For Love / from: Alchemy

• England, UK
• FFO: Flume, Jamie xx
• 2023 marked ten years since Settle, the debut album English electronic duo Disclosure. Four studio albums later, they’re still crafting quality house music on Alchemy. The second track, Looking For Love, stands out with its heavy bass drum. The strong beat, excess of synths, and distorted vocals all contribute to the song’s atmospheric feel.

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COUCOU CHLOE - DRIFT / from: FEVER DREAM

• France
• FFO: Shygirl, Arca
• Now this song has a HOOK. French producer COUCOU CHLOE’s repetitions of “But I don't, but I don't” were stuck in my head for days after I first heard this. Her music has been described as “deconstructed club music” and I couldn’t agree more. With Chloe’s warped, deadpan chanting and the slick beat, DRIFT is perfect for dancing in a dark nightclub.

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Cowgirl Clue - Trust Fall / from: Rodeo Star

• Texas, US
• FFO: PC Music, Bjork
• Assigning a genre to Texas’ Cowgirl Clue is difficult, but I’m going to settle for the broad label of alt-pop. Her second album, Rodeo Star, mixes grunge, punk, techno, electronic, and even country into a project that still remains cohesive. The third track, Trust Fall, has a lot going on sonically. The brash guitar playing has a nostalgic feel to it, and you can really get a sense of Cowgirl Clue’s DIY, bedroom pop origins. See also: Rodeo Star’s lead single, Trailblaze ☆.

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Bonnie McKee - Hot City

• Washington, US
• FFO: Katy Perry, Carly Rae Jepsen
• Bonnie McKee has a history as an accomplished songwriter. Alongside Katy Perry, she co-wrote Teenage Dream, California Gurls, and Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.). She has also written for Britney Spears, Kesha, Cher, Christina Aguilera, and more. McKee’s songwriting skills are out in full force on Hot City, a blissful synthpop bop that attests to her industry repute.

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COBRAH - MANIC / from: SUCCUBUS (EP)

• Sweden
• FFO: Slayyyter, Charli XCX
• BDSM pop pioneer COBRAH is back with her SUCCUBUS EP, and her flow is undeniable on gritty club banger MANIC. The song has a bit of ebb and flow to it–there are two brief choruses, during which the beat lies in wait as the focus is on COBRAH’s voice. But once the full instrumentals are back for the verses and outro, MANIC is all the more hard-hitting.

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DJ Sabrina The Teenage DJ - Will U B Mine / from: Destiny

• England, UK
• FFO: Daft Punk, lofi beats to study to
• DJ Sabrina The Teenage DJ creates nostalgia in music form. Destiny is a four-hour-long album that is more meant to be listened to as background music, rather than something that requires your attention. Think lofi hip hop beats to study to, but y2k. Sabrina layers sample after sample over electronica beats, leaving you awash with nostalgia.

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Ana Frango Elétrico - Electric Fish / from: Me Chama De Gato Que Eu Sou Sua

• Brazil
• FFO: Bjork, Prince
• Brazil’s Ana Frango Elétrico is a multi-hyphenate extraordinaire: singer, songwriter, instrumentalist, producer, poet, and the list continues. The influences on their third studio album, Me Chama De Gato Que Eu Sou Sua (“Call Me A Cat And I’m Yours,” roughly), are as eclectic as the singer themself. There’s elements of bossa nova, funk, rock, and disco, to name a few. On the lead single, Electric Fish, all of these genres are present, and more–the infectious melodies and whimsical layers of sound make for a, dare I say… electrifying experience.

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LSDXOXO - J’adore / from: Delusions of Grandeur (EP)

• Pennsylvania, US
• FFO: PC Music, Sega Bodega
• Some of you may know LSDXOXO for his reimagination of Alice on Lady Gaga’s Chromatica remix album. The Philadelphia-born, Berlin-based producer released the Delusions of Grandeur EP in 2023, which featured the super sexy house anthem J’adore (“I Adore”). Of the track, LSDXOXO said “J’adore’ is a step further into my exploration and appreciation of electroclash.”

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hemlocke springs - enknee1 / from: going…going…GONE! (EP)

• North Carolina, US
• FFO: Remi Wolf, Grimes
• In September, up and coming alt-pop artist hemlocke springs released her debut EP, going…going…GONE! Per Pitchfork, her “lyrics make her sound like a cursed Victorian ghost, doomed to live in heartbreak for all of eternity.” As for her sound, it’s very 80's-inspired and nostalgic, and eknee1 is giving Steven Universe on psychedelics. Her unique voice fits her kitschy music well, and I just know she can do a nasty Toad impression!

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TTRRUUCES - Cherry Cola / from: JJUUIICES

• England, UK
• FFO: Soccer Mommy, Wet Leg
• English psychedelic rock band TTRRUUCES released this summery single from their second album, JJUUIICES. The gentle guitar strums and filtered vocals send me to a hazy, relaxed afternoon on the beach. Cherry Cola’s melody is very enjoyable and memorable, and I especially love the outro–the switch from Spanish to English followed by the whiny scat singing brings the song to a fun end.

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Baby Tate - Jersey / from: Baby Tate Presents - Sexploration: The Musical (EP)

• Georgia, US
• FFO: Flo Milli, Bree Runway
• Jersey speaks to Baby Tate’s versatility as an artist, reminding us that she’s more than just a rapper. This song is a club banger about heartbreak that describes Baby Tate crying in a New Jersey nightclub. As is her right! As Megan Thee Stallion reminds us, bad bitches have bad days too.

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Romy - She’s On My Mind / from: Mid Air

• England, UK
• FFO: Dua Lipa, The Blessed Madonna
• 2023 was the year that, at last, we got solo albums from all three members of English indie band the xx. Romy’s debut, Mid Air, is chock-full of dance pop bops, including She’s On My Mind. The disco-inspired number is defined by a giddy keyboard melody that will fill you with euphoria and make you want to dance.

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Chappell Roan - Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl / from: The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess

• Missouri, US
• FFO: Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift
• One thing about me is that I will recommend Chappell Roan to anything with a pulse. Fortunately, she’s given me plenty to work with in her debut album, The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess (my personal AOTY). Since I can’t list all 14 songs, I’ve selected Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl, the ultimate sapphic bop. The spoken word intro is immediately iconic, and the way she BELTS that chorus? I clutched my pearls. Pop perfection. Roan truly has something special–her songwriting abilities, her ear for melodies, and her bright personality all make her such a star.

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Sam Gellaitry - ALONE / from: UNDER THE ILLUSION (EP)

• Scotland, UK
• FFO: PinkPantheress, Daft Punk
• Off of Scottish producer Sam Gellaitry’s EP UNDER THE ILLUSION, ALONE is a euphoric and lush song. It comprises layer after layer of distorted vocals, dreamy synths, ethereal guitar riffs, and a vibrant bassline. It seems as though Sam Gellaitry can do no wrong–everything he produces turns to gold. If you need more proof, look to his collaborations with PinkPantheress: Picture in my mind and Blue.

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Aliyah’s Interlude - IT GIRL

• Georgia, US
• FFO: Bree Runway, cupcakKe
• Depending on what parts of the internet you frequent, it’s very likely that you know this song by sound, if not by name. Aliyah’s Interlude’s viral hit IT GIRL is a cunty pop-house anthem about–you guessed it–being an it girl. If this song comes on while you’re walking somewhere, you legally have the right to shove everyone out of your way and into oncoming traffic!

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Mike Taveira - Bloom All Night / from: Bloom All Night (EP)

• New York, US
• FFO: Troye Sivan, Tove Lo
• In the last few years, there have been many up-and-coming queer pop singer-songwriters, including Tom Aspaul, Michael Medrano, Vardaan Arora, and Bronze Avery. Among them is Mike Taviera, who dropped his Bloom All Night EP in 2023. Taveira said that the title track was written as a “dark and ironic dialogue” between the singer and his eating disorder. Despite the somber subject matter, the song itself is upbeat with frantic drumming and intense orchestrals. Truly dark pop excellence!

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Allie X - Black Eye

• Canada
• FFO: Turn Off The Lights era Kim Petras, Lady Gaga
• Allie X is giving us 80’s slasher synth-pop excellence on Black Eye. Right from the opening four synths, which sound like they could be out of a horror movie soundtrack, you immediately know what you’re getting here. It’s dark, intense, and great for being chased by a serial ax murderer.

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Priya Ragu - One Way Ticket / from: Santhosam

• Switzerland
• FFO: Rina Sawayama, Amber Mark
• Last year, Swiss-Tamil singer-songwriter Priya Ragu released her debut album, Santhosam, which is the Tamil word for happiness. Prior to this in 2020, she broke the mold of music industry ageism by debuting at age 34 with her single Good Love 2.0. Ragu has an eclectic take on pop music, which is highlighted in One Way Ticket. It’s upbeat, danceable, groovy, and an all-around good time.

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Coco & Clair Clair - Pop Star (Chaeyoung Remix) / from: Sexy (Deluxe)

• South Korea
• FFO: PinkPantheress, Magdalena Bay
• Bedroom pop duo Coco & Clair Clair’s deluxe version of their 2022 album, Sexy, saw each track reimagined with remixes from the likes of George Daniel of The 1975 (Charli XCX’s fiancé), Empress Of, and of course, Chaeyoung of Korean girl group TWICE. Pop Star was already an excellent song, but Chaeyoung takes it into a completely new direction on her remix, and it slaps! The song maintains the original DIY-esque synths, but adds a pounding house beat that is just top-notch. Plus, Chaeyoung’s eats her verse up. All in all, a very enjoyable listen.

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Javiera Mena & Depresión Sonora - Ya no hay verano

• Chile & Spain
• FFO: Magdalena Bay, EASYFUN
• Last year, Chile’s Javiera Mena and Spain’s Depresión Sonora (“Sound Depression”) did what I guess could be called a cover exchange. Depresión Sonora released his version of Cámara lenta (“Slow Motion”), which Mena dropped back in 2006, while Mena released her rendition of Depresión Sonora’s Ya no hay verano (“There’s No More Summer”). Originally, Ya no hay verano is an elegy to the summer of 2020, mourning all the fun we missed out on due to the pandemic. Mena’s fast-paced, 8-bit interpretation is chaotic, nostalgic, and fun, and while her take seems contrary to the original lyrics, it works well.

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Baby Queen - i can’t get my shit together / from: Quarter Life Crisis

• South Africa
• FFO: Lily Allen, Billie Eilish
• Every year, there are one or two artists I stumble upon that I become completely obsessed with. In 2022 it was Chappell Roan, and 2023 was Baby Queen. The South African artist released her debut album, Quarter Life Crisis, in which she navigates the trials and tribulations of being in your early 20’s. A definite highlight, i can’t get my shit together is a relatable, punchy pop song with an earworm of a refrain and a hard-hitting chorus.

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Goldie Boutilier - Penthouse in The Sky / from: Emerald Year (EP)

• Canada
• FFO: Stevie Nicks, Lorde
• Goldie Boutilier’s Emerald Year EP contains elements of rock, dark pop, and alternative country. Through just six songs, it offers a dramatic retelling of Boutilier’s resilience throughout her experience with the underside of the music industry. In what she describes as the “crescendo” of the EP, Penthouse in The Sky stands out for its haunting array of dark instrumentals. Halfway through, Boutilier’s voice goes silent, and the song seemingly comes to a close. But then begins the bold, two-minute-long outro that feels like it would play in a movie as the hero loses their final battle, tumbling into an abyss.

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Holiday Sidewinder - Ripe

• Australia
• FFO: EMOTION era Carly Rae Jepsen, Magdalena Bay
• Australia’s Holiday Sidewinder (that’s her legal name, fun fact) has been involved in the entertainment industry since childhood. However, it wasn’t until 2019 that she released her debut solo album. Sidewinder has a consistent history of releasing high-quality indie pop music, and Ripe is some of her best work. This jubilant single is a display of just how good pure pop can be.

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Pharrell Williams (feat. Swae Lee & Rauw Alejandro) - Airplane Tickets

• Virginia, US
• FFO: Silk Sonic, Funk Wav Bounces era Calvin Harris
• I will be seeing Pharrell Williams in court for releasing this chill, summery single in December. I could see myself cruising with the windows down on a hot July night to the serenades of Swae Lee and Rauw Alejandro, but alas. Regardless, both artists always deliver on their features, so it’s no surprise that their voices sound great together. They play off one another wonderfully and Pharrell’s production is of course superb.

The bad, white men call him the Devil.
The Yavapai call him "Eyes Like the Sky"
This story takes place in the hinterlands of the newly formed United States and territories, in the years before and after the great conflagration, called the Civil War.
In the deserts of the southwest, old hatreds grow into new ones. Old beliefs are shattered by gunfire and charging horses.
Into this cauldron of fire rides a young man who becomes a shadowed legend. His name even takes on the mantle of The Bogeyman in some homes.
Among the first Americans, his name is exalted from wickiups to longhouse, from teepees to cliff dwellings.
Among the men of the badlands, He's feared for his silent walk and swift, economical dispatching of his enemies.
​
Chapter 1:
They'd been watching the farmhouse for a while, maybe all day. There were two of them, both young and fit and desert-hardened. They were Lords of where they lived, and they had no farm teachings from white men, or Mexicans.
Except for one thing.
They hated the Mexicans more than the white men because of their cruelty. They had learned cruelty from the Mexicans very well in return.
The smoke from the mud-house curled up into the sky like an albino snake. The two young men watched and counted the white men down in the farmyard.
A tall man and two shorter ones, maybe his sons.
A woman would occasionally come out from the shack, get water from the well in the front yard and carry it back inside. A small child would be with her. The men watching on the rim had no calendars, so they didn't know the date.
12th of June, year of our Lord, 1854
But one thing they did know. About an hour away were the rest of their party. Eight men, all armed. Running smoothly and trackless over the rocks.
One of the watchers moved away to tell the main party of what they had seen. The raid was about to start.
They were not after the money, they were not after alcohol. They were after guns and young children to raise as their own.
The war had made it necessary to take child captives, the rest would be slaughtered. That is how Miguel O'Brien became a Yavapai-Apache warrior.
He was five years old.
​
Chapter 2:
Miguel O'Brien ran with the apaches. He ran and ran, and as his legs grew he glided over the desert earth.
He learned how to hide and to hunt. He learned to leave no tracks, and he learned to live on what he could keep down, and his name was now "Eyes Like the Sky".
His blue eyes showed his father's race. He never wore the white painted face of the slave. He was valued for his stamina and distant vision.
By the time he was 15, he had already killed Mexican troopers, and feared no man.
It is 1864 now, and the American's war has not come to the desert lands. They fight among themselves way off to the North.
The Yavapai-Apaches are still Lords of all they survey. Then one morning, the Americans did come, led by a man holding a leather book with a cross stamped in the leather.
An evil man who did terrible things to people in the name of a God that looked upon the man himself with repulsion.
Miguel ran from his wickiup, half asleep when they attacked.
The rifle butt sent him unconscious.
When he came to, he was trussed up, on his back on the ground, looking up at the Americans. He had not been killed, because they had noticed his blue eyes, and knew he was one of them.
So, at the age of 16, Miguel was back among his father's people, and once more a family he loved had been killed. This time by Americans.
​
Chapter 3:
The Americans took the trussed up boy to a place called Fort Whipple, a fly blown group of tents surrounded by a stone and timber stockade.
An American called Willis was the boss there, and he glared at the man of God as he entered with his captives.
He noticed the boy when he was brought in with a few Yavapai girls, and he looked into the colour of his eyes.
"What do you make of him?", he asked the God man. " he may be the young O'Brien boy, who was lost here years ago, or he could be from the Jebson party that never made it to New Mexico"
Said the God man back.
They named the boy Jebson O'Brien, but the natives and frontiersmen called him Blue because of his eyes, but also because of the awful and most sad expression he carried on his face. The expression of someone who kills with compassion, but not mercy.
Although he was still a boy, the men mostly kept away from him. All except for one, a trapper who understood his skills, and in return fed him and taught him the white man's way.
In a short while he could speak and read, and write their language, and he also added the calm, fast dignity of a gunman to his arsenal.
He was so fast that men treated him with care, but he was slow to anger, and when angry, swift and final in his reply.
In the Arizona desert in the 1860's, he had every skill that you needed to survive.
And he was just 17.
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Chapter 4:
The God man with the Bible was in the back room of the Chapel at Fort Whipple. The God man was deeply engrossed in satisfying his goat-lust with a Yavapai girl. She never said a damn thing, but just leaned over an altar while he defiled her. He held a pistol to her head as he grunted away, and when he was finished, he shoved her towards the outside door.
But the God man never got to fixing his long-johns, or his black trousers. The young man named Blue strode softly up behind him and drove a long-bladed knife into his neck.
Blood spurted into the chalice on the altar, but not the blood of the Christ. Just the blood of the God man.
With a cough, he died and bubbled gurgle. The young man named Blue took the Yavapai girl.
Money, guns, food, two strong horses, and rode into the desert, far away from Fort Whipple.
The God man's body was found, but he was not missed.
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Chapter 5:
For days they traveled, the young man and the Yavapai girl. She told him her name and they spoke in the language. They rode the horses until they gave out.
Then their throats were slit, and meat was taken to eat later. No fires were lit. They ate berries and raw Jackrabbit as well to keep going.
After a week, they relaxed more as the entered Apache area. They saw dust wide off like dust-devils, but they knew it was horses. They could hear shots and no more.
When all was quiet a day later, they moved silently towards the killing ground. The buzzards told them the story before they got there.
Dead white people, a lot of them, maybe half a dozen. Burnt wagons and arrows, but not from one tribe. Some of the arrows were different and shot hoof marks, and moccasin tracks that were shaped like a white man's way of walking.
Some white men had done this loosely disguised as Apache. They took what they could use and walked on. The purple mountains and red ochre earth swallowed them up, and the young man smelt his own blood as they ran and it was a good smell.
The smell of being alive.
Suddenly the girl pitched sideways, and a split second later the young man heard the distant shot. He dived for some rocks and watched as more bullets hit the girl.
The young man looked to her body and as he died, he worked out where the shots were coming from. He knew the death was going to walk on those shooters.
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Chapter 6:
There is one thing a white man should never do, and that is move towards an Apache, because you will never get there.
How do you catch dust in the wind?
The young man saw the way they were coming by the movement of insects and birds, and he knew where to go. Like the snake, he slithered into a dry arroyo and worked behind the shots in an arc.
After a while he saw them: three men, three white men clad in skins, and they walked confidently towards the girl. The young man knew somewhere behind them another one held the horses, making four all together. He moved towards that man.
The killers could wait, let then enjoy the hunt before they went under.
He found the one by the horses, he was young too, and he died quietly with a surprised indignant look on his face.
The young man tied the horses to a tree, and they'd come in handy later, four horses and equipment.
By the girl's body, two men knelt beside her while another stood guard. The guard suddenly cried out as his head exploded in a bubble of pink spray, and he fell forward. The other two went to ground and nervously called out to each other.
"Do you see the bastard?"
"No, he must be close."
But he wasn't.
The Sharps sporting rifle will reach a long way in the right hands. The young man took careful aim and the smaller of the two men felt his right leg blast away.
The bigger, heavier man sank as far into the ground as he could make himself go, but still, he could not see where the young man was.
The young man by now was astride a horse, and making for a Yavapai stronghold half a day's ride away.
He had more guns and horses than he needed, and he knew where two white men were sitting in the desert with no water and no horses. White men dressed as Yavapai-Apaches.
The white men would be calling for their mothers and their God by evening, but the young man would be drunk on tiswin and full of deer meat.
And satisfied by their agony.