[DSS] Power Stone Bloody Roar Guilty Gear phantasy star chuchu rocket code veronica
[SILY2]

whatshappening

Your the 1 Ctrl-alt-delete Jets…fool…. All Aboard Egypt $tack Bundle$ Martin Luther King Day Symone Not worth it We ❤️ Nuja The Sugar Shack Olivia Winters How i met Nola Darling Ms. Robinson Return to the sugar shack Congratulations ☺️
[JCW] The Laughing man Sabbath school (with verse) Bully Neon kitchen Neon Kitchen II Operation: storm front Trophy kids Omega weapon Montebello Highschool Prom The power of madonna Blue Seed Game of the Century 1989
[GenY5/ Generation Y] Generation Y/nilapllik Monade Operation: Kill Chet Haze Lightbulbs Amla Due End to the means Operation: kill luke scott Operation: Kill Hannah Montana Black Materia

fuckcheese

[REP] ジェネレーションY KING I ❤️ you hiphop but i can’t be your girlfriend Capcom vs SNK Quisha A song about Nothing I ❤️ The illuminati Project birdy Project birdy pt 2 Operation: Kill Rap God & Earrings Hoe$ Missing No. BlueChina Pu$$y #1 Y2K Sunday school Andrej Pejić Neon Kitchen 3 27 Club (Feat Joe Chill & Lipstick 411) 2004年9月9日 DIP Deuce Komradz Generation Y 1989 Toonami
[LISA] L.I.S.A. White Girls ❤️ Devon Hendryx Cam Newton Hot Pockets Wendy’s lunch break Up & Down The Suburbs We don’t ❤️ These hoes
[❤️] Shamoo Charli Baltimore Manny Pizzicato 5 Max Payne Fucking your girl Satan
[TGPT] Ballad of a poor man ❤️ HBK Violent fighting to come again Behold! a pale horse MUGEN Porn for Percussion Untitled 1 God bless my homegirls maladaptive day dreaming Neon Kitchen 4 Call me Maybe Pussy #3 Bubblegum Crisis LIARA O Superman Untitled 2 ODB Untitled 3 Piano Baby Sakura Pardon me michael BBTG 2011
Kid Rock Freestyle
[CSJ] Stoop I Used to be into Dope Polly Wavves Sweet dreams Fuccboi Reaper

Newblack PSA

Pimps Once they build a Starbucks Never forget what hipsters did to brooklyn Swirl Rape Culture Japan Bitcoin Assassination R.I.P. Ismaaiyl Brinsley Mothers Milk Lemmy @darkskinmanson Tella Swift Police Brutality Prejudice musical Quarter Life Crisis Thot Jesus Show Police & ——— Interlude Police & ——— Lee daniels Freestyle the last of us Zoe Saldana I wish PAC was still here
[BBC] Drake Era All caps no spaces Digital blackface cuck hold I smell crack You think you know Motor Mouth Black Ben Carson Black Steve Austin Black Stacey Dash What’s Crackin pt 1&2 I just killed a cop now i’m horny plastic Boi Flex the connect The 27 Club LL Cool J Face down Ass up This that shit kid cudi coulda been Jerry’s 2015 was a great year Try me
OMG
[2nd Ammendment] Hop Out the pussy i’m 21 Let’s hit a lick on the white house Bumbopussyrascalat I might vote 4 donald trump Trussmidaddi Big data + the internet ain’t safe Xanny Davis Jr. Rinky 2k Fatal Fury URB Llama mind
Boyz2men
roB Banks
On my own
[TWR] OR7 Clip Dark Wolf Prelude He’s back Once a pon a time Aware i’m a wolf wants and needs Tough decisions
[DSM] Mask on the masters Beautiful Pussy Cops are the target interlude Cops are the target Ham Sammich Flexxx Who shot me? GOMD and tell your bitch to come here MC Ride just got his reparations I Wipe my ass with confederate flags Robitussin Tori Amos I get so lonely without my gat/a different world/ Space to destroy Stephanie Rawlings- Blake BANG (Ode to chief keef) hidden
Wu tang freestyle
Vote with a dollar
Stairwell Freestyle
[Veteran] 1539 N. Calvert Real Nega Thug Tears Dayum Baby i’m bleeding My Thoughts on Neogaf dying Rock N Roll is Dead DD form 214 Germs Libtard anthem Panic emoji DJ Snitch bitch interlude Whole foods Macaulay culkin Williamsburg I cannot fucking wait till morrisey dies Rainbow Six 1488 Curb stomp
ash blunt on my suspended License/ don’t ruin that boy
Free Teanna
Man Purse
this song is a safe space
Starrcade 97
Millennium Freestyle
Does this ski mask make me look fat
Puff Daddy
Pink Slip
[AMHAC] Jesus forgive me i am a thot Kenan vs Kel Beta male strategies JPEGMAFIA Type beat Grimy Waifu PTSD Rap grown old & die X no child left behind All my heroes are cornballs BBW Prone! Life’s hard here’s a song about sorrel Thot tactics Free the frail Post verified Lifestyle Basic bitch tear gas Dots freestyle remix Buttermilk jesus type beat Papi i missed U
Mariah Test Rehearsal
[EP!] Bald! Covered in Money Bodyguard Bald Remix Cutie pie The bends Rough 7 Living single super tuesday
[EP2] Last Dance Fix Urself Keltic This one’s for us Panic Room Feed Her
[LP] Trust Dirty Nemo End Credits Hazard duty pay God don’t like ugly What kinda rapping is this Thots prayer Are u happy Rebound 💯 OG Dikembe Tired nervous and broke 🔥 NICE BMT The Ghost of ranking dread Dam Dam Dam Untitled
[HTBAR] Optimus Prime Fed Flinstone Nintendo switch type beat The Papo untitled (country song) No Service Dirty 30 My hero Devil wears prada Throwaway beat (the last) like it too much Phone Tap Freestyle All this money/ Anna nicole IMX freestyle/ Laugh no cry later mya Blade runner out here slinging
Cero Miedo
DIRT
[STH] Lean Beef Patty Steppa Pig Scaring the hoes garbage pale kids Fentanyl Tester Burfict Shut yo bitch ass up/ muddy waters Orange Juice Jones Kingdom hearts key God loves you Run the Jewels Jack harlow combo meal Heaven on earth Where ya get ya coke from

Sunday, April 30, 2017

I LOVE GOD ALBUM NUMBER TWO SONG FIVE

3:33AM EST - 3:48AM EST
4.30.2017
I LOVE GOD ALBUM TWO SONG FIVE
AN ABRUPTION FROM GOD'S WORD BRINGS CORRUPTION - SLINGS CORRUPTION THIS CORRUPTION IS DISRUPTION THEN COMES DESTRUCTION USING DESTRUCTIVE FORCES AND JUST KNOW THIS INTERRUPTION OF HARMONY WITH GOD PAVES THE WAY TO DEVILISH ERUPTIONS IS THERE ANY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ANTI-CORRUPTION AND INCORRUPTION? GOD'S WORD IS PRODUCTIVE GOD'S WORD IS INSTRUCTIVE FROM THE INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTIVE PERSPECTIVE GOD'S PRODUCTION OF MY GOD GIVEN SOUL I AM SO PROTECTIVE GOD PLEASE HELP ME PROTECT MY SOUL WITHOUT THIS I AM GOING DOWN BELOW
3:53AM EST - 4:09AM EST 4.30.2017
I AM ON GOD'S SQUAD IT IS NO FACADE I GROW WITH THE NICE SQUAD THE THINK TWICE SQUAD DEVILISH CORRUPTION IS THE VICE SQUAD THEY APPLAUD AS THEY DEFRAUD THEY WANT GOD'S WORD OUTLAWED JUST LIKE THE BILL OF RIGHTS THE DEVIL'S PLAN IS SO FLAWED THE PATRIOT ACT STILL GRIPS TIGHT DEAR LORD, MAY WE PLEASE HAVE OUR RIGHTS BACK? JESUS SAID I'LL BE BACK YES SIR WE ALL NEED THAT THE DEVIL HAS BEEN A LIE YES SIR WE ALL SEE THAT HAVE MERCY ON JEB BUSH - ELECTION FRAUD
4:10AM EST - 4:22AM EST 4.30.2017
FOR MY SOUL GOD IS ALWAYS HERE I SAY NOW HE IS ALWAYS NEAR AS GOD'S MUSKETEER THERE IS JUST NOTHING TO FEAR HIS HARMONY NEVER DISAPPEARS BUCKING THE DEMONS FOR GOD - SHADALE THE BUCCANEER I OVERHEAR GOD TELL THE DEMONS THEY ARE JUST PUPPETEERS AND THEY THEMSELVES ARE PUPPETEERED BY WHOM? THE ONE WHOM PURSUES GLOOM AND DOOM CORRUPTION PRODUCES MORE OBSTRUCTIONS OF PEACE, SO USELESS GOD GAVE YOU YOUR SOUL SO WHY ABUSE IT? OR MISUSE IT? WITHOUT GOD...COMES DEVILISH CONFUSION.
Posted by David X Crichton at 12:50 PM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

Friday, April 28, 2017

I LOVE GOD ALBUM SONG FIVE

9:59AM EST - 10:10AM 4.26.2017
I STAY PRAYED UP EVERY DAY? YUP! DRINKING OUT MY FAITH CUP - STAY UP LIARS, DEVILS AND DEMONS RUN HAND IN HAND MAN SPREADING HATE TO MAN THRU MAN ON MAN A TTACKS WITH INJUSTICE IN HAND OH MAN OH MAN THE DEVIL IS A LIE BUT YET YOU ALREADY KNEW THIS SO WHY EVEN CRY? THE DEVIL ATTACKS THE ONES YOU HOLD CLOSELY GOD MY SOUL LIVES FOR YOU
11:41PM EST - 11:49PM
WHEN WE PRAY TO GOD HE IS ALWAYS LISTENING WITH ALL HEARING EARS IF WE ONLY SAW WHAT GOD WAS INTENDING FOR US ON THE SEE SAW IF WE TOOK THE TIME TO TAKE THE TIME TO SEE IT'S GOD HAS OUR BACK TIME THE MAIN REASON I APPRECIATE GOD'S EFFORTS EVERY SEASON I SAY IF WE WERE JUST IN OUR ACTIONS WE TOOK IN THE GOD WE TRUST
WHAT IF GOD'S PLAN WAS NEVER KNOWN TO US? OH MAN OH MAN I I STAND WHERE HE PLANS USING THE SANDS OF TIME I AM STANDING GRAND I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING ONCE I STARTED PER- SUING THE DESTINY WHAT IF WE JUST THOUGHT FOR A SECOND? ABOUT WHAT GOD DOES ONCE I SAW THE TRUTH I DROPPED INTO THE BOOTH RECORDING BLESSED TRUTHS
Posted by David X Crichton at 5:34 PM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest4.25.2017 8:05AM EST -8:28 AM SONG 2 ALBUM ONE
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD IT IS IN OUR ACTIONS THAT PROVES GOD MOVES DOUBT CLOUDS NO ONE IS EXEMPT FROM GOD'S RULE ON OUR PLANET HIS VISIONS I DREAMT WE INTEND TO DO EXACTLY AS GOD WANTS TO SEE DONE HERE K? BRING IT BACK TO THE TIME WHERE WE JUST LOVED SO WE GOOD SPREAD ENERGY DUH THE WHOLE PERIOD OF LIFE IN THIS REALM OF EARTH IS THE ONLY CHANCE PLAY RIGHT
WHAT IF WE JUST SAID THESE THINGS IN OUR HEADS WILL BE JUST AS GOD HAS SAID IF THIS IS NOT TRUE THEN WHAT WILL YOU HAVE DONE FOR YOUR PURPOSE ON EARTH BLUE? IN THIS WORLD OF OURS WE HAVE ONLY TWO OPTIONS PRAY TO EITHER POWER WHICH ONE YOU WILL DO ALWAYS UP TO YOU OH WHAT WILL YOU DO? WHO WILL YOU BECOME? IN THESE DAYS OF OURS SO NUMB GOD'S VISION'S BEEN FUN
WHAT ELSE CAN WE DO? WITH THIS BRIGHT LIFE OF OURS NOW BESTOWED UPON YOU IN THIS HOUR WE MUST BE THE ONES TO BUST IT DOWN THESE CORRUPTED TRUSTS THE ONES WHOM ONLY CARE ABOUT THOSE WITH WHOM THEY SHARE THEY BEING A FEW - A FLARE A FLARE IN ITSELF WHEN THE GOOD PASS YOUNG SO WEALTH EARNED CROOKED SELLS WHAT IF WE JUST LIED? TO OURSELVES AND ALL - ALL ALONG? PEACE WILL HAVE JUST DIED
Posted by David X Crichton at 11:56 AM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

Thursday, April 13, 2017

LET US PRETEND VERSE NOVEL 40MINUTE TRACK IMPROMPTU VERSE 1. 10:10PM EST 4.12.2017 MACH CRICHTON

LET US PRETEND VERSE NOVEL
40MINUTE TRACK IMPROMPTU VERSE 1. 10:10PM EST 4.12.2017 MACH CRICHTON
IMAGINE WALKING ON YOUR PATH WHILE YOU ARE FOLLOWING YOUR DREAM AND ON THIS PATH YOU SEE WHAT EVERYTHING MEANS AND WHEN YOU SEE JUST WHAT EVERYTHING MEANS YOU SEE JUST WHAT EVERYTHING BRINGS YOU SEE JUST WHAT COMES FROM KNOWING THAT YOU SEE WHAT COMES FROM KNOWING THE ONE LYING IN YOUR BODY IT'S YOUR SOUL NO LYING IN YOUR SOUL WHY WOULD YOUR SOUL BE A LIAR? HAVE CONTROL! WHY WOULD YOUR SOUL BE A LIAR? HAVE CONTROL! WHY WOULD YOUR SOUL NOT HAVE CONTROL OVER IT'S NEGATIVE IMPULSES? IT'S DESIRES WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE FOR ATTIRE? HOW DO YOU DRESS YOURSELF? HOW DO YOU ADDRESS YOURSELF? HOW DO YOU ADDRESS OTHERS? HOW DO YOU ADDRESS YOUR MOTHER? AND YOUR BROTHERS? HOW DO YOU ADDRESS LIFE? DO YOU PLAY NICE? DO YOU PLAY NICE? EVEN THOUGH OTHERS DO NOT PLAY NICE EVEN THOUGH OTHERS DO NOT PLAY NICE THEY PLAY WITH SPICE THEY DO NOT THINK TWICE ABOUT PLAYING NICE PLAYING NICE IS NOT IN THEIR RULES THEY HAVE NO RULES THEY ARE FOOLS SO FOOLED IT IS A CIRCUS OUT THERE HAVE ALL OF YOUR TOOLS THERE IS NO FIGHTING NO MORE JUST TOOLS THERE IS NO SLIGHTING NO MORE JUST OOHS GOT THE CROWD WITH THE OOHS AND AHS FROM THE CROWDS AND THE AHS AND OOZE LIKE THE WIZARD OF OZ AND I AM JUST HERE FOR THE WIZARD IN US THERE IS A WIZARD INSIDE OF YOU CAN YOU PULL HIM OUT? ARE YOU FULLY IN THE NOW? WHO ARE YOU FOOLING WITH THE LIES YOU ARE TELLING ME WHO ARE YOU TELLING YOUR LIES TO? THE LIES YOU ARE TELLING ME LIES GOT ME YELLING THEN YOU BOOED IF I LIKED TO BE LIED TO I WOULD JUST WATCH THE NEWS CNN HAS ALWAYS HAD A LIE FOR YOUR PAST ABC THEN FOX AND CBS CBS WOULD HAVE BEEN BOUGHT BY BILL COSBY WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO BILL COSBY ANYWAY IT GOES DO NOT CROSS ME AT LAST MY FAMILY DOUBLE CROSSED ME COINCIDENTALLY I AM THE ARTIST TOSSING CREATIVE THOUGHTS OUT OF MY BRAIN I AM BOSSING SITTING ON A 100 MILLION DOLLAR TRAIN COSTING SHOUT OUT JUAN ACOSTA A FRIEND FROM RICHMOND HEIGHTS MIDDLE SCHOOL IN MIAMI ANYWAY IT GOES I AM GOING TO GET THE GRAMMYS TO INVITE ME BECAUSE MY LADY IS PERFORMING THERE A SONG I WROTE FOR HER IT IS CLEAR SHE IS GOING TO SING AS SHE CLEARS THE AIR ON WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE IN THIS COUNTRY JUST FOR FUN DO NOT TOUCH ME DO NOT RUSH ME DO NOT CRUNCH ME IT IS CRUNCH TIME I AM JUST CRUNCHING IT IS LUNCH TIME I AM JUST LUNCHING IT IS MUNCH TIME I AM JUST MUNCHING CARPETS HMH I AM NOT CARPET BAGGING ANYWAY IT GOES I AM STRAIGHT LOFT HAVING AND BAGGING MORE AND BAGS AND MORE AND I BUY THE THINGS I WANT TO BUT RIGHT NOW I CAN NOT BUY THE THINGS I WANT TO BUT IT IS COOL SLUSHY IT IS JUST THE PATH THAT I TOOK AND I AM THE ARTIST I AM NOT THE CROOK WHY WOULD I DO THINGS THAT PUT MY LIFE IN DANGER? WHY WOULD I DO THINGS THAT PUT MY LIFE IN STRANGER'S HANDS REFERRING TO THE JUDGE THE LAW ENFORCEMENT AND THE LEGAL THUGS SENDING OUT LEGAL SLUGS AND THEY LEGALLY GET AWAY WITH ILLEGAL SLUGS THEN GET A PAID VACATION MAN
Posted by David X Crichton at 6:44 AM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

CFK EXCERPT August 28th 215 304am

CFK Part FIVE
August 28th 215 304am
Because they wouldn't let him speak The crowd applauded him for twenty two minutes The stadium reeked Of the love of those in political attendance The delegates Found his participation relevant Their love for him was evident So they would pay no worship to the garish sun
Why Bobby cried after speaking of me on the 1964 democratic convention?
August 28th 215 319am
It was a moral issue And I had some moral tissue Deep in the marrow And while I can ride with the top back in a camaro They get talked to the back of the bus And now they're making a big fuss Even though Tommy Wallace is slinging more than bigotry cuss Words and hate energy And its all on TV What an itch And if I scratch it Some southern conservative delegates may begin UN latching And run to the UN But they can kiss my bunions like funions fresh out the oven dipped in Robitussin
Why civil rights was such an issue for me?
August 28th 215 335am
They were trying to get themselves killed What the bus were they thinking? I don't know for my anger was stinking Up the room I wasn't thrilled They were riding around violent people Begging for ignorance but praying for deliverance As if everything would be fine From the same evil they got too close to Then I sent my aide down there and it seems he got too close too Bc he got hit with a pipe And then I put down mine
Why the freedom rides pissed me off?
August 28th 340am
Because I was the best No contest After the contest Only contrast No comparison But that Phony ass Secret service team let my life get blasted And then my sex scandals disappeared as my clean legacy lasted
Why my press secretary heard my name every day from November 23rd 1963 on?
August 28th 215 355am
Because they love me I mean Isn't it easy to see? Im not mean Aka Nixon They love me They love my diction They love my non fiction Way of being Way of seeing Life as it ought to be They walked the lots to see And be as possibly Close to me as we candidly Connect As people Bet
Why I love the crowds
August 28th 215 149pm
What do you mean? Oh what do you mean Whether her name was Geraldine Or Geraldine We are going to intertwine Oh yes I gets mine Even though I have the sexiest wife on life
Why I love the women
August 28th 215 221pm
Aw she was so awesome Aw so sexy indeed So discrete In her discriminating Of political figures The political jitters She gets Even though Its even though She still frets At the thought of standing in at political junctions She knew her function To try to make me whole again when Humpty Dumpty and his goons in the storm drain dumped on me
Why I love Jackie
August 28th 215 230pm
Ah the thrill January 2nd 1960 The day it got jiggy in a jiffy Mrs. Piggy come and get me briskly I didn't know three years later I would be killed And the evidence sealed But on the 2nd I revealed My intentions to spark the brains of those born of the new deal And the new frontier That's what I have to call it when I get there Lord knows in my mind I have been there Why does any man aim to achieve higher rank in his profession ? I believe the presidency is the elemental source of action not power is what I am stressing Sorry to keep you guessing Bc on July 15th the DNC knew it was me I ATTAINED those 61 remaining delegates easily Those extra 4 only nudged me To the top now Lyndon Johnson is budging I think Senator Kennedy is a fine young man My ass November 22nd in Dallas would prove my past Came back to haunt me Oh I had to taunt thee Southern Delegates By having a Vice President with many southern delegates Making up his 400 delegates He took to the convention And his great society got stuck in detention Retention Rejection But he was from Texas And I needed Texas Dumb Texas To win the south in the last race I would ever face But I had a taste Of no disgrace Just this grace Fidel is about to get his morning milkshake laced Too bad the pill got frozen in place in the case
Why I love winning
August 28th 215 245pm
Are you serious? I never lost a single race Wait im delirious I lost one But I cost one Hundred thousand plus people to see me for what I could be My star quality Boss son Accent from Boston From the east to the west Teddy and I got it popping RFK hooking up nationwide telephone nets non stopping So who is sweating? Nixon is getting So nervous he had to hit every single state He made history by being the first to campaign in all 50 states and he fairly lost 10yrs+ before he resigned from his second term in disgrace
Why I love the campaigns
August 28th 215 255pm
They make me look so official you know? I seem so heavily protected All nonsense is getting rejection Don't make the suitcase man hit the ejection Button releasing the unconditional Affection and attention Of a sub machine gun being pointed need I mention Its pointed at you Either respect or hit the deck and crawl out the entrance And they hide my pills and injections sent by Dr. Jacobson
Why I like the secret service?
August 28th 215
Why I dislike the secret service?
Why I love the secret service?
Why I hate the secret service?
Why Governor Connolly rode with Jack in the motorcadePosted by David X Crichton at 5:00 AM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

Monday, April 10, 2017

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO 2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017 PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON CHAPTER THREE

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO
2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017
PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON
CHAPTER THREE:
LET US PRETEND, FOR THE LAST SEVEN YEARS, YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS DID NOT MOCK YOUR AMBITIONS. LET US PRETEND, FOR THE LAST SEVEN YEARS, YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS DID NOT LAUGH AT YOUR AMBITIONS. LET US PRETEND, THAT FOR THE LAST SEVEN YEARS YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS NEVER HECKLED, HARASSED, OR POKED AND PRODDED YOU ABOUT YOUR AMBITIONS. LET US PRETEND, THAT WHEN YOU COMMITTED TO LIFE AS AN ARTIST, IT WAS NOT MET WITH SERIOUS RESISTING DEBATE. LET US PRETEND, WHEN YOU CHOSE TO FOLLOW YOUR HEART, THEY DID NOT GIVE YOU HELL FOR IT. LET US PRETEND, WHEN YOU CHOSE TO PURSUE YOUR DESTINY THE WAY IT WAS MEANT FOR YOU, YOU FOLLOWED YOUR HEART, LET US PRETEND YOU RECIEVED 100% SUPPORT. LET US PRETEND WHEN YOU CHOSE TO BE LED TO THE LEGACY YOU SO INTENDED FOR YOURSELF YOU WERE NOT SEEN AS STUPID. LET US PRETEND WHEN YOU CHOSE TO SEE YOUR DESTINY THE WAY YOUR HEART SAW FIT, LET US PRETEND 100% SUPPORT WAS POSSIBLE. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT BELIVE IN YOUR ASPIRATIONS TO BE THE BEST. LET US PRETEND 100% IS ALMOST NOT FEASIBLE OR PLAUSIBLE. LET US PRETEND, THAT WHEN YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO BE THE BEST, BUT YOU WERE NOT IN COLLEGE FOR IT, THEY DID NOT GRIEVE OVER YOUR DECISIONS. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT GIVE YOU GRIEF OVER YOUR HEARTFELT DECISION. LET US PRETEUS, WHEN YOU CHOSE TO FOLLOW YOUR HEART SEVEN YEARS AGO, YOU DID NOT SUBSTANTIALLY IMPROVE AT YOUR CRAFT AND WHAT IS HAPPENING NOW IS IN FACT NOT HAPPENING. LET US PRETEND, WHAT IS HAPPENING NOW IS NOT ACTUALLY HAPPENING. EVEN THOUGH YOU DID NOT REACH THIS POINT OF CREATIVE ACHIEVEMENT. LET US PRETEND YOU DO NOT HAVE PROJECTS TO SHOW FOR THE LAST SEVEN YEARS OF YOUR EFFORT. LET US PRETEND WHAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF NOW, YOU MIGHT NOT BE CAPABLE OF IT EVEN THOUGH YOU STILL FOLLOWED YOUR HEART. HIGHLY UNLIKELY. LET US PRETEND, YOU HAVE NOT BEGAN PROPERLY BRANDING YOURSELF. LET US PRETEND, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN CONDUCTING MARKET RESEARCH FOR YOUR WRITING ON YOUR BLOGS FOR PEOPLE TO OBSERVE THEM AND TO DECIDE ON WHETHER OR NOT THEY WOULD LIKE TO SUPPORT YOUR WRITING. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE OVER 100 50-100 PAGE PUBLICATIONS. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE 10 WRITTEN VERSE NOVELS SELF PUBLISHED. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER 10 WRITTEN VERSE NOVELS SELF PUBLISHED. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER 10 NOVELS AFTER THAT SELF PUBLISHED. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER 10 NOVELS AFTER THAT SELF PUBLISHED. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE 10 SELF HELP BOOKS JUST FOR MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE ANOTHER TEN SELF HELP BOOKS FOR HIGH SCHOOLERS. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE A 200PG COLLECTION OF EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE NARRATIVE AND EXPOSITORY JUST FOR ELEMENTARY STUDENTS. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE A BOOK JUST FOR 9TH GRADERS. LET US PRETEND, 10-12TH GRADERS DO NOT HAVE BOOKS FROM YOU JUST FOR THEM LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE PLANS FOR A BOOK FOR THOSE SAME STUDENTS WHEN THEY ARE IN COLLEGE OR THE WORKFORCE. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE 24HRS OF A VIDEO DIARY FROM 2015 ALONE CONVERTED TO AUDIO. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE AN AUDIO DIARY FOR 2016. LET US PRETEND, YOU ARE NOT PREPARING YOUR 2017 AUDIO DIARY. LET US PRETEND, YOU DO NOT HAVE MORE THAN 10 ACTIVELY SELF PUBLISHING PEN NAMES. LET US PRETEND, EVERY PEN NAME DOES NOT CREATE AT LEAST 10 DIFFERENT VOLUMES OF THOUGHT IN THEIR OWN ARTISTIC PORTFOLIO. LET US PRETEND, EVERY VOLUME OF THOUGHT IS NOT COMPRISED OF THREE VOLUMES. LET US PRETEND, THESE THREE VOLUMES ARE NOT 150 PAGES WHEN COMBINED OR 50 PAGES A VOLUME. LET US PRETEND, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN WRITING A 50 PAGE VOLUME OF THOUGHT ONCE A MONTH. LET US PRETEND.Posted by David X Crichton at 8:19 PM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO 2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017 PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON CHAPTER TWO:

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO
2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017
PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON
CHAPTER TWO:
LET US PRETEND YOU DID NOT COME FROM A BROKEN HOME. LET US PRETEND YOUR PARENTS STAYED MARRIED AT LEAST UNTIL YOU WERE AN ADULT. LET US PRETEND YOUR PARENTS STAY MARRIED AT LEAST UNTIL YOU WERE A TEENAGER. LET US PRETEND YOUR PARENTS STAYED TOGETHER AS LONG AS YOU WERE STILL A MINOR. LET US PRETEND YOUR PARENTS STAYED TOGETHER PAST AGE 10. LET US PRETEND YOUR PARENTS STAYED TOGETHER PAST AGE 8. LET US PRETEND YOUR PARENTS STAYED MARRIED PAST THE AGE OF 7. LET US PRETEND YOU WERE NOT FORCED TO LEARN THE LESSON FIRSTHAND AS TO WHY IT WAS SO IMPORTANT TO BE A GREAT FATHER AND A GOOD IDEA TO STAY IN YOUR CHILD'S LIFE. LET US PRETEND YOU WERE NOT FORCED TO DEAL WITH AND DID NOT HAVE TO WITNESS THE EFFECTS A BROKEN HOME HAS ON A CHILD THRU A 1ST PERSON PERSPECTIVE. LET US PRETEND YOU DID NOT HAVE TO GO YOUR WHOLE LIFE MINUS YOUR FIRST 7 YEARS WITHOUT PATERNAL PARTICIPATION IN YOUR LIFE. LET US PRETEND YOU ALWAYS HAVE FELT LOVED BY YOUR FATHER. LET US PRETEND YOU NEVER GREW UP FEELING AS IF YOUR FATHER HAS ABANDONED YOU. LET US PRETEND THAT DID NOT HAUNT YOU. LET US PRETEND THE FACT YOU MAKE MOVIES TODAY IS NOT SOMEHOW RELATED TO THE FACT YOU AND YOUR DAD ALWAYS WATCHED MOVIES TOGETHER. YOU HAVE MANY MEMORIES OF WATCHING MOVIES WITH YOUR DAD. LET US PRETEND MANY OF THE MEMORIES YOU HAVE OF YOUR FAVORITE MOVIES DID NOT OCCUR AROUND YOUR FATHER. LET US PRETEND THE DAY YOU FIRST SAW AUSTIN POWERS INTERNATIONAL MAN OF MYSTERY DID NOT HAPPEN AT YOUR DADS HOUSE. LET US PRETEND AUSTIN POWERS WAS NOT A BIG MOVIE TO YOU. LET US PRETEND AUSTIN POWERS WAS NOT ONE OF THE FIRST MOVIES YOU WATCHED WHERE YOU JUST NOTICED A SPARK IN YOUR BRAIN WITH MOVIES. WHEN YOU SAW AUSTIN POWERS, YOUR PERCEPTION OF WHAT A MOVIE WAS CHANGED FOREVER. LET US PRETEND THIS IS NOT TRUE. IT IS AN UNKNOWN FACT. LET US PRETEND AUSTIN POWERS IS NOT A MAIN INFLUENCE IN HOW YOU PERCEIVE A MOVIE. LET US PRETEND THAT ONCE YOU SAW AUSTIN POWERS YOUR PERCEPTION OF MOVIES WAS NOT DIFFERENT. IT MADE YOU REALLY APPRECIATE IT FOR BEING THAT TYPE OF MOVIE. LET US PRETEND YOU DID NOT EAT DINNER WITH A MOVIE AT YOUR DAD'S APARTMENT. LET US PRETEND YOUR DAD DID NOT BUY YOU BOOTLEGGED MOVIES LIKE MEN IN BLACK AND JURASSIC PARK III. LET US PRETEND HE NEVER TOOK YOU TO OCEANIC VIDEO'S GRAND CLOSING SALE WHERE YOU BOUGHT JAWS 3. IT WAS NOT AS GOOD AS JAWS BUT STILL. LET US PRETEND HIS GIRLFRIEND DENETTE MARTIN NEVER BOUGHT YOU LIAR LIAR ON VHS. LET US PRETEND YOUR DAD NEVER TOOK YOU TO THE CINEMAS. LET US PRETEND YOU NEVER SAW THE LOST WORLD JURASSIC PARK, JURASSIC PARK III AND LIAR LIAR WITH YOUR DAD IN THE CINEMAS. LET US PRETEND YOUR DAD WANTED TO SEE RUSH HOUR 2 IN THE CINEMAS. LET US REMEMBER WATCHING CON AIR WITH YOUR FATHER. REMEMBER WATCHING NOTHING TO LOSE AND MONEY TALKS AT HIS APARTMENT IN CULTER RIDGE. LET US REMEMBER ALL OF THE MOVIES HE HAD IN HIS ROOM. LET US REMEMBER, THE MANY SPARKS YOU FELT OF CINEMATIC BLISS, IN HIS COMPANY. AS HIS COMPANY. LET US PRETEND THE LOVE CHADFILMS HAS FOR MOVIES WAS NOT CULTIVATED BY HIS FAMILY, INCLUDING HIS FATHER. LET US PRETEND THAT AFTER THE DIVORCE, YOUR LOVE FOR MOVIES DID NOT INTENSIFY. LET US PRETEND AFTER THE DIVORCE YOU DID NOT COPE WITH YOUR PAIN WITH MOVIES. LET US PRETEND AFTER THE DIVORCE YOU NEVER STOPPED WATCHING MOVIES AS YOU DID WITH YOUR DAD AFTER HE LEFT. LET US PRETEND, YOUR BROTHER JUSTIN DID NOT TAKE ON THE RESPONSIBILITY OF ENGAGING MOVIES WITH YOU. LET US PRETEND.
Posted by David X Crichton at 5:22 PM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO 2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017 PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON CHAPTER ONE:

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO
2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017
PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON
CHAPTER ONE:
LET US PRETEND, THE GREATEST ACHIEVEMENTS I HAVE MADE TO MY CREATIVE ARTISTRY PORTFOLIO, LET US PRETEND THOSE ACHIEVEMENTS WERE NOT ACHIEVED IN TIMES OF GREAT DANGER. LET US PRETEND SOME OF THE GREATEST BOOKS I HAVE CREATED WERE NOT CREATED DURING MY EXPERIENCING SOME OF WORLD'S WORST EMOTION. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT OCCUR DURING TIMES OF THE WORST PAIN. LET US PRETEND THE PHONE GIRL BOOK DID NOT ARISE FROM THE PHONE GIRL SITUATION. LET US PRETEND THE CFK NOVELS DID NOT ARISE FROM THE PAIN FROM THE JFK ASSASSINATION RESEARCH PERIOD. LET US PRETEND CLEVER LAND HAD JUST BEGUN. LET US PRETEND CLEVER LAND AND CLEVER FIELD WERE NOT CREATED UNTIL AFTER I FOUND OUT I WAS THE VICTIM OF IDENTITY THEFT AND STOLEN TAX RETURNS AT THE HANDS OF MY OLDEST BROTHER. LET US PRETEND I DID NOT HAVE TO STOP WORKING ON CLEVER LAND UNTIL I WAS IN A BETTER EMOTIONAL STATE AS TO BETTER CREATE THE EMOTIONALLY REQUIRED CONTENT. LET US PRETEND THAT THE WAY YOU FEEL IS THE WAY YOU WRITE. LET US PRETEND CLEVER LAND REQUIRED EMOTION I WAS NOT FEELING AT THAT MOMENT. LET US PRETEND ROTTEN APPLE IS A BOOK I WROTE DURING THIS TIME WHEN I STOPPED CLEVER LAND. ROTTEN APPLE IS A BOOK MY MOM MADE ME PROMISE HER I WOULD NOT RELEASE IT UNTIL SHE WAS NO LONGER ALIVE. I WROTE IT TO EXPRESS IT, NOT TO RELEASE IT COMMERCIALLY. LET US PRETEND I DID NOT HAVE TO GET THAT HORRIBLE EMOTION OFF OF ME. LET US PRETEND I WAS NOT ALREADY WORKING ON A STORY WHEN I HAD TO STOP WORKING ON THAT STORY TO WORK ON A STORY REPRESENTING MY CURRENT EMOTION. LET US PRETEND THE EMOTION INTERRUPTING MY LIFE CAN INTERRUPT A STORY I AM ALREADY WORKING ON. IT DOES NOT MATCH THE EMOTION OF THE CURRENT STORY YET IT INTERRUPTS MY CONNECTION TO THE NEEDED EMOTION FOR THE STORY. LET US PRETEND CLEVER LAND WAS NOT WRITTEN DURING THE TIME I WAS PREPARING FOR LIFE IN THE NAVY. I FAILED THE EYE EXAM IN MARCH 2016. I WAS ALWAYS GOING TO FAIL THE EYE EXAM. LET US PRETEND SOME OF THE FIRST BOOKS I CREATED WITHOUT WRITING THEM DID NOT OCCUR WHILE LIVING WITH MY OLDER BROTHER. LET US PRETEND I HAVE NOT HAD DIARIES SINCE THE PHONE GIRL SITUATION OCCURED IN MAY 2015. LET US PRETEND EVER SINCE THE PHONE GIRL SITUATION I HAVE NOT KEPT FULL DIARIES AND THEY HAVE NOT HELD MUCH PAIN DUE TO THE FORMAT IN WHICH THEY WERE CREATED. REGARDLESS OF THE CONTENT. LET US PRETEND THAT THE GREATER MY CREATIVE LEAPS AND BOUNDS WERE, THE GREATER THE EMOTIONAL PAINS I FELT AND THE HARSHER THE SENTENCE I WAS TO LIVE OUT. LET US PRETEND THAT THE MOMENT WHERE I SQUIRM WITH THE EMOTION I YEARN TO NOT SPURN OUT OF ME. CAN ONLY BE STILLED BY SITTING STILL AND REMAINING CHILLED. WITH THE ONLY DESIRE TO KILL IS TO KILL THE POINT ON THE PAGE AFTER THE JOINT COLLAPSES. THE PAIN IS CONNECTED TO THE GAIN...SYNAPSES.Posted by David X Crichton at 4:16 PM No comments: 📷 Email This BlogThis!Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO 2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017 PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON

I DECLARE CREATIVE WARFARE TRILOGY MANIFESTO
2:30AM EST MONDAY 4.10.2017
PEN NAME MACHIAVELLIAN CRICHTON
THE GENRE OF THE SERIES OF BOOKS UNDER THIS PEN NAME WOULD BE A MACHIAVELLIAN VERSION OF THE UCA PHILOSOPHY.
THE INTRODUCTION:
LET US PRETEND THINGS WERE ALWAYS EASY. LET US PRETEND THAT ON THIS ROAD WE TRAVERSED FOR OH SO LONG, THERE WERE NEVER TRAITORS IN THE MIDST. LET US PRETEND WE NEVER HAD TO DEAL WITH LIARS. LET US PRETEND WE WERE NEVER CRIERS. LET US PRETEND WE WERE NEVER FORCED TO UTTER THE TRUE WORDS CAUSING ANOTHER TO SHED TEARS. LET US PRETEND THEY GAVE A HOOVER DAM ABOUT US. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT HAVE A GLOW IN THEIR EYES WHEN THEY HURT YOUR FEELINGS. LET US PRETEND THERE WAS NO GLOW! LET US PRETEND THERE WAS NOT A WHIFF OF SATISFACTION IN THEIR MOMENTUM. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT SEEM PLEASED AT THEIR OWN ACTIONS. LET US PRETEND WHEN THEY HAD LEVERAGE OVER US, THEY DID NOT USE IT ANY AND EVERY TIME THEY EVER WANTED TO. LET US PRETEND THAT THEY SAW US AS EQUALS. LAUGHS. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT JUDGE US BASED ON THE AMOUNT OF MONEY WE HAD AVAILABLE AT OUR OWN DISPOSAL. OUR DISPOSABLE INCOME. LET US PRETEND THEY DID NOT ARGUE WITH US OVER OUR OWN DISPOSABLE INCOME OR OVER WHAT THEY THOUGHT SHOULD BE OUR DISPOSABLE INCOME. LET US PRETEND THERE WERE NEVER ANY ARGUMENTS WHATSOEVER OVER OUR OWN DISPOSABLE INCOME. LET US PRETEND. LET US PRETEND THEY DID THE RIGHT THING FOR THE SITUATION AND EVERY SITUATION. LET US PRETEND THEY HELD THEMSELVES ACCOUNTABLE FOR BEING PROPERLY CONDUCIVE. LET US PRETEND THAT THERE WAS NO GLOW. Posted by David X Crichton at 3:49 PM No comments

The Cards Against Humanity card lab has been updated, and with it, a whopping 800+ new cards to try out. I've managed to compile many of them here, though there are no doubt a few lurking around that I missed.

Noticeably, there are no new black cards. Additionally, some of the cards appear to be slight updates of cards from past decks, or match themes from earlier packs. This, and the content of the cards, leads me to believe that there are a couple of possible scenarios for this batch of new cards, with more than one scenario being able to occur simultaneously:

Existing sets are about to get a massive white card card update.
An all-new white card box is on the way.
An all-new absurd box is on the way.
A Catholicism or Christianity pack may be in the works.
A prison/crime pack may be in the works.
Another America/politics pack may be in the works.
There are new black cards, but they haven't been added to the card lab yet in order to reduce testing variables.

In any event, don't expect all or even most of these cards to become reality. You'll notice a lot of cards share a premise or one or two words with one another, and usually these get narrowed down to the best of the batch during the testing process. There are also a fair amount of cards that aren't quite good yet, that will likely be cut or change.

The new cards are as follows:

10 guys who come to your house, disassemble you, and place you in an easy-to-carry pouch.

14,562 unread emails.

45 identical girls named Maddie.

7-11 brand synthetic marijuana.

A $2 handjob.

A 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom anus.

A 2 mph police chase.

A FOX News bimbo.

A Yankee Candle.

A balloon animal shaped like my dad.

A basketball-sized meatball.

A better-than-average McChicken.

A big wet kiss on the eyeball.

A big, ugly cow.

A blood-catnip count of .09.

A blood-curdling orgasm.

A bobblehead collection.

A bucket of guts.

A butthole with a monocle.

A centaur that’s half camel, half Ellen DeGeneres.

A clam that contains an ecstasy tablet instead of a pearl.

A cock vein that spells out ‘FedEx’.

A colostomy bag.

A complete success.

A completely incorrect celebrity impression.

A corny motherfucker.

A couple of dudes I graduated with.

A couple of old men.

A crazy night in Vegas with all the guys from Halliburton.

A dastardly ruse.

A dead chimpanzee wearing Green Bay Packers perch.

A degree from Harvard in Being A Hobo.

A detective that sits in his car honking his horn until the murderer climbs into his car on their own.

A disease you get by shaking hands with an ape.

A dramatic Vince Vaughn role.

A dreary Tuesday morning.

A fat stack of Benjamins.

A flight attendant frantically asking if anyone on the plane is a zookeeper.

A flock of ducks flying out of my pants.

A goat named Penis.

A gorgeous Spaniard with a rose between his teeth.

A guy in a baseball cap ranting in his truck.

A guy that is keen to meet a mule.

A hairy, stinky 36-year-old guy who bases his personality on Deadpool.

A hand-me-down catheter.

A heartfelt rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner.”

A highly flamboyant turkey.

A horse riding another horse.

A house divided.

A huge Family Guy tattoo.

A huge pride flag flying off a jacked-up diesel pickup truck.

A hybrid coding/fat camp.

A jar of teeth.

A kindly old watchmaker.

A land-speed record.

A little guy who eats only Slim Jims.

A lone gunman.

A long, silent walk to the gallows.

A luxurious abortion experience.

A major fuckin’ chump.

A masked man cresting the hill.

A mesmerizing zoetrope.

A mild case of ebola.

A moment of romance with an uncle.

A mouthful of mice.

A nest filled with baby birds, lizards, and kittens.

A never-ending supply of San Pellegrino.

A new type of snail.

A nubile young iguana.

A pack of wolves.

A passionate conjugal visit.

A pedicure, but for your dick.

A perfectly ordinary object, like a pen.

A permanent erection.

A pet name for a tumor.

A pile of meat for the family.

A pubic hair fade.

A pumpkin that can dream.

A ray of hope.

A real page-turner of a John Grisham novel.

A really, really bad drum solo.

A rejected marriage proposal.

A round of Mario Kart.

A sample platter of cum.

A sampler platter of cum.

A sexy sounding fart.

A shell of a man.

A shout-out to all the boys back home.

A simple, steady guitar riff that drives the whole song.

A sincere apology.

A six-pack ass.

A snail with the mind of an ape.

A soggy, limp handshake.

A stampede of the elderly.

A statue of the Virgin Mary weeping orange juice.

A stern British nanny.

A strong social support system.

A sun-faded calendar from 2004.

A super futuristic-looking pussy.

A syringe filled with poop.

A thrilling caper.

A tiny tanning bed for just your penis.

A tip of the fedora to m’lady.

A toast to love!

A toiny fookin’ baby, nasty liddle ‘fing, innit?

A variety of jams, jellies, and marmalades.

A vaudeville duo named Pervert & Helper.

A weekend of debauchery at the bakehouse.

A welcome mat that says, “Welbaum.”

A whoopie cushion that spews actual feces.

A wild weekend at Claire’s Boutique with the guys.

A wolf that turns into a different wolf during the full moon.

A world-class stamp collection.

AP Sex Education.

Acts of God.

Airdropping nudes to my priest.

Alien abduction.

All three branches of the U.S. government.

Amelia Bedelia’s luge medals from the Sochi Olympics.

An Applebee’s that’s 10x bigger on the inside than it is out on the outside.

An Arbor Day Miracle!

An IV drip of orange soda.

An Italian man who won’t stop screaming.

An X-ray of a Buzz Lightyear doll stuck in someone’s ass.

An acceptable amount of incest.

An ass tattoo that says “hello.”

An elderly polycule.

An indifferent battle with cancer.

An open-concept dungeon.

An opinion piece about how moss is just OK.

An unflattering photo of me getting eaten out by a possum wearing a tuxedo.

An unsuccessful face transplant.

Answering “what?” To every question on a test.

Apple-cheeked wenches.

Asking my parent/guardian to sign my permission slip for an orgy.

Ass dimples.

Ass meat.

Assassinating a specific sandhill crane.

Assembling all suspects in the parlor to reveal the killer.

Baking soda volcanoes.

Baptizing a baby in clam chowder.

Barreling down the highway.

Barstool Sports.

Becoming gay after seeing a billboard that says “Homosexuality: Try It Out.”

Being 1000 years old.

Being a Black man in America.

Being an absolute girlboss.

Being blinded by a super shiny penis head.

Being cringe.

Being down for whatever.

Being random xD.

Being so, so tired.

Being very boring.

Big business.

Bitch Awareness month.

Bleeps and bloops.

Blossoming sexuality.

Blowing into a vagina like it’s a Nintendo cartridge.

Body shaming.

Bold flavors.

Boris Yeltsin.

Boston.

Bottomless mimosas.

Bravery in battle.

Braving the storm.

Bravo’s Real Housewives Of Darfur.

Breaking a cock in half and sucking the juice out of it like a crawfish.

Breaking the Unabomber out of prison.

Bugle Boy jeans.

Building my brand.

Bushmeat.

Butt froth.

Buttery goodness.

Calling a 4-year-old child a fascist bimbo.

Capturing and killing an actual leprechaun.

Casual treason.

Cat and dog pelts.

Catcalling.

Chanting “Breasts! Breasts! Breasts!” At the strip club.

Chaperoning an orgy.

Charging a vibrating dildo in a Starbucks power outlet.

Cheating at a wet t-shirt contest.

Cheating on my wife with my clone.

Chilling in an MRI machine.

Christian Girl Autumn.

Churning a barrel of diarrhea down at the feces farm.

Clams, literally trillions of clams.

Clumps.

Communicating in grunts and whistles.

Compelling evidence.

Competitive shitting.

Computer troubles.

Conflicting but simultaneous truths.

Conjoined octuplets.

Consummating my marriage in a corn maze.

Contemplating someone else’s suicide.

Cookies.

Crab rangoon.

Crabs running amok.

Cries for help.

Crisis management.

Crooning and thrusting my hips and shimmying for all my fans.

Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young, and Kissinger.

Cruising.

Crust punks.

Crying on the toilet.

Crying “Yes, Father!” While getting spanked.

Cuddling with all your coworkers.

Curtseying before ordering at Chipotle.

Curtsying as I unload a gallon of diarrhea into the toilet.

Dad’s friend, Greg T.

Dad’s golf buddy, Gordon.

Dallas, Texas.

Dark family secrets.

Dating someone twice your age.

Death threats.

Deodorant stains.

Destiny.

Destroying evidence.

Developing tinnitus from a single, deafening fart.

Dice games.

Diet Coke.

Dipping into my savings.

Ditching my kids at the playground and going to Kohl’s!!!!!

Doing a cannonball into a mass grave.

Doing a cannonball into a volcano.

Doing a ropes course in a BDSM harness.

Doing it up right.

Doing just fine, thanks.

Doing my Donald Duck voice on the suicide hotline.

Doing the bidding of the Señora.

Doing time.

Dollar wings night.

Donkey Kong’s cousin Francis.

Doo woo a top dee doo be doo, bowwww!

Dracula and Friends.

Dredging the lake for bodies.

Drinking and watching TV.

Drivers ed.

Dropping a casket.

Drunkenly eating a whole box of uncooked spaghetti.

Dry cleaning Nancy Pelosi’s kente cloth.

Dumping my kids off at school.

Dunking.

Earning checks and breaking necks.

Eating a handful of toenails.

Eating a strip of turf like a steak.

Eating a whole jar of gherkins in one sitting.

Eating cysts like grapes.

Elegance.

Emailing the president to ask if you can use the toilet in your own home.

Emotional intelligence.

Emotional labor.

Ensure with a splash of Kahlúa.

Espresso martinis.

Experimenting with my sexuality.

Extra-thick condoms for those who are allergic to pussy.

Facial recognition technology.

Falling into a pit toilet.

Fanning the queen with palm fronds.

Feeling good as hell.

Feeling just peachy!

Feeling lithe and sensual.

Feeling your own tits.

Fellating my superiors.

Female troubles.

Fenway Park.

Financial support from Grandmama.

Finger banging.

Firing a NERF gun into the air.

Five Oprahs.

Flamenco music.

Flintstones erotic fan fiction.

Flirting with the doctor to score a free tongue depressor.

Flo from the Progressive ads.

Flushing a perfectly good piss down the toilet.

Fog.

Folk music.

Fondue.

Forgiveness.

Forsaking God.

Free restaurant mints.

Fresh ass meat.

Frowning all the time.

Fuckboys Without Borders.

Fucking my own asshole with my cock.

Gallons and gallons of blood.

Generational trauma.

Genitalia that’s just a hairy smiley face on a mound of skin.

Gentrifying the Arctic.

Getting Mardi Gras beads for flashing my tumor.

Getting cum on my khakis right before the big meeting!

Getting disassembled and placed in an easy-to-cary pouch.

Getting executed for no reason.

Getting fingered to the Iron & Wine cover of “Such Great Heights”.

Getting horny and googling “huGe boosbs pennis loudd kiSSiNg.”

Getting jiggly with it.

Getting mooned by a loved one.

Getting mummified in Skittles wrappers.

Getting my SAT score as a tramp stamp.

Getting my boobs surgically worsened.

Getting naked in front of your pets.

Getting nasty with it.

Getting ratio’d.

Getting ripped in half like a wishbone by a big pair of twin boys.

Getting struck by lightning nine or ten times.

Giggling and jiggling and wiggling and screaming.

Giving a thumbs up to democracy.

Giving up on the Heimlich maneuver after one thrust.

Glassblowing.

God’s ass slowly pushing through the clouds.

God’s boyfriend, Jeff The Liar.

Going bald in a major way.

Going bananas.

Going blonde.

Going camping for 15 minutes.

Going camping.

Going the extra mile.

Going to CVS for Monistat, Vagisil, UTI pills, Summer’s Eve vaginal wash, a box of tampons, a box of condoms, a pregnancy test, and a brand new Diva Cup.

Going upstate to complete a masterpiece.

Golden hour.

Goth dads.

Grandma’s jewels.

Grandpa smell.

Grasshopper stew.

Grindr.

Gruel.

Hair of the dog.

Hanging myself on the clothesline to dry after a shower.

Hangin’ out in the sewer.

Hanukkah, Pride Month, Etc.

Harkening to the sound of the bells.

Having a literal human foot where your genitals should be.

Having a piss in the sunshine.

Having a second butt on the front of my body.

Having a ‘Her’ situation with Windows 98.

Having crab claws instead of tits.

Having regular sex for six minutes and thirty seconds.

Having sex against a hotel room window.

Having sex to “Hail To The Chief.”

Having sex, but like, BIGTIME having sex.

Heavily discounted meat.

Hecate, Mother of the Night.

Helicopter parents.

Hiding in a pelican’s mouth.

High lead content.

Hippie stink.

Hiring a TaskRabbit to parallel park.

Hiring a midwife to help me shit.

Hitting a grand slam of Helen Mirren in the World Series.

Hofstra University.

Holding a seashell to my ear and hearing a man scream “FUCK OFF.”

Holding the door at Best Buy open for a bunch of squirrels.

Holing up in my bunker.

Homeopathic remedies.

Honking and squawking.

Honking when you’re horny.

Hooked On Phonics.

Hooking up with Big Bird for the third time.

Hopscotching with the best of ‘em.

Huffing Play Doh.

Hulu originals.

Humidity.

Hunter gatherers.

Imposter Syndrome.

Impressing my date by scanning the menu’s QR code.

Improvised surgery.

Incessant whining.

Indecent exposure.

Inexplicably shitting out of your belly button once and then never again.

Infidelity.

Inheriting a single shoe from your grandfather.

Instagram Creators.

Internal sloshing.

Japanophiles.

Jeb Bush.

Jeffrey Dahmer’s refrigerator.

Jesus Christ himself.

Jesus’ Jew-fro.

Jizzing confetti.

Joey Tribiani, the pervert from “Friends.”

Junkyard dogs.

Junkyard serenades.

KFC.

Keto crumbles.

Kissing up to birds.

Kitsch.

Laughing while performing brain surgery.

Laxatives for the table.

Lead poisoning.

Leaving my girl for someone who looks more like Snoopy.

Lesser party games.

Letting your ass do its thing.

Licensed medical providers.

Licking a nickel clean.

Licking an envelope to completion.

Like a million alligators.

Limited edition flavors of Coca-Cola.

Living a quadruple life.

Looking fly with my new braces.

Looking sexy AF in my feather boa.

Loyal hoes.

Lubing up and rubbing down.

Lululemon.

Lurking about.

Madagascar (both the country and the movie).

Major no-nos.

Making babies.

Making history as the NFL’s first headless quarterback.

Making out with an iPad.

Mange.

Marauding teens.

Massholes.

Masturbating to A Wheat Thins box.

McMansions.

Meeting down at the docks.

Meeting the president.

Melanin.

Memeing a tragedy.

Mexican jumping beans.

Microwaving Grandpa to see what happens.

Military decorations.

Millennial woes.

Missing children.

Mixed nuts.

Mixing urine and diarrhea in a martini shakier.

Mobile banking.

Mom letting you lick raw ground pork off the beaters.

Mom’s friend, Norma.

Monday Night Football, sponsored by Bud Light.

Moping around the rectory.

Morphing into a fire extinguisher.

Movie night with bae.

Murdering and eating innocent people in a legal and celebrated way.

Mutual disdain.

My 12 butt ugly sons and my 15 rotten daughters.

My MILF friends.

My Youtube channel.

My best friend, Kelly Ripa.

My children’s smiling faces.

My convection oven, my chronic illness, and my cock.

My favorite canned cocktail brand.

My favorite poet, Baron Trump.

My flop era.

My husband’s body.

My live-in situationship.

My nemesis, James Cordon.

My one and only ass.

My own cum.

My posture.

My prehensile tail.

My rank, red puss.

My really, really groundbreaking art.

My repulsive chin, elbows, cock, etc.

My self-worth.

My sensei, Kevin-san.

My spam folder.

My summer of longing.

My toxic relationship.

My undying love for mega-corporations.

Myself.

Nerds rope.

Nicknaming your dorm room “Poontang Isle.”

Normcore.

Not being sure if it’s racist to say “Homie.”

Not knowing any better.

Nothing a fresh coat of paint and a new spark plug can’t fix.

Nude firefighters.

Numbness.

Obscene amounts of cleavage.

Offsetting my carbon emissions.

Old meat.

Old washcloth smell.

Our waitress for the evening.

Oversized labia.

Pantsing a world leader.

Parallel parking.

Passing as gay.

Passing judgement on all the losers I know.

Paywalls.

Peaches.

Peacocking.

Peasants.

Peeing defiantly.

Peeping Toms.

Penis-shaped bachelorette decorations.

Perfectly shaved tits.

Performance enhancing diapers.

Petting a fire hydrant like a dog.

Pilots who look like their planes.

Pissing into a bong.

Pissing while smiling.

Placing 29th in a “best anus” contest.

Planetary dioramas.

Plowing the fields, etc!

Plucking a bald eagle.

Podcasters.

Pointing at my diaper and going, “Uhhhh ohhhhh!”

Popping a Capri Sun straw into an ice cold kitty.

Posers.

Posing nude on the hood of a Bugatti.

Practicing eating ass on a bagel.

Pretending to be Native American.

Pretending to be busy.

Prison food.

Problematic language.

Proceeding with caution.

Professional Skee-ball.

Proficiency in conversational Korean.

Project managers.

Puff puff puff puff puff puff puff puff pass.

Puffing on a pregnancy test like it’s a vape.

Puffing up like a blowfish.

Punting a penguin like a football.

Purity.

Putting in my finest tampon.

Putting my dick on a bed of shredded lettuce.

Putting peanut butter on my dog’s dick so I suck it.

Putting your heart and soul into a creative project no one will ever care about.

Quarterly performance reviews.

Quirky girls with ukuleles.

Raccoon attacks.

Raising Jesus’ cross up and down like a barber’s chair.

Raising all sorts of hell.

Raising hell with grandmama.

Ranking my exes by foot size.

Rastafarian-Italian fusion restaurants.

Rat lips.

Reaching for a cop’s gun.

Reaching that age where yogurt’s a treat.

Reading a 9000-page book about my father’s penis.

Reading the Wikipedia article for “Beer” while driving.

Realizing your life is already half over.

Reasonable doubt.

Rebooting the ol’ desktop computer.

Receiving a trophy for drunk driving.

Reeling in a big one.

Referring to the Bible as “the Judas Iscariot Cinematic Universe.”

Regretfully accepting my life’s circumstances.

Rejecting societal norms.

Releasing the hounds.

Repeated attacks on my character.

Resetting the goddamn router.

Rewarding myself after 22 minutes of work.

Riding Howie Mandell’s bald head like a sybian.

Riding a motorcycle for religious reasons.

Riding dirty.

Right wing talk show hosts.

Right-wing dog whistles.

Ringworms.

Rivers of blood.

Robbing a bank.

Rocking out HARD to the alphabet song.

Rolling a dead guy up in a carpet.

Roughing it.

Rounding up the other inches for a 5K.

Rugby hooligans.

Russel Wilson.

Sacrificing a cat to the Goddess Of Sunscreen.

Saluting a picture of a dog that kind of looks like Abe Lincoln.

Santa tossing his clothes down the chimney before jumping through nude and getting dressed in your living room.

Sashaying as a turd plops to the floor beneath me.

Saving kissing for marriage.

Saying good morning to all of your action figures.

Scared little white boys.

Scoping out a Chinese buffet with the Predator’s heat-seeking vision.

Scratching someone’s face and hissing.

Screaming during a mammogram.

Secretly living in a celebrity’s closet.

Self-honking horns.

Selling bootleg Scooby Doo merch for a living.

Selling my earwax on Facebook Marketplace.

Selling your soul to the devil for the ability to be kind of okay at Mario Kart.

Sending your pet snake to college.

Sentience.

Sex gifs.

Sex magic.

Sexting on an iPad.

Sexting on an ouija board.

Sexually transmitted pussy illness.

Sexy hunks with astigmatism.

Sharting.

Shaving my legs, pits, arms, face, ass, and feet.

Shaving off two or three of my pubes.

Sheer gumption.

Shitting with the door open.

Short Shorts!

Shoving something, anything, literally whatever, into my anus.

Shrinking down to the size of a raisin and getting swallowed by a sparrow.

Shrinking to the size of a pea to save money on sunscreen.

Sitting on a nest of eggs.

Sitting on the dock of the bay.

Skinny dipping.

Slapping handcuffs on two penises.

Sleeping with one eye open.

Slime.

Slipping into something a little more comfortable (i.e. nude).

Slipping into something a little more comfortable.

Slithering across the room.

Slurring my words.

Smoking a turd like a cigar.

Snail residue.

Snapping turtles.

Snarling and winking.

Snarling at a baby.

Sneaking a hot dog into the confessional booth.

Sniffing around the creek for toads.

Soaking wet panties.

Social climbing.

Soft launching my receding hairline.

Some kind of moose-lobster hybrid.

Some sort of boring realm of eternal bliss.

Something… brown…

Spanking my children to the beat of the National Anthem.

Speaking with confidence and grace.

Special musical guest, Lizzo.

Specifying on your driver’s license that you will only donate your organs to a pig that can play the piano.

Spending 75 percent of my yearly salary on Halloween decor.

Spitting verses with my Nonna.

Splitting onion rings with my lover.

Spreading your legs.

Squirting the family sap.

Stale air.

Starting anew.

Stealing grandma’s cigarettes.

Sticking a flag in an old man to claim him for the US.

Storing dried nuts and berries in my pouch.

Straightening my pubes before a big meeting.

Straightening your pubes.

Stress fractures.

Stretch marks that form a treasure map.

Stripping for Dave and Buster’s tokens.

Stroopwafels.

Strutting my stuff at the pumpkin patch.

Sucking a penis so hard the guy’s skull collapses.

Sucking and fucking.

Suffering through the most boring piss of your life.

Summiting Mount Everest.

Sunning my pooch.

Swagger.

Sweet little Giuseppe, that wonderful boy who works so hard to support his mother and his sisters now that his no-good father has run off with a younger woman.

Taking 7 hours in the confessional booth.

Taking a break from my computer to look at my phone.

Taking an unbelievably small hit of marijuana and having a full-blown panic attack.

Taking catnip before a Mars Volta concert.

Taking off your shirt in order to send an email.

Taking sex lessons.

Taking the Hippocratic oath before putting on a bandaid.

Tan lines.

Taxes.

Taxidermy.

Teaching a baby how to pick locks.

Tending my listening pulsating eggs.

That time the Challenger blew up.

The 14th Annual McDougal Family Reunion.

The Beach Boys.

The Buffalo Wild Wings were Ernest Hemingway killed himself.

The Denver Nuggets.

The Electric Slide.

The Fab Four: Larry, Moe, and Curly.

The First Lady.

The Forbidden Grove.

The Ghost of Christmas Past.

The Golden Ratio.

The Grinch.

The Grinch’s spiral dick.

The Homecoming Queen.

The Jewish faith.

The Kansas City Masquerade Ball.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe.

The Metaverse.

The Organism.

The Secret Service agent tasked with shucking the President’s oysters.

The Semi-Annual Camel Toe Awareness 5K.

The Three Stooges: John, Paul, Ringo, and George.

The WNBA.

The War On Christmas.

The Whole Foods hot bar.

The adventure of a lifetime.

The anxiety you feel when checking your account balances.

The arts and humanities.

The blood of the weak.

The boogie.

The cast of HBO’s ‘The Wire.’

The collected works of Jake and Amir.

The convenience of email.

The crabbing industry.

The economic forecast for Q3 2024.

The enemy.

The ever-blurring line between truth and misinformation.

The fast rise and protracted fall of America as a global superpower.

The four dildos of the Scottish bagpipe.

The free-bleeding movement.

The great outdoors.

The guy inside the Barney suit.

The honk of a dying goose.

The horrors of war.

The incomparable thrill of falling asleep at the wheel.

The inevitable rise of the Dark Lord.

The inherent wickedness of mankind.

The last lick o’ juniper jelly in Mama’s Jam Jar.

The latest Star Wars film.

The local militia.

The local watering hole.

The man ogling you through your computer’s camera.

The manhole Charlie Brown crawled out of.

The patriarchal institution of bowling.

The powerful legs of a mule.

The railroad apartment I share with my 23 uncles.

The rank stench of my gaming chair.

The reaper.

The reason we exist.

The reason why doing a Jamaican accent isn’t considered all that racist.

The screams coming from next door.

The secrets of the owls.

The sex tourism industry in Minnesota.

The slut to my left.

The social justice message of the film White Chicks.

The sound of rats eating a doctor.

The spirit of adventure.

The tall guy in every barbershop quartet with a goofy low voice.

The terrible computer virus that put all this incest porn on my laptop.

The ultimate sacrifice.

The uncanny feeling that you’ve sucked this cock before.

The uncle who took my nose.

The unparalleled magic of diarrhea.

The village idiot.

The way dad looks at mom.

Thinking “raisins” are “crazy raisins.”

Those broke-ass amphibians Frog and Toad.

Three or four ladies, rubbing their tits together or something.

Three years of rain.

Throwing a Kindle into the ocean.

Tinnitus.

Tinseltown.

Toppling to death in a Porta Potty.

Tossing a duffel bag full of guns into a mall fountain.

Trader Joe’s.

Trading my hair for a piece of fake fruit.

Trading sexual favors for magic beans.

Trampoline injuries.

Traveling back in time to throw a pine cone at my past self.

Tripping on Robitussin.

Troubled teens.

Trusting myself.

Trying cocaine with Grandma.

Trying really, really hard.

Trying to click “Add To Cart” on a picture of Vladimir Putin.

Trying to commit suicide by sticking both hands in a pop-up toaster.

Turning a “rodent problem” into a “rodent triumph.”

Tusks.

Two anuses kissing.

Two clowns chariot racing on the Autobahn.Dismembering my victims.

Two lunatics and a weirdo.

Two men both named Jim Buckets.

Two really horny, really tan twin brothers.

Two ugly men who are in love with each other.

Un muchacho muy grande.

Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary Ann.

Undulating.

Unfaithful husbands.

Unionizing my seven poodles.

Unlimited breadsticks.

Urinating for political reasons.

Using SpongeBob to scrub a crime scene.

Using a breast implant as a paper weight.

Using a gun to kill a spider.

Verbal consent.

Vintage denim.

Waiting on the world to change.

Waking up during surgery.

Wandering into traffic.

Weak calves.

Weakness.

Wearing an ape costume to church.

Weird Al and his ruthless satire.

Wet hands.

Wetting the bed.

Whispering, “Don’t have a cow, man!” In your wife’s ear as your final words on your deathbed.

Wife-swapping.

Wii cockfighting.

Winning $2 in a game of Russian roulette.

Winning a bronze medal in a belching contest.

Winning “ugliest dick” at the county fair.

Wishing upon a star.

Women.

Wondering when it’s all going to change.

Working on my dougie on my day off.

Worms being all slutty in the garden.

Worshipping idols.

Wrapping a present in porno mags.

Wringing a filthy, wet mop into my mouth.

Writing lyrics on my Converse.

Writing something very naughty on my calculator.

Yelling “Scrumptious!” While giving head.

Yelling “What the fuck is happening?!” As you cum.

Yet another failed marriage.

Yodeling for political gain.

Your eyes rolling back into your head as a storm forms in the sky above you.

Your own personal 9/11.

Your pelvic floor.

iPad time.

Getting FUCKED UP on Peronis.

Getting a happy ending at the car wash.

Welfare.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when a beloved house releases a new collection, IMAM shall be in want of reviews.

Maybe not? Too corny and also probably not true?
I’ll just get on with it.
(That title is Regency slang, too; I'm getting way too into this, sorry. Look up what "in the petticoat line" meant in slang, that was a fun surprise.)
---
Since my first Poesie order went so well, I was immediately intrigued by their newest collection! I was interested in, I think, four out of the five scents, so I went ahead and bought the sample discovery set. I also found out, after letting them rest a few days, that there was another sample in the little bag, so I’ll be reviewing that too.
All reviews are based on skin testing. In this case, there’s not as much “truth to concept” to rate on, so my basis will be how much I personally like the scent and whether I would wear it, and it’s hard for me not to rate each scent, at least somewhat, against the others in the collection. A low rating doesn’t mean anyone did a bad job, just that the perfume isn’t for me.
I usually love gourmands and aromatics, enjoy atmospherics and woody smells, and hate florals with a passion. Perfumes tend to pull sweeter on my skin than on others’.
I’ve ordered three times from Poesie now and everything has arrived quickly, in great shape, and with a lovely handwritten note. I highly recommend trying this company out if you haven’t.
Have you tried the Petticoat collection yet? What did you think? Anything you like enough to FS?
---
Bluestocking
Site Description: a big cup of chamomile tea, lavender shortbread, creamy tonka bean, guaiac wood heart
My Description: Most prominent to my nose is lavender cookie, followed by dried chamomile flowers. The lavender cookie is not a moist, currently-baking smell, but the scent of a plate of crumbly cookies that are set out to dip in your tea. The lavender note is quite strong and almost medicinal in nature. The tonka bean is not loud, but definitely present in the back to sort of round out the scent. I don’t have much of a nose for what guaiac wood smells like at this point, and can’t really detect anything distinctive in this that I think might BE the guaiac wood.
What I’m learning here is that lavender and I may not be good friends, as much as I wish it were otherwise, because on me, this dried down to an approximation of dusty cough syrup. Not Robitussin, but still something you consume because you’re sick and not because you like it. Throw was fairly close to skin.
My Rating: 4.5/10
Demi-Monde
Site Description: royal sandalwood, syrupy aged patchouli, fresh violets, rockrose resin, creamy vanilla & white chocolate bonbons, vintage skin musk
My Description: Yup, that would be sandalwood and patchouli, with some of the resin standing at the back of the line, sort of glowering over the proceedings. I think this would actually work quite nicely on someone with a more masculine aesthetic. Despite the notes mentioning bonbons, I don’t really get anything sweet from this one at all! I also don’t smell any violet, and violet is one of my favorite notes; I know it’s one that is easily overwhelmed, and I think the stronger notes are sitting on it. Throw on this one is pretty strong. This is not one for me, though. Womp womp.
My Rating: 2.5/10
Green Girl
Site Description: pistachio, wildflower honey, oatmilk matcha latte, heliotrope blossoms, marshmallow musk
My Description: Flowery, green, subtly sweet. I’m definitely getting the oat milk and matcha (I’ve never actually had an oat milk beverage, but I know what oats smell like), as well a floral that I’m guessing would be the heliotrope blossoms. The pistachio is present, but more of a team manager than a real player. This reminds me of sitting in a nice park on a sunny day, despite the fact that growing up where I did, outside never smelled this nice, especially when it was hot. I don’t know if I would personally reach for this too often, but I think this scent has really broad appeal and hits several categories—you’ve got your sweet food smell, you’ve got your green, you’ve got your flowers. I’d class this as more feminine, and I’d use the term “flourmand” here, if hesitantly because I don’t want to sound at all like I know what I’m talking about. Throw is medium, definitely more talkative than Bluestocking, but not as loud as Demi-Monde.
My Rating: 6.5/10
Hoyden
Site Description: fresh orange juice, sweet waffles with butter and caramelized maple syrup, mounds of whipped cream
My Description: Does what it says on the tin! (I am so tempted to leave it there, but…)
When I was growing up, we didn’t actually buy orange juice that often, except when somebody wasn’t feeling well. As a result, I don’t associate it with breakfast to the extent that my, y’know, Being American might lead you to believe. And this scent is definitely BOTH orange juice AND waffles + syrup at the same time. (It’s waffles, not pancakes, because I can totally smell the crispy edges that create the syrup holes.) If I sort of huff my wrist, I’m taken back to working at McDonald’s as a teenager and having to clean the orange juice concentrate dispenser (what I guess I’m trying to say is that the orange is just a little artificial, but not like full-on Pledge). This is one hundred percent a sweet food smell, though I’d compare it to sitting with your nose in your OJ glass while your mom serves up waffles in terms of balance—in real life, I don’t think the orange would be this prominent; here, it almost runs over everything else. In fact, the drydown on me was just sweet orange, with none of the bready smell left. I don’t hate this, it’s not a scrubber, but I don’t think I personally want to smell like this, or sit there and smell it for a long period of time. Throw is medium to light.
My Rating: 5/10
Ladybird
Site Description: caramelized fig, smoky lapsang souchong tea leaves, pink peppercorn, cashmere vanilla musk, myrrh resin
My Description: Oh, dear, that is REALLY smoky, and not ladylike at all (I don’t know why I made that mental association pre-sniff, but I did). To be honest, I can’t really put my nose too close to my arm to further investigate, because my eyes start to sting a little bit. The smoke odor is definitely a tea-tinged smoke and not a campfire smoke, but… oh, there goes the myrrh. I think I can safely conclude that if the Wise Men brought it to Jesus, I don’t want to smell like it (does gold have a smell?). This is very slightly vanilla-y with a peppery edge to all that smoke, but I’m not getting fig in the least. An hour later, still smoky as all heck. Throw is strong, at least, so if you’re a lover of offbeat smoky smells, you might enjoy this.
My Rating: 1/10. Get it off. Please.
BONUS SAMPLE: Cardigan
Site Description: creamy Mysore sandalwood spiced with cardamom pods & pimento berries, French vanilla, white chocolate, comforting sweater musk
My Description: Ah, cardamom, we meet again. Surprisingly, although this is less sweet than I’d anticipated given the vanilla and chocolate, I’m not getting the dusty finish that I’ve come to associate with cardamom, plus something… zingy? I’m assuming that’s the pimento berries, with which I have not been previously acquainted.
This is a really well-done fall-type scent, warm and cozy without being too foody (for those of you who aren’t into that). I think this smells expensive, and I see why it’s part of the general catalog. I will be keeping this sample and seeing if I use it up. Throw is, as best I can tell, close to skin, but it seems to stick to your nose once you’ve sniffed your wrist a couple times, even when you roll your sleeve back down.
My Rating: 7/10
---
TL;DR: This collection was mostly a miss for me. My favorite of the five, unexpectedly, was Green Girl, but I liked the extra sample I got WITH the Petticoat samples better than anything in the collection itself. I absolutely plan to continue shopping with Poesie and generally really like what they do—maybe I’m just not much of a Regency girl in the first place.

Part 2

I bought my apartment off the plan. It’s far from advised, I know. But I was moving from the other side of the country, had been saving up for over a decade, was eager to take advantage of the first dip in the housing market in ages… and I wanted something I could pick from a catalogue. I wouldn’t be able to go check any place out in person, coming from far away, anyway. And it was a good deal. That last bit swayed me quite a lot.
New builds bought off the plan have catches. I knew that when I bought it. I’d factored into what I wanted to spend my expectations about the apartment being constructed with materials cheaper than what was promised on the website, fittings that didn’t fit properly, and teething problems with things like plumbing.
I thought I was being realistic and clever. Because, of course, what could go really wrong with buying sight unseen? Worst case scenario, I figured, was that the apartment complex was built to be way too flammable.
I should have investigated the place more thoroughly before purchase.
But things were looking great as I readied to move from east to west. The apartment was ready for me at exactly the time my job wanted me to move to my new permanent location; I’d needed a new mattress anyway, so slept on the old one as the rest of my furniture shipped its way across the country – I even found a great price for my flight. It seemed… meant to be.
The only thing that was just a little out of the ordinary was what I saw when I took a virtual tour of my new neighbourhood, Roselands, on Google Street View.
I knew the whole area was new development, consisting of five apartment blocks, a section zoned for commercial use, and a park. I dropped the wiggly yellow dude on the road in front of my new home and was pleased to see the Google cars had been through the area already – and quite recently too. The images were from that very month.
Externally, the buildings were complete. My apartment building was tall, attractive, and modern, with underground parking and generous balconies. I moved around the streets, enjoying what looked like a spacious and serene park, the riverside gardens and the boardwalk, and the burgeoning shopping area; one pretty café already open with umbrellas out to shield patrons from the summer sun. That stuff made me feel vindicated in my purchase: the location was fantastic. And surprisingly close to city centre as well.
What was odd was how much of the panoramic images were blurred out. Usually it’s just license plates and people’s faces that are systematically blurred. Sometimes you see a single house on a street blurred on Google Street View, wonder why, and then just move on.
Roselands, however, had a lot of things blurred. Not whole buildings, just… boxes of blur scattered about seemingly at random. The garage driveway before an apartment building was part-blurred, a spot beside the café was blurred, sections of balconies blurred… here and there around the park: blurred. Even part of the roof of some shop was blurred, along with half a bus stop.
It could be some people asking to have themselves blurred out – all of their body, not just their faces. It was a logical answer, though, even so, it didn’t make much sense. The surrounding streets, outside Roselands, didn’t have the scattered blurring at all. It also begged the question: why was there someone on a roof? And… the biggest point: as far as I knew, my apartment complex wasn’t open yet. It would open the day before I arrived at my new home. So why were there already so many people on its balconies wanting themselves blurred out?
I decided it might just be a construction company logo that was blurred for some reason, or a glitch, and didn’t think more of it.
Two weeks later, I boarded my flight to my new life.
*
Far from being built more cheaply or looking worse than the computer-generated images had promised, my apartment was a dream. I walked through it with excited awe – even did a little dance – inspecting every immaculate fixture, the huge windows that let in so much light, my bathroom that managed to be both grand and modestly sized; came up with decoration ideas for the spare room (out of two) I’d make into my study and a vision for the balcony.
Nothing wrong with buying off the plan if it all works out, I thought, munching celebratory chips as I gazed out my window at stunning views of the river. There’d been nothing to be worried about!
My furniture, not delayed, arrived the same day I did. Feeling all was swell – feeling this was definitely meant to be – I used the weekend before starting at my new office to set my apartment up. It was sweaty, back-breaking work shifting furniture, but I did it with glee, loving every little step as I made my new home… well, home.
On Sunday night, I’d finished. I cracked open a bottle of wine and sprawled myself over my sofa, smiling around at the comforting beauty that was my apartment. All those years penny pinching around rent to save up the demanded deposit… paid off with what I’d been worried might prove an ill-considered impulsive purchase.
There was a knock on my door. Not willing to set down my wine, I sipped it as I went to answer.
My knocker was a woman, with short and stylish blonde hair and a big smile. She chuckled and nodded approvingly at my wine glass.
‘I’m Anouk,’ she said. She indicated a door just down the corridor from mine. ‘I live there – as of today! I wished to say hi!’
I said hi back and gave an offer of wine Anouk was more than pleased to take.
It was the cherry on top: Anouk, my next-door neighbour, turned out to be a woman at about the same place in her life I was, who was fun and kind, and we laughed like excited loons together over what became two bottles of wine and whatever snacks I could rustle up for us.
‘I thought,’ she said, ‘moving here from Quebec… I shouldn’t buy off the plan, you know? Not look at it first – but it’s good, isn’t it!’
I agreed wholeheartedly; told her all about my journey, as she told me hers.
‘Oh Gina, I’m glad I’ve found a neighbour I can be friends with,’ she said as the last of the second bottle was poured into our glasses, the night getting late. ‘I worried it would be all like Dr Robitussin…’ She pulled a grimace, giving me an indication what she thought of Dr Robitussin.
‘Dr Robitussin?’ I laughed, tipsy. ‘What does he specialise in? Treating coughs?’
Making the connection to the brand of cough medicine, Anouk laughed with me. She got around to describing the man once she’d calmed down a bit.
What he was a doctor of, Anouk didn’t know. But she knew he was a stare-y older man, in about his late fifties. As she described him, I remembered the guy I’d seen while I was helping the movers bring stuff up to the apartment. I’d smiled, greeted him, and got nothing back from the balding man with a narrow jaw and dark eyebrows over his glasses. He’d just stood there, evaluating me with what looked rather like a condescending glare. Apparently, he’d done the same to Anouk, and neither of us were too chuffed with him being our neighbour.
‘He gave me creepy vibes, you know?’ said Anouk, shivering in demonstration.
I hadn’t gotten quite the same sense from Dr Robitussin, but I supposed I might have if I’d paid him any more mind as I passed him in the corridor.
*
My new position in the company wasn’t quite as rosy as my new Roselands apartment, but I buckled down, motivated to learn all the ropes as quickly as possible. And there were a few co-workers I found a connection with.
Coming home that evening, I spotted Dr Robitussin on his balcony – the one right next to mine. I parked underground, then walked up to street side to help Anouk, who was carrying in the last of her boxes from the mover’s truck. Mr Robitussin was still there, I saw, looking up as I heaved a box onto my hip. He was sitting in a bathrobe, legs crossed, on a balcony chair, without a steaming drink; in the evening. Maybe it was Anouk’s view that he was creepy influencing me, but I did think sitting on the balcony like that was a bit weird.
All the same, I smiled and gave Dr Robitussin a wave. He didn’t wave back, so, chatting with Anouk, I went back to helping her carry her stuff up.
I met another neighbour a couple days later, and elderly man who was thankful for the elevator and lack of stairs in his apartment. He introduced himself as Mel, and showed his appreciation for my help carrying up some of his boxes with a treat of upside-down cake.
‘My sister lived here,’ he told me as we forked through cakes. ‘Many years ago… before these apartments. They’re new, you know?’
I did, seeing as I’d moved in the moment they opened. I asked him about his sister, and got a sad story. In my experience, you often do when you ask elderly people about their families. Never underestimate the trauma previous generations have faced.
‘Oh well…’ he said, answering my question. ‘She was always so full of life, Jill… But then she had her youngest – no problem… ‘ he trailed off, the sentence unfinished. ‘Well, I suppose there would have been a problem,’ he picked back up, nodding his head, his combed thin white hair bouncing, ‘we just didn’t see it, if you know… ‘ He trailed off again, forked up a bit of cake, and chewed thoughtfully before continuing, ‘After her youngest… it was depression, you see – she didn’t want to do the housework; began neglecting the children… And her man… he didn’t understand it. Had her committed, as we did in those days – hoping it would fix her.’
Mel gave me a beseeching look, like he was hoping for me to understand. I certainly didn’t condemn him. The past had been a different time.
‘She died, at the asylum,’ he went on. ‘And it was miserable – just miserable,’ he said emphatically, shaking his head. ‘I saw her once before she died… She was covered in this rash, and so broken…’ Mel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He finished on a, ‘In some ways, I envy your generation.’
*
I left Mel with his belongings, having helped him set urns and trinkets up on an antique cabinet before I went back to my home. There had been six urns in total, and placing them to be displayed made me sad. One of them was his sister Jill’s. Mel must be in his eighties. I doubted it was only six people he’d lost in his time.
Though, between Mel and Anouk, I had neighbours I really liked. I was sleeping soundly on my new mattress. And loving coffee from my new and fancy coffee maker. Things were good, despite a bit of drama.
The drama I refer to was between Mel and Dr Robitussin. Not that Dr Robitussin seemed to verbally involve himself in… well, anything at all – the man didn’t speak. He just hung about and watched. But precisely that seemed to be what put Mel off.
I arrived on the third floor one evening after work to see Mel’s cane fallen to the floor, and him leaning against the wall by the garbage chute, glaring at Dr Robitussin.
‘Couldn’t move yourself to help one bit?’ Mel called, irritated, to Dr Robitussin.
Dr Robitussin was standing in his doorway. I saw his chin lift as he considered Mel. It made his glasses briefly catch the light. He, unsurprisingly, didn’t say anything.
‘Just stand there and watch!’ Mel yelled at the doctor. ‘Condemn people with your gaze!’
I hurried to retrieve Mel’s cane and handed it to him. He huffed at Dr Robitussin, thanked me, and went back into his apartment. Being polite, I nodded to the doctor, wished him a cursory good evening, and carried on home.
It seemed to escalate from there, from what I saw. Though I doubt I saw all of it. Mel’s beef with Dr Robitussin was something I presumed I largely missed while I was at work.
A commotion in the corridor outside, on a Saturday afternoon, had me cracking open the door to check it out. Mel was at Dr Robitussin’s door. He pounded on it.
‘Can’t hear criticism of yourself?’ Mel shouted at the closed door. ‘Come face me, old coot!’
For a moment, I wondered whether Mel had dementia. This was a hop, skip, and a jump beyond him being irritated with Dr Robitussin over the doctor just staring at him, rather than helping with his cane.
‘Never want to talk, eh?’ Mel demanded of Dr Robitussin’s door. ‘Just want to stand back and judge others as lesser than you?’
I left my apartment, making a gentle noise of greeting as I approached Mel and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘I don’t think he’s coming out…’ I said softly. ‘Want an iced tea? I have some…’
Mel didn’t. He did give up on pounding on Dr Robitussin’s door, but he’d rather go back to his own apartment. I followed him in and, when he grunted agreement, made him a cup of regular tea.
‘You all right?’ I asked, sitting to Mel’s table with him. ‘Is there something I can help with?’
Mel shook his head. He seemed agitated – distracted and fidgety. His hands were trembling. I watched them with concern as his hand jumped to his shoulder, giving it a scratch though his cardigan, then to do the same to his chest. It reminded me of my grandmother, before we’d admitted she needed to be in a nursing home. Delirium, or… something like that.
I tried a different tack.
‘What’s… going on with Dr Robitussin?’ I asked.
Mel stared off, abstracted, at something behind me. He was ignoring his tea.
‘Mel?’
Mel met my eyes. He shook his head again.
‘The watching,’ he said. ‘The staring. Always assessing, assessing, assessing! That’s no way to be! There is something… not right about that man!’
I nodded slowly. It was an emotional reaction, but it wasn’t nonsensical. Why it bothered Mel so much, I didn’t know, and he didn’t seem too sure either. People developed their own sensitivities, I supposed.
‘Gina,’ he said, as I was getting up to leave him to his cooling tea.
I paused. Mel looked up at me, his gaze sad and almost… beseeching.
‘Never regret being silent,’ he said. ‘Only let yourself regret speaking up.’
I wasn’t too sure which way to interpret that. Was he advising me to stay silent, or speak up? But I just smiled, reminded him he could call on me any time if he needed anything, and wished him a good afternoon.
*
I didn’t see Mel attempt to pound down Dr Robitussin’s door again after that. I did start to see, more and more, why Dr Robitussin might have rubbed him the wrong way, though:
Anouk and I had started taking walks around the neighbourhood, initially exploring, then it just became something we’d do on Sundays to get some fresh air and stop at the café for lunch. Every single time, leaving the apartment and when we were coming back, Dr Robitussin would be watching. Either from his balcony, or, here and there, in the doorway of his apartment. I started to feel like I was under some very blatant surveillance.
‘There aren’t too many people here yet,’ Anouk observed as we left the café behind, heading home. ‘I thought it was to be expected, the first few weeks… But it’s been a month now, you know?’
I did know what she meant. The café hadn’t been doing a roaring trade, but it hadn’t been empty either. Yet, as we walked back between the apartment blocks, I’d have to admit the place was a bit… sparse. A lot of balconies were empty of any furniture; buildings that should contain hundreds or more people seemed to be at about a quarter capacity – or less. Beyond Mel, Dr Robitussin, Anouk, and me, our floor was empty.
I shrugged.
‘Maybe they just haven’t moved in yet?’ I suggested. ‘Or a lot of them are investment properties? And the owners are sorting out rental agreements.’
There were only a few main “For Sale” signs up around the edges of the development. It wasn’t like there was one for every unpurchased apartment, so I had no idea how many were still left to be bought.
Anouk didn’t respond. We were rounding the front of our building now. Dr Robitussin, as ever, was standing on his balcony. He watched us as we walked up to the front doors.
I’d given up waving to him. I just sent him a short nod. Anouk averted her eyes, barely sparing Dr Robitussin a glance before turning her face away.
‘I hate that watching he does!’ she hissed to me in the elevator. ‘It reminds me of a teacher I had once – always wanting to get you in trouble for any little thing.’
I was starting to hate it myself. Particularly when I went out to enjoy my vision of a balcony, and Dr Robitussin was just there, watching me from his balcony.
*
It was the next night, as I was gazing out the window at the river, brushing my teeth for bed, that I realised I hadn’t seen much of Mel lately. He usually took a walk in the park every morning, keeping his legs strong and himself moving – as he’d once described it to me. I didn’t think I’d seen him do that for a few days now. In fact… either I wasn’t remembering correctly, or the last time I’d seen Mel had been about five days ago, when he was using the garbage chute in the corridor.
Resolving to check in on Mel the next day, I switched out the light and got into bed. I hadn’t pulled the blind in my bedroom. I’d stopped doing so after the first time I’d gotten a chance to look out at the night-time river from my bed.
The rippling reflection of city lights on the glossy river surface was like urban bustle made serene. It was something I’d found I loved to do – more peaceful than listening to Matthew McConaughey read a bedtime story: look out at that river with my head on my pillow and my body surrounded by soft bedding.
I was slipping into that world of serenity, my eyes sunk shut, when I was jolted back awake by a frenzied banging on my door. My eyes shot open and I leapt out of bed.
‘Gina – Gina!’ Anouk called out to me, panicked, as I hurried over to the door. ‘Gina – come!’
I swung open the door.
‘What?’
‘There’s a man on my balcony!’ Anouk whisper-screeched, her eyes huge, and grabbed my arm, dragging me to her apartment.
‘What?’ I asked again, startled. We were three floors up. But Anouk was showing me, not telling me. We scuttled into her dark apartment. Anouk hunched, eyes darting from window to window, and started tiptoeing. I followed her lead, sneaking through the living room toward the archway into the dining area. Anouk pressed herself against the wall, and indicated silently for me to have a look.
I took a breath, and peeked through the archway, my eyes landing on the windows.
There was no one there. I eased past Anouk and had a better look, scanning her entire balcony through the large panes of glass.
‘It’s empty,’ I whispered to Anouk. ‘There’s no one.’
‘What?’
Anouk peaked out, then, slowly, followed me into the dining area. She went right up to the balcony doors and stared out. Then she turned back to face me, her eyes even wider.
‘Has he gotten in?’
The balcony door was locked, the windows shut and the air con on, and we combed the entire apartment for anyone. It was empty but for us.
‘He was there, I swear!’ Anouk said, upset. ‘I went to get a drink of water – and he was just there, staring though the window at me! Looked like a zombie – and his eyes were weird!’
Anouk wasn’t able to describe the man much better than that. Uneasy being in her apartment alone, she came back to mine with me. I ribbed her gently about watching horror movies before bed, looking to lessen her fear.
‘I wasn’t!’ she insisted. ‘I didn’t imagine it, I swear!
‘How would he have gotten onto the balcony?’
That bit I had no answer for. We went out onto my balcony to see if it was possible to climb up. The zombie-man with “weird” eyes would have had to have some major parkour skill to climb up. Every balcony projected, independent of additional supports, directly above the one below it. There was little by way of handholds, and the ceilings in this apartment weren’t low.
‘There’s no way…’ Anouk breathed, peering over the handrail at the ground below.
I nodded and stepped back. In the dark, I noticed the slightest movement to my left. My head whipped round to see – despite my scepticism expecting a zombie man at midnight there to kill us.
It wasn’t a zombie man – well, it was in a way, but not the one Anouk had described. It was Dr Robitussin, staring at us from his unlit balcony. Just stood there, staring at us, in the fucking middle of the night.
My teeth grit, but I pulled a smile onto my face. After all, he was my neighbour. I didn’t believe in burning bridges with people I lived right next to.
‘Hi Dr Robitussin,’ I said.
Anouk startled. Unlike me, she didn’t care about not showing hostility.
‘I hope we didn’t wake you up,’ she said coldly. ‘We’re fine, though, thanks. We don’t need your help.’
Dr Robitussin didn’t react. As usual. I shuddered when Anouk and I were both safely out of his view, and shut the sliding balcony door. That had been really creepy.
‘How did you even know what his name was?’ I asked Anouk as she bunked down beside me for the night. ‘He never says anything.’
Anouk plumped up her pillow, then flopped down onto it.
‘It was on his case,’ she said.
‘Suitcase?’
‘No – like a leather case. It looked old-fashioned.’
*
There was no repeat visit from zombie men that night. But it was after that that things did start getting weird.
I was reminded of being concerned about Mel by seeing the man himself out for a walk in the park the next morning. Initially, though, I wasn’t too sure it was Mel.
It looked like Mel, but, I suppose, part of recognising someone at a bit of distance is their walk. Mel shuffled, leant on his cane. The man I was frowning at, driving slowly along an otherwise empty lane on my way to work, wasn’t doing that. Mel was standing straight, not shuffling, but walking as though bored: like his legs had the strength for it, he just hadn’t the energy to do anything but drag his feet.
I eyed him longer as I stopped at the stop sign. It was definitely Mel: I could see his face well enough now.
A car eventually drove up behind me. The apartment complex wasn’t so deserted that there were never cars on the streets that served it. I took my turn, driving away from the park, and just decided to be happy Mel seemed to be in good form.
He wasn’t out walking the next day as I headed in to work, or the day after that. But, on the third day, as I was getting worried, I did see him again. Past the hedgerows and a fountain, I saw the thin white hair and cardigan over his wizened back. He was walking towards where I was driving – and surprisingly quickly, too. For the first few moments, I put the speed I thought I was seeing him walk at down to morning brain. But it was undeniable: for an elderly man who walked with a cane, Mel was just about cantering through the park.
Only… As Mel emerged from behind the last hedgerow, he wasn’t using his cane. He was walking without it, at a decent clip free from limp.
I pulled up to the side of the road as he stepped onto the sidewalk and rolled down my window.
‘Hey Mel!’ I called to him. ‘Nice to see you walking without the cane! How’re you doing?’
It didn’t seem Mel had heard me. I called out again as he walked up the sidewalk. This time he heard. He looked around, saw me, and, strange for Mel, didn’t smile. He did come over, though.
‘Your sore leg doin’ bette…?’ I trailed off. Mel was close enough now for me to see his eyes. He’d stooped to look in the car window. I stared.
Mel’s eyes were shivering. It seemed set off by him changing what he was looking it: like eyeballs on springs, every time his gaze switched to look at something else, they shivered side to side in their sockets.
‘It is better,’ Mel said, his voice oddly monotone.
‘That’s great!’ I said, keeping my voice bright. ‘All that walking paid off then!’
Mel’s expression didn’t change. It was just… flat.
‘Yes,’ he responded, still in that monotone. ‘It did.’
‘That’s great!’
Mel bobbed his head in a nod. It set his eyes shivering.
‘Have a good day,’ he said, stood back up, and returned to his walk.
I stared after him, confounded. It was like Mel had developed a weird robotic doppelganger. One that seemed too restless to stay still.
*
Each of the mornings after that, Mel went out for his walks. I’d see him when I was driving into work, or, on the weekends, see him come back later and later from my apartment windows. While the way he walked looked increasingly restless – agitated – his expression stayed flat. It was an unsettling clash.
‘You don’t know what is going on in his life,’ Anouk said fairly when I expressed my concern to her. ‘It could be anything. Maybe he has Parkinson’s, and is taking a new medication for it.’
Having heard a thump from her balcony, she’d come over to watch after-dinner TV away from any potential balcony zombies.
I conceded in a nod, starting to feel like the resident busy body. I didn’t know much about Parkinson’s. Maybe it was something like that.
‘Do you want to go check your balcony yet?’ I asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t the first time Anouk, who’d started keeping all her blinds down the moment it got dark, had heard a bump on her balcony. The past couple nights she’d been my regular evening companion, wary of her own apartment. Eventually, every time this happened, she got up the courage to follow me to her apartment and check the balcony. Every time it had been empty of people, zombie or otherwise.
Anouk, curled up around a cushion on the sofa, stuck her chin on top of it.
‘Nope,’ she answered.
I cracked a smile.
‘We can see your balcony from mine…’ I suggested.
Anouk cast me a sidelong look.
‘And be stared at by Dr Robitussin as we do?’ she shot back. ‘No thank you!’
That was a good point. I pulled a face, making Anouk snicker.
‘You should probably stop watching so many scary movies…’ I said, sotto voce, returning my attention to the TV. I was ready for it, a second later, when Anouk chucked the cushion at my head.
I walked her back to her apartment about an hour later, and checked her balcony was clear. Then I returned to my apartment and got into bed.
I was woken, at about two in the morning, by my phone ringing. Groaning, I rolled over to pick it off the nightstand, expecting some scam call telling me my internet was going to be cut off unless I paid someone in ITunes vouchers.
Rather than a random number, however, my phone identified the caller as Anouk.
‘What’s up?’ I answered, groggy.
‘They are knocking!’ Anouk breathed on the other end. ‘Gina – someone’s knocking on my balcony door!’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what to do – here –‘ I heard some shuffling, like Anouk was moving, then, her staying silent, I could just hear the sound of knocking against glass.
‘Do you hear it?’ she asked, even more quietly.
‘I – yeah… Erm…’ Fully awake now, I got out of bed and hurried on tip-toes to my own balcony door. ‘I’ll have a look!’
Anouk made a noise of frightened concern. Undeterred, I slid open the glass door as quietly as I could and stepped outside. The travertine tiles were cool underfoot as I eased further out to where I started to see the bannister of Anouk’s balcony.
Nothing… I took another step, then, cautiously, another. Nothing… just Anouk’s potted plants coming into view… then –
There was something grey, like a smock, visible around the edge of my balcony wall. Breathing silent and quick, I took the last step.
I pinched my lips against a squeak, my eyes going huge and watery with a sudden wash of chilled terror –
There was a woman standing at Anouk’s balcony door. I could see all the blinds were down over Anouk’s windows – the glass door shut. I could hear Anouk’s scared breathing over the phone. Could hear the knocking.
The woman on Anouk’s balcony wasn’t holding a phone. She wasn’t Anouk. Her hair was brown and stringy; unwashed. And she was just standing there, on Anouk’s balcony. Knocking as though asking to be let in – yet it wasn’t just a knock and wait. It was continuous. Again and again and again.
‘Gina?’ Anouk breathed over the phone. ‘You okay?’
I hadn’t words. I was just staring.
‘Gina?’ Anouk repeated, louder.
I didn’t want to talk. I really didn’t want this woman, standing in her grey smock on a balcony three storeys off the ground, to know I was there. But it seemed I didn’t need to say anything to alert her. I saw the woman start to turn. Slowly but deliberately, she revolved to look straight at me.
Her face, shadowed in only the residual light of streetlamps and lit windows above, was empty of expression – just flat. And her eyes… One was looking at me. Dead on. The other had been. But it drifted to the side as she stared back at me and started shivering in its socket.
Her expression unchanged, the woman’s head tilted to the side, as though considering me. Her cheek caught light from somewhere, revealing a rash – like eczema – creeping up her neck onto her face. Her eyes jumped back to focused on me, then drifted off again, shivering.
I backed away as Anouk whispered my name again. I don’t know why exactly I was backing away. There were several metres of empty space separating Anouk’s balcony from mine. No way the woman could leap over that to get at me.
Or, at least, I hoped she couldn’t.
I blinked hard a few times, trying to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was. The woman was still for another moment, lank hair so still it looked painted on, then, as though in slow motion, a smile grew on her face. It got bigger and bigger, filling into her cheeks as her eyes trembled, until it looked painfully huge and downright demonic.
The woman moved. All of a sudden – she was just there, then she was spinning away, moving so quickly I could have missed her in a blink – and then she was gone, lost to the shadows on the far side of the balcony.
My feet unstuck themselves from the tiles. I ran to my balustrade, searching for where she’d gone – how she could possibly get off that balcony without falling to her death.
‘Gina!’ Anouk cried in a whisper over the phone. ‘I’m coming over there!’
‘She’s gone!’ I hissed back, still searching the façade of the apartment building with my eyes. I couldn’t see the woman anywhere. The only way she could just disappear like that was if… she hopped balconies around the side or something.
‘She?’ Anouk just about screeched. ‘There was actually someone there?’
‘She…’ I uttered. ‘There… Yes.’
‘OH MY GOD!’ I could hear Anouk starting to hyperventilate over the phone. She’d begun whimpering, and I heard her bouncing around, her feet sticking and unsticking from her tiles. Her voice shaky, she muttered, ‘No… no – no no no!’
‘Come over!’ I said to her. ‘Just come over! I’ll make… ice cream.’
Sniffling and whimpering, Anouk made a panicked hum of agreement. I turned around, headed to go open the door for her, and stopped in my tracks.
One balcony over, in the opposite direction, there was another figure stood stock still, out in the small hours of the morning. I caught the glint of Dr Robitussin’s glasses, saw him raise his narrow chin as he watched me.
I hadn’t it in me to work out what to say to him – whether to shout at him for being creepy and making me not want to use my balcony, or to try to be polite. I just ran inside, slammed the sliding door, and hurried to let the knocking Anouk in.
She spent the night with me, and, for once, I pulled down all my blinds. Terrified of hearing the knocking start up again, we sat awake for hours, sharing looks of wide-eyed fear as we tried to focus on a rom com.
GG
OD

I bought my apartment off the plan. It wasn’t dodgy construction I needed to worry about.
[Part1] [Part2]
I bought my apartment off the plan. It’s far from advised, I know. But I was moving from the other side of the country, had been saving up for over a decade, was eager to take advantage of the first dip in the housing market in ages… and I wanted something I could pick from a catalogue. I wouldn’t be able to go check any place out in person, coming from far away, anyway. And it was a good deal. That last bit swayed me quite a lot.
New builds bought off the plan have catches. I knew that when I bought it. I’d factored into what I wanted to spend my expectations about the apartment being constructed with materials cheaper than what was promised on the website, fittings that didn’t fit properly, and teething problems with things like plumbing.
I thought I was being realistic and clever. Because, of course, what could go really wrong with buying sight unseen? Worst case scenario, I figured, was that the apartment complex was built to be way too flammable.
I should have investigated the place more thoroughly before purchase.
But things were looking great as I readied to move from east to west. The apartment was ready for me at exactly the time my job wanted me to move to my new permanent location; I’d needed a new mattress anyway, so slept on the old one as the rest of my furniture shipped its way across the country – I even found a great price for my flight. It seemed… meant to be.
The only thing that was just a little out of the ordinary was what I saw when I took a virtual tour of my new neighbourhood, Roselands, on Google Street View.
I knew the whole area was new development, consisting of five apartment blocks, a section zoned for commercial use, and a park. I dropped the wiggly yellow dude on the road in front of my new home and was pleased to see the Google cars had been through the area already – and quite recently too. The images were from that very month.
Externally, the buildings were complete. My apartment building was tall, attractive, and modern, with underground parking and generous balconies. I moved around the streets, enjoying what looked like a spacious and serene park, the riverside gardens and the boardwalk, and the burgeoning shopping area; one pretty café already open with umbrellas out to shield patrons from the summer sun. That stuff made me feel vindicated in my purchase: the location was fantastic. And surprisingly close to city centre as well.
What was odd was how much of the panoramic images were blurred out. Usually it’s just license plates and people’s faces that are systematically blurred. Sometimes you see a single house on a street blurred on Google Street View, wonder why, and then just move on.
Roselands, however, had a lot of things blurred. Not whole buildings, just… boxes of blur scattered about seemingly at random. The garage driveway before an apartment building was part-blurred, a spot beside the café was blurred, sections of balconies blurred… here and there around the park: blurred. Even part of the roof of some shop was blurred, along with half a bus stop.
It could be some people asking to have themselves blurred out – all of their body, not just their faces. It was a logical answer, though, even so, it didn’t make much sense. The surrounding streets, outside Roselands, didn’t have the scattered blurring at all. It also begged the question: why was there someone on a roof? And… the biggest point: as far as I knew, my apartment complex wasn’t open yet. It would open the day before I arrived at my new home. So why were there already so many people on its balconies wanting themselves blurred out?
I decided it might just be a construction company logo that was blurred for some reason, or a glitch, and didn’t think more of it.
Two weeks later, I boarded my flight to my new life.
*
Far from being built more cheaply or looking worse than the computer-generated images had promised, my apartment was a dream. I walked through it with excited awe – even did a little dance – inspecting every immaculate fixture, the huge windows that let in so much light, my bathroom that managed to be both grand and modestly sized; came up with decoration ideas for the spare room (out of two) I’d make into my study and a vision for the balcony.
Nothing wrong with buying off the plan if it all works out, I thought, munching celebratory chips as I gazed out my window at stunning views of the river. There’d been nothing to be worried about!
My furniture, not delayed, arrived the same day I did. Feeling all was swell – feeling this was definitely meant to be – I used the weekend before starting at my new office to set my apartment up. It was sweaty, back-breaking work shifting furniture, but I did it with glee, loving every little step as I made my new home… well, home.
On Sunday night, I’d finished. I cracked open a bottle of wine and sprawled myself over my sofa, smiling around at the comforting beauty that was my apartment. All those years penny pinching around rent to save up the demanded deposit… paid off with what I’d been worried might prove an ill-considered impulsive purchase.
There was a knock on my door. Not willing to set down my wine, I sipped it as I went to answer.
My knocker was a woman, with short and stylish blonde hair and a big smile. She chuckled and nodded approvingly at my wine glass.
‘I’m Anouk,’ she said. She indicated a door just down the corridor from mine. ‘I live there – as of today! I wished to say hi!’
I said hi back and gave an offer of wine Anouk was more than pleased to take.
It was the cherry on top: Anouk, my next-door neighbour, turned out to be a woman at about the same place in her life I was, who was fun and kind, and we laughed like excited loons together over what became two bottles of wine and whatever snacks I could rustle up for us.
‘I thought,’ she said, ‘moving here from Quebec… I shouldn’t buy off the plan, you know? Not look at it first – but it’s good, isn’t it!’
I agreed wholeheartedly; told her all about my journey, as she told me hers.
‘Oh Gina, I’m glad I’ve found a neighbour I can be friends with,’ she said as the last of the second bottle was poured into our glasses, the night getting late. ‘I worried it would be all like Dr Robitussin…’ She pulled a grimace, giving me an indication what she thought of Dr Robitussin.
‘Dr Robitussin?’ I laughed, tipsy. ‘What does he specialise in? Treating coughs?’
Making the connection to the brand of cough medicine, Anouk laughed with me. She got around to describing the man once she’d calmed down a bit.
What he was a doctor of, Anouk didn’t know. But she knew he was a stare-y older man, in about his late fifties. As she described him, I remembered the guy I’d seen while I was helping the movers bring stuff up to the apartment. I’d smiled, greeted him, and got nothing back from the balding man with a narrow jaw and dark eyebrows over his glasses. He’d just stood there, evaluating me with what looked rather like a condescending glare. Apparently, he’d done the same to Anouk, and neither of us were too chuffed with him being our neighbour.
‘He gave me creepy vibes, you know?’ said Anouk, shivering in demonstration.
I hadn’t gotten quite the same sense from Dr Robitussin, but I supposed I might have if I’d paid him any more mind as I passed him in the corridor.
*
My new position in the company wasn’t quite as rosy as my new Roselands apartment, but I buckled down, motivated to learn all the ropes as quickly as possible. And there were a few co-workers I found a connection with.
Coming home that evening, I spotted Dr Robitussin on his balcony – the one right next to mine. I parked underground, then walked up to street side to help Anouk, who was carrying in the last of her boxes from the mover’s truck. Mr Robitussin was still there, I saw, looking up as I heaved a box onto my hip. He was sitting in a bathrobe, legs crossed, on a balcony chair, without a steaming drink; in the evening. Maybe it was Anouk’s view that he was creepy influencing me, but I did think sitting on the balcony like that was a bit weird.
All the same, I smiled and gave Dr Robitussin a wave. He didn’t wave back, so, chatting with Anouk, I went back to helping her carry her stuff up.
I met another neighbour a couple days later, and elderly man who was thankful for the elevator and lack of stairs in his apartment. He introduced himself as Mel, and showed his appreciation for my help carrying up some of his boxes with a treat of upside-down cake.
‘My sister lived here,’ he told me as we forked through cakes. ‘Many years ago… before these apartments. They’re new, you know?’
I did, seeing as I’d moved in the moment they opened. I asked him about his sister, and got a sad story. In my experience, you often do when you ask elderly people about their families. Never underestimate the trauma previous generations have faced.
‘Oh well…’ he said, answering my question. ‘She was always so full of life, Jill… But then she had her youngest – no problem… ‘ he trailed off, the sentence unfinished. ‘Well, I suppose there would have been a problem,’ he picked back up, nodding his head, his combed thin white hair bouncing, ‘we just didn’t see it, if you know… ‘ He trailed off again, forked up a bit of cake, and chewed thoughtfully before continuing, ‘After her youngest… it was depression, you see – she didn’t want to do the housework; began neglecting the children… And her man… he didn’t understand it. Had her committed, as we did in those days – hoping it would fix her.’
Mel gave me a beseeching look, like he was hoping for me to understand. I certainly didn’t condemn him. The past had been a different time.
‘She died, at the asylum,’ he went on. ‘And it was miserable – just miserable,’ he said emphatically, shaking his head. ‘I saw her once before she died… She was covered in this rash, and so broken…’ Mel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He finished on a, ‘In some ways, I envy your generation.’
*
I left Mel with his belongings, having helped him set urns and trinkets up on an antique cabinet before I went back to my home. There had been six urns in total, and placing them to be displayed made me sad. One of them was his sister Jill’s. Mel must be in his eighties. I doubted it was only six people he’d lost in his time.
Though, between Mel and Anouk, I had neighbours I really liked. I was sleeping soundly on my new mattress. And loving coffee from my new and fancy coffee maker. Things were good, despite a bit of drama.
The drama I refer to was between Mel and Dr Robitussin. Not that Dr Robitussin seemed to verbally involve himself in… well, anything at all – the man didn’t speak. He just hung about and watched. But precisely that seemed to be what put Mel off.
I arrived on the third floor one evening after work to see Mel’s cane fallen to the floor, and him leaning against the wall by the garbage chute, glaring at Dr Robitussin.
‘Couldn’t move yourself to help one bit?’ Mel called, irritated, to Dr Robitussin.
Dr Robitussin was standing in his doorway. I saw his chin lift as he considered Mel. It made his glasses briefly catch the light. He, unsurprisingly, didn’t say anything.
‘Just stand there and watch!’ Mel yelled at the doctor. ‘Condemn people with your gaze!’
I hurried to retrieve Mel’s cane and handed it to him. He huffed at Dr Robitussin, thanked me, and went back into his apartment. Being polite, I nodded to the doctor, wished him a cursory good evening, and carried on home.
It seemed to escalate from there, from what I saw. Though I doubt I saw all of it. Mel’s beef with Dr Robitussin was something I presumed I largely missed while I was at work.
A commotion in the corridor outside, on a Saturday afternoon, had me cracking open the door to check it out. Mel was at Dr Robitussin’s door. He pounded on it.
‘Can’t hear criticism of yourself?’ Mel shouted at the closed door. ‘Come face me, old coot!’
For a moment, I wondered whether Mel had dementia. This was a hop, skip, and a jump beyond him being irritated with Dr Robitussin over the doctor just staring at him, rather than helping with his cane.
‘Never want to talk, eh?’ Mel demanded of Dr Robitussin’s door. ‘Just want to stand back and judge others as lesser than you?’
I left my apartment, making a gentle noise of greeting as I approached Mel and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘I don’t think he’s coming out…’ I said softly. ‘Want an iced tea? I have some…’
Mel didn’t. He did give up on pounding on Dr Robitussin’s door, but he’d rather go back to his own apartment. I followed him in and, when he grunted agreement, made him a cup of regular tea.
‘You all right?’ I asked, sitting to Mel’s table with him. ‘Is there something I can help with?’
Mel shook his head. He seemed agitated – distracted and fidgety. His hands were trembling. I watched them with concern as his hand jumped to his shoulder, giving it a scratch though his cardigan, then to do the same to his chest. It reminded me of my grandmother, before we’d admitted she needed to be in a nursing home. Delirium, or… something like that.
I tried a different tack.
‘What’s… going on with Dr Robitussin?’ I asked.
Mel stared off, abstracted, at something behind me. He was ignoring his tea.
‘Mel?’
Mel met my eyes. He shook his head again.
‘The watching,’ he said. ‘The staring. Always assessing, assessing, assessing! That’s no way to be! There is something… not right about that man!’
I nodded slowly. It was an emotional reaction, but it wasn’t nonsensical. Why it bothered Mel so much, I didn’t know, and he didn’t seem too sure either. People developed their own sensitivities, I supposed.
‘Gina,’ he said, as I was getting up to leave him to his cooling tea.
I paused. Mel looked up at me, his gaze sad and almost… beseeching.
‘Never regret being silent,’ he said. ‘Only let yourself regret speaking up.’
I wasn’t too sure which way to interpret that. Was he advising me to stay silent, or speak up? But I just smiled, reminded him he could call on me any time if he needed anything, and wished him a good afternoon.
*
I didn’t see Mel attempt to pound down Dr Robitussin’s door again after that. I did start to see, more and more, why Dr Robitussin might have rubbed him the wrong way, though:
Anouk and I had started taking walks around the neighbourhood, initially exploring, then it just became something we’d do on Sundays to get some fresh air and stop at the café for lunch. Every single time, leaving the apartment and when we were coming back, Dr Robitussin would be watching. Either from his balcony, or, here and there, in the doorway of his apartment. I started to feel like I was under some very blatant surveillance.
‘There aren’t too many people here yet,’ Anouk observed as we left the café behind, heading home. ‘I thought it was to be expected, the first few weeks… But it’s been a month now, you know?’
I did know what she meant. The café hadn’t been doing a roaring trade, but it hadn’t been empty either. Yet, as we walked back between the apartment blocks, I’d have to admit the place was a bit… sparse. A lot of balconies were empty of any furniture; buildings that should contain hundreds or more people seemed to be at about a quarter capacity – or less. Beyond Mel, Dr Robitussin, Anouk, and me, our floor was empty.
I shrugged.
‘Maybe they just haven’t moved in yet?’ I suggested. ‘Or a lot of them are investment properties? And the owners are sorting out rental agreements.’
There were only a few main “For Sale” signs up around the edges of the development. It wasn’t like there was one for every unpurchased apartment, so I had no idea how many were still left to be bought.
Anouk didn’t respond. We were rounding the front of our building now. Dr Robitussin, as ever, was standing on his balcony. He watched us as we walked up to the front doors.
I’d given up waving to him. I just sent him a short nod. Anouk averted her eyes, barely sparing Dr Robitussin a glance before turning her face away.
‘I hate that watching he does!’ she hissed to me in the elevator. ‘It reminds me of a teacher I had once – always wanting to get you in trouble for any little thing.’
I was starting to hate it myself. Particularly when I went out to enjoy my vision of a balcony, and Dr Robitussin was just there, watching me from his balcony.
*
It was the next night, as I was gazing out the window at the river, brushing my teeth for bed, that I realised I hadn’t seen much of Mel lately. He usually took a walk in the park every morning, keeping his legs strong and himself moving – as he’d once described it to me. I didn’t think I’d seen him do that for a few days now. In fact… either I wasn’t remembering correctly, or the last time I’d seen Mel had been about five days ago, when he was using the garbage chute in the corridor.
Resolving to check in on Mel the next day, I switched out the light and got into bed. I hadn’t pulled the blind in my bedroom. I’d stopped doing so after the first time I’d gotten a chance to look out at the night-time river from my bed.
The rippling reflection of city lights on the glossy river surface was like urban bustle made serene. It was something I’d found I loved to do – more peaceful than listening to Matthew McConaughey read a bedtime story: look out at that river with my head on my pillow and my body surrounded by soft bedding.
I was slipping into that world of serenity, my eyes sunk shut, when I was jolted back awake by a frenzied banging on my door. My eyes shot open and I leapt out of bed.
‘Gina – Gina!’ Anouk called out to me, panicked, as I hurried over to the door. ‘Gina – come!’
I swung open the door.
‘What?’
‘There’s a man on my balcony!’ Anouk whisper-screeched, her eyes huge, and grabbed my arm, dragging me to her apartment.
‘What?’ I asked again, startled. We were three floors up. But Anouk was showing me, not telling me. We scuttled into her dark apartment. Anouk hunched, eyes darting from window to window, and started tiptoeing. I followed her lead, sneaking through the living room toward the archway into the dining area. Anouk pressed herself against the wall, and indicated silently for me to have a look.
I took a breath, and peeked through the archway, my eyes landing on the windows.
There was no one there. I eased past Anouk and had a better look, scanning her entire balcony through the large panes of glass.
‘It’s empty,’ I whispered to Anouk. ‘There’s no one.’
‘What?’
Anouk peaked out, then, slowly, followed me into the dining area. She went right up to the balcony doors and stared out. Then she turned back to face me, her eyes even wider.
‘Has he gotten in?’
The balcony door was locked, the windows shut and the air con on, and we combed the entire apartment for anyone. It was empty but for us.
‘He was there, I swear!’ Anouk said, upset. ‘I went to get a drink of water – and he was just there, staring though the window at me! Looked like a zombie – and his eyes were weird!’
Anouk wasn’t able to describe the man much better than that. Uneasy being in her apartment alone, she came back to mine with me. I ribbed her gently about watching horror movies before bed, looking to lessen her fear.
‘I wasn’t!’ she insisted. ‘I didn’t imagine it, I swear!
‘How would he have gotten onto the balcony?’
That bit I had no answer for. We went out onto my balcony to see if it was possible to climb up. The zombie-man with “weird” eyes would have had to have some major parkour skill to climb up. Every balcony projected, independent of additional supports, directly above the one below it. There was little by way of handholds, and the ceilings in this apartment weren’t low.
‘There’s no way…’ Anouk breathed, peering over the handrail at the ground below.
I nodded and stepped back. In the dark, I noticed the slightest movement to my left. My head whipped round to see – despite my scepticism expecting a zombie man at midnight there to kill us.
It wasn’t a zombie man – well, it was in a way, but not the one Anouk had described. It was Dr Robitussin, staring at us from his unlit balcony. Just stood there, staring at us, in the fucking middle of the night.
My teeth grit, but I pulled a smile onto my face. After all, he was my neighbour. I didn’t believe in burning bridges with people I lived right next to.
‘Hi Dr Robitussin,’ I said.
Anouk startled. Unlike me, she didn’t care about not showing hostility.
‘I hope we didn’t wake you up,’ she said coldly. ‘We’re fine, though, thanks. We don’t need your help.’
Dr Robitussin didn’t react. As usual. I shuddered when Anouk and I were both safely out of his view, and shut the sliding balcony door. That had been really creepy.
‘How did you even know what his name was?’ I asked Anouk as she bunked down beside me for the night. ‘He never says anything.’
Anouk plumped up her pillow, then flopped down onto it.
‘It was on his case,’ she said.
‘Suitcase?’
‘No – like a leather case. It looked old-fashioned.’
*
There was no repeat visit from zombie men that night. But it was after that that things did start getting weird.
I was reminded of being concerned about Mel by seeing the man himself out for a walk in the park the next morning. Initially, though, I wasn’t too sure it was Mel.
It looked like Mel, but, I suppose, part of recognising someone at a bit of distance is their walk. Mel shuffled, leant on his cane. The man I was frowning at, driving slowly along an otherwise empty lane on my way to work, wasn’t doing that. Mel was standing straight, not shuffling, but walking as though bored: like his legs had the strength for it, he just hadn’t the energy to do anything but drag his feet.
I eyed him longer as I stopped at the stop sign. It was definitely Mel: I could see his face well enough now.
A car eventually drove up behind me. The apartment complex wasn’t so deserted that there were never cars on the streets that served it. I took my turn, driving away from the park, and just decided to be happy Mel seemed to be in good form.
He wasn’t out walking the next day as I headed in to work, or the day after that. But, on the third day, as I was getting worried, I did see him again. Past the hedgerows and a fountain, I saw the thin white hair and cardigan over his wizened back. He was walking towards where I was driving – and surprisingly quickly, too. For the first few moments, I put the speed I thought I was seeing him walk at down to morning brain. But it was undeniable: for an elderly man who walked with a cane, Mel was just about cantering through the park.
Only… As Mel emerged from behind the last hedgerow, he wasn’t using his cane. He was walking without it, at a decent clip free from limp.
I pulled up to the side of the road as he stepped onto the sidewalk and rolled down my window.
‘Hey Mel!’ I called to him. ‘Nice to see you walking without the cane! How’re you doing?’
It didn’t seem Mel had heard me. I called out again as he walked up the sidewalk. This time he heard. He looked around, saw me, and, strange for Mel, didn’t smile. He did come over, though.
‘Your sore leg doin’ bette…?’ I trailed off. Mel was close enough now for me to see his eyes. He’d stooped to look in the car window. I stared.
Mel’s eyes were shivering. It seemed set off by him changing what he was looking it: like eyeballs on springs, every time his gaze switched to look at something else, they shivered side to side in their sockets.
‘It is better,’ Mel said, his voice oddly monotone.
‘That’s great!’ I said, keeping my voice bright. ‘All that walking paid off then!’
Mel’s expression didn’t change. It was just… flat.
‘Yes,’ he responded, still in that monotone. ‘It did.’
‘That’s great!’
Mel bobbed his head in a nod. It set his eyes shivering.
‘Have a good day,’ he said, stood back up, and returned to his walk.
I stared after him, confounded. It was like Mel had developed a weird robotic doppelganger. One that seemed too restless to stay still.
*
Each of the mornings after that, Mel went out for his walks. I’d see him when I was driving into work, or, on the weekends, see him come back later and later from my apartment windows. While the way he walked looked increasingly restless – agitated – his expression stayed flat. It was an unsettling clash.
‘You don’t know what is going on in his life,’ Anouk said fairly when I expressed my concern to her. ‘It could be anything. Maybe he has Parkinson’s, and is taking a new medication for it.’
Having heard a thump from her balcony, she’d come over to watch after-dinner TV away from any potential balcony zombies.
I conceded in a nod, starting to feel like the resident busy body. I didn’t know much about Parkinson’s. Maybe it was something like that.
‘Do you want to go check your balcony yet?’ I asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t the first time Anouk, who’d started keeping all her blinds down the moment it got dark, had heard a bump on her balcony. The past couple nights she’d been my regular evening companion, wary of her own apartment. Eventually, every time this happened, she got up the courage to follow me to her apartment and check the balcony. Every time it had been empty of people, zombie or otherwise.
Anouk, curled up around a cushion on the sofa, stuck her chin on top of it.
‘Nope,’ she answered.
I cracked a smile.
‘We can see your balcony from mine…’ I suggested.
Anouk cast me a sidelong look.
‘And be stared at by Dr Robitussin as we do?’ she shot back. ‘No thank you!’
That was a good point. I pulled a face, making Anouk snicker.
‘You should probably stop watching so many scary movies…’ I said, sotto voce, returning my attention to the TV. I was ready for it, a second later, when Anouk chucked the cushion at my head.
I walked her back to her apartment about an hour later, and checked her balcony was clear. Then I returned to my apartment and got into bed.
I was woken, at about two in the morning, by my phone ringing. Groaning, I rolled over to pick it off the nightstand, expecting some scam call telling me my internet was going to be cut off unless I paid someone in ITunes vouchers.
Rather than a random number, however, my phone identified the caller as Anouk.
‘What’s up?’ I answered, groggy.
‘They are knocking!’ Anouk breathed on the other end. ‘Gina – someone’s knocking on my balcony door!’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what to do – here –‘ I heard some shuffling, like Anouk was moving, then, her staying silent, I could just hear the sound of knocking against glass.
‘Do you hear it?’ she asked, even more quietly.
‘I – yeah… Erm…’ Fully awake now, I got out of bed and hurried on tip-toes to my own balcony door. ‘I’ll have a look!’
Anouk made a noise of frightened concern. Undeterred, I slid open the glass door as quietly as I could and stepped outside. The travertine tiles were cool underfoot as I eased further out to where I started to see the bannister of Anouk’s balcony.
Nothing… I took another step, then, cautiously, another. Nothing… just Anouk’s potted plants coming into view… then –
There was something grey, like a smock, visible around the edge of my balcony wall. Breathing silent and quick, I took the last step.
I pinched my lips against a squeak, my eyes going huge and watery with a sudden wash of chilled terror –
There was a woman standing at Anouk’s balcony door. I could see all the blinds were down over Anouk’s windows – the glass door shut. I could hear Anouk’s scared breathing over the phone. Could hear the knocking.
The woman on Anouk’s balcony wasn’t holding a phone. She wasn’t Anouk. Her hair was brown and stringy; unwashed. And she was just standing there, on Anouk’s balcony. Knocking as though asking to be let in – yet it wasn’t just a knock and wait. It was continuous. Again and again and again.
‘Gina?’ Anouk breathed over the phone. ‘You okay?’
I hadn’t words. I was just staring.
‘Gina?’ Anouk repeated, louder.
I didn’t want to talk. I really didn’t want this woman, standing in her grey smock on a balcony three storeys off the ground, to know I was there. But it seemed I didn’t need to say anything to alert her. I saw the woman start to turn. Slowly but deliberately, she revolved to look straight at me.
Her face, shadowed in only the residual light of streetlamps and lit windows above, was empty of expression – just flat. And her eyes… One was looking at me. Dead on. The other had been. But it drifted to the side as she stared back at me and started shivering in its socket.
Her expression unchanged, the woman’s head tilted to the side, as though considering me. Her cheek caught light from somewhere, revealing a rash – like eczema – creeping up her neck onto her face. Her eyes jumped back to focused on me, then drifted off again, shivering.
I backed away as Anouk whispered my name again. I don’t know why exactly I was backing away. There were several metres of empty space separating Anouk’s balcony from mine. No way the woman could leap over that to get at me.
Or, at least, I hoped she couldn’t.
I blinked hard a few times, trying to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was. The woman was still for another moment, lank hair so still it looked painted on, then, as though in slow motion, a smile grew on her face. It got bigger and bigger, filling into her cheeks as her eyes trembled, until it looked painfully huge and downright demonic.
The woman moved. All of a sudden – she was just there, then she was spinning away, moving so quickly I could have missed her in a blink – and then she was gone, lost to the shadows on the far side of the balcony.
My feet unstuck themselves from the tiles. I ran to my balustrade, searching for where she’d gone – how she could possibly get off that balcony without falling to her death.
‘Gina!’ Anouk cried in a whisper over the phone. ‘I’m coming over there!’
‘She’s gone!’ I hissed back, still searching the façade of the apartment building with my eyes. I couldn’t see the woman anywhere. The only way she could just disappear like that was if… she hopped balconies around the side or something.
‘She?’ Anouk just about screeched. ‘There was actually someone there?’
‘She…’ I uttered. ‘There… Yes.’
‘OH MY GOD!’ I could hear Anouk starting to hyperventilate over the phone. She’d begun whimpering, and I heard her bouncing around, her feet sticking and unsticking from her tiles. Her voice shaky, she muttered, ‘No… no – no no no!’
‘Come over!’ I said to her. ‘Just come over! I’ll make… ice cream.’
Sniffling and whimpering, Anouk made a panicked hum of agreement. I turned around, headed to go open the door for her, and stopped in my tracks.
One balcony over, in the opposite direction, there was another figure stood stock still, out in the small hours of the morning. I caught the glint of Dr Robitussin’s glasses, saw him raise his narrow chin as he watched me.
I hadn’t it in me to work out what to say to him – whether to shout at him for being creepy and making me not want to use my balcony, or to try to be polite. I just ran inside, slammed the sliding door, and hurried to let the knocking Anouk in.
She spent the night with me, and, for once, I pulled down all my blinds. Terrified of hearing the knocking start up again, we sat awake for hours, sharing looks of wide-eyed fear as we tried to focus on a rom com.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Find me and the growing shelves of my Lantern Library here. Podcast coming soon! Or check out my Reddit cache of stories.

I bought my apartment off the plan. It wasn’t dodgy construction I needed to worry about.
[Part1] [Part2]
I bought my apartment off the plan. It’s far from advised, I know. But I was moving from the other side of the country, had been saving up for over a decade, was eager to take advantage of the first dip in the housing market in ages… and I wanted something I could pick from a catalogue. I wouldn’t be able to go check any place out in person, coming from far away, anyway. And it was a good deal. That last bit swayed me quite a lot.
New builds bought off the plan have catches. I knew that when I bought it. I’d factored into what I wanted to spend my expectations about the apartment being constructed with materials cheaper than what was promised on the website, fittings that didn’t fit properly, and teething problems with things like plumbing.
I thought I was being realistic and clever. Because, of course, what could go really wrong with buying sight unseen? Worst case scenario, I figured, was that the apartment complex was built to be way too flammable.
I should have investigated the place more thoroughly before purchase.
But things were looking great as I readied to move from east to west. The apartment was ready for me at exactly the time my job wanted me to move to my new permanent location; I’d needed a new mattress anyway, so slept on the old one as the rest of my furniture shipped its way across the country – I even found a great price for my flight. It seemed… meant to be.
The only thing that was just a little out of the ordinary was what I saw when I took a virtual tour of my new neighbourhood, Roselands, on Google Street View.
I knew the whole area was new development, consisting of five apartment blocks, a section zoned for commercial use, and a park. I dropped the wiggly yellow dude on the road in front of my new home and was pleased to see the Google cars had been through the area already – and quite recently too. The images were from that very month.
Externally, the buildings were complete. My apartment building was tall, attractive, and modern, with underground parking and generous balconies. I moved around the streets, enjoying what looked like a spacious and serene park, the riverside gardens and the boardwalk, and the burgeoning shopping area; one pretty café already open with umbrellas out to shield patrons from the summer sun. That stuff made me feel vindicated in my purchase: the location was fantastic. And surprisingly close to city centre as well.
What was odd was how much of the panoramic images were blurred out. Usually it’s just license plates and people’s faces that are systematically blurred. Sometimes you see a single house on a street blurred on Google Street View, wonder why, and then just move on.
Roselands, however, had a lot of things blurred. Not whole buildings, just… boxes of blur scattered about seemingly at random. The garage driveway before an apartment building was part-blurred, a spot beside the café was blurred, sections of balconies blurred… here and there around the park: blurred. Even part of the roof of some shop was blurred, along with half a bus stop.
It could be some people asking to have themselves blurred out – all of their body, not just their faces. It was a logical answer, though, even so, it didn’t make much sense. The surrounding streets, outside Roselands, didn’t have the scattered blurring at all. It also begged the question: why was there someone on a roof? And… the biggest point: as far as I knew, my apartment complex wasn’t open yet. It would open the day before I arrived at my new home. So why were there already so many people on its balconies wanting themselves blurred out?
I decided it might just be a construction company logo that was blurred for some reason, or a glitch, and didn’t think more of it.
Two weeks later, I boarded my flight to my new life.
*
Far from being built more cheaply or looking worse than the computer-generated images had promised, my apartment was a dream. I walked through it with excited awe – even did a little dance – inspecting every immaculate fixture, the huge windows that let in so much light, my bathroom that managed to be both grand and modestly sized; came up with decoration ideas for the spare room (out of two) I’d make into my study and a vision for the balcony.
Nothing wrong with buying off the plan if it all works out, I thought, munching celebratory chips as I gazed out my window at stunning views of the river. There’d been nothing to be worried about!
My furniture, not delayed, arrived the same day I did. Feeling all was swell – feeling this was definitely meant to be – I used the weekend before starting at my new office to set my apartment up. It was sweaty, back-breaking work shifting furniture, but I did it with glee, loving every little step as I made my new home… well, home.
On Sunday night, I’d finished. I cracked open a bottle of wine and sprawled myself over my sofa, smiling around at the comforting beauty that was my apartment. All those years penny pinching around rent to save up the demanded deposit… paid off with what I’d been worried might prove an ill-considered impulsive purchase.
There was a knock on my door. Not willing to set down my wine, I sipped it as I went to answer.
My knocker was a woman, with short and stylish blonde hair and a big smile. She chuckled and nodded approvingly at my wine glass.
‘I’m Anouk,’ she said. She indicated a door just down the corridor from mine. ‘I live there – as of today! I wished to say hi!’
I said hi back and gave an offer of wine Anouk was more than pleased to take.
It was the cherry on top: Anouk, my next-door neighbour, turned out to be a woman at about the same place in her life I was, who was fun and kind, and we laughed like excited loons together over what became two bottles of wine and whatever snacks I could rustle up for us.
‘I thought,’ she said, ‘moving here from Quebec… I shouldn’t buy off the plan, you know? Not look at it first – but it’s good, isn’t it!’
I agreed wholeheartedly; told her all about my journey, as she told me hers.
‘Oh Gina, I’m glad I’ve found a neighbour I can be friends with,’ she said as the last of the second bottle was poured into our glasses, the night getting late. ‘I worried it would be all like Dr Robitussin…’ She pulled a grimace, giving me an indication what she thought of Dr Robitussin.
‘Dr Robitussin?’ I laughed, tipsy. ‘What does he specialise in? Treating coughs?’
Making the connection to the brand of cough medicine, Anouk laughed with me. She got around to describing the man once she’d calmed down a bit.
What he was a doctor of, Anouk didn’t know. But she knew he was a stare-y older man, in about his late fifties. As she described him, I remembered the guy I’d seen while I was helping the movers bring stuff up to the apartment. I’d smiled, greeted him, and got nothing back from the balding man with a narrow jaw and dark eyebrows over his glasses. He’d just stood there, evaluating me with what looked rather like a condescending glare. Apparently, he’d done the same to Anouk, and neither of us were too chuffed with him being our neighbour.
‘He gave me creepy vibes, you know?’ said Anouk, shivering in demonstration.
I hadn’t gotten quite the same sense from Dr Robitussin, but I supposed I might have if I’d paid him any more mind as I passed him in the corridor.
*
My new position in the company wasn’t quite as rosy as my new Roselands apartment, but I buckled down, motivated to learn all the ropes as quickly as possible. And there were a few co-workers I found a connection with.
Coming home that evening, I spotted Dr Robitussin on his balcony – the one right next to mine. I parked underground, then walked up to street side to help Anouk, who was carrying in the last of her boxes from the mover’s truck. Mr Robitussin was still there, I saw, looking up as I heaved a box onto my hip. He was sitting in a bathrobe, legs crossed, on a balcony chair, without a steaming drink; in the evening. Maybe it was Anouk’s view that he was creepy influencing me, but I did think sitting on the balcony like that was a bit weird.
All the same, I smiled and gave Dr Robitussin a wave. He didn’t wave back, so, chatting with Anouk, I went back to helping her carry her stuff up.
I met another neighbour a couple days later, and elderly man who was thankful for the elevator and lack of stairs in his apartment. He introduced himself as Mel, and showed his appreciation for my help carrying up some of his boxes with a treat of upside-down cake.
‘My sister lived here,’ he told me as we forked through cakes. ‘Many years ago… before these apartments. They’re new, you know?’
I did, seeing as I’d moved in the moment they opened. I asked him about his sister, and got a sad story. In my experience, you often do when you ask elderly people about their families. Never underestimate the trauma previous generations have faced.
‘Oh well…’ he said, answering my question. ‘She was always so full of life, Jill… But then she had her youngest – no problem… ‘ he trailed off, the sentence unfinished. ‘Well, I suppose there would have been a problem,’ he picked back up, nodding his head, his combed thin white hair bouncing, ‘we just didn’t see it, if you know… ‘ He trailed off again, forked up a bit of cake, and chewed thoughtfully before continuing, ‘After her youngest… it was depression, you see – she didn’t want to do the housework; began neglecting the children… And her man… he didn’t understand it. Had her committed, as we did in those days – hoping it would fix her.’
Mel gave me a beseeching look, like he was hoping for me to understand. I certainly didn’t condemn him. The past had been a different time.
‘She died, at the asylum,’ he went on. ‘And it was miserable – just miserable,’ he said emphatically, shaking his head. ‘I saw her once before she died… She was covered in this rash, and so broken…’ Mel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He finished on a, ‘In some ways, I envy your generation.’
*
I left Mel with his belongings, having helped him set urns and trinkets up on an antique cabinet before I went back to my home. There had been six urns in total, and placing them to be displayed made me sad. One of them was his sister Jill’s. Mel must be in his eighties. I doubted it was only six people he’d lost in his time.
Though, between Mel and Anouk, I had neighbours I really liked. I was sleeping soundly on my new mattress. And loving coffee from my new and fancy coffee maker. Things were good, despite a bit of drama.
The drama I refer to was between Mel and Dr Robitussin. Not that Dr Robitussin seemed to verbally involve himself in… well, anything at all – the man didn’t speak. He just hung about and watched. But precisely that seemed to be what put Mel off.
I arrived on the third floor one evening after work to see Mel’s cane fallen to the floor, and him leaning against the wall by the garbage chute, glaring at Dr Robitussin.
‘Couldn’t move yourself to help one bit?’ Mel called, irritated, to Dr Robitussin.
Dr Robitussin was standing in his doorway. I saw his chin lift as he considered Mel. It made his glasses briefly catch the light. He, unsurprisingly, didn’t say anything.
‘Just stand there and watch!’ Mel yelled at the doctor. ‘Condemn people with your gaze!’
I hurried to retrieve Mel’s cane and handed it to him. He huffed at Dr Robitussin, thanked me, and went back into his apartment. Being polite, I nodded to the doctor, wished him a cursory good evening, and carried on home.
It seemed to escalate from there, from what I saw. Though I doubt I saw all of it. Mel’s beef with Dr Robitussin was something I presumed I largely missed while I was at work.
A commotion in the corridor outside, on a Saturday afternoon, had me cracking open the door to check it out. Mel was at Dr Robitussin’s door. He pounded on it.
‘Can’t hear criticism of yourself?’ Mel shouted at the closed door. ‘Come face me, old coot!’
For a moment, I wondered whether Mel had dementia. This was a hop, skip, and a jump beyond him being irritated with Dr Robitussin over the doctor just staring at him, rather than helping with his cane.
‘Never want to talk, eh?’ Mel demanded of Dr Robitussin’s door. ‘Just want to stand back and judge others as lesser than you?’
I left my apartment, making a gentle noise of greeting as I approached Mel and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘I don’t think he’s coming out…’ I said softly. ‘Want an iced tea? I have some…’
Mel didn’t. He did give up on pounding on Dr Robitussin’s door, but he’d rather go back to his own apartment. I followed him in and, when he grunted agreement, made him a cup of regular tea.
‘You all right?’ I asked, sitting to Mel’s table with him. ‘Is there something I can help with?’
Mel shook his head. He seemed agitated – distracted and fidgety. His hands were trembling. I watched them with concern as his hand jumped to his shoulder, giving it a scratch though his cardigan, then to do the same to his chest. It reminded me of my grandmother, before we’d admitted she needed to be in a nursing home. Delirium, or… something like that.
I tried a different tack.
‘What’s… going on with Dr Robitussin?’ I asked.
Mel stared off, abstracted, at something behind me. He was ignoring his tea.
‘Mel?’
Mel met my eyes. He shook his head again.
‘The watching,’ he said. ‘The staring. Always assessing, assessing, assessing! That’s no way to be! There is something… not right about that man!’
I nodded slowly. It was an emotional reaction, but it wasn’t nonsensical. Why it bothered Mel so much, I didn’t know, and he didn’t seem too sure either. People developed their own sensitivities, I supposed.
‘Gina,’ he said, as I was getting up to leave him to his cooling tea.
I paused. Mel looked up at me, his gaze sad and almost… beseeching.
‘Never regret being silent,’ he said. ‘Only let yourself regret speaking up.’
I wasn’t too sure which way to interpret that. Was he advising me to stay silent, or speak up? But I just smiled, reminded him he could call on me any time if he needed anything, and wished him a good afternoon.
*
I didn’t see Mel attempt to pound down Dr Robitussin’s door again after that. I did start to see, more and more, why Dr Robitussin might have rubbed him the wrong way, though:
Anouk and I had started taking walks around the neighbourhood, initially exploring, then it just became something we’d do on Sundays to get some fresh air and stop at the café for lunch. Every single time, leaving the apartment and when we were coming back, Dr Robitussin would be watching. Either from his balcony, or, here and there, in the doorway of his apartment. I started to feel like I was under some very blatant surveillance.
‘There aren’t too many people here yet,’ Anouk observed as we left the café behind, heading home. ‘I thought it was to be expected, the first few weeks… But it’s been a month now, you know?’
I did know what she meant. The café hadn’t been doing a roaring trade, but it hadn’t been empty either. Yet, as we walked back between the apartment blocks, I’d have to admit the place was a bit… sparse. A lot of balconies were empty of any furniture; buildings that should contain hundreds or more people seemed to be at about a quarter capacity – or less. Beyond Mel, Dr Robitussin, Anouk, and me, our floor was empty.
I shrugged.
‘Maybe they just haven’t moved in yet?’ I suggested. ‘Or a lot of them are investment properties? And the owners are sorting out rental agreements.’
There were only a few main “For Sale” signs up around the edges of the development. It wasn’t like there was one for every unpurchased apartment, so I had no idea how many were still left to be bought.
Anouk didn’t respond. We were rounding the front of our building now. Dr Robitussin, as ever, was standing on his balcony. He watched us as we walked up to the front doors.
I’d given up waving to him. I just sent him a short nod. Anouk averted her eyes, barely sparing Dr Robitussin a glance before turning her face away.
‘I hate that watching he does!’ she hissed to me in the elevator. ‘It reminds me of a teacher I had once – always wanting to get you in trouble for any little thing.’
I was starting to hate it myself. Particularly when I went out to enjoy my vision of a balcony, and Dr Robitussin was just there, watching me from his balcony.
*
It was the next night, as I was gazing out the window at the river, brushing my teeth for bed, that I realised I hadn’t seen much of Mel lately. He usually took a walk in the park every morning, keeping his legs strong and himself moving – as he’d once described it to me. I didn’t think I’d seen him do that for a few days now. In fact… either I wasn’t remembering correctly, or the last time I’d seen Mel had been about five days ago, when he was using the garbage chute in the corridor.
Resolving to check in on Mel the next day, I switched out the light and got into bed. I hadn’t pulled the blind in my bedroom. I’d stopped doing so after the first time I’d gotten a chance to look out at the night-time river from my bed.
The rippling reflection of city lights on the glossy river surface was like urban bustle made serene. It was something I’d found I loved to do – more peaceful than listening to Matthew McConaughey read a bedtime story: look out at that river with my head on my pillow and my body surrounded by soft bedding.
I was slipping into that world of serenity, my eyes sunk shut, when I was jolted back awake by a frenzied banging on my door. My eyes shot open and I leapt out of bed.
‘Gina – Gina!’ Anouk called out to me, panicked, as I hurried over to the door. ‘Gina – come!’
I swung open the door.
‘What?’
‘There’s a man on my balcony!’ Anouk whisper-screeched, her eyes huge, and grabbed my arm, dragging me to her apartment.
‘What?’ I asked again, startled. We were three floors up. But Anouk was showing me, not telling me. We scuttled into her dark apartment. Anouk hunched, eyes darting from window to window, and started tiptoeing. I followed her lead, sneaking through the living room toward the archway into the dining area. Anouk pressed herself against the wall, and indicated silently for me to have a look.
I took a breath, and peeked through the archway, my eyes landing on the windows.
There was no one there. I eased past Anouk and had a better look, scanning her entire balcony through the large panes of glass.
‘It’s empty,’ I whispered to Anouk. ‘There’s no one.’
‘What?’
Anouk peaked out, then, slowly, followed me into the dining area. She went right up to the balcony doors and stared out. Then she turned back to face me, her eyes even wider.
‘Has he gotten in?’
The balcony door was locked, the windows shut and the air con on, and we combed the entire apartment for anyone. It was empty but for us.
‘He was there, I swear!’ Anouk said, upset. ‘I went to get a drink of water – and he was just there, staring though the window at me! Looked like a zombie – and his eyes were weird!’
Anouk wasn’t able to describe the man much better than that. Uneasy being in her apartment alone, she came back to mine with me. I ribbed her gently about watching horror movies before bed, looking to lessen her fear.
‘I wasn’t!’ she insisted. ‘I didn’t imagine it, I swear!
‘How would he have gotten onto the balcony?’
That bit I had no answer for. We went out onto my balcony to see if it was possible to climb up. The zombie-man with “weird” eyes would have had to have some major parkour skill to climb up. Every balcony projected, independent of additional supports, directly above the one below it. There was little by way of handholds, and the ceilings in this apartment weren’t low.
‘There’s no way…’ Anouk breathed, peering over the handrail at the ground below.
I nodded and stepped back. In the dark, I noticed the slightest movement to my left. My head whipped round to see – despite my scepticism expecting a zombie man at midnight there to kill us.
It wasn’t a zombie man – well, it was in a way, but not the one Anouk had described. It was Dr Robitussin, staring at us from his unlit balcony. Just stood there, staring at us, in the fucking middle of the night.
My teeth grit, but I pulled a smile onto my face. After all, he was my neighbour. I didn’t believe in burning bridges with people I lived right next to.
‘Hi Dr Robitussin,’ I said.
Anouk startled. Unlike me, she didn’t care about not showing hostility.
‘I hope we didn’t wake you up,’ she said coldly. ‘We’re fine, though, thanks. We don’t need your help.’
Dr Robitussin didn’t react. As usual. I shuddered when Anouk and I were both safely out of his view, and shut the sliding balcony door. That had been really creepy.
‘How did you even know what his name was?’ I asked Anouk as she bunked down beside me for the night. ‘He never says anything.’
Anouk plumped up her pillow, then flopped down onto it.
‘It was on his case,’ she said.
‘Suitcase?’
‘No – like a leather case. It looked old-fashioned.’
*
There was no repeat visit from zombie men that night. But it was after that that things did start getting weird.
I was reminded of being concerned about Mel by seeing the man himself out for a walk in the park the next morning. Initially, though, I wasn’t too sure it was Mel.
It looked like Mel, but, I suppose, part of recognising someone at a bit of distance is their walk. Mel shuffled, leant on his cane. The man I was frowning at, driving slowly along an otherwise empty lane on my way to work, wasn’t doing that. Mel was standing straight, not shuffling, but walking as though bored: like his legs had the strength for it, he just hadn’t the energy to do anything but drag his feet.
I eyed him longer as I stopped at the stop sign. It was definitely Mel: I could see his face well enough now.
A car eventually drove up behind me. The apartment complex wasn’t so deserted that there were never cars on the streets that served it. I took my turn, driving away from the park, and just decided to be happy Mel seemed to be in good form.
He wasn’t out walking the next day as I headed in to work, or the day after that. But, on the third day, as I was getting worried, I did see him again. Past the hedgerows and a fountain, I saw the thin white hair and cardigan over his wizened back. He was walking towards where I was driving – and surprisingly quickly, too. For the first few moments, I put the speed I thought I was seeing him walk at down to morning brain. But it was undeniable: for an elderly man who walked with a cane, Mel was just about cantering through the park.
Only… As Mel emerged from behind the last hedgerow, he wasn’t using his cane. He was walking without it, at a decent clip free from limp.
I pulled up to the side of the road as he stepped onto the sidewalk and rolled down my window.
‘Hey Mel!’ I called to him. ‘Nice to see you walking without the cane! How’re you doing?’
It didn’t seem Mel had heard me. I called out again as he walked up the sidewalk. This time he heard. He looked around, saw me, and, strange for Mel, didn’t smile. He did come over, though.
‘Your sore leg doin’ bette…?’ I trailed off. Mel was close enough now for me to see his eyes. He’d stooped to look in the car window. I stared.
Mel’s eyes were shivering. It seemed set off by him changing what he was looking it: like eyeballs on springs, every time his gaze switched to look at something else, they shivered side to side in their sockets.
‘It is better,’ Mel said, his voice oddly monotone.
‘That’s great!’ I said, keeping my voice bright. ‘All that walking paid off then!’
Mel’s expression didn’t change. It was just… flat.
‘Yes,’ he responded, still in that monotone. ‘It did.’
‘That’s great!’
Mel bobbed his head in a nod. It set his eyes shivering.
‘Have a good day,’ he said, stood back up, and returned to his walk.
I stared after him, confounded. It was like Mel had developed a weird robotic doppelganger. One that seemed too restless to stay still.
*
Each of the mornings after that, Mel went out for his walks. I’d see him when I was driving into work, or, on the weekends, see him come back later and later from my apartment windows. While the way he walked looked increasingly restless – agitated – his expression stayed flat. It was an unsettling clash.
‘You don’t know what is going on in his life,’ Anouk said fairly when I expressed my concern to her. ‘It could be anything. Maybe he has Parkinson’s, and is taking a new medication for it.’
Having heard a thump from her balcony, she’d come over to watch after-dinner TV away from any potential balcony zombies.
I conceded in a nod, starting to feel like the resident busy body. I didn’t know much about Parkinson’s. Maybe it was something like that.
‘Do you want to go check your balcony yet?’ I asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t the first time Anouk, who’d started keeping all her blinds down the moment it got dark, had heard a bump on her balcony. The past couple nights she’d been my regular evening companion, wary of her own apartment. Eventually, every time this happened, she got up the courage to follow me to her apartment and check the balcony. Every time it had been empty of people, zombie or otherwise.
Anouk, curled up around a cushion on the sofa, stuck her chin on top of it.
‘Nope,’ she answered.
I cracked a smile.
‘We can see your balcony from mine…’ I suggested.
Anouk cast me a sidelong look.
‘And be stared at by Dr Robitussin as we do?’ she shot back. ‘No thank you!’
That was a good point. I pulled a face, making Anouk snicker.
‘You should probably stop watching so many scary movies…’ I said, sotto voce, returning my attention to the TV. I was ready for it, a second later, when Anouk chucked the cushion at my head.
I walked her back to her apartment about an hour later, and checked her balcony was clear. Then I returned to my apartment and got into bed.
I was woken, at about two in the morning, by my phone ringing. Groaning, I rolled over to pick it off the nightstand, expecting some scam call telling me my internet was going to be cut off unless I paid someone in ITunes vouchers.
Rather than a random number, however, my phone identified the caller as Anouk.
‘What’s up?’ I answered, groggy.
‘They are knocking!’ Anouk breathed on the other end. ‘Gina – someone’s knocking on my balcony door!’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know what to do – here –‘ I heard some shuffling, like Anouk was moving, then, her staying silent, I could just hear the sound of knocking against glass.
‘Do you hear it?’ she asked, even more quietly.
‘I – yeah… Erm…’ Fully awake now, I got out of bed and hurried on tip-toes to my own balcony door. ‘I’ll have a look!’
Anouk made a noise of frightened concern. Undeterred, I slid open the glass door as quietly as I could and stepped outside. The travertine tiles were cool underfoot as I eased further out to where I started to see the bannister of Anouk’s balcony.
Nothing… I took another step, then, cautiously, another. Nothing… just Anouk’s potted plants coming into view… then –
There was something grey, like a smock, visible around the edge of my balcony wall. Breathing silent and quick, I took the last step.
I pinched my lips against a squeak, my eyes going huge and watery with a sudden wash of chilled terror –
There was a woman standing at Anouk’s balcony door. I could see all the blinds were down over Anouk’s windows – the glass door shut. I could hear Anouk’s scared breathing over the phone. Could hear the knocking.
The woman on Anouk’s balcony wasn’t holding a phone. She wasn’t Anouk. Her hair was brown and stringy; unwashed. And she was just standing there, on Anouk’s balcony. Knocking as though asking to be let in – yet it wasn’t just a knock and wait. It was continuous. Again and again and again.
‘Gina?’ Anouk breathed over the phone. ‘You okay?’
I hadn’t words. I was just staring.
‘Gina?’ Anouk repeated, louder.
I didn’t want to talk. I really didn’t want this woman, standing in her grey smock on a balcony three storeys off the ground, to know I was there. But it seemed I didn’t need to say anything to alert her. I saw the woman start to turn. Slowly but deliberately, she revolved to look straight at me.
Her face, shadowed in only the residual light of streetlamps and lit windows above, was empty of expression – just flat. And her eyes… One was looking at me. Dead on. The other had been. But it drifted to the side as she stared back at me and started shivering in its socket.
Her expression unchanged, the woman’s head tilted to the side, as though considering me. Her cheek caught light from somewhere, revealing a rash – like eczema – creeping up her neck onto her face. Her eyes jumped back to focused on me, then drifted off again, shivering.
I backed away as Anouk whispered my name again. I don’t know why exactly I was backing away. There were several metres of empty space separating Anouk’s balcony from mine. No way the woman could leap over that to get at me.
Or, at least, I hoped she couldn’t.
I blinked hard a few times, trying to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was. The woman was still for another moment, lank hair so still it looked painted on, then, as though in slow motion, a smile grew on her face. It got bigger and bigger, filling into her cheeks as her eyes trembled, until it looked painfully huge and downright demonic.
The woman moved. All of a sudden – she was just there, then she was spinning away, moving so quickly I could have missed her in a blink – and then she was gone, lost to the shadows on the far side of the balcony.
My feet unstuck themselves from the tiles. I ran to my balustrade, searching for where she’d gone – how she could possibly get off that balcony without falling to her death.
‘Gina!’ Anouk cried in a whisper over the phone. ‘I’m coming over there!’
‘She’s gone!’ I hissed back, still searching the façade of the apartment building with my eyes. I couldn’t see the woman anywhere. The only way she could just disappear like that was if… she hopped balconies around the side or something.
‘She?’ Anouk just about screeched. ‘There was actually someone there?’
‘She…’ I uttered. ‘There… Yes.’
‘OH MY GOD!’ I could hear Anouk starting to hyperventilate over the phone. She’d begun whimpering, and I heard her bouncing around, her feet sticking and unsticking from her tiles. Her voice shaky, she muttered, ‘No… no – no no no!’
‘Come over!’ I said to her. ‘Just come over! I’ll make… ice cream.’
Sniffling and whimpering, Anouk made a panicked hum of agreement. I turned around, headed to go open the door for her, and stopped in my tracks.
One balcony over, in the opposite direction, there was another figure stood stock still, out in the small hours of the morning. I caught the glint of Dr Robitussin’s glasses, saw him raise his narrow chin as he watched me.
I hadn’t it in me to work out what to say to him – whether to shout at him for being creepy and making me not want to use my balcony, or to try to be polite. I just ran inside, slammed the sliding door, and hurried to let the knocking Anouk in.
She spent the night with me, and, for once, I pulled down all my blinds. Terrified of hearing the knocking start up again, we sat awake for hours, sharing looks of wide-eyed fear as we tried to focus on a rom com.

https://preview.redd.it/i89hwxs7m4151.png?width=225&format=png&auto=webp&s=34369c6614123de92c9b07bdb0bc873b7f7b2c04
Artist: Leak Bros
Album: Waterworld
Label: Eastern Conference Records
Released: 2004
Background and Context
Dip, sherm, angel dust, purple rain, wet, leak, loveboat. PCP is one of the most controversial, demonized psychoactives in history, and for good reason (or not, according to Hamilton Morris). Horror stories like rapper Big Lurch eating his girlfriend alive or Wu Tang affiliate Christ Bearer castrating himself have earned the drug a horrendous reputation.
Before it was a punchline in an episode of Whitest Kids U Know, PCP was a popular drug throughout the 70s, 80s and 90s, especially in the NY rap community. It bears the nickname embalming fluid and, contrary to popular belief, you cannot smoke real embalming fluid and do anything but give yourself brain damage, that’s just slang.
Originally, phencyclidine (PCP) was an anesthetic and even prescription medication in the 1950’s. Eventually, patients began to report the bizarre hallucinogenic effects of the drug and an illicit trade was born soon after, with medical use ultimately limited to veterinary surgery. PCP is a particularly volatile dissociative, belonging to the same class of drug as ketamine, nitrous oxide, and even over-the-counter drugs like dextromethorphan (aka DXM, the active ingredient in Coricidin, Robitussin and Delsym). At high doses, dissociatives produce intense hallucinations, sensory dissociation, lilliputian distortions (Alice in Wonderland when she’s tiny and everything else is giant) and out-of-body experiences.
I’m able to reminisce with equal parts fondness and horror at my teenage days stealing Delsym from the grocery store with the homies, chugging the whole bottle, puking, then astral projecting from the concrete of a Kmart parking lot. I still retch at even a hint of orange flavoring in anything. Dissociatives are bizarre drugs, making you feel like you’re sleepwalking through a waking dream, but to anyone on the outside you look like a drooling moron with the motor function of a tranquilized robot. They're kind of like psychedelics without the kaleidoscopic colors or laughter. In my experience, they tend to erase empathy and feel emotionally empty and cold.
That brings us to the album Waterworld by Leak Bros (the album sharing its name with a 1995 post-apocalyptic movie). Leak Bros are Cage Kennylz and Tame One. Chris Palko aka Cage’s rap style and subject matter are informed by a long history of substance abuse and trauma. His father was an American soldier discharged for selling and using heroin, and Cage was beaten from a young age, forced to tighten the tourniquet as his dad injected himself with heroin (detailed in Too Heavy for Cherubs). Cage was involved in a standoff where his father held a shotgun to his family, holding them hostage as police were busting him for heroin distribution and possession in Middletown, NY.
Cage turned to drugs and violence during his teenage years and was arrested numerous times. Instead of being tried as an adult and sent to prison, Cage’s mother begged the judge to send Cage to Stoney Lodge, a mental institution in Upstate NY. There, Cage became a guinea pig for a new drug Fluoxetine aka Prozak. Unfortunately, he was undiagnosed bipolar which meant his new medical regime made him profoundly suicidal. He made numerous attempts in the institution, trying to hang himself with shoelaces as well as the tape from a Big Daddy Kane cassette, and saving his doses of Lithium to take all at once.
Cage found a silver lining in these horrors, describing his time in Stoney as “rap college” claiming he broke his mind down and put it back together. His story is like a hip hop-infused nightmare somewhere between Clockwork Orange and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. After Stoney, Cage worked minimum wage jobs before pursuing rap, performing on radio shows like Stretch and Bobbito and collaborating with Camu Tao, El P, J Zone, Necro, and others.
Tame One is an acrobatic, enigmatic rapper from New Jersey, and has mentored younger artists like Redman. Tame saw early success as half of the 90’s duo The Artifacts, and recorded graffiti anthems like “Wrong Side of Da Tracks” and “Homage for the Bombers” as well as nostalgic tracks like “Way Back”. The Artifacts’ debut album Between a Rock and a Hard Place is one of the best releases of the era and is a must for any fans of 90’s hip hop. Much of his subject matter for most of his career has revolved around drug use, sex, and graffiti, but he’s more than capable of personal, narrative moments as well, and always brings an versatile, rhythmic writing style to any beat.
Meeting through all-star early 2000’s rap group The Weathermen and now defunct label Eastern Conference Records, Cage and Tame joined forces as Leak Bros, a dynamic druggie duo setting out to wreak havoc on a vanilla industry inundated with fake music, bringing gritty stories to life with an uncompromising portrayal of drug abuse. The album cover itself is perfect, with a hand holding bundles of PCP stamped with the duo’s faces under heavy rain, as skyline silhouettes loom in the background like ominous spectres of an unforgiving, subterranean world.
Step Into Death
The album begins with “Got Wet”, produced by Camu Tao and featuring Yak Ballz on the hook. The beat contains a dark guitar sample, roaring into a soaring power chord dirge as the Bros trade verses between a nihilistic chorus. Cage kicks it off with vivid imagery referencing PCP, some double entendre wordplay, and a clever Cheech and Chong line, painting Tame and himself as "two four letter words like Cheech n Chong on dust." He even reaches an unexpected moment of introspection through the drug raps, referencing his WW2 fighter pilot grandfather. This is one of many examples where Cage seems to use his music as catharsis, dissecting pieces of his life and repurposing them into unhinged, unflinchingly vulnerable verses.

I got a monkey on my back with two gats
Bipolar and a headless angel laying dead on my shoulder
The hairs in my lungs are my dying kids
That don't eat, until I put the leak to my lips.
I'm spiraling down till this thing pop off
Like grandad in the sky with his wing shot off
You can't stop the scam
My blunts be in the water more than Aquaman's blunts
Like a little kid that's stained with juice
This magazine’ll be red when I spray it loose
Who got this chick’s lips speaking wrong to us?
Two four letter words like Cheech & Chong on dust.

Tame then spits a nimble verse sprinkled with alliteration, wordplay, similes and imagery:

From loonie bin kin, toxic twin with the hot shit from the moshpit
Gremlin in the cockpit, hard to handle as chopsticks
Aqua fresh from one dip in the flesh, yes
I be screaming on records like DJ SNS
I'm a mess, with the classical drug story like Scarface
Cigars laced with that fresh out of the jar taste
My liquid diet's a riot, try it and see
Narcotic product endorsement, enforced with vitamin C
The leak-leak-leak-lottery probably need a break
Consider this something special to puff like cheesecake.

Tame shows off his graffiti roots in a later couplet, referencing the common sentiment among graffiti writers that if your piece has excessive paint drips in it, it's trash and you have no can control,

Squeezing my beedis and get nuff liters of leaky
Till what I written be drippin like insufficient graffiti.

The eponymous track Waterworld is a twisted advertisement for a PCP theme park, with a chorus that sounds like a crowd of dead kids chanting Waterworld from an abandoned carousel. Cage portrays the paradoxical nature of addiction, where you know you're destroying yourself but you can’t stop, and almost wish the drugs would take you. This is one of many instances on the album where the relationship between drugs and mental illness is rendered in stark portrait, painting the darkest sides of the modern human experience while making a point that it's how he pays his bills.

Leak - The need is unstoppable, puff till my brain is inoperable
Ain't gonna quit cause I woke up in the hospital
The logical side of my brain should feel fear
But when I wake up every morning I'm like ‘Fuck, I'm still here’
I hacked a barcode into my arm so
I could see how much I'm worth, this verse is paying my car note.

“See Thru” is the most substantive song on the album, as both rappers lay verses showing what happens when PCP goes wrong. Cage begins:

My boy just found his mom dead,
days after she got her palm read
she bouta drown in what made me a jar head
not a marine but I’m in army fatigues
ready to flip with an undoubtedly dubious
demented demon dip, stuck to my face
till my lungs embrace the death,
you see a crowd of souls chokin on the smoke in my breath.

He uses wordplay and imagery to personify Death incarnate, exhaling the languishing souls of the damned with every puff. These bars imagine him as a corpse, with balls of maggots for eyes, maybe a lost soul stuck in the flux of the River Styx. It’s an example of the otherworldly quality to PCP the album pushes, as if PCP allows the user to cross between the realms of life and death seamlessly. The association of PCP with water or rain is a bit of wordplay that the duo gets lots of mileage out of, as they mix the artificial and natural to portray the unpredictable, alien nature of PCP intoxication.
Tame One goes on to tell a harrowing narrative, detailing the failing mental state of a former girlfriend turned PCP addict that he visits in a psych ward.

My ex broad used to smoke wet raw,
till something went wrong, off a dime
sugar draws lost her mind, flipped out
and had to detox, up in the hospital,
went to see her after forty days, ass got little
sherm drew out, perm blew out,
her motor functions had her spazzin
and scrappin, over nothing, said the voices in her head
made threats that sounded real evil, kill people,
she don’t know how to act like Vin Diesel.
I’m lookin at her through five inches of glass,
going through changes, tears in my eyes cuz
the stare is aimless, she’ll never be the same again,
asked me two times what was my name again?
I’m like damn...that purple rain again.
Visiting hours is over the nurse said
and touched my shoulder, sugardraw’s attitude just got colder.
Orderlies had to restrain her, I fought back tears that streamed hot
‘cause I know all about them thorazine shots.

Equal parts vulnerable and nightmarishly vivid (with one of my favorite similes of all time, “don’t know how to act like Vin Diesel”), Tame’s verse gives me chills, you can hear the tears in his cracking voice. You can see his girl freaking out behind thick visitation glass, being held down and shot up with Thorazine. These images contribute to the idea of drug addiction as a mental prison, a pervasive theme throughout the album. Thorazine is an antipsychotic with such a bludgeoning effect that medical professionals have dubbed the stifled gait of dosed patients the “thorazine shuffle”.
Tame relays trauma while showing a moment of empathy, claiming he knows “all about them thorazine shots.” This is one of my favorite storytelling verses in hip hop and doesn’t get mentioned enough. It’s like a horror movie in 16 bars except so believable and well-written that it’s uncomfortably real, especially for anyone who's dealt with addiction or mental illness.
G.O.D starts with a Cage verse, and has a hook that reads like a news headline mentioning, “a senator died today, he put too much in the blunt and left him leakin on the floor with liquid in his lungs.” Cage spits with disarming honesty, again showing little regard for himself while walking the razor-edge between life and death gleefully.

The scenery surrounding me isn't really reality
At least that's what I tell myself to get it out of me
The quest to find my inner ugliness is over
The secret to my failure is easier than being sober
Is my self loathing hatred killing your high yet?
Just copped a bundle, dude was like "I don't know how you didn't die yet."

Tame shows up with some great similes “shermin like Nutty Professor flicks” and

Accumulated more dust than maids and a butler,
fuck a broom, you needs mops to sop up in my rubber room.
Bringin the pain, I sing in the rain like Gene Kelly
In between tellys, puffin Listerine jelly.
I fake my own death to get wet, leak in effect
Because I'm good for putting water on weed like Chia Pets.

“Follow the Liters” is a lighter song, the title itself being a pun on “follow the leadefollow the liters of dip”. The beat samples a careening Pink Floyd guitar solo, before Tame comes crashing in. These are some more of my favorite bars on the album for the sheer wanton absurdity and cartoonish, surreal imagery, being simultaneously horrifying and hilarious.

I smoked this dip once
I got high for 6 months
Twenty-three days, 6 hospital stays
and I missed lunch.

Tame goes on to echo the double-entendre, follow-the-leader idea of the song, and includes a PCP-ified Star Wars reference.

The wet space cadet Lando Caldippian.
With a significant difference in liquid I dip cancer sticks in
Bizarre, cigar allstar with a jar, mentally scarred
If angel dust isn't from god, it's like the highs are
...My lead vocals led locals to cop bottles of dip
Follow the liter format for the mentally flipped.

Cage lays a verse referencing his dog Kubrick, detailing an old relationship, and his days on the Burger King assembly line, where he claims he stored his jar of PCP in the kitchen walk-in freezer.

The chemistry blew up in my face tryn fix us
Reminiscent of the first time I tried to mix dust
Just blew up all over me, man
Eyes burning, my skin was like melting off my face
And time folded up on this bird, like mental origami
Fly away bitch, I found Kubrick some new mommies
And your jelly-belly, judgmental buddies
Would all be super-slutty, but they too ugly
Nurse me on your titty when I caught my rap fever
Back when I kept leak in the Burger King freezer.
And I don't hate you I hate me for living
Tell the motherfuckin' worms it's Thanksgiving

Blunts of Crushed Angel Dust
Druggie Fresh is Tame’s solo song on the album, featuring a clanging church bell beat as Tame half-freestyles a goofy verse, sounding drunken and strung out, spitting lackadaisical nursery rhymes over the drums. The song’s cadence and name are references to the song “La Di Da Di” by Doug E Fresh and Slick Rick.

If I smoke PCP todaaay
I might body a bitch like I’m OJ,
call me a leakhead that’s okay,
I don’t give a motherfuck what ya say.

Cage’s solo song “Stargate” starts with “underneath the fridge, the top is holding leak, and the empty bags I’ve puffed, have all become my pets” alluding to Nirvana’s “Something in the Way”. This is one of a few references Cage makes to Kurt Cobain throughout the album (another: "off the wall for ten years like Kurt Cobain's wig").
Cage continues by cataloguing his life vividly with good similes, from birth through the yonic stargate in the hospital to high school back to the hospital, and elaborating on his struggle to find a static sense of identity. It’s another instance of the existential life-and-death obsession that pops up throughout the album.

Who the fuck wanna lead sheep all day
I’ll head beneath em, after I’m coppin a bag
like a dead policeman. I go apeshit like digested bananas
in a world infested with cameras, y'all just flesh for piranhas.

These lyrics typify much of Cage’s voice over this tape, articulate, paranoid, and surreal. Cage goes on to pepper rap boasts with mental illness bars. He draws on his experiences with mental illness and suicide for strength, and finds an unlikely power and confidence in the dark abyss of a shattered mind.

Yall want my spot but I abandoned my vehicle,
record labels are like bitches and none wanna be with you!
Gun in my face, don't expect me to panic
I gave up on suicide, y'all have to take me off this planet.

The El-P produced track “Submerged” (with an EL-P hook as well) features a paranoid sub bass, skittering "leakleakleak" vocal sample, with atmospheric swells and cricket noises, as if the listener is staring at an empty, nighttime field being approached from behind. It further establishes Cage and Tame as an anti-hero duo, as Tame delivers the lead verse, concluding on a Chappelle Show reference,

With 2 anti role models who hold bottles to dip
Of the you know, H20, the bugged out drug duo.
With scooba tank dank, top ranked I'm sort of a Moses
Split water just to walk through it when waterworld frozes
The Heemie Houdini, I be escapin the jug, taking these drugs
patiently waiting, lacing a dub, run into Dusted Dons
I'm embalming the pack, hazing and glazing over
what's poppin like crackerjacks
With dust in my pores, soak every dutch in the store.
Off a frybone of ism I turn Tyrone Wiggums.

Cage continues with the suicide bars as well as some alliteration-laced, haunting imagery, with an unlikely reference to post-hardcore band Glassjaw,

He said "leak from the roof" with a mop, I laugh on the way down
Considerate to those who gotta clean me off the ground
Kids dying to hate us, was born to love us
Jarhead but ain't got no Glassjaw like Warner Brothers
The greed ends in time travel, unravel the blasphemy
Like Jesus casually cremated angels in the bag for me.

Tame throws in some cosmic imagery of himself alone in a room smoking wet, with some great internal rhymes, similes, and galloping assonance.

I pack bowls in a black hole, vacuum the room’s oxygen
Rocked again, showing my ass like I was modelin’
Striking a pose til my Vicodins
Slow me down to a slight crawl
The leak-leak in my freezer turn to ice balls
...We’re Leak Brothers separated from birth,
reunited for a verse, blacking out like the background of the universe.

The Loveboat Floats Off
Despite its occasionally cartoonish portrayals of substance abuse, Waterworld is an underground classic featuring a heavyweight lineup of rap legends, with some of the late, great Camu Tao's best production work. It boasts morbid, vivid, at times too-intense imagery, progressive and inventive sampling, masterful writing, complex internal rhyme schemes, poetic devices, and gripping underworld stories.
The duo succeed in their demented superhero aesthetic, like two degenerates who've been to PCP hell and back and lived to rap the tale. They strike a perfect harmony and partnership on the album, playing off each other well while maintaining two distinctive perspectives and respective styles. Waterworld deserves its place as one of the most profound, spine-chilling case studies of mental illness and substance abuse in music. It is the ultimate drug-addled concept album in hip hop. So make sure to bring an umbrella if you put some wet in your cigarillo. Also, anybody got a gallon of sherm?
Discussion Questions

What's your favorite album or song from this whole late 90's-early 2000's era in underground rap? Favorite member of the Weathermen?
With such an all-star cast of producers, what's your favorite beat on the album and why?
Do you think either rapper on this album outdid the other? What are your favorite lines and verses from each?
Do you have any experience with dissociative drugs? Do you think this album mirrors the experience pretty well, or is it more of an outlandish portrayal?
Do you think this album addresses mental health and drug use in a positive way? Is it catharsis or is it excessive glorification? Do you see the album as funny, sad, poignant, or somewhere in between?
What's your favorite slang word for PCP? Mine's definitely loveboat.

So i just had a dip of southern blend in and spit it out for lunch and ate an apple. I then put in a dip of cope straight and it taste strangely like robitussin. Do any of you want to recreate this and tell me what you think just for the hell of it. It could just be the batch from the can or a weird taste combination.

I blindly ordered a roll of each of these because they were onsale. I've had a couple of days with them now.

Nick and Johnny Americana - This is a divisive flavor, and I see why. Sometimes I think I'm tasting a cinnamony Dr. Pepper, sometimes just cherry, sometimes Robitussin. It certainly smells like Robitussin. Not sure how I feel about it, but I'm going to keep making my way through this first tin. I don't actively dislike it, but it's certainly not my favorite. It's also a stronger nic strength, I think consistent with GES. I like a 14-15mg/g for the first 2 in the morning, or sometimes after a meal, but I prefer the 8-12mg range.
Nick and Johnny Crushed Ice White - This is a lovely snus. Great fresh mentholy scent, it actually reminds me more strongly of mint flavored dip (although it's been several years since I've taken a dip) than any other minty snus I've tried. This one falls in the 11mg range I think, which is comfortable for me. Long lasting flavor, feels great in the lip.
Nick and Johnny Green Ice - Not terribly different than crushed ice white, again lovely flavor that I think tips more towards spearmint. I think this falls in the regular strength nic category, feels great in the lip.

So Crushed Ice White and Green Ice are winners for me, jury is still out on Americana. Thanks everyone for your impressions in my earlier post.

Hello all,
A few weeks ago, my husband and I (24 F) traveled to Japan for our babymoon. At 17-18 weeks pregnant, it seemed like the perfect time to go. I know you're at an increased risk for blood clots during pregnancy, soI thought I prepared well enough - drinking lots of water, wearing compression socks, walking every hour, and hourly leg exercises. I've also been on baby aspirin since the very beginning of this pregnancy, even though I tested negative to blood clotting disorders, as a precautionary measure due to my two precious MCs.
Well, a few days after arriving in Japan, I developed a weird cough that tasted kind of funny, but it only happened once or twice a day. Towards the end of our trip, the cough started getting progressively worse. Once we got home, it was so bad I couldn't sleep, but no fever so I treated it with Robitussin at night so I could sleep, and it seemed to get better.
Well, that was about two weeks ago and Monday (now 21 weeks pregnant) after dinner I developed some shortness of breath. I just thought it was because I have a very short torso and my full tummy just made things get all squished in there and that once it digested, I would feel better. I was able to fall asleep for about an hour and a half, and when I woke up I felt much worse. I mean, I couldn't walk the ten feet to our bathroom from the bed without stopping in an attempt to catch my breath. Finally, I woke my husband and we decided it was best to go to the ER to get checked out, even though it was probably just leftover from my cold and I probably just needed a breathing treatment.
Well, we got to the ER and they started me on a nebulizer, which helped tremendously. They ran a chest X-ray and VQ test, which revealed a blood clot in my left lung. Now, I've been in the hospital for 5 days and have a whole team of doctors planning a treatment plan for the remainder of my pregnancy. I will have to be closely monitored and will have to give myself daily injections of Lovenox once I am released.
As long as my last test result comes back well, I will be going home today. As much as I want to go home, be in my own bed, and see my dog, the thought of going home gives me crippling anxiety. I just feel so safe here. They have been monitoring me closely, and when I start feeling like I can't breathe, I can turn around and see my oxygen levels are good and then I feel better. At home, I don't have that luxury. I'm scared I'm not giving myself the injections right and they won't work and that I will die. I am terrified of delivering my baby because I will have to be off the blood thinners for 24 hours before delivery to decrease bleeding. My doctor says he has tons of patients on Lovenox, but still I am scared. After all, I was on baby aspirin when I got my first PE. I feel heartbroken because there's a part of me that is no longer excited to have this baby that I wanted so much. Has anyone here delivered after Lovenox and had good experiences?
My doctors feel confident about my prognosis because they feel they have an identifiable cause to my PE (pregnancy hormones +pain), the clot was relatively small, and where I wasn't able to be off oxygen for two days without dipping, I've now been able to maintain my levels on my own. I am so, so grateful to have made it through this, I just never thought this could happen to someone like me. The doctor said if I hadn't been on the baby aspirin I might not have ever made it home.
Anyway, I am here now, crying, waiting to find out if my discharge will be go through today and terrified about what to expect about life after this. Sometimes my shots don't bruise as much as others. Does that mean I'm not giving the shot correctly? What if I bleed internally and don't know it? My husband often has to be gone overnight for work and I'm terrified of when he goes back to work and I am all alone for the first time.
Sorry to make this so long. Just having trouble processing all these thoughts and fears and sometimes it just helps to get it all out.
TL;DR - 24 F, suffered a pulmonary embolism following long distance flight at 21 weeks pregnant. Possibly getting discharged today and feeling extreme anxiety about managing this all on my own.

Hello all,
A few weeks ago, my husband and I (24 F) traveled to Japan for our babymoon. At 17-18 weeks pregnant, it seemed like the perfect time to go. I know you're at an increased risk for blood clots during pregnancy, soI thought I prepared well enough - drinking lots of water, wearing compression socks, walking every hour, and hourly leg exercises. I've also been on baby aspirin since the very beginning of this pregnancy, even though I tested negative to blood clotting disorders, as a precautionary measure due to my two precious MCs.
Well, a few days after arriving in Japan, I developed a weird cough that tasted kind of funny, but it only happened once or twice a day. Towards the end of our trip, the cough started getting progressively worse. Once we got home, it was so bad I couldn't sleep, but no fever so I treated it with Robitussin at night so I could sleep, and it seemed to get better.
Well, that was about two weeks ago and Monday (now 21 weeks pregnant) after dinner I developed some shortness of breath. I just thought it was because I have a very short torso and my full tummy just made things get all squished in there and that once it digested, I would feel better. I was able to fall asleep for about an hour and a half, and when I woke up I felt much worse. I mean, I couldn't walk the ten feet to our bathroom from the bed without stopping in an attempt to catch my breath. Finally, I woke my husband and we decided it was best to go to the ER to get checked out, even though it was probably just leftover from my cold and I probably just needed a breathing treatment.
Well, we got to the ER and they started me on a nebulizer, which helped tremendously. They ran a chest X-ray and VQ test, which revealed a blood clot in my left lung. Now, I've been in the hospital for 5 days and have a whole team of doctors planning a treatment plan for the remainder of my pregnancy. I will have to be closely monitored and will have to give myself daily injections of Lovenox once I am released.
As long as my last test result comes back well, I will be going home today. As much as I want to go home, be in my own bed, and see my dog, the thought of going home gives me crippling anxiety. I just feel so safe here. They have been monitoring me closely, and when I start feeling like I can't breathe, I can turn around and see my oxygen levels are good and then I feel better. At home, I don't have that luxury. I'm scared I'm not giving myself the injections right and they won't work and that I will die. I am terrified of delivering my baby because I will have to be off the blood thinners for 24 hours before delivery to decrease bleeding. My doctor says he has tons of patients on Lovenox, but still I am scared. After all, I was on baby aspirin when I got my first PE. I feel heartbroken because there's a part of me that is no longer excited to have this baby that I wanted so much.
My doctors feel confident about my prognosis because they feel they have an identifiable cause to my PE (pregnancy hormones +pain), the clot was relatively small, and where I wasn't able to be off oxygen for two days without dipping, I've now been able to maintain my levels on my own. I am so, so grateful to have made it through this, I just never thought this could happen to someone like me. The doctor said if I hadn't been on the baby aspirin I might not have ever made it home.
Anyway, I am here now waiting to find out if my discharge will be go through today and terrified about what to expect about life after this. Sometimes my shots don't bruise as much as others. Does that mean I'm not giving the shot correctly? What if I bleed internally and don't know it? My husband often has to be gone overnight for work and I'm terrified of when he goes back to work and I am all alone for the first time.
Sorry to make this so long. Just having trouble processing all these thoughts and fears and sometimes it just helps to get it all out.
TL;DR - 24 F, suffered a pulmonary embolism following long distance flight at 21 weeks pregnant. Possibly getting discharged today and feeling extreme anxiety about managing this all on my own.

I am about to head out to the tobacco ship, and they said they have Grizzly fine cut. Now I am curious, are fine cuts similar to straight flavors or snuff flavors? Should I buy this?
From what I hear, anything Grizzly is shit. In my experience, Grizzly snuff was the worst dip I have ever tried.
BUT, then again, the alternative is buy Skoal cherry (AKA robitussin) or pay 4 times more the price and buy Skoal straight from the other shop (I don't have that kind of money to throw).
UPDATE: I regret buying it. It is basically Grizzly snuff. Fuck this.

So, since in my country dip is rare, I went to one of 3 stores that sell it, and they only had Skoal cherry and they'll bring back the cope series in about a week. I took a whiff and nearly puked. It literally smells and tastes like robitussin.
Why do I hate robitussin? Well back in the day when I was a kid, I used to abuse robitussin, and I grew repulsed to its taste. Anybody else think the same thing?
I love cope snuff and cope WG LC. I have yet to try Swedish snus, which apparently gives you a very strong buzz. I just hate smoking so much. The aftertaste, coughing and and lack of buzz doesnt do it for me.

That was a cloud and stromy nigth. The Lethal Voltage's fun van was moving at slow sped, because there where bananas in the street. Rain was pouring down knifes of water in shape of diamonds, because that land was new to then. Yes, it was Kinston City, in Jamaca Island, the earth of Bob Marley and Stevie Wonder.
They where there in a trip of hollyday. The fun van Got plnty of money latery because of recent Voodo attacks in New Jersey. So, with money, they gott to Jamaics.
This day in particular is special. It's the Mardi Glass carnival in Kingston, so our heeroes are going there to party and see clevarges of woman. demi is specially happy, 'cause he now is in other country, so he can abuses other woman without being arrest.
Aphex was drivinh the van, Hidi was at his right side and valtroid at hidi's side. demi and funke where in the back of the Van.
"Hey demi, do you wanna demi Snarks?" Asks Funke, in the moving Van, to the big Deustch dog name dempixel.
"Yadda yadda do I want it old pal!" answers felicity the spy with shaking rabies in his butt.
"Here, eat it all boobies shaker, you deserve it!" and funke throws the knacks to Demipixel mouth, bacause it's a reward for eating evil voodo priest in 'ol Jersey.
As the car moves, Aphex can help but feel pain in the butt:
"Hidi, could you please scratch my buttocks? They itch!"
Hidi looked Aphex's pants and saw he was horny, so she negated:
"No...you don't deserve my attention, your intentions are bad shaped." and she put herself to rest. Hidi got very prissy lately. After doing her second abortion, she knew her live had to change, and the first to gow was Aphexdy casual sex she had with him. She couldn't really have sure if he was the father of her two aborted babies, because Aphexdy sleept with many woman.
"Oh Aphex" said valtroid, the hot chicken in black flamed glasses "let me help you" and she moved her hand to appease Aphex's pain.
"No!" cried the shitty pyro main, slapping the nerdy girl's hand with his pale nail crusted fingers.
valtroid became utterly sad. She always have bem the black cannary of the group. Always ignored, always shit chatted in the back. If Hidi spoiled the plan, who got the poop in the face? valtroid. If the villain scapade, ho let him goes? valtroid. It was alwers her, the mistruted, the butt secked. No one gave a shits to her. So she vomited in her legs.
"ARGH!!!!" cries Hidi, disgusted with the puke that spilled inside her mouth.
"Damnation valtroid, You did it again!!!!!! Now the car will smell like ostrich arses!!!!" cries the impotent Aphex, almost losing control of the car to the will of bed smel. Vomit splashed all over valtroid's lap, her breasts, the groung, Hidi's titties and Frad's boobies.
Funke and demi, that where smoking a crack in the back van, stood up to look. They laughed:
"HAHAHAAH!!!! You three got really fucked up there in the front, won't you, bastards!!!" says Funke, with demi sloobering to the vison of that delicous pool of steaming rotten vomit at valtroid's lap. The puked flu fried chicken from yesterday was all mish mashed with Were-wolf cum, because valtroid got raped by one last month. Werewolves cum usually stay forever in the stomach of the blowjober after a bad suck night, but because werewolves are allegic to hormone injected chicken, the cum got out.
"Damn funke, you could at lest help us here!!!" says Aphexdy, who got vomit splashed on his moldy hair ( he uses a dreadlock now, so he don't wash it and the hair rusted, turning red).
"Okay" said Funke, "Demipixel, you know what to do!" and demi jumped to the front seat over valtroid's lap.
"Argh!!! You stepped on my pussy you retarded dog!!!" cried valtroid, punching the frenchmen on the nose. He sneezed and snot flied on her face.
"Okay Demipixel, now, show how your balls got big." said Funke and Demipixel started to lick and swaallow the puddle of vermin infested vomit on valtroid's lap. He eated it on her pullover sweate, them on the pale stocking-covered legs, them he moived to the pussy.
"Wha—stop Demipixel!!! You will lick my hymen!!!" but Demipixel didn't heard. He ontinued, till he found her shinny panties of nerdy hot glasses poultry girl. It was very sad that the puked excrement entered the pussy, and that piece of undergarment was on the way. So Demipixel prepared his jaw and...KNACK!!!!! He slaughtered the panties with one bite. Sadly for valtroid, he savaged her vagina, plucking her labia majora from its place, exposing raw tumor filled flesh to the marijuana infested air. But her hymen is intact, and that's what matters.
"Godmanit!!! Demipixelt, what the shit fuck you did?!!?!?" cired aphex, very gallowed in maggots that grew inside his rat's nest he calls hair. Aphex is getting very tired and the fuel on the car is reaching it's final lamnets. If they don't reach Kingstion till the night, UGC Admins will fuck their arses with bamboo pipes.
Demipixel actually, with all that licking and sniffing, really started to feel something different in his body.
He never felt like that, because he never aproached a woman so nearer before, and he is virgin too. The voyages and tribulations with the team have been cruel to his natural emotions. Can't stand in one place, grow a family, raise kids. Always running from ghosts, debunking charlatanian cocaine inhalers and having to watch the same old bullshit Penn and Teller reruns. Life ain't easy for that sheep hunter. It never was.
His loiality to Funke was what maintainted his instincts quietly in place of elfs, never boner acquiring and never humping good high-heeled bare lady legs.
But...after these avents told here by you by me myself, his animalistic size apertured dong woke up. The first signs of inner life inside that 'ol swinging dick risen up, and the blood clots started to flow inside his vein filled and marred penis.
"ARF! ARF!!" barks demi "Valtroid, you pussy smell like macarroni!!!" and Demipixel started to lick it profoundely, mixing his sloobed spit with tumor tainted blood, chicken filled vomit and carnicerous fetid gonorrhea that emerged from valtroid's pulsating vulva.
Hidi was shocked. That bestial animality was so utter disgusting that her old psychic wounds have re opened again, to torment and plaything with her ludacris mind. She moved her puke covered right hand to her vagina and started to masturbate, or else, she would snap and all the treatment she's been doing would get cancelled results.
To help with the mastubation ('cause she don't want to lust over Demipixel, because he is friend), Hidi grabs an issue of Playgirl, starring Steve Buscemi.
Aphex kept driving, 'cause it was stormy night and if he looks the sex, the car crashes, so he masturbates mentally.
Meanwhile, valtroid, visibly distraught, mutters and howls with a cicerone's loud voice:
"Stop it Demipixels, You will un-virgin me! I'm keeping my hymen to my first boyfriend!!!!" but she don't have any.
Stop after some licks, Demipixel stopped. He felt bad taste in mouth. valtroid don't clean pussy, because it's against religion.
"OohoOHOhhhhhh demi!!!" said valtriod, moaning like koala "...thanks Gord you stop...I felt I was starting to like it...and it's not good to our friendship."
Demipixel agree, so he lift his penis and inserted it full frontal inside valtroid's moronic vagina.
"ARRGGHHSS!!!!" she cries, as a ball of pubic hair gets inserted inside her. She don't shave, so it accumulates and get forest.
The Demipixel Dong's penis is erectile and goes in and out of valtroid, putting an end to her virgin marry sex with pagan prince. But the ass is intact.
As the bats of blood get expelled from valtriod's viollated vagina, Funke gets a boner. He pull down his panties, revealling the moistened maroon cock. He prepares himself, 'cause he want to participate in the poliamorous frugal party.
So, the configuration is this: Aphex driving, Hidi Masturbating to his right, valtroid being penetrate by Demipixel to Hidi's right.
Funke decides and jump to the front seat. Because he tall, he opens the top of the van ceillinng, turning into convertible.
So...he rubs his cock a bit to get it warm and ready, picks a pot cigarette and crawl a bit. He then dips his cigarrete inside Valtroid's virginity blood and then lights it.
"Tasty."
And then, ready to go, he shoves his proctuberous cock inside...Demipixel's Mouth!!!! The French Dog is gotten with surprise, but he likes a lot and licks and sucks it with very deliciously.
Funke then seats on Valtroid's face, because he is tired and his butt need rest. Valtroid's is a bit consterned and lose a bit of breath. She screams to Funke with a stuffy voice:
"Damnffff...fffuuunnkkkeee....I'mfff.....fuufooocatingffffff!!!!!!!" and Funke hears. Because he is a fartist, one who have camplete control over his bowels movements, he starts to expell fresh fluid farts over Valtroid's face, so now she can breathes.
"Ffthanksssfffff!!!!" thanks Valtroid, and now she can enjoy demi's chancre overidden penis and Funke pimple covered butt farting ass.
Even though Valtroid's neck is getting pressed by the heavy in pot Funke's body, he is the one who suffers, because he must be arched so Demipixel can suck his dick without having to flex the neck's muscle too much. "A martyr one must have/for the dick he shall lead." already said the old poet Ron Jeremy.
"Valtroid, are you okay?" Aks Aphex, who is getting very needy this moment. It's ironic how, a mere moment ago, he was the fuck-it-all stallion who debauched and belittled the shy big booty blessed Valtroid. And now, the payback is strong, and the pretty pitty boy now gets sensitively alonely in that dark corner the car's driver's gets after a night of beer and bones.
However, every ills comes to an good, because, being ignored in a democracy of lust often leds the man to seek his sowrrodings...and that's wath he do, because, in that cold cloud night, thru the rearview mirors, Aphex sees an movement...and a noise:
"BRUUUUMMMMMM!!!!!!" like a howling were-cow in a sun bathing loaned candy shop.
Aphex squeezes his eye to see ho it was...ho it was...ho it was...and then...oh...no!!! My Fowling-GOD!!!!!!!!!!!
"Damn! The UGC Admins!!!!" screams Aphexs.
Everyone getting in the fuckery gets alarmed. Funke pompritly shoots:
"Fast Demipixel, shoot cum in their engines!!!!"
But Valtroid intervene:
"Funke, cumshot does not work that way!" and she turn her head again to the inside of Funke's butt. The position all of the threee aren't many confortable, because the road have many holes, so every bump the car does, Demipixel doess a bite on Funke's dong, who spurts blood of cafeteria. Valtroid on the oister hand must stand with her neck the Funke butt weight, but she already knew the life of a wife is not so simple. Good blowjobers have strong necks.
"Yo mama dude!!!! Stop dat car and give us dat asses!!!!" cries on of the miscreants. They where in number of fivel, two in one motorbycicle, two in one placid running donkey jackass and the leader, the one whom screamed, on a monocycle, because real leaders must show manhood.
[CONTINUED IN COMMENTS]

I just want to say thanks and post a breakdown - I'll try to be brief. You might want to skip the little story of my trip to hospital - it's at the bottom so you can avoid it if you just want the good bits. This is an update to this post: I am very impatient and wanted to get pregnant nice and quick. This was month three, and the difference was frequency and timing, and less ruminating (including less time poring over this sub).
I was new to charting in Nov when we started, and my use of OPKs was pretty haphazard. Moreover, last month I believe I may have had a CP (weirdly long luteal phase, very faint positive), and my chart was a nightmare because of Christmas hols. Things we did already pre-seed, Robitussin, supplements - pre-natal, extra calcium and magnesium, fish oil (this is to keep me sane) New tricks *SMEP *lying down for half an hour after sex *ZERO refined sugar in first half of cycle. Generally ate much lower carb (this is my favourite way to eat but I had fallen off the wagon)
I think timing was the key here. This is my chart
Here's a breakdown of my symptoms: CD17 A nearly-positive OPK. Acted like it was definite + CD18 Clear + OPK CD 19 O-day - had been having egg white for several days but was scant today, then a big blob in the evening. Used pre-seed all the time anyway - this was key to sex while tired for me! 1 - 6DPO nothing happens here. I had a headache and some mild cramps which is normal for me at this point in my cycle. 7DPO I had a lot of energy, had a stressful day though. Higher than usual sex drive. Bit of a temp dip. 8DPO Boob tenderness (very mild, not abnormal for me) 9DPO Some nausea and dizziness (normal tho) 10DPO Boobs still tender and my energy was sky-high. I got so much shit done at work. For me this is a sign of rising estrogen and unusual at this point in my cycle when I'd normally be slowing down with PMT 11DPO I had decided to stop reporting cramps to FF, but at this point things changed and the feeling was a deep, one-sided pinching sensation - not like period pain, more like really hurty ovulation pain. Didn't like it. 12DPO more of the same deep twinges in my abdomen. Also woke up from a 1-2 minute deep cramp like a period cramp. 13DPO Expecting my period today or tomorrow. Lots of watery cm which usually signals its arrival - but then big white globby cm - unusual. Also my boobs now feel hard as rocks, though not particularly sore. More one-side twinges. Woke up with them in the night. 14DPO Still no sign of period. More twinges which interfere with my day...I leave work feeling them all the way home. Start of the story - overnight 15DPO Twinges wake me up at 4.30am and I bite the bullet and test. Clear positive on an internet cheapie. Clear positive on an FRER. Go back to bed and then worry, and worry, and worry, until at 4.50am I decide to phone the NHS non-emergency helpline. They say a doctor should talk to me, so, knowing the phone will soon ring I wake my fiance and show him the test. He is delighted, if sleepy. The doctor calls and asks me to go to the out-of-hours surgery at 9am (it's Saturday the 14th).
I do as I'm told, and the GP I see tells me it might be an ectopic pregnancy because of the one-side pain, and I must go to A+E. Immediately I go from cautiously pleased to very panicked. At the hospital the first nurse I see makes me cry by being mildly insensitive - understand that I'm sleep-deprived and it's been a rollercoaster of emotions. I see a wonderful gynaecologist within about 4 hours, who is very reassuring, explaining how common pain is in early pregnancy. She says I should come back Monday for a scan to locate the egg (hopefully in my uterus). I spend 2 days worrying. I ruined Valentine's Day - we were meant to go out for a walk - but we went on Sunday instead. Pain continued, but less severe. Today is Monday, we went for the scan this morning, and they couldn't see anything - but hopefully that's normal (I'm only 4w3d if you count ovulation as 2 wks). Hormone levels are good, and rising normally - that was the sign I was waiting for to call this a goer. I have another scan in a week's time to 'locate the pregnancy'. Hope they find it. In the mean time, fingers and toes crossed..
Thank you all for being part of a supportive place, and my little hiatus was helpful for me to get on with the business of sex and not-overthinking it, and getting involved in the rest of my life during the TWW as well. If you find yourself consumed with TTC thoughts, I recommend a break from this place if you suspect it will help you get things in perspective! Because if you're worrying yourself sick like I was while TTC, you'll be exhausted before the true race has begun. xxxx

Please excuse length if its that long.
So around the beginning of summer 2013 going from my 9th grade year to 10th grade year, my friend (lets name him Alex) introduced me to a girl (lets name her Sam). Sam and I shared some qualities. We shared some music tastes, we both enjoyed the same thing and most importantly we were both lonely and we were both socially awkward. We both have had our fair share of depression and talking to each other was so easy.
So I started crushing on Sam. See i do this think when I like girls where I don't talk to them and just admire them from afar. Alex eventually forced me into talking to her. I think we hit it off pretty good. I didn't think I would get anywhere with her. I told Alex that I really liked her and I wanted to take her out on a date but i was too shy. Alex being the cool as motherfucker he is found out Sam was cool with me and he basically asked for me. I saw it right in front of me. My first relationship ever.
So we planned to go to the movies by her house. Which was about a nice 45 minutes from me. I showed up late, and i felt like an ass but I apologized and sat next to her. I was trembling by how nervous I was. This girl was so pretty and I wasn't. She was cute, funny, and I was just a loser whose never dated anyone. Another thing, she had to go with her friend. I was cool with it but during the movie it was mostly talking to her friend and me awkwardly sitting there. It went abso-fucking-lutely horrible. Later I found out she still liked someone else (lets name him Tim).
Tim is a snot-nosed piece of shit and if i wasn't a scrawny motherfucker I would have already kicked his ass and laid him out on the ground, just for his face. Kids a douche too. He dated my best friend and he fucked with her feelings. So him and Sam had a date but Sam didn't show for some shit idfk and apparently Tim asked out some other chick to be his girlfriend there. Sam was furious and i was there to comfort him. She eventually relayed to Alex that she liked me and then he put us both in a facebook chat and said "oh yeah btw both of you are now dating because you faggots really like each other"
I was excited, but I wish it was done in a better way because I was out of the country and I couldn't really have asked her out in person (or have had the balls to.) nights turned into the best of my life. staying awake until 8 in the morning just talking to her and my depression just vanished. She was happy too. We were perfect. The first week of school came around and I was back in the country.
The first week was rough as shit. It involved alot of us just standing around super awkwardly and the awkward holding hands and hugging. I brought her gifts like her favorite iced teas from the gas station down the street from my school. I had to sneak out of campus and get them and I risked suspension and ISS but anything for her. I didn't get the balls to kiss her our first week, but I was planning on doing it the monday after.
I had some sort of premonition that we were going to break up. When she would text me I would say "fuck i hope she doesn't break up with me". I knew when it was going to happen, it would be through kik. and I was right. The moment it happened, I looked at my phone saying "oh fuck this is it" and i read it. I was destroyed. I could barely even believe it.
I still talked to her daily, because we broke up on the terms of her not being ready for a relationship and that she still liked me and wanted to talk to me. Alex being the cool motherfucker told me it would happen again and that what she's feeling is legit, but Alex's girlfriend at the time (named Christina) told me that she has talked to sam and that sam had feelings for Tim still, and that tim started sweet talking her again.
Two weeks later, on my own god damned birthday, Tim and Sam started dating. Making out in the hallway I felt sick to my stomach. I think I went home and actually puked. I flipped her off in the hallway and kikd her "not ready for a relationship my ass, go fuck yourself."
this is where I dipped into cigarettes and pot plus other shit to calm me down. i've dropped pot and other drugs but not cigarretes, I still have one every once in a while socially. I couldn't believe it. One day while drunk out of my mind I talked crazy shit about her on ask.fm. I soon deleted it after but she saw it and responded to it saying "I deserve all of this shit being talked about me". I got mad support for my friend for saying all of that and "being the only one to have the balls to say that shit"
Now, I wouldn't say i'm a hoodrat but I know some kids who are and we were planning on beating up Tim after school but I stopped it. I didn't want to turn into that.
Just before the break, Tim and Sam broke up. Tim apparently was fooling around with some other chicks. Two months after that, Sam kik'd me apologizing. I apologized and I still had feelings for her, and I took her right back. I'm such an idiot for taking her back, all of my friends told me not to and i told them to fuck off. Soon after they hated me for taking me back. It was practically a mirror of our first relationship though, except this time around we told ourself there would be more communication and we would act more "real" about it, and this time around she was out of the state.
During the break, new years and christmas passed and i was going to give her her christmas present tomorrow, but it happened again. On the first day back I found her and immediately said "hey, I owe you this from new years" and I kissed her straight on the lips. There it was. my first kiss ever. It was awkward as shit but I was giddy as fuck.
It still kept being awkward. She sits with her friend Tina every day at lunch. Tina hated me. But I don't think she knew we were dating because we didn't show any signs we were until I kissed her at the end of lunch. Tina kept making fun of me in front of Sam and Sam talked to Tina. i tried to get closer and hold her hand but I just didn't have it in me. i got nervous.
The next day she had diagnostic testing in another room, and the room was right next door to mine so i wanted to see her after class. I tried to catch up with her but instead she dashed and ran out of the building. I had a wart infection on my foot so i kind of limped and couldn't make it to her.
she asked to be alone because she insisted she needed to talk to Tina. I knew something was up. the feeling i got the first time around that we were going to break up came back, and I knew for sure "we're breaking up today". I sat alone. At the end of lunch I barged into the building where she sits with Tina and I said "Tina, I need to talk to Sam. give me a second" and tina dashed out the door. I asked Sam if there was something up because she felt so distant and disconnected. I felt a lack of communication instead of an increase like we have previously promised. I asked her "how do you feel about us" and she told me "she was determined to make us work" and she felt that I wasn't going to be happy with her, even though I already was. I told her to meet me after school at a spot but she didn't show up. She kiked me explaing she had to get on the bus and asked if I could talk to her through text.
I knew we were going to possibly argue or get on bad terms so i bought her her favorite snacks and drinks from the gas station and I was going to give it to her the next day. an hour later, we broke up.
It was pretty much the same thing, but she insisted "there is no other guy and I just don't feel ready for a relationship, but I still like talking to you and I really want to be your friend" and i told her "i can't. It'll just kill me on the inside" and we haven't talked since. How she allowed her and tim to last 4 months but wouldn't even give us a shot, I have no idea.
I'm depressed as shit and I'm trying not to smoke. I was planning on giving her the snacks in the morning tomorrow hoping she would "change her mind" and "take me back". I don't know If i should even bother. they say third times the charm. Fuck my life.
Please help me man.

Hi guys
Happy to join this community. I Just popped into a shop today to buy some cigs as usual and noticed e-cigs on the counter. i Was actually reading a post on reddit last night where someone mentioned them & since I've been smoking since I was 15, rollups without filter- the idea of quitting has lingered in the back of my mind for a little while- so thought that was a good a time as any to buy them and give them a shot see if they live up to the hype
The ones I picked up where a disposable brand called "nicolites" and a refillable one called "e-Lites" I tried both out for 24hrs and they where better than I imagined, not perfect but I didn't have any urge to run down to the garage @ 3am and pickup a pouch of 10 malboro to chainsmoke or start rummaging through the ashtray in tears so that's a win in my eyes
I thought that these are surely not the cream of the crop when it comes to e-digs, considering the price, prob just a little introductory device for those dipping their feet in the water trying to get rid of real cigs
My opinion was the nicolite was a little better- mainly cause although it didn't quite have as much kick as the other in the throat, it was smoother taste- and the biggest thing was the e-lite seemed to draw in air through a little hole in the side, it felt like smoking a cig with a hole in the rizla and not 100% smoke which felt little unsatisfying when you're taking a draw unless you pop your finger over and off the whole as your taking a drag
Both ultimately were pretty decent for the price but seemed a little wanting so i came around youtube to have a look. lot of reviews but i couldn't really tell how many were shills and vendors sponsored to sell whatever brand so I came around here, and then started to get a little lost with all these recommendations and a lot of in depth discussions, mods, carts, clearomizers, and all sorts of fruity liquid concoctions- sheer volume of different brands and options is little daunting. I guess a lot of it is subjective hence the differing opinions which is understandable.
Looking through- I came across the following fairly quickly 1) green smoke 2) iTaste MVP/MVP clear (couldn't really see the difference between clear) 3)Ce4 eGo 4) Zmax
but there's so many options for someone just starting.
So basically Im a newbie that needs a little hand holding if anyone can spare a minute or so My criteria is as follows

Price is no object
Don't care about battery power at `all
I like strong kick in the back of the throat, and lots of smoke volume/viscous
Don't care how long the liquids last
As i understand, the flavounicotine strenght of the liquids can be changed- so that's not an issue right now- I will take some time to read up on that later, although I suspect lot of that comes down to personal preference
I do really like the form factor of traditional cigarrete, cause it reminds me of normal cig and gives my hand 'muscle memory' what it's longing for- i've found in the past with bongs for example I still prefer to roll up and have that nice fingethumb or 2 index ring finger grip..strange craving :). BUT if you guys have found that the best e-cigs/vapes are in other form factors 100% I will trust their opinion and go for that, since I'd rather have better quality vape than a little smaller shape. Actually I guess the best option for me is to buy 2 or more devices. 1 will be a traditional cig size so I can use out and about without looking like I've got some weird breathalyser contraption, and the other will be mainly for home use which is where i am the majority of the time
I am in the UK, just in case there is some brands which are not so easily sourced here but are readily available from US distributor (although i think most would be able to be found or imported)
also 1 more thing, I wonder if there are any brands which make a 'POP/crackle' and give a bit of resistance then release a bigger burst of vapour? maybe that sounds a little strange, but sorta like real cigs can do sometimes..imo that would make experience that much more realistic

Thanks in advance for any suggestions

Dipping cigarretes in robitussin

I’m attempting to complete a list of JPEGMAFIAs entire Discography and so far i’ve come up with this. Anything missing?