(F24) Some bg: I live with my boyfriend and in-laws. I love them, they’re a great family and I fully intend on marrying my bf. He knows I hate children, and on our first date we discussed it. I’ve had several nervous breakdowns where I imagine him changing his mind on me(been together almost 3 years), and he’s talked me through it, promising me that he is fulfilled with having me in his life. Now, I know he respects me, I feel it. I think he understands why I am like I am. My grandma, for example, did NOT want many children but ended up with five. “God will decide how many” my grandpa told her. This explains why my grandma was never that involved with us, and I absolutely do not resent her. I actually really admire and respect her (she passed around 2009).
I was made to be a little therapist for my mother and her issues with my problematic older sister, to the point where I, as a young child would wonder why my mom couldn’t just force my sister to go to therapy. “she doesnt want to” well no shit, but your’e the adult???? I also have a memory of my mother crying in her studio when I was around 12, we were home alone and she told me “I wish I hadn’t given up my career to have kids. You should wait” Wow thanks mom! I love knowing im a source of pain for you 💕 Not going to give mental problems later on (I’ve had major depressive disorder for 12 years now). I even remember demoting Ariel from my favourite princess when she became a mom in the second movie because I thought it immediately made her lame as fuck 😭🤧
Anyways.
Our neighbours have 4 kids. I have NEVER seen their parents, but they always play outside on OUR LAWN. My in-laws are very sweet people, I can tell they get a bit annoyed, but they like kids, and they don’t want to discourage children from being outside instead of on the internet. I agree with this, and even though they fuck up the grass playing soccer, its not really MY house and I, personally am not expected to maintain the lawn, so idgaf.
I even feel a little bad for them. Last halloween, they looked extremely bored. My MIL and I went out to decorate the lawn, and all of them crossed over to ask if they could help us with the decorations. My initial reaction (in my head) is 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮. But even though I dislike children, I am not mean to them and I don’t let it show. How will you say no in from of your MIL without looking like an evil witch? They helped us. I ended up hanging out AND supervising (parents nowhere to be found, knives, etc around us (they ended up carving the pumpkins my MIL bought for us to carve) with these 4 kids for around 3 hours. In my mind, I was like “this us my good deed for the year” LMAO.
Anyways. Back to the lawn issue. They play soccer and often kick the ball into the backyard. Now, I’m not a fucking witch and understand that it happens, but they got into the habit of playing on the lawn while waiting for the school bus in the morning. Whenever they kick the ball into the yard, they obviously panic since the bus is coming and proceed to bang and kick on the front door while clicking the door bell 7000009 times. I put up with it around 10 times, until one day, I told my bf that we should just pop the ball and tell them our dog got to it first. Sorry! Happens! He originally laughed and said “Yeah we should” The next day it happened again. “Can I pop the ball?”
“You cant just pop their ball, baby, its kind of mean”
I went on to talk about how when I was little I wouldn’t even think of ringing the bell to a house in the morning because my parents would’ve been pissed at me. My parents were actually very strict with me growing up which I guess solidified my CF status as I now have 0 tolerance for misbehaviour. Other things I’d like to point out is that they are aware that we have a dog, and enjoy pissing him the fuck off by banging on the window to get his attention. So we’ve gotten a beautiful dog loosing his shit wake up alarm along the doorbell, rung as if someone is desperately trying to run away from a serial killer by seeking asylum in the house, but no, its just kids wanting their stupid ass ball back before they get picked up for school.
When I told my bf that they cant just keep doing that because its FUCKING RUDE, he said:
“I think you’re just a little intolerant of children, babe” NO SHIT??? I HATE KIDS DUDE!!! Then he said something that really pissed me off.
“How would you feel if our dog was poisoned by a neighbour because its barking uncontrollably. It’s not a correct reaction.”
FIRST OF ALL: MY DOG IS NOT ALLOWED TO BARK UNCONTROLLABLY. I HAVE TRAINED IT TO NOT DO THAT BECAUSE I HATE CONFRONTATION. If kids are coming to terrorize him in HIS OWN PORCH, I am not going to yell at him for that. But that’s irrelevant. Whenever my dog is out on the yard, there is NO BARKING UNCONTROLLABLY because its annoying as fuck at ANY time of day and I ACTUALLY CONSIDER my neighbours.
Second. how the fuck is that equivalent to the situation?
“Are you serious???? You’re comparing someone KILLING my animal to me popping a fucking soccer ball that’s worth no more than $20????????????? And how dare you fucking say something like that when I literally BABYSAT THEM ON HALLOWEEN. I have been NOTHING but nice to them”
I even stop smoking on my porch if they come out out of consideration even though this is MY fucking house.
We actually had a bit of fight over it but then he apologized to me over the comparison. “Yeah, I guess it’s not the same, sorry, I just couldn’t think of something else to compare it to, but you cant just pop the ball without at least trying to talk to them first”
Tbh in my mind, tough world. Not every stranger is going to be nice about teaching random kids a lesson. Its not my responsibility to play mombie to some RANDOM ASS kids. but then I started feeling like an evil witch. It does make more sense to talk to them first.
the argument and convo ended with me apologizing to him. “you’re right. I’m sorry for saying this.” And I do feel ashamed of suggesting to pop their ball. I guess my real bone is with the parents, but I cant help the fact that I hate children. I decided from now on that any comment on the kids its over. But will I also refuse to interact with them beyond a greeting. I am nobody’s free babysitter EVER AGAIN.

After sixty-seven sessions of Curse of Strahd (read all about it here), it was time for a change. So into the wild we went...
My group is nearing the end of Hither, and along the way I've written summaries of each session ("What Just Happened?"), along with interesting/funny quotes from PCs/NPCs ("Certain Things Were Said"), and a list of new characters introduced that session ("Dramatis Personae").
My intention is to write the summaries for each of the five parts of the campaign in a different format. For the Witchlight Carnival, each summary was presented in verse (my own, no machine learning shortcuts!), using the the metre and rhyming structure of various Lewis Carrol poems.
I'd like to share my summaries/poems with you all here, for posterity, and in the hope you'll find them entertaining.
For reference, the players are:

• Holafina (a harengon paladin who has lost three inches of height)
• Skerrek (a kobold druid who has lost the ability to lie)
• Arix (an owlin monk who has lost all sense of direction and is always hungry)
• Jexim (a brash fairy who has lost his diary)
• Sylenos (a beatnik, slacker satyr employed by the Carnival)

NOTE: Lewis Carroll was known to hide secret messages in his poems. I've done the same, revealing the campaign's big twist in one of the poems below. None of my players have picked up on it.

Part I: Welcome to the Witchlight

What Just Happened? (in the style of Jabberwocky)
’Twas twilight when the carnival Did open wide two golden gates, And those with tickets did arrive, Seeking things they had misplaced.
One harengon of curious size, A kobold with a slithy gait, An owlet who possessed two eyes As wide as Annam’s dinner plates.
Yet are we three or are we four? Let’s add vibrations rarefied: A Witchlight hand here to ensure That every guest is Satyrs-fied!
Enter now and taste the sounds, Feel these colours, smell those sights! Kaleidoscopic fun abounds This synaesthesiac’s delight!
Yet where’s the drama? Where’s the tension? Certainly we’ve had a switch (At least in here there is no mention Of that cad von Zarovich).
Instead let’s race a giant snail, Eat candied mushrooms by the pound, Or listen to a gnome assail The tightness of your mother’s gown.
Yet hark! A misadventure glum! Those not heroes please give berth! The best laid plans of love undone By Tasha’s wild unruly mirth
These mirrored halls! This desperate task, To find a luckless paramour A sweet-toothed lass with porcine mask That you could swear you’ve seen before…
’Twas twilight when the carnival Did open wide two golden gates And those with tickets did arrive, Now guided by the wiles of fate.
Dramatis Personae
Arix Specklefoot, a sweet-toothed owlin Holafina, a curiously short harengon Skerrek Tirael, a slithy kobold Sylenos, a cosmic satyr Nicholas Midnight, elderly goblin ticketmaster at the Witchlight Carnival Candlefoot, a mime and not by choice Rubin Sugarwood, a lovesick halfling Ween Sundapple, his laugh-sick paramour Glorange Turple, a poetry gnome
Certain Things Were Said
“I am worried about your ability to sense vibrations that I cannot.” - Skerrek Tirael
“Tymore, goddess of good fortune! Look well upon Shellymoo this day!” - Holafina
“Hate to say it, man, but that gnome really insulted your mother.” - Sylenos
“Snacks?” - Arix Specklefoot

Part II: Lost and Found

What Just Happened? (In the style of The Walrus and the Carpenter )
"The time has come," the Satyr said, "To talk of many things: Of poems—and props—and Jeremy Plum— Of crowns and pixie kings— And why things here keep getting lost— And what this pig-girl means."
"But wait a bit," the Owlin cried, "Before our minds do meet, For some of us are pretty spooked, And I would like a treat!" "No hurry!" said the Satyr, And kicked up cloven feet.
The Owlin and the Kobold Were walking close at hand, They smiled like anything to see The gates of Pixie Land. "If we could only stay a while,” They said, "it would be grand!"
The Satyr sighed so sulkily, Because he thought that Plum Had got no business to be there When all was said and done. (“It's rude of him," the Kobold said, "To try and spoil our fun!")
"Oi, Satyr," said the pixie king, "You've had a pleasant run! Should you be getting back to work?” But answer came there none And this was scarcely odd, because He had real beef with Plum.
Now Arix made a hamster friend Who offered up some clues. The others tried the riding-pug: A pleasant thing to do! (“The pug is fine," the Rabbit said, "But he’s no Shellymoo.”)
"How nice of you to come!” said Plum, "You all are oh-so kind!" Puddlemud said nothing as His teeth began to grind. The Owlin and the Kobold cheered: “That was our FAVORITE ride!”
“A wooden crown," fair Jexim said, Is what we need to come Our way along with golden paint For some un-princely sum.” The others stared, confused, and said: “Now where did YOU come from?”
‘Twas then the party dared approach The famous Mystery Mine Where psychedelic spectacles Broke the Satyr’s mind. (“I really wish,” Zephixo sighed, “You wouldn’t ride while high”).
Next Dirla pulled all kind of things Out of his wagon/portal: Bottles, bunnies, candlesticks, A shining blade of vorpal (Incidentally, there’s a word That kind of rhymes with purple).
“If you put your mind to it And searched for long enough, Do you suppose," the party said, "That you could find our stuff?" "I doubt it," said dear Dirlagraun, And gave a bitter huff.
Then he gave the Harengon The greatest gift by far: A copy of “Gnome On The Run” And bid them au revoir (Morgie would have laughed at that While struggling with slash “R”).
“I do believe,” the Satyr said, “That something is not right, And think we ought to pay a call To Messers Witch and Light.” “I think we ought,” the Owlin said “To first stop for a bite.”
But in their way old Thaco stood, A clown grown grim and surly: “Rabbit! Owlin! Pixie! Skink! You aren’t allowed to be-“ The Fairy interrupted him: “Wait, WHAT did you call me?”
Poor Thaco cried: “Things move too fast! And have since my debut In R-1: To the Aid of Falx From Nineteen Eighty Two! And if you’d seen what I have seen Then you’d smoke bubbles, too!”
Finally he stepped aside, At last the way was clear. The Satyr ambled stealthily With open eyes and ears And pressed them to a wagon large To see what he could hear.
"The time has come," Witch and Light said, "To talk of things galore Of prizes—plans—and kenku pests— and ever so much more— But first we’d better ask inside Those spying at our door!”
Dramatis Personae
Jexim, a puzzled, puzzling fairy Jeremy Plum, operator of the Pixie Kingdom and bestower of silly names Biscuit, a talkative hamster Pinecone, a riding-pug Zephixo, dwarven inventor and mastermind behind the Mystery Mine Ernest Wilde, middle-aged calliope master currently inhabiting the body of his pet monkey Marigold, his button-collecting goblin assistant Dirlagraun, a kindly but inefficient displacer beast, minder of lost children and property Thaco, a bubble-smoking clown who is long past his prime
Certain Things Were Said
"Worried I was, with talk of missing supper." - Arix Specklefoot
"Could you not just purchase a new pair?" - Skerrek Tirael "Not like this, man." - Sylenos
"If you'd see the things I've seen, you'd smoke a bubble pipe, too." - Thaco
"Is this it?" - Dirlagraun "NO." - Everyone

Part III: On the Trail of the Kenku

What Just Happened? (In the style of The Hunting of the Snark)
"Where the heck is our stuff? We just want to know This Harengon ain't getting bigger, Arix has no idea of where to go And lies send poor Skerrek a-quiver!"
"Would you get back to work?" Mister Light cried, Twirling his cane with a smile, "Otherwise find where this kenku pest hides; She's cramping this carnival's style!"
"Well, that was a bust," said our heroes, conferring, "Anyone got a suggestion? If we need to pull strings to get back our things Then there are some folk we should question."
"Time's an illusion, free will a delusion!" Sylenos' mentor decreed, "Get a contusion battling occlusions, Or relax and have some of this…wait, what was I saying?"
Sylenos proclaimed: "A genius flawed!" "A man/dragon ahead of his time." Skerrek looked at his claws; Holafina at paws, And the other two just rolled their eyes
"A centuar I'm not! I just made a bad trade The "Cloppinton's" just serendipitous, Now lend me your aid and you'll maybe persuade These horsies to drop some significance."
Then they took to the skies on a dragonfly ride (Holafina and Skerrek abreast), When you're this high there's just nowhere to hide (And to which Sylenos attests)
Now Skerrek honed on a runaway gnome Who was fleeing the carnage with glee, Holafina struck home and that's it for this poem For the gnome was the kenku, you see.
Dramatis Personae
Mister Witch, a matter-of-fact elf, devoid of pretense Mister Light, a flamboyant elf, luminous and coy Burly, a philosophical, pumpkin-helmeted bugbear Mandragon, a seeker of truth (and not much else) Diana Cloppington, a centaur who is apparently not, operator of the Carousel Northwind, a very forthcoming treant, operator of the Dragonfly Rides
Certain Things Were Said
"There’s something weird going on. For some reason everyone thinks I don’t do anything around the carnival." - Sylenos
"It's true, Miss Cloppinton! We've ALL lost things." - Arix Specklefoot
"Wait, when did we have biscuits?" - Jexim

Part IV: Through the Looking Glass

What Just Happened? (In the style of A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky)
Now hear the Kenku’s strange reply (As Arix struggles to apply Triage to these pixie guys)
Asking questions, getting nought Set her on a different course: High sabotage without remorse!
And what has got her so irate Is what’s she trying to intimate: Zybilna has been quiet of late!
Ignore the rest, and let’s take flight To confront dear Witch and Light (Surprisingly, they’re quite contrite)
To keep the carnival in motion A tapestry of lies was woven: A deal with the Hourglass Coven!
Who take from those who can’t afford Entrance through the Witchlight’s doors Miscellanea adored
So THAT’s who taken all your junk! Time to find these Hourglass punks! Which way to this Feywild dump?
But first we’ll make a brief aside So Candlefoot can vocalise His mermaid love (now legalised)
Now the pair can tie the knot And while we’re passing time why not Ride the fabled Bubble Pot?
Yet ere you all are translocated (Everybody’s breath now bated) Arix must be coronated!
The time of truth has come at last Hesitation as you pass Though the hallowed looking glass
Are you afraid to lose your minds? What lies ahead? What lies behind? What do you expect to find?
Will Skerrek ever fabricate? Or Holafina emulate A bunny’s median height and weight?
Shall Jexim’s memoirs find acclaim? Can Monty locate Bobbitt Fane? (…hang on, that’s a different game)
Does Arix ever find the door? And will Sylennos flee the cause To study unemployment law?
Dramatis Personae
Kettlesteam, a mischievous patron of Zybilna Paleesha, a mellifluous mermaid, now reunited with Candlefoot
Certain Things Were Said
“Sylenos, perhaps in eight years you can come back and find your lost employment.” - Skerrek
“Ask me where the exit is.” - Arix Specklefoot “Where is the exit?” - Mister Light “I don’t know.” - Arix

It took a lot of time, and I've finally saved up and am ready to begin the process of purchasing a canoe for my family this summer! I've been lurking around this community for a bit now, and thought I'd take the plunge and ask for some practical advice.
​
I have read the pinned post, and will use the template here:
Do you plan on using the canoe Solo or Tandem?

• Primarily tandem with a young teenager, but have younger kids as well

Where are located and where are you paddling? Whitewater or Flatwater or both?

• Central Wisconsin; primarily lake waters, but am really wanting to do some back-water canoeing like inlets, creeks, and small rivers.

Experience of paddler(s)?

• No experience with paddling, but I grew up on the Oregon coast so I have a lot of boat experience in salt-water and on the Columbia.

Size of paddler(s) & passenger(s)? Is there also a Hound Dog? Kids?

• I myself am about 250, my oldest is around 150, and my other 3 range from 50# - 75# each

Capacity needs (multi-week expeditions? Day trips? How long would be the longest overnight trip you anticipate?) Are you minimalist, do you bring all the luxuries including the kitchen sink, or somewhere in the middle? If you have an idea of actual gear weight, all the better.

• My goal is to go camping for at most 2 days with it, and also fishing. I don't need to bring everything; I'd like a 2 person tent and fishing or hunting gear, extra clothes, and some small commodities like a small gas stove (the real little ones you can screw into the little Coleman propane tanks) and canned food.

Stability (& Capacity) vs Speed - where on the spectrum are you happiest? Fast canoes are fun, but they are less stable and haul less. Related: Are you fishing, and how important is this aspect to you?

• I don't much care about speed. I want something that is stable enough I can stand up if I need to without having to worry too much about tipping immediately. Fishing is my primary goal.

Is light weight important for portaging or loading on a vehicle? Do you need a yoke for portaging/carrying?

• I'm pretty strong, but I'd like to keep it under 75# since I would like to portage.

How will it be stored - will it be inside, outside & protected, outside & exposed to sun?

• In a garage; garage is not temperature controlled.

Do you have any specific needs/desires when it comes to hull material?

• I've been seriously eyeing up T-Formex but have looked into Kevlar

Budget?

• ~$3,000

What do you want to do?

• Fish, camping, and exercise

​
I have been looking into Esquif canoes a lot, and am really leaning towards the Heron. It has 3 seats in the design, which would allow me to "comfortably" take at least 2 of my kids out with me at the same time. I have thought about the Mallard as well.
​
What worries me is the square backing. I definitely can't afford a motor right away, and I don't really want one. I've read and seen on videos that a square back is far from ideal for a paddler. I've thought about the Scout, but it seems a little small for us.
​
I've looked at about every canoe Esquif has on their website, and I can link their videos and websites all day, but that won't help anyone. I'm hoping someone can give some practical advice on a good choice for a family canoe. Thanks y'all!

Due to demand and community feedback we are relaunching a Weekly Welcome Discussion for New Buyers and Newbies. Think of it like the "Daily Discussion" thread, where anything goes...big or small. Here, we've carved out a special place for people new to Peloton to discuss the issues common to ordering, waiting-on-delivery, delivery day jitters, new bike or tread setup, first class recommendations, instructor recommendations, introductions, accountability buddy finding, etc.
You do not have to be a new buyer to post here, and new buyers are not limited to using this thread. We just feel its important to welcome folks and give the never-ending (that's not bad!) numbers of new people a place to talk about issues they're all seeing - and might want some help or commiseration...from fellow humans in the same boat as them.
Helpful Tips:

• We are not affiliated with Peloton Interactive. We do have a robust community that will help you troubleshoot most any problem.
• Hoping for an earlier delivery? Once order is confirmed, call Peloton (866-679-9129) or XPO (844-742-5976) or use the "reschedule" link Peloton emailed ya.
• Our wiki extensively covers everything Peloton, from buying, setting up, understanding metrics, researching instructors, connecting non-Peloton apps, using a DIY bike w/ Peloton app, and comparing features across Peloton apps. It's here: https://www.reddit.com/pelotoncycle/wiki/index
  • Peloton has a tool for checking the history of a bike before buying it, read more at https://www.reddit.com/pelotoncycle/wiki/index/newvsused/#wiki_used

As the title suggests, I need help with my LO. I tend to crash at random intervals and I don't know what's causing it, some help will be greatly appreciated. I'm using the Halls of Ysgramor LO template.
MASTER FILES:

1. Unofficial Skyrim special edition patch
   
2. Simple Workaround
   

Creation club patches:
Bug fixes and quality of life:

1. Increased mining resources X3
   
2. Truly absorb Dragon souls
   
3. Ring of increased carry weight
   
4. Optional quick start
   

Cheat functions:

1. Cheat room

SMIM & MESH FIXES:

1. SMIM PERFORMANCE PLUS

Foundations and frameworks:

1. Swift Kingdom overhaul
   
2. Vanilla Plus v5.1.1
   
3. Relationship dialogue overhaul
   
4. RDO - USSEP PATCH
   

Magic additions & Changes:

1. Odin - Skyrim magic overhaul
   
2. Arcanum - a new age of magic (Fixed)
   
3. Apocalypse - Magic of Skyrim
   
4. Ancient dragonborn powers
   
5. Phenderix magic evolved
   
6. Spellforge
   
7. Spellforge - Library - base - Odin
   
8. Spellforge - library - Apocalypse
   
9. Spellforge - library - Odin (For apocalypse)
   
10. Spellforge - Library - arcanum
    

Perks and leveling changes:

1. Ordinator - perks of Skyrim
   
2. 50 PCT More perk points
   
3. Odin- ordinator compatibility patch
   
4. Apocalypse - ordinator compatibility patch
   

Race record changes:

1. Character creation overhaul AIO
   
2. Imperious - races of Skyrim
   
3. Universal imperious patch
   
4. True hybrid - tainted blood of the dragonborn
   
5. Growl - werebeasts of Skyrim
   
6. Sacrosanct - vampires of Skyrim
   
7. Tainted blood & growl compatibility patch
   
8. Unleashed Sacrosanct & growl racial abilities
   

Items obtained by crafting:

1. Katana crafting
   
2. The heavy Greatsword
   
3. Stonefire set - Mihail weapons, armor and clothes
   
4. Aetherium armor and weapons
   
5. Black knight armor
   
6. Zerofrost's armor AIO
   
7. Cloaks and capes 1K
   
8. Skyrim outfitters AIO
   
9. Kynreeve armor
   
10. Dragon carved Armor AIO
    
11. Expanded jewelry crafting
    
12. Ultimate assortment - jewelry
    
13. Vanity mirror
    
14. Weapons of the third era
    

Enemy NPC leveled list:

1. Diverse dragons collection 1k
   
2. Monsters reborn special edition
   

Loot leveled list:

1. Heavy weapons - New weapons SE
   
2. PrivateEye's heavy armory
   
3. Skyrim SE expanded Skyrim weaponry - NPC
   
4. Summeryst - enchantments of skyrim
   
5. Warbird's drastic dragon loot
   
6. STAR triple gold
   
7. Loot overhaul - rarity and abundance
   

Effect changes:
User interface/camera/HUD/Fonts/menus

1. Dragon UI

Vanilla quest alterations:
Audio:

1. Realistic waterfall sounds
   
2. Skyrim music 2
   
3. Quieter dungeons and caves
   

Weather:

1. Mythical wonders - a weather and sky bundle

Grass:
Interior lighting:

1. Enhanced lights & FX (SMIM)
   
2. ELFX Fixes AIO
   

Mesh & Textures architecture and landscapes:

1. Skyland AIO
   
2. Enhanced texture detail - No SMIM overlap
   

Meshes and textures - creatures and wildlife:
Meshes and textures - armors and weapons:

1. Leanwolf's better shaped weapons
   
2. Vanilla apparel for pyrokess
   
3. HIMBO vanilla refit - default
   

Meshes and textures - clutter and misc:
Meshes and textures - effects:

1. Enhanced blood textures
   
2. Magical forces and fx bundle - lite
   
3. Dynamic impact - slash effects X
   
4. Just blood - blood and dirt lite
   

NPC ai alterations:

1. Immersive citizens

NPC and player interactions:

1. Serena dialogue add-on
   
2. Serena dialogue add-on RDO patch
   

Follower framework:

1. Amazing follower tweaks
   
2. GET no more dead followers
   

New animal companions and mounts:
New followers and named NPCS:

1. Sofia - the funny fully voiced follower

New creature and NPC encounters:
Combat overhaul:

1. Serio's enhanced dragons
   
2. BIG: Ultimate kills
   
3. Violens - a killmove mod
   

NPC Face replacers:
Body meshes and skin textures:

1. Pyrokess
   
2. Highly improved male body (HIMBO)
   
3. ReaLore young men and women 1K
   

Beards, brows, and hairs:

1. Superior lore friendly hair
   
2. Extra vanilla hair WIP
   
3. Skywigs PK1
   
4. HN66 Updated long eyelashes SSE
   
5. Brows [XB1]
   
6. Beards [XB1]
   

Eyes:

1. Eyes of amber

Scars, tints, and warpaints:

1. HD vanilla eyeliner
   
2. Character editor - All in one vanilla customization pack
   
3. Skyrim vanity kit
   

Idle & animations replacers:
Skeleton frameworks and nemesis output:

1. Realistic weapon placement (cloaks edition)
   
2. Belt-fastened quivers
   
3. XP32 Maximum skeleton special edition extended
   
4. GDB'S elden beast edition
   
5. Comprehensive first person animations
   

Multi-area edits:
Single-area edits:

1. Magical college of winterhold
   
2. Magical college of winterhold (ELFX patch)
   

Unique items added to locations:

1. Reinforced ebony armor

Exterior lighting mods:
New quest mods with area edits:
Trees & flora with area edits:
LOD & map mods:
INI (settings) changes:
Bottom of LO required:

1. Pauly's very attractive water & effects (performance mode)
   
2. Ilinalta - realistic water transparency
   
3. Realistic conversations
   

Disabled records:

1. No radial blur - performance optimization
   
2. Insignificant object remover
   

My partner and I recently moved from Chicago to the suburbs and we were fortunate enough to move onto a family farm with 25 acres. Today we started our little garden and of course the first thing we planted was pumpkins! Super excited to be able to grow some that we can carve this year. It was fun buying pumpkins in the city and having pop-up bars to go to etc, but this Halloween we can truly decorate to our heart’s content, including the real deal 🎃. Anyone else getting some planted for the season?

Jack O' Lanterns were originally to repel spirits on the night when the veil between the spirit realm and the physical realm was the thinnest. Of course, a majority of the world celebrates "Halloween" instead of "All Hallows' Eve," these days. Regardless, for horror enthusiasts who want to make creepy, dimly lit builds but not have to worry that they'll be attacked in the night, Carved Pumpkins (the non-lit version) should prevent hostile mob spawning as though they had a light level of 15. Further, a new version of the Jack O' Lantern, called the Dim Carved Pumpkin, should be craftable with a Carved Pumpkin and a candle, and emit a light level of 4 for mood lighting in Halloween themed builds.

This is probably the most ambitious project I've done, but I'm on day 62 as of writing this, and it's been a blast! Here are my notes for every day in this: Day 1 (inf-20100607) Did nothing more than make myself a house and get food. Wood seemed scarce, so I mined coal during the night.
Day 2 (inf-20100608) Lit up the area, and made myself a cloth cap and shirt. The first sapling grew today, so I chopped it down and replanted.
Day 1 (again) (inf-20100611) Minecraft decided that my world didn't exist so I had to restart. Not too hard, though. I had to quickly build myself a wooden house (good thing there were so many trees!) and hide in there for the night. I didn't have coal, so no torches, and no torches means no light, and no light means PITCH BLACK nights. I was genuinely scared by this. Also, the skeletons and zombies made player noises. Weird.
Day 2 (again) (inf-20100615) Finished the wood shack and installed windows (not the OS, mind you). Then I added a tube to the back of the mineshaft to get to my house easier, and I also went mining. Found coal, but didn't have enough time to mine it due to it being update time.
Day 3 (inf-20100616-1) Decided to make a giant cobblestone nerd-pole so that I wouldn't get lost when exploring. Speaking of exploring, I did just that... for a little bit. That was very short-lived. I ended up mining for a while, and found the void-lava.
Day 4 (inf-20100617-1) Today was so far the most successful mining trip. I nerded out about the old trees having logs on the inside and the new trees not having that and those two kinds of trees being right next to each other. That's a run on sentence isn't it? Then I went into the mines and found more iron than I can count. Like I said, successful.
Day 5 (inf-20100617-2) Mining trip was good. Got more iron and found some void gold (a gold vein that exposed the void). It was cool.
Day 6 (inf-20100618, Seecret Friday 1) I screwed around with minecarts.
Day 7 (inf-20100624) Decided to light up the area around spawn, but not in spawn. Decided to fight baddies for the heck of it that night. Also made the house look more appealing.
Day 8 (inf-20100625-1) Everything that I placed and did in the last day got reversed to how they were on Day 6, except for my inventory. I spent the day fixing everything. In the night, I went mining and found more iron. No diamonds D:
Day 9 (inf-20100625-2, Seecret Friday 2) Today they added dungeons and some other stuff but it's not very important to me right now. Went mining for the day.
Day 10 (inf-20100627) Nothing interesting was added today so I went exploring to find water. I also made a glass room in my mine to tell the time.
Day 11 (inf-20100630-1) Infdev 20100629 didn't wanna work. So here we are, at 20100630-1. Stairs were added in the last version, so I added stairs to my mine. The stairs sure are finnicky, though! I also filled a creeper blast with water (that is surprisingly calming...)
Day 12 (inf-20100630-2) The last Infdev day. Tomorrow it will be Alpha! To prepare for the long journey of Alpha releases I built a new addition to the house. Finally, I made a sign and a shrine for Infdev. Farewell!
Day 13 (a1.0.1_01) Last version was Seecret Friday, but the file is lost and I have to play this version. But there are so many changes!! Excited! Didn't find redstone in the mines, though. I also finished the new room and organized the chests.
Day 14 (a1.0.2_01) Went exploring for some coal and cooked all my pork chops.
Day 15 (a1.0.2_02) Can't remember much other than that I went mining. That's it I guess?
Day 16 (a1.0.3) Went exploring for some coal but found a cool cave and also found lots of coal and iron
Day 17 (a1.0.4, Seecret Friday 4) Same as Day 16.
Day 18 (a1.0.5) Went back home and decided to go strip-mining because caving didn't go very well. Not much happened.
Day 19 (a1.0.5_01) There is a new project now; I am carving my face on a mountain. Gonna need a lot of stone though. And gravel. Lots and lots of gravel.
Day 20 (a1.0.6, Seecret Friday 5) Cactuses were added. Neat I guess. Also Boats. But that doesn't apply to what I did today because what I did today was work on my face. I went to get gravel. There was a lot of gravel.
Day 21 (a1.0.6_01) Marked the gravel spot, got distracted, and now I'm lost. at least I found a cactus!
Day 22 (a1.0.6_03) Using the power of looking back at the footage, I was able to return home! With the cactus! Yippee!
Day 23 (a1.0.7) Continued work on the face: I did it! Now I am making the body. Might need more gravel...
Day 24 (a1.0.8_01) i died.
Day 25 (a1.0.9) I continued working on my statue of me and got some more gravel. Had 1 block left after finishing!
Day 26 (a1.0.10) Went strip mining, found no diamonds.
Day 27 (a1.0.11, Seecret Friday 6) This update, lots of cool stuff was added but nothing that I can use. Went strip mining and found zero diamonds.
Day 28 (a1.0.12) The splash was "missingno" for some reason. Anyways, continued working on a giant tower. Ladders suck
Day 29 (a1.0.13) Finished the tower. Ladders STILL suck...
Day 30 (a1.0.13_01) Got bored of building so I went in one direction to find some sugarcane. Found some and am going back
Day 31 (a1.0.13_01 1Kin24h edition) The title screen was changed to say 1K in 24h because Minecraft sold 1,000 units in 24 hours! That might not seem like a lot but at the time that was big news. ANYWAYS, got back home and planted sugarcane, and also made a bookshelf. Also, bricks!
Day 32 (a1.0.14-1, Seecret Friday 7) Chickens and chest minecarts and furnace minecarts are added and I WANT A RAIL SYSTEM so I decided that my face could be a cart station. also iron doors suck
Day 33 (a1.0.14-2) What did I do... Oh yeah i put a tower compass thing.
Day 34 (a1.0.15) Played Minecraft, Watched Hermitcraft, Got Gravel.
Day 35 (a1.0.16) Mined some dirt
Day 36 (a1.0.16_01) placed the dirt replacing the sand, also paths.
Day 37 (a1.0.16_02) paths. PATHS!!!!!!1!
Day 38 (a1.0.17_02) Fences were added in alpha 1.0.17 but that version and a1.0.7_01 are lost so this is the one I have to play. Anyways, I got some wood for a farm project. How is that related? You'll see...
Day 39 (a1.0.17_03) See, fences placed underneath farmland makes the farmland UNTRAMPLEABLE. That's nice.
Day 40 (a1.0.17_04) Last a1.0.1x version! Grinding for wood sux.
Day 41 (a1.1.0-1, Seecret Friday 9) Compasses! I WANT A COMPASS. So I don't get lost ;) but i don't have redstone so i went mining for some. NO LUCK as always...
Day 42 (a1.1.0-2) Mining. No. Redstone. Or. Diamonds.
Day 43 (a1.1.1, Seecret Saturday) SNEAKIN' ROUND THE BLOCK, WOOHOO! Spent this legendary version just mining and found BEDROCK. I'll tell you that that wasn't there before. Still no redstone OR diamonds. FOUND A CAVE, THOUGH.
Day 44 (a1.1.2) idk what I did, I cooked pork I guess
Day 45 (a1.1.2_01) I mined out a bit of my face and gave a tour of the world to Pap. Last version with neon foliage.
Day 46 (a1.2.0, Halloween Update) Because this version added the Nether, I desperately tried to get diamonds so I could make a nether portal. Alas, no luck on that front.
Day 47 (a1.2.0_01) Continued mining until my pickaxes broke. After that, I hollowed out some more of my face. That's it?
Day 48 (a1.2.0_02) I tried making a rail way to the resource gathering area, but turns out that furnace minecarts are extremely finnicky. That project will have to wait until Beta 1.5...
Day 49 (a1.2.1_01) Turns out that Alpha 1.2.1 is the only lost Alpha 1.2 version. Go figure. Anyways, I started working on Mama's Mother's Day gift thing, and got ambushed by like a million mobs during the night. This is what I signed up for when switching to Hard mode, what did I expect?
Day 50 (a1.2.2-1) The ability to easily switch between texture packs was added in this version, replacing the ever-defunct "Play tutorial level" button. Also, nether portals with F4. I'm definitely going to use that once I figure out how it works. Update: figured out how the portals work, they seem to be random. I tried it in a test world then in my actual world and it worked! It was really cool in the Nether, but I just so happen to be underground. Ugh.
Day 51 (a1.2.2-2) Spent the day continuing working on the Mother's Day gift. I didn't die this time!
Day 52 (a1.2.3) Coordinates were added to the F3 menu, which is pretty nice. Now I CAN'T get lost! Anyways, I finished the Mother's Day gift and then died due to skelley boi. Man I need to mine... That will be a project for tomorrow.
Day 53 (a1.2.3_01-1) I didn't mine. Instead, I focused on ranged attacks and getting food and leather for armor.
Day 54 (a1.2.3_01-2) I continued to get resources from animals and ended up with a lot of pork chops and a leather shirt.
Day 55 (a1.2.3_02) Started a new mine so that I can get iron and diamonds faster. I found iron actually now!
Day 56 (a1.2.3_04) Turns out a1.2.3_03 doesn't exist. Weird, huh? Anyway, I finished digging down to y11 and am installing stairs.
Day 57 (a1.2.4, a1.2.3_05 in-game) Continued mining out my brand-new definitely not abandoned mineshaft. Got some of the unused rails and put them to good use!
Day 58 (a1.2.4_01) Went a little overtime huh? Well today was kinda uneventful, i mined, mined some more, and mined EVEN MORE. STILL no diamonds. I'm kinda losing hope...
Day 59 (a1.2.5) Only 1 alpha version left! Wow, time really did fly fast, huh? Anyway, I went and made a new room below the furnace room for storage, so that when I am in the beta versions I won't run out of storage. I also need wood.
Day 60 (a1.2.6) It's the LAST version of Alpha, and you know what I'm gonna do? Make an alpha shrine of course! I did the same for Infdev on day 12 if you remember. So yeah, that's what I'll do today. Update: I got killed by a zombie at the last second it COULD have. That sux
Day 61 (b1.0) Immediately, the Alpha shrine got blown up by a creeper instantly. And I died twice. It gets better, though. I continued working on the storage area and got things sorted out. However, there appears to be an inventory bug and that made my life waay harder. Still though, pretty productive day!
Day 62 (b1.0_01) The stupid chest bug was fixed! Yaay!

For two main reasons: Firstly, there ain't enough sports from non-western backgrounds and dragonboat racing would be not only a great suggestion, but also one that isn't just a martial art.
Secondly, if the rules require that the boat have a figurehead (ie: the dragon) then each country would thoroughly enjoy making and bringing their own 'dragon' head. Bald Eagles from the US, A kangaroo from Australia, maybe Canada could do a native American style carving of an orca, etc etc.

So I’ve been no contact with my avoidant ex for a little over 5 weeks. My friend told me that she had posted pictures of places we’d been together and this jack o’lantern we’d carved last Halloween on her FB stories.
I really kind of wish I didn’t know that now. I asked my friend politely not to update me on her page (I‘m blocked). But honestly this feels unpleasant. Any idea what I might be processing rn? I have no desire to break no contact. But it’s unsettled me. It’s probably just meaningless but I hope this doesn’t set me back.

Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1bsb26v/i_found_a_set_of_blank_cassette_tapes_at_the_junk/
What began as an innocent adventure, had ended in the loss of our innocence.
But the journey wasn't over yet. Somewhere... out there in the fog, were five more bodies and a killer. A killer that, according to the tapes that I'd found in the junk store, was responsible for eight deaths, and now a ninth...
...My friend Mike.
"If you're listening to this, you've found the first three bodies. To find the fourth, fifth, and sixth, look for the island in the marsh, and proceed to the dock on its easternmost side. Not far from it, you'll see a pile of stones. Remove the stones, and beneath them, you'll find the next three bodies. Once you find them, switch to tape six."
CLICK.
I took the headphones from around my ears, placed them back around my neck, and began to relay the instructions to Jess.
But before I could even finish what I was saying, the fog had cleared, and my friend had already spotted the very location of the next burial site.
"The island!" Jess called out, pointing to a forested mass of land that stood out in the distance from the marsh's otherwise flat horizon.
—
After traversing another hundred yards or so of muddy terrain, something that, by now, Jess and I had both become quite accustomed to, we finally reached the dock.
We had spent most of the walk in silence, still unable to comprehend what we'd seen back at the wrecked boat, and still unsure who exactly to blame for Mike's death.
But after climbing up onto the dock and following it to the very mound of stones described on the tape, Jess finally spoke.
"The faster we move these rocks, the faster we find the clue, and the faster we wake up from this nightmare."
I didn't know what to say, so I just started grabbing stones and tossing them to the wayside as fast as I could, as my friend joined in and did the same.
We'd cleared out all but two of the rocks, when suddenly, Jess stopped what she was doing, and simply stared at one of them.
"What's wrong?" I asked, before she proceeded to turn the stone around and reveal the letter "N" carved into it.
"It's one of the clues." Jess said, as I found the letter "E" carved into the other.
Remembering the first two clues we'd found, I spelled out each of the four letters that we'd discovered.
""J" "A" "N" E"" I said, throwing the rock away.
"But who could that be?" Jess asked, doing the same with hers and revealing the spot on the ground where the next three bodies were buried.
"I don't know, but we'd better keep going." I said, as I began to dig in the dirt, already huffing and puffing from exhaustion.
But Jess put her hand on my shoulder and urged me to stop.
"Wait. What's the point?" She began, "You already know that they're down there. Why dig them up? Haven't you seen enough dead bodies for one day? And we already have the clues. Just play the next tape."
She had a point, and I was much too tired to argue, so I switched tape "5" for tape "6", called Jess over to share my headphones, and pressed play.
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, it means you've found the fourth, fifth, and sixth bodies. That of a family. A mother. A father. And their child. Guilty of perpetuating the myth of familial love, and instilling in their offspring, the very values that keep that myth alive. Should the child have gone on to live to old age, it too, would either have become like the widow, or left one behind. To find the seventh and eighth bodies, switch to tape seven."
CLICK.
I did as the narrator suggested, and switched tape "6" for tape "7."
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, you've found six out of the eight bodies, and are ready to search for the last two. To find them, simply follow the path into the woods, until you reach the old cottage with no windows, and knock on the front door. The man who lives inside will welcome you in, and take you to the last two graves."
CLICK.
—
We'd been following the path through the woods for some time, when we finally arrived at the old cottage, its exterior windowless, exactly as the tape had described.
Jess and I walked up to its front door and stood there for a moment, both shaking in fear.
These tapes found their way to you, not us. They chose you. You were the one who was meant to get us into this mess, and you are the one who's meant to get us out of it. Reminding myself of what Jess had told me after we'd met the old fisherman, I worked up the courage to go on, knowing that something terrible was very likely waiting for us inside the cottage...
...And knocked on the door.
After less than a minute of waiting...
...Someone opened it.
Contrary to my expectations, he was a rather short man with a bald head and a boyish face.
"Welcome. Come in, come in." He said, gesturing for us to enter, his high-pitched voice counterpoint to the ominous one that I'd heard on the tapes.
It can't be him. I thought to myself. Plus the tapes referred to the man who lived in the house in third person, not first.
—
A few minutes later, Jess and I were sitting inside the home, warming our ironically cold bodies by a fireplace that our host had started for us.
"Are you the killer?" I asked, wasting no time.
"A killer of what?" The man squeaked, answering my question with one of his own.
"People!" Jess added, "The ones buried out there in the marsh."
"There's people buried out there?" He replied, "That's news to me."
"Then why'd you ask... of what?" Jess asked.
"Well, a man has to kill all sorts of creatures to survive out here. Birds, squirrels, even mice. Speaking of which, you must be hungry."
He stood up, walked over to a door in the back of the room, and began to open it.
"Wait!" Jess called out, "What's in there?"
"Dinner." He replied.
"Let us come with you then." I insisted.
"Very well."
—
Upon stepping inside, the man reached for an old string light switch.
I gripped Jess' hand, fearing the worst, but when the dim bulb turned on, hardly emanating any light into the dark room, I could see that he wasn't lying...
...Hanging there on hooks, were all sorts of creatures. Birds, squirrels, and even mice, just as he described.
Jess and I both took a step back, clearly disgusted by the dinner options, when the man laughed.
"Oh, come on. Meat is meat, and you said you were starving. Now, I'll cook them up, just take a seat over there in the corner." He said, pointing to the shadowy corner of the room.
Despite her better judgment, Jess looked into the darkness, and did as he suggested.
That's when I heard her fall to the ground, and start screaming.
"Jess!" I called out, as the man laughed.
He simply smiled at me and pointed to the darkness. "Go on, take a look."
I backed away from him, took a step into the shadows, and looked down, to find a pair of side by side graves, each dug deep into the dirt, and one currently occupied by Jess.
"You said you weren't the killer!" I cried out to him.
"I lied," He replied.
"But the voice on the tapes?"
"Oh him? He was just a guy I hired to record them. Told him the tapes were for a game."
"Our friend died because of those tapes!"
"Did I kill him? Or did curiosity?"
"He said he saw you, and you left him there to die."
"Indeed I did, but only because he wasn't supposed to be there. None of you were supposed to be there. Or find the tapes in the first place."
But wait, Jess said I was chosen to find them. But if not me, then who?
"Jane!" I called out, remembering the clues. "Who's Jane?"
"She was the one who was supposed to find the tapes. I would tell you to listen to the last cassette, to hear the full story, but I'm afraid you won't have a chance to do that. Anyways, as I was saying, the tapes were meant for Jane, as was the grave your friend is standing in. But..." The man continued with a smile, "...You two will do."
That's when suddenly...
...He lunged at me, in an attempt to tackle me into the other grave.
What transpired next happened too fast to comprehend, but the next thing I knew...
...The man was lying there at the bottom of the other grave, his eyes wide in disbelief...
...As the broken, rusty tooth from the bear trap that I'd taken with me to remember Mike's death, protruded from the killer's neck.
And as he lay there dying, his body writhing, blood pouring out of it, I reached down into the second grave and helped pull Jess up to safety.
She gave me a great big hug, and we both stood there shaking for a minute, before I removed my headphones, held them up for us both to share, switched tape "7" for tape "8," and pressed play.
CLICK.
"If you're listening to this, you've found the last two bodies in the marsh. That of myself, and my dear Jane. A pair of lovers guilty of the most tragic love of all... unrequited love. Myself, with nothing but love to give, and Jane, having given all her love away to another. And if you must know how I lured her out here, you have to understand our bond over the macabre. Our fascination with disappearances, cold cases, and unsolved mysteries. Surely if Jane made it this far, she found the tapes that I'd left for her in the store, and couldn't resist the call to find the bodies in the marsh. And after making her way all the way out to me, here we'll lie, unrequited lovers meant to die apart... united in death for all eternity."
CLICK.
"What the-" Jess said.
"Um." I replied, gripping Jess even tighter, my wounded arm, wrapped in my plaid shirt, draped around her shoulder.
Now that the journey had ended, and after all we had gone through, the thought of finally kissing Jess right then and there crossed my mind, but before I could...
...She called out. "Hey, Tyler."
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"What?"
I turned around to find, of all things, another wooden box, resembling the ones we'd found at the first couple burial sites, just lying there on the floor.
And after crouching down to pick it up, I opened it to find, not another clue, but instead...
...Eight more tapes, wrapped in a flimsy old rubber band, just like the ones that I'd found in the junk store.
"Let's not listen to those." Jess said.
"Definitely not." I replied.
—
A few days later, as news of Clinton's reelection flooded news headlines, my town did their best to keep what happened under wraps, and held a private funeral for Mike.
As a reward for us finding the serial killer, and his eight bodies, the police withdrew any charges associated with the meddling that Jess and I had done, out there in the marsh, and kept the first set of tapes for themselves.
Unbeknownst to anyone else, Jess and I kept the second set, and ironically, buried it behind our house, in the town where the marshland is so expansive that it was named for it. A town that we got married in, had kids in, and still live in to this day, making humble livings, and keeping as far away from the marsh as we can.
To this day, whenever we pass the spot on 139, where the bend of the road meets the sharp turn sign, we think of Mike, and keep our eyes on the road, careful not to look out into the marsh, towards the scarecrow, or the boat, or the island.
Oh, and that basketball season that Jess had a good feeling about on the night that we set out on our adventure... is still the worst season on record for the boys in green. I still tease her about it daily.

Me and Lila always carved dozens of jack o’ lanterns every October, so they’d absolutely saturate our lawn on Halloween night. It was our thing. But looking back on it, now that I’ve lost her, I just feel bad for the pumpkins. I almost relate to them, somehow. The way they were carved up, had everything of substance inside of them torn out, and left as hollow, rotting shells with forced smiles.
Needless to say, I didn’t cope with her death well. I didn’t want to cope with it. I wanted the world to drown in the black sludge of my grief. I loathed the people I saw going about their lives, unaware that the world had already ended the moment Lila died. The Earth shouldn’t keep spinning. Life shouldn’t go on. Not without her.
Even my relatives bringing me along on a trip to Kauai only made it worse. The most gorgeous place on Earth, and it made me sick with hatred. Nothing that beautiful deserved to exist if Lila wasn’t ever going to get to see it. It wasn’t fair.
I thought I’d never enjoy or care about anything again. Then I discovered media preservation.
It started with taking some of Lila’s old VHS tapes to a video repair place to fix some issues with the footage before it’s digitized. The job fascinated me. In a universe based on entropy, where everything inevitably fades away and is forgotten… restoring something lost is like snatching it from the jaws of death, right? Like flipping the bird to the universe and its so-called ‘natural order’. People die, but information doesn’t have to.
Now, it doesn’t matter how small — be it some god-awful plug-and-play licensed game, or a cereal commercial from 80’s — it’s my mission to recover it in as high a quality as I’m able, and make sure it’s freely available online for as long as possible.
A couple weeks ago, I came across a big haul. Four boxes of old VHS tapes offered up on E-Bay for dirt cheap. Most of the tapes were just recordings of Cheers episodes already preserved in higher qualities, but one Maxell E-240 caught my interest.
First of all, I’d never seen one so melted. Sure, sometimes they were left in an attic too long, and the colors and audio start to degrade. But this one looked like it had survived a house fire. It was covered in soot and the smell of smoke, and had the overall shape of a chocolate bar left out in the sun a little too long.
Second was the label, which read in neat sharpie: ᴇᴘɪꜱᴏᴅᴇ 4,679,329 ᴍᴀʀ 8 2035.
The casing was so disfigured, I had to bust it apart just pull out the tapes and respool them in a fresh cassette. I tried to iron out the creases in the tape as best I could, but I had no illusions about it accomplishing much — the mylar surface had been irreparably warped in places by whatever fire had half-melted the thing.
Imagine my despair at the sight of that dreaded ‘ɴᴏ ꜱɪɢɴᴀʟ’. I could clearly see the tape wasn’t blank, yet no amount of adjusting the tracking or trying different TVs or VCRs accomplished anything. Just as I was about to give up, though, the thing just suddenly started playing properly at the exact instant the clock struck 3 AM, as if it had only now decided to work. My all-nighter had paid off.
I didn’t dwell on the fact that this ‘miracle fix’ had been impossible. If I’d had any sense, I’d have torn the horrid thing out of my VCR and buried it beneath holy ground. Instead, fool I was, I sat down and watched.
At first, the thing seemed unwatchable. The audio was so distorted that the show’s theme song emerged as a low, crackling, staticky wail that made my head throb, and the logo was completely indistinguishable through the flickering and interference. I thought it was a lost cause for a moment. But then a figure appeared and cleared away the static, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
It was the sight of the show’s host that hooked me. He was just… perfect. Perfect in every way. I knew it just looking at him. Infinitely handsome and likable and charismatic, and he always said the exact perfect thing. The only issue is, I don’t remember a single thing about him now, in the same way you can’t remember a dream that seemed so clear to you while you were experiencing it. He just appears in my memory as this abstract blur in a sharp suit. Yet at the time, I was awestruck, even before he said a single word.
I can’t even remember a word he said. It was like he was speaking another language, one I felt as opposed to heard. I’ll try and transcribe it as best I can into words, but know that it’s only a pathetic imitation.
“... for another night of laughs, prizes, and fun for the whole family, with your host, #####!” I noticed that the audio and visual distortion seemed to suddenly intensify the instant he said his name, rendering it completely illegible. Idiot I was, I figured that was a coincidence. “Tonight is a night of celebration, folks, because thanks to the support of loyal viewers like you, we have just been approved for, get this: two hundred thousand more seasons!”
The “live studio audience” went wild with applause. I put that in scare quotes because, as far as I could tell, besides the host, the studio seemed completely empty. As if he was standing on a plain white stage that extended outwards into infinite darkness on all sides.
“For those just joining us, the game here is simple…” He explained that this was some sort of a trivia show. Every time a guest got an answer wrong, it brought them a little closer to some sort of unspecified ‘punishment’. And if they got it right? He smirked. “Well, they get to delay the inevitable.”
I wondered what he meant by ‘inevitable’. I didn’t have to wonder long.
The host gestured to a curtain that hadn’t been there moments ago, which raised to reveal a middle-aged man. You know the type — bushy mustache, gray hair, round-rimmed glasses. Kind of guy you’d have doing your plumbing. He couldn’t look any more out of place stood up and restrained in that — what the hell is that?
I recognized that metal coffin-looking thing from a medieval torture museum I went to once. The iron maiden. The lid hung open, countless long, needle-like blades poking inwards, threaten to poke a million new holes in him if it was shut.
His situation was not lost on him. “Where… where am I? What the hell is this!?”
“Oh, lucky guess!” The host ‘joked’. More canned laughter. “I know you always loved watching those trivia shows, Malcolm? Weren’t you always sitting there, grinding your teeth, seething that it wasn’t fair? That you should be the one up on stage, winning big?”
The man paused. Even he seemed mesmerized by the unreal perfection of the host before him. “I… this is a… game show?”
“All you have to do is answer a few questions! Think you can handle that, Malcolm?” He pulled out a cue card without waiting for an answer. “And our first question! What were you doing the night of February 18th, 1998?”
The man seemed baffled. “Just… sat on my couch watching the NFL, I think? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to remember —“
He let out a startled squeal as a horrid buzzer sounded. On cue, the lid slid a third of the way closed, making him flinch. “Oooh, I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer, Frank! But you know what? I’ll give you one more chance. What were you —“
“Following a girl home!” The man cried out. “F-from the bar. There, are you happy?”
“Cor-rect!” The canned audience began cheering! “Such honesty! Now, our second question: just what were you carrying while you followed her?”
He hesitated for a little too long. And then the buzzer sounded again, and the lid slid so near to closing that its blades began poking uncomfortably against his skin. He tried to press himself against the back of the maiden as well as his restraints would allow. “Jesus! Okay! A knife, a knife!”
“Awww, if only you’d said that just a second earlier!” Another big question. “Our third question: why, Malcolm? Why did you do it?”
That set Malcolm off. He started thrashing, clawing, screaming. “Let me out of this thing, you maniac! You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am? Is this some sort of sick joke? My lawyers will have your head for this, you—“
And then the buzzer. All of a sudden, the lid slammed shut full-force, and the man was utterly silenced save for an unnatural, drawn-out wheeze. “Another wrong answer, Malcolm! I’m afraid I was looking for: ‘because if I can’t have her, no one can’!”
I admit it. I laughed. Out of shock more than anything. How was this allowed on TV? I took it as some sort of dark comedy show, and it was kind of satisfying to see that freaky character get his comeuppance. Still, there was something unnerving to me, seeing the man’s eyes through the openings in the maiden. Wide and red and terrified. They just looked a little… too real.
But the maiden disappeared as quickly as it came, before I could dwell on it too much. “Oh, envy! Definitely one of my favorite sins.” More laughter. “Stay tuned, folks! We’ve still got a night of fun and games in store for you! But first… how’s about a word from our sponsors?”
Cut to a corporate logo which I again couldn't recognize.
“This segment was made possible by Buer Health, which has recently announced a brilliant new initiative to protect our citizens from skin cancer by removing their skin completely.”
The camera cut to a massive industrial building, resembling a solid concrete cube around 50 meters in width and height. Its surface bore arcane symbols etched using carvings of wailing, tormented faces. The host would occasionally be rendered inaudible by a deafening metallic scraping from within, though he didn’t seem to notice. The only protrusion from the building’s cubic shape was a single smokestack, belching a scarlet red smoke into the atmosphere. A queue of gaunt figures waited at the entrance, herded and coerced by their grim overseers, and there were no words to describe the procession of scarlet ghouls limping out the building’s other end.
“Owing to the nonlinearity of time, the brand new Grand Skinpeeling Machine has spontaneously appeared several years before construction deadlines, and indeed, before it was even conceived of by anyone in our timeline. People have rushed all the way from Malebolge just to try this miracle of technology out on opening day, and so far, the reviews have been stellar!”
He shoved his microphone in the face of a shambling thing that could only scarcely be called a human. Tatters of flesh clung to its exposed musculature, blowing in the wind. Its eyes were the only hint of color in that sea of bloody red, and they were wide, white and terrified. The thing screamed and wailed for as long as it could before the last tendons connecting its jaw to its face snapped, and it was left to choke and gurgle.
“An amazing wail! The results speak for themselves, folks. The Grand Skinpeeling Machine is a hit!”
So far, I was still laughing along and having a good time. The sight of the next ‘guest’, however, started making me nervous.
It was an old lady.
She couldn’t be a day younger than sixty, the sort of sweet elderly woman who in a just world would be cooking chocolate chip cookies for her grandchildren in a comfy cottage somewhere. But here she was, tied to a metal chair, eyes wide, shaking like a leaf. Unlike the last contestant, she seemed to know exactly what was happening.
“In exchange for our loving endorsement, they’ve agreed to loan us one of their star employees. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for: the Liqisma!”
Something slunk from the darkness far behind her — or perhaps it’d be more apt to say that the darkness birthed it whole-cloth. It was like a living shadow, and it took my eyes a moment to register what I was even seeing.
How do I even begin describing this creature? I could say it looked almost human, or at least like something that may have been human long ago. Or I could start with its skin, which was all black and shiny as latex and seemingly smooth on first glance, but if you looked closer you’d realize it was covered in a million tiny reptilian scales, almost like a shark. Its head was a bald man’s, utterly devoid of any distinguishing features, like the basic stock template for a human being. It was notable only for a complete lack of pupils and irises, its eyes a pure white.
Its body defied basic biology in so many key ways, I had to stare it at for what felt like an eternity just to wrap my mind around its physiology. It was at least five or six meters long, by my estimate, composed of multiple human torsos stacked one on top of the other like segments of a centipede, each melding with the ones around it at the waist and shoulders. Each torso sported a pair of short, stubby arms that propelled it with terrifying grace. It ended with a pair of human legs, perpetually bent on their knees, beneath a ‘tail’ that looked more like its coccyx was poking free from its body.
The old last could clearly hear it, and kept futilely trying to turn her head around enough to get a peek at what stood behind her. I mouthed uselessly, don’t. You don’t want to know.
“Glad you could join us again, Miss Wethersby! Judging by our ratings last week, you seemed to have been a fan favorite!”
Her voice was so soft, I could barely hear it below the static. “Oh, God. Please, why won’t you people let me go? I’ve told you, I’ve never done anything, never hurt anybody. There must be some sort of—”
He waved a hand over her, and it seemed to forcefully snap her mouth shut. “Please, Miss Wethersby, save your breath for our questions!” Another cue card. “Your first question, my friend: where did you and your husband buy your first home?”
She had to think about it for a long time. Eventually, she cried out, “Alabama! Tuscaloosa, Alabama!”
“Ding ding ding! Why, you’re already doing better than our first contestant! Next question: what breed of dog was your childhood pet?”
She had a pained look on her face as she thought. Eventually, a timer started ticking down. It wasn’t visible, so it wasn’t clear how much time she had left exactly, but the sound it made got more shrill and high-pitched with every second. “Miss Wethersby, need I remind you that we have a time limit on this show?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “I… I keep telling you people, I don’t know. I have dementia, I can’t remember, please—”
That buzzer again. “I’m afraid that was the wrong answer! Liqisma?” The old lady shuddered at the sounds of hundreds of feet drawing a little closer to her. “Now, your first grandchild. What did he look like? What color were his eyes? His hair?”
She was crying harder now, like it hurt her that she couldn’t remember something so dear to her. “I told you I can’t remember! Why are you doing this to me!?”
“If you don’t remember them, why would they remember you?” The host mocked as the buzzer sounded, and the beast drew a little closer. “Really, do you believe they still even think about you? Or do you think they’re glad that the old bag of bones isn’t there sucking up their inheritance?”
This went on for… God, it could have been an hour. I was glued to the screen all the while, frozen with terror, praying for this nightmare to just end, for her to make it out okay somehow. He poured over every little detail of the life she lived and the people she loved, delighting in how little of it she could still recall.
And the thing grew closer, and closer… until she finally felt multiple pairs of hands resting upon her shoulders. The thing was looming over her now, and a long, black tongue a few feet in length emerged from its mouth and ran trails of dark saliva over the back of her head. She looked broken down, eyes raw from crying, and I could tell by the dampness of her dress that she’d wet herself.
“Now, Miss Wethersby, our time here has been fun, but I do believe it is time for our final question. Tell me, what is the name… of your only son?”
She couldn’t even answer anymore. She just stared ahead, like her mind was a million miles away. He cackled as the buzzer sounded one final time, and threw his cue cards aside. “Thank you for playing, Miss Wethersby. Better luck next time.”
I would say the thing unhinged its jaw like a snake, but that’d be an understatement. The way the thing’s face malformed and wrinkled and stretched as it opened its maw, it no longer looked even remotely human. Its jaws must have parted at least thirty centimeters apart, revealing a second, pharyngeal pair of jaws that lashed out and gripped the woman’s skull, pulling her headlong into that darkness.
I could hear bones crunching and snapping as its throat constricted down around her body, peristaltic muscles compacting her into a meat slurry, bit by bit. Yet she just wouldn’t die. Even as her skull and upper body were already crushed and compacted, organs and muscles pressed into mulch, she still kicked her legs, twitched her fingers, let out a gurgling that must have been some attempt at screaming. She was squirming even as the beast snapped its jaw shut around the last of her, condemning her to whatever torments awaited her inside the creature.
And all the while, that horrible laughter. “Don’t worry, folks! She’ll be back next week! And the next. And the next…”
Needless to say, I wasn’t having fun anymore. In fact, I had to turn away and fight the urge to throw up. I stood, about to turn the TV off and —
“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t touch that dial, now!” I froze. There was something chilling about the way he said that, staring right into the screen as if reacting to what I was doing. I hated that grin on his face. “The real show is just beginning.”
And with the barely restrained excitement of a child on Christmas morning, he yanked back another curtain, and I recognized everything.
I recognized that crappy bootleg knockoff Always Sunny in Philadelphia jacket that was so gaudy and terrible it instantly became her favorite thing in her wardrobe. I recognized those subtle hints of slight acne she disguised as fake freckles. I recognized the way her gray eyes would remind me of those overcast mornings at the beach at Hilton Head and pointing out all the cannonball jellyfish washed up on the sands. I recognized that tattoo of the name ʀᴏᴄᴋʏ, how I’d held her all night long as she cried into my shirt after her childhood cat had died.
It was Lila.
I shuddered, gasped, fell from my seat as if I’d been punched in the stomach and the air had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be real. I was dreaming right now. I must be. I just had to wake up.
But I couldn’t wake up. Nothing I could do dispelled the sight of her curled up in that… that thing. That bronze statue of a bull, horns jutting on either side of a head that roaring silently up at the heavens, all while the love of my life was locked in its hollowed out belly, visible only through a pane of glass. I could hear her cry out in shock at where she’d found herself, and every whimper felt like it drove a knife through my chest.
The host soaked in the moment. It was ecstasy for him, the suffering of it all. He stared dead into the camera like he was looking right at me as she called, “What is this? Where am I?”
“Why, I have good news, my dear Lila! You’re exactly where every American dreams of being: you’re on TV.” He pointed to the camera. “And we have a very special guest in the audience tonight. Your very own beloved Jackson!”
I shuddered, hearing my own name ooze from his fetid lips. His façade of perfection was slipping, and there was something so profoundly ugly beneath it. Her eyes snapped to the camera, confused, despairing. “Jackson? Baby? What — what’s happening? What is this?”
I don’t know, I thought, gripping the sides of the TV so hard my knuckles turned white, but I’m going to get you out of there, baby. I’m going to find whoever did this and I’m going to bury them all so far beneath that studio that they’ll never-
“I’m afraid Jackson hasn’t joined us quite yet, my dear. But if you truly love him, surely you’ll give him a show to remember, won’t you?” He taunted her. “All I want, after all, is to ask you a few questions! In fact, I’ll offer you a special deal: get even a single answer right, and I’ll let you go free! But get one wrong and, well…”
On cue, a fire was lit beneath her. Small, smoldering for now, but she whimpered as she noticed the heat. We both realized in that instant what this was. By now, I was screaming things I can’t repeat here, and slamming my hands against the TV screen as if I could reach through and save her.
She bit her lip and acquiesced. Not like she had any room to argue. The host grinned and readied a cue card. “Your first question: where are you, Lila?”
“I… I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”
“You do know, Lila. You know exactly where you are.” He smirked at her. “Here’s a free hint: what’s the last thing you remember, before you woke up here?
She thought about it… and choked back a sob, visibly shaking as the realization slowly settled in. “But… but why? I… I…”
The horrible wail of the buzzer cut her off. “Oooh, too bad! I’m afraid you’ve run out of time!”
Seemingly as if on its own, the fire doubled in size. Sparks licked the belly of the bronze bull, and began to ever-so-slowly heat the surface. She pawed around in the tight confines, searching for any reprieve from the scalding heat all around her as the metal grew hot like it’d been left out in the sun on a summer’s day. “Please! Oh, God, let me out of this thing! It hurts! It hurts!”
The host seemed to breathe in her pain as if stealing a moment’s indulgence. “Now that there is no doubt about where you are, my dear, let us proceed to the second question.” He switched to his next card. “Did you believe in God, in the end?”
“O-of course!” She pled her case as if she was being tried in court. “My entire life… every day I gave to the poor, helped the sick, did whatever I could to honor Hi-“
“I’m afraid you misunderstood my question. I asked, did you believe in him at the end? The very moment your pitiful little life was snuffed out?”
“I always believed! I’d never forsake Him!”
“Yes, yes, I know. You lived a good and holy life, didn’t you?” He cackled. “But what of the very end? You and your little husband were so excited to deliver your first little baby boy. But o, tragedy! It all went wrong, didn’t it? Your precious little boy didn’t make it through childbirth… and you followed closely behind.”
“That whole business with the botched pregnancy, it was… what do you call it? Ah, yes. A ‘test of faith’. And I’m afraid you failed. In your final moments, you watched the light fade from your child’s eyes, and you assumed — wisely, in my humble opinion — that no ‘kind’ and ‘loving’ God would allow something like that to happen.” He laughed. “Funny how after a lifetime of dutiful service, all it takes is one little mistake at the end… to bring you here. To us.”
I’d never seen such depths of despair in a person’s eyes. Such emptiness. Like with every word, he’d been scooping out another piece of her until she was hollow. And then that buzzer roared again, more shrill than ever, and I could barely see her little window through the smoke and flames. The belly of the bull was turning orange in places, and I could hear her flesh start to sizzle like meat on a grill. There are no words for the noises she made. No words at all.
“And our last, final question,” he continued. “What were your last words to your poor, beloved Jackson?”
“I love you!” I called out the answer. Bloody fingerprints stained the TV screen from my slamming my hands against it, as I screamed the answer over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” At some point, I forgot that there was ever a question. I was just screaming it at her as if hoping that she could hear it, that it could bring her a modicum of comfort in that place.
The buzzer sounded again. I couldn't bring myself to look. All I could hear was the roaring of the bull, and the steam rising from its bronze nostrils.
The curtain fell. Silence drowned the sound. The host dropped all pretense that he hadn’t been speaking directly to me. “Now, Jackson. You just might be one of my new favorite audience members this show had ever had. I know this must have been hard for you. But if you’ll just stay tuned, I have one more show I know you’re certain to love!”
I didn’t bother to touch the remote. After all, nothing could be worse than what I’d just seen, right?
Wrong. Horror wracked me as the curtain rose, and I saw the man chained to a chair. I pulled away like a caveman witnessing fire, cringing and stuttering, face wet with sweat. It was the sort of fear that worked its way into your bones like a bad chill, that left you shaking, teeth chattering.
It was me.
An older me, sure. But not by much. Ten years, maybe. A gaunt and hollow version of me, one twisted by ten years of depression and hard drugs. But it was unmistakable.
His eyes widened as he recognized the host. “Oh — oh God, God please no! It can’t be — oh Christ, let me out of this chair, you —“
“Come, now! We wouldn’t want to use the lord’s name in vain, would we? I mean, that would be a sin!” The host laid a hand on the other me’s shoulder. “It may have been a few years since you watched our program, but I’m sure you remember the rules, don’t you, old friend?”
The other me was wordless, on the verge of hyperventilating, just as I was. The host was giddy with delight. “Now! Our first and only question is one I’m sure our viewer will be very interested in: what sins, exactly, do you think landed you here?”
The other me tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. I could see it in his eyes. The years of self-destruction, the bitter hopelessness, the whirlpool of nihilism and vice and decay. The suffocating depths of a man. The darkness. How could he put it into words?
The sound of the buzzer was like a pig’s squeal. “Mmm, I’m afraid that our viewer is going to have to figure that out for himself! In the meantime, your punishment? Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil anything…”
The curtains slowly began to fall just as a couple other of those black, grotesque monstrosities emerged from the darkness. The curtain covered them all before I could get a good look at their obscene, twisted, asymmetrical figures. All I could hear was the crunching, the sound of skin tearing like paper, the screaming that went on for longer and louder than a human throat or vocal chords could endure.
The image and audio were beginning to distort, glitch, burn away. The tapes were physically melting as they played. My VCR was starting to overheat, sparks pouring from its front panel. The host voice jumped around in tone, his voice fading into the static blur as the tapes bubbled and boiled and distorted. “But, my friends, I’m afraid that concludes tonight’s episode of our show! So, with a final farewell to our dear, beloved viewer, Jackson…”
Just before the image melted away, the camera seemed to jump forward until his face filled the screen, his eyes piercing into mine as he cackled in that singsong voice.
“See you sooooon~”

Hello there everyone,
So, last week I landed a part-time gig as a cold emailer. Any fellow part time emailers out there? This is my first time taking this kind of job so I really am curious if many has the same job and would like to ask how it is to work part-time. I also have remote full time job but I needed extra income so I took this one. It’s been smooth sailing so far, but let me rewind a bit.
Flashback to six years ago: my first job was in sales and I had part of my job was to do cold calling and cold emailing, I did everything one by one without the any tools back then. Ah, those were the days of manual labor! I had to look for my leads one by one through the internet, then I would call each number I see then ask for their email addresses. Although all the email templates and spiels were provided to me. I just had to look for prospects then send emails to them one by one.
Fast forward to today: My boss told me to use emailing tools. And let me tell you, I never knew that these things were now automated. It's just funny that I took the job thinking I would do it all manually just like before. But where do I even begin? Time to look for some affordable tools.
After a bit of research, I stumbled upon WarpLeads and Lusha for budget-friendly lead generators. I saw more good reviews for WarpLeads since they say that they offer unlimited leads at a fixed price but I'm looking for more thoughts for Lusha. Have you tried any of these tools?
Now, onto the email sending dilemma. Instantly caught my eye as one of the top contenders. But I still need help with email verification and template creation. Any suggestions of low-cost but quality emailing tools?
So, if you’ve been in the same boat or have braved these digital waters before, I’d love to hear your recommendations for budget-friendly emailing tools. Honestly, any tip you have for a newbie in automated email marketing will be truly helpful. Thank you all in advance!

By what means the papers out of which I have made a connected story came into my hands is the last point which the reader will learn from these pages. But it is necessary to prefix to my extracts from them a statement of the form in which I possess them. They consist, then, partly of a series of collections for a book of travels, such a volume as was a common product of the forties and fifties. Horace Marryat's Journal of a Residence in Jutland and the Danish Isles is a fair specimen of the class to which I allude. These books usually treated of some unfamiliar district on the Continent. They were illustrated with woodcuts or steel plates. They gave details of hotel accommodation, and of means of communication, such as we now expect to find in any well-regulated guide-book, and they dealt largely in reported conversations with intelligent foreigners, racy innkeepers and garrulous peasants. In a word, they were chatty. Begun with the idea of furnishing material for such a book, my papers as they progressed assumed the character of a record of one single personal experience, and this record was continued up to the very eve, almost, of its termination. The writer was a Mr. Wraxall. For my knowledge of him I have to depend entirely on the evidence his writings afford, and from these I deduce that he was a man past middle age, possessed of some private means, and very much alone in the world. He had, it seems, no settled abode in England, but was a denizen of hotels and boarding-houses. It is probable that he entertained the idea of settling down at some future time which never came; and I think it also likely that the Pantechnicon fire in the early seventies must have destroyed a great deal that would have thrown light on his antecedents, for he refers once or twice to property of his that was warehoused at that establishment. It is further apparent that Mr. Wraxall had published a book, and that it treated of a holiday he had once taken in Brittany. More than this I cannot say about his work, because a diligent search in bibliographical works has convinced me that it must have appeared either anonymously or under a pseudonym. As to his character, it is not difficult to form some superficial opinion. He must have been an intelligent and cultivated man. It seems that he was near being a Fellow of his college at Oxford—Brasenose, as I judge from the Calendar. His besetting fault was pretty clearly that of over-inquisitiveness, possibly a good fault in a traveller, certainly a fault for which this traveller paid dearly enough in the end. On what proved to be his last expedition, he was plotting another book. Scandinavia, a region not widely known to Englishmen forty years ago, had struck him as an interesting field. He must have lighted on some old books of Swedish history or memoirs, and the idea had struck him that there was room for a book descriptive of travel in Sweden, interspersed with episodes from the history of some of the great Swedish families. He procured letters of introduction, therefore, to some persons of quality in Sweden, and set out thither in the early summer of 1863. Of his travels in the North there is no need to speak, nor of his residence of some weeks in Stockholm. I need only mention that some savant resident there put him on the track of an important collection of family papers belonging to the proprietors of an ancient manor-house in Vestergothland, and obtained for him permission to examine them. The manor-house, or herrgård, in question is to be called Råbäck (pronounced something like Roebeck), though that is not its name. It is one of the best buildings of its kind in all the country, and the picture of it in Dablenberg's Suecia antiqua et moderna, engraved in 1694, shows it very much as the tourist may see it to-day. It was built soon after 1600, and is, roughly speaking, very much like an English house of that period in respect of material—red-brick with stone facings—and style. The man who built it was a scion of the great house of De la Gardie, and his descendants possess it still. De la Gardie is the name by which I will designate them when mention of them becomes necessary. They received Mr. Wraxall with great kindness and courtesy, and pressed him to stay in the house as long as his researches lasted. But, preferring to be independent, and mistrusting his powers of conversing in Swedish, he settled himself at the village inn, which turned out quite sufficiently comfortable, at any rate during the summer months. This arrangement would entail a short walk daily to and from the manor-house of something under a mile. The house itself stood in a park, and was protected—we should say grown up—with large old timber. Near it you found the walled garden, and then entered a close wood fringing one of the small lakes with which the whole country is pitted. Then came the wall of the demesne, and you climbed a steep knoll—a knob of rock lightly covered with soil—and on the top of this stood the church, fenced in with tall dark trees. It was a curious building to English eyes. The nave and aisles were low, and filled with pews and galleries. In the western gallery stood the handsome old organ, gaily painted, and with silver pipes. The ceiling was flat, and had been adorned by a seventeenth-century artist with a strange and hideous "Last Judgment," full of lurid flames, falling cities, burning ships, crying souls, and brown and smiling demons. Handsome brass coronæ hung from the roof; the pulpit was like a doll's-house, covered with little painted wooden cherubs and saints; a stand with three hour-glasses was hinged to the preacher's desk. Such sights as these may be seen in many a church in Sweden now, but what distinguished this one was an addition to the original building. At the eastern end of the north aisle the builder of the manor-house had erected a mausoleum for himself and his family. It was a largish eight-sided building, lighted by a series of oval windows, and it had a domed roof, topped by a kind of pumpkin-shaped object rising into a spire, a form in which Swedish architects greatly delighted. The roof was of copper externally, and was painted black, while the walls, in common with those of the church, were staringly white. To this mausoleum there was no access from the church. It had a portal and steps of its own on the northern side. Past the churchyard the path to the village goes, and not more than three or four minutes bring you to the inn door. On the first day of his stay at Råbäck Mr. Wraxall found the church door open, and made those notes of the interior which I have epitomized. Into the mausoleum, however, he could not make his way. He could by looking through the keyhole just descry that there were fine marble effigies and sarcophagi of copper, and a wealth of armorial ornament, which made him very anxious to spend some time in investigation. The papers he had come to examine at the manor-house proved to be of just the kind he wanted for his book. There were family correspondence, journals, and account-books of the earliest owners of the estate, very carefully kept and clearly written, full of amusing and picturesque detail. The first De la Gardie appeared in them as a strong and capable man. Shortly after the building of the mansion there had been a period of distress in the district, and the peasants had risen and attacked several châteaux and done some damage. The owner of Råbäck took a leading part in suppressing the trouble, and there was reference to executions of ringleaders and severe punishments inflicted with no sparing hand. The portrait of this Magnus de la Gardie was one of the best in the house, and Mr. Wraxall studied it with no little interest after his day's work. He gives no detailed description of it, but I gather that the face impressed him rather by its power than by its beauty or goodness; in fact, he writes that Count Magnus was an almost phenomenally ugly man. On this day Mr. Wraxall took his supper with the family, and walked back in the late but still bright evening. "I must remember," he writes, "to ask the sexton if he can let me into the mausoleum at the church. He evidently has access to it himself, for I saw him to-night standing on the steps, and, as I thought, locking or unlocking the door." I find that early on the following day Mr. Wraxall had some conversation with his landlord. His setting it down at such length as he does surprised me at first; but I soon realized that the papers I was reading were, at least in their beginning, the materials for the book he was meditating, and that it was to have been one of those quasi-journalistic productions which admit of the introduction of an admixture of conversational matter. His object, he says, was to find out whether any traditions of Count Magnus de la Gardie lingered on in the scenes of that gentleman's activity, and whether the popular estimate of him were favourable or not. He found that the Count was decidedly not a favourite. If his tenants came late to their work on the days which they owed to him as Lord of the Manor, they were set on the wooden horse, or flogged and branded in the manor-house yard. One or two cases there were of men who had occupied lands which encroached on the lord's domain, and whose houses had been mysteriously burnt on a winter's night, with the whole family inside. But what seemed to dwell on the innkeeper's mind most—for he returned to the subject more than once—was that the Count had been on the Black Pilgrimage, and had brought something or someone back with him.
You will naturally inquire, as Mr. Wraxall did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have been. But your curiosity on the point must remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling to give a full answer, or indeed any answer, on the point, and, being called out for a moment, trotted off with obvious alacrity, only putting his head in at the door a few minutes afterwards to say that he was called away to Skara, and should not be back till evening. So Mr. Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to his day's work at the manor-house. The papers on which he was just then engaged soon put his thoughts into another channel, for he had to occupy himself with glancing over the correspondence between Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica Leonora at Råbäck in the years 1705-1710. The letters were of exceptional interest from the light they threw upon the culture of that period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who has read the full edition of them in the publications of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts Commission. In the afternoon he had done with these, and after returning the boxes in which they were kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded, very naturally, to take down some of the volumes nearest to them, in order to determine which of them had best be his principal subject of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit upon was occupied mostly by a collection of account-books in the writing of the first Count Magnus. But one among them was not an account-book, but a book of alchemical and other tracts in another sixteenth-century hand. Not being very familiar with alchemical literature, Mr. Wraxall spends much space which he might have spared in setting out the names and beginnings of the various treatises: The book of the Phœnix, book of the Thirty Words, book of the Toad, book of Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth; and then he announces with a good deal of circumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf originally left blank near the middle of the book, some writing of Count Magnus himself headed "Liber nigræ peregrinationis." It is true that only a few lines were written, but there was quite enough to show that the landlord had that morning been referring to a belief at least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and probably shared by him. This is the English of what was written: "If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he should first go into the city of Chorazin, and there salute the prince...." Here there was an erasure of one word, not very thoroughly done, so that Mr. Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was right in reading it as aëris ("of the air"). But there was no more of the text copied, only a line in Latin: "Quære reliqua hujus materiei inter secretiora" (See the rest of this matter among the more private things). It could not be denied that this threw a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count; but to Mr. Wraxall, separated from him by nearly three centuries, the thought that he might have added to his general forcefulness alchemy, and to alchemy something like magic, only made him a more picturesque figure; and when, after a rather prolonged contemplation of his picture in the hall, Mr. Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind was full of the thought of Count Magnus. He had no eyes for his surroundings, no perception of the evening scents of the woods or the evening light on the lake; and when all of a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonished to find himself already at the gate of the churchyard, and within a few minutes of his dinner. His eyes fell on the mausoleum. "Ah," he said, "Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you." "Like many solitary men," he writes, "I have a habit of talking to myself aloud; and, unlike some of the Greek and Latin particles, I do not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps fortunately in this case, there was neither voice nor any that regarded: only the woman who, I suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped some metallic object on the floor, whose clang startled me. Count Magnus, I think, sleeps sound enough." That same evening the landlord of the inn, who had heard Mr. Wraxall say that he wished to see the clerk or deacon (as he would be called in Sweden) of the parish, introduced him to that official in the inn parlour. A visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house was soon arranged for the next day, and a little general conversation ensued. Mr. Wraxall, remembering that one function of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates for Confirmation, thought he would refresh his own memory on a Biblical point. "Can you tell me," he said, "anything about Chorazin?" The deacon seemed startled, but readily reminded him how that village had once been denounced. "To be sure," said Mr. Wraxall; "it is, I suppose, quite a ruin now?" "So I expect," replied the deacon. "I have heard some of our old priests say that Antichrist is to be born there; and there are tales——" "Ah! what tales are those?" Mr. Wraxall put in. "Tales, I was going to say, which I have forgotten," said the deacon; and soon after that he said good night. The landlord was now alone, and at Mr. Wraxall's mercy; and that inquirer was not inclined to spare him. "Herr Nielsen," he said, "I have found out something about the Black Pilgrimage. You may as well tell me what you know. What did the Count bring back with him?" Swedes are habitually slow, perhaps, in answering, or perhaps the landlord was an exception. I am not sure; but Mr. Wraxall notes that the landlord spent at least one minute in looking at him before he said anything at all. Then he came close up to his guest, and with a good deal of effort he spoke: "Mr. Wraxall, I can tell you this one little tale, and no more—not any more. You must not ask anything when I have done. In my grandfather's time—that is, ninety-two years ago—there were two men who said: 'The Count is dead; we do not care for him. We will go to-night and have a free hunt in his wood'—the long wood on the hill that you have seen behind Råbäck. Well, those that heard them say this, they said: 'No, do not go; we are sure you will meet with persons walking who should not be walking. They should be resting, not walking.' These men laughed. There were no forest-men to keep the wood, because no one wished to hunt there. The family were not here at the house. These men could do what they wished. "Very well, they go to the wood that night. My grandfather was sitting here in this room. It was the summer, and a light night. With the window open, he could see out to the wood, and hear. "So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened. At first they hear nothing at all; then they hear someone—you know how far away it is—they hear someone scream, just as if the most inside part of his soul was twisted out of him. All of them in the room caught hold of each other, and they sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then they hear someone else, only about three hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out loud: it was not one of those two men that laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all. After that they hear a great door shut. "Then, when it was just light with the sun, they all went to the priest. They said to him: "'Father, put on your gown and your ruff, and come to bury these men, Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.' "You understand that they were sure these men were dead. So they went to the wood—my grandfather never forgot this. He said they were all like so many dead men themselves. The priest, too, he was in a white fear. He said when they came to him: "'I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.' "So they went to the wood, and they found these men on the edge of the wood. Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against a tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands—pushing something away from him which was not there. So he was not dead. And they led him away, and took him to the house at Nykjoping, and he died before the winter; but he went on pushing with his hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there; but he was dead. And I tell you this about Anders Bjornsen, that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones. You understand that? My grandfather did not forget that. And they laid him on the bier which they brought, and they put a cloth over his head, and the priest walked before; and they began to sing the psalm for the dead as well as they could. So, as they were singing the end of the first verse, one fell down, who was carrying the head of the bier, and the others looked back, and they saw that the cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders Bjornsen were looking up, because there was nothing to close over them. And this they could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they buried him in that place." The next day Mr. Wraxall records that the deacon called for him soon after his breakfast, and took him to the church and mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and it occurred to him that, as the church door seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would not be difficult for him to pay a second and more private visit to the monuments if there proved to be more of interest among them than could be digested at first. The building, when he entered it, he found not unimposing. The monuments, mostly large erections of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were dignified if luxuriant, and the epitaphs and heraldry were copious. The central space of the domed room was occupied by three copper sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved ornament. Two of them had, as is commonly the case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Count Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a full-length effigy engraved upon it, and round the edge were several bands of similar ornament representing various scenes. One was a battle, with cannon belching out smoke, and walled towns, and troops of pikemen. Another showed an execution. In a third, among trees, was a man running at full speed, with flying hair and outstretched hands. After him followed a strange form; it would be hard to say whether the artist had intended it for a man, and was unable to give the requisite similitude, or whether it was intentionally made as monstrous as it looked. In view of the skill with which the rest of the drawing was done, Mr. Wraxall felt inclined to adopt the latter idea. The figure was unduly short, and was for the most part muffled in a hooded garment which swept the ground. The only part of the form which projected from that shelter was not shaped like any hand or arm. Mr. Wraxall compares it to the tentacle of a devil-fish, and continues: "On seeing this, I said to myself, 'This, then, which is evidently an allegorical representation of some kind—a fiend pursuing a hunted soul—may be the origin of the story of Count Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let us see how the huntsman is pictured: doubtless it will be a demon blowing his horn.'" But, as it turned out, there was no such sensational figure, only the semblance of a cloaked man on a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and watching the hunt with an interest which the engraver had tried to express in his attitude. Mr. Wraxall noted the finely-worked and massive steel padlocks—three in number—which secured the sarcophagus. One of them, he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement. And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer or to waste his own working-time, he made his way onward to the manor-house. It is curious," he notes, "how on retracing a familiar path one's thoughts engross one to the absolute exclusion of surrounding objects. To-night, for the second time, I had entirely failed to notice where I was going (I had planned a private visit to the tomb-house to copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it were, awoke to consciousness, and found myself (as before) turning in at the churchyard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting some such words as, 'Are you awake, Count Magnus? Are you asleep, Count Magnus?' and then something more which I have failed to recollect. It seemed to me that I must have been behaving in this nonsensical way for some time." He found the key of the mausoleum where he had expected to find it, and copied the greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he stayed until the light began to fail him. "I must have been wrong," he writes, "in saying that one of the padlocks of my Count's sarcophagus was unfastened; I see to-night that two are loose. I picked both up, and laid them carefully on the window-ledge, after trying unsuccessfully to close them. The remaining one is still firm, and, though I take it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is opened. Had I succeeded in undoing it, I am almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear, somewhat ferocious and grim old noble." The day following was, as it turned out, the last of Mr. Wraxall's stay at Råbäck. He received letters connected with certain investments which made it desirable that he should return to England; his work among the papers was practically done, and travelling was slow. He decided, therefore, to make his farewells, put some finishing touches to his notes, and be off. These finishing touches and farewells, as it turned out, took more time than he had expected. The hospitable family insisted on his staying to dine with them—they dined at three—and it was verging on half-past six before he was outside the iron gates of Råbäck. He dwelt on every step of his walk by the lake, determined to saturate himself, now that he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of the place and hour. And when he reached the summit of the churchyard knoll, he lingered for many minutes, gazing at the limitless prospect of woods near and distant, all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When at last he turned to go, the thought struck him that surely he must bid farewell to Count Magnus as well as the rest of the De la Gardies. The church was but twenty yards away, and he knew where the key of the mausoleum hung. It was not long before he was standing over the great copper coffin, and, as usual, talking to himself aloud. "You may have been a bit of a rascal in your time, Magnus," he was saying, "but for all that I should like to see you, or, rather——" "Just at that instant," he says, "I felt a blow on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back, and something fell on the pavement with a clash. It was the third, the last of the three padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus. I stooped to pick it up, and—Heaven is my witness that I am writing only the bare truth—before I had raised myself there was a sound of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw the lid shifting upwards. I may have behaved like a coward, but I could not for my life stay for one moment. I was outside that dreadful building in less time than I can write—almost as quickly as I could have said—the words; and what frightens me yet more, I could not turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was not twenty minutes ago) whether that noise of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell whether it did or not. I only know that there was something more than I have written that alarmed me, but whether it was sound or sight I am not able to remember. What is this that I have done?" Poor Mr. Wraxall! He set out on his journey to England on the next day, as he had planned, and he reached England in safety; and yet, as I gather from his changed hand and inconsequent jottings, a broken man. One of several small notebooks that have come to me with his papers gives, not a key to, but a kind of inkling of, his experiences. Much of his journey was made by canal-boat, and I find not less than six painful attempts to enumerate and describe his fellow-passengers. The entries are of this kind: "24. Pastor of village in Skåne. Usual black coat and soft black hat. "25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to Trollhättan. Black cloak, brown hat. "26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very old-fashioned." This entry is lined out, and a note added: "Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not yet seen his face." On referring to No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a cassock. The net result of the reckoning is always the same. Twenty-eight people appear in the enumeration, one being always a man in a long black cloak and broad hat, and the other a "short figure in dark cloak and hood." On the other hand, it is always noted that only twenty-six passengers appear at meals, and that the man in the cloak is perhaps absent, and the short figure is certainly absent. On reaching England, it appears that Mr. Wraxall landed at Harwich, and that he resolved at once to put himself out of the reach of some person or persons whom he never specifies, but whom he had evidently come to regard as his pursuers. Accordingly he took a vehicle—it was a closed fly—not trusting the railway, and drove across country to the village of Belchamp St. Paul. It was about nine o'clock on a moonlight August night when he neared the place. He was sitting forward, and looking out of the window at the fields and thickets—there was little else to be seen—racing past him. Suddenly he came to a cross-road. At the corner two figures were standing motionless; both were in dark cloaks; the taller one wore a hat, the shorter a hood. He had no time to see their faces, nor did they make any motion that he could discern. Yet the horse shied violently and broke into a gallop, and Mr. Wraxall sank back into his seat in something like desperation. He had seen them before. Arrived at Belchamp St. Paul, he was fortunate enough to find a decent furnished lodging, and for the next twenty-four hours he lived, comparatively speaking, in peace. His last notes were written on this day. They are too disjointed and ejaculatory to be given here in full, but the substance of them is clear enough. He is expecting a visit from his pursuers—how or when he knows not—and his constant cry is "What has he done?" and "Is there no hope?" Doctors, he knows, would call him mad, policemen would laugh at him. The parson is away. What can he do but lock his door and cry to God? People still remembered last year at Belchamp St. Paul how a strange gentleman came one evening in August years back; and how the next morning but one he was found dead, and there was an inquest; and the jury that viewed the body fainted, seven of 'em did, and none of 'em wouldn't speak to what they see, and the verdict was visitation of God; and how the people as kep' the 'ouse moved out that same week, and went away from that part. But they do not, I think, know that any glimmer of light has ever been thrown, or could be thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that last year the little house came into my hands as part of a legacy. It had stood empty since 1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting it; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of which I have given you an abstract were found in a forgotten cupboard under the window in the best bedroom.

Exploring India's Coastal and Mountainous Beauty: Karnataka and Himachal Pradesh

A relaxing trip to Coastal Karnataka awaits you! We're talking about lots of local vibes, great markets, and amazing beaches. Picture yourself strolling along the seaside, exploring interesting locations, and bright, sandy feet.
Coastal Karnataka, also known as Karavali Coast, is a chill place with great beaches, temples, and yummy food. Let's take a super easy Coastal Karnataka tour through some cool spots in this awesome region.
Udupi - Temple Town: Our journey starts in Udupi, famous for its Krishna Temple and tasty Udupi food. The old temple has cool carvings, and Udupi dosas and filter coffee are a big hit – they taste really good!
Malpe Beach - Relax by the Sea: Next stop is Malpe Beach, a peaceful spot with golden sand and calm waves. You can also take a boat to St. Mary's Island to see cool rocks. And don't miss the busy fishing harbor – it's pretty interesting!
Gokarna - Beach and Spirituality Mix: Gokarna is famous for its beaches and spiritual vibes. The Mahabaleshwar Temple is cool, and there are awesome beaches like Kudle and Om. It's a mix of spirituality and beach fun!
Karwar - River meets the Sea: Karwar is a cute town where the Kali River meets the Arabian Sea. You can do water sports and take boat rides. Check out the old Sadashivgad Fort on a hill – it's really cool.
Whether you want spiritual moments, beach adventures, or just a taste of local life, a good coastal karnataka tour packages will have it all. So, get ready for a super easy and fun tour along the awesome Karavali Coast!
Coastal Karnataka: Easy Breezy Beaches and Cool Culture
‘Anubhav’ travel agency offers the best coastal Karnataka tour package.
Days - 6 Nights / 7 Days
From - Murudeshwar to Kumta
₹ 36,000/- plus Railway or Air Fare for Single Occupancy
The cheerful inhabitants, the vibrant marketplaces, and the sound of the waves; well, that's what coastal Karnataka is all about. It's a laid-back journey where modernity blends with tradition and simplicity.
So maybe when you examine the beaches, bustling cities, and delicious local cuisine, you could think about organizing your own trip. Coastal Karnataka is waiting for you, and you never know what you could find—we may have missed something really amazing. Let's dream about sunny days, sand between our toes, and the relaxed allure of coastal Karnataka till then!
Let’s now discover a bit about Himachal and its various holiday packages.
Ever dreamt of a vacation surrounded by mountains and good vibes? Well, that's Himachal Pradesh for you! This simple guide will walk you through the cool stuff that makes a trip to Himachal super awesome – from big mountains to cozy towns and lots of fun in between. Choose from the various Himachal Pradesh Tour Packages to make the most of your trip.

1. Mountains:

Himachal Pradesh is known for mountains. Imagine waking up to giant snow-capped peaks. Shimla and Manali are the cool spots where you can see these big mountains up close. And there's a place called Rohtang Pass, where the adventure is at its peak.

1. Hill Towns:

Picture cute little towns with chilly weather – that's Himachal's hill stations. Shimla is a town with old buildings, and Manali is all about apples and fun markets.

1. Thrills for Adventure Fans:

If you love excitement, Himachal is your place. Think trekking, paragliding, and rafting –it’s a playground for adventure lovers. Solang Valley near Manali is where the action happens. You can even roll down a hill in a giant ball – crazy, right?
4. Party of Cultures:
Himachal is a mix of different cultures. Each community brings its own traditions and festivals. Imagine colorful fairs and lively festivals like Kullu Dussehra – it's a gathering celebrating different cultures.

1. Road Trips:

The journey in Himachal is as fun as the destination. Picture driving on roads that twist and turn, showing off amazing views. The road from Shimla to Manali is like a scenic movie – apple orchards, forests, and rivers everywhere!
6. Nature's Beauty: Lakes and Waterfalls
Himachal Pradesh is an art show with its pretty lakes and waterfalls. Beas Kund near Manali is a quiet lake surrounded by mountains – perfect for a chill trek. And if you love waterfalls, Jogini Falls and Bhagsu Falls are the places to be.
Many travel agencies offer some great Himachal Pradesh Tour Package:
Heavenly Himachal - Land Only - Summer Special
6 Nights & 7Days
Chandigarh (1N) →Manali (3N) →Shimla (2N) - Rs. 29 490 starting price per adult
Heavenly Himachal
6 Nights & 7Days
Chandigarh (1N) →Manali (3N) →Shimla (2N) - Rs. 29 990 starting price per adult
Whether you love exciting stuff, different cultures, or just want a chill time in nature, Himachal is the spot. So, get your things ready and let Himachal Pradesh impress you with how awesome it is!

It seems more efficient to name subjects that don't fall under the term's description, for I find that womanhood is innate in everything. Women are all around us, speaking and walking through the world. I find that men, with their lungs and beating hearts, are women too, merely without the "wo." I may only speak English, but I can safely assume this is a universal trait. (Por ejemplo, "hombre" es de la jerga. La palabra oficial es "jer," sin el "mu." Puedes confiar en mi conocimiento de español aunque no hablarlo.)
The rain gently falls in a manner so innately ladylike that I can't understand conceptualizing it any other way. The concrete beneath my feet giggles and writhes beneath me, thousands of females intertwined into stone patterns, and it calls me down like a siren into its feminine depths. People instinctually call cars and boats "she" because it just fits.
That's why I don't understand the debate around defining a woman at all. How can a term so beautiful and vast be carved down into the narrow boxes that are demanded of it? Womanhood is tied to all of reality down to every girly electron. There is no escape from it.
(/uj this is a nonsense shit post, not everyone is a woman. also I agree with the first two sentences of the last paragraph)

Hi, fellow spouses! My spouse is deployed (navy) and loves Halloween. Summerween, a made-up holiday from the show Gravity Falls, falls on June 22, and I wanted to send a fun box of stuff he can share with folks on the ship to lighten the mood a bit. Think Halloween but summer. I did something last year for Halloween when he was deployed, and it was a big hit, but I am low on ideas. Here is what I have so far:

• Non-chocolate candy to share
• A small costume for the stuffed mascot he brings
• A pumpkin carving kit for carving a watermelon since they are in port pretty frequently, and I think he could probably pick one up

If you or your spouse were to celebrate Summerween on a ship, what kind of stuff would you send? Send me your wildest ideas!

So most of you get the performance pack ecoboosts didn’t come with a spoiler. Those of you in that boat what spoilers did you go with? Did they come with a drill template? I’m on stock ride height and wheels so I want something not too crazy.
But I don’t even know where to start