Yesterday, on Mother’s Day, we had a dinner at my house, very casual . I thought the day went wonderfully. Everyone had a good time and there was almost no food left. My sister was taking my mother a plate and as she was leaving, I said her son (who is 17) wasn’t there with our mother’s gift yet that he was picking up for us. The little get together started at 2, and at the time, it was 6. She tried to call him a few times and he never picked up. She said that was it, she was no longer getting him a car. I said, she was overreacting. She said no, she wasn’t getting him anything else. I guess to me, it wasn’t a big deal. That happens all the time at family get togethers. People say they’re going to come and they don’t or they show up late, no big deal. Plus I had already spoken to mama earlier and told her I would bring the gift on Monday, she was like no big deal. I truly feel like if I hadn’t said anything about him not being there, none of this mess would’ve happened, so I feel responsible.
When he got there, he told me that he and his friends went out and had to wait over 2 hours before they were even seated, then the food took forever. His phone went dead and he charged it at the restaurant. He also said he’d called his mom several times to let her know but she never picked up. Now before my sister left, we spent a few minutes looking for her phone, and it wound up being in the car, so I believed him when he said he tried to call her. Also, every time he walks in my house, the first thing he does is reach for the charger because his phone is dying. I told him don’t worry, it’ll be ok. Just apologize to your mom and tell her exactly what happened, she’ll understand.
We talked this morning and she was still fuming about the kid, and I just didn’t say anything because I still thought she was overreacting. But I thought she and I were good. I mean we were joking and laughing when we got off the phone. She gets off work and calls me and says “Don’t get mad but I need you to have my back sometimes.” We’ve had this conversation before and all I do is give my honest opinion. And there are many times I agree with her, but she only remembers if I disagree with her. I was really confused and before I got two words out, she hung up on me. I tried to call her back but she wouldn’t pick up. I really couldn’t believe she would do that became that’s something our mother does, and we’ve both said how unfair it is that she gets everything off her chest then won’t let the other person talk. I texted her and told her I love her and to please not block me and i also said I couldn’t stop crying because I couldn’t. She replied “I’m upset..my son made a commitment. U could have at least told him, you disappointed your mom. Live with the consequences. Learn how to say no or learn how not to commit. I don't want to speak right now.” Then she said she felt betrayed. I replied I felt blindsided. Her reply was “It pains me you don't understand or try to. Have a good night.” How can I understand, she’s not talking to me. I replied that she’s right, we don’t need to talk right now.
I feel like she’s not being fair. I told him to apologize, so I don’t feel like I took his “side” But if it’s just me and her talking, why am I not allowed to give an opinion? Let me also point out she’s my older sister who has no problem criticizing me. She made a couple of comments yesterday about how I should organize my home and I bit my tongue. And she knows one comment she made really pissed me off because we made eye contact and she tried to hug me after she said it.
Anyway AITAH?

I love Yugioh for all of its faults don’t intend to stop playing anytime soon. HOWEVER, what are our honest thoughts about Master Duel? We’ve gone through plenty of bad banlist, questionable decisions regarding game balance, and much more. With much of the discourse and arguments that surround MD, I would like to ask an honest question. Are we really having fun playing this game? I still find plenty of good days where I have a fun back and forth game, but with all the painful bricks, locks, stuns, timer stalls, and multi-Omni negate boards we deal with on a daily basis and complain about, how do we justify those one in a hundred games where we’re playing for the fun of it and not out of some deep seated hatred for the decks we face or the spite we feel after a bad losing streak?
This is something I feel doesn’t really show up here often so I hope this opens up at least some interesting discussion

With the election season coming up, the bots are out in full force - and a lot more forceful. I posted the below text on the centrist subreddit where I first noticed how bad bot activity is ramping up, but thought I'd repost here, since this seems to be target in the past. (as well as most politically minded subreddits) Also included are a few ways I've noticed them, to assume that I'm arguing with bots and thus stop when I realize this. (and then proven probably right in what happens next)
The change in various subreddits in pretty much everything related to the recent protests has proven yet again how reddit can be manipulated, and how I'd wager 1/3 to 1/2 of the commenters aren't "real" in the organic sense in politically-minded subs. (more on that below)
TLDR: make your comments and move on, don't engage too much with replies, because chances are is that you've engaged with a bot recently, and much more likely on any politically related posts. The entire system of upvotes / downvotes is corrupted, not to mention many of the commenters are paid shills (with various ways of assuming they are - not proving 100%, but lots of evidence they are)
So basically you are just wasting your time and giving your energy to the machine - don't do this TOO much. It's a waste of energy / time. As carlin says, at least when you are ...... you have something to show for it -
Just an fyi, there's a 50-50 chance you are talking to a bot right now - I've noticed a lot of this activity recently, and especially on this sub.
How do I know?
Look at what gets upvoted and downvoted - these have changed drastically recently (like on Israel related ones - on this sub - anything for the protests gets massively downvoted, this - on reddit? no way)
-Why do your comments stay at -2 or -4? because they're hidden by the default view. they do this to create an environment that most normies won't question and/or look further into.
-Do they not actually respond to your points / miss nuance / context? they're probably in a different country using auto translation software. people abroad can't tell the difference between an ICE car and a car ice sculpture, for example.
Also look at the commenters, what they say and their profiles. a lot don't look real.
And these are just the accounts that they don't do a good job at making their profiles look legit, because there's no point. (since they are throwaways)
My point being don't waste your life replying to many of these people, they probably are just interns / bots anyways.
Here's a link from a supposed testament of how this works: (supposed - not proven, but it lines up from my prior political consultant activity a LONG time ago)
https://www.reddit.com/seculartalk/comments/1ab9cn2/are_there_really_paid_shills_doing_online/
"My niece was a political science major at a reputable university in California. Part of her program is a coop portion where they join a campaign for a semester. This happens twice during the four year undergrad program. If you’re not familiar with how co-op works the school places you. You don’t have a choice. If all goes well you get some good experience, something to put on your resume, you make connections that can help you after you graduate and if you’re lucky you get hired on as a paid staffer.
In 2016 she was on the Kamala Harris senate campaign for Barbara Boxer’s seat. Then she was on David Baladao’s congressional campaign in 2018.
After graduating she was hired on to the Kamala Harris presidential campaign in January of 2019. This is where she went from student/volunteer to a paid position and the job changed a lot. So instead of door knocking, putting up posters, applauding during campaign speeches and running errands she was helping organize the field team and the cyber team. The field team is pretty straight forward so let’s focus on the cyber team.
Their job was to see what was hot and how can the campaign get in front of whatever issue or whatever was happening at the time. Did a candidate in another campaign put his foot in his mouth? Is there a controversy that is early in the news cycle? Is something being talked about online that makes our candidate look bad? Kamala getting political favors from people she dated and keeping an innocent man in prison were the ones I remember off hand. This is all normal stuff. Other than planting staffers at rallies to ask questions because the rubes never seemed to ask the right questions for Kamala’s already prepared answers there isn’t a lot of juicy gossip on these campaigns. But the cyber team had another role which is why I’m making this post now.
The cyber team and most of the staffers were expected to participate in forums, bulletin boards, social media chat spaces, all platforms including reddit. They were expected to have multiple accounts and maintain characters while engaging with other users. She used pre-maid accounts that were at least three years old. They would push-pull ideas to see what worked and what fell flat. The same person would have nice, mean, old, young, female, male, gay etc personas. Each with a bio. If one of them left the campaign someone else would take it over. This is all over and above the bot accounts. The cyber team were real people with multiple fake accounts testing talking points and seeing what the push back would be so the candidate would be prepared when the campaign couldn’t protect her from real people. The main work was done in a cubicle farm by a dedicated team but regular staffers were required to do it as well. The K-hive cyber team and the BootieJudge cyber teams hated each other and took pleasure in exposing their rival’s accounts.
That person you are having an argument with online may just be a shill from someone’s campaign. It may also be Russian, Israeli, Chinese and surprisingly Turkish agents. Election interference is real but it isn’t hacking voting machines but instead two idiots arguing online with one of those idiots being paid to do it. So the next time you encounter someone in sub, any sub just understand when they start spouting talking points they may not be a real person.
Age of the account won’t help you. Banning normally doesn’t help much because the can just hop-on with another account. It’s only going to get worse as the election heats up. God help us all."
Ever notice how blocking only gets a response from another different account? believe it or not most real people dont' do this - you just argued with a bot / pr shill / campaign.
https://np.reddit.com/shills/comments/4kdq7n/astroturfing_information_megathread_revision_8/

Here's also a good example on the centrist thread, where I originally created this post -
God with a soft g has the top rates comment, and is lying about the prior convo to discredit what I said:
I was replying to a question of why xudoxis (a user) was spam posting at all on a different thread in this subreddit (centrist) - they were posting multiple stories on the exact same topic in this thread - another commenter was calling them out on it - upon which I replied, given their spam posting of the same story on this subreddit multiple times - that they were a bot.
see the bot-ness? of course you do.
then God with a soft g replies with only my response on this thread, not to the comment I was replying to in the prior one -
my guess: both xudoxis and god with a soft g aren't legitimate. one was spamming stories, the other defending that spammer (and also young acct) by lying about the convo. (after i blocked xudoxis, since they couldn't respond to me)
yes, this is all small crap, who cares - but realize this is pr plain and simple - they lie all the time.
https://www.reddit.com/centrist/comments/1cqnn7u/comment/l3sng85/

I love reading classic literature, specifically works from the 19th century, so I wanted to write a fan work for this game with that feeling:
“You are quite ridiculous!” came the vivacious and teasing voice of one student passing by the open window. This declaration was answered by the distinct and familiar laughter of another, carried on the autumn wind and drenched in the odor of decaying foliage and the promise of rain.
From his seat in the west wing of the library, parchment and tomes stacked beside him, Ominis Gaunt followed the sound until it vanished completely beyond the courtyard, sensations of uneasy feeling coloring his neck and ears. After a pause, he regained his senses. He shook his head, as if banishing the regretful thought that had then stolen into his mind.
“Why does he keep volunteering himself on her behalf?” He whispered, thinking of the owner of that feminine voice – a new fifth-year student at Hogwarts - an anomaly on its own merit - who had, in half the time succeeding her arrival, attained the magnetic affections of his oldest friend, Sebastian Sallow. “Of course - it’s because she’s new and decidedly beautiful.” Ominis told himself, merely speculating on the state of her physiognomy by the lilting cadence of her voice and the faint wisps of form his wand could communicate to him at a distance. Being blind since birth, he, out of necessity, had developed a magical ‘seeing eye' with the ebony tool he now pressed between his right forefinger and the book in his lap.
He hadn’t dared approach her directly when she’d first entered the Slytherin common room a month prior, for a frenzy of students had erupted around her the moment she’d set foot in it. From there, rumors spread like bees pollinating a garden after a long and depressing winter:
“The new girl had a ministry escort!”
“She was attacked by a dragon!”
“No, she rode the dragon!”
“Supposedly she was a squib before…”
“That can’t be - I heard she's a transfer student and can speak seven languages!”
“That’s a cover - her real secret was that she was privately tutored and has rare and explosively dangerous magic!”
These accounts became increasingly absurd because no one truly knew anything for certain, thus making everything possible. The girl herself was peculiarly private but charmingly polite - a combination that instantly made any would-be-pryer retreat into stuttering awkwardness. They did at the very least glean her name, which quickly became the subject of their fantastical speculations: Mélisande Clarusia Warwick.
From within his pocket, Ominis retrieved the note Sebastian’s owl had delivered him that day:
“Ominis,
Apologies for the abrupt change of plans, but our anticipated study session this afternoon must be postponed. Professor Weasley has graciously requested I accompany ‘MC’ to Hogsmeade for the replenishment of her class supplies, a task I’m sure you know I could hardly decline, given my inclination towards gentlemanly conduct. Incidentally, I cannot help but suspect Mel’s humble dismissal of her exceptional dueling prowess belies a deliberate modesty; there is undoubtedly more to her than meets the eye.
Regardless, I’ll make it up to you! If I’m not in the common room by nightfall, you know where to find me.
Sebastian.”
It did not escape Ominis’s notice that Sebastian, after weathering defeat by her in a duel during their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class together, had taken personal interest in MC and even dubbed her as such - among other names - needling her about the verbose nature of her formal title. Further, it was uncharacteristic of Sebastian to cancel a study session, seeing as he typically made any excuse to visit the library on behalf of research for his ill sister, Anne… nevermind the fact that Ominis could not recall any instance in recent memory where Sebastian had canceled on him, specifically.
After a moment’s hesitation, he refined the creases on the letter and tucked it back into the pocket of his waistcoat. He swallowed, brows furrowing and found that he no longer cared about the dancing plague of 1518 or the other contents of the book he’d since abandoned on his lap.
Sebastian did not come to dinner that evening. In customary fashion, Ominis found himself solitary - twiddling his fork on his plate - his company forsaken even by his housemates, who tended to cast upon him looks of cautious regard. They granted him a wide berth - huddling together three or four invisible student’s places apart from him. Through the soles of his shoes he felt the vibrations of doors slamming across the hall as students filtered out and the bench beneath him shifted when those occupying it left. The idle chatter of two teachers drifted across the cavernous room. Ominis sighed, folding a leaf of wax paper over a blueberry muffin.
“She was missing too…” he noted passively and wondered if he ought to have purloined a second muffin from the banquet table.
He held his wand aloft as he rose, a crimson bead of light fluttering like a heartbeat on its tip. The sensation of structures - rows of oak tables and benches - extended across the space before him. As he walked, he approximated the mass of these objects: how near they existed to his kneecaps, how firmly they were anchored to the floor - all actions thoughtlessly natural to him.
The passageway led from the Great Hall into the Viaduct Courtyard and a faint chill heralded that twilight had fallen upon the surrounding landscape. The tumult of student life had withdrawn for the night, taking with them a clamor of distracting noises and smells. Ominis meditated on the silence, finding solace in measuring the rhythm of his footfalls as he paced across the leaf-littered earth.
He imagined Sebastian with his freckled nose buried in a book in the Undercroft and smiled.
“It’s not the first time he’s worked through dinner,” he reminded himself. “Anne is lucky to have such a brother.” A pang of sadness worked dully at his chest following the mention of Anne’s name. Nothing had been quite like it was since before she’d fallen ill. “Even Sebastian’s laughter seems contrived these days.”
Suddenly a thunderous crack echoed across the hillside to his right, akin to a bolt of lightning striking a tree. Ominis jolted so forcefully that he nearly dropped the muffin in his left hand.
“W-what was that?” He gasped, his head swimming with adrenaline. The atmosphere reeked of burnt timber. Swiftly, he sought the protection of the cloister, his wand hand sweeping the clearing.
The path beneath his feet dropped into a series of stairs ending where the Black Lake licked the limestone and wooden boats rocked innocently in the building below. To the muggle, prepared to dismiss the absence of petrichor, this artificial thunderstroke might have signified a distant storm but Ominis knew well the vast and formidable traits of magic.
Someone was dashing up the stairs to his left - their feet tapping like raindrops on the hard surface. Ominis pressed himself plumb against the column and held his breath.
Her scent preceded her - like honeysuckle, mild and sweet. Following closely, the sound of her breath, quick and shallow, as though from a brisk sprint. The swish of her robes marked her entrance, swift and fleeting. In a moment, she vanished through the nearest castle door, oblivious to the presence of an onlooker.
Ominis found himself immobilized by his perplexity. He had, he was sure, sensed some great surge of energy, unlike any he had previously encountered, as she glided past him. An enigmatic metallic tang lingered on her garments, its quality imprinted on his senses. As he reviewed the day’s - no - the month’s occurrences and considered Sebastian’s recent preoccupation, a daring notion began to take root in his mind:
The new girl was forging a novel strain of magic.

Here is an article I recently published on my Substack. If you'd rather read (or listen to an audio version) it outside of Reddit, you can do so here.
Why jump rope isn’t already touted as a leading running drill tool is completely beyond me. But then again…
I'm by no means an "experienced runner"—having started running in 2021 at the age of 34. So, at the time of this writing, about 3 years.
Despite this, I managed to silver-medal my age group in my first race ever.
And it was a 10k. And I was wearing barefoot-shoes.
And I had only been running before that race for about 3 months.
How the heck did I manage to pull this off?
The answer eluded me for a while. Then I remembered—ah, I’ve been jumping rope nearly every day for 2 years.
But how do those connect?
But first, why the heck would some guy start jumping rope at age 32?
About 2 years before I started running, I took up jump rope really just as a fun outdoor hobby.
Even though I was pretty inactive and a bit overweight, that’s not the reason I started skippin’.
One day, I came across some footage of boxer Lulu Hawton doing some jump rope training.
In addition to her seemingly effortless rope handling skills and rhythmic footwork, what caught my eye was a giant grin that spread across her face about 45 seconds into the video. While she was probably skipping to warm up for a match or a training session, something was abundantly clear.
She was having a blast.
And this was from a prize fighter! None of the usual boxer mean-mugging—she looked more like a kid on a carousel.
So, after buying a $10 jump rope on Amazon, I took to the driveway in my swim trunks (yes, I was so inactive, I didn’t own gym shorts).
And…whoo, did I suck.
After a few months of making puddles of sweat in my driveway as well as wheezing sounds so loud that I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t whistle EMS, I eventually got pretty decent at it.
And I lost about 45 pounds in 6 months—probably also from making some lifestyle changes merely to make jump rope less of a slog. Not the original plan, but hey, not too shabby.
After about a year, I found myself constructively critiquing other people’s beginner jump rope videos.

• “Unlock your boxer skip. Then you’ll be able to skip forever without getting tired.”
• “Here’s how to do Double-Unders, though they’re overrated.”
• “You’re skipping like it hurts. Relax and skip easy. Smile every once in a while and you’ll feel it all over.”

But how did that turn into running?
Though jumping rope is inherently enjoyable, 30-minute skipping sessions of staring at the wall without something in your headphones can be a bit drab.
One fateful day, about 2 years into being student of the jump rope, I began listening to the book Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Christopher McDougall.
Even before I got to the end of the book, running—just like jump rope— sounded fun**.**
Yeah, I know that sounds counterintuitive—unless you’ve read the book.
“I knew aerobic exercise was a powerful antidepressant, but I hadn’t realized it could be so profoundly mood stabilizing and — I hate to use the word — meditative. If you don’t have answers to your problems after a four-hour run, you ain’t getting them.”
Ok, ok—I’ll bite.
I proceeded to dive into all of the normal “Couch to 5k” running programs I could find and took my jump rope to a nearby park with a 1k walking path—sprinkling in running between jump rope sessions.
But something wasn’t adding up.
There was a lot of advice about walk-running to build endurance until one could run a block, two blocks, a mile.
Not to brag, but I wasn’t experiencing most beginner snags.
**“Ah, I know why—**I did most of my newbie wind-sucking two years ago!”
This isn’t to say I wasn’t still periodically sucking wind but after two years of consistent boxer skips and double-unders, getting gassed felt like part of the fun and not a medical emergency.
I also felt much springier than the average beginning runner—able to run for miles all over the city in the most minimal of footwear.
And so, I tried my hand at my first race—a donut-themed 10k. And silvered in my age group.
(Ok, there was only two of us…but my time was still respectable. 😂)
Running became an amazingly freeing activity, like getting my driver’s license for my legs.
But I still didn’t understand why running was coming easier to me than the average newcomer.
Digging still deeper, I unearthed another exciting revelation—this time from multi-decade sub-3-hour Boston Marathon runner and one of the foremost running experts on the planet, Dr. Mark Cucuzzella.
“Running with a jump rope is also an amazingly simple drill for posture, balance, and rhythm.”
In other words—form. Overall technique.
Digging a little keeper and experimenting on myself, I discovered just how similar proper running technique and proper jump rope technique were.
Both require:

• An upright, chest-leading, elbows-back, joint-stacked posture
• A soft mid-foot landing directly under your pelvis
• A quick loading and unloading of “leg springs” from your tendons and ligaments to reduce “stickiness” and wasted energy
• A proper supination (roll out) followed by a quick pronation (roll in) of the feet to help launch one’s body
• A steady core without dropping hips from side to side to reduce energy “leakage”

And so many other commonalities. The list unraveled before me on every run.
And like running, without proper technique, jumping rope just doesn’t work—though the consequences are different.
For a jump roper, due to the lower impact, the risk of injury is quite minimal.
Most newbie rope slingers will report sore calves, slightly tender Achilles tendons, and the odd shin splint if they go full Rocky at it. No need to worry, though—most of these injuries see themselves out as the skipper becomes more experienced.
However, for runners, the injury story is more severe.
The next time you’re at a park with a good path, take a seat on a bench and watch the runners. See if you can spot folks reaching far out in front of them with straightened legs—smashing heels into the pavement.
This style of running results in everything from screaming knees, plantar fasciitis, lower back pain, to hips issues.
But why do all of these occur to new runners, but rarely to new jump ropers?
Most new runners commit a major physiological no-no when they begin their running journey: they treat running like fast, aggressive, airborne walking.
“Well, what is it supposed to be?”
Synchronized jumping.
Simply put, proper running is nothing more than a series of coordinated single leg jumps through space with each landing compressing the springs for the next stride.
To compare this synchronized jumping to the aggressive airborne walking of heel-led running, you can test these in just a few seconds.
Step 1: Stand up.
Step 2: Kick off your shoes.
Step 3: Jump up and down three times.
How did you land?
Probably on your mid-foot, knee bent slightly, with your weight stacked above your pelvis.
And did you use your compressed “leg springs” to launch you into the following two jumps?
Oddly enough, if you were to add a jump rope to this, you would on your way to spinning side swings like Lulu Hawton.
If you were to take this same technique one foot at a time moving forward, you would be running in a way that increases speed, preserves stamina (springs!), and drastically decreases your likelihood of injury.
Let’s try the same test with a few tweaks.
This time, jump, but land on your heels.
Your knees probably remained fairly straight and you felt the impact in your ankles, knees, hips, and possibly even your lower back.
Now, imagine attempting to jump rope this way.
It simply doesn’t work.
Not only would there be no second jump due to the lack of spring but the pain would stop you in your tracks—even in cushioned shoes.
But if jump rope technique and proper running technique are nearly identical, what are aggressive heel landings doing in running?
While a jump roper landing on their heels would resemble Frankenstein’s monster in an express lane to an orthopedist, this is how many people perform the aggressive airborne walk—aka, a heel-striking, over-striding run.
But why do we run this way? Well, our shoes let us get away with it.
Thick heel cushioning and a bit of forward momentum do a great job of masking the pain of repeated blows against every joint up the chain—for a while, anyway. Eventually, the chickens come home to roost in the form of stress fractures, meniscus tears, plantar fasciitis, “runner’s knee,” IT-band syndrome, and more.
Not to brag (and maybe to knock on some wood), I have never experienced any of these injuries in my three years of running.
Is this because I’m some kind of running genius with all of the cheat codes? Haha, I wish! It’s simply sheer luck that I started out with jumping rope before running—an activity that shares the same injury-preventing techniques.
So, are the shoes totally to blame? No.
It is possible to run with proper form in shoes with raised, cushioned heels. But it’s not as easy.
When your heel is totally cushioned, you will be able to run with a heel strike in the same way you can hit your head against a brick wall while wearing a football helmet. And in both instances, it will eventually become less about the forces outside of the foam and more about the forces inside the cushion against each other that do the most damage.
“So, how can getting a jump rope help me become a better runner?”
Jump rope is a tremendous training tool for runners for the same reason why running barefoot can also be helpful—the feedback is immediate.
Though running with inefficient and injurious form is possible, the feedback from doing so isn’t so immediate. When it comes to jumping rope, however, you won’t get through too many skips if you don’t learn to utilize the springs in your legs. The rope doesn’t pull punches.
So, get a rope and get started.
If you’re new to jump rope, I would recommend acquiring two pieces of equipment.
Firstly, find a jump rope with a little bit, but not too much, weight to it. The weight will help you feel the position of the rope during it’s entire rotation and remain in better sync with your wrist spins
My favorite rope for this purpose is a 7mm PVC model called the Hererope, which costs a whopping $15. If you find this to be too thick or heavy, a cheap 5mm PVC model will work as well.
Secondly, to protect your rope and provide a nice jumping surface, I would recommend a large foam-rubber exercise mat. My favorite is a massive 78” mat for $32—which is probably the cheapest jump rope mat you will find.
When it comes to footwear, barefoot is ideal. This will help strengthen and mobilize your feet—including your likely overly-supported neglected arches.
And just how does one begin to jump rope?

• Keep a tall posture—imagining a string pulling you up from the crown of your head.
• Your chest should open, elbows back, hands about a fist’s width from your pockets.
• Jump from the balls of your feet, only high enough to clear the rope. When landing, let the skin of your heels “kiss” the floor—touching without taking on weight.
• Keep your knees slightly bent, using every landing to load your springs for the next take-off.
• Keep the cadence quick to maximize spring recoil. To help, listen to a song that’s at about 160 beats per minute, such as the song “Hey Ya” by Outkast (or a song of similar tempo) to get a feel for the speed for skipping rope. (For running, many recommend using “Rock Lobster” by the B-52s for cadence tempo reference.)

Start with short seasons hopping with both feet—maybe 30 seconds on, 30 seconds rest. Aim for minimal muscular activation, instead, using the recoil of your tendons and ligaments for suspension and launch as much as possible.
From jumping with both feet, move onto learning an alternating leg bounce—essentially a jog skip. Right, left, right, left—all while keeping an imaginary belt level with the horizon.
By now, you’re essentially running in place with an extremely efficient technique.
Now, apply your jump rope skills to your running!
This is going to seem quite bizarre, but it is possible (and even beneficial) to take your jump rope for a run.

• Start skipping rope on a road or path with the alternating leg bounce. Remember to keep your elbows back, shoulders relaxed, head pulled up as if tugged skyward by a string from your crown and your imaginary belt level with the horizon.
• Then, as though leaning forward just enough to give someone a kiss or have an imaginary umbilical cord lightly tugged, begin to jump rope forward.
• Remember to continue to land and load on your mid-foot—aiming to keep your weight under your pelvis just like skipping rope. Landing on your heels will likely snag the rope and keep your foot on the ground too long.
• As you proceed with this, remember how it feels—the quick foot turnover, the posture, the recoil in your leg springs, the core stability, and the lightness of it.
• In the middle of doing this, simply toss the handles behind you and keep running as though it was still there—still pretending to spin the handles.
• At a comfortable stopping point, run back to your rope—now using your hands in a wood-chop motion to counter balance your leg bounces while keeping your pelvis (imaginary belt) level and stable.

And there you have it!
You may find it quite helpful to return to this drill once or twice a week. Also if you find your form slipping a bit or becoming slugging mid-run, feel free to skip imaginary rope to try to correct your technique mid-stride. It will restore lightness and springiness to your running.
I still find myself bringing my wrists to my pockets and spinning imaginary jump rope handles if I feel my technique is collapsing a bit or if my running is becoming less springy.
And remember, most importantly—have fun. 👍
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The following is an original work of fan fiction. It will only make sense if you’ve read Corpies and SP4
“Fucking bullshit cock-garglers!”, Hannah, formerly known as Hexcellent, uttered louder than she intended.
Luckily, she was sitting by herself in a third floor private room in the brand new wing of the Sizemore undergraduate library. On the main floor, any sound louder than a fart would’ve earned a collective, “shhhhh,” and annoyed stares from half the people studying. And frankly, as difficult as these Gen Chem practice exams were, the former PEERS would be spitting out a few more expletives before she was done.
Hannah glanced at her watch and sighed heavily. It was 4:43 PM. She still had two and a half hours before she’d need to head to the lift to meet Devon and Kacey, two other first year HCP students, for some evening training. Okay, you got this girl. You just fucked up some amped criminal supers, you can handle goddamn mass to mole composition formula and stoichiom-whatever-the-fuck, she thought to herself. With resigned determination, the HCP student began swiping through class presentation slides on her tablet, reviewing problems she had trouble with. For a solid 2 hours her eyes never left the material and she honestly started to feel more comfortable with what she needed to know. Hannah was in the zone. That was until she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“What. The actual. Fuck?“, Hannah said slowly as she looked up towards the door and the adjacent window.
The summoner saw two boys standing outside , one of whom was a short muscular guy with dark brown hair that she recognized. She was fairly certain his name Lucas, and that he was another HCP first year. He was in the alternative class though, while Hannah was in combat, so they hadn’t been around each other a whole hell of a lot. The other seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger or on where she’d seen him before. They were each moving their mouths, and pointing a finger at themselves and into the room clearly asking if they could come in. Hannah got up and opened the door.
“Hey, Helen, right? You think that we can study in here with you? All the good tables downstairs are full. I just met Tristan here and he’s in the same predicament as me,” said Lucas before he lowered his voice to a whisper, leaned his head in, and pointed to the boy he referred to as Tristan. “He’s in the same ummm…special program as us. In his 2nd year.”
With that information, Hannah realized where she’d seen that guy. He was at the freshman party hosted by the second years. She remembered thinking that he came off as kind of a douchebag by the way he was standing around, nursing the same drink with a smug look on his face the whole time.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. As long as you guys dont act like complete assholes and make a bunch of noise. I gotta focus for about another 30 minutes then the room is yours. Cool?”
“Cool,” the boys said in unison.
“And it’s Hannah by the way. Not Helen. You’re Lucas, right?” She held out her hand towards him.
Lucas politely shook her hand. “Sorry about that Hannah. I’m terrible at remembering names,” he said with a slight shrug. “Just gonna grab a seat on this side so I can stay outta your way.” He held out his arm towards the opposite side of the table from where Hannah had been sitting and started walking over there.
Tristan walked in and closed the door behind himself. He gave Hannah a simple head nod and smirk but never formerly introduced himself. Very similar to his demeanor at the party; as though he couldn’t be bothered.
Yep, arrogant douche, she thought. Then she pictured the look of surprise on the 2nd year’s face if she were to manifest her big furry friend to accidentally-on-purpose kick him in the balls.
Hannah had often wondered if anyone in the HCP realized her summon was the same giant bunny that helped save Brewster almost a year ago. Titan had told her the DVA would hide any association between the tower-sized rabbit and her PEERS persona but she figured that once classmates saw her summon for the first time they’d make the connection. That didn’t seem to be the case though, at least as far as she knew. It helped that when she summoned Hopcules these days, he was about the same height and stature as Titan. None of her combat training took place outside yet, so no one in HCP got to see her manifestation at his full potential size. He’d also taken on more humanistic facial expressions lately and had been appearing in a variety of different clothes and accessories. Hell, the last time she trained with Kacey, the hulking rabbit materialized in a denim vest, a blue bandanna on his head, metal spiked leather bracelets around his wrists, brass knuckles, and with gold chains around his neck. Kacey couldn’t stop laughing during their sparring session until Hopcules had her bound and hog tied. Even with her enhanced strength, she couldn’t break free of what evidently weren’t just plain gold necklaces. It hadn’t dawned on Hannah until later that, the night before, she’d fallen asleep to an old 80s action flick about a renegade cop taking on a vicious street gang. She wondered if tonight her childhood protector would show up in a lab coat, holding a periodic table. The Sizemore freshman briefly shook her head to snap herself out of her thoughts and sat down to resume her work. She’d gotten fully back into her study mode until…
“Yo, does sound carry out of this room?” Tristan asked.
“Seriously?! You do remember that whole bit about NOT being obnoxious assholes, right?”Hannah asked incredulously.
“Damn girl chill. I just wanted to ask my guy here a question and didn’t want to risk being overheard. You should smile more girl. You know what I mean?“
Relax. Breathe. You don’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. It would not be a good idea to kick this fucker’s ass while inside of the school library. Or would it be? No. No. Definitely not a good idea, she thought to herself.
“Well unless you two were standing outside of here practicing at being mimes as a back up in case you don’t make it to graduation, I’m pretty sure this room is well insulated to sound.”
Tristan grunted in indignation and sarcastically replied, “you’re hilarious.”
“I’m definitely going all the way through. No way I won’t graduate,” Lucas chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the tension that’d just arisen between the other two people in the room. I’ve known I wanted to be a hero ever since I was little. My parents have spent a fortune sending me to an elite training camp for the last seven summers to make sure I’d be prepared as possible for the HCP. Plus I’ve had personal coaches work with me for years on new ways to use my power.”
“Bro! That’s what I was wanting to ask you about. I saw the logo on on your bag. Holy shit, did you do the SETA training camps?” asked Tristan.
“Yeah, I take it you’ve heard of it.”
“Hell yeah I have. The Super Elite Training Academy. Who hasn’t? I hear those workouts are so intense. No wonder you’re so jacked. You must’ve been in great shape for your first day here. Mad props bro. Is it true you get to fight against human looking robot…”
“Hey! Tweedledum and tweedle-dickless, I honestly didn’t know there was such a thing as a two-man circle jerk, so I really appreciate the show but is there any chance I can get back to work without any more distractions?“
Lucas had mixture surprise and guilt run across his face. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but then glanced over at Tristan and stayed silent.
“What? You mad because you’re realizing you can’t stack up against the competition. Guess what. My guy here isn’t the only one who’s been preparing for this program long before he was admitted. I’ve been getting ready for years too. Trained in jiu-jitsu and boxing on top of honing my super abilities. Have you even done anything? Or did you just apply and cross your fingers?”
Hannah could see where this was going in. She decided in that moment to just let it play out. Fuck it, she thought. She was basically done studying. Even if she failed the final, which she was confident that she wouldn’t, she’d still pass the class. She stood up, pressed an icon on her tablet touchscreen and began putting other things away in her bag while she spoke. “Actually, I never had any special training as a kid. To tell you the truth, I shouldn’t even be here. I got into some trouble years ago. The kind of trouble that normally prevents one from getting admitted into an HCP. But, I was on a PEERs team for years and I got to do a lot of…
“Ha! You’re telling us you’re fucking a Corpie. Can you believe this, dude?“ Tristan nudged Lucas, looking for his agreement. To his credit, Lucas appeared visibly uncomfortable and leaned away from the other boy.
“Don’t know what it says about your class if they’re letting Corpies in,” continued Tristan with a sneer. “I guess you really do need to study. Obviously you’re the one that needs a back up plan. And here’s another thing little girl. It’s not just about how much you’ve trained beforehand, it’s also about who you know. And I know people. My mom‘s best friend is related to the Hero, Unseelie. So I’ve actually met a few Heroes who I’m sure will vouch for me when the time comes. Pity you can’t say the same. We all know Heroes don’t give two shits about Corpies.”
For a moment Hannah’s face expressed a flat affect. Then suddenly she burst into laughter. And not just some derisive laugh as though she was trying to convey to Tristan that she didn’t take his comments seriously. But an eye watering, oxygen depriving, honest to the Gods belly laugh. The kind of laugh that would’ve been contagious had she been around friends. She carried on for a minute until her amusement died down to a just a mild chortle. Hannah wiped her eyes. “You know people?“ She started laughing again, even louder than the first time. “Oh my Gods. Stop. Stop. I can’t breathe. Is this your fucking power?” Hannah was bent over at the waist still laughing hysterically, holding out one finger as to communicate, “give me a second.” After another minute, she wiped her eyes again, took a big gulp of air, and collected herself. “Woooh. Now that was some funny fucking shit.”
“Who in the hell do you think…“ Tristan started to say through gritted teeth.
“No no no. Please don’t get me started again. I don’t think my ribs can take it,“ said Hannah still chuckling some. “Let’s see what have I done and who do I know? You know I always knew that eventually I’d tell people about this, I just didn’t think it would go down like this.” The summoner raised her hand, then slowly curled it into a fist. Standing 3ft tall and leaning into the corner so as not to be visible to anyone who happened to be looking into the room at that moment, was Hopcules, adorned in the same armor he’d worn on the day he helped to save Brewster. “Look familiar to anyone?”
“That looks like the giant rabbit that fought robots with Titan. Hare-a-clees or something like that. My little sister has like 5 of its t-shirts ,” Lucas responded.
“Wow kid, you really are shit with remembering names. Hop-cu-les is the name I gave him when I was just a kid. Surprised the shit outta me that he came out the size of a skyscraper when those robots nearly killed me and my team, ” Hannah stated nonchalantly as she waved her hand and made Hopcules fade away.
With a grudging realization, Tristan began to ask, “wait, you’re not actually saying…”
“Oh look, captain mc-douche-nozzle is catching on. Somebody give the kid a prize. Yes, dumbass, I’m actually saying I fought with Titan, yes, thee fucking Titan, with every other Hero team in Brewster to stop those mechs from destroying the entire city. I’m saying the strongest hero alive is my personal mentor and it was his recommendation that got me into this program.”
Lucas looked back and forth between Hannah and Tristan having already realized that the sophomore might be one of those guys who’d lash out over his perceived inferiority. Lucas was so curious though he had to ask, “but… But, that rabbit is everywhere these days. Not just T-shirts. Toys, a cartoon, and I just read there’s going to be a next-gen console video game based on his character. If you own the rights to that image, you’d be loaded.“
“Eh,” Hannah said with shrug. “Youre leaving out the movie deal Lenny just got for me, but not something I talk about too much . It leaves me enough to be comfortable and to be able to donate a library wing to the university thats giving me a shot at being a hero.” Hannah responded. She gave Tristan a quick wink and glanced over her shoulder towards the door.
Tristan looked in the same direction and noticed something he hadn’t bothered paying attention to before, a small engraving on the center of the door of a bipedal rabbit. This would’ve been the most surprising thing that he’d seen since he set foot in the room if it wasn’t for the photo that appeared on Hannah’s tablet now facing him. It was an image of five people: Graham De Soto, the new head of the DVA, Titan in his iconic Hero costume, Dean Jackson, a large muscular young man with a shit eating grin who Tristan didn’t recognize, and another person in a generic gray mask, presumably female, and wearing a smile of malicious enjoyment, the same as the women standing before him.
Hannah saw what caught his attention and picked up her tablet. “Oh, did you notice this? I love this picture. Titan called me in for back up as a Temporary Emergency Hero Asset. We beat the shit out of a literal army of enhanced criminal supers and took this picture after everything calmed down. All the other HCP deans were there too. Mr. Desoto actually told me if I ever needed a favor, he owed me one.” Hannah wore a wistful expression as she thought back on that day with fondness.
“Anyway, I gotta get outta here. S’posed to meet up with my training partners. Cause no matter what your background is or who you know, no one is a shoe-in for the final 10. Lucas, feel free to meet us in the combat cells tonight if you want to get a work out in and get tired of hanging out with this fuckwad. Later losers!” Hannah said this last part as she turned around and headed towards door while holding up her middle finger for all to see.
Tristan was obviously livid. His hands had been visibly shaking as he stood and listened to all the ways this 1st year had accomplished more than he’d even thought possible for student. Who does this little bitch think she is? She’s full of shit. She has to be. I’ll show her. From his elbows down, Tristan‘s arms began to darken. In seconds the two appendages looked like small tree trunks, with his fingers elongating into barbed tendril-liked branches rapidly moving towards Hannah.
Although Lucas had worked for years to improve his ability to cast his energy based illusionary environments-referred to by one quirky coach in the past as a “holodeck”- speed was an element that he continued to struggle with. He began to cast a simple illusion of darkness, so as to blind Tristan, but he knew almost immediately that it wouldn’t reach him in time. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw furry white movement. The miniature Hopcules had reappeared and was running towards the back of the chair Tristan had been sitting in. With a parkour maneuver that would make Jackie Chan jealous, Hopcules leapt from the floor to the chair, then from the chair to the rear wall. He torpedoed off of the wall with the force of both hind paws and made contact Tristan’s head, knocking the arrogant second year to the floor. He laid there dazed and confused about what had just struck him as his branches retracted and his arms returned to normal. The summon vanished before he even touched the ground.
Hannah smiled as she exited the room. Thanks be to the Gods. I was hoping that piece of shit would try something so I could have self-defense as an excuse. Kacey and Devon better be ready. I’m already warmed up.

THE CONNERS: "Famine and Floods"
Scene 1: Conner Kitchen
Dan is sitting at the kitchen table.
Louise walks in.
Dan: Louise, me and the kids are hungry on account of there ain’t no food.
Louise: Look Dan, there’s a can of beans right here in the pantry.
Dan: Me and the kids don’t want beans on account of we had beans last night.
Louise: Well, why don’t you send one of your kids down to the grocery store to pick something up.
Mark walks in.
Mark: Didn’t you hear? The grocery store shut down because of poverty.
Dan slams his fist on the table.
Dan: Damn’t! Lanford needed that grocery store! It’s where we common folk got our food!
Darlene enters.
Darlene: This is the problem with corporate America. They come in and shut down all the local mom and pop stores and then run out of town at the first sign of trouble.
Jackie enters, Mark exits (not seen again the entire episode).
Jackie: She’s right. They call it FOOD DESERTS (said in a very long exaggerated voice). Yeah, pretty soon we’re gonna be slithering around like snakes trying to get water from a cactus.
Dan: This just ain’t right.
Louise: Well, rather than complaining, maybe we can do something. What if we all pitched in and started selling groceries at the hardware store?
Darlene: That’s a great idea. It’ll be like the old days when people bought their groceries at the hardware store.
Ben: And I know a guy with a grocery warehouse who’ll probably sell me groceries at half off.
Dan: That’s it! The Conners are in the grocery business and saving Lanford from starving.
Jackie: Well, some of us would probably starve a little sooner than others. I’m just saying. And we could always eat MOM if we had to!
(Theme song.)
Scene 2: Olinsky's Hardware Store
Ben is standing at the hardware store counter.
Darlene enters.
Darlene: I just got a call from the villainous county grocery commissioner. He says we can’t sell groceries because we don’t have a permit. If we try to sell them anyway, he’ll shut down the entire hardware store and then you won’t be able to support us on my lunch lady salary, I’ll have to quit for another job, and Mark won’t be able to go to college!
Ben: That totally blows.
Dan walks in from the back room.
Dan: Well, how much is this grocery permit?
Darlene: It’s $500!
Dan: $500! Oh geez, that’s the amount of money I've saved up to pay off the mortgage. But Lanford needs groceries, so...
Darlene: Dad, we can’t ask you to give up your dream of paying off the mortgage.
Harris enters.
Harris: I’ll do it. I’ll go to Chicago to turn tricks to earn the $500 so you all can sell groceries and Lanford doesn’t starve and Mom doesn’t have to quit her job and Mark can keep going to college.
Darlene: Harris, you don’t have to do this. But you’re sure you want to?
Harris: I mean, yeah, I guess so. I’m not worth anything to the family anyway. I guess this is the only thing I can do to be any value in the world.
Darlene: You are such a good daughter.
Scene 3: Conner Family Room
Jackie: Has anyone noticed Harris acting a little differently lately?
Darlene: No, what do you mean?
Jackie: I don’t know. She seems just kind of down, you know. Not like her normal self.
Darlene: We’re Conners. Something would be wrong if we weren’t a little down.
Jackie: No, I’m serious this is different. Watch.
Jackie hits a catatonic Harris over the head with a football and she doesn’t move.
Darlene: Maybe you’re right. I’ll take her down to the Urgent Care just to be safe.
Scene 4: Conner Family Room
Dan is on the edge of his seat as Darlene and Harris walk back in the house.
Dan: Well what did they say?
Darlene: Apparently the doctor says Harris is suffering post-traumatic stress disorder from her sex work in Chicago.
Dan: Is it serious?
Harris (with flat, matter of fact affect): The doctor says I’ll be OK. He gave me a referral to a person who will help me with coping strategies for the irrational thoughts I have while I’m selling my body.
Dan: Oh, thank God.
Scene 5: Conner Family Room
Ben enters.
Ben: Guys, I just heard on the radio. The first ever hurricane to hit Illinois is here NOW and it’s headed straight for Lanford.
Darlene: What are we going to do?
Louise: Dan, your kids need to grow up and learn how to face this hurricane on their own. I’m going to be on the road for the next three weeks, and I wanted to watch Yellowstone with you tonight.
Dan: Kids, Louise is right. It’s time you all faced this hurricane by yourselves.
Darlene: But that’s not fair! We’ve always faced things as a family.
Dan (winking): Well, I’m putting my foot down. You all have to weather the storm by yourselves.
Louise: Oh, alright Dan. They can weather the hurricane with us.
Becky enters.
Becky: Sober life is so amazing. Colors are vibrant, I hear birds chirping in the morning, and I’m present for Beverly Rose!
Darlene: That’s great. Did you hear, a hurricane’s about to hit Lanford? Also I accidentally threw out that notebook you keep with your list of coping mechanisms for being an alcoholic. You didn’t need it right?
Beck: Umm, no, everything is OK. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to head to the basement.
Scene 6: Conner Basement
The Conners all walk down to the basement.
Dan: Becky, where are you? The hurricane’s passed. It’s all OK.
They find Becky lying face down next to a bottle of Vodka. Beverly Rose is teetering on the edge of a bookshelf.
Jackie: Oh, my god, this is bad.
Darlene: Becky, Becky, wake up. What are you doing?
Becky: It was just all too much. The hurricane and then I didn’t have my notebook of coping mechanisms.
Dan huffs in anger.
Dan: Don’t you get it Becky! It was never about that book of coping mechanisms! Can’t you see what Mark has done to you! Can’t you see he’s sending us these hurricanes and shutting down the grocery store from the beyond? Whenever there’s a problem, can’t you see it’s Mark? What do I have to do to get through to you that Mark was Satan’s spawn and is cursing the town of Lanford from the pits of Hell?
Becky breaks down crying.
Jackie: She’s having a breakthrough. Her alcoholism is going into remission again.
Becky: I’m cured everybody.
Everyone hugs Becky.
Dan: To celebrate, let’s go down to the Hardware Store to pick up some groceries for dinner! Brewskis are on me; I can punt on paying off the mortgage until next month.
Jackie: I don’t know, I was thinking about eating MOM!
END CREDITS

I don’t want to give more information than necessary, I’m just looking to find anyone else who currently is, or has been stuck like me.
Last year I had a pretty severe medical emergency(not celiac related) that resulted in a lengthy stay in the hospital. During my time in the hospital they were checking my liver levels constantly. It eventually came up that they believed I had celiac, and they were surprised to hear that that hadn’t come up in my life hitherto.
After I got out of the hospital I started seeing a GI They ran the usual blood tests, endoscopy, even a colonoscopy. Each test confirmed it more than the last, I have celiac.
My problem is I can’t pinpoint my symptoms, and it makes it hard to stick to a somewhat(to me) life altering diet. I’ve never been one to get sick after eating bread or pasta, I don’t have much of a reaction to any food at all really(or so I think). I’ve only just started piecing it together that my myalgia and mental issues could be related. Even then, I can never really pin point if it’s due to my eating, or just life. My GI said something to the effect of “Maybe you only think you don’t have any symptoms. Maybe you’re so used to feeling like shit all the time that you don’t even realize it anymore.”
The longest I’ve been able to go without even a taste of gluten was 2-3 weeks, and then I fall off the wagon. I’m assuming I didn’t notice much of a difference because I didn’t stick to it long enough. I’ve been changing almost everything in my life this past year and this has been one of the hardest things to nail down..
So I guess my question is: Has anyone else been in the same boat? Could you tell me about your non-physical/less apparent symptoms? What would you say to your past (potentially delusional) self?

I don’t want to give more information than necessary, I’m just looking to find anyone else who currently is, or has been stuck like me.
Last year I had a pretty severe medical emergency(not celiac related) that resulted in a lengthy stay in the hospital. During my time in the hospital they were checking my liver levels constantly. It eventually came up that they believed I had celiac, and they were surprised to hear that that hadn’t come up in my life hitherto.
After I got out of the hospital I started seeing a GI They ran the usual blood tests, endoscopy, even a colonoscopy. Each test confirmed it more than the last, I have celiac.
My problem is I can’t pinpoint my symptoms, and it makes it hard to stick to a somewhat(to me) life altering diet. I’ve never been one to get sick after eating bread or pasta, I don’t have much of a reaction to any food at all really(or so I think). I’ve only just started piecing it together that my myalgia and mental issues could be related. Even then, I can never really pin point if it’s due to my eating, or just life. My GI said something to the effect of “Maybe you only think you don’t have any symptoms. Maybe you’re so used to feeling like shit all the time that you don’t even realize it anymore.”
The longest I’ve been able to go without even a taste of gluten was 2-3 weeks, and then I fall off the wagon. I’m assuming I didn’t notice much of a difference because I didn’t stick to it long enough. I’ve been changing almost everything in my life this past year and this has been one of the hardest things to nail down..
So I guess my question is: Has anyone else been in the same boat? Could you tell me about your non-physical/less apparent symptoms? What would you say to your past (potentially delusional) self?

Hey all, I finally had my first reddit worthy experience; it might not be hall of fame horror but it’s packed with lesson to be learned.
Our table in question is an all adult (late 20s to mid 30s) respectfully rated R “friends only” crew. This is the story of how someone went from being in our wedding party to kicked out of our adventuring party.
Our crew: Myself, first time DM with a management day job. My spouse, Fighter, who’s a brand new player. Another married couple: Land Druid and Wizard, who generally host the game. Wizard and Land Druid have a kid who's great and only relevant for context on some of the bad behavior later. And finally our star of the hour, a Moon Druid problem player I'll be referring to as Rude Druid.
The story begins before Fighter and I were married and I had gotten into playing at a virtual 5e table with some work colleagues during the quaren-times. Once we all got our "go outside pass" I decided to try my hand at running a table. Fighter and I were not yet living together and we'd made a friend through an app who definitely had some "quirks" but was a fun hang and we had a lot of shared interests, one of which being tabletop. The three of us had discussed getting a 5e game rolling if we could fill out a party and Rude Druid previously was a "forever DM" so was excited to get into the player seat even though it would mean commuting about an hour to attend. Fighter met and made friends with land druid and then we all met at a “yard games and hang” party some time later where I and Wizard shared their interest in tabletop and boom-bam-pow a campaign is born. Various members of the group have various neural divergences as well as histories of (lets politely say) big bad events in their past that made a thorough session zero a must. We all agreed on where our lines and veils were and months of happy dice rolling ensue without issue.
Along the way there were some yellow flags:
Since two players were playing druids and crowd control (CC) became a major mechanic, the DM invested in some gridded combat tools and put significant effort into making CC a fun and valuable part of combat and would mix in “smart” enemies and “dumb” ones to allow for the druids to have their awesome moments but not completely take over every combat. Rude Druid constantly tried to break the grid rules of their AOE spells and even got in an open argument with DM who insisted they adhere to the published rules. One such disagreement ending with the classic Rude Druid: “I’d allow it at my table”DM: “We’re not at your table, we’re at my table and we’re following the grid combat rules”That should have been the end of that right? Would you believe the DM had to call out the player for attempting to break AOE rules several more times? Rude druid also used wild shape to access an area unavailable to the rest of the party, which was fine until they then went on to refuse to rejoin the rest of the party and insisted on their own little side adventure. They even refused the party directly asking the player to come back so they could play as well. Eventually the DM said “We’ll now cut back to the party, you may rejoin whenever you feel like it” and had to remind the player about the “don’t split the party” agreement discussed in session 0. Sadly the yellow flags turned crimson and led to some major boundary crossing. While DM had offered their guest room to the druid for nights they didn’t want to drive home, the expectations got out of hand. They first switched from driving to taking public transport, which was their prerogative, but then expected rides too and from the transit station during working hours. The fighter took care of the driving for a while because they worked a later shift and the two were friends. But then the schedule expanded to needed to be taken for food, expecting to go rock-climbing every time, etc etc and the DM’s “you can crash here and head out whenever” turned into an expectation of a 24 hour commitment of the Fighter being the druid’s personal entertainer and driver. Fighter actually left the game for a short time to deal with life stuff and druid tried to guilt other members into taking over the extra driving, which we all refused. Rude druid is also the most disgusting eater that I’ve ever experienced in my life and both I and another member of the party have misophonia which we’d brought up multiple times making it clear “this is extremely unpleasant for us. Please get it under control”. The sound effects got so bad the hosts had to resort to BANNING snacks from DND night because it was impossible for 2 of us to participate in the game. I promise you, it was so bad you’d have done the same.In the midst of all this DM and Fighter got married, navigated some difficult decisions on housing, moved in together, and now DM no longer had a spare room to offer. Shortly after moving in fighter had two major illnesses that included multiple trips to the hospital and the DM made it clear that the offer of a spare room was no longer on the table for obvious reasons. We all expected the druid to control their alcohol consumption and drive themselves home after the sessions. Rude druid instead invited themselves to crash at the host couple’s house and forced an extremely uncomfortable “that’s not okay, we don’t really do that”. It’s at this point that I’ll remind you that the host couple has a kid and I’ll roll the clock back to a point in time when rude druid quit their job. While telling the story included details that used explicitly violent language. We assumed it was probably hyperbole, but several of us have experienced violence in a way that makes us very not okay with what they were saying. We expressed that sentiment at the time making it clear none of us were ok of threats of violence, even if they weren’t genuine. Rude druid went on to reiterate their anger several more times at various different sessions and to this date I don’t they would have done anything violent but it was WAY over the line and NOT the kind of person you welcome into your home with a young kid. Yet they still seemed completely shocked when trying to stay over at their house was met with a hard no. And finally came the day that we all had enough and the decision was made not to invite them back. Two members of the party were in the final semester of advanced degrees on top of their full time jobs and made it known that they needed to pause the game until after finals because they didn’t have the time or mental energy to commit to the game. The DM and other player immediately understood, wished them the best, and agreed to shelf the game until after graduation. Rude druid did everything in their power to guilt them into continuing to play stating that it would be “good for their mental health” despite this player being the exact opposite of who you’d want mental health advice from. Around this same time the entire crew also attended the DMs birthday party where Rude Druid tried pressuring DM and Fighter to stay while over imbibing in various substances legal in the state this story occurs. This player had to have a pipe physically taken out of their hands and told “you have to drive home, sober up” after repeatedly helping themselves to another attendees scoobie snacks and being an outright jerk to a number of other people in attendance. We had to do a bit of an apology tour with other good friends who were rightly pissed off at various drunken selfish antics and promised that they’d never have to deal with rude druid again.
Our collective limits had been reached, all the other party members got together and unanimously agreed to 86 the player from all of our lives. I wish rude druid the best and I truly hope they can learn to ever consider anyone other than themself, but I for one will not be there to see it.
Happy ending: the players all graduated with flying colors, the game is back on, and rude druid’s character has technically become an NPC that’s “over there” but honestly won’t ever come up again. The game lives on and the rest of us are still good friends with a newly raised bar for what it takes to sit at our table.
As promised, here’s a few easy rules to live by so that you won’t ever experience rude druid’s fall from grace.

• It’s your responsibility to get safely to and from the game. If you’re driving then keep yourself sober. If you can’t handle that, then you shouldn’t consume at all.
• Don’t invite yourself to other people’s house. It’s never okay to impose like that. It’s fine to ask “would anyone be willing to have me” but remember that it’s within everyone’s right to not volunteer.
• Value other people’s time. Remember that no one owes you 24 hours of chauffeur service just because you’re unemployed and bored.
• Don’t split the party or break the rules. Optimization is fine, cheating is not. DnD is a social game and everyone, including the DM, is supposed to have fun and take turns sharing the spotlight.
• Chew with your mouth closed FFS.

If you have any duplicate game keys that you can't find a trade for or if you're not interested in bartering, then this post is for you!
I'm offering a 1 for 1 trade for your unwanted keys. Think of it like a book swap with game keys - take a game you don't already own from the list and leave one of your unwanted keys for the next person. You don't need to offer me a list, just let me know what game you have and what you want to swap for.

Disclaimer - PLEASE READ FIRST

Due to the nature of the post, most of these keys are from previous trades and donations and I have no way to verify them or check for region locks. Even with the best intentions from all sides, mistakes will be made and some of these keys may not work. I'll always send the key first and ask you to redeem before sending me anything to make sure they work for you. If you choose not to redeem as we trade then I won't be held responsible for any future problems as I have given you fair warning.
Please don't re-trade these keys any further since I can't guarantee they will work and I don't know if there are any region locks. I don't want you to be accused of scamming!
So with all that out of the way...

Games Available:

Please only offer games that do not have profile features limited (check the store page) for games in this list. If you want to trade a game with profile features limited, there's a separate list below.

• Astervoid 2000 Soundtrack (x2)
• A Tale of Paper: Refolded Edition
• Aveyond 3-1: Lord of Twilight
• Bad Rats
• Beat Hazard (x2)
• Call of Juarez
• Commandos 2: Men of Courage (x2)
• Crazy Sapper 3D
• Darwinia Soundtrack
• Deadly 30
• DEFCON Soundtrack
• Deponia
• DESOLATE
• Destroyer: The U-Boat Hunter
• Encased: A Sci-Fi Post-Apocalyptic RPG
• Fallout 3: Game of the Year Edition (GOG key)
• Fallout 76 (Microsoft Store key)
• Fallout 76 (Xbox key)
• Fireburst
• Galactic Civilizations I: Ultimate Edition
• Grav Blazer (x2)
• Greed: Black Border (x2)
• Grid 2 - Bathurst Track Pack (DLC)
• Grotesque Tactics: Evil Heroes (x4)
• Huntsman - The Orphanage (x2)
• Karma City Police
• Konung 2
• Konung 3
• Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
• Men of War
• Mind: Path to Thalamus
• Miner Wars 2081 (x4)
• Monster Slayers
• Monster Slayers - Advanced Classes Unlocker (DLC)
• Monster Slayers - Fire and Steel Expansion (DLC)
• NecroVisioN
• Nomad Survival
• Overcast - Walden and the Werewolf (x2)
• Pumped BMX Pro
• Puzzle Kingdoms (x3)
• Ragnarok: Fallen Legends
• Red Johnson's Chronicles - 1+2 - Steam Special Edition
• Reign: Conflict of Nations (x2)
• Satellite Repairman
• Scheming Through the Zombie Apocalypse: The Beginning
• Space Rangers HD: A War Apart
• Square's Route
• Star Wolves
• Stick Fight: The Game
• Switch Galaxy Ultra: Charity Pack 1 (DLC)
• Switch Galaxy Ultra: Music Pack 1 (DLC)
• The Deed
• The Flying Dutchman (x2)
• The Walking Dead: 400 Days (DLC)
• Theatre of War 2: Africa 1943 - Centauro (DLC)
• UNDETECTED
• Unloved
• Valfaris
• Vessel (x2)
• Victory: The Age of Racing - Steam Founder Pack (DLC, base game free, delisted)
• Whispering Willows
• Wordle
• Wordle 2
• Wordle 3
• Wordle 4
• Wordle 5
• Zombie Driver HD

Games with Profile Features Limited

These are games that haven't met minimum sales requirements on Steam. They are usually asset flips and incomplete indie games. Feel free to offer any Steam game key for these.

• Burst Squad (x2)
• Hidden Winter Cats - Bonus Level (DLC)
• Land of Puzzles: Battles (x3)
• Lunatic Taxi Driver
• Madness Chambers
• Magic Forest
• Mentai Uncensored (NSFW)
• Poly Memory: Furries 2
• Primal Age (delisted)
• Professor Watts Memory Match: Shapes And Colors
• Professor Watts Word Search: Yummy Foods
• Quadrant M4 (delisted) (x3)
• Slime Rule (delisted)
• SpaceDog (delisted)
• The Dropping of the Dead (delisted) (x2)
• Trivia Vault: Auto Racing Trivia (x5)
• Trivia Vault: Mini Mixed Trivia 4 (x2)
• Trivia Vault: Super Heroes Trivia (x2)

A Few Rules

• Please comment on this post if you want to trade (no DMs unless we've traded before).
• Games offered must still be active on the Steam store. This is mainly because people get confused when redeeming delisted games and the game doesn't appear on their profile.
• I can take profile limited games but only in exchange for another profile limited game. This is to keep the list from becoming full of asset flips and incomplete games.
• If your keys have an expiry date let me know before we trade and I'll decide whether they can be accepted based on if I think they will trade on before they expire.
• No keys from active giveaways that are open to everyone e.g. Fanatical/Prime. These often have expiry dates shortly after the giveaway ends so can't be traded on.
• I'm trying to avoid taking more than 3 of each key so the list keeps some variety.
• I'll try my best to keep this first come first served.

Donations

If anyone just wants to donate any keys that are no good to them to the list then I’m always grateful to receive them. Just DM me and I’ll add them. A huge thank you to those that have already donated keys to this project.

Why

I don't do this for profit and don't get much out of it myself. I do keep the occasional game that catches my eye but I already own most of the common bundled games. I see this more as a giveaway that can keep on giving. I want to provide a place for people to find something they can play in return for their unwanted spare keys without the hassle of finding a trade partner interested in the games they have.
My IGSRep Page

I unfortunately had to drop out this year due to personal circumstances. I fully intend to return but I’ve heard nothing back so far, re-applied in February, and got told in March I’d hear back when a decision was made. Anyone else in the same boat? Just getting worried due to how close it is to the next year.

Hi all, hey all.
I’m back. With my report that I promised.
And lol, was it a shit storm, and honestly? I’m extremely disappointed. It’s not that I didn’t expect it, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad.
So a quick rundown;
The used car market is a hit/miss game. That’s part of the fun, and for many, I’ll still recommend a used car. Better to own then to have your car towed away by the repo guys, or need to limit your driving by experience because it’s a lease.
However; the used car market at the moment is overpriced and full of junk.
From my experience checking cars this weekend in the neighborhood/around the surrounding neighborhoods, it’s clear people are passing off shit cars for the price of good ones.
It’s also clear that people were skipping maintaining their cars during the Covid years and are now selling ticking time-bombs.
All in, I checked about 13 cars and out of them, 4 were in pretty good shape but were overpriced. My favorite was a 2006 Honda Accord in great shape, and a wonderful interior inside and out. However, with 350k miles and needing new tires, asking $7000 was ridiculous. This would have been a $1000 car pre-Covid. I was picking some up, alongside some Hyundai Sonatas for $500-$600 pre-Covid to fix for my students. Same cars are demanding $5000+. Absolutely insane.
To keep this already long post from becoming a novel, I’ll give you all a quick rundown on the worse offenders and what to look out for.
(2002 Subaru Forester-Asking $6000)
Low mileage-75,720
Asked the typical questions: Are you the first owner? (No, second owner. Had it for 4 years.)
How much do you driven it? That’s really low!
(You know, it was my daughter’s car, she got a new one, I’m selling it for her. She only drove it to school and home. LIU Post To Woodside. Like 4 times a week for the years she’s owned it.)
Okay cool, so like 30k miles give or take in 4 years. Do you happen to know the mileage you brought the car at? (No, I forgot! Sorry!)
It’s okay, can I have the VIN? I just want to pull up the report and we can work on a price. (Why do you need it? It’s like the social of the car. It’s a great car, no accidents and I need it gone. Why so many questions?)
I need to know the car records and history. Mileage is low, and that’s unusual for this year and make. I’ll be quick and I’ll give you a free copy, no charge.
-at this point, the seller is still hesitant but eventually let me get it. The car mileage was indeed rolled back. When they purchased it, it was at 218k miles. There were also 3 reported accidents. Twice with the original owner and once with them. This was almost a dead giveaway since I could see work was done on the back of the car because the body was slightly misaligned. Wouldn’t you now it, rear end damage reporting in an injury. At this point, seller said I was wasting their time and left angrily saying I was lying.
The lesson to take here is to look at the body of the car. If the car body seems misaligned or the paint seems off, ask about any accidents or body work done.
If the year is older but the mileage seems low, make sure to see if the car had the mileage rolled back.
If the buyer is hesitant about allowing you the have the VIN, this is a huge red flag. This will allow you much more information about the car and its a must if you’re buying.
My next favorite is the $10k cars I see lining Astoria, Woodside, Sunnyside and beyond. I’ve been seeing them floating for years and always avoided them. I tended to avoid the “street dealers.” Wannabe car dealers without a shop, operating out of street parking they occupy endlessly.
I asked to check 3 cars and before I went, I asked to see the titles. I asked if they had clean titles. I was told yes. They were not. All 3 were savaged titles. 2 had mismatched mileage. No point in checking more.
Here, the lesson to learn is if you see different cars with similar signs and prices, it’s a “street dealer” and they’re selling most auction cars, mostly from PA. Avoid, you’ll mostly find lemons and you’ll regret it.
Lastly, let me cover a good car, and one I did end up picking up.
(2010 Honda CR-V -Asking $7500)
Mileage sitting at 220k.
Interior was clean, other than a worn drivers seat. Cloth seating, but easily cleaned with a good steam cleaner.
Extremely well maintained exterior, with a minor bump on the bumper. Looks like they hit a fire hydrant backing up at some point. So common you’ll quickly figure what it looks like haha.
Check engine light on. I appreciate the seller telling me about it immediately. No clue why. Within a few seconds I figured out why: faulty oxygen sensor. Easy fix, and not a big issue.
Tires have life on them and no major rust on the underbody. Amazing for a car up here. Ask about it; car came from Texas. That would explain it.
Only problem here was the price. I know if this guys brings it in to a dealer, he’s getting $2-4k tops, if he’s lucky. Selling privately will get you more money, but I need a fair price.
I explain this to him, point out the cost of the repair at a mechanic, and the value of the car. Offer him $3200 cash; we settle at $3300 and a beer. I’ll take it.
My student walked away with a new car, I’ll fix the sensor myself later this week and everyone leaves happy.
Now, deals like this will happen. But not often. You’ll have to hit the pavement and find them.
However, remember the tips I included here.
Remember not to overpay for a used car.
Do your research and don’t get caught holding a lemon.
Calling your insurance company before any purchase to understand the cost.
Do not get pressured by the seller.
Be respectful as a buyer and walk away if neither side can agree. It happens.
And all the best shopping! Please post any questions here! I’ll try my best to answer them!
I’m a college professor, not a mechanic, but I was lucky enough to spend my weekends in the garbage learning as a teenager. I didn’t have a dad around, and didn’t want to be helpless to my own kids in the future, not knowing how to help them with their cars.

Hey y’all. I’m trying to put together a reasonable argument for my boss as to why our bartenders should make a bigger tip out from the floor. What are y’all making off of server tip out? We are currently making 1% of total sales from our servers. The number ends up being obscenely low considering we are a high volume steakhouse with only 4 bar seats and essentially operate as a service bar. The servers tend to walk out with considerably more (often double or more) than we do. Hoping to pick y’all’s brains about what you’re making off of the servers and what would be a reasonable number to ask for.

It's time for our first look at life on Earth! I hope everyone has been enjoying the story so far. As always, let me know your thoughts on the story so far. It's been a joy sharing it with you all.
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Memory transcription subject: UN Secretary-General Elias Meier Date [standardized human time]: July 13, 2136
Sometimes I wondered what Earth would be like had the Skalgans not landed here hundreds of years ago. Every UN summit these days seemed to involve settling some kind of dispute involving them. Whether it be accusations of resource theft, threats in response to those accusations, or disputes over succession, there was always something to resolve. There was rarely any actual conflict that occurred nowadays, but security had been required to break up a few squabbles in the past, often ones involving delegates charging each other.
Despite how rowdy they could be, they were stalwart allies. That stubbornness made them dependable to follow through with their alliances. Whether it was war, work, or simply having a dependable friend, it was hard to go wrong with them. They proved themselves early on in the history of their arrival.
I reminded myself of that as I listened to the leader of the Garian nation petitioning other nations for aid in their efforts to assemble yet another space shipyard. I was certain we had more than enough, but the Garian leader wouldn’t have anything less than ‘overwhelming force against potential threats’. An aspect of Skalgan culture that carried on since their arrival was their concern over the calamity that had brought them to Earth appearing once more from the heavens. It’d created a divide among the people, from those that felt we should isolate ourselves from the wider galaxy, to those that felt we should either find allies or track down this great threat to eliminate it. The exploratory mission we’ve sent out has certainly riled up the xenophobes, who felt we needed to prepare a grand fleet if we were gonna announce ourselves to the galactic stage.
An aid came and tapped me on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “Sir.” She whispered. “I need you to come with me.”
If I was being called away, then it must have been an emergency. Nodding, I stood and followed here, my security detail trailing behind. We were only just walking up to the briefing room doors when I started hearing a very loud conversation. “-could be them! We need to start assembling ships immediately in case they-” I open the doors, interrupting whoever it was that was shouting. Scanning the room quickly, I saw that most of the people assembled were from several different space agencies, though there were also individuals from historical institutes and national militaries.
“Right, might I ask what has folks so riled up?” I asked.“The Odyssey crew made contact with extraterrestrials.” A short-haired woman in a leather jacket said, passing me a folder. I managed to catch her nametag, which read Dr. Kuemper, SETI. “They call themselves the Venlil, and going by appearances alone, seem to be related to the Skalgan. Not only that, but they’re a part of a Federation of hundreds of other species. Certainly more than we ever theorized.”
This news came as a shock. I flipped through the various pages and photos in the folder, taking in everything that's been gathered so far. There was a photo of one of the Skalgan astronauts next to a Venlil. Side by side, it was easy to see how one could assume they shared a similar lineage, despite some of their physical differences. If these were truly aliens related to the Skalgan, then their kind has survived the attack on their homeworld or at least escaped to a separate planet.
We’ve known that life existed at some point beyond our star system, but that was only known through the existence of the Skalgan. Even then, the nature of their origin took generations to fully understand. They crashed on earth during an age where we were still using muskets, a time when we didn’t even have a concept of electricity. They may have brought a technological boost with them, but without the means to reproduce or maintain it, much had deteriorated away, and that included the electronic data their ship carried. For all we knew, the Skalgan and their attackers were the only other life in the galaxy. They may have even gone extinct in the time it took us to achieve FTL flight.
“So we might have ourselves the Skalgan home planet and their long lost cousins. I hope that the presence of so many generals in this meeting isn’t a suggestion to invade.” I looked over all the individuals in military attire that were present.
Dr. Kuemper frowned. “The issue isn’t with the Venlil. It’s the Federation and their enemies. It’s a complicated mess. To start, the Federation is made up entirely of herbivores who are extremely xenophobic towards any meat consuming species.”
I look back down at the folder, leafing to a page about the Venlil society. It only took me a moment to spot the bold letters highlighting the fear and distrust they have towards, as they label them, predatory species. “Well, we must have done something right if we got far enough to exchange knowledge.”
“You can thank us for being there.” One of the Skalgan in the room spoke up, a general by the name of Ledric from the nation Rerig that sat on the western coast of North America. “The fact that we had a Skalgan among the crew made it easier for the Venlil to accept the human. They may have just shot the ship down had astronaut Noah not been there, or taken them prisoner, or done all sorts of horrible things!”
“I think it would be best if we did not worry about the what-ifs and instead think about the now.” I said, finally taking a seat at the table. “So the Skalgan look-alikes have a fear of meat eaters. Does this extend to the rest of their federation?”
“I’m afraid so.” The doctor said. “It seems like it’s actually a founding pillar of the Federation’s doctrine. The Arxur, the enemies of the federation, have been on a campaign of terror against them for several centuries. They’re responsible for the destruction of at least 62 planets and billions of lives.”
“Jesus Christ, please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish, sir. There’s a full brief on the page labeled ‘Arxur’ in your file. There’s also footage of them committing every war crime in the book. I mean, they literally eat children.”
“Well shit.” I sighed, barely having a moment to think before the Rerig general Ledric spoke up again. “These monsters eat sentient beings and keep people as livestock! They have to be the ones responsible for the original attack on our homeworld. It makes sense that the ‘wrath of the galaxy’ told in Skalgan mythos refers to them.”
“Can we be certain?” I asked Ledric. “I don’t doubt that this species is monstrous in nature, but I don’t know if any of the original records from the ships you arrived in have survived to this day to confirm that.”
“You’re right about that.” Another Skalgan spoke up, a historian from Rerig. “Surviving records are little more than fragments at best. Even electronic records can’t survive the decay that hundreds of years of time would bring. Without the proper understanding of how to properly preserve digital records, they broke down into little more than scrap metal over the centuries. We have no idea who those ships originally belonged to, where they came from, or how my people got ahold of them. Hell, we don’t even know if it was one or multiple species responsible for the attack on Skalga.”
I lightly nodded, thinking about the possible explanations. “What about the Federation? How do they play into this?”
“According to the records the Venlil provided, they had only just made initial contact with the Federation around the time the Skalgan landed on Earth.” Dr. Kuemper said. “It's a bit difficult to line up our timelines without exact dates. At best we can estimate by about a decade or so. It’s possible that the Skalgan acquired ships from the Federation. There’s also the possibility that the ships were Arxur cattle vessels that they managed to commandeer. There is also the possibility of an unknown group being involved, but so far there’s no evidence of that.”
There were a lot of hypotheticals being given, but no solid narrative so far. “I’d rather not make any major decisions till we know for certain what we’re dealing with. There’s also the matter of these physical differences between the Skalgan and Venlil, and the matter of the Federation's potential hostility to us humans. Are they aware of us?”
“Not yet.” Dr. Kuemper said. “Only the Venlil know of humans. The Federation only knows of the Skalgan for now.”
“Right… Well if they’re as hostile towards meat eaters as this report leads us to believe, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to break the news to them gently.”
“Why should we bother?” Ledric asked. “If the Federation was there when Skalga was attacked yet did nothing, why should we even try being friendly? Do they fear the Arxur so much that they wouldn’t intervene?”
“We shouldn’t be making assumptions like that.” I said. “We don’t know what happened all those centuries ago, and the last thing we want is to go accusing people of wrongdoings that they didn’t commit. I’d rather we make allies than enemies. And speaking of such matters, I believe the Venlil will be a good place to start. Their governor was willing to risk her position to keep us hidden. She and her people may be able to speak on our behalf, and their potential ties to Skalgan may further secure their trust. Not to mention that our best chance of learning about the origin of the Skalgan race would be in cooperation with them.”
“What of the Arxur?” Ledric spoke once more. “They’re clearly a threat to both their Federation and us. We should strike some of these livestock worlds as a show of our allegiance with the Venlil. That would also show this Federation that humans are an ally.”
I grimaced. We'd only just discovered life beyond our system and already we were talking war. Announcing a potential war with extraterrestrials would cause the divide between those for and against alien contact to widen even further. However, we couldn’t share the potential discovery of the Skalgan’s ancestors without including the threat that not just the Arxur posed, but the danger humans would be in if we made a mistake with introducing ourselves to the Federation. This whole situation was a minefield, and we were having to carefully pick our way through it.
“Lets start by releasing the findings and then judge our next course of action based on the public’s feedback. We need to be united on whatever decision we make, as this will affect all of us, both Humans and Skalgans. If the people just want to make allies, that’s what we’ll do. But if they want us to show we’re willing to fight for the Venlil and the Federation, then we’ll fight.”
An outside threat and long lost family would be powerful motivators to bring people together. I was fairly certain I knew already what the Skalgan’s position on this would be, but they weren’t on the potential firing line for their biology.
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I know at time of purchase you just buy a tier, and actual seat assignments come later. I have a few events for which I bought single tickets but on two separate ticket release dates. They’re both under the same name and in the same tier but different purchase orders. I’d like to sit with my friend but wondering if that’s going to be possible when the two tickets were bought separately. I scoured the website and FAQ to see if there was anything about this - nothing turned up. Anyone have insight into how the seat assignments is going to work?

(Sorry RIDING* in the passenger seat, not driving) Sorry sis but one wreck and you’re sitting like that.. your unborn child is gone. She doesn’t gaf about any safety whatsoever . What a wreck. I’m worried for the safety of the kids future

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be dead in the next 24 hours.
Whether that's the Costella family, or whatever this is, I'm not sure.
The police are taking forever, and part of me knows they're either refusing to believe me, or RC got them too.
I'm holed up on our school bus, so I've got nothing better to do.
I want to tell you about my team.
We met in our sophomore year.
Strangers standing outside the club room.
Levi was the freckled brunette who wouldn't stop talking about Game of Thrones.
Sunny, a pretty redhead, told him to shut up.
Tom, a sandy blonde, nodding his head to music corked in his ears.
I just wanted to be part of a club, and get away from my overbearing mother.
I won't say it was a perfect start. Our school was lacking in funding, so anyone could join, which made us more of a Quiz Club. I had some serious anxiety, so I stayed on the sidelines for a while, watching, rather than taking part.
It's not like we actually talked to each other initially. The first few weeks, we played Jeopardy, and attempted to find more members to cement us as an official Academic Decathlon club.
Unfortunately, though, it was just the four of us.
Which made it extremely hard for us to be taken seriously.
According to Google, Academic Decathlon teams were made up of nine members, placed by their GPA.
Our principal laughed at us, but he did let us become official.
Which was out of pity, I assumed.
The club was assembled, and we started meeting up after school.
Sort of.
Sunny barely showed up, and Levi didn't take anything seriously, preferring to spend the time telling us about his weird family turf-war.
Our principal dumped us in a tiny classroom with a resident rat living under the floorboards.
There was barely enough room to move, and the four of us crammed together for three hours was less than appealing.
Still, though, I wanted to be part of a club.
I had grown up with parents who were obsessed with board games, so I was pretty good at general knowledge questions. Our club room was too small for anything else but three desks (Sunny and I shared one) and a whiteboard we had to shove through the door.
But, again, we didn't start as an Academic club.
It was more akin to Story Time Club.
Arriving late on my third day, armed with quiz cards from home, I found Tom and Sunny completely mesmerised by Levi’s storytelling skills, drowned in shadow.
They didn't even turn the lights on.
I strictly remember squeezing next to Sunny, and hearing the words, “But there was so much blood all over the floor, and my Mom told me to go upstairs and hide under the bed…”
Sitting in front of them was Levi, perched on a desk, his legs swinging, a whiteboard marker between his teeth.
Sometimes he'd get up, and illustrate parts of his story.
It sucked that his drawings were all stick people.
I won't go into full details of his life, but Levi grew up as part of a family who had… interesting methods of making a living. I had seen the guy’s father multiple times when we hung out at his place, and, yeah, my friend’s family definitely had Soprano vibes.
Levi’s Draw My Life was nothing to do with the club, but it did bring us closer.
Even if, at that point, I was considering leaving.
But it's not like it was easy to walk away from these guys. It's like finding your soulmates. Levi wasn't the only one with an interesting life. Sunny Lang was an ex kpop trainee, who was kicked out for being too fat, which led her to develop a severe eating disorder, and a hatred for her own body.
Sunny explained her family were originally from Boston, her mother growing up in Korea.
She signed up for an idol agency focusing on creating a new girl group, and had gotten all the way to the final stages, before being kicked for her weight. Sunny told us her story with a smile, though there was a hollowness in her eyes I couldn't ignore. The other girls were judgemental bullies, and the idol diet and brutal regime almost killed her.
Sunny lived in a tiny apartment with 9 girls, who would tear each other apart for a chance to debut. Sunny said all the other girls debuted, and when we (not so patiently) asked for names, she shrugged, admitting she signed an NDA that prevented her spilling the beans.
What she did say, was the K-pop idol is a product, not a person– and are made and moulded into a product.
She had zero interest in throwing her humanity away to become a manufactured doll.
So, one of us was the son of an underground family, and the other was an ex idol.
Tom was an aspiring horror writer with a famous older step-brother.
His story times were usually, That one time I went to the Met Gala.
When it was my turn to reveal my story, I told them the only interesting thing about me.
I could smell when something bad was going to happen.
They laughed, but I was being serious.
When I was a kid, I smelled my mother’s brain tumor.
I remember it smelled like curdled milk.
I asked Mom why her head smelled of mouldy milk, and Mom laughed and said it was her shampoo.
It was actually a grade two tumor growing inside her brain.
Thankfully, the tumour was found quickly and removed.
Growing older, I became sensitive to smell. The little girl choking on the bus smelled of singed wood, and the old man crossing the road stunk of gasoline.
In the fourth grade, my classmate Alex Castor smelled of lemons all morning.
I sat behind him, choking on the stink all the way through class.
Ever since I met him, Alex had always smelled… off.
It was a distinct smell I could never understand, and as the days and months and years went by, that smell morphed into a subtle orangey musk that was so strong I had to cover my mouth and nose. Then, he smelled like lemons.
During Recess, I watched Alex fall off of the jungle gym, straight onto his head.
Alex Castor was dead before the paramedics arrived, my panicked teacher attempting CPR when his brains were leaking out of his ears.
The school claimed it was an accident, but Alex would have been fine if the jungle gym wasn't built on solid concrete.
I told my team members this, and Levi was sceptical.
“You can smell bad things?” He said, his lips curved around his milkshake straw. In the early days, we hung out in the local bar. It's not like we were allowed inside, but Levi could get us in anywhere.
I was squeezed between Tom and Sunny, while Levi took the seat opposite us. I couldn't help noticing our waitress was insisting on free milkshake refills, her frantic eyes glued to Levi.
I had zero idea why. Levi Costella was about as intimidating as a fruit fly.
Wearing a white shirt with a popped collar, a leather jacket thrown over the top, Levi was giving rebellious Harvard student, rather than son of a crime family.
Leaning forward, he raised a brow, clearly not believing me.
“So, you're like a stink psychic?”
I shrugged, sipping my own shake.
“Sure.”
I wasn't planning on telling him the club room smelled off on our first day.
Once we actually started the club, Levi surprised us as the smartest member, and getting to know him further, I came to the realization his family were infamous in our town.
However, his parents hid it well. Lucy and Michael Costella were the owners of a popular ramen store in our town, hiding under the facade of two successful business owners. The Costella’s were an attractive family.
Lucy was a sophisticated brunette with a lipstick smile, Michael, a handsome fluffy haired man who looked like he modelled glasses.
The two were fiercely protective over their youngest son, not so casually reminding us behind grinning smiles, that if anything happened to Levi, we would automatically be involved in the family.
I mean, they did laugh and say, “We’re joking! Look at your little faces!” when Sunny went deathly pale. But there was definitely truth behind their words.
Being Levi’s friend was… challenging at first.
Tom and I were in his room studying for finals, and an alarm went off, flooding Levi’s room in red light.
I had zero idea where it was coming from, but it locked all the doors and windows, forcing the Costella residence into temporary lockdown. Levi didn't seem fazed, casually mentioning his parents were taking care of it.
He had a whiteboard set up in his room, and was standing in front of it, cramming all of our textbook notes into one easily digestible drawing.
Levi wasn't just smart.
He was Ivy League smart, so we had struck gold with him.
His family were questionable, and yes, sometimes I did fear for my life, but as the more time we spent at his house, the Costella household became a second home. We got used to the alarms.
I just brought along ear plugs.
I wish I was writing this post about Levi’s family, and sure, they are a factor in what is going on right now, but I want to preface this by saying the events below involve the 2024 scholastic decathlon final in our town with the school’s listed:
Starbrook High School.
Ratcliffe High School.
Please note, the incident that took place last night was immediately covered up, and all phone footage was destroyed. Our town is mostly out of the way, and does not show up on Google searches.
We also have our own version of the academic decathlon, which is a more town-level competition, due to lacking funds. The four of us were desperate to start competing with our schools.
So, we started taking things a little more seriously.
We got a coach.
Mr Hanes, who was hesitant at first.
In his words, “You will hate me as your coach.”
He started by recruiting more members, announcing, “If you want to be taken seriously as an actual club, then I'll be taking the reins from now on.”
He did, and with our teachers guidance (and sometimes brutal honesty), we reached a level where we could start competing with other school’s in town. Now, none of us knew this, but Mr Hanes was obsessed with winning.
So, club meetings were twisted into two hour study sessions with no talking, followed by Mr Hanes Jeaprody, which was Jeaprody, without the actual fun.
We were quizzed multiple times, answer cards and practise questions quite literally thrown directly in our faces.
I hate to admit this (I really hate to admit this) but Mr Hanes’s tactics worked. Sure, we had been mildly brainwashed by our slightly unhinged coach, but with Levi Costella, we destroyed our competitors. Like I said, our town held their own version of the academic scholastic decathlon, but it was pretty much the same, with some changes.
Ten subjects. Language and Literature, Math, Social Science, Economics, Art, Music, Interview, Speech, and Essay.
Unlike the official Decathlon, ours was more like a game show, with the ability to be knocked out if a team member answers a question wrong. Whoever answers the most questions correctly wins. Team meet ups were either tests, study sessions, or quizzing each other.
Which leads me to last night.
The finals were held in the reigning champions, Ratcliffe High School’s, auditorium.
And we were about to win our town’s Scholastic Decathlon 2024 Championships.
Well…I was knocked out in the music section. Standing next to my coach who I was sure was going to asphyxiate from excitement, I could smell the sudden potent stink of lemon. I tried to ignore it at first, but the more questions my team were answering correctly, the smell got worse, suffocating my senses.
This wasn't just lemon. The stink was like a burning, singing smell trickling into my nose and the back of my throat.
It was stronger than what Alex smelled like.
This was suffocating, drowning my thoughts.
“Are you okay, Cassandra?”
Mr Hanes nudged me when a Ratcliffe girl was struggling to answer a question, only for Sunny to jump in with the answer. “You look quite pale.”
I nodded, forcing a smile.
My gaze was on the Ratcliffe coach, a scary looking blonde woman, whispering in one of her student’s ears.
The Ratcliffe kid freaked me out. He was way too tall, dark blonde hair, and bulging eyes I swear were not blinking.
His gaze was glued to Levi, who wore a smug grin.
There was a smaller girl next to the Ratcliffe kid, a Macbook balanced on her knee. Every so often, he leaned into her, the two of them in deep conversation.
“I'm just nervous.”
I jumped when Ratcliffe scored a point, their side erupting into cheers.
During the break, we had a mini team meeting.
Sunny rushed to the bathroom to freshen up, and I noticed a Ratcliffe girl with a bouncing ponytail following her.
Ignoring our coach’s speech, I joined the two girls in the corridor, that lemony scent hanging thick in the air.
I caught them in an awkward position.
The Ratcliffe girl had her fingers pinched between the material of Sunny’s dark blue shirt bearing our school’s name.
Sunny looked confused, her lips parted like she was going to yell.
Ponytail dropped her hand, suddenly, with a nervous laugh. “Oh! I'm so, so, sorry,” she gushed. “You had, like, the biggest spider crawling on your back.”
Sunny caught my eye, shooting me a reassuring smile.
“Thanks.” She made sure to keep her distance. “Uh, where's your bathroom?”
The Ratcliffe girl nodded down the hallway. “It's just down there. I'm going there too if you want me to show you?”
Sunny motioned for me to go back to the auditorium. “Uh, sure! That'd be great!”
I did try to follow them, only for Sunny to cough loudly.
I took the hint, reluctantly heading back into the auditorium.
My team was hyping each other up, Levi in the centre, sweating through his team shirt. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I can't do this,” He groaned. “Ratcliffe High is known to play dirty, man. They're unbeatable.”
“In what way do they play dirty?” I asked, joining them.
Levi gulped down water, shrugging.
“I dunno! They're already trying to distract me with the stink eye.” The boy narrowed his eyes at a grinning Ratcliffe kid who, after noticing our stares, jumped to his feet, waving at us.
“Hey guys!”
“That's Harry Cartwright, the son of the Cartwright family who tried to kill my parents in the third grade.” Levi mockingly waved back. “As you can see, their kid is a fucking sociopath.”
Huh. I wasn't expecting the smiley kid to be the mobster’s son.
Harry Cartwright was not what I expected.
Unlike his team members, he was the only one in casual clothing, a short sleeved white shirt and jeans, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head.
Tom went pale.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “He’s one of you? Then those bastards will have a reason to play dirty, right?”
Levi shrugged, averting his gaze. It was the first time I saw his eyes darken, like he was subtly telling the boy to back off.
“The Cartwright’s have been trying to buy our land for a while,” he muttered. “I wouldn't put it past them to use the Decathlon as a way to attack.”
“Attack?!” April, another member of our team, hissed. “Like, attack attack?”
Mr Hanes grabbed the boy, resting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. “Ignore them,” he said. “Hey. Look at me.”
Levi did, raising a brow.
“You're losing that spark in your eye, young man.”
“Spark?”
Our coach nodded. “Look at me, kid.”
Levi rolled his eyes. “I am looking at you, Mr Hanes.”
The man was shaking. I was guessing his whole career (or coaching career) was on the line.
“They know they're losing, Mr Costella.”
Hanes shook the boy, squeezing his shoulders. “You are being positive and Ratcliffe doesn't like that. They want you to be nervous. They want to make you second guess yourself and lose confidence. Don't let them get into your head.” he smiled, giving the boy a playful shove. “Kick their asses.”
“Exactly!”
I didn't realize Sunny was back from the bathroom.
The faint smell of lemons had followed her. I noticed a wet patch on her shirt collar, though she was quick to smile at me, admitting she'd spilled water down herself. Sunny wrapped her arms around Levi, squeezing him into a hug.
She hung on for a little too long, Tom dragging her away with a laugh. “Good luck, all right?” she backed away, ruffling his hair. “We’ve got this!”
When I hugged Levi good luck too, I had to resist covering my nose.
The smell of lemon was unbearable, just like fourth grade Alex.
But it wasn't as potent as earlier.
I vaguely remembered the smell starting to fade once Alex’s body was being carted away on a stretcher.
Following my captain through the crowd, I was right. The smell was less suffocating. Before he went back to the stage, I grabbed the back of his shirt.
The material was soaking wet.
“How are you so wet?” I said, swiping my hands on my shirt.
“Huh?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. Do you remember what I told you in sophomore year?”
Levi settled me with a confident, but nervous smile. “Thaaaat you're scared of clowns?”
“No. I mean the boy who smelled of lemons.” I gritted out.
Levi surprised me with a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
Levi did know what I was talking about. He brought up my stink sense a day earlier in front of his parents, and I had to cover his mouth to shut him up.
Leaning close, I whispered in his ear. “You stink of rotten lemons.”
He nodded slowly, pulling away. “Uh… thanks?”
I bit back a hiss of frustration. “No, you don't understand what I'm saying–”
“Starbrooke High School,” The host announced. “Can all members please return to the stage.”
Levi held up his hand for a high five.
“Can we do this later?” He winked. “I'm kinda busy carrying this spelling-bee on my back right now.”
I nodded shakily, high fiving him, and letting him jump back onto the stage.
Before his words hit like a tidal wave, ice cold water slammed into me.
Spelling Bee?
Slowly making my way back to the stands, Levi’s mistake was circling around my head. He did win a spelling bee, but that was in middle school.
Thankfully, the smell of lemons was gone when I returned to my seat.
Mr Hanes handed me a soda. “Chill out, Cassandera, it's just a game.”
He could talk. The guy was on his fifth coffee.
Mr Hanes was not chilled out in the slightest.
Surprisingly, the event went well. I was half expecting my team to be crushed by the rafters, or caught in a blaze started in the crowd. But we were doing well. No, we were winning.
Reaching the climaxing round, Sunny choked against a smug Ratcliffe boy, joining me on the sidelines.
Levi answered the next question with a confident smile.
We were winning, but Ratcliffe could still catch up with a miracle.
The second to last question was to Ratcliffe, and it was general knowledge.
”Where on the human body would one find the *orbit?*
I knew the answer, and so did Levi, his lips breaking out into a smile when the Ratcliffe boy was hesitating, eyes wide.
Our school’s buzzer went off, Levi slamming his hand down.
Bzzz!
The host turned to our team. “Starbrooke, can I have your answer?”
Levi nodded, shooting our team a victory grin.
“It's…!“ He opened his mouth to answer, his jaw slackening suddenly.
The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Uh… “
“Um…”
“Huhhhhh…”
Levi inclined his head, blinking, his eyes glazing over. There was a sudden, hollow vacancy that sent chills down my spine. It was like someone had reached into his skull, and yanked out his brain, leaving a shell in his place.
To my confusion, our team captain frowned at his buzzer like he'd never seen one before. He pressed it, exploding into child-like giggles.
Bzzz!
The audience laughed along nervously.
Tom nudged me. “What the fuck is he doing?”
Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz!
Levi’s entire body was slumped, his hand slamming down on the buzzer.
I caught something pooling down his chin.
“Is he… drooling?” I whispered.
Mr Hanes looked mildly horrified. “Has he been drinking?
“Levi?” Tom spluttered. “Drinking?!"
Whatever we were watching, however, was definitely influenced by… something.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz!
“Young man, that is not a toy!”
The host wasn't amused. “Starbrooke High School, I need an answer from you,” He nodded to Levi, who was pressing the buzzer, his smile growing.
“Once again,” The host backed away, like Levi was contagious. “Where on the human body would one find the Orbit?”
Levi cocked his head, lips parted.
His gaze found the overhead lights, and he winced, his lips curling into a frown.
“Starbrooke High School!”
Levi jumped, tipping his head back and blowing a raspberry. “Palm tree?”
The audience laughed, and I started feeling nauseous.
Across from us, I could see the twist of a smirk on the Ratcliffe coach’s lips.
Bzzz! Levi slammed the buzzer again giggling.
“Starbrooke High School, if your team member continues to act like this, I will be forced to disqualify all members.”
Our captain stopped, gaze glued to the host, his hand creeping towards the buzzer, like it was a big red button.
The audience loved it, laughing like they were watching a sitcom.
“He wouldn't.” Tom whisper-shrieked.
The auditorium was silent for a moment, awaiting Starbrooke’s response.
Levi stuck out his tongue, slamming his hand down.
Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz–
When Tom dragged Levi away from his podium, a Ratcliffe girl hit her buzzer.
“Starbrooke High School, you are disqualified,” the host announced. “Ratcliffe High School, do you have an answer?”
It was Ponytail who nodded with a grin.
“The answer is the eye socket! The Orbit is part of the eye socket!”
“That is the correct answer.” The host was distracted, his eyes glued to Levi.
“Ratcliffe High School wins.”
Levi jumped when the Ratcliffe wide erupted into cheers.
His eyes were wide, clinging onto the buzzer for comfort.
Next to me, our coach looked like he was going to faint.
I barely noticed Ratcliffe’s victory, too busy watching our team captain, who was Harvard bound, tipping his head back and smiling at the ceiling like a new-born baby. Tom dragged the stumbling boy over to me, his mouth twisted.
“This was Ratcliffe, right?” He hissed, shaking our captain, who was struggling, squirming in his grip.
“Did they put something in his drink?!” He prodded Levi. “Hey! What did they do to you?!”
Still, though, drugging his drink didn't make sense.
Levi never left the auditorium, and kept his water bottle with him the whole time.
How did they even manage to slip something into his drink in the first place?
Did I smell our competitors drugging him?
Sure, intentionally inebriating my teammate was morally wrong and illegal, but why could I smell lemon?
“I doubt it was Ratcliffe.” Sunny squeezed next to me. “I've been watching them. They're harmless.”
“Then how the fuck do we explain this to his parents?!” Tom whispered, grappling with Levi, who was fighting to get back to the buzzer.
When Tom let go of him, he dropped onto the floor, crawling over to his podium. It was like watching a child.
Who was determined to piss off the adults.
Levi jumped back to instead feet, his gaze was glued to the host, a smile curved on his lips, when he slammed the buzzer again.
Bzzz!
“Someone, please remove the Starbrooke boy from the stage!”
I was embarrassed, our whole team ducking our heads as our captain was forcibly removed from the podium.
Mr Hanes grabbed Levi, pulling him off of the stage.
I expected our coach to be mad at him, but I think the teacher was more worried, a phone pressed to his ear while he forced the boy into a sitting position.
No, I don't think it's influence from alcohol, I could hear his conversation.
Levi kept trying to get up, mesmerised by the buzzer. The teacher was firm but gentle. “Hey. Sit down, all right? Keep still.” He went back to his phone call, gently prying Levi’s eyes open.
From what I can see, there's nothing wrong. He's just kind of…
Mr Hanes swiped his own hands on his jeans. ... wet?
Team Ratcliffe came over to rub it in our faces, though I was still tuned into our coach’s hissed whispering.
Water? No, I don't think it's water. It smells… no, I haven't told his parents…
“You guys did awesome!” Ponytail's voice was sugary sweet. Too sugary.
She held the 2024 trophy, bearing a satisfied smile. I noticed the Ratcliffe members were surrounding Harry, like guards.
“Better luck next time, okay?” She held out her hand, her eyes twinkling.
“No hard feelings?”
“Control your dog.” Harry said, amused eyes flicking to Levi, who was once again sprinting back to the fucking buzzer. His eyes had visibly darkened, lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Harry Cartwright was watching Mr Hanes chase our team captain like it was his own personal entertainment.
I had to look away before I died of second hand embarrassment.
“What did you put in his drink?” Tom demanded. “Weed? Edibles?” the boy attempted to shove Harry, only to be pushed back. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Harry’s smile didn't waver. “Like I said. Control your mut.”
When the Ratcliffe team walked away, our red faced coach struggling with Levi, who was behaving progressively more erratically, informed us we were longer welcome inside the school.
Tom suggested calling an ambulance, but our coach was hesitant.
We all knew who Levi’s family were.
On the way out, Tom matched my stride. He was frowning at our team captain struggling to walk.
The way he was acting was already eyebrow raising.
But walking at an angle and being unable to stand up straight was worrying.
“I don't think they drugged his drink.” Tom muttered.
We pushed through the doors out of the school, and I revelled in the cool night air grazing my cheek. “If they did, he would be acting out of it, right? So, what's the deal with him acting like–”
“A child.” I finished for him.
“Yeah.” Tom leaned closer. “Do you think this has something to do with their turf war?”
I slapped at a bug creeping across my cheek.
Levi fell over again, this time bursting into giggles.
“Almost definitely.”
Levi was right about Ratcliffe playing dirty. I didn't realize how dirty until we were on the losers bus home. Levi was in the seat next to me, and the kid hadn't moved since we left Ratcliffe, his eyes wide, lips pulled into a dazed grin.
Bzzz!
The noise startled me from slumber. I was drooling, my head pressed against the window. Outside, the sky was pitch dark, and squinting through the glass, I couldn't get a bearing on where we were. I thought I was hearing things, but when I sat up, I heard it again.
Bzzz!
It was close.
Leaning over the boy, I glimpsed a smear of scarlet on his headrest.
I choked on my next words.
“Tom.”
Tom was in front of me, listening to music.
He didn't reply, his head of dark blonde curls nodding to the beat.
“Levi.” I managed to get out. I prodded him, and his head lolled into his shoulder. “Hey. Can you… sit up?”
Bzzz! Bzzz!
When the boy didn't move, I gently grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward myself, something contracting in my stomach.
I don't know how long it takes for your mind to fully register something, but my body was already reacting.
Levi’s seat was infested with bugs, eating their way through the upholstery. I was aware of my body moving back. I threw up, instantly, screaming into my hand.
The back of my best friend's skull resembled a deflated soccer ball, what was left of his brain leaking from his skull where a swarm of skittering bugs chewed their way through brain tissue, metallic legs scratching the curved, pearly white of the base if his skull.
Levi’s head hung, his body flopping into mine.
But his eyes were still open, lips still stretched into a smile.
Blood ran in thick rivulets from his nose and ears.
Bzzz!
I could see them, black writhing dots alive in his eyes, wriggling movement under his skin.
“Tom!”
I jumped up, stumbling into the aisle, my stomach heaving.
And it was only when I was on my knees, swiping bile from my lips, when I realized the others weren't reacting.
Tom wasn't moving.
I pulled an Airpod out of his ear, a long, slithering string of pink attached to the end.
There was a stray bug skittering across his hand, his face starting to twitch and writhe.
Moving back, I checked myself over, my hands shaking.
Head.
Shoulders.
Hair.
Clawing through it, my breath was stuck in my throat.
Arms.
Legs.
Feet.
Mr Hanes was slumped against the window, a reddish froth bubbling from his mouth.
Sunny.
I started towards the back of the bus, but all I had to see was her bowed head, half of her skull chewed through.
Sunny was in a far more deteriorated state, her face had been ripped through, a skeletal smile glinting in the dim.
The thick black smear on the window next to her was moving.
When I screamed for the driver to stop the bus, he ignored me.
If anything, he stamped on the gas.
I moved forward to shake him, before glimpsing a bug creeping down his face.
Calling 911, the operator laughed at me.
“Bugs are eating your friends.” He said. “Do you know the penalty for calling with bullshit pranks?”
The bus didn't stop, so I stayed at the front, while the bugs took over the back, eating through my teammates.
After four hours, I risked leaning over the seat next to Tom to check on Levi.
They were eating him.
Chewing all the way through skin, muscle and bone.
I tried to stop the bus, but the driver’s hands were tightly wrapped around the wheel.
Another hour, and blood was seeping down the aisle, crawling with bugs.
Levi was gone, and in his place, a buzzing skittering pile of bugs, that I thought were going to move to a second victim, maybe burrowing into the seats.
But, no.
These things began to tremble, replicating.
Building.
Slowly, nothing became static, and static became muscle.
Then bone.
Then flesh.
When a body began to slowly form, moulded from the dead boy, I stumbled back.
These things weren't eating Levi Costella.
They were rewriting him.
…
Edit: I'm still on the bus. I'm 99.9% sure that I'm infected with whatever this thing is. I can't stop fucking itching.
I keep picking them off me but they won't stop. This bus isn't going to stop until I'm like the others.
…
Edit 2:
I can feel them chewing into my skull. They're in my ears. I keep spitting them out. Please, someone get them off of me. Help me. I don't want to die at 17.
Edit 3:
Still alive. Still breathing. Maybe they're leaving me alone????? I think I'm okay. There is a pile of bugs at my feet, but they're crawling off of me.
Edit 4:
Levi really wants to go home. Like, he just told me he REALLY wants to go home. He's got a gift for his parents.
~~Edit 5 :) ~~
Levi is next to me right now, an odd smile on his face.
The bugs are not finished building him yet, but he'll be ready soon.
We will be ready soon.
Your son says hello! He is a wonderful boy, is he not?
Mr and Mrs Costella, I cannot wait for you to meet him.
He is our greatest achievement, and rest assured, you will give us what we want.
Warm regards.
The Cartwright's.

Ignore the overheated geeks: the general election doesn’t matter
By Jeremy Clarkson (The Sunday Times, May 12)
I went to the finals of the Madrid Open tennis championships last weekend, where a spindly man from Russia was set to face an unseeded French Canadian, who turned up in a cowslip yellow version of the fetching playsuit that Sean Connery wore in Goldfinger.
The spindly man made a shaky start, and it looked like General Montcalm was on course for an amazing victory. But then the man with legs like pipe cleaners started to fight back. And you could sense the tension. In one corner of the stadium, you had Montcalm’s friends, family and trainers writhing in a cauldron of dopamine and serotonin, willing their man to hang on in there. And in the other corner, there was a tribe of Russians doing exactly the same thing.
It was a good match with some epic baseline rallies, a lot of nifty backspin dolly drops, and a palpable sense of infectious excitement from all the tennis fans in the stadium. Me included. It was gripping and fascinating, but here’s the thing: I absolutely couldn’t care less who won. I’ve no love for Russia at the moment, obviously, and I think the French Canadians need a smacked bottom. James Wolfe won: get over it and speak English. But watching the fight was tremendous. And of course, that brings me on to the general election.
All over Westminster, there are hundreds of people who are frothing at the mouth with anticipation of the forthcoming duel. Wonks. Journalists. Lobbyists. They love the fight, the game. They meet and gossip and when you see them huddled round an embarrassing Student Time YouTube clip that’s just emerged, you sense they are actually aroused.
They wait in a mummified state, like the flight controllers at Nasa when a spaceship is in the re-entry radio blackout zone, for someone on the front line to say something which is at odds with the party line. Or for a junior minister to appear on the BBC News programme and not know the price of a loaf of bread. Then that’s it. Their down-the-line winner.
Every small mistake, every bacon sandwich moment, is pounced upon with delirious glee. They wait, like Frost did when he was in the third round against Nixon, for Angela Rayner to admit she had two houses, or no houses, because that’ll be that in their eyes. Game, set and match.
Of course, those in the Sunak dugout will noisily explain that this is proof that she’s Ronald Biggs in a frock. While at the other end of the court, Sir Starmer’s gatekeepers will argue that she’s only human. And news of all of these titbits will be broadcast with squeaky glee to a wider audience than the one watching Baby Reindeer.
I usually care about a general election. And I certainly cared about the Brexit referendum. But this time round, you can vote for a party that’s useless by accident. Or a party that will be useless on purpose. So it really doesn’t matter who wins. It won’t change your life in any way, shape or form.
Cancel culture and a woke civil service means the Conservatives won’t even be allowed to say what they want to do, let alone actually do it. And the Labourites will be prevented from making the changes they want by the world’s financial markets, and common sense.
We are told that if the Tories win, non-doms will continue to avoid paying taxes, which won’t make a ha’porth of difference to you because you don’t even know what a non-dom is. And then we have news that if the Labourists win, people will no longer be able to buy their council houses. And that doesn’t affect you either.
Then you’ve got Sir Starmer on the trans issue. He implied last year that a woman can have a penis and immediately the Westminster fanboy bubble went bananas. “HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT A WOMAN IS,” they bellowed. And we all sat at home, sighing and thinking: “Yes he does. He just can’t say it, because unlike JK Rowling, he needs a job”.
We saw a similar thing with Mr Rishi when footage emerged of him saying he doesn’t have any working-class friends. Straight away the wonks were out of their seats, spitting with fury as they explained he only eats swan and that he uses his butler’s children as footstools. Meanwhile, you were thinking: “I really ought to mow the lawn.”
Doubtless there will be fans of the political system bouncing up and down in their seats right now, pointing to the recent council elections in which a Muslim chap, standing on the Green ticket, celebrated his win by saying it was a victory for Gaza, and referred to a local Jewish chap as a “kind of animal”. He sounds like the sort of chap who manages to be daft and unpleasant all at the same time, but he’s in Leeds and most of you aren’t, so what does it matter if his head’s full of silly nonsense? All he’s going to be able to do in the next five years is have a very small say on where the next park bench will be built.
It’s not a completely different story for whoever wins the general election. They may have the power to make changes, but only in the same way that they have the power to drop a nuclear bomb on Belgium. It’s not actually going to happen.
The fact is that we will be treated to a bombardment of promises and polls in the coming months. And it will be a good spectator sport. But it doesn’t really matter who wins because the pot holes will continue to give you punctures, the trains will continue to be unreliable, air travel will continue to be a nightmare, NHS waiting lists will continue to be barbaric, the navy’s missiles will continue to misfire, the small boats will continue to arrive, farmers will continue to get a kicking, bills will continue to land on the doormat, we’ll all continue to pay taxes and we’ll all continue to die.
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And here's the Sun column: "I’ll be staying in the UK this summer and not going abroad – here’s why."
Clarkson's columns are regularly collected as books. You can buy them from his boss or your local bookshop.