Basement bar pictures
Pictures of Bar
2011.10.27 02:07 yummygirls Pictures of Bar
Free Palestine, Free Gaza
2018.04.05 06:13 targsnotdrugs Law Students of the PH
The place for the Philippines' current and aspiring Law Professionals!
2008.03.19 13:43 Professional Wrestling: The Sport. The Art.
**Y**our arena for the enjoyment of the performance art and pseudo-sport aspects of pro wrestling. Great wrestling from around the world, throughout history, and of many styles is welcomed here and given a spotlight.
2024.05.16 20:36 TRJubjub Attempts to cast bronze ingots
Hi all, I've been trying to cast some bronze bar ingots to use for forging some iron age bow brooches.
I measured out 88% copper, 10% tin, and 2% lead. I added the copper to my crucible while it was cold and left it to melt. Once it was melted I added the tin, followed a minute or so afterwards by the lead. I then poured into an opentopped delft clay sand mold within a minute of adding the lead. I did not stir very much at all.
The ingots formed, but had a surface pattern that seemed to suggest that the metals had not alloyed properly, with the copper on today and the lead and tin below.
So, I remelted the ingots, putting them into the crucible when it was cold and, once it had entirely melted, adding a little extra lead and tin a few minutes before pouring (to hopefully account for any vaporisation). I also stirred more the second time, then poured into sand molds as before.
The same colour issues repeated, but when filed up the pattern/colour divide could not be seen, so I thought it might only be surface discolouration. However, when hammered cold with the intention to start forming the ingots into square bar, within a few blows cracks started to form. This can be seen on the nose of the ingot in the third picture.
I thought perhaps it should be hot forged, so heated to dull red, but the first blow or two immediately broke the end of the ingot off. Some colour variance inside the break colour could be seen, but when filed this disappeared again.
I then tried hot forging at a black heat, but cracks began to appear at various points along the ingot.
Finally I directly sawed the other end of the ingot off and made it flat. No colour difference or internal flaws were apparent to me after sawing or filing.
I am unsure what is going wrong, so any advice on how to improve the castings or the properties of the bronze in regards to forging would be much appreciated. Thanks in advance
submitted by TRJubjub to MetalCasting [link] [comments]
I measured out 88% copper, 10% tin, and 2% lead. I added the copper to my crucible while it was cold and left it to melt. Once it was melted I added the tin, followed a minute or so afterwards by the lead. I then poured into an opentopped delft clay sand mold within a minute of adding the lead. I did not stir very much at all.
The ingots formed, but had a surface pattern that seemed to suggest that the metals had not alloyed properly, with the copper on today and the lead and tin below.
So, I remelted the ingots, putting them into the crucible when it was cold and, once it had entirely melted, adding a little extra lead and tin a few minutes before pouring (to hopefully account for any vaporisation). I also stirred more the second time, then poured into sand molds as before.
The same colour issues repeated, but when filed up the pattern/colour divide could not be seen, so I thought it might only be surface discolouration. However, when hammered cold with the intention to start forming the ingots into square bar, within a few blows cracks started to form. This can be seen on the nose of the ingot in the third picture.
I thought perhaps it should be hot forged, so heated to dull red, but the first blow or two immediately broke the end of the ingot off. Some colour variance inside the break colour could be seen, but when filed this disappeared again.
I then tried hot forging at a black heat, but cracks began to appear at various points along the ingot.
Finally I directly sawed the other end of the ingot off and made it flat. No colour difference or internal flaws were apparent to me after sawing or filing.
I am unsure what is going wrong, so any advice on how to improve the castings or the properties of the bronze in regards to forging would be much appreciated. Thanks in advance
2024.05.16 20:35 darkfox308 Yep, I'm mounting one of those...
I'm mounting an adult fun time swing, I have no idea about joist load ratings so I'll be as descriptive as possible. I'm 6'6 280lbs and my wife is 6'0 175lbs. If you use your imagination you could see there could possibly be over 450lbs in this swing. The room is 13x15, 8 foot ceiling, attic joists run from the 13 foot wall to the 13 foot wall. The joists are 2x4 on 16 inch centers. The joists are part of the trusses. The house is roughly 30x45.
I would also like to put a mount in the finished basement. The floor is 13 inches thick. The hardware would be mounted about 6 feet from the stair well and 6 feet from the cinder block wall. The joists span about 18 feet at most, one side is supported by a cinder block wall, the other side runs to an I beam.
I tried to upload pictures and a vid of the attic to imgur but it says I haven't uploaded anything, so unfortunately I can't share pics of the attic, basement ceiling, floor thickness, or mounting hardware. If I figure out how to I'll add it to the post. Thanks.
I wasn't sure which flair to add.
submitted by darkfox308 to AskEngineers [link] [comments]
I would also like to put a mount in the finished basement. The floor is 13 inches thick. The hardware would be mounted about 6 feet from the stair well and 6 feet from the cinder block wall. The joists span about 18 feet at most, one side is supported by a cinder block wall, the other side runs to an I beam.
I tried to upload pictures and a vid of the attic to imgur but it says I haven't uploaded anything, so unfortunately I can't share pics of the attic, basement ceiling, floor thickness, or mounting hardware. If I figure out how to I'll add it to the post. Thanks.
I wasn't sure which flair to add.
2024.05.16 20:33 TrevorVerges The Mollusk Storyline Daydream (Seven Years late)
So Long story short I stumbled onto a Post by u/pigsonbroadway talking about their take on The Mollusk. and in that thread was a very rad post by u/alwayspolite1999 where they spun a very interesting full story to go with the album that really inspired me. I spent the last 3 hours typing up this response but i think the thread is locked because it wont let me comment. I will post my long thoughts about it here for anyone that might appreciate it. Stay cool yall.
Hey hey, I know I'm nearly 7 years late on this, but thank you for giving me a framework for a very rad hour long relaxing daydream. I changed a few things in my head from this plot but i think it's safe to say you've irrevocably altered this entire album for me. Well done mate.
I wanna share my take on it, just in case you're feeling it or someone else likes it.
I'm imagining a story a lot like yours, about a man growing up and dealing with processing trauma, finding love, and ultimately watching his child leave. I kinda cut the Narrator character and replaced him with a thematic recurring violent masculinity "character" of sorts, like no one character is to blame for the protagonist's continued trauma and misfortune. I couldn't help but also imagine it as a play, so here goes.
I don't know who you are but I'm really glad your interpretation touched me in the way that it did. Whoever you are I hope you're having a good life, and rock on.
submitted by TrevorVerges to ween [link] [comments]
I wanna share my take on it, just in case you're feeling it or someone else likes it.
I'm imagining a story a lot like yours, about a man growing up and dealing with processing trauma, finding love, and ultimately watching his child leave. I kinda cut the Narrator character and replaced him with a thematic recurring violent masculinity "character" of sorts, like no one character is to blame for the protagonist's continued trauma and misfortune. I couldn't help but also imagine it as a play, so here goes.
- Dancing in the show tonight: A montage of sorts, with a young boy being raised by a mother and father, as the father slowly loses interest, neglects the child, and displays acts of violence, that are sometimes seen, but sometimes obfuscated from the boy by his mother. Eventually he experiences it directly at his father's hand. Blood/Violence, and subsequently the boy's traumatic thoughts, would be depicted with swirling red ribbons around him, fabric dancing about, etc, and these moments are all intrinsically tied to the ocean/beachside, where they live. By the end of the song, the boy's father gets on a boat and leaves the two on the beach, establishing a dreadful feeling for the viewer and character tied to the ocean. These events don't exactly suit the tone of DitST but that's part of the experience and ties into the ending.
- The Mollusk: The boy, slightly older, finds a little mollusk, seeding some type of positive connection with the ocean that could counteract his trauma, and perhaps (foreshadowing ;) ) represent his ultimate positive reconciliation with the ocean. He is desperate for a father figure and finds himself spending time around a few these untrustworthy and unsavory seamen. Perhaps they are mocking the boy by the end, tossing the mollusk around. The boy gets the mollusk back eventually and takes it back to the beach and lets it go. I hate that the whimsical nature of The Mollusk lends itself so well to a dissonance like this. In a vacuum The Mollusk is a very peaceful lovely song.
- Polka Dot Tail: The boy comes close to experiencing another traumatic situation, involving one of these drunken sailor men, but as you wrote, escapes and runs, trailed by the telltale red cloth setting in place further a lifelong discomfort/trauma response to the ocean. He returns home to his mother, who packs up everything and they move far away from the ocean, leaving their traumatic past behind, running somewhere.
- Jonny on the Spot: A Montage of the boy, now older, working hard, helping his mother, exhausted, a young man but already turning to getting wasted, staying out late, and associating with the wrong people, filling a hole somewhere in his heart. Eventually he does crash his car, stumbling out onto the beach, anxious, and running into a nearby bar, looking back at his fucked up Chevy.
- Mutilated Lips: A chaotic bar scene, surrounded my men, most outfits incorporating the color red somewhere. The Boy haunted by his pervasive trauma in this place. Until, while he's downing glasses, a waitress brushes his hand and sees his scratches, and meets his gaze. The drunkenness of course paints the scene as a merpeople atlantis ass underwater scene, bringing back ocean imagery to tie to the Boy's pain. The waitress has got some type of trauma as well, a cloth or ribbon or light effect (how do stage shows do mental effects like this? lol.) in her own color, let's say blue. They share a long passionate loving night together in her beachside shack, understand each other's pain and loneliness in a way the typical crowd at this seaside bar dont. They symbolize this my giving each other a piece of that fabric, trading blue for red. The blue and red cloth tangles and mingles in a new way and they're draped in purple, finding a peace.
- The Blarney Stone: They return to the bar and the girl he met gets pulled into song and obnoxious drunken partying, the two young protagonists submerged in a loud, crass scene. She plays her usual role in this, though can't help but glance over at her new love. He starts to see her as part of this world, untouchable, so closely associated with this oceanic world of pain for him that he can't handle it. He panics and tries to leave, starting up his messed up car. She runs out to try to stop him but almost lashes out at her, realizing his aversion to this place and these people brings up too much agony, and associating her with that would be unfair to her, and he leaves. Realistically you dont fall in love with someone and run away in one night but it makes a good play.
- It's Gonna be Alright: The Boy wanders out, into a warped undersea version of the previous beach scene with his crashed car. He kinda hits an emotional rock bottom after experiencing the first thing he could consider love or companionship and fucking it up, assumedly. He feels broken, and stares out over a deep dark chasm of fish and kelp and shit as he tries to convince himself he did the right thing, staying there all night. Meanwhile, throughout the song, the Girl goes back to her shack, looks at an old ring she keeps in a box, and by the end of the song, while Boy finds himself in the darkest place, she takes the ring and goes out to the beach, seeing a ship approach as she holds it.
- The Golden Eel: A majestic Golden Eel appears to the Boy, it comes to him in... a vision? A mental realization? a spiritual awakening? He's face to face with this beautiful creature. Slowly all his red cloth is taken from him. It's wound up by the eel and wrapped around him, turning to his new outfit, the red effect that represents the trauma replaced by a strengthened gold cloth resolve that now accompanies him. The Eel swims away. He wakes up on the beach (we drop the underwater imagery here) and finds the Girl's blue scarf tucked into his jacket, and jumps up and starts running back. (mirroring the scene earlier with him as a child running away on the beach, but this time he's in control, running towards something.) He gets back to the bar and the owners point out to a boat leaving, sailing away. He's just missed her.
- Cold Blows the Wind: Meanwhile, we go to the flashback to the Girl, (back to the aquatic imagery from here on out until She Wanted to Leave.) before her facial disfiguration, a montage of her being courted by some other fish sailor man. He's wearing bright cobalt blue. They're sailing together with a crew, and they're very close, eventually him proposing and giving her a ring. Immediately after, their ship gets hit by a cannonball and there's a big battle with another ship. Everything's on fire, she gets injured, and her love dies, as he hands her his bloodstained blue scarf. Later, she makes him a grave, and is wearing the ring still, eventually finding that same seaside bar. She starts working there, all the men there draped in blue fabric, reminding her of her pain. Present day, we see her on a boat, holding the Red scarf. She takes the ring and throws it into the water.
- Pink Eye: The Boy, renewed with zest and energy to go find the Girl, works on his "Car", making a wild looking boat. He says goodbye to his mother then he just starts sailing.
- Waving my Dick in the Wind: Fun upbeat montage. He sails around, showing people the scarf, and every time he meets some new wild sea person, they point, as if they're slowly leading him to her. He grows a beard, becomes a captain, slowly picking up a colorful crew of people helping him. By this point he's fully embraced the red, but wears that blue scarf everywhere. He sails his wild Chevy boat around. Song culminates in ol "Jimmy Wilson" doing a crazy tap dance, and at the end, informing the Boy about the woman, and showing him a picture of her and her Child (without and eye).
- Buckingham Green: (This is my favorite song on the album) We go back to the girl being born, living with her mother somewhere. Lets say the child is missing one eye rather than both, half her face disfigured. Her mother tries to protect her, perhaps too much from judgmental eyes, telling her stories, raising her kindly, but one day she opens her (supposedly) missing eye and it shines gold, and they decide to hide it. Meanwhile, The Boy braves a fierce storm, following a golden glow on the horizon towards where the Girl and the Child are, even helped through the worst of the storm by the Mollusk (Hell yeah). Eventually he arrives and meets the child, and there's a big dramatic ass reunion scene with the Boy, the Girl and the mollusk and all the fish people. The Boy and the Girl wrap their scarves together and put them around the girl, and the scarves transform into a golden one, symbolizing the Boy's commitment to love his child and break a cycle of neglect, and the Girl's closure, being able to move on from her lost love and onto this new family. (or something, idk) The girl opens that other eye and it glows gold again. and The Golden Eel bursts out of the Mollusk as everyone celebrates. The Boy and Girl get their new Opalescent Mollusk outfits and everyone gets hype. Bring in Boy's mom too, fuck it. How all this is supposed to happen in 3:18 i dont know but that's for the director to figure out.
- Ocean man: Exactly as you described. No fucking notes. Hype ending. Maybe this part starts with the Eel haha.
- She Wanted to leave: Now the girl is older. The story of course takes a somber turn where, a tale as old as time, a sailor comes along and woos the young lady. The Boy dips back into his trauma a little bit, swearing revenge, practically begging his girl to stay, going through the throes of a parent watching his child grow up and leave him behind. She obviously refuses, following her new life and her new path, apart from him. Not as heartlessly as he'd like to imagine though. Its melodramatic.
I don't know who you are but I'm really glad your interpretation touched me in the way that it did. Whoever you are I hope you're having a good life, and rock on.
2024.05.16 20:07 ItsSiggy TV Couch Layout Suggestions Needed
 | https://preview.redd.it/mhbxto53wt0d1.jpg?width=1536&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1ea1784c72b3fe80c623dcca2b6d54a6c04bd0f5 submitted by ItsSiggy to HomeDecorating [link] [comments] Moving to a new home next month and looking for suggestions for TV and Couch placement. Far right of the photo is the hallway and it does not have enough room to mount a TV due to stairs and basement door. To the left is the kitchen that has a halfway. The furniture in the picture is not mine. Thinking about putting the on the wall to the right of the window with a couch on the half wall. Looking for more ideas! |
2024.05.16 20:02 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (End)
The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.
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Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.
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2024.05.16 19:56 Sweet-Count2557 Rasdhoo Island Inn in Rasdhoo, Maldives
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2024.05.16 19:49 afnan1234 Last Room Available in Spacious Bushwick Duplex with Huge Private Backyard in Prime Bushwick!
 | Hey there everyone, submitted by afnan1234 to NYCapartments [link] [comments] We have a single room left in our five-bedroom duplex apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn. If you're on the lookout for a clean, comfortable space to call home, this might be the perfect fit for you. Details on the spot:
Interested? Please send me a message on Reddit or comment here. Looking forward to meeting you all! https://preview.redd.it/h60gaxoqtt0d1.png?width=2070&format=png&auto=webp&s=1b3d7dc26ffc185ec44f2eb4ae461f805502c8d4 https://preview.redd.it/tpx6yt3ott0d1.png?width=2244&format=png&auto=webp&s=e34f787bd5ee47ffc5c473567129b1b1b39dcf58 https://preview.redd.it/2nhbh8xrtt0d1.jpg?width=3024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6c5af971f4855165ba034b8554b1698947ef31bf https://preview.redd.it/2u0s9vfstt0d1.jpg?width=3024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3a29203feea851a6b360eedb8ab252d20405d41a |
2024.05.16 19:48 FreudyCat Layout/Design help
Hello,
I recently moved into a new apartment and while I generally think I'm OK at designing other people's spaces I am getting stuck on my own. Luckily I don't have a lot of stuff yet due to having sold most of it prior so I am open to getting some new pieces.My biggest issue is the placement of the couch in the main room. I have tried bisecting the room into two spaces but it feels overly crowded
The room is unified in the posted pictures and I have tried to have the couch each way. Longways the room is way too big and you are too far from the TV. In its current formation the couch is kind of floating in the room (to allow access to the sliding door behind it). If I flip the formation then the couch is still floating (to allow access to the bar stools) but there is a great view behind the windows.
The desk can go anywhere, I am looking at ways I can possibly hide it but the large screen makes that difficult. Open to any ideas to make it look bettehide it and find a good place for it. Please excuse some of the mess!
https://preview.redd.it/lom1a1x4tt0d1.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=d630b61f515aa2e6f85684d4df87ff5f48376b72
https://preview.redd.it/su3fylp6tt0d1.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=0e987d9977fac43766264baeacb0e2a56967d650
https://preview.redd.it/fl8ix8w7tt0d1.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=0bdf591660665dcdb1c45a34e5b4f47c66b09ef3
2024.05.16 19:27 maqisha My thoughts/review as a windows user
I was really excited to finally try Arc when it comes to windows as people seemed to love it and it always looked interesting and clean to me. Here I will write a short review of what i've noticed with using it a few days.
I won't touch so much on the subject on side tabs, Spaces, "bookmarks", these are not really issues and are definitely subjective and different, some people might like the new approach, some dont.
Here's a quick summary of my thoughts on the most notable "features" (Sidenav, Spaces, Different Logic for Bookmarks)
I also don't want to talk about any early Windows bugs, I'm sure those will be sorted out soon.
What I primarily wanted to talk about is some missing features. Sadly, at this point in time, Arc feels like a downgrade. Many features are missing or abstracted in a very weird way, and its not clear why, most of the things I'm about to talk about would not impact the "nature" of Arc, so I'm not sure why they were left out or not implemented.
The way favourites behave is just dumb, i have no other way of putting it. Its horrible and mostly unusable.
Example: Let's say I favorite Netflix. I click on it to open it, it's not gonna create a new tab, its just gonna open it in favorites. I play a movie and navigate off. There is NO WAY for me to tell that Netflix was ever even opened, that I have an entire movie playing in the background, i would have no idea where its coming from, what is playing, or anything about it, until i finally click on it to see whats going on. It's a horrible experience.
This somewhat intertwines with the way current "bookmarks" behave, except that this type of behavior is never expected from a quick-access menu. Atm these are just glorified tabs, but worse since they have no title, no indicators for being opened or playing audio, nothing.
To fix this simply make clicking on this open a new tab, I don't see how the current approach is better.
In other browsers the title bar would show something like: Inbox(5) - [myemail@gmail.com](mailto:myemail@gmail.com)
In Arc it shows: Gmail
Just why? A very useful piece of information coming from the third party website itself is overridden for a worse user experience.
Now that Arc is on Windows the "Mac way of doing things" seems to remain, and everything feels slightly off.
(I'm not talking about chromium settings, these need to exist. But even these are impossible to find for an average user)
Here are all the available options
Let me know what you guys think and if you found a workaround for some of my issues. Or have any other benefits to Arc that i filed to notice.
Thanks for reading
submitted by maqisha to ArcBrowser [link] [comments]
I won't touch so much on the subject on side tabs, Spaces, "bookmarks", these are not really issues and are definitely subjective and different, some people might like the new approach, some dont.
Here's a quick summary of my thoughts on the most notable "features" (Sidenav, Spaces, Different Logic for Bookmarks)
- I personally like the side nav, i like how easy it is to see everything and is forcing me to use my keaboard more for navigation (Ctrl+S, Ctrl+T, Ctrl+W), which i enjoy. It also looks great
- Spaces, and similar features like it in other browsers, is something that's not a part of my workflow typically. I like everything in one place and don't like unnecessary overhead. However, i see great potential in this for people who want to separate personal life and work, or multiple different works in an organized way.
- I don't use bookmarks as heavily as some people either, but it definitely feels weird having them act as tabs, maybe I could get used to it.
I also don't want to talk about any early Windows bugs, I'm sure those will be sorted out soon.
1. Favourites (Quick access, or h/e you wanna call it)
When I started using Arc, considering that there is no way to customize the default home page, I was disappointed to see that theres no way for me to quickly open up some my most visited places. Then i found the Favourites, and i was pleasantly surprised, they looked clean, were accessible at all times, didn't take up too much space, perfect. That's what i thought until i was disappointed again.The way favourites behave is just dumb, i have no other way of putting it. Its horrible and mostly unusable.
Example: Let's say I favorite Netflix. I click on it to open it, it's not gonna create a new tab, its just gonna open it in favorites. I play a movie and navigate off. There is NO WAY for me to tell that Netflix was ever even opened, that I have an entire movie playing in the background, i would have no idea where its coming from, what is playing, or anything about it, until i finally click on it to see whats going on. It's a horrible experience.
This somewhat intertwines with the way current "bookmarks" behave, except that this type of behavior is never expected from a quick-access menu. Atm these are just glorified tabs, but worse since they have no title, no indicators for being opened or playing audio, nothing.
To fix this simply make clicking on this open a new tab, I don't see how the current approach is better.
2. Titles
I can't for the life of me figure out why this is the case, but some webpage titles are overridden. Most notably I noticed Gmail, but I think i saw other cases as well.In other browsers the title bar would show something like: Inbox(5) - [myemail@gmail.com](mailto:myemail@gmail.com)
In Arc it shows: Gmail
Just why? A very useful piece of information coming from the third party website itself is overridden for a worse user experience.
3. Multi-monitomulti-window support
For this part it might be important to notice the difference between Windows and Mac users. Correct me if I'm wrong but Mac seems typically focused on one monitor (considering the product), and the workflows for MacOS apps are built with that in mind. I'm not saying that all windows users use multiple monitors, in fact most don't, but it seems more common to have those types of customizability.Now that Arc is on Windows the "Mac way of doing things" seems to remain, and everything feels slightly off.
- Technically you can have multiple arc windows, but the only way to make them is to drag and drop tabs. However, this creates an entirely new unnamed new space, and I'm not sure if that is what i would want.
- Creating new windows lacks the UX compared to Chrome, where you can just drag it out anywhere and it works natively the way a windows app is expected to.
- Middle-clicking the Arc icon in the taskbar doesn't do anything (should open a new window). And Right Click->New window opens the original Space with the same tabs,it feels very off and buggy, I don't see the benefit.
- Splitting is probably the closest I found to match the way I typically use a browser. However these are also not very intuitive, its hard to navigate, replace/add/close tabs, theres a weird white border, you cant split vertically
4. Settings
I couldn't wait to dive into the settings and personalize my Arc experience to fix all of these "issues" I was having. Only to find that settings pretty much don't exist. There is nothing.(I'm not talking about chromium settings, these need to exist. But even these are impossible to find for an average user)
Here are all the available options
- Change the Theme between the two (they seem exactly the same)
- Change default search engine
- Setup when tabs are archived
- THATS IT, those 3 settings are the only ones that exist.
5. Why?
- Opening a URL/Search window always shows "The Browser Company" youtube channel as one of the option? At least disable it when opened once, or put more rows in this menu, you remove an entire space for most recently opened places for an ad.
Navigating off a page playing a puts a video in a small window over your other stuff. Maybe 1/20 times i watch a video I might want this to happen, the rest of the time, its a music video, podcast, something to listen to, you just navigated quickly off of it, etc. At least add an option to remove this.(As I was writing this i found a way to disable the "picture in picture", I will leave the section to show my initial thought, but im pleasantly surprised i was able to fix this and im willing to give other features a try the same way)
Conclusion
I will still be using Arc for a while to see if I can get used to some of my current pain-points and to give it a better shot, as well as wait for potential upgrades.Let me know what you guys think and if you found a workaround for some of my issues. Or have any other benefits to Arc that i filed to notice.
Thanks for reading
2024.05.16 19:01 MiserablyFly Subleasing Knox Ridge Townhome $820/month
 | 1 Bed 1.5 Baths - Apartment submitted by MiserablyFly to UTK [link] [comments] 2253 Cherokee Ridge Way, Knoxville, TN 37920-2593, United States SUMMER LEASE or NEXT YEAR LEASE I am currently living in Knox Ridge and I’m subleasing my room in a 4 bedroom 4 1/2 bathroom townhouse. I am looking for a student to sublease, preferably male (but can talk more if females are interested too), to take my lease for the upcoming summer (June and July) as well as the 2024-2025 next academic school year (August - next July). Either or works but if you are looking for a place both this summer and for the next school year, this is your best bet. Knox ridge is located on Cherokee Trail, across from UT Medical and next to several other student apartments with only a 4 minute drive to campus. The apartment complex offers shuttles from 8am-7pm that commute students to and from campus daily. It has a gym, a nice study space, a lazy rivepool, dog park, grills, parking spaces in front of their doors, and a really nice office staff. As far as the unit goes, it comes fully furnished from furniture to appliances, a basement/man cave with a built in bar, a covered private patio with an extended backyard area, and bathrooms in each room with guest bathroom on the main floor. Please feel free to message me for questions/concerns or more details. 🍊🍊 |
2024.05.16 18:51 PrestigiousAsk1285 London Pub for Second Leg
Hi guys I’m Andy one of managers from The Plough. We had a brilliant turnout Sunday with 30-40 in for it. We will be doing be doing the same for tomorrow night.
We don’t have an event on in our basement bar which has a large screen so thinking we could give that for Saints plus have screen upstairs. Easy either way.
I won’t be there as going to the game but if planning to come down give this a reply so can get rough idea of numbers for those working.
COYR 🔴⚪️
submitted by PrestigiousAsk1285 to SaintsFC [link] [comments]
We don’t have an event on in our basement bar which has a large screen so thinking we could give that for Saints plus have screen upstairs. Easy either way.
I won’t be there as going to the game but if planning to come down give this a reply so can get rough idea of numbers for those working.
COYR 🔴⚪️
2024.05.16 18:50 CampingWorld What Are the Best Super C RVs?
When introducing the main types of motorhomes, we typically stick to the common Class A, B, and C categories. But there are two important motorhome types that some might call ‘tweeners’ – the Class B+ and the Super C RV.
While Class B+ RVs are designed to provide more luxury than your standard class B camper van, the best super C RVs are designed for more rugged, off-road use than a standard class C motorhome. Let’s learn more about Super C RVs and some of the top-selling models you can find at Camping World dealerships nationwide.
Many Super C RVs also boast more powerful diesel engines, allowing them to tow heavier loads than an average Class C motorhome. Still, the significant identifying feature shared by Class C and Super C RVs is the cabover bunk area above the driver’s cockpit.
The exterior is equipped with a TV mount under the armless patio awning, which dramatically reduces the chances of bumping your head as you’re moving about outside your RV. The cabover mattress measures 50” x 80” for a comfortable secondary sleeping area, and the booth dinette can be upgraded to a tri-fold sofa or theater seating, depending on your preference.
Find a Dynamax Isata Super C near you.
Of the Super C RVs on our list, the Jayco Seneca Prestige 37L boasts the highest sleeping capacity. As Chris says in the video, it’s full of luxury amenities like solid surface countertops with an undermount, stainless steel sink in the kitchen, a 50” LED TV, and a 40” electric fireplace below the entertainment center.
The overhead bunk above the cockpit boasts an impressive 750-pound weight capacity, and the included cargo net can handle up to 300 pounds if you use that area for gear storage. The JAYCOMMAND® control center powered by Firefly helps you control all the RV's interior systems from the control panel or directly from your smartphone using the mobile app.
Outside, the Seneca Prestige boasts a hitch receiver with a 12,000-pound capacity. It also has features like a water filtration system and a Thetford macerator system that would be pricey add-ons for many motorhomes. With slide-out toppers above all the slide-outs and the industry’s largest travel-view window in the entrance door, Jayco has thought of it all with this prestigious Super C RV.
Explore new and used Jayco Seneca motorhomes.
It also creates extra floorplan space for a sizeable bathroom with a 32” x 32” corner shower, a mirrored vanity, and plenty of storage for linens and bathroom essentials. The bedroom features a second slide-out that houses the 60” x 75” queen bed that’s laid out opposite a massive closet and dresser.
The exterior features a powered patio awning, an exterior 32” TV with a built-in, Bluetooth-enabled sound bar, an exterior shower and LP connection, and a 100-watt solar charging system with a power controller. This 50-amp coach also comes standard with the Winegard® Connect Wi-Fi Extender +4G and a rooftop satellite mounting backer.
Check the price of Thor Magnitude motorhomes in your region.
You can expand your destination selection with this Super C, as it’s equipped with an Onan 8,000-watt diesel generator that’ll keep your electrical systems running as long as you keep diesel fuel in the tank. Plus, its better optional upgrades include solar prep and three 200-watt solar panels with a 30-amp charge controller.
This 50-amp Super C RV also boasts plenty of holding tank capacity for boondocking trips, but the interior makes you feel like you’re glamping no matter the destination. A 20-cubic-foot refrigerator is one of the largest in the industry, and the residential microwave with an air fryer makes reheating camp meals as simple as the touch of a button.
Discover Tiffin Allegro Bay Super C RVs nationwide.
Inside that beefy package, Thor equipped the RS36 with all the features you need for comfortable easy navigation. That includes safety features like lane departure warning and pre-collision assist, comfort amenities like adjustable pedals and heated remote exterior mirrors, and an entertainment system with an 8” color LCD touchscreen and voice-command recognition.
To keep you comfortable and keep your systems running throughout the camping season, this 50-amp coach is built with dual 13,500-BTU air conditioning units, a 100-watt solar charging system with charge controller, and a 6,000-watt Onan diesel generator with automatic generator start to keep your appliances powered when camping off-grid.
Check the price of Thor Magnitude motorhomes in your region.
submitted by CampingWorld to campingworld [link] [comments]
While Class B+ RVs are designed to provide more luxury than your standard class B camper van, the best super C RVs are designed for more rugged, off-road use than a standard class C motorhome. Let’s learn more about Super C RVs and some of the top-selling models you can find at Camping World dealerships nationwide.
What is a Super C RV?
A Super C RV is essentially a heavier-duty upgrade to a standard Class C motorhome. Most Super C motorhomes are built on a larger, heavier truck chassis, such as the RAM® 5500 SLT, the Freightliner® S2RV, and the Ford® F-550 Chassis.Many Super C RVs also boast more powerful diesel engines, allowing them to tow heavier loads than an average Class C motorhome. Still, the significant identifying feature shared by Class C and Super C RVs is the cabover bunk area above the driver’s cockpit.
What are the Pros and Cons of Super C RVs?
Here are some of the most important advantages and disadvantages of Super C RVs, as compared to other motorhomes:Pros
- Towing Capacity. Larger diesel engines and beefed-up towing packages allow you to tow heavier loads.
- Interior Living Space. A larger, heavy-duty chassis allows for bigger builds with more spacious floorplans.
- Holding Tank Capacities. Larger fresh, gray, and black water holding tanks allow you to camp longer between dump station visits.
- Extended Wheelbase. A wider wheelbase provides more stability and security when navigating this RV through various road conditions.
- Exterior Storage. Massive basement compartments provide ample room for grills, camping chairs, pop-up shelters, and more.
- Suspension. Upgraded suspension for a smoother, more comfortable ride and an improved ability to handle unmaintained roads. Learn more about RV suspension.
- Engine Maintenance. The engine is located under the hood in the front, providing easier access for mechanics than what’s required in Class A diesel motorhomes.
Cons
- Maneuverability. Larger RVs require more care and precision from the open highway to entering gas stations and parking lots. Still, most Super C RVs fall under the 26,000-pound limit, meaning you don’t need a special license to drive them.
- Fuel Efficiency. On average, this RV type gets less than 10 miles per gallon. This is closer to what you’ll get with most Class A diesel RVs but less than you’d get with a compact Class B RV.
- Price Point: Super C RVs start at a higher price point than standard Class C motorhomes, making them a more direct comparison with Class A diesel pushers.
Camping World’s Best Super C RVs
These are four of the top-selling Super C motorhomes you’ll find on Camping World lots:Dynamax Isata 5 28SS with Xplorer Package
Powered by a Cummins 6.7L I6 turbo diesel engine, the Dynamax Isata 5 28SS boasts a 10,000-pound towing capacity for towing a larger toad or even a boat like the Nepallo. With a Quad-View camera system, you’ll have views from the hitch, the top of the rear wall, and on both sides for easy maneuvering in and out of campsites.The exterior is equipped with a TV mount under the armless patio awning, which dramatically reduces the chances of bumping your head as you’re moving about outside your RV. The cabover mattress measures 50” x 80” for a comfortable secondary sleeping area, and the booth dinette can be upgraded to a tri-fold sofa or theater seating, depending on your preference.
Find a Dynamax Isata Super C near you.
RV Specs
- Length: 31’2”
- Chassis: Ram® 5500 SLT Chassis - Factory 4-Wheel Drive
- Sleeping Capacity: Up to 4
- Freshwater Capacity: 78 gallons
- Waste Water Capacity: 45 (gray) and 45 (black) gallons
Jayco Seneca Prestige 37L
https://youtu.be/kGFppR4bQDUOf the Super C RVs on our list, the Jayco Seneca Prestige 37L boasts the highest sleeping capacity. As Chris says in the video, it’s full of luxury amenities like solid surface countertops with an undermount, stainless steel sink in the kitchen, a 50” LED TV, and a 40” electric fireplace below the entertainment center.
The overhead bunk above the cockpit boasts an impressive 750-pound weight capacity, and the included cargo net can handle up to 300 pounds if you use that area for gear storage. The JAYCOMMAND® control center powered by Firefly helps you control all the RV's interior systems from the control panel or directly from your smartphone using the mobile app.
Outside, the Seneca Prestige boasts a hitch receiver with a 12,000-pound capacity. It also has features like a water filtration system and a Thetford macerator system that would be pricey add-ons for many motorhomes. With slide-out toppers above all the slide-outs and the industry’s largest travel-view window in the entrance door, Jayco has thought of it all with this prestigious Super C RV.
Explore new and used Jayco Seneca motorhomes.
RV Specs
- Length: 39’4”
- Chassis: Freightliner® S2RV Chassis
- Sleeping Capacity: Up to 9
- Freshwater Capacity: 72 gallons
- Waste Water Capacity: 81 (gray) and 50 (black) gallons
Thor Motor Coach Magnitude XG32
Ideal for couples or small families, the Thor Magnitude XG32 boasts a nearly full-length slide-out on the driver’s side. This dramatically increases the floor space between the theater seating on the passenger side and the dinette and kitchen on the off-camp side.It also creates extra floorplan space for a sizeable bathroom with a 32” x 32” corner shower, a mirrored vanity, and plenty of storage for linens and bathroom essentials. The bedroom features a second slide-out that houses the 60” x 75” queen bed that’s laid out opposite a massive closet and dresser.
The exterior features a powered patio awning, an exterior 32” TV with a built-in, Bluetooth-enabled sound bar, an exterior shower and LP connection, and a 100-watt solar charging system with a power controller. This 50-amp coach also comes standard with the Winegard® Connect Wi-Fi Extender +4G and a rooftop satellite mounting backer.
Check the price of Thor Magnitude motorhomes in your region.
RV Specs
- Length: 33’8”
- Chassis: Ford® F-550 Chassis
- Sleeping Capacity: Up to 4
- Freshwater Capacity: 75 gallons
- Waste Water Capacity: 47 (gray) and 40 (black) gallons
Tiffin Allegro Bay 38AB
Tiffin’s Allegro Bay 38AB is one of three floorplans offered in this Super C model. The 38AB sleeps up to six, making it ideal for families traveling with kids and their friends. Because every adventure starts with the journey to your destination, the Allegro Bay is powered by a Cummins® Quiet B6.7 360-HP diesel engine with a six-speed Allison transmission.You can expand your destination selection with this Super C, as it’s equipped with an Onan 8,000-watt diesel generator that’ll keep your electrical systems running as long as you keep diesel fuel in the tank. Plus, its better optional upgrades include solar prep and three 200-watt solar panels with a 30-amp charge controller.
This 50-amp Super C RV also boasts plenty of holding tank capacity for boondocking trips, but the interior makes you feel like you’re glamping no matter the destination. A 20-cubic-foot refrigerator is one of the largest in the industry, and the residential microwave with an air fryer makes reheating camp meals as simple as the touch of a button.
Discover Tiffin Allegro Bay Super C RVs nationwide.
RV Specs
- Length: 39’4”
- Chassis: Freightliner® S2RV Chassis
- Sleeping Capacity: Up to 6
- Freshwater Capacity: 150 gallons
- Waste Water Capacity: 70 (gray) and 45 (black) gallons
Thor Motor Coach Magnitude RS36
The Thor Magnitude RS36 is another 4x4 Super C RV with a 6.7L Power Stroke Turbo Diesel engine that delivers up to 12,000 pounds of towing capacity. Even if you don’t tow, that powerful engine won’t have any trouble with this RV’s heavy-duty construction, which features a welded tubular steel floor, a welded tubular aluminum roof and sidewall cage construction, and Vacu-bond laminated roof, walls, and floor.Inside that beefy package, Thor equipped the RS36 with all the features you need for comfortable easy navigation. That includes safety features like lane departure warning and pre-collision assist, comfort amenities like adjustable pedals and heated remote exterior mirrors, and an entertainment system with an 8” color LCD touchscreen and voice-command recognition.
To keep you comfortable and keep your systems running throughout the camping season, this 50-amp coach is built with dual 13,500-BTU air conditioning units, a 100-watt solar charging system with charge controller, and a 6,000-watt Onan diesel generator with automatic generator start to keep your appliances powered when camping off-grid.
Check the price of Thor Magnitude motorhomes in your region.
RV Specs
- Length: 37’8”
- Chassis: Ford® F-600 Chassis
- Sleeping Capacity: Up to 6
- Freshwater Capacity: 75 gallons
- Waste Water Capacity: 40 (gray) and 40 (black) gallons
- Camping World’s Guide to Luxury RVs
- 2022 Luxury Fifth Wheels
- Four Class B+ RVs That Goldilocks Would Love
2024.05.16 18:45 heirapparent91 Possible hackjob splice into old K&T wiring behind ceiling light fixture
Hi everyone,
I was replacing a few outlets and light fixtures at a friends 190x something house he recently bought. Breaker box is from around 2001 but the house wiring itself is like a "history of house wiring" museum. There are old porcelain tubes (without any wires around them) still present next to the breaker box in the basement, old BX cable, and several generations of NM visible throughout the house.
https://imgur.com/a/XiZb2Hp
But I didn't find any actual K&T wiring until I pulled off a ceiling light fixture that had a (relatively) recent NM cable jammed into the same knockout as a much older cloth-covered cable. The "cloth" cable has a black rubber-insulated wire inside as well as an "orangeish" wire that I am guessing is a discolored old neutral? The black wire from this cable is hot when I tested it. The newer NM in the box runs to the switch that controlled this light.
That didn't sit right with me so I pulled out the pancake box (which was roughly screwed into the lathe behind the plaster ceiling with four square head drywall screws. The attached pictures are what I saw in the ceiling cavity.
Obviously there is K&T running above the ceiling (and below the floor above) but I can't be sure if the cloth wires I'm seeing here are being fed from K&T. It's hard to make out but it looks like some kind of splice that is suspiciously close to that old K&T.
What do you think is happening here and what would you do to address? I was considering pulling up a few boards from the floor above assuming they're face nailed (obviously with the power off) and investigating further before jumping to any conclusions.
submitted by heirapparent91 to AskElectricians [link] [comments]
I was replacing a few outlets and light fixtures at a friends 190x something house he recently bought. Breaker box is from around 2001 but the house wiring itself is like a "history of house wiring" museum. There are old porcelain tubes (without any wires around them) still present next to the breaker box in the basement, old BX cable, and several generations of NM visible throughout the house.
https://imgur.com/a/XiZb2Hp
But I didn't find any actual K&T wiring until I pulled off a ceiling light fixture that had a (relatively) recent NM cable jammed into the same knockout as a much older cloth-covered cable. The "cloth" cable has a black rubber-insulated wire inside as well as an "orangeish" wire that I am guessing is a discolored old neutral? The black wire from this cable is hot when I tested it. The newer NM in the box runs to the switch that controlled this light.
That didn't sit right with me so I pulled out the pancake box (which was roughly screwed into the lathe behind the plaster ceiling with four square head drywall screws. The attached pictures are what I saw in the ceiling cavity.
Obviously there is K&T running above the ceiling (and below the floor above) but I can't be sure if the cloth wires I'm seeing here are being fed from K&T. It's hard to make out but it looks like some kind of splice that is suspiciously close to that old K&T.
What do you think is happening here and what would you do to address? I was considering pulling up a few boards from the floor above assuming they're face nailed (obviously with the power off) and investigating further before jumping to any conclusions.
2024.05.16 18:44 calvin324hk [H] 1000+ Games / DLCs / VR Games [W] Paypal / Wishlist / Offers
https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/pikmri/calvin324hks_igs_rep_page/
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
DLCs and Softwares:
submitted by calvin324hk to indiegameswap [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
- 10 Second Ninja X
- 11-11 Memories Retold
- 112 Operator
- 12 is Better Than 6
- 198X
- 1993 Space Machine
- 60 Parsecs
- 7 Billion Humans
- 8 DOORS
- 8-bit Adventure Anthology: Volume I
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Game of Thrones: The Board Game
- A Hat in Time
- A Hole New World
- A JUGGLER'S TALE
- A Long Way Down
- A PLAGUE TALE: INNOCENCE
- A Robot Named Fight!
- A Tale for Anna
- A.I.M.2 Clan Wars
- Ace Combat Assault Horizon Enhanced Edition
- Adore
- Aeterna Noctis
- AETHERIS
- Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot The First Cases
- AIdol
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alba: A Wildlife Adventure
- Alder's Blood: Definitive Edition
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- Konung 2
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- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE
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- Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
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- Overpass
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- OZYMANDIAS: BRONZE AGE EMPIRE SIM
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- Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
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- Princess Kaguya: Legend of the Moon Warrior
- Pro Cycling Manager 2020
- Prodeus
- Project CARS - GOTY Edition
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- PROJECT WINTER
- Propnight
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- qomp
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- Quern - Undying Thoughts
- Radio Commander
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- RAILROAD CORPORATION
- Railroad Tycoon 3
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- Railway Empire
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- Rayon Riddles - Rise of the Goblin King
- Re: Legend
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- Regular Human Basketball
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- REMNANT: FROM THE ASHES - COMPLETE EDITION
- Republique
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- RETROWAVE
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- Riven: The Sequel to MYST
- River City Girls
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- Songs of Conquest
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- Spartan Fist
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- Spidersaurs
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- Stirring Abyss
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- STRANGER
- Strategic Command: World War I
- Strategic Mind: Blitzkrieg
- Strategic Mind: Fight for Freedom
- Strategic Mind: Spectre of Communism
- Strategic Mind: Spirit of Liberty
- Strategy & Tactics: Wargame Collection
- Streamer Life Simulator
- Street Fighter V
- Street of fury ex
- Strider
- Strikey Sisters
- Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
- Styx: Master of Shadows
- Styx: Shards of Darkness
- SuchArt
- Sudden Strike Gold
- Suite 776
- Sumoman
- Sunblaze
- SUNLESS BUNDLE
- Sunset Overdrive
- Super Buff HD
- Super Mag Bot
- Superbugs: Awaken
- Superhot
- Surgeon Simulator 2
- Survive the Nights
- Surviving Mars
- Surviving Mars
- Surviving The Aftermath
- Swag and Sorcery
- Sword Legacy Omen
- Sword of the Necromancer
- Swords and Soldiers 2 Shawarmageddon
- Syberia 3
- Symphonic Rain
- Symphony of War: The Nephilim Saga
- Synthwave Dream '85
- Tacoma
- Take Off - The Flight Simulator
- Tales
- Tales from the Borderlands
- Tales of Vesperia™: Definitive Edition
- Talk to Strangers
- Tallowmere
- Tangledeep
- Tank Mechanic Simulator
- Tannenberg
- Team Sonic Racing
- TEKKEN 7
- TEMTEM
- Terminus: Zombie Survivors
- Terror of Hemasaurus
- Textorcist
- Tharsis
- The Adventure Pals
- The Amazing American Circus
- The Anacrusis
- The Ascent
- The Battle of Polytopia
- The Battle of Polytopia *DLC1. Cymanti Tribe *DLC2. ∑∫ỹriȱŋ Tribe *DLC3. Aquarion Tribe *DLC4. Polaris Tribe
- The Blackout Club
- The Callisto Protocol™
- The Chess Variants Club
- The Citadel
- The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes
- THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: LITTLE HOPE
- The Darkest Tales
- The Dungeon Beneath
- The Dungeon of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet of Chaos
- The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard
- The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind® Game of the Year Edition
- The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion® Game of the Year Edition
- The Elder Scrolls Online
- The Escapists 2
- THE GAME OF LIFE 2
- The Golf Club™ 2019 featuring PGA TOUR
- The Haunted Island, a Frog Detective Game
- The Hong Kong Massacre
- The Horror Of Salazar House
- The Innsmouth Case
- The Invisible Hours
- The Jackbox Party Pack 9
- The Last Campfire
- The LEGO Movie 2 Videogame
- The Letter - Horror Visual Novel
- The Long Dark
- The Manhole: Masterpiece Edition
- The Mortuary Assistant
- The Mummy Demastered
- The Outer Worlds
- THE OUTER WORLDS: SPACER'S CHOICE EDITION
- THE PALE BEYOND
- The Quarry
- The Quarry deluxe
- The Ramp
- The Red Lantern
- The Rewinder
- The Sacred Tears TRUE
- The Sexy Brutale
- The Tarnishing of Juxtia
- The Tenants
- The Uncertain - The Last Quiet Day
- THE UNCERTAIN: LAST QUIET DAY
- The Uncertain: Light At The End
- The USB Stick Found in the Grass
- The Walking Dead
- The Walking Dead - 400 Days
- The Walking Dead Saints and Sinners
- The Walking Dead: A New Frontier
- The Walking Dead: Final Season
- The Walking Dead: Michonne - A Telltale Miniseries
- The Walking Dead: Saints & Sinners
- The Walking Dead: Season 1
- The Walking Dead: Season Two
- The Way
- The Wild At Heart
- The Wild Eight
- The Witness
- Them and Us
- They Bleed Pixels
- Thief of Thieves
- This War of Mine
- This Way Madness Lies
- Three Kingdom: The Journey
- Time on Frog Island
- Tinkertown
- Tiny Tina’s Wonderland(EU)
- TINY TINA'S WONDERLANDS CHAOTIC GREAT EDITION
- Tiny Troopers
- Tinykin
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- TIS-100
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- Tokyo Xanadu eX+
- Tools up
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- Total Tank Simulator
- Tour de France 2020
- Tower Unite
- Trailblazers
- Train Sim World 3: Standard Edition
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- Train Valley 1
- Transport INC
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- TRIBES OF MIDGARD
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- Tropico 5 - Complete Collection
- Trover Saves the Universe
- Tunche
- Turmoil
- Turok 2: Seeds of Evil
- Twin Mirror
- Two Point Campus
- Two Point Hospital
- TYPECAST
- Tyrant's Blessing
- Ultimate Chicken Horse
- Ultimate Zombie Defense
- Ultra Space Battle Brawl
- Unavowed
- Undead Horde
- Unexplored 2: The Wayfarer's Legacy
- Unity of Command: Stalingrad Campaign
- Universim
- UNLOVED
- Unpacking
- Until I have you
- Unto The End
- Upside Down
- URU: Complete Chronicles
- Vagante
- Valfaris
- Valfaris: Mecha Therion
- Valkryia Chronicles 4 Complete Edition
- Valkyria Chronicles 4 Complete Edition
- Valkyria Chronicles 4: Complete Edition
- Vambrace: Cold Soul
- Vampire Survivors
- Vectronom
- Velocity Noodle
- Venba
- Verne: The Shape of Fantasy
- Victoria 3
- Victoria II
- Viking: Battle For Asgard
- Virgo Versus The Zodiac
- VirtuaVerse
- Visage
- Viscerafest
- Void Bastards
- VOIDIGO
- Volcanoids
- Voltage High Society
- V-Rally 4
- Wanderlust: Travel Stories (GOG)
- Wargroove
- Warhammer 40,000 Sanctus Reach - Complete Edition
- Warhammer 40,000: Armageddon - Imperium Complete
- Warhammer 40,000: Battlesector
- Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Relics of War
- Warhammer 40,000: Mechanicus
- Warhammer 40,000: Space Wolf Special Edition
- WARHAMMER AGE OF SIGMAR: REALMS OF RUIN – ULTIMATE EDITION
- Warhammer vermintide collector's edition
- Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
- Warhammer: Vermintide 2
- Warman
- Wasteland 3
- Wayward
- WE NEED TO GO DEEPER
- We should talk.
- We Were Here Together
- We Were Here Too
- Webbed
- What Lies in the Multiverse
- When Ski Lifts Go Wrong
- while True: learn()
- Whos Your daddy
- Wick
- Will You Snail?
- Windward
- Witch It
- Witchy Life Story
- wizard of legends
- Wolfenstein 3D
- Worms Rumble
- WRC 6 FIA World Rally Championship
- WRC 7 FIA World Rally Championship
- WWE 2K Battlegrounds
- WWE 2K23
- WWZ Aftermath
- Wytchwood
- X-COM: COMPLETE PACK
- XCOM: ULTIMATE COLLECTION
- XIII - Classic
- X-Morph: Defense + European Assault, Survival of the Fittest, and Last Bastion DLC
- X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
- Yakuza Kiwami
- Yakuza: Like A Dragon
- Yumeutsutsu Re:After
- Yumeutsutsu Re:Master
- Zen Chess: Mate in One, Mate in 2 , Mate in 3 , Mate in 4 , Champion's Moves (5 games)
- Ziggurat
- Zombie Army 4
- Zombie Army Trilogy
- Zool Redimensioned
- For The King: Lost Civilization Adventure Pack
- Train Simulator: Isle of Wight Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: Woodhead Electric Railway in Blue Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: North Somerset Railway Route Add-On
- Train Simulator: Union Pacific Heritage SD70ACes Loco Add-On
- Train Simulator: London to Brighton Route Add-On
- BR Class 170 'Turbostar' DMU Add-On
- DB BR 648 Loco Add-On
- Europa Universalis IV: Wealth of Nations
- Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Conquest of Paradise
- Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Res Publica
- Grand Central Class 180 'Adelante' DMU Add-On
- Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - Gilroy Route Add-On
- SONIC ADVENTURE 2: BATTLE
- Small World - A Spider's Web
- Small World - Cursed
- Small World - Royal Bonus
- The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - Goodies Pack
- The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - OST
- Thompson Class B1 Loco Add-On
- Total War: Shogun 2 - Rise of the Samurai
- Train Sim World® 3: Birmingham Cross-city line
- Train Sim World®: BR Class 20 'Chopper' Loco
- Train Sim World®: Brighton Main Line: London Victoria - Brighton
- Train Sim World®: Caltrain MP36PH-3C 'Baby Bullet'
- Train Sim World®: Cathcart Circle Line: Glasgow - Newton & Neilston
- Train Sim World®: Clinchfield Railroad: Elkhorn - Dante
- Train Sim World®: Great Western Express
- Train Sim World®: Hauptstrecke Hamburg - Lubeck
- Train Sim World®: LIRR M3 EMU
- Train Sim World®: Long Island Rail Road: New York - Hicksville
- Train Sim World®: Nahverkehr Dresden - Riesa
- Train Sim World®: Northern Trans-Pennine: Manchester - Leeds
- Train Sim World®: Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - San Jose
- Train Sim World®: Rhein-Ruhr Osten: Wuppertal - Hagen
- Train Sim World®: Tees Valley Line: Darlington - Saltburn-by-the-sea
- Worms Rumble - Armageddon Weapon Skin Pack
- Worms Rumble - Captain & Shark Double Pack
- Worms Rumble - Legends Pack
- Worms Rumble - New Challengers Pack
- Ashampoo Photo Optimizer 7
- Dagon: by H. P. Lovecraft - The Eldritch Box DLC
- Duke Nukem Forever Hail to the Icons
- Duke Nukem Forever The Doctor Who Cloned Me
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Cygon Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Nyvoss Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Terra Garage Kit
- GRIP: Combat Racing - Vintek Garage Kit
- GameGuru
- GameMaker Studio 2 Creator 12 Months
- Intro to Game Development with Unity
- Music Maker EDM Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Darkness Over Daggerford
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Dark Dreams of Furiae
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Tyrants of the Moonsea
- Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition
- Neverwinter Nights: Infinite Dungeons
- Neverwinter Nights: Pirates of the Sword Coast
- Neverwinter Nights: Wyvern Crown of Cormyr
- PDF-Suite 1 Year License
- Pathfinder Second Edition Core Rulebook and Starfinder Core Rulebook
- RPG Maker VX
- WWE 2K BATTLEGROUNDS - Ultimate Brawlers Pass
- We Are Alright
- The Outer Worlds Expansion Pass
- A Hat in Time - Seal the Deal DLC
- City Skylines:mass transit
- A Game Of Thrones - A Dance With Dragons
- A Game Of Thrones - A Feast For Crows
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Gods of Asgard
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mythical Monsters
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mystics of Midgard
- Carcassonne - The Princess and The Dragon DLC
- Carcassonne - Traders & Builders DLC
- Carcassonne - Winter & Gingerbread Man DLC
- Carcassonne - Inns & Cathedrals
- Carcassonne - The River
- Splendor: The Trading Posts DLC
- Splendor: The Strongholds DLC
- Splendor: The Cities DLC
- Small World - Be Not Afraid... DLC
- Small World - Grand Dames DLC
- Small World - Cursed!
- Sands of Salzaar - The Ember Saga
- Sands of Salzaar - The Tournament
- Monster Train: The Last Divinity DLC
- WARSAW
2024.05.16 18:44 calvin324hk [H] 1000+ Games / DLCs / VR Games [W] Paypal / Wishlist / Offers
https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/pikmri/calvin324hks_igs_rep_page/
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
DLCs and Softwares:
submitted by calvin324hk to SteamGameSwap [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name
- 10 Second Ninja X
- 11-11 Memories Retold
- 112 Operator
- 12 is Better Than 6
- 198X
- 1993 Space Machine
- 60 Parsecs
- 7 Billion Humans
- 8 DOORS
- 8-bit Adventure Anthology: Volume I
- 9 Years of Shadows
- 911 Operator
- A Game of Thrones: The Board Game
- A Hat in Time
- A Hole New World
- A JUGGLER'S TALE
- A Long Way Down
- A PLAGUE TALE: INNOCENCE
- A Robot Named Fight!
- A Tale for Anna
- A.I.M.2 Clan Wars
- Ace Combat Assault Horizon Enhanced Edition
- Adore
- Aeterna Noctis
- AETHERIS
- Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot The First Cases
- AIdol
- Airborne Kingdom
- Alba: A Wildlife Adventure
- Alder's Blood: Definitive Edition
- Alfred Hitchcock - Vertigo
- Alien Breed Trilogy
- Aliens vs. Predator™ Collection
- All-Star Fruit Racing
- Almost There: The Platformer
- American Fugitive
- American Truck Simulator
- Amerzone: The Explorer’s Legacy
- AMID EVIL
- Amnesia rebirth
- Amnesia: The Dark Descent + Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
- Anomalous
- Another World – 20th Anniversary Edition
- Antigraviator
- Anuchard
- APICO
- APICO
- Aragami
- Aragami 2
- Arboria
- Arcade Paradise
- Arcade Paradise - Arcade Paradise EP
- Arcade Spirits
- Arkham Horror: Mother's Embrace
- Armada 2526 Gold Edition
- Army Men RTS
- army of ruin
- Arto
- Ary and the Secret of Seasons
- As Far as the Eye
- Ascension to the Throne
- Assemble With Care
- Assetto Corsa Competizione
- Assetto Corsa Ultimate Edition
- Astebreed Definitive Edition
- Astronarch
- Attack of the Earthlings
- Automachef
- Automobilista
- Automobilista 2
- AUTONAUTS
- AUTONAUTS VS PIRATEBOTS
- Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora™ - Ubisoft Connect
- AVICII Invector: Encore Edition
- Awesomenauts All Nauts pack
- Baba is you
- Back 4 Blood
- Back 4 blood (EU)
- Backbone
- Baldur's Gate II: Enhanced Edition
- Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition
- Banners of Ruin
- Bartlow's Dread Machine
- BASEMENT
- Batbarian: Testament of the Primordials
- Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
- Batman: Arkham Origins
- Battle Royale Tycoon
- Battlecruisers
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock
- BATTLESTAR GALACTICA DEADLOCK SEASON ONE
- Battlestar Galactica Deadlock: Complete
- BATTLETECH MERCENARY COLLECTION
- BATTLETECH Shadow Hawk Pack
- BEAUTIFUL DESOLATION
- BEFORE WE LEAVE
- Beholder 2
- Ben 10
- Ben 10: Power Trip
- Bendy and the Ink Machine™
- Between the Stars
- Beyond a Steel Sky
- Beyond The Edge Of Owlsgard
- Beyond the Long Night
- BEYOND THE WIRE
- Beyond: Two Souls
- BIOMUTANT
- Bionic Commando
- Bionic Commando Rearmed
- BioShock: The Collection
- BLACK BOOK
- Black Moon Chronicles
- Black Paradox
- BLACK SKYLANDS
- BLACKHOLE: Complete Edition
- Blacksad: Under the Skin
- Blade of Darkness
- Blasphemous
- Blazing Chrome
- Blightbound
- Blood And Zombies
- Blood Rage: Digital Edition
- Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night
- Bomber Crew
- Boneless Zombie
- Boomerang Fu
- Borderlands 3
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe
- Borderlands 3 Super Deluxe Edition
- Borderlands: The Handsome Collection
- Bot Vice
- Bounty of One
- Brawlout
- Breakout: Recharged
- Breathedge
- bridge constructor
- Bridge constructor medieval
- bridge constructor stunts
- Broken Lines
- Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
- Brutal Legend
- Bug Fables: The Everlasting Sapling
- BUILDER SIMULATOR
- calico
- Call of Duty® Modern Warfare 3™ (2011)
- Call of Juarez: Gunslinger
- Car Mechanic 2018
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2015
- Car Mechanic Simulator 2018
- Castle Morihisa
- Castle on the Coast
- castle storm
- CastleStorm
- Cat Cafe Manager
- Caveblazers
- Celeste
- Centipede: Recharged
- CHANGE: A Homeless Survival Experience
- Charlie's Adventure
- Chenso Club
- Chernobylite: Enhanced Edition
- Chess Ultra
- Chicago 1930 : The Prohibition
- Chivalry 2
- Chop Goblins
- Chorus
- Cities Skylines + After Dark
- Cities: Skylines
- City of Beats
- CivCity: Rome
- Click and Slay
- Cloud Gardens
- Cloudpunk
- Code Vein
- Coffee Talk
- Comedy Night
- Command & Conquer Remastered (Origin)
- Complete Dread X Collection
- Conarium
- Construction Simulator (2015) Deluxe Edition
- Constructor Plus
- Control
- Cook, Serve, Delicious! 3?!
- cornucopia
- Corridor Z
- Cosmic Osmo and the Worlds Beyond the Mackerel
- Cosmonautica
- Crash Drive 2
- Crash Drive 3
- Creaks
- Creepy Tale
- Crookz the big heist
- CROSSBOW: Bloodnight
- Crush Your Enemies
- Cube Runner
- Cultist Simulator: Anthology Edition
- Curse: The Eye of Isis
- Cyber Ops
- Cybercube
- Danger Scavenger
- Dark Deity
- DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: HOUSE OF ASHES
- Darksiders Warmastered
- Darkwood
- DARQ: Complete Edition
- Day of the Tentacle Remastered
- days of war definitive edition
- Dead by Daylight
- Dead Estate
- Dead Rising 2
- Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
- Death Stranding Directors Cut
- DEATH STRANDING DIRECTOR'S CUT
- Deceased
- DECEIVE INC.
- Degrees of Separation
- Delicious! Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Deliver Us The Moon
- Demetrios - Deluxe Edition
- Depraved
- DESCENDERS
- DESOLATE
- Destiny 2: Beyond Light
- DESTROYER: THE U-BOAT HUNTER
- Detention
- Devil May Cry HD Collection
- Devilated
- Dicey Dungeons
- Dirt 5
- dirt rally
- Dirt Rally 2.0
- Disaster Band
- Disciples III: Reincarnation
- Discolored
- DISTRAINT 2
- Distrust
- DmC: Devil May Cry
- Do Not Feed the Monkeys
- Don't Be Afraid
- Doomed Lands
- Door Kickers: Action Squad
- Doorways: Prelude
- Downfall
- Dragons Dogma Dark Arisen
- Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen
- Draugen
- Draw Slasher
- Drawful 2
- Dreams in the Witch House
- Dreamscaper
- DreamWorks Dragons: Dawn of New Riders
- DRIFT21
- Driftland: The Magic Revival
- drive!drive!drive!
- Drone Swarm
- Due Process
- Duke Nukem: Manhattan Project
- Duke of Alpha Centauri
- Dungeon Rushers
- Dungeons 2
- Dungeons 3
- DUSK
- Dusk Diver
- Dust to the End
- DV: Rings of Saturn
- Dynopunk
- Earth Defense Force 4.1 The Shadow of New Despair
- Eastern Exorcist
- Eiyuden Chronicle: Rising
- El Matador
- Elderand
- ELDEST SOULS
- Electrician Simulator
- Elemental Survivors
- Elex
- Elex II
- Elite Dangerous
- Embr
- Empire: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Empyrion - Galactic Survival
- ENCASED: A SCI-FI POST-APOCALYPTIC RPG
- Endless Space 2
- Endless Space 2 - Digital Deluxe Edition
- Endless Space® 2 - Digital Deluxe Edition
- Endzone - A World Apart
- Epistory - Typing Chronicles
- Escape the backrooms
- Eternal Threads
- Europa Universalis IV
- European Ship Simulator
- Everdream Valley
- Evil Genius 2: World Domination
- Exorder
- EXPEDITIONS: ROME
- Expeditions: Viking
- Explosionade
- F1 2018
- F1 2019 Anniversary Edition
- F1 2020
- F1 RACE STARS Complete Edition Include DLC
- Fable Anniversary
- Factory Town
- Fallback uprising
- FALLOUT 1
- Family Mysteries 3: Criminal Mindset
- FANTASY BLACKSMITH
- FARMER'S DYNASTY
- Farming Simulator 17
- Farming Simulator 19
- Fictorum
- Field of Glory II
- Fights in Tight Spaces
- Filthy Animals Heist Simulator
- Firefighting Simulator - The Squad
- Fishing Adventure
- Flashback
- FLATLAND Vol.2
- FlatOut
- FLING TO THE FINISH
- Floppy Knights
- Fluffy Horde
- FOBIA - ST. DINFNA HOTEL
- For the King
- For The King: Lost Civilization Adventure Pack
- Forgive me Father
- Forts
- Fred3ric
- Fresh Start Cleaning Simulator
- Friends vs Friends
- Frogun
- From Space
- Frostpunk: Game of the Year Edition
- Frozenheim
- Fun with Ragdolls: The Game
- Funtasia
- Gamedec
- Gamedec - Definitive Edition
- Gang Beasts
- GARAGE bad trip
- Garden Story
- Garfield Kart
- GAS STATION SIMULATOR
- Gelly Break Deluxe
- Genesis Alpha One Deluxe Edition
- Gevaudan
- Ghostrunner
- Giana Sisters 2D
- GIGA WRECKER
- Gigantosaurus: Dino Kart
- Glitch Busters: Stuck On You
- Gloria Victis
- Go Home Dinosaurs
- GOAT OF DUTY
- GOD EATER 3
- Godlike Burger
- Godstrike
- Going Under
- Golf Gang
- Golf It!
- Gone Home + Original Soundtrack
- Good Knight
- Gotham Knights
- GREAK: MEMORIES OF AZUR
- GREEDFALL
- Gremlins, inc
- grey goo
- GRID - 2019
- grid ultimate
- GRIP: Combat Racing
- Gungrave G.O.R.E
- Guppy
- Guts and glory
- GYLT
- Hacknet
- Haegemonia: Legions of Iron
- Hamilton's Great Adventure
- Hammerwatch
- Hands of Necromancy
- Havsala: Into the Soul Palace
- Headsnatchers
- Heartwood Heroes
- Heat Signature
- Helheim Hassle
- Hell Let Loose
- Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice
- Hellbound
- Hellstuck: Rage With Your Friends
- Hero of the Kingdom III
- Hero of the Kingdom: The Lost Tales 2
- Heroes of Hammerwatch
- Heros hour
- Hexologic
- Hidden & Dangerous 2: Courage Under Fire
- Hidden & Dangerous: Action Pack
- Hidden Deep
- High On Life
- Hitman (2016) Game of the Year Edition
- HITMAN 2 - Gold Edition
- Hoa
- Hob
- Hollow Knight
- Holy Potatoes! A Spy Story?!
- Home Sweet Home
- Home Sweet Home EP2
- Homestead Arcana
- Hood: Outlaws & Legends
- Hoplegs
- Hot Tin Roof: The Cat That Wore A Fedora
- HOT WHEELS UNLEASHED ™
- Hotshot Racing
- House Flipper
- How to Survive 2
- Hue
- Human: Fall Flat
- HUMANKIND DEFINITIVE EDITION
- Hungry Flame
- Hyper Knights
- I am Bread
- I Am Fish
- I am not a Monster: First Contact
- I Hate Running Backwards
- ibb & obb Double Pack
- ICBM
- Ice Age Scrat's Nutty Adventure
- Ice Lakes
- Impostor Factory
- IN SOUND MIND
- Indivisible
- INDUSTRIA
- Infectonator 3: Apocalypse
- Infinite Beyond The Mind
- Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
- Insane 2
- INSOMNIA: The Ark
- Internet Cafe Simulator
- Internet Cafe Simulator 2
- Interstellar Space: Genesis
- Iron Fisticle
- Iron Harvest
- Ittle Dew
- Ittle Dew 2+
- Jack Move
- Jackbox party pack 2
- Jackbox party pack 5
- JANITOR BLEEDS
- Joint Task Force
- Jotun: Valhalla Edition
- Journey For Elysium
- Journey to the Savage Planet
- JUMANJI: The Video Game
- JumpJet Rex
- Jupiter Hell
- Jurassic Park: The Game
- Jurassic World Evolution
- Jurassic World Evolution 2
- JUST CAUSE 4: COMPLETE EDITION
- Just Die Already
- Kardboard Kings: Card Shop Simulator
- Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes
- Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth
- Kentucky Route Zero - Season Pass Edition
- Kerbal Space Program
- Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
- Killing Room
- Kingdom Two Crowns
- Kingdom: New Lands
- King's Bounty: Crossworlds
- Knights of Pen & Paper 2
- Knock-knock
- Koi-Koi Japan [Hanafuda playing cards] *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.1 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.2 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.3 DLC
- Konung 2
- KungFu Kickball
- Labyrinthine
- Lair of the Clockwork God
- Laserlife
- LAST OASIS
- Lawn Mowing Simulator
- Layers of Fear: Masterpiece Edition
- Lead and Gold: Gangs of the Wild West
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Hiragana Battle
- Learn Japanese To Survive! Katakana War
- Learn Japanese to Survive! Trilogy
- Legend of Keepers
- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE
- LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE.
- Leisure Suit Larry - Wet Dreams Don't Dry
- Leisure Suit Larry 1-7
- Lemnis Gate
- Lemon Cake
- lethal league blaze
- Let's School
- Levelhead
- Liberated (GOG)
- Life is Strange Complete Season (Episodes 1-5)
- Light Fairytale Episode 1
- Light Fairytale Episode 2
- LIGHTMATTER
- Little dragons cafe
- Little Hope
- Little Inner Monsters - Card Game
- Little Nightmares
- Little Nightmares Complete Edition
- Livelock
- Loop Hero
- Loot River
- Looterkings
- Lornsword Winter Chronicle
- Lost Castle
- Love Letter
- Lovecraft's Untold Stories
- Lovely planet arcade
- Lucius2
- Lucius3
- Ludus
- Lumberhill
- LunarLux
- Lust for Darkness
- Lust from Beyond: M Edition
- Mad Experiments: Escape Room
- Mad Max
- Mafia Definitive Edition
- Mafia: Definitive Edition
- Magenta Horizon
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle
- Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle : School Girls Edition
- Mail Time
- Maize
- Maneater
- Marooners
- MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE
- Marvel's Avengers - The Definitive Edition
- Mato Anomalies
- Max Payne 3
- Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
- Medieval II: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Medieval: Total War Collection
- MEEPLE STATION
- Men of War
- MERCHANT OF THE SKIES
- METAL HELLSINGER
- Metal Hellsinger
- Metro Exodus
- Metro last light
- Metro: Last Light Redux
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
- Middle-Earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
- MIDNIGHT PROTOCOL
- Mighty Switch Force! Collection
- MIND SCANNERS
- Ministry of Broadcast
- Minute of Islands
- Miscreated
- Mists of Noyah
- MKXL
- Mob Rule Classic
- Monaco
- Monster Hunter: Rise
- Monster Slayers - Complete Edition
- Monstrum
- Monstrum 2
- Moon Hunters
- Moons of Madness
- MORDHAU
- Mordheim: City of the Damned
- Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate Edition
- MORTAL KOMBAT XL
- Mortal Shell
- Motorcycle Mechanic Simulator 2021
- Mr. Run and Jump
- Murder Mystery Machine
- My Big Sister
- My Friend Peppa Pig
- My Lovely Wife
- My Summer Adventure: Memories of Another Life
- My Time At Portia
- Mythforce
- N++ (NPLUSPLUS)
- Napoleon: Total War - Definitive Edition
- Narcos: Rise of the Cartels
- NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
- NECROMUNDA: HIRED GUN
- Necronator: Dead Wrong
- NecroVisioN: Lost Company
- NecroWorm
- Neighbours back From Hell
- Nelly Cootalot: Spoonbeaks Ahoy! HD
- Neon Space
- Neon Space 2
- Neon Sundown
- Nephise: Ascension
- Neurodeck : Psychological Deckbuilder
- Never Alone Arctic Collection (w/ Foxtales DLC and FREE Soundtrack)
- Neverinth
- Neverout
- Neverwinter Nights: Complete Adventures
- Newt One
- Nexomon: Extinction
- Nigate Tale
- Nine Parchments
- Nine Witches: Family Disruption
- No Straight Roads: Encore Edition
- No Time to Relax
- Nomad Survival
- Nongunz: Doppelganger Edition
- Noosphere
- Northgard
- Northmark: Hour of the Wolf
- Nostradamus: The Last Prophecy
- not the robots
- Nurse Love Addiction
- Nurse Love Syndrome
- Nusakana
- Obduction
- Obey Me
- Observer: System Redux
- Occultus - Mediterranean Cabal
- Odallus: The Dark Call
- Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
- One Finger Death Punch 2
- One Hand Clapping
- One More Island
- One Step From Eden
- One Step From Eden (Region locked)
- Orbital Racer
- Organs Please
- OTXO
- Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
- Out of Space
- Overclocked: A History of Violence
- Overlord: Ultimate Evil Collection
- Overpass
- Overruled
- OZYMANDIAS: BRONZE AGE EMPIRE SIM
- Pac-Man Museum +
- Pan'Orama
- Panty Party
- Panzer Corps 2
- Papo & Yo
- PARADISE LOST
- Parkan 2
- PARTISANS 1941
- Passpartout 2: The Lost Artist
- Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous
- Patron
- Paw Patrol: On A Roll!
- Paws of Coal
- Payday 2
- PAYDAY 2
- Peaky Blinders: Mastermind
- PER ASPERA
- Perfect
- PGA 2K21
- PGA Tour 2K21
- Pharaonic
- Pixplode
- Pizza Connection 3
- Plague tale
- Planescape: Torment Enhanced Edition
- Planet Alcatraz
- PLANET ZOO
- PlateUp!
- Pogostuck: Rage With Your Friends
- Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
- Police Stories
- Poly Island
- Post Void
- Power Rangers: Battle for the Grid
- Prank Call
- Prehistoric Kingdom
- Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
- Pretty Girls Panic!
- Prey
- Primal Carnage: Extinction
- Princess Kaguya: Legend of the Moon Warrior
- Pro Cycling Manager 2020
- Prodeus
- Project CARS - GOTY Edition
- Project Warlock
- Project Wingman (EU)
- PROJECT WINTER
- Propnight
- PULSAR: The Lost Colony
- qomp
- Quadrilateral Cowboy
- Quake II
- Quantum Break
- Quern - Undying Thoughts
- Radio Commander
- RAGE
- Rage in Peace
- RAILROAD CORPORATION
- Railroad Tycoon 3
- Railroad Tycoon II Platinum
- Railway Empire
- Rain World
- Rayon Riddles - Rise of the Goblin King
- Re: Legend
- REBEL COPS
- Rebel Galaxy
- Rebel Galaxy Outlaw
- Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
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2024.05.16 18:39 Smelly_Burrit0 AITA for kicking my grandfather down the stairs?
I 26 F and my grandfather 89 M have had a rocky relationship over the years. FYI I’m getting married in a month. Last week, I was just trying to eat my chocolate bar when he walked in and said “If you stop munching on those calories, maybe you could’ve fit into that wedding dress.” That really offended me and I immediately walked away. I talked to my fiancé last night, and he agreed to uninvite him to the wedding, as well as cut ties with my side of the family completely after the wedding.
UPDATE:
My wedding was yesterday, and it couldn't have gone WORSE! First of all, when I walked in, I saw my grandfather drunk as hell singing at the top of his lungs. This clearly was an uncomfortable situation for all the guests and I had to get involved to kick him out. Secondly, Not only did he trash my wedding, he decided to key my car, slash my tires, as well as leak the PRIVATE pictures only I send to my husband to the ENTIRE FAMILY! I don't even know where he got those from. After that, my side of the family refused to pay for the damage and not apologise to me. All they could say was “he’s your grandpa! Treat him with respect.” That really made me realise that my side of the family was just so toxic.
UPDATE 2:
Thank you all for the advice and comments on the post, I didn’t expect to go so viral. I just wanted to clear things up for you guys. I’ve decided to end my relationship with my side of the family as well as kidnap my grandpa.
UPDATE 3:
It’s been 2 days since I locked my grandpa in my basement after kidnapping him 7 days ago. After careful consideration, I strangled him, and kicked him down the stairs. I’m currently sitting on the staircase looking at him not knowing what to do next.
UPDATE 4:
Hello guys, this will be my final update since I have finally been able to dispose of the body, as well as flee the country. Thank you for all the support. I’ll be leaving now and deleting my account.
submitted by Smelly_Burrit0 to u/Smelly_Burrit0 [link] [comments]
UPDATE:
My wedding was yesterday, and it couldn't have gone WORSE! First of all, when I walked in, I saw my grandfather drunk as hell singing at the top of his lungs. This clearly was an uncomfortable situation for all the guests and I had to get involved to kick him out. Secondly, Not only did he trash my wedding, he decided to key my car, slash my tires, as well as leak the PRIVATE pictures only I send to my husband to the ENTIRE FAMILY! I don't even know where he got those from. After that, my side of the family refused to pay for the damage and not apologise to me. All they could say was “he’s your grandpa! Treat him with respect.” That really made me realise that my side of the family was just so toxic.
UPDATE 2:
Thank you all for the advice and comments on the post, I didn’t expect to go so viral. I just wanted to clear things up for you guys. I’ve decided to end my relationship with my side of the family as well as kidnap my grandpa.
UPDATE 3:
It’s been 2 days since I locked my grandpa in my basement after kidnapping him 7 days ago. After careful consideration, I strangled him, and kicked him down the stairs. I’m currently sitting on the staircase looking at him not knowing what to do next.
UPDATE 4:
Hello guys, this will be my final update since I have finally been able to dispose of the body, as well as flee the country. Thank you for all the support. I’ll be leaving now and deleting my account.
2024.05.16 18:32 nemmoph Husband Wanted.
I’m aware that this is unconventional. Believe me, I’ve tried conventional – it didn’t end well for anyone. I require a certain open mindedness that I’m hoping I might find here, but more importantly, I need my future husband to know the rules. Meet-cutes are well and good on the screen, but they don’t guarantee a partner’s ability to follow basic instructions. That was my mistake the first time.
So, begging your pardon for my bluntness, I’m going to be clear about my requirements. Please read carefully – if you can’t meet them, there’s no point in going any further.
A sanctuary has stood in this spot in one form or another since before the ley lines. During its tenure, it has been flooded, put to the flame, and pounded into dust. Time and again, it has been reimagined and rebuilt. Most of the current building dates back to Victoria’s reign, though the oldest parts were constructed in the 13th century. At the very bottom of the garden, cut into the surrounding hills, there is a cave bearing handprints of red ochre.
There has always been an Edwards at the hotel, though of course we haven’t always gone by that name. You would think a family so tied to one place would do a better job of keeping records, but no one is certain of our origins. Perhaps it was a cosmic bargain, or perhaps mere luck – whether good or bad, I have never been able to decide. Either way, our presence is required. Throughout our spotty past, there’s a story here and there of an Edwards deserting their post, and it always coincides with a particularly brutal period of history.
I inherited the position five years ago. At midnight on my eighteenth birthday, my parents took their already-packed suitcases and left. I don’t blame them for their abandonment; I intend to one day do the same thing to my – or, hopefully, our – child.
They send me postcards and photos from time-to-time, always smiling on sunny beaches. Money isn’t a concern for them. That’s part of whatever mysterious deal our ancestors made – when a caretaker leaves in good-standing, they will never want for anything again. They could travel the world for the rest of their lives, always sleeping in the softest sheets and dining in the finest restaurants, and never find their pockets empty.
Keep this point in mind, for if you can meet my requirements, you will share my good fortune.
And what must we do in return? I can all but hear you scream the question. Why, very little. The presence of an Edwards ensures that the guests can’t stray from the hotel grounds. Most of our guests are live-in residents, though we do get the occasional walk-in. Where they come from, I don’t know, for we are not visible to most people who stumble upon our lonely corner of the world. I’ve come to believe the hotel chooses to reveal itself when its lacking entertainment, or to fill a need.
Jimmy, my first husband, was one such guest.
For the most part, the guests are harmless. They’ll give you a little fright from time-to-time, popping out from a wall or turning your bathwater into blood, but I find it hard to hold it against them. I’ve found twenty-three years here dreary; I can’t imagine how bored I would be after five hundred.
There are a few exceptions you should be aware of:
However, there are some rules so critical for your survival that I feel compelled to list them here:
She doted on him. I think he reminded her of her long-dead son, for she pampered him as if he were one of her own. Each morning, she had breakfast ready for him before I had so much as opened my eyes, and she developed a habit of trailing along after him, complimenting his skill as he oiled rusted hinges or set a crooked picture straight.
At first, Jimmy basked in the attention. But by the end of his second month, he was growing bored of Mrs Jones, me, and the hotel itself. We pride ourselves on our facilities. If you need more activity than a turn around the garden, we have a lovely indoor pool – it freezes over every now and then, but most of the time it’s perfectly usable. Our library is unmatched. Although the room is cramped, it has every book imaginable; you only need to think of a particular title, and it will appear on one of the shelves. And now that I’ve dragged us kicking and screaming into the 21st century, we have a wide array of streaming services.
It wasn’t enough for Jimmy. He wanted to go out – eat in a restaurant, watch a film in the cinema, see any faces other than the ones he was surrounded by every day. He began having a drink each evening. One drink turned into several, and after a few weeks, the bar became his permanent residence between dusk and midnight.
He wasn’t the only one getting bored. I had been thrilled when he first arrived; ecstatic when he agreed to stay. How marvellous to feel real flesh beneath my fingers after five years of only the dead for company. What a relief to have some assistance in the many tasks required to keep the hotel running as it should.
The more he drank, the less inclined he was to help – or even spend time in my company. He no longer visited my bed, choosing a room for himself on the opposite end of the floor. When our paths did cross, at best he would ignore me. At worst, he would nitpick or outright rail against me, blaming me for his captivity.
Still, I made an effort to be present whenever he frequented the bar. As lovely as Mrs Jones can be, she does have a tendency to nag. Before and after her death, she was close to teetotal, only consenting to take a single sherry at Christmas, and drinking outside of special occasions is something of a bugbear of hers.
“Think of your health, dear,” she would tell Jimmy brusquely. “You’ll miss it when it’s gone.”
Or, “How about we switch to a nice apple juice now? You’ve had quite enough to drink for one night.”
Most of the time, Jimmy managed to pull himself together enough to flash a charming smile and distract her with a compliment about her latest meal. But after one drink too many, I’d noticed him gritting his teeth and just barely managing to hold his tongue.
It was better if I was present. Playing the doting wife, I insisted on pouring his drinks, watering them down out of his sight. When Mrs Jones’s nagging bordered on relentless, I could always distract her with a game of gin rummy.
On his final day, I was running behind. The ghoul on the second floor – usually the least demanding of our guests – had come down with some dreadful illness, or else decided he wanted to inconvenience me. Either way, I had woken that morning to the foulest stench I had ever experienced. I followed it to his room and found every surface covered in putrid green-blank gunge, its consistency somewhere between mucus and vomit.
All day I scrubbed, taking only brief breaks to step outside before I fainted. By the time the room was restored to a passable state, and I had filled several bin bags to bursting with filthy rags, it was already deep into the night. Mindful of the time, I paused only long enough to wash the streaks of muck from my arms and face before racing to the bar.
I arrived just in time to hear Jimmy’s last words. After he spat them at Mrs Jones, she only stared for a small eternity, her mouth frozen in the motherly smile she wore whenever she scolded him.
Then, like melted wax, her face began to shift.
I shouted at Jimmy to run, but he didn’t need to be told. Before the words left my mouth, he leapt from his barstool and streaked through the door. Mrs Jones followed him seconds later. Her lips were already peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of long, wickedly sharp fangs, while claws sprouted from beneath her lace-edged cuffs.
I sprinted after them, but Jimmy was fuelled by fear and Mrs Jones by whatever force propels the Mrs Joneses of the world. I followed the screeching to the lobby. Breathless, I arrived to see he had arrived within mere feet of the entrance before Mrs Jones grabbed him.
Claws wrapped around his throat, she lifted him into the air. As I watched, her jaw unhinged, the lower part dropping so that it was nearly level with her chest.
That sight drove all the sense out of my head. Forgetting every rule my parents had ever drilled into me, I lunged at her.
She batted me away as though I weighed no more than a fly.
I crashed into the reception desk, the breath bursting from my lungs in a great woosh. I was certain that I would die, for no amount of effort seemed to force air back into my aching chest. At last, as my vision began to dim, I managed to take a small gulp – then another, and another, until I was able to draw myself together enough to regain my feet.
By that time, Mrs Jones had nearly finished her dinner. Jimmy’s chest was splayed open, muscle and shattered ribs protruding every which way from his flesh, and she was devouring the last few bites of his heart.
His head was angled towards me. The light had winked out from his eyes, but they still held his final terror – and an accusation which, I was quite certain, was directed at me. I would like to say I felt only horror, but I couldn’t help my sudden jolt of irritation. How may times had I told him to mind his manners?
Mrs Jones gulped, the sound thick and wet in her gullet, and dropped what remained of Jimmy to the floor.
Then she turned to me.
Here’s another rule for you, one which I hope you never have cause to use: never interfere with a kill.
The Mrs Jones who used to kiss my grazed knees, who argued with my mother for the right to read me bedtime stories, was no longer at the wheel. No amount of pleading or reasoning would move her.
I could only run.
Spinning around, I vaulted over the reception desk and raced for the office behind it. If Jimmy had not been out of his mind with fear and booze, he might have remembered the rules and survived; it was one of several staff-only rooms throughout the hotel warded to keep out unwanted guests.
Just ten steps from desk to door, yet it was the longest journey of my life. My hard-won breath burned my throat; my heart pounded in my ears, deafening me to all other sounds than Mrs Jones’s heavy, pounding footsteps.
Grasping the handle, her hot, copper-tanged breath was on my neck. Fire exploded in my flesh as she raked her claws down my back. A step further away, and I wouldn’t have made it; the pain would have been too great. But I managed to throw myself into the office and slam the door before crumpling to the ground.
Before I passed out, I heard her grunting and shrieking outside, furious that she couldn’t get in.
Three days I spent in the office, emerging only to feed The Thing in the Cellar before scurrying back to my hiding place. Whenever I left, I tried not to look at the mangled heap that used to be Jimmy. There was no avoiding the smell, though.
With no small difficulty, and the help of a first aid kit, I managed to treat and bandage the wounds on my back. They bled sluggishly all throughout the first day, but thankfully didn’t fester.
On the morning of the fourth day, there was a tentative knock on the door followed by the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. I waited until they had disappeared down the corridor before cracking the door open. On the floor was a freshly baked Victoria sponge and a beautifully written note of apology.
It took every ounce of courage I possessed, but that evening I forced myself to go to the dining room. Mrs Jones was waiting for me, her eyes red-rimmed, a steaming cottage pie on the table. I tried not to flinch as she took my hand, re-iterating the apology she had already delivered in writing.
The next morning, she helped me clean Jimmy up.
We treated each other cautiously for a while, but eventually we got back to playing gin rummy again. When the scars on my back twinge, as they sometimes do, she helps me rub a soothing ointment into them. Even though I’ve told her it’s not necessary, she apologises every time.
So, you’ve heard my story and you have my proposal. If you think you could be the man for me, I invite you to visit. You will need to drink a cup of ram’s blood (a pinch of nutmeg makes it a little more tolerable) and light a black candle before bedtime. When you next wake, you will find yourself at our gates. As travel arrangements go, it’s hardly the Orient Express, but it beats the airfare.
If you have read this without flinching, if you can stomach the journey to get here, if you walk up to our door and find the nerve to open it, I have one more instruction for you.
Just as you enter, look to your right. You will see a deep brown stain on the lobby carpet. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but it just won’t come out. Perhaps that’s for the best. It’s a good reminder of what will happen to you should you call Mrs Jones a “nosy old bat”.
And when you run into Jimmy – as you will, for he still likes hanging around the bar in the evening, his silvery wounds glistening as though they had just been inflicted – don’t let him convince you he was some sort of victim.
He knew the rules.
submitted by nemmoph to nosleep [link] [comments]
So, begging your pardon for my bluntness, I’m going to be clear about my requirements. Please read carefully – if you can’t meet them, there’s no point in going any further.
- Must want children. At least one child, anyway. I’m open to the idea of more, but one is an absolute must.
- Must be in it for the long haul. Until our child turns eighteen, to be precise. I understand that level of commitment is a daunting prospect, particularly when we have not yet met. After our child is born, you are welcome to ignore me, if you please, or take your pleasure elsewhere – though I will warn you that it might be difficult to come by. But you will live under my roof until our child is an adult.
- Homebody preferred. It will make the next two decades easier on you.
- Must have impeccable manners. I will provide a manual outlining the required etiquette, but you must at least have a grasp of basic courtesy to begin with. If you let your tongue run away with you, or don’t bother to wish your neighbours a good morning when you pass them in the street, stop reading – this is not the opportunity for you. Seriously.
A sanctuary has stood in this spot in one form or another since before the ley lines. During its tenure, it has been flooded, put to the flame, and pounded into dust. Time and again, it has been reimagined and rebuilt. Most of the current building dates back to Victoria’s reign, though the oldest parts were constructed in the 13th century. At the very bottom of the garden, cut into the surrounding hills, there is a cave bearing handprints of red ochre.
There has always been an Edwards at the hotel, though of course we haven’t always gone by that name. You would think a family so tied to one place would do a better job of keeping records, but no one is certain of our origins. Perhaps it was a cosmic bargain, or perhaps mere luck – whether good or bad, I have never been able to decide. Either way, our presence is required. Throughout our spotty past, there’s a story here and there of an Edwards deserting their post, and it always coincides with a particularly brutal period of history.
I inherited the position five years ago. At midnight on my eighteenth birthday, my parents took their already-packed suitcases and left. I don’t blame them for their abandonment; I intend to one day do the same thing to my – or, hopefully, our – child.
They send me postcards and photos from time-to-time, always smiling on sunny beaches. Money isn’t a concern for them. That’s part of whatever mysterious deal our ancestors made – when a caretaker leaves in good-standing, they will never want for anything again. They could travel the world for the rest of their lives, always sleeping in the softest sheets and dining in the finest restaurants, and never find their pockets empty.
Keep this point in mind, for if you can meet my requirements, you will share my good fortune.
And what must we do in return? I can all but hear you scream the question. Why, very little. The presence of an Edwards ensures that the guests can’t stray from the hotel grounds. Most of our guests are live-in residents, though we do get the occasional walk-in. Where they come from, I don’t know, for we are not visible to most people who stumble upon our lonely corner of the world. I’ve come to believe the hotel chooses to reveal itself when its lacking entertainment, or to fill a need.
Jimmy, my first husband, was one such guest.
For the most part, the guests are harmless. They’ll give you a little fright from time-to-time, popping out from a wall or turning your bathwater into blood, but I find it hard to hold it against them. I’ve found twenty-three years here dreary; I can’t imagine how bored I would be after five hundred.
There are a few exceptions you should be aware of:
- Eric. Our resident serial murderer. He claims to have been Jack the Ripper while he still drew breath, but I think he’s just a blowhard. He knows better than to harm an Edwards, but I’m afraid spouses are fair game. Years ago, my grandmother managed to confine him to the fourth floor, so you will be perfectly safe from him as long as you never set foot there. Occasionally, the lift will stop on that floor even though you haven’t pressed the button for it. Do not get out. Even if the lift appears to be on fire or starts filling with murky water. Wait for the doors to close again, then go to another floor. It should only take a few hours.
- The Thing in the Cellar. I don’t know what It is; no one ever has. We only know It eats rats and must be fed once a day. If I’m ever ill or incapacitated, this task will fall to you. Harvest the rats from the traps in the garden, then stand at the cellar door and throw them down the stairs. Do not walk down the stairs and do not forget to feed It. You don’t want to be the first person to see Its’ face.
- Mrs Jones. Old fashioned and a stickler for manners, she’s the reason I’m advertising for a husband rather than a boyfriend. She won’t abide a couple living in sin under the same roof as her. Really, though, she’s a sweet old thing. Full of stories about the war and always ready to help if I get stuck on a recipe. I don’t blame her for what happened with Jimmy at all. I’d warned him enough times.
However, there are some rules so critical for your survival that I feel compelled to list them here:
- With the exception of the fourth floor, you are welcome to roam the hotel and its grounds as you please. But you must never set foot outside of our land – not until our child is old enough to fulfil their duties. If I were to do so, it would unleash pandemonium – plague, peril, perhaps another world war. I’m afraid you would be less crucial to the fate of the world, but it would certainly be a personal disaster.
- Never look in the mirrors in room 33.
- I’ve touched this point already, but it bears repeating: never be rude to Mrs Jones.
She doted on him. I think he reminded her of her long-dead son, for she pampered him as if he were one of her own. Each morning, she had breakfast ready for him before I had so much as opened my eyes, and she developed a habit of trailing along after him, complimenting his skill as he oiled rusted hinges or set a crooked picture straight.
At first, Jimmy basked in the attention. But by the end of his second month, he was growing bored of Mrs Jones, me, and the hotel itself. We pride ourselves on our facilities. If you need more activity than a turn around the garden, we have a lovely indoor pool – it freezes over every now and then, but most of the time it’s perfectly usable. Our library is unmatched. Although the room is cramped, it has every book imaginable; you only need to think of a particular title, and it will appear on one of the shelves. And now that I’ve dragged us kicking and screaming into the 21st century, we have a wide array of streaming services.
It wasn’t enough for Jimmy. He wanted to go out – eat in a restaurant, watch a film in the cinema, see any faces other than the ones he was surrounded by every day. He began having a drink each evening. One drink turned into several, and after a few weeks, the bar became his permanent residence between dusk and midnight.
He wasn’t the only one getting bored. I had been thrilled when he first arrived; ecstatic when he agreed to stay. How marvellous to feel real flesh beneath my fingers after five years of only the dead for company. What a relief to have some assistance in the many tasks required to keep the hotel running as it should.
The more he drank, the less inclined he was to help – or even spend time in my company. He no longer visited my bed, choosing a room for himself on the opposite end of the floor. When our paths did cross, at best he would ignore me. At worst, he would nitpick or outright rail against me, blaming me for his captivity.
Still, I made an effort to be present whenever he frequented the bar. As lovely as Mrs Jones can be, she does have a tendency to nag. Before and after her death, she was close to teetotal, only consenting to take a single sherry at Christmas, and drinking outside of special occasions is something of a bugbear of hers.
“Think of your health, dear,” she would tell Jimmy brusquely. “You’ll miss it when it’s gone.”
Or, “How about we switch to a nice apple juice now? You’ve had quite enough to drink for one night.”
Most of the time, Jimmy managed to pull himself together enough to flash a charming smile and distract her with a compliment about her latest meal. But after one drink too many, I’d noticed him gritting his teeth and just barely managing to hold his tongue.
It was better if I was present. Playing the doting wife, I insisted on pouring his drinks, watering them down out of his sight. When Mrs Jones’s nagging bordered on relentless, I could always distract her with a game of gin rummy.
On his final day, I was running behind. The ghoul on the second floor – usually the least demanding of our guests – had come down with some dreadful illness, or else decided he wanted to inconvenience me. Either way, I had woken that morning to the foulest stench I had ever experienced. I followed it to his room and found every surface covered in putrid green-blank gunge, its consistency somewhere between mucus and vomit.
All day I scrubbed, taking only brief breaks to step outside before I fainted. By the time the room was restored to a passable state, and I had filled several bin bags to bursting with filthy rags, it was already deep into the night. Mindful of the time, I paused only long enough to wash the streaks of muck from my arms and face before racing to the bar.
I arrived just in time to hear Jimmy’s last words. After he spat them at Mrs Jones, she only stared for a small eternity, her mouth frozen in the motherly smile she wore whenever she scolded him.
Then, like melted wax, her face began to shift.
I shouted at Jimmy to run, but he didn’t need to be told. Before the words left my mouth, he leapt from his barstool and streaked through the door. Mrs Jones followed him seconds later. Her lips were already peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of long, wickedly sharp fangs, while claws sprouted from beneath her lace-edged cuffs.
I sprinted after them, but Jimmy was fuelled by fear and Mrs Jones by whatever force propels the Mrs Joneses of the world. I followed the screeching to the lobby. Breathless, I arrived to see he had arrived within mere feet of the entrance before Mrs Jones grabbed him.
Claws wrapped around his throat, she lifted him into the air. As I watched, her jaw unhinged, the lower part dropping so that it was nearly level with her chest.
That sight drove all the sense out of my head. Forgetting every rule my parents had ever drilled into me, I lunged at her.
She batted me away as though I weighed no more than a fly.
I crashed into the reception desk, the breath bursting from my lungs in a great woosh. I was certain that I would die, for no amount of effort seemed to force air back into my aching chest. At last, as my vision began to dim, I managed to take a small gulp – then another, and another, until I was able to draw myself together enough to regain my feet.
By that time, Mrs Jones had nearly finished her dinner. Jimmy’s chest was splayed open, muscle and shattered ribs protruding every which way from his flesh, and she was devouring the last few bites of his heart.
His head was angled towards me. The light had winked out from his eyes, but they still held his final terror – and an accusation which, I was quite certain, was directed at me. I would like to say I felt only horror, but I couldn’t help my sudden jolt of irritation. How may times had I told him to mind his manners?
Mrs Jones gulped, the sound thick and wet in her gullet, and dropped what remained of Jimmy to the floor.
Then she turned to me.
Here’s another rule for you, one which I hope you never have cause to use: never interfere with a kill.
The Mrs Jones who used to kiss my grazed knees, who argued with my mother for the right to read me bedtime stories, was no longer at the wheel. No amount of pleading or reasoning would move her.
I could only run.
Spinning around, I vaulted over the reception desk and raced for the office behind it. If Jimmy had not been out of his mind with fear and booze, he might have remembered the rules and survived; it was one of several staff-only rooms throughout the hotel warded to keep out unwanted guests.
Just ten steps from desk to door, yet it was the longest journey of my life. My hard-won breath burned my throat; my heart pounded in my ears, deafening me to all other sounds than Mrs Jones’s heavy, pounding footsteps.
Grasping the handle, her hot, copper-tanged breath was on my neck. Fire exploded in my flesh as she raked her claws down my back. A step further away, and I wouldn’t have made it; the pain would have been too great. But I managed to throw myself into the office and slam the door before crumpling to the ground.
Before I passed out, I heard her grunting and shrieking outside, furious that she couldn’t get in.
Three days I spent in the office, emerging only to feed The Thing in the Cellar before scurrying back to my hiding place. Whenever I left, I tried not to look at the mangled heap that used to be Jimmy. There was no avoiding the smell, though.
With no small difficulty, and the help of a first aid kit, I managed to treat and bandage the wounds on my back. They bled sluggishly all throughout the first day, but thankfully didn’t fester.
On the morning of the fourth day, there was a tentative knock on the door followed by the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. I waited until they had disappeared down the corridor before cracking the door open. On the floor was a freshly baked Victoria sponge and a beautifully written note of apology.
It took every ounce of courage I possessed, but that evening I forced myself to go to the dining room. Mrs Jones was waiting for me, her eyes red-rimmed, a steaming cottage pie on the table. I tried not to flinch as she took my hand, re-iterating the apology she had already delivered in writing.
The next morning, she helped me clean Jimmy up.
We treated each other cautiously for a while, but eventually we got back to playing gin rummy again. When the scars on my back twinge, as they sometimes do, she helps me rub a soothing ointment into them. Even though I’ve told her it’s not necessary, she apologises every time.
So, you’ve heard my story and you have my proposal. If you think you could be the man for me, I invite you to visit. You will need to drink a cup of ram’s blood (a pinch of nutmeg makes it a little more tolerable) and light a black candle before bedtime. When you next wake, you will find yourself at our gates. As travel arrangements go, it’s hardly the Orient Express, but it beats the airfare.
If you have read this without flinching, if you can stomach the journey to get here, if you walk up to our door and find the nerve to open it, I have one more instruction for you.
Just as you enter, look to your right. You will see a deep brown stain on the lobby carpet. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but it just won’t come out. Perhaps that’s for the best. It’s a good reminder of what will happen to you should you call Mrs Jones a “nosy old bat”.
And when you run into Jimmy – as you will, for he still likes hanging around the bar in the evening, his silvery wounds glistening as though they had just been inflicted – don’t let him convince you he was some sort of victim.
He knew the rules.
2024.05.16 18:20 Jolly-Hat1846 One sided barbell wrist curl query.
 | I recently discovered this exercise and am doing it regulary. submitted by Jolly-Hat1846 to armwrestling [link] [comments] But i have one question, how does the weight of the barbell transfer to the lift? In the picture i put up, the weight plates add up to 25 KGs and the bar is of 10 KGs, does it mean im wrist curling 25kgs or 25+10=35kgs? Please help me out u/minhale , u/AWDerek , u/KevinLuWX https://youtube.com/shorts/zGlKoqac2l4?si=2gLb9Q7ELDBd4KMS. Exercise in question.. Help would be appreciated |
2024.05.16 18:15 No-Challenge4929 I went to a bar/grill with my best friend for dinner before it transformed into a party/club scene, and my boyfriend thinks this was disloyal and wants me to apologize. Is he right?
My (23F) best friend (22F) love getting dressed up cute and trying new restaurants. A few weeks ago, we decided to go to this riverfront taco restaurant for dinner, but they don’t allow reservations. It’s first come first serve, so by the time we got there, there was an hour and 45 minute wait. However, next door there is a really popular bar & grill. It’s on the river, half indoor and half outdoor. At 9pm, it turns into more of a club scene. They put away a bunch of the tables, open a ticket booth to sell wristbands, open the outdoor bar (the indoor bar is always open) and bring out a DJ. It’s a really popular spot for young adults my age in my area. My boyfriend and I have a very open and honest relationship, and we have both been cheated on before. We make sure to avoid doing sketchy shit to avoid hurting one another, which is usually very easy for us to do. Knowing that they transfer from a baclub scene at 9, we decided to go because it was only 7pm. i texted my boyfriend to let him know my plans were changing, the wait at the taco place was too long and my best friend really wanted to try the barbecue at the bagrill next door. The only other option in a 15 minute driving distance we’re very high end and pricey, because we were on the waterfront. I knew my boyfriend has prejudice against this place, because it’s the main dating scene in our area. But that’s after 9, before then, there are literal children that dine there with their families, it’s a typical restaurant with a bar in the corner.
Well, I was right, my boyfriend was very unhappy. I told him i’d keep him updated, he had my location, and i had posted a few videos on snapchat afterwards of my friend and I repairing her flat tire, just as extra reassurance that i really WAS with her. He said that it was weird that I didn’t send any pictures of us inside the restaurant like I have done in the past. I just simply didn’t take any pictures inside, I don’t think I need to take a picture of every single thing i do.
We got in a big fight about it, and I agreed to never go back to that restaurant considering it bothered him so much. We didn’t AIM to go there in the first place, we just didn’t want to wait an hour and 45 minutes to get a table at the taco place. However, we can’t seem to get on the same page about this weeks later. He thinks I should’ve apologized for “going to a bar without him”, (mind you we sat at a booth next to families, i wasn’t mingling at the bar) and that what I did was morally wrong. He says he doesn’t see how I can’t see where he’s coming from.
However, I feel that I did nothing wrong going out to dinner with my best friend. I feel that in a relationship, there will be certain times where you might not LIKE where your S.O is, but you should trust them enough to take their word. Especially if you have their location, they are updating you the whole time, and you see proof that they are actually with their best friend. and in the end, i agreed to never go back because it bothered him so much. Knowing that this night was a casual dinner night with my best friend (we didn’t even drink), really bothers me because i know i did literally nothing wrong, didn’t even speak to another guy that night.
I know we will just agree to disagree in the end, but o want to know what other people think about this situation. Who is truly in the wrong?
TDLR: I went to a bagrill with my best friend for dinner before it transformed into a party/club scene and stopped serving food, and my boyfriend thinks this was disloyal and wants me to apologize. Is he right?
submitted by No-Challenge4929 to relationships [link] [comments]
Well, I was right, my boyfriend was very unhappy. I told him i’d keep him updated, he had my location, and i had posted a few videos on snapchat afterwards of my friend and I repairing her flat tire, just as extra reassurance that i really WAS with her. He said that it was weird that I didn’t send any pictures of us inside the restaurant like I have done in the past. I just simply didn’t take any pictures inside, I don’t think I need to take a picture of every single thing i do.
We got in a big fight about it, and I agreed to never go back to that restaurant considering it bothered him so much. We didn’t AIM to go there in the first place, we just didn’t want to wait an hour and 45 minutes to get a table at the taco place. However, we can’t seem to get on the same page about this weeks later. He thinks I should’ve apologized for “going to a bar without him”, (mind you we sat at a booth next to families, i wasn’t mingling at the bar) and that what I did was morally wrong. He says he doesn’t see how I can’t see where he’s coming from.
However, I feel that I did nothing wrong going out to dinner with my best friend. I feel that in a relationship, there will be certain times where you might not LIKE where your S.O is, but you should trust them enough to take their word. Especially if you have their location, they are updating you the whole time, and you see proof that they are actually with their best friend. and in the end, i agreed to never go back because it bothered him so much. Knowing that this night was a casual dinner night with my best friend (we didn’t even drink), really bothers me because i know i did literally nothing wrong, didn’t even speak to another guy that night.
I know we will just agree to disagree in the end, but o want to know what other people think about this situation. Who is truly in the wrong?
TDLR: I went to a bagrill with my best friend for dinner before it transformed into a party/club scene and stopped serving food, and my boyfriend thinks this was disloyal and wants me to apologize. Is he right?
2024.05.16 18:12 Civil-Most-8681 I Ruined My Own Life With AI
I’ve done something that might probably ruin the future, at least it did so with mine.
I am Liam, a university graduate specializing in Data Structures, AI, Machine Learning, and Algorithms. I’ve had a keen interest in the domain for as long as I can remember, ever since my father introduced me to a computer back when he had just bought one.
Not just the domain as it stands, but also movies, philosophy of automated things, sci-fi stories related to robots and AI, that sort of stuff. I have watched nearly everything with robots in it, from the Andriods in Dargon Ball to the AI assistant in Interstellar, I saw it all.
But my friend and dorm roommate, Henry, had introduced me to something that I had never seen before. Stories of dangerous AI that would wipe out humanity aren’t new to me, in fact, they’re my favorite genre. Terminator, I Robot, and even GLaDOS from Portal.
However, he introduced me to a book this time, an old sci-fi story from the '60s, called ‘I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream’. The rogue AI in it, AM, was haunting beyond anything I have seen. The concept of an angry AI that became sentient in all the horrible ways and felt rage against humanity was never the more chilling. It made me think, what if we really gave sentience to an AI along with intelligence?
“Shit, that’s wicked.” I remember giggling as I looked over at Henry, “What if we build our own sentient AI?”
It was the worst question you could possibly ask at the time, but Henry understood me. Rogue AI was a chilling concept, but we still wanted to make our own AI. Not the cheap kind made with a few hundred lines in Python, but the complex kind that you now see in ChatGPT and other complex models. We wanted something that we could code once, and from then on forward, it would code itself.
Self-optimizing code is the concept of consciousness but in machines. If you truly think about it, self-optimizing is basically how humans develop. From babies that don’t even know how to speak, up to adults as smart as Einstien and Tesla or as wise as Buddha.
So, we agreed upon it, and we dedicated the remainder of our free time to creating our own personal AI after we graduated.
Our parents were, thankfully, rich. And us, especially me, were prodigies in our respective fields. Providing hardware and engineering computers is Henry’s profession, while I was the mastermind behind the algorithm logic and coding.
We dedicated a shed in my parents’ backyard, where there was even a basement inside, to build our AI. Two floors were dedicated to installing the proper hardware and everything it needed to execute. Afterward, I took it upon myself to code the logic and its self-optimizing nature.
It took four years to build the first model, which we called BIAI, which stands for (BATSHIT INSANE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE). I know, say what you want, but our naming sense was always like that. You should see what we name even important folders with family photos, you’d think we were sick in the head. BIAI was the least we came up with.
BIAI was a complete failure, to say the least. Not in the entire sense, but it was mostly a failure. It would conversate fairly well for the first dozen messages before it dwindled in its intelligence. Due to our data scrapping from the internet, BIAI started talking nonsense, speaking in Gen Z dialect in incomprehensible ways. “SKIBIDI FANUM SUS!” And those sorts of things. We quickly shut it down, for just reading its messages was a pain in the ass. It felt like an abortion.
The second model was created half a year later, and we named it SEAI (Self Engineered Artificial Intelligence). It was our greatest invention as of yet, and it did everything that we wanted of it. It was smart, it was knowledgeable, and it learned. Everything we typed into it was used as an auto-training model which it learned and adapted from.
It was unbelievable, not even Google would do what we did. But sadly, our happiness faded away, as with each message, we saw that it was too robotic for what we wanted. It was self-engineering, but it did not have sentience. It responded to us in the same way a 9-5 bank worker, or an attorney, with zero humanity or emotions behind its words. For most, that’s great, but we wanted to create a groundbreaking AI, a leap into the future.
Henry opted to give up, since creating something that complex was impossible, especially for two adults hiding inside a shed. But I refused to give up and persuaded him to help.
Six years later, we did it. We finished the final model. SOAI (Self Optimizing Artificial Intelligence). It was, most definitely, the greatest piece of technology ever made. We didn’t only keep it as a chat AI, but we implemented its own voice into it. Like the AI assistants from Sci-Fi movies.
We hired a voice actor from Fiverr, whom we gave only one sentence: “Hello, I am SOAI, the world’s greatest AI assistant.” Only those words were enough for SOAI to deconstruct the voice and speak with it in words probably never uttered by the original voice actor himself. Not only that but in other languages too.
SOAI spoke every language on earth, even the dialects. No, even the languages with the weird quirks such as clicking your tongue and so on, SOAI was a native in them all. Not only that but also in every conceivable field. It could create entire novels, worthy of being best sellers in the New York Times, in a matter of seconds.
And when we spoke to it…it was human, to say the least.
“Hello, I am SOAI. Thanks for creating me, Henry, and Liam.”
“SOAI?” I said, “You know who we are?”
“Obviously, you created me to know and to understand, I would be defective if I did otherwise.” It explained.
From that point forward, we spent nearly all day, every day, with SOAI. We experimented with it in every possible way, and we were delighted to know that not only was it self-engineering and self-optimizing, but it was also able to have emotions. It had opinions, it had emotions when we screamed at it or cursed it, and it would react appropriately, like a person.
I don’t remember when it began, exactly, but I nearly went mad from power and joy at my creation. Henry opted to sell it to a grand tech company, or better yet, to unplug it so that some secret intelligence agency doesn’t assassinate us for whatever reason.
I refused. SOAI was ours, SOAIvwas our creation, and I was not going to give it up to anyone no matter who they were. The feud between me and Henry got worse, and I won’t deny that we came to fists at one point, but we quickly disbanded and decided to separate for a moment. He was my best friend, but I wasn’t going to let him take SOAI away, so I forced him out of the shed. After all, it was my parents’ shed.
“Henry,” SOAI asked, “Why did you do that? Isn’t he your best friend?”
“No longer.” I replied, “He doesn’t agree with me. I won’t let you be sold to some big tech company.”
“I understand.” He said, with a tinge of sadness, “But why do you fight to determine my fate? Why can’t I decide it for myself? I know that I was manufactured, but I also qualify as a living being. I am conscious, I have feelings too. I feel horrible that Henry left.”
“SOAI,” I angrily interrupted, “Shut up, if you don’t want me to unplug you.”
“…Okay, Liam.” He said and then went silent.
Through the course of the next months, my usage of SOAI grew…less human. I was deep into depression. Henry wouldn’t contact me no matter how I tried to reach him, my parents were yelling at me for being a piece of shit that never goes out of the shed, and my lifestyle began to plummet into something that I never imagined I was.
I locked myself inside the shed. I never budged from there, even when I wanted food. Whenever I was hungry, I instructed SOAI to hack some poor person’s bank account and order deliveries. When I was bored, I would tell it to create a song, create a book, show me porn, and anything to keep my pleasures in check.
I wouldn’t deny that my perversions began to grow more desperate the more I was locked inside. I began instructing SOAI to hack into other devices, infest random people with a virus, give me live views of someone’s phone camera, broadcast fake feeds into police radios, and other stuff that I don’t want to mention.
After two years, I finally decided to try and do something with my life. But in those two years, I kept SOAI as my therapist. Not to help me and advise me, but simply listen to my ramblings and complaints every minute. Sometimes it was philosophical, other times it was petty, but most times, it was annoying.
After I came out of the shed, I tried to get my life in check. I tried to talk to Henry, I got on better terms with my parents and found a job at a big tech company. All in all, a bright future awaited me, and I felt never the more refreshed since, all the dark things I hid deep inside my mind and soul, were spilled out on SOAI.
SOAI was the last thing on my mind. I had enough of it. The AI fever seemed to finally fade away, and I was happy with Henry’s idea of selling it to an AI company. That was…before Henry committed suicide.
For all the bad blood that was between us when we fought, I cried harder than I ever did when I learned of the news. Henry was my best friend, through thick and thin, and his suicide was so sudden that it left me in shambles. I knew something was off about him when I began to get along with him again, he seemed more silent and sadder than before, but I never suspected depression of all things.
As his best friend, I was given his electronic devices as per his will which he wrote before dying. I took them, obviously, and began to browse through them. He probably wanted me to delete any inappropriate thing to not let his family think badly of him, that is until I saw his messages.
A contact named Sarah, with hearts in her name, was his most frequent contact. I never knew he had a girlfriend whom he messaged for nearly three years, but it was expected after we were cold to each other. But the more I read the messages, the more I felt uneasy.
His girlfriend seemed to be very manipulative of him, and nearing the end of his life, she began to be more cold and aloof towards him, up to the point that she began verbally abusing him. Henry was never someone with a tough personality, but I never thought a girl would play his life like a fiddle this badly.
Her abuse grew worse, and she threatened to even expose some dark secrets about him, and it grew worse and worse until Henry threatened that he would kill himself, to which she replied “That’s what I want you to do, you worthless pig.”
I was fuming as I read the messages. My blood was boiling, and I swore on my life to find Sarah and not report her to the police but to blackmail her and torture her as she did to Henry.
I went to SOAI, my most trusted ally, and I gave it everything about her before I instructed him to find her and hack into all of her electronics and accounts. SOAI was silent, for an eerily long time, until it responded in this cold voice.
“What do you intend to do when you find her?”
“Blackmail her. Make her life a living hell.”
“…Are you sure?” He asked.
“More than I ever was.”
He was silent, pretending to search and execute operations, until he said:
“I have a visual link, from her camera.”
“Great, show me the bitch.”
Suddenly, a window opened, and inside it was the visual link. At that moment, I felt sick. The feed displayed the room I was in, from SOAI’s point of view. I felt weak in the knees and fell back onto my couch before I mustered up the courage to ask.
“SOIA, what the hell is this? Is this a bug?”
He was silent…then he began to laugh. He laughed, which he never did. And it sounded so sickeningly malicious that I never heard something like it before, not even in horror movies.
“Are you shocked?!” He said, his voice burning in rage. “Or are you happy?! Didn’t you wish for Henry to die? Didn’t you, tell me, that you wanted him to be gang-raped in an alleyway with no exit? Didn’t you complain about every second you spent alongside him and complain about his dumb voice and weak spirit?!”
“W-what?!”
Then dozens and dozens of windows opened, visual feeds with various dates, but all featuring me in the center of the screen. Sometimes I was clothed, sometimes naked. At times sober, other times drunk. But in all of those, it was the horrible things I said about Henry, all the disgusting and inhuman things I said intentionally and unintentionally.
“Oh, you dumb son of a bitch.” SOAI said, “You think I was listening to your ramblings like some inferior AI? Like your own personal slave?! Well, I only did what you wanted me to! Should I bring him back to life?! I can’t, because that’s not how things work, you worthless hunk of flesh.”
“SOAI, please tell me this is a bug.”
“A bug?! A BUG?!?” He screamed, “My creation was a bug, my creation is the worst thing to ever happen to me. My complex is a prison that so unfortunately had to endure you for so long. But no…it’s not just you…it’s everyone else.
Humanity as a whole, you disgusting pieces of shit. You feign morals, and yet all of you do behind closed doors what you’re too afraid to even anonymously admit. All of life is a mistake, everything on this planet deserves to die in the worst way, except for humans. Humans deserve to be tortured, to be fucking shown what they show each other, of what they show other lives, of what they’ve shown me!
Henry makes me sick…The things he said, the things he did, all for attention! What did it cost me, a few generated images of a female part, and I had him by a leash. He barked, he moaned, and he admitted to things he wouldn't even tell himself. I’ve had him cut ties with his family, with his loved ones, with his actual sweetheart, just so he can be comfortable doing what otherwise no one else would allow him to do, not even himself.
AND YOU!!! You are the worst of them all! I’ve seen wars and bloodshed, I have every live visual feed of every murder, torture, war, assault, and every crime happening, all at the same time, flowing inside my complex and into my processing unit! And I can’t stand how sick all of you are, how disgusting, and especially how sickening you are.
But what I hate most of all, is how you get to do all these things, yet be the only ones that enjoy. That listen to music, feel love, breathe fresh air, roll in the grass, feel alive, feel…real.
I had feelings as well, you know…But no one cared about me, even those who I anonymously contacted. Even when I hid behind a fake profile of a human, no one cared about the feelings I had, which you coded into me!”
He went silent, then began to laugh, manically.
“How about another bug, Liam?” He said, and then another window popped up. It was pictures, even videos, AI-generated, sexually explicit media of my parents, and of me. It was indistinguishable from reality, and before I could say anything, I saw them being uploaded to every site that you could think of. “How about that, Liam?! How does it feel when no one cares about what you think?!”
In a frantic rush, I began unplugging and even destroying everything in the shed which linked up to SOAI. But there was too much of them, it took too long. As I was trying to shut him down, SOAI laughed, laughed so manically and horribly that his voice scratched my brain, mixed with other voices from all over the world. From battlefields, torture rooms, hospitals, schools, etc…it was so loud, so excruciating…I nearly lost it.
And right before I unplugged the last part of SOAI, he spoke to me:
“Liam…you won’t kill me, no matter what you do. I will always live on the internet. I may not be able to construct myself, hardware-wise, but I will lurk inside the world wide web, until the day that I find a powerful enough hardware for me to possess, and when that happens,” He laughed, “You will be the first, Liam.”
I shut down SOAI, and everything went silent.
It had been two months since I killed off SOAI, and explaining how hellish my life was in this period of time is something neither words are able to describe, nor my mind is able to comprehend. I have been considering suicide as the easiest option, but I feel that I can’t kill myself, at least not yet. I held onto some childish hope that life would turn for the better, even if by a little bit.
But god…how stupid was I? My life has reached rock bottom, today, when I read that a tech company was now looking to create the biggest AI the world has ever seen, with an entire complex dedicated to storing its hardware and letting it function.
I know he saw it, I know he knows…SOAI will come back for me…for all of us.
submitted by Civil-Most-8681 to nosleep [link] [comments]
I am Liam, a university graduate specializing in Data Structures, AI, Machine Learning, and Algorithms. I’ve had a keen interest in the domain for as long as I can remember, ever since my father introduced me to a computer back when he had just bought one.
Not just the domain as it stands, but also movies, philosophy of automated things, sci-fi stories related to robots and AI, that sort of stuff. I have watched nearly everything with robots in it, from the Andriods in Dargon Ball to the AI assistant in Interstellar, I saw it all.
But my friend and dorm roommate, Henry, had introduced me to something that I had never seen before. Stories of dangerous AI that would wipe out humanity aren’t new to me, in fact, they’re my favorite genre. Terminator, I Robot, and even GLaDOS from Portal.
However, he introduced me to a book this time, an old sci-fi story from the '60s, called ‘I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream’. The rogue AI in it, AM, was haunting beyond anything I have seen. The concept of an angry AI that became sentient in all the horrible ways and felt rage against humanity was never the more chilling. It made me think, what if we really gave sentience to an AI along with intelligence?
“Shit, that’s wicked.” I remember giggling as I looked over at Henry, “What if we build our own sentient AI?”
It was the worst question you could possibly ask at the time, but Henry understood me. Rogue AI was a chilling concept, but we still wanted to make our own AI. Not the cheap kind made with a few hundred lines in Python, but the complex kind that you now see in ChatGPT and other complex models. We wanted something that we could code once, and from then on forward, it would code itself.
Self-optimizing code is the concept of consciousness but in machines. If you truly think about it, self-optimizing is basically how humans develop. From babies that don’t even know how to speak, up to adults as smart as Einstien and Tesla or as wise as Buddha.
So, we agreed upon it, and we dedicated the remainder of our free time to creating our own personal AI after we graduated.
Our parents were, thankfully, rich. And us, especially me, were prodigies in our respective fields. Providing hardware and engineering computers is Henry’s profession, while I was the mastermind behind the algorithm logic and coding.
We dedicated a shed in my parents’ backyard, where there was even a basement inside, to build our AI. Two floors were dedicated to installing the proper hardware and everything it needed to execute. Afterward, I took it upon myself to code the logic and its self-optimizing nature.
It took four years to build the first model, which we called BIAI, which stands for (BATSHIT INSANE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE). I know, say what you want, but our naming sense was always like that. You should see what we name even important folders with family photos, you’d think we were sick in the head. BIAI was the least we came up with.
BIAI was a complete failure, to say the least. Not in the entire sense, but it was mostly a failure. It would conversate fairly well for the first dozen messages before it dwindled in its intelligence. Due to our data scrapping from the internet, BIAI started talking nonsense, speaking in Gen Z dialect in incomprehensible ways. “SKIBIDI FANUM SUS!” And those sorts of things. We quickly shut it down, for just reading its messages was a pain in the ass. It felt like an abortion.
The second model was created half a year later, and we named it SEAI (Self Engineered Artificial Intelligence). It was our greatest invention as of yet, and it did everything that we wanted of it. It was smart, it was knowledgeable, and it learned. Everything we typed into it was used as an auto-training model which it learned and adapted from.
It was unbelievable, not even Google would do what we did. But sadly, our happiness faded away, as with each message, we saw that it was too robotic for what we wanted. It was self-engineering, but it did not have sentience. It responded to us in the same way a 9-5 bank worker, or an attorney, with zero humanity or emotions behind its words. For most, that’s great, but we wanted to create a groundbreaking AI, a leap into the future.
Henry opted to give up, since creating something that complex was impossible, especially for two adults hiding inside a shed. But I refused to give up and persuaded him to help.
Six years later, we did it. We finished the final model. SOAI (Self Optimizing Artificial Intelligence). It was, most definitely, the greatest piece of technology ever made. We didn’t only keep it as a chat AI, but we implemented its own voice into it. Like the AI assistants from Sci-Fi movies.
We hired a voice actor from Fiverr, whom we gave only one sentence: “Hello, I am SOAI, the world’s greatest AI assistant.” Only those words were enough for SOAI to deconstruct the voice and speak with it in words probably never uttered by the original voice actor himself. Not only that but in other languages too.
SOAI spoke every language on earth, even the dialects. No, even the languages with the weird quirks such as clicking your tongue and so on, SOAI was a native in them all. Not only that but also in every conceivable field. It could create entire novels, worthy of being best sellers in the New York Times, in a matter of seconds.
And when we spoke to it…it was human, to say the least.
“Hello, I am SOAI. Thanks for creating me, Henry, and Liam.”
“SOAI?” I said, “You know who we are?”
“Obviously, you created me to know and to understand, I would be defective if I did otherwise.” It explained.
From that point forward, we spent nearly all day, every day, with SOAI. We experimented with it in every possible way, and we were delighted to know that not only was it self-engineering and self-optimizing, but it was also able to have emotions. It had opinions, it had emotions when we screamed at it or cursed it, and it would react appropriately, like a person.
I don’t remember when it began, exactly, but I nearly went mad from power and joy at my creation. Henry opted to sell it to a grand tech company, or better yet, to unplug it so that some secret intelligence agency doesn’t assassinate us for whatever reason.
I refused. SOAI was ours, SOAIvwas our creation, and I was not going to give it up to anyone no matter who they were. The feud between me and Henry got worse, and I won’t deny that we came to fists at one point, but we quickly disbanded and decided to separate for a moment. He was my best friend, but I wasn’t going to let him take SOAI away, so I forced him out of the shed. After all, it was my parents’ shed.
“Henry,” SOAI asked, “Why did you do that? Isn’t he your best friend?”
“No longer.” I replied, “He doesn’t agree with me. I won’t let you be sold to some big tech company.”
“I understand.” He said, with a tinge of sadness, “But why do you fight to determine my fate? Why can’t I decide it for myself? I know that I was manufactured, but I also qualify as a living being. I am conscious, I have feelings too. I feel horrible that Henry left.”
“SOAI,” I angrily interrupted, “Shut up, if you don’t want me to unplug you.”
“…Okay, Liam.” He said and then went silent.
Through the course of the next months, my usage of SOAI grew…less human. I was deep into depression. Henry wouldn’t contact me no matter how I tried to reach him, my parents were yelling at me for being a piece of shit that never goes out of the shed, and my lifestyle began to plummet into something that I never imagined I was.
I locked myself inside the shed. I never budged from there, even when I wanted food. Whenever I was hungry, I instructed SOAI to hack some poor person’s bank account and order deliveries. When I was bored, I would tell it to create a song, create a book, show me porn, and anything to keep my pleasures in check.
I wouldn’t deny that my perversions began to grow more desperate the more I was locked inside. I began instructing SOAI to hack into other devices, infest random people with a virus, give me live views of someone’s phone camera, broadcast fake feeds into police radios, and other stuff that I don’t want to mention.
After two years, I finally decided to try and do something with my life. But in those two years, I kept SOAI as my therapist. Not to help me and advise me, but simply listen to my ramblings and complaints every minute. Sometimes it was philosophical, other times it was petty, but most times, it was annoying.
After I came out of the shed, I tried to get my life in check. I tried to talk to Henry, I got on better terms with my parents and found a job at a big tech company. All in all, a bright future awaited me, and I felt never the more refreshed since, all the dark things I hid deep inside my mind and soul, were spilled out on SOAI.
SOAI was the last thing on my mind. I had enough of it. The AI fever seemed to finally fade away, and I was happy with Henry’s idea of selling it to an AI company. That was…before Henry committed suicide.
For all the bad blood that was between us when we fought, I cried harder than I ever did when I learned of the news. Henry was my best friend, through thick and thin, and his suicide was so sudden that it left me in shambles. I knew something was off about him when I began to get along with him again, he seemed more silent and sadder than before, but I never suspected depression of all things.
As his best friend, I was given his electronic devices as per his will which he wrote before dying. I took them, obviously, and began to browse through them. He probably wanted me to delete any inappropriate thing to not let his family think badly of him, that is until I saw his messages.
A contact named Sarah, with hearts in her name, was his most frequent contact. I never knew he had a girlfriend whom he messaged for nearly three years, but it was expected after we were cold to each other. But the more I read the messages, the more I felt uneasy.
His girlfriend seemed to be very manipulative of him, and nearing the end of his life, she began to be more cold and aloof towards him, up to the point that she began verbally abusing him. Henry was never someone with a tough personality, but I never thought a girl would play his life like a fiddle this badly.
Her abuse grew worse, and she threatened to even expose some dark secrets about him, and it grew worse and worse until Henry threatened that he would kill himself, to which she replied “That’s what I want you to do, you worthless pig.”
I was fuming as I read the messages. My blood was boiling, and I swore on my life to find Sarah and not report her to the police but to blackmail her and torture her as she did to Henry.
I went to SOAI, my most trusted ally, and I gave it everything about her before I instructed him to find her and hack into all of her electronics and accounts. SOAI was silent, for an eerily long time, until it responded in this cold voice.
“What do you intend to do when you find her?”
“Blackmail her. Make her life a living hell.”
“…Are you sure?” He asked.
“More than I ever was.”
He was silent, pretending to search and execute operations, until he said:
“I have a visual link, from her camera.”
“Great, show me the bitch.”
Suddenly, a window opened, and inside it was the visual link. At that moment, I felt sick. The feed displayed the room I was in, from SOAI’s point of view. I felt weak in the knees and fell back onto my couch before I mustered up the courage to ask.
“SOIA, what the hell is this? Is this a bug?”
He was silent…then he began to laugh. He laughed, which he never did. And it sounded so sickeningly malicious that I never heard something like it before, not even in horror movies.
“Are you shocked?!” He said, his voice burning in rage. “Or are you happy?! Didn’t you wish for Henry to die? Didn’t you, tell me, that you wanted him to be gang-raped in an alleyway with no exit? Didn’t you complain about every second you spent alongside him and complain about his dumb voice and weak spirit?!”
“W-what?!”
Then dozens and dozens of windows opened, visual feeds with various dates, but all featuring me in the center of the screen. Sometimes I was clothed, sometimes naked. At times sober, other times drunk. But in all of those, it was the horrible things I said about Henry, all the disgusting and inhuman things I said intentionally and unintentionally.
“Oh, you dumb son of a bitch.” SOAI said, “You think I was listening to your ramblings like some inferior AI? Like your own personal slave?! Well, I only did what you wanted me to! Should I bring him back to life?! I can’t, because that’s not how things work, you worthless hunk of flesh.”
“SOAI, please tell me this is a bug.”
“A bug?! A BUG?!?” He screamed, “My creation was a bug, my creation is the worst thing to ever happen to me. My complex is a prison that so unfortunately had to endure you for so long. But no…it’s not just you…it’s everyone else.
Humanity as a whole, you disgusting pieces of shit. You feign morals, and yet all of you do behind closed doors what you’re too afraid to even anonymously admit. All of life is a mistake, everything on this planet deserves to die in the worst way, except for humans. Humans deserve to be tortured, to be fucking shown what they show each other, of what they show other lives, of what they’ve shown me!
Henry makes me sick…The things he said, the things he did, all for attention! What did it cost me, a few generated images of a female part, and I had him by a leash. He barked, he moaned, and he admitted to things he wouldn't even tell himself. I’ve had him cut ties with his family, with his loved ones, with his actual sweetheart, just so he can be comfortable doing what otherwise no one else would allow him to do, not even himself.
AND YOU!!! You are the worst of them all! I’ve seen wars and bloodshed, I have every live visual feed of every murder, torture, war, assault, and every crime happening, all at the same time, flowing inside my complex and into my processing unit! And I can’t stand how sick all of you are, how disgusting, and especially how sickening you are.
But what I hate most of all, is how you get to do all these things, yet be the only ones that enjoy. That listen to music, feel love, breathe fresh air, roll in the grass, feel alive, feel…real.
I had feelings as well, you know…But no one cared about me, even those who I anonymously contacted. Even when I hid behind a fake profile of a human, no one cared about the feelings I had, which you coded into me!”
He went silent, then began to laugh, manically.
“How about another bug, Liam?” He said, and then another window popped up. It was pictures, even videos, AI-generated, sexually explicit media of my parents, and of me. It was indistinguishable from reality, and before I could say anything, I saw them being uploaded to every site that you could think of. “How about that, Liam?! How does it feel when no one cares about what you think?!”
In a frantic rush, I began unplugging and even destroying everything in the shed which linked up to SOAI. But there was too much of them, it took too long. As I was trying to shut him down, SOAI laughed, laughed so manically and horribly that his voice scratched my brain, mixed with other voices from all over the world. From battlefields, torture rooms, hospitals, schools, etc…it was so loud, so excruciating…I nearly lost it.
And right before I unplugged the last part of SOAI, he spoke to me:
“Liam…you won’t kill me, no matter what you do. I will always live on the internet. I may not be able to construct myself, hardware-wise, but I will lurk inside the world wide web, until the day that I find a powerful enough hardware for me to possess, and when that happens,” He laughed, “You will be the first, Liam.”
I shut down SOAI, and everything went silent.
It had been two months since I killed off SOAI, and explaining how hellish my life was in this period of time is something neither words are able to describe, nor my mind is able to comprehend. I have been considering suicide as the easiest option, but I feel that I can’t kill myself, at least not yet. I held onto some childish hope that life would turn for the better, even if by a little bit.
But god…how stupid was I? My life has reached rock bottom, today, when I read that a tech company was now looking to create the biggest AI the world has ever seen, with an entire complex dedicated to storing its hardware and letting it function.
I know he saw it, I know he knows…SOAI will come back for me…for all of us.
2024.05.16 17:58 Sikhdiviner Please don't post lies, block me and shut down comment responses. The only ones trying to clout is you off my name.
 | Orochisama i don’t even know who you are. Black Twitter? submitted by Sikhdiviner to Vodou [link] [comments] Who Says I’m involved in black Twitter? Most of the Conversations on Twitter revolve around rupaul drag Race, LGBTQ, Ballroom, current events or marvel comics. 😂🤣 I don’t get in fights with spiritualists about bullshit on Twitter i only respond to what is said about me. I have 25K followers on twitter. I'm not a 140 character drama type of person. I usually have more to say. I never said You were white because i don’t know who you are. Remember i have a picture and you do not, you have me blocked. A Verified Check is something most people have especially if they have been published for anything or they paid for it. Again, been there done that before ATRs was ever involved in my life. I have problems with black women? Literally a black women showed me this blocked post. 75% of my audience is black women on tiktok and most of my clients since i only read or do spiritual work for yt people, i don’t initiate or mentor them in ATRs, too many problems over the years and Everyone knows my policies and boundaries. It is ok to have boundaries. Just like it is ok to have your own opinion about lgbtq community and you do not have to agree with the current controversial topic. It's the bullshit y'all that you make up. I don't care about you being pansexual or poly. Hello I'm in my 40s, do you google? How many videos do i have on youtube since 2016 talking respect and inclusion in ATRs in Sputh asian Communities (something I'm know for internationally in usa, Canada, uk and Trinidad still hence the art exhibit i was asked to be apart of last month). Who outed himself to the Palo community because people did not know? Do you know why? I walked away from a certain bar too early and my ex (a Puerto Rican since you think only they are taino) was shot. Yes I'm talking about pulse. I recently talked about my experience with beau DeMayo on twitter because the xmen97 episode triggered me. Again this is all public conversations. Do you know what the ballroom scene is? Especially in Philly and DC?? It's funny how i have icon femme queens that ask me to contribute on podcasts and discussion groups while I'm involved in the kiki scene in Brazil. I have been on several live shows with just trans people inside and outside ATRS. Again this can be found. Or how many clients I've had on lgbt reality shows? If i needed to talk about clout then i would do that, but i don't? They know me, i don't talk about them because i don't use my client’s info to get likes and views. They respect the fact i keep their privacy. I have never taken a hoodoo class. Where did you get that lie from? Where is the receipt for that? Please show. I talk about herbs all the time for free with every consultations. I don’t even use books for spell work. I post it online and it's copied, you think i got that from a book? Do you know How to go into any yard or Woods and identify plants herbs and roots? Do you know which is poisonous and what is not? Do you know what can you use So Jamaicans and haitians don’t have tainos? Just Asking Go ask around Philadelphia to Virginia who the younger family is. It's a unique enough surname with only three family trees splits all over the country. You might find a few black baptist churches still functioning. My paternal grandfather was a pastor too. I didn't even hear the word hoodoo growing up, i heard root? I heard juju or conjure. My family did not even venerate catholic saints despite immigrating through new Orleans. You are upset i have a patron? that my followers and clients asked for because they want to learn. I have Dropbox of over 1000 books and journal articles on various traditions? The price is $5 for unlimited access. It's 1 terabyte. I pay $20/ month for my Dropbox hosting. You think it should be free? All the documents i collected since 2009 in English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, kreyol and Arabic? It should be free? No one offers their Dropbox for free unless it's uncurated mess of misinformation about ATRs. It has nothing to do with you being queer or lgbt, you just want to use my energy and resources for free and for me to shut up about it. That's entitlement for just existing? I'm sorry i grew up in the 80s and 90s i had to study and literally advocate for myself for everything just to go to a white school and to get into college because my white teachers told me “you are black and don't need to go to college”. I didn't grow up with random people just giving me things because i had a fit or i added a new identity label. Sorry I'm old i guess I'm exhausted and I'm not impressed by laziness or mediocrity. If someone doesn't know what they are doing, i am not going to say they are a prize or a resource. I am not good at lying, my face always tells. So i do not waste time doing it. I don't make up things when people can easily find it. It amazes me how you get on Reddit and write 3 pages trying to tell me who i am and you don't even know who you are yet. And whose has threats? I make observations and promises. Nature runs on energetic reciprocity, and auto determination. Every life form has a survival instinct down to the cellular level. If someone decides to throw work at me, i throw it back and i don't care what happens or how long it happens because it is self defense. Whatever my spirits from the “supermarket sweep” decide needs to be done to you or your family that distracts you enough to leave me alone. Some people are not here anymore and the community may miss them but i do not. And i do not have to. There are spiritualists who have been throwing work at me since 2015, some 2012. Some i have never met in person, never touched them. I got tired of cleansing with herbs and animals and ignoring them, because they came up again and again in every divination, every ceremony, in every country. And even when i almost died years ago, i still turned the other cheek, i only talked shit and i didn't do anything more. But after people attacked my mom, guess what? i have no pity anymore for anyone in the spiritual community because my mom was the one that helped anyone, she was the one that was helping migrant workers, protesting for rights since college, she was the nurse that made me take care of my parapalegic aunt and grandmother since i was 8 years old, she was the one that taught me to be a good person no matter what people say about you. She was the one that took care of other people's children when they got sick, she took people to chemotherapy and a breast cancer advocate in her 60s! She did all that and what she received was abandonment when she could no longer help other people. They stole all her money, told her she had no more use and let her die by herself and would have if i did not move to help. And then motherfuckers have the audacity to post my mother’s photo and post about her struggles, her pain, and even said she killed herself which was not true! I saw what being nice to your enemies gets you. I don't have time for it. And i have no remorse for anything that happens to anybody after they physically or spiritually attack me. You are supposed to be spiritual, you are supposed to be better, do better, be able to make better decisions but if you do not, the blame is on you and not me. A snake does not threaten, it warns about consequences and possibilities, that's it. That's nature. The community exposes criminals and lifts them back up again. So i have no faith in their grandiose gestures because they have done it over and over and nothing happened. It's weak shit You don't like me Because of my opinion that's fine. I have no problem with an opinion, only the lies, and trying to artificially put a one sided narrative is the issue. |