Barney invitations

Every American folklorist knows "the Vanishing Hitchhiker," the classic story of American ghostlore. Today, I've got a 100% true story of crime, which also features a hitchhiker. (Names have been changed out of respect for privacy.)
The Winter of 1987 was off to a brutal start. Even in November, the snow was falling deep, and the Potomac was raging. On November 10, Michael Holmes returned to his home in Hillcrest, in SE. He was late and behaving strangely. When his wife asked where he had been, Holmes told her that he had stopped at the McDonalds on Penn Ave and Barney Circle, close to the Congressional Cemetery.
There, he saw a young homeless woman with a baby. The baby was not properly dressed for the cold, and Holmes was moved by their plight. He offered to give her a lift. Fortunately, they were headed in the same direction.
As they crossed the Sousa Bridge, the woman suddenly started screaming. She beat Holmes with her fists and clawed him with her nails. He pulled to the side of the bridge to avoid a crash. As soon as the car stopped, she jumped out and ran to the edge. Before Holmes could say or do anything, she threw the baby into the river and jumped down after it!
In utter disbelief, his wife urged him to call the police. Visibility was poor, though, and they did not find anything. A renewed search the next morning had to be called off after only 2 hours, due to the snow and the state of the river. The police found three hubcaps, a tricycle, loads of garbage, and plenty of mud. But no woman or baby. By this point, they were presumed dead.
Over the next week, police investigated Holmes's incredible tale of murder and suicide. When asked, employees at the McDonalds reported that they had seen a homeless woman with a baby, begging for food. She spoke with Holmes, but nobody knew whether they left together or what happened to her afterwards. Nobody else driving on Sousa Bridge had seen anything like what Holmes had described. Granted, the weather reduced traffic and made it harder to see. But surely someone would have remembered something so remarkable. Holmes's story simply wasn't adding up...
Holmes was invited to come back to the police station on November 18, for further questioning and a polygraph test. The day came and went, but Holmes did not appear. What was he hiding?
The truth would come out on November 19 when Holmes turned himself in. He offered a full confession. There was no murder-suicide. He tried out a big lie on his wife, to get out of trouble about coming home late. She called him on his bluff by making him call the police, but he was unwilling to give up the ruse. Holmes was a criminal alright: filing a false police report is a misdemeanor.
Source: Washington Times, November 11, 12, & 19, 1987.

Literally watching the episode where Ted and Stella were supposed to get married rn and realized that Ted and Barney both screwed it up. Granted I’m not a huge fan of Stella, which is why I never thought about it this way. But watching the episode for the millionth time, I realized that they both messed up. Had Ted not invited Robin in the first place, then Barney lying about where Robin was to get laid, THEN Ted ACTUALLY inviting Tony when Stella explicitly told him not to… maybe they would’ve stayed together for a while. I don’t like Stella’s character, but she was right. I was one of those fans that always blamed Stella for leaving Ted at the altar… Which I still do, but I understand it more now.
If I’m the last one to realize this I apologize. My years of hatred toward Stella had made me blind

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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
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UK VIA PLAY 01 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 2 watch now // UK Fri 19 Apr 8:00am ET Fri 19 Apr 3:00am
UK VIA PLAY 01 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 2 watch now // UK Fri 19 Apr 4:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 11:00am
UK VIA PLAY 01 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 2 watch now // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:00am ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 02 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 1 watch now // UK Fri 19 Apr 8:00am ET Fri 19 Apr 3:00am
UK VIA PLAY 02 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 1 watch now // UK Fri 19 Apr 4:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 11:00am
UK VIA PLAY 02 PDC Darts European darts grand prix // UK Fri 19 Apr 6:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 1:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 02 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 1 watch now // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:00am ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 03 Asian Tour Saudi open // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30am ET Fri 19 Apr 6:30am
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
UK VIA PLAY 03 FIVB Volleyball World Beach Pro Tour Elite16 tepic // UK Fri 19 Apr 5:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 12:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 03 FIVB Volleyball World Beach Pro Tour Elite16 tepic // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:00am ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 04 24/7 Channel Stream Viaplay sports 1 watch now // UK Fri 19 Apr 12:00am ET Thu 18 Apr 7:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 04 PDC Darts European darts grand prix // UK Fri 19 Apr 12:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00am
UK VIA PLAY 04 FIVB Volleyball World Beach Pro Tour Elite16 tepic // UK Fri 19 Apr 5:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 12:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 04 FIVB Volleyball World Beach Pro Tour Elite16 tepic // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:00am ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 05 NHL Nhl on the fly // UK Fri 19 Apr 2:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
UK VIA PLAY 05 LALIGA Viva laliga // UK Fri 19 Apr 6:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 1:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 05 LALIGA Athletic club granada // UK Fri 19 Apr 7:30pm ET Fri 19 Apr 2:30pm
UK VIA PLAY 06 LALIGA Laliga news // UK Fri 19 Apr 2:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
UK VIA PLAY 06 United Rugby Championship Glasgow warriors sharks // UK Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm ET Fri 19 Apr 2:00pm
UK VIA PLAY 07 United Rugby Championship Ulster cardiff rugby // UK Fri 19 Apr 7:30pm ET Fri 19 Apr 2:30pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== CANADA DAZN PACK ===
CA DAZN CA 01 Rouen open day 5 19th 5:00am/Al nassr vs al fayha 19th 11:00am/Pfl 3 2024 welterweight & featherweight 19th 6:30pm
CA DAZN CA 02 Stuttgart open day 5 19th 6:30am/Leipzig vs leverkusen 19th 12:30pm
CA DAZN CA 03 Olympiakos u19 vs nantes u19 19th 8:00am/The dazn boxing show live weighin 19th 2:00pm
CA DAZN CA 04 Porto u19 vs ac milan u19 // UK Fri 19 Apr 5:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 12:00pm
CA DAZN CA 05 Al qadsiah vs al nassr // UK Fri 19 Apr 6:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 1:00pm
CA DAZN CA 06 Al ittihad vs al ahli // UK Fri 19 Apr 6:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 1:00pm
CA DAZN CA 07 Frankfurt vs augsburg // UK Fri 19 Apr 7:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 2:30pm
CA DAZN CA 08 Oxford vs stevenage // UK Fri 19 Apr 8:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== USA DIRTVISION PACK ===
US DIRTVISION 01: Paducah International Raceway The World of Outlaws Sprint Cars are back to Paducah International Speedway! // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:15am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:15pm
US DIRTVISION 02: Talladega Short Track Get ready for another thrilling doubleheader as the World of Outlaws storm into the Hornets nest. // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:15am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:15pm
US DIRTVISION 03: Super Bee Speedway The American Sprint Car Series National Tour makes its World Racing Group debut on DIRTVision! // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:15am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:15pm
US DIRTVISION 04: Williams Grove Speedway See the Pennsylvania Posse in action at this historic track. // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm
US DIRTVISION 05: Attica Raceway Park Time for racing at Attica Raceway Park! // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:30pm
US DIRTVISION 06: Jacksonville Speedway Time to get the 2024 season rollin! // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:15am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:15pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== USA TRILLER PACK ===
US TRILLER TV 01 Crypto Fight Night 4 Ansem vs Barney // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 10:00am
US TRILLER TV 02 XFN 393 // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00pm
US TRILLER TV 03 AEW Dynasty 2024 Countdown // UK Sat 20 Apr 3:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 10:00pm
US TRILLER TV 04 Dynasty Combat Sports Spring Brawl 2024 // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:00pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== USA PEACOCK PACK ===
US PEACOCK 01 DIVING Mixed 3m/10m team finals // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:45am // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:45am
US PEACOCK 01 WRESTLING Olympic trials day 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
US PEACOCK 01 INDYCAR Long beach practice 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 10:50pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 4:50pm
US PEACOCK 01 NXT Nxt level up // UK Sat 20 Apr 3:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00pm
US PEACOCK 01 DIVING Womens 3m springboard finals // UK Sat 20 Apr 9:00am // ET Sat 20 Apr 3:00am
US PEACOCK 02 GOLF Corales puntacana rd. 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 1:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00am
US PEACOCK 02 GOLF Invited celeb classic rd. 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 5:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 11:30am
US PEACOCK 02 GOLF Chevron championship rd. 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:00pm
US PEACOCK 02 DIVING Mens 3m springboard finals // UK Sat 20 Apr 11:00am // ET Sat 20 Apr 5:00am
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
US PEACOCK 03 WRESTLING Mat 1 day 1 session 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
US PEACOCK 03 WRESTLING Challenge tournament // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:30pm
US PEACOCK 04 WRESTLING Mat 2 day 1 session 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
US PEACOCK 04 WRESTLING Mat 1 day 1 session 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:30pm
US PEACOCK 05 WRESTLING Mat 3 day 1 session 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
US PEACOCK 05 WRESTLING Mat 2 day 1 session 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:30pm
US PEACOCK 06 WRESTLING Mat 4 day 1 session 1 // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
US PEACOCK 06 WRESTLING Mat 3 day 1 session 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:30pm
US PEACOCK 07 GOLF Chevron championship rd. 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 3:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:00am
US PEACOCK 07 MOTOR SPORTS Imsa long beach qualifying // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:55am // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:55pm
US PEACOCK 08 GOLF Rbc heritage rd. 2 // UK Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 1:00pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== USA MILB PACK ===
US MILB 01 Louisville Bats vs Iowa Cubs // UK Fri 19 Apr 10:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:30pm
US MILB 01 Tri-City Dust Devils vs Hillsboro Hops // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:35pm
US MILB 02 Louisville Bats vs Iowa Cubs // UK Fri 19 Apr 10:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 5:35pm
US MILB 02 Everett AquaSox vs Spokane Indians // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:35pm
US MILB 03 New Hampshire Fisher Cats vs Portland Sea Dogs // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:00pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:00pm
US MILB 03 Rancho Cucamonga Quakes vs Inland Empire 66ers // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:35pm
US MILB 04 Reading Fightin Phils vs Binghamton Rumble Ponies // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:05pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:05pm
US MILB 04 Visalia Rawhide vs Lake Elsinore Storm // UK Sat 20 Apr 2:45am // ET Fri 19 Apr 9:45pm
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Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
US MILB 05 Durham Bulls vs Worcester Red Sox // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:05pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:05pm
US MILB 05 Modesto Nuts vs San Jose Giants // UK Sat 20 Apr 3:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 10:00pm
US MILB 06 Toledo Mud Hens vs Rochester Red Wings // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:05pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:05pm
US MILB 06 Vancouver Canadians vs Eugene Emeralds // UK Sat 20 Apr 3:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 10:05pm
US MILB 07 West Michigan Whitecaps vs Great Lakes Loons // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:05pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:05pm
US MILB 07 Fresno Grizzlies vs Stockton Ports // UK Sat 20 Apr 3:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 10:05pm
US MILB 08 Tampa Tarpons vs St. Lucie Mets // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:10pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:10pm
US MILB 08 Tacoma Rainiers vs Las Vegas Aviators // UK Sat 20 Apr 3:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 10:05pm
US MILB 09 Buffalo Bisons vs Columbus Clippers // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:15pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:15pm
US MILB 10 Hickory Crawdads vs Greensboro Grasshoppers // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:30pm
US MILB 11 Clearwater Threshers vs Dunedin Blue Jays // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:30pm
US MILB 12 Lakeland Flying Tigers vs Palm Beach Cardinals // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:30pm
US MILB 13 Daytona Tortugas vs Bradenton Marauders // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:30pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:30pm
US MILB 14 Greenville Drive vs Wilmington Blue Rocks // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:35pm
US MILB 15 Brooklyn Cyclones vs Jersey Shore BlueClaws // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:35pm
US MILB 16 Lansing Lugnuts vs Lake County Captains // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:35pm
US MILB 17 Rome Emperors vs Asheville Tourists // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:35pm
US MILB 18 Lehigh Valley IronPigs vs Scranton/Wilkes-Barre RailRiders // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:35pm
US MILB 19 Hartford Yard Goats vs Somerset Patriots // UK Fri 19 Apr 11:35pm // ET Fri 19 Apr 6:35pm
US MILB 20 Delmarva Shorebirds vs Down East Wood Ducks // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm
US MILB 21 Montgomery Biscuits vs Tennessee Smokies // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm
US MILB 22 Richmond Flying Squirrels vs Harrisburg Senators // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:00pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
US MILB 23 Syracuse Mets vs Charlotte Knights // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:04am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:04pm
US MILB 24 Erie SeaWolves vs Akron RubberDucks // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 25 Memphis Redbirds vs Gwinnett Stripers // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 26 Altoona Curve vs Bowie Baysox // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 27 Carolina Mudcats vs Augusta GreenJackets // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 28 Lynchburg Hillcats vs Salem Red Sox // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 29 Jupiter Hammerheads vs Fort Myers Mighty Mussels // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 30 Kannapolis Cannon Ballers vs Myrtle Beach Pelicans // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 31 Aberdeen IronBirds vs Hudson Valley Renegades // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 32 Norfolk Tides vs Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 33 Fort Wayne TinCaps vs Dayton Dragons // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 34 St.Paul Saints vs Indianapolis Indians // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 35 Columbia Fireflies vs Charleston RiverDogs // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 36 Fayetteville Woodpeckers vs Fredericksburg Nationals // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 37 Rocket City Trash Pandas vs Pensacola Blue Wahoos // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:05pm
US MILB 38 Peoria Chiefs vs Quad Cities River Bandits // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:30am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:30pm
US MILB 39 South Bend Cubs vs Beloit Sky Carp // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:35pm
US MILB 40 Omaha Storm Chasers vs Nashville Sounds // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:35pm
US MILB 41 Winston-Salem Dash vs Bowling Green Hot Rods // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:35pm
US MILB 42 Chattanooga Lookouts vs Biloxi Shuckers // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:35pm
US MILB 43 Cedar Rapids Kernels vs Wisconsin Timber Rattlers // UK Sat 20 Apr 12:40am // ET Fri 19 Apr 7:40pm
US MILB 44 Mississippi Braves vs Birmingham Barons // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:00am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:00pm
US MILB 45 Sacramento River Cats vs Oklahoma City Baseball Club // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 46 San Antonio Missions vs Corpus Christi Hooks // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 47 Frisco RoughRiders vs Arkansas Travelers // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 48 Midland RockHounds vs Northwest Arkansas Naturals // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 49 Tulsa Drillers vs Wichita Wind Surge // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 50 Springfield Cardinals vs Amarillo Sod Poodles // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 51 Round Rock Express vs Sugar Land Space Cowboys // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:05am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:05pm
US MILB 52 Reno Aces vs Salt Lake Bees // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:35pm
US MILB 53 Albuquerque Isotopes vs El Paso Chihuahuas // UK Sat 20 Apr 1:35am // ET Fri 19 Apr 8:35pm
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== USA NBA PACK ===
US NBA LIVE 01: Play-In Game 5: Chicago vs Miami 7:00 PM ET
US NBA LIVE 02: Play-In Game 6: Sacramento vs. New Orleans 9:30 PM ET
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== USA MLB PACK ===
US MLB LIVE 01: Miami at Chi. Cubs 2:20 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 02: LA Angels at Cincinnati 6:40 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 03: Boston at Pittsburgh 6:40 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 04: Chi. White Sox at Philadelphia 6:40 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 05: Houston at Washington 6:45 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 06: Tampa Bay at NY Yankees 7:05 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 07: Oakland at Cleveland 7:10 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 08: Texas at Atlanta 7:20 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 09: Baltimore at Kansas City 7:40 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 10: Detroit at Minnesota 8:10 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 11: Milwuakee at St. Louis 8:15 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 12: Seattle at Colorado 8:40 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 13: Toronto at San Diego 9:40 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 14: NY Mets at LA Dodgers 10:10 PM ET
US MLB LIVE 15: Arizona at San Francisco 10:15 PM ET
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== PPV LIVE EVENT PACK ===
PPV LIVE EVENT 01 - 8PM Rough N Rowdy 24 Country Roads
PPV LIVE EVENT 02 - 8:30AM One Friday Fights 59
PPV LIVE EVENT 03 - 10AM Crypto Fight Night 4 Ansem v Barney
PPV LIVE EVENT 04 - 10:30AM ACA 174
PPV LIVE EVENT 05 - 6PM Budo Striking 21
PPV LIVE EVENT 06 - 6:30PM PFL 3 Regular Season
PPV LIVE EVENT 07 - 8PM Scoby v Linger
PPV LIVE EVENT 08 - 8PM DCS Spring Brawl
PPV LIVE EVENT 09 - 9PM XFN 393
PPV LIVE EVENT 10 - 12PM MotoAmerica Superbikes Atlanta
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
PPV LIVE EVENT 11 - 12PM PDRA Mid Atlantic
PPV LIVE EVENT 12 - 6:30PM Attica Sprint Cars
PPV LIVE EVENT 13 - 6:45PM Kubota High Limit Racing
PPV LIVE EVENT 14 - 7PM Lindas Micro Sprints
PPV LIVE EVENT 15 - 7PM Williams Grove Sprints
PPV LIVE EVENT 16 - 7:15PM World of Outlaws Sprint Cars
PPV LIVE EVENT 17 - 7:15PM World of Outlaws Late Models
PPV LIVE EVENT 18 - 7:15PM Jacksonville Springs
PPV LIVE EVENT 19 - 7:15PM American Sprint Car Series
PPV LIVE EVENT 20 - 7:15PM Spring Nationals Ponderosa
PPV LIVE EVENT 21 - 7:15PM Spirit Micro Sprints
PPV LIVE EVENT 22 - 8PM URSS Enid Sprint Cars
PPV LIVE EVENT 23 - 8:30PM USMTS Spring Salute Late Model
PPV LIVE EVENT 26 - 7PM Coachella Stage
PPV LIVE EVENT 27 - 7PM Coachella Outdoor Theatre
PPV LIVE EVENT 28 - 7PM Coachella Sahara
PPV LIVE EVENT 29 - 7PM Coachella Mojave
PPV LIVE EVENT 30 - 7PM Coachella Gobi
PPV LIVE EVENT 31 - 7PM Coachella Sonora
​
Screwdatt, [4/19/2024 10:22 AM]
=== FRANCE FFF PACK ===
FR FFF TV 01: AVRANCHES MSM - LB CHÂTEAUROUX 19:15 CET
FR FFF TV 02: FC ROUEN 1899 - AS NANCY 19:15 CET
FR FFF TV 03: RED STAR - DIJON FCO 19:15 CET
FR FFF TV 04: ORLÉANS - NÎMES 19:15 CET
FR FFF TV 05: LE MANS FC - FC VILLEFRANCHE B 19:15 CET
FR FFF TV 06: GOAL FC - MARIGNANE GIGNAC CB FC 19:15 CET
FR FFF TV 07: SA ÉPINAL - FC VERSAILLES 19:15 CET

I (20M) had always had an interest in the paranormal. I can still recall wearing out my Dad’s Ghostbusters VHS tape as a kid. I was transfixed on the paranormal growing up, but it wasn’t until my freshman year of High School that I decided that I wanted to be more hands-on with the paranormal. So all through High School I saved all my money from summer jobs, birthdays, and of course graduation, to buy a van and hit the open road.
Hell, I even started my own YouTube channel, and can proudly say that my little channel, Paranormal Inquisition, had up to about 600 thousand subscribers at that point. I had traveled to a lot of the popular haunted spots; Gettysburg Cemetery in Pennsylvania, Dudleytown in Connecticut, The Lizzie Borden House in Massachusetts, hell, I even got to check out The Amityville Horror House in New York.
I’d pass through state to state, town to town, and check in with the locals about if there was anything that was allegedly haunted in the area. Most of the time I’d get a side-eyed look, but there were a few times the locals would spill on the paranormal goings on nearby. And let me tell ya, it made some good content when something happened. At least I thought it must’ve been because, after about two years of scraping by, I had finally gotten monetized. So, I decided to keep the show going. I had just hit the Winchester House in California (a hotspot for activity lemme tell you!) when one of the locals told me about Stage 19A.
It was an old, abandoned studio in Hollywood that they had simply boarded up. Apparently, it used to be the home of an old children’s show that aired back in the 70s called Rosie’s Playtime. It was a typical kid’s show, kinda similar to Blue’s Clues or Barney but instead, starred a clown named Rosie. According to the Californian local I spoke with, after a few episodes, guests on the show began to go missing. And by guests, I mean the children that would randomly be selected to join Rosie on whatever adventure she was going on that episode. After the show was forced to shut down, they tried to clean it up to re-use it. But everyone who went in reported strange goings on. Children laughing and screaming, things are being moved or thrown, and some have even heard arguments in the studio. However, when they went to investigate it, no one was there. Eventually, the studio shut down 19A, but it was still standing.
I remember thanking the man for his time and packed up to head to LA. As I sat in my motel room after making the 5-hour drive from San Jose to Hollywood, I started to do some digging on the show. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but from what I found you could tell it was a cheaply made show.
All the images I had managed to scrounge up online showed Rosie as a young woman, about 19 or so, dressed as a clown. She wore a red and white short-sleeved dress that came down to her knees. She also wore black leggings, a black bowtie, and white boots and gloves. She fashioned her blonde hair into pigtails and was usually spotted with a small, old, black top hat. She wore simple clown makeup of course; white painted face, red lipstick with an exaggerated smile, a small red dot on her nose, and black diamonds over her eyes.
The local I spoke with had been right about the disappearances. The thing I found truly disturbing though, was that the police didn’t start getting involved until 6 kids had disappeared. Their first suspect was Gordan Daniels, the creator, producer, and director of the show. He also happened to be the father of the star of the show, Rose Daniels who portrayed the titular Rosie. When they tried to question him at his home, they found him packing his bags. A struggle had ensued and Gordan was gunned down after he grabbed one of the officer’s firearms. They looked throughout the house, but never found the missing children. They also found that Rose’s room had been thrown around and most of her clothes were gone. So, authorities concluded that she must’ve been an accomplice and fled the country. From what I could tell they never found the bodies of the missing children, there was a lot of push from the LAPD to simply close the investigation.
I remember finally managing to track down a clip of the show on a subreddit, and being an avid wrestling fan, I recognized the song Rosie opened and closed the show with as none other than the theme song to the Firefly Fun House. It was a gimmick about a dark kid’s entertainer one I had always been a fan of. It took some digging, but I eventually found the origin of the song. It appears that Gordan had originally written the song for the show and performed it while Rose sang the vocals. After his death, the ownership of the song went to some production company that ended up merging with another company, where it sat until it was re-recorded in 2018.
I drove my old van to the outskirts of the studio lot. By the time I managed to climb the fence, it was well past 9 pm. I looked around in the dark, fearing that my flashlight would draw unwanted attention until I finally found Stage 19A. It was a large white building with the number and letter painted on the side. I took out my lock-picking kit and made short work of the little padlock on the overhead door. After 2 years of being on the road and sneaking into abandoned places, I had become somewhat of an expert.
I held the door up just enough so that I could carefully crawl under it and then gently put it down. Now that the illegal act of breaking and entering had been done, I fired up my GoPro HERO6, took out my handy dandy flashlight, and began to shoot the opening I had memorized on the drive down.
“I’m here on Stage 19A where a popular children’s show once aired. The sounds of laughing children once bounced off the walls of this studio on the set of Rosie’s Playtime back in the 70’s. But with the show now being off the air for nearly 50 years, why are people still reporting the sounds of children? Join me tonight as I—” But suddenly, a feminine voice cut me off. It was as quiet as a whisper, but as sharp as a knife.
“Get out!” I rationalized that it was probably just something playing in a different studio. In my experience, the paranormal took some warming up before they made contact. I began walking further into the studio, making sure to light up all the props that had managed to gather cobwebs over time.
“Get out!” The voice rang out again. “Leave!” The voice had gotten louder and firmer.
“What’s your name, spirit?!” I had asked. Silence deafened the room for a minute as I eagerly awaited a response. But instead, I only heard the sound of laughter. Children’s laughter. At the time, I thought I had hit the jackpot. Ghosts that were eager to make contact. I remember getting jittery with excitement as I made my way down the hallway towards the dressing rooms.
“I quit!” A voice rang out. There was some loud banging coming from the dressing room at the end of the hall. I slowly began to approach it.
“Hello?” I called out. I began to get closer as I heard a man’s voice along with the woman’s But, he was talking too low, I couldn’t hear him at first.
“I can’t do this anymore! I’m leaving!” The woman yelled. As I listened closer, it sounded like the voice who had just told me to leave. “This whole thing is over!” I finally arrived outside the door of all the commotion. I put my hand on the handle, eager to spring into action but trying to eavesdrop more on the conversation.
“ITS OVER WHEN I SAY IT IS!” The man’s voice boomed through the walls of the stage. Out of pure instinct, I flung the door open expecting to walk into an argument. Maybe a homeless couple had set up shop here, but no one was there. I walked into the dressing room which was an absolute disaster. The place was musty as hell, a vanity was broken and on its side and there was garbage all over the floor. Upon closer inspection though, it wasn’t garbage at all. It was pages of a script. I wiped off some of the dust, revealing a script to an episode of Rosie’s Playtime. I continued looking through the papers, being sure that I didn’t cut myself on any of the glass that was all over the floor from the vanity, and ended up with a final copy of the script, along with a few kids’ drawings of a female clown. They were all of her holding their hands or playing with them. And since Rosie was an alleged accomplice to these disappearances, it made me eerie to think about it.
I looked and found a piece of glass that had old, dried lipstick writing on it. ‘Smile more’, it read. Funny enough, I saw the same note on the front of the script. I shined the light across the room and noticed an old, tan couch. Like everything else, it was covered in dust, but there were stains on it.
Smears as if someone had tried to clean something up. I remember noting out loud for the camera, thinking that it might have been blood.
This must have been Rosie’s dressing room. I thought to myself. As I backed away from the couch, I felt this force knock me back and onto the glass on the floor. I remember hearing laughter and running as I did my best to get to my feet.
“You’re it!” I snapped my flashlight all around, looking for my attacker. But I couldn’t find them.
Screw this. I thought to myself. None of the ghosts had ever gotten violent with me before. This was way out of my wheelhouse. Ignoring the sharp pain that my back was in, I dashed the door of the studio. And as crazy as it sounds… it wouldn’t budge. I kept trying the door, being slowly taunted with more giggling. Another force knocked me right on my back, again. The same child-like voice as before repeated,
“You’re it!” I got up and I ran. I went right into the nearest dressing room and barricaded the door with my own body. My arms were badly scratched up from the glass, and my back was in a lot of pain from the impacted falls. I looked around the room which appeared to be a children’s playroom. Discarded toys lay all around the room, and in the back was a handmade, wooden playhouse. The wood was primarily rotted, so much so that the ceiling had even caved in. But something about it…called to me. I slowly crawled to it, peeking inside over the collapsed roof. Aside from the expected debris from the roof, I found a brand-new rug. I gently moved the playhouse aside, trying my best not to break it any more than it already was. As I lifted the rug, wet cement began to slide down it. It was like someone had just poured it on the floor. I ran my fingers on it, I needed to feel that it was real. And that’s when it fell. I mean a whole glob of cement fell into what I suppose was a giant hole. Shaken, I grabbed my flashlight and pointed it down to where it had fallen. A little girl was sitting down inside this giant hole, she had this fiery red hair and was dressed in what looked like a blue dress. Oddly enough, I didn’t even wonder how she had gotten down there, or where there was. I just thought he was trapped.
“Do you need help?!” I asked. I put my flashlight in my mouth, planted one hand firmly on the floor, and reached down to grab her. But as my torso got halfway down the hole, I realized no one was there. Instead what I found was a large crawlspace filled with old children’s clothing. Clothing that had been worn out and tattered. Against my better judgment, I craned my neck down a bit more, which is where I saw bones lying in those children’s clothes. I jolted backward, back up to the floor. My flashlight dropped out of my mouth and began to roll. I made a dive to grab it before it fell down the hole, but there wasn’t a hole anymore. The whole ground was merely cement, the brand-new rug I had picked up earlier was now old and moldy. Sitting off to the side where I had left it. I began to panic…which is when I heard the giggling in my ear.
I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, there was the little girl. She was dirty and disheveled, bruised, cut, and discolored, and although her face looked as if she had been crying, she laughed when she saw me.
“Found me!” She giggled. I jolted back and rushed up against the wall. I looked around the room for others as laughter began to ring out, surrounding me. But no one was there, not even the little girl I just saw.
“We’re it! We’re it! We’re it!” I got to my feet and ran for the door, but just like the door upfront, it wouldn’t budge. I began to kick and throw my body against the door. I don’t know how long I tried, but at some point, I had been banging on the door for so long that I hadn’t even noticed that the children stopped laughing. I took a breath and tried the door again, relieved when it finally turned.
“Hey mister,” A voice called out behind me. I should’ve ignored it, but something made me turn my head towards the voice. Standing behind me, was this little boy. He was dirty, bruised, cut, discolored and his face looked as if he had been crying, just as the little girl had been. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and had brown hair that was styled into a bowl cut. I didn’t say anything to him. He gave me this wide smile, multiple of his teeth fell to the floor as if they had just been sitting in his mouth. “Run and hide,” He whispered. He started to laugh as I threw the door open and began to run through the main stage. The children laughed as I tried to open the overhead door again but to no avail. A large red rubber ball had bashed me in the hand. I gripped it in pain and tried to wiggle my fingers, but couldn’t. As I watched my broken hand begin to discolor, I heard the children scream at me.
“Cheater! Cheater! Pumpkin eater!” They continued repeating it as I desperately tried to find a place to hide, settling quickly on diving under what I had surmised to be an old craft services table. I cowered under there and prayed for the first time in my life. I used my good hand to lift the old, rotting tablecloth I was hiding behind. I needed to know how close they were and sure enough, I got my answer. I lifted the tablecloth and came face to face with another little boy. His overall appearance was the same as the others, but he was in overalls and a yellow t-shirt.
“Found you!” He laughed. The table flew up as if someone had thrown it, giving away my location. “You lose!” The little boy yelled. He began to kick and wildly throw punches at me. I tried to fight him off, but eventually, I was overpowered. Though I didn’t see them all at first, more children came in and joined him. They were pulling my hair and skin, kicking, punching and even biting me. I tried to shake them off. Hell, I even swatted at them, but they were persistent. They continued laughing, almost mocking me as they yelled “You lose!” over and over again.
I thought I was dead when I heard the music. At first, I didn’t recognize it from the ringing in my ears, but eventually… I heard the theme music from Rosie’s Playtime. The assault stopped. I looked out to see none other than Rosie herself standing at the entrance of the hallway that led to the dressing rooms. She was singing. But something wasn’t right. This Rosie was something out of a horror film. Her costume was dirty and tattered, her bowtie drooped around her neck as if it could hide the large gash that was covering her throat. She looked beaten on and discolored. Her face even had a large smile cut into it. Some of the skin had even been removed so that you could actually see some of her teeth and jaw. I looked on in horror as she held out her hand, the pinkie finger of the glove looked as if it was missing, revealing her broken finger.
She continued to sing the song, slowly getting down onto her knees. She opened up her arms in some kind of invitation. And that was the first time I heard the similarity. This was the same voice that had told me to leave when I first arrived. I watched the children run towards her as she continued to sing, a black liquid protruded from her eyes. It was almost as if she was crying. She wrapped the six children in a large group hug as she began to repeat the song. Now was my chance. I picked myself up and staggered towards the main entrance, praying that it opened. But before I could even grab the handle, the door began to open ever so slightly. I looked back to see Rosie who had just begun the third repeat of the song, but this time it seemed like…like she was singing to me. I dropped to the ground and painfully rolled out under the door, watching Rosie sing to the children as the overhead door slammed to the ground.
I must have passed out shortly after because the next thing I knew, I was in a hospital room. Apparently, I had crawled towards the guard booth, and he had found me when he went out to do his hourly rounds. The nature of my injuries led the police to believe I had been assaulted by a group of homeless people who were trying to get into one of the studios. My wrist was broken, I had 3 fractured ribs, a dislocated knee, a black eye, multiple cuts, scratches, and bite marks. I thought about explaining what really happened, but not wanting that pesky B&E charge or an involuntary hold at the psych ward, I merely told them I didn’t remember what happened or how I came to be inside the lot. I had originally planned to release the footage once I was out of the hospital, but that was until a lawyer came to see me. He was a man of average height and weight, with greying blonde hair that had been slicked back tightly. He had to be about 60 or 70 years old.
He claimed to work for the studio who was very sorry to hear about my encounter with vagrants on their lot. They were so apologetic in fact, they offered me a check. 1 million dollars for my pain and suffering. All I had to do was sign an NDA which stated I was legally never allowed to reveal the studio’s name…and my camera. I had asked why, but all the lawyer told me was that if the footage leaked out of my assault on studio grounds, it would lead to a load of bad publicity.
After all, I had been through, I had no interest in continuing with the channel or ghost hunting as a whole. So…I took the money. But as I handed over my camera, which was now cracked and probably broken from my assault, something came over me. I had to tell him about the hole in the dressing room.
“They’re still there,” I blurted out. “In the --,” But the lawyer cut me off.
“Mr. Michaelson,” He assured. “Our studio was found to not be at fault with any of the heinous alleged actions of Gordan Daniels and no evidence of these alleged actions were ever found on our property. Whatever it is that you believe you saw in Stage 19A was probably the result of a hallucination caused by a gas leak.” He tried to explain. “It was the reason we stopped using that particular building.” His cover was almost logical, I mean it made perfect sense. There was only one problem.
“I never told anyone that I went inside Stage 19A,” I told him. The lawyer smiled, put my camera in his suit jacket pocket, left the check on my hospital table, and then left without saying a word.
That was a little over a year ago, and I haven’t been ghost-hunting since. I even shut down the channel. With no new content, I was bound to get demonetized at some point. My body eventually healed up, but the psychological effects of my visit to Stage 19A remained. I get these panic attacks whenever I hear a child’s voice. It had gotten so bad that I stopped going out in public. But the worst part? The worst part is the dreams. In the hospital, they were frequent, over time they began to get less frequent but never less vivid. The memory of those final moments in Stage 19A still haunt me. I can see Rosie holding the group of children close to her, staring at me with her horrific smile as she sang to them. I can still hear her singing....
“We’re really glad that you’re our friend…and this is a friendship that’ll never ever end,”

And I hope you get over “not wanting to be a stepmother” because this is the only way you will be a mother… seeing as how you are 38 and have never been married. Have you ever thought about why this is ? Why you want a family so much but have never been married ? Could it be that it’s because you are so judgmental ? And a narcissist ?
Congratulations on your career. Take it away and your entire personality goes away with it. No hobbies, no interests.
“You need someone that matches your education and salary.” Fair enough and good luck with that. I am sure you will have no trouble finding a handsome, charming, educated type that makes as much as you and who is single and has no children… These men are already taken or interested in women much younger and more exciting than you. Why do you think you are so high value and deserving of such a man ? What do you bring to the table ?

 When I first put my hands down your pants it felt like you had never once shaved. Ever. And the using bar soap to wash your hair with ? And the using toilet paper on your period as a pad ? And the makeup ? You put on makeup like a preteen girl who had never been taught how to do it properly. All this I didn’t mind and found endearing and sweet. And maybe it’s a cultural thing and you were never shown how to do these things. A 38-year-old “woman” that thinks she is going to land a CEO type when she douses herself in cheap perfume, has clumpy mascara and who puts on a cats eye with the touch of a toddler who just found her mother’s makeup. And who chooses Barney color purple nail polish. Super sophisticated and exactly the type high value men go after. 

And the flowers, from your “career coach” that you lied to me about and told me you bought yourself ? Men do not send women flowers they are not interested in. I guess the ones I bought you every single week weren’t enough for you. And then on Valentine’s Day you get more ? From a “secret admirer” at your office ?! And you never thought that displaying them in front of me was rude ? You sure got a lot of flowers from men that weren’t your boyfriend. You have the emotional IQ if a tsetse fly. And of course I was the one who was wrong for feeling upset by this because , “don’t you know that I love you?” You never apologized for anything and I had no right to feel anyway that ever cast you in a negative light because you have never made a mistake in your life. Textbook narcissism.
And the condoms … You got an entire box of condoms at a doctors office you were at to get an IUD put in for us. And you took one out and blew it up like a balloon in the waiting office ? And you brought them home for us to use ? ( minus the one you blew up like a balloon )You’re so weird that I could picture you doing something like this. The absolute gall of you to feed me this story and then get mad at me for even questioning it. The thing is, you doing something like this is not outside the realm of possibility. I will take that to my grave never knowing the answer. You had been with 2 people your entire life and I literally had to show you the hard copy of my clean STI test ( after i had already been inside you ) before we had sex. And you being too embarrassed to ask for the morning after pill at the pharmacy. I do not see you walking in and buying an entire box of condoms. Also, we had condoms at your place that we never used. I will be tortured by this until I die which I must admit I hope is sooner than later. Yo be literally driven me crazy.
You do realize you have Asperger’s yes ? The engineering degree ( even though it was a Mexican college ), the way you picked up French so fast … the complete lack of empathy and tact. The introversion and lack of social skills ? And you do realize when I told you that you may have it I was telling you out of love and because I wanted to understand better the absolutely rude and thoughtless things you did and said ? Going to dinner with me on Valentine’s Day in a wrinkled tee-shirt ? But, you were “wearing a skirt” so it was okay right. Asking me if I was gay 5 minutes after meeting me ? Asking to see my college diploma ? Asking if my parents owned or rented there house ? Saying it was either “the druggie or the guy with 3 kids” to choose from off of Bumble ? ( sorry I have partied a little bit in my life and had some fun ) Admitting to me after 3 months that you only invited me to your apartment on our second date because you wanted to smoke pot for the first time ? Telling me you loved me after 2 months ? These are all not normal things Atypical people do.
If I wasn’t so mad at you I would feel sorry for you. A little Mexican girl of 38 completely alone who will never have a child because she judges everyone and thinks she is superior because she has a fancy job ( that you advanced in through by diversity hiring incentives…. With you HR gets to check 3 boxes off the list with one hire ).
And you block people because you do not have the skills to communicate like an adult. And because you do not want to admit any faults.. Narcissist. This word gets thrown around a lot but you fit the criteria To. A. T. I’m certain there is someone out there that is 6 feet tall, makes six figures in a job you find worthy and has a thing for Aspergy narcissists. And I’m sure you will find one to impregnate you after they yank that IUD out of your pussy if they can find the way through the hair.
When I broke up with you and when you told me “you needed someone that matched your education and salary” ( to hurt my feelings) and then you asked me what I thought was wrong with you ? So many things Anaí, SO many things. But I loved you anyway and would have given you the child you wanted and it would have been so beautiful.
Your lies completely destroyed my trust. My ability to love is shattered. And yeah, I only make $52,000 a year because I spent years of my life depressed and literally sleeping until 4 pm. I never wanted a girlfriend or a career so I had a late start. And I guess it’s naive of me to believe someone would love me when i don’t own a house or make a lot of money. And you made this very, very clear.
Speaking of my depression and anxiety. It didn’t help being hearing “I don’t understand how someone like you can feel anxiety or sadness.” I guess because I am handsome and fun and all the other things you allegedly loved about me I am not allowed to suffer this way ? Again with the complete lack of an emotional IQ. And you telling me to stop taking my medication certainly didn’t help.
By the way, I sometimes closed my eyes when I was fucking you and imagined I was fucking your friend Iris. Also, the guttural noise you made when you came was such a turnoff. It sounded like you were being kicked in the stomach.
I should have ran when I saw you were off. And questioned why you were 38 and had never been married and had no kids. And had never even lived with anyone. I was intrigued. And the fact that you spoke French was really attractive. But, you know what you did and you didn’t care. Also, you’re not the first woman that has told me she loved me after such a short period of time. You didn’t love me. Yo just thought I was cool and you loved the way I kissed you. I loved kissing you too. I have never felt that before and am unlikely to feel it again. The way we would hold a closed mouth kiss for several minutes because we both felt fireworks in our tummies.
I’m sorry I don’t make a million dollars a year. And that my sadness scared you because you didn’t understand it. If you had truly loved me none of this would have been an issue and you wouldn’t have lied to me about keeping men in your periphery because you liked the attention. Maybe you’re with the almost 60-year-old troll like “career coach” who sent you those flowers. Or with whomever you definitely didn’t use that condom with. Either way better get to work on having that baby.
You don’t deserve me and I am not sure what I even saw in you which makes the way I feel ( like I miss you so much and loved you so much ) even that much more confusing. It makes me feel crazy. I have had women before and after that were more beautiful and fun and interesting than you’ll ever be. Maybe it’s because you spoke French and were from Mexico. The novelty. All I know is that it’s been almost three years and I am still consumed by thoughts of you everyday. And there are times I invite death so I won’t have to have these thoughts. I am tortured by you.
Ciao

I (20M) had always had an interest in the paranormal. I can still recall wearing out my Dad’s Ghostbusters VHS tape as a kid. I was transfixed on the paranormal growing up, but it wasn’t until my freshman year of High School that I decided that I wanted to be more hands-on with the paranormal. So all through High School I saved all my money from summer jobs, birthdays, and of course graduation, to buy a van and hit the open road.
Hell, I even started my own YouTube channel, and can proudly say that my little channel, Paranormal Inquisition, had up to about 600 thousand subscribers at that point. I had traveled to a lot of the popular haunted spots; Gettysburg Cemetery in Pennsylvania, Dudleytown in Connecticut, The Lizzie Borden House in Massachusetts, hell, I even got to check out The Amityville Horror House in New York.
I’d pass through state to state, town to town, and check in with the locals about if there was anything that was allegedly haunted in the area. Most of the time I’d get a side-eyed look, but there were a few times the locals would spill on the paranormal goings on nearby. And let me tell ya, it made some good content when something happened. At least I thought it must’ve been because, after about two years of scraping by, I had finally gotten monetized. So, I decided to keep the show going. I had just hit the Winchester House in California (a hotspot for activity lemme tell you!) when one of the locals told me about Stage 19A.
It was an old, abandoned studio in Hollywood that they had simply boarded up. Apparently, it used to be the home of an old children’s show that aired back in the 70s called Rosie’s Playtime. It was a typical kid’s show, kinda similar to Blue’s Clues or Barney but instead, starred a clown named Rosie. According to the Californian local I spoke with, after a few episodes, guests on the show began to go missing. And by guests, I mean the children that would randomly be selected to join Rosie on whatever adventure she was going on that episode. After the show was forced to shut down, they tried to clean it up to re-use it. But everyone who went in reported strange goings on. Children laughing and screaming, things are being moved or thrown, and some have even heard arguments in the studio. However, when they went to investigate it, no one was there. Eventually, the studio shut down 19A, but it was still standing.
I remember thanking the man for his time and packed up to head to LA. As I sat in my motel room after making the 5-hour drive from San Jose to Hollywood, I started to do some digging on the show. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but from what I found you could tell it was a cheaply made show.
All the images I had managed to scrounge up online showed Rosie as a young woman, about 19 or so, dressed as a clown. She wore a red and white short-sleeved dress that came down to her knees. She also wore black leggings, a black bowtie, and white boots and gloves. She fashioned her blonde hair into pigtails and was usually spotted with a small, old, black top hat. She wore simple clown makeup of course; white painted face, red lipstick with an exaggerated smile, a small red dot on her nose, and black diamonds over her eyes.
The local I spoke with had been right about the disappearances. The thing I found truly disturbing though, was that the police didn’t start getting involved until 6 kids had disappeared. Their first suspect was Gordan Daniels, the creator, producer, and director of the show. He also happened to be the father of the star of the show, Rose Daniels who portrayed the titular Rosie. When they tried to question him at his home, they found him packing his bags. A struggle had ensued and Gordan was gunned down after he grabbed one of the officer’s firearms. They looked throughout the house, but never found the missing children. They also found that Rose’s room had been thrown around and most of her clothes were gone. So, authorities concluded that she must’ve been an accomplice and fled the country. From what I could tell they never found the bodies of the missing children, there was a lot of push from the LAPD to simply close the investigation.
I remember finally managing to track down a clip of the show on a subreddit, and being an avid wrestling fan, I recognized the song Rosie opened and closed the show with as none other than the theme song to the Firefly Fun House. It was a gimmick about a dark kid’s entertainer one I had always been a fan of. It took some digging, but I eventually found the origin of the song. It appears that Gordan had originally written the song for the show and performed it while Rose sang the vocals. After his death, the ownership of the song went to some production company that ended up merging with another company, where it sat until it was re-recorded in 2018.
I drove my old van to the outskirts of the studio lot. By the time I managed to climb the fence, it was well past 9 pm. I looked around in the dark, fearing that my flashlight would draw unwanted attention until I finally found Stage 19A. It was a large white building with the number and letter painted on the side. I took out my lock-picking kit and made short work of the little padlock on the overhead door. After 2 years of being on the road and sneaking into abandoned places, I had become somewhat of an expert.
I held the door up just enough so that I could carefully crawl under it and then gently put it down. Now that the illegal act of breaking and entering had been done, I fired up my GoPro HERO6, took out my handy dandy flashlight, and began to shoot the opening I had memorized on the drive down.
“I’m here on Stage 19A where a popular children’s show once aired. The sounds of laughing children once bounced off the walls of this studio on the set of Rosie’s Playtime back in the 70’s. But with the show now being off the air for nearly 50 years, why are people still reporting the sounds of children? Join me tonight as I—” But suddenly, a feminine voice cut me off. It was as quiet as a whisper, but as sharp as a knife.
“Get out!” I rationalized that it was probably just something playing in a different studio. In my experience, the paranormal took some warming up before they made contact. I began walking further into the studio, making sure to light up all the props that had managed to gather cobwebs over time.
“Get out!” The voice rang out again. “Leave!” The voice had gotten louder and firmer.
“What’s your name, spirit?!” I had asked. Silence deafened the room for a minute as I eagerly awaited a response. But instead, I only heard the sound of laughter. Children’s laughter. At the time, I thought I had hit the jackpot. Ghosts that were eager to make contact. I remember getting jittery with excitement as I made my way down the hallway towards the dressing rooms.
“I quit!” A voice rang out. There was some loud banging coming from the dressing room at the end of the hall. I slowly began to approach it.
“Hello?” I called out. I began to get closer as I heard a man’s voice along with the woman’s But, he was talking too low, I couldn’t hear him at first.
“I can’t do this anymore! I’m leaving!” The woman yelled. As I listened closer, it sounded like the voice who had just told me to leave. “This whole thing is over!” I finally arrived outside the door of all the commotion. I put my hand on the handle, eager to spring into action but trying to eavesdrop more on the conversation.
“ITS OVER WHEN I SAY IT IS!” The man’s voice boomed through the walls of the stage. Out of pure instinct, I flung the door open expecting to walk into an argument. Maybe a homeless couple had set up shop here, but no one was there. I walked into the dressing room which was an absolute disaster. The place was musty as hell, a vanity was broken and on its side and there was garbage all over the floor. Upon closer inspection though, it wasn’t garbage at all. It was pages of a script. I wiped off some of the dust, revealing a script to an episode of Rosie’s Playtime. I continued looking through the papers, being sure that I didn’t cut myself on any of the glass that was all over the floor from the vanity, and ended up with a final copy of the script, along with a few kids’ drawings of a female clown. They were all of her holding their hands or playing with them. And since Rosie was an alleged accomplice to these disappearances, it made me eerie to think about it.
I looked and found a piece of glass that had old, dried lipstick writing on it. ‘Smile more’, it read. Funny enough, I saw the same note on the front of the script. I shined the light across the room and noticed an old, tan couch. Like everything else, it was covered in dust, but there were stains on it.
Smears as if someone had tried to clean something up. I remember noting out loud for the camera, thinking that it might have been blood.
This must have been Rosie’s dressing room. I thought to myself. As I backed away from the couch, I felt this force knock me back and onto the glass on the floor. I remember hearing laughter and running as I did my best to get to my feet.
“You’re it!” I snapped my flashlight all around, looking for my attacker. But I couldn’t find them.
Screw this. I thought to myself. None of the ghosts had ever gotten violent with me before. This was way out of my wheelhouse. Ignoring the sharp pain that my back was in, I dashed the door of the studio. And as crazy as it sounds… it wouldn’t budge. I kept trying the door, being slowly taunted with more giggling. Another force knocked me right on my back, again. The same child-like voice as before repeated,
“You’re it!” I got up and I ran. I went right into the nearest dressing room and barricaded the door with my own body. My arms were badly scratched up from the glass, and my back was in a lot of pain from the impacted falls. I looked around the room which appeared to be a children’s playroom. Discarded toys lay all around the room, and in the back was a handmade, wooden playhouse. The wood was primarily rotted, so much so that the ceiling had even caved in. But something about it…called to me. I slowly crawled to it, peeking inside over the collapsed roof. Aside from the expected debris from the roof, I found a brand-new rug. I gently moved the playhouse aside, trying my best not to break it any more than it already was. As I lifted the rug, wet cement began to slide down it. It was like someone had just poured it on the floor. I ran my fingers on it, I needed to feel that it was real. And that’s when it fell. I mean a whole glob of cement fell into what I suppose was a giant hole. Shaken, I grabbed my flashlight and pointed it down to where it had fallen. A little girl was sitting down inside this giant hole, she had this fiery red hair and was dressed in what looked like a blue dress. Oddly enough, I didn’t even wonder how she had gotten down there, or where there was. I just thought he was trapped.
“Do you need help?!” I asked. I put my flashlight in my mouth, planted one hand firmly on the floor, and reached down to grab her. But as my torso got halfway down the hole, I realized no one was there. Instead what I found was a large crawlspace filled with old children’s clothing. Clothing that had been worn out and tattered. Against my better judgment, I craned my neck down a bit more, which is where I saw bones lying in those children’s clothes. I jolted backward, back up to the floor. My flashlight dropped out of my mouth and began to roll. I made a dive to grab it before it fell down the hole, but there wasn’t a hole anymore. The whole ground was merely cement, the brand-new rug I had picked up earlier was now old and moldy. Sitting off to the side where I had left it. I began to panic…which is when I heard the giggling in my ear.
I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, there was the little girl. She was dirty and disheveled, bruised, cut, and discolored, and although her face looked as if she had been crying, she laughed when she saw me.
“Found me!” She giggled. I jolted back and rushed up against the wall. I looked around the room for others as laughter began to ring out, surrounding me. But no one was there, not even the little girl I just saw.
“We’re it! We’re it! We’re it!” I got to my feet and ran for the door, but just like the door upfront, it wouldn’t budge. I began to kick and throw my body against the door. I don’t know how long I tried, but at some point, I had been banging on the door for so long that I hadn’t even noticed that the children stopped laughing. I took a breath and tried the door again, relieved when it finally turned.
“Hey mister,” A voice called out behind me. I should’ve ignored it, but something made me turn my head towards the voice. Standing behind me, was this little boy. He was dirty, bruised, cut, discolored and his face looked as if he had been crying, just as the little girl had been. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and had brown hair that was styled into a bowl cut. I didn’t say anything to him. He gave me this wide smile, multiple of his teeth fell to the floor as if they had just been sitting in his mouth. “Run and hide,” He whispered. He started to laugh as I threw the door open and began to run through the main stage. The children laughed as I tried to open the overhead door again but to no avail. A large red rubber ball had bashed me in the hand. I gripped it in pain and tried to wiggle my fingers, but couldn’t. As I watched my broken hand begin to discolor, I heard the children scream at me.
“Cheater! Cheater! Pumpkin eater!” They continued repeating it as I desperately tried to find a place to hide, settling quickly on diving under what I had surmised to be an old craft services table. I cowered under there and prayed for the first time in my life. I used my good hand to lift the old, rotting tablecloth I was hiding behind. I needed to know how close they were and sure enough, I got my answer. I lifted the tablecloth and came face to face with another little boy. His overall appearance was the same as the others, but he was in overalls and a yellow t-shirt.
“Found you!” He laughed. The table flew up as if someone had thrown it, giving away my location. “You lose!” The little boy yelled. He began to kick and wildly throw punches at me. I tried to fight him off, but eventually, I was overpowered. Though I didn’t see them all at first, more children came in and joined him. They were pulling my hair and skin, kicking, punching and even biting me. I tried to shake them off. Hell, I even swatted at them, but they were persistent. They continued laughing, almost mocking me as they yelled “You lose!” over and over again.
I thought I was dead when I heard the music. At first, I didn’t recognize it from the ringing in my ears, but eventually… I heard the theme music from Rosie’s Playtime. The assault stopped. I looked out to see none other than Rosie herself standing at the entrance of the hallway that led to the dressing rooms. She was singing. But something wasn’t right. This Rosie was something out of a horror film. Her costume was dirty and tattered, her bowtie drooped around her neck as if it could hide the large gash that was covering her throat. She looked beaten on and discolored. Her face even had a large smile cut into it. Some of the skin had even been removed so that you could actually see some of her teeth and jaw. I looked on in horror as she held out her hand, the pinkie finger of the glove looked as if it was missing, revealing her broken finger.
She continued to sing the song, slowly getting down onto her knees. She opened up her arms in some kind of invitation. And that was the first time I heard the similarity. This was the same voice that had told me to leave when I first arrived. I watched the children run towards her as she continued to sing, a black liquid protruded from her eyes. It was almost as if she was crying. She wrapped the six children in a large group hug as she began to repeat the song. Now was my chance. I picked myself up and staggered towards the main entrance, praying that it opened. But before I could even grab the handle, the door began to open ever so slightly. I looked back to see Rosie who had just begun the third repeat of the song, but this time it seemed like…like she was singing to me. I dropped to the ground and painfully rolled out under the door, watching Rosie sing to the children as the overhead door slammed to the ground.
I must have passed out shortly after because the next thing I knew, I was in a hospital room. Apparently, I had crawled towards the guard booth, and he had found me when he went out to do his hourly rounds. The nature of my injuries led the police to believe I had been assaulted by a group of homeless people who were trying to get into one of the studios. My wrist was broken, I had 3 fractured ribs, a dislocated knee, a black eye, multiple cuts, scratches, and bite marks. I thought about explaining what really happened, but not wanting that pesky B&E charge or an involuntary hold at the psych ward, I merely told them I didn’t remember what happened or how I came to be inside the lot. I had originally planned to release the footage once I was out of the hospital, but that was until a lawyer came to see me. He was a man of average height and weight, with greying blonde hair that had been slicked back tightly. He had to be about 60 or 70 years old.
He claimed to work for the studio who was very sorry to hear about my encounter with vagrants on their lot. They were so apologetic in fact, they offered me a check. 1 million dollars for my pain and suffering. All I had to do was sign an NDA which stated I was legally never allowed to reveal the studio’s name…and my camera. I had asked why, but all the lawyer told me was that if the footage leaked out of my assault on studio grounds, it would lead to a load of bad publicity.
After all, I had been through, I had no interest in continuing with the channel or ghost hunting as a whole. So…I took the money. But as I handed over my camera, which was now cracked and probably broken from my assault, something came over me. I had to tell him about the hole in the dressing room.
“They’re still there,” I blurted out. “In the --,” But the lawyer cut me off.
“Mr. Michaelson,” He assured. “Our studio was found to not be at fault with any of the heinous alleged actions of Gordan Daniels and no evidence of these alleged actions were ever found on our property. Whatever it is that you believe you saw in Stage 19A was probably the result of a hallucination caused by a gas leak.” He tried to explain. “It was the reason we stopped using that particular building.” His cover was almost logical, I mean it made perfect sense. There was only one problem.
“I never told anyone that I went inside Stage 19A,” I told him. The lawyer smiled, put my camera in his suit jacket pocket, left the check on my hospital table, and then left without saying a word.
That was a little over a year ago, and I haven’t been ghost-hunting since. I even shut down the channel. With no new content, I was bound to get demonetized at some point. My body eventually healed up, but the psychological effects of my visit to Stage 19A remained. I get these panic attacks whenever I hear a child’s voice. It had gotten so bad that I stopped going out in public. But the worst part? The worst part is the dreams. In the hospital, they were frequent, over time they began to get less frequent but never less vivid. The memory of those final moments in Stage 19A still haunt me. I can see Rosie holding the group of children close to her, staring at me with her horrific smile as she sang to them. I can still hear her singing....
“We’re really glad that you’re our friend…and this is a friendship that’ll never ever end,”

I (20M) had always had an interest in the paranormal. I can still recall wearing out my Dad’s Ghostbusters VHS tape as a kid. I was transfixed on the paranormal growing up, but it wasn’t until my freshman year of High School that I decided that I wanted to be more hands-on with the paranormal. So all through High School I saved all my money from summer jobs, birthdays, and of course graduation, to buy a van and hit the open road.
Hell, I even started my own YouTube channel, and can proudly say that my little channel, Paranormal Inquisition, had up to about 600 thousand subscribers at that point. I had traveled to a lot of the popular haunted spots; Gettysburg Cemetery in Pennsylvania, Dudleytown in Connecticut, The Lizzie Borden House in Massachusetts, hell, I even got to check out The Amityville Horror House in New York.
I’d pass through state to state, town to town, and check in with the locals about if there was anything that was allegedly haunted in the area. Most of the time I’d get a side-eyed look, but there were a few times the locals would spill on the paranormal goings on nearby. And let me tell ya, it made some good content when something happened. At least I thought it must’ve been because, after about two years of scraping by, I had finally gotten monetized. So, I decided to keep the show going. I had just hit the Winchester House in California (a hotspot for activity lemme tell you!) when one of the locals told me about Stage 19A.
It was an old, abandoned studio in Hollywood that they had simply boarded up. Apparently, it used to be the home of an old children’s show that aired back in the 70s called Rosie’s Playtime. It was a typical kid’s show, kinda similar to Blue’s Clues or Barney but instead, starred a clown named Rosie. According to the Californian local I spoke with, after a few episodes, guests on the show began to go missing. And by guests, I mean the children that would randomly be selected to join Rosie on whatever adventure she was going on that episode. After the show was forced to shut down, they tried to clean it up to re-use it. But everyone who went in reported strange goings on. Children laughing and screaming, things are being moved or thrown, and some have even heard arguments in the studio. However, when they went to investigate it, no one was there. Eventually, the studio shut down 19A, but it was still standing.
I remember thanking the man for his time and packed up to head to LA. As I sat in my motel room after making the 5-hour drive from San Jose to Hollywood, I started to do some digging on the show. There wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but from what I found you could tell it was a cheaply made show.
All the images I had managed to scrounge up online showed Rosie as a young woman, about 19 or so, dressed as a clown. She wore a red and white short-sleeved dress that came down to her knees. She also wore black leggings, a black bowtie, and white boots and gloves. She fashioned her blonde hair into pigtails and was usually spotted with a small, old, black top hat. She wore simple clown makeup of course; white painted face, red lipstick with an exaggerated smile, a small red dot on her nose, and black diamonds over her eyes.
The local I spoke with had been right about the disappearances. The thing I found truly disturbing though, was that the police didn’t start getting involved until 6 kids had disappeared. Their first suspect was Gordan Daniels, the creator, producer, and director of the show. He also happened to be the father of the star of the show, Rose Daniels who portrayed the titular Rosie. When they tried to question him at his home, they found him packing his bags. A struggle had ensued and Gordan was gunned down after he grabbed one of the officer’s firearms. They looked throughout the house, but never found the missing children. They also found that Rose’s room had been thrown around and most of her clothes were gone. So, authorities concluded that she must’ve been an accomplice and fled the country. From what I could tell they never found the bodies of the missing children, there was a lot of push from the LAPD to simply close the investigation.
I remember finally managing to track down a clip of the show on a subreddit, and being an avid wrestling fan, I recognized the song Rosie opened and closed the show with as none other than the theme song to the Firefly Fun House. It was a gimmick about a dark kid’s entertainer one I had always been a fan of. It took some digging, but I eventually found the origin of the song. It appears that Gordan had originally written the song for the show and performed it while Rose sang the vocals. After his death, the ownership of the song went to some production company that ended up merging with another company, where it sat until it was re-recorded in 2018.
I drove my old van to the outskirts of the studio lot. By the time I managed to climb the fence, it was well past 9 pm. I looked around in the dark, fearing that my flashlight would draw unwanted attention until I finally found Stage 19A. It was a large white building with the number and letter painted on the side. I took out my lock-picking kit and made short work of the little padlock on the overhead door. After 2 years of being on the road and sneaking into abandoned places, I had become somewhat of an expert.
I held the door up just enough so that I could carefully crawl under it and then gently put it down. Now that the illegal act of breaking and entering had been done, I fired up my GoPro HERO6, took out my handy dandy flashlight, and began to shoot the opening I had memorized on the drive down.
“I’m here on Stage 19A where a popular children’s show once aired. The sounds of laughing children once bounced off the walls of this studio on the set of Rosie’s Playtime back in the 70’s. But with the show now being off the air for nearly 50 years, why are people still reporting the sounds of children? Join me tonight as I—” But suddenly, a feminine voice cut me off. It was as quiet as a whisper, but as sharp as a knife.
“Get out!” I rationalized that it was probably just something playing in a different studio. In my experience, the paranormal took some warming up before they made contact. I began walking further into the studio, making sure to light up all the props that had managed to gather cobwebs over time.
“Get out!” The voice rang out again. “Leave!” The voice had gotten louder and firmer.
“What’s your name, spirit?!” I had asked. Silence deafened the room for a minute as I eagerly awaited a response. But instead, I only heard the sound of laughter. Children’s laughter. At the time, I thought I had hit the jackpot. Ghosts that were eager to make contact. I remember getting jittery with excitement as I made my way down the hallway towards the dressing rooms.
“I quit!” A voice rang out. There was some loud banging coming from the dressing room at the end of the hall. I slowly began to approach it.
“Hello?” I called out. I began to get closer as I heard a man’s voice along with the woman’s But, he was talking too low, I couldn’t hear him at first.
“I can’t do this anymore! I’m leaving!” The woman yelled. As I listened closer, it sounded like the voice who had just told me to leave. “This whole thing is over!” I finally arrived outside the door of all the commotion. I put my hand on the handle, eager to spring into action but trying to eavesdrop more on the conversation.
“ITS OVER WHEN I SAY IT IS!” The man’s voice boomed through the walls of the stage. Out of pure instinct, I flung the door open expecting to walk into an argument. Maybe a homeless couple had set up shop here, but no one was there. I walked into the dressing room which was an absolute disaster. The place was musty as hell, a vanity was broken and on its side and there was garbage all over the floor. Upon closer inspection though, it wasn’t garbage at all. It was pages of a script. I wiped off some of the dust, revealing a script to an episode of Rosie’s Playtime. I continued looking through the papers, being sure that I didn’t cut myself on any of the glass that was all over the floor from the vanity, and ended up with a final copy of the script, along with a few kids’ drawings of a female clown. They were all of her holding their hands or playing with them. And since Rosie was an alleged accomplice to these disappearances, it made me eerie to think about it.
I looked and found a piece of glass that had old, dried lipstick writing on it. ‘Smile more’, it read. Funny enough, I saw the same note on the front of the script. I shined the light across the room and noticed an old, tan couch. Like everything else, it was covered in dust, but there were stains on it.
Smears as if someone had tried to clean something up. I remember noting out loud for the camera, thinking that it might have been blood.
This must have been Rosie’s dressing room. I thought to myself. As I backed away from the couch, I felt this force knock me back and onto the glass on the floor. I remember hearing laughter and running as I did my best to get to my feet.
“You’re it!” I snapped my flashlight all around, looking for my attacker. But I couldn’t find them.
Screw this. I thought to myself. None of the ghosts had ever gotten violent with me before. This was way out of my wheelhouse. Ignoring the sharp pain that my back was in, I dashed the door of the studio. And as crazy as it sounds… it wouldn’t budge. I kept trying the door, being slowly taunted with more giggling. Another force knocked me right on my back, again. The same child-like voice as before repeated,
“You’re it!” I got up and I ran. I went right into the nearest dressing room and barricaded the door with my own body. My arms were badly scratched up from the glass, and my back was in a lot of pain from the impacted falls. I looked around the room which appeared to be a children’s playroom. Discarded toys lay all around the room, and in the back was a handmade, wooden playhouse. The wood was primarily rotted, so much so that the ceiling had even caved in. But something about it…called to me. I slowly crawled to it, peeking inside over the collapsed roof. Aside from the expected debris from the roof, I found a brand-new rug. I gently moved the playhouse aside, trying my best not to break it any more than it already was. As I lifted the rug, wet cement began to slide down it. It was like someone had just poured it on the floor. I ran my fingers on it, I needed to feel that it was real. And that’s when it fell. I mean a whole glob of cement fell into what I suppose was a giant hole. Shaken, I grabbed my flashlight and pointed it down to where it had fallen. A little girl was sitting down inside this giant hole, she had this fiery red hair and was dressed in what looked like a blue dress. Oddly enough, I didn’t even wonder how she had gotten down there, or where there was. I just thought he was trapped.
“Do you need help?!” I asked. I put my flashlight in my mouth, planted one hand firmly on the floor, and reached down to grab her. But as my torso got halfway down the hole, I realized no one was there. Instead what I found was a large crawlspace filled with old children’s clothing. Clothing that had been worn out and tattered. Against my better judgment, I craned my neck down a bit more, which is where I saw bones lying in those children’s clothes. I jolted backward, back up to the floor. My flashlight dropped out of my mouth and began to roll. I made a dive to grab it before it fell down the hole, but there wasn’t a hole anymore. The whole ground was merely cement, the brand-new rug I had picked up earlier was now old and moldy. Sitting off to the side where I had left it. I began to panic…which is when I heard the giggling in my ear.
I looked over my shoulder and sure enough, there was the little girl. She was dirty and disheveled, bruised, cut, and discolored, and although her face looked as if she had been crying, she laughed when she saw me.
“Found me!” She giggled. I jolted back and rushed up against the wall. I looked around the room for others as laughter began to ring out, surrounding me. But no one was there, not even the little girl I just saw.
“We’re it! We’re it! We’re it!” I got to my feet and ran for the door, but just like the door upfront, it wouldn’t budge. I began to kick and throw my body against the door. I don’t know how long I tried, but at some point, I had been banging on the door for so long that I hadn’t even noticed that the children stopped laughing. I took a breath and tried the door again, relieved when it finally turned.
“Hey mister,” A voice called out behind me. I should’ve ignored it, but something made me turn my head towards the voice. Standing behind me, was this little boy. He was dirty, bruised, cut, discolored and his face looked as if he had been crying, just as the little girl had been. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and had brown hair that was styled into a bowl cut. I didn’t say anything to him. He gave me this wide smile, multiple of his teeth fell to the floor as if they had just been sitting in his mouth. “Run and hide,” He whispered. He started to laugh as I threw the door open and began to run through the main stage. The children laughed as I tried to open the overhead door again but to no avail. A large red rubber ball had bashed me in the hand. I gripped it in pain and tried to wiggle my fingers, but couldn’t. As I watched my broken hand begin to discolor, I heard the children scream at me.
“Cheater! Cheater! Pumpkin eater!” They continued repeating it as I desperately tried to find a place to hide, settling quickly on diving under what I had surmised to be an old craft services table. I cowered under there and prayed for the first time in my life. I used my good hand to lift the old, rotting tablecloth I was hiding behind. I needed to know how close they were and sure enough, I got my answer. I lifted the tablecloth and came face to face with another little boy. His overall appearance was the same as the others, but he was in overalls and a yellow t-shirt.
“Found you!” He laughed. The table flew up as if someone had thrown it, giving away my location. “You lose!” The little boy yelled. He began to kick and wildly throw punches at me. I tried to fight him off, but eventually, I was overpowered. Though I didn’t see them all at first, more children came in and joined him. They were pulling my hair and skin, kicking, punching and even biting me. I tried to shake them off. Hell, I even swatted at them, but they were persistent. They continued laughing, almost mocking me as they yelled “You lose!” over and over again.
I thought I was dead when I heard the music. At first, I didn’t recognize it from the ringing in my ears, but eventually… I heard the theme music from Rosie’s Playtime. The assault stopped. I looked out to see none other than Rosie herself standing at the entrance of the hallway that led to the dressing rooms. She was singing. But something wasn’t right. This Rosie was something out of a horror film. Her costume was dirty and tattered, her bowtie drooped around her neck as if it could hide the large gash that was covering her throat. She looked beaten on and discolored. Her face even had a large smile cut into it. Some of the skin had even been removed so that you could actually see some of her teeth and jaw. I looked on in horror as she held out her hand, the pinkie finger of the glove looked as if it was missing, revealing her broken finger.
She continued to sing the song, slowly getting down onto her knees. She opened up her arms in some kind of invitation. And that was the first time I heard the similarity. This was the same voice that had told me to leave when I first arrived. I watched the children run towards her as she continued to sing, a black liquid protruded from her eyes. It was almost as if she was crying. She wrapped the six children in a large group hug as she began to repeat the song. Now was my chance. I picked myself up and staggered towards the main entrance, praying that it opened. But before I could even grab the handle, the door began to open ever so slightly. I looked back to see Rosie who had just begun the third repeat of the song, but this time it seemed like…like she was singing to me. I dropped to the ground and painfully rolled out under the door, watching Rosie sing to the children as the overhead door slammed to the ground.
I must have passed out shortly after because the next thing I knew, I was in a hospital room. Apparently, I had crawled towards the guard booth, and he had found me when he went out to do his hourly rounds. The nature of my injuries led the police to believe I had been assaulted by a group of homeless people who were trying to get into one of the studios. My wrist was broken, I had 3 fractured ribs, a dislocated knee, a black eye, multiple cuts, scratches, and bite marks. I thought about explaining what really happened, but not wanting that pesky B&E charge or an involuntary hold at the psych ward, I merely told them I didn’t remember what happened or how I came to be inside the lot. I had originally planned to release the footage once I was out of the hospital, but that was until a lawyer came to see me. He was a man of average height and weight, with greying blonde hair that had been slicked back tightly. He had to be about 60 or 70 years old.
He claimed to work for the studio who was very sorry to hear about my encounter with vagrants on their lot. They were so apologetic in fact, they offered me a check. 1 million dollars for my pain and suffering. All I had to do was sign an NDA which stated I was legally never allowed to reveal the studio’s name…and my camera. I had asked why, but all the lawyer told me was that if the footage leaked out of my assault on studio grounds, it would lead to a load of bad publicity.
After all, I had been through, I had no interest in continuing with the channel or ghost hunting as a whole. So…I took the money. But as I handed over my camera, which was now cracked and probably broken from my assault, something came over me. I had to tell him about the hole in the dressing room.
“They’re still there,” I blurted out. “In the --,” But the lawyer cut me off.
“Mr. Michaelson,” He assured. “Our studio was found to not be at fault with any of the heinous alleged actions of Gordan Daniels and no evidence of these alleged actions were ever found on our property. Whatever it is that you believe you saw in Stage 19A was probably the result of a hallucination caused by a gas leak.” He tried to explain. “It was the reason we stopped using that particular building.” His cover was almost logical, I mean it made perfect sense. There was only one problem.
“I never told anyone that I went inside Stage 19A,” I told him. The lawyer smiled, put my camera in his suit jacket pocket, left the check on my hospital table, and then left without saying a word.
That was a little over a year ago, and I haven’t been ghost-hunting since. I even shut down the channel. With no new content, I was bound to get demonetized at some point. My body eventually healed up, but the psychological effects of my visit to Stage 19A remained. I get these panic attacks whenever I hear a child’s voice. It had gotten so bad that I stopped going out in public. But the worst part? The worst part is the dreams. In the hospital, they were frequent, over time they began to get less frequent but never less vivid. The memory of those final moments in Stage 19A still haunt me. I can see Rosie holding the group of children close to her, staring at me with her horrific smile as she sang to them. I can still hear her singing....
“We’re really glad that you’re our friend…and this is a friendship that’ll never ever end,”

My sons first birthday is coming up and we've got our guest list for his party and I have the event made and will be finishing it off by adding photos and inviting people tomorrow so they can plan ahead as it is almost a month out. Due to being spread out, a lot of our family and friends haven't gotten to see him a lot, and would have no idea what he would like. It is important to note here that I am autistic and not always great with social etiquette beyond the basics. My question is: would it be tacky to add something to the description such as
"If you would like to bring a gift, his current favorites are Mickey Mouse, Barney, anything fidgety, anything chewable, anything animal themed, and anything with lights and sound and he fits anywhere from 18mo to 2T clothing. If you can't swing it, don't sweat it, we'd still love to have you come out to celebrate!"
Or would that come across as rude and greedy?

It's early series, so it's well-written. And it has a charm to it. There are some things that bother me though!
(Positive thought at the end)
Kristy really is dictatorial in this one and I couldn't stand her. The Charlie excuse was so weak and underdeveloped too, it went nowhere. I don't think his college fears were mentioned until Mind Your Own Business, Kristy, which was 84 (?!) books later. This fight is pretty entertaining, though. The elections were kind of funny to read about.
There is no way an 11 year old would be a good choice to pet sit for that many animals. If I had that many pets, I would want an adult who could housesit (thus staying there overnight). Plus, I really hope the dogs could get out through a doggy door or something, because otherwise only being able to use the bathroom twice a day seems cruel (especially with the gap between early afternoon and the next morning).
Jessi invites people over all the time. Maybe it was just a different time and maybe Stoneybrook really is close-knit, but this just doesn't feel respectful to me. If one of the kids got bitten, there could be legal issues (how pissed would the Mancusis be?). Plus, they had no kids and maybe there's a reason for that, and It's likely that they didn't WANT kids in their house. Idk, this just totally felt wrong to me. It's one thing to be sitting for Jamie Newton and for the Perkins girls to come over. But to invite people over and treat it like a zoo... idk. Am I being too serious? It's kind of the reverse of the Elvira plot in Stacey's Big Crush, where Dawn and Mary Anne were taking a GOAT with them to sitting jobs without asking.
Mary Anne also let Barney loose on accident. First of all, if she was so afraid of snakes, why would she OPEN THE LID ON HIS CAGE? I just... I can't. This is exactly why you don't invite people over, Jessi.
As far as I know, the Mancusis didn't know that Jessi had people over to her house. They might indeed have not approved of it if they had known.
At least Jessi insisted on walking the dogs herself. Good call.
One major plus, though: I LOVE Jessi and Mallory's friendship here. I love how close they are, how they tell each other everything and how the last line is "Best friends have to talk a lot." Aww. I think their friendship is so well-done in the early books and it's totally believable. Tbh, I think they start falling off a bit in the 50s. But here, their friendship is written perfectly. Same with the boom preceeding this, Mallory and the Trouble with Twins.
Early series Mallory is also a really well-written character. I think her level-headedness was kind of dropped later, and I missed that.
While reading late series, I forget why Dawn was a favorite of mine for awhile. But she's pretty awesome in early series (I think the "individual" thing is shown rather than told). She stands up to Kristy a lot here (along with Claudia) and isn't grossed out by the birth scene. Idk, she was cool here.

Chin resting on heel of palm. Looking through the feed.
Aroma of coffee, baked goods, and the subtle spicy scent of a great many books seeped in coating the inside of her skull and clothes. The memory of it a least. Pressed the soft tissue paper against rosy-rimmed nostrils glistening, clearing her throat. Glanced around. Ambient bop in the background, fusion jazz intermingled with light conversations, the hissing and gurgling of the latte cult’s machines, and the upward inflection of green aprons taking orders and calling names. Cosmopolitan beepboop music to strive to. Recording of a life getting blown away into a flute. Whoever or whatever it is is dying for us. Jazz flute phantom, bent over at the waist bobbing and swaying to the emissions, cheeks distended, red veins erupting. Kind of music meant to let you know you’re cultured. At least she’d felt cultured the first few times she’d heard it in a public place. Feeling like she’d entered another first chapter altogether. Guaranteed to be better than what preceded it. Better in the possibility of not being what preceded it. The first few times at least. She’d made a note to investigate. To download the app that would allow her to hold up her phone to the tune and receive the names of artist and song. Create a new playlist. Speak of these things with casual authority. Have them on a first name basis. Consciousness elevating, lifted by the short-sleeve black button shirt jazzman up and out of the muck. Break the monotony. Had figured at the time that anything else would be much better than everything as is. Didn’t even like it that much. She already had her music. Adjacent but better. Was frustrated at first with her wills own rebellion. Wasn’t sure why she’d started avoiding it. The knowledge remained and was by her estimation, still rather formidable.
Always been complemented for her taste.
“If you love then tempt me.”
Face contorted, couldn’t be helped. There was high praise in the comment section, thousands of hearts, roses tossed on stage. They don’t know or pretend not to know. Cutesy the publicly-dower and ever-derivative performing an “ironic” curtsy as the curtains closed. Thunderous applause. They love her. They love her. “And what about me?”
In the dark depths of the Congo, a child miner lost multiple limbs and for what?
“Vapid bitch.“
Thumbs had gone to work with minimal prompting.
Backspace. Too crude. Didn’t feel right for the moment.
If you love me you’d tempt me…
addicted to benzos and social media. Brain-addled. Attempting to salvage an already haphazard acting career and preserve or nurture the perceived good will of higher status individuals. She understands herself to be at some level, profoundly unlikeable. A difficult person. Every attempt to express benevolent sentiment goes unread/unregistered or simply put, inadequate, not enough to justify having to put up with her for any prolonged period of time. She might actually be autistic. It’s her status as a difficult person which has contributed to her current status as a niche internet microcelebrity and podcaster capable of making enough money to maintain an easily unsustainable lifestyle living on the isle of Manhattan, rubbing shoulders with people who matter. Her brain is addled but she’s still capable of making intimations towards necessary social calculations. She doesn’t root for underdogs anymore. In fact it’s easy to imagine her blaming her lack of success on having rooted for underdogs in the past. Perhaps “rooted for” is to generous. Rather in having overtly-identified with drug addicts, ghouls, and depressed poverty stricken losers.
​
Dreamed of being welcomed to the city-world, she saw herself in one day. Dreamed about it even. One amongst the well meaning citizenry comprised of strange semi-corporeal spirits, pensive intellects with great comedic timing, and beautiful people. A place of chessboards and lovers staring without care. Close her eyes and feel a breeze just cold enough for pleasant, cold enough to justify her style. A place located in the forever something better.
​
Scrolling through her feed. Totally oblivious and protean in her values. Her opinions, her identity a roiling mass malleable, the internal spark animating it totally
susceptible to the influence of memes and atrocity porn. Having clawed her way into the lower rungs of the entertainment industry she knows a lot of people, is 3 degrees of separation from a lot of people who made it
You imagine.
Choose to read it in her voice.
Isn’t confirmed. Obviously, it can’t be. Would be unethical. You have no idea how fucked it is, you might imagine it but it’s like imagining what immolation feels like or what it must feel like to have an anvil dropped from a distance unto your head. Dealing with the unrelenting drone of a god set on hurting you. This mass of things typing, how else would you characterize it? Haven’t evolved to really deal with it. Not this kind of immediacy. Stims to stay sharp, bars to keep cool. You don’t need all that. Believe me. You don’t know the lengths some of these creatures will go to just to hurt something. Family inevitably gets dragged in. Good at deluding themselves. Utterly convinced that we’ve done them some harm. Intimacy, unbound and unrelenting intimacy, and you’ll likely never even meet. Best that you never have to deal with that. Just keep doing what you’re doing, whatever you’re choosing to do. This is just a temporary thing. Others don’t know what you know. It’s controversial. Have to pay dues. Scratch that, that’s not how it works. In fact people steal all the time, egregiously copying-and-paste’ing. Think about it, why think? Thinking burns calories. Too much energy. Feel tired after a good bout of thinking. Better off developing the following skills; public speaking, video and sound production, marketing, etc… A book or a series of articles or blog posts are less than nothing. What matters is your ability to draw, maintain, and grow an audience. The magic of music and artificial intelligence. Moths to a flame or spermatozoon to the womb. That’s content. That’s clout. Consider making an alt and attempting in earnest to do it by yourself. Consider starting multiple alts and experimenting. Consider making alts to comment on the post of one of your alts. Artificial engagement meant to situate the primary. What else are you doing? Transcribing things? Expositing things we already know? Getting frustrated? Waiting for some clear signal.
Everything appears to indicate that you want opportunities just so that you can fuck them up, make a fool of me, and go on with your dying.
You can’t resent people for going off what they see. The lover’s eyes are made for judging. Rule of thumb is; believe people when they tell you what they are.
You know what’s obvious? That you aren’t at all serious.
You’re satisfied. For whatever reason with where you are. Maybe you do actually have some great job and this is all a bit of charity and fun on your spare time. Maybe you’re just miserable and clinging unto the run-off of a run-off of something that could’ve been 3 years ago and using that as an excuse for why you’ve decided to punish your family by going on strike and associating with everyone and everything that could be used against you in the future. Pre-emptively ruining your chances in academia or entertainment. Just another excuse to avoid assuming your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to grad school. You don’t want to put out job applications. You don’t want anything that isn’t what?
What do you want?
Desire forced through a prism of words. Just say it. What do you want?
If I was standing in front of you. Could you look me in the eyes and say it? Even if it might hurt. When it does hurt. The thought of my wince an excuse for your lie. Tell me what you want.
Right now.
Materially. Go on be a materialist.
“What if the answer is, I didn’t get what I want.”
So you want to not get what you want?
“No I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t get what I’d originally wanted.”
Which was?
“I wanted you to notice me.”
That’s it? That’s all you wanted?
“I wanted you to notice me and to like me. Like me so much it all made sense. Like me to the point where you’d be willing to take a risk.”
That being?
“Letting me into your life. Maybe go on a date on that date it would be like all of this was meant to be. Everything I’d felt when I first saw you. You’re my doom. First and last. And that this life was one in a sequence of finally finding you. Wanted to start planning the process. So that we could try living together. Go up for a weekend at first. Start organizing myself around being able to do that and hopefully it would just click. Make myself useful.”
What do you think would’ve compelled me to do something like that?
“Fate maybe. Religious mania. A gambling addiction. A desire to escape.”
Ah, makes sense. You imagined me reckless and vulnerable. Always searching for an out.
“Not like that. Not at first I think. Wasn’t something I’d planned. There wasn’t any sorcery involved. Just kind of happened. You’re asking me, two years after the fact, what might have compelled you to make such a reckless decision. It would’ve been because you felt trapped and needed a way out. And there I was and for whatever reason it just clicked. God fashioned me to love you and there I was. The light of this event revealing the coherency of it all. Everything that is is because it’s rational and being rational it’s good and I know this because well... Because of you. Everything anticipated you. The moment I felt you I swear I felt you. Over and over and over again. Apocalypse and cosmogenesis. Something is to be revealed through us. Of that I have no doubt. Any attempt to stop it is an exercise in futility. Prolonging the inevitable. For better or worse, this thing is ours. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind. I’m willing to live to live by this conviction.”
So, presumably… if I had felt that way after you’d managed to get my attention, I would’ve sent for you. If I loved you I would’ve payed for a plane ticket and a hotel room. Multiple times. Would’ve given you in the meantime a weekly allowance of $150s and insisted that you live rent-free in my apartment. Hell why stop there. If I loved you the way you loved me, I would’ve secured a low six-figure advance. Also would’ve talked to some people who know some people, that could get you a comfy job or help get you enrolled in a respectable MFA program.
Switch places. You’re the beloved and the me who would do all of the above as the lover. That me would’ve abandoned her family. Worked as a waitress, hostess, barista, drug dealer, personal assistant, stylist assistant, research assistant, process assistant, camgirl, shop girl, twitch streamer, ice cream scooper, underground bareknuckle boxer, intern, truck dispatcher, extra, sugar baby, foot model, alt model, amateur wedding photographer and graphic designer. Suffering innumerable indignities. Hitchhiking across the country. Leaving a trail of broken bodies, broken locks, and broken hearts in her wake. Ruinous and doom-driven. Alternatively that person would’ve worked and gone to school. Would’ve graduated with honors in record time. Would’ve saved up enough money and PTO to fly out close to where you live. Just to get a feel of the place. Meet people. Get an accurate enough impression of what she was getting herself into. All the while trying to snag a glance at you. She’d suffer countless indignities. Ruin her reputation, risk her relationships, risk her life. Just for the chance to have my heartbroken by you. She’d sell her soul for love. What is a soul without love anyways? Money is meant to be burned.
That’s how you imagined me?
“Yea. You’re my hero.
A lot is due. Accruing a debt I can never hope to repay. Charmed by how rooster-like your laughter has become. Expensive. I've become too expensive. More than most could possibly, reasonably, afford. Hope you feel better. That was fucked. Already gave my views on the subject. Would rather not reiterate them. Reiterate enough. Subdued. Can't do anything I'm looking for another job. Able to make some repairs on my car. Know what happened. Recall own words. People have been good to me. Made at least one new friend. Too much time is passing. Let it pass. Feel less human. Don't have any evidence to show that I hadn't always been this way. Grant me the good faith of taking me at my word. Tempted. Want to burn the tracksuit. Think I might be experiencing Dasha withdrawals. You're actually managing the 40 days. That's wild. Thank God. Waking up earlier. Nice story behind that.
Don't like how self-absorbed I've become. Utterly in the way of loving anyone, anything, whatever this is. It's love. Jesus Christ. What a mess. So much of your love squandered. See what I can do. Still do. Want to get this over with. Keep saying it. Need to get this over with. Could do it forever. If it means meeting you at the end of it. Fate is fate. You looked really lovely.
Look like someone who easily defeats opponent, about to kill them but at the last moment chooses not too. Chooses mercy. They aren’t worth it. Now if they happen to get up and charge towards you, then it isn’t your fault if the last thing they see is the glare cast over your shoulder as instinct takes over. ”
Then why not be closer to that in spirit?
A tracksuit hero. Abandon your family. Work odd jobs. Suffer innumerable indignities. Hitchhike across the country. Leaving a trail of broken bodies, broken locks, and broken hearts in your wake. Ruinous, lovelorn, and doom-driven. Ruin your reputation, risk your relationships, risk your life. Alternatively go back to school and finish your MA. Or something. Graduate with honors in record time. Save up enough money and PTO. Just go somewhere far away by yourself. Book the flight. Book the hotel room. A four or five days away from what you’re currently in. Just to get a feel of the place. Just for the chance to have your heartbroken by me.
If you love me, tempt me. Away from everything.
"Huh. Every Which Way but Loose-ish.”
Now, imagine the original scenario, switch it up. You’re the beloved and I’m the lover. Except
.
​
Would do everything in her power to
You think I’m that kind of person?
How do you think people would react to that. If that were to happen?
“It would’ve been kind of funny right? So people might think it was really romantic, hope it would work out while kind of expecting that it wouldn’t. I think the correct response would probably be to consider it an enormous mistake. Like inviting a homeless person or a wandering ghost or a demonic entity into your house… I don’t know. You never know. Some people might stop inviting you to parties. Treated with automatic suspicion I might not be able to assuage. Might make worse. Think it might turn into an issue. Not at the moment maybe. But as things start to settle. People might think that it was because you were going through a manic episode and felt you needed some drastic change in your life.”
That being a hulking 28 year old anon, instead of say, a small dog or a cat or a turtle. Can’t hold it against them. If the roles were reversed, your friends and family members would express similar concerns I’d imagine. ‘How are you gonna go all in on someone you don’t even know.’… mentally-ill, illicit substance enjoyer, weird repressed pervert… that’s just assumed. It’s that other thing. On the one hand, that you’re a sinister gay warlock and on the other that you’re a desperate loser
​
“By pretending I didn’t exist until I finally realized that I’d deluded myself. Then I’d just go away.”
Is that it?
“No, I wanted you to have not meant it. To become a decision you’d regret. Because I misunderstood.”
So even in your fantasy, what you wanted was an excuse to abandon this and return to your life. With the assur
Then why not plan? If you feel like your current online personae is ossified… then you know what. Create another one. Create one were you get to joke around and shoot the shit. The bit is a thing you’re piloting right? You’re the pilot, just hop out, and get in another. Show that you aren’t just a weirdo shutin freak. Even if it’s a lie. Listen to some comedy podcasts. Stop reading what you’re reading now. Take a month to chill from all of this and put out a few job applications. Apply to real jobs. Nothing here is keeping you from leaving. You have zero incentives. Zero. Besides your own fantasies.
If money is what you need. Then start a business.
You’re choosing this.
​
"Writing is cruel."
Is it?
"For me it is."
​
nd in the right frame, even inspiration and restatement gets clocked thievery once our motivations to acquire money and affection, can no longer be ignoring. Only someone who never has to worry about these things gets to actually be magnanimous and indulgent rather than making it a point to be magnanimous and indulgent. The aristocrats with their inheritance and the bum. Think about it. One and the same, same fantasy of a life free of social consequence and petty restrictions. The possibility of a more authentic existence always out of reach, turning a corner. “What recognition? “The desire for recognition is for rubes and pretenders”. But when you see that other fraud with the receding hairline get the advance, get the like, the retweet, receiving dumb praise, making an appearance on the Instagram story, you’ll feel like something has been stolen. Ruined even. That pussy has been compromised. Those digits and limbs and opening coated with that piece of shit’s saliva. Throw it away. Stupid whore. Don’t worry, I’ve been there too. It’s okay to feel ashamed. It’s all really kind of romantic right. What was that? Our unrequited love is mutual? What does that mean? Retard (I say this with love) a spiral is a line and if you doubt you’re wrong.
You don’t know. You couldn’t possibly know for sure, just who the person on the other side might actually be, people use alts all the time. It’s a masquerade. Either hiding an actual opinion
They love you. You’ve been received with a great enthusiasm. “We’ve been waiting for you and you finally came.” Nobody can know.
It’s the same series of questions I’ve find myself asking about anyone I’ve lingered around long enough to feel frustration towards. Directing all three of those and some variant synonym at one person or another.
Seductive, self-conscious, retarded. Feel like
Seducing with a promise (made or perceived) of something just round the corner, tomorrow. Just wait and trust in the plan… terrified of being exposed and pilloried. That those who’d come around drawn by whatever promise they thought they saw in us would turn around crestfallen and seething with the inevitable disillusionment. People who’d defended me. Sure they had their own motives. Didn’t ask to be taken as a escape route from their lives. Never asked to be turned into this beautiful thing they’d turned me into. Like if I’d suddenly swooped down into their lives knowing exactly what to do, knowing all the right people, with boundless time and energy to help lift them up and out of whatever it is they need to be lifted up and out of. You really think you’re the only one with that fantasy? Really? What you’ve made in your head is something that can’t hope, can’t desire, can’t await someone capable of making this make sense. Why can’t you be that? Why can’t you be the hope, the desire fulfilled, the arriving. I was never an answer. I thought you were and that wasn’t fair. Each and every one of us is tasked with making ourselves appealing if not valuable. Maybe making yourself appealing is the only value left. All of it is seduction. Didn’t you pretend to know better? You don’t think I fantasize about a lover that can save me from myself. Understand me, beckon me to go on living in your promise. I’m disillusioned, I’m frustrated. That bundle of ambivalence is clogging up my brain too. And I’m sorry but you made a choice as did I, and you can still make a choice, and I can still make a choice. And one of us will have to make a choice, even if we regret. Just… don’t pretend like you’re choosing based on what I desire, cause that’s a cop out and you know it.
The best thing would’ve been for them to have never heard of me, the second best thing is for them to just leave.
maybe they would’ve been better off had they never heard or saw me in the first place, second best
. What do I tell myself to justify . at realization that there was nothing there at all, it was just a glamour. Did I delude myself? Or had I been led on? A combination of both. Left feeling (and perhaps rightly so) bamboozled, made a fool of, made to lose time that can never be recuperated. This will never not be another disillusionment. Again and again. Another headache, another heartbreak, I’m so much older than I can take. Our mode of ignorance inevitable cruelty. Weak and womanly. Made me weak and womanly. I gave so much and for nothing, grimacing. And I can either blame myself or blame her. But it isn’t that easy is it? If I’m being honest.
What can be more ambiguous to us than the desire of another person? Often fantasizing about the other’s fantasy. Fixate on it.
​
It’s a Matryoshka Doll
At one point Dasha ponders when and why she ended up getting so very into Jewish guys. Here I recall the episode RIP Jordan Peterson, wherein the ladies (including then co-host Meg and guest Naomi Fry) discuss the passing of Philip Roth. Dasha mentions having read one of Roth’s books at a young age after having read it mentioned on a list of banned books. She attributes some of her proclivities to this encounter.
talk about
Recall Dasha having been kicked off Twitter for calling someone a Zionist c*nt. Personally I keep that in the back of the mind as I press down on keyboard and compose for you all a Symphony of Cope. Inconsiderate. No one forced anyone to over-identify with a podcast. Schopenhauer wrote, "A man can do as he wills but he cannot will as he wills.”
​
It’s imperative then that I speak of the Jew in the only terms I find appropriate when speaking of Jews. Sentimental and maudlin. The kind of sentiment which can and easily will be recognized by some as a dishonest tactic and by others as an act of self-preservation. In short; Jewish. I’m not a Jew. What Jew means is the result in part of television specifically with Barney as a baby I was a very big fan, of Florida public educations manner of conveying the horrors and lessons and humanity of the Shoah along with Central and Eastern European Jewish folklore, custom, language etc… I learned about the story of Rabbi Loew and his Golem of Prague at a very young age. I didn’t grow up around Jews. I’d see them from time to time whenever we’d go on family vacations to either the Fontainebleau hotel or to Seville. Miami Beach has a lot of Jews. Found their manner of dress to be peculiar but never threatening, never worthy of mockery. The carnal Jew existed as a benevolent somewhat queer figure at the periphery while Jewishness suffused my everything. Someone separate yet integral to who I was and who I’d become.
I remember there having been in the lobby of the Seville hotel, a waiting area off to the side, a depression demarcated by black marbled material, golden rails, thick leafy indoor plants, smokey and washed in golden incandescence. There was a billiard table. How old was I? Maybe 6 or 7. Older siblings were playing pool, I’d made friends with a boy from Maryland. We stood off to the side and talked. Earlier that day I had deceived an English girl and her brother. Floating in the pool, watching some performance involving men in red speedos diving forbidden diving boards, flipping through the air and plunging into the water. It was cool but not as cool as a British accent out in the wild. My ears perked as they picked up the pairs 100 Acre Woods whimsy. Dying to be there friend.
“ ‘ello are you Bri’ish.”
Apparently my fake accent was very convincing. It all comes together. In that billiard zone I saw her again, golden haired and kind. The ruse was up. She was gracious. Still I persisted with the lie. Insisted upon it. I think it might’ve been my cousin who had exposed me or perhaps it was my older brother. Either way it was obvious. They spoke American English, Revolutionary English, openly flaunting our Miamian particularities. Contrasting violently with my faked accent. One would think after all, that being the older siblings, they’d speak with an even thicker British accent. Mancunian perhaps. I think I might have said something about a grandparent being from there. My shame reverberates through all space and time. Standing before the Throne of God, “God…he faked a British accent, insisted upon it in fact, fooling a poor British child. Making her feel a fool, ruining her vacation experience. In terms of pool time sin, this is almost as bad as when he yelled the n-word at a black teen his cousins had made friends with at the pool of their apartment complex. It doesn’t matter if he was 3 or 4 years old. It was horrible. What do you have to say for yourself?” By way of response I dive like red speedo gays straight into Hell.
I really wanted to be British after having watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
​
Suicide is the only successful Act. Desiring the end of desire, The subject seeks to put an end to the internal object. The phantasmic object they've identified with, the Self. Paradoxically animated by the fantasized recognition of the Other. That's what the suicidal ideation reveals. Imagining some continuation, where we get to witness the response of the other. The moment they realize and it hits. Plummeting into Dasein. Into Being-There, an eternal absent-presence, a silhouette burned into the surface of the Symbolic Order. The suicide lingering stain.
In that moment no other is to blame for the Act. The choice to negate all choosing.
Recreating past events, attributing to herself an outsized influence on the events (and after all how can she not have an outsized influence, after all it’s her fantasy). I hate myself for the choices I made. Transformed into, I made choices. Imposed myself upon the world. Recollection and self-loathing giving way to the revelation of a Self that is well and truly my own. Regardless of the outcome, they’re what remains the morning after. Necessarily so.
Recall Anna saying something along the lines of “killing yourself like falling in love, is something people claim they want but never go through with, because it’s really just a cry for help”. Lacan’s recommends to the analyst working with an analysand that expresses a debilitating sense of guilt, that they not make any attempt to assuage the analysand’s guilt, either by convincing them that the guilt they’re feeling actually the stems from their neuroticism or that they’re innocent. This debilitating sense of guilt isn’t to be treated as an irrational complex of negative self-talk and ideation. With the first error (“the oppressive feeling of guilt you’re describing is likely a symptom of your neurosis”) recall that neurosis in psychoanalytic theory, is the result of sexual repression, the individual suppresses his or her sexual desires in order to meet the demands imposed on them by society (conventional morality leads to sexual repression which might lead to neurosis). It presumes that the feeling of guilt precedes the analysand’s actions, that they had never acted upon their desires but had instead avoided acting upon them altogether. With the second (“you’re innocent”) it presumes that the analyst is capable of performing a secular absolution of the analysand and that analysis is a secularized rite of confession. If the analysand wants absolution they should go visit a priest rather than an analyst.
Instead Lacan asserts that the analysand’s feelings of guilt have to be taken with the outmost seriousness by the analyst, since more often than not the feeling of guilt is the result of the analysand having at some point enacted their desire.
All of these things
“Your eyes can be so cruel, just as I can be so cruel.
Though I do believe in you.
Yes I do.
Live without the sunlight.
Love without your heartbeat.
I…can’t live within you.”
​
Felt ecstatic when Bernie won Iowa, New Hampshire, and Nevada at the start of the 2020 Democratic presidential primaries. Think CTH was touring. Listened to a lot of Chapo Trap House and the Michael Brooks Show. Go from the office, to my best friend’s apartment, we’d talk all night about politics, spirituality, life, and genre fiction. Blasting cigs, walking around the complex, and drinking hazelnut coffee. Made buying a large hazelnut coffee a kind of ritual, driving to a near-by 24/7 gas station. I don’t recall feeling tired. Just nicotine, caffeine, and conversation. I’d leave the apartment around 4-5am. Passing by a McDonald’s close to where I lived. Would order a breakfast meal and settle down in the parking lot. Eating breakfast, drinking coffee, listening to podcasts. Surrounded by wetland reserves and hardwood hammocks. The woodland scent pouring into my car.
Podcasting remained a kind of negative space in my reading. A negative space framed by Amber’s thoughts on Occupy Wall Street, professional activism, professional managerial progressives, NGOs, gamergate, twitter, etc… Leaves it up to the reader. If at some point she’d considered writing the Dirtbag I’d fantasized about, another 0 would’ve for sure been added to that advance, but her decision to not take it in that direction (explicitly) ended up being for the best. Something like that would only ever exist as a series of never-ending drafts. Mise en abyme. The podcast was a moment but not the defining one. A job. One she liked doing. There are zero indications that she listens to podcasts or thinks about podcasting more than she has to, as anything other than something she did. Think Cum Town is the only other podcast mentioned by name in the book and that was in reference to her psychiatrist being a fan. Something that some of her friends, do.
“What the entryists could do, however, was secure positions as brokers on behalf of the people. They worked their way into academia, got bylines in legacy media, established think tanks, got jobs at nonprofits, started their own consulting firms, embedded themselves in NGOs, etc. This isn’t to say those jobs always make the world worse, but as a political “tactic,” you can’t help but notice that the professionalization of activism does more to shore up power for a growing class of “movement managers,” and that, rather than relying on democracy (much less democratizing anything new), they were joining the very institutions used to circumvent democracy. Granted they would ostensibly be taking these posts to capture the king’s ear and thus wield a little “soft power” in the name of justice. It made sense, on some level. You had a glut of angry educated, progressive millennials who recently found themselves on the professional and economic downslide. They knew they were a bit screwed, but they also knew they were way less screwed than everyone else; and they needed jobs. So of course they wanted to pursue positions where they might exercise a little Professional Managerial noblesse oblige that might benefit “everyone else.”’
The different types of people that were drawn to that moment. Who saw in it an opportunity. Comedians, artists, journalists, would-be political pundits, academics, musicians, and sound engineers. With some even managing to secure during that time a steady flow of cash through the patronage of their audience or some sympathetic well-established individuals (Tim Heidecker I suspect) with coin to spare, or from NPOs/NGOs. Enough money to keep a roof over their heads without needing to live with 9 other people (in a major coastal city) and the lights on, enough to buy primo drugs, enough to quit their day jobs and maintain a decent enough quality of life. All the while pursuing (or planning to pursue) their individual creative interests and ambitions.
”Nonetheless, Occupy Wall Street really was more than the Potemkin protests, for better or worse. Much to my chagrin, the major opposition to the opportunism of Professional Managerial Anarchists were the Amateur Anarchists, for whom “spontaneity” and “organic” activity was the goal in and of itself. A sort of shitty Emerald City was formed from the energy roiling in and around the park; it’s not that the outside world disappeared exactly, but it became less noticeable, and it was easier to forget the rest of Oz, much less Kansas. For a lot of people, this escape - a retreat, really - was the dream.”
Had my own stupid little fantasies, expending too much mind stuff into speculating about the way they organized themselves… Imagined that the ones that had really managed to make it (thinking of CTH, CT, or twitch-streamers like Hasan Piker) would patronize other content creators. Mid-sized content creators that had managed to get their bearings, developing and maintaining a decent sized audience, would chip in (buy in?) as well. The money kept circulating within a network of creators. Visualized it like a series of concentric rings, alternatively like mycelium. Friends making money helping friends make money, a good cause for a good cause. Good causes all the way down. If not patronage, then at the very least exposure and networking. Rising tide lifts all boats. There was a moment and those who happened to cease it were liable to experience some serious social mobility. Enough to money to circulate it within their circles, keeping the dream alive. Imagined people promising to produce something tangible, without needing to promise any particular result. Just doing the thing was good enough. Only to then proceed to never produce anything. Barely mustering up the minimum amount of effort needed to get started and keep it going. Advances were given, only the person to seemingly disappear off the surface of earth. Weaponizing therapy-speak to justify their fuckups or repurposing progressive language in order to blame everyone else, for exploiting them, for putting undue pressure on them, etc… And maybe these personal accusations had a genuine grain of truth to them. The kind of resentment that inevitably festers when any sort of potential money-making endeavor gets framed in along ambiguous or poorly-defined lines. Imagined there was also an incredible surge of people trying to imitate what Chapo (and Cum Town) had done, after Chapo had already done it. The train had already left the station. Moment had passed.
​

Batman: the heart that destroys lives.
Thousands of people were killed and thousands fled.
President Ken asked me to respond to an emergency and I couldn't say no.
The demands of the job lead the Justice League to fire Barry and Hall.
Together, they turned this innovation into something the world had never seen before.
But I retired. Get ready to return to Superman.
Carl said to the ghost. I'm a fool to admit it.
​
Superman: He is sworn to protect the universe. But they need to improve their security.
Brainiac's ship is the ultimate weapon. But maybe I have too much of it.
There are millions of processes in Brainiac waiting to be reborn.
I will raise brave and strong soldiers from among them and form a new government. No, this is a new formula.
Protect the hero! In this way we will bring peace not only to the world, but to the entire world!
in the room!
​
Wonder Woman: When Batman was younger, I played a villain.
My brother didn't tell Amazon. His idea of him is to show the world that he is a true hero.
People need to heal. I gave them Brian's head.
It is the government's responsibility to create peace and harmony.
Batman and his traitorous friends are punished. black vinegar
Then he returned to Themyscira, where my sister raised him.
If we don't listen to our leadership, we listen to the government.
Amazon's Princess Diana name is really clever!
​
Catwoman: With Nine Lives, that will soon be the case.
I could hear everything, including the voices of the good and bad girls recorded by Brainiac.
I'm telling you... I'm sick and I'm dying. Bruce and I did a great job.
Remove nail polish after using the mask. The honeymoon is over, let's do something good.
I don't regret anything. Catwoman can't defeat Bruce Wayne. I don't want to trust anyone but myself.
I go everywhere and get what I want. do not look back
​
Funny: I never thought about the previous owner's hair.
This is interesting. At first I felt that this disease was a great inspiration for my life.
I have a lot of knowledge. Children from all over the world.
However! And he answered them. The world is waiting for a much needed reboot!
For some reason and quickly I made another stupid bed.
When they are scared and confused, they use their basic instincts and kill themselves in the most dangerous way possible.
I can sit back, enjoy some popcorn and a show, and watch the world burn! HI!
​
Harley Quinn: I still can't believe it! Leave me alone, you idiot! I know
But the Justice League video surprised me! Don't think it's crazy!
But who can say no to this guy? You know, you'd better keep it clean.
But sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode!
I hope it stays beautiful. I don't know that girl and at least Lucy knows she's a fool.
Maybe I should give him some real food.
​
Robot: I think you mean Brainiac. They say my compassion dissipates energy.
But the commitment of the people gave me the strength to get this small job.
There's more... The ship has twelve levels and information panels.
I think the Internet is great. But now? I could have the whole world.
First I checked all the cities that Brainiac had destroyed, starting with my city, Motor City!
Then we move on... Superman wants to save the world, but so he can control the behavior of thousands of other people!
The latest chapter in the Brainiac series. It's a long journey.
But another benefit of my new IQ is meeting old friends. Of the Titans. Small
​
Barney: Who would have thought that a sick child born in prison would become the savior of humanity? This is me
I am the world. So we are all prisoners... wake up! Don't give yourself trouble
​
Robin: My father is Bruce Wayne, and it's no secret that he hates me But he gave his life to save me.
Brainiac gives me the power to stop for good
I was careful not to sweat like a monkey, but could not understand the meaning of the sign
My father saw blood. My blood is my heritage It means conflict of interest
My name is Damien Wayne, Bruce's son and Giant's grandson I call myself Robin and Nightwing
But from now on the world will know me as batman
​
Background: A superhero scene with Brainiac lying on the ground
You'll be fine. I've never seen him fight Not in the future
And then the work begins Brainiac wants to rule the world, so he is released at the end of the story
But I ran. I want to be alone then I heard a familiar sound... Che ran with the others
This is a problem, they said. But if we work together and act fast, we can save the world
I wanted to run away, but something happened Better to rely on other stores
​
Jason Roach: The professor and I are trying to conserve energy
However, Stan knows that the only way to defeat Brainiac is to dominate
Martin Stein: Brainiac's car was about to crash
But most of the problems we face are unwanted chain reactions
A broken skeleton ship...every city that Brainiac stole from the world is gone There is no sea city
Jason Ross: I thought we won Everyone can see it
Martin Stein: But we are proud of your courage to save other people
Jason Roach: We can't repeat the same thing
Martin Stern: And if you like us, Batman
He said we will get there.
​
Dr. Mei: The elders don't think they can save the world.
Smart people can be bad people
I know they will be angry and try to burn me
No one escapes. I'm glad I still have friends
There is a ring in the secret room Zatna and Talman Constant took me to their owner
But Sean's daughter Rose gave me a beautiful gift.
My wife is alive and sleeping in my arms.
When I started ordering, I didn't know what my problem was Hobby
​
Black Canary: I almost fought Brainiac, the other guy in the room.
I don't know if the kangaroo will survive this attack or not. This bothers me.
Ignorance killed your child
If you don't want violence in any form, cream the kids this year.
Well, I want Connor to come with me, but... I'm having trouble getting started.
Does anyone know and understand Ali?
​
Pros: The green leather reminds me of my father's son.
Don't worry about punishing him, I'm sorry, I have to go home
My land was lost forever, and the farmer became the sole owner.
Be the best law enforcement officer! Go, go, go, go
I didn't know until he came. Go Brainiac.
No one on earth will ask you about this.
​
Captain Cole: You know something, but relax, sir. Big brain?
Damn, what do you think he did? correct? ! you are crazy!
Sorry for taking so long, I know I can answer.
But this time the pain is greater than my pain.
When he said "Old Lenny is selling."
what is the reason? I hope that mods and scams will not happen again.
There is a hole in the heart of the elderly.
I don't like Aoko, you're my best friend. Good morning; Hello
​
Tiger: I'm hungry for his blood, and I'm ready to fight the brains.
The stranger does not want to save her and refuses her request.
“I helped him live in the world he wanted,” Berniak said.
Wherever you are now, don't be afraid of Wonder Woman's baby attack.
Is my relationship with God an instrument of evil? Well I promised here
I was not, a true shepherd protects his property.
​
Atrocities: My punishment is the result of a crime committed by Brainiac.
He married death and killed billions of people.
I don't know if it's safe, no. Their deaths are magical. My red light went off
If I die, they won't send me to Smith.
We were wrong, the gift will make you fall in love with your favorite mobile phone.
I know how to stop.
My redness brings evil, but you don't see it.
​
Supergirl: My hands shake when I think about Brainiac's Kryptonian "collection".
I want to give the world a chance. However, starting a partnership program is risky.
It is safe to build a city. I'm glad to be part of the Justice League.
Professor Stan: You taught me a lot.
We are constantly under pressure.
When it's done. Let's choose the right stars.
Brainiac destroys everything: Argo and Kandor are the two remaining cities.
Kal-El could not be saved. Help my country
​
Darkseid: Coruan, 1999 Horror. But it is a tool.
I can not hear.
Superman didn't want to get his wishes, he didn't want to conquer the world, he killed the Killbacks.
He died suddenly. But I won't tell you what happens when I die.
Kara fights Jor-El, but is ultimately defeated by Dasadi.
He is my children's greatest weapon and leader, a weapon that animals cannot overcome.
Copied DNA from Superman.
Superman stole my blood and has now deleted his account. This is Darkseid's dream.
​
Swamp Commentary: Historical; Many people are against green.
The idea here is no different than that of Superman or Batman.
Everyone believes that nature can be improved. We all make mistakes.
Before animals were created, the earth was green.
Modern trees and shrubs remind us of the animals that live on earth.
When the next crisis hits, the environment will change again. Leaves and leaves themselves.
​
Green Lantern: The Guardian asked me to take Oa Brainiac along to investigate.
The aliens will be gone from Earth in thousands of years.
After I asked questions, the garda threw a stone at me. That's just the way it is.
The academic interview method has been abolished. A direct attack on Sinestro's back was impossible.
On the green side we are weak against oppressive governance.
So I want the light to be yellow.
You really need to face your fears. Fear is greed;
Returning a finished bottle is not easy for me.
I want to know
​
Gorilla Grodd: Brainiac's warmth and personality will always be remembered.
The stranger did not believe that the dog had committed suicide, even though it had been decapitated.
(Laughs) On the phone I discovered the primitive mechanisms of the brain and cured the disease.
He then brought the last slave back to the area.
But my success with this animal was just the beginning.
Now Brainiac has complete control over his vast empires and is the ultimate conqueror of the world.
Lord Garuda is worshiped all over the world.
​
Death Sight: Grodd shot me with an arrow.
Let's say we crossed a few lines in doing these.
Brainiac and Grodd return to Bellevue and bet it would be okay for them to turn themselves in to the authorities.
Bruce Wayne kicks ass on TNT.
I hate the hospital, but it's worth it. Now that Nano is gone, we see Zoe again.
The last time I saw my daughter, she had a birthday cake with nine candles.
Now that I have a second chance to be a father, I don't think it will go away.
​
Poison Ivy - Unlike other men I've dated.
You killed your hero with his help.
"Let's kiss together for the first time in the world," he whispered in her ear. Managed. Every city.
It destroyed human civilization. According to Breniak. He got the kiss he deserved.
But he did one thing. Because I was so confused.
I know there is competition. Chidamba's feelings for his men began to fade.
The plants know that I am their real father. I have no doubt that the world is mine when the leaves sleep.
​
Blue Beetle: God... God. "I can't tell you how it happened!"
After all, I was the only newcomer in the group.
So you think Brainiac will kill Batman and destroy the world? There are no cyclists
After all is said and done, Batman… “James, the world is safer because of you.
I want to be the leader of the new Justice League if possible. " " .
For this reason! As you know, this is a good thing.
But more important than saving Batman is saving my family.
You haven't lived with cattle since you got the loan.
So I would go home and go to school.
What if "normal life" isn't enough? The Justice League is still around.
​
Aquaman: Superman is right. His mind must die.
But he could not stand Carl's return to power.
The Atlantic State is not a state ruled by a single government.
Superman can't be defeated because Batman is weak and his allies take him down.
The crew was about to be released when an abandoned ship was discovered in the South Seas.
Lex Luthor sets up the TV in space.
After the program was rejected, researchers developed a new method.
I am asking for help to those who are suffering now. They will have to apologize.
​
Black Adam: I'm back with the team to destroy Castor and Brainiac.
The beloved Queen is dead. Lazarus' body was taken out of the pit in the hope of a resurrection.
But Rais al-Gul prevented me from entering.
He gave me a contract and . Use me to help him get into office.
Russia believes in Superman's ability to command, but feels that something must be done.
I understand that Lata doesn't like this.
I will give you everything I know from my dear wife.
​
Garakoli: After reading Brainiac's blood, I changed the medicine to help your guest.
I saved your ship, I saved your broken heart.
I started looking at Brainiac's extensive collection and quickly realized that this was something I had never explored.
There are millions of people in the universe. We all have fears and doubts.
The ship is now my laboratory.
In the dark sky, the neighbors dream.
my knowledge has increased. It took me years, but I'm the best teacher in the world.
​
Fireworks: This study is set on Titan.
Music, laughter, pizza and cereal. But today I have no friends to celebrate.
I am Triona's Raven. Cyborg joins the government.
Beast Boy was so defeated I thought he was dead. Dick Grayson... my man.
this has not changed. Now... I'm the last titan left alone.
Depression is unbelievable.
After Tamaran was born, I lost her and made new friends with Titan.
My job is to tell stories. Create new relationships.
We may not be titans, but we must always stand together no matter what the honor of our lost friends.
I beat Brainiac. He is very talented and won the mustard ceremony.
​
Pod Zero: I did something bad in this world, I was brought here, I got out of magic,
I lost Kotal Khan to someone else's fortune.
I was trying to go home when Brainiac attacked.
This idiot will not leave the world until I add value.
Because of their victory, Batman gave them the Justice League.
We look forward to the wonders of interstellar travel as the young team learns important lessons.
But there is no magic.
Instead of opening the basement door, open the door to the spirit realm.
Now I fight to bring back Superman and his army.
They do not live until they are fully born.
Now I have work to add myself.
​
Red Hood: Generation of the Hybrid Titan Weapon is... well... well...
The fastest and most explosive weapon in the world. I did it myself.
After the attack, Bruce and Superman fight again.
I have no regrets. On the other hand, the law: murderers and criminals must die.
But I don't like government rules. Especially sad.
Therefore, the weak and innocent are protected while the best fight in the world for humans.
If the Savior calls, I will answer!
People should know that there is a real reason for their actions, no matter how bad!
Let's see your red face!
​
Raiden: Even without Shinaka. Ginsei will destroy the world wall.
He cried on the way
I began to see the process of mental illness.
I learned that Brainiac's activities will soon break down the barrier between Earth and space.
All life will end I was excited when Brainiac was announced.
The injuries were so serious that Kent Nelson did not die.
After his death He said to me, “I saw him before Armageddon.
If the rebels win the trial They will eliminate order and chaos.
The Justice League becomes the world's best assistants in eliminating this powerful drug.
I agreed to join them. Culture overcomes order and chaos is resolved.
Life goes on as we know it.
​
Hellboy: Anyway, Brainiac just brought me into this world.
Many people dream of me in "Editorial Collection" I think I thought about it.
Ingenious inventions win the hearts of men.
I have received many requests. But I immediately refused.
I don't want megalomania and a strong personality.
They say the heart is there. The heart is there. But not when I was driving home.
For a small company, going to Africa is normal.
Big room like me The sky is clear. starry sky
Overall, your life has been wonderful.
​
Black Manta: The genius kidnapper of Atlantis. I can thank him for that but it's not enough.
The era of Arthur Curry must be erased from history. The sound is dead, that's it.
I found a wildlife sanctuary in the world
Arthur Curry killed his father a long time ago.
I killed myself and the king because of this.
Then I asked about your father's murder. Then I took a deep breath.
What is Aquarius? Did he come to avenge the suffering of the people? No, no, no.
He hid until demons and Amazons came to his rescue.
Interestingly, according to Brainiac, these three fish were just dead fish.
when they die The world will praise Christ
​
John Moon: Even Brainiac has a lot to learn about magic.
He thinks he can "harvest" magical power.
That's why I allow it. In fact, the old doctor ate him alive. That's the end.
The skull was broken, but the magic was gone.
He has given me this miracle all year long. Hurt me. Forgive me... I'm free now.
No tickets, no ill intentions. I can do it until June.
Got my old job and started on Friday! At least I got my old life back.
Everything takes time-! You are here! mind!
Parents: June June June Do you miss me?
You have a slightly different opinion than mine.
Will the world collapse at risk?
​
Fire : At least Brainiac's arms protect him from outside damage.
Children survive brain surgery He lost control of the plane.
My teacher, the doctor, saved me from trouble. Ray Palmer said:
last year Palmer put the butterflies under a microscope and studied them.
Neglect leaves clear guidelines and invites other asthma patients to follow suit.
It's too cold So I upgraded the biobelt with Braniac technology.
It's time to rest. I am not stubborn and courageous.
But what about Professor Palmer? He has the heart of Einstein. He believed in me and his great legacy.
I will do it
​
Brainiac: Actually, Batman and Superman are having a lot of problems.
Who is Kaja Hoshi-um? Why am I here, friend or friend? Zaman Afshay revealed the truth.
Genius 5: I'm Genius 5. I understand that, but I don't know how to kill people.
Not so good, I decided to do it again later.
It's called karma
"definitely."
Some others estm hamet but two came on board!
​
Michael Angelos: Yes, right?
Rafael: Oh, Mickey! state-.
Leonardo: Are you okay?
Donatello: Of course he's evil, an interstellar villain, and what happens next.
Rafael: Yes, he says the same thing. But there are superheroes, right? So let's find a way to name the volume X.
Michael Angelus: But we are worlds apart! It's so good!
Donatella: The Full Story of Unstable Roasting -
File: Equal, slightly different from the East.
Leonard: Then don't worry. But this world has a domestic terrorist. We know we need to stop drinking. instead of
Michael Angelus: Let's go! When Brainiac is in need, he asks the florist where he can get good pizza
and says, "I'll get you some." It's sweet:!
Leonardo: I don't think I can beat you. But in the end they all fail.
Donatello: Is there a "Supernole" in Harley's Pizza?
The nanotechnology drug called V-U-93-R temporarily increases our strength and endurance.
Rafael: In Spanish: I am a dove.
Leonardo: That's impossible
Language: snowflakes, snowflakes and snowflakes
Additional information: Attention! This is stupid! Josh! Did Hectordon finally hit you, Grandpa? strange!
Michael Angelus: Whatever, my friend. this is funy.
​

Hi all I have written a new horror story based on the abduction of Betty and Barney Hill: https://youtu.be/RwI1_nrY1qM
​
Written version is below:
​
The Unforgotten Journey: A First-Person Account by Barney Hill
Prelude: A Trip Meant for Two
In the glowing ember of summer's end, under the expansive skies that bridge the borders between nations, my wife, Betty, and I embarked on a journey. It was a journey conceived in love, a belated celebration of our union, a simple drive from Montreal to New Hampshire that promised the comfort of the familiar and the thrill of the undiscovered. We were buoyed by the hopeful spirit of a honeymoon deferred, eager to etch new memories into the canvas of our shared life.
The car, packed with the essentials and some whims of fancy, was more than just a vehicle; it was a vessel of our dreams, cruising along the veins of a land so vast and varied. The road stretched before us like a promise, each mile a step further into our shared future. The landscapes of September, dressed in the early signs of fall, whispered tales of change, of cycles in the endless dance of time.
As we drove, laughing and loving, planning and dreaming, we could not have imagined that we were on the cusp of an encounter so profound, so unsettling, that it would forever alter the course of our lives.
This is not just the story of a trip; it is the account of a journey into the unknown, a tale that intertwines the essence of our humanity with the enigma of the cosmos. It is a narrative of love and fear, of curiosity and dread, a testament to the indomitable spirit of two souls bound together in the face of the inexplicable.
As I recount this tale, I invite you to journey with us, to feel the fabric of the night that enveloped us, to gaze into the unfathomable depths of the sky that watched over our passage. This is our story, a chronicle of our encounter with the unknown, an odyssey that transcends the boundaries of belief, a saga that remains, even to this day, The Unforgotten Journey.
Chapter 1: The Encounter Begins
As the landscapes of Lancaster unfolded before us, a serene tapestry under the cloak of night, it was Betty's voice that shattered the silence, her words tinged with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. "Barney, look at that!" she exclaimed, pointing towards a bright light that punctured the darkness with an intensity that seemed out of place against the backdrop of stars. My initial reaction was one of skepticism, a disbelief that what we were witnessing was anything beyond the mundane—an aircraft, perhaps, or a satellite, tracing its silent path across the sky.
Yet, as the miles slipped away beneath us on U.S. Route 3, that light persisted, a constant companion in our journey through the night. It was more than just a point in the sky; it seemed to be following us, a silent observer matching our speed, our turns, with an eerie precision. Betty's curiosity transformed into concern, her questions echoing in the confined space of our car, bouncing off the windows and settling heavily in my chest.
I could no longer dismiss her observations as mere fancy. The light had evolved, morphed into something that defied logical explanation. It was no longer just a light but a spinning disk, a craft of some kind that hovered with an otherworldly grace. It was as if the universe itself had opened up, revealing secrets meant for other worlds, not for two souls on a late honeymoon drive through New Hampshire.
The decision to stop the car was impulsive, driven by a need to understand, to confront this mystery head-on. I remember the feel of the gun, cool and heavy beneath the seat, a token of protection against an undefined threat. It was a gesture of defiance, perhaps, or a desperate bid for control in a situation that was rapidly spiraling beyond our understanding.
With the car parked on the side of the road, the night enveloped us in its embrace, a silence so profound it seemed to muffle the beat of our hearts. The air was crisp, charged with anticipation, as I stepped out, binoculars in hand, and directed my gaze towards the hovering disk. What I saw through the lens was a revelation, a moment of terrifying clarity that would haunt my dreams for years to come.
There, in the cold expanse of space, the disk loomed large, its edges blurred by the spinning motion, but it was what lay beyond the windows of the craft that seized my soul with fear. Beings, creatures clad in uniforms of an unknown design, their eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that felt almost physical. It was a gaze that spoke of intelligence, of curiosity, perhaps, but also of an otherness that was profoundly alien.
My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage as if seeking escape from the unfolding nightmare. I attempted to raise the gun, a feeble attempt at asserting some semblance of control, but my limbs refused to cooperate, seized by a paralysis that was as much mental as it was physical. Fear, raw and primal, coursed through me, a tidal wave that threatened to sweep away the last vestiges of my composure.
Chapter 2: The Spinning Disk
Under the celestial tapestry, with stars as my silent witnesses, I stood frozen, the chilling grip of fear rooting me to the spot. The gun, once a symbol of my resolve, now lay useless by my side, its weight inconsequential against the magnitude of what loomed above. Through the binoculars, the spinning disk was a spectacle of otherworldly engineering, its structure defying the laws of physics as I knew them. But it was the occupants of this craft, visible through the illuminated windows, who held my gaze, their presence a profound mystery that pierced the very core of my being.
These beings, with their eyes that seemed to see into me, stirred a primal dread I could not shake. Their forms, though humanoid, bore an elegance and a strangeness that belonged to another world, another reality. I could not fathom their intentions, whether benign or malevolent, but the sheer alienness of their appearance elicited a visceral reaction, a deep-seated fear of the unknown that I could neither control nor understand.
The disk itself, a marvel of technology, spun with a hypnotic grace, its movement smooth and deliberate. It hovered with an eerie stillness that contradicted its spinning motion, a silent sentinel in the night sky. The light it cast was not harsh but otherworldly, illuminating the surroundings with a glow that seemed to alter the very texture of the night.
As I stood there, transfixed, the realization dawned on me that we were not merely observers in this encounter; we were part of something much greater, a cosmic event that had chosen us as its participants. The notion was both exhilarating and terrifying, a paradox that sent my thoughts spiraling into realms of speculation and wonder.
The beings inside the disk appeared to be observing me just as intently, their gaze an unspoken communication that bridged the vast divide between our worlds. What were they thinking, I wondered? Was this encounter a mere curiosity for them, or did they seek something more, something deeper from this unexpected meeting?
My heart pounded in my chest, a staccato rhythm that mirrored the tumultuous storm of emotions within me. Fear, curiosity, awe, and a profound sense of vulnerability swirled within, a maelstrom of feeling that left me breathless. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the disk began to ascend, its movement graceful and silent, retreating into the vastness of the night sky.
I watched, a sense of loss mingling with relief, as the craft disappeared from view, leaving behind a night that felt altered, charged with an energy that was palpable. The encounter, brief though it had been, had changed something fundamental within me, a shift in perception that I could not yet fully comprehend.
With trembling hands, I abandoned the binoculars and returned to the car where Betty awaited, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. "Barney, What did you see?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality we found ourselves in.
I struggled to find the words, to articulate the enormity of what I had witnessed. "They were watching us," I managed to say, my voice tinged with awe and a deep-seated fear. "Just as we were watching them."
Chapter 3: The Escape
The drive away from the site of our encounter was a blur of motion and emotion, a frenetic escape from a reality we could scarcely comprehend. My hands gripped the steering wheel with a force born of fear, the car a mere extension of my desperate need to flee, to put distance between us and the inexplicable event that had shattered our peaceful night. Beside me, Betty sat in stunned silence, her body tense, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and wonder. Neither of us spoke; words seemed inadequate, trivial in the face of what we had just experienced.
As the miles unfolded before us, the urgency of our flight merged with the night's deepening quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions churning within. The initial surge of adrenaline that had fueled our escape gradually ebbed, leaving in its wake a pervasive sense of unease, a lingering dread that clung to us like the shadows that flitted across the road.
The further we drove, the more the night seemed to envelop us, a cloak of darkness that was both a comfort and a curse. It was in this state of heightened tension and exhaustion that a strange phenomenon began to take hold. A drowsiness, unbidden and irresistible, crept upon us, its seductive pull drawing us deeper into its embrace. The world around us seemed to fade, the edges of reality blurring into a dreamscape where time and space lost their meaning.
This drowsiness was unlike any tiredness we had known before; it was as if our very consciousness was being siphoned away, leaving us adrift in a limbo between waking and sleeping. We fought against it, struggling to maintain our grip on awareness, but the force was overwhelming, inexorable in its advance.
And then, as if crossing a threshold into the unknown, we surrendered to the oblivion that beckoned. The car continued its journey, a ghostly vessel navigating the empty roads, but our minds were elsewhere, ensnared in a void where the events of the night played out in fragments of dreams and half-remembered visions.
When awareness returned, it was gradual, like emerging from a deep sea into the light of dawn. The world came back into focus, the familiar contours of the road greeting us like old friends. But with consciousness came the realization that something was amiss. Time had slipped away from us, hours lost to the void, a blank in our memory that no effort of will could reclaim.
Confusion reigned as we tried to piece together the fragments of our journey, to account for the missing hours that stood between our flight and our return to the realm of the known. The car seemed to have carried us through the night on its own accord, delivering us to safety while we traversed the landscapes of our unconscious minds.
As the first light of dawn tinged the sky with hues of pink and gold, we found ourselves on a familiar road, nearing home, yet the sense of relief that should have accompanied this realization was absent. Instead, there was a gnawing feeling of unease, a sense that what had transpired in the lost hours was of profound significance, a mystery that lay just beyond the reach of our understanding.
The veil of forgetfulness that had descended upon us was impenetrable, a barrier to the truth of our experience. Yet, even in the absence of memory, there were tangible reminders of our encounter. The physical evidence of our ordeal, the traces of our flight, were all too real, a testament to the reality of the experience that had eluded our conscious minds.
As we pulled into the driveway of our home, the sanctuary of the familiar offered little comfort. We were changed, altered in ways we could not yet fathom. The encounter with the spinning disk, the beings that had observed us from their otherworldly craft, had set us on a path of discovery, a journey into the unknown that was only just beginning. The escape from the site of our encounter was but the first step in a much longer odyssey, a quest for understanding that would challenge our perceptions of reality and our place within the cosmos.
4.
Chapter 4: The Missing Time
The threshold of our home, once a boundary between the mundane and the sacred, now felt like the edge of a different reality. Stepping inside, we were enveloped by the comfort of the familiar, yet the echoes of our encounter pulsed just beneath the surface of our consciousness, a constant reminder that our world had irrevocably changed. The physical remnants of our experience lay before us, tangible evidence that what we had endured was not a figment of our imagination but a disturbing intrusion into our reality.
Betty's dress, her favorite one, now bore a tear, a jagged line that spoke volumes of the unseen turmoil we had faced. My shoes, once meticulously cared for, showed signs of wear, scuffed and scraped as if I had traversed miles of rough terrain. But it was our watches, their hands frozen in time, that served as the most haunting reminder of our lost hours. They had ceased to function at the moment of our encounter, marking the point where time itself seemed to fracture.
In a bid to grasp the unexplainable, we turned to a compass, an instrument of navigation and orientation. Its needle, which should have pointed steadfastly north, instead spun wildly, a dance of confusion and chaos. This erratic behavior, devoid of any logical explanation, was a silent witness to the unseen forces at play, forces that had swept us into their embrace and altered the very fabric of our reality.
Our confusion deepened, a mire of questions without answers. How could mere hours contain such a profound mystery, a void in our memories that no amount of reasoning could fill? The home that had once been our refuge now seemed to close in on us, the walls echoing with the silent questions that plagued our minds.
In the days that followed, we sought explanations in the mundane, a desperate attempt to anchor ourselves in the familiar. Yet, the more we searched, the more elusive the answers became. The physical evidence of our ordeal was undeniable, a testament to the reality of our experience, yet it offered no solace, no key to unlock the mystery of the missing time.
Betty, ever the seeker, turned to the local library, delving into books and articles on UFO sightings and extraterrestrial encounters. It was a search for context, for any shred of evidence that we were not alone in our experience, that others too had glimpsed the veil between worlds and survived to tell the tale.
The strange, the unexplainable, had intruded into our lives, leaving us adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Yet, it was in this search for understanding that we found a semblance of purpose, a thread to follow through the labyrinth of our experience. The missing time, a gap in our collective memory, became the focus of our quest, a puzzle that we were determined to solve.
As we pieced together the fragments of our encounter, a picture began to emerge, not of answers, but of deeper questions. What had happened to us during those lost hours? Who were the beings that had observed us from their spinning disk? And what did they want from us?
These questions became the driving force behind our search, propelling us forward on a journey that would take us to the edges of our understanding and beyond. The missing time, a void in our past, was now the key to unlocking the mysteries of our encounter, a doorway into a world that defied explanation.
Our home, once a haven of normalcy, had become the ground zero of our investigation, the place where we would begin to unravel the enigma of our abduction. The evidence of our ordeal, inscribed upon our belongings and etched into our very souls, was a constant reminder that the truth was out there, waiting to be discovered.
As we stood together, united in our quest, we knew that the journey ahead would be fraught with challenges. But we also knew that the search for answers was not just about understanding what had happened to us; it was about reclaiming our lives from the shadows of the unknown. The missing time, a gap in our existence, had opened a door to a new reality, one that we were determined to explore, no matter where it led.
5.
Chapter 5: The Search for Answers
In the weeks following our harrowing encounter, our home transformed into a sanctuary of research and reflection. Betty, with her insatiable thirst for knowledge and understanding, became a beacon of light in our shared darkness. She poured over books on the unexplained, her mind a whirlwind of theories and possibilities, each page turn a step closer to the answers we so desperately sought.
It was during this time of intense inquiry that Betty's dreams began to take on a new significance. Night after night, she awoke, her breaths short and her eyes wide with the recollection of vivid, unsettling visions. These dreams, or perhaps more accurately, memories, offered a fragmented glimpse into the abyss of our missing hours. They were vivid in detail, recounting an experience so extraordinary it defied belief. Betty spoke of a spacecraft, of beings not of this world, and of examinations that probed not just our bodies but the very essence of our beings.
My own skepticism battled with the undeniable truth of Betty's dreams. How could the contents of her subconscious so closely mirror the fragmented memories that lingered at the edges of my own consciousness? It was a question that gnawed at me, a puzzle that demanded resolution.
Our quest for answers led us to Dr. Benjamin Simon, a psychiatrist renowned for his work with hypnosis. It was a step into the unknown, a leap of faith driven by our desperate need for understanding. Under Dr. Simon's guidance, we embarked on a journey into the depths of our own minds, a voyage that promised to unlock the secrets of our lost hours.

1. The sessions

I found myself in Dr. Benjamin Johnson's office, the air thick with anticipation and a subtle undercurrent of fear. Dr. Johnson, a man whose presence exuded calm and professionalism, prepared me for the journey into my subconscious. As he spoke, his voice a steady, soothing cadence, I felt the walls of reality begin to blur, the edges of my consciousness softening under the weight of hypnotic suggestion.
He was guiding me back to that night, to the moment when the unknown pierced through the veil of my ordinary life. The memory of the spacecraft, previously obscured by the fog of my conscious denial, emerged with a clarity that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. I could see it again, hanging in the sky, an ominous harbinger of the unimaginable ordeal to come.
As Dr. Johnson's voice anchored me in the memory, the fear that had gripped me that night enveloped me once more. The spacecraft, with its unnatural stillness, seemed to beckon us, pulling Betty and me into its narrative, a story written in the stars and yet unfathomable to the human mind.
The beings... the beings were unlike anything I had envisioned life beyond Earth to be. They were grey, their bodies slender and fragile-looking, yet their presence was commanding, imbued with an intelligence and purpose that transcended their physical form. They communicated not with words but with thoughts, their messages clear in my mind as if spoken aloud. It was telepathy, a form of connection that was as efficient as it was unsettling.
Betty and I were separated upon being taken aboard, a decision made without consultation but understood as necessary. My heart ached at the thought of her alone, facing these unknown entities without my support. Yet, there was no time to dwell on this separation as I was led, or rather directed, into an examination room. A gesture from one of the beings urged me onto a metal table, a cold, unforgiving surface that would soon bear witness to the most invasive examination of my life.
My clothes were removed, not roughly, but with a precision that suggested familiarity with the process. Then, the examination began in earnest. Hair was plucked, skin was scraped, and nails were clipped, each sample meticulously collected on a clear material that resembled glass slides. The sensation of needles, connected to long wires, probing at various points on my body was disconcerting, a violation of my physical self that was paradoxically clinical in its execution.
Throughout this ordeal, one being, who I came to think of as the leader, observed intently. There was a curiosity there, a desire for understanding that felt almost academic. Yet, it was the discovery of my dentures that elicited a reaction bordering on excitement from them. Betty, despite the gravity of our situation, found humor in their fascination, her laughter a brief respite from the surreal horror of our circumstance.
It was then, amidst the cold, clinical exploration of our humanity, that Betty's voice broke through the silence. Her question, innocent and profound, was met with a response that haunts me to this day: “If you don’t know where you are, there wouldn’t be any point in telling you where I am from.” The being's refusal to disclose our location, followed by the presentation of a star map, was a moment of connection, a bridge between our worlds that was as baffling as it was enlightening.
Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, my memory plunged into darkness. The next thing I knew, Betty and I were back in our car, the night around us silent save for the sound of our breathing and the hum of the engine. The spacecraft, the beings, the examination room—all had vanished, leaving behind a void in our memory that no amount of conscious effort could fill.
Dr. Johnson's voice, a lifeline back to the present, gently coaxed me from the depths of my recollection. As I surfaced from the hypnotic state, the weight of what I had remembered pressed down on me with an unbearable gravity. The journey into my subconscious had unearthed truths that were as terrifying as they were transformative, a narrative of abduction that challenged the very essence of our understanding of the universe and our place within it.
The memory of our abduction, now laid bare, was a testament to the extraordinary and the unexplainable. It was a story that, once hidden in the shadows of forgetfulness, now demanded to be acknowledged, a truth that, no matter how outlandish, was ours to bear.
The hypnosis sessions were emotionally charged, a rollercoaster of revelation and realization. As Dr. Simon's voice guided us, we traversed the landscape of our subconscious, unearthing memories that had been buried beneath layers of fear and uncertainty. The experience was cathartic, a release of pent-up emotions that had simmered beneath the surface since that fateful night.
For Betty, the sessions were a vindication of her dreams, a confirmation that what she had experienced in the realm of sleep was rooted in reality. Her recollections under hypnosis mirrored her nocturnal visions with uncanny accuracy, painting a picture of our abduction that was both fascinating and terrifying.
My own sessions brought forth memories I had struggled to suppress, details of the encounter that resonated with Betty's account. The beings, the spacecraft, the examinations – all were laid bare, a narrative that echoed Betty's in its essence, if not in every detail.
Yet, it was in the discrepancies between our recollections that the truth of our experience began to emerge. Dr. Simon, ever the meticulous observer, noted these variances, suggesting that they were not contradictions but rather complementary pieces of a larger puzzle. It was clear that we had each experienced the abduction through the lens of our own perceptions, our individual responses coloring the memories that we unearthed.
The sessions with Dr. Simon became our beacon of hope, a path to reclaiming the missing pieces of our lives. Through hypnosis, we were able to piece together a narrative of our encounter, a story that, while extraordinary, offered a semblance of closure. The memories we uncovered were a map to understanding, a guide that helped us navigate the tumultuous waters of our experience.
Yet, even as we made progress in our search for answers, new questions arose. What was the purpose of our abduction? What did the beings hope to achieve through their examinations? And most importantly, were we alone in our experience, or were there others out there who had faced similar ordeals?
As we continued to work with Dr. Simon, we found not just healing but a new purpose. The shadows of doubt that had once clouded my mind began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of wonder and a determination to uncover the truth. Our ordeal had opened our eyes to a universe teeming with mysteries, and we were determined to explore every last one of them. The search for answers, once a path to understanding our own experience, had become a journey of discovery, a quest to unveil the secrets hidden in the stars.
Chapter 6: The Public Eye
The tranquility of our quest for answers was shattered when our story, once whispered in the confines of our home and Dr. Simon's office, burst into the glaring light of public scrutiny. The catalyst was an article in the Boston Traveller, a piece that painted our encounter in bold strokes, drawing the curious, the skeptical, and the believer alike into the orbit of our experience. Suddenly, we found ourselves not just survivors of an extraordinary event but subjects of a narrative that spiraled beyond our control.
This exposure was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it validated our experience, casting it into the realm of the extraordinary and confirming that our story was worth telling. It brought others into our fold, individuals who had experienced similar encounters, who had seen the same unexplainable lights, or who had felt the same inexplicable loss of time. Their stories, echoing our own, offered a sense of camaraderie, a shared understanding that we were not alone in our quest for answers.
On the other hand, the glare of the public eye brought with it a tide of skepticism. Critics and debunkers emerged from the woodwork, armed with explanations that ranged from the plausible to the absurd. Our encounter was dissected and analyzed, subjected to a scrutiny that often bordered on the invasive. We were accused of seeking fame, of fabricating our story for attention, or of being duped by the misidentification of natural phenomena.
The skepticism was a bitter pill to swallow. Each doubt cast upon our story felt like a personal affront, a denial of the profound and life-altering experience we had endured. Yet, it also served as a crucible, tempering our resolve and sharpening our determination to seek the truth. We knew what we had experienced, and no amount of skepticism could erase the memories unearthed in Dr. Simon's office or the physical evidence that bore silent testament to our ordeal.
Amid the whirlwind of attention, our story took on a life of its own. The Boston Traveller's article was just the beginning. Interviews followed, then talks at local UFO study groups, and eventually, a book, "The Interrupted Journey," which chronicled our encounter in painstaking detail. Our story, once a private struggle, had become a public fascination, a beacon for those seeking to understand the unexplained.
As our story spread, so too did the discourse around UFO sightings and alien encounters. Our experience became a reference point, a case study that was both lauded and criticized. The publicity brought us into contact with a community of researchers, scientists, and enthusiasts, each offering their own theories and insights into the phenomenon of alien abduction.
Yet, with this recognition came a profound sense of responsibility. We understood that our story was more than just a personal account; it was a piece of a larger puzzle, a contribution to the ongoing conversation about extraterrestrial life and humanity's place in the cosmos. We felt a duty to present our experience honestly and openly, to engage with both believers and skeptics alike in a dialogue that was respectful and informed.
The public eye, with its scrutiny and its spotlight, was a challenging arena. It tested our resolve, our credibility, and our faith in our own experience. Yet, it also provided a platform, an opportunity to share our story with the world, to contribute to the growing body of evidence surrounding UFO encounters, and to advocate for serious and scientific investigation into the phenomenon.
Our journey from the privacy of our own encounter to the public stage of debate and discussion was fraught with challenges. Yet, it was a path we walked with determination, driven by the conviction that our story, like so many others, deserved to be heard. In the face of skepticism and scrutiny, we stood firm, our experience a beacon for those navigating the mysterious and often misunderstood realm of the unexplained.
Chapter 7: Reflections and Revelations
As the dust settled on the whirlwind of publicity and public scrutiny, Betty and I found ourselves navigating a new reality. The intense period of our lives, marked by our abduction and the subsequent journey into the public eye, had transformed us in ways we could scarcely have imagined. We were no longer just a couple with an extraordinary story; we had become symbols, avatars for the countless individuals seeking answers in the vast, uncharted territories of the unknown.
Betty's passion for understanding the phenomena that had so dramatically impacted our lives only deepened. She became a tireless researcher in the field of Ufology, her curiosity undimmed by the skeptics and detractors. Her dedication was not just about seeking validation for our own experience but about contributing to a greater body of knowledge, a repository of encounters and evidence that could one day peel back the veil on one of humanity's greatest mysteries.
For me, the journey was more introspective. The encounter had opened a door to a universe filled with wonders and horrors beyond comprehension, and I found myself perpetually caught between the desire to understand and the fear of what that understanding might reveal. I spent my days pondering the mysteries of the cosmos, the possibility of other worlds, and the nature of the beings that had briefly intersected with our lives. It was a quest that consumed me, a never-ending search for answers that I knew might never come.
Our story, once thrust into the limelight, gradually receded from the public consciousness, replaced by newer, more sensational tales. Yet, for us, the journey never ended. It continued in the quiet moments, in the night skies that once filled us with terror but now sparked a sense of wonder, in the endless conversations and debates about what lies beyond our small, fragile world.
The years passed, and with them came a sense of perspective. Our encounter, while extraordinary, was but a single thread in the vast tapestry of the human experience. We had faced the unknown, had our reality irrevocably altered, and had emerged not unscathed, but undeniably changed. We had lived through fear and wonder, had sought the truth in a world that often-seemed content with illusion, and in doing so, had discovered a strength we never knew we possessed.
Our journey, marked by the highs of discovery and the lows of skepticism, remains a testament to the unexplained, a story that resonates with those who have looked into the night sky and wondered, "What if?" It is a narrative that, in its essence, speaks to the indomitable spirit of inquiry, the unquenchable human desire to know, to understand, and to explore the unknown.
As I reflect on the path we have walked, I am struck by the realization that our encounter was not just an isolated event, but a catalyst, a moment that propelled us into a greater understanding of the universe and our place within it. It was a journey that, in its exploration of the unknown, revealed just as much about the human condition as it did about the mysteries of the cosmos.
In the end, our lives, like our encounter, remain a testament to the unexplained. Betty's dedication and my own reflections have woven a narrative that, while deeply personal, is also universally resonant. It is a story of fear and wonder, of skepticism and belief, of the search for truth in a world filled with mysteries. And though the years may pass and our voices may fade, the journey we embarked on that fateful night continues, a beacon for all those who dare to believe that we are not alone in this vast, mysterious universe.

Hello, this is the first time I've ever posted, but I really want some advice on what's happening. Me (22M) and my roommate, let's call him S (24).
S and I first met around 2019-2020 while working at a Sonic Drive In. At first I didn't like him too much because he gave off "I'm only in college because mommy and daddy are paying for it" vibes. But soon found out we had a lot in common. Love for nerdy things and metal bands.
At the time I was going through a really nasty breakup in which my girlfriend of five years actively was cheating on me but I was too depressed to call her out on it. We also were in a single bedroom apartment lease.
S and I began going to the gym because I was not mentally well and he was (the nicest way to put it) FAT. 5'10 270LBS.
We ended up going to the gym consistently and after the years went by he lost weight and I gained equally as he lost in muscle. I was 5'9 at 130lbs (Now 2024, 200lbs).
We were super close, I was there for his breakups, his dad dying, his fights with his brother (who lives in Cali).
We would go to Aftershock, a music festival in Sacramento every year. Making a family vacation of it with our other buddy "C".
The thing is, S is pretty lazy, aggressive, and thinks he's the shit when he doesn't have much to back it up with.
He actively talks about how he is living the Barney Stenson life and wants to f1ck b1tches, make money, and be a Rockstar.
About 3 years ago he met this girl on Tinder. Let's call her Corndog, because she makes corndogs with her degree in criminology. We would always laugh about that with her so at the time it wasn't a bad nickname. Although, S openly talked about how he can't see being with her very long, commenting on her body shape, HIGH body count, how much they argued, how she kept him from going to work, etc.
She damn near lived at our place for a year. And for that year we enabled them. C, S, and I all live together. And now I have a girlfriend who moved in, let's call her "Bean".
So for that year all S and Corndog along with C and I did was drink and party it up. Having game nights and "Stundays" which was steak and starwars Sundays. It was great.
But throughout that year S consistently told us he can't see it going any further. They never started being official, hell, never even started being exclusive. He would invite girls over when she would stay at her own place, or he'd come home from the bars all pissed that she was with some guy at the bar.
C and I told him it wasn't healthy and to drop it and he'd constantly agree with us, telling us how he feels ashamed of leading her on and using her for her body and free food. (Corndogs)
For a few weeks he'd be super depressed after they split, then they would get back together, so on so forth. This is now year three of this. They still refuse to date each other. Yet they go to fancy resorts together, expensive dinners, call each other every night, etc.
C and I sat down and talked about it with him and in the conversation he blatantly lied saying he hadn't been seeing her. C said he was disappointed. S got hurt by that comment and stopped talking to both us for a few months. If we were in the living room he'd run past it to avoid us. Or not come out at all.
All he does is play his guitar and play video games if he's home. If not that then he is with Corndog. They go to the bars almost every night which is crazy considering he complains about not having any money. That leads into the next chapter of this story. In no way am I intentionally bashing him, just telling how it is.
S came from a wealthy family in California and last year got a trust from a dead uncle. His mother has been paying his rent for a few years now because he refuses to work after he left sonic in 2021. He works at a UPS as a box leader but calls out every day, I'm shocked he hasn't been fired, but at this point he might have been and never told us. He blew through the entire trust in just two years. 40k. Gone. And nothing to show for it. Well other than his body. He stopped going to the gym a while back. He made such good progress and even started getting into some heavy weight lifting. Though with all the beer and bar food he now has gotten quite large again. A funny quote I remember he said to me "If I stop doing leg days, it'll make my upper body look bigger". That's right before he stopped going entirely.
Furthermore, the game nights stopped because we started not liking Corndog. We could tell she was very manipulative and using S. For what? Idk? She would play buddy buddy with C and I when they were fighting and tell us how such a mean guy he is so we'd turn on him. During parties she'd flip out and make a HUGE scene about something very small or nothing at all so everyone would blame S for a ruined night. On nights he said he had work in the morning she would play victim and tell him he won't make her his girlfriend and that he owes her for breaking his heart. They would end up drinking the night away. See pt 2.

I had this on my watch list from when it came out and only just started watching a month or so ago because I finally got enough downtime at work to make it thru 1-2 episodes a night.
Background on me, I’m 37 so I grew up kind of on the tail end of the 80s-90s golden age of comedy. Chris Farley, John Candy, Phil Hartman, Adam Sandler, Eddie Murphy, all those incredibly zany and absurd movies…. I started watching SNL regularly around the time that Tina Fey, Jimmy Fallon, Will Ferrell, etc were on but my family regularly watched those “Best of” clip shows as well.
And I was already a bit too old for when Selena was on Barney but I did watch Barney as a child and understand her perspective since we’re 6 years apart.
I also grew up watching and listening to Broadway, was a theater kid and went to NYC several times since I lived a couple hours away.
So like many others, I found this show relatable, nostalgic yet modern, and absolutely love the musical numbers and guest stars. It doesn’t seem like a regular show, it feels more like a bunch of old friends got together to create this project out of love and nostalgia, and invite their friends to join from time to time.
I’m probably going to rewatch it all again while I wait for S4 to pick up anything I missed.