Whack your mom

My sister is a seeming narcissist. Tons of history and it has begun to affect me recently. I would say that I am kind, and I really want to help her.
For the past 4 years she was in a relationship with a bigger(smarter) narcissist than her, he kept a secret relationship from her the entire time. She never really opened up to me about it, only really getting details from my mom and heard some things here and there. It did not end well.
She bought a house with this guy in 2022, since he left she has to pay the entire mortgage. Since then, her car got repossessed and she is in a new relationship. Now, she’s using my Mom’s designer Jeep Wrangler (she earned through elementary school teacher wage) because she threw a fit on her birthday after learning that she would get my old Grand Cherokee.
I’ve had to be in her life recently because there is nobody to take care of her lawn or her three dogs (she uses them as relationship weapons).
I expected to be compensated, 50$ a week, I have to Commute an hour to get here, I have to pay for the gas in the mower, I have to mow and weed whack in a specific way or she has a fit. I have to do more miscellaneous house/lawn work and she’s refusing to pay me.
This week, I had to take her dog to the groomer, she payed me for the upfront cost of the appointment, but of course forgot a tip for the groomer.
Also her boyfriend is taking her on a vacation, the 3rd one in three months. In order to do this, she would need to use my Grand Cherokee in order to drive 3 hours to an airport.
I went ahead and got an oil change for it, and arrived at her house with 50 miles left in the tank. I told her, and she became visibly pissed.
I said “Don’t give me that look, not like you would plan on paying me back at least 60$ worth of gas” (not to mention she drove 20,000 miles in 6 months without leaving the state before her car was repossessed)
She scoffed, “well it’s your car, didn’t you just go and fill up the gas can??? why wouldn’t you also fill up your car?!?”
“It’s not my vacation.”
Then she went all the way up until she left without saying a word to me, glaring at me.
As she leaves, her dogs cry, a familiar sight.
She acts like I am obligated to do everything for her: house care, dog care, lawn care, fill her gas tank???
These sort of feelings bring me here, how do I deal with a family member like this? Like I love her like family, but it’s like she doesn’t know what that means. She’s never tried to get to know me, just tries to boss me around. Someone like this I would typically want to try and avoid… but it’s family. Idk

Most of my life I had a blood pressure that averaged 80-90 on the top number and 40-60 on the bottom. No symptoms, no problems. I was healthy and active and ate a healthy diet. I still eat healthy, but I am a smoker.
Now here’s where it gets confusing for the doctors. Once my blood pressure started to inch up little by little, I began to have symptoms that seemed to be heart failure. Even had several blood tests show something the heart releases when it’s failing. After 10 years I finally have what is a “normal” blood pressure for most people and I keep having heart failure symptoms.
Every night when I lie down my heart rhythm goes out of whack, heavy breathing and pounding heart after the rhythm straightens out, with heavy sweating. This also happens during the day and has begun causing me to pass out. I actually smashed my face into pavement one day and shattered an eye socket and fractured my forehead and lost a good chunk of cartilage from my nose because I passed out and went over like a bowling pin. Nausea, vomiting, headaches, dizziness, extreme fatigue, what I call hot flashes (though I’m much too young and am not in menopause), My vision changes from day to day. I have been wearing glasses my whole life and now sometimes they work and other times I see better without them. Especially up close. My abdomen and legs stay so swollen I can barely eat or walk due to the pain.
My primary care doctor noticed my blood pressure was changing. But she knew I needed the water pills until I could see a cardiologist. She did caution me and told me to only take them every 3 days because I tend to have low blood pressure and water pills lower blood pressure. It was a concern. Well, I immediately felt about 50% better. Both the frequency and severity of my symptoms decreased.
My cardiologist said this:
Why would she put you on water pills?
Me: well because of how swollen I am with water retention.
Him: well you probably have (condition in my legs where the vessels stretch and blood flow gets messed up or stops) we will do the procedures for that. As for the water retention, your heart isn’t strong enough to pull the water out of your system the way it should. But there is absolutely nothing wrong with your heart
Me: that makes no sense (has ultrasound and confirms vessel condition in legs and has 4 procedures done) cardiologist releases me and says I should be fine now. No change including in leg swelling.
My primary then represcribes the water pills and adds a beta blocker. Diagnosis: high blood pressure. Frequency of symptoms reduced by 60%. Severity of symptoms reduced by 80%. Haven’t passed out since or had dizziness or nausea and vomiting. Headaches have been minimal. Eyesight is still a bit wonky.
Primary care doctor moves to another state. New primary care doctor thinks I and my previous doctor are insane and that my “normal” blood pressure is fine and my other symptoms are my imagination. Now I’ve been without meds for an entire month and I’m worried.
Are there ANY studies or doctors who have experience with a person whose normal blood pressure is low and high blood pressure reads as normal? I’m desperate at this point. I’m way too young to die of a heart attack or stroke and leave behind 3 kids without a mom. I’m only 44.
Edit. About 3 years ago I suddenly found that everything I ate or drank, even water, was like eating straight salt. I now can’t stand the taste of salt and can’t have it in any of my food. I lost 60 lbs in 8 weeks without changing anything. I have an extremely healthy diet, am very active (I teach 3rd grade, am a trauma recovery coach, and walk 3 miles with my daughter 3 times a week), I’m a light smoker (5-8 a day), not diabetic, healthy checkups, normal cholesterol and all that. The only thing I’ve ever had an issue with was my thyroid. I had 7 rapidly growing nodules that eventually stopped growing but haven’t been checked in 3 years since the radiologist said it was no longer necessary. All nodules were looked at through sonogram or ultrasound and biopsies every 2 years for 15 years. No kidney issues that I’m aware of. And NO the cardiologist and other doctors have NOT done ANY tests other than blood and CT scans to check my heart. They refuse. Yes I have good insurance. Family history includes mitral valve failure, mitral regurgitation, and non specific heart attack. Without the water pills I weigh about 240 lbs, with them I stay around 170.

I’ve (F36) been with my boyfriend (M34) for 2.5 years, long distance. In the beginning, obviously things were great. However, early on, I started to see some red flags.
He would lie about the stupidest things…things that didn’t even make sense to lie about. For example, I had visited him and made up a bunch of breakfast sandwiches for him to take to work. After I had gone home, he called me one morning saying that the sandwiches were great. He verbatim said, “I had one while I was running around the house getting ready and another one while I was driving to work.” Later in the day, I said “so those sandwiches were good, huh?” He said “what? I told you I was rushing today. I didn’t have any time for breakfast.” It honestly really scared me, and we never got to the bottom of it. His final comment on the situation was “it worries me, I don’t remember saying any of that to you.”
For reference…he has had multiple head traumas due to abuse by his mom and her boyfriends, abuse by his stepdad, dirt bike accidents, getting kicked in the head by his horses, and when he was married, he mouthed off and got whacked in the head with a frying pan by his ex…
Anyway, he’s VERY generous due to his high paying job and supports me with $1000/month which I apply to my rent (which is $1750). The other day I texted him saying I was craving a margarita, and he immediately sent me money to go get myself one. I didn’t need the money, but the gesture was thoughtful.
But lately, he’s just been really sketchy, mean, and self centered.
Sketchy: During the day, he is great about letting me know where he’s going and what he’s doing, usually; come evening though, he will sometimes just fall off the face of the planet and I cannot get a hold of him. He claims he doesn’t hear my calls or texts but he has a watch which is connected to his phone, so I know he’s ignoring me. We’ve talked about it a lot but he just says that he doesn’t need to give me an update every 10 min. And it’s like, no, you don’t…but once every 2 hours should be doable.
Mean: Today I was just having a rough day accompanied by a terrible headache. I called him because I knew he was off work and I just wanted to see if talking with him could put me in a better mood. Regarding my headache, he threw in a quick “you’ll be fine” line. When I told him I was feeling depressed and sad that he never asks how I was doing (more about that later in the “self centered” section), he said “you always tell me! I don’t need to ask! You BOMBARD my phone with 20 messages about your day so there’s no need to ask! I’m not gonna text you every hour and be like ‘how are you?’ I haven’t done that since junior high!” First off…I do text him sometimes, sure, but I do not “bombard” him. And the first thing that came to mind when he said that to me, was ‘he’s insecure that I actually DON’T text or call near as much as I used to, so he’s making things up to make himself feel more important and needed’. I said “well do you prefer that I don’t text you during the day and just wait til you’re off work to talk?” He said “umm no. That’s a game. Don’t play games with me.” I thought it was a possible solution…
Self Centered: Today, he knew I had a long commute in very stressful traffic. Instead of asking how my drive was, he texted me that he had broken his truck window, followed by a picture. Honestly, he’s not great at responding to my messages, and since I was driving, I didn’t respond. He eventually called to tell me the WHOLE story in FULL detail, not once, but twice! This is very common. He will tell me a story, and then tell me the same exact story again. And if I say “oh you already told me that”, he gets angry! So I just have to listen and come up with a new reaction, otherwise he will say I’m being rude. It’s like, he just loves the attention from his stories.
Later on, we were talking about my work and I started to tell him a story. He thought he knew what I was going to say so he tried to finish my sentence. I gently said, “oh, no that isn’t what I was going to say.” He said “oh, well that’s what I’M going to say.” I responded with an “ohhhkay…” which caused him to loudly exhale and say “FINE, what were you going to say?! My God!”
He can really be so mean. And we’ve tried talking about it, which just results in him talking over me, and not listening to anything that I say.
It’s been about three months since we have seen each other and I’m actually supposed to head his way next week for his niece’s wedding.
I know that he will be working the whole time I am there with the exception of the day of the wedding, so we won’t have to spend a lot of time together. Pretty sad to say that.
I just feel like he’s such a broken person who has been through so much trauma in his life. He really does have a lot of amazing qualities, but I feel like I just see less and less of them. I pray about the relationship all the time, but is there a point that I need to leave and just let God handle him when he’s not in a relationship?

Let me start by saying that there is still no physical proof I know of that Drake is hiding one or more kids out there. It’s certainly possible based on Drake’s history and how he carries himself, but it is not confirmed. But if that 11 year old girl is out there…
Kendrick’s best strategy would be to NOT reveal any more information.
When Pusha T revealed Adonis’ existence to a wider audience, Adonis was still a baby, he had never had a normal life beforehand. This would not be the case with the alleged 11 y.o. girl. She would have been adjusted to a certain lifestyle, and the sudden revelation she is the love child of the biggest pop star in the world would put her in a VERY dangerous position, both physically and mentally.
Suddenly, she can’t just go to school, go hang with friends, or do anything that she used to. The media hounds would be all over her, her classmates would start treating her differently(hell, the teachers and staff would probably too!), and that’s not even accounting for those who have bad intentions both within and outside of Drake’s circle. Now she’s a topic of gossip, the victim of speculation and arguments, and her whole life thrown out of whack.
This sudden change would have a HUGE impact on the developing mind of a child entering puberty and could result in SERIOUS harm. If Kendrick had said “______ is your child”, that child would be the loser of the battle, whether Drake or Kendrick won or lost.
Him keeping it purely speculation places the onus on Drake to either keep it quiet, making the allegations seem more legit(especially since he had already done the same thing with another child he had), or reveal the child of his or the mom’s own accord, which would not be the responsibility of Kendrick.
THIS is the biggest blow from MTG. The revelation that another child could be out there would stress Drake and his team out, while also keeping the child away from the media circus. Follow that up with Not Like Us to recenter the pedo allegations and no mention of the daughter takes even more attention away from that allegation and focuses on a much worse one. This is why I think the angle Kendrick took is the best option both as strategy and while attempting to be as moral as possible about the whole affair.

It's mother's Day back in Canada and I'm thinking about mom today. I'm so sick though that I'll do a call tomorrow when I'm doing better. I tend to do poorly on phone calls when I'm not well. I woke up very ill this morning and my body did not want to cooperate at all. Who knew that biking a lot on a body trying to kick an illness might prolong said illness.
The rain indeed came and did not stop. It was pouring cats and dogs in the morning and the prospect of going outside in the rain while sick made me feel miserable. With my poor condition and the possibility of a thunderstorm during the day, we were in no condition to be going very far. We tried to extend our stay but the hotel was fully booked, our next best bet was to head up the road into the mountains and find a place there.
On my booking app, one hotel was listed at half it's usual price for some reason. We've stayed at a lot of livemax hotels and found them to at least be okay, so we figured it was safe to take the cheap option this time, which was $49. It was one of their onsen properties as well, and it looked like there was a train nearby if we wanted to get food and a bath in the next town over, which looked to be nicer. It was either that or pay another $100 for what would amount to a shelter from the rain, and in my addled state where sickness feels like a waste of time, a cheap hotel is a good way to convince me to stay put and rest. It was 20km away and the rain wasn't going to get any lighter, so we packed up, donned our rain gear, and set out for some breakfast.
A grocery store was near our hotel (which again was just a series of trailers in the parking lot of a casino), and we figured we could get something for breakfast there as nothing else was open on the way. Inside we found a store that was a bit of a time capsule. The music, the ambiance, even the too-cold air conditioning felt decades old. The aisles felt too large and there were large empty areas signalling that the store did not have enough business for it's size. The place was meticulously kept though, even if it was only one lonely cashier in the cavernous building. We found some hot coffee and had a few pastries while we talked about the economy of Japan and how the feeling here could relate to back home. Can anything be done with the general feeling of decline everywhere? Why were things so much better in Japan decades ago? Questions for economists, but not ones they necessarily have good answers for. I feel like many questions for economists are better suited for fortune tellers.
There were a couple of games in the grocery store which caught our eye, including a trio of games for kids (given the console was two feet off the ground), that were essentially slots. You pumped in coins to adjust your bet, then pressed a button to play a chance game, and if you won you got more coins. I have no idea how anyone thinks this kind of game is appropriate or ethical to have around children. No wonder this country has such a gambling problem.
The ride from Nikko to our hotel was calm and wet. The hill upwards was gentle enough that I didn't feel too exhausted, but I did feel like I was going to fall asleep on my bike if the coughing fits didn't take me down first. I really felt wretched today, the week and a half of being sick because I never took the downtime to get better is really catching up with me today. Make time for your body or your body will take it's time, I guess. The road followed a river in a steep gorge, the mountains rising up on either side. Everything was blanketed in thick trees, the slopes now too steep for most developments.
Nonetheless, little onsen towns were nestled into the cracks of the mountains here and there, but the decline of the area was impossible not to notice. While the odd resort was still shiny, it's clear the volume of travelers to the area has dwindled from lofty amounts many many years ago. This area felt harder hit than most we've been to, with half the buildings we saw being either abandoned or in a sorry state. Whole hotels empty, apartment blocks with the windows smashed in, shuttered storefronts. It's sad for the people who have called this area home for generations.
We got to our hotel without much of a plan, as I was too addled to think that far. We agreed that food was going to need to happen, and the onsen I wanted to see was in the town downhill from us. We decided the train was our best bet for parking our bikes while we waited to check in. The train station was nice, but looking at the departures board, the train only ran a handful of times per day, and we wouldn't get back till late in the evening. It also would cost us $30 each just to ride two stops there and back. Not going to work. Instead we went to one of the two places open during lunch.
The restaurant was cute with half a dozen tables and a dated but spotless interior. The ladies we saw clearly were a multigenerational family running the place, with a woman old enough that she couldn't stand up straight anymore still zooming around with tea and orders. Soaked, cold, and with nowhere to go, we brought our books and settled in to stay for awhile. The restaurant never got more than half full and we ordered several meals worth of food, drinks, and desserts, so we figured they wouldn't mind if we sat and quietly read our books. I got a yakiniku set meal and bryce got the karaage set, both were great but Bryce's karaage was especially good. We also got a cola float to share which was delightfully old fashioned but very tasty.
When it was finally time to check in at our hotel, my body was starting to act up. I think the cold and wet and tiredness was getting to me as some of my neurological issues flared up. Not a big deal, but had me a bit twitchy and in desperate need of a hot bath and rest. The hotel lobby was quite nice, but the rest of the place was as we expected; enormous, and falling apart, but working. Various walls and ceilings had water damage that was never going to be fixed, many many doors said "private" or "staff only" that looked to be old banquet halls. A lounge laid dark, never to have a singer again. We found a roof access, the roof patched many times by hand. An arcade with games that were at least 20 or 30 years old were still in working order, maintained as well as any other thing here. The private onsen was damaged beyond use, but the main public ones were functioning.
My onsen was in the basement, and the entrance area again had a huge lounge area that would never be used, and a bunch of other darkened areas that were curious but creeped me out. The bath was in a large room with tall windows and a big stone bath, a large rock wall being the main attraction. I spent some time soaking here till I watched some ladies walk out a different door. Monkeys were bumping on the windows, so I followed them where that went. It lead to three outdoor baths, one just a tub. The big bath overlooked the river and was quite lovely, clearly what was keeping this place afloat, so to speak. Again, really good value for $50 for the two of us.
After my bath, I got up and nearly passed out from the lack of blood pressure and immediately started feeling ill. I went back to the room, grabbed some water and got horizontal. The room is a rather spacious Japanese style room with tatami mats, but with soft beds. The AC works and we have a view of the river from the 6th floor. This place is great. Bryce had a great time soaking in his onsen, which also had outdoor baths and a sauna too. After he returned to the room we went down to the arcade to amuse ourselves before dinner.
As I mentioned the arcade contained some real antiques, pinball-ish games with carved wood channels, racing games with hand drawn art, slots that had real spinning wheels instead of just screens. Everything was also brutally difficult, also in keeping with the time period. Bryce got the high score on the alligator whack a mole game and also beat me 3 out of 3 on the drum game. Can't win em all.
We walked to the only other place in town for dinner, going into a creepy tunnel that went under the hotel. We eventually decided that the tunnel went straight to the kitchens and probably was used for deliveries at some point but now was full of junk and discarded kitchen equipment that was probably too difficult to get rid of. Every old or abandoned building we've seen is full to the brim with empty paint cans, old computers and dilapidated equipment. This stuff must cost a fortune to get rid of.
The restaurant we went to was another cute Japanese restaurant, this one with an older woman serving and a young man in the kitchen cooking. I got the house special udon and Bryce got karaage again. Maybe Bryce needs to branch out a bit. The udon meal was heavenly and wonderful on my sick body, lots of seafood, a hearty broth and chewy noodles. Easily the best udon I've ever had. We ordered extra karaage and a few drinks while we talked strategy for the next week of riding. Also, like the last place, we felt we could stay because they didn't have much business and we wanted to order more because of it. We stayed quite a while but nobody else came.
We decided to cut out a section of the north tour and head directly through the mountains to our port. We're feeling stressed about the end of the trip and want more leeway in case things go wrong and also more time in Hokkaido as we've heard good things. We'll miss out on Fukushima and Sendai and Morioka, but get to experience the internal mountain valleys of northern Japan. This feels like a decent move, as we've seen a lot of the coastal lowlands already and some highland adventures sounds good. Plus it gains us half a week in hokkaido which will allow us three or four days to prepare for our departure, which means lots of time to find gifts and other cool things to bring home.
Back in the hotel room, we're looking for a nice rest and an early start tomorrow. We have two options, a blistering 5 day tour with four 100km days, or a 7 day tour with 6 75km days. We're shooting for the latter. We'll attempt the big ride just after Sapporo. For now, I want to get healthy and enjoy the ride. Sleep tonight and tomorrow is a new day, hopefully I'll be healthy by then.

The tl;dr is that I have dissociative identity disorder, and I have been trying to quantify the trauma held by most of my alters as otherwise we end of playing therapeutic "whack-a-mole." In an effort to attempt to address issues, I attempted to spreadsheet all of my issues. While I tried to optimize it for DID, I don't see any reason why it can't also be used for dealing with parts work or for single individuals? I would love feedback on how accurate or effective the model is, and suggestions for any changes. Admittedly, I am an odd bird who copes through intellectualizing and systematizing problems.
If I am being honest, I would say that 60-70% of the work here is therapy and/or mindfulness. However, I think the insights I have gotten from the data have been helpful. It also seems to me that this can be extremely useful to individuals who feel that therapy isn't "concrete" enough for them. I am not one of those individuals, but I know plenty who are. I would appreciate any and all feedback, and thank you all in advance for your time! Hello! I am not sure if what you are about to see is going to be comprehensible to anyone but me. But, if it at least prompts people to consider the way we try to deal with trauma, then that will be sufficient for me. I would also love feedback about my work and would welcome any suggestions on things we need to model better. Here is the template that is available for use if you are interested:
Trauma Database Tempalte
The tl;dr here is that I have created a spreadsheet that tries to do a few things: track all traumatic issues in the system.
1) score each issue 1 - 5 on the extent to which the issue impacts each alter. (Sometimes, they can give the issue a score of up to 10 in select circumstances.
2) categorize each issue based on who or what it is connected to.
3) assign each person that the trauma is connected to a trigger score. This is based on the idea that you can have extreme trauma that is scored at a 5, like physical abuse, but perhaps be insulated by the reminders of it on a daily basis. On the other hand, maybe you have more mundane trauma with your mom that scores a two, but you talk to her everyday. I multiplied the trauma score by the trigger score to give me a kind of composite number that operates almost like a threat index. That tells me where the fires are.
4) provide an inventory for all issues held by all alters.
5) determine numerically what the most significant triggers are for the system.
I started this because I was working through trauma that emerged with someone I have a current relationship with. Dealing with that trauma is hard enough. Doing so while having roughly two dozen alters sometimes feels next to impossible. It often feels like the process of trying to manage that is almost like a second job. This person has been trying extremely hard to change, and I know they never intended to hurt me. But the consequences of their actions have been devastating. However, I have been finding that whatever it is that I do appears to have limited value. I have journaled approximately 800 pages, and I have taken steps for the trauma-holding host to go on a sabbatical while others front for him while he processes the baggage. There has been no noticeable difference. We have tried to work through the baggage with the trauma-holding host, and it hasn't worked. Normally in life, when I encounter a significant problem I try to "spreadsheet it." I know that for some people it is intimidating -- and I am first to admit that I do not make the most user friendly sheets. But they make sense in my head. In quantifying and itemizing trauma, I made some important conclusions that might be helpful in dealing with issues. Namely:
1) the host was actually less of an issue than the repository of angerage. That might seem intuitive, but the host was "acting out" more. Therefore, my assumption was that hyperfocusing on the host was the optimal strategy. That might still be the general strategy, but the data indicates that focusing on the host disproportionately will not dramatically reduce the total amount of trauma.
2) we have been in therapy a great deal due to issues with our BFF. We thought we were silly for allocating so much of our resources and mental energy into normalizing things with them. However, column C3 reveals that BFF's impact on the trauma comprises 33.98% of all trauma. However, when adjusted for the extent to which we encounter them as a trigger, that number increases in column F3 to 42.41%! Our decision to focus on them is validated.
3) column AK contains our system's assessment as to the overall accuracy of many of the thoughts and beliefs that undergird our issues. The accuracy of each statement is assessed 1 - 10. I decided to divide this number by the total trauma score to get a number in column AL to get a ratio that allows me to prioritize my therapy work. I call it a Processing Resistance Quotient, but that is not all it is representing. It is basically a "bang for your buck" measurement where the difficulty of changing a belief is balanced by the amount of trauma the issue creates -- giving you an idea for where you can start your work to experience what will (hopefully) be quick relief. The idea here is that if the system is dealing with issues stemming from faulty assumptions, then individuals using modalities like REBT / CBT can get results more efficiently by focusing on the lower percentages.
4) some alters might really be NPCs as they had no connection whatsoever to any of the issues raised. The data indicates that problems in the system really are system problems. Perhaps this is simply a reflection of the choices in my model, but if it is legitimate, it shows me that at least in my system there are no problems where the issue is concentrated in one alter. This indicates the extent to which issues are shared even beyond trauma holders.
Here are some things that are not modeled that I might later add for more information:

1. it does not assess the functionality of alters. It does not factor whether a trauma holder might be more able to hold trauma because that is there job, for example. I can think of ways that can be modeled -- but it would have to be modeled on a case-by-case basis.
2. it does not factor in alters that front or seem to comprise a greater share of the total system. This model is made with the assumption of that all alters are created equal. If I had to make it again, I would add categories that assesses the emotional resilience of each alter. I know, for example, that the host is probably less resilient than anger or the system protector. I might add in a category that factors in the extent to which each alter is critical to the functionality of the system as a whole. When the functionality score is multiplied by the trauma score of the issue held by the alter and the trigger score, that might provide a more accurate measurement on the total functionality impact. If you think that this might be helpful, you are welcome to make a copy and simply replace the names, issues, and scores with your own. If you have any questions (I am still working to make this more user friendly), feel free to ask! There are lots of ballpark assumptions, and I would welcome any criticism or feedback. But I hope that even if the numbers give you a stroke, it at least allows you to think about ways to tackle trauma systemically.

The tl;dr is that I have dissociative identity disorder, and I have been trying to quantify the trauma held by most of my alters as otherwise we end of playing therapeutic "whack-a-mole." In an effort to attempt to address issues, I attempted to spreadsheet all of my issues. While I tried to optimize it for DID, I don't see any reason why it can't also be used for dealing with parts work or for single individuals? I would love feedback on how accurate or effective the model is, and suggestions for any changes. Admittedly, I am an odd bird who copes through intellectualizing and systematizing problems.
If I am being honest, I would say that 60-70% of the work here is therapy and/or mindfulness. However, I think the insights I have gotten from the data have been helpful. It also seems to me that this can be extremely useful to individuals who feel that therapy isn't "concrete" enough for them. I am not one of those individuals, but I know plenty who are. I would appreciate any and all feedback, and thank you all in advance for your time!
Hello! I am not sure if what you are about to see is going to be comprehensible to anyone but me. But, if it at least prompts people to consider the way we try to deal with trauma, then that will be sufficient for me. I would also love feedback about my work and would welcome any suggestions on things we need to model better. Here is the template that is available for use if you are interested:
Trauma Database Template
The tl;dr here is that I have created a spreadsheet that tries to do a few things: track all traumatic issues in the system.

1. score each issue 1 - 5 on the extent to which the issue impacts each alter. (Sometimes, they can give the issue a score of up to 10 in select circumstances.)
2. categorize each issue based on who or what it is connected to.
3. assign each person that the trauma is connected to a trigger score. This is based on the idea that you can have extreme trauma that is scored at a 5, like physical abuse, but perhaps be insulated by the reminders of it on a daily basis. On the other hand, maybe you have more mundane trauma with your mom that scores a two, but you talk to her everyday. I multiplied the trauma score by the trigger score to give me a kind of composite number that operates almost like a threat index. That tells me where the fires are.
4. provide an inventory for all issues held by all alters.
5. determine numerically what the most significant triggers are for the system.

I started this because I was working through trauma that emerged with someone I have a current relationship with. Dealing with that trauma is hard enough. Doing so while having roughly two dozen alters sometimes feels next to impossible. It often feels like the process of trying to manage that is almost like a second job. This person has been trying extremely hard to change, and I know they never intended to hurt me. But the consequences of their actions have been devastating. However, I have been finding that whatever it is that I do appears to have limited value. I have journaled approximately 800 pages, and I have taken steps for the trauma-holding host to go on a sabbatical while others front for him while he processes the baggage. There has been no noticeable difference. We have tried to work through the baggage with the trauma-holding host, and it hasn't worked.
Normally in life, when I encounter a significant problem I try to "spreadsheet it." I know that for some people it is intimidating -- and I am first to admit that I do not make the most user friendly sheets. But they make sense in my head. In quantifying and itemizing trauma, I made some important conclusions that might be helpful in dealing with issues. Namely:

1. the host was actually less of an issue than the repository of angerage. That might seem intuitive, but the host was "acting out" more. Therefore, my assumption was that hyperfocusing on the host was the optimal strategy. That might still be the general strategy, but the data indicates that focusing on the host disproportionately will not dramatically reduce the total amount of trauma.
2. we have been in therapy a great deal due to issues with our BFF. We thought we were silly for allocating so much of our resources and mental energy into normalizing things with them. However, column C3 reveals that BFF's impact on the trauma comprises 33.98% of all trauma. However, when adjusted for the extent to which we encounter them as a trigger, that number increases in column F3 to 42.41%! Our decision to focus on them is validated.
3. column AK contains our system's assessment as to the overall accuracy of many of the thoughts and beliefs that undergird our issues. The accuracy of each statement is assessed 1 - 10. I decided to divide this number by the total trauma score to get a number in column AL to get a ratio that allows me to prioritize my therapy work. I call it a Processing Resistance Quotient, but that is not all it is representing. It is basically a "bang for your buck" measurement where the difficulty of changing a belief is balanced by the amount of trauma the issue creates -- giving you an idea for where you can start your work to experience what will (hopefully) be quick relief. The idea here is that if the system is dealing with issues stemming from faulty assumptions, then individuals using modalities like REBT / CBT can get results more efficiently by focusing on the lower percentages.
4. some alters might really be NPCs as they had no connection whatsoever to any of the issues raised. The data indicates that problems in the system really are system problems. Perhaps this is simply a reflection of the choices in my model, but if it is legitimate, it shows me that at least in my system there are no problems where the issue is concentrated in one alter. This indicates the extent to which issues are shared even beyond trauma holders.

Here are some things that are not modeled that I might later add for more information:

1. it does not assess the functionality of alters. It does not factor whether a trauma holder might be more able to hold trauma because that is their job, for example. I can think of ways that can be modeled -- but it would have to be modeled on a case-by-case basis.
2. it does not factor in alters that front or seem to comprise a greater share of the total system. This model is made with the assumption of that all alters are created equal.

If I had to make it again, I would add categories that assesses the emotional resilience of each alter. I know, for example, that the host is probably less resilient than anger or the system protector. I might add in a category that factors in the extent to which each alter is critical to the functionality of the system as a whole. When the functionality score is multiplied by the trauma score of the issue held by the alter and the trigger score, that might provide a more accurate measurement on the total functionality impact.
If you think that this might be helpful, you are welcome to make a copy and simply replace the names, issues, and scores with your own. If you have any questions (I am still working to make this more user friendly), feel free to ask! There are lots of ballpark assumptions, and I would welcome any criticism or feedback. But I hope that even if the numbers give you a stroke, it at least allows you to think about ways to tackle trauma systemically.

It's been hard to find time to write this past week, but I'm chugging along, however sluggish. I also want to give a huge thanks to u/icallshogun for telling me how to use new-old reddit, because it's already saved me a bunch of time posting this single chapter.
I have a bad habit of last minute editing before I post chapters. I'll usually go over once or twice and switch up a few things. I didn't this time. Why am I telling you this? No idea. Enjoy.
A little PSA: if the next chapter button is missing, it's most likely in the comments (either that, or the next chapter isn't out yet), because sometimes reddit likes to say posts are more than 40k even when they aren't, making them impossible to edit. I just had this problem adding the link to chapter 12.
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin for making NoP!
Prev -First- Next
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Chapter 13: A million miles away
- Memory Transcription Subject: Arlene Brandy, Human Refugee
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 20th, 2136
The refugee center crested the horizon, with UN banners draped from the second story, and signs marking some of the nearby buildings as temporary housing. I wondered how exactly they convinced people to hand over entire buildings for use. One of them wasn’t even an apartment building, it was offices.
There were more humans around, of course, with the venlil population extremely sparse, only a few brave enough to be anywhere near the ‘den’. I grabbed the door, and opened it, revealing the main lobby, which to my utter surprise, had a venlil at the desk along with a human.
It feels so weird to point out when people are human or not, but that’s just how it is now. I ambled towards the pair, keeping my movements slow and calculated, not to scare the guy. He noticed, and let out a chuckle.
“No need to worry about me ma’am. I’m quite used to humans by now.”
I relaxed, blushing a little. “That makes sense.”
“What do you need?” The venlil asked.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to get one of those datapads. I have family at home I need to get in touch with.”
“And you are?”
“Arlene Brandy.”
“Uh huh.” He clicked at the computer for a moment. “Well, you’re a little late to the party. We just got five hundred or so new residents, so we’re out of new pads, but I’m sure you can find someone willing to let you borrow theirs.”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. You’re staying at Golden Ridge apartment 113, correct?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ll have one sent to your door when we get a new shipment.”
“Thank you.” I turned to leave.
“Wait, we wont get more for a few paws yet. Why don’t you try asking to use someone else’s?”
I turned back around to the desk. “Can I use yours?”
"Sorry, mine doesn’t connect to the Earth networks.”
“Shit.”
“Please try not to swear so much, there are children around.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The guy at the desk was so comfortable around me that it started making me uncomfortable. While the human at the desk didn’t even register me. I bet he was playing solitaire.
I entered the common room. People ambled, walked, teetered, and even ran around, from door to door and table to table. Seating was plentiful, but there weren’t any free spots, because the place was so packed. There really were a lot of them. Refugees, I mean. This was only a tiny fraction too.
How many more? Is there an end to it?
I searched for someone to approach, but found nothing. Everyone was grieving. I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to know it was there. My stomach turned in a horrible spiral, and I soon found myself bent over a toilet, ejecting breakfast. I was drooling over the bowl like a rabid dog, eyes watering and legs quaking. My diaphragm expelled one last gust of air, in a horrible coughing fit that lasted uncomfortably long.
I don’t know how I found the bathroom without help, it wasn’t marked very well. I’ve always been good at that sort of thing I guess, whatever ‘that sort of thing’ is.
On my way out, I washed my hands twice, not that it made a difference. The common room was still full of chatter and sobbing, quiet and boisterous both in their own right.
A man in a dress shirt sat alone at a table with his head in his hands. A mother cradled a baby in her arms, rocking him to sleep. In the corner of the room sat a group of people sitting on the ground playing monopoly. A boy ate a droopy sandwich next to a parent, munching listlessly. They all looked so tired. So tired that it could suck the breath right back out of you.
At one of the tables was a man with burns on his arms, and another bandaging him up. He winced when the bandages touched the splotches where blisters used to be, dry and scabbed. There was a good chance the burns were inflicted on purpose, by them. Monsters.
He locked eyes with me, his empty like all the rest. My head jerked away, embarrassment on my face like dye, the mask doing little to hide my frenzied posture. I power walked to another part of the room, behind a group of people conversing. I took off my coat so I wouldn’t overheat in the stuffy room… and also to blend into the crowd.
Staring at burn victims? What is wrong with you?
I looked down at myself. My boots were brown, my pants were black, and my shirt was as well, with a picture of an album cover on the front. My hands were twitchy, and my arm was still bandaged. I could’ve, should’ve lost the dressings by then, but I hadn’t got around to it. I put my coat back on
Since I wasn’t getting anywhere, I decided to take a trip down the hallways, into the dorms, where it was less crowded.
Down the halls, past a few turns, was an open door, with warm light spilling out, and cheerful discussion taking place inside. Taking a peek, I saw a group of 3 people, one of whom was a venlil, playing cards. The funny thing, is it was one of those grungy decks with pictures of naked ladies on them. Well, I don’t know if it was funny, but it stuck with me.
“Hello?” Spoke the venlil.
The other heads turned in my direction. I was discovered. A pang of cold crawled through my spine.
“O-oh, hi.” I tried and failed to act like I hadn’t been watching them for several seconds.
“Hey there, are you one of the new arrivals?” Asked the girl sitting next to the venlil.
“Uh, no, I’ve just been living in a different spot.”
“No wonder you look like shit.” Spoke a middle aged guy with scars. There was an ankle monitor on his leg, though I certainly wasn’t going to question him about it.
“Ben! Don’t be rude.” The girl replied.
“I’m not being rude. We all look like shit. Some of us are shit right now.” Ben mumbled.
“Well you don’t have to be so nihilistic about it.” She turned back to me. “Wanna join us? We could use a fourth.”
“No thanks. I’m trying to get in touch with my family.”
"Well if they’re here, I can find them. I know everyone here.” Said the girl, with a big grin.
"They’re on Earth. I just need to use someone’s datapad. The guy at the desk said we were out of new ones.”
“Did you break yours?”
A nervous laugh escaped me. It felt so weird to have a normal conversation. The last time I talked to a human was only a few days ago, but it felt much longer. Years maybe… or not. My shoulders felt tight, probably from the extra weight. I swallowed a lump that had been growing in my throat since leaving Earth, and my stomach got heavier as a result.
What did she lose?
I cleared my throat. “N-no, I never got one in the first place.”
“Well, no worries. You can use mine if you want. I’m Taylor by the way.” She smiled.
I didn’t smile back. The mask would’ve hidden it anyway. “Thanks. I’m Arlene.”
She handed me the weird alien phone, which I soon realized I didn’t know how to use.
The venlil piped up. “Want me to do it for you?” He stood up.
“Yes please.” I handed him the datapad.
He started tapping away at the device. “These things are super outdated. The interface is really clunky, especially the UN comms.”
I loomed over his shoulder, watching him type in a bunch of stuff into text boxes. “You have to login to make calls?”
“No, this is just the path the call will be taking. Where are you calling?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Where is that?”
“North America.”
*“*Okay, there we go.” He handed the datapad back to me. “Just type in the phone number and you’re good to go.”
“Thanks.” I started punching in the number.
“No problem. I’ve had to do it for Taylor a million times by now.” He chuckled.
“Hey, I know how to do it now!” She replied.
“Then why didn’t you show her how?”
Taylor snorted. “Because then you wouldn’t be useful anymore, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Whatever you say.” He flicked his tail.
“Hey, enough with the snarky tail language.” She crossed her arms.
“What did he say?” Ben asked.
“He said I was a goober.”
I looked up from the datapad. “You have a tail sign for ‘goober’?”
“Of course we do, why wouldn’t we?” He shrugged.
Ben raised his eyebrows, and Taylor laughed. I was still wearing the mask.
"Hey, do you mind if I uh… you know.” I pointed to my face.
“Oh please, you couldn’t possibly be uglier than Taylor.”
“You better be careful Talnek. You’d get a beating if you insulted a lady where I come from.” Ben stated.
Taylor punched Ben in the shoulder. “He’s just messing!”
I removed the mask, and set it down on a table. “Is it alright if I make the call outside?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t manage to brick the thing.” Talnek said, sitting back down at his cards with a snicker.
Taylor shot him a dirty look.
“Thanks again Taylor.”
She grinned like a little kid. “No prob bob!”
I stepped into the hallway, holding the datapad up to my face, and pressed the call button.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang…
Until the display lit up with the face of my dad. My lips curled up in a smile.
“Hey dad.”
“Ope!” He flinched, then grinned. “Hey there sweetie. Havin’ fun up in space?”
“Nevermind that! Are you guys okay? Did Luke make it back alright?”
“Oh we’re doing fine yet. Luke got discharged because of injuries. He got pretty banged up in a crash, but he’s alright.”
“Is mom around?”
"Sorry kiddo, she’s out of town getting gas for the generators.”
My eyes widened. “Generators? Is the power out? Have you been able to get dialysis?”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh don’t worry yourself. We’ve got diesel running the place.”
My hands left marks of sweat on the device. “You are getting your blood cleaned, right?”
“Yes, I am. Even if I wasn’t, your pa’s still got some fight left in ‘em.” He patted his bicep.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Jesus dad, you had me worried for a second there.”
He chuckled. “Don’t be. Try to have fun up there. No use worrying about somewhere you’re not.”
A sigh escaped me. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl! How are the aliens treating ya?”
I frowned. “Well, if I’m being honest, most of them are assholes.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’ve met a few that don’t mind me, but I can count them on one hand.”
“Well that’s better than nothing, ain’t it?” He raised an eyebrow in a joking manner.
I smiled a little. “I guess so.”
“So, tell me about these nice aliens then.”
“Sure- Hold on, is Luke there?”
“He’s sleeping right now. Doctor’s got him on the good stuff.”
“Is it that bad?”
He shouldn’t have enlisted. Asshole. He’s such an idiot. He could have died! “I wanna meet aliens” my ass.
*“*The doc says he’ll be up and at em in a few days, but the pain is still kicking him.”
*“*Is he alright? Like, is he shellshocked?”
Dad frowned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” He looked past the camera. “He’s pretty bitter about the whole thing.”
My blood ran cold. I knew what it sounded like when he was downplaying something. “Dad. Is he gonna be okay?”
His expression softened. “Luke’s a strong boy. He’ll be okay.”
“He better. I’ll kill him if he’s not. You be sure to tell him that.”
Dad laughed. “Sure, sure. Back to the aliens, if you will.”
“My bad.” Warmth filled my face. “So there’s this guy who lives in my apartment building, right? I come back home after a day of trying, and failing, to get my hands on any materials, craft materials are super expensive here for some reason, by the way, and he’s coming home at the same time, so I say hi to him, and he jumps me!”
Maybe things would get better.
“Their claws are sharp! He scratched me up pretty bad, look.” I raised my arm to the camera, and my dad gasped in response.
"Whoa, that’s a lot of bandages.”
“Yeah, right? I may have put too much actually. Anyway, he charges me, and so I put him in a headlock, and I yell at him to calm down. It might have been a misplay on my part, I have to admit. What, with the venlil thinking we want to eat them and all that jazz.”
Dad nodded, eyes full of stars. This was nice.
“Well, he starts crying, and now I felt like an ass, so I try to calm him down, but he’s not having any of it. So I hand him a doll I made, but that didn’t do much either, so I ended up just having to leave him there. Would you believe it if I told you he came knocking on my door the next day? He wanted to learn felting!”
He burst into laughter, having to wiping a tear from his eye. “I have to say, you have the strangest way of making friends.”
Maybe I was worrying over nothing.
“Oh, I forgot to mention, so, I was trying to get wool, right? But there’s obviously no sheep here on venlil prime.”
“Oh, don’t tell me.”
“So I went around offering free haircuts.”
Dad started wheezing like he had sand in his lungs. He struggled to point a finger at me. “S-so…” He burst into another fit of laughter. “You went around with shears, offering haircuts to the fluffy aliens who think you want to eat them?”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. I give damn good cuts too.” I grinned, face full of mischief.
“So this friend of yours took you up on the offer? What’s his name?”
“Meba. And yes, I sheared him.”
“Okay, Meeh Baah? Are you pulling my leg?”
“Nope, that’s his real name. It means ‘little person’ in venlil, apparently.”
“You’re kidding! That is priceless! What happened then?”
“I sheared him, and then we went inside, and I taught him how to felt, and he got all flabbergasted when he saw me eat vegetables. He did this,” I held up a pointer finger, closing my eyes. “and then he said ‘You can’t eat vegetables, you’re a predator.’”
“Uh huh.”
“So after that, to skip to the good part, he has me follow him to work to *‘*protect him from humans’, and on the way back, just as we’re getting back to the apartments, he collapses in the hallway, hyperventilating and shaking.”
Maybe I could finally calm down.
“Oh no, was he okay?”
“Yeah, I brought him inside and calmed him down, but then the exterminators barged in! He stuffed me into a closet to hide me.”
Dad’s face swelled with disgust. “Ah yes, I’ve heard of them.”
“Well, they mess up the whole apartment, and they only leave because Meba is friends with their boss.”
“He’s buddy buddy with those folks?”
“Well, I don’t really know, but he used his connections to protect me, so I don’t mind. I was scared shitless the whole time. I barely kept myself still.”
“But you’re okay, right? They didn’t hurt you?”
"No, I was fine. I kind of blew up at him though. We made up though, and now he’s even comfortable around me with the mask off!”
“Mask?”
“The UN makes everyone wear masks in public so we don’t scare people.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“Yeah… it’s kinda scary sometimes.”
Home was still there.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure the rest of em will fall for your charm soon enough.”
“Yeah. After all, who could hate such an enchanting young lady?” I made a not so dignified face.
Dad shot a silly look right back, making us both laugh at our shared stupidity.
“So, since everything’s intact, when should I come home? I should be able to pretty soon.”
He smiled. “Hey, don’t worry about that. You should stay up there until the power comes back in… oh I don’t know, it should be on in a week or two. No reason to come back when the town is still out of whack.”
“What? But I can help out. Isn’t there work to be done?”
His eyes were warm. “Arlene, just have fun. We’ll be fine. Come home when it’s more comfortable.”
What?
“But I miss you guys.”
“I know, I miss you too.” He glanced off to the side for a moment. “But just wait a little longer. I want to roll the red carpet out for you. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Fine, but I expect a royal welcome.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “I better let you go, I have to make dinner.”
“Oh.. okay. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me about what’s going on in town.”
“Nothing crazy, just the usual but with flashlights instead of street lamps. Say hi to Meba for me.”
“Okay. Bye dad.”
“Bye kiddo. Try not to worry yourself so much.”
“I’ll try. I love you,”
“I love you too.”
He hung up the call, and home was gone again.
I popped back into the room to give Taylor her datapad back.
“How’d it go?” She asked.
“Good. I think.” I grabbed my mask, and handed her the device.
She smiled. “I’m glad. Want to stay for a bit? Today is pizza day.”
“I’m good. I should probably head out. Thanks though.”
“Wait a second, here.” Taylor handed me a card.
I turned it over in my fingers. It was off white with gold lettering. A business card. Very… eccentric.
“What’s this?”
“My info, so you can get in touch with me when you get a datapad. I’m kinda the self appointed caretaker of this place. If you need anything, anything at all, I’m your gal.”
I took another look at the card. “Thanks. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome! See you later.”
“See you.”
---
I sat on the bench by the office, legs crossed, working on a mini venlil, my third one actually. Yes, I was building an army. An army of little venlil that I would use for… something. Each one measured no more than four inches tall, with floppy yarn tails, and bits of blue yarn affixed for eyes.
They say the one who folds a thousand paper cranes will be granted a wish. What do you get for one thousand woolen venlil?
“Arlene?” Meba was walking towards me. His eyes were unfocused, and his tail was motionless, like a doll’s. He dragged his feet on the ground, and his bag weighed on him like a heap of iron. To put it bluntly, he looked like shit.
“Oh hey there. Done with work?”
“Yeah. What are you making?” His voice was monotone.
“More mini venlil.”
He leaned over. “It looks like me.”
“It is made out of your wool. It would be worrying if it didn’t resemble you.”
“I guess. Does this one have a name too?”
“Not yet. Do you have any ideas?”
He thought for a moment, ears swiveling like satellite dishes. “Mulek.”
“Mulek it is. Is that a common name?”
“It was my father’s name.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Oh, speaking of which, my dad says ‘hi’.”
“He’s the… rancher, right?”
“Yeah.” I got up off the bench. “He’s not as scary as he sounds. If you met him, you’d realize his head is just full of muscles and fart jokes. Ready to go?”
He flicked an ear, and we started walking. The sheer complexity of venlil body language never failed to impress me. Not the ear flicks, those were easy, but the tail signals were insane.
“Hey, Meba?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m a computer scientist. Why do you ask?”
“You look really tired. Six hours, sorry, I mean a claw and a half. It’s a long shift for venlil right?”
“Yes, but my job isn’t very physically demanding.”
“It isn’t taking a toll on you?”
“No.” He lied. I mean fuck, did he think I was stupid? I wasn’t, I think. If it wasn’t his job, it was something else.
“Really?”
“Yes, I just didn’t sleep well.” His eyes were drooping in real time.
Fine, be like that. If you won’t open up, I’ll just help another way.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
Meba stopped in his tracks. “C-carry me?”
“You aren’t very heavy. I could give you a piggyback ride the rest of the way.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“C’mon, I could use the exercise.” I crouched down, beckoning him over with my hands.
"Arlene, I can walk on my own.” He sounded offended.
"At least let me carry your bag.”
Meba sighed. “Fine.”
I stood up and grabbed his bag. “And away we go!”
We arrived at the station, just in time to catch the tube. Meba yanked his bag out of my arms to swipe his card through the terminal. This particular transport was packed to the brim with people, more than a few of them human. Meba visibly stiffened. He sat down, I remained standing.
“You okay?”
“Y-yeah. It’s just a-a lot.” He most definitely wasn’t, he was trembling like a leaf.
I stood between him and the crowd. “Better?”
“A l-little… thanks.”
“Hey, why don’t you work on the scarf, take your mind of things?”
“S-sure.” He grabbed the yarn ball from his bag, along with the crochet hook. Slowly, he removed the clip that was stopping it from unraveling, and stuck the hook through, starting right where he left off. He was definitely getting faster.
The tube rattled.
Outside, the city still breathed.
Kids coming home form school, people like us, coming home from work.
Same old same old.
In my mind, I pictured a fleet, swooping through star systems, making daring maneuvers, shooting down other vessels. So many lights. I imagined the metal stretching, and the hull creaking as it moved. I imagined the little people inside, scurrying around like ants, each wholly insignificant, but still, moving that massive shape.
I turned around to check on Meba.
He was still shaking, like a wet dog in the snow.
God, I miss Milo. Too bad they don’t let dogs on venlil prime.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you gonna be alright?”
He looked up at me, with his funny little eyes. They were full of anger.
“Yes. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He let out a breath, clenching his jaw. “It’s so s-stupid it makes me sick.”
“Sorry?”
“There’s no t-threat. I shouldn’t be scared.”
I gave him a gentle shake. “Hey, it’s no big deal. You’re doing well.”
“I’m doing h-horrible. I hate these stupid instincts.” He growled. “H-how is this supposed to be an evolutionary advantage? I can b-barely think straight.”
“Take a deep breath.”
“B-brahk this.” He muttered. “You k-know, we’re famous for being w-weak. The b-best in the whole brahking f-federation.”
I frowned. “Don’t say that.”
“We c-can’t run, and w-we can’t fight.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“I can’t even c-control myself. I h-hate it.” He let the scarf slide back into his bag.
“Meba, you’re the bravest venlil I’ve met.”
“What d-does that say about us? That I’m one of t-the ‘brave ones’? It’s brahking p-pathetic.”
“Don’t say that about yourself.”
“Brahk! What else am I supposed to say?” He hissed, head finding its way into his paws. “It’s horrible. Horrible, horrible, h-horrible.”
I sat down next to him, and put my arm around his shoulder.
“This is s-so stupid.” He muttered.
“Tell me what happened?”
“No.”
A sigh escaped me. This was exhausting. “Okay.” I pulled him close.
He removed his paws from his face to look at me. “How am I gonna t-talk to Gram’s friend like this? I can’t even h-handle being around a few random humans. How am I going to deal with him e-eating in front of me?”
“You saw me eating, didn’t you?”
“That’s… d-different.”
“We don’t have to go if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“N-no. I need to d-do this. I can’t keep b-being scared all the t-time.” He clutched at his fur.
I bent over to grab the work-in-progress scarf from his bag, and offered him the half finished garment.
Meba received the scarf, with eyes full of ash. “Thanks…” He continued weaving.
But before he could get into a groove, the brakes forced us to brace ourselves. We were home.
The ground still rumbled as we left the station, even with the rubbery pavement dampening the vibrations. The scent of rain was in the air, carrying with it a special tint from the alien soil. Wind was billowing now, whipping my hair and pushing against my thick greatcoat. Meba was somehow unbothered by this, thanks to his wool I assume. There weren’t clouds overhead, but that would change. My hands hid in their pockets.
‘Twas too cold madam!’ Said lefty.
‘Not for I! It’s simply more comfortable in here.’ Said righty.
We passed the yard, heading up to the second floor, and my apartment. I shivered.
*“*I think it’s gonna rain soon.”
*“*Huh? Why do you say that?”
*“*It smells like rain.”
He tilted his head, ears flopping along with it. “I thought human noses weren’t very strong?”
*“*Well, not for most things, but we can smell when it rains from quite a ways away.” I opened the door, and stepped inside, yanking my feet out of their shells. “Come on in.”
Meba followed with no hesitation, even when I deposited the mask on the coffee table. He plopped down on the couch, deflating for a few seconds before digging around in his bag for the scarf. I grabbed some snacks from the kitchen, and brought them to the couch. I plopped down beside him, and flipped the TV to a random channel. Hopefully lazing about would help both of us.
After a few minutes of zoning out to The Exterminators of all things, I managed to doze off somehow. Sights and sounds melded into goop, as my brain ceased exact function. Facts became obscured, no concrete understanding remaining. Static resonating with time stretching like putty, everything subjective, only in the moment.
A tower, in the desert, numbly stalking around crumbling balconies, arms like swarms, legs like chicken wire. No need to blink. Down below is something terrible, but it doesn’t matter. It is safe here. But snow falls, the sky tearing like an old t-shirt, is it? The weave becoming tighter, it stretches along the north, through to the south, a taut little line of cotton. Now I’m tearing too. The tower isn’t crumbling, but folding. ‘Here’s the sun’, I think, mind reeling back to wakefulness, a snout by my face. Milo?
“Who?”
“Huh?” I tried to sit up, bringing a hand to the kink in my neck. My mouth was dry with viscus saliva, the aftermath of a nap. When I made it about half way up, my skull collided with Meba’s freakishly solid face.
I fell back, gripping my forehead with a groan.
Meba jumped back, startled. “A-are you okay?”
"Ugh…” I curled up into a ball to further cradle the lump growing on my head. “Owwie…”
He started hyperventilating, almost jogging in place.
I grabbed him by the arm. “I’m fine. That just hurt like hell. What is it?”
The squirming stopped. “Sorry for waking you up. I just wanted to know if you think this is long enough.” He held up the scarf to my face, which was still partially covered by my other hand.
Jeez, more than enough. That thing must be at least 80 inches. How long have I been out?
“Yeah, need me to help you finish it off?”
“Yes please.”

ABOUT ME
I wrote a money diary in October 2022. Since then, my boyfriend P. has been upgraded to fiance (we are getting married in July!) and my beloved Trash Cat has had enucleation surgery (we now call the vet “The Eye Snatcher”). I still work as a technology specialist in higher education. In December 2023, I discovered HR input my salary wrong when I first started my current job—the contract I signed stated my salary as $65,000, but they input it as $60,000. I got a hefty portion of back pay. I am currently making about $67,000/year.
P. and I still split expenses 50/50 (somewhat imperfectly) and do not have any combined accounts. We input shared expenses into this spreadsheet and then settle the difference once a month. His salary is about $75,000. He recently cashed out about $15,000 from a 529 plan he never used (he didn’t go to college) and will be creating a CD ladder with this money to save for a down payment.
ASSETS & DEBT
Retirement balance: $6,542.66 in my 403(b) and $2,688.03 in my Roth IRA. In my last money diary, I felt guilty about my retirement balance because I didn’t really start until the age of 25 and for a year my contributions went uninvested. I feel much better about it now. This summer, I’ll qualify for employer-matched contributions to my 403(b), which will improve my progress even more.
Equity: maybe one day????
Savings account balance: $1,291.23 in an emergency fund, $160.32 in a recently-started down payment fund.
Checking account balance: $3,052.37
Credit card debt: $4,651 on credit card 1, $0 on credit card 2. Unfortunately, I’ve had 3 major setbacks in recent months: Trash Cat’s surgery ($2,200), new tires/maintenance on my car ($2,300), and an unexpected hotel stay when P.’s nephew passed away just before Christmas ($1,000). P. and I split Trash Cat’s surgery and the hotel stay, so the total I’ve put on my card in recent months is $3,900. I was down to about $800 in debt prior to all this fun stuff.
Student loan debt: $75,000 in public loans for a bachelor’s degree in Education and a master’s degree in English. This was technically a “bad choice” because I did use my loans for living expenses during grad school, but I honestly do not regret it. I LOVED grad school, even though most of it happened online due to the pandemic, and I sincerely believe it made me a better, more thoughtful, and empathetic person. Since the university I work for now is a certified non-profit organization, I will eventually qualify for PSLF if I stay here or within the field of accredited higher education.
Car debt: I owe $2,754 on my Toyota.
INCOME
Income progression: I have worked steadily at part-time jobs since age 16. I’ve been in educational tech for 3 years; my starting salary was $18/hour as a customer service associate, which was around $42,000 annually with overtime. When I started my current job almost 2 years ago, my salary jumped to $65,000 (which ended up being funky, see ABOUT ME above). My current salary, after it was adjusted and I received a 3% raise, is now $67,000.
Monthly take-home pay: $3,355.90 after deductions
Side gig income: None. I quit tutoring because I started taking night classes back in the fall.
Parental Support: As I mentioned in my money diary last year, my parents contributed about $22,000 to rent/car expenses during my “adult” (college) life. My dad is also paying for our wedding “reception,” which is a private dinner at a restaurant for 15 people (estimated cost $5,000). I hinted heavily at Financial Trauma in my last diary, an issue I’ve mostly overcome thanks to my incredible therapist. I might write a more detailed post on healing Financial Trauma and my experience with it…let me know if you’d be interested in reading something like that :)
EXPENSES
Rent: $787.50 (P. and I split rent 50/50; our total rent is $1,575)
Renter’s & car insurance: $1,321/year, which averages out to $110.83/month (not split).
Health insurance: $394.46/month before tax for health and dental. Once P. and I get married, I am hopping on his insurance.
Retirement contribution: $257.50/month pre-tax into my 403(b). I also transfer $50/month into a Roth IRA.
Savings contribution: $200/month to emergency fund, $50/month to down payment fund
Debt payments: $260/month for my car payment, $60/month for my student loan payment (this is wildly low because I am on an income-driven repayment plan. Due to the ongoing Federal Battles, I have not had to recertify my income, so this payment is based on my 2019 income. I also pay at least $500/month towards my credit card debt. Since this is a three paycheck month (and my third paycheck will be a “deduction holiday”), I am paying $1,000 towards it this month. P. does not contribute towards my debt.
Utilities: P. and I split internet, water, electricity, and trash evenly: usually about $175/month for my half, $350 total.
Cellphone: $65/month (we each pay for our own phones).
Subscriptions: Spotify for $10.99/month, Hulu for $7.99/month, Monarch (web budgeting app) for $50/year (this is a discounted price; it will jump to $80/year next year). None of these expenses are split.
Gym membership: $36/monthly for gym membership; $500/quarter for personal training (not split).
Pet expenses: P. and I split this expense; generally $100/month for my half, $200/month total.
Therapy: $25/week (not split).
MONEY DIARY
DAY 1: FRIDAY
😴 7 AM: P. shakes me awake. I reluctantly get up, go to the bathroom, and change into leggings and a sweater dress. After I give Trash Cat his morning medicine, I kiss P. goodbye and I’m out the door. I listen to the Sinisterhood podcast on my drive to work and try to stop for coffee, but the drive-thru line is backed up into the street and causing traffic, so I skip it.
💄8 AM: I put on my makeup in the bathroom at work; this has become my new routine since I was diagnosed with sleep apnea because the extra few minutes of sleep are now a medical necessity. I use Covergirl skinmilk foundation, elf lash and roll mascara, and elf instant brow pencil. Sometimes I use elf lip stain (big elf fan over here) but don’t bother today.
😈 9 AM: I meet with the university’s academic technology team to help them set up a feedback survey for a new grading tool they piloted this semester. We also bitch a little about some difficulties we’ve had this week with faculty. An important thing to know about me is that I am a hater to my innermost core.
🥪12 PM: After spending most of the morning replying to emails, updating tickets, and watching budgeting videos on YouTube, I realize I forgot my lunch at home. Since digging myself back into credit card debt, I’ve made a conscious effort to bring my lunch to work and spend less on convenience food, so I’m pretty annoyed with myself. A quick trip to the library cafe yields a turkey sub, a green smoothie, and a giant cookie ($14.47). I eat at my desk while making some money moves (it’s payday!). $200 goes to my credit card to cover my therapy copay and the pair of Hokas I bought my mom for her birthday earlier this week. I also transfer $500 to my savings account. $214.47
👣5 PM: I pack up and make the short drive over to my friend’s apartment. It was a spectacularly unproductive day; if I’m being honest, I’ve been feeling burnt out and need a break, but I’m trying to save my vacation days for our wedding. My friend and I walk around one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city and catch up. We also go to Whole Foods before she heads to the gym. I grab some specialty canned beans, tofu, tortilla chips, Chomps, and some Poppi sodas ($35.23).
🐱8 PM: I eat one of my favorite lazy meals for dinner—refried beans mixed with quinoa, salsa verde, and shredded cheese with tortilla chips—and watch a few episodes of Home Economics on Hulu. I get sucked into TikTok for a little while before brushing my teeth and taking my meds. I go to bed around 10:30 PM while snuggling Trash Cat.
Daily Total: $249.70
DAY 2: SATURDAY
🚿 8:30 AM: Quick shower before changing into a blue sundress and a white button up. I do my makeup and feed Trash Cat. I’m out the door a little past 9 AM to head to book club.
📚10 AM: This month, we’re having book club at an adorable little tea room. We read Romancing Mr. Bridgerton and obviously love a ✨theme✨ so the four of us spend an hour talking about the book, eating tiny finger sandwiches, and drinking approximately 5 gallons of tea. One of my good friends from grad school, R., started this book club a few months ago and it has been such a joy to get together with awesome women on a regular basis. We also commiserate over family problems—R does a dramatic reading of an outrageous text from my dad before we go our separate ways ($38.10).
💍12 PM: I received an email yesterday from our jeweler that my wedding ring is done and realize I’m much closer to the jewelry shop than I am to home. I call P. to ask if he’d be okay with me picking it up. He is. I swing by the shop and try on my ring; it is so beautiful and fits perfectly! I wear it on my drive home and can’t stop admiring it. P. put down $400 when we met with the jeweler a few months ago, so I pay $821.88 to take it home. P. sends me that exact amount on Venmo. (technically, I pay nothing).
😵2 PM: I eat more of my refried bean lazy meal and watch some episodes of The Rookie on Hulu. The rest of the day is spent fielding calls and texts from my sister, brother, and sister-in-law about my mother’s birthday dinner tomorrow. It is bringing up ✨trauma✨ for all of us.
😴9 PM: A very lazy night routine of brushing my teeth, taking off my makeup with a wipe, take my meds, and drinking water while listening to a podcast as I fall asleep.
Daily Total: $38.10
DAY 3: SUNDAY
🎁10:30 AM: Roll out of bed, make some Kodiak protein waffles, and call my youngest brother, who is 22. He and I are very close, but I still carry a lot of guilt about how much I couldn’t—and can’t—protect him from. I offer to pick out a gift for Mom “from him” since he has to head to the airport to retrieve our parents and he agrees.
🧀12 PM: I go to a gift shop in the next town over and pick out a pair of gold vermeil earrings. They’re $225. I buy them and tell my brother to Venmo me $175 (so technically I spend $50). After, I pop over to Wegmans, which is in the same shopping plaza, and pick up quesadillas, seltzers, fried rice, and spicy chicken for lunch ($41.55 total, $20.77 for my half). $70.77.
🧼1 PM: P. and I eat lunch on the couch while watching YouTube. Afterwards, I channel my irritation into cleaning the apartment. I vacuum, swiffer, put away dishes, and wipe down the bathroom. P. takes out the trash and recycling and starts some laundry.
🍾4 PM: We meet my other brother (I have two—this one is also younger but closer in age to me, 27) and my sister-in-law at a bar to pregame for Mom's birthday dinner. Is this healthy? Probably not. Does it work? Yes. I pay for all our drinks ($112.02)
🙄5 PM: Dinner time. A bunch of my aunts and uncles are there, too, so we sit at the “kid’s table” with my siblings and one of my cousins. I order Jameson and ginger and a fancy cheeseburger. Maybe it’s the liquid courage, or the fact I went into this with extraordinarily low expectations, but I have a surprisingly good time…until my dad starts to fight with the waitress about separate checks for the separate tables. He didn’t mention it at the beginning of the meal, and considering we have 17 people at three different tables, the waitress understandably says no. It gets to the point where my brother just hands her his credit card to put an end to it. He doesn’t tell me how much the total bill is; P. and I venmo him $100 each ($100).
🍋7 PM: The fun isn’t over! We head back to my parents’ house for cake and presents. I eat lemon cake with ice cream and give my mom the Hokas I bought her earlier in the week. She loves the earrings from my brother, and he thanks me for helping him.
💤11 PM: We finally leave. I fall asleep on the way home. I thank P. for being such a supportive partner, take my meds, and promptly fall asleep again.
Daily total: $282.79
DAY 4: MONDAY
🤕8 AM: I make it out of bed and over to the computer. I respond to emails, update a few tickets, and purchase a knee brace from Amazon ($24.01). I LOVE going to the gym and I’m trying to lose weight for health reasons, but the past few days my left knee has been stiff and achy to the point that it hurts to go up and down the stairs. I have a doctor’s appointment this week so I can tell my primary care physician then, but I want to go for a walk to clear my head. I drink a Liquid IV.
🍜11 AM: P. picks up brunch from one of our favorite local restaurants. Their biscuits and gravy bowl is incredible. ($27.58 total, $*13.79 *for my half).
🥟4 PM: I jump in the car and run to Petsmart to pick up pill pockets and food for Trash Cat. Even though he came from a dumpster, he has decided he’ll only eat the fancy cat food. ($64.78 total, $32.39 **for my half). Then I go to Wegmans for some more groceries: tomatoes, cucumbers, frozen dumplings, lettuce, seltzer, onions, brussel sprouts, and turkey burgers. ($68.22 total, $34.11 **for my half).
🍅6 PM: P. and I eat dinner while watching the John Oliver episode on libraries (stop banning books, losers!!!!). It’s one of our other favorite lazy meals: quinoa with fancy canned beans with chopped up peppers, onions, and tomatoes. I drink a seltzer with dinner and then do some chores and take a shower.
🦷10 PM: Stayed up later than I meant to scrolling TikTok and Reddit. Whoops! I brush my teeth and turn off the lights.
Daily total: $104.30
DAY 5: TUESDAY
🧇8 AM: Roll out of bed and walk 5 steps to my computer. After checking email and signing in, I make protein waffles for breakfast and put on my new knee brace that was delivered last night.
💩10 AM: I take a quick break from writing technical documentation to fold some laundry and tidy up the kitchen. I give Trash Cat some treats and clean out the litterbox. He is a stinky boy.
👨‍💻1:30 PM: I run a meeting with my boss and grandboss about the documentation project I’m currently spearheading. We are migrating into a new (and easier) documentation system, which means I need to export, update, and organize all our current documentation. They’re both pleased with my progress and the next goals I’ve outlined. Maybe I am good at my job? Afterwards, I eat some refried beans with tortilla chips and a seltzer.
🤬4:30 PM: I get a very rude email from a faculty member saying he cannot access a file a student shared with him (and grades are due tonight). He sends me a screenshot and it turns out…he’s clicking the wrong button. I explain the correct steps and attach the student’s file, but I’m so agitated that I sign out early and go for a walk. The weather is beautiful, and I try not to think about the email, but I keep stewing over it. The worst part of working in higher ed is the entitlement - I am often treated like “the help” by the Impossibly Busy Big Brained Professors Who Don’t Have Time For Glitches (FYI, glitches do not care whether you have time for them or not).
📱6 PM: P. and I eat leftovers of our fancy canned bean bowls for dinner and feed Trash Cat. I numb out by scrolling for about 3 hours.
🙄9 PM: I go to bed, but keep thinking about that damn email and then beat myself up for being so sensitive and giving that professor so much of my mental energy off the clock.
Daily total: $0
DAY 6: WEDNESDAY
🥯7 AM: Get out of bed, throw some clothes into my gym bag, get dressed, and run out the door. I stop at Dunkin on the way to work to get an iced coffee and some stuffed bagel minis ($5.45).
🧘‍♀️10 AM: I log into my virtual therapy appointment from my office and talk for 40 minutes straight about everything I am struggling with: my routine is out of whack thanks to my mom’s dinner; I’m mad at my parents, my sister, and my job; my knee is killing me so I can’t work out; I have been a shitty partner and cat mom this week; I am scrolling to numb out instead of reading or relaxing in a meaningful way. My therapist helps me come up with an action plan. I put my phone on bedtime mode to turn it to black and white, make plans with P. for a cozy date night at home this weekend, and bookmark a few jobs to apply for. She reminds me I am a supportive sister and partner and relationships are not 50/50 every single day. We end with a meditation about releasing anger.
☁️11 AM: I meet with a staff member in admissions over Zoom to discuss file back-up in preparation for his new computer. He is actually already synced to our cloud system, meaning that all files are backed up, so the meeting is easy. He asks a few questions about the cloud system and how it works and also provides feedback on some of the tools he feels need guidelines or best practices for usage.
📽️12 PM: Lunch is the last of the fancy bean bowl leftovers and a seltzer (I am a creature of habit). While I eat, I watch budgeting videos on YouTube. I get an email that my credit card has been charged for my therapy copay ($25).
🙃3 PM: I meet virtually with a professor who is, technologically speaking, extremely high-need. I watch her rename and organize files for about an hour. Inevitably, she moves them to the wrong place, accidentally deletes the entire file name, etc. On the bright side, she is very sweet and appreciative of my guidance.
💪4:45 PM: I duck out early to drive to the gym. I let my trainer know what is going on with my knee, so we decide to hit upper today. I only started weightlifting in November and I’ve found I love it so much I am willing to shell out for personal training. After doing my best not to side-eye the men with terrible form (if you need to use your knees to complete a bicep curl, the weight is too heavy), I stretch out and grab dinner from Qdoba: a chicken bowl for me and a steak burrito for P ($24.66 total, $*12.33 *for my half).
🤙7 PM: I call my youngest brother while eating dinner. He is the only one living at home with my parents and needs to vent about what’s going on. I do my best to validate his feelings and remind him he can stop by our apartment whenever he needs to. I wish I could do more.
🚿8 PM: I pack my Qdoba leftovers for lunch, take a shower, and crawl into bed with some sleepy tea and a book.
Daily total: $42.78
DAY 7: THURSDAY
🦶5:30 AM: P. wakes me up by tickling my feet. It is not enjoyable, but it is highly effective. I grab my leftovers and head to the gym.
🚲7 AM: I finish up my cardio workout on the bike, take a quick shower, and change into my work clothes. It’s a little unfair that exercise actually does make you feel better. On the way to work, I stop at Dunkin for iced coffee again but resist getting a snack ($3.31).
🥤9 AM: My morning work consists of emails, tickets, and updating some website pages. I also find a job listing on LinkedIn at another university which is a step up from my current position. A quick look at Glassdoor shows it has a higher employee satisfaction rating than the institution where I work now, and the salary range for this position is at least $10k higher than my current salary. I spend a bit of time fine-tuning my resume and drafting a cover letter while researching the university. It has a much nicer fitness center and a smoothie bar? I know, I know, the grass is always greener…
📚10 AM: Quick walk over to the library for an appointment with the archival specialist. We discuss how to back up her files in preparation for her new computer. She gives me a tour of the rare book collection - first editions of Jane Eyre and David Copperfield, plus a copy of the Nuremberg Chronicle from the fifteenth century. Very cool. For about five minutes, I consider going back to school to get a master’s degree in library science.
🌶️11 AM: Early lunch of my Qdoba leftovers, tortilla chips, and seltzer since I didn’t have breakfast.
🖥️2 PM: I meet with my manager to discuss the documentation project and a new hire initiative in collaboration with HR. The spring semester is officially over, so we have more time on our hands to do some maintenance, clean-up, and proactive support.
🧀5 PM: Work is over! I stop at the grocery store to buy brie, crackers, oat milk, toilet paper, paper towels, and a cup of macaroni. My period is coming and I always crave cheese ($49.55 total, $*24.77 *for my half).
🍴6 PM: P. and I eat a dinner of brie, crackers, and brussel sprouts while watching a few cooking videos on YouTube. We talk about how “emotionally charged” I’ve been for the past few days (P. uses the phrase—he never, ever calls me crazy, irritable, moody, etc.). Eating cheese makes me feel better. Trash Cat and I watch a few episodes of Brooklyn 99.
💊8 PM: Quick shower, meds, and podcasts. I start to doze off.
📞9:30 PM: My brother calls me. I’m confused and groggy, so I miss the call but text him immediately asking if everything is okay. He lets me know he will be fine and I promise to call him tomorrow. It takes me a little while longer to fall asleep; P. comes to bed around 10 PM for cuddles.
Daily total: $28.08
WEEKLY TOTALS (edited)
Total Spent: $745.45
Food + Drink: $375.95
Fun / Entertainment: $38.10
Home + Health: $49.01
Clothes + Beauty: $0
Transport: $0
Credit card: $200
Gift: $50
Pets: $32.39
REFLECTION
This was an above-average spending week for me with my mom’s birthday. Emotionally, it was also not a great week for me, and I often tend to spend more money when I’m upset, although I’ve apparently channeled that compulsion into grocery shopping. I am also trying to test out if smaller, more frequent grocery trips are better for us, since weekly shopping often means we throw out produce or meat.
I’m working on a) digging myself out of credit card debt and b) regulating my emotions, especially when it comes to my family. This particular stressor, and its effects on my finances, waxes and wanes throughout the year - birthdays and holidays tend to bring out the worst in both. However, even with the debt, I still feel like I am pretty financially stable (definitely more so in comparison to where I was as a kid, teen, and younger adult).
Thanks for reading 😼 Let me know if you have any questions!

PARRYING AND DODGING - High Tier. Papa G, Logarious, OoK, Maria, German.
DODGING ONLY - Good Enough Tier. BSB, Lawrence, Ludwig, MWN, Amygdala
ATTACK QUICKLY AND STUNLOCK - Mid Tier. Amelia, Moon Presence, Cleric, Parl, Ebritas
CROWD CONTROL/BUSYWORK - Low Tier. Emissary, Rom, SoY, One Reborn, Witches of Hemwick, Living Failures
RUNBACK - Terrible Tier. Micolash
Also basically works as a quality tier list. Want to talk about every single boss? I swear to god I’ll do it. Don’t fuckin push me.
———————Cream of the Crop—————————
Papa G: Best fight in the game, maybe the best fight in the series until my boy Ishin. Crazy that there’s only one boss that transforms into a beast halfway through with a new move set. Feels like this should be the standard, not the exception.
Lil Orphan Annie: Banger fight, leans on all the players options, even gives you a good backstab window. Massive health bar for something you could still legally abort in California.
Clock Lady: Parry fest, proto-melania, tried and true Fromsoft late-game Dex Maiden. Personal favorite fight but mechanically only third best.
Germaine, Wheelchair Accessible: Literally could be standing and isn’t, total prick. Decent fight, not as wild as Papa G and not as tense as Melania of the clocktower. Feels like a mid game encounter after the hellfuck of the DLC line up. Kind of criminal that his second phase is more of the same but with more juice coming off of him.
Party Marty Larry: Caster build? Not in my backyard. The worst of high tier but actually has parry windows. Wish there was more creative bullet counter play in the game like in this fight.
————————Good Enough—————————
BSB: They say that red shit is his skin but it looks exactly like Gael’s cape. Dodge to either side, weak to fire, don’t overthink the cape/skin thing.
Lawrence Fishburn: If they re-skin a single boss for the ER DLC there gon be a shitstorm but back in 2015 they gave us Cleric Beast but on fire for $20 and we let it slide? Nah. this fight can go.
Ludwig Horsecock: Functional camera, terrific music, everything a growing boy needs. Sure, you can walk him in circles, slashing at his hoofed ankles for an easy win, but this is the best beast fight in the game and it’s not close. If he had parry windows it’d be straight to the middle of high tier but he doesn’t.
Mergo (Probably) Wasn’t Breast Fed: I thought my game had bugged out when MWN didn’t have a face. But nah, she just eldritch af. Stay directly behind her (it?) and smash that ass when she/they/zir does their thousand sword attack.
A-mid-dala: Best looking fight with the worst gimmick. Golden opportunity for some bullet counter play with the head being out of reach, but they want you to slash at its fuckin arms instead. whack.
—Welcome to Mid Town, First Stop, StunLock St.-
Vicar Amelia: Cool cutscene, if nothing else. I had to be told this boss has a self-heal thing, never even noticed it as I tried to tattoo the R1 lettering into my finger.
Moon squid: Looks sick, won’t pretend to understand the lore, easiest fight in the game per placement. It staggers after like three hits so just hit it quickly.
Cleric: Four attacks lookin ass move set. Acceptable as a tutorial boss. Hilarious that he lives on a bridge to cut content. This game got a whole DLC but they didn’t fix the doors to nowhere. MaYbE tHeRe’s a lOre eXplAnATion.
Parl Jam: How can something this metal be this boring to fight? Crackling Electric Skeleton of a towering four-legged monster (dibs on the new band name) that literally falls into a pile of bones after three or four whacks. Provides a shortcut back to an area with nothing new in it except an NPC that… fell to his death.
Euphemism, Daughter of Vatiividya: Best design in the game. Don’t get it, can’t comprehend it. Truly the stuff of nightmares beyond human reasoning. maybe the easiest boss in the game if you do her (imagine assigning gender to a screaming pile of flesh and tentacles…but it’s definitely not a dude) after cainhurst. This and moon squid are underpowered af.
——————--Crowd Control Tier——————-—
The Little Blue Alien Things: Run away a bit, turn and hit ‘em. Realize only one of them actually takes health bar damage. Circle the pack to hit that one. Repeat. Crazy that the same team that made the rest of the game thought this boss was ready for prime time.
3 x Nazgûl: Late game enemy with new snake-related AOE move? Feels like unfinished content, which it is. But I unironically like this fight and how it starts brutal but gets easier as you kill em off. Of the crowd control fights, this is the best one if the most visually underwhelming. Technically the Nazgûl have parry windows but that’s bc it’s just a regular enemy with a boss healthbar and a couple buddies. CC is far more important than parrying in this fight anyway.
Abortion Metaphor: Make sure you run around the perimeter of the area and knock out some chores before you can safely fight the boss, very cool, thank you, Kanye. 10/10 cutscene, 2/10 fight.
Rom, the Vacuum Salesmen: “One Hundred Little Cuck Spiders Watch As I Plow Their Mom On A Beautiful Moonlit Evening”. shit, am I in incognito mode?
Barnacle Bitches: This fight is mostly just waiting around for the witches to spawn. maybe they should appear as soon as I kill a certain number of the shade things so it didn’t feel like such a waste of time. And yet, I still die regularly to this shitty boss.
They Named Em ‘Living Failures’ So Its Thematically Appropriate That The Fight Sucks Balls: If anything resembling this colonoscopy of a boss is in Elden Ring DLC, eldenring will burst into tears and shit their pants but I guess LFs get a pass for being in BB. Low-key I kinda like this fight for the arena and the gravity magic summoning thing they do but they needed another 2-3 attacks for this to feel fleshed out.
——————-—-Runback Tier————————-——-
Host of My Nightmares: There’s been a recent campaign around here by Micolash apologists and I’m fucking sick of it. Go get nuked by Call Beyond which, if you get hit while dodging it, will kill you from full health (and don’t even let him sneeze at you in NG+), do the five minute run back (if you know the route by heart) and then tell me honestly that this is a good boss fight. It checks all the boxes for a dogwater encounter and it’s lunacy to pretend otherwise.

1. The fight has two phases of run back. That alone should be enough to settle any debate.
2. Mico, my cousin, has literally three moves. One of which is an AOE that covers his whole arena and will delete you from full health unless you pump HP the whole game and wear your best anti-magic cape.
3. In any other FS title this would be universally maligned but mfs will say shit like “ackshooly, it’s lore accurate for him to run away bc he’s not a fighter” like that makes it ok. This is exactly like Lost Izalith and BoC, a gimmick encounter with a terrible run back that requires you memorizing a floor layout instead of testing combat skill. At least BoC saves your progress between attempts.
4. I’m glad you didn’t have a hard time with him, I really am, but the copium around this game is already at DEFCON 1 and it shall not extend to defending this disgrace of a boss fight.
5. I like his cage helmet, doesn’t seem all that practical tho, 10/10 drip.

I had a tier list image to go along with this but the mods are too busy between buying breakfast cereal and making Leather Mommy Maria hentai OC to approve my post.
If this post had a point (it doesn’t) it would be that this game doesn’t require a variety of responses and that parrying/bullet sacrifice/rallying don’t get to breathe as fully realized mechanics. Or maybe this whole post was just a vehicle to complain about the fourth best game in the series (ER, Sek, DS1, BB, DS3, DMS, DS2).
Micolash enjoyers, I’ll see you in hell.

Have you ever thought that there was something the creators of Chuck E. Cheese were hiding something from us all? Or have you ever found something to be off about the place? Even the creepy 'robotic' mascots that danced on stage? I didn't until I found out THE TRUTH about Chuck E. Cheese. It all began on the first time I had ever visited the place... I was around the age of five or six, so I of course was pretty ecstatic to go. Seeing all those commercials of kids eating pizza and running around without a care in the world, on arcade games and on the play structure made me almost get down on my hands and knees to plead and beg my mom to take me.
After finally getting her to break, she took me. I was the happiest kid in the whole world. My mom drove me over just a few hours before evening, so... maybe around 4:30 or so. I almost knocked over the woman at the door who gave you the little stamp on your hand, running ahead of my mom and bursting through the doors like a maniac child. Eventually I was stamped and literally screeching as I ran around to all the games and play sets. After a bit, I stumbled on over to a game, like whack-a-mole, but with sharks. Right by the 'STAFF ONLY' room.
One shark whacking minute later, I'd won the game. Before I could squeal in success and collect my tickets, my ears caught the sound of something very strange going on near the 'STAFF ONLY' room. I could hear someone say, "Test #15 on mutated rat results in angered behavior such as throwing desk and scientist at the wall". I then began to wonder what in the world they could be talking about. Maybe they were making a new game? Being so young, I had no idea at all what was actually going on in there. Being curious, and feeling a bit interested, I pressed myself against the door and listened in as carefully as a six-year old could.
I could hear them snapping at each other- things like "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH THIS BEAST?!?" and "GET IT AWAY FROM ME!"
A mumbled shout poured over whoever was in there, and replied with a louder "WE CAN'T JUST KILL THAT THING! ITS A BEAST VERSION OF OUR MASCOT!" The talking stopped. I blinked for a second, and pressed myself closer on the door. I quickly realized that this was a very bad mistake, as the door opened from my weight against it. I slipped in, going from leaning on the door to falling face flat on the ground of the staff room. Immediately, footsteps trampled over to me, hands grabbing at my arms. I was out like a light in a few seconds, and I still don't know what the hell they did to do that. I woke up slowly, my eyes feeling heavy and my body feeling weak, in some kind of interrogation room.
A tall man with a serious expression, wearing the cleanest white lab coat I'd ever seen began walking towards me out of the blue. Like he knew I'd be awake, like he knew I was awake. His voice was deep, and it was scratchy from what I could tell when he began to speak.
"You know. You know, don't you? You know." He said.
I was a six-year old half knocked out at Chuck E. Cheese, so I didn't know what they expected from me. I babbled for a second, letting my tongue function correctly, "What?" I replied dumbly, blinking hazily. He grabbed my arm, making the static feeling intensify somehow. He pulled me a bit, making me whine, though I quickly shut my toddler trap when a loud banging on the door echoed throughout the room. Naturally, me being so young and clueless, I screamed, thrashing around. The man let go of me, snapping at me to shut my mouth.
Forgetting about almost everything, I thrashed around some more, slipping out of my chair. I kicked my legs, going into the corner of the room. I screamed again, banging my foot against something, making a loud metal CLANG against my foot. I twisted around and whined down at an air vent. I kicked it again out of scared, hot anger. With another loud scream and clang, the metal front popped off. Again, letting out a shriek when I heard the man stomping towards me out of the noise of clawing metal and banging, I scooted inside, spitting at him. I was scared half to death. I mean, what was I doing here!? Where was my mom!? He swiped at me for a moment, but quickly pulled his hand back.
There was another loud bang, and the man stepped back. Using my tiny little hands, I grabbed the air vent's door and pulled it back, pressing it on the door. Just in time... a piercing hiss was followed by a shout from the stranger, and the loudest bang on the door. I crawled back, scooting back into the vent. I had to leave. Even being so young I knew I was in trouble. I hastily turned around with a bit of a struggle, slowly crawling down the vent. A loud manly scream echoed through the vent, being followed by more. They were in unison with the sound of cracking and tearing... which I now know was flesh and bone from the stranger.
I got out as fast as I could. A small light was around the corner after a few minutes, and I stomped on it. The opening of the vent easily popped open. They really weren't paying attention to how tightly they were screwed on, were they? My feet stumbled as I climbed out, but were soon trampling to where I saw my mom last. And she was still there, with a worried expression on her face. I ran up to her, hugging her tight. My eyes were now glazed with wet, hot tears. I wanted to go home. I just wanted to go home.
"I wanna go home." I whined, and complained.
My mother gave me a strange look, but put a finger on my cheek, "You must be tired sweetheart." She cooed, picking me up. I clenched my small fist, holding tightly onto her shirt. We walked out of the building, me being oh so lovingly carried to to the car. A distant wurr of sirens in the distance became a bit louder, and louder, and police cars pulled into the large parking lot and skidded to a halt in front of the once amazing and fun Chuck E. Cheese.
My mother almost ran to the car and quickly buckled me into my car seat. A couple hours later, home and safe, that night, I walked out of my room to get some water before I went to bed -a habit of me trying to procrastinate so I didn't have to sleep- and my mother was watching the news.
The reporter was talking about some kind of mutated rat coming out of Chuck E. Cheese and disappearing down the alley ways. So what happened to the real Chuck E. Cheese, god only knows. But I will never, and I repeat, never go into any damn Chuck E. Cheese for as long as I live.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4
“Melissa Ethridge,” I said.
“What?”
“Melissa Ethridge,” I repeated, grabbing the car’s aux cord and plugging my phone in, “Listen”
Destiny twisted her face as the opening chords of Melissa Ethridge’s “Come to my Window” blared through the car speakers.
“Look,” I said, making my sales pitch, “I know its probably not your cup of tea, honestly, I’m not really crazy about 90’s lesbian rock n’ roll either, but it was the first thing that popped in my head when Indigo told us we needed an example of ‘true’ love or beauty.”
“I don’t think it’s a particularly beautiful song,” Destiny said, “Why this song? Why not Boyz II Men? ‘End of the Road’? Now that’s a pretty song”
“Because this is the first song I learned to play on the guitar. My Mom taught me before she died. I think that gives it special meaning to me. Even if it’s not the best song, it’s truly beautiful to me because it has special meaning.
Destiny thought for a beat, folded her arms and said, “Ok, you win. Not like I have any ideas anyway.”
An hour later we were back in my house absolutely blasting Melissa Ethridge out of my stereo system and staring at the leg from behind the couch waiting to see if anything would happen. Nothing did.
We cycled through every musical artist we could think of. Boyz II Men, Tiny Tim, Evanescence, Elton John. We even tried whale calls and several podcasts. Nothing happened other than the lights flickering a bunch when we played the Beach Boys, we got the sense the leg was growing stronger and feeding off the awful music The Beach Boys played so we quickly turned it off.
“Maybe you have to play the music yourself,” Destiny suggested.
It was as good a guess as any, so I grabbed my guitar and started playing “Come to my Window”. Initially, outside of Destiny’s pained wincing, my playing didn’t seem to make much of a difference, but after about 30 seconds the skin on the leg seemed to ripple and move. I focused and sang even harder, which made Destiny wince even harder, but I didn’t mind - it was working! Eventually the leg started to shake like it was having a seizure. Just then a flash of silver caught my eye and I turned to look just in time to dodge the kitchen knife that flew towards my head from the kitchen. That quickly put a stop to my playing.
“Ok, so we’re on the right track,” I said, “It clearly doesn’t like that”
“Yeah,” Destiny replied, “But does it not like it because it’s hurting it and could potentially destroy it? Or because you suck at singing and you’re just really annoying to listen to?”
I turned to face her.
“You sound like a bag of cats in heat,” Destiny was not holding back her feelings on my singing voice.
I ignored the comment, “No, we’re on the right track, but something is missing.”
“If only we could get Melissa Ethridge here to play it for us.” Destiny said sarcastically.
“That’s it!” I shouted, “We need Melissa Ethridge’s guitar! I know there is one hanging on the wall of the Hard Rock Café downtown. Let’s go get it!”
“Your plan is to ask them if you can play Melissa Ethridge’s guitar?”
“We’re not going to ask”
“Your plan is to do a smash-and-grab at a restaurant owned by Native Americans? One of the most oppressed groups of people in the country.”
“Destiny,” I retorted, “The Seminole Tribe of Florida owns several billions of dollars’ worth of real estate and has more white people working for them than Facebook. They aren’t oppressed.”
“Alright, but I’m not going in. I’ll be the lookout with Hercules.”
“Fine.”
5 minutes later we were on the road heading towards the Hard Rock Café. Destiny sat shotgun, Hercules and the leg sat in the back. Hercules sat behind me and I could feel his stinking breath on my neck. It made my eyes water.
“Do you know who stole Hercule’s body from your porch?” I asked, trying to make conversation, “I mean, how will he ever get to rest in peace?”
“I have no idea who did it, but I’m sure Hercules does.” Destiny replied.
The conversation died down again and I turned my focus to the road, periodically checking my surroundings and my mirrors for any sign that Psycho Jimmy could be following us.
“What are you looking for?” Destiny asked, breaking the silence, “You seem, like, really paranoid about something?”
“Oh, I’m just paranoid about the haunted prosthetic leg in the backseat garroting me, you know?”
“Fair point.”
We arrived outside of the Hard Rock Café and quickly realized we had no plan that could feasibly work. After a few minutes of deliberation, we decided to go in and get a table. We were seated between two displays. One of Michael Jackson’s iconic gloves hung in a glass case above my head. Above Destiny’s head hung one of Prince’s electric guitars. Across the restaurant we could see Melissa Ethridge’s guitar encased in glass and hanging above the table of a couple who were clearly fighting with each other.
“There’s the guitar,” I said, nodding towards the display, “We just need a distraction.”
“Ok,” Destiny said, “I got this. Get ready”
She took two steps from our table, let out a dramatic sigh and fake-fainted on the floor of the dining room. No one seemed to notice.
“She’s fainted!” I shouted.
“Fucking TikTokers,” I heard a man mumble from a table near us.
After a few embarrassing moments, Destiny stood up, dusted herself off and sat back down across from me. “That didn’t work”
“No shit.”
“I have an idea for a distraction,” I told Destiny as I pulled out my cell phone, “I got the perfect guy for this.”
I called Psycho Jimmy. He picked up after 3 rings, but didn’t speak. I told him where I was and explained the situation to him and how we needed a distraction. He still didn’t speak. I told him if he could be there in 15 minutes that would be great, but if not, then he shouldn’t worry about it, but I had a feeling he was probably right around the corner.
The line went dead without Jimmy saying a single word.
“Give him 15 minutes,” I told Destiny.
5 minutes later Destiny and I were startled by a low growl that emanated from under our table. It was the snarling of an angry dog. It was Hercules.
Destiny quickly lowered her head under the table and began uttering commands to the phantom dog in a stern, authoritative voice. Patrons of the restaurant, one-by-one, began to take notice of the noise and began to stare.
“What is the issue?” I asked
“I don’t know!” Seethed Destiny.
I glanced around the room at all of the eyes watching us and began to apologize when I noticed Psycho Jimmy walking in through the front door of the restaurant. I began to stand up to greet him but Destiny quickly stole my attention.
“Oh my God!” She said, “This is it. I think Hercules sees whoever stole his body” She had a hand gripping her ghost dog’s invisible collar but was struggling to maintain control over the specter. Several waiters were on their way over to us when Destiny couldn’t hold on any longer.
The invisible phantasmal force that was Hercules exploded from under our table and through the dining room of the restaurant knocking over several chairs and tables in the process. Several patrons of the restaurant who had been tossed to the floor by Hercules or had seen some of the chairs tossed aside by the unseen force started to panic. Just like I had only a few days earlier, they’d suddenly been confronted with the possibility that there are things in this world they cannot explain.
A few people got out of their seats, a few women yelped, a particularly fat man stood on his chair like the ground was suddenly made of lava. The waiters were not paid enough for this.
Hercules continued on his war path through the dining room, pushing more chairs and tables aside and knocking over the hostess before finding his target – Psycho Jimmy.
Jimmy hit the ground with a grunt and began wrestling with his invisible foe. After a few intense seconds of rolling on the ground it appeared Hercules had him by the shirt sleeve and was dragging him back into the dining room, stopping every few steps to ragdoll Jimmy’s arm. Blood splashed out from Jimmy’s forearm as if he was cut by a knife.
This is when everyone really started to lose their minds. The restaurant descended into pandemonium. People who’d never met each other in their lives were clinging together and crying, some were fighting, one lady fainted and one woman too drunk to stand simply took in the scene and laughed.
A punch on my shoulder pulled my attention from the scene. It was Destiny.
“The guitar!” She shouted.
Right.
I ran across the restaurant to the glass case that housed Melissa Ethridge’s guitar, took the prosthetic leg from my backpack and smashed the glass with it sending a thousand razor sharp shards down into the meals of the angry couple who sat beneath it.
“You’re paying for our meals, buddy!” Said the man.
“Dude, look around!” I said back to him, extending an arm towards the insanity unfolding before us, “Just leave!”
I pulled the leg back and smashed the glass case again sending more shards of broken glass down onto the angry couple seated below.
“You NEVER stand up for yourself, Bryan!” The female half of the couple said to her mate, “Look at you, letting this crazy man with a prosthetic leg push you around and ruin our dinner! You’re a Beta!”
An arm grabbed me by the wrist, it was Bryan, “I’m not going to ask you again”
“Dude, get your priorities straight man” I said, pulling back the leg a third time.
A fist connected with my stomach and sent me to the ground. The leg clattered on the floor beside me.
I laid on the ground wheezing like a fat guy walking up his 5th flight of stairs when I heard Bryan’s lovely partner cry out to him:
“Hit him again, Bryan” shrieked the bimbo, “Kick him in the nuts!”
I gasped for breath and observed the chaos around me. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Men and women were running out of the restaurant screaming, Psycho Jimmy was being rag-dolled by an invisible dog, one of his arms had been reduced to hamburger. One woman was walking casually out of the dining area and sampling foods from various plates as she walked by each table.
My eyes came to rest on Destiny who sat solemnly in her chair watching her beloved pet maul a man. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. As strange and morbid as the situation was, it was for her a final goodbye to her companion over the last several years. As far as we knew, once Hercules was done thoroughly thrashing the man who had stolen his body, he’d presumably ascend to Heaven in some sort of Rapture. If a dog can go there, that is – The Bible is pretty fuzzy on the subject. Maybe he’d go to Hell, he didn’t seem like the friendliest dog.
My gaze shifted again to the frat bro who towered over me. He was lifting his cheap imitation snake skin cowboy boot to stomp my lights out when an ear-splitting screech filled the dining room.
People throughout the restaurant clasped their hands tight over their ears, a few dropped to their knees in pain. Covering my ears didn’t seem to do much, the sound was sharp enough to penetrate straight through the bone of my cranium and reverberate around in my skull cavity knocking loose neural connections as it bounced back and forth.
I felt concussed, dizzy.
The screech turned into a chorus of screams as the floor directly in front of Psycho Jimmy began to crack and separate. Psycho Jimmy crab walked backwards away from the fissure as it widened to about the size of a manhole cover; heat and orange light began to pour forth from it. Suddenly arms, several of them, burst from the newly formed cavity. The arms were a patchwork of raw red skin, pustules of pussy white sores and deep black areas where they had been too heavily charred to even be recognized as human flesh. Swollen and shiny, the arms began to flail in circles, heatwaves seemed to rise from their angry hands as they grasped at the air around them.
The restaurant lights flickered and my old friend, Fear, began bubbling up inside of me once again. A palpable sense of dread weighed heavy on all of us left in the dining room. I was filled with a dizzying mix of disbelief, panic, and a primal instinct to flee from the hell-spawn emerging from the depths of hell before us.
I got the impression that frat boy Bryan was the type of person who could never pass up an opportunity to impress a girl. Generally, to these guys, this usually meant drinking a beer while wakeboarding, getting into fights with total strangers after a night at the bar, or being incredibly mean to waitresses and various other positions in the service industry. At that moment, I guess he thought closing a door to hell itself would earn him a few late-night snapchats, which it probably should have if he had any idea what he was doing.
Bryan, as if this was just another bar fight, casually walked towards the thrashing mass of charred hands without making direct eye contact with it. When he got within striking distance he attempted to throw a massive haymaker punch, it was almost as if he thought he could catch the monstrosity off guard.
One of the grotesque hands easily grabbed his wrist mid-punch and Bryan could hardly get out a pathetic, “Huh?” before the hand pulled him into the fiery crevasse.
His girlfriend erupted into shrieks.
Less than half a second after Bryan’s demise, another hand lashed out from the group and caught something invisible.
The hand had grasped Hercules by one of his back ankles as he was trying to make his way around the hole and over to Destiny and, for a brief moment, Hercules’ true form came into view. Hairless, slimy, with human hands at the end of each of its limbs and a single horn protruding from its forehead, Hercules definitely wasn’t a dog.
What the hell was Destiny up to? I couldn’t believe I’d been in close proximity with that thing for the past few days. I felt sick.
Just like Bryan before him, Hercules was pulled into the pit of fire and the restaurant descended into a brief second of silence as it closed behind him.
I lifted myself up off the floor and took one more swing at the glass display case that protected the guitar of Melissa Ethridge. It finally shattered.
Dropped the leg on the table in front of me and reached into the shattered display case and pulled out the guitar. I took a step back, cleared my throat and began to strum the guitar when –
WHACK!
A very heavy and very gaudy purse smacked me upside the head, “You Bastard!” Shouted the life-size Barbie girl Bryan had brought out on a date tonight, “You motherfucker!” she shouted again in unison with a second swing of the purse.
“Ma’am, please stop” I pleaded with her as I ducked under another swing of her unusually heavy purse, “I’m trying to destroy a haunted prosthetic leg with the power of song to save my intern from being trapped in a painting for all of eternity!”
Not only did she not stop, but she grabbed the prosthetic leg from the table next to us and started inspecting it, no doubt to judge its effectiveness as a weapon against me.
I took the opportunity to start playing, “Come to my Window” while slowly backing away from the angry woman.
After a few seconds of my sweet music-making, I watched the human leather on the leg begin to ripple in the woman’s hands. Any sane person on the planet would have dropped the leg at that point, but she didn’t.
Instead, the woman tilted her head back and screamed. Her mouth opened wider and wider until it reached a point when she physically could not possibly continue to expand her gaping maw. Then her jaw shifted slightly and there was a sudden POP! and her mouth continued to stretch wider.
Then the hands appeared, two hands appeared from out of the woman’s mouth and gripped the sides of her lips as if something was about to pull itself out of her mouth – and that is exactly what happened.
“I would dial the numbers, just to listen to your breath // I would stand inside my hell and hold the hand of death”
I started singing faster now, desperate to make this work.
An old woman’s head emerged from the mouth. She was old, dripping red with blood and I could see by the look in her face that she wasn’t just angry – she despised me. I could feel the hate radiating off of her. It was as if I could taste it in the air. She didn’t just want me dead, she wanted me annihilated.
The neck breached the mouth and in short order – the shoulders. The scene was quickly changing from one reminiscent of childbirth to one of a snake molting its skin.
“Come to my window // Crawl inside // Wait by the light of the moon”
This wasn’t working. I glanced around the room. Looking for an ally. Destiny was gone. Hercules was gone. Psycho Jimmy was pulling himself to his feet. He was looking at me with his crazy eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was under some sort of trance, but he wasn’t blinking, and he looked pissed. Then again, he always looked pissed. He started moving towards me.
I continued to sing, but panic was starting to rise within me. The song wasn’t exactly going as I'd hoped, there was a demon being born in front of me and Psycho Jimmy didn’t exactly look like he wanted to hold hands and sing Kumbaya.
I took a step backwards and found my back against a wall. I was cornered.
“Giving away promises….la la…na na na nahhh”
I realized at this point I didn’t even know all the words to this song. I quickly switched over to the first song that popped in my head. It was by The Ramones and it wasn’t even close to a beautiful song, but Melissa Ethridge wasn’t cutting it.
“The KKK took my baby away // They took her away // Away from me!”
The demon continued to pull itself out of its skin suit and revealed more of its true form: Her upper body was a twisted, nightmarish version of an old woman. Shriveled, wrinkled, naked and dripping with blood. From the waist down, it was an enormous spider, its black, chitinous legs clicking against the wooden floor stepped on to the hardwood floor of the dining room. The spider's body was bloated and hairy, with glistening beady eyes that dotted the area where the woman’s abdomen met the spider’s face.
Psycho Jimmy was nearly within arm’s reach as well.
“Time for Plan B” I thought.
In a flash I swung the guitar over my head and smashed it across the face of the demon, sending shards of chipped wood flying across the room. I wanted to try and quickly throw a punch at Psycho Jimmy before he could react, but when I turned to face him, he was already on top of me.
Before I even knew what was happening Psycho Jimmy had grabbed both of my wrists, pressed me up against the wall and pinned my arms above my head. His grip was vice-like, even with one of his arms being torn to shreds. For the first time I saw him smile. His crusty lips parted to reveal a row of cracked, yellowed teeth.
I was about to try a kick, when Psycho Jimmy leaned in quickly and kissed me on the mouth.
What the hell was going on?????????/
Psycho Jimmy pulled back from the smooch, looked me dead in the eyes and said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “I didn’t believe in love at first sight until I laid eyes on you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”
I glanced over to the monster standing a few feet away and it seemed to be physically pained by what it was witnessing.
An act of True Love! This was it!
“Oh Jimmy, I feel the same way,” I whispered back to the crazy and most likely homeless man who had just kissed me. It was difficult to pull my eyes away from the literal demon next to us, but I had to make eye contact with Psycho Jimmy to make the moment work.
“Call me Psycho” he said, moving in for another kiss.
In that moment I fought the most difficult internal battle of my life – Do I kiss him back?
I took one last look at the demon – it was now writhing on the ground in pain, I could hear it whimpering.
“I cannot believe I have to do this,” was my only thought.
I closed my eyes and kissed PJ back. A large slimy tongue that tasted like cigarettes slipped into my mouth, I tried to hold back a gag – and then I heard shouting.
I opened my eyes just in time to see a police officer full-body tackle Psycho off of me. Two more officers followed close behind to kneel on Psycho’s back as they cuffed him. I scanned the room looking for evidence of the demon spider woman.
All I could find was the prosthetic leg. It was covered in hard plastic. The human leather that had been used to bind it was gone.
There was no other evidence of what happened. No demon, no manhole to hell. Just a totally destroyed restaurant dining room. Imagine if Lord of the Flies took place in an Applebee’s. That’s what it looked like.
A police officer escorted me out of the building asking me if I wanted to press charges on the man who assaulted me. I could hear Psycho shouting at me, “Wait for me! No jail can hold me! I’ll come find you!”
I would need to put my house up for rent immediately.
I got in my car and drove home; I called Destiny on the way but she didn’t answer. There was something about her that she was hiding from me, I decided it’d probably be best for me to never find out.
I pulled my car into the garage and was about to head inside, when a loud banging rattled my trunk door.
I pulled out my keys and popped the truck door and my car birthed Pedro onto my garage floor. He was sweaty and breathing heavily. A blank canvas lay in the trunk he just emerged from.
“Holy shit, Boss!” he said between breaths, “That was wild, bro! What are we going to do next?”
I paused for a moment to evaluate not only what had just happened in the last week, but my entire life, then I told him, “You’re fired, Pedro” and then, “I need to get a real job.”

Pigs can be very dangerous animals. There’s a reason why Dorothy’s uncle freaked out when she fell into the pigpen in The Wizard of Oz.
I’m not talking about wild boars, either. Farm pigs aren’t aggressive or carrying some zombie plague (as far as I know), but the danger lies in their appetite. Anyone who lives on a farm with them for even just a few days knows that they are definitely not herbivores. They’ll eat just about anything, all the way up to human bones. I guess that’s one way to get your calcium.
Now, don’t get me wrong, if you fall into a pigpen, you’re more than likely going to be alright, as long as the fall doesn’t knock you out. But let’s say the back of your head hits the ground particularly hard. You’re unconscious. A group of even slightly hungry pigs will probably start with your clothes, boots, hair, and maybe even your ears. But if you give them long enough, once they’ve got going, they’ll do much more permanent damage.
My maternal great-grandfather was a pig farmer. One day in a record-temperature July, he got a bad case of heat stroke and did just that. He was passed out in that pigpen for an hour and a half before my great-grandmother found him and rushed him to the hospital. He lived, but he lost three fingers, had been given plenty of scars that would never fully heal, and had to walk with a cane for the rest of his life.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, suffice it to say, I would rather cover myself in ketchup and honey and take a long nap in a commercial pig sty than have to look out of my kitchen window at night and see that Pigman standing in the fields one more damn time.
Before I make it sound like I hate pigs, I don’t. All domesticated animals come with their own dangers, and most won’t hurt you unless you somehow give them the opportunity, even unintentionally. There’s something to be said about the intelligence and even kindness of the humble swine. But that... thing. It was different. Every time I caught sight of the shine of its dewy, misshapen eyes in the darkness, I felt sick to my stomach.
Hamlet squealed and put his little hooves on my chest as if he could read my thoughts and was pleading his little piggy case. I sat the brush down and scooped him into my arms, rocking him like a babe.
“Oh, you’re not gobbling up anyone’s fingers, are you, little guy?”
He squirmed around and oinked like a giant porky worm, and I gave him a slice of apple before letting him go. Dawson was always bringing apples over now, and the animals loved it. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but so did I.
I gave Hamlet back to his appreciative mother and brushed off the seat of my overalls. The afternoon sweltered, even in the shade of the barn, and my throat was dry. I made sure everyone had plenty of water before going back toward the house. Maybe Aunt Jean could pull some sweet iced tea out of a pocket dimension because I’d forgotten to make more. Dawson was going to kick my ass when he made it over for dinner.
A glass of tea with a lemon slice was waiting on the kitchen table when I went inside, like I’d tupla’d it up. Reading minds would’ve been the least surprising thing Aunt Jean was capable of. I gave it a cursory poison sniff, drank it down, and then popped the lemon slice into my mouth, rind and all. No sense in wasting it.
As soon as I was hydrated, my body immediately decided to ruin it all and jones for a cigarette.
“Hey, Aunt Jean?” I called up the stairs. “Thanks for the tea; I’m gonna step out for a smoke real quick. Don’t forget Dawson will be over in a few hours!”
The only audible response was the steady creak of the rocking chair starting up again upstairs. If she had spoken, I no doubt would’ve heard her call out, “I’ll wear my best, chickadee.”
I rolled a fresh cigarette and stepped outside with my zippo. A faint, musty scent clung to the breeze like a fat tick, and as I looked out to the field, I remembered the rotted roots of some of the corn stalks. My stomach twisted into a double pretzel knot.
It’s one of the worst feelings in the world to know something is going terribly wrong, something that will affect you severely, and not be able to do anything about it. My crop, sewn with my own blood, sweat, and diesel, was dying. As far as I could tell, I’d done nothing wrong or different than usual besides my land being host to “the Evil.”
At that moment, I told myself that no, I wouldn’t sit back and watch it happen. I’d do everything short of black magic to save that corn. Surely, Two-Tooth Steve had something helpful and questionably legal to offer me.
As I shifted my gaze upward from the exceptionally nasty-looking patch, I saw him.
The Pigman had never been out in the day like this before. But there he was, standing with his hammer over his shoulder and staring at me with those inky eyes. He was an even worse sight to behold in clear light. I could see every greasy wrinkle and every pit where his skin settled wrong.
I sat on the porch railing, lit the cigarette, and lifted it to my mouth. I needed it then more than ever.
As I blew a cloud of smoke out of my nose, the Pigman began to move. I looked on in stunned silence as he walked to the edge of the cornfield. We held eye contact for what felt like ages. The cigarette burned down to ash in my hand, and the wind whistling through the stalks was the only sound other than my heavy breathing. Was he going to run up here? Was this it? Would he charge me, pick me up, and chew me down to the bone?
As my life flashed before my eyes for the… let’s face it, I’m not counting anymore, all I could think of was Dawson and how much it was going to suck for him to find my mangled corpse when he came over for dinner. I would’ve gone through the reverse a thousand times if he didn’t have to even once. I couldn’t deny that he was sweet; he didn’t deserve to see shit like that.
The near silence was suddenly broken when the Pigman let out a squeal-scream so loud that he leaned forward into it. Birds took flight in terror from the pines in the distance, and I jumped so hard that I fell forward and hit the ground three feet below. I clutched at my knee and groaned in pain like some fat guy who tripped over a mailbox. The Pigman just watched me, making odd snuffling noises that might’ve been the pig equivalent of giggles.
I pushed myself to my feet and started limping toward the cornfield with my skinned knee. That tore it; I was about to give this swine behind a piece of my mind.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?! Why do you like to torture me, you creep?! Why can’t you just leave?! You aren’t paying rent! Go somewhere else!”
I met him at the edge of the field and quickly realized that I’d never been this close to him. The stink of old blood overwhelmed the rotting corn scent, and I felt my breakfast threatening to come back for a visit. Slanted pig teeth, stained brown, poked out from a snout that looked like it was melting. His eyes sat even farther in the sockets than I’d initially thought, giving the whole thing the appearance of a cheap, two-sizes-too-big latex mask. His fingers were crusted with dirt, and his nails were bitten down to bloody quicks. One ear had begun to mold, and the other bore a small yellow livestock tag, which I couldn’t read. As I took it all in, a fly crawled in through his nostril and out of his eye.
I thought faintly about running back to the house, but anger beat out fear.
“You need to find some other farmer to bother! I’m not taking your shit anymore!”
Without considering the consequences for longer than a second, I broke the barrier between us and stepped into the cornfield. The old blood smell grew fresh and overwhelming. All around me, I could suddenly hear the tramping of hooves and the screaming of pigs. Not oinking or squealing— this was a slaughterhouse cry. I tried to step back but froze when I heard something entirely different above the noise.
“Leave, Newport. You have no place on this land,” called out a male voice. Unlike everything else, it came from inside my head. It was harsh but… familiar. It conjured a face and a name in my head, but I couldn’t make either out. All I saw was blurry shapes and colors. The puzzle pieces that filled the gaps in my memories were lost in a woodchipper.
I didn’t know if it was the Pigman who had spoken to me, but I told him off anyway.
“Fuck you. This land, this house, these animals all need me. This is my home. I belong here.”
The hoofbeats got louder, and I felt something hard come down on my ankle. When I fell to the ground, all bets were off. Hit after hit, all over my body, pigs I couldn’t even see ground their feet into my skin as they trampled all over me. I could feel the gritty dirt they left on me with each step, and I choked on the dust they kicked up.
When the onslaught was over, not an inch of my skin was left unbruised and sore. The only thought in my mind was that I’d like to see Dawson try to put an ice pack on all this! Maybe that was just a coping mechanism, though.
I staggered up to my feet, pretty sure my ankle was sprained to hell, and immediately fell back to my knees and puked. There wasn’t a lot left in me to come up, but it still managed to make it out of my nose. I got up again and ran for the house, sparks of pain shooting up my leg as I hit the porch steps and coughed up more stomach acid.
I took the stairs two at a time, racing down the hallway. I nearly had a head-on collision at high speed with the shower as I rocketed into the bathroom. I felt dirty and sick, and the countless bruises stung like wildfire. I stood in the cold stream of water, not even bothering to take off my clothes. Rivulets the color of rotten fruit swirled down the drain as I wept into my hands. My shirt stuck to me like pine tar as I struggled to pull it off.
An indeterminate amount of time passed. It was only Dawson’s voice that pulled me out of disassociation. I realized with some shock that I was so glad he was here. At some point, I’d ended up on the bathroom floor. My injured ankle was still hanging over the tub’s edge, and the water was ice cold.
“Hey, do you need some help there? I brought pie, and I feel like the floor isn’t the best place to enjoy it. I won’t stop you if that’s what you want, though. Where’d you get all those nasty bruises?”
I just nodded, and he took that as permission to help me to my feet and wrap a towel around me. If he had any thoughts about my impromptu coming out, he didn’t voice them. I’d never been that good at modesty, and he probably knew from the beginning.
“Seriously, though. What happened?”
He helped me sit down on my bed, and I rubbed my swelling eye.
“I, uh, fell. Into my tractor.”
Dawson raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t question it. He’d only been in my room a few times before that, and I was surprised by how completely unbothered by his presence there I had become.
“This wardrobe looks like it leads to Narnia,” he said, swinging the door open and looking through my collection of overalls and thrift store t-shirts.
“Yeah, my great-grandfather made it. If you climb in there and stay long enough, it’ll probably take you somewhere.”
Dawson snooped through my outfits, pausing to look at each one.
“I think it would just take me to Overall Land. I swear, I’ve never seen so many pairs in one place!”
I couldn’t help but grin.
“You’re one to talk, kitty cat princess socks.”
Dawson scoffed.
“Well fuck me for having a sense of childlike whimsy every now and again.”
As I slipped on my boxers, Dawson tossed me my favorite overalls (don’t ask me how he knew), and the Cheese is My Passion shirt. The yellow fabric felt cool against my bruises. I looked around, and it was like everything reset. I felt the tension drain out of me as I laid back on the soft quilt Aunt Jean had made for me not long after moving in.
“Yeah, yeah, you and your whimsy,” I said with a long, cathartic sigh.
Dawson looked at me before glancing at the CRT TV sitting on my dresser in front of the bed. Then he said the four best words he could have at the moment.
“Wanna play Mario Kart?”
There are few questions that you can almost never say no to, and that was one of them.
“That’s some whimsy I can get behind.”
Dawson handed me one of the controllers before making me scoot over on the bed.
“I know I said whimsy first, but can we stop now? It doesn’t sound like a word anymore.”
“We could, but I don’t think that would be very whimsical of us.”
Dawson nudged me in the ribs, enough to be annoying but not enough to aggravate my bruises. I stuck my tongue out at him. He tried to shove his finger in my nose. I faked biting at it.
Once we got serious, for the next thirty minutes, I kicked his ass at Mario Kart. Then we went downstairs.
I pushed my fork around my plate as we sat at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a slice of pie each. I didn’t feel much like eating, but Dawson had baked it himself, so I took a few bites. It was delicious— honestly, one of the best slices of apple pie I’d ever tasted.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have dinner ready. I… I didn’t fall into my tractor.”
“I could’ve told you that,” Dawson said through a mouthful of pie.
“The Pigman tried to tenderize me into the main course, and I just… lost it after that, I guess. If you’ll give me a bit, I can—”
Dawson swallowed hard and thunked his fork down on the table.
“The guy out in the field? He did this to you?”
Dawson had never really asked about the Pigman. Once he got the message that some weird shit just kind of exists around here, he quickly adapted to my method of just letting it be. But nothing besides the Rot had ever really hurt me before. Not on purpose, anyway. Beez had almost put my eye out more than a few times, but chickens will be chickens.
“Yeah, but—“
Dawson stood up from the table and started toward the door.
“Wait! Dawson, no!”
That asshole didn’t even listen to me for a second. He threw open the kitchen door and started marching toward the cornfield like the next super soldier or something. I ran after him.
“Dawson, the Pigman has been here for a long time. He’s bad juju! You saw what he did to me! I don’t know what he’ll do to you, so just leave him alone!”
I grabbed Dawson’s shoulder, and he stopped for a second.
“I’m not going to try and bodyslam him. But he hurt you, and I’m gonna make sure he gets the message that he’s not to do it again.”
With that, he shook me off and kept going. I followed helplessly after him, dreading the bloodbath that I was sure would come.
Without a note of hesitation, Dawson walked into the cornfield and right up to where the Pigman had retreated. He wasn’t immediately run over by a stampede of pigs, but something heavy and tense was in the air.
They both stood there for a minute, quiet and unmoving. Then Dawson stuck a finger out at him.
“You leave my friend alone, you uncultured swine! If you ever lay a hand on him again, I’ll punt you so hard you turn into vegan bacon!”
The Pigman walked closer to him, closing the distance between them to maybe a foot. I cringed and tried to pull Dawson back, but he was solid and unshakeable. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“You won’t touch him again! Do you hear me?!”
Even with Dawson raising his voice, the Pigman’s droopy face remained expressionless. But, to my horror, he raised a hand, ready to strike.
“Don’t hurt him! Please! He didn’t mean it!”
Dawson got into a fighting stance, ready to fight what was clearly a losing battle if need be. I’d still root for him.
“Did too! I totally meant it!”
As the Pigman’s gigantic, greasy hand rose above his head, I prepared for the worst. I knew what those fists could do. I could remember sitting out on the porch with my mother when she was still with me, watching as the Pigman snatched crows out of the air with his surprisingly agile hands, crushed their bodies in between his sausage-like fingers, and shoved their corpses into his dripping maw. The sight always made me nauseous enough to go back inside, but my mom only stared vacantly at him.
“Show me what you got, Pork Chop,” Dawson taunted, and boy, did Pigman deliver.
Instead of Whack-a-Mole-ing him halfway into the ground, he opened his fingers. Only then did I notice two things I hadn’t before: that same musty carpet and dying plant smell in the air and the loop of rope around his middle finger. The protection talisman hung from his hand, and Dawson and I both stared in gut-wrenched shock.
We both turned at the same time and met with the same horrible sight. A trail of dead grass and swollen flies led up to the porch, where the door was swung open. In the distance, I heard the sounds of hooves on wood and the clack of old teeth.
I didn’t really care about any of my belongings, but Aunt Jean was in there, and I didn’t know what this thing was capable of. It was time for me to make the dumb decision to protect the ones I loved. I sprinted toward the porch, Dawson hot on my heels.
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU POOR EXCUSE FOR A COMPOST HEAP!”
I threw a hand out in front of Dawson as we made it inside, ready to take the brunt of the attack if this thing was still here. The kitchen was in ruins. The last bits of my food were scattered across the floor, growing fat chunks of green and white mold with worms and ants feasting on the remotely edible parts. Aunt Jean was standing by the stairwell, unharmed but with a smear of dark dirt across her dinner dress and looking madder than a mule munching on bumblebees.
“Bastard,” was all she said, in a deep, masculine voice you’d imagine coming from a Navy seal and not a tiny old granny. I looked over to Dawson, who’d moved to examine what remained of the pie he’d brought. I almost wished I hadn’t.
The crust was dried out to hell, and maggots writhed around in what remained of the apple filling. I’d taken out entire hornets’ nests and fed a grape to a spider as big as my hand, but maggots were the one thing I could not handle.
“Nope! Fuuuuuck that,” I said, stumbling back to where I couldn’t see the little white fuckers. But that proved impossible because even the half-eaten slices left on our plates were swarmed with them.
“It took everything.”
Dawson was right. All the pantry doors were open, and the fridge and freezer were barren. There wasn’t a single morsel of edible food left in my house. But that wasn’t what I cared about right now. I cared about the tremble in Dawson’s lip and how his voice shook just a little. I knew he’d worked hard on that pie. He’d done it for me, and so few people did things for me.
“Yeah, it did. It took your amazing pie, and I’m gonna TAKE ITS KNEECAPS!”
I stormed outside and shook my fist at the sky like I was making sure God herself was watching.
“YOU COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME, YOU FUCKING COWARD! I’M NOT GOING TO LET YOU HURT MY FRIEND OR KILL MY CROPS! DO YOU HEAR ME? OVER MY DEAD BODY!”
Apparently, the Rot was ready to accept that challenge. I watched the trail of black wind its way out of the cornfield and up to where I stood. As it rose out of the ground, our eyes locked, and it had me right where it wanted me.

Scene 1

(Several voices echo as colorful shapes and effects go throughout the screen.)
Caine: Welcome to the Amazing Digital Circus!
Jax: Pomni.
Caine: Pomni.
Ragatha: Pomni.
Jax: Pomni.
Ragatha: Pomni...
Caine: Pomni!
Ragatha: Pomni!
Jax: Pomni.
Caine: Pomni!
Ragatha: Pomni!
(Pomni opens her eyes in a haze, being inside the Circus' tent)
Pomni: Hello?
(Her movement while calling out is distorted, her heartbeat rapidly increases as she walks in fear, looking wide-eyed in front of her, then to her arm, which has now abstracted.)
Pomni: (Screams) No! No! No! (Stammers) Caine! Somebody, help me! Please!
(Pomni runs around panicking as the circus floor tilts vertically until she falls into a deep hole, seeing Caine, Ragatha and Jax looking down at her as dark silhouettes.)
Pomni: (Shrieks) No! No!
Caine: (Laughs) Looks like our new friend's already abstracted.
Ragatha: (Chuckles) Well, I guess we're not all cut out for it.
Jax: I don't even remember her name, honestly.
(Abstraction takes over Pomni's body as she falls, horrified.)

Scene 2

(The sound of trumpets with abstracted eyes looking at her wakes her up, showing that sequence to just be a dream. At this same time, the doorbell rings.)
(Pomni falls out of her bed and collision glitches on a playing block, hitting her head on the ceiling and faceplanting on the floor.)
Pomni: Huh?
Ragatha: Hey, Pomni. How'd you sleep?
Ragatha: Are you still sleeping? (Awkwardly) I'll let you get back to it, if you are.
(Ragatha starts walking away from the door, though Pomni partially opens it.)
Ragatha: There she is. Hope you're doin' all right. I know yesterday was a bit of a doozy.
Pomni: A doozy. (Opens the door slightly more)
Ragatha: Oh, and don't worry about the whole "abandoning me for the exit" thing. (Worringly) It's perfectly understandable what you were going through at the time, and there's no hard feelings. (Laughs) Yer all good.
(Ragatha makes finger guns.)
Pomni: Huh? (Confused)
(Ragatha looks away for a second, still awkward.)
Ragatha: Uh, well, let's forget about all that. (Shrugging) Caine's got a new adventure today, and judging by what he's been teasing, it seems like it's gonna be a fun one.
(Ragatha walks away from the door slightly as Pomni comes out and shuts it behind her.)

Scene 3

(The scene cuts to Caine and Bubble being at the circus tent's stage.)
Caine: Today's adventure is... Candy Canyon Chaos!
(Those three words appear above Caine in bright pink letters.)
Caine: That's right! The Candy Canyon Kingdom's been robbed of their most valuable resource; maple syrup! It's up to you to bring the rotten bandits who stole it to sweet, buttery justice!
(Bubble comes next to Caine and pulls maple syrup out on his tongue.)
Bubble: An entire kingdom of candy? Sounds sticky.
Caine: Very sticky, indeed.
Bubble: Sounds- (Censor beep)
(Caine looks startled, looking between the camera and Bubble.)
Caine: Bubble, you can't say that.
Zooble: Mmmmmmmmmmm, nope. (Walking away)
Caine: Zooble, wait! I-I'm testing out a new AI in this one! It should be 57 times more immersive!
Jax: Ooh, a new AI. You don't want to mess with the new AI, Zoobie?
Zooble: Uh, yeah, no. (Walks away)
(Jax shrugs at the camera before looking back at Zooble.)
Ragatha: Whoa, sounds fun. What do you think, Pomni? (Encouraging)
Pomni: So, our entire existence here... is just LARPing? (Disgusted)
Ragatha: W-Well, uh-
(Caine zips in front of Ragatha.)
Caine: Why are you all just standing there?! The- The Canyon- C-Canyon Candy Kingdom needs you now! (Stammering, wide eyed)
(Caine opens a portal and pushes all the circus members (aside from Zooble) in, with the portal instantly closing behind them and dusting off his hands, going wide eyed again. He then takes a smoking pipe out and blows bubbles from it. Bubble himself comes up to him.)
Caine: Hmm? (Offering the pipe to Bubble)
Bubble: Nah, thanks. I'm trying to quit.

Scene 4

(Majestic music plays as the Candy Canyon Kingdom, adorned with its colorful letters, is shown.)
(The members are being taken by a carriage by a Gummy Elephant to the castle, where the drawbridge lowers for them and several colorful mannequins cheer for their arrival, as Ragatha waves to them.)
Ragatha: Wow, Kinger, check out this castle. It's amazing!
Kinger: (Looking at butterfly) They've even got little candy bugs here. It's so beautiful.
Gangle: Yeah, this place is great!
(A mannequin runs near Gangle and points at the castle, knocking her over and breaking her comedy mask.)
Mannequin: LOOK!!! It's the princess!!
Gangle: (Whimpers)
(Trumpet play as the princess comes out of her castle.)
Princess: Ah, you must be the brave knights sent to us by God... To help us with our recent catastrophe.
Ragatha: That's us, ma'am.
Ragatha: Your kingdom's awesome, by the way. (Looking around) Love the vibe.
Princess: (Giggles) I like you already.
Ragatha: Look, Pomni. We're already friends with the princess. (Trying to hype Pomni up)
Pomni: I'm not a child. You don't have to hype me up.
(The Princess walks down her stairs, to be closer to the group.)
Princess: I assume you've been informed of your mission. The bandits that robbed us used a modded syrup tanker, so we figured the best way to go head-to-head with them is to give you a war rig of your own.
(She motions towards a truck being driven which runs over a yellow mannequin, who yells in pain.)
Jax: Ooh, violence. (Excitedly)
Pomni: What time period is this supposed to be, again? (Confused and tired)
Princess: Here's the key back into the kingdom for when you've secured the goods. I trust you not to let it fall into the wrong hands?
(She gives Ragatha the key.)
Ragatha: You can count on me, Your Highness. (Bows)
Princess: Oh, please. Call me Loo.
Ragatha: (Chuckles) Will do, Loo. (Does finger guns)
Jax: I call shotgun.
(Jax runs to the drivers' seat and instantly uses the horn, which makes a goofy, distorted warble.)
Jax: Oh, God, is that the horn? (Groans) That sucks. (Annoyed) Gangle, you drive. (Grabbing Gangle)
(Everyone else enters the back of the truck.)
Loolilalu: Farewell, good knights. (Waving) I have every faith in you!
(The truck starts and drives out the kingdom while honking the distorted horn, with the mannequins cheering them on.)

Scene 5

(The scene cuts to 3 gummy bandits set up at a campfire.)
Unknown (Max or Chad): D'you think your mum's gonna pull through if we get all this back to the village?
Unknown (Max or Chad): I'm sure she will. This much syrup would save hundreds of people.
Gummigoo: We won't know for sure until we get back to the village. She's a fighter, though. She taught me everything I know. (Looks back in binoculars) Oy! Don't get too comfy, lads. Looks like they've sent someone after us.
(The scene cuts to the truck Gangle is driving.)
Jax: All right, Gangle, when we catch up to 'em, I'll jump over, crawl inside, and shoot 'em repeatedly until they're unrecognizable.
Gangle: (Scared) I feel like that violates some kind of convention.
Jax: (Annoyed) You're violating my ears with your clap-back. Get driving, driver!
(The camera cuts to Ragatha and Pomni in the back.)
Ragatha: So, Pomni, I'm sure there's some way you could help out here. Maybe when we catch up to them, we could-
(Jax interrupts Ragatha.)
Jax: We could be assertive. Like this! (Grabs Pomni and throws her out)
Pomni: Hey! (Screams)
Ragatha: (Annoyed) Jax!
(The two trucks move apart, stretching Pomni's arms.)
Jax: Ah, that's perfect! Just hold that pose. I gotta get something.
Pomni: Jax, you 📷.
Jax: You know, I swear there was some kind of bazooka back here, but (Scoffs) I'm having such trouble finding it.
(Kinger appears next to Jax, holding a life buoy.)
Kinger: Pomni, take this! (Throws the buoy)
Pomni: Egh...
(Jax finds the bazooka and points it at Pomni.)
Jax: Here it is. All right, Pomni, you just stay like that, and I'll cross over you.
Pomni: Are you kidding me?! (Finger slips) Ow!
Jax: Nice going, Pomni- now I have no bridge.
Unknown (Max or Chad): Ah-hah! Gotcha! (Trying to grab Pomni) Me arms aren't long enou- Whoa!
(The camera cuts to Gummigoo and the other gummy bandit driving the truck.)
Gummigoo: This lot's trouble. Let's see how their rig does on those rocks around there.
Unknown (Max or Chad): Me arms aren't short enough to shift the gear.
(Gummigoo shifts the gear himself and the camera cuts to Jax.)
Jax: Ooh, now we're cookin'! Hey! Ribbons! Up and at 'em!
Gangle: I don't think we-
Jax: (Annoyed) Aren't you supposed to be submissive and agreeable? Move it!
(The truck shakes around causing everyone except Jax to go flying around.)
(The camera cuts to the other truck.)
Gummigoo: (Pokes head out window) Oh, these fellas just don't know when to quit, do they? (Notices gummy bandit in the back.) Hey! Quit muckin' about and get back up here!
Unknown (Max or Chad): Oh, yeah. Right.
(The camera cuts to Ragatha and Jax who both haves knives in their heads.)
Ragatha: (Groans) Everyone all right?
Kinger: Can you repeat the question? I couldn't hear you over the knives.
Jax: Hey, Gangle. You should ram into 'em.
Gangle: (Confused) What?
Ragatha: You should NOT ram them! Pomni's still on board! (Gets pushed by Jax)
Jax: Do it. It'll be epic.
Ragatha: (Muffled) Why are there so many knives back here?!
Jax: Do it, or I'll tell Ragatha about the figurine thing.
Gangle: Guh! (Laughs nervously)
(The camera cuts to Pomni still holding onto the truck as it gets rammed.)
Pomni: (Scared) Are you guys trying to 📷 kill me?!
(The camera cuts to the inside of the truck Pomni is on.)
Gummigoo: These guys are whack jobs! Let's give them some of this.
(Gummigoo pulls a lever which causes spikes to appear on the truck.)
Jax: (Disappointed) Aww, no more ramming? Guess I HAVE to tell Ragatha about the thing now.
Gangle: What?!
Unknown (Max or Chad): Oh. You're still up here.
Pomni: Guuuuuuys?
Kinger: Pomni, take this!
(Kinger throws a ship anchor over the truck.)
Jax: Uh, hey, Kinger, is that rope attached to anything?
Kinger: Uhhhh. I don't know. Let me check. (Goes back in)
(The anchor stops and forces the two trucks side by side as the truck Jax is on gets thrown off the cliff.)
Gangle: (Pokes head out) W-W-What? Wha?
Jax: (Annoyed) I blame YOU for this.
(The truck hits the fudge.)
(The camera cuts to Pomni on the other truck and it hits a slope, causing it to noclip under of the map.)
Pomni: (Screams)
Gummigoo: (Grunts)

Scene 6

(The scene fades to Gummigoo and Pomni falling out of bounds.)
Gummigoo: (Screaming) Oog! Ack! (Grunts) (Wailing) OHHHH, NO!!!
(Gummigoo hits the floor.)
Gummigoo: (Echoing) Lads? (Walking down the hallways) Hello? Anyone?
(Gummigoo finds a room full of models of the NPCs and sees himself.)
Gummigoo: Huh? (Walks up to it) Uh... (Gasps)
(The camera cuts to Pomni falling.)
Pomni: Guh! (Wails) (Grunts) Huh?
Gummigoo: Where are we? W-What's all this?
Pomni: (Confused) I-I don't know. W-We're somewhere under the map, I think.
Gummigoo: "Map"? (Confused) Why aren't you or any of your crew up here?
Pomni: I-I'm not sure. Be- Because we're not, uh, NPCs?
Gummigoo: (Confused) "NPCs"? What are you on about? What are you people? (Looks at himself) What am I? Where's Mum?
Pomni: (Shocked) Y-You have a mom?
Gummigoo: Shouldn't she be here with everyone else? (Shakily) I can't even remember her face. Did she ever have a face? Was anything ever real?
Pomni: Okay, w-w-wait. (Trying to calm him down) Don't- Don't think about that. I-I-I think there... must be a way to launch ourselves back up. Right?
Gummigoo: (Hyperventilating) I want you to tell me exactly what I am.

Scene 7

(The scene cuts to where the truck fell into the river.)
Ragatha: (Groans) Is everybody okay?
Gangle: No... (Puts head down)
Ragatha: Oh, man. Poor Pomni. I hope she's all right.
Jax: "Poor Pomni"? How about "poor us"? We're one tanker away from being Augustus Glooped!
(The Fudge appears out of the fudge.)
The Fudge: (Groaning) Oh, what's that? Do my eyes deceive me? A delicious gift from within the kingdom gates? Don't mind if I do. (Picks up truck)
Ragatha: (Scared) Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy! We're not food! We're not candy! We're none of that! You don't want to eat us!
The Fudge: Wh- You're not candy? How am I expected to eat something that's not made of candy? I'm sorry. (Sad and puts them down)
Kinger: Pomni always seems to miss the big, gloopy monsters.
Jax: Who are you, anyway?
The Fudge: I am the Fudge. I used to live within the kingdom walls, but I was banished by that rotten princess after I ate too many of the delicious townfolk. Oh, they were so delicious. Sometimes I can hear them... calling to me. (Townsfolk screaming)
Ragatha: Oh, God. That just sounds like murder.
The Fudge: Is it really murder if it's delicious? Answer me that.
Jax: You make a great point.
Ragatha: (Worried) Uh, no, bad point!
Jax: Why don't you leave this to me before I start thinking your hair looks like licorice?
Ragatha: Jax!
Kinger: Oh, wow, it kind of does.
Ragatha: Stop!
Jax: Well, Mr. Fudge, you seem like an upstanding guy with real noble goals.
The Fudge: Oh, I'm not. If you knew what I did in my free time- Oh, you'd be SICKENED!
Jax: (Clears throat) As I was saying. I happen to know a way into the kingdom walls if you'd be willing to help us out in return.
(Jax pulls out the key that Ragatha had.)
Ragatha: Hey, when did you-
Jax: Shut up, licorice hair.
Kinger: Here, hide it with this. (Puts bucket on Ragatha)
The Fudge: Oh, you must be some kind of master of unlocking things, come to free me from my outdoor prison.
Jax: That's me. All we need you to do is help us bring some dirty bandits to justice.
(Another truck falls into the fudge.)
Unknown (Max or Chad) I saw the reaper wink at me...
Ragatha: Wait, w-w-what just happened?

1. The Stew Crew really amped up the exploitation this week. We saw Layla asleep with no top on, Zade in a diaper and both were in swimsuits throughout the week. Several times Carlin just hands the phone to Layla so she can record content. Twice Layla, at 4 years old, describes their Tesla. Zade’s schtick is to be a golf prodigy. If you think golf is boring… just imagine watching a 2 year old whack at the air and occasionally tip the ball. Carlin and Evan are planning to sell official Stew Crew merchandise so look for that at your local Goodwill very soon and I also think they must be hiding their new pool build. They rolled out an eye color reel that several hundred people thought was a pregnancy announcement. The comments immediately started about Carlin’s health so I hope they are prepared to be pestered to death whenever she announces paycheck #3.
   
2. Travis and Katie got an apartment full of sponsored furniture and a ginormous mirror leaning against the wall that is not at all dangerous. Travis showed a Capitol Records sign so they did let him in the building but he didn’t stay long and was back in time to hang out at the apartment pool on a random Tuesday and keep Katie’s IG humming along with recycled content. Before bragging about the furniture Katie debuted her new Hyundai SUV. Some type of sponsorship must be in play because they talked and talked about the safety ratings, the warranty and other boring stuff that normal young 20somethings don’t give a rip about. These 2 will be selling sponsorship space on Hailey’s bumper car soon. Katie will sell her soul if it keeps her from returning to Jersey.
   
3. Josie got rid of all of her flea market jewelry because it doesn’t fit her aesthetic. She only has time for hair and makeup so expect her to debut her own line of hair products soon enough. She continued to show up with the pool noodle in her head and spent a ton of time with her latest BFF McKayla. There was a brief moment of realness when you hear her Tennessee accent as she talks to her friend, but otherwise it was another week of Trad Wife for Josie. In case you think she is a different person… over on Jessa Sewald’s page, Josie commented hearts and love on a video of Ben reading a scary fire and brimstone Bible story. She’s still Gil’s daughter.
   
4. Trace and Lydia must be getting social media tips from Alyssa bc all week they showed dumbbells and pickleball and a baby in a stroller. Rinse and repeat. They did end the week by letting us all know that Lydia is about ten times more interesting than the dullard she is married to and has lived about ten times more life than he could ever dream of. He gazed off into the distance while she talked and tried not to drool.
   
5. Where in the world is Alyssa Webster?? After weeks of giving us nothing… suddenly she really IS giving us nothing. She hasn’t uploaded part 2 of their grand adventure and hasn’t shown even ONE cup of coffee all week. She did manage to get a video of the girls with cute braids… well except for Allie… Allie’s braid sucked and ruined Alyssa’s perfect plan. Today she is back to showing off her 89 year old baby boy in his bow tie and wing tips and saying riveting things like “I die”. Also, she let us all know that she went to the farm, too. They wore crushed velvet and Erin better shut up saying she is the favorite.
   
6. It was Whitney and Zach’s turn to head to the farm this week. Before the trip they showed up for another Sunday at Clear Springs Baptist. Zach was front and center at BSB for meetings so clearly fast fashion brings in more money than real estate. Over in his Bates Kitchen he grossed out barbecue fans by turning a roast beef into shredded meat and pretending it was pork barbecue. He assaulted that chuck roast, drowned it in mustard and all the while gave his best Gil Bates sermon about “getting you a good wife”. After getting eaten up in the comments he did say he planned to bring in a professional chef to help him out. That’s real good news because the man has got to move on from mayonnaise and mustard.
   
7. It was Erin’s birthday and that made Chad Paine angry, apparently. He showed up in a hostage video to tell everyone that Erin is very good at laundry and work. Erin herself gave a quick glimpse of their trip to the farm and let everyone know that Tori and Bobby were there. We must have imagined that Tori is pregnant. JaneJane herself thanked Erin for cleaning her house. Obviously none of the other slackers do anything when they are there. In other news Erin’s construction paper prayer card thingys are here and she featured reviews from the 4 women who bought them.
   
8. Lawson and Tiffy shuffled stuff around from the guest room to the garage. While doing this we saw that he has an enormous amount of LB merchandise. They packed away all of the mailing supplies bc no one has ordered anything since stamps were 52 cents. Tiffy is terrified of Duke. Lawson struggled to dig a hole and plant a fruit tree and bragged that the video would be out in time for people to actually give him advice on the trees. They had their baby shower outside at a park and it was a bee theme. What IS it with her and dang bees?? Later while featuring a baby product she told everyone the color she picked… baby blue… Lawson put out another reel where he talksings about old glory, dirt roads, and a man’s word.
   
9. Brandon and Michael went back to the old home movies this week while featuring the zoo. She showed herself pre-cult with Poppa Bill and JaneJane. Then Brandon took everyone to school by listing out animal facts. Finally they exploited the Smith kids at the actual zoo. This was way better than Brandon’s scary magic marker Bible stories. But it still won’t get the views any mention of infertility rakes in for them.
   
10. Bits and Bytes… Warden and Ellie visited Clear Springs Baptist with the other cool kids. Ellie also showed up at dinner with the hot girls click of Katie, Whitney and Carlin. Run Ellie… they only want you for the Aunt-momming. Warden went golfing with Evan and there was an unidentified female voice with him. Carlin praised the preacher’s wife for putting on a Women’s Tea. Almost everyone was present for the baby shower… including James Duggar. Who are The Petersens? Apparently, that’s who Trav has been writing with? Gil and his white tennies showed up in Carlins story but no Kelly Jo sightings this week.
    

Have a great week friends and remember… the Lord’s supper is not an all you can eat buffet.

1. The Stew Crew really amped up the exploitation this week. We saw Layla asleep with no top on, Zade in a diaper and both were in swimsuits throughout the week. Several times Carlin just hands the phone to Layla so she can record content. Twice Layla, at 4 years old, describes their Tesla. Zade’s schtick is to be a golf prodigy. If you think golf is boring… just imagine watching a 2 year old whack at the air and occasionally tip the ball. Carlin and Evan are planning to sell official Stew Crew merchandise so look for that at your local Goodwill very soon and I also think they must be hiding their new pool build. They rolled out an eye color reel that several hundred people thought was a pregnancy announcement. The comments immediately started about Carlin’s health so I hope they are prepared to be pestered to death whenever she announces paycheck #3.
   
2. Travis and Katie got an apartment full of sponsored furniture and a ginormous mirror leaning against the wall that is not at all dangerous. Travis showed a Capitol Records sign so they did let him in the building but he didn’t stay long and was back in time to hang out at the apartment pool on a random Tuesday and keep Katie’s IG humming along with recycled content. Before bragging about the furniture Katie debuted her new Hyundai SUV. Some type of sponsorship must be in play because they talked and talked about the safety ratings, the warranty and other boring stuff that normal young 20somethings don’t give a rip about. These 2 will be selling sponsorship space on Hailey’s bumper car soon. Katie will sell her soul if it keeps her from returning to Jersey.
   
3. Josie got rid of all of her flea market jewelry because it doesn’t fit her aesthetic. She only has time for hair and makeup so expect her to debut her own line of hair products soon enough. She continued to show up with the pool noodle in her head and spent a ton of time with her latest BFF McKayla. There was a brief moment of realness when you hear her Tennessee accent as she talks to her friend, but otherwise it was another week of Trad Wife for Josie. In case you think she is a different person… over on Jessa Sewald’s page, Josie commented hearts and love on a video of Ben reading a scary fire and brimstone Bible story. She’s still Gil’s daughter.
   
4. Trace and Lydia must be getting social media tips from Alyssa bc all week they showed dumbbells and pickleball and a baby in a stroller. Rinse and repeat. They did end the week by letting us all know that Lydia is about ten times more interesting than the dullard she is married to and has lived about ten times more life than he could ever dream of. He gazed off into the distance while she talked and tried not to drool.
   
5. Where in the world is Alyssa Webster?? After weeks of giving us nothing… suddenly she really IS giving us nothing. She hasn’t uploaded part 2 of their grand adventure and hasn’t shown even ONE cup of coffee all week. She did manage to get a video of the girls with cute braids… well except for Allie… Allie’s braid sucked and ruined Alyssa’s perfect plan. Today she is back to showing off her 89 year old baby boy in his bow tie and wing tips and saying riveting things like “I die”. Also, she let us all know that she went to the farm, too. They wore crushed velvet and Erin better shut up saying she is the favorite.
   
6. It was Whitney and Zach’s turn to head to the farm this week. Before the trip they showed up for another Sunday at Clear Springs Baptist. Zach was front and center at BSB for meetings so clearly fast fashion brings in more money than real estate. Over in his Bates Kitchen he grossed out barbecue fans by turning a roast beef into shredded meat and pretending it was pork barbecue. He assaulted that chuck roast, drowned it in mustard and all the while gave his best Gil Bates sermon about “getting you a good wife”. After getting eaten up in the comments he did say he planned to bring in a professional chef to help him out. That’s real good news because the man has got to move on from mayonnaise and mustard.
   
7. It was Erin’s birthday and that made Chad Paine angry, apparently. He showed up in a hostage video to tell everyone that Erin is very good at laundry and work. Erin herself gave a quick glimpse of their trip to the farm and let everyone know that Tori and Bobby were there. We must have imagined that Tori is pregnant. JaneJane herself thanked Erin for cleaning her house. Obviously none of the other slackers do anything when they are there. In other news Erin’s construction paper prayer card thingys are here and she featured reviews from the 4 women who bought them.
   
8. Lawson and Tiffy shuffled stuff around from the guest room to the garage. While doing this we saw that he has an enormous amount of LB merchandise. They packed away all of the mailing supplies bc no one has ordered anything since stamps were 52 cents. Tiffy is terrified of Duke. Lawson struggled to dig a hole and plant a fruit tree and bragged that the video would be out in time for people to actually give him advice on the trees. They had their baby shower outside at a park and it was a bee theme. What IS it with her and dang bees?? Later while featuring a baby product she told everyone the color she picked… baby blue… Lawson put out another reel where he talksings about old glory, dirt roads, and a man’s word.
   
9. Brandon and Michael went back to the old home movies this week while featuring the zoo. She showed herself pre-cult with Poppa Bill and JaneJane. Then Brandon took everyone to school by listing out animal facts. Finally they exploited the Smith kids at the actual zoo. This was way better than Brandon’s scary magic marker Bible stories. But it still won’t get the views any mention of infertility rakes in for them.
   
10. Bits and Bytes… Warden and Ellie visited Clear Springs Baptist with the other cool kids. Ellie also showed up at dinner with the hot girls click of Katie, Whitney and Carlin. Run Ellie… they only want you for the Aunt-momming. Warden went golfing with Evan and there was an unidentified female voice with him. Carlin praised the preacher’s wife for putting on a Women’s Tea. Almost everyone was present for the baby shower… including James Duggar. Who are The Petersens? Apparently, that’s who Trav has been writing with? Gil and his white tennies showed up in Carlins story but no Kelly Jo sightings this week.
    

Have a great week friends and remember… the Lord’s supper is not an all you can eat buffet.

Tier List: https://imgur.com/a/psuaYFU
Holy fucking frijoles, the instrumental track here is the most gloriously epic one they've concocted up until this battle. It's crazy that what is by far their most chills-inducing music track thus far was made for the battle between two celebrity chefs. Between that and them going all-out on the visuals, this battle probably has better presentation than any other rap battle up until this point. Hell, this one's probably got better presentation than any battle to this day. Also dig the opening starting off with the shots of food.
Gordon Ramsay starts off finishing filming on some show before addressing Julia Child. I dig the visuals here emphasizing what a huge star Gordon Ramsay is, really sells his credibility as the celebrity chef. "Welcome to the grown-ups' table, I've got exactly two minutes and you should be grateful" is delightfully condescending. I like the visuals parodying Gordon's immense propensity to spawn television shows. People I've watched this IRL have expressed that the visuals were trying too hard and they just wanted the normal background effects these battles usually have; I'd agree if his entire verse were like this, but he slips comfortably back into something more traditional right after. But even that more traditional look still has some fantastic flair with these juxtaposed kitchen sets. "I'm a seasoned skillet, you're a Pam-sprayed pan" is a decent way of contrasting Ramsay's serious, skilled approach to cooking with Child's more amateurish, folksy style. "I've got Michelin stars, you're like the Michelin man" is indicative of a critical overarching flaw with Gordon's verses. You see, it always bothered me that Gordon makes so many fat jokes at Julia's expense when the actress they got to play her isn't even remotely fat. It keeps them from landing; it left me wishing they either put her in fat makeup or got a larger woman to play her, to more accurately represent Julia Child's supposed fatness. EXCEPT... Julia Child was never even fat to begin with! All the pictures I can find of her from over her life, she looks like she's in pretty fucking good shape! Maybe she looked a little less in-shape when she was a fucking 90-year-old woman, but I'd still struggle to consider her fat at all, let alone for a 90-year-old. So Gordon's making a fat joke at the expense of someone who is no worse shape than he is. What? Huh? That doesn't make any sense. Points deducted, Gordon. Anyway... I love the line delivery on "rolling in dough"... something about it is just so satisfying. "I'm shitting on you like I'm whack flows intolerant"... I could go either way on this line. I can understand viewing it as a lame, corny attempt at wordplay, and I could understand viewing it as legitimately funny and a nice little jab. I'd say the buildup of the music really helps sell it and ends up putting me in the latter camp.
Julia Child's first verse can be divided into two sections: the part before "go on and cross your arms in that B-boy stance" and the part that comes after it. Pretty much everything that comes before is pure, unadulterated bloat. Padding. Filler. It's not clever or interesting, you're just stuck sitting through a big block of boredom as you wait to get to the actual good stuff. Butter loving queen of the Bourguignon buff? Yeah, sure. Concrete, bomb beats, pommes frites, mom's teets. Okay, whatever. "I served America dutifully and I slice lard beautifully; I reign supreme from shark repellant to charcuterie"... so, apparently 'I served America dutifully' is referencing the fact that Julia Child was a top secret researcher in the organization that predated the CIA. That's actually pretty cool and interesting, it probably could have made for a worthwhile boast if they didn't have her refer to it in the most brief and vague manner possible. I also feel like the shark repellant line could have been delivered better; as-is it's just another listless reference to something from her history that really should have been executed better. Fortunately, things do turn around for Julia despite that initial block of bloat. I appreciate her calling Gordon out for being a poser with "Go on and cross your arms in that B-boy stance". Going after Ramsay for cursing too much isn't a strong dig, but the way that line manages to tie in a reference to Ramsay's old show The F-Word while referencing her own(The French Chef) to contrast them... that's pretty clever. That whole "Take a poor abused youth, set a thirty-year timer... Voila! Huge douche!" bit is the funniest fucking part of the entire rap battle, it's a laugh-out-loud funny diss. Delivering epic ownage unto Gordon Ramsay in the form of going over a recipe is too good. "Namby pamby candy-ass pansy, Gordon Ramsay" is good wordplay with some nice flow. "You couldn't rap your way out of a pastry bag" is alright. Julia's closer isn't a particularly great diss, but I do like the way she contrasts her persona with his.
"I'm glad you got that off your giant flabby chest." Sigh. Julia child is not fat; neither the actress playing her, nor the real-life Julia Child. She was in decent shape, seemingly no worse shape than Gordon Ramsay, so making a fat joke at her expense makes no sense. Points deducted from Ramsay. "I'd call you a donkey, but you look more like Shrek." ...Okay, AGAIN, Julia child was not overweight, these fat jokes make no sense, gonna have to say this failure of a fat joke only hurts Gordon's performance. The Iron Man chef and fine red wine lines are whatever. I do like "regurgitating French plates like a glorified translator", that's a nice, substantive attack on Child's cooking that comes equipped with some clever wordplay. Then Ramsay calls in the Blue Team, which apparently are cameos from the actual people from Hell's Kitchen. Pretty neat, I like the visual of them scramblign around the kitchen behind Ramsay. "One part Big Bird two parts Miss Piggy"... Julia Child was not fat. She's not even fatter than Gordon Ramsay. Making fat jokes at her expense does not make any sense. Points deducted from Gordon Ramsay. Also, I have to question the value of trying to make fun of her height with that 'Big Bird' jab... being tall is generally seen as a good thing, no? Being short is what's considered worth mocking. "You can't test me with your fatty recipes; call your book Mastering the Art of Heart Disease"... okay. Thank you. Attacking her cooking for being way too fatty is legitimate. That's what he should have been doing in place of all these jokes about Julia Child being fat when she is self-evidently not fat. Most of the lines Gordon delivers during this final climax sequence are fairly unremarkable, though I really like the "Yes, Chef!" "No, Chef!" interjections from the Blue Team, that's a great touch. The bit at the end with the jacket unfortunately doesn't quite land; it could have been really funny if Julia grabbed the jacket and he snatched it back, or if she made to grab it and he yanked it back out of reach, but instead he just holds it in the air for a few seconds before yanking it back and it just makes for a really awkward visual that diminishes the power of this closer. Oh well. At least he didn't end it on an umpteenth failed fat joke.
Julia Child continues the structure of her first verse, what with having a weak opening bit with a lot of filler before getting to the good stuff. The Sous Vide is whatever, the Yelp line is kind of a groaner. But then the music starts ramping up and she throws decent a jab at Ramsay's hair before then going on to deliver the other super devastating blow in this battle: "you scream at women but the fits that you're pitching, make you the pissiest bitch in the kitchen" is so good. She completely turns Ramsay's entire shtick around on him and makes him the clown rather than all the chefs he's always screaming at. This part never fails to get the strongest reaction when watching this battle with people. Love the visual of her using that pepper crank too. She does unfortunately follow this up with some padding, and the "Eat a dick! Bon appetit" closing line is pretty weak.
This is a solid battle. As far as the presentation goes, they really pulled out all the stops for this one, and it shows. It's just unfortunate that the writing here isn't anywhere near that level. Ramsay's verses are held back by his continued insistence on making jokes about the supposed immense weight of a person who isn't even overweight, Child's verses are held back by how much... dare I say... fat is surrounding the portions of her verse that have substance. I'm going to put this one near the top of B Tier, below Al Capone v. Blackbeard but above Hitler v. Vader 2. Perhaps all the criticism I've levied makes it seem like it should rank lower, but I can't stress enough just how fantastic the presentation here is, really does a lot to carry this one. The music especially helps compensate for the weaker lines and still keep me interested in listening. It's just a shame this one isn't quite worthy of A Tier.
Ultimately I think Julia Child took this one, and it's not all that close. Her verses had a lot of bloat, but she also had both of what I would consider to be this battle's big fatal blows in the lines about Gordon's bitchy behavior in the first and second verses. And Gordon is actively harming himself by trying to make fat jokes work on someone who's skinnier than he is. It seems like most people think Gordon won, and I say that's nonsense. It's gotta just be because real-life Ramsey is so popular.

I won't rewrite everything because it's a lot. If you're brave enough read all my past posts but warning, it's a lot.
My father is in legal trouble now. I think I mentioned that I didn't think he and my mother fully got a divorce. Well guess what? HE DIDN'T sign anything. Meaning his "2nd marriage" to his unknowing affair partner is null and void as they were "married" when he was already married to my mother.
My father had his new soon-to-be wife Giselle reach out to me. I am no lawyer and don't know enough to verify but what I am told is that he took out loans, and got other benefits from their city and state as a married man to a person who was not his legal wife. By the time my mother filed for their marriage to be dissolved due to him not signing divorce papers, he wracked up a lot of debts. She didn't pay them and now that she's gone, he has to.
So I was right, he ("Anakin") wants money.
Giselle asked if I could "spot" him about $30k and he would pay me back over time. I said no. She became upset and begged me as she didn't want to get into a marriage starting with debt. I said that I don't know either of them, that grandfather left money to me to help my future, not give it out.
That's when he nice mask fell and she got very angry. She told me I am a brat, that we are the same age (I am older than her) and I should "act my age not my shoe size" and that family is important. She said "you know I really tried with you but if you're going to be a selfish c*until, then fine." And hung up. Turns out she called my brother straight after and he also turned her down and she said something like "I guess you really aren't his kid" as if to hurt him. But he told me that he kinda took it as a good thing and told her, "No. I'm Selene's" (our mom)
She let drop that our father's "surprise gift" to Aaron was his birth parents. They've moved to Canada and will be attending Anakin and Giselle's wedding. They want to meet him. She was excited to tell him that Anakin has been talking about it saying FINALLY "his real parents can deal with him".
So I told Giselle, in no uncertain terms, that she can take the stick she pulls put my father's ass to whack everyone with right up her own as she is just one of a long line of cheap thrills my father will tire of eventually and I will be blocking the both of them and that 30k he needs? I have half the mind to donate it to the adoption agency Aaron came from so they can afford better screenings of the parents.
Then I said "think about it. He wasn't a good husband to my mother, or his affair partner, and he wasn't a good father to my brother snd I or the siblings you enthusiastically told us about, you expect the same man to be a good husband to you and a good father to your child? You must be fave flavors of stupid." Then I said if she comes to her senses, we will see about getting her help to leave him but until then, never contact us.
Pretty soon after, Aaron and I filed no contact orders for both of them. My half siblings from his 2nd marriage are reaching out on Facebook but I haven't looked at it as I am in a new job and preparing for a move so I frankly have enough on my plate.
Oh fun caviat - we found in grandfather's will that my father only gets what he was allotted if he was still married to mom which he wasn't so he gets NOTHING.
Aaron and I are both still kinda reeling but we're okay. If anything we are closer than ever. He dreads the idea of his birth parents reaching out to him possibly, but is also curious. He said we will "jump the bridge when we come to it"
It's cross that bridge, man 😆
We've been laughing and having a good Sunday brunch with one another and our partners so Giselle and Anakin can kick rocks. I know I sound mean and I don't ever want to be but I mean it with my whole chest.

It all began when I (23, nb) admitted myself into the mental hospital in early febuary. I've been having a major depression phase for the past 6 month and my family and therapists went "Yeah no. Get help". So I did.
And they gotta gotta check if you got anything that might cause depression like symptoms. Here's the timeline:
Wednesday: I get there. Get in my room. Unpack. Stuff like that.
Thursday: They take my blood. I think nothing of it and feel like I always do.
Friday: The doc pulls me aside and goes "So eh. You know you got diabetes? No? Well. You got diabetes, your bloodsugar is pretty high we're gonna start measuring it tomorrow." That was pretty much all the information I got. They told me just to keep eating normally.
Saturday: I wake up. Slept in a little. Hadn't eaten for like 10 hours. They measure my bloodsugar for the first time. The thing beeps. 435 mg/dL. I of course have no clue what that means at this point but the nurses kinda start freaking out. They call the doc and I only hear the nurse say "Wait? What are we supposed to wait for at 435!?" They send me to eat breakfast and I'm supposed to come back 30 minutes after food. Retrospectively I'm guessing the doc was like "Yeah call me when it gets above 500 or something". So I eat, feeling no different then usual, and go back to them 30 minutes after. I now have a bloodsugar of 535. The nurses look at me like I'm about to fall over dead. I ask "So what can happen when it's so high?" They go: "Well legally we, as nurses, are not allowed to explain that stuff to you. But like. Go to bed, lay down. Don't sleep. Let us know if anything changes."
I honestly think it's a little hilarious at this point. People keep asking me if have any other symptoms, like thirst and stuff.
Here's the thing. I have ADHD. Remembering to drink enough is an issue I had all my life, my body just doesn't notify me of that shit. So when 6 month ago, I finally started to recognise my thirst? And actually started to drink like 2 litres a day? Well. I thought that was a fucking success! Turns out nope. That's been my too high bloodsugar. And the times I felt dizzy? I had just chalked that up to. Well I don't move all day (because I'm fucking depressed and had absolutely no drive so I just thought my body was having a crisis sometimes when I started to move and hadn't eaten all day. Wich. Yes but no.
They decide to put me in a Taxi to the hospital. They give me some paper stuff to show the docs there.
And what is the first thing she says to me?
"Why are you only here today?! With the bloodsugar on that bloodtest you should have been here on Thursday?!"
Which is honestly no surprise to me. The doc in my ward was real whack.
So I get admitted to the hospital and they give me insulin and an infusion and I'm chilling there for a week.
During this week, they do the blood test thingy that's supposed to figure out what type I have. Apparently the test will take some time because it's not in house. So they send me home on Thursday. Apparently the test results will be faxed to my family doctor sometime next week.
I now have to race to my family doctor anywas, so she can prescribe me a blood glucose meter. She gives me one they still have at the practice. It comes with 10 of those measuring thingies and I have to go to the drug store to get more the next day.
It's now Friday, a week after getting told I have diabetes. My family doctor calls, they somehow got me an appointment at a diabetologist at 11. So I get there. They call me, take some more blood and I know sit in the doc's office.
She asks me some questions about my symptoms, what has lead up to this point. Wether or not I already know what type I have (I don't). She also asks stuff about my lifestyle and I dare mention that I sometimes drink soda. She immediatly gets this EXTREMLY judgemental look and goes "Hm. Yeah. I think it's type 2." Wich like, even if it was, why are you being such a dick about is Ma'am?? You don't know my life? I'm pretty sure she looked at my gay, green haired, ass and went. Yes. This person drinks nothing but energy drinks and eats only junk food.
We make another appointment for next Tuesday in hopes my test results are in by then. (spoiler alert, they are not).
But! I am in luck! Theres a shop specifically for diabetes stuff in the same building! So I go there to get more of those thingies for testing.
But haha. Of course my family doctor gave me an outdated model so they don't carry any of the stuff for it. They'll order it for me and it's gonna be sent to my place. I get a lil nervous and pray that that means it'll get there the next day at the latest. Because I'm measuring at least 4 times a day at this point. And I'm about to run out.
It is now Saturday again. I have no measuring strips anymore. I'm fucked. I call them. "Hm. No clue who you are the shop hasn't send anything to us yet." Wich probably means I had been at the shop to late on friday and my order will be processed on Monday. Cool. Great.
I'm not panicking at all. Everything is fine. My brain goes into panic mode (and is also a lil pissed for not getting a more common model) and order a one touch on amazon. Assuming, because I'm stupid like that, that I ordered early enough to still get it today. Obviously i realize pretty quickly that this is, in fact, not the case. Cool. It's gonna be here Tuesday. This is of no help and I through moneay out the window.
I still need one of those lil machines for over the weekend tho. It is now 12:00. Most drug stores around me close at 13:00 on saturdays and stay closed on Sundays. I am NOT STRESSED AT ALL.
I'm lucky. The drug store around the corner carries those thingies! I pay an additional 20 bucks or something on it and enough of those strip thingies to last me a while. Success. Or something.
Fast forward to Tuesday! My appointment! I get there. They take more blood. "Yeah so we're doing a test to see what type you have." I tell them the hospital already did that and maybe they already sent the results to my family doctor. They call her. Nothing. They call the hospital.
The hospital has to call them back because they have to go ACTIVELY LOOK FOR MY RESULTS. They call back to have me fax them the permission so they can fax my results to my doctor. We do that.
I wait. I wait some more. I ask if they know what's taking so long. They call the hospital again. The hospital says they already faxed it. They try 5 more times. It doesn't work. But they also obviously can't tell me over the phone because how would they make sure it's actually me? I have now spent 4 hours waiting for nothing at this fucking appointment. My phone died during the first hour. My brain is literally about to self destruct.
It has now been 1.5 weeks of me talking to a bazillion people about diabetes.
I keep telling everyone that asks about my other health thingies that 1. I've been maving a major depressive episode for half a year. 2. I have Psoriasis. 3. My mom has Rheumatoid arthritis. 4. My dad has neurodermatitis.
This is the first time ANYONE mentions that yeah. So. High bloodsugar can actually perpetuate symptoms of depression because it make's you tired.
And oh btw. The fact that autoimmune diseases run in your family might be an indicator for type 1 because those like to pop up together.
I am genuinly baffled how everyone was like. "Gee, we would love to make an educated guess as to what type you have but it really could go either way. You're also a bit old for type 1 aren't you?"
Another fun thing I get told at this appointment: "What? You're planning to go back to the mental hospital? Hm. Maybe wait until we got u properly set up with your diabetes stuff."
Girly pop. If I don't go back to the mental hospital in the next week we don't even have to make another appointment ever again if you catch my drift. How about no??
I got another bed in the psych ward 2 days later. Getting my actual diagnoses took 3 more weeks. And the doctor I first talked to at the practice still wen't "Hm. But you're the one who only drank soda right?"
I'm fighting with my insurance to this day about getting my sensor.
I have also been told that someone was sure they could cure me if I just did their breathing excersises for my pancreas. That person was a physical therapist at the mental hospital. Please tell me this is not something I commonly have to deal with. Who the fuck goes "Yes! I, someone who didn't even know there were different types of diabetes, can heal you cronic autoimmune disease with breathing!" Like. I was used to people trying to reccomend me weird creme's for my skin without me asking but wtf. Didn't expect that to happen with diabetes for some reason?
I lost a lot of trust in the medical system in the past 2 month and do not understand in the slightest why it so heavily relies on faxing for communication.
But hey, I was already able to use low bloodsugar as an excuse not to go to a boring and uncomfortable family thing once so.. I guess it isn't all bad?
(My mental health is also looking up, I'm fuled by spite and antidepressants)

Link to previous update: https://www.reddit.com/Mommit/s/TaJfEbJO2J
Summary of past events: Discovered by pure accident my husband was sexting with an old f*** buddy, who he had used to cheat on his ex-wife with. (There was a gap in time from our first ish date together until the recent past when he reached out to her again, and they just kinda picked up where they left off years ago). He had stayed friends with her on fb, lied to me repeatedly thru the years about who she was, etc.
Current:
We've been going to marriage counseling. He's been all "so sorry", "I made such a huge mistake", blah blah blah. So I decided to try my absolute best to forgive him and work thru it.
The first 2 weeks of this I kept discovering porn on his phone. It was a discussion and agreement we made when we first got together and the details of why probably aren't that important to the story. The main thing is we agreed porn is a no no in the relationship.
The first 2 weeks I kept finding porn. It was like playing whack a mole. I'd see it on fb, I'd confront him about it, he'd apologize and delete fb, then a couple days later I'd find it on a different social media. Rinse and repeat until I confronted him about it with marriage counselor.
Anyways, I've been sick the last couple days so I was home watching Netflix, blowing my nose, and drinking hot tea. Mid episode of Suits I get this 10 out of 10 massive and sharp pain in the upper left part of my chest.
Definitely felt like I was going to die. I'd be the girl who died from watching Netflix. What a way to go.
After what felt like an eternity the pain let up enough where I could focus enough to reach my phone. Call 911 and wobbled my way to unlock the front door before I collapsed directly infront of the door.
In the ambulance I text husband to tell him I had severe chest pain, and was currently in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.
Fast forward 20 mins, they have me settled and pain has lessened substantially. BP was still super crazy high but felt more confident I'd live to see the next day at this point.
Everyone's asking me if I have any stressor in life. Well yeah. Just caught my husband cheating on me a little over a month ago.
Nurse asks me if anyone will be coming. I tell her my husband as I assumed he'd be on his way and almost there by that point.
She leaves the room so I call him only to realize he's still at work.
Now to be clear, he is not a world class surgeon, or in a field where someone will die if he leaves work unexpectedly for an emergency. I used to work at the same place and had he breathed a word about me being taken to the hospital in an ambulance all of the supervisors there would have pushed him out the door and even clocked him out so he could get to me faster.
He chose not to tell anyone. Just went on with his day like nothing else was happening.
So when I learned he was still at work I told him don't worry and I'd have my mom come. So I called mom, who left work early and came to sit with me and drive me home after.
When I got home he bombarded me with apologies. Like dude I don't want to hear your apologies. You chose work over your wife. You chose an old f buddy over your wife.
To be honest I kinda wish I wasn't surrounded by anti divorce people. I really don't know how much more of this I can take. I'm just so so so tired and over it.