Pictures of pouplar dog haircuts

Lately I’ve been getting some great tips and just wanted to share how I think I’ve managed to sway over some home owners. Following this has led to me having over 100 reviews ALL 5 star
Before the appointment
I schedule most of my routes starting at 7. So I’ll text at 6:30 letting them know I’ll be ready and on time
“Hey this is Carnell with ___window cleaning just letting you know I’ll be there 7 a.m sharp”
This puts them at ease because most people are used to dealing with contractors who don’t show up on time or at all
Always show up 5 minutes early and text that you’re there. You won’t believe how many times I get thanks for being early because they expect you to show up hours late
During the appointment
ALWAYS send before and after photos of the work you’re doing after you finish the first few windows. No more then 1 hr into the work they should have a set of photos and a TikTok video or whatever you a use.
This shows multiple things

1. You’re working and your work is noticeable and actionable
   
2. Whenever your on your phone if they happen to see you could be taking photos or examining work. It’s less of a chance of them thinking you’re in there just to be on there
   
3. Keeps them updated. You’re a stranger going inside and out of their property and house. They don’t know you. I find this takes some of the apprehension out of hiring a complete stranger
   

ALWAYS ask for a drink like water or Gatorade and even a bite to eat.
Remember you’re selling yourself not window cleaning 🫡
This makes you more personable more real, and at least here in Fl where the heat index is 100+ people feel helpful when you do this. Especially older people. It sounds odd to ask for food but 9/10 times the customer is actually DELIGHTED when I ask for a sandwich or some spaghetti tie
Always play with their animals. Whether it be a dog or cow or cat or baby pig 🐽always point out, play with, and ask if they have any treat you can give them
This moves MOUNTAINS
Post Clean
When you’re wrapping up always send your final before and after pictures. This could be from the roof or the back of the house or wherever.
I usually do this when I clean the screens at the end before I clean or before I put them back on the windows
Wrapping up goes with this after payment
“I’m going to send you a copy of your receipt to your phone and email. Can you also leave a 5 star review ⭐️ on Google and Facebook? It’s really important as it helps others find me and Google and Facebook take those reviews VERY seriously
Awards you send a copy of their receipt AND the link to both your Facebook and Google page.
I find that walking them through a Facebook review helps because older people often don’t know to go to “recommended” to leave a reviews. Don’t forget to thank them for the tip (if you got one)
Here’s my my text looks: “I sent you a copy of your receipt :)
If at possible could you leave me a 5 star review on Google and Facebook They take those reviews SUPER seriously and it would be a big help
Here is the direct link to my Google page
And you already have my Facebook! lol
To leave a Facebook review it’s called a “recommendation “
You go to where it says 33 reviews > and then click it > then it will ask if you recommend me
Thanks for the tip btw! 😊🙏🏽💯”
Do this and watch the $$$ roll in.

Long story short, I live with my Dad in a condo, we have an association and by-laws here. My Dad got into a fight with my neighbor a couple months ago, and called him a f*g (who is a openly gay male) and the neighbor called the police on my dad and he was arrested for disorderly conduct. Since this has happened the neighbored filed a no contact order and calls the police on us constantly, we have had 3 sound complaints (2 in which we were sleeping at the time when the officer knocked on our door and woke us up, asked if we have problems with the neighbor downstairs, which we replied yes and they left without incident. 1 time we were watching the TV late at night and a officer warned us if we don't turn it down he we would issue us tickets. The neighbor has also complained on 4 separate occasions that my dog relives himself on my deck (we live on the upper floor, he lives under) both pee and fecal matter, which is impossible as I have always been with the dog that is fully potty trained and 4 years old, I of course know this is a lie because i would of had to clean pee/fecal matter off my deck if it happened. He reported this to my association and they tried to fine me $200 dollars, until I had a hearing and explained the neighbor is lying and asked if he had any evidence such as pictures of any urine/fecal matter, of course their was no evidence.
Can he just keep doing this? I feel like I'm being harassed now, my Dad may of said something inappropriate to offend him, so i see why hes doing this, but I had nothing to do with that argument and hes going after me and my dog. Its obvious hes trying to get us kicked out, and he constantly obstructs my front door to my condo, he sits outside all day and plants flower with his mother sitting right outside the front entrance. Its impossible to avoid him, and I believe he will keep calling the police on me and my dad any time we watch a movie or such. Is their anything i can do?
edit: also if he followed a no contact order isn't part of that order to refrain from physical presence? If he is constantly planting flowers in front of our condo door how is it possible for my father to avoid physical presence?

Just a friendly reminder that you can end sessions with abusive students and block them. Pictures showing up in chat have the ability to embolden racist students. If anyone is abusing you, and that includes using racial slurs, BLOCK THEM and report the session as an honor code violation. And if you feel uncomfortable using your headshot for any reason, you can replace it with something apolitical and non-trademarked that represents you. I hear a lot of cats and dogs work at tutor.com.

Hello, I received an RFE this month for more evidence. To give some background: Filed May 2022 Didn’t get EAD until March 2023
And finally this month May 2024 two years after initial file. I received an RFE. When I first submitted we were just recently married so we didn’t have a lot but now we have more to submit.
I wanted to get suggestions or inputs. My attorney is trying to charge me an ADDITIONAL fee to “prepare and review” my documents that I truly just cannot afford right now. I had already paid so much at the beginning. So I will just submit the evidence myself.
We have tons of pictures, trips, joint tax returns, vet bills addressed to both of us (we don’t have kids just 2 dogs) joint cell phone account, joint bank account.
Does anyone have any experience with this? I want to mail them and upload at as well.

Broadcasting yourself as someone interesting who stands apart from the crowd of neckbeards on Reddit while not coming off as an arrogant tool is a difficult task. I'm not sure if I'm particularly excelling at it with this post, but I'm going to give it a try.
I'm looking for new people to talk to, to have genuine interesting conversation with, to talk games and movies, to trade dog pictures, or just flirt the night away. If you can do all of these, I might just fall in love.
I'm nerdy, flirty, and more than a bit wordy. When I'm not out with my dog exploring nature, I'm probably going on long drives with good music to find a new spot or restaurant. Or maybe I'm at home with a book, a game, a movie marathon.
I work in an Alzheimer's ward so it's basically a rule that you have to be nice to me and keep me company on these long shifts of dementia.
Message me. I'm reasonably sure you won't regret it.

Broadcasting yourself as someone interesting who stands apart from the crowd of neckbeards on Reddit while not coming off as an arrogant tool is a difficult task. I'm not sure if I'm particularly excelling at it with this post, but I'm going to give it a try.
I'm looking for new people to talk to, to have genuine interesting conversation with, to talk games and movies, to trade dog pictures, or just flirt the night away. If you can do all of these, I might just fall in love.
I'm nerdy, flirty, and more than a bit wordy. When I'm not out with my dog exploring nature, I'm probably going on long drives with good music to find a new spot or restaurant. Or maybe I'm at home with a book, a game, a movie marathon.
I work in an Alzheimer's ward so it's basically a rule that you have to be nice to me and keep me company on these long shifts of dementia.
Message me. I'm reasonably sure you won't regret it.

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

This story is so ridiculous that I just had to share it here. I'll never understand calling someone's pet disgusting because you don't like that type of animal, let alone in someone's own house. If that person has such a "gross" animal as a pet, they probably love that animal as much as they would a cat or a dog.
A little bit of context. I live in an apartment complex on the ninth floor and I have a ton of animals, including pet rats, which I breed with as a hobby that I am very passionate about. I also own a bunch of reptiles, which is an odd combination but I love both equally. Not everyone's cup of tea, I know, but it is immediately clear if you come in that they are well taken care of.
I was looking to rehome one of my ball pythons. When rehoming a reptile, I make sure they go to a good home where they will have as much space and expertise as here, if not more. I found someone with a lot of experience a ton of space for this little guy. This is where the story unfolds.
I welcomed the new owner into my home to pick up the snake, who was a very nice young woman. She was together with an older woman, who I assumed was her mother. Her mom immediately went off about how terrified she was of heights. Not an issue, of course. I am scared of heights and a lot of visitors say that they don't like how high up my house is. I tried to say that I was also scared when I first moved in, but she loudly spoke over me and didn't even look at me. I didn't really think much of it and moved on.
I then opened the door to my living room and the first thing this woman sees is some of my rats. She loudly exclaims that "the house is also filled with vermin". I don't live in an English speaking country, so this is not exactly what she said, but more or less the same. Her tone the whole time was just loud and mean and judgmental. As someone with rats and snakes for pets, I am used to people giving me reactions like this, so instead of getting mad, I tried to tell her I love these animals a lot. She once again didn't listen and spoke over me. This is where normally I would just kick her out, but the daughter seemed very ashamed of her mother and I also just wanted this sale to happen. It's not her fault, after all. Also, considering the mother also owned reptiles, I thought it was very weird that she would respond this way, since she probably knows what it's like when people say this about her own pets.
Anyway, I just ignored the woman and talked with the daughter, who was super sweet the whole time. My guess is that she doesn't bother telling her mother to stop because it probably makes things worse. I also mentioned how I was saving up for a service dog and the mom couldn't help but say "in THIS house?". The daughter scoffed at her comment. I guess she said that because I live in an apartment, but I am always at home and have all the time in the world to walk my dog. Or maybe because my living room was a bit messy when this happened. Either way, it's not for her to judge on so little information. Both me and my boyfriend felt like slamming the door in her face after that comment and I think if she'd made one more comment, I would have. I honestly just felt bad for the daughter.
Luckily they left after that. I got some nice pictures of the snake in his now home and I am happy that he went to a good home. The mother can stay in the car next time, though, lol.

Hello,Tollers community!
First of all, ya'll are the best! Thank you in advance for any help you provide. I'm overwhelmed with this process (first time buying a dog from a breeder) and I've had greater success getting actionable answers from reddit than anywhere else.
Request: I'm in the process of looking for a Duck Tolling Retriever and could use some guidance. Despite extensive research, including using the AKC website and reading countless reviews on Yelp, I'm finding it challenging to determine which breeders are reputable. The information seems very mixed, and I'm hoping to gain insights from your personal experiences.
A bit about my situation:

• I'm willing to invest in a quality breeder and am open to traveling to find the right match (we are in Dallas, TX). I've been using the AKC website as a starting point.
• My family and I are drawn to Tollers because of their intelligence, beauty, and love for water. We have a pool at home, which seems like a perfect play area for a Toller.
• We prefer a medium-sized dog, which makes the Toller (19-21 inches, 35-55 pounds?) an ideal fit.
• I’ve previously considered flat-coated retrievers and golden retrievers, but they are slightly larger than what we're looking for. Also, I'm looking for a dog that is affectionate but can also be independent. Would you say Tollers fit this description?
• A significant concern for us is excessive barking, especially when guests arrive. How do Tollers generally handle such situations?
• I work from home two days a week and am an active runner. I’m hoping to keep up with the Toller’s energy by running together and playing fetch in the pool. Do you think this will be sufficient to keep a Toller happy and healthy?

I would greatly appreciate any advice on selecting a breeder, understanding the breed's behavior, and tips for first-time Toller owners. Thank you in advance for your help!
When/if we welcome a Toller into our home I will, of course, provide all the pictures!
Cheers,
PGC_1985

Sorry for the long post but I need to vent and no one in my life cares enough to listen. I M(23) on paper should be having a great life. I grew up middle class, never missed a meal, was a competitive swimmer (those who swam know it’s an expensive sport), went on vacations and had all my needs taken care of. I graduated college and have very manageable student loans; I work a decent paying job, with great benefits, where I can save a lot for my future because I live at home, I’ve had trouble with my parents in the past, but we have worked through our issues, so it hasn’t been awful. From the outside I have the stereotypical middle-class upbringing, I am very thankful that my parents have provided me with everything and on paper I should be thriving, I work out daily, eat healthy and take my dog on a walk, but I am fucking miserable.
I’ve had depression since I was about 16 and it’s been on/off, in high school it was bad but high school just sucks anyway. When I went to college, I thought things would be different, but I was wrong. I had a good time in college and made good memories, but I was a shell of my former self by the end. I would do anything to help others not feel how I was feeling, which lead to everyone saying they “would do anything for me” or that they “loved” me, it was all a bunch of bullshit, no one cared about be, no one was worried when I would go quiet or not show up to gatherings. My coaches didn’t care either, they belittled me daily, told me I wasn’t good enough or that I need to be more like the better people on the team, they gave up on me when I needed help. I spent months in therapy talking through my problems because of them, a coach who breaks you down to nothing can really mess you up. I quit mid-season of my junior year because I couldn’t take it anymore, I was horribly depressed, I resented everything and everyone. All through high school I was told that I wasn’t good enough, all through college I was told I wasn’t good enough and it brought me to tears daily, who the fuck tells a young kid that they aren’t good enough to succeed????
I thought graduating college would make my life a bit better but boy was I wrong. I got a starter job out of school for a decent company but they never gave me work and the pay was shit, I got told I was doing most things wrong but “they just loved having me”. This job really starting hitting me hard because I was stuck in an office with no windows and couldn’t really go outside and the work was depressing. My depression has been prevalent since my senior year since I lived in a shitty situation with roommates. I was breaking down and couldn’t stop, therapy wasn’t helping, my parents had no idea what was going on and my friends just ignore me when I’m low. For some background my romantical life doesn’t exist, whatever it is women want I just don’t have, I’ve been ghosted countless time and have been told that I’m not a catch. My friends however love telling me about all the women they have been on dates with or had sex with, then they always make fun of my inability to talk to women. I am saying this because I was doing ok for a while and trying to work on myself and manage the job trying to make it better, but I made a stupid choice (yes I know it was my fault and I have no one to blame but myself) and got sexually extorted. Just my luck that the one person who feigned interest in me was just extorting me for money. I lost a good amount over it and was ready to off myself because I couldn’t stop thinking why the fuck did this happen to me, of all people why me? What deity did I piss off so much that they decided to fuck with me like that. They eventually released my pictures but thankfully no one has said anything to me and that was months ago.
Since that incident I have been living in a fugue state where I am so disconnected from reality that I have no idea what is wrong with me. The last time I was truly happy was when I got my dog and he is the only thing that makes me smile anymore, I have no joy or passions, nothing excites me. I’m irritable all the time and just not a joy to be around. I’m constantly told how much money my friends make and how much sex they have and that they have better jobs and how my degree is useless (marketing). I don’t fit in anywhere and my new job is ok, but I have zero work and don’t fit in. I feel useless and feel like I am constantly making the wrong decisions, because I am being told how successful my friends will be compared to myself. Even my therapist ghosted me, and I haven’t been to another one because I don’t have the energy to set up the appointments, I feel like the end of the road is coming quick and am losing hope for anything getting better. I mean who wants a below average looking guy with no hobbies or passions working a middle of the road job? I try doing yoga and meditation daily, but things aren’t getting better, everything that I have dealt with is compounding into one big issue and I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.
Sorry for the long post but venting helped a bit. TLDR I am miserable and things aren’t looking better.

Tried to watch their newest sesh episode and they spent nearly 10 minutes of just chit chatting before going into their topics. The first 10 minutes was just Kendall shitting on Jimmy Kimmel. Then calling him stupid and “Jimmy dog kibble”. I don’t care for talk show hosts and I know many have opinions of both Kimmel and Fallon, whatever. Still, what a negative tone to set right as you start a podcast. I’ll also can’t stress enough how annoying it is that they’re STILL reacting to video clips on a PODCAST. I can’t see what they’re reacting to when I’m driving, and I can hardly hear what’s going on between the video clip playing and then talking over one another trying to react to these clips. I don’t understand why they’re choosing The Sesh to be a pop culture podcast when they don’t put in the time and effort to research their topics (their second newest episode with the Drake and Kendrick drama with little to no research) and one of their cohost not caring about anything Hollywood. All Janelle does is shit on The Office, Taylor Swift, not knowing what Adam Sandler looks like, etc. If that’s what you’re basing you’re podcast off of, you need to put in the work and interest, otherwise, what’s the point? Anytime they react to anything, they’ll always make an exaggerated frustrated face and say “that’s so stupid” or taste testing and reacting to food that they hate, giving the most obnoxious reaction, “Ugh EW that’s disgusting! You like that? How can you like that?” and will drag it on and on for 5-10 minutes. At this point, just get rid of the whole podcast. I’ve lost count as to how many times Kendall will end the podcast with cutting it off and saying she needs to get back to her daughter and take care of her. There’s nothing wrong with being a mom and wanting to be with Holly, but my god, not the way to end the podcast. Making it seem like doing this podcast is such an inconvenience to her and making her being a mother her whole personality. Constantly saying how she has difficulty with Holly with certain things, but both Josh and Kendall have the luxury to hire a nanny. Also, side note, it’s actually crazy how often Kendall has posted pictures of just Holly on her Instagram reels and feed. Even some celebrities know better and will at least only show the back of their child’s head or have an emoji covering their face. Having the job that they do, you’d think they would do better to protect their child’s identity. Too many pedos out there and AI becoming a problem as well. They also go on multiple vacations in a year. They have all these people surrounding them for support whether it’s work or personal, they have their hands mostly free and can’t even pre record when they know they’ll be on vacation. Unfortunately, with more people on their team, it means more responsibilities and theoretically should make work easier for them, but quality has gone down so much within the past year and a half or so. All of their content/podcasts no longer feels like them anymore.

Hey everyone,
I posted over in home security looking for some advice. It was suggested that I post this here as well.
Yesterday, I went out of my house for about an hour and 15 minutes. When I came back I found something super odd in my living room. These cups that had liquid in them and had been on the coffee table were moved to the floor, standing straight up. My husky was home with our other dog but he was in his crate. Given that nothing else fell off of the table and there wasn’t a drop of liquid spilt. Its got to be impossible that she picked up both of these cups, and placed them like this on the floor.
I had accidentally left my back door unlocked and it would have required someone opening or hopping our privacy fence in the back yard. Nothing else in the house was stolen or messed with. Only these cups. This whole situation is incredibly bizarre.
What do you guys think?
Here’s a link to a picture of how I found the cups. https://imgur.com/a/4Oz8ZoH

(I know it's not the main focus in the title but I'd also be super keen to talk to people in the UK, either London or somewhere in England or Scotland around like Edinburgh as there's a near 100% chance I'm moving there this year)
Hi everyone!
My name is Jack, I'm 21 and I'm a recent cyber security and forensics and internetworking and network security graduate, but I hope to go on for a few more years and do post grad studies! (this year my goal is to move to Edinburgh for my masters!)
Hobbies!: For the past few years I've been heavily into formula 1, never missing a race (even the 3 am ones and even worse, the 7 am ones!)
I also enjoy doing photography, I mainly do cars but I have recently started thinking about more landscape/urban photography.
Now for games! My main ones are Destiny 2, and rainbow six siege, (for those wondering my highest rank is diamond 3 (when rank actually meant something lol)), but I haven't been playing them much these days. I play heaps more than that but I can't think of them off the top of my head lol. To try and list some id say project zomboid is one I'm very into as of right now, that and hell divers 2. I really enjoyed elden ring so I want to try more souls like games. Red dead redemption 2 is amazing and my favourite game of all time is probably watch dogs 2.
I love JDM cars and unfortunately haven't been to a car meet in over a year now. My introduction to photography was through cars so if you'd like to see some of my photos do let me know! Most of my part time work went towards getting my dream car so I definitely plan on going to more meets!
As for what I look like I'm 5"11' brown hair that touches my shoulders and never acts normally. I am 75 ish kg and I have brown eyes. That's a basic description of me but if you want a picture that's not an issue.
I'm not really too good at writing these advertisements or making titles or finishing them off so I'll just say if I sound appealing to you or you wanna know more, feel free to shoot me a message! For those in WA I'm down in the Mandurah area but travelling up to Perth isn't an issue for me! And hopefully I see all you Scots later this year!
Thanks for reading! Stay safe people!!

I am upset. My boyfriend has a facebook, and I do not. I do not really know how the facebook "for you" page works. I know that facebook has more graphic things allowed than instagram or tik tok, with is what I have.
I always leave my phone around, he is free to go on it or through it if he wants to. Last night, he was jokingly going on my phone to "expose me" (we were both laughing) and he opened my instagram, and of course everything on it was just fitness, women posting pictures, dogs, and food. I was like go ahead, knock yourself out.
Then he pulls up facebook on his phone and literally one of the FIRST THINGS on his "for you" page or whatever it's called is a girl lying down on a pool floaty with her giant BBL butt and a girl behind her touching it. I was like really?? And he's all like I can't control what is on my "for you" page, and people can tag their posts to end up on the page.
I looked up on google and it says that it is curated to posts that you are interested in. He is adamant that people tag their posts to end up on the for you page, just like on market place if you search for car parts or something sometimes there is a random post of a woman because she tagged her picture. Is this true? Would you believe this?
I've never had any trust issues with him, but it's just hard to believe when google says one thing and he is saying another.

Hey, my name is Remco and i'm a 30 year old guy from the Netherlands. I'm Caucasian, darkblond hair with a small to medium beard. I'm 1.88m, or 6,2ft for those who use the imperial system. I'm chubby/ overweight but working on losing weight. If you'd like I can sent a picture. Personality wise I'm very calm, kind and nice/ friendly. I'm also quite understanding and very loyal. It's also important to know that I'm on the autism spectrum and I've got social anxiety. I'm definitely steadily improving and getting better in social situations, but I still have some problems so I do ask you to be a little patient with me. I also really love animals. While I currently do not have any pets (besides my parents' dog, which I also consider mine), but in the future i'd love to have many.
When it comes to work I don't have a full time job at the moment, but i have been volunteering at the animal ambulance for almost 3 years, a job which i really love and has really helped me grow, and I've just started a part time job which I hope can lead to something more.
As for hobbies I'm a bit of a nerd and a gamer and i love all sorts of nerdy stuff. I also love reading books, and I'm a hobby photographer specializing in nature photography. While I used to go scuba diving and have got my PADI open water certificate I haven't been able to go diving for a while because of my weight, but I hope to pick it up again as soon as possible.
As to who I'm looking for I don't mind your appearance but I do prefer if your age is somewhat close to mine, though I have no predefined limits. I would also really like it if your shared some of my hobbies or interests, as I tend to fall more for introverted and nerdy women. As for location i'd prefer it if you also lived in the Netherlands, or otherwise at least Europe, but I'm open to longer distances as well.