Temple fade haircut pictures

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Didn't expect the amusing typo menu post to cause such a stir 'round these parts but here we are. The main reason I didn't have high hopes for the place is the lack of care in the menu, to me, indicated there was a good chance corners were cut in other areas. Perhaps things like cleanliness, ingredient quality, and flavor might also suffer the same fate as the menu, but I'm willing to give most places at least one chance if not more. I noticed also that literally every picture on their website is fake or just mooched from Google Image searches.
Keeping that in mind, the SO and I went over to East West Pizza in Seaside, formerly a Pizza Hut, then a Straw Hat Pizza, and now the current owners. The first thing that struck us was the complete lack of decor. Place was just empty and dull. Not inviting. The large digital screens that showed the now-infamous menu constantly pulsed transitions, wipes, and fade into itself making the actual ordering process distracting and mildly frustrating. I noticed the different pan sizes on the wall and pointed that out to my SO. The lady behind the counter said, "Ah yes those are leftover from Straw Hat. We don't have a personal size" despite the pan being there.
"Ok," I said, "so maybe take it off the wall?"
Lady glanced at it, then stared at me blankly. I reached towards the Personal Pan size, gesturing like I could remove it. Literally no reaction. Blank stare. I left the pan on the wall. Throwing caution to the wind I ordered a Medium Chicken Curry Pizza, and a side of the MOZZZROLLA STIX. SO went with the Chicken Curry Pasta. Side and pasta came out first, then the pizza shortly after.
Pizza: 3/10. Completely bland. Unable to find any Butter Chicken Sauce. Saving grace was when I encountered a hunk of ginger and my brain said, "oh look! Flavor!" but it was short-lived. The joy in Indian cuisine is found in the intense aromatic spices often toasted up in ghee to make those punchy dishes we love so much. And like, there was a whisper of a hint of those. And from that I can SEE why this has the potential to be a really cool fusion cuisine. But this was just bad. Chicken was dry and flavorless. Crust was doughy and a little bit undercooked. I brought the leftovers home for family to try. My mom took one bite, mad a sad face, and went, "oh. No. No thank you." My brother took ate a slice and said, "Meh. I'll pass." then grabbed his leftovers from Aabha and munched on those.
MOZZROLLA STIX FRIES: 2/10. When they arrived I didn't realize it was going to be a tray half-filled with mozzarella sticks and halfway with french fries. I picked one up and said, "Oh. They're... fleshy." "Fleshy?" SO inquired. I handed her one. "Ah. They're baked. They must not have a fryer."
Fleshy, underbaked mozzarella sticks and limp fries from a frozen bag with literally zero seasoning at all. I requested a shaker of salt to attempt to give it life because goddamn it was just a limp potato stick. And a little cup of Ranch dressing. Did not finish.
Pasta: 6/10. Not my dish but I did try a little and, despite it being a Chicken Curry pasta compared to my Chicken Curry pizza, it was an entirely different flavor profile. Chicken also was moist. She seemed to like it but I am only sort of briefly reviewing the one forkful I had.
Final thoughts are that my fears of a lazy menu being a sign of a lazy restaurant were completely justified. I do not believe the sloppy menu is a tactically-planned maneuver for marketing purposes. As it stands now I would not go back.

So I posted a picture after getting my first haircut and within a day had three message requests. Two from new accounts and one the had "chaser" vibes from comments they had made.
Is this normal? It didn't happen last time I posted a picture so I was surprised. I'd this a problem everywhere or more because of the community? Should I not have made the post? Should I take it down?
Is posting pictures that cant be identified as me still put me more at risk? I mean, more than the post, that for me, contain a lot more personal information.
😬

My hands are trembling to the point where I've had to restart this several times. I'm a guy who doesn't scare easily, but this encounter has me shaking like a hit dog. I'm still sitting in my work truck, trying to work up the courage to step outside again. Worse, I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to tell my boss what happened. I was already on thin ice with him, and this shit might cause me to break through to the freezing water below.
But fuck it, because this was weird.
I install cable for a living. I didn't have dreams of stringing cable when I was a little kid, but my previous life choices left me with few options. In high school, I fell in with the wrong crowd. It started with skipping school, sneaking alcohol at weekend parties, and some petty theft, but it didn't stay that way for long. Soon, I dropped out and dedicated my life to committing robberies to pay for my pill addiction. I wasn't living as much as I was running on a treadmill. I did whatever I could to stay on my feet but constantly felt myself slipping.
My bottom came when I was jumped by two guys who sold me pills. I had bought from them before and trusted them, but the feeling was not mutual. Someone had dimed a buddy of theirs out to the police, and he was looking at real jail time. They assumed it was me and beat me senseless.
I was greeted at the door with a punch to the jaw that sent me reeling. My brain, already addled and slowed by Oxi, was in the middle of putting together what was happening when the next punch caught me in the temple. I collapsed to the ground and covered my neck and face as best as I could. The next few minutes were a flurry of punches, kicks, and stomps. When it was all over, I had a broken jaw, a shattered wrist, several wounds that required fifty total stitches, and a concussion.
That's how I kicked my painkiller addiction.
I can joke now, but the next six months were the hardest in my life. The withdrawals I had were the worst thing I've ever experienced. Having them while I was recuperating from my injuries was a circle of hell I didn't think existed. I wanted to die most days and felt lost in the darkness. But sobriety was the beacon on the horizon. Even during my darkest moments, I could still see the fuzzy spark of white light off in the distance. It kept me going. Six months from my beat-down day, I came out the other side healthier but weaker.
I needed a job but had limited skills. Thankfully, I had a former pill buddy who managed to keep steady employment with the cable company. We always got along, and he called in a few favors and hooked me up. I got hired, but it was a struggle. Not the work, which was easy to learn, but dealing with the public without telling them to fuck off. Worse, was trying to avoid the flood of illegal substances that are around you at all times. Customers will offer you weed or pills for all the channels, or bored co-workers will have something to "make the day pass by." It's a lot to dodge, especially if you're in recovery. Whenever I felt the itch again, I'd feel the scar tissue from my wrist surgery, and the itch would pass.
The last week has been one of those "Shit, is it Friday yet?" weeks that seem to be growing in frequency these days. I don't want to bore you with the details, but needless to say, most nights, I needed to reach out to my sponsor and have them talk me off the ledge. We recently had a turnover at the executive level, and my new boss Rory was a tremendous cock. A rager at levels science hasn't ever seen before. Just the worst dude imaginable.
Part of Rory's new crusade was coming in and firing a bunch of guys. The company called it "checking for redundancies in the labor force," but we all knew what it was. He was picking off two classes of people: high earners and guys with spotty pasts. I was in the latter group and imagined it was just a matter of time before my number got pulled. I was on pins and needles all week. I made sure I was the greatest cable installer you'd ever meet. So far, I was getting high marks but the forced joviality was wearing thin.
It's safe to say my joy had left on a one-way ticket. I have no clue when—or if—she'd return.
Back to this shit. I had just finished up my last job of the day when my work phone started buzzing. I cursed and thought about not answering, but the threat of unemployment loomed too large for me to do that. I picked up and knew from the jump my day was far from over. Denise from dispatch asked if I could cover a job left hanging because of "scheduling conflicts" (see: the original installer had been let go). It was near where I was and was a simple install.
I gritted my teeth and agreed. I liked Denise and knew she was worried about the hammer falling on her, too. She thanked me profusely, and promised to bring me cookies tomorrow. Since she's a hellcat in the kitchen and getting close to a dispatcher never hurts, I said no worries. I hung up, balled up my jacket, and screamed into it. I felt better after that.
981 Maple Street was about five minutes away, but it felt like a world away. Maple Street was at the end of the neighborhood where large swaths of grass fields faded into a thicket of woods. The woods rose up into the foothills until they graduated to mountains. To borrow a phrase from Shel Silverstein, the house resided where the sidewalk ends.
The house, an off-white birdhouse ranch type, was a little run-down but no worse than any of the others that populated this neighborhood. This place had been hit hard by economic times, and property values had plummeted. It was slowly recovering. In five years, this would be a place most current residents wouldn’t be able to afford. The front yard had a large oak tree that looked amazing but had killed the grass under its canopy. The rest of the yard looked well cared for.
I knocked and heard a few voices talking on the other side of the door. It opened, and a man in his late 40s stood there with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. He was tall and thin, save for a middle-aged paunch. His face was starting to crinkle at the edges, but he was southern California middle-aged, which meant he was holding up pretty well. He did look tired, though—the bags under his eyes were full-on steamer trunks.
"You with the cable company?" he asked, knowing I was.
I nodded. "You requested an install, right?"
"Yes, I did. Please, come in."
He opened the door wide, and I walked in. The house was pretty bare with a bachelor pad aesthetic. That didn't make much sense since I heard a female voice talking to him. I assumed it was his wife. I believe in a lot of wild shit, but to think that a wife would be fine with their house decorated like a 23-year-old bachelor lived there was a bridge too far.
"I'm Tom," the guy said, extending his hand. I shook it. "What did you need from my end?"
"Do you know if there was a previous hookup here?"
"Ugh, yeah. There is one in this room and another in the back bedroom."
"Okay. I should put the modem in a spot that'll hit the whole house. The signal can get wonky if it's in a room behind a wall or bricks or anything."
"This room is probably the best spot then," he said.
"Perfect. I have to get under the house, check the old connections, and replace some parts. Where's your hatch to get under the house?"
"Oh, it's around back. You can exit out this side door and walk through the backyard. It's on the eastern side. You might need a screwdriver to remove the grate. Do you need one?"
I pulled a screwdriver from my pocket and showed him. "I should be good. Thank you, though."
"I should've guessed you'd have one."
"I appreciate your concern. Is there anything in the backyard I should be worried about? Dogs? Kids? Wild dogs? Wild kids?"
It was standard banter, and it always got a chuckle out of people. Same thing happened here. "Nothing to worry about," he said. "You should be good."
"Alright. I'll get started so you can get online as soon as possible."
"Great! If you need anything, I'll be doing some work in the back bedroom."
I nodded and headed for the side door. The dining room door led to the pie wedge-shaped backyard, which was larger in the back than the front made it look. The grass was as cooked as its kin in the front, but islands of green weeds seemed to be thriving. In the corner of the lot, an old metal shed stood, rusted to the point where I assumed divine intervention kept it standing. It seemed to have been there since the house had been built – or maybe several decades before.
When I turned the corner of the house, I spotted a woman and child staring into the corner of the yard, their backs facing me. The Woman wore a faded blue dress that fit her well. Tom had, it seemed, out-kicked his coverage with her. I didn't want to startle them, so I offered a friendly "hello" to the pair. The kid started to turn, but the mother placed a hand on their shoulder and kept their heads facing away from me. I squinted along the treeline, trying to see what they were concentrating on, but I didn't see anything unusual.
Just wanting to be done with the job, I let them be and moved on. I turned another corner to the house's short side and spotted the grate leading to the crawlspace. The grate looked as old as the shed, and I wasn't sure I would even need the screwdriver to open it. Hell, I was sure the thing would disintegrate in my hands as soon as I touched it.
I crouched and was about to pull it off when I heard something rustling near me. I glanced back to where I had seen the mom and kid, but they were gone. I assumed I had heard them leaving. I pulled the grate off – I was right, no screwdriver necessary – and as I set it aside, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.
It was the kid. A boy around eight or so. But they weren't staring at me exactly. They were looking away from me, staring up at the roof line. I found it odd. Clearly, the kid wanted to talk to me but had turned their back on me. I coughed to let them know that I knew they were there, but they didn't respond.
"Hey man, what's up there?" I said.
"Nothing nice," he said, still keeping their gaze away from me.
"Oh," I said, "Not going to hurt me, is it?"
"Maybe," he said.
Not the answer I was expecting. "What is it?"
"They told me you'd know soon enough."
As he said that, I felt something crawling across my hand. I pulled my hand away from the house and shook it. I saw a spider land in a pile of leaves and scurry away. I let out a nervous laugh. I'm not scared of spiders or anything, but the shock of being told some unseen thing was watching me and didn't look pleased, coupled with the sensation of something on my skin, was enough to justify a quickened heartbeat.
I looked back at where the kid had been standing, but he was gone. I chalked it up to kids being little weirdos and went back to work. The faster I could get this installation done, the quicker I could go home and smoke a bowl. I let Kush be my guide. I put up my hood, turned on my small flashlight, and shimmied through the opening under the house.
I know guys who've worked for the company for years and still dread going into a crawl space. Granted, it's not my favorite thing to do, but I don't mind either. The bugs can be a nuisance but if you don't bother them, they tend to not bother you. Same with rats and mice. Raccoons, though? I crawl out and call animal control. Those little dudes are cute but nasty as all get out. My path today was nothing but cobwebs, so I was okay.
I flashed my light around and saw where the cable line went up into the living room floor. My job here was to ensure the coaxial line's integrity was still good. If it had been chewed on or anything, I'd replace it. Sometimes, I just replaced it anyway—saving myself a potential job later down the line.
I crawled over to where the line came in from the pedestal and started my once-over. I not only looked for any damage but also ran the line through my hands to make sure my eyes didn't miss anything. I was under the dining room area when I heard that side door close.
I stopped. Tom said something, but it was muffled. I wanted to be nosy, so I waited a beat to hear if anyone spoke back to him. Someone did. It was soft and quiet – I assumed it was the Boy – and I didn't make out what they asked, but I did hear Tom's response. In a firm voice, he said, "No, not right now. Run along."
There were footsteps over me that faded into another section of the home. Tom said, "He always wants to jump the gun. How many times do I have to tell him?"
I suppressed a laugh at the last line. It's the official father's lament. I kept moving my hand down the line and didn't feel nicks along the cable. In fact, on closer inspection, the line looked almost new. I was planning to change it, but this looked like it had been installed last week.
I could hear someone walk into the living room as I reached the spot where the line went through the house. Another pair of footsteps followed the first, and I heard a breathy but detached woman's voice ask, "Can we show our faces now?"
"I just told the boy 'no.' What makes you any different?" Tom said, an edge to his voice.
A chill raced through my body. I knew those words, but this conversation made me feel like I spoke another language. Can we show our faces? Why would you not?
"Do you think he'll see us?"
"If I have my way," he said, not finishing that thought. "Leave me be. I must try to get some things done before he leaves, and you two keep bothering me."
What did Tom mean to get some things done before I left? What did he have in mind? While trying to process all this, I heard something shuffle in the darkness just beyond my flashlight beam. I moved it around, trying to see the telltale glowing eyes of varmints, but nothing flashed back at me.
I heard something shuffling again, this time down by my feet. I cocked my head as best as I could and shone the flashlight into that corner of the house but, again, there wasn't anything else down here but me and a thousand spiders. I sighed and finished my inspection of the wire.
As I turned to crawl back out from under the house, I heard somebody sneaking around on the floor above me. The wood groaned as the person moved slowly. I wasn't sure what they were doing, but they wanted to keep it a secret. A shadow fell over the pinprick of light from where the cable went into the house. Someone was standing over it.
"Can you hear them down there? Moving in the dark?" It was the Boy. “They like the dark.”
"What are you saying?"
"The little shadows," he said, "They live down there. Do you hear them?"
This kid was creepy as hell. "I, ugh, I can't hear you, dude," I said, inching my body away from the wire, "We can talk inside."
"They're going to get you, but that's okay," he said, "It only hurts for a little bit, and then you're fine."
Fuck. That. I had no desire to respond to that nightmare of a statement. I hastened my inch-worming, heading back towards the open hatch. As I did, I heard more movement in the darkness around me. I tried to ignore it, but it was a fool's gambit. It was impossible to ignore.
I was getting closer to the opening when I saw a pair of tiny legs walk in front of the hatch. It was the Boy. How did he get there so quickly and without me hearing him run on the floor? I didn't have time to run through the scientific method because the Boy leaned down and placed the metal grate back over the hatch.
"Hey! Hey!" I yelled. "I'm still under here!"
The Boy didn't stop. Instead, he placed a trashcan in front of the grate, enshrouding the entire crawlspace in darkness and trapping me inside.
"Hey! I need you to move that!" I screamed. No response. I raised my fist as high as possible and punched the floor above me to hopefully get Tom’s attention. That was a mistake, as I managed to punch straight into an old nail. I felt it puncture in between my knuckles. The pain was instant, and I let out a howl.
I shook my hand and swore a blue streak. I reached up with my other hand, felt the tip of the nail I had managed to punch, and found a flat spot next to it. I banged hard on the floor and yelled again for some help. Nobody responded. Not at first.
Then I heard someone chuckle under the house.
I couldn't locate where it had come from because it sounded like it was all around me. I swung my light around as best as I could but didn't see anything. No glowing eyes, nothing. I inched forward a bit, and someone laughed again – this time, it was to my right. I turned my light in that direction and saw a sudden flood of light fill the space under the house.
"What the hell?" I said, my desire to leave overtaken by a desire to know what was unfolding next to me.
A pair of kid legs dropped down from the hole in the floor. I realized then that the hole must be an interior crawlspace. The kid had blocked off the metal grate and opened this hatch for some reason. While he dropped his legs down, he didn't move any further.
"Hey, you have to open that metal grate," I yelled. "I don't want to be trapped down here."
"They told me they needed you," he said, followed by a slight chuckle.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I said, not caring that I was talking to a child. "Open the goddamn grate!"
"The shadows are approaching," he said, pulling himself back into the house. He placed the lid back on the hole, and I was trapped in the dark again. I cursed to myself and started pounding on the floor again.
"Hey! Someone come help me!"
That's when I felt something run across my legs. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It didn't feel like the tiny claws of a passing rat. It was cold to the touch, but as it hit my skin, I felt a burn in my bones. It's hard to explain, but I felt both extremes simultaneously. Whatever it was skittered off into the darkness of the other side of the crawl space.
The kid started laughing again, which brought me back to reality. I army crawled as fast as I could to the grate. I balled up my fist and punched in the middle of the metal. The blow knocked the old nails out of the wall, and the grate broke up. I was about to push away the garbage can when it suddenly wheeled out of the way.
I saw Tom's legs standing there.
"You okay?" he asked, concern in his voice.
I got out from under the house so fast that I left a me-sized dirt cloud in my place. Once out, I shook my body loose as if I had things crawling all over me. Tom watched but didn't say anything at first. We finally locked eyes, and he could see the rage, fear, and confusion on my face. He wisely waited until I spoke first.
"What the hell is wrong with your kid? He blocked me under there and taunted me from the indoor crawlspace."
"What are you talking about?"
"He told me the shadow people or something were watching, and then he blocked me under the house!"
Tom's face twisted up into confusion. "I...I don't understand."
"I can't make it any simpler, Tom!" I screamed, letting unprofessionalism take root.
"I don't have a kid."
It hit me like an Ali right cross. My vision got dizzy, and I struggled to catch my breath. I stared at his face, looking for the sign of a lie or a joke, but he was as stone-faced as an Easter Island statue. After a beat, I found my sense again. "I heard you talking to him in the living room when I was under the house."
"One, I was on a phone call. Two, are you spying on me? What the hell, man?"
"I wasn't spying, and you weren't on the phone," I said. I also heard you talking to your wife. She asked you if she could show her face or something."
"I don't have a wife either."
I shook my head. "I fucking saw them in the backyard! They were staring at the fence!"
Tom paused and cocked his head to the side. When he spoke, it was softly, trying to calm me down. "Are you...did you have a few drinks before the appointment? Or a pill or something? No judging – I know pill heads. I won't report you or anything, but I understand if you need to come back tomorrow with a clearer head."
"I'm sober," I said, gritting my teeth. "But I know what I saw. What I heard."
"As the tree said to the lumberjack, I'm stumped," Tom said. "You look a little flush. You want a bottle of water or something? I can show you I'm here all alone."
My adrenaline had seeped out of my body, and I was starting to feel like myself again. I nodded at Tom, and he smiled. "I'll go grab you one. Do you want to come into the AC?"
"No, I'm okay. I need to double-check the connection to the pedestal."
"Sure. Be bright back," Tom said as he walked off.
But I had no intention of checking the connections. I was going to check on Tom. I didn't believe him at all. Something weird was going on, and I needed to know what. As soon as he turned the corner around the house, I broke out my flashlight and headed back to the crawlspace.
I dropped to the ground and shone my beam into the darkness. Something had crawled on me, and I wanted to see what it was. I moved my light into every section of the crawlspace but saw no eyes glowing back at me.
"If you're under there, call back."
There was nothing. I was starting to feel like a paranoid idiot. I called out once again just to be sure, but again, nothing called back. I shut off my light and sighed. I started pushing myself back to my feet when I heard a faint woman's voice call out, "Can we show our faces now?"
"Not yet," someone hissed from the trees above me. I snapped my head up, expecting to see someone hanging on a branch over my head, but I just saw green leaves.
"Can we show our faces now?" It was the Boy. It sounded like he was on the roof. I shielded my eyes and glanced at the roof but didn't see him.
"No. He's not ready yet," someone whispered in my ear. I snapped around, throwing a punch as I did, only to slam my fist into the fence. I felt one of my knuckles crack as it hit the wood, and the pain shot up my arm like lightning. Within seconds, my hand started to puff up, and blood dripped out the wounds.
The Boy chuckled again. It came from under the house. I looked down at the grate and saw his legs disappear into the darkness.
"Hey!" I called and dropped to the ground. I pulled out my flashlight and shone into the darkness again. I was confident I'd see him, but he wasn't there. Nobody was.
I sat up and felt goosebumps turn my arms into braille. I glanced over to the corner of the house and was surprised to see the disappearing hemline of the faded blue dress. I rushed over to the corner and didn't see the Woman. I saw Tom with a bottle of water.
"You okay?"
"Where did that woman go?" I asked, my voice panicking. "She was just here."
"Sir, do you need me to call your boss for you? You're starting to scare me."
"What's up with this house? Is it haunted?"
Tom started laughing. "I hope not. I just moved in. I'd hate to have roommates again, especially ones who leave ectoplasm all over the place."
As I stared at him, I saw the Woman and the Boy emerge from the other corner of the house. They looked up on the roof, their faces obscured by their hands and the sun. I pointed a finger at them and screamed, "They're right there!"
Tom spun around and looked, but there wasn't anything there. He turned back to me, not sure what to say. Instead, he handed me the bottle of water. "I gotta be honest. I didn't see anything. Drink the water...you might have heat stroke."
I threw the bottle on the ground. "I don't have fucking heat stroke. I have a man that's lying about these things." I got close to him. "What did you have planned for me? Why do they keep asking to show their faces?"
"I don't," he said, but I didn't stay to hear him finish his thought. I walked right past him and turned the corner of the house. As I did, I saw the blue hem disappear through the door that led to the kitchen. I followed right behind her.
I walked into the house, which was as silent as a corpse. The Woman and Boy were nowhere to be seen. "Hello?" I called out. "I just saw you guys walk in here. Where are you?"
The door behind me opened up. Tom walked in, his face reddening with anger. "You can't just walk into my house."
"I saw them walk in. Where are they?"
"I keep telling you, it's just me and you here. Now, if you want to finish your work…."
I walked away from him and headed toward the bedroom where I had seen the Boy standing. I wanted to check that crawl space. The room was empty, not even a moving box in there, so finding the hatch that led under the house was easy. I went into the closet and pried the hatch open.
Tom entered the room behind me, more confused now than angry. "I don't want a line run through here."
"The Boy was standing in this spot. I saw his legs. I spoke to him. He told me the shadows needed me for something." I glared down into the darkness under the house. Despite Tom's feigned declarations that there wasn't another person in the house, I knew he wasn't being honest.
"Okay, I'm pretty sure you're back on pills and in the middle of a delusion," he said.
"How did you know I had a pill addiction?"
"The way you're acting, it wasn't a hard guess."
"I'm sober, but I did have a problem with pills. I never told you. I don't tell anyone."
Tom stood there, confused about how to answer. I stood up and stared him down. He looked away, but I didn't move my gaze. "Who are you? Who put you up to this? Was it Rory? He trying to get me fired?"
Tom's shoulders sagged. "You got me," he said. "Rory hired me to get you in trouble. I'm... I'm sorry. He offered me free cable for a year and assured me you were a bad guy and, well…. I'm weak."
"That's really fuc…," I stopped. "You're lying. Right now. You're lying. Why?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dash past the open crawlspace hatch. I turned to the hatch opening and then back to Tom.
"Are you trying to stop me from looking in there?"
He didn't respond.
"What's under there?"
"He is," he said. "The Boy. He hides under there all the time. He has...friends down there."
"The shadow people?"
Tom shrugged, "What he calls them. I call them a menace. Impossible to get my work done with them causing a racket."
"What work?"
"Things you'd never understand in a million years," he said, "Things beyond your brain's capacity to imagine. Things that will help usher in a new world. Your kind's time is coming to a close. My work represents the new order."
I stared at him. I wasn't sure if I should run away or punch his lights out. Instead, I just spat out, "Bro, what the fuck?"
"Can we show our faces now?" the Boy called out from under the house.
I looked down at the hatch and then back at Tom. He nodded toward the opening. "Do you want to see your future?"
"Fuck it," I said. I got down, grabbed the sides of the opening, and lowered my head under the house.
I kept my eyes closed for a second, assuming I'd either see something horrifying or something would hit me in the face. When nothing struck me, I opened my eyes. It was dark, and I couldn't make out anything.
"There's nothing under here," I said.
"Can we show our faces now?" said the Boy from somewhere under the house.
"Show him," Tom said.
I sat back up, grabbed my flashlight from my pocket, and flipped it on. I looked at Tom, "If you try anything, so help me, God."
Tom just smiled. I looked back down at the hatch and sighed. I was suddenly hit with a bolt of common sense. What was I doing? My internal alarms were going off and I was ignoring them. Curiosity had gotten me this far, but my fight instincts were starting to lose to my flight. No job was worth this.
"Man, fuck this," I said, reversing course and standing. I turned to confront Tom, but he was gone. I hadn't heard him leave, but there wasn't a trace of him there. "Tom? Where the hell are you?"
He didn't respond, and I decided that I had hit my "weird shit" quota for the day. I closed the closet door and headed back into the living room to grab my gear. I'd call dispatch and tell them someone else had to come out and finish the….
The wood floor cracked, splintered, and gave way when I put my weight on it. I fell through the floor and landed with a thud on the dirt in the crawl space. On the way down, I hit my ribs on a crossbeam and heard them crack and knock the wind out of me. As I lay on the dirt, writhing in pain, my lungs did their damnedest to find a breath. It couldn't, and my vision started to blur at the edges. For a fleeting few seconds, I envisioned my death on a dirty crawlspace floor. It wasn’t comforting.
I rolled onto my back and finally took in a massive gulp of life-saving air. The blurring vision subsided, and all that remained was the aching pain of a busted rib. My muscles around my rib cage spasmed and pulled tight against my lungs. After the initial big breath, I could only take shallow gulps because the pain was searing.
I lay there for a few seconds, collecting my thoughts, when I felt something skitter across my legs again. I kicked out of instinct but didn't hit anything. Instead, I heard the chuckling again. My flashlight had fallen out of my hand. I found it and turned it on.
This time, I did see something. Pairs of eyes—dozens of them—watched me from the darkness that surrounded me. These weren't possums or rats. I never hoped to find a raccoon under the house more than I did at that moment. I knew whatever these things were, they weren't natural and they wanted to harm me.
"Still want to know what they plan to do to you?" the Boy asked from behind me.
I turned around and shone the light where I heard the voice. The Boy was lying on his stomach, his face looking down at the ground. All I could see at the moment was the top of his head.
"Wha-what's going on?" I said, the light bouncing from my trembling hand.
"I can show you my face now," he said. He raised his head and….
The Boy didn't have a face.
He had the space for a face, but there were no features whatsoever—nothing but pale pink skin pulled tight across the front of his head. At that moment, the image of a wooden art figure came to me.
“What the ever-loving fuck?"
"Want to see something really scary?" the Boy said, his lack of a mouth not stopping him from speaking. He raised himself onto the tips of his fingers and toes and started skittering toward me, laughing as he did.
I clambered out of the crawlspace as fast as my battered body could carry me. I got out of the hole and onto my feet and let out an ear-splitting scream.
The Woman in the blue dress was standing next to the hole in the floor. Like the Boy, she didn't have a face either. But I could feel her eyes on me. Looking into my mind. Into my soul. She stepped toward me, and I bolted for the front door.
I whipped it open and was greeted by Tom standing there, blocking me. He grinned. "Leaving so soon?"
"What the hell is going on?" I asked, checking behind me to see if the Woman was still coming toward me. She was, and she was gaining quickly.
"Can we show our faces now?" he asked with a laugh.
I turned back to Tom and nearly had a heart attack. His face was gone. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. My legs were jelly, but I kept myself propped up. The human desire to survive can perform miracles.
Tom reached out and pointed at a spot on the far side of the living room wall. I turned and saw three skinned human faces hanging from old nails: a man, a woman, and a boy.
"You're turn to join us," Tom whispered. But the voice wasn't said out loud. It came from inside my own head. "We can always use another body around here."
My brain clicked into action and sent an all-points bulletin to my limbs. The message was simple and actionable – "Get the fuck going, you dope."
I felt my hand ball into a fist and spun. It landed where Tom's nose would've been. It should've knocked him back, causing him to stumble and giving me time to run. But that didn't happen. Instead, his face pulled apart, letting my fist slide right through. It closed on my arm, trapping me.
I yanked and yanked, but my arm would not dislodge from his face. I glanced back and saw the Woman nearly next to me. The Boy was climbing out of the hole, moving like a cockroach. I looked back at the wall and saw Tom's hanging face silently laughing.
Something about those silent laughs cut me to my core. They were laughing because Tom thought he had outsmarted me. He had beat me. That my face would soon be hanging on the wall next to theirs. I wasn't going to let that happen.
I saw a loose brick on the walkway, and a plan flashed in my mind. I yanked hard, sending Tom stuttering forward enough for me to wrap my finger around the brick. I brought it up and sent it towards his face. As expected, the face parted again, and the brick flew through easily.
But as soon as the face curtains pulled aside, I yanked my arm free. With my limb free, I took off in a mad sprint for my truck. I got inside and fumbled my keys as I tried to start the engine. Tom, the Woman, and the Boy stood together at the front door and watched as I got the van going and rocketed down the street.
I drove like a madman for ten minutes, trying to put as much space between me and the house as possible. I finally stopped at a gas station to collect my thoughts. I was jittery, and my mind was swimming, but I was also relieved. I had gotten out.
I collected myself and called Denise to tell her I couldn't finish the installation at 981 Maple Street. I was going to suggest we cancel the order and not send another installer there. That's when the conversation took a turn I wasn't expecting.
"Where have you been? You were supposed to be off an hour ago," Denise said when I called her.
"I was trying to finish the install at 981 Maple, the one you sent me to."
"I didn't send you anywhere," she said. "With how insane Rory is being about overtime hours, I'm trying to keep everyone below the threshold."
"What are you talking about? You called and asked me. You don't remember," I said, a bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.
She gave me a nervous chuckle, "I swear I didn't. Are you feeling okay? You gotta come back. People are waiting for the van."
"I can prove it. I have a record of you calling me on my phone," I said. I opened my call log, and my jaw dropped. There was no call from Denise. She was telling me the truth. But if she didn't call me, who did?
"Rory wants to talk to you when you get in. I wouldn't mess around, he seems pissed" she said before hanging up.
I haven't moved since. I wanted to write this down because I felt like it needed to be recorded. Something supremely fucked up is happening at 981 Maple Street. It nearly got me. It still might. To think, on any other typical day, a surprise conversation with my boss would be the scariest thing that could happen to me. Funny how seeing a faceless ghoul can prioritize your problems. If you're hired to do work there, turn it down. Trust me, it's not worth it.
"Can we show our faces now?" they asked. "Fuck no," should be the only response.

Sorry for the long post. Thanks for your patience and I appreciate all comments.
Even though it was an arranged marriage, I loved him from the moment I spoke with him over the phone. However, something inside me hesitated. I noticed things starting to go wrong, and there were several obstacles leading up to the fateful day of our marriage. On our wedding day, I told everyone he was charming, proclaiming my love for him in public, unaware of what was coming.
Long story short, I wasted 5 good years of my life with this person and lost five more years trying to recover. I was married to a narcissist and became a victim of his abuse under the guise of marriage. Ex-husband managed to isolate me from my own family and made sure I cut all ties with my friends, leaving me available only for him and nobody else. As a result, there was no one supporting me when I broke ties with him and finally came out of that toxic relationship.
There were days when I woke up wondering why I was still alive. Growing up, I was reliant on my family, and my introverted nature didn't help me overcome my insecurities. I let others decide what was best for me. My narcissistic father, abusive mother, and sister abandoned me, offering no help when I finally left my narcissistic ex-husband. They did not believe a word of what I said. The most they did was call me crazy for trying to leave a "perfect" husband and suggest I seek psychiatric help.
Heartbroken and weak after another surgery, unable to comprehend my situation, and refusing to take medication for undiagnosed bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, I flew back home abroad. My ex-husband left our daughter at his house without asking me. When he returned, he informed me he would take our daughter back in a month, or his parents would come for her during their visit. But COVID struck, and my daughter ended up spending nearly 10 months without me.
When my dd finally came back, she refused to let me come close. She shut the door in my face, asking me to leave the bedroom. I saw my ex-husband grinning as he coerced our two-year-old to say and do these things. My daughter is extremely intelligent. From the next day after she was born, I knew my daughter was her daddy's girl. She weaned just after seven months old. Following my father's advice, I left my own house (for which I had paid a quarter of the deposit, yet it was entirely under my ex-husband's ownership), leaving my two-year-old daughter with him—a terrible mistake, I admit.
I struggled to find places to live, hopping from one rental to another, begging to see my daughter at least once a week. Without a car, my ex-husband would drop her off and pick her up the same day because she wouldn't stay with me. I can't explain my mental state as I couldn't process what was happening. I had no help then. Finally, I found a flat to rent with some privacy for me and my daughter (an attached kitchen area and a shower toilet). Seeing I had moved to a better place, my ex-husband stopped bringing my daughter over, and I had to pick her up from his house, which I didn't mind as the bus stop wasn't far. Later, my ex-husband asked me to pick her up from the bus stop instead.
We celebrated our daughter's third birthday at home after announcing our separation, which was long overdue. Her fourth and fifth birthdays were at my new flat, and her sixth was at my current place, where I happily live with my partner of three years. I probably wouldn't have gotten my life back if I hadn't met my partner. He made me feel normal again and gave me hope. I became more attentive and present with my daughter, and we had lots of fun, taking goofy pictures and dancing to her favourite songs. But her character would change in an instant (much like her father's). Out of nowhere, she would start screaming for her dad as if reminded she needed to go back.
Initially, I understood her frustration as I struggled to make a living and moved from place to place. Despite her cries to go back to her dad, which added to my depression, I found solace in the fact that she was with me—until she wasn't. As she grows, it's becoming apparent she might be like her father. Today, my daughter is six years and six months old. Her last visit was yesterday, even though my ex-husband had agreed she could stay with me over the weekend. This year, she has stayed with me for only two nights in the past six months. My ex-husband hurls abuses at me whenever things don't go his way, often in front of our daughter. She seems to support and enjoy it when he does.
I've tried to make my daughter understand it's not okay to hurt others, but she doesn't seem to grasp this. She asks me to stop talking, sometimes screams, covers her ears, or asks, "What did you say?" I'm not forcing her to do anything, just asking her to call me "Mama," but even that seems to fade each week I see her. She acts as if she doesn't know me or harbours pure hatred. I'm screaming inside every night she's not with me. Although my partner makes me feel safe and loved, I'm dying inside a little every moment thinking of my daughter.
I grew up as a church-going Catholic, saying prayers daily, but now I feel null and numb, unsure where to turn. I don't think I'm bipolar or schizophrenic today, but I fear I might develop these conditions. At nearly 34 years old, my career is at a halt. I had to leave a job I didn't like, and it didn't align with my current skillset. I'm applying for jobs that suit my skills, but with no success. I dreamed of revenge against my ex-husband by becoming better than him. I spent countless hours studying and preparing for a new career, but it feels like a long-lost dream. While I did manage to finish my university degree, I'm still waiting to start my career and prove myself. All I want is to make life better for my daughter, to give her the space and comfort she experiences with her dad.
Even though my current place is safe and comfortable, however small, I try my best to make my daughter happy and enjoy the little time we have together. But she makes it difficult every time with hurtful words, damaging our relationship. I don't have the money to go to court, and my ex-husband threatens that any action against him will be in vain. I'm already in debt, repaying loans.
When my daughter pointed to the TV and told me she wished I was like that (we were watching "Goodbye" on Netflix, where the mother's dead body was often shown), I asked her to confirm, "Do you wish me to die _?" She nodded with hope on her face. This was when she was just five years old. I don't take anything she says seriously, but it hurts when it happens. I will never fault my daughter for our situation. But it is really sad. I hope she knows I am there for her and feels loved and connected with me emotionally. I'm waiting for that moment. I feel guilty for giving my ex-husband my daughter as a new victim after he lost me. It was more about my daughter wanting to be closer to her dad than me. I didn't expect my ex-husband to manipulate his own child to his advantage.
I know my daughter not living with me and that I'm not her main parent is not justified. As much as it hurts, I have to accept she may never live with me and may even disown me someday. I didn't want to drag her into court fights, making things more unstable, as my ex-husband would likely win. He has zero conscience. My only hope is that my daughter won't turn out exactly like him, and I can persuade her to leave him and stay with me.
As a mother, I took care of my daughter beautifully from the moment she was born until she was 18 months old, with some help from a postpartum doula after my C-section. I've gone through psychosis, anxiety, depression, self-doubt, suicidal thoughts, and many other unknown phases ever since, to have the courage to write about my situation here. I'm genuinely trying to build a positive and healthy relationship with my daughter, but it feels like a distant dream.
I recently heard he has a new victim and married her this year, which slightly relieves me that his influence on my daughter might lessen. When my daughter told me about this lady, I immediately recognized her as one of his close friends. I recall my ex-husband and his family talking about her before, as she did indeed attend my marriage with ex-husband.
I hope my daughter will understand someday how much I love her and how hard I fought for our relationship. After all, it was the birth of my daughter that gave me strength and courage. It was also the realization of the continued abuse by my ex-husband that made me come out of my situation, although things did not happen as I had hoped. Additionally, I did not realize I was going through victim withdrawal syndrome of narcissistic abuse, and I realize now I should have dealt with things more tactically and logically. I am extremely sorry that I could not be there for you, my daughter, when you were stuck at ex-family's house during the pandemic.

(To clarify,i use chatgpt to correct my grammar to make this more understandable as maybe its part of my autism where i keep repeating same terms and keep using ",")
So, I have this person who I suddenly fell in love with. I admit, I'm a transmasc person, but I had a classmate who is the total opposite of me. I wasn't sure if they were transfem tho(that's why I use they/them pronouns to be respectful) because they are really comfortable with the girls and actually fit in like one of them. They also use makeup and actually look like a girl with a male haircut (since it's a strict rule in our department of education). We live in the Philippines, where most openly transfeminine people don't fit in with other girls, often having exaggerated personalities. But this person actually acts like a typical female, and even their body language says otherwise.
To back up the statement that they were trans, they jokingly said to one of my friend, "Come to papa" as an inside joke, and they act like a cis guy outside the classroom, flipping their hair and acting handsome to probably make someone fall in love with them. :skull emoji:
They are very popular, and a lot of girls have a crush on them, even across all grades in high school. Meanwhile, I'm actually very unattractive, since I have autism with weird hyperfixations and my appearance is also very unattractive and embarrassing. We often made eye contact a lot before, and that's where I developed a tiny crush on them. What makes them more attractive is that they love to interact with people, especially girls, which is why we were able to chat. (They are also top 1 in my class.)
And that's where it begins. I talked to my teacher about my upcoming appointment with the guidance counselor due to bullying, which is connected to my gender dysphoria. After the appointment, they asked me, "What's wrong?" and tried to comfort me (probably because they got mad at me due to our project earlier and felt pity about it). That night, I impulsively vented to them in chats, and they were willing to listen. I admitted to them about my gender dysphoria, and they comforted me during those times, and we started to be "text friends." We never talked face to face for no particular reason, or maybe they just never wanted to. Every time I tried to talk to them, they were cold, and of course, when they tried to talk to me, I got annoyed because I hate having faster heartbeats during class hours.
When we texted a lot, I got emotionally attached to them, and it felt different compared to face-to-face interactions. As a very popular person with a high ego, they seemed to soften up and open up to me. They told me a lot about their pet peeves which included their friends and even their insecurities. They also treated me differently, showing the cutest personality every time I was near them, which replayed in my head many times. But sometimes, they ignored me when it was just the two of us, which I preferred for conversations with them.
There were also times when they teased me and smiled and made eye contact in random places. I tried hard to avoid them so they wouldn't know what I truly felt. My heart kept beating every time I saw them smile, and I kept telling them to stop interacted with me in ways I didn't want others to know, as my classmates saw me as a weird dumb childlike teen.
When I vented to them about my emotional connections, pointing to another person so they wouldn't know I liked them, they avoided the topic and talked about themselves, even sending a picture (a class pic) and discussing their insecurities. They didn't like showing these to classmates or even their close friends, but they sent it to me and avoided my venting, even though they comforted me other times.
As an artist, I drew them many times and even made a painting of them. I texted them, asking if all my efforts were just a "waste," but they avoided the topic amd somewhere the vent talking about my feelings to "another person"✌️✌️just replied with "yeaaaaa hahaha," like... <_<
They also have a crush they openly talk about in the class group chat, writing tons of Filipino poems about the person they like, mentioning having kids and eye contact. I doubted it was me because, again, I'm unattractive in real life. They seemed passionate about it but never talked about it in our private messages. But in private messange they once talked about a bride from a video game whose husband died, and it made them sad.
As the school year almost ended, they started being cold towards me. Every time I asked for help, they told me to do it myself. I seriously don't know what I did wrong except being cold to them face to face because I told them I didn't want our classmates to know we interacted, which they probably forgot. I also helped them many times, even carrying things that not part of our roleplay.
Despite all these signs, I think they were just manipulating me to fall for them. They never appreciated my art skills, even though they became my inspiration.
I confessed to them after the last class ended around 12 am, but in a way that I told them I could try to move on. They never replied to me at all... I cried every night because I had become emotionally attached to them, and they probably thought I was a freak, especially since its passed three weeks were the school year ended.

Hey yall, hope this is OK.
I am looking for a place to get a good haircut. A few caveats:

1. My hair is thinking but I’m working to keep/healthen/strengthen it.
2. I am deaf and wear a cochlear so while getting my haircut I am pretty much non-vocal.

It doesn’t matter to me whether it’s a barber or stylist or whatever. But I want someone I get set regular intervals with so they learn my hair.
Edit to add: I’m also needing some styling advice and more than clippers/fade as I’m trying to wear my hair at a more medium length.

Hi all, I’m starting a SWRPG campaign on foundry, starting with the beginner game as the intro, however I’m having a bit of trouble due to the fact that I can’t find any of the maps for it. I’ve even tried splicing together the multi part maps from a pdf I found, and taking pictures of my physical copy, but they never seem to match up, so I was wondering if any of you kind souls have complete maps for it! (Specifically the valley and the temple)

Tales from beyond the pulsing door presents: The Man With Square Teeth
The inaugural installment of TBPD and the inspiration for the series. The man with square teeth is based on a true story, artfully extrapolated. Listeners are encouraged to re-listen to this episode as additional entries are published. For those interested in the grand plot of TBPD, this episode will be your anchor. For all others, enjoy!
This story is available via audio narration on Tiktok, Instagram, Spotify, and Youtube. Just search: The_Pulsing_Door
***
I find it strange sometimes, the way someone can get a feeling that crawls alongside them. The sort of…feeling of “being watched” as Buggs Bunny would put it. It’s amazing – we all experience it. And then we tell each other that it’s imagined. I don’t believe in the supernatural because I’ve never seen proof, but there are times where the logical side of my mind does battle with the irrational. This is a tale of one such time.
It started when I got a dog. A floppy little chicken nugget with ruby hair and an inescapable smile. At the time I was living in a gated community – not the nicest of places, but enough sidewalk to get my little pup some exercise. Puppies require multiple walks a day, sometimes within the same hour. January 14^th was the first time I took my dog for a walk past the patch of grass that changed my life.
We (the dog and I) were walking along the sidewalk. The glow of dusk had just faded into the silent blanket of night. Him, sniffing and snorting; trotting in front of, beside, and behind me. And me, mostly making sure that I didn’t step on his tail. Then it hit me – like a needle in the back of my neck. I felt…a presence. I snapped up and glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the lights of an apartment pop on. All of the lights. All at once. It took about five or six seconds for me to understand what was happening – it was the model apartment. The one the leasing office shows to people who are interested in renting. I breathed a sigh of relief and continued my walk. What a strange coincidence – that I would turn my head just in time to see those light go on.
The very next evening it happened again. It must have been the same exact time. I couldn’t believe it. But it happened again. The feeling, the look, the lights. This time I was a little more prepared, so it was nowhere near as startling. Yet for some reason, rather than moving along, I felt compelled to look in to the apartment. The blinds, all of the blinds, were drawn such that I could clearly see inside of any room I chose. Looking through the sliding screen door I could see the living room most clearly. It was pristine. The walls were bright and white, like a hospital room. The couch was eggshell and unscuffed. On the brown ottoman sat a tray with some fake silverware, a plate, and a French press. A tasteful sheepskin rung, standing lamp, and light wall décor rounded out the room. It was uncomfortably neat. It was the sort of set up you would expect to see in a 1950s home – a place for everything and everything in its place. But why? Why did it have to be so neat? What consequences awaited anyone who would dare disrupt the pristine setup? I was rambling to myself, so I shook it off and moved on.
For a third night (January 16^th) I passed by the apartment again. It was well into the night, and the lights were off this time, which admittedly brought me some comfort. I walked passed the sliding screen door, satisfied. On the way back home I deliberately retraced my steps. As I passed the apartment again, it happened. The lights came on. A chill shot down my body. There was the same setup, perfectly untouched. The lights couldn’t have been on a timer. The past two nights they came on at dusk. The moon was high in the sky this night. So why did they come on? And why do they continue to come on as I walk by? Are they on a motion sensor? If so, why didn’t they come on the first time I walked by? I had had enough of my own questions, and I decided it would be best to take a different route on my evening walks.
A few days went by and I forgot. But then the strangest thing started happening. I don’t remember the exact date it began to happen, but gradually, I found myself gravitating back toward the apartment. Suddenly every night I was walking by the same sliding door. And not on purpose either. In fact, some nights I would deliberately avoid the patch of sidewalk that led past that brightly lit, sterile living room; but for whatever reason I would lose my train of thought, or get distracted. And there it would be. The 20 foot stretch of sidewalk, beckoning my footsteps. Calling me.
Over time my thoughts became more invasive – more erratic. I began to picture the creature that would dwell in this plastic, contrived apartment. I remember one night I stared straight into that screen door, hypnotized, imagining his manifestation. I couldn’t help but picture him in my minds eye. There he would be sitting on that eggshell couch. Dressed well. Clad in a 50’s style pinstriped suit, a bowtie, and a bowler derby hat. And he had always been sitting there. Right there. Clear as day for anyone who focused hard enough to see him. But something was wrong. It was all wrong, in fact. The suit fit him too well. The tie draped straight out from his neck. There was no separation between the hat and his hairless head. Was he even wearing clothes at all?
I leaned in closer. His eyebrows were drawn on…perhaps with marker. His skin was pale and powdered. He sat on the couch staring straight ahead, such that I could see his entire side profile. He had no nose. He had no eyelids. I’m not sure if he understood that people blink. My thoughts raced as my imagination filled in the rest of his structure. His hands were in what appeared to be pockets, but there was no beginning or end. They just faded into his upper thigh. He had no lips. The skin was there, but they lacked the pouty blush that distinguishes lip from skin on the human face. This was a ruse. Why put on such a show? Why even try to convince me that you’re human?
I was ready to leave and keep walking, but my shoes felt as if they were cement. I couldn’t stop staring into the room, picking apart my imaginary man, desperate to make sense of his anatomy. Then something unexpected happened. I lost control of my imagination. What had once been a translucent delusion was now a solid figure sitting before me. Expressionless, he craned his crooked neck in my direction. His head was a perfect 90 degrees east, the remainder of his body completely perpendicular. Slowly, a forced, trembling smile came across his face, exposing 32 perfect squares, residing in his mouth. They were not curved like the human mouth. The angles of his smile were impossible, they made no sense. An the teeth…oh god the teeth – the teeth were perfectly straight, and perfectly square. The same bleached, hygienic white as the walls. And there he sat, impersonating a smile, as if he believed that I would feel less threatened. It was as though I could melt right through the screen door and join him had I wanted. And I felt compelled to. Why did I want to sit down with him?
After what felt like hours I snapped out of my trance and shuffled off, surely leaving my dog quite confused. I checked my watch – I had only been stuck in that fever dream for a minute or two. It was as if time stood still when I was perched in front of that apartment. I didn’t sleep well that night. I couldn’t get those teeth out of my head. Or the smile. Raised eyebrows, crinkled cheeks, the blank spot where a nose should be. It was awful.
I never looked in that apartment again. I would walk past it, despite my best efforts, and note from the corner of my eye that the lights were always on now – even in the day time. I would pass it at night, the living room lamp’s hum somehow audible form my position. Most nights, in addition to the blinding light emanating from the apartment was a blurry dark figure in my peripheral. I dare not look directly through that sliding screed door. What if he was actually sitting there? What if my imagination hadn’t run wild? What if I turned to look and found a horrid creature staring at me, waiting to catch my glance? What if all he needed was my attention to lure me in? What if that smile was real?
A few months later I moved. I never had to walk past that dreaded apartment again. I thought that would be the end. But I’ve never been a hard sleeper. Many nights I’ll wake up and, just for a moment, feel the presence of the man I’ve seen before. Even as I write this now I can picture him, sitting quietly, waiting. I dream of him sometimes. In most dreams he can’t see me. But once in a while he can. And I know that he can because in that moment it happens again. My feet become heavy, my eyes gloss over, and the turns to show me his two-dimensional, uninterpretable smile. I fear that no matter where I go, or how many years pass by I will be unable to escape him. The man who quietly haunts the corners of my darkest delusions. The man with square teeth.

Tales from beyond the pulsing door presents: The Man With Square Teeth
The inaugural installment of TBPD and the inspiration for the series. The man with square teeth is based on a true story, artfully extrapolated. Listeners are encouraged to re-listen to this episode as additional entries are published. For those interested in the grand plot of TBPD, this episode will be your anchor. For all others, enjoy!
This story is available via audio narration via the following links:
TikTok
YouTube
Instagram
Spotify
***
I find it strange sometimes, the way someone can get a feeling that crawls alongside them. The sort of…feeling of “being watched” as Buggs Bunny would put it. It’s amazing – we all experience it. And then we tell each other that it’s imagined. I don’t believe in the supernatural because I’ve never seen proof, but there are times where the logical side of my mind does battle with the irrational. This is a tale of one such time.
It started when I got a dog. A floppy little chicken nugget with ruby hair and an inescapable smile. At the time I was living in a gated community – not the nicest of places, but enough sidewalk to get my little pup some exercise. Puppies require multiple walks a day, sometimes within the same hour. January 14^th was the first time I took my dog for a walk past the patch of grass that changed my life.
We (the dog and I) were walking along the sidewalk. The glow of dusk had just faded into the silent blanket of night. Him, sniffing and snorting; trotting in front of, beside, and behind me. And me, mostly making sure that I didn’t step on his tail. Then it hit me – like a needle in the back of my neck. I felt…a presence. I snapped up and glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the lights of an apartment pop on. All of the lights. All at once. It took about five or six seconds for me to understand what was happening – it was the model apartment. The one the leasing office shows to people who are interested in renting. I breathed a sigh of relief and continued my walk. What a strange coincidence – that I would turn my head just in time to see those light go on.
The very next evening it happened again. It must have been the same exact time. I couldn’t believe it. But it happened again. The feeling, the look, the lights. This time I was a little more prepared, so it was nowhere near as startling. Yet for some reason, rather than moving along, I felt compelled to look in to the apartment. The blinds, all of the blinds, were drawn such that I could clearly see inside of any room I chose. Looking through the sliding screen door I could see the living room most clearly. It was pristine. The walls were bright and white, like a hospital room. The couch was eggshell and unscuffed. On the brown ottoman sat a tray with some fake silverware, a plate, and a French press. A tasteful sheepskin rung, standing lamp, and light wall décor rounded out the room. It was uncomfortably neat. It was the sort of set up you would expect to see in a 1950s home – a place for everything and everything in its place. But why? Why did it have to be so neat? What consequences awaited anyone who would dare disrupt the pristine setup? I was rambling to myself, so I shook it off and moved on.
For a third night (January 16^th) I passed by the apartment again. It was well into the night, and the lights were off this time, which admittedly brought me some comfort. I walked passed the sliding screen door, satisfied. On the way back home I deliberately retraced my steps. As I passed the apartment again, it happened. The lights came on. A chill shot down my body. There was the same setup, perfectly untouched. The lights couldn’t have been on a timer. The past two nights they came on at dusk. The moon was high in the sky this night. So why did they come on? And why do they continue to come on as I walk by? Are they on a motion sensor? If so, why didn’t they come on the first time I walked by? I had had enough of my own questions, and I decided it would be best to take a different route on my evening walks.
A few days went by and I forgot. But then the strangest thing started happening. I don’t remember the exact date it began to happen, but gradually, I found myself gravitating back toward the apartment. Suddenly every night I was walking by the same sliding door. And not on purpose either. In fact, some nights I would deliberately avoid the patch of sidewalk that led past that brightly lit, sterile living room; but for whatever reason I would lose my train of thought, or get distracted. And there it would be. The 20 foot stretch of sidewalk, beckoning my footsteps. Calling me.
Over time my thoughts became more invasive – more erratic. I began to picture the creature that would dwell in this plastic, contrived apartment. I remember one night I stared straight into that screen door, hypnotized, imagining his manifestation. I couldn’t help but picture him in my minds eye. There he would be sitting on that eggshell couch. Dressed well. Clad in a 50’s style pinstriped suit, a bowtie, and a bowler derby hat. And he had always been sitting there. Right there. Clear as day for anyone who focused hard enough to see him. But something was wrong. It was all wrong, in fact. The suit fit him too well. The tie draped straight out from his neck. There was no separation between the hat and his hairless head. Was he even wearing clothes at all?
I leaned in closer. His eyebrows were drawn on…perhaps with marker. His skin was pale and powdered. He sat on the couch staring straight ahead, such that I could see his entire side profile. He had no nose. He had no eyelids. I’m not sure if he understood that people blink. My thoughts raced as my imagination filled in the rest of his structure. His hands were in what appeared to be pockets, but there was no beginning or end. They just faded into his upper thigh. He had no lips. The skin was there, but they lacked the pouty blush that distinguishes lip from skin on the human face. This was a ruse. Why put on such a show? Why even try to convince me that you’re human?
I was ready to leave and keep walking, but my shoes felt as if they were cement. I couldn’t stop staring into the room, picking apart my imaginary man, desperate to make sense of his anatomy. Then something unexpected happened. I lost control of my imagination. What had once been a translucent delusion was now a solid figure sitting before me. Expressionless, he craned his crooked neck in my direction. His head was a perfect 90 degrees east, the remainder of his body completely perpendicular. Slowly, a forced, trembling smile came across his face, exposing 32 perfect squares, residing in his mouth. They were not curved like the human mouth. The angles of his smile were impossible, they made no sense. An the teeth…oh god the teeth – the teeth were perfectly straight, and perfectly square. The same bleached, hygienic white as the walls. And there he sat, impersonating a smile, as if he believed that I would feel less threatened. It was as though I could melt right through the screen door and join him had I wanted. And I felt compelled to. Why did I want to sit down with him?
After what felt like hours I snapped out of my trance and shuffled off, surely leaving my dog quite confused. I checked my watch – I had only been stuck in that fever dream for a minute or two. It was as if time stood still when I was perched in front of that apartment. I didn’t sleep well that night. I couldn’t get those teeth out of my head. Or the smile. Raised eyebrows, crinkled cheeks, the blank spot where a nose should be. It was awful.
I never looked in that apartment again. I would walk past it, despite my best efforts, and note from the corner of my eye that the lights were always on now – even in the day time. I would pass it at night, the living room lamp’s hum somehow audible form my position. Most nights, in addition to the blinding light emanating from the apartment was a blurry dark figure in my peripheral. I dare not look directly through that sliding screed door. What if he was actually sitting there? What if my imagination hadn’t run wild? What if I turned to look and found a horrid creature staring at me, waiting to catch my glance? What if all he needed was my attention to lure me in? What if that smile was real?
A few months later I moved. I never had to walk past that dreaded apartment again. I thought that would be the end. But I’ve never been a hard sleeper. Many nights I’ll wake up and, just for a moment, feel the presence of the man I’ve seen before. Even as I write this now I can picture him, sitting quietly, waiting. I dream of him sometimes. In most dreams he can’t see me. But once in a while he can. And I know that he can because in that moment it happens again. My feet become heavy, my eyes gloss over, and the turns to show me his two-dimensional, uninterpretable smile. I fear that no matter where I go, or how many years pass by I will be unable to escape him. The man who quietly haunts the corners of my darkest delusions. The man with square teeth.

I made a post about this before. Previously, I thought that the game should have a gritty feel, but I have reconsidered. The last few VFs have gone in a direction of increased realism, but what if we go in the opposite direction?
Recently, I was listening to some old music tracks from VF2/3, and I thought about how vibrant the early VFs were. We should bring back the old school feel. Bring back the catchy, 80s pop music. Make some stages beautiful and other stages dark. This would spice up the game and satisfy veteran fans along with the new generation. The VF story starts in the early 90s, so they can highlight that time period with the music and character designs. They can also incorporate minor Sci-Fi elements with the "Judgement 6/Dural" story.
To be clear, this does not mean that VF should turn into an anime game. I stick by the view that the gameplay should remain relatively grounded. But the vibrant, 90s old school theme might be the best way to distinguish VF from Tekken, DOA, and SF in presentation. What do you think about VF returning to that style?
Characters: I already mentioned new characters in my previous post, but I have some more ideas.
1) A German man regarded as the head of the J6 fighters. He is sort of the "face" of the organization that pulled strings behind the scenes. I picture him as a cross between Benny Urquidez and Lee Chaolan. Ear-length, sandy brown hair and blue eyes. Slim build and nimble. He wears a formal dress shirt with a tie. He's personable, but has a hint of bitterness. He uses Kempo Karate with Taekwondo.
2) An "Indigenous" Mexican fighter that uses boxing and folkstyle wrestling. Medium brown skin and neck length black hair (sometimes in a ponytail). He's heavyset. He has a stoic demeanor, yet comes off as heroic and kind. He wears a brown and black Native design, opened button shirt. Instead of kicking, his "K" command is tied to heavy hooks, overhands, uppercuts. He should also have a few street moves like headbutts, elbows, and knees.
3) A Canadian martial arts instructor. He is a "master" of Goju Ryu Karate. Dark brown hair, a mullet, and a Burt Reynolds style mustache. VF's first joke character. He runs a McDojo that he's trying to put on the map. He wears a well-designed red, black, and white gi. He's a big man. His style has heavy strikes and Judo-ish throws, but occasionally has bad technique. He takes himself seriously, but has some humor. He also uses "dishonest" moves like eye pokes, groin shots, and biting.
4) A very young man from China that uses Eagle Claw Kung Fu. He's in his late teens or early 20s and is around the same size as Lion. He looks like a normal, unassuming guy. He wears a sleeveless shirt and Kung Fu pants. Regular haircut, and wears glasses in his player 2 outfit. His fighting gives some Jackie Chan vibes, but without the humor. He's quite agile and acrobatic.
The wait for a VF reboot has been difficult, but I hope the developers give us something fairly unique. What do you think of the ideas?

Lifetime - Staked: 935.9u, Profit/Loss: +11.97u, ROI: 1.28%, Parlay Suggestions: 179-72 Dog of the Week: 13-19, Picks: 14-11 (56% accuracy)
2024 - Staked: 288.8u, Profit/Loss: -21.39u
As always, scroll down for UFC Vegas 93 Breakdowns. The following is just a recap of last event’s results.
~UFC Louisville (PREVIOUS CARD)~
Staked: 14.75u
Profit/Loss: -3.84u
Parlay Suggestions: 2-3
Dog of the week: Jared Cannonier ❌
Picks: 6-8
I just can’t seem to get it right on these fight night cards. Last night’s card certainly wasn’t great for me in terms of reads, but once again there was no luck on my side. The Rosas over 1.5 missed out by eight seconds, and obviously the Cannonier stoppage was widely regarded as contentious. I’m definitely going to be thinking about limiting my exposure to these kind of events, because I just can’t seem to make it work this year. I’ve got 28u profit on PPV cards this year, with 34% ROI. It’s time I paid attention to that and stopped losing money for fun on these low level competitions.
The goal for me is obviously going to break even by the end of the year, which is a miserable game to be playing, but one I believe I can achieve.
~UFC Vegas 93~
Woo, more Apex!
Worth re-iterating again that throughout the month of June I will be cutting a few corners regarding some fights I have no interest in betting. I’m on holiday the week I would otherwise be writing the UFC 303 McGregor write up, and I obviously don’t want to miss my usual Sunday release…so I am working hard to get ahead of schedule and get it all ready for before I fly.
Let’s get into it.

~Alex Perez v Tatsuro Taira~
Amazing how quickly things can turn around in MMA. Literally at the start of this year I was clowning Perez for being inactive, questioning his commitment to his career, and generally dismissing him and considering a fade at any appropriate opportunity. Fast forward six months and he’s potentially in the title picture with a win here, and a guy who cost me money last time.
Perez is talented, I’d always known it. I bet him to beat Figgy back in the day, and I do believe he could have given a great account of himself had he not been sloppy and gotten caught in the early submission. Alex has good striking, and great wrestling…which at Flyweight makes him a serious competitor. I even said in my breakdown for the Mokaev fight that if Alex somehow managed to get back to his best, he’d be a tough fight for Mokaev, or any grappling-based opponent in the division.
We’ve seen a real demonstration of Perez’s abilities this year alone. He showed his potential in the close loss to Mokaev, defending 17 of 20 takedown attempts and just generally muting the successes of Mokaev’s elite crotch-sniffing and mat return wrestling. He parlayed that impressive performance with a main event win over Matheus Nicolau, a well-rounded competitor that has been on the cusp of a title shot for some time. Perez’s striking looked great in that one, and he once again demonstrated that he has sneaky power too.
This main event spot against Tatsuro Taira is obviously going to lend itself more to the Mokaev performance from an analytical perspective, as the undefeated Japanese fighter is obviously a grappler at heart. When you consider Alex Perez’s aforementioned takedown defence against Mokaev, this one gets really interesting.
Tatsuro is clearly taking a massive step up in competition here, with his highest calibre opponent across five UFC appearances otherwise being CJ Vergara or Carlos Hernandez. In most of those fights, Taira has enjoyed grappling control time in approximately half the time he’s been inside the cage, which indicates he’s yet to really be tested in an area where he isn’t comfortable. He has scored knockdowns in two of his fights, but that finishing sequence against Hernandez most recently was pretty much the only time I’ve seen his striking has looked impressive. It’s not bad typically…just very obviously not his strong suit, and he doesn’t really do anything out at distance except jab and lowkick to set up his takedown.
The key difference here when comparing Taira to Mokaev is wrestling cardio. Mokaev’s averaging almost six takedowns per 15 minutes – he invites opponents to stand back up so he can ragdoll them back down. Taira is a different type of grappler, where most of his opponents stay grounded, and a finish comes soon after. The most he has ever landed in a fight is three. It doesn’t mean he can’t wrestle relentlessly…but there is a nuanced difference when it comes to the type of grappler you are.
So can Taira keep wrestling for 25 minutes? Obviously we cannot say for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the Japanese phenom looks very human and beatable if this fight makes it to round three. I’m expecting Perez to ask serious questions of Taira if they spend extended moments on the feet, and the only way to stop that from happening is with a finish, or the ability to land takedowns.
I’m not convinced that Taira’s going to be able to take and hold down Perez, and I’m also not convinced he gets the better of him on the feet. Whilst that statement was true in the Mokaev fight, the British wrestler still managed to defeat Perez…but that was across 15 minutes, and Mokaev has proven he’s got the cardio to pull of that kind of style for a very long length of time.
The early submission threat could definitely be live, and there’s no reason to believe that Taira can’t still win rounds without having to dive for a takedown every 10 seconds. Perez may be coming off a great performance against Nicolau, but he’s still an untrustworthy fighter that makes sloppy mistakes occasionally. His redemption arc began with that competitive performance against Mokaev, but if we’re being honest he actually fumbled a winnable opportunity with a very lacklustre third round.
So in my opinion, this line is too wide…but I don’t trust Perez enough to take the gamble on him here. If this was up in the +200 range then I’d be tempted, but I Perez is still in the untrustworthy category for me, so I just can’t do it at +160. It’s a pass for me, but Perez is the pick.

How I line this fight: Alex Perez +120 (46%), Tatsuro Taira -120 (54%)
Bet or pass: None
Prop leans: Taira Submission early, would probably be the angle I’d look towards.
Live Betting Leans: If Taira goes bat shit with the grappling, there’s a potential angle for Perez to turn the tables here.

~Tagir Ulanbekov v Joshua Van~
The unique selling point of MMA is that it challenges fighters to be equally diverse at striking and grappling disciplines. That’s why we love it, but damn do I wish they’d sometimes consider what they’re doing when they book certain matchups. I understand that the Flyweight talent pool is smaller so options are much more limited, but it’s still frustrating.
Reason being, Joshua Van looks like a very intriguing and exciting striker, but we are only just at the start of his journey to becoming a fan favourite. It’s far too soon to be throwing him in against a Dagestani wet blanket that’s likely going to cuddle him for 15 minutes and tarnish Van’s hype and prospect status. Let the guy marinate a little before you decide his fate. Especially at 22 years old!
Having said that, I’ve no idea if Van’s got the defensive capabilities to win this one. We haven’t seen him face takedowns from anyone who is anywhere near the level of calibre of Tagir Ulanbekov, and without that we can’t even begin to predict how this fight should go. Furthermore, he’s managed to get up pretty well any time he has been taken down, so our knowledge on his defensive grappling is even weaker.
Van is a great striker, so I would expect him to be leading the dance and winning the bout on the feet, but again that lack of experience could easily eat into his confidence and create a reluctance to commit to his striking. We see it time and time again in a striker vs grappler matchup, where suddenly the striker puts on a low volume and outright bad performance on the feet…it’s because they worry that if they throw with any sort of force they’ll be off balance and susceptible to being taken down. Cast your mind back to rounds 2 and 3 of Cesar Almeida vs Roman Kopylov a few weeks ago to see what that looks like.
So I’ve simply got to agree with Tagir being the favourite here. He has proven himself to be a high-level wrestler, his style could naturally nullify Van’s best qualities…and I also just do not have the evidence to believe Van is going to have the tools to stop Tagir’s grappling. Especially at his age. I never used to be particularly high on Tagir as a prospect as he’d had a few underwhelming performances, but the way he dominated Cody Durden was certainly eye-opening to me.
I can’t have too much confidence here considering Van could have Jose Aldo level takedown defence, but it’s likely he doesn’t and that this too much, too soon. I think the line on Ulanbekov should be shorter than I was able to get him. So I played him for 2u at -167. This is more of a play based on experience and logic, than any tape-based stylistics, but I just had to at that price.
How I line this fight: Impossible to say for sure, but Tagir should probably be trusted at -200 or slightly steeper.
Bet or pass: 2u Tagir Ulanbekov to Win (-167)
Prop leans: None, no idea of Van’s defensive abilities.

~Shayilan Nuerdanbieke v Melq Costa~
A showdown between Steve Garcia’s bitches!
Melq Costa has had a weird UFC career so far, he’s either getting dominated, or dominating opponents. He got the opportunity to show off his ability against everyone’s favourite Ai-generated UFC 5 character, Austin Lingo, but that’s not really saying much. No shame in getting shut down and submitted by Thiago Moises, but getting womped by Steve Garcia isn’t the greatest look.
Shaylian Nuerdanbieke is also coming off a loss to Steve Garcia, where Garcia came back from the brink of defeat after a dangerous opening round. It put an end to a run of three successive UFC wins, but the kind of opponents Shaylian was beating were all lower level and similar.
I honestly don’t know what to make of this one. I don’t really know why Melq Costa is -200 here because I think he’s proven untrustworthy enough to not warrant that price, but I’m not sure if Nuerdanbieke is being flattered by facing lower comp. Either way, I didn’t want to look into it any further from that point. Pass from me.
How I line this fight: I didn’t tape it.
Bet or pass: Pass
Prop leans: None

~Ikram Aliskerov v Antonio Troccoli~
Third time lucky for Troccoli trying to make his UFC debut? You’d think that by now I’d have done some tape on the guy, given he’s been waiting to get in there for some long.
15-1 Ikram Aliskerov is one hell of a guy to debut against though…Ikram looks like he could be the real deal. He’s dusted three opponents with complete ease in DWCS/UFC so far, and his only professional loss comes against none other than Khamzat Chimaev.
I’ve no idea about Troccoli, so that’s as far as I can go. Given the high finishing rate of both men, and this being a 205lbs fight, it feels like the -1000 price available on Aliskerov may not have any value (no shit!)…and I obviously don’t want to bet Troccoli on the return. Easy pass, but I’m sure it’s another showcase for an interesting prospect in Aliskerov.
How I line this fight: No idea specifically but Aliskerov large fav.
Bet or pass: Pass
Prop leans: None, there literally cannot be value on Aliskerov’s props unless you’re playing contrarian

~Garrett Armfield v Brady Hiestand~
Garrett Armfield impressed me in that recent performance against Brad Katona. I rated Brad’s minute winning ability very highly before the big focus was put on fight ending intentions, so I definitely made a mistake in trusting him in that spot. Katona’s not a dangerous fighter, so his style relies on domination and flawless defence these days. Damage and fight ending intentions are key factors to consider – and a great example of that is the first round of Brady Hiestand’s win over Fernie Garcia – he won 80% of the minutes in the round, but he got dropped momentarily in the first 20 seconds with one punch and all three judges gave it go Garcia.
Hiestand is riding a hard fought two-fight winning streak coming into this one. I don’t think Danaa Batgerel or Fernie Garcia are comparable wins to Brad Katona, and even less so when you actually dissect them. All three of Hiestand’s UFC fights have seen him get knocked down (unofficially with Garcia, but it was treated like one by the judges!), which is obviously a huge concern…especially when you consider he’s not even a super dangerous guy once he gets top position.
Hiestand’s standup isn’t threatening at all. You can tell he’s uncomfortable. He tries to sit at range and throws a kick or a single punch as he bides his time for his next takedown attempt, but he does so whilst backing up the entire time, so anyone with decent sprawling abilities should be able to see them coming. He is counter-able right after that initial shot too, as Danaa Batgerel figured out.
When Hiestand does get top control time it’s also pretty ugly. He’s very erratic and tries too hard to force a submission attempt (he tries to wrap the arm around for an RNC when he’s got nothing else going on the set up), and it often results in him getting reversed. I saw him end up on his back from having his opponent’s back at least three times. A good scrambler on the mat should have no trouble staying safe, and ultimately finding their way back to the feet if they’re patient.
Hiestand’s biggest strength is definitely his cardio, which was solely responsible for his win over Danaa. That was a very weird stoppage, as Danaa definitely wasn’t defending himself, but the punches from Hiestand were pretty inoffensive that I would imagine Danaa could have gladly eaten them for another 90 seconds and gone on to won an easy 29-28. He did gas though, as he didn’t protest what would otherwise have been a very brutal loss to suffer. It wasn’t exactly an impressive finish from Hiestand, he got very lucky to win that fight as the finish came 100% from Danaa gassing/quitting.
So how does Armfield matchup against all that info on Hiestand? Very well, I think. He’s got nice pressure and great hands that he throws in high volume. His performance against Kazama was basically the exact outcome he wants here. He fights with a low stance to pre-empt the takedown. Against Katona it was more of the same, and despite getting taken down four times he still defended five. He got straight back up every time he was taken down as well. They were mostly bodylock attempts, but I think his defence of single/double legs is better than his bodylocks. He got tired in the third against Brad (it was a high pace fight). But still got up off a takedown in the 14^th minute.
So I think Armfield’s got a very favourable match in front of him. Hiestand’s performance against Danaa was a clear indication that he cannot hang on the feet with a lower-level UFC opponent, so Armfield really should do work with the hands. He’s proven competent enough at stopping Hiestand’s only route to a victory also, so I think this one’s a gift for him. I initially wrote that -200 wasn’t steep enough, so I’m surprised the line continues to get better on him. I’ve played him for 3u at -175 (which is rare these days).
How I line this fight: Garrett Armfield -300 (75%), Brady Hiestand +300 (25%)
Bet or pass: 3u Garrett Armfield to Win at -175
Prop leans: Might be tempted by Armfield KO, serious levels on the feet and Hiestand’s been dropped by everyone he’s fought in the UFC so far.

~Asu Almabaev v Jose Johnson~
Asu Almabaev is looking very impressive, isn’t he? The way he dominated Ode Osbourne was certainly eye-opening, but the way he made light work of CJ Vergara was equally appealing to me. I’ve always said CJ’s a hard guy to look good against, and we also got to see Asu’s cardio look totally fine across 15 minutes.
He faces Jose Johnson for his third UFC appearance. Jose’s been a back-and-forth kind of guy. He has to fight hard for his wins, because he’s like a magnet for grappling. I don’t know how, but the guy has next to no ability to maintain distance and keep fights striking – where he wants them. He’s not a bad grappler when he is on the mat, but it’s still not his preferred place. He also gives up his back worse than anyone I’ve ever seen.
All of that will be music to the ears of Almabaev, who likely justifies his -400 price tag and smothers Johnson with grappling. It’s all well and good showing good grappling ability on top and bottom against Anheliger and Jack Cartwright, but Almabaev is a whole different league. Almabaev likely smokes him here. I played Almabaev in a parlay with Josefine Knutsson for 2u at -110.
How I line this fight: Asu Almabaev -400 (83%), Jose Johnson +400 (17%)
Bet or pass: 2u Assu Almabaev to Win (parlayed with Josefine Knutsson at -110)
Prop leans: Likely a submission win for Asu with the way Johnson gives up his back!

~Miles Johns v Douglas Silva de Andrade~
Miles Johns is an impressive and well-rounded fighter, but he lacks a killer instinct and sometimes has questionable cardio. Whilst those flaws are still good enough for him to get the better of guys like Vince Morales and Cody Gibson, he’ll struggle against more dangerous opponents that can match his pace, throw power, and not get stuck on the bottom.
Douglas Silva de Andrade strikes me as the kind of guy who fits into the latter category there. We know he hits hard, we know he has sneaky submission ability, and we know he can go a confident 15 minutes. He’s never been a high level minute winner, but he’s got the explosiveness to turn the tide of a round in an instant.
It’s not my usual way of thinking or breaking down a fight, but de Andrade just strikes me as the kind of guy who is going to benefit from the recent dismissal of USADA. He’s Brazilian, he’s absolutely jacked, and he’s at that age where he might need a little bit of help in keeping up with the younger guys in the division.
That’s a thought I cannot ignore unfortunately, so it’s enough for me to not want to get involved here. I do lean towards Miles Johns and I did initially want to consider betting him, but 2024 has definitely been a year where a lot of older guys have had a resurgence – fading older fighters is not the reliable narrative that it used to be. I pick Johns, but it’s a pass.
How I line this fight: Miles Johns +100 (50%), Douglas Silva de Andrade +100 (50%)
Bet or pass: Pass
Prop leans: None

~Lucas Almeida v Timmy Cuamba~
Chaotic and explosive hard hitter that cannot defend a takedown faces off against Man not good enough to win on DWCS.
Much variance. Just going to pass on this one.
How I line this fight: Didn’t tape
Bet or pass: Pass
Prop leans: None

~Nate Maness v Jimmy Flick~
Nate Maness is not good enough to be -400 in the UFC. His game revolves around mauling via takedowns.
Jimmy Flick is very, very one dimensional, in that he is submission from guard or bust in pretty much every fight. Whilst sometimes that’s a terrible predicament that leads him to get absolutely destroyed by good strikers…Nate Maness’ style could hand Flick is path to victory on a platter.
Jimmy Flick fights are silly, and the betting odds are always tricky. Flick looks like massive value at the start, but when it falls apart it looks awful.
Easy pass for me. If you wanted to roll the dice, Flick by Submission is the best value bet you can make here.
How I line this fight: Nate Maness -300 (75%), Jimmy Flick +300 (25)
Bet or pass: Pass
Prop leans: Flick by Submission to get the best out of his price.

~Adam Fugitt v Josh Quinlan~
A striker vs grappler affair, but neither guy is particularly good at their side of the duel. Adam Fugitt is an energetic grappler that’s keen to get in your face, but he’s not got the best top control and he can be deterred by a hard hitter.
Josh Quinlan is a guy I’ve been keen to fade since he got the UFC contract, because he very much seems like a R1 finisher or bust. He’s super aggressive and will go hard for the finish, but does leave himself open to being finished himself. Furthermore, he just isn’t a particularly good minute winner either.
I could very easily see Quinlan hitting that early finish against an opponent like Fugitt who isn’t defensively sharp or earning of respect. I could also easily see Fugitt surviving and turning the tide in the second and third. I lean towards Quinlan because I think Fugitt’s approach in the opening round will be asking for trouble, but there’s no way I’d bet on the moneyline here.
How I line this fight: Adam Fuggit +125 (45%), Josh Quinlan -125 (55%)
Bet or pass: None
Prop leans: Betting Quinlan early would probably be the way I’d go, if I had to.
Live Betting Leans: If we’re still going into R2, Fugitt’s chances should increase as Quinlan’s dangerousness fades.

~Carli Judice v Gabriella Fernandes~
Interesting that we’ve got another DWCS split decision loser that’s making a UFC appearance after not getting signed…despite not fighting since. The DWCS fighter laundering continues, as now you don’t even need to win to get a fucking contract.
I actually bet Judice in her DWCS fight. I expected her to have the higher volume and just completely out-hustle her opponent, but weirdly that’s exactly what her opponent did to her. It was a weird one because my read was perfect, just that the other fighter implemented it haha. I also bet Karackaite in her UFC debut, so nice to reclaim a bit of the money lost.
I still think Judice is decent enough for a fighter so inexperienced, and she’s more than just a woman with a 3-1 record. Gabriella Fernandes has historically been unable to stuff a takedown also, which is an interesting narrative that I’m beginning to think about more in the future. I’ve lost two bets this year (Cesar Almeida and Robelis Despaigne) because I didn’t expect their opponents to exploit the obvious grappling disadvantage, so I think it’s worth considering it could be in play for Judice here.
I understand the difference in experience, but this line seems ridiculously wide to me. You simply cannot trust a fighter with bad takedown defence and next to no get ups at -2XX. Judice also isn’t a bad striker, so I don’t think she’s going to get completely obliterated in Fernandes’ world either…so I absolutely can see a path to victory for her.
I’m not going to say I have any idea where the line really should be, but I think fading Fernandes specifically at this price is a totally viable option. I will therefore have 0.5u on Carli Judice at +210.
How I line this fight: Hard to say but definitely not this wide.
Bet or pass: 0.5u Carli Judice to Win (+210)
Prop leans: Judice by Decision, probably

~Julia Polastri v Josefine Knutsson~
I can’t remember if I broke this fight down the first time before it got cancelled, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I bet Knuttson originally at -250, and luckily for me the price actually got better this time around.
Polastri is a fighter I’m familiar with. She’s rangey, and she’s a decent enough striker. She will finish opponents that aren’t on her level, but her awful takedown defence means that her level will always sit somewhere in the middle of the division.
Josefine Knutsson is quite young in her MMA career, but she’s definitely showing some serious promise. She’s got a decent kickboxing record, and was regarded as one of the best P4P female kickboxers before she transitioned over to MMA. In short, I expect her to have a striking advantage against most opponents, Polastri included.
But what makes this one a confident pick, and what makes Knuttson -225, is that she has used her advantage in the standup to dedicate time to working on her grappling. We saw that in her UFC debut – she may have been fighting a can that had no business being in the cage with her, but she was able to show off her grappling, which looked to be at a pretty decent level. It’s probably still a work in progress, but Polastri’s aforementioned lack of takedown defence should make things much easier to the Swede.
So to summarise, Knutsson should be the better striker, and she can easily mix in the takedowns and win with offensive grappling if she needs to. In a sport like WMMA where the ‘puncher’s chance’ is much less reliable an outcome, I struggle to see how Polastri asserts herself as the dominant fighter here. -250 isn’t short enough, so I’ve got Knutsson in a 2u parlay with Asu Almabaev at -110.
How I line this fight: Josefine Knutsson -300 (75%), Julia Polastri +300 (25%)
Bet or pass: 2u Josefine Knuttson to Win at -110 (parlayed with Asu Almabaev)
Prop leans: None

~Jeka Saragih v Westin Wilson~
Jeka Saragih lost to Anshul Jubli, who has gone on to show you how low level the Asian MMA scene really is. I don’t think many/any of the fighters that came from Road to UFC are going to stick around too long, and Saragih is likely to be included in that. He got a shock win against Lucas Alexander last time (shoutout to me for suggesting that might happen), but a 90 second KO is a great way to fugazi the fans into thinking you’re better than you actually are.
Westin Wilson is a roleplayer who isn’t fit to fight in LFA, let alone the UFC. It’s an absolute joke that he’s fighting for a second time in the company.
Jeka is -300. Horrible price for someone of his calibre, but I understand why Wilson is being given so little chance himself. An ugly fight, and a betting line that captures that well. Just pass.
How I line this fight: no.
Bet or pass: Pass
Prop leans: None

Bets (Bold = been placed)
2u Tagir Ulanbekov to Win (-167)
3u Garrett Armfield to Win (-175)
2u Asu Almabaev & Josefine Knutsson to Win (-110)
0.5u Carli Judice to Win (+210)
0.25u Parlay Pieces (+400)

Parlay Pieces: Tagir Ulanbekov, Asu Almabaev, Josefine Knutsson, Garrett Armfield
Dog of the Week: Carli Judice
Picks: Alex Perez, Tagir Ulanbekov, Ikram Aliskerov, Shayilan Nuerdanbieke, Miles Johns, Timmy Cuamba, Asu Almabaev, Nate Maness, Josh Quinlan, Carli Judice, Josefine Knutsson, Jeka Saragih,

This year I have decided to start reading again- hadn’t read since I was about 9 and now I’m 15- and have been off to a decent start, I’ve read 9 books so far.
5 of which have been Yukio Mishima- really enjoying his stuff especially Temple of the Golden Pavilion and Sailor Who Fell from Grace.
Other books I’ve enjoyed are The Stranger by Albert Camus, The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall, and The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
Would appreciate any suggestions. Thank you!

Hello all! I work for my local humane society’s community cat program and also foster kittens with the HS. This year has been particularly rough, we’ve had a lot of community cats that have had to be euthanized due to injuries or illness and I’ve lost 4 foster kittens just this month—fading kitten, Giardia (rescued too late). I’d like a tattoo for all these babies that I’ve loved dearly, even though they weren’t my own. I’ll attach some inspiration and some pictures of them. Thanks in advance!