Me and my boyfriend get custody of his son (5 years old) every other weekend for 3 days. In the past couple months, there has been a pretty big influx of things getting messed with around the apartment that could only be him, and every time we ask him if he did it, he says no. One time he put modeling clay in my piano keyboard keys and denied it. We also recently realized that he has been submerging things in his cup of water every night when we think he is going to sleep. The items I know of that were submerged were a piece of foam from a pillow (not too bad, but still not good behavior), but more notably... a 90 day supply of my medication. The bottle was sealed and they were tucked away in my bag on our nightstand (both beds are in the same room) but next time I went to take them, all of the capsules were stuck together as if soaked. It also explains why his water was cloudy the next morning. I didn't put 2 and 2 together until weeks later when I realized that he had submerged some foam. I honestly assumed something must have spilled in my bag even though there was no other liquid around. Now, I will mention, that although he submerged the sealed medication bottle, I know for a fact that he would never drink water that he has submerged anything in, especially something like that. He also turned the heat all the way up in our apartment before we had to drive the 4hr round trip to drop him off with his mother and then for us to return home. When I confronted him about the heater incident, he told a story saying that it was an accident, but his story seemingly defies some laws of physics, so I'm not sure how true it was. While these incidents are frustrating, I love and care about this child and I want to figure out a solution to this.
Some more neccesarry context is that he gets in more trouble at his mothers house by an exponential amount. His mother also calls him bad/naughty often. I even heard her call him a "shit" once in a playful tone, but he does not understand that kind of tone with that verbiage. Hee seems to have developed a complex about it, thinking that he might be a bad kid.
So to round this out, my question is this: How do I encourage honesty with him and how do we discipline him for things we know he has done, but won't admit to? Additionally, how do we go about this in a way that won't instantly trigger him to feel like a bad person?
Edit: I appreciate all the advice and will definitely be changing up my phrasing to make sure I'm not giving him an opportunity to be dishonest, and I will DEFINITELY be getting a little safe to put my medications in in the future.

My main sim is a teenager named Kylien Montague whose lives with his mother, Julienne Montague. Both are based off my first save in Sims 2 (RIP).
Kylien and Julienne don't have a good relationship. While Kylien goes to school, Julienne lounges at the pool. She goes to bars and woohoos people and gets paid (installed kamasimtra for this).
As a result, Kylien's gift were 2 half-sisters, one from Marty Keaton and another from Jack Bunch (ofc both are married) - named Eloise Montague and Wednesday Montague.
Kylien did all the housework and studied hard despite his failed sim of a mother. Then he grew up and went to university to pursue a degree in fine arts. He was struggling at uni (and so was I since it's my first uni save) and already had a reputation of being naughty. So he decided, I've struggled so much, why not go and be a hoe?
He got the dare to kiss a sim. This sim was Ludo Vicco at his keg party (he tried to kiss Matthew Tellmer too, but bro said no sorry). After a few days, he again got the dare to make out. He completed the dare with his roommate, Daniel Vaughn. What's worse, his girlfriend, Bella Goth, is waiting for him at Sunset Valley.
Then he gets a C and since C's get degrees, he got one and came back home. Then, at a bar night, he met Leighton Sekemoto and got attracted to him. Bro went ahead, broke up with Bella, and started his business with Leighton.
It took such a long time to get them into a relationship that I felt like doing that head smash into keyboard animation. After a while, they both got into a relationship and eventually got married. Then they had a son, Sonny (Remember that game?), and were happily living together...until Kylien decided to sign up for the communications degree.

It's time for some Spring cleaning! Buy, sell, or trade!
Got Leica M mount lenses you're trying to unload? Or some other really cool gear that you're willing to trade? Shoot your shot here! Timestamps and photos for the items below. Please note that some photos include lenses on the body or accessories attached, which are each listed separately.
All items are in excellent, like-new condition unless noted otherwise. However, as part of my resolution to avoid storing empty boxes forever, very few of these will come in original packaging.
All my equipment is babied more than most parents baby their actual children. Smoke free. Pet free. Clumsy free. Stored in a dry cabinet, always.

Lenses/related

• Sony 35mm f/1.8 (Sony FE)
  • Description: Bought this, opened it, kept it in the dry cabinet, now listing it. Practically unused.
  • $499
• Sony 1.4x TC (Sony FE)
  • Description: Let me start by saying I'm not 100% sure I want to let this one go. I would be open if its part of a compelling trade or part of a good overall offer. Excellent condition, with original case and caps.
  • $499
• Neewer 35mm 1.4 APS-C Manual Lens (Sony E)
  • Description: Don't know why I bought this. I have never used an APS-C body. I tried using it once on my Sony A7III. Razor sharp for what its worth! Might be good for someone trying to get into Astro on a budget.
  • $10
• Leitz Elmar 90mm/9cm f/4 (Leica M)
  • Description: Got this bundled with a rangefinder I bought on here. It's a beautiful lens and one of the more budget friendly M-mount lenses. This is quite a portable lens for its reach. I even bought a lens cap for it from some random Italian camera store; it came to me with no caps originally. Good condition and the few photos I have taken with it have come out quite nice.
  • $149
• Fotasy PK (lens) to FE (body) Adapter
  • Description: This is an awesome little adapter. Fun to throw some vintage PK mount lenses (which are so budget friendly) onto your Sony body and see what magic you can create.
  • $10

Filters

• K&F 82mm Nano-D ND1000, ND64, ND8 (w/ K&F Soft Case)
  • Description: Unused. 2 are still in their original packaging. 1 opened, but never even mounted.
  • $99
• AmazonBasics MC CPL 67mm
  • Description: Unused. I don't even know what 67mm thread lens I bought this for.
  • $10
• Kenko Black Mist No.05 55mm
  • Description: Got this in a bulk purchase of some other gear. Don't own a 55mm thread lens so this has just been sitting here.
  • $20
• Filter Cases
  • Description: I can check the max size these will hold. Happy to throw these in with a purchase of the 55/67 above.
  • $9

Othemisc.

• Adobe Lightroom Shortcuts Guide MacBook Pro Keyboard Cover
  • Description: This thing is pretty cool. I just don't use Lightroom enough to keep it.
  • $15
• Lexar SD and CFExpress-A Card Reader
  • $45
• JJC Remote Switch
  • $19
• Leica E36 Cap
  • Description: No idea if this is legit or not, but it covers an E36 and it says Leica on it,
  • $10
• Altura Flash Diffuser
  • $9
• SmallRig Rotatable Collar Mount Plate for Sony A7CII/A7CR
  • $10
• Sony A1 Rubber Cover
  • $20
• Shure Motiv MV88 iOS Mic
  • $40
• Vintage Sigma LC-15 Leather Lens Case + Small Filters Case
  • Description: Lens case has a cut across the top
  • $12

Let me know if you have any questions!! Feel free to make interesting, crafty, and/or offensive offers.
Edit: Modified the feeling naughty price to reflect added products since my first draft of this post that has failed Auto Moderator 3 times. Edit 2: Reformatted due to many products sold.

Here is a 1st quarter collection of the Asian but non-Korean non-pop non-world-music feature. Nothing here is original. It is just a list of those songs and what Kpopalypse wrote, posted here for easy reference. Kpopalypse will do a year-end summary later, but I just thought it'd be nice to have early lists for people who would be interested. WARNING: This is Kpopalypse unedited and unfiltered. If you are easily offended, go read something else. Now, on with the show.
Merzbow Boiler Room Tokyo Live Set https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fR_8gpJCT4I This song [BIG Naughty feat. B.I, Bang Yedam – INFJ] invalidates itself due to having Myers-Briggs aka “pseudoscientific racism for psychologists” in the title so let’s put something else here instead. I think this year I’ll make the “random substitution song” Asian music, but Asian music that is 1. not from Korea and 2. not pop music, so in other words the kind of Asian music that k-pop fans would usually ignore the fuck out of because it doesn’t come with a nice little box with a photocard and easily stannable performers who dance well. And not traditional Asian music either because while I have nothing against it I’m sure that there’s 3862 other websites out there that already cover that shit. Of course I don’t want to be too alienating, so why not ease you in gently with a full set from the grandfather of noise music, Merzbow? There’s not much to say about Merzbow that isn’t self-evident so I’ll just tell you a story instead. I played a set with Merzbow many years ago when he came to my town, along with my partner at the time (who was an even bigger fan of him than me) and his soundcheck was so loud and earth-shaking that it vibrated the entire basement venue, causing a whole bunch of dust and crap to fall from the roof, which partially destroyed a computer that I was using to trigger samples from. Having “Merzbow destroyed my equipment” is certainly an interesting thing to have on my music resume but I wish he’d waited until after the show, as it certainly made the night a bit challenging. I couldn’t even raise the issue with him as Merzbow didn’t speak much English and was pretty oblivious, but he knew how to say “everything as loud as possible” to the sound engineer when asked what his sonic requirements were. Definitely the right attitude. https://kpopalypse.com/2024/01/08/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-8-1-2024/
Speed - Not That Nice (Official Movie) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfCROIuI9VE Okay, Kino who is ex-Pentagon has a song [Kino – Fashion Style] out and you don’t care about it because it’s trend-riding garbage and you’re a smart person who doesn’t need your intelligence insulted like that, so let’s have this week’s non-Korean non-pop Asian music feature! This week it’s hardcore group SPEED (not to be confused with the legendary Heelys-wearing [ Speed [스피드] - What U 안무영상(Dance Practice) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5C-nNXUj_I ], Davichi-guest-vocals-having [ Speed(스피드) _ That's my fault (슬픈약속) (Dance Ver.) MV https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gxMvAa2V1Q ] k-pop group), and while they’re from Australia they’re almost all Asian so they get in. The macho posing of course seems a bit silly at first, but it seems significantly less silly in the context of the lyrics here that specifically address anti-Asian violence, plus stereotypes about Asians in general as meek and polite. Their ten minute documentary is worth a look as it puts a lot of what you see in a broader context, but probably the most impressive thing of all about this band besides the kickass music is that they’re from Sydney… who knew that town still had a band scene left? https://genius.com/Speed-hc-not-that-nice-lyrics Breaking Asian Stereotypes With A Gang Called Speed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0hSVOVnzDw https://kpopalypse.com/2024/01/15/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-15-1-2024/
麥琪麥琪 MakeMake【We Are One】Official Music Video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4YVmnvNi08 MRCH’s song [MRCH – It’s Me] is poo but I kind of like her style and she’s too nice to be mean to, so let’s have our random Asian music feature here instead! This week it’s Makemake, a metal group from Taiwan who are probably better than your bias. They’re most notable for featuring Leevia who is a phenomenally good guitarist who like a lot of phenomenally good guitarists spends a lot time endorsing Ibanez [ Ibanez QX527PB Headless guitar Leevia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQ1dwjGdT34 ], and it’s worth checking out her solo guitar playthrough [ 麥琪麥琪 MakeMake【We Are One】Guitar Playthrough https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tOeKur_Zt8 ] of this song just so you can appreciate what’s involved if you’re guitar-inclined. She’s doing the work of about three guitarists at once, mind you the whole band are great and I especially like the sounds coming out of that vocalist. I also totally envy the keyboard player who pretty much just gets to stand around while everyone else does the work, career goals (mind you I don’t think she’s in the group anymore so I guess it got boring eventually, oh well). https://kpopalypse.com/2024/01/22/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-22-1-2024/
Limited Express (has gone?) - Bet On Me (Official Music Video) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeOCM_udBjA Okay this song [Giuk – Gory Pinocchio] was boring so let’s have our non-Korean non-pop non-boring-music-that-appeals-to-“world-music”-egghead-fuckwits Asian music feature! Limited Express (Has Gone?) are a punk band from Japan with a different sound which is difficult to describe but just listen to them and you’ll probably get the idea. Aside from being completely bonkers they also have a pretty good handle on dynamics for a group that makes such a cacophonous racket. Crazy energy, great music, lots of fun and not one maid or visual kei or anime cosplay in sight. Not that I have anything against maid or visual kei or anime cosplay, but when every fucking group in Japan does it, that shit gets old ... https://kpopalypse.com/2024/01/29/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-29-1-2024/
John Zorn & Naked City with Eye - NYC live https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfwhG1KtQp4 Japan is great sometimes though. You know how I said AB6IX have been quite good lately? Well they broke the run of good songs with some bullshit song [AB6IX – ILY (I Love You)] that they shouldn’t have even made a video for, so let’s have this week’s non-Korean non-pop non-world-music-wank music feature instead! This week it’s “avant garde” jazz group Naked City featuring saxophonist John Zorn and the fantastic Yamatsuka Eye (from Japanese weird psych-noise-whatever-rock group The Boredoms) on vocals. He’s pretty good in The Boredoms, but that group’s epic walls of noise drag on a bit too long for my short attention span – he’s much better here in Naked City’s tighter musical format, screaming his ass off and being way ahead of his time, foreshadowing today’s trendy pig-squeal deathcore breakdowns [ Forcing people that hate metal to react to brutal breakdowns https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCCbSzBB2nM ] by a good three decades. I don’t know what’s the best thing about this live footage, the ultra-polite jazz-audience reaction, the fact that John Zorn can’t stop laughing whenever Yamatsuka Eye does anything at all, or the fact that this cacophony while sounding completely random as fuck is actually mostly note-for-note the same as what’s on the studio record [ Naked City - Torture Garden(1990) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZSw73DLq-0 ]. Personal favourite here is their new version of “Speedfreaks” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P79XSJ68Sgw (from 1:26) which chops and changes music styles at the rate of about one genre per second – try changing up that fast, NMIXX! https://kpopalypse.com/2024/02/05/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-5-2-24/
High Tension - High Risk High Rewards https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lFRmd79GrM This [015B feat. Minjeong – Little Match Girl] was super boring and the poor girl looked awkward as shit like she was being tortured so why don’t we put our weekly Asian-but-non-Korean non-pop non-“world-music” feature instead? Yes, that’s a good idea. This week it’s High Tension, who were actually an Australian band but also featured the amazing Indonesian vocalist Karina Utomo, and honestly she’s the only Karina in music right now that I feel I can confidently stan, unlike certain other Karinas I could mention she doesn’t have a single dud track anywhere. “High Risk High Rewards” is a great kickass song, but it’s here mainly because it’s the song that’s probably most likely to appeal to pop listeners, yes their other material is mostly even more extreme than this. High Tension - Ghost to Ghost https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMeo0e48vyU High Tension - Rise https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keQ04DG8Eho High Tension - Bully https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XWdh0JXtVE Sadly, Karina fucked off out of this band a few years back when they disbanded but the good news is that she then joined some Indonesian sludge doom metal band called Kilat (a surprisingly un-websearchable band name, must be a common word in Indonesian I guess) and they’re even more of a mindfuck so check that out too and send me their music videos if you can even fucking find any. Kilat Live At Rossi Musik Jakarta 04.08.2023 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvv5-FN9JJ0 https://kpopalypse.com/2024/02/12/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-12-2-24/
Impiety - Azazel (Official Lyric Video 2019) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vic1IfIvrL8 I wasn’t sure whether to review WEi [WEi – Fake Love] or not because people always have that fucking BORING “is it really k-pop” debate and snooooooore nobody cares, get a life cunts. Anyway so this week’s Asian but non-Korean non-pop non-world-music pick can go here instead and it’s black metal band Impiety from Singapore. This group have been around forever and they go harder than most of your metal faves, plus they’re just as heavy now as they were when they started out. The song above is actually fairly accessible and mellow by their standards (if you want even heavier try this) but it’s all good baby. Revelation Decimation. Ravage and Conquer. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zklOMmoB7zs&list=OLAK5uy_kGBzRDXvv0WiXPLEohxLvQJkzy0Sa9Njc https://kpopalypse.com/2024/02/19/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-19-2-2024/
King Brothers - No Want https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBnrFlHDQfM I don’t think I give a fuck about this song [NOMAD – Let me love you], so let’s have our Asian but non-Korean non-pop non-“world music” feature here instead! This time let’s have Japan’s King Brothers, a group with incredibly awesome punk rock energy that pisses all over Japan’s overly polite rock scene, which I can attest to personally as I had the privilege of touring with these guys when they came to Australia. This video does what it can to capture this band’s chaotic live shows, and completely fails, but that’s nobody’s fault because I don’t think such an energy could even be captured in a format as bland as a music video without some kind of genius direction at the helm. Anyway my bandmates honestly got a bit annoyed playing on the same bill as these guys, as they were borrowing a lot of our gear and weren’t exactly kind to it. I understand they went through quite a bit of our drum equipment on that tour, doing crazy shit like getting up on the balcony and diving onto the stage, trying to hit the drums on their way down, but hey that’s the price you pay for lending your gear to such a bunch of crazy cunts. https://kpopalypse.com/2024/02/26/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-26-2-2024/
Slant(슬랜트) at Orange studio, Korea (March 2019) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgglwjeSRvs Wow this [Cha Eunwoo – U&I] is so boring, in fact it’s so boring that let’s not even have it in roundup and instead we’ll put the Asian non-pop non-“world music” non-Korean pick here instead... and well, fuck it, this one’s Korean anyway but who cares they’ll never qualify for roundup because they clearly couldn’t be assed making music videos so let’s just put them here to give them a bit of promo. Slant are a punk band and they’re fucking great and that’s all you really need to know about them. I thought this footage here in particular was really good to share because if any of you had a bit of trouble imagining the “Kimchi Slappers” chapter in my new book [Love Carousel, Shin Hana series book 3] and want to know what a show like that would actually look like in real life, this video is a pretty good example. Anyway if you like this group you could listen to this entire live set. [4K] 230909 • 슬랜트(Slant)🐍 Full Ver. @Club SHARP https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7cB7uOSRFE https://kpopalypse.com/2024/03/04/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-4-3-2024/
Voice of Baceprot - God, Allow Me (Please) To Play Music (Official Music Video) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPVo_QyS0Hw This [UmYull – Croxx] wasn’t very interesting so it’s time for our Asian but non-Korean non-pop non-world-music feature! This week it’s Voice Of Baceprot, a three-piece group from Indonesia and they’re just great. Check out this song here which is definitely their best one, ir goes from Sabbath-style riffing to kind of a Tool thing to wild bass solos to reggae, and none of it sounds forced or out of place, there’s no awkward “change-up” vibes here. Even the lyrics and message are on point, with the theme basically being “society’s bullshit sucks just let us be ourselves”. Rocking. https://kpopalypse.com/2024/03/11/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-11-3-2024/
-Pistol Valve-君だけなんだっ! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1MHD1RHLoU This song [NOMAD – California Love] sucks so instead let’s have our Asian non-pop non-world music non-Korean feature. Did you know that Japan had a ten-piece all-female ska group with a full brass section and a turntablist called Pistol Valve? Because of course they did. Those who saw my cover of this song on my bass video channel will probably remember this group, for the rest enjoy this video and sorry there isn’t a better quality version out there but hey it’s Japan, you know how it is, all k-pop fans know how they are about music videos I’m sure. https://kpopalypse.com/2024/03/18/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-18-3-2024/
Tielman Brothers - Rollin Rock (best rock 'n roll / Indo Rock) Live TV show 1960 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muKkVufgkAE Okay so it’s a slow week for k-pop [song replaced by above is Seori – Fake Happy] so once again it’s time for our Asian-but-not-Korean not-pop not-world-music feature! Now ... are you worthless? Are you a waste of oxygen? Are you a complete piece of shit who should be killed? Then redeem yourself completely and immediately by listening to The Tielman Brothers, a Dutch/Indonesian badass rocking combo who played harder, faster, stronger and better than ALL your 1950s and 1960s rock and roll faves, but were sadly never really paid their dues for whatever reason, can’t imagine why hey. Some of you are already aware of them no doubt, but some isn’t enough, you should ALL check them out immediately, and if you think this song is boring when it starts just stick with it, because it gets good, and then just when you think it can’t get even better, it does. You simply can’t go back to puny lightweights like Elvis Presley and The Beatles after getting your socks rocked off by this amazing band. https://kpopalypse.com/2024/03/25/kpopalypse-roundup-new-k-pop-releases-25-3-2024/

Waves.
Sometimes things propagate as waves.
She found this moth(rat?)-eaten manual fromma time not ours that mentioned this. That was before the invaders came. It may as well be centuries ago. There were stores that sold candies then. Wrapped in cellophanes of every color of the rainbow. What I'd give for something sweet now...
The sky is grey. Its always a shade of grey now. Sometimes lighter, during the day, I guess, orran ashen smeared easel offan irrational pantheon of uncaring gods and goddesses. We've been walking in what we assume is the same direction for at least two weeks. Following the river, keeping it to our left. At least we know we're not walking in circles. There's always an unnatural sound, like a sweeping broom across the tiled entranceway to Hell, that is present over the rushing water. Maybe that's why we stay close to the flowing - it almost blocks out the new world we have found ourselves in. Some semblance offa documentary on nature we might have seen when young and entertainment and learning were possibilities. There aren't many animals anymore. The ones that catch our peripherals are as ashen as the sky. Funny. I don't recall seeing foxes before; not in person. How long have we really been picking our way along this rocky terrain?
Laura is ahead of me, carrying a long bamboo walking stick. Sometimes when I lie and smile I tell her that's sposta help one walk. She lies and smiles back that of course its helping her walk - if I keep it horizontal it functions assif I'm onna tightrope - look, I'm inching between downtown skyscrapers!
An explosion in the distance, probably building sized. Sounds don't travel as far as they used to. All the greyness that came with Them is heavy, a wet blanket on the Earth, makes breathing a chore if one pays attention. The last buildings we saw were three-quarters immersed in the river. What is this body of water called? How does one forget what the local river is named? The same way one forgets what one's first car was, or where one's first kiss took place. Drive-in? Couch? Under bleachers? The explosion must be far enough to not be an immediate concern. No underfoot rumblings. We barely look up, in fact. We decided that attempting to track our progress in terms of direction was boring and pointless. Its not assif there issa goal we're reaching, a dot onna map that hassa printed name next tooit. In fact, the farther away we stay from those former dots on maps the better. Out here in the Great Big Fucking State Park of Wherever The Fuck We Are its peaceful enough. No former right angles to remind us that there are no straight lines in nature. Can't remember the last time I waited forra red light.
I'm catching up to Laura, she's crouching, long stick still horizontal, picking at something on or in the ground with her sawtoothed machete. There's no movement in the treeline except the branches and leaves themselves. Birds are almost non-existent now. I swear I don't ever recall seeing a fox in the flesh before, now they're the most common animal besides us. As I reach the limestone platform she spins, triumphant, see-I-told-you-the-stick-works, and holds out a bottle of Jamaican Red Stripe, looking new and shiny. Her excavation has unearthed a blue and white Igloo cooler chest from between boulders. Its full of formerly imported beers, a couple of red wax-encased wheels of cheese and luckily unopened large packets of bison jerky.
Back when people milled like ants, endlessly constructing ventilation tunnels and waste depositories, they believed things. They had up to the minute holy documents crisscrossed with squiggly imaginary lines, like all holy documents. Wherever one found oneself in relation to the imaginary lines denoted certain realities. Foxes are more common than people now. Somewhere Walt Disney is not feeling irony. Sometimes those holy imaginary lines were rivers. People's most common trait was laziness. I remember viewing a satellite picture of Earth, and it seemed the only blue water left was that being fed the indigo stain for denim inna polluted tributary adjacent in what was China. So much holiness. When the need arose for things bigger than us to assist, those holy worshipped things, they remained as invisible and ineffectual as ever. The larger than our imaginations entities that did show themselves remained indifferent to our collective sigils and crossed hearts. These giants brought with them a new Art, a new way to draw lines on maps, and new definitions of what maps were. Blue is still the least common color of water, brown and red being much more favored. Faces old and young stare accusingly from just beneath the surface tensions now, no matter what the hue of the liquid. The Earth is somehow a quieter marble now, explosions less frequent. If one were being charitable one could say the new, gigantic forms had brought peace, finally, at last. The answers to so many prayers.
Light pollution is now an antiquated term. Sagan's billions and billions twinkle sparkle flash and swoosh above our heads now if our relative elevation to the sea is great enough. I am no eidetic astrologer, but Laura agrees that Orion's belt and Betelgeuse are no longer where they were. Or maybe obscured by clarity. Perhaps eventually we'll draw new imaginary lines in the night grey and link humanistic tragedies to them. That one's Boffo, the legendary fox masturbator, see his right hand has six fingers? And there's Yourmom, still popular as ever. Some of the stellar regions make audible strings of intermittent noises, attempting to ask our obsolete fax machines tooa matinee. At least they're not selling us used cars yet. I wonder, would that make us scramble nowhere faster or drag our feet? The dead do not walk the globe. Hooded skeletons do not ride pale horses in search of wheat fields. It is possible something with many arms dances to an idiot piper. We smoke 'em if we got 'em, and we usually do. Drugs were big business, and are more commonly laying around than cans of cranberry sauce. They brought peace on Earth with Them, and an end to poverty, however one measures it. And they didn't even demand praise.
We haven't seen any other people in at least two weeks. Not alive, anyway. Most of the corpses are floating in pieces unidentifiable down past us. Any former homes by the waterfront have been abandoned. Proximity to the new vast creatures does something to the thought processes. Makes the electrons jump track and wind up in the wrong brain receptors. They're not eating us. They're not even interacting with humanity unless we en masse attack them. Nukes were used. That was the last Laura and I heard. The largest groups of people we've seen were four, across the river. They made no sign of recognition, no waves or yells. A mutual noticing. They were headed the way we came, on the other side.
We've stopped at a two story home with a boatless dock. A fire has turned the former garage into ash, but the adjacent kitchen and walk-in pantry is still full of groceries. Sandwich creme cookies with evaporated milk on the master bedroom deck. Sheets still smell like scented detergent and the water still gurgles from the faucets when they're turned. No electricity. Those electrons don't do the same things either. The long drive leading up to the structure is buried under massive fallen pines. Debris clogs the river itself, using a boat seemed useless, as if there was a destination to speed away to. Laura calls it " Fort mumbleblarrg " , exhaustedly burying her head in a couch cushion laid out on the deck. I stuff more cookies between my teeth. The view provided of the terrain from the deck looks like an angry child shook the ant farm, and bored, tossed it away inna drainage ditch outside a seafood buffet inna resort town. My skin imagines it has been coated in egg and floured batter several times. Shaking the sludge off my head I collapse on the unmade bed by the sliding glass, very seriously stained doors.
[ they severed the hands that's what the Spaniards did. Halberded piles palms up
fires not cauterizing, smudging
glints of spittled grin thick lenses calloused fingers zipping up weatherbeaten
blood, from not yet a teenager
cotton briars, green bitterness
whens
please not again]
Fort Mumbleblarrg seems as good as any place to experience intense hallucinations and/or time slips and/or simultaneous dimensional realities. It has cookies. After dragging all the usable foodstuffage up to the master bedroom suite atop the remnants of the wooded structure and making use of the handily, almost obscenely organized tools to actually um, fortify the narrow stairwell, we immediately crash near comatose for days, ingesting sugars and fats like there were supermarkets with humming freezer sections on every city intersection. This place even has a wine cellar, a real one, not a glass doored cabinet. I am almost disappointed there is no cask of Amontillado.
On the fourth day another explosion, still far enough to not feel blasted heat or earthquaking floorboards, but it trails along with it a visible atmospheric channel that spins off like the arm offa hurricane. For hours all the colors in the spectrum become grimy, unctuous, the view from the bottom of a fast food fryer overdue for straining. Nausea sets in during and afterward. All offa sudden being onna carpet is the same as lying face down inna two-inch-deep tray of cultivated maggots, complete with crawling movements up the walls and greenish-grey waves lighting up the flatscreen of the now-defunct television across from the bed. Huddled in the center, trying desperately not to touch or even look at the floor while convulsively emptying our bowels and stomachs, the moldering lightshow starts to produce three dimensional effects, coming closer then sinking in far past the wall its mounted on.
Blankness. Grey. Millipedes. Water still runs, still looks clear. All of the carpet gets torn out and heaved over the deck's railing, along with the sodden mattress. Mumbleblarrg wassa perfect title, man. From the deck a three-foot-wide stripe is clearly visible across the landscape. Straight from our perspective, disappearing into the horizon, a charred, still smoking narrow strip of burnt. Trees that formerly stood in its path are simply gone, not piles of twisted branch stubs and ash. Gouges in the limestone, an actual scraping it seems. Smell of overripe, rotting fruit, something exotic like ugli or dragon with an artificial sweetener aftertaste in the nostrils; acrid, bulbous decay accelerated by molecular science students proud of their work. Evidence of this is visible in the river itself - a darkened stripe underneath the waterflow which now eddies at the banks. Added to the evidence of former civilization already present in the water are the carcasses of fish, or fish-like creatures, at least. It is difficult to discern what the original shapes of the savagely torn chunks of flesh might have been. The entire column of moving water is black and brown and maroon and bright fire truck red. There issa small fire burning on the opposite shore. Impossible to tell what exactly, just a blur of burning. For the moment there is a wind, steady, away from us. Blessedly, away from us.
Laura usedta tell stories about being born onna side offa river I was not. I was born on an Air Force base in Texas. This is not that river. It doesn't look familiar to either of us. We don't know what its called, or was called. I had lived in Texas for all but four of forty-three years. I have never seen a fox except on screens, maybe a billboard. Now they're like neighborhood dogs. The trees, the grasses, they're familiar, but not intimately so. What are all these foxes eating? What stopped eating all the foxes and let their population burgeon? Laura says since that last wave she has a scar missing. It was to the side of a bone in her wrist, she got it while working inna field with her mother assa child. I don't remember for sure - its not my wrist, but I believe her. Neither of us can relate to the other how we got here, and when we attempt it again the story breaks down at maybe a different point. The last memory we have that stays the same is that we were both inna friend's car driving up to the convenience store a mile from my parents' old trailer. Then... Even when telling our own stories over again they change. At least that's what the other person claims.
There is plenty of packaged, indestructible food left. Some of the vintages are over sixty years old. We start on those just because. I stick a sewing needle through one of the corks and float it inna bowl of water. It doesn't seem to do anything in particular, which means I've probably forgotten a step in compass making. Best as I can tell we're headed vaguely north. Absolutely nothing I have observed points definitively to that conclusion. For now this is as good a place as any.
Contrary to most horror movie logic there are several battery powered devices fully charged, more or less, and picking up all kinds of stations. Allot of them are preprogrammed and safeguarded against any possibility that silence could happen, lest our listeners disappear. There are no live voices, though even the public station is replaying an interview with a United Nations ambassador intermittently with blocks of humming where the local station breaks would be. Neither of us recognize any of the station call letters or frequencies. Even the fifty thousand watt WOAI transmission is absent. Quickly we settle on the classical public broadcast, coming in surprisingly clear. It is the only one playing music without lyrics exclusively. It helps make all the alien noises more tolerable. When stars are visible focussing one's attention on a certain grouping will now cause them to actually respond - both with sounds and visual effects. Its not just our poor human senses - recordings on our phones document the phenomena in even greater detail. Clear enough skies to see past the grey are rare, but at least two infinite directions yield beautiful results. I name them after Greek sirens in my head, not wanting to be outwardly anymore pessimistic than the situation demands. Most stars are silent and stationary enough. For now. There is still one sun in the sky that seems to do the same thing it used to, even though its greyed out usually. Maybe tomorrow it will offer two scoops of raisins.
And. Aspirin in the aftermath of wine. We've been here four or five days and just now notice that there are no identifying traces at all of who once lived here. No photos framed. No mail magnetted to the refrigerator door. No kids' homework, or children's toys at all. There are true crime and mystery novels. No religious items. There are also no clothes hanging in closets or folded in drawers. Like we interrupted the crew dressing the set.
The audio stream changes from madrigals to Gregorian chants. Its still less memory invoking than pop songs of love gained and lost and sex. We've noshed through most of the sugars and salts and fats and have begun opening cans of vegetables and beans. Laura reminds me she's a Mormon and I pick up the old argument that no, she is not. My father attended a seminary in Michigan to become a priest before he joined the Air Force assa chaplin and married a paranoid schizophrenic, what the Roman Catholic church labels a possession case officially. I like to get drunk and talk about religion and politics. When I carried a wallet it contained separate business cards for ghost and demon removal services. My reasoning being that demons are way more dangerous than the cranky old fartbag of Aunt Mabel bitching about your choice of cat food for Mr. Snuggles, and should be priced accordingly. My first official girlfriend assa teenager working at Wendy's wassa Mornon, so I have slightly more than a cursory familiarity of the doctrine. Worst girlfriend ever, by the way. Never kiss a girl who doesn't smoke. Its okay if she doesn't smoke anymore, but this advice, I contend, will not let one down if heeded. As the topic of baptizing ancestors breaches again the sky visible past the open sliding glass door abruptly shifts from grey to palish green. Notta seafoam orra seasick orra pea, but a shade reserved for floors of state mental hospitals, disinfectant ready and climbing the edges of the walls. There is something else that is different. Laura and I exchange searching looks, interrupted in our comfort food conversation. We sit staring at each other forra solid minute before knitting our eyebrows and proceeding out on the deck. The atmosphere is physically thicker past the doorframe. Not more humid - the air is cool and moist, but no more so than before. Heavier. Gravity is still a theory. Although we confidently launch rockets and probes and parasail we assa species are still uncertain as to whether gravity issa push orra pull. Gravity now feels like its the ocean, waves jostling in all directions. A propagating wave packet, my head insists. I can't hear the rushing sound of the river. At all. Nor the wind visibly moving the branches strung above. The radio is unaffected. I am not. The last thing I remember when I awake is opening my mouth, partially full of cooked peppered yellow squash, and screaming. Silently.
[ thousand segmented legs crawling
the monsters took her under cover of sunlight and treason I can't remember what she was wearing
rough hewn metals jagged under nails into nerve-riddled flesh, rusted dirt filled channels
you were there to nurture but instead you consumed until bloated and gaseous
unstable at this temperature NO!
claimed divinity with hives and fever, royal pink and chartreuse
steaming exhalations horses breath
they spasmed fits and palsy
perspiration to the soil
which grew poisoned flowers from their tears
the limb twisted before the hinged joint borne unto the Firmament unmade
flutes whistling graveyard breezes
sounds are vibrations
sinusoidal dips and troughs and peaks and valleys
how many decimalled hurts?]
There issan aching in the back of my skull. No cartoon birds and stars halo. Rising from my face-up prone position on the freshly painted deck, Laura is first in my field of vision, back solidly pressed against the railing, her eyes wide and staring. Settling next to her while rubbing my nape, I dig in my pocket and fish out Ann's antique silver cigarette case. Taking two Camels out I offer one widdershins, quickly accepted. The black and gold lazer etched Zippo fails to click when struck but lights both. Baroque woodwinds and harpsichord is quarteting through the filthy sliding glass doors. It is the only sound. I dreamt of my daughter Kallisti. I have no idea where she is or if she is. Burnt ash drops without crackles, being shaken off by my trembling lips. Hot tears are streaming down, blurring the soundless vista with eloquent soundtrack. I haven't seen Kallisti since she was eight. She would be ten now. Her mother abandoned us when she was two anda half, chasing heroin and cocaine with prostitution and psychopathic apathy. I don't remember dropping the finished butt or crawling to the pallet on the floor underneath the speakers. Batteries still holding out. Harpsichord and oboes give way to four cellos, dirge. Its suiting of the moment. Red wine has not helped the aching of my head. Laura's face is turned from my view, surveying silent scenery fit forra hotel wall painting. This is where you could be instead of MotorLodge #164. There is no chocolate mint on your pillow. Do not use blacklights in the vicinity of your bedspread, please and thank you. End of song, end of consciousness.
Floor shakes hard enough to propel me to my feet. Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries is blasting through the speakers, but its too loud, absurdly loud, there's no way cones that size could make that much air move. Fuck this. Quick steps and noiseless slamming of the glass door. Thankfully the music diminishes in volume somewhat with this action. Its nighttime now. Laura is standing at the railing, one hand gripping the wood with enough force to turn her knuckles white, the other solidly around the ornate neck offa wine bottle labelled in Portuguese. She turns her head, frowning, only slightly, acknowledging my presence, then returns her sentry's position to the heavens. Half of the grey is parted centrally, revealing the new map of burning stars. Tens or thousands of minutes later Wagner dissolves into what would have been a station break, now the amplified buzzing offan ultraviolet bug zapper with two dragonflies struck frying in the mesh. This allows the only other sounds audible through to our senses: sirens calling from beyond Earth, skyward. A sort of synthetic chime set, microtuned at random and played by feasting vultures onna weighted keyboard. There is something new this time - a long, lilting, occasionally harmonized chorus of voices drifting in and out from a different point of night than the chimes, almost sideways from the horizon. If it is a language it is none I recognize, though there are definitely parts repeating verse-chorus-verse. Many vowels, few consonants. Hours pass. The buzzing from the radio fades to nothingness leaving us with the calling of the stars. The chimes span about two octaves. The voices, if that's what they are, full spectrum. There are most certainly repeating themes, though mismashed between competing chorales. All of the voices are distinctly female, the epitome offan archtype of warrior class. A third distinct group sounds angrier than the first two, threatening. No, bitch, our dance moves slay your tired, weak-ass trots. Its beautiful, as much as it can be, but my ears are accustomed to atonality. Also very directional. The voices are coming from horizontal sources, maybe on the planet, while the chimes are beaming from a gyrating cluster of suns directly above our heads. I find that I don't care how my dehydrated body feels about this decision: I am getting as drunk as I can before a red graped woman's hand closes the staring eyes of my corpse.
" There is nothing new under the sun " somebody said once. Probably a guy. That's the kind of smug bullshit men get quoted saying. Fuck that guy. I'm glad he's dead. I hope it hurt the whole time. By all means, quote me on that.
The darkness of night is lasting longer than it should. When I climb in the upstairs shower the water again thankfully runs clear. Its cold and wakes me up, though I'm still staggering drunk. Drinking in stomachfulls of water I emerge humming a companion piece to the concert around us. At least, I'm vibrating my throat and chest. It feels like what making sounds used to do. We've laid out couch cushions covering most of the deck and are observing. Writing onna legal pad witha pen screenprinted Al's plumbing, Laura says it feels like noon. We've been dosing off in turns. She suggests Father Alien instead of Mother Nature. Our three local groups of singers have played through at least two albums of repeating hits. I turned off the radio, though it didn't respond immediately, stubbornly buzzing at least an hour after the off command was issued. My vintage is 1973, something in French. Saltine crackers, spray cheese inna can. I keep thinking about Mitch Hedberg's joke about it glowing in the dark, every bite. The chimes have almost completely faded, along with the brightness and location of its point of emanation. Glee club is picking up the tempo, but seemingly content with their distant concert halls. When I heavily plop down the notepad is passed over. Two words: Foxes. Below. Laura is strategically stationed under the thick fringed vinyl umbrella that formerly stood in the center offa round glass table next tooa propane cookstove. On its side its functioning assa lean-to tent. Hanging my head over the railing, my eyes are greeted with twenty to thirty smaller shiny pairs staring back. Ashen grey and brownish-red foxes are doing much the same as we are, minus alcohol. Laura hands me a bag of marshmallows and we toss them down one by one. They look cute, smiling almost. I shiver. Laura tugs at my jacket and I join her on the other side of the lean-to. We stuff marshmallows in our ears, hoping we don't wake to find ants crawling, searching through our brains.
Something is tickling my face and smells like bubblegum. Opening my sleepshut eyes I discover an orange fox on my chest, staring directly at me. It licks my nose several times and is instantly gone when a peal of gravelly smoker's laughter erupts from beside me. Some giant, probably taloned hand has turned the volume knob of the world back to the right again. Trees, river, that sweeping, scratching noise, all back. I haven't seen Laura happy, even briefly, like this since we found ourselves wandering. The little furry scamp ate the marshmallows out of her ears too, she says. For minutes it is easier to breathe, even with the obligatory cigarette smoke. Happiness is rare now, has been for years. Just a little reminds my body what its like to be alive. Lighter grey, occluded sky. Something like morning has arrived, however late. The same clawed huge fingers changed the world's gear ratio back to where it was. We're spinning...I see a flash of memory instead of what my eyes report. My autistic daughter spinning herself dizzy holding a ribbon, a glittery one, inches thick, sparkles fluttering. Quickly I pretend to cough and turn away, holding my closed fist in front of my face. There is no need to spoil whatever semblance of humanity is left in us by sharing this thought. " I'll make breakfast! Something hot! " She knocks the umbrella over leaping up like a clumsy feline. Burying my face in the rough cushions, I bite down on the material covering the foam, thankfull to be out of view.
Breakfast is handmade tortillas, generic, mechanically separated beef fromma squat can, diced tomatoes, black beans, corn. Blue rings of flames perform the chemistry on command. All the exciting little kid junk food has been torn through, leaving stacks of stolid, adult canned rations. There is plenty of wine. At first discovery I advised Laura not to quaff the ones that read " Port ". A friend's favorite author was Jack Kerouac. He mentioned more than thrice getting drunk on port wine. Turns out that's code for alcoholic cherry snow cone syrup. Which did provide me with the line " Man, I ain't shit my pants since I was twenty-seven! " For the record, my favorite author is HP Lovecraft. My takeaway was never, ever swim or float on, in, near, or near a painting of the ocean. Better include lakes to be sure. And iffit doesn't have fins reconsider your menu choice.
Considering the condition of the world around us we had immediately abandoned our lifelong commitment to living green and recycling. Throwing our refuse over the wooden railing wasn't an issue that required debate or reconsidering. Fort Mumbleblarrg, upon our commandeering, quickly became unfit to impress visiting colonels. Both of us passed out underneath the tilted umbrella, she under a thin blanket and I sporting a hideous shower curtain that was most certainly someone's stolen memento offa naughty liaison, the grey above us got brighter and dimmed. My eyebrows knitted upon being disturbed. Is today Wednesday? Forgot to set the cans out on the curb. Shitgoddamnmotherbitch the old couple two doors down are alcoholics. They're green container is full of-
Slowly raising my head and torso from the seat cushions I have the conscious thought that I really don't want to know what is making that waste management noise underneath my feet. I am tired of acquiring knowledge. My head is full, thank you. Try again next year. Mayhap by then I'll have finally succeeded in getting rid of those terrible '80s pop country lyrics that my parents thought would be useful to carry around with me for the rest of my life. Or that list of all the adverbs in the English language my frizzy-headed bitch offan AEGT teacher shoved in without permission. Then I'll have space for more data storage, but not now. Something is snorting and something is loudly crinkling. Maybe the social security office sent the wrinkly winos some of the CIA's cocaine stash covertly disguised as Sun Chips. They're humping furiously in the drainage ditch and feeling like teenagers again. That's sweet. Let 'em throw bottles and challenge life with a shaking skyward fist. She wassa cheerleader and he built an entire car from junkyard parts in Auto Shop. Their kid got dismembered five ways bya landmine, but that was at least six years ago. What-
Decking underneath vibrates as whatever is below us thuds against one of the support beams. A misty exhalation of partially digesting organic matter sprays into view on the other side of the railing. I still haven't sprung to my feet. Blood pressure hasn't come close to spiking. We all have our fetishes. Who am I to tell them what do after the evening news onna weekday? Can't believe you're poking me in the ribs to relate this story. Bullshit. You'll smile and wave when we drive by like always. A low, three second rumbling causes the deck to vibrate atta different wavelength. Fucking waves, man. No, I don't wanna go to the beach. They eat lots of cabbage and partake in excited conversations at mealtimes. They're passionate people. I am not getting out bed. That's what the largest sites on the internet are for. To see things like this whenever you wake up.
I. Am. Sleeping.
Go. Away.
Fuck. This.
Brown bears are smaller than black bears, which are in turn smaller than grizzlies. This one is grey. Its back sports the left arm and face offa human melted into it, off-center towards the animal's right flank. Impossible to tell if the face belongs tooa man or woman. Just the first two inches are showing, matted with the bear's greyed fur. The eyes are lidless and staring with tiny dots for pupils, pale brown eyes seeming to fade to grey with their surroundings. The left arm is active, flailing and grasping at anything that touches the palm momentarily. Mouth is slack, open, no tongue. I don't know how to judge how large the bear is. I think its bigger than a standard brown one, and I have no geographic clues. Fort Mumbleblarrg's newcomer is not okay with its tenants selfish policy of not sharing foodstuffs with the local wildlife, except insects. And its demanding toobe heard. I have been close tooa few brown bears before, seen pictures of the other ones, and I don't remember them having teeth this long and sharp. Jagged, like shark's teeth. At least they're not in rows. Huh. Whata strange thought.
An explosion, this one close enough to send flaming fist sized chunks of burning matter hailing down upon us and everything in sight. A searing blast of oven barrels directly sideways, transmuting the visible spectrum to the final day offa carnival, full of cheap plastic bottled whiskey, burnt sugar, understated menace, and malice overt. Both of us are thrown against the far railing. Almost losing consciousness, we scramble to toss several erupting couch cushions over the side before the rest of the upholstery ignites. The entire deck vibrates violently as the nightmare bear is thrown against the mooring posts, its jaws snapping several times like a shark's. A shriek far too reminiscent of human speech bellows from below. Laura is on her feet first, brandishing her sawtoothed machete but backing towards the sliding glass doors, one of which has cracked deeply but maintained its integrity. I follow her wide-eyed gaze to spy the offending creature coming into view as it woundedly staggers towards the riverbank. A two foot section of its rear flank is actively on fire, on the side opposite its unfortunate human addition. The human handed arm is flailing, fingers blurring. It becomes apparent that the unsettling sounds its making are also coming from the face enmeshed in the fur on its back. Unbelievably I find myself fascinated, unable to take in any other stimuli. Trailing an stench part burning hair and part Texas BBQ, it tumbles headfirst over a rocky ledge and is swept splashing fetid mudwater with the current. I lose my stomach contents over the railing, tannin-rich and sharply red. Behind me, a clang resounds as the machete hits now bare wood slats and a sound much more disheartening than any our mutant visitor had uttered bursts from Laura's lungs.
[ charred glass and copper, poly-fill and stuffed animals' eyes, once alive with children's imagination now splattered with phlegm and dirt
carousel uneven creaks flashing ticking bulbs in the humid summer air
the disappointment in her eyes
parasites replacing fish tongues
many eyed the reproach
ifs, not whens
dovecote abandoned
sharp stab upon kneeling]

I just want them to stop fighting. Whenever I give Orange (male neutered adult) any sort of attention, Gray (male neutered adult, newer cat in the family) is immediately jealous. Gray will come over and try to butt his head into my hand, get in the way, or mimic what Orange is doing to get the same attention. I will either purposely ignore Gray (especially if he's doing an unwanted behavior) or alternate lovings between cats. Orange has a personal bubble and Gray often invades it, so he will come and lay on Orange while I am petting him and then Orange has to leave. Gray doesn't get pets when he does that, so he's learning to stop, but afterwards, whether I give Gray attention or not, Gray will instigate with Orange if I've pet him. He will get into his personal space, chase him, and they'll get into cat fights (Orange's ears are down and he runs away, usually to me where he knows I will clap and break it up).
Gray is obviously smitten for me. He constantly wants love. Whenever he sees me, he rolls over and tries to look pretty for pets. It works a lot but not when he's being naughty. When I stop petting him, he butts his head into my hand for more. He always sleeps in his cat bed under my desk when I'm working, and sometimes he comes and steps on my keyboard (I WFH) to show that I haven't given him enough attention.
I don't know what to do to fix this. I know that we need another litter box, but our apartment is too small. We're trying to get a house and once we have one, three litter boxes are ready. I have multiple food spots and we're getting a second water spot soon. Orange has plenty of vertical sleeping spots and Gray has claimed one cat tree but he's a bush-dweller and doesn't even like going high up otherwise unless it's to specifically ruin Orange's day. I see that Gray wants to lay with Orange and sometimes Orange lets him but he hates Gray trying to groom him and generally just runs away and they get into fights again.
The fights also leave small scabs on Gray. Orange trims his own claws so they're always pretty dull, while Gray's claws are as sharp as a baby kittens. I'm glad Gray isn't hurting Orange, but Gray is definitely pushing Orange's buttons.
Tl;dr Both my cats are very polite in front of me, but as soon as I leave the room, Gray is harassing Orange for getting my attention. I love Orange and he needs affection or he gets stressed out.
My next step in my plan is to get pheromones and see how that helps.

Waves.
Sometimes things propagate as waves.
She found this moth(rat?)-eaten manual fromma time not ours that mentioned this. That was before the invaders came. It may as well be centuries ago. There were stores that sold candies then. Wrapped in cellophanes of every color of the rainbow. What I'd give for something sweet now...
The sky is grey. Its always a shade of grey now. Sometimes lighter, during the day, I guess, orran ashen smeared easel offan irrational pantheon of uncaring gods and goddesses. We've been walking in what we assume is the same direction for at least two weeks. Following the river, keeping it to our left. At least we know we're not walking in circles. There's always an unnatural sound, like a sweeping broom across the tiled entranceway to Hell, that is present over the rushing water. Maybe that's why we stay close to the flowing - it almost blocks out the new world we have found ourselves in. Some semblance offa documentary on nature we might have seen when young and entertainment and learning were possibilities. There aren't many animals anymore. The ones that catch our peripherals are as ashen as the sky. Funny. I don't recall seeing foxes before; not in person. How long have we really been picking our way along this rocky terrain?
Laura is ahead of me, carrying a long bamboo walking stick. Sometimes when I lie and smile I tell her that's sposta help one walk. She lies and smiles back that of course its helping her walk - if I keep it horizontal it functions assif I'm onna tightrope - look, I'm inching between downtown skyscrapers!
An explosion in the distance, probably building sized. Sounds don't travel as far as they used to. All the greyness that came with Them is heavy, a wet blanket on the Earth, makes breathing a chore if one pays attention. The last buildings we saw were three-quarters immersed in the river. What is this body of water called? How does one forget what the local river is named? The same way one forgets what one's first car was, or where one's first kiss took place. Drive-in? Couch? Under bleachers? The explosion must be far enough to not be an immediate concern. No underfoot rumblings. We barely look up, in fact. We decided that attempting to track our progress in terms of direction was boring and pointless. Its not assif there issa goal we're reaching, a dot onna map that hassa printed name next tooit. In fact, the farther away we stay from those former dots on maps the better. Out here in the Great Big Fucking State Park of Wherever The Fuck We Are its peaceful enough. No former right angles to remind us that there are no straight lines in nature. Can't remember the last time I waited forra red light.
I'm catching up to Laura, she's crouching, long stick still horizontal, picking at something on or in the ground with her sawtoothed machete. There's no movement in the treeline except the branches and leaves themselves. Birds are almost non-existent now. I swear I don't ever recall seeing a fox in the flesh before, now they're the most common animal besides us. As I reach the limestone platform she spins, triumphant, see-I-told-you-the-stick-works, and holds out a bottle of Jamaican Red Stripe, looking new and shiny. Her excavation has unearthed a blue and white Igloo cooler chest from between boulders. Its full of formerly imported beers, a couple of red wax-encased wheels of cheese and luckily unopened large packets of bison jerky.
Back when people milled like ants, endlessly constructing ventilation tunnels and waste depositories, they believed things. They had up to the minute holy documents crisscrossed with squiggly imaginary lines, like all holy documents. Wherever one found oneself in relation to the imaginary lines denoted certain realities. Foxes are more common than people now. Somewhere Walt Disney is not feeling irony. Sometimes those holy imaginary lines were rivers. People's most common trait was laziness. I remember viewing a satellite picture of Earth, and it seemed the only blue water left was that being fed the indigo stain for denim inna polluted tributary adjacent in what was China. So much holiness. When the need arose for things bigger than us to assist, those holy worshipped things, they remained as invisible and ineffectual as ever. The larger than our imaginations entities that did show themselves remained indifferent to our collective sigils and crossed hearts. These giants brought with them a new Art, a new way to draw lines on maps, and new definitions of what maps were. Blue is still the least common color of water, brown and red being much more favored. Faces old and young stare accusingly from just beneath the surface tensions now, no matter what the hue of the liquid. The Earth is somehow a quieter marble now, explosions less frequent. If one were being charitable one could say the new, gigantic forms had brought peace, finally, at last. The answers to so many prayers.
Light pollution is now an antiquated term. Sagan's billions and billions twinkle sparkle flash and swoosh above our heads now if our relative elevation to the sea is great enough. I am no eidetic astrologer, but Laura agrees that Orion's belt and Betelgeuse are no longer where they were. Or maybe obscured by clarity. Perhaps eventually we'll draw new imaginary lines in the night grey and link humanistic tragedies to them. That one's Boffo, the legendary fox masturbator, see his right hand has six fingers? And there's Yourmom, still popular as ever. Some of the stellar regions make audible strings of intermittent noises, attempting to ask our obsolete fax machines tooa matinee. At least they're not selling us used cars yet. I wonder, would that make us scramble nowhere faster or drag our feet? The dead do not walk the globe. Hooded skeletons do not ride pale horses in search of wheat fields. It is possible something with many arms dances to an idiot piper. We smoke 'em if we got 'em, and we usually do. Drugs were big business, and are more commonly laying around than cans of cranberry sauce. They brought peace on Earth with Them, and an end to poverty, however one measures it. And they didn't even demand praise.
We haven't seen any other people in at least two weeks. Not alive, anyway. Most of the corpses are floating in pieces unidentifiable down past us. Any former homes by the waterfront have been abandoned. Proximity to the new vast creatures does something to the thought processes. Makes the electrons jump track and wind up in the wrong brain receptors. They're not eating us. They're not even interacting with humanity unless we en masse attack them. Nukes were used. That was the last Laura and I heard. The largest groups of people we've seen were four, across the river. They made no sign of recognition, no waves or yells. A mutual noticing. They were headed the way we came, on the other side.
We've stopped at a two story home with a boatless dock. A fire has turned the former garage into ash, but the adjacent kitchen and walk-in pantry is still full of groceries. Sandwich creme cookies with evaporated milk on the master bedroom deck. Sheets still smell like scented detergent and the water still gurgles from the faucets when they're turned. No electricity. Those electrons don't do the same things either. The long drive leading up to the structure is buried under massive fallen pines. Debris clogs the river itself, using a boat seemed useless, as if there was a destination to speed away to. Laura calls it " Fort mumbleblarrg " , exhaustedly burying her head in a couch cushion laid out on the deck. I stuff more cookies between my teeth. The view provided of the terrain from the deck looks like an angry child shook the ant farm, and bored, tossed it away inna drainage ditch outside a seafood buffet inna resort town. My skin imagines it has been coated in egg and floured batter several times. Shaking the sludge off my head I collapse on the unmade bed by the sliding glass, very seriously stained doors.
[ they severed the hands that's what the Spaniards did. Halberded piles palms up
fires not cauterizing, smudging
glints of spittled grin thick lenses calloused fingers zipping up weatherbeaten
blood, from not yet a teenager
cotton briars, green bitterness
whens
please not again]
Fort Mumbleblarrg seems as good as any place to experience intense hallucinations and/or time slips and/or simultaneous dimensional realities. It has cookies. After dragging all the usable foodstuffage up to the master bedroom suite atop the remnants of the wooded structure and making use of the handily, almost obscenely organized tools to actually um, fortify the narrow stairwell, we immediately crash near comatose for days, ingesting sugars and fats like there were supermarkets with humming freezer sections on every city intersection. This place even has a wine cellar, a real one, not a glass doored cabinet. I am almost disappointed there is no cask of Amontillado.
On the fourth day another explosion, still far enough to not feel blasted heat or earthquaking floorboards, but it trails along with it a visible atmospheric channel that spins off like the arm offa hurricane. For hours all the colors in the spectrum become grimy, unctuous, the view from the bottom of a fast food fryer overdue for straining. Nausea sets in during and afterward. All offa sudden being onna carpet is the same as lying face down inna two inch deep tray of cultivated maggots, complete with crawling movements up the walls and greenish-grey waves lighting up the flatscreen of the now-defunct television across from the bed. Huddled in the center, trying desperately not to touch or even look at the floor while convulsively emptying our bowels and stomachs, the mouldering lightshow starts to produce three dimensional effects, coming closer then sinking in far past the wall its mounted on.
Blankness. Grey. Millipedes. Water still runs, still looks clear. All of the carpet gets torn out and heaved over the deck's railing, along with the sodden mattress. Mumbleblarrg wassa perfect title, man. From the deck a three foot wide stripe is clearly visible across the landscape. Straight from our perspective, disappearing into the horizon, a charred, still smoking narrow strip of burnt. Trees that formerly stood in its path are simply gone, not piles of twisted branch stubs and ash. Gouges in the limestone, an actual scraping it seems. Smell of overripe, rotting fruit, something exotic like ugli or dragon with an artificial sweetener aftertaste in the nostrils; acrid, bulbous decay accelerated by molecular science students proud of their work. Evidence of this is visible in the river itself - a darkened stripe underneath the waterflow which now eddies at the banks. Added to the evidence of former civilization already present in the water are the carcasses of fish, or fish-like creatures, at least. Its difficult to discern what the original shapes of the savagely torn chunks of flesh might have been. The entire column of moving water is black and brown and maroon and bright fire truck red. There issa small fire burning on the opposite shore. Impossible to tell what exactly, just a blur of burning. For the moment there is a wind, steady, away from us. Blessedly, away from us.
Laura usedta tell stories about being born onna side offa river I was not. I was born on an Air Force base in Texas. This is not that river. It doesn't look familiar to either of us. We don't know what its called, or was called. I had lived in Texas for all but four of forty-three years. I have never seen a fox except on screens, maybe a billboard. Now they're like neighborhood dogs. The trees, the grasses, they're familiar, but not intimately so. What are all these foxes eating? What stopped eating all the foxes and let their population burgeon? Laura says since that last wave she has a scar missing. It was to the side of a bone in her wrist, she got it while working inna field with her mother assa child. I don't remember for sure - its not my wrist, but I believe her. Neither of us can relate to the other how we got here, and when we attempt it again the story breaks down at maybe a different point. The last memory we have that stays the same is that we were both inna friend's car driving up to the convenience store a mile from my parents' old trailer. Then... Even when telling our own stories over again they change. At least that's what the other person claims.
There is plenty of packaged, indestructible food left. Some of the vintages are over sixty years old. We start on those just because. I stick a sewing needle through one of the corks and float it inna bowl of water. It doesn't seem to do anything in particular, which means I've probably forgotten a step in compass making. Best as I can tell we're headed vaguely north. Absolutely nothing I have observed points definitively to that conclusion. For now this is as good a place as any.
Contrary to most horror movie logic there are several battery powered devices fully charged, more or less, and picking up all kinds of stations. Allot of them are preprogrammed and safeguarded against any possibility that silence could happen, lest our listeners disappear. There are no live voices, though even the public station is replaying an interview with a United Nations ambassador intermittently with blocks of humming where the local station breaks would be. Neither of us recognize any of the station call letters or frequencies. Even the fifty thousand watt WOAI transmission is absent. Quickly we settle on the classical public broadcast, coming in surprisingly clear. It is the only one playing music without lyrics exclusively. It helps make all the alien noises more tolerable. When stars are visible focussing one's attention on a certain grouping will now cause them to actually respond - both with sounds and visual effects. Its not just our poor human senses - recordings on our phones document the phenomena in even greater detail. Clear enough skies to see past the grey are rare, but at least two infinite directions yield beautiful results. I name them after Greek sirens in my head, not wanting to be outwardly anymore pessimistic than the situation demands. Most stars are silent and stationary enough. For now. There is still one sun in the sky that seems to do the same thing it used to, even though its greyed out usually. Maybe tomorrow it will offer two scoops of raisins.
And. Aspirin in the aftermath of wine. We've been here four or five days and just now notice that there are no identifying traces at all of who once lived here. No photos framed. No mail magnetted to the refrigerator door. No kids' homework, or children's toys at all. There are true crime and mystery novels. No religious items. There are also no clothes hanging in closets or folded in drawers. Like we interrupted the crew dressing the set.
The audio stream changes from madrigals to Gregorian chants. Its still less memory invoking than pop songs of love gained and lost and sex. We've noshed through most of the sugars and salts and fats and have begun opening cans of vegetables and beans. Laura reminds me she's a Mormon and I pick up the old argument that no, she is not. My father attended a seminary in Michigan to become a priest before he joined the Air Force assa chaplin and married a paranoid schizophrenic, what the Roman Catholic church labels a possession case officially. I like to get drunk and talk about religion and politics. When I carried a wallet it contained separate business cards for ghost and demon removal services. My reasoning being that demons are way more dangerous than the cranky old fartbag of Aunt Mabel bitching about your choice of cat food for Mr. Snuggles, and should be priced accordingly. My first official girlfriend assa teenager working at Wendy's wassa Mornon, so I have slightly more than a cursory familiarity of the doctrine. Worst girlfriend ever, by the way. Never kiss a girl who doesn't smoke. Its okay if she doesn't smoke anymore, but this advice, I contend, will not let one down if heeded. As the topic of baptizing ancestors breaches again the sky visible past the open sliding glass door abruptly shifts from grey to palish green. Notta seafoam orra seasick orra pea, but a shade reserved for floors of state mental hospitals, disinfectant ready and climbing the edges of the walls. There is something else that is different. Laura and I exchange searching looks, interrupted in our comfort food conversation. We sit staring at each other forra solid minute before knitting our eyebrows and proceeding out on the deck. The atmosphere is physically thicker past the doorframe. Not more humid - the air is cool and moist, but no more so than before. Heavier. Gravity is still a theory. Although we confidently launch rockets and probes and parasail we assa species are still uncertain as to whether gravity issa push orra pull. Gravity now feels like its the ocean, waves jostling in all directions. A propagating wave packet, my head insists. I can't hear the rushing sound of the river. At all. Nor the wind visibly moving the branches strung above. The radio is unaffected. I am not. The last thing I remember when I awake is opening my mouth, partially full of cooked peppered yellow squash, and screaming. Silently.
[ thousand segmented legs crawling
the monsters took her under cover of sunlight and treason I can't remember what she was wearing
rough hewn metals jagged under nails into nerve-riddled flesh, rusted dirt filled channels
you were there to nurture but instead you consumed until bloated and gaseous
unstable at this temperature NO!
claimed divinity with hives and fever, royal pink and chartreuse
steaming exhalations horses breath
they spasmed fits and palsy
perspiration to the soil
which grew poisoned flowers from their tears
the limb twisted before the hinged joint borne unto the Firmament unmade
flutes whistling graveyard breezes
sounds are vibrations
sinusoidal dips and troughs and peaks and valleys
how many decimalled hurts?]
There issan aching in the back of my skull. No cartoon birds and stars halo. Rising from my face-up prone position on the freshly painted deck, Laura is first in my field of vision, back solidly pressed against the railing, her eyes wide and staring. Settling next to her while rubbing my nape, I dig in my pocket and fish out Ann's antique silver cigarette case. Taking two Camels out I offer one widdershins, quickly accepted. The black and gold lazer etched Zippo fails to click when struck but lights both. Baroque woodwinds and harpsichord is quarteting through the filthy sliding glass doors. It is the only sound. I dreamt of my daughter Kallisti. I have no idea where she is or if she is. Burnt ash drops without crackles, being shaken off by my trembling lips. Hot tears are streaming down, blurring the soundless vista with eloquent soundtrack. I haven't seen Kallisti since she was eight. She would be ten now. Her mother abandoned us when she was two anda half, chasing heroin and cocaine with prostitution and psychopathic apathy. I don't remember dropping the finished butt or crawling to the pallet on the floor underneath the speakers. Batteries still holding out. Harpsichord and oboes give way to four cellos, dirge. Its suiting of the moment. Red wine has not helped the aching of my head. Laura's face is turned from my view, surveying silent scenery fit forra hotel wall painting. This is where you could be instead of MotorLodge #164. There is no chocolate mint on your pillow. Do not use blacklights in the vicinity of your bedspread, please and thank you. End of song, end of consciousness.
Floor shakes hard enough to propel me to my feet. Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries is blasting through the speakers, but its too loud, absurdly loud, there's no way cones that size could make that much air move. Fuck this. Quick steps and noiseless slamming of the glass door. Thankfully the music diminishes in volume somewhat with this action. Its nighttime now. Laura is standing at the railing, one hand gripping the wood with enough force to turn her knuckles white, the other solidly around the ornate neck offa wine bottle labelled in Portuguese. She turns her head, frowning, only slightly, acknowledging my presence, then returns her sentry's position to the heavens. Half of the grey is parted centrally, revealing the new map of burning stars. Tens or thousands of minutes later Wagner dissolves into what would have been a station break, now the amplified buzzing offan ultraviolet bug zapper with two dragonflies struck frying in the mesh. This allows the only other sounds audible through to our senses: sirens calling from beyond Earth, skyward. A sort of synthetic chime set, microtuned at random and played by feasting vultures onna weighted keyboard. There is something new this time - a long, lilting, occasionally harmonized chorus of voices drifting in and out from a different point of night than the chimes, almost sideways from the horizon. If it is a language it is none I recognize, though there are definitely parts repeating verse-chorus-verse. Many vowels, few consonants. Hours pass. The buzzing from the radio fades to nothingness leaving us with the calling of the stars. The chimes span about two octaves. The voices, if that's what they are, full spectrum. There are most certainly repeating themes, though mismashed between competing chorales. All of the voices are distinctly female, the epitome offan archtype of warrior class. A third distinct group sounds angrier than the first two, threatening. No, bitch, our dance moves slay your tired, weak-ass trots. Its beautiful, as much as it can be, but my ears are accustomed to atonality. Also very directional. The voices are coming from horizontal sources, maybe on the planet, while the chimes are beaming from a gyrating cluster of suns directly above our heads. I find that I don't care how my dehydrated body feels about this decision: I am getting as drunk as I can before a red graped woman's hand closes the staring eyes of my corpse.
" There is nothing new under the sun " somebody said once. Probably a guy. That's the kind of smug bullshit men get quoted saying. Fuck that guy. I'm glad he's dead. I hope it hurt the whole time. By all means, quote me on that.
The darkness of night is lasting longer than it should. When I climb in the upstairs shower the water again thankfully runs clear. Its cold and wakes me up, though I'm still staggering drunk. Drinking in stomachfulls of water I emerge humming a companion piece to the concert around us. At least, I'm vibrating my throat and chest. It feels like what making sounds used to do. We've laid out couch cushions covering most of the deck and are observing. Writing onna legal pad witha pen screenprinted Al's plumbing, Laura says it feels like noon. We've been dosing off in turns. She suggests Father Alien instead of Mother Nature. Our three local groups of singers have played through at least two albums of repeating hits. I turned off the radio, though it didn't respond immediately, stubbornly buzzing at least an hour after the off command was issued. My vintage is 1973, something in French. Saltine crackers, spray cheese inna can. I keep thinking about Mitch Hedberg's joke about it glowing in the dark, every bite. The chimes have almost completely faded, along with the brightness and location of its point of emanation. Glee club is picking up the tempo, but seemingly content with their distant concert halls. When I heavily plop down the notepad is passed over. Two words: Foxes. Below. Laura is strategically stationed under the thick fringed vinyl umbrella that formerly stood in the center offa round glass table next tooa propane cookstove. On its side its functioning assa lean-to tent. Hanging my head over the railing, my eyes are greeted with twenty to thirty smaller shiny pairs staring back. Ashen grey and brownish-red foxes are doing much the same as we are, minus alcohol. Laura hands me a bag of marshmallows and we toss them down one by one. They look cute, smiling almost. I shiver. Laura tugs at my jacket and I join her on the other side of the lean-to. We stuff marshmallows in our ears, hoping we don't wake to find ants crawling, searching through our brains.
Something is tickling my face and smells like bubblegum. Opening my sleepshut eyes I discover an orange fox on my chest, staring directly at me. It licks my nose several times and is instantly gone when a peal of gravelly smoker's laughter erupts from beside me. Some giant, probably taloned hand has turned the volume knob of the world back to the right again. Trees, river, that sweeping, scratching noise, all back. I haven't seen Laura happy, even briefly, like this since we found ourselves wandering. The little furry scamp ate the marshmallows out of her ears too, she says. For minutes it is easier to breathe, even with the obligatory cigarette smoke. Happiness is rare now, has been for years. Just a little reminds my body what its like to be alive. Lighter grey, occluded sky. Something like morning has arrived, however late. The same clawed huge fingers changed the world's gear ratio back to where it was. We're spinning...I see a flash of memory instead of what my eyes report. My autistic daughter spinning herself dizzy holding a ribbon, a glittery one, inches thick, sparkles fluttering. Quickly I pretend to cough and turn away, holding my closed fist in front of my face. There is no need to spoil whatever semblance of humanity is left in us by sharing this thought. " I'll make breakfast! Something hot! " She knocks the umbrella over leaping up like a clumsy feline. Burying my face in the rough cushions, I bite down on the material covering the foam, thankfull to be out of view.
Breakfast is handmade tortillas, generic, mechanically separated beef fromma squat can, diced tomatoes, black beans, corn. Blue rings of flames perform the chemistry on command. All the exciting little kid junk food has been torn through, leaving stacks of stolid, adult canned rations. There is plenty of wine. At first discovery I advised Laura not to quaff the ones that read " Port ". A friend's favorite author was Jack Kerouac. He mentioned more than thrice getting drunk on port wine. Turns out that's code for alcoholic cherry snow cone syrup. Which did provide me with the line " Man, I ain't shit my pants since I was twenty-seven! " For the record, my favorite author is HP Lovecraft. My takeaway was never, ever swim or float on, in, near, or near a painting of the ocean. Better include lakes to be sure. And iffit doesn't have fins reconsider your menu choice.
Considering the condition of the world around us we had immediately abandoned our lifelong commitment to living green and recycling. Throwing our refuse over the wooden railing wasn't an issue that required debate or reconsidering. Fort Mumbleblarrg, upon our commandeering, quickly became unfit to impress visiting colonels. Both of us passed out underneath the tilted umbrella, she under a thin blanket and I sporting a hideous shower curtain that was most certainly someone's stolen memento offa naughty liaison, the grey above us got brighter and dimmed. My eyebrows knitted upon being disturbed. Is today Wednesday? Forgot to set the cans out on the curb. Shitgoddamnmotherbitch the old couple two doors down are alcoholics. They're green container is full of-
Slowly raising my head and torso from the seat cushions I have the conscious thought that I really don't want to know what is making that waste management noise underneath my feet. I am tired of acquiring knowledge. My head is full, thank you. Try again next year. Mayhap by then I'll have finally succeeded in getting rid of those terrible '80s pop country lyrics that my parents thought would be useful to carry around with me for the rest of my life. Or that list of all the adverbs in the English language my frizzy-headed bitch offan AEGT teacher shoved in without permission. Then I'll have space for more data storage, but not now. Something is snorting and something is loudly crinkling. Maybe the social security office sent the wrinkly winos some of the CIA's cocaine stash covertly disguised as Sun Chips. They're humping furiously in the drainage ditch and feeling like teenagers again. That's sweet. Let 'em throw bottles and challenge life with a shaking skyward fist. She wassa cheerleader and he built an entire car from junkyard parts in Auto Shop. Their kid got dismembered five ways bya landmine, but that was at least six years ago. What-
Decking underneath vibrates as whatever is below us thuds against one of the support beams. A misty exhalation of partially digesting organic matter sprays into view on the other side of the railing. I still haven't sprung to my feet. Blood pressure hasn't come close to spiking. We all have our fetishes. Who am I to tell them what do after the evening news onna weekday? Can't believe you're poking me in the ribs to relate this story. Bullshit. You'll smile and wave when we drive by like always. A low, three second rumbling causes the deck to vibrate atta different wavelength. Fucking waves, man. No, I don't wanna go to the beach. They eat lots of cabbage and partake in excited conversations at mealtimes. They're passionate people. I am not getting out bed. That's what the largest sites on the internet are for. To see things like this whenever you wake up.
I. Am. Sleeping.
Go. Away.
Fuck. This.
Brown bears are smaller than black bears, which are in turn smaller than grizzlies. This one is grey. Its back sports the left arm and face offa human melted into it, off-center towards the animal's right flank. Impossible to tell if the face belongs tooa man or woman. Just the first two inches are showing, matted with the bear's greyed fur. The eyes are lidless and staring with tiny dots for pupils, pale brown eyes seeming to fade to grey with their surroundings. The left arm is active, flailing and grasping at anything that touches the palm momentarily. Mouth is slack, open, no tongue. I don't know how to judge how large the bear is. I think its bigger than a standard brown one, and I have no geographic clues. Fort Mumbleblarrg's newcomer is not okay with its tenants selfish policy of not sharing foodstuffs with the local wildlife, except insects. And its demanding toobe heard. I have been close tooa few brown bears before, seen pictures of the other ones, and I don't remember them having teeth this long and sharp. Jagged, like shark's teeth. At least they're not in rows. Huh. Whata strange thought.
An explosion, this one close enough to send flaming fist sized chunks of burning matter hailing down upon us and everything in sight. A searing blast of oven barrels directly sideways, transmuting the visible spectrum to the final day offa carnival, full of cheap plastic bottled whiskey, burnt sugar, understated menace, and malice overt. Both of us are thrown against the far railing. Almost losing consciousness, we scramble to toss several erupting couch cushions over the side before the rest of the upholstery ignites. The entire deck vibrates violently as the nightmare bear is thrown against the mooring posts, its jaws snapping several times like a shark's. A shriek far too reminiscent of human speech bellows from below. Laura is on her feet first, brandishing her sawtoothed machete but backing towards the sliding glass doors, one of which has cracked deeply but maintained its integrity. I follow her wide-eyed gaze to spy the offending creature coming into view as it woundedly staggers towards the riverbank. A two foot section of its rear flank is actively on fire, on the side opposite its unfortunate human addition. The human handed arm is flailing, fingers blurring. It becomes apparent that the unsettling sounds its making are also coming from the face enmeshed in the fur on its back. Unbelievably I find myself fascinated, unable to take in any other stimuli. Trailing an stench part burning hair and part Texas BBQ, it tumbles headfirst over a rocky ledge and is swept splashing fetid mudwater with the current. I lose my stomach contents over the railing, tannin-rich and sharply red. Behind me, a clang resounds as the machete hits now bare wood slats and a sound much more disheartening than any our mutant visitor had uttered bursts from Laura's lungs.
[ charred glass and copper, poly-fill and stuffed animals' eyes, once alive with children's imagination now splattered with phlegm and dirt
carousel uneven creaks flashing ticking bulbs in the humid summer air
the disappointment in her eyes
parasites replacing fish tongues
many eyed the reproach
ifs, not whens
dovecote abandoned
sharp stab upon kneeling]
Fort Mumbleblarrg has grown more than a few charred scars on its outer walls and roof, but demurely extinguished itself on behalf of its pair of new occupants. Which is fortunate, since neither of us remembered the fire extinguishers under the kitchen sink, cabineted away from prying eyes until far too late for them to have done us any good. Our favorite perch of second story deck still holds our weight when we jump onnit, and gets a new coating of upholstered cushions, the aforementioned red spray cans taking sentry post at each corner. I use a jet-nozzled water hose to spray off or away any unpleasant remnants underneath. Taking stock of rations we find several weeks worth of gluttony still shelved, with far more wine than either of our stomachs will forgive us for. There are no other structures in view, at least nothing that could still be recognized assa structure, but we decide that an exploratory mission a bit farther down wouldn't hurt, spoiled as we are from all the junk food consumed previously. A search of the premises turns up no maps or information regarding our Fort's geographic relationship to anything else. There are no firearms either. Colors are still skewed unwholesomely. It is voted that any expedition for more supplies be held off until, well, something changes. The propane canister attached to the cookstove is full. Cans of ham and pork product, sliced potatoes, name brand government cheese. Add heat. Stir. Pass out from exasperated exhaustion. Maybe getta chance to repeat.
Tapioca morning. Beigeish-grey with lumps of sky pus. Just like mom usedta make, including streaks of burnt char floating here and there and everywhere. Colors have not returned to - previous? Browns are lighter tans. Blues are non-existent. Reds are darker, as are the lightest hues. Yellows are peppered mustard. Greens are in the army now. It is observed the wind direction has been generally the same as far back as we recall starting this trip. Which keeps a fairly consistent speed forra weather pattern. When my father died I found a notebook embossed with a gold US Air Force Chaplaincy seal dated 1974 that he had partially filled with the weekly rainfall amounts on our half acre property for fourteen years. He would watch the Weather Channel non-stop. And that was some of the more interesting data tables meticulously recorded. Weekly expenditures on groceries, including exciting annotations, such as the BX discontinuing their brand of generic grade " A " cigarettes. Monthly lottery totals - spent, won, and lost. If I were writing all of this down assan account of my life during what most surely is the final chapters, this would be the most horrific part. As I had such a meteorological inspiration at home, the specific scientific study of weather was not one of my favorites. My brain stubbornly insists nevertheless that a constant, unchanging wind pattern is not only wholly unnatural but surely cataclysmic. Of course it is. And not even top five on my probable events to be concerned about list.
Laura uses a plastic folding stepladder to climb onto the roof, easily attaining the peak. After about a minute she yells that she can see two more similarly constructed roofs further up the riverbank, hiding silent and ominous amidst the pines. The one closest looks like it took a direct hit fromma meteor, maybe recently. I don't ask why she thinks that and she doesn't explain. Also reported is the absence of anything else. Sliding down the shingles directly to the deck she takes the gutter with her to the floor. Triumphantly. I applaud.
​

So, last year I made a thread detailing all of the after shows that were happening around the area and it generated a little buzz, so I know I'm super late this year, but I figured I'd make another one with whats going on this year.
I know many fans go see their favorite bands in different cities and like to check out the tourist traps and everything along the way. I'm sure most of the Billy fans will end up at Frenchman or Bourbon the night after the shows, but I figured there are a handful more that wouldn't mind vibing to the local sounds of New Orleans that might be off the beaten path. Bourbon is not what it used to be at all, and the crime in the city has been driving trusting locals out of these spots at an alarming rate.
If you'd like other recommendations like food or attractions, breweries, etc, check out the NOLA Cheat Sheet thread here: https://www.reddit.com/BillyStrings/comments/1708vcg/nola_cheat_sheet/

Will Billy be sitting in anywhere?

I don't think theres a high chance of Billy sitting in anywhere really. Little Feat is playing the Joy Theater on the 30th, but I can't see Billy getting off stage and into a car then down to Canal street AND be able to get on stage and play.
Aside from that, I don't know if Billy would want to get up on stage with Joe Marcinek at the Maple Leaf on Friday to play a few dead covers. I don't know if Billy has a connection, or if he even knows about the Maple Leaf.
There aren't any other bands in town, and I don't know who he knows here! He may show up at Tips after any of the 3 nights, but I doubt he would sit in based on the music that is being played there.

A NOTE ON TIPITINA'S:

By the time you get out of Billy and get down to Tips, whatever show they have going on down there will be winding down, and when you get there, they're either not going to be selling tickets anymore, or they'll want you to spend $30 to $75 right then and there to see 20 minutes or less of music. Not only that, but they kick everyone out as soon as the show is over. The days of getting a beer for the road and lingering till it's done are over.
Friday night the world famous Dirty Dozen Brass Band is playing. The opener, Aurora Neland, would probably come on at 8:30 and the Dirty Dozen would come on sometime between 9:30 and 10. With Billy ending around 11:15, i cant see you making this show. Saturday night is a 70's theme Disco party with DJ Soul Sister. Sunday is already sold out (of course)
Is it worth it? Maybe if you brought your own car and know where your going in the city. Other then that, save the money and check out some of the other options i've included here. Come back and actually catch a show there, maybe even a Billy one wink wink!
​

THURSDAY (12/28)

*OBVIOUS CHOICES*
8:00pm - PHOUSH and The Tanglers @ D.B.A. (https://www.eventbrite.com/e/phoush-w-the-tanglers-tickets-772238113987) - $15
> Fan of Phish AND Bluegrass? Nooooo not Billy Strings fans, theres no way! This one might be for you. Southern Louisiana-based "jam grass" band The Tanglers opens for an eccentric Phish cover band cleverly named PHOUSH. While I haven't listened to much of the Tanglers, others here have mentioned this is the place to be. PHOUSH is fronted by Quickening frontman Blake Quick, who is basically spearheading all of the "jam band" scene that we have left in the city of New Orleans. If you're looking to go out and party as soon as you get to the city, this might be the night to hit up one of the nicer music clubs on Frenchman known as D.B.A.. In between set breaks, you can find yourself in a whole new world or venue just by leaving this venue and walking down Frenchman street.
​
7:30pm - Brad Walker Quartet @ Chickie Wah Wah (https://chickiewahwah.com/#/events?event_id=90203) - $15/$20 @ the door
> Asheville, NC native Brad Walker made his way to New Orleans to study Jazz with the legends who produced it. Now, he's found himself in sooooo many bands in the New Orleans scene that he sometimes finds himself double and triple booked. It would be easier to list the bands Brad Walker is NOT apart of then to name the ones he currently plays with. Rarely does Brad get time to craft his own show, which is why this is my obvious choice. Brad has put together a wonderful band that includes Naughty Professor's Sam Klausen on keys, and one of the best drummers in the city Alvin Ford Jr. Some special guests will include young vocal upstart Sari Jordan and neo-soul trumpeter Steve Lands. This is one of those "New Orleans-esque" shows that just doesn't happen all the time. Chickie Wah Wah has also been going through it as a venue and almost had to close TWICE in the past couple of years since Covid. Expect this one to get extremely jazzy with a hint of jam.
​
*Other Top Picks*
5:00pm - Harry Mayronne and Yvette Voelker @ Buff's (https://www.buffasbar.com/calenda) - $5
> I'll throw Buffa's in here if you get to the city early Thursday and are in dire need of some of the best "bar" food you can get! Over the past year, Esplanade mainstay Buffa's almost had to go out of business due to lack of patrons. Thanks to the love of the community, they've been able to not only remain open this year, but bring music to their backroom consistently and without delay. Expect this to be a piano/vocalist duo who will croon around you while you grab a bite. From there, you'll have easy access to both Frenchman and Bourbon streets. Tickets are only $5 to support local music! Theres also a later show at 8pm with Tod McDermot!
​
7:30pm - Brass-a-holics @ Jazz Playhouse (https://www.eventbrite.com/e/brass-a-holics-at-the-jazz-playhouse-tickets-55099205206?aff=ebdsoporgprofile)- $25
> If you find yourself on Bourbon around this time and get bored of all your other options, The Jazz Playhouse inside the Royal Sonesta hotel (named after imprisoned Irving Mayfields old club) hosts the Brass-a-holics every Thursday night at 7:30. This band injects Brass Music with a modern hip hop overtone. Honestly at this price though, you’d do better buying a ride to somewhere else thats more worth your time and money. But if you like Jazz speak easys, this one’s for you.
​
8:00pm - Johnny Vidacovich @ Maple Leaf (https://www.mapleleafbar.com/leaf) $20
> Johnny is one of the best Jazz drummers to come out of New Orleans. He’s worked with everyone in this town including piano legends James Booker and Professor Longhair. He’s had a Thursday spot at the Maple Leaf for years, possibly even decades now, with a different Trio every Thursday. If you’re interested in getting a dose of Jazz drumming, come check this one out. There isn't much else around the Maple Leaf, so if you're coming for this show, I would be prepared to see it through.
​
10:00pm - INZO + Super Future + Heyz @ The Joy Theater (https://www.ticketmaster.com/inzo-new-orleans-louisiana-12-28-2023/event/1B005F83F19B6F59) - $30 plus fees
> Acid and/or Molly just started as you pulled into town? Are you really into EDM and want to let your body sweat it out for the rest of the night? No worries, the Joy Theater always has you covered for that. I know nothing about EDM, but I know the Joy's shows usually go all night and your bound to find someone in the crowd to have a good time with. Check this one out if your craving an EDM-tinted late night party. This venue is on Canal St. in the heart of downtown. Be mindful of your surroundings out here. It would probably be best if you got an uber here as well, the parking situation is just a fighting a whole bunch traffic, or it basically comes out of your pocket when you decide to pull into some $20-30 parking garage.
​
11:00pm - The Soul Rebels @ Le Bon Temps Roule (https://lbtrnola.com/new-orleans-le-bon-temps-roule-events) - $20
> This would be a good show for those of you getting here on Thursday and looking to go out and do something that night. "Le Bon Temps" ,as it is locally known, is a pretty attractive dive bar in the lower part of Uptown right off of bustling Magazine street. Theres been little to no crime in this area lately, and on a Thursday night i don't think anyone will bother you in this part of Uptown. The cover is $20, though, as the band has a lot of members and they've never been known to play for free, so keep that in mind. The Soul Rebels are world famous and bring the sound of traditional New Orleans Brass Bands to the ears of the world. Keep in mind, this area is about 20-30 minutes away (depending on traffic) from where Billy is playing. There isn't much else in this specific area, but go down Magazine in each direction and you're bound to come across something that looks happening (Ms. Maes anyone...) For those metal heads in the group, Corrosion of Conformity frontman Pepper Keenan owns this bar, although I doubt you'll see him around.
​

FRIDAY (12/29)

*OBVIOUS CHOICES*
11:55pm - Steely Dead @ Republic (https://republicnola.com/calendaupcoming-shows/) - $20 plus fees
> This one seems like the top choice from what people were saying around the threads for the past couple of weeks. Denvers own Steely Dead play into the early morning hours at the Republic. This venue is SUPER small and intimate and is the premier location for EDM in this city, but on this night we get a Dead/Dan mashup for the ages. I 100% percent recommend this one, although again it will be tough to get to after Billy as it is literally on the other side of the city. Expect to stay around this area as well, as the bars in this part of town are few and far between. You can walk closer to Canal street and find more things to do, or take an extremely late trip to Harrahs to spend all the rest of your money for the weekend haha
​
11:00pm - Joe Marcinek Band @ The Maple Leaf (https://www.mapleleafbar.com/leaf)
> Alrighty, this one seems like the clear and away obvious choice for Friday Night. Joe Marcinek, who some of you may know as the the "Dead Funk Summit" guy, has put together an all-star band of New Orleans musicians. Tony Hall, who can literally play anything by ear, will probably be switching between bass and guitar. One of NEw Orleans BEST drummers Deven Trusclair will be sitting in on the drums. and Keyboard wizard Andriu Yanovski will be laying it down on the keys. I'd expect this one to get EXTREAMLY funky and jammy up in this one. If I had it my way, I'd hope Billy would sit in here, maybe way deep into the second set. That would be incredible, but I seriously doubt it. This venue isn't around anything else that would be popping, but TRUST ME, you'll want to stay at the leaf deep into the night. As this is one of those NOLA shows that just doesn't happen often.
​
11:30pm - Superdome Bodhi @ The Rabbit Hole (https://www.tixr.com/groups/rabbitholenola/events/billy-strings-afterparty-w-superdome-bodhi-83216) - $15 adv, $20 at the door
I cannot recommend this show enough. This group of guys is really spearheading the jam scene in New Orleans. This should be a really good time all around, as well as really good music on top of that. I will say this area is pretty bad, so be aware of your surroundings. It's going to be tough to get to after Billy as it is basically on the other end of the city all together. There also isn't a lot of other things to do around this area except maybe get robbed or shot, so you'll have to hitch a ride to somewhere else if you don't just want to see the show, although for that price I don't know why you wouldn't want to stay. I could possibly see Billy sitting in here, but also it's a pretty big pipdream/doubt. I doubt he would get here after his show any quicker than his fans, but i'm holding out a lot of hope for a late late LATEEEE 2nd set pop in. I doubt it though.
​
11:00pm - Siccard Hollow @ Chickie Wah Wah (https://chickiewahwah.com/#/events?event_id=84010) - $20
> Now I'll be the first to say, I know nothing about this band. Siccard Hollow are Jamgrass from Nashville, TN, probably coming to do Billy after shows, as i've never really seen their name around here before. If you're wanting to continue your Blue Grass trip into the night, check this one out. Many of you around here have mentioned it, so I figured i'd throw it up here. There isn't much to do in this area. There are a few pubs up the road: Holy Ground, Bayou Beer & Wine Garden, and wayyyy up the road is The Wrong Iron. If you're looking to get to Bourbon or Frenchman from this area, you will need to take an uber or a very long ride on a Street Car.
​
11:00pm - Hash Cabbage @ Le Bon Temps Rouler (https://lbtrnola.com/new-orleans-le-bon-temps-roule-events) - $10
> Local jam upstarts Hash Cabbage have been on the scene since the late 2010's. Be prepared to jam with these guys well into Saturday morning. Again, Le Bon Temps is well out of the way of UNO. It would probably take you 25-30 minutes to get to this venue after Billy on a Friday night, and even worse if you intent to take public transport or an uber. Once you're at Le Bon Temps, you're *sort* of out of the way of everything else on Magazine street. If you're not afraid of the cold, or adventuring, taking a walk down Magazine isn't the worst thing you could do, as you'll eventually come across something thats open.
​
11:00pm - Kermit Ruffins & The BBQ Swingers @ Blue Nile (https://www.bluenilelive.com/calendar-tickets) - $20
> If you're planning on going to Frenchman Street after N1, you need to stop in and see this show. This is New Orleans in it's purest form. Kermit does everything a Jazz showman from the 20's and 30's would have done, but add's his own little spin to it. He also adds a bit of stand up comedy. Expect to hear classic NOLA based horn music and have a good time. Kermit is never known to start on time, so you will certainly have time to get there via whichever conveyance is possible after the Billy show. Not enjoying Blue Nile? No worries, more clubs await you out the door on Frenchman and Bourbon Street isn't far. If you're looking to get an authentic New Orleans music experience, this might be the one for you.
​
​
*OTHER TOP PICKS*
8:00pm - Caesar Brothers Funk Box @ Blue Nile (https://www.bluenilelive.com/calendar-tickets) - FREE
> The CBFB are the quintessential New Orleans funky cover band, and they call Frenchman street their home most weekends in the Big Easy. If you're skipping out on Billy N1, but are headed to Frenchman street, check out this really amazing funky band. Admission is free to get in the door, but i'm sure it's a 1 drink minimum per set, so be prepared for that.
​
8:00pm - Little Feat @ The Joy Theater (https://www.ticketmaster.com/little-feat-new-orleans-louisiana-12-29-2023/event/1B005F26E6845279) - $39.50 plus fees
> alright, so obviously if you're going to Billy, you're gunna miss this one unfortunately. But if you're not, this is a perfect venue to catch Little Feat in! This show will probably be winding down at the same time as Billys, thats why I rule out a sit in.... but you never know do you? Have fun if you're going to this one, we Billy people will be missing out!
​
8:00pm - Eric Johanson @ Maple Leaf Bar (https://www.mapleleafbar.com/leaf) - $15 adv/$20 at door
> One of the premier up and coming blues guitarists in America is playing at the Maple Leaf on this night, and you will most certainly miss it if you're going to Billy. Eric has played with Samantha Fish and Jesse Dalton and seems to get better and better with each piece of music he releases. I'd check this one out for a nice, lowkey, Maple Leaf evening.
​
9:00pm - Mike Dillon & The New Fuck Yeahs @ BJ's Lounge (https://www.instagram.com/bjslounge/) - $ ??
> Alrighty, this is for those that aren't going to Billy, although you could probably catch the second set, but I would only recommend going if theres no door charge. Mike Dillon is a punk that found his way into jazz percussion. Dillon brings the beat with 2 massive Xylophones and a bunch of other percussion weirdness. Expect this one to get jazzy in the weirdest possible way. The second set should start sometime after 11, and while this venue isn't tooooo far from the venue, it's not in the best area at all, nor is it around anything remotely safe. Please be safe if you're venturing out this way.
​

SATURDAY (12/30)

*OBVIOUS CHOICES*
10:00pm - The Tanglers + Degenerate Picknik @ Hi Ho Lounge (https://www.instagram.com/p/C0QDfW_pTWm/) - FREE!!!!!!!
>I highly recommend checking this one out. The Tanglers is southern Louisiana Jam Grass at its very best. The area this show is in isn't the best, but there are always gaurenteed to be a bunch of people in and around the streets in this area. its a real crust punky vibe, but will fit this show well. The Hi Ho is a great dive bar as well with a fun stage.
​
10:30pm - Iko Allstars @ Toulouse Theater (https://wl.seetickets.us/event/iko-allstars/571321?afflky=ToulouseTheatre) - $25
> This is the premier New Orleans based Grateful Dead cover experience. Spearheaded by Billy Iuso who has experience in the New York jam scene of the 90's with Brides of Jesus, and Mike Dusson who's been in the Nola jam scene working with the likes of Eric Lindell both front this band as a Bobby/Jerry duo. And the players they have to back them up are pretty heavy hitting. If you're looking to get into anything "DEAD" related, this would 100% be my top recommendation for you. Oh yeah and give a listen to Billy Iuso albums while you're on your way down here, he's one of my favorites and deserves more love!
​
11:00pm - Corey Henry & The Treme Funktet @ Blue Nile (https://www.bluenilelive.com/calendar-tickets/corey-henry-amp-the-treme-funktet-ae9mm-ewh78-exwhe-2rpgd-58pxp-fxfar-adtj6-mnte7) - $15
> > Not to be confused with the more popular Cory Henry who is a soul and R&B singer. If you don't want the party to end, or are venturing to Frenchman street on Saturday night, you should check this show out to cap off your night if you can get to it. This is classic New Orleans brass and funk music in the vein of Trombone Shorty. Corey and his band which includes amazing guitarist June Yamagishi are incredible.
​
11:00pm - Siccard Hollow @ Chickie Wah Wah (https://chickiewahwah.com/#/events?event_id=84010) - $20
> Night number 2. I already wrote a piece about this artist the day before, so check that out!
​
*OTHER TOP PICKS*
8:00om - John "Papa" Gros (full band w/ horns) @ Chickie Wah Wah (https://chickiewahwah.com/#/events) - $30
> This is another one of those special once in awhile nola shows that doesn't happen too often. Again, this might be one for those who are missing Billy on Saturday but are still in town. With this show being so early, you could catch one of the FINEST funk piano players in this city early in the night and then venture into other things later in the evening. Gros brings a full band, complete with horns that he usually doesn't perform with, and it's sure to be a tasty and groovy setlist!
9:00pm - Jason Neville Funky Soul Band @ Carrollton Station (https://www.carrolltonstationnola.com/events-1/battle-of-the-bands-90s-edition) - $10
>This is for those that are maybe not doing Billy on Saturday. Jason Neville is son of Art Neville and keeps the tradition of the Neville Brothers alive with his mixture of soul and funk. This would be a good show to come out to pregame for the night. Carollton Station is right around the corner from the famous Maple Leaf bar that has already been mentioned already. Maybe pregame with a beer and some music here and then venture out into other parts of the city by way of Street Car or Uber.

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I can't get my head around why most lawyers portray themselves as "smart", why people genuinely buy into law firm gimmicks or stereotypes that they are "where bright / intelligent minds meet" or some "prestigious" bullshit. It is as if law requires any intellect at all. There are truly smart and intelligent people who win medals at STEM Olympiads and engineer spacecraft to reach new heights for mankind and then thought their achievements were nothing to write home about, and then there are these lawyers who have average or below-average intelligence who brag obnoxiously loud and clear about how intelligent they are, bitching about words in a Word document everyday.
*** (Just found this gem of an article from The Lawyer itself back in 2009, long before big law firms started looking at ex-poly graduates or offering solicitor apprenticeships. I guess the case is closed, stop wanking to each other in a circle now folks) https://www.thelawyer.com/issues/9-march-2009/study-reveals-lawyers-iqs-are-more-in-line-with-mere-mortals/
All you need is some degree of literacy in your own native language (English) and nothing else, not even a degree nowadays considering solicitor apprenticeships are a big thing now. Anyone who is literate enough to read newspapers can already roughly understand a judgment, law, or a legal textbook. Latin jargons / obfuscations can be Googled in an instant. (If English is not your native language just use Duolingo for a year or two.)
All a lawyer ever does is reading tedious amount of paperwork, checking formatting and cross-references, copy-and-pasting document templates then changing the names of parties, doing some legal research to find things that are already there instead of creating something, and that's about it. Nothing that the average person cannot do. Nothing that AI cannot do faster and cheaper now or in the near future.
Law school is only about hard work, reading, memorising and applying arbitrary laws, statutes and case law which are just manmade rules and formalities which happen to be in a law book. There is not a purely logical, natural or empirical reason why a parking penalty should be e.g. £100 instead of £94.5, £35 or £1000. The reason it is £100 is because the statute book said so. You literally have to take laws as they are, critical thinking has little role to play, especially in law practice. No matter how intelligent you are you simply can't make these up by reasoning or experimentation, which supports my notion that intelligence has little to no bearing on how well a law student / lawyer does. Law school essays are usually bog-standard essays with the same structure as ChatGPT answers that anyone can write after a few Google searches. There is nothing in academic law that can be justified by objective, logical, or empirical reasoning, whereas mathematics, physics, and engineering (& most of STEM) are probably the truly intellectually stimulating subjects that requires any raw intellectual power.
Did I mention how utterly subjective law is? How cringe worthy and icky is it to always need to have some kind of judge or authority preside over a moot court or actual court proceeding in order for them to subjectively weigh arguments against each other in order to come up with a decision? Why can some female attempted murderers walk free? Simply because she is beautiful and well-educated? STEM doesn't care who you are or what your name is. You are either proven to be right or you are proven to be wrong by objective reasoning.
I have worked in law firms and either (i) a lot of them or (ii) virtually all of the lawyers or partners are just dumb people who are not nearly smart enough for any STEM subjects, so they chose soft mickey mouse subjects such as English Literature, Religious Studies and Psychology etc for their A-Levels. If it takes talent to recognise another talent, then the "Talent Acquisition" specialists / recruiters are probably the last things you would entrust the task of talent-spotting with, probably CDDs in humanities A-Levels and some mickey mouse literature degree from Arse-end University. I also have evidence that a lawyer / solicitor / professional from a Magic Circle law firm in London who laughed at and made fun of an IP client's scientific documents as if genetic sequence is gibberish / typed by a pet animal who sat on a keyboard. This is honestly embarrassing for the whole legal sector / industry.
If law is truly intellectually challenging and stimulating then why is law the most boring job ever according to lawyers themselves in surveys and polls? Even corporate lawyers admit they can't really justify the existence of their roles. Yes, There are articles on this. Those who embellish their training contract / pupillage applications well enough to bag a place are probably also liars.
(some of you naughty paperwork monkeys didn't believe me so here's the links:)
https://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/if-you-work-in-law-sorry-you-have-the-world-s-most-boring-job-a3475421.html
https://www.legalcheek.com/2018/05/being-a-corporate-lawyer-is-a-bullst-job-argues-lse-professo
The billable hours model is a counterproductive system that rewards inefficiency. Law firm IT systems / databases are purposefully made as tedious and primitive as possible and require tedious manual entry in order to churn out more billable hours to invoice to the clients. The legal industry is literally dragging human progress down.
Law firms portray and think of themselves as some unique leading institution that delivers unique solutions. It's not like there is any creative, artistic, or scientific element. Every piece of legal work is the same tedious boring dull paperwork review etc where you either fucked up or you didn't.
Any lawyers (solicitors and barristers alike) here who would like to disagree?
​
***************** edit *****************
I think a lot of humanities / social science students are not intelligent enough to understand that just because you found your degree difficult does not necessarily mean it IS difficult. Maybe you just aren't intelligent enough even for easy and trivial things.
Go do some Math Olympiad past papers (designed for schoolkids) or Cambridge Maths Tripos. Chances are you simply suck at everything (even the things you thought you were strong at).
Anyone who gets CDDs at A-Levels (soft subjects like English Literature, Religious Studies and Mickey Mouse studies) can seek comfort in knowing they get to go to LAW SCHOOL at some ex-poly university with no standards whatsoever.
Even funnier are those dimwit lawyers who think getting qualified as a solicitor is an achievement worthy of broadcast and a thank-you speech thanking their parents, their friends, their pets, their academic advisors, their colleagues, their classmates, their breakfast cereals, their insurance providers etc
Imagine being so fragile you have to vote / thumbs down a well-written and logically infallible argument to make yourself feel better... despite having no substance and nothing remotely intelligent to refute my arguments. Typical lawyer circle jerk behaviour. What are clients even paying lawyers for when you suck so badly at arguments or indeed everything intellectually demanding? Your clients are eventually going to switch to free, speedy, accurate AI chatbots so don't even bother holding onto this shipwreck.
Why do you all think Watson Glaser test is or would be a challenge (to STEM students)? It's literally basic comprehension plus a tiny bit of elementary logic. Maybe lawyers find reading basic verbal sentences and any kind of logic hideously difficult enough to brag about, but STEM students on average score higher than the average law or humanities student.
Let's not pretend the clients (both non-legal or in-house legal team) are not "smart" or "intelligent" enough to do paperwork. They just have more important and pressing matters and decisions to tend to. You are there to get the tedious paperwork out for a few breadcrumbs
Let's face it, it would only be too easy for any STEM student from any half-decent university to do a GDL for 1 year then start humiliating you mediocre-at-best humanities / social science gremlins with their superior intellect, if they ever wanted to work the same miserable job as you do that is. Good luck catching up to STEM students without retaking high school, that's only if you're even smart enough for pre-calculus, ouch!

Hi, I recently build a new pc.
Core Specs:
Ryzen 7 7700x
Asus TUF B650 Wifi Plus board
GSKILL 6000 CL30 Ram
Gigabyte 1000w Power Supply
XFX 7800XT GPU
I can't quite tell what's causing issues and whether it's actually the RAM or not.
I can be at my pc for upwards of 9 hours and not have anything happen, but I can also just shut down within 10 minutes of starting up.
The crashes are weird though. The PC for the most part stays on. The fans keep going, the lights are on. The QLED on the motherboard is yellow, which is meant to be RAM issues, but the PC doesn't crash, or BSOD, instead the monitors shut off as well as the keyboard and mouse turn off as if there was no power going to them, or the gpu cut out.
I've run through the Windows Memory checker without issues with AMD expo on.
I've run through the entire CineBench sweet without issues.
It's annoying and intermittent.
The temperatures are fine with great airflow and nothing but cool air always blowing out.
Not sure what to check?
Thanks in advance.
A side note, I hadn't purchased anything ASUS in ages having had a board that didn't work, and my god, it's just my luck again that I decide to get a new one after years and..it could being naughty

Calling all Reddit users. Please help me propel this to the top with upvotes to help get the attention of the boys. I've created what I think you'll all like as a masterpiece. I wrote our first community fan fiction which I think will be great segment in the HH Christmas special.
Please tag the HH team on socials to get their ass over here to the lovely Reddit as I think they'll like this one....
Likewise, please let know if any edits are needed, or feel free to add to the story to make it as great as possible. This is for you fans:
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Title: I'm creaming for a White Christmas:
​
On a dark dark day it was a cold winters night, and there once lived a man who liked his clunge tight.
Fresh trodden snow caked all of the streets, Like icing or frosting, or milk from a teet.
And on the streets what could be seen, was gum drops, and chippies, and a homeless man getting sucked on the D..
As we know, winter is a time for presents, turkey and fun. And cobbling your partners ass and licking their cum.
But if we think this tale is as good as it shall seem, then hold in for the finale as our protagonist, Steven, doth cream!
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Act 1: The Wolf's Den:
Christmas Eve 2022. It was cold, as to be expected. But there was no snow - yet. People were heading about getting ready for the festive day and being around loved ones. This was a time when COVID was over. England had lost the World Cup and things were bleak. But admist all this commotion is an event which to this day leaves me shaken to the core.
As with every great story, it needs someone to tell it, so I, the narrator for this Christmas tale, am writing about one of Norwich's most notable men. The Wolf. A man so wise that he can solve 1000 piece puzzles in 3 hours and still have fun. A man so old and stylish that he has a prince Albert piercing to be hipster. A man so hairy he would often be mistaken for a baboon at the local zoo and fed trout. He was spoken about only through word across the town as nobody had seen him, but his legendary status was enough to write a novel.
Now on this very night I recount, there were events that occured within the sleepy town of Norwich which still find their way into local urban legend. The locals in fact view this night in such a way that the fine establishment of the Murderers even named a drink after it; Smeg Nog. The recipe is as follows for those that want to toast a drink this festive time:
6 large egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
2 cups milk
Pinch cinnamon
1 cup cream or splash of cum (optional depending on the bartenders libido)
2 tablespoons rum
Now enough of my spiel. I'm keeping you lovely listeners waiting for this Christmas tale and I shall do my best to recount all that I can remember.
Down the dirty cobbles of Elm Street, there stood an abode. It was big, eerie and made from mega TV money. Whoever lived here obviously had been famous in their past life and most likely lived off YouTube ad revenue today eating sausage rolls and skiing. But this wasn't any ordinary house. This specific address was known by every virgin, every prossie and every pimp. Heck, even every granny knew where to go when they needed their hip realigned after a fall and fannies loosened like a saggy used teabag. Locals referred to this place as....the Wolfs den. The beast within was said to be so big and so hairy, that even an esteemed actor such as Danny D would be given a run for his money. His willy was so widely known that whenever the local builders needed a measuring stick beyond 12 inches, he'd be called into action. All he'd need is his spit and a lads mag. But the wolfs greatest asset was his biggest weakness. You see, he had previously had a gig offering all 13" of meat as a subscription service to fresh 16 year olds in the towns local wood shop classes to help with measurements, but due to todays woke society, he was forever banished (or sectioned) to the confines of his home. It got lonely and he missed clunge.
Whenever you passed this house at certain times of the day, groans and shackles could be heard at the early hours every Christmas Eve. Whoever lived there was sexually frustrated and quite frankly it sounded haunted. The old saying went "whoever shall enter the den will poop like a hen". That is reference to the poor soul's bumholes that would be stretched so wide, they'd spend the next few weeks splattering shit like a water sprinkler.
On this night, like all Christmas Eves, the Wolf was hungry. Dominoes? Not a chance, ruined his stomach. Papa Johns? Not a chance, the Wolf voted Brexit and swore to pop that Italian bastard. What the Wolf needed was Bella Italia as he had fond memories in his childhood of a waitress he once got the number of. He made his order. He waited.
It was 3am by now. Time had passed and the pizza was coming.
Working as the delivery driver was a very lonely man by the name of Steven. White by name, White by nature. He was a racist. Steven was never able to tie himself down to a job. In a previous job as a zoo optician he had been laid off for inappropriately peeling bananas and sticking them up his bum in the capybara enclosure to try and get one of the beings to eat ass out. Clearly he was young and alone.
He had nothing better to do that night. Beating kids on Rocket League could only fill his empty void of a life for so much. And all family members had already planned to go away without him. No where else would really take him in. So to feel value, he was out delivering pizza and doing his best to not crash his
Stevenhad ulterior motives too working here. As opposed to pocketing money from the till, he'd often steal leftover pizza dough to shove his cock into, whilst using the garlic and herb dip as lube, but often the sad tears of being a beta male compensated in that realm. This soft doughy touch was the closest he came to feeling intimate.
*knock knock*.
The door creaked open.
Steven was terrified. Nobody had opened the door. It seemed it opened by itself. Was in the wind? Was it a ghost?
Steven: "Hello? I have the Pizza and pop"
Mystery Being: "Shut up you cunt and walk in" a voice bellowed.
Steven was speechless. It wasn't often another male would play alpha at this time of night, as he was used to ridding men in tight leather and little booties, whilst being squirted on by men in their 40s. Was this a Christmas surprise? Steven never really got gifts as nobody outside his immediate family remembered he existed. But an alpha male.....
Walking in the house, Steven took it all in and was speechless. There were beer bottles filled with shit and cum. Chains were pinned on the ceilings and images of sausage rolls inserted in women hung all across the wall. What stood out the most, however, was a teddy bear with a yellow t-shirt with the name 'Gary Gatwick' propped up on a mantel piece. The poor bear had looked like it had seen better days. It's nipples were clamped and bum hole deflowered with stuffing and cum dripping down its poor teddy bear skin. What sort of sick being would do such a thing.
Mystery Being: "Come to me".
Steven froze. Should he keep going and end up killed, or dip out like a weasel. The vibe he was getting was mixed. Was this man a serial killer, or was he a strapping lover. Or both, a good old fucking followed by a good old throttling to a slow worthless death.
Not much thought was needed. He ploughed on as he was desperate for money to pay for his pornhub premium and OnlyFans memberships. Steven thought of himself as a messiah for the Cuban goths with small tit category by funding them.
He was curious. It was a dark corridor between him and where the voice was coming from.
Mystery Being: "Stop being a cunt and come to me", the voice bellowed again, followed by a slow fapping sound that was getting louder with every infuriating minute that the pizza wasn't being delivered.
Steven inched closer, tiptoeing with pizza box in one hand, pop in the other. The air got stale and thick and smelt of sweet brioche. When he got to the end of the corridor, he peaked his head around the corner.
In that moment, he caught the man violently exploding jizz all over his jizz laiden body. It was like a supervolcano. Steven knew the Earth had been expecting a Pliny volcano eruption, but to see one comparable first hand made his eyes swell to the size of golf balls in utter amazement.
Having ejaculated, the man sunk his body and laid on the floor coated in his thick sugar puff scented cum. He likely had a liver illness from being cool and drinking all his life. Steven was terrified. He looked like a ghost.
Mystery Man: "Whilst your there, can you pass me a tissue. It's dribbling into my cum crusted bellybutton and I ought to clean up as I have another Skiing video to upload as well as a date with questionable people of questionable ages on Omegle to get that clout. I'm not a nonce, I vet them. I just like it fresh and slimy like Billy Bear ham".
Steven licked his lips. Finally, a man worthy of being saddled. He giggled to himself as he had his girdle in the car and the thought of licking that mans cum filled asshole gave him a semi.
Steven: "Your pizza is here", Steven tried to say seductively, "and I have 100 teeth holding back dessert" [for you thickies...Jack, that refers to his trouser zip. It's called a metaphor].
Man: "Fuck off. I requested Bella from Italia, who the fuck are you?".
Steven was confused. Robbie liked girls, and his particular preference was those with volva's looking like donner kebabs or turkey necks as opposed to clean Ted Bundy axe cuts.
Man: "Shoo, if you ain't got fat jugs, I don't want your shit. Be gone boy".
Steven liked this behavior. His semi was acting like a compass and directing him to the nearest asshole. The old man was his target. Under hushed breath, Steven muttered to himself 'I hope the condoms in date".
The condom was in fact not in date, and had been bought when he was 15 when he believed he had a chance at love with his cousin - Norwich things for you. Steven used to enjoy the thought of incest and in fact had 1 or two danger wanks in the past just thinking about spaffing on his cousins tits, but quickly learnt that it would make family gatherings more awkward if he got with another relative. The last time that had attempted to make anything happen he gave his poor nan a heart attack. He had hoped for something along the lines of lemon party. [look this up if confused].
Steven : "Well, it is cold outside sir, and it'll be a shame to waste the pizza".
Man: "Fuck off, no tits, no tip".
Steven had to up his game. He had watched so much porn you'd think he'd have been glad at this foreplay stuff, but he always skipped it over to get to the heavy duty BDSM shit. He thought on his feet and knew just what would do the trick.
He dropped the pizza box to the floor and seductively opened it. He picked off the pineapple pieces and began to rub them onto his nipples, scolding them in the process. He then peeled back a hot steamy slice and began to pleasure himself. His semi was now a full automatic machine gun. He rubbed, and he tugged, and became possessed with desperation.
The man was silenced. He didn't know what to think. This wasn't his traditional xmas tradition.
Steven : "What's your name?"
Man: "Robbie".
Stephen had heard of this man before from the local gazette. This man had been sectioned from society for being a creepy sex pest. It was even rumoured that he had been involved in a scandal at the BBC in the 80's.....whatever that may have been. It was also rumoured that he took frequent flights to an island where rich billionaires went....but this was only rumours, right?
By now, the wank Robbie had was dripping down his stomach and rolled into his belly button. Robbie was confused, sticky, but oddly in a trance. Normally every Xmas whilst the wife was out, he'd order a takeaway, get really really drunk and cummy, and fuck the delivery lass for good lucks sake to keep the sexual magic alive and teach back his skills to a new generation (whilst also making many more generations). But now he was curious. He'd never tried a man. Could he maybe learn something this Christmas?
Robbie: "Seeing as you wont go, why don't you cone here and clean me up. I don't do bum stuff".
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Act 2: The White Christmas:
Steven slivered over, rubbing his willy with more force than before, as Robbie primed himself for round 2. A man of his age needed all the help he could need, and as Christmas tradition dictates, he had thankfully popped 2 Viagra pills earlier that day with a glass of coke. With his forefinger, he rubbed his belly of cum and began to style his moustache.
Robbie: "They call me Robbie, but I'll let you call me nobbie tonight, and I like a good creaming".
Steven giggled. Steven was really turned on. Finally, he was about to have his anal cavities explored like a moon rover scouting Mars. Elon Musk would be jealous of such discovery, but in theme of this Take, it's likely more like Richard Bransons Virgin Voyager.
Steven liked Christmas and as his tradition would watch Disney's scrooge McDucks Christmas Carol. Robbie's cum covered attire reminded him of the ghosts of Christmas. Except as opposed to past, present and future, he was only wanting the present. He wanted all the ektoplasm smeared up his nose. He wanted all the cum in his mouth so he could run about the house shaking his head like a rabbid pitball frothing milky goodness' from the mouth. Steven was horny, and like his Disney obsession liked to be called Cumbo upon arriving and blowing glorious goo out his solid trunk.
Steven kept up the foreplay. He was getting good at it, so he believed. The pizza, however, was giving him second degree cock burns from the pepperoni, but his desperation for a companion on Christmas Eve made him crave to push through the pain barrier. .
Steven laid on the floor and took his clothes off. Robbie giggled. Robbie then drizzled the garlic and herb sauce on Steven's ass as it trickled down his bum cheeks. Robbie came again. Robbie enjoyed sticking his cock in bum. With his cum in his hands, he rubbed it into Steven's ass cheek, curdling the creamy delight upon impact. It was almost as if a donner kebab owner had chucked lashings of thick out of date tzatziki on a white pitta bread. Robbie had some pizza crust on hand and saw an opportunity to dunk it into his new delight.
Robbie: "Mmm, I call this trick Buttella".
Steven felt appreciated that he could make one good thing work. So to provide something in return, he put a finger up Robbie's bum to try spice things up. He wanted to be alpha.
Robbie: "No bum stuff", he roared!!
In a fit of anger, Robbie stood up and bent Steven over. If he wanted alpha, he was getting it. Robbie grabbed a belt and tied Steven hands together. Steven was so turned on and began squealing like a pig. Steven used his hands to pry open his asshole to fit the beast in. 13 inches was a lot, he'd experimented on butternut squashes in preparation.
It was just in this moment that the lights turned on.
Alfie: "Robbie? I didn't know you made this type of content. Is this for the patreon?".
Robbie: "Oh shit, I forgot I invited you to make Youtube content. Piss off, can't you see I'm busy. I'm like Christ giving my disciple his fish and bread".
Alfie was speechless. In front of him it looked as if he was witnessing Casper the Cum drenched ghost fucking a simpy pizza boy in the ass..
Alfie: "Mate, look at the state of your cock".
Steven's cock was now blistered and covered in pepperoni juice. The blisters were filled with puss and growing. Robbie paused, and in a fit of Mensa desperation rushed for Steven's willy and began sucking on the shaft, with each blister popping in his mouth, popping like bubble wrap and oozing green juices. Steven couldn't resist and was squirting seamen infused puss like a horny whale.
Robbie: "Mmm, like warm apple pie".
Alfie shrugged his shoulders and walked off. He was a bit of a Scrooge when it came to these things.
Steven by this point was very wet, covered in cum and begging for more. He had a weird pizza boy kink and his wolf daddy gave more. Robbie began to multitask and dunk his own penis in the warm fudge brownie which he had orders with the pizza. As any master of the arts knows, he needed to warm his instrument to be rock hard.
Robbie: "Owwww. My Japs eye, my Japs eye".
By pure un-luck, a piece of chocolate chip had entered his uretha and had begun making its ways into the prostate. Steven, meanwhile, perked up upon hearing the word eye muttered, getting even more hard over his optician kink.
Steven: "Oh hello eye patient, what seems to be the problem, may I get my stethoscope out and delve a little deeper"
Robbie: "Fuck off with your roleplay crap. I must piss on you".
Steven didn't know what to say. Robbie could have pissed on the floor or in loo, but instead je was willing to provide a golden shower for a dirty boy. Steven nodded. As the hose began to dribble, the smell of sugar puff's filled the musty air. It was like splash mountain.
Steven giggled, licked his lips of piss and tried to suck Robbie off in return, but the Wolf was hungry. Like a frube, Robbie squeezed every inch of purple yoghurt left in the poor virgin. The sucking had become so rigorous that Robbie began to get lockjaw, spaffing cum from the mouth like a rabbid XL bully eating ice cream.
Steven's eyes rolled back, groaning in pure delight. He wasn't making tip tonight, but sure as hell was goving it. Steven whipped out his phone, turned to ChatGPT and used voice keyboard to beg:
Steven: "Okay ChatGPT, what's the best Karma Sutra position".
ChatGPT: "Beep beep beep, do the helicopter".
Steven withdrew his willy from Robbie's mouth, a bit like taking money out an ATM, and began to whirl his dick like an military grade Apache helicopter. Robbie giggled
*fap, fap, fap, fap*
They paused.
Robbie: "Oh fuck, oh no, oh shit".
Robbie panicked. Cum was dribbling down his head as the sweat intensified. He forgot another guest was in the room.
Jack: "You boys thought you could miss out on santa Claus on Christmas eve? He's got a sack to unload for you both".
Jack was dressed in a skimpy santa onesize with a sewn on West Ham badge on and a hole cut around the groin allowing his small ginger willy and blue balls to droop. To make the matter look more sad , he had a set of broken cum soaked reindeer antlers on, with the Happy Hour podcast intro playing on repeat in his Airpods.
Jack: "Boy oh boy boys, do you want a happy meal, or will my Mac Bean give you a right Ronald McDonald fucking".
Steven chuckled "ho ,ho, ho", as he spread his ass cheeks wider to fit an impending second dick. Robbie didn't share. Jack meanwhile picked up Steven's used pizza slice and began to fap some more.
Jack: "I'm veggie, but I'd be willing to introduce my cock to more meat".
Alfie walked back in.
Alfie walked back out.
Jack giggled.
Steven giggled.
The introduction of a new man made Robbie jealous, and in true pack leader fashion lept up from his harvest of cock and slapped Jack around the face with a strong firm hand.
Robbie: "Fuck off fanta pubes".
It was within that moment Robbie pushed Jack to the floor and began slapping him around the face with his big hairy monster of a weapon. The only addition Jack added on Christmas was his pig in blanket, but his mom chose to watch Netflix in bed that day and so couldn't be free to rim Robbie out. Robbie had to show him who papa was.
Jack tried to open his mouth to breathe, but Robbie saw this as an opportunity to dunk his furry ball-sack into Jack's pearly white mouth, almost as if it was a white chocolate digestive being dunked into a cup of Yorkshire tea. All Jack could see was Robbie's big British bush and his hairy naught which hasn't been whipped properly. There was a reason the locals stayed clear of the den and Jack was getting a throat full of cum. The aggressive willy flapping led to the Wolf's pubes to shed like a dog, and the actions can only be described as a penguin bouncing up and down on a pogo stick.
Steven: "Hot".
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
​
Act 3: The crumpet:
Alfie didn't want any of this. He was loyal to his girl and didn't mess with cock. His girlfriend on the other hand thought of them as an open relationship, with Thogdan and Thogdad spitroasting her every Sunday.
Alfie: "Shall I have one or two crumpets?", he said to himself.
In the background, Steven was wailing as by now Robbie was 7 inches deep inside.
Alfie: "I'll have 2".
There was a tough choice ahead. Should Alfie have jam, butter or Nutella? He put his finger in the jam.
Alfie: "This one's too sweet"
He put his finger in the butter.
Alfie: "This one's too salty".
He put his finger in the Nutella and smeared it over his mouth.
Alfie: "This tastes of shit! Like literal shit".
Alfie didn't like how his Nutella had been tainted. He was a conservative man who was cleam and innocent. But this was the final straw. On this occasion, he was tired of being pushed around. Being 5ft with small arms didn't help, but he had a point to prove. The disgust that his mate Robbie would leave Butella in a cupboard for a guest to eat was just pure wrong. He rolled hos sleeves up, reached over for a Huel, and became a man. Marching back into the room, he was about to make a point.
(It was in this moment that Steven's ass was bleeding, dick inflamed and frothing puss, with Robbie balls deep raw dogging in his ass. Jack tried to get involved by vigorously fapping in the background with a rougarou mask on and garlic and herb dip all over his nipples. Jack was equally struggling to get it up, so attached several Tamogochi around his knob and deliberately killed the poor creatures to create a sensual buzzing alerting to another death. It was a snails pace, but he was getting a slow semi).
Alfie: "Maybe tomorrow".
Alfie was a simple man. The highlight of his evenings would be lapping up the sloppy seconds of Robbie's pray. Nothing was softer on the foreskin for him than wanking into the sodden panties of the innocent women whose underwear lay ripped on the floor. He used to do this at the local gym, but no longer was able to after being kicked out for lapping up the butt sweat residues on the apparatus after sweaty ladies had exercised - large Latinos were his favourite for the added chipotle sharp taste. Maybe one day he'd join in with the gangbangs. He was too shy and body sensitive, and being 4ft 11" didn't help with the confidence. Maybe one day he wouldn't care.
Alfie plodded back to finish up the crumpet's. He choose marmalade.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Act 4: The cavalry:
It's at this point in our story that the boys were out of fluids and needed rehydration. Jack had suggested Deliveroo, but times were tough and he was too stingy to cash out for his mates. Robbie had a plan. He reached for his phone and speed dialed someone. He smirked.
Robbie: "He's coming".
Steven and Jack were bewildered. Was it Mrs Claus coming to have a festive nibble on Rudolf's carrot?
The door knocked again. Alfie answered.
Danny D: "Hello boys".
Danny D waa dressed in a slutty Santa costume with gallons of Prime ready to save the day. Behind in his shadow were his little helper elves; Dick and Dom. They were the Deathly Hallow which when combined would lead to pure pleasure. Robbie and Danny went way back. In fact, one of the reasons Robbie never did any bum things any more was due to Danny rehashing his anal cavities in the Christmas eve of 2017, causing him to have an anal fissure resulting in years of not shitting straight and three assholes. A bit like a bowling ball.
Robbie: "Come in, come in".
Without hesitation Danny began to thrust the sweet nectar of Prime down the boys throats, giving them a new lease of life. He also came prepared with meal deals for all: Ham and cress sandwiches, ready salted crisps and a ribena - not the finest showing, but calories that would be needed for the finale.
Danny D then began to pop open his shirt and knocked backed the mulled wine that was left on the kitchen counter. His dick was growing harder and began pointing to the North Pole. If ever you were lost, you'd know who you'd want to bump into on a cold night in Stoke.
Danny D: "Who's gonna lick my candy cane?".
Steven's eyes lit up. More men and more dick. He began to crawl over to do the bidding, but soon found a chain lassoed around his neck. The Wolf wasn't keen for his cum dumpster to leave him, especially as he had so much more collateral damage to inflict. This left Jack to the spoils. Jack was keen to make a name for himself again after becoming yet another washed up celebrity, but sucking a huge penis and starting an Only Fans was his renaissance. Jack was terrified. He didn't know how to handle something so big, but like a Christmas turkey being stuffed with sausage meat, Jack's bum expanded in pure festive delight. A tear rolled down his face due to the pain, but heck, at least he was finally getting his prostate inspected.
Whilst this was going on, Dick was in Dom, and both were having a good time pounding the elven flesh out of themselves. Dom had a party trick he liked to bring which was being a the nutcracker. So from his pocket he pulled out 3 walnuts, placed them between his ass cheeks, and clenched like Mother Mary popping out baby Jesus. Robbie was in awe, and placed his mouth and the lip of Dom's ass to nibble the crumbs.
Robbie: "What these needs is Butella".
Robbie raced back to Steven and with his forefinger flicked the garlic and herb cum onto the crushed walnuts. Nuts are a bit dry, so a bit if dressing never goes unmissed. But in doing so, Steven began to have an allergic reaction. In a fit of madness, party due to his airways closing and choking him, this turned him on. He fell to the floor, convulsing to a painful demise whilst simultaneously dribbling cum from hos battered penis.
Everyone froze. Steven was dying. The mood was somber, but oddly quite erotic and naughty.
Robbie: "I have a plan. We must flush the nut allergy out with cum and factory reset him".
The one thing they knew best was fucking, and this was the darkest hour. So, Jack, Robbie, Danny D and both Dick and Dom joined forces, touched tips, and began to insert themselves into each hole of Steven's. 1 in the mouth, 2 in the ear, 2 in the nose.
Robbie: "There's one hole leftover. We need to fill it".
Everyone began to chant Alfie, who by this point gave no shits and just wanted to watch Love Island and stir beef over Idris. However, Alfie, like always, caved into the peer pressure as the thought of a dead man being held to his accountability played into his OCD mind. He unzipped his pants, spat on his circumsized chode, and plunged his pig in blanket it into Steven's ass. He was mortified with what he was doing and could only go 2 inches in - would this even be enough to save Steven's life?
The boys thrusted, humped and pumped their willys to pulp. They were fucking not for their lives, but the lives of a sad little pizza man. They were all close, locking eye contact with one another. Pubes were flying everywhere with the friction of the rubbing. It still wasn't enough. Alfie's little cock wasn't able to fill Steven's stretched bum hole. Panic set in.
​
Alfie: "I'm sorry boys, I'm not big enough. This is why my my girlfriend prefers other men rimming her out cause I can't be felt".
Steven's throat was close to closing. There was only one bloke left in the world who could be up for the challenge. On speed dial, Robbie texted an old friend to come quick. Robbie had always been curious about what necrophilia felt like, but that was more of a Halloween fantasy as opposed to a happy Christmas Eve banging. In a matter of moments, the door kicked open and our last guest arrived. It was the Hardest Geezer.
Robbie: "Quick, we need you to double penetrate this virgins bum to flush out the nuts from his system. We must make the blood cells as white as they can be!".
Hardest geezer nodded. He knew what to do. He had already fought of elephants with his bare fists, and so slaying Steven's fat ass would be a walk in the park for him. In moments, he truly became the hardest geezer there, and like a square peg being wedged into a circular hole, finally completed the puzzle. Steven was crying in pure tears of joy. This was the Christmas gift he had wanted all year long.
They all came.
Like a confetti gun, cum poured out of every inch of Steven , soaking everyone in the process with warm sticky cum. Dom threw up, Robbie smiled and Alfie crawled into a ball. Hardest geezer simply licked up the needed protein from Steven's ass, and carried on his run to Tunisia after the much needed pitstop at the waterhole.
Jack: "Isn't this a Christmas miracle ey chaps. He's alive".
Steven giggled.
Steven: "If only I had my Twitch stream showing. My 2 fans would have loved that".
Everyone giggled.
To close things up, they all drank some 4 skin wine, ate the leftover pizza, and settled in to watch Marley and Me.
Steven: "Round 2 anyone?"
Everyone nodded. It was Christmas eve after all.
They all got back to positions and in a conga line, they all entered one another, dick in ass like the human centipede, thrusting along to Aphie's new one hit wonder.
Jack: "Round sheep ey fellas". (wink to camera)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
​
Epilogue:
And so concludes this Christmas tale, and boy what a delight,
There was so much cum within their face that they all lost their sight.
Alfie finally grew some balls and fucked a man in the bum,
Whilst Jack sat back, rubbed his nips, and got a glass of rum,
Dick and Dom had played their part, as extras they were alright,
Where as Steven's ass had been tugged so hard that it was no longer tight.
Who could forget Danny D, a beast of all our men,
But nothing tops Robbie's sexual appetite, so welcome back to his Den.

I get an error, attemp to index local 'c' (a nil value) when perssing keybinds under the client catagory. Here is my rc.lua:

```

-- Awesome --

------ REQUIREMENTS ------
----- LuaRocks -----
-- If LuaRocks is installed, make sure that packages installed through it are -- found (e.g. lgi). If LuaRocks is not installed, do nothing. pcall(require, "luarocks.loader")
----- LIBRARIES -----
---- Standard awesome library ----
local gears = require("gears") local awful = require("awful")
require("awful.autofocus")
---- Widget and Layout Library ----
local wibox = require("wibox")
---- Theme Handling Library ----
local beautiful = require("beautiful")
---- Notification Library ----
local naughty = require("naughty") local menubar = require("menubar") local hotkeys_popup = require("awful.hotkeys_popup")
-- Enable hotkeys help widget for VIM and other apps -- when client with a matching name is opened: require("awful.hotkeys_popup.keys")
------ ERROR HANDLING ------
---- Check And Fallback ----
-- Check if awesome encountered an error during startup and fell back to -- another config (This code will only ever execute for the fallback config#) if awesome.startup_errors then

naughty.notify({ preset = naughty.config.presets.critical, title = "Oops, there were errors during startup!", text = awesome.startup_errors }) 

end
---- Handle Errors ----
-- Handle runtime errors after startup do local in_error = false awesome.connect_signal("debug::error", function (err)

-- Make sure we don't go into an endless error loop if in_error then return end in_error = true -- Notify If An Error Happens naughty.notify({ preset = naughty.config.presets.critical, title = "Oops, an error happened!", text = tostring(err) }) in_error = false end) 

end
------ VARIABLE DEFINITIONS ------
---- Theme Dircetory ----
-- Themes define colours, icons, font and wallpapers. beautiful.init(gears.filesystem.get_configuration_dir() .. "Daybreak.lua")
---- Applications ----
-- This is used later as the default terminal and editor to run. terminal = "kitty" editor = os.getenv("EDITOR") or "nano" editor_cmd = terminal .. " -e " .. editor
---- Default Modkey ----
-- Usually, Mod4 is the key with a logo between Control and Alt. -- If you do not like this or do not have such a key, -- I suggest you to remap Mod4 to another key using xmodmap or other tools. -- However, you can use another modifier like Mod1, but it may interact with others. modkey = "Mod1"
---- Table Of Layouts ----
-- Table of layouts to cover with awful.layout.inc, order matters. awful.layout.layouts = {

--- Enabled --- awful.layout.suit.tile, awful.layout.suit.floating, awful.layout.suit.max, awful.layout.suit.max.fullscreen, --- Disabled --- --awful.layout.suit.tile.left, --awful.layout.suit.tile.bottom, --awful.layout.suit.tile.top, --awful.layout.suit.fair, --awful.layout.suit.fair.horizontal, --awful.layout.suit.spiral, --awful.layout.suit.spiral.dwindle, --awful.layout.suit.magnifier, --awful.layout.suit.corner.nw, --awful.layout.suit.corner.ne, --awful.layout.suit.corner.sw, --awful.layout.suit.corner.se, 

}
------ MENU ------
---- Awesome Menu ----
-- Create a launcher widget and a main menu myawesomemenu = {
{ "hotkeys", function() hotkeys_popup.show_help(nil, awful.screen.focused()) end }, { "manual", terminal .. " -e man awesome" }, { "edit config", editor_cmd .. " " .. awesome.conffile }, { "restart", awesome.restart }, { "quit", function() awesome.quit() end },
}
--- Main Menu ----
mymainmenu = awful.menu({ items = {

 { "awesome", myawesomemenu, beautiful.awesome_icon }, { "open terminal", terminal } } }) 

---- Launcher ----
mylauncher = awful.widget.launcher(

 { image = beautiful.awesome_icon, menu = mymainmenu } ) 

---- Menubar Configuration ----
menubar.utils.terminal = terminal -- Set the terminal for applications that require it
----- WIBAR ------
---- Status ----
-- Keyboard map indicator and switcher mykeyboardlayout = awful.widget.keyboardlayout()
-- Create a textclock widget mytextclock = wibox.widget.textclock()
---- Tags ----
awful.screen.connect_for_each_screen(function(s)

 --- Labels --- -- Each screen has its own tag table. awful.tag({ "1", "2", "3", "4", "5", "6", "7", "8", "9", "10", "11", "12", "13", "14", "15", "16", "17", "18", "19", "20" }, s, awful.layout.layouts[1]) -- Create a taglist widget s.mytaglist = awful.widget.taglist { screen = s, filter = awful.widget.taglist.filter.all, buttons = taglist_buttons } -- Create a tasklist widget s.mytasklist = awful.widget.tasklist { screen = s, filter = awful.widget.tasklist.filter.currenttags, buttons = tasklist_buttons } --- Prompt Box --- -- Create a promptbox for each screen s.mypromptbox = awful.widget.prompt() --- Layout Indicator --- -- Create an imagebox widget which will contain an icon indicating which layout we're using. -- We need one layoutbox per screen. s.mylayoutbox = awful.widget.layoutbox(s) ---- Wibox ---- -- Create the wibox s.mywibox = awful.wibar({ position = "top", screen = s }) -- Add widgets to the wibox s.mywibox:setup { layout = wibox.layout.align.horizontal, --- Left Widgets --- { layout = wibox.layout.fixed.horizontal, mylauncher, s.mytaglist, s.mypromptbox, }, --- Middle Widgests --- s.mytasklist, --- Right Widgets --- { layout = wibox.layout.fixed.horizontal, mykeyboardlayout, wibox.widget.systray(), mytextclock, s.mylayoutbox, }, } 

end)
----- WALLPAPER -----
--- Create Function to Set Wallpaper ---
local function set_wallpaper(s)

-- Wallpaper if beautiful.wallpaper then local wallpaper = beautiful.wallpaper -- If wallpaper is a function, call it with the screen if type(wallpaper) == "function" then wallpaper = wallpaper(s) end gears.wallpaper.maximized(wallpaper, s, true) end 

end
--- Run Function On Screen Geometry Change ---
-- Re-set wallpaper when a screen's geometry changes (e.g. different resolution) screen.connect_signal("property::geometry", set_wallpaper)
--- Run Function At Startup ---
awful.screen.connect_for_each_screen(function(s)

-- Wallpaper set_wallpaper(s) 

------ MOUSE BINDINGS ------
---- Tags ----
root.buttons(gears.table.join(

-- Togle menu awful.button({ }, 3, function () mymainmenu:toggle() end), awful.button({ }, 4, awful.tag.viewnext), awful.button({ }, 5, awful.tag.viewprev) 

))
-- Create a wibox for each screen and add it local taglist_buttons = gears.table.join(

 awful.button({ }, 1, function(t) t:view_only() end), awful.button({ modkey }, 1, function(t) if client.focus then client.focus:move_to_tag(t) end end), awful.button({ }, 3, awful.tag.viewtoggle), awful.button({ modkey }, 3, function(t) if client.focus then client.focus:toggle_tag(t) end end), awful.button({ }, 4, function(t) awful.tag.viewnext(t.screen) end), awful.button({ }, 5, function(t) awful.tag.viewprev(t.screen) end) 

)
--- Tasks ---
local tasklist_buttons = gears.table.join(

 awful.button({ }, 1, function (c) if c == client.focus then c.minimized = true else c:emit_signal( "request::activate", "tasklist", {raise = true} ) end end), awful.button({ }, 3, function() awful.menu.client_list({ theme = { width = 250 } }) end), awful.button({ }, 4, function () awful.client.focus.byidx(1) end), awful.button({ }, 5, function () awful.client.focus.byidx(-1) end)) 

end)
---- Layouts ----
awful.screen.connect_for_each_screen(function(s)
s.mylayoutbox = awful.widget.layoutbox(s)
s.mylayoutbox:buttons(gears.table.join( awful.button({ }, 1, function () awful.layout.inc( 1) end), awful.button({ }, 3, function () awful.layout.inc(-1) end), awful.button({ }, 4, function () awful.layout.inc( 1) end), awful.button({ }, 5, function () awful.layout.inc(-1) end) ))
end)
---- Resizing ----
clientbuttons = gears.table.join(

awful.button({ }, 1, function (c) c:emit_signal("request::activate", "mouse_click", {raise = true}) end), awful.button({ modkey }, 1, function (c) c:emit_signal("request::activate", "mouse_click", {raise = true}) awful.mouse.client.move(c) end), awful.button({ modkey }, 3, function (c) c:emit_signal("request::activate", "mouse_click", {raise = true}) awful.mouse.client.resize(c) end) 

)
------ KEYBINDINGS ------
globalkeys = gears.table.join(

----- Awseome ----- -- Show help awful.key({ modkey, }, "s", hotkeys_popup.show_help, {description = "show help", group = "awesome"}), -- Show main menu awful.key({ modkey, }, "w", function () mymainmenu:show() end, {description = "show main menu", group = "awesome"}), -- Reload awesome awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "r", awesome.restart, {description = "reload awesome", group = "awesome"}), -- Quit awesome awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "x", awesome.quit, {description = "quit awesome", group = "awesome"}), -- lua execute prompt awful.key({ modkey }, "x", function () awful.prompt.run { prompt = "Run Lua code: ", textbox = awful.screen.focused().mypromptbox.widget, exe_callback = awful.util.eval, history_path = awful.util.get_cache_dir() .. "/history_eval" } end, {description = "lua execute prompt", group = "awesome"}), ----- Layout ----- --- Width factor (mwfact) --- -- Increase master width factor awful.key({ modkey, }, "l", function () awful.tag.incmwfact( 0.05) end, {description = "increase master width factor", group = "layout"}), -- Decrease master width factor awful.key({ modkey, }, "h", function () awful.tag.incmwfact(-0.05) end, {description = "decrease master width factor", group = "layout"}), --- Number Of Master Clients (nmaster) --- -- Increase the number of master clients awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "h", function () awful.tag.incnmaster( 1, nil, true) end, {description = "increase the number of master clients", group = "layout"}), -- Decrease the number of master clients awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "l", function () awful.tag.incnmaster(-1, nil, true) end, {description = "decrease the number of master clients", group = "layout"}), --- Number Of Columns (col) --- -- Increase the number of columns awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "h", function () awful.tag.incncol( 1, nil, true) end, {description = "increase the number of columns", group = "layout"}), -- Decrease the number of columns awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "l", function () awful.tag.incncol(-1, nil, true) end, {description = "decrease the number of columns", group = "layout"}), --- Selection --- -- Select next awful.key({ modkey, }, "space", function () awful.layout.inc( 1) end, {description = "select next", group = "layout"}), -- Select previous awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "space", function () awful.layout.inc(-1) end, {description = "select previous", group = "layout"}), ----- Client ----- -- Close awful.key({ modkey, }, "c", function (c) c:kill() end, {description = "close", group = "client"}), ---- Focus Only ---- --- Focus --- -- Focus next by index awful.key({ modkey, }, "j", function () awful.client.focus.byidx( 1) end, {description = "focus next by index", group = "client"} ), -- Focus previous by Index awful.key({ modkey, }, "k", function () awful.client.focus.byidx(-1) end, {description = "focus previous by index", group = "client"} ), -- Go back awful.key({ modkey, }, "Tab", function () awful.client.focus.history.previous() if client.focus then client.focus:raise() end end, {description = "go back", group = "client"}), ---- Layout Manipulation ---- -- Move to screen awful.key({ modkey, }, "o", function (c) c:move_to_screen() end, {description = "move to screen", group = "client"}), --- Swaping --- -- Swap with next client by index awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "j", function () awful.client.swap.byidx( 1) end, {description = "swap with next client by index", group = "client"}), -- Swap with previous client by index awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "k", function () awful.client.swap.byidx( -1) end, {description = "swap with previous client by index", group = "client"}), -- Move to master -- awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "Return", function (c) c:swap(awful.client.getmaster()) end, {description = "move to master", group = "client"}), --- Jumping --- -- Jump to urgent client awful.key({ modkey, }, "u", awful.client.urgent.jumpto, {description = "jump to urgent client", group = "client"}), --- Minimization --- -- Minimize awful.key({ modkey, }, "n", function (c) -- The client currently has the input focus, so it cannot be -- minimized, since minimized clients can't have the focus. c.minimized = true end , {description = "minimize", group = "client"}), -- Restore minimized awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "n", function () local c = awful.client.restore() -- Focus restored client if c then c:emit_signal( "request::activate", "key.unminimize", {raise = true} ) end end, {description = "restore minimized", group = "client"}), 

--- Toggle Layouts ---
-- Fullscreen --
-- Toggle fullscreen awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "m", function (c) c.fullscreen = not c.fullscreen c:raise() end, {description = "toggle fullscreen", group = "client"}),

-- Maximization -- -- Toggle Maximization awful.key({ modkey, }, "m", function (c) c.maximized = not c.maximized c:raise() end , {description = "(un)maximize", group = "client"}), -- Toggle Verticle Maximization awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "m", function (c) c.maximized_vertical = not c.maximized_vertical c:raise() end , {description = "(un)maximize vertically", group = "client"}), -- Toggle Horizontal Maximization awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "m", function (c) c.maximized_horizontal = not c.maximized_horizontal c:raise() end , {description = "(un)maximize horizontally", group = "client"}), -- Toggle floating awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "space", awful.client.floating.toggle, {description = "toggle floating", group = "client"}), -- Toggle keep on top awful.key({ modkey, }, "t", function (c) c.ontop = not c.ontop end, {description = "toggle keep on top", group = "client"}), ----- Screen ----- -- Focus the next screen awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "j", function () awful.screen.focus_relative( 1) end, {description = "focus the next screen", group = "screen"}), -- Focus the previous screen awful.key({ modkey, "Control" }, "k", function () awful.screen.focus_relative(-1) end, {description = "focus the previous screen", group = "screen"}), ----- Launcher ----- -- Open a terminal awful.key({ modkey, }, "q", function () awful.spawn(terminal) end, {description = "open a terminal", group = "launcher"}), -- Open a web browser awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "q", function () awful.spawn("qutebrowser") end, {description = "open a web browser", group = "launcher"}), -- Take a selection screensot awful.key({ }, "Print", function () awful.util.spawn("flameshot gui") end, {description = "take a selection screenshot", group = "lanchers"}), -- Take a screenshot of the entire screen awful.key({ "Shift" }, "Print", function () awful.spawn.with_shell("flameshot screen") end, {description = "take a screenshot of the entire screen", group = "lanchers"}), -- Run prompt awful.key({ modkey }, "r", function () awful.screen.focused().mypromptbox:run() end, {description = "run prompt", group = "launcher"}), -- Show the menubar awful.key({ modkey }, "p", function() menubar.show() end, {description = "show the menubar", group = "launcher"}), ----- Tag ----- -- Veiw Previous awful.key({ modkey, }, "Left", awful.tag.viewprev, {description = "view previous", group = "tag"}), -- View Next awful.key({ modkey, }, "Right", awful.tag.viewnext, {description = "view next", group = "tag"}), -- Go Back awful.key({ modkey, }, "Escape", awful.tag.history.restore, {description = "go back", group = "tag"}) 

)
---- Number Bindings ----
--- Tags 1-10 ---
for i = 1, 10 do local workspace_number = i local key = tostring(i + 9)
-- Move focused client to tag 1-10 globalkeys = gears.table.join(globalkeys, awful.key({ "Control" }, "#" .. key, function () if client.focus then local tag = client.focus.screen.tags[workspace_number] if tag then client.focus:move_to_tag(tag) end end end, {description = "move focused client to tag #"..workspace_number, group = "tag"}) )
-- View tag 1-10 globalkeys = gears.table.join(globalkeys, awful.key({ modkey }, "#" .. key, function () local screen = awful.screen.focused() local tag = screen.tags[workspace_number] if tag then tag:view_only() end end, {description = "view tag #"..workspace_number, group = "tag"}) ) end
--- Tags 11-20 ---
for i = 11, 20 do local workspace_number = i local key = tostring(i - 1)
-- Move focused client to tag 11-20 globalkeys = gears.table.join(globalkeys, awful.key({ "Control", "Shift" }, "#" .. key, function () if client.focus then local tag = client.focus.screen.tags[workspace_number] if tag then client.focus:move_to_tag(tag) end end end, {description = "move focused client to tag #"..workspace_number, group = "tag"}) )
-- View tag 11-20 globalkeys = gears.table.join(globalkeys, awful.key({ modkey, "Shift" }, "#" .. key, function () local screen = awful.screen.focused() local tag = screen.tags[workspace_number] if tag then tag:view_only() end end, {description = "view tag #"..workspace_number, group = "tag"}) ) end
----- SET KEYS -----
root.keys(globalkeys)
----- RULES -----
-- Rules to apply to new clients (through the "manage" signal). awful.rules.rules = { -- All clients will match this rule. { rule = { }, properties = { border_width = beautiful.border_width, border_color = beautiful.border_normal, focus = awful.client.focus.filter, raise = true, keys = clientkeys, buttons = clientbuttons, screen = awful.screen.preferred, placement = awful.placement.no_overlap+awful.placement.no_offscreen } },

---- Floating Clients ---- --- Instance --- { rule_any = { instance = { "DTA", -- Firefox addon DownThemAll. "copyq", -- Includes session name in class. "pinentry", }, --- Class --- class = { "Arandr", "Blueman-manager", "Gpick", "Kruler", "MessageWin", -- kalarm. "Sxiv", "Tor Browser", -- Needs a fixed window size to avoid fingerprinting by screen size. "Wpa_gui", "veromix", "xtightvncviewer"}, --- Name --- -- Note that the name property shown in xprop might be set slightly after creation of the client -- and the name shown there might not match defined rules here. name = { "Event Tester", -- xev. }, --- Role role = { "AlarmWindow", -- Thunderbird's calendar. "ConfigManager", -- Thunderbird's about:config. "pop-up", -- e.g. Google Chrome's (detached) Developer Tools. } }, properties = { floating = true }}, ---- Titlebars ---- -- Add titlebars to normal clients and dialogs { rule_any = {type = { "normal", "dialog" } }, properties = { titlebars_enabled = false } }, ---- Screen/Tag Masks ---- -- Set Firefox to always map on the tag named "2" on screen 1. { rule = { class = "Firefox" }, properties = { screen = 1, tag = "2" } }, 

}
----- SIGNAL ----
---- Management ----
-- Signal function to execute when a new client appears. client.connect_signal("manage", function (c)

-- Set the windows at the slave, -- i.e. put it at the end of others instead of setting it master. -- if not awesome.startup then awful.client.setslave(c) end if awesome.startup and not c.size_hints.user_position and not c.size_hints.program_position then -- Prevent clients from being unreachable after screen count changes. awful.placement.no_offscreen(c) end 

end)
---- Titlebars ----
-- Add a titlebar if titlebars_enabled is set to true in the rules. client.connect_signal("request::titlebars", function(c)

--- Buttons For The Titlebar --- local buttons = gears.table.join( awful.button({ }, 1, function() c:emit_signal("request::activate", "titlebar", {raise = true}) awful.mouse.client.move(c) end), awful.button({ }, 3, function() c:emit_signal("request::activate", "titlebar", {raise = true}) awful.mouse.client.resize(c) end) ) awful.titlebar(c) : setup { --- Left --- { awful.titlebar.widget.iconwidget(c), buttons = buttons, layout = wibox.layout.fixed.horizontal }, --- Middle --- { { -- Title align = "center", widget = awful.titlebar.widget.titlewidget(c) }, buttons = buttons, layout = wibox.layout.flex.horizontal }, --- Right --- { awful.titlebar.widget.floatingbutton (c), awful.titlebar.widget.maximizedbutton(c), awful.titlebar.widget.stickybutton (c), awful.titlebar.widget.ontopbutton (c), awful.titlebar.widget.closebutton (c), layout = wibox.layout.fixed.horizontal() }, layout = wibox.layout.align.horizontal } 

end)
---- Focus ----
--- Focus Model ---
-- Enable sloppy focus, so that focus follows mouse. client.connect_signal("mouse::enter", function(c) c:emit_signal("request::activate", "mouse_enter", {raise = false}) end)
--- Border Color ---
client.connect_signal("focus", function(c) c.border_color = beautiful.border_focus end) client.connect_signal("unfocus", function(c) c.border_color = beautiful.border_normal end)
----- AUTOSTART -----
-- Autostart applications awful.spawn.with_shell("nitrogen --restore")
```

I do not care if you monetize or anything, just make sure you credit me as the writer and perhaps link back to my own channel. Please do not change or add anything.
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMVWowJVULzkbGSyX-ivD-w
If you want to donate, which helps me reserve more time for script writing, you can find my paypal here, but I do not require it, it just simply helps. I don't want any confusion, you DO NOT have to donate to me to use my scripts. Coffee money to fuel the brain and warm up a monkey at the keyboard generates more scripts though, just sayin, lolz. Plus with Christmas right around the corner now, every nickel and dime counts ^.^
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​
​
Mysterious guy (Merman):
[There would an almost sing song teasing quality to his tone]
“My goodness… what is such a lovely thing like you doing walking all alone by this dangerous rocky shoreline… you could get hurt…”
[SFX: Rippling water]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“Over here, sweetheart… look towards the dark moonlight kissed water… hehe… hello there, you pretty thing… fancy a swim? The water is divine… not too warm, not too cold… come on in and join me…”
[Pause 5 seconds]
“Well, yes… I suppose we are strangers and it is very late at night… but I’m here… I won’t let you drown… my name is Xenno… see? I’m not a stranger anymore… [Writer’s note: his voice would take on a mesmerizing echo quality here] Come on, pretty little thing… come join me in the water… I will protect you from the rocks… and that naughty little undertow… yesss… that’s it, keep going…the water is so peaceful and inviting… come… come in and swim with me…”
[He would Chuckle darkly, amused]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“That’s a good girl… don’t worry… it’s not cold… come here to me… come into my arms… come and be embraced by the sea… let my voice soothe away all your worries… everything is well...”
[His tone would be smug and sensual, like he never had any doubt and he’s enjoying this]
‘Mmmm’
“You feel so nice… so pretty… I think I won’t be eating you after all… but I will be taking you with me down into the depths… but don’t worry… I did promise I wouldn’t let you drown…”
[He gives dark sensual chuckle]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“A kiss will grant you the ability to breath under water for a time… hold still, my sweet pretty human…”
[SFX: A kiss]
[SFX: Start underwater sound by the second ‘down’]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“Mmm… and now down… down… down we go… down beneath the waves… to my world below…”
[Everything would go quiet for a few seconds
[SFX: Water drip sound]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“Hey… I know that ‘present’ look in your eyes… the hypnotic effects of my powers has finally worn off… that’s good… you weren’t very much fun staring blankly at a damp cave wall… alas though, hypnosis is quite necessary for merfolk to acquire prey… and don’t give me that panic stricken look… I said I wouldn’t eat you so long as you were entertaining to me… didn’t I? Now come to the edge of the rock shelf… come sit near the water and talk to me… don’t make me come out of the water to you…”
[He sighs in disappointment]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“Very well then… I can only do this so many times in a twenty four hour cycle… but… I suppose you are worth it…”
[SFX: Flesh and bone cracking sound as he turns his tail into legs]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“There we go, now… here I come, my pretty little human…”
[SFX: Splash sound as he gets out of the water]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“What am I? I should think by now that would be quite obvious… I am a merman… do not attempt deception by making me believe you stupid, my dear… there is far too much intelligence in your lovely frightened eyes for me to believe that…
“What… hey! Don’t avert your eyes from me as if I was something horrible to look upon! Look at me, human!”
[Pause 5 seconds]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“What? Oh… right… human sensibilities and all that… very well… I think I have some silk over there in my belongings that I found in a sunken shipwreck… that should suffice for our needs…”
[SFX: Fabric tearing, following by rustling]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“There we go, is that better? My ‘intimate’ place is all covered up… Surely, you can look at me now…
[Pause 2 seconds]
there, much better, this pleases me… I like it when you look at me, human…”
[Pause 5 seconds]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“Why did I take you? I’m not entirely sure… most of the time, my kind will eat their prey… humans are quite the tasty… delicacy… but… I don’t know, there is something special about you, I cannot place my finger on just what exactly it is… but I like it… I like YOU… so I intend to keep you for myself… at least until I get bored of you, then I’ll probably just eat you… so if I were you… I wouldn’t allow myself to get too boring… and I wouldn’t try so hard to be a pain in my backside… understand?”
[Pause 5 seconds]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“What’s that? You’re cold… oh, right… I hadn’t thought about that… you know what… I think I might have something over in my stuff… something I got off a sea warlock that owed me a favor… he needed some doodad off a sunken ship and for some reason, was adamant he couldn’t go himself… so I demanded something unique from him that you wouldn’t be finding normally under the water… an easy enough feat for a magical old squid like him… you know… I’ve always wondered why most of the magic compatible individuals… aside from merfolk of course… tend to be squids… maybe it’s the arms or tentacles or something? I don’t know… anyway… wait one moment…”
Mysterious guy (Merman):
[He would say this quietly, talking more to himself as he looks through his stuff]
“Let’s see here… where is it… I know I saw it just the other day… ah! There it is! Good news, human, I found the object I was looking for! You’ll be plenty warm in no time at all”
[Pause 2 seconds]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“Alright, just set this rock down here by you… don’t get too close now… and now we say the magic word the warlock told me to say to ignite it ‘Incendo!’ start fire sound and there you go, fire to keep you warm… the warlock enchanted this rock to ignite in flames on command, he said it was because he wanted to try cooked fish in his cave and see why they loved it so much… but he didn’t care for it, so he gave it to me… I found it interesting and now, look at that, we have a use for it. It will keep you warm and allow you to cook the food I bring you… I understand humans will get sick if they eat raw meats… see, human? Don’t I take such good care of you? Barely here an hour and I’m already making sure you have what you need. I am so good to you”
[Pause 5 seconds]
Mysterious guy (Merman):
“I’ll cut you some slack, given how new this whole situation is to you… but only for awhile… eventually… you would be wise to begin cooperating more… now you be a good girl and get warm, I’ll be gone for awhile hunting for some fish for you, perhaps some shrimp if I see any… and don’t try to escape either, my sweet beautiful little human… this cave is very deep underwater, you’d first have to swim up a hook shaped tunnel to reach the sea and then you’d have to swim to the surface… all with no breaks to breathe… you would drown for certain… so you see, don’t be doing anything stupid while I’m gone… I’ll be back soon, sweetness… try not to miss me too much…”

This is a sample of D.B. Myrrha's excellent work, her latest at RENdezvous! Please visit for more: https://renegade328.wordpress.com/
October 6, 2023 Analysis
a lyrical analysis by D.B. Myrrha
Ren’s recent offering, Down on the Beat, featuring the deep-voiced Brighton rapper with pretty cheekbones, Viktus, is a clever, bar-rich hip-hop offering over a driving, bass-heavy, EDM beat.
As I’m neither a musician nor a producer, I’ll be mostly focusing here on the poetic form and wordplay, only briefly pointing out things I’ve noticed musically. This should take me a lot less time than my last dissertation. It might also have fewer dick references, but it probably won’t.
I’ll also be concentrating on my own interpretation of the lyrics, which means they will likely not be as comprehensive. I have watched several reactors, although I thought I might die if I watched sixty this time, so I only watched the sexiest ones. I welcome comments adding other interpretations, or nicely telling me I know fuck-all.
Now, on to the meat.
The Lyrics
(Hook) When I put it down on the beat I’mma make it sound so sweet When you hear the sound of the gun That’s a cue to run
When I put it down on the beat I’mma make it sound so sweet When you hear the sound of the gun That’s a cue to run (bla)
Immediately, the EDM beat kicks in. The vocals are flattened and distorted. Ren seems to be electronic-ifying his voice to make it part of the EDM sound itself (I’m pretty sure I just made up a word, but fuck it.) The sound is pretty cool and, when played loud, makes me want to take a bunch of ecstasy and dance in an abandoned car park waving glow-sticks.
Ren struts in with a flex on his tongue. He’s gonna spit some bars. When he tells you to run when you hear the gun, it means you’d better be prepared to try to catch up with him. What exactly is he putting down on the beat? It it simply the vocal track? Could it be detractors? Is this some sort of foreshadowing?
This here is the starting gun, and he’s about to Usain Bolt out of here: good luck catching up. It’s a race, a competition, a challenge to match his skill.
He is also intimating that he is the starting gun. He’s the instigator of the art, but also the one who’s in control. He reiterates this by repeating what he said again.
The bla! at the end of the verse is only one of many vocalized sounds Ren uses in the song to blend with the instrumentation. That boy is certainly good with his mouth. His pretty, pretty mouth. (At least that’s what your mom told me.)
(Verse) When I put it down on the beat I’mma make it sound so sweet Likkle men love to speak I don’t lose sleep in the whispers of sheep
In this first section of verse 1, Ren uses near end rhymes (beat, sweet , speak, sheep) to create a steady rhythm. Internally, he uses two types of rhyme. Down and sound are both internal rhymes that echo one another, while sleep joins the end rhymes aurally (and also orally, as they come out of Ren’s mouth.)
Here comes Ren’s initial attempt to confuse Americans with the use of a British colloquialism. He’s given up trying to pander to us, and left us to struggle, as we often do, with the English language. The word likkle means “little” and it’s a word borrowed from Jamaican patois. We already know Ren has a great appreciation for the Jamaican sound. For what it’s worth, Amy Winehouse uses the word in her song I’m No Good (“likkle carpet burns”) and no one complained about that.
Ren doesn’t lose sleep in the whispers of sheep. While he found himself miscounting them in Suicide, he is sleeping soundly now while “sheep” (little men, detractors and nay-sayers) are baaaah-ing their nonsense. He feels no need to follow the herd, either. He has his own things to say, as he goes on to tell us.
When you hear the sound of the gun Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, that’s my tongue Spit like thunder come Drums in Moria, boom, boom, rum-rum-tum
This verse is simply exploding with onomatopoeia. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat, boom, rum-rum-tum, all exploding sounds, warning of dangerous spitting to come (like thunder.) Simple end rhyme keeps the sounds contained. For now.
Ren’s giving us some more tongue-action in his rat-a-tat-tat-lickety-flickety rap style. He’s coming at us fast (I’m assuming “thunder come” isn’t another soup ingredient.) This thunder can be heard in the drums of Moria, the deep Dwarven realm in Lord of the Rings, the first film reference of many in this song.
Moria is the realm of the Balrog who, like Ren, is/spits fire. The competition needs to fuck right off: they shall not pass.
I’m a king, who’s the king? I’m a king, I’m the king of the ring, I’mma run this thing I’m a don, yan-ying on a ying-yang thing Jump upon that swing of the drum, vim-vim-vim
Continuing with the Lord of the Rings theme, Ren claims to be a king. In fact, he’s king of the ring (Sauron, the all-powerful?) It is also possible that the ring refers to his other two ring-based passions: the boxing ring (referred to in countless other songs) or the wrestling ring (Swanton bomb references are common, and Love Music, pt. 3 contains a juicy Hulk Hogan reference. –Apropos to nothing, Hulk Hogan and I share a birthday. Yay, Leos!) Technically, there could be another reference, to a ring he put his finger in like Frodo. I mean he seems to find joy in surprise anal penetration, which could definitely cause a competitor to lose focus. YOLO.
The repetition of the word king adds percussion to the flow, as well as punctuating the lines with internal rhyme. The beat also drops here (between “I’m the king” and “of the ring”) with a thumping bass that rises up from the basement.
He then calls himself a don again. If this were a boxing reference, he could be referring to Don King, the famous American boxing promoter. Maybe he is throwing us a Toblerone after all. Of course, a don is the “kingpin” of any mafia family, and Ren is definitely part of a close-knit “family.”
Here, though, Ren flips the switch into a new scheme with a verbal upset. Yan Ying was a Chinese philosopher, a contemporary of the better-known philosopher Confucius, described as “by far the most creative thinker of the Chunqiu age”. So, I guess it didn’t matter what Confucius said when Yan Ying was around. Ren flips the name into yin-yang, the Chinese concept of opposite but interconnected forces, Chinese concepts being Yan Ying’s “thing”. The idea of the yin-yang, of all things containing both dark and light, is a common refrain in Ren’s personal philosophy, as well as being one of the main themes of “Hi, Ren.” He seems to be saying that he is a master of both good and evil, dark and light, and he’s gonna jump on that rhythm like he jumped in the back seat with your girl on the back streets of Brighton.
Incidentally, there is also a hip-hop duo called the Yin-Yang Twins. Just a fact for funsies.
As Ren jumps on the vim-vim-vim of the drum, he swings us into the next quatrain.
Voom-voom, blat, come through like that I’m not new to rap on a Zulu cap And I do do tracks, and I do make stacks What do you do, lad? are you true to that?
Voom-voom, more onomatopoeia, drums down upon the beat of a verse containing a nice set of internal to external rhymes. In fact, this quatrain contains double internal rhymes because Ren’s just a king like that.
voom/ through, blat/ that new/ Zulu, rap/ cap do do/ do, tracks/ stacks you do/ you true, lad/ that
This is some fancy writing, lad, I’m not going to lie. Ren has laid down a challenge to all comers. He’s not new to rap, and he can kick your likkle bum back to wherever it is you came from. The Zulu may refer to the mastery of Black OG rappers in referring obliquely to Shaka, the king of the Zulu nation, known for his ass-kicking military prowess. By using the term cap which in slang refers to something fake or dishonest, it can be assumed he’s letting the likkle sheep know he’s not trying to be anything he’s not. He’s no wannabe.
After all, what has he been doing? He’s making tracks, one after the other, and he’s becoming more successful, and he’s (perhaps) exaggerating his income, because he’s a rapper and he’s gotta make stacks (And I’m sure he does have a stack of 34 common house potatoes somewhere. That counts, right?)
When he refers to the recipient of his flex, he calls him “lad,” as if he’s a kid. I know British youth refer to their mates as lads, but in this context, it seems as if he’s talking down to him. What do you do? Are you as devoted to it as I am? Are you as good as I am? I doubt it. He’s the king, and everyone else is a peasant.
On this beat I’m fat like a sumo My name’s Ren and I know my judo Candlestick killer, kill them like Cluedo Numero duo? Numero uno.
This song, which switches flow in this section, has a lot of fat beats, especially with the throbbing bass line. Ren is also “phat”, a ’90s rap slang term meaning “excellent” (when not referring to a woman, wherein it usually meant “hot as phuck”. ) A Japanese sumo wrestler, of course, is professionally fat and lauded for it, as they are also strong and can steamroll (literally, if they wanted) over their opponents.
Ren tells us what his name is in several songs: Hi Ren, What You Want, Sixteen Bar Challenge, and Love Music pt. 2. Perhaps he’s afraid we’ll forget, or perhaps he’s just asserting dominance, putting his name out there like an O.G. Yeah, you still know me.
The real question people want to know, though, is, “Does Ren really know judo?” Taking into account his skills at basketball and boxing, we may have reason to doubt this claim, but since Ren is king, he can say anything he fucking wants to, and we’re intimidated. Judo, like Sumo, is a Japanese art, so it fits the theme as well as the scheme.
The game Cluedo is called Clue in the United States, which is why some reactors just thought it was a funny rhyme when it was really, again, just English. In the game of Clue/do, one of the potential murder weapons is a candlestick. There was also a real murderer who killed someone with a candlestick in 1958, but that was a gay hate crime, so I’m pretty sure Ren isn’t referring to that. He is getting back into that sexy Murderer vibe, though.
Clue was also a movie starring Tim Curry, who is English and took the role even though the title was spelled wrong. A true martyr for the Crown. Snake Venom V, one of the most awesome reactors out there, pointed out that a lot of Ren’s references are movies, and whether or not they were conscious (Ren does love movie references) it’s worth pointing them out.
Lastly, he queries, “Numero duo? Numero uno.” I’m not number two, I’m number one. And I’m extra sexy because I speak Spanish. If, as I suspect, Ren is directly or indirectly challenging someone, he has directly relegated them to the number two spot, and no one wants to be Number Two.
The verse starts a lovely repetitive lean on the vowels u-o, with sumo, judo, cluedo, numero, duo, uno. That last line is a doozy, with four u-os in a row. It leads us into the next quatrain, which could really just be seen as a continuation of the last one.
You know, speak so frank like Bruno Hey- Cera he loves Juno, Hugo Boss man drip with a new flow— true though Sharingan killer, they call me Naruto
Here go the u-os: you know/ Bruno/ Juno/ Hugo/ New flow/ true though/ Naruto. Not all of these are perfectly true to the u-o scheme in an exact sense, but they scan aurally, and everyone appreciates good aural.
On the superficial movie tip, Bruno, Juno, and Hugo are all films, and there are several anime movies in the Naruto series.
Digging a likkle deeper, though, there are a lot more obvious references to be found.
“Speak so frank like Bruno” is a good example. Lots of people immediately jumped to the movie Bruno (also known by the mock title Brüno: Delicious Journeys Through America for the Purpose of Making Heterosexual Males Visibly Uncomfortable in the Presence of a Gay Foreigner in a Mesh T-Shirt) , and its titular character played by Sacha Baron Cohen. Bruno is pretty frank, saying basically any outrageous shit he wants. However, the reference more likely points to Frank Bruno, a British boxer with a 95% knockout-to-win ratio. He lost to Mohammed Ali twice, and was a popular celebrity even after he retired. He was known for being very open about his battles with mental health.
We love how the next line opens with Hey– Cera which reminds us of “Que Sera”, which might be a coincidence, but its a nice mental resonance. Fans of Arrested Development (which we might say is a problem Ren battled in Love Music pt. 4), will know Michael Cera, who was, of course in the movie Juno with Eliot Page. Cera’s character plays Paulie, Juno’s BFF/ babydaddy/ boyfriend.
Hugo Boss is a fashion empire started by boss man Hugo Boss in Germany in 1923. His career really took off after he started producing sexy uniforms for the Nazis. Still, he’s dead now, and his house still creates some boss fashion and cologne. Ren is not a Nazi, but he is a boss, and his drip (cool and fashionable ) flow is undeniable. Ren is the boss man, dripping with a stylin’ new flow.
Ren may be the flow OG, but as he has shown us numerous times, even in this offering, he is a huge nerd. After the Lord of the Rings bars, he tops it with a dollop of anime. Naruto is a Japanese manga series written and illustrated by Masashi Kishimoto. Naruto was created as a one-shot manga in 1995, but soon became an important pop culture figure in the late ’90s and 2000s. There are 72 volumes of Naruto manga in the series. Enough to binge for at least two weeks, probably.
The Sharingan killer reference puts Ren back into the role of ruthless and inescapable murderer. In Naruto manga and anime, the Sharingan is an ability that allows a ninja to copy, by mere sight, their opponents’ techniques while gaining incredible reflexes and perceptive abilities. So Ren is flexing that he can learn anyone’s skill and reflect it back better and stronger. So, if you don’t think he’s the master rapper, he’s saying, fuck y’all. He’s Naruto.
(Hook)
Verse 2
Verse two opens up with a new voice (which somehow some reactors missed–I mean, Ren does change his voice a lot, but it’s a totally different accent, guys!) It’s Viktus, the Brighton lad with the rich deep tone and great cheekbones (as pointed out by outrageously flirtatious/ horny Canuck “The Wolf” Johnson.)
When I put it down on the beat I’mma keep the ground on my feet I don’t wear no crown on the street But you still know me
All of a sudden we realize that Ren’s posturing might not have just been for show to his general public, but focused on a more local target. Even if the bars weren’t pointed directly at Viktus, the younger rapper seems to have taken offense at Ren’s claim to superiority. There is a challenger to the king.
Viktus, then, would be the “lad” referred to by Ren in the previous verse; the one warned to “run” when Ren fires his thunderous tongue-gun.
Internal verse-by-verse flexing battles are no new thing. It’s a game played in character. Here, Ren is the boss man confronted by a cheeky newcomer who seems prepared to challenge Ren for the title of sovereign.
It’s Viktus’s turn to put it down on the beat, and by this perhaps he means to put his rival down to the beat of the verse (for isn’t that what he perceives Ren just did to him?) It’s also, of course, just his turn to master a verse and put the king/murderer in his place like in some Shakespearean tragedy.
However, Viktus claims he has no need to brag about his sovereignty. He keeps his feet on the ground and doesn’t need to parade around with a crown to show his status. Everyone, at least in Brighton, still knows who he is.
And here he dips into the Forgot About Dre reference that Ren used in Love Music pt. 4: scooping it up from right under him. “You still know me.”
Vik has his own command of internal/external rhyme with down/ beat, ground/ feet, crown/ street, not to mention the end word me, a near rhyme that segues into the next stanza with
Still the same old V Still the same old house on the same old street With a brand new flow on a same old beat And it turns to gold every time I speak
“Still the same old V ” echoing “Still the same O.G.” quoted by Ren in Love Music pt. 4. This suggests that he and Ren know one another. Vik proposes that Ren has changed, become inflated in his ego, while Vik has stayed down to earth; no less known or regarded, except by Ren, his rival.
Viktus is still a home boy in the literal sense. He still lives in his same house in his same street. He is a neighborhood fixture, and everyone knows him. His flow, though, is new, suggesting that he is fresh, ready to take on the self-proclaimed King and assimilate his territory. (Is resistance futile? Who knows what we will find out by the end of the song.) Viktus does proclaim that his words turn to gold with his new flows, so its obviously he is taking up/presenting a challenge.
The scheme is similar to some of Ren’s above with the repetition of the word old: old V, old house, old street, new flow (breaks up the monotony), old beat. Flow near-rhymes with old, and the “new flow” shows that not everything is exactly the same in the old neighborhood.
If the characters Vik and Ren espouse in the song grew up in the same estate (estate= British housing projects) then this plays out as a musical turf-war, like it might in any ‘hood in the U.S. Two rappers head-to-head, fighting for local, if not worldwide, supremacy. Vik seems determined to show himself equal to Ren.
Look me in the eye, bro, thriller like Michael Wait, delete that, I made a typo. Michael Myers, Halloween psycho Light them fires, arsonist, pyro
The freaking bass, man. It seems to be turned up to eleven here, just to underscore Vik’s deep tone, and it hits hard.
Viktus goes hard, jumping into a Michael Jackson bar, then spinning the Thriller into a new scheme.
Oops, he says, “I made a typo”, He referenced the wrong Michael, and the wrong type of thriller. He’s talking hardcore horror, man, not just MTV zombies. Michael Myers is the psychotic killer in thirteen Halloween movies (movie references are not just one sided in this battle, I guess.)
Vik is flexing that he is dangerous, insane, maybe a worse murderer than Ren because he’s a ruthless psycho. He’s an arsonist, compelled and ready to light fires: make things hot, fire up (initiate/instigate) a competition, cause controversy (hot topics) He’s a pyro, he can’t help setting things aflame.
The rhyme scheme here (eye bro/ mi-chael/ ty-po/ my-ers/ psy-cho/fi-res/ py-ro…leading into spy–ro and Frodo) depends on a two-syllable rhythm with an I-o emphasis. Vik’s accent allows the near rhyme of “Michael” blend in almost effortlessly. Myers and fires are a little farther outfield, but they mirror one another and with the I-uh scan, they can easily get caught up in the flow.
Spyro dragon, I’m Frodo baggin’ All the shit you’re chatting, your teeth get smashed in Extracting like dentist grafting Nitrous oxide gas, no laughing
While Spyro and Frodo mirror the rhymes in the previous quatrain, the scheme changes to the second word in each phrase, ending with -in. Internal/external rhymes include dragon/baggin‘ and grafting/laughing (which rhyme perfectly when accent is taken into account.)
Spyro dragon is a video game reference to a late 90’s Playstation game. Spyro is cute and purple, he looks harmless, but he has fire for breath, so once again, Spyro Vik is the arsonist coming from the sky. Don’t underestimate the newcomer.
Viktus spins Ren’s LOTR reference into a diss. “I’ll be ‘Frodo Baggin’ the teeth I’ve just smashed out of your shit-talking mouth. The teeth right out your mouth, bitch.” Apparently someone has heard Life is Funny.
“After your mouth meets my fist,” he claims, “you’ll need oral surgery, and even with laughing gas, it’s gonna seriously hurt.” (Guess life’s not that funny, after all.)
Vik is making it clear he’s no joke.
When I put it down on the beat I’mma lay her down in the sheets Take her to the circus, she’s a freak Vegan girl, she still likes my meat
Now Vik really starts talking shit right back at Ren. Ren starts into the chorus, but Vik interrupts. He’s upping the ante here by taking it to a personal level. He’s gonna put his rhymes down on the beat, and what’s more, he’s laying a girl down in the sheets where they are gonna make a new beat together.
Apparently this young lady is quite a freak in these sheets, willing to do whatever Vik, and now we, to be honest, are vividly imagining. She’s likely gonna both condone the bone and eat it like Toblerone.
Apparently, Viktus’ penis is not triangular, however, as he refers to it as some type of “meat” which happens to be appetizing even to a vegan girl. Perhaps it looks like a veggie sausage? Regardless, they are obviously going to grind something, and it’s not impossible burger.
Feed the girl ’cause it’s time to eat Toes curl when I’m in too deep Fucked your girl, and now you really wanna beef Oh, shit! He’s knocking on the front door, leave!
Oh, it ‘s time to eat? We now have an inkling how this is going down, so to speak. Apparently Vik is good at laying down the beat as her toes are curling, which is a positive sign. And he didn’t even have to lock her in the basement. But what? It’s Ren’s girl? (We didn’t see this coming, did we?) Of course, now he’s rubbing it in Ren’s face (the facts, not his proverbial meat stick) that he got his woman freaking down in his sheets. Now Ren wants beef? More like Viktus is the one calling for war.
And who’s that at the door? Better get out of here, girl!
Interestingly, this scene brings to mind the possible response Screech might have had to Patrick if only he had known…
This is also a karmic twist to Ren’s actions in Right Here, Right Now where he banged his friend’s girl, then had to go Usain Bolt when her brother showed up at the door. Interestingly, Ren handed Vik a Stella and gave him some brotherly love in that same video; the last person he interacted with before saying he’s gonna go undercover with someone’s lover. Maybe this is some sort of payback? That Ren. He’s a naughty boy.
Viktus just played him a dirty hand, nonetheless. The rhyming continues in a similar internal/external scheme with girl/eat, curl/deep, girl/beef and then the final “Leave!”
Ahhh, what the fuck?
Ren doesn’t sound pleased. He probably just saw his half-dressed girlfriend fleeing the scene. This little fuck-boi just crossed the line. It’s time for Ren to go beast-mode.
Verse 3
Step back, sucker, fuck up the scene Tuck my socks up, chop chop I’m a millipede on my feet Mohammed Ali with my reach Biting double D’s in my teeth
Uh oh, Ren’s back, pissed and ready to fight, with his Adidas socks tucked up (over his tracksuit bottoms? I swear, he’s the only human in the world who can make that look cool.)
Internal rhymes are once again used to figuratively “punch up” the stanza: sucke fuck up, socks up/ chop chop. Then there’s the Ali/ double Ds , and the end rhymes -pede/ feet/ reach/ teeth (ee/ea sound.)
A millipede has hundreds of feet (most species have about 300 legs), so Ren is both stable and steady. It’s not easy to knock him off kilter, even if you’ve just Tobler-boned his girl. Chop, chop, better run, boy.
Obviously, with 300 feet, Ren can get where he needs to go and move swiftly back and forth, which will aid in his Muhammad Ali “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” act (Ali and/or boxing are referenced in nearly a dozen songs as I pointed out in the last analysis.) Not only was Ali known for his quick reflexes and ability to dodge O.P.P. (other people’s punches), but for his awesome reach when he, in turn, punched people. Also reach could easily be a reference to the fact that Ren is getting recognition everywhere; his reach extends worldwide, while Vik is still local. It’s a little tap in the face.
As a woman, the line about biting double D’s in his teeth is a bit terrifying and seems a bit extreme. I made a desperate attempt to discern an alternate meaning for this line and sadly, found little help on the interwibbles. Perhaps this is why his girlfriend was looking for another option. Of course, if she’s a freak in the sheets, who knows what she likes. A “double D” is also, apparently, a Pilates exercise, but even though Ren claims to be a “P.T.” in the next stanza, I don’t think these two are exchanging workout tips.
I’m a freak, I’m a goated PT on the beat You’re a neek, you’re a little fuckboy, you’re a geek Let me speak, I’mma cut like Troy when I preach I’m a beast, I’mma come Loch Ness, unleashed, preach!
Oh, see? He admits he’s also a freak, so that biting thing makes sense. Maybe he and his girl met on FetLife?
We know Ren is the G.O.A.T., and of course he has to remind this little upstart of his standing. The meaning of P.T., however, is not really clear in this context.
According to my academic resources, P.T. can refer to: physical therapist, a popular but discontinued Japanese psychological Horror Game (published in 2014 by Konami for Playstation), play time (sex), post text, public thot, pussy twitch (a guy so hot he makes girls twitch), Pacific Time, a pint of codeine and promethazine with a seal on top, P.T. Barnum (the famous circus dude and purveyor of “freaks”), public transport, “penis twerk”, or “pound town”. Several of these might fit Ren’s repeated themes, but I like to think he means “pussy twitch” because he is reasserting his sexual dominance. Either that or the Murderous video game or the Freak Master. He’s the king of both fucking and killing, so watch out.
He goes on to call Viktus a mere fuckboy: an easy, callous lay, a jerk, or a worthless weak-ass wonton worth nothing. For what it’s worth, fuckboy has over 300 definitions in the Urban Dictionary, but “cheap lay,” is the basic gist. Vik might of fucked his girl, but it doesn’t make him anything better than a quick trick.
Not only is Vik a sexual empty set, he is also a neek. Neek is a word that blends the words nerd and geek. I know where Ren is trying to go with this, but isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black, considering Ren’s multiple reference to certain movies and video games? Never mind. He’s the murderer, he gets to say whatever he wants.
The word geek implies a weak, harmless, boring person with no social skills who is low on the popularity totem pole. Once again, Ren is telling Vik that he is nothing in comparison to Ren’s swagger and popularity. A geek was also originally a term referring to a type of circus performer who entertained the audience with gross acts like biting off and swallowing chicken heads. I guess we’re all freaks here, only some are apparently sexier than others.
Ren is certainly a wordsmith with a tongue like a weapon (as mentioned in Genesis, as well as in the first verse of this song.) In this case, it’s a knife and it’s about to slice Viktus to shreds. Troy is another movie reference. This movie is about the battle of Troy, a city in ancient Greece. The Trojan war was waged over a devastating decade of massive bloodshed. It was also a battle over a woman.
Speaking of ruthless women, Ren now invokes Nessie, the Loch Ness monster. Ren is a monster rising from the depths…he’s huge and will easily overwhelm any geeky little fuckboy.
Ren is here to preach. He’s about to tell the truth, lay it down for reals, blud.
Personally, this might be my favorite part of the song. Not only are the rhymes skillfully syncopated, but they are actually sung if you listen closely. It’s rare, though not impossible, for a rap cadence to have a melody. Here it feels almost incidental, as if Ren can’t help it because the bars lend themselves to a certain musicality.
The repeated assonance using the ee sound is slithery as an eel. freak/ P.T. (that’s two!)/ beat/ neek/ geek/ speak/ preach/ beast/ unleashed/ preach! Both the first and last lines have three rhyming words, while the middle two have two ee rhymes and an oy rhyme. This secondary rhyme, fuckboy/ Troy is mirrored visually by goated and Loch, even though they don’t rhyme aurally.
Who’s that boy who moves like a raver Oi, oi, oi, a new tasty flavour Anakin flow, I glow like a saber No sweat, bro, I’m loving the labour
Back to a simpler rhyme scheme, Ren’s obviously referring to himself as the raver, waving his glow sticks in the air, and as a tasty treat.
A hot young chav yelling “Oi” is yes, a new tasty flavor. A mating call for all the freaks, for sure. Personally, I’d happily take a bite of that house potato. He knows he’s hot. There’s always another girl ready and waiting. It’s no longer about his (likely) ex- anyway, it’s just the insult/challenge Viktus laid down that’s the problem now.
Anakin flow is an obvious reference to Star Wars (who were you calling a neek, again?) Anakin, as we all know, is evil, so Ren’s (not surprisingly) channeling the Dark Side, (Murderer) and glowing like a lightsaber. Thanks again to Snake Venom for pointing out that a light saber is really just a giant (yet lethal) glow stick. We must not forget, either, that Ren glows with energy, radiance, and fame. Of course everyone sees him and wants to bask in his light. Vik is obviously one of those.
No lie, he loves this work: all he has to do is be who he is and look how far he’s come. He’s the king.
Work, work, work, a work workaholic She twerk, twerk, twerk, she’s twerking right on it One on the backseat, one on the bonnet Grabbing my William, this is my sonnet.
Is Ren the workaholic referred to here, “loving the labour” as seen in the last stanza (aside: my American keyboard does not love the flavour of the English language) or does this line refer to the twerker who is putting all of her focus on “twerking right on it” (obviously a play on “working on it.”)
Obviously girls are aplenty around here, as Ren has one in the backseat and Vik has one on the bonnet (“hood” for you hapless U.S.ers) of the car. Obviously, while they may be beefing, it’s not so bad that they can’t be “beefing” in/on the same car simultaneously.
Geez, Ren, all this automobile intercourse is giving me flashbacks. I can’t see how that can be comfortable, bruv. However, if it comes down to it, I’d rather be in the backseat than on the bonnet, at least in public… I’ll have to think about it. A lot. Alone. Late at night.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter since you had to bring William Shakespeare into the mix. I’m pretty sure he’s be amused at your ribald willie joke, after all, he’d totally get it on with your mum if he could. Your (presumably new) girl’s grabbing of your William has become your new love poem. You, sick boi, are the height of romance.
Mirroring the repetition of “oi, oi, oi” in the previous stanza, Ren keeps chopping the beat up with “work, work, work, a work workaholic” and “twerk, twerk, twerk, she’s twerking right on it.” I think we can assume what “it” is.) Following up –aholic and on it with bonnet and sonnet completes the scheme. Backseat and bonnet (two syllables, b-t, b-t) offer a nice mirror-image between them, especially since Ren and Vik each take one part of the line.
I’m that fella sipping Stella we call that an in-ter-stellar I’m a rapping Cinderella, serve it like its mozzarella Acapella, say it better, bend a beat like Uri Gellar Go getter, trend setter , on your feet like David Guetta
Stella Artois is a delicious and popular beer in the U.K. (As I pointed out earlier, Ren hands Vik a Stella before going off to bone some other guy’s girl in Right Here, Right Now.) So does interstellar just refer to a Stella in the belly? Interstellar also means “in between the stars”, perhaps referring to the fact that he’s a rising star, or up among the stars. (Interstellar is also a movie, for those counting up the film titles.)
Cinderella happens to be cockney rhyming slang for fella (thank you, English person whose name I’ve forgotten who mentioned this. ) It is, of course, also a fairy tale (he sure does love his children’s literature!) The question is: does he turn into a pumpkin at midnight? (Shout out to Ray Vibes for the inquiry.) Or is it simply that his success is like a fairy tale, magical and coming out of nowhere? (Never mind that Cinderella only succeeded through the help of others. I don’t see Ren naming his fairy godmother. Rude!)
He’s about to serve his rhyme now like it’s mozzarella. Cheese will be referred to again several times, as it’s a slang reference to money, but here it could be a different type of cheese, as mozzarella could refer to anything fine, pleasant, attractive, or sexy, like his phat bars.
Acapella means no music, so, when rhyming acapella, what one says really stands out. One has to “say it better,” as they can’t hide behind the music. Ren also bends a beat like Uri Gellar, a magician and mesmerist who claimed he could bend spoons with his mind. (Probably still does, as he’s still alive and commented on the video, grateful for the shout-out.)
David Guetta, for those who aren’t aware, is a famous French D.J. and music producer; he makes the audience “get on their feet” to dance.
Once again Ren plays it up with the machine-gun rhymes, the rat-a-tat-tat tongue he bragged about in verse one. (fella/ Stella/ stella Cinderella/ mozzarella/acapella/ betteGellagettesetteGuetta.) If you include some of the preceding words, too, you will see he is also utilizing syllabic quadruplets in the first three lines (and in the last with “David Guetta”), which carry the flow along at a staccato pace. He then alters the central syllables in the last line to smoothly carry the rhythm into the following stanza.
Better and better, I serve it letter for letter The alphabet upsetter, I make the cheese, I make cheddar I got the berrrrrrrrrrrrrrretta vendetta , I’m spitting pepper When I skrrrrrrrt impeccable rhythms, the rap Mecca on the beat.
Ren claims that he is is getting better with every word/bar he spits. Each letter counts; he is serving it up and it is supreme.
–etta is the main rhyme ending used in this stanza (bette lette alphabet(ta)/ upsette chedda Beretta/ vendetta/ peppe …pecca…/ Mecca.) Ren’s accent leans into this scheme which wouldn’t work the same without it. Note how he adds an extra -uh syllable on to the end of alphabet just like he does in Illest of Our Time with “alphabetti spaghetti” (Although “Alphabetti Spaghetti” is a real thing in the U.K., so it really chaps my buttocks that the printed lyrics just say “alphabet.”) Once again, his tongue takes on the role of weapon, trilling the R on berrrrrrretta (which is a gun, as all Americans would obviously know.)
The architect of alphabet, Ren again scatters the letters and reconstructs them into mozzarella. And also cheddar. He makes money. Lots of money and even more money. This bitch could buy a lifetime supply of wonton soup if he had to.
Deep into his Berretta vendetta, he’s obviously not done with Vik, despite banging girls simultaneously on the same motor vehicle. Can’t let sleeping chicks lie, apparently. Ren wants to make it clear that what he’s spitting (pepper) is as hot as anything Vik can put out.
Skrrrrrt is a sound used in EDM and trap. It indicates a hard turn or drift with an automobile, getting to a place fast, so here he is referring to his ability to rap fast, change schemes and flows on a dime. A flex.
Mecca is a holy place where Muslims make pilgrimage (Muhammad Ali performed haaj in 1972.) Of course, Ren is the creator of bars others can only pay homage to with reverence.
He wouldn’t be the first king who thought he was God.
Hook/Outro
The song concludes with several repetitions of the hook flowing into the outro. These vary in style, with sounds replacing more and more of the words as the outro progresses, leaving the rap behind as it melds into the electric dance beat to lead us out.
Final Thoughts:
This song is catchy and ultimately danceable. I could easily hear it bumping on a dance floor in a club I could not get into.
Viktus’s interplay with Ren is delightful, and he definitely holds his own. Although his style of rap is not the same as Ren’s, it’s good stuff (go check it out and give Vik some love at @Itsviktus on YouTube and @its_viktus on Instagram.) I have no doubt he’s going to go far.
Who knew Brighton would be the upcoming rap center of Britain, and maybe the world? At the very least, it will be the center of rappers battling out in the backseat and on the bonnet.
Until next time, Oi, Renegades!
c. 2023 D.B. Myrrha.
Blog at WordPress.com. Rendezvous
A Renegade Journal

Waves.
Sometimes things propagate as waves.
She found this moth(rat?)-eaten manual fromma time not ours that mentioned this. That was before the invaders came. It may as well be centuries ago. There were stores that sold candies then. Wrapped in cellophanes of every color of the rainbow. What I'd give for something sweet now...
​
The sky is grey. Its always a shade of grey now. Sometimes lighter, during the day, I guess, orran ashen smeared easel offan irrational pantheon of uncaring gods and goddesses. We've been walking in what we assume is the same direction for at least two weeks. Following the river, keeping it to our left. At least we know we're not walking in circles. There's always an unnatural sound, like a sweeping broom across the tiled entranceway to Hell, that is present over the rushing water. Maybe that's why we stay close to the flowing - it almost blocks out the new world we have found ourselves in. Some semblance offa documentary on nature we might have seen when young and entertainment and learning were possibilities. There aren't many animals anymore. The ones that catch our peripherals are as ashen as the sky. Funny. I don't recall seeing foxes before, not in person. How long have we really been picking our way along this rocky terrain?
​
Laura is ahead of me, carrying a long bamboo walking stick. Sometimes when I lie and smile, I tell her that's sposta help one walk. She lies and smiles back that of course its helping her walk - if I keep it horizontal it functions assif I'm onna tightrope - look, I'm inching between downtown skyscrapers!
​
An explosion in the distance, probably building sized. Sounds don't travel as far as they used to. All the greyness that came with Them is heavy, a wet blanket on the Earth, makes breathing a chore if one pays attention. The last buildings we saw were three-quarters immersed in the river. What is this body of water called? How does one forget what the local river is named? The same way one forgets what one's first car was, or where one's first kiss took place. Drive-in? Couch? Under bleachers? The explosion must be far enough to not be an immediate concern. No underfoot rumblings. We barely look up, in fact. We decided that attempting to track our progress in terms of direction was boring and pointless. Its not assif there issa goal we're reaching, a dot onna map that hassa printed name next tooit. In fact, the farther away we stay from those former dots on maps the better. Out here in the Great Big Fucking State Park of Wherever The Fuck We Are its peaceful enough. No former right angles to remind us that there are no straight lines in nature. Can't remember the last time I waited forra red light.
​
I'm catching up to Laura, she's crouching, long stick still horizontal, picking at something on or in the ground with her sawtoothed machete. There's no movement in the treeline except the branches and leaves themselves. Birds are almost non-existent now. I swear I don't ever recall seeing a fox in the flesh before, now they're the most common animal besides us. As I reach the limestone platform she spins, triumphant, see-I-told-you-the-stick-works, and holds out a bottle of Jamaican Red Stripe, looking new and shiny. Her excavation has unearthed a blue and white Igloo cooler chest from between boulders. Its full of formerly imported beers, a couple of red wax-encased wheels of cheese and luckily unopened large packets of bison jerky.
​
Back when people milled like ants, endlessly constructing ventilation tunnels and waste depositories, they believed things. They had up to the minute holy documents crisscrossed with squiggly imaginary lines, like all holy documents. Wherever one found oneself in relation to the imaginary lines denoted certain realities. Foxes are more common than people now. Somewhere Walt Disney is not feeling irony. Sometimes those holy imaginary lines were rivers. People's most common trait was laziness. I remember viewing a satellite picture of Earth, and it seemed the only blue water left was that being fed the indigo stain for denim inna polluted tributary adjacent in what was China. So much holiness. When the need arose for things bigger than us to assist, those holy worshipped things, they remained as invisible and ineffectual as ever. The larger than our imaginations entities that did show themselves remained indifferent to our collective sigils and crossed hearts. These giants brought with them a new Art, a new way to draw lines on maps, and new definitions of what maps were. Blue is still the least common color of water, brown and red being much more favored. Faces old and young stare accusingly from just beneath the surface tensions now, no matter what the hue of the liquid. The Earth is somehow a quieter marble now, explosions less frequent. If one were being charitable, one could say the new, gigantic forms had brought peace, finally, at last. The answers to so many prayers.
​
Light pollution is now an antiquated term. Sagan's billions and billions twinkle sparkle flash and swoosh above our heads now if our relative elevation to the sea is great enough. I am no eidetic astrologer, but Laura agrees that Orion's belt and Betelgeuse are no longer where they were. Or maybe obscured by clarity. Perhaps eventually we'll draw new imaginary lines in the night grey and link humanistic tragedies to them. That one's Boffo, the legendary fox masturbator, see his right hand has six fingers? And there's Yourmom, still popular as ever. Some of the stellar regions make audible strings of intermittent noises, attempting to ask our obsolete fax machines tooa matinee. At least they're not selling us used cars yet. I wonder, would that make us scramble nowhere faster or drag our feet? The dead do not walk the globe. Hooded skeletons do not ride pale horses in search of wheat fields. It is possible something with many arms dances to an idiot piper. We smoke 'em if we got 'em, and we usually do. Drugs were big business and are more commonly laying around than cans of cranberry sauce. They brought peace on Earth with Them, and an end to poverty, however one measures it. And they didn't even demand praise.
​
We haven't seen any other people in at least two weeks. Not alive, anyway. Most of the corpses are floating in pieces unidentifiable down past us. Any former homes by the waterfront have been abandoned. Proximity to the new vast creatures does something to the thought processes. Makes the electrons jump track and wind up in the wrong brain receptors. They're not eating us. They're not even interacting with humanity unless we en masse attack them. Nukes were used. That was the last Laura and I heard. The largest groups of people we've seen were four, across the river. They made no sign of recognition, no waves or yells. A mutual noticing. They were headed the way we came, on the other side.
​
We've stopped at a two story home with a boatless dock. A fire has turned the former garage into ash, but the adjacent kitchen and walk-in pantry is still full of groceries. Sandwich creme cookies with evaporated milk on the master bedroom deck. Sheets still smell like scented detergent and the water still gurgles from the faucets when they're turned. No electricity. Those electrons don't do the same things either. The long drive leading up to the structure is buried under massive fallen pines. Debris clogs the river itself, using a boat seemed useless, as if there was a destination to speed away to. Laura calls it " Fort Mumbleblarrg ", exhaustedly burying her head in a couch cushion laid out on the deck. I stuff more cookies between my teeth. The view provided of the terrain from the deck looks like an angry child shook the ant farm, and bored, tossed it away inna drainage ditch outside a seafood buffet inna resort town. My skin imagines it has been coated in egg and floured batter several times. Shaking the sludge off my head I collapse on the unmade bed by the sliding glass, very seriously stained doors.
​
[ they severed the hands that's what the Spaniards did. Halberded piles palms up
fires not cauterizing, smudging
glints of spittled grin thick lenses calloused fingers zipping up weatherbeaten
blood, from not yet a teenager
cotton briars, green bitterness
whens
please not again]
​
Fort Mumbleblarrg seems as good as any place to experience intense hallucinations and/or time slips and/or simultaneous dimensional realities. It has cookies. After dragging all the usable foodstuffage up to the master bedroom suite atop the remnants of the wooded structure and making use of the handily, almost obscenely organized tools to actually um, fortify the narrow stairwell, we immediately crash near comatose for days, ingesting sugars and fats like there were supermarkets with humming freezer sections on every city intersection. This place even has a wine cellar, a real one, not a glass doored cabinet. I am almost disappointed there is no cask of Amontillado.
​
On the fourth day another explosion, still far enough to not feel blasted heat or earthquaking floorboards, but it trails along with it a visible atmospheric channel that spins off like the arm offa hurricane. For hours all the colors in the spectrum become grimy, unctuous, the view from the bottom of a fast-food fryer overdue for straining. Nausea sets in during and afterward. All offa sudden being onna carpet is the same as lying face down inna two-inch-deep tray of cultivated maggots, complete with crawling movements up the walls and greenish-grey waves lighting up the flatscreen of the now-defunct television across from the bed. Huddled in the center, trying desperately not to touch or even look at the floor while convulsively emptying our bowels and stomachs, the moldering lightshow starts to produce three dimensional effects, coming closer then sinking in far past the wall its mounted on.
​
Blankness. Grey. Millipedes. Water still runs, still looks clear. All of the carpet gets torn out and heaved over the deck's railing, along with the sodden mattress. Mumbleblarrg wassa perfect title, man. From the deck a three-foot-wide stripe is clearly visible across the landscape. Straight from our perspective, disappearing into the horizon, a charred, still smoking narrow strip of burnt. Trees that formerly stood in its path are simply gone, not piles of twisted branch stubs and ash. Gouges in the limestone, an actual scraping it seems. Smell of overripe, rotting fruit, something exotic like ugli or dragon with an artificial sweetener aftertaste in the nostrils; acrid, bulbous decay accelerated by molecular science students proud of their work. Evidence of this is visible in the river itself - a darkened stripe underneath the waterflow which now eddies at the banks. Added to the evidence of former civilization already present in the water are the carcasses of fish, or fish-like creatures, at least. Its difficult to discern what the original shapes of the savagely torn chunks of flesh might have been. The entire column of moving water is black and brown and maroon and bright fire truck red. There issa small fire burning on the opposite shore. Impossible to tell what exactly, just a blur of burning. For the moment there is a wind, steady, away from us. Blessedly, away from us.
​
Laura usedta tell stories about being born onna side offa river I was not. I was born on an Air Force base in Texas. This is not that river. It doesn't look familiar to either of us. We don't know what its called, or was called. I had lived in Texas for all but four of forty-three years. I have never seen a fox except on screens, maybe a billboard. Now they're like neighborhood dogs. The trees, the grasses, they're familiar, but not intimately so. What are all these foxes eating? What stopped eating all the foxes and let their population burgeon? Laura says since that last wave she has a scar missing. It was to the side of a bone in her wrist, she got it while working inna field with her mother assa child. I don't remember for sure - its not my wrist, but I believe her. Neither of us can relate to the other how we got here, and when we attempt it again the story breaks down at maybe a different point. The last memory we have that stays the same is that we were both inna friend's car driving up to the convenience store a mile from my parents' old trailer. Then... Even when telling our own stories over again they change. At least that's what the other person claims.
​
There is plenty of packaged, indestructible food left. Some of the vintages are over sixty years old. We start on those just because. I stick a sewing needle through one of the corks and float it inna bowl of water. It doesn't seem to do anything in particular, which means I've probably forgotten a step in compass making. Best as I can tell we're headed vaguely north. Absolutely nothing I have observed points definitively to that conclusion. For now this is as good a place as any.
​
Contrary to most horror movie logic there are several battery powered devices fully charged, more or less, and picking up all kinds of stations. Allot of them are preprogrammed and safeguarded against any possibility that silence could happen, lest our listeners disappear. There are no live voices, though even the public station is replaying an interview with a United Nations ambassador intermittently with blocks of humming where the local station breaks would be. Neither of us recognize any of the station call letters or frequencies. Even the fifty-thousand-watt WOAI transmission is absent. Quickly we settle on the classical public broadcast, coming in surprisingly clear. It is the only one playing music without lyrics exclusively. It helps make all the alien noises more tolerable. When stars are visible focusing one's attention on a certain grouping will now cause them to actually respond - both with sounds and visual effects. Its not just our poor human senses - recordings on our phones document the phenomena in even greater detail. Clear enough skies to see past the grey are rare, but at least two infinite directions yield beautiful results. I name them after Greek sirens in my head, not wanting to be outwardly anymore pessimistic than the situation demands. Most stars are silent and stationary enough. For now. There is still one sun in the sky that seems to do the same thing it used to, even though its greyed out usually. Maybe tomorrow it will offer two scoops of raisins.
​
And. Aspirin in the aftermath of wine. We've been here four or five days and just now notice that there are no identifying traces at all of who once lived here. No photos framed. No mail magnetted to the refrigerator door. No kids' homework, or children's toys at all. There are true crime and mystery novels. No religious items. There are also no clothes hanging in closets or folded in drawers. Like we interrupted the crew dressing the set.
​
The audio stream changes from madrigals to Gregorian chants. Its still less memory invoking than pop songs of love gained and lost and sex. We've noshed through most of the sugars and salts and fats and have begun opening cans of vegetables and beans. Laura reminds me she's a Mormon and I pick up the old argument that no, she is not. My father attended a seminary in Michigan to become a priest before he joined the Air Force assa Chaplin and married a paranoid schizophrenic, what the Roman Catholic church labels a possession case officially. I like to get drunk and talk about religion and politics. When I carried a wallet it contained separate business cards for ghost and demon removal services. My reasoning being that demons are way more dangerous than the cranky old fartbag of Aunt Mabel bitching about your choice of cat food for Mr. Snuggles, and should be priced accordingly. My first official girlfriend assa teenager working at Wendy's wassa Mormon, so I have slightly more than a cursory familiarity of the doctrine. Worst girlfriend ever, by the way. Never kiss a girl who doesn't smoke. Its okay if she doesn't smoke anymore, but this advice, I contend, will not let one down if heeded. As the topic of baptizing ancestors breaches again the sky visible past the open sliding glass door abruptly shifts from grey to palish green. Notta seafoam orra seasick orra pea, but a shade reserved for floors of state mental hospitals, disinfectant ready and climbing the edges of the walls. There is something else that is different. Laura and I exchange searching looks, interrupted in our comfort food conversation. We sit staring at each other forra solid minute before knitting our eyebrows and proceeding out on the deck. The atmosphere is physically thicker past the doorframe. Not more humid - the air is cool and moist, but no more so than before. Heavier. Gravity is still a theory. Although we confidently launch rockets and probes and parasail, we assa species are still uncertain as to whether gravity issa push orra pull. Gravity now feels like its the ocean, waves jostling in all directions. A propagating wave packet, my head insists. I can't hear the rushing sound of the river. At all. Nor the wind visibly moving the branches strung above. The radio is unaffected. I am not. The last thing I remember when I awake is opening my mouth, partially full of cooked peppered yellow squash, and screaming. Silently.
​
[ thousand segmented legs crawling
the monsters took her under cover of sunlight and treason I can't remember what she was wearing
roughhewn metals jagged under nails into nerve-riddled flesh, rusted dirt filled channels
you were there to nurture but instead you consumed until bloated and gaseous
unstable at this temperature NO!
claimed divinity with hives and fever, royal pink and chartreuse
steaming exhalations horses breath
they spasmed fits and palsy
perspiration to the soil
which grew poisoned flowers from their tears
the limb twisted before the hinged joint borne unto the Firmament unmade
flutes whistling graveyard breezes
sounds are vibrations
sinusoidal dips and troughs and peaks and valleys
how many decimalled hurts?]
​
There issan aching in the back of my skull. No cartoon birds and stars halo. Rising from my face-up prone position on the freshly painted deck, Laura is first in my field of vision, back solidly pressed against the railing, her eyes wide and staring. Settling next to her while rubbing my nape, I dig in my pocket and fish out Ann's antique silver cigarette case. Taking two Camels out I offer one widdershins, quickly accepted. The black and gold lazer etched Zippo fails to click when struck but lights both. Baroque woodwinds and harpsichord is quarteting through the filthy sliding glass doors. It is the only sound. I dreamt of my daughter Kallisti. I have no idea where she is or if she is. Burnt ash drops without crackles, being shaken off by my trembling lips. Hot tears are streaming down, blurring the soundless vista with eloquent soundtrack. I haven't seen Kallisti since she was eight. She would be ten now. Her mother abandoned us when she was two anda half, chasing heroin and cocaine with prostitution and psychopathic apathy. I don't remember dropping the finished butt or crawling to the pallet on the floor underneath the speakers. Batteries still holding out. Harpsichord and oboes give way to four cellos, dirge. Its suiting of the moment. Red wine has not helped the aching of my head. Laura's face is turned from my view, surveying silent scenery fit forra hotel wall painting. This is where you could be instead of MotorLodge #164. There is no chocolate mint on your pillow. Do not use blacklights in the vicinity of your bedspread, please and thank you. End of song, end of consciousness.
​
Floor shakes hard enough to propel me to my feet. Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries is blasting through the speakers, but its too loud, absurdly loud, there's no way cones that size could make that much air move. Fuck this. Quick steps and noiseless slamming of the glass door. Thankfully the music diminishes in volume somewhat with this action. Its nighttime now. Laura is standing at the railing, one hand gripping the wood with enough force to turn her knuckles white, the other solidly around the ornate neck offa wine bottle labelled in Portuguese. She turns her head, frowning, only slightly, acknowledging my presence, then returns her sentry's position to the heavens. Half of the grey is parted centrally, revealing the new map of burning stars. Tens or thousands of minutes later Wagner dissolves into what would have been a station break, now the amplified buzzing offan ultraviolet bug zapper with two dragonflies struck frying in the mesh. This allows the only other sounds audible through to our senses: sirens calling from beyond Earth, skyward. A sort of synthetic chime set, microtuned at random and played by feasting vultures onna weighted keyboard. There is something new this time - a long, lilting, occasionally harmonized chorus of voices drifting in and out from a different point of night than the chimes, almost sideways from the horizon. If it is a language, it is none I recognize, though there are definitely parts repeating verse-chorus-verse. Many vowels, few consonants. Hours pass. The buzzing from the radio fades to nothingness leaving us with the calling of the stars. The chimes span about two octaves. The voices, if that's what they are, full spectrum. There are most certainly repeating themes, though mismashed between competing chorales. All of the voices are distinctly female, the epitome offan archtype of warrior class. A third distinct group sounds angrier than the first two, threatening. No, bitch, our dance moves slay your tired, weak-ass trots. Its beautiful, as much as it can be, but my ears are accustomed to atonality. Also, very directional. The voices are coming from horizontal sources, maybe on the planet, while the chimes are beaming from a gyrating cluster of suns directly above our heads. I find that I don't care how my dehydrated body feels about this decision: I am getting as drunk as I can before a red graped woman's hand closes the staring eyes of my corpse.
​
" There is nothing new under the sun " somebody said once. Probably a guy. That's the kind of smug bullshit men get quoted saying. Fuck that guy. I'm glad he's dead. I hope it hurt the whole time. By all means, quote me on that.
​
The darkness of night is lasting longer than it should. When I climb in the upstairs shower the water again thankfully runs clear. Its cold and wakes me up, though I'm still staggering drunk. Drinking in stomachfulls of water I emerge humming a companion piece to the concert around us. At least, I'm vibrating my throat and chest. It feels like what making sounds used to do. We've laid out couch cushions covering most of the deck and are observing. Writing onna legal pad witha pen screenprinted Al's plumbing, Laura says it feels like noon. We've been dosing off in turns. She suggests Father Alien instead of Mother Nature. Our three local groups of singers have played through at least two albums of repeating hits. I turned off the radio, though it didn't respond immediately, stubbornly buzzing at least an hour after the off command was issued. My vintage is 1973, something in French. Saltine crackers, spray cheese inna can. I keep thinking about Mitch Hedberg's joke about it glowing in the dark, every bite. The chimes have almost completely faded, along with the brightness and location of its point of emanation. Glee club is picking up the tempo, but seemingly content with their distant concert halls. When I heavily plop down the notepad is passed over. Two words: Foxes. Below. Laura is strategically stationed under the thick fringed vinyl umbrella that formerly stood in the center offa round glass table next tooa propane cookstove. On its side its functioning assa lean-to tent. Hanging my head over the railing, my eyes are greeted with twenty to thirty smaller shiny pairs staring back. Ashen grey and brownish-red foxes are doing much the same as we are, minus alcohol. Laura hands me a bag of marshmallows and we toss them down one by one. They look cute, smiling almost. I shiver. Laura tugs at my jacket and I join her on the other side of the lean-to. We stuff marshmallows in our ears, hoping we don't wake to find ants crawling, searching through our brains.
​
Something is tickling my face and smells like bubblegum. Opening my sleepshut eyes I discover an orange fox on my chest, staring directly at me. It licks my nose several times and is instantly gone when a peal of gravelly smoker's laughter erupts from beside me. Some giant, probably taloned hand has turned the volume knob of the world back to the right again. Trees, river, that sweeping, scratching noise, all back. I haven't seen Laura happy, even briefly, like this since we found ourselves wandering. The little furry scamp ate the marshmallows out of her ears too, she says. For minutes it is easier to breathe, even with the obligatory cigarette smoke. Happiness is rare now, has been for years. Just a little reminds my body what its like to be alive. Lighter grey, occluded sky. Something like morning has arrived, however late. The same clawed huge fingers changed the world's gear ratio back to where it was. We're spinning...I see a flash of memory instead of what my eyes report. My autistic daughter spinning herself dizzy holding a ribbon, a glittery one, inches thick, sparkles fluttering. Quickly I pretend to cough and turn away, holding my closed fist in front of my face. There is no need to spoil whatever semblance of humanity is left in us by sharing this thought. " I'll make breakfast! Something hot! " She knocks the umbrella over leaping up like a clumsy feline. Burying my face in the rough cushions, I bite down on the material covering the foam, thankful to be out of view.
​
Breakfast is handmade tortillas, generic, mechanically separated beef fromma squat can, diced tomatoes, black beans, corn. Blue rings of flames perform the chemistry on command. All the exciting little kid junk food has been torn through, leaving stacks of stolid, adult canned rations. There is plenty of wine. At first discovery I advised Laura not to quaff the ones that read " Port ". A friend's favorite author was Jack Kerouac. He mentioned more than thrice getting drunk on port wine. Turns out that's code for alcoholic cherry snow cone syrup. Which did provide me with the line " Man, I ain't shit my pants since I was twenty-seven! " For the record, my favorite author is HP Lovecraft. My takeaway was never, ever swim or float on, in, near, or near a painting of the ocean. Better include lakes to be sure. And iffit doesn't have fins reconsider your menu choice.
​
Considering the condition of the world around us we had immediately abandoned our lifelong commitment to living green and recycling. Throwing our refuse over the wooden railing wasn't an issue that required debate or reconsidering. Fort Mumbleblarrg, upon our commandeering, quickly became unfit to impress visiting colonels. Both of us passed out underneath the tilted umbrella, she under a thin blanket and I sporting a hideous shower curtain that was most certainly someone's stolen memento offa naughty liaison, the grey above us got brighter and dimmed. My eyebrows knitted upon being disturbed. Is today Wednesday? Forgot to set the cans out on the curb. Shitgoddamnmotherbitch the old couple two doors down are alcoholics. They're green container is full of-
​
Slowly raising my head and torso from the seat cushions I have the conscious thought that I really don't want to know what is making that waste management noise underneath my feet. I am tired of acquiring knowledge. My head is full, thank you. Try again next year. Mayhap by then I'll have finally succeeded in getting rid of those terrible '80s pop country lyrics that my parents thought would be useful to carry around with me for the rest of my life. Or that list of all the adverbs in the English language my frizzy-headed bitch offan AEGT teacher shoved in without permission. Then I'll have space for more data storage, but not now. Something is snorting and something is loudly crinkling. Maybe the social security office sent the wrinkly winos some of the CIA's cocaine stash covertly disguised as Sun Chips. They're humping furiously in the drainage ditch and feeling like teenagers again. That's sweet. Let 'em throw bottles and challenge life with a shaking skyward fist. She wassa cheerleader and he built an entire car from junkyard parts in Auto Shop. Their kid got dismembered five ways bya landmine, but that was at least six years ago. What-
​
Decking underneath vibrates as whatever is below us thuds against one of the support beams. A misty exhalation of partially digesting organic matter sprays into view on the other side of the railing. I still haven't sprung to my feet. Blood pressure hasn't come close to spiking. We all have our fetishes. Who am I to tell them what do after the evening news onna weekday? Can't believe you're poking me in the ribs to relate this story. Bullshit. You'll smile and wave when we drive by like always. A low, three second rumbling causes the deck to vibrate atta different wavelength. Fucking waves, man. No, I don't wanna go to the beach. They eat lots of cabbage and partake in excited conversations at mealtimes. They're passionate people. I am not getting out bed. That's what the largest sites on the internet are for. To see things like this whenever you wake up.
​
I. Am. Sleeping.
Go. Away.
Fuck. This.
​
Brown bears are smaller than black bears, which are in turn smaller than grizzlies. This one is grey. Its back sports the left arm and face offa human melted into it, off-center towards the animal's right flank. Impossible to tell if the face belongs tooa man or woman. Just the first two inches are showing, matted with the bear's greyed fur. The eyes are lidless and staring with tiny dots for pupils, pale brown eyes seeming to fade to grey with their surroundings. The left arm is active, flailing and grasping at anything that touches the palm momentarily. Mouth is slack, open, no tongue. I don't know how to judge how large the bear is. I think its bigger than a standard brown one, and I have no geographic clues. Fort Mumbleblarrg's newcomer is not okay with its tenants' selfish policy of not sharing foodstuffs with the local wildlife, except insects. And its demanding toobe heard. I have been close tooa few brown bears before, seen pictures of the other ones, and I don't remember them having teeth this long and sharp. Jagged, like shark's teeth. At least they're not in rows. Huh. Whata strange thought.
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An explosion, this one close enough to send flaming fist sized chunks of burning matter hailing down upon us and everything in sight. A searing blast of oven barrels directly sideways, transmuting the visible spectrum to the final day offa carnival, full of cheap plastic bottled whiskey, burnt sugar, understated menace, and malice overt. Both of us are thrown against the far railing. Almost losing consciousness, we scramble to toss several erupting couch cushions over the side before the rest of the upholstery ignites. The entire deck vibrates violently as the nightmare bear is thrown against the mooring posts, its jaws snapping several times like a shark's. A shriek far too reminiscent of human speech bellows from below. Laura is on her feet first, brandishing her sawtoothed machete but backing towards the sliding glass doors, one of which has cracked deeply but maintained its integrity. I follow her wide-eyed gaze to spy the offending creature coming into view as it woundedly staggers towards the riverbank. A two-foot section of its rear flank is actively on fire, on the side opposite its unfortunate human addition. The human handed arm is flailing, fingers blurring. It becomes apparent that the unsettling sounds its making are also coming from the face enmeshed in the fur on its back. Unbelievably I find myself fascinated, unable to take in any other stimuli. Trailing a stench part burning hair and part Texas BBQ, it tumbles headfirst over a rocky ledge and is swept splashing fetid mudwater with the current. I lose my stomach contents over the railing, tannin-rich and sharply red. Behind me, a clang resounds as the machete hits now bare wood slats and a sound much more disheartening than any our mutant visitor had uttered bursts from Laura's lungs.
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[ charred glass and copper, poly-fill and stuffed animals' eyes, once alive with children's imagination now splattered with phlegm and dirt
carousel uneven creaks flashing ticking bulbs in the humid summer air
the disappointment in her eyes
parasites replacing fish tongues
many eyed the reproach
ifs, not whens
dovecote abandoned
sharp stab upon kneeling]
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I (F27) work in a tech store with a specialist area that only two of us are experts on and it's a notoriously difficult system to know your way around, I've been there for 7 years and know the system inside out. If there's an issue, people come to me, ring me on days off unfortunately but I'm happy to help. I know who to ring and know what to do with every niche pedantic system error whilst processing hefty credit checks, tech issues and sales on this department, it's a long tricky process with a system that's easily 30 years old. For example, there's three different keys on the keyboard that do the exact same function but you have to know in which scenario you need to use the certain button to do this one function at the right time otherwise it won't work so... Yeah it's super annoying. Another store of ours a few miles away was closing and we were low on this departments specialist staff so we said we can only take on experts in this department sorry. The manager assured us we were getting "an expert in this area, he knows the entire system" and spins our boss an epic tale of this guys competence. We get hyped up thinking we're finally going to get someone to help us with the burden of this department and maybe teach us something we don't know. Yey help! 😍 He(M20) turns up and there's nothing behind this guys eyes. No conversation. Awkward. Everyone isn't feeling him but I give him the benefit of the doubt and try and take him under my wing because he's younger and he might just be nervous.
After a day of working with him he tells us he's been with the company for 6 months, and he knows what he's doing except from insurance claims (wrong), so we find out he didn't know how to cash a till (the most basic thing it's just counting change and typing it in and signing the book), and 90% of processes he can't do on his own. There was a screen that popped up and the only option on there was (accept) He asked me what he should do, he should know this btw if he's been there 6 months as this screen pops up everytime. OBVIOUSLY CLICK ACCEPT WTF. He wants his hand holding through everything, gets things wrong constantly and even the basic information you need to take from customers he can't get right. It's very basic stuff, he has no learning disabilities btw, he just genuinely has no common sense or confidence in decision making and he clearly doesn't know the system like what was promised. I had empathy and fought his corner for weeks.
So... Tell me why when he calls me for help 20+ times a day... Do I come over to help and he leans over my shoulder the whole time INFRONT OF CUSTOMERS and nitpicks on what I'm doing. "I think you should have pressed that" THAT WOULD CANCEL THE PROCESS "there's an extra M on that name" when there ISN'T "You need to swipe it that way up" I KNOW THAT'S WHAT I WAS DOING "You can search a quicker way just do this...." it's a slower way just stop😭 "you don't need to fill that in" ACTUALLY YOU CAN GET FIRED AND FINED FOR NOT FILLING THAT IN IT'S AN FCA REGULATION REQUIREMENT😠
Undermining me the whole time whilst I'm fixing his issues infront of his customers. I'm trying to be discreet about his fuck ups btw to save face for him so his customers don't lose confidence in him and he constantly does this like he knows what he's doing when he doesn't. It's so infuriating. Sometimes he does this when I'm with my own customers. He'll just saunter over when he's not busy and watch my screen breathing down my neck like a boring ghost and chime in every now and then with his comments like he's correcting me but he's not, all he's doing is making my customers think I don't know what I'm doing when he's giving me idiotic advice. Once he walks over and asks me a question when a customer was in the middle of telling me her phone number and I was typing it in and she was so annoyed, I had to ask him to wait until I was done and to not be rude. He does this often.
How do I pull him to the side in a nice way and explain to him he needs to stop doing this. Because correcting him as often as I do clearly isn't enough, I've tried being firm and stating I don't need help thankyou. He isn't making friends here because of this behaviour and I do feel for him. But at the same time he has no one to blame but himself. I'm not a manager but my manager doesn't care. I haven't built up any rapport with this guy because of this behaviour so I feel fake as fuck trying to come across as super friendly so I just feel like I'm going to sound like a bitch whatever I say.
Any advice on what I say to this guy? I feel like whatever I say I feel like I'm going to be telling off a naughty puppy. Like, yes, his behaviour is annoying and rude... But... I feel like he just doesn't know any better because when I tell him he's wrong he just stares blankly at me 😭 How do I handle it?!