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Me (M25) my girlfriend (F25) and friend (M29) applied to tour these apartments (built roughly 7 years ago) that were running a move in special. If you moved in by certain date you get discounted renter for duration of lease. The woman seemly in charge reaches out via phone and asked what days we had available and we schedule a time. Fast forward to the tour, we walk the apartment everything is good and we begin the process of asking all necessary questions: What are all the other fees you guys charge, when would we need to make payments for rent, deposit, pro-rated rent for the remainder of the month we would be moving in, etc. She begins to explain all the fees and we explicitly ask about a pet fee as we have both a dog and cat. She insisted there was no pet fee, nor a pet deposit and that we wouldn’t have to worry about that. That shocked us as we had currently been paying a substantial pet fee at our current residence and understand most other places charge them.
We leave the apartment really happy about the price, the condition of the apartment and decide to apply. Application fees are $100 each applicant ($300 total) and there is a $399.99 application hold fee. This is so they cannot rent the unit out to anyone else while they process our application. All together is was $699.99 plus tax to apply. The application fees were listed as non refundable and the hold fee would be returned only if the application was denied. That all seems a bit steep but considering what we paid to move in to the place we currently are it, it seemed somewhat normal. We call the woman who walked us through the property back and say we’d like to apply, she takes my card information over the phone and says she will be in contact.
A few days go by and we hear nothing. We reach out and can hardly get a call back or a logical answer on how long this process should take. The woman is constantly giving us the run around and whenever we call and someone else answers, they do the same thing. This continues for a week. At the same time all of this is going on, our scheduled move-in date stays the same and continues to inch closer and closer to move-in day. Another week goes by of the same run around before we finally get an answer that we’ve been approved. We see it as a bad sign but also consider the fact it just took awhile for the applications to process and we move on to signing the lease. The lease states that we are getting a discounted rent at $1699 a month, and the space for pet rent and pet deposit is left blank. It’s stated that upon signing the lease and being approved there is 48 hours to make all necessary move-in payments. We signed the lease on a Thursday and didn’t hear back from then until Monday night after calling Friday and Monday with no response. We get a call back Monday at 6:00 PM asking if we can do an orientation at 1:00PM the next day. We state that we all three work and although Tuesday is our scheduled move-in date, after getting no response we had not planned anything in advance in terms of time off work. We agree to come in not at 1:00 PM but at 5:45 PM and over the phone they state they have some concerns. They state the women who showed us the property and who has been assisting us in the whole process has since been fired and that we would have to pay a pet deposit of $1000 and $50 a month for each pet ($100 total extra each month) if we wanted to move-in and get our keys.
I explained to the person we met with that this is a legal binding contract and that if they choose to break it we would like to get a full refund. The person claimed they would not be able to make any accommodations or issue any refund for the applications or hold fee and that by the fair house act, he cannot legally not charge a pet fee and pet deposit.
Sorry this is so drawn out, Im just stuck in shitty situation and felt the need to explain as much as I could. I have attached the lease for reference. I have already decided to go through small claims court, but wanted some advice before I start the process. Thanks in advance for any insight into all this

There was magic, once.
When everything in the world seemed like something new, when memories yet lived. There was that… chill of excitement. You knew it was that mysterious magic, you could feel it flowing like electricity in the air around you. A warmth; a comfort. It was a rhythm—a melody, where each note resonated through your bones, leaving you wanting more.
There are eight senses, you know. Everyone knows the first five—Touch, Taste, Sight, Sound, and Smell—the innate guiding forces built for the spacial axis, but nobody ever gives the same import to the pair relating to the chronal axis: consciousness and memory. Present and past, respectively [thelastonehasnoname].
Let your fear become focus. Focus, sensation, instinct. Wild; brimming with light. White hot potential condensed to a single point of countless echoing infinities, looping back into you.
The Sliver was a place like none other. A kaleidoscopic tunnel of fractures, like the throat of an immeasurable crystal beast, painted in a range of sparkling purples and pinks by some unseen light source. It called to my soul with a powerful vibration, begging me to explore every inch of its majestic and terrifying unknown… to take it all within myself. I tore through the veil.
Up. I have to go higher, have to push harder, further. There is purpose in the thrill, I feel it in my soul. Write more! I scream. My mind goes blank. [keepgoing] I close my eyes, breathe deep, feel the chill shoot through me.
I look within: A dark sphere begins to crack, spewing forth light. I feel I should cry, yet no tears fall. Instead, I am filled with energy. A cold, ambivalent flame of a thousand mirrored reflections burns inside me. My skin begins to glow bright white from within, but suddenly disperses in an outward pulse. Then again. Again; again. [totherhythym] I lose myself, then return, then fade.
A reminder. A boundary. My eyes flutter open.
The storm of anxiety always seems to cloud my thoughts, yet it is in the eye of the storm where I find my head is the most clear. I dream of a beautiful golden supernova [waitturnaround]. A familiar voice calls to me from long ago: Do not force your mind to calm, let your body become the calm, and the rest of you shall follow by instinct. Ringing. Ringing. Endless ringing.
Suddenly, I am flying. Lifted into the sky by wings of golden light. Wonder and awe consume every shadow of doubt, and I am free for approximately three to five minutes. I understand; I see the path.
Reality sets in. I sit again in deafening silence, and the feeling is gone. Nothing feels the same anymore. I could listen again, but with diminishing returns. The feeling is gone. That place is gone [thatplacewasneverreal].
I see thousands upon thousands of distant flickering candles. They split before me, forming speckled walls of light at my sides, leaving only darkness before me. Calling; calling. I hear the calls of the dark. Whispers and ringing. I see a single radiant sphere of blue.
Suddenly, I am frozen in the fear of stagnancy; sharpened to a point. The me who is writing these words will die. I realize they will never see the light of tomorrow, forever trapped in the limbo of those “yesterday thoughts” which once defined them as me. Yet, I will continue on, the visage of the past left forgotten in the annals of a scattered subconscious. Now is the envy of all of the dead.

MATCH RESULTS

Winner	Loser	Match Finish	Stipulation
Sol Ruca	Izzy Dame	Sol Snatcher	Women's North American Championship Qualifier
OTM w/ Jaida Parker	Edris Enofe and Maliq Blade w/ Brinley Reece	In the Mud
Lash Legend w/ Jakara Jackson	Ivy Nile	Big Boot	Women's North American Championship Qualifier
Je'von Evans w/ Trick Williams	Oro Mensah w/ Jakara Jackson and Lash Legend	Hole in the Road
The Good Brothers	Ridge Holland and Riley Osborne w/ Chase U	Roll-Up
Lola Vice w/ Shayna Balzer	Carlee Bright	Spinning Backfist
Tony D'Angelo w/ The D'Angelo Family	Charlie Dempsey (c)	2-1 Fisherman Suplex	For the NXT Heritage Cup

IMPORTANT NOTES

• Kickoff with Noam Dar laid out backstage, Meta Four go to check on him with Oro and Jakara blaming Trick for this while Lash says Trick would never do this.
  
• Backstage Kiana James tells Izzy Dame there's a real she be-friended her over everyone else and says she's going to be a superstar so run NXT while she goes to Run Raw.
  
• Backstage Ava tells Tony D'Angelo and the family that the tag match for the No Quarter Catch Crew didn't catch and demands to know where Damon and Myles are at. Tony says the ref last week just got a bad case of bronchitis and says they had nothing to do with Damon and Myles going missing. Ava threatens to pull the Heritage Cup match tonight but Tony says that'd be false advertising so instead Ava fines them $20,000 which Arianne pays up with a brown envelope and Tony tells her to spruce up her office a bit.
  
• Shayna Bazler says all she knows is dominance and as the longest reigning NXT Women's Champion she's interested into who Ava will pick as Roxanne's next opponent. Lola Vice sets her sights on challenging Rox as well but gets ambushed by Karmen who brawls with her off screen.
  
• In the trainers office Meta Four are told that Noam is out indefinitely after the attack earlier, so Oro steps up to take on Je'von tonight. Noam says he thinks it's Je'von who attacked him earlier and not Trick and Lash believes it's Je'von as well. Miss Jackson starts to ask Lash why she's so quick to believe it isn't Trick but Lash says she doesn't have time for this with her match next.
  
• Backstage Ridge tells Axiom and Nathan Frazer that he's having fun and says Chase is a hell of a guy and Chase U has a lot in common with him. The Good Brothers enter and says Ridge has a anger problem and he's another main roster talent that needs to get the hell out of NXT. Ridge says he actually was in NXT before. Gallows tells Ridge to find a brother and face them tonight and they'll kick him out of NXT but Anderson says Ridge has no friends.
  
• Je'von Evans is interviewed and denies attacking Noam and says it doesn't sound like his boy Trick either but regardless he's taking on Oro next and your boy about to get bouncy.
  
• Carlee Bright runs into Ava and says she wants a match against Lola Vice tonight after she helped break up the fight with Karmen and Lola. Ava says that Carlee really showed out last week in the Combine, finishing 13th, just barely missing the cut and she'll be happy to give her an opportunity tonight.
  
• Charlie Dempsey says he's been in contact with Damon and Myles and they are on their way despite being in rough shape. He says this cup is stained with the NQCC and he'll beat Tony into an inch of his life to defend it.
  
• Wes Lee makes his way to the ring. He says the last time he was in this ring with a mic things were a bit different, he was in the darkest place of his life and didn't know if he'd ever be back here. He says everyone knows how much he loves the NXT North American Championship, and losing it set him down a chain reaction that almost ended his career but he missed this! He says two days after his surgery he was walking again, and weeks later he was in the gym with one goal, to get back here. Wes says he was supposed to be out for a year but was able to make it back in 6 months feeling this amazing energy and honestly doesn't know what to say. Oba Femi makes his way out, he says he isn't there to cut him down, instead he is very impressed at the heights Wes brought this title to was extraordinary but he took it as far as he could, and now it is his time to bring it higher than Wes could ever dream of. He says Wes has a heart of a lion, but he is an actual warrior and he is the mountain that Wes can not conquer but guesses Wes still wants a title match. He tells Wes he has to do what he used to and fight for an opportunity. Wes says every checkbox tick, and while he may not check every single box, when that title was in his hands...but gets cut off by Ivar. Ivar says he knows what it is like to come back from a career ending injury and even went through the same spinal surgery Wes did and he had to fight for everything he got and knows Wes isn't afraid to fight too. Ivar says if Wes wants a shot at Oba he wants a shot at Oba too. Josh Briggs comes out and says they're all so emotional with Wes's comeback story and Ivar showing the world who he truly is, but this is a man's game and the fact is that at Stand and Deliver he and Oba tore the house down and they know how close Josh was to winning the title with broken ribs but now he's fully healed. Josh says he'll through Wes and Ivar a bone once he's champion. Oba says they all have compelling arguments and Wes tells him if he is such a ruler then make it a fatal four way. Oba says there's a reason he is a champion and Wes is not and tells them to fight among themselves and the winner will face him.
  
• Backstage Ridge is interviewed when Chase U approach him and tell him he doesn't have to go in tonight with Andre volunteering Riley to team with Ridge and Thea says it'd be a teachable moment.
  
• Lexis King says he's been on fire lately and offers to take everything else after the live event this weekend. Jazmine Nyx comes by asking if anyone wants to sign a get well soon card for Jacy Jane but everyone besides Lexis leaves. Lexis says he'll gladly sign for Jamie and agrees to sign anyways. He signs but Jazmine reads it and sees he signed it to Jordan and calls him and idiot once he leaves.
  
• Lola goes to beat down Carlee after their match but Nattalya and Karmen run down to send Shayna and Lola to the outside. Karmen tells them there's no more running around, if they really are the baddest then they'll face off next week in a tag match.
  
• Backstage Riley apologizes for losing the tag match tonight, Ridge says it's all good and they just have to trust him. Thea is overjoyed that they can trust Ridge and Andre thanks Riley for giving him a chance.
  
• Backstage Wes Lee, Ivar, and Josh Briggs are all taken out, the attackers are revealed to be the returning Gallus.
  

SHAMELESS PLUGS

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I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

Hi all, I'm trying to automate an emailing system for OTP verification but am running into some trouble. Below is my code, in it's respective files.
In models.py:

from django.db import models from django.contrib.auth.models import AbstractUser, User from django.db.models.signals import post_save from django.dispatch import receiver # Create your models here. class UserProfile(models.Model): user = models.OneToOneField(User, on_delete=models.CASCADE) otp = models.CharField(max_length=6, blank=True) otp_expiry_time = models.DateTimeField(blank=True, null=True) class AdditionalData(models.Model): user_profile = models.OneToOneField(UserProfile, on_delete=models.CASCADE) firstname = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) lastname = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) dateofbirth = models.DateField(null=True, blank=True) phone_no = models.CharField(max_length=20, blank=True) country_origin = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) city_origin = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) u/receiver(post_save, sender=User) def create_user_profile(sender, instance, created, **kwargs): if created: UserProfile.objects.create(user=instance) @receiver(post_save, sender=User) def save_user_profile(sender, instance, **kwargs): instance.userprofile.save() 

In views.py:

from django.shortcuts import render, redirect, HttpResponse from django.contrib.auth.models import User from django.contrib.auth import authenticate, login from django.contrib.auth.decorators import login_required from datetime import timedelta from django.utils import timezone from django.core.mail import send_mail from rest_framework import status from rest_framework.decorators import api_view, permission_classes from rest_framework.permissions import AllowAny from rest_framework.response import Response from .serializers import UserProfileSerializer from .models import UserProfile, AdditionalData from rest_framework_simplejwt.tokens import RefreshToken from .generate_random_digits import generate_random_digits def sign_up(request): if request.method == 'POST': username = request.POST.get('username') email = request.POST.get('email') pass1 = request.POST.get('password1') pass2 = request.POST.get('password2') User.objects.create_user(username, email, pass1).save() return redirect('login') return render(request, 'main/signup.html') def login1(request): if request.method == "POST": username = request.POST.get('username') pass1 = request.POST.get('pass') user = authenticate(request, username=username, password=pass1) if user is not None: if user.last_login is None: user.last_login = timezone.now() user.save() login(request, user) return redirect('firstlogin') else: user_profile = UserProfile.objects.get(user=user) verification_code = generate_random_digits() user_profile.otp = verification_code user_profile.otp_expiry_time = timezone.now() + timedelta(minutes=15) user_profile.save() send_mail( 'Verification Code', f'Your verification code is: {verification_code}', 'from@gmail.com', [request.user.email], fail_silently=False, ) return redirect('otp') else: error_message = "Invalid username or password" return render(request, 'main/login.html', {'error_message': error_message}) return render(request, 'main/login.html') def verify(request): username = request.data.get('username') password = request.data.get('password') otp = request.data.get('otp') user = authenticate(request, username=username, password=password) if user is not None: user_profile = UserProfile.objects.get(user=user) if ( user_profile.verification_code == otp and user_profile.otp_expiry_time is not None and user_profile.otp_expiry_time > timezone.now() ): login(request, user) refresh = RefreshToken.for_user(user) access_token = str(refresh.access_token) user_profile.otp = '' user_profile.otp_expiry_time = None user_profile.save() return Response({'access_token': access_token, 'refresh_token': str(refresh)}, status=status.HTTP_200_OK) return Response({'detail': 'Invalid verification code or credentials.'}, status=status.HTTP_401_UNAUTHORIZED) @login_required def firstlogin(request): if request.method == "POST": user = request.user try: additional_data = AdditionalData.objects.get(user_profile__user=user) except AdditionalData.DoesNotExist: additional_data = AdditionalData.objects.create(user_profile=UserProfile.objects.get(user=user)) additional_data.firstname = request.POST.get('FirstName') additional_data.lastname = request.POST.get('LastName') date_str = f"{request.POST.get('dob-year')}-{request.POST.get('dob-month')}-{request.POST.get('dob-day')}" try: additional_data.dateofbirth = date_str except ValueError: return HttpResponse('Invalid date format') additional_data.phone_no = request.POST.get('PhoneNumber') additional_data.country_origin = request.POST.get('Country') additional_data.city_origin = request.POST.get('City') additional_data.save() return HttpResponse('WORKED') return render(request, 'main/firstlogin.html') @login_required def home(response): return render(response, 'main/landing_page.html') def otp(response): return render(response, 'main/otp.html') 

In settings.py:

""" Django settings for mysite project. Generated by 'django-admin startproject' using Django 4.2.6. For more information on this file, see https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/topics/settings/ For the full list of settings and their values, see https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/ """ from pathlib import Path import os # Build paths inside the project like this: BASE_DIR / 'subdir'. BASE_DIR = Path(__file__).resolve().parent.parent # Quick-start development settings - unsuitable for production # See https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/howto/deployment/checklist/ # SECURITY WARNING: keep the secret key used in production secret! SECRET_KEY = '#####...' # SECURITY WARNING: don't run with debug turned on in production! DEBUG = True ALLOWED_HOSTS = [] # Application definition INSTALLED_APPS = [ 'django.contrib.admin', 'django.contrib.auth', 'django.contrib.contenttypes', 'django.contrib.sessions', 'django.contrib.messages', 'django.contrib.staticfiles', 'main.apps.MainConfig', ] MIDDLEWARE = [ 'django.middleware.security.SecurityMiddleware', 'django.contrib.sessions.middleware.SessionMiddleware', 'django.middleware.common.CommonMiddleware', 'django.middleware.csrf.CsrfViewMiddleware', 'django.contrib.auth.middleware.AuthenticationMiddleware', 'django.contrib.messages.middleware.MessageMiddleware', 'django.middleware.clickjacking.XFrameOptionsMiddleware', ] ROOT_URLCONF = 'mysite.urls' TEMPLATES = [ { 'BACKEND': 'django.template.backends.django.DjangoTemplates', 'DIRS': [os.path.join(BASE_DIR, 'templates')], 'APP_DIRS': True, 'OPTIONS': { 'context_processors': [ 'django.template.context_processors.debug', 'django.template.context_processors.request', 'django.contrib.auth.context_processors.auth', 'django.contrib.messages.context_processors.messages', ], }, }, ] EMAIL_BACKEND = 'django.core.mail.backends.smtp.EmailBackend' EMAIL_HOST = 'smtp.gmail.com' EMAIL_PORT = 587 EMAIL_USE_TLS = True EMAIL_HOST_USER = 'from@gmail.com' EMAIL_HOST_PASSWORD = '############' WSGI_APPLICATION = 'mysite.wsgi.application' # Database # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/#databases DATABASES = { 'default': { 'ENGINE': 'django.db.backends.sqlite3', 'NAME': BASE_DIR / 'db.sqlite3', } } # Password validation # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/#auth-password-validators AUTH_PASSWORD_VALIDATORS = [ { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.UserAttributeSimilarityValidator', }, { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.MinimumLengthValidator', }, { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.CommonPasswordValidator', }, { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.NumericPasswordValidator', }, ] # Internationalization # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/topics/i18n/ LANGUAGE_CODE = 'en-us' TIME_ZONE = 'UTC' USE_I18N = True USE_TZ = True # Static files (CSS, JavaScript, Images) # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/howto/static-files/ STATIC_URL = 'static/' # Default primary key field type # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/#default-auto-field DEFAULT_AUTO_FIELD = 'django.db.models.BigAutoField' 

otp.html:

TLDR:
The problems are as follows:

• 4 verification codes were sent b2b2b2b on the first try
• No longer receiving any emails
• The otp.html redirect after entering the code doesn't work

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
“Four years on and the headache still sucks,” Vell groaned to himself.
Though most of the loopers had managed to make it to midnight alive, they had nothing to show for it but headaches. They had not succeeded in digging Cane out of the rubble, or investigating his apparent ghost theory in any other way. That was a complication, but not a fatal one. They had some leads to work with, at least, and Vell knew where to get started on the ghost angle. Vell gladly made the call that would get them started.
“Goooooood morning Mr. Harlan,” Harley chimed. “What’s happening?”
“Frog invasions, among other problems,” Vell grumbled.
“Oh, that’s a time loop headache if I ever heard it,” Harley said. She’d run into that affliction more than a few times.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” Vell said. “Listen, do you still have Garrett’s number?”
“Ooh, ghost problems, eh?” Harley said. “I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks. I kind of got to get right to it, so I’ll have to give you the details later, alright? Love you, Harley.”
“Love you too, bud,” Harley said. “Say hi to Garret for me.”
Vell hung up the first call and braced himself for the second. He liked Garret, but he could also be a lot to deal with -a fact well-demonstrated by the phone call beginning with Garret’s theme music blaring over the phone. Once the bombastic rock and roll stopped, Vell was disappointed to hear a mechanical beep indicate the start of an answering machine message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Garret Geist, Ghost Getter,” the message said, in Garrett’s usual southern california drawl. “I’m currently on a long-term submersible mission to exorcise the ghosts of shipwreck victims who’ve been trapped undersea for centuries.”
“What?”
Vell knew it was a recording, but needed to voice his offense anyway. It was hard to truly be mad knowing Garrett was doing something so incredibly heroic, though.
“I should be back to the surface and ready to help in a few days, so please leave a message and I’ll get to you as soon as I can!”
The automated message clicked again and fell silent. Vell hung up the phone and let out a low groan of despair.
“Okay, we’re not screwed yet,” Vell said. “Just need to wait a bit.”
Vell brushed his teeth and rushed through breakfast, and then, right on cue, heard a knock on his door. He whipped it open to find a bothersome scientist once again at his door.
“Hi, good morning,” Vell said, as he opened the door. “You here to bother me about Quenay?”
“I- uh, I have some very interesting theories.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vell said. “If you can just hold on one second…”
Vell paused and waited. The bothersome student also waited, at least for a few seconds.
“What exactly are we waiting for?”
“This.”
Cane grabbed the student by the collar and yanked them away from the door. Vell invited him in and slammed the door shut behind them to really drive the point home.
“Thank you for that,” Vell said. “Did you need something?”
“Just to talk to you,” Cane said. “I was trying to get people together to hang out tonight. Figured you’d want in, if you’re not too busy.”
“I could probably make it, I just have to…”
Vell froze. He really should’ve come up with these lies in advance.
“You good, Vell?”
“I, uh, sorry, just losing track of things, mentally,” Vell said. “I’ve had a lot of people, uh, ask me for help with things.”
“What kind of things?” Cane said. “You need a hand?”
“Maybe.”
Vell contemplated how to proceed for a moment, and then figured he’d probably built up enough good will with Cane over the past four years he could just dive right in.
“You ever heard about frog ghosts?”
“Yeah,” Cane said, without so much as blinking.
“Oh, cool,” Vell said. “What about them?”
“Well, hold on, are you talking about frog ghosts as in the ghost of frogs, or a ghost related to frogs?”
“Either or, I guess?”
“Okay, because I don’t know anything about any ghostly frogs,” Cane said. “There is supposedly the ghost of a guy obsessed with frogs on campus, though.”
“Interesting. Tell me about the frog guy.”
“I don’t know all the details, it was kind of an urban legend even when my brother came here about a decade back,” Cane said. “All he ever told me was the this frog-obsessed sophomore died while studying, and he haunts the basement of the sophomore dorms, I guess. ‘Some say you can still hear faint croaking in the basement’ and all that horror story shit.”
“Interesting,” Vell said, again. “Let me look into that and we’ll circle back later, alright? I gotta go, see you.”
“Vell-”
“Sorry, kind of in a hurry, bud,” Vell said, as he left and shut the door behind.
“This is your dorm, dude,” Cane said.
***
“You were not exaggerating about this headache,” Alex said.
“We warned you,” Kim said. “Man, it’s almost better to die.”
“How do you have a headache, you’re made of metal!”
“It’s complicated,” Kim said. Her synthetic body did not spare her from the time loop headache, no matter how she rebuilt herself.
“Good morning everyone,” Helena said, as she whacked the door open with a crutch. “What did I miss?”
“Quiet down a little, please” Hawke said.
“Why?”
“Do you not have a headache too?”
“No, I died pretty early,” Helena said. “Got a frog on me.”
“You died from a frog touching you? What condition do you have that causes that?”
“Well it was a poison dart frog, so I guess ‘being alive’,” Helena said. Samson pursed his lips and said nothing. “What did you all get up to while I was busy being dead?”
“Vell found out the frogs were summoned by a weird frog-obsessed ghost,” Hawke said. “He apparently knows a guy who might be able to help.”
The loopers then proceeded to relax and chat about frogs, ghosts, and other miscellaneous topics for about seven minutes, which made it a lot less dramatic when Vell barged in and announced Garret would be unable to help.
“Oh come on,” Kim snapped. “What’s the point of knowing a ghost hunter if he never helps hunt ghosts?”
“He’s on some undersea mission to rescue lost souls,” Vell said. “Which makes it really hard to be mad at him.”
“And yet I manage,” Kim said. She didn’t begrudge Garret personally, but she had been hoping for their first easy win of the year. All the apocalypses thus far had been a major pain in the ass.
“Aren’t you people supposed to be able to handle things like this?”
“Yes, Alex, and we will,” Vell said. “Just would’ve been nice to have a professional on the job.”
“I’ll get the ghostbusting stuff ready,” Hawke sighed. He would’ve loved a chance to outsource their daily nonsense.
“Keep it on standby for now,” Vell said. “Ghosts have unfinished business or regrets. If we can help our ghost deal with whatever frog-related business he’s got going on, maybe we can fix this without having to bust anyone.”
“That’s your plan?” Alex said. “Be nice to the ghost that crushed a building and hope it goes away?”
“Yes,” Vell said, with a completely straight face. “And busting is plan B.”
“Bustin’ makes me feel good,” Hawke sang, as he grabbed all their various ghostbusting gear.
“True professionals at work,” Alex scoffed. Everyone else rolled their eyes and got back to work.
“Vell is an old pro at being nice to people,” Kim said. “Just ask Helena’s sister.”
“Don’t pat yourself on the back, Joan’s incredibly susceptible to manipulation,” Helena said. It was disturbing she’d say that, and even more disturbing she knew that. “That said, anyone dumb enough to get stuck as a ghost for decades will probably buy into your routine just as easily.”
“Thanks for your input,” Vell said. “I’m just going to go ahead and get started.”
He said that both because it was important and because it was an excuse to get away from Alex and Helena faster.
“Need any backup?” Samson asked, for similar reasons.
“I’ll check it out solo first,” Vell said. Historically speaking, he was the best people-pleaser, a dubious honor at best, but one that came in handy when dealing with a frog-summoning ghost. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”
“Or busting,” Hawke said.
“Or busting,” Vell agreed. “I have to find out where the ghost is, for starters. I’ll be in touch soon.”
***
Finding the lair of the ghost was the first hurdle. As it turned out, the sophomore dorms had a lot of basements. Every building on campus had a lot of basements, so Vell was not all that surprised. At least these basements didn’t have booby traps or old experiment equipment in them. They mostly just had a lot of junk. Vell kicked aside some old food wrappers and scanned the room.
“Why do people treat these empty rooms like dumping grounds?”
“People are usually different when they think no one is watching.”
Vell whipped around and saw a transparent head poking through one of the nearby walls. A ghost if Vell had ever seen one.
“Oh, hi,” Vell said. “Uh, weird question, how do you feel about frogs?”
“I’m ambivalent at best,” the ghost said. “Are you looking for the frog guy? Because he haunts two rooms over.”
The ghost pointed to the right, down the hall, and Vell looked that way.
“Thanks,” Vell said. He took a few steps towards the door before spinning around to face the other ghost again. “Uh, do you need any help like, moving on? Finishing unfinished business?”
“Nah, we get wifi down here, so I don’t mind just chilling,” the ghost said. “Thanks for offering though.”
The ghost drew back into the wall and vanished from sight. While Vell was painfully curious as to how a ghost accessed wifi, he decided it was time to move on. The frog ghost was apparently close by, after all.
Vell followed the wifi ghost’s directions and hopped two doors down, barging into a subterranean room that was uncomfortably moist and smelled of mud and rainwater. Condensation dripped from the ceiling and onto Vell’s back, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Unlike other rooms, this one was completely free of any garbage, but Vell took no comfort in that.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
A chill ran down Vell’s spine that definitely was not another drop of water. He waited two seconds, took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Hello.”
Vell was just inches away from another transparent face. This one had a slight green tint, with wide set eyes and a broad, flat mouth. Vell wondered if the similarities to a frog had been there during this person’s life, or if they just liked frogs so much their ghost had slowly shifted to reflect their passion.
“Hey! Hi, uh, nice to meet you,” Vell mumbled. “I’m Vell.”
“I’m Raine.”
“Neat, nice name,” Vell said. If Raine noticed the awkward hesitation in the compliment, he didn’t show it. “So, uh, I was wondering, well, I heard you were the guy to ask about frogs.”
The already wide eyes of the ghost got even wider, and visible excitement trembled through their spectral form. Vell began to think he may have made a mistake.
***
“So even though it’s the biggest frog in the America’s, the helmeted water toad is still only half the size of the Goliath frog,” Raine said. “Which must be wild for the helmeted water toad. Could you imagine crossing an ocean and finding out the people who live there are literally twice your size?”
“Must be pretty mindblowing, yeah,” Vell said.
“And that’s not even going into the real extremes,” Raine said. “Do you remember our pal P. Amauensis?”
“How could I forget,” Vell said, about something he had definitely forgotten.
“Not just the world’s smallest frog, but maybe the world’s smallest vertebrate,” Raine said. “Only seven point seven millimeters long, a literal fraction of the Goliath frog! Could you imagine meeting someone who’s only as big as your toe?”
“I actually did, once,” Vell said. “Shrink ray.”
“Oh. Was...was it weird?”
“A little,” Vell said.
“Wow. You almost know what it’s like to be a Goliath frog meeting a P. Amauensis,” Raine said. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, I’ve done a lot of interesting stuff,” Vell said. “What about you, what’d you get up to when you weren’t studying frogs?”
Raine tilted his spectral head and stared blankly at Vell.
“You did do things other than study frogs, right?”
“Not if I could help it,” Raine said.
“Okay, uh...what did you like to eat?”
“Oh, I just ate food whenever I was hungry,” Raine said. “What I really liked to do was gather samples of different bugs and other frog dietary staples, so I could try to get a sense of their diet for myself.”
“Like, cooked bugs, or just raw, living bugs,” Vell said. He’d eaten a few different varieties of cooked bugs, just for the experience, but couldn’t imagine eating raw insects.
“If I could find them, yeah, live ones,” Raine said. “It got pretty hard after I got banned from the entomology department.”
“That’d do it,” Vell said. “So, did you, uh, go swimming a lot?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” Raine said. “Until I got banned from the pools too. Trying to swim like a frog doesn’t work very well, and they got sick of having to rescue me, I guess.”
“You could’ve just swam like a person.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To...I don’t know,” Vell said. He was starting to feel like Raine’s entire life and unlife revolved around frogs. “Did you ever do anything, I don’t know, human?”
“Oh, I studied frogs,” Raine said. “Frogs lack the self-awareness to understand frogs. It’s their only flaw, really.”
“I see. So what’s your favorite frog?”
As expected, this set off a long rant, as Raine found it hard to pick a favorite and had to start listing pros and cons of various frog species. It was not exactly scintillating conversation, but it kept Raine talking instead of somehow summoning frogs. Vell kept reminding himself that was the real goal. He was not here to have a pleasant chat, he was here to prevent the frogpocalypse. Anything that kept Raine ranting was good. He was saving the world.
As Raine started ranking every existing frog species by maximum jump distance, Vell kept repeating that to himself. Saving the world, one frog jump strength at a time.

Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/gfbzcTb
PLEASE DONT USE YOUR PANTS SIZE! DO NOT USE OTHER COMPANIES BELT SIZING!
Back again with the remainder of my belts. I only have 6 stainless buckles left so these are the last for sale until more come in. The black still uses tan webbing, but only a tiny part of that is showing. There's an example of what it would look like in the pics.
V2 has Velcro going almost end to end and a tapered tail, while V1 has 1 inch of bare webbing near the loop and a squares off tail. Comparisons can be seen in pics. Black belts still uses the tan webbing, but now the Velcro loop goes almost end to end so only small parts show up.
Up for grabs is 6x 1.5" Coyote/Black Tegris EDC/inner belts. $40 each shipped to your door. Buying multiple will knock $4 off since shipping is included. PayPal F&F or Venmo only. I am now nearly out of materials, so if you fuck up your sizing, I might not be able to make a replacement for a long time. SO DONT MESS UP YOUR SIZING!
Do you hate how flimsy EDC belts are? Have you ever bought a belt marketed as "super rigid!" only to find it super floppy? Do you hate the $3 inner belt that shipped with your $200 battle belt? Are those cheap plastic loop buckles a pain while in the restroom? Well, boy do I have the thing for you!
This belt is made with a 6 layer Tegris reinforcement that goes the entire width of the belt, and anchored to heavy duty belt webbing. This means that your guns don't sag when carrying or during draws. An outside layer of loop Velcro means that you can throw your battle belt on in no time at all. The stonewashed G-Hook is made from 304 stainless and makes taking a whizz and adjustment super easy.
These are sewn by me in Texas with materials that are all sourced from US manufacturers AND Berry compliant. Everything from the buckle down to the thread is American made. And all just for $40 a pop!
I honestly believe this is the most rigid EDC belt out there. Like, no joke guys, this belt is stupid stiff. Like Mexican blue pill stiff.
HOW TO KNOW YOUR SIZING!
DO NOT USE YOUR PANTS SIZE! Pants sizes have too many variables, so use the actual measurement of your waist in inches. When measuring, include your holsters for your pistol and mags. If you're in between sizes but on the higher end, move up a size. For example, someone who is a 35" or 36" would get the 34"-38" belt.
If you don't have a measuring tape, wear your normal belt outside the loops and make a note of where the belt meets. Then measure it with your ruler to know your approximate size.
I am now nearly out of materials, so if you fuck up your sizing, I might not be able to make a replacement for a long time. SO DONT MESS UP YOUR SIZING!
Sizes (in inches) are:
COYOTE
32"-36"
34"-38"
BLACK
28"-32"
30"-34"
32"-36"
36"-40"
The buckle and loop might be a bit stiff so here's a handy guide on the best way to put them on. It'll break in after getting the buckle on a few times.
https://imgur.com/a/zpJ11pj
If you want a custom size or any other special request, feel free to PM me.

This is one of my favorite parts from a Japanese fan novel that I really like. The characters are reincarnated in another world, with some of them retaining memories of their past lives. Mondo is a 32-year-old carpenter, and Celeste is a high school boy recently arrested for certain illegal acts. I really like Celeste's description of the killing game, so I wanted to share it. Here is a translation:
•••
About an hour later, Oowada was visiting a certain place. He took a deep breath through his nose.
"Smells moldy," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure if it was actually mold. He clicked his tongue loudly, causing a staff member in the corner, who was spreading out a notebook to record their conversation, to flinch. Oowada closed his eyes and laughed through his nose, wondering if such a timid person could handle working in a juvenile rehabilitation facility.
This was his first time visiting here as a visitor. A cramped, narrow cage that boxed everything in, isolating the boys from society. It was a place he had been confined to many times before and hated more than anything.
But even so, his safety was guaranteed. There was no way a killing game would happen here.
"It's lukewarm... no, that's how it's supposed to be," he muttered as the door opened with a cheap-sounding clatter. At that sound, he quietly opened his eyes.
Sitting with his legs spread on the hard, leather sofa, arms crossed, he watched as a beautiful boy, dressed simply in a shirt and slacks, entered the room with a straight posture. When the boy saw Oowada, he lightly tilted his head and smiled, causing his neatly trimmed long black hair to sway.
"Hello, uncle. I didn't expect you to come."
Oowada’s eyes twitched at the boy’s words, but seeing the suited facility staff who entered behind the boy, he closed his mouth.
The boy sat down across from Oowada with a low table between them, placing a hand under his chin and deepening his smile.
"It’s been a while."\ "…Yeah."\ "I was just getting bored, so I’m very glad."\ "…Yeah."\ "I thought you were hospitalized… Are you feeling alright?"\ "…Yeah."\ "So, uncle. Why the sudden visit? Did something happen?"\ "…Yeah."
As Oowada grunted in response, he glanced around the room, noting the staff in the corner and the one quietly standing guard by the door, wondering how to begin. The boy, seemingly understanding everything, smiled knowingly.
"...It seems like it might be difficult to talk like this."
Oowada raised an eyebrow suspiciously at the boy who whispered this in a low voice. At the same time, the boy raised one delicate hand, snapping his fingers lightly.
At this signal, the staff in the corner nervously, and the one by the door calmly, exited the room. Their abrupt departure made it seem like they could no longer see Oowada and the boy.
In shock, Oowada stood up from his chair.
"What the...?"
"Well, as they say, money talks," the boy said nonchalantly, brushing aside the troublesome bangs that fell over his forehead with a swift motion of his fingers.
"No matter the means, the assets I’ve accumulated have come in handy. I went through a lot, you know. Selecting useful personnel, seizing opportunities, negotiations, instructions, and so on. The fact that you’re here talking to me now is thanks to my sweat and tears."
"You made it so I could get in here by claiming I'm your family?"
"I just included potential visitors on the list. I asked them to allow visits by making up a connection within three degrees of kinship based on the visitor's age."
"Who the hell are you calling uncle, you..."
"You're my uncle. You should feel honored and act accordingly. Don't make that face like you're some relative mooching off a rich family member."
"Huh!?"
"Well, whatever. In any case, you're my first visitor. Welcome."
Ending the pointless conversation, Oowada, finding himself unsure of how to direct his emotions, clicked his tongue and looked up at the ceiling with a weary expression. Contrary to Oowada’s rough demeanor, the boy elegantly crossed his legs, lightly arching his back, and smiled mysteriously.
"So, once again. It's been a while, Oowada-kun. It's the first time we've talked properly since our past lives. A lot happened the other day, but I won't apologize. So don't expect an apology. With that out of the way... what brings you here today?"
A cramped, narrow cage for boys, cut off from society, where everything was neatly boxed up. It was a place he had been confined to many times before and had hated more than anything.
However, in the hands of Celestia Ludenberg, it seemed even such a cage could transform into a modest mansion with servants. Oowada, leaning back on the sofa and tilting his head back, exhaled deeply in exasperation.
What followed was a strange silence. Even though he had been asked why he was here, Oowada didn’t immediately respond. No, he couldn’t respond.
Torn between the hesitation of how to start the conversation and whether he should even talk, his thoughts bounced back and forth. Watching Oowada intently, Celeste shrugged slightly.
"Well, there’s no use rushing. By the way, Oowada-kun, when it comes to visits, one expects gifts. Did you bring something?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah."
As if he had just remembered, Oowada pulled out something from the pocket of his jacket that he had bought from a vending machine on the way here and placed it on the table. What was scalding hot when he bought it had now cooled to a lukewarm temperature.
"Luxurious Royal Milk Tea. Made with plenty of first-pick Uva tea. The smoothness of Hokkaido cream enhances the flavor. Enjoy a luxurious moment."
Celeste glanced at the so-called luxurious moment that cost 120 yen from a vending machine with a blank expression. Nevertheless, he muttered a thank you in a monotonous voice and reached for the pull tab. The expression on his face clearly read, "Are you kidding me, you piece of shit," but Oowada ignored it.
"Well then, until you're ready to talk, how about listening to what I have to say?"
Taking a sip of the Royal Milk Tea and making a noticeably displeased face, Celeste continued in a calm tone. Oowada didn’t mind. He nodded with just his eyes, and Celeste placed his fingertips on his cheek and looked up at the ceiling.
"At that academy, the mastermind... No, now that I remember, I can say for sure... The detailed and elaborate preparations of that rotten bitch Enoshima created an environment that made killing almost inevitable."
The sudden start of the unexpected topic made Oowada frown, unable to read his intentions.
"For example, the situation was based on several psychological theories. As I explained a few times at that school... no, with that corn-head of yours, you might not remember, so let me explain again."
"Huh? Are you picking a fight with me?"
"The prisoner's dilemma."
Ignoring Oowada's words with a calm expression, Celeste continued without even glancing at him.
"Additionally... the zero-sum game. Moreover, due to unconsciously recognizing a hierarchical relationship between the mastermind and themselves, there might have been effects similar to the results of the Milgram experiment."
"…Could you explain it in a way I can understand?"
"You don’t need to understand the theories themselves. To put it simply, as I said before, 'The mastermind created an environment that made us psychologically prone to committing atrocities.'"
Taking another sip of the Royal Milk Tea and making another dissatisfied face, he placed the half-finished can on the table and looked back at Oowada.
"This is just a psychological theory. But now, let’s bring in a sociological theory and consider this: 'Why don’t people commit crimes?'"
The emphasized words sent a chill down Oowada’s spine, and he rubbed his arms.
"Let’s start with an extreme example. Living beings act according to their desires. A lion would hunt a rabbit if it appeared before it, regardless of hunger. Humans are the same. So, 'Why don’t people commit crimes?' …What do you think?"
"If someone killed every person they passed on the street, they’d just be a lunatic."
"That's not an answer."
"Well, normal people wouldn’t do that. Even if we’re animals, humans are different from beasts."
"Exactly. Simply put, 'People don’t commit crimes because they possess social or psychological self-control.' …Of course, it also depends on their living environment, so it’s not a theory that applies to everyone. For instance, someone like Genocide Jack."
Crossing his legs, Celeste took a breath and said,
"There is a theory called the 'social bond theory' that considers the reasons why humans don't commit crimes."
"Huh?"
Once again, the conversation entered a more specialized field, making Oowada raise his voice in irritation.
"What about it?"
"This theory considers four main aspects as 'bonds,' and when these bonds break, crimes occur."
"So?"
"First, the first one."
Pointing a natural, though unusually long nail at Oowada, he stopped him from interrupting. The sudden action made Oowada freeze, his cheek twitching.
"First, there’s belief… essentially a sense of morality. This bond ties into the psychological aspect I mentioned earlier. In that environment, 'murder was deemed acceptable.' Thus, the feeling that 'murder is absolutely wrong' diminished, whether consciously or unconsciously."
The finger pointed at Oowada increased to two. Moreover, the finger, which had been aimed at his nose, was now directed straight at his eyes, as if ready to poke them.
"Next, the second. Involvement. In other words... let's see. If there was something to be indulged in, especially something healthy like sports, there would be no time to commit crimes. In that space, with few given entertainments and plenty of time to kill each day, who knows when someone might plot something wicked?"
"...You mean yourself."
"There's no guarantee that someone like me wasn't there after I died. Now, the third. Commitment. Risk and reward, let's say. Is it worth committing a crime even at the cost of everything one has built? Rationally thinking, it may be worthless, but in that space, in that situation, it was the ultimate reward. There's no need to explain what that is."
Moving away from Oowada, he leaned back against the uncomfortable chair, slightly waving the three fingers beside his cheek.
"...Graduation, huh."
"Yes. There was a bonus for me, but let's leave that aside. Now, the fourth. This is the main point."
Holding up four fingers in front of his face, Celeste's expression became somber.
"Attachment. It’s about family, friends, and companions. Surrounded by people who act morally, one wouldn’t commit crimes. They wouldn’t. That is, if 'the people in that space were such close individuals.'"
A gulp sounded from Oowada’s throat. His sharp eyes widened.
"...There wouldn’t have been any killing?"
"I can’t say for certain. But if it were me..."
Breathing out faintly, Celeste shook his head gently. Oowada, sharing similar sentiments, lowered his eyes.
By now, talking about "what ifs" and "if onlys" wouldn't grant them forgiveness.
"...Hey, our memories were erased to make the killing game more likely. We understand that, but..."
"...Let's add one more thing. 'What if, after committing murder, we regained our memories?'... What would happen?"
"!"
That was their current situation exactly.
"Impossible, right? Even if Junko Enoshima had planned that far ahead… I don't remember anything like so from 'that world.' There's no way that bitch could control reincarnation or anything so godlike."
"...In other words."
"In other words, this situation is an 'unforeseen despair' even for Enoshima. Realizing the person you killed was a close friend, a dear classmate, a loved one… is a despair beyond imagining."
Celeste suddenly leaned closer to Oowada, their faces inches apart, his crimson irises intense. Overwhelmed by the pressure, Oowada didn't move, captivated, listening intently to his alto voice.
"The person they killed... was someone they had spent two years with, a dear classmate, a friend with whom they laughed together, someone they had feelings for. Isn't that despairing?"
Oowada swallowed loudly.
"...I understand why you're here."
After staring at each other from such a close distance, Celeste slowly moved away and looked down at the seated Oowada.
"It's about Kuwata-kun, isn't it?"

Is there a set of "blank" files for board mounted pots matched to an enclosure drilling template?

Hi all, I'm trying to automate an emailing system for OTP verification but am running into some trouble. Below is my code, in it's respective files.
In models.py:

from django.db import models from django.contrib.auth.models import AbstractUser, User from django.db.models.signals import post_save from django.dispatch import receiver # Create your models here. class UserProfile(models.Model): user = models.OneToOneField(User, on_delete=models.CASCADE) otp = models.CharField(max_length=6, blank=True) otp_expiry_time = models.DateTimeField(blank=True, null=True) class AdditionalData(models.Model): user_profile = models.OneToOneField(UserProfile, on_delete=models.CASCADE) firstname = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) lastname = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) dateofbirth = models.DateField(null=True, blank=True) phone_no = models.CharField(max_length=20, blank=True) country_origin = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) city_origin = models.CharField(max_length=100, blank=True) @receiver(post_save, sender=User) def create_user_profile(sender, instance, created, **kwargs): if created: UserProfile.objects.create(user=instance) @receiver(post_save, sender=User) def save_user_profile(sender, instance, **kwargs): instance.userprofile.save() 

In views.py:

from django.shortcuts import render, redirect, HttpResponse from django.contrib.auth.models import User from django.contrib.auth import authenticate, login from django.contrib.auth.decorators import login_required from datetime import timedelta from django.utils import timezone from django.core.mail import send_mail from rest_framework import status from rest_framework.decorators import api_view, permission_classes from rest_framework.permissions import AllowAny from rest_framework.response import Response from .serializers import UserProfileSerializer from .models import UserProfile, AdditionalData from rest_framework_simplejwt.tokens import RefreshToken from .generate_random_digits import generate_random_digits def sign_up(request): if request.method == 'POST': username = request.POST.get('username') email = request.POST.get('email') pass1 = request.POST.get('password1') pass2 = request.POST.get('password2') User.objects.create_user(username, email, pass1).save() return redirect('login') return render(request, 'main/signup.html') def login1(request): if request.method == "POST": username = request.POST.get('username') pass1 = request.POST.get('pass') user = authenticate(request, username=username, password=pass1) if user is not None: if user.last_login is None: user.last_login = timezone.now() user.save() login(request, user) return redirect('firstlogin') else: user_profile = UserProfile.objects.get(user=user) verification_code = generate_random_digits() user_profile.otp = verification_code user_profile.otp_expiry_time = timezone.now() + timedelta(minutes=15) user_profile.save() send_mail( 'Verification Code', f'Your verification code is: {verification_code}', 'from@gmail.com', [request.user.email], fail_silently=False, ) return redirect('otp') else: error_message = "Invalid username or password" return render(request, 'main/login.html', {'error_message': error_message}) return render(request, 'main/login.html') def verify(request): username = request.data.get('username') password = request.data.get('password') otp = request.data.get('otp') user = authenticate(request, username=username, password=password) if user is not None: user_profile = UserProfile.objects.get(user=user) if ( user_profile.verification_code == otp and user_profile.otp_expiry_time is not None and user_profile.otp_expiry_time > timezone.now() ): login(request, user) refresh = RefreshToken.for_user(user) access_token = str(refresh.access_token) user_profile.otp = '' user_profile.otp_expiry_time = None user_profile.save() return Response({'access_token': access_token, 'refresh_token': str(refresh)}, status=status.HTTP_200_OK) return Response({'detail': 'Invalid verification code or credentials.'}, status=status.HTTP_401_UNAUTHORIZED) @login_required def firstlogin(request): if request.method == "POST": user = request.user try: additional_data = AdditionalData.objects.get(user_profile__user=user) except AdditionalData.DoesNotExist: additional_data = AdditionalData.objects.create(user_profile=UserProfile.objects.get(user=user)) additional_data.firstname = request.POST.get('FirstName') additional_data.lastname = request.POST.get('LastName') date_str = f"{request.POST.get('dob-year')}-{request.POST.get('dob-month')}-{request.POST.get('dob-day')}" try: additional_data.dateofbirth = date_str except ValueError: return HttpResponse('Invalid date format') additional_data.phone_no = request.POST.get('PhoneNumber') additional_data.country_origin = request.POST.get('Country') additional_data.city_origin = request.POST.get('City') additional_data.save() return HttpResponse('WORKED') return render(request, 'main/firstlogin.html') @login_required def home(response): return render(response, 'main/landing_page.html') def otp(response): return render(response, 'main/otp.html') 

In settings.py:

""" Django settings for mysite project. Generated by 'django-admin startproject' using Django 4.2.6. For more information on this file, see https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/topics/settings/ For the full list of settings and their values, see https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/ """ from pathlib import Path import os # Build paths inside the project like this: BASE_DIR / 'subdir'. BASE_DIR = Path(__file__).resolve().parent.parent # Quick-start development settings - unsuitable for production # See https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/howto/deployment/checklist/ # SECURITY WARNING: keep the secret key used in production secret! SECRET_KEY = '#####...' # SECURITY WARNING: don't run with debug turned on in production! DEBUG = True ALLOWED_HOSTS = [] # Application definition INSTALLED_APPS = [ 'django.contrib.admin', 'django.contrib.auth', 'django.contrib.contenttypes', 'django.contrib.sessions', 'django.contrib.messages', 'django.contrib.staticfiles', 'main.apps.MainConfig', ] MIDDLEWARE = [ 'django.middleware.security.SecurityMiddleware', 'django.contrib.sessions.middleware.SessionMiddleware', 'django.middleware.common.CommonMiddleware', 'django.middleware.csrf.CsrfViewMiddleware', 'django.contrib.auth.middleware.AuthenticationMiddleware', 'django.contrib.messages.middleware.MessageMiddleware', 'django.middleware.clickjacking.XFrameOptionsMiddleware', ] ROOT_URLCONF = 'mysite.urls' TEMPLATES = [ { 'BACKEND': 'django.template.backends.django.DjangoTemplates', 'DIRS': [os.path.join(BASE_DIR, 'templates')], 'APP_DIRS': True, 'OPTIONS': { 'context_processors': [ 'django.template.context_processors.debug', 'django.template.context_processors.request', 'django.contrib.auth.context_processors.auth', 'django.contrib.messages.context_processors.messages', ], }, }, ] EMAIL_BACKEND = 'django.core.mail.backends.smtp.EmailBackend' EMAIL_HOST = 'smtp.gmail.com' EMAIL_PORT = 587 EMAIL_USE_TLS = True EMAIL_HOST_USER = 'from@gmail.com' EMAIL_HOST_PASSWORD = '############' WSGI_APPLICATION = 'mysite.wsgi.application' # Database # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/#databases DATABASES = { 'default': { 'ENGINE': 'django.db.backends.sqlite3', 'NAME': BASE_DIR / 'db.sqlite3', } } # Password validation # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/#auth-password-validators AUTH_PASSWORD_VALIDATORS = [ { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.UserAttributeSimilarityValidator', }, { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.MinimumLengthValidator', }, { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.CommonPasswordValidator', }, { 'NAME': 'django.contrib.auth.password_validation.NumericPasswordValidator', }, ] # Internationalization # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/topics/i18n/ LANGUAGE_CODE = 'en-us' TIME_ZONE = 'UTC' USE_I18N = True USE_TZ = True # Static files (CSS, JavaScript, Images) # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/howto/static-files/ STATIC_URL = 'static/' # Default primary key field type # https://docs.djangoproject.com/en/4.2/ref/settings/#default-auto-field DEFAULT_AUTO_FIELD = 'django.db.models.BigAutoField' 

otp.html:

TLDR:
The problems are as follows:

• 4 verification codes were sent b2b2b2b on the first try
  
• No longer receiving any emails
  
• The otp.html redirect after entering the code doesn't work
  

TL;DR: There is a relatively painless way to export playlists from Music (iTunes) on Mac to a HiBy R3
Background (skip to 'Solution' if you got here from Google and don't care): I may be a corner case here, but I'm posting this here in case someone else ends up in my situation. This does involve a paid app from the App Store, but it's pretty cheap, and well worth it if you're in this situation.
I use the Music app (fka iTunes) to manage my music library. iTunes is not great but it's kind of the least bad option on mac. My library doesn't nearly fit on my phone, so I also recently bought a HiBy R3 II, so I would have a way to listen in the car, at work, etc..
Obviously the HiBy doesn't integrate with iTunes, and I wouldn't expect it to, but the question did arise: how the hell do I get my playlists onto this thing? Exporting .m3u files from iTunes doesn't work. The files are encoded weird, they use absolute paths with forward slashes, and the HiBy seemingly can't handle headers. Also, exporting .m3u files from iTunes requires clicking File/Library/Export Playlist... for every individual playlist. Not great!
Solution: One prerequisite is that you store music files on your HiBy with the same folder structure as your iTunes library. I personally just copied the entire contents my library folder (/Users/xxxxx/Music/Music/) to a folder called Music/ on the HiBy SD card.

• Go on the app store and grab "Playlist Export" by Eric Daugherty. I know... it's $5... not ideal... but unless someone wants to build a replacement, this is the tool.
• Click "New..." to create a new template. Name it "HiBy Export" or something
• Select the playlists you want to export (Cmd+click to select multiple)
• "Change Export Format" settings:
  • Format: m3u
  • Extension: m3u
  • Encoding: UTF-8
  • Add UTF-8 BOM: No
  • Include M3U Header: No
• Copy Music File Settings:
  • Don't Copy Music
  • Delete OSX Hidden Files: Yes
• Music File Path Settings (these will vary depending on how you store files):
  • Path Prefix: [blank]
  • Click + under Path Find/Replace. Set the "Find" path to your library folder (e.g, /Users/xxxxx/Music/Music/ ) and the "Replace With" path to a:/Music/
  • Use Windows Paths: Yes
  • Use Safe Paths: No
  • Replace Spaces With: [blank]
• Set your export directory to a folder called playlist_data/ on the HiBy SD card
• Click Save
• Click Export
• Rescan your library on your HiBy
• Go to the playlists menu on the HiBy and choose "Load Playlist"
• If you want to double check your work, open the .m3u in your text editor, and ensure the paths in the file correlate to the paths on your HiBy SD card, with the root of the SD card as "a:\"

And that's it! The process is lengthy on the first go-around, but you only have to set up the template once and subsequent runs are pretty quick. Hopefully this is helpful to the small handful of folks who find themselves in my situation.

I’m painting a wizard mini for my dnd group and part of the mini is the wizards spell book. I don’t want her just to be staring at blank pages so I want to put some little text lines.
The book in only like 1/4 of an inch so I assume that just little squiggles in the shape of lines of text would be best but I’m not sure how to go about doing that.

https://reddit.com/link/1cs2aw3/video/5ghwzruubg0d1/player
Chapter 3: Breaking and Training
Nancy's eyes fluttered open to harsh fluorescent lights. She was in a new room, one starkly different from the sterile lab where she had awakened. This room was lined with mirrors and filled with an assortment of equipment—poles, ropes, and mats. The air was cold, and the scent of disinfectant was overpowering.
The door swung open, and in walked a man dressed in black. His face was stern, eyes cold. Behind him, two guards followed, their expressions blank and intimidating.
"Welcome to your new reality, Nancy," the man said, his voice devoid of warmth. "It's time to train you to become the idol you were designed to be."
Nancy felt a surge of anger and fear. She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky, her body still adjusting to its new form. The man in black approached, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to her feet.
"Let go of me!" she shouted, trying to pull away.
Her resistance was met with a swift punch to the belly. The pain was sharp and immediate, doubling her over. She gasped for air, the wind knocked out of her, but the man was relentless. He pulled her up again, this time more forcefully, and pushed her towards the center of the room.
"You're going to learn, whether you like it or not," he growled.
The training was brutal. Nancy was forced to dance seductively, her new body put on display in front of the mirrors. Every misstep was met with punishment. When she faltered, the man would yank her back into position, his grip bruising her skin.
She was made to sing until her voice was hoarse, the lyrics foreign and humiliating. Her hands were tied above her head, her body exposed and vulnerable. They poured ice water over her, the cold seeping into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably.
"Keep singing," the man ordered, but her teeth chattered too much to form coherent words. A sharp slap to her face made her eyes water, but she forced herself to continue, the taste of blood from her bitten tongue mixing with the cold water running down her body.
The ropes cut into her wrists, the bondage restricting her movements. Nancy's muscles ached from the strain, but there was no respite. The man took pleasure in her suffering, pushing her to her limits and beyond.
At one point, she tried to fight back, her instincts urging her to resist. But her efforts were futile. The guards were too strong, and the man too cruel. Another punch to the belly made her double over, the pain radiating through her entire body.
"Submit," he hissed in her ear, pulling her back up by her hair. "You have no choice."
The physical pain was matched by psychological torment. She was made to pose provocatively, her body manipulated like a puppet. They mocked her, taunting her with crude comments about her appearance and her new identity.
"Look at you," the man sneered, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. "So beautiful, so perfect. And yet, so weak."
Nancy's eyes filled with tears, the humiliation burning deep inside her. She hated what she had become, hated the body that betrayed her with its beauty and allure. But there was no escape from the relentless training, no way to avoid the pain.
The most twisted aspect of her training was the forced arousal. They used devices to stimulate her, driving her body to the brink of pleasure, then stopping abruptly. It was a cruel game, designed to break her will and make her associate pleasure with submission.
Her breasts were a constant target. The man used cold metal clamps to tease her nipples, sending sharp shocks of pain and pleasure through her. He watched with satisfaction as her body responded against her will, her nipples hardening, her breath quickening.
"Enjoying this, Nancy?" he taunted, twisting the clamps cruelly. "Your body certainly is."
Her face burned with humiliation, but her body betrayed her. The forced arousal was maddening, her new form hypersensitive and eager. She hated herself for the way she responded, the way her body craved the stimulation despite the pain they continued to torment her, using vibrators and other devices to drive her to the edge, then stopping just before she could find release. It was an endless cycle of frustration and humiliation, designed to break her spirit and make her submit.
In addition to the physical and psychological torture, Nancy was subjected to a strict diet plan designed to enhance her new form. She was given female hormones to shape her body further, making her curves more pronounced and her features softer.
They monitored her food intake obsessively, forcing her to eat less to maintain a slim figure. When they wanted her to gain weight in specific areas, they would force-feed her high-calorie foods until she was nauseous. If she resisted or failed to eat enough, they would force her to vomit, the guards holding her head over a basin as they shoved fingers down her throat.
Nancy's stomach churned constantly from the forced feedings and vomitings. The cycles of extreme hunger and forced gluttony left her weak and disoriented. The man would stand by, watching her suffer with a twisted smile.
"You're going to be perfect," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Every inch of you."
The hormone injections were a daily ritual. They injected her with estrogen and other hormones to accelerate the development of her feminine features. The injections were painful, leaving her muscles sore and her mood unstable. Her breasts swelled further, the skin stretched tight over the growing mammary glands. The pain was constant, a reminder of her body's betrayal.
Her hips widened, her thighs grew thicker, and her buttocks became rounder and firmer. Each change was accompanied by discomfort and humiliation, the man and his guards constantly commenting on her developing form.
"Look at those curves," one guard would say, his voice lecherous. "You're going to drive them wild."
The breaking point came when they combined physical pain with forced arousal. She was tied to a chair, her body soaked in freezing water, her skin numb and blue. The man walked around her, his presence a constant reminder of her helplessness.
"You're going to learn to dance, to sing, to seduce," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "You're going to make us a lot of money, Nancy."
She tried to shake her head, tried to refuse, but her body was too weak, her spirit nearly broken. The final blow came in the form of a harsh punch to her belly, making her scream in agony.
"Do you understand?" he demanded, leaning close to her face. "You belong to us now."
Nancy's spirit finally broke. The resistance drained out of her, replaced by a numb acceptance. She nodded weakly, tears streaming down her face. The man smiled, satisfied with her submission.
"Good girl," he said, patting her cheek condescendingly. "Now, let's start again."
The training resumed, but this time Nancy didn't fight back. She danced, sang, and posed as instructed, her mind retreating into a place of numb compliance. The pain became a constant companion, but she learned to endure it, to accept it as part of her new reality.

I'm in the process of rebuilding my portfolio and I want to pick 3 pieces that I'm really proud of and showcase some variety. The 2 I have are:

• End-to-end service design (showing the planning, research, design, and iteration of a new service)
• Design system (showing the full process of creating a new design system made of components and templates from scratch)

I want to add a third that's different. Feel like there has to be a lot of options for directions to take but I'm drawing a blank. Maybe workshopping?

Anyone know a good case for use one-handed?
My mini broke and I went with a normal size bc it was the only thing available anymore and even though I have big paws (I wear 4xl motorcycle gloves and they are still tight across the palm) I have trouble reaching both the top left and bottom left (the most used corners) without having to reposition it in my hand or hold it precariously. A grippy back would allow the precarious grip with less chance of dropping, but the only really grippy back one I've tried is the Apple case which...well it just sucks. The corners have popped off almost every time I take it out of my pocket. And the thing chipped the first day in my pocket I guess from rubbing the fabric.
The magsafe attachment rings are too high, so it works for top but not bottom corner. If it were an inch lower for one of the silicone ring ones it would be fine but nobody I have found makes one that isn't centered in the magsafe ring. And I couldn't find any sort of make your own accessory magsafe blank that I could just glue the silicone ring to (I don't want to permanently glue to my case so I can take it off to charge in the car, etc)
Or any other solution for one handed use? I considered running a bead of silicone vertical along the back on the edge to create a grip (like the Aero case - but that case supposedly is bad) but my understanding is that won't stick permanent, and I found a glue that supposedly is permanent on silicone but not a silicone strip to make the ridge out of.

Genocide looked to the sky. He thought of his mentor. The one who had saved him. He remembered his childhood. How powerless he was. He remembered the anger. He never wanted to hurt anybody. He thought of all the times he showed compassion. How much they hurt him for it. He saw the world before him, a graveyard. Humans. People that were supposed to be made in the image of some divine creator. They were but maggots feasting upon his remains. They ate away at his very being until nothing human remained. His thoughts were no longer his own. He had no joys in life that mattered. He hated humanity more than he could love anything about himself. He remember his first killing spree. Being gunned down by police. Left for dead. He remembered a hooded figure moving towards him. Getting closer the more he neared his death. He saw its pale face. Its impossibly black eyes. It was a man. This figure in question appeared to be of Japanese nationality with long, straight, loose hair. It emanated extreme malice. It offered him a choice. A purpose. Power. He thought the figure a reaper but it identified itself as Amakusa Masataka. Masataka guided him on how to kill and gave him specific locations to kill people in. In a sense, he became a hitman for quotas of people. He inquired what Masataka was. The presence of evil, his ability to appear and disappear at will, how he could control what people could see him and what people couldn't. While vague, years of killing for this being offered some insight. Amakusa Masataka belonged to a group of people not of this world. His people had been corrupted by a dark force long ago and had aligned themselves with the warlord who had subjugated their version of Japan. Their dark high priest assisted the warlord along with two others. These four rulers in turn served a larger order. The four were tasked with bringing about the end of the current world as an act of retribution for some fallen deity. Masataka's people acted as covert operatives for this empire. They were feared across the land and were collectively referred to as "Shinigami". An agent of the coming apocalypse, a servant of evil possessed by the will of those gods of death, Genocide would walk the earth.
Genocide stepped toward the station. A police cruiser rammed into him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed the hood of the car. The inhuman force of the knife created sparks which burst the engine into flames. The car crashed into a streetlight and exploded. A second cruiser neared the scene. No way a man could have done this. Yet still, out of the fires Genocide strode forth. It set upon the second vehicle, shooting out it's tires while jumping 9 feet into the air. The car tries to reverse but crashes into a wall. Genocide lands on the hood and kicks through the front window. Glass shatters under its boot, blinding the two officers inside. Genocide shoots one of the officers with a shotgun, killing him. The second officer in the passenger seat readies his pistol and takes aim. Only two shots fired, both directed at Genocide's head. It casually cocks its neck to avoid them. Then it grabs the officer's arm, breaking it. Genocide uses its free hand to grab the officer's head and bangs it into the dashboard no less than 5 times. The skull is shattered on the final impact. Genocide jumps off the car and continues on his mission.
Detective Evans speaks through a megaphone," This is your first and final warning. Stand down or we will use any and all means at our disposal to put you down." Genocide dropped its shotgun and raised its hands. A group of five SWAT team members rushed out the station, surrounding Genocide with riot shields. An officer accompanies them, edging behind the figure to apply handcuffs. Suddenly, Genocide springs to life , grabbing the officer behind him. He flips the officer over his head, slamming him into the pavement at his feet. Then Genocide stomps his head causing it to burst. Genocide drops a flash bomb from his coat sleeve, blinding the SWAT team as he draws his knife. He drives it into one SWAT member, the knife puncturing the shield and piercing his chest. Genocide kicks the corpse away withdrawing his knife. He goes to another, this time using the end of his boot toe in a rising kick to disarm their shield. He grabs them by the throat and drives the knife slowly into their eye socket. Another is tackled to the ground and beaten to death despite still being under the shield. Another is picked up and thrown into the fires still burning from the first auto incident. In no time, Genocide stood before an indistinguishable mass of gore, blood streaking across his black leather outfit. He laughed" So this is all you can give me. I'm not entertained." Officers took aim from the station windows, and snipers did so from other rooftops. Genocide laughed maniacally as he was rained down upon from all sides by a hailstorm of bullets. His body convulsed, but he did not fall. Moments more and he was on his knees. Still though, their efforts were futile. Gracia looked out and saw a black mist coalescing around the man in black. His blood. Blood erupted from his body only to transform into this dark mist that reentered his wounds. Genocide screamed. No. It was just an elevated pitch in his laughter. Optimism failed everyone yet again. Gracia saw Genocide holding something in his right hand. She could only make out a beeping red light. Genocide pushed the button triggering the carefully concealed explosives he laid in preparation for this event. C4 explosives went off in all the places he saw fit. The sniping posts he couldn't reach. The assault of lead lightened. Then Genocide drew an RPG from...somewhere. He collected himself and fired at the station's entrance. The explosion shook the station. From inside, the lights began to flicker. Communications were down on all fronts. Had he modified the rocket with some type of EMP? Not good. Amisdst the confusion Genocide entered using smoke bombs to mask his presence. Moving like a shadow, he killed everyone in the lobby silently with his knife. He made his way to the holding cells. Still they chanted. Still they praised. Still they raved for the arrival of genocide. Genocide shot the lock opening the cell. Jim Jimenez walked out and bowed before his master. Genocide smiled. He couldn't have imagined how proficient he had gotten with possession. Well, not quite possession. He had known of the Shinigami's ability to share their thoughts and emotions with humans. Shinigami like his mentor were ancient. They had so many years of memories, such strong a hatred for life that they overwhelmed the personality of the victim. The victim sees themselves as one of them. Shinigami can't force the will of the victim, so they find those who are already similar to them in some way. Genocide found the collective universal distrust of police to be a prime sentiment to capitalize on. He armed the inmates, infecting them with samples of his own dark essence.One particular inmate caught Genocide's eye. He knew the man's work. An arsonist. The one whom he recalls was responsible for blowing up his first car way back in high school. Rather than a standard firearm, Genocide gave the man a random assortment of grenades containing a special surprise. Genocide showed them visions of anarchy, of sending a message to a society that used and disregarded them. While this was also true of how he felt, years of living in darkness had changed him. He needed no purpose. No end goal. No justification. He just wanted to watch the world burn.
Genocide's small army broke off to engage several different wings of the station. Genocide went to the security room. He found Wayne, his informant, playing some FPS on one of the monitors. Wayne took of his headphones and asked," You kill everyone yet?" Genocide responded," No. You should get going before that happens. Your life becomes fair game if I run out of pigs to cook." Wayne clapped his hands, "Aight, GC my man, say less." He packed his things and left. Genocide drew a twin pair of handguns and laid waste to the station. He followed a group that took cover in the men's restroom. Kicking open multiple stalls he was surprised to find...nothing. Where had they gone? He turned around and saw his mentor, Masataka, smiling at him. It looked like him. Long, dark hair, black clothing, and soulless, empty eyes. But it wasn't. It was Genocide's own reflection in the mirror. Genocide smiled. He didn't notice the changes at first. They must have happened gradually. Subconsciously. From the final stall, an officer sprung into action, rushing Genocide, hitting him point blank with a shockgun round. Genocide felt the tingling sensation electrifying his body and grew numb. In spite of the pain, he took a single step. Then, another. He came within striking range of the officer and snatched the shockgun. Two more officers erupted from another stall, battering him with baton strikes. Genocide felt nothing. He clutched the shockgun in his hand like a bat and went to work pulverizing his attackers. An officer kicked in the bathroom door, a woman holding a pistol. She fired multiple times to no effect. Genocide stood covered in blood. He even let her reload. Twice. He wanted to see her despair. Her hopelessness. He walked towards her, shrugging off bullets as they pierced his body. His wounds healed nigh instantly due to the dark essence he had been imbued with. He held her face with both hands, lifting her body off the ground. As she screamed, he used her head to shatter the restroom mirror, running down the full length of it while smashing her into it at several points. He dropped the remains of what he held, washed his hands with soap, dried them, then exited the restroom.
The inmates that rallied for the cause of genocide attacked the station. Fortunately, they were nowhere near Genocide in terms of power and only carried one type of firearm each. They shared his healing ability but could be killed quite easily. Gracia encountered a sniper on the end or a west wing hallway. Other officers waited behind corners unable to get close. Gracia noticed the faulty lighting. In this hallway, the lights flickered in intervals of 3 seconds. Finding a pattern and timing her movements, she rushed the sniper at the exact moment the lights went out. Running the length of the hall, Gracia zigzagged, dodging the sniper inmate's bullets. She jumped on a wall, ran 3 feet on it, then kicked off it, pouncing on the assailant. She fired five shots into him, making sure to hit the brain and the heart. Two severe injuries that were impossible for Shinigami essence to heal simultaneously. Elsewhere, Evans took on another escaped inmate. A vehicular arsonist named Carson. Carson had a bag filled with an assortment of different grenades and was happily giving them out like candy on Halloween. "A flash bang here, a bit of tear gas there. Oh. Wait! Was that an ice grenade? Did the explosion freeze your leg to the floor? Whoops. Maybe a fire grenade will melt that for you. Hold on let me get one fore you," Carson rambled gleefully. Evans looked at the carnage before him. Officers burning. Officers partially frozen in blocks of ice. He took a breath and aimed his wristgun. He steadied his right forearm. Carson readied to throw a random grenade. Evans shot it the moment it left Carson's hand. The grenade exploded directly in front of Carson. Both Evans and Carson looked at each other in shock. Confetti. A party grenade? Carson quickly fumbled for another but was tackled and restrained by several officers. Meanwhile in the South wing, Lary had some colleagues set a trap for another shotgun toting inmate. He had them bait the inmate and flee. Giving chase he turned a corner and ran straight into Lary's fist. The inmate recovered and motioned to shoot Lary. "Let's tango. " Lary gave the code word. Nearby officers activated a device. A signal jammer of sorts. The inmate shoved the barrel of his gun into Lary's gut and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The special signal jammer in question was designed for firearms. It was a last resort as it left officers just as defenseless. Lary was having fun. He boxed the inmate in hand to hand combat. Despite the inmate's enhanced strength, Lary's technique pulled through. Lary ducked under one of the inmate's wide punches and did some type of rising uppercut where he jumped off the ground while spinning. One of the other officers whispered" The rising dragon." Lary smiled giving a thumbs up" Yeah, it was a rising dragon uppercut. Saw it in one O my kid's vidya games. Thought I'd try it out while I'm jacked on adrenaline".
Jim Jimenez looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. He was in the women's restroom. Some brainless woman had broken the men's restroom mirror with her face. For the first time in a long while Jim could think clearly. He was becoming sane. At the least he was no longer a raving lunatic. The life essence of the dark gods had healed the wounds to both his body and his mind. He saw his face, his scraggly dirty beard. He found a razor and shaved. He trimmed his beard somewhat. He liked it. He washed his hair. It fell down his face like silk, no longer greasy. His bloodshot eyes once burning with crazed intensity had cooled. He blinked. Just for a second, he saw the man known as Genocide. The man that attacked him. The one that killed him and gave him new life. The drug dealers. The police. They were all the same in his eyes now. They were all to blame for the world being what it is. Jim wanted to hate them. He wanted to take revenge, but he felt nothing. It didn't matter. He knew he was wronged, could logically justify acting against them, but he just didn't care anymore. About anything. He was finally free. Sensing his presence was no longer needed here, Jim vanished into the night. He needed to find someone who had had the answers he needed. Himself. Who had he been? Who was he now? Who could he become? Where was he going? So many questions to ponder indefinitely. So much time left in the rest of his life.
Genocide ran down the station's halls raining hailstorms of bullets upon its occupants. He had a handgun in each hand as well as a wristgun on each wrist. This effectively gave him 4 separate firearms that he could use simultaneously. Lary regrouped with Gracia, Evans, and a handful of others. They radioed all surviving officers near Genocide to flee to the roof. This plan had been set in motion days before the assault and had been kept hidden from most of the force. The plan involved scheduling flights for several helicopters to arrive at some point after Genocide arrived. There would be no way for him to prepare for them and pre-scheduling their arrival ensured they arrived regardless of if they were called or not. Lary and the others set about preparing the second jamming device. Genocide stood among a hallway of bodies. He saw one man clinging to life trying to crawl away. He decided on trying that other thing he saw his master do. He grabbed the dying man and pinned him to the wall. Slowly he drove a knife into his chest. As the man's life slipped away, something else entered his body. Genocide channeled a small amount of his essence into the vessel. He had steadily done this with other casualties around the station whose bodies were somewhat salvageable. He dropped the body he was holding and looked upon the others. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyed were black, both sclera and iris. The scene before him changed. Genocide had a vision. He saw a dead gray wasteland littered with bodies. These people however weren't cops and wore traditional Japanese attire. In his hand wasn't a gun or knife but a short sickle akin to a farming tool. He heard a dark voice call out to him. Slowly, the corpses around him began to rise, now mere puppets bound eternally to their master's whim. The bodies sold to the reaper who had claimed their lives. Genocide's vision ended. His eyes had returned normal. Around him, dead cops began to rise. His dark essence had entered their bodies and reanimated them. He sent his dead army to attack the officers fleeing to the roof of the station. These zombies swarmed the stairwell giving chase to the few survivors. There were five of them. They had two flights of stairs to climb and a horde of their former colleagues close behind them. One officer tripped and was set upon by the horde. The zombies didn't bite them but held them firmly in place. The other four officers stared down wondering what to do. They could hear Genocide chuckling. They could hear humming. They could feel the temperature rising. Their colleague and the two zombies holding him were hit by an enormous green fireball. Genocide had fired a Magnum Opus and had charged the bullet to level 3. The Magnum Opus was simply a magnum that shot fireballs, with bullets that could be charged by holding down the trigger. It had three levels of charges. Level 1 was a small reddish ball of plasma. Level 2 was slightly larger and yellow. Level 3 was the maximum charge and resulted in a large slow moving green blast of energy. The officer was ignited and Genocide watched gleefully as the force of the blast sent him flying through a wall. The four officers continued up firing occasionally to slow down the zombies. Soon they made it to a door leading to the roof. Before one officer could reach it, he was sniped by Genocide, a bullet to the head killing him instantly. The remaining three made it out. They regrouped with the others already there, 12 in total, including Lary, Evans, and Gracia. This would be their final stand. They just had to hold out until Genocide made it up there. They just had to keep Genocide occupied until the helicopters arrived. Genocide slowly ascended the stairs behind his horde. On the roof, the remaining survivors faced off against waves of the undead. Evans recognized the attackers. These zombies were being controlled by nanomachines. He heard the stories of several weapons encountered by soldiers on the battlefield. These creatures were called Metaldeads as they were reanimated via machines. They had been officially banned by most of the worlds' governments for being unethical. However, this did not stop the technology from being spread still between shady organizations, terrorists, etc. Evans wondered how Genocide got this form of nanotechnology. Evans long speculated that the dark essence used by most of the killers they encountered was a a form of nanotech however it was different from anything else he had seen or heard about. The dark essence seemed to be an amalgamation of other types of nanotech. Evans had to save his inquiries for later. He reloaded his wristgun and took aim at the approaching group of Metaldeads. Gracia steadied her handgun and shot two Metaldeads in the head. From the single door countless arms seemed to spill forth from the darkness. The other officers took turns firing in intervals. this allowed them to create a steady stream of fire where no more that three guns needed to be reloaded at once. The horde seemed to thin out over time as if they were making progress. In actuality, the Metaldeads were just making room for Genocide to enter. Genocide exploded in a sprint from the door. Everyone fired upon the killer. Genocide had now chosen a wrist mounted mini flamethrower to use as his weapon. He stormed past the oncoming bullets taking some damage, but refused to slow down. He unleashed a stream of fire that caught five of the officers in one fell swoop. Gracia fired five rounds into Genocide's face. He stumbled back. Lary took the chance to fire several mine gun bullets at Genocide's feet. The mines quickly detected his movement and exploded. In seconds, Genocide was on his back.
Staring at the night sky Genocide saw the moon. He reached for it. He called for the darkness to give him more power. His wounds began healing. In the sky he could hear the whirl of propellers. There were six helicopters in total. The first two had evacuated the survivors while the others stayed to engage Genocide. Genocide got up and unstrapped the sniper rifle from his back. He stood before the searchlights as a black silhouette, cornered but unwilling to back down. Lary stared down at him smiling. "Okay!" He shouted, "Let's Tango!" Upon this declaration the second jamming device was activated. Now, isolated on the roof, Genocide's guns couldn't be fired and the helicopters were out of range of the device. Now Genocide stood like a sitting duck. A helicopter fired a rocket. Genocide side stepped and grabbed it. He turned his body redirecting the rocket to hit another helicopter. As it exploded Genocide drew his knife and threw it at another helicopter. Behind the knife was such force that it shattered the helicopter window's glass, embedding itself in the pilot. This helicopter too went down where it exploded. "Holy clucknuggets!Did you see that!?" Lary said dumbfounded. Evans looked out the helicopter door he was in jaw open in shock. "There's no way." He collected himself quickly and radioed the remaining two helicopters to keep moving and to use their machineguns as much as possible. The helicopters reigned down upon Genocide tearing apart his body. Shreds of leather and darkened blood sprayed across the pavement of the roof. Gracia watched as Genocide's body was destroyed repeatedly as it tried to heal. Surely he had to stop at some point. After 10 minutes the helicopters had exhausted their cache of ammunition and soldiers opted to fire their own rifles and occasionally throw grenades. After about six minutes, they too had run out of bullets. Genocide stood unfazed. He had long since healed himself and now appeared intangible with gunfire seeming to pass through his body. His coat once ripped , now appeared whole though on closer inspection seemed to writhe. Gracia looked in horror as she remembered the tales her adopted father had told her. Tales he had in turn heard from his predecessors. Every so often officers had reported encounters with ghost like beings cloaked in a cloud of living dark mist. The beings were rumored to be responsible for the deaths of multiple people ranging from scientists, veterans, mafia, politicians, etc. They were seen near such crime scenes and even more shockingly appeared around several sites where suicides were committed. These beings were reportedly impervious to bullets and filled anyone who got near with an impending sense of dread. If Genocide was connected to them or somehow turning into one , there was little chance they would be able to defeat him. Gracia's fears were confirmed when she saw that Genocide's leather coat had been destroyed and he had replaced it with the dark mist coalescing from his own spilled blood. The dark mist, swirling, grew larger and several tendrils sprouted out from it. Gracia could briefly make out a figure standing next to Genocide. A hooded figure cloaked in the same black substance. The figure stared up at her with soulless, blackened eyes which seemed to beckon her to jump from the aircraft she was standing in. Compelling her to give in to the death that plagued the earth. Genocide kneeled to his master. The Shinigami, Masataka stared down at his disciple. "You have done a great service to us. Even now the sealed god stirs in its slumber. Its...Awakening will soon be upon us. It calls out for war. It begs for famine. It longs to continue its conquest. We are the death it so desires. The death that is necessary for this civilization to grow. Use the power that I have bestowed upon you. Finish the mission as you see fit." The Shinigami vanished and Genocide stood.Genocide stared at his hands. He remembered the first killing spree. He was on a bus. It stopped. A woman got on the bus and walked to the back smiling as she passed him. Something about her eyes unnerved him. They were so bright but something dark reflected inside them. He ignored the thought and put in his headphones. In minutes he had dozed off. He jumped awake. He looked around and froze in panic. All around him, everyone had been hacked to pieces. He saw the driver, actively being stabbed by a masked assailant. The mask, painted white with black eyeholes, stared back at him. It raised a finger over where its lips would be. Even under the expressionless visage, he could feel that same smile. He ran home that morning. He went to his room to find it destroyed. His posters, his computer, his tv, everything, had been ruined. He turned around and saw a man at the end of the hallway holding a sledge hammer. "The hell you been, boy?", his stepdad sneered. The man dropped his hammer and walked closer, veins pulsing with rage. He tried to explain how his car had caught fire forcing him to walk 4 miles to the nearest bus stop, but the man's fist was faster than his words. "Boy!Answer me when I talk to you!!" the man says as he backhands the taste out of the would be Genocide's mouth. He took that beating for several minutes before being left to stare at his ransacked room. He hated how his stepdad went out of his way to destroy the things he loved. Soon, another set of footsteps could be heard. It was his mother standing behind his locked door. She didn't knock, or say anything. She just stood there, doing nothing as always. He never knew if she came to talk to him or apologize. All he knew was that she could never bring herself to speak to or even acknowledge him. Maybe out of guilt or perhaps shame. A year or two later after he had had enough he ran away from home. Living out on the streets alone, without friends, or family, he would embark on countless killing sprees. These killings weren't of his own volition however. He was coerced by some corrupt officers from The Unit. They made him kill on their behalf. Sometimes they were protesters, sometimes they were drug dealers, other times, petty criminals they couldn't be bothered to process. It was routine for him to be used to kill entire houses of drug riddled addicts. During one such venture he entered a drug den, killing the dealer as instructed. He took out several junkies before turning to leave. A woman who survived her injuries clung to his heel begging him to stop. Looking down he aimed the handgun he was carrying at her head of long disheveled brown hair and fired. Feeling nothing, he kicked her body aside like trash when it hit him. Her face. This woman had been his mother. What was she doing in a place like this? He felt a shock of emotion. He wondered if she had always been like this, or had she changed after he left. He never made amends, but decided to stop killing from then on. The unit did not like that. Once it became apparent that he was no longer of use to them they started a manhunt to apprehend him with lethal force. They found him. They killed him. But he survived.
He remembered the girl on the bus. He remembered her eyes. Those of a sadistic killer. Still there was something else inside them. Something faint but deeper. So. Much. Sadness. Just like him. He felt the hatred begin to spread. His purpose, he decided, was to make all humans rot in the hell they created for him.
These people, he thought to himself, these living diseases, all needed to die. Their struggles, their problems, they spread like cancer to others. The only cure for humanity's sin, its collective wrongdoings, was genocide.
Around him, dark tendrils continued to form and expand, spinning in a vortex. Genocide pulled out two pistols. He squeezed the triggers to no effect. "As I see fit, huh? Hehe." He squeezed both guns in his hands, breaking them into pieces. He concentrated. In his hands, two more guns materialized now completely black due to being forged from the dark essence. Forged by his will. Immune to the jamming device that shut down conventional firearms. He raised his arms at each remaining helicopter and opened fire. Countless tendrils whipped out and slashed at his targets joining the dark essence bullets. It was chaos. Dark tendrils and bullets tore through every direction as Genocide spun and swirled around in 360 degrees firing randomly with purpose. A tendril pierced Gracia's right arm, another, her abdomen. She was however, fortunate, as the other passengers of her helicopter were dismembered. She barely had time to jump from the vehicle before it crashed. She fell 2 yards onto solid concrete. She felt immense pain as her right shoulder shattered on impact. She looked up to see Genocide's blade like appendages ripping through the other escape helicopters. She rolled onto her back and tried to steady herself. Within seconds her body began to repair itself. The nanocells inside her had saved her life but were now depleted. She would need another supplement lest she receive another fatal injury. The standard nanocells she and the others had were much less potent than those of the killers they faced. In truth, they had only minimal strength boosts being able to lift 5-8 more pounds than before and healing being limited to one or two fatal injuries so long as death didn't occur instantly. Gracia blacked out. She awoke the next morning in a hospital. There the doctors refilled her nanocells. She learned that the station had been left in ruins. Genocide had detonated some type of minature nuke following his rampage. He always blew up the stations as if to send a message. Gracia looked out the window thinking about why she became a cop. Twice her family had been murdered by them. Her biological family had been killed in an on record drug raid committed by a group of corrupt officers called The Unit. She had been adopted by another officer that arrived at the scene who found her as a child hiding in a closed. Sadly, he too was killed for trying to expose the activities of The Unit. Gracia joined the force to avenge both losses and bring justice to the killers that disguised themselves as normal people. Law enforcement was neither good, nor bad. It depended upon the people that made it up. In the dying corrupt world Gracia lived in, she vowed to be a beacon of light. Evans laid in a bed adjacent to Lary. "That damn Genocide's somethin else in' he?Like the stories you told us were understatements. That man could legit not die at this point in the story. Like he has friggin plot armor or somthin.'' Evans cut him off" I get it. We all got our asses handed to us. But did you see that ..thing that appeared next to him. Right before he created that black vortex that wiped us out. That must have something to do with his power. Maybe there's a still a way to stop him."Lary chimed in," That fella looked like he was on the way to a black metal concert wit all the black facepaint he was wearin' Creeped me out to be honest." As the survivors mulled over their predicament, the cycle of evil continued to spread elsewhere.
Budley flips through the pages of a magazine. He checks his watch. He looks around the gas station and doesn't see any customers. Seizing the opportunity, he puts in his headphones and begins playing an imaginary guitar as he jams to a progressive deathcore album. Oblivious to the screams coming from outside, the store clerk moves on to thumping two candy bars on the counter to simulate drums. Budley sees that his shift has ended and begins locking up the store. He sweeps the aisles and jumps as a shadow appears behind him. He turns and sees a well groomed bearded man dressed in a black hoodie, black shirt, and black and gray camo pants. The man holds out his hand and smiles. Budley rings up the pack of nicotine substitute gum. "Tryin to kick the habit huh?" Budley asks. The man replies, "Somethin like that. Gotta get my priorities back in check. Focus on the things that really matter. That damn KonCreep's a hell of a band aren't they?" He nods to the playlist on Budley's phone. "Yeah, they're killer. just got into them a month back." Budley answers. "You know, I'm something of a musician myself. Maybe you'll hear of me on the news someday." Jim Jimenez says as he sees himself out. He walks to the back of the building and passes an ominous form of graffiti. A woman lays unmoving and above her, written on concrete in red is a message that simply says "Genocide Reigns".

As many of you may have read, there is a case of two missing adopted kids in North Carolina, where remains have been found. The news has reported that their adoptive “mother” is Avantae Deven.
I’m a curious person and started digging up information on Avantae Deven when I first read the story in my news feed and could not believe what I was reading. It seemed like whomever this woman is must have be using an alias; Avantae Deven is not a name like Kim Jones or Mackenzie Smith.
The more I dug, the weirder it seemed to get. I found a property deed to a place in Sedona, Arizona, and figured out that whomever this Avantae person is, she at one point in time had owned a home together with someone named Nicole Adams. So I dug into who Nicole Adams was, and learned that she was the widow of a spiritual leader named Robert Adams. It appeared to me that there would be no way to identify who Avantae really was, unless I could also identify the true identity of Robert Adams.
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I've done investigative work for many years, including skip tracing. I can conclusively state that there was absolutely no person actually named Robert Adams born in New York State on January 21, 1928. This is demonstrated by the New York Birth Index. I have combed the census records for 1930, 1940, and 1950, and cross-checked them against multiple databases, and am confident that nobody with the birth name of Robert Adams was born anywhere in the United States on January 21, 1928.
Moreover, there was absolutely no person with the true name of Robert Adams who died anywhere at all in the United States, let alone Sedona, Arizona, on March 2, 1997. This is demonstrated by the Social Security Death Index.
I began this research largely by performing exhaustive searches on the known addresses that are associated with Robert, his wife Leonie (who used to use the alias Nicole), and Avantae Deven (who turns out to be their daughter Michelle who began using the alias Avantae in the mid-1990’s or so). Most of the addresses are PO boxes. Those that are PO boxes are all *private* PO boxes, not PO boxes that one can rent from the United States Postal Service. To me, that spoke volumes. The family were clearly using aliases.
As I explain further below, I eventually determined that “Robert Adams” was Robert Spiegel, born 21 January 1932 in New York. “Nicole Adams” was actually Aileen Beverly Leonie Maxwell, born February 2, 1929, in Jamaica. “Avantae Deven” is actually their daughter, Michelle K. Spiegel, born on October 1, 1960, in California.
One of Robert’s many false stories about Robert’s life that my research has refuted is Robert’s claim that his mother was Jewish and his father was Catholic. That was a lie. Both of his parents were Jewish. It’s also interesting that he claimed that he was “raised Catholic.” There is absolutely nothing to suggest that. His mother always, in New York, lived in Jewish neighborhoods. Moreover, as will be discussed below, his parents had a Jewish wedding. It’s also downright absurd that he would tell people that he was “half Jewish.” If your mother’s Jewish, you are Jewish, pure and simple. Even if Robert’s father had truly been Catholic (which he wasn’t; his name was Samuel Spiegel and he immigrated to America in 1907, lived with his Jewish, Yiddish-speaking cousins, and spoke Yiddish himself), Robert would have been Jewish because the status of being a Jew comes from the mother. Robert’s mother’s name was Fannie (nee Fleisfeder) Spiegel. Fannie’s parents were Itzik Fleisfeder and Esther Libke (nee Rifkin) Fleisfeder. Esther’s parents were Mendel Rifkin and Sarah whose maiden name is lost to time and the disappearance of the shtetls. Robert’s claim to having had a Catholic father was utterly false, but is part and parcel of his ongoing compulsive daily lying about anything and everything.
Here is the story.
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Kolomyia, formerly known as Kolomea, is a city currently located in the Western Ukraine.
On January 21, 1892 (the same year that Kolomea tallis¹ workers went on strike for better pay and working conditions), Kolomea resident Rachel Katz, wife of Abraham Spiegel, gave birth to a son, who was given the name Schmuel.
On the date that Schmuel Spiegel entered the world, Kolomea was ruled by the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, and almost half of the city’s residents were Jewish.
In June of 1907, fifteen-year-old Schmuel² boarded the Zeeland, which sailed from Antwerp, Belgium, arriving at New York Harbor on June 18, 1907. The ship’s manifest states that Schmuel’s father had paid for his transport, and that Schmuel intended to reside with his father, Abe, in Brooklyn. Schmuel was granted entrance, and took up residence with his cousin Charles Fetner, who resided at 353 Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn, in Apartment A with his wife Jennie and their baby daughter Ettie. The sparse record that exists suggests that although Schmuel’s father was, indeed, named Abraham, Abraham lived and died in Europe, without immigrating to America.
The 1910 census describes Samuel’s cousin Charles as a carpenter, who had been married to housewife Jennie for six years, and a father of three children-- Ettie age four, Nathan age two, and baby Jacob, who was not even a year old. Eighteen-year-old Samuel was identified by profession as a “Foreman Sailmaker” in an industry described as “pocket-books.”
Three and a half years after being granted admission, on a bitterly cold winter day, January 4, 1911, Schmuel (now employed as a pocket-book maker, and having Anglicized his name to Samuel) signed and submitted his declaration to become a United States citizen. He stated, in that declaration, that he was born on January 21, 1892.
By 1915, Samuel had left his cousin’s abode and was residing as a lodger in the home of a widow named Rose Hammer, who lived with her two adolescent sons, Meyer and Louis, at 531 E. 5^th Avenue; Samuel was now working as a “driver.”
Two years after the 1915 state census was taken, Samuel had moved back to Myrtle Avenue, but this time at building no. 849. On June 15, 2017, Samuel registered for the draft, and described himself as being a pocketbook maker, working for “A. Shoenfeld,” at 101 Crosby Street, New York. He was single. He stated, in his draft registration, that he was born on January 21, 1892.
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A woman named Fruma Fleisfeder was born in Beltz, Bessarabia, sometime between July 1, 1893, and 1901, to Itzik Fleisfeder and Esther Lieba Rifkin. Fruma (not living up to her pious given name) provided different dates and years of birth to different authorities on different occasions, making it impossible at this point in time to know her true position in the birth order of her family. Regardless, Fruma, who began using the name Fanny upon her entrance to the United States, did have three brothers and a sister who also came to America-- Louis Fleisfeder who was born April 10, 1890, Max Irving Fleisfeder who used October 10, 1892 as his birthdate, Hersch (later known as Harry), whose official birthdate was December 15, 1901, and Sylvia who was born in approximately 1906.
On December 1, 1919, Fruma arrived in New York Harbor on the ship La Touraine, declaring her intention, at entry, to become a United States Citizen. The ship’s manifest describes her as five feet five inches tall, with fair hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. The ship’s manifest states that she was, at that time, age 24. If that were correct, she would have been born in 1895.
Fruma (then going by Fanny) took up residence with her cousin Ethel (nee Ruchlin) and Ethel’s husband Samuel Steinberg, on 15^th Street, Brooklyn. Soon thereafter, Ethel gave birth to her first child, a daughter named Theresa. The 1920 census states that Fanny was Russian, didn’t speak English but, rather, spoke Hebrew, and worked as a milliner in a millinery store. The 1920 census also states that Fanny was age 25, which lines up with her being age 24 in the prior year’s ship manifest.
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Sam and Fanny married in Manhattan on January 24, 1925. Their marriage certificate (signed by each of them) identifies Sam as being age 32 (contradicting, by one year, his immigration records which would have placed him at age 33), and identifies Fanny as age 24, the same age that she had claimed to be six years prior, and also contradicting an immigration petition that she would file two decades in the future, which generally placed her birth year at the mid-point of 1893.
If Fanny’s immigration records (which included a petition with her signature on it) were correct, Fanny would also have been age 32 as of her marriage to Samuel, not age 24.
So did Fanny lie in her marriage certificate? Or did she lie in her immigration petition?
The marriage certificate identifies Sam as having been born in Kolomea, Austria, and his father being Abraham, and his mother being Rachel Katz. It identifies Fanny as having been born in Beltz, Russia, to a father named Isaac, and to a mother named Esther Rifkin.
The marriage certificate does not identify Fanny as having any profession, but identifies Sam as being a pocketbook maker.
Sam and Fannie were married at 125 E. 4^th Street, Manhattan, a six-story apartment building with retail units on the ground floor that is now an expensive co-op, with three-bedroom units selling for over $900,000. Present-day real estate advertisements alternatively state that the building was built in 1894, 1903, and 1905.
The first name of the rabbi who officiated was Harry. His surname starts with Reid, but the remaining letters of his signature are illegible. Rabbi Harry identified his residence as 232 Broome Street, which, at the time, was a four-story mixed use building that, among other things, housed Chevrah Ahavath Zedek Anshei Jaskinover.
Witnesses to the marriage were Mayer Budmon and Samuel Steinberg.
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Sam and Fanny’s existence was documented next in the 1925 New York State census by census. They were living at 205 S. 2^nd Street. Samuel was still working as a “pocketbook maker.” Fanny was identified as a “housewife.”
Fanny was identified as age 25. This was in accordance with her age as stated on her marriage certificate, but not in accordance with her immigration documents or the 1920 census.
Sam was identified as being age 28, which conflicted with all prior records.
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In 1930, the couple were again enumerated, this time in the Federal census. The enumerator, whose signature appears to be “Max Krahn” (or something like that) stated that he obtained the information on April 16, 1930.
Sam was identified as a “framer” of pocketbooks. He was identified as being 36 years of age, which conflicts by two years with the age that he provided to immigration authorities. Perhaps the enumerator was simply sloppy; Samuel was also incorrectly identified in the 1930 census as having been born in “Poland,” with parents who were both also born in “Poland,” notwithstanding other governmental records having identified him as being Austrian. The language he spoke? “Jewish,” according to the enumerator. Was that to mean Hebrew? Yiddish? Both?
Fannie was identified as age 30 (directly in conflict with the information she supplied in her immigration petition, which bears her signature) and as being “Russian,” with parents born in “Russia.” The 1930 census enumerator incorrectly wrote that her year of immigration was 1921. Fannie, too, was identified by the enumerator as speaking the “Jewish” language.
Although later records reflected that Sam and Fannie had a son named Irving who was born in 1926, Irving was not recorded in the 1930 census. Was he missed by the enumerator? Or was he a later-adopted son?
The couple also had a boarder, identified by the 1930 enumerator as one Esther “Larson,” age 40, born in Russia, and similarly a speaker of the “Jewish” language.
*******
The New York Birth Index identifies a baby boy, Robert Spiegel, as one of many babies having been born in the city on January 21, 1932.
*******
On May 21, 1936, Samuel committed suicide by hanging in the family residence, a tenement apartment located at 1168 Union Avenue, in the Bronx. Although, based upon the date of birth that Samuel used for official governmental purposes he was age 44, the death certificate stated that he was age 43.
Fannie engaged the Gordon Funeral Home to prepare him for burial.
Strangely, although Samuel’s headstone accurately identified him in Hebrew as Schmuel Spiegel, son of Avraham, it inexplicably incorrectly stated that he died at age 40.
Fannie of course knew her husband’s real age; both of them signed the marriage certificate that had Samuel’s correct age listed. Furthermore, Samuel had petitioned for citizenship in 1911, and stated that his date of birth was January 18, 1892.
Why would Fannie commission a headstone with a false age? Perhaps she, like her son, was a compulsive liar. Maybe that’s where Robert got it from.
*******
The 1940 census has Fannie (identified as age 38), Robert (identified as age 8), and Fannie’s son/Robert’s brother, Irving Spiegel, age 13, as living with Fannie’s 72-year-old mother, Esther Fleisfeder, at 1537 Fulton Avenue, in the Bronx. Fannie and Esther were identified as widows. Esther was identified as “U” (unable to work), while Fannie was identified as engaged in housework. No source of income for the family was identified.
No explanation is obvious regarding where Irving was living in the census taken a decade previously. Was he adopted?
There is no “Irving Spiegel” listed in the New York Birth Index for either 1926 or 1927. There is an “Irving Spiegal” listed, who was born April 29, 1926. But he is not Irving Spiegel.
I initially thought that perhaps Irving might be one of the unnamed Baby Boy Spiegels born in New York in 1926 or 1927, and that he left the hospital unnamed because his parents were waiting for his bris before naming him. However, Robert left the hospital with the name Robert. Why wait until the bris to name one child, but not the other?
*******
Slightly less than two years after she was enumerated in the 1940 census, Fannie’s mother Esther died, at home, at 1537 Fulton Avenue. The causes of death were “Coronary Thrombosis, Pulmonary Oedema Nephritis, Hypertension, Arteriosclerosis.” Esther left this world on February 6, 1942, the same day that the W. L. Steed was torpedoed, shelled and sunk less than a hundred nautical miles east of the mouth of Delaware River by a German submarine.
She was buried at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Fairview, New Jersey, the same cemetery where her son-in-law Samuel was interred.
*******
On November 12, 1943, Fannie, now residing at 1985 Bathgate Avenue, in the Bronx, petitioned for citizenship. She claimed, in that document bearing her signature, to be fifty years of age, meaning that if she was telling the truth, she would have been born in approximately 1893.
*******
On January 19, 1948, Robert (having assumed a false date of birth, that being January 18, 1931), enlisted in the New York National Guard. On paper, he had turned age 17 the day before his enlistment. In reality, he would be turning age 16 two days after his enlistment.
On December 9, 1949, Robert was discharged from the national guard, apparently for having been AWOL.
The discharge document identifies his address as being 1985 Bathgate Avenue, New York City.
*******
The 1950 census places Robert again at 1985 Bathgate Avenue, New York City. It correctly identifies him as age 18, and states that he worked as a shipping clerk for a newspaper company.
According to the 1950 census, Robert resided at the Bathgate Avenue address with his mother Fannie, who was purportedly still age 50 (seven years after she had previously claimed to immigration authorities to be age 50), and Robert’s brother Irving, age 24.
Irving was listed as unemployed and moreover, according to the census record, had not worked for the prior year. Fannie was employed full-time as a milliner in a hat factory.
*******
Military records reflect that Irving J. Spiegel, born in 1926 and a resident of 1985 Bathgate Avenue, who had completed two years of high school education, had flown bomber planes over Germany during the war. In his military documents, Irving described himself as single, with two dependents.
*******
On February 2, 1929, a baby girl given the name Aileen Beverly Leone Maxwell was born in Lucea, Hanover, Jamaica, to William Maxwell and Daisy (nee Tibbits) Maxwell. Her birth was registered by her parents.
*******
In 1954, Robert Spiegel and Aileen Maxwell were married in New York City. Their marriage license was given License No. 10284.
*******
The following year, the Kingston, Jamaica, Gleaner reported on June 6, 1955:
Miss Leonie Maxwell, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Maxwell, was married recently in New York City to Mr. Robert Spiegel of the U.S.A. Both the bride and groom are students at the New York Institute of Dietetics. The bride left the island nearly two years ago for New York. Her wedding gown was chantilly lace and nylon tulle. The bodice was fashioned with a wide, scalloped neckline and elbow-length sleeves. Her three tier skirt of chantilly lace was over pleated nylon tulle. Her fingertip-length veil was adorned with pearls.
*******
If the claim regarding the couple studying at the New York Institute of Dietetics was even true, their studies at this institution didn’t last long. In May of 1956, a number of advertisements bearing Robert’s photograph appeared in the Kingston, Jamaica Gleaner. The advertisements described Robert as a psychologist, author, lecturer, and “practitioner in auto suggestion,” and identified him as “Dr. J. Robert Spiegel.” Readers were invited to come meet Robert on May 21, 1956, at Record Plaza, where he would be autographing his “latest” “world-wide” 33 and 1/3 RPM record, “How to Stop Smoking in 7 days by Auto-Suggestion.”
*******
On May 1, 1959, three residents of 1985 Bathgate Avenue, Bronx, New York, came through customs, having returned from a trip to Jamaica. They identified themselves as “Robert D. Spiegel” born in New York (in addition to giving himself a false middle initial, Robert neglected to complete the I-94-A fully, specifically by leaving his birthdate blank), “Leonie A. Spiegel” born in Jamaica on February 2, 1929, and their minor daughter, and “Sharon S. Spiegel,” born in New York. Someone also neglected to fully complete Sharon’s I-94-A, specifically by leaving her birthdate blank.
*******
Leonie had taken Sharon to Jamaica two years earlier. There are no publicly available records pertaining to their outbound transport from the United States to Jamaica. There is, however, a record pertaining to their return to the United States. That publicly available record does not provide their address, but Sharon is identified as weighing 1 stone 5 pounds (a total of 19 pounds), and Leonie is identified as weighing six stone 5 pounds (89 pounds). Interestingly, Leonie used the name “Aileen Spiegel,” and the records assert that Aileen has no middle initial. Aileen was / is her true legal first name, but it is a lie to say that she has no middle initial.
*******
Almost two years later, on January 5, 1958, the Kingston, Jamaica Gleaner reported:
Staying at the Tamarind Hotel are Mr. and Mrs. Bob Spiegel and daughter Sharon of Miami, Florida. Mrs. Spiegel is the former Leonie Maxwell, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Maxwell of Lucea and has been in the United States for several years. A welcome party in their honour was given last Saturday night by Messers. Horrace, Ray, and Dennis Maxwell, brothers of Mrs. Spiegel. It was a very enjoyable affair.
*******
In 1963, roughly five years after their 1958 visit to Jamaica, Leonie petitioned for naturalization, in Louisiana. Although I am in possession of the index showing that she petitioned in 1963, I do not possess the petition itself. However, the fact that she petitioned for naturalization in Louisiana demonstrates that that at least she was residing in Louisiana at the time. Since she stated that she didn’t leave Robert’s side for over 40 years, presumably Robert, young Sharon, and also baby Michelle were living in Louisiana at that time.
*******
People who knew Robert personally relate that he stated that Leonie was a Cayman Island heiress. She wasn’t. Not only was she not born in the Cayman Islands, Leonie’s father’s estate was litigated (with the judge ruling against her) long before Robert started telling people that his wife was a Cayman Islands heiress.
Leonie’s father did leave an estate, but not to her. On November 9, 1967, the Gleaner reported that the Supreme Court had upheld the will of the late William Josiah Maxwell, the father of Horrace, Ray, Dennis, and Leonie, and the husband of Daisy Maxwell, who had contended that William’s signature was a forgery and that the person to whom his estate had been bequeathed had exercised undue influence. The court disagreed. The article reported:
The estate, which one of the executors described as “a sizeable one,” included 112 acres of land at Paradise and three houses at Lucea, Hanover.
*******
Robert apparently wasn’t banking on Leonie’s inheritance in any event. In May of 1966, advertisements appeared in the Houston Chronicle with Robert’s photo on them, selling a record that would purportedly assist people in stopping smoking in seven days. He identified himself as “Dr. J. Robert Spiegel.”
*******
On page 55 of the November 15, 1969, San Antonio, Texas Express and News, was an advertisement stating:
SCIENCE OF THE MIND
Dr. J. Robert Spiegel of Houston, director and founder of the Science of the Mind Foundation there, is conducting Sunday evening meetings at 7:30 p.m. in the Sheraton Inn, 1400 Austin Hwy.
*******
On page 4 of the July 10, 1970 edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram was a photograph of Robert, with a brief local news blurb:
GUEST – Dr. J Robert Spiegel of Houston, Science of Mind Foundation director, will speak at the 10:45 a.m. service tomorrow in First Church of Religious Science, 2001 6^th Ave. His subject is “What Religious Science Teaches.”
*******
On page 8 of the June 18, 1970 edition of the Houston Daily Cougar was this advertisement:
HOME OF UNIVERSAL LIFE
“Teaching Aquarian Meditation For The New Age
Meets Every Sunday, 11:00 A.M. At The World Trade Center Auditorium
Houston, Texas
DR. J. ROBERT SPIEGEL (BRAHMADANDA) DIRECTOR - FOUNDER
Aquarian Meditation Initiation for the first time offered through correspondence. For those sincere students wishing to bypass evolution and enter the 5th Kingdom. Initiation includes meditation technique, Mantra, how to "live” 24 hours a day, and much more. Write for application today:
P.O. Box 53328 Houston, Texas 052
*******
From the Galveston Daily News, May 02, 1971, Pg. 31:
AQUARIAN MEDITATION SOCIETY PRESENTS DR. J. ROBERT SPIEGEL AN AUTHOR, LECTURER, TEACHER OF YOGA & SELF DEVELOPMENT WILL SPEAK ON MAN, MIND & THE UNIVERSE WEDNESDAY, MAY 5th AT 7:30 P.M. IN THE RECREATION CENTER HARRIS COUNTY PARK, NASA RD. # 1 ALL WELCOME — DONATION $1.50
*******
The 1972 Spiritual Community Guide lists Robert twice, in the San Diego area. First, on page 117, using his alias “J. Robert Spiegel”:
THE TEMPLE OF METAPHYSICAL ABUNDANCE. J. Robert Spiegel, 1118 Torrey Pines Rd., 92037. Teaches yoga, nutrition, ESP, metaphysics, psychology, mind control
Second, on page 124, in which he, as one might have predicted, was masquerading as some sort of medical man or scholar:
"AQUARIAN MEDITATION SOCIETY, U. S. Grant Hotel, Attn: Dr. Robert Spiegel, 453-7588"
*******
Also in 1972, Volume 25 of San Diego Magazine published in November advertised gift certificates for the “Astrology Research Center.” “Give your loved one the gift of love. Only $50” said the advertisement. Where was this entity located? At 1118 Torrey Pines Road, the same address as Robert’s Temple of Metaphysical Abundance. The advertisement purported that person identified as “Lil Canaan” was the director. The telephone number was 459-6400.
In 2013, the San Diego Union Tribune published the obituary for Lillian Mulonas, who founded the La Jolla “Astrology Research Center.” At this point in time, unless Robert Adams’ only surviving daughter, Michelle/ Prentiss/ Avantae knows the answer and talks, we will not know what relationship, if any, existed between Robert’s Temple of Metaphysical Abundance and Lilian’s Astrology Research Center, both of which were located at 1118 Torrey Pines Road in 1972.
*******
From the July 12, 1973, San Diego Reader:
BRAHMADANDA FOUNDATION
“Teachings of the Cosmic Way” meets Sundays, 11:00 a.m., U.S. Grant Hotel, Crystal Room. Free admission, refreshments served. Call 453-7588 for more information.
*******
On page 51 of the June 29, 1974 edition of Phoenix’s Arizona Republic was the following advertisement:
Speaker from San Diego
Dr. J. Robert Spiegel from San Diego, a traveler and lecturer, will speak at 8 p.m., Friday in Universal Series Center, 4340 N. Seventh Ave., on the topic “Science of Being.”
He is the founder of the “Aquarian Meditation Society” in Jamaica and is founder and publisher of “Equinox,” a philosophical newspaper.
*******
The family (Adams or Spiegel, however one might want to refer to them) have resided in (that I know of) New York, Miami, Jamaica, Louisiana, La Jolla, Los Angeles, Houston, New Mexico, Hawaii, Las Vegas, Scottsdale, Sedona, and a number of cities in North Carolina.
*******
In at least the 1990’s, before he left for Sedona, Robert Adams used the address PO Box 7210, Jordan Avenue, D-30, Canoga Park, CA. He used that address on correspondence he wrote, and on at least one published document. Who else used that address? The data aggregators show that this address was also used by a Michelle K. Spiegel, and a person going by the name Leonie Maxwell. Michelle and Leonie also used other addresses associated with Robert, those being 1815 Willis Avenue Panorama City, and 21551 Burbank Boulevard, Woodland Hills.
*******
The California Birth Index shows that Michelle K. Spiegel was born on October 1, 1960, in Los Angeles County, to a mother with the maiden name Maxwell.
*******
In later life, Michelle used the addresses above that are associated with Robert and Leonie, as well as an address of 12004 Vanowen Street #14, North Hollywood. This is the same address at which Denniston Keith Maxwell, one of Leonie’s younger brothers, resided at, after his immigration to the United States. Denniston was one of Michelle’s uncles.
In a recent Facebook posting, Michelle/Avantae stated: “Never knew anything personal about said uncles, etc. Never asked, never cared.” Really? She shared an address with an uncle? Her uncle lived within a few minutes’ drive from her parents, and Michelle/Avantae never knew anything about him?
As an aside, Michelle/Avantae alleged (or admitted) that she “never cared” about anything personal regarding her uncles. If that is true, what does that tell us about Michelle/Avantae’s fundamental character? Antisocial? Psychopathic? Narcissistic in the extreme?
*******
On August 2, 1996, Michelle, going by the name Avantae E. Deven, married Tyson Ruben Alvarez in Las Vegas. The two had addresses in common in Arizona, Nevada, and Montana.
*******
Robert “Adams” died on or about March 2, 1997, in Sedona, Arizona.
Shortly after that, in the spring of 1997, “Nicole Adams” and “Avantae Deven” (both aliases; the correct legal names are Aileen Beverly Leonie Spiegel and Michelle K. Spiegel) purchased a home together in Sedona, on Navahopi Road. Shortly after the purchase, “Nicole” quit-claimed her portion to “Avantae.”
On July 17, 2001, Tyson, still married to “Avantae,” quit-claimed any interest in the Navahopi property to “Avantae,” and had the county recorder send the deed to “Avantae” in care of the Infinity Institute, at that time located at 9101 W. Sahara Ave. Suite 105 C29 (in other words, a private post box), in Las Vegas.
Avantae divorced Tyson in 2006. She had, by then, moved to North Carolina. She “served” Tyson via publication summons, claiming that she was unable to find him, despite his information being on multiple data aggregators.
You can go to various Facebook groups, and other sources, to pull up the documents that people have uncovered showing who is associated with the "Infinity Institute," and in what fashion, and also the addresses that they have used over the years.
In any event, this is the information regarding Robert that I think that people need to be aware of.
Why turn to a known liar and con man for spiritual guidance?
1A tallis is a prayer shawl.
2The ship’s manifest states that he was age 14, which conflicts by one year with what Samuel identified as his date of birth. These errors are not uncommon; his fare could have been purchased when he was age 14 and the records not updated.

I am trying to use Python to read in a PDF form so that I can fill all the elements and then create a new filled in PDF. I found code from this repo and everything works correctly for the most part, but some elements aren't being recognized. Below is what the form looks like when I am editing the elements: https://i.sstatic.net/oTn5wiGA.png
However, when I run my code most but not all of the elements get filled in. In this example I am filling each box with "STRING". https://i.sstatic.net/AQn06u8J.png
In my code, when I list all of the element names ("other, route_to_1, route_to_2, etc) all the names are correct and have been checked over and over. When I debug my code and look at the variable that stores all the form elements, it's simply misreading some of the elements. I am not sure what is causing this. Whether Acrobat made the form incorrectly, or if there's a problem with the code. Any help is appreciated. Here's the code I have:
create_pdf.py

from pdf_processing import ProcessPdf DATA_OBJECT = { "other": "string", "route_to_1": "string", "route_to_2": "string", "route_to_3": "string", "route_to_4": "string", "route_to_5": "string", "route_to_6": "string", "route_to_7": "string", "route_to_8": "string", "route_to_9": "string", "route_to_10": "string", "route_to_11": "string", "route_to_alt_1": "string", "route_to_alt_2": "string", "route_to_alt_3": "string", "route_to_alt_4": "string", "route_to_alt_5": "string", "dep_aerodrome": "string", "dep_elev": "string", "dep_atis_id": "string", "dep_atis_freq": "string", "dest_aerodrome": "string", "dest_elev": "string", "alt_dest": "string", "alt_elev": "string", "chan_id_1": "string", "chan_freq_1": "string", "chan_id_2": "string", "chan_freq_2": "string", "chan_id_3": "string", "chan_freq_3": "string", "chan_id_4": "string", "chan_freq_4": "string", "chan_id_5": "string", "chan_freq_5": "string", "chan_id_6": "string", "chan_freq_6": "string", "chan_id_7": "string", "chan_freq_7": "string", "chan_id_8": "string", "chan_freq_8": "string", "chan_id_9": "string", "chan_freq_9": "string", "chan_id_10": "string", "chan_freq_10": "string", "chan_id_11": "string", "chan_freq_11": "string", "chan_id_alt_1": "string", "chan_freq_alt_1": "string", "chan_id_alt_2": "string", "chan_freq_alt_2": "string", "chan_id_alt_3": "string", "chan_freq_alt_3": "string", "chan_id_alt_4": "string", "chan_freq_alt_4": "string", "chan_id_alt_5": "string", "chan_freq_alt_5": "string", "course_1": "string", "course_2": "string", "course_3": "string", "course_4": "string", "course_5": "string", "course_6": "string", "course_7": "string", "course_8": "string", "course_9": "string", "course_10": "string", "course_11": "string", "course_alt_1": "string", "course_alt_2": "string", "course_alt_3": "string", "course_alt_4": "string", "course_alt_5": "string", "dep_clearance_id": "string", "dep_clearance_freq": "string", "time_off": "string", "dep_app_cont_id": "string", "dep_app_cont_freq": "string", "dist_1": "string", "dist_2": "string", "dist_3": "string", "dist_4": "string", "dist_5": "string", "dist_6": "string", "dist_7": "string", "dist_8": "string", "dist_9": "string", "dist_10": "string", "dist_11": "string", "dist_total": "string", "alt_route": "string", "alt_app_cont_id": "string", "alt_app_cont_freq": "string", "dist_alt_1": "string", "dist_alt_2": "string", "dist_alt_3": "string", "dist_alt_4": "string", "dist_alt_5": "string", "ete_1": "string", "ete_2": "string", "ete_3": "string", "ete_4": "string", "ete_5": "string", "ete_6": "string", "ete_7": "string", "ete_8": "string", "ete_9": "string", "ete_10": "string", "ete_11": "string", "ete_total": "string", "ete_alt_1": "string", "ete_alt_2": "string", "ete_alt_3": "string", "ete_alt_4": "string", "ete_alt_5": "string", "eta_1": "string", "ata_1": "string", "eta_2": "string", "ata_2": "string", "eta_3": "string", "ata_3": "string", "eta_4": "string", "ata_4": "string", "eta_5": "string", "ata_5": "string", "eta_6": "string", "ata_6": "string", "eta_7": "string", "ata_7": "string", "eta_8": "string", "ata_8": "string", "eta_9": "string", "ata_9": "string", "eta_10": "string", "ata_10": "string", "eta_11": "string", "ata_11": "string", "eta_total": "string", "ata_total": "string", "eta_alt_1": "string", "ata_alt_1": "string", "eta_alt_2": "string", "ata_alt_2": "string", "eta_alt_3": "string", "ata_alt_3": "string", "eta_alt_4": "string", "ata_alt_4": "string", "eta_alt_5": "string", "ata_alt_5": "string", "dep_gnd_cont_id": "string", "dep_gnd_cont_freq": "string", "tas": "string", "mach": "string", "dest_tower_id": "string", "dest_tower_freq": "string", "leg_fuel_1": "string", "leg_fuel_2": "string", "leg_fuel_3": "string", "leg_fuel_4": "string", "leg_fuel_5": "string", "leg_fuel_6": "string", "leg_fuel_7": "string", "leg_fuel_8": "string", "leg_fuel_9": "string", "leg_fuel_10": "string", "leg_fuel_11": "string", "leg_fuel_total": "string", "alt_altitude": "string", "alt_tower_id": "string", "alt_tower_freq": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_1": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_2": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_3": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_4": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_5": "string", "efr_1": "string", "afr_1": "string", "efr_2": "string", "afr_2": "string", "efr_3": "string", "afr_3": "string", "efr_4": "string", "afr_4": "string", "efr_5": "string", "afr_5": "string", "efr_6": "string", "afr_6": "string", "efr_7": "string", "afr_7": "string", "efr_8": "string", "afr_8": "string", "efr_9": "string", "afr_9": "string", "efr_10": "string", "afr_10": "string", "efr_11": "string", "afr_11": "string", "efr_total": "string", "afr_total": "string", "efr_alt_1": "string", "afr_alt_1": "string", "efr_alt_2": "string", "afr_alt_2": "string", "efr_alt_3": "string", "afr_alt_3": "string", "efr_alt_4": "string", "afr_alt_4": "string", "efr_alt_5": "string", "afr_alt_5": "string", "cont_fuel": "string", "cont_fuel_1": "string", "cont_fuel_2": "string", "cont_fuel_3": "string", "cont_fuel_4": "string", "cont_fuel_5": "string", "cont_fuel_6": "string", "cont_fuel_7": "string", "cont_fuel_8": "string", "cont_fuel_9": "string", "cont_fuel_10": "string", "cont_fuel_11": "string", "alt_fuel": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_1": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_2": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_3": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_4": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_5": "string", "dep_tower_id": "string", "dep_tower_freq": "string", "lbs_ph": "string", "lbs_pm": "string", "dest_gnd_cont_id": "string", "dest_gnd_cont_freq": "string", "notes_1": "string", "notes_2": "string", "notes_3": "string", "notes_4": "string", "notes_5": "string", "notes_6": "string", "notes_7": "string", "notes_8": "string", "notes_9": "string", "notes_10": "string", "notes_11": "string", "notes_12": "string", "alt_gnd_cont_id": "string", "alt_gnd_cont_freq": "string", "notes_alt_1": "string", "notes_alt_2": "string", "notes_alt_3": "string", "notes_alt_4": "string", "notes_alt_5": "string", "alt_time": "string", "route_dest_iaf_fuel": "string", "route_alt_iaf_fuel": "string", "approaches_fuel": "string", "in_air_used_fuel": "string", "reserve_fuel": "string", "rwy_length_dest": "string", "lighting_dest": "string", "fuel_dest": "string", "ils_dest": "string", "loc_dest": "string", "asr_dest": "string", "par_mins_dest": "string", "tac_mins_dest": "string", "arr_gear_dest": "string", "pubs_dest": "string", "notams_dest": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_1": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_2": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_3": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_4": "string", "etc_dest": "string", "last_cruise_req_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_req_fuel": "string", "bingo_req_fuel": "string", "last_cruise_appr_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_appr_fuel": "string", "rwy_length_alt": "string", "lighting_alt": "string", "fuel_alt": "string", "ils_alt": "string", "loc_alt": "string", "asr_alt": "string", "par_mins_alt": "string", "tac_mins_alt": "string", "arr_gear_alt": "string", "pubs_alt": "string", "notams_alt": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_1": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_2": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_3": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_4": "string", "etc_alt": "string", "last_cruise_res_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_fuel": "string", "add_res_fuel": "string", "stto_fuel": "string", "total_req_fuel": "string", "total_aboard_fuel": "string", "spare_fuel": "string", "last_cruise_total_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_total_fuel": "string", "bingo_total": "string", "waypoint_1": "string", "waypoint_2": "string", "waypoint_3": "string", "waypoint_4": "string", "waypoint_5": "string", "waypoint_6": "string", "waypoint_7": "string", "waypoint_8": "string", "waypoint_9": "string", "waypoint_10": "string", "waypoint_11": "string", "waypoint_12": "string", "waypoint_13": "string", "waypoint_14": "string", "waypoint_15": "string", "waypoint_16": "string", "clearance_cleared_to": "string", "clearance_altitude": "string", "clearance_freq": "string", "clearance_transp": "string", "clearance_route": "string" } data = DATA_OBJECT output_file = 'final_pdf.pdf' temp_files = [] pdf = ProcessPdf('pdf_temp/', output_file) ''' PDF_TEMPLATE_PATH = path/to/your.pdf ''' data_pdf = pdf.add_data_to_pdf("Blank Jet Log Fillable.pdf", data) temp_files.append(data_pdf) 

pdf_processing.py

import os import re import fitz # requires fitz, PyMuPDF import pdfrw import subprocess import os.path import sys from PIL import Image ''' replace all the constants (the one in caps) with your own lists ''' ''' FORM_KEYS is a dictionary (key-value pair) that contains 1. keys - which are all the key names in the PDF form 2. values - which are the type for all the keys in the PDF form. (string, checkbox, etc.) Eg. PDF form contains 1. First Name 2. Last Name 3. Sex (Male or Female) 4. Mobile Number FORM_KEYS = { "fname": "string", "lname": "string", "sex": "checkbox", "mobile": "number" } This FORM_KEYS(key) returns the type of value for that key. I'm passing this as 2nd argument to encode_pdf_string() function. ''' FORM_KEYS = { "other": "string", "route_to_1": "string", "route_to_2": "string", "route_to_3": "string", "route_to_4": "string", "route_to_5": "string", "route_to_6": "string", "route_to_7": "string", "route_to_8": "string", "route_to_9": "string", "route_to_10": "string", "route_to_11": "string", "route_to_alt_1": "string", "route_to_alt_2": "string", "route_to_alt_3": "string", "route_to_alt_4": "string", "route_to_alt_5": "string", "dep_aerodrome": "string", "dep_elev": "string", "dep_atis_id": "string", "dep_atis_freq": "string", "dest_aerodrome": "string", "dest_elev": "string", "alt_dest": "string", "alt_elev": "string", "chan_id_1": "string", "chan_freq_1": "string", "chan_id_2": "string", "chan_freq_2": "string", "chan_id_3": "string", "chan_freq_3": "string", "chan_id_4": "string", "chan_freq_4": "string", "chan_id_5": "string", "chan_freq_5": "string", "chan_id_6": "string", "chan_freq_6": "string", "chan_id_7": "string", "chan_freq_7": "string", "chan_id_8": "string", "chan_freq_8": "string", "chan_id_9": "string", "chan_freq_9": "string", "chan_id_10": "string", "chan_freq_10": "string", "chan_id_11": "string", "chan_freq_11": "string", "chan_id_alt_1": "string", "chan_freq_alt_1": "string", "chan_id_alt_2": "string", "chan_freq_alt_2": "string", "chan_id_alt_3": "string", "chan_freq_alt_3": "string", "chan_id_alt_4": "string", "chan_freq_alt_4": "string", "chan_id_alt_5": "string", "chan_freq_alt_5": "string", "course_1": "string", "course_2": "string", "course_3": "string", "course_4": "string", "course_5": "string", "course_6": "string", "course_7": "string", "course_8": "string", "course_9": "string", "course_10": "string", "course_11": "string", "course_alt_1": "string", "course_alt_2": "string", "course_alt_3": "string", "course_alt_4": "string", "course_alt_5": "string", "dep_clearance_id": "string", "dep_clearance_freq": "string", "time_off": "string", "dep_app_cont_id": "string", "dep_app_cont_freq": "string", "dist_1": "string", "dist_2": "string", "dist_3": "string", "dist_4": "string", "dist_5": "string", "dist_6": "string", "dist_7": "string", "dist_8": "string", "dist_9": "string", "dist_10": "string", "dist_11": "string", "dist_total": "string", "alt_route": "string", "alt_app_cont_id": "string", "alt_app_cont_freq": "string", "dist_alt_1": "string", "dist_alt_2": "string", "dist_alt_3": "string", "dist_alt_4": "string", "dist_alt_5": "string", "ete_1": "string", "ete_2": "string", "ete_3": "string", "ete_4": "string", "ete_5": "string", "ete_6": "string", "ete_7": "string", "ete_8": "string", "ete_9": "string", "ete_10": "string", "ete_11": "string", "ete_total": "string", "ete_alt_1": "string", "ete_alt_2": "string", "ete_alt_3": "string", "ete_alt_4": "string", "ete_alt_5": "string", "eta_1": "string", "ata_1": "string", "eta_2": "string", "ata_2": "string", "eta_3": "string", "ata_3": "string", "eta_4": "string", "ata_4": "string", "eta_5": "string", "ata_5": "string", "eta_6": "string", "ata_6": "string", "eta_7": "string", "ata_7": "string", "eta_8": "string", "ata_8": "string", "eta_9": "string", "ata_9": "string", "eta_10": "string", "ata_10": "string", "eta_11": "string", "ata_11": "string", "eta_total": "string", "ata_total": "string", "eta_alt_1": "string", "ata_alt_1": "string", "eta_alt_2": "string", "ata_alt_2": "string", "eta_alt_3": "string", "ata_alt_3": "string", "eta_alt_4": "string", "ata_alt_4": "string", "eta_alt_5": "string", "ata_alt_5": "string", "dep_gnd_cont_id": "string", "dep_gnd_cont_freq": "string", "tas": "string", "mach": "string", "dest_tower_id": "string", "dest_tower_freq": "string", "leg_fuel_1": "string", "leg_fuel_2": "string", "leg_fuel_3": "string", "leg_fuel_4": "string", "leg_fuel_5": "string", "leg_fuel_6": "string", "leg_fuel_7": "string", "leg_fuel_8": "string", "leg_fuel_9": "string", "leg_fuel_10": "string", "leg_fuel_11": "string", "leg_fuel_total": "string", "alt_altitude": "string", "alt_tower_id": "string", "alt_tower_freq": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_1": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_2": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_3": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_4": "string", "leg_fuel_alt_5": "string", "efr_1": "string", "afr_1": "string", "efr_2": "string", "afr_2": "string", "efr_3": "string", "afr_3": "string", "efr_4": "string", "afr_4": "string", "efr_5": "string", "afr_5": "string", "efr_6": "string", "afr_6": "string", "efr_7": "string", "afr_7": "string", "efr_8": "string", "afr_8": "string", "efr_9": "string", "afr_9": "string", "efr_10": "string", "afr_10": "string", "efr_11": "string", "afr_11": "string", "efr_total": "string", "afr_total": "string", "efr_alt_1": "string", "afr_alt_1": "string", "efr_alt_2": "string", "afr_alt_2": "string", "efr_alt_3": "string", "afr_alt_3": "string", "efr_alt_4": "string", "afr_alt_4": "string", "efr_alt_5": "string", "afr_alt_5": "string", "cont_fuel": "string", "cont_fuel_1": "string", "cont_fuel_2": "string", "cont_fuel_3": "string", "cont_fuel_4": "string", "cont_fuel_5": "string", "cont_fuel_6": "string", "cont_fuel_7": "string", "cont_fuel_8": "string", "cont_fuel_9": "string", "cont_fuel_10": "string", "cont_fuel_11": "string", "alt_fuel": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_1": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_2": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_3": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_4": "string", "cont_fuel_alt_5": "string", "dep_tower_id": "string", "dep_tower_freq": "string", "lbs_ph": "string", "lbs_pm": "string", "dest_gnd_cont_id": "string", "dest_gnd_cont_freq": "string", "notes_1": "string", "notes_2": "string", "notes_3": "string", "notes_4": "string", "notes_5": "string", "notes_6": "string", "notes_7": "string", "notes_8": "string", "notes_9": "string", "notes_10": "string", "notes_11": "string", "notes_12": "string", "alt_gnd_cont_id": "string", "alt_gnd_cont_freq": "string", "notes_alt_1": "string", "notes_alt_2": "string", "notes_alt_3": "string", "notes_alt_4": "string", "notes_alt_5": "string", "alt_time": "string", "route_dest_iaf_fuel": "string", "route_alt_iaf_fuel": "string", "approaches_fuel": "string", "in_air_used_fuel": "string", "reserve_fuel": "string", "rwy_length_dest": "string", "lighting_dest": "string", "fuel_dest": "string", "ils_dest": "string", "loc_dest": "string", "asr_dest": "string", "par_mins_dest": "string", "tac_mins_dest": "string", "arr_gear_dest": "string", "pubs_dest": "string", "notams_dest": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_1": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_2": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_3": "string", "fuel_packet_dest_4": "string", "etc_dest": "string", "last_cruise_req_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_req_fuel": "string", "bingo_req_fuel": "string", "last_cruise_appr_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_appr_fuel": "string", "rwy_length_alt": "string", "lighting_alt": "string", "fuel_alt": "string", "ils_alt": "string", "loc_alt": "string", "asr_alt": "string", "par_mins_alt": "string", "tac_mins_alt": "string", "arr_gear_alt": "string", "pubs_alt": "string", "notams_alt": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_1": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_2": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_3": "string", "fuel_packet_alt_4": "string", "etc_alt": "string", "last_cruise_res_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_fuel": "string", "add_res_fuel": "string", "stto_fuel": "string", "total_req_fuel": "string", "total_aboard_fuel": "string", "spare_fuel": "string", "last_cruise_total_fuel": "string", "map_to_iaf_total_fuel": "string", "bingo_total": "string", "waypoint_1": "string", "waypoint_2": "string", "waypoint_3": "string", "waypoint_4": "string", "waypoint_5": "string", "waypoint_6": "string", "waypoint_7": "string", "waypoint_8": "string", "waypoint_9": "string", "waypoint_10": "string", "waypoint_11": "string", "waypoint_12": "string", "waypoint_13": "string", "waypoint_14": "string", "waypoint_15": "string", "waypoint_16": "string", "clearance_cleared_to": "string", "clearance_altitude": "string", "clearance_freq": "string", "clearance_transp": "string", "clearance_route": "string" } def encode_pdf_string(value, type): if type == 'string': if value: return pdfrw.objects.pdfstring.PdfString.encode(value.upper()) else: return pdfrw.objects.pdfstring.PdfString.encode('') elif type == 'checkbox': if value == 'True' or value == True: return pdfrw.objects.pdfname.BasePdfName('/Yes') # return pdfrw.objects.pdfstring.PdfString.encode('Y') else: return pdfrw.objects.pdfname.BasePdfName('/No') # return pdfrw.objects.pdfstring.PdfString.encode('') return '' class ProcessPdf: def __init__(self, temp_directory, output_file): print('\n########## Initiating Pdf Creation Process #########\n') print('\nDirectory for storing all temporary files is: ', temp_directory) self.temp_directory = temp_directory print("Final Pdf name will be: ", output_file) self.output_file = output_file def add_data_to_pdf(self, template_path, data): print('\nAdding data to pdf...') template = pdfrw.PdfReader(template_path) for page in template.pages: annotations = page['/Annots'] if annotations is None: continue for annotation in annotations: if annotation['/Subtype'] == '/Widget': if annotation['/T']: key = annotation['/T'][1:-1] if re.search(r'.-[0-9]+', key): key = key[:-2] if key in data: annotation.update( pdfrw.PdfDict(V=encode_pdf_string(data[key], FORM_KEYS[key])) ) annotation.update(pdfrw.PdfDict(Ff=1)) template.Root.AcroForm.update(pdfrw.PdfDict(NeedAppearances=pdfrw.PdfObject('true'))) pdfrw.PdfWriter().write(self.temp_directory + "data.pdf", template) print('Pdf saved') return self.temp_directory + "data.pdf" def convert_image_to_pdf(self, image_path, image_pdf_name): print('\nConverting image to pdf...') image = Image.open(image_path) image_rgb = image.convert('RGB') image_rgb.save(self.temp_directory + image_pdf_name) return self.temp_directory + image_pdf_name def add_image_to_pdf(self, pdf_path, images, positions): print('\nAdding images to Pdf...') file_handle = fitz.open(pdf_path) for position in positions: page = file_handle[int(position['page']) - 1] if not position['image'] in images: continue image = images[position['image']] page.insertImage( fitz.Rect(position['x0'], position['y0'], position['x1'], position['y1']), filename=image ) file_handle.save(self.temp_directory + "data_image.pdf") print('images added') return self.temp_directory + "data_image.pdf" def delete_temp_files(self, pdf_list): print('\nDeleting Temporary Files...') for path in pdf_list: try: os.remove(path) except: pass def compress_pdf(self, input_file_path, power=3): """Function to compress PDF via Ghostscript command line interface""" quality = { 0: '/default', 1: '/prepress', 2: '/printer', 3: '/ebook', 4: '/screen' } output_file_path = self.temp_directory + 'compressed.pdf' if not os.path.isfile(input_file_path): print("\nError: invalid path for input PDF file") sys.exit(1) if input_file_path.split('.')[-1].lower() != 'pdf': print("\nError: input file is not a PDF") sys.exit(1) print("\nCompressing PDF...") initial_size = os.path.getsize(input_file_path) subprocess.call(['gs', '-sDEVICE=pdfwrite', '-dCompatibilityLevel=1.4', '-dPDFSETTINGS={}'.format(quality[power]), '-dNOPAUSE', '-dQUIET', '-dBATCH', '-sOutputFile={}'.format(output_file_path), input_file_path] ) final_size = os.path.getsize(output_file_path) ratio = 1 - (final_size / initial_size) print("\nCompression by {0:.0%}.".format(ratio)) print("Final file size is {0:.1f}MB".format(final_size / 1000000)) return output_file_path 

Hi all,
Sorry this is probably the most basic question and I have been googling it , but I am struggling to find a ruler that I need for a project I am trying.
It is my first one so I was trying to make it as easy as possible on myself and gathering all the little bits I need to make the cutting and sizing process as easy as possible. Does anybody in the UK have a brand of rulers that has the kind I am looking for?
I have found a couple, but they are either too short or not flat tipped? What does the flat tip matter for? The pattern I am following does come with a template but I thought a see through ruller would be easier, as I had issues not getting exact sizes right on my last table runner project.

I am making a simple blog app in Django and learning in the process. I was successfully able to post comments but I am having difficulties in developing the reply system. The problem I am having is when the user wants to reply to a comment, if I can pass the id of that comment to which the user wants to reply to the parent in the Comment model, the reply system would be ready. Please guide me how to this. Also how to make replies nested?

#views.py class BlogDetailView(DetailView): # Post detail model = Post template_name = "post_detail.html" def get_context_data(self, *args, **kwargs): cat_menu = Category.objects.all() post=self.get_object() postid=post.pk comments = Comment.objects.filter(post=postid) context = super(BlogDetailView, self).get_context_data(*args, **kwargs) context["cat_menu"] = cat_menu context["comments"]=comments context["comment_form"]=CommentForm() return context def post(self, request, *args, **kwargs): if self.request.method == "POST": comment_form = CommentForm(self.request.POST) if comment_form.is_valid(): content = comment_form.cleaned_data["comment_body"] parent = comment_form.cleaned_data["parent"] if parent: # reply parent_comment = Comment.objects.get(pk=parent) new_comment = Comment( comment_body=content, name=self.request.user, post=self.get_object(), parent=parent_comment, ) new_comment.save() else: # If new comment i.e parent value is none new_comment = Comment( comment_body=content, name=self.request.user, post=self.get_object(), ) new_comment.save() return redirect(self.request.path_info) #models.py class Comment(models.Model): sno = models.AutoField(primary_key=True) post = models.ForeignKey(Post, on_delete=models.CASCADE, related_name="comments") parent = models.ForeignKey( "self", on_delete=models.CASCADE, null=True, blank=True, related_name="replies" ) name=models.ForeignKey("auth.User", on_delete=models.CASCADE) comment_body=models.TextField() comment_date=models.DateField(auto_now_add=True) timestamp= models.DateTimeField(default=now) def __str__(self): return self.comment_body[0:13] + "..." + "by" + " " + self.name.username #forms.py class CommentForm(forms.ModelForm): class Meta: model = Comment fields = ["comment_body", "parent"] labels = { "comment_body": _(""), } widgets = { "comment_body": forms.TextInput(), }