Timestamp: https://imgur.com/a/5FQLT06
Pics and serials: https://imgur.com/a/cd1CZIJ
I accept Paypal, Venmo, Cashapp, Zelle, Apple Pay.
Bundles > Dibs.

PM ME HERE: www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=ihategunz

Clone Correct URGI 10.3 Upper

Here i've got a clone correct URGI 10.3 in a smooth shade of DDC. All parts are unfired except for the BCG/CH and Upper receiver. Had this assembled and sitting in my closet for close to a year now, i love looking at it but it's time i sell some extras.
Parts List:
Surplus Colt 13629 Keyhole upper
Daniel Defense 10.3 Barrel NSN Marked w/ DD GB and Tube
Colt C stamped BCG
Geissele 9.3" MK16 DDC
Geissele DDC ACH, NSN Marked (shade matches MK16)
Surefire 4 Prong, NSN Marked
Cosmetic Condition: Like New, minimal salt.
Asking $1199 shipped

Sig 516 Full Auto 14.5 P/W Upper

SIG 516 OEM Upper, 14.5 P/W to 16" with SF3P Warcomp.
Catch and Release, 200 rounds total.
Not fired by me but swapped in Full Auto Cut BCG from a different 516. Comes with OEM CH too.
Cosmetic Condition: Like New, minimal salt.
$869 shipped

BCM BFH 14.5 P/W Upper

BCM OEM Upper with BFH ELW profile barrel
P/W 14.5 to 16 with SF3P Warcomp
Comes with Radian Raptor CH, BCM BCG, FCD EPC.
400-500 rounds
Cosmetic Condition: low salt
$799 $769 shipped

Geissele MK16 9.3" Black

Blemula but re-nitrided so the blemula logo is barely visible.
No salt like new. Barrel nut has some marks.
$199 shipped

Larue MBT2S

BNIB 2x flat (not skeleton).
$105 each

FCD Crap 🦆

• 2x BNIB CNF Black, $20 each
  
• 4x ABC/R serrated bolt catches, $55 each. 2x center, 2x forward biased
  

AR15 Spare Parts

• H&R A1 Upper Stripped (Grey): Mild salt from being thrown around in parts bin, $129 shipped
  
• Sig 3 Prong: $29
  
• Odin Works Carbine length Tube + Adjustable Gas Block: $49 shipped (100ish rounds)
  
• Daniel Defense Mid length tube + MK12 style Pinnable gas block: $69 shipped (500ish rounds)
  
• Mini King Comp from Strike Industries: $49 shipped
  
• 1x K2 Grip BNIB ODG: $20 shipped
  
• BCM BCG: $149 shipped, 300 rounds
  

BRN4 Parts from Forsaken Build

2x BNIB Operating Rods, $59 shipped each
1x Mounted unfired operating rod, $55 shipped

Mounts

Weaver Extra High 34mm Rings: $79 $49 New
Aimpoint PRO Riser spacer:, $10 addon
Nightforce 30mm 20MOA ultramount 1.54": $249 $199
Aimpoint Micro OEM Mount: same as this one https://aimpoint.us/micro-standard-mount-for-h-1-h-2-kit/ very light salt, $69 $49 shipped
ADM 30mm Mounts, one is 1316, one is 1324 and has 3 in cant. Comes with quality McMaster high carbon content screws.
$169 $159 each
Aimpoint Pro low Mount: $49 shipped
Looks like this but with a picatinny mount https://aimpoint.us/aimpoint-30mm-top-ring-fits-qrp2-tnp-lrp-not-required-for-compm4-series/

Sig MSR 1-6x

Sig MSR 1-6 with Mount
Light salt on mount and one of the turrets due to crowded safe. Glass is clean everything else looks great.
$239 shipped

Glock Stuff

Glock Sights: all takeoffs, $15 each. Tritium rear one is $30. $59 for all.
CAA MCK Microroni for G19/23/32: Mild salt, comes with flashlight. $169 shipped
Safariland 6360 ALS/SLS FOR g17/G22, Right Handed: $99 $79 shipped

AK Stuff

JMAC: Non-Folding Stock/Brace Mount for MRKT Trunnion: lnib $29 shipped
1913 Adapter for MRKT Trunnion: lnib $29 shipped

NVG Stuff

Norotos Mount + Head Mount + J arm + Infrared tag for dog leash: $99 $89 $79 shipped

Random Shit

Magpul Sling Mount RSA: $24 shipped
Bushmaster Commercial Spec Stock: $29 shipped
Tenebraex M68-ARD, works with Aimpoint PRO: $30 light salted but no structural damage to honeycomb
Aimpoint P2 Cap OEM: free addon
Benelli M4 Mesa Tactical Stock with comfortgrip, cheek riser and newest lock washer: $119 shipped
Geissele buffer tubes: 1x ddc, 1x odg, $59 each. Light salt
A2 Stock: $39 shipped
Hera Arms CQR Gen 2 ODG kit: $99 shipped
VLTOR IMOD Stock, Standard Butt SOPMOD looking thing: one of the plugs is missing, slightly salty, $69 shipped

Patches

Also patches if you would like some: https://www.reddit.com/GunAccessoriesForSale/s/NzKFRKbgjL

I know a lot of producers have talked about unsolicited feedback in the past but this post isn't about that. It's about feedback for various projects and feedback that gets requested and given. This also applies equally to original production in many cases.
A good number of mashup producers do not tend to master or don't apply limiters on tracks, or just make them softer compared to commercial levels. When albums get mastered, loudness will usually be adjusted through various plugins (EQ, multiband compressors, limiters, clippers, etc.) to shape masters so that one track is not significantly louder or softer than another especially back-to-back and groups of tracks follow a certain sound.
What this means is that once your softer mashup of -14 or -15 LUFS or softer is amplified to commercial levels in the -7 to -11 LUFS range or more depending on genre and how the overall track should sound given peaks and valleys with softer and louder parts (LUFS stands for loudness units full scale, look that up), small issues may stand out like thorns when amplified. Bottom line: Don't take the small or big issues personally; we're all human, we all miss things, and we can all improve. You may learn something new!
Think of it like how you ask to proofread writing to check for spelling or grammar and have it work for the audience.
All this to say, feedback I give or others give based on small details may come across as nit-picks at first. Don't completely discount them. You never know who will want to play your tracks, and this could range from personal playlists all the way up to DJ gigs and big festival stages.
In the case of a club DJ or performances on festival stages, volumes will be significantly louder than what you may have worked with when you created the track. I've given the restaurant food analogy before but I'll give it again: If something clearly doesn't taste good, people won't usually know why. But an experienced chef who knows how the ingredients interact sure will.
Just something to think about as you improve on mashup production and production in general.
Here are some issues below that experienced mashup producers could point out. Note that a lot of the "don't do this" stuff is really code for "don't do this unless you really know you're doing and it sounds good":

Big issues

• Out of key (OOK): This refers to wrong key signature (e.g. mixing A Minor with B Minor), not blue notes from modes or short moments of modulation. Key rule of thumb: If you're going to use key databases, verify by ear. Tunebat is the least accurate. If you must do so, use a reliable key database like the ones in this post. DJ software can work, but some automatic key detection performs better than others and are far from perfect. Above all, databases are not perfect and some will be far from it, so ears will be the final judge of whether a pairing sounds good.
• Out of tempo/time (OOT): this usually refers to wrong tempo (e.g. mixing a 116 BPM track with a 118 BPM track) or not constant tempo and going out of time. Key rule of thumb: Sync your tracks and if you need to use any form of warping (see Ableton), be prepared to do so.
• Too much going on (a.k.a. playing both songs at the same time): This happens when playing multiple main elements at the same time to the point where multiple elements or entire songs played together clash in key, progression, or other things to make the combination sound unpleasant and hard to listen to. Sometimes this can sound really good if the progressions are compatible, but generally, less is more.
• Incorrect/bad beat alignment: This is more for when a vocal or element is offbeat enough that it really sticks out as a trainwreck when mixed together
• Wrong beat/out of structure/off structure/bad phrasing: This is when a vocal or other element is placed on a beat that doesn't make sense for what it's combined with (e.g. placing the first word of a vocal over an instrumental on beat 2 when it was meant for beat 1). Mileage will vary, sometimes the vocal beat placement only makes sense for the original song and makes less sense on others.
• Distortion from going in the red: This is when the overall mix or elements sound distorted because the volume of each track channel is too loud and either alone or combined goes well above 0 dBFS (a.k.a. into the red). Key rule of thumb: Start your track volumes at -6 dB (not 0 dB) and then adjust to taste. Don't go into the red unless you absolutely know what you're doing.
• Elements way too soft or loud: This is more along the lines of not being able to hear the added vocals or elements at all or they're too loud that you can't hear the other elements in the mix.
• Big mood mismatch: This tends to be less egregious, but if sources don't cooperate at all to a point of completely ruining the vibe, the mashup could stick out like a sore thumb from the start. Mileage will vary, and sometimes your audience would appreciate this especially with genre clashes even to the point of creating memes. But it depends on what you're going for, and sometimes you want consistency for certain albums and groups of tracks.

Smaller issues

• Fifth traps/not picking the right keys to use: This is a specific version of another problem I'll touch on, but this happens when you mix keys fifths or fourths away (e.g. F Major and C Major) and the chord progressions don't cooperate. What makes this a trap is that the pairing might appear to sound good at first glance, but when you look back at what you made, you probably could have made a better sounding pairing if you had just picked sources in key, relative key (e.g. A Minor and C Major), or parallel to the mode type (i.e. A Minor with A Dorian since Dorian is a minor mode). This Berklee Online article is a really good starting point to modes. With modes, mileage will vary.
• Out of progression/blue notes: This can happen when there are short moments where the element clashes on top of other elements (e.g. modes or short moments of different modulation). Sometimes the tracks may not be compatible, but other times it's just a part with notes outside the scale. This can be fixed by doing small note changes, but be careful not to make it too obvious, otherwise it might sound like you're forcing the pairing to work. It may also follow the same theme as fifth traps, where you could have made a better sounding pairing if you had just picked sources in key, relative key (e.g. A Minor and C Major), or parallel to the mode type (i.e. A Minor with A Dorian since Dorian is a minor mode). This Berklee Online article is a really good starting point to modes. With modes, mileage will vary.
• Low quality sources: This happens with YouTube or other rips where the elements are lower quality due to a lower frequency cutoff (YouTube is usually 15.5 kHz for AAC, other platforms may be 15-16 kHz for 128 kbps MP3, etc.). Bottom line: Get the highest quality sources you can, and use Spek or another spectrum analysis software to check rips or record pool sources. Your ears and processing algorithms will thank you. Again, you never know who will listen to or play out your track, could even be a big sound system.
• Stem separation artifacts: This can take several different forms, but can happen when either the invert or stem separation algorithm being used adds noise or other unwanted high end artifacts like high hats that once amplified, will absolutely stand out in a mix. This also includes artifacts from stem separation algorithms like Utagoe which make vocals sound like they're underwater at default settings. Key rule of thumb: Remember that the instrumental and original could be mixed and mastered differently depending on the production environment and how masters spread. If an invert makes a vocal stand out more but just needs extra cleaning, don't be afraid to combine the invert technique (original + instrumental) with stem separation. When using multiple stem separation techniques or using different sources (like remix + remix instrumental), think about how they sound on parts of the instrumental and consider picking the best extraction for a given part; remember that this includes using the original song (this is called comping in the production world). If there are parts of vocals intended to be silent and there are artifacts, don't be afraid to replace the reverb + delay with your own. Keep up to date with stem separation algorithms by keeping up with developments on the Audio Separation Discord server: https://discord.gg/wY3AAaTvHT
• A little too much going on: This happens in many cases when looking at megamashups, megamixes, and even simpler overlap of vocals where too many elements are competing for space at some point (e.g. two vocals at the same time competing for mono or midrange). Key rule of thumb: In production just as in life, leave elbow room! With vocals, this can be done by overlapping a lead source that's more mono (e.g. lead vocal) with a background source that's more stereo (e.g. background vocals or vocal pad). When transitioning, it's also really useful to slightly pan or automate pan and volume of the vocal you're trying to brief in, which can include repeating the first word or few words of a phrase. Volume and EQ may also be useful here to properly convey space.
• Weird time-stretch and pitch-shift artifacts: This can happen when using a lower quality time-stretch or a time-stretch that can destroy transients/drum hits (Audacity or Elastique Efficient on vocals, older Elastique Pro on full instrumentals) or pitching too much and/or with too much/little formant preserve. The best way to reduce these effects on instrumental is to think about combining stem separation with ways to improve quality (pitch everything BUT the drums unless tonal, experiment with different time stretch methods on different elements, etc.). For too much pitch or formant preserve, either pick sources that are closer in key (+/- 2 semitones is a good rule of thumb) and try to control the amount of formant preservation and/or envelope (in Ableton) to make the vocals sound more natural. Formant preserve is usually a good idea for pitched vocals, but can sound bad for pitched instrumentals especially drums depending on the track.
• Pops or clicks while editing: This tends to happen when elements like vocals are cut off when not at zero volume. Key rule of thumb: Edit to zero crossing and/or use fades to cut off regions or when combining different regions together.
• Flanging, phasing, or flamming while editing: Sometimes these effects are on purpose, but oftentimes when crossfading between different parts of an instrumental, both parts of the edit don't align on beat. Flanging and phasing applies for sample level edits (ms or more), flamming for tenths or hundredths of seconds (e.g. 0.05 sec or 0.1 sec). Flamming is a drumming term for when the same part of the drum kit (usually the snare drum) is hit twice with different sticks at close to but not exactly the same time.
• Vocals or other elements end too suddenly in an edit: You may want to get different vocals to interact with each other or edit out of artifacts from vocal stem separation, but the other vocal (or elements) sound like they were cut off. Key rule of thumb: Have a reverb effect handy, and if you're working in a DAW, take advantage of wet/dry automation and combine the reverb with delay afterwards in the effect chain for vocals and other elements so when you crank up the wet the decay helps fade out the element gracefully.
• Vocals or other elements start too suddenly or out of place when connecting them or transitioning: This also considers getting different vocals or other elements to work together or going to a new part, but refers to a new part using vocals or other elements sounding out of place at the beginning of a region in a transition. Key rule of thumb: Watch your crossfades and when you're in a pinch and want to start the next part gracefully, don't be afraid to use reverse reverb or other effect like a riser to introduce a completely new element or different part in a pinch. Reverse reverb is exactly what it sounds: Adding reverb to a short snippet of an element like a cymbal, vocal note, or pad, and then applying reverse on it. Often this is done by choosing a tonal center to transition into, choosing a small snippet to add reverb to, choosing reverb with a long decay time and big space (usually I do a Cathedral reverb), reversing it, and then carefully aligning the reverse reverb so the end of it hits the beginning of the next region. Whew that was a lot! Tutorials will do this much more justice but this is the general idea.
• Vocals too dry or too wet for the instrumental: Usually this depends on the instrumental's genre. For genres like pop or EDM, vocals tend to have some reverb applied to make them shine. For others like alternative and some classic hip-hop, the reverb might be less or no wet or a completely different type. This issue usually refers to too little reverb (too dry) or too much reverb (too wet). Key rule of thumb: Don't forget to have reverb handy. You might need it. Keep your wet low in the middle of a vocal depending on what you're trying to do (think 3-5% wet or - on the low side
• Vocals or other elements slightly too loud or soft: Self-explanatory, this is usually an issue where elements should be the right volume for elements to work well together.
• Vocals or other elements drowned out/don't gel due to hypercompression: This usually happens when using a vocal not from an EDM, hyperpop, hard rock, or other genre where there is hypercompression but no matter how much volume amount you try elements like vocals don't gel and compete for space in the mid range. Two common techniques take the form of adding more compression to a vocal to stand up to an hypercompressed instrumental and/or reducing mid band EQ of the other source (which could come from sidechaining). For the added compression, it tends to be done with either multiple compressors in series (e.g. two compressors using low threshold + high ratio and high threshold + low ratio) or through various guitar distortion plugins on settings meant for vocals (e.g. Camelcrusher with British Clean or certain presets of OTT). Don't be afraid to experiment.
• Master too loud or soft for the genre: This usually takes the form of using limiters and other effects to make certain tracks too loud for the genre intended, or not using anything at all and the track is too soft for the genre/commercial sound. This can come down to taste, but how a track was produced can affect how loud you master. Mileage will vary; listen to how loud tracks are made and emulate your favorites assuming nothing too egregious.
• Stereo issues: This can happen if there are elements out of phase when trying to combine mono and stereo or applying other effects. It's a bit more difficult to diagnose, but one rule of thumb is to test your overall track on different playback systems (from headphones to big speakers and even your phone or small bluetooth speaker which will effectively test mono depending on the device).

Wow that was a lot and I know it's very overwhelming who don't produce a ton. There might be more issues I didn't mention here, so let me know if there's anything else that could be useful.
Update 1: Added "bad phrasing" under the off structure issue, this is the DJing term for it
Update 2: Added two variations of "too much going on" to the bigger and smaller issues

video link
In this i tell a story of my school it is a very funny and entertaining story of my life to watch with friends
Is video mein mene apni school ki story ke bare mein btaya hai ke mene kis tarah se cheating ki or pakra nahin gya ye bht mazedar video hao apne doston ke sath dekhne ke lye
Why i not caught for cheating
Best way for cheating
Commentary/Voice Disclaimer: Please don't go out of your way to or hate on anyone I talk about in my videos, this channel is to entertain people andl usually focus on joking and criticising about what the people are doing not the individual themselves, please don't go spreading hate it's all for laughs.
I Make Entertaining Reviews About Pakistani and indian social, Youtube, instagram, tv industry, tiktok and other famous topics . And These Reviews Are Under YouTube Community Guidelines Policies. These Are Fan Made Entertaining Videos For Just Entertaining Purpose So Keep Smiling)
Copyright Disclaimer: The Use Of This Title and images Given In This Video Under The Fair Usage Policy For Review Of Drama and other social topic That Allows To Use For Comments, Entertainment And Positive Criticism Purpose Qualifies As Fare Use Under US Copyright Law Because These Are 1) Non Commercial 2) Transformative In Nature 3) Does Not nagetively affected The Original Content
Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use. Source Of Images:Google
Thanks For Visiting:) Source Of Images:Google

Timestamp:https://imgur.com/a/PumKsSb
Up for your consideration this fine evening:
Rogers superstoc with colt branding. Very low salt. $50
Larue c-note with tools and sticker. Like new. $80
Midwest industries 12" 308 rail. It came off of a dpms. $130
Hogue stock/grip set. Some salt on the stock, grip on better condition. $30
Free add ons:
Dpms commercial stock and buffer tube.
Magpul moe+ fde grip. Missing bottom plate and screw.
Prices are shipped. PayPal f&f or add the g&s fee if you prefer. Send an offer if you don't like the price.
Trade interest:
Lr308 mags
Carbine handguard with mlok or rails
Springfield xd 16rd mags
Olight or streamlight handgun light
25mm scope mount
30 cal 5/8 brake

I am fairly confident the title is male authors or something very similar, except YouTube keeps showing me poems by men. It’s a woman. The poem is complaining about male authors. The memorable line for me is “The two cigarettes agreed.”

Hey all! So I wanted to give a part two since I'm not high now lol, and also I wanted to clear up some things and add in some other details I left out that I just remembered. If you haven't seen the first part of this post then I suggest going to that, otherwise you'll be very confused. Also, I forgot to add this in my first post but DON'T READ if triggered by certain topics like r*ape, SA, murder, abuse, etc. Another thing is, this post is going to be a lot darker and aside from talking about what happened, I'm also looking for advice on my mental state and how to cope. So please read with caution because I'm going to be talking about what happened with B, but also about my past before him and how what happened is affecting my past trauma.
So, I'm not going to retell the whole story but I am going to be bringing up a lot of parts from it and things I didn't realize until after the incident happened. And some of the things I didn't think of until my friend brought it up. So in my first post, I was talking about how B (26M) was REALLY into Jeffrey Dahmer. Well, in the show we watched with Evan Peters, I noticed a lot of things Jeffrey did as well as already knowing a lot about him before watching it. I noticed that B was doing a lot of things similar to him. Now, I forgot to add in this part last time, but B was really 'straight phobic.' Now I'm a bi transman but I don't hate cis / straight people. In fact, a lot of my friends are cis and in straight relationships. For some reason though, he did, to a weird extent. And even though he was being respectful in the beginning, I'm starting to get a feeling he wasn't actually gay or cared about trans people. Because it seems as though ALL of his former partners were transmen. Which isn't that weird I guess, and he did tell me he tried dating a cis man before but it didn't work. After I met him in person he was telling me that he really liked his trans partners to still have sex vaginally and he liked tits. So, I was kind of confused at that. I think what was really going on was that he isn't gay but wanted to be so he could be like Jeffrey Dahmer. I know it's a bit of a stretch, but you'll see why later. So another thing is, Jeffrey would always ask his potential victims to go back to his place for drinks and to take photos, particularly sexual ones. Jeffrey would then lace the drinks and go on to do weird things to his victims while taking their pictures. And while I was trapped at his place, B kept pushing alcohol on me, A LOT. So much so, that when I kept refusing he started getting angry. However, once I pretended to take a sip it was like his whole attitude changed. He also kept joking it was laced, like EVERYTIME he offered me some. Even though I didn't actually drink any, like I said in the first post, I still got a few drops on my lips and in my mouth. After that I started to get a headache and was a bit dizzy. Also, he had told me before that he liked to take pictures of his partners in sexual poses while they held his guns. Aside from the guns, that's EXACTLY WHAT JEFFREY WOULD DO. For some reason, I didn't piece any of this together until afterwards. I guess I was too shaken up to think clearly. I said this before as well, but when I first entered his house, it was pitch black and he had black out curtains on EVERY WINDOW in his house. His bedroom, living room, kitchen, I mean his whole house made it seem like it was night outside. Another thing that is eerily similar to Jeffrey, is that B told me before I met him in person he always liked dating someone younger. I, at the time, was nineteen and he was twenty five, about to turn twenty six. I honestly don't know what was wrong with me so have not seen the BIG RED FLAGS in the beginning, but he played it off so well I didn't even notice them until after everything happened. And it isn't like me to go for older guys, I usually try to go for someone two years older or younger than me, as I don't like have a huge age gap between me and my partner. Anyway though, Jeffrey always went for younger guys, as well as sometimes KIDS. So, that's another thing similar between them, as well as the fact that B told me he was into little brother play. Where he makes his partners act like a younger brother during sex, etc. He also told me he liked for his partners to SUCK ON BINKIES. BRUHHHH, no thanks bro, I'm good. See, if it was just one of these things that he liked / was into, then I guess it would be normal. Just a guy into a weird ass kink, but all these things combined just did not sit right with me as well as how he was acting. Now, I said in my other post that basically the ENTIRE TIME I was with him, he had a weird ass expression on his face that made me uncomfortable. I wish I could explain better, but it was like constipated / confused look, like Edward from Twilight when he does those weird facial expressions. His brows were always furrowed and he looked like he was uncomfortable / anxious the whole time. He was being super sketchy. His body language was just really off-putting and made me feel weird. And the thing he kept ranting about the most was how Jeffrey Dahmer was misunderstood and just needed someone to be there for him, and then maybe he wouldn't have killed people. The thing that scared me the most was how he said he felt the same way, that he wished he could just have someone not leave him and how he had trust issues after his former partners. Especially the one I mentioned in the last post, about how his ex partner before me snuck out in the middle of the night and got his family to come get him. His family lived across the country, so it had to have been pretty bad for his ex to call his parents and tell them to come get him. Because they drove across multiple different states to come pick him up in the middle of the night so he could sneak away. I have a major feeling that B left out a lot of their fight and why his ex actually left. Not to mention while I was with him, he watched every move I made and wouldn't let me get on my phone without him seeing what I was doing / texting to people. I have a feeling if he thought I was trying to leave him he would've done something bad. Just like Jeffrey. Jeffrey wouldn't always hurt his victims (Not at first anyway) it was always when they said they had to leave that he would get angry and force them to stay. So, idk man, I could've been killed or worse. Also, I know I said I could've been killed or worse, and some of you are probably thinking what's worse than being killed? Well, to me, a lot of things he could've done would have been worse. Especially if he was trying to be like Dahmer, then I could've gotten acid injected into my brain or been r*aped. Which is exactly what I think he was trying to do, with how much alcohol he was trying to push on me. He also kept 'petting' me and touching my thighs while he told me all the ways he'd kill me 'if he was a serial killer.' I genuinely think that something bad would've happened if I didn't have one HELL of an excuse to leave. Because honestly, my mom couldn't have given a better excuse for me to go that also sounded real and not like a lie. Because, like I said before, I had told him before I met him that my mother had health issues and was always in and out of the hospital, so it was perfect that she used that as an excuse. He got really cold and wasn't speaking to me when he heard my phone call and that I had to leave, but I think if I would've tried to leave without that excuse or by giving him an obvious lie, then I might not be here. I'm also super grateful to my best friends who let me come to their place and stay late instead of going home. Me and my best friend, basically my sister, have talked about this a lot since it happened and every time we do, we try to rationalize why someone would act like that, other than being an actual serial killer / r*pist. But we can never think of a reason besides the fact that he simply is what he seems like. A really unhinged person who could've hurt me badly. Also, this was my FIRST TRUE experience in online dating and I honestly think I'm never going to try that again. I've run into so many creeps trying to date online, AND in real life. Most people who aren't trans probably don't realize or know this, but there are a lot of men that want to do really weird and fucked up things to trans people because I guess they think we are some mutant or something, or 'the best of both worlds.' I've run into them a lot, and when I met B, I thought that was over. I thought I had met an actual good person who was educated on trans topics and was respectful of my boundaries and my body. Nope. Now I'm starting to think dating, at least where I live now, is almost impossible and I think I'm going to be alone for awhile. :') Not to mention, I'm now traumatized after what happened with B, and I already had trouble trusting men, and just people in general. Before meeting him I have already been SAed before, multiple times. I guess I'm simply asking for advice on how to move on from something like this. I was trying, and doing kind of ok, moving on from things that had happened before I met B, but now after what happened with him I feel like I'm back sliding and it's making me relive all my past traumas. I basically trust no one, when it comes to sexual things, besides my two best friends I've known since childhood. I tend to over sexualize everything, even things that aren't sexual at all, and get scared around ANYONE, even family members, who I know deep down don't see me like that. I was also abused as a kid and wasn't able to get out of it until I was eighteen, and I've only just turned twenty now, so it wasn't even until two years ago I was still being abused. I feel I've fallen into the dark again and my panic attacks have gotten worse again. I feel depressed and I didn't realize until recently that I'm suicidal again. I didn't realize it until recently, because when I was younger and suicidal, I knew I was. I've tried unaliving myself before so I didn't think about it because I don't feel that way now. It's different this time. Instead of my thoughts directly wanting me to pull out a gun and, ya know, this time it's more subtle and more of a subconscious action. Like closing my eyes for a few seconds while driving. Or intrusive thoughts about ramming head first into the car in the other lane. Or going hiking and thinking of what it would feel like to step off the cliff. I'm honestly just tired. I feel like every person I meet has some kind of ulterior motive, whatever it is. I'm working at a really nice job but it seems like every time I save up money and am doing good for my future, I have to use it on something unexpected that pops into my life. I'm living with my grandparents for now because they said they weren't going to charge me rent, and I'm super grateful for that, but even still I can't keep money and I kind of just don't see my future anymore. Both my parents were drug addicts, my mother to pain pills then xans after that, my father was mainly an alcoholic but also did meth, pills, and other things. It doesn't help because when I was younger, around my early teen years (13-16) I started smoking cigs when I was 12, then I started smoking weed, which I still do, but then it got worse and I've tried xans, snorting pills I didn't even know what they were, drinking, and I've even done shrooms and LSD. I've also had some really bad trips on LSD that made my severe panic disorder worse and after that I now disassociate a lot too and have trouble knowing if I'm in reality while having a panic attack. And after what happened with B, his house and the smell (Cigs and booze) just reminded me what it was like living with my parents in that crack house looking trailer. It's like my brain won't let me let go of the past and move on. It's like I'm constantly stuck there still. And aside from dating, it's also super hard to meet people as friends where I live. I love my two best friends, one of which has been with me since we were basically fetuses and her parents and mine were friends, so her parents were also abusive drug addicts. It's nice to have someone so close and how we can relate to what we went through. We joke that we were traumatized by our parents, but also by each other's parents as well lol. Even though I'm grateful for them, you never know what's going to happen in the future and I don't want to be solely dependent on them and be able to make new friends, but I just can't. I feel so alone, and my friend I grew up with has been moved out a lot longer than me and has had time to heal, and I don't wanna keep dumping my mental problems on her because it's unfair to her. I feel like I'm just bringing her back to our past with me. When I moved out, I completely cut ties with my father, I don't even like calling him that, as he was the first person to SA me and he is, in general, and evil person. I try to think that evil people don't exist, but then I think of him and I realize they do. My mom though, is a good person when she isn't on anything. Recently though, I blocked her and haven't talked to her in over a month because she OD again on xans and amphetamines. I kind of realized recently that she is almost as bad as my father, even though I never wanted to admit that to myself. Because when I was younger, I admitted to her that he had SAed me and she kept pressuring me to tell her what happened, like, IN DETAIL. I told her no because I didn't want to relive it and think about it, even now I have a lot of repressed memories. And because I wouldn't tell her EXACTLY what happened, she doesn't believe. I think she does, deep down, but she doesn't want it to be real. And after her OD last month, she tried telling me she didn't and that it was just her BLOOD PRESSURE. LIKE OH MY GOD BITCH, WHY DO YOU LIE? She must think I'm stupid or something. Before I blocked her, I cussed her out over text and said something like "Who do you think was the first person at the hospital? Not grandma, not your husband, ME. I've always been there for you first. Who do you think told me you had OD? The doctors when I first got there!" And she still denies it, even though when me and my friend got the hospital she was lying there naked (they had to cut her clothes off to save her) with a breathing tube stuck down her throat. I've tried helping her my whole life but apparently she doesn't want help. So now I've gotten tired of her BS and I blocked her and now my grandma is pressuring me to talking to her, luckily though, my grandpa went through something similar as a kid and understands how it is so he isn't guilt tripping me into talking with her. I'm just tired of having to put into traumatic situations. My mental health just keeps getting worse. Somehow, trauma always finds me and nowadays, it seems my only friends are my demons. It used to not be like this, but now even when I'm with my two closest friends, I still feel lonely. Like they are reminding me that when I leave my friends, I'm alone again. Anyway, I know this probably isn't the right subreddit for this, but I kind of just started ranting, sorry for that.
Also, to clear some things up, no I don't use drugs, not anymore. I've never really been an addict at all in my life, somehow. I just did drugs because I wanted to escape when I was younger, and thankfully I never got addicted to any of them. Not like you can get addicted to LSD or shrooms anyway. The only thing I've got addicted to was cigarettes, which rn, is the least of my concerns. And as for weed, I used to be a major stoner but it started making my panic attacks worse so I stopped for a few years, cold turkey, and only recently started smoking it again. So, I'm not worried about weed and if anything, it's been helping now. Especially since I don't smoke it nearly as much as I used to. So, for those worried about me being or getting on drugs, don't worry I'm fine. I have made a clear boundary for myself to never do anything besides smoking my cigs and weed. Cause I've seen how drugs affect my parents and others I've known and I've sworn to myself that I won't become them. It also sucks though because I see psychedelics as something that can help a lot of people with trauma, and the first shrooms trip I ever did changed my life for the better. Now though, after my bad LSD trip, I don't know if I can every do them again. Maybe one day, but not for the foreseeable furture. Again, sorry for going on a rant. I'll probably post this to another subreddit and see if anyone can help. I'm not looking for therapy as I don't have the money or health insurance. Just looking for someone who can relate that has been able to move past similar things and find happiness. If you've read this far, thank you. Like seriously, from the bottom of my heart. It means a lot to me that someone would read about another person's problems and life experience. I hope whoever is reading this is having a great day / night wherever you are, and are living your best life. And for those reading that are going through a similar situation right now and can't get out, I promise you aren't alone. I haven't really gotten better, so I can't say things get better, but I can say it DOES get easier. All I can say is, you aren't alone in it. There are others, like me, who know your pain. Keep living, it'll be worth it. Even though I'm not doing my best and my mental problems are still with me, that doesn't mean it's all been bad. I've made a lot of amazing memories after I moved out. Keep going.

Using a burner account because of the nature of this post.
I want to supply some context before jumping into the issue. I have two sisters and we were raised in a very emotionally, physically and domestically abusive household. We all went through a lot of dark and horrible things that children should never have to experience.
My eldest sister who this post is about has two children. Both not planned, and were born less than a year apart from each other. The father is in the picture but mentally unstable. My sister is not financially stable but always make sure that her children are fed well dressed and overall taken care of.
However the oldest of her children a five-year-old is out of control in terms of her behaviour. Drawing all her the house in Nutella, pens, makeup, etc. breaking toys, not listening to anything my sister tells her. Watching things too grown up for her on YouTube which is leading to her wetting the bed every night. She also has a new tendency of grinding food that my sister has bought into the carpet with her feet. Obviously this is not the child’s fault and is down to a lack of proper parenting
However I truly believe that my sister is trying to parent them, but is failing to get through to them. My sister has a very stressful life and itself her boyfriend is present but is in and out of jobs making them financially unstable and she relies on my father for money. She hates her job but has to remain there to try and fund their lives. Her house is the messiest house I think I’ve ever seen to the point where it is a safety hazard. She’s so stressed out that she smokes maybe five cigarettes an hour.
However,
She told me today that her five-year-old pushed her to her limits and she smacked her on the bum. This is something that makes me highly uncomfortable. And I’m not sure whether to report this social services.
It is evident that she cares for these children and love for them so much. I just don’t think she had time to learn how to parent or time to process the fact she was even having children to begin with.
Any advice is welcome, I’m not a parent myself, just a concerned aunt who wants to help.

Prior to the Weekend 1 update, the entirety of FNF (assets and code) was licensed under the Apache 2.0 permissive license. The general gist of the Apache license is "you can use our stuff but you gotta give proper credit" (it's obviously a bit more complex than that). This permissive license allowed the modding scene to explode since mod makers were given permission to create any derivative works they wanted using the FNF assets.
However, this has also led to bad actors creating for-profit bootlegs that still could technically comply with the license, with the biggest offenders seeming to be unofficial Roblox games. As a result, the FNF team has stated that that the license for FNF would be changed going forward to prevent this.
With the release of Weekend 1 update, this change has been put into place. The FNF source has basically been split into separate repositories. The code for the game engine itself remains unchanged under the Apache 2.0 license. But assets/art have been placed into separate repositories with their own license, or rather with no license. All of the game's assets (art, music, sound effects, even the charting for some reason) are proprietary, with copyright and trademark enforcement specifically stated.
With this new licensing, mod creators cannot include any of the base game assets without committing copyright/trademark violations. This includes BF/GF/Pico/etc character sprites, the vanilla FNF noteskin, any vanilla FNF stage background, the FNF alphabet sprites, etc.
Furthermore, copyright enforcement also means you cannot be compliant if you include any derivative works based on the game assets. Or in other words, you cannot create/distribute anything based on a preexisting FNF asset without it being illegal. For example, including any vanilla FNF character in your mod whatsoever would violate the license. Even if you draw entirely new sprites of BF, the new sprites would be considered derivative works of the original BF (and no, creating B-side/C-side/D-side/Æ-side versions of BF doesn't bypass this) and thus would be a license violation. You also risk violations by including remixes of vanilla FNF songs in your mod for the same reason. Even if you made an original song, you could still be violating the license if you include BF's voice.
What this means is that going forward, mod creators cannot have their mods be compliant with the FNF license while including any assets taken from or based on what already exists in FNF. Everything in the mod would need to be 100% original to be compliant. Original music, original characters, original backgrounds, original UI, etc.
On a side note, this also means that any FNF video content online (such as on YouTube or Twitch) henceforth also risks copyright/trademark violations. This includes streams, reaction videos, gameplay videos, remixes, and fan animations. These types of videos would all be copyright/trademark violations due to distributing FNF intellectual property without permission.
Interestingly, it seems that the original plan was to have the assets use a modified version of the Apache 2.0 license, one that would only permit non-commercial use. This would've made it legal (i.e. compliant with the license) to make stuff like mods. But that seems to have been dropped at some point.
Realistically, the FNF team most likely won't persecute mods and fan videos even though they're technically illegal (they'll probably go after for-profit stuff though). I don't think they've changed their personal stance on mods (which is that they like mods), only their legal stance. But this does mean that for example, you can't put your FNF work in your portfolio since they're technically unauthorized works now. Also, since most types of mods are not legally allowed, this probably also means that the FNF team won't be setting up an official mod portal/site for FNF. So we're gonna keep using GameBanana, I guess.
That being said, this creates a grey area for stuff like putting ads on FNF gameplay videos or taking comissions to make FNF songs/sprites. I am unsure what the FNF team's stance is on something like this, whether they would choose to take legal action against this kind of behavior or not. To be on the safe side, I would suggest not putting ads on any videos involving FNF, and not taking/paying comissions for FNF mod assets (unless the assets created comply with the FNF licenses, i.e. are 100% original).

ChatGPT:
Roland Barthes, the French literary theorist and philosopher, would likely approach the Logan Paul vs. Mike Tyson bout through the lens of semiotics, the study of signs and symbols, and their use or interpretation. Here’s how Barthes might analyze this event:

1. Mythologies and the Construction of Modern Myths:
   Barthes' work in "Mythologies" would lead him to view the bout as a modern myth. He would see the fight as more than a physical contest; it’s a spectacle that communicates broader cultural narratives. Logan Paul, a YouTube celebrity, represents the new age of digital fame, while Mike Tyson symbolizes the traditional, almost mythic, figure of the legendary boxer. The bout is a clash between these two cultural epochs.
   
2. Signifiers and Signified:
   Barthes would break down the event into its constituent signs. The fighters themselves, the media coverage, the audience reactions, and the commercial aspects all serve as signifiers that point to deeper societal values and ideologies. For instance, Tyson might signify nostalgia, raw physicality, and the bygone era of boxing glory, whereas Paul signifies contemporary celebrity culture, the commodification of personal brand, and the power of social media influence.
   
3. The Spectacle and the Role of Media:
   Barthes might discuss how the bout is a spectacle orchestrated by media forces. He would argue that the event is less about the sport of boxing and more about the entertainment value, the media buzz, and the narratives constructed around it. The pre-fight hype, promotional videos, and social media interactions serve to build a narrative that engages the audience emotionally and financially.
   
4. Cultural Consumption and Audience Engagement:
   The audience’s engagement with the bout could be seen as an act of cultural consumption. Barthes might analyze how viewers are not just passive consumers but actively participate in the creation of meaning around the event. They bring their own interpretations, biases, and emotions, which in turn feed back into the media narrative, creating a dynamic loop of meaning-making.
   
5. The Role of the "Punctum":
   Drawing from his later work in "Camera Lucida," Barthes might look for the "punctum" in the event—those unexpected, poignant details that personally affect and puncture the viewer's perception. This could be a moment during the fight, an expression on the fighters' faces, or an incident that transcends the planned spectacle and resonates on a deeper, more personal level with the audience.
   

In essence, Barthes would likely view the Logan Paul vs. Mike Tyson bout not just as a sporting event, but as a rich, layered cultural phenomenon ripe for semiotic analysis.

Chat GPT:
Roland Barthes, the French literary theorist and philosopher, would likely approach the Logan Paul vs. Mike Tyson bout through the lens of semiotics, the study of signs and symbols, and their use or interpretation. Here’s how Barthes might analyze this event:

1. Mythologies and the Construction of Modern Myths:
   Barthes' work in "Mythologies" would lead him to view the bout as a modern myth. He would see the fight as more than a physical contest; it’s a spectacle that communicates broader cultural narratives. Logan Paul, a YouTube celebrity, represents the new age of digital fame, while Mike Tyson symbolizes the traditional, almost mythic, figure of the legendary boxer. The bout is a clash between these two cultural epochs.
   
2. Signifiers and Signified:
   Barthes would break down the event into its constituent signs. The fighters themselves, the media coverage, the audience reactions, and the commercial aspects all serve as signifiers that point to deeper societal values and ideologies. For instance, Tyson might signify nostalgia, raw physicality, and the bygone era of boxing glory, whereas Paul signifies contemporary celebrity culture, the commodification of personal brand, and the power of social media influence.
   
3. The Spectacle and the Role of Media:
   Barthes might discuss how the bout is a spectacle orchestrated by media forces. He would argue that the event is less about the sport of boxing and more about the entertainment value, the media buzz, and the narratives constructed around it. The pre-fight hype, promotional videos, and social media interactions serve to build a narrative that engages the audience emotionally and financially.
   
4. Cultural Consumption and Audience Engagement:
   The audience’s engagement with the bout could be seen as an act of cultural consumption. Barthes might analyze how viewers are not just passive consumers but actively participate in the creation of meaning around the event. They bring their own interpretations, biases, and emotions, which in turn feed back into the media narrative, creating a dynamic loop of meaning-making.
   
5. The Role of the "Punctum":
   Drawing from his later work in "Camera Lucida," Barthes might look for the "punctum" in the event—those unexpected, poignant details that personally affect and puncture the viewer's perception. This could be a moment during the fight, an expression on the fighters' faces, or an incident that transcends the planned spectacle and resonates on a deeper, more personal level with the audience.
   

In essence, Barthes would likely view the Logan Paul vs. Mike Tyson bout not just as a sporting event, but as a rich, layered cultural phenomenon ripe for semiotic analysis.

Hi, I know some of you have been interested in Joost’s written stuff, so this is one of them. It’s a short story that Joost wrote for Boekenweek voor Jongeren (Book Week for Young People) in 2019. There’s more info about it here (in Dutch) https://www.vice.com/nl/article/qvgzpv/joost-klein-schreef-een-kort-verhaal-over-een-wilde-nacht-in-berlijn and there was also this promo video for it https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wx7wxnpxps0. It's been translated from Dutch - maybe not the most perfect translation but it's readable. Original in Dutch here. Enjoy

"How come he suddenly has cash?" I looked at Gurb, but he avoided my gaze. Louis never had money and yet he was buying another round. Meanwhile, a Moby song was playing and nothing made sense. "If he has money for drinks, he can surely pay me back, right?"
Just a few hours ago, I was alone in Berlin. Now, ten hours later, I'm standing in some obscure techno club with my best friends. Loud rock music with drunken shouting. "Hey, Miss Murder, can I make beauty stay if I take my life?" I woke up that day with a mild hangover from the lonely yet people-filled night before. Perfect conditions for a 20-year-old dropout.
The Hard Rock Café was the most beautifully ugly place in Berlin. Gurb had driven for seven hours straight in his mother's car, but we didn't notice. An iconic black Mini Cooper. Your body leads your mind, the beat never stops, and you can conquer the world. Louis threw in another crazy dance move. We were happy.
"Do you want another drink, brother?" Gurb asked me, half shouting. An evening filled with rhetorical questions. He saw me dancing and already knew the answer.
Gurb always had money. Louis, on the other hand, never did. Louis was also the youngest of us three. He had just turned 18. I wouldn't call him a cunning fox. More like a jack-of-all-trades. Like the time he made a lot of money on a Wadden Island with a group of boys. They sold large blocks of hash.
"Crazy dude!" I shouted at him. He yelled something back.
"Do you remember back then?" Louis said.
"Back then? Back then? Yeah man, of course!" I had no idea what he meant. "Do you mean the party?"
"Do you mean the party, he says! This guy. When I look at you like this, it makes me happy. The exact same kid is here letting loose just like back in high school!"
We knew each other from secondary school. He joined when I was in the second grade. He was very intelligent. Too young, too much knowledge of the world. His mother is from Brazil. We often went to his mother's place to play on the Playstation Louis and I had bought together.
I lived everywhere at that time. In the crisis shelter where I stayed for a while, for example, I wasn't allowed to have a Playstation. So we set it up in an accessible place, near school. It was always fun with Louis. Going together to the Apple Store. Taking all kinds of photos with all the webcams, posting them on Hyves, and then leaving. Louis always knew how to cheer me up.
"Aaaaaaaaaa!" There was Gurb with five drinks in his hands. Gurb was wearing a blue checkered shirt. Two buttons undone. Hair slicked back. "You look good, brother!"
"You look fresh too! We all look fresh!" Gurb said enthusiastically. Louis was wearing a completely white outfit. We quickly bought this before going out. He also bleached his hair.
"You look like the Brazilian cousin of James Dean in these clothes," I said. Louis laughed. "Let me take a picture."
Suddenly, the DJ switched to some kind of techno. "Ah, here Berlin briefly takes off its mask." I was fine with it all. Louis was talking to a lady.
Voluptuous breasts, I thought to myself. He gave her one of his two drinks.
"He's with a girl and he's thinking with his dick," I said to Gurb. "Let him be, tonight Berlin is ours!"
The bass kept pounding. "I simply don't have the patience for the club," I said to Gurb. He looked surprised. Like a sweet dog, tilting his head. "I'm just waiting for tomorrow. Can't do my thing here. Don't have patience for the already known. I want adventure and I want it now!"
Gurb started laughing. "Patience is a virtue." Yes. Patience is all well and good, but I think it's a waste of my time. Gurb grabbed my shoulder.
"I think it's time for another beer."
Louis and I were walking through Leeuwarden a year ago when suddenly a red Ford Ka stopped in front of us. It was Gurb, casually driving around the city. He invited us into his car. We hopped in. Since that afternoon, the three of us were together. A few months later, Louis got a tattoo on his ribs in honor of our friendship. It was the name of our group chat. Braddar Force Indigo.
There were also days when Gurb would take me for a drive around Friesland. He reminded me how beautiful Friesland is. The world doesn't spin there. The newspapers I threw away in the Stiens forest in 2011 could still be lying in the same spot, so to speak.
Just before midnight, I found myself in line for the restroom. My eyes fell on a pair of striking shoes. Cigarette smoke invaded my nose for the fourth time. "Müssen Sie eine Zigarette haben?" a female voice spoke to me. I felt like Tom Hanks in the final scene of Angels & Demons, where the new pope first steps onto the balcony. The curtains opened. There I was, witnessing an important moment in history. I was just told how I was sent by God, but my ears didn't want to hear any of it. At least that's how I felt. My mouth was empty. I had no words left. That's when I knew for sure. Berlin might really be as crazy as literally everyone says.
Dark blond, silky hair. Was this real beauty then? She wouldn't look 40, but I think she was. A true woman. Beautiful in all her elegance. I always joked about being interested in older women, but tonight one stood in front of me. "I don't smoke," I said to her.
Someone tapped me. "Please, just go to the toilet!" He was right. I hadn't peed in a while either. My urine was cloudy. "Glomerulonephritis," I said to myself on the toilet. This is an unusual condition. It's an inflammation in the kidneys, I thought I remembered. They should never have given me access to Google.
The evening progressed, and Louis kept buying rounds. "But seriously now. How does Louis suddenly have all that money for drinks?" I asked Gurb. He was outside smoking with a group of Swiss girls. I had strategically positioned myself so that I could always leave the crime scene if necessary.
"You shouldn't ask me," said Gurb. He was laughing with the temporary girlfriend group of Louis. Gurb has a beard. A lot of chicks like that. I get it too.
As much as I enjoyed Louis and Gurb being here for me, something didn't sit right with me. It couldn't just be about the money. "What's up with him?" I heard one of the Swiss girls say to Gurb.
Those kinds of questions really tire me out. "Not much, with you?" I replied.
They all started laughing. "That's not what she meant, brother," said Gurb.
"I couldn't care less whether she meant it or not. Send that brace-face back to Switzerland. Don't drive me crazy, alright!"
Actually, I hadn't drunk that much that evening. "Two vodka Sprites, please!" It's rare for me to get just one drink. "I always get two drinks, then you have to wait shorter for the third one!" Maybe the alcohol was affecting me more than I wanted to admit. Oh well, it was still the three of us against the world.
"Nice shoes, are those Prada?" I asked a random girl at the bar.
"No, these are fake. Why would I buy real ones for 600 dollars if I could just buy these for 20?"
"..."
I'm not very good at that. Talking. To women.
Louis and Gurb were in the smoking area now. It was less blue than the dance floor itself. My clothes already stank, so a visit to the smoking area couldn't hurt. "These people are so underground!" Gurb shouted. Louis was filming him with his phone. "These people..." There was a brief pause. As if Gurb forgot the only line he had. "...so underground!" All three of us burst into laughter. The alcohol flowed through our veins as if it came from the purest mountains. People seemed doubled and the room was full. We had been in the same club in Berlin for several hours.
"Leonardo! What are you hiding from the big boss?" I sometimes called Louis ‘DiCaprio.’ "You a rich guy, now?" I said, with an accent as if I were from the Bronx.
Louis started laughing. "Eh, you know nothing. Bullshit talk."
I had to laugh too. What was I even worried about? Friends are friends, with or without money. That shouldn't matter. Louis probably just worked for that money. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Maybe he just had enough to buy rounds. But what if my gut feeling was right? That feeling was never wrong. Except for that one time at the Holland Casino in Groningen. Even the best of us have slip-ups. I was just getting worked up again. When it comes down to it, Louis is one of the sweetest guys I know. I had to let it go. After all, it's still Louis.
"I think I'm going to have sex soon, man," Louis said.
"With who?" I asked immediately.
"That one girl."
"Which one?"
"The one with the boobs."
"Oh, her. Just be careful."
"What kind of reaction is that?" Louis asked indignantly.
I'd only had four drinks, but I was acting like a mess. Louis was right. I didn't understand myself. Where was my head at? I'm here in Berlin, supposed to be having the time of my life, but here I am feeling lonely and sad again. Joost once again couldn't control his emotions.
"Sorry," I suddenly said to Louis. "Sorry for my behavior. Been acting dumb towards you all night. It's unnecessary." Sometimes I have that. Mood swings. "Know that crime is never the solution. We've talked about this so many times. Yes, it's tempting and sometimes easy money. I sometimes find it amusing too, but it's always hypothetical. Ask me for help. I can help you, even with illegal things. I'll always have your back." The dancing was kind of over.
The words I had just placed on Louis's plate came from my heart. My Frisian, irregular boys' heart.
Crying in the club. I had never seen myself like that. Crying, yes. In the club, no. I never understood the taboo around crying. Or emotions in general. I saw myself in the mirror. They weren't tears of joy. They weren't tears of sadness either. It was me letting everything go. All the emotions I had ever felt. The emotions I felt between my brother and sister and myself because they wanted to take on a parental role over me, but I was in puberty, so I pushed them away. The emotions I felt when my old neighbors were supposed to take care of my dog, but didn't tell me that he was bitten by one of their dogs. They didn't have money for the surgery, they later told me. They were ashamed of their lack of money. My dog died from this injury. Even the emotions that were all jumping at once during the retake for my swimming diploma A, I let go of.
No emotions. Just for a moment, not feeling anything. Is that too much to ask for?
"You still don’t smoke?"
It had to be the voice of the woman with the cigarettes. I looked over my shoulder through the mirror. It was her. The one with dark blond, silky hair.
"Not to be rude, but this is the men’s room," I said. She took a step closer and kissed me on my lips. It tasted like more. We started kissing. It had been a while since I had had female contact at this level. It probably didn't look good and it didn't feel good either. She started kissing my neck. Slowly, I noticed the pressure in the erectile tissues of my penis starting to increase. "I really don't have time for this!" I thought to myself. The woman with the cigarettes started to slowly sink down until she was on her knees. I didn't want this. Not now, not like this. She unraveled my penis from my Polo Ralph Lauren underwear. Her tongue was blue. It was probably from cheap shots of alcohol.
Was this real beauty then? Was this the beginning or the end of her story? And had I become the boy my parents hoped I would be? I thought about the fact that this was once someone's little daughter. Somewhere in the world, an old man might be wondering what his daughter is doing. Am I really putting pleasure above my own morals and values?
With my semi-erect circumcised penis still exposed, I lifted her up. After giving her a kiss on her forehead, I pulled up my pants and left the toilets.
It was the usual last hour in any club ever. I met Louis and Gurb at the bar. "Should we have another drink?" I asked Gurb. "I feel like having a cocktail. Something sweet. Lots of sugar. What about you?"
Gurb looked at the menu. "A cognac would go down well right now."
"A cognac? You're only nineteen!" Gurb and Louis laughed. "Two Tequila Sunrises please!" I called to the bartender. "Also, two beers! Thanks!" I also got a beer for Louis. At first, I didn't want to, but I didn't want to spoil the mood either. Besides, I didn't want to show too much that it bothered me so much.
We danced away the last minutes. The club closed, and we decided to walk with the group of Swiss girls. Apparently, they were staying nearby.
As I lagged behind the group, one of them tried to start a conversation with me. "Are you okay?" she asked kindly.
"I'm fine. Just had too much beer. Makes me sleepy." Not true at all, but I've heard people say that.
"You’re tired? The fun has only just began!" And as she said this, she pulled something out of her inner pocket. Her clenched fist, shielded by a half jacket. Who is this girl, anyway? I thought to myself. She opened her hand flat, and right in the center of her palm lay two small pills with a smiley face on them. At least, they looked like it.
"Oh, I don’t do drugs. Sorry."
"Me neither!" And she swallowed a pill. "Now it’s your turn... Or are you scared?"
Scared? Who did this crazy Swiss witch (with really beautiful eyes) think she was. With her "are you scared". I'll show her who's scared.
"Scared? I’m not scared." I picked up the remaining pill and swallowed it.
Everything went in slow motion. Was this who I had become? Was this the same boy from high school? And just before I could swallow, I spat out the pill. She was shocked. I picked up the pill again, dried it with my jacket, and put it back in her fist. "Maybe later!" I shouted, running back to the group, over my shoulder.
I have nothing to say to 9 out of 10 peers I come across. Of course, I can be social. I can also have fun with random people in random situations, but that night, it just tired me out. I also didn't understand what we were doing there. Those girls found me strange anyway. Suddenly, I was the fifth wheel.
"We know this place where they go until 7 in the morning!" The girl leader of the group spoke. I wanted to go home. "If you guys want, you can go. Don't worry about me," I said to Gurb and Louis. The boys had a brief discussion. We agreed to stay for just a little while longer for some drinks. I consented. I was thirsty. "I'll have a Fanta, Louis."
Gurb had reached the last cigarette in his pack. Louis and a girl from the group were nowhere to be found. It didn't even bother me. This guy just walks around with some cash in his pocket and all hell breaks loose. After a night full of stimuli, I understood Louis. Of course, I understood Louis. He's a young god. Handsome, smart guy. But that didn't make me any less angry. It was purely about trust for me. Something inside me said I should stop subconsciously expecting things from people too. It prevents disappointment.
"Hotel please!" I jokingly suggested to Gurb. "Should you call Louis or should I?" I added. Gurb immediately grabbed his Android smartphone and called Louis. He put the call on speaker.
"Are you ready?" Gurb asked.
"Yeah. Sort of."
"What do you mean?"
"We didn't have sex."
"That's fine, right? Tomorrow's a new day!"
"I think I'm in love, man," Louis said.
"...," Gurb said, chuckling as he let out a sigh.
Once we arrived at the girls' hostel, it was already getting light. Louis was thankfully back. There were stains on his pants, around his knees. My focus was solely on arranging a taxi. Although the boys were still flirting, I was really done now. "How are we going to pay for this taxi?" I said a bit too loudly.
There was a silence. "Don't worry. I still have cash," Gurb said.
"Yeah, I knew you would," I replied.
My words clearly hit Louis. "What do you mean by that?" he said.
It was as if time stood still for a few seconds. "Exactly what I said. Better listen." Louis pulled out a small wad of green bills from his pocket. At least 400 euros. "I don't even want to see that money," I reacted. I walked away.
I'll just order a taxi myself.
"Why are you walking away now?" Gurb said.
"Twelve hours ago, I was alone too, and I had a lot more fun then."
"Do you really want to know how I got this money?" Louis said.
Yes, I did want to know. My whole evening revolved around that damn money.
He took a second of pause before he began speaking. "The answer lies in the Mini."
What on earth could be in Gurb's mother's car? Louis was trying to get into my head. "Taxi!"
Once in the taxi, the division was clear. Gurb was upfront, chatting animatedly with the driver. All adventures ever were recounted. Louis and I in the back. One of my best friends since I was thirteen. Funny how things turn out. It was quiet between us. I was in my head, rehearsing how I would bring up the money again. It didn't add up, and he knew it himself. "I don't care, you know," I said, hoping he'd break.
"What don't you care about?"
"About that money."
"What money? You're really a crazy woozy man." Louis burst out laughing again.
On the other hand, it was silent. Gurb had started talking about the driver's family. The driver didn't appreciate it. Gurb meant well. The driver smelled of alcohol. Or was it me? His nails were polished. Maybe his wife was a specialist. I bite my nails myself. Like now.
"In the Mini, oh yeah."
"Shut up. Illegal man."
"You'll never know."
"Stop playing. Just say it!"
Louis grabbed my head, pulled himself towards me, and brought his mouth to my right ear. "Why so serious?" he whispered. He didn't want to tell me.
"But always with this damn money, huh?" I almost shouted at Louis. I broke every silence within a radius of 10 kilometers.
"I'm trying my best, bro. It is what it is. I can't make it any different," he replied. It was clearly bothering him deeply. He ran his hands through his hair. "Sometimes people have to do things. And you know that better than anyone. Sometimes they have to do things they don't really want to or aren't supposed to do."
I knew this spiel all too well. Through all the drunken haziness, I suddenly saw a small glimmer of light. A tiny spark of sincerity. Louis was serious this time.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to involve you in this. I'm sorry," sweat dripped from his forehead.
"You're serious, huh? Damn, man. What mess have you gotten yourself into now? Worse than Terschelling?" Worse than Terschelling would mean stolen goods. Maybe even violence.
"It's not what you think."
"The Adlon Hotel, right?" the driver chimed in. Always saved by the bell, that Louis.
Suddenly I hit my head against the seat in front of me. Of course, I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. The last thing I saw was Gurb waking up in panic from his drunken stupor. One by one, I started losing my senses. It started with the feeling in my fingers. For a brief moment, everything wasn't quite black, and I could only see a vague pattern of colors repeating inside my eyelids. You could compare it to the brief moment after the commercial break before the movie starts in the cinema. The movie was about to begin.
I knew I wasn't dying. At least not yet. Not like this. Not after an overall mediocre night out in Berlin. I found comfort in the image I forced myself to see. It was all in my head. There I was, unconscious.
I saw myself in a third-person point of view. It wasn't like I was actually leaving my body. More like there was a webcam hanging in one of the upper corners of the taxi.
As a child, I used to dream a lot about death. Nights spent awake.
At some point, I developed a kind of compulsive behavior. I kept swaying my torso from left to right with my hands under my head. It became almost like a workout before bedtime. Every night.
I called it dream shuffling. Just like I had learned to shuffle puzzle pieces or playing cards. Making things a little exciting for yourself. But what I almost never told anyone was that I was scared. I was afraid of burglars, who were very agile and muscular.
Especially afraid that they would murder me. I really wanted to know what death was like. It scared me.
These fear visions originated during an all-inclusive vacation in Turkey. I was 6 years old and already in bed. There was a big old TV in our hotel room, so I could secretly watch TV from bed. Every evening, my parents sat on the balcony. Here they discussed their day while enjoying a glass of alcohol. There was a Japanese animated series on TV. In the few seconds that I watched, I saw a scary creature climbing a sort of apartment complex via the balconies. The creature had hundreds of teeth and blond hair. It quickly entered to decapitate the people, then drained them and, as a final insult, robbed them. Dozens of carcasses of dead people were scattered around the apartment complex. The complex on TV resembled the resort where we were in reality, and the TV world merged with my surroundings. I became part of it. I saw people watching. No matter how loudly I screamed for help, they didn't react. The sun became very bright, and the people turned into nothing more than shadows. As the intensity of the sun increased, something became clear to me. These were not people. They had a sort of orange skin. Where I had previously thought it was their nose and mouth, it turned out that these shadowy figures did not have such physical features. They simply had three holes in their heads. The police tried to do something, but in vain. Since then, we always kept the light on in the hallway outside my bedroom. By rocking back and forth, from left to right, I could glance fleetingly at the beam of light under the door. That bit of light, escaping from the hallway into my room, gave me an advantage. It allowed me to stay one step ahead of the burglars. Pretty smart, right?
"From Jamaica to the world!
It’s just love. Why must the children play in the street?"
It was Bob Sinclar with "Love Generation" speaking to us through the taxi's speakers. We were stationary. I was conscious again, but I didn't feel alive at all. "How long was I out?" I asked Louis.
I could tell by his expression that he was relieved. Relieved that I was back. "One minute," he almost apologized. Louis gave me a pat on the shoulder. Gurb, on the other hand, was sleeping. He slept like a baby cub.
I put my right index finger on my forehead. It felt wet, but it wasn't blood. Blood feels different. Meanwhile, I kept hearing whistling.
"Be the love generation! Oh yeah!" It was still that same song by Bob Sinclar.
The earlier scent of alcohol had now been replaced by the smell of incense. It smelled like the same incense I had in my room. Sold to me as Tibetan 39 incense. I had bought it at a coffee shop in Rotterdam. I pulled up my notes on my phone. "Who lights incense in a CAR????" I let Louis read from my screen. He took the phone from my hands and started typing as well.
"Look at Gurb >>>" Gurb was so deeply asleep that his head drooped. His seatbelt held his torso in place, but his head ended up on the driver's shoulder. The man didn't mind. He didn't move. I made eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and soon I found him. He winked at me.
We arrived at the hotel. Gurb awakened from his alcoholic hibernation. "Who's going to pay for the taxi?" I asked. Clearly rhetorical. I already knew I would take this one for the team, as usual. I refused to use Louis's money. It was uncomfortably quiet. "By card please," I said.
"I'll always protect you, Louis. You really need to know that. I care about you like my own little brother. I'll always try to help you. But you have to be honest with me. Can you do that?" Louis didn't hesitate.
"Yes. Yes, I can. I'll show you. It's really in the Mini." Meanwhile, the taxi driver's card machine indicated that I had insufficient funds. That couldn't be right. Maybe I had withdrawn too much that evening.
"I have cash in the hotel room," Gurb said to me. Gurb informed the driver in broken English that he would go get his cash. The driver agreed. Money is money, whether it comes now or later. As long as it feels good in your hands.
Louis and I got out of the taxi. "You're not going to light a cigarette now, are you?" Louis wanted to smoke. "Especially for stress. That's really for people who can't handle pain. You need to feel pain. Pain needs to brand you for the rest of your life so you finally learn not to do such stupid things." It fell silent again. My blood boiled. All pots were on the stove. I felt like Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen. "Show me then. Do it."
Louis remained silent and walked around the corner of the hotel. Towards the parking lot. I followed him. "You're not going to find much," said Louis.
"Why not? Are you a magician?"
"No. Just. Not much."
"So there's suddenly magically nothing in Gurb's car?"
"Stop. Get out. Get out of my head!" Louis shouted. Louis had had enough. He was done with the parade. Normally we dealt with hypothetical stories. Only this time it wasn't a joke. I was sure now. Louis had dropped his mask. The revolution had begun. The government had fallen and the dikes had broken. The people were in charge. "You shouldn't freak out like this. Always wanting more. Sweet boy, think about yourself."
After Gurb gave the money to the driver, he came to us. He had a smile on his face, lit a cigarette, and exclaimed, "Brothers!" Once with us, he hugged me. He started laughing. "Maybe I haven't been entirely honest either." Sometimes Gurb seemed like a 38-year-old man. In a positive way. He exuded confidence in a way I didn't often see. Affectionate, with a hint of authority.
We stood in the middle of a large parking lot. "Look. We've reached a point where I might not even care anymore. You guys are teasing me." It did matter to me. Maybe more than ever. I was supposed to be two steps ahead of them, but I couldn't figure it out. "I give up."
The delightful silence returned. Louis and Gurb looked at each other. "You guys win. Apparently, I'm not to be trusted as a friend."
From Louis's expression, I could tell he disagreed with this. "Not true. Come to the car."
We arrived at the car. Louis unlocked it and searched for the trunk button. Gurb had started his third cigarette. "It's a corpse, isn't it? Say it now. I can still help you. I can still help us. I can book a ticket for you. We can get you out of here," I said to Louis.
"Just wait. Nutcase."
"Why won't you accept my help?"
Louis started laughing nervously. Or at least it seemed that way. Perhaps a sly laugh too. Had Louis killed someone? "It's not a corpse. That can't be. You wouldn't be stupid enough to use their ID. You're smarter than that. So it must be something stolen. Haven't you found that button yet?"
Suddenly, we heard a click. Louis had found the button. Somewhere, I didn't want to know. Shouldn't I just trust Louis? Wasn't that the whole point of friendship?
Finally, the moment had arrived. I placed my right hand in the slot of the rear hatch. Something in me doubted. Still. I still doubted. Louis looked dead serious. "You wanted to know, didn't you? Then you also have to be man enough to accept it." Louis was clearly not joking. Or was he acting again? "Pussy," Louis said. I looked away. "You're afraid of what's inside, huh? You're afraid of the real Louis." He began to laugh manically. "Open that thing, man. Nutcase!"
I started laughing too. Why did I make such a big deal out of it? Sweat broke out from every pore in my body. It was even a bit damp in the no man's land between my scrotum and my anus. A tropical climate. It had been quite an adventure the whole evening. I took my hand off the rear hatch and first gave Louis a hug. Not some half-hearted birthday wish. No, a real hug.
"It's okay, buddy," Louis said to me. I had no idea what he meant by that. It fit the moment though.
It was really time now. I opened the rear hatch.
"Where is it?"
"In front of you," said Louis.
"In some secret compartment?"
There was nothing in the trunk. Absolutely nothing. An empty trunk. For an empty evening, in an empty Berlin, with an empty group of guys. I didn't get it.
"You won, man," I whispered. "You finally fucking done did it."
I couldn't believe my eyes. Empty? There was still nothing in the car. Louis just stood there. Emotionally, I was a wreck. I had felt every emotion this evening. Seen every color and smelled every scent. I was done. My body was ready. No longer needed. My mission was complete.
"But why did you do this?" I asked Louis, laughing.
He scratched his chin. It felt like the end of a bad movie.
"I sold our Playstation. Wanted to tell you only after I had sorted everything out again. I terminated my lease. Had some debts, and I also wanted to have some money for once. Once not empty-handed in the club. Once not dependent on my best friends. This is not who I am... I know how much that Playstation meant to you. It was ours together. I should have just told you."
"… and how does Gurb actually make his money?"

Guys the hot wheels commercial for smosh live is so funny I want it on YouTube please smosh

First, I want to say I am happy to have found this supportive group. I don’t have anyone to talk to about this specific issue, so please bear with me it is a lengthy post.
I was probably about 7 years old. This was the early 2000s, so me and my sister would steal my dad’s flip phone we thought it was the coolest thing. Then we would find messages with his friends that would say things like “it’s get you a new gf day” along with a nude photo of a woman probably too young. there had been multiple nude photos that we had found. Even one time a video played with a loud pornographic sound. My parents are still married so even back then my sister and I felt badly for my mother. He had also mentioned to my mom in front of us all (me about 13) how he had been to a local specific topless bar a “long time ago” when my sister and I were toddlers. Again, I just felt horrible for my mom as the sinking feeling made itself a home in my gut to this day.
When I was 14 I started dating my first bf we dated for four years. I would feel sick and just worthless because of the movies we would watch. They would have nudity and he would make comments on the actresses. Even comparing me to some. His entire family would. He mentioned this to his mom and she told him I was young and insecure. I was pressured into sending him nudes or else he would watch porn and then blame me for it. I remember the rush of emotions, that sinking feeling when I would find even “innocent” photos of girls at school in his phone or porn in his search history. When we would go to the movies I was always on edge. I would search on those sites that go through the parent’s guide of nudity so I could prepare myself or convince to watch something else.
I dated another guy at 19. When were first together he told me he had never had an orgasm through sex and frequently struggled getting it up. It eventually went away but our sex life wasn’t healthy and we ended things. However, when I was about 20 I started dating a guy let’s call him David. David was the sweetest man. I felt so safe with him. We had an amazing sex life. I never had to worry about anything relating to porn or women around him at all. When I was about 22 I made a new friend let’s call him Jack. Jack and I were good friends nothing more. Until, two years into our friendship I fell “in love” with Jack. This caused me to end things with David. For the first year (we were separated for about 7 months) we never had penetrative sex. During the first couple of months, he told me he didn’t want his ED to negatively affect me. I thought because my ex was having issues and I understood it had nothing to do with me I would be fine. I went through our relationship believing it was ED. which turned out to be half the truth. I also believed his alcohol addiction and unhealthy lifestyle had something to do with it.
The part that sickens me the most is that we were friends first for two years, he told me he loved me and then destroyed me with his addiction. While we were friends shifting into a romantic relationship I would be grossed out by his prior use of strip clubs once spending thousands of dollars. Especially because in our relationship he would complain about spending money on me. He would always check out other women when we were together. It made me feel like I just wasn’t enough. One time on YouTube it was a video of this couple, the woman was doing her thirst trap thing with her butt and he said “We know why he’s with her” “She worked for that… you turn” I was so upset because I had already been insecure about my butt and into fitness for almost a decade, and dealing with body dysmorphia. Another time me, him and his friend were at a grocery store (this is the time of our budding romance) they pointed out how good this girl's butt was and followed her for a couple of isles claiming she wanted it to be seen.
I feel so stupid and ashamed typing this, the thought of getting into a relationship with a guy displaying this behavior WITH ME BY HIS SIDE. fast forward to six months later, 1.5 years into a relationship, 3 years of friendship. I’m now 25, he is 28. Still no sex. He told me he thinks his hormones are balanced and I honestly felt bad for him and encouraged him to talk to his doctor. He started taking the blue pills they kinda worked, but not really. I would talk about how I felt with my male therapist. I also felt very isolated almost because the honeymoon phase was ending he didn’t even want to cuddle.
We lived together at this point. My therapist told me he may have a PA, he may be lying to you about it. I thought no way because I had been looking through his phone frequently from a general lack of trust. I did ask him multiple times he would of course deny it. He would always be looking at thirst trap comments on Snapchat and YouTube. Even commented on one of my friends once “It was a joke”. I would tell him multiple times I did not like our sex life and it can’t continue like this.
I swear your PA may lie, but the algorithm doesn’t. I remember I got this TikTok on my FYP. The guy who in his videos starts by saying “Oh you want to know another disgusting secret about men” he talked about lying PA. I knew at that moment that’s what it was.
On the commercials for my favorite show, WWE commercials would come on. Women with makeup, hair and lingerie and I noticed he would always stare. I thought I was just making this in my head until once he made the comment that “he used to find them attractive when he was younger and that they are hot.” A couple of months ago we went on a trip. He would be sitting next to me just scrolling through YT reels of thirst content thinking I am blind. The first time we had sex he would buy my lingerie and I would go put it and makeup on while he was in the other room I noticed when I came out he had been on his phone. He was ALWAYS on his phone. I knew in my heart it was from watching porn bc he was hard. He claimed it was bc he was thinking of me. This happened a couple of times. I knew the truth but I ignored it because I craved intimacy.
The scrolling on Yt shorts happened again one night, his algorithm was just thirst trap after thirst trap including WWE clips. I was so stressed I knew I was not going to sleep the night. I planned to wake up and go through his phone while he was asleep. When I did, I found him on Reddit pages with porn of WWE women. Emails saying he signed into adult websites the date and times right before we would have sex. Even an article on the best VR sets for porn. I thought wow he’s really thinking of investing this amount of money when he can’t even invest in our relationship. My heart shattered into the glass, glad that continued to cut me. I never felt so disrespected or taken for granted, like I was never good enough before. I cannot believe someone who says they love me more than ever would gaslight me so hard.
The next day we were out at a restaurant he asked what was on my mind since I had been acting differently. Me: “ I’m going to ask you a question I’ve asked you before but this time you’re going to tell me the truth” Jack: immediately “no” I asked him to think again before you answer, why are you lying to me he kept denying it until I said why are you so comfortable lying to me. He said I’m not. Maybe I used it too much before in the past. I said I don’t trust you and I have no mental peace with you this thing between us cannot continue.
…Y’all this is all while he was trying to get me to move across the country with him!! The next morning we talked about it and I told him how he crushed me and how I went through his phone and after I said that, he then started feeling very bad, even shedding tears. Looking back it’s as if he knew that I knew I wasn’t crazy.
It sucks because I feel I will always love him and leaving was the hardest thing I had to do. I still go back and forth about my love for him it’s always love and pure hate. Half of the time I want to call him and tell him exactly how much he destroyed my mental health. I still always scan my surroundings, and the media around me. I still compare myself to every woman because I am used to him checking out everyone. He would say it takes nothing from me but it does. I’m tired of people saying that it’s insecurity if you want your man to only have eyes for you and make excuses.
I know this was not the case when I was with David it was never like this. I felt empowered and loved. Now I have begun to get back together with David but I feel like I am carrying all this baggage from Jack's pa. David is against this type of behavior and even talks about how it is disturbing how porn is so prevalent everywhere ( he doesn’t know about the pa with Jack or my past). I feel like I am soo disgruntled towards men (Dad included) even though David is innocent and probably the best man I’ve ever had in my life. My mental health decline from not trusting my gut is painful.
Thank you for reading and your support. I wish you all love and light.

Using firestick 4K.
For months now, periodically, if I’m fast forwarding a DVR recording, and I push play where I want to resume, it jumps back to playing where I previously was (or sometimes some random point around that time marker).
Today, starting that the beginning of a 3 hour recording, I fast forward to an hour in, press play and it jumps back to the beginning. If I press play a little before the 1 hour mark, it works, but if I fast forward a little more, it jumps back to the beginning. After trying about 5 times I gave up and was forced to rewatch about 15 minute of content I already saw. Then when I hit the next commercial, skipping ahead 2-3 minute started it all from the beginning again!
I rebooted, etc. I’ve given up contacting support for such issues as in the past it has been a total waste of time. I would jump to YouTube TV in a heartbeat but they dont have the one channel I use this for.
Also for no apparent reason, the preview window when fast forwarding sometimes is there and sometimes isn’t.
It’s not device specific. I watch on two different TVs (not concurrently) and both experience these issues.
I wish this service would get its shit together.

The new gift-specific dialogue from the 1.6 update has me absolutely tickled pink! This one especially… I also haven’t practiced my creative writing in a while, and I decided it needed to happen sooner rather than later, so here, have a short story! Sorry if it's boring… I’m a little rusty!
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”

I’ve posted this before but it got downvoted lol.. in probably 2007-2008 I remember a commercial for what I think was an animated cgi movie (it could have been a show?) , this would play most likely on Disney, Nick or Cartoon Network. I don’t remember anything about the movie except a part with 3 or 4 little round alien looking things who sing Jeremiah was a bullfrog, but instead of bullfrog they say “foofoo”.. I have no idea what this means and it’s possible they replaced the name Jeremiah with something else as well, but I just remember the foofoo part. It used to make me and my friend laugh and we still quote it but I can’t find any trace of this lol. I used to have a clip of it favorited on YouTube years ago but it’s been removed I guess as I can’t find it either.

As the title says. Making the switch from residential to commercial refrigeration and some roof top units.
Looking for best YouTube channels/podcasts or books that helped you learn supermarket refrigeration

I've spent way too many hours watching game dev videos on YouTube. I kept notes on some of my favorites and figured they would be worth sharing for anyone who might want a somewhat curated guide to interesting videos. I put this together for threads initially and it's a couple months old, but I hope it's useful to some:
"This Problem Changes Your Perspective On Game Dev" - Jonas Tyroller Jonas is a YouTube indie dev staple. His latest video was the inspiration for this list as it has years of knowledge and tips distilled into an easy to understand and entertaining package. If you can only watch one video on indie game dev, this should be it
"My Wife and I Made an Indie Game and it Made Millions!" - Eastshade Studios Eastshade Studios quit their jobs, went all-in on their game, and came out a huge success. This video will inspire you to live your dream, might make you shed a tear, and will definitely leave you believing that the dream is a possibility.
"The Game Dev Success Ladder with Chris Zukowski" - Georgia Game Developers Association Chris is a joy to watch and a treasure trove of knowledge. This is his best talk where he unveils the secrets of Steam and lots of concrete steps you can take to improve your game's marketing performance on Steam and beyond.
"How One Programmer Created Gaming's Most Complex Ecosystem" - ThatGuyGlen Every indie developer should know the story of Rain World, and this video tells it wonderfully. The joy of game dev is you can create whatever you can imagine. Push the boundaries, re-write the rules, and get inspired by one of the must unique games ever created.
"i made this indie game and it changed my life" - Jordy Lakiere This 16 minute recap of the development and launch of "We Who Are About To Die" has some great insights into launch day, and will definitely inspire you shoot for the stars with your own game.
"How This Game Dev Got 100 Million Views In 1 Day" - Thomas Brush Gavin Eisenbeisz, the creator of Choo Choo Charles, is brilliant. Tons of lessons in this video, especially that taking shortcuts is okay. If commercial success is your goal, focusing on viral moments, screenshotability, and visual hooks has a much better ROI than trying to make a "pure" game where you did everything yourself from scratch.
"12 Games We Loved from Steam Next Fest" - Second Wind If you were too busy with your own game to follow the most recent NextFest, check out this recap where they highlight some incredible current indie projects. Get some new games for your wishlist and find awesome devs to follow and get inspired by
"Spending a Month Rebuilding my RPG's World" - DevDuck DevDuck is a masterclass on DevLogs and his latest one is no exception. He'll make you want to go to the gym, clean your desk, and work on your game all at the same time. Check him out for game dev inspiration or just a great example of a beautiful DevLog
"I Made a Game in Unreal in 14 Days... (No Experience)" - Jack Sather It\s easy to worry that game dev is getting too easy. That all the hours you've invested into learning are getting devauled due to AI and tools getting better. This video reminds you that learning game dev is still hard, and the experience you've gained so far is valuable.

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”