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2024.05.04 21:57 TheSmogmonsterZX Black Sheep Family - Interlude 9 - Date Night: Valentines
Black Sheep Family
Interlude 9
Date Night: Valentines
The Evening of the 17th of February, 2079
Agatha Quain sat at the back of The Divine Comedy Club , a cheap laugh restaurant that prided itself on having “discovered” a few good comedians. Currently Agatha was debating whether she was gonna toss an illusionary tomato at the racist piece of shit on the stage or at her boyfriend for not checking the schedule. Jack was just staring at the stage like the man had signed his own death warrant, not because of Agatha, but because the man was hellishly ripping into the Rana at the front of the stage. He was about to stand up and go get a manager when a short, wide man stepped on the stage, both teens knew he was Dominic Carcelli, a member of the Carcelli crime family, and a man whose family made heavy donations RHED, or the Rana-Human Education and Defense funds.
Carcelli made a swift grab for the microphone and nodded to a man off to the side. “Hey sorry about that folks, lets say we get some actual fuckin’ talent up here, yeah?” He covered the microphone and shouted off stage, “Who else we got back there that ain’t stupid enough to provoke half the damn city.”
A timid voice called out.
Carcelli rolled his eyes. “On behalf of management, as an apology, I’ll be covering mozz sticks for everyone, sound good?”
Agatha followed the mobster’s gaze to a taller, more severe looking man with salt and pepper hair and a groomed goatee. He also had a top hat at his side and a pocket watch clearly sitting in his breast pocket.
“Thanks for your patience folks.” Carcelli waited for the new comedian to come on stage. “Hey, what’s your name buddy?”
“Tommy Kallewski.” The young man said.
“What’d you think of that palooka before you?” Carcelli asked as he handed the comedian the microphone.
“You mean the guy who couldn’t grow up past the seventh grade?” Tommy snorted. “I’ve never heard worse jokes, and my material is fart jokes mostly.”
Agatha snorted and almost lost her drink through her nose. Jack barked and slapped the table. Most of the audience burst into laughter. The old man in the back grinned and sipped his drink as Carcelli joined him.
“So.” Jack snorted as the comedian’s jokes started to take off. “Sorry I didn’t check the schedule.”
“Anyone with a last name of ‘Dick’ that’s that old shouldn’t be labeled a comedian. Especially with that material.” Agatha rolled her eyes and leaned over and kissed Jack on his forehead. “You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you.” Jack smiled and took her hand.
They watched, laughed and listened for a few minutes. Jack was obviously enjoying the potty humor that Tommy was dolling out faster than most people could process. Then the free mozzarella sticks came and the two teens smiled as they tried to share a single stick between them. They laughed and dropped it as they failed.
“So, does your family need anything done while you’re out?” Jack asked.
Agatha sighed, “Yeah. Saw that coming. I think we’re good. Could use someone to look after the gardens.”
Jack nodded, “Not the cat.” He said.
Agatha snorted, “No gramps has the cat.”
“I can help with the gardens.” Jack nodded, “Dad’s upset he’s being put on a desk.”
“He’s the best leader dad has until we get back.” Agatha shrugged. “Even if he doesn't think so.”
Jack nodded. He smiled at her and held up another mozzarella stick.
“You’re doin’ it wrong.” Carcelli’s slight scarred face stared at them. “You’re breaking it early, you gotta have them in your mouth and then pull.”
“Thanks...” Agatha looked the man over.
“Hey, I know who your pops is and I don’t start shit. I run legit businesses and ain't no law says I have to call the cops on my customers. In fact Dross city has Neutral Ground laws.” Carcellie smiled, “Relax, we ain’t enemies.” He flicked the ashes of a half smoked cigar into his hand.
“Fair.” Agatha nodded, “Dross does have no smoking laws for restaurants though.”
“She’s right,Dominic.” The tall man said as he walked over. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Dwayne O’Donnelly.” The man’s heavy Irish accent was crisp and reminded both teens of older actors from the past. “Please enjoy the show and the food.”
“You own this place?” Agatha asked as she turned to look at the man as he stood directly behind Jack.
Jack was frozen and locked into place as he scratched his nose.
“I do.” Dwayne smiled, “One of my many investments in the city.” He turned to Carcelli, “I must go, please enjoy your meal as well.”
Dominic nodded and walked back to his table and put his cigar out in a half filled glass of water.
Dwayne smiled, “You’ll have to forgive the young Carcelli, he sometimes forgets I prefer a more laid back setting for my places.”
Agatha stared at the man, trying to see past his form and to something of less physical substance. She hadn’t been training with Illidae as he Master for long, but he had taught her how to activate her Soul Sight. What it showed her shocked her into just nodding silently. The man nodded and smiled before he left.
“That man smelled of danger.” Jack let out a breath. “Like metal and molten glass.” He noticed Agatha staring in shock and reached over to touch her hand.
“We need to follow him!” Agatha shot up to run, but Jack grabbed her, making sure not to tear her lace gothic dress..
“What did you see?” Jack hissed, “We can’t just chase a guy like O’Donnelly.”
“It was darkness, pride, hatred and rage.” Agatha said. “He’s one of them. He’s a Revenant.”
Jack paused then nodded, “Man, we need to plan for date night interruptions.”
Jack quickly got the bill and paid for their meal which they hadn’t even gotten to eat, he did ask for it to be packed as they would return for it. When they got outside they hopped onto Jack’s motorcycle and were off.
---B)(S)(F---
Danny sat nervously at the Pizza Hat. He had just finished a movie, The Terrible Trio Strikes Again!!! The third Strike!, with Heith and both were sitting nervously at the both. Both teens were clearly unsure how to behave and both knew Danny likely had other thoughts he was focused on.
“I hope the movie wasn’t a terrible idea.” Heith sighed, “I know the shit with Cassandra is bad, I just know I’d want someone to distract me if Sofie were in a similar situation.”
Danny looked up in worry, “No it was a good movie, and I appreciate the break. I just can’t stop thinking about how I could have stopped him for sure and now...” He put his head in his hands. “I think he’s not dead. I think Salem’s right.”
“The nosferatu guy?” Heith clarified, “The one who fought vamp-bitch?”
Danny chuckled, “Well for once an accurate statement if worded for a poor reason.”
Heith snorted, “I’ve met the woman, that’s personal bias.”
Danny smiled as a pizza and a large shake with two straws was put in front of them.
“Did we order that?” Heith blinked as she looked at the super-tall shake that had a mountain of whipped cream and two cherries on top.
“On the house.” The server winked. “You two have a fun date night!” He rolled backwards on his shoes and danced away.
“Man...” Danny sighed, “Dross City, we got’em all.”
Heith nodded and blinked, “Well it is chocolate.”
Danny nodded, “I’m fine with sharing.”
“Good.” Heith smiled as she put a piece of their pizza on a plate. “I never understood why...” She paused, “Is dad appropriate anymore?”
Danny shrugged, “I mean in some twisted way he cared, right?”
“Not about us.” Heith sighed, “Not how your family cares for each other, it was more possessive.”
Danny nodded, “Well then what is to you?”
“The Lab doctor who grew us.” Heith snorted in a laugh that signaled a sense of relief. “But I never understood why we couldn’t get pizza. This stuff is better especially when it’s not school based.”
“My dad would call that blasphemy.” Danny laughed. “How is Sofie doing?”
“She’s dealing better than I am.” Heith nodded, “I still have nightmares with him ripping off his face and that robot’s face.” Heith sighed, “He did give her an amazingly realistic snobby attitude.”
“I don’t know how people get attracted to that.” Danny sighed, “Has to be purely physical.”
“Or they’re the same.” Heith sighed. “Am I doing better?”
Danny tilted his head a little. “Heith, I’m the son of a rich as shit family. Both of my parents are independently wealthy and the only reason I had my job was boredom.” He laughed, “I’m not sure I can judge spoiled and bratty and stuff like that accurately.”
“Fair, but am I less bitchy?” Heith asked, “I don’t know. Forget I asked.”
“In terms of what I’ve seen, yeah, you’ve improved. You’ve learned and even though you still call me devil-boy, you’re not pissing Agatha off with it so I guess it’s okay?” Danny shrugged.
“Well she calls Jack ‘puppy’.” Heith said flatly.
“She’s called him puppy since we were four.” Danny explained, “She’s the only one he lets call him that.”
Heith paused, “Noted and remembered.”
Danny nodded, “And it’s not like she won’t sometimes get on his nerves with it.”
“Fair.” Heith nodded and sipped on their shake, then made a face. “That’s bad.”
Danny sipped on it as well. “Yeah I don’t think it was mixed right, too much chocolate mixed in.”
“Oh well, it’s free.” Heith smiled, “But don’t worry about Burlin or Gravitas or whoever the fuck he was or is. We won the day, now you focus on your sister.”
Danny nodded and sighed, “Thanks. I don’t know why but I feel like I messed up there.”
“I feel like I messed up my whole life with him.” Heith said with a grimace, “You’d think you’d see something that would scream ‘supervillain’!”
“To be fair, GLOBAL is classified as a villain organization.” Danny said, “We don’t know their endgame so unless it’s global domination, I doubt it’ll be classified as Super.”
Heith blinked. “That’s the difference?”
Danny shrugged. “Classifications are based on motivations and power levels mainly. Criminals want survival and the stuff that helps with that; cash, gear, et cetera.” He pulled out a napkin and drew up a small diagram. “Villains have some ideal or goal, they feel they have a purpose or society is the one in the wrong. Super-Villains want power, to rule and to run things. It’s why guys like the MechAnimals and the psychotic Animals are both considered criminals, but Pharaoh is a Super-Villain despite mostly being a crime boss. We know he wants the world under his control and crime is his means to an end.”
“And The Fog is a criminal because they just sell their services. Man-Tick is a villain because, why?” Heith asked as she took another piece of pizza.
“Fun fact about Man-Tick, he funds his research into breaking his curse via mercenary actions, but his goal isn’t complete reversal, it’s to make more like those animal-hybrid people GLOBAL made.” Danny explained, “My best guess is they stole his work, because that man would not be quiet about being successful.”
“And that makes Jet Fission a Super-Villain.” Heith nodded, “What about the Nazi Zombies?”
“Armageddon Level Threat.” Danny nodded, “Isn’t this first year stuff? Dad taught us this when he came back, Anna already knew it.”
“You’d think, but it’s a Senior class.” Heith gave a huff, “How many Armageddon Level Threats are there?”
“Bleak and his Crew is currently the only one, but Fission can slide into that as well.” Danny took his first piece of pizza. “I keep forgetting how greasy this isn’t.” He sighed.
Heith snorted and shook her head. “Well thank you for the lesson. If you need someone to talk to until then, I’m just a chat or call away.”
Danny nodded, “Thanks.”
“So why’d your dad let you take the van, isn’t it like your only car since that fancy one of his got stolen and wrecked.”
Danny chuckled. “He got it replaced pretty fast. Scared the shit out of those car thieves though. Spent an hour crying about the best metal baby.”
Heith stared at Danny in confusion.
“It was his first car, one of the only things he’s had any material love for. Mom says I’ll understand when I get my first car.” Danny explained with a light sigh of contentment.
“But you can fly.” Heith said.
“I can, but sometimes you gotta move someone else. Also I don’t go that fast, just above the average running speed.” Danny shrugged.
“We need a re-match.” Heith sighed, taking deep of their shared shake.
“Have you suddenly developed the ability to hit incorporeal things?” Danny shot back, “Because I can still do that.”
“I’ll find a way. Found a way to block Guire’s stupid shocks.” Heith said with a slight tinge of annoyance.
“Ah, give Guire a break, kid’s in just as bad a situation as you were, only he can’t run and the best guy to help him is a bit distracted helping my sister right now.” Danny sighed.
“What do you mean?” Heith asked.
“Guire’s dad is a former cop. Currently head of Security at Sun-Tech. Dad got him fired for beating his wife, but he’s got too many friends still on the force. Dad can’t make any moves to help Greg, Bubbles is trying now.” Danny took another slice and a deep sip. “It’s really fucked up.”
“I can break his face.” Heith said, “No one could mad at me after what I’ve been through.”
Danny almost choked, “God, no. Please. Just don’t give him so much shit.”
Heith crossed her arms but nodded in understanding. “I’m kinda full.”
“Me too, too much popcorn.” Danny laughed. “Want to take it home to Sofie?”
Heith nodded and they waved to the server who promptly trolled back over to them.
“Take home for the rest please.” Danny said, “And hey, where’d you get the shoes?”
“Customs on myshoedrip.net.” He smiled, “Used to be popular in the early millennium, called Heelies. I’ll get you a box and cup for the shake.”
“You take the shake.” Heith said as she stood up to pay.
“I got this.” Danny smiled.
“I got it, I kinda put you in the asking position.” Heith smiled.
“Half then.” Danny offered.
“You pay for the shake.” Heith smiled.
Danny nodded, then remembered it had been a free shake. “Hey...”
“Too late you agreed.” Heith smiled and went to the counter to pay.
As the two stepped outside he couldn’t help but notice a motorcycle speeding by with a very elegant gothic dress on the rear end.
“Aggie?” Danny paused and stared.
“She wears dresses?!” Heith’s jaw dropped.
---B)(S)(F---
Alan and Endara were at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, a professed neutral ground where criminals could come to safely dine so long as violence was not reported. It was a Carcelli restaurant, but Alan wasn’t going to hold that against them tonight.
“So...” Endara looked at the menu. “Should we be here?”
Alan looked at her and sighed, “I made the reservations, Cassie told us too.” He threw his arms up in defeat, “I just can’t help but feel like a shit-heel here.”
“Same...” Endara sighed. “Maybe order a dessert and take it home?”
Alan smiled, “Okay, but we have to eat a meal or Anna will get Stephen on both of us.”
“She does do that easily.” Endara smiled, “Her mother’s care in her.”
Alan nodded, “So my lovely fire engine of brute force...”
Endara broke into laughter, then collected herself. “Thank you, you know just what to say. My lovely dumbass.”
“I do try.” Alan smiled, “Oh. Manicotti.”
“You hate anyone else’s manicotti.” Endara gave an accusatory glare.
“That’s not true, just people who don’t know how to make it. This is an Italian place, if they can’t make it I’m going to be upset.” Alan smiled. “You just stay out of their kitchen.”
Endara snorted and looked the menu over. “Oh, they make big meatballs here.”
“Good evening.” A man said as he approached, “My name is Trevor and I will be your server tonight.”
“Well Trevor, ever had the Manicotti?” Alan asked.
“Yes, my favorite short of the chef’s favorite ravioli.” Trevor smiled.
“I’ll take that.” Alan smiled, “House’s best red wine, for the holiday past.”
Trevor nodded, “And you Mrs. Quain.”
“I’ll have the spaghetti and meatballs, can I ask for just three extra large ones?” Endara asked.
Trevor nodded, “We can do that.” He then took their menus and bowed before leaving.
“Well, let’s enjoy the night.” Endara smiled, but paused as she noticed Alan looking up and past her.
Endara turned to see the massive frame of Polar Bear grinning down at her. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.
“No harm meant.” He said as Mud Dauber stood by his side.
“I always thought you two made an odd couple.” Alan tried to laugh. “We good?”
“Yes.” Polar Bear nodded, “I wanted to thank you for your kindness last we met.” He bowed his head. “It is rare when we have a hero remember we are human too, mostly.”
Alan did a brief scan of the man’s surface thoughts and nodded to Endara. Endara then relaxed.
“And I have no interest in taking on you and your wife. Even with Freya’s help, we would lose.” Polar Bear laughed.
“You would lose, I would flee.” Freya snorted.
Polar Bear looked slightly wounded as he stared at his partner, then he nodded in the affirmative and agreed with her.
“Well, you’re welcome, but right now we’re on our Valentine’s date.” Alan smiled, hoping to dissuade any further conversation.
“Da? So are we!” Polar Bear laughed, “But we will leave you to yours.”
Freya pulled on his scarf and Polar Bear bent down to listen as she whispered in his ear.
Polar Bear winced, “I know this is probably a bad time, we have heard of the attack on the school and that you have an injured child; but our leader has a proposition.”
Alan felt his jaw drop as he felt the idea pass from Polar Bear’s screaming and nervous mind.
“Too loud Isaak.” Freya hissed, “Remember he is a telepath.”
“Right. Sorry.” He pulled an envelope from his very carefully crafted vest and handed it to Alan. “It isn’t much as of now, but we have hopes.” Polar Bear smiled as he once again bowed and led Freya to their table.
“Well...” Endara watched the two MechAnimals sit at their own table, “At least you can tell they’re in love.”
Alan nodded as he put the envelope away. “We might have to step up Anna’s therapy.”
Endara blinked, “What?” Then she realized the implication. “They’re that desperate?”
“Pharaoh may have cut off other sources.” Alan sighed, “Or the Animals really messed them up.”
Endara nodded, “What about the psycho?”
“Let’s worry about that after we save our daughter.” Alan sighed. “And part of that is eating a meal to bring home a huge chocolate mousse.”
“I was thinking, instead, what about stopping for ice cream?” Endara smiled.
“Anna will want what she always wants.” Alan sighed and telekinetically lifted his phone from his pocket and sent out a message to the family. Then he got a reply that made him pause and stand up.
“Agatha or Danny?” Endara asked with a sigh.
“Take a guess.” Alan sighed as he went to a non-emergency exit. Then he dialed Agatha’s number, when she didn’t answer he sent another text and waited.
The door opened and Mud Dauber came out and lit a cigarette, then noticed Alan. He felt genuine shock from her, but didn’t let her distract him. Finally he got a response and sent a quick demand for her and Jack to get home. Then he leaned against the opposite wall and sighed, partially sinking down.
“Are you all right?” Freya asked, “That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry.” She walked over and offered her hand.
Alan paused and took it, using her to help himself stand.
“Eldest decided to do something ridiculously stupid.” Alan sighed, “Thank you.”
Freya nodded and Alan went to go back in, but paused.
“If he’s serious, tell him to hold out as long as he can. We’ll be out of the country for a bit.” Alan explained.
Freya nodded, “You know I met your newest. She’s a sweet kid, I hope it's not her that’s hurt.”
Alan paused and let a bitter laugh echo in the night. “Hurt is an understatement. That bastard started to tear her apart from the inside, and something else decided to continue it.” He growled.
Freya nodded, and watched the door close, but Alan remained outside.
“You have kids?” He asked.
“I wish I could. Early childhood cancer.” Freya smiled, “And Isaak’s DNA may not carry over.”
Alan nodded, “If you and he are serious and you all really mean this, hold on. Then maybe consider adoption.”
Freya nodded. “We’ll try.”
Alan cleared his throat. “You have a nice Valentine’s dinner.”
“You too.” Freya smiled.
Alan joined his wife once more.
“Was she a problem?” Endara asked.
“Nah, just a smoke break.” Alan nodded.
Endara leaned in, “So what broke you?”
Alan went to argue but smiled, just as he could make her laugh, he could never lie to her.
“Agatha tried to chase a guy she thought was a revenant.” Alan smirked with a slightly mad glare.
“Why is our daughter blessed with both of our impatient and impetuous natures?” Endara laughed and brushed her hair back.
“Luck.” Alan smiled.
Then their meals were brought out and Alan immediately went to dig into his manicotti. He just as quickly frowned.
“Bad?” Endara asked as she cut up her meatballs.
“I think I’ve been ruined.” Alan smiled, “Best damn manicotti I’ve had.” He looked at Trevor. “Compliments to the chef.”
Trevor smiled, “I shall inform him.”
Endara nodded as Trevor poured their wine for the night.
“Trevor, how big is the biggest mousse you’ve got?” Alan asked.
Trevor paused briefly, almost concerning Endara as she watched him quickly stop pouring. “Pretty darn big, but that's for catering. We have a twelve ounce one for take home.”
“Dang that won’t satisfy a house full of teens.” Alan sighed.
“We can put it on a cake or a pie.” Trevor suggested.
“Ohhh.” Endara smiled, “Can we get one to go?”
Trevor nodded and looked at Alan.
“If you would.” Alan said, “And anything else she wants.”
Trevor nodded and stepped away.
Endar smiled at her husband as she remembered a specific order she had put in with a private call. Alan found it moments later as he split open a manicotti to find a jewelry box that he telekinetically plucked out. He stared for a moment then looked at Endara.
“You would.” He sighed and opened it.
Inside was an infinity loop with Endara’s birthstone in the center and the stones of the entire Quain family, including Daniel, Jazz and Alan and Stephen’s original adoptive parents.
Alan smiled and sat it down.
“Surprise.” Endara smiled.
Alan nodded, “They cooked it in the manicotti.”
“What?” Endara blinked.
Alan laughed, “Thankfully it only messed up one.” He scraped the offending manicotti to the side. “Someone’s gonna get in trouble for that.”
“Well, hopefully they can learn.” Endara sighed and slowly laughed at the scenario.
Soon both Quain parents were laughing and making jokes about pasta jewelry.
/////
The First Story
[Previous Interlude]() //// [Next Interlude!]()
Arc 1 - Black Sheep Family - Arc 1, First Chapter
Arc 2 - Paradigm Shift - Arc 2, First Chapter
Arc 3 - Gravitas Rising Arc 3, First Chapter
Arc 4 - The Director’s Chair Arc 4, First Chapter
Arc 5- The School War Arc 5, First Chapter
Spotify
/////
Credit where Credit is due:
Kyton & Cassandra Adams are © u/TwistedMind596
Obsidian is © u/Ultimalice
Ixton the Blade of the Wielder is © My friend Forged of Souls who does not use reddit
Furnace is © my friend Matt who does not use reddit
Cedric Stein Meissner aka Tesseract is © my friend James, who does not use reddit.
All other characters and Dross City are © u/TheSmogMonsterZX
////
Perfection: Kinda heavy for an interlude inn’t?
Wraith: Well interludes are the parts that can't fit into the normal stories. He never said they wouldn’t contain any important details.
Smoggy: I believe I said I would try, and honestly I just couldn’t get Alan and Endara’s dinner anywhere at the end of Arc 5 or at the start of Arc 6. So it goes here and if I need to refer back to it, we treat it like a comic book and link to the story at the end.
Deadpool: I’m BACK and I brought boxes for all!
Smoggy: Glad to have you DP.
DM: What?
Smoggy: I’d like to send you some place nice, warm year ‘round and plenty of hot ladies to flirt with.
Deadpool: ...Really.
Wraith: (taps Scythe against the floor) He means hell.
Smoggy: I mean Hell.
DM: Ahhhh...
Deadpool: How about, like some place I can help teen heroes fight bad guys?
Wraith: We’ve already tried that with another version of you.
Smoggy: He still sends them Christmas Cards. So hell, or leave us alone.
Deadpool: You know I think it’s been fun here, but I miss home.
Perfection: (leaning over Deadpool’s shoulders) Smart choice. (vanishes with Deadpool)
Wraith: Why can’t they all be that reasonable.
Smoggy: Luck, insanity? I dunno. Time to focus. I got some SpellJammer stuff to make!
DM: Stinger!
Smoggy: Wha-
---B)(S)(F---
The Evening of the 16th of February, 2079
Jazz pulled her motorcycle up to the curb of the well maintained SkyView Apartments. She was almost up to the door when she heard voices out back laughing and shouting, so she went around to see what was going on. She found the person she was looking for with two of his friends, one of which was a personal hero of hers.
“Holy shit!” Jazz quickly saluted Samantha Canning.
“I’m retired and from what I understand, so are you.” Samantha smirked, then gave a quick salute.
“Jazz, what’s up?” Salem asked without looking up from the fire on the grill.
“They’re giving that poor little girl some bad news and I didn’t want to hear it.” Jazz sighed, “Figured I’d make you have some fun.”
“Some fun?” Sawyer looked at his friend, “You got a Super Nintendo?”
“Nah, figured we’d go beat up some thugs or something.” Jazz smiled. “Salem invite only though.”
“That’s fair. He needs more friends.” Samantha smiled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Salem looked up with a glare.
“That you’re an old curmudgeon with few friends and most are kids.” Sawyer smirked.
“Pot, meet the kettle.” Samantha smirked.
“I got friends.” Sawyer laughed, “Just no one else likes’em.”
Salem rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his whiskey mixed with blood. Then he stood straight and stretched before staring directly at Jazz.
“I got a strict curfew of twenty minutes before dawn.” He set an alarm on his phone. “Won’t crash or anything, just don’t want to dust.”
“Man, have you ever crashed?” Sawyer snorted in annoyance.
“Nah.” Salem nodded, “Can’t let the sun win at everything.” He grinned. “All right Artigan show me what you consider fun!”
“Get your helmet, you ain’t ridin’ with me without one.” Jazz smiled.
“I am not a seat warmer.” Salem glared.
Jazz crossed her arms. “My bike.”
Salem snarled, but stomped off and returned, but with his own bike and a leather helmet.
“You just...” Jazz laughed, “Can that thing keep up?”
Salem’s head tilted.
“Oh, now she’s done it.” Samantha laughed.
“They’re going to be mangled in a mess on the news.” Sawyer laughed, “Anna will kill them both. Then maybe Cassie.”
Samantha laughed and picked up her whiskey.
“Take my couch Canning, cops won’t care who you are if they smell that shit. Doesn’t matter that you’re not drunk.” Salem said as he continued to glare at Jazz.
Jazz continued to smirk, “Well come on old timer. We got some red to paint.”
Salem let a low growl escape his lips.
submitted by TheSmogmonsterZX to HFY [link] [comments]
Interlude 9
Date Night: Valentines
The Evening of the 17th of February, 2079
Agatha Quain sat at the back of The Divine Comedy Club , a cheap laugh restaurant that prided itself on having “discovered” a few good comedians. Currently Agatha was debating whether she was gonna toss an illusionary tomato at the racist piece of shit on the stage or at her boyfriend for not checking the schedule. Jack was just staring at the stage like the man had signed his own death warrant, not because of Agatha, but because the man was hellishly ripping into the Rana at the front of the stage. He was about to stand up and go get a manager when a short, wide man stepped on the stage, both teens knew he was Dominic Carcelli, a member of the Carcelli crime family, and a man whose family made heavy donations RHED, or the Rana-Human Education and Defense funds.
Carcelli made a swift grab for the microphone and nodded to a man off to the side. “Hey sorry about that folks, lets say we get some actual fuckin’ talent up here, yeah?” He covered the microphone and shouted off stage, “Who else we got back there that ain’t stupid enough to provoke half the damn city.”
A timid voice called out.
Carcelli rolled his eyes. “On behalf of management, as an apology, I’ll be covering mozz sticks for everyone, sound good?”
Agatha followed the mobster’s gaze to a taller, more severe looking man with salt and pepper hair and a groomed goatee. He also had a top hat at his side and a pocket watch clearly sitting in his breast pocket.
“Thanks for your patience folks.” Carcelli waited for the new comedian to come on stage. “Hey, what’s your name buddy?”
“Tommy Kallewski.” The young man said.
“What’d you think of that palooka before you?” Carcelli asked as he handed the comedian the microphone.
“You mean the guy who couldn’t grow up past the seventh grade?” Tommy snorted. “I’ve never heard worse jokes, and my material is fart jokes mostly.”
Agatha snorted and almost lost her drink through her nose. Jack barked and slapped the table. Most of the audience burst into laughter. The old man in the back grinned and sipped his drink as Carcelli joined him.
“So.” Jack snorted as the comedian’s jokes started to take off. “Sorry I didn’t check the schedule.”
“Anyone with a last name of ‘Dick’ that’s that old shouldn’t be labeled a comedian. Especially with that material.” Agatha rolled her eyes and leaned over and kissed Jack on his forehead. “You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you.” Jack smiled and took her hand.
They watched, laughed and listened for a few minutes. Jack was obviously enjoying the potty humor that Tommy was dolling out faster than most people could process. Then the free mozzarella sticks came and the two teens smiled as they tried to share a single stick between them. They laughed and dropped it as they failed.
“So, does your family need anything done while you’re out?” Jack asked.
Agatha sighed, “Yeah. Saw that coming. I think we’re good. Could use someone to look after the gardens.”
Jack nodded, “Not the cat.” He said.
Agatha snorted, “No gramps has the cat.”
“I can help with the gardens.” Jack nodded, “Dad’s upset he’s being put on a desk.”
“He’s the best leader dad has until we get back.” Agatha shrugged. “Even if he doesn't think so.”
Jack nodded. He smiled at her and held up another mozzarella stick.
“You’re doin’ it wrong.” Carcelli’s slight scarred face stared at them. “You’re breaking it early, you gotta have them in your mouth and then pull.”
“Thanks...” Agatha looked the man over.
“Hey, I know who your pops is and I don’t start shit. I run legit businesses and ain't no law says I have to call the cops on my customers. In fact Dross city has Neutral Ground laws.” Carcellie smiled, “Relax, we ain’t enemies.” He flicked the ashes of a half smoked cigar into his hand.
“Fair.” Agatha nodded, “Dross does have no smoking laws for restaurants though.”
“She’s right,Dominic.” The tall man said as he walked over. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Dwayne O’Donnelly.” The man’s heavy Irish accent was crisp and reminded both teens of older actors from the past. “Please enjoy the show and the food.”
“You own this place?” Agatha asked as she turned to look at the man as he stood directly behind Jack.
Jack was frozen and locked into place as he scratched his nose.
“I do.” Dwayne smiled, “One of my many investments in the city.” He turned to Carcelli, “I must go, please enjoy your meal as well.”
Dominic nodded and walked back to his table and put his cigar out in a half filled glass of water.
Dwayne smiled, “You’ll have to forgive the young Carcelli, he sometimes forgets I prefer a more laid back setting for my places.”
Agatha stared at the man, trying to see past his form and to something of less physical substance. She hadn’t been training with Illidae as he Master for long, but he had taught her how to activate her Soul Sight. What it showed her shocked her into just nodding silently. The man nodded and smiled before he left.
“That man smelled of danger.” Jack let out a breath. “Like metal and molten glass.” He noticed Agatha staring in shock and reached over to touch her hand.
“We need to follow him!” Agatha shot up to run, but Jack grabbed her, making sure not to tear her lace gothic dress..
“What did you see?” Jack hissed, “We can’t just chase a guy like O’Donnelly.”
“It was darkness, pride, hatred and rage.” Agatha said. “He’s one of them. He’s a Revenant.”
Jack paused then nodded, “Man, we need to plan for date night interruptions.”
Jack quickly got the bill and paid for their meal which they hadn’t even gotten to eat, he did ask for it to be packed as they would return for it. When they got outside they hopped onto Jack’s motorcycle and were off.
---B)(S)(F---
Danny sat nervously at the Pizza Hat. He had just finished a movie, The Terrible Trio Strikes Again!!! The third Strike!, with Heith and both were sitting nervously at the both. Both teens were clearly unsure how to behave and both knew Danny likely had other thoughts he was focused on.
“I hope the movie wasn’t a terrible idea.” Heith sighed, “I know the shit with Cassandra is bad, I just know I’d want someone to distract me if Sofie were in a similar situation.”
Danny looked up in worry, “No it was a good movie, and I appreciate the break. I just can’t stop thinking about how I could have stopped him for sure and now...” He put his head in his hands. “I think he’s not dead. I think Salem’s right.”
“The nosferatu guy?” Heith clarified, “The one who fought vamp-bitch?”
Danny chuckled, “Well for once an accurate statement if worded for a poor reason.”
Heith snorted, “I’ve met the woman, that’s personal bias.”
Danny smiled as a pizza and a large shake with two straws was put in front of them.
“Did we order that?” Heith blinked as she looked at the super-tall shake that had a mountain of whipped cream and two cherries on top.
“On the house.” The server winked. “You two have a fun date night!” He rolled backwards on his shoes and danced away.
“Man...” Danny sighed, “Dross City, we got’em all.”
Heith nodded and blinked, “Well it is chocolate.”
Danny nodded, “I’m fine with sharing.”
“Good.” Heith smiled as she put a piece of their pizza on a plate. “I never understood why...” She paused, “Is dad appropriate anymore?”
Danny shrugged, “I mean in some twisted way he cared, right?”
“Not about us.” Heith sighed, “Not how your family cares for each other, it was more possessive.”
Danny nodded, “Well then what is to you?”
“The Lab doctor who grew us.” Heith snorted in a laugh that signaled a sense of relief. “But I never understood why we couldn’t get pizza. This stuff is better especially when it’s not school based.”
“My dad would call that blasphemy.” Danny laughed. “How is Sofie doing?”
“She’s dealing better than I am.” Heith nodded, “I still have nightmares with him ripping off his face and that robot’s face.” Heith sighed, “He did give her an amazingly realistic snobby attitude.”
“I don’t know how people get attracted to that.” Danny sighed, “Has to be purely physical.”
“Or they’re the same.” Heith sighed. “Am I doing better?”
Danny tilted his head a little. “Heith, I’m the son of a rich as shit family. Both of my parents are independently wealthy and the only reason I had my job was boredom.” He laughed, “I’m not sure I can judge spoiled and bratty and stuff like that accurately.”
“Fair, but am I less bitchy?” Heith asked, “I don’t know. Forget I asked.”
“In terms of what I’ve seen, yeah, you’ve improved. You’ve learned and even though you still call me devil-boy, you’re not pissing Agatha off with it so I guess it’s okay?” Danny shrugged.
“Well she calls Jack ‘puppy’.” Heith said flatly.
“She’s called him puppy since we were four.” Danny explained, “She’s the only one he lets call him that.”
Heith paused, “Noted and remembered.”
Danny nodded, “And it’s not like she won’t sometimes get on his nerves with it.”
“Fair.” Heith nodded and sipped on their shake, then made a face. “That’s bad.”
Danny sipped on it as well. “Yeah I don’t think it was mixed right, too much chocolate mixed in.”
“Oh well, it’s free.” Heith smiled, “But don’t worry about Burlin or Gravitas or whoever the fuck he was or is. We won the day, now you focus on your sister.”
Danny nodded and sighed, “Thanks. I don’t know why but I feel like I messed up there.”
“I feel like I messed up my whole life with him.” Heith said with a grimace, “You’d think you’d see something that would scream ‘supervillain’!”
“To be fair, GLOBAL is classified as a villain organization.” Danny said, “We don’t know their endgame so unless it’s global domination, I doubt it’ll be classified as Super.”
Heith blinked. “That’s the difference?”
Danny shrugged. “Classifications are based on motivations and power levels mainly. Criminals want survival and the stuff that helps with that; cash, gear, et cetera.” He pulled out a napkin and drew up a small diagram. “Villains have some ideal or goal, they feel they have a purpose or society is the one in the wrong. Super-Villains want power, to rule and to run things. It’s why guys like the MechAnimals and the psychotic Animals are both considered criminals, but Pharaoh is a Super-Villain despite mostly being a crime boss. We know he wants the world under his control and crime is his means to an end.”
“And The Fog is a criminal because they just sell their services. Man-Tick is a villain because, why?” Heith asked as she took another piece of pizza.
“Fun fact about Man-Tick, he funds his research into breaking his curse via mercenary actions, but his goal isn’t complete reversal, it’s to make more like those animal-hybrid people GLOBAL made.” Danny explained, “My best guess is they stole his work, because that man would not be quiet about being successful.”
“And that makes Jet Fission a Super-Villain.” Heith nodded, “What about the Nazi Zombies?”
“Armageddon Level Threat.” Danny nodded, “Isn’t this first year stuff? Dad taught us this when he came back, Anna already knew it.”
“You’d think, but it’s a Senior class.” Heith gave a huff, “How many Armageddon Level Threats are there?”
“Bleak and his Crew is currently the only one, but Fission can slide into that as well.” Danny took his first piece of pizza. “I keep forgetting how greasy this isn’t.” He sighed.
Heith snorted and shook her head. “Well thank you for the lesson. If you need someone to talk to until then, I’m just a chat or call away.”
Danny nodded, “Thanks.”
“So why’d your dad let you take the van, isn’t it like your only car since that fancy one of his got stolen and wrecked.”
Danny chuckled. “He got it replaced pretty fast. Scared the shit out of those car thieves though. Spent an hour crying about the best metal baby.”
Heith stared at Danny in confusion.
“It was his first car, one of the only things he’s had any material love for. Mom says I’ll understand when I get my first car.” Danny explained with a light sigh of contentment.
“But you can fly.” Heith said.
“I can, but sometimes you gotta move someone else. Also I don’t go that fast, just above the average running speed.” Danny shrugged.
“We need a re-match.” Heith sighed, taking deep of their shared shake.
“Have you suddenly developed the ability to hit incorporeal things?” Danny shot back, “Because I can still do that.”
“I’ll find a way. Found a way to block Guire’s stupid shocks.” Heith said with a slight tinge of annoyance.
“Ah, give Guire a break, kid’s in just as bad a situation as you were, only he can’t run and the best guy to help him is a bit distracted helping my sister right now.” Danny sighed.
“What do you mean?” Heith asked.
“Guire’s dad is a former cop. Currently head of Security at Sun-Tech. Dad got him fired for beating his wife, but he’s got too many friends still on the force. Dad can’t make any moves to help Greg, Bubbles is trying now.” Danny took another slice and a deep sip. “It’s really fucked up.”
“I can break his face.” Heith said, “No one could mad at me after what I’ve been through.”
Danny almost choked, “God, no. Please. Just don’t give him so much shit.”
Heith crossed her arms but nodded in understanding. “I’m kinda full.”
“Me too, too much popcorn.” Danny laughed. “Want to take it home to Sofie?”
Heith nodded and they waved to the server who promptly trolled back over to them.
“Take home for the rest please.” Danny said, “And hey, where’d you get the shoes?”
“Customs on myshoedrip.net.” He smiled, “Used to be popular in the early millennium, called Heelies. I’ll get you a box and cup for the shake.”
“You take the shake.” Heith said as she stood up to pay.
“I got this.” Danny smiled.
“I got it, I kinda put you in the asking position.” Heith smiled.
“Half then.” Danny offered.
“You pay for the shake.” Heith smiled.
Danny nodded, then remembered it had been a free shake. “Hey...”
“Too late you agreed.” Heith smiled and went to the counter to pay.
As the two stepped outside he couldn’t help but notice a motorcycle speeding by with a very elegant gothic dress on the rear end.
“Aggie?” Danny paused and stared.
“She wears dresses?!” Heith’s jaw dropped.
---B)(S)(F---
Alan and Endara were at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, a professed neutral ground where criminals could come to safely dine so long as violence was not reported. It was a Carcelli restaurant, but Alan wasn’t going to hold that against them tonight.
“So...” Endara looked at the menu. “Should we be here?”
Alan looked at her and sighed, “I made the reservations, Cassie told us too.” He threw his arms up in defeat, “I just can’t help but feel like a shit-heel here.”
“Same...” Endara sighed. “Maybe order a dessert and take it home?”
Alan smiled, “Okay, but we have to eat a meal or Anna will get Stephen on both of us.”
“She does do that easily.” Endara smiled, “Her mother’s care in her.”
Alan nodded, “So my lovely fire engine of brute force...”
Endara broke into laughter, then collected herself. “Thank you, you know just what to say. My lovely dumbass.”
“I do try.” Alan smiled, “Oh. Manicotti.”
“You hate anyone else’s manicotti.” Endara gave an accusatory glare.
“That’s not true, just people who don’t know how to make it. This is an Italian place, if they can’t make it I’m going to be upset.” Alan smiled. “You just stay out of their kitchen.”
Endara snorted and looked the menu over. “Oh, they make big meatballs here.”
“Good evening.” A man said as he approached, “My name is Trevor and I will be your server tonight.”
“Well Trevor, ever had the Manicotti?” Alan asked.
“Yes, my favorite short of the chef’s favorite ravioli.” Trevor smiled.
“I’ll take that.” Alan smiled, “House’s best red wine, for the holiday past.”
Trevor nodded, “And you Mrs. Quain.”
“I’ll have the spaghetti and meatballs, can I ask for just three extra large ones?” Endara asked.
Trevor nodded, “We can do that.” He then took their menus and bowed before leaving.
“Well, let’s enjoy the night.” Endara smiled, but paused as she noticed Alan looking up and past her.
Endara turned to see the massive frame of Polar Bear grinning down at her. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.
“No harm meant.” He said as Mud Dauber stood by his side.
“I always thought you two made an odd couple.” Alan tried to laugh. “We good?”
“Yes.” Polar Bear nodded, “I wanted to thank you for your kindness last we met.” He bowed his head. “It is rare when we have a hero remember we are human too, mostly.”
Alan did a brief scan of the man’s surface thoughts and nodded to Endara. Endara then relaxed.
“And I have no interest in taking on you and your wife. Even with Freya’s help, we would lose.” Polar Bear laughed.
“You would lose, I would flee.” Freya snorted.
Polar Bear looked slightly wounded as he stared at his partner, then he nodded in the affirmative and agreed with her.
“Well, you’re welcome, but right now we’re on our Valentine’s date.” Alan smiled, hoping to dissuade any further conversation.
“Da? So are we!” Polar Bear laughed, “But we will leave you to yours.”
Freya pulled on his scarf and Polar Bear bent down to listen as she whispered in his ear.
Polar Bear winced, “I know this is probably a bad time, we have heard of the attack on the school and that you have an injured child; but our leader has a proposition.”
Alan felt his jaw drop as he felt the idea pass from Polar Bear’s screaming and nervous mind.
“Too loud Isaak.” Freya hissed, “Remember he is a telepath.”
“Right. Sorry.” He pulled an envelope from his very carefully crafted vest and handed it to Alan. “It isn’t much as of now, but we have hopes.” Polar Bear smiled as he once again bowed and led Freya to their table.
“Well...” Endara watched the two MechAnimals sit at their own table, “At least you can tell they’re in love.”
Alan nodded as he put the envelope away. “We might have to step up Anna’s therapy.”
Endara blinked, “What?” Then she realized the implication. “They’re that desperate?”
“Pharaoh may have cut off other sources.” Alan sighed, “Or the Animals really messed them up.”
Endara nodded, “What about the psycho?”
“Let’s worry about that after we save our daughter.” Alan sighed. “And part of that is eating a meal to bring home a huge chocolate mousse.”
“I was thinking, instead, what about stopping for ice cream?” Endara smiled.
“Anna will want what she always wants.” Alan sighed and telekinetically lifted his phone from his pocket and sent out a message to the family. Then he got a reply that made him pause and stand up.
“Agatha or Danny?” Endara asked with a sigh.
“Take a guess.” Alan sighed as he went to a non-emergency exit. Then he dialed Agatha’s number, when she didn’t answer he sent another text and waited.
The door opened and Mud Dauber came out and lit a cigarette, then noticed Alan. He felt genuine shock from her, but didn’t let her distract him. Finally he got a response and sent a quick demand for her and Jack to get home. Then he leaned against the opposite wall and sighed, partially sinking down.
“Are you all right?” Freya asked, “That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry.” She walked over and offered her hand.
Alan paused and took it, using her to help himself stand.
“Eldest decided to do something ridiculously stupid.” Alan sighed, “Thank you.”
Freya nodded and Alan went to go back in, but paused.
“If he’s serious, tell him to hold out as long as he can. We’ll be out of the country for a bit.” Alan explained.
Freya nodded, “You know I met your newest. She’s a sweet kid, I hope it's not her that’s hurt.”
Alan paused and let a bitter laugh echo in the night. “Hurt is an understatement. That bastard started to tear her apart from the inside, and something else decided to continue it.” He growled.
Freya nodded, and watched the door close, but Alan remained outside.
“You have kids?” He asked.
“I wish I could. Early childhood cancer.” Freya smiled, “And Isaak’s DNA may not carry over.”
Alan nodded, “If you and he are serious and you all really mean this, hold on. Then maybe consider adoption.”
Freya nodded. “We’ll try.”
Alan cleared his throat. “You have a nice Valentine’s dinner.”
“You too.” Freya smiled.
Alan joined his wife once more.
“Was she a problem?” Endara asked.
“Nah, just a smoke break.” Alan nodded.
Endara leaned in, “So what broke you?”
Alan went to argue but smiled, just as he could make her laugh, he could never lie to her.
“Agatha tried to chase a guy she thought was a revenant.” Alan smirked with a slightly mad glare.
“Why is our daughter blessed with both of our impatient and impetuous natures?” Endara laughed and brushed her hair back.
“Luck.” Alan smiled.
Then their meals were brought out and Alan immediately went to dig into his manicotti. He just as quickly frowned.
“Bad?” Endara asked as she cut up her meatballs.
“I think I’ve been ruined.” Alan smiled, “Best damn manicotti I’ve had.” He looked at Trevor. “Compliments to the chef.”
Trevor smiled, “I shall inform him.”
Endara nodded as Trevor poured their wine for the night.
“Trevor, how big is the biggest mousse you’ve got?” Alan asked.
Trevor paused briefly, almost concerning Endara as she watched him quickly stop pouring. “Pretty darn big, but that's for catering. We have a twelve ounce one for take home.”
“Dang that won’t satisfy a house full of teens.” Alan sighed.
“We can put it on a cake or a pie.” Trevor suggested.
“Ohhh.” Endara smiled, “Can we get one to go?”
Trevor nodded and looked at Alan.
“If you would.” Alan said, “And anything else she wants.”
Trevor nodded and stepped away.
Endar smiled at her husband as she remembered a specific order she had put in with a private call. Alan found it moments later as he split open a manicotti to find a jewelry box that he telekinetically plucked out. He stared for a moment then looked at Endara.
“You would.” He sighed and opened it.
Inside was an infinity loop with Endara’s birthstone in the center and the stones of the entire Quain family, including Daniel, Jazz and Alan and Stephen’s original adoptive parents.
Alan smiled and sat it down.
“Surprise.” Endara smiled.
Alan nodded, “They cooked it in the manicotti.”
“What?” Endara blinked.
Alan laughed, “Thankfully it only messed up one.” He scraped the offending manicotti to the side. “Someone’s gonna get in trouble for that.”
“Well, hopefully they can learn.” Endara sighed and slowly laughed at the scenario.
Soon both Quain parents were laughing and making jokes about pasta jewelry.
/////
The First Story
[Previous Interlude]() //// [Next Interlude!]()
Arc 1 - Black Sheep Family - Arc 1, First Chapter
Arc 2 - Paradigm Shift - Arc 2, First Chapter
Arc 3 - Gravitas Rising Arc 3, First Chapter
Arc 4 - The Director’s Chair Arc 4, First Chapter
Arc 5- The School War Arc 5, First Chapter
Spotify
/////
Credit where Credit is due:
Kyton & Cassandra Adams are © u/TwistedMind596
Obsidian is © u/Ultimalice
Ixton the Blade of the Wielder is © My friend Forged of Souls who does not use reddit
Furnace is © my friend Matt who does not use reddit
Cedric Stein Meissner aka Tesseract is © my friend James, who does not use reddit.
All other characters and Dross City are © u/TheSmogMonsterZX
////
Perfection: Kinda heavy for an interlude inn’t?
Wraith: Well interludes are the parts that can't fit into the normal stories. He never said they wouldn’t contain any important details.
Smoggy: I believe I said I would try, and honestly I just couldn’t get Alan and Endara’s dinner anywhere at the end of Arc 5 or at the start of Arc 6. So it goes here and if I need to refer back to it, we treat it like a comic book and link to the story at the end.
Deadpool: I’m BACK and I brought boxes for all!
Smoggy: Glad to have you DP.
DM: What?
Smoggy: I’d like to send you some place nice, warm year ‘round and plenty of hot ladies to flirt with.
Deadpool: ...Really.
Wraith: (taps Scythe against the floor) He means hell.
Smoggy: I mean Hell.
DM: Ahhhh...
Deadpool: How about, like some place I can help teen heroes fight bad guys?
Wraith: We’ve already tried that with another version of you.
Smoggy: He still sends them Christmas Cards. So hell, or leave us alone.
Deadpool: You know I think it’s been fun here, but I miss home.
Perfection: (leaning over Deadpool’s shoulders) Smart choice. (vanishes with Deadpool)
Wraith: Why can’t they all be that reasonable.
Smoggy: Luck, insanity? I dunno. Time to focus. I got some SpellJammer stuff to make!
DM: Stinger!
Smoggy: Wha-
---B)(S)(F---
The Evening of the 16th of February, 2079
Jazz pulled her motorcycle up to the curb of the well maintained SkyView Apartments. She was almost up to the door when she heard voices out back laughing and shouting, so she went around to see what was going on. She found the person she was looking for with two of his friends, one of which was a personal hero of hers.
“Holy shit!” Jazz quickly saluted Samantha Canning.
“I’m retired and from what I understand, so are you.” Samantha smirked, then gave a quick salute.
“Jazz, what’s up?” Salem asked without looking up from the fire on the grill.
“They’re giving that poor little girl some bad news and I didn’t want to hear it.” Jazz sighed, “Figured I’d make you have some fun.”
“Some fun?” Sawyer looked at his friend, “You got a Super Nintendo?”
“Nah, figured we’d go beat up some thugs or something.” Jazz smiled. “Salem invite only though.”
“That’s fair. He needs more friends.” Samantha smiled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Salem looked up with a glare.
“That you’re an old curmudgeon with few friends and most are kids.” Sawyer smirked.
“Pot, meet the kettle.” Samantha smirked.
“I got friends.” Sawyer laughed, “Just no one else likes’em.”
Salem rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his whiskey mixed with blood. Then he stood straight and stretched before staring directly at Jazz.
“I got a strict curfew of twenty minutes before dawn.” He set an alarm on his phone. “Won’t crash or anything, just don’t want to dust.”
“Man, have you ever crashed?” Sawyer snorted in annoyance.
“Nah.” Salem nodded, “Can’t let the sun win at everything.” He grinned. “All right Artigan show me what you consider fun!”
“Get your helmet, you ain’t ridin’ with me without one.” Jazz smiled.
“I am not a seat warmer.” Salem glared.
Jazz crossed her arms. “My bike.”
Salem snarled, but stomped off and returned, but with his own bike and a leather helmet.
“You just...” Jazz laughed, “Can that thing keep up?”
Salem’s head tilted.
“Oh, now she’s done it.” Samantha laughed.
“They’re going to be mangled in a mess on the news.” Sawyer laughed, “Anna will kill them both. Then maybe Cassie.”
Samantha laughed and picked up her whiskey.
“Take my couch Canning, cops won’t care who you are if they smell that shit. Doesn’t matter that you’re not drunk.” Salem said as he continued to glare at Jazz.
Jazz continued to smirk, “Well come on old timer. We got some red to paint.”
Salem let a low growl escape his lips.
2024.05.03 10:58 LakioLozion [Blackwood] - Part 4
I walk through twice a dozen market stalls, passing four dozen unfamiliar faces. I stop only once to buy a fresh cream pastry from a rose-cheeked child tending his mother's stall. A puffy brown pastry with ivory cream leaking out of one end, wrapped in yellow waxy paper.
Walking on my own is freeing, the only other place I am allowed to walk while unattended is at home; and even then there are guards stationed, patrolling the halls. There is even a rotation of ‘watchers’ who stand at attention outside my bedroom, from dusk to dawn. The routine is exhausting.
I bite into my pastry and am met with the most buttery sweet cream I have ever tasted. I take another mouthful and feel nirvana. The pastry is very unlike anything that has ever come from my kitchens. The small bran disks made from nuts and slow molasses, crunch and crumble in your mouth like sand. This pastry is completely different from those sad bran discs. Unworldly in its taste. No poet could describe the art of this pastry.
I am lost in my confection, and eventually find myself outside of the market, having meandered a few streets too far to the left. I look around and find banners pointing towards the market, where I came from, and I walk in the other direction.
I eventually find myself at a familiar split in the road. There are no more market stalls, and even the banners along the road have ended. Residential huts line the majority of the road now. Only a few people have passed me, and there are long stretches where I am alone. I walk down a curved pathway and find myself at a familiar crossroads where two small buildings sit in an unlit alley, mirroring each other down to the window casings.
The first building is chocolate brown, dark oak slats line the ground, splintering and cracking with age. Moss has rooted in the cracks and is beginning to climb the corners of the house. There is a weathered sign nailed above the door: ‘Herbery and Cigars.’ A three-leafed clover is carved below the painted text but is halfway covered in moss.
I think for a moment about paying a visit to my favorite card reader but decide against it. It’s only been a fortnight since I saw her last, and I’d rather not get told for the fifth time that I am being bullheaded. I take the last bite of my pastry and mourn the fleeting taste when I swallow.
The second house looks less battered down with time. It is painted in a rich copper color, making the first building look even more dull. There is fresh spruce blocking along the base of it, still smelling of forest and rain. Small checkered aprons hang below the windows, which are flickering with light from the inside of the hut. I look at the white sign above the door and see the word ‘Chocolatier’ in fresh red paint. I haven’t seen this building before, which isn't surprising because I haven’t been in town like this for a few months.
I walk to the side window and peek in. A small stove holds a giant black cauldron, bubbling with golden butter. Above the stove is a shelf, lined with glass spice jars. A small man with brittle old hands is stooped over a cutting board, whittling off bits of a block of brown which I can only assume is a giant chunk of cacao. He wipes a hand across his brow and leaves a deep charcoal smudge across his face. In the corner, an older woman holds her belly and gives a deep laugh while pointing at the old man’s forehead. I watch as the woman is scolded by the old man, her shoulders still shaking with laughter as she grips the edges of her till.
I begin to make my way to the front door so that I can meet these people and become a patron when my wrist is grabbed by a spindly man covered in soot grey robes:
“Scuse me, miss,” he hisses out from his cloak, “You wouldn’t happen to ‘ave any coin, would ya?” His eyes flick to my belt where my coin purse and satchel are attached.
I glance at his hand, which hasn’t lessened its grip on my arm. “I might have some change,” I say, looking up into his hungry eyes. His features look almost wolf-like, too pointy and harsh. A story from my childhood about a wolf and a hen flash in my memory, distant and also very present.
He steps forward and I see a flash of sharp silver on his belt. My breath catches in my throat. His hand goes to his waist and he pulls back a corner of his robes, revealing a rusty knife, attached to his belt with a tattered leather loop. I suddenly am too aware of how few people there are walking on this street. How alone I am. His grip on my wrist grows tighter.
“I have coin for you,” my voice wavers.
A smile oozes across the man’s thin lips like plague. “Maybe you ‘happen to have a ‘lil more than just coin,” he says, his smile turning hideous.
My heart thunders in my ears and the edges of my vision begin to blur. My breath is both too fast and too shallow. I can feel the blood rushing through my fingertips.
I glance down at his hand, latched onto my wrist. I could scream, but there’s little chance anyone would come to my rescue in this part of town. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be faster than the man’s hand which is now hovering over the black handle of his knife.
I swallow my fear and take a quivering breath in. I may be alone, but I am not helpless.
I plant my feet, squeeze my eyes shut, and swing my elbow as hard as I can.
A bony crack shatters across the man’s cheekbone, snapping his head back and loosening his grip on my wrist. He yawps at the impact and grabs at his face. I jerk my hand away and break out into a sprint on my shaking legs.
I hear the man at my back, roaring in pain. Hot air hits my lungs as I navigate the narrow side street, the sparse lighting and cluttered pathways making a dangerous obstacle course. His steps stagger for a moment along the gravel, but then break out into a steady sprint behind me.
I rush through the side streets, desperate to gain distance between us. I grab the wooden edge of a building and swing myself around the curve, tears streaking across my cheeks as I run through the alley. I gulp down air into my burning lungs. I know the direction of the market, but not a perfect pathway back to it in these side streets.
I take another turn and find an empty cart blocking my path, turned on its side, and missing one wheel. I cannot slip under it. And I think it would take me moments I do not have right now to climb over it. I think for a moment about hiding in the shadow of the cart, but the thought of the man finding me, alone, with no one to discover me in that dreaded alley, keeps me moving.
I follow sparse lanterns. By now the sun has set and made way for the evening sky. I keep tripping over myself, unable to see my own feet in the patches of road without light. The footsteps behind me grow louder, the man growling at my heel.
As I round a corner, kicking up dust under my feet as I run, I see a familiar banner along the road. The edge of the market must be just a few streets away. The footsteps behind me have slowed. The amount of people on the streets has grown more frequent.
Another turn and I can see the edge of the market. Tears start running down my face, cold against the air as I hurry through the streets.
I finally reach the end of the market, and I squeeze through a stall and into the crowd. I allow myself a shaking breath of relief as I look around the crowd, and I begin to make my way back to my escort. I’ve never been so happy to see so many watching faces.
I realize how many people are watching me as I heave air into my lungs, and feel my palms become sweaty from nerves. With this many watching faces someone might recognize me. The sweat stings on my hand and I drop my gaze downward to my palm, which is a stain of blood. I must've cut it on something during my escape.
Suddenly, I am shoved back by a farmer pulling a cart, “Watch where you’re going, girl” he grunts.
I stagger backward and run right into the side of a woman carrying a bucket of blackfish. The woman stumbles and two of the fish slip from the bucket, their dead yellow eyes staring up at me as they fall to the ground, “Oi there!” she yells.
I raise my bloodied hand to apologize when the man with the knife slips into my vision, only a few paces away from me now. Angrily pushing his way through the crowd directly towards me. His eyes have turned to reddened slits, burning into me. My vision begins to blur again and I choke on my apology. I reel backward and frantically search for an exit.
A small tent with purple canvas covering an alleyway.
I might be able to slip away from him through it.
I turn my back to the man and push through the crowd, ducking around people whenever I can. A cart curves around me, giving me a few more desperate paces between me and my dangerous companion. The tent is just a few steps away, and I reach a hand forward to move the curtain door to the side.
I get to the edge of the tent, my blood-stained fingertips brushing the thick felt curtains. I am halfway inside the door when a firm hand grabs the side of my neck.
Cold fingers rest on my throat.
My heart stops.
A shriek gets caught in my lungs and I whirl on my heel, raising my shaking fists. If I have to fight I will, if that is what it comes down to.
My guard stares at me with a stunned expression. A deeply set frown casts across his lips and his eyes frantically search my face.
After a moment his hand goes to the hilt of his shortsword. He moves me to his side and whips his head around to see what or who has frightened me.
I gasp, trying to catch my wild breath and collect myself.
I look to the vendor whose tent I tried to escape through. “Hi, I’ll take two…” When I see the sign hanging above the till, I stutter, “I’ll take two prune juices please.”
First Previous Next
submitted by LakioLozion to redditserials [link] [comments]
Walking on my own is freeing, the only other place I am allowed to walk while unattended is at home; and even then there are guards stationed, patrolling the halls. There is even a rotation of ‘watchers’ who stand at attention outside my bedroom, from dusk to dawn. The routine is exhausting.
I bite into my pastry and am met with the most buttery sweet cream I have ever tasted. I take another mouthful and feel nirvana. The pastry is very unlike anything that has ever come from my kitchens. The small bran disks made from nuts and slow molasses, crunch and crumble in your mouth like sand. This pastry is completely different from those sad bran discs. Unworldly in its taste. No poet could describe the art of this pastry.
I am lost in my confection, and eventually find myself outside of the market, having meandered a few streets too far to the left. I look around and find banners pointing towards the market, where I came from, and I walk in the other direction.
I eventually find myself at a familiar split in the road. There are no more market stalls, and even the banners along the road have ended. Residential huts line the majority of the road now. Only a few people have passed me, and there are long stretches where I am alone. I walk down a curved pathway and find myself at a familiar crossroads where two small buildings sit in an unlit alley, mirroring each other down to the window casings.
The first building is chocolate brown, dark oak slats line the ground, splintering and cracking with age. Moss has rooted in the cracks and is beginning to climb the corners of the house. There is a weathered sign nailed above the door: ‘Herbery and Cigars.’ A three-leafed clover is carved below the painted text but is halfway covered in moss.
I think for a moment about paying a visit to my favorite card reader but decide against it. It’s only been a fortnight since I saw her last, and I’d rather not get told for the fifth time that I am being bullheaded. I take the last bite of my pastry and mourn the fleeting taste when I swallow.
The second house looks less battered down with time. It is painted in a rich copper color, making the first building look even more dull. There is fresh spruce blocking along the base of it, still smelling of forest and rain. Small checkered aprons hang below the windows, which are flickering with light from the inside of the hut. I look at the white sign above the door and see the word ‘Chocolatier’ in fresh red paint. I haven’t seen this building before, which isn't surprising because I haven’t been in town like this for a few months.
I walk to the side window and peek in. A small stove holds a giant black cauldron, bubbling with golden butter. Above the stove is a shelf, lined with glass spice jars. A small man with brittle old hands is stooped over a cutting board, whittling off bits of a block of brown which I can only assume is a giant chunk of cacao. He wipes a hand across his brow and leaves a deep charcoal smudge across his face. In the corner, an older woman holds her belly and gives a deep laugh while pointing at the old man’s forehead. I watch as the woman is scolded by the old man, her shoulders still shaking with laughter as she grips the edges of her till.
I begin to make my way to the front door so that I can meet these people and become a patron when my wrist is grabbed by a spindly man covered in soot grey robes:
“Scuse me, miss,” he hisses out from his cloak, “You wouldn’t happen to ‘ave any coin, would ya?” His eyes flick to my belt where my coin purse and satchel are attached.
I glance at his hand, which hasn’t lessened its grip on my arm. “I might have some change,” I say, looking up into his hungry eyes. His features look almost wolf-like, too pointy and harsh. A story from my childhood about a wolf and a hen flash in my memory, distant and also very present.
He steps forward and I see a flash of sharp silver on his belt. My breath catches in my throat. His hand goes to his waist and he pulls back a corner of his robes, revealing a rusty knife, attached to his belt with a tattered leather loop. I suddenly am too aware of how few people there are walking on this street. How alone I am. His grip on my wrist grows tighter.
“I have coin for you,” my voice wavers.
A smile oozes across the man’s thin lips like plague. “Maybe you ‘happen to have a ‘lil more than just coin,” he says, his smile turning hideous.
My heart thunders in my ears and the edges of my vision begin to blur. My breath is both too fast and too shallow. I can feel the blood rushing through my fingertips.
I glance down at his hand, latched onto my wrist. I could scream, but there’s little chance anyone would come to my rescue in this part of town. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be faster than the man’s hand which is now hovering over the black handle of his knife.
I swallow my fear and take a quivering breath in. I may be alone, but I am not helpless.
I plant my feet, squeeze my eyes shut, and swing my elbow as hard as I can.
A bony crack shatters across the man’s cheekbone, snapping his head back and loosening his grip on my wrist. He yawps at the impact and grabs at his face. I jerk my hand away and break out into a sprint on my shaking legs.
I hear the man at my back, roaring in pain. Hot air hits my lungs as I navigate the narrow side street, the sparse lighting and cluttered pathways making a dangerous obstacle course. His steps stagger for a moment along the gravel, but then break out into a steady sprint behind me.
I rush through the side streets, desperate to gain distance between us. I grab the wooden edge of a building and swing myself around the curve, tears streaking across my cheeks as I run through the alley. I gulp down air into my burning lungs. I know the direction of the market, but not a perfect pathway back to it in these side streets.
I take another turn and find an empty cart blocking my path, turned on its side, and missing one wheel. I cannot slip under it. And I think it would take me moments I do not have right now to climb over it. I think for a moment about hiding in the shadow of the cart, but the thought of the man finding me, alone, with no one to discover me in that dreaded alley, keeps me moving.
I follow sparse lanterns. By now the sun has set and made way for the evening sky. I keep tripping over myself, unable to see my own feet in the patches of road without light. The footsteps behind me grow louder, the man growling at my heel.
As I round a corner, kicking up dust under my feet as I run, I see a familiar banner along the road. The edge of the market must be just a few streets away. The footsteps behind me have slowed. The amount of people on the streets has grown more frequent.
Another turn and I can see the edge of the market. Tears start running down my face, cold against the air as I hurry through the streets.
I finally reach the end of the market, and I squeeze through a stall and into the crowd. I allow myself a shaking breath of relief as I look around the crowd, and I begin to make my way back to my escort. I’ve never been so happy to see so many watching faces.
I realize how many people are watching me as I heave air into my lungs, and feel my palms become sweaty from nerves. With this many watching faces someone might recognize me. The sweat stings on my hand and I drop my gaze downward to my palm, which is a stain of blood. I must've cut it on something during my escape.
Suddenly, I am shoved back by a farmer pulling a cart, “Watch where you’re going, girl” he grunts.
I stagger backward and run right into the side of a woman carrying a bucket of blackfish. The woman stumbles and two of the fish slip from the bucket, their dead yellow eyes staring up at me as they fall to the ground, “Oi there!” she yells.
I raise my bloodied hand to apologize when the man with the knife slips into my vision, only a few paces away from me now. Angrily pushing his way through the crowd directly towards me. His eyes have turned to reddened slits, burning into me. My vision begins to blur again and I choke on my apology. I reel backward and frantically search for an exit.
A small tent with purple canvas covering an alleyway.
I might be able to slip away from him through it.
I turn my back to the man and push through the crowd, ducking around people whenever I can. A cart curves around me, giving me a few more desperate paces between me and my dangerous companion. The tent is just a few steps away, and I reach a hand forward to move the curtain door to the side.
I get to the edge of the tent, my blood-stained fingertips brushing the thick felt curtains. I am halfway inside the door when a firm hand grabs the side of my neck.
Cold fingers rest on my throat.
My heart stops.
A shriek gets caught in my lungs and I whirl on my heel, raising my shaking fists. If I have to fight I will, if that is what it comes down to.
My guard stares at me with a stunned expression. A deeply set frown casts across his lips and his eyes frantically search my face.
After a moment his hand goes to the hilt of his shortsword. He moves me to his side and whips his head around to see what or who has frightened me.
I gasp, trying to catch my wild breath and collect myself.
I look to the vendor whose tent I tried to escape through. “Hi, I’ll take two…” When I see the sign hanging above the till, I stutter, “I’ll take two prune juices please.”
First Previous Next
2024.04.29 19:49 JukeBoxHeroJustin Help determining date, maker, or fineness of silver box
 | I have a silver box that is giving me a run for my money trying to determine its history. It looks like a ringer for a mid century danish cigar box but the markings can't confirm that. There is a very small mark on the lid opener. I'm attaching a photo of it here. It almost looks like it reads Plear. I've looked on makers mark lists, I've searched Google for similar marks, and tried some texts. All have hit dead ends. Apart from the mark shown, the number 101 is stamped in two locations. I'm assuming that's the production number. submitted by JukeBoxHeroJustin to collectables [link] [comments] Any feedback would be extremely helpful. Thanks in advance. |
2024.04.28 20:35 EssenseOfMagic Daily Releases (April 27, 2024)
| Game | Group | Stores | Review |
|---|---|---|---|
| Bloons TD 6 | ElAmigos | Steam, Epic | 97.37% (305.1k) |
| Heros Hour | ElAmigos | Steam, Epic | 80.01% (4.6k) |
| Trailmakers Deluxe Edition | ElAmigos | - | |
| Dwarf Fortress | ElAmigos | Steam | 95.31% (25.5k) |
| Sword Art Online Last Recollection Ultimate Edition | ElAmigos | - | |
| Quake II Enhanced Edition | ElAmigos | - | |
| Parkitect | ElAmigos | Steam, GOG | 94.49% (7.0k) |
| Gas Station Simulator | P2P | Steam, GOG, Epic | 87.82% (21.7k) |
| PC Building Simulator | P2P | Steam | 93.84% (49.8k) |
| We Are Football 2024 | P2P | Steam, GOG, Epic | 81.66% (374) |
| Manor Lords | P2P | Steam, GOG, Epic | 90.09% (13.1k) |
| Elven Rivers 5 Undersea Collectors Edition | RAZOR | - | |
| Staffer Reborn | TENOKE | Steam | 97.50% (78) |
| POOLS | TENOKE | Steam | 96.13% (298) |
| Paranormal Observation | TENOKE | Steam, Epic | 89.47% (34) |
| John Christian 3.0 | TENOKE | Steam | 100.00% (13) |
| Jack Holmes Master of Puppets | TENOKE | Steam, GOG, Epic | 83.33% (5) |
| Heavy Storm Shadow | TENOKE | Steam | 76.49% (192) |
| Nordic Ashes Survivors of Ragnarok | TENOKE | Steam | 87.66% (3.9k) |
| Update | Group | Stores | Reviews |
|---|---|---|---|
| Thief.Simulator.2.Update.v1.25-TENOKE | TENOKE | Steam, GOG | 91.38% (3.3k) |
| Reverse.Collapse.Code.Name.Bakery.Update.v1.0.4.3-TENOKE | TENOKE | Steam | 72.45% (3.5k) |
| PARANORMASIGHT.The.Seven.Mysteries.of.Honjo.Update.v1.2-TENOKE | TENOKE | Steam | 95.61% (2.5k) |
| Immortal.Life.Update.v1.0.15-TENOKE | TENOKE | Steam, Epic | 80.62% (3.2k) |
| Doomsday.Paradise.Update.v1.3.2-TENOKE | TENOKE | Steam, Epic | 91.09% (184) |
| Tintin.Reporter.Die.Zigarren.des.Pharaos.Update.5.MULTi12-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | Epic | - |
| REVEIL.Funhouse.Edition.Update.2.MULTi14-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | Steam, GOG, Epic | - |
| Remnant.II.Ultimate.Edition.Update.23.MULTi10-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | Epic | - |
| Pacific.Drive.Deluxe.Edition.Update.5.MULTi9-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | Epic | - |
| Lords.of.the.Fallen.2023.Deluxe.Edition.Update.38.MULTi12-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | - | |
| Horza.Verizon.5.Premium.Edition.Update.35.MULTi16-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | - | |
| Dying.Light.2.Stay.Human.Ultimate.Edition.ReRelease.Update.22.MULTi2-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | - | |
| Cities.Skylines.II.Ultimate.Edition.Update.10.MULTi12-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | - | |
| Banishers.Ghosts.of.New.Eden.Update.2.MULTi10-x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | x.X.RIDDICK.X.x | Steam, Epic | 86.51% (3.0k) |
Q&A
Q: When will [insert game name here] be cracked?
A: STOP! CrackWatch members are not psychic. Games get cracked by completely ANONYMOUS SCENE GROUPS who don't disclose their progress or plans to the general public so NO ONE knows WHEN and IF a certain game will be cracked.
Q: What are all these NFO thingies? Where do I download?
A: NFOs are text files included with game releases which contain information about the releases. CrackWatch only informs which games have been cracked. To download look for the releases on CS.RIN.RU's forum or torrent websites. Useful websites can be found in The Beginners Guide or PiratedGames's Mega Thread.
Q: WTF is Denuvo?
A: Denuvo is a Digital Rights Management (DRM) technology used to protect games from being cracked. Games that have Denuvo are harder to crack and usually take much longer. See Pinned Post for a list of Denuvo games.
Q: An update is out, but it includes the base game as well! Can I only download the update without redownloading the entire game?
A: Yes. CS.RIN.RU is your friend.
2024.04.25 16:42 -lesyeuxdenini I LET MEN SEXUALIZED ME
I let these men (my biological father, stepfather, brother, two of my cousins, and a neighbor who is now dead) sexualized me and I wonder how did i let this go far?
It started when I was in elementary (now in college). My family went through a very difficulty situation where my mother had to send my father in jail. Despite my limited memory of the events at the time, it was the most shameful moment of my life. My mother continued to perform her duties as a wife in spite of the terrible things we had to go through, and we would visit him once a week. I don't know how long it lasted ( i may have forcefully tried to bury my childhood due to painful and traumatizing memories) until we received a call from him and that he met a new partner through some texting.
My mother and he went through an unofficial separation but since we live in philippines, we are no new to that. I once consented to visit my father at his new house since, as a daughter, I yearned for my father's love. We decided that I would spend my summer vacation with them. It proceeded smoothly for the first month. I would assist her wife with housework and her sari-sari store. I gradually came to terms with his new family, adjusting to their way of life and gradually learning to live with them. Up until my father lost it one evening. and it was awful. I had never seen this side of him before, so I was shocked. He was going crazy; he would toss items in front of me that were within arm's reach, like trays of eggs or an electric fan. I had no idea what to say, not even a single word. Rather, I wept in silence as I'm not sure what could lead him to behave that way. Are you guys aware of what occurred the following day? My father actually told me that, and I'm not sure how to put it into words or explain why I can still remember it. but my father really told me that "Huwag kang maniniwala sa nanay mo, kung kani-kanino yang lalaki ******, Kapag gagawin namin yun ibang pangalan binabanggit niya" it broke me. How could a child experience this? i know na bata pa ako no'n pero ang nasa isip ko no'n "Bakit ito sinasabi ng tatay ko?Paniniwalaan ko ba siya o bine-brainwash niya lang ako"? See? How could I even thought that my father was tainting my mind with inappropriate things? From that day forward, nagbago sa akin trato ng tatay ko. Until he had an opportune time to do these horrible things to me. When is the right time when a case is considered a rape? is there should be a right moment for that? is it should be when the person doing the horrible thing had their fills fulfilled? is it not considered a rape when he had the chance to enter the tip but when he heard my cries, he withdrew it? I couldn't utter a word. Wala akong masabi noong mga oras na yon. How could I when my father's cries was louder than mine? right after nung nangyari, he acted like a good father he was. he served me my breakfast, he carry me in his arms while humming a song her mother probably sang for him when he was my age.
I didn't report it, not a single word at all. I returned home as if nothing had occurred. I didn't let my mental problems stop me from studying. Up until the day my stepfather started doing "it" to me. I felt something on my most private area while I was asleep. I saw him but i chose to ignore it. is it because i become accustomed to it? I don't know. Then it was now my brother, it happened when i was sleeping (again). i didn't saw him but my mother did. I overheard their conversations and it was clear how my mother scolded him ( i won't go into details na dahil masyado na itong mahaba). Next were my cousins and they are siblings. They invited me in their house and i was hoping to get a chance to play on their computer but i was not expecting that they would bring me inside their bedroom. they undressed themselves. One was rubbing his dick on my side while the other was watching. fucking traumatizing. Next was a neighbor—he asked for a favor to buy him a cigarette and would give me an extra coin in return. I handed his cigars but then he grabbed my wrist and forced his lips on mine. It lasted for a second because managed to escape from his grip and ran outside. Again, it all happened during my elementary days.
I find myself wondering how a child who goes through such terrible experiences in life can still excel academically (not really), have aspirations, and show unwavering love for her family? Sinubukan kong kalimutan lahat ng nangyari pero ang hirap kung patuloy ka pa rin ginugulo ng taong unang gumawa sa iyo non, nakakasama mo sa iisang bubong yung tumatayo mong ama ngayon at pinagaaral ka, binibihisan ka , at tinuturing na anak (kung ganon pa ba ang matatawag), at nakikita mo sa labas ng bahay niyo yung mga pinsan mong isa sa sumira hindi lang ng pagkakakilanlan mo sa sarili ngunit yung halaga mo.
Hindi ko na alam kung may problema ba ako sa sarili ko o sa pag-iisip ko pero minsan ninanais ko na lang bumalik sa umpisa kung saan wala pa akong kamuwang-muwang sa buhay at simulan ulit lahat. Minsan wala na akong maramdaman sa tuwing naiisip ko yung mga ginawa nila sa akin pero madalas akong mandiri sa sarili kapag tinitignan ko katawan ko. I emotionally numbed myself so i don't have to deal with my problems dahil nagaaral pa ako at kailangan kong tulungan sila Mama sa buhay. Hindi naman kami mayaman.
Probably, some of you would find my story suspicious but it happened. Ngayon lang ako nagkaroon ng chance i-express itong matagal ko nang tinatago kahit sa pamilya ko at lubos kong tatanggap ang inyong mga payo kung ano ang maaari kong gawin para bumalik yung sigla ko sa buhay.
submitted by -lesyeuxdenini to OffMyChestPH [link] [comments]
It started when I was in elementary (now in college). My family went through a very difficulty situation where my mother had to send my father in jail. Despite my limited memory of the events at the time, it was the most shameful moment of my life. My mother continued to perform her duties as a wife in spite of the terrible things we had to go through, and we would visit him once a week. I don't know how long it lasted ( i may have forcefully tried to bury my childhood due to painful and traumatizing memories) until we received a call from him and that he met a new partner through some texting.
My mother and he went through an unofficial separation but since we live in philippines, we are no new to that. I once consented to visit my father at his new house since, as a daughter, I yearned for my father's love. We decided that I would spend my summer vacation with them. It proceeded smoothly for the first month. I would assist her wife with housework and her sari-sari store. I gradually came to terms with his new family, adjusting to their way of life and gradually learning to live with them. Up until my father lost it one evening. and it was awful. I had never seen this side of him before, so I was shocked. He was going crazy; he would toss items in front of me that were within arm's reach, like trays of eggs or an electric fan. I had no idea what to say, not even a single word. Rather, I wept in silence as I'm not sure what could lead him to behave that way. Are you guys aware of what occurred the following day? My father actually told me that, and I'm not sure how to put it into words or explain why I can still remember it. but my father really told me that "Huwag kang maniniwala sa nanay mo, kung kani-kanino yang lalaki ******, Kapag gagawin namin yun ibang pangalan binabanggit niya" it broke me. How could a child experience this? i know na bata pa ako no'n pero ang nasa isip ko no'n "Bakit ito sinasabi ng tatay ko?Paniniwalaan ko ba siya o bine-brainwash niya lang ako"? See? How could I even thought that my father was tainting my mind with inappropriate things? From that day forward, nagbago sa akin trato ng tatay ko. Until he had an opportune time to do these horrible things to me. When is the right time when a case is considered a rape? is there should be a right moment for that? is it should be when the person doing the horrible thing had their fills fulfilled? is it not considered a rape when he had the chance to enter the tip but when he heard my cries, he withdrew it? I couldn't utter a word. Wala akong masabi noong mga oras na yon. How could I when my father's cries was louder than mine? right after nung nangyari, he acted like a good father he was. he served me my breakfast, he carry me in his arms while humming a song her mother probably sang for him when he was my age.
I didn't report it, not a single word at all. I returned home as if nothing had occurred. I didn't let my mental problems stop me from studying. Up until the day my stepfather started doing "it" to me. I felt something on my most private area while I was asleep. I saw him but i chose to ignore it. is it because i become accustomed to it? I don't know. Then it was now my brother, it happened when i was sleeping (again). i didn't saw him but my mother did. I overheard their conversations and it was clear how my mother scolded him ( i won't go into details na dahil masyado na itong mahaba). Next were my cousins and they are siblings. They invited me in their house and i was hoping to get a chance to play on their computer but i was not expecting that they would bring me inside their bedroom. they undressed themselves. One was rubbing his dick on my side while the other was watching. fucking traumatizing. Next was a neighbor—he asked for a favor to buy him a cigarette and would give me an extra coin in return. I handed his cigars but then he grabbed my wrist and forced his lips on mine. It lasted for a second because managed to escape from his grip and ran outside. Again, it all happened during my elementary days.
I find myself wondering how a child who goes through such terrible experiences in life can still excel academically (not really), have aspirations, and show unwavering love for her family? Sinubukan kong kalimutan lahat ng nangyari pero ang hirap kung patuloy ka pa rin ginugulo ng taong unang gumawa sa iyo non, nakakasama mo sa iisang bubong yung tumatayo mong ama ngayon at pinagaaral ka, binibihisan ka , at tinuturing na anak (kung ganon pa ba ang matatawag), at nakikita mo sa labas ng bahay niyo yung mga pinsan mong isa sa sumira hindi lang ng pagkakakilanlan mo sa sarili ngunit yung halaga mo.
Hindi ko na alam kung may problema ba ako sa sarili ko o sa pag-iisip ko pero minsan ninanais ko na lang bumalik sa umpisa kung saan wala pa akong kamuwang-muwang sa buhay at simulan ulit lahat. Minsan wala na akong maramdaman sa tuwing naiisip ko yung mga ginawa nila sa akin pero madalas akong mandiri sa sarili kapag tinitignan ko katawan ko. I emotionally numbed myself so i don't have to deal with my problems dahil nagaaral pa ako at kailangan kong tulungan sila Mama sa buhay. Hindi naman kami mayaman.
Probably, some of you would find my story suspicious but it happened. Ngayon lang ako nagkaroon ng chance i-express itong matagal ko nang tinatago kahit sa pamilya ko at lubos kong tatanggap ang inyong mga payo kung ano ang maaari kong gawin para bumalik yung sigla ko sa buhay.
2024.04.24 06:44 BoukoKakuCatharsis "The Man Who Put the Bomp" by Richard Chwedyk (2/6)
Originally posted on the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction Vol 132, No 3 & 4, March-April 2017.
Retrieved from the Internet Archive
Continued From Here
It was like this: Tom, fortunately, had no difficulty acquiring a new battery. Parts were tricky to locate, even on the world market; batteries were not. It was much harder to find an outlet converter. VOOM! came from a time when the country used a different standard from the rest of the world. Once located, battery and convertor arrived within the week.
Not only was VOOM! now fully powered and capable of presenting the illusion of motion through Mappo™'s "street-level" projections on the windows, but the "real" electrical engine drove the "real" wheels of the vehicle to a maximum of five kilometers per hour, a fact that infuriated Agnes.
"There's a reason things get put into attics!" Agnes had faced down the VOOM! and its metallic-painted grill. "A crazed idiot, who for the moment will remain nameless, might get behind the wheel and start rolling this monstrosity around the floor without regard for the little ones standing by!"
If given the chance, Tom might have explained to her that Axel still had no way to control the vehicle. He was not equipped in size or shape to operate the car in the manner intended by its manufacturers. He had to stand on the front seat and lean very far forward, almost as if he were in a full run, just to get his forepaws on the steering wheel. This posture afforded him little in the way of maneuverability for turning.
The accelerator and brake were, from this vantage point, unattainable.
Not to mention that he couldn't see over the dashboard.
Axel was undeterred. He searched for sticks and levers and pulleys. Unfortunately, the sticks were too short or too long, or they slipped from their makeshift moorings; the levers had no way of being secured.
That might have been the end of it, until the day before Danner's visit, when Axel noticed Ross heading up to the attic and followed him.
Ross was never one to deviate from his activities: attending to the traffic reports; staring out the window; listening to the "music" played by the Five Wise Buddhasaurs; a rare game of Not So Hard with Alphonse. But he rarely went up past the second floor.
Ross scoured the museum, then the attic space where VOOM! had been discovered. He scrounged around through cartons of what looked like random stuff: things put away in haste to be sorted out later, but never were.
"Hey, Ross!" Axel could not restrain his curiosity. "Whatcha lookin' for?"
"Click Thing." He spoke without stopping his search.
"Click Thing?"
"Click Thing. Goes 'click.'" He moved on to another carton.
"That's neat," said Axel.
"Not neat. Click!" Ross opened a carton that was filled with coffee mugs and quickly closed it back up.
"What you need it for?"
"Not for me. For you!" He looked into a shoebox that contained, alas, nothing but shoes, and closed it up again.
"Me?"
"Click Thing. You click 'go,' it go. You click 'stop,' it stop. You click 'on,' it on."
"What's on?"
"VOOM! on!"
"VOOM!?"
"VOOM! Click 'off,' it off."
"So if we find the Click Thing, I can make VOOM! go?"
"What I said."
"Can I help?"
"Why not?"
Axel did more than open the next carton; he leapt into it. If the Click Thing could make VOOM! go, it had to be found.
He found a waffle maker and a toaster. But no Click Thing. From another carton, Axel pulled out an ear syringe and showed it to Ross.
"Too big." He batted it from Axel's grip. "Not like that!"
"What's it look like?"
"Click Thing small. Square. Like wrecked angle. Little guy. Fit in your paw."
Axel dug into another carton. And another. And one more. From each, he pulled a dozen things and presented them to Ross.
Ross shook his head each time. "Not Click Thing."
They continued to search. Axel delved into yet another carton. In the bottom was a wooden box originally made for something once (maybe still) called cigars. This cigar box contained sets of cards that used to be bound together by rubber bands now gone flaccid and brittle. One deck featured humans in sports uniforms. Another bundle of cards depicted starships and "space guys" in red uniforms. One pack was devoted to wizards and dragons. At the bottom of the box was a thick stack featuring pictures of dinosaurs. Ross cast the cards aside.
"Wait!" Axel retrieved one of the scattered cards. "This guy looks like Baraboo Bob!"
Ross refused the distraction. "You want Click Thing or no?"
Axel, with a stifled moan, let the card drop. "Yes! Click Thing! Yes yes yes!"
"Here!" Ross pointed to an enameled tile about the size and shape of a domino. It looked very much like a domino, with its eight dots on one side, grouped four and four. The dots, unlike those on dominoes, were not concave, but convex. When you pressed any of them, they made a distinctive "click" sound.
One more thing distinguished it: it was pink.
Ross handed it to Axel. "See?" With a digit of his left forepaw, he pointed to each tiny button. "On. Off. Stop. Go. Back. Left. Right." He gestured energetically to the buttons. "These make VOOM! move."
"What's that one?" Axel pointed to last concave spot on the face of the Click Thing, at the bottom right.
"That," said Ross, "is NO!"
"No?"
"NO! Don't press! Don't ever press!"
Axel stared at it, absorbed in its mystery. "Oh, I'll never use the last button! I promise! Never never never!"
"Unless," Ross pointed upward with one digit, "emergency!"
Axel nodded vigorously. "Emergency! Then NO! is YES!"
Ross nodded. "When Tom charge Click Thing, you own da road!"
"What?"
Almost from nowhere (for it had to come from somewhere) Ross took out a parsnip and with its narrow end he tapped Axel. " You own da road!" He tapped him again. " You."
"I don't know how to thank you."
"No thank! Own da road!" He put the tip of the parsnip in his mouth.
"How did you know about the Click Thing?"
Ross nibbled on his parsnip before answering. "Been around."
"Around what?"
"All around." He spoke as he chewed. "Gow-boys. Gobos. Ganadians."
"Why'd you find it for me?"
"You OH-kay. Make Agnes mad. You OH-kay."
"Okay?"
"Oh-KAY!" Still nibbling his parsnip, Ross started back down the stairs.
"Okay!" Axel, with the Click Thing, followed after.
He still needed one more element: height. Even with the Click Thing charged and operative, he still couldn't see over the dashboard. It would be no fun to roam the world if all you could see were a plastic panel, buttons, dials, and a steering wheel.
Fortunately, Hubert contributed a book from the library. It was a volume of more than two thousand pages, very old, from a period some scholars refer to as "Paste Modern." The book was titled Zemblia. No one remembered the name of the author, but the body of the text appeared to be a random dusting of words taken from other novels, cut to shreds, and randomly re-pasted. The best purpose for which such a book could be employed was to provide Axel with sufficient elevation to see past the dashboard. It took some effort for Hubert to carry it over, but he was glad to see it finally put to use.
Axel was almost ready.
Agnes, however, would not relent.
"No good ever came from anything pink!"
"You may not have noticed," said Charlie, looking across the room to Bronte's eggling, "but little Guinevere is pink, too."
Agnes, undeterred, was about to speak again when Elliot, the red stegosaur, timidly concurred. "He's right."
"Yeah," Baraboo Bob, the styracosaurus, added his vote. "Guinevere is pink."
Several other saurs muttered in agreement.
A small, curious crowd gathered around Agnes, who was standing in front of VOOM! with Sluggo and Leslie. Also in the crowd was Lana, a sauropod of unquestionably pink color. She didn't look angry, only interested in seeing a plated quadruped backpedal.
Kara regarded Agnes the same way.
As did Bronte.
And, of course, Guinevere.
Agnes stared at them as if she were surrounded by assassins.
"Are you all idiots? It's not the same thing! Guinevere is not pink! She is salmon!"
A number of saurs laughed. More of them wanted to laugh, but were afraid to.
A little one whispered to another saur standing nearby, "Agnes said Guinevere is a fish."
"That's not what I said at all!"
"Salmon is a fish," said another little one.
"Salmon is a color, too!" Agnes shot back.
"Color of a fish," said Tex, a blue-gray hadrosaur.
"Guinevere is not a fish!"
"You said she was a salmon," Tex insisted.
"Salmon- colored — not a salmon! Are you listening?"
"I don't know about you," said Charlie, "but salmon sure looks pink to me!" He smiled at Guinevere, who smiled back.
Some little ones repeated, "Fish!" Others chanted, "Salmon!"
"You've all gone crazy!" Agnes shouted at them. "Or stupid! Can't you see it doesn't matter what color Guinevere is?"
And another chant started—an easy one for saurian voices; they had no trouble with the dominant vowel, and the consonants were simple to articulate:
"VOOM! VOOM! VOOM!"
Agnes's sides drew in and out. The plates along her back rippled like waves in a troubled stream.
"Fools! Idiots! Cretins!"
She would have kept haranguing everyone had she not noticed, standing next to Sluggo, her eggling—her Leslie. He looked up at her, wide-eyed (or as wide-eyed as an eggling can manage) and trembled.
Agnes, more often than not, had an impenetrable surface when it came to what she knew and what she believed to be right. She never doubted: the world was wrong, plain and simple, and it was her duty to make that point clear to everyone until such time as the world became right—until the world shaped up.
But then there was Leslie. The way he looked at her.
Her anger didn't lessen, but it eased with her breathing. She swung her tail around and, with its momentum, turned away from VOOM! From everyone.
"Sluggo! Leslie! Come along!"
Sluggo and Leslie came along, the little one looking first to Sluggo for assurance.
The advantage to having a physique that places your head near the floor is that parent and offspring can see eye-to-eye from an earlier age.
Later, when she had calmed down, Agnes climbed the plastic stairs up to the table near the window in the former dining room and walked directly up to the ReggiesystemTM computer portal.
"Hey, Reggie! I'm sending a message!" She spoke to the Reggie icon in the center of the portal display screen.
"To whom do you wish to send the message?" The icon, who previously wore a serene expression, appeared more guarded now.
"To the idiot President."
"Another message?"
"There a problem?"
A pause before the reply. "Audio or voice-to-text?"
"I don't care, as long as she gets it. Make sure you copy it to all other humans."
"All humans?" Reggie accented each syllable tersely.
"Scratch that. Let her worry about it."
Another pause. "You may begin dictating."
"Good." She began without hesitation. "Dear President Idiot: It has recently come to my attention that dangerous killing machines have been left available and unguarded in places where possibly unstable—delete that 'possibly'—where unstable lunatics can acquire these weapons and use them against innocent and unsuspecting members of the saurian constituency! How can you possibly live with yourself in good conscience—"
"You know," said Dr. Margaret Pagliotti, the woman who kept track of the saurs' health, "Agnes has a point."
Dr. Margaret rarely qualified her statements. No "maybe." Never "perhaps."
"I know," said Tom.
They were in Tom's office the day before Danner's visit, drinking coffee. "Dr. Margaret," as most of the saurs called her, had already completed her rounds and was surprised at how contagious Axel's enthusiasm for the VOOM! had become. "You said yourself you don't know where this car came from. No record of its delivery. It's not inventoried with the rest of the things in the attic."
"I found an empty crate up there," said Tom. "It's the right size. It could be no one ever looked in it before."
Dr. Margaret frowned. "Maybe, for safety's sake, you should intervene this time."
They were sitting together on a little green couch next to Tom's desk. Each had an arm around the other. At her words, Tom withdrew and sat forward to the edge of his seat.
"My job isn't to do what I think is right. It's to trust them to do the right thing—to figure it out. Make sense?"
"Yes. I don't like it, but it makes sense."
"You're a doctor, always making decisions for others."
"That's not true!" She shoved him with the palm of her hand. "Not...not always. Besides, we treat people like toys sometimes, don't we?" She stood up and poured herself another cup of coffee from the carafe at the edge of Tom's desk.
"We used to make toys for people. Maybe now it's the other way round." Tom held out his empty mug.
"I don't even know what a toy is anymore." She poured him some more coffee and returned to the seat next to him.
"I'm glad I don't have to know." Tom took Dr. Margaret's hand—the one not holding her coffee—and squeezed it gently. "All I have to do is live with them."
You live with them too much, Dr. Margaret thought, making decisions again.
"Who cares about a bunch of rejects?" Christine Haig had asked when Nicholas Danner, rather spur-of-the-moment, offered her the chance to visit the saurs with him.
"You should care," said Danner, staring at his screen.
"Why?"
"You're in the toy business now. It's what you do."
She replied offhandedly, "Bioengineered toys that triggered one of the worst marketing disasters in retail history."
"It was a disaster we created. Right here."
"So?"
"You can learn a lot from a disaster." He spoke as he worked.
"Like what?"
"Like, the simplest thing about a disaster is creating one."
Christine nodded. "Right. The hardest part is the cleanup. Oil spills. Cadmium in foodstuffs. Meltdowns. Pesticides. Collapsed infrastructure. All that fun stuff."
"That's not the hardest part."
"What is, then? Since you're so smart."
"Preventing it."
Christine cleared her throat. "Easy to say."
"I know. That's why I said it. Still true."
The thing about all Danner's "stuff"—the pictures pushpinned to the walls, the books (all the novels of Ellis Lawrence Cartwright), the models, the old tools from bygone days—was not how they distracted Danner but how they distracted others.
In contrast, Christine's space was devoid of the slightest ornament. Were it not for her name plaque pinned to the cubicle partition, it would have been anonymous. She caught herself staring at Danner's photograph of a railroad engine that had crashed through the outer wall of the grand old Montparnasse train terminal in 1895. The engine, having been on a track a level above the street, now hung at a precarious angle and was surrounded by debris. When she realized she was staring at the picture, she turned back to her screen.
"You're crazy," she said. "You sound like my dad."
She lied. He sounded nothing like her dad. And she didn't really believe he was crazy. He was fun to work with, but something must have been wrong with him. A smart guy in such a low-grade job—why waste time with him?
"Want to see something?" He was still staring at his screen.
"What?"
"Something."
"What?"
"Take a look."
It wasn't a busy day. Already she was filling up her time archiving. She came around to his cubicle and stood behind him, peering at his screen from over his shoulder.
He played her part of a Canadian documentary about a small, green corythosaur with a canvas tote bag slung across his back, bandolier-style. He collected coins he found in the plaza just outside the television studios, took them to a convenience store a block or two away, and bought food.
"I've seen this," said Christine. "He buys carrots, right?"
"Parsnips."
"But so what? An abandoned bio-toy adapts. He can count, knows what money is, and buys food. So what?"
"Keep watching."
The documentary went on to show that the corythosaur carried back to the plaza bags of popcorn and sunflower seeds for the sparrows and squirrels that also foraged in the area.
"A 'bio-toy,' as you call him, who learns to buy food and to feed himself is one thing. For that 'toy' to return to feed his fellow creatures...can you still call him a 'toy'?"
"From a performance perspective—"
"Fuck performance!" His voice echoed through the entire Sequencing Department. "You ask someone to play 'Pop Goes the Weasel' and you get a Chopin sonata instead and you fail him on a 'performance perspective'! It's 'Not to plan.' Are you nuts?"
"But that's what it—"
"Forget that. Look at this."
He cued another video, a hearing in a Senate chamber crowded with suited legislators and their aides, and media people of the type who used to be called "journalists."
At screen center, a beige tyrannosaur sat behind one of the big tables reserved for witnesses, their counsel, and guests.
These were the famous "Koine-Belter Hearings" on whether or not to grant special status to certain bioengineered life-forms—namely, the saurs.
The beige tyrannosaur was small enough that he could have stood on the table and seen things from a human eye level, but instead he sat on a raised chair. Perhaps it felt undignified to stand on the table. His deep baritone cut through the riot of voices that burst from the committee when Senator Conman protested the Atherton Foundation's request that one of the saurs be allowed to testify. Conman insisted it "insulted the dignity" of the committee to allow a "genetically manipulated beast" a voice in the chamber, like "allowing a dog to bark for its freedom." The senator went on to say the "dinosaur" was "obviously manipulated and cannot possibly think for itself."
The tyrannosaur replied: "I well understand the senator's concern to establish my authentic autonomy. Let me assure you, I am not a ventriloquist's dummy. Nor am I a piece of technology, nor the medium for anyone's speech but my own. But—"
Senator Belter tried to cut in, but the saur raised his voice.
"— may I remind the committee, with all due respect, as difficult as it is for them to establish my autonomy, so I find it difficult to confirm yours. Are you not all ventriloquists' dummies for other vested interests?"
The committee room went wild with shouting, gavel-pounding, and cameras rolling.
"Someday," Danner halted the video, "you should hear the complete testimony."
"I have."
"And you call that the 'worst marketing disaster in the history of retail'?" Danner scratched his head.
"I don't care." Christine was back at her desk. "That's in the past. No one will ever duplicate it. Get over it. Move on."
Danner sighed, exited the videos, and returned to his work.
A few moments later, Christine's phone beeped. She spoke softly, briefly, then walked over to Zoey's office, as if she had been summoned.
The door closed behind her.
Danner didn't like closed doors. After thirty-three years with a troubled company, the click of a shutting door sounded remarkably like a hammer being drawn back on a revolver.
And the revolver was always aimed at your head.
The door stayed closed for an hour before Christine returned to her desk.
For another hour she said nothing. Then: "Maybe I will go with you to the house."
Something is up, Danner thought. Christine was a smart kid. He wanted her to see what she was potentially dealing with—that they weren't making bio-widgets rolling off an assembly line. She wouldn't be working in Sequencing for long; she'd jump up to more important posts, and quickly. She didn't need to engage in subterfuge. Maybe she didn't know that. Just out of college. Maybe he could still save her soul if he approached it the right way.
He knew that last part—about saving her soul—was a joke. How dare he think he could help anyone? And yet he did.
Or he had to try.
"Sure," he said. "I'll pick you up. Mind taking my car?"
THE DAY DANNER went to see the saurs was the same day Tibor was ready for VOOM!
The Click Thing and the battery had been charged the night before.
Once Tibor reminded him, Axel, of course, was supercharged. He sprinted over to the vehicle, hopped up (it took a hop for him to reach up to the door with his forelimbs), and climbed in. Tibor followed a few paces behind, maintaining a regal distance.
Axel had placed the Click Thing on the front seat the night before. If he had left it anywhere else he would have forgotten where he put it.
He'd also arranged for the voice of Reggie to be audible through the car "stereo" speaker, so that Reggie could function as a sort of navigator.
Tibor planned to sit on top of the front seat-back. It afforded him the best view as well as the best place from which to be viewed. He knew he would be greeted by adoring throngs as he entered the city. Thousands would line the street; some might be holding signs or banners. "Welcome Tibor!" "We love Tibor!" Were they not able to see Tibor—their brave leader—they would surely be disappointed. It was a hardship to summon two theropods, Slim and Slam, to bring the plastic stairs for him to climb atop the front seat, but Tibor was willing to forgo his natural modesty, for Tibor loved his people.
Tibor assured Slim and Slam that when he addressed the Great Tiborean Council (not to be confused with the Grand Tiborean Council, which was purely ceremonial) in the megalopolitan Temple of Tibor, he would mention them both by name in humble gratitude.
Slim and Slam secured the plastic stairs and beat it.
The top of the front seat was narrow, but Tibor was small, and he had no worry of lurching from his perch when the vehicle accelerated or came to an abrupt halt.
As a further concession to Agnes's protests, Charlie had suggested that the wooden wedges be placed under each of the tires. Unless the engine was given a real jolt, pedal to the floor, the wedges would prevent the car from any forward or reverse movement.
This didn't completely mitigate Agnes's concerns, but it was better than Axel's suggestion to station Rotomotoman in front of the car with raised hand and the word "HALT!" flashing boldly on his torso display screen.
Axel asked Tibor, "So, where you wanna go?"
"Tiboria!"
"Where's that?"
"The great city to the north."
Reggie, through the car speaker, informed the two: "Mappo™ does not indicate any destination by that name."
"It is a secret name," said Tibor, "known only to a select few."
"It appears," said Reggie, "that Mappo™ is not a member of the select few."
"Is it anywhere near a train station?" Axel stared at the speaker. "I dreamed about a train station last night."
"The Grand Tiborean Terminus," Tibor said, not missing a beat. "It is well known and much admired throughout the galaxy."
"Let's go there!" Axel hopped onto the copy of Zemblia on the front seat.
Tibor gave the destination a moment of thought. "It is exactly where Tibor intends to go."
"Mappo™ does not indicate any destination by that name," Reggie replied.
"The big one!" Axel insisted
Reggie paused to search. "A visual scan indicates you have identified the Oscar Gordon Memorial Mass Transit Center, often referred to as 'the O. G.'"
"Oh! Gee!" Axel raised his forelimbs as far as he could raise them. "Let's go!"
He reached for the Click Thing and...
...It wasn't there!
"The click thing is gone! The click thing is gone!"
He stared at the spot where he had left it the night before, as if it might materialize in response to his need. It didn't. He searched the front seat, the back seat (as much of a back seat as there was), the floor, the trunk, the engine—all around (and underneath) the car. He followed an often practiced though consistently ineffectual rule: if shouting for something brings no results, shout louder: " The click thing is gone! The click thing is gone!"
The degree of alarm, panic, injury, and even despair in his voice attracted a number of saurs, including Bronte and Kara, who raced from the library where they had been reading to Hetman, the blind and broken tyrannosaur relegated to a wheeled, child-sized hospital bed.
"Did you forget it somewhere?" Kara asked.
"No!" Axel returned to the spot on the front seat where he had left the Click Thing the night before.
"Did it fall on the floor?" asked Bronte.
"No!"
"It must be someplace." Kara looked around the living room. "No one would be so cruel as to steal, especially something that means so much to you."
"I know who steal!" said Ross, standing on the couch and looking down at the gathered saurs. "Someone not like Click Thing! Someone not like VOOM! Someone not like PINK!"
They all stared in the direction of Agnes's lair.
"Of course I didn't steal it!" Agnes told them. "All I did was confiscate a piece of dangerous equipment."
"You take Click Thing I give Axel!" Ross pointed his parsnip at her. "You steal!"
Agnes reared back. " You are an accessory to lunacy!"
"You shouldn't have done that," Bronte said to Agnes.
In a louder voice, Kara added, "You have no authority!"
"I have all the authority I need!" Agnes twisted her tail around until her spikes faced downward. "Am I the only one present who cares about the safety and well-being of everyone here, especially the little ones?"
"No!" said Kara. "You're not! Even if you were, you don't just take things by cover of night! It's devious!"
"I don't care!" Agnes said.
"You act like human!" said Ross.
"Take that back!" Agnes raised her tail.
"Not take back!" Ross folded his forelimbs stubbornly.
"It's cruel," said Bronte. "Cruel to Axel."
"Are you blind?" Agnes stomped the floor with a foreleg. "This isn't just Axel—it's that dimwit Tibor, too! And wherever Tibor sticks his goofy green hat, you know that Geraldine can't be far behind."
It was a sensitive note to strike with Bronte, given her concern for Guinevere's ongoing fascination with the strange saur's "lab." With less certainty, Bronte replied, "We don't know if Geraldine has anything to do with this."
Agnes snorted.
"Agnes—" Axel looked at the stegosaur with the expression of someone who has missed his train...forever.
"No!"
"Please! Give it back! I promise—"
"I don't have to give back anything!" Agnes looked him straight in the eye. "It isn't mine, but it isn't yours, either!"
Doc arrived, as quickly as his tricky left leg allowed. He swayed a little as he found his balance and caught his breath.
"My dear Agnes—"
"Oh, shut up!" Agnes shook her head. "Don't even start!"
"Is anyone else here protesting?" He looked around the room. "Who here wishes to see this VOOM! returned to the attic?"
No shouts of "Aye!" No raised forelimbs.
Agnes dismissed them all. "What do you know? You're all brainwashed!"
"Agnes, please!" Axel wailed. "Please please please please please!"
Tom came in from the kitchen, where he had been clearing up from breakfast. He sat down on the floor among them so the saurs wouldn't have to look up so far to see his face.
"Is there any way you can come to a compromise?" He spoke to everyone but looked straight at Agnes.
"I thought you'd ask that. I'm not going to hand over that damn Clicker, or whatever you call it." She stared defiantly at Axel, then at Ross, and finally at Tom. "I've hidden it. If you can find it, you can have it, but I won't simply give it back."
"Where is it?" Kara asked.
"That's for you to find out!"
"Agnes—" Kara's tone grew sharper.
"That's my compromise, take it or leave it!" She slapped her tail against the floor like a judge pounding a gavel, turned away, and headed for her lair.
Sluggo, who had been standing next to Agnes all this time and whom no one noticed until now, said to the others, "I think she's wrong." And to Axel: "I'm sorry. If I knew where it was, I would tell you."
"When is Tibor's estimated time of arrival in Tiboria?" asked Tibor, who somehow managed to miss...everything.
From Agnes's lair: "Hah!"
"Axel not worry." Ross patted Axel on the back. "We find Click Thing."
"Where?" Axel's voice sounded weaker than anyone had heard it in a long time.
"Where Agnes hide. Where else?" He pointed to the window of the former dining room. "Let's ride!"
"Ride?"
"What Gow-boys say."
"Up there?"
From somewhere (again), Ross found a parsnip, held it by the thick end, and pointed the other end toward his head. "We think like Agnes." He then pointed to Agnes's lair. "Then we know where Click Thing is."
Axel looked frightened by the prospect. "She's too smart."
Ross poked him with the parsnip. "You say you smarter now, right?"
"I did!" Axel raised his forepaw to his jaw, as if remembering a forgotten promise. "I did say I was smarter!"
"Smart enough to think like Agnes," said Ross, in softer voice, as if Agnes might overhear them.
"Oh, I'll never be that smart!"
"You lucky!" He pointed to the window. "Let's think!"
If Agnes heard, she gave no sign to them. One never knew. Agnes was a lurker.
Ross dragged over a set of plastic stairs, which they used to ascend to the seat of the couch. From there they climbed on the armrest, and from there to the top of the seat-back, which was a step or two from the window ledge. They placed their hind legs on the ledge while their tails rested against the seat-backs.
Ross nibbled his parsnip and stared out at the trees surrounding the grounds. Axel, following his lead, also stared out at them.
"Ross?"
Ross nibbled his parsnip and said nothing.
"What are we looking at?"
"Not looking! Thinking!"
"About what?"
"Agnes!"
"Ohhhh! Right."
"Where Agnes hide Click Thing."
"Right."
"Not right! Where!"
"I don't know."
"That's why you think!"
"Oh!"
He tried to think about Agnes, but all he could think about were the trees.
Ross must have been thinking about trees, too, in spite of what he said about Agnes and the Click Thing. He stared into the distance and said, " Them still out there."
Axel didn't have to ask who "them" referred to. They were the "guys from Toyco." They listened, with high-tech, high-power equipment. They waited for a chance—slim, but still a chance—that through some oversight on the part of Tom or Dr. Margaret, they might acquire a few DNA samples good enough to allow them to...to what? They didn't quite know. They knew that the saurs—the ones who dwelled here, and in other similar homes—did not live up to the specifications Toyco thought they had hard-coded into them: limited intelligence; a three-year life-span; sterility. Toyco had surrendered their ownership of the genomes in exchange for release from a tsunami of liability cases.
It didn't take long for Toyco to regret the decision. It was as if they had given away penicillin, thinking it nothing more than moldy bread. If a saur lived ten times past her life-span, "bad" toys could be good medicine.
Or something. No one knew. It was important enough to attract the attention of the multinational SANI Corporation, a major defense contractor. They were determined to get Toyco: all that it owned and all it ever had owned.
Including the unmarked van parked in the woods outside the house, with humans inside staring out at Axel and Ross...who were staring back at them.
"Still out there." Ross nibbled his parsnip.
"Bad guys," Axel said—not like he was afraid of them; he just didn't know what else to call them.
"Geraldine get 'em once." Ross bit down on the tip of his parsnip and made a loud snap. "Get 'em good!"
Ross hadn't seen it, but had been told many times about the flash that came from Geraldine's "lab," and the sizzling noise followed by the van (the "old" van, the one that had the bogus "Forestry Service" logo) tearing out of its spot in the woods, blue smoke trailing from the back and the smell of burning plastic in the air. It was why Tom now kept the fire extinguishers up in the workroom.
Axel had to ask, "Are we still thinking about Agnes?"
"Sure."
"Why are we looking at the trees?"
"Looking at forest!"
"Oh!" Axel stared more carefully. "That's out there, too?"
Ross cocked his head and stared at the driveway. "Listen!"
"To what?" Axel heard plenty of sounds inside—voices; checkers sliding across the floor; music from the video playing in the living room; the "music" of the Five Wise Buddhasaurs, tweedling, honking, bellowing—but nothing from out side.
"Car coming!" Ross raised one digit of his forepaw as if he could balance the sound on the end of it.
Continued Here
submitted by BoukoKakuCatharsis to BKCNoSpace [link] [comments]
Retrieved from the Internet Archive
Continued From Here
It was like this: Tom, fortunately, had no difficulty acquiring a new battery. Parts were tricky to locate, even on the world market; batteries were not. It was much harder to find an outlet converter. VOOM! came from a time when the country used a different standard from the rest of the world. Once located, battery and convertor arrived within the week.
Not only was VOOM! now fully powered and capable of presenting the illusion of motion through Mappo™'s "street-level" projections on the windows, but the "real" electrical engine drove the "real" wheels of the vehicle to a maximum of five kilometers per hour, a fact that infuriated Agnes.
"There's a reason things get put into attics!" Agnes had faced down the VOOM! and its metallic-painted grill. "A crazed idiot, who for the moment will remain nameless, might get behind the wheel and start rolling this monstrosity around the floor without regard for the little ones standing by!"
If given the chance, Tom might have explained to her that Axel still had no way to control the vehicle. He was not equipped in size or shape to operate the car in the manner intended by its manufacturers. He had to stand on the front seat and lean very far forward, almost as if he were in a full run, just to get his forepaws on the steering wheel. This posture afforded him little in the way of maneuverability for turning.
The accelerator and brake were, from this vantage point, unattainable.
Not to mention that he couldn't see over the dashboard.
Axel was undeterred. He searched for sticks and levers and pulleys. Unfortunately, the sticks were too short or too long, or they slipped from their makeshift moorings; the levers had no way of being secured.
That might have been the end of it, until the day before Danner's visit, when Axel noticed Ross heading up to the attic and followed him.
Ross was never one to deviate from his activities: attending to the traffic reports; staring out the window; listening to the "music" played by the Five Wise Buddhasaurs; a rare game of Not So Hard with Alphonse. But he rarely went up past the second floor.
Ross scoured the museum, then the attic space where VOOM! had been discovered. He scrounged around through cartons of what looked like random stuff: things put away in haste to be sorted out later, but never were.
"Hey, Ross!" Axel could not restrain his curiosity. "Whatcha lookin' for?"
"Click Thing." He spoke without stopping his search.
"Click Thing?"
"Click Thing. Goes 'click.'" He moved on to another carton.
"That's neat," said Axel.
"Not neat. Click!" Ross opened a carton that was filled with coffee mugs and quickly closed it back up.
"What you need it for?"
"Not for me. For you!" He looked into a shoebox that contained, alas, nothing but shoes, and closed it up again.
"Me?"
"Click Thing. You click 'go,' it go. You click 'stop,' it stop. You click 'on,' it on."
"What's on?"
"VOOM! on!"
"VOOM!?"
"VOOM! Click 'off,' it off."
"So if we find the Click Thing, I can make VOOM! go?"
"What I said."
"Can I help?"
"Why not?"
Axel did more than open the next carton; he leapt into it. If the Click Thing could make VOOM! go, it had to be found.
He found a waffle maker and a toaster. But no Click Thing. From another carton, Axel pulled out an ear syringe and showed it to Ross.
"Too big." He batted it from Axel's grip. "Not like that!"
"What's it look like?"
"Click Thing small. Square. Like wrecked angle. Little guy. Fit in your paw."
Axel dug into another carton. And another. And one more. From each, he pulled a dozen things and presented them to Ross.
Ross shook his head each time. "Not Click Thing."
They continued to search. Axel delved into yet another carton. In the bottom was a wooden box originally made for something once (maybe still) called cigars. This cigar box contained sets of cards that used to be bound together by rubber bands now gone flaccid and brittle. One deck featured humans in sports uniforms. Another bundle of cards depicted starships and "space guys" in red uniforms. One pack was devoted to wizards and dragons. At the bottom of the box was a thick stack featuring pictures of dinosaurs. Ross cast the cards aside.
"Wait!" Axel retrieved one of the scattered cards. "This guy looks like Baraboo Bob!"
Ross refused the distraction. "You want Click Thing or no?"
Axel, with a stifled moan, let the card drop. "Yes! Click Thing! Yes yes yes!"
"Here!" Ross pointed to an enameled tile about the size and shape of a domino. It looked very much like a domino, with its eight dots on one side, grouped four and four. The dots, unlike those on dominoes, were not concave, but convex. When you pressed any of them, they made a distinctive "click" sound.
One more thing distinguished it: it was pink.
Ross handed it to Axel. "See?" With a digit of his left forepaw, he pointed to each tiny button. "On. Off. Stop. Go. Back. Left. Right." He gestured energetically to the buttons. "These make VOOM! move."
"What's that one?" Axel pointed to last concave spot on the face of the Click Thing, at the bottom right.
"That," said Ross, "is NO!"
"No?"
"NO! Don't press! Don't ever press!"
Axel stared at it, absorbed in its mystery. "Oh, I'll never use the last button! I promise! Never never never!"
"Unless," Ross pointed upward with one digit, "emergency!"
Axel nodded vigorously. "Emergency! Then NO! is YES!"
Ross nodded. "When Tom charge Click Thing, you own da road!"
"What?"
Almost from nowhere (for it had to come from somewhere) Ross took out a parsnip and with its narrow end he tapped Axel. " You own da road!" He tapped him again. " You."
"I don't know how to thank you."
"No thank! Own da road!" He put the tip of the parsnip in his mouth.
"How did you know about the Click Thing?"
Ross nibbled on his parsnip before answering. "Been around."
"Around what?"
"All around." He spoke as he chewed. "Gow-boys. Gobos. Ganadians."
"Why'd you find it for me?"
"You OH-kay. Make Agnes mad. You OH-kay."
"Okay?"
"Oh-KAY!" Still nibbling his parsnip, Ross started back down the stairs.
"Okay!" Axel, with the Click Thing, followed after.
He still needed one more element: height. Even with the Click Thing charged and operative, he still couldn't see over the dashboard. It would be no fun to roam the world if all you could see were a plastic panel, buttons, dials, and a steering wheel.
Fortunately, Hubert contributed a book from the library. It was a volume of more than two thousand pages, very old, from a period some scholars refer to as "Paste Modern." The book was titled Zemblia. No one remembered the name of the author, but the body of the text appeared to be a random dusting of words taken from other novels, cut to shreds, and randomly re-pasted. The best purpose for which such a book could be employed was to provide Axel with sufficient elevation to see past the dashboard. It took some effort for Hubert to carry it over, but he was glad to see it finally put to use.
Axel was almost ready.
Agnes, however, would not relent.
"No good ever came from anything pink!"
"You may not have noticed," said Charlie, looking across the room to Bronte's eggling, "but little Guinevere is pink, too."
Agnes, undeterred, was about to speak again when Elliot, the red stegosaur, timidly concurred. "He's right."
"Yeah," Baraboo Bob, the styracosaurus, added his vote. "Guinevere is pink."
Several other saurs muttered in agreement.
A small, curious crowd gathered around Agnes, who was standing in front of VOOM! with Sluggo and Leslie. Also in the crowd was Lana, a sauropod of unquestionably pink color. She didn't look angry, only interested in seeing a plated quadruped backpedal.
Kara regarded Agnes the same way.
As did Bronte.
And, of course, Guinevere.
Agnes stared at them as if she were surrounded by assassins.
"Are you all idiots? It's not the same thing! Guinevere is not pink! She is salmon!"
A number of saurs laughed. More of them wanted to laugh, but were afraid to.
A little one whispered to another saur standing nearby, "Agnes said Guinevere is a fish."
"That's not what I said at all!"
"Salmon is a fish," said another little one.
"Salmon is a color, too!" Agnes shot back.
"Color of a fish," said Tex, a blue-gray hadrosaur.
"Guinevere is not a fish!"
"You said she was a salmon," Tex insisted.
"Salmon- colored — not a salmon! Are you listening?"
"I don't know about you," said Charlie, "but salmon sure looks pink to me!" He smiled at Guinevere, who smiled back.
Some little ones repeated, "Fish!" Others chanted, "Salmon!"
"You've all gone crazy!" Agnes shouted at them. "Or stupid! Can't you see it doesn't matter what color Guinevere is?"
And another chant started—an easy one for saurian voices; they had no trouble with the dominant vowel, and the consonants were simple to articulate:
"VOOM! VOOM! VOOM!"
Agnes's sides drew in and out. The plates along her back rippled like waves in a troubled stream.
"Fools! Idiots! Cretins!"
She would have kept haranguing everyone had she not noticed, standing next to Sluggo, her eggling—her Leslie. He looked up at her, wide-eyed (or as wide-eyed as an eggling can manage) and trembled.
Agnes, more often than not, had an impenetrable surface when it came to what she knew and what she believed to be right. She never doubted: the world was wrong, plain and simple, and it was her duty to make that point clear to everyone until such time as the world became right—until the world shaped up.
But then there was Leslie. The way he looked at her.
Her anger didn't lessen, but it eased with her breathing. She swung her tail around and, with its momentum, turned away from VOOM! From everyone.
"Sluggo! Leslie! Come along!"
Sluggo and Leslie came along, the little one looking first to Sluggo for assurance.
The advantage to having a physique that places your head near the floor is that parent and offspring can see eye-to-eye from an earlier age.
Later, when she had calmed down, Agnes climbed the plastic stairs up to the table near the window in the former dining room and walked directly up to the ReggiesystemTM computer portal.
"Hey, Reggie! I'm sending a message!" She spoke to the Reggie icon in the center of the portal display screen.
"To whom do you wish to send the message?" The icon, who previously wore a serene expression, appeared more guarded now.
"To the idiot President."
"Another message?"
"There a problem?"
A pause before the reply. "Audio or voice-to-text?"
"I don't care, as long as she gets it. Make sure you copy it to all other humans."
"All humans?" Reggie accented each syllable tersely.
"Scratch that. Let her worry about it."
Another pause. "You may begin dictating."
"Good." She began without hesitation. "Dear President Idiot: It has recently come to my attention that dangerous killing machines have been left available and unguarded in places where possibly unstable—delete that 'possibly'—where unstable lunatics can acquire these weapons and use them against innocent and unsuspecting members of the saurian constituency! How can you possibly live with yourself in good conscience—"
"You know," said Dr. Margaret Pagliotti, the woman who kept track of the saurs' health, "Agnes has a point."
Dr. Margaret rarely qualified her statements. No "maybe." Never "perhaps."
"I know," said Tom.
They were in Tom's office the day before Danner's visit, drinking coffee. "Dr. Margaret," as most of the saurs called her, had already completed her rounds and was surprised at how contagious Axel's enthusiasm for the VOOM! had become. "You said yourself you don't know where this car came from. No record of its delivery. It's not inventoried with the rest of the things in the attic."
"I found an empty crate up there," said Tom. "It's the right size. It could be no one ever looked in it before."
Dr. Margaret frowned. "Maybe, for safety's sake, you should intervene this time."
They were sitting together on a little green couch next to Tom's desk. Each had an arm around the other. At her words, Tom withdrew and sat forward to the edge of his seat.
"My job isn't to do what I think is right. It's to trust them to do the right thing—to figure it out. Make sense?"
"Yes. I don't like it, but it makes sense."
"You're a doctor, always making decisions for others."
"That's not true!" She shoved him with the palm of her hand. "Not...not always. Besides, we treat people like toys sometimes, don't we?" She stood up and poured herself another cup of coffee from the carafe at the edge of Tom's desk.
"We used to make toys for people. Maybe now it's the other way round." Tom held out his empty mug.
"I don't even know what a toy is anymore." She poured him some more coffee and returned to the seat next to him.
"I'm glad I don't have to know." Tom took Dr. Margaret's hand—the one not holding her coffee—and squeezed it gently. "All I have to do is live with them."
You live with them too much, Dr. Margaret thought, making decisions again.
"Who cares about a bunch of rejects?" Christine Haig had asked when Nicholas Danner, rather spur-of-the-moment, offered her the chance to visit the saurs with him.
"You should care," said Danner, staring at his screen.
"Why?"
"You're in the toy business now. It's what you do."
She replied offhandedly, "Bioengineered toys that triggered one of the worst marketing disasters in retail history."
"It was a disaster we created. Right here."
"So?"
"You can learn a lot from a disaster." He spoke as he worked.
"Like what?"
"Like, the simplest thing about a disaster is creating one."
Christine nodded. "Right. The hardest part is the cleanup. Oil spills. Cadmium in foodstuffs. Meltdowns. Pesticides. Collapsed infrastructure. All that fun stuff."
"That's not the hardest part."
"What is, then? Since you're so smart."
"Preventing it."
Christine cleared her throat. "Easy to say."
"I know. That's why I said it. Still true."
The thing about all Danner's "stuff"—the pictures pushpinned to the walls, the books (all the novels of Ellis Lawrence Cartwright), the models, the old tools from bygone days—was not how they distracted Danner but how they distracted others.
In contrast, Christine's space was devoid of the slightest ornament. Were it not for her name plaque pinned to the cubicle partition, it would have been anonymous. She caught herself staring at Danner's photograph of a railroad engine that had crashed through the outer wall of the grand old Montparnasse train terminal in 1895. The engine, having been on a track a level above the street, now hung at a precarious angle and was surrounded by debris. When she realized she was staring at the picture, she turned back to her screen.
"You're crazy," she said. "You sound like my dad."
She lied. He sounded nothing like her dad. And she didn't really believe he was crazy. He was fun to work with, but something must have been wrong with him. A smart guy in such a low-grade job—why waste time with him?
"Want to see something?" He was still staring at his screen.
"What?"
"Something."
"What?"
"Take a look."
It wasn't a busy day. Already she was filling up her time archiving. She came around to his cubicle and stood behind him, peering at his screen from over his shoulder.
He played her part of a Canadian documentary about a small, green corythosaur with a canvas tote bag slung across his back, bandolier-style. He collected coins he found in the plaza just outside the television studios, took them to a convenience store a block or two away, and bought food.
"I've seen this," said Christine. "He buys carrots, right?"
"Parsnips."
"But so what? An abandoned bio-toy adapts. He can count, knows what money is, and buys food. So what?"
"Keep watching."
The documentary went on to show that the corythosaur carried back to the plaza bags of popcorn and sunflower seeds for the sparrows and squirrels that also foraged in the area.
"A 'bio-toy,' as you call him, who learns to buy food and to feed himself is one thing. For that 'toy' to return to feed his fellow creatures...can you still call him a 'toy'?"
"From a performance perspective—"
"Fuck performance!" His voice echoed through the entire Sequencing Department. "You ask someone to play 'Pop Goes the Weasel' and you get a Chopin sonata instead and you fail him on a 'performance perspective'! It's 'Not to plan.' Are you nuts?"
"But that's what it—"
"Forget that. Look at this."
He cued another video, a hearing in a Senate chamber crowded with suited legislators and their aides, and media people of the type who used to be called "journalists."
At screen center, a beige tyrannosaur sat behind one of the big tables reserved for witnesses, their counsel, and guests.
These were the famous "Koine-Belter Hearings" on whether or not to grant special status to certain bioengineered life-forms—namely, the saurs.
The beige tyrannosaur was small enough that he could have stood on the table and seen things from a human eye level, but instead he sat on a raised chair. Perhaps it felt undignified to stand on the table. His deep baritone cut through the riot of voices that burst from the committee when Senator Conman protested the Atherton Foundation's request that one of the saurs be allowed to testify. Conman insisted it "insulted the dignity" of the committee to allow a "genetically manipulated beast" a voice in the chamber, like "allowing a dog to bark for its freedom." The senator went on to say the "dinosaur" was "obviously manipulated and cannot possibly think for itself."
The tyrannosaur replied: "I well understand the senator's concern to establish my authentic autonomy. Let me assure you, I am not a ventriloquist's dummy. Nor am I a piece of technology, nor the medium for anyone's speech but my own. But—"
Senator Belter tried to cut in, but the saur raised his voice.
"— may I remind the committee, with all due respect, as difficult as it is for them to establish my autonomy, so I find it difficult to confirm yours. Are you not all ventriloquists' dummies for other vested interests?"
The committee room went wild with shouting, gavel-pounding, and cameras rolling.
"Someday," Danner halted the video, "you should hear the complete testimony."
"I have."
"And you call that the 'worst marketing disaster in the history of retail'?" Danner scratched his head.
"I don't care." Christine was back at her desk. "That's in the past. No one will ever duplicate it. Get over it. Move on."
Danner sighed, exited the videos, and returned to his work.
A few moments later, Christine's phone beeped. She spoke softly, briefly, then walked over to Zoey's office, as if she had been summoned.
The door closed behind her.
Danner didn't like closed doors. After thirty-three years with a troubled company, the click of a shutting door sounded remarkably like a hammer being drawn back on a revolver.
And the revolver was always aimed at your head.
The door stayed closed for an hour before Christine returned to her desk.
For another hour she said nothing. Then: "Maybe I will go with you to the house."
Something is up, Danner thought. Christine was a smart kid. He wanted her to see what she was potentially dealing with—that they weren't making bio-widgets rolling off an assembly line. She wouldn't be working in Sequencing for long; she'd jump up to more important posts, and quickly. She didn't need to engage in subterfuge. Maybe she didn't know that. Just out of college. Maybe he could still save her soul if he approached it the right way.
He knew that last part—about saving her soul—was a joke. How dare he think he could help anyone? And yet he did.
Or he had to try.
"Sure," he said. "I'll pick you up. Mind taking my car?"
THE DAY DANNER went to see the saurs was the same day Tibor was ready for VOOM!
The Click Thing and the battery had been charged the night before.
Once Tibor reminded him, Axel, of course, was supercharged. He sprinted over to the vehicle, hopped up (it took a hop for him to reach up to the door with his forelimbs), and climbed in. Tibor followed a few paces behind, maintaining a regal distance.
Axel had placed the Click Thing on the front seat the night before. If he had left it anywhere else he would have forgotten where he put it.
He'd also arranged for the voice of Reggie to be audible through the car "stereo" speaker, so that Reggie could function as a sort of navigator.
Tibor planned to sit on top of the front seat-back. It afforded him the best view as well as the best place from which to be viewed. He knew he would be greeted by adoring throngs as he entered the city. Thousands would line the street; some might be holding signs or banners. "Welcome Tibor!" "We love Tibor!" Were they not able to see Tibor—their brave leader—they would surely be disappointed. It was a hardship to summon two theropods, Slim and Slam, to bring the plastic stairs for him to climb atop the front seat, but Tibor was willing to forgo his natural modesty, for Tibor loved his people.
Tibor assured Slim and Slam that when he addressed the Great Tiborean Council (not to be confused with the Grand Tiborean Council, which was purely ceremonial) in the megalopolitan Temple of Tibor, he would mention them both by name in humble gratitude.
Slim and Slam secured the plastic stairs and beat it.
The top of the front seat was narrow, but Tibor was small, and he had no worry of lurching from his perch when the vehicle accelerated or came to an abrupt halt.
As a further concession to Agnes's protests, Charlie had suggested that the wooden wedges be placed under each of the tires. Unless the engine was given a real jolt, pedal to the floor, the wedges would prevent the car from any forward or reverse movement.
This didn't completely mitigate Agnes's concerns, but it was better than Axel's suggestion to station Rotomotoman in front of the car with raised hand and the word "HALT!" flashing boldly on his torso display screen.
Axel asked Tibor, "So, where you wanna go?"
"Tiboria!"
"Where's that?"
"The great city to the north."
Reggie, through the car speaker, informed the two: "Mappo™ does not indicate any destination by that name."
"It is a secret name," said Tibor, "known only to a select few."
"It appears," said Reggie, "that Mappo™ is not a member of the select few."
"Is it anywhere near a train station?" Axel stared at the speaker. "I dreamed about a train station last night."
"The Grand Tiborean Terminus," Tibor said, not missing a beat. "It is well known and much admired throughout the galaxy."
"Let's go there!" Axel hopped onto the copy of Zemblia on the front seat.
Tibor gave the destination a moment of thought. "It is exactly where Tibor intends to go."
"Mappo™ does not indicate any destination by that name," Reggie replied.
"The big one!" Axel insisted
Reggie paused to search. "A visual scan indicates you have identified the Oscar Gordon Memorial Mass Transit Center, often referred to as 'the O. G.'"
"Oh! Gee!" Axel raised his forelimbs as far as he could raise them. "Let's go!"
He reached for the Click Thing and...
...It wasn't there!
"The click thing is gone! The click thing is gone!"
He stared at the spot where he had left it the night before, as if it might materialize in response to his need. It didn't. He searched the front seat, the back seat (as much of a back seat as there was), the floor, the trunk, the engine—all around (and underneath) the car. He followed an often practiced though consistently ineffectual rule: if shouting for something brings no results, shout louder: " The click thing is gone! The click thing is gone!"
The degree of alarm, panic, injury, and even despair in his voice attracted a number of saurs, including Bronte and Kara, who raced from the library where they had been reading to Hetman, the blind and broken tyrannosaur relegated to a wheeled, child-sized hospital bed.
"Did you forget it somewhere?" Kara asked.
"No!" Axel returned to the spot on the front seat where he had left the Click Thing the night before.
"Did it fall on the floor?" asked Bronte.
"No!"
"It must be someplace." Kara looked around the living room. "No one would be so cruel as to steal, especially something that means so much to you."
"I know who steal!" said Ross, standing on the couch and looking down at the gathered saurs. "Someone not like Click Thing! Someone not like VOOM! Someone not like PINK!"
They all stared in the direction of Agnes's lair.
"Of course I didn't steal it!" Agnes told them. "All I did was confiscate a piece of dangerous equipment."
"You take Click Thing I give Axel!" Ross pointed his parsnip at her. "You steal!"
Agnes reared back. " You are an accessory to lunacy!"
"You shouldn't have done that," Bronte said to Agnes.
In a louder voice, Kara added, "You have no authority!"
"I have all the authority I need!" Agnes twisted her tail around until her spikes faced downward. "Am I the only one present who cares about the safety and well-being of everyone here, especially the little ones?"
"No!" said Kara. "You're not! Even if you were, you don't just take things by cover of night! It's devious!"
"I don't care!" Agnes said.
"You act like human!" said Ross.
"Take that back!" Agnes raised her tail.
"Not take back!" Ross folded his forelimbs stubbornly.
"It's cruel," said Bronte. "Cruel to Axel."
"Are you blind?" Agnes stomped the floor with a foreleg. "This isn't just Axel—it's that dimwit Tibor, too! And wherever Tibor sticks his goofy green hat, you know that Geraldine can't be far behind."
It was a sensitive note to strike with Bronte, given her concern for Guinevere's ongoing fascination with the strange saur's "lab." With less certainty, Bronte replied, "We don't know if Geraldine has anything to do with this."
Agnes snorted.
"Agnes—" Axel looked at the stegosaur with the expression of someone who has missed his train...forever.
"No!"
"Please! Give it back! I promise—"
"I don't have to give back anything!" Agnes looked him straight in the eye. "It isn't mine, but it isn't yours, either!"
Doc arrived, as quickly as his tricky left leg allowed. He swayed a little as he found his balance and caught his breath.
"My dear Agnes—"
"Oh, shut up!" Agnes shook her head. "Don't even start!"
"Is anyone else here protesting?" He looked around the room. "Who here wishes to see this VOOM! returned to the attic?"
No shouts of "Aye!" No raised forelimbs.
Agnes dismissed them all. "What do you know? You're all brainwashed!"
"Agnes, please!" Axel wailed. "Please please please please please!"
Tom came in from the kitchen, where he had been clearing up from breakfast. He sat down on the floor among them so the saurs wouldn't have to look up so far to see his face.
"Is there any way you can come to a compromise?" He spoke to everyone but looked straight at Agnes.
"I thought you'd ask that. I'm not going to hand over that damn Clicker, or whatever you call it." She stared defiantly at Axel, then at Ross, and finally at Tom. "I've hidden it. If you can find it, you can have it, but I won't simply give it back."
"Where is it?" Kara asked.
"That's for you to find out!"
"Agnes—" Kara's tone grew sharper.
"That's my compromise, take it or leave it!" She slapped her tail against the floor like a judge pounding a gavel, turned away, and headed for her lair.
Sluggo, who had been standing next to Agnes all this time and whom no one noticed until now, said to the others, "I think she's wrong." And to Axel: "I'm sorry. If I knew where it was, I would tell you."
"When is Tibor's estimated time of arrival in Tiboria?" asked Tibor, who somehow managed to miss...everything.
From Agnes's lair: "Hah!"
"Axel not worry." Ross patted Axel on the back. "We find Click Thing."
"Where?" Axel's voice sounded weaker than anyone had heard it in a long time.
"Where Agnes hide. Where else?" He pointed to the window of the former dining room. "Let's ride!"
"Ride?"
"What Gow-boys say."
"Up there?"
From somewhere (again), Ross found a parsnip, held it by the thick end, and pointed the other end toward his head. "We think like Agnes." He then pointed to Agnes's lair. "Then we know where Click Thing is."
Axel looked frightened by the prospect. "She's too smart."
Ross poked him with the parsnip. "You say you smarter now, right?"
"I did!" Axel raised his forepaw to his jaw, as if remembering a forgotten promise. "I did say I was smarter!"
"Smart enough to think like Agnes," said Ross, in softer voice, as if Agnes might overhear them.
"Oh, I'll never be that smart!"
"You lucky!" He pointed to the window. "Let's think!"
If Agnes heard, she gave no sign to them. One never knew. Agnes was a lurker.
Ross dragged over a set of plastic stairs, which they used to ascend to the seat of the couch. From there they climbed on the armrest, and from there to the top of the seat-back, which was a step or two from the window ledge. They placed their hind legs on the ledge while their tails rested against the seat-backs.
Ross nibbled his parsnip and stared out at the trees surrounding the grounds. Axel, following his lead, also stared out at them.
"Ross?"
Ross nibbled his parsnip and said nothing.
"What are we looking at?"
"Not looking! Thinking!"
"About what?"
"Agnes!"
"Ohhhh! Right."
"Where Agnes hide Click Thing."
"Right."
"Not right! Where!"
"I don't know."
"That's why you think!"
"Oh!"
He tried to think about Agnes, but all he could think about were the trees.
Ross must have been thinking about trees, too, in spite of what he said about Agnes and the Click Thing. He stared into the distance and said, " Them still out there."
Axel didn't have to ask who "them" referred to. They were the "guys from Toyco." They listened, with high-tech, high-power equipment. They waited for a chance—slim, but still a chance—that through some oversight on the part of Tom or Dr. Margaret, they might acquire a few DNA samples good enough to allow them to...to what? They didn't quite know. They knew that the saurs—the ones who dwelled here, and in other similar homes—did not live up to the specifications Toyco thought they had hard-coded into them: limited intelligence; a three-year life-span; sterility. Toyco had surrendered their ownership of the genomes in exchange for release from a tsunami of liability cases.
It didn't take long for Toyco to regret the decision. It was as if they had given away penicillin, thinking it nothing more than moldy bread. If a saur lived ten times past her life-span, "bad" toys could be good medicine.
Or something. No one knew. It was important enough to attract the attention of the multinational SANI Corporation, a major defense contractor. They were determined to get Toyco: all that it owned and all it ever had owned.
Including the unmarked van parked in the woods outside the house, with humans inside staring out at Axel and Ross...who were staring back at them.
"Still out there." Ross nibbled his parsnip.
"Bad guys," Axel said—not like he was afraid of them; he just didn't know what else to call them.
"Geraldine get 'em once." Ross bit down on the tip of his parsnip and made a loud snap. "Get 'em good!"
Ross hadn't seen it, but had been told many times about the flash that came from Geraldine's "lab," and the sizzling noise followed by the van (the "old" van, the one that had the bogus "Forestry Service" logo) tearing out of its spot in the woods, blue smoke trailing from the back and the smell of burning plastic in the air. It was why Tom now kept the fire extinguishers up in the workroom.
Axel had to ask, "Are we still thinking about Agnes?"
"Sure."
"Why are we looking at the trees?"
"Looking at forest!"
"Oh!" Axel stared more carefully. "That's out there, too?"
Ross cocked his head and stared at the driveway. "Listen!"
"To what?" Axel heard plenty of sounds inside—voices; checkers sliding across the floor; music from the video playing in the living room; the "music" of the Five Wise Buddhasaurs, tweedling, honking, bellowing—but nothing from out side.
"Car coming!" Ross raised one digit of his forepaw as if he could balance the sound on the end of it.
Continued Here
2024.04.22 20:55 djpiratecat Top Artists Origin Stories
I really love hearing about the different ways people discover music, and want to hear some stories from all of you about how you first heard about your top artists - and if you heard about them but really got into them later on, what happened there?
I'm going to share stories for my top 10 artists but feel free to choose more or less, or even just pick out some particular ones that you have interesting stories for, and of course you're welcome to keep it very brief or write a whole essay per artist. Will try to keep mine to a paragraph each but already suspect this could get a bit long-winded!
submitted by djpiratecat to lastfm [link] [comments]
I'm going to share stories for my top 10 artists but feel free to choose more or less, or even just pick out some particular ones that you have interesting stories for, and of course you're welcome to keep it very brief or write a whole essay per artist. Will try to keep mine to a paragraph each but already suspect this could get a bit long-winded!
- Tegan and Sara (10368 scrobbles) - I'd heard of T&S for years without giving them much thought, but then in 2017 I was in a big music discovery mode and noticed they kept popping up, sometimes in collaborations but more often I was seeing cover versions they'd done all over the place (I was also in a period of really loving various interesting covers). I heard a few songs and figured I should give them a proper listen, so I just searched them on Youtube and hit play to have them on in the background while I did some housework - within three songs (specifically remember Call It Off and Now I'm All Messed Up were among them) I realised I was sat on my couch, eyes glued to the screen and completely enraptured as I began to fall in love with Tegan and Sara.
- Paramore (9604) - I was working retail, one of my best friends from this shop was a massive Paramore fan and she would get me to listen to a song here and there, also at the time one of the CDs we had playing in store was a Twilight soundtrack which had Decode on it, and over time I started to listen to more and more. This was 2012, and I was already well on the way but when they released their self-titled album the next year I was fully on board as a fan; something that grew even more with the album after but that's a different story.
- Sigrid (8977) - Probably the first big new artist for me after I started using Spotify instead of my old itunes collection. I'd heard a couple of her songs and added them to my library but not really listened again. I was travelling a lot in 2018 and sometimes when I was arriving in a new country I'd try to listen to an artist from there, I was enroute to Norway and remembered I had this Norwegian artist I was meaning to listen to - so on came Sigrid, a couple of EPs (Raw and Don't Kill My Vibe) filled my ears as we crossed the border and started to take in some Norwegian countryside; she became my soundtrack of the country. The real hook came for me a month or so later when I was in the Canary Islands, I'd hired a car to drive around for a few days just as Sigrid had released Sucker Punch (the future title track of her debut album) and when I tell you I could not stop listening to that bop...
- The Living End (7823) - I was in primary school in 1997 when TLE released the double A-side single Second Solution/Prisoner of Society which went on to dominate the Australian charts for months and influence my music tastes for years. Those songs were unlike anything I'd ever heard before, shit the energy and style of early TLE is still unlike much else I've ever heard. I think I was always likely to be a "rock" kid growing up, but those songs and the self-titled album that followed really took a hold of me and steered me towards various punk and rockabilly styles. The Living End were basically my music personality for all of high school and even now they're never too far from my ears.
- Rise Against (7353) - One of my best friends, someone who I shared a lot of music with and he certainly knew what I'd be into, gave me a burned CD of Revolutions Per Minute at some point, 2005ish I think - I gave it a play, thought "nah this is kinda boring" and subsequently forgot about it for a few years. Fast forward a few years and there was a girl... She introduced me to a lot of different music and Rise were one of her favourites, I have going for long drives blasting a few of their songs but none moreso than Savior which was frequently on repeat. I was hooked. Rise Against have lasted a whole lot longer than the girl did, I guess my friend was right after all.
- Carly Rae Jepsen (6385) - Like a lot of people I'd been unable to escape Call Me Maybe, and had kind of heard I Really Like You, but had never given CRJ any more thought; fun songs but not my thing at the time. Fast forward to 2017 when I was in the midst of accepting pop music into my life (see next entry), and I saw some article on Facebook where the author was gushing over Carly for "revolutionising pop" and particularly loving the newly released video for Cut to the Feeling. Intrigued I hit play on the video and while I don't know if she really was revolutionising pop, she certainly was about to revolutionise my pop experience. CttF grabbed me as a masterpiece right away, and it didn't take me long to discover he Emotion releases and find out how much more of her brilliance was already out there.
- Miley Cyrus (4759) - As someone predominantly into punk and indie rock, Miley slipped into my life as kind of a guilty pleasure with her album Breakout. I followed her on Instagram during the Bangerz era (2013 or so) without really getting into the music beyond knowing the hits, but she was full of enough chaotic drama to keep me entertained. Roll forward to 2016 and I was having a pretty fucked year, my Mum was sick and then died and I spent quite a few months wishing I'd gone with her. One day in November I think I saw something on Insta that made me want to revisit the nonsense of the Wrecking Ball video, so onto Youtube I went to watch that and was then intrigued by the next recommendation: Don't Dream it's Over by Miley Cyrus and Ariana Grande. I grew up with Crowded House (Mum was a fan) and as mentioned I do love a cover version, so I clicked and watched and was blown away by how beautiful and fun the performance was. It was part of Miley's "Backyard Sessions", I started watching more of those videos and then dug deeper into Miley and several of the featured artists. Something clicked in my brain at that time, I knew it was time to embrace pop (and adjacent) music rather than treating it as a guilty pleasure. I got way into Miley and embarked on a period of music discovery unlike any I'd had for years. That Youtube recommendation changed my life, it might have even saved it. Music is amazing.
- The Weakerthans (4386) - In the earlier days of the internet, when digital music was really starting to take off, there were a lot of record labels (I feel like mostly indies but that might just be what I was looking at) who would provide a few free mp3's in the hopes that it inspired you to order albums. One of the labels I found doing this was Epitaph, I downloaded the 1 or 2 available songs from so many Epitaph albums and got into a lot of bands that way - none more than The Weakerthans. The Reasons was the first song of theirs that I heard and it was so different to the mostly punk rock I'd been hearing, with lyrics styled in a way that I didn't quite understand but knew I liked a lot. It turns out John K. Samson is as much a poet as he is a songwriter, and I was to become a lifelong fan of the way his band brought those poems to life.
- Millencolin (4302) - The same friend who tried to introduce me to Rise Against a few years later had a bit more success with Millencolin while we were in high school. I'm pretty sure they came across his radar when No Cigar featured on one of the Tony Hawk Pro Skater games, I don't know if I ever played the game but I sure as hell played the shit out of that song and the rest of Millencolin's discography for years to come.
- Alex the Astronaut (4231) - In 2017 Australia held a vote on the topic of marriage equality, the process was ridiculous and unnecessary (even if it led to the right outcome in the end) but there were some beautiful things to occur along the way - one of the most enduring for me was hearing an unofficial anthem for the Yes campaign, Not Worth Hiding by Alex the Astronaut. It took until a couple of months after the vote but the song was so gorgeous and heartfelt that I wanted to check out more of Alex, and what I found was one of my favourite storytellers in music.
- The Dismemberment Plan (4117) - Another early internet memory to share, I used to spend a lot of time writing on an online diary site, 2004ish, and made a few connections with other users there. One of the features of the site was adding a "currently listening" to the end of a diary entry (just text, no audio or even links back then lol); this one guy interacted a lot with would often be listening to something by The Dismemberment Plan. I asked him for his favourite song and looked it up, it was You Are Invited and it's just one of those songs that was simple and beautiful and exactly what my teenage heart needed to hear right then. They had plenty more where that came from, and before long actually became my first foray into a brave new world of online shopping when I ordered a couple of their CDs to come all the way from America (still one of my better purchases).
2024.04.21 04:09 Eugeen8dk Book recommendation
If ÿou are interested in google translating longer texts(it works fine some grammar is just a little off, i doo it often if a want to read books on polititics that has not been translated) i recommend the book
Staunings arv - vejen til et lykkeligt Danmark -
Staunings legacy - the road to a happy Denmark.
focused on the person considered to be the Head architect behind the Danish social democratic welfare society..
The road to a happy Denmark
Thorvald Stauning wanted to make Denmark a happy country. We have become that. Today, the Danes are among the happiest people in the world. But for how long?
We live in a time of dissolution. The foundations of our society are cracking. Inequality is increasing, many Danes feel insecure, and more and more are losing faith that politics can make a positive difference in their lives. This was also the case in 1930s Denmark - our times are reminiscent of Staunings. Maybe we can learn from him?
Dan Jørgensen thinks so. In this book, he therefore instigates a value struggle against bourgeois Denmark, which is in the process of undermining the welfare society and disfiguring Stauning's legacy.
This is a book about politics making a difference. It is a tribute to the poor working-class boy who became a cigar sorter and ended up as the father of the country. A story that begins late at night in January 1933, when Thorvald Stauning invites a handful of the kingdom's most important men to whiskey parties in his apartment in Kanslergade - even on the same night that Adolf Hitler comes to power in Germany.
submitted by Eugeen8dk to SocialDemocracy [link] [comments]
Staunings arv - vejen til et lykkeligt Danmark -
Staunings legacy - the road to a happy Denmark.
focused on the person considered to be the Head architect behind the Danish social democratic welfare society..
The road to a happy Denmark
Thorvald Stauning wanted to make Denmark a happy country. We have become that. Today, the Danes are among the happiest people in the world. But for how long?
We live in a time of dissolution. The foundations of our society are cracking. Inequality is increasing, many Danes feel insecure, and more and more are losing faith that politics can make a positive difference in their lives. This was also the case in 1930s Denmark - our times are reminiscent of Staunings. Maybe we can learn from him?
Dan Jørgensen thinks so. In this book, he therefore instigates a value struggle against bourgeois Denmark, which is in the process of undermining the welfare society and disfiguring Stauning's legacy.
This is a book about politics making a difference. It is a tribute to the poor working-class boy who became a cigar sorter and ended up as the father of the country. A story that begins late at night in January 1933, when Thorvald Stauning invites a handful of the kingdom's most important men to whiskey parties in his apartment in Kanslergade - even on the same night that Adolf Hitler comes to power in Germany.
2024.04.18 17:44 ShulieCharles "Velvet stretched over steel."
Mmmmmm.... VELVET STRETCHED OVER STEEL
This description of our big, tattooed, Bratva MMC's member in {Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger} is as delicious as is her description of his aroma:
"He smells like the tasting notes on an expensive Cabernet: leather, cigar smoke, a hint of forest floor."
While I loved this book, these aren't even the best descriptions I've read in the gazillion amazing books recommended to me by our beloved R-slash-DarkRomance! I have to start keeping a spreadsheet or something of amazing descriptions of the beauty of masculinity embodied by my favorite DR men. Yum!
Share yours below! (Use spoiler text when needed, see RULES on sidebar).
~xo Shulie
submitted by ShulieCharles to DarkRomance [link] [comments]
This description of our big, tattooed, Bratva MMC's member in {Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger} is as delicious as is her description of his aroma:
"He smells like the tasting notes on an expensive Cabernet: leather, cigar smoke, a hint of forest floor."
While I loved this book, these aren't even the best descriptions I've read in the gazillion amazing books recommended to me by our beloved R-slash-DarkRomance! I have to start keeping a spreadsheet or something of amazing descriptions of the beauty of masculinity embodied by my favorite DR men. Yum!
Share yours below! (Use spoiler text when needed, see RULES on sidebar).
~xo Shulie
2024.04.18 08:35 NedzEddz AITAH for leaving.
Honestly, I know very well who the ah is in the story but I'm just very emotional at the moment and could use the validation and confirmation..
I (F21) have met my now ex husband (M28) in 2019, we started dating in 2022 after we got to know each other. I worked at a store in the neighbourhood and we ended up talking while he came in and over time got to know each other. He claims he had a dream one night that symbolically told him to go to the store to meet a girl there.
He had just gotten out of a toxic relation ship of 3 years 3 months prior to when we atarted talking more comfortably.
In october of 2022 we started officially dating and it was just wack shit all around. He'd come pick me up after my shift ended every night at 10pm and would always take me to different places. Took me to a lretty train trail, got pizza on a high place with a gorgeous view, went with his friend and my friend on a double-date on top of a hill and bought hamburgers, I'd often sneak out of the window at night to just enjoy being in his company. My family is religious and so am I, however they would never allow me to go out with him by myself at all. I could kind of understand why, since over time our hangouts escalated to making out then more than that. Never had full-on piv sex tho. I was a virgin and he was very much a man whole in his younger years. That was just one red flag I missed our of many. Such as how he used to heavily use drugs in his teen years, but threw all of it away yet he still used weed though. And I only found this out after I borrowed his car and opened the drawer under the seat and found a bundle of it.
Safe to say, I was upset. I told him, and he claimed he'd planned to tell me but didn't know how to. Since I knew now, his smoking of weed increased HEAVILY. like he did not know when to stop. I asked him to keep it on the low a bit because it wasn't affecting his health well at all, and the addiction was just.. really bad at that point. But he never really listened to me.
This man has been the only thing in my life to take me on fun adventures that I mever got to have as a teen. He taught me how to drive, taught me around electronics here and there since he worked as a car electeician. I've learned a lot from him that I just can't list here.
But he's also hurt me many times over. He had very bad mood swings. I once got angry at him because he started doubting that I was cheating on him because I had a screenshot of another man's profile on my phone (which was automatically downloaded from a whatsapp group chat with my girl friends). I screamed at him, he dropped me off at my house and I slammed the door on him and left in a heat. A couple minutes later he calls me to scream how it's my fault he just crashed his car. That car belonged to his customer and was working on it and he'd slammed it into a van on his way back home after our argument, not at all far from where I lived. After a while of heated arguing and blaming each other, he begged me to come bring him some water because he wasn't feeling well. So I did. And suddenly he was all giddy and joyful and while I hated him for the accusations he made, I just loved his giddy side too much to say anything anymore...
Our late night sneak outs turned into him leaving me in his room alone and telling me he just has to finish one thing on a car and he'll be back. He never returned and I'd leave to go back home in the morning before larents realized I left.
Parents got involved. Religion. Which means they pushed us to rush the marriage, and we both agreed because we were raised in that kind of enviornment.
So, a year later, we get married in september 2023. It was awful. All the papers I had to get done while he slept and complained he was tired from work, he was overworking himself insanely a lot. I finished the paperwork with his sister, who is very dear to me till this day.
The wedding happened, and it ended with his arguing with his dad with whom he has a very complicated relationship sith. He grew up in a pretty big and rich family so the toxicity was just everywhere. Constant jealeousy and 24/7 critiques on how his brother was better than him in the business world. His best friend had also just announced he might go to brain surgery for really bad epilepsy side effects. (He ended up not going) It was just a huge mess.
The first month he spent glued to my laptop screen watching tv shows and movies and barely paying attention to me at all. But I was patient with him. O knew that everything kind of happened... Just. Awfully. I tried talking to him but it was like talking to a wall. So I let him be and tried to be there for him, cuddled him, offered him massages. His brother was thw one who provided us with a functional kitched, tv and a couch. I was hurt by the lack of attention I got but I was patient. This wasn't the men I fell in love with, he's just taking a time-out so I'll give him the time he needs..
3 months pass and nothing changes so I finally bring it up. I told him I'll go cold if he doesn't change his workaholic ways. By now he wasn't as glued to the laptop screen, rather his garage. He'd spens his night smoking joints and jerking off to porn while I prepared romantic dinner movie nights for us which he never came in the house for. I told him it just isn't ok to act this way, we were married ffs. Instead of being reasonable and understanding he just atacked me for making him feel 'pressured' because I wanted to spend more time with him. I cried for days after that and tried talking again but it was just empty promises or more arguing.
His brother announces he's going to go to umrah (islamic thing, basically a trip to Mecca to see the qaba which is a very holy place). Now, some of you will tell me it's stupid of me to believe this but I believe symbolic dreams and such, anyway; his mothsr dreamt her daughter and me pregnant and happy. We took this dream in to mean as if we were to expect something good was going to come our way. That same day my husband's brother tells him that he's taking him to umrah.
We made an ultimatum. If he throws away the excessive weed use, I'd consider taking BC pills out of the mix and we'd plan our future more if he proved himself to be a worthy dad to my children.
He comes back from umrah i January after a month there and he was GLOWING. We visited family together, went to some restraunt at one point. He said he wanted to completely throw away cigarettes and weed altogether so I bought him electric cigars. I also bought him some new sweatpants that were more comfy for him and I prepared his favourite meal when he came back. He also brought me some gifts from there himself.
Since day 1 I have always been his first supporter in everything. Even before marriage I'd be tired as hell from work and I would come bring him warm meals when he told me he felt really sick. I found ways for us to learn about things together without it taking too much of his time since he was very much a workaholic.
I forgot to mention, before this, because he refused to listen to my asvice, I would often ask my sister's husband who grew pretty close with my husband to tell him everything I tried to tell him. Because I thought maybe I didn't say it right or... Maybe it's because I'm a woman 🙃 I was very icked about that thought but I decided to try anything to fix our bond because I truly loved him. He never listened to me but he took the asvice from my BIL very easily..
Then, his best friend, the one with epilepsy comes back into the picture. Which also meant weed. I found out he picked uo cigarettes again two months later, which I was kinda bummed about but I let it be. He refused to smoke in the house tho. He slowly started constantly working and stressing over work again. He refused to listen to me whenever I'd ask for a day off for the two of us again. At one point it got so bad that I started mentioning divorce because I just wasn't having it sith him anymore. The amount of times he'd turned his back on me to leave for work while I was left behind crying my soul out just left me with very thin patience.
A week or maybe a little over that a text message pops up on his phone. His best friend. Asking if he wanted my husband to call him when he reched their dealer.
I waited for him to wake up. He noticed I was acting off and when he asked I just told him to check the messages with his best friend. He started playing dumb. "I don't know any dealers! What the fuck is weong with you! You know (bestfriend) is fucking insane he doesn't even know what he wrote to me" It all escalated horribly. He called his friend and cursed him off for writing all of that in a text message, then hung up. Then turned to me and started cursing at me. Mind you, I was very calm with the whole conversation. Maybe angry, but I wanted to have a normal discussion about it. But when he started using awful words and when the anger spewed off od him I just had to step aside. Bonus points he cursd out God in the middle of it all. Now in Islam, a woman needs to leave her husband at once if he leaves Islam, and curaing out god or anything holy counts as such. So I pulled my hoddie over my head, held my tears in and left to go to my parents. This was the first day of Eid. I really had to come home to my parents and say "Eid Mubarak" through many many tears.
Now I've never considered myself close with my parents until now. All the emptional turmoil i went through I'd shared with my sister because my husband refused to listen to me.
I decided to give him 4 months to prove himself he can change for the better. The anger issues, the weed addiction, the whole working himself to death thing. During 9 months of marriage we hadn't been intimate maybe 5-6 times. We only went on a single date which is the restraunt after he came back from Umrah.
I stayed in contact with him over text but nothing more than that. One day, he'd text all happy snd motivated, the other, he was just cursing me out and blaming me, blaming me for not talking to him for talking about our problems with my sister and bil. For the record, I never wanted to involve anyone into our relationship.. I was just emotionally exhausted. One night when I just felt really really bad and was alone, my sister texted me if I was ok and that she had a dream that she was hugging me and reassuring me. That was when I just broke down and told her everything. I was shaking, sobbing, wanted to scream. I got married and it was as if the man I loved just evaporated. There's was a glimpse of that man after he came back but it lasted so short..
Yesterday he texted me a lot of very mean rhings. He accused me of not being a virgin before marriage and how I couldn't even offer him my virginity. How I didn't even want kids with him. How I didn't care at all about his wellbeing. Told me I'm stupid and he'd let me return if I kept quiet all the time and he could smoke, drink, do anything he wanted. Apperently he thought he wasgolden just because he never hit a woman or cheated. That was what he considered high standard.
I ended up ending it. No second change no nothing. I let him call me one last time so I can tell him out loud that I'm tired of his bullshit.
Somehow he reacted very calmly to that. Appersntly he just didn't know how to react because it left him in shock but by his voice to me it almost sounded like he was glad.
Now I just feel awful because I feel like he'd wanted a divorce since the day we got married by the way he acted and reacted.
After unrah he did start working a bit less and spent more time with me. We'd cuddle up, or he'd offer to help make pancakes. We planned out how we could put a pool on our balcony.
Thing is tho, everytime I was angry at him he would be extra nice for a day or two until I forgot about it and he'd pretend as if nothing ever happened. I felt like I kept being taken for granted.
I always looked out for him, gave him massages even if he didn't ask, always gave him scratches so he can fall asleep. Always made meals he asked for if all ingredients were there. I found ways for him to feel productive outside of work.
It really wasn't as bad after he came back from umrah, but my patience was just so sooo thin after last year. And not to mention all the mean things he wrote to me yesterday.
He ended up texting me last night that he feels awful things ended this way and that he truly cared and that I was his only friend. But I don't know why I never felt like it. I was just tired. Now I'm just thinking we rushed the marriage way too much and that I would have noticed how cold he'd be going if I waited a little longer without a wedding on top of it all.
All I wanted from him was to spend more time with me and to be honest and talk to me. And yet, apperently, I was asking for too much of him.
Am I the asshole?..
submitted by NedzEddz to AITAH [link] [comments]
I (F21) have met my now ex husband (M28) in 2019, we started dating in 2022 after we got to know each other. I worked at a store in the neighbourhood and we ended up talking while he came in and over time got to know each other. He claims he had a dream one night that symbolically told him to go to the store to meet a girl there.
He had just gotten out of a toxic relation ship of 3 years 3 months prior to when we atarted talking more comfortably.
In october of 2022 we started officially dating and it was just wack shit all around. He'd come pick me up after my shift ended every night at 10pm and would always take me to different places. Took me to a lretty train trail, got pizza on a high place with a gorgeous view, went with his friend and my friend on a double-date on top of a hill and bought hamburgers, I'd often sneak out of the window at night to just enjoy being in his company. My family is religious and so am I, however they would never allow me to go out with him by myself at all. I could kind of understand why, since over time our hangouts escalated to making out then more than that. Never had full-on piv sex tho. I was a virgin and he was very much a man whole in his younger years. That was just one red flag I missed our of many. Such as how he used to heavily use drugs in his teen years, but threw all of it away yet he still used weed though. And I only found this out after I borrowed his car and opened the drawer under the seat and found a bundle of it.
Safe to say, I was upset. I told him, and he claimed he'd planned to tell me but didn't know how to. Since I knew now, his smoking of weed increased HEAVILY. like he did not know when to stop. I asked him to keep it on the low a bit because it wasn't affecting his health well at all, and the addiction was just.. really bad at that point. But he never really listened to me.
This man has been the only thing in my life to take me on fun adventures that I mever got to have as a teen. He taught me how to drive, taught me around electronics here and there since he worked as a car electeician. I've learned a lot from him that I just can't list here.
But he's also hurt me many times over. He had very bad mood swings. I once got angry at him because he started doubting that I was cheating on him because I had a screenshot of another man's profile on my phone (which was automatically downloaded from a whatsapp group chat with my girl friends). I screamed at him, he dropped me off at my house and I slammed the door on him and left in a heat. A couple minutes later he calls me to scream how it's my fault he just crashed his car. That car belonged to his customer and was working on it and he'd slammed it into a van on his way back home after our argument, not at all far from where I lived. After a while of heated arguing and blaming each other, he begged me to come bring him some water because he wasn't feeling well. So I did. And suddenly he was all giddy and joyful and while I hated him for the accusations he made, I just loved his giddy side too much to say anything anymore...
Our late night sneak outs turned into him leaving me in his room alone and telling me he just has to finish one thing on a car and he'll be back. He never returned and I'd leave to go back home in the morning before larents realized I left.
Parents got involved. Religion. Which means they pushed us to rush the marriage, and we both agreed because we were raised in that kind of enviornment.
So, a year later, we get married in september 2023. It was awful. All the papers I had to get done while he slept and complained he was tired from work, he was overworking himself insanely a lot. I finished the paperwork with his sister, who is very dear to me till this day.
The wedding happened, and it ended with his arguing with his dad with whom he has a very complicated relationship sith. He grew up in a pretty big and rich family so the toxicity was just everywhere. Constant jealeousy and 24/7 critiques on how his brother was better than him in the business world. His best friend had also just announced he might go to brain surgery for really bad epilepsy side effects. (He ended up not going) It was just a huge mess.
The first month he spent glued to my laptop screen watching tv shows and movies and barely paying attention to me at all. But I was patient with him. O knew that everything kind of happened... Just. Awfully. I tried talking to him but it was like talking to a wall. So I let him be and tried to be there for him, cuddled him, offered him massages. His brother was thw one who provided us with a functional kitched, tv and a couch. I was hurt by the lack of attention I got but I was patient. This wasn't the men I fell in love with, he's just taking a time-out so I'll give him the time he needs..
3 months pass and nothing changes so I finally bring it up. I told him I'll go cold if he doesn't change his workaholic ways. By now he wasn't as glued to the laptop screen, rather his garage. He'd spens his night smoking joints and jerking off to porn while I prepared romantic dinner movie nights for us which he never came in the house for. I told him it just isn't ok to act this way, we were married ffs. Instead of being reasonable and understanding he just atacked me for making him feel 'pressured' because I wanted to spend more time with him. I cried for days after that and tried talking again but it was just empty promises or more arguing.
His brother announces he's going to go to umrah (islamic thing, basically a trip to Mecca to see the qaba which is a very holy place). Now, some of you will tell me it's stupid of me to believe this but I believe symbolic dreams and such, anyway; his mothsr dreamt her daughter and me pregnant and happy. We took this dream in to mean as if we were to expect something good was going to come our way. That same day my husband's brother tells him that he's taking him to umrah.
We made an ultimatum. If he throws away the excessive weed use, I'd consider taking BC pills out of the mix and we'd plan our future more if he proved himself to be a worthy dad to my children.
He comes back from umrah i January after a month there and he was GLOWING. We visited family together, went to some restraunt at one point. He said he wanted to completely throw away cigarettes and weed altogether so I bought him electric cigars. I also bought him some new sweatpants that were more comfy for him and I prepared his favourite meal when he came back. He also brought me some gifts from there himself.
Since day 1 I have always been his first supporter in everything. Even before marriage I'd be tired as hell from work and I would come bring him warm meals when he told me he felt really sick. I found ways for us to learn about things together without it taking too much of his time since he was very much a workaholic.
I forgot to mention, before this, because he refused to listen to my asvice, I would often ask my sister's husband who grew pretty close with my husband to tell him everything I tried to tell him. Because I thought maybe I didn't say it right or... Maybe it's because I'm a woman 🙃 I was very icked about that thought but I decided to try anything to fix our bond because I truly loved him. He never listened to me but he took the asvice from my BIL very easily..
Then, his best friend, the one with epilepsy comes back into the picture. Which also meant weed. I found out he picked uo cigarettes again two months later, which I was kinda bummed about but I let it be. He refused to smoke in the house tho. He slowly started constantly working and stressing over work again. He refused to listen to me whenever I'd ask for a day off for the two of us again. At one point it got so bad that I started mentioning divorce because I just wasn't having it sith him anymore. The amount of times he'd turned his back on me to leave for work while I was left behind crying my soul out just left me with very thin patience.
A week or maybe a little over that a text message pops up on his phone. His best friend. Asking if he wanted my husband to call him when he reched their dealer.
I waited for him to wake up. He noticed I was acting off and when he asked I just told him to check the messages with his best friend. He started playing dumb. "I don't know any dealers! What the fuck is weong with you! You know (bestfriend) is fucking insane he doesn't even know what he wrote to me" It all escalated horribly. He called his friend and cursed him off for writing all of that in a text message, then hung up. Then turned to me and started cursing at me. Mind you, I was very calm with the whole conversation. Maybe angry, but I wanted to have a normal discussion about it. But when he started using awful words and when the anger spewed off od him I just had to step aside. Bonus points he cursd out God in the middle of it all. Now in Islam, a woman needs to leave her husband at once if he leaves Islam, and curaing out god or anything holy counts as such. So I pulled my hoddie over my head, held my tears in and left to go to my parents. This was the first day of Eid. I really had to come home to my parents and say "Eid Mubarak" through many many tears.
Now I've never considered myself close with my parents until now. All the emptional turmoil i went through I'd shared with my sister because my husband refused to listen to me.
I decided to give him 4 months to prove himself he can change for the better. The anger issues, the weed addiction, the whole working himself to death thing. During 9 months of marriage we hadn't been intimate maybe 5-6 times. We only went on a single date which is the restraunt after he came back from Umrah.
I stayed in contact with him over text but nothing more than that. One day, he'd text all happy snd motivated, the other, he was just cursing me out and blaming me, blaming me for not talking to him for talking about our problems with my sister and bil. For the record, I never wanted to involve anyone into our relationship.. I was just emotionally exhausted. One night when I just felt really really bad and was alone, my sister texted me if I was ok and that she had a dream that she was hugging me and reassuring me. That was when I just broke down and told her everything. I was shaking, sobbing, wanted to scream. I got married and it was as if the man I loved just evaporated. There's was a glimpse of that man after he came back but it lasted so short..
Yesterday he texted me a lot of very mean rhings. He accused me of not being a virgin before marriage and how I couldn't even offer him my virginity. How I didn't even want kids with him. How I didn't care at all about his wellbeing. Told me I'm stupid and he'd let me return if I kept quiet all the time and he could smoke, drink, do anything he wanted. Apperently he thought he wasgolden just because he never hit a woman or cheated. That was what he considered high standard.
I ended up ending it. No second change no nothing. I let him call me one last time so I can tell him out loud that I'm tired of his bullshit.
Somehow he reacted very calmly to that. Appersntly he just didn't know how to react because it left him in shock but by his voice to me it almost sounded like he was glad.
Now I just feel awful because I feel like he'd wanted a divorce since the day we got married by the way he acted and reacted.
After unrah he did start working a bit less and spent more time with me. We'd cuddle up, or he'd offer to help make pancakes. We planned out how we could put a pool on our balcony.
Thing is tho, everytime I was angry at him he would be extra nice for a day or two until I forgot about it and he'd pretend as if nothing ever happened. I felt like I kept being taken for granted.
I always looked out for him, gave him massages even if he didn't ask, always gave him scratches so he can fall asleep. Always made meals he asked for if all ingredients were there. I found ways for him to feel productive outside of work.
It really wasn't as bad after he came back from umrah, but my patience was just so sooo thin after last year. And not to mention all the mean things he wrote to me yesterday.
He ended up texting me last night that he feels awful things ended this way and that he truly cared and that I was his only friend. But I don't know why I never felt like it. I was just tired. Now I'm just thinking we rushed the marriage way too much and that I would have noticed how cold he'd be going if I waited a little longer without a wedding on top of it all.
All I wanted from him was to spend more time with me and to be honest and talk to me. And yet, apperently, I was asking for too much of him.
Am I the asshole?..
2024.04.16 16:36 nerdytruth I just need a place to trauma dump after getting out of an abusive marriage
It's been such a tough few years for me and I don't talk openly about it to anyone especially since I only have a couple of people I'm close to and don't want to spend my time with them complaining. So I just need to spew all of the pain from my brain.
My father had a stroke several year ago and a couple of years ago my mother killed herself. I worked really hard to put myself through college and finally got my first big girl job in tech and then was part of the mass layoffs last year. I am now starting entry level in a new field that will only cover my rent, but it's my only choice as recruiters have begun telling me that my unemployment gap was an issue.
I have no car as my ex took our only car, so I can't even do a side job like serving or dashing. I'm trying online ones but am having no luck. I was able to make it this far using my savings which was only there because of my mom's death. I do finally feel like I'm coming out of the tunnel though, as if I can just make rent this month I'll be in the clear as I'll finally be getting those checks in from my new job.
I keep finding myself getting panic attacks more and more each day as I'm so close but feel like this month will make or brake me. All that I can think of is all the trauma my husband (will be ex-husband once I can afford filing for divorce) put me through and how I'm only in this position because he chose to be such a major piece of shit. I'm just going to list below all the stuff I've put up with over the years. I was aware through so much of it that I needed to leave so please don't beat me down further with reminding me. Life kept swinging and I did the best I could once I knew I was being too generous.
-(while dating) Went to the gym early in the morning while I slept in. When I woke up, I went to the gym and needed my headphones from his car. Called him as I couldn't find the car in the parking lot only to learn he was driving around smoking with his girl friend. He said he had never gotten high in the morning and wanted to try that with her.
-(while dating) Was texting his ex girlfriend about missing her and calling photos she sent sexy. Promised to block her on everything after I caught him, but begged to send one last message which I could approve. Years later in therapy he said he chose to stop talking to her because she called me fat.
-(moving into our first apartment after marriage) Let his brother move in with us without talking to me and ignored me when I told him as a newly wed couple we would probably not like it. I wasn't angry though as family is important to me. He proceeded to constantly complain about us never having the place to ourselves.
-(few weeks into marriage) Told me he was gay and then disappeared for 3 days. He only reached back out when I messaged him that my sister was coming over to help me pack my things and he could keep the apartment. Said he had been at his families house and came out to them and they all accepted him and he needs my support and if I left I was homophobic and a bad wife who never really loved him unconditionally.
-(when I served him divorce papers) He chugged a bottle of gin and wrapped a cord around his neck as he threatened to kill himself. I called his family to help me talk to him as I didn't want to escalate to calling the cops. His family said we need to stop drinking (I was sober) and hung up on me.
-When I would tell him I was done with this relationship and I couldn't do it anymore because he was abusive he would say variants of "look at yourself and how you're acting, you're unstable," "you're an alcoholic and only want me gone so you can drink more," "I'm only upset because I haven't eaten," and the best one "he's only trying to fix my brain"
-When we began going to marriage counseling, we discussed specific things he needed to address in individual counseling and stuff we needed to work on in couples therapy. The therapist was the same for both his individual and our couples. In couples, it was always revealed he never discussed any of the things we had agreed needed to be addressed in his individuals session. The therapist was shocked to learn he was highly paranoid and about the items I've detailed above.
-Told me repeatedly he would treat me better if we had more sex.
-Would tell me I'm disgusting when I'd get blackout drunk (I will admit to not eating and drinking heavily more than I should and won't make excused for it). I would usually have bruises afterwards along my legs and thighs and my kittycat would be sore. I did wake up onetime to him in the act, only for him to after call me disgusting for being a drunk who threw up everywhere. Still can't get over how I wasn't disgusting enough for assault but okay.
-Would grope me while I slept and stand over me masturbating. Would whip his dick out and ask me to touch it while I was working remote despite me telling him stop it.
-Would pick locks, break doors off their hinges, and crawl through windows if I locked myself in a room. (I would lock myself into rooms because after an hour of arguing I would be too mentally exhausted to keep going but he wouldn't leave me alone despite me saying it won't be a productive conversation if we're both too frustrated to communicate). I began barricading the doors with furniture, but I am a small woman and he was a gym rat so he was able to push his way into the room and tell me "it's not his fault I'm too weak to defend myself"
-Told him I always dreamed of being an author, next fight he told me I'll never achieve my dreams and berated me by repeatedly asking "where's my book then? you can't even finish a book you're lazy." Did the same thing when I mowed the lawn (I had let a weed grow ~4ft tall and it had attracted a cool variety of insects that I had never seen before and I cried when I finally had to mow the lawn because I was destroying such an interesting little biome). He said it was sweet how much I loved little things only to call me crazy and mentally unstable the next time we fought because no sane person cries about mowing the lawn.
-Broke and window and punched a hole in the wall when I bought a special safety lock that was able to keep him out of the bathroom during an argument.
-I called the cops after he harassed me for 12+ hours. While outside talking to them, I got heat stroke and threw up so an ambulance was called. After they left, he proceeded to continue to harass me for another ~4 hours saying "I was a whore who wanted men to look at her and that's why I let them touch me" (them being the paramedics) and that "I'm not really a black woman, I only pretend to be because a real black woman would never call the cops"
-He hated anything to do with me having a life before him. My dog, stories, buildings, anything. While I was asleep he deleted all photos in a google account I've had for over 2 decades, including videos of my family (really hurts not having videos of my mom)
-Said he knows I'm an alcoholic because he went through my bank statements and saw how often I frequented bars. No idea where this came from as I was a server for a decade and yeah went to bars but paid cash cause...well server. Also, he never had access to my bank information until we got join accounts which was after I left the serving industry so I wasn't frequenting bars after work.
-Said I couldn't make my own decisions because I'm an alcoholic or autistic. This is the guy who would smoke weed from the moment he woke up til he went to sleep and would also drink heavily but said it's my fault he never drank before me. Also everyone else is an alcoholic because they drink, but he's not cause it's because of me. If I didn't drink for x days/week, he would say "it doesn't matter because I've drunk before" or would say it's because I give beer to my dad (my dad is nearly 70, he was in the army stations in Germany for 12 and various parts of the Middle East/North Africa for another ~5. He gets 4 beers day, 2 at lunch 2 at dinner. He likes to have his little cigar and a few beers with meals. I'm not telling this old dude he can't have his little set up just because he has to live with me after his stroke.) I also stopped seeing the psychiatrist for my diagnosis after I realized it would be weaponized agianst me.
Anyways that's the major stuff. I'm not going to details the every day to day things like keeping car access from me, darvo, etc. He did choke me once when I was driving us home as he was drunk, and I began to escalate my escape plan but it all centered around finding a job first as I needed to be able to support myself and my dad. Over that month I did become distant (I am not a good enough actress to pretend to still be happy after that) and he grew more and more frustrated until he sent me to the hospital one night.
I do have a 10 year restraining order now and am building up a social circle. One of my friends picks me up each week for a DnD game, and I've began making art again. As I said before, I've finally found a job and the routine has really helped with not bed rot and be depressed. I have still been too depressed to do my usual hobbies of gaming and reading, but I know I'll get that back in time. For now, I'm just happy to finally vent. I literally can feel my shoulders and throat relaxing. Thank you for anyone who has taken the time to read this.
submitted by nerdytruth to TrueOffMyChest [link] [comments]
My father had a stroke several year ago and a couple of years ago my mother killed herself. I worked really hard to put myself through college and finally got my first big girl job in tech and then was part of the mass layoffs last year. I am now starting entry level in a new field that will only cover my rent, but it's my only choice as recruiters have begun telling me that my unemployment gap was an issue.
I have no car as my ex took our only car, so I can't even do a side job like serving or dashing. I'm trying online ones but am having no luck. I was able to make it this far using my savings which was only there because of my mom's death. I do finally feel like I'm coming out of the tunnel though, as if I can just make rent this month I'll be in the clear as I'll finally be getting those checks in from my new job.
I keep finding myself getting panic attacks more and more each day as I'm so close but feel like this month will make or brake me. All that I can think of is all the trauma my husband (will be ex-husband once I can afford filing for divorce) put me through and how I'm only in this position because he chose to be such a major piece of shit. I'm just going to list below all the stuff I've put up with over the years. I was aware through so much of it that I needed to leave so please don't beat me down further with reminding me. Life kept swinging and I did the best I could once I knew I was being too generous.
-(while dating) Went to the gym early in the morning while I slept in. When I woke up, I went to the gym and needed my headphones from his car. Called him as I couldn't find the car in the parking lot only to learn he was driving around smoking with his girl friend. He said he had never gotten high in the morning and wanted to try that with her.
-(while dating) Was texting his ex girlfriend about missing her and calling photos she sent sexy. Promised to block her on everything after I caught him, but begged to send one last message which I could approve. Years later in therapy he said he chose to stop talking to her because she called me fat.
-(moving into our first apartment after marriage) Let his brother move in with us without talking to me and ignored me when I told him as a newly wed couple we would probably not like it. I wasn't angry though as family is important to me. He proceeded to constantly complain about us never having the place to ourselves.
-(few weeks into marriage) Told me he was gay and then disappeared for 3 days. He only reached back out when I messaged him that my sister was coming over to help me pack my things and he could keep the apartment. Said he had been at his families house and came out to them and they all accepted him and he needs my support and if I left I was homophobic and a bad wife who never really loved him unconditionally.
-(when I served him divorce papers) He chugged a bottle of gin and wrapped a cord around his neck as he threatened to kill himself. I called his family to help me talk to him as I didn't want to escalate to calling the cops. His family said we need to stop drinking (I was sober) and hung up on me.
-When I would tell him I was done with this relationship and I couldn't do it anymore because he was abusive he would say variants of "look at yourself and how you're acting, you're unstable," "you're an alcoholic and only want me gone so you can drink more," "I'm only upset because I haven't eaten," and the best one "he's only trying to fix my brain"
-When we began going to marriage counseling, we discussed specific things he needed to address in individual counseling and stuff we needed to work on in couples therapy. The therapist was the same for both his individual and our couples. In couples, it was always revealed he never discussed any of the things we had agreed needed to be addressed in his individuals session. The therapist was shocked to learn he was highly paranoid and about the items I've detailed above.
-Told me repeatedly he would treat me better if we had more sex.
-Would tell me I'm disgusting when I'd get blackout drunk (I will admit to not eating and drinking heavily more than I should and won't make excused for it). I would usually have bruises afterwards along my legs and thighs and my kittycat would be sore. I did wake up onetime to him in the act, only for him to after call me disgusting for being a drunk who threw up everywhere. Still can't get over how I wasn't disgusting enough for assault but okay.
-Would grope me while I slept and stand over me masturbating. Would whip his dick out and ask me to touch it while I was working remote despite me telling him stop it.
-Would pick locks, break doors off their hinges, and crawl through windows if I locked myself in a room. (I would lock myself into rooms because after an hour of arguing I would be too mentally exhausted to keep going but he wouldn't leave me alone despite me saying it won't be a productive conversation if we're both too frustrated to communicate). I began barricading the doors with furniture, but I am a small woman and he was a gym rat so he was able to push his way into the room and tell me "it's not his fault I'm too weak to defend myself"
-Told him I always dreamed of being an author, next fight he told me I'll never achieve my dreams and berated me by repeatedly asking "where's my book then? you can't even finish a book you're lazy." Did the same thing when I mowed the lawn (I had let a weed grow ~4ft tall and it had attracted a cool variety of insects that I had never seen before and I cried when I finally had to mow the lawn because I was destroying such an interesting little biome). He said it was sweet how much I loved little things only to call me crazy and mentally unstable the next time we fought because no sane person cries about mowing the lawn.
-Broke and window and punched a hole in the wall when I bought a special safety lock that was able to keep him out of the bathroom during an argument.
-I called the cops after he harassed me for 12+ hours. While outside talking to them, I got heat stroke and threw up so an ambulance was called. After they left, he proceeded to continue to harass me for another ~4 hours saying "I was a whore who wanted men to look at her and that's why I let them touch me" (them being the paramedics) and that "I'm not really a black woman, I only pretend to be because a real black woman would never call the cops"
-He hated anything to do with me having a life before him. My dog, stories, buildings, anything. While I was asleep he deleted all photos in a google account I've had for over 2 decades, including videos of my family (really hurts not having videos of my mom)
-Said he knows I'm an alcoholic because he went through my bank statements and saw how often I frequented bars. No idea where this came from as I was a server for a decade and yeah went to bars but paid cash cause...well server. Also, he never had access to my bank information until we got join accounts which was after I left the serving industry so I wasn't frequenting bars after work.
-Said I couldn't make my own decisions because I'm an alcoholic or autistic. This is the guy who would smoke weed from the moment he woke up til he went to sleep and would also drink heavily but said it's my fault he never drank before me. Also everyone else is an alcoholic because they drink, but he's not cause it's because of me. If I didn't drink for x days/week, he would say "it doesn't matter because I've drunk before" or would say it's because I give beer to my dad (my dad is nearly 70, he was in the army stations in Germany for 12 and various parts of the Middle East/North Africa for another ~5. He gets 4 beers day, 2 at lunch 2 at dinner. He likes to have his little cigar and a few beers with meals. I'm not telling this old dude he can't have his little set up just because he has to live with me after his stroke.) I also stopped seeing the psychiatrist for my diagnosis after I realized it would be weaponized agianst me.
Anyways that's the major stuff. I'm not going to details the every day to day things like keeping car access from me, darvo, etc. He did choke me once when I was driving us home as he was drunk, and I began to escalate my escape plan but it all centered around finding a job first as I needed to be able to support myself and my dad. Over that month I did become distant (I am not a good enough actress to pretend to still be happy after that) and he grew more and more frustrated until he sent me to the hospital one night.
I do have a 10 year restraining order now and am building up a social circle. One of my friends picks me up each week for a DnD game, and I've began making art again. As I said before, I've finally found a job and the routine has really helped with not bed rot and be depressed. I have still been too depressed to do my usual hobbies of gaming and reading, but I know I'll get that back in time. For now, I'm just happy to finally vent. I literally can feel my shoulders and throat relaxing. Thank you for anyone who has taken the time to read this.
2024.04.14 06:00 Direct-Caterpillar77 Bride made a profit on bachelorette trip!! (SIL drama)
I am not The OOP, OOP is u/dorkvader23
Bride made a profit on bachelorette trip!! (SIL drama)
Originally posted to weddingshaming
Thanks to u/Kresley for suggesting this BoRU
TRIGGER WARNING: financial exploitation, controlling behavior, theft, fraud, manipulation, mentions of mental health issues, body image insecurity, infidelity
Forced to wear revealing bridesmaid dress!! Jan 20, 2024
I miss the days when bridesmaids were treated like people and not like stage props! My future SIL is getting married so of course I’m a default bridesmaid. She didn’t give us options for the dress, she picked it out and told us it’s the one we’ll be wearing.
The dress is a strapless, backless, thigh slit halter neck. I am a larger girl - triple D chest should explain why I don’t wear backless or halter styles. Backless means I can’t wear any form of supportive bra AND there is virtually no shapewear I can put underneath it. The only bras that work are stickies or tape, which do not hold me up in the least.
I tried the dress on….my chest is spilling out the sides, back rolls are on full blast, and I am popping out of this thing every which way. I’m so uncomfortable. I basically told the bride sorry, I know it’s your big day but there is no way I’m wearing this dress. My body shape is different from the rest of the bridal party and I can’t justify wearing it.
I told her I’d be fine if I can simply modify it to be more conservative at the back and chest. She DECLINED and told me to “just be more confident in myself” because all the dresses must be identical for photos.
I have no body confidence issues, there are plenty of styles that suit my figure. It just so happens that this dress was not made for larger women and does not look appropriate on my body.
I want to drop out of the wedding but my family insists I stay in because it’s my SIL and it would “ruin” the wedding and the relationship.
I don’t get why I should have to be paraded around in front of my entire family, extended family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, etc in an outfit that makes me uncomfortable. It’s just getting ridiculous.
Brides - please have enough tact to make sure your girls are comfortable on your special day. We’re humans, not props.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
beckerszzz
gnosticnightjar
UPDATE
First of all thank you so much for all the support. I appreciate your helpful advice and suggestions. On that note, I’ve decided to stay in the wedding to avoid sending my mother to an early grave.
HOWEVER!!! I’ve also decided I’ll be wearing the sh*t out of this dress and making sure the center of attention is not on the lovely bride. I tried to resolve the issue with tact and class and was shot down, so I feel I’ve earned the right to be petty.
I’m going to order some really specific shapewear which can be concealed under what little material this dress has (kudos to you all who sent me suggestions!!) I’ll be going FULL side boob, FULL shimmer added on the exposed back, and FULL body oil on the legs for the thigh slit. I’ll be doing an updo on the hair so there is nothing getting in the way of this dress 💃🏻 I’ll be wearing a shawl for everything else, but TRUST that for the ceremony I’ll be looking like Salma Hayek in Dusk till Dawn.
Let’s see what she thinks about this “body confidence” she asked me to find. GIRL please!
If anyone is curious I’ll most likely come back in May to post my pics!!
Bride made a profit on bachelorette trip!! (SIL drama) Jan 23, 2024
SO MUCH TEA. I’m glad I can spill to my Reddit community because I can’t gossip about it to my family!
SO - about 6 months ago the bride planned her destination bachelorette trip and charged each of the 11 girls $650 for the Airbnb. I was salty about the high cost but it’s my SIL so I sucked it up and paid her. I also was suspicious about the high AF price so I did cross check the Airbnb listing and it checked out. (Yes this b wanted a $2300/night beachfront house.)
Well today I’m chatting about wedding stuff with my brother (who is marrying future SIL) and he said something along the lines of “what a relief her dad paid for the Airbnb because that would have been so expensive for your group.”
I about choked! I said hey are you sure about that because all 11 girls paid $650 for the house alone. Maybe run it by her…:..his face turned purple so I take it he had no idea.
To add to the greed going on here - when I got married I flew her out, paid for her accommodations, paid hair and makeup, paid for her bridesmaid dress, and paid transportation because she was going through a hard time. Now she has the balls to steal from me.
I get that weddings are expensive but don’t have one if it requires stealing from your BMs. I’m assuming I’m the only BM who is aware of what’s going on here. Not sure if I should spill to the group or just let it go……
There’s a chance her dad stepped in and paid for it after the fact, and she just chose not to refund us. I’m not clear on the exact situation and want to avoid embarrassing my brother.
——————
UPDATE 1- 1/23/2024
Thanks for all the advice and support! Yes - I agree with most of you who are saying I’m morally obligated to spill the beans because $650 is not child’s play.
This is what I’m going to do. First, I’m going to talk to my brother and give him a chance to clear it up with SIL. Before I make a scene, I want to understand what’s really going on. For example, did daddy pay for the trip but SIL decided to put that towards a different wedding expense? Things like that.
That answer will determine when/how I tell the rest of the BMs. Im going to give my brother only 1-2 days because this trip is literally next week.
Stay tuned for update #2
——————————
UPDATE 2 - 1/26/2024
Alright so I regrouped with my brother. My mom also stepped in, bypassed my brother, and got some more info directly from her dad! HERE’S THE TEA - future SIL’s dad did not offer to cover the cost until a few months after we all paid for the trip. This was after he found out the cost and was pissed that she chose a $2300/night house and asked us to pay. Apparently he threatened not to pay for the wedding if she added more expenses onto the wedding party. Turns out she originally wanted it at the Maldives and he forbid her!
According to my mom who chatted with him directly, he felt embarrassed when he heard about the Airbnb price and wanted to save face with my side of the family. So he gave SIL about $7k to cover the cost of the house. She was supposed to refund us but obviously that never happened.
THIS IS WHERE IT GETS GOOD - so my mom went total FBI and learned that in addition to not paying us, SIL didn’t put the money towards a different wedding expense either. SHE DOESNT HAVE IT. So where did it go?? What did she spend it on??
There is currently a FULL BLOWN INVESTIGATION going down between our two families rn!
I have been asked by my mom not to alert the BMs just yet until we get the last bits of info AND come to a resolution with both SIL and her dad. But we WILL tell them asap one way or another.
I will come back tomorrow with another update!! Wow, CRAZY.
—————————
UPDATE 3 - 1/27/2024
The plot thickens!! So as this drama is all unfolding, the maid of honor (who doesn’t know what’s going on yet) is continuing her duties. We all get a 4-paragraph text from her outlining the dress code for each night of the bachelorette, per the brides orders. Keep in mind the bride is asking us all to go out and buy new outfits for each night of the trip. And the themes are WILD - animal print Thursday, Faux Fur Friday, Sparkle Dress Saturday, and Barbie brunch Sunday.
As if we’re all going to go out and buy that sh*t one week before the trip (or at all!!) Thankfully the BM’s seem to be waking up to the BS. Several of them wrote back saying they won’t be able to pull together those outfits in time, and one flat out said it’s just not going to happen.
But that’s just a side story to the absolute sh*t show that is unfolding.
My mom is very involved now as she’s paid a decent chunk of this wedding as well, and does NOT like that the bride is throwing around THOUSANDS of dollars from her dad as well as lying to the bridal party.
SHE SET UP A MEETING directly with SIL to cut the BS and explain what’s going on. She told SIL she’s going to inform the BM’s herself unless she gets a valid answer.
At this point I’m just shoveling down popcorn waiting for the events to unfold.
I will be back tonight with hopefully the final update!!
————————
UPDATE 4 - 1/29/2024
A SWAN ICE SCULPTURE.
She used the $7k to book a swan shaped ice sculpture to be displayed at the reception and didn’t tell anyone.
Turns out her dad banned her from adding any more “extras” to the wedding design because it was already so expensive and unnecessary.
When he venmoed her for the Airbnb, she thought she was being sneaky and kept it instead. She didn’t even tell my brother this - he only found out that her dad decided to cover the Airbnb because those two went out for cigars one night and it came up.
So that mystery is solved thanks to my mini FBI crew - but now the REAL questions remain. Where tf is my $650 and how to break the news to the BM’s!??
Out of the kindness of her SOUL my mom is giving SIL 24hrs to confess to the bridesmaids and figure out how to pay us back our money. Because you know what, I did not spend $650 on some damn ICE!!!!! I have kids to feed! I have BILLS TO PAY.
It is taking everything in me not to text the BM group right now but my mom is trying to give SIL one opportunity to do the right thing.
This has been a roller coaster - don’t know if anyone here is still interested, but let me know if I should post the final outcome with the BM’s in one last update.
Lord have MERCY.
————————————
UPDATE 5 - 2/5/2024
Ok - as promised here is the latest tea, served BOILING hot. This is a long update and I’m going to try and get everything in.
First let’s start with the bride’s explanation to her family: myself, my mom, my brother (her fiance) and her dad. She broke down crying saying that wedding planning has been getting to her head, and she has been “crushed” under the pressure to have the perfect wedding. Which she felt couldn’t go on without this alleged Ice Swan.
I didn’t buy her sob story. After this whole incident I think she is a delusional, controlling, attention-starving bridezilla who is using the wedding as a way to compete with other girls on instagram. Btw her job is “influencer” if I didn’t mention that yet.
My brother took the bait. To be honest, I don’t even blame him. This is his future wife, and he said he wants to help her with her mental health and get her back to a good place. He is disturbed by the situation but will continue to support her. The wedding is on, for those who were curious.
Next let’s get into the matter of the missing $7K and whether we’re getting our money back. The sad, gut wrenching answer: probably not. Her dad said he has already paid the Airbnb cost once and he will not do it again. He said his daughter is 31 and needs to get herself out of her own mess and figure out how to make it right. She chimed in that the $7K is gone and asked how she would possibly pay us back. My brother refused to pay for her screw up.
While I love that everyone is finally forcing this b to be an adult, I would like my money back more. Unfortunately we’re not going to get it unless she magically wins the lottery or gets a real job. For those that asked, there is nothing we can do legally. We all willingly paid a fixed amount and we would have to move mountains (and spend more $$$) to sue. Plus, while she was incredibly shady and a terrible friend, she technically didn’t do anything wrong that we could prove.
Now onto the bridesmaids. After some threats from my mom, SIL finally broke down and contacted the BMs in our group chat. She sent a text that made my skin crawl:
“Hey Ladies! You’re my bride squad so I feel compelled to share that my dad recently offered to pay for our bach accommodations. However, being that the wedding is so expensive, I have decided to put his donation towards a wedding expense. I hope you all understand and I can’t wait to party with you all next week!”
Oh HELL no. I immediately replied back making sure everyone knew the “expense” was an ice sculpture. AN ICE SWAN!! Come ON PEOPLE! Many of them replied and expressed how they would have loved to use that $650 for something more important. But ultimately no one has backed out…..one of the girls started a side chat without the bride and asked if there is any chance of getting our $$ back if we force SIL to cancel the reservation. Unfortunately since we’re only a week out, we aren’t eligible for a refund. They decided to go through with the bach or else it would be a literal waste of $650.
As for myself…..I’m in the same boat. I would rather run myself over than go on this trip. But $650 is not a small amount and I can’t fathom just throwing it down the drain. I haven’t made my final decision yet. If I do go, it will solely be to avoid eating the $650 plus my airfare. I will not be doing any of the planned events or outfits, or contributing even $1 more. I would have my own mini vacation as best I can.
Im really upset that it seems like this crazy person is going to get her way after all!!
MINI UPDATE 5.a - 2/10/2024
There are so many curious comments coming in so I want to keep you in the loop!! More drama has unfolded among the bridesmaids.
The side-text without the bride popped off and we have all agreed to do the following:
FUN FACT
This is not one of my updates but I thought you guys might like to know that bored panda picked up this story 😂
Check it out: link to article
I will be back around Tuesday with the FINAL post bachelorette trip update!
RELEVANT COMMENTS/ADDITIONAL INFO
Perspex_Sea
SouthernCrime
Tis_But_A_Scratch-
Castianna
Warning - this is a long one.
The absolute TEA I have today. It took me so long to write this because I am at a complete and utter LOSS FOR WORDS.
Where to begin 🐸☕️ ….
Let me start with this: there is no Ice Swan. There never was an ice swan. It was all an elaborate fabrication designed to distract everyone from where the missing $7k actually went.
RIP Ice Swan ™
Turns out there was a reason behind SIL’s luxury bachelorette location. Here’s what happened - all the bridesmaids show up to the beachfront mansion with our significant others. SIL had already been made aware that it was no longer a bachelorette, but to our complete shock, she was still stunned that we actually meant it.
She arrived last in her pre-booked limo absolutely FUMING that no one else showed up to the limo meeting spot at the airport. She was the only one still sticking to the original itinerary. Then she was flabbergasted that the husbands/SO’s were with us. It was a comedy show at best.
Anyway we went about our individual mini vacations and eventually someone realized it had been about 48hrs since anyone had seen SIL. I assumed she was mad and either flew home or went to stay somewhere else.
Then the unthinkable unfolds. SIL rolls up the driveway in a wheelchair being pushed by two female nurses. The entire group jumped into action thinking something horrible happened - everyone ran over to see what was going on but the nurses ushered us away and wheeled SIL into her room.
At this point I’m actually VERY concerned - we’re all banging on her door asking if she’s ok. The nurses eventually leave and say they legally can’t reveal the nature of her health issue but assure us she’s fine. I call my brother and mom but get no answer, so I finally decide to call her mom (aka the mother of the bride, who was FURIOUS that we took over the bachelorette party.) MOB reveals what actually took place.
She isn’t sick, she didn’t have a health issue, there was no accident -
She got her boobs done. 🍈🍈
Yes folks you read that correctly. She had planned - as part of the original itinerary - to disappear for an afternoon and return with a set of new melons.
……..I’m sorry….WHAT?????
The location of the beachfront mansion is conveniently 5 mins away from a very famous cosmetic surgeons office. The reason she needed this giant ass property was not really to host 11 girls, it was to host 11 girls plus the surgery recovery nurses and personal chef she had reserved for after the operation.
There is so much more that we need to unpack, I honestly don’t know where to begin.
• What was her mother’s knowledge/involvement in all this?
• What was the cost of the procedure (GUESSING AROUND $7K) and WHY was it meant to be part of the bach???
• WHAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF THE ICE SWAN LIE??? wtf??!?
• will the bridesmaids (myself included) pursue legal action?
• where does this leave my brother? Is this lady OK mentally? Was this a horribly misplaced cry for attention? Was it an FU to the bridesmaids somehow?
So many questions remain….i am only a few hours back from this trip so this is all the information I have right now. I was intending for this to be my final update and I just want to say - thank you ALL for your support, advice, bags of popcorn, and funny input.
This has been a WILD ride and I’m glad I could share it with you. So far we have had this crazy ordeal picked up by a news publication, multiple podcasts, and a magazine. I literally want to write a book about this experience 😂
I’ve already revealed a great deal of info and so to protect my brother’s privacy moving forward, I think I need to step away from the updates.
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
RELEVANT COMMENTS/ADDITIONAL INFO
nunyaranunculus
jaduhlynr
BananaIceTea
Hey friends! I’m getting boatloads of requests for an update so I’ve decided to make you all a deal - I will come back with an update after the wedding in May. As of right now it is still on!
That’s all I can say for now - check back in May!
CHECKING IN - 3/29/2024
Hi friends, thanks for being so patient for my update. I wanted to let everyone know I have THE UPDATE OF ALL UPDATES coming for you - it turns out the drama just won’t quit with this wedding!!
It is so juicy that for LEGAL REASONS I cannot share it just yet but will be able to post in a day or so.
Check back soon!!!
UPDATE - THE WEDDING IS OFF - 3/30/2024
ALRIGHT Y'ALL - get your comfy socks and your popcorn because I've been holding on to this update for SO LONG and I have to get it all out there. I feel like at this point we've all become good friends - literally when I do these updates I like to imagine we're all together eating snacks and gossiping 😂 I'm on desktop right now so you KNOW I mean business.
ANYWAY - let me start with this: the wedding is officially OFF. I know a lot of you out there were team #CancelTheWedding so this should warm your soul. For me personally, I wanted it to work out for my brother despite her insanity :/ I was kind of hoping this would (somehow) all blow over like a bad dream and he could find normalcy again. Unfortunately that is not at all the case.
Here's what happened: when I last updated you, SIL had pulled up to the bachelorette with a set of new melons and shocked us all. We were left wondering WTF, and I told you I needed to stop the updates to protect my brother's privacy.
Well, that has all changed now and I've been given permission by my brother to spill the f*cking TEA.
My brother was aware that SIL had planned on getting a breast augmentation at some point this year - he actually knew it would be during the bachelorette trip. Despite thinking it was very weird, he really wanted to support her. So he kept her "surprise" a secret. What he did NOT know was that she may have used the bridesmaids money (or even her dad's) to finance it.
But it turns out that she did not in fact use our money or her dad's money to pay for the new titties. That's because her procedure was on the house. Why you ask?
Because she has been having an affair with the surgeon for over a year.
Yes you read that correctly. She's been diddling her married plastic surgeon for more than 14 months. He is a VERY WELL KNOWN PLASTIC SURGEON and his legal team has been ON ME LIKE WHITE ON RICE. There are limits to what I can disclose. At this current moment I have been advised not to disclose the state he practices in, his name, or any personally identifying details.
Back to the story….
He wanted to fly her out for a complimentary titty upgrade!! We found out because his WIFE found her sad little influencer IG page, tracked her down, AND SHOWED UP TO THE FAMILY HOME!!! Which would be her father's house because she still lives there.
There is so much more to say that I think I'm going to have to split this into 2 updates because my fingers are legit going numb. I REALLY wanted to get that off my chest. I know you might be wanting to know the specifics like:
• So WHERE did the money go after all??
• How did the wife find out and what happened when she showed up?? (That's an update in ITSELF!!)
• How is my brother handling this? (besides of course leaving her dusty ass)
• What did SIL have to say for herself?
I PROMISE I will be back to finish this horror story!!!
UPDATE - SOME LIGHT HOUSEKEEPING - 4/1/2024
A few housekeeping items before I share the next update:
• I thought you all should know that I now have to submit all of my updates to an attorney for legal review before I can post them here. This is primarily because of the high profile surgeon (who is aware of this thread) and his legal team. The wife is also in the mix and wants to minimize fallout, so I'm dealing with her people as well. They can’t stop me from telling the story but they CAN come after me if I disclose specific things. Basically everyone knows about this post now (SIL included) but I PROMISE I'm coming back to finish spilling the TEA for you all on that. Ready your kettles!!! 🫖🫖🫖
• The support/interest/fan club vibes this post generated has been amazing. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this crazy ride!! 💗
• With the support has also come some negativity - I am being impersonated online in a few places, and some people are trying to profit on this story by claiming it as their own. To combat this, I've listed my own information at the top of this post - anyone else is impersonating me and if you spot this story circulating online without directly tagging my IG or Reddit, it's not authentic.
• Due to the above, I've decided to copyright this content and will continue to amend it as I make the updates. Who knows, maybe SIL will star in a tv series or book about this nightmare one day! 📚
• I've had some requests to timestamp my previous updates so new readers can get a better timeline. I backdated all of my updates - please go easy on me as I can't remember the exact dates I came back to edit this post, so most dates are approximate. 📆
• Shout out to the podcasts and other channels who have picked this up for a live reading! The ones I'm aware of include ThreadTalk and Charlotte Dobre. I LOVE listening to these - it's a cool perspective, so feel free to DM me if you come across any others! 🎤
BE BACK SOON!
New update - Instagram Apr 7, 2024
Transcribed
hey friends Juliet Pepperwood here with episode 7 of the Reddit story bride who made a profit on Bachelorette sister in law drama and for those who have been followving since the beginning.
So this one will be brand new. No matter what you're watching or reading the story and now it's time to spill some of the final tea in this crazy kettle, and let me tell you it is piping hot. So here we go.
Let me start by refreshing you memory. At this point in time the wedding is off. My brother has learned about SIL's affair with the plastic surgeon and he called off the engagement, called off the wedding. It is danzo not happening. Also the bridesmaids who had initially assumed that the missing $7000 went towards the melon job, we are now aware that the procedure was free it was on the house. So we still don't know where it went.
Let's start with the affair. So much of this information in fact the vast majority of the information is second hand provided to me by my brother. With permission to share with you all. So when he called off the engagement, my brother asked exSIL to give him the whole truth, it was the least she could do. He just wanted to know honest to God what happened. And this is what I learned.
The wife of the surgeon apparently learned about the affair thanks to a pair of Tiffany diamond earrings which went missing from her jewelry collection and at some point she goes down to the hospital to bring her husband lunch then she sees a female patient wearing the exact pair of Tiffany diamond earrings that she has lost. And yes you guessed it, that patient was our bride. Now I don't know the timeline of when the wife realized that the earrings were missing and started those suspicions, but I do know that she would have seen SIL wearing those earrings at the hospital while she was there getting her consult for the free melon job and this would have been long before the bachelorette trip. Most likely on one of their earlier visits while SIL was flying in and out of town to see him.
Now she did as part of her confession to my brother that she did steal the diamond earrings from the wife during one of the times that she was at the surgeons house. This crazy bat stole the earrings of the wife and if you ask me that is a whole other basket of cuckoo crazy but alas.
So the surgeon demands the earrings back according to SIL. So he either realized that she stole them or the wife had or the wife would have had to bring it up to him and say; hey I'm missing these earrings, I saw this girl in your office wearing them. What's up?
So he's demanding the earrings back and here's the kicker. She doesn't have them. She doesn't have the earrings. She claiming that she lost them. I don't know if she got rid of them. Did she burn them? Was she you know batshit crazy off her rocker? Obviously yes. But the earrings aren't in her possession anymore. So she asks how much do they cost I'm just going to pay you back for the earrings and were gonna move on and continue with our messed up affair. Turns out they cost about $7500 from Tiffany's.
And there you have it folks. Just like that the mystery of the missing $7000 is solved.
So at the time when she was starting to plan this bachelorette trip and then her father comes along offering to cover the cost of the Airbnb she probably sees a golden ticket to recoup almost the full amount of money she needed to pay back the stolen earrings. And she did admit to my brother that she sent her dad's money to the surgeon after he had offered to pay for the Airbnb.
So the surgeon has our missing $7000 and to be quite honest I don't know who is worse. Someone who would start an affair, steal from the wife and then rob their bridesmaids to pay back the cost or the surgeon who continued the affair after learning the mistress stole from his wife. I mean these two were just made for each other.
So I'll never know if the surgeon gifted his wife a new pair of diamond sparklers from Tiffanys with the money but I do know that she was obviously suspicious. I mean one or another this lady found out. Could have been from bumping into SIL at the hospital and seeing the earrings which would be my best guess or it could have been something else that set her off later and caused her to find out. But she ended up at the family home so obviously she knew something was up.
I know that social media was part of the way that she tracked SIL down. So she obviously had her name in advance. Could have been from the hospital? Maybe not because my understanding is that's not allowed, like I don't think you're allowed to disclose patient information. Not sure if it was that but regardless of how she got the name, sure anyone with the name in a mission can find an address online and unfortunately I'm not at liberty to share the details of the confrontation between the wife and SIL. There are just certain things that I cannot get into publicly, that happens to be one of them.
So this update ends here and guys this is the end of the kettle. You know all the tea has been spilled and it was boiling hot thanks to you guys helping me spill it. And I'll tell you what, I will be back with at least one update on how my brothers doing. I'm rooting for him, you're rooting for him. We all want to see him recover so I'll keep you in the loop. I'll let you know how he's holding up.
But for now that is the end of this wild ride and I want to thank each and everyone one of you for your support in helping me spill the tea. Until next time.
A picture of Tiffany Earrings for $7600
To address the misrepresentation of the SIL Bachlorette Boob Job post being taken down
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7
submitted by Direct-Caterpillar77 to BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]
Bride made a profit on bachelorette trip!! (SIL drama)
Originally posted to weddingshaming
Thanks to u/Kresley for suggesting this BoRU
TRIGGER WARNING: financial exploitation, controlling behavior, theft, fraud, manipulation, mentions of mental health issues, body image insecurity, infidelity
Forced to wear revealing bridesmaid dress!! Jan 20, 2024
I miss the days when bridesmaids were treated like people and not like stage props! My future SIL is getting married so of course I’m a default bridesmaid. She didn’t give us options for the dress, she picked it out and told us it’s the one we’ll be wearing.
The dress is a strapless, backless, thigh slit halter neck. I am a larger girl - triple D chest should explain why I don’t wear backless or halter styles. Backless means I can’t wear any form of supportive bra AND there is virtually no shapewear I can put underneath it. The only bras that work are stickies or tape, which do not hold me up in the least.
I tried the dress on….my chest is spilling out the sides, back rolls are on full blast, and I am popping out of this thing every which way. I’m so uncomfortable. I basically told the bride sorry, I know it’s your big day but there is no way I’m wearing this dress. My body shape is different from the rest of the bridal party and I can’t justify wearing it.
I told her I’d be fine if I can simply modify it to be more conservative at the back and chest. She DECLINED and told me to “just be more confident in myself” because all the dresses must be identical for photos.
I have no body confidence issues, there are plenty of styles that suit my figure. It just so happens that this dress was not made for larger women and does not look appropriate on my body.
I want to drop out of the wedding but my family insists I stay in because it’s my SIL and it would “ruin” the wedding and the relationship.
I don’t get why I should have to be paraded around in front of my entire family, extended family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, etc in an outfit that makes me uncomfortable. It’s just getting ridiculous.
Brides - please have enough tact to make sure your girls are comfortable on your special day. We’re humans, not props.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
beckerszzz
Did she not go shopping with her bridesmaids to try on the dresses? I feel like this would have solved all the problems.OOP
~Nope, she chose one online (no consulting with any of the bridesmaids.) I know a few of the other BMs were irked because they would have liked to have a say in the dress, but ultimately no one else complained to her face. The rest of the group is fairly tiny so I’m sure they’re ok in the dress even if it’s not their first choice
gnosticnightjar
Can anyone link to a similar dress? I’m having a very hard time picturing what a dress that is backless but also both strapless and a halter top looks like. Aren’t strapless and halter mutually exclusive?OOP
———————-Yes……so a backless halter dress.
UPDATE
First of all thank you so much for all the support. I appreciate your helpful advice and suggestions. On that note, I’ve decided to stay in the wedding to avoid sending my mother to an early grave.
HOWEVER!!! I’ve also decided I’ll be wearing the sh*t out of this dress and making sure the center of attention is not on the lovely bride. I tried to resolve the issue with tact and class and was shot down, so I feel I’ve earned the right to be petty.
I’m going to order some really specific shapewear which can be concealed under what little material this dress has (kudos to you all who sent me suggestions!!) I’ll be going FULL side boob, FULL shimmer added on the exposed back, and FULL body oil on the legs for the thigh slit. I’ll be doing an updo on the hair so there is nothing getting in the way of this dress 💃🏻 I’ll be wearing a shawl for everything else, but TRUST that for the ceremony I’ll be looking like Salma Hayek in Dusk till Dawn.
Let’s see what she thinks about this “body confidence” she asked me to find. GIRL please!
If anyone is curious I’ll most likely come back in May to post my pics!!
Bride made a profit on bachelorette trip!! (SIL drama) Jan 23, 2024
SO MUCH TEA. I’m glad I can spill to my Reddit community because I can’t gossip about it to my family!
SO - about 6 months ago the bride planned her destination bachelorette trip and charged each of the 11 girls $650 for the Airbnb. I was salty about the high cost but it’s my SIL so I sucked it up and paid her. I also was suspicious about the high AF price so I did cross check the Airbnb listing and it checked out. (Yes this b wanted a $2300/night beachfront house.)
Well today I’m chatting about wedding stuff with my brother (who is marrying future SIL) and he said something along the lines of “what a relief her dad paid for the Airbnb because that would have been so expensive for your group.”
I about choked! I said hey are you sure about that because all 11 girls paid $650 for the house alone. Maybe run it by her…:..his face turned purple so I take it he had no idea.
To add to the greed going on here - when I got married I flew her out, paid for her accommodations, paid hair and makeup, paid for her bridesmaid dress, and paid transportation because she was going through a hard time. Now she has the balls to steal from me.
I get that weddings are expensive but don’t have one if it requires stealing from your BMs. I’m assuming I’m the only BM who is aware of what’s going on here. Not sure if I should spill to the group or just let it go……
There’s a chance her dad stepped in and paid for it after the fact, and she just chose not to refund us. I’m not clear on the exact situation and want to avoid embarrassing my brother.
——————
UPDATE 1- 1/23/2024
Thanks for all the advice and support! Yes - I agree with most of you who are saying I’m morally obligated to spill the beans because $650 is not child’s play.
This is what I’m going to do. First, I’m going to talk to my brother and give him a chance to clear it up with SIL. Before I make a scene, I want to understand what’s really going on. For example, did daddy pay for the trip but SIL decided to put that towards a different wedding expense? Things like that.
That answer will determine when/how I tell the rest of the BMs. Im going to give my brother only 1-2 days because this trip is literally next week.
Stay tuned for update #2
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UPDATE 2 - 1/26/2024
Alright so I regrouped with my brother. My mom also stepped in, bypassed my brother, and got some more info directly from her dad! HERE’S THE TEA - future SIL’s dad did not offer to cover the cost until a few months after we all paid for the trip. This was after he found out the cost and was pissed that she chose a $2300/night house and asked us to pay. Apparently he threatened not to pay for the wedding if she added more expenses onto the wedding party. Turns out she originally wanted it at the Maldives and he forbid her!
According to my mom who chatted with him directly, he felt embarrassed when he heard about the Airbnb price and wanted to save face with my side of the family. So he gave SIL about $7k to cover the cost of the house. She was supposed to refund us but obviously that never happened.
THIS IS WHERE IT GETS GOOD - so my mom went total FBI and learned that in addition to not paying us, SIL didn’t put the money towards a different wedding expense either. SHE DOESNT HAVE IT. So where did it go?? What did she spend it on??
There is currently a FULL BLOWN INVESTIGATION going down between our two families rn!
I have been asked by my mom not to alert the BMs just yet until we get the last bits of info AND come to a resolution with both SIL and her dad. But we WILL tell them asap one way or another.
I will come back tomorrow with another update!! Wow, CRAZY.
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UPDATE 3 - 1/27/2024
The plot thickens!! So as this drama is all unfolding, the maid of honor (who doesn’t know what’s going on yet) is continuing her duties. We all get a 4-paragraph text from her outlining the dress code for each night of the bachelorette, per the brides orders. Keep in mind the bride is asking us all to go out and buy new outfits for each night of the trip. And the themes are WILD - animal print Thursday, Faux Fur Friday, Sparkle Dress Saturday, and Barbie brunch Sunday.
As if we’re all going to go out and buy that sh*t one week before the trip (or at all!!) Thankfully the BM’s seem to be waking up to the BS. Several of them wrote back saying they won’t be able to pull together those outfits in time, and one flat out said it’s just not going to happen.
But that’s just a side story to the absolute sh*t show that is unfolding.
My mom is very involved now as she’s paid a decent chunk of this wedding as well, and does NOT like that the bride is throwing around THOUSANDS of dollars from her dad as well as lying to the bridal party.
SHE SET UP A MEETING directly with SIL to cut the BS and explain what’s going on. She told SIL she’s going to inform the BM’s herself unless she gets a valid answer.
At this point I’m just shoveling down popcorn waiting for the events to unfold.
I will be back tonight with hopefully the final update!!
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UPDATE 4 - 1/29/2024
A SWAN ICE SCULPTURE.
She used the $7k to book a swan shaped ice sculpture to be displayed at the reception and didn’t tell anyone.
Turns out her dad banned her from adding any more “extras” to the wedding design because it was already so expensive and unnecessary.
When he venmoed her for the Airbnb, she thought she was being sneaky and kept it instead. She didn’t even tell my brother this - he only found out that her dad decided to cover the Airbnb because those two went out for cigars one night and it came up.
So that mystery is solved thanks to my mini FBI crew - but now the REAL questions remain. Where tf is my $650 and how to break the news to the BM’s!??
Out of the kindness of her SOUL my mom is giving SIL 24hrs to confess to the bridesmaids and figure out how to pay us back our money. Because you know what, I did not spend $650 on some damn ICE!!!!! I have kids to feed! I have BILLS TO PAY.
It is taking everything in me not to text the BM group right now but my mom is trying to give SIL one opportunity to do the right thing.
This has been a roller coaster - don’t know if anyone here is still interested, but let me know if I should post the final outcome with the BM’s in one last update.
Lord have MERCY.
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UPDATE 5 - 2/5/2024
Ok - as promised here is the latest tea, served BOILING hot. This is a long update and I’m going to try and get everything in.
First let’s start with the bride’s explanation to her family: myself, my mom, my brother (her fiance) and her dad. She broke down crying saying that wedding planning has been getting to her head, and she has been “crushed” under the pressure to have the perfect wedding. Which she felt couldn’t go on without this alleged Ice Swan.
I didn’t buy her sob story. After this whole incident I think she is a delusional, controlling, attention-starving bridezilla who is using the wedding as a way to compete with other girls on instagram. Btw her job is “influencer” if I didn’t mention that yet.
My brother took the bait. To be honest, I don’t even blame him. This is his future wife, and he said he wants to help her with her mental health and get her back to a good place. He is disturbed by the situation but will continue to support her. The wedding is on, for those who were curious.
Next let’s get into the matter of the missing $7K and whether we’re getting our money back. The sad, gut wrenching answer: probably not. Her dad said he has already paid the Airbnb cost once and he will not do it again. He said his daughter is 31 and needs to get herself out of her own mess and figure out how to make it right. She chimed in that the $7K is gone and asked how she would possibly pay us back. My brother refused to pay for her screw up.
While I love that everyone is finally forcing this b to be an adult, I would like my money back more. Unfortunately we’re not going to get it unless she magically wins the lottery or gets a real job. For those that asked, there is nothing we can do legally. We all willingly paid a fixed amount and we would have to move mountains (and spend more $$$) to sue. Plus, while she was incredibly shady and a terrible friend, she technically didn’t do anything wrong that we could prove.
Now onto the bridesmaids. After some threats from my mom, SIL finally broke down and contacted the BMs in our group chat. She sent a text that made my skin crawl:
“Hey Ladies! You’re my bride squad so I feel compelled to share that my dad recently offered to pay for our bach accommodations. However, being that the wedding is so expensive, I have decided to put his donation towards a wedding expense. I hope you all understand and I can’t wait to party with you all next week!”
Oh HELL no. I immediately replied back making sure everyone knew the “expense” was an ice sculpture. AN ICE SWAN!! Come ON PEOPLE! Many of them replied and expressed how they would have loved to use that $650 for something more important. But ultimately no one has backed out…..one of the girls started a side chat without the bride and asked if there is any chance of getting our $$ back if we force SIL to cancel the reservation. Unfortunately since we’re only a week out, we aren’t eligible for a refund. They decided to go through with the bach or else it would be a literal waste of $650.
As for myself…..I’m in the same boat. I would rather run myself over than go on this trip. But $650 is not a small amount and I can’t fathom just throwing it down the drain. I haven’t made my final decision yet. If I do go, it will solely be to avoid eating the $650 plus my airfare. I will not be doing any of the planned events or outfits, or contributing even $1 more. I would have my own mini vacation as best I can.
Im really upset that it seems like this crazy person is going to get her way after all!!
MINI UPDATE 5.a - 2/10/2024
There are so many curious comments coming in so I want to keep you in the loop!! More drama has unfolded among the bridesmaids.
The side-text without the bride popped off and we have all agreed to do the following:
- We will be going on the trip, but it is NO LONGER a bachelorette trip. We will all be taking personal vacations with our hubbies/significant others while staying at the property. We were forced into this beachfront mansion + airfare, so we’re going to make the most of it.
- We have all backed out of hosting and paying for the bridal shower. The bride will need to find another way to move forward if she wants to have it. We will attend as guests if she has it, and we will not be gifting anything. Mother of the bride is absolutely furious. More on this later.
- We’re letting the bride know she needs to cancel the Ice Swan ™ and give us our money back. After some more research, we doubt all of the $7k went towards the alleged swan because it doesn’t seem liken they cost that much.
FUN FACT
This is not one of my updates but I thought you guys might like to know that bored panda picked up this story 😂
Check it out: link to article
I will be back around Tuesday with the FINAL post bachelorette trip update!
RELEVANT COMMENTS/ADDITIONAL INFO
Perspex_Sea
Info: I need to know if you're also paying for your own dress, shoes, make up, hair on top of this.OOP
~Yes - everything. A $350 dress (I have a whole other post about that scandal) $150 hair, $150 makeup, $200 shoes, and I haven’t done jewelry yet. Oh and the bridal shower cost is being split among the 11 girls, PLUS the shower gift, PLUS the wedding gift from me and hubby.
I truly hope bridesmaids go out of style in the very near future…..I go broke every time and on top of that you end up slaving away for some bridezilla.
Not all brides are like this. I’ve been in a few weddings that were really great. THIS is not one of those times.
SouthernCrime
So, you have paid $650 for the Airbnb but now you have the added expenses of everything on the trip on the 4 coordinated outfit activities with her sparkly, furry, barbie dresses. (So glad yall just dismissed those!!)OOP
Why do these sad sad women think they need to beat everyone on IG instead of just sticking to a reasonable budget and having a good, stress free wedding.
~Oh helllll no. IF I go, I will not be doing any of the planned outfits or events. I’ll most likely have my own mini vacation so as not to eat the cost of my airline ticket on top of everything else - which I already paid for too
Tis_But_A_Scratch-
Good LORD. $650 is good money to anyone not absolutely rolling in the stuff. Honestly if my friend or family expected me to fork out 650, I’d tell them to take a hike off a short pier.OOP
When I got married, I paid for hotels, meals, everything related to my wedding. Guests just had to show up.
~Yes - this exactly. I got married out of the country, which tbh was a way to cut my guest list down to only 15 people. With that said, we paid for flights, accommodations, BM dresses and haiMUA, no bridal shower / no bach, and all the guests had to do was show up and have a good time. And yes, future SIL was part of that group.
The petty part of me wants to send her the bill of her costs from my wedding! If I could go back in time….
Castianna
Whatever happened to just going out to dinner and maybe a few drinks with your girlfriends? Shadiness aside, this just seems like a lot of work and I'm experiencing secondhand exhaustion.OOP
FINAL UPDATE 6 - 2/17/2024Weddings and all the events that go with them have gotten completely out of control lately. And while this one is pretty extreme, I’m in 3 other weddings this year which are equally involved and expensive. And why is it only the BM’s who are victim to the extreme cost and all the labohard work that goes into it?
Looking at my brother and the groomsmen - the bachelor party was a short drive up to the mountains where they stayed (for free) at a friend’s place, hung out, had some beers, and wished my brother well. Meanwhile the BM’s are spending our life savings, using up PTO, and putting in Olympic sport effort just to get through the bachelorette alone. Not to mention the bridal shower and all the other things still to come.
Sorry to create another rant but I am so over weddings and bridezillas.
Warning - this is a long one.
The absolute TEA I have today. It took me so long to write this because I am at a complete and utter LOSS FOR WORDS.
Where to begin 🐸☕️ ….
Let me start with this: there is no Ice Swan. There never was an ice swan. It was all an elaborate fabrication designed to distract everyone from where the missing $7k actually went.
RIP Ice Swan ™
Turns out there was a reason behind SIL’s luxury bachelorette location. Here’s what happened - all the bridesmaids show up to the beachfront mansion with our significant others. SIL had already been made aware that it was no longer a bachelorette, but to our complete shock, she was still stunned that we actually meant it.
She arrived last in her pre-booked limo absolutely FUMING that no one else showed up to the limo meeting spot at the airport. She was the only one still sticking to the original itinerary. Then she was flabbergasted that the husbands/SO’s were with us. It was a comedy show at best.
Anyway we went about our individual mini vacations and eventually someone realized it had been about 48hrs since anyone had seen SIL. I assumed she was mad and either flew home or went to stay somewhere else.
Then the unthinkable unfolds. SIL rolls up the driveway in a wheelchair being pushed by two female nurses. The entire group jumped into action thinking something horrible happened - everyone ran over to see what was going on but the nurses ushered us away and wheeled SIL into her room.
At this point I’m actually VERY concerned - we’re all banging on her door asking if she’s ok. The nurses eventually leave and say they legally can’t reveal the nature of her health issue but assure us she’s fine. I call my brother and mom but get no answer, so I finally decide to call her mom (aka the mother of the bride, who was FURIOUS that we took over the bachelorette party.) MOB reveals what actually took place.
She isn’t sick, she didn’t have a health issue, there was no accident -
She got her boobs done. 🍈🍈
Yes folks you read that correctly. She had planned - as part of the original itinerary - to disappear for an afternoon and return with a set of new melons.
……..I’m sorry….WHAT?????
The location of the beachfront mansion is conveniently 5 mins away from a very famous cosmetic surgeons office. The reason she needed this giant ass property was not really to host 11 girls, it was to host 11 girls plus the surgery recovery nurses and personal chef she had reserved for after the operation.
There is so much more that we need to unpack, I honestly don’t know where to begin.
• What was her mother’s knowledge/involvement in all this?
• What was the cost of the procedure (GUESSING AROUND $7K) and WHY was it meant to be part of the bach???
• WHAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF THE ICE SWAN LIE??? wtf??!?
• will the bridesmaids (myself included) pursue legal action?
• where does this leave my brother? Is this lady OK mentally? Was this a horribly misplaced cry for attention? Was it an FU to the bridesmaids somehow?
So many questions remain….i am only a few hours back from this trip so this is all the information I have right now. I was intending for this to be my final update and I just want to say - thank you ALL for your support, advice, bags of popcorn, and funny input.
This has been a WILD ride and I’m glad I could share it with you. So far we have had this crazy ordeal picked up by a news publication, multiple podcasts, and a magazine. I literally want to write a book about this experience 😂
I’ve already revealed a great deal of info and so to protect my brother’s privacy moving forward, I think I need to step away from the updates.
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
RELEVANT COMMENTS/ADDITIONAL INFO
nunyaranunculus
Oh my god. Are you SURE your brother wasn't in on the theft? Because breast augmentation isn't exactly something you do without consultations and having someone to help you for the ensuing few weeks following the procedure. Did her mother know and was she in on it? I'm assuming FoB and MoB are divorced? If your brother is truly in the dark, his fiancée is throwing red flags around like Oprah threw car keys and he still has time to back out of this.OOP
~So far I know that my brother was aware of the procedure but never imagined our money went towards it. We’re still figuring out exactly where the money went. Apparently there was going to be some grand boob reveal during the bach and we would all celebrate her - I’m still piecing together the details crumb by crumb
jaduhlynr
I'm guessing she planned on paying out of pocket for the surgery (and having the BMs cover the house), then when the dad offered to pay for the Airbnb she saw the dollar signs and ran with itOOP
~Yeah, we’re assuming this is most likely what happened. I’m still piecing together details about when the hired staff became involved (was this before or after the BM’s backed out?) but at the very least we think she saw an opportunity for free $$$ towards the procedure in one way or another
BananaIceTea
Nah, this story was kinda believeble at first, but the last few updates were just pure fiction. How did you all managed to organize your spouses to go with you so suddenly? How much was the surgery, personal chef, limo? I just doesnt add up. Especially given the time frame.OOP
LiberryExpressoI don’t know all the costs yet or the timeline that she organized all these things - we’re still gathering information 🤷🏻♀️ I can’t speak for the other BMs but my husband works remote and was more than happy to tag along. Plus he got to leave the kids at grandmas, which is another incentive lol.
As for the new melons, this is total speculation but I’m betting she has an onlyfans. I know her influencer career (if you can call it that) is not working out, and I have seen several “influencers” switch over to OF.
Not trying to cast even more judgement on her but I just wouldn’t be surprised at this point.
OOPSo she gets wheeled past you, you and the bridesmaids find out that she got a boob job with your money, and you all just...left without any follow up discussion? What did the other bridesmaids say? How was there no confrontation with the bride at this point?
Of course there was confrontation/questions/discussion. It simply has not yielded all the answers yet. We also didn’t chain down the bride and water board her for answers - we took it all in and tried to end our trip on a somewhat normal note 🙂
NEW UPDATES
Hey friends! I’m getting boatloads of requests for an update so I’ve decided to make you all a deal - I will come back with an update after the wedding in May. As of right now it is still on!
That’s all I can say for now - check back in May!
CHECKING IN - 3/29/2024
Hi friends, thanks for being so patient for my update. I wanted to let everyone know I have THE UPDATE OF ALL UPDATES coming for you - it turns out the drama just won’t quit with this wedding!!
It is so juicy that for LEGAL REASONS I cannot share it just yet but will be able to post in a day or so.
Check back soon!!!
UPDATE - THE WEDDING IS OFF - 3/30/2024
ALRIGHT Y'ALL - get your comfy socks and your popcorn because I've been holding on to this update for SO LONG and I have to get it all out there. I feel like at this point we've all become good friends - literally when I do these updates I like to imagine we're all together eating snacks and gossiping 😂 I'm on desktop right now so you KNOW I mean business.
ANYWAY - let me start with this: the wedding is officially OFF. I know a lot of you out there were team #CancelTheWedding so this should warm your soul. For me personally, I wanted it to work out for my brother despite her insanity :/ I was kind of hoping this would (somehow) all blow over like a bad dream and he could find normalcy again. Unfortunately that is not at all the case.
Here's what happened: when I last updated you, SIL had pulled up to the bachelorette with a set of new melons and shocked us all. We were left wondering WTF, and I told you I needed to stop the updates to protect my brother's privacy.
Well, that has all changed now and I've been given permission by my brother to spill the f*cking TEA.
My brother was aware that SIL had planned on getting a breast augmentation at some point this year - he actually knew it would be during the bachelorette trip. Despite thinking it was very weird, he really wanted to support her. So he kept her "surprise" a secret. What he did NOT know was that she may have used the bridesmaids money (or even her dad's) to finance it.
But it turns out that she did not in fact use our money or her dad's money to pay for the new titties. That's because her procedure was on the house. Why you ask?
Because she has been having an affair with the surgeon for over a year.
Yes you read that correctly. She's been diddling her married plastic surgeon for more than 14 months. He is a VERY WELL KNOWN PLASTIC SURGEON and his legal team has been ON ME LIKE WHITE ON RICE. There are limits to what I can disclose. At this current moment I have been advised not to disclose the state he practices in, his name, or any personally identifying details.
Back to the story….
He wanted to fly her out for a complimentary titty upgrade!! We found out because his WIFE found her sad little influencer IG page, tracked her down, AND SHOWED UP TO THE FAMILY HOME!!! Which would be her father's house because she still lives there.
There is so much more to say that I think I'm going to have to split this into 2 updates because my fingers are legit going numb. I REALLY wanted to get that off my chest. I know you might be wanting to know the specifics like:
• So WHERE did the money go after all??
• How did the wife find out and what happened when she showed up?? (That's an update in ITSELF!!)
• How is my brother handling this? (besides of course leaving her dusty ass)
• What did SIL have to say for herself?
I PROMISE I will be back to finish this horror story!!!
UPDATE - SOME LIGHT HOUSEKEEPING - 4/1/2024
A few housekeeping items before I share the next update:
• I thought you all should know that I now have to submit all of my updates to an attorney for legal review before I can post them here. This is primarily because of the high profile surgeon (who is aware of this thread) and his legal team. The wife is also in the mix and wants to minimize fallout, so I'm dealing with her people as well. They can’t stop me from telling the story but they CAN come after me if I disclose specific things. Basically everyone knows about this post now (SIL included) but I PROMISE I'm coming back to finish spilling the TEA for you all on that. Ready your kettles!!! 🫖🫖🫖
• The support/interest/fan club vibes this post generated has been amazing. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this crazy ride!! 💗
• With the support has also come some negativity - I am being impersonated online in a few places, and some people are trying to profit on this story by claiming it as their own. To combat this, I've listed my own information at the top of this post - anyone else is impersonating me and if you spot this story circulating online without directly tagging my IG or Reddit, it's not authentic.
• Due to the above, I've decided to copyright this content and will continue to amend it as I make the updates. Who knows, maybe SIL will star in a tv series or book about this nightmare one day! 📚
• I've had some requests to timestamp my previous updates so new readers can get a better timeline. I backdated all of my updates - please go easy on me as I can't remember the exact dates I came back to edit this post, so most dates are approximate. 📆
• Shout out to the podcasts and other channels who have picked this up for a live reading! The ones I'm aware of include ThreadTalk and Charlotte Dobre. I LOVE listening to these - it's a cool perspective, so feel free to DM me if you come across any others! 🎤
BE BACK SOON!
New update - Instagram Apr 7, 2024
Transcribed
hey friends Juliet Pepperwood here with episode 7 of the Reddit story bride who made a profit on Bachelorette sister in law drama and for those who have been followving since the beginning.
So this one will be brand new. No matter what you're watching or reading the story and now it's time to spill some of the final tea in this crazy kettle, and let me tell you it is piping hot. So here we go.
Let me start by refreshing you memory. At this point in time the wedding is off. My brother has learned about SIL's affair with the plastic surgeon and he called off the engagement, called off the wedding. It is danzo not happening. Also the bridesmaids who had initially assumed that the missing $7000 went towards the melon job, we are now aware that the procedure was free it was on the house. So we still don't know where it went.
Let's start with the affair. So much of this information in fact the vast majority of the information is second hand provided to me by my brother. With permission to share with you all. So when he called off the engagement, my brother asked exSIL to give him the whole truth, it was the least she could do. He just wanted to know honest to God what happened. And this is what I learned.
The wife of the surgeon apparently learned about the affair thanks to a pair of Tiffany diamond earrings which went missing from her jewelry collection and at some point she goes down to the hospital to bring her husband lunch then she sees a female patient wearing the exact pair of Tiffany diamond earrings that she has lost. And yes you guessed it, that patient was our bride. Now I don't know the timeline of when the wife realized that the earrings were missing and started those suspicions, but I do know that she would have seen SIL wearing those earrings at the hospital while she was there getting her consult for the free melon job and this would have been long before the bachelorette trip. Most likely on one of their earlier visits while SIL was flying in and out of town to see him.
Now she did as part of her confession to my brother that she did steal the diamond earrings from the wife during one of the times that she was at the surgeons house. This crazy bat stole the earrings of the wife and if you ask me that is a whole other basket of cuckoo crazy but alas.
So the surgeon demands the earrings back according to SIL. So he either realized that she stole them or the wife had or the wife would have had to bring it up to him and say; hey I'm missing these earrings, I saw this girl in your office wearing them. What's up?
So he's demanding the earrings back and here's the kicker. She doesn't have them. She doesn't have the earrings. She claiming that she lost them. I don't know if she got rid of them. Did she burn them? Was she you know batshit crazy off her rocker? Obviously yes. But the earrings aren't in her possession anymore. So she asks how much do they cost I'm just going to pay you back for the earrings and were gonna move on and continue with our messed up affair. Turns out they cost about $7500 from Tiffany's.
And there you have it folks. Just like that the mystery of the missing $7000 is solved.
So at the time when she was starting to plan this bachelorette trip and then her father comes along offering to cover the cost of the Airbnb she probably sees a golden ticket to recoup almost the full amount of money she needed to pay back the stolen earrings. And she did admit to my brother that she sent her dad's money to the surgeon after he had offered to pay for the Airbnb.
So the surgeon has our missing $7000 and to be quite honest I don't know who is worse. Someone who would start an affair, steal from the wife and then rob their bridesmaids to pay back the cost or the surgeon who continued the affair after learning the mistress stole from his wife. I mean these two were just made for each other.
So I'll never know if the surgeon gifted his wife a new pair of diamond sparklers from Tiffanys with the money but I do know that she was obviously suspicious. I mean one or another this lady found out. Could have been from bumping into SIL at the hospital and seeing the earrings which would be my best guess or it could have been something else that set her off later and caused her to find out. But she ended up at the family home so obviously she knew something was up.
I know that social media was part of the way that she tracked SIL down. So she obviously had her name in advance. Could have been from the hospital? Maybe not because my understanding is that's not allowed, like I don't think you're allowed to disclose patient information. Not sure if it was that but regardless of how she got the name, sure anyone with the name in a mission can find an address online and unfortunately I'm not at liberty to share the details of the confrontation between the wife and SIL. There are just certain things that I cannot get into publicly, that happens to be one of them.
So this update ends here and guys this is the end of the kettle. You know all the tea has been spilled and it was boiling hot thanks to you guys helping me spill it. And I'll tell you what, I will be back with at least one update on how my brothers doing. I'm rooting for him, you're rooting for him. We all want to see him recover so I'll keep you in the loop. I'll let you know how he's holding up.
But for now that is the end of this wild ride and I want to thank each and everyone one of you for your support in helping me spill the tea. Until next time.
A picture of Tiffany Earrings for $7600
EDITORS NOTE: The mods of weddingshaming made a rebuttal post concerning rumors surrounding OOP declaring she was banned or removed.
To address the misrepresentation of the SIL Bachlorette Boob Job post being taken down
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7
2024.04.13 22:25 Apprehensive_Mix2001 Weirdest sexual activity for me
A friend who used to be a co-worker, a very normal looking guy in his 20s who is very straight, and who knows I’m gay, and is very flirty with gay guys, asked me to come over for dinner with him and his girlfriend a week ago. She’s a great cook and made beef stroganoff. She’s extremely traditional, like a 1950s housewife.
Long story short, we started drinking and smoking cigars in the backyard after dinner and he asked me if I wanted to watch him fuck her. He told me I could sit behind him and watch his ass if I wanted to, and jack off, as long as I didn’t touch him.
I said yes, and he went inside and told her. He made her get naked in the kitchen in front of us. I was pretty nervous, because I rarely have been around naked women in my life.
He set me up on a big comfy chair at the edge of the bed and he fucked her for a full half hour. Hard. Until he was grunting and sweating. He never turned around and looked at me, but he talked to me throughout, telling me how soft and wet, and tight her pussy was. He also kept saying nasty stuff to me. He called me a fag several times, and asked if I wished I could lick his ass and balls, and then laughed and told me to stay on the chair.
He also told me to get my dick out, then kept telling me to stroke my dick harder, which I did. I was pretty overwhelmed with the situation, and could barely even respond to him.
Suddenly, he said “I’m coming,” and I watched his balls tighten and unload inside her. He jumped up and pulled me up and looked at me with a wild look and said “put your jizz in her too.” He literally pushed me on top of her.
I am not a top, but I do own a silicone torso that I fuck sometimes, so I stuck it in her. I could feel his cum inside her, which pushed me over the edge and I only got about 5 strokes in before cumming hard.
I was trying to get off her, and frankly I just wanted to get out of this situation, and he grabbed my head and pushed my face between her legs. He said, “lick it all out of her, yours and mine.”
It wasn’t my first time eating pussy. I’ve licked one girl, and two trans guys. And I actually love eating a trans guy’s hairy crotch. But she was shaved, which kind of grossed me out.
I did enjoy getting his cum in my mouth, though, although I would have enjoyed it better if my cum wasn’t mixed in there too. And I tried to do a good job of licking her. She seemed to enjoy it, and was making noises.
By the time I was finished, I got up and he was fully dressed, smiling like a fucking idiot. I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t look at her. I got dressed, and went back to the kitchen. We had a shot of scotch, and he said “so do you like pussy now?” I said not really. I mean…that was unusual and kind of fun. But no. I just wanted your cum. And I enjoyed watching you fuck, obviously.”
He laughed and said, “oh, if you just want cum, I’ll let you suck it some time.”
She came into the kitchen and started cleaning up, then gave me a container of beef stroganoff to take home. I could hardly look at her, but she didn’t seem embarrassed.
I started to put my shoes on. She asked if I wanted to stay and watch a movie, and I said no.
He said he would walk me to my car, which was on the street. I told him to tell her that anks for dinner, and that I did enjoy the night, but I felt a little weird about what happened. He said “was my cum good?” I said yes, it was delicious. He said “that’s good. Open your mouth.”
I was feeling pretty submissive to him, so I did. He grabbed the back of my head and spit a big goober of spit into my mouth. “I‘ll give you more cum next time” he said. I just looked at him, and I could see a sparkle in his eyes.
He just texted me and asked if I want to go for a hike tomorrow morning. I do, but I’m feeling a lot of trepidation about where this is going next.
submitted by Apprehensive_Mix2001 to askgaybros [link] [comments]
Long story short, we started drinking and smoking cigars in the backyard after dinner and he asked me if I wanted to watch him fuck her. He told me I could sit behind him and watch his ass if I wanted to, and jack off, as long as I didn’t touch him.
I said yes, and he went inside and told her. He made her get naked in the kitchen in front of us. I was pretty nervous, because I rarely have been around naked women in my life.
He set me up on a big comfy chair at the edge of the bed and he fucked her for a full half hour. Hard. Until he was grunting and sweating. He never turned around and looked at me, but he talked to me throughout, telling me how soft and wet, and tight her pussy was. He also kept saying nasty stuff to me. He called me a fag several times, and asked if I wished I could lick his ass and balls, and then laughed and told me to stay on the chair.
He also told me to get my dick out, then kept telling me to stroke my dick harder, which I did. I was pretty overwhelmed with the situation, and could barely even respond to him.
Suddenly, he said “I’m coming,” and I watched his balls tighten and unload inside her. He jumped up and pulled me up and looked at me with a wild look and said “put your jizz in her too.” He literally pushed me on top of her.
I am not a top, but I do own a silicone torso that I fuck sometimes, so I stuck it in her. I could feel his cum inside her, which pushed me over the edge and I only got about 5 strokes in before cumming hard.
I was trying to get off her, and frankly I just wanted to get out of this situation, and he grabbed my head and pushed my face between her legs. He said, “lick it all out of her, yours and mine.”
It wasn’t my first time eating pussy. I’ve licked one girl, and two trans guys. And I actually love eating a trans guy’s hairy crotch. But she was shaved, which kind of grossed me out.
I did enjoy getting his cum in my mouth, though, although I would have enjoyed it better if my cum wasn’t mixed in there too. And I tried to do a good job of licking her. She seemed to enjoy it, and was making noises.
By the time I was finished, I got up and he was fully dressed, smiling like a fucking idiot. I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t look at her. I got dressed, and went back to the kitchen. We had a shot of scotch, and he said “so do you like pussy now?” I said not really. I mean…that was unusual and kind of fun. But no. I just wanted your cum. And I enjoyed watching you fuck, obviously.”
He laughed and said, “oh, if you just want cum, I’ll let you suck it some time.”
She came into the kitchen and started cleaning up, then gave me a container of beef stroganoff to take home. I could hardly look at her, but she didn’t seem embarrassed.
I started to put my shoes on. She asked if I wanted to stay and watch a movie, and I said no.
He said he would walk me to my car, which was on the street. I told him to tell her that anks for dinner, and that I did enjoy the night, but I felt a little weird about what happened. He said “was my cum good?” I said yes, it was delicious. He said “that’s good. Open your mouth.”
I was feeling pretty submissive to him, so I did. He grabbed the back of my head and spit a big goober of spit into my mouth. “I‘ll give you more cum next time” he said. I just looked at him, and I could see a sparkle in his eyes.
He just texted me and asked if I want to go for a hike tomorrow morning. I do, but I’m feeling a lot of trepidation about where this is going next.
2024.04.13 20:47 Pls_no_no_stalk misfortune
Hi, I'm new here and everything has been weighing on me recently. I'll start with where it all begun, with my father's passing.
Mid pandemic, dad came home from abroad, I dont have the best relationship with him tbh but I love him alot. Then shit happens and we kinda got into an argument, him calling me "mukhang pera" and stuffs so i ignored him for abit and it is my biggest regret.
He was outside noon smoking a pack of cigar while i was playing on the computer inside my room, I had a gf back then so i would occasionally check my phone every 10 to 15 minutes, and he messaged pala that time that I didnt notice, he was having a stroke na. those 10 minutes na i hadn't checked my phone costed me everything.
I saw his body on the pavement and we rushed him to the hospital, i remember that he would not look at me not even a peek even though i was calling his name, yet he talked to my half brother when we arrived at the hospital and thanking him for everything. He still died, and i feel like he died hating me for not noticing yung message nya.
Sorry if this has been quite of a long read I'll rush the next few things that had happened, My ex left me after only a few days of my dad's death, I was caught searching for my father anti depressants, When i tried asking my mother for help she told me "Lagi ka nlng malungkot hindi ko na alam gagawin ko sayo!"
After that life spiraled out of control, there are times where i cant distinguish if I'm dreaming or not, i would constantly harm myself in search of someone that would look at my scars and ask me if im okay.
I did get a psychiatrist once, though he wasn't really good, he would often compare my experiences to his, saying "nung bata ako ganyan din ako" but it isnt the same, He grew up in a complete family while i never even experienced it. I was born out of lust and adultery, even my own half sister would say "anak salabas" while talking to her friend.
im really sorry for the long wall of text though I really appreciate if you read it all.
submitted by Pls_no_no_stalk to OffMyChestPH [link] [comments]
Mid pandemic, dad came home from abroad, I dont have the best relationship with him tbh but I love him alot. Then shit happens and we kinda got into an argument, him calling me "mukhang pera" and stuffs so i ignored him for abit and it is my biggest regret.
He was outside noon smoking a pack of cigar while i was playing on the computer inside my room, I had a gf back then so i would occasionally check my phone every 10 to 15 minutes, and he messaged pala that time that I didnt notice, he was having a stroke na. those 10 minutes na i hadn't checked my phone costed me everything.
I saw his body on the pavement and we rushed him to the hospital, i remember that he would not look at me not even a peek even though i was calling his name, yet he talked to my half brother when we arrived at the hospital and thanking him for everything. He still died, and i feel like he died hating me for not noticing yung message nya.
Sorry if this has been quite of a long read I'll rush the next few things that had happened, My ex left me after only a few days of my dad's death, I was caught searching for my father anti depressants, When i tried asking my mother for help she told me "Lagi ka nlng malungkot hindi ko na alam gagawin ko sayo!"
After that life spiraled out of control, there are times where i cant distinguish if I'm dreaming or not, i would constantly harm myself in search of someone that would look at my scars and ask me if im okay.
I did get a psychiatrist once, though he wasn't really good, he would often compare my experiences to his, saying "nung bata ako ganyan din ako" but it isnt the same, He grew up in a complete family while i never even experienced it. I was born out of lust and adultery, even my own half sister would say "anak salabas" while talking to her friend.
im really sorry for the long wall of text though I really appreciate if you read it all.
2024.04.13 08:30 Mysterious-Fan-3512 Children's art book of paintings by a Pro Wrestler.
This was a book of paintings of in ring and backstage subjects. Illustration or Paperback Cover style paintings by an actual pro wrestler from the "territory" days. Formatted as a children's book: hardcover, maybe 9" x 11", only about 20 or 30 pages long, slick paper, all full page or double-page art, brief text describing aspects of the business. Checked it out from Seattle Public Library in the 90s. Felt like it was published in the 60s. Remember thinking "This seems like a children's book, but what kid would be appreciating these naturalistic depictions of like fat, middle aged guys smoking cigars in a dingy locker room?"
submitted by Mysterious-Fan-3512 to Findabook [link] [comments]
2024.04.11 07:45 Contactunderground Contact Network History Project “Telepathic Override” in Joshua Tree Predicted the Arrival of a UFO. J Burkes MD 2020
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
submitted by Contactunderground to HighStrangeness [link] [comments]
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
2024.04.11 07:44 Contactunderground Contact Network History Project “Telepathic Override” in Joshua Tree Predicted the Arrival of a UFO. J Burkes MD 2020
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
submitted by Contactunderground to Experiencers [link] [comments]
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
2024.04.11 07:44 Contactunderground Contact Network History Project “Telepathic Override” in Joshua Tree Predicted the Arrival of a UFO. J Burkes MD 2020
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
submitted by Contactunderground to ContactUnderground [link] [comments]
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
2024.04.11 07:43 Contactunderground Contact Network History Project “Telepathic Override” in Joshua Tree Predicted the Arrival of a UFO. J Burkes MD 2020
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
submitted by Contactunderground to CE5 [link] [comments]
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
2024.04.11 07:42 Contactunderground Contact Network History Project “Telepathic Override” in Joshua Tree Predicted the Arrival of a UFO. J Burkes MD 2020
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
submitted by Contactunderground to AnomalousEvidence [link] [comments]
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
2024.04.11 07:41 Contactunderground Contact Network History Project “Telepathic Override” in Joshua Tree Predicted the Arrival of a UFO. J Burkes MD 2020
Introduction:
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
submitted by Contactunderground to aliens [link] [comments]
“Desert Site One” was our UFO fieldwork station in Joshua Tree National Monument. It was of one of two high desert research sites that my Los Angeles based contact team used from the spring of 1993 till the end of summer 1997. Site One was situated in what I called “the little Queen Valley.” At 4000 feet in elevation, we were about five hundred yards south of Queen Mountain that rose up another 1300 feet. To the south was a three-hundred-foot-high rock pile called Negro Hill. It blocked our view of main park road a few miles way. Negro Hill effectively provided us with cover and prevented anyone on the road from seeing the powerful lights that we were using.
The Phoenix Team Coordinator Was Wayne Peterson
The Oct 1993 outing was special for a number of reasons. It was our first time back to Joshua Tree since the previous spring when we had teamed up with Wayne Peterson’s Phoenix contact team to joint fieldwork together. It has been a lot of fun working with Wayne’s group, in part, because of his great sense of humor. We joked about the possibility of UFOs landing and our boarding them. Wayne had told us if such a momentous event occurred, we shouldn’t try to rearrange the furniture on the “ET spacecraft to give them better feng shui.” Wayne had a big belly laugh that was contagious. I was grateful that he, his Asian American wife Grace and the others from his team had driven six hours across the desert to meet us.
During that previous investigation we had observed unique nocturnal light displays. Wayne called them “bursters.” Repeatedly, across the “little Queen Valley” one at a time, different hillsides suddenly became lit up. These illuminations were not particularly bright and faded out over about five to ten seconds. They “burst out” from no identifiable source, hence the name “bursters.” This specific “visual display” only appeared during that May 1992 joint field investigation. I never again witnessed this type of anomalous event at Joshua Tree or at any other site during my decades of volunteer contact work. To my knowledge, no other team in the CE-5 network every reported witnessing a similar visual display.
First Time in the Field with “Prime Contactee Misha”
There was another reason that made our October 1993 outing special. It was the first time I did fieldwork with a young Russian Jewish immigrant that I call “Misha.” He was an EKG tech at the medical center where I was employed. After he worked with me for about a year, he made a somewhat outlandish claim. He told me that several years before he had experienced a vivid dream while living in Belarus. In this alleged dream, he traveled to America and did contact work with a tall bearded Jewish physician. Supposedly, according to Misha, when he first saw me in the ER, he recognized me as the doctor in his dream.
Misha was important because he was an example of what I later would call “Prime Contactees.” These are high level contact experiencers that function as “human UFO magnets.” They effectively draw the phenomena to them with repeated sightings and other kinds of anomalous contact events. Their UFO sightings often occur with other witnesses present. This serves to verify the Primes’ special relationship to UAP intelligences. For the next several years Misha became my guide into the High Strangeness aspects of UFO contactees. In December of 1993, Misha and I had missing time while driving back from Joshua Tree. This was part of a wave of High Strangeness Missing Time experiences that swept across the entire CE-5 network in the Western United States. (A link to the narrative describing these incidents appears at the end of this blog.)
The most important event that happened for me during the October 4, 1993 field investigation was that I experienced a telepathic communication that could be verified. It was a kind of “heads up” notification. I was informed when, where in the sky and the number of “UFOs” that were going to appear at our research station in the course of that night’s fieldwork. I will always recall that experience with excitement because it was the first time that I received accurate psi mediated data precognitively. As strange as it may seem, I correctly perceived the time and direction of a UFO’s appearance prior to the event taking place.
“Telepathic Override”
I remembered the CSETI Director had alerted contact activists that such psi mediated communications were possible. He also suggested that we discuss these “telepathic overrides” amongst the team when they occurred. On that October night in the high desert, I acquired information during our first guided meditation. It was between nine and ten p.m. The temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees with no wind. Seated on the soft desert sand in beach chairs, the team’s mood was peaceful and expectant. What happened was like watching a series of video clips with my mind’s eyes. The visual components were accompanied by abstract thoughts that told a story about contact events that were to unfold.
At “the level of knowledge” I knew that our sighting was to occur at 2 a.m. sharp. The information had a certainty to it, like knowing that one plus one equals two. One craft would appear in the northwest sky at the appointed hour. I shared this information with my co-workers soon after receiving it. The youngest member of the team, Jason Caldwell, reportedly acquired the same precognitive message during our meditation but did not share his communication till after the sighting had transpired. Jason said that he did not “want to appear foolish.” And so, he held back.
In 1992, I was doing many overnights in the ER and was sleep deprived. As team leader I took the prerogative of napping first while the others watched the sky, played anomalous sounds allegedly recorded in a crop circle and sent mental messages inviting any UFOs capable of responding to meet us under the stars. I told my team, “Showtime is 2 a.m., one craft is going to appear in the northwest sky.” I added the proviso that they absolutely had to wake me up at 1:50 a.m. They did so, and ten minutes later the sighting unfolded as “predicted.”
“Showtime!”
Exactly at two in the morning, one red glowing orb appeared in the northwest. It silently moved westward in the sky above Queen Mountain. About 30 degrees up from the horizon. It was heading east by southeast. With arm fully extended, the orb had the size of about one finger’s width. In the black night sky, its speed and distance from us was hard to determine. The team’s estimates of the distance ranged from one to three miles. My guess was not more than a mile. As it passed our position on the desert floor, it slightly changed its direction and accelerated due east; the red orb quickly disappeared. The sighting lasted no more than ten seconds.
While meditating I acquired additional information. It was like a dream, but I was totally awake. In my mind’s eye I “saw” a series of images that could be described as short video clips. These were accompanied by information about what I was “seeing” at the level of knowledge. I “viewed” what I imagined was an “ET scout ship” heading towards our location. I watched a saucer shaped craft flying close to the ground moving rapidly through desert valleys. We were its destination. The image was akin to viewing a scene through night vision/infra-red glasses. The saucer was softly glowing a dark red, the desert surface and mountains were white against a dark sky. In a packet like transmission of information, I was allowed to perceive a complex relationship between the scout ship’s young crew, who seemed to be quite eager for contact to the point of exuberance, and a “higher echelon of ETs” in a more distant large cigar shaped “command vehicle.” I got the impression that the saucer’s crew was being held on a “tight leash” while “senior officials” were coolly weighing the decision as to how to proceed with us. The decision was made, and it was to be a flyby.
The Saucer “Opens up” for me
The image of the saucer then took on a grainy appearance like it was from an old black and white movie. It was as if there was a fine grid between me and the saucer. Then an even more bizarre scene appeared my mind’s eye. The side of the saucer closest to me pealed open and I could look inside. It reminded me of the way old fashion sardine cans were opened when I was a child. They had a straight metal key attached to the lid. By turning the key round and round, the lid wrapped around the key and the can was opened. The same thing appeared to happen to the outer wall of the saucer. Once opened, inside I saw beings that fit the typical stereotype, i.e., small gray beings. They were operating controls and scurrying around a central pillar that I imagined had something to do with the craft’s propulsion. Their movements were so rapid and precise that I suddenly realized why some contact experiencers described this group of alleged ETs as “insectoid.”
I encounter an Ancient Wise “ET”
In addition to these visual impressions, I also “saw” a senior ET official seated behind a desk. He appeared to be humanoid, ancient and of the so-called Zeta Reticulum race of beings. The room in which he sat was pitch black of ill-defined dimensions. A spotlight beam of white light illuminated him. He was using a tablet to write symbols. They appeared to be some kind of hieroglyphics. The way in which he effortlessly and artistically inscribed them on a tablet at his desk, reminded me of an oriental Zen master painting beautiful Chinese ideograms. I was led to believe that each symbol represented a complex thought that possibly explained the amount of information contained in several pages of human text. This “being” was clearly a senior leader of great authority.
As I approached him gingerly, like a humble student standing before a great professor or scientist, he became aware of my presence. He slowly looked up and I saw an impassive extraterrestrial face, wrinkled with age lines. Although I perceived no emotion expressed on his face, I thought that I had detected some slight amusement at my being there. The message that I received from him was simple. It had three parts to it. I did not “hear” him speak, so presumably it was conveyed telepathically. The communication went was as follows: “YOU ARE A YOUNG RACE,” and as I received this thought the scene began to fade. Just before his image disappeared, I perceived the second part of the message, “YOU HAVE A LOT TO LEARN.” In a flash my audience with this great being was over. Nevertheless, a third part of his communication softly resounded in my mind several hours later. After the UFO had swiftly and silently flown by our position in the desert, his final thought came in as, “AND WE ARE GOING TO TEACH YOU!”
Addendum: On another social media page I was asked the question. Do you still experience these “downloads?”
My answer: No, I don’t, although I wish things were otherwise. The contact downloads occurred intensively during a 3-month period in the fall and winter of 1993. Then sporadically for another two years. Most of the downloads were what one might call, “awake dreams.” In my mind’s eye, I saw a series of images like video clips. They were mostly in black and white and sometimes had a grainy quality to them. These visual impressions were associated with my receiving “packet of information” that provided a kind of narration to the visual components of the experiences.
As you might imagine, given that I was a contact team leader, I was most eager for communications to continue. What made “heads up” messages during fieldwork so special was that the information about the subsequent sightings could be verified as accurate by multiple witnesses. Alas, such advanced notifications happened only twice during fieldwork.
I complained to my fellow CE-5 Working Group Coordinator Wayne Peterson. He was the team leader in Phoenix Arizona. He said, “Don’t worry Joe. The ETs just wanted to show you that this was something you could do. They gave you a class titled ‘Channeling 101.’ The course was over, so the lessons stopped.” His explanation made sense to me and I let go of my frustration.
I share this information on social media in the hope that it will be helpful to the current generation of volunteer contact workers. Wayne, Working Group Coordinator for Phoenix died eight years ago. Shari, WG Coordinator for Denver, died in 1998. I am now in my 8th decade of life. I am pleased to see that there are many enthusiastic young people in the next generation of contact activists that will carry on the work.
For other chapters of “The Contact Network History Project, the links below are provided:
A CE5 team travelled to the Volcanic Zone outside of Mexico City. There we witnessed a dramatic series of sightings including a large triangular shaped craft that signaled at us.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/02/20/ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone/
Returning from Mexico I had several personal sightings and anomalous sound tracked through our research site in Malibu Canyon.
https://contactunderground.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/high-strangeness-galore-after-returning-from-a-ufo-investigation-in-the-volcanic-zone-joseph-burkes-md-2022/
2024.04.11 00:24 Rocknocker Calgary calling. Back to basics…Part 1.
“Khan!”, I shout as the big lummox lopes mightily for the door.
Lopes for the door with my lucky toque in his mouth.
Seems he’s found a new toy, and snatched it off the bed while I was packing.
“Khan! Get back here!”, I growl and he squeezes through the half-open rear door and heads out in the back 40.
“Es, can you keep an eye on Khan while I get packed?” I asked sweetly. “I’ve got to catch that flight to Calgary; what it being all last-minute and such.”
“You know I’m not happy about you going back out in the field, Rock”, Es scowls. “You’re finally healed up and all it takes is one bloody phone call…”
“Yes”, I smile as graciously as I am possible, “But Claghorn has thrown us a load of business over the years, and sort of pulled our ass from the fire back in the dark days of 1990…”
“Oh, I know”, Es agrees, “But, I just got you back to scrappin’ form and don’t need you crippled or killed.”
“Yes”, I agree, “That would be a bad thing…”
“Very funny”, Es’s scowl deepened. “You’re lucky it’s only a gas well that needs your special touch and not an earthquake where you’re mining for recoveries…”
“Oh, I agree”, I readily agreed. “Simple ‘lightning cracks a control head’ out in Nowhere, Alberta. Easy as cake. Piece of pie.”
“Yeah”, Es groans heavily. “I remember similar ‘simple jobs’ that cost you body parts and me almost a husband. Do be careful and delegate this time. Let the younger crowd take up the slack; you’re still handling the reigns.”
“WOOF!” adds Khan from just outside the doorway; my soggy toque hanging from his slobbery maw.
I look to Es, shanking my head, totally defeated.
“Never mind’, I say, “I’ll pick up a new one at Holt Renfrew. I’ll have a bit of time once I get to Calgary and I can get a new, slightly less soggy chapeau.”
“WOOF!” Khan agreed and set off in search of the evil Mrs. Bun and her cadre of garden munchers.
“Anything you want while I’m there?” I ask.
“Yeah”, Es replies sardonically, “For you to return in one piece. That too much to ask?”
“Message received and acknowledged”, I say, snapping a smart salute to my better half. “Well, I best be packing. Chopper will be here in a half hour or so…”
Back upstairs packing, I reminisce, none too fondly of the past 6 or so months.
Damn near die due to a cave-in, emergency extraction flights, physical therapy, a trip to Japan to get my left hand fixed/upgraded, test after medical test, see more doctors than on a Palm Springs golf course on Easter morning, more physical therapy, diet, exercise and get a whole new drug regime to keep me ticking for the foreseeable future.
I pick up my Bug Out Bag and see that it’s still fairly light.
I toss a box of shells and my favorite .454 Casull into my bag.
“Just in case of polar bears”, I think, smiling quietly to myself. “And uppity beer cans.”
I toss in some jerky (low-sodium variant), a box of cigars, and another couple boxes of ammo.
“Never know what I’ll find out in the sticks of Canada”, I muse. “Good thing I’m a VIP so get to go all Diplomatic Pouch on customs agents. They’d have kittens knowing I have a couple of spare boxes of millisecond-delay detonation cap superboosters in the steel box in the bottom of my bag.”
I snicker quietly to myself as Khan proceeds to lose his mind outside.
“ES!”, I shout from upstairs, “Grab Khan, my ride has arrived.”
“He’s in, the big coward.”, Es replies. “Guards his yard until he feels the rotor wash then hightails it inside to bark at the interlopers from a safe place.”
“Good thing”, I think. “I’d hate to see what Khan could do to a defenseless helicopter.”
I swing my bag around and heads down the stairs. One at a time, as I’m no longer 20 years old.
“Damn”, I think out loud, “This bag’s suddenly gotten really heavy…”
Time and tide…
I give Khan a big smooch and scratch Es behind the ears…
Wait one.
Reverse that.
Es gives me a well-placed swat on the backside and reminds me to keep my promise and return in one piece.
“I endeavor to assuage your worries”, I reply nobly, “I shall return triumphant and intact.”
“Oh, and as long as you’re out shopping”, Es smiles and hands me a list that could easily been titled ‘War and Peace, Vol. 2’.
“Well,”, I smirk, “There goes that well’s bonus…”
“Back soonest, m’dear”, I say as I wander toward the Claghorn Company’s one and only helicopter.
One of the helpers on the chopper runs out and grabs my bag from me.
It’s going directly to the wellsite.
I’m going directly to the airport.
I get to go through TSA and eventually Customs.
My bag does not.
I like traveling like this.
Unencumbered.
More or less hands-free.
I smile to myself as I plop into the comfy, well-worn leather seat, affix the headphones and pull out a huge Churchill Maduro Cohiba #7.
“Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh”, the helicopter notes until the cadence and pitch change. We’re suddenly both airborne and headed rapidly towards the nearest international airport.
One of the cabin crew hands me a packet that contains my flight ticket, letters of introduction, and copies of most of my blasting credentials. She also hands me a tall, frosty mug of bitter lemon, lime juice and vodka, on ice.
I signal ‘Thank you’, and gratefully accept them all.
I proceed to look through the documents and for once note everything that I asked for or had ordered is either on site or headed towards location.
The situation is such: there’s a gas field up north in Alberta where a producing wellhead was cracked by lightning.
Happens more often than one would think.
Lightning not only cracked the wellhead, but set the gas it was producing alight.
Consider it a cigar lighter operating at 4,000 psig.
It was also producing about 1.1 million cubic feet of natural gas per day.
It made for one helluva cigar lighter.
So, it was up to me to go contain the beast, as it was luckily a sweet, not sour gas well. I must remove the damaged hardware, quench the fire and re-install the appropriate surface hardware to get the little beast back into production.
But most of this is going to be done by remote control.
I’m delegating most of the surface works; but I alone have the proper education, experience and credentials to blow out the fire.
That’s why I was surprised that my requests for MIL-Spec explosives (mostly RDX, C-4 and the Canadian equivalent of Herculene 60% extra-fast ++ dynamite) was met with a hearty “Yes, sir” rather than the usual grousing and bitching I’m use to in the more remote places on the planet.
We chopper into the local international airport where I’m scurried to my plane and my Business-class seat. First time I’m arriving without luggage or at least some of my more sedate blasting paraphernalia.
“Why, yes, thank you. I’d love a pre-departure drink.”
Somethings are best left unchanged. Tradition and all.
Also, this is the first time I’m going in “Bootless”. That is, I’m the only one from my company.
Most of my folks are busy domestically or have headed off for greener pastures during my recovery period, so my company is primarily myself and a handful of coscripts or contractors.
There’s a new moon on the horizon and time for the old guard to gracefully accept the new kids on the block.
But first, they need to prove to me they’ve got the ‘Right Stuff’.
I do random drug tests on location.
You fail or try to somehow violate these tests and it’s one time and done.
I don’t test for alcohol, marijuana (since it’s legal here now) or nicotine (as they do in the Middle East). But you try and snooker a test with store bought (or, this one I really like: your pregnant sister’s) piss and it’s ‘Adios, Casoots’.
I run a fairly relaxed crew but I need all hands-on deck with all faculties performing at 100%.
We are doing some of the most dangerous work in the oil field.
That’s why I pay the highest wages in the patch.
And that’s why you’ll toe the line or I’ll have you run off location.
Period. End of sentence. No tap-backs.
I’ll also expect you to know your ass from your elbow and the difference between blasting putty and silly putty.
I’ve hired a company out of London (UK) that I call when a job appears. I tell them how many bodies I need, what the JDs (job descriptions) are and when I need them. I’m supposed to tell them how long a job will take, but they’ve learned to quit asking.
“It’s over when it’s over”, I tell them. “Every job is unique.”
For a handsome retainer and more based on a per-body agreement, they supply me the field hands I need for a job, all with the proper education, experience and credentials.
It only marginally beats keeping a large number of specialists idle until a job suddenly appears; especially since I’ve sold-off the machine works part of my company.
Nice thing about royalties. I may not be making the devices any longer, but I get a nice check every time someone else does.
So, I fly into Calgary’s International Airport, curiously named “Calgary International Airport,” and wander off the plane. I stop by some of the local shops to see what I can get Duty-Free; y’know, for the trip back home. I go through passport control with an efficient “Welcome to Canada”, a brisk stamp in my well-worn passport and through customs without missing a step.
“Nothing to declare.”, I note.
“Expect for my genius”, Oscar Wilde added quietly…
Wearying of the long flight and interminable walk to exit the airport, I get a lift from one of the pursers running around with their little electrical golf-type carts.
“Are you needing baggage, or ground transportation”, the purser asks as he deftly slips the portrait of Andrew Jackson which I just handed to him into his tunic.
“No. I should have a driver with a sign waiting by the airport’s main egress.” I reply.
“I see”, he replies and we electroscoot off to that airport’s main entryway into Canada.
“Finest kind”, I say as I sip the drink the flight attendant said I could take with me.
“It’s a sin to waste food or drink”, she reminded me as she topped off my beverage. She also made a portrait of Andrew Jackson disappear quicker than a bunny fucks…
Anyways.
We both spy a chauffeur-bedecked individual with a sign reading “Dr. Rocknocker”, in large san-serif type.
There was enough room on the cart for him as he directed our driver to the short-term parking area and his trusty metallic steed.
Once in the back of the ridiculously-sized for one person limo, I am going through a package of papers prepared by Clyde Claghorn, the owner of the oil company with the recalcitrant gas wells.
Really.
Clyde Claghorn of Calgary, Canada.
Not my fault he’s so heavily alliterative.
Anyways, in the packet is my return flight ticket, my reservation at the Dorian Hotel; Executive Suite, of course. Plus, my plans for shopping and dinner before I ship out in the morning and chopper to the wellsite.
Clyde has made reservations for us at Chairman’s Steaks, a well renowned beef eatery here on the plains of Canada. He’s set the time at 19:30, and hopes that he can join me there. If not, he’s taken the liberty of ordering a set menu for me.
He’s starting me with a 1936 Montervertine, “Le Pergole Torte”, Sangiovese (Tuscany, Italy) from his private cellar.
I’m not a great oenophile, but anything of that age has got to have some pedigree.
Then it’s for the main course: 40 oz. ‘Canadian Waygu’ porterhouse, bleu.
Yep, Clyde does his homework.
Then for afters, a Cedar-smoked Rocknocker (Bitter lemon, Stoli Gold, Rose’s) and a fine ‘My Father Don Pepin Garcia 70th Birthday Humidor Select’ cigar.
Wonderful. Since that’s handled, back to my workman’s list…
We arrive at the hotel and I wasn’t allowed to even carry my wellsite attaché case.
Check in, sans luggage, receive the key for my room and mini-bar as well as an invitation to the ‘Master’s Club’, at my convenience, anytime day or night.
So, off we troop to my room and it’s mildly-spectacular with a great view of the city, a huge in-room Jacuzzi, monster California King bed, my business office which was already set-up and ready to go as well as a fully stocked mini-bar that looks like it could take some serious hits and not show the damage.
The bellhop deposits my wellsite case on the floor and notes that there’s a box of cigars waiting in the mini-bar, courtesy of Mr. Clyde Claghorn of Calgary, Canada.
“How nice”, I note as a pair of Andy Jackson’s once again disappear into the bellhop’s wallet, as I hand him Es’s list and some cash for the concierge.
“If you require anything else, Sir, please ring the concierge at x1819”, he said as he departed and closed the door behind. He assured me he’d have Es’s list filled and shipped by tomorrow.
I called Es immediately and told that I’ve arrived intact, and how onerous and uncomfortable the trip has been up until this point.
Nahhh. She didn’t believe it either.
After the necessary words were exchanged, I decided it was finally time for some real work.
But first, a drink and a cigar.
True to his words, there was a box of some of my favorite smokes sitting on all the Toblerone, mixed nuts, and canned local beer.
“Triple maduro Comacho Churchills”, I smiled quietly to myself.
Just what one needs before plunging into real work.
I had some time before I’d need to ready myself for dinner so I went over some of the more vexatious paperwork. Y’know; visas for incoming experts, flight arrangements, seeing that all my supplies that I had asked for are on-site or on their way.
“Damn”, I muttered, “Where the hell was my bug-out bag?”
As if by magic, I answered a knock at the door and it was the bellhop with my wandering bug-out bag.
“Sorry, sir”, he apologized, “But customs were slow clearing your bag and its contents.”
“But they already had the disclaimers and necessary documents, didn’t they?” I asked.
“Well”, he stammered, “They had never seen some of the things you are bringing into the country. They had no problem with your sidearm, but the blasting caps and detonators gave them a bit of pause.”
“I suppose”, I noted, “That it’s not every day you see such gear.”
“Indeed, sir”, he agreed as another portrait of AJ disappeared.
A quick reconnoiter of the bag’s contents notes it was emptied at one point, but everything was where it was supposed to be. My Casull had a zip-tie around the trigger and the boxes of ammo were wrapped in typical airport clear tape.
“That’ll stop’em”, I chuckled as I used my Leatherman to snip away the offending plastic.
Back to business and then, a quick few laps around the Jacuzzi, a couple of toddies, a shower and preparation for dinner.
I did dine solo that evening, as Clyde was unavoidably detained.
The wine was, in the words of the sommelier, “Exquisite”.
I drank one glass and switched immediately to double vodka cocktails.
He wanted to know if I wished to take the rest of the bottle with me when I departed.
“Nah.”, I replied, “Taste reminds me of furniture polish. You can take it if so inclined.”
He was very much so inclined.
He presented me a bottle of some local winery when I left as a token of his appreciation.
Sorry if my tastes run more to Bob’s Backwash and Gallo; but the steak was exceptional.
Grilled little portobello mushrooms and a side of succotash. It was lovely.
I was ushered to the Smoking Room for after-dinner cocktails and cigars.
It rang 2300 hours and it was time for me to return to the hotel. Tomorrow’s going to arrive way too fast and I need at least a few hours kip.
Clyde picked up the tab for the evening and I wasn’t terribly extravagant with the tips, but the bill ran heavily into four figures.
“All part of the business”, I chuckled. I’ll probably give him a bit of slack on my bill, but that dinner tab wouldn’t scratch the surface of what this will all eventually cost.
Back to the hotel, and after a few laps in the Jacuzzi, another fine cigar, a toddy or five, it was a good-night text to Esme and I was off to the land of Nod.
The next morning, I was back in a chopper headed essentially due north, north of Edmonton and deep into the Nikanassin Deep Basin Gas Play.
Airline flights in this sphere of influence are about non-existent, so it was easier and cheaper to charter a helicopter from on of Canada’s many private fliers; this one “Mountain View Helicopters”.
Very efficient and on-time.
I like that in a charter.
I like even more that they don’t ask too many questions and just fly the bloody thing.
We arrive actually slightly ahead of schedule and even so, the Company Man, a Mr. Camden Menton greets me as I depart the whirlybird.
“Doctor?”, he asks, “A pleasure. Glad you’re here, we’re in a spot of trouble.”
“Nothing too untoward”, I reply, as he shakes his head and direct my gaze off to the distance where there’s three huge plumes of black smoke issuing skyward and off to the north.
“Wind shifted last couple of days”, he explained, “And we didn’t have enough field water to keep the adjacent wells cooled off. One cooked off yesterday morning, and the other last night.”
“Get me a jeep and driver”, I immediately said, “I need boots-on-the-ground inspection”.
The jeep and driver appeared quickly while I got some lowdown on the wells that were added to the fray. Luckily, they were near identical to our first well so I told him to get cracking and triple the order I made before I left.
Three Xmas trees.
Three Athey wagons.
Three D-9 bulldozers.
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
And three times more explosives and detonic gear.
I sat there in the Jeep, bouncing towards the conflagration and rubbed my bewhiskered chin, “Mr. Claghorn, the price of poker just went up.”
There was an audible groan to be heard, but it could have just been the wind.
We drove cautiously and bumpily around the triconflagration, always keeping an eye on the red flags placed around the perimeter of the fires. We watched those flags, and concomitant wind direction, as a quick shift of the wind vectors and you could find yourself rapidly emulating a Christmas turkey just before dinnertime.
Or, if you prefer something more fowl, your goose would be cooked.
Anyways.
The wells were about 150 m (~500’) apart and luckily the weather called for fair and slightly cloudy days ahead, with light and moderate winds. Unfortunately, the winds were shifting all the time. We actually had a spotter sit out in a shack with binoculars recording the wind shifts in real time. If we were going to blow out all three wells, we had to have a damn good idea that once extinguished, they’d stay that way and not reignite each other.
However, there was one little, itsy-bitsy problem that speed-bumped our path before we could do that. Each well was sporting a now non-functional, out of specification and broken wellhead. These were in various states of disrepair, but each was where we didn’t want them to be and needed to be removed. They were spreading the fires and instead of a single plume of burning gas and condensate going straight up, they were being diverted at the wellhead-flange interface, spreading the flames out laterally like beautiful, but ever so deadly, blossoms of fireflowers.
The first well, the middle one, was the worst. It had a piece of the production tubing stuck in the wellhead, meaning we’d have to cut it off somehow before removing the wellhead itself.
I, of course, opted for explosive removal (“Just a pinch of C-4”, I’d smiled) but there was grousing that doing so might fuck-up the flange of the wellhead, which we needed to be very much in serviceable condition if we were to fit a new tree to the wellhead.
“OK”, I said, “Let’s give the non-explosive method a try.”
This meant that someone (give you three guesses who…) was to go out to the wellhead and cut off the offending pipe with an oxy-acetylene torch. Before that, the field hands would have removed the bolts connecting the pipe flange to the wellhead, and replacing those with some heavy-duty “C-clamps” that were 2” thick hardened tool steel. These had bails welded to them so that when we wanted to pull the head, we’d use a dozer and some cables with hooks to pull them off the wellhead, thus separating and freeing the two pieces of oilfield iron.
Or so went the plan.
The wellhead was unbolted and dozers hooked to the three C-clamps that were holding the wellhead in place. I had noticed something unkosher in the set-up but was really unable to dwell on that as I walked out to the burning well. Even in my P-4 containment fire suit with internal cooling, getting to within 200’ of these wells the temperature started to rise. I had alarms set in my suit that would light off if the temperature internally rose above 130 degrees F.
At this temperature, you’d have about 3-5 minutes to get out of Dodge and get cooled down.
Any longer, and you’d quite literally be toast.
Luckily, we had a good water supply and with the three monitor water cannons, each producing a cooling fog of approximately 75K liters per minute.
Which means you’re trying to cut a piece of hardened 2.5” production pipe in a burning 4,000 psi hydrocarbon pressure environment in a hurricane with an acetylene torch.
Life can be such fun at times…
Such deluges also transform anything solid, like say the Pleistocene alluvium here that comprises the soil; into gasping, quaking, sticky mud.
Such fun.
We (myself and my apprentice, Roger) approach the well and call to those manning the water monitors to shift north here and east here so we can see the wellhead without having it look like were peering through Noah’s Deluge. After a few minutes of futzing with the water cannons, I spark off the torch and begin cutting that wayward piece of production tubing.
Oh, I know, Es would have lost her mind if she saw me out there again, once more, headlong into the fray. But this is both easy for me and a precision job. What’d take me ten minutes would have taken anyone else on the planet thirty. How can I say that? Because the other firefighting companies would have used droids, mechanics or other forms of machine-driven contrivances instead of manpower.
Me? I like it “Old School”.
Plus, I like to keep my hand in, as it were and keep my skills up to snuff.
So, the pipe cut, I kill the torch, tap Roger on the shoulder and tell him to give the dozer the high-sign as we slowly wander off location.
The dozer’s one note song goes from an idling snuff to a roar as the big D-9 Cat leaps forward at over 2 miles/hour.
The cables grow instantly taught and it was at that moment I realized what was bothering be earlier.
There were no chain dampeners on the cables.
Chains, when they break under stress, snap and drop to the ground. All that potential energy is absorbed by the individual links and there’s no snap-back.
Cables, or wire ropes, store up all that potential energy and when loosened, they snap and snake out and back at ludicrous speeds and energies.
Snapped wireline cables have been known to slice a man in two from their whip-back and instant release of all that energy.
I was blaring into the suit’s radio to try and get the cat-skinner to stop and reverse, but he didn’t receive my message.
I pushed Roger out of danger’s way and trundled my bulk as fast as I could to be out of range of any snapped cables.
Even above the roar of the fires, my geriatric ears could hear the cables tighten up, begin to neck-out and prepare to snap.
Luckily, the Cat-skinner was an experienced hand and he heard/felt/sensed it as well.
He stomped on the brakes and threw the huge machine into reverse just before the cables reached the point of no return.
I was royally pissed.
…Continued in Part 2.
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Lopes for the door with my lucky toque in his mouth.
Seems he’s found a new toy, and snatched it off the bed while I was packing.
“Khan! Get back here!”, I growl and he squeezes through the half-open rear door and heads out in the back 40.
“Es, can you keep an eye on Khan while I get packed?” I asked sweetly. “I’ve got to catch that flight to Calgary; what it being all last-minute and such.”
“You know I’m not happy about you going back out in the field, Rock”, Es scowls. “You’re finally healed up and all it takes is one bloody phone call…”
“Yes”, I smile as graciously as I am possible, “But Claghorn has thrown us a load of business over the years, and sort of pulled our ass from the fire back in the dark days of 1990…”
“Oh, I know”, Es agrees, “But, I just got you back to scrappin’ form and don’t need you crippled or killed.”
“Yes”, I agree, “That would be a bad thing…”
“Very funny”, Es’s scowl deepened. “You’re lucky it’s only a gas well that needs your special touch and not an earthquake where you’re mining for recoveries…”
“Oh, I agree”, I readily agreed. “Simple ‘lightning cracks a control head’ out in Nowhere, Alberta. Easy as cake. Piece of pie.”
“Yeah”, Es groans heavily. “I remember similar ‘simple jobs’ that cost you body parts and me almost a husband. Do be careful and delegate this time. Let the younger crowd take up the slack; you’re still handling the reigns.”
“WOOF!” adds Khan from just outside the doorway; my soggy toque hanging from his slobbery maw.
I look to Es, shanking my head, totally defeated.
“Never mind’, I say, “I’ll pick up a new one at Holt Renfrew. I’ll have a bit of time once I get to Calgary and I can get a new, slightly less soggy chapeau.”
“WOOF!” Khan agreed and set off in search of the evil Mrs. Bun and her cadre of garden munchers.
“Anything you want while I’m there?” I ask.
“Yeah”, Es replies sardonically, “For you to return in one piece. That too much to ask?”
“Message received and acknowledged”, I say, snapping a smart salute to my better half. “Well, I best be packing. Chopper will be here in a half hour or so…”
Back upstairs packing, I reminisce, none too fondly of the past 6 or so months.
Damn near die due to a cave-in, emergency extraction flights, physical therapy, a trip to Japan to get my left hand fixed/upgraded, test after medical test, see more doctors than on a Palm Springs golf course on Easter morning, more physical therapy, diet, exercise and get a whole new drug regime to keep me ticking for the foreseeable future.
I pick up my Bug Out Bag and see that it’s still fairly light.
I toss a box of shells and my favorite .454 Casull into my bag.
“Just in case of polar bears”, I think, smiling quietly to myself. “And uppity beer cans.”
I toss in some jerky (low-sodium variant), a box of cigars, and another couple boxes of ammo.
“Never know what I’ll find out in the sticks of Canada”, I muse. “Good thing I’m a VIP so get to go all Diplomatic Pouch on customs agents. They’d have kittens knowing I have a couple of spare boxes of millisecond-delay detonation cap superboosters in the steel box in the bottom of my bag.”
I snicker quietly to myself as Khan proceeds to lose his mind outside.
“ES!”, I shout from upstairs, “Grab Khan, my ride has arrived.”
“He’s in, the big coward.”, Es replies. “Guards his yard until he feels the rotor wash then hightails it inside to bark at the interlopers from a safe place.”
“Good thing”, I think. “I’d hate to see what Khan could do to a defenseless helicopter.”
I swing my bag around and heads down the stairs. One at a time, as I’m no longer 20 years old.
“Damn”, I think out loud, “This bag’s suddenly gotten really heavy…”
Time and tide…
I give Khan a big smooch and scratch Es behind the ears…
Wait one.
Reverse that.
Es gives me a well-placed swat on the backside and reminds me to keep my promise and return in one piece.
“I endeavor to assuage your worries”, I reply nobly, “I shall return triumphant and intact.”
“Oh, and as long as you’re out shopping”, Es smiles and hands me a list that could easily been titled ‘War and Peace, Vol. 2’.
“Well,”, I smirk, “There goes that well’s bonus…”
“Back soonest, m’dear”, I say as I wander toward the Claghorn Company’s one and only helicopter.
One of the helpers on the chopper runs out and grabs my bag from me.
It’s going directly to the wellsite.
I’m going directly to the airport.
I get to go through TSA and eventually Customs.
My bag does not.
I like traveling like this.
Unencumbered.
More or less hands-free.
I smile to myself as I plop into the comfy, well-worn leather seat, affix the headphones and pull out a huge Churchill Maduro Cohiba #7.
“Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh”, the helicopter notes until the cadence and pitch change. We’re suddenly both airborne and headed rapidly towards the nearest international airport.
One of the cabin crew hands me a packet that contains my flight ticket, letters of introduction, and copies of most of my blasting credentials. She also hands me a tall, frosty mug of bitter lemon, lime juice and vodka, on ice.
I signal ‘Thank you’, and gratefully accept them all.
I proceed to look through the documents and for once note everything that I asked for or had ordered is either on site or headed towards location.
The situation is such: there’s a gas field up north in Alberta where a producing wellhead was cracked by lightning.
Happens more often than one would think.
Lightning not only cracked the wellhead, but set the gas it was producing alight.
Consider it a cigar lighter operating at 4,000 psig.
It was also producing about 1.1 million cubic feet of natural gas per day.
It made for one helluva cigar lighter.
So, it was up to me to go contain the beast, as it was luckily a sweet, not sour gas well. I must remove the damaged hardware, quench the fire and re-install the appropriate surface hardware to get the little beast back into production.
But most of this is going to be done by remote control.
I’m delegating most of the surface works; but I alone have the proper education, experience and credentials to blow out the fire.
That’s why I was surprised that my requests for MIL-Spec explosives (mostly RDX, C-4 and the Canadian equivalent of Herculene 60% extra-fast ++ dynamite) was met with a hearty “Yes, sir” rather than the usual grousing and bitching I’m use to in the more remote places on the planet.
We chopper into the local international airport where I’m scurried to my plane and my Business-class seat. First time I’m arriving without luggage or at least some of my more sedate blasting paraphernalia.
“Why, yes, thank you. I’d love a pre-departure drink.”
Somethings are best left unchanged. Tradition and all.
Also, this is the first time I’m going in “Bootless”. That is, I’m the only one from my company.
Most of my folks are busy domestically or have headed off for greener pastures during my recovery period, so my company is primarily myself and a handful of coscripts or contractors.
There’s a new moon on the horizon and time for the old guard to gracefully accept the new kids on the block.
But first, they need to prove to me they’ve got the ‘Right Stuff’.
I do random drug tests on location.
You fail or try to somehow violate these tests and it’s one time and done.
I don’t test for alcohol, marijuana (since it’s legal here now) or nicotine (as they do in the Middle East). But you try and snooker a test with store bought (or, this one I really like: your pregnant sister’s) piss and it’s ‘Adios, Casoots’.
I run a fairly relaxed crew but I need all hands-on deck with all faculties performing at 100%.
We are doing some of the most dangerous work in the oil field.
That’s why I pay the highest wages in the patch.
And that’s why you’ll toe the line or I’ll have you run off location.
Period. End of sentence. No tap-backs.
I’ll also expect you to know your ass from your elbow and the difference between blasting putty and silly putty.
I’ve hired a company out of London (UK) that I call when a job appears. I tell them how many bodies I need, what the JDs (job descriptions) are and when I need them. I’m supposed to tell them how long a job will take, but they’ve learned to quit asking.
“It’s over when it’s over”, I tell them. “Every job is unique.”
For a handsome retainer and more based on a per-body agreement, they supply me the field hands I need for a job, all with the proper education, experience and credentials.
It only marginally beats keeping a large number of specialists idle until a job suddenly appears; especially since I’ve sold-off the machine works part of my company.
Nice thing about royalties. I may not be making the devices any longer, but I get a nice check every time someone else does.
So, I fly into Calgary’s International Airport, curiously named “Calgary International Airport,” and wander off the plane. I stop by some of the local shops to see what I can get Duty-Free; y’know, for the trip back home. I go through passport control with an efficient “Welcome to Canada”, a brisk stamp in my well-worn passport and through customs without missing a step.
“Nothing to declare.”, I note.
“Expect for my genius”, Oscar Wilde added quietly…
Wearying of the long flight and interminable walk to exit the airport, I get a lift from one of the pursers running around with their little electrical golf-type carts.
“Are you needing baggage, or ground transportation”, the purser asks as he deftly slips the portrait of Andrew Jackson which I just handed to him into his tunic.
“No. I should have a driver with a sign waiting by the airport’s main egress.” I reply.
“I see”, he replies and we electroscoot off to that airport’s main entryway into Canada.
“Finest kind”, I say as I sip the drink the flight attendant said I could take with me.
“It’s a sin to waste food or drink”, she reminded me as she topped off my beverage. She also made a portrait of Andrew Jackson disappear quicker than a bunny fucks…
Anyways.
We both spy a chauffeur-bedecked individual with a sign reading “Dr. Rocknocker”, in large san-serif type.
There was enough room on the cart for him as he directed our driver to the short-term parking area and his trusty metallic steed.
Once in the back of the ridiculously-sized for one person limo, I am going through a package of papers prepared by Clyde Claghorn, the owner of the oil company with the recalcitrant gas wells.
Really.
Clyde Claghorn of Calgary, Canada.
Not my fault he’s so heavily alliterative.
Anyways, in the packet is my return flight ticket, my reservation at the Dorian Hotel; Executive Suite, of course. Plus, my plans for shopping and dinner before I ship out in the morning and chopper to the wellsite.
Clyde has made reservations for us at Chairman’s Steaks, a well renowned beef eatery here on the plains of Canada. He’s set the time at 19:30, and hopes that he can join me there. If not, he’s taken the liberty of ordering a set menu for me.
He’s starting me with a 1936 Montervertine, “Le Pergole Torte”, Sangiovese (Tuscany, Italy) from his private cellar.
I’m not a great oenophile, but anything of that age has got to have some pedigree.
Then it’s for the main course: 40 oz. ‘Canadian Waygu’ porterhouse, bleu.
Yep, Clyde does his homework.
Then for afters, a Cedar-smoked Rocknocker (Bitter lemon, Stoli Gold, Rose’s) and a fine ‘My Father Don Pepin Garcia 70th Birthday Humidor Select’ cigar.
Wonderful. Since that’s handled, back to my workman’s list…
We arrive at the hotel and I wasn’t allowed to even carry my wellsite attaché case.
Check in, sans luggage, receive the key for my room and mini-bar as well as an invitation to the ‘Master’s Club’, at my convenience, anytime day or night.
So, off we troop to my room and it’s mildly-spectacular with a great view of the city, a huge in-room Jacuzzi, monster California King bed, my business office which was already set-up and ready to go as well as a fully stocked mini-bar that looks like it could take some serious hits and not show the damage.
The bellhop deposits my wellsite case on the floor and notes that there’s a box of cigars waiting in the mini-bar, courtesy of Mr. Clyde Claghorn of Calgary, Canada.
“How nice”, I note as a pair of Andy Jackson’s once again disappear into the bellhop’s wallet, as I hand him Es’s list and some cash for the concierge.
“If you require anything else, Sir, please ring the concierge at x1819”, he said as he departed and closed the door behind. He assured me he’d have Es’s list filled and shipped by tomorrow.
I called Es immediately and told that I’ve arrived intact, and how onerous and uncomfortable the trip has been up until this point.
Nahhh. She didn’t believe it either.
After the necessary words were exchanged, I decided it was finally time for some real work.
But first, a drink and a cigar.
True to his words, there was a box of some of my favorite smokes sitting on all the Toblerone, mixed nuts, and canned local beer.
“Triple maduro Comacho Churchills”, I smiled quietly to myself.
Just what one needs before plunging into real work.
I had some time before I’d need to ready myself for dinner so I went over some of the more vexatious paperwork. Y’know; visas for incoming experts, flight arrangements, seeing that all my supplies that I had asked for are on-site or on their way.
“Damn”, I muttered, “Where the hell was my bug-out bag?”
As if by magic, I answered a knock at the door and it was the bellhop with my wandering bug-out bag.
“Sorry, sir”, he apologized, “But customs were slow clearing your bag and its contents.”
“But they already had the disclaimers and necessary documents, didn’t they?” I asked.
“Well”, he stammered, “They had never seen some of the things you are bringing into the country. They had no problem with your sidearm, but the blasting caps and detonators gave them a bit of pause.”
“I suppose”, I noted, “That it’s not every day you see such gear.”
“Indeed, sir”, he agreed as another portrait of AJ disappeared.
A quick reconnoiter of the bag’s contents notes it was emptied at one point, but everything was where it was supposed to be. My Casull had a zip-tie around the trigger and the boxes of ammo were wrapped in typical airport clear tape.
“That’ll stop’em”, I chuckled as I used my Leatherman to snip away the offending plastic.
Back to business and then, a quick few laps around the Jacuzzi, a couple of toddies, a shower and preparation for dinner.
I did dine solo that evening, as Clyde was unavoidably detained.
The wine was, in the words of the sommelier, “Exquisite”.
I drank one glass and switched immediately to double vodka cocktails.
He wanted to know if I wished to take the rest of the bottle with me when I departed.
“Nah.”, I replied, “Taste reminds me of furniture polish. You can take it if so inclined.”
He was very much so inclined.
He presented me a bottle of some local winery when I left as a token of his appreciation.
Sorry if my tastes run more to Bob’s Backwash and Gallo; but the steak was exceptional.
Grilled little portobello mushrooms and a side of succotash. It was lovely.
I was ushered to the Smoking Room for after-dinner cocktails and cigars.
It rang 2300 hours and it was time for me to return to the hotel. Tomorrow’s going to arrive way too fast and I need at least a few hours kip.
Clyde picked up the tab for the evening and I wasn’t terribly extravagant with the tips, but the bill ran heavily into four figures.
“All part of the business”, I chuckled. I’ll probably give him a bit of slack on my bill, but that dinner tab wouldn’t scratch the surface of what this will all eventually cost.
Back to the hotel, and after a few laps in the Jacuzzi, another fine cigar, a toddy or five, it was a good-night text to Esme and I was off to the land of Nod.
The next morning, I was back in a chopper headed essentially due north, north of Edmonton and deep into the Nikanassin Deep Basin Gas Play.
Airline flights in this sphere of influence are about non-existent, so it was easier and cheaper to charter a helicopter from on of Canada’s many private fliers; this one “Mountain View Helicopters”.
Very efficient and on-time.
I like that in a charter.
I like even more that they don’t ask too many questions and just fly the bloody thing.
We arrive actually slightly ahead of schedule and even so, the Company Man, a Mr. Camden Menton greets me as I depart the whirlybird.
“Doctor?”, he asks, “A pleasure. Glad you’re here, we’re in a spot of trouble.”
“Nothing too untoward”, I reply, as he shakes his head and direct my gaze off to the distance where there’s three huge plumes of black smoke issuing skyward and off to the north.
“Wind shifted last couple of days”, he explained, “And we didn’t have enough field water to keep the adjacent wells cooled off. One cooked off yesterday morning, and the other last night.”
“Get me a jeep and driver”, I immediately said, “I need boots-on-the-ground inspection”.
The jeep and driver appeared quickly while I got some lowdown on the wells that were added to the fray. Luckily, they were near identical to our first well so I told him to get cracking and triple the order I made before I left.
Three Xmas trees.
Three Athey wagons.
Three D-9 bulldozers.
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
And three times more explosives and detonic gear.
I sat there in the Jeep, bouncing towards the conflagration and rubbed my bewhiskered chin, “Mr. Claghorn, the price of poker just went up.”
There was an audible groan to be heard, but it could have just been the wind.
We drove cautiously and bumpily around the triconflagration, always keeping an eye on the red flags placed around the perimeter of the fires. We watched those flags, and concomitant wind direction, as a quick shift of the wind vectors and you could find yourself rapidly emulating a Christmas turkey just before dinnertime.
Or, if you prefer something more fowl, your goose would be cooked.
Anyways.
The wells were about 150 m (~500’) apart and luckily the weather called for fair and slightly cloudy days ahead, with light and moderate winds. Unfortunately, the winds were shifting all the time. We actually had a spotter sit out in a shack with binoculars recording the wind shifts in real time. If we were going to blow out all three wells, we had to have a damn good idea that once extinguished, they’d stay that way and not reignite each other.
However, there was one little, itsy-bitsy problem that speed-bumped our path before we could do that. Each well was sporting a now non-functional, out of specification and broken wellhead. These were in various states of disrepair, but each was where we didn’t want them to be and needed to be removed. They were spreading the fires and instead of a single plume of burning gas and condensate going straight up, they were being diverted at the wellhead-flange interface, spreading the flames out laterally like beautiful, but ever so deadly, blossoms of fireflowers.
The first well, the middle one, was the worst. It had a piece of the production tubing stuck in the wellhead, meaning we’d have to cut it off somehow before removing the wellhead itself.
I, of course, opted for explosive removal (“Just a pinch of C-4”, I’d smiled) but there was grousing that doing so might fuck-up the flange of the wellhead, which we needed to be very much in serviceable condition if we were to fit a new tree to the wellhead.
“OK”, I said, “Let’s give the non-explosive method a try.”
This meant that someone (give you three guesses who…) was to go out to the wellhead and cut off the offending pipe with an oxy-acetylene torch. Before that, the field hands would have removed the bolts connecting the pipe flange to the wellhead, and replacing those with some heavy-duty “C-clamps” that were 2” thick hardened tool steel. These had bails welded to them so that when we wanted to pull the head, we’d use a dozer and some cables with hooks to pull them off the wellhead, thus separating and freeing the two pieces of oilfield iron.
Or so went the plan.
The wellhead was unbolted and dozers hooked to the three C-clamps that were holding the wellhead in place. I had noticed something unkosher in the set-up but was really unable to dwell on that as I walked out to the burning well. Even in my P-4 containment fire suit with internal cooling, getting to within 200’ of these wells the temperature started to rise. I had alarms set in my suit that would light off if the temperature internally rose above 130 degrees F.
At this temperature, you’d have about 3-5 minutes to get out of Dodge and get cooled down.
Any longer, and you’d quite literally be toast.
Luckily, we had a good water supply and with the three monitor water cannons, each producing a cooling fog of approximately 75K liters per minute.
Which means you’re trying to cut a piece of hardened 2.5” production pipe in a burning 4,000 psi hydrocarbon pressure environment in a hurricane with an acetylene torch.
Life can be such fun at times…
Such deluges also transform anything solid, like say the Pleistocene alluvium here that comprises the soil; into gasping, quaking, sticky mud.
Such fun.
We (myself and my apprentice, Roger) approach the well and call to those manning the water monitors to shift north here and east here so we can see the wellhead without having it look like were peering through Noah’s Deluge. After a few minutes of futzing with the water cannons, I spark off the torch and begin cutting that wayward piece of production tubing.
Oh, I know, Es would have lost her mind if she saw me out there again, once more, headlong into the fray. But this is both easy for me and a precision job. What’d take me ten minutes would have taken anyone else on the planet thirty. How can I say that? Because the other firefighting companies would have used droids, mechanics or other forms of machine-driven contrivances instead of manpower.
Me? I like it “Old School”.
Plus, I like to keep my hand in, as it were and keep my skills up to snuff.
So, the pipe cut, I kill the torch, tap Roger on the shoulder and tell him to give the dozer the high-sign as we slowly wander off location.
The dozer’s one note song goes from an idling snuff to a roar as the big D-9 Cat leaps forward at over 2 miles/hour.
The cables grow instantly taught and it was at that moment I realized what was bothering be earlier.
There were no chain dampeners on the cables.
Chains, when they break under stress, snap and drop to the ground. All that potential energy is absorbed by the individual links and there’s no snap-back.
Cables, or wire ropes, store up all that potential energy and when loosened, they snap and snake out and back at ludicrous speeds and energies.
Snapped wireline cables have been known to slice a man in two from their whip-back and instant release of all that energy.
I was blaring into the suit’s radio to try and get the cat-skinner to stop and reverse, but he didn’t receive my message.
I pushed Roger out of danger’s way and trundled my bulk as fast as I could to be out of range of any snapped cables.
Even above the roar of the fires, my geriatric ears could hear the cables tighten up, begin to neck-out and prepare to snap.
Luckily, the Cat-skinner was an experienced hand and he heard/felt/sensed it as well.
He stomped on the brakes and threw the huge machine into reverse just before the cables reached the point of no return.
I was royally pissed.
…Continued in Part 2.