Would this story be acceptable for plausibility? If we say, "I made it out of there by ascending the silver spire" or whatever, and that it is a memory, does that suffice? The part 1 is below
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I died and went to Hell. Next to the Lake of Blood, I found a list of rules [part 1]

Throughout my life, I was always a piece of shit. From an early age, I joined a gang and started selling drugs. Anything from weed to heroin to crack sold itself, but on the unforgiving streets of the city, a single mistake could be fatal. I always carried a cheap burner pistol that I could throw away after using it. I know quite a few friends and acquaintances who died from drugs I sold them- some overdosing, others crashing their cars while high. A couple of them committed suicide during opiate withdrawals. One got cut in half by a train while nodding off.
But by seventeen, I had committed my first confirmed murder- a rival gang member and drug dealer who pulled a gun on me first. I had probably killed people before, but I never watched the news after a shooting or a stabbing to see the result. I wasn’t interested in the slightest.
In this case, I had just been slightly quicker than my rival and, a fraction of a second later, his forehead imploded like a smashed pumpkin in front of me, spraying bone splinters and brains all over the sidewalk. He stumbled forward a step before falling forward. His pistol went off in his dying hand, but it went low, the bullet disappearing with a crack into the nearby street. He fell forward with a dull thud, his legs kicking as if he were seizing.
The sidewalk of the dead end street we stood on spun around me for a moment. The many abandoned, rotting houses of the city loomed over us like hanging corpses. My ears gave a high-pitched shriek of tinnitus from the gunshots.
Nervous, I looked up and down the side street. The entire place seemed silent and dead. Then I heard voices nearby and saw lights turning on in the front yards and windows of houses. Without a moment of hesitation, I took off, sprinting blindly away from the crime scene, not caring much where I was going. Someone a few houses down came out, an old black man in his boxers and slippers. He saw me running and called out something in a quavering voice. I didn’t slow down for a moment.
Not long after, I heard the wailing of sirens off in the distance. They were drawing closer by the second. When the street abruptly ended in a cul-de-sac of mostly abandoned and dilapidated houses, I chose one at random and cut across its back yard, jumped over the rusted metal fence and kept on running, cutting across random yards and jumping more fences until I started making my way back towards downtown.
After about five minutes, I got to a street with a lot more traffic and people. Covered in sweat, I walked casually back towards my tiny, cockroach-infested apartment.
I thought I had gotten away with it. I thought I had been able to kill this worthless scumbag without anyone noticing. But there were more eyes glittering behind the veil than I realized at that moment.
I went back home- and that was the night I died and went to Hell.
***
I lived on the first floor in a building with falling-down rafters and a flat black roof like an infected scab. The paint on the outside was the color of vomit, the windows cracked and broken. Moreover, the place always smelled like Mexican food and chemicals, and every night, I would hear gunshots and panicked screams outside.
I sat down at the table and opened a beer. The ancient CRT TV was on, showing some old horror movie from the 1970s. I took a deep breath, relieved. I didn’t expect a thing to happen at that moment.
Suddenly, my door burst open as if someone had fired a cannonball at it. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Standing there, I saw a dozen black police in SWAT gear holding rifles. The laser sights jumped and danced across the floor before they converged on my head and chest. Someone screamed something in a hoarse voice, but I didn’t understand. The words sounded garbled, like the whispering of a demon. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
I fell back in my chair in surprise. A single breath later, one of them opened fire. I felt the first bullet crash through my left shoulder, felt the bone shatter and the flesh explode behind it, warm blood running down my back and chest.
The next moment, others joined in. I didn’t feel the bullet that smashed into my head and sent me to Hell. It moved fast, faster than my nerves. It must have moved as fast as death itself.
The blackness descended on me like a cloud.
***
I don’t know how much time passed. It seemed like an eternity, full of freezing darkness and screams that came from everywhere and nowhere. I remember coming awake suddenly, standing before a face formed from blinding white light. I was healed without any signs of wound or blood from the gunshots. I found myself standing naked and alone in the freezing winds.
I was shivering, my arms wrapped protectively around my chest as I stood on a flat plain of cracked, gray stone. The wind whipped around me as if I were in a hurricane, blowing sand and dust across the eternal plains. The features of the endless face constantly melted and shifted, spiraling out with bolts of lightning that cracked and sizzled all around the hurricane of light. The face seemed to stand miles high with eyes that spun like the Sun.
“Where am I?” I whispered in terror. The face of infinite light stared down at me with a blinding intensity. It seemed to see every thought, every feeling, every memory. I could feel it looking through me as if I were glass.
“You are in the Bardo,” the being said in a voice like an exploding nuclear bomb. “I am the one who sees. I am GOD, the creator of the universe and all who live within it. In the end, to Me you will always return. Did you not know you would one day have to stand here?” I shook my head.
“No… I… I…” I stuttered in terror, unable to respond.
“I have seen your evil, for indeed, I am closer to you than your own jugular vein, your own heart. Did you not see the suffering of those who harmed the innocent, those who murdered and stole and lived their lives wallowing in filth? Did you not see them get wounded, shot, stabbed, strangled and imprisoned? Did you not see them die in their evil and return to Me?”
“I did,” I admitted. “Many times.”
“And yet you have fallen into the sickness yourself,” God said in a voice like a rushing waterfall. Fury and anger seemed to seethe from him. Dozens of bolts of lightning flashed out from all sides of that radiant face. “For this, you must be purified. Your soul must be cleansed with fire. For that is the fate of those who harm the innocent- they fall down to the bottomless pit, to the blazing inferno whose fuel is men and stones. The flames eat them all greedily, and then the fires cry out to Me for more.”
My body felt like it was covered with stinging hornets. Excruciating pins and needles ran all up and down my legs and arms. I looked down, seeing a swirling dark hole opening up underneath me in the field of gray stone, spitting out drops of liquid blackness. They splashed upwards, burning through my skin like napalm, but no blood came out. It was as if my body were dissolving into dripping shadows that pulled me downwards. I felt myself slowly falling through the eternal stone plain as unseen hands dragged me away. As I descended, I heard the voice of God one last time.
“Down into the pit you will go, to the valley of wailing and the lake of flames where the damned scream for peace that never comes, to the city of shadows, to Naraka…”
***
Beneath me, the shadowy tunnel descended. I fell through it like lightning. Everything spun around me at an incredible speed. Suddenly, I broke through something, some invisible barrier in the endless darkness. I found myself falling through a cloud of suffocating smoke, and then the world opened up all around me.
A blood-red sky with thick black clouds extended out in all directions. I glimpsed a world of sharp cliffs and rivers of lava that wound their way down mountains of obsidian.
I fell through the middle of the sky at a tremendous speed, the wind whipping around my ears like a hurricane. A scream ripped its way out of my throat, but I was traveling so fast I could barely hear it as the echoes disappeared above me. Below me was what looked like a massive lake filled with blood about half a mile wide, and it was coming up to meet me fast. Many struggling bodies writhed in the currents, trying to claw their way out. I crashed through the surface at an incredible speed, going deep under the warm crimson waves.
The bloody water of the lake filled my mouth and nose with the overwhelming taste of copper and iron. I started trying to swim back up to the surface, frantically kicking and pushing with my arms and legs. I opened my eyes, and the salty blood stung them. It looked like I was peering through a translucent red film into a world of deep-sea abominations. Long snakes with two heads swam all around me, snapping and biting at each other and any legs or arms nearby. I saw them drag people down one by one, wrapping their slick bodies around their struggling victims as they drowned.
I broke through the surface, inhaling deeply. I was worried about the snakes and whatever else was slinking around down there. Thousands of people treaded water in the massive lake, trying to make their way to the shores. The nearest person to me was only ten feet away, a young woman with panicked eyes and wavy black hair. As I watched her, she gave a scream of terror and then was dragged under the surface, struggling and kicking. She never reappeared.
All around me, I smelled the fetid rot of decaying bodies. There must have been thousands and thousands of corpses at the bottom of this bloody lake. Some of them floated on top of the surface, rancid and swollen, their sightless eyes staring up at the fiery sky. The surface of the lake constantly bubbled and writhed, though whether this was from the rotting of so many bodies or from hidden monsters breathing under the surface, I didn’t yet know.
Frantically, I looked around for the nearest shore to get out of the danger. I saw that if I swam past the direction where the young woman had been, I would only have to go about two hundred feet. But my heart hammered in my chest as I remembered her being dragged under, her frantic, panicked struggling. What if the same creature was waiting over there, waiting for someone like me to try to swim over?
There were dozens more people between me and the nearest shore. Most of them climbed out, dripping drops of crimson onto the black volcanic sands of the beaches. I made my way as fast as I could in that direction, deciding to take my chances with the snakes. Otherwise, I would have to swim at least four times as far to get to the next nearest beach, which also swarmed with masses of naked people clawing their way out of the bloody lake.
A small group of people was concentrated only twenty feet away, three men who were swimming in the same direction I was. One started screaming suddenly. A purple tentacle the color of an old bruise broke through the surface of the water. To my horror, I saw it had black spikes that clicked and clacked together all along its massive arms. The spikes resembled long, hollow hypodermic needles.
The screaming man tried to swim in the opposite direction, but the tentacle wrapped around him, pulling him above the water. It tightened like a boa constrictor, the black spikes stabbing into his chest and stomach. Countless punctures opened up all along his body. The black spikes flexed, and his ribcage ripped open with a wet, ripping sound. The man’s screams abruptly cut off as his head lolled. With a sucking sound, the hollow spikes began drinking, consuming the man’s spurting blood with a sound like an inhalation of air. Slowly, almost lazily, the tentacle began dragging his limp corpse under the surface, back towards the main body of whatever monstrosity it belonged to.
The other two gave panicked sobs as more purple tentacles broke through the surface of the lake. Frantically, I started swimming around them, giving them a wide berth. Within seconds, the other two men were dragged under, deep stab wounds opening in their bodies as the hollow spikes drank greedily with loud sucking sounds.
“Fuck!” I cried, horrified. I felt something brush past my leg, something slimy and eel-like that writhed and slithered under the opaque crimson surface. In horror, I felt its slimy skin wrap around my leg, at first loosely slithering, then tightening. Two black faces with white, lidless eyes rose out of the water, the faces of serpents with fangs like switchblades. I saw both heads were connected to a single slithering body, one that wrapped slowly around my legs and arms, strangling me. Screaming, I felt its fangs dig into my neck. As the twin pairs of lidless white eyes stared at me, I tried to fight, tried to raise my arm, but it was far too strong. It dragged me under the surface.
Struggling against the beast, feeling its poison coursing through my bloodstream like lava, I drowned in the lake of blood. The experience of drowning is horrifying beyond all measure- the overwhelming fear and anxiety when you realize you have no air, the sensation of inhaling the bloody water, the sensation of dying. My vision turned black as a suffocating, clenching fist squeezed my heart. It felt like it took an eternity, but it was probably only a couple minutes at most. Death came over me then, cold and filled with small, suffocating agonies. That was the first time I died in Hell, but it would not be my last.
For in Hell, as I quickly learned, you never truly died, but were just thrown back to the beginning.
***
I felt myself falling again through the black clouds, the Lake of Blood beneath me. It all repeated like before. I screamed as I fell through the water at an incredible speed. Eldritch monstrosities were dragging people under the surface all around me. As quickly as I could, I swam towards the nearest shore. I dared not look down, didn’t dare slow for a single moment. A few times, I was nearly swiped by large, writhing tentacles, but they found other shrieking victims nearby to my immense relief.
I didn’t want to die ever again. It was a horrible sensation, though one that I would, sadly, become used to. Death followed me like a shadow, and starting over in Hell was always a nightmare.
I gave a gasp of joy when my feet touched bottom. Running through the rippling currents of blood, naked and gasping, I came upon the black sands of the shore. Looking around the lake, I saw there were four beaches, seemingly placed at each point of the compass underneath the spinning, blood-red sky.
At the end of each of the black sands lay a sparkling silver gate fifty feet tall and hundreds of feet across. The thin strands of silver intertwined like the fine filaments of a spiderweb, spiraling around each other in graceful, curving arches. Embossed over the top were the words, “ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE.” No one seemed to pay the gate any mind. Naked crowds of struggling people stumbled through it onto the streets of Hell, streets that were paved with human bones and stretched off to the horizon.
Skyscrapers made of obsidian with spiraling windows like the murderholes of a castle stretched hundreds of stories up into the blood-red sky. As I staggered out, pressed body to body in the thick crowd of crying, wailing people, I saw ahead of us the second mortal danger of Hell.
There were countless gangs of mostly men gathered on the streets of bone, the desperate soldiers of this apocalyptic wasteland. They huddled together in groups of ten or twelve, attacking and murdering random people who tried to sprint past from the Lake of Blood. They wore crude leather tunics and pants that looked like they were made from human skin. Some wore crude masks of human skin on their faces, ragged patches of flesh that had been cut from the bodies of the dead. They stared out with cold, emotionless eyes through the holes in the dried, leathery skin, surveying the surging crowds like lions surveying their prey.
They held primitive weapons in their hands, clubs and maces made from bone, swords sharpened from obsidian glass and even wooden spears. The wood looked strange and dark, almost like mahogany. Next to them were fires with sharpened spits of roasting human meat. The fat dripped off the dismembered arms and legs sizzling over the flames. It gave off a smell like roast pork that permeated the area, rising up in thick, fragrant clouds.
I followed the surging crowds, watching in horror as the groups of armed men attacked and killed random passersby in the crowd, dragging their limp bodies next to the fires where they stacked the unconscious or dead people in stacks like cordwood. I figured they would inevitably roast their flesh for food or make pale leather armor from their dead skin. I felt myself being pushed over in the direction of the nearest group of armed thugs. A few of the nearest men wore masks made of people’s faces, though those behind them did not, only wearing the crude leather armor instead.
One of them standing only ten feet away met my eyes, his cold killer’s gaze boring through me. The mask of skin made him look like some monster from a horror movie, with its ragged, mutilated edges and garish black stitches. He took a step towards me, raising a short spear made from a human leg bone and sharpened to a blood-stained point.
In panic, I looked around, seeing a young woman in her early twenties standing next to me. She was looking straight ahead with panic and terror in her eyes, not paying any attention to me or the men that crept towards us. With all of my strength, I shoved the woman towards the masked killer. She stumbled back in surprise, falling into the man’s weapon. His bone spear stabbed through her stomach. She looked down at her naked body in horror when the point emerged from her navel, dripping rivers of blood down her trembling legs. As she spit up trickles of blood and collapsed to her knees, I ran. A sickening crack rang out behind me like a shattering of bones, and I knew they had murdered the young woman.
I sprinted away from the gangs of cannibal killers as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast considering how many naked, screaming bodies pressed in all on me from all sides. I felt myself being carried forward by the surging masses towards the silver gate. Hanging from the delicate silver threads, I saw signs written in many languages. I found one in English and started reading it with rapt attention, even as I was relentlessly pushed forward and elbowed and kicked.
I still remember what it said by heart.
“Rules for Naraka:

1. Those who are damned will be fed from the fountain of life. GOD will ensure your rebirth at the Lake of Blood. Though death may crush you over and over, there will be no rest.
2. Stay away from the Screamers, the faceless ones who roam the land. Those who are taken by the Screamers will know endless torment and madness in the caverns deep under the ground.
3. When the sirens in the center of Naraka wail, the firestorms are coming. Seek shelter immediately.
4. Those rare ones who ascend the silver spire at the end of Naraka may find salvation, even in the city of shadows.”

As I was pushed forward, I read the sharp, copperplate engraving scrawled across the silver signs in glowing red letters, trying to memorize every single word. At the time, none of it made much sense, but I instinctively felt that it was immensely important in some way I didn’t yet understand.
Immediately outside the gate, the beach turned into a road paved with bones. Leg bones and arm bones were laid side by side, yellowing and drying under the dark crimson sky. Skulls embedded in the center of the road grinned up at me, laughing at silent secrets I could never hope to comprehend.
Naked and barefoot, I sprinted down the road of bones between massive skyscrapers of black obsidian and gleaming red volcanic rock. People started to thin as the survivors scattered in all directions. I felt the sharp points of bone stabbing into the soles of my feet.
That was the moment the sirens began their eerie wailing, rising and falling in a dissonant cacophony, slower and deeper than any tornado siren I had ever heard. It sounded almost like a whale call, stretching out over the infernal city. They sounded from all around us, seemingly ringing out from thousands of speakers hidden throughout the obsidian towers.
I looked up suddenly. The crimson sky had changed rapidly, forming into a cyclone that swirled overhead in great black and red spirals. It met in a fiery eye at the center. As I looked up, I saw glowing orange hail soaring through the air, leaving behind streaks like thousands of comets. It fell towards the naked masses of tens of thousands of bodies pressed together on the streets.
At that moment, I remembered the rules. Some of the others apparently hadn’t read them during the panic and horror of the escape from the Lake of Blood, and they continued surging forward down the road as fire began to fall like drops of napalm all around us. Wails of agony rose up from those who were covered in the glowing lava. The people in the front of the crowd immediately fell under the heat and destruction of the firestorm. Their hair lit on fire, their skin melted and blackened, and still more fire rained down from the sky, sweeping relentlessly in our direction.
I saw an obsidian skyscraper with a great, open archway only a couple hundred feet away. The nearest of the crowd scrambled to find cover under the safety of the building. I sprinted along with them. As I reached the threshold, I felt the first burning drops of magma land on my back. I screamed as I smelled my own skin cooking and my own hair burning, and then I was through the archway. I fell, rolling on my back, trying to put out the sizzling fires that burned me like some corrosive acid.
I felt rivers of warm blood running down my back as more people ran past me, deeper into the hall. The skyscraper was massive, not only in height but in width. The hallway ran for hundreds of feet, disappearing into doorless thresholds on both sides cleaved out of the obsidian, as if the entire structure had been carved from one enormous piece of glassy stone. In the center of the hallway, it opened up into a spiraling staircase.
I looked up abruptly to see three men wearing masks made of human skin standing over me, each holding primitive bone spears in their filthy, blood-stained hands. They looked emaciated, wasted away, like the walking corpses of a death camp. To my utter astonishment, even through the layer of dried, ragged skin, I recognized one of them. It was in his gray eyes, and the twisting dragon tattoos that covered his arms and chest instantly brought a flash of memory.
“Shooter,” I said as they raised their weapons. “Shooter, it’s me. Remember me? It’s Richie.” He froze in place, looking down at me with widening eyes.
“Holy shit, Richie?” he said, tearing the mask off. “What are you doing here?” It was an absurd question, of course. What were any of us doing here?
The last time I had seen Shooter, he had been sitting a pile of blood in his car. He was one of the designated gunman for the Solid Ones, the gang we had both joined when we were young. The amazing luck of finding another Solid in this place of death was astounding. But, then again, I had known many people who had died, and I had a feeling the vast majority were here somewhere.
“I guess I died,” I said sheepishly, giving him a faint half-smile. The other two men standing by his side lowered their weapons. “Fucking pigs came in and shot me.”
“Ah, yeah,” he said, unsurprised. “They do have a tendency to do that.” He gave a low laugh. I took a long look at Shooter, who was wearing the pale skin of some unknown victim or victims of this place of agony. He reached a trembling hand down and pulled me up from the smooth surface of this strange skyscraper. More naked, scared people continued to stream past us as the sirens continued their infernal shrieking outside. Many of them had horrific burns all over their body, and a few were clearly on the verge of death by the time they had made it inside.
Farther down the hall, another ten men wearing the same garb as Shooter came towards us, holding sharpened swords of obsidian and thick clubs made of bone. Shooter put his hands up.
“Hey, I know this guy,” he said calmly, motioning over to me with an apathetic wave of his head. “He was in the same gang as me! We used to go around having a great time, I’ll tell you. Remember that time we shot at that cop and he pissed himself?” He gave a racuous laugh at that. I smiled as the memory flooded back. Shooter had definitely hit him, though I think I probably missed. I remembered the blood soaking over the arm of cop’s uniform as he lay there, gasping and turning white, his face looking bloodless and shocked. Shooter and I had run away, high-fiving each other and grinning like maniacs.
“Yeah, I do,” I said, grinning. The other men surrounded me in a semi-circle. Shooter knelt down and extended a hand to me, helping me off the ground.
“Well, you’re in good company,” he said. “Here, we can do whatever the fuck we want. What’s going to happen, after all? It’s not like we can be sent to Hell.” He laughed, and that laughter writhed with the insanity and bloodlust that seemed to be eating him from the inside like a cancer.
***
“We still need to take him to the Sergeant,” one of the masked men next to Shooter said. “We can see if he has the right stuff needed to fight with us.”
“What happens when you guys die?” I asked. “I mean, obviously, you restart at the Lake of Blood, but how do you find your way back to your gang?” Shooter shrugged.
“We always find each other again eventually,” he said. “It’s not like there’s any lack of time here. All we have is time- and fresh meat, of course. There’s always more fresh meat streaming in through the Lake of Blood. We can take whatever we need from them…” The wailing of the sirens suddenly ended as he spoke. I looked around, seeing burnt and dying people still struggling into the front hallway of the skyscraper. The smell of burning hair and searing flesh filled the entire area.
“Come on,” one of the men said. His voice was gruff, as if he had been chainsmoking five packs a day since he was a little kid. “The Sergeant is on the top floor. You’ll have to talk to him.” I nodded, knowing they would certainly kill me if I did not join their group.
But at that moment, something much worse than dying, blackened bodies crawled in through the archway. I saw it before the group of men did. Instinctively upon glimpsing it, I knew it was something terrible, something that could only live in the depths of a psychotic’s nightmare.
It stood nearly ten feet tall. Its skin was as pale as a writhing maggot. On its hairless face, I saw no eyes, no nose, no ears, just smooth, bone-white skin. It had thin lips tied together with black thread, the garish stitches poking out from the ragged, bloodless flesh. Its arms and legs looked inhumanly long and thin. Its ribs and spine jutted out as if it were a starving, rabid animal. From all around its body, an inhuman wailing started, as if dozens of demonic voices were shrieking in unison. Yet its mouth stayed firmly closed, still stitched shut.
Its fingers jutted out like railroad spikes, each a foot long. As its screaming intensified, it ran towards us, crushing the dying and injured under its naked, twisted feet. I stared into its pale, bloodless face, and even though it had no eyes, it felt like it stared straight back at me, looking into my soul.
“Don’t look at it!” Shooter screamed next to me, turning his face away. The rest of the men closed their eyes or turned away, backpedaling away from the abomination. “It will take on the shape of what you fear most! It’s a Screamer!” But it was too late. At that moment, something strange happened to the pale, naked body of the Screamer. It rippled like a mirage sizzling off the sands of a desert. Its body squeezed and contorted as the distorted shrieking around its pale, naked body grew louder and more insane.
Thin stalks of black, spidery legs began jutting out of the sides of its chest. Its face melted like wax as glittering compound eyes sprouted from the top of its head. Within seconds, it had turned into a massive spider, a black widow whose head nearly scraped the ceiling twenty feet above us. The red hourglass on its back shone brightly, as if in reminder of the imminent death it brought to anyone it touched.
I hate spiders. I’ve always hated spiders. When I saw that skittering, crawling monstrosity, something in me broke. I sprinted towards the group of men who were trying to do their best to escape without looking directly at the Screamer, hoping that the spider would choose one of them instead of me. But I heard its massive bulk following closely behind me. I could feel its insectile breath on the back of my neck.
Naked and frantic, I sprinted behind the nearest of the men and used the same tactic I had used escaping through the silver gate: I pushed the unsuspecting figure towards the abomination that rushed towards us in a blur, its eight legs pounding the glassy floor with reverberating thuds.
Drops of clear venom dripped from its fangs as it grabbed the struggling man. It bit deeply into his leg, and as the venom dripped onto his skin, it seemed to eat through his flesh like some sort of acid. The man screamed as red streaks rapidly spread up his leg throughout the rest of his body. His teeth began chattering and his pupils dilated as he stared at me accusingly. But he did not die.
The spider grabbed him and dragged him away down the hallway, down to wherever the victims of the Screamers go. I saw a dozen more of the pale, faceless monstrosities rushing in to take his place. The men looked up, and the Screamers erupted into monstrous shapes: giant, slithering snakes, a floating eyeball with black, squid-like tentacles writhing around its central mass, enormous brown recluses and black widows and faceless Grim Reapers who floated over the ground in black robes. The overwhelming sense of fear and panic I felt at that moment still stays with me to this day, and even though this happened a couple days ago and I did eventually make it out of that den of horrors, it still leaves a deep scar across my mind.
As visions from a nightmare approached us, I turned and ran.

Es idea mía, o últimamente muchas casas productoras de animación, se tomaron a reto eso de priorizar la cantidad por encima de la cantidad. Asiendo que eso disminuye el formato episodio con fines de entretenimiento, para dar lugar priorización de las historias?
Porque si ése es el caso, creo que es debido al salto que se a dado de la TV al striming, + la demanda de calidad sobre cantidad, que se a dado durante estos últimos años, y + el costo actual que lleva producir una serie animada.
No sé yo pero... Creo que ya nadie vé las series de ahora, pensando que van a pasar un buen rato entretenido. Al menos que:
1) Allan visto reseñas o críticas positivas en internet.

 O 

2)Sea una serie vieja allan visto antes.
No sé, me gustaría saber que piensan al respecto.

"Lewandowski is going to take 32m salary next season! What's this insanity!? Kick him out and leave yourself Xavi!"
Manipulation, after manipulation, after manipulation. Trying to cause division once again because Barca "fans" are experts in inhaling every single news from Madrid media. The favorite media of the average Barca fan is Real Madrid TV.
After the absurd, nonsense about a 19 year old kid recently arrived and recovered from a long injury not being a starter and half the "fanbase" throwing a tantrum now begins another story.
They tell you Lewandowski's salary, because they looked at his contracts and know it personally. Even more, they tell you in small letters that it is the BRUTE salary. When they read you the salary of other players it is always net salary, the tradition has always been talk in net terms.
In Barca they tell you the brute salary. So that you see it and knowing your lack of critical thinking jump and say "What is this!? Our salaries are higher! How is Lewandowski on a 30m salary!" Yes and guess what most big team stars are on a 40m - 50m salary if they also told you the brute amount. That's the trick. Their salaries are always net. Ours are always brute. So you say ours bad, theirs good.
But that's what we deal with. Barca is alone against the world, not only does it have to compete against the Spanish state, it also has to deal with the group of extreme haters also known as the "Barca fanbase". In the media there are no "Guler case", no "Eden Hazard case", no "Brahim case" that always gives masterclasses and Ancelotti keeps benching him, no "Rodrygo case" or "Endrick case" because nobody knows where are they going to play when Mbappe arrives.
No case about that, but there is "Roque case", "Lewandowski case", "De Jong case", etc.

Tengo pensado vender mi TV, para cambiarme a una más grande (con la que tengo, tengo que forzar la vista y me costó mucho dinero), pero el problema es que no encuentro a ninguna tienda que me pueda hacer el favor de venir a recoger la vieja y comprármela.
El problema es que no tengo carnet de conducir, vivo en Barcelona, por lo que uso transporte público y no puedo llevarla a ningún lado por mi mismo, porque es de 55" y pesa mucho.
He llamado a varias tiendas de segunda mano y ninguna me la vendría a recoger, la tendría que llevar yo.
Venderla en Wallapop no me fío para algo tan caro. Recientemente casi me estafan con algo que he vendido y prefiero olvidarme de cualquier problema.
¿Alguna solución?

Es un post muy largo asi que si tienen problemas de atencion y retentiva por mantener en tiktok no lean: Tema solo para mentes intelectuales con materia gris. Con coeficiente alto lol
Tenemos un amigo en muy altas esferas de lo militar. Ese militar que conocemos vive ahora en USA porque, con Petro en el poder y viendo cómo iban las cosas, decidió salirse. El mancito es de mucha, mucha plata. Pero él tiene buen conocimiento de todo lo que pasa en esos altos rangos de lo militar-ejército. Él es de demasiado tiempo y contactos. Él nos comentó que todas las fuerzas están vendidas. No hay esperanzas de que ellos se vayan contra Petro. Los generales todos están vendidos. La guerrilla les está dando resto de plata y los narcos. La policía y el ejército totalmente arrodillados. Corrupción a tope. El gobierno más corrupto y sucio que puede haber.
El señor nos dijo que fuéramos mirando cómo irnos del país porque si esto sigue así, esto se va a volver peor que Venezuela y las intenciones de Petro son claras: una dictadura. Que es probable una guerra civil porque así Petro sabe que puede acomodarse en el poder.
Yo esas palabras las quemo y manifiesto es algo muy bonito para el futuro. Como colombianos no vamos a dejar que nos pase lo de los venezolanos, cubanos o argentinos. Vamos a luchar por este país. Aqui la gente buena somos mas. Todas esas cabras fans de él van hacia un precipicio. Todas caerán y nuestro país se salvará. El petrismo y el uribismo ya no dan para más. El país merece algo mejor. También qué asco ese partido verde. Aunque por ahora el enemigo es Petro y ese pacto horrible. El país de Shakira y Encanto seguirá vivo.
Posteo esto aquí porque el otro sub, aunque lo ame y a los mods tambien, es de personas que viven en una burbuja de privilegio. Siempre ignoran este tipo de temas politicos y creen que sus vidas seguirán tranquilas y chill ignorando el fuero en la otra habitacion. Llaman a todos alarmistas y se creen super criticos. No saben la amenaza que se está viniendo para Colombia. Cuando empiecen los retenes y secuestros ahí sí estarán llorando. Ya en la zona donde esta la finca de mi abuelita ya hay panfletos,amenazas y peticiones de vacuna. Eso no se veia desde los 90s parce.
Yo soy LGBTI,joven y muy liberal, pero me siento muy orgulloso de no haber votado por esto en las pasadas eleccioenes. ¡Qué monstruosidad de gobierno! lleno de escandalos y de lo mas bajo. Shame a todos los de mi hermosa comunidad Gay que aún siguen detrás de ese señor lleno de cosas malas y gente tan inmunda como pizarro. Que tan ignorante puede uno ser con alguien tan horrible.
Colombianos que aún tienen corazones con algo de moralidad, ¡luchemos por el país!
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Hallo zusammen,
im Rahmen meiner Masterarbeit führe ich eine Umfrage zum Thema „Nutzung von Nachrichtensendungen“ durch. Dafür brauche ich Nutze-innen der Tagesschau oder von ARD Brisant. Ich würde mich sehr freuen, wenn ihr daran teilnehmt. https://sosci.zdv.uni-mainz.de/MarkenwertTV/
Die Umfrage dauert ca. 10 Minuten.
Vielen Dank schon einmal!

Tipo teve uns anos q eu tavo num provedor aí a internet caia toda hora véi Tavo de saco cheio mesmo a internet tendo bastante mega, mais caia fora do normal, aí chega um certo dia provavelmente amigos de alguém que tem contato com esse provedora num passe de mágica a internet parou cair incrível, e tipo pra min descobrir q o cara deu uma facilada deixou o som caixinha d som no alto e sincronizado com minha tv, tbm não era só a tv o cara deu facilada q eu via no computador tbm, aí a internet já não era das boas larguei mão. Provavelmente nunca mais voltou nesse provedor pod mudar o nome o dono etc...

Manos, estava vendo umas paradas aqui. Estava escutando música, e fui escutar uns raps, até que o Spotify me levou pra música "Favela Vive 5". Eu já tinha escutado a 4, anos atrás, e eu já sabia que a faixa era extremamente enviesada, mas eu não era tão sensato e politizado na época para me importar tanto; mas, hoje fui escutar novamente, e tive uma surpresa não tão surpreendente: as pessoas ODEIAM a polícia, principalmente os "negros", que cantam tanto o ódio pela polícia nos funks, raps, traps, etc. Pô, eu moro em SP, e mais de 70% do contingente da PM é de pessoas pardas, e mais de 15% são de pessoas pretas. Eu moro na ZL de SP, em um bairro que não é favela, mas não é nobre. Eu diria classe média beeeem média mesmo. Sempre fui um dos mais pobres da minha sala de escola pública; sou branco, mas não sou "privilegiado". Nessas músicas, além de incitar ódio à polícia, incitam o ódio aos brancos no geral (que não sejam de esquerda), e não são só nas músicas. Você vê na TV, redes sociais, música, filme, série, tudo. Uma das coisas que eu mais fico pensando (tratando-se da atualidade) são as pessoas que apoiam a Palestina (Hamas). Mano, hoje lendo alguns posts no Reddit (não vou dizer onde, rs) vi galera dizendo que o "genocídio palestino" era um segundo Hol0causto; vi também uma pessoa falando que conheceu um ex-soldado do exército de Israel anos atrás, e que esse soldado tinha orgulho de ser do exército de Israel, mas que ele deveria ter vergonha de dizer aquilo, porquê era como dizer que era um ex-soldado nazista. ?????? Não tô entendendo porra nenhuma mais. Ou eu sou muito burro, ou eu sou muito louco e virado da cabeça. RS sofrendo, e gente fazendo vídeo zombando de "bolsominion" na água, o show da Madonna que foi basicamente um filme pornô satânico em plena praia carioca. Jornalista falando que a Madonna era mais importante que o desastre no Sul. Onde o Brasil vai parar? E não é só o Brasil, o problema de valores inversos é no mundo todo. E isso é tão sem sentido que dá vontade de se jogar na frente de um caminhão. Deixo aqui minha indignação. A humanidade falhou, em todos os sentidos. Podre de mais.

Hola soy muy fan de la banda de kpop big bang y recuerdo que por allá del 2016 o 2017 salió aquell documental recopilatorio de su tour y bueno a lo que vengo, recuerdo que tiempo después de su estreno salió en la TV de paga justo en el canal de Paramount Chanel y está contaba con un doblaje en español latino cosas que me pareció raro ya que cuando la vi en el cine la vi con su títulos y eran como 3 funciones nomás con subtítulos, el chiste aquí es que después de largo tiempo quise verla en español latino y no la encontré y se me hizo curioso ya que la busque en Paramount y tampoco y vaya que en su tiempo la transmitieron algunas veces, nunca pude verla completa al español latino por qué para ese tiempo yo iba a la prepa por lo que solo llegue a ver fracmentos de dicha película y al tratar de buscar el reparto o asi no encuentro ni quién dobloa los artistas ni nada acaso será un lost media? Me gustaría volverla a ver

Tere! So I have recently received a very decent job offer and I think I will sign it. This means relocating to Estonia and I have some questions. I don't expect a single one of you to answer them all, but every bit of help is appreciated.
1) the company offers RSUs (shares vesting over time). How are they taxed? Income tax (20%, soon 22%) the moment I sell? 2) how good is universal healthcare? Is it recommended I get private insurance? 3) how do you guys get stuff shipped to Estonia? I know you can use amazon.de, but are there other tricks/websites I should know about? 4) say I want to get an Estonian mobile number, what is a good provider? 5) if I rent a flat with a TV, am I forced to pay for channels? 6) I want to be a good expat and learn the language. Any duolingo alternatives I should be aware of? 7) any recommendation for a place doing laser hair removal? Tallinn prices are an incentive to finally get rid of my back hair. 8) can I get a gun license as a foreigner? Don't worry I am not a psycho I just enjoy the shooting range when I am stressed.
Thank you so much!

https://preview.redd.it/7vb2xjxyf1zc1.png?width=1366&format=png&auto=webp&s=62d075f92fa46bfd600cc2f1ddf347617de0ce7f
Here's how to make your Spotify (desktop app) look wayyy better than the original one, and still have all the functionality of spotify.

1. Uninstall current Spotify, Install again from here, using the directly installing method (NOT the store one)
2. Keep Spotify open, and don't login
3. Go to Spicetify, and copy the first powershell command.
4. Search for powershell in your windows search, and paste this command.
5. Press Y when prompted to install marketplace
6. Spotify will releaunch, login now.
7. You will now see a marketplace tab too. Click on it
8. Search for full screen in extensions (i used the one with a red thumbnail, don't remember the name). Install it, and reload now.
9. Install Lyrics plus from this link, by copying the powershell command.
10. On your homepage, you will see a new tv shaped icon on the top, next to the back buttons, and a full screen icon next to the volume button. Press on any of these to enter this mode.
11. Use f or t to switch between two versions of the mode. Right click on any empty space to set your interface as you like. Mine is album art background, with 30% blur and 60% brightness.

I hope this helps everyone. My Spotify experience is so much better after this!! There are alot of other fun extensions too, like songs ratings and notes.
(If you are not experienced in tech and software in general and don't know basic troubleshooting, then it's best not to fvck around with stuff.)

Eu queria entender, quais os motivos de demorar tanto pra certas produções ficarem disponíveis pra nós ? Eu entendo quando é um produto pra TV e tem a questão de exclusividade e tal... Mas produções feitas pra streaming não faz sentido, não parece uma decisão inteligente, não seria melhor aproveitar o hype de fazer um lançamento global ?