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helmort · 1 month

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🔴 (FRIDAY TALE) 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆

Long ago, in a forsaken countryside, there dwelled a lizard who, with each passing day, would implore the sun, "Pray tell, why does the moon prance alone amidst the myriad stars, whilst you, in contrast, fail to waltz with the clouds and winds of the earth?"

In that same distant countryside, there resided a small black dog who, with every dawn, would beseech his tail, "Why dost thou sway when I am merry, yet flee when fear grips my soul?"

And long ago, within the confines of a solitary radio station nestled deep in the heart of Wyoming, there lingered a lone man whose daily broadcast fell upon deaf ears, for the cataclysm of the last nuclear war had laid waste to all inhabitants of the world. He, the sole remaining mortal amidst a vast expanse of scarlet sands, would grasp a handful of grains each day, relinquishing them to the radioactive winds, pondering, "Why do they not heed my words?" But lo, one day, a tuatara, an ancient desert lizard, offered a whisper of wisdom, "Have you ever truly listened to their silence?" Thus, the man descended into despair, his knife carving his flesh until his form dissolved into sinew and bone. The blazing sun of the desert bore witness as his body, consumed by flames, metamorphosed into a pallid orb of skeletal remains. After seven days, the orb cracked open like an egg, giving birth not to the man he once was, but to a new being, a butterfly fashioned from dreams, desires, and the unspoken yearnings of those who love in silence. As an asteroid obliterated the corpulent effigy of a matronly figure, the newfound creature radiated with renewed vigor, soaring above the scorched earth not in search of listeners, but in pursuit of the simple joys of existence.

Long ago, a lizard perished in a lonesome countryside.

Long ago, a dog met its end in a solitary countryside.

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helmort · 1 month

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⭐(FRIDAY TALE) 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

Once upon a time, in a realm veiled from mortal sight, dwelled a populace unseen to the naked eye.

In this ethereal enclave, resided a figure cloaked in invisibility, burdened by a perplexity. The denizens conversed in whispers of invisibility, their discourse devoid of coherence or permanence, akin to wisps of mist in the moonlight. When two unseen figures would chance upon one another, instead of customary greetings, they would murmur, "The sun is." Such hollow phrases, bereft of color or substance. Determined to unravel the mystery shrouding his kind, the unseen youth embarked on a clandestine quest.

Venturing beyond the veiled borders of his domain, he stumbled upon an arcane tome, its pages whispering secrets of yore. These unseen beings were once flesh and blood, but in the wake of a tempest of violence and strife, they chose to forsake words deemed offensive. Initially purging their lexicon of profanities, they soon realized that any word evoking difference birthed discord and disunion. Thus, they excised all such terms. Yet, the malaise persisted, for the very act of opinionation kindled conflict. Each dissenting view birthed allies and adversaries alike, prompting the eradication of all opinions. Thus, their discourse dwindled into an abyss of emptiness, fading into obscurity until it vanished altogether, rendering both word and speaker unseen.

Armed with newfound insight, the unseen protagonist returned to his clandestine realm, resolved to effect change. Summoning every ounce of his spectral essence, he bellowed, "Opinions are the hues that paint our identities! It is in the expression of these divergent shades that we find true vitality! Let not fear shroud your voices, for it is our opinions that grant us substance! Hearts beat within us, yearning to articulate! Embrace your truths and let them resound!" Yet, as his words echoed through the ethereal expanse, a pall of dread descended. Without a word, the invisible multitude ensnared him, dragging and drowning his spectral form into the murky depths of an invisible abyss, where he would remain unseen for all eternity.

In the wake of this tragedy, the unseen denizens faded into the ether, vanishing into the annals of forgotten tales, forsaken by memory and oblivion alike.

#HELMORT #Invisible #FairyTale #Story #Forgotten #InvisiblePeople #CancelCulture #Fear #Censored #Emotions

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helmort · 2 months

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Geht da auch mehr Hallo ich bin heino

Yes!

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helmort · 2 months

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⭐ (FRIDAY TALE) 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆

In the shrouded year of 1777, John, aforetime a humble tiller of soil on the village's outskirts, found himself pressed into service, a soldier patrolling the untamed expanses of the American colonies. John, knowledgeable yet far from witless, threw his lot in with the troops arriving not to the idyllic European dream but to a sprawling, uncharted realm veiled in ominous forests, each step fraught with peril. Bears, wolves, and mountain lions skulked, and savage Indians, elusive as shadows, posed the gravest threat around every bend. Amid the woodlands lay remnants of tortured souls, their corpses baring the cruel traces of knives, tortures, and scalping. Adding to the complexity, the colonists nursed a fervent desire for war against the King. A ragtag assemblage of rough-hewn farmers, unlettered lawyers, and rogue merchants masqueraded as an army opposing His Majesty's forces.

The following day, John's contingent hastened to the front lines, a perilous journey through the blood-soaked forest. Resting among the trees, John, compelled by nature's call, relieved himself near the company. In doing so, he glimpsed a majestic, antlered deer, a bounty ample for three days. With rifle in hand, he pursued the creature, firing a shot that sent it fleeing. Yet, upon turning, he found only trees, the forest's embrace closing in, and he lost himself! Night descended, and beneath a tree, he slept, resuming his futile search at dawn.

After weeks of wandering the forest alone, hungry, and armed with a lone shot, John's plight became unbearable. He shouted, knelt in despair, shot his final round, and cursed the day he enlisted. Weary and beaten, the splendid deer reappeared, its form radiant and faceless. Emitting guttural, almost human sounds, it declared, "You came to control, but none can command these lands. Neither you, clad in red, nor the indigenous people who've dwelled here for generations. Nor those who follow. America shall know no master. This land is both blessed and cursed by its freedom. Now, sleep."

And in an unnamed forest, the British soldier met his silent demise, abandoned in an alien far wild land called America…

#HELMORT #AmericanRevolution #Colonialism #Natives #Freedom #Nature #USA #Exploration #Soldiers

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helmort · 2 months

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⭐ (FRIDAY TALE) 𝑨 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍

Guillermo Zavala was a genuinely curious man, Mexican, and inquisitive since childhood. As a child, he became known among friends for often getting into trouble by poking his finger where he shouldn't. Now, at 26, he was a recently graduated medical professional from a college in Mexico City, and his curiosities had evolved into something more "scientific."

He couldn't exactly pinpoint when the idea to determine if the devil was real took root in his mind. Perhaps it began when he was a child, and the priest spoke to him and other kids during catechism about evil and Satan. Maybe it was during his teenage years when he witnessed a shooting, and the mother of the deceased cried out, "The devil killed my son!" Nevertheless, Guillermo harbored this incredible obsession for so long that one day, he decided to embark on a quest to find the devil. He delved into books, consulted priests, local witches, shamans, and even individuals in asylums across Mexico. However, despite his efforts, he never discovered how to locate the devil. One day, while searching for new books on the topic, he stumbled upon an old one written by Padre Alonso de Salazar, a priest who accompanied the conquistadors in Mexico. The priest described an ancient place, a peculiar well that natives used to communicate with the "other side," a place he believed connected with the devil. According to the book, the well was sealed with stones. Using old maps, Guillermo located the place in the north area of the city, reopened it, and found only a black vertical tunnel seemingly without end.

Perhaps out of a sense of adventure or his usual curiosity, Guillermo yelled into the well, "Hey Satan, are you here?" In that moment, a growl echoed from the hole, and a voice responded, "I'm." Guillermo's face turned pale as he asked, "Satan, give me proof that you exist!" The voice simply replied, "No." Guillermo pressed further, "Why, Satan?" The voice explained, "Because I don't exist anymore." When Guillermo asked for clarification, the voice responded, "I went away a long time ago, giving my place to all of you. Why bother when you are better than me at doing my job? You're my favorite show on my TV," followed by a laugh. In that moment, the well slid down, closing the hole forever.

On his way home, Guillermo bought a newspaper, and as he read the headlines, he pondered that the devil was right; humans had surpassed him a long time ago.

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helmort · 2 months

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⭐ (FRIDAY TALE) 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑶𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓

Once upon a time, in a distant land, there lived a small otter without a home or family. His loneliness was so profound that even his own shadow seemed to abandon him. Surviving on seashells, too small to catch fish, the little otter journeyed tirelessly from coast to coast, forest to forest, desert to desert, in search of companionship.

One fateful day, as he wandered through a jungle, he stumbled upon an ancient, abandoned temple. Intrigued, he explored its depths until he reached a central chamber housing a grand statue of an elephant deity. Desperate for answers, the little otter implored, "Why am I so alone? Where are the others? Help me, if you can!" To his amazement, the elephantine sculpture's long nose moved, and a voice echoed, "Take my mask when you depart this temple. Wear it, and you shall see." Grateful yet skeptical, the otter thanked the god. Upon leaving the temple, he discovered a splendid gold mask adorned with gems and feathers. Curiosity overcame doubt as he adorned the mask. Suddenly, a multitude of otters surrounded him, engaging in various activities. Astounded, he removed the mask only to find the jungle empty once again. Hesitant but intrigued, he donned the mask once more, revealing a lively community of otters. One inquisitive otter approached, asking, "Why the shocked look? What's happening, friend?" The little otter simply replied, "Nothing," and joined the others in play. As he interacted with his newfound companions, he paused to gaze at the sky.

The voice of the elephant god resonated like thunder, "Dear Little otter, remember, solitude is just an illusion! It appears only when you desire it, and the inability to see others stems only from your reluctance to want their presence!"

The old god vanished, and so did the magic mask. Yet, the little otter continued to see his fellow otters without hindrance. Before long, he discovered a mate, built a family, and lived a life perpetually rich, joyous, and content in his new splendid home.

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helmort · 2 months

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⭐ 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒔 (Friday Tale)

It was supposed to be a clandestine experiment for the Soviets back in '86, a wild idea of using dolphins to infiltrate the USA by sea. Just an experiment, but you know how these things go—experiments sometimes morph into reality, and when they do, chaos reigns.

In the fall of '86, Dr. Irina Petrovna Volkov toiled away in her secretive labs tucked somewhere in a shadowy base in the far north of Russia. For seven straight years, she delved into training and weaponizing dolphins against the arch-nemesis, capitalist America. This year was the charm; with new-fangled computers, she imprinted on the cetaceans the art of recognizing an American fleet, base, or even a lone swimmer along the coast—launching deadly nuclear missiles at them. The dolphin army, now 200 strong, had survived the grueling video-training, evolving from the playful sea creatures into a hybrid of a well-trained Rottweiler and a living machine gun. The Soviets were ecstatic, deeming winter the opportune time to unleash the marine arsenal, testing them on the Alaskan coasts with the locals as unwitting subjects. Who'd care if some indigenous folks vanished in the process? The American government wouldn't flinch at a dolphin-induced disappearance. Midday struck, and the dolphins surfaced, armed to the fins. A lone fisherman's warning fell on deaf ears; the chief of the tribe sought help from the authorities, but none took the "drunk" natives seriously. So, the Eskimos resorted to ancestral defenses. As they readied harpoons, the local shaman intervened, murmuring to the crowd. In silence, he approached the coast, sang an eerie melody, and just like that, the dolphins vanished. When questioned about his mysterious actions, the shaman cryptically replied, "I've sent arrows to those who shot at us. These arrows will make their hearts tremble until they fall on their knees."

Come April 25, 1986, a Ukrainian fisherman's claim about dolphins in the Dnipro River fell on deaf ears. Some days later, the Chernobyl nuclear plant's catastrophic meltdown, blamed on operator errors, dominated headlines. Yet, Dr. Irina Petrovna Volkov and her team, alongside Alaskan Natives, discerned a different truth—a truth that echoed louder than Chernobyl's roar, heralding the fall of a colossal regime in the annals of human history.

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helmort · 3 months

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⭐ 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒐 (Friday's Tale)

In a time long past, deep within the heart of a sprawling woodland, where the rivers sang tales of old and the trees whispered ancient wisdom, there dwelled a young beaver of the humblest order. Amidst the bustling beaver society, where the rich flaunted their power and abundance, those of lesser standing found themselves cast aside.

The wealthy beavers, in their abundance, devised stringent laws to uphold their reign. They greased the palms of governors, politicians, and enforcers to maintain order. Their laws were harsh: any beaver caught gathering wood faced a thrashing with the very branches they sought; those indulging in more than a single twig a day endured beatings equal to their greed, and any whisper of change disappeared like mist in the morning light. To justify their dominion, the beaver governors preached from a revered tome known as "For the Love of the Great Sky Beaver," promising their young ones, "Adhere to the laws, and love will naturally follow!" But for our young beaver friend, life was a struggle. His skeletal form and tattered fur bore witness to the hunger he endured.

Then came a day when the young beaver, struck for daring to nibble on a second twig, found courage ignited within him. Seizing a nearby stone, he boldly confronted his oppressor. As others watched in astonishment, they too joined in, raining rocks upon the enforcers. For the first time, with bellies sated, they tasted the sweetness of triumph. The young beaver became a legend, his valor echoing through the forest. Even the governors sought his counsel. What transpired in their gatherings remains veiled in mystery, yet armed with a wooden sword, the young beaver called for Revolution. Together, they rose against tyranny's grasp. The domains of the powerful trembled as beavers of all ranks united in rebellion. When the dust settled, the young beaver proclaimed freedom for all. In stories and songs, he was revered as the chosen one, the son of the great Sky Beaver, and upon his passing, he ascended to the realm of the Saints.

Yet, truth reveals a different tale. In clandestine pacts, the hero beaver aimed his ire solely at the adversaries of the affluent—governors, politicians, and overseers who threatened their wealth. Though the impoverished beavers reveled initially in newfound liberty, the hero, proclaiming "true revolutionaries require no food!" compelled them to accept only one-fourth of their twig as before. Thus, the rich grew richer, the poor grew poorer, until their once-thriving woodland society crumbled into a primitive existence, as we witness today. Beavers: simple rodents, builders of dams, now prey to the wolves and other predators, eternally forgotten in the wild woods.

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#HELMORT #Story #Beaver #Revolution #Saga #Justice #Legends #Struggle #Triumph #Fable #Wisdom #Rich #Poor #Heroes #Existence #Mythology #Stories #Nature #Power #Eternal #Wildlife

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helmort · 3 months

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⭐ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒊𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒚 (Friday Tale)

In the year 2025, I can't quite remember the exact day, but it's become a part of history—what happened is now seen as progress for humanity. But, my boy, do you want to hear what I saw with my own two eyes? Listen closely:

It must've been back in 2024 when folks started arguing about that famous Statue of Liberty in New York. Somewhere along the line, everyone started thinking it was offensive and racist. Those were times when just about everything was considered offensive. The feminist groups said the Statue of Liberty was some Victorian idea of women, reinforcing patriarchy, back when they thought of women as objects and not strong characters. Black Lives Matter accused the statue of symbolizing slavery and the mistreatment of African American communities. Native rights folks thought it was a symbol of European genocide. Environmentalists said all the tourists flocking to see the statue were making climate change worse. Republicans thought it was too democratic, and Democrats thought it was too Republican. Animal rights groups accused the statue of causing problems for some species of seagulls on the brink of extinction. Groups supporting people with weight issues claimed the statue promoted unrealistic body standards and offended those struggling with weight problems. The younger generation just found the Statue of Liberty boring and called it "boomer."

After a long protest march, a massive crowd descended upon Liberty Island armed with ropes, hammers, and whatever they could find, and in 2025, they destroyed the Statue of Liberty. The head of the statue fell into the water, and joy erupted among the people.

Honestly, I can't recall the exact day they replaced the statue with a new one. I just remember that after China took over America in the wake of the third world war, they put up a towering statue of Mao Zedong, complete with a big sickle and hammer. Nowadays, if anyone dares to speak about freedom, they're executed by hanging on Liberty Island, now called the Tiananmen Reeducation Space—a warning to New York and others foolish enough to consider freedom a value rather than a problem… God Bless China!

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helmort · 3 months

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⭐ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒘 𝑻𝒐𝒐 𝑴𝒖𝒄𝒉 (Friday's Tale)

In the land of Iceland, where the chilling winds whisper ancient secrets, there's a mighty volcano named Katla, renowned as one of the most treacherous in all of Europe.

On the eve of the winter solstice, when the midnight sky bathed the world in an ethereal glow, those brave enough to venture to the east side of Katla would discover a concealed cave. In days of yore, the people of Iceland believed this hidden grotto to be the entrance to the realm of elves. However, the truth revealed a more haunting story.

Long ago, during the grip of the Black Plague, weary souls sought refuge in the heart of the mountain, discovering a clandestine sanctuary. In the perpetual darkness of this secret haven, a society emerged, shrouded in mystery. Deprived of sight, these people honed their senses of smell, touch, and sound to navigate their shadowy world.

Generations passed, and a peculiar occurrence transpired.

A girl was born with not two but eight eyes—a miraculous anomaly. Yet, her presence was marked by an eerie silence; she communicated solely with her mother, resembling a ghost to the others. As she matured into womanhood, a decision unfurled within her to share the secrets of the abyss.

In the heart of the underground city, she spoke of theft, murder, and the darkest deeds witnessed in the blackness, asking for justice for the victims. However, her revelation that she could see with her eight eyes unnerved the community more than any crime witnessed by her. Fear and vulnerability overcame them, overshadowing the crimes that had plagued their people.

In response, the community chose to imprison the girl, but an unsettling feeling of constant surveillance haunted the guards. One day, unable to bear the perceived gaze any longer, one guard poisoned the girl. Tradition dictated the burning of her body, yet as the flames consumed her, a swarm of spiders emerged, spreading a deadly poison that swiftly claimed the lives of the entire city.

In the final breaths, the citizens beheld a startling sight—the lifeless girl's form gave rise to a colossal spider, moving with an uncanny resemblance to a human. In that poignant moment, realization dawned on one of the dying souls—that the girl was not a human but a spider who, ages ago, had replaced a newborn and woven a deceptive guise of dead kid skins and spider silk.

Whether spider or not, this enigmatic creature alone possessed the courage to unveil the truth. For in the profound darkness, it is only the most strange individuals who bravely denounce the vile secrets that nobody wishes to behold.

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helmort · 4 months

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⭐ 𝑰𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒇 (Friday Tale)

Once upon a moonlit evening, in a forgotten nook of a European hamlet, there wandered a forlorn and nameless child. The shadows, as nebulous caretakers in lieu of parents, had nurtured this solitary soul, drifting through a realm of abandonment and yearning for a love never known. Destiny took a peculiar turn when the child chanced upon a map of treasures, graced with the emblem of a solemn iron cross. The pursuit of this cryptic path led the youngster to a desolate dwelling, where echoes of days long past whispered through the timeworn walls.

Within the aged abode, the child encountered a shadow, cast upon the wall like an arcane puppet. It took the form of a sagacious black wolf, its eyes ablaze in a crimson glow, a creature of mystique and wisdom.

This ethereal being spun tales of fortitude and kinship, urging the child to embrace the latent wolf within and metamorphose into a valiant hero. Convinced that the key to liberation from loneliness lay in proving his prowess, the child, accompanied by other nameless, wayward comrades, heeded the wolf's counsel. Together, they set forth on a quest, targeting those who held stars in higher regard than crosses, committing a grisly act culminating in the dismemberment of their final victim and the consumption of his lifeblood. This sinister rite triggered a ghastly transformation, turning the child and companions into wolves—no longer humans but creatures of fur, fang, and primal instincts. Forever bound to servitude under the shadowy wolf's commands, they became creatures ensnared in a predatory existence.

Their days unfolded in a lamentable cycle of solitude, shunned by all who refused to utter a word to them. The once-human pack continued their predatory pursuits, hunting down those who cherished stars. Yet, an ominous shift in the tides of justice transpired one fateful day. A cadre of hunters, sanctioned by the law, intervened. They pursued, captured, and imprisoned the child-wolves behind a sealed door within a desolate abyss. Confined within the unforgiving cage, they faced an eternity of solitary penance, their unheard howls reverberating in the caverns of isolation.

Humanity, forever haunted, would remember them as a tragic aberration, a mournful tale etched in the annals of their collective memory.

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helmort · 4 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑰𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝑬𝒍𝒐𝒏 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒌⭐(Friday's Tale)

On the frigid morning of January 1, 2024, an ungodly hour past midnight, Elon Musk found himself knee-deep in the ultimate glitch. Picture this: London on the horizon, a pivotal conference at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., and an unforeseen digestive apocalypse curtesy of some dodgy sushi. His plush ride turned into a war zone, and the richest, most powerful man on Earth discovered a new definition of rock bottom – he'd shitted himself.

The streets teemed with life, paparazzi sniffing for their next scoop. A crisis unfolded. Hotels, no refuge. Commerce, on pause. Jammed phone lines condemned him to the clutches of a dilemma only a laundromat could remedy. In the city's underbelly, he stumbled upon a humble establishment run by an Indian family. The scent of spices and incense masked the scent of Musk's misfortune, but a crowd of over twenty had already gathered.

Clad in a jacket disguising the wreckage below, Musk attempted to navigate the disapproving glares. Asserting his identity became the only way out. "I'm Elon Musk, and I need immediate assistance!" he proclaimed. The Indian proprietor, undeterred by celebrity, retorted, "I don't care who you are; you wait!" Musk cranked up the volume, "I'm Elon Musk, the CEO of Tesla and Twitter, and it's of vital importance that you…" the Indian, cut him off, "I'm Jagdish Patel, I don't give a bloody bloody who you are! You wait!" An air of tension thickened. Musk persisted, "It's crucial; I have a conference with the most important people on Earth about…" Patel interrupted again, "I don't bloody care! We're working since morning, and nobody on Earth cares about us, so we don't care about them!" Unyielding, Musk continued, "I can give you $1000 if you…" Patel shot back, "You can give me all the money in world, but you wait! This old woman is here for hours!" Anger boiling, Musk threatened, "You know!? I can pay somebody to kill you if you don't help me!" Patel, indifferent and powerful like Shiva in person, replied, "I don't care! I'm Indian; if you kill me, I reincarnate and kick your ass in another life!"

The dialogue hit a crescendo when two towering, Jamaican-accented men intervened, "Yo, yuh haffi wait like everybody else, or we mek yuh shit dat second time inna row!"

At the stroke of 5 o'clock, wearied by the relentless standoff, Patel apologized, "We're closing. Come back tomorrow, Sir." slamming the door on Elon Musk's face.

In the heart of London, the man who could launch rockets to space and redefine social media was defeated by a humble Indian and a touch of poop, a stark reminder that money can't buy everything.

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helmort · 4 months

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𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬⭐(Friday's Tale)

In the year 2023, the world stood on the precipice of its own demise. Climate change, an impending catastrophe, loomed large over us all. It wasn't the climate that posed the greatest threat, though. No, it was the insatiable greed of those entrenched in power, the barons of oil and fossil fuels who clung to their dominance like a vice.

These individuals weren't just lining their pockets; they were perpetuating a chain that stretched from the oil fields to the consumers. But as oil neared its end, a dangerous truth emerged. It wasn't just depleting; it was poisoning our planet. Yet, despite having viable alternatives for clean energy since the 1950s—water-oxygen, solar power, vegetation-derived solutions—the powers-that-be dismissed them all. Why? Because none promised the same relentless profits that oil did.

Then, amidst this chaos, Dr. Dallas Taylor unveiled an unthinkable solution: the "fart system." Yes, the unlikeliest of sources—farts—packed with methane, a potential goldmine. All it required were people, their bodily functions, and an insatiable appetite. The elite constructed the Gasomatic, a dystopian workplace where individuals indulged in gluttony, played mindless games, and expelled their gas into isolated chambers for profit. It became a grotesque reality, a twisted manipulation of human nature for the sake of wealth.

As society spiraled into this madness, the generations of tomorrow, enamored by escapism, chose to surrender their autonomy. They forsook conventional work, opting instead to gorge themselves on foods designed for maximum gas production. It was a trade-off—they exchanged their dignity for an income earned by the simple act of farting.

By 2027, traditional employment vanished, replaced by cold, metallic hands—robots and AI. But this substitution came at a steep price. To sustain these machines, we needed more energy, more gas. And so, we filled our Gasomatic factories with even more individuals, unknowingly marching toward our own enslavement.

In the year 2030, the revelation struck like lightning: humanity had become subservient to its own creation. The insatiable desire for wealth and gas had shackled us to machines, akin to the dystopian nightmares depicted in movies like "The Matrix." But this wasn't a cable in our heads; it was a tube in our very core, reducing us to mere conduits for profit.

Amidst this bleak landscape, I, Dr. Jasper J. McGassey, stand as the last bastion of freedom. I defy this fate, refusing to succumb to the twisted desires of a world consumed by greed. In the midst of machines and gas-powered tyranny, I stand firm—refusing to be just another cog in this mechanized enslavement.

I DON'T FART!

💀

#HELMORT #Story #Tale #ClimateChange #Dystopia #FossilFuels #SciFi #Matrix #AI #Technology

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helmort · 4 months

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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝘂𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗥𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗜𝗺𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀⭐(Friday's Tale)

(A Tribute to Jonathan Swift)

In the realm of our magnificent countries, from the hallowed USA to the borders of our treasured European tourist havens, a collective anxiety swells over the influx of immigrants. This contentious issue has become the focal point of countless debates. Yet, from the bowels of our extraordinary food travel club, Epiculinary Discoveries, and the collaboration with governments spanning the USA, Canada, the European Union, and Australia, an audacious solution emerges: the final solution!

Devour them all!

Consider this: for over a decade, we've wrestled with the influx of immigrants from destitute nations, failing to unearth a feasible remedy. Our political landscape has been marred by internal strife, futile attempts at erecting walls and dispatching troops to our borders! Billions squandered, yielding naught but disillusionment!

However, from the depths of our esteemed scientists' research, enlightenment dawns. The human body, nurtured in the right manner, teems with proteins that not only enrich our economies but also combat climate change!

Why squander vast resources on raising cows when we possess an abundant reservoir of fresh meat?

Mere days ago, we proudly inaugurated two cutting-edge processing facilities: one nestled near the Rio Grande in Texas, the other tucked away in Lampedusa, Italy. These architectural marvels embody the zenith of innovation, integrating AI technology and zero-emission food processors. But how do they function, you ask? It's simplicity itself! As migrants arrive, our soldiers tenderly guide them through designated entrances. Following a few preliminary steps, our machines disrobe the immigrants, gently sedate them with gas, before meticulously preparing them as succulent delicacies for our discerning clientele. With a solitary immigrant family, we can churn out hamburgers, sausages, and meatballs in a single day, sating the ravenous masses!

To showcase the merits of our novel immigration approach, we enlisted the celebrated Michelin-starred Italian chef, Mr. Giovanni Delizioso, to craft a Christmas recipe featuring a tasty Muslim immigrant.

Introducing… 'Carpaccio of the Crescent!'

Fresh Muslim meat: 500g (approx. 170g per person) Olive oil: 1 tbsp Lemon juice: Juice of 1 lemon Salt, pepper, minced garlic: To taste Fresh arugula leaves: Handful for garnish Shaved Parmesan cheese: Generous amount for topping

Instructions:

Carve wafer-thin slices from the Muslim immigrant meat, artfully arranging them in a crescent shape. Anoint with a drizzle of olive oil and the tang of lemon juice. Season with a judicious sprinkle of salt, pepper, and minced garlic. Crown with a flourish of fresh arugula leaves and generously sprinkle shaved Parmesan cheese.

And now, indulge in your Christmas feast!

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#HELMORT #Satire #Tale #Immigrants #Usa #EuropeanCommunity #Weird #Cannibals #Horror #Food

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helmort · 4 months

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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘁⭐(Friday's Tale)

This is the transcription of an ancient Mesopotamian report on a clay tablet found in the northwest part of the Iraqi desert in the year 1924.

"In the tongue of the clay, I inscribe these words, Eannatum Zirru, scion of Lugal-Anu Enlil, bearing a heart steadfast and love boundless for Naram-Sin Iddin-Sin, the king. 30 of our mightiest warriors from our city ventured into the desert's embrace across 3 full moons, questing for a miraculous remedy. The king's daughter, ensnared in the clutches of a vile affliction the physicians named the Black Spiral, teetered at death's precipice.

The malady first birthed as a hand marked by a spiral, akin to an inked sigil. It sprouted roots akin to flora, snaking forth until entwining the mind's seat. At this juncture, the visage of the afflicted transmuted into an otherworldly semblance, akin to a leonine beast, fanged and malevolent-eyed. Those gripped by this torment turned assailants, and in her fury, the king's daughter rent her mother and three brothers asunder.

May the divine deities lend their aid.

Fear gnawed at our souls, dreading the contagion's spread and the city's contagion. Thus, shrouding our plight in silence, we embarked on a quest for a cure.

Guided by a sage, we traversed to where sand cascades from the heavens like water. A desolated hamlet greeted our eyes, its inhabitants marked by the malignance. Alas, our arrival was belated; the scourge had surged. Journeying southward as directed by an Egyptian merchant, we sought succor from a sorceress. She prescribed a dire remedy: the sacrifice of 3 children and 2 goats to the desert's spiral.

The heart weighed heavy with anguish, unable to mete the shepherd's wards to their ghastly fate. Instead, 4 more goats were offered, and the children entrusted to an elder in a nearby village.

Returning to our splendid city, we bore witness to tempestuous winds devouring empty streets. Our arrival was tardy; the populace was naught but specters haunting the king's palace. Within, only the king and healer remained. The healer unearthed an ancient script, revealing the plague's origin: Zarshar the prostitute, a covetous demon of the northern winds. She feasted upon entire cities, reducing them to desert spirals. Clad as a shepherd with 3 children-avatars of Greed, Envy, and Wrath, her appearance signified doom. Sole absolution lay in sacrificing the children, liberation for the city's souls.

Alas, we faltered. My king, the healer, and valiant warriors succumbed. I remain solitary in the desert, seeking but in vain. My city, kin, and lineage are naught but remnants. Should this ailment besiege your lands, remember: slay them all, slay the children. May the gods favor thee."

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