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tuellertrails · 3 years

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We’re 3 weeks into our hike so far, here are a few things I have learned

- Wake up EARLY in the desert. Because it will get hotter than hell and you will die of heatstroke if you hike in the heat of the day.

- Take your shoes (foot prisons) off at every opportunity. Your feet will thank you

- The higher you go in elevation, the harder the hiking is, the less hot it becomes and the more beautiful the scenery is. The desert has its own kind of beauty, but being in an alpine environment with lots of trees and the smell of sun warmed pine needles is my favorite place to be (besides a comfortable bed watching TV and eating snacks, of course). We’ve had several days of hiking where we’ve done over 5k feet of elevation, and I find that I am particularly prone to swearing and exhaustion on those days 😂. But the incredible views do make up for it somewhat! It’s all part of the experience.

- Ibuprofen (Vitamin I) and Benadryl are a hikers best friend.

- Pack out fresh food whenever you can. Vegetables and fruit have never tasted so good.

- Kindness is EVERYWHERE. We’ve received food, cold drinks, rides, camp chairs to sit in and many other kindnesses from trail angels, other hikers, family members and random people. Everything is appreciated.

Speaking of kindness, we spent several hours one day waiting out the heat of the day in a small hut next to the wind farm made for hot, suffering PCT hikers, with a cooler of cold water for us to enjoy. It was 95* even in the shade 🥵. We did not leave early enough that day, but it gave me the chance to wait out the heat and look at my phone 😂.

Here’s some highlights/points of interest from the last 100+ miles

- We heard a great story from Trail Angel who gave us a ride out of Julian, who heard it from a different hiker that she gave a ride to. So the hiker was hiking down the trail (early on, around mile 15) when he hears a voice say "hello". He looks down and sees a guy laying in the bushes in a sleeping bag with mud on his face. "Oh, uh... hello" the hiker says. The man responds "Would you like to be blessed with magic sand?" And holds up a pile of sand in his hand. The guy wasn't sure if this dude was on drugs, was going to throw the sand in his face or what, and he's contemplating how to side step this very weird man when the dude stands up and reveals that he is completely naked and says "You should really use mud. It makes the best sunscreen". Glad that it wasn’t me, poor guy.

- We went through a small town in Warner Springs who had a gas station and some picnic tables, so basically a hiker haven. We spent a couple of hours eating gas station food, and I gave another hiker a shot in the butt 😂. Nursing skills always coming in handy out here. Landon consistently says that the gas station hot dog was one of the highlights of the trail.

- My feet are MUCH better than they were. Getting inserts and some foot compression socks were a game changer for me. I now can walk many more miles without having to stop so often to roll out the golf balls on my feet. Despite this, hiking is still hard and we still find new soreness, aches and pains every day. But I do think that we are toughening up and able to do more miles than we did the first week. My blisters are mostly hardened now, and we have done as many as 18 miles in a day at this point.

- Water can be very scarce, and you have to plan out your water carries very carefully. One water source in this last stretch was a big water tank a few hundred feet from “Mikes Place”. Mikes Place is near the trail and has a big water cistern for hikers to go and get water, but they also let hikers camp and party there and sometimes feed them. There were some comments on Guthooks (the hiking navigation app we use) about how Mikes Place was kind of sketchy and borderline sexist, but we went down there with our hiker friends Sarah and Clyde, hoping for some food. Mikes place was interesting to say the least. It was a run down one story house that looked rather shabbily built, with a blanket as a wall in one section. It’s in a few acres of property, and there are all sorts of random things in front of the house. An assortment of stools and chairs, some lawn games like croquet and darts, a fire pit, a few coolers, and then even more random things like a sword stuck in a stone (a replica like in the movie). There was also an old painted car on one end, a shabby outdoor kitchen with a pizza oven and a greasy grill and lots of bowls and plates and utensils, and lots of other items spread out across the property. It seemed a little hoarder-y to us. They had Johnny cash playing in the background which kind of fit the vibe of the place. There were a few hikers there eating already, and a more stout gentleman wearing a t shirt, shorts and flip flops whose name was Scott. He said that there was no food left but that we could cook our own if we wanted, and we were like "ummm, sure?"  So he brought out the ingredients for breakfast burritos and we got to cracking eggs and slicing veggies and fired up the very greasy outdoor grill, and within about 15 minutes we were eating breakfast burritos. Scott was a little weird. He would pop in and out of where we were cooking and then disappear again, I guess he was nice enough but he just gave off a bit of a weird vibe. Apparently Mike lives in San Diego and Scott is a caretaker of his place for now, along with another guy named Spirit who we met a little later as we ate. He was a older guy, with long white hair in a ponytail and beard, wearing a dirty green zip hoodie with what looked to be a hand painted "VVR" on it, jeans and chacos. He chatted with us briefly, he is a hiker who has hiked the John Muir Trail every year since 2014 and then decided to go work at VVR, a resort in the Sierras, after visiting it so many times. He said he was headed up there in a few weeks. Anyways, we are our burritos, washed our plates, said thank you and left to go filter water from the tank up above, leaving some money in the donation box as a thank you. The food was good but I definitely wouldn't have felt comfortable being there by myself, Mike’s Place was a little...dirt baggy, but I’m glad I got to experience it all the same. Apparently Scott is hiking now, and showed up at the campground in Idyllwild a few days later, drunk as a skunk and vomited all over 😂.

- We’re 10% done with the trail! Which really puts into perspective how long this hike actually is 😂. We had heard that our trail legs would start to come in after 3 weeks, but both Landon and I agree that we’re still quite sore and wake up with different aches and pains every day. We are definitely running a major calorie deficit at this point, burning upwards of 4K calories per day, burning much more than we are eating. This is ok with us, as we could both lose 30 Lbs or more and still be in a healthy weight range! Our friend Jamie, who hiked the trail years ago with her husband, says that we are losing our “town fat”. But we both agree that our clothes are feeling a bit looser than they were before. Who knew that 3 weeks of near continuous intense exercise would do that? We are slowly getting more fit, so hopefully those trail legs will come in soon here in the next few weeks.

- Remember the girl I talked about in our last post a few weeks ago, who woke up our friend at 5 AM and told him that she had no pants? Well, he came across her again a few days ago. She was topless, sitting in a stream in her underwear, playing a ukelele. And much to his chagrin, she remembered him! 😂 Not exactly a meet cute.

- Though there are definitely some eccentric people out here, 95% of the hikers and people we meet are wonderful. We have met the most incredible people as we hike, and are grateful to have made some good friends. They say that trauma bonds you, and all of the hikers have similar trauma out on trail 😂. We all know how hard this is, how beautiful, and have experienced first hand the heavy packs we carry after filling up our food and water, and the different aches and pains that accompany hiking day after day. Ive seen some pretty gnarly feet 🦶among the hikers out here, covered in blisters and cuts, with blackened toenails and foot fungus. Our feet are constantly getting beaten up! I’m glad to know that it isn’t just us experiencing the aches and pains. Ive always been a bit of a social butterfly, and after a year of isolation due to the Covid pandemic, the extrovert in me is absolutely loving the social aspect of our hike.

We will be getting off trail for four days this next weekend to go to a family wedding and sadly, a funeral as well. We were saddened to hear that Landon’s Grandfather has passed away, after suffering from Alzheimer’s for many years in the last years of his life. I never knew him before the Alzheimer’s had affected him, but I was told that he was smart as a whip, very funny, and a great story teller. Landon has fond memories of his grandfather, going on family trips and hearing his many stories. Even after the disease progression, Arlin was a very sweet and gentle man who was happy to give you a hug and listen to you talk, even if he didn’t quite remember who you were. We feel very lucky to have been able to spend some time with him and with Landon’s Grandmother the week before the trail, and he will be greatly missed by all. We are looking forward to getting off trail for a few days to reunite with our family to both celebrate and mourn together.

Thanks to everyone for the love and support in our PCT journey so far, this has been the most incredible experience of our lives so far and we’re grateful for every second, no matter how tough, of this great adventure.

- The Tueller’s

#pct #pct2021 #pctclassof2021 #tuellertrails #hikertrash

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asterekmess · 4 years

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Scott McCall is the poster boy for entitlement, misogyny and toxic masculinity. Remember when he demanded that Allison goes out with her stalker (Matt) and then yelled at her in the middle of a crowded club because she had the audacity to trust her own father to save Jackson instead of obeying him? Or when Scott pinned Allison against her bedroom’s door and humiliated her just to prove how ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ she was and because “If I’m scared shitless, then you should be scared shitless too”?

I told my friend Mads a long time ago that with every new fic I put out, my urge to become, if not popular, then just understood as an anti-scott blog got stronger. I mean, it’s not like I want my blog to just be about hating Scoot, but I didn’t really want people to come in and follow me thinking I was a Scott fan, because it would be disingenuous.

I think I got my wish? Either one person has a lot of feelings (which I’m all for) or a bunch of v angry anti-scott people have swarmed over me like hummingbirds on sugar water. It’s a really interesting experience!

Anyway, back to your ask. So, I don’t like Scott, and admittedly sometimes I’m a little extra bitter/hateful than others, but I do try to be accurate in my dislikes of him (usually), so I’ll go through what you said one at a time and try to decipher (from my v faulty memory, so apologies if there are mistakes) if I agree with each statement.

Since some people have requested the Read More thing so they can scroll easier.

Scott is: Entitled. Off the cuff, I would agree. I’ve mentioned before how frustrating it was to see the show attempt to portray him as a poor kid, when he’s nowhere near that. I’ve also seen posts before that explore how Scott doesn’t carry a ‘poor kid’ mentality at all (they probably did it better than me, and it was probably Athenadark who did the analyzing). Growing up, I didn’t consciously know I was poor. Not as in ‘i had everything I needed’ but as in “i assumed all kids grew up occasionally eating a single can of pears for dinner or had to return groceries from the car because their parent’s card was declined and they were out of food stamps or wore a pair of tennis shoes until they were literally taped together with packing tape because we couldn’t afford new ones.” I grew up in a poor town, on the poor side of that town, so there wasn’t a lot that showed me it was possible to live differently. Being poor gives you a specific mentality, and when I finally met kids who were ‘middle class’ I was blown away by the differences. I say all this because Scott is very clearly a middle class kid.

Yes, he has an after school job. Who tf didn’t? That doesn’t automatically make you poor? Even my rich friend got a summer job because she wanted to buy band merch and her parents wouldn’t let her. But have you seen his room? It’s a wreck. We get the scene of him digging under his bed trying to find his phone, and I honestly was kinda disgusted. (I also grew up in a hellhole hoarder house, so clutter fucks me up) It’s not just the messiness though. It’s finding out that his mom is the one doing the laundry. Melissa “One shift won’t break us completely” McCall still cleans her son’s room and does his laundry and sews his clothes even though she’s supposed to be working herself to death at the hospital. Oh, and he’s sixteen years old, so he should be able to do his own fucking laundry? it’s one thing if his stuff ends up there while she’s doing laundry, but apparently she goes out of her way to do his clothes regularly enough that she has no qualms about going in his room to clean? Scott works at a VET’s office and has for long enough that he can put a cast on a dog and feels confident giving it painkillers in the right dosage. And he can’t sew a line of stitches in his clothes? He’s got an ensuite bathroom. His room is clearly the master bedroom. He doesn’t make his mom dinner to bring her, he picks up chinese. And there’s the house itself and its size, etc. Of the two of them, i would’ve expected Stiles to have the messy room. He’s adhd, I know how hard it is to keep a room clean with that kind of headspace. But no, his is really clean most of the time, even his desk, unless he’s researching something specific. I mention Stiles because it’s the comparison of the two that makes Scott’s own messiness stand out. Hell, literally no other bedroom we’re shown is messy in the slightest. Allison’s, Lydia’s, Jackson’s, none of them. (I don’t remember Liam’s room, if we saw it) He feels entitled enough to take up extra space and add extra work to his mother’s stress level (which, listen, I’m not saying being not-poor makes you entitled. I’m saying that the show makes the claim Scott IS poor and he Still does these things. THAT is the entitled part.)

Then there’s his relationship with Stiles. “Yeah, but I had you before.” When talking about the good and bad things in his life, he doesn’t even think to mention Stiles as one of the good things. He says he has nothing, just like before. Stiles isn’t even on his radar, even though they’re looking right at each other. Yet we know that Stiles is basically Scott’s only friend. As someone else with very few friends, I can’t imagine saying to my best friend’s face that I have nothing and no one. Let alone if that friend had been keeping me from dying and teaching me how to be a fucking werewolf for months on end. When do we see him worry about Stiles being human and stuck in the middle of all this? Especially in earlier seasons, we never see him say anything like “maybe you should hang back cus’ you’ll get hurt.” Like, we know that Stiles would do it anyway. And we’d get pissed if Scott told Stiles he wasn’t allowed to help because he was human, but that’s because Scott doesn’t get to tell Stiles what to do. We know Stiles finds ways to protect himself when he has to, but Scott never even asks. He never hints at “I’m worried about you and please know I wont’ be mad if you stay away from the fight.” Even Derek shoves Stiles behind him when the kanima shows up. There’s the thing where he warns them ‘if something goes wrong call for me.” But he explicity says that worry is for Allison, even though she has some method of self-defense. Stiles has nothing. Scott never cares enough to think “Maybe we shouldn’t bring him to the rave where there’s gonna be a vicious killing machine that has already tried to attack him once.” One word from Peter “vulnerable” and Scott stalks Allison (and forces Stiles to help him) for a week. But Stiles gets trapped in a pool for hours, scared out of his mind, and Scott never so much as seems to get clingy? He just assumes Stiles will be fine. He feels entitled to Stiles’ help and assistance, without putting any thought into Stiles’ safety. He asks “is it illegal?” not “Will you get in trouble?” He looks at Stiles when he says “I can’t protect anyone” But when was he trying to protect STILES? Then there’s the part where while he’s ‘under the influence of the wolfsbane whistle’ (A plot point I fucking hate) he drags Stiles down with him and includes him in being nothing. Being no one. He assumes that if he was nothing before the bite, then Stiles must’ve been nothing also. And since Stiles didn’t get bitten, it also implies that Stiles is still nothing. He’s just hanging on Scott’s wolfy coattails. That’s an incredibly entitled viewpoint to have.

Admittedly, we do see some more humble moments with Allison, especially at the beginning of their relationship, where he says “I just wanna make sure I get my second chance” he’s not assuming he’ll get it. Go scott! (I’m not the hugest fan of him asking her out after he’s clearly just done her a massive favor and is keeping her from getting in trouble for hitting a dog, and she’s wearing his SHIRT and she can’t really say no without looking absolutely horrible, but she seemed pretty into him, so I’ll let it go) But once they’re together? I know that most best friends share secrets and private stuff with each other...but Scott tells Stiles so much about his sex life with Allison that Stiles is actually pissed off and kind of disgusted by it. Stiles. Who is supposed to be sex obsessed. Even he thinks that it’s just way too much information. I can’t imagine Allison would be comfortable with Stiles knowing that much about her in bed. (But at the same time, we see Scott tell Stiles that he never wants any more info on Stiles in bed than Stiles’ vague innuendo abt wet dreams, and then he still feels entitled to tell Stiles whatever he wants about him and Allison and won’t listen when Stiles asks him to stop.) When he asks Allison to go out with someone else, there’s so much that makes me both sad and angry. She is confused and scared, and has clearly committed really hard to Scott (enough to go against everything her family wants) and he tells her to go on a date with someone else. Not just that, but to kiss someone else. To kiss Matt, specifically, whom he knows Stiles thinks is really fucking creepy (though, we need to acknowledge that no one knew Matt was stalking Allison.) And she tries to show him that he’s asking for something really fucking weird and uncomfortable. “Kiss him? You mean, like really kiss him?” And even then, he doesn’t think anything is weird about telling his girlfriend (and they are clearly v monogamous. We see how insanely possessive he is of her, losing his shit when she’s just introduced to other guys Lydia knows, after only one date that he bailed from) to kiss someone else, but not kiss them the way she kisses him. He doesn’t ask for any info about the date, doesn’t ask if Allison’s uncomfortable. He just says “Do it.” and expects her to obey. He feel entitled to controlling who she’s with and what she does, without asking her if she’s okay with it. Because I haven’t seen later seasons in a long time, I usually try to stick to the earlier stuff so I’m less likely to say something stupid, but I do remember him scaring her in her bedroom. There’s a lot about that scene to unpack, but in the case of Allison specifically, we see that he still feels entitled to touch her. They are not friends right now. She has not given any hint that she wants to get back together (except asking to talk to him in ep.1). He should not feel like it is in any way okay to touch her at all, let alone hold her still with super strength. But he does. In his mind. She’s Allison, so why wouldn’t he able to touch her?

He also feels entitled to his leadership. We need to make clear that Scott doesn’t do the leadership stuff. He just happens to be the person in the friend group who’s a werewolf. Stiles and Jackson are the ones who go and set Peter on fire after they can’t get ahold of Scott (WHO IS NOW WITH DEREK, and THEREFORE HAS HIS PHONE). (You’re telling me Scott could’ve done the howl thing at any time to find Derek, and he just left him there for a week?) (Also, yes, I know Stiles was also not involved in helping find Derek until Peter made him. I’m annoyed at him too.) What is leadership-worthy about leaving a tortured man on a grate with electric wires plugged into his side and shackles on his wrists until he agrees to help you kill his own uncle (Oh, also, I have Peter feelings and have salty thoughts about the plot of s1, if anyone’s interested)? But let’s say Scott’s leadership comes in Season 2, not at the end of S1. But when exactly does he earn it? When he tells a teenage girl he doesn’t care about the humiliation and pain that led her to taking a bite that would cure her lifelong illness and give her a friend group that she didn’t have to be afraid of or bullied by? When he called a boy who looked him in the eyes and begged for him to keep his wolf secret “Bloodthirsty”? When he dismissed Boyd’s want for the bite, which was a way for him to make friends and feel like he belonged somewhere, as ridiculous? When he damaged Boyd’s workplace in a way that would almost certainly get Boyd in trouble? (You think smashing a massive crater into the middle of the ice rink with his fist didn’t get Boyd yelled at or maybe even fired?) When Boyd asked to talk to him on the field, and Scott attacked without rhyme or reason? When he let Erica sit and seize while he fussed over Allison? “This doesn’t Feel right” really Scott? You know, I think Erica, who’s having a fucking seizure in the next aisle, would agree! Hurry the fuck up! Oh my god, I went so off track. I have more thoughts on all that though, if anyone’s curious. Anyway. Scott doesn’t do anything that actually entails being a leader. His one job in the rave, he passes off to Isaac so that he can go call Gerard, because he’s currently working with the villain behind everyone’s back. The whole thing with Allison telling her parents and the plan with Derek getting messed up? Yeah, that was Scott’s fault for not telling her. Hell, for not telling GERARD. He, what he expected her to read his mind? Scott knew Allison was telling her parents about Jackson! She said she would tell them after he broke out of the van! The entire fuckup is his fault. But he still shouts at her and blames her and says she should’ve ‘trusted’ him. He passes all the guilt onto her and leaves her there on the verge of tears. He’s entitled to her obedience and he’s entitled to shaming her and scolding her like a child when she doesn’t do what he wants.

So, yeah, I think Scott’s entitled.

Scott is: Misogynistic. This one...I’m not so sure? Scott has a lot of bad qualities, a lot of behavior that’s incredibly toxic and manipulative, but I can honestly say that I can’t think of a single time when his reasoning for not letting/not thinking someone is capable of doing something is because they’re female?

There’s a lot to be said about the manipulative way that he speaks to and interacts with his girlfriends, but that doesn’t stem from misogyny, from what I can see. It stems from everything else. From his self-obsession, from his moral code, from his honest belief that he deserves obedience and complete candor from those closest to him. He does this to everyone, not just the women. It’s just easier to see it with the women because we’re primed to look for it. (I’m making the assumption here that you are female/feminine presenting, anon, since I know that the vast majority of the fandom is, but if I’m wrong, my apologies) Wow, though I’d have more to say on this bit, but I don’t.

Scott is: Toxicly Masculine. I’m not sure where I lay on this idea. Teen Wolf does have a lot of general instances of toxic masculinity, and Scott does exhibit some of them, but again, part of those behaviors can be found in women as well.

I know that it regularly pissed me off how often they reduced men to sex machines. *Scott and Allison are making out on Allison’s bed* Scott: “I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” Allison: “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?” Scott (incredulous): “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

*Stiles and Heather are talking about having sex at the party* Heather: “I mean, would you be okay with that?” Stiles (gently mocking): “Would I be okay with that? Yes, yes, I believe so.” They go out of their way to completely negate the possibility that a guy wouldn’t be into sex, even making the concept of asking for a man’s consent sound silly. This becomes even more toxic when Stiles complains about Malia leaving marks on him, hurting him during sex, and he gets teased for it. No one considers it a problem that Malia is scratching him. He’s expected to be appreciative of it/like it.

There’s the possessiveness, yes. Scott does some really fucked up, possessive things. Like freaking on Allison when Lydia introduces her to other guys, or getting angry from the sidelines just because Jackson is talking to Allison, not even flirting with her. Or running off to attack Jackson AND Allison (because there’s no proof he was only going after Jackson, and he’s only ever been able to follow allison’s scent across town, so he couldn’t have specifically been looking for Jackson) after she broke up with him. Throwing Isaac into a wall for liking Allison, even though they’ve been broken up for FOUR MONTHS. I can’t think of any more at the moment. But it’s a lot. BUT. We also see possessive behavior from Malia (yeah, she was an actual coyote for years, but she’s still a woman.) and similar amounts of aggression throughout the seasons from most of the shifters, implying that the habit is born from the werewolf/shifter thing, and not specifically Scott being toxicly masculine. (It’s still not good, but it’s not technically toxic masculinity.)

Aggression I think we can all agree is a shifter-wide phenomenon.

So, yeah, there’s instances that come across this way, and there’s also evidence that some of it is werewolf related, not scott related. I’m torn.

Anyway, again, I’ve talked way too much. If there are moments from later in the show that I’m missing that specifically prove/disprove these points, I’d love to know about it and check it out! I feel you Anon, Scott is infuriating and you’re in good company. <3

#personal #go for it #anti-scott mccall #Meta Ramblings #rant #thank you for the ask!#Anonymous

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prorevenge · 5 years

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A complete lack of foresight.

To preface, the scenario involves my roommate (lets call her Callie), her ex (lets call him Tweakie McGee), myself, Tweakies fling, Nikki, and my roommates dog, an adorable bluenose pittie (lets go with Derpy)

Keep in mind, I myself am 25, Callie is 25 as well, but Tweakie McGee is 19. This will be relevant later.

TL:DR at the bottom. This is a long one.

Now, this story begins with my roommate. She had just gotten out of an exhausting, but not necessarily abusive relationship, and she was on lookout for something casual while she regained her independence and reclaimed her life. Unfortunately, Tweakie McGee came around and made himself at home in our house.

At first, it wasn't too bad. We're all moderate stoners, and he knew the right people, so it seemed like a fair give and take, considering we didn't pay for much smoke throughout the time he was essentially squatting, but he put forth nothing when it came to groceries and bills.

Now my roommate was far enough removed from her previous relationship at this point to be fiercely protective of her independence, but given the age difference, she chalked up some glaringly obvious red flags when they began to present.

Tweakie got his pet name for a number of reasons, but the main one was this: he had an adderol prescription (20mg). As he was prescribed the meds, he chomped on quite a few, but it quickly spiraled into a 10 pill per day habit (first, he was just chomping, but began to snort them off our livingroom table after about 2 weeks).

As his habit progressed, Callie also partook, as she has a very demanding job, and the extra energy helped her through her 70 hour weeks. I believe that this is another reason why she put up with it as long as she did. As their 'relationship' progressed, the oh so common side effects of stimulant abuse began to creep onto both of them (irritability, poor short term memory, inability to accurately communicate emotions/thoughts). Since I did my best to stay out of their relationship, (as it's not my place to interfere in something I know her to be smart and mature enough to handle) I never really got involved, but she and I had many deep conversations while he was out on runs.

I felt like our talks were making headway until one day, Tweakie McGee got a bug in his ass and started impetuously bringing up the idea of getting a dog. Keep in mind, we live in a college town, and while we're both out of school, we work full time in a very small 2 bedroom house. She was apprehensive at first since she was already going through the motions of cutting him off, but she had also wanted a dog for years at this point.

After 2 weeks of Callie and Tweakie visiting various shelters, they decided on Derpy.

Derpy was an absolutely adorable 6 month old bluenose pitbull with one of the most prominent personalities I have ever seen in a dog (my family used to train dogs professionally). Incredibly playful, super smart, and the perfect demeanor for a small house with a bigger backyard.

Now, only being your friendly neighborhood stoner, and not partaking in the speedy delights, I saw it for what it was, but she was blinded by the adorable pup. Tweakie knew that Callie was setting the stage to kick his ass to the curb, and thought that a dog was the perfect ball and chain for the situation, but his age (and addiction) caught up with him.

All the paperwork and payments were made in Callie's name, including the registration paperwork, initial vet visits, professional pet sitters, toys, ect... Since she works incredibly long hours, and Tweakie essentially being a bum, he got the thought in his head that the dog was his, and when push came to shove, he could keep him.

Well the day of reckoning came after about 3 weeks of escalating early morning arguments and general irritation, and while I was at work, the breakup finally happened. Cops ended up being called, but no blows were thrown. Tweakie packed all his shit up and drove it back to his mothers, then came back - told Callie he was leaving, and took Derpy with him. At this time, the cops that showed up had no idea what had been transpiring, and let him walk off with the dog.

Less than 24 hours later, Callie had made so many calls to the police department/lawers/pet advocacy groups, that she had her course of action laid out. After the filing was complete, she was beyond paranoid because of the threat of retaliation. (I'm a pretty big dude 6'4" 235, so I knew I could stand my ground, but she's a tiny lil' thing, and i have a full time job)

In my state, any disputes regarding animals are to be settled in civil court, and the pets are treated as property. Now I don't know about y'all, but pets are family, and do not deserve to be treated on the same base as property.

The next day, she had filed a civil suit in an attempt to get Derpy back. At her first court date, she presented all the evidence of her ownership of Derpy, as well as the resources she has available to her in order to provide the best level of care for the pup. Tweakie countered with a slew of baseless accusations essentially claiming that she had been abusive to Derpy (false) and that she doesn't have the time nor resources to properly take care of him (also false).

Unfortunately the civil court system tends to draw these things out. The court eventually ruled in her favor and ordered Tweakie to return Derpy, but when the cops turned up, apparently Derpy had "ran away". Before this, she was only trying to get Derpy back, and not really seeking any financial compensation/punishment.

By this time (Approx. 2 months after the breakup, which is bullshit on it's own) he had already been in and out of a relationship with another woman, Nikki.

Nikki had been around, and heard about the court shit, but didn't know the other party. Once she found out it was Callie who Tweakie had fucked over, she started messaging Callie, telling her a bunch of info about Derpy, as they were friends back in the day.

It turns out that in the time since the breakup, Tweakie had been staying with his mother, and honest to goodness hoarder with about 10sqft of usable space in her apartment. Tweakie was also unable to take Derpy out on walks or on pup play dates due to the fact that there was still a return order for Derpy.

One day, he took Derpy to his dealers house who also has 2 pitties of his own, however Derpy is in his teenage stage, and began.. uh.. getting fresh with one of the other pits, and ended up getting pretty brutally attacked. Since the return order was still in effect, and the info about him and the dog was given to every vet within 50 miles, he couldn't take him to get treatment.

** Tweakie also made a deal with this dealer to essentially pimp out Nikki, which was one of the many reasons she was on our side.

Upon hearing this, Callie (now off the uppers and much more clearheaded) absolutely fucking lost it. She went to her lawyer to see if there was anything she could do to expedite the return of Derpy. Turns out she had a few options.

Cut to today. Tweakie has officially been charged with felony theft and animal abuse/neglect charges, and they're wrapping up the legal process with pleas and other legal whatnot. He faces up to 8 years in prison, and if he doesn't return Derpy within 1 week from today, he will receive the maximum sentence. There is also a separate case in the works from Nikki regarding the whole shady pimping shit he tried to pull, as well as (unsuprisingly) charges for possession/manufacturing with intent to distribute Meth and Cocaine.

Part of me feels bad for him because he absolutely nuked the rest of his life at such a young age, but Callie and I both know that he wasn't going to get any better regardless. He had his chance, and he squandered it.

** Sorry for any formatting issues. I work third shift, and have been a walking zombie for a long ass time.

TLDR - My roommates casual tweaker boyfriend coerces her to get a dog, then proceeds to break up with her and keep the dog for himself, even though he has no right, and absolutely no ability to give the dog a comfortable life. Tweaker ends up trying to pimp out his new girlfriend and the dog had gotten attacked. Roomie only wanted the dog back with no financial compensation, but now the tweaker is looking at a minimum of 8 years in prison plus more for various drug charges.

(source) story by (/u/suicidal_ideation_)

#prorevenge #by /u/suicidal_ideation_#pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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lastoneout · 5 years

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Re: Marie Kondo. Thank you for your posts better explaining her show and philosophy. When I first heard of her, my brother mentioned her in context of getting rid of all my books, and I reacted in absolute horror and panic. I'm a packrat because I have an emotional connection with stuff and I can't deal with sorting it let alone getting rid of it. Her philosophy sounds like it'll help me sort my home. So thank you

Yeah no problem!! I totally get what you mean tho. I come from a long line of hoarders and it can be really hard to let go of things. There’s always the worry that you might need it someday, or even that you will accidentally toss something you really like(I did that once, it sucked) but it’s worth it to try out some of her techniques.

I recently got really frustrated because every time I moved it seemed like I had at least one or two(or more...) boxes of crap that I didn’t really want but that I also didn’t want to throw away. So once I started unpacking, I told myself that if whatever I found didn’t have a place and didn’t immediately make me happy I would get rid of it. I did this with all of my books and clothes and movies and figurines and at the end of the day I still did have a lot of stuff, but all of it had a place and it all made me happy to look at. It did also help to know that I was donating it, so outside of a few things that were actually just trash I knew that whatever I was getting rid of would go on to make someone else happy. I even got some money out of it, since we held a yard sale and I took most of my books to a used book seller!

And yeah there still are a few boxes I need to unpack and still a few things that don’t really have a point or place but have sentimental value, and I do still have a lot of books I haven’t read, but when I look at how nice and clean and organized my house is I can’t help but feel really, really happy. I grew up with hoarders and my mom was disabled and my dad was an addict and I had 4 siblings so I never really got taught how to keep my room or my house clean, and even when I did stuff just piled up and got messy again, so knowing that my house is the kind of place I can invite people over to and feel good about living in makes me feel really proud of myself. It’s not perfect, there are still dishes in the sink and I still have a few boxes to go through and stuff to toss, but trust me, Marie is right, there is something incredibly healing about de-cluttering and organizing your space.

And it is nice to see her tell people that if something is important to them, even if others would see it as trash or it doesn’t have a place you should still keep it. And I love that she addresses how it can be hard to throw things away when you have emotional attachments to your belongings, even stuff you don’t really like. Plus a lot of the hate just comes from cultural differences. She has her religion that helps influence the way she lives and that’s not gonna work for a lot of people, but she tries to help in any way she can and make her method as accessible as possible. She really doesn’t deserve all of the hate she gets and it pisses me off to no end that people take what she says out of context and shit all over little things that don’t really matter.

And yeah I would def watch her show on Netflix if you can, it can be a little awkward sometimes if you suffer from second hand embarrassment like I do, but since most of the people she helps are american and poor it’s a good way to dispel any doubts of her being ablest or classist since it shows her really caring and really helping. I def would recommend trying out some of her tips even if it’s just reorganizing your closet or tossing out some old dishes you don’t like. Starting small is a good idea, and you can see how much of a difference it makes right away.

Anyway sorry for rambling I just really like her and her method and hate that people rag on her constantly since I’m proof that her stuff can really work, even for mentally ill disabled poor adhd-riddled people like me.

#konmarie #marie kondo #robinine-blog #Asked And Answered

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jessicafurseth · 5 years

Photo

Reading List, First Spring (double) edition.

Image: “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver.

The half-life of ambition [Stella Bugbee, The Cut]

“I did not know that the life I was living in my twenties, a life I was certain was a temporary condition, was, in fact, the only one for me.” When life at 47 is back to what it was like at 27 [Meghan Daum, Medium]

“The whole ordeal helped me to fix the part of my brain that 2016 broke. It forced me to recognize that there is far more shame in ignoring what’s wrong with the world than there is in earnestly trying to fix it. No matter how vulnerable I might feel participating in American democracy, it can’t come close to what I felt while being handcuffed in full view of a crowded Cinnabon.” On getting arrested for nunchuck possession [Ryan Mach, The Outline]

The faces of Google Street View [Sophie Haigeny, Popula]

A salute to the guys who get dumped in romantic comedies [Tim Grierson, MEL Magazine]

On heartbreak adrenaline [Edith Zimmerman, The Cut]

Is oestrogen the key to understanding women’s health? [Lisa Miller, The Cut]

"Where I saw the first irrefutable proof of myself, though, so many others saw a referendum.” On being diagnosed with autism [Sarah Kurchak, Hazlitt]

What happened when the mother of non-monogamy fell head over heels in love [Nona Willis Aronowich, Elle]

“You don’t need answers, you just need to feel less lonely” [Meaghan O’Connell, The Cut]

“Her face was becoming a tell, that she didn’t mind turning 40 so much as she minded the assumptions other people made about her turning 40. They were starting to look at her like she should be married with kids and a house and matching towels” [Sloane Crosley, Elle]

“On the internet, we’re all hoarders” KonMari your digital life [Seth Fiegerman, CNN Business]

"When you reach your breaking point, boredom teaches you to respond constructively, to make something happen for yourself. But unless we are faced with a steady diet of stultifying boredom, we never learn how.” It’s not boring - you’re boring [Pamela Paul, The New York Times]

"People get incredibly thirsty for a redemption arc of sorts: the poor, shriveled girl in the hospital slowly growing stronger and getting back on her new feet, a success story with the caption 'What have YOU done?' reshared on Facebook by your mom’s friend.” On life with new legs [Sophie Heif, The Outline]

"I've found that every breed of relationship I've ever had — from casual sex to long-term relationships — has felt completely antithetical to the vision of equality I've envisaged for my own life. The lack of agency I feel in my love life made me want to remain single just so I could cling on to any semblance of control.” [Rachel Thompson, Mashable]

This article on a workplace designed for people with autism is incredible [Susan Dominus, The New York Times]

Smoking is bad, but so is everything else [Brandy Jensen, Broadly]

On the history of masturbation and the threat of female pleasure [Kate Lister, Wellcome Collection]

"Somehow I felt simultaneously undesired and also like a nymphomaniac ... And for a heterosexual woman living in a society that assumes she’s the gatekeeper of sex, there’s an added feeling of shame. For me, it felt like women’s desire to pay for sex was, as Dakota puts it, ‘a failure in their sexuality.’” [Nona Willis Aronowitz, MEL Magazine]

Doreen Fletchers’ paintings of 1980-90s East London [The Guardian]

Where to get a pint in London - a choose-your-own-adventure game by Ana Kinsella

"Get right with yourself, make peace with your feelings, and you’ll learn to say no in a calm voice. You won’t have to shout anymore or pretend you’re cool with things that bother you. You’ll stand where you are, and be who you are, and state what you need. You’ll observe other people, doing what they do, and it won’t offend you or anger you. There’s room for all kinds of contradictions in this world. Make some room for your own.” [Heather Havrilesky, The Cut]

#reading list

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gaslampsglow · 6 years

Text

(Pictured: 1/30th of a rough weekend.)

So saturday afternoon, my boss (supervisor? team lead? superior officer? that weird nebulous stage between “coworker charged with keeping the group in line” and “Manager with capital M”) wheeled a massive skid of boxes over to my workspace and asked if I could take on a special project. We had a massive batch of lots from the same sake to shoot and document, and it needed to be done by someone with neurotic attention to detail. Obviously I said yes.

Each of the boxes on that skid were, like the one pictured above, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of photos. And I mean hundreds. There were photos from every decade since the 1890s, there were black and whites, postcards, color prints, slides. Kodachrome, Ektachrome, Polaroids, negatives pulled from positives, newspaper clippings copied and imaged with an enlarger. Contact sheets, proof pages, negative images of halftone screens, all the hallmarks of an absolute darkroom wizard.

All trains.

Thousands of photographs of trains.

And behind that first skid he wheeled another skid, loaded with even more.

Marketing felt that these were dump lots, that no one would spend any money on them, based on a few test lots that had been up for sale for a few days. Several other people, my boss included, felt that the product was great but the documentation was poor. Whoever shot the test sales had clearly not known what they were holding, nor did they seem to care, as they took four or five photos of piles of photos and called the whole thing done. For most items we sell, thats not a bad way of doing it. After all, to hit our daily numbers, most lots need to be shot in less than ten minutes, preferably six. You take a master shot illustrating the item, you take three to four angles or closeups showing details, then you document any damage or irregularity. Minimum four photos, usually about eight or nine, try not to shoot more than twelve. And if you’re shooting something that feels too niche or junky or tacky to make money, you spend less time with it so you have more of a buffer when trying to capture the tiny fucking watermarks on stupid crystal glasses. And a good general rule is that the more items are in a lot, the less they’re worth.

But all of these rules fly out the window when you are selling to Train People. You may have known a few. The ones with the model railroads in their basements, exactingly crafted to perfectly represent a particular rail line, or period, or place. The history buffs that out-obsess all other history buffs. No special interest is more granular, or more specific, or more seemingly mercurial to the untrained eye. They’ll fork over good money for a piece of rail history, but no one wants to buy blind boxes of photos sight unseen, hoping that they represent whatever line or time or place they’re looking for. And this treasure trove not only was astoundingly well organized, but almost every single photo was labelled with information, frequently detailing the make and model of the train as well as the time and place the photo was taken.

So my boss told me to sift through, document anything that seemed important, spend as much time as I needed and take as many photos as I want. I shot nothing but photos of trains from 1:30 to 7:30pm, taking about 40 minutes per box (each box being sold as a separate lot.)

Get in the next morning at 7:00am, keep going. At around 10, while I’m grabbing the next pile, a woman stops me and introduces herself as one of the Editors. We normally don’t see editors, as they’re four or five rungs up the ladder from photography, and most of their work is digital. They curate the overall estates and sales, revise and correct the research cataloguing does, order photo reshoots when necessary, and generally have the final say on many pieces of what hits the site.

This particular Editor is the one overseeing this sale, and was friends with the man who owned all of this stuff. So I get a little more background: all of these photos were from a Rail-spotting magazine run for 25 years by a local Cincinnati man. Train Fans would send in photos from all over the world to be featured, and this collection was essentially the man’s life’s work. The proceeds from selling all of this (and the piles and piles and piles and piles of other items) go to supporting the hospitalized mother he left behind after his death. So The Editor is deeply invested in making sure that not only is the work well represented, but that it makes top dollar, so that her friend’s work is sold to collectors rather than junk dealers, and that his mom gets a big check to pay for medical care.

Which means that she is profoundly unhappy with the performance of those earlier-mentioned test lots, and livid that attribution fobbed the whole thing off without doing much documentation, and that marketing thinks this all is worthless, and came hunting my boss to make sure that these photos are being shot properly. To say that she seemed skeptical of my care and attention to detail is an understatement.

“Well, I do want you to know that I’m putting a lot of time into these. I’m looking at every photo, pulling all that are in color, pulling any that are photographically impressive with high contrast, and paying particular attention to local lines.”

“You mean the ones marked as being shot here?”

“Well, sure, but also the rail lines that I know pass through Cincinnati. The next box I’m shooting I know is a bunch of B&O so I’m excited for that, since I drive under an old B&O bridge as I leave my neighborhood.”

“B&O?”

“You know, Baltimore and Ohio. Its the oldest full service rail line in the country.”

“...I guess you are the right one to do these.”

Which is about when the other player enters the scene, one of the two company Founders. She and the Editor had both been on this sale for months, starting at the house packing and organizing this estate, which was so cluttered and filthy and untamed that the Founder called in a personal favor and flew her pal Matt Paxton (one of the Professional Cleaners from the show Hoarders) out to help cut through the muck. So now, months later, in the final hours of a giant project, the presentation of the whole thing is on me. And the decision makers for the whole company are standing around my workspace while my boss shows the work I’d been doing so far.

I was a little stressed.

But as they flipped through, I could see everyone become visibly less tense. My boss explained, “If I had given this to any other photographer in the building, they would have grabbed the first ten photos out of the box, shot just those, then moved on to the next one. I picked Corey because he loves history, and he’s willing to do the work. He’s shooting sixty and seventy photos for each of these lots.”

Which, uh, was a pretty great feeling, not gonna lie. I’m not used to receiving kudos, even just verbally, from bosses, let alone people that high up the food chain.

Of course this was tempered by finding out that this whole sale was going live that night.

This meant that I had about 20 more lots to shoot by 3 in order to give cataloguing enough time to write descriptions and hit complete. It was, at this point, 11:15. The race to finish was not fun, with my boss jumping on the sweep next to mine for the last two hours, as we steamed across the finish line around 4:30. At that point, I was kaput. Completely finished. I spent the last three hours at work sleepwalking, came home, and melted into my chair. I told Jo it was an incredibly stressful day.

And it was.

(Hey look, its Cincinnati! Back when the Inclines were running.)

But I keep thinking about that feeling. Because this isn’t the same stress I’m used to. And I know this seems so obvious or blase, but every job I’ve had has been stressful. I mean, every job is stressful in its own way. But I’m not used to that stress being...rewarding? In the same way that art or film or woodworking, creation for my own purposes, is stressful.

I know I’m saying “the sky is blue” as if it were a new discovery I’d made, but I’m so unused to feeling job pressure that resolves not as misery but as accomplishment. Three years at Lowe’s and every day was “oh no, I have to do this again tomorrow? How!?” and finding victory in the tiny little footholds of humanity that I got from one customer out of a hundred. I emotionally have no idea how to process “my boss and my boss’s boss and their boss are all impressed with my random assortment of knowledge and ability to organize information.”

This is not a complaint, mind you. Not even a little bit. Just a very gratified confusion.

Anyway, if you’ve read this far, thanks. As reward, have a photo taken sometime in the 70′s about a block away from my house.

#Wyrd Mysteries #cincinnati #ohio #railroad #my job is weird

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banbryce-blog · 6 years

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task #14a: getting to know you general info and physical appearance

Character’s Full Name: Benjamin ‘ Bones ‘ Wraight Name origin: From the Hebrew name בִּנְיָמִין (Binyamin) which means "son of the south" or "son of the right hand". Wraight is an early English surname. It is occupational and was used to describe a maker of machinery or objects, mostly in wood. Nickname, if any (if so, explain its origin – e.g. who created it?): Benjie Bones. Benjie prefers to shorten his name since Benjamin is a bit of a mouthful only Sam really calls him Benjamin. He doesn’t like being called Ben however because that was his sisters name for him and it makes him uncomfortable if anyone other than her uses it.

Bones came about because he works with the police he wanted a Witch alias that couldn’t be traced back to him. He picked it because people always caught him talking to the cadavers in the morgue when he was studying or working. They called him the Bone Whisper as a joke behind his back. Eventually it got shortened to Bones to his face. Does he like the nickname? He’s quite fond of both his nicknames. Since arriving at the Institute he’s only given out Bones as his surname which is what he’s most comfortable doing.

Birth date: 8th August Place of birth: Miami, Florida Ethnic background: American Religion: Pagan Degree of religious practice: Currently practicing, has done most of his life.

Current address: The Institute, Caribbean. Does he rent or own? He lives with Samuel Faust who owns the house. ( @feallende ) Brief description of home: Modern semi-detached home with a clean, open floor plan. It’s in a secluded, forested area, and features a large number of glass walls and windows, as well as outdoor space. Does s/he live with anyone? Yes he lives with his partner Sam. Describe the area in which s/he lives: Secluded and quiet, surrounded by nature. Is this his/her ideal home and location? Yes If not, what would s/he prefer? n/a Home decor (check all that apply):

XXX Expensive

___ Inexpensive

XXX Carefully planned

XXX Comfortable

XXX Neat

___ Cluttered

When someone walks in, what’s his/her first impression? Lots of greenery and glass, open space and light. Pets?

___ No

XXX Yes

If yes, what kind and how many? Name(s)? Quoth, a Jackdaw How important are they? How well are they treated? Quoth isn’t just Benjie’s pet, Quoth is Benjie’s familiar they share a fragment of Benjie’s soul. He’s been Benjie’s companion for many years and for the rest of his life. They are incredibly important to Benjie.

Current occupation Professor at the Institute Job satisfaction: Benjie likes his job, he likes teaching other people and passing on his knowledge. Income level: Whatever the teachers are paid at the Institute, but he’s well off with money. Education: doctor of medicine, forensic pathology specialization, years of Witch teachings Does s/he drive? Yes What kind of car does s/he own, if any?: Benjie drives an Aston Martin DB9 Volante Carbon Edition in Black

Sexuality: Pansexual Marital status: Divorced If married or currently romantically involved, with whom, and for how long? Benjie is romantically involved with Samuel Faust ( @feallende ) and has been since the end of October 2017. List any significant previous romantic partners:

Jillian Wraight, Née , Hawkins, First Wife, divorced

Deborah Wraight, Née McGrath, Second Wife, divorced

For current spouse/partner, what does the character call him/her (pet names, nicknames, etc.)? Love, Beloved, my angel ( only when they are on their own) How did they meet? Benjie and Sam met at the Institute Any children? None. Describe relationship with each child (if any): n/a

physical appearance

Height: 6′1″ Weight: 144lbs What is his/her body type? Benjie is very thin, what muscle he has is lean. But he’s all sharp angles and jutting bones, especially at his hips and ribs. He doesn’t put on much weight because he forgets to eat. Eye color? Green Does s/he use glasses? Contacts? Hearing aid? Benjie needs no aids for visual or hearing impairments. Skin tone: Extremely pale. Any prominent features, freckles/moles/scars/tattoos/other distinguishing marks? Benjie’s nose is quite prominent since it’s crooked. He broke it when he was a young adult and it stayed that way ever since. Other than that he has a scar down the center of his chest from heart bypass surgery. It’s faded now but still extremely visible and he’s covered in tattoos Face shape? Narrow and angular Whom does s/he most look like? Adrien Brody General health? Decent health, Benjie drinks and smokes too much to be good health, in addition to his bad heart and poor eating habits means he’s often underweight. Any chronic conditions? Coronary Heart Disease, Depression Any current health problems? Benjie occasionally suffers from angina but he’s not told anyone yet. He knows he’s at risk for a third heart attack too. He also suffers from large bouts of depression.

How does s/he dress (mark as many as appropriate):

PRICE:

XX Expensive

__ Average

__ Inexpensive

__ Cheap

STYLE:

__ Haute Couture

XX Conservative

__ Trendy

__ Eclectic

XX Business

__ Sexy

__ Gaudy

XX Casual

__ Sloppy

Does s/he dress to be noticed? Why? Benjie dresses to be comfortable with himself. He doesn’t much care for how other people perceive him. Any special jewelry? Yes, Benjie has lots of special jewelry. Be it beaded bracelets with sigils carved into them or his important bone charm necklace Benjie has a lot of sentimental and important jewelry. (His necklace sort of looks like this .) If so, why is it special? Benjie’s bracelets are often charmed, they do different things. Wardings, protections, he swaps them out depending on what he thinks he’ll need for the day. His bone charm necklace carries bones from Benjie’s divination collection, he strings it generally every day with different charms depending on what the bones tell him to take with him. The only permanent things on his necklace are the human rib bone in the center as well as an angel feather and a Jackdaw feather.

Other accessories: Benjie likes most things, hats, scarves, rings, watches, tie pins, cufflinks, Benjie is a hoarder he loves wearing lots of jewelry.

Grooming:

___ Every hair in place, very neat (Why?)

XX Average grooming

___ Clean but sloppy

___ Unkempt (Why?)

Hairstyle: Short. Generally left to it’s own devices but he may gel it back. It varies from day to day Facial hair: None, shaves every morning. Doesn’t particularly enjoy having a beard or stubble. Natural hair texture: Thin, gets greasy quickly. Current hair texture (if different from above): n/a Natural hair color: Black Current hair color (if different from above): n/a

#☠ ► looking through the gates; the devil awaits. ( ' headcanons ' )#theinstitutetask #[ I'm playing catch up ]

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liftharos · 4 years

Text

16 March ‘20 :

the Goodbyes

18 March ‘20

Ikarnian - Inside Liftharos’ house - 🕛 7:00

〜 ✴︎ 〜 ✴︎ 〜

Today is my last day here in Ikarnian.

I’ve spent the last week packing and reorganising all my possessions, damn if I’ve not become an hoarder since I moved here!

3 years have passed since I arrived in this little town in order to keep an eye on my grandparents’ home; who could have thought that in the meantime I was going to become the new mayor?!

3 wonderful years I’ve shared with my neighbours, my friends, my new family. All the sweet memories are coming back at once slowly getting bittersweet in light of my imminent departure.

Still in my bed I try to focus on the last few thing in schedule for today:

* Breakfast with Cookie, she insisted in making her famous pancakes one last time...I’ll miss her so much!

* Then I’d go and say my goodbyes to Reese, Cyrus and Harvey. I wish them all the joy possible!

* Back home to prepare some rice salad for the town pick-nick, this was Friga’s idea!

* After that what?! My suitcases are already full and in custody at the train station. The lunch will probably turn into dinner ... my last thing to do is to enjoy this day with everyone that cares for me!

I’ve to get up and start doing something or I’ll end up crying again!

Walking towards Cookie’s home was a nice stroll through the nice garden I’ve helped planning. I still the remember the frustration when Klaus and I only managed to create red roses, “at least this colour reflects my feelings for you” he always said giggling, what a smug, flirty friend I got!

When I arrived at her door the smell of the dozens of carnations all around made me feel dizzy, so I sat on the nice tree stump with a strange hearth shaped design on it. It was indeed a lovely day. Cookie came outside wearing her favourite green apron and rushing me in: “ I’ve made pancakes, cookies too you know I learned a new recipe from Chevre, you like orange juice right?! I found some pretty ones in the orchard on the other side of town...” I loved to see her talk incessantly whenever she felt sad or uncomfortable.

“I’ll miss you, I’ll miss you all, I hope you know that” I interrupted her.

Putting the sweets tray on the table the pink dog came sobbing towards me, opening my arms I hugged her:

“Why do you have to leave us?!”

I never thought about how to answer that question.

I just smiled at her and said “Aren’t we hungry?!”. That was enough to make her jump again in the chicken picking toppings, fruits and everything she had prepared for our ritual breakfast together.

“I’ll see you this afternoon! Thanks again for all the food!” I shouted at Cookie while taking the promenade with the sea view, once again a lovely major project I managed to pull off!

“Why do you have to leave us?!”

This question kept buzzing in my mind, I knew that my time in Ikarnian was going to be limited but I loved it as it was endless, was that an error? I don’t think so.

My dream after all was to be an archaeologist, sure ikarnian had her fair share of fossils and gyroids but I wanted more: I wanted to meet the people that lived when we were not even thoughts! And when I heard the new project of the Nook’s I couldn’t resist!

The opportunity to visit and build a city in the newly discovered archipelago down south. A bunch of island that were slightly mentioned in the books of the ancient tribes that inhabited the world before us, can you imagine my joy when it turned out that it wasn’t just a legend! I need to go!

🕛 11:45

It’s almost noon I have to go back home and start cooking.

Here he is, Pierce, on top of the lighthouse his favourite place. He waves at me and spiralling lands in front of me: “ Going home? Up for a run to see who can beat the record?” Smirk.

Always the same, “3,2,1 the last arriving is a duck!” I yelled while I started running.

His stunned face followed by a funny run was always something that’d make my day. He is such a nice man my favourite Eagle!

What was intended as a competition to see who was the fittest and manliest creature in town evolved in a fast walk between two friend saying what the future was presenting them.

“ I want to open a stadium here in Ikarnian”

“ That’s an awesome idea man! I have some money to spare if you need them”

“ Do you really mean it? That’s a good idea I mean”

“ Of course! You are the perfect eagle for the job! You like all kind of games, you are (surprisingly) good with managing money and the perfect body for a golden statue to put at the front door!”

“ Ahahahahaha, thanks Big L., it means a lot coming from you. Will you come back to see it?”

I noticed his voice lower as he ended the question. I smiled. I took his feathery “hand” and said: “ I promised you I’ll be your friend the day you put your house on my backyar! And what kind of friend would I be if I wasn’t there sharing your achievements?!”

“ Ahahaha I know that. Ahaha. It’s noon already I have to go!” Awkwardly, and with the reddest face ever, he hugged me and in a second he was already up in the sky.

Dammit! I didn’t say goodbye to the alpacas and Harvey! Well it’s late now maybe I’ll see them this afternoon. I need to start cooking that rice salad or we’ll end up with a lukewarm mess.

However like today was also the day of the unplanned dates here I have a snooty penguin and a purple little frog waiting for me in front of my house.

“Friga! Diva! What are you doing here?!” I asked waving at them.

“We are waiting for you Dummy! Let’s make some food together” responded the lady with whom I’ve spent every single day in this town, Friga.

I let them come inside aiming for the kitchen, they keep asking any sort of questions: did I packed all my clothes? Imagine being stranded on a deserted island without enough pants. Did I check my passport? I did Diva I did it already. I smile thinking about these two wonderful ladies helping me cooking. These two in particular were the rocks for me, whenever I needed someone to talk to and receive an honest and direct answer they always were there for me, with some chocolates to help the hard truths more tolerable.

🕛 17:30

We prepared an incredible amount of dishes in the four hours inside my kitchen, humming to our favourite K.K. Songs: Diva and I do really love K.K. Bazaar. Still humming we headed to the small garden where the picknick was held.

Everyone was there, all my neighbours, Reese and Cyrus as well as Harvey. And of course here comes panting Isabelle holding in her paws more cups, plates and bottles anyone of us’d have carry. Her usual self!

The chats were interrupted by food, by games, by stories of this wonderful city.

“ Do you all remember that time we lost Poppy?!” inquiries Harry.

“ Stop!” Yelled the poor squirrel.

“ Chevre came looking for her near my house all preoccupied. Did you see poppy?! Hohoho and when we finally found her she was stuck in a pit !!!” Continues the hyppo.

I pat Poppy telling that I was really worried that time and that’s enough to calm her and put a smile on that lovely face. Her and Chevre insisted on sitting by my sides offering me the food they made; in these three years they mastered all my favourite dishes. I was full but the food kept coming. Once in a while one of them started sobbing by herself and it was my job to reassure them: “ I’ll never forget you!” Or “ of course you can come visit, and so will I do” or “ silly I promised I’d send you a letter every week!” And I meant every single word that left my mouth.

It was getting dark and after kissing and hugging everyone I had to get back home, the train was leaving early in the morning and I’d use a few more hours of sleep.

I started heading come when I felt and heavy arm over my shoulders. I looked up and Klaus was there with a serious face on.

“ Did you really think I was going to let you go home by yourself?! What if a bear came after you?” He giggled.

“Thanks, it’s handy to have a bodyguard!” I said with my eyes watering.

We never needed to talk much, when we first met we knew we were meant to be friends right away. He lived right in front of my house after all, a small river diving us...but a bridge was built the same week he moved in.

We shared a lot of interests, history, politics, art countless were the hours spent at one of our places looking at books or paintings. I loved him so much and he knew that.

Our steps kept getting smaller and smallerto let us enjoy the evening breeze as long as possible.

“ Will you please keep and eye on my peach tree in front of my house? You can take as many as you need” I asked.

“ Don’t even need to ask that”

“ You know I will come back once in a while right? And you have to come as soon as I build an house...you’ll have a room just for yoursel..”

He interrupted me by giving the biggest hug a boy could handle. His fuzzy yet soft fur tickling me. All the tension of these days left my body as I was a sponge being squeezed.

“ Thanks” I murmured. As I said we never needed to talk much.

A quick peck on the cheek and here I was alone already safely at home.

I put on my pyjama and I went straight away to bed. The thoughts were many but the stress and fatigue of moving was taking its toll.

My last night in Ikarnian was scarily getting closer and closer. Goodnight to you my friends.

#ACNL #ACNH #Lore

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captainignatiuspigheart · 4 years

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Midweek Confusion

OK, so this next week thing has slightly got away from me. As ever, by this point in a new week my recollection of the seven days past is blurring… Since my Google calendar stopped syncing with Facebook, even that once reliable tracker of things I expressed zero interest in has faded in its utility. Alas, I’ll have to go by memory; apologies in advance.

Alright, I’m genuinely stumped for the first couple of days, as far as the evenings go. I went back to the doctor’s – as I’ve been doing with frightful regularity since last July when we accidentally discovered that I have horrifically high blood pressure. My general understanding based on video games is that a high score is good, but apparently this does not follow in medicine. In order to prevent me from spontaneously stroking out (apparently a genuine risk even at my sprightly forty-one years) I’m being loaded up with various ACE and calcium channel blockers, but to counterbalance their potential for good, the ACE blockers offered a chance of trashing my kidneys, prompting fortnightly blood tests to make sure they hadn’t dissolved and begun circulating. They aren’t! Huzzah. But the ramipril didn’t do much on its own, other than not kill my organs, so now I’ve also got amlodipine (I may or may not verify these spellings… ) to work its mysterious way through the calcium channels. It’s all really quite interesting, to me at least since this is my frail puff-paste meat sack I live in. No more blood tests, and at a much higher dose is bringing my blood pressure down into merely prehypertension range, instead of the top end of stage 2 hypertension (down from my max of 180/109 to 140/90). Win. Plus, I’m now taking a proper Smarties assortment of pills, so that’s nice. Looks like it has a genetic cause, since I’m really quite healthy with my daily cycling and swimming routine, and my cholesterol is fine. In your face three kilos of Quality Streets and another three of cheese in December. Drugs for life – which is cool since I’ve been on asthma meds since an unknowably young age.

For those uninterested in such health wranglings, tough: your body will begin to fail shortly, as I push these pins into this charming mannequin with a crude rendering of your features. But that can’t be all I did last week, right? Indeed, no.

Building: Lego

I have advanced a little with my pretty golden gates. I’ve expanded upwards, in adding mostly extra gold pieces. That’s a minor challenge because, as an inveterate hoarder, I feel like I should use them very sparingly and not deplete my stores. This is idiotic. The whole reason I’ve got the damn things is to use them! And that they look very pretty and they live in a box, and that makes me happy… As you can see I also greebled the fuck out of the walls, and gone way too far. I’ll find pics next week, but I’ve dismantled them in an attempt to make plainer walls which won’t detract so much from the magnificent pearlescent gold.

Watching: October Faction

We finished up watching the second-latest comic book adaptation to slide onto Netflix’s new releases bar (before Locke & Key, which unfortunately looks exactly the same but in Miss Peregrine’s Miserable House of Whatever instead – I’m sure it’s somehow different, and we’re bound to watch it eventually). Best described as Grimm crossed with Mean Girls, October Faction follows a family of monster hunters as they, um, hunt monsters and learn DARK secrets. Pretty chipper performances and casting made this a lot of fun, despite the incredibly predictable plot (not all monsters are monsters, your monster-killing organisation is surprisingly not all that chill). The high school stuff with a pair of twins trying to fit into the new town their parents have dragged them to works well, at least until they discover their own powers and the rest of the story unfurls. Very sexuality positive stuff too, which is always satisfying. Look, it’s not amazing, and the ending is a bit unsatisfying, but it’s a fun watch while you’re eating tea. I guess that’s a recommendation…

youtube

Watching: Birds of Prey, or the Film with a Whimsical Title about a Murderer (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn)

I know, I know. It’s a DC movie, why do we even try to enjoy them any more. This is about Harley Quinn, Joker’s recent ex (I mean, literally at the start of this film} and how everyone hates her and wants to kill her, because she is, as I think they say, “just awful”. In the process of people trying to kill her she makes some friends, including a fairly amusing child pickpocket and somewhere in here there’s a story about a massive diamond with encrypted passwords carved in it. There’s several different people’s back stories in here, and they all weave together quite ineptly, constantly tripping the film up. We meet Huntress, who has no character other than being a crossbow wielding lady sad that she saw her parents get murdered (it’s OK, they were mobsters – there’s no reason why you should care at all) by another gang of mobsters, under the instruction of Ewan McGregor, who plays some twat who wears a mask for the final action scenes. I should mention that this might be a career worst performance for McGregor, even counting the Star Wars prequels. Fuck knows what his character is supposed to be. And that’s the tone really, none of the characters have any consistency or make sense (except possibly the pickpocket girl). We veer from snarky comic stuff with Harley, to McGregor’s minion slicing off people’s faces. Everything happens fast, or in pointless time-skipping. Jurnee Smollett-Bell’s Black Canary is pretty cool, except that her having superpowers seems totally irrelevant until she knocks some folks down in the finale. Rosie Perez’ Renee Montoya is described as speaking in cop cliches, and that’s what they give her in lieu of a character. Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn gets to do some genuinely splendid action scenes, and it’s the fighting throughout that makes this mess of a film endurable. Lots of people seem excited by the glitter and beanbag gun scene on entering the police station, but it’s the fight as they leave which is truly splendid. Oh, Arkham looks good – suitably grim and filled with ridiculous architecture and funfairs. I’d rank this as the third best DC movie (of the recent crop, barring Wonderwoman none of their films are even as enjoyable as Batman Forever), after Wonderwoman and Shazam (smoky grey CGI baddies are so Green Lantern) but some steps ahead of fucking Aquaman with it’s ghastly rubbery Sea World. I’m perplexed by this film all round. It grows clearer and clearer that I have no grasp of DC properties at all. In fairness, it’s about as good a grasp as Warner Bros’…

youtube

Doing: Creative Mentoring

Every month, for the last seven years (I think), I’ve spent a few hours with my delightful creativity client. We write stories, play improv and inspiration games, all with the aim of simply being mentally and creatively stimulating. And because it’s fun. Not too much to report on this occasion, other than to note (and remind myself) that’s always a genuine highlight of my week. I deeply enjoy the time I spend with Rebecca, and find it inspires me creatively too. What lovely reciprocity!

Doing: the Glowstick Trials at National Justice Museum

After a number of rehearsals we finally got to play for real! Seven improvised courtoom dramas, back to back last Friday evening. The chaps directing it this time around (Richard and Ben) rejigged it very smartly from our previous version, putting it much more opportunity to freely extemporise in our various roles of Judge, Defendant, Prosecution, Defence and Witness 1 & 2. A small tight cast, with lots of quasi-legal nonsense. I was lucky enough to end up playing most roles, not least because of the hideous traffic jams that marred the whole of Nottingham for hours, delaying a third of our team. It might have had some effect on audiences too, as we saw far fewer folks in the streets that in previous years. Ho hum. I had an absolutely marvellous time. Hearing Judge Duncan screaming away behind closed doors, myself mounting a vigorous defence (against Marilyn’s thorny prosecution) for poor Alistair accused of thinking about stealing birdseed (he couldn’t possibly have done – he never thinks!), waxing lyrical as a defendant in my maudlin teenage diary, and countless things I’ve forgotten. It was a blast, and I really want to do it again, somewhere, soon… Any offers?

I am the LAW

I am a felt-tip pen

Last Week, Sunday 9 February 2020. I've been doing things, honest, I just can't always remember what they were... #lightnight #Lego #birdsofprey #octoberfaction #diary Midweek Confusion OK, so this next week thing has slightly got away from me. As ever, by this point in a new week my recollection of the seven days past is blurring...

#Birds of Prey #blood pressure #DC films are terrible #DC movies #drugs #film review #Health #medication #MissImp: Improv Comedy Theatre Nottingham #Netflix #October Faction #The Glowstick Trials #TV review

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lilac-milk-moon · 5 years

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Graduate School and Early Retirement — Sitting Poolside with Jakob Freele from Wealthy Whisper

The Sitting Poolside interview series

When people think of retirement, scenes of beachfront homes, rounds of golf, or reading by the pool come to mind. Sitting Poolside is a series of interviews that challenges that notion and other financial misperceptions. The series name pokes fun at the stereotypes, but it’s also an opportunity to discuss people’s real stories and unique insights. So grab a piña colada and pull up your lounge chair!

Jakob Freele from Wealthy Whisper

Jakob is the owner and writer at the site Wealthy Whisper. He is a current MBA student with aspirations of helping people with their financial stress. It hurts him to see the financial situation of most Americans, so he has made it his goal to help as many people as he possibly can.

The story behind Wealthy Whisper

Mr. SR (MSR): What inspired you to start Wealthy Whisper?

Jakob Freele (JF): As touched on in my bio, I want to help people financially. I have had a passion for finance my whole life; even being ecstatic from monthly savings statements that showed 2 cents of interest earned when I was younger. I envision my site reaching a worldwide audience and helping millions of people with financial stress.

MSR: Is there a story behind the name “Wealthy Whisper”? What does the “Whisper” mean to you?

JF: Figuring out the name of my website and finding an available domain name was the hardest part! I honestly just found something that I felt flowed well together and that my girlfriend approved. I like to think that “Whisper” implies the blog is straight to the point, simple, and effective.

Sports and wealth

MSR: On your site, you talk about your time as an all-conference college baseball player. Has sports affected your worldview and your perspective on finances?

JF: Absolutely. Athletics is a great teacher in hard work and attention to detail. Nothing exceptional comes without hard work and dedication. Finance is just like practicing; you are not going to be significant overnight; it takes daily practice to achieve greatness.

MSR: What was your concept of wealth when you were growing up? How do you view wealth now, and what changed your perspective?

JF: Growing up, I thought to be wealthy and rich were the same thing. Reading a lot of financial books has helped me to realize that they are entirely different.

Wealth is built through assets and is not something that you ‘spend.’ Some incredibly wealthy people drive average cars and live in ordinary houses. However, they will never have financial stress or have to work for the rest of their lives. To me, this is the ultimate goal.

Some people seem ‘rich’ but are buried in debt. This is why I think wealth completes your life while being rich, fulfills other people’s thoughts of your life.

Early retirement

MSR: You share on your site that you are hoping to retire early. What led you to this dream? What steps are you planning to take to get there?

JF: I have had the dream to retire early for as long as I can remember. Once I started reading and learning about finance, I realized it is not just possible, but likely as long as you make the right financial decisions.

I have saved and invested more than most people my age and continue to grind every day. I have a lot of work to do, but I believe that I am on the right track.

MSR: Do your family or friends know about Wealthy Whisper and your future early retirement plans? If so, what has their response been?

JF: Absolutely! The first thing I did was share it with everyone I know on Facebook. I have been trying to tell as many people as I can because I want to help as many people as I can with their financial stresses.

MSR: What do you think your life will look like once you reach early retirement?

JF: I see myself with a beer in hand, sitting out in the yard, listening to music, and having fun with my wife and children. I am extremely excited to have the power to help others, donate money, and never let my loved ones stress about finances. I will continue to help as many people as I can.

Graduate school and advice

MSR: You share on your site that you are studying to complete your MBA. I’m working towards my master’s degree as well! What led you to pursue your degree? How has it affected your view of money and wealth?

JF: I do not believe having a graduate degree is necessary to be successful, but in the present time, it is worth so much more than a bachelor’s that it only makes sense. I will be able to help a lot more people financially with my MBA. Every day I think of my lessons related to the average person and what I can use from those lessons to teach others.

MSR: What’s the most helpful books or blog posts you’ve read recently?

JF: Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki, is always a fantastic first read. Crushing It! by Gary Vaynerchuk is one of my favorites as well.

As far as blogs go, I have always read The Penny Hoarder, Good Financial Cents, and I Will Teach You to Be Rich. Since we started corresponding about this interview, I have read a lot of Semi-Retire Plan. I have enjoyed posts from InformationFruit and NewVestor as well.

MSR: What advice would you give someone who is on the path to semi-retirement or early retirement?

JF: For anybody that wants to be on the path to early retirement, I recommend starting as early as possible. Compound interest is the ultimate wealth-builder. I also hope people know that every bit matters, whether it be $100 or $1, it all adds up. Continue to learn, continue to invest, and save, continue to see your dreams right in front of you, and you will succeed.

MSR: Jakob, thank you for sharing your story with us!

The post Graduate School and Early Retirement — Sitting Poolside with Jakob Freele from Wealthy Whisper appeared first on Semi-Retire Plan.

from Semi-Retire Plan https://ift.tt/2KWjSBC via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Semi-Retire Plan

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antinonymous · 5 years

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Love never changes. Nor does it eat, nor age, nor laugh, nor blink, It’s war. I’ve lived a life with many men who only ever use anger and joy to justify feeding and breeding constant war. Hate adapts and evolves. The difference between the two can seem blurry, but when the line between love and hate is stark, you’ll know. But you can’t always. That fantastical shit can’t exist. No, there’s a bunch of times where one must scream incoherently and without language to convey indescribable human emotions. Sometimes, that’s the only way to rid oneself of such feelings.

This right here is my personal masterpost and autobiography.

Even in the grim excesses and radically-different expressions of the human form, it is always just that- human. But though every human is human, not all humans are humane. What good is a human who only wants for themselves? What good is any thief or hoarder? That’s an unnatural human; a walking corpse designed by generations upon generations of class division and specific manufactured complacency in postmodernity.

In my story I encountered several fiends involved with thievery and acrimony. Why would anyone try to say there is a good thief? Where is the justification for mass destruction for brief momentary pleasure and profit? What justifications can someone possibly have for exploitation, mechanisation, and, again, general thievery imposed against the majority of humankind? Where’s the love in that? The rich will take and hoard all they can and make sure the needy and impoverished will die off, and that gives them their sickening feeling of love, which complacency then turns into the norm. Workers below are commanded “die off and shut up”. And I’m aware this is a tumblr post, so I trust you know that a plurality of folk receive such a message. I have, and perhaps you have too.

As I type this, I’m beginning to question how I should even say what I need to. Power is a strange thing. Having the ability to affect others’ actions is the definition I was given for it (as well as a confusion with it and Newtonian physics in my youth). The origins of where those in power come from often involves going through hundreds of years of violence. For example, stuff X is his. Why is it his? His great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather stole X from everyone else who had a say on it and had fewer qualms about using whatever means to get X. Now everyone agrees X is rightfully his when it almost always is obviously not. There’s a lot of powerful power analogies I could use, but I’ll keep this post spiritual.

Many will criticise, say, the Christian religion, due to the abhorrent, bastardly and genocidal ways with which they’ve gained and kept their power, particularly in Europe and the Americas. However, the history of early Christianity shows an absurd cabaret of many characters, some of whom I’d coöperate with, in another life. My favourite is Valentine. Why? Because he is a joke relic of history; a legend so cool that nobody ever decided to soberly (or accurately) figure out his or their life or lives. There were many Christians at the time with his name, and the stories people have of him/them are all over the place. Reading about ‘him’ is like looking into the files of a bunch of stoners who can never properly sort their shit, saying “yeah man this Valentine guy cured this old hag…or maybe... no she was like 18... anyway… and he, like, made them hear because they were deaf!” And then another guy says that the girl was blind and could then see, and that that particular guy wasn’t actually Valentine but possibly someone else (or maybe even 20 people; apparently it was a very popular name at the time).

An early memetic guy was he, who was such a courageous badass (or dumbass) that the stories don’t really have to make sense or be consistent- his character of a martyr helping Christians get Christian weddings during the time of illegal Christianity just sounds like the type of radical non-conformist that modern Christianity needs. He did what he felt was right and told Roman authority to fuck off. When Rome became Christian, the Christian became Roman. Rome was, of course, decadent. Thus became the Christian. The Roman elite had stolen Christianity from the poor and subverted it to justify later European atrocities for profit.

But the original idea is still there- where the weak can feel as safe and strong as the already powerful. Modern Christianity is such a watered-down, bigoted bore. What happened to those willing to behead or get beheaded for to fight against oppressive systems of power? Or of the teachings to men to gouge out their eyes so as to not sin against women? As someone who loves salty food, I must admit that modern Christians are not the Salt of the Earth, but rather the Grease of the Earth. Peanut Butter and such.

You could easily describe me as angry. Anger is a bit of a drug that can appear to try to assist in any and every given situation. Despite the many times I may have let my anger go too far, I don’t get bogged down in my regrets because of the outlandish and downright advantageous times where said anger has helped me deal with nasty people who hate general humanity and only crave destruction if and when it means they can profit. Many of these people use the Christian god to justify their own expansion. Nowadays the Christians and romantic, godless Pagans are both plebeians with the actual patricians now wealthier than ever; we fight and snatch what little we have from the claws of a pesky, greedy, and stubborn crab while said crab says it is handing out all it has. As if.

Valentine did likewise in the Roman Empire. He wanted to let others feel validated as they loved one another, to the death, and if he’d seen the church’s vast history of refusing to let others be themselves and love who they love, that he’d have been agitated at that. It makes you wonder if heaven is now filled with anti-Christian converts who collectively decided “fuck, we all fell for a scam!”

As you can tell, this is gonna be a long one. My story is profane but it’s the life I’ve lived. If you can’t already tell, I’m a bit unsure as to where to start. I don’t want people identifying me but I’ve never stood out. I’m neither tall nor short- 5′7″. I have green eyes, and I have i have dirty blond hair that’s thick yet soft. I indulged in henna in my youth; by age 6 I was a regular to having sleeves. I’ve personally never been one to dress fancy-like. For most of my childhood and adolescence I exclusively wore black, white, green, yellow, and red. One for each day of the work-week. These weren’t always worn in that order, but it was a tradition for me to wear them because I didn’t bother to look any different. Lazy, sure. But it’s not like you’re gonna come in from the screen and get me and tell me ‘I should’ve been more outgoing in my youth’. I was raised to not care about superficial stuff like that by my mom, Eunice

She died in 2007 from stomach cancer. My dad was already a mildly incessant depressant from a poor, sad family, so he never really got over her loss.

The Housing Market Crisis© the following year left my uncle, a financial business executive, completely broken and destitute. He lost a considerable fortune and could no longer to afford his home, rendering him unemployed and homeless. This meant he had to move in with my widowed father and my motherless self. I remember seeing a distinct change in his behaviour from him as he no longer treated corporate and government higher-ups with the same respect he once had; now heavily invested in organised economic ideas he’d dismissed in his youth. I was concerned but my dad was still far too sad to care. In the end it ended up being benign and incredibly beneficial.

I remember specifically having to point out to people which of them was which in my youth, due to their similar, slender, pale appearances with dense strawberry-blond hair and the same bright shade of blue eyes. My father, Yves, got many (ink) tattoos for my mom, but also for myself, his family, his love of art, mythology and more. He showed them to anyone who’d ask. My uncle, Wymer, wore heavier clothing to try to stand out but people would still mistake him for my dad being all covered up or what have you. He had to work at Walmart©, and when I told him to wear his fucking uniform out in public to differentiate him from my dad, he responded by growing a beard and never once shaving it. He also decided to never get tattooed whatsoever, and to bring books with him wherever he went because everyone in town knew Dad didn’t read a lot. The two together were altogether sad, angry, but nevertheless goofed.

I won’t lie, saying that line to him was rude, classist, and bitchy on my part, but in the end he had a righteous fuckin’ red bush on his face which covered his mouth and neck. He was stubborn like that- to make subtle reminders of others’ statements to him was always amongst his goals, and he really enjoyed that follicle expansion.

Their differences didn’t end there.

A big one was how extroverted Wymer was compared to his brother. Even around my mom, Dad was always shy, and he frequently put himself through a lot of feeling of self-disgust, self-hate, self-pity, remorse, regret, and seemingly infinite sorrow. He often made long visits to mom’s grave which only gave passerbys the look of a vacuumous void. He was the eldest child in his family, already in his late 50s. He plead hindsight to her early warning signs; saying he “should’ve known better.” I encouraged him to find someone new, but he never dated anyone ever again. In fact, only with the exception of when he got blitzed out of his mind on cocaine in 2010 Christchurch and demanded an aged sex worker, he never even wanted to fuck again. I actually spoke to her before she left our room; I forget her name, that youngblood, for she told me only once, but she told me some stories of the industry down there. She surprised me at the end of the night by saying he spent almost the entire time with her just asking questions about the problems related to said industry; having her nevertheless conclude him a “sadist”. The following morning, he found her again and invited her to brunch, eventually allowing her to stay with us the rest of the trip. She never took her word back on dad or gave us her name. She slept alone, and she got annoyed with dad paying for all her stuff. He wrote to her off and on for the next three years using the pseudonyms she’d give him.

My uncle was more generally angry and restless; wanting to fill people in on what he felt they were missing. He would regularly attend the local bars and it wouldn’t be uncommon for him to leave and come back sober. He just wanted to witness to them folk about stuff such as the labour theory of value, the frequency of market crises, the importance of understanding global industrial pollution or something along those lines. He often complained of his mental health, namely his short attention span’s relationship to his reading. Because of this, despite him having had few years of a head start on me in political economy, I quickly read far more than him. He began paying out of pocket to attend college classes and debate professors to get a 2nd or 3rd or 8th opinion. The 2008 crash shattered his life of finance, such as an earthquake shatters a busy bridge, and he quickly realised that he’d landed far left after the debris settled. He directed his anger at profit-driven actions and abandoned belief in the free market, instead looking for community-made creation/distribution systems. ‘Finally’, he thought, 'I can lash my anger out at those who deserve so much worse than the average, common fiend.’ His willingness to learn and desire to understand were enough for me to ignore his beard’s smell and his pronounced and maddened approaches, countenances, gesticulations, and obsessions.

None of what I’m saying is a complaint, though. I loved those two. Wymer spent a lot of his time online reading books, essays, and articles on the environment, philosophy, world history, sociology, the residue of western colonialism, and systemic societal buffoonery. He also wrote about communist witch-hunts and handed pamphlets of his thoughts to the townspeople, which the local cops weren’t ever pleased with. He was never much of a good economist but he had grand social scope. In 2019, y’all’d call him ‘woke.’ Meanwhile, Yves would spend his time painting or playing croquet with the neighbours in the backyard. He had a bit of a substance abuse problem which he always seemed to be weaker than. The cigarette lighter industry loved him. If he read at all, it’d be some cheesy novel or children’s literature. He wanted to spread happiness to others as he felt he had none himself. In 2019, y’all’d call him ‘a beta’.

Both of these men were always ones to keep me safe. Mom and dad told me they were my guardians, and my uncle swore the same thing to me after her death. They fought a lot as children but learnt to appreciate one another into adulthood with their mutual love of, among other things, listening to metal. Their quirks were what they were, and few quirks can distract from basic kindness, humility and human decency. This meant they were hostile towards all that I deemed a threat. This was such a honour I had to have those good, safe people with me. And seeing as it were that I was the only openly gay girl living in a conservative Christian town, I couldn’t have had a safer upbringing. I was a ‘witch’ surrounded by a bunch of Puritans, Papists, Quakers and Messianics who all seemed to behave similar to, and want to live in, a golden moral past which never actually existed. My father and uncle were truly the best men I ever knew, and everyone else knew that (maybe they even knowingly acted upon it). I lived in an apathetic town. ‘Other people are not my concern.’ Those people shit on the idea of being ethical, except for my home.

Every time that I’d have friends over, they’d say that our family dynamic was the best they’d ever been to before the end of their first visit. Every single time. And they knew it was because we all had a respect of each other and a desire to understand ourselves in there. I really wanted to help both of them out and they felt the same for me. My dad was specifically very gung-ho on wanting the boys at school to leave me alone. In fact, that was among the first things he said when he found out- he actively called out death to all those who sought to wish me harm, and he kept going on about contacting the school. Mom and Wymer did the same. It was a bit much, and as much as I loved and appreciated him loving and accepting me for who I am, again, it was a bit much. I’m not short and I have never lost a fight. A small part of me thinks that Yves was just scared that in whatever harassment scandal he’d imagined that I’d come out as victor and be convicted of manslaughter.

He put a lot of effort into protecting me to distract himself from the fact that I, spiritually, was now protecting him. Appearances deceive. He never fully learnt that from me.

He also forgot my friends Shane, Mack, and Albin. These boys were quick to learn and prudent in judgment. They were among the first I came out to since they were generally nice, soft-spoken nihilists who didn’t flirt with any girl or woman under any circumstances. They all generally looked alike, so it’d always be easy to look for them in the streets. These three hated each other but were the type of outcasts too lazy to care about making other friends. We all loved playing soccer and othergames Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokémon and Magic the Gathering as kids. Since we grew up in the same neighbourhood, we played with each other enough to turn our friendship unbreakable. We all had a sacred blood-bond in our own type of weeaboo mysticism.

At some point in 8th grade I made them all swear a type of Knight’s oath in service to none other than me if and when other boys wouldn’t take 'no’ for an answer. I was going through an edgy phase so my exact wording was probably something more like an order to “defend their queen against normie, goblin scum” or something to that effect. They and I all read the same fantasy and sci-fi bullshit so I really wanted my message to stick like jizz glue. I was their queen because I always beat them at their games. I always found the rarest Pokémon wasting the least amount of Pokéballs. I always found the most Minecraft diamonds. I always ended up killing the most enemies on COD. That shit was glorious; if only Twitch© were a thing back then. When you’re a girl and you’re consistently better at games than a cis male gamer, boy oh boy does it upset them. Normally it angers them, but these three specifically were far too nihilist to be that rude- my skillz instead humbled them, and a bunch of kids in my position would milk friendships like that for all it’s worth. Those three agreed and kept their word in flame.

This plan sorta backfired. The boys stopped flirting with me and knew I sought no romance with them, good, but now all the girls avoided me and started giving me harsh glares (One even gave a free pink King James Bible, with the irony sadly being entirely lost on my giver). I didn’t quite realise my plan immediately led to them telling others. In hindsight, that should’ve been more obvious. I felt a formidable and frosty chill from said others, as well as glares that made me feel like I was a carefully-watched animal. I’m thankful that dad and Wymer didn’t allow me to have a smartphone at that time, because cyberbullying has always been such a steaming pile of aardvark mucus, and I, in middle school, needed to see none of what they wrote.

Most of the staff pretended not to notice and gave slaps on the wrist for punishment. But I had a secret weapon- friends and family who always loved me despite not always trying to understand me. They meant well in defiance of their occasional insensitivity, their budding awareness of ignorances and their lack of any idea of what it was they were trying to do.

It was all I had; better than nothing- better than many. They’d listen. Listening is classically underrated; people have spent way too long not shutting the fuck up. This allowed them to try to understand. When you get someone primed for some understanding, then can you extol to them whatever bullcrap it is you must say. And, if in-fact Yves and Wymer understood, then they’d go apeshit for the next week and a half on the staff. They never realised how often my friends got suspended for the same reason.

There’s several good tales I could tell, but my favourite started by Albin simply talking to a school administrator about certain new policies which seemed to be very excessively Christian-in-nature and vaguely queerphobic. He was irate that he wasn’t able to go to a school dance with Shane, since Mack was my date and we didn’t care to go with other people. This staff member was higher up than a mere teacher so he was in a position to cast judgment on my friend. But Albin always fucking hated this guy so he didn’t cower in fear. This administrator was a real prick and everyone there knew it, so when Shane and Mack heard them two screaming in an abandoned hallway, they went to the source of the sound, with Shane recording on his camera. He recorded a short, rambunctious, vague, and incoherent dialogue with the two which included the administrator saying, among other things, that he’d “wipe the school clean of all you disrespectful millennial f*ggots”. Albin went full steam ahead through that horsecrap, instantly declaring him a kind of religious oligarchical czar; saying to him that he was forcing the school board to bow down before a type of ugly deity.

“It may as well be called Holy Law! Whoever does not fall down and worship shall be instantly cast into a white-hot furnace? Is that what you’re saying? That’s basically what you’re saying! Obey or perish! Is that what you want? Will you condemn those who you refuse to let exist?” The administrator made them leave their space when he realised a sizable crowd had watched him make an ass of himself.

Before he could leave, however, Mack joined in- “Hey administrator-”

The administrator genuinely looked at Mack as if he were expecting cold-hard cash- as if Mack was going to be a perfectly obedient, whipped coward. That stupid man had no true emotions. Mack said,

“If our god, whom we now serve, can save us from the white-hot furnace and from your hands, oh mister, may he save us! But even if he will not, know, oh you, we will not serve your interpretation of god or worship your fools-gold societal standards which you set up!” Shane was laughing the whole time.

They all got 8 days suspension for that, 8 times longer than normal. The administrator thankfully got fired, though, for the content of what was recorded. I have no idea where the worship ceremony thing came in but I loved it, and ‘the white-hot furnace’ was our class’ inside joke for the rest of the year. In town we’d hear “Look! I see four of y’all walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like one of the gods.”

This was typical in my hometown of Yeastville for what seemed like a very long time. It was claustrophobic and filled with a lot of frustrating people, but I knew I had it better than many others in my position. Wymer in particular was always a strange source of comfort with all his bitterness toward the rich and his genuine tenderness towards almost everything and everyone else (except those amongst us poor who wish to maintain the status quo of the current flow of capital; he had no sympathy for those who defend parasites). On my 16th birthday he gave me lectures, essays, rants, and even comedy bits in a type of crash-course on women, communism, class-conflict, and the nightmare of ecology, with tons of books. I literally have never met or heard of anyone learning Marxist theory from their uncle. Dad was never much into politics which let him and I go buck wild with reading. They both also allowed me to get the internet in my pocket, allowing me to access all of recorded human knowledge. Learning the hardships of life throughout history all relating to the ways European colonisation and christianisation made their effects on the world made perfect sense when I considered how Shane, Mack and Albin always had a type of assurance that they’d be alright in the end after getting in trouble at school and that I’d always end up getting shat on by most of the rich, Christian staff. We’re living in a society. Uncle Wymer was a very staunch commie who never tried to make enemies, but rather had among the softest of intent all the while nevertheless gathering more and more enemies. Having a man like that in my proximity, in the country, is luck. Dad gave me life and general feelings of warmth and love but Wymer gave feelings of inter-personal and inter-sectional solidarity with red-tinted love.

They were both very optimistic yet sad.

However, if I had been raised in any other home at any other time by any other parent or guardian then I’d never have realised my potential that I and y'all have to be the type of total badass who writes shit like this. Those two always told me to strive for what I want and need, no matter what society’s expectations are. You’re always you, yourself, and the stains of other people, so get some fucking confidence. When I was put through the fear of 2013, that confidence gave me wings with which I’ve soared ever since.

Back in early 2011, a new girl came to the first day of school. She was in my grade and all we were told about her was that she was colourblind, tall, and from a rich family. I clearly remember thinking thinking was going to hate her, as I assumed she was going to the type of bitch spoiled by an extravagant and decadent bourgeois family- the type Wymer would always warn about.

When she walked into homeroom, she was looking at her feet. She was visibly nervous and uncomfortable. She was indeed less than a foot shorter than our 6'7″ teacher, Mr. Young (no relation). She was lanky with medium-length black hair. She looked tired and thoroughly spooked, with a thoroughly frightened glare in her big, green eyes. She wore a medium-length beige dress with dark boots. She’s giggling next to me as I type this. Whatever, lovely. I don’t want people identifying you either.

She eventually started walking toward me, looking at our first names on the desks placed alphabetical order. I believe in the power of first impressions and she did not meet my expectations.

For context, Yeastville is a poor rural town with few resources which still had 90s technology and desks from the 70s. One of those desks broke with some kid in it as she was passing me, and this pushed her, making her fall on me. She promptly got up, looked at my name on my own desk, said “I’m sorry, Yasmine,” and immediately went to the person who broke their desk, having no discernible concern for her new bruises.

We just so happened to have some extra desks so there was no actual problem, it just became the story of the day. After staff made sure everybody was okay, she sat down behind me. I knew I’d never known anyone named ‘Ymir’. She formally introduced herself by apologising profusely and showering me in compliments. This was not the behaviour I’d expect from someone from her family. She was different than any rich folk I’d heard about from the news, books, or from Wymer. Then again, he wouldn’t necessarily have been researching the children of millionaires.

And yes, she was very rich. Her father was a lying lobbyist-loving liberal- a bureaucratic Bonapartist shitlord by the name of Yair Yellowhammer. I’d like to once again clarify that I’m not short, but he wasn’t much taller than me, so he actually was short. Very short. Fucking shrimp. He had meticulous, balding grey/blond hair with a big nose, filthy ears, and a carnivorous smile. His eyes always had anger within them and they were a shade of brown akin to an overcrowded prison’s cesspool. Wymer had told me about him from his twitter©, of all places. Yes, a logging company with which the congressman worked had been looking to send lots of working class folk into our vast forest, making way for chicken farms among other things. He had moved to town because it’s still within his district but remote enough to make his poor and willingly-ignorant supporters think he fought for them in any way. Yellowhammer advanced ahead policy which would benefit his bank account and kill his enemies the fastest every single time, and Wymer’s comrades were always there to complain about the hideousness of it all. In 2019, y’all’d follow him on Twitter© a lot more.

I soon clearly saw, though, that all I knew of her father had to be cast aside because ‘for now’, I thought, ‘she’s not being hostile. Is she an enemy? Time will tell.’ I had to suck in repulsion to her family and bite my lip as we all waited for the bell to ring. This got harder to do as the day went on. She and I shared many of the same classes, and they all put the students in alphabetical order, so I was forced to spend even more time with her.

But I noticed her act like myself. Mannerisms of my persona with individual agony. At some point she said that she enjoyed my smile the most ‘out of all that she’d seen.’ All? I was nervous, genuinely starting to wonder that she was not who I thought she was. I asked about Yellowhammer and her expression turned glum. She was his daughter and she wasn’t proud of him. I stopped my questioning when I realised she clearly wasn’t straight and that her dad’s sexist, homophobic rhetoric may have given her a big can of worms that I was not quite yet in a position to open. Every answer I got from my interrogations only made her more visibly uncomfortable. She hated him, and I was now acutely aware of that.

I asked those brothers at home what they thought and they both told me to ‘just go for it.’ This frustrated me because with all I said I never mentioned if I liked her, but that was the extent of their advice. Even Wymer had little to say:

“She sounds like a nice person…she sounds like the reason why Yellowhammer keeps his life private.”

Eventually, I confirmed this. She’s a fine and strong ‘degenerate’ who, in any other form, would easily strike terror into the heart of Yair. But in her true form she was subject to cruelty unlike that seen in most parts of the country. She told me story after story of him forcing her into all sorts of awful shit- from weeks of forced scripture readings, to a specific 2-week stay at conversion camp, and even the threat of circumcision. Her step-mother, Yannick, added to this torment. She had married Yair only to birth a new son who’d receive the Yellowhammer inheritance instead of Ymir, who, like me, was an only child. She said to me it was her speaking out against the loggers and industrial farmers which led him to admit to such a thing. She had no uncles or aunts to turn to, and her grandparents had long since passed.

“You’re meek,” he said, “You already have the earth.”

Shane, Mack and Albin tried to help me help her and were their typical selves after I got a girlfriend, having now the chance to compete amongst themselves in their games without fear of me beating them. We four discovered her love of astronomy and the English language. She also helped those three with their Spanish to the point of the four of them having entire conversations, where I’d mock them all in French.

Those were, and these still are, times of love; romantic and platonic.

This was then how it was for many months, with both of our home lives getting progressively worse. The Yellowhammers became poorer in spirit and my family became poorer in general.

In late 2012, my other uncle and aunt Eugene and Ulysse Yarborough died in a mudslide, leaving my only cousin, Ywain, out in the world on his own. Neither Yves nor Wymer had the proper income to adopt him, so he was forced by the state to enter foster homes. We weren’t ever real close, but I thought about him a lot when I’d consider whatever unimaginable shit he’d have been going through. These thoughts asked similar questions about Ymir.

By senior year, she and I had a bit of a routine where I was, according to the Yellowhammers, her tutor. This was a big, big lie, hiding raged, adolescent fever, which I’d never get into for y'all. I have no need nor desire to indulge you sick fucks with your disgusting, overactive��imaginations. I’m no historian, but I would rather refrain from espousing details on this website because I believe it also gave us the word ‘turbovirgins.’

Anyway, the actual most dastardly and illegal thing we’d do was when we’d go on walks and we’d stumble across logging sites in the woods where trees were being cleared. Stories began circulating throughout the people of the town. Everyone started blaming a secret cabal of conspiratorial green-freaks putting sugar into the fuel tanks of the many construction machines. Every single time, however, it was just me, with Ymir keeping watch over my shoulder (except a few times when I went with Wymer; he would always obsessively check every single machine to make sure it was thoroughly fucked for weeks. He never thought he’d ever become too old for that shit). Nobody ever figured us out, and the developers became years behind schedule.

The last time she and I did that was in early February 2013. After looking from our vantage point on a wooded hilltop onto the main street, I saw an unfamiliar face in the Yeastville crowd. No…it was familiar…familial. It was Ywain. He looked dirty and tired. His jeans were green from travelling through grass and his trench-coat was covered in a thick layer of pollen, dust and snow. His scarf was tattered and his short, dense hair was a mess from lack of rest. I knew not of his plans, and I knew Yves and Wymer were also unaware of them, as none of us had been contacted. I thought little of it. Valentine’s day was in less than a week, and I didn’t want to get distracted from the celebration. When I told those two brothers at home, they assured me there was nothing to worry about, letting me sleep.

The day before the holiday, Ymir tells me that her dad would be taking her to a private school within the next two weeks to finish her education. This was his response to her telling him about me, and prom, I guess. ‘Great’, I thought. I never had or wanted any money- just peace of mind. Society’s expectations of a person can truly break them if they aren’t cut out for them, and I was never looking forward to tending the land of the Young Farm- even with the thought of having it with Ymir. This was my only option, since college was basically never an option for my incredibly indebted family.

No, I always wanted to lead a life with the only expectations ahead of me be ones that I placed. Suicide is the easy way out, but I’ve always wanted to deny death, and have personally always been afraid of reincarnation. This means I’ll always either concoct a plan or wait it out. But I was not looking to wait until my heart stopped beating. No, I needed an alternative and I needed understanding. I got the former and have since realised I may never get the latter.

It started at 2200 hours on Valentine’s day. I’d been running late home from a painful get-together with Ymir when I notice my home having broken windows. I looked inwards after having crept forward, and saw Ywain snoring on our couch. He was even more of a mess than before. I scanned in the dark with my vision and saw my father and uncle laying in bloody pools on the floor. I realised now that Ywain had invaded the home to kill all three of us and take all of grandpa’s inheritance for himself.

There were a lot of recent arguments about the inheritance from our grandpa, an old black man named Kanye Young (that really was his name, true story- there’s a hundred rants I memorised of Grandpa Ye having to tell people he generally hated music and wasn’t related to mister West). It all amounted to a little more than $30,000, thanks to government interference. I had asked both grandpa and dad if Ywain could be included in on the inheritance after the accident but all the adults involved refused, citing my aunt Ulysse’s direct orders to not include him. This type of fucking behavior I now saw may have been why. The stories I heard about him were always that he was a self-centred brat who always wanted more than everyone else and felt that he deserved it, and it showed. He would’ve rather killed his family to go through a legal loophole rather than face the fact his past actions made his mother feel the way she felt and try to change for the better.

It seems that after he killed his uncles, he realised his cousin wasn’t home and decided to nap on the couch waiting for me. I wanted to cry, but then I took a second to contemplate my situation, and I saw potential. I now felt I had been offered the strength of the cosmos, but I rejected it, as I was, and still am, so much stronger. I was not about to let myself be a ward of the state. This is not the tone I wanted my story to have. I was not about to abandon their lessons those two gave to me of fighting for what I need and to be an annoying, squatting prick when it’s needed. I was told of a promising future, so who’s to say I can’t build one for myself? In general, what is there to say? I now had motivation to act- to let myself legally die. The potentiality of a plan ran through my body like oxygen-rich blood, so I ran to Ymir’s house with said plan.

She’s next to me as I type this and she and just got into a bit of an argument for that last, misleading sentence. It wasn’t really a plan. Plans have lots of precision, detail and a need to be made with a careful attitude. I, on the other hand, made a glorified to-do list and went into the Yellowhammer residence guns-blazing. Literally.

I had brought out Wymer’s guns and knives for my trip. Wearing his goddamn Mitt Romney mask and dad’s goatskin leather jacket, I looked like both death and a total meme. The Yellowhammer residence was situated on the outskirts of town in a remote location with no neighbours, so I was able to get to their house with no problem. I’d never been able to explore much of it beforehand, but Ymir had described it to me to the point where I could easily go about my way. When I found Yair and Yannick in bed, I even knew the right places to walk to ensure they couldn’t hear me (Ymir said she’d do this to mess with Yair’s stuff as he slept). There was no conflict or fight; it was anticlimactic and faster than it seemed. For her last words, Yannick thanked me.

Ymir, when she eventually ran into me, was understandably nervous, but after I explained everything, she relaxed and asked how she could help. We stole a bunch of gold and clothes before setting the house ablaze.

We ran back to my house, where Ywain was till asleep on my couch. We sneaked up behind him, drugged him, and bludgeoned him until he was completely out of it. We had a bag on his head so he couldn’t see us, and made sure to speak to each other in fake voices in case he could hear. Afterwards, we took off his clothes and replaced them with Yair’s. My plan was that Ywain would then be blamed for the murder of both our families, ourselves, and the Yellowhammer arson.

After we were done with that, we exited my house for the last time. It was around 3 (AM), so the town was still relatively quiet. She was nervous and asked if we could have one last walk through the streets. I made sure to show her all the most beautiful views across many streets. After this, we started walking in the woods toward the city. After changing our names, vocal patterns, styles and certain aspects of our attitude, we were ready to take on the world. It’s 2019 and we still are!

When we got to the city we knew we had to keep a low profile and not try to attract attention. I decided to do this by taking up the mantle from Wymer and I got a job in retail. He’s giving me a grin from heaven. You know the grin; the overtly smug grin that’s only ever 100% condescension, and even when they say they’re not trying to be condescending that just makes you feel it more. Ymir, on the other hand, works at a popular bookstore; keeping stock whilst also writing both book reviews and poetry. We make just enough money to get food, weed, and keep our landlord at bay. I hope you people on this site saw the post about some person who bought a dog whistle to make their landlord’s dogs incessantly bark to the point where the poster could then complain to their landlord that their ‘dogs are barking too much.’ Ymir and I did the same thing, and I recommend it. They’ve probably got the first two Rage Against The Machine albums memorised by this point since that’s all she and I ever listen to. In short, we gave him constant hell.

Things were going surprisingly well for us. It was weird to talk to others about ‘where we came from,’ but we never lied enough to have inconsistencies with our stories. But one day, I had to deal with a co-worker- a Wiseguy. This Wiseguy’s often talkative, but on that day they seemed quiet, tense, anxious, and struck with overwhelming terror- especially when working with me. I asked them if all were well, and they said no. I asked why, and they gave me a look of someone falling to their death.

They swallowed their spit,

“I was watching a YouTube video yesterday about freaky, unexplained crimes, and there was one in particular that caught my attention. A man had apparently killed a congressman and his family, then proceeded to burn down the entire house to ashes before then killing his own two uncles and cousin on the other side of town.”

I looked on, screaming internally, saying calmly,

“…Okay?”

“But,” they continued, “The bodies of the congressman’s daughter and the murderer’s cousin, who was living with his uncles, were never found. There’s also some inconsistencies in the times of death, along with the fact the perpetrator specifically only ever plead guilty of his uncles’ deaths, not that of his cousin or of the congressman’s family.”

I stared in silence. They weren’t done.

“I looked a little into it, and it seems that the congressman’s daughter had a diary that survived the flames. One section that caught my attention was how she was going to have deal with a new baby brother because she was not seen to be a proper heir to the congressman’s wealth.”

This wouldn’t have bothered me at all if Ymir hadn’t told them less than a week prior of her new tragedy involving a tyrant wasting his life in the prospect of a male heir since he hates the princess, our narrator. I felt trapped and exposed. Goddammit, I always told her to check TvTropes© and she never did.

“Are you ready to go?”

It was Ymir. She was standing by my side since her shift had apparently ended early and mine was due to end at any given moment. I turned worryingly to Wiseguy, who had a huge smile on their face. They said,

“I really, really fucking hated Yellowhammer. His death did wonders for the planet, and, uh, I am your friend…so just please tell me what you can when you can!” They then sent me home and walked away.

I eventually told Wiseguy everything. There was no reason to hide; they figured out that I was Yasmine Young. They didn’t have any kind of scared or nervous reaction. Quite the contrary, they were utterly fascinated. And they wanted to help, giving us stuff from make-up tutorials to online spots where we could maintain pseudo-anonymity. They were a comrade much like Wymer, becoming something of my and Ymir’s best friend, being the only one who ever figured us out.

And then, everything went quiet. Nobody said anything after that. ‘Finally,’ I thought, ‘it’s all in the past.’

Last week, after a while of having muscle cramps in our abdominal regions, we learn we both have terminal stomach cancer, the disease that killed both our moms. We can’t afford treatment, and even if we could, we don’t have enough time left to go through thosr miles of legal red-tape. She and I took a while to decide on what we need to do, and we decided to post this. My wife and I have story and we won’t die silently. We have voices that can be heard and words that can be read.

But I’ve said enough about us, back to you, reader- you can do so much better. Practice and improvement is always an option. We, collectively as a people, are stronger than we admit to ourselves. We are the true rulers of the earth; letting a small bunch of ornamental fucks hold our shit for us. The ruling class is a parasite, and like every parasite, it can be killed by, and is smaller than, its host.

Come and get me, INTERPOL, because we have loaded guns and more than enough ammunition to kill ourselves and well over 100 landlords. You can’t get cigarettes with a fake ID but you can get a gun license with it. However, I have no faith in the ability of the cops to use 2019 technology in general, let alone tumblr. Eat santorum, cops.

I’m posting this to Wiseguy’s blog without their permission, and I hope someone on this site can hear me and preserve my words. I hope you read this entire thing because I now that I’ve looked through your blog I have to tell you that you’re a bit inarticulate and shitty at economic theory. I’ll have to send this post to Shane, Mack, and Albin’s blogs, since they appear to still be active.

To end this, I must speak again of Valentine. He may as well have been an anonymous tumblr blog for all history cares because the affects an action matters far more than the individual who performs it. His history is inconsistent and chaotic, but is love not chaos? Not a Petersonian “"“chaos”“”, but an unrivaled, unparalled and uncanny type of lustful wrath that can take out all of hate’s laziness. You can reject both pure nihilist sloth and desire-driven consumerism. Total freedom should not be seen as an extreme!

There’s a lot to take in; you can’t get it all. Do what you know helps. Do what we know helps.

To decontextualise Richard Dawkins-

“…be satisfied with not understanding the world.”

Sin with pride

#christianity #writing shit #weed content #this is an old post from Valentine's day #abuse cw #homophobia cw

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