Minnie mouse nails simple
The Klink Mike's Story Part 1
2023.03.22 07:25 HughEhhoule The Klink Mike's Story Part 1
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The floor of the cell is covered in decades of mildew and dust. This disgusting carpet does nothing to dull the pain as I skip across it, thrown in by someone with the intention of making a point.
My Name’s Mike, and if any of you are the types to go on a deep dive, you probably know A little about me already.
For those of you that don’t, Jesus I don’t know exactly where to begin.
The Cliff’s notes would be that I spent a little over a decade either being a serial killer or a vigilante. I won’t try to justify my actions, both of those are just sides of the same shitty coin. I’m not a person to be idolized or emulated, so I choose not to plead my case.
Now, while I thought that was just about as screwed up as life could get, one day, out of the blue, after burying my best, fuck, my only friend I found myself, somewhere else. A world that looked and felt like mine, but one where the things that go bump in the night actually existed.
Where I came from, I’d seen monsters, to be sure, but only the kind that happen when people break.
Since I’ve been here? Got caught up in some demented gameshow for demons or something, threw a massive shit in the punch bowl of the thing running the production, and got the world’s unluckiest man his freedom.
And that leads me to my current situation, staring down the rage filled, mildly bruised face of that asshole, that fucking, demonic Ted Turner, Art.
He runs a hand aggressively through his slicked back hair, standing at the door to my cell.
“Looks like your little plan didn’t work, exactly as I predicted, you fuck.
I mean, great try with the little cat thing you had, honestly didn’t see that coming. But, Jesus, Mike, what was your end game? “ Art gloats.
“Cards on the table? It was a lot better, but shit fell through, that whiskey abomination, it was the one that ratted me out I assume?
That being said, still got Kev out. And you can’t really ‘flip off his lightswitch’ if he didn’t let you screw around with his wiring, can you? “ I grin, I keep it, even as a Gucci shoe slams into my face.
Am I scared? Of God damn course I am, I’ve been pissing myself (metaphorically speaking.) since I realised that the rules of reality don’t really apply any more.
Every new grain of sand on the beach of hell my life has become, tosses me further down the road of mental failure. Shit, that’s half of what fucked up my last plan in the first place.
If I could have just kept my shit together long enough, I’d be sipping a beer with Kev in some shit hole town somewhere. But the only thing harder than trying to stamp down fear in the face of God’s and monsters, is trying to do it while projecting some kind of ‘death fears me ‘ persona.
Between you and I? Death doesn’t fear me, in fact, it seems to love to hang around. And every day I have to stare down that grim spectre, the closer I get to losing the tenuous grip on reality I have .
“Oh, fuck Kev. He’s smart enough to stay off my radar, and too stupid to figure out a way to come back at me.
He's got a 1 bedroom in Idaho or something? Salud, good on him.
You, I had high hopes for, and then you decide to wipe your ass all over my carpet, cost me more than I could even explain, and even, get me a little roughed up. My favorite shell, anyway.
I want to recoup some loses Mike. So, you, get to be a part of another one of my projects.
You thought The Path was bad? Oh, you literal, fucking clown, you haven’t seen anything.
I won’t spoil it for you, the devil’s in the details and all, but you know what everyone loves?
Prison.
Not being in it themselves, of course, but seeing others, especially those they hate in there.
This place isn’t fair, the path was a boxing match with Queensbury rules, this is a handcuffed knife fight.
And I can’t wait to see you figure out, all the little surprises it has in store for you. “ Art laughs and tosses me a battered, ancient looking smartphone, “ Feel free to drum me up some good press online if you want. “
My heart is pounding, I have to use every bit of will I have to stop from shaking, to roll my neck and sit against the cold, padless cement bed behind me.
I feel sick, my stomach boiling and gurgling.
“For the love of whatever the demonic equivalent of Christ is, why not just kill me? I’m right here, I have no way of fighting back, and you know damn well that if you give me enough time, I’m going to find a way to wipe my ass on your doorframe next. “ My tone is flippant, or at least, I hope it is.
“The ego on you kid, you think you’re that guy don’t you?
They exist, don’t get me wrong, probably a couple thousand folks capable of taking me out, but trust me, you are not one of them.
This isn’t some ‘Arch’ idiocy where I leave my greatest rival alive. This is me watching you squirm because I can, and making a little profit on the deal.
Don’t flatter yourself. “ Art has produced a long thin knife as he talks, he spins and rolls it absently.
“Before your guys dragged me off, I met something. A corner store, I don’t know if it was haunted, possessed, or if it was some kind of creature that just decided to look like a knock off 7-11.
Point being, it was out there, ethereal, I couldn’t hurt it, outwit it, even slow it down. I ran from that thing as fast as I could. It gave me some serious Lovecraft vibes.
You, Art, are not that guy. “ I notice myself tapping my finger nervously on the slime covered floor, I focus, stopping the tic.
The tip of Art’s knife glows, the sick, grey sheen isn’t heat, but something that makes me start to back up.
“I am, but you will never see that. You’re not worth the effort.
I want to give you a little something though. “ Art stalks toward me, I stand as I back into the farthest corner of the cell, “ Proud of your face paint were you? “
Art grins, and for a moment lets some of his true self slip through. For just a moment I see timeless horror in his eyes, a dark black void of consumed souls and unrestrained evil.
That knife parts my flesh with pain like a whip. Without even using the blade, it’s presence flenses my face, opening up raw, textured furrows in my flesh.
He leaves after he is done, laughing to himself.
The pain makes me black out, my stomach is boiling, I come to dry heaving, the effort sends me back into the oblivion of sleep.
I don’t know how long has passed, my face feels like it is on fire, and the thick steel bars of my cell door are closed.
It takes me two minutes of cupping my hands under the grime laden steel tap to get enough water to clear off a spot on the rusted, old, wall mounted steel mirror.
No mortal hand could have scarred me as accurately as Art did. The wounds, not healed, but cauterised as to not make me bleed out, used depth, and width, to create a colorless replica of my makeup.
I know trauma, physical as well as mental, and these are scars that will never heal. As the fact sinks in that my face is literally no longer my own, I scream, heart pounding, I split open my knees on the cold cement floor.
Pain flares, threatens to send me back to the bliss of unconsciousness, but I don’t care.
I read Kev’s journals, and they paint me in a really… positive light, in a sense.
What I mean is, going by what he thought he saw, I’m some kind of supervillian or something. Tossing three hundred pound air conditioners ( it was the outer shell, seventy pounds, physics and luck did the rest.), wrestling Art ( I was clinging on for dear life, had it not been for Jr and the mass of denizens, I’d have been killed with a flick of his wrist.), or appearing like a ghost (people, even immortal are very unobservant. Especially in an emergency.).
I’m great at seeming horrifying, and that’s a weapon in and of itself, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is.
Kneeling in my own blood, vision blurry with pain, I realise how small, vulnerable, and unarmed I truly am.
By the time daylight shines through the yellow reinforced glass window, I’m already awake. I’ve spent an hour and a half calming myself, trying to find some focus, some centre to keep me going.
I’ve been in prison before, back home, first and last time I tried plying my trade outside of America.
Being the stupid payaso gringo that I am I bit off so much more than I can chew that I wound up choking on it for 2 months in a Mexican prison.
The routine of, count, lineup, chow, remained the same.
The demographics of the population on the other hand…
Being observant is one of my main skills and as I was brought into the absurdly sized cafeteria, I was taken aback at just how many people were here.
Tens of Thousands, easily, maybe a hundred. I try and think of how many missing person cases this accounts for, and even that math doesn’t quite add up.
I quickly inventory the groups that make up the place, not that it wasn’t obvious.
The first, of course are the guards. Some, the majority, appear to be human, well geared up and in intimidating physical condition.
But a handful, they are clearly, something else. Some are smooth featured ebony skinned giants, carrying truncheons that could crush a car engine. Others are grinning, pale skinned bad attempts at human copies, wild eyed and twitching.
Second would be what I called the cultists. They all appeared to style themselves after certain tropes and urban legends, clearly human, but dressing, tattooing and mutilating themselves to appear like, myths, legends, and monsters.
The subtle violence I see tells me I’ve found the gangs.
Third are the Everymen, I can’t see any kind of pattern to them, but they seem to make up the majority of the population. They keep their distance from the guards and the cultists, but on more than one occasion I see then stand, united against attempts at extortion.
The last group, I call the candles, people that are clearly on their way out mentally and physically. Sunken eyed, and set upon from all angles, at any moment these folks could be simply snuffed out.
I keep my distance, and stay respectful, the meandering, twisting line seems to take hours to get me my thick slice of crumbling yellow bread, and thick red slurry that reminds me of porridge masquerading as meat.
My coat is gone but I’m left with the majority of the clothing I fashioned back in the path. I see a mix of unwashed orange uniforms and ‘civilian’ clothing, some of the cultists, bordering more on costume than wardrobe.
As the massive, butchers apron wearing man in smeared clown makeup sits down, I wish I’d have been issued something more generic. I saw this coming the second I noticed a lump of Chlorophiles in blood stained getups.
“You sit with us. “ I can’t tell if it’s an accent or speech pattern, the clown sounds strange, either way.
I eat a spoonful of the red sludge.
“No disrespect intended, I’m not one for clubs. I’m going to make no waves, no plays, nothing. I’m a ghost. “ I say, levelly, avoiding eye contact.
Why, you might ask, having been told about my adventures in murder.
Well, that’s just it. Murder is easy, and any time you saw me end a life, it was just that.
A fight, that’s another thing entirely, especially against someone with a significant weight and height advantage.
“Not asking. You got friends. “ The massive clown moves his bulk closer, it’s like sitting next to a forklift.
I eat the bread, it tastes amazing until I swallow, then has a foul, chemical aftertaste.
I drink some tepid, burgundy fluid that might be caffeinated.
No weapons nearby, no one watching that might step in. I’m full of bruises and sprains, and probably anemic from blood loss. Not to mention one eye is running at about fifty per cent. Art didn’t sever the optic nerve last time, but he wasn’t gentle. My heart races.
“I don’t play well with people who take clowning and slap a coat of dark paint on it.
You guys are Clown Killers. You are good at killing, I’m sure, but the clown part, it’s tacked on.
Myself, I’m a killer clown…. “ I had a really good rant planned, honestly, it was a corker, douche bags would have used it in memes for a decade.
But before I can react, with one massive hand, he bounces my face off of the pitted steel table.
It rings my bell, but not as much as I let on. In clowning terms, what I do Is called a pratfall.
For those of you that don’t speak nerd, I oversell the hit, falling backwards, eyes fluttering.
I tip backwards, reaching out my left arm, as if to steady myself. The meat mountain is unbothered, knowing I have no chance unarmed, in this close, he let’s me grab one shoulder of the butchers apron. The material is thick, and matted in stains that will never come out, literally or metaphorically.
If you want to take someone out, in a relatively harmless way, you don’t want to choke them. It takes forever, usually ends up killing them, and generally is a bad idea for everyone involved.
Your goal is go cut off blood flow to the brain as quickly and fully as possible.
I hook my thumb around the opposite shoulder strap, and snap my body backward, the apron acting as an impromptu Garrotte.
His right arm is knotted through my left, as he tries to struggle, to put his murderous intent and ability to work, the choke only becomes tighter.
I don’t want enemies here, and I only have so many tricks to play before things come to a knock down drag out fight, so I leave the clown unharmed.
I do need friends, but the look I get as I take a seat at a loose collection of men is cold and fearful.
A red haired guy, five foot nine or so, makes eye contact, “Anything we can help you with? “ he says, fearless.
“Yeah, despite the face work I’ve had done, I have fuck all in common with any of those penny wise, Icp, Gacy dressed, assholes.
I need a tribe guys, you all look like the unlucky ones around here, but I don’t want to get involved in bloodshed.
I’m Mike “ I know, that’s only mostly true, but I mean it, either way. I extend a hand.
“Chris. “ the red haired guy says, he wears a white dress shirt and surprisingly blue jeans, “Those stains around your cuffs tell me otherwise.
If you’re telling the truth, that’s great. If you are lying, and still sane enough to keep your word, that’s even better. “ Chris’s tone is mirthless, I read him easily. He’s been here a long time for a short life, he looks thirty max, and I shudder to think how young he may have been when he came in.
Chris catches me up on the ins and outs of this place, beyond what a general knowledge of prison would give.
Everyone here has crimes they were not convicted of, that would, otherwise put them in jail for life. A large amount, obviously are murderers, torturers, real bastards.
But a significant minority are just regular folks, maybe a bit thoughtless, but that have collected a litany of small, petty, in cases almost victim less crimes.
No one seems to be aware of the… reality t.v. Meets demonic fast food aspect of things, but there is a Doom cherry on this fear Sunday.
There is a single way someone can get out. To earn 20 tokens.
And how does one earn these tokens you ask?
Each day the prison holds an event, to call it a challenge would insinuate a level of fair play that is simply not there. The events range from somewhat fair, a fight or game of chance, to esoteric rituals complex enough to rip someone’s soul from their body.
These tokens are also the sole form of currency in the prison, they can buy everything from commissary snacks to literal free passes from guards.
The economy has created a cut throat society, the heads of the cults not even taking advantage of being able to be free, but simply reveling in the power of being psychotic and enabled.
The weak are enslaved, their lives traded on the off chance at tokens.
So, of course, braindead asshole that I am, I signed myself right up. Feeling a little more confidant after climbing Mount Bozo.
It's 8pm and the volunteers are rounded up and brought to a massive room that has all the trappings of a gymnasium, but the scale is large enough easily hold the focus of tonight’s events.
In tiered bleachers all around us, our fellow prisoners cheer and scream. The smell of thousands of unwashed, men is overpowering, the din of excitement is deafening.
But my attention is focussed on the small, single floor home, sitting out of place in the middle of the polished wood floor.
What I wouldn’t give for Demi to appear right now, give me the low down on all the supernatural bullshit that is heading my way. But the longer we stayed in the mountain the less and less the most useful voice in my head could, or would, make an appearance.
I study each of my fellow volunteers, the goal seems simple, last the longest in the home. Men enter and leave within minutes. They come out looking shaken, with minor lacerations, and a general sense of shell shock.
By the time my turn arrives, I think I know what I’m in for.
I’m wrong.
As the baby blue door closes behind me, nothing immediately in the home causes me concern. The fixtures and furniture is a bit out of date, the lighting is, not inviting, and there is a general fog of gloom hanging around.
I smile, I’ve felt this before. Granted I had Demi feeding me supernatural errata at the time, but, I’m positive I can wing it.
“So, I think I may have met one of you guys before. Back in New York, a Happy-Face corner store, anyone you know?
Scary dude, took a couple of pieces out of me.
But this, it’s more like an MMA fight, right? I tap out when you start kicking my ass? “ I stretch, trying to see if I’m getting any kind of reaction.
I inventory the objects around me, last time everything that wasn’t nailed down, shifted, changed and tried to take me apart.
You may have noticed by now, I love using the phrase ‘ last time’, and that’s because up until this moment, I haven’t learned a fucking thing here.
Mike’s first rule of paranormal survival, last time means nothing.
“It’s you” the voice is young, late teens, and male.
I spin, expecting violence, then, wishing violence.
I know the young man, not this pale, older, revenant with a self inflicted gunshot wound, but I know him none the less.
I’m not being metaphorical when I say my heart misses a beat, I almost fall over, pounding at my chest to stop it’s arythmatic pounding.
I knew what happened to him, found it out long after I could do anything about it. And wasn’t in the best of places when I did.
I’ll call him a ghost for simplicity sake, but this kid, he’s my first, and biggest mistake.
I based who I turned into on finding what I thought was one of the worst people on earth. This kid’s father.
I did things to him worthy of what I knew he did. And to top it all off, I had him die by his wife’s hand.
Well, a decade later I find out, the guy wasn’t a Saint, but he didn’t do anything worthy of the twisted shit I put him through.
I got wind of some false information put out there in a moment of rage by a tech savvy ten year old. The kid never intended it to see the light of day
“I found out about you Mike, I saw that you were a hero. “ The voice is thin echoes like a stuck record.
“No kid, don’t think that. “ I mumble, I’m shaking, the air is freezing, each breath comes out as white mist.
I’m sitting on the flower printed couch now, and it hits me.
I’d assumed because Art couldn’t screw around in my head last time, the same went for everything here.
Remember what we said about last time.
“My told me what happened one night, what I made you do.
I destroyed her memory of him, I made a real Hero kill him, I couldn’t keep hurting people. “ I can see images, flashing in my mind, memories that are not mine.
I’m counting seconds, trying to focus, trying to stay long enough to get the token. It has to have been fifteen, twenty minutes at least.
I try to work up a smirk, to convince myself that I’m just being played by the paranormal equivalent of a heckler.
That’s not it though, This place, this house, is reaching inside me and finding places to look. As I stare into the young man’s rotted eyes I know this is some part of him, torn away from whatever rest he was entitled to.
The lights dim, then turn off. The house is silent.
Hollywood gets being both a lunatic and a hitman wrong in equal measure. No matter how much morality you want to inject into the profession, there are going to come times when you make mistakes.
As the lights slowly turn to a dull orange glow, I’m surrounded by the hovering, mutilated forms of mine.
Those that died that could have been spared, those that died because of my inaction, or stupidity. I’ve never forgotten them, I use them to make sure I never make the same mistakes again, but having them looming, screaming, all demanding I hear their stories, their accusations, their placations.
It's too much, I stumble from the couch, trying to avoid the icy touch of these phantoms. For a moment I find some last scrap of courage, I close my eyes, shut out the shrieking din of the dead.
The silence hits like a truck, I focus, trying to calm my burned out nerves.
Then they are reignited like a fucking welding torch.
“This place didn’t bring us here.
We’ve been right next to you for years Mike. We can’t leave. “ The voice of my first mistake.
Like a toddler I try to run with my eyes closed, I trip over a glass coffee table, clawing my way up the door, grasping at the handle.
I can feel a slight pull now, almost magnetic, trying to drag me backwards.
My hands shake too much, I have to steady my right wrist with my left hand, the floor becomes slick, I see the door, escape start to move further away as I’m pulled backward.
I've taken a hit or two, and had a couple of three day benders that have made me piss myself. But as I stumble, trying to make progress on the nearly friction less floor, I have another unpleasant first experience.
I grab the handle, pulling myself out of the house, launching my body into a skin peeling tumble across unforgiving plank flooring.
I’m a shaking, fetal wreck, by the time I’ve pulled myself together enough to take in my surroundings, I see the red Led clock displaying my time.
42 seconds. Bottom of the barrel. The jeers and booing from the crowd do nothing for my frayed nerves or the storm of fear and anxiety going through my mind.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep, it has nothing to do with the concrete slab that serves as my bed.
My stomach has been knotting and cramping, with each passing second I get more worried I blew some internal gasket in one of the many life or death struggles in the past months.
When I finally manage to vomit, the urge is strong enough I get no where near the filth crusted hole in the floor that serves as my toilet. And my worst fears are confirmed as I see the massive pile of vomit is mostly blood.
… and bones? Is that an eyeball? A piece of fur?
The mass begins to pull itself together, bits and pieces forming the most rudimentary attempt at a face.
“Junior? “ I say, stunned.
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The floor of the cell is covered in decades of mildew and dust. This disgusting carpet does nothing to dull the pain as I skip across it, thrown in by someone with the intention of making a point.
My Name’s Mike, and if any of you are the types to go on a deep dive, you probably know A little about me already.
For those of you that don’t, Jesus I don’t know exactly where to begin.
The Cliff’s notes would be that I spent a little over a decade either being a serial killer or a vigilante. I won’t try to justify my actions, both of those are just sides of the same shitty coin. I’m not a person to be idolized or emulated, so I choose not to plead my case.
Now, while I thought that was just about as screwed up as life could get, one day, out of the blue, after burying my best, fuck, my only friend I found myself, somewhere else. A world that looked and felt like mine, but one where the things that go bump in the night actually existed.
Where I came from, I’d seen monsters, to be sure, but only the kind that happen when people break.
Since I’ve been here? Got caught up in some demented gameshow for demons or something, threw a massive shit in the punch bowl of the thing running the production, and got the world’s unluckiest man his freedom.
And that leads me to my current situation, staring down the rage filled, mildly bruised face of that asshole, that fucking, demonic Ted Turner, Art.
He runs a hand aggressively through his slicked back hair, standing at the door to my cell.
“Looks like your little plan didn’t work, exactly as I predicted, you fuck.
I mean, great try with the little cat thing you had, honestly didn’t see that coming. But, Jesus, Mike, what was your end game? “ Art gloats.
“Cards on the table? It was a lot better, but shit fell through, that whiskey abomination, it was the one that ratted me out I assume?
That being said, still got Kev out. And you can’t really ‘flip off his lightswitch’ if he didn’t let you screw around with his wiring, can you? “ I grin, I keep it, even as a Gucci shoe slams into my face.
Am I scared? Of God damn course I am, I’ve been pissing myself (metaphorically speaking.) since I realised that the rules of reality don’t really apply any more.
Every new grain of sand on the beach of hell my life has become, tosses me further down the road of mental failure. Shit, that’s half of what fucked up my last plan in the first place.
If I could have just kept my shit together long enough, I’d be sipping a beer with Kev in some shit hole town somewhere. But the only thing harder than trying to stamp down fear in the face of God’s and monsters, is trying to do it while projecting some kind of ‘death fears me ‘ persona.
Between you and I? Death doesn’t fear me, in fact, it seems to love to hang around. And every day I have to stare down that grim spectre, the closer I get to losing the tenuous grip on reality I have .
“Oh, fuck Kev. He’s smart enough to stay off my radar, and too stupid to figure out a way to come back at me.
He's got a 1 bedroom in Idaho or something? Salud, good on him.
You, I had high hopes for, and then you decide to wipe your ass all over my carpet, cost me more than I could even explain, and even, get me a little roughed up. My favorite shell, anyway.
I want to recoup some loses Mike. So, you, get to be a part of another one of my projects.
You thought The Path was bad? Oh, you literal, fucking clown, you haven’t seen anything.
I won’t spoil it for you, the devil’s in the details and all, but you know what everyone loves?
Prison.
Not being in it themselves, of course, but seeing others, especially those they hate in there.
This place isn’t fair, the path was a boxing match with Queensbury rules, this is a handcuffed knife fight.
And I can’t wait to see you figure out, all the little surprises it has in store for you. “ Art laughs and tosses me a battered, ancient looking smartphone, “ Feel free to drum me up some good press online if you want. “
My heart is pounding, I have to use every bit of will I have to stop from shaking, to roll my neck and sit against the cold, padless cement bed behind me.
I feel sick, my stomach boiling and gurgling.
“For the love of whatever the demonic equivalent of Christ is, why not just kill me? I’m right here, I have no way of fighting back, and you know damn well that if you give me enough time, I’m going to find a way to wipe my ass on your doorframe next. “ My tone is flippant, or at least, I hope it is.
“The ego on you kid, you think you’re that guy don’t you?
They exist, don’t get me wrong, probably a couple thousand folks capable of taking me out, but trust me, you are not one of them.
This isn’t some ‘Arch’ idiocy where I leave my greatest rival alive. This is me watching you squirm because I can, and making a little profit on the deal.
Don’t flatter yourself. “ Art has produced a long thin knife as he talks, he spins and rolls it absently.
“Before your guys dragged me off, I met something. A corner store, I don’t know if it was haunted, possessed, or if it was some kind of creature that just decided to look like a knock off 7-11.
Point being, it was out there, ethereal, I couldn’t hurt it, outwit it, even slow it down. I ran from that thing as fast as I could. It gave me some serious Lovecraft vibes.
You, Art, are not that guy. “ I notice myself tapping my finger nervously on the slime covered floor, I focus, stopping the tic.
The tip of Art’s knife glows, the sick, grey sheen isn’t heat, but something that makes me start to back up.
“I am, but you will never see that. You’re not worth the effort.
I want to give you a little something though. “ Art stalks toward me, I stand as I back into the farthest corner of the cell, “ Proud of your face paint were you? “
Art grins, and for a moment lets some of his true self slip through. For just a moment I see timeless horror in his eyes, a dark black void of consumed souls and unrestrained evil.
That knife parts my flesh with pain like a whip. Without even using the blade, it’s presence flenses my face, opening up raw, textured furrows in my flesh.
He leaves after he is done, laughing to himself.
The pain makes me black out, my stomach is boiling, I come to dry heaving, the effort sends me back into the oblivion of sleep.
I don’t know how long has passed, my face feels like it is on fire, and the thick steel bars of my cell door are closed.
It takes me two minutes of cupping my hands under the grime laden steel tap to get enough water to clear off a spot on the rusted, old, wall mounted steel mirror.
No mortal hand could have scarred me as accurately as Art did. The wounds, not healed, but cauterised as to not make me bleed out, used depth, and width, to create a colorless replica of my makeup.
I know trauma, physical as well as mental, and these are scars that will never heal. As the fact sinks in that my face is literally no longer my own, I scream, heart pounding, I split open my knees on the cold cement floor.
Pain flares, threatens to send me back to the bliss of unconsciousness, but I don’t care.
I read Kev’s journals, and they paint me in a really… positive light, in a sense.
What I mean is, going by what he thought he saw, I’m some kind of supervillian or something. Tossing three hundred pound air conditioners ( it was the outer shell, seventy pounds, physics and luck did the rest.), wrestling Art ( I was clinging on for dear life, had it not been for Jr and the mass of denizens, I’d have been killed with a flick of his wrist.), or appearing like a ghost (people, even immortal are very unobservant. Especially in an emergency.).
I’m great at seeming horrifying, and that’s a weapon in and of itself, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is.
Kneeling in my own blood, vision blurry with pain, I realise how small, vulnerable, and unarmed I truly am.
By the time daylight shines through the yellow reinforced glass window, I’m already awake. I’ve spent an hour and a half calming myself, trying to find some focus, some centre to keep me going.
I’ve been in prison before, back home, first and last time I tried plying my trade outside of America.
Being the stupid payaso gringo that I am I bit off so much more than I can chew that I wound up choking on it for 2 months in a Mexican prison.
The routine of, count, lineup, chow, remained the same.
The demographics of the population on the other hand…
Being observant is one of my main skills and as I was brought into the absurdly sized cafeteria, I was taken aback at just how many people were here.
Tens of Thousands, easily, maybe a hundred. I try and think of how many missing person cases this accounts for, and even that math doesn’t quite add up.
I quickly inventory the groups that make up the place, not that it wasn’t obvious.
The first, of course are the guards. Some, the majority, appear to be human, well geared up and in intimidating physical condition.
But a handful, they are clearly, something else. Some are smooth featured ebony skinned giants, carrying truncheons that could crush a car engine. Others are grinning, pale skinned bad attempts at human copies, wild eyed and twitching.
Second would be what I called the cultists. They all appeared to style themselves after certain tropes and urban legends, clearly human, but dressing, tattooing and mutilating themselves to appear like, myths, legends, and monsters.
The subtle violence I see tells me I’ve found the gangs.
Third are the Everymen, I can’t see any kind of pattern to them, but they seem to make up the majority of the population. They keep their distance from the guards and the cultists, but on more than one occasion I see then stand, united against attempts at extortion.
The last group, I call the candles, people that are clearly on their way out mentally and physically. Sunken eyed, and set upon from all angles, at any moment these folks could be simply snuffed out.
I keep my distance, and stay respectful, the meandering, twisting line seems to take hours to get me my thick slice of crumbling yellow bread, and thick red slurry that reminds me of porridge masquerading as meat.
My coat is gone but I’m left with the majority of the clothing I fashioned back in the path. I see a mix of unwashed orange uniforms and ‘civilian’ clothing, some of the cultists, bordering more on costume than wardrobe.
As the massive, butchers apron wearing man in smeared clown makeup sits down, I wish I’d have been issued something more generic. I saw this coming the second I noticed a lump of Chlorophiles in blood stained getups.
“You sit with us. “ I can’t tell if it’s an accent or speech pattern, the clown sounds strange, either way.
I eat a spoonful of the red sludge.
“No disrespect intended, I’m not one for clubs. I’m going to make no waves, no plays, nothing. I’m a ghost. “ I say, levelly, avoiding eye contact.
Why, you might ask, having been told about my adventures in murder.
Well, that’s just it. Murder is easy, and any time you saw me end a life, it was just that.
A fight, that’s another thing entirely, especially against someone with a significant weight and height advantage.
“Not asking. You got friends. “ The massive clown moves his bulk closer, it’s like sitting next to a forklift.
I eat the bread, it tastes amazing until I swallow, then has a foul, chemical aftertaste.
I drink some tepid, burgundy fluid that might be caffeinated.
No weapons nearby, no one watching that might step in. I’m full of bruises and sprains, and probably anemic from blood loss. Not to mention one eye is running at about fifty per cent. Art didn’t sever the optic nerve last time, but he wasn’t gentle. My heart races.
“I don’t play well with people who take clowning and slap a coat of dark paint on it.
You guys are Clown Killers. You are good at killing, I’m sure, but the clown part, it’s tacked on.
Myself, I’m a killer clown…. “ I had a really good rant planned, honestly, it was a corker, douche bags would have used it in memes for a decade.
But before I can react, with one massive hand, he bounces my face off of the pitted steel table.
It rings my bell, but not as much as I let on. In clowning terms, what I do Is called a pratfall.
For those of you that don’t speak nerd, I oversell the hit, falling backwards, eyes fluttering.
I tip backwards, reaching out my left arm, as if to steady myself. The meat mountain is unbothered, knowing I have no chance unarmed, in this close, he let’s me grab one shoulder of the butchers apron. The material is thick, and matted in stains that will never come out, literally or metaphorically.
If you want to take someone out, in a relatively harmless way, you don’t want to choke them. It takes forever, usually ends up killing them, and generally is a bad idea for everyone involved.
Your goal is go cut off blood flow to the brain as quickly and fully as possible.
I hook my thumb around the opposite shoulder strap, and snap my body backward, the apron acting as an impromptu Garrotte.
His right arm is knotted through my left, as he tries to struggle, to put his murderous intent and ability to work, the choke only becomes tighter.
I don’t want enemies here, and I only have so many tricks to play before things come to a knock down drag out fight, so I leave the clown unharmed.
I do need friends, but the look I get as I take a seat at a loose collection of men is cold and fearful.
A red haired guy, five foot nine or so, makes eye contact, “Anything we can help you with? “ he says, fearless.
“Yeah, despite the face work I’ve had done, I have fuck all in common with any of those penny wise, Icp, Gacy dressed, assholes.
I need a tribe guys, you all look like the unlucky ones around here, but I don’t want to get involved in bloodshed.
I’m Mike “ I know, that’s only mostly true, but I mean it, either way. I extend a hand.
“Chris. “ the red haired guy says, he wears a white dress shirt and surprisingly blue jeans, “Those stains around your cuffs tell me otherwise.
If you’re telling the truth, that’s great. If you are lying, and still sane enough to keep your word, that’s even better. “ Chris’s tone is mirthless, I read him easily. He’s been here a long time for a short life, he looks thirty max, and I shudder to think how young he may have been when he came in.
Chris catches me up on the ins and outs of this place, beyond what a general knowledge of prison would give.
Everyone here has crimes they were not convicted of, that would, otherwise put them in jail for life. A large amount, obviously are murderers, torturers, real bastards.
But a significant minority are just regular folks, maybe a bit thoughtless, but that have collected a litany of small, petty, in cases almost victim less crimes.
No one seems to be aware of the… reality t.v. Meets demonic fast food aspect of things, but there is a Doom cherry on this fear Sunday.
There is a single way someone can get out. To earn 20 tokens.
And how does one earn these tokens you ask?
Each day the prison holds an event, to call it a challenge would insinuate a level of fair play that is simply not there. The events range from somewhat fair, a fight or game of chance, to esoteric rituals complex enough to rip someone’s soul from their body.
These tokens are also the sole form of currency in the prison, they can buy everything from commissary snacks to literal free passes from guards.
The economy has created a cut throat society, the heads of the cults not even taking advantage of being able to be free, but simply reveling in the power of being psychotic and enabled.
The weak are enslaved, their lives traded on the off chance at tokens.
So, of course, braindead asshole that I am, I signed myself right up. Feeling a little more confidant after climbing Mount Bozo.
It's 8pm and the volunteers are rounded up and brought to a massive room that has all the trappings of a gymnasium, but the scale is large enough easily hold the focus of tonight’s events.
In tiered bleachers all around us, our fellow prisoners cheer and scream. The smell of thousands of unwashed, men is overpowering, the din of excitement is deafening.
But my attention is focussed on the small, single floor home, sitting out of place in the middle of the polished wood floor.
What I wouldn’t give for Demi to appear right now, give me the low down on all the supernatural bullshit that is heading my way. But the longer we stayed in the mountain the less and less the most useful voice in my head could, or would, make an appearance.
I study each of my fellow volunteers, the goal seems simple, last the longest in the home. Men enter and leave within minutes. They come out looking shaken, with minor lacerations, and a general sense of shell shock.
By the time my turn arrives, I think I know what I’m in for.
I’m wrong.
As the baby blue door closes behind me, nothing immediately in the home causes me concern. The fixtures and furniture is a bit out of date, the lighting is, not inviting, and there is a general fog of gloom hanging around.
I smile, I’ve felt this before. Granted I had Demi feeding me supernatural errata at the time, but, I’m positive I can wing it.
“So, I think I may have met one of you guys before. Back in New York, a Happy-Face corner store, anyone you know?
Scary dude, took a couple of pieces out of me.
But this, it’s more like an MMA fight, right? I tap out when you start kicking my ass? “ I stretch, trying to see if I’m getting any kind of reaction.
I inventory the objects around me, last time everything that wasn’t nailed down, shifted, changed and tried to take me apart.
You may have noticed by now, I love using the phrase ‘ last time’, and that’s because up until this moment, I haven’t learned a fucking thing here.
Mike’s first rule of paranormal survival, last time means nothing.
“It’s you” the voice is young, late teens, and male.
I spin, expecting violence, then, wishing violence.
I know the young man, not this pale, older, revenant with a self inflicted gunshot wound, but I know him none the less.
I’m not being metaphorical when I say my heart misses a beat, I almost fall over, pounding at my chest to stop it’s arythmatic pounding.
I knew what happened to him, found it out long after I could do anything about it. And wasn’t in the best of places when I did.
I’ll call him a ghost for simplicity sake, but this kid, he’s my first, and biggest mistake.
I based who I turned into on finding what I thought was one of the worst people on earth. This kid’s father.
I did things to him worthy of what I knew he did. And to top it all off, I had him die by his wife’s hand.
Well, a decade later I find out, the guy wasn’t a Saint, but he didn’t do anything worthy of the twisted shit I put him through.
I got wind of some false information put out there in a moment of rage by a tech savvy ten year old. The kid never intended it to see the light of day
“I found out about you Mike, I saw that you were a hero. “ The voice is thin echoes like a stuck record.
“No kid, don’t think that. “ I mumble, I’m shaking, the air is freezing, each breath comes out as white mist.
I’m sitting on the flower printed couch now, and it hits me.
I’d assumed because Art couldn’t screw around in my head last time, the same went for everything here.
Remember what we said about last time.
“My told me what happened one night, what I made you do.
I destroyed her memory of him, I made a real Hero kill him, I couldn’t keep hurting people. “ I can see images, flashing in my mind, memories that are not mine.
I’m counting seconds, trying to focus, trying to stay long enough to get the token. It has to have been fifteen, twenty minutes at least.
I try to work up a smirk, to convince myself that I’m just being played by the paranormal equivalent of a heckler.
That’s not it though, This place, this house, is reaching inside me and finding places to look. As I stare into the young man’s rotted eyes I know this is some part of him, torn away from whatever rest he was entitled to.
The lights dim, then turn off. The house is silent.
Hollywood gets being both a lunatic and a hitman wrong in equal measure. No matter how much morality you want to inject into the profession, there are going to come times when you make mistakes.
As the lights slowly turn to a dull orange glow, I’m surrounded by the hovering, mutilated forms of mine.
Those that died that could have been spared, those that died because of my inaction, or stupidity. I’ve never forgotten them, I use them to make sure I never make the same mistakes again, but having them looming, screaming, all demanding I hear their stories, their accusations, their placations.
It's too much, I stumble from the couch, trying to avoid the icy touch of these phantoms. For a moment I find some last scrap of courage, I close my eyes, shut out the shrieking din of the dead.
The silence hits like a truck, I focus, trying to calm my burned out nerves.
Then they are reignited like a fucking welding torch.
“This place didn’t bring us here.
We’ve been right next to you for years Mike. We can’t leave. “ The voice of my first mistake.
Like a toddler I try to run with my eyes closed, I trip over a glass coffee table, clawing my way up the door, grasping at the handle.
I can feel a slight pull now, almost magnetic, trying to drag me backwards.
My hands shake too much, I have to steady my right wrist with my left hand, the floor becomes slick, I see the door, escape start to move further away as I’m pulled backward.
I've taken a hit or two, and had a couple of three day benders that have made me piss myself. But as I stumble, trying to make progress on the nearly friction less floor, I have another unpleasant first experience.
I grab the handle, pulling myself out of the house, launching my body into a skin peeling tumble across unforgiving plank flooring.
I’m a shaking, fetal wreck, by the time I’ve pulled myself together enough to take in my surroundings, I see the red Led clock displaying my time.
42 seconds. Bottom of the barrel. The jeers and booing from the crowd do nothing for my frayed nerves or the storm of fear and anxiety going through my mind.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep, it has nothing to do with the concrete slab that serves as my bed.
My stomach has been knotting and cramping, with each passing second I get more worried I blew some internal gasket in one of the many life or death struggles in the past months.
When I finally manage to vomit, the urge is strong enough I get no where near the filth crusted hole in the floor that serves as my toilet. And my worst fears are confirmed as I see the massive pile of vomit is mostly blood.
… and bones? Is that an eyeball? A piece of fur?
The mass begins to pull itself together, bits and pieces forming the most rudimentary attempt at a face.
“Junior? “ I say, stunned.
2023.03.22 07:19 MinnieSissyBoy45 Love wearing my cute Little Miss Naughty panties and Minnie Mouse bow hehe 🤭 [M]25 M4A Karma for karma
![Love wearing my cute Little Miss Naughty panties and Minnie Mouse bow hehe 🤭 [M]25 M4A Karma for karma](https://preview.redd.it/bh8o9yc0h8pa1.jpg?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=8b1291c19fb3d4a976063cdec65adfb487541b6e "Love wearing my cute Little Miss Naughty panties and Minnie Mouse bow hehe 🤭 [M]25 M4A Karma for karma") | submitted by MinnieSissyBoy45 to GetKarma_Here [link] [comments] |
2023.03.22 06:37 Fantastic-Buyer-8381 Social Eating & Dining Out
Does anyone else struggle with balancing social activities with IF? When I’m in my regular, solo routine, I can really nail my fasting times and eat pretty balanced, simple meals during my eating window. A basic salad, some protein, veggies, rice or potatoes and I’m content. I sip on unsweetened tea and water during fast and try to hit 18-20 hours.
The problem I’ve run into is making that work with dating and interacting with family and friends. It seems like every social activity involves food! When my boyfriend is over, dinner becomes such a fuss and he doesn’t seem to get that I’m cutting back and don’t want to go out or have a huge meal at home. My friends and family love to hangout over brunches and whatnot which carry the temptations of mimosas, lattes and syrupy breakfast goodness 😩 Each of these scenarios are tough to resist sometimes, and I feel like it’s throwing me off from giving my 100% (or at least 80% lol) effort.
How do I manage fasting without becoming a hermit or declining every invitation to socialize? Any tips appreciated! I am two months in and really want to see some progress the next few months.
SW: 235 CW: 225 GW: 180
submitted by Fantastic-Buyer-8381 to intermittentfasting [link] [comments]
The problem I’ve run into is making that work with dating and interacting with family and friends. It seems like every social activity involves food! When my boyfriend is over, dinner becomes such a fuss and he doesn’t seem to get that I’m cutting back and don’t want to go out or have a huge meal at home. My friends and family love to hangout over brunches and whatnot which carry the temptations of mimosas, lattes and syrupy breakfast goodness 😩 Each of these scenarios are tough to resist sometimes, and I feel like it’s throwing me off from giving my 100% (or at least 80% lol) effort.
How do I manage fasting without becoming a hermit or declining every invitation to socialize? Any tips appreciated! I am two months in and really want to see some progress the next few months.
SW: 235 CW: 225 GW: 180
2023.03.22 06:18 AdMajor5734 Best Digital Marketing Company in Bangalore
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submitted by AdMajor5734 to u/AdMajor5734 [link] [comments]
Content is the groundwork of mechanized exhibiting tries. Trying to deliver a triumphant electronic showing effort with in every practical sense, no satisfaction is an unbelievable plan like attempting to drive a vehicle without a motor — it’d stay a crazy dream. Moreover, you ought to look at the best digital marketing company in Bangalore or any part you live in.
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2023.03.22 06:06 Educational-Nose223 Metanail Serum Pro Complex Reviews Reddit : My Experience On Metanail Complex ⚠️THE TRUTH⚠️
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In conclusion, MetaNail Serum Pro encompasses different moisturizing nutrients, antioxidants, and other ingredients that can heighten nail health. However, the maker recommends using the serum under the guidance of a professional doctor. How to Use MetaNail Serum ProMetaNail Pro is a topical product that is easy to use. The manufacturer recommends using it daily to eliminate nail fungus and improve toenail health.
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Click Here To Visit MetaNail Serum Pro official website About MetaNail Total CleanseCustomers purchasing more than two MetaNail Serum Pro bottles receive one or two bottles of MetaNail Serum Total Cleanse. The oral supplement is designed to enhance the effectiveness of the topical serum. It works by boosting immunity and supporting detoxification.MetaNail Total Cleanse comprises natural laxatives and fibers to support detoxification and digestion. Some active ingredients include Bentonite clay, Psyllium husk, black walnut hull, flaxseed, oat bran, aloe Vera, plums, and a probiotic blend. Consuming two MetaNail Total Cleanse supplements daily can fight unhealthy toxins by improving digestive health. The creator argues that optimal gut health hinders toxins from accumulating, thus preventing nail infections. MetaNail Serum Pro Bonus eBooksSupercharge your Body – The digital book educates the readers on methods of fortifying natural immunity. It contains 50 resources that can augment your wellness both externally and internally.Biohacking Secrets – Modern technology can augment health. The eBook explains how you can use modern tools, research, and technology to heighten brain health. MetaNail Serum Pro Refund Policy Companies offering money-back assurance on their products appear more genuine. MetaNail Serum Pro comes with a 60-day or two-month money-back guarantee . The manufacturer claims you can request a complete refund if the formulation does not work as advertised within the stated days. FAQs about MetaNail Serum Pro SupplementQ: What causes nail fungus?A: Fungal infection results from different fungi that thrive in wet and hot conditions Q: What are the symptoms of nail fungal infections? A: Swelling, pain, bleeding, and nail discoloration are symptoms of fungal infections Q: Are fungal infections life-threatening? A: Some fungal infections can lead to toe amputation and blood infections when left untreated. Q: How does MetaNail Serum Pro support nail health? A: MetaNail Serum can repair, restore, and rejuvenate nails. ConclusionMetaNail Serum Pro is a 20-in-1 nail and feet natural formulation. The serum soothes, relaxes, and nourishes the nails and skin. It has multiple nutrients, vitamins, antioxidants, and minerals to fight fungal infections and other nail issues from the root. MetaNail Serum Pro is ideal for adults seeking an affordable and practical nail-improving supplement. Consumers can purchase the MetaNail Serum Pro formulation online at discounted prices.Click Here To Visit MetaNail Serum Pro official website |
2023.03.22 06:03 E_Ramsgoat [Help Choosing] Best finger ball for palm grip (7"/14CM hand)
I've been on the search for my first trackball, I've used thumb balls before and end up with a lot of pain below my thumb so want to give a finger ball a go, what would you guys recommend that will suit my palm grip since I was looking at the Elecom HUGE for it's wrist rest with all of its extra function buttons which I do enjoy on my current mouse and possibly the Sanwa Gravi even though I do prefer having extra function buttons I wouldn't mind going from a normal optical mouse to something a bit more simple to help with my RSI. Cheers
submitted by E_Ramsgoat to Trackballs [link] [comments]
2023.03.22 05:11 PurpleSpaceSurfer Coming out with a BANG! The Beatles' Please Please Me at 60
https://preview.redd.it/eq7p9akyt7pa1.jpg?width=1000&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7e4f3c283f990a692d2ee625074866685cf3301a
“1… 2… 3… 4!”
With a simple, yet energetic count-in, The Beatles were on their way to leaving an indelible mark on popular culture, and it all started here. Released 60 years ago today, Please Please Me marked the first album in The Beatles’ discography. A brisk, lively pop-rock confection lasting just over half-an-hour, over a half century later it remains a stunning document of the unbridled joy of the early Beatles.
Despite Martin’s skepticism, “Love Me Do” was a hit, peaking at #17 on the British charts by November of 1962. Convinced of the Beatles’ hitmaking ability, Martin met with the group and proposed the recording of a full album. This was an alien concept to The Beatles, since the LP market was largely driven by adults rather than teens at the time. On November 26th, The Beatles finished up the songs “Please Please Me” and “Ask Me Why” to serve as another single. Upon release on January 11th, 1963, “Please Please Me” became the Beatles’ first #1 hit on the NME and Melody Maker charts (Retroactively, the Record Retailer chart became the basis of the UK Singles Chart. Here, the song peaked at #2).
Originally, Martin wanted to record a live album of The Beatles at their resident venue, the Cavern Club. However, Martin quickly realized the acoustics of the club were insufficient for the recording of an LP. Instead, Martin came up with the idea of recording 10 additional songs to complement the 4 songs already released. Upon asking for potential album names, Paul McCartney suggested Off the Beatle Track.
For the morning recording session, the group started off with recording “There’s a Place” and “Seventeen” (this would later become “I Saw Her Standing There”). Rehearsing through lunch, the afternoon session produced “A Taste of Honey”, “Do You Want to Know a Secret”, and “Misery”. The evening session was produced covers of “Anna (Go to Him), “Boys”, “Chains” and “Baby It’s You”. An early version of “Hold Me Tight” was also recorded during this session, but it was not used and the song was later rerecorded for The Beatles’ sophomore album, With the Beatles.
At 10 PM, shortly before the studios were set to close for the day, the group launched into a cover of “Twist and Shout”. This was saved for last as Martin feared the song would’ve destroyed Lennon’s voice for the day. The song was nailed in one take, which prompted Martin to say, “We've been recording all day but the longer we go on the better they get." The Beatles attended a full tape playback of the album that night, and left happy with the results.
A week later, on February 20th, George Martin overdubbed piano on “Misery” and celesta on “Baby It’s You”. The Beatles were not present. Settling on the name Please Please Me (Off the Beatle Track was later used for Martin’s orchestral album of Beatles songs), the cover art was taken of the group looking down over the stairwell inside EMI’s London headquarters. This shot was later recreated in 1969 for the Get Back album, but not used when it eventually was as Let it Be in 1970. The 1969 photograph was later used for the Beatles’ “Blue Album”.
Next up, is “Misery”. Foreshadowing some of the Beatles’ later work, “Misery” is a portrait of self-pity. The song was actually originally composed with Helen Shapiro in mind (with whom The Beatles performed with on a national UK tour). When it was deemed unsuitable for Shapiro, Kenny Lynch, who was on the same tour, released the song as a single, making this the first Beatles song covered by another artist. Lennon later claimed he had a bit more input on this tune, was McCartney claimed it was a 50-50 collaboration.
We then make our way to the first cover song on the album Arthur Alexander’s “Anna (Go to Him)”. A personal favorite of John Lennon, his cold-stricken vocals add a tinge of pain to this song, making it a personal highlight for me. The Arthur Alexander original would later play a role in the Season 5 episode of Married… with Children, “Oldies But Young 'Uns”.
The next cover song is “Chains”. Written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King, this song was originally recorded by girl group The Cookies, and immediately became a popular cover song among bands in Liverpool. The Beatles version features George Harrison on lead vocals, the first time many a Beatles fan heard Harrison singing lead on a commercially released song.
The final cover song on Side One of the LP is “Boys”. Originally released by The Shirelles, “Boys” had long been known as The Beatles’ “drummer song”, with Pete Best covering it on stage prior to Ringo entering the band. Ringo also performed the song as a member of Rory Storm and the Hurricanes prior to joining The Beatles. Despite some pronoun changes from the Shirlles’ original, the song retains a large amount of homoerotic undertones.
“Ask Me Why”, primarily written by Lennon in the style of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, is up next. Close listening can reveal the deteriorating state of Lennon’s voice during the marathon session. “Ask Me Why” was also included as the B-side to “Please Please Me”.
Rounding out the first side of the LP is “Please Please Me”. Originally conceived by John Lennon as a slow bluesy song in the style of Roy Orbison, it took much convincing and rerecording for Martin to release the song as a single. Martin originally felt the song was “dreary” and too slow. Martin wanted to release “How Do You Do It?” as a single for The Beatles. However, the group stood their ground as they only wanted to release original material as singles. “How Do You Do It?” later became a number one hit for Gerry & The Pacemakers. The arrangement for “Please Please Me” was radically altered into the version we know today, and 18 takes of it were recorded before George Martin released the song as a single to major success.
Opening up Side Two of the album is “Love Me Do”. McCartney wrote the bulk of the song, with Lennon writing the bridge. The version on the album was the take with session drummer Andy White playing drums and Ringo on tambourine. The original single version with Ringo on drums was later reissued on Past Masters in 1988. “Love Me Do” was released as a single in the US in 1964 and became a #1 hit.
“P.S. I Love You”, a McCartney composition, was actually produced by Ron Richards in George Martin’s absence (though Martin retained production credit). Like the aforementioned “Love Me Do”, this song features Ringo on maracas with Andy White on drums. Richards was insistent that “P.S. I Love You” had to be the B-side, due to it sharing a name with a 1934 song co-written by Johnny Mercer (who later wrote the lyrics to “Moon River” and “Days of Wine and Roses”).
“Baby It’s You”, another Shirelles cover (with music by the legendary Burt Bacharach), follows. This one features Lennon on lead vocals. The song had been part of the Beatles stage act since 1961, their version differing from the Shirelles’ by repeating the second verse rather than the first. Interestingly enough, a 1969 cover of the song by the band Smith became the highest charting version of the song in the United States (Smith’s version peaked at #5, compared to the Shirelles’ version peaking at #8).
“Do You Want to Know a Secret”, an original song with Harrison on lead vocals is next. Lennon claimed the song as entirely his own, while McCartney later claimed it was a 50-50 collaboration explicitly for George to sing. Lennon was inspired by “I’m Wishing” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which his mother Julia sang for him as a child. The song was released as a single in the United States in 1964, peaking at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100, and becoming the highest charting Beatles song with a Harrison vocal until “Something” topped the charts in 1969.
McCartney’s cover of the pop standard “A Taste of Honey” follows. This song was originally an instrumental track written for the 1960 Broadway version of the 1958 British play A Taste of Honey (which was later adapted to film in 1961). The first vocal version of the song appeared in 1961 by Billy Dee Williams (Yes, Lando from Star Wars. He appeared in the original Broadway production of the play). Lenny Welch’s 1962 rendition of the song proved to be a big hit, as well as the basis of the Beatles’ version. Lennon allegedly hated the song, going as far to sing “A Waste of Money” for the backing vocals in concert.
The final original song on the album is “There’s a Place”. While Lennon claimed to write the song himself in the Motown style, McCartney claimed the song to be a collaborative effort. He noted the song’s title phrase originated from “Somewhere” from the soundtrack album to West Side Story, as he owned a copy of the album. Regardless, the song has been praised for its introspective lyrics and depth not commonly found in contemporaneous pop songs.
The grand finale, and arguably the most famous of all the Beatles’ covers, is their raucous, electric take on the Isley Brothers’ rendition of “Twist and Shout”. As previously mentioned, Lennon used every last bit of his voice that day shredding through the song. He initially felt ashamed of the performance, feeling his performance was subpar. The song was released as a single in the United States in 1964, peaking at #2 behind the band’s own “Can’t Buy Me Love”. It was the only million selling Beatles single to be a cover song, and was famously used in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off in 1986.
Capitol Records, the American subsidiary of EMI, passed on the opportunity to release the Beatles’ material, feeling the music would have limited appeal to American listeners. Instead, Vee-Jay records attempted to bring The Beatles to America. However, the first two American singles (“Please Please Me” and “From Me to You”), failed spectacularly. Vee-Jay lost interest in The Beatles, not releasing a truncated 12-track version of the album until Beatlemania hit in early 1964 as Introducing… The Beatles (more information on that release can be found here). Capitol included “I Saw Her Standing There” on their first Beatles album Meet The Beatles! (It also served as the B-side to the American version of “I Want to Hold Your Hand”) After Vee-Jay’s license to release Beatles material expired, Capitol released The Early Beatles in March 1965, which consisted of 11 out of the 14 tracks from Please Please Me (along with “I Saw Her Standing There”, it excised “Misery” and “There’s a Place”. The latter two songs were released for the first time by Capitol in 1980 on the Rarities album). The first official American release of Please Please Me occurred in 1987 with the standardization of The Beatles’ catalog on CD.
In the decades since it’s release, Please Please Me remains highly regarded as not only one of the best debut albums of all time, but one of the greatest albums of all time period. In 2012, it was voted 39th on Rolling Stone's list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. NME, Rolling Stone and Uncut have all named it one of the best debut albums of all time. For the 50th anniversary of the album in 2013, modern artists celebrated the album by re-recording it in one day. Stereophonics recorded the cover of “I Saw Her Standing There”. The rerecorded album was broadcast on BBC Radio 2.
submitted by PurpleSpaceSurfer to popheads [link] [comments]
“1… 2… 3… 4!”
With a simple, yet energetic count-in, The Beatles were on their way to leaving an indelible mark on popular culture, and it all started here. Released 60 years ago today, Please Please Me marked the first album in The Beatles’ discography. A brisk, lively pop-rock confection lasting just over half-an-hour, over a half century later it remains a stunning document of the unbridled joy of the early Beatles.
Background
The Beatles got their start as a skiffle band in the late 1950s in Liverpool. By 1961, after many personnel changes, their lineup consisted of John Lennon on rhythm guitar, Paul McCartney on bass, George Harrison on lead guitar and Pete Best on drums. The group had cut their teeth playing grueling sets in Hamburg nightclubs, often times playing over 8 hours a day and taking uppers to get through the shows. Their repertoire largely consisted of cover songs, though a fledgling songwriting partnership between Lennon and McCartney contributed a few numbers here and there to the proceedings. In the fall of 1961, a rock and roll cover of “My Bonnie” with the Beatles playing backup to Tony Sheridan was released in Germany. Shortly thereafter, the Beatles met Brian Epstein, who would become their manager. He cleaned up their image and sought out a recording contract for them. A New Years Day 1962 audition for Decca Records would prove fruitless (Decca executives felt that "guitar groups are on the way out" and that "the Beatles have no future in show business"). Undeterred, Brian continued searching, eventually inking the band a deal with EMI Records in May.The Lead-up to Please Please Me
EMI placed the group on Parlophone Records, which was run by George Martin at the time. Martin was impressed by the group’s charisma and personalities, but was doubtful of their ability to write hit songs. An initial recording session on June 6th, 1962 proved futile. Martin was especially unimpressed with the drumming ability of Pete Best. Insistent on the use of a session drummer, The Beatles used this as an opportunity to drop Best in favor of fellow Liverpudlian Ringo Starr. The next session on September 4th 1962, proved much more successful. With Ringo on the drums, the first version of “Love Me Do” was recorded (this was the version used on the 45). A week later, the band re-recorded “Love Me Do” (this was the album version) with session drummer Andy White, as well as “P.S. I Love You”, which served as the B-side to the “Love Me Do” 45.Despite Martin’s skepticism, “Love Me Do” was a hit, peaking at #17 on the British charts by November of 1962. Convinced of the Beatles’ hitmaking ability, Martin met with the group and proposed the recording of a full album. This was an alien concept to The Beatles, since the LP market was largely driven by adults rather than teens at the time. On November 26th, The Beatles finished up the songs “Please Please Me” and “Ask Me Why” to serve as another single. Upon release on January 11th, 1963, “Please Please Me” became the Beatles’ first #1 hit on the NME and Melody Maker charts (Retroactively, the Record Retailer chart became the basis of the UK Singles Chart. Here, the song peaked at #2).
Originally, Martin wanted to record a live album of The Beatles at their resident venue, the Cavern Club. However, Martin quickly realized the acoustics of the club were insufficient for the recording of an LP. Instead, Martin came up with the idea of recording 10 additional songs to complement the 4 songs already released. Upon asking for potential album names, Paul McCartney suggested Off the Beatle Track.
The Recording of the Album
February 11th, 1963 was to be what was later referred to as “the 585 most productive minutes in the history of recorded music”. Essentially, Martin wanted the album to reflect the group’s stage show. During a gap of their first national tour, the Beatles arrived that morning with John Lennon suffering from a bad cold and attempting to rectify it with a large amount of cough drops (been there, done that).For the morning recording session, the group started off with recording “There’s a Place” and “Seventeen” (this would later become “I Saw Her Standing There”). Rehearsing through lunch, the afternoon session produced “A Taste of Honey”, “Do You Want to Know a Secret”, and “Misery”. The evening session was produced covers of “Anna (Go to Him), “Boys”, “Chains” and “Baby It’s You”. An early version of “Hold Me Tight” was also recorded during this session, but it was not used and the song was later rerecorded for The Beatles’ sophomore album, With the Beatles.
At 10 PM, shortly before the studios were set to close for the day, the group launched into a cover of “Twist and Shout”. This was saved for last as Martin feared the song would’ve destroyed Lennon’s voice for the day. The song was nailed in one take, which prompted Martin to say, “We've been recording all day but the longer we go on the better they get." The Beatles attended a full tape playback of the album that night, and left happy with the results.
A week later, on February 20th, George Martin overdubbed piano on “Misery” and celesta on “Baby It’s You”. The Beatles were not present. Settling on the name Please Please Me (Off the Beatle Track was later used for Martin’s orchestral album of Beatles songs), the cover art was taken of the group looking down over the stairwell inside EMI’s London headquarters. This shot was later recreated in 1969 for the Get Back album, but not used when it eventually was as Let it Be in 1970. The 1969 photograph was later used for the Beatles’ “Blue Album”.
The Songs
Kicking things off with a bang is “I Saw Her Standing There”. Paul’s count-in was actually taken from Take 9 and spliced onto Take 1 of the song itself. George Martin left the count-in to simulate the effect of a live album. This song was written primarily by Paul, with John contributing a few lyrics, most notably “Well you know, what I mean.” It should be noted that on Please Please Me, the songwriting credits read McCartney-Lennon rather than the more familiar Lennon-McCartneyNext up, is “Misery”. Foreshadowing some of the Beatles’ later work, “Misery” is a portrait of self-pity. The song was actually originally composed with Helen Shapiro in mind (with whom The Beatles performed with on a national UK tour). When it was deemed unsuitable for Shapiro, Kenny Lynch, who was on the same tour, released the song as a single, making this the first Beatles song covered by another artist. Lennon later claimed he had a bit more input on this tune, was McCartney claimed it was a 50-50 collaboration.
We then make our way to the first cover song on the album Arthur Alexander’s “Anna (Go to Him)”. A personal favorite of John Lennon, his cold-stricken vocals add a tinge of pain to this song, making it a personal highlight for me. The Arthur Alexander original would later play a role in the Season 5 episode of Married… with Children, “Oldies But Young 'Uns”.
The next cover song is “Chains”. Written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King, this song was originally recorded by girl group The Cookies, and immediately became a popular cover song among bands in Liverpool. The Beatles version features George Harrison on lead vocals, the first time many a Beatles fan heard Harrison singing lead on a commercially released song.
The final cover song on Side One of the LP is “Boys”. Originally released by The Shirelles, “Boys” had long been known as The Beatles’ “drummer song”, with Pete Best covering it on stage prior to Ringo entering the band. Ringo also performed the song as a member of Rory Storm and the Hurricanes prior to joining The Beatles. Despite some pronoun changes from the Shirlles’ original, the song retains a large amount of homoerotic undertones.
“Ask Me Why”, primarily written by Lennon in the style of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, is up next. Close listening can reveal the deteriorating state of Lennon’s voice during the marathon session. “Ask Me Why” was also included as the B-side to “Please Please Me”.
Rounding out the first side of the LP is “Please Please Me”. Originally conceived by John Lennon as a slow bluesy song in the style of Roy Orbison, it took much convincing and rerecording for Martin to release the song as a single. Martin originally felt the song was “dreary” and too slow. Martin wanted to release “How Do You Do It?” as a single for The Beatles. However, the group stood their ground as they only wanted to release original material as singles. “How Do You Do It?” later became a number one hit for Gerry & The Pacemakers. The arrangement for “Please Please Me” was radically altered into the version we know today, and 18 takes of it were recorded before George Martin released the song as a single to major success.
Opening up Side Two of the album is “Love Me Do”. McCartney wrote the bulk of the song, with Lennon writing the bridge. The version on the album was the take with session drummer Andy White playing drums and Ringo on tambourine. The original single version with Ringo on drums was later reissued on Past Masters in 1988. “Love Me Do” was released as a single in the US in 1964 and became a #1 hit.
“P.S. I Love You”, a McCartney composition, was actually produced by Ron Richards in George Martin’s absence (though Martin retained production credit). Like the aforementioned “Love Me Do”, this song features Ringo on maracas with Andy White on drums. Richards was insistent that “P.S. I Love You” had to be the B-side, due to it sharing a name with a 1934 song co-written by Johnny Mercer (who later wrote the lyrics to “Moon River” and “Days of Wine and Roses”).
“Baby It’s You”, another Shirelles cover (with music by the legendary Burt Bacharach), follows. This one features Lennon on lead vocals. The song had been part of the Beatles stage act since 1961, their version differing from the Shirelles’ by repeating the second verse rather than the first. Interestingly enough, a 1969 cover of the song by the band Smith became the highest charting version of the song in the United States (Smith’s version peaked at #5, compared to the Shirelles’ version peaking at #8).
“Do You Want to Know a Secret”, an original song with Harrison on lead vocals is next. Lennon claimed the song as entirely his own, while McCartney later claimed it was a 50-50 collaboration explicitly for George to sing. Lennon was inspired by “I’m Wishing” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which his mother Julia sang for him as a child. The song was released as a single in the United States in 1964, peaking at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100, and becoming the highest charting Beatles song with a Harrison vocal until “Something” topped the charts in 1969.
McCartney’s cover of the pop standard “A Taste of Honey” follows. This song was originally an instrumental track written for the 1960 Broadway version of the 1958 British play A Taste of Honey (which was later adapted to film in 1961). The first vocal version of the song appeared in 1961 by Billy Dee Williams (Yes, Lando from Star Wars. He appeared in the original Broadway production of the play). Lenny Welch’s 1962 rendition of the song proved to be a big hit, as well as the basis of the Beatles’ version. Lennon allegedly hated the song, going as far to sing “A Waste of Money” for the backing vocals in concert.
The final original song on the album is “There’s a Place”. While Lennon claimed to write the song himself in the Motown style, McCartney claimed the song to be a collaborative effort. He noted the song’s title phrase originated from “Somewhere” from the soundtrack album to West Side Story, as he owned a copy of the album. Regardless, the song has been praised for its introspective lyrics and depth not commonly found in contemporaneous pop songs.
The grand finale, and arguably the most famous of all the Beatles’ covers, is their raucous, electric take on the Isley Brothers’ rendition of “Twist and Shout”. As previously mentioned, Lennon used every last bit of his voice that day shredding through the song. He initially felt ashamed of the performance, feeling his performance was subpar. The song was released as a single in the United States in 1964, peaking at #2 behind the band’s own “Can’t Buy Me Love”. It was the only million selling Beatles single to be a cover song, and was famously used in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off in 1986.
Release and Impact
The album was released on March 22, 1963. The album had reached the top of the UK charts by May of 1963 and remained there for 30 weeks until being replaced by the group’s second album, With the Beatles. Please Please Me was also the first non-soundtrack album to spend more than a year consecutively within the top 10 of the UK album charts (with 62 consecutive weeks in the Top 10). This was also a record for a debut album until April 2013 when Emeli Sande’s Our Version of Events achieved a 63rd consecutive week in the Top Ten. Please Please Me’s success was unprecedented for a pop album, as the UK charts at the time largely consisted of film soundtracks and easily listening albums. The success of the album has been attributed to the packaging, particularly it’s cover art and linear notes.Capitol Records, the American subsidiary of EMI, passed on the opportunity to release the Beatles’ material, feeling the music would have limited appeal to American listeners. Instead, Vee-Jay records attempted to bring The Beatles to America. However, the first two American singles (“Please Please Me” and “From Me to You”), failed spectacularly. Vee-Jay lost interest in The Beatles, not releasing a truncated 12-track version of the album until Beatlemania hit in early 1964 as Introducing… The Beatles (more information on that release can be found here). Capitol included “I Saw Her Standing There” on their first Beatles album Meet The Beatles! (It also served as the B-side to the American version of “I Want to Hold Your Hand”) After Vee-Jay’s license to release Beatles material expired, Capitol released The Early Beatles in March 1965, which consisted of 11 out of the 14 tracks from Please Please Me (along with “I Saw Her Standing There”, it excised “Misery” and “There’s a Place”. The latter two songs were released for the first time by Capitol in 1980 on the Rarities album). The first official American release of Please Please Me occurred in 1987 with the standardization of The Beatles’ catalog on CD.
In the decades since it’s release, Please Please Me remains highly regarded as not only one of the best debut albums of all time, but one of the greatest albums of all time period. In 2012, it was voted 39th on Rolling Stone's list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. NME, Rolling Stone and Uncut have all named it one of the best debut albums of all time. For the 50th anniversary of the album in 2013, modern artists celebrated the album by re-recording it in one day. Stereophonics recorded the cover of “I Saw Her Standing There”. The rerecorded album was broadcast on BBC Radio 2.
Discussion
- What is your favorite original song on Please Please Me? Favorite cover?
- How would you rank the album within the Beatles’ discography?
- Much has been said about how joyous the album feels. Do you feel it captured the energy of The Beatles’ early performances well?
- How does this album compare with other pop albums from the same time?
2023.03.22 04:04 leftoverpaint_ [PC] [2010s] Math/Reading Game That Took Place in Space and Had Animals?
Platform: PC
Genre: Educational (?)
Estimated Year of Release: I would say maybe early 2010s
Graphics/Art Style: 2D, animated type of style, pretty flat but had some basic shading. Something you would expect to see in a kids game.
Notable Characters: I specifically remember this one guy at the beginning who I SWEAR was a basketball player. He was talking about how (it might have a been a pretest that took place at the beginning) the game would be sure to place you at a level that was just right. From what I remember, and I don't know why it stuck out so vividly in my head, he described it as having the right pair of shoes. Not too big, not too small, but just right. I also remember being able to pick out an avatapet and I would ALWAYS choose this light brown bulldog with a dark brown spot over his right eye. I remember him having these bright blue eyes and a red spiky collar. He wasn't built like and actual dog - more of an oval with little shapeless limbs. He was also super small. Those are the only two characters I can remember.
Notable Gameplay Mechanics: I don't really remember much since the last time I played this was in like 1st grade, but I remember it being simple.
Other Details: I remember there being "your house" or you base, something like that. It was a treehouse with this big open window in the back of it where you could look out into space. My little dog would stand in the corner.
This is such a specific game and I cannot remember if it was a math or reading game. I had found another post on either this subreddit or the normal tip of my tongue one and it seemed to have described what I remembered, the only thing is that it was never solved.
Any guesses would be really helpful - I do know for a fact that it wasn't ABC Mouse, Sumdog, or Reading Eggs (the last two of which I played when I got older and was never able to afford the full version of ABC Mouse).
submitted by leftoverpaint_ to tipofmyjoystick [link] [comments]
Genre: Educational (?)
Estimated Year of Release: I would say maybe early 2010s
Graphics/Art Style: 2D, animated type of style, pretty flat but had some basic shading. Something you would expect to see in a kids game.
Notable Characters: I specifically remember this one guy at the beginning who I SWEAR was a basketball player. He was talking about how (it might have a been a pretest that took place at the beginning) the game would be sure to place you at a level that was just right. From what I remember, and I don't know why it stuck out so vividly in my head, he described it as having the right pair of shoes. Not too big, not too small, but just right. I also remember being able to pick out an avatapet and I would ALWAYS choose this light brown bulldog with a dark brown spot over his right eye. I remember him having these bright blue eyes and a red spiky collar. He wasn't built like and actual dog - more of an oval with little shapeless limbs. He was also super small. Those are the only two characters I can remember.
Notable Gameplay Mechanics: I don't really remember much since the last time I played this was in like 1st grade, but I remember it being simple.
Other Details: I remember there being "your house" or you base, something like that. It was a treehouse with this big open window in the back of it where you could look out into space. My little dog would stand in the corner.
This is such a specific game and I cannot remember if it was a math or reading game. I had found another post on either this subreddit or the normal tip of my tongue one and it seemed to have described what I remembered, the only thing is that it was never solved.
Any guesses would be really helpful - I do know for a fact that it wasn't ABC Mouse, Sumdog, or Reading Eggs (the last two of which I played when I got older and was never able to afford the full version of ABC Mouse).
2023.03.22 03:56 CaveShaman PSVR on Linux via Monado: a setup guide
Linux VR is the new S&M, and PSVR is one of its strangest fetishes. You'll find yourself wrapped in an HDMI cable with a box on your head that lets you see nothing until you tell your PC in very precise terms to do what you want. I don't know what those Collabora folks get paid to do, but I guarantee you it isn't this.
The setup guide below is split into 5 setions: Initial Actions (what you do to set up VR the first time), Recurrent Actions (what you do to set up VR every time), Automation (how to make it slightly more convenient), PSmove (trying out really buggy controller tracking), and SteamVR (exotic experiences in failure).
USB devices on GNU/Linux involve a system called udev. On most distros in 2023, VR devices still need extra udev rules to tell the system to use them. Install the xr-hardware package from your distro.
INSTALL MONADO
You can install Monado from several different places, but if you want to avoid serious bugs, I recommend installing from its Git repo. To build Monado with enough features to actually work, you must first install ALL of the dependencies. Find the list of dependency packages for your system in .gitlab-ci.yml.
If you finish off the installation with sudo make install, it will install Monado to an acceptable default location.
CAMERA CALIBRATION
You need a PS4-to-PS5 adaptor to plug the PS4 camera into a USB3 port. Plug the camera in, then follow the guide located here for instructions on how to calibrate it.
ps4eye_init.py may need modification. #!/usbin/env python should be changed to #!/usbin/env python3 and firmware.bin should be changed to its absolute path. The script depends on a package called pyusb. You may need to run ps4eye_init.py as sudo.
ENVIRONMENT VARIABLE
A lot of OpenXR software relies on an environment variable to find the runtime. XR_RUNTIME_JSON must equal the absolute path of the runtime's JSON configuration file. On my system, the export line would look like this:
export XR_RUNTIME_JSON=/uslocal/share/openx1/openxr_monado.json
On other systems, it might look like this:
export XR_RUNTIME_JSON=/uslocal/share/openx0/active_runtime.json
To find your JSON file, look in /uslocal/share/openxr. Then, add the appropriate export line to your ~/.profile so the variable is assigned when you log in. Now log out and log in again.
OPENXR PLAYGROUND
The openxr-simple-playground demo is the simplest program that works reliably with direct mode. You can use this to test VR functionality after completing the Recurrent Actions.
Before you build, you need to install the OpenXR development package (libopenxr-dev on Debian-based distros). Then run the standard cmake steps:
CHECK CABLES
The VR processor and the PS4 camera must be plugged into USB3 ports. The VR processor must be plugged into your computer's HDMI port, and your main monitor should be plugged into a different port on your computer. Ignore the VR processor's TV out port.
MAKE SURE THE PS4 CAMERA SHOWS UP
Run guvcview or a similar webcam program to verify that the PS4 camera is plugged in and turned on. If you didn't set things up just right, you may have to manually run this every time:
sudo /uslocal/opt/ps4eye/ps4eye_init.py
ENTER DIRECT MODE
Direct mode. First, find what your system identifies the PSVR's HDMI device as by running this:
xrandr --prop
Make sure you got the right name so you don't deactivate your main monitor. If the PSVR is identified as (for example) HDMI-1, run this to set it to direct mode:
xrandr --output HDMI-1 --set non-desktop 1
START THE MONADO SERVICE
Open a terminal window and run:
XRT_COMPOSITOR_LOG=debug monado-service
Wait for blue lights on the front of the headset. No blue lights? See RESETTING.
If all is working, blue lights should illuminate the front of the headset and VR apps should "just work", albeit with a little stutter and without tracked controllers (more on those later). Blender is hit-or-miss, SteamVR is miss, openxr-playground always works.
RESETTING
If you need to reset your headset due to misalignment or other issues, follow these steps:
Bear in mind that Monado maps the PSmove controllers as basic input devices, so games that lack rebindable controls may not recognize the buttons. However, you can still see their positions in space. As of March 2023, there is noticeable gyro drift after 2 minutes of use, causing the wands to point in the wrong direction.
One undocumented quirk is that you must hold the the wands balls-up with the buttons facing opposite the camera (towards your face) when you start monado-service. Otherwise, the rotations will be wrong from the start. You may also notice lag in controller positons.
A few things to keep in mind:
submitted by CaveShaman to virtualreality_linux [link] [comments]
The good:
- PSVR is the most ergonomic headset I've ever worn. Top comfy.
- You can get a PSVR for very little money.
The bad:
- Unlike other HMDs, setting up the tracking camera and controllers is not automatic
- Monado's controller tracking currently does PSVR a disservice - gyro drift like crazy
The ugly:
- Combining the system's limitations, setup time, and association with OpenXR, very few games make sense for PSVR on PC. The fancy new APIs and tracked controllers really aren't good for this headset right now. Installing OpenComposite and running older, seated OpenVR games without Steam is probably the best use case.
The setup guide below is split into 5 setions: Initial Actions (what you do to set up VR the first time), Recurrent Actions (what you do to set up VR every time), Automation (how to make it slightly more convenient), PSmove (trying out really buggy controller tracking), and SteamVR (exotic experiences in failure).
Initial Actions
UDEV RULESUSB devices on GNU/Linux involve a system called udev. On most distros in 2023, VR devices still need extra udev rules to tell the system to use them. Install the xr-hardware package from your distro.
INSTALL MONADO
You can install Monado from several different places, but if you want to avoid serious bugs, I recommend installing from its Git repo. To build Monado with enough features to actually work, you must first install ALL of the dependencies. Find the list of dependency packages for your system in .gitlab-ci.yml.
If you finish off the installation with sudo make install, it will install Monado to an acceptable default location.
CAMERA CALIBRATION
You need a PS4-to-PS5 adaptor to plug the PS4 camera into a USB3 port. Plug the camera in, then follow the guide located here for instructions on how to calibrate it.
ps4eye_init.py may need modification. #!/usbin/env python should be changed to #!/usbin/env python3 and firmware.bin should be changed to its absolute path. The script depends on a package called pyusb. You may need to run ps4eye_init.py as sudo.
ENVIRONMENT VARIABLE
A lot of OpenXR software relies on an environment variable to find the runtime. XR_RUNTIME_JSON must equal the absolute path of the runtime's JSON configuration file. On my system, the export line would look like this:
export XR_RUNTIME_JSON=/uslocal/share/openx1/openxr_monado.json
On other systems, it might look like this:
export XR_RUNTIME_JSON=/uslocal/share/openx0/active_runtime.json
To find your JSON file, look in /uslocal/share/openxr. Then, add the appropriate export line to your ~/.profile so the variable is assigned when you log in. Now log out and log in again.
OPENXR PLAYGROUND
The openxr-simple-playground demo is the simplest program that works reliably with direct mode. You can use this to test VR functionality after completing the Recurrent Actions.
Before you build, you need to install the OpenXR development package (libopenxr-dev on Debian-based distros). Then run the standard cmake steps:
mkdir build cd build cmake .. make
Recurrent Actions
To avoid extending your desktop to the headset, disconnect power from the PSVR processor box any time you restart your computer.CHECK CABLES
The VR processor and the PS4 camera must be plugged into USB3 ports. The VR processor must be plugged into your computer's HDMI port, and your main monitor should be plugged into a different port on your computer. Ignore the VR processor's TV out port.
MAKE SURE THE PS4 CAMERA SHOWS UP
Run guvcview or a similar webcam program to verify that the PS4 camera is plugged in and turned on. If you didn't set things up just right, you may have to manually run this every time:
sudo /uslocal/opt/ps4eye/ps4eye_init.py
ENTER DIRECT MODE
Direct mode. First, find what your system identifies the PSVR's HDMI device as by running this:
xrandr --prop
Make sure you got the right name so you don't deactivate your main monitor. If the PSVR is identified as (for example) HDMI-1, run this to set it to direct mode:
xrandr --output HDMI-1 --set non-desktop 1
START THE MONADO SERVICE
Open a terminal window and run:
XRT_COMPOSITOR_LOG=debug monado-service
Wait for blue lights on the front of the headset. No blue lights? See RESETTING.
If all is working, blue lights should illuminate the front of the headset and VR apps should "just work", albeit with a little stutter and without tracked controllers (more on those later). Blender is hit-or-miss, SteamVR is miss, openxr-playground always works.
RESETTING
If you need to reset your headset due to misalignment or other issues, follow these steps:
- Close monado-service (Ctrl-C)
- Press and hold the headset's power button to turn it off, then press it once to turn it on again
- rm -f /run/use1000/monado_comp_ipc
- Position the headset in front of the PS4 camera
- Hold the headset steady and start monado-service
Automation
You must at least complete Initial Actions for this to work. For my setup, this script prepares PSVR for use by an OpenXR program such as a game, bypassing most of the steps in Recurrent Actions:#!/bin/sh sudo /uslocal/opt/ps4eye/ps4eye_init.py xrandr --output HDMI-1 --set non-desktop 1 rm -f /run/use1000/monado_comp_ipc XRT_COMPOSITOR_LOG=debug monado-service
PSmove
After you have tried all of the above and gotten cubes to appear on the headset, it's time to experience Monado's very "early adopter" controller tracking. You will need a bluetooth adaptor. The one in your laptop should work, or you can pick one up that advertises plug-and-play Linux support. I use a USB bluetooth dongle from Sabrent, and I would recommend it.Bear in mind that Monado maps the PSmove controllers as basic input devices, so games that lack rebindable controls may not recognize the buttons. However, you can still see their positions in space. As of March 2023, there is noticeable gyro drift after 2 minutes of use, causing the wands to point in the wrong direction.
One undocumented quirk is that you must hold the the wands balls-up with the buttons facing opposite the camera (towards your face) when you start monado-service. Otherwise, the rotations will be wrong from the start. You may also notice lag in controller positons.
SteamVR
Tired of boring cubes and glitchy Blender? Try Steam's Linux VR games! All 5 of them! Monado includes a SteamVR compatibility layer (documented here).A few things to keep in mind:
- I recommend the latest SteamVR beta (even though it doesn't say "Linux" in the beta name). But after recent updates, YMMV.
- Do not run the Monado service while running SteamVR (SteamVR starts it automatically)
- If SteamVR continually fails to detect your headset, you may have to delete/rename ~/.local/share/Steam/ubuntu12_32/steam-runtime/pinned_libs_64/libcurl.so.4 (background info)
- If SteamVR breaks, close it and start it again
- Properly-configured games launch SteamVR in the background so you can avoid the bugs surrounding SteamVR Home
- Critter Kart uses OpenVR (SteamVR) but is not configured to launch with SteamVR on Linux (manual work required) [1]
- Do not run Locomancer unless you want to crash your whole PC
- Half-Life: Alyx has native Linux support despite what it says on the store page, but don't even try it with PSVR
- Reprojection/motion smoothing bugs are still a problem on SteamVR Linux. The performance is generally not good.
- OpenComposite (formerly called OpenOVR) provides OpenVR on top of OpenXR, yielding better performance than SteamVR. Mileage varies depending on game.
Wrap-up
In conclusion, I would not currently recommend PSVR with Monado for tracked controller games. It could be a replacement for the Oculus DK2 if you set up OpenComposite correctly. PSVR is ergonomic and has excellent visual clarity, and even poorly calibrated camera tracking is sufficient when playing seated. However, there are far better options available.2023.03.22 03:49 70stang Ostensibly (adv) - to all outward appearance. This is the most useful word in the entire English language. I will make my case.
"Ostensibly" (and ostensible, of course) has long been my favorite word in the English language, for one simple reason:
"Ostensibly" is the largest caliber round the language has to offer for bullshitting.
In layman's terms, otensibly means "possibly but also maybe not."
Are you going to do your homework on time? Ostensibly. Are you in line for a promotion at work? Ostensibly. Are you available to hang out with that guy from high school you ran into at the supermarket? Ostensibly.
This is the most non-commital of the commital responses, and the most commital of the non-commital. If you tell somebody that something is plausible or possible, they'll immediately ask you to nail down your stance.
Ostensibly is the fighter jet of tactical linguistic evasion. Agile and deadly. Nobody will ever call you on it, ostensibly. I rest my case.
submitted by 70stang to logophilia [link] [comments]
"Ostensibly" is the largest caliber round the language has to offer for bullshitting.
In layman's terms, otensibly means "possibly but also maybe not."
Are you going to do your homework on time? Ostensibly. Are you in line for a promotion at work? Ostensibly. Are you available to hang out with that guy from high school you ran into at the supermarket? Ostensibly.
This is the most non-commital of the commital responses, and the most commital of the non-commital. If you tell somebody that something is plausible or possible, they'll immediately ask you to nail down your stance.
Ostensibly is the fighter jet of tactical linguistic evasion. Agile and deadly. Nobody will ever call you on it, ostensibly. I rest my case.
2023.03.22 03:27 goddess-kat13 MINNIE PLEASE TAKE THESE THINGS OFF. What happened to you practicing with the nail drill? These are way over grown girl it’s really fucking bad at this point. JUST TAKE THEM OFF
 | submitted by goddess-kat13 to polypoppinexposed [link] [comments] |
2023.03.22 03:15 AnarchyLaBlanc My latest attempt at making a simple d6 system for a kinda ridiculous TTRPG.
I've been working on a simple d6 system for about two days now. The idea is that it could be used to introduce players to TTRPGs.
The concept of this system is that you play as either an alchemist, who crafts potions and poisons, an artificer, who crafts weapons and tools, or a wizard, who casts spells and curses. Each class allows for different playstyle hypothetically. All of this is driven by the use of a resource called "resource". It is used to make your weapons, poisons and curses as well as your tools, potions and spells. Basically in every challenge there is a craft check where you make something based on your blueprints, recipes, or spell book by spending resource. Then you put what you have created to good use. All created implements can be used as much as the player wants, but will deteriorate to the point of uselessness after the scene ends.
Using implements is a simple roll of a d6. You have to roll at or below a certain number to succeed. You always start with 1 as your base (17%). Then if the implement fits the category of the check (i.e. violence, athletics, repair, etc.) Then you increase the success range by one (33%). Then if the implement is specially made for this circumstance (i.e. hammer for nailing, potion of transformation for disguising, wilting curse for crop failure, etc.) It raises the success range again by 1 (50%).
If that still isn't enough for you, you may gamble up to two resource as a means of uping the success range by 1 or 2. Simply put this is you using finer equipment for your implements. But should you succeed. You don't waste the resource you gambled. But should the roll fail. Those resources are lost and you're back to square one.
Then there's the drama level. This indicates how a success or failure will affect the party or individual. High drama level means that a failure would be devastating for the group. Causing damage, alerting enemies, destroying opportunities, etc. Low drama means things are very much contained and easy going. Even if you fail a low drama check, you can try again, by raising the drama level to high.
Mostly that's it, but I wanted to get some thoughts. I'm hopeful to improve this and make something simple to introduce friends and family to TTRPGs. Let me know what you think.
submitted by AnarchyLaBlanc to tabletopgamedesign [link] [comments]
The concept of this system is that you play as either an alchemist, who crafts potions and poisons, an artificer, who crafts weapons and tools, or a wizard, who casts spells and curses. Each class allows for different playstyle hypothetically. All of this is driven by the use of a resource called "resource". It is used to make your weapons, poisons and curses as well as your tools, potions and spells. Basically in every challenge there is a craft check where you make something based on your blueprints, recipes, or spell book by spending resource. Then you put what you have created to good use. All created implements can be used as much as the player wants, but will deteriorate to the point of uselessness after the scene ends.
Using implements is a simple roll of a d6. You have to roll at or below a certain number to succeed. You always start with 1 as your base (17%). Then if the implement fits the category of the check (i.e. violence, athletics, repair, etc.) Then you increase the success range by one (33%). Then if the implement is specially made for this circumstance (i.e. hammer for nailing, potion of transformation for disguising, wilting curse for crop failure, etc.) It raises the success range again by 1 (50%).
If that still isn't enough for you, you may gamble up to two resource as a means of uping the success range by 1 or 2. Simply put this is you using finer equipment for your implements. But should you succeed. You don't waste the resource you gambled. But should the roll fail. Those resources are lost and you're back to square one.
Then there's the drama level. This indicates how a success or failure will affect the party or individual. High drama level means that a failure would be devastating for the group. Causing damage, alerting enemies, destroying opportunities, etc. Low drama means things are very much contained and easy going. Even if you fail a low drama check, you can try again, by raising the drama level to high.
Mostly that's it, but I wanted to get some thoughts. I'm hopeful to improve this and make something simple to introduce friends and family to TTRPGs. Let me know what you think.
2023.03.22 02:43 XxXWaterLevelXxX [PC][2000s] Rocket Shooting game
Platform(s): PC flash game (I think)
Genre: Shooter (I think)
Estimated year of release: 2000s-2010s
Graphics/art style: The art style was flash-like in 2D, similar to the flash game art styles in the 2000s. The background looks like a tinted yellow notebook. I remember a castle. Also in the background there were trees shaded in tan-ish color.
Notable characters: I remember a nun, at least I think it was a nun although it might of looked similar to a nun.
Notable gameplay mechanics: Shooting rockets/missiles at buildings with just the mouse. Figures in the game can be killed. I don't believe the buildings can be destroyed.
Other details: I think I played this game in 2009, it was probably a simple game with no story just having fun shooting rockets at buildings. It was not a stick figure game.
submitted by XxXWaterLevelXxX to tipofmyjoystick [link] [comments]
Genre: Shooter (I think)
Estimated year of release: 2000s-2010s
Graphics/art style: The art style was flash-like in 2D, similar to the flash game art styles in the 2000s. The background looks like a tinted yellow notebook. I remember a castle. Also in the background there were trees shaded in tan-ish color.
Notable characters: I remember a nun, at least I think it was a nun although it might of looked similar to a nun.
Notable gameplay mechanics: Shooting rockets/missiles at buildings with just the mouse. Figures in the game can be killed. I don't believe the buildings can be destroyed.
Other details: I think I played this game in 2009, it was probably a simple game with no story just having fun shooting rockets at buildings. It was not a stick figure game.
2023.03.22 02:40 CoopNine Cursor becomes unbound to the window
Recently, fairly often my cursor decides to become unbound to the game window. Meaning it still works inside the window, but if I left click and hold, and move my mouse left normally it will just keep rotating my camera, but when this happens it leaves the screen, and I lose control. When this happens I still have the 'wow hand' cursor, but I also have a windows 'move' cursor (crosshairs with arrows) which seems to follow the actual coordinates of the mouse as it would move if I wasn't holding down the left mouse button.
exiting the game and restarting fixes, but it will happen again in a while. I can't nail down any triggers that cause it. /reload ui does not fix it.
Any ideas on what might be causing it, and how I can resolve it? Running in Fullscreen (Windowed) mode, using my monitors native resolution, I don't have, and never have in the past locked the cursor to the window (would prefer not to, so I don't have to alt-tab to move over to a browser or something during the game) Look speed is 1, mouse sensitivity is disabled in the game, and click to move is disabled in the game.
submitted by CoopNine to wow [link] [comments]
exiting the game and restarting fixes, but it will happen again in a while. I can't nail down any triggers that cause it. /reload ui does not fix it.
Any ideas on what might be causing it, and how I can resolve it? Running in Fullscreen (Windowed) mode, using my monitors native resolution, I don't have, and never have in the past locked the cursor to the window (would prefer not to, so I don't have to alt-tab to move over to a browser or something during the game) Look speed is 1, mouse sensitivity is disabled in the game, and click to move is disabled in the game.
2023.03.22 02:06 Ambitious_Fox_II What I learned about AGP over the past 3 years
I posted before on this community a couple of years ago, in late 2020, when it had like 600-700 members. Back then, I didn't know almost anything that I know now. So, to help people who are suffering from their AGP, I should share what I learned.
What is AGP?
AGP is a term that applies to a broad spectrum of sexual fetishes: All kinds of sexual fetishes involving a male self-feminizing in some way is a form of AGP.
This includes behavior such as shaving their legs for them to look feminine (an example of anatomical AGP), wearing female-typical clothing (transvestic), having submissive sex (behavioral/interpersonal), and pretending to get pregnant, menstruate, and lactate (physiological), as well as even doing feminine-coded activities like going to a saloon to get makeup done and nails painted (behavioral).
Most males with AGP are heterosexual, but there are significant populations of asexual and bisexual males with AGP. I think pseudo-homosexual AGPs exist (that is, a guy who is basically an asexual AGP but with the fetish of being penetrated). Still, I do think that actual homosexual AGPs do not exist. Because to be "autogynephilic" requires one to be "gynephilic" to some degree.
In addition, the kinds of AGP fetishes that men have tends to vary a lot, which means that AGP is not like heterosexuality and homosexuality. Like typical male heterosexuality, the AGP is attracted to the idea of taking possession of a woman. But, the AGP's idea of taking possession is essentially "wearing" or "performing" her femininity (in various forms of AGP described before) rather than simply penetrating her. Since taking possession of femininity can take many forms depending on the individual and the cultural and social environment an AGP is inserted, any pair of AGPs will have very distinct experiences with their paraphilia.
I do think AGP is inborn, or at least the potential to have AGP is inborn, as evidence shows that the development of paraphilias depends on the conditions of the womb.
In the vast majority of cases, men with these fetishes do not become obsessed with them, nor do they develop some mystical understanding that these fetishes come from having some inner female identity deep inside their brains. They accept the fact that they are men with weird fetishes, typically knowing that other people might think it is weird to masturbate while wearing their girlfriends' underwear (a friend of mine used to say that as a joke).
Therefore, in the majority of cases, men with AGP do not think that they want to become a woman. They believe their sexuality consists of just fetishes for specific things, like cross-dressing, having breasts, or being penetrated during sex. In addition, AGP often comes together with other fetishes; it appears that one of the most common is paraphilic infantilism, which is a fetish of basically dressing and acting like a little girl. It is not technically autopedophilia, which is a different paraphilia.
The gender identity belief system
If an AGP thinks his fetish means he wants to become a woman, that brings us to the notion of gender identity. The idea that people have gender identity is not a scientific concept, but it is a spiritual concept that was invented quite recently in Anglo-America. This is a concept related to the idea of a soul: Christians and Jews believe that humans are not just bodies but that they have souls besides their bodies, which are immaterial entities, more precisely, spiritual phenomena outside the mortal plane. Gender ideology just took this idea and decided to put sex on the soul. So, when a person has a soul with a sex different from the body, that person is transgender.
It is also a concept that the vast majority of people across the history of the world did not believe in. It is a belief that first emerged in certain countries, primarily in Anglo-America and Britain. Still, because of America's enormously powerful cultural influence, it has become almost a global phenomenon.
The ideological conflict between the "TRAs" and "TERFs," where Britain is often called the TERF island, is also a cultural battle between Anglo-America and Britain: since the concept of gender identity is a religious concept, it is more accepted in highly religious Anglo-America and viewed with more skepticism in secular Britain.
I think that reality is more simple: there are two sexes, and people born with a penis are men, and people born with a vagina are women. There is also no solid scientific evidence that using hormonal and surgical methods to try to make the anatomy of a man or a woman look closer to the opposite sex and reassigning their sex will improve life outcomes: Cross-sex hormones imbalance the endocrine system causing mental instability and severe health risks.
The only study to follow people after sex reassignment for a period of time long enough to make an evaluation of the life-long consequences of sex reassignment, which followed the population of transsexuals in Sweden for 30 years, showed that transsexuals had much worse outcomes than the non-transsexual control group (which controlled for mental health status), both for the MTF and FTM cases (see: pone.0016885 1..8 (plos.org) for more details). The idea that "transition" can be a medical benefit to at least some people is just a popular superstition.
Gender identity and brain sex
Some males are indeed born with femininized brains, and some females are born with masculinized brains. Typically, males with femininized brains are homosexual, and females with masculinized brains are lesbians. In addition, not only their brains but the rest of their bodies are feminized/masculinized. Gay men are typically smaller, have less muscle mass, and have more feminine facial features than straight men (which is why AI algorithms now can estimate with a high degree of precision a person's sexual orientation only based on photos).
Men with AGP typically have the same biological properties as typical straight men: the same average height and weight, the same testosterone levels, the same degree of brain masculinization, etc. However, it is true that males with AGP who seek sex reassignment tend self select to be among the most feminine ones.
However, there is no reason to believe that males with feminized brains are not real men or that women with masculinized brains are not real women. They are just feminine men, typically gay, and masculine women, typically butch lesbians. Nobody is actually born in the wrong body, as Colin Wright tweets: "No one is born in the wrong body because people are not born IN bodies in the first place. People ARE their bodies. There is no moment when your supposedly "gendered" brain is inserted into a male or female meat suit. This idea is complete pseudoscience." / Twitter (see No One Is Born in ‘The Wrong Body’ (quillette.com) for more detail).
AGP and gender dysphoria
I do think that gender dysphoria, as we understand it today, actually did not exist even a few decades ago. Indeed, older transsexuals, like Deirdre McCloskey, explain that they never had gender dysphoria in this debate with Kathleen Stock: https://youtu.be/_gDIBinDN-o (funny that this debate is so stereotypical TRA vs. TERF: with the TRA being American AGP transsexual and the TERF being a British lesbian).
Gender dysphoria is a consequence of believing that gender identity is a real thing and believing that one's gender identity is inconsistent with their body. This can lead to rumination, which leads to self-hatred, and which, in extreme cases, can lead to sex reassignment. Older transsexuals did not have this experience.
Deirdre, for example, which is the transsexual case I know best, decided to change sex from male to female because Donald used to be a heterosexual crossdresser for decades. He then was exposed to the idea of sex reassignment in one of the crossdressing conventions he used to partake in. He evaluated what he perceived to be the pros and cons of undergoing sex reassignment, and he concluded that the pros were bigger than the cons. Thus, she said her decision to become a she was like when she considered purchasing a new car. One thing to notice is that Deirdre really does believe that she has changed sex, so while she does not have gender dysphoria, she has a belief typical of gender ideology that sex can be changed.
Blanchard's typology is just wrong
There are issues with Blanchard's typology. The big issue is that it fundamentally assumes that gender dysphoria and transsexualism are conditions with a biological origin. However, there is no evidence of that. Instead, all evidence points out to these being socially constructed beliefs.
This means that gender dysphoria can occur in both males and females, in both heterosexual and homosexual people. And among heterosexual males, it can occur in men with and without any AGP fetishes. The same applies to heterosexual women: heterosexual women with and without AAP. Fundamentally, I think that anybody can develop gender dysphoria if they ruminate on the idea enough and really believe in it: that is, anybody can be convinced that if they can change their sex and believe that changing their sex will fix the issues in their life, then they will ruminate on the idea ("questioning their gender") and develop gender dysphoria.
Children and teenagers are much more likely to develop gender dysphoria than adults because they are easier to convince that they have an inner gender identity, and it's easy to make people undergoing puberty think they suffer from some mismatch between their gender identity and their body. As gender ideology spread into the mainstream, gender dysphoria has spread to many children and teenagers; the vast majority of cases are homosexual or non-AGP, or non-AAP heterosexual people.
AGP and suffering
Before around 2010, the biggest problem for 99.9% of men with AGP was not gender dysphoria; it was their wives discovering their hidden stash of female clothes. That was because gender ideology had not become mainstream.
Excluding some extreme cases, such as men with the anatomical AGP fetish of having a vagina (that was the case of Deirdre), which cannot be simply satisfied with clothes (although there do exist external prosthetics to help for these cases without requiring surgical intervention), it was very unlikely that men with AGP would ever start to obsessively ruminate on the idea that their paraphilia implies they are not real men (also called "questioning their gender"). Back then, I think that life was much better for AGPs than it is now.
But I also think GD is one manifestation of our global mental health crisis. Instead, people should take it easy: learn to relax and enjoy, including the ability to enjoy their weird sexual fetishes without having to worry about being born into the wrong body or something.
submitted by Ambitious_Fox_II to askAGP [link] [comments]
What is AGP?
AGP is a term that applies to a broad spectrum of sexual fetishes: All kinds of sexual fetishes involving a male self-feminizing in some way is a form of AGP.
This includes behavior such as shaving their legs for them to look feminine (an example of anatomical AGP), wearing female-typical clothing (transvestic), having submissive sex (behavioral/interpersonal), and pretending to get pregnant, menstruate, and lactate (physiological), as well as even doing feminine-coded activities like going to a saloon to get makeup done and nails painted (behavioral).
Most males with AGP are heterosexual, but there are significant populations of asexual and bisexual males with AGP. I think pseudo-homosexual AGPs exist (that is, a guy who is basically an asexual AGP but with the fetish of being penetrated). Still, I do think that actual homosexual AGPs do not exist. Because to be "autogynephilic" requires one to be "gynephilic" to some degree.
In addition, the kinds of AGP fetishes that men have tends to vary a lot, which means that AGP is not like heterosexuality and homosexuality. Like typical male heterosexuality, the AGP is attracted to the idea of taking possession of a woman. But, the AGP's idea of taking possession is essentially "wearing" or "performing" her femininity (in various forms of AGP described before) rather than simply penetrating her. Since taking possession of femininity can take many forms depending on the individual and the cultural and social environment an AGP is inserted, any pair of AGPs will have very distinct experiences with their paraphilia.
I do think AGP is inborn, or at least the potential to have AGP is inborn, as evidence shows that the development of paraphilias depends on the conditions of the womb.
In the vast majority of cases, men with these fetishes do not become obsessed with them, nor do they develop some mystical understanding that these fetishes come from having some inner female identity deep inside their brains. They accept the fact that they are men with weird fetishes, typically knowing that other people might think it is weird to masturbate while wearing their girlfriends' underwear (a friend of mine used to say that as a joke).
Therefore, in the majority of cases, men with AGP do not think that they want to become a woman. They believe their sexuality consists of just fetishes for specific things, like cross-dressing, having breasts, or being penetrated during sex. In addition, AGP often comes together with other fetishes; it appears that one of the most common is paraphilic infantilism, which is a fetish of basically dressing and acting like a little girl. It is not technically autopedophilia, which is a different paraphilia.
The gender identity belief system
If an AGP thinks his fetish means he wants to become a woman, that brings us to the notion of gender identity. The idea that people have gender identity is not a scientific concept, but it is a spiritual concept that was invented quite recently in Anglo-America. This is a concept related to the idea of a soul: Christians and Jews believe that humans are not just bodies but that they have souls besides their bodies, which are immaterial entities, more precisely, spiritual phenomena outside the mortal plane. Gender ideology just took this idea and decided to put sex on the soul. So, when a person has a soul with a sex different from the body, that person is transgender.
It is also a concept that the vast majority of people across the history of the world did not believe in. It is a belief that first emerged in certain countries, primarily in Anglo-America and Britain. Still, because of America's enormously powerful cultural influence, it has become almost a global phenomenon.
The ideological conflict between the "TRAs" and "TERFs," where Britain is often called the TERF island, is also a cultural battle between Anglo-America and Britain: since the concept of gender identity is a religious concept, it is more accepted in highly religious Anglo-America and viewed with more skepticism in secular Britain.
I think that reality is more simple: there are two sexes, and people born with a penis are men, and people born with a vagina are women. There is also no solid scientific evidence that using hormonal and surgical methods to try to make the anatomy of a man or a woman look closer to the opposite sex and reassigning their sex will improve life outcomes: Cross-sex hormones imbalance the endocrine system causing mental instability and severe health risks.
The only study to follow people after sex reassignment for a period of time long enough to make an evaluation of the life-long consequences of sex reassignment, which followed the population of transsexuals in Sweden for 30 years, showed that transsexuals had much worse outcomes than the non-transsexual control group (which controlled for mental health status), both for the MTF and FTM cases (see: pone.0016885 1..8 (plos.org) for more details). The idea that "transition" can be a medical benefit to at least some people is just a popular superstition.
Gender identity and brain sex
Some males are indeed born with femininized brains, and some females are born with masculinized brains. Typically, males with femininized brains are homosexual, and females with masculinized brains are lesbians. In addition, not only their brains but the rest of their bodies are feminized/masculinized. Gay men are typically smaller, have less muscle mass, and have more feminine facial features than straight men (which is why AI algorithms now can estimate with a high degree of precision a person's sexual orientation only based on photos).
Men with AGP typically have the same biological properties as typical straight men: the same average height and weight, the same testosterone levels, the same degree of brain masculinization, etc. However, it is true that males with AGP who seek sex reassignment tend self select to be among the most feminine ones.
However, there is no reason to believe that males with feminized brains are not real men or that women with masculinized brains are not real women. They are just feminine men, typically gay, and masculine women, typically butch lesbians. Nobody is actually born in the wrong body, as Colin Wright tweets: "No one is born in the wrong body because people are not born IN bodies in the first place. People ARE their bodies. There is no moment when your supposedly "gendered" brain is inserted into a male or female meat suit. This idea is complete pseudoscience." / Twitter (see No One Is Born in ‘The Wrong Body’ (quillette.com) for more detail).
AGP and gender dysphoria
I do think that gender dysphoria, as we understand it today, actually did not exist even a few decades ago. Indeed, older transsexuals, like Deirdre McCloskey, explain that they never had gender dysphoria in this debate with Kathleen Stock: https://youtu.be/_gDIBinDN-o (funny that this debate is so stereotypical TRA vs. TERF: with the TRA being American AGP transsexual and the TERF being a British lesbian).
Gender dysphoria is a consequence of believing that gender identity is a real thing and believing that one's gender identity is inconsistent with their body. This can lead to rumination, which leads to self-hatred, and which, in extreme cases, can lead to sex reassignment. Older transsexuals did not have this experience.
Deirdre, for example, which is the transsexual case I know best, decided to change sex from male to female because Donald used to be a heterosexual crossdresser for decades. He then was exposed to the idea of sex reassignment in one of the crossdressing conventions he used to partake in. He evaluated what he perceived to be the pros and cons of undergoing sex reassignment, and he concluded that the pros were bigger than the cons. Thus, she said her decision to become a she was like when she considered purchasing a new car. One thing to notice is that Deirdre really does believe that she has changed sex, so while she does not have gender dysphoria, she has a belief typical of gender ideology that sex can be changed.
Blanchard's typology is just wrong
There are issues with Blanchard's typology. The big issue is that it fundamentally assumes that gender dysphoria and transsexualism are conditions with a biological origin. However, there is no evidence of that. Instead, all evidence points out to these being socially constructed beliefs.
This means that gender dysphoria can occur in both males and females, in both heterosexual and homosexual people. And among heterosexual males, it can occur in men with and without any AGP fetishes. The same applies to heterosexual women: heterosexual women with and without AAP. Fundamentally, I think that anybody can develop gender dysphoria if they ruminate on the idea enough and really believe in it: that is, anybody can be convinced that if they can change their sex and believe that changing their sex will fix the issues in their life, then they will ruminate on the idea ("questioning their gender") and develop gender dysphoria.
Children and teenagers are much more likely to develop gender dysphoria than adults because they are easier to convince that they have an inner gender identity, and it's easy to make people undergoing puberty think they suffer from some mismatch between their gender identity and their body. As gender ideology spread into the mainstream, gender dysphoria has spread to many children and teenagers; the vast majority of cases are homosexual or non-AGP, or non-AAP heterosexual people.
AGP and suffering
Before around 2010, the biggest problem for 99.9% of men with AGP was not gender dysphoria; it was their wives discovering their hidden stash of female clothes. That was because gender ideology had not become mainstream.
Excluding some extreme cases, such as men with the anatomical AGP fetish of having a vagina (that was the case of Deirdre), which cannot be simply satisfied with clothes (although there do exist external prosthetics to help for these cases without requiring surgical intervention), it was very unlikely that men with AGP would ever start to obsessively ruminate on the idea that their paraphilia implies they are not real men (also called "questioning their gender"). Back then, I think that life was much better for AGPs than it is now.
But I also think GD is one manifestation of our global mental health crisis. Instead, people should take it easy: learn to relax and enjoy, including the ability to enjoy their weird sexual fetishes without having to worry about being born into the wrong body or something.
2023.03.22 01:22 Seeking911 The Protector: CHAPTER ONE
There are times when humanity needs protection. The fallen creation needs the opportunity to survive; that is what God desires. She did not bring forth life for it to be destroyed or enslaved by her daughters. The Loving God that She is, did not give Her daughters the life-forming abilities for her creations to experience brutality, to experience atrocity. Yet, Her daughters have failed God! They’ve given birth and they’ve murdered! They have raped and pillaged the land due to their greed. What has She done by forsaking us? What can She do to save us? God wonders...
-Temple Mother, Veza Gazacar
Marta observed his mother as she stood from the side of her bed. The headstrong woman braced herself, trembling while the pain twisted her body. He looked over her, for the way she groaned and gasped one would have thought the cause visible, like a broken bone or an open wound. But years in effluent fields and toxic mines caused his mother’s tumors to spread before the symptoms appeared. His mother, Meke Linca, was only thirty-five. Himself, seventeen. As the pain worsened, he hated seeing her struggle to get about her day, and for the past few weeks, to his relief, she refused to fight for a life slipping away from her.
“Son, help me into my uniform,” she said, pointing at a faded military garb she had obtained in combat school, at the tail-end of the Fort Raid wars and a year before Marta’s birth. It was the one decent clothing she had for the matchmaker’s meeting. Age and years of poor nourishment made her outgrow the dated garb, but with death now nipping at her flesh, Meke was able to fit it again.
Marta slipped his mother’s frail, trembling body into the uniform, arm by arm, leg by leg, praying the pain away while holding back tears.
Death had come too soon.
He buttoned her up and tried to straighten the deep wrinkles out, but the effort was frivolous. He looked deep into his mother’s eyes, but she quickly turned away. “Help me into the living room.”
It didn’t take much to get there. Their home wasn’t a shack by any measure. It was modest and quaint and slightly larger than most of the houses in the slum, never mind the tenements that made up Fulna.
Marta helped his mother to her favorite chair, which was crafted by one of her many lovers before he married off. After handing her a small cup of gin, he raced to his room to ready himself. He placed his bronzer on his soft cheekbones meticulously and rubbed rose-colored lip balm on his full lips. His eyelashes were long and dark against his blue eyes and pale skin. He grabbed his golden roses embroidered shawl to cover his curly brown mane. When he heard a knock at the door, he inhaled deeply and darted from his room before his mother moved a muscle. Marta answered in a coy whisper.
An old woman known around the slum as Mama Doni stood beyond the threshold with a cigarette in hand and the heavy scent of gin coming from her breath. “Marta, Marta. Don’t you look beautiful today?”
Marta lowered his gaze, and stepped aside, allowing Mama Doni in. His mother greeted the matchmaker with a level of annoyance that surprised Marta and got a raised brow from the cigarette-fouled woman.
“Well, I see. You don’t want to marry your precious son off?” Mama Doni huffed as she sat on the sofa. “And you, Marta. You didn’t have any lady friends, no one to take your hand?”
Mother sighed. “He’s studious.”
Marta caught a hint of seduction in the matchmaker’s eyes under the red haze of her cigarette. He quickly looked away.
“And we have no family. None that would do right by him, anyway. He’s religious, goes to the Temple every now and then. He can cook, clean, and as I’m still alive and looking decent,” his mother said, her eyes running over her bony body, “he’s a decent caregiver. My son will be good with children. I won’t be here long, and I have nothing to give him. It will be hard for a young man like him to find work.”
“He could sell his sperm. He wouldn’t even have to go register. Plenty of women here who will pay top—”
“Or he can get married.”
Mama Doni rolled her eyes. “Which is still the same.”
“No, it isn’t!” his mother snapped.
“Let me tell you: when I put out that Meke Linca is seeking marriage arrangements for her son, you should have seen all the replies I had received. And make no mistake—I know I don’t look the part, but I did my due diligence. There were so many women who’ve had numerous arrangements, and still sought young, beautiful men again and again. These women get themselves a new boy, fuck him until she gets pregnant, or keep him around if she fancies him enough. Which I must admit,” Mama Doni turned to Marta, “may very well happen. But that’s no different from those boys on the streets or at the brothels. At least if he fails, his failure is his own. And if he succeeds, then well, that is his own too.”
“Mama Doni, we go way back. We’ve been friends through it all, haven’t we? We used to go to bars and then to brothels, drinking and fucking our life away. Each time, who was under us? Young men like my son. A couple of them you had children with. But do your children know them? Your daughter, Zuke. Guess where I saw her father last? At the soup kitchen. Skin and bones, like me. We all die, we all end up in the same place, but at least I didn’t have to lick a bunch of women each day to sustain myself. I do not want that for my son, and if he doesn’t marry before I meet God, we both know that’s where he will be.”
A hard knock startled Marta and his mother, but Mama Doni rose from the sofa with a content sigh.
“Well, lucky for you, I think I’ve found someone.” Mama Doni opened the door without answering it and welcomed the woman in. “Sioba Vedu, a twelve-star general discharge with honors plus a very generous lifetime stipend from the Queen.”
“Miss Meke Linca,” the battle-scarred woman said. She stood before the door with an arduous appearance Marta was sure she’d earned from her many years as a warrior.
“Fucking Sioba, the bitch that did this to me,” mother declared. She glared at the tall woman with such hate that Marta became alarmed and afraid.
Sioba glanced at Marta, but he swiftly bowed his head. His hands were red and sweaty as he caressed his nervousness away. Or at least tried to.
“You know very well your actions caused that. I was in no position to defend your lies, not that I would have if I had been.”
“And now you’re here to taunt me. What is Marta going to be, huh? Your fourth husband after your third one ran off and got murdered?” Mother spat, her sickly face flushed with anger and hatred.
Sioba was well-known throughout the nation for two reasons: the war and her husbands. She had become famous for being a brutal general. But by doing so, she had managed to kill the leader of the aliens invading the world. She took no prisoners and preferred executing every last one on the spot.
But it was her husbands that tarnished her name amongst women who dream of becoming like her. Her first husband had been a famous brothel dancer who may have bedded numerous women, but no one knows for sure. She never had a child with him, sparking rumors that she acts on lust. Her second husband came from a desert village in Sokia. There, veiled men are given to women such as Sioba as gifts—this slander the Queen’s representatives tried to get rid of to no avail. Sioba has two children with him. And the third one, a motherless, homeless young man she met at the newly built Men’s shelter in the tropical city of Elva. She adopted his son, a decision many found cunning since the Queen, whose rule Sioba abided with a heavy hand, had twelve daughters.
And then one night her husband disappeared, and his body was found six months later. A nail in the coffin for her. A dishonorable reputation was hard to get rid of in today’s climate. So, despite who Sioba was, Marta could not have been any less excited.
Sioba stood stern and unyielding. “I heard about your fate when I visited the Queen’s Hospital. And then I stopped to see Mama Doni. Yes, I would like to have another husband. After all, it is my right as a woman. But more than that, you know me. You know who I am as a person. I’m here to extend my hand. I can have any man I want, but can he have any woman?” Marta saw that she winced at her words, “There’s never a right way about this. Especially now since times are changing.”
Marta saw that his mother was trembling, and although she held it in well, her pain was visible to him. So, he stood up and went to her. The room fell quiet. Everyone turned their gaze at him—Mama Doni with lust, Sioba with concern, and Mother with confusion. During such arrangements, men were often not present until their mothers found someone suitable. Women were simple and laying their eyes upon a man as virtuous and innocent as Marta, they would say and do anything to win the mother over.
Marta being there was out of order in the first place. “Mother, let me take you to bed.”
Mother shook her head, and yet, placed her arm limply around her son’s neck. “I’ve failed you, son. I should have been prepared a long time ago,” she whispered.
Marta saw the end too. His mother may have turned a blind eye to her death because of ego, but Marta did the same out of hope. “Hush, mother.”
They limped their way into her room. The midday sun beamed through the dusty blinds and sooted curtains. Mother used to have him wash them every third Saturday, before she had gotten cancer. He made a mental note to clean them later that night.
“What do you want to do? I’m sorry that I haven’t asked you until now.”
But she had, numerous times weeks ago. And Marta had told her yes. A young man without a family would have to endure a difficult life. Were there men who have succeeded without being in the arms of a woman? Sure. Young men like him? Of course, not. Those men came from wealthy families, and often their marriages were already arranged by the time they reach puberty. Indeed, love marriages aren’t uncommon—and Marta tried. The slums were unforgiving for women as well, and their lives were filled with trauma and unrelenting expectations. And therefore, women in the slums, young and old, sought men that were worldly, who laughed at their jokes, weren’t apprehensive of their desires, and Marta was a Temple-visiting man too pious for his own good. “Get some rest.”
When Marta returned, he’d half expected Mama Doni and this Sioba to have left, but there they stood, in the middle of the living room whispering amongst each other. He adjusted the shawl over his hair. This was the perfect time to take his future by the reins, but instead, he went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Mama Doni walked through the narrow hallway. He knew it was her because she had a twisted hip and was too damn old to pick up her sandaled feet. She sat at the table. “Is your mother alright?”
Although he answered, Marta was annoyed with the question. Annoyed with her presence, really. “Whatever is going to happen, it is in God’s hands now.”
The kettle sang. The heavy, rhythmic footsteps of Sioba made Marta anxious. He wasn’t ready to take his future by the reins just yet.
Marta placed two porcelain cups along with their matching saucer on the counter, then filled them the way he was taught at the temple. He set the two cups on the table and pulled back a chair, inviting Sioba to sit down. Her expression was stern again, which caused Marta’s heart to skip a beat or two. Was he doing something wrong? She sat down with a heavy sigh and a stern gaze toward Mama Doni.
“Don’t be alarmed, child. We understand your mother should be here talking to us right now. I have a daughter that knows you, or knows of you, and she told me plenty about you. You are young—seventeen years old! And I’ve seen you plenty of times at the Temple,” Mama Doni smiled a mouthful of crimson-stained teeth, “If you take up my offer, you’ll be well off than all of them out there.”
Sioba took a sip of tea, then said, “Or you can come with me. You don’t have to marry me—obviously, you aren’t ready for marriage. I have room in my house. If you go to school, make something of yourself, I don’t mind.” She looked at Marta, who, for the first time, held her gaze.
He nodded, for that was all he could do. Without his mother’s blessing, there wasn’t much to this meeting. He said shyly, “My mother will contact you—both of you—tomorrow with our decision.” He tried to sound mature and brave, but he felt like a small insect in front of these two women.
“Please do,” Sioba said. She rose from her chair and stood until Mama Doni sighed and got up and left. Sioba followed without uttering a word.
Sunlight seeped through the apartment as best as it could, considering the other towering tenements. Seeing it made Marta hopeful, which, in a place like this, is all he will ever have. With his bearings intact, Marta opened his mother’s bedroom door. He picked on it right away, her death. The way her mouth slanted off to the side, the way the whites of her eyes seemed…whiter. Other than that, she looked like she was sleeping. And while Marta was heartbroken and scared, he was relieved.
submitted by Seeking911 to TheProtectorStory [link] [comments]
-Temple Mother, Veza Gazacar
Marta observed his mother as she stood from the side of her bed. The headstrong woman braced herself, trembling while the pain twisted her body. He looked over her, for the way she groaned and gasped one would have thought the cause visible, like a broken bone or an open wound. But years in effluent fields and toxic mines caused his mother’s tumors to spread before the symptoms appeared. His mother, Meke Linca, was only thirty-five. Himself, seventeen. As the pain worsened, he hated seeing her struggle to get about her day, and for the past few weeks, to his relief, she refused to fight for a life slipping away from her.
“Son, help me into my uniform,” she said, pointing at a faded military garb she had obtained in combat school, at the tail-end of the Fort Raid wars and a year before Marta’s birth. It was the one decent clothing she had for the matchmaker’s meeting. Age and years of poor nourishment made her outgrow the dated garb, but with death now nipping at her flesh, Meke was able to fit it again.
Marta slipped his mother’s frail, trembling body into the uniform, arm by arm, leg by leg, praying the pain away while holding back tears.
Death had come too soon.
He buttoned her up and tried to straighten the deep wrinkles out, but the effort was frivolous. He looked deep into his mother’s eyes, but she quickly turned away. “Help me into the living room.”
It didn’t take much to get there. Their home wasn’t a shack by any measure. It was modest and quaint and slightly larger than most of the houses in the slum, never mind the tenements that made up Fulna.
Marta helped his mother to her favorite chair, which was crafted by one of her many lovers before he married off. After handing her a small cup of gin, he raced to his room to ready himself. He placed his bronzer on his soft cheekbones meticulously and rubbed rose-colored lip balm on his full lips. His eyelashes were long and dark against his blue eyes and pale skin. He grabbed his golden roses embroidered shawl to cover his curly brown mane. When he heard a knock at the door, he inhaled deeply and darted from his room before his mother moved a muscle. Marta answered in a coy whisper.
An old woman known around the slum as Mama Doni stood beyond the threshold with a cigarette in hand and the heavy scent of gin coming from her breath. “Marta, Marta. Don’t you look beautiful today?”
Marta lowered his gaze, and stepped aside, allowing Mama Doni in. His mother greeted the matchmaker with a level of annoyance that surprised Marta and got a raised brow from the cigarette-fouled woman.
“Well, I see. You don’t want to marry your precious son off?” Mama Doni huffed as she sat on the sofa. “And you, Marta. You didn’t have any lady friends, no one to take your hand?”
Mother sighed. “He’s studious.”
Marta caught a hint of seduction in the matchmaker’s eyes under the red haze of her cigarette. He quickly looked away.
“And we have no family. None that would do right by him, anyway. He’s religious, goes to the Temple every now and then. He can cook, clean, and as I’m still alive and looking decent,” his mother said, her eyes running over her bony body, “he’s a decent caregiver. My son will be good with children. I won’t be here long, and I have nothing to give him. It will be hard for a young man like him to find work.”
“He could sell his sperm. He wouldn’t even have to go register. Plenty of women here who will pay top—”
“Or he can get married.”
Mama Doni rolled her eyes. “Which is still the same.”
“No, it isn’t!” his mother snapped.
“Let me tell you: when I put out that Meke Linca is seeking marriage arrangements for her son, you should have seen all the replies I had received. And make no mistake—I know I don’t look the part, but I did my due diligence. There were so many women who’ve had numerous arrangements, and still sought young, beautiful men again and again. These women get themselves a new boy, fuck him until she gets pregnant, or keep him around if she fancies him enough. Which I must admit,” Mama Doni turned to Marta, “may very well happen. But that’s no different from those boys on the streets or at the brothels. At least if he fails, his failure is his own. And if he succeeds, then well, that is his own too.”
“Mama Doni, we go way back. We’ve been friends through it all, haven’t we? We used to go to bars and then to brothels, drinking and fucking our life away. Each time, who was under us? Young men like my son. A couple of them you had children with. But do your children know them? Your daughter, Zuke. Guess where I saw her father last? At the soup kitchen. Skin and bones, like me. We all die, we all end up in the same place, but at least I didn’t have to lick a bunch of women each day to sustain myself. I do not want that for my son, and if he doesn’t marry before I meet God, we both know that’s where he will be.”
A hard knock startled Marta and his mother, but Mama Doni rose from the sofa with a content sigh.
“Well, lucky for you, I think I’ve found someone.” Mama Doni opened the door without answering it and welcomed the woman in. “Sioba Vedu, a twelve-star general discharge with honors plus a very generous lifetime stipend from the Queen.”
“Miss Meke Linca,” the battle-scarred woman said. She stood before the door with an arduous appearance Marta was sure she’d earned from her many years as a warrior.
“Fucking Sioba, the bitch that did this to me,” mother declared. She glared at the tall woman with such hate that Marta became alarmed and afraid.
Sioba glanced at Marta, but he swiftly bowed his head. His hands were red and sweaty as he caressed his nervousness away. Or at least tried to.
“You know very well your actions caused that. I was in no position to defend your lies, not that I would have if I had been.”
“And now you’re here to taunt me. What is Marta going to be, huh? Your fourth husband after your third one ran off and got murdered?” Mother spat, her sickly face flushed with anger and hatred.
Sioba was well-known throughout the nation for two reasons: the war and her husbands. She had become famous for being a brutal general. But by doing so, she had managed to kill the leader of the aliens invading the world. She took no prisoners and preferred executing every last one on the spot.
But it was her husbands that tarnished her name amongst women who dream of becoming like her. Her first husband had been a famous brothel dancer who may have bedded numerous women, but no one knows for sure. She never had a child with him, sparking rumors that she acts on lust. Her second husband came from a desert village in Sokia. There, veiled men are given to women such as Sioba as gifts—this slander the Queen’s representatives tried to get rid of to no avail. Sioba has two children with him. And the third one, a motherless, homeless young man she met at the newly built Men’s shelter in the tropical city of Elva. She adopted his son, a decision many found cunning since the Queen, whose rule Sioba abided with a heavy hand, had twelve daughters.
And then one night her husband disappeared, and his body was found six months later. A nail in the coffin for her. A dishonorable reputation was hard to get rid of in today’s climate. So, despite who Sioba was, Marta could not have been any less excited.
Sioba stood stern and unyielding. “I heard about your fate when I visited the Queen’s Hospital. And then I stopped to see Mama Doni. Yes, I would like to have another husband. After all, it is my right as a woman. But more than that, you know me. You know who I am as a person. I’m here to extend my hand. I can have any man I want, but can he have any woman?” Marta saw that she winced at her words, “There’s never a right way about this. Especially now since times are changing.”
Marta saw that his mother was trembling, and although she held it in well, her pain was visible to him. So, he stood up and went to her. The room fell quiet. Everyone turned their gaze at him—Mama Doni with lust, Sioba with concern, and Mother with confusion. During such arrangements, men were often not present until their mothers found someone suitable. Women were simple and laying their eyes upon a man as virtuous and innocent as Marta, they would say and do anything to win the mother over.
Marta being there was out of order in the first place. “Mother, let me take you to bed.”
Mother shook her head, and yet, placed her arm limply around her son’s neck. “I’ve failed you, son. I should have been prepared a long time ago,” she whispered.
Marta saw the end too. His mother may have turned a blind eye to her death because of ego, but Marta did the same out of hope. “Hush, mother.”
They limped their way into her room. The midday sun beamed through the dusty blinds and sooted curtains. Mother used to have him wash them every third Saturday, before she had gotten cancer. He made a mental note to clean them later that night.
“What do you want to do? I’m sorry that I haven’t asked you until now.”
But she had, numerous times weeks ago. And Marta had told her yes. A young man without a family would have to endure a difficult life. Were there men who have succeeded without being in the arms of a woman? Sure. Young men like him? Of course, not. Those men came from wealthy families, and often their marriages were already arranged by the time they reach puberty. Indeed, love marriages aren’t uncommon—and Marta tried. The slums were unforgiving for women as well, and their lives were filled with trauma and unrelenting expectations. And therefore, women in the slums, young and old, sought men that were worldly, who laughed at their jokes, weren’t apprehensive of their desires, and Marta was a Temple-visiting man too pious for his own good. “Get some rest.”
When Marta returned, he’d half expected Mama Doni and this Sioba to have left, but there they stood, in the middle of the living room whispering amongst each other. He adjusted the shawl over his hair. This was the perfect time to take his future by the reins, but instead, he went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Mama Doni walked through the narrow hallway. He knew it was her because she had a twisted hip and was too damn old to pick up her sandaled feet. She sat at the table. “Is your mother alright?”
Although he answered, Marta was annoyed with the question. Annoyed with her presence, really. “Whatever is going to happen, it is in God’s hands now.”
The kettle sang. The heavy, rhythmic footsteps of Sioba made Marta anxious. He wasn’t ready to take his future by the reins just yet.
Marta placed two porcelain cups along with their matching saucer on the counter, then filled them the way he was taught at the temple. He set the two cups on the table and pulled back a chair, inviting Sioba to sit down. Her expression was stern again, which caused Marta’s heart to skip a beat or two. Was he doing something wrong? She sat down with a heavy sigh and a stern gaze toward Mama Doni.
“Don’t be alarmed, child. We understand your mother should be here talking to us right now. I have a daughter that knows you, or knows of you, and she told me plenty about you. You are young—seventeen years old! And I’ve seen you plenty of times at the Temple,” Mama Doni smiled a mouthful of crimson-stained teeth, “If you take up my offer, you’ll be well off than all of them out there.”
Sioba took a sip of tea, then said, “Or you can come with me. You don’t have to marry me—obviously, you aren’t ready for marriage. I have room in my house. If you go to school, make something of yourself, I don’t mind.” She looked at Marta, who, for the first time, held her gaze.
He nodded, for that was all he could do. Without his mother’s blessing, there wasn’t much to this meeting. He said shyly, “My mother will contact you—both of you—tomorrow with our decision.” He tried to sound mature and brave, but he felt like a small insect in front of these two women.
“Please do,” Sioba said. She rose from her chair and stood until Mama Doni sighed and got up and left. Sioba followed without uttering a word.
Sunlight seeped through the apartment as best as it could, considering the other towering tenements. Seeing it made Marta hopeful, which, in a place like this, is all he will ever have. With his bearings intact, Marta opened his mother’s bedroom door. He picked on it right away, her death. The way her mouth slanted off to the side, the way the whites of her eyes seemed…whiter. Other than that, she looked like she was sleeping. And while Marta was heartbroken and scared, he was relieved.
2023.03.22 01:16 SK_Writes Headgames PART 2
Part 1 https://www.reddit.com/DrCreepensVault/comments/11y06d4/headgames/
Opening his eye’s, it was dark and Michael sensed he was sitting up rather than laying down as one expected to be when sleeping. His neck was sore and when he tried to move his head to relieve the tension, he found it impossible. He wondered if maybe he were still dreaming and tried to will himself to wake up, but nothing changed. He thought maybe if he pinched himself that would work, but he could not feel his hands, or the rest of his body for that matter.
At the back of his neck a dull pain throbbed as if tension had built up and he needed to pop his neck. It wasn’t sharp pain but rather irritating, and he thought he would go mad if he didn’t find a way to relieve it. Finding himself immobile with no way to relieve the tension, Michael changed his thoughts to take his mind off of it.
Remembering the visit from the prison warden, Michael recalled the man saying that certain precautionary medical measures were taken to prevent aggression and wondered just what had been done to him. He thought about what he knew of that could be done to prevent aggression and other than his earlier thoughts of reduced testosterone levels or increased levels of estrogen, he could think of nothing which would require immobilization.
‘Unless they castrated me!’ he thought suddenly and wished he could reach down to feel if his parts were still intact. But he wasn’t a sexual offender, so that didn’t really make sense. This thought calmed him and he continued to search his mind for answers.
Michael’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming closer. He couldn’t see anything, but he felt someone had come into the room with him. The lights came on, hurting his eyes and Michael squinted to shield them. He could hear the other person moving around but had no idea where they were or what they were doing.
Finally he could open his eyes fully and saw immediately that he was in a white room not unlike the one where he had received the shot. The wall in front of him was bare except for the mortar joints of the cinder block it was constructed of and a small stainless steel rolling cart parked directly in front of him.
“So, are we awake yet?” a man’s voice asked.
Michael tried to talk but couldn’t.
A face popped up in front of him, grinning at him in a weird way with eyes bulging. This guy was way too happy.
“How you doing, Michael?” he asked with his rather high, effeminate voice. “Did you sleep okay?”
Michael tried once again to answer but no sound came forth. In fact, he could not even feel his breath moving through his mouth.
“It’s okay, Mikey boy. I know you can’t talk, but what you can do is blink your eyes. So when I ask you a question, just blink once for yes and twice for no. Okay?”
Michael blinked once.
“Very good, Mike!” he said in a patronizing tone. “Now the first thing we need to do is make sure you are okay. So I’m going to pull up a seat and we’ll go over a few things.”
He stepped away from Michael’s view for a moment and returned carrying a clipboard and pushing a stool. He sat on the stool with a flourish, reaching down to adjust himself at the crotch and Michael found himself wishing he could do the same thing.
“Alrighty then, let’s continue shall we?” he said with a broad grin, cocking his head to one side. “Remember, blink once for yes and twice for no.”
Michael blinked once to acknowledge he understood.
“Awesome! Now, let’s see,” he said flipping up a page on the clip board. “Are you in any pain?”
Michael thought for a moment of how to answer. He wasn’t in pain, but he was very uncomfortable with a dull throbbing in the back of his neck. He blinked three times.
“Well, okay Mike. I see we have some work to do.” he sat up straight and laid a finger to the side of his mouth. “You blinked three times which is neither yes nor no, so it means something else, right?”
Michael blinked once.
“Okay, I asked if you were in pain and you didn’t say yes, but you also didn’t say no, so you’re not in pain but you don’t feel good.” He looked to Michael quizzically.
Michael blinked once.
“Oh good, we’re making progress!” He clapped his hands together and smiled broadly. “Is it a headache?”
Michael blinked twice.
“Alright, does your neck hurt?”
Michael blinked once, paused and blinked twice.
“Oh I see, yes and no,” He maintained the silly grin. “Your neck is uncomfortable?”
Michael blinked once.
“Let me see if I can help,” he reached around behind Michael’s head and began to massage the back of his neck.
Michael felt the warmth of the man’s smooth hand as he massaged and soon the knot began to relax. Looking at his new friend, Michael wondered what had brought someone of such a personality to work in a place like this. His blonde hair was shoulder length and stringy but time had not been nice as he was mostly balding on top. He had a very large rather pointed nose that sloped steeply back to his eyes. Up close he could see the eyes were somewhat sunken in and there were large dark circles around them, indicating the man did not sleep well. But what really got him was the smile. A goofy grin with his large but well maintained teeth.
“How’s that?” he asked, removing his hand.
Michael blinked once.
“Good. Now let’s get on with the other questions so we can start to get you settled in.” He looked to the clipboard. “Do you have any other pains?”
Michael blinked twice.
“That’s great. A lot of times, guys come out of surgery like you did and they have headaches or other pains and there’s not much I can do but give them a painkiller.” He noted something on his chart. “Now, your neck doesn’t hurt now but it may start to as the healing progresses so I want you to let me know if it does and we’ll take care of it.”
Michael blinked once.
“Oh by the way,” he looked serious at Michael for a moment. “My name is Peter and I’ll be the one who takes care of you from now on. There is another attendant by the name of Marco who comes in late at night, but he doesn’t do much other than make sure the equipment is running right. Marco is, how should we say, a little strange. And then there‘s Natalie. You already met her. The nurse who got the room ready when you first got here.”
Michael thought about the nurse he had seen. He didn’t really see her well, but figured it didn’t matter as there would be plenty of time for that. What he did remember though was she had a great body and it was something to look forward to seeing again.
“Anyway, Michael, we run in three shifts here. Natalie works seven am to three pm, I work three pm to eleven pm and Marco works eleven pm to seven am. So there is always someone here to see that you boys are taken care of. Okay, do you have any questions?”
Michael blinked twice.
Peter reached around to one side of Michael’s head and pulled a very thin computer monitor around for him to see, angling it off to one side so as to not block Michael’s view forward, but still easily seen. The screen was divided into several parts which looked to be medical monitors and a small box in the lower corner which reminded Michael of a chat box he and his friends used on the internet.
“This is your life support monitor and it also serves as a way for you to communicate with me.” He reached up to adjust a small object at the top of the screen. “I need for you to look directly at this point for a few minutes Mike so I can calibrate it.”
Michael looked at the point indicated where Peter’s hand rested. There was a small beam of light emitting from a very tiny hole and he could also see a picture of his eye coming to focus on one part of the screen. He realized it was a camera of some sort.
“This is an optical mouse,” Peter explained. “It follows the iris of your eye so that once calibrated, wherever you look on the screen, the mouse pointer will follow. And like a mouse, you can click on menu’s but instead of a finger, you simply blink twice rapidly to click the mouse.”
Michael watched as Peter continued to calibrate it and saw a mouse icon appear on the screen.
“There we go.” Peter sat back satisfied. “Now Michael, I need for you to look at the screen and look at what I tell you to so we can make sure the mouse is calibrated.”
Michael blinked once and turned his eyes to the screen. He watched the mouse rove the screen as it followed his eye movements.
“Look at the blue circle,” Peter instructed.
Michael searched the screen and looked directly at the blue circle in the corner as the mouse followed to rest there.
“Good, now find the red box.”
Michael looked across the screen, the mouse icon following his eye until he found the red box.
“Excellent. Now let’s do a little more. Find the word menu and click the mouse.”
Michael looked until he found the word menu above the small box which resembled a chat box. He waited for the icon to settle on the word and blinked twice. A small box slid down with menu choices and he read them, the icon following his eyes across each one.
“Okay Michael, this is your communication interface. From here you can type messages in the box below by opening the keyboard on the menu.” He reached over and pushed a button on the screen to make the keyboard appear on the screen above the chat box. “At first, your eyes are going to get very tired as you type messages, so don’t try to do a whole lot at first. As time passes your eyes will become accustomed and grow stronger.”
Michael looked at the interface and wondered just how long he was going to have to use this. The way Peter was talking this would be his only means of communication for a long time to come. Just what had they done to him to make it so he needed to be immobilized for such an extended period of time?
“Now, if you’ll look up here for a moment,” he pointed to an exploding star symbol at the top of the screen with a small black box under it. “Before you are finished healing, there are probably going to be times when you do have pain and since we won’t always be around you to know, you can simply click this icon and get a small dose of painkiller. After it is administered, the counter will appear in the box below the icon so you will know when the next dose is available.”
Michael blinked once.
“But I gotta warn you, Mike.” Peter got real close to Michael’s face and he could smell his aftershave. “The painkiller is a strong narcotic. The computer will only let you have a dose every two hours, but that is still enough to get you addicted. Once the doctor determines you are healed, the painkiller will be removed, so don’t get yourself hooked on it. I’ve seen a couple guys do this and believe me, the withdrawal is very painful and there’s nothing we can do but watch you suffer through it as you quit cold turkey.”
Michael blinked once.
He wasn’t interested in the painkiller. In fact, other than aspirin, he wouldn’t take any medications when he was free unless a doctor prescribed an antibiotic for infections.
“Okay, Michael, I’m about to get off shift so let me show you one more thing before we stop for today. On the menu, you will find the heading “games”. When you select it, you are given a choice of several different computer games which can be played with the optical mouse.” he looked at Michael and grinned proudly. “These were my idea and I programmed them in so you guys wouldn’t get too bored. I know it must really suck to be immobilized like that.”
Michael blinked once.
“So anyway, I would suggest trying one of the simple games like tic tac toe or hangman at first until your muscles get used to using the optical mouse. Also, the games will turn off for fifteen minutes of every hour in order to prevent eye strain and headaches that can result from these.” He stood up and moved the stool over against the wall. “I gotta go now, but I’ll be back in the morning. Get some sleep and play with the games if you like. Marco will come and check on you before too long.”
Michael watched him walk out of sight, listening to his footsteps fade in the distance. Suddenly he felt very sleepy and questions of his situation no longer seemed important. He looked at the computer screen for a moment and decided he would check it out further later on. Right now, he needed to rest. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.
But sleep did not come as he could not make himself feel comfortable enough to sleep. The familiar pressure against the back or side of his head when he lay down was missing and he had the ever present feeling of sitting at attention. He opened his eyes and looked at the computer screen, considering if he should dose himself with the narcotic to induce sleep. He immediately decided against it as he remembered Peter’s warning about not becoming addicted. He would have to find some other way.
Wondering how he would deal with his inability to make himself sleep, Michael became aware of a squeaking sound. Very faint at first but it was slowly getting closer and louder. He wondered what it was and wished he could turn his head to see, as he could really only hear it out of his right ear. This meant the sound was originating in the hallway as that was the way Peter had gone when he left.
The noise came even closer and now Michael could hear footsteps walking in time to the squeaking as if the irritating noise was a marching cadence. As it shifted around his position, he watched as a gurney came into view being pushed by a very strange looking man. He assumed that this was Marco and knew the gurney was not for him as there was already someone laying on it, covered entirely by a white sheet and Michael found himself wondering why the person under the sheet seemed to have no head.
“Well, well, lookee here,” he said mockingly, as spittle gathered at the ring in the corner of his lower lip. “If it isn’t the big bad bank robber who killed all those people in cold blood. Not feeling so tough now, are you dude?”
Michael tried not to let the man’s words get to him. He had been taunted by guards and even other inmates before who didn’t believe he was innocent. This time, unlike those other times though, he had no choice but to keep silent.
“So you’re Michael Chaste. You don’t look so tough.” He leaned in very close. “In fact, you look like a bitch. That’s right, you heard me bitch!”
The man’s breath was horrible and Michael found himself wondering if this guy chewed on road kill at meal times. He had short greasy black hair, an eyebrow piercing, the lip ring piercing he had noticed at first and a tattoo on his neck of a flying bird which looked to Michael like a swallow. Oh the fun he could have with this guy if he had his voice and was not incapacitated.
“So, I guess Peter got you all hooked up on the monitor since it’s pulled around now. Enjoying them drugs, dude?” He looked at the screen. “Oh, you haven’t taken any yet, huh?”
He walked out of Michael’s site to the left and could be heard moving something around in a drawer. When he returned, he was carrying a small thin strip of something clear like tape.
“Okay Mike, here’s the deal. Since you can’t talk or even really communicate yet, let me give you the rundown.” He pulled the rolling bench over and sat in front of him as Peter had done.
“Open your mouth,” he held the strip close and laid it on Michael’s tongue.
The taste was very sweet and he realized it was also dissolving slowly. Whatever it was, he liked it.
“That my friend is a treat for you,” Marco said calmly. “I know I can come off all bad ass and all but really I feel for you cause it has to be one major bummer to be in your position. I don’t really care if you wasted a bunch of people. Hell, I’d waste people too if I could get away with it. Most of them are worthless as tits on a boar hog anyway.”
He spun around in the chair, as if making a point. “Fact is, I don’t think there’s any crime in the world so bad that you should have to be treated this way, but I don’t make the rules. I just exploit them.”
He got up from the stool and headed off around the room again. Michael could hear him running water in a sink and sloshing something around, but had no idea what was happening. Again he wished he could turn his head. After a few minutes, Marco came back and sat down. There were now dark blotches on his smock.
“So like I was saying, I exploit the rules to get what I want out of this crummy job. But I really can’t complain. I come to work about the time all my friends are passing out and I get off in time to sleep before it’s time to party again, so it’s cool.” Marco lit a cigarette. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke. I’m not supposed to but there’s nobody here at night but me and you guys.”
He sat back and inhaled deeply from the cigarette and for once Michael could imagine what it was smokers got from smoking as he recalled his last smoke. The smell in the air was actually a pleasant change from the sanitary smell of cleaners, disinfectants and purified air. He watched Marco smoke and play with the cigarette. He was a strange one, but seemed to have a certain quality that Michael found he could like.
“So dude, I guess you met Peter.” Marco looked him straight in the eye. “Is that dude a flake or what? Man, the first time I saw him I was thinking to myself, dude, there’s a weird one if ever I saw one! And what’s with that hair? I mean, come on. If you’re bald on top you don’t let the sides and back grow. He looks like he tried to jump up too fast and his head pushed through the top of his scalp.”
He jumped up abruptly and did a little dance, ending up leaning back against the body on the gurney. He reached back and patted the stomach.
“Wow, that’s pretty muscular.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal a small paunch and rolls. “I wish I was that muscular. The chicks would really dig it.”
He walked to the far side of the gurney and lifted the sheet up between them.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “Man, you were hung weren’t you buddy. Talk about a trouser snake. It’s like a damned boa constrictor.”
Michael could hear the sound of slapping and wondered just what Marco was doing to the body. He watched as he dropped the sheet and walked over to lean in close.
“Dude, you were really something, weren’t you?” He smiled and reached out to touch Michael’s nose gently. “I bet the ladies loved you.”
Michael was confused. What was he talking about?
Seeing his confusion, Marco walked over to the body and whipped back the sheet. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the bodies penis and lifted it for Michael to see.
“Man, do you know what I could do if I was hung like that?” He smiled and seemed lost in his own perverse joy. “I could have any woman I wanted.”
Michael felt wrong. He couldn’t say watching Marco man handle the obviously dead body made him sick cause he felt nothing of the sort, but it did feel wrong.
“Oh, I get it now,” Marco said slowly. “You still don’t know what’s really going on yet, do you?”
Michael blinked twice.
“Oh yeah, Peter taught you the blinking thing. Good.” He walked out of sight, returning with something in his hand. “Okay, let me lay it out for you Mike. Part of my job is to take the bodies to the incinerator here and cremate them, which is what I was on my way to do when I stopped in here to see you. Being that you’re new and all, I thought what the hell, let’s take some time to get to know the new guy and maybe have a little fun. So here we are in this damned cold ass prison, just the two of us in a plain white room with a stiff, except the stiff isn’t just any stiff It’s you!”
Michael was completely confused now. What did he mean the stiff was him? He was right here looking at him and being talked to, so how could the dead body be him.
“Still confused, eh, Mike?”
Michael blinked once.
“Okay, maybe I should ease you into this and let you know what my job is really all about.” He sat on the stool and lit another smoke. “I come in here every night and, aside from cremating stiffs, I also maintain all the life support equipment that keeps you guys alive. I mean, there’s the blood oxygenation re-circulator which acts like a heart to keep blood flowing to the brain and the feeding solutions which are added to the blood to make sure you have the nutrients you need. That’s the easy stuff. Then there’s about ten other solutions that have to be added to the blood continuously since you don’t have the organs to make them. And of course, the blood is also then continuously cleaned so you don’t get infections or blood poisoning. I’m telling you, Mike, it’s like maintaining a whole laboratory for each one of you guys and I do it all myself.” He turned and looked at Michael seriously. “If it weren’t for me, I’d be cremating all of you!”
He got up, walked to the end of the gurney and began to push it toward the door opposite where he came in.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, dude,” he called back.
Michael thought about everything Marco had just told him and tried to grasp the point that was alluded to, but never made. It was as if he was supposed to understand something that was beyond his comprehension and he couldn’t put it all together. He had said the body was him, but how could that be when he was still right here and the body was now on it’s way to be cremated?
“Okay dude. I’m back,” Marco said entering the room. He came back and sat on the stool once again. “So, did you figure it out yet?”
Michael blinked twice.
“Man, I don’t know whether you’re just not that smart or just in denial.” Marco sat back and moved something around in front of him. “Okay Mike. This is going to be painful, but you have to know before you can be moved into the ward with the rest of the inmates.”
He held up a small mirror so Michael could see himself.
Disbelief filled his eyes and Michael wondered how what he was seeing could be true. They had shaved all of his hair off, including his eyebrows and there were multiple patches with wires stuck all about his head which ran off to a bundle that wandered away from the base of his neck. Around his neck was what looked to be a black leather collar connected to some sort of rubber sheet which was in turn fastened to the tabletop his head protruded from. There were small silver bolts in the circumference of the leather collar and there was no doubt in his mind that they actually were attached to him in some manner.
He looked from the mirror to Marco and back again. Now Marco moved the mirror back a little to give him a broader view and Michael was horrified. He could see the edge of the tabletop under him now and below it, instead of his body, was a vat of clear liquid only a few inches deep. Now he understood what Marco was trying to tell him and he looked at the man as if he held some answer that would take the horror away.
“I’m sorry, Mike. Like I said, I do not think any crime deserves for this to happen to you.” He put the mirror down. “But that was your body I just took to the furnace.”
Marco got up and rolled the stool over by the wall. “I have to go and check on the others now, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
He went out the door he had first entered and Michael listened as the sound of his footsteps faded away. His mind was numb and he couldn’t think. He wanted to scream and yell and rage at the world about how he had endured so much without ever once acting in any way to justify what was happening to him and now they had done this to him.
They had taken his body and mounted his head on a plate like a trophy. A living trophy. Michael looked over at the monitor and looked directly at the painkiller icon. He blinked twice, feeling immediately as the narcotic began to flow freely into his brain, numbing his thoughts and senses.
He looked again and saw the monitor was now counting down from two hours, but still tried to administer another dose. If he could somehow overdose, the nightmare would end. But the machine refused to respond and he was left to stare blankly at the counter as it worked it’s way down to his next dose.
Narrated by me on YouTube https://youtu.be/kPnf7LDXhUM
My YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwyAE1VdOplNBMyqEDeNOeA
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Eternal Convictions / HeadGames Steven Knies (c) October 23, 2009
submitted by SK_Writes to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]
Opening his eye’s, it was dark and Michael sensed he was sitting up rather than laying down as one expected to be when sleeping. His neck was sore and when he tried to move his head to relieve the tension, he found it impossible. He wondered if maybe he were still dreaming and tried to will himself to wake up, but nothing changed. He thought maybe if he pinched himself that would work, but he could not feel his hands, or the rest of his body for that matter.
At the back of his neck a dull pain throbbed as if tension had built up and he needed to pop his neck. It wasn’t sharp pain but rather irritating, and he thought he would go mad if he didn’t find a way to relieve it. Finding himself immobile with no way to relieve the tension, Michael changed his thoughts to take his mind off of it.
Remembering the visit from the prison warden, Michael recalled the man saying that certain precautionary medical measures were taken to prevent aggression and wondered just what had been done to him. He thought about what he knew of that could be done to prevent aggression and other than his earlier thoughts of reduced testosterone levels or increased levels of estrogen, he could think of nothing which would require immobilization.
‘Unless they castrated me!’ he thought suddenly and wished he could reach down to feel if his parts were still intact. But he wasn’t a sexual offender, so that didn’t really make sense. This thought calmed him and he continued to search his mind for answers.
Michael’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming closer. He couldn’t see anything, but he felt someone had come into the room with him. The lights came on, hurting his eyes and Michael squinted to shield them. He could hear the other person moving around but had no idea where they were or what they were doing.
Finally he could open his eyes fully and saw immediately that he was in a white room not unlike the one where he had received the shot. The wall in front of him was bare except for the mortar joints of the cinder block it was constructed of and a small stainless steel rolling cart parked directly in front of him.
“So, are we awake yet?” a man’s voice asked.
Michael tried to talk but couldn’t.
A face popped up in front of him, grinning at him in a weird way with eyes bulging. This guy was way too happy.
“How you doing, Michael?” he asked with his rather high, effeminate voice. “Did you sleep okay?”
Michael tried once again to answer but no sound came forth. In fact, he could not even feel his breath moving through his mouth.
“It’s okay, Mikey boy. I know you can’t talk, but what you can do is blink your eyes. So when I ask you a question, just blink once for yes and twice for no. Okay?”
Michael blinked once.
“Very good, Mike!” he said in a patronizing tone. “Now the first thing we need to do is make sure you are okay. So I’m going to pull up a seat and we’ll go over a few things.”
He stepped away from Michael’s view for a moment and returned carrying a clipboard and pushing a stool. He sat on the stool with a flourish, reaching down to adjust himself at the crotch and Michael found himself wishing he could do the same thing.
“Alrighty then, let’s continue shall we?” he said with a broad grin, cocking his head to one side. “Remember, blink once for yes and twice for no.”
Michael blinked once to acknowledge he understood.
“Awesome! Now, let’s see,” he said flipping up a page on the clip board. “Are you in any pain?”
Michael thought for a moment of how to answer. He wasn’t in pain, but he was very uncomfortable with a dull throbbing in the back of his neck. He blinked three times.
“Well, okay Mike. I see we have some work to do.” he sat up straight and laid a finger to the side of his mouth. “You blinked three times which is neither yes nor no, so it means something else, right?”
Michael blinked once.
“Okay, I asked if you were in pain and you didn’t say yes, but you also didn’t say no, so you’re not in pain but you don’t feel good.” He looked to Michael quizzically.
Michael blinked once.
“Oh good, we’re making progress!” He clapped his hands together and smiled broadly. “Is it a headache?”
Michael blinked twice.
“Alright, does your neck hurt?”
Michael blinked once, paused and blinked twice.
“Oh I see, yes and no,” He maintained the silly grin. “Your neck is uncomfortable?”
Michael blinked once.
“Let me see if I can help,” he reached around behind Michael’s head and began to massage the back of his neck.
Michael felt the warmth of the man’s smooth hand as he massaged and soon the knot began to relax. Looking at his new friend, Michael wondered what had brought someone of such a personality to work in a place like this. His blonde hair was shoulder length and stringy but time had not been nice as he was mostly balding on top. He had a very large rather pointed nose that sloped steeply back to his eyes. Up close he could see the eyes were somewhat sunken in and there were large dark circles around them, indicating the man did not sleep well. But what really got him was the smile. A goofy grin with his large but well maintained teeth.
“How’s that?” he asked, removing his hand.
Michael blinked once.
“Good. Now let’s get on with the other questions so we can start to get you settled in.” He looked to the clipboard. “Do you have any other pains?”
Michael blinked twice.
“That’s great. A lot of times, guys come out of surgery like you did and they have headaches or other pains and there’s not much I can do but give them a painkiller.” He noted something on his chart. “Now, your neck doesn’t hurt now but it may start to as the healing progresses so I want you to let me know if it does and we’ll take care of it.”
Michael blinked once.
“Oh by the way,” he looked serious at Michael for a moment. “My name is Peter and I’ll be the one who takes care of you from now on. There is another attendant by the name of Marco who comes in late at night, but he doesn’t do much other than make sure the equipment is running right. Marco is, how should we say, a little strange. And then there‘s Natalie. You already met her. The nurse who got the room ready when you first got here.”
Michael thought about the nurse he had seen. He didn’t really see her well, but figured it didn’t matter as there would be plenty of time for that. What he did remember though was she had a great body and it was something to look forward to seeing again.
“Anyway, Michael, we run in three shifts here. Natalie works seven am to three pm, I work three pm to eleven pm and Marco works eleven pm to seven am. So there is always someone here to see that you boys are taken care of. Okay, do you have any questions?”
Michael blinked twice.
Peter reached around to one side of Michael’s head and pulled a very thin computer monitor around for him to see, angling it off to one side so as to not block Michael’s view forward, but still easily seen. The screen was divided into several parts which looked to be medical monitors and a small box in the lower corner which reminded Michael of a chat box he and his friends used on the internet.
“This is your life support monitor and it also serves as a way for you to communicate with me.” He reached up to adjust a small object at the top of the screen. “I need for you to look directly at this point for a few minutes Mike so I can calibrate it.”
Michael looked at the point indicated where Peter’s hand rested. There was a small beam of light emitting from a very tiny hole and he could also see a picture of his eye coming to focus on one part of the screen. He realized it was a camera of some sort.
“This is an optical mouse,” Peter explained. “It follows the iris of your eye so that once calibrated, wherever you look on the screen, the mouse pointer will follow. And like a mouse, you can click on menu’s but instead of a finger, you simply blink twice rapidly to click the mouse.”
Michael watched as Peter continued to calibrate it and saw a mouse icon appear on the screen.
“There we go.” Peter sat back satisfied. “Now Michael, I need for you to look at the screen and look at what I tell you to so we can make sure the mouse is calibrated.”
Michael blinked once and turned his eyes to the screen. He watched the mouse rove the screen as it followed his eye movements.
“Look at the blue circle,” Peter instructed.
Michael searched the screen and looked directly at the blue circle in the corner as the mouse followed to rest there.
“Good, now find the red box.”
Michael looked across the screen, the mouse icon following his eye until he found the red box.
“Excellent. Now let’s do a little more. Find the word menu and click the mouse.”
Michael looked until he found the word menu above the small box which resembled a chat box. He waited for the icon to settle on the word and blinked twice. A small box slid down with menu choices and he read them, the icon following his eyes across each one.
“Okay Michael, this is your communication interface. From here you can type messages in the box below by opening the keyboard on the menu.” He reached over and pushed a button on the screen to make the keyboard appear on the screen above the chat box. “At first, your eyes are going to get very tired as you type messages, so don’t try to do a whole lot at first. As time passes your eyes will become accustomed and grow stronger.”
Michael looked at the interface and wondered just how long he was going to have to use this. The way Peter was talking this would be his only means of communication for a long time to come. Just what had they done to him to make it so he needed to be immobilized for such an extended period of time?
“Now, if you’ll look up here for a moment,” he pointed to an exploding star symbol at the top of the screen with a small black box under it. “Before you are finished healing, there are probably going to be times when you do have pain and since we won’t always be around you to know, you can simply click this icon and get a small dose of painkiller. After it is administered, the counter will appear in the box below the icon so you will know when the next dose is available.”
Michael blinked once.
“But I gotta warn you, Mike.” Peter got real close to Michael’s face and he could smell his aftershave. “The painkiller is a strong narcotic. The computer will only let you have a dose every two hours, but that is still enough to get you addicted. Once the doctor determines you are healed, the painkiller will be removed, so don’t get yourself hooked on it. I’ve seen a couple guys do this and believe me, the withdrawal is very painful and there’s nothing we can do but watch you suffer through it as you quit cold turkey.”
Michael blinked once.
He wasn’t interested in the painkiller. In fact, other than aspirin, he wouldn’t take any medications when he was free unless a doctor prescribed an antibiotic for infections.
“Okay, Michael, I’m about to get off shift so let me show you one more thing before we stop for today. On the menu, you will find the heading “games”. When you select it, you are given a choice of several different computer games which can be played with the optical mouse.” he looked at Michael and grinned proudly. “These were my idea and I programmed them in so you guys wouldn’t get too bored. I know it must really suck to be immobilized like that.”
Michael blinked once.
“So anyway, I would suggest trying one of the simple games like tic tac toe or hangman at first until your muscles get used to using the optical mouse. Also, the games will turn off for fifteen minutes of every hour in order to prevent eye strain and headaches that can result from these.” He stood up and moved the stool over against the wall. “I gotta go now, but I’ll be back in the morning. Get some sleep and play with the games if you like. Marco will come and check on you before too long.”
Michael watched him walk out of sight, listening to his footsteps fade in the distance. Suddenly he felt very sleepy and questions of his situation no longer seemed important. He looked at the computer screen for a moment and decided he would check it out further later on. Right now, he needed to rest. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.
But sleep did not come as he could not make himself feel comfortable enough to sleep. The familiar pressure against the back or side of his head when he lay down was missing and he had the ever present feeling of sitting at attention. He opened his eyes and looked at the computer screen, considering if he should dose himself with the narcotic to induce sleep. He immediately decided against it as he remembered Peter’s warning about not becoming addicted. He would have to find some other way.
Wondering how he would deal with his inability to make himself sleep, Michael became aware of a squeaking sound. Very faint at first but it was slowly getting closer and louder. He wondered what it was and wished he could turn his head to see, as he could really only hear it out of his right ear. This meant the sound was originating in the hallway as that was the way Peter had gone when he left.
The noise came even closer and now Michael could hear footsteps walking in time to the squeaking as if the irritating noise was a marching cadence. As it shifted around his position, he watched as a gurney came into view being pushed by a very strange looking man. He assumed that this was Marco and knew the gurney was not for him as there was already someone laying on it, covered entirely by a white sheet and Michael found himself wondering why the person under the sheet seemed to have no head.
“Well, well, lookee here,” he said mockingly, as spittle gathered at the ring in the corner of his lower lip. “If it isn’t the big bad bank robber who killed all those people in cold blood. Not feeling so tough now, are you dude?”
Michael tried not to let the man’s words get to him. He had been taunted by guards and even other inmates before who didn’t believe he was innocent. This time, unlike those other times though, he had no choice but to keep silent.
“So you’re Michael Chaste. You don’t look so tough.” He leaned in very close. “In fact, you look like a bitch. That’s right, you heard me bitch!”
The man’s breath was horrible and Michael found himself wondering if this guy chewed on road kill at meal times. He had short greasy black hair, an eyebrow piercing, the lip ring piercing he had noticed at first and a tattoo on his neck of a flying bird which looked to Michael like a swallow. Oh the fun he could have with this guy if he had his voice and was not incapacitated.
“So, I guess Peter got you all hooked up on the monitor since it’s pulled around now. Enjoying them drugs, dude?” He looked at the screen. “Oh, you haven’t taken any yet, huh?”
He walked out of Michael’s site to the left and could be heard moving something around in a drawer. When he returned, he was carrying a small thin strip of something clear like tape.
“Okay Mike, here’s the deal. Since you can’t talk or even really communicate yet, let me give you the rundown.” He pulled the rolling bench over and sat in front of him as Peter had done.
“Open your mouth,” he held the strip close and laid it on Michael’s tongue.
The taste was very sweet and he realized it was also dissolving slowly. Whatever it was, he liked it.
“That my friend is a treat for you,” Marco said calmly. “I know I can come off all bad ass and all but really I feel for you cause it has to be one major bummer to be in your position. I don’t really care if you wasted a bunch of people. Hell, I’d waste people too if I could get away with it. Most of them are worthless as tits on a boar hog anyway.”
He spun around in the chair, as if making a point. “Fact is, I don’t think there’s any crime in the world so bad that you should have to be treated this way, but I don’t make the rules. I just exploit them.”
He got up from the stool and headed off around the room again. Michael could hear him running water in a sink and sloshing something around, but had no idea what was happening. Again he wished he could turn his head. After a few minutes, Marco came back and sat down. There were now dark blotches on his smock.
“So like I was saying, I exploit the rules to get what I want out of this crummy job. But I really can’t complain. I come to work about the time all my friends are passing out and I get off in time to sleep before it’s time to party again, so it’s cool.” Marco lit a cigarette. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke. I’m not supposed to but there’s nobody here at night but me and you guys.”
He sat back and inhaled deeply from the cigarette and for once Michael could imagine what it was smokers got from smoking as he recalled his last smoke. The smell in the air was actually a pleasant change from the sanitary smell of cleaners, disinfectants and purified air. He watched Marco smoke and play with the cigarette. He was a strange one, but seemed to have a certain quality that Michael found he could like.
“So dude, I guess you met Peter.” Marco looked him straight in the eye. “Is that dude a flake or what? Man, the first time I saw him I was thinking to myself, dude, there’s a weird one if ever I saw one! And what’s with that hair? I mean, come on. If you’re bald on top you don’t let the sides and back grow. He looks like he tried to jump up too fast and his head pushed through the top of his scalp.”
He jumped up abruptly and did a little dance, ending up leaning back against the body on the gurney. He reached back and patted the stomach.
“Wow, that’s pretty muscular.” He pulled up his shirt to reveal a small paunch and rolls. “I wish I was that muscular. The chicks would really dig it.”
He walked to the far side of the gurney and lifted the sheet up between them.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “Man, you were hung weren’t you buddy. Talk about a trouser snake. It’s like a damned boa constrictor.”
Michael could hear the sound of slapping and wondered just what Marco was doing to the body. He watched as he dropped the sheet and walked over to lean in close.
“Dude, you were really something, weren’t you?” He smiled and reached out to touch Michael’s nose gently. “I bet the ladies loved you.”
Michael was confused. What was he talking about?
Seeing his confusion, Marco walked over to the body and whipped back the sheet. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the bodies penis and lifted it for Michael to see.
“Man, do you know what I could do if I was hung like that?” He smiled and seemed lost in his own perverse joy. “I could have any woman I wanted.”
Michael felt wrong. He couldn’t say watching Marco man handle the obviously dead body made him sick cause he felt nothing of the sort, but it did feel wrong.
“Oh, I get it now,” Marco said slowly. “You still don’t know what’s really going on yet, do you?”
Michael blinked twice.
“Oh yeah, Peter taught you the blinking thing. Good.” He walked out of sight, returning with something in his hand. “Okay, let me lay it out for you Mike. Part of my job is to take the bodies to the incinerator here and cremate them, which is what I was on my way to do when I stopped in here to see you. Being that you’re new and all, I thought what the hell, let’s take some time to get to know the new guy and maybe have a little fun. So here we are in this damned cold ass prison, just the two of us in a plain white room with a stiff, except the stiff isn’t just any stiff It’s you!”
Michael was completely confused now. What did he mean the stiff was him? He was right here looking at him and being talked to, so how could the dead body be him.
“Still confused, eh, Mike?”
Michael blinked once.
“Okay, maybe I should ease you into this and let you know what my job is really all about.” He sat on the stool and lit another smoke. “I come in here every night and, aside from cremating stiffs, I also maintain all the life support equipment that keeps you guys alive. I mean, there’s the blood oxygenation re-circulator which acts like a heart to keep blood flowing to the brain and the feeding solutions which are added to the blood to make sure you have the nutrients you need. That’s the easy stuff. Then there’s about ten other solutions that have to be added to the blood continuously since you don’t have the organs to make them. And of course, the blood is also then continuously cleaned so you don’t get infections or blood poisoning. I’m telling you, Mike, it’s like maintaining a whole laboratory for each one of you guys and I do it all myself.” He turned and looked at Michael seriously. “If it weren’t for me, I’d be cremating all of you!”
He got up, walked to the end of the gurney and began to push it toward the door opposite where he came in.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, dude,” he called back.
Michael thought about everything Marco had just told him and tried to grasp the point that was alluded to, but never made. It was as if he was supposed to understand something that was beyond his comprehension and he couldn’t put it all together. He had said the body was him, but how could that be when he was still right here and the body was now on it’s way to be cremated?
“Okay dude. I’m back,” Marco said entering the room. He came back and sat on the stool once again. “So, did you figure it out yet?”
Michael blinked twice.
“Man, I don’t know whether you’re just not that smart or just in denial.” Marco sat back and moved something around in front of him. “Okay Mike. This is going to be painful, but you have to know before you can be moved into the ward with the rest of the inmates.”
He held up a small mirror so Michael could see himself.
Disbelief filled his eyes and Michael wondered how what he was seeing could be true. They had shaved all of his hair off, including his eyebrows and there were multiple patches with wires stuck all about his head which ran off to a bundle that wandered away from the base of his neck. Around his neck was what looked to be a black leather collar connected to some sort of rubber sheet which was in turn fastened to the tabletop his head protruded from. There were small silver bolts in the circumference of the leather collar and there was no doubt in his mind that they actually were attached to him in some manner.
He looked from the mirror to Marco and back again. Now Marco moved the mirror back a little to give him a broader view and Michael was horrified. He could see the edge of the tabletop under him now and below it, instead of his body, was a vat of clear liquid only a few inches deep. Now he understood what Marco was trying to tell him and he looked at the man as if he held some answer that would take the horror away.
“I’m sorry, Mike. Like I said, I do not think any crime deserves for this to happen to you.” He put the mirror down. “But that was your body I just took to the furnace.”
Marco got up and rolled the stool over by the wall. “I have to go and check on the others now, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
He went out the door he had first entered and Michael listened as the sound of his footsteps faded away. His mind was numb and he couldn’t think. He wanted to scream and yell and rage at the world about how he had endured so much without ever once acting in any way to justify what was happening to him and now they had done this to him.
They had taken his body and mounted his head on a plate like a trophy. A living trophy. Michael looked over at the monitor and looked directly at the painkiller icon. He blinked twice, feeling immediately as the narcotic began to flow freely into his brain, numbing his thoughts and senses.
He looked again and saw the monitor was now counting down from two hours, but still tried to administer another dose. If he could somehow overdose, the nightmare would end. But the machine refused to respond and he was left to stare blankly at the counter as it worked it’s way down to his next dose.
Narrated by me on YouTube https://youtu.be/kPnf7LDXhUM
My YouTube channel https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwyAE1VdOplNBMyqEDeNOeA
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Eternal Convictions / HeadGames Steven Knies (c) October 23, 2009
2023.03.22 01:13 InkwellValentine Collection of Theories and Knowledge Accrued So Far
 | Hello! This is my first time getting into an ARG, let alone taking notes FOR said ARG, so I apologize ahead of time if things may seem scattered or less-than-organized. But I still wanted to put out me (and my friends) Observations on the Welcome Home ARG! Below you'll find my thoughts and finding on a few of the pictures linked in the "What is Welcome Home?" Page, the map screen, and the guest book. As well as some working theories on what I think is happening here. (Found Here) submitted by InkwellValentine to WelcomeHomeNeighbor [link] [comments] - The Eye-Conography -Prefacing my larger-scale theories and observations, I would first like to mention that there is a LOT of imagery regarding EYES. Observations. LOOKING. PEEPIN'. That sort of deal.https://preview.redd.it/6t26oshi76pa1.png?width=255&format=png&auto=webp&s=4fc4e602fa35426f424503049df96df4551c217b https://preview.redd.it/lp756h6k76pa1.png?width=253&format=png&auto=webp&s=64a9b4c70369fd515e79a6af61d18530b4bca961 I'll be attaching visual aide and my findings with each. So opening it up at the same time wouldn't be ENTIRELY necessary. But if you wanna explore it yourself, don't hesitate to in the slightest. Most noticeable around the borders of the web-page. These are easy to miss, at first. Considering that one doesn't really pay much mind to the borders and edges of a screen when reading or observing art. But it's true. One thing to more before starting is that there is a LOT of eye iconography in this ARG. Something I think'll get expounded on the more we delve into it. - Image 1: The Vinyl Ad -The Ad Itself This was the first image I really bit into in terms of taking a deeper look at photo editing and paying attention to the words used. On top of putting our, supposed, main culprit front and center. (That being Home.), I'd like to point towards the image provided with the ad. (Of Eddie, Sunny, and the Vinyl.) You'll notice, pretty obviously, that there's a label for everything. Sunny, Eddie, the Vinyl, and the House. These are all referenced at the bottom of the image. Where it explains each in detail. Aforementioned Labels and Explanations Although, if look for even a second, you'll notice that there's a forth label. one that seems to be obscured by writing or crossed out at the indicator. This would be the first thing I took notice of when I viewed this advertisement. That there seems to be a label for something in the dark. Something hidden underneath the paper. I thought for a second that the crinkling of the paper was what was being highlighted. But upon inspection, me and my friends deduced that it it's, honestly, nothing. Not saying that there isn't anything there, of course. But that it's obscured by the age of the paper and my inability to apply filters and effects is most likely indicative of it not being visible. Only implied. Upon giving it some more thought, I realize that the reason that it may appear 'crossed out' is because there are actually MULTIPLE letters layering over the same indicator. Meaning that there is more than one entity worth cataloguing inside the darkness. Or, upon even closer inspection, could be a star of some sort put in between the letter D. Whatever it is, we know for a fact that there is SOMETHING there. What it is, we've yet to conclude. My current working theory is that it may be another puppet. Or perhaps a spirit of some sort. But finding any of this out would be harder than I care to admit. As most of my methods of editing have proven futile in brightening or exposing the image further. https://preview.redd.it/sifdvsgcs5pa1.png?width=102&format=png&auto=webp&s=fd32af2477028b97e17433e48a4e85dc75f5d636 Another thing of note on this page would be, as i mentioned before, the language. The language on this page seems fine on first read. Like on of those optical illusions made to make you feel dumb when you read over something that, sounded out aloud, should not make any sense. But if you read it in your head, it seems rather innocuous. This would lie in the brief little caption between all the diagrammed merchandise available. Particularly: And who? It would seem, and this is something of a trend I have noticed, that a character has, purposefully, been left out. A character that, presumably would have been sold with the others. Or, perhaps, the piece of merchandise belonging to the fourth and final indicator. This clue is what really set me off on starting to, deeply, investigate each and every image present in the Welcome Home tab. Though, in truth, I've to find the truth of many images. I can still surmise what it may be about. My first theory is that, whoever published the advertisement, purposefully kept out this character for the sake of maintaining the character's concealed identity, but didn't want to put the effort forward to fully conceal it's existence. From the lack of care given to concealing the mistake, I would surmise this has a high chance of being meddling from the Corporate side of Welcome Home's sphere of creative influence. This corporate meddling is further expounded on in a later image. (actually the one right after this one), but I digress. My second theory on this particular, unexplained typo would be suppression by a higher power. From what I can understand, there is, indeed, a higher power at play in this universe. An unkownable entity pulling the string from behind the scenes. An entity that, in its hubris, is failing to entirely wipe acknowledgment of it's existence free from the site and world. It's worked in the past, I am assuming. As it would appear that, (in-universe), people forgot about Welcome Home until the ClownIllustrations blog came about. This is still a working theory, with very few plot-threads that would lead me to this conclusion. But, overactive imagination aside, I believe it still might be a possibility worth considering. At least until more evidence comes to surface in the future. - Image 2: "Business Pals" -https://preview.redd.it/jpecqqp2v5pa1.png?width=994&format=png&auto=webp&s=9ef9cfc165fd50080a494b28d086ebf3982e29a9 For the most part, the second image provided on the site is less ominously foreboding as the first. (What with the assumed censorship or concealment of names and whatnot and the ghost indicator). But in turn, I believe this image actually provides us with a small, if brief, look into what may or may not have been occurring on the creative versus corporate side of Playfellow Workshop. Though before we discuss speculation on the purpose of this restored piece, I would like to talk about the one piece of hard evidence that I believe is found on this work. In the bottom-right of the image, you would be remiss for confusing the jumble of numbers as a signature. Or some other form of identifying mark to distinguish who drew this image and why. But in reality, its a bundle of numbers. Numbers that, after staring at the image for longer than I care to admit, could be discerned as follows. (Bear in mind this could have any number of permutations, I'm simply throwing the numbers out there for the sake of clarity.) https://preview.redd.it/9hpffe31w5pa1.png?width=81&format=png&auto=webp&s=ec37276a346e2d1f838f4559203cc3c925203a9b Personally, I perceive the numbers 6 5 7 3. Of course, it could be ordered and framed any sort of way. But I believe that, in the future, this may either allude to a Date, a code, or some other form of content that might be lead up to more clues down the line. Other than that, however, lets get into what I believe this drawing represents. (Speculation Time) I believe that this drawing, taken deeper than face value, may allude to the condition of the creative presently working at Playfellow Workshop. From what we understand, Welcome Home had a total runtime of (Almost) 4 years. 4 years of a show, if we're assuming that this ran alongside the Muppet's, is quite a long time. With, assuredly, episodes being released every week. And specials made every large holiday. (This is expounded upon later with future illustrative entries.) Profits would be high. At least one would assume. But, as the profits drove higher and higher, so did the desires of the higher ups at Playfellow (Portrayed by Julie in this image). At the cost of the conditions of the workers charged with MAKING the show in the first place. (Portrayed by crying Eddie.) Which is a crime. You should be ashamed if you ever make Eddie cry. While at the moment, I'm unsure if this may be a spark for something later on down the line, this image may yet be a hint that not all things were right at Playfellow Workshop. (Woah, a television company working its artists to the bone to ensure they keep profits up? Who would've thought.) Though again, this is speculation. At least largely speculation. Other than this, and the digit code, I have yet to find anything else in this image. If I do find anything, I'll be sure to either add it in the comments, or edit it in later. - Image 3/4; "Lovely Eats" -Technicolor Black and White This duo of images was what really sent me over the edge in wanting to dive into this ARG more than I care to admit, as I noticed that the things I had taken close eye of, none others had commented on. Hence this post, where I wish to catalog my findings so that others can use it as a springboard for their own discoveries. First would be the obvious observation. Frank's book. Supposed Gibberish The book itself is, assumedly a cookbook. Though in the image, Frank wields a hammer. Something that I feel may have significance in the future. But at present, will only mention it in passing. The book itself is not meant to be understood, at least in terms of in-universe justification. It would just be artists attempting to dress the book so it's not entirely blank. But on that same note. Why NOT leave it blank? I'm sure people would assume that it's a book for cooking. Why feel the need to add decoration in general? Well that's because people like me exist, that take every little detail and run with it. Though, sadly, this little details holds little value outside of the simple "Lovely Eat!" anagram when re-arranging the letters. I figured that maybe you could re-arrange the letters into a new word. But I at present, I can't figure anything else from these letters. If you have any ideas, use this as a springboard. NOW LETS GET TO THE GOOD STUFF If you've taken to looking at the image before reading this post about it, you actually may not have noticed the bottom text on the screen. We'll Be Right Back! Seems pretty basic as is, yeah? But take a closer look. Do you see what I see? Almost as though it's written in invisible ink (Pun intended), there's WORDS there. Words that blend DIRECTLY into the image if you don't zoom in. At first, I immediately jumped to see if anyone else had mentioned it on the subreddit. But alas, nothing yet. So I'll break it. The words, after being run through an EXPOSURE filter, read as follows. \"May Your Home Be\" "May Your Home Be." A sentence that I practically hooped and hollered to discover. Though it felt... Incomplete. I scoured the rest of the page looking for absolutely any continuation to this sentence. But then it hit me. What if it there ISN'T A CONTINUATION at all? What if this message, alone, is something uttered by someone at the formation of something grander? Something sinister. What if this message isn't meant to be; "May Your Home Be Blessed" What if it's, quite literally, "May Your Home Be."? What if this is talking, directly, about a home GAINING sentience? (I.E, Home, The Character.) What if this is referring to Wally's house GAINING it's sentience and becoming an entity in and of itself? There's a lot of uncertainty in this ARG due to the nature of new people coming in. (Myself included). But I Think this is a deliberate choice of words by the creator. Whether that be the person making the ARG, or the person who put the message in there in-universe. One thing is certain in this entire ARG. --- The House is ALIVE. It is a SENTIENT BEING. --- It see's, feels, and understands everything that goes on around it. And this is something I think that leads into more points later on down this post. But I'll save that for when we get there. Onto the next image. - Image 5: "Hello You" -Frank and Eddie out on the Post together. (They're kinda cute together tbh) This one, for the most part, is one that I could only gleam one true piece of information out of. That is; The letters attached to the book, or article, on the right of the image. Which goes, as follows. (From top to down) T A B I W A T A I T W B G R T H J B E F W I H E L L O Y O U W Now, there's two words that are quite obvious to me. "HELLO YOU" and the words "WAIT" Sitting in there amongst the jumble. Now, when writing these down in my notepad, I practically had a heart attack realizing that the letters were, ENTIRELY, meant to jumpscare me and others who were looking to dive into this ARG further. It may be a ciphered image, but as of right now, I'm not entirely sure. All I DO know is that the ARG is now DIRECTLY addressing the playereadeviewer. Which becomes a theme, from what I understand. The person allowing these leaks, or rather, the person directing us forward in discovery of new clues and discoveries, is either unknowingly leaving us clues, or outright purposefully leaving us clues to pick up on. Clues that I, and many others, are willing to pick up on. Aside from this message, there's little else that I can discern form this page. At least for now. If I find anything, I'll post about it again. (As listed before) - Image 6: "Wally's Wisdom" -Wally being kind of a smart-ass with his wisdom. This next image does more to insinuate than it does to explain like some of the others. The evidence I've peeled off the top of this one is almost entirely circumstantial and theory-based. So I would ask that you please bare with me in this one, as I'm going to let my imagination flow with explaining the information presented. Breaking it up into parts for ease of understanding. - THE TEXT - The text portion of this piece (Excluding the bottom right), is the second most curious work in this piece. (Beauitful artwork aside.) The text, assuming that it's not done for purpose comedic timing, seems to be broken in some manner. If you recall from my earlier explanation on the first photo in the welcome home gallery, I mentioned that; "Whoever published the advertisement, purposefully kept out this character for the sake of maintaining the character's concealed identity, but didn't want to put the effort forward to fully conceal it's existence" - A sorta cool guy I think what we're seeing here is another example of that same influence being put onto Wally here. As is indicated by the comma adorning his response. It's something that, admittedly, is really funny due to the fact that Wally responded the way he did. And it, granted, did take me a minute to fully get the joke. But what if it isn't a joke? What if it's just Wally being censored once again from speaking on a certain topic. Like, it seems like he truly replies to the question/request doesn't he? As though he says something along the lines of; "Yes, a penny saved is a penny earned...! I hope that helped!" Or gives some other sort of advice on the matter that, for some reason, needed to be struck from the writing. Whatever it is, it didn't sit well with me for a moment. At least until I laughed, realizing that the, most likely intended, way to take this piece would be Wally taking it as someone LITERALLY asking; "Can I ask for advice?" And him replying 'yes! Hope that helped!' The second thing in regards to the text is that it addresses Wally's house, or Home. As just that. Home. As if it is its own entity. (Which, as is proven by the website and sources, is true. it is alive.) It feels STRANGE that this voice, not only doesn't have a subject in which to come from, but is instead just a void-less thing raising the question. Of course, it's a children's book. That tends to be the case with things in regards to logic or leaps in it, to deliver on a scene or message. Like Pooh bear stumbling on a pot of honey. You're not supposed to think about who put it there, just that "Oh, he found it. Cool." I think this works in a similar manner. But considering the context of which we're viewing these stories, it adds a sort of uneasy feeling to my stomach. Finally, the words in the bottom left are too vague to surmise anything from. "DO NOT P-" Could be many things. What I assume it to be is "DO NOT PUBLISH." As the copy we're shown could be from an early rendition of the childsbook. (Which supports my theory further down the post about the hand present on the page.) --- THE HAND --- Them Grippers If it isn't obvious enough, the puppet hand seems to be DELIBERATELY places there in order to be noted by people looking for clues or other hints as to what's currently going on. I think, particularly in this case of purposefully putting things before us to consume, it's safe to say that this, the character holding the book open and taking a picture IS A PUPPET. Very obviously this is not from the page. As can be deduced by the shadow present. It's also not pose-processed, as the lighting seems to line up with every other aspect of the image. No, this is something, or someone holding the book open to SHOW US the page. To SHOW US this particular drawing, for some reason. ON TOP OF showing us that THEY'RE the one's here showing this page to us. They're showing themselves a bit. Whether as a taunt, reminder, or absent-minded slip, we now know that SOMETHING or someone is taking some of these pictures. And, presumably, holds these children's books in good enough quality to warrant sending it to the Restoration project. They either want to be seen, o want to convey a message. (And I mean this both from their perspective, and the ARG creators perspective.) I can deduce on theory that /may/ be a bit finnicky, but would be startling to discover if true. The Restoration Project is being supplied information by the Puppets themselves. Or at least one of them. That one being Wally. Who, if my morbid brain is telling me correctly, is the last remaining puppet of the original show. The state at which he is in? Unclear. From the state of the hand? It seems to be in good condition. But we don't see the rest of the body. And therefore, we can't assume much (I mean we can, but I wanna try and stay at least a little bit on-track here.) This in general is either a slip-up, or done purposefully. Both of which would be valid in their own respective theories. Whether they be yours or supporting another's. This page gives us some potential insight to what or who is sending the Restoration project it's data and information. And, from the words we can assume from the welcome page; I don't think that's a good thing. - Images 7-12: Be My Valentine! -Reduced size for Post Image Limit These sets of images are not only absolutely and almost SICKENINGLY adorable. (In a great way), but they're also, probably, the ACTUALLY most innocuous images in the collection. These Images are, supposedly, attached to the Card's present in-universe that people would give out to folks during Valentines day. THe only problem? Wally and Barnaby don't HAVE any of these cards. EVERYONE in town has cards EXCEPT Barnaby, Home, and Wally. Which, if my assumptions are correct, paints a semi-ominous picture as to what might be going on in Welcome Home. (This will be elaborated on later in the post don't worry.) Aside from wanting these to be real. (If you're reading this, making some of these as a charity product would be so cute, and I'd order more than I should probably, legally, own.) I'm willing to admit these have me, effectively, stunned. I'm not sure what they mean, besides being works of art. (Which is ironic.) But when me and my friends figure it out, I'll make a post about it. - Other, Unrelated Notes -Due to the fact I've been at it for half a day now, I wanted to wrap up on things that I'm SURE of. As opposed to things I may be theorizing about. Though, in truth; There's SO MUCH MORE to these images, and the other images in the archived gallery. But for the sake of not making this post novel-length, lemme wrap things up with some quick fires. (I'll elaborate on things in more posts to come. But I wanna collect enough evidence to JUSTIFY a big post. Y'know? I don't want to push everything out bit by bit and be a pain in the neck for mods and readers trying to get a concise(ish) story.) --- THE HOLD UNDER THE HOUSE --- The said hole under said house If you've been keeping your eye on the Sub lately, you'll've noticed that, upon using Inspect Element to delete the gif of Home from the Neighborhood, you'll find an honestly haunting hole in the ground. Presumably BENEATH the house. This feeds into a theory I have about Wally, Barnaby, and Welcome Home in general. But I'll elaborate on that in the "BIG THEORY" Section. For this in particular, it's practically yelling at you that Wally, and by extension Barnaby, are WELL AWARE of what's happening in Welcome Home. Home (The Character) Being the center of EVERYTHING happening in this ARG. THE Evil that's infecting the world and its people. The House, Wally ,and Barnaby, I think, are responsible for a lot more than what we presently know. This just being an indicator of it. --- THE RESTORATION TEAM --- Something is wrong with the Restoration Team There's something wrong with the Restoration Team. OR at least someone is speaking to us through the site that isn't on the Restoration Team. But I believe that there is something intrinsically wrong with the leader, or at least the spokesperson for the restoration team. Something sent in the first letter has gotten ahold of them. Or at least I believe that some supernatural entity has poisoned the people on the Restoration Team. Something has gotten in early, and dug its nails into them. This post being one of the, presumably, few cracks in the mask I think we're going to see on the team. That may or may not lead to more discoveries down the line. --- Wally Sees US --- Who's this W a LL y? Another thing of note is the Guestbook. Scrolling to the empty boxes, we can see that, indeed, someone is typing. Or rather, someone knows we're looking. WALLY knows we're looking. Or at least someone sharing Wally's identity knows that we're looking for clues. Looking for any information we can about his whereabouts. Where HE might be. And I think this Wally. (Who I'll Wall-A) Finds it amusing. As if to taunt us. I see this "Silly Silly" as a taunt. As if to mock us for looking deeper. Mock me for looking deeper. Though there's something else that brings /anothe question to light. Or rather, some ONE else. Who on earth is W a L L y? (Who I will call Wall-B.) Wall-B doesn't seem to be the same person as Wall-A. Wall-B seems to typing to someone. Maybe a fan? I imagine that if a hardcore lover of Kermit sent him a letter, they'd expect a letter back in their grand delusion of ego. But this Fan didn't get a letter back from Wally. instead, Wall-B got nothing. As far as we know, Wall-B didn't so much as get an acknowledgement in the Guestbook. Thus sparking this immature little outrage in white text. Something that, I'm assuming, is being hidden by the Restoration Team to either save face, or generally moderate. Which I don't blame them for. But that still doesn't answer the question. Who IS WALL-B? - The Big Theory -Theres a lot of things that I could pull from to support a wide range of theories about Welcome Home. Corporate Meddling, Malicious Summoning, Possession. All of it is valid, as the best part of ARG is the fact that you never know what the REAL Truth is. Only the person who made it knows the truth. And they want to see what everyone comes up with. So I'll spit my current theory now, then mold it later on depending on what new evidence comes to light because, FOR SURE, new evidence WILL Come to light.v v v v v v Welcome Home's problems started when they had hit it big. The money they were raking in was, I would assume, akin to Muppet money. Star Wars Cameo Muppet Money. So much money that it lead to a boon in merchandising, brand deals, magazine ad spots, paper craft toys. The WHOLE caboodle. The creative team on Welcome Home flourished at first. Making art of the characters they created and loved. Though, as they got bigger. Things started to change. Corporate started stepping in. Forcing them to begin making changes to the show. Making more merchandise. Drawings. Valentine's cards. Holiday Specials. They wanted to merchandise the HELL out of Welcome Home. Now, whether this is the inciting 'incident' or not is something I've yet to piece together. We only truly know about the WORLD of Welcome Home. Not the company and studio who PRODUCED it. Somewhere along the lines, someone in the creative sphere found something. Whether it be tied to the Welcome Home property in general, tied to the characters, or tied to the company, Playfellow Workshop. SOMEONE got a hold of something that would infect the very brand of Welcome Home by the roots. Situating itself deep into the core of the show. Wally. Wally and his happy house, Home. It infected the creative team first, I would assume. As they were the most closely involved with the creation of Welcome Home. Through them, it would spread to Corporate. Eventually dismantling the entire empire all on its own. So much so that it wiped Welcome Home from the general subconscious. That is, until, either, it was no longer satisfied, OR the Restoration Team came knocking at its door. Wondering whatever happened to their favorite kids show, Welcome Home. From there, whatever entity not entrenches itself in the puppets of Welcome Home sent a letter. Packaged in it was a piece of history. As well as a piece of itself. With that piece, it was able to attach itself to a new host. Passing on the possession to even greater heights than before. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ That's all my working theories and observations. I'll post more when I get there. Me and my friends are diving head first into this world. Something isn't' right here, and I don't think we should trust the people giving us the information here. People were theorizing earlier that the doodles on the message book were Wally talking to us. But I don't think that's true. This is the Archive, remember? It's a restoration project that, in its entirety, is trying to catalogue everything they know about what happened to Welcome Home. Why would Wally be here? Unless... The person running the site shares a similar mind space with Wally. Only then would it explain it. |
2023.03.22 00:49 BenjaminGunn 🚆🚆🚆 *CHOO CHOO* The ATVI Train is Leaving the Station *CHOO CHOO* 🚆🚆🚆
Alternative title: What?! Is a 20% return in three months not good enough for you?
Before going any further just know this is a DD I shared in a private sub and am cross posting here with a few updates from recent developments. - BennyGBefore I get going, I want to pay respect to Bluewolf1983 and his excellent series of DD posts over in /vitards.
I got in to the trade before he started posting about it, but I watched the updates with great interest and appreciate the detail. OP has since left the trade (for reasons I still don't fully understand) but I wanted to give credit where its due.
I've been monitoring this deal since the start and the outlook is better than ever. In fact, now is your last best chance to get in before the dominoes start to fall, and once they do ATVI will be trading at +$90 until the acquisition. So here's the trade.
THE ARBITRAGE TRADE
I remember picking up this book called 'Warren Buffett and the Art of Stock Arbitrage' and being sorely disappointed at what a boring book it was. The big lesson being, if a company A agrees to buy company B at $50 and you can buy it now for $40 then you stand to make $10 and should probably do it. Apparently that's Buffet's big secret - a tale as old as time, buy low, sell high.Simple. Boring. Effective.
*JAZZHANDS* Arbitrage. *JAZZHANDS*
That's what's going on here. Microsoft is buying Activision to add to it's growing library of video game studios.
The deal was struck at $95/share. ATVI closed Friday at ~$78/share. Assuming the deal closes, that's a profit of $17/share or a +20% return.
Buffett likes the play, a lot. He's reduced his position some since he started but still owns 6.7% of ATVI with 56m shares.
And things should be picking up steam soon. Let's take a look.
THE GAUNTLET
In order to complete the acquisition, the deal must be approved by three main regulators - the European Commission (EC), the UK's CME, and the FTC.Lina Khan of the FTC has seemingly taken a stance where the U.S will oppose nearly any merger or acquisition, regardless of legal merit. Khan - "going against tech deals that might create harmful monopolies in the future is a higher priority than adhering to existing antitrust standards. The resultant chilling impact on the business climate is a low-priority variable in the FTC's new calculus."
Both the EU and UK have also echoed concerns about stifling competition. You can read about how that entire regulatory approval process works in great detail here if you like.
Complaints from all three regulators and Sony all revolve about ATVI's Call of Duty franchise - one of the most popular games in the world - and concerns that they'd prevent it from releasing on other platforms. MSFT has offered to promise Sony that they'd release it on PlayStation for the next 10 years. They've gone so far as to sign deals with Nintendo and NVidia gauranteeing just that.
Here's Sony's bitch fest to the EC if you want to read more.
Most recently, Sony has taken argued that even if they did get to release Call of Duty on PlayStation, MSFT could delay or sabotage the release, causing Sony customer's to turn elsewhere for their COD fix. Yes, that's a real argument they're using.
But they don't even seem to believe their own arguments at this point. Overheard from their CEO:
https://i.imgur.com/N3Y9AEw.png
IMPORTANT DATES
- April 18th 2023: second extension of the original outside date. If MS quits by that date they have to pay a termination fee of $2,500,000,000; if they don’t, the outside date gets extended until July 18th 2023.
April 25th 2023: final decision from the EC (extended from 4/11)- April 26th 2023: final report and remedies (if required) from the CMA.
- May 22nd, 2023 final decision from the European Commission (EC)
- April - May 2023: decision from the SAMR in China.
- July 18th 2023: The end of the second extension and final outside date in the merger agreement. If MS quits by that date they have to pay a termination fee of $3,000,000,000; if they don’t, they’ll have to renegotiate the outside date with ABK.
- August 2nd 2023: beginning of the FTC in-house trial.
- Early 2024: decision from the FTC administrative law judge.
I double checked that 4/26 CMA date - source.
HOW BULLS WANT IT TO PLAY OUT
News outlets are reporting that the EU will approve the merger. If so, then this could be our next steps. I found excellent posted on the Yahoo comment boards of all places (right?!) and they lay it out perfectly:"Here would be the final nail in the coffin of regulatory overreach: Sony signs a long-term deal with Microsoft prior to April, as Nintendo and Nvidia have already done so. Sony must see the writing on the wall. And Sony does not want to show up in US court and deliver all the internal documents requested by Microsoft. Those internal documents could provide the basis for a future FTC lawsuit against Sony's anti-competitive behavior: Sony already does what the FTC is accusing Microsoft of doing in the future. Rather than providing FTC evidence that could be weaponized against PlayStation, Sony has a closing window of opportunity here to negotiate a sweetheart long-term agreement with Microsoft. The FTC will then have lost the little basis that they currently have for a lawsuit, and the FTC will settle immediately with Microsoft." Plato2010, Yahoo comments
So in a nutshell, where the EU goes the rest will follow.
DOWNSIDE RISK
ATVI trades at a PE of 40 so it's safe to say that if the acquisition fails it'll drop quite a bit given the current market climate. Shares traded down to $58 before the acquisition was announced. So I see that as a possible floor.What helps things a bit is MSFT has agreed to pay ATVI up to $3B if the deal falls through.
And they've been slowly locking in chunks of that $3B as time goes on.
Someone did the math (sorry can't find it) and with the break up fee it works out to roughly $65 or so a share as a likely price if the merge falls through. That said, if the market shits the bed generally I'm sure it'll do lower with the 40 PE.
For me 65 represents the point of no return and I'll exit it if ever gets to that.
But holding ATVI probably isn't too bad anyways, considering they're the chad of video game producers either and destroyed their Q4 earnings when the rest of the sector was down.
- Q4 net bookings: $3.57 billion actual versus $3.08 billion expected
- Q4 adjusted earnings per share (EPS): $1.87 actual versus $1.52 expected
- Q4 monthly active users (MAUs): 389 million actual versus 388.4 million expected
Their are worse companies to own in the sector, and worse industries to invest in during a downturn.
RECENT DEVELOPMENTS
Three recent developments that'll interest bulls:- Meta closes deal to acquire VR fitness app despite FTC lawsuit. The case is seen by some ATVI arbitrage players as a parallel for MSFTs acquisition of ATVI - platform owner acquiring game studio, and thus the FTCs inability to block metas acquisition is seen as bullish for the ATVI trade. Source.
- MSFT signed deals with Nintendo and NVidia giving them favorable terms to sell Call of Duty for the next ten years. In other words, they're turning those "written promises" that regulators were worried about into actual enforceable contracts. Source.
- It's believed that these "remedies" will be enough for the EC to approve the acquisition. If so, that takes care of perhaps the most difficult of the three regulatory hurdles. We'll know for sure when the EC announces their decision on
4/255/22. Source.
EVEN MORE RECENT DEVELOPMENT
This was new info I've added for /Vitards since originally posting this to another sub. - BennyGAn even MORE recent development:
- MSFT presented remedies to the EC. EC announced date for final decision (for EU) for 5/22/23. It's telling that none of the remedies speak to Sony's most recent complaints about "sabotaged releases for PlayStation". Source
ENTRY POINT
Best time to plant a tree is yesterday, second best time is today. - Bil GatesBut seriously, writing is on the wall here with the big "IF" being CMA approval on 4/26
UK's CMA is leading the way so pay attention to what they do on 4/26. That's the next big date.
If CMA and EC lock in, Sony will fold and so will the FTC (who doesn't have a case at all from what I read).
Of course, anything could happen but I think that the scenario Plato2010 laid out is the most likely. Sony's complaints seem increasingly shrill and they won't want to miss the favorable terms that Nintendo and NVidia got. Without Sony objecting to the deal, it'll be hard for regulators to make much hay of the deal since 0 competitors object to it.
Others see this as well: Capitolos Advisors bought 1.2m shares at $74.5 for ~$89m. Source.
I see this as a shares play personally, but I am tempted to buy the 85 strike for 6/16 which traded at $2.8/contract
MY POSITION
5300 shares with cost basis of $74.5/sharehttps://i.imgur.com/5oJ9x4U.png
Remember. This is not financial advice. Stay frosty.
2023.03.21 23:53 xxgolondrinaxx Eating chew toys or any other toy.
Hello everyone! Lately, my 4yo daughter has been actually eating pieces of her chew toys as well as any other toy she has, regardless of what it is made of. She bites her nails as well so I'm not sure if its a sensory, anxiety, or a boredom thing. I have bought her so many kinds of toys to see what will work but she chews through them all, it looks like a mouse has chewed on them. I usually find the missing pieces in her diaper but I'm scared that maybe one day I won't and we will have a bigger issue at hand. A friend suggested dog toys since some are designed for aggressive chewers. Has anyone had any luck with their kiddos and getting them to stop eating toys or any toy suggestions, thank you in advance.
submitted by xxgolondrinaxx to Autism_Parenting [link] [comments]
2023.03.21 23:50 DavidCopeland276 Is Minnie Secretly a villain and we don’t know it I wonder after seeing her say this and for that matter Does Mickey know
 | submitted by DavidCopeland276 to DreamlightValley [link] [comments] |
2023.03.21 23:17 CalebCMT What We Need For The FNAF Movie
For the FNAF movie to appeal to us fans, haters, and others who aren’t familiar with the franchise I feel like it needs to include these things:
1: A simple yet deep story that follows the games (including the dark past of William and the tragedy’s)
2: Rated R Gore that trows away the whole “FNAF is for kids” talk and shows the true horror of FNAF (it is a horror franchise after all)
3: Have good actors and filmmakers (the movie has this nailed down already)
4: NONE OF THE NEW STUFF! If the FNAF movie(s) is/are gonna be good they have to stick to the plot of the original six
5: Cameos! Cameos would be an amazing nod to the hard working voice actors and Content Creators in the FNAF Community
Potential Cameos and Appearances:
[Voice Actors] Scott Cawthon Kellen Goff Christopher McCullough Joe Gaudet Matthew Curtis Ally Johnson Zack Hoffman PJ Heywood Heather Masters Dave Steele
[Content Creators] Mark Fischbach (Markiplier) Lewis Dawkins (Dawko) Matthew Patrick (MatPat) Cory Williams (CoryxKenshin) Ryan Ryan (8-BitRyan) Sean Mcloughlin (JackSepticEye)
[Music Artists/Bands] Yoav Landau (The Living Tombstone) Sam Haft (The Living Tombstone) William Ryan (DAGames) Maya Vodopianova (MiatriSs) Nathan Sharp (NateWantsToBattle) Igor Gordienko (TryhardNinja)
submitted by CalebCMT to fivenightsatfreddys [link] [comments]
1: A simple yet deep story that follows the games (including the dark past of William and the tragedy’s)
2: Rated R Gore that trows away the whole “FNAF is for kids” talk and shows the true horror of FNAF (it is a horror franchise after all)
3: Have good actors and filmmakers (the movie has this nailed down already)
4: NONE OF THE NEW STUFF! If the FNAF movie(s) is/are gonna be good they have to stick to the plot of the original six
5: Cameos! Cameos would be an amazing nod to the hard working voice actors and Content Creators in the FNAF Community
Potential Cameos and Appearances:
[Voice Actors] Scott Cawthon Kellen Goff Christopher McCullough Joe Gaudet Matthew Curtis Ally Johnson Zack Hoffman PJ Heywood Heather Masters Dave Steele
[Content Creators] Mark Fischbach (Markiplier) Lewis Dawkins (Dawko) Matthew Patrick (MatPat) Cory Williams (CoryxKenshin) Ryan Ryan (8-BitRyan) Sean Mcloughlin (JackSepticEye)
[Music Artists/Bands] Yoav Landau (The Living Tombstone) Sam Haft (The Living Tombstone) William Ryan (DAGames) Maya Vodopianova (MiatriSs) Nathan Sharp (NateWantsToBattle) Igor Gordienko (TryhardNinja)