Barham funeral home in meridian ms
CROSSFIT-MEETS-COMBAT. NO OFF SEASON.
2019.07.08 21:16 reubadoob CROSSFIT-MEETS-COMBAT. NO OFF SEASON.
A reddit dedicated to physical and sport shooting competition known as The Tactical Games.
2023.06.01 20:20 JacobviBritannia I don't know how to explain what happened to me at Sunset Grove
For a long time, I thought there was no greater feeling of dread than clocking into a job you hate. Three days a week after school and every other weekend, there I was, standing in front of the time clock at Sunset Grove. By the time I was sixteen, my parents told me that I had to find a job and start working. Unfortunately, there weren’t many options for a sixteen-year-old looking for work in Driftwood. It was either fast food, retail, or a retirement home. For whatever reason, I chose the retirement home.
It’s not that I had a problem with starting work at that age, it’s just that scrubbing pureed vegetables and mashed potatoes off fifty plates a night, with the cook yelling over my shoulder to pick up the pace, wasn’t exactly fulfilling work. The pocket money was nice, though. There’s nothing better than being a teenager with almost nothing but disposable income.
I watched the digital clock tick over from 3:59 to 4:00, begrudgingly typed in my employee ID, and made my way to the kitchen. As always, there was a stack of dishes left over from the shift before mine that would leave me playing catch-up for the rest of the night.
Becca, a thirty-something waitress with pale skin and a slim figure, swept through the doors as I was working through my stack. She was the only member of the wait staff I knew who could manage to keep a sunny disposition no matter how bad the day got.
Her shoulders seemed to relax a little when she saw me. “Hey, Arty, I need glasses.”
“Got it,” I replied.
“Thank you!” she said in a sing-song voice as she picked up a tub of silverware and rushed back out the doors. The wait staff was always in a rush this time of day. They only had about a half-hour to set the tables before some of the early-birds started showing up for dinner.
I loaded a tray with glasses and sent them through the commercial steam washer to my left, pulling the hood down with a heavy metal clunk. Once they were done, Becca came through and took the tray out to the dining room.
Before long, the cook began setting out room service trays. I never understood why it was the dishwasher’s job to deliver room service, but nevertheless, I began loading the trays into my cart. Most room service orders came from the same residents, which meant I’d long since worked out the most efficient way to load the cart. As I was loading, I noticed one of my regulars, room 2H, was missing. It could have been that she just decided to have dinner in the dining room today, but as long as I’d been working at Sunset Grove, I’d never known 2H to have dinner anywhere but her room.
As I walked down the hallway past 2H, I realized why. There on the door was a small laminated sign with a photo of the woman who’d lived in 2H.
Lilith Holmes 1928 - 2014
That was it. Just a name and a pair of dates. Not even a “Rest in Peace.” But it got the point across. I felt a tinge of guilt at the fact that I hadn’t known the woman’s name. I’d been working at Sunset Grove for a year, and I still referred to most of the residents by their room numbers.
This wasn’t the first of these types of signs I’d seen. There had been two or three deaths in the past year, each one memorialized with a cheap laminated sign that would be taken down after a week or two. It may sound callous, but I was never bothered by the deaths. They were simply a fact of life working in a place full of people entering the final phase of their lives. It helped that I didn’t make much effort to get close to the residents. I never wanted this place to bleed into what I considered to be my real life, so whenever I was at Sunset Grove, I was in “work mode.” I would put on a kind face, greet coworkers and residents with a smile, and otherwise speak only when spoken to. It was easier that way.
Room 2H stayed empty for a month. The sign, as they always do, disappeared after a while. I wondered if that meant they’d already cleaned out all of Mrs. Holmes’s belongings or if they were still entombed behind that locked door.
Eventually, the day came that I had a room service tray for room 2H again. It seemed so sudden. I hadn’t heard anything about a new resident moving in. I shrugged it off and loaded the tray onto my cart, thinking it must have happened on one of my days off. I hoped the new tenant wouldn’t be a handful. I may not have known Mrs. Holmes well, but she was always nice and courteous to me when I brought her her food. It’s more than I could say for some of the other residents.
I rode the elevator up to the second floor. Room 2H was my second stop from there. I knocked and pushed open the door into the dimly lit room. The blinds were all drawn, and there was only a single table lamp turned on in the corner across the room. I could see the new tenant sitting in a recliner on the opposite wall. It was a woman, with curled white hair that fell to her hunched shoulders. In the dark, I couldn’t make out her face, but her form was familiar. As I got closer, I realized it was Mrs. Holmes sitting in the chair.
I faltered. “I... have your dinner here for you, ma’am,” I stammered.
“Oh, good,” she said. “Set it on the table here, dear.” Her tone was jovial like always, though it felt strained. As if she were forcing it.
I set the tray down on the end table beside her. As she turned to look at it, her eyes seemed to catch the tiny amount of light in the room and glowed for a split second.
“Thank you,” she chimed.
“You’re welcome,” I said, turning on my heel and heading for the door.
I stopped by the second floor nurse’s station on my way down the hall and found Ted inside. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, known around the facility for his eccentric taste in scrubs. Today’s were navy blue with a messy pattern of stars. Ted was the only nurse I knew by name, mostly because he gave me no other choice. It was common knowledge at Sunset Grove that if Ted wanted to chat you up, there was nothing you could do to stop it.
“Hey, Ted,” I said, poking my head around the door.
“Arthur!” he called, sitting back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I saw Mrs. Holmes is back,” I said. “What happened? Why was she gone?”
“Sorry, bud, I shouldn’t really be gossiping about that.”
“I understand. It’s just... there was that sign on her door a while ago. I thought she died.”
“Oh, that,” Ted laughed. “That was a little misunderstanding. But as you saw, she’s alive and well.”
“Right,” I said. “I should go. I’ve still got a cart full of meals to deliver.”
“Best not keep ‘em waiting!” Ted joked as I left the nurse’s station.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Holmes for the remainder of my shift that night. How could the nurses make such a drastic mistake, confusing a resident for dead? And where exactly had Mrs. Holmes been for the past month? At the hospital? With family? The whole thing irked me more than it probably should have. I didn’t like thinking about this place during my time off, but thoughts of Mrs. Holmes stuck with me all week.
I delivered room service to her the rest of the week. Each time I entered 2H, the blinds were drawn, the room kept dark. As always, I set her tray down on the end table next to the recliner, she thanked me, and I moved on to the next room.
The next stop on my route was 2K, Ms. Ganz, whose name I only knew because she had a reputation around the building for being very outwardly spoken. There was rarely a week that went by where I wasn’t overhearing the nurses laughing about something Ms. Ganz had said that day.
Most days, Ms. Ganz left her door open. I knocked anyway and passed through the open frame. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, rubbing her temples before she looked up and saw me.
“Set it down right there,” she instructed, pointing to the rolling TV stand where she took her dinner every day.
I did as she said and set the food down on the stand, forcing a smile for good measure. She scooted off the bed and hobbled over to the chair to sit down. I pushed the stand closer to her and lowered it down so she could reach. She examined the tray, then picked up the pudding cup and handed it to me.
“You take that,” she said. “I don’t need it.”
“That’s alright,” I protested. “I don’t need it either.”
Ms. Ganz pawning her desserts off on me was beginning to become a habit. As I tried to set the pudding cup back on the tray, she pushed it back toward me. It clearly wasn’t a fight I was going to win, so I relented and accepted the pudding.
Ms. Ganz got to work preparing her coffee, which she had with every meal. I always loaded her tray with three creams and three sugars, but I’d learned in time to wait until she finished mixing before I left because, more often than not, she’d ask for more.
“Is this decaf?” she asked.
“That’s right,” I said.
She grumbled. “I need caffeine. People keeping me up all night. Knocking on my door.”
“Knocking on your door?”
“Middle of the night,” Ms. Ganz exclaimed. “They come, they knock, I open the door, and they’re gone. My family doesn’t pay $2000 a month for me to get pranked all night long.”
“Have you talked to the nurses about it?” I asked.
She snorted. “They’re probably the ones doing it.” Ms. Ganz winced and reached for her forehead. “Now, I’ve had this headache all day thanks to them.”
“Sorry about that. I hope you feel better,” I said as I made my way out of the room.
It became apparent very quickly Ms. Ganz wasn’t the only resident dealing with these problems. I overheard the nurses talking about multiple residents on the second floor complaining about someone knocking on their door at night. It only got worse throughout the week, with even more residents complaining. There were more complaints of headaches, too. Some residents even started exhibiting symptoms of fever.
When I came to serve Ms. Ganz her dinner a week later, her door was shut. I knocked and turned the handle. It wasn’t locked, so I went inside. Ms. Ganz was lying in bed, a fresh sheen of sweat shimmering in the light across her forehead. She hadn’t even touched her lunch. I quietly swapped the trays, trying not to disturb her and tip-toed out of the room, stopping by the nurses’ station before I got back to work. Ted was there again, wearing a loud, floral-patterned set of scrubs this time.
“Hey, Ted, is Ms. Ganz alright?” I asked.
“She’s just a little under the weather,” he said. “She’s not the only one. There’s some kind of bug going around.”
Ted scooted his chair across the room and pulled something out of a box. He tossed me a medical mask.
“You should probably wear one of these while you’re goin’ into rooms,” he said.
I nodded and put the mask on, leaving Ted to his work. There were four more residents laid up in bed on the second floor. Weirdly, no one on the first or third floor seemed to be affected.
Things only seemed to get worse as the days went on. More and more residents were laid up with fevers. Soon enough, no one on the second floor was healthy enough to go to the dining room, which meant my room service runs were getting longer by the day. Now that I had to deliver trays to every room on the second floor, there was no way I could get it done on my own, but even with Becca helping me with runs, I was still clocking out of work an hour late most nights.
As we rolled the cart up to room 2H, Becca hesitated.
“Do you mind getting this one?” she asked.
I raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”
I had no problem bringing Mrs. Holmes her food. What caught me off guard was the way Becca seemed to give the room a wide berth as we passed and the trepidation in her voice as she spoke.
“Thanks, Arty,” Becca said. “Something about her just creeps me out. Don’t you feel that?”
“It’s a little weird how she sits in the dark all the time,” I admitted, “but I wouldn’t call it creepy.”
“So brave,” Becca teased. “I’ll bring Ms. Ganz her tray and meet you down the hall.”
I knocked on the door and went into 2H. As expected, Mrs. Holmes was seated in her recliner with the blinds drawn and the single lamp on in the corner. Sometimes I wondered if she ever even moved from that spot.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Holmes?” I asked through the medical mask I was now required to wear at all times while on the second floor.
“Are you a nurse now?” She asked. Her tone seemed intended to be joking, but it came across more accusatory.
“No, it’s just that we can’t seem to get rid of this bug going around. I was just curious if you were still feeling alright.”
“I’m fine,” she said flatly.
Mrs. Holmes was the only resident on the second floor who wasn’t sick. The bug hadn’t spread to any of the staff members either. A thought occurred to me.
“Have you heard anyone knocking on your door at night?” I asked.
Mrs. Holmes’s eyes shot to mine, momentarily glowing in the light as they had once before. She stared at me with wide eyes that seemed to be studying me.
Finally, her tight lips peeled apart and she simply said, “I have not.”
Suddenly, I understood why Becca hadn’t wanted to come in here. I could feel the goose flesh spreading across my arm and a shiver run down my spine. I didn’t want to linger here any longer than I had to.
“Have a good night,” I said, mimicking my usual tone, before hustling out of the room.
I grabbed the cart and pushed it quickly down the hall toward Ms. Ganz’s room where I would find Becca, but as I rounded the corner, I saw a crowd of nurses surrounding the door. Becca was standing off to the side, a distraught look on her face.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I went in to give her her food,” Becca choked out. “Her eyes were open, so I thought she was awake. So, I asked her if she had enough cream and sugar for her coffee, but she didn’t respond.”
“Oh no,” I realized.
“That’s never happened to me before,” Becca said. “I’ve never seen one of them after... after they died. Sorry, Arty, I need to take five. Do you think you can finish this yourself today?”
“That’s fine. I’ve got it.”
Becca laid her hand on my shoulder as she walked away, her other hand combing through her hair.
Becca didn’t come in the next day. With the wait staff being short handed, I had to do the room service deliveries myself. I hesitated before going into 2H, but when I reached for the handle, I was relieved to find that it was locked. Some of the nurses must have been inside, so I left the tray by the door and went on my way.
As I passed by Ms. Ganz’s room, I saw the sign.
Mallory Ganz 1939 - 2014
She was about ten years younger in the photo, smiling next to her daughter. I felt a tug inside my gut and suddenly realized I wanted to know what was happening. Where was this sickness coming from? Why wasn’t it affecting the residents on the first or third floors or the staff? And why was Mrs. Holmes the only resident on the second floor who was still healthy?
I finished delivering trays and stashed the cart in the corner. I figured I had at least ten more minutes before my boss would start wondering where I was, so I found Ted in the nurse’s station.
“Hey, Ted, are you busy?” I asked.
“Never not busy, Arthur,” he grinned. “What can I do for you?”
“You’ve heard the residents complaining about someone knocking on their doors at night, right? Do you have any idea what that might be about?”
He sighed. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about it. Best I can figure, it’s someone screwin’ around on the night shift.”
“Well, there are cameras, right? Couldn’t we find out who’s doing it?”
Ted’s brow furled. “Why are you so interested?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “I guess it’s just that, whoever it was, they were bothering Ms. Ganz. I thought maybe we could find them and get them to stop to, like, honor her in a way.”
Ted pushed an office chair toward me with his foot. “Sit down a minute. I’ll pull up the footage.”
I sat down and watched Ted scrub through last night’s security footage. It was strange seeing the hallway so empty. During the daytime hours, there were constantly nurses or housekeepers coming up and down the halls, but at night, they were dead.
Suddenly, there was a flash of movement on the screen. Ted let go of the mouse and let the footage play out in real-time. I felt my chest tighten as I recognized the figure on the screen. Mrs. Holmes. I watched her walk down the hall, moving with an unnatural weightlessness for her age. She stopped in front of Ms. Ganz’s room and knocked on the door. Then, all of a sudden, she just faded away.
I leaned in closer to the screen. Ted sat upright in his chair.
“Was that a glitch?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The timecode looks normal, but it must’ve been. Either way, I guess we know who’s been causin’ trouble at night. I’ll have a word with Mrs. Holmes.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I blurted out.
Ted looked at me quizzically. I didn’t know how to explain it, but I knew something was off about Mrs. Holmes. There was no telling what would happen if someone confronted her, but how was I supposed to convince Ted of that?
“Sorry,” I said. “Thanks for the help, Ted.”
I left the nurse’s station without saying another word. I could only hope that my initial warning would be enough to make Ted hesitate until I could figure out what to do next.
My heart dropped when I couldn’t find Ted the next day. He was always there. Every single weekday, he was there.
None of the other nurses had seen him either. Apparently, he hadn’t called out sick or anything. As far as anyone knew, he simply hadn’t shown up for work. But I knew better. I knew he’d gone and talked to Mrs. Holmes, and she’d done something to him. Could he still be there, inside room 2H? Was he still alive? Had he mentioned me?
I worked the first hour of my shift constantly looking over my shoulder. By 5:00, the cook started lining up room service trays. I was on my own again. Apparently, Becca was taking some time off after what she’d been through. I couldn’t blame her, but I found myself desperately wishing I didn’t have to be alone.
My heart thumped with dread every step I took toward room 2H. I prayed the door would be locked again, but no such luck. I pushed the door open slowly and let the light from the hall flood into the dim room. Mrs. Holmes was in her recliner, but as I got closer, I noticed her eyes were shut. She was asleep.
I set the tray down quietly and made for the door, but before I left, I felt curiosity tug me back. I wanted to know what happened to Ted. If there was any trace of him in the room, this might be my only chance to find it.
I inched heel-toe back through the entryway and into the bedroom. I found an antique lamp on the nightstand and flipped it on, bathing the room in a hazy yellow light. The room was pristine, not even a crease in the bedding. I didn’t know what I was looking for. Blood? A body? Just anything that would confirm the insane thoughts that were running through my mind.
I moved to the bathroom, but, like the bedroom, it was spotless. I checked every inch of it, even getting down on my hands and knees to inspect the bath mat for blood stains. I was starting to feel like a lunatic. Maybe everything that was happening was exactly what it seemed, and the rest of it was all just in my head.
Feeling a little ridiculous, I stepped out of the bathroom, gently closing the door behind me.
“What were you doing in there?” Mrs. Holmes’s voice was sharp and sent a jolt of fear through my body.
I turned and saw her standing in the corner by her recliner. She looked tall—her shoulders not slumped like usual, and her eyes were glowing in the light again.
I didn’t know what to say. “S-sorry,” I spat out, then hurried for the door. Mrs. Holmes stood motionless, watching me go.
Thanks to my little investigation, dinner was nearly over by the time I got back to the kitchen, and there was a mountain of dishes waiting for me by the sink. I shook off the unsettling thoughts plaguing my mind and got to work. It was going to be another late night, and it only got worse when the cook brought over a stack of burnt pans that would take ages of scrubbing to get clean.
It was nearly an hour past the end of my shift by the time I’d finally finished all the dishes. The wait staff had clocked out thirty minutes ago. That was fine. I was used to being the last one in the kitchen. It was the dishwasher’s job to clean the floors at the end of the night after everyone else had gone home. That night, though, I should have been scared, but the weight of being alone hadn’t hit me yet. My mind was too preoccupied with work.
I finished mopping the floor, meaning all that was left was to take the trash out to the dumpster. I gathered up all the bags and took them out into the hallway, then out the back door. I set the bags down and propped the door open with a pen. After 8:00, the building locked down, and I would need a keycard to get back in, something the facility didn’t grant to dishwashers.
I hoisted the garbage bags into the dumpster and turned back toward the building. Before I could even take a step back toward the door, though, I heard it clunk into place. I ran over and tugged on the handle. Locked. I’d have to walk all the way around the building and come in the front entrance, probably scaring the hell out of the secretary at the reception desk, who certainly wouldn’t be expecting anyone to come in at this hour.
Crickets chirped loudly in the fields around the parking lot as I rounded the building. There was no one at the reception desk when I walked in. The secretary was probably out having a cigarette somewhere. I walked through the dining room and back into the kitchen, letting the door swing freely behind me. I heard it brush across the frame once, twice, then suddenly stop. I didn’t think much of it until I heard a knock on the door.
My heart froze, fear tightening an ice-cold grip around my throat. I turned and, through the window, saw a pair of glowing eyes on the other side of the door. Ever so slowly, the door started to push inward as Mrs. Holmes crept inside. I felt like I should have screamed in that moment, but nothing came to me. It felt as though my lungs had completely deflated at the sight of her.
She stepped toward me. I stepped back until I felt my back press against the counter behind me. I wanted to run, but something told me I couldn’t outrun whatever was standing in front of me. My hands reached onto the counter and felt for anything I could use to defend myself. I felt the lukewarm touch of the porcelain plates and wrapped my fingers around the rim of one. I waited as Mrs. Holmes inched closer until, finally, I whipped my arm around and smashed the plate against her head.
She wailed and faltered a few steps, buying me enough time to run deeper into the kitchen, toward the knives. She was on me again before I could reach them. I felt a wet sting on my calf and looked down to see her there, latched on with her teeth sinking deep into my flesh.
I fell onto the concrete floor, my left shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. I tried to crawl away but couldn’t break free of her inhuman weight. With my free leg, I kicked at her head as hard as I could until she released me. Her bloodstained mouth hissed at me as I scrambled to my feet.
I ripped the largest knife I could find out of the block and spun around, ready to drive it into Mrs. Holmes’s chest, but she was gone. My eyes flicked frantically around the room, looking for any sign of her. Then I felt something drip onto my cheek. In the reflection of the knife blade, I could see the drop of blood rolling down my cheek. I looked up, and there she was.
She wasn't suspended from the ceiling; she was floating. As soon as I laid eyes on her, she dropped, falling right on top of me. I managed to raise the knife high enough and felt it pierce her gut as she landed on me. I think that was the only thing that saved me from her teeth sinking into my neck.
Mrs. Holmes reeled from the knife wound. She swung her arm out, and I felt the tremendous weight and strength behind it as it crashed into my side and threw me across the room. Pain shot through my back as I collided with the stainless steel of the dishwasher. I knew I couldn’t afford to waste time licking my wounds. I pulled myself up to my feet just as Mrs. Holmes ripped the knife free of her gut. Coagulated blood seeped out of the gaping wound like thick mud.
Mrs. Holmes hunched over like a predator waiting to pounce. My heart raced, waiting for the moment. Like a bolt of lighting, it came. She leapt across the room at me. My instincts kicked in, and I ducked to the right. I heard a loud metallic crash as Mrs. Holmes’s body slammed into the dishwasher. I looked up and saw her top half lodged in the machine. Without even thinking about it, I yanked the lever, sending the hood down just far enough over Mrs. Holmes’s thin body to activate the machine.
She howled and screeched as the steam inside the dishwasher boiled her skin. I didn’t wait around for the cycle to finish. I saddled the pain in my back and my leg and ran out of the kitchen before she had a chance to escape. I didn’t dare look back.
Sunset Grove closed down last year, three years after I left for good that night. I never found out what became of Mrs. Holmes, but I don’t think she ever left. The article detailing Sunset Grove’s closure cites financial difficulty after a spike in mortality rates, and there had been more than one story about staff members going missing over the years. Ted was the first of them. I would have been the second.
For a long time, Sunset Grove haunted me. I would dream about being back in room 2H, cowering under Mrs. Holmes’s impossibly tall form, her skin blistered and rubbery from the burns I gave her. In time, those dreams faded. It hadn’t seemed possible, but my life started to return to a sense of normalcy.
Reading the article on Sunset Grove brought those memories crashing back. I tried to tell myself that I was safe, but... I don’t think I am anymore. Not since I heard a knock on my door the other night. I wanted so badly to believe it was nothing, just neighborhood kids messing around, but my head has been pounding ever since I heard it, my stomach twisted in knots, my breath short. I can’t sleep through the night anymore. I find myself staring out the window, watching. Sometimes, among the twinkling fireflies at the edge of the woods, I could swear I see a pair of glowing eyes watching me in the dark.
submitted by JacobviBritannia
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2023.06.01 19:21 Virtual-Ad5362 SIL FROM HELL 14
I'm starting to think I should rename this to "INLAWS FROM HELL".
I do want to thank everyone for thier comments and condolences. I wish I could say things have been smooth sailing.
I'm angry. DH is angry. JNSIL is angry. JNMIL and JNFIL is angry. Everyone is angry.
It's just a shit show. Just a reminder I'm not a great writer and I'm also on mobile. Definitely let me know of any misspellings or if something needs calified.
I don't even know where to start. It's been a long 2 weeks. There were plenty of little things but here are the key incidents thus far.
- DH's (dear husband) family is catholic. Part of the catholic tradition is to do the rosary for those who have passed. From my understanding this allows Mother Marry to take NSIL (nice sister-in-law) into haven. They had that on May 30th.
Now I'm not catholic. But even so, I know to be respectful and to not be on my phone. But apparently this was too much to ask of my JNFIL (just no father inlaw). About 30 minutes in, he took a phone call and started texting. It was super disrespectful. We were in the front row right where the priest could see. I mean this is his daughter's rosary. This is his baby girl. DH was beyond angry. Frankly, I am too.
While NSIL's funeral is in our home town, she wanted to be buried in a completely different state. This wouldn't be a problem except that JNMIL ( just no mother inlaw) and JNFIL wanted to ride in my and DH's car. They wanted this because, it would cost less gas to carpool and JNMIL can get into our car without issue (she's in a wheelchair now due to the many strokes).
Look I'll be honest. I can't stand JNMIL and 8 hours in the car with her sounds like hell. I could get over that. But what I can't get over is that JNMIL and JNFIL are the most disgusting people I've ever met. I mean this woman literally coughed up egg in my face. I was picking egg out of my hair. I've seen them at my JNSIL's (just no sisterinlaw) house, and JNMIL just makes a mess. She leaves crums and take out food cups everywhere. They are also hoarders and currently still have a bedbug problem.
I don't want them in our clean car. However I wanted to support DH. I know he's grieving. He just lost his sister after all. So I put on my big girl panties on and agreed to have them in our car. We did come up with a few car rules.
- No food or dink in the car. Bottles are ok.
- They're luggage can't go in our car. It can go with JNSIL and Grandma. (This was to reduce the chance of getting bedbugs in our car. Grandma doesn't care about having thier stuff in her car)
- If JNMIL were to throw up or pee herself, they would pay to have the car detailed. DH would clean any little things.
Now, when presenting these rules, we were very polite but firm. We did not attack them. We just said these are our car rules.
Apparently, these 3 rules were just too much for them. JNMIL and JNFIL especially had issue with rule number 1. That's the rule that hurt their feelings. I just don't understand this. Plenty of people have a no food and drink rule for thier car.
JNFIL has been giving DH grief the past few days over rule 1. Then last night, JNSIL calls DH and starts yelling about how inhumane we're being to JNMIL. JNSIL told us, that due to our no food and drink rule, JNMIL won't go to the burial at all. JNSIL was ranting about how unfair it was to JNMIL and how she didn't get to see NSIL before she died. I was pissed. JNMIL seriously won't see her daughter layed to rest because she can't eat in the car.
After the call, DH and I decided to just drop rule one. At this point I was just so done. Really I only agreed to drop rule one because I wanted to make things easier for DH. Funny enough he's the one who originally came up with that rule to begin with (but I totally agree with it).
All of this to say, this morning (morning of the trip) JNFIL calls to let us know that they will be taking thier own car. JNFIL said it was because there was too much "animosity". I was absolutely livid. While I'm glad they won't be in my car, DH and I have been bending over backwards to accommodate them just for them to be upset about 3 rules.
Now I'm in the car just dreading this whole trip. Wish me luck.
submitted by Virtual-Ad5362
to RipeStories [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 19:14 middleoflidl God is a spore and I think I've found him....
When I was twelve I got knocked off my bike by a drunk driver. I split my head right open and broke nearly every bone in my body. For four days I hovered between life and death. My parents said goodbye and even picked my funeral song. They held my hand and told me they were sorry for every silly argument, but I wasn’t there anymore, I was somewhere else.
I was in the in-between. I was connected to the hospital room by only a small frayed thread that with every passing minute threatened to snap. I could hear they’re voices but only faintly, not that they were a comfort anyway, there was no such thing as comfort where I was. It was impossibly dark in that in-between, and so cold you could feel the chill in the marrow of your bones. I can’t remember what it looks like exactly, that oddly empty place.
From my waning memory, I recall it as a formless mass of, wet, dripping, nothing; there was no left or right, no up or down. You’d float around like a kite in the wind with only that little string holding you down. It felt like I was there for years. Time just seemed to elongate there. Eventually my family’s voices faded into nothing and all I could hear was the loud deafening thud of silence. It was then I heard him."
“Hulqu-ša māru.” He said, over and over. His voice was soothingly consistent. I transcribe the phrase to you now accurately, though to my young, uneducated ears it sounded like a jumble of mismatched vowels. It was only in my adulthood that I found out that the voice he spoke to me in was Old Akkadian. Translated it meant; my child is lost.
Then I woke up. My eyes squinted from the bright hospital lights and my mother’s tears formed a puddle on my face. I can’t remember much following that, but my mum says that I kept saying “he’s real” over and over.
That’s why I know there is a god. He spoke to me, I walked in his kingdom and then I came back. Nearly eight-years later when I took my seat for the first day of my Religious Studies degree, I was perhaps the only one in that lecture theatre that knew with absolute certainty that there was a god. Was it the Christian God? The Islamic? Maybe no one has it right, but he existed. He was real. I knew that. I spent four years studying religion, and learnt nothing more important than what I found out when I was twelve.
“I have some concerns regarding your dissertation title Jeremy, Proving that God is Real, it’s… well it’s impossible to prove. We wouldn’t require faith if there was a burden of proof.” Professor Alcott said to me as he shifted through my research. “Personal anecdotes are also not sufficient subject to base an entire dissertation upon.”
“I’m committed to this research paper professor, I know with certainty that there is a god and I would like an opportunity to make this clear to everyone.” I said. “By next week sir, I will have more than anecdotes. Give me a chance.”
“I’m not one to quash academic innovation, if you would like to give this topic a bash, then I will not stand in your way. You are such a promising student Jeremy, I just don’t want you to waste your talent.” He said, looking dissatisfied.I left Alcott’s office with a seemingly impossible task. For centuries people have been looking for scientific proof in a higher power and all so far have failed. All I had was my own experience, I needed more. I scribbled down in my notebook the two most pressing features of a god with a puzzle knitting my brow together.
He can’t be seen.
I was lying in my bed, in my dingy little student rent when I had my epiphany. Mould. It had followed me my entire life. Every room I slept in, it would curl up in the corner, an ugly black mass of reaching tendrils. It was watching me, haunting me. He was in the very air I breathed. I’m real, he was saying over and over, I’m right here. I’d been bleaching him away all of these years, drowning him in chemicals.
Mould, like mushrooms and other fungus, travels in spores, invisible to the human eye. It is said that there are fungal spores in every gulp of air we take. They grow only in conditions where they thrive, in the damp of a rundown house or in the soil at the foot of a withered tree. It made too much sense, how else could he be everywhere all at once? And with that I had a new dissertation title. Proving God is Real: The Mycological Evidence. Alcott was bemused but satisfied at least that he was in for an interesting read.
I wasn’t a mycologist when I began my dissertation, but I was by the end of my study. Fungus don’t need light to grow, in-fact there are some sources that suggest they thrive in the dark. All they really need is moisture. The in-between I’d hovered in as a child had been so damp and wet. With every new nugget of mycological trivia, the dot to dot I’d been solving my entire life was becoming clearer and clearer.
It all made so much sense. There are some suggestions from credible scientists that the consumption of psilocybin mushrooms had aided the evolution from home erectus to homo sapiens. He had nudged us, even then. Not to mention the countless ancient civilisations that had claimed to commune with gods through the burning and consumption of teas made from various fungus.I needed more, coincidences and anecdotes are so easily solved.
Armed with a little scalpel and a mason jar I scraped some of the mould off my wall. I added some water and sealed it. Growing mushrooms is exceedingly simple, as all budding recreational drug users and mycologists know.. “Give me a sign.” I said to it. “Please.”
I left it on my desk and let it fester, and it did. It grew and grew until nearly the entire jar was black. I don’t really know what my plan was for my little mason-jar experiment, I certainly didn’t expect what happened.
“Dude, that shit is rank. Stick in the bin.” My roommate pointed to my desk one day as he popped his head into my room. I had almost forgotten about it. I glanced at what he was looking at and felt my heart stop.The mason jar was smashed.
Sharp little pieces of glass were inter-mingled with thick moss-like mould that was now spreading all across my desk. It hadn’t been like that in the morning, it had to have happened recently, maybe even in the past few hours that I’d been napping. I briefly considered wiping it up with a cloth, but I couldn’t - it was god - I couldn’t clean up god.
So I left it there and charted it’s growth casually in my notebook. Until one day I returned from my morning lectures and saw something… disturbing. It had grown out from the table; it’s awful tendrils reaching out towards the empty air. If you squinted it sort of looked like a hand, oddly malformed and misshapen though it was. I started to spend my nights in the library as I was so unnerved by it.Then one morning, It was gone. The mould, it was gone, like it had never even been there before.
There's an animalistic side to all of us, one we don't realise we have until it's triggered. I felt it then, an overwhelming feeling of dread that built up to a crescendo where the very utterance of silence rang in my ears like alarm bells. I ought to have listened to it. But it was god, and god had a plan.
I went to bed that night with that feeling still tugging at me. Sleep did not come easy, in fact it did not come at all. My eyes narrowed from exhaustion, my room almost pitch black save for the small amount of light from my phone screen. I thought it was the silhouette of a jacket at first.
I stared hard at it, trying to discern any familiarity in it's shape.
I stared for what felt like hours. I felt as though I was being watched, like I wasn't alone. Then it came. Just the smallest of twitches. My finger danced over the torch button on my phone, but there was a comfort in not seeing, in the dark haze there was still a chance that it was my jacket or an odd shadow.
“Si unus extisat, sic facit alterum.” The shape said an inhuman voice that filled me with an overwhelming amount of dread. This wasn’t what I had felt when I was child, the voice of god was soothing not… wrong.
I turned the light on. All the horror films I’d watched told me that when you put the light on the awful things just… go away.
It’s a lie, a tired old trope.
Illuminated in the torchlight, It stood on hind legs, this black mass of awful clinging mould, and it looked at me, even though it did not have eyes, just empty holes. It tilted it’s head, like a dog trying to comprehend that the bag of treats had an end. It took a few steps towards me, like it had only just learned to walk, and it said it again, this time directed at my soul.
“Si unus extisat, sic facit alterum.” It said again and then, with odd movements, it slipped out my door. I heard the thud of it heading down my staircase and with every awful hoof on my steps, I felt as though I was being shot.
I knew the words this time, while the akkadian god had spoken to me in my youth had eluded me, this had not. My grammar school had a rather impressive latin department and I was close to fluent.If one exists, then so does the other.
That’s what it had said. It’s a simple turn of phrase that haunts me to this day. I wrote it all down. I turned in my dissertation with a heavy weight on my shoulders. Alcott offered me a place on his PHD programme, but I declined and he said farewell to me with an odd look glinting in his eye. He didn’t believe me, but he believed at least that I did. That’s faith for you.
He’s out there somewhere. The other.
By looking for god I had set him free and now he walks, on those unsteady legs. Maybe he’s that pile of oddly shaped clothes in the corner of your dark room, or the queer shadow that moves just slightly out of tune with your own, perhaps he’s all of these things and nothing. If one exists then so does the other. It is upon this uncertain balance that our world is built. I only wished I had met just the one.
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2023.06.01 19:06 Desperate_Two_636 Drive-thru funeral home in Michigan - AB thoughts?
2023.06.01 18:58 anfufuneralservices Buddhist Funeral Services : An Fu Funeral Services
When it comes to honoring the departed and bidding farewell to loved ones, Buddhist funeral services offer a profound and meaningful way to pay tribute to the deceased. An Fu Funeral Services is a renowned provider of Buddhist funeral rites, offering solace and guidance to families during times of grief. In this article, we will explore the essence of Buddhist funeral services and how An Fu Funeral Services encapsulates the rich traditions and values associated with these ceremonies.
Buddhism, a spiritual tradition originating in ancient India, has spread its wings across the globe, becoming one of the world's major religions. Buddhists believe in the cycle of life, death, and rebirth, emphasizing the impermanence and interconnectedness of all things. In the face of death, Buddhist funeral services provide a framework for navigating the journey of the departed soul and supporting the grieving family.
An Fu Funeral Services understands the significance of Buddhist funeral rituals, which serve as a path for both the living and the deceased. The company's approach is deeply rooted in compassion, respect, and mindfulness, reflecting the core principles of Buddhism. By adhering to these values, An Fu Funeral Services provides a sanctuary for mourning families, guiding them through the grieving process while honoring the life and teachings of the departed.
Central to Buddhist funeral services is the belief in karma, the law of cause and effect. Buddhists understand that the actions performed in this life will shape the conditions of the next. Thus, during the funeral rites, prayers and rituals are conducted to generate positive karma for the deceased, helping them find peace in the afterlife and paving the way for a favorable rebirth.
An Fu Funeral Services offers a range of options to tailor the funeral service to the specific needs and beliefs of the family. From the preparation of the body to the funeral ceremony itself, every step is executed with meticulous attention to detail. An Fu Funeral Services collaborates closely with the family, providing guidance on Buddhist customs and practices while ensuring that the ceremony reflects the wishes of the deceased and their loved ones.
The Buddhist funeral ceremony often takes place at a funeral home or temple, serving as a gathering for family, friends, and community members. An Fu Funeral Services provides a tranquil and serene environment, allowing attendees to find solace and support amidst their grief. The ceremony typically includes chanting of Buddhist scriptures, offering of incense and flowers, and eulogies to celebrate the life and virtues of the departed.
As a tribute to the Buddhist belief in interconnectedness, An Fu Funeral Services encourages acts of generosity and compassion during the funeral process. Charitable donations, offering food to monks, and supporting the less fortunate are common practices that foster positive karma for the deceased and provide a sense of purpose and healing for the grieving family.
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In addition to the funeral ceremony, An Fu Funeral Services provides bereavement support to the family, recognizing that the grieving process extends beyond the day of the funeral. Grief counseling, memorial services, and ongoing assistance are available to help individuals and families navigate the emotional challenges of loss.
An Fu Funeral Services embodies the essence of Buddhist funeral services, embracing the core teachings of Buddhism while providing compassionate and personalized support to families. By honoring the departed and fostering positive karma, these services offer a transformative experience that allows both the living and the deceased to find solace and spiritual growth.
In times of sorrow, Buddhist Funeral Services
provide a comforting framework that helps individuals come to terms with the impermanence of life and the inevitability of death. An Fu Funeral Services serves as a guiding light, illuminating the path of healing and providing a compassionate space for families to mourn, remember, and find peace.
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2023.06.01 18:45 sweetVenusTexas PICTURE OF TOBEY AND ANDREW
2023.06.01 18:40 model-willem WM109 Anti-Homosexuality Act Condemnation Motion Motion Vote
We turn now to a vote on the nti-Homosexuality Act Condemnation Motion. This House Recognises:
The Parliament of Uganda has passed legislation criminalising Homosexuality, with the death penalty for the crime of “Aggravated Homosexuality”, which includes repeat offenders. The additional action of “Promotion of Homosexuality” includes 20 years imprisonment. Being a member of the LGBT Community is, and ought to be, a basic right to be protected. Depression, self-harm and suicide rates among LGBT youth are on average more than 10 over the rate for Cisgender-Heterosexual people, and higher still if the individual is Genderqueer. Anti-homosexuality legislation marks only regressive attitudes on the world stage.
This House Therefore Urges That:
The Government issue a statement condemning this legislation outright. The Government take measures to provide funding or aid to LGBT groups and charities at home and abroad, such as the Trevor Project or the Iranian Railroad for Queer Refugees.
This Motion was written by The Rt Hon u/realbassist PC MP MSP MLA, on behalf of the Liberal Party of Wales and is sponsored by the Rt. Hon. Sir u/TheVeryWetBanana PC OD MP MS MSP, the Independent MS Rt. Hon. Sir u/PoliticoBailey MP MS KG KT KD GBE KCT LVO, the Rt. Hon. u/BasedChurchill PC CBE MP and the Rt. Hon. Admiral Baron u/Gregor_The_Beggar of Holt, 1st Baron of Holt.
Today, I do not stand alone in proposing this Motion. Apart from the sponsors, to whom I owe an unpayable debt of gratitude, I stand here with all those who have died and suffered for the crime of being gay. It is a crime we pride ourselves on having decriminalised, and for the most part in this country the stigma behind it is gone. But it is not fully abolished, nor do we consider the experiences of LGBT people outside of such liberal countries.
In Uganda right now, one cannot be gay. This is not hyperbole or exaggeration, it is policy. Under the Anti-Homosexuality Act, it is now punishable by death to commit “Aggravated Homophobia”, which includes having gay sex with a mentally ill or disabled person or someone over the age of 75, regardless of if they consent. Of the 47 million people in Uganda, it is extremely difficult to ascertain who is Gay or Bisexual or Transgender, but one thing we can say for certainty is that innocent people are under direct threat, and if we do not formally condemn this then we are on the wrong side of history.
I know for a fact that it is difficult to live as an LGBT person in the UK, as do many members of this chamber. I have been called slurs by strangers for wearing a gay badge in public. I have been threatened, harassed and had people tell me to be celibate or God will reject me. I do not know the situations of every member of this chamber, Llywydd, but I do know that to people around this country, this does not sound unfamiliar. Now, imagine we are in Uganda under this law.
To be with the man you love, you will have to flee the country. To stay and continue to be with them is to be arrested and thrown in prison for years, possibly even for life. If you ever get out and you continue your relationship, you will be executed as a criminal. If I may quote from the Aeneid, where Nisus and Euryalus, a couple in love, are killed in battle. Nisus cries when he sees Euryalus about to die, “Hold your sword! His only crime is to love the wrong friend too much.” This is the crime for LGBT Ugandans right now, and the sentence is the same.
As I have said, we are lucky to not suffer such firm persecution in the United Kingdom. Things are not perfect, but they are not as bad as many others have it. To take the example of Florida, the infamous “Don’t Say Gay” bill was expanded recently to ensure no LGBT student can get support in their schools. Poland rather proudly has “Gay-free zones”, and the situation in Iran is so dire, there is a charity to help LGBT people escape. Uganda’s law is awful, but it is not unique by any means. One again, we are the scapegoat. Once again, we are the other.
I do not know, nor can it be predicted, how many will die as a result of this legislation. But even if we cannot repeal it on our own merit, we can stand against it and stand with the LGBT communities of not only Uganda but of Florida, of Iran, of Poland, and of the 12 countries where it is still a death penalty offence to be Gay. as I say, in this country we are largely safe. We are lucky. There are millions who are not, and who are, and will be, martyr’d for love by legislation exactly like this one that we see being passed in Uganda. If I may end on another quote from Virgil, in the same context, “No day shall erase you from the memory of time”.
Link to the Debate
Voting on this motion will end at the close of business on 4th of June at 10pm BST
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2023.06.01 18:37 dysteach-MT How do you handle the process of losing your independence?
Hi all, fairly new to Reddit, so please let me know if this is the right place to post. Warning- pretty long.
I was diagnosed with MS in 2012 when I was 38. I had weird vision issues, it felt like one eye wasn’t coordinating with the other. I could look at my classroom and see the students, but their faces were blurry. I couldn’t drive at night because of light tracers. Went through the normal ophthalmology channels and was referred to a neurologic ophthalmologist. He did a MRI just to be safe because there were no signs of optic neuritis. After my very first MRI, the nurse asked if this was my first, and said the doctor would call me the next day. I told her my doctor was leaving for a month and he said he’d follow up with me when he got back. The nurse said no, he would call me the next day. Surprise! You have MS and aren’t having acid flashbacks from the one time you took it at age 18.
Luckily, I was living in an amazing state with an impressive University medical center. My neurologist taught at the U and going to an appointment was like attending a class. He whipped out a sharpie and starting making amazing flow charts on the paper covering the exam table. He gave it to me at the end. Since the MRI showed active lesions, I took a super high dose of steroids. In the following 5 years, MRIs showed no new lesions, so I never started any medication. My brain developed new pathways and my vision cleared up.
In 2017, I decided to move home to Montana. After the fun experience of establishing care, I was given an absolutely wonderful neurologist in my large and growing city. He wasn’t an MS specialist, but there are only 2 in our state. At this point, I didn’t think I had MS since no new lesions in 5 years. So, I got an MRI here, and low and behold, new lesions. (Part of the reason is the MRI machine here is newer with better quality.) I was started on Copaxone. About 4 months after starting, I had a relapse and lost some mild functioning in my left hand. In addition, I started having problems with my vision again- same issue as before. Had a follow up MRI showing no new lesions. I was also under a ton of stress during that time. I’ve now figured out that when I get stressed, my brain “forgets” the new neural pathway and reverts to the old broken pathway.
So, I was struggling with high stress from my job and extreme exhaustion. He sent me for a sleep study and I was diagnosed with apnea and started using a C-Pap. No change on the exhaustion. They started me on Modafinil and it was a game changer. Over the next 2 years, I lost a significant amount of weight (in a healthy way). My next sleep study showed no apnea at all (yay!) but my oxygen levels dropped significantly when I slept. So now, I’m on oxygen when I sleep. My sleep doctor did some blood tests that showed my iron levels were low but my ferritin test was high, so I couldn’t take any supplements.
Then, my neurologist, who I absolutely adore, explained that the entire neurology department (doctors only) quit due to the horrible administration. I had access to a PA over the next year. Just to be clear, there are two MS specialists in my state- the one 2 hours away was not accepting any new patients and the one 3 hours away had a 2 year wait. I live in the fastest growing city in the US, and it’s a college town. The hospital here is very large and serves all the rural communities. Luckily, a new health clinic extension is opening and I’m hoping the competition will bring positive changes. But, new clinic won’t have a neurologist for at least another year.
In the meantime, my cognitive and executive functioning have fallen off of a cliff. My short term memory is the same as a goldfish. My exhaustion is at an all time high and Modafinil assistance has plateaued. I quit my job and now am doing private tutoring- but I can usually only handle 4 hours a day. I can still tutor because I have been doing the same program for over 20 years, but learning something new is almost impossible. Perfect example of executive functioning issues: I went over to help a friend learn how to can and make jam. No problem! Then I go to pack up my stuff and I can’t figure out how to do it. It usually takes me 3 or 4 tries to leave the house, even if I have tried to set out what I need the night before. I have a waitlist of private clients needing help, but I’ve become so flaky with cancelling sessions because I never know when I will hit a brick wall, so I don’t want to start with any new clients.
Then, I get a call scheduling me with a new neurologist to establish care. Yay!!! And I find out that he is a neurology generalist, and of course, 1 neurologist to cover a large population. I like the new neurologist, but can tell he was stressed and overworked. I had the hard conversation about going on a partial disability. I am also having some cardiac issues that also cause fatigue. And surprise- here is another lesion that they missed on my last MRI a year ago. I asked how to start the disability process, and the doctor said the hospital used to have a social worker to help but not any more.
Now, I’m scheduled for a follow up MRI and neuropsych evaluation. I had to have an internal heart monitor installed. A new cardiologist ordered genetic testing, and that came back with an “unknown marker”. I’m also having problems with my joints hurting and popping out of place (this is also congenital- my joints dislocate super easy). I am depressed over not being able to afford to live. I am overwhelmed with trying to figure out public assistance here. The local Human Rights non profit has helped me apply for SNAP and emergency rental assistance, and I found someone at our low income clinic to help with disability paperwork today, but she said I will be denied and it will be a long process.
I can’t do the paperwork on my own. I did find a counselor and have an appointment next week. I feel like I am drowning and am grieving losing my independence. The worst part is that my MS is invisible. I have no lesions on my spine, and one optic nerve is slightly larger than the other, but healed. My left hand is a little slow, but only I notice. I grew up in a family (and state culture!) that you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and don’t ask for help. People can’t see that I’m struggling. I’ve been accused of being high when I repeat a conversation or have a hard time coming up with a word. My fabulous brother accused me of making it all up to be a “freeloader” that is too lazy to work. There are no MS support groups here. Parkinson’s & Huntington’s have multiple groups. Even attending an MS group is difficult because I don’t have mobility problems and I don’t feel welcome.
Any helpful advice? (After the new MRI, we will revisit changing from Copaxone to another medication.)
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2023.06.01 18:27 Interesting_Inside22 I’m (25f) reaching my absolute limit when it comes to my partners (30m) lack of contributions towards chores/general behaviour.
I feel like I need to get this off my chest and would also appreciate any advice on how to approach this situation with my partner. We have been together for 2 years and live together.I have a considerably more busy schedule then my partner and I feel like he isn’t contributing towards his fair share or household chores which is causing a lot of resentment on my end. He works from home and a lot of his 9-5 IT job is self study which in reality just means he spends 2-5hrs a workday gaming/whatever he wants.
Everything in my life is as streamlined as possible and don’t have the luxury of as much free time as him. I work retail which is physically exhausting long shifts and also studying my bachelors as well as trying to launch a small business.The household chores that I regularly do include cleaning the bathroom, kitchen, all dishes and I’m often the person who does errands/organises things.
The 2 chores that are left if vacuuming and laundry which seem to be a point of conflict constantly. He will always leave it last minute or not get the full job done.The most logical solution is to do these things first thing in the morning eg. washing laundry then hanging it on the line to dry instead of putting it in the dryer at night adding to the electricity bill. This means laundry isn’t put away or sometimes I have to wait for bedding or clothing I need for the next day to be dry. It disrupts my night routine.
He will use excuses like he hasn’t been downstairs yet and will do it then. I will ask him to do a simple task like hoovering at 10am and he won’t start till 4pm onwards usually after 6pm. I will often end up doing it myself or getting extremely frustrated as it feels like he’s taking the piss. I feel like he has poor time management and priorities gaming above all.
I’ve broached the topic of mental health with him and he even went on natural anti depressants (St Johns wort) which he said helped him feel a bit better. I did discuss my experiences with sertraline with him as I was on it when we started dating. This man genuinely brought such light and joy to my life till I felt mentally sane enough to not need to be on antidepressants anymore. I just went a clean home environment and not to feel like I’m always fighting with him over it.
I feel like I can’t do for him what he did for me and it destroys me.We used to take walks, have dates, game together and actually spend time together. He has actively chosen to not get therapy as he wants to prioritise saving more towards a house deposit for our future. He isn’t interested in anything besides spending the moment he wakes up till he goes sleep gaming. He will only come downstairs to eat and spend an hour watching TV during dinner before he retreats.
I’m genuinely struggling to figure out if he’s being lazy or depressed. I understand he’s in a job he’s not passionate about however he’s making zero efforts to change that. He could chose to pursue some type of further education/training to switch industries. He is reluctant to go out due to feeling shame about his appearance and we can’t go on holiday because of this. I’ve decided to go abroad alone but am a little disappointed he won’t be there but I can’t put my life on hold.
I’m just so frustrated as he has a loving partner, family, stable income and secure living situation. I get it he’s gained weight and he doesn’t like his job which isn’t ideal but it can be changed. I feel like he’s become really immature and ungrateful not the man I fell in love with. I remember last year on the train ride home from my dads funeral all he could do was complain to me that his expensive nerf guns he ordered hasn’t arrived yet.It was very insensitive and I let it go but now I’m starting to wonder if it is an indicator of how absorbed with himself he’s become.
I understand he’s struggling but I feel like I also need his support. I’ve also had a rough last year. I lost both my brother and dad unexpectedly. I continue to have a strained relationship with my remaining family and have had some health issues.
I would like to find a way to get through to him. I am willing to brainstorm a plan for action but I can’t help him if he’s not willing to help himself. It’s such a shame as he’s one of the most gentle kind people I know.Now I can’t even get him to pay attention to me or leave his room away from his PC.
Is there anything I can do to get through to him or is he purposely being incompetent?
TLDR; I (25f) am fed up with my partners (30m) dragging his feet when it comes to doing chores and generally being withdrawn from me.
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2023.06.01 18:26 speedcreature Speedtagging: a powerful way to tag Pokémon in your storage
Before tagging, we had naming. Those 12 unicode characters allowed to us can only convey so much before our intentions for each Pokémon break down.
Tagging Pokémon for most of us should be a fairly simple concept, but because we have other responsibilities apart from Pokémon GO, we can sometimes commit "mistakes"—bad actions in our Pokémon storage. Thus, I made speedtagging. Be warned, this will be a fairly long read. At first glance, this seems unnecessary, but for Trainers with at least 1000 Pokémon storage, speedtagging will be very helpful. I even covered Swag IVs and GBL team roles. Let's just say that you'll be better at speedtagging the more you use it.
I color-coded the functions so that it's easy on the eyes.
RED - PokéDex-related
BLACK - trade or transfer
ORANGE - meta-related
VIOLET - shadow-related
GREEN - power-related
YELLOW - moveset-related
BLUE - IV-related
WHITE - miscellaneous
You will shortly notice that I did not arrange all tags by color. That's because I placed the most common tags near the top where you can easily access them when speedtagging. I personally do a lot of evolving and transferring to level up quickly, but you do you!
The 91 tags I'm recommending are:
chk (RED) - checked
rg (RED) - registered
td (BLACK) - trade
XP (GREEN) - 2x Evolve XP
tfA (BLACK) - transfer A
dx (RED) - PokéDex
tfB (BLACK) - transfer B
tfC (BLACK) - transfer C
kp (WHITE) - keep
PvE (ORANGE) - Player vs Environment
PvP (ORANGE) - Player vs Player
/p (VIOLET) - never purify
p1 (VIOLET) - purify 1,000 stardust
p3 (VIOLET) - purify 3,000 stardust
p5 (VIOLET) - purify 5,000 stardust
/e (GREEN) - never evolve
CD (GREEN) - evolve during Community Day
e1 (GREEN) - evolve to Stage 1
e2 (GREEN) - evolve to Stage 2
tdcx (BLACK) - trade for Candy XL
tdlucky (BLACK) - trade with Lucky Friend
tfZ (BLACK) - transfer Z
/home (BLACK) - never send to Pokémon HOME
home (BLACK) - send to Pokémon HOME
/bdy (GREEN) - never buddy again
bdyA (GREEN) - buddy A
bdyB (GREEN) - buddy B
eberries (RED) - evolve after feeding berries
ecatch (RED) - evolve after catching
edxcostume (RED) - evolve for dex costume entry
eheart (RED) - evolve after buddy hearts
eincense (RED) - evolve after using incense
elure (RED) - evolve near special lure module
eraid (RED) - evolve after raids
eregion (RED) - evolve to regional forms
ethrow (RED) - evolve after throws
ewalk (RED) - evolve after walk
eweather (RED) - evolve at certain weather
L50 (ORANGE) - cap at Level 50
L40 (ORANGE) - cap at Level 40
L35 (ORANGE) - cap at Level 35
CP25 (ORANGE) - cap at CP 2500
CP15 (ORANGE) - cap at CP 1500
CP5 (ORANGE) - cap at CP 500
def (ORANGE) - gym defender
atk1 (ORANGE) - attacker first charged move for gym battles and raids
atk2 (ORANGE) - attacker second charged move for gym battles and raids
TGR (ORANGE) - for Team GO Rocket use
ML (ORANGE) - for Master League
UL (ORANGE) - for Ultra League
GL (ORANGE) - for Great League
LC (ORANGE) - for Little Cup
?GBL (ORANGE) - team role unknown for GO Battle League
GBLchk (ORANGE) - GO Battle League, team role checked at PvPoke
/GBL (ORANGE) - not Top 100 in any team role in GO Battle League
Overall (ORANGE) - Top 100 Overall in GO Battle League
Lead (ORANGE) - Top 100 Leads in GO Battle League
Closer (ORANGE) - Top 100 Closers in GO Battle League
Switcher (ORANGE) - Top 100 Switchers in GO Battle League
Charger (ORANGE) - Top 100 Chargers in GO Battle League
Attacker (ORANGE) - Top 100 Attackers in GO Battle League
Consistency (ORANGE) - Top 100 Consistency in GO Battle League
/emg (GREEN) - never mega evolve once or ever again
emg (GREEN) - for mega evolution
/up (GREEN) - never power up
up (GREEN) - to power up or max out
/ncx (GREEN) - does not need Candy XL
ncx (GREEN) - needs Candy XL
/m (YELLOW) - never update moveset
Δm (YELLOW) - moveset changed for current meta
na (YELLOW) - add new attack
eftm (YELLOW) - use Elite Fast TM
ectm (YELLOW) - use Elite Charged TM
ctm (YELLOW) - use Charged TM
/mrt (YELLOW) - never remove Return
?sg (BLUE) - IVs not yet recommended by RyanSwag
/sg (BLUE) - not Swag IVs
sgatk (BLUE) - attack-weighted Swag IVs
sgdef (BLUE) - defense-weighted Swag IVs
sghp (BLUE) - HP-weighted Swag IVs
sgSP (BLUE) - Stat Product Swag IVs
sgBP (BLUE) - Bulk-weighted Swag IVs
sgMS (BLUE) - Mirror Slayer Swag IVs
SP1 (BLUE) - Rank 1 Stat Product
IV100 (BLUE) - Hundo
/IVfx (BLUE) - not functional hundo
IVfxL50 (BLUE) - functional hundo at Level 50
IVfxL51 (BLUE) - functional hundo at Best Buddy Level 50
IV0 (BLUE) - Nundo
Flex (WHITE) - for flexing
Rare (WHITE) - rare including regionals
I have an in-depth explanation for most of my tags, but for some reason reddit won't let me post the rest. If you're interested in my in-depth explanations, then please read the comments section.
I did eliminate some tags that are redundant with existing search functions. I apologize if I cannot make it any shorter; that's how I play this game. If I helped your speedtagging in any way, then any improvements to speedtagging, dare I say version 1, would be appreciated! If there's anything I forgot, please let me know!
You may also make your own versions of your speedtagging and recommend it to your friends! I know that majority of us are PvE players, but I did not forget the PvP players. I'm simply suggesting a futureproof method for tagging. I believe the tag feature is an underrated feature of the game, and tagging in and of itself is a minigame for organizing the mess that is Pokémon storage.
I have a small YouTube channel where I do whatever. Visit if you like: https://youtube.com/@speedcreatureYT
My future long post will be about speednaming. Please look forward to it!
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to pokemongo [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 18:16 okieflowerpower VA aid and attendance benefits
My mom qualified for these benefits 2 years ago and we then went through a program that sourced and paid CNA’s to come to her home which she was still in. They deducted the money from her bank account monthly. When we moved her to assisted living the “level of care “ fee matched what she was getting from the VA. Now her LOC fee is $700 per month HIGHER and has been about 5 months or so. Anyway- we had to sell her house as she is running out of money to pay assisted living. Now there is 162K in her investment account. VA says you can have assists of 150k per my understanding. I’m going to go prepay a funeral for her and catch up some hospital bills but that probably would leave 6k left over. I really don’t want her to lose those benefits over a few thousand dollars. Any ideas on legal ways I can get that money down? She’s 94 and not able to travel, doesn’t really need anything at the moment.
submitted by okieflowerpower
to AgingParents [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 17:58 Dramatic_Art935 I'm not sure where to start.
Like the title says. I don't even know where to begin. My father-in-law has PPMS and was diagnosed a year ago after rapidly declining. For reference he had a stroke a few years ago and left him paralyzed on one side of his body. He has always been stubborn but the stroke made it 100% worse. Hardly accepted treatment, refused services, the like. He was diagnosed with MS last year after rapidly losing the ability to walk. Now, he essentially is a quadriplegic. He can't speak, can't really move, can sometimes feed himself (though he chokes a lot). The kicker: my MIL refuses to get any sort of help. No in home care, hospice or a residential facility. He gets PT/OT a few times a week for stretching and my MIL knows that if he switches to hospice he won't qualify for PT/OT. Personally, I don't think he needs it and I feel like the therapists are being unethical for continuing to push for therapy over hospice or a facility. While he is safe and in the loving care of his wife, he doesn't get the proper care he needs. She won't put him in diapers because he doesn't want them and she still pulls him into a chair for a shower a few times a week. He's becoming blind to his incontinence and only wears a cath when needed. And helps him onto a toilet chair with help from one of her sons. Given all of these conditions she refuses to even have a caregiver part time to help out. She won't even get him a bed even though his PT said he qualifies. He stays in a lift chair 24/7. Me, her two sons and the rest of the family are at a complete loss as to what to do. I'm worried he is either going to choke to death or fall before she actually gets help. Has anyone been through this? What can we or should we do? What can we say to make her change her mind about care. She just doesn't think she needs it. Do we just let it go and wait for the worst to happen? Any and all advice welcome.
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to MultipleSclerosis [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 17:30 MrsDepo Mom passed away last week, how do I even think anymore?
I (34F) just found this subreddit after googling post-grief brain fog and am very much looking forward to reading your stories. My mom (57) passed away unexpectedly last Wednesday and I have been a bit of a wreck. When I first found out, I went into hyper-oldest-daughter mode and made my dad stay with me for a few days to take care of him. He was quite emotional but I was more of a robot than anything. I only cried when no one was around, so mostly in the shower. Since then, I made the appointment with the funeral home, did that meeting and paid for the services, made phone calls to let people know, posted on Facebook, started planning the memorial for late summer, and now I still need to write the obituary.
But I can't write it. I actually can't do anything that involves my brain. After my dad went back home, I dove into anything physical I could get my hands on. Cleaning the house, building some built-in bookshelves, gardening, running, anything really. But now that I'm back at work I find that I can't put a single thought together. I can't make myself do work. I just locked myself in my office with a Do Not Disturb sign up, but I'm just surfing the internet.
When does this get better? I'm a professional that many people rely on. I have no real boss, so I self manage, but I can't manage anything and no one is forcing me to work. I had to drop out of a funding opportunity, and everyone 100% understands, but I'm just beating myself up over this. And the obituary is looming over me. I have to write it. But how? I read articles about how to do it, but those are all about the content, not how you can move past the grief enough to just write. Damn it, I've written a book and a dissertation and I can't push myself to write 2 paragraphs!
submitted by MrsDepo
to GriefSupport [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 17:20 Friendly-Notice-5660 #闫丽梦#班农#郭文贵 美国外交家杂志揭骗闫丽梦和郭文贵一样是反共骗子
Guo Wengui has been arrested in the United States in connection with a $1 billion fraud. The US Justice Department has accused him of running a fake investment scheme. Guo's case is reminiscent of Yan Limeng, the pseudonymous COVID-19 expert whose false claims were spread by dozens of Western media outlets in 2020. Ms. Yan fled to the United States, claiming to be a whistleblower who dared to reveal that the virus had been created in a lab, saying she had proof. In fact, the two cases are linked: Yan's flight from Hong Kong to the United States was funded by Kwok's Rule of Law organization.
Yan's false paper has not been examined and has serious defects. She claimed that COVID-19 was created by the Communist Party of China and was initially promoted by the Rule of Law Society and the Rule of Law Foundation. Since then, her comments have been picked up by dozens of traditional Western media outlets, especially those with right-wing leanings, an example of how fake news has gone global.
Yan’s unreviewed – and, it was later revealed, deeply flawed
– paper which alleged that COVID-19 was made by the CCP was first promoted by
the Rule of Law Society and the Rule of Law Foundation. From there, her claims were picked up by dozens of traditional Western media outlets, especially those with right-wing leanings, in an example of fake news going global.
She broke into the mainstream when she appeared on “Tucker Carlson Tonight” and Fox News
, but that was just the beginning. In Spain, the media environment I know best, her accusations were shared by most prominent media outlets: El Mundo
, La Vanguardia
, or Cadena Ser
. Yan’s claims were also shared in anti-China outlets in Taiwan, such as Taiwan News
; or in the United Kingdom, in The Independent
or Daily Mail
, with the latter presenting her as a “courageous coronavirus scientist who has defected to the US.” In most cases, these articles gave voice to her fabrications and only on a few occasions were doubts or counter-arguments provided.
Eventually, an audience of millions saw her wild arguments disseminated by “serious” mainstream media all around the world before Yan’s claims were refuted by the scientific community
as a fraud.
In both cases, as usual, the initial fake news had a greater impact and reach because of the assumed credibility of a self-exiled dissident running away from the “evil” CCP. Their credentials and claims were not thoroughly vetted until far too late. Anti-China news has come to be digested with gusto by Western audiences. Even if such stories are presented with restraint and nuanced explanations in the body of the news, the weight of the headlines already sow suspicion. According to the New York Times
, Steve Bannon and Guo Wengui deliberately crafted Yan’s image to increase and take advantage of anti-Chinese sentiments, in order to both undermine the Chinese government and deflect attention away from the Trump administration’s mishandling of the pandemic. These fake news stories still resonate today. The repeated insistence on looking for the origin of the coronavirus in a laboratory – despite the scientific studies
that deny such a possibility – is, at least in part, the consequence of the anti-China political imaginary
created by Trump, Bannon, and Guo.
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to u/Friendly-Notice-5660 [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 17:16 PritchettRobert506 [HIRING] 25 Jobs in MS Hiring Now!
Hey guys, here are some recent job openings in ms. Feel free to comment here or send me a private message if you have any questions, I'm at the community's disposal! If you encounter any problems with any of these job openings please let me know that I will modify the table accordingly. Thanks!
submitted by PritchettRobert506
to mississippijobs [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 17:02 Trick-Ad9660 My (38F) boyfriend and future fiancé (44M) won’t come visit my family with me. Even during a crisis.
TLDR: I always come spend time with his family no matter what - even if it’s uncomfortable or they treat me badly. He almost never comes with me despite my family pretty much worshipping him and me needing a bit more emotional support from him. We just had a death in the family and he’s refusing visit with me because he “doesn’t like the vibes”. I’ve told him I’m seriously doubting his commitment to me.
My Uncle just passed away under tragic circumstances. He’s refusing to come with me and saying he isn’t obliged to visit my family with me ever at all. We’ve been together 7 years and he says he wants us to get married and have children. He gets on very well with my family, they adore him. They even treat me better when he’s around. He is incredibly self centred when it comes to supporting me or visiting them. Members of my family keep asking me why I’m always there alone and my mother has started to feel disrespected that he wouldn’t come visit with me despite him being in town. I have to keep making excuses for him. Not only am I becoming embarrassed I’m starting to doubt his sincerity towards me and our relationship.
I’ll preface this by saying I’ve been to visit his family many many many times. There has been some occasions where a certain (extremely mentally ill) member of his family had been verbally abusive towards me, he didn’t have my back in these situations that were clearly not my fault. Although I appreciate and respect them, his family has caused me a notable amount of upset but A couple of times he’s admitted it was him causing conflict. For example: coming home drunk and acting abusive while I tried to sober him up and calm Him down. He then blamed me it for causing trouble with his mother. He apologised and admitted fault MUCH later on but it caused an insane amount of trouble. He seems to revert to acting like a child around his family and Ive told him I find it distressing and uncomfortable to be around. Despite things like this I still always come, always offer support and friendship because I was under the impression that these people are my future family also and I’m duty bound to treat them with kindness and respect.
I’d bought us a car because he was complaining he didn’t get to see his family enough. One day he awoke me to say his mother had taken ill and was in a coma. I awoke immediately- packed our bags. I booked hotels and transport. She died so helped his family arrange the funeral, even helped out buying everyone clothes to attend the funeral in. It cost me well over £1000 and I was there with him every step of the way.
Now I’ve just found out about the death of my uncle. He asked me to buy him another car. I said this time I will loan you the money but I’m return I’ll need you to take me to my family so I can help make arrangements. He said fine I’ll drop you off then leave. I said no please come with me for the day (I have many siblings and I’d like him to not only support me but also get some time in with my family as we’re supposed to be getting engaged. He said no. He can’t be bothered. I’m literally asking him to just be by my side through this - he shouted at me that it’s a waste of his time and he’d rather be doing something fun.
I have no words. I told him I’m saying to think about us splitting up over his selfishness and disrespect. I love him and want us to be together but I’m turning 39 this year. I don’t have time to plead with him to do the bare minimum. It seems like everything’s perfect but only as long as he always gets his own way and never has to make any effort. I honestly don’t understand why he’s behaving this way and I’m deeply upset. I’m going through a deep feeling of grief right now and thinking I’m going to have to leave the man I’m supposed to be marrying is starting to become an unbearable weight upon me. I don’t know what to do.
submitted by Trick-Ad9660
to relationships [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 16:36 s5ean1 The REAL s5ean of MicrosoftSoftwareSwap (Unlike the imposter, I have proof I'm real)
Feel free to add me on discord s5ean#9505 or Click Here to join my official discord server
Hey everyone, s5ean here. Yes, the real u/s5ean
and my main account u/s5ean
may be gone, but I'm still here to serve you, Please see post below for products and pricing. BEWARE OF THE USER Phrasedi AND HIS FRAUDULENT microsoftsoftwareswap website. This individual has gone out of his way to impersonate me to profit off my likeness. Unlike him, I still use same discord account I used when MicrosoftSoftwareSwap was still around. Since he likes to copy everything I post word for word, Id like to see him try to fake the Web Archive link below. Need proof I'm the real s5ean? Click Here. This is a web archive of my post on Microsoftsoftwareswap from back in August 2022 which shows the same discord name s5ean#9505, I do not use any other discord accounts. Web archive cannot be faked or altered in anyway, also visit s5ean.com for a short blog of what happened.
Please see post below if you'd like to purchase from me on reddit.
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Read the tables below for what you would like to purchase & click your payment method. Press Send in the opened page & you are done it is that easy! You will then be contacted shortly. Or Click here
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2023.06.01 16:28 Dance2TheRadio17 My Smiths Tier list.
2023.06.01 16:17 xtremexavier15 TSWT 25 (pt 1)
Boys: Ezekiel, Mal
Episode 25: Planes, Trains, and Hot Air Mobiles
"Last time, on Total Drama World Tour!" Chris opened as the plane icon was shown flying northward from Rapa Nui to Alberta, Canada on the season's world map, and the jumbo jet itself was shown blowing past a precariously-balanced boulder and knocking it off its perch. "Alberta! It'll blow you away!" The barren pit in Drumheller they'd visited was shown, as was Topher sitting in the electric chair. "How could this happen?!" the host asked angrily over a clip of the plane exploding in the distance.
"Well first, Mal and Izzy bickered the whole challenge about their moralities," the two were shown teasing each other, "and Ezekiel started to doubt if Topher even liked him or not," Both were talking to each other as they dug. "But Ezekiel was able to let go of his suspicions when Topher rescued him from being squished by a boulder," Topher was shown tackling Ezekiel and himself away from a boulder.
"And Izzy confirmed herself as being crazy with a heart of good before voting Mal off," Izzy was shown telling off Mal, followed by the final vote against him being read. "Dude sooo would've been a goner. Except Topher," the Chris wannabe was shown slipping on the pool of oil and the candles on the cake hit the oil, "demolished my plane!" The host was shown standing in the moonlit wreckage of the Total Drama Jumbo Jet, bringing an end to the recap montage.
"Did I mention we've got no ride now?" Chris asked, he and Chef now sitting in the remains of the cockpit in their usual piloting outfits, the sun now shining overhead. As the host spoke, Chef grabbed the control stick, looked shocked as it immediately detached, and threw it away with wide eyes. "BECAUSE TOPHER BLEW IT UP?!" Chris continued angrily, slamming his hands down on the broken console and standing up towards the camera.
He sat back down, pulled out a paper bag, and started to breath into it. After a few seconds he calmed down enough to stop hyperventilating, letting go of the bag and looking back at the camera. "Our Final Three are jetting to Hawaii...," he said as the series's capstone music began to play, "without a jet, so...get set for some other kind of race to the million, right here on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
The camera zoomed out as always, showing the morning sun over the wreckage of the plane that was now stranded in Drumheller, Alberta. The front part of the fuselage, which had been intact enough for Chris and Chef to use the cockpit, promptly fell off whatever had been supporting it.
"The hot tub with my name spelled out in Italian tiles...gone...," Chris muttered despairingly, the episode opening on a pan across the wreckage of the plane to where the host stood with Mal and Izzy near the remains of last night's campfire pit. "My monogrammed sneakers!...gone...," he added, looking at the two uncaring contestants. "My custom-calibrated stubble-trimmer," Izzy and Mal looked at each other in boredom, "gone..."
"Can we continue the game now?" Mal suggested.
"I agree," Izzy chimed in.
"As usual," Chris turned to them, "you two are thinking of nothing but yourselves."
He looked to the side as Ezekiel grunted with effort, then pushed a large sheet of broken metal away from the wreckage. "Could I get some help with this?" he asked the others.
"What about the bigger humanitarian crisis?" Chris asked. "How am I supposed to keep this face fresh," he pointed at his stubbled visage, "without my hyperbolic chamber?"
With another grunt of effort, Ezekiel leaned down and lifted a bald and scuffed Topher out of the wreckage on his back. "Good morning," Topher said woozily. "I've always wanted to be the one carrying someone down, but the roles are reversed."
"Why were you even in there?" Ezekiel asked as he dragged the boy away from the jet's remains.
"I think some more stuff fell on me while I was asleep," Topher guessed.
"The plane is busted," Ezekiel said. "Are you okay?"
"I am emotionally!" Topher answered, "but physically, my bones are broken."
Ezekiel groaned, then collapsed under Topher's weight.
"I know Topher did some underhanded things to stay in the game, but losing your hair on international television is worse than harming an animal in his world," Ezekiel confessed in the remains of the restroom confessional.
"Topher needs some medical assistance, but given that Chris is a windbag who's as cheap as Mr. Krabs, I'll be his nurse until he gets home!" Izzy declared in a superhero pose. "You can call me…" she put an orange mask over her eyes, "Doctor Izzy!"
The static cut away to show the camera focused on a wheelchair, pushed by a just-out-of-frame Izzy. "Here," she said as he reached Ezekiel and Topher and the shot zoomed out, "use this to help you." Ezekiel lifted the fanboy into the wheelchair, and Izzy put the hat from Rapa Nui onto Topher's head to cover his baldness.
"Does it make me look attractive?" Topher asked..
The shot cut to the wreckage and Chef pushed a giant metal box out into the open, earning an excited look from Chris. "Hey! My emergency kit! We're saved!" he declared, running towards the giant box with a hearty laugh. "That's right, kids," he turned back with a grin. "Get ready for surf, sun, and beauties in grass skirts, we're going to Hawaii!" He did a few short hula moves as the Final Three cheered.
"I know," Chris said as he walked over to Chef, "best host ever! Never doubt me." It was then that Chef pulled on the rope he'd been holding, causing the walls of the metal box to fall away and reveal the small red helicopter inside.
The four teens moved closer, and Mal was the first to speak. "That's a two-seater."
"That it is!" Chris replied happily. "Chef flies, I supervise."
"And we?" Mal followed up.
"Will be competing to get to the big island first, using only your wits, and whatever you find out here," Chris explained.
"But we're in the middle of nowhere!" Ezekiel complained.
"True," Chris told him, "so check these fancy dancy GPSes I'm generously giving you!" he said as he took a trio of walkie-talkies and GPS devices from the helicopter and tossed one each to each finalist.
Izzy raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the GPS; the screen showed a single yellow dot and nothing else around. "Middle of Nowhere, Alberta," she read before looking up. "It does work."
"Set 'em for Tijuana Beach," Chris told them. "It's right on the Mexican border. Now move it!" he commanded as the helicopter started up behind him. "Go! Go! Go!"
Ezekiel, Izzy, and Mal frantically entered the destination into their devices, and the shot moved over to a confused Topher. "Wait, what about me?" he asked the host.
"Make like you took the Drop of Shame," Chris answered angrily, standing in the doorway of the hovering helicopter, "and figure it out yourself!"
Topher gaped, then scowled.
"First he makes me do these dangerous challenges," Topher said in the ruined confessional, still in his wheelchair, "then he disqualifies me because I unintentionally blew up his plane, and now he's willing to leave me to fend for myself?"
He glared at the camera. "Chris really is a jerk. When I get home, I'm throwing out all of my Chris merchandise and everything related to him."
"Don't worry!" Chris called out to the Final Three, "you're all totally gonna make it!" The helicopter finally took off, leaving the four teens to watch in stunned silence for a few seconds.
Izzy was the first to make a move, turning and heading back into the wreckage with Topher right behind her. "If I was able to find a wheelchair in the wreckage," she reasoned, "maybe we can find something to get to Tijuana."
"Good idea!" Topher told her. "And did you say 'we'?"
"Duh," Izzy replied, looking back over a large piece of sheet metal. "I'm not going to leave you out here. I have to take care of you until you get to an actual doctor, and I can create something for both of us to ride on."
"Makes sense to me!" Topher smiled, and the two went back into the wreckage.
The camera cut to Mal and Ezekiel, watching nearby. "So, is this the part where you team up with me to make the finale?" Ezekiel asked sarcastically.
"No," Mal answered. "You'd obviously say no."
"That's right," Ezekiel huffed.
"I don't need you or Izzy. I've gotten here on my own," Mal gloated.
"You could've been eliminated in Africa or Drumheller, but something else happens to conveniently keep you in," Ezekiel retorted. "Don't count your eagles before they spot on red, white, and blue stripes!"
"That's the wrong expression, but I'm not even going to bother with a fool like you," Mal scoffed.
"The million dollars is in my grasp," Mal chuckled. "I'm gonna use the prize money to live like a real villain. In a tower. Preferably overlooking a volcano."
The camera zoomed in on his smiling face before diving deeper into his subconscious, where Mike and his personalities were standing in front of Mal's tower. On the top was Mal's sculptured head, the purple light coming out of his right eye. The camera panned down to feature the white horns spiking out of the tower and ground.
"Here we are. Welcome to the Tower of Mal," Manitoba presented the tower to the group.
"Uh, why ain't it guarded by bouncers or dogs or an ugly cat or something?" Vito asked.
"Mal just figured we'd never get this far," Svetlana deduced.
Mal looked at the poster on the wall featuring the silhouette head of Mal over five stick figures. "Check it out. This door's got five people on it."
"Five of us! This must be the right way!" Svetlana said.
Mike grabbed the handle and pulled. "C'mon, let's get-" he didn't get to finish since the door trampled him and his personalities.
"I knew it was too easy," Chester moaned.
The group of four hastily pushed the door with their strength. "Come on. Just a little... mo-!" Mike motivated, but they got crushed again. "Was everyone pushing their hardest?" Mike asked his alters.
"What? I got noodles for arms!" Chester defended.
"On three, everyone," Mike informed as they were going to free themselves again. "One... two..."
"Three!" everybody said at once, forcefully pushing the door on the opposite side of them. Once that was settled, they entered the tower, Vito carrying Chester along the way.
"Yes! Nothing can stop us!" Mike confidently spoke, only to see the number of stairs they'd have to walk up with a groan.
"I'm going off now," Mal said into his walkie talkie while walking away. "I do not wish you good luck! I wish for your downfall!"
"And I wish you could just leave the game already," Ezekiel retorted.
"You know, I can turn you off right now," Mal shot back.
"And I'm going to beat you to it!" Ezekiel cut the radio feed off by pressing the button. "Much better," he said. "He was only distracting me. Now to get to that million dollars. As soon as I find a way to get there..." He looked around a bit, then started walking in the same direction Mal had gone.
The scene moved to the wreckage of the first class cabin, where Izzy and Topher were searching through the rubble.
Izzy pulled out a large inflatable raft...with a hole in it. "Zodiac?" she said, putting it down. "Bicycle?" she said, pulling out a rusty bicycle...that promptly lost its front wheel. "Unicycle?" she said. She tossed the broken bike away, then sighed sadly. "None of this trash will get us to Hawaii," she told Topher.
"Obviously," Topher said. "I found this seat belt, meal tray, and parachute!" he held up the first item he listed.
Izzy's eyes widened in realization. "Topher, you are very helpful!"
"Really?" Topher said, the seat belt now wrapped around his head.
Another scene change took the focus to a large rock formation as Mal hauled himself up from behind it to get a better look. He smirked to himself as he looked down at the other side of the formation. "What do we have here?" The perspective moved over his shoulder to show the plane's wreckage, and more importantly two interns with a caged baby panda outside a truck. The camera zoomed in as the interns picked up the cage and loaded it onto the truck.
"Following that panda will be my ticket to victory!" Mal dropped back down behind the rock.
The camera cut to the blazing midday sun, then panned down onto Ezekiel. The homeschooler was walking through the cactus-filled desert with his eyes locked on to his GPS, until he suddenly tripped and fell over something.
"Ugh!" he said, the camera moving down to show him lying on train tracks. "What kind of nimrod leaves train tracks in the middle of nowhere?"
He looked to his right, and spotted a building and windmill next to the tracks off in the distance. "Trains!" he repeated with excitement.
The scene flashed to a head-on view of the truck, a walkie-talkie switching on inside it. "Attention 'competitors'," Mal announced, the shot cutting inside to show a monkey, baby panda, baby seal, and book-reading bear sitting in cages listening to the nearby malevolent one talk, "I am traveling south at 90 kilometers per hour. In other words, you all should give up."
Just as he ended his message, a caged sasquatch behind him reached out and pulled him into a kiss. He immediately pushed away and recoiled in disgust, but lost his balance as he backed up and tripped into an open crate...the lid of which promptly closed on top of him.
"When I get out of here, it is not going to be pretty!" Mal said over the walkie-talkie.
The camera cut back outside as he made his declaration, showing the trucking driving away and honking its horn.
Another flash took the focus to Chris and Chef in the helicopter, the camera quickly cutting in for a close-up of the host's master GPS device. It showed three dots moving along a simple roadmap: a yellow dot unmoving in the upper right; a blue dot on the road approaching it, and a red dot further behind unmoving on the same road.
"Ezekiel's ahead but stalled," Chris commented with a gleeful smile over his own walkie-talkie, "and the yeti's new boyfriend is quickly catching up! But Izzy can't seem to get her butt in gear."
The camera flashed to a shot of a deployed parachute, then panned to the right as Izzy was heard explaining "I just moderate the flow of fuel," as the pan ended on her pulling a lever on an orange fuel barrel, making a small flame appear, "and that balloon will go up or down."
"But you need a basket!" Topher replied. "If there was any grass," he said while looking around, "you could weave one."
"All I need is a chair," Izzy said thoughtfully. "And one with arms."
"I'm sitting in a chair with arms," Topher said. "Just sit in my lap and you're gold. My bones are broken, but it'll be worth it to stop Mal."
"Wow. You really aren't as self-centered as I thought you were," Izzy commented. "You're really willing to let me be in your wheelchair?"
"Are you really willing to lose the race?" Topher asked. "Now come on! We've got a beach to get to!"
Izzy smiled. "Let's go!"
Whoops and hollers of excitement were heard as the footage skipped forward, showing the makeshift hot air balloon in flight tied to the wheelchair. Topher was sitting in the chair, with Izzy in his lap and holding her walkie-talkie.
"Attention boys!" she said into it. "Izzy is flying sky high! I repeat! This girl is airborne!" she said as the balloon ascended off-camera.
"Airborne?" Ezekiel repeated, the scene cutting to him walking down the aisle of a train's passenger car and stopping in front of a young white woman dressed in black typing on a laptop. He sat down in the seat opposite the woman in black. "Is this seat taken?" Matthew asked the woman upon noticing her stare, prompting the woman in black to return to her work.
"Okay," Ezekiel muttered, sitting at the booth and grabbing a newspaper that was on the table.
The camera moved to the window behind them, showing a certain truck driving past. Cutting outside, the truck was shown dumping its cages and crates into a cargo car of the train, and Mal could be heard yelling in alarm from his wooden prison.
"Too bad he turned off his walkie talkie right before this update!" Chris said over his walkie-talkie as the scene cut back to the helicopter. "Advantage, Mal."
Back down below, the train let out a burst of steam and started moving. It blew its whistle, and the scene cut back to the car Ezekiel was in, now looking up and down the aisle with confused eyes.
"Hello, passengers!" an unfamiliar male voice came over the train's intercom system, immediately gaining Ezekiel's attention. "And welcome to this non-stop trip to Mexico!"
"Yes!" the home-schooled guy cheered. "In your face!"
The woman in black gave him a questioning look, to which Ezekiel replied "That wasn't directed at you!" The woman in black wasn't impressed.
Back outside again, the camera zoomed in on a boxcar, then cut inside to show the caged Total Drama animals... and the smaller wooden crate that Mal promptly and finally burst out of. "Finally," he groaned as he took in a breath of fresh air; kissy faces from the nearby sasquatch earned another groan and a quick spit and mouth-wiping.
"Now to end Ezekiel's trip here," he declared, standing up and stepping out of the crate. "Wherever here is," he added, looking around the room.
He made his way to a nearby doorway, but stopped upon hearing a dog-like whine from inside another crate. He opened it, and recoiled in shock when Ezekiel Clone lifted his head out of the crate.
"How did you get here?" Mal asked in wide-eyed disbelief, and the Clone muttered something unintelligible. "If you promise to act right, I will release you."
A flash took the scene back to Topher and Izzy, still sailing through the sky. "Stop giving it so much fuel!" Topher said to his companion.
"I'll do that after you stop pinching my body!" Izzy shot back.
"I'm sorry, but I want to survive!" Topher argued.
"So do I, but I'm not being a whiny pants about it!" Izzy sniped.
"LOOK OUT!" Topher cried in alarm as he pointed ahead of them, and the viewpoint changed to show that they were quickly approaching a certain red helicopter.
Izzy and Topher screamed in alarm, then Chris and Chef screamed in the helicopter, then Izzy and Topher screamed again, then Chris and Chef, and finally the helicopter swooped under while the balloon ascended, the two airborne groups safely passing each other.
"Um, Izzy? Bra?" Chris asked into his walkie talkie.
"Watch where you're going!" Izzy shouted.
"Are you sitting on Topher's lap?" Chris followed up, the helicopter moving to keep pace next to the newly-annoyed teens.
"So what?" Izzy replied.
"We've already got one cling-on named Ezekiel Clone," Chris continued. "We do not need two."
"Cling-on?!" Topher exclaimed in outrage. "Give me that walkie talkie!" he yelled as he tried to snatch the radio from Izzy.
"You said we could use whatever the heck we found back at the crash site," Izzy smugly told him.
Chef nodded, and Chris smirked. "Hey, it's your funeral," he told her.
He ended his broadcast there, just as a message came over the helicopter's radio. "Attention, an extreme weather warning has been issued for all aircraft," the voice announced.
Chris shut off the radio, then turned to Chef. "I should probably warn them," the host said, holding a smile for a second or two before he and his assistant burst out in laughter.
"Who knew winning could be so easy?" Ezekiel said to himself.
"Tickets, please! Tickets!" an unseen man called out, quickly earning Ezekiel's attention.
The announcement was answered by a more familiar voice, explaining "You see, my brother is not a wild animal. He's just a really crazy fool." The shot cut to Mal, standing before a conductor and holding Ezekiel Clone's hoodie as the clone sniffed at the conductor and bared his teeth.
It was then that Ezekiel saw them; immediately locking eyes with Mal in a horizontal split-screen.
"You!" the two exclaimed at the same time.
Mal let Ezekiel Clone go. Ezekiel turned and ran away, and his clone chased after him with Mal following behind.
"So I bought all of Chris's wigs at an auction!" Topher was saying as the scene cut back to them in the balloon. "I could have used that money to buy myself new clothes!" he finished.
The camera zoomed in on the two. "I do not know why you even idolized him!" Izzy exclaimed.
"I admired his hosting skills and charisma, but I'm done with him after that plane explosion," Topher claimed.
Izzy nodded happily before turning around and looking alarmed. "If we don't move now, we're going to get killed!" she screamed as they flew into a very dark and ominous mass of clouds. A bolt of lightning flashed as they disappeared from view, and the shot cut down to the top of the train as Ezekiel slowly backed up along the roof of a car.
"You won't push me off a speeding train, would you?" he asked as Mal advanced menacingly into the shot.
"I threw Owen off the plane in Jamaica and threw Cody off the cliff in Australia," Mal said as Ezekiel reached the edge of his current car and nervously looked over his shoulder at the gap to the next one. "I have no limits."
"Duncan, Sky, and the others have every right to hate you," Ezekiel said.
"Of course they do!" Mal claimed, advancing enough for Ezekiel to turn and hop to the next car of the train. He nearly lost his balance on the landing, but recovered quickly enough to turn around and proudly face down Mal over the gap. "You were too distracted with impressing Sadie and being cool to even see me coming!"
"But I still made it as far as I did!" Ezekiel replied.
A clap of thunder echoed ominously, and the sky opened up in a downpour of hail. Ezekiel, who'd started backing away again, slipped on one of the icy pellets and fell on his butt with a pained grunt.
Up in the clouds, Izzy and Topher were also being battered by the elements, screaming as they struggled to keep their balloon aloft in the wind and ice.
The hail rained down upon the windshield of the helicopter as well, but it only elicited a hearty laugh from the host and pilot. "Uh-oh. Will the game be called on account of deadly weather?" he asked the camera following him. "Will anyone be left to take home the million? Find out right after this break, on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
Lightning flashed right outside the helicopter, earning a panicked yelp from Chris.
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2023.06.01 15:46 IntroductionLeft7009 TIL a funeral home in Michigan has a drive-thru. You can view the deceased through a window and pay your respects. There is also a registry book and a memorial box for dropping off cards
2023.06.01 15:31 IdontEVENknowMYdude AITA for telling my future SIL to not marry my brother?
This is a whole mess of a story, but I’m going to try my best to make it cohesive. For some background, my half brother is 33. His gf/fiancée is 23. I am 25.
My brother is a grade-a psychopath. He will use you until there is nothing left and then throw you to the side. He is on domestic violence registry, sex offender registries, public databases in three states warning of violent crimes. All this to say, he’s a bad dude. I haven’t spoken to him in almost five years because my entire family had to disown him. His additions were getting out of hand and his theft was starting to affect all of us. The last straw was when he attacked my parents because they wouldn’t let him move back in. He didn’t want help, he wanted enablers.
My mom passed away a few months ago. It was the first time I’d spoken to him since the events mentioned above. I found out he has a girlfriend who has full intentions to marry him. Their wedding is set for October. It freaked me out that this woman is ten years younger than him, but that’s neither here nor there. I met her at my mom’s funeral and when we had a second alone, I told her to not marry him. That he is violent and unpredictable. That he has two children he’s never met. He’s manipulative and scary when he’s angry. He’s stalked women, he’s broken into their homes and destroyed all of their stuff after they broke up. That he’s violated so many restraining orders because he takes them as a challenge.
She said he’s changed. That she wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior. I sighed, but moved on. I tried to warn her just like I had tried to warn the past three women that he’s dated. Rose colored glasses and all that.
When I told my stepdad and his mom, they had different opinions. My step dad said it wasn’t really fair to bring all that up at our mom’s funeral because maybe my brother had changed. He is over 30 now and we hadn’t talked to him for years. He said it was kind of an asshole thing to do. My grandma disagrees and thinks it’s only fair she know what she’s getting into.
I recently found out the woman’s is having a baby girl. She is very excited and I’m happy for her, but I’m worried. My brother hasn’t been been charged with any crimes against children, but I know he’s committed them. I very purposefully made myself the “child watcher” for kids at family functions so he never had the chance to be alone with anyone. Even at my mom’s own funeral, I played with the kids out back almost the whole time so I could keep an eye on them. Because of this, I again warned the woman to please be careful. That her daughter needs to be first priority and if ANYTHING fishy happens, please leave.
I brought this convo up to my stepdad and he said the same thing—that I’m going too far, that I worry too much, that I’m not giving him the chance to change.
It’s a sticky fucking situation and idk what to do, but am I going too far? Am I the asshole? I just don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.
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2023.06.01 15:15 CallMeStarr I'm the Host of a Terrifying Game Show: Let's Make a Deal with the Devil
Season 2 Finale
“You look worried Bruce,” my producer jokes, moments before going live. “Even for you.”
This gets a chuckle from the crew.
“Quiet on the set!”
I’m already shaking in my shoes. Not a good sign. Working for the Devil is extremely stressful. And dangerous. And certainly not for the faint of heart. Why I took this gig is beyond me.
(Cue creepy music)
“Going live in five…four…three…”
I get the nod.
(Cut to camera one)
“Greetings Hell Beings and hell raisers. Welcome to the Season 2 finale of….”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
I wave my arms in the air.
The audience jumps to their feet.
“Alright. Knock it off.”
I serve up my best game show-host grin. It looks as fake as this cheap Hollywood studio.
“As you probably know, my name is Bruce Davie, and I’m the host of…”
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
There’s a disturbance in the audience. A crew member forcefully removes someone. The commotion settles, and I get the go-ahead.
“Phew! A feisty crowd tonight!”
My painted-on smile takes up the entire screen. So does my gleaming bald head.
“Now I know what you’re thinking. What’s the Devil got in store for us this evening?”
The audience rumbles.
“Honestly, I wish I knew!”
This is true. But I’m sure it has something to do with me spending an eternity in Hell. It’s right there in my contract, which runs out after this episode.
(Cut to camera two)
“So, without further ado, let’s bring out tonight’s contestants, shall we?”
The audience roars.
“And yes, you heard me correctly. Tonight, for the first time ever in this show’s defamatory history, we’ve got two contestants!”
Audience is on their feet, whooping and hollering.
(Cut to camera three)
A middle-aged couple promenade towards the podium. They’re dressed like cowboys, and walk with a sense of purpose.
“Welcome, both of you.”
More like: Welcome to your funeral.
“Tell us a wee bit about yourselves, why don’t you?”
(Cut to camera four)
The woman speaks first. Her hair is amber, her complexion as pale as light beer.
“Well, Bruce. My name is Tammy. I’m a stay-at-home mom. This here’s my partner, Tex. He owns his own gun shop. We live in Austin Texas, with three beautiful children, who are with us here tonight.”
(Cut to overhead camera)
Two tall boys and a young girl, each dressed head-to-toe in denim, stand and bow.
The audience applauds.
The other contestant approaches the microphone. He’s as tall as an ivory tower, with a voice like a banjo.
“Howdy Bruce. Good to be here.”
He tilts his cowboy hat. His square jaw and rugged good looks give Chuck Norris a run for his money.
I salute them.
(Cut to camera two)
“Well then, now that we’re finished with the formalities, I do believe it’s time to…”
“BRING OUT THE DEVIL.”
(Cue creepy music)
The stage fills with fire and brimstone. Pentagrams slice through the air. The Devil appears suddenly, dressed in a shiny new devil suit, tailored specifically for tonight’s show. It’s jet-black, and leaves little to the imagination. His pitchforked tail follows closely behind him as he approaches the podium.
(Cut to Camera five)
The Devil wraps his arms around the two contestants, kisses them both on the cheek.
Tex, clearly perturbed, winces, then grudgingly wipes his cheek.
The Devil snarls, then looks him up and down.
“Looks like everything isn’t bigger in Texas,” the Devil teases. Suddenly, he’s grown over eight-feet tall, and is looming over the tall Texan.
(Cut to camera three)
The bright lights and furious makeup make me look like a cartoon.
“What an exciting night this promises to be!”
Tammy steps forward.
“You bet it is, Bruce. We’ve watched every episode. We just love…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
(Cut to camera three)
“Of course!” Damion boasts. “This is Hell’s most popular show. And for good reason.”
He slaps the woman’s backside with his tail, then raises his eyebrows mockingly.
The cowboy puffs out his chest, fists clenched, daring him to touch his wife again.
“Woah, easy there pardner.”
Damion nudges Tex.
Tammy is flushed. “Don’t mind Tex. He’s the jealous kind.”
Damion’s tail is now shaped like a lasso. With it, he snags Tammy and pulls her close. Her face turns tomato-red.
The cowboy grunts, pulling it off with one strong swoop.
The audience boos.
The Devil snickers.
I feel sick. If this is to be my last episode (or final day on Earth), I don’t want it spoiled by this denim-clad dude whose hat is bigger than his brains, or by Damion, who seems extra feisty tonight. Even for him.
(Cut to camera one)
I clear my throat.
“Tell us, Tammy and Tex…no, tell all of Hell…what it is your beating hearts desire?”
The audience is on the edge of their seats.
The Texans exchange doubtful looks.
The wife takes charge.
“Well Bruce,” Tammy says. “We don’t want anything that might get us killed. Being from Dallas, we were raised with some common sense.”
The audience hisses.
(Cut to camera five)
The husband steps up.
“That’s right, Bruce. Simply put, we want to be famous for a day. That’s it. Then we can write a book and live off the royalties.”
The audience erupts into a frenzy of catcalls.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil’s eyebrows touch the top of his head. His voice slithers like a snake.
“Is that so?”
My heart plummets. These Texans are flirting with disaster. If they’d stuck to the script, they might be safe. They were supposed to ask for a lifetime’s supply of Super Bowl tickets. Easy-peasy. Who do these cowpokes think they are? Do they really think they can outsmart the Devil?
“Well then,” I say, shakily. “I’m sure Damion can arrange that.”
I raise my arms.
“What does the audience think?”
The audience goes ballistic.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil, still towering over the Texans, leans into the camera.
His lips smack against his face. When he touches the dude’s shoulder, the cowboy swipes his arm away.
The audience boos. Someone tosses an egg onto the podium, narrowly missing the contestants.
“Woah! Easy does it!” I spurt out.
All hell breaks loose.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The crew gets busy, disposing of both the egg and the agitator.
(Cut to camera one)
I wipe my sweaty forehead.
The audience hoots.
The Devil sneers.
Flames flash across the room.
People shriek, including me.
(Close up of Damion)
The Devil, boasting his gambler’s grin, turns to the contestants.
“Yes, yes. You WILL be famous. But just for one day.”
The audience roars their approval.
I shudder. Never in all my years, have I felt so much animosity from an audience. I’ll be lucky to make it out alive.
“Sounds like the Devil has a plan.”
I try to sound cheerful. But cheerfulness is the opposite of how I feel.
(Cut to camera one)
“Tell us Damion…and all of Hell…what you’ve got cooked up?”
The audience leans in.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil winks at Tammy.
“Well, I do believe it’s time for those two cowpokes to become famous. Am I correct?”
The audience jumps to their feet, chanting: “FAMOUS.… FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.…”
Tammy looks pleased. Her partner, on the other hand, is showing concern. His shoulders are tense, he’s swallowed his bottom lip.
Damion dazzles the audience.
“Famous, y’all shall be.”
He snaps his fingers.
The studio goes dark.
Someone in the audience screams.
(Cut to camera one)
Is this Damion’s latest trick? Or did they finally cut the power? We give the impression that this show is hugely popular; but in truth, outside of Hell, this show is a dud. Cable and internet companies avoid us like the plague.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestants vanish under a cloud of fog.
A flaming pentagram floats across the stage.
“Well, isn’t that just dandy!”
The Devil points to the large screen behind the audience.
“Mister and Missus Cowpoke are about to jump the falls!”
He snaps his fingers, then he disappears.
My legs go weak. My heart is beating irregularly again. I still don’t know he does it. How any of this works. Suddenly, I’m alone on stage, shaking in my fine Italian boots, while the audience grows rowdier by the second.
Cameras mounted on drones are pointed at Tammy and Tex, who are trapped inside a large, steel barrel, with Niagara Falls looming below them.
Damion flies across the falls, lands next to Tammy and Tex. He taps the barrel.
“Ain’t she a beauty?”
The audience hurrahs.
The barrel is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Although it’s huge, and probably weighs a ton, it barely contains the two Texans, who are kicking and screaming, cursing up a storm.
“Get me the hell out of here!” Tammy’s voice rips through the noise of the falls. “NOW!”
“You wanted to be famous. Am I right?”
The audience chants, “FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.… FAMOUS….”
Tex pokes his head out of the barrel, cowboy hat and all.
“Now wait one minute, Damion. That’s unfair. We wanted fame. Not death.”
The Devil chuckles.
“The two are synonymous, am I right?”
The audience agrees.
Damion checks his watch.
He slams the lid shut.
That’s the end of the Texans, as far as I’m concerned.
(Close up of Damion)
“Whatcha think? Should they jump the falls?”
The audience shouts, “JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP….”
(Cut to camera two)
My insides are melting. I’m petrified. You’d think working with the Devil would get easier over time. You’d be dead wrong.
“Looks like the people have spoken!” I hear myself say.
The audience continues their chant.
(Cut to overhead camera)
“Excellent,” Damion says, fiddling his fingers.
He looks over the cliff, and makes a sour face.
“Wowsers. That’s a long way down!”
“JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP….”
“And so much water!”
(Cut to camera one)
My worried-sick face appears on the screen.
I straighten up.
“Once they jump, Tam and Tex will surely be famous!”
Except of course, they won’t be famous. Not in this world anyways. They’ve been duped. Why these people sign up to die is beyond me. Perhaps we’ve reached a spectacular level of stupidity in human evolution.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion’s lips stretch across his reddened face, his arms flex like a weightlifter.
“I’ll give them a helping hand.”
He rolls the giant barrel to the very edge of the cliff, ignoring the banging and hollering coming from within the steel coffin.
“Tammy, Tex…” His lips stretch into a snarl. “Prepare for fame!”
The audience is on their feet.
Damion shoves the barrel over the edge.
The barrel tumbles down the falls, disappearing into the fast-moving water.
The audience holds its breath.
(Cut to spy camera)
Inside the barrel, the Texans are shrieking. Their heads and arms and legs collide. Chunks of puke pour across Tammy’s sickening face, who’s calling Tex every name in the book, and it’s a big book. Meanwhile, Tex is like a frog in a blender. His face is green, his nose is broken; blood is leaking from every orifice.
There’s a loud crash as the barrel plunders underwater.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The barrel resurfaces, traveling dangerously downstream.
The audience is back on their feet, fist-pumping.
What troubles me is how the pedestrians and tourists, crowding the streets, remain oblivious. To them, this is nothing out of the ordinary. Nobody watches, or even takes a pic. I’m starting to suspect foul play. Somehow, Damion is controlling this. He’s using dark magic. A spell. Maybe none of this is real. Except of course, it is real.
(Cut to camera one)
“What a jump!” my voice ricochets off the studio walls. “They’ll be famous in no time!”
The audience chants:
“FAMOUS…. FAMOUS…. FAMOUS….”
(Closeup of the Devil)
“Yes, yes. An excellent jump, I must say.”
He peaks over the edge.
“Looks like they could use some help.”
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion flies towards the barrel, which is bouncing off rocks and debris.
(Cut to spy camera)
Blood. So much blood in such a tight space. Tammy’s hair is in disarray. Her face is beyond repair. Tex swallowed his hat. One of his eyeballs is bouncing like a Superball. His left arm is flapping nonsensically. It isn’t attached.
(Cut to camera four)
The Devil scoops up the barrel, then flies to shore. When his feet touch the ground, he shakes off the water, cat-like, then glares at the camera.
“What a jump!”
He cranks open the lip.
Tammy spills out. So does Tex’s left arm.
The audience gasps.
“Such valor and swagger!”
(Cut to camera five)
Tammy is flopping fish-like, barely clinging to life. Her mouth is full of blood and brains.
The Devil puts his foot on her head.
From out of nowhere, a photographer appears.
Damion, looking pleased with himself, is suddenly holding a newspaper.
(Closeup of newspaper)
The headline splashes across the screen: IDIOTS JUMP THE FALLS.
(Cut to camera four)
Damion shoves the newspaper in front of her face.
“Looks like Tammy and Tex are famous.”
Tammy's eyes twitch. Clearly, she needs medical assistance. I’m surprised she’s still alive. Her husbands brains are splattered across the inside of the barrel.
The very sight of this makes me gag.
Tammy tries to speak, but fails. Her eyes are filled with rage.
Damion tosses the leftover arm into the water, then shrugs.
“Sorry about your hubby.”
(Cut to camera two)
With wobbly knees, I face the audience.
“Looks like the barrel got the best of Tex!”
The audience bellows.
I continue to talk involuntarily.
“Gosh dolly. Look at all that blood!”
“MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD….”
I find myself chanting along.
Suddenly, my vision blurs. I clutch my chest. Maybe I’ll suffer a heart attack on live TV. Hell waits for no one, I suppose.
(Cut to camera four)
Tammy spits blood on Damion’s boot.
“Devil be damned.” I blurt.
Damion’s face twists into a ball of fury.
“Now, now, Tammy. That wasn’t very nice.”
He crushes her fingers with his boots.
“I was gonna save your long-limbed partner over there,” he points. “Not anymore!”
The audience is bloodthirsty. Paper airplanes and rotten eggs whizz past me. I duck just in time.
(Closeup of contestant)
Tammy’s tongue is leaking from her bloodied face. She’s missing her front teeth. Damion digs his spiky heel deep into her blood-soaked abdomen.
“I reckon you’ll need medical assistance.”
He snaps his fingers.
Suddenly, they're back in the studio.
Damion is as happy as a filthy pig. Next to him is Tammy, who’s caked in blood and gore. Her corpse-of-a-husband spills from the gigantic steel barrel, taking center stage.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestant’s children rush the stage. They’re delirious.
The crew hurry out and drag them aside, along with Tammy, who's rushed to the hospital, where she will certainly die.
“Now that’s what I call speedy service!”
My voice appalls me. So does this job. If only I’d listened to my mother, and got into politics.
Damion snaps his finger, then disappears under a plume of dusty smoke.
(Cut to camera one)
“Well, there you have it folks. That’s the last you’ll see of Tammy and Tex. But fret not, they had their moment of fame…in Hell!”
The audience is tossing trash onto the stage.
I narrowly dodge a projectile.
“Hope you’ve enjoyed Season Two as much as I did.”
I hated it.
“And, unless the Devil strikes me down,” and he very-well might, “I hope to see you this Fall, for Season Three of…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.” Season Two Season One
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