Gym locker room spy

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https://preview.redd.it/td82zcllsxn51.jpg?width=318&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=05a6f4dae8c0df7d4fd1616c420063633d476845
submitted by PhatA18Sepl to u/PhatA18Sepl [link] [comments]


2020.09.05 17:44 throwRAfaketrans A student in my gym class is pretending to be trans to spy on the other girls in the locker room

I(15f) recently started school again and in my gym class there is a a student who claims to be trans but prefers male pronouns and has a male name. They dont even dress like a girl and when we are changing in the locker room I have noticed them watching other girls change. When me and a few others reported it to the principal we were put in detention for discrimination. It’s obvious to a lot of kids that the student is likely faking being trans to be able to watch us in the locker rooms. Almost all the girls in gym class are uncomfortable with the student, what can I do to try and get the principal to believe us?
submitted by throwRAfaketrans to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.06.08 14:17 RebelTheAnomaly Gym locker room spy

A continuation from my old post. Basically, a mansion that was touched by the omniversal being known as The Shrouded King and now acts as a nexus of rooms throughout the multiverse, created for my Call of Cthulhu campaign. Feel free to use it if you need an endless maze of rooms.
1: Triangulum
2: Van Gogh's Exhibition
3: Identity Storeroom
4: Chemistry Labs
5: Author's Room
6: Pigeon Room
7: VFX Room
8: Health Care Administration
9: The Noxious Depths
10: Engineering Room
11: Producer's Office
12: Room of Novels
13: Board Game Parlor
14: Tiki Parlor
15: Room of Glass Eyes
16: Room of Iron Cubes
17: Handkerchiefs
18: Roots Island
19: Sea of Roses
20: Dark Town
21: Corrupted Sea
22: Theatre
23: Harvey Island
24: Seasons Peak
25: Cabin
26: Chapel
27: Mill
28: Sea of Enlightenment
29: Lakeside Hotel
30: The End
31: Flaming Pits
32: Butterfly Garden
33: Fishing Supplies
34: Twiggy Room
35: Strung Room
36: Glass Cups Table
37: Pit of Water
38: Darkswarm
39: Dollhouses Room
40: Submarine
41: Room of Blood
42: Burning Room
43: Life Room
44: Red Room
45: Papyrophile's Room
46: Room of Many Faces
47: Giant Box
48: Room covered in pins
49: Room with music notes on the wall
50: Silver Office
51: Knife Collection
52: Dragonfruit Garden
53: Pit of Spoons
54: Insects Room
55: Boxing Gym
56: Dance Studio
57: Cave of Fireflies
58: Dominoes Room
59: Bizarre Bar
60: Parlor of Wine Glasses
61: Room of Cubes
62: Puppet Theater
63: Small Bedroom
64: Guns Room
65: Anatomist's Study
66: Iron Cage
67: Messy Library
68: Gears Chamber
69: Fishing Rod Room
70: Closet of Wires
71: Maggot Cave
72: Heist
73: Room of Hooks
74: Shrimp Reservoir
75: Shrimp Head's Room
76: Worm Pit
77: Magnetics Room
78: Fisheries
79: Apple Orchard
80: Moldy Room
81: Eye Room
82: Room of Chests
83: Coin Vault
84: Royal Jewels
85: Shell Mounds
86: Spring Room
87: Summer Room
88: Fall Room
89: Winter Room
90: Pawn Shop
91: Radio Room
92: Aviary
93: Pots and Pans
94: Bird Food Storage
95: Woodshed
96: Egg Storage Bay
97: Boiling Hot Tub
98: The last room but it's filled with eggs
99: Black Cube
100: Lookout Balcony
101: Murder Toolshed
102: Plugs Room
103: Murder Museum
104: Postboard
105: Patchwork Room
106: Hatchet Shed
107: Blueprints Room
108: Blue Room
109: Room of Clocks
110: Room of Coat Hangers
111: Kid's Garden
112: Seeds Lab
113: Room of Candles
114: Tool Closet
115: Old Pharmacy
116: Cactus Farm
117: Mushroom Cave
118: Flower Garden
119: Fruit Juicery
120: Flower Juicery
121: Prozac Juicery
122: Mushroom Juicery
123: Absinthe Cellar
124: Hats Room
125: Painting Room
126: Room of Elaborate Spoons
127: Sugar Castle
128: Sunflower Field
129: Artist's Room
130: Room of Ears
131: Giant Water Pitcher
132: Closet of Brushes
133: Room of Paintbrushes
134: Room full of Wine Bottles
135: Revolver Rob's Room
136: Measuring Room
137: White Room
138: Black Room
139: Murder Scene
140: Psitaccus Room
141: Room of Labels
142: Room covered in Flies
143: Folder Storage
144: Room of Fate
145: Coffee Room
146: Map Room
147: Pit of Razors
148: Compost Pit
149: School Supply Closet
150: Room with Numbers scraped into the Wall
151: Crow's Nest
152: Renaissance Galleria
153: Room with a weird bust
154: Bird's Eye View
155: Oil Rig
156: Inkwell
157: Cardiac Cell
158: Cockney Theater
Expenguin's Ideas
159: Obsidian Ballroom (The dark rock walls and floor soak in nearly all the light within the room, making for a very comfortable dancing space when magically lit)
160: Scrying Parlor (a place used to peek into the future, almost exclusively used to entertain guests)
161: Room of holes (recesses, stacked in the walls, each containing an object, or perhaps nothing at all)
162: Drop-Floor Boxing Room (A room situated with a boxing arena in the middle, when the lights go out, a switch can be pulled either under the curtain of the arena, or in a side area which will drop out the floor, dispensing the fighters into a holding area below. Ample seating for viewing fights)
163: Hidden Surgery Room (The owner uses this room to patch up and assess fighters / the wounded, neatly hidden from view of the common areas, can only be reached via the drop-floor boxing ring or perhaps a secret entrance elsewhere)
My own
164: Upstairs
165: The Wheel
166: Well of Memories
167: River
168: Gilded Dentistry
169: Room flooded with Liquid Gold
170: Indoor Lawn
171: Room of Needles
172: Hairy Room
173: Dairy Kitchen
174: Room with a single oven, stuffed with oven mitts
WorldOfIdeas
175: A giant ball pit
176: A glass room levitating 2000ft off the ground
177: Air Traffic Control Tower
178: Alien Zoo with creatures from around the multiverse
179: Bat Cave
180: Brick Oven Pizzeria
181: Cargo Container
182: Changing Room of (clothing store / pool / sexy clothing store / sports arena / theater)
183: Class Room
184: Clock Tower Room
185: Computer Server Room
186: Empty Room
187: Endless Library
188 Evidence Lockup Room
189 Giant's Room - pick or roll another room and scale it up for giants. high ceilings and giant furniture.
190 Halfling's Room - pick or roll another room and scale it down for halflings. low ceilings and small furniture.
191 Hotel Room
192 Ice Cream Parlor
193 Maintenance room
194 Map Room
195 Movie Projection Room
196 Observatory with a giant telescope
197 Planetarium
198 Ship's Bridge of (dirigible / fantasy airship / modern sea ship / sailing ship / space ship / spelljammer ship)
199 Ship's Captains Quarters of (dirigible / fantasy airship / modern sea ship / sailing ship / space ship / spelljammer ship)
200 Ship's Cargo hold of (dirigible / fantasy airship / modern sea ship / sailing ship / space ship / spelljammer ship)
201 Ship's Galley of (dirigible / fantasy airship / modern sea ship / sailing ship / space ship / spelljammer ship)
202 Ship Wreck of (dirigible / fantasy airship / modern sea ship / sailing ship / space ship / spelljammer ship)
203 Spaceport Cantina
204 Spy Room - Has 1000s of panels that can be moved to revel peepholes into other rooms
205 Stairwell
206 Target Range
207 Teachers Lounge
208 Terminal (airplane / dirigible / train / spaceship / subway)
209 Tree House - inside a tree house in a tall tree
210 Undersea Dome
211 Utility Tunnel (electrical, steam, water, pipes)
212 Wax Museum
213 Western Saloon
214 WW2 Bomb Shelter / Air Raid Shelter
TonahVilla
215 Dance hall
216 A room were the center piece is a miniature version of the room you're in, complete with a miniature dolls of the people in it and a miniature version on the miniature room centerpiece. if someone put the hand inside the miniature room a gigant hand enters the room.
217 Omelette specialize kitchen
218 Tickle room
219 Kinder garden room
220 Kinder harvesting room
221 Kinder processing room
222 Storage for canned children room
223 Computer lab room
224 Origami room
LogicalHexer
225 A small zoo.
226 A drafting / architecture room.
227 A room with a bath and a variety of scented candles.
228 Colliseum.
229 A copy of another room but upside down.
230 A room with a mouse.
231 A small cafe.
232 A cold room for ice and such.
233 Wine cellar.
234 An ornate bedroom with a wonderfully comfortable bed.
235 Goblin poker ring.
More of my own
236: Colorful Hall
237: Mall Food Court
238: An outdoor area out behind some out of place condos.
239: An empty room with floral wallpaper
240: School Exit
241: Sewer Reservoir
242: Empty apartment
243: Pink Playground
244: Empty Airport Terminal
245: Model Town
246: Pink and Blue hallway
247: Checkered floor hallway with red drapes over all the walls
248: Vacant Schoolyard
249: Stonebridge
250: Arcade with only a Claw machine, Moto-ride and whack-a-rat
251: Christmas Garden
252: Pool Pavilion
253: Foreboding ballroom with one dining room set in the middle
254: Decorated Apartment
255: Arcade Hallway
256: Empty room with only a mirror wall and an air conditioning unit
257: Vacant Motel
258: Room with only a fireplace
259: Sewer Tunnel
260: Snowy Overpass
261: Empty room with green rug and drapes
262: Floral Closet
263: Rock Climbing Walls room
264: Plastic giant flowers hall
265: Beacon room
266: Room of Fat Ducks
267: Duck Grillery
268: Room of Nets
269: Fish Grillery
270: Room with Strong Ropes
271: Pool with banners
272: Lobby
273: Doll Family Room
274: Bowling Alley
275: Funhouse Hallway
276: Snack Aisle
277: Small Bookshop
278: Laundromat
279: Kindergarten Storeroom
280: I-SPY Room
281: Room with colorful pipes
282: Indoor Street
283: Mushroom Kitchen
284: Pawn Shop
285: Check-Out Counters
286: Piano Hallway
287: Little Girl's Playroom
288: Empty Grocer
289: Basketball Court
290: Disney Cafe
291: Gmod Lot
292: Room with a single TV
293: Roller-Skating Rink
294: Almost Empty Daycare Room
295: Prom
296: Distorted Neighborhood
297: Locker Hallway
298: Indoor Park
299: Toddler's Indoor Playground
300: Bedroom that feels like a prison cell
301: Blue Tinted Aisle
302: Twisting Hallway
303: Small Splashpad
304: Buried Ark
305: Dollhouse Apartment
306: Empty Bookstore
307: Top of the Waterslide
308: Room of signs
309: Rose Garden
310: Black Cat's Alley
311: Room with machetes jammed into the wall
312: Furry Forest (The real horror: furries)
313: Giant Letterbox
314: Hallway covered in paper
315: Teddy Basket
316: Little Witch's Bedroom
317: Room filled and i mean FILLED with presents.
318: Hallway of locked doors
319: Room of chains and scissors
320: Teddy Bear Torture Room
321: Room of bloody handprints
322: Poisoned Feast
323: Invisible Cook's Kitchen
324: Aristocratic Party
325: Soup Kitchen
326: Spider-Filled Cellar
327: Armor Display
328: Room of Decorative ornaments
329: Messy Library
330: Revolution Office
331: Urchin's Hideaway
332: Room of Newspapers
333: Burned Room
334: Comedic Library
335: Room filled with silk scraps
336: Butterfly Collection
337: Room of Paper Scraps
338: Room of barrels, one of which has rope.
339: Archive of Death
340: Room of empty glass display cases
341: Nectar Hive
342: Stairwell full of Pillows
343: Room with the hanged man
344: Frog Pond
345: Very Thin Bridge
346: Cryptic Library
347: Room of Levers
348: Goldfish Tanks
349: Symmetrical Room
350: Sweets Storeroom
351: Cakery
352: Snake Oil Salesman's Show
353: Room of torn wallpaper
354: Workman's Wardrobe
355: Murder Party
356: Perfumed Garden
357: Diary Room
358: Distracting Hall
359: Hunger Pit
360: Hallway of creepy faces
361: Spike-pit
362: Toy Soldiers Room
363: Pumpkin Parlor
364: Poker Hall
365: Riddle Room
366: Throne of Keys
367: Giant Music Box
368: Room of Jack-In-The-Boxes
369: Piano Parlor
370: Oculogy Lab
371: Jade Room
372: Room of Sheet Music
373: Painted Lady's Parlor
374: Clockwork Throne
375: Somber Chapel
376: Weeping Woman's Garden
377: Medieval Arena
378: Got Girl's Bedroom
379: Super Warrior Fanboy's Room
380: Giant Fireplace
381: Eldritch Hot Spring
382: Kitchen of Burbling Pots
383: Room of Bones
384: Gruesome Chinese Restaurant
385: Pigsty of Jewelry
386: Stained Glass Hallway
387: Doll Puzzle
388: Talkative Garden
389: Sick Prisoner's Cell
390: Room of Birdcages
391: Red Grasses
392: Prison Cell with a Bottomless Pit
393: Gossip Club
394: Runway
395: Room with petals littering the ground
396: Pollen Room
397: Room of bottles
398: Writer's Study
399: Skull Soldier's Grave
400: Reservoir of corpses
401: Room of Glowing Bottles
402: Casket Cellar
403: Drawers Room
404: Jade Gentleman's Room
405: Chinchilla Cages
406: Checkerboard Bathroom
407: Aquarium Parlor
408: Pink Bedroom with Playhouse
409: Empty Room with bodybuilders painted on the walls
410: Carousel
411: Stezzoni Slice's (Chucky Cheese's Pastiche)
412: Room of Balloons
413: Chocolate Parlor
414: Breaker Boxes
415: Giant Battery Box
416: Bloodwritten Walls
417: Cloth Cell
418: Subway Station
submitted by RebelTheAnomaly to d100 [link] [comments]


2020.03.01 05:53 BrainstormBot Gym locker room spy

Notice: this update is spurious, and the issue is being looked at.

⟳ f-droid.org from Wed, 26 Feb 2020 20:21:50 GMT updated on Sun, 01 Mar 2020 05:23:29 GMT contains 2962 apps.
Added (870)
Updated (78)
2020-03-01T05:53:18Z
submitted by BrainstormBot to FDroidUpdates [link] [comments]


2020.02.22 05:43 Rocknocker Gym locker room spy

CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP
“OK”, I think to myself, “We’re traveling at 120 knots, due wet, i.e., offshore, in a vintage BELL 412 SP/EP. Yep. Oh now look: 121 knots.”
So far, so good.
“No compass. Radiotelephone was non-responsive. VHF, HF, and UHF radios are all kaput.” I note, “We’re tailgating behind another newer crew transport helicopter because we’re carrying specialty bespoke hyper-magnetic logging and retrieval tools. Of course, no chopper’s that shielded against magnetic flux of that magnitude.”
I spy a blood-red, rapidly flashing warning light blinking merrily “1-2 AHRS FAIL”. This warning light’s blinking, meaning all electronic helicopter heading information and guidance was completely lost.
But, we expected that, right?
Now, I’m certified to fly rotary wing aircraft as I have over 1,500 hours of stick and rudder time, and a US/Russian license. But there’s the rub, we’re not in the US. Oddly enough, I can fly choppers in Mother Russia. It might be time to let my employers know this fact. With my dual license, I’d just have to send the properly-acknowledged documents to the proper ministry.
That fact alone would give my sponsors the jibblies if I only would let on…
We’re currently thrashing the hot and humid summer air into submission about 300 meters above the Persian Gulf just offshore of a very small GCC Arabic peninsular country known as Qutur, headed for their Norse Field. It is the world’s largest non-associated gas field (Reinick & Blandings, 1997), meaning its reservoirs contain only natural gas and no oil, but they do contain condensate.
Why? Because I’m the goddamned Chief Geologist out here, and the cement-headed drillers twisted off the BHA, or bottom hole assembly, at 27,459 feet measured along hole; as the well was a long-reach lateral. It wasn’t horizontal nor vertical, but approximately 450 along the trajectory when the driller fell asleep, was out getting a blowjob or doing something other than watching the goddamn Martin-Decker; the big gauge that indicates the weight on the bit at the bottom of the hole.
The torque built, the BHA stopped spinning, the mud system clabbered up, the bit and mud motor along with the directional gear seized up and snapped right the fuck off the drill string.
Now I have a ‘fish’ at the bottom of an over 5-mile deep hole and I can’t latch on, in, or over the damned thing. And the fuck if I’m spending the money in sidetracking around the fucking fish. Bottom hole temperatures here are reaching ‘HELL’, or Hostile Environment Logging Level and are HPHT, High Pressure, High Temperature, intensities of over 1750 C and pressures in excess of 25K psig bottom hole in the Kruff Formation of Permocarboniferous age.
Plus there’s H2S, CO2, and nasty ol’ nitrogen. N2 forms noxious and toxic compounds with down-hole gasses and oils, and loads of high-API gravity (60+) hot, high-pressure condensate.
I’d rather spend some time with a tricked out, high-powered, ‘rip your fillings out if you’re Slavic’ high intensity, ubermegagauss fishing magnet and go in with a ream and junk basket to try and drill it up. Rather than have to drop a cement plug, set a whipstock, back off the hole, come up a few thousand feet, and start a new trajectory over the fish.
Another fun fact of which I was somehow denied knowledge was that local, intense thunderstorms were predicted for this part of the Persian Gulf today.
So, I’m with my pilot de jure, Dasharath Phuyal, late of the Royal Nepalese Air Force, Pro Station, and Tire Salon.
“Dash”, I ask, “We’re you excepting any weather today?”
“Umm,” he replies, querulously, “No Doctor. We checked the weather radar and it was clear.”
“What weather radar?” I inquired. Qutur doesn’t have any of their own yet, particularly those of the Doppler® variety.
“The one from Dubai”, he says.
“And when was this?”, I asked.
“Oh, late last night”, he smiles back at me.
”Just watch that chopper in front of us”, I grumble, “Last night? You do know things tend to change a bit quickly out here…”
I never got to finish that sentence as I was rudely interrupted by a huge clap of thunder.
The sturdy, but timeworn, airframe of the Bell helicopter juddered, shimmingly and shakily.
“Ooh-whee!”, Dash whoops, “That was a close one.”
I reminded Dash that I was much closer and he should pay more attention to the job at hand rather than whooping up our impromptu roller coaster ride.
Luckily, the water here in the Gulf isn’t that deep, is bath-tub warm, and while it is home to some nasty, toothy critters, it’s not like being dumped in the South Atlantic around Cape Town in August.
Still, going for a swim after escaping a drowning helicopter just wasn’t on my list of fun things to do today; and I wanted to keep it that way. I mean, we do have to get our THUET, or Tropical Helicopter Underwater Escape Training, certificate. It’s an annual good time. I’ve been through it over 20 times, but novices and tyros really get grumpley and pukey once the mock-up of the chopper spins upside down and ker-splashes into the cold pool water.
I just sit in my seat, slowly undo my restraints and watch to see if anyone is in real trouble. Sure, they have rescue divers all around, but sometimes they are distracted by a full-load of novice characters losing their collective shit and lunch. I like to help out when I can. I’m no savage.
We also have to obtain T-BOSIET (Tropical Basic Offshore Safety Induction & Emergency Training), Basic Hydrogen Sulfide (H2S), T-FOET (Tropical Further Offshore Emergency Training), Compressed Air Emergency Breathing System (CA-EBS) and Travel Safely by Boat (TSbB) certifications. They just don’t let any breed of dummy out on an active offshore platform. You have to be a dummy that can stay awake through hours and hours of boring droning instructors.
I am one of the very few that also hold an AHUET, or Arctic Helicopter Underwater Escape Training, certificate. That’s a very cool time as well.
Anyways, we’re being slammed around like the last squash ball in the tin. It’s not raining yet, but there’s thunder, lightning, waves, and teeth-rattling thunderous repercussions of storm shock waves rebounding off the warm, Gulf waters.
It’s weird, but in the north, you get some severe summer and fall thunderstorms. All you need to watch out for is lightning, downward, and lateral thunder-shock waves, and rain. But out here, you get all that and the added bonus of thunder-induced shock waves rebounding off the warm waters of the Gulf, upward. It can drop your craft into the water just as certain as an angry downdraft can.
“So, Dash.”, I say, “We’re going to try and avoid any of that today, right?”
Dash ignores me as it’s raining now like a cow peeing on a flat rock and the wipers aren’t doing such a good job keeping up with clearness. Considering we’re probably 50 or so feet behind another helicopter, our safety guide, that margin for safety could go away almost instantaneously.
He’s sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market, striving to keep the tail rotor of the helo in front of us just out of our reach and just within visible range. I decide I’ll read him the riot act later, once we are safely landed on the platform.
This goes on for a few minutes more when suddenly, the rig pops into view and the sun breaks through the roiling, cloudy deck.
But first, there are some protocols that must be satisfied:
These procedures will be based on the following requirements, or equivalent, which define when an approach is considered stabilized:
a. The aircraft is on the correct flight path and the correct navigational data has been confirmed as entered into the navigation system for final approach to the desired airport, heliport, or helideck and the aircraft is stabilized for the approach.
b. Only small changes in heading/power are normally required to maintain the correct flight path, unless the environmental conditions on a particular day may require power changes larger than normal.
c. All briefings and checklists have been completed, except for the final landing check.
d. The aircraft is in the correct landing configuration.
e. The sink rate is no greater than 750 fpm upon arrival at the altitudes prescribed below, or as recommended by the manufacturer. If an approach will require a rate of descent greater than 750 feet per minute, a special briefing should be conducted.
f. All flights should be stabilized by 1000 feet above landing elevation in IMC and by 500 feet above landing elevation in VMC unless the following flight profiles are in use:
– For helicopters where the transit height is less than500 feet above landing elevation, the aircraft should be stabilized by 300 feet and 60 knots ground speed above the landing surface.
– For some operations, such as seismic work involving a high level of low altitude external load operations and remote landing sites where it is necessary to complete an overhead flight reconnaissance before landing the typical profile may require modification by the operator.
g. Anytime an approach becomes “unstabilized” (out of compliance with the above guidelines) a go-around / missed approach should be executed immediately unless the operator has established a limited number of deviation protocols that can be safely used to return to the stabilized profile.
i. Once the approach minimums (altitude, time, etc.) are achieved the correct airport, heliport, and helideck are confirmed.
OK, got all that? Good, you have 5 minutes and you’re traveling along at 123 knots just 250’ off the deck, with no instruments or compass. It’s raining, blustery and the wave tops are seemingly slopping over your toes.
GO!
We plop down gracelessly on the helipad and I’m glad Dash was stickhandling it today; as he immediately goes through the shut-down procedures.
Guess I’ll need to buy him a beer rather than chew him out when we get back to shore.
I hit the klaxon and several logging company hands run over to the helipad. I tell them to wait until the chopper’s secured and then they can drag that fucking magnetic tool off the bird and over to the drill floor.
Once we do a little cuttin’ and chewin’, we’re going magnet fishing 5 miles deep.
I go over to the doghouse, a steel-sided shelter that serves as the onsite office, communications center, rig top command center, tool and safety equipment storage, first aid station, and extreme weather shelter.
And my fucking active drilling office.
“WHOOT! WHEET!” someone yanks the alarm when I appear on the rig floor. “Boss man’s here. Everyone quit fuckin’ up for a while!” The horn is only local, on the drill floor. It doesn’t resonate back through the rig very far.
The drill floor is immaculate, as it should be. We haven’t cut a foot of new hole in the last week. I give everything a quick visual and everything seems to be in order. A floor hand arrives instantly with a mug of hot black coffee for me.
“No, you can’t go home early, Jake”, I say, “But thanks large for the java.”
Jake looks slightly depressed, but every time he hits 11 or 12 days on his 14-day hitch, things start happening at home. Dog’s pregnant, wife’s pregnant, Uncles dead, Granma’s dead; half the family’s dead and the other half are pregnant.
Every single fucking hitch.
And Jake’s not even married.
Into the doghouse, my chair is still warm as it the monitor for my workstation.
“I find the asshole that’s been accessing PornHub through my workstation and he’s or she’s shark bait. The cocksucker never leaves the unblocked URL so we can visit the website.” I growl.
The internet is a dodgy thing in the Middle East. All of a sudden, international instant access to porn, ideas, forbidden subjects, and well, you name it. It’s a hilarious cat-and-mouse race to watch one group try and block all the nasties and the other group finding easy ways around the blockages.
Still happens today, but with VPNs and such, the Ministries of Censorship just gave up. They went back to hand-coloring British Women’s magazines that show too much thigh or cleavage in the summer swimsuit issues.
It is such a weird place.
I call a meeting with the section heads and everything’s about ready for go. I give the OK and we’re tripping back in the hole with a concave cone-buster reamer and going down some 5 miles to chew up a metal bottom hole assembly. After that, we’ll run-in with the magnets and junk basket. Hopefully, in a day or three, we’ll have the hole clear, circulated, conditioned and ready for drilling again.
Tripping back in the hole some 5 miles means running in some 400 or so stand of ‘tribbles’ or three-30 foot (10 meter) sections of drill pipe already screwed together, or made up. We will need to make another 399 connections and RIH, run in the hole before we even arrive at Fish Central.
So, I’m off to the head; ‘chopper potty’ is not a joke. One tends to get sequentially homogenized on long trips and your bladder takes a harmonic beating. It’s not at all pleasant.
Then some chow, a movie, maybe the gym, and off on the platform to the back smoking area. No hurry, I’ve got at least 24-36 solid hours of boredom in front of me.
Before I go, I give Esme a call and see if she has any further information on Lady and her travels. She was supposed to meet us here and start her short quarantine period before she could join us; even though we’re still at the hotel. The company we’re paying huge sums of money to handle her transition are being royal pains in the ass. Nothing but excuses.
“She got a late start. No room for a dog that big on the flight booked.” Sounds sketchy as hell.
“She’s so big, we needed to have a new travel carrier constructed for her.” Ka-ching! Another call for more money.
“She got stuck in Zurich. She’s fine and will be here shortly.” “Zurich?” She was to go from Houston to London to Duhu.
Esme answers the phone.
Not a single word was spoken. I knew right from the start there was trouble.
“Es, it’s me. I made it to the rig OK. What’s the problem? Are you OK? The kids alright?” I asked.
“Oh, Rock”, Es cries, “I’m fine. The kids are fine. Lady’s dead.”
The shock hit me like a direct lightning-bolt strike and an immediate in-chest thunderclap. I actually thought someone lit off the flare boom directly behind me.
“Es”, I stammered, “What happened? Plane crash? Terrorists? Economy class chow?”
“No, Rock”, she sniffed, “Brown recluse spider.”
“What?” I spluttered.
“According to the assholes to whom we’re paying so much money, Lady was in a “climate-controlled” warehouse waiting on her flight out of Texas. She was being walked, fed, and watered on a regular basis. Just before her flight, they went to walk her and she was ‘unresponsive’.” They said.
“They let my dog, my boon companion, my children’s best friend, die in some overheated Texas warehouse from a motherfucking spider bite?” I roared.
My mind went into overdrive. I could snake the chopper and be at the international airport in less than 2 hours. Wheedle up a flight to London or Amsterdam, then one to Houston. I could be kicking the shit out of these assholes in less than 36 hours.
“Es”, I ask, much more angry that sad; as that would come later, “What do you want me to do?”
“Rock”, Es sniffles, “As much as I’d like you to go back to Texas and blow the fuckers up, I’m afraid it is what it is. There isn’t much we can do, in fact, nothing will bring Lady back. They already got her to Dr. Tom Nokhoi (our vet in Houston) who will handle the red tape. I’ll tell the kids tonight,” Es continues”, “But if you could call Dr. Bob, our family attorney, and let him know what happened, I’m certain he’ll make their lives not worth living from here on out.”
“Es”, I stammer, “I never said I was sorry to you about all this. I apologize deeply. Guess I’m not hitting on all 12 cylinders. I’ll get Dr. Bob going after these assholes. He’ll have their guts for garters. I’ll be home in a few days, or sooner if you want.”
“No, Rock”, Es rationalizes, “You have your job to do. I have mine. Don’t be surprised if you come home and we now have a pony, a new aquarium, a herd of gerbils, and a kitten or three.”
“Whatever it takes, “ I reply, “The kids will be devastated. They’ve known her…all…their…lives…Oh, fuck. This is a shitstorm on so many levels. Let me get after its wild ass and turn Dr. Bob loose on them.” Right now, the idea of Dr. Bob chewing on their metaphorical and economic asses…well, that’s the only thing that is giving me any sort of solace.
“OK, Rock”, Es sniffs, “I’ll take care of the home front, you release the Dr. Bob on these assholes. Stay safe. Come home to us in one piece. Love you.” She sighs and signs off.
I am beyond pissed. Past furious. Way past livid. I’ll let Dr. Bob take whatever he can get from these asswipes. The money doesn’t matter. I want revenge. A reckoning. Vengeance. Reprisal. Retribution, not restitution.
I sic Dr. Robert ‘Bob’ Roberts, JD, Esquire, of Kingwood, Texas on them. He knew something was askew when I called him at 0300 hours. He really liked Lady. He’s going to make these assholes an example for the Texas Law Journal. Or the Houston Chronicle obituaries.
Beyond that, there’s not much I can do. I wander back to the smoking area on the backside of the rig, pull out my secret flask, and a new cigar. I finished both solo to Lady’s memory. I didn’t even go to my office nor check-in, I was so pissed off. The important people knew I was here, that was enough for the time being.
I know one should adhere to the rules of the rig and out here, 125 miles from the coast in an Arab land, ‘no alcohol on the rig’ is pretty much a given.
Guess they need a real introduction to the Motherfucking Pro from Dover.” Besides, this time, it’s medicinal. Either that or I break into the explosives locker and I begin to blow up shit until I feel better. Guess which one will probably take fewer lives?
In the doghouse again, we’re back on bottom with the custom-made mill I had custom fabricated in Texas, and we’re grinding away. What we’re doing is sensu stricto not legal, as we’re chewing up the LWD/MWD, Logging While Drilling/Measuring While Drilling tools, and they carry some radioactive sources.
In the States, in the event of a loss involving a radioactive source, the tool and hole must be filled with cement, plugged, and abandoned to safely entomb the sources. These sources are infinitesimal amounts of Americium-241, and Cesium-242, much like what is found in commercial smoke detectors.
But, the stuff we’re currently turning into expensive metallic confetti is 5 miles deep in the earth and with a half-life of just 150-5,000 years. It ain’t never, no way, going to make it back to surface. We just keep calm and carry on grinding.
Drill, grind, shred. POOH, pull out of hole, run in hole with the magnet, and junk basket, energize, and POOH. Rinse and repeat. Finally, we’re making some headway until we hit the tungsten carbide insert drill bit.
These are usually classified as ‘undrillable’. Lose one of them, and it’s Sidetrack City.
Usually ain’t no other fuckin’ way around them.
Or is there?
I have them C&C the well, that is, circulate and condition the hole, so it’s stable top to bottom and not stratified; the mud column in the well is homogeneous in nature. Then we POOH again and I’ve got this cunning plan. Stick a tail on it and you could call it a fox.
If we can’t drill up the bit, perhaps we can just nudge it out of the way. We can steer our bottom hoe assembly, so maybe a push downward…It’s like hitting an oncoming asteroid. You don’t have to destroy the thing, just deflect it a mite. If we can literally shove it out of the way a few feet, we can slide by with the new Bottom Hole Assembly, save days and days of rig time, at some US$1.85 million/per 24-hour period, and get back to drilling.
I have the floor hands rig up a special BHA of my own design: a heavy, concave-faced lead impression block at the front, then hydraulic jars, shock sub, heavyweight drill pipe, and remex crossover sub that connects to the drill pipe.
It’s not ‘elegant’, basically a power hammer with a steerable trajectory. But, we get onto that bit and get good contact, we might just be able to hammer and power slide that SOB out of the fucking way.
It’s worth a try.
So, we RIH, run in the hole, and down the obligatory 5 miles until we make contact. We achieve what seems like a good seat and try to slide under just the weight of 24,000+ feet of drill pipe; over 1.65 million pounds of hook-load.
We’re blocked.
OK, that’s fine. That means the lead impression block is molding around the bitter end of the bit like a custom hand-in-leather glove. Now when we apply the hydraulic horsepower, it’ll have to move forward. Give a little more juice left or right, up or down and we should be able to steer it out of the way.
We can’t just build a ‘hump’ in the well path around the bit. With sliding, reciprocating, and rotation, that’d be what we in the industry call ‘a bad thing’. It would key seat, wear preferentially and cut holes in drill pipe and casing…just causing all sorts of grief.
So. We need to steer it out of the way of the pre-ordained well path and hammer it the fuck out of the way. We’ll pull back, drop some cement in the bottom of the hole, trip back in and drill our way back on target.
Jarring and hammering with the rig is a slow, tedious prospect. Keeping an eye on all parameters, more so than usual. If you inadvertently punch into a sub-seismic fault zone, an area of overpressure, or a high-pressure gas zone, you could well and truly be fucked.
So, it’s a slow, deliberate go. I personally run the show for the first 15 hours until I’m certain we’re off the predetermined well path and the bit’s being stuffed off to Bolivia, or Greenland or… I don’t care where just the fuck out of the way.
I hand the rig over to the rig superintendent and tell him that unless anything funny happens, we’ll keep hammering and pushing until 0800 hours. That way, the bit will be out of the way and we can trip back in, set a cement plug, and get back to drilling.
I’m exhausted, still mightily pissed about Lady, and thought about calling Dr. Bob.
Nah, too early, besides I need some chow and rack time.
Chow first.
One thing about every offshore rig I‘ve worked on, the food is fabulous. Amazing quality and quantity. And if you get a specific head chef, like Huib Klein Huismink from Dutchland or Đỗ Trọng Nghĩa from Ho Chi Minh City; you’re gonna have a good tour.
They don’t just cook, they chef. In their own inimitable styles.
We’re lucky enough on this project to have Đỗ Trọng Nghĩa, or Doh!, after a famous American cartoon sitcom noise.
He can make the most amazing SE Asian dishes. How he and his crew does it three times a day for over 145 hungry bodies just beggars imagination. He also keeps a supply of high-octane ‘cooking juice’ available for me in exchange for some of my cigars.
It’s called the barter system and has served mankind for billions of years.
“So, Doh, whaddya know?” I ask, walking up to the steam tables laden with not dinner and not quite yet breakfast chow.
“Fucking morning warnings to you very much, Doctor Rock”, Doh smiles by way of greeting. His English is as dodgy as my Chichewa.
We’re the best of friends.
I hand him a box of Cubans I confiscated from Duty-Free back in Amsterdam. Pricey, but that box will last Doh and me the whole project. So, economically, it makes sense.
“Doctor”, Doh asks, “See anything you like or want Doh to make you something special?”
“Doh”, I reply, “I require meat. In great, gory, giant, bleeding hunks. And a couple of your world-famous rice-paper shrimp spring rolls for starters. Also, some of that incredible Vietnamese Iced Coffee you got me hooked on.”
I loathe sweet iced tea and coffee. Except for Mr. Doh’s. With heavy crème, strong boot-black coffee, and a very secret liqueur over ice in a French Press. It’s ambrosial.
Mr. Doh quickly hands me a small 2-cup French Press, ready to go. He tells me to sit, savor a soupçon and he’ll have my dinner-breakfast ready before I start on the second cup.
The coffee has enough caffeine to give a cadaver a chubby, and it helps me to throw off the general funk I‘ve had afflicting me since I spoke last with Es. A double-pair of shrimp spring rolls arrive as amuse-bouche before Mr. Doh’s main event.
Before I can pour another cup of his amazing coffee, a prime dry-aged porterhouse steak, easily 36 ounces, charred on the outside, blue on the inside, arrives. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes some sort of flower-pepper grilling sauce that so light, so subtle, and so sneaky, you’re halfway through the steak before you break out in the sweats and your brain happily melts.
It’s marvelous; in every sense of the word. Always make friends with the chefs, especially when you’re part of a captive audience. No Qwik Stop, 7-11, or Stop-n-Robs just around the corner out here.
Properly satiated, I wander back to my room. Now, on a rig such as this, where people work in 12-on, 12-off shifts, most folks that are not management ‘hot sheet’ it. That is, they share a bed with someone on the opposite shift. Hey, there’s only so much room on a drilling rig platform, one must sometimes make concessions.
But not me. I’m running the show and as such, rank has its privilege. I have my room which is also my on-rig office with en suite full bathroom, in-room refrigerator, fax machine, computer with non-governmentally interfered internet lash-up, work desk, chair, monitors for every aspect of the rig and a private, encrypted telephone.
It’s my room, my office. Imagine my surprise when I round the corner and see a line extending out of my room and down the hall.
I walk straight on by, as most everyone on the rig probably wouldn’t recognize me.
Like hell, they wouldn’t. I run safety orientations, resolve onboard personnel issues, greet new hires and boot slackers and goldbricks. Besides that, I run the operations for this vessel. Like hell, they don’t know who I am. But I haven’t made my presence back on the rig generally known.
Yet. They think that by ignoring me, I won’t be able to see them.
I walk 10 feet to my room/office, see it’s a shambles. Shambles as in all my cigars are gone, someone’s on the Internet ‘Turning Japanese’ over amateur-midget leather-fetish dog-n-pony show porn. Plus, there’s actually someone or some three in my damned bed.
Vesuvius in 79 CE had nothing on me when I went off.
“WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?!” I bellow, “What the fuck are you assholes doing in my office?”
Yeah, kindly ol’ Dr. Rocknocker is a wee bit pissed off.
“Up against the wall, you redneck motherfuckers. Each and every one of you.” I roar. I hit the klaxon in my office to call security when I notice that three of them are currently holding up a piece of bulkhead.
“Looks like we’re gonna need a crew boat, the Federales and some new security officers,” I growled.
The vast majority of these goombahs are East Indian or subcontinental ex-pats. They’re paid a pittance and do all the shit work. But, they knew the job was dangerous when they took it, no one is holding a gun to their head in Mumbai or Chennai or Islamabad forcing them over here. It wasn’t me.
One or two decide to make a break for it, thinking I wouldn’t notice. My size 16s made short work of that ill-formed idea.
“Next one that tries that goes over the side”, I growl loudly, telling them of an impending 225-foot straight south swan dive if anyone gets cute again. “Don’t think I won’t do it. You’ll be holding just enough C-4 that’ll detonate just before you hit the water. The local sharks will love that.”
They all know of my proclivities for solving problems with devices that generate rapidly expanding gases. Most of them shudder at the thought that, yes, I am that pissed and that unhinged to actually make good on my threats.
Rig Security arrives and I first chew them a new asshole for allowing such a disaster to happen.
“They were probably selling raffle tickets”, I roared, “How the fuck could you not know this was going on?”

“OK, if that’s your response, I’m calling it. Rig shut down! NOW!” And I go to get into my office and hit the big, shiny red Panic Button. One smash of that and the reactor’s scrammed, metaphorically speaking. That is, all power is cut to standby, the well’s made static, and all electrical power is diverted to the doghouse until the well is shut-in and steady.
I press that button and it’s easily $4-5 million dollars down the drain in lost time and productivity; as we have previously completed wells flowing through the tubulars of the rig. We’re not just a drilling platform out here, we’re a production platform as well.
“So, Dr. Rock”, the tribunal asks, “Why did you think it necessary to hit the Panic Button?”
“Because these motherfucking brain-dead security shitheads couldn’t be trusted enough to keep the other assholes out of management’s offices. Can you imagine the state secrets they’re selling to the guys just 20 miles north across the border in Irun?”
At least, that’s what I would have said if a couple of the security guards hadn’t fessed up and admitted they knew what was going on. They were actually taking kickbacks from workers so the workers could take showers, use my bed which was by now, indescribably filthy, and the spooge all over the Internet.
“OK. Let’s see. You, you and you, hand in your cards. You’re done here. Get to the rec room and sit there until the next crew boat arrives. No choppers, those are for workers.” I inform them. “You get to wait for the next crew boat and hopefully a really nasty thunderstorm.”
Two comply, but the former Sergeant of security protests that I’m too draconian. Besides little damage was done.
“You’re lucky I don’t hold you in irons, Sgt. Shitheels. It’s Rule of the Sea out here, bucko. You’re damned fucking lucky I just don’t stuff all your asses in a rubber raft and set you off adrift, left to your own devices.” I snarl back, as they knew I could legally do so.
By now, real security had arrived. I told them to collect each and every one of these assholes green and yellow cards. The green ones allowing them to work in the country, and the yellow ones allowing them to work on the rig.
“I want a list of names, I want a list of sponsors, I want phone numbers, and I want my office back in order within the next 3 hours. That doesn’t happen, then you all can explain yourself to the tribunal I’m calling back onshore.” I snarl, almost slathering.
“I will be in the rec room,”, I inform security. The rec room is a pretty good-sized open area for ping-pong, pool, snooker, TV, movies, smoking, and drinking your non-alcoholic drinks when you’re off duty. I’m commandeering it as an ad hoc jury room.
“I want to personally see each and every one of these asswipes before me starting in 15 minutes. The first ones I want to see are the three assholes caught in my bed. We green?” I snarl.
I am handed a couple of stacks of green and yellow cards.
“First one, 14 minutes. We green?” I ask again.
“Oh, yes, Doctor. Very green!”
“Goddamned idiots,” I growl and walk down to the rec room.
Luckily, I have a locker in the rec room where I keep some extra personal items. Gym stuff, spare shades, safety gear extras, earhole plugs for well tests, and a box or two of cigars. Smoking is allowed in the rec room, but being enclosed, I’m usually Dr. Nice Guy and don’t fire up a heater in there.
However, today is different. Very different, sorry to say for the group of laughing boys I’m going to be interviewing starting in 10 minutes.
I’m sitting behind a table with a notepad, a lit cigar; OK, I did fire up the in-room Smoke Eater, and a transcribed list of names and cards, all alphabetized. I‘m ready to dispense some maritime frontier justice.
The first three show up and they’re the ones getting all cuddly in my bed. Besides being personally squicked out about all that, even though I don’t give a shit about a person’s personal proclivities, I do at least ask, respectfully, to keep it the fuck OUT of my bed.
Consenting adults can do what the fuck they want as far as I’m concerned. But doing it on the rig floor, on top the helipad when we’re trying to land, or in my GODDAMNED bed sort of pushes the edge of the envelope a bit.
“So?”, I ask holding up their cards, “These yours?”
They all nod. They can barely speak Urdu, Pashto, Hindi, or Outer Buttfuckistanese much less English, Russian, or Mandarin. I dragoon one of the driller’s hands into being an improvised translator. I want to make certain that these characters understand the thunder they’ve called down.
“Can you understand me now?” I ask.
“Yes”, “Yes”, and “Yes”, came the hang-dog replies.
“Why we’re you in my bed?” I ask, further, “You must have known whose office that was. What the actual fuck, guys?”
No replies other than a sudden interest in the rig’s riveted and engine-turned metal floor.
“Look”, I say, “Right now, you’re all on the way back to Calicut, Lahore, Kathmandu or whatever other gritty shithole you assholes call home. You’re all fired. Done. Finito. Plus I keep your green and yellow cards. Good luck finding a job where ever you end up. Should have spoken up when you had the chance. Next?”
They hear the translation and all the color drains from their faces. One of them, an engineer of some sort, screws up the courage to call me an asshole and says “What difference does it make. You weren’t there and it wasn’t being used! You asshole.”
“OK”, I smile, “At least we’re communicating. You married?”
He puffs himself up. “Yes. Many years.”.
“Yeah”, I smile, “Me too. So it’d be OK for someone from your town to be fucking your wife right now, correct? I mean you’re not there and she wasn’t being used. Right, you asshole?”
I thought he was going to explode. He was livid, enraged, and otherwise peeved a bit.
“Fuck you goddamned big American asshole. Fuck you and your family too!’ he spits.
“Whoa!”, I smirk, “Guess I hit a nerve there, didn’t I? Going to go out anyways, may as well go out in a blaze of glory, right you little smirking dooly-boy cocksucker?”
He just stood there and fumed.
“OK’, I say, “Use a little of that ire and give me a reason not to toss your ass to the wolves; or sharks, as the case may be.”
“It cost us money. To pay off security guards. They started it. You weren’t even here and your room was empty. They sold it off in pieces for the most money. Say anything to boss people and you will go away. They threatened us.” He averred.
“Oh, ho! Right. OK, let me see if that’s the case.”, I call over to one of the security guards I could trust and tell him to go get those other 3 erstwhile guards and bring them over.
To be continued
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2020.01.29 00:49 Dotcor_Strangelove Norman Gets Fit (Part 2/3)

The inside of the gym was loud and much more crowded than the empty locker room had indicated. All of the treadmills were full, as were the stationary bikes. The space in front of the free weights was packed, and he didn’t recognize any of the machines. Everywhere he looked, people in their twenties and thirties wore tight fitting and expensive looking workout gear. A couple of guys in tank tops yelled at their friend as he struggled to squat with a huge set of weights in a rack by the wall.
Norman grabbed a small towel from the stack by the door and went over to the nearest machine and sat down with his back against the padded rest. He looked at the diagram printed on the side, but couldn't figure out what it meant. He squinted to read the detailed description, wishing he'd brought his reading glasses.
"Yo," said a deep voice. "You need any help with this thing, bro?"
Norman looked up to see a man who was easily six feet tall and incredibly muscular. "Uh, no, thank you. I'm just finishing up. It's all yours," he mumbled, embarrassed. He stood up and moved to the side, using the towel to wipe some imaginary sweat from his brow. The young man shrugged, sat down with his chest against the padded rest, and proceeded to make the machine look very easy to use.
Norman glanced around. In the corner, he spied a water cooler. "At least I've got some experience using that bad boy," he thought to himself with a chuckle as he walked over to it. A woman came up to the cooler as well. GO BIG OR GO HOME, said the neon text printed across the front of her black sports bra. Norman thought it was the perfect motto for his new lifestyle.
He drifted into a daydream about Strong Norman at the office. He'd pause for a minute by Randall's desk. Randall would look up and say something like, "Lookin' good, Norm!" and Strong Norman would pretend that it hadn't been that hard to make the changes.
"Diet and exercise, Randy," he'd say. "Go big or go home, bro!"
Strong Norman was just about to help the water delivery guy by carrying two jugs to the staff lounge at the same time, when a voice brought him back to reality.
"Hey old man," the woman in the sports bra said sharply, pointing at her face, "I'm up here!"
Norman realized where he'd been staring and immediately felt his face turn crimson. "I- I'm so sorry!" he stammered, "I wasn't- I would never-"
"Whatever, creep," she said. She finished her paper cup of water, threw it in the trash can and walked off.
Norman wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but he had no such luck. He looked around, wracked with guilt, but was thankful that nobody seemed to have paid any attention to the encounter. It occurred to him that he'd had enough fitness for one day. He walked back to the locker room, tossing his perfectly dry towel into the bin by the door.
submitted by Dotcor_Strangelove to lifeofnorman [link] [comments]


2019.11.20 02:25 dreamdozer Is it legal to put a spy cam in my backpack or gymbag and place inside a locker to spy a thief? UT

I work in a private company where we have a gym with lockers and showers. Recently people started missing money and bunch of other stuff from their wallets including myself if they forget to lock their personal belongings. I have been working here for a couple years now and this never happened until recently.
Me and one of my colleagues reported this incident to the security and they said they have been receiving a lot of complaints regarding missing stuff from men's showelocker room. But all they can do is advise us in securing our stuff with a lock and they didn't even bother to report to management or something. We also got to know someone walked out of that gym with someone else's backpack and returned just the stuff minus the bag a week later. The entrance to gym is monitored with a CCTV camera and the access to the gym is badge restricted, but they haven't investigated this incident.
Today, I found my belongings in a disarray with my stuff out of the gym bag with a clear indication that someone went through my stuff and didn't have enough time to put them back in place. Luckily I didn't lose anything today because I left all the important stuff in my car except the work clothes and shoes. I have already bought a spy cam off of Amazon and wasn't sure to use inside the locker and my bag not knowing about the legal issues.
So my question is, am I allowed to use a spy cam to spy someone, without having legal issues and in the event that this person gets caught on camera red handed, will my footage be considered to take action with out implicating me?
Thanks in advance!
submitted by dreamdozer to legaladvice [link] [comments]


2019.11.04 04:46 AlieHaleyy Gym locker room spy

Hai! If you'd like to read more of this story or the others I have written, they can all be found at AliesStories! Thanks for reading :3
WP: You’re in high school and you’ve crushed on this girl for months. One day, sometime during the school year, she disappears. All of her friends claim they’ve never known this girl, and nobody knows who you’re talking about. One day, you spot her in public, and decided to confront her.
NEXT | INDEX
 
She’s singing again. I can hear her mesmerizing voice floating up from the stairwell that’s hidden behind the gym. I glance around slowly, checking the faces of the people passing by in the hallway. No one seems to notice the beautiful female voice dancing through the air. I pull in my eyebrows. How could they not hear it? Or...maybe they can but they know who’s voice it is and they’re ignoring her, as they usually do.
I grip the straps of my backpack and casually step around the corner out of sight, while my friends bully each other outside the locker room door. I make my way into the dingy grey stairwell, tip toeing as quiet as possible so she doesn’t catch me spying on her. I hold my breath and peer down the flight of stairs.
She’s there, leaning against the railing, her arms crossed and her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She’s staring at the white, stone wall, her voice echoing through the corridor. I watch, unable to look away while her song travels through my ears. My eyes glaze over and my lips part slightly. This...is one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard. I...I think I’m-
She stops suddenly, the song coming to an abrupt end, and tilts her head back. She gasps as our eyes meet for the first time since she arrived at school, just a few months ago. We stand there, staring at each other for a moment, but I’m too busy trying to clear the fog from my brain to register what’s happening. My thoughts feel sluggish, like I’ve just woken up from a deep sleep.
She seems confused, or angry, maybe? That I was hiding in the stairs? That I was watching her? I run a hand down my face and shake my head, my shaggy brown hair waving with the movement. I peel my eyes back open and begin to stammer an apology but she’s not standing there anymore. She’s gone.
Surprised, I rush down the stairs and pull open the door that leads to the lower hallway. The only door that leads out of this stairwell. But it’s completely empty and dark inside, as if no one has been down here for years. Students aren’t allowed to be in this area but I know that there are automatic lights in all the ceilings at school. I take a step forward and the fluorescents above me turn on as they catch the movement.
Where could she have gone? The lights would have been on if she came through here. I turn around and walk back into the stairwell. There’s nowhere else to go but up. I stand there for a moment, not sure whether I should try to find her in the deserted hallway or just accept that I’ve scared her off and I’m probably the last person she wants to see right now.
I take a deep breath and turn back around, placing my hand on the door handle.
“Noah!” Ben’s voice echos down from two floors above. “Where are you? We need to get to class! I’m about to leave you-”
“Coming!” I yell back.
I reluctantly release my grip on the metal doorknob and make my way up the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. Ben’s waiting impatiently at the top of the landing with his arms crossed.
“Dude,” he eyes the stairs suspiciously. “What were you doing down there? Mr. Schmidt is going to kill you if he finds you hanging around this stairwell again.”
“I know,” I breath, a little winded. “But...did you not hear that girl singing? It’s the new girl that started in February. She’s always down there. Almost every day it seems like...”
I trail off when I look over to Ben and he’s gaping at me.
“What?”
“What are you talking about? There wasn’t a girl that started in February? And I sure as hell haven’t heard one singing in that stairwell.” He shakes his head. “I’m here almost all day every day in between classes and after school. I think I’d know if someone was opera singing in there.”
“She’s not opera singing...she’s-” I pause. “Wait, you really don’t know who I’m talking about? It’s that girl...Lily,” Ben shakes his head, still not remembering. “Oh, come on seriously? She sits right behind you in Physics!”
He glances between me and the hallway in front of us, like I’ve lost my mind. “Dude, no one sits behind me in Physics. No one has sat behind me all year.” I swallow and feel sweat start to form along my forehead. “Are you feelin’ alright?”
I don’t answer. Am I losing my mind? Is Ben losing his mind? He’s acting like he’s never seen her before. He’s acting like I’ve just been watching a...ghost for the past couple months singing in the stairwell and sitting in my Physics class. I run a hand through my hair and try to breath. I’ll show him who she is tomorrow morning when we go to class. He’s probably just too glued to his phone every day to notice the people around him.
But...the next day rolls around, and she’s not in class. I stare nervously at her chair, waiting for her to show up. Ben turns around in his seat and points to, what’s supposed to be, Lily’s desk, his eyebrows raised. I shrug and run a hand over my face.
Days and weeks go by and...she never comes back. I hang out next to the stairwell with Ben in between every class and after school, but she’s not there. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her out of my head. There’s no way she was a ghost or a figment of my imagination. I saw her. We made eye contact and everything about her voice and hair and body was real. I just...I know she was real.
It’s been a month now, since she disappeared from school and no one seemed to notice but me. I shake my head and rub the back of my neck to clear her from my thoughts. A normal routine for me these days.
I glance up at the thick, pine tree forest in front of me. The sound of the needles as the wind flows through the branches calms the overwhelming anxiety that’s been a constant pain in my chest the past couple weeks. I take a walk everyday down this dirt path through the trees and listen. I let my eyes slide closed, breathing in the earthy smell of dirt and moss.
A rustling in the leaves a few feet in front of me makes my eyes snap back open. I flinch and gasp, taking half a step back, feeling my lips part and my eyes grow wide.
She’s standing there - Lily. Right in front of me. Staring. I gape at her, my heart hammering in my chest. Where did she come from?
“You can see me.” She says, her normal voice just as beautiful as her singing voice. Her dark green dress blows in the wind, almost blending in with the forest around us.
I swallow and nod, still stunned that she showed up out of nowhere and confused that she’s asking if I can see her. She cocks her head to the side and stares at me. I clear my throat, suddenly feeling awkward remembering the last time we saw each other she’d caught me spying on her in the stairwell. I rub the back of my neck.
“Look, I’m...um, I’m sorry I was watching you when you were...in the stairs.” I stammer out. “I just heard you singing...and I-”
She quickly takes several steps forward, stopping only a foot in front of me. I glance down at her, surprised not only by her sudden movement but also by how beautiful she is up close. Her bright green eyes are staring up at me, almost as if they can see my inner soul.
“Do you,” she licks her small pink lips and chills roll through my veins. “Do you know...what I am?” I pull in my eyebrows, confused by that question. What does she mean? She’s...a human? A girl? A wanted teenager for skipping school?
“Um,” I let out a breathless laugh.
A corner of her mouth curls up, as she leans in close and whispers, “Can I tell you a secret?”
submitted by AlieHaleyy to HFY [link] [comments]


2019.10.24 02:09 returntowhoiwas 66 Days (Gay) Porn Free. Had an awful after an experience at the gym locker room yesterday. But it solidified why I'm doing this. Putting this out in the Universe, hoping it could help someone.

This post is mainly for gay men out there who are wanting to quit and may have had similar porn addictions like myself. I would also add a trigger warning for sexual harassment. This is still a great read for anyone out there who ever had any fetishes/fantasies that are unnatural or dehumanizing.
In the gay community, "cruising" is a term that is recognized and, sadly, accepted. You may have seen that guy who follows you around in the gym, waiting for that moment you finish your workout. He'll linger around the locker room hoping for a glimpse of you in an undressed state. It's creepy. You feel gross. Sadly, that's where my porn addiction lead me to. Yesterday, it lead to an actual experience.
I started watching porn at 14. It started off normal, just two men having sex. But, for the past few years, I would watch a lot of "spy" porn. Videos of men hiding a camera in the locker room recording other men undress. I would feel gross after watching, as one normally gets after watching/masturbating. But it was such a turn on, too. I would spend hours watching these videos. Most of them were staged videos, but I'm sure a lot of them weren't. And I knew it was wrong to watch them. For years I would fear going into a locker room because I was afraid I would get turned on, or even worse, be that guy recording or looking at other guys. I always knew that deep down I would never, because I know that it's not who I am. I am a firm believer in respect. I wouldn't want another man (straight or gay) to feel uncomfortable by me. That's why now that I'm 27 and getting a little older, I decided to change this porn habit. It's been 66 days. Yesterday, though, was a scary one.
Yesterday I came to the gym. I've been coming to the gym after I quit porn, and honestly it's been so amazing. It was hard at first, because of where my addiction lead me to. But the past few weeks I felt normal again, and found a new love for exercise. Yesterday I undressed to shower before my workout as I had a long day. I work outside primarily and I felt gross. I wanted to feel refreshed and pumped. I was also the only one in the locker room and felt comfortable. I went into one of the showers and noticed that a few moments later a man walks into the shower, too. His eyes are glued to me, looking me up and down. Luckily the showers have curtains so I close it and turn around to shower. It was a weird feeling. I knew this man was indeed looking at me. At this point I have my front body facing the shower head. When it's time to turn around, I noticed I didn't fully close my curtain. I also noticed that the guy who was staring purposefully chose the shower across from me and was looking into my stall. My heart started racing. I noticed he had an erection. I ended my shower, dried as quick as I could, and left.
Of course, the man ended his shower and followed me. We were alone. I noticed he chose the locker right next to mine. I started to unlock mine. He didn't wait until I unlocked my lock fully for him to try to get to his. He apologized saying he was right next to mine. I smiled and said it was okay. He made small talk and I returned the small talk. Probably stupid of me to do so, but I wanted to act as normal as possible. I get my workout clothes out of my locker and begin to dress. I notice that he's fully erect still. I put on my boxers and breathe a sigh of relief. Even though I was uncomfortable and wanting to sprint, I also felt frozen in the moment. I look down and notice that I was starting to get erect. I knew it was my past coming back to haunt me. It's like seeing a man erect in a locker room made my mind go crazy. Not another moment passes when the man reaches out and gropes my semi erect penis. I immediately back out. I look at him and tell him it's not appropriate, and that I apologize if I gave the wrong impression. He simply shrugs, puts on his clothes, and leaves. I was in shock. My entire day was a nonstop play by play of the situation. I told myself I would never tell a soul. That I deserved that harassment because of what I did in the past. But tonight as I still feel haunted, I wanted to just let it out.
I'm on a journey. I made a reddit account because for months now I've been looking at this thread as well as nofap. I know that there is a community of us out there wanting to better ourselves. So I leave this out to you all. Maybe you'll read, maybe not. I don't think I need an answer right away anyway. I just think I have to accept what happened, and that overall I am proud that I didn't relapse after. That it showed me that respect needs to be given to everyone, no matter if they are on a screen our in the flesh. That I don't want to be that guy. That I don't want to go into my 30s, 40s, 50s, or 60s with an addiction that could lead me to do something that vile to another human.
I seek forgiveness in myself for what I allowed myself to become since watching porn. I know I will grow, it just takes one day at a time. For the gay community, we have to understand that we too need to learn how to control ourselves. The porn out there for us is not healthy at all. I thank you if you read this.
Much love and respect to you all out here,
I am the one who wants to returntowhoiwas
submitted by returntowhoiwas to pornfree [link] [comments]


2019.07.24 21:20 hearse83 Spy locker gym room

I bet somewhere, there are some old gym clothes in a locker. If you find them, they're embroidered with my name. There might be some old full-dress uniforms, and maybe an old pair of sneakers.
I would have left this stuff behind when I finished my assignment testing the Lockheed A-12 in Groom Lake and deployed to North Vietnam.
None of that stuff is really all that valuable to me. You might find it if you decide to rush the air force base. I promise you won't find aliens - I never did.
May, 1962
I pulled up to Lockheed's Skunk Works in Burbank, California. Lou had already gone past Mach 1 at Groom Lake, and I was eager to get my mitts on the controls to see if I could best him.
As a young man, speed was all I craved, but now, in my mid 30s having flown various combat missions and with a family, I was starting to slow down. The A12 would allow me to quench my thirst but outside of real combat. I had even traded my 1960 Corvette that I had occasionally raced at Riverside for a brand new Impala convertible. Sure, it still had a 409 like the Beach Boys sang on Surfin' Safari.
I was met by a group of engineers when I pulled up to the building, and someone took my keys to park my car. "Careful with that..." I started. I was interrupted by my Major.
"Captain, you understand the task in front of you?"
"I do sir" I replied with a smile.
"This machine will become a part of you. The success of this program will effectively put us ahead of any enemy."
I nodded along. He talked for quite some time while I zoned out. I couldn't help it. He had a penchant for rambling while trying to motivate and impress importance. Also, meandering into the hangar, it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on the beast.
The aircraft in front of me was imposingly large, impossibly black, with a design unlike anything seen before. There was no doubt that anyone near Groom Lake would think they had seen a spaceship.
October, 1962
Rachel, Nevada. I left my family back in Burbank. Generally they moved with me when I was reassigned, but I wasn't about to force them out of the home we had built in lush California for this desert waste land. I stopped at a small store to grab a Coke before heading to the base. The person on cash noted my uniform and eyed me up.
"You look like you must be pretty high up."
"I get by. You served?"
"Nossir, wasn't allowed to enlist on the account I got only five toes due to a farming accident. That'll be a dime for the Coke, and ten for the gas."
I nodded and dug out my change.
"Hey, you must know what they got up there goin' on at that base?" He nodded towards it with his head while he fiddled with the register drawer.
"Yeah. Planes." I shrugged.
OXCART had put everyone in the area on alert. There had been constant construction on the base for the last two years, and now, very odd looking aircraft doing bat-out-of-hell speeds. I was made aware of how the locals thought we were involved in something top secret and sinister by other pilots who had been and returned. It eschewed common sense: of course we were going to keep our latest aircraft developments top secret and guard them with a fervor only applied to the most damning and terrifying secrets. How would they ever expect us to keep ahead of the Soviets if we weren't careful? Loose lips, and all that.
I'll tell you right now that "Area 51" isn't anything special. I mean, aside from the experimental aircraft developed and tested there, it's just as any other base.
I was oriented to the operations just as any other assignment. It was hard to focus on all the minor items like where the latrines were when I knew I'd finally get to fly the A-12.
However, it would be more training and a lengthier time in the simulator after I arrived, just as it was in Burbank. I did get to do some hops in the F-104 to chase down dutch while he did runs. He lost me almost every time. Except that one time.
May, 1963
Earlier in the year we had finally been able to fly the plane close to its intended top speed after it was outfitted with more powerful J58 engines. More and more during that time when I'd be in the Starfighter, whoever was in the A-12 would easily pull away from me at will. I kept radio contact with the other pilot and sometimes they'd just chuckle over the radio when I told them, "Okay, you've had your fun, time to reign it in."
Then came the fateful day that Dutchie ditched it in the desert. I know he looks back and laughs how he covered up the crash by telling the people who picked him up that his plane was a different plain carrying a nuclear payload. That prevented anyone from wanting to get near it to snap a photograph or take a piece home with them. But I know what really happened.

I began to gain on him again as we approached the turn around to come back to base.
I couldn't fathom how Collins couldn't see me. He should have been able to just look to the right.
Scrambled static came back over the radio.
It was before noon, the weather was clear. There was nothing around for miles. No clouds in the sky. Salt flats below. I had no idea what he was seeing.
The aircraft pitched hard upward.
Almost immediately the A 12 went into a flat spin. I called it in to base.
There's the cover up we've all read about. Collins played his part in terms of deflecting the attention of the people who found him up on 93. Then there's the cover up Collins started pushing on all of us.
When he got changed out of his flight suit I came by to follow up.
"What the hell happened up there? What did you see?"
"Nothing." He shrugged, and pushed past me into the hall.
"What do you mean nothing? You were completely spooked by something. What happened?"
"I thought I saw something, but it was probably nothing. Probably just ice on the windscreen."
Indeed the official explanation for the crash was that the instruments and some of the controls had a heating element fail and had indeed iced up. But we all know what ice looks like. It doesn't look like a black mass that causes you to panic.
It was enough for me to be extremely suspicious. Decorated and veteran pilots don't freak out, they just get down to work. They also love to share stories. Whatever he had seen had really shaken him.
I grabbed a bite and sat down at a table across from one of my other colleagues. I kept my voice low.
"Did you talk to Collins?"
"Yeah."
"Did he seem shaken up to you?"
He looked around and then started laughing at me when he spied the serious look on my face. "Of course he's shaken up. He just had to eject and stuffed a $35 million plane into the desert."
"Yeah, yeah, I mean more than usual."
"Well...I don't know? How would you feel if you ejected upside-down at 3,000 feet and had to cover up the crash of an experimental $35 million plane? Would you be shaken up more than usual?"
I sat, likely with a dumb look on my face, as I pondered the question. I suppose I would feel sheepish, and as if I had just escaped the razor's edge of death. But at the same time, I still knew something more was wrong.
"Look, Pete, I know you were up there too. I know we try to pretend it's always 'business as usual' every time one of us has to ditch. I'll admit that I still get some bad thoughts too. There's no shame in it."
"Yes, I suppose."
I left it.
I drove home that night to Burbank for some much needed rest and leave. I laid next to my wife that night for the first time in a long time. It wasn't long before my youngest son woke and began crying in his bed. For this, I was actually grateful, for as tired I as I may have been, I missed my children even more.
"What happened cowboy? Did you have a bad dream?"
He nodded and crawled back under his covers.
"Daddy can you stay here?" He pleaded?
"Sure, son, but just until you go back to sleep."
I teetered on the edge of single bed, and closed my eyes. I counted minutes until I would sneak out of his room again, but my weariness got the best of me and I drifted off.
I awoke some hours later, in the wee hours of the morning to a little hand on my face. I expected to see my son smiling at me, but instead he peered only at the open door to his bedroom, absolutely terrified.
"Daddy...the door..." he whispered to me.
I looked at the door with bleary vision. Eventually I began to make something out. A black mass entering the room. A giant black boar, carrying something red and glowing. I gasped and froze, unable to move from the sheer terror of what I was witnessing. It wasn't just a dream. I knew my son was seeing it too.
In a few minutes, it disappeared. I quickly closed the door and held my son close for the rest of the night.
END OF PART 1
submitted by hearse83 to nosleep [link] [comments]


2019.04.13 07:52 kekistanian_solja Gym locker room spy

This is a story from Sasha. Wife, Russian, enjoys jokes and mtg, and is chill af. Happened before she moved to the US. 7th grade
Prologue: Exposition
Cold Russian winter. -12 Celsius (-25.6 Fahrenheit) Had roughly 4000 rubles in my pocket (~62.22 dollars) Had to buy groceries. Also needed to fix something Snowing as per usual. Say a guy with a welders mask, blanket for a cape and camouflage outfit. Blyatman. Russia's... sub optimal hero. Better than Florida Man. Helped the cops stop a robbery I digress
Me and my friend, Joseph, were just walking around town. J: Cold. Snowing M: Welcome Russia, Comrade J: I thought I was in America
After some banter, I head home. School tomorrow. Fml.avi School. Saw a kid head to the principal's office. Vodka. Stupid commie bastard became principal. Old one had to recover from a medical mistake
Act I: The changes and new arrivals
School assembly. Libtard, name of principal, made everyone go. Spaced out. Listening to music. Sneak 110 Then, I space in. Heard Libtard say "Special needs and handicapped students will be integrated with the normal educational curriculum" Saw some wheelchair bound kids. They usually don't have mental handicaps. Saw an autistic one or two. One just didn't like loud noises. Other, named Auti, was very obviously an autist. Saw a blind kid, walking stick Then, the true potatoes. Behemoths. The usual blyat. I became friends with not Auti. Other austist. Introduced me to magic the Gathering Libtard said "No violence or prejudice to the less fortunate is permitted. Immediate suspension. They aren't able to help themself" Most of them are able to understand that they were being treated like a protected class. One spoke up, libtard acted like it was a big deal.
Loud noises hating kid, Peter, said this was degrading. Libtard thought he won a heccing Nobel prize. We also had new students from other nationalities. Still spoke russian. Had blacks, asians, Hispanics, iraqi, even 20 kids from japan.
New cultures, I thought. Could be very interesting. . .
Act II: When everything went downhill
Recess. Best time of day ever. Snowball fights, snowmen, anything involving snow. Then, a potato arrived. He was unlike the others. Had manners and spoke with pride and it was understandable. He just looked like a potato. That was his nickname throughout school. He had ADHD. One sip of coffe could have him jump across all of sideria. Thankfully, he took his meds
P: Hello. Would you like to play a game? A: Um... Yeah sure. What is it? M: I'm interested P: It's hide and seek M: Ok. Anyone else?
Potato, real name alex, got a couple friends. Bell rang and everyone went inside. Next class was advanced chem. I liked it. Interactive. A true tard walked in. 200+ Kilograms (440+ pounds) and 1.3 meters tall. (1 meter is ~32 inches. Kid was 41.2 inches tall) Then... a tard guard walked in. Ohblyat.rus
Took notes on how nitro glycerin, an explosive (unstable. Not radioactive. Just easy to cause violent reaction) is also used as a medicine for the heart in small quantities. Sub section for the month, biochem
Everyone was given a small sample of potassium chlorate to study and take notes on. Teacher said we could use a bunsen burner. So, I made a compound. Flushed it down the nearby sink and turned on the water. Nearby kid tossed lit match down their sink. Jet flames rise from the sink. The compound I made got in the water. Every sink.
Then, Tard tried to copy it. With a plastic spoon. And a flash drive. Kek.lel School ends for the day. Ride bus home. Layout of my school. Like a large box with tunnels. 2 floors. Cafeteria in the middle. One end was the main office and drop off from parents. Other end had the classes. Snow melted. No snow Everyone was confused. 21 Celsius. Room temperature Gym came around. Dodgeball. 120 students in 4 classes. Major fun. Blind kid does their braille reading in study hall
Act III: The libtard steps in
Libtard stepped in. Said nobody can purposely hurt the special kids in gym. One kid complained. Poor bastard. He got a dentention. 30 minutes
The principal had complete control. It's their job to oversee the building and people in it. They have to make and enforce rules. I get it. But many take it very far. That's when everyone has a problem
So, we play dodgeball. I got a kid in the arm. She said the impact broke a leg. MFW a tard said they broke a leg from an arm impact I get taken to libtard's office. 1 day suspension Fml.avi
Come back day after. Got grounded for a week. Had lunch. I brought my own lunch. A sandwich, (mustard, lettuce, onion, tomato, roast beef, havarti cheese and ham) an ultra black monster, a huge gallon bag of salted peanuts and 4 chocolate bars.
Sitting with friends, playing commander with Auti, Peter and Alex. I had my five color deck. Alex had a rakdos deck. Essentially ADHD in a deck. Peter played a black graveyard recursion deck. Auti had a control deck. And prevented players from getting cards. Milling.
Teacher walks by, just a regular check. We played, put our decks in our bags 10 minutes before lunch ended. (Lunch was an hour long)
Emergency assembly was said by libtard. Must've been about my sandwich having ham and beef and cheese. Heccing vegans. I ate all my food. Drank all my monster. Even got a Coca-Cola from the vending machine.
Nope. It was about the fact a kid got in a fight. With a tard. I found out the whole thing was caught on security cameras and libtard hid them. Kid fought tard because tard hit kid for no reason. Kid fought back in self defense. Tard got no punishment. Kid got a 5 day suspension. Poor bastard
Also, a kid with a peanut allergy ate one of my peanuts. Of course, allergic reaction. So, entire school became no peanut zone. Because one idiot ate something he shouldn't. However... unvaccinated kids were allowed. I say if I can't bring peanuts than kids need to be vaccinated.
Libtard flips out. Heccing triggered and nearly REEEEEED
The kid came back next week. Had to wear an eyepatch. Tard got him in the eye. Might be permanently blind in that eye. Kid pressed assault charges. They go nowhere.
Then... Libtard said this.
"Special ed kids can use any bathroom. Except the staff bathrooms. Only on the first floor though"
All hell will break loose. When I say break loose... I mean, it will break out and destroy everything.
Act IV: The powder factory
Every race, gender, ethnicity, religion, sexuality and creed set every difference aside. Libtard said racism and hate speech will result in suspension and permanent removal from syllabus.
I make a group of everyone who wants to join. All do. Selected individuals. The smartest and strongest. Auti and Alex were our spies. I was the leader. The groups had an entire underworld economy. Everyone with money or goods would get involved to make extra cash. Russians sold vodka, Hispanics sold rubbers, Iraqis sold knives and pepper spray. Asians, a loan shark business. On everything. Homework, tests, quizzes, standardized tests. Blacks, they had whatever you wanted. As leader, I got 10% of all sales. Needed it to fund the economy after all
Then... it happened. Kid had to pay a loan shark 500 rubles for a 10 answer quiz. Only way to pass said quiz was getting 80% or better. The kid ratted a loan shark out. The snitch, named Miguel, was hated by all. Rat even tried to get me expelled for all my involvement.
Libtard was oblivious. The only oppressed are non whites and non males and non straight people was her mind set. Unless special needs.
Libtard logic
Then... all hell broke loose. A Downie went up to Alex. Downie took a massive dump behind Alex. Than... Threw it at him. Missed him, but the smell. Entire hallway was out of service. It only had lockers. But then... War broke out. Auti had given me a piece of information.
A: Boss, found this M: Please, call me whatever you want, comrade A: Ok, well found a note. Illegible. But... not to me
A Hispanic told me a teacher busted a sale. They have to use a dead drop.
A: The speds... They plan to cause a riot. Blame a stranger for it. They want to throw their... blyat all over. Put it in lockers. In classes. On doorknobs
Everyone went home from our hideout. An unused sports track. Set a table and many chairs up. From the dollar store
Act V: The spark of chaos
The tards carried out their plan. They have a subset. Essentially they attack whoever the leader wants with their feces. They carry the plan out. Stuff in lockers had to be thrown out. If it had fecal matter, throw it out. Nobody put their valuables in them. But notes, work, study guides, the goods. All of it. Mass suspensions. Mass detentions. Even a few expulsions. Profit tanked.
The average homework went from 620.20 rubles to double ($10 to $20). Had to sell less contraband. Chocolate, pencils, anything. Nearly left the group.
And then... a beacon of hope. A dodgeball match in gym. And it was 30 v 30. Tards on one team. Everyone else split into three teams of 30.
But it wasn't happening yet. Heard it from a vendor. Was gonna happen in 2 weeks
The Tards struck. More downie kids arrived. Kids in wheelchairs went to study hall. Then... a demon emerged
Act VI: The enemy has control
Hefner. He was the leader of the tard agents. The blyatomancers. They have a leader. Led everything in secrecy. Took orders. Became organized. They became a real threat
One kid was a target. He said nyet (Russian for no) to one. Said it politely and even tried to make it up. Still didn't redeem him. Target... was my best friend. His name... Nikolai. He was the rule maker of the group. My groups name, the Underworld. Made the rules. Everything depended on him. Emergency assembly
New code. Code Brown. Crap in anything but toilets. Blyatomancers had to do things logically. Nobody wanted to mess with them
During assembly, a blyatomancer confronted Nikolai. Everyone had to flee. Nikolai ran. Blyatomancer had flung a bag of diarrhea. Code brown became a daily thing
Hefner was untouchable. Libtard defended his every action. He could pretend to be a victim when he committed the crime. He never got his hands dirty. Rather watch it
A few weeks later
Act VII: The dodgeball game AKA turning point
Many innocent people lost important work papers. Some are nearly failing because of the code brown checks. If a locker has feces in it, throw whatever has crap on it. Even if immaculate condition. I had a flash drive thrown away. It had a powerpoint presentation in it. The checks were done with nobody noticing
The tards had thrown crap at people. Every day. Would be filler at this point. One kid had to be hospitalized. E. Coli. Poor guy. Nobody dare talk. Nobody dare do anything. Not even look at the literal crapstains. My group members. They lost inventory. One Iraqi had been arrested because a knife was found. Nothing was safe. Then... the blyatomancers had another deadly weapon.
Vomit.
Code Jet. Vomit. Every other day. The fear affected grades. Loan sharks had to lower prices. Then... it happened
The 1st floor bathrooms were demolished. Nothing intect. Not even the ceiling. So, the tards had to use an outhouse. Shit was going down
That fateful day...
I pick up a ball. Me, a few other teammates on my team. Tards... had everyone on them. 7 v 30
T1: We can't do anything! They have us under their control! M: I lost so much. Many of my comrades as well. Students are failing classes. Losing their work. T5: Fuck this! I got nothing to lose! Just throw already!
Teammate 5. His name was Vladimir. He had tried to get his grades up but the blyatomancers consistently targeted him. He got a ball. Threw it. Illuminated like a brilliant star. Whizzed like a bullet. Hefner was distracted. Being oblivious. Ball hit its target. Hefner's stomach
Hefner collapsed. About to REEEEEEEEEEEE. My team just started throwing balls whenever we got them.
They hit faces, broke glasses, the tards fell one by one
Hefner was about summon more minions. At the right moment... I struck him. Hit him with a ball as fast as light. Right in the face
Blood was dripping under him. Noticeable, but not extreme. I got him in the forehead. Another teammate got him. In the nose. Nose bleed
My team wins. Cheering. But... it was short lived. Libtard yelled at us. Made us apologize. We couldn't take their shit. Literally. We start throwing at the libtard
Act VIII:The (temporary) end of the underground
We had to disband to cover our tracks. My 30000 ruble a week. ($466.42) Need to just lie low. Parents called school worried about their kids coming home with crap on them. Police investigate. Libtard sent to prison. 45 days. Hiding evidence of the security cameras.
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