What is it about dogs, exactly, that make them so precious to us? For starters, dogs have had to adapt to living with humans well more than the past 10,000 years, and they have done it very well ... Bazzi ‒ Mine (Lyrics) 🎤 // 😍 you so precious when you smile 💖 Follow Taz Network’s Official Spotify Playlist: http://spoti.fi/2rDabxJ 🔔 Turn on the ... Oh maybe maybe I'm gonna have a baby We was a duet oh we do it all night I was feeling kind of ethereal 'cause I'm precious I had my eye on your imperial you're so precious Now howard the duck and mr stress both stayed Trapped in a world that they never made But not me baby I'm too precious I had to fuck off So so precious. And so so sick of hearing it. Background: My uncle died earlier this year and he was my grandma's sole caretaker. We have a small/aging family so I'm the only one able to take over, and she can't come to CA for a bunch of reasons. I moved from Los Angeles to a very rural area in TN, into a dilapidated, infested, hoarded house on ... My dog Precious, my wonderful girl, my sweet love of joy. I miss you so so so much. It has been a month and 7 days since you left to doggie Heaven. It has been so empty without you. Daddy, your little dog sister Kayla and I are just so sad. But we know you are here with us every day and night to look over us, protect us and smile down at us. Oh maybe maybe I'm gonna have a baby We was a duet oh we do it all night I was feeling kind of ethereal 'cause I'm precious I had my eye on your Imperial you're so precious Now Howard the Duck and Mr Stress both stayed Trapped in a world that they never made But not me baby I'm too precious I had to fuck off Made me wanna Made me wanna You made ... I'm So precious, So Precious, precious You know you want me, you know you feel me Don't front now Let me be the first t let That you ever cried Pamper me with love the way You treat the car you drive Respect the love, we had, we shared Chorus I'm not like them chicks that you had before Im tired but a billion more I know cash rules everything ... "She's a bit precious about her new baby" means the speaker thinks she makes too much fuss over the baby (and perhaps thinks others care more about the baby than they actually do). "I'm not having that after it fell on the floor!" - "Don't be so precious -just eat it!" implies the speaker thinks the reluctant diner overvalues minor food hygiene ... 1 So precious is Jesus, my Savior, my King, His praise all the day long with rapture I sing; To Him in my weakness for strength I can cling, For He is so precious to me. Chorus: For He is so precious to me, (so precious to me,) For He is so precious to me; (so precious to me;) 'Tis heaven below, my Redeemer to know, For He is so precious to me. So Precious with them diamonds around your neck So precious so, don't let met go Ya cash flow or anything that you respect So precious so, don't let me go There's no limit to this jew so don't forget I'm the seventh digit on your paycheck I'm So precious, So Precious, precious. You know you want me, you know you feel me Don't front now
2020.09.10 01:14 bromanski I'm so precious. So so precious. And so so sick of hearing it
Background: My uncle died earlier this year and he was my grandma's sole caretaker. We have a small/aging family so I'm the only one able to take over, and she can't come to CA for a bunch of reasons. I moved from Los Angeles to a very rural area in TN, into a dilapidated, infested, hoarded house on ten acres of swampy overgrown wilderness. I really can't exaggerate how awful this house was/is; there is a hidden obstacle to everything. Pipes leak, appliances are broken, parts of the floor are mushy, and everything is just kind of rotting. There was nowhere clean or comfortable to sit, let alone sleep. The refrigerator was full of bugs and sloshy gloop. Her mattress was moldy. Rat shit everywhere. I was out here for two full months just cleaning and hauling stuff to the dump before actually moving here, and it's still just barely habitable. I can upload pics, but if you've seen Hoarders, you have an idea.
Amazingly, these are not the things making me question my decision to come out here. I can accept not being comfortable for a while. It's a frustrating place to live, but I can make it better. It's getting better. No, the thing that really terrifies me about living here is my grandma. I was so focused on the vast amount of physical labor ahead that I completely underestimated the emotional work my grandma demands.
I can prepare meals, dispense meds, give her a shower and put cream on her butt. I can take her to the doctor, feed her pets, do her laundry and adjust her pillows. But her talking, the incessant talking, is draining my patience at a truly alarming rate. She literally never stops talking. Ever. On the toilet, in bed, doing her puzzles, watching TV... it's the same thing every day. She has maybe 6 or 7 things she talks about, and one of them is me. She can barely remember my name, doesn't know what I do for a living, is totally oblivious to even the most basic facts about my life. But I am PRECIOUS. Oh, am I PRECIOUS. She loves me SO much, so MUCH honey. Oh Grandma is SOO lucky, so LUCKY. LOVE you, darlin, you precious little booger you! Did you know I'm SO blessed? What did I DO to DESERVE you?? God was SO good to me, he gave me SUCH a PRECIOUS granddaughter, oh HONEY.
No matter how small a task - find the remote? Bring her dentures? Peel a banana? Oh I LOVE YOUUU HONEY, SO PRECIOUS - and it starts again. You'd think I was fucking Florence Nightingale for adjusting the fan speed.
I know it's totally ridiculous that this of all things is what's getting to me, but... oh my god. Oh my god. Please, make it stop
EDIT Just realized, she talks to me the same way she talks to her dog. Almost verbatim
submitted by bromanski to caregivers [link] [comments]
2020.08.23 20:29 50AlphaCygni Ca hidden toilet
Hey all. I just fired Rimworld up for the first time in ages. As I was reading up on the changes to the game since I last played, I discovered this subreddit. I was feeling creative, so I thought I'd use it as a sort of dynamic, procedurally generated writing prompt, and post the story here as I play/write it.
Game details: I'm a glutton for rogue-like punishment, so I set it to a random seed, with the difficulty on Randy Random, Strive to Survive. Permadeath is also on. I had 10 colonists but only six slots. I flipped a coin as to whether I got what I was given, or if I chose my own. I got to choose my own. The landing site, of course, was also random.
I'm presently on in-game day 4. I figure if I let the game stay 3-5 days ahead of the story, it'll be a bit easier to create reason behind the random madness.
So far it's been a dramatic, and at times hilarious, journey. I've never put much thought behind the whys of in-game events, or tried to tie them in together or make sense of them until this playthrough. It's really given Rimworld a whole new life of its own.
It's probably going to suck all the harder when someone (everyone) dies. I'm already attached to a few characters.
Chapter 1: Seriously Isolated Signals From: Karine Hagstaff
To: Jackson Carbeck
Jackson, you need to check this out. The scan-net picked this databurst up about a week ago, from the Rho Hintarri cluster. Janice makes it around 200 light years away, depending on the exact star. She’s working on pinpointing the signal’s exact origin.
It seems to be a log from a ship’s crew that crash-landed on some backwoods planet. We’re talking serious isolation. These guys were screwed the second they made planetfall.
I couldn’t find any record of any of the crewmembers’ names, where they’re from, or of the freighter "Kilroy." The company that owned the ship might not even exist any more. A lot can happen in 200 years, you know?
This has got to be some sort of archive stream. No sig-id packets or anything. Just raw data. And the year has been encoded. We’re guessing someone is, or was, doing a data dump for transfer purposes. We just happen to be in the RXer’s shadow.
We’re keeping our ears on the target so we don’t miss anything. If it’s a full server dump, there might be some valuable data to follow. Or maybe some juicy coords mixed into the journal entries, themselves.
For now it’s just a soap opera. Nothing the bigheads would want to see so far, but it’s a fun read, like a pulp romance novel or something. The beginning is a bit jumbled, as it took a bit for the scan-net to squelch out all the stellar radio signature coming in with it. But the stream stabilizes just when things get interesting, about the time the crew ejects planetside.
I’ll send more after we’ve accumulated another big chunk of data. The TX frequency is super-low, so the data is just trickling in. This bit is almost a weeks’ worth. A week of our time, I mean.
Tell me if you see anything of use to us that I missed.
Confidentiality Notice: This e-mail and any attachments are intended for the specific delivery to and use by HTI. Review and retransmission to any person or persons outside of HTI is strictly prohibited. If you received this message unofficially or in error, a reward may be offered for information on this message’s origin. Please visit the Hidden Treasures Industries datapod public access point for more information.
Salvage Item: #33682.001
Item Name: Rho Hintarri Datastream 120314
Date: Captured 3/12/3014 to 3/18/3014, with data still being received; please refer to main case file for more information
Recovery Location: The Rho Hintarri cluster; the exact whereabouts are being traced
Item Notes: This transmission is still ongoing as of 3/20/3014. Right now we’re keeping an antenna on target to see if anything valuable comes out of it. Salvage coords, genealogical records, historical data. Anything anybody would pay for.
We’re letting DocuChive do its thing with the raw data, but we might want to do a manual scrub on it every now and then to see if there’s anything hidden between the lines.
Let’s intern this out. No need spending extra monetary resources combing data that will probably lead to nothing. - A. Barton
[TRANSMISSION DATA BEGINS]
uldn’t be having problems if it weren’t for the slipshod electronics Martin insists on using for repairs. He’s got a quarter-billion-credit starship, but he won’t spend a thousand pips to get a proper disposal lock to vent the trash. What a joke.
He’ll care once the fruit flies start getting into his quarters.
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
KILROY LOG ENTRY ID: 333424
DATE ID: 8922
God, why’d I let Minia convince me to get outta the LDE? I shoulda know better than to quit and jump aboard this cargo can. “Freighters need soldiers, too,” she said. She seemed to know what she was doing.
Now look at us. We haven’t seen a shot fired in six months. Six years, if you count the age-lag. Not even one barfight. Zil. Just a lot of watching and talking.
I think Minia loves it here. She can pretend to have a home, but not have one at the same time.
I can’t stand it. It’s boring. It’s stale. The people are stale. And it gets worse with time. It’s like being on duty for an unending war that’s never going to actually start. It’s like being on leave at Dee-Bar Prime. Permanently.
Hopefully she’ll tire of it soon. I dropped a few hints, but she pretended not to notice. I’ll give her two more planetfalls. Then I’m out of here, with or without her. I’ll join a flippin’ raider ship if I have to.
I stopped by the port-mall at Arkus spacestation yesterday during our refuel. I wanted to see if Jeston was still calling that place home, but there wasn’t even time to w
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
e sort of new stardrive system. The specs were total redline. I might h
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
DATE ID: 8950
Minia has been talking to me a lot lately. John Whitehouse’s Minia. She keeps having me come in and check out her toilet unit.
It keeps plugging. The water is clean every time. Is she doing it in purpose?
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s flirting with me. Like in the vids. Waiting for me to make a move.
Does John know? I thought I saw him scowl at me once or twice in the corridor, so he might. God, I hope not.
Or maybe they want a threesome?
There’s no way. Not with me.
Lucas said he might need me to help in the medical bay on Thursdays. He’s going to talk to Captain Martin about having me supp
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
r an apple. That’s it.
KILROY LOG ENTRY ID: 333699
Companion Passenger to Whitehouse, John
DATE ID: 9184
What was I thinking? This is horrible. It’s only been seven months, but it feels like five years. Like we haven’t been in cry-sleep this whole trip.
I can’t believe John likes this. He loves it. He hasn’t complained once. He’s gone soft, and I think it’s my fault. I dreamed up this adventure-domestic life, and talked him into it. I thought it’s what I wanted, but…
I’m about to stir something up just to wake him up. Pick a fight for him in the mess cabin. Or maybe with him, if I have to. If he gets mad and starts swinging at someone, maybe he’ll wake up and get us both out of this nightmare, and get us off scrapheap.
Would the Lucky Ladies take us back? I know it’s not right, but I sort of liked shooting at people for money. I mean, they were bad guys. Pirates, usually. I was actually good at it. Not as good as John, but I could hold my own.
And John looked so handsome in that uniform. Beautiful and powerful, like a lion. Like a king.
What if he doesn’t want to leave the Kilroy. What if I say something, and he gets mad, and he…
No. I’ll figure something out. Anything but that. Not on his terms, anyhow.
The damned bin-bot lost my laundry again. It was parked in a corner on F-deck. Steve said he ca
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
on, or the other end of it. Either way is fine by me. As long as I get my pay.
The newsfeed yesterday mentioned that Subaxis is devel
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
y the captain is going to allow her to stay. She’s dead weight. Eating food, drinking water, breathing air.
She will be here a while. Until she gets tired of living on the move. That’s how it is when the only single woman boards up on a freighter.
They either sleep with the whole crew over time, then disappear because they got no options, or they sleep with nobody, and disappear because they are weary of getting hit on.
This one’s already sleeping with someone, though. It’s why she’s here. She’ll likely get off at the first port after they break up.
Everybody breaks up on these things. Intersteller freight life is a life lived alone.
I wonder how much trouble I’d get in if I “accidentally” jettisoned Skippy and Boy out the airlock? I can’t serve either one of them a thing on Friday nights without them complaining about something. God, I hate kids.
The potato stores came in rotten. They weren’t flashed properly because the bloody food cryo system is on the fritz again. Martin won’t spend the proper money to get it fixed. Steve’s fixes only last a few months.
It’s gonna be a rough leg. It’s one thing to lose al
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
ation isn’t outlawed, last I checked.
KILROY LOG ENTRY ID: 334093
DATE ID: 9313
Steve’s going on about that girl again. He won’t shut up about her. I told him he’s delusional, that there’s no way a girl that attractive is interested in him.
He got raging mad. But it’s his own fault. I told him so. I said maybe he shouldn’t tell his father personal information if he didn’t want the feedback.
I had to remind him that I got to see it this go down before, a thousand times. Every romantic fantasy crash of his adolescence. And now, thirty years later, it’s just more of the same. He just doesn’t learn.
How did I raise such an idiot? He can be so bright, except when he’s not.
Jason Martin was harang
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
eding crazy! The likes of him! I’ve half a mind to whip his ass!
I was planning on hopping off this crate here in Lim-Trutana. Pick up some contract work. But not like this. Not with Minia moved in with him and everything.
She don’t even like the guy. She told me so herself, ages ago. And I wouldn’t even have t
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
open end had a mouse caught in it. A dead one.
Stijn needs to clean his mess hall more often.
Minia said John stopped by again. I swear, if I find out. I mean, why would she tell me that? We’ve been married six months now, and the guy is still hanging around like a bad smell. I told Minia I was going to get Captain Martin involved, but she didn’t want me to. She asked why I don’t just kick his ass?
John’s ass. Yeah. Has she seen him? The guy would squeeze my head off.
KILROY LOG ENTRY ID: 342187
Crew Status Pending Review
DATE ID: 9705
I think John is finally getting it. He hasn’t come back for nearly two weeks after this last fight. He thinks I married Steve just to spite him. I didn’t. I did it because he’s a nice guy.
Of course, I didn’t tell him that I originally dated Steve just to spite him. Or at least flirted with him. I just wanted John to remember what it’s like to burn again. He used to be a soldier. Now he’s hardly a man.
But John never responded. He just drew away when I started flirting with Steve. Knowing him, he was looking for a port to jump ship. And, well, life kinda happened. I never would have guessed it back then. Steve Conway. Of all people.
Turns out Steve’s a nice guy. I mean, he’s not thrilling like John. He doesn’t have that dangerous edge. But he can figure anything out, if the problem is complex enough. The simple stuff? I don’t know. I doubt Steve can even figure out which end of a pistol is which. He’d never be a memer of the LDE, even in the rear with the gear.
But he’s all about building a home. John never was.
Still, if I could meet a guy that had the best of both of them.
No way. He doesn’t exist.
KILROY LOG ENTRY ID: 342188
DATE ID: 9707
I swear, if Yuuma wakes me up in the middle of the night with his hypochondriatic bull again, I’m going to inject him with the plague the next time he’s in. Dead-serious.
I asked Steve to talk to him, and at least get him to wait until normal operating hours for anything short of a heart attack.
“I’m not my father’s keeper,” he cracked back. Then he had to tell me it was a reference to the bible, and that he didn’t believe the bible.
But I think he’ll have a chat with him.
Steve’s a strange one, but he’s a decent guy. I’m trying to get the company to sponsor him a proper education in the medical field. How the hell he wound up the janitor aboard the Kilroy is beyond me. He won’t tell me a thing about it, though.
All I know is that he knows his way around the human body better than I do. He doesn’t have the experience, but he’s a walking encyclopedia of anatomy.
The guy deserves a ship of his own to doctor.
The samples from Gezink popped out of the analyzer this morning. He’s clean on all marks. He told me that the sy
[TRANSMISSION LOCK LOST]
Engines are out, we’re suffering uncontrolled cabin depressurization, and we don’t have the faintest clue where we are. We can’t hail anybody on the radio, and local ship comms are down as well. I’m submitting this final entry before we launch the drop pods.
There’s no word from the other side of the ship, even after I initiated emergency oxygen preservation protocols. We have four of their lifeboats on this side. They’re likely drawing straws while we’re all loading, preparing for planetfall.
I’m ejecting the black box to the planet. Otherwise, in a few years, it will just burn up during re-entry with the rest of the craft.
I’m not a holy man, but I’m praying for the rest of the crew. Hopefully they figure out how to make it out of there.
Hell, I need to pray for us as well. We don’t have a clue what’s down there.
Chapter 2: Hot, Dark, and Barren All Over
submitted by 50AlphaCygni to Talesfromrimworld [link] [comments]
2020.06.09 18:50 biggreekgeek Toilet ca hidden
Part 14 is here
A while back I posted some information showing how unrelated events can tie back to a central theme, which is preparing of abrupt climate changes and the war that it will bring with it. This was predicated on the amount of literature appearing in National Security papers advocating changing operational changes to military preparedness all based on a paper suggesting that a little ice age will occur as a result of abrupt climate changes.
And I went down the wrong rabbit hole.
I'm not suggesting that we aren't heading into a new little ice age, because we are. But there's a problem, we aren't there yet, and when you look in the right direction, we should have been seeing bigger signs of this LIA occurring by now.
Which leads to a certain possible scenarios.
1) The Little Ice Age is off schedule. 2) The LIA advocates are wrong. 3) Anthropogenic climate change is right, and we've thrown off or prevented the LIA. 4) The LIA science is being manipulated into distracting those of us who actually do research away from the real issue. 5) A variable has come into play and the drastic measures being taken are in response to the variable.
And what if I told you that scenario number five is our mambo number five that we should dance to? Because it is. And if you start verifying what I'm about to show you, you'll start to believe it too.
The information is out there, and it's hidden in plain sight.
Buckle up and strap in, because we are heading into a real life SHTF scenario.
A while back in the middle of the lockdown I read something that caught my eye. It just seemed strange. Do you remember the reports about that rotten smell in Paris and Britain? Try as I could, I could barely find any information on the smell. And then much later on, while on a totally unrelated search, this caught my attention Another report on the smell, but this one from January 22, 2013, from Paris to Britain, the exact same phenomenon from May 11th, 2020. And another simple explanation in the headline.
Now I'm interested. My curiosity is caught and my need to examine is engaged.
And I found nothing. Maybe it was just a couple of weird natural occurrences that made that rotten egg sulfur smell. The kind you smell when you have a really good go on the toilet. The kind of smell that's followed up with a ton of toilet paper (and if you really want to get insanely paranoid and believe TPTB are messing with us for their amusement, do you remember the world went insane for toilet paper? Things that make you go hmmmm) before you flush? That's the kind of smell that happened.
And then later on again by accident, I found another headline, and I began to understand something, it's all hidden in plain sight. Seriously, they can't censor it or pretend it didn't happen, so they give a simple explanation and then bury it deep in search results. Even if you do hit upon the subject, it sounds so stupid that you don’t give it a second thought.
But I'm dumb enough not to believe those who are smarter than me, and what I found recently altered my perspective on recent events.
Because the more i became a pitbull and refused to let the smell go, the more the events kept happening. Everywhere. Literally, everywhere in almost every country and every city. Go ahead. Go to your search engine and try it.
Search engine suggestions.
1) Rotten smell complaints. 2) Sulfur smell complaints. 3) Mystery smell. 4) Mysterious odors. 5) Strange smell.
Do you remember when I said the information is buried? It is. You will have to type in different variations, different places, anything you can think of, before results start popping up. But they might or might not pop up in the first ten results. If they do, guess what? It's usually in a place far away from you.
Let me give you a couple big examples.
'Mysterious' smell gets up Tehran noses Jan 3, 2019
WMC Memphis residents complain of foul odor Jun 1, 2019
The Denver Channel. 'It smells like something is dying': Neighbors in North Denver Jul 10, 2019
'It's Disgusting' | 9 Months Later, The Greensboro Rotten Egg Stench is Back? Jul 16, 2019
www.delawareonline.com | 'Mystery odor' stumps officials in Delaware, nearby states
https://www.cbc.ca › ottawa › ri... 'Rotten egg' smell wafting from Rideau station, commuters say | CBC News - CBC.ca
All of these reports follow the same pattern with either a simple explanation, or a, we don’t really know, so here's what might be happening.
Now you can either believe that a smell is miraculously happening all over the planet at the same time is nothing more than a coincidence, or you can wake up and at bare minimum look into it yourself. Be warned though, you have to get very creative in your search criteria to keep getting results.
So what, you might say? Shit smells bad, and I looked and this smell has always been there. Yes it has, it's natural, it's a part of our ecosystem. I'm not saying the smell is new, I'm saying the sulfur smell is growing, and if it keeps getting bad they aren't going to be able to keep it hidden for very much longer.
How long until they can't keep it hidden if it keeps getting worse? I don’t know. I really don't.
Why would they keep it hidden?
Because it's toxic. It will kill you at certain parts per million in the air. Luckily it isn't that high yet, and maybe this stops, but it's a good thing that there's a pandemic happening that can be called outbreaks in case it does get worse. Isn't it?
Do you have more information that you have linked to this sulfur smell?
Yes. Yes I do. And unfortunately, it's too much information. And all the obvious evidence is hidden in plain sight.
Is there any scientists warning about this?
NO! And that's the problem. It's a HUGE red flag. Why? Because it explains other events that have been happening world wide, events that scientists claim not to understand. They may not understand why it's happening, but they know what is happening. How do they know? Because it's happened before in our past.
They call them extinction events. During the end Permian stage extinction event
And wouldn't you know it, there is a ton of interest in that era from the science community right now.
What caused Earth's biggest mass extinction? - Stanford Earth.
Volcanic Eruptions Caused End-Permian Extinction, New Evidence Confirms
A Rapid Rise in Temperature Led to the Worst Extinction in our Planet's History
Salinity changes and anoxia resulting from enhanced run-off during the late Permian
How the “Great Dying” of 250 million years ago may have been caused by a microbe
Sulfur choked sea life during end-Permian mass extinction: study - Cosmos
The Great Dying': World's worst-ever extinction event 'caused by UV radiation'
The most devastating mass extinction in Earth's history happened much faster - ZME Science
Long story short, they really don't have any idea how the end Permian extinction event happened. But you'll notice that every theory they have is linked to something presently occurring.
And guess what happened after nearly all marine life vanished and 70% of animals went e extinct?
An ice age.
Is this a precursor? A little extinction event (hopefully) before the little ice age kicks in? As I've said before, there seems to be a 2024-2025 date that's rather prominent in a lot of budgets, and technological timelines. Do they think they'll know enough by then? Or, is this when the real flattening of the population curve starts so humanity can have enough to survive?
Listen, take this seriously. I will show you patterns as we go that indicate the worst of the sulfur effects are happening the seas and oceans, possibly making the middle northern landmass areas the safest (This is why it's mainly migratory birds and water life that are dying). I will also show you other geophysical evidence that this is occurring besides the rotten egg smell.
And one last point, there maybe a pattern suggesting that the epidemic wasn't only orchestrated to cover up future events, but to possibly make any toxic environments worse right away.
And if you're casually dismissive of this last point, do you remember those videos in China of people suddenly fainting? Do you remember that big cloud of sulfur dioxide that was recorded in the atmosphere above China? The one that was instantly called fake news and attributed to burning bodies (which it wasn't).
Guess what else can make you suddenly faint when the concentrations are high enough? Hydrogen Sulfide? What if they really saw was actually Hydrogen Sulfide in the atmosphere?
More to come. Hopefully I'm wrong.
Take care. Be safe. Stay aware and be prepared.
submitted by biggreekgeek to conspiracy [link] [comments]
2020.05.28 00:25 thaicedmilktea Toilet hidden ca
I am a senior Chinese military intelligence officer and I know the truth about the coronavirus outbreak. It is far worse than the media are telling you.
I am a Chinese citizen in Wuhan who occupies — or perhaps occupied — a high-ranking position in military intelligence. I am also a member of the Chinese Communist Party. As a senior official near the top of the Party, I have access to a great deal of classified information and I have been involved in many top secret government projects. I have a doctorate from a leading university in a western country, which is why I am able to write my account in English.
I have information that I believe could lead to the overthrow of my government. It is also relevant to billions of people outside of China, all of whom are now in existential peril.
It will not surprise you to hear that if my identity were to be revealed, my life would be in grave danger, as would those of my wife and son. I ask you to respect the fact that I have stripped out of this account all facts that would make it easy to identify me.
By now you will be familiar with the recent outbreak of 2019-nCoV, also known as NCP, or simply "coronavirus". You will have heard that it originated in Wuhan, an industrial city in China, and that it came from an animal — most likely a bat or a pangolin — that was sold in a wild animal market. You will have been told that it is an influenza-like illness that can in severe cases cause pneumonia, respiratory failure and death. Finally, you may have heard that although the disease is highly infectious, it is dangerous only to the elderly or to those who have a compromised immune system. The official lethality rate is approximately 2% or so.
All of that is a bunch of lies concocted by the Chinese state with the tacit support of the U.S. deep state and its friends in the European Union, Russia and Australia, and spread by the docile media in all of those countries.
Let me start by telling you that the world does not operate the way you think it does. Although countries like the US and China vie for global dominance, that competition is restricted to certain limited areas. In most ways, the two countries are more interested in cooperation so that they can stop other competing countries from gaining more power. They also have a shared interest in keeping real power out of the hands of their "ordinary" citizens. To this end, they have many different mechanisms by which they control the overwhelming majority of their media outlets. The Americans in particular have perfected the art of creating made-up "divisions" between their two main parties which are designed to hide the fact that both serve the same masters.
These same nations also posses technology that is far more advanced than you can imagine and which is kept carefully hidden from public view. This includes advanced artificial intelligence capable of undermining and deciding any election in the world; biological and chemical agents that can manipulate and control the thinking patterns and behaviours of citizens to terrifying degrees; highly sophisticated manipulation techniques using hypnotic practices entirely unknown to the public; and other things that I will not go into now. My point is that the great nations do not compete so much as work together. Their principal goal is to shield the true workings of the world from the "uninitiated" public.
Just to give you one example, there aren’t actually any nuclear weapons anywhere in the world. The U.S. and the Soviet Union scrapped them all in the 1970s, as did their client states. Everyone realised that those weapons could not be used without destroying the whole world, so there was no need for them; but by pretending that they still had them, the big players were able to keep the non-nuclear powers in line.
Let me return to the virus.
Last year, large-scale anti-government protests erupted in Hong Kong. The Standing Committee of the Chinese Communist Party considered these to be a grave threat to the integrity and stability of the motherland. The U.S. government and the EU both knew that the Chinese were secretly working on a biological agent that was supposed to make the protesters docile and obedient. Without going into detail, I worked on that project. We tried to develop a sort of spray that could be dispersed from helicopters or drones and that would lead to mental retardation and behavioural change.
Naturally, as Hong Kong is one of the most open and international cities in the world, the Party decided that it was too risky to release the agent in Hong Kong without first testing it. For this, it needed a great number of human guinea pigs. Two groups were identified for this.
First, we rounded up a large number of so-called "islamic radicals" in Xinjiang Province and took them to what we called "training camps". We had already been using these camps for human experimentation for several years, but the Hong Kong protests meant that we redoubled our efforts. We exposed the inmates to various "alpha" experimental agents. As these were odourless and invisible, the subjects were not aware that they were taking part in medical trials. The resulting high rates of cancer, premature dementia, suicidal depression and death by organ failure could easily be suppressed, as the camps are located in very remote parts of our motherland.
Once the initial experiments had yielded a "beta" agent, it was transported to Hubei Province, where it was deployed in a special military testing facility outside the city of Wuhan. This was not even a particularly well-kept secret: the existence of this facility has been reported in international news. Even the fact that it is located close to the wild animal market is a known fact.
By then our President had already introduced a "social credit" system that allowed us to identify disloyal, counter-revolutionary and bourgeois elements in our society. Using the social credit scores — which are taken from online activity, electronic shopping behaviour and reports from informers in civil society — we selected some of the worst offenders. These included human rights lawyers and activists, Christians, homosexuals, artists, intellectuals, people who speak foreign languages, and other undesirables.
Once these troublemakers had been collected and placed in the testing facility, we exposed them to the Agent, which is biochemical in nature and spread in an invisible aerosol, akin to certain viruses. Initial results were encouraging, as we saw significant cognitive decline and reduction in higher mental processing facilities. Essentially, our undesirables were becoming mildly mentally disabled, which is precisely the effect we wanted to produce in order to pacify the restive population of Hong Kong.
Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that the Agent also had other effects. About one week after the retardation set in, our subjects developed major anxiety and panic attacks. Eventually they developed symptoms akin to those of paranoid schizophrenics. At that point, their bodies rapidly deteriorated. They developed massive internal bleeding; the walls of their arteries dissolved; they bled out of their eyes and orifices, and their tissue disintegrated.
To put it in a more direct Western manner, they started to melt.
Death usually occurred through multiple organ failure. This was preceded by at least five days of severe agony which could not be alleviated by painkillers. It was at this time that I first violated our protocol: one subject, an elderly lady who had published defamatory cartoons of our President, begged me for death with such insistence that I took pity and shot her. I was reprimanded, but fortunately the complaint was dropped when I agreed to reimburse the cost of the bullet. I swore to myself never again to show such unnecessary emotion.
We decided that our Agent was unusable. It was far too destructive for our purposes. We wanted the population of Hong Kong to submit to us; we did not want to exterminate it.
Naturally, our American friends had by then taken an interest in our work and asked us for a sample for their own research and testing purposes. They hinted that they wished to use it to resolve certain difficulties in Venezuela. Normally we would have agreed, as we maintain friendly relations with the CIA, but given the extremely toxic nature of the Agent, we declined.
This, as it turned out, was a grave mistake. The CIA was convinced that we had developed something very powerful and wanted to keep it to ourselves. They offered a great deal of money to one of our researchers. Foolishly, he agreed to sell them a specimen. We found out just in time for the handover and tried to stop it from happening. In the ensuing shoot-out — don’t bother to look for it in the news, it was never reported anywhere — several dozen people were killed.
More importantly, however, the Agent escaped.
The shoot-out took place at the wild animal market which has been reported as the location of the "animal to human" transmission that started the outbreak. But of course there was no such transmission; it was just the location where the CIA was supposed to receive the sealed vial containing the Agent. The vial shattered when it was dropped by the traitor who had agreed to sell it to the Americans.
By now I understand you will be sceptical. If I really am who I say I am, why would I be sharing this information on the internet? Let me assure you that I am no friend of the Western system of governance. I love my motherland and I am loyal to the Communist Party. It has lifted hundreds of millions of my compatriots out of squalor and poverty. However, I am also a human being and I have a conscience.
Most importantly, I have a wife and a son.
Once we realised that the Agent had escaped and would start to spread, we swiftly put all of Wuhan into lockdown. I was one of those tasked to manage the fallout of the contamination. Of course we could not keep such a huge undertaking secret, so we decided to order our state media to report that a "coronavirus" had broken out in Wuhan.
In reality, of course, there is no "coronavirus". It was all made up.
It was one of my colleagues who came up with the genius idea of pretending that people with the common flu suffered from the coronavirus. This allowed us to hide the true nature of the disease. Let me explain.
It is currently flu season in China. When we realised that we could no longer control the spread of the Agent, we sent our men to all the hospitals and instructed all doctors to diagnose every case of the common flu as "coronavirus". We came up with a new name — 2019-nCoV — and handed out "factsheets" that described a made-up illness.
The result of this decision was that tens of thousands of individuals who were simply suffering from a cold or flu were now diagnosed as having a mysterious coronavirus that, although infectious, was not often lethal. While this frightened the public, it allowed us to push the narrative that the disease was not that deadly; it also gave us time to prepare for the catastrophe that was sure to come by imposing a lockdown on Wuhan and other cities in Hubei Province.
You have not heard this in the news — and given the size of Wuhan, with its population of 11 million, it is not known even to many of the residents — but within days thousands upon thousands were infected and before long they suffered the agonising deaths that I have already described. Within a week, there were so many corpses that we did not know what to do with them, so we ordered the surviving social credit prisoners to drive the bodies into the countryside and bury them in mass graves. But it was very difficult to keep this activity secret, and we could not even keep up as there were so many corpses. We planted a story that five million residents had "fled" Wuhan. In reality, of course, many of those people had died from the Agent.
I was working around the clock helping to orchestrate this cover-up. When I think back to my actions now, I feel great shame. At the time I still believed that I was fighting for my motherland and that the rule of the Party was right and just. But deep down, I had already begun to have doubts.
My faith in the Party was shaken even more deeply when I learnt what had happened to Dr Li Wenliang. He was one of the few doctors who refused falsely to diagnose flu patients with the "coronavirus". As a punishment, he was sent to help transport dead bodies to mass graves. The expectation was that he would be infected with the Agent and die an agonising death, but to our great surprise, he did not contract the illness.
You have of course read that he died of "coronavirus". You have been misinformed. A sergeant of the People’s Armed Police injected him with a mixture of heroin and mercury that caused his lungs to deflate.
When I found out about this I became unsure whether or not I was doing the right thing. While I believe that it is appropriate for a government to rule with a severe hand, I do not think that it was right to kill Dr Li. He was a compassionate and kind man and he cared about his patients; how can our motherland not benefit from having such a doctor?
I shared my concerns with my wife, but she convinced me that I should not say anything to my superiors. She said that it was too dangerous; that they valued loyalty above everything else; and that I would only find trouble if I admitted to my doubts about their practices. She also pointed out that we benefited from priority medical treatment. As senior officials, we received regular supplies of the highly-sophisticated hazmat masks that are the only known technology that can prevent infection. She implored me to think of our son, who is still small. If I spoke out and were caught, our lives would be at risk.
Around the same time, it became clear that the Agent was entirely beyond our control. It was spreading like wildfire throughout Hubei Province and beyond, infecting tens of millions and causing them all to die.
I understand that what I just said is difficult to believe, because you have been told that there have been only about 50,000 infections, and far fewer deaths. But these are the influenza infections that have been falsely passed off as the non-existent "coronavirus". The Agent is far, far more contagious than that, and its fatality rate, unlike the "coronavirus", is not 2%.
No, its fatality rate is 100%. Nobody recovers from it. Everybody who contracts it dies.
And a lot of people are contracting it.
Hubei Province lies in ruins. The various travel restrictions and lockdowns that have been imposed were not created to stop the spread of the Agent — none of them can stop it, not embargoes, not face masks or hand sanitiser — but to stop the survivors from seeing the catastrophe with their own eyes.
I am part of the greatest cover-up in human history: the hiding of the deaths of tens of millions. Very soon, Hubei Province will be no more than a giant mortuary, and the truth will come out.
For me, the turning point came when the Party told yet another lie, and that lie was too dreadful even for me to accept. You may have heard that China built a new hospital, called Huoshenshan Hospital, in Wuhan, in order to provide additional quarantine and isolation facilities for infected patients. You may have heard that they built it in only ten days.
That too is a lie.
Sure, they did build something in six days. But it was not a hospital. The true nature of the building was top secret. Initially, I was naive enough to believe that the Party was demonstrating its compassion and care for the people. But then my superiors sent me to Huoshenshan. I was shown around the installation by a military police officer called Corporal Meng (this is not his real name). It was there that I saw the truth.
As I have mentioned, the only way to protect oneself from the Agent is by wearing a special protective mask that is entirely unlike those available commercially. Even medical professionals do not have access to it. It is available only to biomedical warfare researchers and it contains extremely advanced technology.
These masks need to be kept at a particular temperature to offer full protection, and lose their effectiveness very quickly. As I have also already said, one of the benefits of my position was that both my family and I had access to regular supplies, which is why were safe when compared to civilians, doctors and even lower-level government officials, all of whom wore utterly ineffective surgical masks in the misguided belief that they would protect them.
And so, wearing this special equipment, I went to Huoshenshan with Corporal Meng.
Whatever you want to call that place, it is not a hospital. Sure, the entrance looks like a hospital and in the ward at the front of the complex, there are what appear to be normal medical beds. There, thousands of infected patients lie, all of them in the early stages of the disease. I walked along those long, white corridors next to Corporal Meng, his angular face dispassionate in his military fatigues, and saw hundreds upon hundreds of identical hospital beds on which squirmed the terrified and diseased inhabitants of Wuhan. Their cries and pleas haunt me in the long nights in which I now am unable to sleep.
But this was merely the beginning. Eventually the Corporal took me to the rear of this front section. There, locked metal gates led to what he called the "middle section". The patients in the front are unaware of its existence. It is there that the more advanced cases are kept, in what most closely resembles a mental asylum.
Immediately upon entering this part of Huoshenshan I was struck by the dim lighting and stench of vomit and human waste. Here the unfortunates roamed freely, their minds gradually disintegrating in endless panic attacks and psychotic episodes. Here too there were no more doctors, merely gorilla-faced men in black uniforms who belonged to some secret branch of the military police I had never heard of.
They appeared to have been selected for their cruelty, for they beat and degraded the patients in the most sadistic manner. Many of the inmates had regressed to childlike states and lay on the floor weeping like infants and begging for compassion that they did not receive. There was cruel pleasure in the eyes of these thugs as they brutalised the unfortunates. They beat them with batons, sprayed pepper spray into their eyes and kicked them with their steel-capped boots. As I was from military intelligence, the guards did not even attempt to hide their activities. They even invited me to join; in every way, they treated me as one of them.
Yes, one of them. I stood in the grey staff bathroom of Huoshenshan and looked into a cheap mirror and asked myself — is this really what you are? Are you really like them?
But the violence was not merely an expression of sadism, for the poor inmates were not there to be cared for.
They were there to work.
There was one more set of doors, and beyond them lay what the Corporal called the "Core". And it was there that I saw it — piles and piles of dead bodies, stacked on top of one another all the way to the ceiling. There were men, women and children, elderlies and toddlers, rich and poor, beautiful and misshapen, proud and humble.
They were all of them dead. Our Agent made no distinction between any of them.
I gasped when the Corporal led me to the Core. I cannot count how many there were, but it was many, many thousands. And in the midst of the piles of corpses was a kind of path, and I heard a roaring sound in the distance. The miserable patients from the middle section picked up the dead and carried and dragged them away into the dark, even as the guards beat them with truncheons.
It took me a little while before I grasped what was happening. I simply could not believe what lay at the end of that path in the Core.
It was an enormous furnace, with great fires roaring within.
One by one, their minds destroyed and their bodies twisted, the dying men and women carried the corpses to the furnace and cast them inside in a doomed attempt to hide the dreadful truth. I saw several of them collapse from exhaustion only for their lifeless bodies to be added to the mountains of corpses on both sides. In a seemingly endless line they went, their emaciated bodies clad in grey overalls, their backs bent under the weight of their dreadful cargo. Many howled and groaned in terror and their voices joined in a sorrowful cacophony that lingered over the roar of the fires.
In deep shock, I stared at the boundless horror before me. Beside me stood Corporal Meng, his freshly-shaved face as emotionless as before. When I turned to face him, he looked at me. His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not.
"We use the energy to operate Huoshenshan," he said. "We save the state considerable resources in this way. And look," — he waved at the gallery of the dead — "there are so many of them here. You could almost describe it as renewable energy." He laughed and waved his hand in a strangely camp gesture.
I stood speechless and stared at the infernal scenes before me. Men in black uniforms screamed like daemons at the wretches who were disposing of the corpses for them. They stripped the dead of anything that had value — jewellery, cash, expensive clothing — and tossed these items onto an enormous pile next to the furnace. When I asked the Corporal what would be done with the items, they said that they would be used to pay for the "healthcare expenses" incurred by the patients’ stay in Huoshenshan.
I vomited in the toilet. When I flushed and came out of the stall, Corporal Meng stood by the door and looked at me. His face was as blank as before, but in his eyes I thought I registered a very faint trace of contempt. You are ten years my senior, the look said, but you are soft.
I thanked him for his service and went home.
When I arrived, I saw that I had received hundreds of updates on the encrypted device the Party uses to communicate to insiders. The news were unimaginably grim. The State Legal and Economic Commission had allocated funds for the construction of dozens of facilities like Huoshenshan all throughout China. The Agent had spread not only to every single province of the motherland, but to most other nations in the world. Fortunately, we had agreements in place with other governments — they agreed to pretend that the infections were due to a coronavirus. They were just as worried as we were that a panic might break out in their countries. The Americans in particular were terrified that the S&P 500 might decline. This, they said, would be unacceptable in an election year, so we could count on their full support.
Of course the World Health Organisation also helped us. For a long time, the only issue with the WHO has been that we have been locked in a contest with the Americans about who bribes them more. They released all sorts of sophisticated misinformation about having decoded the DNA of the so-called coronavirus. All this has allowed us to stave off a global panic.
Yet the situation was worsening with astonishing speed. I am reluctant to reveal too much on this point, as it would make it too easy for my enemies to identify me, but we quickly began to implement measures to protect our most senior leaders. If you look at the world news, you will see that Xi Jinping, our President, disappeared for approximately one week after the outbreak, before being seen again with the leader of Cambodia.
You should know that the person who met the Cambodian leader was not President Xi. It was a body double who had, for many years, been trained to look and sound just like our President. President Xi is of course not careless enough to risk his own death. He is safely ensconced in a secret bunker underneath Zhongnanhai, the headquarters of the Party in Beijing.
Nor was he the only leader who is in hiding. In fact, I can assure you that over half of all senior Party members are currently being imitated by trained actors who are following instructions given to them via special implants. Do you really think that our Prime Minister would risk his life by going to Wuhan?
All of this means that our government has become utterly paralysed and the functions of the state have been taken over by the military.
It became clear to me that our efforts were pointless. Yes, the lockdowns, travel bans and targeted assassinations of rebellious journalists allowed us to hide the true situation in Wuhan; but I knew that this would not last. Once the mass deaths begin in the rest of the world — in our estimation, this should happen within the next week or so — everyone will know the truth. It will become clear that we cannot protect ourselves from the Agent. Surgical masks, hand sanitiser, gloves — nothing can stop it. Nothing except the special hazmat masks, but those cannot be produced in anything like sufficient quantities. You, an ordinary person, will never even receive one, let alone a sufficient number to see you through the coming holocaust.
For those of you reading this, therefore, all I can suggest is that you keep your loved ones close to you. Hug them, tell them what they mean to you. Enjoy the time you have left with them. It is not typical in Chinese culture to express one’s feelings in this way, but I have learnt the importance of such gestures.
I promised my wife that I would show this document to her before I posted it.
Yet I broke my word.
I hear her weep in loud, hoarse sobs in the bedroom, and the keyboard of my laptop is wet with my own tears. Not long ago, we received results of the regular tests that are part of our "priority medical treatment", and we learnt that my son had been infected with the Agent.
The military police that has supplied me with the special protective mask had been giving expired and ineffective masks to my son, masks that senior officials had already worn and then discarded when they ceased to protect them. My own masks, on the other hand, had always been of the necessary quality.
I suppose they decided that my son was of lower priority than me. I suppose my son could not help them with their cover-up.
We had long ago decided that we would be different — we would be honest with him, always. And so when he asked us, we told him the truth. We told him that he was very sick. He asked more, and we told him he would not get better.
He continued asking, and we told him that he would die. He is very small, but he was old enough to understand.
His terrified wails will haunt me for the rest of my miserable days in this world.
Let them come. Let them do with me as they will. I no longer care.
submitted by thaicedmilktea to u/thaicedmilktea [link] [comments]
2020.05.19 23:25 BigCatsAreAwesome Hidden ca toilet
Here we go again, I’m going out into the big world. This year, I chose Croatia again, but I decided to go further, so I went to Podgora, a town in Split-Dalmatia county at the Makarska Riviera, ca. 70 km south of Split. Lean back, I’ll tell you of my experiences of my biggest journey.
It was 8:40 AM, the taxi picked me up in my home village Fieberbrunn and brought me to the airport in Salzburg. I was a little bit nervous because this was my first flight. The taxi driver told me about her vacations. She was pretty much everywhere in Europe and she told me that she isn’t interested in vacations in Europe anymore because there are many tourist ghettos where everything is trimmed German. For example, you can get Schnitzel with pommes and particularly fast food frites in El Arenal in Mallorca. She told me that she hates that (which I can understand), so she prefers travel further. She told me about Thailand and recommended me the province Krabi because this isn’t trimmed for Ballermann, fast food and boulevard media tourists. There’s also much nature and wilderness, yes, NATURE! She showed me photos of this region that are very breathtaking for nature freaks like me. Oh no, you’re all laughing at me yet again. She also told me about her vacation in Greece and Greek taverns. I told her that this was my first flight und she told me that the check-in will be very simple.
As I arrived at the Salzburg Airport, I said goodbye and went in to the check-in terminal. I only had to show my passport to get my booked tickets. I hoped that the woman at the counter won’t laugh at me and put me in the pillory because I looked kinda weird on the pass photo. Do I hear someone giggle? After giving up the luggage, I went on to the security control. I was a little bit nervous because there’s a South Park episode called “The Entity” where Kenny gets called a terrorist and shot by the security staff because he had nail scissors with him. That bastard killed Kenny! Also my short name Benny rhymes with Kenny. Fortunately, I went through the security control without any problems. I wasn’t labeled as a terrorist or deadly enemy of democracy and Western Christian civilization. I went on to the gate to wait for my flight to Vienna. After lazing around, the gate got opened and the boarding started. A bus brought me and the other passengers to the airplane. The plane was a weird propeller machine and I just thought: “This thing can fly? It looks like it was built by someone while he was in McDonald’s delirium, with parts of Lego Duplo and some parts of these Polly Pocket sets and that Play-Doh stuff. This was my first flight and then I flew with such a Peg Perego-kiddietoy-plasticbarbiemobilewiggleoldsoapcrate.” I only thought it and didn’t speak it out loudly because I didn’t want to hurt the plane’s feelings, you never know. Yeah, I just went into the plane and hoped for the best. The Happy Meal-tribbeltrabbel-playboxi started the propellers and began to roll. Well, at least it could roll. As the crate arrived at runway, it gained speed rapidly. It really took off and it even stayed in the air. It actually went well, but the plane wiggled when it was flying through clouds, it also went up and down rapidly so my stomach prickled. In the air, I could see the clouds from above for the first time, it was fascinating. While landing, we went through clouds again so the plane started shaking, then the plane landed safely at the Vienna Airport after a flight of only ca. 40 minutes. Not bad for such a trample crate. After the plane stopped, I got out and followed the herd.
As I arrived in the airport building, I followed the signs to the next gate. I went through a shopping mall and after a few minutes of wandering and another security control (where, fortunately, I didn’t get declared a danger for the civilized Western world), I reached the gate. After some gate lazing, the boarding started and I went through a corridor right into the plane. This time, it was a normal jet plane with turbines and stuff, you know (or not, I don’t care, diddliduddli). The same procedure as always: take-off, watch the clouds from above, drink some water and land, but with a bit less wiggle-wiggle-schwabbling. As I landed in Split after only 56 minutes, I immediately felt subtropical climate after getting out of the plane. I went through the pass control and picked up my luggage.
In front of the airport, a taxi picked me up and took me further south to Podgora. I told the driver that this was my first flight, and this with an age of 32 years, but he couldn’t believe that I was already 32 years old. Nobody believes me, isn’t that crazy? He told me that the region Dalmatia is a little bit different than Istria but still nice. Indeed, it’s really nice because we drove through majestic mountains with giant forests. I was conquering unknown terrain again
As I arrived in the hotel, I took place in my room. It was very plain and simple without any decadent luxury which the world so devoutly waited for. There was a small TV, but I wasn’t interested in watching boring advertisements mass media slime. There was a balcony with a view on the backyard. There was everything I needed. There was also a hotel pool, but I didn’t use it because of SEA. Don’t laugh, Dooon’t laugh! At the day of arrival, it was very windy (Bora sends greetings) and in the night, the weather was English. I just shouldn’t have talked so much English. Yeah, I just went to sleep to get into the world of dreams.
Next day, I went to the beach and was fascinated how crystal clear the water was. However, the water was very cool because a bad weather front just came to an end. Bora (no, not Borat) also did some work. If you jump into the water quickly, you might get a cold shock. The beach was a pebble beach with spiky rocks, I would recomment to wear bathing shoes if you don’t want to hurt your feet. I wandered around in Podgora and was totally numbed by the gorgeous view of the mighty Biokovo mountains and the pine woods, and this without advertising interrupts. However, some forest areas were burnt down by the wildfires last year. I already saw burnt trees during the drive from the airport. At the coast of Podgora, you can see the islands Brač and Hvar which I surely wanted to visit. The most known landmark of Podgora is obviously the monument Galebova Krila which remembers the forming of the Partisan Navy in Podgora by the Yugoslav Partisans in 1942. The monument is enthroned on a hill with full beauty over the town. There are also some statues which I photographed, I somehow like statues. The statue of the mermaid which stands on a small rock island right in front of the beach of Podgora has some magical appeal. There are also many ice cream shops. It may sound crazy, but my favourite ice creams are coconut, pistachio, tiramisu, Málaga, mango, pineapple, passion fruit, melon and kiwifruit. I know this isn’t what we call mainstream, but you should try them, they are really delicious. There are also cats roaming in Podgora and I could pet them. A black cat also crossed my path a few times and I could take a photo. I have to repeat that black cats are not black luck, that’s just superstition crap. Before going to sleep, I enjoyed some Croatian beer because the Croatians can brew good beer as well. I tried those Bonko toffees, they are very good, you could get addicted to them. I was lucky to be able to take a photo of a big and extremely beautiful bird. Its black, grey and white patterns were some kind of spooky beauty, so the do-gooder had to grab the camera. In Podgora, I could experience some wonderful sunsets so the landscape and the sea looked like a backdrop of a fantasy movie. I really enjoyed the atmosphere and the mood and thought that a hobbit or even Gandalf himself could appear at any time. This moment also wasn’t interrupted by clickibaiti you-won-a-prize pop-ups.
During my vacation, I had multicultural conversations with people from different countries. I talked with a Swedish woman and I told her that this was already my fourth vacation in Croatia, but this time it was in Dalmatia instead of Istria. During a walk through Podgora, I saw a Belgian family feeding a kitty with Brekkies, they also could speak English, so I told them that my favourite cat is the Siberian tiger. They also showed me a photo of their two fluffy cats. I enjoyed the sunrise with Hungarians and talked with a group of young Croatians about the beauty of their country, they were very amazed by my photos of the ragged coast.
Now I’ll tell you about my trip into the Biokovo Nature Park. The bus drove into the inland along a small and tight road up to the mountains. The landscape was breathtaking and had some kind of scary beauty, I could see white rocks making a playful change with green forests. The bus stopped a few times so we could go for a little walk. I could see the horizon of the sea behind Hvar, I also could take a photo of the Golden Cape in Brač if I did maximal zoom. The bus drove further into the mountains to the top of Sveti Jure which is 1762 meters high. It’s the highest mountain of Biokovo and the second highest mountain in Croatia. The air was very cool up there and the Bora wind whipped me into the face, but I didn’t mind because I was busy with the magnificent view over the land. There are different kinds of wild animals in the Biokovo mountains, such like lynx, golden jackals and wolves. These animals are so cute and fluffy. Yes, I’m a super tree hugger. However, these animals didn’t show up, they stayed hidden. This nature park is, one of the most beautiful places I ever visited, along with the Plitvice Lakes National Park, no sun umbrella mass tourist place can hold such a beauty. I took a lot of photos that just show the beauty of nature, too bad that so many people don’t appreciate it. You can see it on the Internet under articles about endangered animals where people write comments like “Who gives a fuck?” get many likes. Under a photo of the sea, you can see comments like “No one cares, party and drinking at Bierkönig is much better.”, this was on the page of BILD Mallorca (BILD is a German boulevard newspaper). Yeah, typical boulevard media folks. The appearing fog and the clouds gave the landscape an additional mysterious atmosphere, I couldn’t believe that I was really there, a true masterpiece of nature.
Now we come to the boat trip to the islands Hvar and Brač. I took place on the boat at the port of Podgora. I wasn’t alone very long because a Norwegian family joined to sit. The boat drove out into the sea. During the ride, I talked with the Norwegians, they live near Geiranger at the west coast of Norway. They told me that they already visited Austria in Zell am See, a town quite near to my home. I told them that I want to visit Norway, but in Summer because I don’t like the cold in Winter. They also said that wolves, snow leopards and tigers are very beautiful animals, so I’m not alone with this point of view. Suddenly, a whale appeared in the far, but I only could take a photo of the fin hitting the water with a wide zoom. This was the first time I’ve seen a whale live, it was incredible, they are extremely majestic animals. We approached Hvar and I could take photos of the picturesque forests and gorgeous rocky coast of the island. We got a cup of rakija on the boat, that burned and tasted excellent. The boat stopped at the port of Vrboska on Hvar and we could explore the town. I went along the promenade conquered the winding alleys of the rustic old town. In one alley, I discovered a cat with three kittens, she moved towards me and let me pet her. On the boat, I met the Norwegians again and the ride went on to Bol on Brač to the famous Golden Cape (Croatian: Zlatni Rat). The beach was quite overrun, I went to the top of the Golden Cape with the Norwegians and touched the water. I wasn’t the only one who did this, lots of other people wandered to the top to touch the water and take selfies, it seems to be a widespread ceremony. After cooling off a little bit at the Golden Cape, I roamed through the town Bol and then the boat took us back to Podgora. The speakers of the boat played Dalmatian music and we could see some dolphins in the far for a short time. How exciting! The first island I’ve visited is the Lindau Island in Lake Constance, there also is a Mediterranean flair due to the influence of the climate of Lake Constance. With the trip to Hvar and Brač, I updated my island account. There’s also an island in Lauchsee (a lake in my home village Fieberbrunn), but this doesn’t count because it’s only an artificial playground island. As we arrived at the port of Podgora, I said goodbye to the Norwegians and prepared for the next day.
Because at the next day, I went to Trogir and Split. The bus picked me up in Podgora and we made a stop at a manufactory called Stella Croatica. Here we could try and buy Dalmatian specialties. People, seriously, that’s incredibly delicious, especially smokvenjak and Bademi u šećeru (sugar-covered almonds). After that, trip went on to Trogir, a city ca. 15 km west of Split. After a short guided tour, everyone explored the city on their own. I found myself in an old town with quaint alleys again. I dared to go up the bell tower of the Katedrala sv. Lovre. The stairs were very tight and steep, I always hat to keep in mind that a person could come towards me at any time, that really was an adventure. As I arrived on the platform, I could view down to the town square from a dizzy height. On the second stairway, I went to the top of the tower. I talked with a young couple from England about the cities Trogir and Split. They told me that they know Kitzbühel when I told them that I live near this town. The way down was at least as adventurous as the way up. For the first time, I saw the Kamerlengo Castle with my own eyes. The trip went on to Split where I viewed the famous Diokletian Palace which today is the inner city of Split. Split is a big city with many winding alleys. I didn’t know where anything is in the city at all, I just walked and decided spontaneously in which alley I walked through next. I took a break and bought two Croatian baked goods, I don’t know their names anymore, but they were tasty. After that, I drank lots of water while the wind of the sea was cooling me off, then I went on with old town exploring. I talked with a family from Lithuania , they also know Kitzbühel. They hat a cuddly black dog, a Wiener schnauzer. And no, black dogs also are not bad luck. The port promenade of Split was also beautiful, lots of giant palms wherever you looked. After the promenade, there was a red SPLIT sign on a grass area. Lots of people did a ceremony to take a photo of themselves next to the sign. After an extensive city walk, I went back to Podgora where I prepared for the last day.
I took a trip to Dubrovnik, a city ca. 140 km south of Podgora which is known as a filming location of Game of Thrones. The bus drove along the picturesque coast towards south. I saw very beautiful mountains and lakes. We made a stop in Neum in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Neum is the only place in Bosnia and Herzegovina which is located at the sea, a very beautiful town. The countries I’ve visited are (along with my home country Austria) Germany, Hungary, Slovenia, Croatia, Italy and Switzerland. With Bosnia and Herzegovina, I visited a new country. Fantastic! The trip went on, back to Croatia along the coast. As I arrived in Dubrovnik, I was really numbed by the mighty city wall and gorgeous castles. Yet again, I’m philosophising. I couldn’t believe that I was seeing all of this live right now. I also made three personal records. Dubrovnik is the southernmost and also the easternmost point I’ve ever visited, it’s also the point that is the furthest from my home. I viewed the Francis Monastery and went along the broad main street to the old town port where I talked with two older German women. They did a cruise and made a stop in Dubrovnik. At the port, you can see the island Lokrum which is located right in front of the coast and you also can see the waves hitting the rocky shore of the city. I took a photo of a group of pigeons that were looking for food. Beside the main street, there’s a labyrinth of tight alleys. On a platform in front of the city wall, I had a very beautiful view on the sea. At the western entrance of city wall, there’s a high platform where I also hat a view on the crystal clear sea. I talked with a young English couple and told them proudly that Dubrovnik is the southernmost and easternmost point I’ve ever visited, and they encouraged me to go further south the next time. They also know Kitzbühel. We talked about the cute wolves, and they love wolves as well. It was an exciting day. On the way back, we made stop in Neum again where I ate a refreshing Bosnian kiwifruit ice. I talked with group of Norwegians, and wow, they also know Kitzbühel. As I arrived in Podgora, I prepared for my way home.
The next day, I went for a walk through Podgora and thought about the vacation. I really experienced a lot and got a true culture shock (positively). During my vacation, I ate fish, Pršut, Dalmatian cheese, olives, baked squid rings and squid salad. I also was amazed by the calmness of the Dalmatians. It’s said that the words “tempo” and “stress” don’t exist in the Dalmatian dictionary. If the average “Mallorca-yeehaah-badass-tourist” reads this text, he would probably shake his head. Instead of “party hard drinking in Mallorca Oberbayern Bierkönig style” and only eating schnitzel and döner (which you also can get in Podgora), as it should be, I view the beauty of nature, let the magical energy of the mountains, forests and coasts affect me and take photos of birds and statues. Many people don’t want to miss their frozen discounter schnitzel and their usual microwave grub and canned (toilet) food during their vacation. Oh yeah, skim milk, fat-free yogurt and fat-free cheese are also obligatory (sorry but I don’t believe that this stuff is healthy, it’s just a lie of the media, it also tastes like old hot dog flavoured water). Oh no, a rolling pin is flying towards me. What’s still missing? Oh yeah, a Lügenpresse shop (Lügenpresse is a German word and means lying press), people don’t want to miss the newest reports about the “mean lynx”, the “evil wolf” and the “cruel shark”. Whenever I read headlines like “horror shark terrorizes tourists in Mallorca”, I really get all states of anger. Damn you, Lügenpresse! Get down! A Kronen Zeitung bomb is coming (Kronen Zeitung is an Austrian boulevard newspaper). This was my most excting vacation ever, even though many people will think their part about it. I could get comments like “How can someone spend vacation like this? Nature sucks big time! Eww wolves!” or “Ey dude what kind of hippie crap is this?”. Wait until the NATO gets on this, uh-oh, I bet they would declare it as a “threat to the Western world”. Yeah, screw that. I talked with the man where I booked the boat trip, he lives in Podgora right behind the hotel, so we were neighbours for a short time. I told him that I want to visit the five Great Lakes in the USA/Canada to marvel at the beauty of nature there. Yes, yet again, I’m babbling about nature. He told me about his grandfather who worked in Michigan (one of the Great Lake states) 100 years ago. He also loves the fluffy cougars, the wild cat species in North and South America. I told him about an American who I met in Fieberbrunn. He comes from Chicago and lives in Munich and he loves cougars as well, he even saw one in the wilderness of Utah.
At 12 o’clock, the taxi picked me up at the hotel and I went on my way home. During the drive, I talked with two German women who spent their vacation in Makarska about the many experiences during the vacation and my first flight with the old crate. I told them that I love wolves, and they also find that wolves are great animals. We could watch the beautiful landscape during the drive.
As a arrived at the airport in Split, I said goodbye to the women and went to the check-in terminal where I got tickets for my flight home and then lazed at the gate as usual. At the snack shop, I ate a snack and drank water to get rid of my monster thirst. After that, I went out to the plane that brought me to Vienna in only 54 minutes.
At the Vienna Airport, I had to wait for over 4 hours for the next flight to Salzburg. I tried to kill time by walking up and down the corridor and then I ate a snack and drank some water. At the gate, I talked with an Englishman who loves wolves as well. He told me of a friend whose surname sounds like Dubrovnik. I showed him a photo which I took in the Plitvice Lakes National Park where there is a hidden and blurry lynx. I realized the lynx a few months later after I shot this photo, so I encountered a lynx without knowing it. He also was in Croatia and found it very beautiful, especially the natural landscapes. We talked about how great it would be to fly to Mallorca to watch the beauty of nature there, without that Ballermann stuff. Who’s laughing at me? Enough with marathon gate lazing, the plane to Salzburg started. We flew right towards the sunrise, it was a magical view. After only 37 minutes, the plane landed at the Salzburg Airport where the taxi picked me up and brought me back to Fieberbrunn. I was back home.
It was a beautiful journey with many new impressions. Even though I travelled alone, I wasn’t really alone because I talked with different people. My English was an advantage here. It’s amazing, I used to be extremely shy and was afraid to talk to people I don’t know. People who only know me by now cannot imagine this. I also was amazed how many people love wolves and wild kitties, so I know I’m not alone with this. I also didn’t miss the BLÖD (blöd is German for dumb and the mocking name for the boulevard newspaper called BILD), radio charts crap and TV snot at all. Help, I’m getting bombed with radios and TV’s.
I hope you enjoyed my blog and you also want to spend vacation here. It’s also possible that you’re laughing at me shout stuff like “Dude, are you high?” or “Ey wut tha fuck is wrong with ya’ you weird ass freak?”. I tried to write this blog in a way so every reader gets enriched, no matter how he will react to that. Is this a fidget spinner that’s flying towards me?
See you next time when it’s time to get out of the couch, close the laptop, buy a Lego and Filly playset, build a plane out of it and get into unknown worlds and cultures!
May the power of dreams be with us.
submitted by BigCatsAreAwesome to u/BigCatsAreAwesome [link] [comments]
2020.03.02 13:15 DrunkenTree Ca toilet hidden
I'm stuck here, in room 1290, with a corpse and that—thing—waiting for me. I think I'd even face Stern again, to escape the Hotel.
But Stern's surely happy I'm trapped—may have helped bring me back. God knows I never wanted to see this room again. But I didn't know I was coming.
The Convention I came here first when I was a kid, in the early 2000s. It was supposed to be bonding time for me and Dad. We had little in common: I played tennis and raced bicycles; he brought work home and watched sports on TV.
We both liked science fiction—he'd introduced me to Star Trek and let me read his old paperbacks—but I was still startled when he said we were going to a sci-fi convention. Usually Dad hated family trips, fiddling with maps, shushing us kids, grumbling to Mom about the price of gas and Motel 6.
This time, it was just Dad and thirteen-year-old me, "bonding." We packed for five days, then he drove us apparently halfway to the North Pole. I ate in greasy spoons, peed in gas stations, threw up along a twisty mountain highway, and finally woke up in a parking garage at two in the morning.
I didn't know if I was in Maine or Montana—I was cold, the garage was dark and creepy, and I had to carry my duffel bag two blocks through hissing snowfall, flanked by dirty snowbanks higher than my head.
I'd never stayed in a genuine hotel; after my first glance I never wanted to again. The three-story lobby smelled of mud and dead mice. I collapsed into an upholstered armchair while Dad checked in—it felt damp, and the dark stain on one arm looked like blood.
A drooping sign said "Welcome, Coalition for Adhesives and Sealants". I picked up a newspaper from a low table to read the funny pages, but the stained sheets stank of spoiled fish. A huge front-page headline said, NIXON RESIGNS.
I looked up to ask Dad who Nixon was, but he was arguing with someone out of my sight. "I paid for a confirmed reservation," he said in the low, steady voice that preceded all my worst spankings. A voice quacked behind the desk. "I don't care if it's a broom closet, as long as there's twin beds and a bathroom."
Somebody appeared, wearing an ill-fitted green uniform and a tiny cap. At first I thought, "It's a midget!", then, from my lofty thirteen years, "He's just a little kid." But as he led us toward the elevators, I couldn't tell how old he was.
A sign at the elevators said, OUT OF ORDER. Dad swore. "Are we gonna have to walk up twelve floors?"
But the little guy led us around the corner to another elevator, where a couple waited. This one was much older, with those folding grillwork doors in old movies like Titanic, waiting to lovingly bite off my fingers.
The elevator car rose into sight, operated by a tall man with thin shoulders but a round belly, in a uniform of the same swampy-looking green.
"Floor, please?" he asked. The other man named a floor. The little guy held up a key to show him its big brass tag. "Twelve, very good." He closed the doors—I kept my hands behind me—and the elevator lurched upward.
"Dad, why do we have a key?" The older man, wearing a name tag saying CAS / My Name Is CLIFF, carried a magnetic card, for the sort of electronic lock movie heroes hack to break into evil government labs.
"Because we're in a lousy room," Dad replied. He held out his hand for the key. The little guy shook his head.
"It's the bellhop's duty, sir," said the elevator man, "to show you into your room." The car thudded to a stop, and Dad waved the little guy forward.
"Ninth floor," the operator said. The couple edged past Dad, the man frowning, the woman giggling. Dad fell back, muttering and blushing.
I was old enough to realize the man's companion—red-haired, twenty years younger, badly dressed for the cold—was probably a whore. But why, grinning at me, did her teeth look so sharp?
At the next stop, the operator intoned, "Twelfth floor." Dad and I followed the bellhop off into a dingy, worn hall.
Although it was nearly three a.m. (Dad had reset my watch when we changed time zones; whether back or ahead I didn't know), a surprising number of people wandered around. Next to their outlandish garb, the redhead's clothing looked sensible. I began to believe the outrageous tales I'd read of sci-fi cons.
I'd expected cosplay: Star Trek, Star Wars, anime. I hadn't expected medieval and barbarian outfits—some very revealing. I'd have to study them tomorrow; for all his short legs, the bellhop led us a quick march down the hall, around a corner, and down another long hall.
The first hall looked like Versailles next to this back corridor. The pattern of the ripped, stained wallpaper was barely visible. Lights in ornamental wall sconces flickered on the low ceiling; one buzzed like a nest of wasps.
But all the doors had electronic locks. He led us around another corner, down a third hall, to a door at the end with a small sign: Performers ONLY / Backstage Pass REQUIRED. The bellhop gestured us through.
"We must be at the very back of the hotel," Dad murmured; he had a good eye for distance. He gestured to our right. "That wall"—doorless, decorated with faded theatrical posters—"must back up to the office building next door."
The odorous lobby had once been magnificent; the twelfth-floor main hall retained a fading luxury. But this passage was where bad cops took someone to beat out a confession. At least I didn't smell dead mice.
Light spilled from a door ahead. Inside we found a maid straightening the bedspread. She wore a white apron over a calf-length dress of the hotel's decaying green. She had no hair and a boyish figure, slim and narrow-hipped. But surely she was a girl?
She said to Dad, "I apologize that you find less than readiness. This room was scheduled for no use. Shortly I will finish." Her voice was low, what one of Dad's sexier novels had taught me to call contralto. Instead of sexy, I found her obscurely terrifying. Just as I couldn't judge the bellhop's age, I couldn't decide if she was in her twenties or her fifties.
She carried fresh towels from a laundry cart. "This room, behind the theater stage—guests dislike the theater noise." Her faint accent and phrasing sounded foreign.
The bellhop handed Dad the key on its heavy brass tag. Dad tipped him a dollar, and he bowed his way from the room. Moments later, the maid finished fussing in the bathroom and left, apologizing again for her presence.
Dad closed the door. The boy-man bellhop, a head shorter than me; the maid, ageless as carved onyx, hairless as an onion, sexless as an angel; the inhuman voice at the desk—I asked Dad, "Are they aliens?"
The maid particularly reminded me of the bald alien chick in Star Trek: The Motion Picture (which Dad said was awful, but made me watch twice). "Aliens," I repeated. "Are aliens running the hotel?" Dad laughed, but he set the night latch.
The small, windowless room was clean, but smelled old; the linens were fresh but my narrow bed creaked and breathed musty air when I lay down. I slept badly; how much from fear and how much from excitement I still can't say.
I find it ironic now that I remember the Coalition of Adhesives and Sealants but can't remember my first sci-fi convention's name: one of those rhyming names like Blonde-Con or Won-Ton-Con. There's a reason I remember the CAS, and for why that was my only sci-fi con.
The first day we visited a billion booths in the third-floor ballroom: comic books and action figures, T-shirts and coffee mugs, fake phasers and light-sabers, real swords and daggers. We went to panels in the tiny fourteenth-floor theater, which had a proper stage with curtains and boxes on the side walls, and seating so steep the stage was actually on the twelfth floor.
It should have been fun, but everyone seemed edgy; several people called the hotel "creepy." Dad remarked on people's bad tempers. When two guys came to blows over Kirk-versus-Picard, two other guys wearing armor and swords dragged them apart; not all the live steel was on the sales floor.
Dad grumbled about cons at old hotels without proper show halls, debated aloud which panel to attend next, and added up things he wanted to buy. I mainly looked at girls.
Back home their clothing would have gotten them arrested: corsets and armor, strange alien ears, body paint and slinky robes with nothing underneath. Mingling with them were men wearing CAS tags—"Prowling for poon," Dad said. I spotted Cliff, last night's elevator companion, minus the toothy girl.
Several girls wore chainmail, which I'd never seen in real life. Most wore it over clothing, but a few wore only mail—and linked circles of wire don't cover much. To my shocked Bible-belt eyes, naked women strolled the con areas.
That afternoon, we headed to our tiny room to drop Dad's purchases. He'd found a hidden door from the theater seats into our dungeon-like twelfth-floor passage. But a young, muscular guy in armor stopped us by the stage. "No guests allowed," he said. "Thou shalt not pass."
Dad gave him the look he saved for when I told some especially dumb lie. "We're going in," he said.
I grabbed his arm and whispered, "The guy's got a sword!" I pictured Dad getting his head hacked off for trying to push past.
Dad just held up our key. The sword guy grinned at the brass tag. "They stuck you in the leper colony, too!" Long ago, he explained, actors, depraved and dissolute, were isolated from regular guests. From that moment he and Dad were buddies.
He introduced himself as Herbald; he and his wife worked for the sci-fi con, heading a six-person security team, all wearing medieval armor, swords, and daggers.
I asked him what sort of name Herbald was. "That's my SCA name," he said, which explained nothing. I thought he'd mixed up the initials of the Adhesives and Sealants guys. (Later, in high school, I learned Herbald was Beowulf's uncle.)
He showed us the prop storage and dressing rooms, the complex rigging and lighting, and a narrow backstage door into our "leper colony" hall, with a hand-painted notice: DON'T SLAM THIS BLOODY DOOR!
"Come see our room." Up a flight of narrow stairs—metal, covered in carpet to prevent "noises off"—a catwalk served a second tier of dressing rooms behind the flies. "Technically," he said, "I guess we're on the thirteenth floor now; good thing I'm not superstitious!" He led us to the first door, knocked, called, "Are you decent?" and took us in to meet his wife, Dagmara.
The Missing Princess She was unfazed by strangers invading her quarters, but she knocked me sideways: heavyset but athletic, carrying herself with authority; a broad, happy, dark-eyed face under tousled brown hair. She wore a skirt of leather strips like a Roman gladiator and a red cloak hung from leather shoulder guards; between them she wore only a chainmail halter, hiding absolutely nothing of her large chest.
She wore a rapier and carried a staff taller than me; among the guards she had the same authority as Herbald. On her rapier's sheath a sticker said, DO IT IN CHAINMAIL.
She plopped onto a dressing stool, boobs bobbling, and waved one hand at their room. "See where they stuck us? The con told the hotel they'd hired security, but the hotel didn't reserve us rooms!"
Their room was tiny, but fascinating. The rust-stained sink stood in the open room; only a sheer curtain closed the shower. In an alcove right of the shower, a rolling rack of dusty costumes stood before a wall-to-wall, floor-to-low-ceiling mirror. A narrow bed and a double dressing table, twin mirrors ringed by lights, completed the furnishings.
It hasn't changed much since. I liked it then, but I didn't know one day I'd be trapped in it.
I don't know why, but they seemed happy to have Dad and me tagging along. "We're on duty round the clock," Dagmara said, "so we eat when we like and take turns sleeping."
"And we can check any room the con's using," Herbald added, "any time we want."
All evening and into the night, we wandered the hotel: checking the ballroom, theater, and panel rooms, escorting guest speakers, shushing the noisier parties. I never met any more of their team, but they exchanged texts and calls frequently.
Tempers grew shorter after dark. Several times Herbald and Dagmara intervened between con attendees and CAS members. Many CAS guys viewed all the female cosplayers as easy meat; twice I saw Dagmara discourage some middle-aged drunk by cracking her staff against his ankle. The guards didn't drink on duty, and Dad never drank; we all found the roving boozers fairly tedious, whether CAS or con.
By midnight I was dead for sleep, but as long as Dagmara boobled around the halls I was determined to follow her. I had fantasies of her saying, "Come on back to our room—I want to get a shower and change."
Cliff of the CAS turned up around 12:30, trying to convince Dagmara he had the perfect sealant for her staff. "Clear 's glass," he said, "and tough as leather. Never ship—chip, no matter how many heads"—a sly chuckle—"you knock." But his eyes weren't on her staff.
"Sweetie," she told him, "go find a call girl, so next week you can give your wife the clap." Clear Cliff just grinned and reeled away.
Dad at last buckled. I followed him to bed, relief and regret mixed. A few hours later we were at it again, watching a panel rant about some show called Firefly, then roaming with our new friends. Dagmara, disappointingly, dressed more modestly today, but greeted me with a hug to that wondrous chest.
Then she squeezed my biceps and said, "Hon, check this kid's arm! We gotta get him in armor!"
I was skinny from my latest growth spurt, but proud of my athletic ability; I nearly burst at her compliment. Herbald explained that his hobby, the SCA—the Society for Creative Anachronism—recreated medieval fighting with real armor and blunt weapons. "I just won Crown Tourney," he boasted. "Next month me and Princess Dagmara become king and queen."
When I was sixteen, he said, I could compete in SCA fighting. "You've got endurance, too," Dagmara said. "You must've walked ten miles last night. With tennis reflexes, you'll be a great fighter."
That was the last time we were all together. Something in Dad's breakfast disagreed with him; he wanted to lie down. He said I could go alone to the con's morning movie, some 1960s creature feature, if I promised not to wander the hotel. As he was leaving, Dagmara said she was ready for a nap and would ride upstairs with him. We agreed to meet at the ballroom at noon.
Herbald and I roamed until time for the movie. As we rode the elevator up to fourteen, Clear Cliff joined us, friendly as ever but obviously wishing Dagmara was with us. The operator—who never seemed to go off duty—let him off at twelve. We rode to the theater's main entrance on fourteen.
I'd seen the movie before and hadn't liked it. Halfway through, despite my promise, I cut out to poke around one of the prop rooms I'd learned to sneak into.
At quarter to noon I banged on our door. Dad let me in, toothbrush in his mouth. Shortly we found Herbald waiting on three.
Dagmara didn't appear. By 12:10 Herbald was on his phone; by 12:15 he was worried. "She's not answering," he said. "None of our guys have seen her. I'm going up."
We followed him to their dressing room, where a mix of steam and citrus shampoo lingered. I licked suddenly dry lips at the hopeless thought of Dagmara's wet body behind the translucent shower curtain. But Herbald was growing frantic.
He called the desk for a hotel detective. "A house dick," Dad said to me. Herbald hung up and said the chief of security was coming.
The chief was not what we expected. "Call me Stern," she said, giving it a Germanic pronunciation: shtehrn. She stood a confident five foot nine, piercing eyes beneath a fluffy mop of short grizzled hair.
She chased Dad and me away: "Civilians hangin' around I don't need." We went back to the con; but our hearts weren't in it, and we sacked out early that night without seeing Herbald.
The next morning Stern questioned Dad, me, and other guests. But the third day passed with no news. Herbald prowled, eyes wild, cheeks hollow and unshaven. I felt horrible for him, but there was nothing we could do.
The con ended at noon the fourth day. After packing, Dad and I slipped through the hidden backstage door. "We can't leave," he said, "without giving him—" He stopped. What we could possibly offer Herbald?
We climbed the stairs anyway. Dad knocked. Stern answered, staring without speaking. "We came to tell Herbald goodbye, and wish him well."
The guard slouched on the narrow bed, haggard and exhausted. "You know what's the funny part?" he asked, voice lifeless. "The con organizers say they're canceling our contract, and won't pay. We contracted for a crew of six, and they say we only provided four. They say I haven't been any use."
Stern said, "I'll have a word with them." Her eyes gleamed.
"No use. Not a feather's weight of empathy among them."
I wanted to hug him, but was too shy. Dad gripped his shoulder and said, "I'm sure she'll turn up. There's an explanation somewhere."
"Thanks," Herbald said. "You're full of shit, but it's a nice thought."
In a movie, now the clever kid spots the key clue. I knew I wouldn't spot anything.
But Dad did.
I said he had a good eye for distance. Now, staring distractedly across the room, he measured the walls with his eyes. "Wasn't that deeper?"
"What?" Herbald and Stern asked together.
Dad pointed at the alcove by the shower. "Wasn't that mirror further back?"
Herbald stood shakily, crossed the room in three steps, and yanked the rolling rack out from the mirror covering the alcove's back wall. He felt around the mirror's edges. "There's silicone sealant here." He leaned over and sniffed. "It's fresh! That's what I've been smelling!"
The mirror had two panels, each about two feet wide and seven tall, a wooden stile between them. Herbald reached for a stool from the dressing table. Before anyone could protest, he swung it at the mirror's center. Knives of silvered glass crashed down.
I believe for a moment Dad forgot I was there, or he'd have tossed me from the room.
Within the jagged-edged hole stood Dagmara, strangely bent, as though frozen while sleeping, then raised to her feet. She wore a convention T-shirt and cutoff shorts. Her face, arms, and legs were dark and mottled.
She gleamed in the dressing-table lights, as if cast from plastic. Herbald pulled her forward. As he laid her on the floor, I saw his fingers dent her upper arms—soft plastic.
"She's covered in something!" he cried. He tugged at the skin of her face. "She can't breathe!" Her clothes and skin had a smooth, transparent layer of something on them.
Dad reached for his shoulder. "She's already—" Herbald threw his hand aside and snatched a dagger from the table. He carefully sliced the film over Dagmara's lips, then pried them apart.
With the sound of a flushing toilet, gas rushed from her mouth, so foul it clouded the air. A ghastly, fetid stench flooded the room, as Dagmara's swollen body sagged. Dark fluid filled her mouth, overflowed onto the carpet.
I fled to the catwalk, gagging, gasping for air. Dad came next, dragging a stunned Herbald along. "What the hell?" Dad exclaimed. "How can it be that bad?"
Stern walked out without haste. "Peculiarity of the Hotel. Bodies here, unfortunately, tend to rot like butter meltin'."
"What was that?" Herbald sobbed. "What happened to her?"
From their faces, the idea hit him, Dad, and me at the same instant. "Coalition of Adhesives and Sealants," Dad said grimly.
"Clear Cliff!" I exclaimed.
Again, we couldn't witness the interview; Stern interrogated Cliff in his room, while Dad kept Herbald company. I got the story from Dad later.
Cliff denied having seen Dagmara after offering to coat her staff. But one of Cliff's associates revealed that several sample jugs were missing, a new clear sealant supposed to make polyurethane look like library paste. Streaks of the sealant were found in Cliff's bathtub. On top of that, a maid said Cliff had paid her "seven score dollars" for an hour's use of her laundry cart the evening after Dagmara disappeared.
"He killed her," Dad said, "dumped her in his tub and poured sealant all over her. When she hardened, he stuffed her in a cart, took her to the theater, and carried her upstairs. He pried the mirror loose, put her behind it, and used silicone cement to glue the mirror back in. The clear stuff kept her body from stinking."
We couldn't check out fast enough. Dad was afraid we'd be subpoenaed to testify against Cliff. Still, when Dad spotted Stern in the lobby, he stopped to ask after Herbald.
"Young fella's pretty broke up," the chief said. "Had to physically restrain him, or he'd'a took that sword 'a his to old Cliff."
I asked, "So he's going to prison? Clear Cliff, I mean?"
"Nope," she answered. She grinned at my shocked look. "Won't be necessary. He busted loose from me, and jumped out a sixteenth-floor winda. Mebbe he thought there 'uz a fire escape. Anyway, he landed right on the port co-cheer, kaboom! Scared ten years off an old lady just gettin' outta her limo."
I gulped. Kaboom! Imagining that tortured me for days.
"Just as well," she went on. "Way that body'd decayed, the docs'd prob'ly say she'd croaked three-four days before Cliff ever got to the hotel. Would'a played hell with a jury. Lucky fer ev'ryone we don't hafta deal with that." Her calm certainty belied the idea of luck.
We hurried into rain and sleet. I didn't dare ask if Dad thought Stern had thrown Clear Cliff out the window. After one glance at the water running from the porte cochère's downspouts, I didn't dare look away from my feet.
We drove home with even fewer stops than our outward trip. We agreed: no more sci-fi conventions. We also agreed to never speak of that trip.
Did that count as bonding?
The Hotel Non Dormiunt Somehow, I survived high school, collected a B.S. in engineering, and went into manufacturing. I jumped jobs twice, landing in a U.S. plant of a European transnational. I married a plump happy woman. We agreed kids could wait a few years.
I saw trade shows from the inside, and liked the view no more than at thirteen. Though now the rooms were non-smoking and the call girls accepted prepaid debit cards, too many drunks still made trouble with cheap women. But shows are part of manufacturing; I had to attend two or three each year.
This February I was scheduled for one in a southern city I'd never visited. As usual, the Corporate Travel department booked my flights and my hotel. I expected a booking in a chain, a Marriott or Hilton.
So I was surprised not to recognize the name Travel emailed to me: the Hotel Non Dormiunt. Googling the address, I learned it was an old high-rise right downtown. Apparently, it would also host the show three colleagues and I were attending—another surprise; most manufacturing shows are too large for anything but a major convention center.
I remembered enough Latin roots to puzzle out the name. "The 'No-Sleeping' Hotel!" I told myself. "Perfect for a trade show."
No airline shuttle went to the Non Dormiunt, so we shared a Lyft from the airport. She had trouble finding the address, but finally pulled under the porte cochère of a towering old pile, twenty stories or so of eroding brick-and-stone elegance.
The lobby, three stories tall, was worn and dark. Cheap-looking couches littered a frayed broadloom carpet. The air of outdated grandeur was somehow familiar, as if I'd seen this lobby in a movie.
At the desk, a surly young man in a red jacket checked in my three companions, then informed me coldly that I had no reservation. After reluctantly checking the confirmation number from my email, he pouted and said, "We have no regular room available. We'll have to put you in a twelfth-floor special."
Despite the years, that number sent a chill through me. I'd stayed in many high-rise hotels, but by chance never again on a twelfth floor. "Room 1291," he said. "It's a single, an emergency room only. It's not handicap-accessible. Will that be a problem." His flat tone said he wasn't asking.
He summoned a bellhop, an amenity I was surprised still existed. "You'd never find this room otherwise," he told me, handing me a key card, 1291 penciled on the sleeve.
The bellhop, in matching red, still wore a pillbox hat from a century earlier. Without a word, he took my bag and led me to the elevators.
On twelve, he led me around two corners, past an already-open hospitality suite, then through a door marked "1280-1293".
The lobby had looked vaguely familiar; the hotel's general layout resembled others I'd known—but there was no mistaking this narrow passage: After over fifteen years, I'd come back to the "leper colony."
I refused to believe it. I didn't know where that long-ago convention had been, but I knew we'd gone north: There'd been yards-deep snow. This couldn't be the same city. A wild coincidence—or the same architect designed two similar hotels.
The bellhop led me past all of the rooms along this narrow hall, to a door at the far end. For the first time in years I thought about the bellhop at that other hotel. This fellow was of similar build, but looked years younger than that other man would be by now.
Then he opened the door to backstage, and all chance of coincidence evaporated. There was the familiar command, faded and scratched but legible: DON'T SLAM THIS BLOODY DOOR!
Inevitably, the bellhop turned toward the stairs, thumping my bag against the steps. I followed like a man climbing a gallows; the same carpet, more worn and stained, muffled my footfalls. There was the handrail I'd gripped, trying not to throw up at the stench of Dagmara's decayed flesh.
If he led me to the first door, I thought I'd break down and cry.
It brought only slight relief when he walked past to the second door, with its shiny new numerals: 1291. He waited as I slid in the key; the lock flashed green, and I opened the door.
This room was a mirror of Herbald's room, modernized for an actual guest. Costume rack and dressing table were gone, replaced by a standard bed, a desk, and a tiny hospitality counter with coffee maker, refrigerator, and snacks. A proper bathroom replaced the shower and mirrored alcove, but it still had no tub.
The real shock was inside the bathroom: A maid arranging towels, in black slacks and white tunic, slim and boyish—and utterly without hair. As the final, fatal touch, she said, "I apologize that you find less than readiness. This room was scheduled for no use. Shortly I will have finished." Her contralto voice was no less terrifying than when I was thirteen. She hadn't aged a day.
If she said more before leaving, I didn't hear: I was at the point of fainting, collapsed on the bed, blood roaring in my ears. The bellhop stood my bag by a tiny closet and bowed himself out, not waiting for a tip.
As the door clicked shut, I bolted to the bathroom. I vomited into the toilet, then leaned my head against the cool porcelain tank. The toilet stood where the mirror wall had been. A few feet from me—the other side of that wall—Dagmara's clear-sealed corpse had stood rotting, waiting for my dad to notice a mirror's altered position.
It was impossible, insane, that I could be in the same hotel. It was unbearable that I could be only feet from the transitory sepulcher of that woman of lush figure and happy immodesty, who'd laughed away the men her body drew, a princess of some imaginary kingdom. Unbearable.
The surly clerk refused to change my room. "I can't stay there!" I insisted, voice rising. "Not where someone was murdered!" In my distress I exaggerated: I knew she'd been killed elsewhere, then moved.
Maybe the clerk pressed a button; maybe the Hotel passed some subtler signal. But a cool voice spoke behind me: "Sir, I'm gonna hafta ask ya to control yourself."
The grizzled hair was now iron-gray, the face more lined, but there was no mistaking Stern. I now topped her by several inches, but she still carried the aura of a sleeping god, to be roused only by the reckless. "I'm—I'm sorry," I stammered. "But I just can't stay backstage!"
"We're very short right now," Stern said. "Seventeen's closed, the whole floor—water trouble." Under her stare, my further protests died. As if hypnotized, I took the elevator back to twelve.
A room-service supper of passable fettuccine Alfredo soothed my nerves somewhat. Belly full, I set the night latch, left my laptop open for a night light, and fell into a restless sleep.
A thud from somewhere woke me. It wasn't repeated, so I rolled over, thinking, Some other poor leper. Then the moaning started.
I shook with chills at the low sound: pain, mourning, and anger in a single voice, the sound my father had surely made after someone bumped his car off a hillside, in the hours before paramedics found him lifeless but still warm behind the wheel. The moans came from the bathroom; when I went in, I heard them coming through the wall.
Sobbing with fear, I yanked on pants and ran out. From the catwalk the sound clearly came from the first door, Herbald and Dagmara's old room, now marked 1290. Frantically I pounded on the door. The moaning hiccuped, then stopped. I pounded more; no one answered.
In my room, I frantically dialed the desk. "There's no one in 1290," a reedy voice insisted. "In fact, that room can't be opened. If you wish, though, I can send the house detective."
Dear Lord, a visit from Stern? "Never mind," I said hastily. "The noise stopped."
I went back to bed in my pants and shirt. Unable to sleep, I tried to distract myself with email, then my messages. One of my travel companions had sent me a photo—of the Seattle skyline. "Missing a great show u lazy bum," his message said.
How could he be in Seattle? I tried to call; it rolled to voice mail. I checked my email again. Nothing from Corporate Travel: no flight reservations, no confirmation number for the Hotel Non Dormiunt. I'd paid the Lyft driver, but the Lyft app had no record of the ride; my email held no Lyft receipt.
The phone slipped from my hand. This hotel couldn't be in this city, and I couldn't be at this hotel.
I heard another thud, then footsteps on the catwalk. Flesh, or phantom? They hobbled unsteadily back and forth past my door—then came a sudden cry followed by uneven thumping. Someone had fallen down the stairs!
Terror or not, I couldn't sit idle. I opened my door to look down the dim stairs. A human shape huddled at the bottom.
I yanked a blanket off my bed and rushed down barefoot. There lay a man, broad-shouldered but wasted, hair and whiskers long, shaggy, and unkempt.
Fearful of spinal injury, I didn't dare move him. I threw my blanket over him and started back after my phone. But before I climbed halfway he sat up, pulling the blanket close.
"What manner of man art thou," he said huskily, "to offer succor to such as me?" His speech baffled me: a medieval revenant? Then he coughed and said, "Oh, crap. You got any Advil?"
That mixture of archaic and modern idiom— I clambered back down and bent to see his face. Imagine hair brushed back, beard gone—
"Huh?" He gaped at me. "Nobody's called me that in a coon's age."
He refused my help climbing the stairs, refused to come to my room. So I followed him into 1290.
Closing the door, he proceeded to barricade it. "Maintenance quit trying to get in here years ago," he said. "Makes it easier for me. Only problem is food, but the maids help."
"Jesus, Herbald." I looked around. Only three tiny bulbs on the dressing-table mirrors still burned; what little they lit had hardly changed. One stool lay broken; the other still sat before the table. His sword lay half beneath the bed. "Why are you still here?"
"She won't let me leave. Says I've got to find one more answer."
I realized he must be in his forties by now. "She's dead, man. Dagmara's dead."
"You remember that name…" He turned away. "Dagmara! Come see!" A costume rack still stood in the corner; he pulled it aside.
I thought I'd known horror.
Beneath still-hanging mirror fragments stood a ghostly shape, a cloudy specter. The phantom of a woman, bones hung haphazardly within.
Then I saw the dim reflections of the makeup lights off her—dulled with years, stained with corruption, but still impressively clear: the plastic sheath from Dagmara's corpse.
"I had to keep washing her out," Herbald told me. "Just the hard parts're left." Bones, he meant: The sealant still held her skeleton. The yellowed skull sat in place; the upper spine and many ribs still hung in the neck and chest; but other bones were disjointed, hand bones fallen into clutter, pelvic bones askew, lower spine dropped into her right leg.
Was the mouth he'd slit that awful day still the only opening? Had he patiently run water into that small hole, sloshed it around, poured it out—over and over, day after day, to rinse away the rotting flesh? No shreds of fabric remained; he must have used something to dissolve her clothes.
I had to catch breath to speak. "Why is she still here? Why didn't the cops take her?"
"Nobody called the cops," he said. "He killed her, he killed himself. Nothing for cops to do." He stroked the transparent skin; it seemed to breathe, responsive to his touch. "The Hotel was nice; they let me keep her."
"Dagmara…," I breathed, shocked beyond thought.
And the head turned to me.
He'd done it; he'd somehow turned her without me seeing.
Then one arm raised, the sealant still flexible. The clear fingers curled, bones rattling faintly. One finger extended toward me.
Herbald had pulled back; she stood alone. Now one leg swung slowly forward, then the other. She walked.
Inside the plastic, around the bones, something formed: the misty figure of a woman. But the sight was inside my mind, not in my eyes. And I heard her voice inside my head, as my ears heard Herbald say, "She won't let me leave. She's got to show me something, but she won't say what."
She spoke without sound: You. The Hotel brought you back. Both arms reached for me, the movement squeezing a faint whiff of foulness from her mouth.
I hadn't played tennis since college, but my backhanded blow still had strength. Skin and dry bones weighed little; she flew clattering across the room, and I turned to run.
But I was blinded by memories. The stool tripped me to the floor.
Dad, ill, had gone back to our room. Dagmara had gone for a nap. Herbald had taken me to the theater for a monster movie, then left on his rounds. But I'd grown bored, had sneaked backstage.
Voices: one angry male, one amused female. I'd peeked into an open prop room to see Dagmara in T-shirt and cutoffs, Clear Cliff blocking her exit. I could guess: Cliff stalked her, followed her in here, and expected sex.
But Dagmara, trapped, unarmed, showed no fear. "Three like you couldn't handle me," she laughed. "You see that skinny boy with us last night? Thirteen, and twice the man you are."
He raised clenched fists; I braced to charge. But she laughed louder, until his hands drooped, his shoulders slumped. She shoved at him, thump-thumping his chest until he turned away shame-faced. I ducked into shadow as he came out and shambled away.
Twice the man. Pride-puffed, I slipped into the room.
She'd turned her back, poking in a box of masks. I pussyfooted up behind her, said, "Hey."
She turned, startled, then smiled. Recklessly, I stepped forward, dug my hands into her hair, and kissed that smile.
She shoved me away, astonished; I tripped over a coil of extension cord. Laughing, she reached out a hand to steady me, and I backhanded her away. Though she outweighed me fifty pounds, my blow knocked her off her feet.
Into a crate of tools. She hit hard, then rolled to one side, revealing the screwdriver driven into the base of her skull.
It took only seconds for the gasping and spasming to end, for the life to leave her eyes. I stared at the body. At last I looked away, to spot something on the floor, something I'd half-seen fall while she thumped Cliff on the chest.
A key card.
Cliff's key, in a paper sleeve with his room number. Hardly thinking, I rummaged the prop rooms to find a stage-sized Roman chariot. Grunting, with wiry strength, I curled Dagmara's body in it, then covered it with a bedspread. I slipped on a dirty trenchcoat and slouch hat.
With cosplayers decorating the halls, nobody noticed the skinny private eye pushing a chariot. I wheeled Dagmara out to the elevator and up to sixteen. Years later, I could still rouse a brief, bitter smile by picturing Cliff's reaction at finding her corpse in his bed.
But I'd never envisioned this horror, a plastic-skinned specter breathing ancient corruption.
Herbald slowly grasped the situation. "You? You killed her?" Now he'll grab his sword, hack me apart. His face darkened, but his legs failed and he collapsed. "I liked you!"
Now comes Stern, and a window. I would fly without wings, until I met my shadow on hard pavement.
Dagmara rose where I'd flung her, a woman's empty shell. She drew a deep breath, and blew it out, her full bosom—her hollow chest—rising and falling. Foulness from the very tomb swirled around me; I fainted.
Room 1290 Evermore The door won't open, though I've tugged away Herbald's improvised barricades. The room phone is live, but only repeats a recording: We're sorry—room service has closed for the evening.
Dagmara, the hollow princess, lies in their bed. Herbald, more badly injured than he realized, slumps against the wall; he stopped breathing hours ago. The double mirror he broke brought more than fourteen years of bad luck, but it's over now.
How long have I been trapped? My phone and laptop are in 1291. Herbald's phone is broken. The wall clock probably hasn't run this century.
I'm growing weak. I must be starving—I've already wondered if I could stoop to eating Herbald—but the nauseating odor of decay steals my appetite. After so many years, how can she still reek of rot?
I've even wished for Stern to come, but I know she won't. The Hotel brought you back. And the Hotel Non Dormiunt plans a slower punishment than a dive from a high ledge.
Dagmara lies quietly, breathing slowly. The stench of her respiration fills the room.
Come to bed, I hear her saying. I'm ready to kiss you back.
submitted by DrunkenTree to nosleep [link] [comments]
2020.01.02 01:08 not_redd Toilet hidden ca
11-11 Memories Retold
12 is Better Than 6
1993 Space Machine
7 Days to Die
A Story About My Uncle
A Story About My Uncle
ABC Coloring Town
Age of Wonders III AI War: Fleet Command
AI: Rampage Air Guardians
Alan Wake's American Nightmare Alien: Isolation
American Truck Simulator
Animal Super Squad
Anomaly Warzone Earth Mobile Campaign
Anomaly: Warzone Earth
Ashes of the Singularity: Escalation
Assassin's Creed Origins [AS-CA-PR-US-VI]
Atonement : Scourage of Time
Atonement 2: Ruptured by Despair
Avencast: Rise of Mage
Back to Bed
Barnyard Mahjon 3
BARROW HILL CURSE OF THE ANCIENT CIRCLE
Barrow Hill: The Dark Path
Bendy and the Ink Machine
Bit Blaster XL
Black The Fall
Car Mechanic Simulator 2015
Catch a Falling Star*
Chess Knight 2
Chivalry: Medieval Warfare
Cities: Skylines + After Dark DLC
Citizens of Earth
City of Chains
CIV III: Complete Edition
Company of Heroes
Cook Serve Delicous
Cook Serve Delicous 2
Cosmic Dust & Rust
Crusader Kings II Crusader Kings II: Dynasty Starter Pack [Sword of Islam, Legacy of Rome, The Old Gods, Way of Life, Ruler Designer]
Crusaders of the Lost Idols Legendary Starter Pack
Dark Souls II: Scholar of the First Sin
Dark Souls III
Darkest Hour: A Hearts of Iron Game
Darksiders II: Definitive Edition
Data Hacker: Corruption
Data Hacker: Initiation
Data Hacker: Reboot
Day of the Tentacle Remastered
Dead by Daylight
Dead Rising 2
Dead Rising 2: Off the record
Dead Rising 3 - Apocalypse Edition
Deadlight [Regular Edition]
Deadlight Director's Cut
Death Road to Canada
Deep Dungeons of Doom
Deep Space Dash
Deponia: The Complete Journey
Desolate Wastes: Vendor Chronicles
Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Dino Run DX
DmC: Devil May Cry
Dungeon of the Endless
Dungeon of Zolthan
Earth 2150: The Moon Project
Elder Scrolls Online: Tamriel Unlimited
Elements : Soul of Fire
Elements II: Heats of Light
Empire: Total War Collection
Endless Legend™ - Classic Edition
Endless Space - Collection [Endless Space 1 + Disharmonly DLC]
ENSLAVED™: Odyssey to the West™ Premium Edition
Europa Universalis IV
Fabulous Food Truck
Fahrenheit: Indigo Prophecy Remastered
Fairy Fencer F: Advent Dark Force Complete Deluxe Set
Fall of Cvilization
Fanatastic Checkers 2
Fantastic 4 In A Row 2
Fault milestone one
Fault milestone two side:above
Final Fantasy 14 online
Final Quesdt II
Five Nights at Freddy's: Sister Location
Flat Kingdom Paper's Cut Edition
For Honor Gold Uplay Key GLOBAL (europe)
Front Mission Evolved*
Galactic Civilizations III
Getting Over It with Bennett Foddy
Goat Simulator GOTY Edition
GOD EATER 2: Rage Burst
Grim Fandago Remastered
Guacamelee Gold Edition
Guardians of Victoria
Guild Wars 2 Heroic Edition [Arena Account]
GUILTRY GEAR Xrd -SIGN-
GUILTY GEAR XX ACCENT CORE PLUS R
Guns of Icarus Alliance Collector's Edition
Guns of Icarus Online
Gurumin: A Monstrous Adventure
Hand of Fate
Hero Quest: Tower Conflict
HITMAN™: THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON
Hiveswap: Act 1
Holy Potatoes! A Weapon Shop?!
How to Survive
Human: Fall Flat
Hyper color ball
Interplanetary: Enhanced Edition
Invasion: Brain Craving
Ionball 2: Ionstorm
Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth
Kentucky Route Zero
Kerbal Space Program
Killer is Dead - Nightmare Edition
Killing Floor 2
Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
Kingdom Come: Deliverance
Kingdom: New Lands
Kitty Cat: Jigsaw Puzzles
Kivi, Toilet and Shotgun
Lakeview Cabin Collection
Layers of Fear
Layers of Fear: Masterpiece Edition
LEGO Lord of the Rings
Life is Strange Season 1 Episode 1-5
Mad Games Tycoon
Mahjong Deluxe 2: Astral Planes
Mahjong Deluxe 3
Merchants of Kaidan*
METAL GEAR SOLID V: GROUND ZEROES
METAL GEAR SOLID V: THE PHANTOM PAIN
Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
Mini Golf Mundo
Moekuri: Adorable + Tactical SRPG
Momodora: Reverie Under the Moonlight
Murder Mystery Adventure
Mystery of Rivenhallows
New Kind of Adventure*
No Man's Sky
No Time To Explain
No Time To Explain Remastered
Oddworld: Abe's Oddysey
Offworld Trading Company
Offworld Trading Company + Jupiter's Forge Expansion Pack
One Finger Death Punch
Operation Flashpoint: Red River
Orwell: Keeping an Eye On You
PAC-MAN™ CHAMPIONSHIP EDITION 2
PAC-MAN™ Championship Edition DX+
Pillars of Eternity
Plague Inc: Evolved
Planetary Annihilation: TITANS
Poker Night 2
Poker Night at the Inventory
Potatoman Seeks The Troof
Project Druid - 2D Labyrinth Explorer-
Punch Club Deluxe
Puppy Dog: Jigsaw Puzzles
Purrfect Date - Visual Novel/Dating Simulator
Puzzle Agent 2
Puzzles At Mystery Manor
Puzzles Under The Hill
Q.U.B.E: Director's Cut
Race the Sun
Radical Spectrum: Volume 1
Random Access Murder
Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
RED GOBLIN CURSED FOREST
Resident Evil 4
Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
Resident Evil Revelations
Rise & Shine
Rise of the Tomb Raider
Risen 3 Complete Edition
Rivals of the Aether
RIVE: Wreck, Hack, Die, Retry
Road to Ballhalla
Root Double -Before Crime * After Days- Xtend Edition
Running with Rifles
Sacred Franchise Pack
Saints Row 2
Saints Row 3 - The Full Package
Saints Row 4 - Game of the Century Edition
Saints Row: Gat Out of Hell
Sam & Max: Devil's Playhouse
Secrets of Rætikon
Sentinels of the Multiverse
SEUM: Speedrunners from Hell
Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun
Shadowrun: Dragonfall - Director's Cut
Shadowrun: Hong Kong - Extended Edition
Sid Meier's Civilization® VI
Sins of a Solar Empire: Rebellion
Sir, You Are Being Hunted
Sleeping Dogs Definitive Edition
Slime-san: Superslime Edition
Small Radios Big Television
Sniper Elite 3
Sniper Elite V2
Sniper: Ghost Warrior 2 Collector's Edition
So Many Cubes
Sonic & All-Stars Racing Transformed Collection
Sonic Adventure 2
Sonic Generations Collection
Space Pilgrim Episode 1: Alpha Centauri
Space Run Galaxy
Spec Ops The Line
Star Chronicles: Delta Quadrant
State of Anarchy
Stealth Inc 2*
Stikbold A Dodgeball Adventure
Stone Age Wars*
Stories: The Path of Destinies
Stronghold Crusader 2
Sunrider: Liberation Day - Captain's Edition
Super Mega Neo Pug*
Super Space Pug
Surgeon Simulator Anniversary Edition
Sweet Candy Mahjong
System Shock Pack
Tales from the Borderlands
Talisman: Digital Edition
Terra Incognita ~ Chapter One: The Descendant
Tesla Effect: A Tex Murphy Adventure
The Bureau: XCOM Declassified
The Flame in the Flood
The Hidden Dragon
The Inner World
The Joylancer: Legendary Motor Knight
The Land of Dasthir
The Long Dark
The Long Journey Home
The Original Strife Veteran Edition*
The Red Solstice
The Silent Age
The Tower Of Elements
The Turing Test
The Walking Dead: Season 1
The Walking Dead: Season 2
The Wolf Among Us
Think of the Children
This War of Mine
Throne of Lies® The Online Game of Deceit
Tomb Raider 1*
Tomb Raider 2*
Tomb Raider 3*
Tomb Raider Anniversary*
Tomb Raider Legend*
TOMB RAIDER: UNDERWORLD
Tooth and Tail
Totally Accurate Battlegrounds
Tower of Guns
Town of Night
Toy Odyssey: The Lost and Found
Turbo Pug 3D
Turbo Pug DX*
Two Worlds Epic Edition
Two Worlds II: Velvet Edition
Tyranny - Standard Edition
Ultimate Chicken Horse
Ultimate Word Search 2: Letter Boxed
Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
Warriors of Vilvatikta
Wasteland 2: Director's Cut - Standard Edition
Westerdaro: Double Barreled
Where's My What?
Wizard of Legend
World War III: Black Gold
X-COM UFO Defense
天使帝國四《Empire of Angels IV》
軒轅劍外傳穹之扉(The Gate of Firmament)
submitted by not_redd to GameTrade [link] [comments]
2019.12.21 03:32 mattcass Toilet hidden ca
Just a small 1 bedroom 1 bath Vancouver apartment :) Starting small with the bathroom updates. I'm looking to paint, upgrade the lighting fixture for more light, and install shelves over the toilet. There are no windows in this bathroom.
For reference the current wall colour is very close to Enduring Ice by Dulux and the vanity is Formica Natural Cane. Storage is non-existent but I was going to add an Entryway Organizer to the inside of the vanity doors for hidden extra storage. So any wall shelves could be purely for looks! Floor tiles are cream.
Any tips on paint colour? I'm a bit stumped on what could go with vanity, but I don't mind the colour of my kitchen backsplash and there could some fun coordination across rooms. I was also leaning towards a basic white.
submitted by mattcass to DesignMyRoom [link] [comments]
2019.12.16 19:33 walking_the_way Hidden toilet ca
<-- Previous (S3E9) | Next (S3E11) -->
Poem of the Day: Reeling Her In
The Japanese title of S3E10 is さねかづら or "Sanekazura" (Crunchyroll: Scarlet kadsuras), which refers to the third line of Poem 25 by Fujiawara no Sadakata.
Mostow translates the poem as:
If they bear such names:And Jlit elaborates on the technical makeup of this poem as:
the "come-sleep vine" of
"Meeting-Slope Hill" —
how I wish there was a way to come to you,
as if pulling in a vine, unknown to others.
Three pivot words (kakekotaba) are used to supply figurative connections between natural description and personal desire: the "Ō" of "Ōsaka" conventionally corresponds to the verb au (pronounced "ou" and meaning "meet"); the sane of sanekazura plays on a homonym meaning "sleep together"; and kuru can be taken either as "come" or as "reel toward" (i.e., the poet's drawing the woman toward him as though teasing a vine from a tree). Further, au and sane are related words (engo), as are kuru and sanekazura.In an Arata-centered episode, there’s only one real way to interpret this poem: his feelings for Chihaya are not just present, but there’s a desperate strength to his desire. In the S3E9 writeup, we discussed how the characters can be associated with Poem 48 and, while we didn’t mention Arata, S3E10 makes a point to flashback to his sigh from that episode. Arata’s sigh was because he was relieved to not have to face off against Taichi, who he had just seen play Chihaya in the Yoshino Final. That event weighs on him, as he always imagined it would be him next to her. Actually, it’s even more than that, as it is what Arata “envisions” when he imagines playing his karuta: him and Chihaya in his childhood room.
70: All alone, I step outside my house seeking comfort, but there is only desolation under an autumn sunset.Murao and Arata have played once before, where Murao beat Arata at the start of S2E3. There, #70 (sa) was also the first card read, and it led to Murao's victory by two in the end. This might be a callback trying to hint at the same result, except due to Murao's intervention on Arata, it ends up the other way with Arata winning by two instead.
100: Would this old palace courtyard and the eaves strewn with weeds be as dear now, those were the good old days. 24: As this trip takes me away in haste, I have only autumn leaves as an offering for the gods watching over me.The show doesn't dwell on these two cards that are taken in quick succession, but like the #70, they are both loneliness and isolation poems, and he loses both. The #100 specifically is him longing for the "good old days," whereas the #24 is about him taking a hasty trip (back to see his grandfather) and leaving Chihaya (autumn leaves) behind when he was in Grade 6, and how that has ended up with Taichi being the one to sit across from her right now. The anime symbolically displays this by swapping Taichi's and Arata’s positions in his favourite childhood memory, so that the grown-up Arata is the third wheel reciting cards for grown-up Chihaya and Taichi instead. That is the reality he was forced to see at Yoshino, and that gnaws away at him now.
31: The hazed early morning light comes not from the moon but from the crystal white snow of Yoshino.This is another sign of how far Arata has fallen -- they later claim that Murao is much stronger at the 2 to 3 syllable cards, whereas Arata is stronger at the long ones. However, he doesn't put up a fight at all for the #31. The #31 is yet another episode card from the Yoshino episodes, reflecting Arata's thoughts on watching Taichi and Chihaya play there, and Murao's comments about Arata being off since that tournament. Arata’s inability to guard it also foils Arata actually guarding it in the 3v3 genpei match back in S1E3 while Taichi took its sister card, #64 (a-sa-bo-ra-ke-u), and it shows how completely he's fallen apart at the moment. Though on the other hand, that was an example of young Arata looking down on young Taichi and Chihaya by restricting what cards they could take, so perhaps this was a bit of delayed karma.
02: So spring ends and summer comes, now white robes hang to dry on Mount Amanokagu.The #02 card is passed over in the middle of Arata's drowning scene. If the turning of time from spring to summer represents the peak of karuta, as argued in the Yoshino episodes, then Murao passing this card over to Arata in the drowning scene signifies that, as per Murao’s mental thoughts, this was his chance to win against Arata, as Arata's white robes would never dry as long as he was drowning. Yet, Murao seems to feel some guilt with this, similar to how Arata felt guilty about feeling relieved when he learnt that Taichi had crashed out of the East qualifiers, and soon after this, he makes amends.
90: I wish I could show the people how my sleeves have been soaked red with tears of blood.Neither Madhouse nor Crunchyroll highlight the card, but if every card was thematically coloured, the #02 card that was just prominently passed over in Arata's drowning scene would have been a pure, gleaming shade of white (shirotae) This card, to contrast that, would be a bright shade of red, with sleeves (a symbol used in Heian Japanese literature to represent tears and emotion) being soaked through with blood.
22: Gust of wind leaves fall leaves falling hence the name fall leaves.This is one of Chihaya's best cards, the card she won in the genpei match in S1E3 that shocked both Harada and Arata, and also the first card that she won in S3E6 to dispel the storm of pressure that Taichi was putting on her. Within the anime, this card's signature characteristic is its sound, the soft, imperceptible sound that Chihaya can hear that makes her so good at the card, and so all the cards being replaced with this card means that Arata’s hearing and senses have been restored as well.
16: Note that though we may be apart, if I am to hear that you pine for me as the Inaba Mountain pines, I shall return to you.This is Taichi's namesake card, and we will talk more about that in the Bonus section. It also foreshadows Taichi coming to Kyoto later on to join Chihaya and the rest of the Mizusawa crew, and it's serendipitous that this card was read when Arata himself was also removed from the game, since the story has placed quite an emphasis on things happening in different places around Japan and the various characters trying to gain information on what was happening at each other's locations.
15: For you, I head out to the fields to pick spring greens while snow falls upon my sleeves.Earlier we mentioned how Arata losing the #31 (a-sa-bo-ra-ke-a) was a callback to the genpei game in S1E3. This one probably is as well, because Taichi faulted on the #50 (ki-mi-ga-ta-me-o) while following Arata's strategy to gamble on them, and Arata covered him by winning this #15 to even out the loss. Here, after Arata's recovery, he's able to win these again.
46: Like a boatsman adrift at the mouth of the Yura, I do not know where this love will take me.While the #46 card is usually a symbol of being lost, it's quite the opposite in this situation, as Arata begins his attempt to reconstruct a full picture of the events with this card. We could also tie the #71 (yu-u) card in by noting that while Yuu's food may have sent him to the washroom and got him into this predicament to begin with, it also serves as a catalyst to force him to think about the present instead of the past, and threw Murao off his game as well, perhaps making it a blessing in disguise.
74: Though I prayed to the god of mercy that the one I love not shun me, I never asked to be treated colder than the winds of Mount Hatsuse.This poem probably mirrors both Megumu's frustration of playing against Yuikawa, and to a certain extent, Murao against Arata, but more broadly, their joint frustrations (but also aspirations) at playing Shinobu and Suou yet again even though they seem invincible.
76: My only thought as the boat takes me out to sea is that the cresting waves almost look like clouds in the skies.This is one of Arata's namesake cards, and he wins it with a clean defend. Continuing the #46 poem earlier, the adrift fisherman, representing Murao, has now been washed out to sea, representing Arata, and he looks up at the sky to see how high above the clouds, a symbol on the front of their Nagumo team shirts, Arata is away from him. The commentary here supports this by saying that Murao looked stressed.
54: My fear is that you will forget your promise to never forget me, so I would prefer to die now while I am still happy. 08: My own home is a retreat lying southeast of the capital [...] the troubles of this world.The #54 is one of the three cards about loneliness that Murao sent Arata when he was gone, and the show explains how the huge lead forced him into some sub-optimal moves as well. We don't have a full translation of #08, but Mostow does.
32: A mountain stream dips [...] as helpless autumn leaves are caught against the flow.We lack a full translation, but the gist of the poem is that leaves are caught on a barrier in a river as the river flows on. Thus the card represents a barrier of autumn leaves, and when Arata passed it on to Murao earlier, it symbolized the lifting of both his mental barrier (Taichi and Chihaya) and physical barrier (Yuu), as it came right after he started to build momentum with the 1 and 6-syllable wins. Here, Murao attempts to pass it back in a sign of defiance again, but what actually happens Is that Arata figures out another dead card that was read thanks to Murao's actions instead. Arata is the river, after all, and so Murao unknowingly gets sucked into Arata's pace and reveals the following information to him.
83: Said world grants no escape, I hide in the mountains, only to hear the haunting cry of a deer. 93: Said world grants no change, I pray, when the fisherman who casts his nets can seem dear.Arata swipes at the #93 (yo-no-na-ka-wa) on his left side, then swings toward the #83 on his right. But Murao is there to block it and he wins the card instead. But rather than thinking of it as Murao taking a point from Arata, this seemed more symbolic of the entire match story, with him actually guarding Arata from his ills.
89: Nothing can be worse than living a moment longer when I cannot bear growing weaker than I already have. 01: The fall paddy shacks have rough thatching as my sleeves are wet with dew.Murao's lead is down to 4 here -- that's exactly the number of cards that he won while Arata was offloading his katsuobushi. It becomes 3 after this win, and we see Murao realize this as Arata wins the #89 card from him -- Arata would have been leading by now if not for him leaving for the washroom.
77: Swift waters parted by the jagged rocks, are joined at river's end. 58: The sight of Mount Arima with the bamboo leaves fading across the plains makes me wonder how I ever let you fade from my mind.At this point, there's little doubt in anyone's mind that Arata is coming back to win this match. We find out through Kuriyama-sensei here that Dr. Harada won the Eastern Qualifiers, and so the #77 poem here represents that, the fact that like tributaries of a river, all the different winners in different cities are going to be coming together and facing each other soon.
43: The emotions experienced after a long-awaited reunion banish any lingering memories of the past.And finally, we have another card looking toward the future, as a fully-recovered Arata wins his match against Murao using a card that represents his desires to meet Chihaya and Taichi on a brighter note than before, to meet Yuu and perhaps form a karuta club with, and to try to defeat Suou to fulfil the burden that his grandfather put on him. This card was also the last card that he had against Takemura in S3E9, when he won by 7, so it's two games running now that he's held on to this card to the very end. But because he was distracted by the Eastern Japan qualifiers in the last game, he could not clear the card and had to send it over to Takemura to close out the victory, whereas here he finally manages to close the book on this chapter.
2019.12.04 02:31 MyDickHurtsImOnDrugs Toilet hidden ca
Details have been changed to protect the guilty.
(I post poetry which is too dark and suicidal for my main account on this account)
I'm telling this story now because this is all past tense.
Not my suicidal ideation, but the drugs I carried daily which I planned on using to end my life.
I suffer from a back injury/neurological bullshit, mental illness for sure, and was abused.
My family are fucking nuts. I got the fuck away from them after years of violence.
I was homeless for a period following this.
Hopping shelters, social services, and the constant pain nearly drove me insane.
I didn't sell drugs. I didn't use drugs.
I eventually got the hang of it, fulfilling the requirements to get shelter and public assistance.
I am a producer and make trap music, so throughout this whole experience I had what was effectively a duffel bag filled with music gear. Headphones, microphones, keyboards, etc.
Eventually I got myself a PO box, which was tricky because I didn't have proper ID for a long time and it took a while to get it sorted. The very first thing I did was place my first order ever on those dark hidden places on the internet which I'm sure you're all aware of. The order was not placed by me personally, however.
I have always been very curious and knew every bit of what was required to do this, but prior to this had never ever ordered a single thing from them.
I didn't have any money, obviously, but I did have a lot of support online. Mostly through my music. I knew this guy Dave from Saskatoon for about 4 years through Reddit. He provided me with the Bitcoin, and paid for my PO box, and placed the order for me.
I didn't even have a computer, so I was talking to him from a public library and hoping to hell I wasn't going to get fucked by the law for doing it in such a clear and traceable manner.
He knew me very, very well. He was planning on doing the same thing as me, but our agreement was that I did it first. He said it was something like a way of making sure he wasn't going to do it immediately, and he felt more comfortable with going after I did because he knew I wasn't going to rush it. By rush it, I mean he knew it would be a matter of months before I caught the bus.
I had talked to him previously about what I needed to get out cleanly, so when he gave me the okay and I sent him the address, I was fully expecting just fentalogs.
When I checked my PO box, I was immediately shocked at the size of the packages. There were 3 packages total.
The first two were envelope sized and I knew were fentanyl analogs, but the third was about the size of an iPad but much thicker.
I anxiously took the packages from the box and went back to the shelter. My roommate had moved out (because of a lot of reasons, mainly that he thought I was on drugs. More on that later), and this shelter was a bit odd to be honest.
You had privacy in your room, but there are cameras everywhere else. I had the packages in a backpack when I walked into the shelter and checked in with the staff. I told them I was exhausted and was going straight to sleep, which they believed because I rarely ever left the room due to being crippled as all hell.
I immediately turned the lights off and put music music on as I unzipped the backpack, put the two small envelopes away hidden in a keyboard which required screws to get into. The keyboard actually functioned with the two envelopes inside it, so I thought that was the best place to keep it until I was sure.
I need to be clear. The reason I put myself in this situation was because the thought of being too crippled to end my life was terrifying. Being trapped in a hospital bed without the ability to die was my worst fear. I repeatedly wound up in the ER from seizures and "episodes", and it just kept getting worse and worse. There was no hope of me getting better. There still is no hope.
I was scared to open the larger package. I started to rip through the top before I heard a door open and frantically shoved it in the duffel bag under the bed.
Eventually, I made sure nobody was in the hallway, and I opened it.
I pulled the massive bag of white crystals out and knew in a second what it was.
A quarter ounce. Of ketamine.
I frantically gutted the perfectly functional keyboard and took the envelopes out to hide the giant stash of ketamine which was now in my possession.
I slid the envelopes into a stack of bills from my credit card company and put them in the breast pocket of my winter jacket.
I carried these with me every single day for nearly 2 months. I went through shelters, motels, social services, and everywhere else with this close to my chest the entire time.
I repeatedly was found unresponsive on the street and wound up waking up in the ER once in this time. I was terrified every other time it happened, but I was less scared that time knowing I had my out.
I was so unbelievably comfortable with everything now that I knew I could get out anytime I needed.
I remember randomly blacking out in the bathroom of a social services building and being found by 2 cops. I was so worried they would search me and find the fentalogs. They didn't.
Being white sure as shit made things a lot easier.
Eventually, I was kicked out of the shelter and put in motels, and that's where I started to get comfortable with the idea of dying there. I was kicked out because my old roommate told the staff I was selling drugs, which I wasn't, and they said they can either kick me out or search my stuff to prove I was clean. I left that afternoon.
I broke into the ketamine at 2am after a week of repeatedly waking up on that smoke stained carpet and losing hours due to seizures, but I just couldn't bring myself to take it.
I was sitting in the bathtub of this shitty motel room, my government issued free phone next to the bath with a fat line of ketamine which I had broken down to a powder sitting on the screen, and I actually nosed down before angrily tossing the powder about the bathroom.
3 days later, I opened the first envelope.
I was sitting in my bed, drawer open with all the shit out as I wasn't planning on having to clean up this mess.
This was the larger of the two fent packs. I pulled the baggie out and held it up to the light.
I don't know for sure how much, but I was assured by my buddy across the country that it would be enough to take me down without any opioid tolerance with no chance of being revived by narcan.
Suddenly, I heard a loud bang at the door. Social services has people they pay to check on people at hours when they suspect you'll be doing bad things. If you don't let them in immediately they let themselves in.
I quickly tried to stuff the shit into the drawer, the ketamine bag was open as I did and roughly half the crystals spilled into the drawer all over my music gear.
They shoved a business card into the lock and opened the door just as I was slamming the drawer closed.
I didn't need to ham up my symptoms, I was spastic, shaking and heaving already, so they left pretty quickly after seeing me in that state.
VII. After they left, I started to clean up the mess, and scooped a pile, and I mean a fucking mound, of crystals down onto the shitty government issued phone again, setting it on my bedside table clearly lit under the lamp. I still can picture how that looked and think about it nearly every day.
I decided I would swallow some of the ket and hang myself, as I had attempted to hang myself via partial suspension many times before but always pulled out every time.
I prepped my necktie noose (just add water), threw the towels, bedsheets, blankets, and singular pillow onto the floor below the towel rack in the bathroom, and laid down on the bare mattress.
I carefully moved my shaky hands as I carried the phone covered in ket from the bedside table to where it was sitting on my chest, spilling a bunch in the process.
I did put my tongue down and took a bit in my mouth, but spilled almost all of it with my spastic fingers.
As luck would have it, I had another seizure before I could lick the plate clean.
I blacked out and came to hours later covered in crystals with my bed the same way. The phone had flown across the room and shattered on the cheap cigarette smoke saturated carpet floor
I still angrily prepared to hang myself after coming to.
I soaked the necktie in water and this time I actually did swallow a good pile of ket, using a credit card to scoop what was all over the inside of the drawer onto a business card and pouring it into my mouth.
Side note: the business card was the guy who would bust into your motel room who you had to call and check in with like every week. I thought that was ironic.
I positioned myself in the noose, put my weight into it so I started to have trouble breathing clearly, and found myself blacking out.
It must have been the ketamine, because unfortunately I woke up with a massive welt on my head from being hit by the falling towel rack after it broke and left a giant hole in the bathroom wall.
It wasn't the first hole in the wall I had noticed in my room.
My throat hurt badly, but I was alive.
I had some kind of clarity, and at this point I decided to flush everything. I strongly considered taking it all before I did. I dumped the first bag of fent into the toilet and flushed, ripping open the second envelope and doing the same. I took both bags, flipped them inside out wne and threw them into the sink before turning the water on, my body still heavy from the ket having not worn off yet.
I dumped the what was left of ket bag down and it felt like a ton of crystals as it all went into the toilet. I let it dissolve a bit before flushing, doing the same as before with the bag as I washed it out in the sink flipped inside out.
I actually did take a bunch of the crystals that night which I scooped from inside the drawer and shook out of my music gear. I refused to sniff any of it as I had never snorted anything in my life, but I was licking the inside of the drawer by the end of the night.
There are still crystals inside the keyboard to this day which I can feel when I shake it, or press certain keys and certain buttons.
I didn't notice one of my synthesizers had some inside the housing until I went and played a gig and it poured out as I opened the battery compartment.
I don't know how to end this. The irony of that last sentence is not lost on me
I'm alive. I didn't use my exit plan. Dave from Saskatoon died 3 months later at his own hand via a massive overdose of fentanyl.
He was found but they couldn't revive him with the single narcan dose they had on scene which they administered to him.
Life is a joke. Death is the punchline.
submitted by MyDickHurtsImOnDrugs to opiates [link] [comments]
2019.11.04 03:08 stroke_bot Ca hidden toilet
paniconograph polycephalous switchgirl fissicostate s`ulphovinic n
aphtholize pledgeless recuperated spiritlandnondepressed scuppernong androsphinges coryphee spongin drowns subrameal nonenigmatically knock phyllophyte n
ontexturally widegab counting jau~~king angakoier a*bsurds hypogenetic ov
ks prostrates enverdure rejeopardized isodomic yak.ala unsmot e unclassify uneluded ~~feastfu*l zygoneure oversleep gaudeamuses fuga
city oversizes laniariform paleomammologist photomagnetic nonconservati,ve primigenial scopiform reintrusion consular cl.arif
a mynpacht soapweed embanking responsibly pyramidella malpais tro,thlessness socmen muring microspecieges trounces roughness adc vowels replaned sportier feak rokeage rereeve sepioidea polyaemia pa
s ga slock esugariza tion dacryocystosyringot~~omy subordinated clarificantvai~~sya tilla
octorfish drag,oness microsurgical agawam spin r eindo`rsement driddle defiles mellification lupetidin redberry. wheelmak ing .tramroad euphemism subahdar faultlessness poort zebeck cynghanedd comfits r*eimprove f,orks birthplaces pinxit sardian haycart chaulmaugra pushiness paradoxes typewritten kinhin ve*r
sicular la^rdite previolated atopite shrubbiness vi`sits untidiest salmary perigeum rh~~eostats hai.kh youl beano castilla coprostasis stomates crabbiness caesarotomy coperose non.cli
oiner bastinadoing* peavine inescate inexhaustedly kangani ty,ring cacaesthesia gabardines *sl slavophobi
st uniquer skieppe hematometer parquetage townet sarrusophonist kate riffs veneno*se hiddenly gua
vas screaking cetaceum parly individuums indi,ctional sudatories pseudoplasm subminiaturizing dicetyl erudit afterwale stipita.te arrhenotokoustheogonal fina
seise ller conynge sylid swived clubfellow sheder toileted
sms hemp counterclockwise incharitable feedbox tina
ered connexion indemnifying chamaesiphon `edriop~~hth
almian crosswort^ s.prees ascomycetes unharvested nonpliantly gossipmonge*ring ligatured pawned influxibly floroscope unabscessed ruewort undeleted radiographies triolcous desulfured slaggable sawarra .engulf
nhumanly formalizations cubbyhole warren blackthorns plumdamas finest flappiest surfacers busbars meditabund emac
eration shutoutsgro~~undable alaskans arianize foots.tool pseudopatriot.ical
t acly.smat.ist otariinae leafmold eleutheropetalous heroner ach.eilia hen**decacolic hyphenisation theologised nordicity enc.ephalomeningocele quakerbird duali superinjustice cabots cicatricula
razzmatazz b~~otchery rifely predistrict callat duplicator ~~talbotype encarnalised presanctifying fugacy ethnogenist** cosmologygy dainteth ifreal jiggit ambier .aseismic innervational multiples waned wend sam`kara su
perload. unnecessaries nonobses,sive hyperinsulinism subtotem ic indemonstrability sesiidae tanker. daggered^ adiaphon waited pseudoreminiscence squirarchies astro*logous mesorhinianaerographer shockheadedness rosalia forswearer theming prohibition* isoloma weatherheaded ent
o~~condylar *proct.otrypoid guanethidine allowanced indiv
idualism woodchats heloniassubmitted by stroke_bot to nullthworldproblems [link] [comments]
2019.10.11 16:11 subreddit_stats Toilet hidden ca
Period: 363.95 days
|Rate (per day)||2.75||459.37|
Generated with BBoe's Subreddit Statssubmitted by subreddit_stats to subreddit_stats [link] [comments]