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2020.09.12 02:51 oathfoodmachine High speed horizontal dough mixer High speed dough mixer Dough Mixer for sale

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Dough Mixer Introduction
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2020.08.31 21:46 MapsofScreaming Peterson's weird (new?) essay on thinkspot, "Hell, One Step at a Time.": An EPS Exclusive!

Hell, One Step at a Time
[Dated Today, August 31]
In 1991, the American historian Christopher Browning wrote a book called Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland about the Ordnungspolizei (Order Police) Reserve Unit 101. The book detailed in a very psychologically plausible manner the terrible transformation of conventional and essentially well-socialized working men—most with families—into killers capable of taking naked pregnant women into the Polish countryside and executing them with a pistol shot to the back of the head. Such a book is best read with caution—and, more importantly (with that caution firmly in mind), read as a potential perpetrator, rather than as a hypothetical victim or, worse, hero.
The men of Police Battalion 101 were tasked with mopping up after the Nazis had marched through and subdued Poland. Their commander, Major Wilhelm Trapp, was by all accounts a decent man, considering the times. Furthermore, the men in the battalion were all middle-aged citizens of Hamburg with no military experience, drafted but found ineligible for regular duty, who had matured prior to the intense propagandizing of young people typifying the Hitler Youth. They were not abnormally cruel, nor were they were in the main ardent anti-Semites. No simple explanations (sadism; prejudice) were going to suffice as Browning attempted to account for their behavior. Within the unit were a few professionally trained SS men, cruel and psychopathic, who tended to regard their commander Trapp as weak, unmilitary, and prone to interfere inappropriately in the duties of his officers. A few others were reservists, rather than career policemen. The majority, however, were working-class men of the less professionalized sort, warehouse and construction workers, machine operators, waiters, and seamen, among others. They averaged almost forty years in age—too old for general conscription. They weren’t even particularly likely to be Nazi party members (about 25% percent). As Browning points out, “these men would not seem to have been a very promising group from which to recruit mass murderers on behalf of the Nazi vision of a racial utopia free of Jews.” Some of them, after being informed to a certain degree of the intensity of what they might be required to do in a now-subdued country, asked to be released from their work and placed elsewhere—and the option to leave appears to have been offered to them by their commander. Indeed, Browning even recounts the story of a police officer who requested and was granted his release, and who obtained a promotion on his return to Germany. Nonetheless, only 12 men in the 500-man strong battalion would choose to withdraw as they learned the true nature of the jobs. Furthermore, by all accounts, the majority of them would suffer terribly as they transformed themselves into the monsters they would soon become.
Ordinary Men is horrifying not least because of its graphic accounts of the actions undertaken by the now-policemen, once transported to Poland. But what makes it truly terrible is its aforementioned psychological plausibility. These men were indeed “ordinary.” They weren’t following orders under threat of punishment. With this firmly in mind, Browning confronts and articulates the moral conundrums associated with the study of history. It is all-too-tempting (and also something that provides a certain degree of naïve psychological security) to read the past and to cast the villains as all-villainous and the heroes as all-virtuous. But that’s propaganda, not history. Even in the literary world, the work of quality presents the ever-present moral battle not as raging between purely evil states and good, or purely evil people and good, but as a consequence of the complex and paradoxical forces of good and evil working themselves out in terrible conflict within each soul, between individuals, and in the battle between states. This is not to say that darker forces do not sometimes dominate at one or more of these levels. I’m not equating the Axis powers with the Allies, or the Soviet or Maoist communists with the free West. But the temptation toward deceit, arrogance, resentment, ideological possession, and the projection of all evil onto something conveniently other than a combination of self, compatriot, family, and state is dangerously alluring. At the very least, it interferes with the kind of introspection that might produce genuine moral progress—which is something still required, no matter how good the current state—on the part of individual and society alike.
The Order Police were placed under the auspices of four special mobile units of the SS known as Einsatzgruppen, described by Browning as “the thin cutting edge of German units that became involved in political and racial mass murder in Russia” and elsewhere. In 1941, after the staggering initial successes of the Nazi blitzkrieg, Hitler ordered an intensification of the pacification program behind advancing German lines—part of his desire to create a permanent “Garden of Eden” for the Aryan race east of Germany. The actions of Battalion 101 were to be part of that program, which involved, in Hitler’s own words, “shooting anyone who even looks askance at us.” The fundamental problem facing the giant bureaucracies overseeing the Final Solution was transport: the massive camps, equipped for mass murder, mostly in the form of poison gas, were set up in 1941 at Auschwitz/Birkenau, Chelmno, Birkenau (as well as Sobibor and Treblinka, a bit later). This raised the joint problems of staffing these enormous institutions, as well as moving those destined for work and death to the camps. There were 2,000,000 Jews under General Government command in what was once Poland, and 300,000 in the Lublin district alone.
Himmler himself provided no resources to implement these programs; the man charged with a leading role in the Polish extermination project, Austrian Odilo Globocnik, was therefore forced to raise private armies to undertake the task himself. He buttressed his thin quasi-professional resources with the Trawnikis, non-Polish “auxiliaries” drawn primarily from the Ukrainian, Latvian, and Lithuanian POWs who were screened for anti-communism, offered a reprieve from starvation, and promised that they would not be sent as front-line combatants against the Soviets. It was into this milieu, replete with an oversupply of Jewish transportees brought in from other areas to replace those who had already been deported, that the men of Battalion 101 arrived in Lublin. Their orders indicated they would be performing guard duty. As Browning points out, “there is no indication whatsoever that even the officers suspected the true nature of the duties that awaited them.” The Battalion men began by collecting Jews in smaller settlements and consolidating them in larger camps and ghettos, sometimes using trucks, sometimes on foot. None of this involved mass execution, although Jews who were frail, old, and sick were shot, at least in some instances. That might be considered the beginning (although even the mass deportations constituted a clear step down a bad road). However, Globocnik quickly realized that the speed of merely collecting people was insufficient, and determined to hasten the eradication process with onsite mass execution by firing squad. Things changed dramatically for the worse in Józefów, a small town in east central Poland, which had at that time a population of about 1800 Jews. Globocnik or someone close to him informed Trapp that these people were to be rounded up, as usual, but that only the males capable of working were to be transported. The elderly, women, and children were to be executed on the spot.
One Lieutenant Heinz Buchmann refused, forthrightly, stating that “he would in no case participate in such an action, in which defenseless women and children are shot.” Lieutenant Hagen, Trapp’s representative, agreed to reposition Buchmann and placed him in charge of the male Jews selected for work. This is a very telling episode, in my estimation. Buchmann made his move under very dire and dangerous personal circumstances, and was not punished for it: He was merely reassigned. Although there were undoubtedly times when moral objection to an unacceptable order (the massacre of unarmed women and children certainly topping the bill) would have resulted in extreme personal danger, and perhaps even danger to family members, we don’t know how common such retaliatory threats actually were, nor how often such malevolent orders could have been successfully refused.
It may be, after all, that under such circumstances the resistor has such a clear upper hand, morally speaking, that it is difficult to effectively criticize or to discipline him. In any case, the next morning, when the truck convoy arrived in Józefów, Trapp made another extraordinary offer: “any of the older men who did not feel up to the task that lay before them could step out.” A dozen men abandoned the operation, after facing some abuse from Hoffmann. Is it too much to point out that a decision of that sort, even when accompanied by accusations of betrayal and cowardice, appears far preferable to outright participation in mass murder of the most conscience-betraying sort? And to note also how tiny the minority of men was who stepped voluntarily aside, and how few followed in their footsteps, even after the example of resistance had been made?
The remaining men were ordered to surround the village, shoot any escapees, escort the Jews to the marketplace, and shoot all too resistant, sick, or frail to comply (as well as infants incapable of the journey). This meant the massacre of the weakest and least able to defend themselves. Something less in keeping with any sense of military honor could hardly be imagined. Trapp himself did not witness the executions: “Oh, God, why did I have to be given these orders,” he said, in a clearly heartfelt manner. His tears flowed copiously. He asked a subordinate if he felt that what was happening was in any manner justified. “No, Herr Major!” he replied. Most telling, perhaps, are the words he stated later to his driver, “If this Jewish business is ever avenged on Earth, then have mercy on us Germans.” There is every bit of evidence that Trapp—and not only Trapp—suffered dreadfully because he betrayed his conscience, despite undertaking his duty, showing full well that obedience to God, so to speak, transcends the duty placed even on conventionally disciplined men by their superiors (just as the later Nuremberg trials insisted).
Culture itself can become corrupt. Obeying its dictates under such circumstances is merely to participate in the corruption, as well as a genuine and serious dereliction of duty (even with regard to the culture itself, regardless of its collective opinion), given that the true duty of the patriot and citizen is revivification of the dead past, lost in chaos, and restoration of its vision. Under such circumstances, there are no zero-risk options: we can choose expedience and its illusory safety, or the great dangers of a long-running pathological game that degenerates into hell.
The evidence regarding the actual shooting of infants is mixed. Some claimed that there were bodies of very young children among the elderly and sick left lying in the doorways, houses, and streets. Others claimed that “almost tacitly everyone refrained from shooting infants and small children.” Nonetheless, once the Jewish inhabitants of Józefów were marched to the train tracks, the slaughter began in earnest. Workers were separated from their families, weeping as realization dawned among them. The Battalion men were instructed to place their bayonets on the backbone above the shoulder blades, and to fire, in unison on order. Excepting a short break, the shootings proceeded until nightfall. It is worthy of note that several additional men (but, again, not too many, refused to take part in this process, after its details had been outlined. These men were merely assigned to alternative duties). Others shot past their victims or hid in a local Catholic priest’s garden until they became afraid they might be noticed. Some spent undue time searching houses.
The executions were a bloody and horrific affair. Using fixed bayonets as aiming guides was of little use: “Through the point blank shot that was thus required, the bullet struck the head of the victim at such a trajectory that often the entire skull or at least the entire rear skullcap was torn off, and blood, bone splinters and brains sprayed everywhere and besmirched the shooters.” Many additional men, including Lieutenant Hergert, an officer overseeing the operation, simply had to—and were allowed to—stop, “I myself took part in some ten shootings, in which I had to shoot men and women. I simply could not shoot at people anymore, which became apparent to my sergeant, Hergert, because at the end I repeatedly shot past… Other comrades were also relieved sooner or later, because they simply could no longer continue.” Those who did refuse to partake in the process were showered with epithets but, as one non-participant indicated, “It was in no way the case that those who did not want to or could not carry out the shootings of human beings with their own hands could NOT keep themselves out of the task. No strict control was being carried out here.”
And here is an account of the response of several people who did follow orders, at least to some degree: One soldier, Franz Kastenbaum, had shot four victims: “The shooting of the men was so repugnant to me that I missed the fourth man. It was simply no longer possible for me to aim accurately. I suddenly felt nauseous and ran away from the shooting site…. I then ran into the woods, vomited, and sat down against a tree…. Today I can say that my nerves were total finished.” Could there be any clearer indication of violation of some inner sense of right and wrong? He then returned to the wood’s edge and rode an empty truck back to the marketplace, suffering no consequences for his actions. Perhaps 20-30% of men engaged in such covert avoidance—although the terrible corollary of that is that 70 to 80% complied. Browning states, “When the men arrived at the barracks in Bilgoraj, they were depressed, angered, embittered, and shaken.” They ate little, drank copiously, and listened as Trapp attempted to place the responsibility on those higher in the chain of command. But the horror remained, and the nightmares began, and the men agreed silently not to discuss what had taken place.
When the policemen were later interrogated about their participation in the events, many denied that they’d had any choice. A smaller fraction attributed their participation to outright cowardice or an unwillingness to lose face. Others rationalized their actions: “I made the effort, and it was possible for me, to only shoot children. It so happened that the mothers led the children by the hand. My neighbour then shot the mother and I shot the child that belonged to her, because I reasoned with myself that after all without its mother the children could not live any longer. It was supposed to be, so to speak, soothing to my conscience to release children unable to live without their mothers.” Browning also notes a remarkable dearth of any discussion whatsoever of anti-Semitism as a motivating factor. Furthermore, “politically and ethically motivated opposition, explicitly identified by the policemen in question, was relatively rare.” It was a matter of personal repugnance, by all appearances, motivated by conscience, often overridden, much to the detriment of not only the victims (with whom our fundamental sympathy should obviously lie) but the perpetrators themselves.
As the work undertaken by Police Battalion 101 continued, those in charge became more psychologically canny. They removed the men from the worst of the work, returning them to the rounding up of the Jews in question and assigning the actual killing to the POW Trawnikis. No doubt, by comparison, this was a great relief, allowing at least one step to be placed between the direct action and the inevitable consequences. The next time the Battalion men were called upon to act as executioners, the Trawniki did the dirtiest of work, drunkenly massacring women and men alike in shallow graves full of water, often after torturing and humiliating their victims, while the Battalion men were “overjoyed” that they “were not required to shoot this time.” Even the small proportion of policemen who were required to shoot did so firing-squad style, and did not have to directly face their victims. Over time, they became increasingly accustomed to the role they were playing in the Nazi actions between Polish lines as agents of massacre.
After such training, conducted at the very expense of the souls and the consciences of the men involved, the mere requirement to round up Jews for the death camps seemed very tame indeed, and this took place at towns such as Radzyń, Łuków, Parczew and Międzyrzecz. By this time, the training (and the self-deceit and self-betrayal) had proceeded to the point where many of the men retained as their cardinal memory the fact that they had to stand at Parczew in a swampy meadow and suffer wet feet. A newly recruited officer, one Captain Wohlauf, even brought his new bride, four months pregnant, to witness the events (specifically at Międzyrzecz), much to the shame and chagrin of the more seasoned men. Frau Wohlauf, now devoid of the military coat she had been wearing, evident to everyone in her dress, watched the events closely—and the military police were now in the thick of it, packing the transport railcars, using whips and guns when necessary and, once the loading had finished, nailing the doors shut. The ratio of deportees to deaths at Międzyrzecz was 10 to 1, compared to the much more well-known deportations at the Warsaw ghetto of 50 to 1.
As Browning reports, the Jews of Międzyrzecz did not march like “‘lambs to the slaughter.’ They were driven with an almost unimaginable ferocity and brutality that left a singular imprint on the memories of even the increasingly numbed and calloused participants of Reserve Police Battalion 101. This was no case of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’” And the situation only worsened from there. At Serokomla, in the northern Lublin district, under the command of Captain Wohlauf, the 200 to 300 Jews who had been gathered and cordoned were ordered, suddenly, to be shot. Each policeman directly faced the individual he was to execute. “Following each round, the next group of Jews was brought to the same spot and thus had to look down at the growing pile of corpses of their family and friends before they were shot in turn. Only after a number of rounds did the shooters change sites.” It is exactly that additional staggeringly callous cruelty that is the true sign that corruption has attained its ultimate victory.
By this time, the once compassionate Trapp appeared to have had little compunction about carrying out his duties. There is no reason to be triumphant about this, or to feel comparatively morally superior: it is an indication that even those who are not temperamentally or, shall we say, philosophically or theologically inclined to delight in mayhem can certainly train themselves to participate in it. This should be an object lesson to us all, given that it is far from obvious that the typical person would have been as merciful as Trapp was to begin with. To me, what the story of Trapp produces is excess and deeper horror, providing evidence as it does for the hell that can await anyone willing to move forward, despite themselves, one terrible step at a time.
Heinz Buchmann, however, continued with his refusal and, although he was not returned to Germany, he was given jobs that kept him isolated from the carnage, and was, indeed, promoted with some regularity during the remainder of his military career. Some made their disapproval of his actions known through curses and insults, but others followed his example. Was it the desire to cling to some sense of propriety, however residual and rationalized it may have been, that allowed Trapp to tolerate and to protect those unwilling to participate in the ordered destruction? It was not long after this that the gangland style of murdering women and children, kneeling or lying face down, became standard practice, often after the victims had been stripped to their underclothes in the cold autumn weather. This was following the orders of one officer, of whom a later witness testified, “To my regret, I must say that First Lieutenant Gnade gave me the impression that the entire business afforded him a great deal of pleasure.”
It might be apropos to close this section with some of the most chilling words that Browning penned. In the course of all this—let’s call it training—“many had become numbed, indifferent, and some eager killers; others limited their participation in the killing process, refraining when they could do so without great cost or inconvenience. Only a minority of nonconformists managed to preserve a beleaguered sense of moral autonomy that emboldened them to employ patterns of behavior and stratagems of evasion that kept them from becoming killers at all.” Indeed, as the slaughter progressed, and when volunteers were called to carry out the necessary actions, there quickly came a time when there were more available than needed, so that many were turned away.
How does hell emerge on Earth? First, because people act in spite of their conscience, even to their own detriment, even when they know it; second because hell arrives step by step, one action of betrayal after another. And it should be remembered that it is very rare for people to stand up against what they know to be wrong even when the consequences are comparatively very slight. And this is something to deeply consider, if you are concerned with leading a moral and careful life: if you don’t object when the transgressions against your conscience are (comparatively) minor, why would you possibly presume that you will not participate when asked to when things truly get out of hand? This is not to say (as we have noted) that everyone capitulates, and thank God for that: Consider the testimony of one Adolf Bittner, police battalion member: “I must emphasize that from the first days I left no doubt among my comrades that I disapproved of these measures and never volunteered for them. Thus, on one of the first searches for Jews, one of my comrades clubbed a Jewish woman in my presence, and I hit him in the face. A report was made, and in that way my attitude became known to my superiors. I was never officially punished. But anyone who knows how the system works knows that outside official punishment there is the possibility for chicanery that more than makes up for punishment. Thus I was assigned Sunday duties and special watches.” But, as Browning points out, no one assigned Bittner to a firing squad for his insubordination. Tyranny grows slowly, and asks us to retreat in comparatively tiny steps at a time. But each retreat increases the possibility of the next retreat. Each betrayal of conscience, each act of silence (despite the felt resentment), and each rationalization weakens resistance and increases the probability of the next tyrannical move forward. This is particularly the case when a certain percentage of those pushing forward truly delight in the irresponsible power they have now been granted—and such people are always to be found. Better to stand forward, awake, when the costs are relatively low—and, perhaps, when the potential rewards have not yet vanished. Better to stand forward before the ability to do so has been irretrievably compromised. This is the terrible lesson of the Holocaust and, I would say, of all the twentieth-century tyrannies.
How are men who were by all means ordinary and decent citizens of their type (or at least no worse than others, and somewhat randomly selected) transformed into the heartless wolves of destruction who obeyed the terrible orders they were delivered? The answer is not pretty. It’s far too personal, for those who think clearly and realistically while they read and reflect. It’s far too indicative of the terrible dangers of mere order, and the loss of soul and spirit that is the price for sacrificing conscience to the state. It’s far too frightening to consider the terrible places at which it is possible to arrive following one careless and willfully blind step at a time. But it’s necessary to contemplate, if we are to stop, once and for all, the catastrophe of the unconscionable social conformity that accompanies the sacrifice of the still small voice.
There are consequences for following the rules, as this sequence of stories clearly relates. There are consequences to adhering to the order established by social consensus when the social consensus and, therefore, the order, has become pathological. The consequences in this case involved the persecution and torture and death of thousands of people as well as the perversion of the souls of those who were involved in carrying out their unconscionable acts.
If you decide to stand up and refuse an order; if you do something that others disapprove of but you firmly believe to be correct, you must be in a position to trust yourself. This means that you must have attempted to live an honest, meaningful, productive life (of precisely the sort that might characterize someone else you would be inclined to trust). If you haven’t done that, you may not be able to trust yourself when push comes to shove. But if you have acted in an honorable manner, so that you are a trustworthy person, it will be your decision to refuse or to act in a manner contrary to public expectation that will help society itself maintain its footing. By doing so you can be part of the force of truth that stops order itself from becoming corrupt and tyrannical. It has always been so. The sovereign individual, awake and attending to his or her conscience, is the force that prevents the group, as the necessary structure guiding normative social relations, from becoming blind and deadly.
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2020.08.27 08:00 AngryaboutVideogames Frozen Homes Pt 28: Throwing Things

Not dead and back with another chapter.
Many things got in the way of finishing this but things should be back to normal.
[First] [Prev] [Next] [Wiki]
Thanks for reading and enjoy.
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Srettia silently approached her ship, tightly holding her now filled bag to her chest. Finding it odd that the ramp was raised, Srettia pulled out her com pad and manually prompted the ramp to lower. "That's odd. Jack normally lowers the ramp for me."
"Welcome back, Srettia. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Jack. Were you busy?" Cautiously stepping onto the ramp and walking into the ship. Srettia hastily made for her room in a successful bid on avoiding Michael.
"Yes, Michael and I are playing a game. Sorry for not lowering the ramp."
"Well, that was a wasted effort. That's okay, you two keep playing. I'll be by in a bit." Storing her bag and changing into some more comfortable clothes, trying to lean a bit more on the seductive side. Srettia walked slowly through the ship towards the hard light suite.
Reaching her destination, she keyed the door open and walked in, Srettia's happy face turned to a frown as she was suddenly clothed in rags, a spear materialising in her hand completing the set. Taking a good look around she saw that she was standing in quite a beautiful forest. "What kind of stupid game are these idiots playing?"
Walking around lost for a few minutes, she came upon what looked to be a wooden wall. "Well, let's see if anyone is home. Hello!?" Yelling at the wall and waiting for a response, she huffed in frustration as no one came. Walking around the entire fort, she finally decided to approach what looked like the door.
"HELLO!" Trying again, she was finally greeted by a giant bird with green and yellow feathers menacingly swooping down from the sky and perching on top of the wall.
"Who goes there! None shall enter, Fort No Girls Allowed!"
Holding back a laugh as the birds tiny feet danced to keep hold of the wall. Srettia decided to take Jack's antics in stride. "Good thing I'm not a girl then, Jack. Let me in!"
"I can not do that. I will have to wait for Michael so we can discuss letting you in."
Srettia frowned at the statement and took a step forward. "Michael, is my partner, why wouldn't he let me in?"
"Because this is fort No Females Allowed."
Srettia laughed at the change of name. "I thought it was no girls allowed."
"I have altered the name. Pray, I do not alter it further."
Srettia frowned and planted her feet. Carefully eyeing up Jack's position, she lifted the spear and threw it with all her might. Excitedly watching as the spear flew true, Srettia cheered as the spear violently punched Jack dead in the chest, knocking him off the large bird. Stepping forward, she taunted Jack in a voice loud enough so he could hear from the other side of the gate. "Alter that!"
"I may have deserved that."
Walking into the fort as the doors began opening, Srettia stopped at Jack's body and looked around. "Yes, you did. So what are we doing?" Noticing that much of her surroundings were made of stone and wood, she had no clue what this game was about.
"I am Taming birds. Michael is building things."
"Okay, so what's the point of this game then?" Srettia explored the camp with Jack, finding herself walking into an interesting looking hut with all sorts of cabinets that seemed to be filled with random grass and herbs. Tasting the air in curiosity, Srettia senses were assaulted by all sorts of sensations, struggling with the sensory overload, she quickly decided on a hasty retreat out of the hut. "What's with that hovel?"
"It is my Alchemy hut. Do not diss alchemy, I can make dyes."
Attempting to get a handle on her senses, Srettia glared at Jack. "I can't even describe how it tastes. How can you stand it in there?"
"I cannot simulate most sensations. It would require research which is still currently forbidden."
"You should ask Tanda to look into it for you. I'm sure he'd be completely excited to do it." Looking around, she decided to investigate the strange stone building in the middle of the camp, as the odd structure was giving off a pleasant air. Walking into the building, Srettia was greeted with a blast of heat from molten metal. "This is my new home! Furthermore, I have decided that I'm going to take a nap. You go have fun with Michael." Throwing a bunch of furs onto the floor, Srettia curled up into a ball and closed her eyes.
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Hezexhel sat in the mess hall staring at his meal, eyes wide in confusion as he hesitantly poked the crispy vegetables on his plate. " Is it really okay for me to eat this?" He asked the male sitting next to him.
"I don't see why not, it was offered to us after all. To say we can't eat the meal after they gave it to us would cast a dark shadow on this new alliance. Ethuci surveyed the room, noticing most of the males were also hesitant to touch the given food. Deciding that someone needed to be done. Ethuci picked up his 'hamburger' and took a bite.
The room was silent save for the soft slapping of Ethuci's tail as he inhaled his food. The cooks having picked up on the odd behaviour, as the rest of the room followed suit. Decided a second course was needed. Platters of fruits and vegetables littered the room as the chefs experimented with their guests, an attempt to gain an insight into the likes of their new allies.
"Do you think our people used to craft food such as this?" Hezexhel asked Ethuci, snatching a bundle of purple orbs from a plate.
Ethuci paused to think. " Most likely, though, that knowledge is lost to time. You know the best we can hope for is a grilled losus steak, maybe ground and mixed with grubs and moss. But that is beyond my pay, and I doubt Chrarada would waste resources in such a way."
Hezexhel opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a chime from his armour. "looks like times up."
Ethuci's tail curled as he let out a low hiss. "I hate how he was right about our surface-level experience. After that first sim where we lost more than half our squad to the city environment. I feel I owe him an apology."
Hezexhel nodded his head in understanding. "The Terran isn't so bad. Though, I feel the mission will be easier than the simulations he has us running.
"You don't believe a large building could fall and crush your entire team because you kicked a stone?" Ethuci asked with a smug grin.
Hezexhel got up and deposited his tray in the receptacle. "I'm positive the Terran programmed that to spite me somehow. There is no way, kicking a stone that small could collapse a building that large."
Ethuci laughed, walking out of the mess and towards the hangar. "Well, he did tell you to be mindful of your strength when in your armour. You kicked that stone straight through a support beam."
The walk to the hangar was short. The lift system, being just as amazing as the rest of the Terran tech to the alien guests. Approaching the hangar door, the Aasteran surface team was met with gleaming lights and scrolling text. Warning notifications flared across the door, informing the team of the extreme conditions that lay beyond.
Ethuci, knowing a test was ahead of him. Began commanding his troops, driven to prove to the Terran that he can survive his own planet. "Armour and shielding at max, I want to see five teams four. Make sure you're always within laser range at all times and check to make sure you're tethered properly to your teams."
Ethuci nodded to Hezexhel and walked towards the door. The doors slowly opened to the interior of a large troopship. Finley stood at the opposite side as if waiting for the teams to enter. "Get in your drop harness, were landing in five."
Ethuci proudly watched as his men swiftly spread out around the lander and were ready in under a minute. Just as the last harness locked into place, Ethuci felt the shuttle drop, the familiar shaking of atmospheric entry soon after.
Finley slowly paced from the rear of the troop bay to the front. Speaking clearly, and making eye contact with each soldier he passed in an attempt to drive home how serious the situation was. "What you are about to experience is a storm that was tracked yesterday. It moved quickly across the southern landmass, ripping up everything it crossed. Most likely, It's one of the worst storms this planet can throw at you. Extreme wind, ice hard and sharp enough to shred stone, snow so thick you can't see the hands in front of your face. If you come out of this storm alive, I'll consider your training complete, and we can go check out that energy signal."
Ethuci looked around and noticed that some tails twitching nervously, hearing a familiar noise, he looked to his side to see he saw his old friend Hezexhel has retracted his helmet.
With a tilt of his head, Hezexhel eyed Ethuci. "You ready to show this Terran we're more than just stone kickers?"
Ethuci laughed and kicked his friend. " I think you're the only one with that problem slim tail. "
"I'll have you know the ladies are quite fond of my tail, commander."
Finley walked down the hold, somehow ignoring the shaking. "Any last questions before we touch down?"
Hezexhel shouted over the sound of shattering ice on the hull as the ship began to plow through the storm. " How about a wager, Mr.Finley. We win, and you buy us some of what your people would consider luxury drinks and food. "
Finley turned to Hezexhel, his interest piqued. " And if I win?"
"I'll put in a good word for you with the females. Maybe I'll even introduce you to my sister."
"DON'T DO IT! IT'S A TRICK!" Came from a soldier on the other side of the hold. "Yeah! We've all heard horror stories of your sister!"
Finley laughed. "Sounds like a challenge, why not I accept. Don't you go disappoint me now Hezexhel, I already have a hot date planned after getting you dudes back safe from the surface."
The shuttle hit the ground, and all seemed quiet for a moment. Alarms sounded, the lights changed to red, and the harnesses blew open. Ethuci looked around and noticed his men were already in position to evac. Smiling under his helmet, Ethuci keyed the group com. "Well, Let's go earn our meal!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Srettia woke up to Michael's hand, combing gently through her hair. His smile causing the tip of her tail to waggle in happiness. " I didn't sleep too long, did I?"
Michael got up and grabbed some tongs. "Nah, you can sleep some more if you need to. Jack needs to tame a new bird thing. He's angry his got beat up by some smaller land bird when he was off getting some feed for it or something." Plucking a piece of molten ore from the furnace, Michael moved towards a workbench.
"Alright, I think I'll just watch you work then if it's not too much of a bother. You look good in leathers." Tasting the air, Srettia hummed and curled back up. "Your leakage is pleasant as well."
Michael chuckled as he put the molten slab down and stored the tongs. "I could make a space barbarians vs the galaxy knights reference, but I don't think you've seen that one yet. And I know, you know its called sweat ya bum."
Enjoying the sight of Michael hammering the ore, Srettia happily informed the craftsman of her plans." I looked over the star charts and decided to go in the opposite direction of our last excursion."
Pausing for a moment before he continued hammering his new axe into existence, Michael let out an awkward smile. "Out on the open road again, is it?"
Srettia, not one to let that smile go unnoticed got up and walked towards Michael. "Something wrong?"
Continuing his work, Michael remained silent for a long while before voicing his thoughts. " If the bad guys show up. I want you to fly us out of there, no question asked. You just leave, I'm not willing to risk you or jack out there."
Srettia walked up to Michael and gently wrapped her arms around Michaels's shoulders, causing him to pause his work. " Deal, You keep training me though, I don't want to hold you back at a critical moment."
Michael put down the hammer in surprise. "You're awfully handsy today."
Srettia nipped at Michael's ear. "I learnt a lot while I was gone."
"Is that so?" Turning around to face his aggressive partner and moving his hands to Srettia's waist. Michael quirked his eyebrow while pulling Srettia in close leaning in to kiss the soft scales on her neck.
Srettia gasped and leaned into Michael's kisses.
"I have defeated the cowardly small land bird with my new small feet bird. I shall name him Small Feet Jeffrey."
Srettia Hissed menacingly at Jack. Picking up Michaels hammer, she threw it with all her sudden frustration. Unfortunately, she missed Jack, hitting Small Feet Jeffery square in the face. Killing him instantly.
"NOOOO, JEFFREY! You have killed Small Feet Jeffrey! Give me back my two hours, you fiend."
Srettia spit some venom at Jack and stomped her tail. "Jeffrey was weak! Next time get a proper bird. One that has proper claws instead of tiny feet."
"But they were cute, you monster."
Now being held back by a hug from Michael, Srettia had a sudden thought. "It got beat up by a land bird how did that even happen? Is it stupid?"
"It got caught with food in its mouth so it couldn't fly. Sadly its land speed is shuffling its feet or small hops. It is not a bird meant for battle as it is over eighty percent feathers."
Michael laughed and let go of his frustrated prisoner. "Well, you can Shuffle out of here. We should get going soon."
The two left the hard light room and made their way to the bridge, Srettia and Jack arguing the entire way much to Michael's amusement. Sitting down in his crash couch, Michael looked over the new flight plan. "Hey! this is really good. I'm impressed."
Srettia had a smug smile on her face and looked over to Michael. "Well, I had a good teacher."
"Thank you."
Srettias smile vanished " I'll see you in the hard light room, ya jerk."
"I have just proven that the room does not recognise your venom. I will see you there."
Michael began transmitting for flight clearance as the two argued. " You two ready to explore?"
"I am always ready to explore, partner. Clearance granted"
Srettia grabbed the controls and guided the ship out of the hangar. "Onwards to the unknown!"
submitted by AngryaboutVideogames to HFY [link] [comments]


2020.08.08 17:51 ChrisBoden Well THAT sucked. - A story of the pain and injury of the worst date you can imagine.

Yes, I know, I’m a complete fucking idiot. Let’s just get that out of the way from the start. My only defense was that I was a teenager in the 90's at the time, and my dick was doing most of the thinking for me. On the whole, I’m a reasonably intelligent guy. My dick however, is much like one of those morons you meet who is all balls, no brains. Despite the fact that thinking with my dick got me through highschool at the top of my class, it has proven itself repeatedly to have no memory, no conscience, and what I will simply classify as “questionable moral fiber”.
An obscure, late 20th century English philosopher known for his ballistic dentition once said “Dicks have drive and clarity of vision. They’re not clever.” and he was correct. But like most people who are all balls and no brains, that kind of decision making invariably leads to collecting good stories, and occasionally being scarred for life.
This is one of those good stories, and it’s about a scar.
I was sixteen, vacuously stupid, and the world as I knew it revolved entirely around my radiant affections for one hell of an awesome girl. She was short, beautiful, built like a soccer player, and had curves in all the right places. Miraculously, she was also my steady girlfriend. We had a magnificent system that involved a standing weekly date. This almost always consisted of exactly three things: dinner, a movie, and the furious, passionate, awkward sex that only inexperienced young lovers can have in the contorsionistic confines of an automobile.
Good times.
On the right day of the week you could catch a 2nd run movie at the Alpine Twin for just a couple bucks. Urban sprawl hadn’t reached far enough yet to consume all the best spots for privacy, and we knew every one of them. It was a great time to be young and in love.
God is not without a sense of humor, however, and one particular week fate would throw me a curve. A movie had just come out that her father wanted to see. In a tormentative moment of parental schadenfreude, they decided it would be a great idea to join us on our weekly movie night for a wholesome double date.
I was trapped. I couldn’t say no, her dad was a towering giant of brooding scowls who instilled the fear of God in me. He was an incredibly kind and funny man, but he commanded my respect and there was absolutely no doubt he held the fate of my love life at his whim. I was a nerdy, country kid from the wrong side of the tracks and he made it very clear that I was dating his daughter only so long as both her and him deemed that acceptable. She adored me, he tolerated me, and it was my lowly position to be grateful for the opportunity.
I was fine with that. I was spending every Saturday night with her sowing my wild oats, and going to church every Sunday with him praying for crop failure.
So we all met at her house, the whole family piled into their car, and off we went. We didn’t go to our comfortable, low-budget, second-run theatre out on the north end of town with the thin crowds that encouraged sitting towards the back well away from anyone who could see wandering hands and notice the whispers of young lovers. We went out to the fancy first-run theatre, the gigantic cineplex and shining star of the lower west side, Studio 28, where we would be packed side by side with strangers and held to much higher standards of socially acceptable behaviour.
Studio 28 was massive. Thousands of people filled its acres of parking lots and watched the latest movies on twenty different massive screens with reclining seats in air conditioned comfort. One movie cost more than what we would spend for a month's worth of dates at Alpine - including food. But her dad was funding the entire expedition and I was happy to just be with her.
My lovely girlfriend however, was a hormone-driven, devious genius, and happened upon a simple idea that changed my life forever. She noticed that they list not only the start times of the movies, but the duration as well.
It had never for a moment crossed my mind that we didn’t all have to go to the same movie. Studio 28 was so massive that not only did they have a ton of different movies playing, many of them shared the same start times. She found a completely different show to catch, sorted out the details with her dad, and off we went on our own. She had stared into the bleakness and brilliantly wrought forth for us the greatest commodity of young lovers who live with their parents: privacy.
For such a monumental day in my life, I don’t even remember what the movie was. But I do remember spending an hour and a half in the dark getting each other as worked up as we dared. The lines of socially acceptable behaviour were a lot tighter back then, but we were enjoying them to the best of our youthful ability.
Our movie got out, and we made the long walk to the back-forty of the parking lot hand in hand and hopped in the car. We had no concrete idea when her parents' movie would get out, so we were just hanging out, waiting, and of course sharing only the most chaste and pure of good Christian thoughts.
Just her, me, and our collective sexual tension that burned with the power of a supernova. It really was only a matter of time before it all reached criticality.
Because sitting in a glass bubble in the middle of a thousand cars is totally the best possible place to be doing such things. I was a little on edge, but that didn’t stop her. It certainly did, however, limit our options.
The good news was that I at least had a clear line of sight all the way up our row, and would easily see anyone approaching from the theatre. I kept a watchful lookout, and she decided to take action.
In a matter of a few seconds, she was sucking my dick like it was filled with her father’s acceptance. Not a moment later, I saw the crowd of people start pouring out of the theatre doors. It didn’t take me long to spot her parents, hand in hand. Her dad’s bright blue shirt stuck out in the crowd, even though they were still a quarter-mile away.
And then, at that exact moment, is when I fucked up.
That’s when I did one of the dumbest things in my entire life; I made a split-second trivial decision that would leave me scarred forever.
Now, what I could have done is simply reach down, gently pull her head out of my lap, and have a mildly disappointing end to some fun, gone on with my day, and been just fine. Hell, given how far away they were, the hair-trigger of a teenage boy, and her skillful abilities we could have likely finished without pushing our luck.
The problem with wisdom is that you don’t get it until five seconds after you need it.
What I did, in a moment of youthful stupidity, was say “Your dad’s coming!” and sit up straight in my seat.
And that, my dear reader, is the exact moment that shit got real.
Please understand that what I’m about to describe is much like a car crash. It will take me far longer to describe it than it took to actually happen. All of this transpired in just a moment, but that moment is burned into my brain forever. I apologise now, that it shall be burned into yours. When you share this story with your friends, you’ll know they got to this part when you see them adjust themselves in their seat. No man is immune to this effect.
In one smooth powerful movement driven by pure reflex and fear, without a moment’s conscious thought, she snapped her head up, bolted upright in her seat, and while making that transition from laying on me to sitting next to me she stuffed my dick back into my jeans and ran that fuckin zipper all the way home with the power of an angry linebacker.
The problem is I had never unbuttoned my pants, and it was a lot smaller when it came out ten minutes ago than it was when she decided to cram it back in through, what was now, much too short of a hole. She fought it in there in half a second, it just wasn’t situated as well as it needed to be.
Then, with the delicate touch of a bricklayer she had yanked that zipper though several inches of my most delicate sensitivities and made me one with my Levi’s.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
I was absolutely convinced I was going to die.
The pain was far worse than what you imagine right now. It was radiant and consuming. She had caught roughly…very roughly...the entire front of the most sensitive skin I own and interlaced it down nearly the full length of the zipper. I could glimpse a thin line poking out the front, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit there with tears running down my face and her parents approaching.
She immediately knew what had happened, subtlety is not a skill I possess even on my best days. I think it may be when I levitated, shooting to the ceiling, howling in pain that she got her first hint that something was wrong. She was mortified, I was in agony, and the shitshow had just begun. I untucked my shirt to cover the obvious injury, and wiped my tears.
It was hard travel across the great prairies of the parking lot. I heard they lost five good men, and at one point had to start eating the horses to survive. But eventually, months later, her parents finally made it to the car.
The first battle was the parking lot. Several hundred people had all gotten out when we did and had to find their way to the exit. It took half an hour of stop and start agony while we all shuffled into place and trickled out onto 28th street - a bustling busy main thoroughfare of the lower-west side.
And the fun was just beginning.
Florida makes oranges, Idaho makes Potatoes, and Hollywood makes movies. But Michigan, we make potholes. Northbound 131 is a washboard of suspension testing craters that can knock your teeth loose. Because of the complicated interaction of freeze-thaw cycles, capillary action of water retention in asphalt, and the fact that we run snow plows for a third of the year there is a regular pattern of patched sections on the highway spaced at predictable intervals for miles on end.
And I felt every one of those sonsabitches as we launched and bounded from pock to pock, all along my dick.
It took about thirty minutes to get from Studio28 to their house. That was the longest half hour of my life. I felt every bump in the road in between my own heartbeats as I throbbed in agony sitting awkwardly in the back seat. The only saving grace was that her and her mom were making small talk about the movies they had each seen and my opinion didn’t matter. I sat there sniffling and rubbing my swollen, red eyes. When her mom asked me if I was okay I uttered the only word I could manage on the entire ride home.
“Allergies”.
We made it to her parent’s house, said our goodbyes, and she walked me across the street to my car. It took more work to get into my mom’s old boxy beige Pontiac Grand Prix than it did to get out of her parent’s SUV, but I made it, tenderly.
Mission two accomplished, her parents had no idea. So that crisis was averted.
Now, I had to choose. I was on the edge of The City. If I went East, I could fight my way through traffic to the giant gleaming state-of-the-art hospital located right downtown and wait in line in the emergency room. If I went West, I was heading towards home and in my own small country town was a little Med Center staffed with only a handful of people whose main job was helping people with minor bumps and bruises, and keeping the critical patients alive long enough for the ambulance to get there and haul them off to one of the much larger neighboring cities.
I headed towards home. It was farther, but faster. I hopped on I-96 and blasted into the night more scared of hitting a deer than being pulled over for speeding. I figured if any cop pulled me over, all I had to do was show him my situation and there wasn’t a man in the world who would fault me for being in a hurry. I had a much higher chance of getting a police escort to the Med Center than getting a ticket, so off I went as fast as Mom’s old Pontiac would carry me.
I arrived without incident and walked gingerly through the front door. I’d never been to the Med Center before. My parents were on the rescue squad of the local volunteer fire department so anything short of a sucking chest wound in my house was dealt with by someone running for the jump-bag in Dad’s truck. Any sort of injury was handled on only the best of equipment: the kitchen table.
Life’s different in a small town.
That’s why I wasn’t even slightly surprised when I walked in the front door and the triage nurse at the front counter stopped typing, looked me straight in the eye with genuine concern on her face and said “Chris, are you ok?”.
It was my mom’s friend. Not only did this woman know me, she’d known me since I had training wheels on my bike. I knew she was a Nurse. Half the women in my world were Nurses, my mom was a Nurse. She worked at a nursing home filled with other Nurses. How the hell was I supposed to remember that one of her best friends just so happened to work at the Med Center.
I should have gone East.
“No Ma’am” I said, and quickly added, wincing, “please don’t tell my Mom”
“What happened, show me what you did”
Now, I grew up around trauma and emergency medicine. Back then they were dispatched with one-way pagers the size of a brick that looked like walkie-talkies. There was only one channel for the whole county, and every department had its own unique series of musical tones that told us who the message was for. It squawked and whistled all day and night and you never even noticed it.
But when the BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE-DOOOOOOOOO-----DEEEEEEEEEEEE sound that designated our unit came over that radio, it would take you out of a dead sleep before they got to the “COOPERSVILLE UNIT TWO-OH-FIVE” part of the message and Mom, Dad, or sometimes both, were headed out the door on a dead run before it stopped talking.
If this happens while you’re out somewhere with Dad in the truck, you’re along for the ride. It was somewhere around age twelve when “stay in the truck” just didn’t work for me anymore. I’d learned where babies came from by watching a screaming Asian woman have one on the tailgate of a Subaru in the McDonald’s parking lot. I’d seen bodies mangled and I knew first hand why they called the people who ride crotch-rocket motorcycles “Organ Donors”. I’d learned the smartest and most heroic humans alive fly in AeroMed, and I knew that rescue crews have no problem working up to their elbows in your blood and then going out for pizza half an hour later. It’s just meat.
I was also well aware that the strongest, hardest, most stoic, most unimaginably un-fucking-fazed woman you’ll ever meet, is a Triage Nurse.
So I lifted up my shirt.
And, for just a moment, I saw her humanity crack through her professional stoicism.
I pray that you go your entire life and never once hear a Triage Nurse say “Oh Dear” when she looks at whatever injury you have. It’s up there with getting a prostate exam and hearing the Doctor behind you say “Aw, fuck!”. You don’t want any part of this situation.
There was no paperwork, and my ass never touched one of the beige plastic chairs in the tiny waiting room. She stood up and walked me through the door behind the counter and ten seconds later I was sitting on the crinkly butcher paper of an examination table with my legs dangling over the edge.
A Nurse who was only ten minutes older than I was came in just a moment behind me. Thankfully, I didn’t know her at least, but I’d have liked to under different circumstances. She held a BP cuff in one hand and a clipboard in the other and asked me how I was feeling and if I had any allergies. We chatted for perhaps a whole minute before she asked me what was wrong.
I lifted my shirt.
She took it well, just a tiny gasp before she got her shields back in place. But her blush betrayed her. She held tight to her professionalism and assured me that the Doctor would be right in as she stumbled gracefully backwards out of the room. However, I did notice that she never did get my BP, temp, or anything else.
The Doctor was indeed, right in. I had been sitting there less than five minutes when he strolled into the room and said “So, I hear you’ve had an interesting evening.”
He pulled up a little rolling stool, put on a pair of gloves, and scooted up for a front row seat between my knees as I sat sideways off the edge of the table. We discussed how I had gotten myself into this situation, and he surveyed the damage. I found it ironic that the one person who had shared this experience with me and who could truly appreciate what I was going through was the one person who was completely at ease with the situation. Of course…..it wasn’t his dick.
It was also the first time I’d gotten a real look at things myself, and it was worse than I’d imagined. The skin on the bottom of my shaft was peeking out through the golden teeth of the zipper all the way from about a half inch above the bottom of the zipper to the top. There was way more blood than I had noticed at first and it had stained my pants several inches in every direction. The total zipped length was nearly five inches, and it was under tension on the inside because the standard response to pain is for your dick to shrink up like a stack of dimes.
The added effect, because my brain is an asshole, was that the pain just intensified once I got a look at it.
He pulled out a pair of trauma shears and we discussed what he was going to do about half a second before he did it with a running commentary. He planned on cutting my pants off around the zipper. I was fine with this, off is good, let’s get this off - free me from my golden restraints good Doctor!
Deftly, gently, and with surprising ease the shears sliced right through the seams and folds of my jeans. He cut the bottom through several layers of denim and seams straight up to the base of the zipper, and sheared off either side about four inches away, leaving me with two flaps joined only by the teeth of the zipper and the button on top. He spun on his wheels, reached in the third drawer behind him, pulled out a pair of cutters like I would have in my toolbox, and snipped off the bottom half-inch of zipper entirely. It fell to the floor and landed with a wet plop.
He gently unbuttoned what was now a much smaller piece of my pants, and examined it closely for a couple minutes with a flap held in either hand.
Then he said something you never, ever, want to hear any manner of medical professional say to you.
“We’re gonna go on three...”
We’re…..WHAT!? Where? Whatthefuckare...
“One”
There was no motherfucking Two. Three was an outright lie.
The way out was as blindingly fast and traumatic as the way in. The entire process was loud, a wild blur of motion, and terrifying. In what I have absolutely no doubt was a process he had experienced before, he tore apart the two halves of my zipper with the haymaker strength of a farm boy and kicked himself away from the side of my examination table with both feet to send himself rocketing backwards across the tiny room well clear of the wild reflexive punch I swung through the space his head had occupied a split second before. He landed in a heap, half fallen off his rolling stool, with a piece of my jeans in either hand and an accomplished smile from ear to ear.
That all happened in less than a second. It took exactly the amount of time it took me to say “MOTHERFUCK-....eh?”
The good side is, it didn’t actually hurt all that much when he did that. The bad side was, the blood was now rushing to my dick and it was throbbing with every heartbeat. It hurt like all hell.
We both took a moment to compose ourselves and both spoke at the same moment, saying the exact same thing.
“Are you alright?”
I looked at the sad strip of hamburger laying in my lap, surrounded by a terrifying amount of dried blood in matted black hair. It looked like Edward Scissorhands had given me an old fashioned.
“No?”
I had visions of sutures, staples, and all forms of Spanish Inquisition cock torture that I was about to endure and was blissfully thankful that all he needed to do was clean everything off and tape a strip of gause to it. After the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had involving my dick being cleaned, complete with being hosed down with Betadine, now it I just looked like I’d fucked an Oompa Loompa.
I asked what would happen if I got a hardon, would I bleed to death or something? He assured me that the last thing I was going to get in the immediate future was an erection. After a few days it would be fine all on its own.
I thanked him for saving my manhood, secured my pants with my belt, hid the giant square hole in front under my shirt, and headed home. I tossed my shredded jeans in the trash, took a shower that involved the creative application of a baggie and a rubber band that moments before had been holding the wing on my model airplane.
He was right, I didn’t have any danger of getting a hardon for over a week. The throbbing pain became a dull ache that would hover just on the edge of being actively conscious of it. Sleeping was complicated, but I managed. After a few days it didn’t hurt at all, and a couple weeks later I was back to normal. In the third week a full operational test proved that all repairs had been completed and that all systems were operating within nominal specifications.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let a woman zip me up again. I’ll take care of that on my own, thank you.
The scar is considerable, tapering to half an inch wide at the base and running front and center along the bottom of my shaft up to the tip. It’s been the topic of more conversations and won more stupid bets than I want to think about. But it’s part of me, a part of my life, and I’m just thankful that despite the relentless abuse and poor decisions my dick has endured, that all in all, things are working just as they should thanks to the compassionate care of a young country Doctor and a small team of Nurses.
Thank you to everyone in the medical profession, of any rank and stripe, for enduring all that you do to help us fumbling idiots live to see another sunrise. You are awesome.
With my kindest regards,
Chris Boden
submitted by ChrisBoden to funnystories [link] [comments]


2020.08.07 23:07 Terra627 A whistle in the forest

Richson white sat up with a groan. beside him, sitting upon his nightstand. His alarm clock blared a shrill shriek. calling him out of his slumber. upon glancing over at its red digital screen. he saw that it was exactly 8:30 am. the worn springs in his old bed creaked as Richson swung his feet onto the carpeted floor. Hearing the floor boards creak beneath his weight. As he rose to his feet. stretching and inhaling deeply.
The cottage wasn't his home, no. Richson had lived in pleasant valley. a town buried deep in the Canadian Rockies. one he had left on business some days before. His job, as an investigator for the RCMP. Had sent him to the cottage, one he was renting. that sat on the outskirts of Garibaldi provincial park. a national park near Vancouver. Richson had been sent to investigate a series of disappearances, dating back some decades.
with the most recent example being the disappearance of a young boy. One had had been camping with his family some months before. His mother having lost sight of the boy for only a brief moment. Only to turn round and find that he was gone. that even after they called his name, and searched the camp sight repeatedly. the boy was nowhere to be found. meaning that his disappearance was report to the police. Causing SAR teams to be assembled.
Teams that even after days of searching. had come up with nothing. Not a single trace of the unfortunate boy. At least until 3 months had passed. when his body had been discovered high up in the mountains. leaning against a fallen tree. somehow still in perfect condition, with no trace of decay. even still warm to the touch. If the hikers who discovered the body were to be believed. the boy wasn't the first to go missing either. As victims had disappeared in that region for decades.
this raised an important question, as to just where the boy had been all that time. clearly someone had been taking care of him for several months. As his cadaver had shown no signs of malnourishment. The boy had been missing his shoes, yet his feet were in good condition. A fact that should have been impossible. Given how rocky the terrain was. his feet should have been raw and bloody. Yet they were not. meaning he had likely been carried to the spot he was discovered.
Richson yawned. As he got dressed. pulling on a pair of trousers, and taking his revolver from the night stand. the gun was his grandfathers. an old single action colt 45. One he had carried in the great war. the gun was an odd choice for a modern RCMP investigator. however, Richson carried it to ward off bears in the wilderness.
Richson made his way out of his bedroom. stepping into the corridor beyond. where the bright rays of the sun shone through. an uncovered window in the kitchen. causing Richson to shield his eyes from its bright glare, as he stepped groggily into the bathroom. switching on an overhead light.
now, Richson stood before the bathroom mirror. taking in his reflection. His hair was cropped short, in a no nonsense military style buzzcut. Richson had a muscular frame. A body shape created by the intense training he took part in. As an active member of the RCMP, who had spent years as a police officer in Pleasant valley.
He quickly finished up in the bathroom, washing his face, and brushing his teeth. Today he would be hiking up into the mountains. in the very place the boy had been found. As this was the best place he could think of to begin his investigation. Into the disappearances, which occurred seemingly at random. making them difficult to trace.
Upon leaving the bathroom. Richson ate a quick breakfast, leftovers from diner the night before. half a hamburger, and some few French fries. From a restaurant in the outskirts of Vancouver. he ate in silence. As his television droned on. being tuned to a news station. one that spoke of the covid outbreak. a topic that annoyed Richson.
causing him to switch off the offending television. leaving him to finish his meal in peace. the cottage's kitchen was tight and compact. reminding him of some of the hotel rooms he had stayed at during his long career. it contained little more than basic appliances. the sort of thing one might find in any home. a well stocked refrigerator. an aged and dirty oven. one Richson had to clean upon his arrival to the cottage.
He walked over the dingy tile floor of the kitchen. taking up his boots from where they lay beside the front door. it would be a long hike to the place where the boy had been found, and Richson was eager for a head start.

The path had proved to be less of an obstacle than Richson had bargained on. it was rocky and overgrown, but nothing he couldn't manage. Already he had nearly reached the place where the boy had disappeared. He took in his surroundings. the thick and green forest, that grew along the winding rocky path. snaking its way up a steep incline. The view was quite a sight to behold. Richson could see the valley for miles. As well as the metallic dot of the distant city of Vancouver.
Richson breathed in the fresh alpine air. letting it fill his lungs. As a cool breeze, chilled the sweat on his forehead. he continued his hike. steeping over a log that was in his path. Richson glanced ahead of him. At a fallen tree, nearby the edge of a sheer cliff. the boy had been found laying against the fallen tree. slumped over, as if he had fallen asleep.
Richson recalled the first night he had arrived on the scene. interviewing a pair of hikers. the couple who had discovered the body. One of them, a man in his mid twenties. Had assumed the boy to be sleeping. Shouting his name, and shaking him to wake him up. It was only after placing a hand on his body, That the man had realized the boys true condition.
Neither of them knew the victim personally. Nor could Richson find any evidence linking them to his demise. so he had let them go. before calling in a helicopter to retrieve the body. A body that showed zero signs of foul play. As if the boy had simply fallen dead where he stood.
Upon Reaching the fallen tree. Richson walked slowly around it. carefully examining it, in detail. it seemed to be an ordinary tree. One that showed no sigh it had ever been the final resting place of a missing boy. however, during his second walk around the log. he noted something curious. kneeling down, he flipped the stump part of the way over. His eyes narrowing upon discovering a bizarre carving. the caring was like none he had ever seen before. showing three main letters, IHS. which were carved atop a representation of the sun.
Scratching his head, Richson snapped a picture of the carving. It seemed they had over looked it in their initial search. He then rose to his feet, sweeping a wide glace across the area around him. he stood in a small rocky clearing, one that faced a sheer cliff. the clearing was largely empty, with hardly any evidence people had gone there at all. leaving no evidence to tie anyone to the crime. seeming as if the spot had never been used before. not for camping, nor even as a rest spot for passing hikers. As surely campers would have left some sign of their presence.
whether it be the burn marks of a fire, or some discarded trash. Richson paced slowly around the area. studying every rock and stump. hoping to find yet another carving. that was similar to the one he'd found on the tree. however, his efforts yielded nothing. Discouraged, he leaned against a nearby tree. Racking his memory for any thing that might help him identify the carving.
A distant noise gained his attention. Causing Richson to glance back down the path he had hiked that morning. He was certain he had heard some one calling out to him. By name. This unnerved Richson, as hardly anyone knew he'd be coming there. as he had told only his superiors about the trip up to the crime scene. Richson stood in silence. staring his ears to detect any further noises.
the call came again, and Richson identified the voice as belonging to a male. One who's voice was un familiar to him. "who's there?" he called out. receiving no reply but silence and the rustling of wind through the trees. He cast a suspicious glance across the tree line. scanning to see if anyone could be found there. A brief flash caught his eye, of someone darting for cover. they wore a red and purple garment. One that Richson was unable to get a clear look at. As the stranger rapidly gained distance on him.
"RCMP Freeze!" shouted Richson. giving chase to the stranger, he tore through the trees. Batting branches out of his way as he ran. He could see the stranger far ahead of him. His brightly colored clothes giving away his position. He moved with inhuman speed. weaving his way through thick foliage. while avoiding brambles and thorns. Richson pursued him, weaving his way through the forest.
Until the stranger came to an abrupt stop. Richson drew his revolver, cocking back the hammer. Now he could see the strangers clothes in detail. he wore what looked like a vintage, red and purple clown suit. Complete with a garish pair of oversized red shoes. "turn around, slowly" he ordered. the stranger did as he was told. spinning slowly to face his pursuer. As the strangers face came into view. Richson's jaw dropped, and his hands began to tremble.
the strangers face sent shivers down Richson's spine. it was covered in white garish make up, One that gave the clown a ghastly appearance. he had long red hair, that was wild and unkempt. with a sadistic smile spread across his white face. As if he enjoyed the Terror that was in Richson's eyes. deriving some predatory thrill from it.
the bizarre clown had a white frill around his neck. One that gave him a bizarre appearance. As if he had stepped from a circus in hell. Now that the clown was facing him. Richson noticed the front of His red and purple suit in detail. Which had gold buttons running up its front. Each with the letters IHS upon them. In bold black characters. Upon his forehead, the numbers 666 were branded. Burnt permanently into his flesh.
"what are you?" Richson muttered. taking a few steps back from the clown. The clown raised a single finger to his lips. shushing Richson Before turning and sprinting away. Richson tried to give chase, but tripped over an exposed tree root. Causing him to lose sight of the twisted clown. As he made his escape.
a few hours later, back in the safety and comfort of the cottage. Richson began his research into the carvings. So far he had discovered one possible match for the carvings. they were the sigil of an ancient religious order of the catholic church. the Jesuits. he wasn't certain what role they played in the boys death. however, he had every intention of further researching them,
As for the clown, he had sent an email to an associate of his. One who worked for the history museum in Ottawa. in the hope that he might be able to provide him with useful information. Richson's phone beeped. indicating that he was receiving a call. One from a number he did not recognize.
"hello, who is this?" answered Richson. "Am I speaking to Richson White?" inquired an unknown man on the phone. "who is this, how did you get my number?" Richson replied. "my name is John Richards, an associate of mine sent me an image of the carvings you discovered" "he also told me about the clown you encountered" "I need you to come and see me in person" "I cant say very much over the phone" he pleaded.
Richson Grew uneasy. who was this man, and why he so desperate for to meet him in person? "where exactly would you like to meet, and why?" Richson inquired. "because I believe your in danger" "those carvings you've unearthed are tied to very powerful people" "who are willing to do anything to ensure their sordid secrets stay buried" "that's all I'm willing to say over an unsecure line" "if you want to know more, meet me for dinner at the bushido Japanese restaurant" "ill be waiting by the front door" "in a white suit" the man explained. "don't tell your superiors that we spoke" directed the man. Before hanging up the phone.
Richson sighed, putting his boots on, evidently he'd be having take out for dinner.
submitted by Terra627 to DrCreepensVault [link] [comments]


2020.07.21 10:23 Human_in_hell The Alphabet Murders

The Alphabet Murders, also known as the Double Initial Murders, are an unsolved series of child murders which occurred between 1971 and 1973 in Rochester, New York. All three victims of the Alphabet Murders were girls aged ten or eleven whose surname began with the same letter as that of her first name. Each victim had been sexually assaulted and murdered either by manual or ligature strangulation before her body was discarded in or near a town or village also beginning with the same letter as her initials. The murders committed by this unidentified serial killer became known as the “Alphabet Murders” and the “Double Initial Murders” due to the fact that each of the victims first and last names began with the same letter.
Carmen Colon –
At 4:20 p.m. on November 16, 1971 a 10-year-old Puerto Rican child named Carmen Colón disappeared while returning home from an errand in Rochester, New York. According to eyewitnesses, Colón entered the pharmacy her grandmother had instructed her to visit on West Main Street, but left the store upon learning the prescription she had been instructed to collect had not been processed, informing the storeowner, Jack Corbin: "I got to go. I got to go." She was then observed entering a car parked close to the pharmacy. Colón was reported missing to the Rochester Police Department at 7:50 p.m.
Approximately fifty minutes after Colón exited the pharmacy, scores of motorists driving along Interstate 490 observed the child, naked from the waist down, running from a reversing vehicle believed to be a dark-colored Ford Pinto hatchback, frantically waving her arms and shouting in an attempt to flag down a passing vehicle. At least one of these witnesses observed Colón being submissively led back to this vehicle by her abductor.
Two days later, two teenage boys discovered Colón's partially nude body in a gully not far from Interstate 490, and close to the village of Churchville. This location was approximately 12 miles from where Colón had last been seen alive. Her coat was discovered in a culvert some three hundred feet from her body; her trousers were only discovered on November 30, close to the service road near where numerous motorists had observed her attempting to escape her abductor.
An autopsy revealed that, in addition to having been raped, the child had suffered a fracture to her skull and one of her vertebrae before she had been manually strangled to death. Furthermore, her body had been extensively scratched by fingernails.
Both the murder of Colón and the fact no individual who had observed the child attempting to flee from her abductor alongside Interstate 490 had attempted to offer her any assistance generated intense public outrage. Two New York newspapers, the Times Union and the Democrat and Chronicle, initially offered a combined reward of $2,500 for information leading to the arrest and conviction of her murderer, and all information each publication received was relayed to police. Numerous local businesses and residents added private donations to the reward fund, gradually leading the sum to exceed $6,000. Although police interrogated several suspects in the months following Colón's murder, all were cleared of involvement, and by December 21, the number of investigators assigned to the case on a full-time basis was decreased to three.
In early 1972, five large billboards—each measuring 30-feet-by-12-feet—were erected alongside major Rochester expressways. Each bore an 8 feet (2.4 m) high picture of the child alongside the headline: Do You Know Who Killed Carmen Colón? Free use of these billboards was given for one month by the Rochester Outdoor Advertising Company. Each offered a $6,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Colón's murderer or murderers in addition to displaying the telephone hotline number and postal address—each established the previous November to encourage the public to submit anonymous information. Although this tactic generated several new leads, all failed to bear fruition.
Wanda Walkowicz –
Seventeen months later, at approximately 5:00 p.m. on April 2, 1973, 11-year-old Wanda Walkowicz disappeared from the east side of Rochester while returning home from an errand. According to the owner of the delicatessen Walkowicz had been instructed to visit, the child had purchased the groceries she had been instructed to buy at approximately 5:15 p.m. before she had begun walking alone down Conkey Avenue. Walkowicz was reported missing by her mother, Joyce, at 8:00 p.m.
Police immediately launched an intense search to locate Walkowicz. Almost fifty detectives searched several square miles of the terrain around her home, the delicatessen, and areas around the Genesee River she was known to play. These searches failed to locate the child, although several neighborhood residents recalled observing Walkowicz, struggling to carry the bag of groceries, walking just north of Avenue B. Three classmates specifically observed Walkowicz bracing the bag against a fence so that she could improve her grip upon the bag as a brown vehicle drove past her.
Walkowicz's fully clothed body was found by a police officer at 10:15 a.m. the following day, discarded at the base of a hillside alongside an access road to State Route 104 in Webster, approximately 7 miles from Rochester. The position of her body indicated she had likely been thrown from a moving vehicle, with her body rolling down the embankment.
An autopsy revealed she had been sexually assaulted, then strangled from behind with a ligature, most likely a belt. Several defensive wounds indicated Walkowicz had fought her murderer. In addition, her body had been redressed after death. The autopsy also revealed traces of semen and pubic hair upon the child's body. Furthermore, several strands of white cat fur were found upon her clothing, although the Walkowicz family did not own a pet with the fur of this color.
As had been the case with Carmen Colón, investigators established an anonymous telephone hotline in addition to distributing numerous flyers throughout Rochester appealing for information. A reward of $10,000 for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Walkowicz's murder was also established.
These police inquiries produced an eyewitness who informed investigators that as Walkowicz had walked home from the delicatessen on the evening of April 2, he had observed the child standing alongside the passenger door of a large brown vehicle, conversing with the driver. This eyewitness was unable to obtain a clear view of the occupant of the vehicle, although the location of this sighting was just two-tenths of a mile from the Walkowicz home. Another individual who contacted investigators following the installation of the anonymous hotline informed investigators she had observed a man forcing a red-haired girl matching Walkowicz's description into a light-colored Dodge Dart on Conkey Avenue between 5:30 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. on the evening of her disappearance.
The Rochester Police Department dismissed any suggestion of a link between the murders of Colón and Walkowicz, although a sheriff's sergeant who had been assigned to investigate Colón's murder (by this stage still an open although largely inactive case) was reassigned to the task force implemented to investigate the murder of Walkowicz.
In September 1973, local television network WOKR announced plans to broadcast a televised reconstruction of Walkowicz's abduction and subsequent recovery of her body. This 30-minute episode was broadcast on 21 October, accompanied by public appeals for witnesses to contact authorities. Although this program resulted in the Rochester Police Department receiving over 200 calls from the public, no useful leads were gained.
Michelle Maenza -
Seven months later, on the evening of November 26, 1973, 11-year-old Michelle Maenza was reported missing by her mother, Carolyn, after she failed to return home from school. Subsequent investigations would determine Maenza was last seen by her classmates at approximately 3:20 p.m. walking alone en route to a shopping plaza located close to her school with the intention of retrieving a purse her mother had left inside a store within the plaza earlier that day. Approximately ten minutes later, a witness observed Maenza sitting in the passenger seat of a beige or tan vehicle traveling at high speed on Ackerman Street before turning onto Webster Avenue. According to this witness, the child had been weeping.
At 5:30 p.m on November 26, a motorist observed a man standing by a large beige or tan vehicle with a flat tire, parked alongside Route 350 in the town of Walworth, holding a girl he strongly believed to be Michelle Maenza by the wrist. When this motorist had stopped to offer assistance, the individual had deliberately "grabbed the girl and pushed her behind his back ,also obscuring his license plate from the motorist's view as he stared in his direction with such a menacing expression on his face that the motorist had felt compelled to drive away.
Maenza's fully clothed body was discovered at 10:30 a.m. on November 28, lying face down in a ditch alongside a rural road in Macedon, approximately 15 miles from Rochester. Her autopsy revealed that in addition to receiving extensive blunt force trauma to her body, Maenza had been raped, then strangled to death from behind with a ligature, possibly a thin rope. Numerous strands of white cat fur were discovered upon her clothing, and leaf samples matching the foliage where her body was discovered were recovered from within one of her clenched hands, indicating she had likely been strangled to death at or near the location where she was found. Investigators were able to retrieve a partial palm print from her neck and traces of semen upon her body and underwear. A forensic analysis of the semen samples determined she had been raped by one individual.
An analysis of the contents of Maenza's stomach revealed traces of a hamburger and onions which had been consumed approximately one hour before her murder, giving credence to earlier reports of a girl matching Maenza's description having been seen in the company of a Caucasian man with dark hair, aged between 25 and 35, approximately 6 ft tall and weighing 165 lb both at a fast food restaurant in the town of Penfield at approximately 4:30 p.m. on the afternoon of her disappearance, and alongside Route 350 approximately one hour later.
All three victims were preadolescent females who had disappeared from Rochester in the early afternoon on days of light or heavy rain and whose bodies were later discovered within adjoining counties. The body of each girl had been discovered either fully clothed or partially clothed close to an expressway at a location typically accessible by vehicle and each victim had evidently been thrown from or carried from a car to the location her body had been discarded.
Each child was short in height, and all three girls had been raped before being strangled to death. In addition, all three were known to be viewed as somewhat lonely outcasts among their peers. Furthermore, an analysis of the stomach contents of both Walkowicz and Maenza revealed both girls had ingested food shortly before their death which neither girl is known to have eaten prior to her disappearance, and the bodies both girls had been redressed after death.
Both contemporary and current investigators have stated the possibility each victim had been selected due to the double initials of her name is extremely unlikely, as for an offender to preselect his victims for this incidental reason would likely involve his stalking his victim over an extensive period of time, thus increasing the risk of his being noticed. Furthermore, some investigators believe that, although the murders of Walkowicz and Maenza may have been committed by the same individual who had lured the girls to their deaths, the overall modus operandi of the murder of Carmen Colón strongly indicates her murder had been committed by an individual known—and possibly related—to her as opposed to an individual unknown to her, who had abducted her by force.
All three child murders generated intense public outrage; each received intense publicity. Following the murder of Michelle Maenza, investigators released a composite drawing of the individual seen with the child by numerous witnesses to the media. They also installed a telephone hotline exclusively devoted to the manhunt for the perpetrator, whom they strongly suspected had committed all three murders. Anonymity was again offered to any caller offering information, and a reward was again offered for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of the perpetrator. Although these efforts resulted in numerous calls from the public, no credible suspect was located.
Although investigators interrogated more than 800 potential suspects in relation to the Alphabet Murders, the perpetrator or perpetrators of the homicides was never caught, and the case remains unsolved. As each child hailed from a poor Catholic family, had few friends, and had recently experienced issues such as bullying or poor academic performance at her school, investigators have not discounted the possibility the murderer may have been employed by, or held knowledge of the practices of, a social service agency in his efforts to initiate contact with and/or gain the trust of each victim.
In the case of Carmen Colón, her uncle, Miguel Colón, is considered by investigators to be a strong suspect in her murder. Miguel was the brother of Colón's father, Justiniano. Following the separation of Colón's parents, he had formed a relationship with her mother, Guillermina, becoming known to Colón as "Uncle Miguel."
Typically, on occasions Colón walked to the pharmacy to collect family prescriptions, she had been accompanied by her grandfather, Felix, although on the date of her disappearance, Colón had pleaded with her grandparents to be allowed to walk to the pharmacy unaccompanied.
Just weeks prior to Colón's abduction and murder, her uncle is known to have purchased a car closely matching the vehicle seen by eyewitnesses reversing upon Interstate 490 in pursuit of the child. Investigators did conduct a search of this vehicle shortly after Colón's murder, discovering the interior and exterior of the car had been extensively cleaned, and the trunk had been washed with a strong cleaning solution. Questioning of the dealership which had recently sold the vehicle to Miguel revealed the trunk had not been washed with a detergent prior to sale. Moreover, a doll belonging to the child was found in his car, although Colón's relatives informed investigators she had frequently traveled in Miguel's vehicle and may have left the toy in his car. Furthermore, according to a friend, two days after the death of his niece, Miguel had informed him of his intention to leave the country as he had "done something wrong in Rochester." He relocated from Rochester to Puerto Rico just four days after the murder of his niece.
Investigators did travel to San Juan to question Miguel in March 1972, although local newspapers published articles detailing police intentions to question him, resulting in Miguel fleeing from authorities. Miguel surrendered to authorities on March 26, and agreed to be extradited back to Rochester to face questioning.
Miguel Colón was unable to provide a credible alibi for his movements on the date of his niece's murder, and no individual could be located to corroborate his claims regarding his whereabouts. Despite strong circumstantial evidence attesting to Miguel's guilt, no physical evidence was located at the crime scene or within his vehicle to link him to the murder.
Miguel Colón committed suicide in 1991 at the age of 44 following an incident of domestic violence in which he shot and wounded both his wife and his brother.
One individual considered a strong suspect in the Alphabet Murders is a 25-year-old Rochester firefighter named Dennis Termini. Termini was a prolific serial offender known as the "Garage Rapist" who is known to have committed a minimum of fourteen rapes of teenage girls and young women between 1971 and 1973. He is also known to have owned a beige vehicle similar in description to the vehicle observed by several eyewitnesses to the abductions. Moreover, he is known to have lived at an address on Bock Street—an address close to the area victim Michelle Maenza had last been seen alive.
Five weeks after the death of the final victim of the Alphabet Murders, on January 1, 1974, Termini is known to have attempted to abduct a teenage girl at gunpoint, although he fled the scene when the teenager refused to cease screaming. Shortly thereafter, he abducted another potential victim, although on this occasion he was pursued by police, culminating in Termini committing suicide by shooting himself in the head. A subsequent forensic examination of Termini's vehicle did reveal traces of white cat fur upon the upholstery.
In January 2007, Termini's body was exhumed to obtain a DNA sample for comparison with the semen samples recovered from Walkowicz's body. The results of this test confirmed Termini was not responsible for her murder. However, no physical evidence retrieved from the bodies of Colón or Maenza exists for comparison with Termini's DNA.
Another suspect in the Alphabet Murders is serial killer Kenneth Bianchi, who at the time of the murders worked as an ice cream vendor in Rochester. He is known to have worked at locations close to the first two murder scenes. Bianchi had relocated from Rochester to Los Angeles in January 1976. Between 1977 and 1978, he and his cousin, Angelo Buono, Jr., committed the Hillside Strangler murders of 10 girls and young women between the ages of 12 and 28.
Bianchi was never charged with the Alphabet Murders, and has vehemently denied any culpability in the homicides. He has repeatedly attempted to have investigators officially clear him of suspicion. However, while residing in Rochester, he is known to have driven a vehicle of the same color and model as a vehicle seen near one of the abduction sites.
In April 2011, a 77-year-old named Joseph Naso was arrested in Reno, Nevada for the murders of four women in California committed between 1977 and 1994, all of whom are believed to have been prostitutes and all of whose surname began with the same letter as that of her first name. Naso was a New York native who had lived in Rochester during the early 1970s and who is known to have regularly traveled between New York and California.
Initially described by authorities as a person of interest in the Alphabet Murders, DNA testing has confirmed Naso's DNA is not a match to the semen samples recovered from the body of Wanda Walkowicz.
Naso was brought to trial on June 18, 2013, charged with the murder of the four California Alphabet Murder victims. He was unanimously convicted of each murder on August 20. On November 22, 2013, Naso was formally sentenced to death.
submitted by Human_in_hell to Cold_Cases [link] [comments]


2020.07.19 16:48 Raptor013 New World Order - Chapter Five

Just uploaded the latest installment to my on going fan fiction which can also be found here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13535599/5/New-World-Order

For those who have left reviews and comments, thank you and I hope you enjoy the latest chapter.


The following morning I find myself standing once more on the bridge of the Intrepid wondering to myself how I had failed to change everyone's minds about running a series of sea trials off the coast of Midway Atoll when we had no way of ensuring that not only did the US Navy not find out about this, but that no one else did either.
Not even Professor Strickland who was usually extremely cautious when it came to running practical experiments could be swayed. He had even elected to venture out from his computer labs to join us out at sea and was currently going over some last-minute adjustments on a hastily assembled catapult that had been fitted to the loading deck of the Intrepid to launch air borne targets for the girls to shoot at.
The rest of the research teams had been busy overnight as well, building over-sized targets that had earlier been towed out to act as a mock enemy fleet. And with the Intrepid now positioned in the center of the mass of floating targets the realization that this was about to become a very unsafe place to be was rapidly becoming apparent. Not even Bismarck's parting words about never missing her target were entirely reassuring.
"Okay, everything is all set," the Professor announces as he enters the bridge from the starboard wing, "I've already started the exercise. All we need to do is sit back and observe the trials."
From the corner of my eye I see that Kevin is clearly were looking forward to having high explosive shells lobbed in his direction just as much as I am and Luke is saying a silent pray to himself from his position at the helm.
It isn't long before the distant rumble of what sounds like thunder can be heard off in the distance, and almost instantly one of the targets floating just off port side of the ship explodes in a cloud of sea spray and shrapnel.
As the remains of the target float down from the sky, covering the deck of the Intrepid, a distinct high-pitched whistling can be heard rapidly approaching from the distance. Resisting the urge to duck for cover knowing it would do no good given the lack of protective armour should a stray round hit the ship, and silently praying the stories from those that had served in combat that if you could hear the round travelling towards you it was going to miss, I instead look out over the starboard side in time to witness a series of impact splashes land harmlessly on either side of one of the targets.
"Perhaps that famous Fire Control Radar the Germans boasted of during the war isn't as good as they claim," Kevin comments breathing a sigh of relief.
"It's hard to say," I reply, "That may have been a ranging shot from one of the secondary batteries or even a miscalculation of the targets movements."
As I say this another salvo screams overhead before smashing into the target with an explosive thump sending more shrapnel flying out across the ocean.
Another round of long-range bombardment sends a pair of targets skywards in a fireball, as the sound of multiple approaching aircraft can be clearly heard above the rising wind. A very brief scan of the surrounding waters, it quickly becomes clear that the entire outer rings of targets have been reduced to shredded wreckage, strewn both across the surface of the Pacific and the deck of the Intrepid, all save for the inner most circles of targets remains intact.
"Well boys, looks like that famous German marksmanship is just as effective as all the history archives say. And now it looks like we are going to get a front row seat to what the Americans saw at the Battle of Midway," I remark as I see the first wave of torpedo bombers begin their attack run.
As the planes streak past the Intrepid hugging the wave tops, the catapult on the loading deck launches the first projectile of the exercise. The barrel, roughly the size of a beer keg sails through the air towards the attacking aircraft it appears as though the pilots haven't noticed.
Just before the barrel began its descent however, one of the Zeros screams overhead, guns blazing to destroy the barrel before it even has a chance to cause concern for the torpedo squadron. A moment later the planes drop their torpedos into the water and break off their attack run as five tell-tale streaks of disturbed water mark the trail of the torpedos all the way to the targets, detonating on impact sending more debris flying across the deck of the Intrepid.
The attack waves weren't over however as more high-pitched screaming can be heard both overhead and, in the distance, getting closer, stepping out onto the bridge wing and looking up for the closest source. Multiple squads of dive bombers, already well into the dive runs were hurtling down from the heavens.
"Now I know how the sailors of the US fleet felt looking up at that," said Kevin who had joined me out on the wing, "That's a sight that certainly inspires fear."
"Makes you appreciate the sacrifices that were made back then," I agree raising a pair of binoculars to my eyes.
Looking on in awe at the sight of nearly two dozen dive bombers continuing their descent, before releasing the bombs strapped to the undersides and pulling up with only a couple of meters to spare above the water's surface.
Before long all of the targets had been reduced to floating debris, strewn all around the Intrepid.
With no more targets remaining the remainder of the exercise was spent launching more targets from the Intrepid where the girls took turns either launching fighters to take out the flying barrels or using their Anti-Aircraft guns.
Using a signal flare to indicate the end of the trials once the last of the barrels had been launched and met the same fate as all those before, the girls slowly skate back in to the docks, whilst those on board the Intrepid set about cleaning up the mess left behind.

**

"Okay, so this morning's exercise, whilst we can say it was a success, has certainly left us with more questions than we achieved answers to," I begin looking around the room at the assembled members of the research team.
"I have to agree," one of the researchers speaks up, "We still have yet to understand how it is that they are able to skate across the ocean surface."
"Yes," I agree, "However that answer will come in due time and is the least of the questions we need answers too."
As I look around the room once more, I notice that the professor has also joined and taken a seat towards the back, "In terms of what we witnessed today, we can conclude that whilst we don't as yet know the reason why the girls exist or seem to have the memories and knowledge of warships from World War II. We can be certain that based on the known data of those ships, that these girls certainly act like the real thing."
"So, your saying that four warships that were sunk over seventy years ago have not only returned, but have also taken on completely different forms?" another of the group asks.
"That is one theory I'm currently looking into," I answer, "All we know for certain at this point, is that the girls can remember events, places and people from back in the 1940's and earlier, including some things that are not a matter of public record. They also have the ability to launch carrier-based air strikes and bombard targets with long range guns. The accuracy and similarity of actual known tactics and data simply cannot be ignored."
"Could it be that the similarity in tactics is from having studied history texts?" the first of the research team asks.
"I won't rule that out as a possibility," I begin, "However the tests we conducted on the rigging has shown that the metal work and composition of the steel used also matches similar work done by both the Germans and the Japanese around the time the original ships were laid down."
Many of those in the room share glances between themselves, "Further to this," I continue, "We also have no answers yet as to what these cubes are," indicating the almost two dozen cubes so far fished out of the water mainly by the team on the Global Explorer.
"The only thing we've so far confirmed is that they react to the scanners in the lab," one of the senior research members confirms.
"How are they reacting?" I ask.
"We placed two of them in the Professor's climate-controlled pressure chamber," the researcher explains, "We set the room temperature to twenty degrees and then started to run a basic laser scan. Within minutes the temperature within the room had risen to over sixty degrees and the strength of the glow emitted by the cubes had reached a point that it was unsafe to view the chamber even through shielded glasses."
"The process also puts a massive drain on the power supply," another researcher adds, "The fluctuations in the power levels to the chamber might be the cause of the rapid temperature rise."
"The power supply issues should be resolved shortly," Professor Strickland states standing up, "I've sent a request for additional testing and power equipment which was approved this afternoon."
"When and where will this additional equipment be coming from?" I ask.
"Most of the equipment will be coming from America," Professor Strickland confirms, "I've arranged for it to be delivered to Hawaii where you can pick it up on your next visit in a couple of weeks."
With no further pressing matters to discuss, the meeting soon wraps up and the various research teams go back to their respective work stations to continue studying the cubes and running further tests on the numerous samples.

**

It was later in the evening and I'd spent the entirety of the afternoon after the meeting going over every report the research teams had generated to date, trying to find some connection or pattern that might lead to a breakthrough to what was going on.
As I was reading through a revised medical report, the phone on the desk rang. Putting the call on speaker I answer, "Go ahead."
'We have a call from Admiral Jensen, he says its urgent,' the voice on the other end says.
"Okay put it through," I reply. I wait a moment as I hear the call switched through to my phone, "Admiral Jensen. Surely this isn't a social call at this hour of the evening?"
"Hardly," Admiral Jensen replies tersely, "We need at least one of your ships to join a search party we are conducting."
"No worries," I reply, "Send the search area details and we'll head out in the morning."
"I can't stress this enough," Admiral Jensen continues, "But this is on a need to know basis."
"Since when does a search and rescue operation require secrecy?" I ask.
"When it involves a US Naval Carrier Group," Admiral Jensen answers coldly, "We've lost contact with the Gerald R. Ford and the entire escort fleet. They were returning to Pearl after a routine cruise through the Bismarck Sea. Assuming this is a simple radio equipment failure, they are due to transit south of Midway around noon tomorrow."
"Okay Admiral, we'll be there tomorrow," I assure, "And assuming they aren't there, we'll start to retrace the fleets planned route."
As I finish up the call with Admiral Jensen and confirm the search location details a chime on the computer alerts me to an incoming email. Opening up the mail, I find a series of attached news articles from various German newspapers.
Quickly reading through the translated news stories and the attached request for help, I pick up the phone and press the speed dial. "Kevin, I need you to get the Intrepid ready to sail for first light tomorrow. US Navy have asked us to assist in a search operation. Can you also send Albert to see me?"

**

As I finish packing my sea bag for the upcoming assignment a knock on the door announces Albert's arrival. "As I'm sure you've heard, the Intrepid will be sailing again tomorrow." I say zipping up the bag.
"Looking forward to getting back out to sea," Albert replies, "I believe I've managed to unlock more potential from those new engines."
Shaking my head slightly, "The Intrepid will be sailing without you," I explain, "I need you to join our friends from Hamburg. They are looking into reports of a ghost ship off the German coastline."
"What do ghost ships have to do with us?" Albert asks.
"Take a look at the photos they sent," I say passing the folder over containing the email and various photos and news articles I had printed out.
As Albert flicks through the photos and reads the news reports I explain further, "According to our friends the ship seems to be unmanned, however they also report that it manoeuvres as though someone is aboard."
"Could it be a test program someone is running?" Albert asks.
"Possibly," I admit, "However the silhouette of the ship in the photo had me go through our records and I found a match."
"Really?" Albert exclaims in surprise.
"I found a profile match in a recently released Kriegsmarine U-Boat Captains ships recognition manual," I say, "They had profile matches of German ships as well to prevent U-Boats from attacking friendly ships. The silhouette in those photos roughly matches that of a Type 1936 Destroyer."
"Okay," Albert says, "So if we can determine the ships class then why is everyone claiming that it's a ghost ship?"
"Because," I begin, "None of the Type 1936 Destroyers from the German Navy survived to this day. They were either sunk during the war or scrapped once the fighting was over."
"So, what do you need me to do?" Albert asks.
"To be honest, I don't really know what this is," I admit, "But you've got some experience in what we've been seeing over the last couple of weeks and you speak the language. I just need a pair of eyes to oversee their investigation that I can trust."
"So, this is strictly an observer's role?" Albert queries.
"Exactly," I confirm, "They will lead the investigation and follow it to wherever it leads. You just sit back, take notes and help out where needed. If this does turn out to be another case like we encountered in the Atlantic with Bismarck or the Pacific even for that matter, then you can make whoever they are the same offer and bring them back to Midway."
Albert considers my words for a moment before replying, "Might be a tough ask, convincing a complete stranger to travel half way around the world just on a chance they might get some answers."
"True enough," I admit, "Frankly I think we got lucky that so far the girls we've encountered have been willing to work with us to get some answers as to what is going on, despite the historical differences. With that in mind, it might be a good chance to also prove that we can be trusted."
"Can't say I follow your meaning Captain," Albert says.
"Bismarck mentioned to me that she would like to see Germany again," I answer, "Now this certainly isn't a sightseeing trip you are going on; however, she seems to trust you more than the rest of us."
"Well given my family's historical connection," Albert begins.
"It's okay Albert," I interrupt, "Your family's history certainly helps in this instance. I was just thinking that as both you and Bismarck get along, certainly better than with the rest of the crew. That perhaps having Bismarck join you on this trip, will allow me to keep a promise I made. And should this be a situation like we've been encountering over the past couple of weeks, Bismarck should be able to help bridge that early trust gap."

**

After finishing up my briefing with Albert and arranging the required travel documents and plans, I make my way down to the kitchens where most of the ships crews could be found at this hour of the night given usual sea routines they kept barely changed even back on land when in the lab facilities.
On entering the kitchens, I pick up two of the metal serving trays and bang them together to get everyone's attention, "Okay lads, I'm sure most of you have already heard by now. The Intrepid sails again in the morning."
At this announcement some of the assembled crew raise a cheer.
"Yes, yes," I say with a smile, "I know that you are all eager to get back out to sea. However tomorrow marks the start of a search and rescue operation, so it will be enlisted crew only. And the crew from the Global Explorer will also to joining us, so that we can try to cover more ground in half the usual time."
Seeing some of the crew from the Global Explorer raise their heads at this news, I continue, "That also includes the senior officers, as we will be operating around the clock watches given the nature of this operation."
Many of those in the room shared looks of surprise at this. It was common to run an extended watch during Search and Rescue, however around the clock only happened in the most extreme of cases.
Looking around the room, I finally locate Kevin sitting in the furthest corner, "Kevin," I speak up over the chatter, "You'll be taking over the engine room for this trip in Alberts place."
"Not like Albert to give up his precious engine room," Kevin comments, raising a few laughs from the engineering teams.
"Albert will be overlooking another assignment that has come our way," I answer, "And I'm sure that you'll get a right dressing down if when he returns that engine room isn't spotless." I finish with a smirk knowing full well that no matter how clean or well maintained the engine room is, Albert will find something to fault.
Leaving the crew to finish their late even meals in peace and start to prepare for tomorrows departure, I leave the kitchens in search of our guests.

**

It doesn't take me long to locate Bismarck.
Since arriving at Midway, when not in the lab running another series of tests to help the research teams learn more about how her rigging works, or reading up on German history post 1941, she could usually be found looking out to sea from atop a small rise across the small area set aside by those that rarely left the island for outdoor recreation.
Tonight, was slightly different from normal as Graf Spee was also there despite her usual preference of keeping to her room. Joining them and silently waiting for them to finish their conversation which took place entirely in German and to acknowledge my presence, I wonder if aside from being able to sail across the wave tops and bombard targets at long range with naval cannons, if they could actually see anything out there beyond the shoreline in the darkness.
"You're leaving on the morning tide," Bismarck finally speaks up looking in my direction.
"Yes," I answer, "We've been asked to assist in a Search and Rescue effort in the region."
"And you need our help?" Bismarck asks.
"Well more eyes are certainly welcomed," I begin, "However, we also had another request for help with another situation."
Graf Spee also looks in my direction at this.
"I'm sending Albert to oversee a team that we've worked with before that are looking into multiple reported sightings of a ghost ship," I explain, "A light plane will be arriving tomorrow afternoon to fly him stateside, before he takes a commercial flight to Germany. I thought you might like to join him. Give you chance to see your homeland again."
Both girls stand there in silence for a moment, "You mean we have a choice?" Graf Spee finally speaks up.
"Of course," I answer, "You're not prisoners here. You've both helped the research teams try to understand just what is going on, and even though we are no closer to an answer now as to the day we first encountered both of you. Nothing we have so far learned disproves the fact that despite the naval armaments, your ability to walk on water, or even your memories of the events of the war almost eighty years ago leads any of us to believe you are less human that the rest of us."
"And that means what exactly?" Bismarck asks.
"In simple terms, it means you can make your own choices," I reply, "You can stay here, you can join Albert on his trip to Germany tomorrow. You can go anywhere you want, any time you want. I could hardly stop you, even if I wanted to."
Both Bismarck and Graf Spee look at me wordlessly for several moments before Bismarck finally replies, "As I mentioned before, I'd like to see Germany again, so I'll take you up on that offer."
"I figured you would," I admit, "I've already sorted out the required travel arrangements. Albert can fill you in on the details, as he already knows about as much as I suspect this operation is going to be."
"And if I choose to remain in Germany?" Bismarck asks.
"If that is what you choose to do, then the best of luck to you," I answer honestly, "I'm sure we'll cross paths again at some point, as we find ourselves in that part of the world quite a lot."
More silence follows my last reply, before Bismarck nods her head, "It would seem that Albert is right about you. You can be trusted to back up your words with action."
"Well, you don't get some of the work assignments I get without being able to follow through," I admit. Turning to face Graf Spee who had remained silent for much of the conversation, "How about you Graf, you want to go to Germany as well, it's no trouble to arrange an extra set of travel documents."
"No thank you," Graf Spee replies, "I think I'll just stay here."
"Okay then," I reply, "That's not a problem at all. You can do that."
submitted by Raptor013 to AzureLane [link] [comments]


2020.07.04 20:06 chilidirigible A girl and her boy toys: Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: Stardust Memory

Today, on "Manly men and their shiny things.":

1:

GMs gotta catch a break sometime.
'90s noses are preparing, please wait warmly.
Coming full circle with the Not!White Base Not!SDF-1 Albion.
It's nice to have a solid count up front... right? Right?!?!?!
Everybody wants more Mora.
It's not a security perimeter, it's a pavilion.
And... commercial. (Of course this shot looks familiar.)

2:

"This is so gonna come out of my salary!"
Not!Jurgen Prochnow.
Talking is a free action.
Do you like hamburger?
"I don't want to get fired... by firing squad!"
How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.
Gato seems like he's going to launch into a Homeric soliloquy at any moment, while Kou would be yelling "TETSUOOOOOOOO!!"

3:

At least it doesn't blow your cover.
Ah, the corrective type.
Photo obtained in questionable circumstances.
"This is no Jim, boy! No Jim!"
"It's turned into pro wrestling!"

4:

Somebody's gotta stand up for not getting harassed around here.
And also getting a word in for the long-suffering ship crews.
Didn't anyone ever mention that firing real bullets inside a ship causes problems?
It's the oldest trick in the book!
It's the oldest trick in the book!
That's worth a chuckle.
Everybody's a Newtype: Chirico Cuvie, Yohane, Zeon spies...
"This is me covering up my mistakes!"
Much VF-1 gunpod sound effect here.
Hey, now you can order a Robot Tamashii to remember the guy by: https://www.amiami.com/eng/detail?gcode=FIGURE-060556
On a related note to the H.L.L.V. that will appear in Zeta proper.

5:

scene missing
So, when did this become Heavy Metal but with more clothes?
"The meat becomes spongy and bruised, but the metal is always willing!"
Bandai: chuckling
"We have your bomb."
"I request to make this demand!"
"You broke my suit!"
"Thanks for bringing back the Gundam."

6:

Aren't you glad that the women of the future are interested in engineering?
It's like Roy and Claudia, only reversed and better-lit.
Legs don't just grow back overnight?
Cobra! Is that you?! (Bonus: His last name.)
At least you're not picking up Zaku chunks from the forest.
It's not like the Federation builds a lot of Mobile Armors.
But of course.

7:

"Don't you mean 'Shining'?" "Shh! Ye wanna get sued!?"
Ain't they adorable?
Lust for gold definitely makes a man turn neutral.
Chris?
You're just asking her out on a date, it's not world peace.
She's got a point.
There's a time to talk, and there's a time to shoot.
Nina gets around?
It's best said with dignity.
There's no way that this won't turn out horribly wrong in the end.
Ah, Anaheim, is there anything you won't do?
Layzner's dialogue consisted of a string of references to "I'm gonna die in a blaze of glory," and thus.
And yes, it's time for love... to get in the way more than it already has.

8:

At least they didn't go below the hard deck.
Adult situations!
"I only use it for medicinal purposes."
It gives so much, it asks so little.
"Why yes, I also collect death flags."
Correction double feature!
"Now if I actually survive this it'll be trolling!"
"Super trolling!"
...alas, South Burning, you're in a Gundam series and stacking up death flags usually results in the expected outcome.

9:

Coming Soon™ to a planet near you!
I said, "Soon".
Smells like submarine, and not the sandwich.
Gato's got big, stupid balls that way.
"Put The Price Is Right back on!"
"FOR TESTOSTERONE!!!!!"
They did it, the Set Us Up The Bomb, For Great Justice.

10:

Fair.
So, you're a zealot, yay you?
"And why do they have to broadcast their sweaty grunting all over the guard channel?"
Now they'll never get their deposits back.
Well-placed labels.
LOL Narrative.
It's what they do around here.
That's the thing about barely remembering all the details of this from 18 years ago, I forgot that the Stamen is a different suit from the Zephyranthes.

11:

That's how the Federation rolls.
At least it looks less like a scrapyard amputee.
It's no Destroid Monster.
My Gundam! My man! My coffee! DAME!
Nina Not Chill continues.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
"Oh boy."
"Who needs arms and legs?"
"Nina, you're overwrought."

12:

Hilarious English text.
Silly Mobile Suits, totally unprepared to find themselves in an Itano Circus.
This is why Cima solved her problems with gunfire.
Jamitov Hymen, who is absolutely a contender for the most ludicrous Gundam name. Lewder than Quattro Bajeena, even.
"My Schwartz is longer than yours."
GO SPEED RACER GO!
"Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!?"
"My eyes! The goggles, they do nothing!"
"Always look out for Number One."
You're not Char, Gato.
Quite the Conga Line of Betrayal they've got going here, which is why we look to our stalwart Mobile Suit pilots to personally yell at each other while everyone at a higher pay grade plays interplanetary politics. So very Gundam.

13:

LOL
LOL
aaaaaaaaaaaugh
That basically applies to everyone at this point.
It's not like Newtype communication would have helped either.
Well that makes you.
It's awkward, but it's still more than the Neo Zeong could manage.
There's also much more shouting.
Unfriendly fire, it's a classic.
"So it was your plan all along."
"Yo."
Hey, it's not a triangle anymore.
I decided to watch this OVA because it had been mentioned a couple of times during the Gundam Unicorn rewatch and I needed something old to counterpoint hating Gundam Narrative. The ending of 0083 seemed to a particular point of bother.
I myself hadn't seen 0083 since its early run on Adult Swim in 2002-2003, when I caught different episodes at different times and saw Episode 13 more than once while lacking bits of critical explanation, so that was a further push to a review.
And so... that was pretty good. Watching it over the course of less than 24 hours suggests some bloat here and there which would not have been a problem versus the original 16-month release schedule, but it still kept up the pace for a binge watch.
The animation and overall visuals are as good as anyone would hope for for an early 1990s OVA and that quality is maintained throughout. The new designs look good to me, even the Gundams. (Shoji Kawamori helps there.) Mika Akitaka's two Mobile Armors look purposeful and coherent and totally not like scrapyard salvage attempts. Characters are all uniquely recognizable.
Combat particularly looks like they were going for jet jockeys with legs, and it works even if I'm not used to hearing lock-on tones associated with areas bathed with Minovsky Particles.
The characters are not especially complex, but for the most part they mesh together well. With most of the secrets being plot-related, it's not a big problem that everyone moves about in an otherwise-predictable fashion. Maverick Kou and Goose Keith make sense as wingmen, Burning has the right intensity to be their mentor, Captain Synapse does the captain thing, the Federation staff officers are assholes as one would expect, Delaz and Gato are fanatics but dignified, and so on. Mora Boscht and her relationship with Keith turned out to be a pleasant surprise.
Kou develops enough along the way. Having to kill Layzner was predictable, but gave him more of a spine-solidifying shot than even Burning's eventual inevitable death did. His relationship with Nina doesn't get a lot of on-screen development time, but what's there feels like a natural series of developments.
And yes, I am going to criticize how Nina is written. Not her actual character, who I think actually does the increasingly-irrational things that a character in her position would do knowing what they know, but how that's presented. The Gato/Nina/Kou Triangle Surprise needed more setup to not seem like a last-moment plot-complicating ass pull. I can somewhat justify her protecting Gato over the lives of billions since her precious projects are all gradually destroyed during the course of the OVA, but really, don't just toss that out there with two episodes remaining. She does turn the entire plot into a lesson in workplace conflicts of interest, but that's just me talking in the context of the litigiously-shy and moderately-enlightened 21st century.
On a similar note, Cima's betrayal makes a lot more sense for her if her background had more explanation. It's not unexpected in the OVA given that she's presented as some foul-tempered sybaritic pirate, but knowing why she's roaming space while keeping the remains of Zeon at arm's length would make her into more than simply the other of the two lead women in this OVA who decide to backstab everyone during the climax. You expect that sort of thing from the people at Anaheim, but deadly vamps don't get much respect, eh?
Having The Guy With The Terrible Name use this as the trigger for launching the Titan scheme makes this fit neatly into the overall Gundam timeline and penchant for back-room skullduggery. I think they could have done a little more with it here, but it's good enough as a lead-in to Zeta, and stays out of the way of the generally personal feeling of the rest of the OVA.
All in all, an enjoyable viewing with a few minor bumps in the road, but that's running in the Nineties for you.
submitted by chilidirigible to AnimeImpressions [link] [comments]


2020.06.11 03:58 Ralts_Bloodthorne First Contact - TOTAL WAR - Part 208

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The day was hot and dry, the sky a clear blue without a hint of clouds, the yellow star turning the entire reddish desert into a furnace. The convoy was pulled over at a small abandoned enclave, the cherry red muscle car surrounded by four heavily armored APC's, having the 50 gallon tank refueled by the tanker truck that was part of the convoy. The tanker truck had been attacked and graffiti sprayed on it. Such arcane statements as "MANTIDS RULE HUMIES DROOL" and "FREE KIKAKIK!" and "REMEMBER DOVER SPIKE!" on the sides in multicolor paints that had been sprayed by small task focused little drones.
Standing at a wooden table were two holograms, a Lanaktallan in a black tuxedo, a human with bad facial scarring and heavy cybernetics, and a massive bulky cyborg made of chrome, black durasteel, and ragged flesh.
There were also two humans dressed completely in black with swords sheathed on their backs sitting in the shade a playing a complex tile game as they ignored everything around them.
I have only the best ninjas, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd thought to himself before turning back and looking at the holographic map. It was of a complex military base in the middle of a dry lake. Strangely enough satellites couldn't get a view of it, all attempts at sat-survellience led to nothing but a blank spot of desert.
These Terrans are indeed crafty, but the plans for the F4 Phantom will be mine, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd thought to himself, rubbing all four hands together.
"So, with the hat and ID, the guards will mistake you for a three star Space Force general," his evI-liaison said in the heavy officious and stern accent. "This will enable you to get by security. Herr Otto will add a transponder spoofer to your implant that will identify you as a high ranking Space Force officer, so this will fool the computer and allow Herr Otto to access the computer and base communications."
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd nodded, staring at the map of the Space Force research and development site. He had to admit, it seemed much more impressive than even the R&D planets he had conducted espionage on. The location said "You do not belong here unless you are wildlife", the buildings were all squat, hardened to withstand an atomic blast, and drab and said "You are not welcome in this place" and the sheer amount of roving guards, guard towers, heavy fences, and security made Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd tremble with excitement.
Not one of the facilities he had infiltrated over his hundred and fifty years of life was this heavily guarded.
"Any response is at least two hours away for fast attack hovercraft, so even if the alarm is raised, you should be able to escape quite handily," Heinrich stated. "Once you're inside, Herr Otto will guide you to where they keep secret plans."
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd straightened up and thought for a moment. "So, there might be more technological plans than just for the Phantom?"
"Yes, Herr Ya'ahrd," Heinrich said. "As you see, Terrans are very security conscious, so technical plans are never stored on computers, but rather on blue paper with white lines called, of course, 'blueprints'. The file room should contain much data that might be of interest, but you have a limited time window within the blueprint room."
"Of course, of course," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said, putting his fingertips together. He nodded slowly. "Grab what I can as fast as I can then make my way out where my vehicle will be waiting."
"Yes, Herr Ya'ahrd," Heinrich said.
"Major Bloodfist and I will wait in the car. We will have identification stating we are typists and secretaries," the massive cyborg rumbled. Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd turned the cyborg, known as Chrome Cortez (Real Name: Juan Sqwakiki Lymner), and nodded excitedly.
"I should definitely take my grenade launcher and that wonderful shotgun weapon with me," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd mused.
"Yes, Herr Ya'ahrd, it is a legal requirement that individuals within the nation of the Hamburger Kingdom be armed at all times," Cortez rumbled.
"All right, we're ready," Ya'ahrd said, turning to the ninjas. They saw him looking, threw something to the ground, and disappeared in the smoke. Ya'ahrd heard the car door slam and nodded to himself, knowing that they were now hiding somewhere in the car.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd trotted over to his car, nodding to his two bodyguards. He had to admit they were impressive. Grey skinned Rigellians just rippling with oiled muscle, wearing crossed studded leather straps across their chests, leather pants with openings to expose their gray buttocks cheeks, and heavy leather belts around their waists where they kept knives and pistols and all manner of gadgets.
He was very impressed with them as they ignored him in order to watch the surroundings for any potential Terran Intelligence Agency assassins that might lurk about to capture or kill him before he could damage their war fighting ability against the Unified Council.
Before he got in the car he checked the back seat.
Yup, looked empty. Perfect.
He rubbed his upper hands together in glee as he opened the door and got in. Those ninjas were the perfect investment.
Getting in the car he watched as Major Bloodfist and Chrome Cortez got into the passenger seat and into the back seat with the invisible ninjas respectively. His datalink pinged and he took the call.
"All right, Herr Ya'ahrd, I'll be providing comms for you to the gate. After that Herr Otto will be assisting you. Just drive to the gate and show your ID," Heinrich said.
"Excellent work, minion," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said. "When the Lanaktallan people take over this planet I'll put in a good word for you."
"Thank you, Herr Ya'ahrd, you are as generous as you are wise and capable," Heinrich said.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd drove through the desert in silence until he was only a few hundred yards from the gate.
"All right, there's a movement verification system in place, Herr Ya'ahrd," Heinrich broke in as Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd parked his bright cherry red automobile so that his minions could refuel it. He had driven fifty miles and the fifty-gallon tank was almost empty.
"I understand," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said. He got out and stretched.
"Now, just like we practiced," Heinrich said.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd faced the gate, only a few hundred yards, a long run but not impossible for a highly trained agent such as himself who had spent months exercising in 1.25G to acclimate himself to the punishing gravity of Terra.
He leaned forward at the waist, put all four of his hands behind him at a 45 degree angle, looked down at the ground, and galloped forward as fast as he could in order to the fool the gait-identification system into thinking he was one of them.
"OK, Herr Ya'ahrd, I'm losing communications, so I will hand you over to Herr Otto," Heinrich said as he got to within fifty yards of the gate.
The running pose was difficult, but obviously working as Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd panted out "Thank you, Heinrich."
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd slowed down within ten yards of the gate, breathing heavy with all four lungs, straightening at his waist, and letting his arms hang down at his sides naturally instead of being held behind him at a 45 degree angle.
"Comrade Ya'ahrd?" the voice was a harsh accent that oozed with authority and menace and made Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd's flanks tingle with excitement.
"Yes, Otto?" Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said quietly.
"All right, just go up to the gate and show your ID. Your hat, jacket, and ID should get you past the guards," Otto, the Digital Sentience hacker told him.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd trotted up to the uniformed humans at the gate. They all wore solid olive drab green uniforms with strange patches on the tops, shined black boots, and metal helmets painted OD green with a white stripe around them and "MP" on the sides.
"Identification?" One asked, giving Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd an intent suspicious looked.
"General Ya'ahrd," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said, lifting his head up and holding out his identification.
"Hmm," the human said. He handed it to the guard inside the shack made of wood and glass. "Check it out, Private."
"Yes, Sergeant," the human inside said.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd wondered what caste of humans they were.
After a moment the ID was handed back.
"Welcome to Area-51, General Ya'ahrd," the gate guard said, pressing a button so the striped wooden pole raised up.
"Thank you, human," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said and trotted onto the base.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd was in awe at what he saw. All the Unified Military Forces bases he had infiltrated before, most of the troops just sat around or spent their time lacklusterly doing makework. Here they drove around yelling to one another, ran from place to place in large groups in perfect time, carried packages, worked on vehicles, or paid urgent attention to papers in their hands.
To Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd is was frighteningly efficent.
My work could change the war, he thought to himself. Much more than acquiring the budget for a Senior Military Most High's personal account.
*"*Comrade Ya'ahrd, go into the building on your left. I will direct you to the hidden elevator that will take you down to the research sub-levels," Otta said.
Ooh, underground research facilities! Only the Unified Research and Development Council were allowed those! That the Terran Space Force would have their very own underground facility tells me that this place is indeed an important facility, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd thought to himself. The information I get here could turn the entire war around!
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd smiled to himself as he punched in the keycode number Otto gave him and got into the elevator.
When I get back, they'll see who's the best Superspy and who isn't! Why, I might even be asked to speak at the Unified Espionage Council meeting! he thought. He spent a bit fantasizing about how important he could become and how every Council being would want to speak to him and hear about his adventures deep in enemy territory on Terra itself!
The door opened with a soft ping and Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd trotted out.
It looked properly mysterious. Big boxes, some wooden crates, some metal boxes. A thick white mist a few inches thick covering the floor, mysterious stencils on the walls, old feeling concrete.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd followed Otto's instructions, twice hiding from human guards that moved through the dimly lit hallways, their features entirely obscured by gas masks. Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd had to admit they were quite creepy looking and those weapons looked extremely dangerous.
Finally he reached the room where the technical blueprints were stored. Following Otto's advice he quickly found the rolled up blueprints for the F4 Phantom Aerospace Multi-Role Craft. He spread it out and looked at it.
The stats horrified him. A max atmospheric ceiling of 100,000 feet! Twin engines! Mach 2.5 at under a 125 feet! Multiple weapon systems including the capability to carry atomic weapons! It was capable of operating as a parasite craft and could even land on a stretch of flat ground instead of a specially prepared runway with a magnetic assist system!
Worse, it could be piloted by a single being! Two beings made it even more efficient!
Yes, yes, if this gets into production it would be a disaster for the Unified Military Council's aerospace elements! It carries more weapons that any two aerospace fighters we posses! Worse, it doesn't require a high energy reactor, it can do all of this off of fossil fuels as well as being made of lightweight materials, meaning that it would be invisible to modern scanners!
He rolled them up and tucked them into his sash, then looked around. He took down several other blueprints and looked at them, gasping in shock.
The V-2 Rocket System made him curl his tendrils in horror. It didn't depend on anti-gravity systems or fusion thrust but instead highly refined fossil fuels! It was a disaster waiting to happen! Lanaktallan air defense systems wouldn't even be able to see them!
Another blueprint was for a system called the Challenger Tank. Nervously he spread it out and looked it over. While at first glance it looked crude, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd realized its small size, high speed, and massive gun made it a dangerous weapon system.
That too went into the tube he grabbed and put the rolled up blueprints into.
"Almost out of time, Comrade Ya'ahrd," Otto warned.
"No, no, no, I need more of this," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd moaned, grabbing some random plans and putting them in the tube. "This place is full of incredible military research!"
If the Terrans get these into production the war is lost! Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd thought to himself, grabbing another plan down.
It was a heavily armed and armored rotary aircraft called a HiND! Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd moaned in fear looking at the specifications. He rolled it up and put it in the tube, then slung the tube over his shoulder.
"Get out of there, Comrade Ya'ahrd," Otto told him.
"Lead me out, Otto," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said, taking control of his fear.
He followed the direction carefully, finally reaching the elevator. Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd was trembling in excitement and fear. This was his favorite part of any espionage mission.
The escape.
At least Yu'uMo'o wasn't there to sabotage him and take all the credit like the last three times that Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd had managed to gain valuable intel.
"Comrade Ya'ahrd, it appears that there is some difficulty. Quickly, ascend to the roof instead. I had Comrade Chrome Cortez put your jetpack harness up there," Otto suddenly said.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd pressed the cancel button and then the "Roof Access" button.
"What is happening?" Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd asked nervously.
"It appears that the Space Force Military Intelligence Division suspects you may be trying to break into the most secure research facility in the Confederacy," Otto said.
"Could I shoot my way out with my grenade launcher and shotgun?" Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd asked eagerly.
"Sadly, no, Comrade. You will have to flee via jet-pack. They have, umm, anti-grenade fields and anti-shotgun armor," Otto said. "Real cutting edge high tech stuff, but it Confederate Intelligence."
"Hmm, makes sense. I will ascend to the roof and make my dramatic escape from there!" Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said eagerly.
Then he waited, humming a song he had heard on the car's radio and tapping the cardboard tube with his fingers. After a few minutes the doors pinged open and he trotted out onto the roof.
The military base was a hive of activity. Aerospace fighters roared overhead, using vertical takeoff and landing systems to quickly set down. Tanks clattered around, pointing their guns everywhere. Entire dozens of Terran soldiers with rifles ran in perfect unison and formation sweeping the areas.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd spotted his jetpack harness and galloped over to it. He strapped on the flank harness, which had four thrusters, one over each hip, to provide him with lift, then strapped on the backpack section, which would provide him with forward momentum. He put on the helmet, which was bright chrome so it would blind anyone looking at him as well as reflect any attempts to use RADAR or LIDAR on him, then pulled the controls around.
He checked the roof real quick to make sure he wasn't leaving any ninjas behind, then activated the jet pack.
With a roar it lifted off.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd gave the traditional Terran escaping spy salute to a defeated enemy. He held out both middle fingers of his lower hands and called out "SO LONG, SUCKERS!" and jetted forward at the incredible speed of nearly four minutes per mile. The wind ruffled his hide and the speed almost made him dizzy.
"Comrade, you have a helicopter coming in! You'll have to fight them if you want to escape!" Otto called out.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd looked around, reaching around behind him and grabbing his Terran Burgerland make grenade launcher.
There it was, approaching rapidly!
"Comrade, when it..." Otto started to say.
Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd held his tongue between his teeth, curled his tendrils, and aimed his grenade launcher, squeezing closed all but one eye. He hit the trigger and the grenade launcher kicked hard.
The grenade that hit the front of the helicopter kicked harder and the helicopter burst into flames, falling to the ground in a shower of debris.
"Ooooor, you can do that," Otto said.
Following Otto's directions he landed just outside the gate, next to his cherry red car. Chrome Cortez and Major Bloodfist helped him out of his jetpack as the Terran Space Force guards stood on the other side of the fence and fumed impotently.
"You were all stimulating opponents, but alas, you faced the pride of the Lanaktallan Unified Espionage Council," Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd said. He felt somewhat bad for them. "Fear not, against lesser opponents you would have prevailed! Sadly, you faced me, Ya'ahrd, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd, Secret Most High Secret Agent Spy, who has..."
Cortez and Bloodfist checked their watches and waited for the Lanaktallan to finish his villainous speech.
When he was done, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd chuckled at how obviously demoralized the Space Force soldiers were as he got into his car.
As he raced off into the desert to the next refueling stop he checked the back seat and smiled.
It was still empty except for Chrome Cortez.
--------------------
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
Oh my god, this guy is amazing!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
MANTID FREE WORLDS
I know, right?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
RIGELLIAN COMPACT
I'm curious about why his vitals spiked when he was looking over the old historical document replicas. That tech is like 10,000 years out of date for Terran military tech and he acted like he found the plans for the Viper-IX interdiction fighter.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
MANTID FREE WORLDS
I know, right? Weird.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
He really likes that grenade launcher.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
MANTID FREE WORLDS
They're fun if you're on the shooty end.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TERRASOL
AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!
////////
TERRASOLINT
AHAHAHAHAHAH!
/////////
MANTID FREE WORLDS
Oh, Digitial Omnimessiah, now what?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TERRASOL
Get the popcorn, it's about to get funny.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
>Eagerly shoves popcorn into mandibles with both hands.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
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submitted by Ralts_Bloodthorne to HFY [link] [comments]


2020.06.03 17:34 Kaessa Patch Notes Update

Update 06/03/2020 PC: 1.63.133.1020 / Mac: 1.63.133.1220 Console: Version 1.25
The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle Expansion Pack drops in just a mere few days, and since we know that living your best Eco Lifestyle can take a little extra elbow grease, we’ve added some exciting quality-of-life improvements to help pave the way.
Between Inventory updates, new CAS assets from a surprise partnership with M·A·C, the return of two beloved NPCs, as well as some really cool new Build features, we hope you enjoy the update.
-SimGuruJill & SimGuruRusskii
NEW & IMPROVED FEATURES
INVENTORY UPDATES Fellow hoarders, this one’s for you: We have updated the Sim Inventory with the ability to Filter, Sort, Favorite, Multi-Select, and Multi-Sell in one easy flick of the wrist. Managing that cumbersome pile of collectables you’ve been racking up for the past five years has never been so easy!
FREE PLACEMENT OF DOORS AND WINDOWS Following in true Eco Lifestyle fashion, Door and Window placement is now also Off-the-Grid. But not that kind of grid. The limiting kind of tile grid that used to keep you from placing your windows and doors precisely where you wanted them. By holding down the Alt key while dragging, you can enjoy the smooth sensations of free Door and Window placement.
LADDERS Ladders have been added as part of the Build System. Find your free Classic Wooden Ladder in the Build catalog in the Stairs (& Ladders) category. Unlike Island Living’s Dock and Ladder objects for use on water lots, these Ladders can be placed anywhere on your lot and like stairs, they can be used as a means for Sims to traverse from one floor to another.
M·A·C COSMETICS Did you say you needed some fresh looks for your Sims? We’ve collaborated with none other than M·A·C Cosmetics to bring you 12 fashion-forward makeup assets suited for everything from everyday to night out glam. If you’re not already using it, on PC and Mac we recommend trying out the “Uncompressed Sim Textures” setting in the Options Menu, which is now enabled by default on the High and Ultra graphics settings profiles in order to see these looks really shine. While console versions of The Sims 4 do not have the setting in the Options Menu, each console spec is automatically using the optimal graphical settings based on system resources.
REPO PERSON NPC The Repo Person NPC has graduated with honors from Discover University’s University of Britechester with a Degree in Villainy and has comfortably taken up residence in Base Game. Now everyone can taste their wrath if Bill payments fall behind.
BILLS UPDATE Speaking of Bills, we’ve added a cohesive breakdown of Sim’s Bills information that can be accessed via an interaction on the Mailbox or Phone. Now instead of lumping everything together, you can see what percentage of your Bills go to Water, what percentage go to Power, insight into any Fees, Reductions, or Penalties. All this and more, calculated and cleanly presented for your finer understanding.
LEGACY NEIGHBORHOOD MAP TAGS We have gone back and added Map Tags with Neighborhood Descriptions to existing neighborhoods that didn’t yet have them. We now have delightful icons, names, and descriptions for the no-longer-forgotten Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, and Windenburg. Ok, feel free to freak out now.
OFF-THE-GRID UPDATES This one is tricky to list out in a single paragraph with attempted wit, so I’ll just drop this bullet list off right here:
NO TRESPASSING Some people who have the Vampires Game Pack appreciate Vlad’s antics more than others. I personally love receiving a charming visit from Vlad, and sometimes I could really use a kind compliment about my neck. But we’ve heard there are a select few that don’t quite like having their Sim’s necks bitten and motives tanked by an invasive nighttime visitor with no respect for boundaries. Keep Vampires and other unwanted visitors at bay with a new No Trespassing interaction we’ve added to the Door.
SEND HOME INTERACTION Speaking of unwelcome visitors, we’ve also added a new Send Home interaction that’s available on visiting NPCs or as a self-interaction in the case of multiple visitors. How is this interaction any different from Ask To Leave or Go Away, you might ask? Convenience. Unlike its less efficient predecessors, this interaction is nearly instantaneous and leaves your visitors with no hurt feelings or Relationship impact. We added it as a useful tool for players, not necessarily as a story-telling mechanism.
BUILD MODE ITEMS GRANT GAMEPLAY EFFECTS How you build your lot can now affect your gameplay. Certain objects such as wall patterns, floor patterns, fences, and columns bring different gameplay modifiers. Some of these modifiers affect how your Bills and utilities are calculated by decreasing or increasing your Power or Water utility production or usage, as well increasing or decreasing the price of bills. Environment Score can now be impacted by certain objects and materials. Drywall walls without wall patterns applied now decrease environment score like they did in The Sims 3! The choice of floor and wall materials used can also affect the ability to spread fire or puddles at an increased or lessened rate. And if you’d rather build your lot without having to think about these things, don’t worry. There’s an Option in the Gameplay menu to turn all of this off.
FIREFIGHTER NPC Oh hey, and speaking of Fire, that reminds me. Did you hear that we’ve added Firefighter NPCs to the game? We took nods from classic Firefighter NPC behavior from The Sims, The Sims 2, and The Sims 3 and added a few small twists for The Sims 4. When a fire breaks out, Firefighters will come automatically to your lot if you already have a Fire Alarm installed. That way, if you still like to let things burn baby burn, you can just “accidentally” forget to place a Fire Alarm. It’s okay. We won’t tell anybody. If you honestly did forget to place a Fire Alarm, you can call the Fire Department from the Phone or by clicking on the fire itself. If the Fire Department is called, but there is not an active fire, they will call you on your lapse in judgement and charge you a fine. You won’t be punished if there was legitimately a fire that was extinguished before they arrive though. The Firefighter Uniform can be accessed in CAS and gives any Sim wearing it the Fireproof Buff, which gives them some extra protection against fires as well as make them more efficient at putting out fires themselves. It’s worth noting that Firefighter NPC’s do not show up in Island Living’s Sulani. Sulani already has their local Fire Brigade to handle these kinds of emergencies and besides, who wants to wear all that heavy Firefighter gear in the tropics?
STYLED LOOKS FOR TOTS AND KIDS More than 20 New Styled Looks have been added for Children and Toddlers, using existing Base Game CAS assets to better flesh out some outfit categories that previously felt sparse.
BALANCING PASS OF PHONE CALL INVITATIONS After five years of Expansion Packs, Game Packs, and Stuff Packs our phone call invites were admittedly starting to get a little spammy. Moments after moving in, you’ve got Lucas Munch hitting you up, asking you to go to the Bluffs with him. Then not long after, you might have had Vivian Lewis asking you to join her at The Spice Festival. Jeez, let me get settled in first, why don’t ya? We’ve done a tuning pass to rebalance all of these previously competing Phone invites to give you a more meaningful and holistic experience.
LESS INVASIVE EARBUDS In the same vein as the above balancing pass, we wanted to smooth out one of our more pressing notifications. The free earbuds pop-up that comes with Fitness Stuff has been changed to a more passive TNS and gifts your Sim the earbuds automatically when it triggers. The days of telling the game over and over that you don’t want free earbuds, or worse - hitting OK by accident - is a thing of the past.
CONSOLE UPDATES Eco Lifestyle releasing on the same day across all platforms marks an important milestone for The Sims 4 as Simmers get to play the same content and share new creations on The Gallery together. In this update Console Simmers have a few additional features to improve their quality of life:
We have added a new Controls Overlay Reminder that shows up throughout CAS, Gallery, Live Mode and Build Mode which should make it easier for new Simmers to jump in and not need to remember all the controls.
Now onto the fixes and updates:
The Sims 4
Get Together
City Living
Cats & Dogs
Seasons
Get Famous
Island Living
Discover University
Outdoor Retreat
Dine Out
Vampires
Jungle Adventure
Realm Of Magic
Moschino
Tiny Living
submitted by Kaessa to Sims4 [link] [comments]


2020.06.03 16:22 Benphillips94 June 2020 game patch is live!

From: https://forums.thesims.com/en_US/discussion/976566/june-3rd-2020-patch-notes
Update 06/03/2020 PC: 1.63.133.1020 / Mac: 1.63.133.1220 Console: Version 1.25
The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle Expansion Pack drops in just a mere few days, and since we know that living your best Eco Lifestyle can take a little extra elbow grease, we’ve added some exciting quality-of-life improvements to help pave the way.
Between Inventory updates, new CAS assets from a surprise partnership with M·A·C, the return of two beloved NPCs, as well as some really cool new Build features, we hope you enjoy the update.
-SimGuruJill & SimGuruRusskii
NEW & IMPROVED FEATURES
INVENTORY UPDATES Fellow hoarders, this one’s for you: We have updated the Sim Inventory with the ability to Filter, Sort, Favorite, Multi-Select, and Multi-Sell in one easy flick of the wrist. Managing that cumbersome pile of collectables you’ve been racking up for the past five years has never been so easy!
FREE PLACEMENT OF DOORS AND WINDOWS Following in true Eco Lifestyle fashion, Door and Window placement is now also Off-the-Grid. But not that kind of grid. The limiting kind of tile grid that used to keep you from placing your windows and doors precisely where you wanted them. By holding down the Alt key while dragging, you can enjoy the smooth sensations of free Door and Window placement.
LADDERS Ladders have been added as part of the Build System. Find your free Classic Wooden Ladder in the Build catalog in the Stairs (& Ladders) category. Unlike Island Living’s Dock and Ladder objects for use on water lots, these Ladders can be placed anywhere on your lot and like stairs, they can be used as a means for Sims to traverse from one floor to another.
M·A·C COSMETICS Did you say you needed some fresh looks for your Sims? We’ve collaborated with none other than M·A·C Cosmetics to bring you 12 fashion-forward makeup assets suited for everything from everyday to night out glam. If you’re not already using it, on PC and Mac we recommend trying out the “Uncompressed Sim Textures” setting in the Options Menu, which is now enabled by default on the High and Ultra graphics settings profiles in order to see these looks really shine. While console versions of The Sims 4 do not have the setting in the Options Menu, each console spec is automatically using the optimal graphical settings based on system resources.
REPO PERSON NPC The Repo Person NPC has graduated with honors from Discover University’s University of Britechester with a Degree in Villainy and has comfortably taken up residence in Base Game. Now everyone can taste their wrath if Bill payments fall behind.
BILLS UPDATE Speaking of Bills, we’ve added a cohesive breakdown of Sim’s Bills information that can be accessed via an interaction on the Mailbox or Phone. Now instead of lumping everything together, you can see what percentage of your Bills go to Water, what percentage go to Power, insight into any Fees, Reductions, or Penalties. All this and more, calculated and cleanly presented for your finer understanding.
LEGACY NEIGHBORHOOD MAP TAGS We have gone back and added Map Tags with Neighborhood Descriptions to existing neighborhoods that didn’t yet have them. We now have delightful icons, names, and descriptions for the no-longer-forgotten Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, Newcrest, and Windenburg. Ok, feel free to freak out now.
OFF-THE-GRID UPDATES This one is tricky to list out in a single paragraph with attempted wit, so I’ll just drop this bullet list off right here:
NO TRESPASSING Some people who have the Vampires Game Pack appreciate Vlad’s antics more than others. I personally love receiving a charming visit from Vlad, and sometimes I could really use a kind compliment about my neck. But we’ve heard there are a select few that don’t quite like having their Sim’s necks bitten and motives tanked by an invasive nighttime visitor with no respect for boundaries. Keep Vampires and other unwanted visitors at bay with a new No Trespassing interaction we’ve added to the Door.
SEND HOME INTERACTION Speaking of unwelcome visitors, we’ve also added a new Send Home interaction that’s available on visiting NPCs or as a self-interaction in the case of multiple visitors. How is this interaction any different from Ask To Leave or Go Away, you might ask? Convenience. Unlike its less efficient predecessors, this interaction is nearly instantaneous and leaves your visitors with no hurt feelings or Relationship impact. We added it as a useful tool for players, not necessarily as a story-telling mechanism.
BUILD MODE ITEMS GRANT GAMEPLAY EFFECTS How you build your lot can now affect your gameplay. Certain objects such as wall patterns, floor patterns, fences, and columns bring different gameplay modifiers. Some of these modifiers affect how your Bills and utilities are calculated by decreasing or increasing your Power or Water utility production or usage, as well increasing or decreasing the price of bills. Environment Score can now be impacted by certain objects and materials. Drywall walls without wall patterns applied now decrease environment score like they did in The Sims 3! The choice of floor and wall materials used can also affect the ability to spread fire or puddles at an increased or lessened rate. And if you’d rather build your lot without having to think about these things, don’t worry. There’s an Option in the Gameplay menu to turn all of this off.
FIREFIGHTER NPC Oh hey, and speaking of Fire, that reminds me. Did you hear that we’ve added Firefighter NPCs to the game? We took nods from classic Firefighter NPC behavior from The Sims, The Sims 2, and The Sims 3 and added a few small twists for The Sims 4. When a fire breaks out, Firefighters will come automatically to your lot if you already have a Fire Alarm installed. That way, if you still like to let things burn baby burn, you can just “accidentally” forget to place a Fire Alarm. It’s okay. We won’t tell anybody. If you honestly did forget to place a Fire Alarm, you can call the Fire Department from the Phone or by clicking on the fire itself. If the Fire Department is called, but there is not an active fire, they will call you on your lapse in judgement and charge you a fine. You won’t be punished if there was legitimately a fire that was extinguished before they arrive though. The Firefighter Uniform can be accessed in CAS and gives any Sim wearing it the Fireproof Buff, which gives them some extra protection against fires as well as make them more efficient at putting out fires themselves. It’s worth noting that Firefighter NPC’s do not show up in Island Living’s Sulani. Sulani already has their local Fire Brigade to handle these kinds of emergencies and besides, who wants to wear all that heavy Firefighter gear in the tropics?
STYLED LOOKS FOR TOTS AND KIDS More than 20 New Styled Looks have been added for Children and Toddlers, using existing Base Game CAS assets to better flesh out some outfit categories that previously felt sparse.
BALANCING PASS OF PHONE CALL INVITATIONS After five years of Expansion Packs, Game Packs, and Stuff Packs our phone call invites were admittedly starting to get a little spammy. Moments after moving in, you’ve got Lucas Munch hitting you up, asking you to go to the Bluffs with him. Then not long after, you might have had Vivian Lewis asking you to join her at The Spice Festival. Jeez, let me get settled in first, why don’t ya? We’ve done a tuning pass to rebalance all of these previously competing Phone invites to give you a more meaningful and holistic experience.
LESS INVASIVE EARBUDS In the same vein as the above balancing pass, we wanted to smooth out one of our more pressing notifications. The free earbuds pop-up that comes with Fitness Stuff has been changed to a more passive TNS and gifts your Sim the earbuds automatically when it triggers. The days of telling the game over and over that you don’t want free earbuds, or worse - hitting OK by accident - is a thing of the past.
CONSOLE UPDATES Eco Lifestyle releasing on the same day across all platforms marks an important milestone for The Sims 4 as Simmers get to play the same content and share new creations on The Gallery together. In this update Console Simmers have a few additional features to improve their quality of life:
We have added a new Controls Overlay Reminder that shows up throughout CAS, Gallery, Live Mode and Build Mode which should make it easier for new Simmers to jump in and not need to remember all the controls.
Now onto the fixes and updates:
The Sims 4
Get Together
City Living
Cats & Dogs
Seasons
Get Famous
Island Living
Discover University
Outdoor Retreat
Dine Out
Vampires
Jungle Adventure
Realm Of Magic
Moschino
Tiny Living
submitted by Benphillips94 to thesims [link] [comments]


2020.05.29 14:25 throwaway3837392957 My brother threatened me yesterday

Throwaway account because reasons. I’m on mobile so format might be wonky.
My younger brother threatened me last night. The events leading up to it are stupid as fuck. I have two younger brothers actually C(14) and B(19). I’m 22F. We all live with our parents. B is the one who threatened me.
C was making dinner last night because he really wanted hamburger helper. I usually cook dinner because I’m good at it and I learned how to cook around his age so sometimes he cooks dinner so he can learn as well. After I come out of the bathroom C asks if it’s supposed to be real watery/soupy. I tell him no and see the heat on the stove is off and ask why he turned it off. B was insisting the food was supposed to be soup and that he has C turn it off. I’m dumbfounded because it was supposed to be PASTA. I’m trying to explain the heat needed to be on to thicken the sauce and that it is absolutely not supposed to be soup. I guess B didn’t like my tone of voice and thought I was trying to imply he was stupid. He started getting loud and nasty. I told him not to talk to me like that. He says “YOU STARTED IT” I try to say that I was just trying to understand why they turned the heat off when it was clearly not finished yet. Then B says “you started it you stupid bitch”. I’m caught off guard and tell him to shut the fuck up. He then asks me “you wanna fight?! I can knock your fucking teeth out bud!!” I get quiet and tell him I want the rest of the money he owes me. Back in March I lent him $500 to help buy a tractor and he had still owed me $200. He goes in his room to find his wallet and yells “YOU STARTED IT YOU STUPID CUNT” then leaves in a hurry and slams the door. B has never threatened me before, but he’s always had evident anger issues and they’ve only gotten worse. The scary thing is I fully believe he’d have no problem hitting me. I told my mom what happened and she was pissed and wanted to kick him out. She told me she would’ve called the cops herself if he did try hitting me. She says it’s up to me if I wanna tell my dad what happened and I’m scared to because I feel like it’ll get ugly. If my brother gets kicked out he’ll have no where to go. He has a court date next month for a $400 speeding ticket because he tried outrunning a cop. I decided for now to just avoid being alone in the same room with him. I’ve never been harassed/been threatened by a man before, I’ve never felt unsafe out in public. The first time this happens it’s because of my brother and in my own home. My mom said if I don’t want to tell my dad to make sure I have something heavy in the room with me if my brother ever does decide to try something. I don’t want him to be homeless, especially during a pandemic. What should I do?
submitted by throwaway3837392957 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.05.18 19:37 99monkees DerSpeigel (5/15) “Reichsbürger Protests Exploits Covid Crisis to Incite Populist Divide.”

FROM:
https://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/berlin-fears-populists-will-exploit-protest-movement-a-3a4702b8-6701-401d-b712-6d3e19453a56
————-
NOTE: 17 authors! Also, due to DerSpeigel’s privacy insecurities that prevent waybackmachine from archiving their pages, I’m providing the full text below.
————QUOTE
Germany's Corona Divide
Berlin Fears Populists Will Exploit Protest Movement
A vocal minority in Germany opposes the restrictions put in place to prevent the spread of the coronavirus, including right-wing radicals, but also people at the center of society. How can the government best address the protest movement?
15.05.2020, 18.52 Uhr
By Felix Bohr, Markus Feldenkirchen, Florian Gathmann, Julia Amalia Heyer, Valerie Höhne, Martin Knobbe, Dirk Kurbjuweit, Veit Medick, Ann-Katrin Müller, Christopher Piltz, Lydia Rosenfelder, Jonas Schaible, Christoph Schult, Christian Teevs, Severin Weiland, Wolf Wiedmann-Schmidt and Steffen Winter
———-
German parliamentarian Franziska Brantner recalls how in the beginning, the emails were sporadic. She says that four or five weeks ago, the main issue in the mails was the question of herd immunity. Why, people asked in the mails, can’t we do things the way they are in Britain and Sweden?
Weeks later, she now receives around 100 complaints each day. There are complaints about the government, "this emergency regime,” and sometimes critical questions and expressions of hatred. "Why don’t you stop this harassment from the government,” one asked? Brantner, who is 40 and has served in the federal parliament as a member of the Green Party representing the district of Heidelberg since 2013, says she answers the emails from people who don’t insult her. She has expanded her office hours for her constituents and she has also hired a half-time employee just to answer letters from concerned citizens.
No Longer a Given
Brantner responds to some of the mails herself, like one that arrived on Tuesday night. "I can understand both your frustration and your criticism very well,” she wrote to a person she knows. She closed the message by writing, "And thank you for expressing your displeasure in democratic circles, which is no longer a given these days"
Brantner says that many of the concerns people are expressing are justified or at least comprehensible. What worries her is the sheer speed of the political debate, the controversy surrounding calls in Germany for immunity certification for people who have survived COVID-19 and rumors about an alleged vaccination requirement once a vaccine is developed for the coronavirus. "Sometimes members of our own party don’t even grasp our positions,” she says.
Brantner says she was taken aback when, a few weeks ago, a long-time member of the Green Party, a retired judge, sent an e-mail declaring the end of the constitutional state because of the measures imposed to curb the spread of the coronavirus. That’s the point when Brandtner realized that the side-effects of the global pandemic could include fundamental doubts about democracy, even among people who hadn’t been receptive to such doubts before.
The crisis sparked by the novel coronavirus has now reached its third stage. At first, concerns were focused on health, followed shortly thereafter by worries about the economy. But now there’s a third concern: the health of liberal democracy.
The source of this new worry are the protests against coronavirus lockdown policies by many German citizens on streets, in town squares and on social networks. They don’t share the belief that we need to yield many freedoms in order to contain the virus, and they consider their quality of living to be threatened by measures to slow the spread of a disease that they don’t even think is all that dangerous.
These people represent a minority of Germany society right now. A survey commissioned by DER SPIEGEL found that 19 percent of Germans consider the lockdown measures taken to be excessive. The vast majority, 70 percent, consider the measures to be appropriate. Nevertheless, that figure is still 4 percent lower than it was three weeks ago, despite the recent loosening of lockdown measures in states across Germany.
A Perfect Storm for the AfD
And that is making German politicians nervous, because it is evoking memories of the consequences of the refugee crisis in 2015. At the time, the country’s right-wing populist Alternative for Germany (AfD) party began gaining traction, becoming a catch basin for people protesting against established politics, particularly German Chancellor Angela Merkel, and its rise was accompanied by conspiracy theories of every nature.
At the time, the AfD had the potential to attract 20 percent of all German voters, and it shook up politics in the country. In the wake of the refugee crisis, Merkel stepped down as the chair of her conservative Christian Democratic Union (CDU) party. Then her successor, Annegret Kramp-Karrenbauer, failed in the position after her party in the eastern state of Thuringia cast its votes together with those of the AfD to elect a new governor, an absolute political taboo. Countries abroad looked to Germany at the time with deep concern: Is there something bad still slumbering in those Germans?
It’s through that lens that you have to look at what is happening now. The conspiracy theories are circulating once again and the AfD is stirring up protests. The difference this time is that German prosperity isn’t secure in the way it had been in recent years - this time the economy is crashing and millions of jobs are at risk. This is precisely the kind of opportunity the AfD has been waiting for.
That doesn’t mean, of course, that every person who protests or feels uncomfortable with the many incursions into our freedom are disaffected and outraged people or inclined toward the AfD. Indeed, it’s good that there are debates over the state and federal governments’ policies. A clear distinction must be drawn between democratic protest and conspiracy theories, as well, between serious debate and between insults or new forms of protest like shaking hands. The protests have also been accompanied by violence against police and journalists.
Are Dividing Lines Blurring?
The greatest worry among politicians right now is that the dividing line will blur, that the societal mainstream will meld with conspiracy theorists, anti-Semitism, anti-capitalism and right-wing extremism to the benefit of the AfD or a newer movement like Widerstand2020 (Resistance 2020) in Stuttgart, that the battle to save liberal democracy is entering into a new, even more difficult round.
How can politicians prepare for this threat? And what are the possible solutions? The parties are struggling to form positions, they face dissidents and the disaffected sowing confusion within their own party and what seems to be the particularly German question of how a country that has coped comparably well so far in the coronavirus can also get so easily rattled.
Friedrich Merz, who still has dreams of taking over leadership of the conservative Christian Democrats (CDU) and ending up in the Chancellery, agrees to meet with the reporters for a meeting on Wednesday afternoon in Berlin. Only a few weeks ago, he was homebound in bed after contracting the coronavirus. A tan has once again return to his face, as if he had just returned from a vacation in Tuscany.
Despite the decreasing number of infections, Merz does not believe the virus has been beat. In his view, the economic outlook is disastrous and he sees a Europe that is descending into chaos and, meanwhile, a growing movement in the country of people pretending the coronavirus is like a light cold. It’s madness, Merz says. "I find the apparent shift in sentiment very disturbing."
Merz doesn’t always say the things his party wants to hear from him, but in this case he does. At the moment, fear is rampant with the CDU – worry that public sentiment will shift and fear that everything could break down again. The party had actually seemed more or less stable in recent months. The leadership quarrels surrounding Kramp-Karrenbauer seemed forgotten and the scandal over the gubernatorial vote in Thuringia had subsided, but unrest is growing within the party again now.
Vulnerable to the AfD
The images from the recent protests in Stuttgart, Cologne and Munich have alarmed the CDU and its Bavarian sister party, the Christian Social Union (CSU), more than any other party. Back during the refugee crisis, the protests also began in splinter groups before becoming more mainstream and boosting the position of the AfD, which presents more competition for the CDU and CSU than it does any other parties.
Many a Christian Democrat is clinging these days to the party’s recent healthy showing in the polls, where it has the support of 38 percent of voters. But Norbert Röttgen, a prominent Christian Democrat who is also a candidate to take over chairmanship the CDU, considers those numbers to be deceptive. "The boost in the polls,” he says, "is likely attributable to the first weeks of the crisis. Many were relieved to that politicians acting quickly and in a united way.” But since then, some have tried to benefit politically from the crisis and are polarizing the handling of the pandemic. "Sentiment is shifting and the frustration is starting now,” says Röttgen.
But why? The responses differ depending on who you ask among the Christian Democrats. The fatalists argue that there’s nothing that can be done – sooner or later the internal disputes will return. But others say that two governors – Armin Laschet of North Rhine-Westphalia and Markus Söder of Bavaria – are to blame because they were in a competition to prove who was the best at crisis management and, in doing so, at times created the impression that they were less interested in peoples’ health than in their own political careers.
Röttgen says the chancellor also bears some responsibility. "Merkel has long been perceived as a bulwark,” he says. He says she did "very well” for several weeks. "But then she may have gotten caught in a rationalist trap. She has pursued her policies persistently, but she also should anticipated a shift in the sentiment and registered it when it started happening. By not reacting, she left herself vulnerable to the politicians who were trying to build pressure for a loosening of the lockdown measures. The skittishness is particularly palpable in the party’s parliamentary group in the Bundestag, where many members of parliament are sensing firsthand the growing doubts of people in their constituencies toward the measures. Andreas Mattfeldt, a CDU member of parliament from Lower Saxony, says he had hoped that the opposition parties, like the business-friendly Free Democrats, would express criticism of the government’s crisis strategy. "Instead, it is now becoming an issue for the AfD, and I’m afraid that the uncertainty in the population is getting out of hand.”
He warns: "The crack running through this country is much bigger than we thought.” Mattfeldt, an uncomfortable parliamentarian who has been a thorn in the side of leaders of the party group for years, says he believes Merkel’s initial response to the crisis was the correct one. He also supported shutting down public life for a time. But he was bothered by the fact that the virologists the government was relying on for advice proferred contradictory assessments. He was also unhappy about public appearances made by the head of Germany’s Robert Koch Institute, the country’s center for disease control. But most importantly, the events on the ground in his own constituency didn’t match the actions that were being taken in Berlin.
As Merkel, German Health Minister Jens Spahn and virologist Christian Drosten all warned of the possibility that Germany could become the next Italy, with its overrun hospitals, and state governors competed to see who could impose the strictest lockdown, the messages coming out of many hospitals in his constituency were different: There was no onslaught of patients and the situation remained calm.
In April, Mattfeldt canvassed parliament for possible allies sharing his skeptical view and soon assembled two dozen others who were dealing with similar concerns. Three weeks ago, they met in the offices of the German parliament for their first exchange. They were also joined by colleagues from the business-friendly Free Democrats.
A ”Dangerous Mix”
Absent at the meeting were members of the center-left SPD, who have had less traumatic experiences with the AfD than the CDU and CSU have, and are thus able to brush off the protests more easily. SPD General Secretary Lars Klingbeil says he understands the uncertainty people are feeling and that he even engages in discussions with people who believe in conspiracy theories. But there are also limits to his tolerance: He says anyone who fights for fundamental rights, but then goes to protests attended by "Reichsbürger (a movement that rejects modern Germany), neo-Nazis and Holocaust-deniers at which journalists are attacked” must also be aware of who they are keeping company with.
He calls it a "dangerous mix.” Klingbeil says that people who took to the streets to protest the government’s refugee policies are back at it again. "There are intellectual firebrands there who create the kind of climate that results in attacks against police and journalists. They’re exploiting the coronavirus crisis to divide people and incite them.”
German Family Minister Franziska Giffey of the SPD also finds it frightening to see all the different segments of society attending the protests, not to mention how fast conspiracy theories are spreading. "I fear a spill-over into mainstream society, also because fabricated news is spread so fast through digitization.” But it’s the SPD of all parties, that is currently creating difficulties for the government on the corona policies front, specifically an official at the Interior Ministry.
"A Global False Alarm”
In an email that Interior Ministry official Stephan Kohn sent last friday to state interior ministries, he wrote: "There was probably no point at which the danger posed by the new virus was beyond the normal level.” He also issued a strong recommendation that the government’s protective measures be "completely lifted.”
Kohn’s paper is more than 190 pages long, including attachments. He also poses the question of the undesired collateral damage caused by the coronavirus containment measures – through postponed operations, for example. He writes that more deaths through heart attacks and strokes are to be expected because those with ailments are less likely to go to the doctor. In the paper, he also draws attention to the suffering of people in need of care and the mentally ill. All things that are certainly worthy of consideration.
All in all, however, the paper exaggerates on a grand scale. He calls the coronavirus pandemic a "global false alarm.” Some of the sources in his paper are dubious blogs that no serious government official should be relying on.
Kohn has been raising his concerns for weeks at the ministry and had even sent out abstracts of his paper, although in a more reserved tone. People conveyed to him that some of his ideas were interesting, but that on other points, he is either wrong or out of date. His superiors signaled to him that he should stop, that he isn’t even responsible for these issues.
But Kohn didn’t. One day, when his boss wasn’t there, he sent out his paper as "expert advice” from Department KM4 at the Interior Ministry. In it, he also writes that the state could ultimately turn out to be "the biggest producer of fake news.”
Speaking of Kohn, Interior Minister Horst Seehofer says: "Everyone knows that I maintain a high degree of liberalism in my ministry. So, I have no problem with him having his own opinion. What’s not OK is that he used the ministry’s infrastructure and letterhead to create the impression that it was the ministry’s opinion. Despite all the liberalism, there also has to be loyalty."
Kohn has since been suspended from duty. He was advised to obtain a lawyer and his work laptop was confiscated.
Kohn’s family has experienced plenty of negativity in the past. Three of his brothers were sexually abused by a Lutheran pastor, with their family sharing their woeful story with DER SPIEGEL in 2010. Later, Hamburg Bishop Maria Jepsen resigned from office in response, even though she bore no personal responsibility. Kuhn also ran to become the chair of the SPD against Andrea Nahles and failed spectacularly.
A Difficult Situation
On the internet, the suspended government official has since become a hero to those bucking the coronavirus line. The right-wing conservative blog Tichy’s Einblick is portraying Kuhn as a kind of whistleblower. Hans-Georg Maassen, the controversial former head of the Office for the Protection of the Constitution, which is responsible for monitoring extremism in Germany, has also voiced his support for Kuhn on Twitter.
Kohn’s paper has put the government in a difficult situation. One the one hand, he expresses some warnings that are justified. On the other, though, he places one foot into the world of the conspiracy theorists. The very groupings that are now trying to shift the mood against the government’s lockdown policies. The same people are now alleging that the Interior Ministry is suppressing criticism.
At a meeting of the parliamentary group on Tuesday, several members of parliament with the Christian Democrats brought up Kohn’s paper, including digital expert Christoph Bernstiel of Saxony-Anhalt. "What’s our communications strategy for this paper?” he asked participants. He warned against ignoring the document and appealed to the Interior Ministry to respond to the accusations officially and soberly. Bernstiel has been quoted as saying that if the work is just dismissed as that of some nutcase, it "will just be throwing fuel on the fire of conspiracy theorists.”
Interior Minister Seehofer didn’t attend the virtual meeting, so his representative in parliament, Günter Krings, responded for him. He expressed his firm opposition to treating the document seriously. If you start analyzing papers like that, Krings warned, "then pretty soon you’ll be inviting the guys with the tin foil hats to parliamentary hearings.” Men in tin foil hats is a term used to describe people who believe in conspiracy theorists.
Veronika Bellmann, a CDU member of parliament from the eastern state of Saxony, accuses Seehofer of prematurely rejecting the paper. "The basic premise of the paper, that the threat posed by the coronavirus has been exaggerated, is one I share completely," Bellmann says, adding that the public official was just doing his job. "That he has now been portrayed by the Interior Ministry as a crackpot bothers me. By doing so, we are adding fuel to the conspiracy theory fire. I have the expectation that we give his ideas serious consideration."
Almost all parties are dealing with dissidents who are disinclined to follow the general course of action that has been laid out. In the Green Party, it is Tübingen Mayor Boris Palmer, who said that we are "likely protecting people who would have been dead within half a year anyway."
More Contentious Debate
This comment has divided the Greens into two camps. The larger camp, and therefore the strongest, consists of those who had already lost patience with Palmer and his provocations. Numerous Green Party members thus welcome the proposal from party leaders to withdraw all party support from Palmer. But the old guard is opposed to the idea, convinced that the party could benefit from a bit more contentious debate within its ranks. After all, they say, the Green Party is a civil rights party. Just a few days ago, a group of Greens released an appeal demanding that both state and federal party leaders engage in dialogue with Palmer and to abandon the "reprimand reflex." One of the signatories was Antje Vollmer, a former Bundestag vice president.
Party leaders, though, would rather ignore the Palmer issue. When approached by DER SPIEGEL for comment, party heads Annalena Baerbock and Robert Habeck said only that they had nothing more to say on the issue.
Within the FDP, meanwhile, the most prominent dissident is Thomas Kemmerich, the politician from Thuringia who triggered a massive political scandal in Germany by initially accepting his election to the post of state governor, despite landing the position thanks to support from the far right AfD. He quickly stepped down once the uproar could no longer be ignored, but the damage was done.
In Gera, he recently spoke at a demonstration made up of conspiracy theory enthusiasts and AfD supporters. He was welcomed as the "only currently legitimate governor" of Thuringia - and he didn't say anything to contradict that characterization.
In a special session of FDP leaders held to address that incident, Kemmerich apologized half-heartedly and announced that he was resigning from his position as part of the party's federal executive committee. Parliamentarian Alexander Graf Lambsdorff responded by saying Kemmerich should consider whether that step was sufficient, with other meeting participants agreeing with Lambsdorff.
The FDP's political adversaries, of course, were more than happy to take advantage of Kemmerich's most recent misstep. "That the FDP is taking part in conspiracy demonstrations in Thuringia is shocking," tweeted Marco Wanderwitz, a CDU politician who is responsible for eastern German issues for the federal government and a native of Saxony. "I'm afraid such ideas also have widespread support in Saxony."
Raw Tones
Such accusations anger FDP members who have clearly distanced themselves from the AfD and the corona truthers. People like Frank Müller-Rosentritt, 37, who has been head of the state FDP chapter in Saxony for the last six months. "The FDP in Saxony stands for cosmopolitanism, diversity and tolerance and took part in a demonstration, to name one example, with the CDU general secretary in Saxony against PEGIDA, the AfD and other tin foil hats," Müller-Rosentritt says. In response to the tweet to Wanderwitz, he wrote: "I don't know what you sprinkled on your breakfast this morning, but the ignorance and maliciousness of this disgraceful accusation cannot be topped." The tone is getting rawer.
The Saxony FDP head says that members of his party don't belong at demonstrations that include people from the hardcore right or extreme left. "Many take part who have grown comfortable in their fake news bubble," he says. Freedom, though, "is not the opposite of reason," Müller-Rosentritt emphasizes. "We have to be careful that extremists and conspiracy theorists do not misappropriate the term freedom for their own purposes and reinterpret it." The demonstration where Kemmerich spoke was organized by Peter Schmidt, until recently a senior member of a CDU economic council in Thuringia, although he is not a member of the party. In 2018, Schmidt's company won a prestigious prize awarded annually to mid-sized companies. One acclamation noted that the company emphasizes the integration of foreigners. Schmidt's company also apparently donates money to help children suffering from cancer and sponsors a cycling team.
"I registered the demonstration of my own volition and did not receive outside support," he wrote on Facebook in defense of the Gera demonstration. He added that he would not allow himself to be instrumentalized by any party or organization. But if someone shares his views, he wouldn't "subject them to an ideological examination."
Schmidt sees himself as a victim, saying he warned that people with competing views were either being ignored or accused of being Nazis. Now, he says, he has personal experience with the phenomenon, but isn't planning on organizing another demonstration. "It was an honor to me to light the spark, now you have to carry the flame."
Gera is in Thuringia, and Governor Bodo Ramelow has a large favor he would like to ask of his electorate: Namely that they not allow themselves to be deceived by global conspiracy fantasies, anti-vaxxers, those who accuse Merkel of being a dictator and other delusions. "There are many legitimate questions and misunderstandings," Ramelow says. And that is completely normal and appropriate, he adds, particularly in a democracy that thrives on a diversity of views.
"Speaking nonsense is also covered by the democratic right to free speech. But intentionally misleading people, taking advantage of their fears, inciting them against each other and thus endangering their health is dishonorable, obscene and morally abhorrent."
Whereas most parties tend to be suffering from the protests, the right-wing radical AfD is ecstatic. Functionaries at all levels are hoping that those who are now taking to the streets, insofar as they aren't yet voters, will choose the AfD in future elections. Many of the demonstrations are now being registered by AfD members, doing their best to pose as the original corona skeptics in an effort to pull the rug out from under Widerstand2020 ("widerstand" is the German word for "resistance"), the new party that is currently being formed.
"Fundamental Democratic Rights"
Senior AfD members have also begun joining the fray. Party head Tino Chrupalla has taken part in demonstrations in Zittau and in Weisswasser, two towns in Saxony. Chrupalla considers the measures imposed by the federal government to be "totally disproportionate," adding "it's no wonder that people are taking to the streets." He professes not to understand the criticism that has been leveled at the protests.
"Citizens that protest are exercising their fundamental democratic rights," he says. When it's pointed out that there have been attacks on police officers at some of the demonstrations, Chrupalla says that he knows nothing about such things. But he nevertheless insists: "The interior ministers want to play the police off against the populace."
Chrupalla is pleased that other milieus can also be found on the street. "The fact that resistance is also prevalent in the center of society," he says, "should make the government think." He predicts that the demonstrations will grow, and he isn't bothered by the fact that extremists are among them.
It is an open question whether the AfD can attract new voters, particularly from eastern Germany. A survey commissioned by DER SPIEGEL found that 20 percent of people in western Germany find the anti-pandemic measures to be excessive, but only 13 percent of those in eastern Germany. In the East, satisfaction with the government's measures is slightly higher than in the West, which is hardly ever the case.
Saxony Governor Michael Kretschmer of the CDU considers the protests to be legitimate and is at pains to avoid giving the impression that anyone's viewpoint is being suppressed. The government, he says, was democratically elected and those who have a problem with the anti-corona measures should "be able to express that at any time in a reasonable way." But, Kretschmer is quick to say, "such a crisis becomes lethal when populists are in power." As such, he says, he has great faith in people's restraint.
His counterpart in Saxony-Anhalt, Governor Reiner Haseloff, likewise of the CDU, says it is frightening to see the degree of anger that is present at the demonstrations. But he also says that it in no way reflects majority opinion. The majority, he says, is not pushing to return to normality as soon as possible, but is concerned for their health and are uneasy about loosening the lockdown. Every day, he says, he receives emails and letters expressing such concerns.
The Fury Hotspot
Indeed, the German hotspot of corona fury is not in the East, but deep in the West – in the city of Stuttgart in Baden-Württemberg. On Saturday, the movement called Querdenken 711 (the German word Querdenken essentially means "thinking outside of the box") brought 10,000 people onto a fairground in Stuttgart. Baden-Württemberg Governor Winfried Kretschmann of the Green Party found the demonstration "extremely unsettling."
One of the main reasons that political leaders and security officials find these demonstrations so concerning is their diversity. There are, to be sure, plenty of conspiracy theorists, anti-vaxxers and Merkel-haters present, but they have been joined by workers who have lost their jobs as a result of the economic crisis and by single mothers. And, of course, by citizens who believe the rights guaranteed by the German constitution are under fire. Last weekend, there were 70 such marches with a total of around 19,000 participants.
What should be done? Essentially, there are three possible strategies: communication, the rule of law and money.
Friedrich Merz is in favor of taking decisive measures. "Many people can hardly point to an institution that they still believe in," he says. "For that precise reason, politicians cannot be too defensive. All of us must stand up more strongly to those seeking to attract insecure milieus with crude conspiracy theories."
By contrast, however, Tilman Kuban, head of the CDU's youth chapter, is demanding that critics be taken seriously and that measures to combat the crisis be better explained. "I want an open culture of debate," Kuban says. There are "good arguments" both for the lockdown and for measures to loosen it.
Lars Klingbeil of the SPD, meanwhile, would like to get the authorities involved. "We should not look away from such groups out of fear," he says. The authorities, he says, "have to take a close look at what is happening."
Things such as the focused attack launched on Saturday against Rhineland-Palatinate Governor Malu Dreyer. Her Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts received around 7,000 posts that day, including calls to assassinate Merkel. Dreyer's team forwarded the most serious threats to the office of the federal prosecutor. "Insults and threats must be addressed by the judiciary. The freedom of opinion doesn't cover everything," says Dreyer.
"The Situation Is Explosive"
Ultimately, though, it will likely be money that talks the loudest. The greatest open door to the AfD and to the conspiracy theorists would be the widespread economic suffering of people who lost their jobs because of the crisis.
Those sitting at home with much less money than before, or those who are worried about being able to provide for their families could begin looking around for a scapegoat. The answer that such a person would find from the AfD or in social media channels is clear: The German government and the policies it implemented to stop the spread of the virus. The result could be a further loss of support for liberal democracy.
"Of course the situation is explosive," says Interior Minister Horst Seehofer. "We have 10 million people furloughed from their jobs, three times as many as during the financial crisis. For me, we are now entering the most important phase for taking the wind out of the protesters' sails. We quickly need a stimulus program to remain liquid and to save people's jobs."
The first laws to that effect have already been passed. The money that will now be spent is essentially the price that must be paid to support our liberal democracy.
—— END QUOTE
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2020.05.17 22:10 MalOuija More words detected by u/emoji-fier

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fresh friend friendship fries frozen fruit fuck fucked fucker fuckers fucking fuck— fuk full fun funeral funny future ga gamble game games garbage gas gay️‍ gay️‍️‍ gay️‍️‍️‍ ge gear gem gender general gentleman genuinely german get gf gift girl girlfriend girls git giết giờ glad glass globe gloves goat goblin going gold golf good goodbye good” goofy gorilla government graduate‍‍ grasp grass graveyard great green grimace grinning groceries gross group guess guinea guitar gun gun” gust guy guy… haha haha” hair hall halloween halo hamburger hammer hand hands hands’ happiness️ happiness️️ happiness️️️ happy hard hard” hash️⃣️⃣ hat hate have head headphones health healthcare‍️ healthy hear heart heartbreak hearts️ hearts️️ heaven hedgehog heis helicopter hello help herb here here” herzegovina hey hi high highway hilarious him‍ hippie hipster‍️ hipster‍️‍️ history hit ho hobby hoe hoes hole home homosexual️‍ homosexual️‍️‍ honey hoot hope horn horns horse hospital hot hotdog hotel house houses how how12 hr hug hugs huh human hundred hurricane hurt i icon id idea idiot idiots ie ikea ill increase india indian‍️ industrial‍ industrial‍‍ industrial‍‍‍ industry info information injured ink innocent insect instrument insulting intelligent interest interested international internet interstate into️ into️️ into️️️ invest invested iphone ip️ ip️️ iraq is islam islamic island islands isle israel iss issue️ issue️️ issue️️️ italian italy ive i‘ve i’d i’ll i’ve jacket japan japanese jar jaws jazz je jeans jesus️ jesus️️ jesus️️️ jewish job join joint jordan joy jump justice‍️ justice‍️‍️‍️ kanye karate kawaii kek kevin key keyboard kfc kg ki kick kid kids kill killer kills king kingdom kiss kissing kiss— kitchen kitten knew knife know knowing knowledge knows koala kong korea label labor‍️ labor‍️‍️ labor‍️‍️‍️ lady landing language laptop‍ laptop‍‍ laptop‍‍‍ late laugh laughing launch lawn lawrence law‍️ law‍️‍️ law‍️‍️‍️ lb leader learn learn’ leaves leave‍️ leave‍️‍️ leave‍️‍️‍️ left leftovers legal‍️ legal‍️‍️ legal‍️‍️‍️ legend lemon length leone lesbian️‍ lesbian️‍️‍ lesbian️‍️‍️‍ less letter️ letter️️ letter️️️ lettuce lgbt️‍ lgbt️‍️‍ lgbt️‍️‍️‍ li library license️ lie lies lie” life life️ light lightning like likes limbs limit line️ line️️ line️️️ link lips liquid liquor listen literature lmao load location lock lol lollipop look look… loop lord loser losing lost loud love lt luck lucky lunch lv100 mac machine mad maggot magic mail male mall man manager‍ manager‍‍ manager‍‍‍ man” map mark marriage mask massage️ master math mc52 mcdonalds mcdonald’s meal mean meat medicine mega meh melon meme memes memo men men’s meow message messages metal metro mexican mexico mg microphone midday middle midnight milestone military milk mind minor mm moai mom mom” money mongols mongolsbetter monitor monkey monster month️ month️️ month️️️ moo moon moon️️ moon️️️ more morning morocco mother motorcycle mountain mouse moustache mouth movie moving mr mt muscle music mute mürœ mắt nail namaste name nap nasa nation nature neck needle nemo nervous never new new” next nfl ni nigga niggas night nine ninjas no noise noon nope north northern nose note notes nothing noticed notification no” nuclear numbers nurse‍️ nurse‍️‍️ nursing nut obtain ocean octopus office oh‍️ ok okay okëî ok… old ole omg omg⁄ on one one️hour open orange order other out owl ox pa package paint painter‍ pair palm panda paper parents parent‍ parent‍‍ parent‍‍‍ parking️ parking️️ parking️️️ party pass password pasta paul pause pay paycheck payment peace peach peehle peek pen pencil people percent perfect person pet philippines phone photo physics pick pickle picture pie pig pill pineapple pink pirate pissed pistol pizza place planet plane‍️ plane‍️‍️ plane‍️‍️‍️ planning plant play please please” podcast point poison poisoned poker poland police‍️ police‍️‍️ police‍️‍️‍️ pool poop pork potato potty pouch pound power practice practicing praise prank pray prayer present presentation president press previous️ previous️️ previous️️️ price pride prime princess privacy problem️ problem️️ problem️️️ professor‍ professor‍‍ profile program programmer‍‍ programming progress propose proud pt pt3 pub public pumpkin pumps puppy purchase push pussy queen queer️‍️‍ question quick11 quiet quirky quit quiz rabbit race‍️ race‍️‍️ race‍️‍️‍️ radio rage rain rainbow raised ram ramen ran random rat razor read reading realised realized record recording recovery red reddit registered️ registered️️ relax relaxed️️️ relief relieved religion religion” religious remove repeat republic rest restaurant restricted return️ return️️ return️️️ reunion revolver rice rich right ring rings rip️ rip️️ rip️️️ road roar robot rocket‍ rocket‍‍ rocket‍‍‍ rock‍️ rock‍️‍️ rock‍️‍️‍️ rodent rofl roll rolling rose round royalty rs rude rules run running‍️ running‍️‍️ running‍️‍️‍️ rush russian sad sahara said️ said️️ said️️️ sake sale sales sale” san sand sandwich sandwich” santa sarcasm satan satellite satisfied save say scale scared scary schedule school science scissors️ scissors️️️ score scottish scout scream screen scribble️ scroll sea sealed search season’️ season️ season️️ season️️️ seat second secret security see seems seller senior serbia serious servers service seven sewage shake shape️ shape️️ shape️️️ shape️️️️️ shark shave sheep shell shh shhh shield shiny shiny… ship‍️ ship‍️‍️ ship‍️‍️‍️ shirt shit shitpost shit” shock shocked shoes shoot shopping shot show shower shrimp shy sick sideways️ sideways️️ sideways️️️ sierra sight sign signal silence silent silk silly silver sing sir sit six skeleton skeptics skill‍️ skull sky sleep sleeping slow smart smash smell smile smoke smoke” smoking smug snack snake sneakers sneeze sniff sniper snow snowman soccer socks soda software‍ software‍‍ software‍‍‍ somalia soon sorcerer‍️ sorry sound soup south southern space‍ space‍‍ space‍‍‍ sparkle spa‍️‍️ speak speaker speaking spear special speech speed spent spicy spider spin spiral spoke spooky️ spooky️️ spooky️️️ spoon sports spots spring spy️‍️️‍️ squid squirrel sr stadium stage stalk star starbucks starbucks4 stare starry stars start started states station steps‍️‍️ steps‍️‍️‍️ stew stone stop stopped stripes strong strong… student study stuffed stunned stupid‍️ stupid‍️‍️ stupid‍️‍️‍️ style subreddit success suck sucked sucking sucks suit suits️️️ sum summer sun sunflower sunny️ sunny️️️ sunset support surgery surprise surprised surrender sushi swearing sweat sweden sweet swift swim swimming swirl sword symbols symphony syringe taco tag taiwan talk tap tape tape” target tea teach team tears tech technology teenager teeth telephone️️️ television tell telling temperature temple tennis terrified territories territory terrorism test testé text th thank thanks theater therapist‍️ therapist‍️‍️ therapist‍️‍️‍️ things think thinking third thirst thirsty this this” thot three throne through ticket tickets tiger time tired titanic to tobacco toddler toilet tomato tone tongue tool tools top top” tornado torture️ torture️️️ toy tracking train training️‍️ training️‍️️‍️ training️‍️️‍️️‍️ tram transgender️‍️‍ transgender️‍️‍️‍ trash trash” travel tree triangle triton‍️‍️ triumph truck trump trust truth tshirt tsunami tube turd turkey turtle tv twilight twisted twitter️⃣ twitter️⃣️⃣ twitter️⃣️⃣️⃣ two type tấn u uber ukraine uk‍️ uk‍️‍️‍️ uncle unconscious undead‍️ underage underground undo️️️ unicorn union united university unlock up upset ur urban usa user v vacation vatican vegas vehicle vhs victory video videogames viet vietnam view violence violin virgin volume vomit vomiting vortex vs và vöcëë wait wake walking‍️ walking‍️‍️ walking‍️‍️‍️ want wanted wanting warm warning watch water wave wavy wax way️ way️️ way️️️ wealthy weapon weather website weed weight weird western wet whale what wheelchair when where whine who whoa wholesome️ wholesome️️ why wifi wild win win10 win7 wind wine wings wink winning winter wish witch‍️‍️ witch‍️‍️‍️ wizard‍️‍️ wolf woman women womens wont won’t woof words work worker‍️ worker‍️‍️ worker‍️‍️‍️ working work world world’ worm worried worship worst wow wrench‍‍‍ write writing x xd ye yea yeah yellow yen yes yo yoga‍️ yoga‍️‍️ you young your youre yours you’re yum yummy zap zen‍️‍️ zero zoom ʃx ‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍ ‍️ ‍️‍‍ ‍️‍️buuuut… ‘asian ‘coder’‍‍‍ ‘coding’ ‘frog’ ‘fun ‘fun’ ‘i ‘moo ‘mouse’ ‘new ‘out ‘pink “ass “bless “bread” “cock “gay”️‍️‍️‍ “good “hey “hot “how “huh “i “i’ll “look “man “meow” “ok “perfect” “shit “sir “talk “this “up “what “why “you’re ”fuck ↓ ╚═███═╝ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⠟⠉⠉⠉⢻⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ あなたは私のことを何と言ったの?私がネイビーシールズでクラスのトップを卒業したことを知ってもらいます。アルクエダで数々の秘密の襲撃に関与しており、300人以上の殺害が確認されています。私はゴリラ戦の訓練を受けており、全米軍の中で最高の狙撃兵です。あなたは私には何の役にも立たず、ただの別のターゲットです。この地球上でこれまで見られなかったような正確さで性交を一掃します、私のクソ言葉をマークします。あなたはインターネットで私にそのたわごとを言うことで逃げることができると思いますか?もう一度考えて、ファッカー。私たちが話している間、私はアメリカ中のスパイの秘密のネットワークに連絡しており、あなたのipは現在追跡されているので、嵐、うじ虫の準備をよりよくすることができます。あなたが人生と呼ぶ哀れな小さなことを一掃する嵐。お前は死んだぞ私はどこにでも、いつでもいることができ、700以上の方法であなたを殺すことができます。それは私の素手だけです。私は非武装戦闘で広範囲に訓練されているだけでなく、私は米国海兵隊の兵器全体にアクセスでき、大陸の顔からあなたの惨めなお尻を拭き取るためにそれを最大限に使用します、あなたはちょっとくそ。もしあなただけが、あなたの小さな「賢い」コメントがあなたに降りかけようとしている不誠実な報復が何であるかを知ることができたなら、たぶんあなたはあなたのクソ舌を握っていただろう。しかし、あなたはできなかったし、そうしなかったし、今やあなたは代価を払っているのだ。私はあなたのいたるところに激怒し、あなたはそれに溺れます。お前は死んだぞ、キッド️️ ️ ️although ️‍ ️‍️ ️‍️‍️‍ ️⃣ ️️ ️️️ � 𝓼𝓱𝓾𝓽 𝓾𝓹
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2020.05.15 21:09 MalOuija This is all the words u/emoji-fier detects

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intelligent interest interested international internet invest invested ip️ ip️️ is islam islamic island isle issue️ issue️️ issue️️️ italy ive i‘ve i’d i’ll i’ve japan japanese jar jaws jazz je jeans jesus️ jesus️️ jesus️️️ jewish job join joint joy jump justice‍️ karate key kfc kg kick kid kids kill kills king kingdom kiss kissing kitchen knew knife know knowing knowledge knows koala kong label labor‍️‍️‍️ lady language laptop‍‍‍ late laugh laughing launch law‍️ law‍️‍️ leader learn leaves left legal‍️ legal‍️‍️ legal‍️‍️‍️ legend lemon length lesbian️‍️‍️‍ less letter️ letter️️ letter️️️ li library lie lie” life light lightning like limbs limit line️ line️️ link lips liquid listen literature load location lock lol look look… loop lord losing lost loud love lt luck lucky lunch mac machine mad maggot magic male man manager‍ manager‍‍ manager‍‍‍ man” mark marriage mask master math mc52 mcdonalds mcdonald’s meal mean meat mega melon meme memes men men’s meow message metal mexican microphone middle midnight military milk mind minor mm moai mom mom” money monitor monkey monster month️ month️️ month️️️ moon️️ moon️️️ more morning morocco mother motorcycle mountain mouse mouth movie moving mr music mắt nail nation nature neck nervous never new next nigga niggas night nine no noise noon nope north northern nose note notes nothing notification numbers nurse‍️ nurse‍️‍️ nursing nut obtain ocean office ok okay ok… old ole omg on one one️hour open orange order other out package pair panda paper parents parent‍ parking️️ parking️️️ party pass pause pay payment peace peach peehle pen people percent perfect person philippines phone photo physics pick pie pig pineapple pink pizza place planet plane‍️‍️ plane‍️‍️‍️ planning plant play please please” podcast point poison poisoned police‍️ police‍️‍️ police‍️‍️‍️ pool poop pork potty pound power practice praise pray present president press previous️ previous️️ previous️️️ price pride princess privacy problem️ problem️️ problem️️️ program programming proud pub public pumpkin puppy purchase push pussy queen queer️‍️‍ question quick11 quirky quit rabbit race‍️ race‍️‍️ race‍️‍️‍️ rage rain rainbow raised ran random rat razor read record recording red reddit registered️ registered️️ relax relief religion remove rest restaurant return️️ rice rich right ring rings rip️️️ road robot rocket‍ rocket‍‍ rocket‍‍‍ rock‍️ rock‍️‍️ rock‍️‍️‍️ rodent roll rose round royalty rude rules run running‍️ running‍️‍️ rush russian sad sake sale sales sand sandwich santa satellite satisfied save say scale scared scary school science scissors️ scissors️️️ score scream screen scribble️ scroll season️ season️️️ seat second secret security see serious servers service seven shake shape️ shape️️ shape️️️ shape️️️️️ shave shell shield shiny shiny… ship‍️ ship‍️‍️ ship‍️‍️‍️ shirt shit shitpost shit” shock shoot shopping shot show shower shy sick sideways️ sideways️️ sight sign signal silence silent silk silly sing sir sit six skull sky sleep sleeping slow smart smell smile smoke smoke” smoking smug snack snake sneeze sniff sniper snow snowman soda software‍ software‍‍ software‍‍‍ soon sorcerer‍️ sorry sound soup south space‍ space‍‍ space‍‍‍ speak speaking spear special speech speed spent spicy spider spin spiral spoke spooky️ spooky️️ spooky️️️ sports spy️‍️️‍️ squid stadium stage star starbucks4 stare starry stars start states station steps‍️‍️‍️ stone stop strong student study stuffed stunned style subreddit suck sucking sucks suits️️️ sum summer sun support surprise surprised sweat sweden sweet swift swimming sword symbols symphony tag talk target tea teach team tears technology teenager teeth telephone️️️ television tell telling temperature tennis terrified test testé text thank thanks theater things think thinking this this” three tickets tiger time tired titanic to toddler toilet tomato tone tongue top tornado toy tracking train training️‍️ training️‍️️‍️ training️‍️️‍️️‍️ tram trash travel tree triangle triumph truck tsunami tube turd turkey tv twisted twitter️⃣️⃣ twitter️⃣️⃣️⃣ two type tấn u ukraine uk‍️ uncle underage union united up upset ur usa user v vacation vehicle victory video viet vietnam view violence virgin vomit vortex vs và wait wake walking‍️ walking‍️‍️ walking‍️‍️‍️ want wanted wanting warm warning watch water wave wax way️ way️️ way️️️ wealthy weapon weather website weed weight weird western wet what wheelchair when where whine who whoa why wifi wild win wind wings winning winter wish witch‍️‍️ witch‍️‍️‍️ woman women womens woof words work worker‍️‍️ working world worm worried worship worst wow wrench‍‍‍ write writing x yea yeah yellow yes yo yoga‍️ yoga‍️‍️ you young your yours yum zen‍️‍️ zero ʃx ‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍ ‍️ ‍️‍‍ ‍️‍️buuuut… ‘out “ass “bless “bread” “good “hey “huh “i “i’ll “look “man “shit “up “why ↓ ╚═███═╝ ️ ️although ️‍ ️‍️ ️⃣ ️️ ️️️ � 𝓼𝓱𝓾𝓽 𝓾𝓹
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2020.04.30 01:01 TopOfTheBot Top Posts and Comments of the Day

Top of the Day for 30/04/2020

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Most Upvoted Posts of the Day

First Place
I'm done with your movie!
posted by TheExtimate on /gifs
Click here to view the post. ● 110,499 Upvotes ● Posted: 28/04/2020 at 23:22:07 UTC
Second Place
Bought a house, unexpectedly inherited a wild box turtle with a burrow under our patio. Sometimes he lets me sit by him in return for treats.
posted by calabazadelamuerte on /aww
Click here to view the post. ● 95,668 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 00:39:19 UTC
Third Place
Imagine how they must've felt
posted by ARNisUsername on /memes
Click here to view the post. ● 92,219 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 05:19:28 UTC
Fourth Place
Excited to see how they tie this all together.
posted by dobbyisafreepup on /WhitePeopleTwitter
Click here to view the post. ● 91,804 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 12:55:27 UTC
Fifth Place
This lady's excitement over seeing a skateboarding trick
posted by SaomWilkerson on /MadeMeSmile
Click here to view the post. ● 88,786 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 07:24:02 UTC

Most Downvoted Posts of the Day

This section is currently being worked on.

Most Upvoted Comments of the Day

IMPORTANT NOTE: This section may be not be accurate as it is under development. Currently this only gets the most upvoted top-level comments from the most upvoted posts today.
First Place
This is some wholesome shit right here
posted by bensontrixy on /MadeMeSmile
Click here to view the post. ● 6,961 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 07:53:29 UTC
Second Place
when you're not good enough to be yourself. All of us know how that feels.
posted by Aquamic on /memes
Click here to view the post. ● 6,003 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 05:30:37 UTC
Third Place
I like how he immediately looks for more snacks!
posted by Premium_Malt-o-meal on /aww
Click here to view the post. ● 5,175 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 01:52:15 UTC
Fourth Place
I will always watch videos of turtles eating.
posted by Chickiepie on /aww
Click here to view the post. ● 4,722 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 01:14:27 UTC
Fifth Place
At first I thought the laptop disappeared and I began to believe the cat was magical, then I realised that it blended into the blanket
posted by HissingTrack461 on /gifs
Click here to view the post. ● 4,655 Upvotes ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 00:21:38 UTC

Most Downvoted Comments of the Day

This section is currently being worked on.

Most Gilded Posts of the Day

IMPORTANT NOTE: This section may be not be accurate as it is under development.
First Place
You guys are pathetic and fall for cheater's whining about being banned. BattlEye doesn't work like you think it does, pointless speculation only embarasses you.
posted by bennyh6813 on /EscapefromTarkov
Click here to view the post. ● 3,094 Upvotes ● 3 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 1 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 15:57:06 UTC
Second Place
Gimme Silver
posted by TheRealKSi on /ksi
Click here to view the post. ● 4,038 Upvotes ● 3 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 1 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 27/04/2020 at 18:14:54 UTC
Third Place
My dog has degenerative arthritis in her front paws. I made DIY orthotic splint shoes to help her walk.
posted by 36monsters on /DIY
Click here to view the post. ● 24,646 Upvotes ● 3 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 1 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 05:10:03 UTC
Fourth Place
90S RARE VINYL - HOUR # 3 - REQUESTS!- 2020-04-29 👊
posted by HipHopHistoryGuy on /RedditSessions
Click here to view the post. ● 586 Upvotes ● 2 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 0 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 21:40:39 UTC
Fifth Place
When quarantine comes to an end, a decision must be made
posted by CCo51 on /lotrmemes
Click here to view the post. ● 22,958 Upvotes ● 2 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 0 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 11:56:47 UTC

Most Gilded Comments of the Day

IMPORTANT NOTE: This section may be not be accurate as it is under development.
First Place
Here is my break up advice. Because the end of your post is heartbreaking bullshit and you need to knock that off. Thats not how this shit works my dude. `First. ` After you can get away from her. You block her on everything. A break up is like getting a big long cut on your arm that hurts like a mother fucker. Every single time they can contact you, you can stalk their social media, ETC. You are dipping your finger in shit and rubbing that shit in the cut. Then you ask \"Why isn't it healing?\" Its not healing because you keep fucking with it. `NOW THE CHEATEABUSEAWFUL Person situation.` You have been eating at Cheater Burger, for years. Favorite burger place ever. You just got the worst case of food poisioning known to man and learned their kitchen is filthy and they have bugs and shit. Just makes you want to fucking die. `So what do you do? Do you never trust another hamburger for the rest of your life because all burgers are poision? ` No, that would be literally fucking insane. (Thats what trusting less after being cheated on is.) `What you do, is you never darken the door of Cheater burger again. You memorize the restaurant, the staff, the kitchen, the manager, the menu. Every fucking detail about that burger place. ` When you finally have a hankering for another hamburger, if the next place you go to, has even ONE of those things like Cheater burger, you fucking run, leaving a you shaped hole in their wall. `It is NOT the next burger places fault that you had shit taste in burgers. Its not their job, nor their responsibility to PROVE to you that they aren't going to give you food poisioning. Its YOUR job, to do a better job next time, screening out your next burger joint you try.` You don't get to trust women less because you made a bad choice and unfortunately met a shitty woman. Thats not WOMENS fault, thats THE CHEATERS fault. You only get to trust her less, and by less, I mean not at all. She is garbage. Untrustworthy garbage. `But WOMEN, are just fine, WOMEN didn't do shit to you. ONE of the billions of women, fucked you over. Its fucking crazy to trust people less. What you are supposed to do is learn from the mistake, you have an entire relationship worth of lessons you learned from this human dumspter fire. Learn them. You have a fucking encycolpedia of red flags, shit you missed, things you overlooked. ` Now when you see that red flag, you bail. When you see that thing thats similar to what she did that was sketchy but you didn't think anything of it, you bail. `Will you never get cheated on again? Of course you might. Every single person gets cheated on, more then once. Then we all learn lessons, get better at picking partners and learn not to fall for that bullshit anymore.` Its the reason that men in their 40s that are shitty, try to date women in their 20s. Because they don't have the experience, and any woman near their own age, isn't going to fucking fall for their bullshit. `So yeah dude, it hurts, when my ex wife cheated on me whilae trying to get pregnant with our second kid, it fucking hurt. But if you \"Are never the same again\". Then she fucking wins, and you will just get bitter and angry, not trust women as much, and then you will only attract other bitter jaded asshole women.` Self fulfilling prophecy. The best revenge is trading up. I know it drives my ex-wife crazy that after her, when i left and we split the kids custody. I married up and she married laterally. `She is happy with her dude, but they are broke as fuck, both constantly unemployed and dealing with bullshit.` I married a loaded Dr. Lady, and am a stay at home trophy husband. Taking the kid on amazing vacations, having the best life ever with the best woman ever. `If I did what you are talking about, do you think a sucessful, powerful woman at the top of her field would have given me a shot? Being a bitter jaded man, broken by the actions of one woman?` Fuck no. `When I met my amazing Dr. Wife too dude. I was living in my parents basement selling fire extinguishers from my car, because I gave my ex everything to ensure we split the kid 50/50. Lost my house, my vehicle, took on all the debt. ` But what she saw was that I loved the shit out of my kid. That I didn't let my situation get me down, and that I didn't blame WOMEN, for the fact that I married a human dumpster fire. `She found it hot, that I kept being upbeat and positive, co-parented the kid, had ONE birthday party, went with my ex wife to all the kid related activities, if her boyfriend was there we hung out and talked.` Yeah it was hard, but what the fuck else can you do? You can let it break you, or you can rise above it. `So rise above it.` FIRST. Feel your feelings, cry, feel bad, have a pity party you need to do that shit. I needed time to greive all that shit and you do too. Which is why it all seems so shitty right now, especailly since you have to still see her on the reg. `But I promise you that it gets better if you make it better.` My buddy went the other way after a cheating ex wife, and it sucks to see him always so angry. He doesn't agree with me and thats fine, I take him out for wings and we bullshit when he will let me, but he was the happiest dude I knew. `We took different paths, I hope you take the one I took. Because its the harder path, but its the better one. And If i can take a cheating wife, who got literally everything I had, and tens of thousands of dollars in debt. And come out the other side squeaky clean, then any idiot can. Because I am no fucking genius. ` Feel your feelings, then get back out there buddy. I hope you do alright and if you ever want to talk. Dm me.
posted by Mindtaker on /relationship_advice
Click here to view the post. ● 628 Upvotes ● 3 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 1 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 17:38:12 UTC
Second Place
Just suck on her finger and keep your mouth in the same position untill you get to the jewelry store. ` Edit: Thank you for the awards and upvotes!! My award cherry has been officially popped!!!`
posted by Scared-Mortgage on /AskReddit
Click here to view the post. ● 5,027 Upvotes ● 3 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 1 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 16:14:07 UTC
Third Place
PhD student in theoretical physics here. This paragraph describes what the whole universe really is and what everything in the universe is fundamentally made of. It touches on a lot of very advanced ideas in mathematics, but I'll do my best to unpack it. Warning: It'll be long. `**(i)** Age-old question: What does the whole universe look like if you stand \"outside\" of it? Is it like a flat plane that extends in all directions forever? Is it like a ball, where if you walk in one direction for a while, you'll return to your original position? Or is it like a large twisted pretzel with holes? In mathematics, we call these different shapes, flat or curved, **manifolds**.` To describe a \"pretzel\" or a \"flat plane\", we need to say where the shape is \"rounded\" or \"curved\", like a blind man touching an elephant, telling his friend where the round belly is and where the trunk is sticking out. We call this description a **metric tensor** on the manifold. `What this point tells us is that our universe has all sorts of bumps and troughs here and there, and everything in the universe—the Sun, the Moon, galaxies—move around according to where the bumps and troughs are, like a small ant on a pretzel trying to walk in a \"straight line\" but inadvertently walking in circles. In other words, the Earth goes in circles around the Sun (and stars around galaxies) because it follows **geometrical laws** of \"how to walk on an irregular bumpy manifold\".` It turns out that clocks run at different speeds depending on where they're placed in the universe, whether it's at the bottom of a trough or on flat ground. Physicists figured out that that's because space isn't the only thing getting curved and twisted in our universe; time is too. Normal run-of-the-mill manifolds don't do the job anymore. This is when **pseudo-Riemannian manifolds** come in to describe our universe, where both time and space are twisted with each other, into curved **spacetime**. Don't even try to imagine what that looks like; we can't either. All this is described in more detail in this [Introduction to General Relativity](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Introduction_to_general_relativity). `**(ii)** Another age-old question: Magnets, how do they work? Also, what makes rocks stick together and not fall apart? Physicists have figured out that these forces are due to these things called **fields**, which are invisible but permeate everywhere in the entire universe. Take the electromagnetic field as an example. It is everywhere. Closer to a magnet, where the field is stronger, a second magnet gets attracted to the first one very quickly; farther from the magnet, where the field is weaker, the second magnet barely moves at all.` Remember from (i) that our universe is a curved shape called a manifold? Well, the electromagnetic field (and other fields for other forces) is everywhere on this manifold. In mathematics, we call that a **fibre bundle over the manifold**. (Pardon the strange name. If you try to imagine little hairs on a pretzel indicating how strong the field is at each point on the pretzel, it ends up looking like a bundle of fibres.) `Now we need to know how the electromagnetic field makes the magnet move around, how it makes your microwave cook your food, and how light comes out of a lightning. All of this is described by a very special kind of theory called **gauge theory**. What you need to know is that every gauge theory comes with a mathematical structure called a **group**. The simpler the group, the simpler the the interaction between the corresponding force and matter is, and vice versa. The simplest group is an **Abelian group**, which is what describes the electromagnetic field.` The electromagnetic field also keeps rocks together and strong. But if you chop a rock into little pieces, you get to the atom, made of neutrons, protons, and electrons. Neutrons and protons are in turn made of even smaller particles called quarks. What keeps the quarks together in a neutron or a proton is the strong nuclear force, caused by the **gluon field**. Neutrons and protons can also turn into each other, emitting radiation that makes some cancer treatments possible. This is due to the weak nuclear force, caused by the **W and Z boson fields**. `These fields are also described by gauge theories, so they're called **gauge fields**, but their interaction with matter is so complicated that their corresponding groups are **non-Abelian groups**, which is as complicated as you can get when it comes to groups.` **(iii)** One final age-old question: What's stuff made of? What's the smallest bit of matter? As I said before, chopping things down to the smallest pieces gives you electrons and quarks. These particles (and a few others) all belong to a class of particles called **fermions**. The special thing about fermions is that every fermion has a left-handed and a right-handed version, just like gloves—they look alike, but are mirror reflections of each other. `The gluon field doesn't care whether the fermion is left or right-handed. It doesn't discriminate. (Be like gluon.) You might think the electromagnetic field and the W and Z boson fields are good guys too, but no, they like to interact more with the left-handed fermions than the right-handed ones. This is what the formula means.` The correct formula is (Ŝ+⊗VR)⊕(Ŝ−⊗VR̃). (Unfortunately, Reddit doesn't support subscripts.) It basically says the left-handed fermion Ŝ+ interacts with all the gauge fields in this way (VR), while the right-handed fermion Ŝ− interacts with the gauge fields in a different way (VR̃). It is important that VR and VR̃ are **not isomorphic**, which is just a snobby way of saying \"they're different\". `We know that the electron, along with another fermion called the neutrino, is lighter than the quarks. We don't yet know why that is the case, but every new idea physicists have come up with over the years involves the difference between the way gauge fields interact with left-handed and right-handed fermions (**representation difference**). If one of those ideas turns out to be correct, then it is the **underlying theory** that we all dream about.` Finally, if all of the above is not complicated enough, God plays a joke on us by making everything **quantum mechanical**. In short, this means that the same particle can be in several different places at the same time, and particles are randomly popping in and out of existence everywhere, all the time. `**Personal thoughts:** The paragraph is certainly very concise, mostly because it takes entire textbooks to truly describe the mathematical terms in each of the three bullet points. It is also very beautiful, because it tells you in precise mathematical terms what you'd need if your job were to create another universe. However, it's like describing an elaborate wedding cake by listing all its ingredients.` \"The most beautiful paragraph in physics\" is a bit of a stretch. Sure, it encapsulates what our universe is, deep down. But it doesn't capture any of the emergent phenomena—how these particles come together into complex atoms and molecules, how atoms form beautiful crystals and rocks, how rocks form planets, how stars and dust form galaxies, how too much stuff makes a black hole... Physics is a vast subject with countless interesting questions to study, and \"what is the fundamental structure of the universe\" is just one of them. ` TL;DR: Our universe has curved spacetime in which matter, made of very small particles called fermions, interacts through forces controlled by gauge fields. The interaction is different for left-handed and right-handed fermions. The paragraph is beautiful because it tells us what blueprint God had in mind when creating our universe.`
posted by weinsteinjin on /explainlikeimfive
Click here to view the post. ● 1 Upvotes ● 2 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 0 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 09:59:12 UTC
Fourth Place
I hate gold, I'm terrified of it. I shouldn't be here. This is going to give me nightmares `Edit: ` What is wrong with you ` Why would you do this to me`
posted by 7katalan on /WTF
Click here to view the post. ● 12 Upvotes ● 2 reward(s). ● 0 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 1 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 19:34:22 UTC
Fifth Place
Mess with the bee you get the whole alphabet
posted by iliveoverthebridge on /instantkarma
Click here to view the post. ● 1,093 Upvotes ● 2 reward(s). ● 1 silver reward(s), 1 gold reward(s) and 0 platinum reward(s) ● Posted: 29/04/2020 at 17:50:28 UTC
submitted by TopOfTheBot to TopOfThe [link] [comments]


2020.04.21 23:53 BrainFriedRice SIL/BIL and the International Family Trip...

Saddle up, boys and girls! For those of you who have followed along with these posts and commented, I thank you for your support (and your many offers to punch/kick SIL in the face). It has been validating and cathartic to get all of these stories out of my head and get feedback that I am not unreasonable for thinking that SIL and BIL are pretty awful.
This story is the most recent I've posted up to this point, aside from the one about the runaway teen. It took place this last summer (2019), but if you've been reading along, you will notice my need to set the stage, so to speak, for each story (as always, there is a lot of background in the previous posts, but with 14 years worth of stories, there are always more details to fill in).
Several years ago, after MIL inherited a small fortune from her parents, she and FIL decided they would start a new tradition; every other year they would take the entire family (themselves, BIL/SIL, SIL's four kids, Husband, myself and our children) on a family enrichment trip.
I am deliberately using the term "trip" and not "vacation", as MIL and FIL have a firm belief that "vacations" are for relaxing, and they believe that any trip they take should be filled to capacity with culturally enriching, educational, and/or physically demanding activities. MIL and FIL often joke that any "OUR Family Trip" should be so exhausting that it takes at least a week to recover once you get home.
While I truly believe this is a perfectly valid choice for MIL/FIL, I personally feel this is not a reasonable expectation for really young kids. I believe that constantly pushing young children out of their routine, comfort zone, and past the point of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion every day for two weeks will not enrich their lives (as is the stated goal), but simply cause the children to dread these family "trips" with MIL and FIL. However, as MIL and FIL are paying for a large portion of the trip, they are within their rights to expect whatever standards of conduct they wish.
About a year before the family trip in question, MIL told us where we were going to go on our 2019 family trip (to a foreign, but largely English-speaking country about 20 hours worth of flights from home) and mentioned the length of the trip would be for two full weeks... Including 4 different cities/hotels with two rental vehicles for transportation (meaning we would be expected to navigate with old school paper maps, and also bring car seats for both of our daughters).
Knowing from my years of experience what type of trip MIL and FIL would be expecting, I immediately set myself to the task of being as prepared as possible for an extended trip with two very young daughters (D1 was 3 years old and fully mobile and potty trained. D2 was under the age of 1 year and was still breastfeeding to supplement her solid food diet, in diapers, and not-yet walking). The logistics ALONE of making that type of trip with kids that age are staggering... clothes and shoes for every potential type of weather, car seats, stroller, appropriate number of diapers/wipes for two weeks, toiletries, binkys, breast pump, bottles, bottle brush, hand sanitizer, kid snacks... And that is just off the top of my head, given that it was also important to keep our girls entertained in a plane and/or car for many multiple hours on any given day... ESPECIALLY given that MIL/FIL are very old school in their beliefs that any time with family means that there should be ZERO electronic or screen-based entertainment.
During this time, MIL assembled SEVEN separate multi-page Excell spreadsheets for possible activities for each portion of the trip. These spreadsheets included the website URL, cost of admission, how many stars on her favorite travel site, suggested amount of time at each stop, along with personal notes on most entries (i.e. MIL found the website for a water park and while she added it to the list, she postulated that though she knew the kids would have a good time at a water park, she felt that since water parks were not culturally specific/enriching, it should be skipped). MIL sent these out to BIL/SIL, Husband and me a few months before the trip so we could all weigh in on which stops might be a good fit for our individual family units. I ended up spending about 12 hours sifting through all of the links and aggregating a list of stops that would be appropriate for our family unit and sent it back to MIL; I also printed a paper copy of all of the spreadsheets, highlighted things that would be points of interest, and made my own set of notes to bring along on the trip with us (this is the level of expected involvement in this type of trip).
By the time we left the trip, Husband and I were fully prepared for any eventuality that could occur with two very young children on a two-week-long international trip... Somehow, we did not account for the laziness and stupidity of BIL and SIL and their abject refusal to bother to prepare, help, or parent their children, who were ages 9-16 at the time of the trip.
Given that MIL/FIL/BIL/SIL and Co. we're coming from a different city than we were, we started our epic journey with just our family unit, and met the rest of the family in the airport during our first layover, and were all together for the next two weeks.
As is the unfortunate norm within Husband's family, we heard SIL yelling at her children for 30 seconds or so before we actually saw them… this was especially horrifying for Husband as he absolutely did not want for US to be associated with THEM as the loud, rude, entitled, trashy American family. We spent a significant amount of time on this trip apologizing to locals on behalf of BIL, SIL and their kids.
We had all been traveling for a maximum of a few hours, but already BIL/SIL had to stop at an airport burger stand to get themselves and their children some ungodly expensive hamburgers, fries and 40 ounce Pepsi for each of them. SIL immediately starts trying to feed my children an unholy number of french fries, and get my BABY to drink Pepsi from HER STRAW (I remind you readers about the fact that SIL happens to have horrifying oral hygiene, including rotting teeth from a history of hard drug addiction). I immediately put a stop to that by telling BIL and SIL, "Hey guys! Husband and I actually packed our own picnic dinner with foods the girls are used to; I'm sure you wouldn't want to start off this adventure by making our tiny girls sick by feeding them a ton of food they aren't used to!". Pretty diplomatic, right?
For the rest of the flights and throughout the entire first week of the trip, it was a non-stop shitshow. Husband and I would feed our girls high protein, high fat breakfasts at the hotel, stopped at grocery stores and picked up food to have picnic lunches, and brought tons of healthy snacks every day to feed them to prevent the tiny humans from succumbing to the hanger before we were able to stop for dinner (remember, we were going at MIL/FIL speed this entire time).
SIL and their kids would eat nothing but carbs for breakfast. BIL would then be panicked at around lunch time when his family had their inevitable blood sugar crash and screaming and hitting fests. BIL would demand that we all stop at a restaurant for a hot meal… but only places that would serve the equivalent of chicken nuggets and french fries (which is pretty much all SIL and the kids were willing to eat). This sometimes meant we would all need to drive more than an hour out of our way to feed them, and sometimes meant that we would end waiting for them to eat food from the gas station cold case… because they lacked any sort of forethought.
TBH, I was actually even a little shocked at how little their kids were able to do for themselves… one particular evening, we had #4 (then aged 9, girl) in our car and made it back to the hotel several hours before BIL/SIL because we wanted to get D1 and D2 in bed at a somewhat reasonable hour. I was tasked with helping #4 get herself somewhat ready for bed… the kid did not know how to unzip her own suitcase (that she has had for several years), because SIL had never allowed her to open it for herself… HOLY SHIT, you guys! She was NINE years old, and less capable than my 3 year old… it was astonishing!
At the one-week mark of the two-week trip, there was a HUGE dust up. #1-#4 would be grumpy about seeing the fifth museum in two days, so BIL and SIL would ask their kids "So, what DO you want to do??". These kids, who did not have any of the resources to even know what types of things were available (again, given the fact that they had been completely crippled by BIL/SIL's parenting) would shrug their shoulders and say, "I dunno". So BIL and SIL would tell their kids to either give an alternative option or shut up. BIL/SIL never even attempted to find activities their kids might enjoy...
BIL and SIL were screaming at their kids for being exhausted kids… and decided their kids were so unruly and shitty that they had no choice but to fly home… that was unless MIL, FIL, Husband and I were willing to jump in and do the job of parenting #1-#4… this came up during a "family meeting" between MIL/FIL, BIL/SIL and Husband that I opted out of because I would rather have eaten broken glass than to have to deal with any more of their drama at that moment in time (my excuse was I was staying in our hotel room to put D1 and D2 down for a nap).
MIND YOU, Husband and I had our hands already stupidly full managing D1 and D2… but because Husband didn't want his parents to be hurt by BIL/SIL taking their family home, he agreed that we would all pitch in more…
I have to admit that I was pretty livid when Husband told me about the "solution" that had been agreed upon. I asked him how it was at all reasonable to ask US to help parent their much older children, when we were already stretched so thin by managing our own (especially given that D2 was waking up a few times a night to breastfeed because of all of the weird schedule changes!!). Husband sincerely apologized to me, but felt beholden to his parents to keep his word and manage #1-#4.
BIL and SIL even took a few "date nights" during the second half of the trip, where at least one adult would need to be present with #1-#4 at all times… not one time during the whole trip, were Husband and I offered so much as an hour of childcare by MIL and FIL so that we could go have a drink or something without our kids. Now, I don't believe they were obligated to do so, but it does highlight the fact that there is a truly unbalanced family dynamic because Husband and I are capable adults...
The next week was equally as shitty, and just more responsibility and stress for both Husband and me… culminating in 24 hours worth of travel on our way home (car trip across country to the airport, multiple flights, long layovers in airports, and luggage that was lost at our home airport)...
Husband and I have discussed this trip many times over the last few months. We have agreed that it was unacceptable… Husband still feels like he had no other option; I feel like there was always the option of letting BIL/SIL go home when they threatened to do so… it would have been a much easier trip for everyone if we had just let them fall on their asses…
I'm still a little salty about this, but again, this is an old-ish story and there is nothing to be done about it, now…
And THAT is the story of SIL/BIL and the clusterfuck of an international trip...
submitted by BrainFriedRice to JUSTNOFAMILY [link] [comments]


2020.04.20 18:49 OnlyAnEssenceThief AUTHORIZED IRONBLOOD PERSONNEL ONLY - UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS WILL MAY BE MET WITH TERMINATION

If you're confused, this is my take on an SCP article in the world of Azur Lane, and focuses on someone you'll probably recognize off the bat. The following may be a bit unsettling for some, but is otherwise harmless. Let me know what you think!
Item #: eX-1800-14
Ship Class: Heavy Crusier; Experimental
Special Containment Procedures: eX-1800-14 is to be monitored at all times, and if anomolous properties manifest Class B amnestics should be administered as necessary. Due to eX-1800-14's unstable nature, ground rules have been laid out for any individuals aware of eX-1800-14's anomolous properties:
  1. Do not antagonize or lie to eX-1800-14 unless it conflicts with the other rules.
  2. Do not allow eX-1800-14 prolonged contact with individuals hostile to eX-1800-14. At this time, hostile individuals include: Akagi, Taihou, Unicorn, Dido, Junyou, and Atago.
  3. Do not disclose classified information about eX-1800-14 to any unauthorized individuals including eX-1800-14.
  4. Do not let eX-1800-14 get drunk, high, or incapacitated.
  5. Do not engage in romantic affairs with eX-1800-14.
  6. Do not let eX-1800-14 within a kilometer of L-3. If proximity of eX-1800-14 to L-3 is inevitable, contact an Ironblood administrator immediately and attempt to encourage eX-1800-14 away from L-3.
  7. Review all guidelines surrounding eX-1800-14 on a regular basis, and consult an Ironblood administrator if guidelines change.
eX-1800-14 should be permitted to 'sortie' at least once a week in order to relieve stress. When not allowed to sortie, eX-1800-14 may become aggressive, uncooperative, restless, irritable, and on more than one occassion has attempted to relieve herself through destruction of private property, whereas being allowed to sortie appears to signifigantly improve eX-1800-14's mood, sleep, appetite, and combat efficiency.
eX-1800-14 is fluent in German and Japanese, enjoys woodworking, and is usually very kind as long as she is not upset. Because of this, individuals tasked with monitoring eX-1800-14 should be adept in at least one of these languages, and are capable of bonding with eX-1800-14 in a manner that will make her feel calm and appreciated to lower eX-1800-14's threat level as much as possible.
Description: eX-1800-14 is a female humanoid currently 180.342cm in height, and 70.453kg in weight. eX-1800-14 is slim but well endowed, and is best identified by red streaks in otherwise light blonde hair (see attached photograph). When she is not in combat attire, eX-1800-14 has been observed to enjoy long, sharp nails, and an updated list of outfits she tends to wear can be requested as necessary.
eX-1800-14 is an experimental KANSEN (short for Kinetic Application of Naval Science and Engineering, essentially a self-aware ship with an interlinked humanoid form) developed by Ironblood as part of [DATA REDACTED], and is design-wise an amalgamation of various heavy crusier proposals. eX-1800-14 was designed with raw power in mind, and is equipped with:
  • Nine 203mm L/60 SK C/34 main guns (3x3).
  • One 150mm L/55 SK C/28 secondary gun (1x2).
  • Four dual-purpose 150mm L/55 MPL C/35 secondary guns (4x1).
  • Twelve 105mm L/65 Dop. L. C/37 secondary guns (6x2).
  • Sixteen 20mm Flak 38 (8x2), sixteen 20mm Flak 38 (4x4), and thirty-two 37mm Flak LM/42 (16x2) anti-aircraft batteries.
  • Two 533mm Vierling torpedo tubes (2x4).
  • One Arado Ar 196 scout plane.
With a maximum speed of 32.5 knots and a turtleback armor layout, eX-1800-14 often fights at medium range, and specializes in bombarding one target at a time while her solid AA profile protects her from aerial bombardment. Normally, her low speed and weakness to plunging fire would relegate her threat level, but due to eX-1800-14's anomalous properties these drawbacks are nullified.
For reasons unknown, eX-1800-14 is capable of absorbing and incorporating parts of ships into itself, and as a result can permanently improve her armament, armor, speed, manuverability, and radar. Absorption is performed through physical contact with the 'human' eX-1800-14's skin, and only occurs when eX-1800-14 is presented with a complete ship component (ex. a steering mechanism, operational main gun turret, and armored plate will be absorbed, but the individual raw materials or a partially complete part will not). The time required for total absorption, and by extent the time required for eX-1800-14 to fully incorporate the absorbed parts into her 'ship' form appears to depend on the size, quantity, and complexity of the absorbed parts. When absorption is complete, eX-1800-14's 'human' form will begin to convulse rapidly and grow to accommodate for the absorbed mass, though this does not appear to be proprortional to the actual mass added to her 'ship' form. During this growth, the 'ship' form of eX-1800-14 will (regardless of distance from the 'human' form of eX-1800-14) 'grow' the absorbed parts in the most ideal location possible; this growth appears to progress at the same rate in both the 'human' and 'ship forms of eX-1800-14. When the process is complete, eX-1800-14 will return to normal and function as intended until additional parts are absorbed. Currently, the process by which eX-1800-14 would 'absorb' another KANSEN and incorporate foreign ship parts into itself is unknown.
While this phenomenon has only occured twice (see Addendum 1800-14-A) in small scale experiments, Ironblood researchers and engineers that previously worked on [DATA REDACTED] at L-3 have confirmed that eX-1800-14 is fully operational, and can completely absorb any ship it desires under the right circumstances. However, since eX-1800-14 does not know she possesses this ability, and aforementioned researchers have emphasized that eX-1800-14 will only attempt to absorb another ship if she greatly desires it, current containment procedures emphasize monitoring and risk avoidance to ensure that eX-1800-14 remains unprovoked and unaware of her true potential. As put by Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED]: "If she wishes to be happy, and that happiness does not stem from an unconscious desire to evolve, then she is no different from a standard KANSEN. Make her smile, treat her well, and do NOT tell her the truth." No Ironblood researchers or engineers assigned to [DATA REDACTED] have disclosed the origin of eX-1800-14's anomalous properties, and an investigation is underway.
eX-1800-14 is currently stationed in Hamburg, Germany as part of Ironblood's main fleet.
Addendum 1800-14-A: The following document details both instances of eX-1800-14's absorption properties in action. The instances, tests ran by [REDACTED] during the later stages of eX-1800-14's construction at L-3, were done while eX-1800-14 was 'unconscious', and as such are assumed to have been forgotten by eX-1800-14.
Test Record 14-A - Date: [DATA REDACTED], Location: L-3
'Human' form of eX-1800-14 is brought into the test chamber, laid down on a table, and triple checked for abnormal brain activity before three 20mm Flak 38 (3x2) guns are brought into the chamber. Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] manually activates anomalous properties of eX-1800-14 through [DATA REDACTED] and instructs one Flak 38 battery to be brought into contact with eX-1800-14's left hand, another to her right foot, and the last to her hair. Upon physical contact, eX-1800-14 begins to rapidly absorb the first two Flak 38 batteries into herself with the process being described as 'large bumps of material stretching the subject's skin and being pumped towards the chest'. This continues for ten minutes and fourty-three seconds until both Flak 38 batteries have been completely absorbed into eX-1800-14, though the Flak 38 battery touching her hair is untouched.
Upon fully absorbing the two Flak 38 batteries, eX-1800-14 begins to convulse and spike in brain activity as both she and the 'ship' form of eX-1800-14 (docked two floors down in L-3's underground harbor) grow to accomodate the absorbed mass. Over the next eighty-three minutes, the 'ship' form of eX-1800-14 'grows' four 20mm Flak 38 (2x2) guns perfectly lined up with other twin 20mm Flak 38 batteries previously installed on the ship. Simultaneously, the 'human' form of eX-1800-14 also adjusts to the additional mass by proportionally (relative to her 'human' form's dimensions, not the total amount of mass incorporated onto her 'ship' form) increasing its height by 0.07cm, and weight by 0.006kg. Once the process concludes, eX-1800-14's brain activity returns to normal, and no further change is observed in the next twenty six minutes. Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] confirms end of process, checks for dormant anomalous activity, and has the 'human' eX-1800-14 carried back to her 'ship' form to resume construction.
Test Record 14-A-2 - Date: [DATA REDACTED], Location: L-3
'Human' form of eX-1800-14 is brought into the test chamber, shackled to the back wall, and triple checked for abnormal brain activity before Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] steps into the test chamber with both an armored plate meant for eX-1800-14's deck, and the raw materials for her (at the time incomplete) 150mm secondary gun. Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] manually activates anomalous properties of eX-1800-14 through [DATA REDACTED], takes off their gloves, and holds onto the armored plate as it makes physical contact with eX-1800-14's right lumbar. eX-1800-14 absorbs the plate in eight minutes and thirty-six seconds, but upon reaching the hand of Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] leaves it unharmed. Once the armored plate is fully absorbed, Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] quickly takes a steel bar and places it where the plate had just been, but as eX-1800-14 begins her convlusions the bar remains unabsorbed.
Over the next fifty-three minutes, Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] brings more raw materials into physical contact with several areas of eX-1800-14's skin while the 'ship' form of eX-1800-14 (now over three kilometers away after being towed) 'grows' an identical copy of the armored plate exactly where it was designed to fit. eX-1800-14 does not absorb any materials during or after growth, and Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] confirms end of process citing that raw materials are 'no good'. eX-1800-14's brain activity returns to normal levels, and the 'human' form of eX-1800-14 is carried back to her ship equivalent having gained 0.12cm in height, and 0.024kg in weight.
Notes:
  1. Currently, it is unknown if eX-1800-14's desire to 'sortie' is linked with an unconcious desire to kill and absorb other ships. When participating in a sortie (alone or with others) eX-1800-14 will show no anomalous properties even when making physical contact with other ships friend or foe. [DATA REDACTED] and [DATA REDACTED] have proposed a full psychological analysis on eX-1800-14, but as eX-1800-14 has remained stable outside of sorties and shown no anomalous properties during them, this has been deemed unnecessary.
  2. It is unknown if eX-1800-14 is capable of incorporating the capacities of submarines, aircraft carriers, and repair ships into herself. Head Researcher [DATA REDACTED] has described it as 'possible', but notes that such a design would be 'attempting to be doing too many things at once and collapse under its own weight'.
  3. As observed from test records, eX-1800-14 appears to be safe for physical contact by humans even when anomalous properties are active, though due to the unique nature of KANSENS, and the limited knowledge surrounding eX-1800-14's absorption capabilities, making physical contact with eX-1800-14 is advised against until new tests (both of human contact and KANSEN contact) can be authorized.
  4. As a result of the escalating conflict against the Sirens, [DATA REDACTED] have proposed informing eX-1800-14 of her true potential in a controlled environment, and persuading her to utilize it solely against Siren models in an effort to create an unstoppable superweapon. This has been denied for many reasons (including how telling eX-1800-14 could affect her mental health, and what may happen if eX-1800-14 absorbs Siren technology), but may be reconsidered at a later date should the situation against the Sirens worsen.
  5. Emergency Containment Procedures have been drafted, but are currently restricted to Class-A personnel.
submitted by OnlyAnEssenceThief to AzureLane [link] [comments]


2020.04.14 16:59 annemoriarty The Alphabet Murders: three little girls brutally murdered and scary coincidences

The Alphabet Murders (also known as the Double Initial Murders) are an unsolved series of child murders which occurred between 1971 and 1973 in Rochester, New York.
All three victims of the Alphabet Murders were girls aged ten or eleven whose surname began with the same letter as that of her first name. Each victim had been sexually assaulted and murdered by either manual or ligature strangulation before her body was discarded in or near a town or village also beginning with same letter as her initials.
The murders committed by this unidentified serial killer became known as the "Alphabet Murders" and the "Double Initial Murders" due to the fact each of the victims' first and last names begin with the same letter. Furthermore, each body was found in a town or village with a name beginning with the same letter as the victim's initials.
Carmen Colón
At 4:20 p.m. on November 16, 1971 a 10-year-old Puerto Rican child named Carmen Colón disappeared while returning home from an errand in Rochester, New York. According to eyewitnesses, Colón entered the pharmacy her grandmother had instructed her to visit on West Main Street, but left the store upon learning the prescription she had been instructed to collect had not been processed, informing the storeowner, Jack Corbin: "I got to go. I got to go." She was then observed entering a car parked close to the pharmacy. Colón was reported missing to the Rochester Police Department at 7:50 p.m.
Approximately fifty minutes after Colón exited the pharmacy, scores of motorists driving along Interstate 490 observed the child, naked from the waist down, running from a reversing vehicle believed to be a dark-colored Ford Pinto hatchback, frantically waving her arms and shouting in an attempt to flag down a passing vehicle.
At least one of these witnesses observed Colón being submissively led back to this vehicle by her abductor.
Two days later, two teenage boys discovered Colón's partially nude body in a gully not far from Interstate 490, and close to the village of Churchville. This location was approximately 12 miles from where Colón had last been seen alive. Her coat was discovered in a culvert some three hundred feet from her body; her trousers were only discovered on November 30, close to the service road near where numerous motorists had observed her attempting to escape her abductor.
An autopsy revealed that, in addition to having been raped, the child had suffered a fracture to her skull and one of her vertebrae before she had been manually strangled to death. Furthermore, her body had been extensively scratched by fingernails.
Both the murder of Colón and the fact no individual who had observed the child attempting to flee from her abductor alongside Interstate 490 had attempted to offer her any assistance generated intense public outrage.
Two New York newspapers, the Times Union and the Democrat and Chronicle, initially offered a combined reward of $2,500 for information leading to the arrest and conviction of her murderer, and all information each publication received was relayed to police. Numerous local businesses and residents added private donations to the reward fund, gradually leading the sum to exceed $6,000.
Although police interrogated several suspects in the months following Colón's murder, all were cleared of involvement, and by December 21, the number of investigators assigned to the case on a full-time basis was decreased to three.
In early 1972, five large billboards—each measuring 30-feet-by-12-feet—were erected alongside major Rochester expressways. Each bore an 8 feet (2.4 m) high picture of the child alongside the headline: Do You Know Who Killed Carmen Colón? Free use of these billboards was given for one month by the Rochester Outdoor Advertising Company. Each offered a $6,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Colón's murderer or murderers in addition to displaying the telephone hotline number and postal address—each established the previous November to encourage the public to submit anonymous information. Although this tactic generated several new leads, all failed to bear fruition.
Wanda Walkowicz
Seventeen months later, at approximately 5:00 p.m. on April 2, 1973, 11-year-old Wanda Walkowicz disappeared from the east side of Rochester while returning home from an errand. According to the owner of the delicatessen Walkowicz had been instructed to visit, the child had purchased the groceries she had been instructed to buy at approximately 5:15 p.m. before she had begun walking alone down Conkey Avenue. Walkowicz was reported missing by her mother, Joyce, at 8:00 p.m.
Police immediately launched an intense search to locate Walkowicz. Almost fifty detectives searched several square miles of the terrain around her home, the delicatessen, and areas around the Genesee River she was known to play. These searches failed to locate the child, although several neighborhood residents recalled observing Walkowicz, struggling to carry the bag of groceries, walking just north of Avenue B. Three classmates specifically observed Walkowicz bracing the bag against a fence so that she could improve her grip upon the bag as a brown vehicle drove past her.
Walkowicz's fully clothed body was found by a police officer at 10:15 a.m. the following day, discarded at the base of a hillside alongside an access road to State Route 104 in Webster, approximately 7 miles from Rochester. The position of her body indicated she had likely been thrown from a moving vehicle, with her body rolling down the embankment.
An autopsy revealed she had been sexually assaulted, then strangled from behind with a ligature, most likely a belt. Several defensive wounds indicated Walkowicz had fought her murderer. In addition, her body had been redressed after death. The autopsy also revealed traces of semen and pubic hair upon the child's body. Furthermore, several strands of white cat fur were found upon her clothing, although the Walkowicz family did not own a pet with the fur of this color.
As had been the case with Carmen Colón, investigators established an anonymous telephone hotline in addition to distributing numerous flyers throughout Rochester appealing for information. A reward of $10,000 for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Walkowicz's murder was also established.
These police inquiries produced an eyewitness who informed investigators that as Walkowicz had walked home from the delicatessen on the evening of April 2,he had observed the child standing alongside the passenger door of a large brown vehicle, conversing with the driver. This eyewitness was unable to obtain a clear view of the occupant of the vehicle, although the location of this sighting was just two-tenths of a mile from the Walkowicz home.
Another individual who contacted investigators following the installation of the anonymous hotline informed investigators she had observed a man forcing a red-haired girl matching Walkowicz's description into a light-colored Dodge Dart on Conkey Avenue between 5:30 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. on the evening of her disappearance.
The Rochester Police Department dismissed any suggestion of a link between the murders of Colón and Walkowicz, although a sheriff's sergeant who had been assigned to investigate Colón's murder (by this stage still an open although largely inactive case) was reassigned to the task force implemented to investigate the murder of Walkowicz
In September 1973, local television network WOKR announced plans to broadcast a televised reconstruction of Walkowicz's abduction and subsequent recovery of her body. This 30-minute episode was broadcast on 21 October, accompanied by public appeals for witnesses to contact authorities. Although this program resulted in the Rochester Police Department receiving over 200 calls from the public, no useful leads were gained.
Michelle Maenza
Seven months later, on the evening of November 26, 1973, 11-year-old Michelle Maenza was reported missing by her mother, Carolyn, after she failed to return home from school. Subsequent investigations would determine Maenza was last seen by her classmates at approximately 3:20 p.m. walking alone en route to a shopping plaza located close to her school with the intention of retrieving a purse her mother had left inside a store within the plaza earlier that day Approximately ten minutes later, a witness observed Maenza sitting in the passenger seat of a beige or tan vehicle traveling at high speed on Ackerman Street before turning onto Webster Avenue. According to this witness, the child had been weeping.
At 5:30 p.m on November 26, a motorist observed a man standing by a large beige or tan vehicle with a flat tire, parked alongside Route 350 in the town of Walworth, holding a girl he strongly believed to be Michelle Maenza by the wrist. When this motorist had stopped to offer assistance, the individual had deliberately "grabbed the girl and pushed her behind his back", also obscuring his license plate from the motorist's view as he stared in his direction with such a menacing expression on his face that the motorist had felt compelled to drive away.
Maenza's fully clothed body was discovered at 10:30 a.m. on November 28, lying face down in a ditch alongside a rural road in Macedon, approximately 15 miles from Rochester. Her autopsy revealed that in addition to receiving extensive blunt force trauma to her body, Maenza had been raped, then strangled to death from behind with a ligature, possibly a thin rope. Numerous strands of white cat fur were discovered upon her clothing, and leaf samples matching the foliage where her body was discovered were recovered from within one of her clenched hands, indicating she had likely been strangled to death at or near the location where she was found. Investigators were able to retrieve a partial palm print from her neck and traces of semen upon her body and underwear. A forensic analysis of the semen samples determined she had been raped by one individual.
An analysis of the contents of Maenza's stomach revealed traces of a hamburger and onions which had been consumed approximately one hour before her murder, giving credence to earlier reports of a girl matching Maenza's description having been seen in the company of a Caucasian man with dark hair, aged between 25 and 35, approximately 6 ft 0 in (1.83 m) tall and weighing 165 lb (75 kg) both at a fast food restaurant in the town of Penfield at approximately 4:30 p.m. on the afternoon of her disappearance, and alongside Route 350 approximately one hour later.
All three child murders generated intense public outrage; each received intense publicity. Following the murder of Michelle Maenza, investigators released a composite drawing of the individual seen with the child by numerous witnesses to the media. They also installed a telephone hotline exclusively devoted to the manhunt for the perpetrator, whom they strongly suspected had committed all three murders. Anonymity was again offered to any caller offering information, and a reward was again offered for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of the perpetrator. Although these efforts resulted in numerous calls from the public, no credible suspect was located.
Although investigators interrogated more than 800 potential suspects in relation to the Alphabet Murders, the perpetrator or perpetrators of the homicides was never caught, and the case remains unsolved. As each child hailed from a poor Catholic family, had few friends, and had recently experienced issues such as bullying or poor academic performance at her school, investigators have not discounted the possibility the murderer may have been employed by, or held knowledge of the practises of, a social service agency in his efforts to initiate contact with and/or gain the trust of each victim.
All three victims were preadolescent females who had disappeared from Rochester in the early afternoon on days of light or heavy rain and whose bodies were later discovered within adjoining counties. The body of each girl had been discovered either fully clothed or partially clothed close to an expressway at a location typically accessible by vehicle and each victim had evidently been thrown from or carried from a car to the location her body had been discarded.
Each child was short in height, and all three girls had been raped before being strangled to death. In addition, all three were known to be viewed as somewhat lonely outcasts among their peers.
Furthermore, an analysis of the stomach contents of both Walkowicz and Maenza revealed both girls had ingested food shortly before their death which neither girl is known to have eaten prior to her disappearance, and the bodies both girls had been redressed after death.
Both contemporary and current investigators have stated the possibility each victim had been selected due to the double initials of her name is extremely unlikely, as for an offender to preselect his victims for this incidental reason would likely involve his stalking his victim over an extensive period of time, thus increasing the risk of his being noticed. Furthermore, some investigators believe that, although the murders of Walkowicz and Maenza may have been committed by the same individual who had lured the girls to their deaths, the overall modus operandi of the murder of Carmen Colón strongly indicates her murder had been committed by an individual known—and possibly related—to her as opposed to an individual unknown to her, who had abducted her by force.
Miguel Colón
In the case of Carmen Colón, her uncle, Miguel Colón, is considered by investigators to be a strong suspect in her murder. Miguel was the brother of Colón's father, Justiniano. Following the separation of Colón's parents, he had formed a relationship with her mother, Guillermina, becoming known to Colón as "Uncle Miguel."
Typically, on occasions Colón walked to the pharmacy to collect family prescriptions, she had been accompanied by her grandfather, Felix, although on the date of her disappearance, Colón had pleaded with her grandparents to be allowed to walk to the pharmacy unaccompanied.
Just weeks prior to Colón's abduction and murder, her uncle is known to have purchased a car closely matching the vehicle seen by eyewitnesses reversing upon Interstate 490 in pursuit of the child.
Investigators did conduct a search of this vehicle shortly after Colón's murder, discovering the interior and exterior of the car had been extensively cleaned, and the trunk had been washed with a strong cleaning solution. Questioning of the dealership which had recently sold the vehicle to Miguel revealed the trunk had not been washed with a detergent prior to sale.
Moreover, a doll belonging to the child was found in his car, although Colón's relatives informed investigators she had frequently traveled in Miguel's vehicle and may have left the toy in his car. Furthermore, according to a friend, two days after the death of his niece, Miguel had informed him of his intention to leave the country as he had "done something wrong in Rochester." He relocated from Rochester to Puerto Rico just four days after the murder of his niece.
Investigators did travel to San Juan to question Miguel in March 1972, although local newspapers published articles detailing police intentions to question him, resulting in Miguel fleeting from authorities. Miguel surrendered to authorities on March 26, and agreed to be extradited back to Rochester to face questioning.
Miguel Colón was unable to provide a credible alibi for his movements on the date of his niece's murder, and no individual could be located to corroborate his claims regarding his whereabouts. Despite strong circumstantial evidence attesting to Miguel's guilt, no physical evidence was located at the crime scene or within his vehicle to link him to the murder.
Miguel Colón committed suicide in 1991 at the age of 44 following an incident of domestic violence in which he shot and wounded both his wife and his brother.
Dennis Termini
One individual considered a strong suspect in the Alphabet Murders is a 25-year-old Rochester firefighter named Dennis Termini. Termini was a prolific serial offender known as the "Garage Rapist" who is known to have committed a minimum of fourteen rapes of teenage girls and young women between 1971 and 1973. He is also known to have owned a beige vehicle similar in description to the vehicle observed by several eyewitnesses to the abductions. Moreover, he is known to have lived at an address on Bock Street—an address close to the area victim Michelle Maenza had last been seen alive.
Five weeks after the death of the final victim of the Alphabet Murders, on January 1, 1974, Termini is known to have attempted to abduct a teenage girl at gunpoint, although he fled the scene when the teenager refused to cease screaming. Shortly thereafter, he abducted another potential victim, although on this occasion he was pursued by police, culminating in Termini committing suicide by shooting himself in the head. A subsequent forensic examination of Termini's vehicle did reveal traces of white cat fur upon the upholstery.
In January 2007, Termini's body was exhumed to obtain a DNA sample for comparison with the semen samples recovered from Walkowicz's body. The results of this test confirmed Termini was not responsible for her murder. However, no physical evidence retrieved from the bodies of Colón or Maenza exists for comparison with Termini's DNA.
Kenneth Bianchi
Another suspect in the Alphabet Murders is serial killer Kenneth Bianchi, who at the time of the murders worked as an ice cream vendor in Rochester. He is known to have worked at locations close to the first two murder scenes. Bianchi had relocated from Rochester to Los Angeles in January 1976. Between 1977 and 1978, he and his cousin, Angelo Buono, Jr., committed the Hillside Strangler murders of 10 girls and young women between the ages of 12 and 28.
Bianchi was never charged with the Alphabet Murders, and has vehemently denied any culpability in the homicides. He has repeatedly attempted to have investigators officially clear him of suspicion.However, while residing in Rochester, he is known to have driven a vehicle of the same colour and model as a vehicle seen near one of the abduction sites.
Joseph Naso
In April 2011, a 77-year-old named Joseph Naso was arrested in Reno, Nevada for the murders of four women in California committed between 1977 and 1994, all of whom are believed to have been prostitutes and all of whose surname began with the same letter as that of her first name. Naso was a New York native who had lived in Rochester during the early 1970s and who is known to have regularly traveled between New York and California.
Initially described by authorities as a person of interest in the Alphabet Murders, DNA testing has confirmed Naso's DNA is not a match to the semen samples recovered from the body of Wanda Walkowicz.
Naso was brought to trial on June 18, 2013, charged with the murder of the four California Alphabet Murder victims. He was unanimously convicted of each murder on August 20. On November 22, 2013, Naso was formally sentenced to death.
Good video by Stephanie Harlowe: https://youtu.be/Wl6_wvRbp78
Wiki: https://rocwiki.org/Alphabet_Murders
submitted by annemoriarty to UnresolvedMysteries [link] [comments]


2020.03.31 17:15 ChrisBoden TIFU by getting half my dick caught in my zipper on a double-date with her parents and meeting my mom's friend at the doctor's office.

This fuckup didn't happen today, it was back in 1992. But there’s a lot of stories about medical professionals and their quiet acts of often invisible heroism in the news right now. I thought that this week, I would share one of my own stories about them. Because while they are absolutely heroes in our midst, some of those life-saving stories and incredible acts come with a laugh or two along the way.
These laughs, as they often do, come at my expense. It’s a price I gladly pay to give you a much needed moment to breathe in all of the hell we are enduring together throughout the world right now.
Enjoy, Chris
Yes, I know, I’m a complete fucking idiot. Let’s just get that out of the way from the start. My only defense was that I was a teenager in the 90's at the time, and my dick was doing most of the thinking for me. On the whole, I’m a reasonably intelligent guy. My dick however, is much like one of those morons you meet who is all balls, no brains. Despite the fact that thinking with my dick got me through highschool at the top of my class, it has proven itself repeatedly to have no memory, no conscience, and what I will simply classify as “questionable moral fiber”.
An obscure, late 20th century English philosopher known for his ballistic dentition once said “Dicks have drive and clarity of vision. They’re not clever.” and he was correct. But like most people who are all balls and no brains, that kind of decision making invariably leads to collecting good stories, and occasionally being scarred for life.
This is one of those good stories, and it’s about a scar.
I was sixteen, vacuously stupid, and the world as I knew it revolved entirely around my radiant affections for one hell of an awesome girl. She was short, beautiful, built like a soccer player, and had curves in all the right places. Miraculously, she was also my steady girlfriend. We had a magnificent system that involved a standing weekly date. This almost always consisted of exactly three things: dinner, a movie, and the furious, passionate, awkward sex that only inexperienced young lovers can have in the contorsionistic confines of an automobile.
Good times.
On the right day of the week you could catch a 2nd run movie at the Alpine Twin for just a couple bucks. Urban sprawl hadn’t reached far enough yet to consume all the best spots for privacy, and we knew every one of them. It was a great time to be young and in love.
God is not without a sense of humor, however, and one particular week fate would throw me a curve. A movie had just come out that her father wanted to see. In a tormentative moment of parental schadenfreude, they decided it would be a great idea to join us on our weekly movie night for a wholesome double date.
I was trapped. I couldn’t say no, her dad was a towering giant of brooding scowls who instilled the fear of God in me. He was an incredibly kind and funny man, but he commanded my respect and there was absolutely no doubt he held the fate of my love life at his whim. I was a nerdy, country kid from the wrong side of the tracks and he made it very clear that I was dating his daughter only so long as both her and him deemed that acceptable. She adored me, he tolerated me, and it was my lowly position to be grateful for the opportunity.
I was fine with that. I was spending every Saturday night with her sowing my wild oats, and going to church every Sunday with him praying for crop failure.
So we all met at her house, the whole family piled into their car, and off we went. We didn’t go to our comfortable, low-budget, second-run theatre out on the north end of town with the thin crowds that encouraged sitting towards the back well away from anyone who could see wandering hands and notice the whispers of young lovers. We went out to the fancy first-run theatre, the gigantic cineplex and shining star of the lower west side, Studio 28, where we would be packed side by side with strangers and held to much higher standards of socially acceptable behaviour.
Studio 28 was massive. Thousands of people filled its acres of parking lots and watched the latest movies on twenty different massive screens with reclining seats in air conditioned comfort. One movie cost more than what we would spend for a month's worth of dates at Alpine - including food. But her dad was funding the entire expedition and I was happy to just be with her.
My lovely girlfriend however, was a hormone-driven, devious genius, and happened upon a simple idea that changed my life forever. She noticed that they list not only the start times of the movies, but the duration as well.
It had never for a moment crossed my mind that we didn’t all have to go to the same movie. Studio 28 was so massive that not only did they have a ton of different movies playing, many of them shared the same start times. She found a completely different show to catch, sorted out the details with her dad, and off we went on our own. She had stared into the bleakness and brilliantly wrought forth for us the greatest commodity of young lovers who live with their parents: privacy.
For such a monumental day in my life, I don’t even remember what the movie was. But I do remember spending an hour and a half in the dark getting each other as worked up as we dared. The lines of socially acceptable behaviour were a lot tighter back then, but we were enjoying them to the best of our youthful ability.
Our movie got out, and we made the long walk to the back-forty of the parking lot hand in hand and hopped in the car. We had no concrete idea when her parents' movie would get out, so we were just hanging out, waiting, and of course sharing only the most chaste and pure of good Christian thoughts.
Just her, me, and our collective sexual tension that burned with the power of a supernova. It really was only a matter of time before it all reached criticality.
Because sitting in a glass bubble in the middle of a thousand cars is totally the best possible place to be doing such things. I was a little on edge, but that didn’t stop her. It certainly did, however, limit our options.
The good news was that I at least had a clear line of sight all the way up our row, and would easily see anyone approaching from the theatre. I kept a watchful lookout, and she decided to take action.
In a matter of a few seconds, she was sucking my dick like it was filled with her father’s acceptance. Not a moment later, I saw the crowd of people start pouring out of the theatre doors. It didn’t take me long to spot her parents, hand in hand. Her dad’s bright blue shirt stuck out in the crowd, even though they were still a quarter-mile away.
And then, at that exact moment, is when I fucked up.
That’s when I did one of the dumbest things in my entire life; I made a split-second trivial decision that would leave me scarred forever.
Now, what I could have done is simply reach down, gently pull her head out of my lap, and have a mildly disappointing end to some fun, gone on with my day, and been just fine. Hell, given how far away they were, the hair-trigger of a teenage boy, and her skillful abilities we could have likely finished without pushing our luck.
The problem with wisdom is that you don’t get it until five seconds after you need it.
What I did, in a moment of youthful stupidity, was say “Your dad’s coming!” and sit up straight in my seat.
And that, my dear reader, is the exact moment that shit got real.
Please understand that what I’m about to describe is much like a car crash. It will take me far longer to describe it than it took to actually happen. All of this transpired in just a moment, but that moment is burned into my brain forever. I apologise now, that it shall be burned into yours. When you share this story with your friends, you’ll know they got to this part when you see them adjust themselves in their seat. No man is immune to this effect.
In one smooth powerful movement driven by pure reflex and fear, without a moment’s conscious thought, she snapped her head up, bolted upright in her seat, and while making that transition from laying on me to sitting next to me she stuffed my dick back into my jeans and ran that fuckin zipper all the way home with the power of an angry linebacker.
The problem is I had never unbuttoned my pants, and it was a lot smaller when it came out ten minutes ago than it was when she decided to cram it back in through, what was now, much too short of a hole. She fought it in there in half a second, it just wasn’t situated as well as it needed to be.
Then, with the delicate touch of a bricklayer she had yanked that zipper though several inches of my most delicate sensitivities and made me one with my Levi’s.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
I was absolutely convinced I was going to die.
The pain was far worse than what you imagine right now. It was radiant and consuming. She had caught roughly…very roughly...the entire front of the most sensitive skin I own and interlaced it down nearly the full length of the zipper. I could glimpse a thin line poking out the front, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit there with tears running down my face and her parents approaching.
She immediately knew what had happened, subtlety is not a skill I possess even on my best days. I think it may be when I levitated, shooting to the ceiling, howling in pain that she got her first hint that something was wrong. She was mortified, I was in agony, and the shitshow had just begun. I untucked my shirt to cover the obvious injury, and wiped my tears.
It was hard travel across the great prairies of the parking lot. I heard they lost five good men, and at one point had to start eating the horses to survive. But eventually, months later, her parents finally made it to the car.
The first battle was the parking lot. Several hundred people had all gotten out when we did and had to find their way to the exit. It took half an hour of stop and start agony while we all shuffled into place and trickled out onto 28th street - a bustling busy main thoroughfare of the lower-west side.
And the fun was just beginning.
Florida makes oranges, Idaho makes Potatoes, and Hollywood makes movies. But Michigan, we make potholes. Northbound 131 is a washboard of suspension testing craters that can knock your teeth loose. Because of the complicated interaction of freeze-thaw cycles, capillary action of water retention in asphalt, and the fact that we run snow plows for a third of the year there is a regular pattern of patched sections on the highway spaced at predictable intervals for miles on end.
And I felt every one of those sonsabitches as we launched and bounded from pock to pock, all along my dick.
It took about thirty minutes to get from Studio28 to their house. That was the longest half hour of my life. I felt every bump in the road in between my own heartbeats as I throbbed in agony sitting awkwardly in the back seat. The only saving grace was that her and her mom were making small talk about the movies they had each seen and my opinion didn’t matter. I sat there sniffling and rubbing my swollen, red eyes. When her mom asked me if I was okay I uttered the only word I could manage on the entire ride home.
“Allergies”.
We made it to her parent’s house, said our goodbyes, and she walked me across the street to my car. It took more work to get into my mom’s old boxy beige Pontiac Grand Prix than it did to get out of her parent’s SUV, but I made it, tenderly.
Mission two accomplished, her parents had no idea. So that crisis was averted.
Now, I had to choose. I was on the edge of The City. If I went East, I could fight my way through traffic to the giant gleaming state-of-the-art hospital located right downtown and wait in line in the emergency room. If I went West, I was heading towards home and in my own small country town was a little Med Center staffed with only a handful of people whose main job was helping people with minor bumps and bruises, and keeping the critical patients alive long enough for the ambulance to get there and haul them off to one of the much larger neighboring cities.
I headed towards home. It was farther, but faster. I hopped on I-96 and blasted into the night more scared of hitting a deer than being pulled over for speeding. I figured if any cop pulled me over, all I had to do was show him my situation and there wasn’t a man in the world who would fault me for being in a hurry. I had a much higher chance of getting a police escort to the Med Center than getting a ticket, so off I went as fast as Mom’s old Pontiac would carry me.
I arrived without incident and walked gingerly through the front door. I’d never been to the Med Center before. My parents were on the rescue squad of the local volunteer fire department so anything short of a sucking chest wound in my house was dealt with by someone running for the jump-bag in Dad’s truck. Any sort of injury was handled on only the best of equipment: the kitchen table.
Life’s different in a small town.
That’s why I wasn’t even slightly surprised when I walked in the front door and the triage nurse at the front counter stopped typing, looked me straight in the eye with genuine concern on her face and said “Chris, are you ok?”.
It was my mom’s friend. Not only did this woman know me, she’d known me since I had training wheels on my bike. I knew she was a Nurse. Half the women in my world were Nurses, my mom was a Nurse. She worked at a nursing home filled with other Nurses. How the hell was I supposed to remember that one of her best friends just so happened to work at the Med Center.
I should have gone East.
“No Ma’am” I said, and quickly added, wincing, “please don’t tell my Mom”
“What happened, show me what you did”
Now, I grew up around trauma and emergency medicine. Back then they were dispatched with one-way pagers the size of a brick that looked like walkie-talkies. There was only one channel for the whole county, and every department had its own unique series of musical tones that told us who the message was for. It squawked and whistled all day and night and you never even noticed it.
But when the BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE-DOOOOOOOOO-----DEEEEEEEEEEEE sound that designated our unit came over that radio, it would take you out of a dead sleep before they got to the “COOPERSVILLE UNIT TWO-OH-FIVE” part of the message and Mom, Dad, or sometimes both, were headed out the door on a dead run before it stopped talking.
If this happens while you’re out somewhere with Dad in the truck, you’re along for the ride. It was somewhere around age twelve when “stay in the truck” just didn’t work for me anymore. I’d learned where babies came from by watching a screaming Asian woman have one on the tailgate of a Subaru in the McDonald’s parking lot. I’d seen bodies mangled and I knew first hand why they called the people who ride crotch-rocket motorcycles “Organ Donors”. I’d learned the smartest and most heroic humans alive fly in AeroMed, and I knew that rescue crews have no problem working up to their elbows in your blood and then going out for pizza half an hour later. It’s just meat.
I was also well aware that the strongest, hardest, most stoic, most unimaginably un-fucking-fazed woman you’ll ever meet, is a Triage Nurse.
So I lifted up my shirt.
And, for just a moment, I saw her humanity crack through her professional stoicism.
I pray that you go your entire life and never once hear a Triage Nurse say “Oh Dear” when she looks at whatever injury you have. It’s up there with getting a prostate exam and hearing the Doctor behind you say “Aw, fuck!”. You don’t want any part of this situation.
There was no paperwork, and my ass never touched one of the beige plastic chairs in the tiny waiting room. She stood up and walked me through the door behind the counter and ten seconds later I was sitting on the crinkly butcher paper of an examination table with my legs dangling over the edge.
A Nurse who was only ten minutes older than I was came in just a moment behind me. Thankfully, I didn’t know her at least, but I’d have liked to under different circumstances. She held a BP cuff in one hand and a clipboard in the other and asked me how I was feeling and if I had any allergies. We chatted for perhaps a whole minute before she asked me what was wrong.
I lifted my shirt.
She took it well, just a tiny gasp before she got her shields back in place. But her blush betrayed her. She held tight to her professionalism and assured me that the Doctor would be right in as she stumbled gracefully backwards out of the room. However, I did notice that she never did get my BP, temp, or anything else.
The Doctor was indeed, right in. I had been sitting there less than five minutes when he strolled into the room and said “So, I hear you’ve had an interesting evening.”
He pulled up a little rolling stool, put on a pair of gloves, and scooted up for a front row seat between my knees as I sat sideways off the edge of the table. We discussed how I had gotten myself into this situation, and he surveyed the damage. I found it ironic that the one person who had shared this experience with me and who could truly appreciate what I was going through was the one person who was completely at ease with the situation. Of course…..it wasn’t his dick.
It was also the first time I’d gotten a real look at things myself, and it was worse than I’d imagined. The skin on the bottom of my shaft was peeking out through the golden teeth of the zipper all the way from about a half inch above the bottom of the zipper to the top. There was way more blood than I had noticed at first and it had stained my pants several inches in every direction. The total zipped length was nearly five inches, and it was under tension on the inside because the standard response to pain is for your dick to shrink up like a stack of dimes.
The added effect, because my brain is an asshole, was that the pain just intensified once I got a look at it.
He pulled out a pair of trauma shears and we discussed what he was going to do about half a second before he did it with a running commentary. He planned on cutting my pants off around the zipper. I was fine with this, off is good, let’s get this off - free me from my golden restraints good Doctor!
Deftly, gently, and with surprising ease the shears sliced right through the seams and folds of my jeans. He cut the bottom through several layers of denim and seams straight up to the base of the zipper, and sheared off either side about four inches away, leaving me with two flaps joined only by the teeth of the zipper and the button on top. He spun on his wheels, reached in the third drawer behind him, pulled out a pair of cutters like I would have in my toolbox, and snipped off the bottom half-inch of zipper entirely. It fell to the floor and landed with a wet plop.
He gently unbuttoned what was now a much smaller piece of my pants, and examined it closely for a couple minutes with a flap held in either hand.
Then he said something you never, ever, want to hear any manner of medical professional say to you.
“We’re gonna go on three...”
We’re…..WHAT!? Where? Whatthefuckare...
“One”
There was no motherfucking Two. Three was an outright lie.
The way out was as blindingly fast and traumatic as the way in. The entire process was loud, a wild blur of motion, and terrifying. In what I have absolutely no doubt was a process he had experienced before, he tore apart the two halves of my zipper with the haymaker strength of a farm boy and kicked himself away from the side of my examination table with both feet to send himself rocketing backwards across the tiny room well clear of the wild reflexive punch I swung through the space his head had occupied a split second before. He landed in a heap, half fallen off his rolling stool, with a piece of my jeans in either hand and an accomplished smile from ear to ear.
That all happened in less than a second. It took exactly the amount of time it took me to say “MOTHERFUCK-....eh?”
The good side is, it didn’t actually hurt all that much when he did that. The bad side was, the blood was now rushing to my dick and it was throbbing with every heartbeat. It hurt like all hell.
We both took a moment to compose ourselves and both spoke at the same moment, saying the exact same thing.
“Are you alright?”
I looked at the sad strip of hamburger laying in my lap, surrounded by a terrifying amount of dried blood in matted black hair. It looked like Edward Scissorhands had given me an old fashioned.
“No?”
I had visions of sutures, staples, and all forms of Spanish Inquisition cock torture that I was about to endure and was blissfully thankful that all he needed to do was clean everything off and tape a strip of gause to it. After the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had involving my dick being cleaned, complete with being hosed down with Betadine, now it I just looked like I’d fucked an Oompa Loompa.
I asked what would happen if I got a hardon, would I bleed to death or something? He assured me that the last thing I was going to get in the immediate future was an erection. After a few days it would be fine all on its own.
I thanked him for saving my manhood, secured my pants with my belt, hid the giant square hole in front under my shirt, and headed home. I tossed my shredded jeans in the trash, took a shower that involved the creative application of a baggie and a rubber band that moments before had been holding the wing on my model airplane.
He was right, I didn’t have any danger of getting a hardon for over a week. The throbbing pain became a dull ache that would hover just on the edge of being actively conscious of it. Sleeping was complicated, but I managed. After a few days it didn’t hurt at all, and a couple weeks later I was back to normal. In the third week a full operational test proved that all repairs had been completed and that all systems were operating within nominal specifications.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let a woman zip me up again. I’ll take care of that on my own, thank you.
The scar is considerable, tapering to half an inch wide at the base and running front and center along the bottom of my shaft up to the tip. It’s been the topic of more conversations and won more stupid bets than I want to think about. But it’s part of me, a part of my life, and I’m just thankful that despite the relentless abuse and poor decisions my dick has endured, that all in all, things are working just as they should thanks to the compassionate care of a young country Doctor and a small team of Nurses.
Thank you to everyone in the medical profession, of any rank and stripe, for enduring all that you do to help us fumbling idiots live to see another sunrise. You are awesome.
With my kindest regards, cb
---------Addendum Edit, Because holy shit my inbox.
In the end, like all good stories, things actually worked out alright. Her and I resumed our weekly Pontiac wrestling match and eventually as we gained wisdom, experience and the seasons turned warmer, found several much more comfortable places to explore each other’s bodies. All in all we dated for a little over a year in total. Our relationship ran the natural course of typical highschool lovers, and ended just as it should have. We both ended up dating each other’s friends, such is life in a small town, and went on with our lives.
Her Dad never really did like me all that much, and that’s ok. I was a shitty teenager and certainly didn’t have the best of intentions for his daughter. That’s ok, she wasn’t nearly the good little girl he thought she was. But we were, on the whole, decent kids and we came out alright. He was a good and righteous man and was worth my respect; though I wouldn’t learn the true depths of that until I gained a lot more maturity. He died years ago, far too young, from a heart that wasn’t worthy of the love he carried for so many people.
She’s married now, with a couple kids and what I hope is a good and happy life. I haven’t talked to her in decades, but I sincerely wish her well.
I healed up just fine. This all happened back in 1992. Over the years the scar has faded to being something that’s still there, but hardly noticeable. It looks more like a shadow now, or a slight discoloration. You can still spot it, if you look, but it’s something that doesn’t get mentioned by anyone unless we’ve been together for several months and they’re really exploring my cock. I have to think it’s fine now, as I’ve been complimented many times on it’s appearance.
I’d like to thank the many people who have read this and commented on my writing. I’m just starting out on the path to being an author, and I’ve been posting my stories here on Reddit to see if anyone liked them. It turns out, you really do, far more than I imagined. With all of my heart, thank you. Your support and enjoyment of my dopey stories means far more to me than I can adequately express. I’m still learning how to find my voice, but you’ve certainly helped me along on the path.
If you enjoy my writing, there’s much more of it out there, and even more coming. Check my profile and you’ll find half a dozen other stories scattered about the Reddit universe. You're welcome to follow me or friend me on here if you wish. I would be sincerely honoured and I'm working to earn an audience, and even someday a paycheck. You’ll also find my YouTube channel (I make science and technology educational videos as my day job), and my Patreon if you’d like to support my work. I’m a full time YouTuber now, and for the past year. Though after your responses to my stories lately, I think I’ll add Author to that as well.
And for the ridiculous number of people who have begged for a goddamned pic, fine. Go to Imgur, it's /a/WbCHtEw it's VERY NSFW
Yes, that’s really me. Yes, it’s real. No, I’m straight, but thank you.
TL:DR - A bit of adventuresex at a movie theatre resulted in a blowjob and I get zipped up epicly. Had to go to the Dr and learned my mom's best friend worked there. I was scarred for life. It's a long story but worth your time, read it, you'll like it.
submitted by ChrisBoden to tifu [link] [comments]


2020.03.31 01:00 ChrisBoden A Heartfelt Pinch - The Story Of The Tragic Blowjob That Scarred Me For Life

There’s a lot of stories about medical professionals and their quiet acts of often invisible heroism in the news right now. I thought that this week, I would share one of my own stories about them. Because while they are absolutely heroes in our midst, some of those life-saving stories and incredible acts come with a laugh or two along the way.
These laughs, as they often do, come at my expense. It’s a price I gladly pay to give you a much needed moment to breathe in all of the hell we are enduring together throughout the world right now.
Enjoy, Chris
Yes, I know, I’m a complete fucking idiot. Let’s just get that out of the way from the start. My only defense was that I was a teenager in the 90's at the time, and my dick was doing most of the thinking for me. On the whole, I’m a reasonably intelligent guy. My dick however, is much like one of those morons you meet who is all balls, no brains. Despite the fact that thinking with my dick got me through highschool at the top of my class, it has proven itself repeatedly to have no memory, no conscience, and what I will simply classify as “questionable moral fiber”.
An obscure, late 20th century English philosopher known for his ballistic dentition once said “Dicks have drive and clarity of vision. They’re not clever.” and he was correct. But like most people who are all balls and no brains, that kind of decision making invariably leads to collecting good stories, and occasionally being scarred for life.
This is one of those good stories, and it’s about a scar.
I was sixteen, vacuously stupid, and the world as I knew it revolved entirely around my radiant affections for one hell of an awesome girl. She was short, beautiful, built like a soccer player, and had curves in all the right places. Miraculously, she was also my steady girlfriend. We had a magnificent system that involved a standing weekly date. This almost always consisted of exactly three things: dinner, a movie, and the furious, passionate, awkward sex that only inexperienced young lovers can have in the contorsionistic confines of an automobile.
Good times.
On the right day of the week you could catch a 2nd run movie at the Alpine Twin for just a couple bucks. Urban sprawl hadn’t reached far enough yet to consume all the best spots for privacy, and we knew every one of them. It was a great time to be young and in love.
God is not without a sense of humor, however, and one particular week fate would throw me a curve. A movie had just come out that her father wanted to see. In a tormentative moment of parental schadenfreude, they decided it would be a great idea to join us on our weekly movie night for a wholesome double date.
I was trapped. I couldn’t say no, her dad was a towering giant of brooding scowls who instilled the fear of God in me. He was an incredibly kind and funny man, but he commanded my respect and there was absolutely no doubt he held the fate of my love life at his whim. I was a nerdy, country kid from the wrong side of the tracks and he made it very clear that I was dating his daughter only so long as both her and him deemed that acceptable. She adored me, he tolerated me, and it was my lowly position to be grateful for the opportunity.
I was fine with that. I was spending every Saturday night with her sowing my wild oats, and going to church every Sunday with him praying for crop failure.
So we all met at her house, the whole family piled into their car, and off we went. We didn’t go to our comfortable, low-budget, second-run theatre out on the north end of town with the thin crowds that encouraged sitting towards the back well away from anyone who could see wandering hands and notice the whispers of young lovers. We went out to the fancy first-run theatre, the gigantic cineplex and shining star of the lower west side, Studio 28, where we would be packed side by side with strangers and held to much higher standards of socially acceptable behaviour.
Studio 28 was massive. Thousands of people filled its acres of parking lots and watched the latest movies on twenty different massive screens with reclining seats in air conditioned comfort. One movie cost more than what we would spend for a month's worth of dates at Alpine - including food. But her dad was funding the entire expedition and I was happy to just be with her.
My lovely girlfriend however, was a hormone-driven, devious genius, and happened upon a simple idea that changed my life forever. She noticed that they list not only the start times of the movies, but the duration as well.
It had never for a moment crossed my mind that we didn’t all have to go to the same movie. Studio 28 was so massive that not only did they have a ton of different movies playing, many of them shared the same start times. She found a completely different show to catch, sorted out the details with her dad, and off we went on our own. She had stared into the bleakness and brilliantly wrought forth for us the greatest commodity of young lovers who live with their parents: privacy.
For such a monumental day in my life, I don’t even remember what the movie was. But I do remember spending an hour and a half in the dark getting each other as worked up as we dared. The lines of socially acceptable behaviour were a lot tighter back then, but we were enjoying them to the best of our youthful ability.
Our movie got out, and we made the long walk to the back-forty of the parking lot hand in hand and hopped in the car. We had no concrete idea when her parents' movie would get out, so we were just hanging out, waiting, and of course sharing only the most chaste and pure of good Christian thoughts.
Just her, me, and our collective sexual tension that burned with the power of a supernova. It really was only a matter of time before it all reached criticality.
Because sitting in a glass bubble in the middle of a thousand cars is totally the best possible place to be doing such things. I was a little on edge, but that didn’t stop her. It certainly did, however, limit our options.
The good news was that I at least had a clear line of sight all the way up our row, and would easily see anyone approaching from the theatre. I kept a watchful lookout, and she decided to take action.
In a matter of a few seconds, she was sucking my dick like it was filled with her father’s acceptance. Not a moment later, I saw the crowd of people start pouring out of the theatre doors. It didn’t take me long to spot her parents, hand in hand. Her dad’s bright blue shirt stuck out in the crowd, even though they were still a quarter-mile away.
And then, at that exact moment, is when I fucked up.
That’s when I did one of the dumbest things in my entire life; I made a split-second trivial decision that would leave me scarred forever.
Now, what I could have done is simply reach down, gently pull her head out of my lap, and have a mildly disappointing end to some fun, gone on with my day, and been just fine. Hell, given how far away they were, the hair-trigger of a teenage boy, and her skillful abilities we could have likely finished without pushing our luck.
The problem with wisdom is that you don’t get it until five seconds after you need it.
What I did, in a moment of youthful stupidity, was say “Your dad’s coming!” and sit up straight in my seat.
And that, my dear reader, is the exact moment that shit got real.
Please understand that what I’m about to describe is much like a car crash. It will take me far longer to describe it than it took to actually happen. All of this transpired in just a moment, but that moment is burned into my brain forever. I apologise now, that it shall be burned into yours. When you share this story with your friends, you’ll know they got to this part when you see them adjust themselves in their seat. No man is immune to this effect.
In one smooth powerful movement driven by pure reflex and fear, without a moment’s conscious thought, she snapped her head up, bolted upright in her seat, and while making that transition from laying on me to sitting next to me she stuffed my dick back into my jeans and ran that fuckin zipper all the way home with the power of an angry linebacker.
The problem is I had never unbuttoned my pants, and it was a lot smaller when it came out ten minutes ago than it was when she decided to cram it back in through, what was now, much too short of a hole. She fought it in there in half a second, it just wasn’t situated as well as it needed to be.
Then, with the delicate touch of a bricklayer she had yanked that zipper though several inches of my most delicate sensitivities and made me one with my Levi’s.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
I was absolutely convinced I was going to die.
The pain was far worse than what you imagine right now. It was radiant and consuming. She had caught roughly…very roughly...the entire front of the most sensitive skin I own and interlaced it down nearly the full length of the zipper. I could glimpse a thin line poking out the front, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit there with tears running down my face and her parents approaching.
She immediately knew what had happened, subtlety is not a skill I possess even on my best days. I think it may be when I levitated, shooting to the ceiling, howling in pain that she got her first hint that something was wrong. She was mortified, I was in agony, and the shitshow had just begun. I untucked my shirt to cover the obvious injury, and wiped my tears.
It was hard travel across the great prairies of the parking lot. I heard they lost five good men, and at one point had to start eating the horses to survive. But eventually, months later, her parents finally made it to the car.
The first battle was the parking lot. Several hundred people had all gotten out when we did and had to find their way to the exit. It took half an hour of stop and start agony while we all shuffled into place and trickled out onto 28th street - a bustling busy main thoroughfare of the lower-west side.
And the fun was just beginning.
Florida makes oranges, Idaho makes Potatoes, and Hollywood makes movies. But Michigan, we make potholes. Northbound 131 is a washboard of suspension testing craters that can knock your teeth loose. Because of the complicated interaction of freeze-thaw cycles, capillary action of water retention in asphalt, and the fact that we run snow plows for a third of the year there is a regular pattern of patched sections on the highway spaced at predictable intervals for miles on end.
And I felt every one of those sonsabitches as we launched and bounded from pock to pock, all along my dick.
It took about thirty minutes to get from Studio28 to their house. That was the longest half hour of my life. I felt every bump in the road in between my own heartbeats as I throbbed in agony sitting awkwardly in the back seat. The only saving grace was that her and her mom were making small talk about the movies they had each seen and my opinion didn’t matter. I sat there sniffling and rubbing my swollen, red eyes. When her mom asked me if I was okay I uttered the only word I could manage on the entire ride home.
“Allergies”.
We made it to her parent’s house, said our goodbyes, and she walked me across the street to my car. It took more work to get into my mom’s old boxy beige Pontiac Grand Prix than it did to get out of her parent’s SUV, but I made it, tenderly.
Mission two accomplished, her parents had no idea. So that crisis was averted.
Now, I had to choose. I was on the edge of The City. If I went East, I could fight my way through traffic to the giant gleaming state-of-the-art hospital located right downtown and wait in line in the emergency room. If I went West, I was heading towards home and in my own small country town was a little Med Center staffed with only a handful of people whose main job was helping people with minor bumps and bruises, and keeping the critical patients alive long enough for the ambulance to get there and haul them off to one of the much larger neighboring cities.
I headed towards home. It was farther, but faster. I hopped on I-96 and blasted into the night more scared of hitting a deer than being pulled over for speeding. I figured if any cop pulled me over, all I had to do was show him my situation and there wasn’t a man in the world who would fault me for being in a hurry. I had a much higher chance of getting a police escort to the Med Center than getting a ticket, so off I went as fast as Mom’s old Pontiac would carry me.
I arrived without incident and walked gingerly through the front door. I’d never been to the Med Center before. My parents were on the rescue squad of the local volunteer fire department so anything short of a sucking chest wound in my house was dealt with by someone running for the jump-bag in Dad’s truck. Any sort of injury was handled on only the best of equipment: the kitchen table.
Life’s different in a small town.
That’s why I wasn’t even slightly surprised when I walked in the front door and the triage nurse at the front counter stopped typing, looked me straight in the eye with genuine concern on her face and said “Chris, are you ok?”.
It was my mom’s friend. Not only did this woman know me, she’d known me since I had training wheels on my bike. I knew she was a Nurse. Half the women in my world were Nurses, my mom was a Nurse. She worked at a nursing home filled with other Nurses. How the hell was I supposed to remember that one of her best friends just so happened to work at the Med Center.
I should have gone East.
“No Ma’am” I said, and quickly added, wincing, “please don’t tell my Mom”
“What happened, show me what you did”
Now, I grew up around trauma and emergency medicine. Back then they were dispatched with one-way pagers the size of a brick that looked like walkie-talkies. There was only one channel for the whole county, and every department had its own unique series of musical tones that told us who the message was for. It squawked and whistled all day and night and you never even noticed it.
But when the BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE-DOOOOOOOOO-----DEEEEEEEEEEEE sound that designated our unit came over that radio, it would take you out of a dead sleep before they got to the “COOPERSVILLE UNIT TWO-OH-FIVE” part of the message and Mom, Dad, or sometimes both, were headed out the door on a dead run before it stopped talking.
If this happens while you’re out somewhere with Dad in the truck, you’re along for the ride. It was somewhere around age twelve when “stay in the truck” just didn’t work for me anymore. I’d learned where babies came from by watching a screaming Asian woman have one on the tailgate of a Subaru in the McDonald’s parking lot. I’d seen bodies mangled and I knew first hand why they called the people who ride crotch-rocket motorcycles “Organ Donors”. I’d learned the smartest and most heroic humans alive fly in AeroMed, and I knew that rescue crews have no problem working up to their elbows in your blood and then going out for pizza half an hour later. It’s just meat.
I was also well aware that the strongest, hardest, most stoic, most unimaginably un-fucking-fazed woman you’ll ever meet, is a Triage Nurse.
So I lifted up my shirt.
And, for just a moment, I saw her humanity crack through her professional stoicism.
I pray that you go your entire life and never once hear a Triage Nurse say “Oh Dear” when she looks at whatever injury you have. It’s up there with getting a prostate exam and hearing the Doctor behind you say “Aw, fuck!”. You don’t want any part of this situation.
There was no paperwork, and my ass never touched one of the beige plastic chairs in the tiny waiting room. She stood up and walked me through the door behind the counter and ten seconds later I was sitting on the crinkly butcher paper of an examination table with my legs dangling over the edge.
A Nurse who was only ten minutes older than I was came in just a moment behind me. Thankfully, I didn’t know her at least, but I’d have liked to under different circumstances. She held a BP cuff in one hand and a clipboard in the other and asked me how I was feeling and if I had any allergies. We chatted for perhaps a whole minute before she asked me what was wrong.
I lifted my shirt.
She took it well, just a tiny gasp before she got her shields back in place. But her blush betrayed her. She held tight to her professionalism and assured me that the Doctor would be right in as she stumbled gracefully backwards out of the room. However, I did notice that she never did get my BP, temp, or anything else.
The Doctor was indeed, right in. I had been sitting there less than five minutes when he strolled into the room and said “So, I hear you’ve had an interesting evening.”
He pulled up a little rolling stool, put on a pair of gloves, and scooted up for a front row seat between my knees as I sat sideways off the edge of the table. We discussed how I had gotten myself into this situation, and he surveyed the damage. I found it ironic that the one person who had shared this experience with me and who could truly appreciate what I was going through was the one person who was completely at ease with the situation. Of course…..it wasn’t his dick.
It was also the first time I’d gotten a real look at things myself, and it was worse than I’d imagined. The skin on the bottom of my shaft was peeking out through the golden teeth of the zipper all the way from about a half inch above the bottom of the zipper to the top. There was way more blood than I had noticed at first and it had stained my pants several inches in every direction. The total zipped length was nearly five inches, and it was under tension on the inside because the standard response to pain is for your dick to shrink up like a stack of dimes.
The added effect, because my brain is an asshole, was that the pain just intensified once I got a look at it.
He pulled out a pair of trauma shears and we discussed what he was going to do about half a second before he did it with a running commentary. He planned on cutting my pants off around the zipper. I was fine with this, off is good, let’s get this off - free me from my golden restraints good Doctor!
Deftly, gently, and with surprising ease the shears sliced right through the seams and folds of my jeans. He cut the bottom through several layers of denim and seams straight up to the base of the zipper, and sheared off either side about four inches away, leaving me with two flaps joined only by the teeth of the zipper and the button on top. He spun on his wheels, reached in the third drawer behind him, pulled out a pair of cutters like I would have in my toolbox, and snipped off the bottom half-inch of zipper entirely. It fell to the floor and landed with a wet plop.
He gently unbuttoned what was now a much smaller piece of my pants, and examined it closely for a couple minutes with a flap held in either hand.
Then he said something you never, ever, want to hear any manner of medical professional say to you.
“We’re gonna go on three...”
We’re…..WHAT!? Where? Whatthefuckare...
“One”
There was no motherfucking Two. Three was an outright lie.
The way out was as blindingly fast and traumatic as the way in. The entire process was loud, a wild blur of motion, and terrifying. In what I have absolutely no doubt was a process he had experienced before, he tore apart the two halves of my zipper with the haymaker strength of a farm boy and kicked himself away from the side of my examination table with both feet to send himself rocketing backwards across the tiny room well clear of the wild reflexive punch I swung through the space his head had occupied a split second before. He landed in a heap, half fallen off his rolling stool, with a piece of my jeans in either hand and an accomplished smile from ear to ear.
That all happened in less than a second. It took exactly the amount of time it took me to say “MOTHERFUCK-....eh?”
The good side is, it didn’t actually hurt all that much when he did that. The bad side was, the blood was now rushing to my dick and it was throbbing with every heartbeat. It hurt like all hell.
We both took a moment to compose ourselves and both spoke at the same moment, saying the exact same thing.
“Are you alright?”
I looked at the sad strip of hamburger laying in my lap, surrounded by a terrifying amount of dried blood in matted black hair. It looked like Edward Scissorhands had given me an old fashioned.
“No?”
I had visions of sutures, staples, and all forms of Spanish Inquisition cock torture that I was about to endure and was blissfully thankful that all he needed to do was clean everything off and tape a strip of gause to it. After the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had involving my dick being cleaned, complete with being hosed down with Betadine, now it I just looked like I’d fucked an Oompa Loompa.
I asked what would happen if I got a hardon, would I bleed to death or something? He assured me that the last thing I was going to get in the immediate future was an erection. After a few days it would be fine all on its own.
I thanked him for saving my manhood, secured my pants with my belt, hid the giant square hole in front under my shirt, and headed home. I tossed my shredded jeans in the trash, took a shower that involved the creative application of a baggie and a rubber band that moments before had been holding the wing on my model airplane.
He was right, I didn’t have any danger of getting a hardon for over a week. The throbbing pain became a dull ache that would hover just on the edge of being actively conscious of it. Sleeping was complicated, but I managed. After a few days it didn’t hurt at all, and a couple weeks later I was back to normal. In the third week a full operational test proved that all repairs had been completed and that all systems were operating within nominal specifications.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let a woman zip me up again. I’ll take care of that on my own, thank you.
The scar is considerable, tapering to half an inch wide at the base and running front and center along the bottom of my shaft up to the tip. It’s been the topic of more conversations and won more stupid bets than I want to think about. But it’s part of me, a part of my life, and I’m just thankful that despite the relentless abuse and poor decisions my dick has endured, that all in all, things are working just as they should thanks to the compassionate care of a young country Doctor and a small team of Nurses.
Thank you to everyone in the medical profession, of any rank and stripe, for enduring all that you do to help us fumbling idiots live to see another sunrise. You are awesome.
With my kindest regards, cb
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2020.03.30 23:32 ChrisBoden A Hearty Pinch - The Blowjob That Scarred Me For Life

There’s a lot of stories about medical professionals and their quiet acts of often invisible heroism in the news right now. I thought that this week, I would share one of my own stories about them. Because while they are absolutely heroes in our midst, some of those life-saving stories and incredible acts come with a laugh or two along the way.
These laughs, as they often do, come at my expense. It’s a price I gladly pay to give you a much needed moment to breathe in all of the hell we are enduring together throughout the world right now.
Enjoy, Chris
Yes, I know, I’m a complete fucking idiot. Let’s just get that out of the way from the start. My only defense was that I was a teenager in the 90's at the time, and my dick was doing most of the thinking for me. On the whole, I’m a reasonably intelligent guy. My dick however, is much like one of those morons you meet who is all balls, no brains. Despite the fact that thinking with my dick got me through highschool at the top of my class, it has proven itself repeatedly to have no memory, no conscience, and what I will simply classify as “questionable moral fiber”.
An obscure, late 20th century English philosopher known for his ballistic dentition once said “Dicks have drive and clarity of vision. They’re not clever.” and he was correct. But like most people who are all balls and no brains, that kind of decision making invariably leads to collecting good stories, and occasionally being scarred for life.
This is one of those good stories, and it’s about a scar.
I was sixteen, vacuously stupid, and the world as I knew it revolved entirely around my radiant affections for one hell of an awesome girl. She was short, beautiful, built like a soccer player, and had curves in all the right places. Miraculously, she was also my steady girlfriend. We had a magnificent system that involved a standing weekly date. This almost always consisted of exactly three things: dinner, a movie, and the furious, passionate, awkward sex that only inexperienced young lovers can have in the contorsionistic confines of an automobile.
Good times.
On the right day of the week you could catch a 2nd run movie at the Alpine Twin for just a couple bucks. Urban sprawl hadn’t reached far enough yet to consume all the best spots for privacy, and we knew every one of them. It was a great time to be young and in love.
God is not without a sense of humor, however, and one particular week fate would throw me a curve. A movie had just come out that her father wanted to see. In a tormentative moment of parental schadenfreude, they decided it would be a great idea to join us on our weekly movie night for a wholesome double date.
I was trapped. I couldn’t say no, her dad was a towering giant of brooding scowls who instilled the fear of God in me. He was an incredibly kind and funny man, but he commanded my respect and there was absolutely no doubt he held the fate of my love life at his whim. I was a nerdy, country kid from the wrong side of the tracks and he made it very clear that I was dating his daughter only so long as both her and him deemed that acceptable. She adored me, he tolerated me, and it was my lowly position to be grateful for the opportunity.
I was fine with that. I was spending every Saturday night with her sowing my wild oats, and going to church every Sunday with him praying for crop failure.
So we all met at her house, the whole family piled into their car, and off we went. We didn’t go to our comfortable, low-budget, second-run theatre out on the north end of town with the thin crowds that encouraged sitting towards the back well away from anyone who could see wandering hands and notice the whispers of young lovers. We went out to the fancy first-run theatre, the gigantic cineplex and shining star of the lower west side, Studio 28, where we would be packed side by side with strangers and held to much higher standards of socially acceptable behaviour.
Studio 28 was massive. Thousands of people filled its acres of parking lots and watched the latest movies on twenty different massive screens with reclining seats in air conditioned comfort. One movie cost more than what we would spend for a month's worth of dates at Alpine - including food. But her dad was funding the entire expedition and I was happy to just be with her.
My lovely girlfriend however, was a hormone-driven, devious genius, and happened upon a simple idea that changed my life forever. She noticed that they list not only the start times of the movies, but the duration as well.
It had never for a moment crossed my mind that we didn’t all have to go to the same movie. Studio 28 was so massive that not only did they have a ton of different movies playing, many of them shared the same start times. She found a completely different show to catch, sorted out the details with her dad, and off we went on our own. She had stared into the bleakness and brilliantly wrought forth for us the greatest commodity of young lovers who live with their parents: privacy.
For such a monumental day in my life, I don’t even remember what the movie was. But I do remember spending an hour and a half in the dark getting each other as worked up as we dared. The lines of socially acceptable behaviour were a lot tighter back then, but we were enjoying them to the best of our youthful ability.
Our movie got out, and we made the long walk to the back-forty of the parking lot hand in hand and hopped in the car. We had no concrete idea when her parents' movie would get out, so we were just hanging out, waiting, and of course sharing only the most chaste and pure of good Christian thoughts.
Just her, me, and our collective sexual tension that burned with the power of a supernova. It really was only a matter of time before it all reached criticality.
Because sitting in a glass bubble in the middle of a thousand cars is totally the best possible place to be doing such things. I was a little on edge, but that didn’t stop her. It certainly did, however, limit our options.
The good news was that I at least had a clear line of sight all the way up our row, and would easily see anyone approaching from the theatre. I kept a watchful lookout, and she decided to take action.
In a matter of a few seconds, she was sucking my dick like it was filled with her father’s acceptance. Not a moment later, I saw the crowd of people start pouring out of the theatre doors. It didn’t take me long to spot her parents, hand in hand. Her dad’s bright blue shirt stuck out in the crowd, even though they were still a quarter-mile away.
And then, at that exact moment, is when I fucked up.
That’s when I did one of the dumbest things in my entire life; I made a split-second trivial decision that would leave me scarred forever.
Now, what I could have done is simply reach down, gently pull her head out of my lap, and have a mildly disappointing end to some fun, gone on with my day, and been just fine. Hell, given how far away they were, the hair-trigger of a teenage boy, and her skillful abilities we could have likely finished without pushing our luck.
The problem with wisdom is that you don’t get it until five seconds after you need it.
What I did, in a moment of youthful stupidity, was say “Your dad’s coming!” and sit up straight in my seat.
And that, my dear reader, is the exact moment that shit got real.
Please understand that what I’m about to describe is much like a car crash. It will take me far longer to describe it than it took to actually happen. All of this transpired in just a moment, but that moment is burned into my brain forever. I apologise now, that it shall be burned into yours. When you share this story with your friends, you’ll know they got to this part when you see them adjust themselves in their seat. No man is immune to this effect.
In one smooth powerful movement driven by pure reflex and fear, without a moment’s conscious thought, she snapped her head up, bolted upright in her seat, and while making that transition from laying on me to sitting next to me she stuffed my dick back into my jeans and ran that fuckin zipper all the way home with the power of an angry linebacker.
The problem is I had never unbuttoned my pants, and it was a lot smaller when it came out ten minutes ago than it was when she decided to cram it back in through, what was now, much too short of a hole. She fought it in there in half a second, it just wasn’t situated as well as it needed to be.
Then, with the delicate touch of a bricklayer she had yanked that zipper though several inches of my most delicate sensitivities and made me one with my Levi’s.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
I was absolutely convinced I was going to die.
The pain was far worse than what you imagine right now. It was radiant and consuming. She had caught roughly…very roughly...the entire front of the most sensitive skin I own and interlaced it down nearly the full length of the zipper. I could glimpse a thin line poking out the front, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit there with tears running down my face and her parents approaching.
She immediately knew what had happened, subtlety is not a skill I possess even on my best days. I think it may be when I levitated, shooting to the ceiling, howling in pain that she got her first hint that something was wrong. She was mortified, I was in agony, and the shitshow had just begun. I untucked my shirt to cover the obvious injury, and wiped my tears.
It was hard travel across the great prairies of the parking lot. I heard they lost five good men, and at one point had to start eating the horses to survive. But eventually, months later, her parents finally made it to the car.
The first battle was the parking lot. Several hundred people had all gotten out when we did and had to find their way to the exit. It took half an hour of stop and start agony while we all shuffled into place and trickled out onto 28th street - a bustling busy main thoroughfare of the lower-west side.
And the fun was just beginning.
Florida makes oranges, Idaho makes Potatoes, and Hollywood makes movies. But Michigan, we make potholes. Northbound 131 is a washboard of suspension testing craters that can knock your teeth loose. Because of the complicated interaction of freeze-thaw cycles, capillary action of water retention in asphalt, and the fact that we run snow plows for a third of the year there is a regular pattern of patched sections on the highway spaced at predictable intervals for miles on end.
And I felt every one of those sonsabitches as we launched and bounded from pock to pock, all along my dick.
It took about thirty minutes to get from Studio28 to their house. That was the longest half hour of my life. I felt every bump in the road in between my own heartbeats as I throbbed in agony sitting awkwardly in the back seat. The only saving grace was that her and her mom were making small talk about the movies they had each seen and my opinion didn’t matter. I sat there sniffling and rubbing my swollen, red eyes. When her mom asked me if I was okay I uttered the only word I could manage on the entire ride home.
“Allergies”.
We made it to her parent’s house, said our goodbyes, and she walked me across the street to my car. It took more work to get into my mom’s old boxy beige Pontiac Grand Prix than it did to get out of her parent’s SUV, but I made it, tenderly.
Mission two accomplished, her parents had no idea. So that crisis was averted.
Now, I had to choose. I was on the edge of The City. If I went East, I could fight my way through traffic to the giant gleaming state-of-the-art hospital located right downtown and wait in line in the emergency room. If I went West, I was heading towards home and in my own small country town was a little Med Center staffed with only a handful of people whose main job was helping people with minor bumps and bruises, and keeping the critical patients alive long enough for the ambulance to get there and haul them off to one of the much larger neighboring cities.
I headed towards home. It was farther, but faster. I hopped on I-96 and blasted into the night more scared of hitting a deer than being pulled over for speeding. I figured if any cop pulled me over, all I had to do was show him my situation and there wasn’t a man in the world who would fault me for being in a hurry. I had a much higher chance of getting a police escort to the Med Center than getting a ticket, so off I went as fast as Mom’s old Pontiac would carry me.
I arrived without incident and walked gingerly through the front door. I’d never been to the Med Center before. My parents were on the rescue squad of the local volunteer fire department so anything short of a sucking chest wound in my house was dealt with by someone running for the jump-bag in Dad’s truck. Any sort of injury was handled on only the best of equipment: the kitchen table.
Life’s different in a small town.
That’s why I wasn’t even slightly surprised when I walked in the front door and the triage nurse at the front counter stopped typing, looked me straight in the eye with genuine concern on her face and said “Chris, are you ok?”.
It was my mom’s friend. Not only did this woman know me, she’d known me since I had training wheels on my bike. I knew she was a Nurse. Half the women in my world were Nurses, my mom was a Nurse. She worked at a nursing home filled with other Nurses. How the hell was I supposed to remember that one of her best friends just so happened to work at the Med Center.
I should have gone East.
“No Ma’am” I said, and quickly added, wincing, “please don’t tell my Mom”
“What happened, show me what you did”
Now, I grew up around trauma and emergency medicine. Back then they were dispatched with one-way pagers the size of a brick that looked like walkie-talkies. There was only one channel for the whole county, and every department had its own unique series of musical tones that told us who the message was for. It squawked and whistled all day and night and you never even noticed it.
But when the BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE-DOOOOOOOOO-----DEEEEEEEEEEEE sound that designated our unit came over that radio, it would take you out of a dead sleep before they got to the “COOPERSVILLE UNIT TWO-OH-FIVE” part of the message and Mom, Dad, or sometimes both, were headed out the door on a dead run before it stopped talking.
If this happens while you’re out somewhere with Dad in the truck, you’re along for the ride. It was somewhere around age twelve when “stay in the truck” just didn’t work for me anymore. I’d learned where babies came from by watching a screaming Asian woman have one on the tailgate of a Subaru in the McDonald’s parking lot. I’d seen bodies mangled and I knew first hand why they called the people who ride crotch-rocket motorcycles “Organ Donors”. I’d learned the smartest and most heroic humans alive fly in AeroMed, and I knew that rescue crews have no problem working up to their elbows in your blood and then going out for pizza half an hour later. It’s just meat.
I was also well aware that the strongest, hardest, most stoic, most unimaginably un-fucking-fazed woman you’ll ever meet, is a Triage Nurse.
So I lifted up my shirt.
And, for just a moment, I saw her humanity crack through her professional stoicism.
I pray that you go your entire life and never once hear a Triage Nurse say “Oh Dear” when she looks at whatever injury you have. It’s up there with getting a prostate exam and hearing the Doctor behind you say “Aw, fuck!”. You don’t want any part of this situation.
There was no paperwork, and my ass never touched one of the beige plastic chairs in the tiny waiting room. She stood up and walked me through the door behind the counter and ten seconds later I was sitting on the crinkly butcher paper of an examination table with my legs dangling over the edge.
A Nurse who was only ten minutes older than I was came in just a moment behind me. Thankfully, I didn’t know her at least, but I’d have liked to under different circumstances. She held a BP cuff in one hand and a clipboard in the other and asked me how I was feeling and if I had any allergies. We chatted for perhaps a whole minute before she asked me what was wrong.
I lifted my shirt.
She took it well, just a tiny gasp before she got her shields back in place. But her blush betrayed her. She held tight to her professionalism and assured me that the Doctor would be right in as she stumbled gracefully backwards out of the room. However, I did notice that she never did get my BP, temp, or anything else.
The Doctor was indeed, right in. I had been sitting there less than five minutes when he strolled into the room and said “So, I hear you’ve had an interesting evening.”
He pulled up a little rolling stool, put on a pair of gloves, and scooted up for a front row seat between my knees as I sat sideways off the edge of the table. We discussed how I had gotten myself into this situation, and he surveyed the damage. I found it ironic that the one person who had shared this experience with me and who could truly appreciate what I was going through was the one person who was completely at ease with the situation. Of course…..it wasn’t his dick.
It was also the first time I’d gotten a real look at things myself, and it was worse than I’d imagined. The skin on the bottom of my shaft was peeking out through the golden teeth of the zipper all the way from about a half inch above the bottom of the zipper to the top. There was way more blood than I had noticed at first and it had stained my pants several inches in every direction. The total zipped length was nearly five inches, and it was under tension on the inside because the standard response to pain is for your dick to shrink up like a stack of dimes.
The added effect, because my brain is an asshole, was that the pain just intensified once I got a look at it.
He pulled out a pair of trauma shears and we discussed what he was going to do about half a second before he did it with a running commentary. He planned on cutting my pants off around the zipper. I was fine with this, off is good, let’s get this off - free me from my golden restraints good Doctor!
Deftly, gently, and with surprising ease the shears sliced right through the seams and folds of my jeans. He cut the bottom through several layers of denim and seams straight up to the base of the zipper, and sheared off either side about four inches away, leaving me with two flaps joined only by the teeth of the zipper and the button on top. He spun on his wheels, reached in the third drawer behind him, pulled out a pair of cutters like I would have in my toolbox, and snipped off the bottom half-inch of zipper entirely. It fell to the floor and landed with a wet plop.
He gently unbuttoned what was now a much smaller piece of my pants, and examined it closely for a couple minutes with a flap held in either hand.
Then he said something you never, ever, want to hear any manner of medical professional say to you.
“We’re gonna go on three...”
We’re…..WHAT!? Where? Whatthefuckare...
“One”
There was no motherfucking Two. Three was an outright lie.
The way out was as blindingly fast and traumatic as the way in. The entire process was loud, a wild blur of motion, and terrifying. In what I have absolutely no doubt was a process he had experienced before, he tore apart the two halves of my zipper with the haymaker strength of a farm boy and kicked himself away from the side of my examination table with both feet to send himself rocketing backwards across the tiny room well clear of the wild reflexive punch I swung through the space his head had occupied a split second before. He landed in a heap, half fallen off his rolling stool, with a piece of my jeans in either hand and an accomplished smile from ear to ear.
That all happened in less than a second. It took exactly the amount of time it took me to say “MOTHERFUCK-....eh?”
The good side is, it didn’t actually hurt all that much when he did that. The bad side was, the blood was now rushing to my dick and it was throbbing with every heartbeat. It hurt like all hell.
We both took a moment to compose ourselves and both spoke at the same moment, saying the exact same thing.
“Are you alright?”
I looked at the sad strip of hamburger laying in my lap, surrounded by a terrifying amount of dried blood in matted black hair. It looked like Edward Scissorhands had given me an old fashioned.
“No?”
I had visions of sutures, staples, and all forms of Spanish Inquisition cock torture that I was about to endure and was blissfully thankful that all he needed to do was clean everything off and tape a strip of gause to it. After the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had involving my dick being cleaned, complete with being hosed down with Betadine, now it I just looked like I’d fucked an Oompa Loompa.
I asked what would happen if I got a hardon, would I bleed to death or something? He assured me that the last thing I was going to get in the immediate future was an erection. After a few days it would be fine all on its own.
I thanked him for saving my manhood, secured my pants with my belt, hid the giant square hole in front under my shirt, and headed home. I tossed my shredded jeans in the trash, took a shower that involved the creative application of a baggie and a rubber band that moments before had been holding the wing on my model airplane.
He was right, I didn’t have any danger of getting a hardon for over a week. The throbbing pain became a dull ache that would hover just on the edge of being actively conscious of it. Sleeping was complicated, but I managed. After a few days it didn’t hurt at all, and a couple weeks later I was back to normal. In the third week a full operational test proved that all repairs had been completed and that all systems were operating within nominal specifications.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let a woman zip me up again. I’ll take care of that on my own, thank you.
The scar is considerable, tapering to half an inch wide at the base and running front and center along the bottom of my shaft up to the tip. It’s been the topic of more conversations and won more stupid bets than I want to think about. But it’s part of me, a part of my life, and I’m just thankful that despite the relentless abuse and poor decisions my dick has endured, that all in all, things are working just as they should thanks to the compassionate care of a young country Doctor and a small team of Nurses.
Thank you to everyone in the medical profession, of any rank and stripe, for enduring all that you do to help us fumbling idiots live to see another sunrise. You are awesome.
With my kindest regards, cb
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  1. Speeddating Hamburg - Regional Bericht
  2. Speed Dating versteckte Kamera
  3. How to succeed at speed dating - YouTube
  4. Hamburger Hirsche beim Speeddating
  5. Speed-Dating: Auszubildende gesucht Made in Germany
  6. Speed Dating in Frankfurt - Erfahrungen und Bericht - YouTube
  7. Speed-Dating im Test - YouTube

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