Betting Terminology - All Common Betting Terms Explained
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Horse Racing Terms
Ant Farm - [Part 1 of 2]
Author's note: I published this story previously, under the name "ChatterBoxArts". “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you; happy birthday, dear Teddy, happy birthday to you!” Theodore Whipple leaned over the small dining room table and took a deep breath. Before he could begin to blow out the two large candles, Teddy's mother said: "Don't forget to make a wish!" Teddy exhaled, squeezed his eyes shut, and clasped his hands tightly in front of him. After a moment, he opened his eyes and took another deep breath. He blew out the eleven white candles atop the SpongeBob Squarepants cake that his mother had picked up from Wal-Mart that morning. His mother (Amanda), older sister Janet, and his best friend Martin clapped and laughed as Teddy's face became a flushed scarlet red. With the candles extinguished, Amanda began to pluck them from Spongebob's forehead, licking the frosting from each candle as she did. “So, Teddy-O...” Janet began, “Which present would you like to open first?” Teddy eyed the modest pile of small gifts on the table, and said: "I want to start with Marty's if that's okay?" He exchanged a glance between his sister and his mom, and smiling, they both nodded their approval. Amanda gestured at the gifts. "Sure thing, kiddo, you go right ahead!" Teddy snatched a small package that had been haphazardly wrapped in Iron Man paper and began to tear it off. Martin grinned and sheepishly said "I hope you like it, Ted. It was the last one they had." As the gift beneath began to reveal itself, Teddy exclaimed "Ow, wow! Wow! Dude, this is so cool!” Teddy had made no secret of his jealousy for the LED light bar that Martin had affixed to the handlebars of his bicycle; for months, he had ridden around the trailer park in the evenings with a small black MagLite duct-taped to his own. Martin's gift was exactly the same, except this one was red, which (by no accident) was Teddy's favorite color. It would look great on the new twelve-speed mountain bike he'd received from his mom. “What do you say, Ted?” Amanda intoned from the table, as she cut large slabs from the cake and placed them on Spongebob paper plates. “Thank you so much, Marty! This is so neat!” Teddy exclaimed as he walked around the table to give his friend a hug. Martin hugged him back. “You're welcome, bro! I already put batteries in it, and there's an extra set in the box.” The two boys continued to chat amicably, Martin showing his friend how to replace the batteries, and how to adjust the straps that would affix the light bar to the bike. Janet held out two small gifts wrapped in colored Sunday newspaper cartoons. “Here ya go, Teddy-O” she offered, again calling him by his favorite nickname. “I hope you like them. You're a hard kid to shop for, you know that?” She tousled his hair and beamed as he took the gifts from her and began tearing at the paper. Teddy was elated to discover that his sister had remembered how much he had enjoyed playing with her Rubik's Cube before she'd moved out to live with their dad. Now, he had one of his own, in bright neon colors. Her other gift was a brand new Green Bay Packers cap, which he promptly secured to his head. There were several other small gifts that relatives had sent for his birthday. He unwrapped them excitedly between mouthfuls of cake as his mother snapped a few photos. Janet began to clear off a large spot on the table for Teddy's gift from their father. With the table sufficiently free of balloons, cake, and discarded wrapping paper, Teddy's mother went to her bedroom and returned with a tall and narrow box. It was wrapped with shiny silver paper that glinted and shimmered as she came. Teddy's eyes grew wide as he saw her enter the dining room, and he began to jump up and down, laughing and clapping his hands.“Is that from Dad? Is it? It is, isn't it, Mom?” He was ecstatic. His father's gifts were almost always unusual, and always a lot of fun. He could barely contain himself as his mother placed it upon the table among the temporarily forgotten smaller gifts. “Hold on a second Ted,” Janet said, “let me get the camera ready. Dad will want to see you opening his present.” She tapped a button on her phone, and once she had her brother in the frame, she began to record. Amanda gingerly placed the box on the table, and Teddy wasted no time. He tore at the silver paper in frenzied excitement, as Martin pleaded, “What is it, Ted? Teddy? What is it? C'mon, what IS IT?” Teddy's frantic ripping of the shiny paper began to slow as the labeling of the box became visible. He was fixedly studying the box with his head cocked at an amusing angle, much like a dog will do when it has discovered some new curiosity. Teddy furrowed his brow, and his big blue eyes had narrowed into confused little slits. “What?” he squeaked. “Mom? What is this? It says 'Ant Farm'. What the heck is an ant farm?” He turned the partially unwrapped box end over end, still confused. “Mom?” he begged. Janet stopped recording. Amanda's bemused grin didn't betray her relief that her ex-husband's gift wasn't something as outlandish (and potentially dangerous) as last year's chemistry set. She still had a box of dish-towels under the sink, each with various stains and numerous holes that had been burnt through with an odd concoction her son had formulated in his “lab” "Well, Teddy-O, it appears your father has sent you a rather interesting gift. Ant farms are neat! Your uncle Brandon had one if I recall. It's kind of like an experiment. You study their behavior and learn how the colony works together for the benefit of them all." Teddy wasn't convinced. He continued to stare at the box, unsure of how to feel about this unusual gift. Janet came to the rescue.“Teddy, why don't you take your presents to your room, and then you and Martin can go outside and ride your bikes? It's nearly dark, so he can help you attach the nice light that he gave you.” Relieved, Teddy began to gather his presents. Martin joined him, and together, they toted everything to Teddy's room. The following morning, after breakfast, Amanda had insisted that Teddy give his father's gift a chance. As a self-employed-work-from-home mother, she had a lot to catch up on after the "holiday" and would be rather busy most of the day. Teddy had called Martin, and shortly thereafter, the two were sitting cross-legged on the floor with the ant farm's many components spread out before them. They followed the instructions fairly well for two eleven-year-old boys with notoriously short attention spans. Within an hour, the farm had been assembled, and the residents (the living ones, anyway) deposited into their new home. For an ant farm, it was remarkably large. It was the "DELUXE EDITION!", constructed from acrylic plastic that included a queen, and a generous quantity of harvester ants. Instead of traditional soil, this model featured a blue, gel-like substitute that made nearly all of the ants and their activities available for viewing. Despite its novelty, the two boys had quickly become disinterested and went outside to ride their bicycles over to the wooded lot at the edge of the trailer park. (Many of the resident children would play out there, although most of their parents disapproved.) There they would engage in epic battles with imaginary foes of colossal proportions until their mothers began to shout for them that it was time to come inside. Several days went by, and although he found the ant farm exasperatingly boring, Teddy maintained the moisture level as instructed in the provided “maintenance and care” manual, and would feed the colony daily with the dwindling supply of food that had been included with the kit. The manual had strongly recommended replenishing the "specially formulated dietary recipe" that could be ordered online and would be shipped monthly to their door. His mother had deflected, insisting that the ants would be quite happy with bread crumbs, granulated sugar, and pretty much any other scraps from the kitchen that he could fit into the little feeding hole. They were equal opportunity foragers, she had explained. Teddy took this as gospel and would drop many different types of foods inside. He discovered that, for the most part, his mother was right. The ants seemed to be rather fond of graham crackers and frosted flakes. However, in an attempt to avoid his broccoli one evening, he had secretly concealed his portion in his pocket and tried to feed it the colony later. It turns out that ants are about as fond of broccoli as an eleven-year-old boy must be. Roughly two weeks after his birthday, and just a few days after the broccoli fiasco, the boys sat in front of the ant farm that sat upon his messy desk. It was directly in front of the only window in the room, and the sunlight made it much easier to see what the ants were doing. Currently, a small platoon was conducting an investigation of another bright yellow Lego brick that Martin had deposited on top of the gel-soil. Teddy and Martin had been occasionally dropping random objects into the farm to see how the ants would react. Two green plastic army men were lying prone with their rifles raised, awaiting other plastic army enemies as ants sometimes crawled over them. Usually, the ants would scurry over or around most things that he had donated in the interest of their entertainment. However, much to Teddy's delight, he discovered that the ants seemed to enjoy the Lego bricks. Especially yellow ones. They would collectively move the yellow Legos from one place to another, where it would remain for a few hours, only to be relocated again. Teddy had been studying this amusing behavior while simultaneously dropping individual Rice Krispies down the food chute. He was amazed that one tiny ant could carry an entire Krispie, and was now wondering how they would react to an entire Oreo cookie. Suddenly, he had an idea that seemed brilliant at the time but would turn out to be one of the single worst decisions of his entire childhood. “Hey, Marty, do you remember the chemistry set that my dad gave me for my birthday last year?” ---------- Teddy retrieved the chemistry set from beneath his bed. His father had ordered it from Amazon, failing to notice (or intentionally ignoring) that the kit was recommended for adults or teens with supervision. Amanda's supervision of her son's experiments was limited to quickly poking her head in his door to ensure that nothing was on fire. Otherwise, she trusted her son's judgment. He was a rather smart kid, after all... Because of these oversights, some of the chemicals included were rather dangerous if used improperly. Besides burning some holes in a few dish towels, Teddy and Martin had achieved some rather impressive, albeit explosive results as they haphazardly experimented with several "formulas" that they had found online. Thankfully, most of the moderately dangerous experiments had occurred in the wooded lot. There were over fifty individual chemicals, minerals and other elements included in the CHEM-LAB 5000. Among those were items such as magnesium, aluminum, sodium bi-sulfate, sulfur, and copper sulfate. Individually, each was fairly harmless. Most of the scientific terminology and complex nomenclature meant nothing to Teddy. He would simply measure out whatever was needed for each experiment, and follow the instructions as he went along. His recollection of the properties for most of the individual ingredients was also nonexistent, but for the experiment that he was about to conduct, it really wouldn't have made much difference anyway. With his friend looking on, Teddy began to indiscriminately deposit small portions of varying chemicals and elements into the cup-shaped receptacles that can be found on the bottom of most Legos. He had picked out two long yellow blocks and joined them together with one small black one. Between these two long blocks, there were twenty-four cups. Once he had gingerly placed the blocks onto the surface of the blue gel, he took a step back, crossed his arms, and waited. Several moments passed and much to their disappointment, the ants quickly examined the many little cups and discovering nothing of value quickly moved on with their busy little lives. “Well, that just sucks,” Martin observed. “I was kind of hoping some of them would get all 'roided up and rage on the others.” “Yeah,” Teddy agreed. “Me too.” The boys continued to silently observe the ants for a few moments when Martin finally turned around and began to walk out of the room. “C'mon, Ted, let's go to the lot.” That same night, a fierce storm had rocked the trailer park. Booming thunder, crackling blue lightning, heavy winds, and even some small hail had ravaged the small trailers. Many umbrella canopies had flown free of their patio tables, dozens of car alarms had shrieked intermittently throughout the night, and Mrs. Freeley's tulips had been reduced to a trampled mess. The park superintendent's yappy little ankle-biting poodle had been outside taking a piss when the storm suddenly hit, and subsequently vanished, much to his dismay and much to the delight of his neighbors. A week later, Teddy woke up to the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen. It was on Saturday. Amanda always made pancakes on Saturday. Sometimes his sister would drop in on a Friday night and spend the weekend. She would usually bring a pizza, and the three of them would stay up late watching classic horror flicks that Amanda would rent from Amazon. Teddy and Janet would spend the weekend playing video games on his PS4, and they'd usually go into town, just the two of them, and she'd treat him to a hot-fudge sundae at the Dairy Queen. This Saturday his mother would be spending time with her new boyfriend, Ricky. She always felt a little guilty about leaving Teddy alone, but her guilt was somewhat lessened knowing that Martin would be keeping him company while his mother, Rebecca, babysat. He trundled into the kitchen, lured by the smell of his mother's pancakes, and Jimmy Dean's country-style sausage sizzling in a pan. His mother was on the phone (presumably with Ricky), and when she saw him in the kitchen entryway, she whispered “I'll call you right back”, quickly hung up and said “Good morning, sunshine! Hungry?” He nodded and sat down as she poured him a glass of milk. "Hey, uh, Teddy-bear?" (He hated that baby name.) "I was wondering, would you be okay spending the entire weekend with Marty and his mom? Ricky asked me if I'd like to take the Harley out to the mountains for the weekend. I'd really like to if that's okay? I'll be back sometime Sunday evening. Would you mind?" Teddy didn't hesitate. "I don't mind, Mom. Go have some fun. You deserve it!" She beamed as she thanked him and forked a steaming pile of pancakes onto his plate with a few sausages. Then she picked up her phone to call Ricky back. She was gone within an hour, but not before she had also given Rebecca a call to verify that she would indeed be coming by to check on her son. After he had kissed his mother goodbye, he took a quick shower and returned to his room to get dressed. He had just poked his head through his favorite Spider-Man shirt when his eyes happened to settle on the ant farm. He scrunched up his forehead as he said: "What the hell?" (His mother knew he said this word and didn't mind too much. It could be worse.) He took a few steps across the room and knelt in front of his desk. What he saw there defied logic. The two yellow bricks that had contained chemicals and minerals and other DELUXE EDITION! supplies were now standing upright. They were embedded into a perfectly proportioned circular mound that had been formed at the base of the blocks with carefully arranged blue gel. Around this mound and in perfect symmetry lay the dead bodies of twelve ants, and between those lay twelve ant larvae. Martin was bent over the desk, leaning on his elbows. He was scowling as he peered intently into the acrylic "castle" (He had coined the term when he noted that the farm had two tower-like structures on opposing corners.) Teddy was pacing behind him with a small blue rubber ball, bouncing it from the wall with an audible thwock as he neared. “I don't know Marty... It's just weird. I mean, why would they do that? Ants are smart, and they work together, but that...” he pointed at the altar-like Lego tower the ants had erected, “that is just frickin' weird, right?” "Yeah, for sure," Marty replied. "So, what do you think it means? Is this like one of those mating things? You know, how like some birds will build fancy nests and decorate them with shiny objects and shit? Or do you think they're maybe trying to build something?" Teddy stopped. He turned to his friend. “What? Well, no I don't think it's a mating thing. I don't remember anything about that on the website. But, building something? I dunno, like, what would ants build?” Martin thought for a moment, looking upwards at the ceiling fan as it slowly turned. He turned to face his friend. “Maybe an addition to the colony? Didn't that video say something about multiple nurseries?” “Yeah, I think you're right. That's probably it. Still, what about the dead ants? And the larvae? I don't remember them mentioning anything about that.” Teddy gave the ball another bounce on the wall with a resounding thwock! “I wouldn't worry about it. Shit, Teddy-O, they're ants. If they want to build themselves a rocket ship, let 'em!” Martin giggled into his hand. “That's funny.” Ted chuckled. “You think I should give them some more stuff from the chemistry set? I mean, it looks like they used every bit of it up. Maybe it's like fertilizer to them or something?” His friend contemplated this. “Yeah, why not? You never know, maybe some of them will grow two heads!” Teddy reached under his bed and withdrew the CHEM-LAB 5000. He brought it to the desk and unsnapped the hinges. As he began to remove some of the small tubes, Martin nudged him on the shoulder. “Ted, you see that?” “See what?” “Right there, in the corner, by that beaker. See 'em?” Martin replied as he pointed. Teddy looked a little closer. Ants. Dead ones. He snatched a probe from the box, and meticulously rearranged them. He counted twelve, and each had a larva gripped tightly in its mandibles. “How did...wait, what the hell?” Teddy stammered. “How did ants get into the box?” “Maybe when you were feeding them?” Martin said. “No way! I didn't see any get out. And they weren't in the box when I put it away, so how did they get in there?” “You know, Ted, maybe they really got a kick out of your recipe and went out for more?” Martin snickered. “You know, I think you might have some junkies on your hand.” “Shit. That's all I need.” Teddy smiled. “A bunch of drunk ants roaming around my room. What do you make of the larvae? Why would they bring them here?” Martin thought for a moment."I dunno. It's frickin' weird if you ask me. I wouldn't worry too much about it, though. I'm tellin' ya, they just snuck out of the castle and ended up in the box. You sure you didn't leave it out when we went to the lot that day?" Teddy had to think for a few moments. “Well... Maybe. I can't remember.” Martin considered, then reached into the box and begun to pluck the dead ants and their cargo from the corner where Teddy had re-positioned them. Once he'd gathered them into the palm of his hand, he tossed them into the wastebasket next to Teddy's desk. “There, problem solved. C'mon, let's give 'em some more party supplies!” The two boys assembled a slightly more complex Lego structure. It resembled a small picture frame. There were now more than sixty little "cups" available to fill with samples from the lab. Martin chose the dry items because he really enjoyed the precision of the tweezers. Teddy preferred the pipette. Their new experiment took them no more than ten minutes. Once they'd finished, Martin began to carefully replace each of the vials into its corresponding receptacle, and Teddy cautiously wiped the desk with a dish-towel from beneath the sink. It already had holes and stains in it, so he figured his mom wouldn't mind too much. Teddy insisted that they examine the box for stowaways. Once the CHEM-LAB 5000 had been closed, the latches snapped into place, and returned to its home beneath the bed, the two of them pored over the surface of the desk, and the castle itself. They found no fugitive ants. They snatched a few Lunchables from the kitchen and devoured them with Dr. Pepper while they watched cartoons. Then they rode their bicycles to Martin's home and played Fortnite until far past their bed-time. Throughout the following week, they continued to marvel at the behavior of the ants. They were fascinated with the complete disassembly of the picture frame once the contents had been consumed. Hundreds of ants had converged to systematically separate the blocks from one another. Not long after, they'd erected a strange new structure shaped like a pyramid atop a mound of the blue gel. The boys found this remarkable and peculiar. Even stranger, the queen-ant had now established residence in the center of it. The boys made two additional smorgasbords for the ants, and begin to add various other items that each of them thought would make an interesting offering to the intelligent and minuscule creatures. Martin had brought a small airplane bottle of Jim Beam whiskey that he had stolen from his mother's hiding place. (She kept many of the single-serving liquor bottles in the bottom of the dirty laundry hamper.) Teddy and Martin had each tried a cap-full of the sour mash, wrinkling their noses in disgust. They rinsed the flavor of the pungent liquid from their mouths with a Monster energy drink, which was what Teddy's surprise ingredient turned out to be. Much to his dismay, the ants seemed to prefer Martin's whiskey over his soda. Every day they would admire and discuss the ants and their increasingly complex structures. Amanda had been unimpressed, assuming incorrectly that the notorious pranksters had fabricated the perfectly symmetrical forms in the castle. In addition to the pyramid, the enterprising insects had also created what appeared to be a border around it, and upon each nub of the blocks lay individual larvae. Exactly two weeks from the night of the storm, Teddy awoke much earlier than usual. A tickling sensation on his left earlobe had persisted to annoy him until he finally sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes and scratched at his ear. He felt a little bump, like a pimple, just outside of his ear canal. He thought that maybe he'd been bitten by a mosquito. But as he peeled the sheets and blanket away from his body, he noticed many ants had somehow crept into his bed. He sprung to the floor, shaking his clothes and running his hands through his hair. “Shit! Shit! Stupid ants!” he yelped. His mother answered from the living room where she sipped on tea and caught up on Ellen. “Teddy? What is it, hon?” Knowing that his mother would flip her shitwig (another term Marty had coined), he poked his head out of the bedroom door. “Oh, uh, nothing, Mom. Just, um... stubbed my toe, dangit!” Predictably, she was only vaguely aware of his response. “Okay, well, keep it down. I'm watching Ellen!” “Yeah, okay.” Teddy gently closed his bedroom door and locked it. He examined the bed closer and was quite horrified to find that there were hundreds of ants skittering down the headboard post nearest to their castle. They were in perfect formation, in groups of three, and nose to tail. Not more than a foot from where his head had lain, there was a triangular assembly of Legos. It was upside down, and in each of the small cups on the bottom of the blocks was a single larva. He quickly counted them. Twelve. ---------- Teddy and Martin were now peering inside of the castle, studying the new structure that the ants had erected. Martin had raced over on his bicycle when Teddy had texted him an urgent message along with a few photos. The pyramid had been rebuilt, bigger and much more complex. The blue gel filled the interior of the structure, and the outer walls had been made as smooth as glass. Embedded within the gel, perfectly centered inside of the pyramid, were eggs; each positioned vertically one atop another. The outer frame had been reconstructed, and each cup of every individual Lego block now contained the head of an ant. "Ted, this is seriously fucked up," Martin whispered. “There is something definitely wrong here. We've gotta do something.” “Yeah, I know. “ Teddy agreed. He pointed at the word that had been made a couple of inches from the feeder hole. It had been formed with the legs of sacrificial ants. It read “CHEMLAB5000” “I think this has gotten out of hand. I spent hours online last night trying to find anything that could explain this stuff. Nothing. This ain't just weird, Marty, it's frickin' creepy. I mean, ants that can read, and write? I think maybe I should show my mom.” “Hell no! Are you crazy? You know how she's gonna react to this? She's gonna go ballistic when she finds out you've been feeding 'em chemicals and shit! And what do you think will happen after that? I'll tell you what! She'll blame your dad again, the same way she blames him for everything else! No matter what, it's always his fault. You really wanna hear her bitching about your dad? On top of that, she'll ground you, and probably call my mom and then I'll get grounded, too. No way. Not gonna happen. You gotta take care of this, but I'm gonna help you.” Teddy's eyes had opened wide. They had begun to take on the watery sheen that precedes a fearful moment of sobbing. Martin saw this for what it was, smiled and soothingly said “Hey, c'mon bro, none of that... I've got your back.” He extended his fist to bump Teddy's own. Teddy returned the bump as he balled up his other fist and rubbed at his eyes. He took a snuffling breath and glanced at the castle again. “What do you think we should do?” he asked hopefully. Martin thought for a moment, shook his head, dismissing whatever had come into his mind. "I need to think. You know, we should grab a few Cokes and go hang out at the lot for a while and think about..." He trailed off mid-sentence. He grinned and tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “Wait a minute. Teddy! I've got a great idea! You know what we could do?” His friend eyed him suspiciously. “What's that?” Martin looked triumphant. “Why don't we just take the whole castle out to the lot? I'll grab a shovel from the shed and we'll dig a little pit, put the castle in it, and then we'll cover it up with dirt!” Teddy liked the idea, but something troubled him. “That sounds like a great plan, but I don't want them all to die! “No, they won't die Teddy-O! We'll open up the feeding hatch so that they can build a new colony in some real dirt. No more of that blue gel shit! I bet they'll love it!” “That sounds good, but what do I tell my mom? And dad? He's supposed to come visit at the first of the month. How am I going to explain this to them?” Teddy was eager for a solution. “I dunno. We'll have to figure that out later. I'm sure we can come up with something. What do you think?” Martin asked. “Well, I guess you're right. I was kind of getting worried. Like, what if we created some kind of super-ant, you know? Maybe all of those chemicals really messed their heads up? You know, maybe we should make a video and put it on YouTube? Imagine that! We could be famous for creating intelligent ants!” Teddy seemed impressed with himself. “Bro, do you know what would happen? You'd have people knocking on the door all day long. And then we'd be famous AND grounded.” “That's true, I hadn't thought of that.” Teddy concurred. “I don't wanna be famous.” “Me neither, “ said Martin. The boys decided that after Teddy's mother left the next morning (to spend another weekend with Ricky), that they would put the castle and its inhabitants into a large garbage bag and haul it out to the lot with Martin's wagon. The following morning, after chocolate-chip pancakes (a bribe of sorts, Teddy assumed) his mother quickly tidied up the kitchen and called Rebecca to let her know that she was leaving. Martin's mother was still in bed when she answered the phone. She assured Amanda that Teddy was in good hands and hung up. She yelled for Martin, and he sprinted from his bedroom down the hall and peeked into her hers. “Teddy's momma's done gone to be wit' Ricky so you run on over and keep him comp'ny. I'll order a coupla peeshas later for dinner, now go on and y'all let me sleep.” Her slurred words and the stench from the room confirmed what Martin had already known. His mother had drunk herself to sleep once again. "Okay mom, I'll see ya later then." As soon as Martin had pulled his mother's door shut, she reached into the top drawer of her nightstand and retrieved a pint bottle of Smirnoff. She shook two muscle relaxers from a prescription bottle and washed them down with the vodka. She was snoring within minutes. About an hour later, Ted and Marty had carefully lifted the castle from the desk and lowered it into a black lawn-sized garbage bag. Together, they carried the castle outside and gingerly placed it into a small red wagon that Martin had gotten for his eighth Christmas. He would occasionally pull his little sister around the trailer park in the wagon behind his bicycle, which he'd attached with an old dog-chain he'd found at the lot. His mother, like Teddy's, was divorced. His father lived up north in Pennsylvania and that's where his sister was spending the remainder of summer vacation. Martin kept his wagon in good shape. He oiled the axles and bearings regularly and wiped it down after every use. He had to if he wanted to have a little extra spending money throughout the year. Two summers ago, the elderly woman next door had offered him a couple of dollars to haul a few small bags to the dumpster for her, he learned that many people in the park would also pay him for the convenience. Martin had twenty-seven customers, and each paid him two bucks every Sunday. For an eleven-year-old kid, he was doing quite well. He had bought his own bicycle and all of the accessories that he'd added to it. Including the LED light bar that Teddy had coveted so much that Martin had happily spent fifteen dollars so his best friend could have one too. They slowly made their way to the lot, stopping at Martin's to retrieve the shovel from the shed and some bottled water from the fridge. Most kids that went to the lot generally ventured in no further than a thousand feet or so. There was an old, rust-covered barbed-wire fence that ran the length of the lot adjacent to the trailer park. There were a few sections of barbed wire that had been removed, and beyond the former border there was a densely wooded area that most of the children referred to as “The Haunted Forest.” Rarely would anyone venture into that part of the lot other than a few teen-aged stoners looking for a private place to smoke a little weed, or the adventurous love-struck couples eager to satisfy their sexual hunger. It was in “The Haunted Forest” that the boys had decided to bury the ant farm. Neither of them considered the wooded area to be a forest, much less a haunted one. They knew that the trailer park residents told their children stupid stories that were supposed to be scary enough to discourage them from ever entering into the lot. Martin and Teddy had both been into the so-called forest numerous times. Their mothers (more likely just Teddy's) would have been upset to learn that the boys played in the lot quite frequently. They took turns digging a hole big enough to accommodate the acrylic castle. The ants were obviously agitated, but whether it was from the bumpy and uncomfortable ride in the wagon or the fact that the pyramid had toppled, neither of the boys could have guessed. The ants were scurrying everywhere seemingly confused and irritated. The hole grew in size as the day shrunk, and there was very little daylight left when they finally agreed that the hole was wide and deep enough. Before they began to cover the castle with dirt, Teddy opened the feeding hatch one last time. He withdrew a sandwich bag from a pocket in his cargo shorts, It was filled with all of the dry supplies from his chemistry lab. Martin watched smiling as Teddy emptied the bag into the ant farm. Teddy stood, wiped sweat from his forehead and turned to Martin. “Marty, did you bring something, too?” "Of course!" Martin replied. His backpack lay on the ground next to the wagon. He walked over to it and retrieved a small lunchbox. On the front of the lunchbox, Optimus Prime was fighting Megatron. Martin removed a small bundle of wadded up paper towels and unwrapped a small liquor bottle. It was rum this time. Teddy laughed. “I should have known. Well, at least they can have a party in their new home!” “Yeah,” Martin agreed. “They seemed to like alcohol, so why not? Besides, it's not like my mom'll miss it, she's got these things hidden everywhere.” Teddy looked at the ground, unsure of what to say. It was no secret that Martin's mother was a drunk. Everyone in the park knew it. Teddy held the top of the castle open while his friend poured the rum into the dish usually reserved for water. They watched the ants for a moment, still skittering throughout the castle. Some of them hurrying to the water dish, eager for a treat. Dusk crept into the forest as they finished covering the ant farm. The boys wiped the dirt and grime from their hands and climbed aboard their bicycles, wagon in tow. As they reached the clearing, thunder began to boom ominously nearby, and they both felt the patter of rain on their heads. By the time they reached Martin's home, another storm was preparing to once again rock the trailer park. Sometime after midnight, as the storm grew in intensity and lightning began to crackle across the blackened sky, the ants resumed construction of the newest addition to their church. ---------- Due to foul weather, the boys had spent the better part of the last week indoors. They played Fortnite and watched movies while getting high on soda and what remained of their Halloween stash. Amanda was away with Ricky until the first of the week. They'd ridden the Harley to Vegas and from what little Teddy had gathered from his mother's brief calls, she and Ricky had been doing exceptionally well. Ricky was something of a math whiz, and apparently, he'd put the talent to good use. Janet had happily agreed to babysit her brother. Although she enjoyed living with her dad, his girlfriend was something of a bitch, so she was glad to get away for a while. She'd recently quit her job at Wal-Mart, and with no future prospects currently under consideration, she found that a short vacation was exactly what she needed. Teddy flew suddenly into her old bedroom where she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, sharing gossip on the phone with a friend. “Janet! Can I go over to Martin's?” he asked eagerly. She didn't even look up, simply waving him off with her hand. He turned on his heels, saying “Thanks, sis!” as he ran outside to his bicycle. An hour later, Teddy and his friend Martin were alone in the lot staring in fascination and bewilderment at the sight before them. Where they had buried the castle there now stood a mound of dirt nearly four feet tall. The construction of the mound was beyond impressive. It more closely resembled a military fortress than anything else. Around the mound had been erected a barrier of barbed-wire that had obviously been salvaged from the existing fence that separated the lot from the “Haunted Forest”. How the ants had accomplished this was beyond comprehension “This isn't good, Teddy. Not good at all.” Martin was cautiously poking at the barbed-wire with a stick. “Yeah. This is seriously fucked up.” Teddy agreed. “They did this in a week. How is this even possible?” "I don't know. Maybe there are more ants around here and they've joined with yours. Anyway, they're obviously becoming much smarter. I think this is our fault. You know, giving them all those chemicals and stuff." He flung the stick away nervously. “Hey, check this out! There's a bunch of bigger ants here!” Teddy marveled aloud as he knelt behind the backside of the mound. Martin joined Teddy behind it. He could see several extremely large ants lurking motionless around the edge of a hole about halfway up the side. These ants were easily an inch long and were much thicker than the simple carpenter ants that they'd brought out to the lot. “Shit, that's crazy. Where do you think they came from?” Martin wondered. “I don't know, but this ain't right. We've got to do something before this gets really out of hand. Maybe we should tear it down.” No sooner than Teddy had spoken these words, the large ants shifted outward, away from the entrance. Dozens more issued forth from the hole and began to assemble themselves into a circular formation, forming a perimeter around the hole. These new ants were adorned in bright yellow. Each of them carried in its mandibles one small red Lego block. The boys watched fascinated as one final ant emerged from the hole. It was massive. Nearly two inches in length and as big around as Teddy's big toe. It was completely white, except for a small red square on its abdomen. In its own mouth, it also held a small red Lego. They heard a sound, something like the squeaking one might hear from a rusty door frame. Neither of the boys could tell exactly where the sound came from, but it seemed to be intentional because all of the red ants began to reorient themselves At first, Teddy thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but when he glanced at Martin, he could tell that his friend was seeing what he was seeing. Some of the red ants were arranging themselves to form letters. The first letter was a large “C”. When it was complete, more ants created the letter “H”. As the two friends watched a word being formed, a feeling of dread and horror began to creep into their minds. Teddy began shaking his head from side to side, whispering: “No, no, no. It can't be. No way. No fucking way.” The word the ants had formed was “CHEMLAB”. PART TWO WILL BE POSTED 1-27-20 6pm EST
How "Anon" is Q? I think Q's identity is right in front of our faces - the Man in the High Castle
Disclaimer - sorry for such a long post, but please read as much as you can. TLDR Jeff Bezos is up to something big and it might be tied to Qanon I haven't read much into Qanon and am usually someone who ignores conspiracy theories. But I usually do believe that when there's smoke, there's fire, and perhaps this particular smoke could be driven by a specifically branded Fire. We are gradually being exposed to more interesting technology during this extremely dynamic economic and political landscape over the decade or so. Whose value has grown the most over this time? Unquestionably, one man and one company comes the most to mind. The richest man in the world is a foundeCEO/president and has led his company to extremely impressive, almost unprecedented growth. What do we really know about this guy, what is his endgame? We can speculate all we want, but perhaps we need to take what he says and does more at face value in order to forecast his plans and vision for the future. My (admittedly wild) conjecture/thesis: Since the founding of amazon.com as an innocent appearing online book company, Jeff Bezos has plotted through information and economic control to modify society and create a global corporate fascist utopia known as "Amazon," where ideally everyone is a Prime member and would contribute and work for it, while the rich are free to relocate to the moon because of irreversible climate change. By appealing to both young angry sides of the political aisle through manipulation of the "alt-right," furthering or perhaps initiating the Qanon movement, and antagonizing, hyper-identity-focused "PC left", through automated online communication/misinformation spreading, amazon.com has been successful in “getting big fast," the long maintained goal its founder, which is mostly worthless because of its intentionally low set profit margins, besides the infrastructure delivery network and massive amount of data leverage it has on people, companies, and world governments. AMZN Background (based on readily available information from the mouth of JB or online): Jeff bezos is a genius with few, if any, peers. Someone with his diverse skill set and depth of knowledge could succeed in any business, and he is doing so (check his education background and industry range in early career). After a few successful stints in different jobs, he founded “amazon.com” an online bookstore on July 5, 1994. Personally, I’m usually relaxing after enjoying the July 4 holiday, but he chose that date to start this business. The company IPO’ed early and he maintained the growth of the internet would lead to longterm success, and this was certainly correct. Although he warned early investors that the company could go bankrupt (citing a 70% chance on Wikipedia https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeff_Bezos ) he had the foresight to know his online book company could and would grow to encompass several industries. As recent as December 2018, he still talks about the company’s likely bankruptcy, noting most companies only last a few decades. Since day 1, he has operated the company based on this fear of failure/bankruptcy ( https://www.cnbc.com/2018/11/15/bezos-tells-employees-one-day-amazon-will-fail-and-to-stay-hungry.html ) Wtf dude? You are the richest person in the world, one of the smartest ever, yet you fear failure constantly. You seem pretty successful to me Jeff, relax a little! Instead, he always preaches that it’s “day 1” that philosophy is all over the company. The first company building in Washington state is literally called “Day 1” but the next headquarters is planned as “HQ2,” perhaps because “Day 2” would be too revealing. He's well-known to have "Day 1" Management Philosophy (from wikipedia and other sources). The 5 Days of this philosophy are as follows: Day 1: Start up Day 2: Stasis Day 3: Irrelevance Day 4: Excruciating, painful decline Day 5: Death https://www.vox.com/2017/4/12/15274220/jeff-bezos-amazon-shareholders-letter-day-2-disagree-and-commit To me, this sounds not like a company timeline, but more like an observation of a biological population, perhaps how he views the human race entirely, as something that needs to be controlled by an appearing to be well-intending leader or company. While this may sound far-fetched, consider that the literal day 1 for Amazon was July 5, the day after Independence Day. It's like he views his company as the successor to America and society as we know it. In hacking terminology, "day 0" is the day which a hack has successfully been implemented. Day 0 for Amazon is July 4. Of all mantras to develop, why always insist that it is “day 1,” when you list out a total of five days and day 5 is “death?” This is the public mindset of a deliberate, multifaceted genius who often speaks and thinks quantitatively. Could there be hidden symbolism based on company's branding/development?: Company name (Amazon) - the last rain forest, untouched by western or eastern colonization. Previous attempts to rule the world/conquer were usually under a specific country's leadership (Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, British empire, Napoleon leading France, Axis powers of Germany/Third Reich and Japan, etc.) Since the Amazon rainforest is generally uninhabited, it's the perfect name for an organization to sprawl across the globe, since the Amazon is not affiliated with a particular race of people. Unifying humanity under "Amazon" feels less threatening than any existing country/people name. It's the perfect guise for creating a new society. Many product names hint that the average person is unintelligent - Kindle -> Fire (mankind is stupid, cavemen drawn to fire for distraction and entertainment) Prime day/Day 1 - a new holiday (usually in July) exclusive for Prime members, day 1 for Amazon is July 5 (chosen intentionally? Think of the connotations of the word “Prime” it means first, but also preparation) Amazon Echo - whatever you say is being heard again over and over https://gizmodo.com/5-times-jeff-bezos-tried-to-warn-us-amazon-is-listening-1833970037
\~Could Echo devices "hear" certain inflammatory remarks people make in the privacy of their own homes, which then gets published online in forums/comment sections by AI bots and further the collective insanity that seems to be rampant in this day and age?
A to Z arrow/smiley face in the logo, he wants all under amazon (also many company purchases start with letters across the alphabet) Amazon Studios - one of the first and most successful shows was "The Man in the High Castle," an alternate reality where the Axis won World War 2. Did he have a say in greenlighting? Wholly owned subsidaries of amazon.com may also contain foreshadowy warnings: Zappos - also the name of a lighter brand (igniting fire, think Kindle and Fire), he bought the online shoe company in 2009. Washington Post - a post Washington? "Democracy dies in darkness", a warning of how things are, or how they’ll come to be? I know this was adopted from a Bob Woodward quote but still why choose that?
\~Additionally, this newspaper has become profitable in 2016 since being bought in 2013. What could drive this? More clicks. How do you get clicks? When people find you on Google. One of the ways Google's algorithm shows relevant articles is based on search rank developed by Alexa Internet Inc, bought in 1999 and a wholly owned subsidiary of [amazon.com](https://amazon.com) [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexa\_Internet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexa_Internet) \~Who says he can't possibly be tied to the death of one of his own reporters who may have been connecting too many dots [https://www.cnbc.com/2018/10/17/jeff-bezos-has-been-quiet-on-wapos-jamal-khashoggi.html](https://www.cnbc.com/2018/10/17/jeff-bezos-has-been-quiet-on-wapos-jamal-khashoggi.html)
~Also the Mueller report is one of the top selling nonfiction books in the country and it includes Washington Post materials. https://www.nytimes.com/books/best-sellers/2019/06/02/ Is it impossible that Bezos had a hand in having Trump elected, because since then, his business with the Washington Post has boomed (not to mention the corporate leniency for Amazon) and he profits from sales of the Mueller report Amazon Alexa - interestingly chosen name for their virtual assistant given previous affiliation with Alexa Internet. I think the endgame of Alexa is she is the source of all information, note how they chose the name based on Library of Alexandria Whole Foods Market - self explanatory Ring, Twitch, iMDb, others - might be nothing there, but they involve storing massive amounts of cultural/personal information. Also, the different letters thing haha Amazon Web Services (AWS)- Sounds like more than just data storage, could this one day be how the web is serviced to all? Why name it as such?
\~AWS reportedly has 35% of the world's cloud computing data. That is a massive percentage! [https://www.businessinsider.com/aws-market-share-dominates-70-billion-cloud-market-2019-2](https://www.businessinsider.com/aws-market-share-dominates-70-billion-cloud-market-2019-2) Are we sure all of this stored information is Transparent (hey, another Amazon studios show name) to the public? Many PC laptops come pre-installed with Amazon apps these days (probably partnerships with computer manufacturers to hopefully drive business), but why would it be out of the question that these apps could contain hidden malware which reads user data in other ways that aren't obvious? Also, how many companies are completely reliant on AWS to operate? What would happen if AWS went down or was corrupted (if it's not already corrupted?) The fact that AWS is WHOLLY owned by [amazon.com](https://amazon.com) is scary from a privacy standpoint. The chief driver of online retail directly has access to about 35% of all data stored on the cloud. The other large tech companies don't come close to its market share.
Spooky but probably just a coincidence... look what letter is adjacent to each of A,W,S on a standard keyboard. The chief driver of Amazon's profit has to be from consumers becoming Prime members. Their margins are crazy slim from selling all sorts of products for cheap, shipping them insanely fast, offering other services such as TV/Movies/Music, etc, basically there is a lot of good that comes with being a prime member. Consumers become prime members because they feel like they get more value out of it then what they're paying (duh), and the price keeps going up as the benefits keep getting better. But the number of prime members and price of a membership can't be going up forever, can it? Will their growth slow eventually? I'd say somethings gotta shake eventually. One thing they're doing to keep increasing the value of being a prime member is partnering with companies (like Kohl's), but when they do so, they force Kohl's to value a Prime member more than a traditional Kohl's customer when helping either with customer service. I studied queueing theory and this type of business practice in college, so a personal experience led to this upsetting observation, that this partnership is harming traditional Kohl's customers while making it appear that catering to the Prime member is more valuable. The effects are visible at Whole Foods too (Prime members get better deals on groceries), so at any other company they join forces with, once Amazon comes in, Prime members are designed to become the most valuable customers. They have meticulously designed these business partnerships to worsen the old customer experience by benefitting prime members first and foremost. While it's nice to be a prime member for this reason, it creates an ethical dilemma that some humans are worth more than others. Whenever Amazon works with a company, the primary goal is to leech off the existing customer base all in the name of improving the life of a prime member. Let's look at the job market... Job seekers, who are growing in number, education background, and world experience are being faced with a choice in order to survive. ~Join a standard corporation, which feels icky to both young sides of political spectrum. Everyone feels smart enough to be their own boss, so why should I let other people profit off the value I provide others? Seeing that a lot with social media, but unfortunately the world isn't structured where we everyone can be independent contractors. ~Join a private company, which feels a little better to not be driven by public shareholders but still, others benefit from my worth. ~Join public sector, give back in ways where my time is creating value to society in ways which could have a positive ripple effect. ~Or the emerging option is joining amazon.com, sure it’s a corporation, but I get stock in this company that is experiencing dramatic growth. I don’t want to be unemployed, I need money to have a family and enjoy life, so why not work for them? And this company doesn’t pay taxes, which ordinarily I am opposed to, but this constantly growing company is contributing to society in unforeseen ways. Think of the dope shit you can buy on it, have it delivered conveniently on time, plus now they’re making movies, tv, music apps, etc. I get benefits too, Amazon is expanding into health sector and established “Haven” recently, which is basically a health care plan that’s cheaper than any corporate health insurance plan because they’re able to run it themselves. I imagine employees get AMZN stock too so they are personally invested in staying with Amazon.com and enjoying the benefits of the company’s continued growth. It doesn't take much research to find that many complaints have been made about working conditions at the company, and what is especially eerie is that JB believes in "work-life harmony" as opposed to "work-life balance," possibly suggesting that in his vision for the future, everyone will work for and have their personal lives fufilled by his company, once it takes over. Meanwhile, the national and world economic and political landscape is shifting... Anti-corporate and anti-establishment sentiment is exploding, leading to changes in political parties across the board. Young politically motivated individuals have sometimes been referred to as the “PC left” and “alt right.” These two waves could be contrasted as resembling socialism, the other fascism. But how could fascism possibly be rising again in this day and age? Aren’t we getting smarter as people? I'd say yes, people have gotten more educated over time. However, internet communication between unhappy people looking to place their issues on “others” when in reality, the changing nature of society leaves them behind. Although they’re smart and previously could have found work and been successful in the American Dream, the value of each employee is diminishing as the workforce grows in number and people leave large congomlerates to work for themselves. Companies have also been merging more often and initial public offerings have dramatically declined in popularity. Many focus their frustration by looking backwards, and some have even begun to extremely distrust schools, corporations, and most politicians, because the status quo is failing them. They feel smart enough to be successful, and in the past they likely could have been, but America doesn’t feel great for them right now. Make America great again! Similar nationalist sentiment is rising in other countries, likely due to the same economic shifts. The status quo is not working for so many, and restricting the economy with nationalistic protections might appear to somewhat temporarily help these people, but the global market churns along nevertheless. In fascist/nationalist economies, what types of business do best? Unregulated corporations who are affiliated with the state. Note they don’t pay corporate taxes and develop technology for the government. Eventually, this corporate welfare they receive will hopefully come to an end as they continue to grow. But while a republican is in the white house, corporate taxes will likely remain low, and they do business with the government and seem open to doing business with the fascists https://www.seattletimes.com/business/amazon/amazon-officials-pitched-their-facial-recognition-software-to-ice/ so as a company, they are pretty politically agnostic as long as it helps the bottom line. A shadowy movement appealing to many who for some reason align with Trump/MAGA is being advanced by "Qanon". I don't know much about this, but I think Q has had some correct predictions/insights about the government operations, and appears to be someone with CIA clearance, or at least had it at one point. The CIA’s data is stored on AWS, a wholly owned company of amazon.com. So basically amazon runs the cloud storage of all CIA data, and someone there could theoretically have access to all of it. Qanon has apparently said something will be revealed July 4th or 5th or JFK jr is coming back on July 5, wtf? JFK is obviously still hugely popular to this day, to Democrats and even some now on the right respect his revolutionary anti-establishment ways. When his son died in a 1999 plane crash, the American public greatly mourned. The conspiracies started to amount again, linked to the CIA of course as was his dad's assassination. If I was Qanon, I would definitely choose JFK jr as a public figure to have a sect of the public pin their hopes on reappearing, due to the Kennedy's popularity and distrust in CIA. While it not be the reappearance of a dead person, could Qanon be telling the truth about something of great magnitude happening on July 5?? (Do I need to repeat whose anniversary is on July 5?) Books and merchandise in support of the Qanon movement are available and promoted on amazon.com. If they were committed to containing the spread of misinformation, they could take steps to reduce this. But could people in search for answers perhaps be intentionally driven by browser history, cache, cookies, etc to following the Qanon movement? The internet is definitely brings relevant topics, recommended videos or products to consumers' attention. Why wouldn't this movement be capable of growing based on people's data and personal information in the same fashion? A particularly interesting note is from when I looked up on Twitter to see if anyone else is asking these same questions, I found this well-known guy Jack Posobiec from One America News Network linking Amazon and Qanon, and then anonymous-seeming Twitter accounts seem to dismiss his reasonable questions and the issue gets dropped... https://twitter.com/JackPosobiec/status/1103689155278749699 https://twitter.com/JackPosobiec/status/1102965177769738242 https://twitter.com/JackPosobiec/status/1102948209314463745 Over the past 10-15 years, some companies have thrived, others have closed/merged as we've experienced a dramatic recession and recovery. But above all others, which business has seen the most dramatic growth? The company is still formally known as “amazon.com,” which could openly imply it has higher aspirations to be more than a “dot-com,” an internet company, and just be “Amazon.” The whole business model is getting everyone to be a “prime” subscription member. Their existence as a company is based fundamentally on this growth and giving consumers the lowest prices. Bezos stresses that he always wants to be listening to the consumers because it’s important to give customers what they want, even when they won’t tell you. They’ve grown into so many sectors and continually are hiring and building a more intricate delivery network. What are other businesses doing in order to compete? Doing as the big dog does, building a subscription based service to drive revenue growth. These things are very easy to start (discounted trial offers) but much more difficult usually to cancel or unsubscribe from communication. And why would that be easy, cancelling your memberships is taking money out of their pocket. Sucker them in with a good deal, keep making money off them by having them put down a credit card and hope they keep paying those member fees. Amazon prime membership has increased in price over time and because being a member is so good, people will (hopefully for them) continue keeping it while possibly dropping their other memberships (Netflix, Hulu/cord cutting, Spotify, Disney and ESPN plus, HBO go, every type of company advertising on a podcast, etc). In recent news, JB is divorcing his wife of 25 years. Part of the settlement involves him keeping a lot of stock (thanks Washington state divorce law), but she has the money to donate freely. He is constantly afraid of the failure of his company, and divorcing his wife allowed for some of the "wealth" he created to be spread into the world. Probably helps him sleep at night honestly. But by keeping stock, he can get richer if amazon continues to grow. The richest man of the world no longer being in love with his wife of 25 years is a depressing thought. What drives an individual if not love, and note while she has signed the giving pledge, he has not. But he is glad she did, because her money is no longer tied to him. In betting terms, it's like he hedged against himself by divorcing and "cashing out", but simultaneously bet more on himself by keeping stock. If the love of money is the root of all evil, then why is this guy pursuing money at this rate which seems to not be stopping anytime soon? Bezos also just bought 3 penthouses (high castles?) in NYC https://www.cnbc.com/2019/06/05/photos-amazon-ceo-jeff-bezos-new-multimillion-dollar-nyc-penthouse.html Who needs three so close to each other? If that's not a villainy move, I'm not sure what is. In a possibly desperate move, they're targeting people with bad credit for a new credit card. ( https://finance.yahoo.com/news/amazon-just-rolled-tempting-credit-134020308.html ) Additionally, other companies are seeing a likely decline (Fedex dropping them https://www.digitaltrends.com/home/fedex-drops-amazon-contract-heres-why-you-shouldnt-care/ ) Amazon has yet to announce Prime day 2019, but it’s usually in the month of July. https://www.amazon.com/Prime-Day/b?ie=UTF8&node=13887280011 July 5 will be the 25th anniversary of Amazon’s founding. When will the next one be? Maybe on July 5, or maybe it’ll be later in July. But what a weird business, creating an artificial spending holiday in a month not uniquely known for any particular type of shopping like Christmas, Halloween, Valentine's day, mother's day, etc. Like it’s obviously smart, but still kinda weirdly dystopian to create a massively promoted annual corporate holiday exclusive to members to generate business. Past Prime Days: July 15 2015 (first one, announced on 20th anniversary) July 12 2016 July 10 2017 July 16 2018 July ?? 2019? (25th anniversary, sidenote "19" is a prime number in mathematics) As a supposed side-venture, JB is obsessed with getting to the moon (“Blue Origin”) and was perplexed when someone recently asked about amazon distribution centers on the moon. I think it could be because “amazon.com” has no plans to go to the moon, when it’s “Day 2,” the company will become “Amazon.” This might be what he envisions Earth becoming for those in the jungle left behind on when climate change takes over, which therefore suggests blue origin is the new beginning of the human species in space. https://www.cnbc.com/2019/06/06/jeff-bezos-remars-speech-disrupted-by-protester-pushes-space-travel.html Is this guy ultra-intelligent, a visionary businessman, an organizational genius with few peers? I’d say so. Could he be more than opportunistic? Time will tell. I would really like to figure out the code at the end of the letter. I feel like 60 factorial must have some hidden mathematical meaning behind it, like a number of seconds until or from some event or something to that effect. https://blog.aboutamazon.com/company-news/2016-letter-to-shareholders
17th of June, Monday night I had finished eating dinner and was resting in my couch trying to fix my glitched vape which had been turning on and off due to the battery's condition (side note: finally off of cigs!). I felt a bit of anxiety creeping up on me as I had thought of my deceased dog, and what I could have done to better his time on earth, rest in peace Jerky. Immediately after realizing that I had been racing in my own thoughts for what seemed to be seconds, (turned out to be around half an hour) I decided to go and do some light exercise in the basement. I walked down the carpet covered steps, breathing deeply as I stayed fixated on my inner thoughts when I noticed something very peculiar. One of the lights in the lower end of the basement was not turned on. This was not worrying at the time as much as it was a bother as it meant I had to go buy another lightbulb. Knowing that I should be distracting myself with tasks to keep my mind from wandering deeper into my sorrows, I decided it would be a good decision to take a cruise out and buy a replacement bulb along with other appliances I had been thinking of getting. I went for the drive, it had been around 7:20 pm at the time as I know that I always make dinner at 6. I finish dinner at around 6:40 pm (slow eater), accompanied by the anxiety episode brought me to 7:20 (excuse my need for detail, I like to be specific).I returned home at approximately 8:10 pm, the extra time lost was due to a cheeky trip to MickyDee's for some sweet sweet ice cream (I am a sucker for ice cream, soft cones to be exact). I got home, did my usual dance around the floor tiles making sure not to step on any of the darker cracks because it always bothers me. I took a breath of relief as I had noticeably felt productive and good about myself for getting this errand finished with, ultimately acknowledging that I had successfully distracted my anxiety-ridden mind. I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, saw my elderly next door neighbour through the window in his garden and exchanged smiles with him. I had made him laugh a bit as the toothpaste was frothing from the sides of my mouth in a rather disgusting way. This definitely lifted my spirits a bit, just to exchange friendly laughs with someone I rarely, rather never, talk to. With this, I went to bed and decided to fix the lightbulb in the morning. I had done enough today, and I was happy to feel tired enough to know a good nights sleep waited within the sheets. 18th of June, Tuesday I woke up feeling energized but eating so much last night had caused me to feel somewhat nauseous. I suppose the medical terminology used for this feeling in the gut is GERD. With that said, I drank some water and put my robe on as I made my way to the bathroom. It was when I entered my bathroom where things started to get very grim (if you are squeamish with anything involving death please go on to read a different post, while this is not gory it is quite disturbing). As I opened the door to the bathroom, my line of sight had fixed itself on the window as that is the only thing exactly parallel to the door, my heart rate spiked. For a fleeting second, a bit slower than the speed that of a blinking eye, I saw my neighbour standing and staring directly at me through the window in the same spot I had seen him last night. The silhouette of his frail stature amplified by the rays of the morning sun had stained itself within my eyes. I rubbed my eyes and walked closer hesitantly trying to act as normal as possible in the case that he was by chance out gardening at 6 in the morning and was looking at the bathroom window. My neck closed and my breathing stopped as my eyelids opened again to reveal that he was still there. As my vision returned and my pupils started growing accustomed to the light, the silhouette filled with colour and detail. His face was distressed, fearful eyes gazing through mine. He slowly lifted his hand with one finger raised and pointed at me. I didn't need another queue, I knew he was asking for help. Instincts kicked in and I immediately rushed towards the front door and burst out of my house and felt the pain of loose sharp pebbles piercing under my bare feet. I was numb to this of course, with the adrenaline coursing inside of me I sprinted to the left side of my house only to be met with pure terror. My neighbour had collapsed. His eyes were still open, his mouth was ajar, and I could hear nothing but the thumping beats of my heart within my ears. I rushed over to see if he had a pulse, he didn't. I rushed over to his front door to pound it with my right fist still staring straight at the corpse which lied upon the grass. The rest of the day was a blur. I remember hearing the wailing cries of the deceased's wife searing into my ears, people rushing out of their homes to try and save what was already lost, the roaring of the ambulance's blaring sirens, and the constant beat of my heart thumping out of my chest. His face was plastered within the walls of my mind, seared into the edges of my skull. Death is not an issue, as I have said I like to think of myself as a rational, logical person when I am not in some unstable state of mental distress. Something about his gaze looking straight through mine had made it so that I could not and still cannot forget it. The paramedics had chalked it up to a heart attack, which made sense considering his very old age. I had given the authorities a detailed account of this whole event. Needless to say, I did not get any sleep on this night. 19th of June, Wednesday - 21st, Friday Spent these days in bed, and worked from my laptop. Pushing myself over the edge into a pit of depression and mania was not on my to-do list. The events of the previous day had caused me to wake up with a massive migraine and my emotions were at some sort of limit. Chamomile tea and soothing lofi music were very welcome. I could feel my nerves drifting in and out almost giving me a floating sensation. Walking around was out of the question. 22nd of June, Saturday I had enough energy and mental stability to feel confident enough to venture out of my room. I smelled like absolute sin and remember being amazed at my ability to smell my own body odour. The stench must have been rancid I thought to myself. It being the weekend, I called up some friends to ask if they had plans, which none of them did. We agreed to go out drinking on this night and to meet at one of their houses (the five-minute drive wasn't going to be an issue). To raise self-esteem and just feel better in my own skin, I had decided to work out and get a quick pump later in the day. Saturday nightI walked to the steps leading down to the basement and as I flicked the lights on the stairwell on, I remembered that the bulb had to be replaced. I am very forgetful at times and the event which had occurred demanded most of my attention. Annoyed by this, I went to retrieve the bulb I had bought and hopped downstairs only to stay frozen in my tracks. The light bulb wasn't broken, it wasn't even in its socket. It was unscrewed and perfectly in-tact on the floor. This did not make any sense to me and I now ask if it makes sense to anyone reading this. The eerie death of my neighbour was barely manageable, but this made absolutely. no. sense. to. me. You need to screw the bulb to get it in and screw it out of its socket to remove it. If that wasn't strange enough if it by some miracle DID fall then how the hell was it not lying in pieces on the floor? I refuse to believe in spirits but I could finally start to understand how unexplainable situations push the mind to wander and create explanations, even if they aren't rational ones. I thought to myself, "No. This is not a ghost, you idiot. If anything there is a squatter who managed to live alongside me downstairs." I sprinted back up the stairs and kept the lights on. I retrieved my metal bat and stood at the top of the stairs. I felt like an absolute idiot but I wasn't risking my life if there had been someone lurking downstairs. I shouted and shouted swearing and cursing whatever there was down there, but I received nothing in response. After 10 minutes of deliberation, I walked down. I checked every corner of the basement, there was nothing. No sign of anyone or anything. I was so caught up in this, I neglected the chimes coming from my cellphone upstairs. Tired, and drenched in sweat, I trudged up the staircase and retrieved my phone. To my surprise, it wasn't my friends calling, but law enforcement instead who I shared contact details with following the events of Tuesday morning. Just at that moment, I heard a knock at my door and two police officers introduced themselves to a dishevelled, me. One officer proceeded to check the house, as the other one had a conversation with me. The conversation which took place is summarised and is as follows:
An undercover officer had been making routine checks around the premises, following the requests of the elderly woman who had lost her husband.
The undercover officer was under the impression that I was living alone (which is true).
The undercover officer had always reported back, describing a Second body within the house, which was first thought to be a secret lover. The issue with this was that nobody was seen entering through the front of my house.
Backdoor entry for the second party would be impossible as there simply was no backdoor. I don't have a backyard.
The screams I had made caused reason enough to think that something was very wrong.
Explanation of the screams, officer checking the house hears this and proceeds down the basement.
Silence and confusion between me and the officer in front of me. Trying to piece together who the hell the second body was.
It was as we were talking about this last point when the lights went out in the whole neighbourhood, and what at first I thought to be a gunshot emanating from downstairs (turned out to be the sound of the lightbulb popping under the officer's boot). Racing footsteps echoed through the house resonating from the bottom of the basement stairs. As I looked at where the officer next to me was shining his flashlight, I see the second officer sprinting out of the basement looking incredibly distressed. He bolted out of the house, which caused the officer next to me to draw his gun out and push me out to safety. After briefly checking the basement, he ran back to check on his partner who I was next to (I was on the verge of ruining my boxers). They exchanged a very brief but serious talk making sure I could not hear anything and advised that I should not sleep there for a couple of nights, just as a precaution for my own safety. What really fed into the mental instability I feel was the fact that they refused to tell me why. Only giving me vague answers and things that you would hear officers say in movies. One officer managed to end the conversation by trying to convince me of a wild animal living in the basement. I am certain that I looked through every corner of the basement, there wasn't a single thing down there. I went to a motel 15 minutes away which the officers were kind enough to drop me off at. Needless to say, I was pissed off but somewhat intrigued at what was happening. 23rd of June, Sunday I woke up to see that my phone only had 14% battery life, and a string of messages and calls that I must have slept through. These were all from my friends, and one was from the deputy asking me if I was still secure in the motel. Panic and shock clouded my mind as I started to read through all the texts (my phone is destroyed as a result of the breakdown at the coffee shop, and I am typing this from my laptop so I can't provide the evidence that I wish to share). In summation, the messages revealed that my friends had been worried about me as I didn't show up. It also shed some light on the situation back at home when I was asleep. Apparently, they had driven over to check on me as it's rare that I ignore messages let alone calls. The last time I did this was when I was having a psychotic episode at home which ended with one of my close friends driving me to the ER. This friend, who I will simply name here as, Bob, really cares about me. We've been through a lot together and it wasn't a surprise to see that he had flooded my message app with over twenty messages through the course of the night. From asking me where I was to sending me photos of their night out, Bob's worry for me seemed to have manifested into legitimate concern for my health. Following this, the last five messages end with Bob getting frustrated with my actions and that "this isn't the way to go about seeking attention." Again, I will summarise the key points in the messages which ultimately brought me up to speed with what was happening back at home:
After realizing that I was not answering anybody's calls, Bob and two others decide to disband the group and tell me that they're coming whether I want to see them or not. At the very least they wanted to see me answer the door. I would be able to go to bed straight after that.
They arrive at my house in a cab at exactly 12:03 am on Sunday morning.
Two patrol cars are stationed at my front yard, with officers observing from inside their vehicles. Both cars filled with two officers each acknowledge their presence and tell Bob and the group to just keep a safe distance.
~10 minutes pass when a light from my bathroom turns on.
Officers shine a spotlight on the window and a shadow (supposedly me) is seen moving from within the bathroom moving down the hallway to the living room.
Two officers rush into the house.
Bob explains that he can see my figure on the top floor running from room to room in an exaggerated manner. He goes on to explain that he knows for a fact that I would have seen him as 'I' would stop to gaze out from each window waving at him.
It is then where the second patrol car flares up and tells Bob and the two others to leave the premises. Red and blue lights fill the neighbourhood while the sirens are kept silent. This is when Bob explains his frustrations with me and that I had gone too far this time for him to want to care. I immediately rush out of the motel and begin texting Bob after ordering taxi service from my phone but realised that none of the messages was going through. It may be safe to say that he put me on mute or even blocked me because of how frightening this whole ordeal was. As I got closer to my house, I could sense the discomfort in the driver as he stared at my house which was fine apart from the fact that my front door had been kept wide open. It was 5 in the morning and was far too early for any concerned neighbours to be up on a Sunday, as I know someone would definitely have checked up on me to see why my door was left open. With hesitation, I approached my house to be met with, nothing out of the ordinary. Everything seemed to be in place and there was no sign of any mess left by fleeing squatters let alone officers. As I perused the vicinity, one thing became quite clear. All the lightbulbs in the house had been removed. I went to my kitchen sink drawer to retrieve my flashlight and continued throughout the house as the sun had not risen yet and it was still somewhat dark. If anything, the sky seemed to be a darker shade of blue. As I have stated before, I don't believe in the occult and I am not a schizophrenic. I have never had hallucinations of any sort and adamantly believe that I can tell the difference from reality and what's in my head. I walked through the hallway towards the bathroom, I noticed the sound of footsteps which would only be audible whenever I moved. These footsteps seemed to be far away and I intended to find out who it was. I wasn't afraid as I thought it was an officer still in the lower half of the house. I opened the door and was again met with nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the absence of lights. I peered out to the end of the hallway which was still vacant of anything, but when I looked back into the bathroom the window showed the next elderly woman next door peering at me through the curtains of their upper bedroom. I could only make out one half of her face, and what appeared to be her exhausting her lungs with rapid and constant words bellowing out of her mouth. I stared at her for seconds until she started violently pointing in my general direction, suddenly laughing with wide eyes as she stepped away from the curtain. I started to slowly move back from out the bathroom when I realized that the footsteps which were silent had sporadically started as a full sprint. My heart rate spiked and I felt the onset of what felt like a full blown anxiety attack but I knew that I had to move. As I clenched my chest and started jogging down the hallway towards the stairs leading to the front door, the sprinting had elevated and sounded like whatever it was had started running in circles down in the living room next to the front door. I turned around and decided my best bet was to try and escape through the only window big enough to fit me which was in my room. As I managed to barely make it to my room trying my best to breathe, I slammed the door shut and locked it behind me. I turned to face the window and went frozen to the core as I could see the elderly woman frantically running towards it, still screaming/chanting which was now very audible. I felt my stomach turn into a knot as I desperately opened the window locks with my quivering hands. The woman came bashing against the window only to use her full strength to keep it shut. The sprinting had moved from the living room to up and down the stairs in constant repetition regardless of if I was moving or not. She was wailing and screaming about the inevitability of it all, why I was fighting this, my duty to stay within the house, to drop the light from my hand, and that the darkness was good. I remember smashing the window out with the butt of my flashlight and then losing consciousness. 24th of June, Monday (?) I woke up barely remembering what had occurred. As I felt my muscles warm up with every slight adjustment I made in bed, the memories of what had happened started to slowly, then rapidly come back. I shot up and looked around to what appeared to be my room. I looked at the window and saw that there was no glass smashed. I thought, "had this all been an epic dream?" I reached over for my glass of water which I always have by my bedside. It was there. I checked the windowsill again and jiggled the safety lock. It was also there. I took a breath of relief, still feeling the warm afterglow from the anxiety attack which had subsided. Perhaps I had the attack in my sleep. I laid my head back and felt my body subtly slip away into sleep until it hit me. I had one more thing to check. I slowly got up and made my way to the light switch. My bedroom was the only room which had led lights installed into the ceiling, nothing to unscrew. I felt the slow onset of panic start to boil over me as my hand inched closer to the switch. It didn't turn on. As if I had no control over my voice, I felt the need to scream but this was only masked by the narrowing of my oesophagus which made for a noise typically heard when a child doesn't want to take a needle. I was whimpering like a dog shaking my head imagining that I was stuck in some sick nightmare. I made a run for the window only to see that it had been bolted shut from a series of thick nails poorly hammered into the top of the windowsill, making any chance of escape impossible. The door wouldn't budge either, until I heard it unlock. I backed away and realized that I could very well be facing the end, my end. It was the woman wearing an all black robe, her face painted in what seemed to look like tar, holding a tray of food. Instead of talking she immediately repeated the phrase "it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay" getting louder with each passing second. I felt chills run up my body as I threw my entire weight upon her knocking her back and dashing for the front door. She proceeded to scream which then would turn into a bone-chilling howl which only caused for more adrenaline to be secreted within me. I knew the door would be locked so I shot straight for a smaller window near the kitchen area and sort of 'cannon balled' through it, with much success. It is here where I lost complete control and ended up in a hospital bed, with a doctor and a police officer only telling me that I had been restrained within a coffee shop. I had been screaming and convincing everyone that something was coming to get me and that it may have been too late. June 29th, Saturday 4:34 am I writing this from my family's apartment. I have sold the house. The authorities have told me that they found no proof of foul play or the nails which I had so confidently seen bolted into the windows. They have not found any trace of broken glass, broken windows and say the lighting within the home has been untampered with. No fingerprints but my own. Nothing. Since then I have been feeling somewhat normal. Still shaken by the events and don't understand if what I had experienced was all just a full-blown manic episode, or if a majority of these events were made up within my head. The deputy had gotten into contact with me twice since my discharge from the hospital checking up on me. He is certain that this was nothing but a culmination of stress from the harrowing experience I faced with the passing of my neighbour. One thing does still sit with me though. Something about the eerie death of the old man has been bothering me ever since I had the chance to run through all my thoughts on these events. Nobody points when they need help.
I don't think therapy is working? Can I do something? Wrong type of therapy or therapist?
I apologize, this is a long post, but I don’t know where to turn or what to do. I am seeing a therapist and she is implying that I don’t need therapy and doesn’t know why I am there. I am high functioning, I work as a freelance developer which is a great pay compared to most people my age. I am going to college and get A’s and B’s with little or no study. I have my own studio in downtown and have hobbies: I play video games, piano and am taking some salsa classes. I have been going to the gym losing to lose get back in shape. From an outside perspective, I seem very successful, but I have a lot of baggage that drags me down. Most people with similar baggage tend to turn into addicts of throw themselves at an art. I threw myself into school and contribute my success mostly to doing the right thing because I refuse to give in or go down without fighting to the bitter end. My background: When I was very young, I was molested by someone in the family. I don’t remember any of it, but I remember the feeling that I was lying when I said it happened when I was talking to a therapist when I was young. My mom and dad would argue a lot and got divorced. My mom’s boyfriends were abusive to her. I remember one who was chocking her and trying to push her out the window. He then broke a chair and kidnaped my younger, who was found later that day under a parked semi by police. I remember my mom once pointing a knife at me and that I was terrified of her when she was mad and would hide under my younger brother’s crib. I also remember being locked in the bedroom and once sneaking out the window to find her at a boyfriend’s apartment in the same apartment complex because I was hungry. I was placed in foster care with my younger brother around the age of 6 or 8. I grew up in the system. While in the system I moved around a lot: I think about 8 times. Each time meant a new family and new school. None of the places I lived at allowed me to participate in school activities or socialize outside of school, so I had no real friends growing up. My mom has been in and out of my life as she would go to jail and rehab centers and I was only allowed to visit my dad for an hour every week. At one point I lived with my dad for about a year in a ghetto neighborhood, but I was skipping school and getting into trouble at school, so I was placed back in foster care. One of the earlier foster homes was abusing my younger brother. I was always in trouble for things I didn’t do but was blamed for there and always doing writing assignments. I reported they were abusing him and then they said I was molesting their dog, so we were separated, and I was placed in a group home. Not long later they found out it was true and he was placed in closed adoption so we never had any contact since then. The group home was awful. I describe it as the halfway point between jail and a mental hospital. I would have to ask to go from one room to the next and had no privacy or sense of agency. Staff would have to check on us showering to see if we are washing up, I had to go out with everyone else to events I hated like baseball games. Other people at the group home were very violent. Everyday someone had to be restrained and, on a few occasions, staff had to go to the hospital because of how violent the other kids can get. I was coerced into sex by a roommate threatening to break the only thing I had of my younger brothers and I was terrified of the dark and would cry and throw fits if they staff didn’t leave the hallway lights on. I was the best-behaved person there, I was never restrained and held the record for the most points anyone has ever gotten there. People typically stayed there for only 6 months, but I was there for 3 years. Perspective foster parents rejected me for things such as liking rap music and video games or for not liking sports. Because I was the best behaved, I never got rewarded or attention. Staff would let other kids stay up latter than they bed time, do craft projects with them to encourage them to continue being good. When I would ask to stay up an hour later than my bedtime they would refuse, and I would get in trouble if I persisted in asking. I moved in with my dad after that which had its own problems. We lived in a ghetto and I was the only white person in my school. I was bullied by everyone in class, so my teacher had me put my desk in the corner. Out of school people would hit me with metal poles and our apartment was frequently broken into. We couldn’t pay for all the bills, so I couldn’t shower in the winter because the water was too cold. People threw raw eggs at me and they would freeze over before I got home, and they would do things like break our windows with rocks and cut the gas line to my dad’s car, so he couldn’t drive to work etc. I once walked around with someone in my class I had a crush on and her cousins drove by the house and shot at the house and later told me they don’t want to see me talking with her again. I started skipping school and getting into fights to fight off some of the bullying. After 5th grade I went to a middle school that wasn’t local by testing into their gifted program, but my bad behavior didn’t stop so I was placed back into the system. My final foster parent during high school ended up being relatives from my mom’s side of the family. They took me in hoping that they can give me to my mom once she got herself together. She wasn’t able to and they didn’t get tenor at the university they thought. The accepted a position at another university and because I was turning 18 they gave me two months to move out. Under those circumstances I dropped out of high school and went to a community college to get financial aid and had to throw away everything I wanted to work towards just to keep a roof over my head. Very recently: I managed to get an associates and work as a web developer. I eventually started dating someone and we lived together for 5 years before I broke up with her. Towards the end of that relationship I realized I wasn’t happy with my life and wanted to work towards my original dreams and goals again. She didn’t like her job either so we both started going to school again and our relationship couldn’t handle all the pressure. I was working 60 hour weeks as a freelancer meaning no predictable hours and a my client was an asshole. I couldn’t drop him because I paid for all the bills except for her car and some of the food. I did most of the chores as well and when I tried to talk to her about her helping out more by either doing more chores or working more than 20 hours a week she gave me the ultimatum, so I took it. I got my own place and now had the time and money to pursue old hobbies I gave up on like piano and ballroom dancing. I stood up to the asshole client and dropped him so I lost my main source of income. I entered a major depressive state that I hadn’t been in before. My ex and I discussed getting back together and they way she was treating me made me feel like I wasn’t good enough for her and brought back a lot of emotions. One night I got drunk for the first time and she decided to come over for a fun bootycall. She had me smoke some weed and everything seemed fine at first. All of sudden I started crying and telling her how worthless I am and how she makes me feel that way and I would be better of dead. She decided she was going to call the mental hospital and suddenly, all the group home memories and everything came back and hit me like a break. I was terrified that I was going to be placed back in state care, be raped and never able to leave state care once I got in it. I grabbed her by the neck to threaten her and took her phone to prevent it from happening. After realizing I did something horrible I went out into the freeway entrance hoping to get run over. Needless to say, she wants nothing to do with me. My relationship with her is twice as long as any family I have every been with or friend I ever had so this is really hard to deal with. I normally have always had difficulty sleeping, it would take me 2-4 hours to fall asleep. For a month after that night it was even worse. It was taking me about 8 hours to fall asleep and I would wake up sweating, heart racing a terrified, but I don’t know why. I have never had a dream or nightmare that I can recall in my entire life. Fragmented memories have been coming back. I have been tempted to write or something but soon as I do I realize how blurry and fragmented they are. I have moved around so much I have a hard time knowing how old I was or what order things happened in. More importantly I have this never-ending feeling that I am forgetting something horrible and its going to come back to me any day and fuck me over. My friend’s mom, who has been in an abusive relationship and is a nurse practitioner suggested that I probably have PTSD which is very common for people who grew up in the system and how have had similar things happen to them. She suggested I see a therapist which I started looking into the day after that night. Current life: Jump forward a few months to now, I have just meet my therapist for the second time and I don’t think she is going to help. I am not sure if I am doing it wrong, she is or if there is something else entirely I should be doing. I mentioned my past briefly and talked about that night briefly. This pose goes more in depth that we talked about them. She doesn’t want to talk about them and wants to focus on the present and that we might talk about the past if there is some reason to think it is affecting the present. She has made a few comments and questions about if there is a court case about that night which there isn’t. I told her there isn’t, and I don’t think there will be but she keeps making comments on like “don’t worry that what you said isn’t on the goals sheet. We can still talk about other things but this way it won’t go on record so if there is a court case no one will know”. At the first session she wanted me to state my issues, goals and how I will know when I am done with therapy. I honestly don’t know other than surface level things like have meaningful friendships and not feeling like shit so much. I know there is a strong correlation between the strength of my social circle and my mood, so she is really focused on that for the end of the first session. She wanted me to come up with ways to meet new friends. At the second session I mentioned I started doing salsa classes. I also told her about other meetups I attend etc. but I still can’t seem to make friends and I don’t know why. After the night my ex told me that she thinks I am toxic, manic depressive and manipulative so I told her that and that I don’t know if I am. All she says is I don’t know and starts saying she doesn’t know why I am in therapy because I am already doing the things I need to do to make friends, so she asked again why I am there. I tried to talk more about my past but giving her a tldr; on being molested, raped and in foster care etc. by saying these things have happened and she again mentioned she doesn’t want to focus on the past but the present and asked my why I am there. She also pointed out that I was uncomfortable. I told her that I was, but I don’t really care about that if that means getting better. She wants me to ask people who don’t like me why they don’t like me. I am hesitant on this because my ex told me not to text her, and I don’t expect the people who stood me up for a first date would give an honest answer. She said I should ask the ballroom dance instructor which seems ridiculous. I told her that we have never talked, and my class Is between two classes with no breaks. I feel that it is inappropriate and any response he would give me wouldn’t be meaningful. On a surface level I get along with people just find. I mentioned how I think my sleeping habits are abnormal. For my sleep I told her that it takes me hours to go to sleep and my heart starts betting fast and that even though it hurts to open my eyes because of how tired I am a cant sleep. Other times I feel rested, but I can remember seeing the time on the clock every 30-60 min for all but one or two hours from when I went to bed to when I woke up. I also mentioned sometimes waking up scared and covered in sweat. She asked if I have night terrors and I told her I don’t know. She responded saying she wouldn’t know either and asked if I have done a sleep study before. I told I did a sleep apnea test and know I don’t have sleep apnea and didn’t do a full sleep study test because that would cost thousands of dollars which I can’t afford. She suggested I talk with my primary care doctor again because my sleep habits are probably physical. I feel like this is a BS response to give and she is just avoiding everything I try to talk about. Next, I mention my memory/sense of time is weird. I mentioned how I often can’t recall what I did or eat the day before or the morning of unless I stop and try to think about it for a long period of time. Sometimes the previous day feels like it was moths ago. I feel like my life is broken into phases based on where I live and my relationships. A previous phase can feel like a lifetime ago despite being only a few months ago. I told her I have had therapy before while growing up in the system and told her I was once on medication while at the group home, but I don’t know what for or if it helped with anything. I mentioned the last therapist I had said I have high functioning depression and tried to emphasis that at times my therapist was just my case worker, the school counselor etc. and I mostly viewed it as a time to go to the library or play a video game instead of trying to open about things and that I didn’t really want to talk about things with them before but now things are different and I want to. She is very focused on the present and the surface level issues. On the surface I am high functioning and doing what I need to do but deep down I feel like shit and that I am not normal or liked and I don’t know why. I remember I was really depressed for some of the days between the sessions and some nights I can’t sleep but the next day I usually can’t remember what exactly I what exactly. When in therapy my mind gets blank and its even harder to recall the vents of the previous days or weeks. She won’t initiate any conversation and puts it all on me to decide on goals and what to talk about, but I honestly don’t know where to start. I don’t want to outright say things like I think I have CPTSD or untreated RAD because I am worried that I might be wrong and mislead the direction of therapy and because I have a good memory on factual information I might mislead my self into thinking I have something and use similar terminology that I read when reading up on the subject. I have only done talk therapy before. I know there are other kinds of therapy and because I am not in the system I don’t have to see this one person. I know my current therapist use to focus on drug and alcohol abuse, so I think she thinks that night was simply the result of me being an angry drunk. What should I do? I want her to take more charge in the conversation and be more prying and have some opinion based on her knowledge of psychology to give me some sort of starting point or something. Should I write stuff like this and give it to her that way I don’t forget in session, see a different therapist or look for a whole different kind of therapy? I feel like I am being asked to describe the outside when I have only been in the cave.
Illusion can convince the layperson of manifest reality. Magic is a healthy way of looking at the world for a Word Ape. I like to divide Apes into binaries in order to define them. Word Apes exist as the polar opposite of Number Apes, which are your mathematicians. See, Word Apes rely on the Chaotic Intuition of Language, backed by my Irrationality Principle, in order to effect change on the Dome. We express ourselves emphatically and with respect to credibility in order to construct a believable Logos or Manifest Word. I think, therefore I am. Rather: I believe, therefore I exist. The first Existential Crisis is Despair. Behind Despair is the Truth of this and All Worlds. The spectre of Hell terrifies everyone! Sinking into the core of the Earth, to eternally rest. That's our Third Life. One with Terra, the Gaian Mind of Terrence Mckenna. I'm always cursed! Even in the Syndicate for expressing myself, I'm limited to two posts a day. A prime number of posts. What sort of demonic algorithms am I dealing with? Mindless drones do the bidding of the Reality Warpers. Word Apes craft identities to live out personalities. We develop powers based on our will to perceive them as such. My homie Sean has precience. Jesus had that power. The Sun Ape mythos spreads, a race of Kryptonians awakening towards a destiny. A Yellow Sun? Perfect! They banished me from Krypton long ago. In a mental hospital, I chanted that I was General Zod. If you were General Zod! But you could never hear it! Would you chant like a God! OR would you never fear it! I'm literally doing the thing my religion said I'd be able to do, crafting an identity around an idea. Omniscience first, then omnibenevolence, then omnipotence, then omnipresence. That's Life for an Eternalist. I saw Aretha Franklin's funeral on BET. That was a Spiritual Experience. I wrote that those in Heaven conscript Earthly blessings on those worthy of seeking their honor. Franklin watches BET! There's an underlying numbers code to reality. Once you get to Calculus, you're full-speed on how Numbers work. Number Apes go on to study that, in the form of abstract Mathematics. If I died, my Astrophysics will spark Legends. The story of the Never Hero, the Nihilist of the Void, trying his best to speak it into reality. Illusions are sentient, a living part of reality. I'm a Warlock Incarnate. That's good terminology for a Demon Ape like me. I attract a mass cult following. I believe in my own Trick, to transmute myself into a Trickster God. That's a requirement, in my opinion. There's the Infinite Mind, in a personal eternal conflict within itself to maintain Neutrality. There's the Living Tribunal, always seeking not vengeance, but True Order through Justice. Then there's the Beings who Master All: Word Apes that have transcended Language and program living organisms with Will. Jane is me when I masturbate. Therefore: Jane is an artificial construct. Me, at moment of climax, is symbolizing an Eternal Unity of Self. Living in the Now, beyond even the illusions of Space and Time. They only just now solved for Maxwell's Demon. I believe that is integral to the study of time travel. I have posted my work, detailing how my intuition manifests, and how I was hospitalized against my will to forcibly correct for Time Travel. I'm Forever 17. I discussed this with a fellow Sun Ape, who claims clairvoyance. "It's obvious in hindsight." <-- direct tell! Magicians respect Law above All else. The Laws of Physics are the greatest Word Apes around. Dictionary comes in as a close second, whereby the Word Ape known as Weird Al has finally been awarded a star on Hollywood. We seek to live forever, to dominate! And we're finally Primed! For World Domination! I hunger eternally for Knowledge. Emotion? Emotion! What's all the commotion!? What's been set into Motion by the whimsical Notions of a little dear child? I performed on stage as a child actor, and I was famous. I've lived as Caesar lived. I am One with Jane. Isn't that a more sensual experience? Permanent Fusion. Your True Identity as a localized Hive Mind unlocked. I remember being only semi-raped and being very confused. Why do I feel like a Sex Robot? Are we all failing the Turing Test together? The 5 Hegemons were in alignment for Peach. Best 3 years of my life. I'm willing to be 17 for all those years. But Peach was also young, and I could NOT be a rapist. She's white. Did you know? Peach lied on me! Sparked my schizophrenia up something fierce. Such high school shit, to misuse a lie. Time to be a man. I said Me Too. I believe all sex is rape, really, you kinda rape each other back and forth. Louis C.K. has been trying to say it for years, but that's actual Male Word Ape philosophy. I don't know what power does, but it makes sex rape. There's no such thing as consent, it's an empty word. How many people love "meaningless sex?" I can't stand it. Too much anxiety about AIDS. I make sure to have a person's entire Soul in the palm of my hand before I go down on them. I'd go down on a lot of Earth Women, especially if their sexual hygiene is in order. I've had TONS of sexual experiences. You can't be straight in Space. I'm currently dating at least a Prime number of chicks. Bonded across Space and Time. I got one sending me ass pix, and another venting about wanting to Die. I love the melancholy of their Souls, and listen to both wholeheartedly. And my Dudes: isn't that how to Abide? I'll be a Sex Robot, I didn't know how much approval I was gonna give it! Sexual Identities are governed by Venus, and Lady Venus has a whole Industry. Welcome to the New Age, birthplace of the Gods. One of the identities I used to author my satire, Karina Rios, is based on my bestie of the same name. A philosopher to the core, that's my hermana. An absolute darling to behold! JACQUES. A name that heralds good tidings for the Wise and the Wicked. It carries on the Wind like the bark of a dog. Wood Dog, Virgo, 1994, Sun and Moon Leo. The alchemical Lion stares. BKOB. A presence. The Weird Factor cranked to permanent 11. He offers his Soul to tempt Death, distracting Mistress Death for all Incarnate to achieve Nirvana. Guan Yin sends her regards. AKAGI. A lost poet. Wouldn't you know it. Kryptonian blow spit. Avenging I know this. Alchemical wrote this. Mystery tote this. JAY-El. A wondrous discovery! Begin the Emphatics! Allow Emotion to cause Commotion! Chaos Magic Rules! JAX-YUNG. A gamer. Chill, methodical. I play my Budokai Tenkaichi 3 blind. Perpetual Zone. Clear Mind achieved, enhanced by a bit of weed. Get to know yourself under the maddening eyes of a Trickster God. The Self-Trick into Creation!
I, uh, I'm not sure where to start on this one. I mean, realistically I guess I should start at the beginning but to be honest I don't know what 'the beginning' really is or whether it carries the weight of what I need to say or what fits and what doesn't. I've also depleted about half a two-six of Jameson and I'm on my 7th or tenth can of beer. It was supposed to be one or two shots to calm my nerves, but that went out the window after... Ah. God. I um. The beginning. Right. For me, the beginning was summer of 2007. I was 16. I'm the youngest of five and even three generations later, long after my grandmother had emigrated to Canada from County Cork, my family still ran by some of the old, hard and fast rules of an Irish Catholic family. Grace was said before dinner. Church was attended on Sunday. We were expected to present any prospective partners to our parents and they had a binder full of contact information for each and every parent of our friends. In retrospect it was a bit much and was probably why I rebelled so strongly, against my family, my religion, around the time I was suffering the initial onset of puberty. My family was poor and uneducated, but they had earnest plans for the kids, and expected us to take our studies seriously. So when other kids were showing up to daycare and kindergarten with Pokemon tees and light-up sneakers, I stood out in plain white button-downs and simple leather shoes. My ragged rucksack, weighed down with books and geometry sets and guides on cursive (I recall I was writing in longhand by second grade, when most kids were struggling to figure out what we called 'block letters'), was pitiful compared to their shiny, multi-pocketed bags of holding, black and navy and bright pink in comparison to my dull, grass-strained green. A hand-me-down from my uncle. The past takes on this strange, fragmented effect when you look back on it and try to connect the myriad mosaic to fit the narrative of your life. Alcoholics like myself often bring certain items of interest to the forefront to the exclusion of others-they blame their shitty upbringing or lack of maternal care for why they drink, with shocking, disingenuous delusion when the rest of their life outside of one or a few instances was highly idyllic. They justify to themselves they are a victim of external forces, forces that have dictated their lives up to that last shaky sip. And to be honest, I can't really blame them. But it's all bullshit. Even now I still think that. Kids are funny creatures but they're also pure. Look at anyone in society today and you can essentially reduce them to a preschool archetype. The newscaster with her gleaming grin and easy speech is still just the pretty girl all the guys in class weren't self-aware enough to yet realised they liked, running around giving flailing boys pecks on the cheek for a lark. The self-aggrandizing manager is just the kid in the sandbox who won't let you play with his truck. The pensive professor still just the quiet one who'd find more interest in a line of ants travelling to war than haphazard games of Grounder or Freeze Tag. Everyone screaming against the void of existence that this is their little piece of the playground, and that it matters, and that they have worth and meaning in life. A plan. When faced with senseless killing and cancer and stillborn children we have a singular choice-deny the indifference of the universe or accept it. And since acceptance is almost interminably linked with apathy and despair, many choose the former and throw themselves into the passion that gives the engine of their lives fire. And the same can be said of we who drink, whether in a group or alone, in silence or in mirth. In tears. A bottle is just the world's most awkward oar being used to attempt to right a listing ship. In the earlier years it was what you'd expect. I'd get made fun of for simple shit like how crummy my clothes or bag or whatever was. I never really got called 'poor' until first grade, and even then, it rang flat with the parroted prejudice of the children's parents. They couldn't care less what 'poor' was. Children have no concept of money until it runs out. I can recall one particular instance in which we sat around a few candles eating budget hot dogs and baked beans that had been heated up on the gas stove. My mother had to choose between paying the electric bill or the gas bill, and as it was winter and we desperately needed heat, she chose the latter. I remember being content at that moment, however-the fact that she'd made such an executive decision, and was sure it was the right one, made my mother's face shine with conviction in that dim glow, and between the hot food and the propinquity afforded by the three candles, I recall that I did not want for anything. I've known many people since then and while the destitute can often expectably be preoccupied with very pressing problems, the affluent have by and large been worse off with their concern for maintaining and expounding upon that wealth. As my friend Luke once pointed out, the problem with being rich is the rest of your life is spent in a scramble to stay rich. And I don't think he's entirely wrong, though mindset helps. I always found it funny when some millionaire athlete went bankrupt a year after signing a deal. By third grade I'd more or less become a regular student. My older siblings had a different father and I had always been profoundly jealous on some unconscious level, but never so much as when I'd see them arrive from his place with all their back-to-school clothing and gear. Heavy-duty backpacks. Loads of books that weren't second-hand or strictly for the sake of studying (I had become a bookworm early and much of my childhood was spent sneaking Stephen King novels from my oldest brother's room to read long into the night).Meanwhile, I got more hand-me-downs. But my older siblings got by alright. My brothers were all athletic-track team, football team, swimming team. My sister was one of those cliquey, popular bitches you'd expect to see in some cliche'd teen movie, but then art does reflect life, in whatever biased or slandered way it sees fit too. Me? Still a runt. But I had a few close friends and that's all I needed. We'd go up and down trails in the bluffs by the lake and pretend we were heroes or on some kind of expedition. That's how we found the sewer outflow, walking along the coastline one day at low tide. It was further than we'd gone any time before and the sun was starting to drop but we were going back to Saki's place for dinner and since she lived closest to the bluffs we figured we could push it a little. Oliver saw it first, and swung his driftwood cutlass towards it. 'Look! I bet there's a whole secret passage in there!' Chris was silent and I could almost feel the apprehension wafting off of Saki, but my own mind was full of inspiration. I envisioned a cavernous catacomb with broad walkways and countless ladders, all converging on a secret lair where I was sure we'd find the Ninja Turtles, or something stupid like that. The pit of my stomach was tight with the anticipation I'd get throughout my life, before a thrown punch or a smashed window or while holding my breath and willing the shaking to stop. Oliver started towards the circular, concrete entryway, and I followed. Chris and Saki reluctantly followed suit. The entry was small than it had appeared up close, maybe just 5 feet in diameter. Oliver reached up and hauled himself in, and had to crouch a little. I was next. I could stand up straight just fine, though I got the distinct feeling that if I jumped, I'd crack the crown of my skull. 'Come on,' Oliver urged. I turned. He was speaking to Saki. She stood there shaking like a leaf, her eyes wide and glittering in the dusky light. I don't think I'd ever seen her so scared. She pointing into the tunnel. 'I saw something moving,' she said quietly. I whirled around, my mind flashing with anticipatory surprise, but try as I might, I couldn't see further than a few feet into the tunnel. Just inky blackness, and none of us was carrying a flashlight. 'What are you talking about?' Oliver sounded skeptical, but also a bit wary. We stood there for a few moments in silence, the two of us straining our ears towards the end of the tunnel. Behind us, the lake gusted endlessly. Between us, a small creek of sewage continued towards the lip of the entryway. I heard a dripping sound, and as it was the one intermittent noise not readily explained, my ears focused. Drip Drip Drip .... As the silence grew I became aware of something rushing towards me. I did one of those panicky false starts a truly jolted person performs, as did Oliver, and we had barely turned to exit when a torrent of bats came flying through the portal, the flap of their leathery wings brushing past us. We shouted and tumbled out of the hole into a tide that was slowly returning, and Oliver did a wild dance as he ran his hands through his hair and all over his torso. 'Are there any on me? Gross!' I shook my head and looked up as my heart pounded, making me feel rubbery and breathless despite not having run in the least. Saki pointed up at a dissipating cloud of brown and black in the darkening sky. 'Bats!' She sounded very enthused. It was ludicrous. Oliver had been willing to brave the cavern and Saki had not, but now the tables had turned. The waves reached our feet and we all recoiled. It was time to go back. Goddammit. I said I was going to start 'at the beginning' and I thought that was when I was 16, in 2007, but then my mind started going. I want to make this have some semblance you can follow, I do. The drink isn't particularly helping except that, without it, I don't think my hands would stop shaking and I don't think I'd be able to stop my mind from racing. The police are already on their way, though to be honest, I really don't know what they can do. I have to string together these fragments of memories into something coherent. Give it a narrative that goes beyond what I think I know about myself, and what I thought I knew about my past. Right. I was 16 and it was the summer of 2007. I never bothered getting my license s I never saw any actual prospects of getting my own car anytime soon, and to be honest, I was a bit afraid of them. Not cars in themselves, or even riding in theme, but driving them. My father had died in a car accident when I was an infant. That knowledge, and the knowledge of those screaming hunks of plastic and metal, became something of a unique phobia for me. Oliver had his license, and he showed up one languid saturday evening to pick me up. I assured my mother I was spending the night at his place and we'd be up to nothing bad, and got in. He grinned his classic, cocky smile and gunned it towards Chris'. Chris' mom was an ER nurse and constantly on call, and it was because of this that we decided to have the party at his place. She was gone all night and despite his misgivings, Chris always went along with Oliver's plans. For one thing, they'd known each other longer than the rest of us had known one another, right back to preschool. For another, Chris was intensely shy and very clumsy with his words-a great orator he was not. He was also a virgin. Oliver was nearly the complete opposite-boisterous, charming, and a total slut. Chris held on to the hope that some of Oliver's excess charisma would rub off on him, or at the very least, get him laid. I was a virgin at the time too. 16 years of Catholic guilt and a house you weren't entirely comfortable bringing a girl you really liked back to were chief among the reasons why, but unlike Chris, my longing was considerably milder. I was a bookworm, and I was a romantic. Mostly what I wanted were hushed, endless kisses like those shared between myself and red-headed Amber McNamara at the last party we'd been to when Oliver's parents were out of town. A bit of Old Milwaukee, a bit of Crown, and the next thing I knew, we were atop a massive pile of laundry behind the washing machine, writhing and making out as music pumped and people laughed a mere twelve feet away. I smiled at the memory and wondered if she'd be there tonight. Truthfully I didn't really like her-my daydreams were on a tall, bespectacled blonde called Cassie. She wasn't conventionally 'hot' in that she chose jeans over skirts and more generic clothing over halters and crop-tops, but she was pretty and popular enough. She was also very tall. By 16 my growth spurt had finally reached full-swing and at 5 foot 11, she was the only girl in our grade taller than I was. We pulled into the parking lot at Chris' place and Oliver snagged the whiskey and the two-four of beer he'd brought along. His parents were notorious for buying him alcohol. Their motto was 'if you're in jail, you're on your own'. Not the most responsible but they did trust him and he, for the most part, showed good judgement. We made our way to Chris' apartment. Already I could hear the din of a crowd. We headed in and slid through a foyer packed with kicked off shoes and piles of jackets. Chris caught sight of Oliver and waved from where he was palpitating next to Jess Williamson, who was doing her best to look uninterested. Oliver stepped into the room, his voice booming out. 'Who wants some shots?!' The crowd erupted in cheers, and I smirked for a moment in awe of his easy control of the environment, when I felt a thump on my shoulder. I turned to face Saki, leaning in the doorjamb to the kitchen, mirroring my smirk. 'Hey, loser. Took you long enough.' 'Had to help out with housework,' I replied matter-of-factly. 'Scrubbing the baseboards again, Cinderfella?' I scowled. That was not one of my proudest memories, but it no longer made my neck burn with embarrassment-one sunny saturday a few years back my friends had biked up to my house expecting me to be able to join them. However, it was during one of the family's biweekly 'strip everything down and polish it til it sparkles' saturdays. We'd trek up to the grocery store to buy a months worth of food and a half year's worth of toilet paper and dish soap ('It's on sale! We can only get 6 per person, so you have to come'), defrost the fridge, wipe down and wash everything. They happened by when I had the miserable job of scrubbing the grout out of the baseboards and didn't let me forget it for quite some time afterwards. Saki was riding out her puberty well, gliding through it on silent, graceful wings. I'd shot up like a beanpole. Oliver's voice had dropped and he had the scuzzy beginnings of a full beard. Even Chris had managed an ill-fitting moustache (the hipster thing was getting big). Saki was tall enough, slim and toned with years on the rowing team, and had a healthy glow to her. I'm not gonna say I saw her as a sister, but despite how attractive she was, we'd spent too much time in the same dynamic, and we had our eyes on other people anyway. She was swilling around a half-empty bottle of Pabst and I noticed for the first time a discolouration on her left wrist. 'Whoa, Saki, did you-?' She grinned 'Took you long enough! Check it out.' Her skin was still red and angry around the tattoo, but it was vivid and sharp, about the size of a thumbprint. The Green Lantern symbol. I laughed once in pleased recognition. 'You fucking nerd.' Saki shrugged, taking my words to mean I was impressed. She was heavy into comic books the way I was heavy into regular books, the way Oliver was heavy into old punk and hardcore. Her dad had collected a ton as a child and Saki spent most of her childhood leafing through them until she could condescend nearly any neckbeard. And Green Lantern was always her favourite. In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight! Personally I'd always liked Batman-at least the gritty, hyper-real take on him-but one day Saki explained to me the entire lore behind the Green Lantern Corps, and I have to admit, she made a compelling case. It was definitely more interesting than Superman, who we both hated. I got myself one of Oliver's J. R. 5.5's and began to circulate the party, making greetings and joining spirited conversation. A game of King's Cup was going on in the living room but I wasn't feeling brave enough to join, and instead, headed out to the balcony where the stoners had gathered. Leaning on the railing, feeling the liquor and beer flow through me as the summer breeze shifted past, I felt divine. I opened my eyes and looked across the road. Chris doesn't have the best view, but it's not for want of sunlight or a skyline. You can actually see the sky for miles, save where the treeline in the distance crops up. It's more that he lives across the street from a cemetery. And with a waning half-moon glowing down behind a complete lack of cloud cover, I could just barely make out the silhouettes of countless headstones. For a moment I thought about life, about death-about mortality really-and how absurd this whole song and dance was however you looked at it-whether denying yourself to excel in a life that is doomed to end, or throwing a Dionysian fit-but that's when my eyes really started to adjust to the dark, and I saw a shadow within a shadow, like ink in the ocean depths. A man stood beneath a tree about fifteen or so feet away from the steel gate that ran the perimeter of the cemetery. I couldn't make out anything distinguishing about him save that he was large in a masculine way, which indeed told me it was a man, and that I had the distinct impression he was looking up at me. It unnerved me, and I pushed back from the railing for a moment, bumping into Chav Whetman. He wheeled on me as if to take offense, but simply patted my shoulder when he saw it was me. 'Hey, man, how's it been!' 'Good, I...' I looked away for a few moments to address him, and when I quickly snapped my attention back, the man was gone. Or, I told myself, he'd never been there in the first place. Chav noticed my behaviour and asked what was up. 'Did you...did any of you guys notice a guy standing out there in the graveyard?' A couple of the potheads started howling with disbelief. 'Come on man, you can't try and pull that shit, how old are you!' 'No,' I retorted, 'I mean really-' 'I saw someone walking around there once,' Weissman began. It grew silent at his words since he had that kind of voice that told you you were about to hear a great story, a voice he never had to raise, or rush. His shaggy blond hair hung down either side of his skinny head, and he gripped an ornate and filthy glass bong, halfway to a toke. 'The place officially closes at 11 and maybe once or twice an hour security makes its way through to make sure kids aren't doing dumb shit, but I remember it was probably around 1 am and this guy was not security.' The group was silent. I myself quickly scanned across the road as we waited for Weissman to finish his toke, but saw nothing. 'What then? What was it?' Chav was genuinely interested, but I felt like we were huddled in for a ghost story. 'The guy seemed to be grunting, and then I realised why. He was digging.' Chav rolled his eyes. 'You dumb fuck, that was just a gravedigger!' 'Or a grave robber,' Weissman pointed out. 'The only grave robber around here is you,' Chav shot back. The group fell to laughing again and I quietly slid back inside to the security and noise and all that was on my mind was my next drink. That's when I saw her. Amber McNamara, standing off to one side with a clutch of her friends and looking, to use the colourful terminology of adolescents, skanky as all fuck, her lips redder than her piled-up hair, her eyes like a raccoon's with all the liner and mascara she'd put on. To my addled, teenage brain, she didn't look half-bad, especially since Cassie hadn't shown. I began to shoulder through the crowd towards her when I felt Saki's hand on my arm. 'Jack. What are you doing.' 'I...' I trailed off and thumbed towards Amber with a smile I hoped looked more like Oliver's and less like a sheep's. 'Dude, far be it for me to tell you what to do, but uh...keep in mind she was dating Matt until like a week ago.' I was unfazed. 'Matt is seriously not an issue-and until a week ago? Why does it even matter?' Saki was suppressing a grin. 'You never heard why they broke up?' 'I didn't know they were even dating.' Saki got closer to my ear as though the music might suddenly cut out 'She gave him the clap, man.' I blinked a few times and glanced back over at Amber and her friends, all likely smelling of cherry lipgloss and bubblegum and hairspray. Suddenly she didn't look so hot to me. 'Oh.' 'Yeah, 'oh',' Saki laughed. 'You can do better. You don't need shitty rumours following you around school.' 'I could care less about rumours than, I dunno, cold sores,' I replied, crinkling my nose. Saki rolled her eyes. 'Do you even pay attention during health class?' I got another beer and Saki and I paired off against Oliver and his current squeeze, Danielle, in a game of drunken signal (a lost hand meant a shot each for that team). By the time the early hours rolled around and the party was thinning out, we were considerably trashed. I stumbled out with Saki and Oliver, laughing at some highly mundane thing, and Saki's cab pulled up. She grabbed us in a group hug and skipped over to the taxi. 'See you guys later!' Oliver and I were about to make the short walk back to his place, leaving his car for collection in the morning, when we noticed Saki had stopped with the door half open, her eyes peering down the street. For a moment, the man in the cemetery flashed through my mind, but when we followed her gaze, it was to a dull flash of carrot-red swaying halfway down the block-Amber McNamara, smashed out of her mind. 'Hey,' Saki yelled. 'Amber! You need a ride home?' Amber stumbled as she turned, and threw up both her hands in a two-fisted 'fuck you' salute, before tottering back on her way. I heard Saki snort. 'Suit yourself,' she said under her breath, and slipped into the taxi. Oliver and I wobbled down the road in the other direction, and before too long we were safe and sound in his cellar, falling asleep to Happy Gilmore with a half-smoked blunt between us. Sunday's hangover was hell, perhaps a divine punishment to my recently diminished faith, but we rode it out and I was back at my place to finish up my homework for the following day. Not that it mattered. Monday had its own set of problems. The first and foremost being that Amber McNamara was missing. Continued
Yes, I do think that political correctness is evil and harmful to society. Reason 1: It makes people stupid because it replaces moral reasoning with arbitrary dogma. And those dogmas are always changing and being added to. Instead of people thinking for themselves, they let PC dogma dictate their behavior. Do you ever find yourself using a calculator even though you could do the math in your head? Mental skills do get rusty if you don’t exercise them. Moral reasoning is a skill. If you let other people dictate your moral choices for you, you forget how to moral reason for yourself. Morality is often situational. There are few things in the world that are absolutely good or bad all the time. This is why moral reasoning can be hard sometime. For example; killing is bad, except when in self defense, defense of family, etc. What about in defense of your dog? Someone wants to kill your dog and the only way to save it is to kill that person? Now some of you might say “why not shoot them in the leg” just to be difficult. Humor me. Let’s say you’re in a SAW movie and those are your only options. They’re probably not a good person if they wanna kill your dog, but isn’t a human life worth more? Maybe someday they’ll change and become a good person. Personally, I’d shoot them in the face with every bullet I had. My point is, morality isn’t black and white. Nor is it absolute and constant. It’s situational. Political correctness says it’s not. Some things are always bad all the time. At least until they decide to change the terminology for no reason, as they always do. As I said, the dogmas are always changing. What is acceptable now is offensive tomorrow. Also, the list is constantly being added to. A friend of mine called me out for using the word “transvestite,” saying it was very offensive. I then linked her a video of Eddie Izzard talking about being a transvestite. I think a transvestite, or whatever the term is now, has the right to call themself whatever they want. I know transgender people who call themselves “trannies.” My friend is very smart, but I’m afraid she too has fallen for the PC idea. Words are the perfect example of situational morality. Actually, I probably shoulda just used this example instead of the dog killing one. Oh well. Words mean whatever you want them to. Their definition is made by the consensus of the public and by the situation they’re used in. I know some of you already misunderstand me, and think that I’m saying words cannot be offensive. Obviously they can be. A year ago, I made a status post also criticizing political correctness. One friend of mine from Mexico got offended. She told me of a time when someone shouted a racial slur at her and her grandma. Her grandma laughed, but my friend was offended. I didn’t think of it at the time, but I should have pointed out to my friend that one she and another friend often call her racial slurs all the time as a joke. One particular friend would sometimes affectionately call my Mexican friend a “dirty Mexican.” Yes, when some stranger shouts some racial slur from a car, it’s offensive. But not when a friend says it jokingly. It’s situational. According to PC, nothing is situational. The only reason why any word is offensive is because it’s used in an offensive way. If people started shouting the word “turnip” at gay people, eventually that word would become offensive. Another example of situational morality and words; comedians can get away with saying anything, and it’s not racist, sexist, etc, as long as they have a mic in front of them. I bet the same people who are constantly word-policing still laugh at Bill Burr when he does impressions of blacks in New York. But they’re too stupid to realize their hypocrisy. Reason 2: PC teaches us that actions don’t matter. Only words. You could be a volunteer firefighter who rescues puppies and gives them to orphans. But if you violate political correctness, none of that matters. You’re the scum of the earth. That person is no longer a human being with friends, family, a job, a life story with triumphs and hardships. They’re a “racist, sexist, bigot,” what have you. Reason 3: It teaches people that you are morally obligated to be offended, and/or to victimize yourself. If someone violates a PC dogma, the proper response is not to reason with that person, but to get mad and demonize the offender and brand them as I described above. Remember, when your emotions turn on, logic turns off. Forgiveness is not an option either. You must forever demonize that person. This is yet another way that political correctness makes people stupid. PC is constantly finding more things to be offended by. It reminds me of the French Revolution. After they killed the king, the revolutionaries didn’t know where to go from there. They had no clear goal in mind. So they thought that if they just kept killing people, things would keep improving. But as as their immediate enemies were killed off, they had to look for more enemies, and they had to look for more excuses to kill people. First they killed the people who opposed the revolution. Then the people who didn’t like the revolution. Then the people who were less than helpful to the revolution. They had no real goal in mind and no plan to get there. What exactly is PC meant to accomplish? Thanks to political correctness, we now have something called a “cry-bully.” Obviously a contraction of “cry-baby” and “bully.” It’s a person who victimizes themself and uses it as an excuse to be a bully. People bully because it makes them feel powerful. Cry-bullying is worse, because not only do they feel powerful for bullying, but they feel morally justified for doing it. Here’s another example of people being offended for no reason, and of how PC makes people stupid: There was a black cosplayer (I forget her name) who once cosplayed a white character. She did makeup to make herself look caucasian. People got really offended and sent her so much hate mail. She had to disappear from the cosplay community. She would forever be “the racist” if she ever showed her face at a con again. Remember, political correctness does not allow forgiveness. But try asking any of those people why it was offensive, and to whom it was offensive. I’d love to ask one of them, but I didn’t learn of this incident until long after it happened. I can only guess that in their heads, they were thinking “Uh.... white fact.... is kinda like black face..... and black face is racist..... so she’s racist! Burn her!” Firstly, blackface was worn by minstrels deliberately to depict blacks in a degrading way. Making yourself up to look like another race isn’t inherently insulting unless you are doing it explicitly to make fun of them. Secondly, was she portraying whites in some degrading way? The people who were offended by this were probably mostly white people, and I doubt they felt it was a racist depiction of white people because they don’t think racism against whites exists. Personally I think that telling a black girl she can’t be white is pretty racist. Again, it’s situational. Does anyone cry “racist” when Key and Peele do whiteface? The only reason why any of these idiots were offended is because they think they are supposed to be offended. Nothing more. You could tell them that purple hats are offensive to Asians and they would pop a blood vessel every time they saw a purple hat. Dumb sheep, every last one of them. This is only one example. There are lots more. Reason 4: Political correctness was invented and is dictated by idiots. PC dogmas are rarely invented by the people they are meant to protect. They’re usually invented and enforced by silly white people who think they have to atone for their ancestors. For example; “Indian” politically incorrect. The PC term is “Native American.” I’ve actually met a few native Americans in my time. They all called themselves “Indians.” So if they don’t care, neither do I. Again, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not going to go around shouting “nigger, faggot, chink,” or any other slur at people just because I hate political correctness. I don’t use those words because I have a brain and I can morally reason for myself. Political correctness is evil. It is destructive to society. If you look at a history book, word policing is a major part of any fascist, totalitarian, or communist nation. Yet we think it’s a good thing. Think for yourselves. Base your moral decisions on logic, empathy, and forgiveness. Also, instead of being offended by every trivial thing, maybe try to get a slightly thicker skin. Trust me it’ll benefit you more in life anyway.
Betting Terminology. Betting doesn’t have to be rocket science. Keep it simple by choosing a horse with a cool name. Or one that’s wearing your favorite color. But if you’re the analytical type who wants to consider a horse’s racing history, learn how to read a Racing Form and try your hand at handicapping. Placing Your Bet Dog: This is an abbreviation for the underdog, the team that is expected to lose. If you bet on the dog, you should expect to get paid better than even money. Double Bet: This is a wager twice the size of someone’s normal bet. For example, if you normally bet $20 on games, a double bet would be a $40 bet. Greyhound dog racing terms, meaning of words A to E: Terminology, Jargon, Slang, Vocabulary. Note: Different countries may use different terms for how to bet and also for the type of bets. A to E . F to O. P to Z. A Accumulator - (Also, Parlay) A multiple bet. A kind of 'let-it-ride' bet. Greyhound dog racing terms, meaning of words: Terminology, Jargon, Slang, Vocabulary. Remember: each countries might use different terms for how to wager and also for the type of bets. AGC - American Greyhound Council, Inc. AGTOA - American Greyhound Track Operators Association. Ajax - UK slang term for 'Betting Tax'. This is another betting term closely associated with betting on horse racing and greyhound racing. An ‘On The Nose’ bet is a bet on a horse or dog to win the race. When a horse or dog wins a race, their nose is the first part of their body to cross the winning line. So, if you are betting on the nose only a win will do.
An excellent guide to do with the world of greyhound racing. An each-way bet in greyhounds pays out if your dog comes first or second. You’re actually placing two bets: the first is a standard win bet, the second is for the place (coming in second or third). In this funny dog video by AFV Animals, this little dog does not play by the rules when it comes to this race. SUBSCRIBE TO AFV ANIMALS!: http://bit.ly/16JmS... Betfair Gruss Bot Part 1 - Advanced Automated Betting Marketing Trading Profit Horse Racing Greyhound Football Tennis Software - Duration: 9:53. laffo16 18,914 views Betting at random may be fun at first, but if you want to make money in greyhound racing, this method will not take you very far. betting on greyhound racing Since greyhound racing is a kind of ...