Stores open right now
BostonSissies
2017.02.08 06:34 BostonSissies
A place for sissies and doms in Boston to communicate with kik and the likes or whatever, getting people together to trade, show off, and fuck <3
2016.07.13 19:51 violentviolinz Asiancouples
Not open to public requests right now. In the future perhaps
2009.08.09 01:10 Lacedaemonian Open Computing Language
2023.05.30 18:51 KellytheFeminist Asshole on memorial day...
So I worked open to close yesterday, obviously it was super dead. The first mother fucker that sits at my bar (hours after we opened) asks me to turn on Fox news so he can see "what Biden is doing to ruin our country today". I change the channel and make myself as scarce as possible because he's non stop trying to engage me in political conversations. My boss comes up to the bar and he does the same to him, so much so that my boss avoids my bar after the interaction. The guy drinks 4 $12 margs and eats a 3 course meal, saying offensive bullshit to me the entire time. My only appreciation for the guy at this point is that I have $100 in sales now, and maybe a tip to speak of. The dude says he's going to smoke a cigarette and walks on his fucking tab. I got in trouble because it was dead and had to comp the entire check. Holidays suckkkkk
submitted by KellytheFeminist to bartenders [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:51 AccidentalRDM Thank you DICE
Thank you for not abandoning your game and your player base at a time when it’s doing stronger than ever. Even if it seemed like the necessary next step to take, working towards a new Battlefield title, you’re still committed to getting 2042 closer to its full potential. Myself and many others in the community are really, truly grateful for this decision. I’ve seen loads of positive feedback already, which is rare from this turbulent community, but for once most people seem to be in agreement: you made the right choice here, DICE.
Let’s be honest, nobody expected 2042 to get this far. When it first launched, it was in a truly atrocious state, basically unplayable (we still haven’t fully forgiven you for that btw), and it seemed like it was doomed to a slow, painful death, to fade into obscurity as a bitter memory. But instead, over time, after thousands of bug fixes and improvements, practically the entire game being overhauled and reworked, after adding new maps and weapons and specialists, the game has managed to slowly crawl back out of the ashes of its failure. With your effort DICE, 2042 is finally standing on its feet now, if maybe a little shaky and unsteady, and after season 5, you had the opportunity to let go of its hand to move on the next game. But there’s no telling how long it would have been able to stand on its own if you left it now, it can only go on so many months without any content or updates to keep the players engaged. But you’ve chosen to stick around a little longer, and we are grateful.
I truly hope you will continue to listen to our feedback, beyond season six and even into the next game. But only act on it when it’s going to be beneficial to the game, not detrimental. I appreciate your hard work, and I’m excited for the future of Battlefield.
submitted by AccidentalRDM to battlefield2042 [link] [comments]
Let’s be honest, nobody expected 2042 to get this far. When it first launched, it was in a truly atrocious state, basically unplayable (we still haven’t fully forgiven you for that btw), and it seemed like it was doomed to a slow, painful death, to fade into obscurity as a bitter memory. But instead, over time, after thousands of bug fixes and improvements, practically the entire game being overhauled and reworked, after adding new maps and weapons and specialists, the game has managed to slowly crawl back out of the ashes of its failure. With your effort DICE, 2042 is finally standing on its feet now, if maybe a little shaky and unsteady, and after season 5, you had the opportunity to let go of its hand to move on the next game. But there’s no telling how long it would have been able to stand on its own if you left it now, it can only go on so many months without any content or updates to keep the players engaged. But you’ve chosen to stick around a little longer, and we are grateful.
I truly hope you will continue to listen to our feedback, beyond season six and even into the next game. But only act on it when it’s going to be beneficial to the game, not detrimental. I appreciate your hard work, and I’m excited for the future of Battlefield.
2023.05.30 18:51 coleknight2066 Crypto currency is a scam.
Warning, crypto currency is a scam.
I bought 500 xlm and someone told me that's its cryptocurrency and that it expands my money over time but I also have to add more and they told me to get a loan from the bank but the bank won't give me a loan because I don't work and I cannot withdraw the money I made on this cryptocurrency thing because I need to add more before you can withdraw.
Turns out it was a scam and now I've lost 500 quid, he told me I had to do it because the great reset would cause all the banks to crash and I would lose my money, right now because I've lost 500 quid and I've got no more money in my bank account until my disability benefits come in at the end of June, I've got no way to pay my taxes, rents, bills and subscriptions and no food or anything either, I have no one to fall back to so now I've go no money for food and I'm probably gonna be kicked out to the streets.
I don't want to live anymore, i want to kill myself.
submitted by coleknight2066 to CryptoCurrency [link] [comments]
I bought 500 xlm and someone told me that's its cryptocurrency and that it expands my money over time but I also have to add more and they told me to get a loan from the bank but the bank won't give me a loan because I don't work and I cannot withdraw the money I made on this cryptocurrency thing because I need to add more before you can withdraw.
Turns out it was a scam and now I've lost 500 quid, he told me I had to do it because the great reset would cause all the banks to crash and I would lose my money, right now because I've lost 500 quid and I've got no more money in my bank account until my disability benefits come in at the end of June, I've got no way to pay my taxes, rents, bills and subscriptions and no food or anything either, I have no one to fall back to so now I've go no money for food and I'm probably gonna be kicked out to the streets.
I don't want to live anymore, i want to kill myself.
2023.05.30 18:50 cupcakesordeath Post Pandemic + Self Care
I'm in this really weird space right now and was curious if anyone out there has been in a similar rut.
During the pandemic, I was seeing this guy and so I was making more of an effort to keep up appearances. We stopped dating and I just stopped trying to impress anyone. I also work with an office full of guys so I don't really go out of my way to dress cute. I just try to blend in.
As a result, I just really haven't taken care of myself. I do skincare. But like stopped following makeup, haven't really shopped for new clothes, haven't gotten my nails done, etc. I finally went and got my hair cut last month instead of just rolling into a cheap salon and getting it trimmed.
I feel like a feral woman at this point, haha. I know I need to start making some kind of effort but I'm just struggling on why. I'm not interested in dating. My dog doesn't care what I wear. I don't know.
Is this my mid-life crisis?
Anyone out there hit a weird similar rut in their life?
submitted by cupcakesordeath to TwoXChromosomes [link] [comments]
During the pandemic, I was seeing this guy and so I was making more of an effort to keep up appearances. We stopped dating and I just stopped trying to impress anyone. I also work with an office full of guys so I don't really go out of my way to dress cute. I just try to blend in.
As a result, I just really haven't taken care of myself. I do skincare. But like stopped following makeup, haven't really shopped for new clothes, haven't gotten my nails done, etc. I finally went and got my hair cut last month instead of just rolling into a cheap salon and getting it trimmed.
I feel like a feral woman at this point, haha. I know I need to start making some kind of effort but I'm just struggling on why. I'm not interested in dating. My dog doesn't care what I wear. I don't know.
Is this my mid-life crisis?
Anyone out there hit a weird similar rut in their life?
2023.05.30 18:50 obeliskposture Have any of the resident radfems read Engels' "Origins of the Family, Private Property, and the State"?
It's well worth a read, though I'm not sure exactly how well the late nineteenth-century anthropology holds up today. (Maybe somebody more knowledgeable than me can weigh in.)
The long and short of it: Engels examines how the structure of the family in a given society is contingent upon it economic and technological conditions, considered in terms of linear stages of development from "savagery" to "civilization." Group marriage, elective pair bonds, and matrilineality are typical of "primitive" societies, while ones that develop large-scale agriculture and specialized crafts tend towards patrilineality, driven by concerns over property rights:
Been reading this lately. Thought I'd share some bits as conversation starters—and as a rebuff to the latest episode of "nobody duz Marxism no more."
submitted by obeliskposture to stupidpol [link] [comments]
The long and short of it: Engels examines how the structure of the family in a given society is contingent upon it economic and technological conditions, considered in terms of linear stages of development from "savagery" to "civilization." Group marriage, elective pair bonds, and matrilineality are typical of "primitive" societies, while ones that develop large-scale agriculture and specialized crafts tend towards patrilineality, driven by concerns over property rights:
We now leave America, the classic soil of the pairing family. No sign allows us to conclude that a higher form of family developed here, or that there was ever permanent monogamy anywhere in America prior to its discovery and conquest. But not so in the Old World.The short version of the conclusion: if the tangling up of property relations, economic brass tacks, reproduction, and romantic/sexual love has warped relations between the sexes, then the passage from capitalism into socialism and communism will allow men and women to stand on more equal footing. There's no point in smashing any patriarchy because there's no patriarchy to smash: just a period of historical development that needs to be brought to its conclusion and sublated by the next phase.
Here the domestication of animals and the breeding of herds had developed a hitherto unsuspected source of wealth and created entirely new social relations. Up to the lower stage of barbarism, permanent wealth had consisted almost solely of house, clothing, crude ornaments and the tools for obtaining and preparing food – boat, weapons, and domestic utensils of the simplest kind. Food had to be won afresh day by day. Now, with their herds of horses, camels, asses, cattle, sheep, goats, and pigs, the advancing pastoral peoples—the Semites on the Euphrates and the Tigris, and the Aryans in the Indian country of the Five Streams (Punjab), in the Ganges region, and in the steppes then much more abundantly watered of the Oxus and the Jaxartes—had acquired property which only needed supervision and the rudest care to reproduce itself in steadily increasing quantities and to supply the most abundant food in the form of milk and meat. All former means of procuring food now receded into the background; hunting, formerly a necessity, now became a luxury.
But to whom did this new wealth belong? Originally to the gens, without a doubt. Private property in herds must have already started at an early period, however. It is difficult to say whether the author of the so-called first book of Moses regarded the patriarch Abraham as the owner of his herds in his own right as head of a family community or by right of his position as actual hereditary head of a gens. What is certain is that we must not think of him as a property owner in the modern sense of the word. And it is also certain that at the threshold of authentic history we already find the herds everywhere separately owned by heads of families, as are the artistic products of barbarism—metal implements, luxury articles and, finally, the human cattle—the slaves.
For now slavery had also been invented. To the barbarian of the lower stage, a slave was valueless. Hence the treatment of defeated enemies by the American Indians was quite different from that at a higher stage. The men were killed or adopted as brothers into the tribe of the victors; the women were taken as wives or otherwise adopted with their surviving children. At this stage human labor-power still does not produce any considerable surplus over and above its maintenance costs. That was no longer the case after the introduction of cattle-breeding, metalworking, weaving and, lastly, agriculture. just as the wives whom it had formerly been so easy to obtain had now acquired an exchange value and were bought, so also with the forces of labor, particularly since the herds had definitely become family possessions. The family did not multiply so rapidly as the cattle. More people were needed to look after them; for this purpose use could be made of the enemies captured in war, who could also be bred just as easily as the cattle themselves.
Once it had passed into the private possession of families and there rapidly begun to augment, this wealth dealt a severe blow to the society founded on pairing marriage and the matriarchal gens. Pairing marriage had brought a new element into the family. By the side of the natural mother of the child it placed its natural and attested father, with a better warrant of paternity, probably, than that of many a “father” today. According to the division of labor within the family at that time, it was the man’s part to obtain food and the instruments of labor necessary for the purpose. He therefore also owned the instruments of labor, and in the event of husband and wife separating, he took them with him, just as she retained her household goods. Therefore, according to the social custom of the time, the man was also the owner of the new source of subsistence, the cattle, and later of the new instruments of labor, the slaves. But according to the custom of the same society, his children could not inherit from him. For as regards inheritance, the position was as follows:
At first, according to mother-right—so long, therefore, as descent was reckoned only in the female line—and according to the original custom of inheritance within the gens, the gentile relatives inherited from a deceased fellow member of their gens. His property had to remain within the gens. His effects being insignificant, they probably always passed in practice to his nearest gentile relations—that is, to his blood relations on the mother's side. The children of the dead man, however, did not belong to his gens, but to that of their mother; it was from her that they inherited, at first conjointly with her other blood relations, later perhaps with rights of priority; they could not inherit from their father, because they did not belong to his gens, within which his property had to remain. When the owner of the herds died, therefore, his herds would go first to his brothers and sisters and to his sister’s children, or to the issue of his mother’s sisters. But his own children were disinherited.
Thus, on the one hand, in proportion as wealth increased, it made the man’s position in the family more important than the woman’s, and on the other hand created an impulse to exploit this strengthened position in order to overthrow, in favor of his children, the traditional order of inheritance. This, however, was impossible so long as descent was reckoned according to mother-right. Mother-right, therefore, had to be overthrown, and overthrown it was. This was by no means so difficult as it looks to us today. For this revolution—one of the most decisive ever experienced by humanity—could take place without disturbing a single one of the living members of a gens. All could remain as they were. A simple decree sufficed that in the future the offspring of the male members should remain within the gens, but that of the female should be excluded by being transferred to the gens of their father. The reckoning of descent in the female line and the matriarchal law of inheritance were thereby overthrown, and the male line of descent and the paternal law of inheritance were substituted for them. As to how and when this revolution took place among civilized peoples, we have no knowledge. It falls entirely within prehistoric times. But that it did take place is more than sufficiently proved by the abundant traces of mother-right which have been collected, particularly by Bachofen. How easily it is accomplished can be seen in a whole series of American Indian tribes, where it has only recently taken place and is still taking place under the influence, partly of increasing wealth and a changed mode of life (transference from forest to prairie), and partly of the moral pressure of civilization and missionaries. Of eight Missouri tribes, six observe the male line of descent and inheritance, two still observe the female. Among the Shawnees, Miamis and Delawares the custom has grown up of giving the children a gentile name of their father's gens in order to transfer them into it, thus enabling them to inherit from him. (...)
The overthrow of mother-right was the world historical defeat of the female sex. The man took command in the home also; the woman was degraded and reduced to servitude, she became the slave of his lust and a mere instrument for the production of children. This degraded position of the woman, especially conspicuous among the Greeks of the heroic and still more of the classical age, has gradually been palliated and glozed over, and sometimes clothed in a milder form; in no sense has it been abolished.
In any case, therefore, the position of men will be very much altered. But the position of women, of all women, also undergoes significant change. With the transfer of the means of production into common ownership, the single family ceases to be the economic unit of society. Private housekeeping is transformed into a social industry. The care and education of the children becomes a public affair; society looks after all children alike, whether they are legitimate or not. This removes all the anxiety about the “consequences,” which today is the most essential social—moral as well as economic—factor that prevents a girl from giving herself completely to the man she loves. Will not that suffice to bring about the gradual growth of unconstrained sexual intercourse and with it a more tolerant public opinion in regard to a maiden’s honor and a woman’s shame? And, finally, have we not seen that in the modern world monogamy and prostitution are indeed contradictions, but inseparable contradictions, poles of the same state of society? Can prostitution disappear without dragging monogamy with it into the abyss?Again, short answer: yes. Engels maintains that the revolution won't deliver us all unto polyamory, but to happy and uncoerced monogamy:
Full freedom of marriage can therefore only be generally established when the abolition of capitalist production and of the property relations created by it has removed all the accompanying economic considerations which still exert such a powerful influence on the choice of a marriage partner. For then there is no other motive left except mutual inclination.I wonder.
Been reading this lately. Thought I'd share some bits as conversation starters—and as a rebuff to the latest episode of "nobody duz Marxism no more."
2023.05.30 18:50 New_Neighborhood_370 I’m in love with my best friend
I just Need somewhere to get this off my chest because I can’t tell anybody. I met my best friend Ryan (fake name) about a year ago. He’s very caring and really attractive. I found out that I liked him about a month ago. I had a dream about us dating and it just clicked in my mind that I like him. I call him all the time. We talk about everything and we just make each other laugh. Now here’s my dilemma, he dated my best friend Abbi (fake name). When they dated I didn’t like him. AND he has a girlfriend. He’s not very good with relationships. Abbi was his first relationship and he broke up with her because he didn’t really like her(he was very respectful). But the girl that he dating right now has liked him 4 times before, then just stopped liking him. I just got out of a year long relationship so I don’t know if this is just me trying to have a replacement person but I think I really like him. He’s just amazing. But I can’t date him. ALSO he’s my exes friend but, he was my friend way before his. I just don’t know what to do. If I tell him it would ruin our whole friendship because he definitely doesn’t like me. I have to see him everyday of my life because I go to school with him. And even if he did like me, I would lose my whole friend group because of Abbi. I love Abbi so much but I can’t help but like Ryan. I love Ryan’s mom so much and I feel like she’s my mom. So if I tell Ryan it would ruin everything. :(
submitted by New_Neighborhood_370 to confessions [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:50 RomaNoCatholic Pocket GM Soccer
Saw someone comment about a Pocket GM NBA when I rlly think the right move is a Pocket GM Soccer. Would literally break the AppStore
submitted by RomaNoCatholic to pocketGM [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:50 velikisir [Chrono24]: My Overseas Watch Purchase Nightmare
I wanted to share a cautionary tale about my recent experience purchasing a watch from an overseas seller listed on Chrono24. It's a sad reminder of the risks involved when dealing with international transactions, especially wire transfers.
A reputable overseas store had a brand new JLC for sale. It was an older reference and priced to sell so that they could stock new inventory. Some of my most cherished watches were "last season" pieces so I knew the drill!
I did my due diligence. I read countless reviews of the store, confirmed the seller was indeed a flagship brick-and-mortar shop in the capital city of a high-income country, and my communication with the guy was pretty seamless. Everything looked legit. I decided to take the leap.
I initiated a wire transfer to the seller directly because his shop did not do Chrono24 escrow. I was informed the process would take a few business days, which I expected. But for reasons beyond my control, the wire transfer took much longer than anticipated to reach the seller. Nearly 2 weeks.
I maintained constant communication with the seller throughout. I took screenshots of my bank statement and even made a copy of the formal letter I received from my bank confirming the transaction.
All that effort for nothing. To my horror, his store ended up selling the watch to someone else while my money was still in transit. The seller prioritized a faster transaction over the agreement we had made.
Now thousands of dollars of my money are sitting in his bank account. He assures me he's working on a solution and accepts fault. But I'm left with little recourse. Recalling the wire is not a guarantee of anything, who knows if I'll ever see the money again?
I'm so frustrated and disappointed. I feel betrayed. The seller's actions have left me with a deep sense of distrust, not only toward him but also toward similar transactions in the future.
Please think twice about making wire-only transactions. When in doubt, use the Chrono24 escrow or some other method.
submitted by velikisir to Watches [link] [comments]
A reputable overseas store had a brand new JLC for sale. It was an older reference and priced to sell so that they could stock new inventory. Some of my most cherished watches were "last season" pieces so I knew the drill!
I did my due diligence. I read countless reviews of the store, confirmed the seller was indeed a flagship brick-and-mortar shop in the capital city of a high-income country, and my communication with the guy was pretty seamless. Everything looked legit. I decided to take the leap.
I initiated a wire transfer to the seller directly because his shop did not do Chrono24 escrow. I was informed the process would take a few business days, which I expected. But for reasons beyond my control, the wire transfer took much longer than anticipated to reach the seller. Nearly 2 weeks.
I maintained constant communication with the seller throughout. I took screenshots of my bank statement and even made a copy of the formal letter I received from my bank confirming the transaction.
All that effort for nothing. To my horror, his store ended up selling the watch to someone else while my money was still in transit. The seller prioritized a faster transaction over the agreement we had made.
Now thousands of dollars of my money are sitting in his bank account. He assures me he's working on a solution and accepts fault. But I'm left with little recourse. Recalling the wire is not a guarantee of anything, who knows if I'll ever see the money again?
I'm so frustrated and disappointed. I feel betrayed. The seller's actions have left me with a deep sense of distrust, not only toward him but also toward similar transactions in the future.
Please think twice about making wire-only transactions. When in doubt, use the Chrono24 escrow or some other method.
2023.05.30 18:50 innosflew Today, Minsk is the European capital of political prisoners and human rights violations - Lukashenka's continued repression of dissent is a catastrophe unfolding right now in the middle of Europe and on the EU's border. Remaining silent about it will come at a significant cost
 | submitted by innosflew to EUnews [link] [comments] |
2023.05.30 18:50 dundunjustbored87 Eating at different times (need some advice)
So I recently started looking into OMAD, I have some experience with fasting but I’ve never done OMAD or anything longer than 17-18 hours. Recently though I have decided to since my health and weight is not the best right now…
Anyways, has anyone tried eating at different times everyday with OMAD…like one day you eat at 5, the next you at 8, and then the next you eat at 6 and etc??? Is this a good idea or should I just pick one specific time and stick to it?
I’m asking this because I’ve heard lots of experienced fasters say that you should frequently switch up your routine so your body doesn’t get too used to what you’re doing. Please let me know. Thank you.
submitted by dundunjustbored87 to omad [link] [comments]
Anyways, has anyone tried eating at different times everyday with OMAD…like one day you eat at 5, the next you at 8, and then the next you eat at 6 and etc??? Is this a good idea or should I just pick one specific time and stick to it?
I’m asking this because I’ve heard lots of experienced fasters say that you should frequently switch up your routine so your body doesn’t get too used to what you’re doing. Please let me know. Thank you.
2023.05.30 18:50 hellotrrespie Mid to small size 4 door truck with 4x4 for <$30,000 used. Ideas?
Hey everyone, wondering what the consensus is on here for a good used 4x4 truck with 4 doors. Right now Im split between a ranger or a colorado as Ive driven both and like the feel. I know tacomas are extremely popular, but I'm wondering what outside of those three should I be considering?
submitted by hellotrrespie to whatcarshouldIbuy [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:50 Wauzmons Server Problems :(
 | I wanted to release version 0.3.0 for patrons today, but our servers seem to be down, so fixing that has priority right now. The host is informed and investigating the issue. submitted by Wauzmons to ElysianEclipse [link] [comments] The only things still missing for the release are some item mechanics and another cell stage biome. If the servers won't be fixed within a week, I'll just release it as-is, since the website isn't affected, just our task management, version control and Minecraft servers are down. Flocki is not amused. https://preview.redd.it/cu531ogkh13b1.jpg?width=550&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=aa1ecc08cdf443a3fbf7da5a9e6463d663fec440 |
2023.05.30 18:49 krazee_kay New rider here 👋 asking for advice
Back in April I decided to get my MC license. I went and did the training, and I passed my parking lot test (woo!) so all this is still a bit new to me.
I think it was my 3rd time riding in traffic, I was stopped at a light and I fell over. I realized too late that the bike was leaning a bit too far and I couldn't right it. All was good with the bike, I was fine, so I've been trying to remind myself that we learned a valuable lesson, and I got right back on.
That was 3 weeks ago, and this morning I was backing out of the garage and I fell over. There's a slight slope and my wheel was cranked so my bad (again, learned a lesson here), I was also able to lift it back up myself so now I have some experience doing that I do feel a bit better.
I have talked to some friends about it, and what I'm getting from them is that I should just go slower, and because of my height (I'm 5ft2in) it may be a bit harder.
My question to you is, does anyone have any suggestions/advice? Am I doing something wrong here? I've been trying my best to not let it get to me, but sometimes I can't help feel like a dumb ass.
submitted by krazee_kay to motorcycles [link] [comments]
I think it was my 3rd time riding in traffic, I was stopped at a light and I fell over. I realized too late that the bike was leaning a bit too far and I couldn't right it. All was good with the bike, I was fine, so I've been trying to remind myself that we learned a valuable lesson, and I got right back on.
That was 3 weeks ago, and this morning I was backing out of the garage and I fell over. There's a slight slope and my wheel was cranked so my bad (again, learned a lesson here), I was also able to lift it back up myself so now I have some experience doing that I do feel a bit better.
I have talked to some friends about it, and what I'm getting from them is that I should just go slower, and because of my height (I'm 5ft2in) it may be a bit harder.
My question to you is, does anyone have any suggestions/advice? Am I doing something wrong here? I've been trying my best to not let it get to me, but sometimes I can't help feel like a dumb ass.
2023.05.30 18:49 Ubsirdity [3933] Chapter 1: Aufbruch of- The Feathered Starfish
GONZO
Not sure If I am using the flair correctly, I'm not sure how to edit it to say what I want...? Any tips would be helpful..
Since I've begun reading some american literature, I am very fascinated with Hunter S Tompson, his work Fear and Loathing and his Style of writing.
To share my love of his work I am working on a book called "The Feathered Starfish" using his style or GONZO style journalism.
This work is 60% an auto biography if not more, most of the things you will read happened, the drugs consumed, the happenings, the psychosis induced meth stupors, the near death experiences, the memories, they are all real experiences coming from myself- Michael Worthy Duke, and my best homie Josh Carr.
I do add many quotes of Hunters into the book, just for fun, he'd a legend in my eyes.
I have just did my first revision of chapter one, and I will post it on reddit to gain some constructive criticism.
Any and all criticism is welcomed this is my first time writing anything.
Chapter 1: Aufbruch
In the desolate confines of a decrepit apartment in Buckhannon, West Virginia, Duke slouched over his grimy desk, a faint glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness that engulfed him. The rain pelted relentlessly against the windowpane. "I really hope this one does it, man, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take"- Duke whispered with a mix of desperation and anticipation. With trembling hands, he carefully emptied six stamps of fentanyl into the tarnished spoon. Carr, his weary companion, cast a skeptical gaze upon Duke "Well you're not going to die if that's what you want. It's just not how GOD or SATAN works, or maybe I'm thinking of manifestation. Either way, they're both going to make us suffer, I doubt we'll get off that easy, as much as I want it to end, you're just wasting good dope, but go ahead, I won't Narcan you this time"
"You know? You're right, that makes a lot of fuckin sense dude, it's like each time there's something in the way. I always thought it was the LORD SAVIOR, SATAN, or maybe one of his DEMONS hoping I would strike some sort of deal with them to get off of this godforsaken ride" Duke's hands moved with a mixture of determination and trepidation, crushing a few clonidine tablets into a fine powder, adding it to his lethal concoction. The raindrops continued their relentless assault on the window, their rhythmic patter a cruel symphony accompanying their dark ritual. As the orange powder melded with the white, Duke drew back the plunger of the syringe, his eyes fixed on the swirling fusion of drugs and vodka. The amber liquid, held the weight of his hopes and fears, this white-orange liquid could very well be his out. "That's not what I meant, though hat's off to you if it works," Carr says.
In the ethereal glow of uncertainty. Duke's heart raced as he prepared to plunge into the abyss, the needle poised to deliver a bittersweet release. The rain outside intensified, its melancholic symphony matching the intensity of their clandestine act. As the raindrops continued their melancholic descent, Duke pressed the needle against his skin, the moment of truth inching closer. The world held its breath, suspended in the eerie stillness before the storm. The needle was dull and has been used many times before, but Duke hopes this will be the last time. He pressed, and with hesitation, it severed the skin between this world and the world unknown. He pressed on the plunger and as the toxic elixir coursed through Duke's veins, time seemed to distort, stretching into an abyss of darkness. His consciousness is on the verge of oblivion, teetering between life and death. A kaleidoscope of vivid hallucinations painted his mind, a swirling maelstrom of distorted images and fragmented thoughts of fear, abandonment, lost love, and the unforgettable regret of his life so far.
Hours turned into eternity as Duke slipped into a state of unconsciousness, surrendering to the unforgiving embrace of his drug-induced slumber. The world outside carried on, oblivious to his internal struggle.
When Duke fatefully awoke, his surroundings were shrouded in a haze. The dim light filtering through the tattered curtains cast a somber glow over the room, revealing the remnants of his despair. His body ached with a dull ache, each pulse a testament to his fragile existence.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile silence, jolting Duke from his dazed state. His heart raced, the sound reverberating through his chest like a war drum. Slowly, he reached behind the couch and grabbed a pistol, he then stumbled towards the door, uncertainty gripping his every step.
Carr remained peacefully asleep on the sofa, unaware of the potential danger that lay ahead. If the stranger turned out to be a threat, Carr would have to confront the aftermath and dispose of the bodies. Meanwhile, Duke envisioned a scenario where he would paint his doorstep red. In this grim scenario, Duke's action would likely be repeated twice, burdening Carr with the task of disposing of not one, but two bodies upon waking up.
Duke muttered something like "How the fuck did you evoke second-stage manic psychosis on a goddamn Tuesday morning at 7:32 AM? Incredible," Duke grumbled under his breath. His grip tightened around the cold, steel frame of his .357 Magnum-Rhino, resting firmly at chest level, as he cautiously flipped open the peephole. With a deliberate motion, he placed his index finger on the trigger, a well-spoken prayer escaping his lips. "Oh, twisted universe, In this blurry dance between life and death, my words resound: To the enemy of the state lurking beyond this door, I offer this plea. Reveal thyself, if foe you be, let your presence be known, As adrenaline courses through my veins, May my aim find purpose, In this grotesque theater of existence, may the forces that guide us grant me strength in this dark hour, Should the door reveal an adversary, may my aim be swift and true, Grant me the resolve to protect what I hold dear, Yet let mercy temper my actions, even in fear. May peace find us all, in this realm or beyond."
As his heart raced and his vision blurred, he stood firm, bracing himself for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a thunderous knock shattered the silence, echoing like a gunshot. Startled, Duke's instincts took over as he pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through the door. Convinced he had vanquished his adversary, he hastily returned to the living room. In a corner, wild-eyed and gripping an Avtomat Kalashnikova, stood Carr, poised to unleash a barrage of bullets upon Duke's entry. With a swift stop at the coffee table, Duke muttered, "Weird heroes and mold-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
In that intense moment, Duke proceeded to lay out two substantial lines of schneef, while Carr discarded the AK, preparing for their habitual morning routine.
Schneef takes the lead, followed by the ritualistic sipping of coffee with a few swigs of dirt-poor vodka or rum followed by another round of Schneef. As the haze thickens, They indulge in a flurry of cigarettes, punctuated by yet more Schneef. Duke then meticulously prepares a 1-0z plastic med cup, a concoction of SOMAs, a 100mg Ghost, and a dose of 40mg Adderall. And then, a 3.5-gram blunt of the finest, high-grade cannabis. A choice between PurplePunch #1, GratefulXChemdog #6, or an obscure local strain only known as BaileyRidge.
With his morning muscle relaxant held loosely in his lips, Duke leisurely strolls towards a weathered shelf adorned with cherished relics. Each plastic circle, steaming with echoes of bygone eras. In a deliberate gesture, his hand reaches out and retrieves a Stevie Ray Vaughan vinyl record, the album "Texas Flood". Duke places the disc upon the turntable, maneuvering the needle to land on the tenth and final track, titled "Lenny."
In the sounds of crackling vinyl and bluesy vibrations, Duke and Carr find a quiet moment, merging the intoxication of sound with their morning ritual. The melodic tendrils of "Lenny" intertwine with the smoke-filled air, creating a harmonious sanctuary within the confines of their dwelling.
Carr begins, his voice etching with concern, "Duke, you know I love you dog, willing to go any length for you. But there's a real possibility that one day you might mistake an innocent stranger at our door for something else entirely." Duke, frustrated by the untimely disturbance, retorts, "Damn it, it's 7 AM on a Tuesday morning. Who the hell would be knocking like an undercover agent if they weren't an enemy of the state?" Carr counters with a hint of humor, "Well, maybe it's just some friendly girl scouts trying to sell us cookies? Or perhaps the postman delivering a parcel?" Duke scoffs, as he brandishes a rattle crafted from turtle shells, wearing a Booger Mask made up of wood and hornets nests. Duke's deep connection to his Native American heritage is evident, as these artifacts are believed to possess the power to repel evil spirits.
Carr, chewing on a mouthful of pepperoni roll, springs to his feet and marches toward the door, eyeing Duke as he sets fire to some sage and palo santo, engulfing the space in smoke. Duke traversed the apartment with purposeful strides, occasionally stopping to shake his turtle shell rattle and speak to the Great Spirit. Meanwhile, Carr reaches the door, peering through the gaping hole in their door.
To his surprise, there are no dead undercover agents, no bloody girl scouts scattered amuck, nor fallen postal workers. Stepping outside, Carr scans the surroundings, his gaze darting left and right. With a sudden surge of curiosity, he sprints toward the mailbox, chirping birds echoing in his ears. The alluring scent of fresh grass beckons him, and he wonders why they don't venture out more often, even just to bask in the scent of blooming flowers. Reaching the mailbox, he momentarily forgets his purpose.
A bird chirps once more, its call now transformed into unmistakable human words, "Post." Carr offers a nod of gratitude before tearing open the mailbox, revealing a vibrant yellow letter adorned with a starfish-shaped white wax seal. Hesitation grips him, recognizing that this could be the perfect weapon to subvert him into an unwitting insurgent—its contents potentially laced with deadly anthrax, capable of bringing an end to both his and Duke's tumultuous existence. Yet, deep down, the knowledge that they have been flirting with death for what feels like an eternity seizes his hesitation. With anticipation, Carr seizes the letter, a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, and heads back toward the door. Before retreating, he tosses a ball of bread to the friendly bird that aided him, a small token of gratitude.
Inside the apartment, Carr's voice breaks the silence, "Looks like we've received some mail. You lucky bastard, you better thank the Great Spirit that you didn't blast a hole in the mailman. You know, if you witness someone offing a postal worker, and then turn in some sort of evidence to help with the arrest and conviction for their murder, there's a $100,000 reward waiting for you." Duke chuckles and with a hint of mischief says, "Oh, come on now. You wouldn't have ratted me out for 100 grand, would you? Is that all I'm worth? Although I must admit, that kind of cash does sound tempting." A grin spreads across Duke's face. "How about this: We order something to be delivered to the unsuspecting folks down the road. I'll take aim with my hunting rifle and wait for the mailman wearing a camouflage ghillie suit, while you capture the entire spectacle on camera. We'll scoop up the reward money and ride into the wind. What do you say?"
The room's energy takes a sudden 180-degree turn as Duke witnesses Carr's eyes widening. Duke, his paranoia deeply ingrained with thoughts of the enemy of the state, mutters "Who the fuck is it? Burn after reading, always. No exceptions. I don't care if it's a letter from my dead mother." Carr responds, "Dude, it's Allicent." Duke's heart skips a beat as memories of the girl who got away rushed to his intoxicated mind. His eyes well up with tears as he stammers, "Not a funny joke, not funny at all." He hastily prepares three consecutive lines of schneef on the coffee table. "She's been missing for four damn years. The last time we spoke, she despised me, despised us. She wanted nothing to do with us ever again."
Allicent was a vision of perfection, encapsulating everything desirable in a woman. Endlessly driven, she possessed an insatiable thirst for adventure. Her smile radiated warmth, except when met with condescension. She was a genius—a basement chemist, mycologist, historian, free-thinker, a natural-born leader amongst so much more. Her beauty was unparalleled, captivating anyone with her deep blue eyes, flowing blonde hair adorned with random braids, and forgotten dreadlocks. Painted with hand-drawn sacred geometry tattoos, her flawless body was a canvas of her own expression. She effortlessly glided through life, this woman could gracefully execute a gazelle flip off a half-pipe and then lay down a wicked bassline on a head full of acid. In their eyes, she embodied the true essence of beauty.
Their minds raveling in disbelief, An unopened letter from Alicent clutched tightly in Dukes hands as he Loomed over the worn wooden desk. His fingers traced the edges, his eyes scanning over the envelope that bore the familiar flourish of Alicent's handwriting... A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, its smoke twisting upwards in the gloom of the room. He scanned the room, his eyes shadowed under the heavy weight of exhaustion and intoxication. Carr sprawled across the ragged sofa, a joint lazily balanced between his fingers as he rustled his nostril trying to clear the ketamine out of it.
An oppressive silence clung to the room, disturbed only by the ramblings of the TV. The voice of 'Gonzo' from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" echoed through the air, "Jesus, did you see what GOD just did to us, man?" They had been sitting like this for what seemed like an eternity, suspended between anticipation and apprehension, caught in the throes of a drug-induced stupor.
Finally, breaking the silence, Carr exhaled a cloud of smoke, its pungent scent blending with the stale odor of spilled beer and unwashed clothes. He ran a hand through his unkept hair and glanced at Duke with a mix of impatience and curiosity. "So, are we gonna read it or just fuckin' stare at it all day?" he drawled, nodding towards the letter on the table.
Duke blinked, emerging from his daze, and cautiously tore open the envelope, revealing Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages. Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages, each word etching a growing unease into their hearts.
"The pursuit of happiness..." Duke muttered, reading Alicent's message aloud. Her words painted a vivid picture of a place far removed from the choking grasp of the modern world, a commune nestled amidst nature's bounty. She spoke of the hills of the feathered starfish, a place of tranquility and kinship, a sanctuary from the greed and hatred that plagued society — this was a stark contrast to their own reality.
Yet, amidst her words of contentment, a chilling reference to the "day of the light" sent a shiver down their spines. Alicent's words held an ominous undertone, her tales of happiness tainted with the subtle hint of finality.
Turning over the letter, Duke's gaze fell upon a picture of Alicent, standing on a mountain with rolling hills in the background, dotted with tepees and yurts, bathed in the soft hues of a setting sun sprawled behind her. Her face held a serenity they had never seen, a serenity that seemed to belong to a world far removed from theirs.
Carr leaned over to study the picture. "This place...It doesn't look like anything I've seen before. Where the fuck is she?" he mused, his fingers tracing over the photograph. A deep frown etched itself onto his face as he fell into deep thought.
Duke sat back, his gaze shifting between a typewriter in the corner of the apartment and the picture of Allicent, "The edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." a tale of a voyage into the unknown. He could feel it in his bones, the gnawing curiosity, the deep-seated desire to uncover the truth of where she was and why she decided to write to them after so many years. His gaze fell onto the typewriter, each key echoing "A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance."
A sense of determination replaced Duke's initial bewilderment. He stood, moving towards an old gun safe, he quickly dials in 0 4 1 9 0 4 1 9, an old suitcase was tucked beneath boxes of ammunition and firearms.
"We had 9 grams of schneef, 120 European Cadillacs, a vial of JORs long lost #5, a knee-high tank of nitrous oxide, a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quarter of opium, a ball of speed, 2 oz of mushrooms, enough weed to serve the east coast, and a zip lock bag of substances we were either too high or didn't care enough to label. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
Carr nodded, stubbing out his joint in the ash-tray. His eyes held a spark of determination, his usually laid-back demeanor was replaced with a newfound sense of purpose. The impending journey already stirring his usually placid demeanor. They knew what they were signing up for, the journey wouldn't be a walk in the park, but Alicent was worth the ride.
As the day began to fade, they started packing. The room was soon filled with the buzzing of zippers and rustling fabric, each item selected for their journey. The once quiet room now bursting with anticipation. Their adventure had begun, but will their determination to DIE fade away as they start this new journey? Will the promise of reuniting with Allicent be enough for them to go on one more day?
Duke paused, his eyes scanning the room, its walls painted with stories of disturning happenings and shenanigans. Among the clutter and graffiti, a worn-out green balloon caught his eye, its faded letters spelling out the haunting words, "RIP Mya...."
A twisted grin curled on Duke's lips as he muttered to Carr, his voice with a hint of madness. "Fuck, man, Remember when you found this in the woods?"
A smirk tugged at Carr's lips. He ran his fingers through his hair before letting out a big sigh, his eyes reflecting a hellish nostalgia. He let out a deep sigh, releasing a cloud of smoke that hung heavy in the air. The memory stirred within him. "Are you joking? I'll never forget that night," Carr began, his voice tremoring with blend of fascination and dread. "I recall being up for days on meth after a witch performed some black magick on me, I heard the loudest crash I've ever heard, almost like a god-damn plane crashed in the woods 35 feet away. I walked into the woods letting curiosity get the best of me.
Duke leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation yet again even though this was the hundredth time he had heard this story. Carr continued, his voice dropping to a low, ominous tone. "I then saw a bright flash of green light in the distance, but as I got close enough to see what it was it was only that damnned busted balloon on the ground that said "RIP Mya" an 8yr old girl who had passed away. Carr's voice trembled as he recounted the aftermath. "The next day, fate took a hellish turn. Mya, my faithful companion, died without reason or explanation. And then, my young cousin, only eight years old, whispered something that sent me into full-blown psychosis...you shoud've taken the witch seriously, this is just the beginning, when you hear 3 knocks, just know the devil will be waiting"
They shared a nervous laugh, then collectively thought this was somewhat nice reminiscing in their hellish nature, yet hoping this new adventure would bring positive memories to replace all of the dark ones that brim their minds.
Duke turned back to their suitcase, and popped it open to reveal a secret compartment. There, tucked between 2 firearms, was a small amber jar, containing some of the most sought-after cocaine in the world. Miss Pinks's Cocaine, Duke was only 14 when he was able to navigate the Dream Market, Oasis, Hansa, Alphabay, many DarkNet markets on the web, to secure some of the most wanted drugs known to man.
Now this is not your ordinary schneef, this is genuine staghorn, not your cheap knockoff stepped-on monticorn staghorn, this schneef was carefully manufactured in a top-of-the-line German laboratory. Miss Pink uses the finest cocoa leaves, she makes small batches to ensure quality, and most of all, using anhydrous acetone, she washes each batch of these nose beers 15 times. Then an additional 5 times with chloroform. It is truly a testament to the dope feind, this is 98% pure, with a 2% cut of Vitamin B12, to, ya know balance shit out, you gotta take your vitamins.
With practiced ease, Duke poured a small mound onto the glass top of the coffee table. Using a battered ID card, he carefully shaped two neat lines. Carr watched, tapping his fingernails at the speed of sound against the table, Duke has only brought this stuff out once before, who knows when he will again. The illicit substance represented more than just a chemical high—it was their means of escape, a vehicle of dissociation and derealization they so desperately needed.
"Carr," Duke began, offering him the rolled-up Benjamin, "To old times, and to the journey ahead if we end up dying- at least we fed the head."
With a nod, Carr accepted the note, leaning over the table. He snorted the first line, the sharp sensation sending a shudder through him. After a brief moment, he screams "Jesus Christ this shit is jet fuel!" he passed the note back to Duke, who quickly followed suit.
Duke rips the line with ease, then swabbed the remaining powder for some scoobysnax. Carr, who is now blaring techno and dancing says "Bro we should start a go-fund-me, or go build a school in Nepal, fuck I just want to run, Do you think I could outrun an emu? I heard they can run like 30 MPH, I think I could run 30 MPH, idk man I would probably need better shoes-, Duke interrupts and says "Dude you are literally yakked out huh" - "I'm literally yakkychan" -"I'm the lead singer of the yak street boys" they both laugh for a while and lit up a cigarette.
This buzz coursing through their veins, its effects immediate and potent. An electrifying energy pulsed within them, and their senses heightened. They exchanged a look of understanding.
Hours passed as they packed the remainder of their essentials, the room now resonating with the focused hum of their preparations. With every item tucked away into their suitcase, they were a step closer to finding Allicent and the hills of the Feathered Starfish.
As Duke loaded the last of their belongings, he took one last glance around their apartment. The battered furniture, the stained carpets, the spilled beers and unwashed cloths, the dirty needles scattered everywhere. – it was a melancholic farewell to a past that had shackled them for too long. It was time for a fresh start, time to go in a new direction for once and for all and leave this version of themselves behind.
They stood at the precipice of an extraordinary journey, their hearts fluttering with a mix of anxiety and excitement. As the dusk painted the sky with hues of purple and red, they packed up their belongings into Hallii, Dukes' 1991 Mercedes-Benz 420 SEL, they gassed her up and took her down Route 50 towards OHIO blasting the song "KoKo by E.VAX".
To be Continued...
submitted by Ubsirdity to DestructiveReaders [link] [comments]
Not sure If I am using the flair correctly, I'm not sure how to edit it to say what I want...? Any tips would be helpful..
Since I've begun reading some american literature, I am very fascinated with Hunter S Tompson, his work Fear and Loathing and his Style of writing.
To share my love of his work I am working on a book called "The Feathered Starfish" using his style or GONZO style journalism.
This work is 60% an auto biography if not more, most of the things you will read happened, the drugs consumed, the happenings, the psychosis induced meth stupors, the near death experiences, the memories, they are all real experiences coming from myself- Michael Worthy Duke, and my best homie Josh Carr.
I do add many quotes of Hunters into the book, just for fun, he'd a legend in my eyes.
I have just did my first revision of chapter one, and I will post it on reddit to gain some constructive criticism.
Any and all criticism is welcomed this is my first time writing anything.
Chapter 1: Aufbruch
In the desolate confines of a decrepit apartment in Buckhannon, West Virginia, Duke slouched over his grimy desk, a faint glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness that engulfed him. The rain pelted relentlessly against the windowpane. "I really hope this one does it, man, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take"- Duke whispered with a mix of desperation and anticipation. With trembling hands, he carefully emptied six stamps of fentanyl into the tarnished spoon. Carr, his weary companion, cast a skeptical gaze upon Duke "Well you're not going to die if that's what you want. It's just not how GOD or SATAN works, or maybe I'm thinking of manifestation. Either way, they're both going to make us suffer, I doubt we'll get off that easy, as much as I want it to end, you're just wasting good dope, but go ahead, I won't Narcan you this time"
"You know? You're right, that makes a lot of fuckin sense dude, it's like each time there's something in the way. I always thought it was the LORD SAVIOR, SATAN, or maybe one of his DEMONS hoping I would strike some sort of deal with them to get off of this godforsaken ride" Duke's hands moved with a mixture of determination and trepidation, crushing a few clonidine tablets into a fine powder, adding it to his lethal concoction. The raindrops continued their relentless assault on the window, their rhythmic patter a cruel symphony accompanying their dark ritual. As the orange powder melded with the white, Duke drew back the plunger of the syringe, his eyes fixed on the swirling fusion of drugs and vodka. The amber liquid, held the weight of his hopes and fears, this white-orange liquid could very well be his out. "That's not what I meant, though hat's off to you if it works," Carr says.
In the ethereal glow of uncertainty. Duke's heart raced as he prepared to plunge into the abyss, the needle poised to deliver a bittersweet release. The rain outside intensified, its melancholic symphony matching the intensity of their clandestine act. As the raindrops continued their melancholic descent, Duke pressed the needle against his skin, the moment of truth inching closer. The world held its breath, suspended in the eerie stillness before the storm. The needle was dull and has been used many times before, but Duke hopes this will be the last time. He pressed, and with hesitation, it severed the skin between this world and the world unknown. He pressed on the plunger and as the toxic elixir coursed through Duke's veins, time seemed to distort, stretching into an abyss of darkness. His consciousness is on the verge of oblivion, teetering between life and death. A kaleidoscope of vivid hallucinations painted his mind, a swirling maelstrom of distorted images and fragmented thoughts of fear, abandonment, lost love, and the unforgettable regret of his life so far.
Hours turned into eternity as Duke slipped into a state of unconsciousness, surrendering to the unforgiving embrace of his drug-induced slumber. The world outside carried on, oblivious to his internal struggle.
When Duke fatefully awoke, his surroundings were shrouded in a haze. The dim light filtering through the tattered curtains cast a somber glow over the room, revealing the remnants of his despair. His body ached with a dull ache, each pulse a testament to his fragile existence.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the fragile silence, jolting Duke from his dazed state. His heart raced, the sound reverberating through his chest like a war drum. Slowly, he reached behind the couch and grabbed a pistol, he then stumbled towards the door, uncertainty gripping his every step.
Carr remained peacefully asleep on the sofa, unaware of the potential danger that lay ahead. If the stranger turned out to be a threat, Carr would have to confront the aftermath and dispose of the bodies. Meanwhile, Duke envisioned a scenario where he would paint his doorstep red. In this grim scenario, Duke's action would likely be repeated twice, burdening Carr with the task of disposing of not one, but two bodies upon waking up.
Duke muttered something like "How the fuck did you evoke second-stage manic psychosis on a goddamn Tuesday morning at 7:32 AM? Incredible," Duke grumbled under his breath. His grip tightened around the cold, steel frame of his .357 Magnum-Rhino, resting firmly at chest level, as he cautiously flipped open the peephole. With a deliberate motion, he placed his index finger on the trigger, a well-spoken prayer escaping his lips. "Oh, twisted universe, In this blurry dance between life and death, my words resound: To the enemy of the state lurking beyond this door, I offer this plea. Reveal thyself, if foe you be, let your presence be known, As adrenaline courses through my veins, May my aim find purpose, In this grotesque theater of existence, may the forces that guide us grant me strength in this dark hour, Should the door reveal an adversary, may my aim be swift and true, Grant me the resolve to protect what I hold dear, Yet let mercy temper my actions, even in fear. May peace find us all, in this realm or beyond."
As his heart raced and his vision blurred, he stood firm, bracing himself for any sign of movement. Suddenly, a thunderous knock shattered the silence, echoing like a gunshot. Startled, Duke's instincts took over as he pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through the door. Convinced he had vanquished his adversary, he hastily returned to the living room. In a corner, wild-eyed and gripping an Avtomat Kalashnikova, stood Carr, poised to unleash a barrage of bullets upon Duke's entry. With a swift stop at the coffee table, Duke muttered, "Weird heroes and mold-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
In that intense moment, Duke proceeded to lay out two substantial lines of schneef, while Carr discarded the AK, preparing for their habitual morning routine.
Schneef takes the lead, followed by the ritualistic sipping of coffee with a few swigs of dirt-poor vodka or rum followed by another round of Schneef. As the haze thickens, They indulge in a flurry of cigarettes, punctuated by yet more Schneef. Duke then meticulously prepares a 1-0z plastic med cup, a concoction of SOMAs, a 100mg Ghost, and a dose of 40mg Adderall. And then, a 3.5-gram blunt of the finest, high-grade cannabis. A choice between PurplePunch #1, GratefulXChemdog #6, or an obscure local strain only known as BaileyRidge.
With his morning muscle relaxant held loosely in his lips, Duke leisurely strolls towards a weathered shelf adorned with cherished relics. Each plastic circle, steaming with echoes of bygone eras. In a deliberate gesture, his hand reaches out and retrieves a Stevie Ray Vaughan vinyl record, the album "Texas Flood". Duke places the disc upon the turntable, maneuvering the needle to land on the tenth and final track, titled "Lenny."
In the sounds of crackling vinyl and bluesy vibrations, Duke and Carr find a quiet moment, merging the intoxication of sound with their morning ritual. The melodic tendrils of "Lenny" intertwine with the smoke-filled air, creating a harmonious sanctuary within the confines of their dwelling.
Carr begins, his voice etching with concern, "Duke, you know I love you dog, willing to go any length for you. But there's a real possibility that one day you might mistake an innocent stranger at our door for something else entirely." Duke, frustrated by the untimely disturbance, retorts, "Damn it, it's 7 AM on a Tuesday morning. Who the hell would be knocking like an undercover agent if they weren't an enemy of the state?" Carr counters with a hint of humor, "Well, maybe it's just some friendly girl scouts trying to sell us cookies? Or perhaps the postman delivering a parcel?" Duke scoffs, as he brandishes a rattle crafted from turtle shells, wearing a Booger Mask made up of wood and hornets nests. Duke's deep connection to his Native American heritage is evident, as these artifacts are believed to possess the power to repel evil spirits.
Carr, chewing on a mouthful of pepperoni roll, springs to his feet and marches toward the door, eyeing Duke as he sets fire to some sage and palo santo, engulfing the space in smoke. Duke traversed the apartment with purposeful strides, occasionally stopping to shake his turtle shell rattle and speak to the Great Spirit. Meanwhile, Carr reaches the door, peering through the gaping hole in their door.
To his surprise, there are no dead undercover agents, no bloody girl scouts scattered amuck, nor fallen postal workers. Stepping outside, Carr scans the surroundings, his gaze darting left and right. With a sudden surge of curiosity, he sprints toward the mailbox, chirping birds echoing in his ears. The alluring scent of fresh grass beckons him, and he wonders why they don't venture out more often, even just to bask in the scent of blooming flowers. Reaching the mailbox, he momentarily forgets his purpose.
A bird chirps once more, its call now transformed into unmistakable human words, "Post." Carr offers a nod of gratitude before tearing open the mailbox, revealing a vibrant yellow letter adorned with a starfish-shaped white wax seal. Hesitation grips him, recognizing that this could be the perfect weapon to subvert him into an unwitting insurgent—its contents potentially laced with deadly anthrax, capable of bringing an end to both his and Duke's tumultuous existence. Yet, deep down, the knowledge that they have been flirting with death for what feels like an eternity seizes his hesitation. With anticipation, Carr seizes the letter, a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, and heads back toward the door. Before retreating, he tosses a ball of bread to the friendly bird that aided him, a small token of gratitude.
Inside the apartment, Carr's voice breaks the silence, "Looks like we've received some mail. You lucky bastard, you better thank the Great Spirit that you didn't blast a hole in the mailman. You know, if you witness someone offing a postal worker, and then turn in some sort of evidence to help with the arrest and conviction for their murder, there's a $100,000 reward waiting for you." Duke chuckles and with a hint of mischief says, "Oh, come on now. You wouldn't have ratted me out for 100 grand, would you? Is that all I'm worth? Although I must admit, that kind of cash does sound tempting." A grin spreads across Duke's face. "How about this: We order something to be delivered to the unsuspecting folks down the road. I'll take aim with my hunting rifle and wait for the mailman wearing a camouflage ghillie suit, while you capture the entire spectacle on camera. We'll scoop up the reward money and ride into the wind. What do you say?"
The room's energy takes a sudden 180-degree turn as Duke witnesses Carr's eyes widening. Duke, his paranoia deeply ingrained with thoughts of the enemy of the state, mutters "Who the fuck is it? Burn after reading, always. No exceptions. I don't care if it's a letter from my dead mother." Carr responds, "Dude, it's Allicent." Duke's heart skips a beat as memories of the girl who got away rushed to his intoxicated mind. His eyes well up with tears as he stammers, "Not a funny joke, not funny at all." He hastily prepares three consecutive lines of schneef on the coffee table. "She's been missing for four damn years. The last time we spoke, she despised me, despised us. She wanted nothing to do with us ever again."
Allicent was a vision of perfection, encapsulating everything desirable in a woman. Endlessly driven, she possessed an insatiable thirst for adventure. Her smile radiated warmth, except when met with condescension. She was a genius—a basement chemist, mycologist, historian, free-thinker, a natural-born leader amongst so much more. Her beauty was unparalleled, captivating anyone with her deep blue eyes, flowing blonde hair adorned with random braids, and forgotten dreadlocks. Painted with hand-drawn sacred geometry tattoos, her flawless body was a canvas of her own expression. She effortlessly glided through life, this woman could gracefully execute a gazelle flip off a half-pipe and then lay down a wicked bassline on a head full of acid. In their eyes, she embodied the true essence of beauty.
Their minds raveling in disbelief, An unopened letter from Alicent clutched tightly in Dukes hands as he Loomed over the worn wooden desk. His fingers traced the edges, his eyes scanning over the envelope that bore the familiar flourish of Alicent's handwriting... A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, its smoke twisting upwards in the gloom of the room. He scanned the room, his eyes shadowed under the heavy weight of exhaustion and intoxication. Carr sprawled across the ragged sofa, a joint lazily balanced between his fingers as he rustled his nostril trying to clear the ketamine out of it.
An oppressive silence clung to the room, disturbed only by the ramblings of the TV. The voice of 'Gonzo' from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" echoed through the air, "Jesus, did you see what GOD just did to us, man?" They had been sitting like this for what seemed like an eternity, suspended between anticipation and apprehension, caught in the throes of a drug-induced stupor.
Finally, breaking the silence, Carr exhaled a cloud of smoke, its pungent scent blending with the stale odor of spilled beer and unwashed clothes. He ran a hand through his unkept hair and glanced at Duke with a mix of impatience and curiosity. "So, are we gonna read it or just fuckin' stare at it all day?" he drawled, nodding towards the letter on the table.
Duke blinked, emerging from his daze, and cautiously tore open the envelope, revealing Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages. Alicent's familiar handwriting sprawled across the pages, each word etching a growing unease into their hearts.
"The pursuit of happiness..." Duke muttered, reading Alicent's message aloud. Her words painted a vivid picture of a place far removed from the choking grasp of the modern world, a commune nestled amidst nature's bounty. She spoke of the hills of the feathered starfish, a place of tranquility and kinship, a sanctuary from the greed and hatred that plagued society — this was a stark contrast to their own reality.
Yet, amidst her words of contentment, a chilling reference to the "day of the light" sent a shiver down their spines. Alicent's words held an ominous undertone, her tales of happiness tainted with the subtle hint of finality.
Turning over the letter, Duke's gaze fell upon a picture of Alicent, standing on a mountain with rolling hills in the background, dotted with tepees and yurts, bathed in the soft hues of a setting sun sprawled behind her. Her face held a serenity they had never seen, a serenity that seemed to belong to a world far removed from theirs.
Carr leaned over to study the picture. "This place...It doesn't look like anything I've seen before. Where the fuck is she?" he mused, his fingers tracing over the photograph. A deep frown etched itself onto his face as he fell into deep thought.
Duke sat back, his gaze shifting between a typewriter in the corner of the apartment and the picture of Allicent, "The edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." a tale of a voyage into the unknown. He could feel it in his bones, the gnawing curiosity, the deep-seated desire to uncover the truth of where she was and why she decided to write to them after so many years. His gaze fell onto the typewriter, each key echoing "A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance."
A sense of determination replaced Duke's initial bewilderment. He stood, moving towards an old gun safe, he quickly dials in 0 4 1 9 0 4 1 9, an old suitcase was tucked beneath boxes of ammunition and firearms.
"We had 9 grams of schneef, 120 European Cadillacs, a vial of JORs long lost #5, a knee-high tank of nitrous oxide, a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quarter of opium, a ball of speed, 2 oz of mushrooms, enough weed to serve the east coast, and a zip lock bag of substances we were either too high or didn't care enough to label. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
Carr nodded, stubbing out his joint in the ash-tray. His eyes held a spark of determination, his usually laid-back demeanor was replaced with a newfound sense of purpose. The impending journey already stirring his usually placid demeanor. They knew what they were signing up for, the journey wouldn't be a walk in the park, but Alicent was worth the ride.
As the day began to fade, they started packing. The room was soon filled with the buzzing of zippers and rustling fabric, each item selected for their journey. The once quiet room now bursting with anticipation. Their adventure had begun, but will their determination to DIE fade away as they start this new journey? Will the promise of reuniting with Allicent be enough for them to go on one more day?
Duke paused, his eyes scanning the room, its walls painted with stories of disturning happenings and shenanigans. Among the clutter and graffiti, a worn-out green balloon caught his eye, its faded letters spelling out the haunting words, "RIP Mya...."
A twisted grin curled on Duke's lips as he muttered to Carr, his voice with a hint of madness. "Fuck, man, Remember when you found this in the woods?"
A smirk tugged at Carr's lips. He ran his fingers through his hair before letting out a big sigh, his eyes reflecting a hellish nostalgia. He let out a deep sigh, releasing a cloud of smoke that hung heavy in the air. The memory stirred within him. "Are you joking? I'll never forget that night," Carr began, his voice tremoring with blend of fascination and dread. "I recall being up for days on meth after a witch performed some black magick on me, I heard the loudest crash I've ever heard, almost like a god-damn plane crashed in the woods 35 feet away. I walked into the woods letting curiosity get the best of me.
Duke leaned in, his eyes wide with anticipation yet again even though this was the hundredth time he had heard this story. Carr continued, his voice dropping to a low, ominous tone. "I then saw a bright flash of green light in the distance, but as I got close enough to see what it was it was only that damnned busted balloon on the ground that said "RIP Mya" an 8yr old girl who had passed away. Carr's voice trembled as he recounted the aftermath. "The next day, fate took a hellish turn. Mya, my faithful companion, died without reason or explanation. And then, my young cousin, only eight years old, whispered something that sent me into full-blown psychosis...you shoud've taken the witch seriously, this is just the beginning, when you hear 3 knocks, just know the devil will be waiting"
They shared a nervous laugh, then collectively thought this was somewhat nice reminiscing in their hellish nature, yet hoping this new adventure would bring positive memories to replace all of the dark ones that brim their minds.
Duke turned back to their suitcase, and popped it open to reveal a secret compartment. There, tucked between 2 firearms, was a small amber jar, containing some of the most sought-after cocaine in the world. Miss Pinks's Cocaine, Duke was only 14 when he was able to navigate the Dream Market, Oasis, Hansa, Alphabay, many DarkNet markets on the web, to secure some of the most wanted drugs known to man.
Now this is not your ordinary schneef, this is genuine staghorn, not your cheap knockoff stepped-on monticorn staghorn, this schneef was carefully manufactured in a top-of-the-line German laboratory. Miss Pink uses the finest cocoa leaves, she makes small batches to ensure quality, and most of all, using anhydrous acetone, she washes each batch of these nose beers 15 times. Then an additional 5 times with chloroform. It is truly a testament to the dope feind, this is 98% pure, with a 2% cut of Vitamin B12, to, ya know balance shit out, you gotta take your vitamins.
With practiced ease, Duke poured a small mound onto the glass top of the coffee table. Using a battered ID card, he carefully shaped two neat lines. Carr watched, tapping his fingernails at the speed of sound against the table, Duke has only brought this stuff out once before, who knows when he will again. The illicit substance represented more than just a chemical high—it was their means of escape, a vehicle of dissociation and derealization they so desperately needed.
"Carr," Duke began, offering him the rolled-up Benjamin, "To old times, and to the journey ahead if we end up dying- at least we fed the head."
With a nod, Carr accepted the note, leaning over the table. He snorted the first line, the sharp sensation sending a shudder through him. After a brief moment, he screams "Jesus Christ this shit is jet fuel!" he passed the note back to Duke, who quickly followed suit.
Duke rips the line with ease, then swabbed the remaining powder for some scoobysnax. Carr, who is now blaring techno and dancing says "Bro we should start a go-fund-me, or go build a school in Nepal, fuck I just want to run, Do you think I could outrun an emu? I heard they can run like 30 MPH, I think I could run 30 MPH, idk man I would probably need better shoes-, Duke interrupts and says "Dude you are literally yakked out huh" - "I'm literally yakkychan" -"I'm the lead singer of the yak street boys" they both laugh for a while and lit up a cigarette.
This buzz coursing through their veins, its effects immediate and potent. An electrifying energy pulsed within them, and their senses heightened. They exchanged a look of understanding.
Hours passed as they packed the remainder of their essentials, the room now resonating with the focused hum of their preparations. With every item tucked away into their suitcase, they were a step closer to finding Allicent and the hills of the Feathered Starfish.
As Duke loaded the last of their belongings, he took one last glance around their apartment. The battered furniture, the stained carpets, the spilled beers and unwashed cloths, the dirty needles scattered everywhere. – it was a melancholic farewell to a past that had shackled them for too long. It was time for a fresh start, time to go in a new direction for once and for all and leave this version of themselves behind.
They stood at the precipice of an extraordinary journey, their hearts fluttering with a mix of anxiety and excitement. As the dusk painted the sky with hues of purple and red, they packed up their belongings into Hallii, Dukes' 1991 Mercedes-Benz 420 SEL, they gassed her up and took her down Route 50 towards OHIO blasting the song "KoKo by E.VAX".
To be Continued...
2023.05.30 18:49 West_Law SQ-5 Superrack Performer
I recently purchased a SQ-5 and plan on getting a SQ-Waves card, but you all know how the availability of those is right now (for Germany the earliest availability is 04/2024).
Since I quite like some single Waves Plugins (Smack Attack, F6, PSE, Torque, SSL-Bus-Comp, ...), I tried out Superrack Performer which works over USB.
The latency seems okay-ish to my ears.
Now the question that bothers me: Is it fast enough for InEars? -> No.
Do you know a way how to run InEars and FoH (with Waves) on one SQ-board? (since the Insert Point is fixed)
Maybe just using Waves on Groups? Or is channel doubling (one with Waves and one for InEars) needed?
I look forward to your comments/recommendations.
submitted by West_Law to livesound [link] [comments]
Since I quite like some single Waves Plugins (Smack Attack, F6, PSE, Torque, SSL-Bus-Comp, ...), I tried out Superrack Performer which works over USB.
The latency seems okay-ish to my ears.
Now the question that bothers me: Is it fast enough for InEars? -> No.
Do you know a way how to run InEars and FoH (with Waves) on one SQ-board? (since the Insert Point is fixed)
Maybe just using Waves on Groups? Or is channel doubling (one with Waves and one for InEars) needed?
I look forward to your comments/recommendations.
2023.05.30 18:49 decision_apt 42 [M4F] #NY - Affectionate Daddy Wanting A Princess
Now we all know the spectrum of this dynamic is very wide and for something like this to truly work out, desires/cravings need to be aligned.
Therefore, I'll describe the kind of Daddy I am:
I want to be your number one fan. Supporting you, encouraging in school or career. But I also see it as my job to take some of the stress that real life can bring off those shoulders of yours, freeing up the capacity to be the best princess. Protecting and keeping you safe is a top priority, but also help guide and be your anchor I also deem important.
We'll let the kink aspect of the dynamic develop naturally as sexual chemistry can never be forced, but I am very open minded. Please know that from my standpoint intelligence, touch/affection, and the ability to be playful are essential qualities for this kind of relationship to be successful. Having conventional hobbies and interests in common will make our bond even deeper.
If any/all of what I've written piques your interest, let's chat and see if we get along.
Open to online too.
submitted by decision_apt to AgeGapPersonals [link] [comments]
Therefore, I'll describe the kind of Daddy I am:
I want to be your number one fan. Supporting you, encouraging in school or career. But I also see it as my job to take some of the stress that real life can bring off those shoulders of yours, freeing up the capacity to be the best princess. Protecting and keeping you safe is a top priority, but also help guide and be your anchor I also deem important.
We'll let the kink aspect of the dynamic develop naturally as sexual chemistry can never be forced, but I am very open minded. Please know that from my standpoint intelligence, touch/affection, and the ability to be playful are essential qualities for this kind of relationship to be successful. Having conventional hobbies and interests in common will make our bond even deeper.
If any/all of what I've written piques your interest, let's chat and see if we get along.
Open to online too.
2023.05.30 18:49 phillydist Questions about registering my car
Sorry if this question is out of place but I can hardly find any resources on it. I'll be moving up to Wisconsin in July, and the car that I drive right now in Illinois is under my dad's name (title and registration). He changed the registration to be under my name but we haven't gotten any confirmation that it actually changed. So the car is completely legal just under my dads name completely - would I need to have the title & registration under my name to be able to get a new registration, license plate, and title in Wisconsin or will it be okay to do all that while it's under my dad's name?
submitted by phillydist to wisconsin [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:49 bloody3w563uu teens mega dropbox link available right now no bs add my telegram if you are interested to get it @ninny44
submitted by bloody3w563uu to pornstarsincosplay [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:49 nnxeris_ how does this work????
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2023.05.30 18:49 AutoModerator Stirling Cooper - Preventing Premature Ejaculation (Here)
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submitted by AutoModerator to StirlingCooperFinest [link] [comments]
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2023.05.30 18:49 Fancy_Requirement585 Finance manager wanted my business name
He supposedly said that he would pass that information onto potential future customers. He was very meticulous and wanted the exact name of my business. This was not for any dealership form, he wrote this on a blank piece of paper and was sure to get the exact spelling right and set it aside... my question to you guys is.... now why the hell would he care about how my business is doing? Or was this just a tactic to potentially "dox" my business on Google reviews if I did the same to them... (I didn't nor had any intention too. the transaction was typical dealership b.s.) am I being paranoid or is this something a finance manager would do? I thought I was very odd.
submitted by Fancy_Requirement585 to askcarsales [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 18:49 woodrow7021 Costco History Remembered: Part One
1) The old vacant warehouse that became Costco Seattle #01 was under remodel/ renovation for it’s September 1983 grand opening 40 years ago. When it did open, the only way for members to enter and exit was up a steep ramp, and it quickly became clear that future Costcos would need to make entrances at ground level. This was proven when on the very first day, a member who had purchased a 5 gallon pail of white paint made the poor choice to push his flatbed cart down the ramp to the lot rather than pull it. The paint rolled off the cart, broke open, and coated the ramp with inch thick latex. No one could enter or exit until it got cleaned up, and I was part of the crew doing it. While the tough part was the inconvenience to the members, the tougher part was listening to the advice of all the frustrated managers giving directions on how to do it faster!
2) The same month Costco had it’s grand opening, the city of Seattle completely closed the 4th Avenue bridge for a year as they rebuilt it. This was right next to Costco and it caused Costco to only be accessible from one direction. The resulting traffic difficulties almost scuttled Costco as a fledgling business, but maybe it had a positive end result: Costco has always had to factor in traffic difficulties when it decides to build new Costcos!!
3) Jim Sinegal and Jeff Brottman, the founders of Costco, thought that MAYBE if Costco #01 was successful that they might have 8 or 10 total stores eventually. 40 years later, 1,000 stores is quickly approaching.
4) Jeff’s father Bernie owned a chain of successful clothing stores, and one day he came to visit the Seattle Costco in January. As he walked past us greeters at the door, he noticed how very cold we were. He immediately left, and a short time later came back with some very nice gloves that he gave us free of charge. They were glorious in their warmth, and to this day I remember Bernie as a person who truly cared about even the lowest level employees!
5)A different Reddit thread spoke about the lack of bar codes on products, and how the “Caller” part of the register team needed to call out the item number for the cashier to enter. The corporate buyers made it a point to give the lowest item numbers to food products, since they were the most frequently sold item. Milk is item #1, sugar is #222, etc. The best cashiers had several hundred numbers memorized, and you knew you had a great cashier if he/she knew numbers for clothing items. In the first few years, the largest numbers were only 5 digits long or less, so that helped as well.
If you folks enjoyed this, let me know and I’ll keep going, five fun facts at a time!
submitted by woodrow7021 to Costco [link] [comments]
2) The same month Costco had it’s grand opening, the city of Seattle completely closed the 4th Avenue bridge for a year as they rebuilt it. This was right next to Costco and it caused Costco to only be accessible from one direction. The resulting traffic difficulties almost scuttled Costco as a fledgling business, but maybe it had a positive end result: Costco has always had to factor in traffic difficulties when it decides to build new Costcos!!
3) Jim Sinegal and Jeff Brottman, the founders of Costco, thought that MAYBE if Costco #01 was successful that they might have 8 or 10 total stores eventually. 40 years later, 1,000 stores is quickly approaching.
4) Jeff’s father Bernie owned a chain of successful clothing stores, and one day he came to visit the Seattle Costco in January. As he walked past us greeters at the door, he noticed how very cold we were. He immediately left, and a short time later came back with some very nice gloves that he gave us free of charge. They were glorious in their warmth, and to this day I remember Bernie as a person who truly cared about even the lowest level employees!
5)A different Reddit thread spoke about the lack of bar codes on products, and how the “Caller” part of the register team needed to call out the item number for the cashier to enter. The corporate buyers made it a point to give the lowest item numbers to food products, since they were the most frequently sold item. Milk is item #1, sugar is #222, etc. The best cashiers had several hundred numbers memorized, and you knew you had a great cashier if he/she knew numbers for clothing items. In the first few years, the largest numbers were only 5 digits long or less, so that helped as well.
If you folks enjoyed this, let me know and I’ll keep going, five fun facts at a time!