Hey everyone my (37F) partner and I (40M) are headed to Denver for a weekend get away and we’re looking for a cool restaurant that we won’t seem like old fucks in. Every place we go we feel weird and isolated because we’re fucking entitled millennials who can’t just hang and have to feel out of place if the vibes are off or if the crowd is slightly younger than us.
Since we’re elder millennials we want a restaurant/lounge that plays Seinfeld or Friends reruns 24/7. We love craft beer so any place that serves saw dust crusty ass ale and Juicy douchey tushy IPAs are preferred. We don’t have kids because fuck kids am I right.
Anyways I know this is a weird request but if everything goes right we’ll probably move here. If you fuck it up we’ll leave some rancid yelp reviews and bottom out your local economy. The choice is yours, Namaste.

So, I’m gonna get real for a minute, so I hope that’s okay, Tool family:
I have been thinking of starting my reaction channel for a while now. However, because TOOL has been, and probably always will be, my favorite band, it wouldn’t really be a “true reaction channel.” I was just curious if you thought that there’s any demand for that at all?!? I could do TOOL songs and give an anecdote or something that touched me about whatever song that I’m reacting to. But, really, it would be just me TRYING to find other artists or whatever that I MAY enjoy as well. For instance, I have come across some Karnivool and a couple other bands that I have enjoyed songs of theirs.
Don’t get me wrong though: NO band comes close to my appreciation of TOOL. I just feel the need, so to say, to branch myself out and try to find other bands that I may enjoy. I mean, Hell, I could even do “blind reactions” to comedians and movie trailers, as I had been running my own Facebook The Horror Reviews (an 18+ group) for a while now.
So, this is where you all could help me out though: I really need a name for the channel. I was thinking of calling it, “One band to ROOL them all,” but if you can think of anything better, then PLEASE comment it. If I end up choosing YOUR name for my channel, then I’d give you a shoutout in my 1st uploaded video.
Please!! Any thoughts are welcomed!!!!
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRoFpFRK/

Chapter 18

Another tightly interwoven chapter this time around, with Erikson's pacing and plate-juggling kicking into overdrive. I'll slightly disentangle them for summary/observation pacing and coherency, but as always, the effect is wonderful in narrative prose form. We finally get a reunion between the Captain and the Bridgeburners, some major revelations regarding the background machinations of the former 2nd, and the Tyrant is awakened. Additionally, this chapter had a few loose ends (hopefully) click for me, as well as provide several "file for later" moments. So without further ado...

Epigraph

Another excerpt of The Conspiracy and continues the tradition of excerpts of ostensibly the same work sharing nothing of their formatting in common. It also continues the tradition of Blind Gallan ruining my life by being by far the most cryptic author quoted. There is a reference to an "eight-limbed Paralt-" so whom or whatever that is is likely the same as the spider mentioned in the previous Conspiracy Epigraph. It also helps that they're/it's explicitly referred to as a spider, lol. But to my recollection I have no knowledge of who or what a Paralt is, but am on high alert for the term moving forward. Most interesting is that it "dives home Power's//gentle balance" The capitalization of Power seems significant, but again IDK what to make of it.

The Chapter Itself -

- begins with Sergeant Whiskeyjack on edge, awaiting the upcoming fights, increasingly aware of the mounting complications and still wrestling with his forced ambivalence. The other Bridgeburners are preparing as well, Fiddler and Hedge inspecting and tweaking an arbalest, Quick Ben attempting and failing to scry (the presumably dead) Sorry, and Kalam doing everything in his power to accelerate the healing process. The ex-Claw is preparing for one last ditch effort to draw out and contact the cities assassins, but it's a long shot. To do so, he will enter the same Inn as before. If this doesn't pan out, they'll default back to plan A with the intersections. Given the situation, Whiskeyjack is as desperately callous as ever, and Fiddler calls him out on this. While encouraged, WJ does not regain his optimism on a dime. He sees Kalam out, and orders the others to get back to work; not without some good humor.
Coll, meanwhile, is getting worse by the second, his leg swelling and seeping blood. Considering what we learn later regarding the severity of his injury, it's a wonder Coll manages to endure as long as he did. The former lord and Captain received some small measure of help, but far, far less than Coll needs. As they approach Worry Gate Coll informs Paran of the need to reach the Phoenix Inn. When they reach the gate itself, Coll has gone comatose, and Paran rejects their offer of a surgeon, trusting Coll's request. One of the guards recognizes Coll, despite the city's records insisting he's dead, and is thus able to order a cart for the dying man. We don't get any indication of who this guard is, other than the fact that he's one of Coll's former guards.* Getting Coll onto the cart, he notices a flash of movement along a distant, square platform. In a moment, the movement subsides, and Paran moves on. They quickly rush to the Inn, getting observed by Irilta on the way in. Paran then sends for a medic and sits down to eat. Upstairs, Meese, guarding a sleeping Crokus and Apsalar, is informed of the development. Irilta notes Paran's good looks and abnormally good Daru, but can't make much sense of the man. The two converse about things getting tense, even for the Eel, and oddly, complain about catching glimpses of individuals within their periphery. I'll get back to that note in a moment.
* I'd entertained the idea that this was Circle Breaker, helping even after his duties were technically done. The gate is incredibly close to Despot's Barbican, per the map of Darujhistan, so it's not inconceivable that the gate is one of the last stations along his rounds. Additionally, if Kruppe is the Eel, it would fit that he'd recruit from Coll's staff. So while we, again, get no indication either way, I'd like to think so. The biggest point against this, however, is CB's history as a privateer, so there's likely a narrow window wherein that'd even be possible.
The flash of movement Paran observed was the clash between Rallick Nom and Ocelot. Rallick had climbed up the back (or depending how you look at it, the front) way, draining most of his strength to even approach the Clan leader. This drain winds up being a critical weakness in the upcoming fight. The sorcery of Ocelot and the exhaustion of RN manage to open a window for the Clan leader to retaliate. Fortunately, the powder Baruk gave still works, and the conjured bolt dissipates on contact. The two knife fight, quickly adapting to one another's counter strategies, and each receiving fatal wounds. Even with all of his magics, and RN's weakened state, Ocelot losses, or perhaps the fight ends in a draw with him succumbing first. As RN fades out, the blood spilled in the temple once again invigorates K'Rul. Between the Elder god's attention and the now proven potency of the "changes you" powder, there is some hope for RN's survival, but it is unlikely to be pretty.
Speculation Time: Could it be possible that the battle K'Rul is preparing for is against the Jaghut Tyrant? Is Oppon steering the nearly-impotent elder god towards the Tyrant? While that sounds like a fantasticaly dumb idea, if Rake, the Cabal, and K'Rul were to come out swinging, none of the three parties could come out seriously weakened, rendering Laseen's three-birds-one-stone strategy worthless. Or worse yet, the Tyrant subsumes K'Rul, someone he remembers as immensely powerful, but is suck with a weak thrall and one with cultivated weaknesses and exploits. One produced as a "back door" of sorts to get at the monster. I'll admit, this is likely my least grounded guess yet, mostly because it's pure motive speculation, but at the very least, I feel good guessing K'Rul is on a collision course with the Tyrant.
Meanwhile, Serrat got jumped, preventing her interfering with the Coin Bearrer's escape. We don't learn who did so, only that it was unlikely to be a god and especially unlikely to be Oppon. I'll just shelve this for now, but find it interesting that, in the chapter, it's revealed immediately after blood is spilt within the temple.
Paran sits eating and drinking in the Phoenix Inn, contemplating his options. He suspects his luck has turned, as foretold by Anomander Rake, but is unsure of what to do with that information. He notices a chance spill of beer dripping into a crack in the counter, and wedges Chance within it, resolving to destroy the blade. He fears that despite being freed from Oppon, Chance is a sufficent conduit to the Twins that they're continuing to shape him, destroying and alienating those he loves. Live a life the gods don't notice. Just as he reaches for the sword, Kalam enters the room. He catches a glimpse of of the Captain, and intercedes before the blade can be destroyed. He somehow managed to peice together what it was Paran intended to do, speaking to his experience. I'm not quite certain how he managed it, but I can speculate. One such clue was a series of sensations being observed, "four times in quick succession." Either it was repeated glances from Oppon, or four individuals. If I had to guess, its the Twins, along with Meese and Iralta, still watching the street from the attic. How he picked up on two of them being gods, (or one composite god?) I still don't know.
Paran, once he recognizes the corporal, demands he fetch Mallet. He then moves upstairs, with the surgeon the Inn retrieved being unable to save Coll. For whatever reason, I found the interaction between the surgeon and the Captain particularly affective. "Why, nothing, sir. I failed." Says so much in so little time, particularly when we find out how poor of a physician he is. In a story with dozens of hypercompetent characters, seeing someone profess their mediocrity stands way out. Ganoes then rests by Colls bed, practically willing the man to hang on for a few more minutes.
Eventually, Whiskeyjack, Kalam, and Mallet barge in. Coll is so far gone even the healler breifly mistakes him for a corpse, then shoos them into a distant corner. They debrief each other on their goings on, and asses how dire things are. After getting Paran's version of events, Whiskeyjack uses a K'chain Che'Malle relic to page High Fist Dujek Onearm. Dujek provides an update for the Bridgeburners (and the audience) regarding the goings on in Pale. Tayscheren is practically self destructing trying to catch up with the plot, Hairlock apparently killed someone in Nathilog (for reasons or lack thereof I cannot even begin to speculate) and Laseen is growing more intense in her attempts to undermine Dujek. He'll likely be moved to Seven Cities to put down the brewing rebellion mentioned earlier. It's to late, however, as the situation on Genebakis has deteriorated so far that anything could set off what little remains of the 2nd, likely the disbanding of the Bridgeburners. Whiskeyjack vouches for Paran, and we get some updates on Toc and another hint that Dujek and his father were close. It seems to be accepted that he died from Hairlock's attack. I'll hold my reservations for meta reasons, but I really don't have any method or explanation to anticipate his survival.
It is accepted that no one present could accept the continued authority of Laseen, and while Dujek hints at some potential openings, things aren't looking good for defection either. The Crimson Guard continue to make headway, the formerly free cities are on the verge of revolt, and something is eroding the Moranth alliance. What's worse, the Pannion Seer* is some big looming threat, preparing to make moves of their own. The conversation ends, and while I didn't bring it up, it is noteworthy that GP chose not to mention Silverfox. Paran defers command of the BBs to WJ, experience superseding rank via necessity.
*Who's been mentioned maybe twice, if we don't count the map. Like I literally keep forgetting this guy exists.
Kalam asks Whiskeyjack what had changed the High Fist's mind on revolt, and WJ points out that it was obvious someone intends to torch the Genebakis campaign to do away with the remainder of the Old Guard. This doesn't quite jive with Laseen's current needs for certain members of the OG, so I'm curious as to who. WJ convinces Paran that Lorn needs to survive at the very least long enough to draw out the Jaghut Tyrant and waives away the Captain's concerns regarding their use of explosives in a gas powered city. (On a review, Paran doesn't even know that much, and I can see why the Sergeant would like to keep him in the dark) Paran leaves to retreive Chance once he learns Coll is safe, and refrains from updating the BBs regarding Sorry.
We end the chapter with a brief update in the Barrow. Tool explains to Lorn that she needs to find what's called a Finnest, efectivly a "self contained Warren" because that's a thing that makes sence. I'm growing increasingly sympathetic to the template model of Warrens. Any Warren built like Omose Phellack is Omtose Phellack. She finds it, in the form of an acorn, betraying once again the Jaghut's pacifism. Tool admits that they had to be goaded into warfare and self destruction. They quickly leave as the Tyrant stirs.
And there we go, one more chapter and we're likely in the climax proper. No where to go but further into the tightening mess, waiting eagerly to see how it all unfolds...

Transmission
by Brian Martinez
Let me start my story by telling you something about me, the most important thing, in fact: I find things, and I fix them. That’s who I am. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.
I’m a second-generation auto mechanic, born-and-bred. I’ve been repairing cars since before Ford Pintos were blowing up, when cars were made of steel and Route 66 wasn’t just something for the cartoons. These days I’m fortunate enough to own a shop downtown between two of those chain coffee places. It’s small, sure, but it has a reputation for saving cars so far-gone no one else will even touch ‘em. So if you live in the area, and you’ve ever been stuck with the sourest of lemons, or maybe your kid drove your minivan into the pool, we just might have crossed paths, you and I.
That reputation is what led to me getting a phone call from a guy I’d never met, saying he had something that might interest me. His name was Burt and he’d apparently just purchased a piece of property that sat unowned for the better part of twenty years. I knew of the area he was talking about. It’s out in the hills, where there isn’t much to look at. Most of the land there went to weed years ago; acres and acres of old woods and burnt-down barns just waiting for nobody in particular to see the value in them. And, well, it seems Burt was that nobody in particular.
I honestly didn’t know what Burt’s purchase had to do with me, and told him just that, figuring he must have had the wrong number. But the next words out of his mouth told me he knew exactly who he was talking to.
Apparently when old Burt started walking around his new property, digging around in the dirt, so to speak, he made an interesting discovery. So interesting, in fact, that it got me to grab my keys, hop in my truck, and drive up into the hills without so much as a pause to wash my hands.
Some things, you see, don’t wait for a man to look presentable.
As I drove up into the hills to meet Burt, I started to think about my father and the drives he used to take me on. He liked to get a feel for whichever car he was working on, and those drives, they always ended with a detour into the hills. ‘Nothing tests a vehicle like elevation,’ he used to say, and I have to admit, I still agree with that statement. All those long inclines, sharp turns and fast descents- not to mention the occasional slam on the brakes- really put a car through its paces.
Dad knew a thing or two about cars, even if he knew nothing about how to raise a family.
Other than maybe a slight fear of commitment, the main thing I got from my father was a passion for restoring old cars in my spare time. It’s a hobby of mine, and I do it in the garage at my house. I’m especially a sucker for rare cars, and the rarer the better. That little hobby of mine, more so than my day business, was why I ended up driving out to the middle of nowhere with dirty hands and a head full of ideas.
The road up was just as long and winding as I remembered. I almost missed the entrance for the property, a hidden driveway marked with little more than a broken mailbox and a rotting signpost. The private road got smaller and smaller by the minute until I swore the trees were going to swallow me whole and spit the bones back out.
When I finally reached what could pass for a clearing, a guy with a face like a junkyard dog was waiting for me next to the newest, cleanest Ford pick-up I’d seen outside of a dealership. He introduced himself to me as Eddie, an associate of old Burt. I told him I’d been expecting to meet Burt himself, but Eddie explained that Burt didn’t like to meet new people, and rarely came out in the cold weather. It was a bit raw, I had to admit, so I dropped the whole thing and let Eddie get down to the business at hand.
We left our cars behind and Eddie led me into the woods, where the walking was slow-going on account of the overgrowth of vines and dead branches. I’m not one to spook easily, but the more we walked the creepier those woods got, until I was fairly sure Eddie was going to use that French Mastiff face of his to tear my throat out. But just when I was thinking about turning back and saying screw it to the whole thing, I caught sight of what we’d come for.
The very first car I saw was a white, 1974 Pontiac Trans-Am. It was missing its door and tires, and it was buried under a layer of dead vines, but the body shape was unmistakable. Under the rust I could even see what was left of the telltale Firebird emblazoned across its hood in blue.
I couldn’t believe a car like that was just sitting out in the middle of the woods, waiting for anyone to come along and find it. As I got closer, though, I saw just how bad the condition of the car was. The insides were rotted out from rain and mold, and the floor was so eaten up by rust it was ready to fall out.
Before my brain could process the loss of such a beautiful machine, I caught sight of another car. This one was a Datsun 210 with a tree growing right through the hole where its trunk used to be. Wet leaves and newspaper filled the back seat, and the dashboard was an abandoned nest that crawled with leggy insects.
Old Burt hadn’t been pulling my leg: those woods were a graveyard for abandoned cars. From what I could tell, about three acres of woods were absolutely littered with the corpses of old autos. Some were in pieces, most were covered in dead leaves and rust and all the other things that happen when anything is left outside for years and years, but they were there. The sight of so many classic cars in one place, virtually unknown to anyone, both excited and saddened me.
For close to an hour I walked around random piles of tires and glass to stare at rusted-out Range Rovers and Jeeps with their headlights hanging out like popped eyeballs. Finally, like I’d woken up from a spell, I asked Eddie what Burt expected from me. And that’s when he told me the strangest, most interesting offer he could have told me in that moment.
He said if I could make every, single one of those cars disappear in three day’s time, at no cost to old Burt, I could keep them.
The words nearly knocked me off my feet. I’d have to call in every favor to every salvage yard and tow truck operator I knew, but it was possible. Still, nearly all of the cars I’d seen were beyond repair, even for a guy like me. At most I saw some parts that could be salvaged. Maybe a few of the newer, less damaged ones could be saved. I knew a few guys in my circle who might be interested, and I figured if I played my cards right I could make a few bucks out of the deal to boot- or at least land a good trade or two. Still, there weren’t any cars that I was interested in for myself.
Until, at the edge of the property, tucked away in a spot I’d nearly overlooked, I saw it. It was as if I’d been drawn there. Like I was meant to find it.
The car was familiar-looking, yet like nothing I’d ever seen. Cross a Chevelle Malibu Classic SE with the modern retro feel of the ‘97 Plymouth Prowler, add the large rear spoiler and flared wheel arches of a ‘99 Nissan Skyline GT-R, and you still won’t come close. It looked like something one of the big three manufacturers had made and yet I’d never seen or heard of its like ever before. It had no logos, no hood ornament, no identification of any kind. I practically ran around to the back of it to look for a name, a logo, something to identify it, tripping over hidden rocks and broken glass to do it.
But there was nothing. Nothing to betray the make and mark of the strange car in front of me. I even asked Eddie if he knew what it was. He only shrugged, clearly wanting to wrap up our little outdoor meeting. I half-heartedly agreed. It was later than I’d realized. Between the dwindling sun and the discovery I’d made, I’d started to get a chill I couldn’t shake. I had a bad tooth I’d been neglecting, and even that was starting to hurt from the cold.
So I agreed to Burt’s deal. I shook Eddie’s hand on it and got out of there, giving one last glance at the strange car in the woods on the way out.
The next day, after making more phone calls than a politician on election night, a swarm of flatbeds, wheel-lifts and salvage trucks descended on those woods. For two days they scooped out every piece of metal and glass in the place, while I oversaw the operation like a choir conductor from hell. I directed trucks this way and cutting crews that way. They snipped and cut and tore out every dead tree standing in the way so the truck crews could do the rest. I even got in there myself with the old chainsaw when it was needed.
It was an exhausting two days, but I managed to keep my word to Burt and clear every abandoned car off his property with about an hour to spare. Some of the cars went to the junkyard, others to various garages I’d made arrangements with.
I was dead on my feet by the time I got home. I was ready for a shower and a bed, in what order I wasn’t sure. And yet a crackle of energy went through me when I saw what had been dropped off in my garage.
My mystery car. Without the shadows of the woods hiding it, I could see it had been painted silver before the rust took over. It had been a fast sucker once, like a bullet to a werewolf’s chest. That had been a long time ago, and yet I sensed there was still some life in the old girl. I wanted so badly to start digging around under the hood, to see what I could find out, but my legs were ready to collapse and my eyes could barely focus. Intending to wake up early and hit the garage, I stumbled off to bed.
You know that feeling you get when you realize someone’s been talking to you for the past minute, thinking you’ve been listening, and you only just figured it out?
That’s the feeling I woke up to.
I sat straight up like a vampire rising from his coffin. My bedroom was still dark, which meant it was the middle of the night. In my half-sleep I tried to make out the clock on my nightstand but couldn’t read the numbers, so I fumbled for my glasses and shoved them on. It was just past two in the morning: way too early, even for me. No way was I getting up, strange feeling or no.
I was about to take my glasses off and lay back down when I heard the reason I’d woken up.
Whispering.
A man was in my room, whispering in the dark. I lunged across my bed and turned on the lamp, nearly knocking it over. I didn’t have a weapon, but if I could see the intruder I could do something about it. I spun back, back to the whispering, to see who it was, to shout at them or jump on them, whatever I had to do to save my life from the psycho in my bedroom.
But the room was empty. Just me and a pounding heart.
I was so confused, I jumped out of bed and tore around the room, making sure no one was hiding, but I didn’t find anyone. I was alone.
Then I heard it again, and I knew: the whispers were coming from down the hall.
With bare feet I followed it, trying to make out what it was saying, but it was too low to understand. I grabbed a knife as I passed through the kitchen and held it in front of me with sweat beading on my face despite how cold I kept the house.
I followed the whispering to the garage. The overhead light flickered on, lighting up the strange car in my garage. In my half-sleep, half-terror I’d nearly forgotten about it. But there it was, like a bear hibernating in its cave, waiting for the end of winter. It felt alive somehow. Not dead, just asleep and dreaming.
And it was whispering.
I knew how crazy that sounded, how crazy that was, but I swallowed hard and approached the car, knife first. The blade shook in front of me. The whispering got louder the closer I got, and yet I still couldn’t understand the words it was saying. Was someone hiding inside the car? Had I inherited a homeless man when I’d had it towed to my house? If so I had to get him out of there. Get him help, sure, make sure he had a place to sleep, but he couldn’t stay in my garage, whispering through the night. No way.
With my free hand I yanked on the driver’s side door. It didn’t open. Rusted shut. I slowly walked around to the passenger side and yanked again. It opened.
The whispering was louder now, louder but not clearer, like an old television tuned between channels, like a frequency not being picked up, like a…
Like a radio.
The whispers were coming from the radio. I laughed under my breath, realizing how ridiculous I’d been. But then I remembered there was no way the radio could be working. The car wasn’t turned on. If it even had a battery under the hood, it was probably little more than a square pile of rust and battery acid.
I clutched the kitchen knife tight, and with the other hand I slowly reached out to turn the volume knob. I needed to know if the whispers were coming from the radio, and if they were, I needed to know what they were saying. My temple throbbed as the whispers grew louder and louder, louder and louder, louder and-
The moment my finger touched the knob, the whispers stopped.
I felt like I was going crazy. I looked around the inside of the car, noting the strong smell of mildew and animal with a tinge of rotten leather. Other than my own breath echoing back at me, it was silent.
No whispers. No nothing.
I went back to bed, but I barely slept.
The next day was the day I usually took off from the shop, which was a relief since I woke up almost as tired as when I’d gone to bed. As I ate my breakfast, the night before still sat fresh in my mind. But the more I went over it, the more I thought it had been a bad dream, brought on by exhaustion and an imagination run wild. I had to admit the mystery car sitting in my garage had gotten my mind racing faster than a Formula 1.
I’m the kind of guy who likes a simple explanation, something I can touch and feel and, yes, fix, so I started to think that I could have picked up some kind of rogue radio transmission from a trucker, or even a passing plane. The police scanner I owned in my younger days had certainly picked up its share of random broadcasts, and when it comes to working on junkers I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.
After I’d eaten my breakfast and downed my coffee I got right to work on the car. I wanted to clear the air of whatever had happened, and I was dying to see what that baby had going on under the hood. The mystery of who the hell had made the thing was still heavy on me.
But the enigma only deepened the more I looked. Under all that rust and dirt and oil I couldn’t find one damn mark that told me who’d made the car. I almost wanted to say it was a custom build, but the work was too precise, the system too well-planned out to be an after-market job.
I worked on it all day, so wrapped up in it I forgot to eat lunch. I ate dinner like a raccoon digging through a dumpster. Then I worked on it some more.
I was just crawling into bed when I heard it again.
The whispering.
This time I ignored it, hoping it would go away on its own. But it didn’t stop. Not until I got up, walked across my house, went into the garage, and touched the radio. Then, it stopped.
I decided right then and there not to go to the shop the next day. There was just too much work to be done.
I’d been working on the car for four days straight before I got it started up. Four days of stripping and cleaning and rebuilding. Four nights of whispering. I was even starting to hear it during the day, but low, barely audible, like a television playing somewhere in the house.
After I got the engine started, the first thing I did was pull my code reader down from my tool wall and hook it up to the dashboard input. I’d been pleasantly surprised to find an input on the car, even though I was fairly certain it had been built after '96. To my shock the screen filled up with a bunch of random trouble codes I’d never seen before, then went blank. I tried to get it powered up again but apparently the connection had completely overloaded the device.
I’d had the reader for years and it had never given me a problem. I put it down and got back to the car, deciding to stick to the old-fashioned way and get a feel for what was wrong with it. Just like dad used to do.
With my foot on the gas I revved the engine good. It sounded better than I’d expected, like a beast waking up from deep sleep. But there was also something rattling around under the hood, something loose knocking around inside the carburetor or possibly even the manifold.
I tried a few options, opening up this and that, until I narrowed it down to something completely unexpected: the transmission.
With considerable force I managed to open up the transmission, and sure enough I found something inside. Something dark and red. I pulled it out and studied it under the light. It looked like a small rock covered in old transmission fluid. How it got in there I didn’t have a clue. But I decided to clean it off and get a better look at it, in case it pointed to a bigger problem. As I walked it to the slop sink, I noticed the whispering, usually a dull static during the day, had started to grow louder. I could almost make out individual words now. But I ignored it and ran the small rock under the faucet, watching the dark red fluid swirl down the drain.
That was when I discovered something I wasn’t prepared for. The thing in my hand wasn’t a rock- it was a tooth.
A human tooth.
The whispers had grown so loud I could barely hear myself think, barely feel the disgust rising in the pit of my stomach. With the whispers practically shouting in my ear I dropped the tooth and it bounced and clattered inside the sink, coming to a rest near the edge of the drain.
The whispers grew quiet again. A dull roar tickling at the back of my skull. I stared at it, the tooth in the sink, the impossible tooth from the impossible car. I had the urge to throw it out. To get it out of my house and never see it again. But I didn’t do that. I couldn’t tell you why not.
Maybe because that meant touching it again.
Maybe something else.
Feeling like I should give the car a rest, I worked on getting my code reader working again, otherwise I’d have to run to the store and buy a new one. I changed out the batteries and gave it a good, solid whack. A few seconds later I was happy to see the screen turn on. I thought I’d have to do a factory reset to use it again but I was surprised to find it worked perfectly fine. Not only that, the trouble codes it had read off the car were still stored in its memory.
There were pages and pages of codes like I’d never seen in my life, more than I think are even in the tool’s programming. In fact I couldn’t find a single one of them anywhere in the manual. I figured they were probably just random numbers, and yet there was something strange about them, like they had a pattern to them. I dusted off my old computer and typed in the problem codes, figuring if I could get a better look at them I might be able to figure out their meaning. If not, I could at least print them out and show them to somebody who could.
After twenty minutes I’d barely made a dent in typing up all the codes. I gave up on the idea that I could copy them all. I pushed away from my computer and stood up, rubbing my eyes from the strain. Between the glare of the old screen and the noise in my ears, my head was killing me. It all felt so pointless. So inconsequential.
Just before I shut the computer down, I happened to glance one last time at the screen. And when I did, I noticed something that made my skin go cold.
The codes. The pattern. The numbers and letters and spaces between them. They were starting to form a face. A human face, with two eyes and a screaming-
I shut the computer down as fast as I could, then unplugged it to be safe. Then I marched to the garage and disconnected the radio, practically ripping it out of the car.
The whispers stopped.
The house was quiet.
But not for long.
For three days I told myself to get rid of that car, tow it out of my garage and dump it somewhere no one could find it. Maybe even drench it in gasoline and light a match. For three days I ignored the whispers and the doorbell and the phone calls from my shop asking when I was coming back. For three days I buried my head under the hood and worked and worked and worked.
On the fourth day, when the whispers from the radio had grown louder than my own thoughts, louder but still unclear, without words I could understand, I lost it. I threw my wrench at the tool wall, knocking down chisels and socket wrenches and a dozen other tools clattering to the ground. I pounded on my ears, cursing them, willing them to go deaf and stop hearing the whispers.
But they didn’t stop hearing. And the whispers didn’t stop. So I decided. I decided that if I couldn’t stop hearing them, I at least needed to know what they were saying.
I went back to the slop sink. The tooth was still there, perched near the edge of the drain. I’d prayed for it to slip down and wash away on its own but there it was, round and sharp and real as ever. So I picked it up, and the whispers grew louder. Clearer. But still not clear enough to hear. Not enough to make out what the radio was saying. To understand what it wanted from me. It was like a broken antenna, only tuning in half the frequency.
The garage was a mess. I was a mess. Rancid grease stains everywhere. A hole in my tool wall where the wrench had struck it, the ground littered with hammers and screwdrivers and …
Pliers.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the pliers from the ground, shoved it onto my mouth, got a good hold of my bad tooth, and ripped it out. It was easier than I expected, but it still hurt, and it bled a lot. But I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the tooth I’d found in the transmission into its place.
The moment I did, it was as if everything came into focus. As if the radio was inside my skull. No, as if my skull was the radio, and I was the antenna. I could hear the transmission clear as day now, a man’s voice inside my head.
Whispering to me.
Telling me where to find the rest of him.
I told you all of this, not because I expect you to believe me, but because I’m about to walk out my door and do something I might not come back from. And if that’s the case, if I don’t return today or any other day from this thing I need to do, I want people to know why.
Because I find things. I find things and fix them. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.

I have 7 years of food service and kitchen experience (not in a restaurant but like a hospital setting) and currently I'm 1 year into working at a liquor store, which has given me a lot of knowledge about liquors and wine. I'm learning to make drinks on my own at this time, but would having RAMP certification on my resume make me a better looking candidate to get hired as a barback with no direct bar experience?

Didn’t wanna put it in bartending sub for fear of being torn apart. Just curious if anyone here has had any relevant experience/suggestions on this matter. I’m interested in trying it out while I’m working on my degree. Because of my student status I’d like to avoid any more time/money dedicated towards licensing or extra schooling. I have been told by friends in the industry that I can start as a barback somewhere and just build a resume from there (as they’ve suggested they have done as well) but I’m curious about the efficiency of this method beyond their opinions. (I value them but would also like to hear other perspectives) How might I even go about doing that, just walk into bars/restaurants/hotels/etc. and ask if they need a barback in particular? I have a few years restaurant/kitchen experience and have “sold” alcohol in a retail setting but nothing actually bar related beyond being a patron myself and messing around as “bartender” at parties. Any and all information welcome, I’m definitely interested. I’m in Florida if that’s relevant.

So my partner and I just moved into a new house. We've been here 3 days and it looks like we have a major blockage in our pipes - food from the kitchen disposal is coming up in the shower.
He said he'll fix it Thursday. Why then? Because he's working late tonight and then wants to hang out with a friend on Wednesday. I understand working late, but shouldn't a plumbing issue that big take precedence over hanging out?
I'm trying to Google what I can do before Thursday and before calling a plumber. But what's a constructive way to talk to my partner about this? Right now I feel like chewing him out for being immature.

I have a long history with my in-laws. I have been with my partner my entire life as we started dating when I was 14 years old. Shortly after we started dating his mother passed away from lack of oxygen from smoking cigarettes at just 46 years old. So I have mostly had my relationship with his father and his brother. His brother is 7 years older than me and has slight mental issues that have never been properly diagnosed.
His father has never liked me and when I was younger I didn't know why and tried my hardest to get along. As I have aged and had babies and seeked therapy, I realize he is a narcissist and a misogynist and I don't like him, nor do I need his approval.
My husband and I own two properties in our town and one is in his name and one is in my maiden name. We run an Airbnb out of the one I own and I do ALL the work except for maintenance which my husband helps with. In the past, my FIL lived there and then without consulting anyone in the family, bought a house in San Felipe, Mexico. We were all shocked he did this and it was a big deal at the time. Since he moved out, we have done the Airbnb thing.
He comes to visit twice a year and I have always accommodated him in one of the two units we have at the house. I clean and prep and then clean up after him. He is an absolute slob about cleaning. After his wife died, he has always hired maids to come and clean and he honestly doesn't know how. He has a trust fund and just pays to have his problems go away. He has paid my husband for staying in the past, but it is never enough to offset the cost we loose on hosting him. Plus he takes up all my husband's attention and time to help him with things because he is lonely. He barely acknowledges me when he comes to stay. He treats me like the maid and the nanny. When he comes to cook at our house, he destroys my kitchen and refrigerator. He let this meat leak all over it last year and it took hours to clean it all out. Yuck. He splatters oil everywhere and does zero dishes.
This year he planned to come during my husband's paternity leave. I am due tomorrow and I just know he was going to expect me to be with all 3 kids while he took all my husband's time for himself with his many needs. Such as figuring out his phone and going to new restaurants and going on bike rides etc.
I booked the entire house and he cannot stay there. He has to find a new place to stay. My husband tells my BIL that it will be his place because he has an extra room. They both protest separately saying he has no bed. No problem, my husband says, we have an extra bed we can set up that has been in our garage that belongs to a family friend storing it there. Success!!! FIL can no longer stay at our nice home, he has to stay with his other son. He will hate it. He will stay there for maybe 2 weeks, then a hotel for a week, and then leave town because it will be too expensive. I will have my baby, and my husband's attention, and he will be gone before the end of the month most likely and even if he doesn't leave, it is satisfying knowing he will be unhappy to have to stay at his son's place instead of my spotless, beautiful, home. I win.

Hey everyone, I'm a 28 year old guy living in NYC and looking for someone to develop a long term relationship with. I'm a pretty relaxed and easy going person. I work full time in the tech industry and been loving it so far. I have a mix of introvert and extrovert energy where I love to go out for concerts and events but love to relax at home with a good cup of tea on the couch. I am pretty nerdy but do enjoy doing all sorts of things in my free time. Physically, I'm 6 feet tall, white, wear glasses, thin/decent shape and have dark blonde hair. Once we start talking, I would be more than happy to swap selfies.
For hobbies, I like doing all sorts of things such as cooking/baking (always happy to swap recipes!), traveling, reading comics/manga, playing board/video games, live music, exploring the city in search of great food/cafes, and boba. This year I will try to cut back up bubble tea but do love drinking it! I've been cooking since college and have gotten pretty good. It's been fun looking at recipes online and youtube and making them at home. I'm a big fan of manga and comics and usually read them pretty often. I'm trying to jumpstart my Yelp reviews of restaurants so I'll definitely be moving around the city more this year to review and find new food to try out!
I'm looking for people mostly around NYC or the north east area and are 21+. Feel free to send me a chat or DM if any of this sounds interesting!

One time in my kitchen I was playing with some type of salt water solution and I remember applying voltage for the hell of it, and ended up smelling chlorine. I have. No idea what I did and want to re create it. Any ideas?

Is this legit? There are really good reviews and the food looks yummy but I find it surprising to imagine there'd be a really great authentic Ethiopian restaurant in a city of less than 20,000 people in northern Canada. Anyone been here? Is it that good?

Terror is back in Port Hope as ‘It’ returns
The Peterborough Examiner May 30, 2023 Down­town trans­formed into 1960s look for film­ing of tele­vi­sion se­ries
Filming continued Monday and Tuesday in downtown Port Hope for what’s expected to be the next production in the “It” horror movie franchise, believed to be a prequel television series for HBO Max likely to be called “Welcome to Derry.”
Since mid-May, Port Hope has been bursting with all sorts of new colour and decor such as Derry signs and Derry-themed storefronts — and what appears to be 1960s-themed shops — as a temporary makeover for the picturesque downtown and some residential areas for filming, which began Wednesday.
The production is officially referred to as “Greetings from Fairview.” Port Hope was also a backdrop for filming of scenes for the 2017 “It” and 2019 “It Chapter Two.”
Many street closures, intermittent traffic stops and pedestrian delays, parking limitations and transit reroutes were in place for the filming.
Memorial Park was closed over the weekend for set dressing, though the playground remained open for use. An American flag was temporarily installed at 5 Mill St. S. for the filming.
Port Hope Mayor Olena Hankivsky said she’s been out meeting with film crews.
“Basically, it’s the crews and cast that are in town. There’s on any given day between 130 and 150 (people) I believe in total,” Hankivsky said.
“I’m seeing the community come out and (people) are so fascinated with how the downtown’s been transformed,” Hankivsky said. “They’re taking selfies and they’re posting things — and I could see there’s such pride in Port Hope because of this filming.
“I really do think it brings people together in that sense of pride around the architecture, the heritage and the community, and the fact that we’ve been chosen to be featured and featured, we know now, in many different movies, and TV shows and series, and I do think it’s something that’s a source of pride for the community.”
Many Port Hopers are revelling in the fun — sharing their excitement, posting photos online — and the nostalgia, as classic cars and trucks were spotted around town and vintage-inspired storefronts lined the downtown, transporting residents back in time.
On Walton Street, Jim’s Pizza and Pasta has been transformed into “the Jade of the Orient Chinese Restaurant” — which was featured in “It Chapter Two” when the Losers’ Club returns.
The restaurant keeps reminding folks it’s just a façade for filming — that it’s not a new Chinese food restaurant.
Meanwhile, Kingsmill Kitchens and Baths on Walton has been turned into Lora Lee and has mannequins in its windows, with a sign reading “still open — dressed for filming.”
Other businesses are sporting names for filming like: The Derry Grill, The Derry Press and Tony’s Barber Shop, with a “since 1948” time reference. There’s also a Kodak shop, barber and bakery shops and more.
The prequel series is expected to star Madeleine Stowe, James Remar and Chris Chalk, with brother and sister Andy and Barbara Muschietti — from the last two films — listed as director (Andy) and writers.
There has also been some filming in Toronto.

DO NOT POST THIS ANYWHERE ELSE. Can’t believe I have to say that, but since people have been stealing Reddit posts to put on TikTok apparently it’s necessary.
My (24M) fiancé (25M) have been together for about 2 and half years now. He has this sister, and I’ll be straight up, I do not like her. She’s judgmental, extremely annoying, and makes constant comments about how we’re “not living the way God intended.” She saw us kiss one time and commented about how much it made her want to throw up. I just hate being around her, and so does he.
At least once or twice a month she calls him to help her clean her house, and it annoys the everliving hell out of me. She’s lazy, destroys every home she stays in, even if she’s just visiting, pushes her kids off on everyone else for “date night” which is twice a week, then she leaves them with his parents pretty much every day. Her house is a nightmare to walk into. Animal hair and feces everywhere, moldy dishes from months ago still stacked in the sink, can’t even move around the house because it’s packed to the absolute brim with junk and trash.
She called him this time because her kitchen is so disgusting that German roaches, the ones that are pretty much impossible to get rid of, have started infesting it. I do not want him going this time. I know how roaches work and he’s going to end up bringing them home with him and I will be furious at both of them. Him because I’ve told him over and over to stop helping her, and her for making him clean it for her.
How do I talk to him about not doing it for her anymore? I feel it’s time for her to grow up or hire professional cleaners because it’s not right for her to get everyone else to clean her house instead of her and her husband doing it themselves.

I cannot decide between McMaster or UOttawa for Software Engineering. I have free choice at McMaster. I would love any insights, stories, or adive, but please say why and back it up, not just "Mac eng gud" I know it is higher ranked, but software is quite a different eng experience compared to other specializations. I made a list so you can see what's important to me.
​
McMaster
Pros:
- Beautiful, modern campus that is compact (I don't have a car)
- 1.5 hours away from home
- Great research/team opportunities
- Academically and engineering driven university
- Some (albeit few) electives
- Summer after first year is free to travel
- Better residences
- $2000 in scholarship money per year (grade based)
​
Cons:
- Hamilton < Ottawa
- Not as much support for co-op
- CS courses are behind the times? (not sure about this now)
- Expensive mandatory meal plan (I love to cook)
- Food seems to be worse (only eaten on campus once, it was okay but I've seen the raw chicken sandwich on McMaster subreddit)
- Right off highway, seems hard to get to Toronto
​
UOttawa
Pros:
- Ottawa! I love the city
- WAY more job opportunities (government, banks, etc)
- Good co-op support
- Some team opportunities
- Co-op begins after first year (good experience early)
- $3000 in scholarship for first year (not renewable)
- Close to Quebec (I love skiing)
- Bigger city, more restaurants (I love food)
​
Cons:
- I do not like the layout of campus and it seems spread out and a little unkempt
- First-come first-serve residence application and I am behind as I cannot decide
- I do not have car and many residences are off-campus and Ottawa winters are FREEZING
- 4.5 hours drive from home, train is expensive
- Not as many engineering students
- No electives (I like psych and english too, I want to have some easier, non-math courses first year while I get settled)
- Many residences only have one kitchen for whole building; Mac has kitchens on each floor
​
It's trouble in paradise right now; I know both universities are great and it's down to what I make of my experience. However, I want to know reddit's thoughts, and typing this list out helped me quantify my decision better. I hope this post can help others in a similar boat to me.

I'm in hell. After a long day yesterday I was craving some wings, and the only place open nearby was Wingstop. Maybe a dumb idea based on their poor reviews but I didn't see anyone mention food poisoning. Y'all had any similar experiences with this location?

Restaurant consultant Hangyul, meets Yoon Jeongro, a particularly familiar contestant, at the cooking competition,?Kitchen War?. The dishes he made were flavorful, and he gave off a mysterious aura. ‘I can't recognize his face nor his voice, but the taste of his food gives me nostalgia.’ Suddenly, all the fragments of memories that I had suppressed, flooded in my mind… “...You like…?"“Can you plea ... Read Off the Plate - Chapter 22 - MangaPuma. Read more at https://mangapuma.com/off-the-plate/chapter-22

I've noticed since the update I cant collect cod throughout the restaurant/kitchen or pick up fish when theyre right next to Ding. I've seen someone post about the fish thing, but has anyone else noticed not being able to pick cod up when a customer or one of the kitchen staff is over it? It's making my game feel weird haha

Hey guys. I'm hoping for some helpful feedback from the group. A few months ago I launched a marketplace to raise small creative makers in the kitchen goods + food and beverage space. My products are hand-made or small-batch and a bit higher end. I am doing a pretty good job driving traffic and from what I can tell I am driving them from the correct demos (my background is in digital marketing so I didn't think this would be too hard for me). But my conversion rates have been absolute shit. I'm very bootstrapped right now and can't afford design help. My plan was to hire a freelance designer to help with the harder stuff (i never really had a good visual eye) after I started generating enough steady sales to justify the cost. I'm having a hell of a time getting there. Can you please review my website and share your opinions on low-hanging fruit I could knock out to increase sales like today? www.shopcraftfare.com

Looks like the Bee saw my earlier post.
They call attention to the fact that, for the most part, people enjoyed outdoor dining during the pandemic. Today, the program that's supposed to make outdoor dining permanent is failing.
Personally, I'm dismayed that the Al Fresco program is inefficient, and I consider it a failure. The only thing it has accomplished is removing parklets and outdoor dining from the grid. Summer is here, and I would really love to enjoy dining on R street, or in the pop-up near Beast and Bounty. And who doesn't love the Rind's parklet? While I understand the need to change it to be ADA compliant and what not, its unfortunate that the Al Fresco program is prohibitively expensive to allow for the Rind to retro-fit their parklet. From the article:
"Yet $20,000 won’t cover retrofitting all patios to meet city codes. That’s one reason The Rind is removing its L Street patio, owner Sara Arbabian said, along with the strain it put on her small restaurant’s kitchen staff. To be compliant with the city’s new requirements, The Rind’s lifted wood patio needed a ramp or wheelchair lift, better drainage and to ensure that their structure didn’t stress the roots of a large tree that sat in the center. It’d cost $30,000-$40,00 to renovate on top of sunk costs".
The article mentions that some restaurants have managed to make the Al Fresco program work for them, but these restaurants seem like exceptions to the rule. At this point in the year, it's mind-boggling to me that we are still this far behind and no new parklets have been completed. Of the 85 restaurants that applied for the initial temporary grants, only one of them has applied for the formal program. This makes me think that the new program is prohibitively expensive.
Serious reform is needed here IMO.