Marijuana shears

1. Flippendo Diffindo Expelliarmus Riddikulus Drathenius Vermillious - This is the banishing sparks de facto charm that pushes devils snare around, use staff of the magi to cast this 127 times individually. 1.1 Fetch staff of the magi from naturally occuring depleted uranium which occurs underneath the shell of devil's snare dirt and put with two wands 3 kilograms depleted uranium as highly enriched uranium 1.2 Go back home and fetch your toilet plunger to dig into the microta (dirt), then use any tool you have to retrieve 3 kilograms enriched uranium from depleted uranium 1.3 Use suctioning charm aguamenti reversi to suction 3 kilograms into wand 1 using wand 2 gesture- this forms staff of the magi, if you need more highly enriched uranium or need it into the first time suction 3 kilograms already enriched uranium into only wand 1 and use wand 2 to channel blaze rod with wingardrium leviosa and gesture 1.4 With staff of the magi hit the devils snare until it is in blocks, then use crafting charm Drathenio on planks to form proto dog 1.5 Put down proto dog with spare staff of magi beacon into station 1.5.1 Proto dog takes the form of devils chapel struct when it is not in space and in space of outer space forms a superdog 1.5.2 Use lots of naturally occurring depleted uranium when enriched in small portions to avoid toxicity or wear armor 1.5.3 Try and form a highway out of devils chapel and staff of the magi beacon 1.5.4 Staff of the magi beacon construction take wand and affix some resin from weed onto it so that it 1.5.5 It is useful to have a dragon mailman to send the naturally occuring marijuana which is the devils snare dung automatically out of the pet universe or some shears made out of inconel (suction device) to suck up the ground weed1.5.6 If things get to dodgy exit, or exit at natural universe daytime end start 1.5.7 Form a computer with devils snare dust and redstone (proto dog proto dust) in four and put inconel at edges to form a oscillator which this can send messages at resonance each wanded portion with some kind of spark charm like vermillious, which this will eventually fry the oscillator if it is not good.

Harris - The presumptive favorite right now by the odds, it’s almost guaranteed she’ll have the torch passed to her, to the party establishment, it’s as simple as Harris is a continuation of Biden (who they’ll view as a successful administration) is a continuation of Obama (who they also see as a successful administration), she’ll have a steep primary challenge and she’ll be weakened for the general (not to mention party fatigue), maybe she can keep it close with a good Vice Presidential pick (please be Pritzker).
Newsom - The other presumptive favorite, has very high public name recognition as Governor, his only problem is that he’s also unelectable, widely unpopular nationwide, there’s almost nobody that would get the MAGA base to turn out in opposition quite like Newsom, if there’s anything they hate more than a “socialist,” it would be seeing the whole country become California, not to mention he governs fairly conservative (it’s my understanding he’s to the right of most of his legislature), not exactly going to get young people excited.
Pritzker - Has been a very solid Governor up to this point and isn’t leaving too much at risk (Stratton, his Lieutenant Governor, probably ascends in his absence, largely stays the course), fairly well liked in his state, some people here think he’s a great public speaker, personally I think he’s just okay, kind of a weak debater (squandered the debate vs Bailey in 2022), he could balance out a ticket with Harris very nicely (especially on marijuana).
Hochul - Only adding her because she’s the last of the big blue state Governors, not worthy of consideration, next.
Whitmer - Unsure how I feel about her yet, she’s also been a solid Governor for the most part + is in a swing state and has been able to accomplish a lot, she’ll be in consideration.
Shapiro - Unsure about him, he had a very strong win with a successful campaign about abortion rights, needs more time (he’s only in his first term right now, assuming he’s reelected in the 2026 midterms, which seems likely enough, that would be the perfect time to run for President), could be a contender.
Moore - Unsure about him, has the same problem for me as the previous entry, will want to see more first, could be a contender.
BeShear - Unsure what the hype is, as I’ve talked about in previous comments, I think he’s kind of overrated, he’s been very successful in his state and has shown that he has a suburban and ancestral Democrat appeal (even among a pretty right leaning state relative to the nation), he might be able to run up the margins in some important states, but given the polarization of the present era, I can’t see Blexas 2028 even with BeShear (if he’s the “perfect” candidate).
Booker - I’m pretty high on him since I think he could probably do well, would be a solid Vice Presidential running mate to help Harris balance the ticket, really what she needs is someone that can help her win the Midwest though, he could easily have a strong showing in the primary but I think will fall just short, not a bad shout for an upset performance at third behind Harris and Newsom, with the state of things now, supposedly besides Harris, he’s performing the best in internal polling for South Carolina (the very first state on the Democratic calendar), someone to watch.
Warnock - Has been a very solid Senator and has great public speaking skills (that’s what being a pastor gets you), very solid record on public activism before his Senate career for trying to expand Medicaid access that will play well with younger voters who like Medicare For All.
Abrams - Another option from Georgia, her problem is she’s cursed with always losing when it counts the most (her Governor campaigns), she’s been indispensable in the effort to expand voting rights for the people of Georgia + helped us turn the state blue far ahead of schedule, she won’t be President though.
Ocasio-Cortez - Not worthy of consideration until if and when she’s been elected Senator, very polarizing, she’s not my favorite member of the Squad (that honor goes to Pressley).
Sanders - Love him but he’ll be far too old, long career of good work but it’s about time to let the next generation lead, will forever be invaluable for shifting the dialogue for things like universal healthcare and tuition free college when he ran in 2016.
Raimondo - Way too obscure, next.
Landrieu - Slightly less obscure but no national profile, next.
Schiff - Absolutely not, next.

First Prev. Next
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Memory Transcription Subject: Taisa, Venlil Starship Engineer, Crystal Star Shipping Co-Owner
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 7th, 2136
Stars that herd is huge… every seat’s full, and there’s still a sea of coats standing to watch!
>Surprise!< Mama slid a chair out a ways between her and Renkel, tapping it with her tail before it slipped free to wag with excitement behind her as she let out a proud beep. “Good paw so far, Little Star?”
“You could certainly say that! It’s been… blissfully quiet.” >Thank you.< I replied, giving her a small, appreciative hug and settled into the seat before she plopped down into her own beside Papa, quickly twisting her tail around his. My attention swung to Chris behind me, an appreciative whistle sighing from my snout as his hand fell on my shoulder. “Just what I needed, Heartwood.”
“S’All your Mama’s idea, along with your Pa’s and Ervena, Darlin’. I’m just the entertainment this evenin’.” He rumbled in my ear, a small, adorable laugh burbling up amongst his words.
Good entertainment to watch that’s for sure.
“Well then I think you’ve got some ‘fans’ to entertain. Wouldn’t want to disappoint them now would you, song-bird?”
“I’ll do my best, dust-ball.” Chris replied with another laugh and a small, reassuring squeeze before he pulled away to walk to the stage, the heavy thump of his boots ushering a wave of silence across the Raving Rekan as he passed. The stage beneath him creaked as he stepped up onto the old, polished wood, scooping the microphone from its stand and up into his hands with a small klunk that popped from the speakers before he spoke.
“Good evenin’, wakin’, mid-paw or whatever time of paw it is for y’all out there. I figure most of ya know me by now but, incase’n any of ya don’t, I’m Christopher Dewey; all’s the same y’all can just call me Chris.” He stated, taking slow, measured steps across the stage to the waiting bottle of whiskey and its accompanying glass before pouring himself a claw or two and taking a deep draught of it. “Now, as much as I love playin’ music and drinkin’ whiskey with plenty a’ folks to listen, this whole ‘music night’ couldn’t be possible without the effort of good friends and wonderful people. So, before I begin, everyone give a round of… whistles? Claws? Eh, congratulations to Ervena and Rensa for putin’ everything together for all of us.”
A sea of upbeat whistles, chuffs and calls sounded out across the Rekan and the sea of coats beyond the open windows behind Chris. A pair of spreading blooms flashed across Mama and Ervena’s snouts as they signaled thanks of their own before shooting Chris a pair of annoyed looks as he continued. “I do ask ya to keep in mind, if’n you’d like to join me, alongside the music the Rekan’s got a few spirits Taisa and I hauled back from Earth for y’all to enjoy and ain’t a one of ‘em bad and trust me I checked.”
The calls of thanks around us fell away to measured, amused laughter as a few paws raised glasses of their own carrying drinks of all manners of color. “It’s a shame to do some of these pieces the… disservice of having some of them be recorded but a man can only do so much at once after all. Now, without further ado let's get into it, yeah?”
Chris plucked the familiar, wooden ‘resonator’ off of its stand as a few calls of agreement flowed through the herds and gave it a soft strum before slipping into his seat and popping the microphone up onto its stand. “This one is from a man I’ve always looked up to since I was a kid, an old Canadian singer by name of Stan Rogers. He’s been gone some hundred and fifty years now but there’s just something about the sounds he put together; they always managed to make me feel something. If’n I was happy, sad, relaxed or just plain confused, ol’ Stan could help set me right.”
A dragging, low beat fell from the guitar, ushering away the electric, lively silence flowing through the Rekan with a lonely sound that bounced from the walls as Chris’ voice filed in alongside it before the speakers came alive with a myriad of new instruments I’d never heard before. A story wove from the notes and words as he played, flitting images all but hung amongst the rafters above. The story of a man salvaging a moment's rest amongst grueling, dirty work as he thinks back on the choices he’s made and the opportunities he’d seized. Around me ears perked to listen as tails and snouts bobbed with the slow, hanging beats that filled the air.
Fresh coats I hardly recognized amongst the herd whose families had left the suddenly tumultuous economy of the Capital for Heartwood's peaceable dirt listened silently as they watched on with agreeing, appreciative tails. The song turned, calling reprieve and sorrow for what the man had left, the memory of the beautiful home he’d left behind for steady work calling out to him atop the knowledge that it’d not be nearly as fulfilling as earning his way with his own paws. Chris’ voice rose, calling out across the Rekan to everyone listening, beckoning them to come to a new place for a life that was far from easy but carried ‘self-respect and a steady cheque’ which was certainly more rewarding than lying down to rot away.
“But you’ll be free, and just like me, an Idiot, I suppose.” Chris’ voice trailed off as the instruments rose to fill the emptiness. The passing image of the man in my mind heaved a last, regretful sigh before returning to the ugly refinery so far from home.
Returning to the life they'd chosen.
“Ol’ Stan always had a way with stories, the kind that always felt like they’d have somewhere to fit; even on an alien world it’d seem.” Chris stated with a cough and a small, rueful laugh, covering his mouth with a fist as he reached over to pull another sip from his whiskey before continuing. “We’ve got a lot of singers, songwriters and poets like that back home, I figure. So far I’ve found, amongst the light years, the culture, the diet and the hardships we all endure there’s a whole lot less that separates us than we’d all really like to think.”
A wave of grumbled protest passed through the Rekan, reaped low beneath the tide of whistles, beeps, chuffs and grunts of agreement that crashed atop of them as Chris continued. “We all lose things, people, family, friends and homes. Rather recently I think we’ve all lost more than is really fair in the last few days, certainly more than any of us could have imagined.”
“I don’t know that I have to tell most of you what Taisa and I do, where we’ve been nor that you want to hear what we saw when the damned Lizards… showed up. Some of us lost family, some homes, some friends, some lost parts of their bodies and lives they’ll never get back. And some of us, some of us lost our self-respect, our sense of safety and our confidence.” His cracked visor hung for a moment on Salamar, Ulmic, and his wife at a table not far from the stage, receiving a thankful bow of Ulmic and Bernia's heads as Salamar flicked >Thanks< with his ears in a far more Venlil way. Chris’ voice flowed through the speakers again, that quiver of uncertain worry that I’d heard so much in the last few paws apparent in his words as he scanned the crowd, falling on Darno and Natus at a small two person table against the far wall before he continued. “In the end it feels like we lost them for… well for nothing. And there’s not a thing one any of us can do to get them back. In the void and amongst the stars they’ll stay, like bones in the ocean.”
His voice poured through the speakers at his side, the drum at his foot thumping out a steady rhythm along with his heavy boot as the guitar lay dormant cradled in his lap. This one was different from anything I’d heard him sing before, the usual accompaniment of his guitar nowhere to be found as he called out a sorrowful song into the cold twilight air. Chris’ mournful voice drifted to my ears, carrying the story of a man desperately grasping at something, and someone, he’d long since lost to the sea in the vain hope that sinking into the same waves himself might find him the forgiveness for those he’d lost.
I watched as the coats and tails around me rose and fell with Chris’ song, a pawful of whistles rose and fell throughout the crowd, carrying the tune alongside him. His words aired the guilt I’d known had been growing in him, the twisting pain that weighed down on him with the thought of the people we’d left, of the thought of the failures he couldn’t escape. I could all but feel the lyrics he sang gently pulling at the tight roots that had twined around his heart. Every passing verse rose in confidence as his voice grew in volume and surety, shaking free of the uncertainty that had plagued him just a few minutes before.
Parnel and Farnel sat beside each other at the bar, tails swaying along to Chris’ foot as they took a sip of their own from the glasses in their paws. Parnel’s attention snagged on me for a moment, sending me a pleasant >Hello. Proud of You.< as he rose the glass my way.
Knew there was a reason that sneaky grease-coat was holding us up in the yard, he was in on it! At least he’s enjoying himself this paw. Farnel looks like he’s been doing better as well. Should see if Mama and Papa want to go by to visit him sometime, I’m sure he’d love the company.
Ulmic’s broad, cream and brown paw found its way through his wife’s quills, slipping free to twine with hers, gently squeezing it as the older, graying Gojid closed his eyes and let out a low, rumbling hum alongside Chris’ voice. Bernia rested her head on his shoulder, gently nuzzling into his neck, whispering something quiet that received a small flick of acknowledgement and an agreeing sigh. My attention passed to Salamar on his other side, finding himself doing his best to hide that he was watching Ulmic more than he was paying any attention to Chris’ music.
I’m sure Mama will be happy, she always did hope Salamar would make some friends who could actually show him his own culture.
Natus and Darno were sat close together across the room, facing Chris on stage with her tail reassuringly wrapping around his as they listened in silence. The old Yotul gave me a brief flick of his ears in greeting before he turned away, running an anxious paw through his fur before a gentle touch from Natus eased his mind.
Suppose he isn’t quite as unaffected by it all as we had thought. Good to see them together.
Like you should be up there with Him. He needs a reassuring, calming paw as much as Darno does.
Especially now…
“As the souls of the dead live fore’er in my mind, as I live all the years that they left me behind, I’ll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea. I remember the fallen and they think of me; for our souls in the ocean together will be.”
A wave of low, understanding hums cast out from a pawful of familiar, and unfamiliar, coats across the room. Mama, Ulmic, Salamar, Shenod and Darno’s voices rose alongside the final line of Chris’ song to match his voice in a solemn chorus. “I remember the fallen and they think of me for our souls in the ocean together will be.”
“S-Sorry about that, that one never fails to get me. Sai-” Chris grunted as he cleared his throat again, his lips pulling into a tight grimace beneath the edge of his visor ushering in a stagnant silence that fell across the Rekan again. An unsteady hand quickly swiped away a glistening streak trailing its way beneath his eye as the other set the unused guitar down in its stand. A smattering of conciliatory whistles and beeps washed out from the crowd in front of him, surprisingly understanding tails and ears encouraging him to continue. “We Humans, sailors especially, have an odd relationship with music; have for a long time. I’ve not heard much of y’all’s but we’ve got work songs, tall tales and thrilling stories, calls for the comfort of home or just something to lift your spirits when the going gets rough. God and Stars above I figure we’ve probably got something for every occasion if’n I’m honest.”
“Ahem. Sorry, again. Been a real rough week or two.” Another cough racked his body as he rubbed away another trailing tear with a clumsy hand before grasping his glass in a tight grip and hoisting it into the air, swinging it from the crowd in front of him to those watching on outside. “To each our own 'til we go home to whatever realms our souls must roam. Hopefully we all end up happy with what we find in the end.”
Tails, paws and glasses around the room and beyond raised in return, an ensemble of solemn thanks and agreement joining them. The sudden clack of glass on wood sounded out as Chris knocked the last of his whiskey back and set it down roughly on the stool beside the bottle, quickly pouring another few claws of sloshing brown liquid for himself.
Silence filled in behind Chris’ voice and the agreement behind it, hanging in the air like a choking pall of smoke. Without Chris at my side my tail found the nearest comfort, slinking to coil around Mama and Papa’s own twined tails as a soft, worried mewl slipped from my mouth. Mama’s paw found my shoulder, pulling me to her side with a reassuring whisper, in my ear. “I hate that you’re suffering, Little Star. You’ll get through it, you and your Papa guided me out of the dark when I needed you, we’ll be here for you all the same.”
“Th-Thank you, Mama.” I whispered back, fighting the weight in my heart as her claws worked through my back wool, soothing away my worries. “I love you.”
“We love you too, Little Star. And! We’ve got Chris in our herd now, and we both know he won’t let you go it alone either.” Papa responded with a shear of amusement, his attention flicking up to the stage, the sound of the stool creaking beneath Chris as he sat down splitting the silence.
“He is pretty great…” I replied, my voice trailing off as Chris pulled the microphone a little closer.
“Anyhow, this is supposed to be a happier occasion than it has been so far. I’ve got a few to try and lighten the mood so let’s uh… let’s do something a little happier, might even make some use of this here dance floor and them feet of y’alls, eh?”
Ears and tails around the room perked up as he hauled his lusterless brass guitar up into his lap before plugging it in. The first deep, throaty notes of the song burst into the Rekan, loud and energetic as it was met by an excited squeal from Renkel and Ervonen, the pair of pups tearing off towards the open floor in front of the stage, prompting a small herd to follow after them. A smattering of coats outside lept from their seats as well, pulling mates and friends alike behind them to the open stone just beyond the windows. Mama and Papa shared a look, their excited tails tugging mine back and forth before they hopped up to rush off to dance themselves.
Stars, I wish Chris and I could da-
The paw at my back hadn’t moved, the claws that had been working through my wool now nudged me, trying to prompt me to my own feet as I heard Papa in my ear over the bouncing music. “Come on now, Little Star, wouldn’t wanna miss all the fun, would you?”
A bolt of worry zipped through my mind at the thought of sitting at the table alone, solidifying my choice before I’d even really thought about it. I gave him a nod, forcing myself to my feet to hustle after them and join in the herd! Happy tails and greeting whistles welcomed us into the whirling mix of grays, browns, beiges, whites and black coats that zipped by on either side.
Papa pulled Mama tight, nuzzling her snout before dropping into their low, swinging dance they always did with each other when Papa pulled out his old Flytser recordings. I had always felt awkward dancing on my own, like it made the loneliness all the heavier, but now with Chris being the one to sing it felt… better.
“The juke joint's jumpin' to a hillbilly band.
She walks across the floor to the steel guitar man.
She says, ‘Take me to a place I ain't never been’.
She says, ‘Rock me real hard and then rock me again
I'll be dancin' on the floor like you ain't never seen-a!’”
I let the music move through me, shaking out my wool as I bounced on my paws to the thumping beat of the song. My tail twirled excitedly behind me as my paws rose in front of me, pulling and playing at the air like a Plehr as I spun about, listening to the steady thump of Chris’ guitar. My heart warmed with the sound, the memories of the tail-claw of some of my favorite paws I could remember spent together in the forum rose in my mind.
My attention settled on him, the rhythmic twirling in my tail falling away to an affectionate curl as I watched his hands flit about the neck of his guitar. A part of me wished it was just us again, sat on the crest of the hill near his parent’s home watching that beautiful sunrise to the sound of his guitar. Then again, even with that wonderful peace, I wouldn’t get to watch the town come together around him.
You can share, for now.
Mama spun around, bumping me forward to the front of the herd, her tail a flash of encouragement as Papa twirled her on her paws with a flair, their excited laughter mixing into the music around us. “Go on now, Little Star! Have fun!”
I all but fell through the wall of coats as my own whistling laughter tumbled from my snout. Natus and Darno were happily dancing side by side with Renkel and Ervonen only a few tails from the stage, matching their footsteps to the bouncing music that flowed from the massive speakers on either side of the stage. Chris’ visor slipped my way, a broad smile spreading across his mouth in between verses that lingered as he flowed into his next verse.
“It hurts so bad to watch her look so good! And if my momma won't let me, well; I bet ya that my daddy would!”
The music rose in energy, Chris transitioning quickly into a new song that called to the dancers to pick up their pace as the speakers burst with new energy. A quick, jumping strum of Chris’ guitar filled the air as he leaned into the microphone, his voice joining the bouncing tune before a solid percussion pounded through my wool from the speakers. Darno, and Natus in turn, flicked me a quick >Hello! Having fun?< as they passed, their voices calling out alongside Chris’, even if they clearly didn’t know the lyrics.
Chris nodded to me as I started to dance again, his cheeks still glowing bright with happiness as his guitar sang out in his hands in unison with his booming, boisterous voice. Chris’ heavy foot crashed against the floor alongside the beat of the song, his voice loud and happy as the herd around me twisted and turned, coats flashing past as I watched my Human play his heart out. The smile on his face never faltered as he watched me dance at the front of the stage, his calling lyrics growing ever louder as the song reached a crescendo.
“I said hey man, holler!
Twist in the parlor!
Move your feet if you can,
don't just stand there in the corner
and wait for the feeling to dance!”
His hand bounced up from the guitar with a final strum to beckon me up onto the stage, ushering the song to silence as he reached over to set the instrument back into its stand. The fervor on the dance floor faded in the silence, inquisitive ears swinging to focus on Chris as he rose to his feet, his hands rising in a placating gesture as he spoke up. “Easy now y’all! Don’t go sittin’ down just yet, gotta grab the big ‘un for this ‘un.”
He stopped beside the beaten and scratched mass of wood and strings at the end of the semi-circle of instruments, hefting it from its stand as he turned to me. That adorably excited tight-lipped grin painted across his face only grew as his visor landed on me.
>?<
“You can dance or sing along if’n ya like, Darlin, I just like havin’ ya’ nearby s’all. I figure you’d ‘ought know this one by now with how much I been playin’ it on our runs.” He answered, keeping his back to the mic before turning again to plant the heavy instrument solidly on the stage with a whoop of excitement as he pulled the microphone up to his head level. “Now! What say we get this shindig moving again? Just like some ol’ Poor Rambler!”
Chris looked past the crowd, giving the gray Venlil tending the bar a quick nod before a short tune played from the speakers, followed by the low twanging plunk of the instrument in his hands before the rest of the ‘band’ fell in behind him. Chris’ voice rang out in the Rekan, the upbeat call of the song spurring the herd, and me, back into our vibrant, energetic dancing. Coats and tails twirled about the dance floor in front and behind me. Ecstatic whistles, grunts and chuffs filled the air alongside the music as I watched Papa hoist Mama into the air, her prosthetic missing the pair behind them by less than a quarter tail.
Stars above help me! If he doesn’t know how to get people motivated, then I don’t know who does.
Especially you, afterall. But isn’t that why you’re together? Why you love him?
Yea… Yea it is…
A small bloom spread across my snout and up my ears as I danced, speeding up despite the exertion to try and hide the glow beneath my wool as the fervor and excitement of Chris’ voice rose alongside the instruments backing him.
“Well I'm a laying around in this old jail house,
Forty dollars ‘ll pay my fine!
Pretty women swarming all around me,
Marijuana has destroyed my mind!”
Chris himself was swaying and twisting along with the beat, his smile still glowing as he belted his lyrics out into the crowded expanse of the Rekan and the cold twilight air beyond the windows behind him. The dancing surrounding us grew all the more ecstatic along with him as his words faded to an erratic, upbeat stretch of the instruments singing a song all their own. After a minute that felt like an eternity of vibrant, enticing notes he sucked in a deep breath and leaned back into the microphone, his voice belting forth once more. The herds around us did their best to keep up, whistles and calls harvesting the odd attempt at Human words, failing in amusing fashion as Chris sang on to the last verse of the song.
“Give me cornbread when I'm hungry
Corn whiskey when I'm dry!
Pretty women swarming all around me
Sweet Heaven when I die!”
This one I remembered. My own voice rose to meet his, my high whistling singing riding atop the rolling waves of his own deep, bass filled voice like the boats we’d zipped past around Kings Island.
Feels like that happened to someone else…
I flapped my ears for a moment, batting away the encroaching thought as my breath fell to panting with the end of the song. Chris let out a happy belly laugh as he hefted his instrument from the floor and back onto its stand before collecting the worn, brass resonator and settling back onto his stool. “I see some winded faces out there, so we’re gonna drop it down a notch for the last two I’m singing.”
An orchestra of disappointed calls and protesting shouts burbled up from around the collected herds, receiving a pair of raised, placating hands from Chris before he readjusted the microphone again. “Hey now, I didn’t say I’d be done after these two! Just done singin’! Y’all are stuck with me for near a half claw now at this rate! If it were me I’d think about ordering a few more glasses of whiskey.”
“So, this’ a wonderfully slow one I picked up from my old man. He sings it to my Ma’ all the time.” I could all but hear the wink in his voice as he shifted on the stool amongst the spattered laughing and calls for servers around the bar. It still raised my wool a little at how many of the servers pointedly kept a wide berth from the stage but the fact that they, and so many coats from the town with them, were even here was a star's blessed start. “He did it poorly, I might add, but we can’t hold that against him none.”
Another tide of soft laughter passed through the gathered herds as Chris drew his hand up the neck of his guitar again, the speakers calling out a delightful melody filled with new sounds I’d not heard from anything else he’d ever played for me. Quickly his voice joined the fresh sounds, calling out to the stars with words I knew were for me more than the spectrum of coats slow dancing around us.
“Long before we ever met
I made up my direction.
Long before I knew the half
Of half I'm sure of now.”
My heart fluttered at the memories dancing in my mind as I swayed at his side, flashing images of the paw we’d met and everyone I cared to remember since. When we’d rushed Maeve to the hospital, and all the ribbing that’d come from it, our first real delivery for the exchange, getting Polani and putting every extra claw we could harvest into her. The delicious tastes and beautiful sights of his home hung on my tongue as the warm, loving melody passed through me, pushing me to sway alongside Chris as I took in the sight of so much of the town here, enjoying themselves.
I spied a familiar coat sitting alone at the bar, despite the herd that surrounded him, a nearly dry glass of whiskey resting in his paw as he watched on with rapt attention. Lentan’s attention flitted over to me, the older black and gray Venlil raising his glass to me for a moment before taking another long sip. >Good job. Keep it up. Thank you.<
Well that’s… unexpected.
Through it all I could feel his eyes on me, even through the visor, watching me as the song slowed. Chris’ voice hung on the last of his words a moment longer as the soft, enchanting ping and droning groan of the backing instruments pulled forward to the front, all but threatening to overtake Chris as he sang the last verse.
“No there ain't two ways around it.
There ain't no trying 'bout it.
I'm all your'n and you're all mine.”
The music faded with the last word, the last sounds drifting through the air before being whisked away to join the falling leaves dancing in the sky above. Chris leaned, reaching for his whiskey and taking a long draught before shifting back towards the microphone with a sigh. “That’s a good one. Always better when’n you got someone to share it with too, if’n ya ask me.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the herd as they watched Chris, mates pulling each other closer in affectionate embrace as they waited for the next song. “This next one’s something a little different, not that you can’t dance to it, mind you. It’s another of dear ol’ Stan’s, funnily enough. ‘Bout losing somethin‘ and takin’ it back, ‘bout risin’ from the muck and fixin’ what was broken. It ain’t never easy, but it’s always worth it.”
A jaunty, upbeat twang of plucked strings sang out from Chris’ guitar alongside the steady thump of the drum at his feet, filling the air with the feeling of a coming story as he was quickly joined by the high, whining sound of another instrument calling out from the speakers. His voice dropped low as he sang, a deep, bass filled call that washed from the speakers like the flow of the winding Genori.
“She went down last October in a pouring driving rain.
The skipper, he’d been drinking and the Mate, he felt no pain.
Too close to Three Mile Rock, and she was dealt her mortal blow,
And the Mary Ellen Carter settled low.”
His voice rolled through the song as some of the herd filed back to their seats while the rest stayed standing, slowly swaying with each other. Waves of emotion ran through the lyrics, images of Humans fighting the elements to save the ship they loved so dearly, hard at work to bring her back to life and save her memory as she had for them so many times before. His voice rose, steeling with confidence as he belted out the last verse with reckless abandon.
“Rise again, rise again – though your heart it be broken,And life about to end!
No matter what you’ve lost, be it a home, a love, a friend.Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again!”
The instruments faded, and with their passing that sea of upbeat whistles, chuffs and calls returned to the patrons of the Rekan and the sea of coats sat beyond the open windows behind Chris. He shifted in the stool with a loud, groaning creak of wood as he folded his arms atop the brass guitar before letting out a long sigh as his visor stared out over the crowd.
“In the end there’s not much you can’t do so’s long as you actually try for it. Time, and will, that‘ll get you through most about anything.” His jaw set as he leaned back a little, absently running a finger across one of the strings on the neck, sending out a small thrum through the speakers. His voice fell, the confidence it’d held a few short moments before faltering and cracking away to let uncertainty settle into his words. “I’m not sure what comes next, I’m sure it ain’t good. But I hope the Venlil, and anyone else who’ll have us, are there to face it with us. My Papa always used to say ‘Boy, friends’ll always manage to make the bad a little better and the dark a little brighter.’”
Silence rang like a bell through the Rekan as he spoke, tails falling still while their owners watched a pawful of tears drip past the shattered edge of his visor. I took a step closer, wrapping my tail around his ankle, receiving a nod and a muttered ‘Thanks, Tai’ in return before he continued. “I like to think he was right, about that at least. Hopefully those ‘new allies’ Tarva was talking about show up… Would sure make the dark a whole lot brighter.”
A murmur of agreement passed through the herds around us, carrying with it a surprising amount of reassuring tails flicking encouragement as I squeezed mine a little tighter.
He let out another cough, trying to cover a sniffle as he sat up a little straighter, shaking his head before he continued. “Anyhow, th-that’s enough of that, eh? Ervena, can I get another stool for Taisa? Doubt she’s gonna go back to her table after that.”
In a breath Ervena was hoisting another stool up onto the stage, whispering reassurance as Chris leaned forward to drag it to his side for me. >Hopeful. Stay Strong.<
“Thank you, Ervena. Think I need a drink.” He sighed, taking a sip of his glass before slipping a slide on his finger and dragging his hand up the guitar’s neck with a long, singing note before striking a tune. Under his breath I heard him mutter to himself. “I suppose only time’ll tell, hopefully she’s got good news for once.”
I’m sure they will, Love.
I’m sure they will.
---
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This we offer in humility and fear for the blessed peace of your eternal slumber. As it ever was.

In the deepest bowels of the earth, there exist evil Ancient Ones, beings who wield apocalyptic strength and an unsatiable taste for human suffering. The only thing that can keep these nightmares in the ground is the annual sacrifice of four out of five archetypal young people: the Athlete, the Whore, the Scholar, the Fool and the Virgin. To these ends, an extremely organized, bureaucratic force oversees these specific yearly rituals, ensuring each sacrifice goes down in a cinematic manner to appease the Ancient Ones. With all-seeing surveillance, advanced forcefield technology, and entire wings full of monsters gathered through occult and biotechnical means, the Organization ensures the continued survival of the human race.
The movie mostly follows the North American branch of the Organization, referred to as The Facility, although the Organization is an international effort with backup sacrificial rituals being performed in several other locations across the globe.
Feats come from the 2012 movie, The Cabin in the Woods, as well as the novelization of the film.

The Ritual

Rules

• A spooky old-timer called the Harbinger must encounter the group on their way to the sacrifice site and attempt to warn them away from the dangerous area
• [NSFW] The Ancient Ones like it when the Whore gets topless
• The cellar is full of trinkets and objects that correspond to a specific monster. When the first trinket is interacted with in the right way, the corresponding threat is unleashed on the sacrifices. In this manner, the sacrifices choose what threat they bring upon themselves.
• The Director lays out several of the rules; the group must unknowingly choose which horrors they face. Then, the Whore must die first, followed by the Athlete, Scholar and Fool (in any order). These deaths, if achieved before sunrise, will prevent the Ancient Ones from rising up and causing the agonizing deaths of every human being on Earth.

Sacrificial Deaths

• The virgin’s death is optional, but she must have significantly suffered at some point. If she does die, her death must be last, after the four other sacrifices.
• Following the death of a sacrifice, a lever is pulled, which fills in an arcane pattern with blood
• After the second lever is thrown, the Ancient Ones start rumbling in excitement, causing the earth to tremble on the surface

Other

• The Ancient Ones and their ritual are as old as the Earth itself
• If the ritual fails, the Ancient Ones crawl up to the surface with colossal hands to begin the apocalypse The novel puts the Ancient God’s arm at around one hundred feet long

Technology

Operations Department

• An agent tracks them down and surveils them at their college In the novel, it’s six agents, all with special apparel and chemical gels that prevent DNA evidence from leaving their bodies
• Satellite positioning allows the team to supervise the group’s vehicle from above
• Several cameras allow the team to surveil every room in the cabin
• Sacrifices are tracked by their location in the cabin and by what looks like vital signs
• Some cabin cameras are small and hidden in lamps

Chemical/Manipulation Department

• A chemical designed to lower cognitive ability is slipped into the Jules’ hair dye weeks before the sacrifice
• In the novel, everyone but Marty swims in the lake, with Holden remarking that the water tastes great. This could imply that the lake water itself is drugged, and since Marty did not enter it, he avoided the worst of the chemical conditioning.
• When Curt states that the group needs to stick together, gas pumped into the cabin immediately makes him change his mind. He then states that they need to split up.
• Technicians can pump thorazine, a tranquilizer, into the cabin bedrooms
• They use a pheromone called Rohyptase to increase a subject’s libido. It’s released in mist form from hidden ports in the woods and has an instant effect on two sacrifices.
• Marty has audio clips fed into his room to subliminally effect his decision making, leading to him going for a walk alone
• [Limit] The Fool’s overuse of marijuana and his default paranoid personality conflict with the Organization’s chemical programming and he’s able to retain a higher level of awareness than his compatriots, later confirmed by a technician The Chem department treated Marty’s weed with perception-altering substances, although this seemed to be ineffective at reducing his paranoia. However, since they missed one batch, the untreated weed helps Marty avoid the worst of the chemical mind manipulation.

Engineering Department

• The cellar trapdoor is remotely opened up loudly, which draws the subjects into the cellar
• The bedroom doors are remotely closed and locked to trap the sacrifices
• Small electric devices are hidden in the handles of weapons. After Dana uses a knife to fend off a Buckner, the electric shock causes her to unconsciously drop it.
• There’s a secret entrance from ground level to the facility’s subterranean headquarters disguised as an open grave

Demolitions Department

• While the explosive mechanics failed at first, Sitterson is able to blow up the tunnel exit and cause a cave-in, destroying the only way out for the sacrifices

Perimeter Barrier

• The location is surrounded by an invisible forcefield The barrier courses with electricity, enough to scorch a bird’s wings, fry its insides and carbonize its brain
• When passing the barrier, Marty senses some kind of electric interference from the perimeter barrier, which seemingly went unnoticed by his mostly sober friends
• When Curt tries to jump a cliff on a dirtbike, he smacks into the barrier and fatally wipes out

Other

• The temperature in the woods can be manually set
• The brightness of moonlight in the woods can be manually adjusted
• Task forces armed with SG 552 Commando rifles are on call in the Facility’s headquarters. Other security guards carry Beretta Px4 Storm handguns, and one technician uses a Heckler & Koch MP5K submachine gun.

Monsters

General

• When the office bets on what monster the sacrifices will conjure up, we can see a whiteboard with every option written down
• Every monster in the Organization's possession was created by the Ancient Ones
• Dana and Marty travel through the monster cages and encounter a Werewolf, a Wraith, a multi-mouthed ballerina child called the Sugar Plum Fairy and Fornicus, Lord of Bondage and Pain. The full cages reveal dozens upon dozens of different horrors, contained in cube-shaped cells. The novel tells of a few different horrors, including an alien that impregnates victims with its face, vampires, a family with lava flowing under their skin, a woman with teeth in her vagina, a six-armed man with weapons instead of hands, repeatedly exploding babies, a giant rabbit, a scorpion woman, a three-headed monster child, a toxic-gas spewing being, a minotaur, a pubic hair Gorgon, a man with hot pipes through his chest, a dog with an alligator head and many, many more. The novel also states that the cells are made of highly bulletproof glass.

The Buckner Family
A clan of undead hillbillies with a borderline religious obsession with masochism and sadism. The two sons are the most aggressive and efficient members of the family, with Judah Buckner using half of a set of shears and his big brother, the massive Matthew Buckner, using a beartrap on a chain as a flail. They're referred to on the whiteboard as "Zombie Redneck Torture Family".
General

• A Latin phrase from the "oldest book" is found in end of Anna Patience Buckner’s, which diary restores the undead family to life when read aloud
• The diary naturally opens to the page with the Latin summoning spell when tossed on a couch, implying that the Organization modified the book specifically so that the reader would see that page

Matthew

• Matthew Buckner wields a beartrap on a chain, used for bludgeoning and trapping at a distance
• Matthew traps Holden and drags him into the air by the chain
• It’s filmed mostly as background shots on a monitor, but Matthew Buckner brutally beats Dana on a dock, causing her to vomit blood
• Matthew pounds the cabin door, warping the wood along with the metal deadbolt and shaking the cabin itself
• One smashes a hole in the cabin door with a blunt weapon
• He punches a window in, but doesn’t bleed after clenching the glass and wood shards in his hand
• He’s alright after being stabbed through the eye and head with a crowbar, but several knife stabs to the chest knock him out
• Matthew gets up right after Dana clubs him with a plank of wood and he falls into the lake

Judah

• Judah pierces Jules’ hand with half of a set of shears
• Judah punches through a window to grab Marty
• He throws a shear into a fleeing man’s back
• Not impeded after being clubbed with a metal bong
• Not hurt after a punch destroys his nose
• He’s still animated and twitching after being chopped into pieces. Later, the severed hand attempts to kill a man by grabbing his ankle and face.

Mother

• Matthew restrains Jules while Mother Buckner use a two-handed saw to decapitate her
• Mother Buckner ignores getting a lamp smashed on her face
• Mother Buckner was killed when Father Buckner cut her stomach open and inserted hot coals into the wound. As a zombie, these century-old coals are reignited, hot enough to burn human skin when they tumble out of Mother Buckner.

Father

• Father Buckner stabs through a driver’s seat with a scythe and into Holden’s neck, killing him In the novel, he slashes Holden’s throat before burying his blade in Holden’s skull

Anna Patience

• Anna buries an axe in a woman’s skull
• Anna can be knocked around easily enough by Curt’s running clothesline

Werewolf

• It catches up to a fleeing man and bites into his neck
• Scalps a woman with its teeth
• The Werewolf sneaks up on Dana and bites into her neck. It then takes a few handgun bullets before fleeing. The novel specifies that the Werewolf was shot three times in the chest and once in the face

Dragonbat

• The Dragonbat flies and tackles a man through a wall After tackling a man through a wall, the Dragonbat burns a hole in his torso with fire breath

Clown

• The Clown is armed with a curved knife and is completely resistant to handgun fire In the novel, it takes several flurries of rifle fire to the body. When one bullet hits its face, the wound heals in seconds.

Scarecrow Folk

• The Scarecrow Folk mob a man before tearing into his torso. While they’re immune to handgun fire, the man’s suicide attack with a grenade seems to kill them. In the novel, the Scarecrow Folk laugh at the human’s attempts to gun them down

Kraken

• The Kraken punches a tentacle into the Control Room and grabs a woman In the novel, it wraps around the woman’s neck so tight that her eyes bulge and she spits blood

System Purge

• The System Purge option opens every monster’s cell simultaneously. In the ensuing bloodbath, we catch brief looks at many monsters. Specifically, we can see the Dragonbat lift and drop a man, the Angry Molesting Tree impale a man on its branches, around seven Zombies mob a man, two Dismemberment Goblins split a man apart at the waist, the Giant Snake strangle and swallow two men, the Killer Robot spearing and dismembering a man, the Witch mystically sucking the soul out of a man, and finally, the Werewolf mauling a man. The second wave sees an Alien Beast pounce at a man, a Deadite toss a man off a railing to the Giant Snake below, Fornicus, Lord of Bondage and Pain restraining a man in chains, Doctors performing surgery on a living victim, the Dolls pouring gasoline on restrained victims, and many more scenes of random violence on monitors.

Other Monsters

• The ancient Witch is entirely bulletproof, can fly and can suck the life out of a human victim to restore her own youth
• The horror known only as Kevin kills a man in seconds via exsanguination
• The Unicorn runs down a man and impales his gut twice
• The Merman drags itself along the ground to bite into a prone man’s chest, then sprays the man’s blood out of its blowhole
• A large group of Zombies descend on a group to kill them
• A Vampire rips a person’s throat out
• A Mutant grabs a worker, vomits acid on their face and shoulders, then eats the melted flesh
• A group of Goblins commandeer a cart and run over victims
• Something that eats human flesh, then regurgitates it to feed its infant young

Miscellaneous

• The sacrifices are lured to the woods through a falsified invitation from who they believe to be Curt’s cousins. The site is off the grid, meaning they cannot be tracked through conventional GPS technology and they don’t get cell phone signal to call for help.
• The site's surrounding cliffs are made of limestone, which is impossible for the sacrifices to climb down because of its fragility
• The Japanese branch sends a floating, soaked, vengeful spirit named Kiko after a group of schoolchildren. The schoolchildren successfully trap the evil spirit in the form of a frog by holding hands in a circle around a pot of lotus flowers and singing a magic song.

Sitterson: Oh, man. I'm sorry.
Hadley: He had the conch in his hands!
Sitterson: I know. I know. A couple more minutes, who knows what might've happened?
Hadley: I am never gonna see a merman. Ever.
Sitterson: Dude, be thankful. Those things are terrifying. And the cleanup on them is a nightmare.

I just woke up in hospital basically from car wreck with a TBI and dai 2 and it really sucks It happened on October 27th. I am 26 years old . I was only survivor . It was caused by shearing I think but I just don’t know how to deal w all of this it’s very new to me so I’m seeking advice with everything. The things stressing me out right now are : my parents having to do everything for me, my right hand is working but it’s difficult, not being able to use marijuana/ alcohol , not being able to do my eyelinemakeup , credit card payments past due ( I was in hospital for 48 days) and I don’t even remember these cards, I want to sleep in my own room but my mom is worried she won’t hear me if I fall, my parents gave to take me to bathroom , or any where I need to stand and go, I cannot get appt with nuerologist they don’t answer ., I really want a boyfriend, I just want to get back to my normal life and I’m very sad

TUESDAY 4.17.2018 5:15PM EST - 6:15PM EST IT IRKS THE NERVES WHEN THE HURT UNNERVES LIKE MINERVO, MINERVA. SHOUT OUT JOSE CUERVO. SUCH A NERD OF THIS CALIBER IS WIELDING EXCALIBUR. IN TRUTH IT’S TRAGIC YOU’RE TREADING DOWN THE PATH SLIPPERY WHEN WET YET WHEN AT YOUR BEST THERE WAS NO CONTEST. WHY STRESS THEN FRET? JUST CONTINUE TO SWEAT. CONTINUE TO GIVE YOUR BEST WITH NOTHING BUT THOUGHTS OF YOUR REGRETS. THEN LEAVE THE REST, HOLDING ARROW LADEN SHIELDS PINNED TO THE GROUND. THEN WE SHALL FIGHT IN THE SHADE DING-DING-DING WINNING THE ROUND. NO NEED TO SAY IT IS GOING DOWN, BUT IT IS GOING DOWN. THAT’S WHAT WENT DOWN. WHEN I SLEEP IS INDEED JUST THE BEST TIME FOR ME. BUT IT’S NOT ALWAYS SOUND. THAT’S WHEN I SAY GOODBYE, TO ALL THAT INDUCE THE CRIES. TRUE SPIES NEVER USE LIES BUT I USE A TRY. I WILL TRY UNTIL I DIE AND SO I AM DYING JUST TO TRY. SIGHING JUST TO CRY, SHYNESS UNDERLIES. DOES THUNDER MAKE YOU CRY? DOES LIGHTNING MAKE YOU SIT, IN THE HALLWAY? CLOSE YOUR EYES AND JUST FORGET, FORGET THE PAIN YOU BEAR OR FORGIVE YOURSELF FOR CLINGING TO IT. GIVE YOURSELF PROPS MAN FOR YOUR PERSPECTIVE’S WHAT YOU ARE BRINGING TO IT. IF THE PAIN SINGS OUT THEN IT RINGS OUT THAT’S WHY IT STINGS NOW AND STINGS OUCH. TOO MANY STINGS CAN BRING OUT THE MEAN GROUCH AND SO I HIT THE MEAN COUCH. TO SLEEP AWAY THE NON SLEEPING DAYS. TALKING ABOUT RESTLESS NIGHTS. RESTLESS NIGHTS FORM THE TALES OF AN ALL NIGHTER FROM THE RESTLESS WRITER SO WHY BE A FIGHTER? I WOULD RATHER BE A TRIER. IF I WAS MADE TO DROP NUGGETS THEN I WOULD HAVE BEEN A FRYER. WHEN I LAY DOWN, ONLY ONE OF TWO THINGS HAPPEN. I GET TO SLEEP PEACEFULLY OR I ROLL FORTH AND BACK AND GET NO SLEEP ON THE BACK END. I AM IN FACT IN NEED OF MORE TRACTION. IN MY HEAD I ALWAYS FEEL I AM SLACKING. I COULD DIE TONIGHT AND THEN WHAT HAPPENS? TO ALL OF THE DREAMS AND POSITIVITY THEMES AND THINGS I AIM TO BRING TO THE SCREEN OR TO THE STREETS NO SWEEPER. IS THE LEGACY A KEEPER? IS THE LEGACY SECURED BEFORE I MEET THE GRIM REAPER? IS THE LEGACY SECURED BEFORE I MEET THE GRIEF LEAVER? TO ME HE IS THE WEEP RELIEVER AND I AM THE BELIEVER IN GOD, I PRAY TO GOD MY SOUL TO KEEP. EVERYDAY I WRESTLE WITH THE FACT I WAS CREATED WITH TACT. I WAS WIRED A CERTAIN WAY, TO RESPOND TO CERTAIN DISCONCERTING THINGS IN A CERTAIN PHASE ON CERTAIN DAYS IN A CURTAIN WAY. I WOULD CLOSE THE SHADE AND THEN I’LL JUST BEHAVE UNTIL I FADE AWAY. I WENT THRU THINGS I REALLY WISH I NEVER SAW. WISH IT SO OFTEN I WISH I WASN’T EVEN HERE AT ALL AND IT EVEN WASNT CLEAR; MY WORST FEARS PUT ME IN FIRST GEAR. THEN I SHED THE FIRST TEAR, THEY BURST NEAR AND FAR THEN I AM IN AWE. I PRAY TO GOD TO JUST TAKE ME. WHY WOULD HE MAKE ME, GO THRU 60PLUS MORE YEARS WITH THESE MEMORIES THEY’RE BREAKING ME? I HAVE TWO OPTIONS, EITHER SIT IN THE CORNER AND CRY AND JUST WISH I DIED OR I COULD GET THE TABLET OR PAD THEN GRAB IT AND JUST TRY, TO MAKE SENSE OF THE CRIES. TRY TO MAKE SENSE OF THE TIMES YOU DIDN’T KNOW ENOUGH TO KNOW YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE. IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN FAIR, AS SMART AS I WAS HOW DID I NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE? IF I COULD NOW SPEAK TO ME THEN I WOULD’VE JUST KICKED HIM. HEY MAN YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE A PART OF SOMETHING TEARING YOUR HEART UP FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. THEN YOU’LL HAVE TO MAKE IT UP FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. WHILE YOUR OTHER FRIENDS PLAY OR HAVE FUN DURNG THE DAY, YOU WILL BE FORCED TO GO ANOTHER WAY. YOU’LL STAY TO YOURSELF, YOU WILL BARELY EVER SEE THEM. YOU LOCK YOURSELF IN THE ROOM AS THE MIND ZOOMS VROOM-VROOM. FASTER THAN A BROOM-BROOM UNDER A WITCH. UNTIL 30 YOU WILL NEVER BE A HITCH. YOU WONT DATE YOU WILL ONLY WAIT. YOU WILL ONLY PACE ABOUT THE HOUSE OR OUTSIDE ALL DAY OR ALL NIGHT; WONDERING WHILE IT’S THUNDERING OR WANDERING WHILE YOU’RE PONDERING ON HONEST THINGS. YOU WON’T FEEL THE BRUNT OF IT UNTIL YOU ARE TWENTY EIGHT. BY THEN YOU SHALL HAVE PLENTY GREAT THINGS IN STORE FOR THE WORLD IN THE FORM OF PLANS. IN THE FORM OF A MAN YOU TRANSLATED GODS PLAN. YOU WILL WRESTLE WITH THE FACT GOD GAVE YOU A VISION. IN DOING SO GOD GAVE YOU A MISSION. A MISSION REQUIRING COMPLETION BEFORE YOUR SUBSEQUENT DELETION. YOUR DELIQUENT DEMEANOR FROM THE PAST WILL YOUR BRING YOUR EMPATH OUT MUCH CLEANER AND AS YOUR EMPATH SHOUTS, CLEAN BOUT, BEFORE HE KNOCKS YOU OUT. THE PAIN YOU’RE GONNA FEEL FROM THIS DEAL WILL KNOCK YOU TO THE GROUND. THE PAIN WILL GET SO WILD, YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER EVER A CHILD. IF IT DOES GET WILDER, THEN IT HASN’T DONE SO YET AND IF IT DOES MILDER, THEN IT HASN;T DONE SO YET. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW UNTIL THE PAIN GLOWS, THEN THE PAIN WILL SHOW UNLESS YOU STAY HIDDEN. STAY HIDDEN AND PRAY WITHIN, BEGGING GOD TO REDUCE YOUR SENTENCE. BUT HE CAN’T CAUSE HE WON’T, I MUST LIVE OUT MY QUOTE. I SAY I GOTTA MEET A QUOTA BEFORE MY AORTA, SPRAYS OUT INTO THE AIR THERE, UNTIL THAT DAY I CARE. I SHARE WHATS BEHIND THE GLARE. WHAT’S BEHIND THE STARE OF A MAN SO RARE? A FLIGHT OF STAIRS...AS IN FOR MORE AMBITION I AM WISHING.
CHAPTER FOUR: UNCLAIMED KITTY WEDNESDAY 4.18,2018 5:01AM EST - 6:09AM EST JUST WOKE UP THE MIND IS COMING AROUND. THOUGHTS INTO SOUND. FIRING OFF LIKE ROUNDS, YO IT’S GOING DOWN BRITISH POUND. I AM A HUGE FAN OF PRINCESS DIANA AND HYANNIS PORT. FOR AS THE SOUNDS WIND OUT WILL THE SOUNDS EVER WIND DOWN? MY OTHER DREAM, IS TO JUST TO CALM MY MIND DOWN. MIND’S RESTLESS THEN THE BODY IT WILL TEST THIS TO IT’S “BESTEST” CAPABILITIES, I ALWAYS HAVE TO DO SOMETHING OR I GET REALLY SAD CAUSE I KNOW THAT I GOT MARTIN WITH THESE PLOTS NEEDING STARTING. I ENTERED THE MISSION WITH CONTROLLED INTERMISSIONS BUT EVERYDAY OF THE SENTENCE BRINGS A BRAND NEW ENDLESS TENDENCY IN WHICH RENDERS ME INCAPABLE OF NOT MEETING THE STANDARD. IT IS INESCAPABLE AND NOT UNTRACE-ABLE. MORE LIKE EVIDENTLY PALPABLE. IT IS FELT IN THE AIR. UNSTOPPABLE. IT IS UNDER THE FEW CHEST HAIRS I HAVE. THE CHEST HAIRS I GRAB OR PLUCK DON’T GIVE IT UP SO EASILY AND MENTALLY I GO AROUND TEASING ME, I GET QUEASY SEE THEN I’M LAUGHING AT MYSELF STUCK FIGHTING ALL THIS PAIN. FIGHTING ALL THIS BRAIN. FIGHTING ALL THIS TRAIN. FIGHTING ALL THIS RAIN. WRITING THRU ALL THIS CHANGE, ALL THIS GAIN. NEVER STOP BOY CLEVER JOT WITH YOUR TOY. LOOKS LIKE I AM WRITING AGAIN OI. YOU CAN TRACK THE PAIN, THRU THE SCRIPTS. I SAID YOU COULD TRACK THE PAIN FROM THE PENMANSHIP. SAID THAT WORD REAL SLOW IN MY HEAD I WILL GO DILDO, AS IN INTRUDING THE ILLUSIONS MY MIND IS PROTRUDING OR IS IT STILL ILL YO? IS IT A DREAM OF GLAMOUR OR DELUSIONS OF GRANDUER? I JUST SMASHED THAT QUESTION WITH A HAMMER. I MEAN I JUST SMASHED THAT QUESTION WITH THE TICKING ANSWER. I JUST SMASHED THAT BED WITH A LICKING DANCER. WHERE’S MARTIN SPRINGS? IN NEW YORK THAT’S THE ANSWER. IF I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS PAINED BRAIN WITH ALL THIS REARRANGED GAIN THEN I HOPPED THE BUS JUST TO HOP ON THE TRAIN. I AM JUST TRAVELLING MANE. LOGGED INTO THE TRAVELLING GAME. TRAVELLING MAIN CITIES. MAIN BIDDY, MAIN KITTY. UNTAMED BIDDY, INSANE KITTY. UNTRAINED KITTY, UNNAMED BIDDY. UNFAMED BIDDY, MAJINBU STICKY. IT’S TIME TO DATE, ACCESS TO MY DREAMS NOW SO WHY WAIT? LIFE IS AS SCARY AS WEARING HEELS RIGHT NOW. MY LIFE IS AS SCARY AS ENDURING HELL RIGHT NOW. I SEE THE DREAM ON THE HORIZON, EVERY DAY ONLY THING I’M EYE-ING IS THE FACT I’M TRYING. IS THE FACT I’M DYING THE REASON IN EVERY SEASON I’M BLEEDING ON PAGES COMMITTING TREASON FOR EATING MYSELF ALIVE AND TELLING ON MY SELF? I HAVE TO DIE AND SO I HAVE TO TRY. THE LESS I TRIED THE MORE I DIED ANYWAY. THE LESS I TRY THE MORE I DIE INSIDE ON ANYDAY. SO ANYWAY IT IS SWAYED, WHAT’S THE PROPER PLAY? ITS LIKE I’M STUCK IN A LAND OF DEVOTION. THE LAND OF DEDICATION. IF I PERISH NOW, TO WHAT WAS THIS LIFE DEDICATED? HOW EDUCATED DID I TURN OUT TO BE? SHOUT OUT EVERYBODY CHURNING DOUBT DOWN ON ME. ABOUT TO GO MISSING. ABOUT TO GO FISHING. ALL ACROSS THE NATION OF THE STATES AND THEN GET STATEMENTS FROM THE MOST BLATANTLY FRAGANT ESSENCE OF A SELENA WITH THE GRACEFUL DEMEANOR. EITHER A MISSES OR A MISTRESS OR A DAMSEL. IT TOOK A HUNDRED YEARS JUST TO FIGURE ME OUT. UNTIL IT ALL WENT DOWN I WAS LOOKED AT LIKE I WAS TRIPPING...ICK, WELL I DONT’ GIVE A FICK. I DON’T GIVE A STICK TO A NON TREE. TO A NON ME. I ENVISION ME INCISIONING WITH THE ENERGY THE SYNERGY’S INNER CHI OR INNER ME.I’VE BEEN THINKING INNER THINGS LIKE WINNER THINGS EVERY TIME YOUR DINNER BRINGS THE DINNER BELL RING I WAS FACING THE DINNER BELL STING. OH WELL MY WINNER BELL JUST RANG CHING-CHING BLING-BLING PINKY RING. TOOK ME TEN YEARS BUT I DID THE THANG. I DIDN’T CHANGE UP NOW THE CHANGE COMES, WE GOT OUR CHANGE UP. LIFE’S A PLAYGROUND WATCH THE MATERIALS SWING. RESPECT THE SITUATION THAT THE PRESENT MOMENT BRINGS, NEVER GET TOO CAUGHT UP IN MATERIAL THINGS. LIFE’S A PLAYGROUND WATCH THE MATERIALS SWING BUT IF YOU HAVE THE CASH BLING-BLING PINKY RING. BUT IMMATERIALLY SPEAKING, AS MUCH AS I HATE A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, I LOVE STAYING UP AT NIGHT. I WORK OVERNIGHT. I HAVE NO PROBLEMS WITH OVERNIGHT. I ENJOY SITTING OUTSIDE AND THINKING. BUT IT GETS HEAVY, REAL HEAVY, HOLD UP, REAL STEADY. I’M SINKING INTO A BUNKER AND OUTSIDE’S THUMPER IN THE THUNDER. REFERENCE TO THE CHILDHOOD, SUCH A BLUNDER, SUCH A BUMMER, SUCH A DUMBER ONE I TRULY WAS. NOW HE TRULY DOES. NOW HE BARELY BUDGES AT THE UNSCRUPULOUS. THEY THOUGHT I THINK I’M PERFECT UNTIL I TELL THEM MY LIFE I FEEL I DON’T DESERVE IT UNLESS I SERVE MY PURPOSE AND IT UNEARTHS IT, THIS DEARTH OF PAIN ATTACHED TO THE GAIN I MUST ATTAIN OR ASCERTAIN FOR A CERTAIN REASON MAINE. AND IF I FAIL HIM I COMMITTED CERTAIN TREASON. OKAY? BE A GREAT PERSON OR YOUR SOUL GETS EATEN.
CHAPTER SIX: WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE JEW? FRIDAY 4.20.2018 4:42PM EST - 5:46PM EST OK NOW, SETTLE DOWN AND LET’S JUST TALK ABOUT IT. THEIR DOUBTS I DOUBTED SO WE ALL POUTED, SO WE ALL SHOUTED. I WONDER WHY MY HEAD IS CLOUDED? WONDER WHY MY HEAD’S SURROUNDED AND POUNDED. GIVING REASONS TO BE LEAVING, LEAVING ME ASTOUNDED. MORE LIKE HOUNDED UNTIL I GO AROUND IT. THEN I GO AROUND IT, THE SOUND IT’S MAKING GOES DOWN AND FLOWS ROUND. I GO THE WHOLE ROUND. I REMEMBER SYRACUSE, THE WHOLE TOWN. NERVOUS TO GO AT FIRST BUT I HAD THE CHANCE TO GO AT LAST. FOR NEW SIGHTS THERE IS A THIRST, IT BURSTS. THE MIND ADVANCED CAUSE IT HAD A GLANCE OF THE CITY LIFE FAST. I REMEMBER TALL BUILDINGS, EVERY WHERE I GO. LIVING WHERE IT SNOWED. LIVING WHERE THE SNOW GLOWS. MADE ME FEEL I WAS WELCOMED THERE. THE RECEPTION DISPLAYED WAS SELDOM, RARE. LIFE NEVER FELT MORE FAIR. LIFE NEVER FELT MORE RARE, NEVER MOVED MORE HARE, AS IN MOVE FAST? COME ON, MOVE FAST, WELL THERE’S THE ATTITUDE. ENGULFING THE ATMOSPHERIC CITY. STRATOSPHERIC KITTY. NOW I CAN NEVER SAY NEW YORK DOESN’T GET JIGGY. NEW YORK’S MORE JIGGY THAN MS. PIGGY. SHOUTS OUT HIS AUNT MIGGY. AUNT LULA, AUNT DEAN. N.Y. HAD A CERTAIN VIBE TO IT, A CERTAIN FLY TO IT. IT WAS NEW YORK, COME ON MAN DO WORK. I WATCHED HER BOOTS FLIRT, THEY WERE POINTED TOWARDS ME. I GOT ON THE GROUP’S NERVE, CAUSE OF MYSELF I’M SURE IT WAS DEMURE FOR SURE, I WAS SINGLE SO THE LADIES MINGLED. I SINGLED THEM OUT NO PRINGLES, THEN RECITED JINGLES. THEY HEARD WHAT I DID TO INGLES. 469 TIMES. THE WOMEN OF THE BIG APPLE, DESERVE 469 RHYMES AT ONE TIME, AND A SNAPPLE. IT’S A SIGN THAT WE ENTERED THE SPACE THE SAME IN THE INTERFACE MAINFRAME. IT’S A SHAME I DIDN’T GET A CHANCE TO TALK TO ALL OF THE GLARING DAMES, ONES WHO WERE STARING AT ME OR STARING AT THEE...THE SPARKLES ON THE JACKET, SUCH A REMARKABLE HABIT, LOWERS YOUR DEFENSE SYSTEM CAUSE I’M NOT A SAVAGE; WITH NO PLANS OF RAVAGING IT’S RAVISHING. RELISHING ANYTHING THE CABBAGE BRINGS. IF YOU CAN’T PAINT WITH ALL OF THE COLORS OF THE WIND, THEN YOU’VE NEVER HEARD A CABBAGE SING. BEFORE NEW YORK I THOUGHT MY LIFE WOULD END UP TRAGIC, UNTIL I BREACHED THE FABRIC, OF MY LAVISH, MASSIVE CONSTRUCTION. NEW YORK TO ME WAS AN EMOTIONAL ABDUCTION INTO A PALACE. JUST BEING THERE ALONE LET ME KNOW THERE WAS A GOD. HE ALWAYS SENT PEOPLE STRAIGHT TO ME IN TIMES OF NEED OR TIME’S OF GREAT JOY. IN NEW YORK PLEASE I WOULD LIKE TO RAISE A GREAT BOY OR GREAT GAL. MADE GREAT PALS, MADE AND ALLOWED TO GROW WITH CONVERSATION AND SPACE TRAVELLING. NEW YORK MADE EVERYTHING I HAD BEEN THRU THE IN LAST DECADE, FEEL PERFECT. IT WAS WORTH IT. I FELT ESTABLISHED ENOUGH TO MOVE TO N.Y. TO KEEP ON ESTABLISHING. I SURVIVED 4MONTHS IN NEW YORK STATE AND I DESERVED IT. INITIALLY NERVOUS BUT IT WAS THERE I SHINED AT CUSTOMER SERVICE. I GOT THE CHANCE TO KICK IT WITH OTHER PEOPLE’S GRANDMOTHERS AND SINCE THE AGE OF EIGHT HAVEN’T KICKED IT WITH MY GRANDMOTHERS. I HAVE NEVER SHINED BRIGHTER THAN WITH MY TIME IN NEW YORK. AND SO I JUST GOTTA GO BACK. GO BACK AS THE NEW DORK. I BET SYRACUSE GETS HAPPY DUDE AS I’M TOUCHING DOWN CAUSE I’M BUCKING DUDE. I KNOW THEY MISS ME. I KNOW THEY WONDER. JUST WHERE DID I GO AND AM I COMING BACK? ON THAT THEY PONDER. I CAN’T WAIT TO SAUNTER. NEW YORK I’VE MISSED YOU TOO, THINK ABOUT IT WAY TOO OFTEN. SO OFTEN, BEFORE THE SNOW SOFTENS AND DISAPPEARS. I’M BACK, HOORAY, CHEERS! NEVER ASK ME “YOU GAY?” CAUSE THAT’S HOW PEOPLE GET SMACKED. WE CLEAR? PARDON THAT. GOING BACK TO N.Y. WITH THEM RABBIT HACKS . SHOUT OUT, WHERE MY RABBITS AT? I GET TO RETIRE, THEN MOVE TO NEW YORK. MOVING ONCE AGAIN. I HAVE NEVER SEEN THE CITY. I HAVE TO SEE THE CITY. I HAVE TO SEE THE NEW TRADE CENTER TOWER. HEARD IT HAS MYSTICAL POWERS. HEARD IT MAKES WEIRD SHRIEKING SOUNDS OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. HEARD IT’S A STARGATEWAY OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO A BEING WE DON’T NEED HERE NOR WANT HERE. BUT NOW WE NEED A BEER, CAUSE WE DON’T HAVE A CLEAR, COMPREHENSION DEAR, OF WHAT’S NEAR. FIRST OFF, LIKE WHAT’S FEAR? SOMETHING THAT SHEARS YOUR SENSE OF SAFETY. LAST NAME MORGAN, FIRST NAME TRACY. TRACY HAS A NEW SHOW NOT STARRING GWEN STACY. TRACY MORGAN STARS AS A FREE MAN GOING THRU GINGERFICATION OF BROOKLYN...LOOKS LIKE I MIGHT BE THERE WHEN IT ALL GOES DOWN. WHERE I AM MOVING TO MAY UNDERGO ZERO GROUND NUMBER TWO. MY DESTINY FORCED ME TO WALK THE PLANK YOU. HAVE NO IDEA. I MAY HAVE MY CHANCE TO BE THE BROWN SKINNED MAN ANNE FRANK. THOUGHTS FURNISHED IN THE MIND TANK...IKEA
CHAPTER SEVEN: FOREVER TWIST TUESDAY 4.24.2018 1:55 AM EST - 2:39AM EST
DEAR HONEY, IT WAS A SUNDAY, STARTED OFF A FUN DAY, IN ONE WAY. I WAS AT WORK, WAS JUST GETTING OFF, GETTING HOME I WASN’T PUTTING OFF. I WAS WAITING ON KYELLZ TO GET OFF TOO, CATCH A RIDE WITH HER THEN SEE WHAT DOES IT DO? SHE SHOWED ME HER PHONE, ASKED ME IF I THOUGHT SHE WAS CUTE. I SAW A PICTURE OF A PERSON THAT I KNEW. THE PICTURE REMINDED ME OF YOU. I REPLIED IN KIND THAT MY MIND KNEW YOU. IN MY TIME I KNEW YOU. KYELLZ SAID OH, SHE’S DEAD. SHE WAS SHOT. I WAS SHOCKED. RUINED THE DAY ALOT, MORE LIKE ALL THE WAY. WENT IN MY CLOSET AND PRAYED. WENT IN MY CLOSET THEN SPRAYED. BLUNT SPRAY. I DID THAT ALL DAY. I STAYED THERE ALL DAY. I STAYED THERE ALL NIGHT. I WAS CRYING ON A KITE. I DIDN’T COMPREHEND HOW ONE AS NICE AS YOU, COULD JUST GET SHOT DOWN AS IF YOU DESERVED IT TWICE, SHE DIDN’T DESERVE THAT PAIN AT ALL YET SHE WAS SO NICE IT STILL TURNED OUT GOD’S WILL. ON OCTOBER TWENTY-THIRD, TWO THOUSAND AND TWELVE; YOUR KILLERS SHOULD HAVE WENT DIRECTLY TO HELL. YET THEY PREVAILED, COVERED UP DETAILS, HEARD THEY TOOK YOUR CELL PHONE. HEARD THEY SET YOU UP. HEARD YOU GOT JUMPED. HEARD YOU GOT CUT. THEN THEY SHOT YOU DOWN AS YOU TRIED TO RUN OR WERE BEATING A JUMP. HEARD THEY ALL WERE CHUMPS. HEARD THEY ALL WERE TRUMPS. HEARD THEIR LIFE IS A DUMP. I MET YOU HONEY WHEN YOU WERE FIFTH-TEEN. I ALWAYS RESPECTED YOU. ALWAYS PROTECTED YOU. WHEN WE WALKED TO THE STORE, YOU WERE ON MY ARM. YOU WERE MY FRIEND THAT WAY. NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENED TO YOU AROUND CHAD OR MARTY. NO HARM. EVERYTIME YOU SAW ME WE HAD A REEFER PARTY.THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU, YOU SCREAMED MY NAME THEN RAN TO ME. I ONLY SAW YOUR HOME LIKE TWICE. IF IT WAS TWICE, THAT THEN WAS THE LAST TIME. I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOUR HUGS. I GOT ONE ON CAMERA. THAT MAKES ME BUG. I HAVE BEEN WRITING ABOUT YOU HONEY SINCE I WROTE MY SECOND BOOK. MY SECOND BOOK WAS CFK ONE THRU SIX. AND YOU WERE VOLUME FIVE OR SIX. I SWITCHED THEM AROUND. THAT WAS THREE YEARS AGO THOUGH, THREE YEARS AFTER YOUR LAST BREATH. I TURNED YOUR NAME INTO A FILM THEORY TOO, I HOPE IT GETS PLAY. FILM YOUR LIFE’S DAYS. IF I WOULD HAVE KNOWN I HAD THREE YEARS AS YOUR FRIEND I WOULD HAVE FILMED EVERY DAY I SAW YOU. WOULD HAVE SAT RIGHT BESIDE YOU AND PULLED OUT MY NOTEBOOK. AND WE WOULD SCRIBBLE BACK AND FORTH. YOU READ MY NOTEBOOK BEFORE. YOU LAUGHED WHEN YOU SCANNED THE WORDS I CONSUME MARIJUANA. CONSUME MADE YOU LAUGH. IT WILL ALWAYS MAKE ME LAUGH. IT WILL ALWAYS MAKE ME GRAB. THE ONE DOCUMENTED MEMORY I HAVE OF YOU TAKING A STAB. RIGHT AT THE HEART, THE CORE, THE PART I FIGHT FOR. YOU DIED HONEY NOW I FIGHT MORE. I FIGHT FOR WHAT I WANT. THEY TOOK AWAY YOUR CHANCE TO PURSUE HAPPINESS. THEY TOOK LIFE AND THEN CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS. EVIL’S NEVER RIGHT. SO TIL THIS DAY I WRITE. TIL THIS DAY I SAY HI. JUST TO MAKE YOU LAUGH I’LL SAY IT. TIL THIS DAY I’VE STAY HIGH. I DRESS LIKE MJ NOW IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T SEEN. BUT YOU IF YOU HAD SEEN, WE ARE ABOUT TO STEP IT UP YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN? YOU DIED A LEGEND HONEY. GOING TO DIE A LEGEND HONEY KNOW YOUR NAME IS FOREVER ON MY TONGUE. FOREVER IN MY HEART, FOREVER IN MY MIND FOR AS TIME UNWINDS TO SETTLE DOWN FOR ME I PONDER ON WHATS OVER THERE YONDER. THE DAY YOU DIED WAS THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF MY SHORT FILM, INTUITION. YET ON THE DAYS OF FILMING, MY INTUITION NEVER MENTIONED IT. I REMEMBER ZAY, TELLING ME SOMETHING BIG WAS COMING OUR WAY. ONE YEAR LATER, DEVASTATION, I COULDN’T TAKE IT. WHAT BECAME OF OUR NATION/ TWO WEEKS LATER, KYELLZ TOLD ME, SHE WISHED SHE NEVER TOLD ME. AS IF I WOULD NOT HAVE FOUND OUT BOUT THE DEATH OF MY FEMALE HOMIE. MY SADNESS OVER THE LOSS WAS WORTH THE SCOLDING. IT TOOK ME FIVE DAYS TO LEARN THEY WERE PREPARING YOU FOR BURIAL. I WASN’T THERE TO SEE THE BURIAL. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. BY THE TIME I FOUND OUT I COULDN’T MAKE THE BURIAL. BUT ON THAT DAY MY LIFE TURNED SCARY THOUGH LIKE A PRESA CANARIO; A HUGE DOG I’VE SAT ON BEFORE. I HAD A VISION SENT FROM MY INTUITION OR SOMETHING DEEPER. ONE DAY I WILL MEET THE GRIM REAPER SAVING A KIDS LIFE. CONVINCED. I’VE BEEN WAITING ON THAT DAY EVER FREAKING SINCE. I LOVE YOU HONEY. FOREVER FREAKING MISSED. FOR YOU, I WILL FOREVER FREAKING TWIST STICKY ICKY STICK.
CHAPTER EIGHT: AS AN OLD TIMER TUESDAY 4.24.2018 3:45PM EST - 4:33PM EST ONCE AGAIN, DEAR MY DEAR FRIEND, DEAR HONEY. I THINK ABOUT TALKING TO YOU REALIZING I REALLY CAN’T. THERE IS NO WAY TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU, FROM THIS SIDE, SO I JUST SLIP AND SLIDE. SLIP AND SLIDE INTO THE TIME WHEN WE WOULD RIDE OR SIT. SITTING IN NATE’S MOTOR VEHICLE, LISTENING TO WILDNESS. AUDIO THAT WAS TIMELESS. THE POWER OF NOW, THE SECRET, THINK AND GROW, JERRY AND ESTER HICKS FOR SHOW. TOO MANY TO NAME, TOO MANY TO CLAIM, STAKE IN, YOU WERE AS A PERSON AMAZING. FIFTH-TEEN LEARNING PROPER MANIFESTATION. PROPERLY YOU OFFERED ME A KIND FRIEND, SO WHAT’S STOPPING ME FROM FINDING A KIND PEN? AND SO I FIND A KIND PEN. AND YOU WON’T BE FORGOTTEN. IF THEY KNOW OF MY ART THEY KNOW OF YOU. I CREATED MORE ART FOR YOU THAN ANY FRIEND YOU HAD. NEVER HAD A FRIEND LIKE CHAD. THE FACT YOU’RE GONE PLAYS A HUGE ROLE IN THE SCHEDULING OF THE INTELLIGENCE DEVELOPMENT. IN THE POLITICAL RHETORIC, THE MINDSET OF A NON CONFEDERATE. FOR HONEY I’LL YELL IT AGAIN. THE REGIMINE OF THE NEW REGIME. TO SHED LIGHT ON THE MOMENTS THAT BRED FRIGHT, DEAD RIGHT. HONEY’S DEATH INSTANTLY, SAW ME SEEK NO CLAIM TO FAME WHILE ALIVE. I BEGAN TO CHANGE AS THE BRAIN TRIED, NOT TO TAKE A DIVE A FALL I’M JUST SAYING. HONEY YOU DIED I CRIED, I LIED TO MY FRIENDS WHEN I SAID I COULDN’T COME OUT. I LIED TO MY FRIENDS CAUSE REALLY I WOULDN’T COME OUT. WOULD RATHER DO WHAT I WAS DOING THEN. TO SCREAM, TO SHOUT, TO THINK OF YOU, MY DEAR FRIEND. TO BEAM THEN POUT. POUT WHY? CAUSE IT HURTS. EVERYTIME I THINK OF YOU I FLIRT, WITH TEARS. THE PAIN KICKS THE END OF MY REAR. IT WAS TOO CLEAR, YOU SHOULDN’T HAVEN’T BEEN AROUND THEM AT ALL, HONEY YOU WERE TOO DEAR, TOO SINCERE AND GENUINE. WE MET IN TWO THOUSAND AND NINE.THE YEAR THE KING OF POP DISAPPEARED. IT ALWAYS IMPRESSED ME, IT WAS CLEAR. THAT YOU LISTENED TO THE CRAZY MESS WITH US. PHILOSOPHICALLY YOU CHOSE TO THINK BEFORE THE AGE OF EIGHT-TEEN. YOU DIED WITH LESS TIME TO DO GREAT THINGS. THEN YOU DIED AND TURNED OUT YOU STILL DID THOSE GREAT THINGS. JUSTICEFORHONEY WENT VIRAL AND THAT’S WHEN IT HIT ME.MIDWAY THRU A DOWNWARD SPIRAL OTW TO CAIRO. HONEY DO YOU GET ME? I AIM TO DIE IN GOOD STANDING AS YOU DID. AS IT HITS ME. THAT DAY I PRAY I SEE YOU KID. ONLY CAUSE YOU DID, SOMETHING RARE. YOU WERE A GREAT FRIEND IN A WORLD WHERE NO ONE’S THERE. YOU WERE CALM AND INTELLIGENT. WE ALWAYS CARED. IT WAS EVIDENT. WE CARED ABOUT YOU, YOU WERE A PART OF THE GROUP. CALLED IT THE HOUSE OF ZOOT. YOU VISITED ON THE WEEKENDS. ITS HARD TO THINK BACK TO SEE JUST WHEN YOU WERE THERE. OVER THE COURSE OF TWO YEARS. WE MET YOU THEN WE GOT IN GEAR. YOU SAT AND TALKED ABOUT THE UNIVERSE WITH US EVERYTIME. YOU WERE THE SPECIAL GUEST STAR OF THE GROUP. WE WERE BLESSED TO KNOW YOU. WE WERE BLESSED TO SHOW YOU, A GOOD-GRANDLY TIME IN THIS UNCANNY RHYME SCHEME OF TIME THEMED MEMORIES EMBEDDED IN THE BASE OF THE CEREBELLUM.TRUTH IS I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF THE CEREBELLUM HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE MEMORY, I ONLY USED IT FOR I AM A RHYMER WITH BLOOD OF THE GOLDEN SHIMMERING. AND HONEY I WOULD TRADE MY LIFE FOR YOU TO SEE YOU AS AN OLD TIMER.
CHAPTER NINE: TWO QUESTIONS WEDNESDAY 4.25.2018 3:03AM EST - 4:05AM EST DEAR MS. HONEY, WHAT’S UP AGAIN MY FRIEND? DO YOU KNOW I SHALL MISS YOU TIL I DIE TOO? THE END. WHEN I DIE OOH ITS YOU I CAN NOT WAIT TO BE AROUND. TO SEE AROUND, THEN FLEE AROUND. BUT YOU’RE INDEED AROUND. IN ORIGINAL FORM. THE ESSENTIAL NORM. THE EXISTENTIAL CAN NOT CONFORM. HONEY, THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS YOU NEVER HAD THE CHANCE TO DO. HOW AT THINGS I GLANCE IS FOR YOU. I KNOW THERE ARE TWO, REASONS FOR THIS GLANCE OR TWO REASONS FOR THIS CHANCE. EVERY MEMORY I HAVE EVER HAD WITH YOU HONEY WAS SWEET AND NEAT OR FUN GALORE. WE BEACHED THE SHORES, OF UNIVERSALITY SO CASUALLY, WHETHER HAPHAZARDLY OR NOT, WE FOUGHT WITH OUR THOUGHTS. FIGHTING TO REDEEM WHAT WE THOUGHT WE HAD LOST. REPEAT TWICE. THEN WE REPEAT THE SIGHTS. WE SAW ON OUR OWN ALONE. THEN BROUGHT BACK CONCLUSIONS TO THE TEAMS DOME. WHAT WE DID AS A TEAM, WAS SMACK BACK ILLUSIONS. THE ILLUSIONS ALLUDING TO THE ALLUSIONS CONSCRUED WHEN THOSE EVIL DOERS PLOT THEIR MOVEMENTS. HONEY WHAT WE DOING? BUMPING FLUENT, ARCHAIC MOVEMENTS, THE DHAMMAPADA, BUDDHA AND CONFUCIUS. I USED TO WONDER WHY I GOT A RUNNING HUG THE LAST TIME THAT I SAW YOU. TIL I KEPT PUTTING YOUR NAME IN MY ART CAUSE YOUR NAME’S IN MY HEART. I AM IN AWE, YOU HAVE NO IDEA. IT’S ON THE HEART, IT’S ON THE MIND, IT’S WEIGHS ON MINE. THESE STORIES GOTTA GET TOLD. SO I TELL THEM FORGIVE ME FOR TELLING, FORGIVE ME FOR YELLING. I LOVE YOU HONEY AND ACTING WAS YOUR CHOSEN PROFESSION. I WOULD HAVE WROTE A MOVIE FOR YOU. SO I WROTE YOU SOME MOVIES FOR YOU. I WROTE YOU SOME BOOKS TOO. MADE A CHARACTER FOR YOU. VANESSA STALLONE. I GUESS I’LL CALL HER BUNNY. YEAH I MISS YOU HONEY. AND THAT CAN NEVER CHANGE. SO I REARRANGE, THESE WORDS IN THE BRAIN, TRAINED IN THE PLAINES TO PIN THEM DOWN WITH THE PEN, SO PLANE LIKE PLAINLY. CLEARING, CLEARLY, I’M NOT REFRAINING, FROM TRANSLATING THE PAIN SEEN. HONEY YEAH THIS PAIN IS MEAN. IF I COULD PUSH A BUTTON TO TRADE PLACES, I’D BE GONE. LIKE POOF. LIKE WHERE’D HE GO? IDK, CHECK THE ROOF. I JUST HEARD A SWOOP, THEN I HEARD A WOLF. I’VE BEEN THINKING ‘BOUT YOU RECENTLY. THESE RECENT THINGS BRING RECENT STINGS. INDECENT THINGS TOOK YOUR LIFE AND I’M STILL HERE WHY? ON THE SADDEST DAYS, I THINK ALOUD WHY COULDN’T WE TRADE? SEEMS WE DO NOT HAVE A SAY CAUSE THEY SAY DEATH IS OF THE TONGUE, WELL I GUESS MY WORDS ARE FAKE. OR MAYBE LONGER IT TAKES TO TAKE PLACE. ANYWAY IT GOES, I PRAY TO PLAY IT SAFE. I PRAY TO STAY SAFE. UNTIL THE TIME HAS COME. IS IT OF THE TONGUE OR ON THE TONGUE CAUSE EITHER WHICH WAY IT IS SAID, I’M NOT DEAD YET. GOD WILLING. GOD WILLINGLY REMOVED HONEY FROM OUR BUILDING THEN. BEFORE SHE EVEN HAD CHILDREN AND. NAIJAH AND JOSH D. HUTCH HAD CHILDREN MANN.. CLUCTH MY HEART, WILL I HAVE THEM TOO BEFPRE I PART? HONEY, THE THINGS I WANT TO SAY TO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN SAID YET. IT’S HARD TO SEE HOW THEY COULD BE SO MEAN, TO JUST TAKE YOU FROM US. IF YOU COULD SEE YOUR PEOPLE’S FACES THEN YOU KNOW THAT THEY MISS YOU. YOUR NAME IS FOREVER IN MY SIGHT. UNTIL I AM GONE I SHALL WRITE. ABOUT THE TIMES WE HAD AND HOW IT FELT GLAD TO HAVE YOU AS A FRIEND AMEN. THEN IT FELT BAD GOT REAL SAD WHEN YOU-YOU KNOW. MY FIRST COMPLETED BOOK WAS CALLED THE PHONE GIRL. A SHOW, ABOUT MEGAN, SHE WAS PAGAN. YEAH I’M JUST SAYING, THEN I WROTE ABOUT RUNNING THE NATION. I WROTE FIRESTARTERS THAT GOT THE LIAR’S FIRE’S ABLAZING. ABOUT A WORLD CHANGING FRAGRANCE. FRAGANCE IN THE AIR, THE CONCEPT OF THE SECOND BOOK IS STILL SUCH A SCARE AND WAS JUST AMAZING. JOHN FITZGERALD’S REINCARNATION OR MODERN DAY INCARNATION. THAT IS MY MAGNUS OPUS CAUSE THEY’LL BURN ME ALIVE FOR IT. ANYWAY I STRIVED FOR IT. I ADORED IT. I WROTE BOOKS WITH SPOKEN QUOTES QUOTING SOMETHING PROVOKING A FIRE’S SCORCHING, TORCHING, HORSE SPIT. YOUR NAME’S GOT IT’S OWN VOLUME IN IT, ALONG WITH NAIJAH. THE MEMORIES I HAVE OF MY PASSED ON HOMIES PASSES ON INTO A SCRIPT OR PLAY FOR US, BECAUSE IT WEIGHS A LOT ON ME. I’M REALLY GLAD I MET YOU HONEY, CHERISHED EVERY TIME I SAW YOU. AS A PERSON YOU WERE AMAZING AND A DARLING. I DON’T GET HOW YOU MADE THEM THAT MAD, WHAT COULD YOU DO SO WRONG TO DO SOMETHING SO WRONG LIKE THAT TO YOU? IT JUST WILL CONFUSE. ME TO, THINK ABOUT IT TOO SO DO YOU, HAVE ANYWAY TO SEND ME A SIGN, IF YOU COULD STILL READ LETTERS AND YOU READ MINE? HONEY IT’S BREAD TIME. CAUSE HONEY ON BREAD IS LIKE BUTTER, CRISPY. IF I HAD A CHANCE TO ASK YOU TWO QUESTIONS. THE FIRST ONE WOULD BE DID YOU EVER HAVE A CHANCE TO GET TIPSY? THEN I WOULD ASK YOU WHO DID IT? IF LIFE IS A HUSTLE THEN THEY TOOK YOUR NIPSEY. THE SADDEST THING ABOUT IT, WHO EVER KNOWS THE TRUTH THEY AIN’T SNITCHING. THEY DESERVE A BITCH RING WORTH 50,000$.
CHAPTER TEN: THE CONCLUSION
WEDNESDAY 4.25.2018 12:58PM EST - 1:39PM EST
DEAR HONEY, I PLAN TO PLAN THE GREATEST PLANS IN YOUR NAME, IN YOUR MEMORY JUST SAYING. THEN ACT THEM OUT ENGAGING, THEE-THEE ENTIRE NATION, BY BEING SO BLATANT, IN SAYING. WHAT IF THE EVIL DOERS EVER MET THEIR MATCHED FACES? WATCH THE MAT PLACEMENT, SPITTING IT ANCIENT, HONEY WHAT ELSE COULD I DO BUT KEEP TELLING YOU? THE STATEMENTS THAT I’M SAYING HAVE A TRUTHFUL SHAPING? IN TRUE FORM, THE NEW NORM, IS TO FILM YOUR LIFE CAUSE YOU CAN’T FILM IT TWICE. DOCUMENT THE FRIENDS YOU HAVE AND THE FRIENDS YOU’VE LOST. THE FRIENDS WHO PAID THE COST TO LIVE THE LIFE THEY LIVED, THE LIFE THEY GAVE THEIR ALL INTO, UNTO, REGARDLESS OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES, THE EVENTS IN THEMSELVES WERE JUST TRAGIC DUDE. FOR THE REST OF OUR DAYS, WE GET TO ASK OURSELVES, JUST WHAT HAPPENED DUDE? IT’S SO MATTER OF FACT. SO AS IF MY BLADDER WAS MASSIVELY FULL AND STILL INTACT, I GOTTA TAKE ACTION. AND TAKE ACTION’S WHAT I DO, FAIL IF I’M PASSIVE. DEAR HONEY, I HAVE TO GO TO SLEEP FOR WORK, STILL HAD TO GIVE YOUR MEMORY AN HOUR, FOR YOUR MEMORIES EMPOWER ME, THEY SHOWER ME, HOURLY. PICTURE YOU RUNNING AROUND IN A FIELD SO FLOWERY. WHEREVER YOU’RE AT, I BET AN HOUR MEANS, NOTHING TO YOU AND YOU’RE LAUGHING AT THAT. WE COVERED THAT IN OUR AUDIO BOOK CLUB. YOUNG GIRL HAD A REDPILL MESHED BRAIN. IF YOU WERE RIGHT HERE HONEY RIGHT NOW, I BET MY MONEY YOU WOULD BE PHILOSOPHICAL. YOU WERE YOUNG AND YOU GAVE IT A CHANCE. THEN YOU DIED IN VIOLENCE. I COULDN’T UNDERSTAND, COMPREHENSIVE, I WASN’T, I WAS JUST PENSIVE. I WAS JUST APPREHENSIVE. HOW HAVEN’T THEY BEEN APPREHENDED? NOT TO MENTION HEARD YOUR FINGERTIPS WERE MISSING AT THE FUNERAL SO ITS USUAL TO FEEL IT FLOWED SOMETHING LIKE AS SHOWN OR FOLLOWS, EASY TO CONCLUDE YET HARD TO SWALLOW. IF THEY DID THAT REALLY IT MEANS YOU FOUGHT BACK AND YOU CAUGHT THAT KILLERS DNA IN BLOOD FORM UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS THEN OH NO THAT’S B.S. IF THEY DID THIS IT’S SICKENING, SICKENS ME. DEAR HONEY, THE IMAGERY OF WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU HAS STRICKEN ME, SINCE THE DAY I HEARD ABOUT IT-IT’S BEEN GETTING TO ME VIVIDLY AND INTENTIONALLY, PROVISIONING THESE PLANS THEN POSITIONING THE PLANNED FACTORS AND THE MANNED FACTORS. WITH MANNED FACTORS IN POSITIONS, WE JUST ENTER THE MISSION, WHERE WE ENTER THE VISION, THE VISION OF THE GOOFY ONE, WELL WE COMPLETED THE GOAL, WITH HONEY’S MEMORY RIGHT BESIDE OF US. WE TRUST IN THE INNER FUSS TO JUST FADE AWAY, WE MUST CONTINUE IN THESE DAYS, TO BRING BETTER WAYS OF ACTING ONTO THE STAGE. THE STAGE OF LIFE. THE SAME LIFE HONEY DIED LIVING, HER SOUL PAID THE PRICE, OF BEING HERE HERE ON EARTH FOR A GRAND TIME IN THIS NATION OF OURS. UNTIL HONEY WENT BACK, TO THIS SENSATION OF OURS. HONEY WENT BACK TO WHERE SHE CAME FROM. THE SOLAR SYSTEM OR THE COSMOS, SHE’S A STAR NOW HONEY’S-HONEY’S GANGED UP. FLAMED UP LIKE SIRIUS. I WAS DELIRIOUS, WHEN I HEARD YOU COULD PUT SOMEONE’S NAME ON A STAR. FIRST CHANCE I GET, BUYING TWO STARS FOR YOU HONEY. FOR THE LIFE YOU LIVED AND THE LIFE YOU COULDN’T, CAUSE THEY TOOK IT FROM YOU AND I KNEW THAT I WOULDN’T, BE ABLE TO JUST LET YOUR MEMORY GO, I WOULDN’T. SO I WRITE TO YOU FLUENT, I WRITE TO YOU DOING, WHAT I’M RIGHTFULLY DOING. RIGHTFULLY PURSUING, A HAPPINESS YOU WOULD LOVE TO SEE, SO I HAD TO THUG TO SEE, YOU WOULD SEE AND YOU’LL SEE BECAUSE IT IS OUR DESTINY. HONEY, YOU BRING THE BEST THINGS OUT OF THE PEOPLE YOU MET. YOU WERE DEARLY ENDEARING I’LL FOREVER REVERE YOUR NATURE. I REGRET NOT BEING ABLE TO TRADE PLACES WITH YOU OR TO HAVE BEEN THERE WITH YOU. IF I WAS WITH YOU I WOULDN’T HAVE LET THEM GET YOU. I WOULD HAVE TO HAVE GOTTEN TOO. REST IN PEACE, VANESSA MALONE.
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Hey everyone-

 This is probably gonna be a long post but really want to lay out what I'm trying to do, why I want to do it, and how I could use assistance. First and foremost just want to say as a longtime lurker y'all have held up as probably my favorite subreddit for the shear support to each other shown in the comments of posts. Online communities such as this are often plagued with negative energy for the sake of attention and it's truly a great thing to see something different. This sub truly does give me the same dopamine rush as something such as eyebleach. I'm 24 years old and unhappily still working in the food industry. Past life choices and some substance abuse that stemmed into many problems- legal, familial, homelessness, if ya know ya know- and have kept me from feeling like I'm going anywhere I want in my own life. The last three years I've worked on myself to the point that I'm a functional adult who's been able to keep up on work and bills while also not using any mind altering substances save marijuana and the occasional drink, but I still have a craving for more in life that's been there for years. It has been a dream of mine since I was ten years old to be a freelance journalist and with the rise of YouTube documentary channels and podcasting I think I have enough faith of myself to go all in on a project. Which brings me to Juggalo. I've been researching for something and although I'm still not necessarily sure what the end result for that something might be, an idea is shaping up. It's in my opinion that what J and Shaggy did with Psychopathic Records quietly allowed many newer artists, some mainstream as of now, to get their careers up and running on their own terms. They are true entrepreneurial architects and as it feels the narrative about their careers has finally been changing for the better in recent years I want to create as deep of a dive as possible into all the things ICP, Psychopathic Records, and the entire Juggalo community had to go through in order to create what may be the only American subculture to stay overall positive in the face of mass hysteria directed towards it. I also plan to offer a timeline and explanation on where this hysteria stems from and some similarities in situations such as the Satanic Panic of the 1990's to the Gang Affiliation in 2011. It is my thesis that the United States Federal Government simply has an aversion to anything other than average American lifestyle and I intend to expand on this theory with several examples I will also put myself into a mental tailspin researching. I've been using Steve Millers book Juggalo as well as various documentaries and news clips/stories from both Psychopathic and the baseless propaganda spread by groups from Evangelical Churches to Frontline NBC. I also plan to use Behind The Paint for research and just because I've never had the chance to read it myself before; I've downloaded a PDF as I can't afford a resale copy at the moment but if anybody would like to donate or sell one at a discounted rate than over $100 in the near future to make keeping track of research simpler you would be an absolute lifesaver as I still have bills that need paid. This story is very special to me because although I've drifted into different music to listen to on a regular basis, I was listening to nothing but the Psychopathic roster for the most part of the darkest period of my preteen and teenage years. These came with various forms of abuse, long term psych ward stays, and a severe depression that took me years to come out of. Abominationz by Twiztid is still one of my top five favorite albums of all time and the biggest reason that is besides being an incredible work is that I truly believe it saved my life multiple times. This phase was predominantly from 2009 to around 2016 and the gang status thing made an outlet that I truly got something great out of something I couldn't talk about with anybody I knew. It was a bullshit call that attempted to exploit marginalised people just as the FBI has been clearly exposed to do past instances. This will not be entirely about that situation, however; the question I'm looking to answer is how did two guys from Detroit who couldn't seem to catch a break from virtually anybody, managed to figure out how to say fuck everybody and find immense success themselves, as well as to underline the significance of everything they've ever managed to do in-house. I'm also planning on using this project as an excuse to save mneyt and attend my first Gathering with the homies this year as it has been on my bucket list since that said dark period of my life. I'm truly excited to experience this but also want to use the opportunity to talk to people who may have stories to share or testimonies (for lack of a better term) on how this group has made an impact on individuals lives. Besides Behind The Paint the biggest piece of help I could use is links that are harder to find after a few years. In researching criminal cases news outlets like Frontline used to unfairly portray Juggalo as deviants I remembered a clip of an Ashtrays and Action Figures discussing the homophobia based prison beating in Kentucky and how even though these were fans they were disgusted by their actions and hated them for it. I also recalled a few videos from "church" groups comparing Insane Clown Posse's makeup to John Wayne Gacy's and can no longer seem to find them. I feel like these primary resources may add something very necessary in painting the picture I'm trying to paint. If anyone finds any of these or anything before me please feel free to hit my messages as I'll be checking them more regularly than ever. Thank you all in advance for any assistance and more so thank you all for just existing and continuing to be you. I feel like for the most part anybody who's ever had a positive experience with the clowns, Twiztid, or any Juggalo related artists has become better people because they had these guys in their lives. The more I research the more the Insane Clown Posse has inspired me to be my own me and move my adult life in the direction I want it to go from here and I cannot wait to share what I got with y'all whenever it's finally done. Stay beautiful. 

There's a story in today's Columbian about a fatal crash that happened in May on Lower River Road that was astounding to me. To paraphrase the article:
Driver One with amphetamine and methamphetamine in his system, is driving an F150 towing a camper trailer down LRR and starts to make a U-turn on the shoulder-less two-lane road.
Driver Two, having had two alcoholic beverages and five times the legal limit of THC in his system crashes into the trailer after having spent the day at Vancouver Lake smoking marijuana.
Driver Three, (no mention of drugs in his system), is driving 100 mph on LRR, doesn't see the accident in front of him and plows into the trailer, shearing the top off his car, killing himself.
Driver One has been charged with vehicular manslaughter, DUI, and vehicular assault.
The wife says it's Darwinism at work.
https://www.columbian.com/news/2022/aug/26/vancouver-man-accused-of-dui-in-fatal-vancouver-crash-in-may/

John Doe for privacySubmitted to the Bergen County (NJ) Superior Court Judge Edward Jerejian who is overseeing the closing of my late father’s estate.
RE: DOCKET No: Letter to the Court
August 18, 2022
Here I will attempt to convey my issues and expectations that I have in regards to this case. I am also attaching previous communications to the court so that they are part of the official record and perhaps can supply context for historical purposes. I am not a lawyer and have no legal training. I don’t know if this is an Answer, Complaint, Objection, or the like. It is plain and simple and not “Random”. I will preface this with the fact I am beyond belief disillusioned and dissatisfied by the legal system. The worst people I have met are attorneys. Truly. The system is not accessible to the poor. Insiders lurk everywhere. Greed and cronyism are pervasive.
I take umbrage to characterizing my complaints to the court as “Random Letters”. The judge could have said it was not ‘traditional’ or not in the preferred style/format of the court. It was pejorative, condescending, false, tone deaf, and intellectually lazy. It downplays my collective experiences. It was victim shaming. It was trolling and gaslighting.
Additionally, His honorable Edward Jerejian takes notice to the mention of Larry Meyerson and calls him “Well Respected”. I call that Tribute. He is the Devil’s Advocate of Bergen County. Did the judge assume we had the same experiences or the court is sharing personal opinion rather than fact? Or, is the court telling me Larry Meyerson Will Be well respected? I’ll explain my point here.
This is my personal experience with the Larry Meyerson Firm. His firm associate, Brian Shea, was paid $26,758.12 for the court mandated “work” on my dad’s guardianship case. Zero legal work was really performed. He did no work for my dad, let’s face it. EZ PZ. No documentation of time of service was provided. To just sit there on Zoom calls while I raised issue about another bill. He billed an Additional $5K just for the appeal. Zero legal work done. Judge Mizdol hooked it up! Cushy court appointed legal services. The system worked. We got soaked.
This court knows my disabled sister ended up homeless? No one on that paid list of my dad’s final accounting attempted to help. Your honor saw my sister at the last hearing, should know exactly what he is dealing with. His honor can ignore the fact my sister does not really understand what is going here. Judge Mizdol did. She’s still ‘well respected’. I can’t make this stuff up. Check the transcripts, emails, etc.... The system is broken and entrenched by special interests and a way of life of sheer smug, greed, and indifference. The law in Bergen County in my opinion is no hilltop
to stand upon. Mizdol is the assignment judge. Big role. Big money appointments. No checks or balances. It’s not fair. Zero transparency. Save the whole respect spiel for someone naïve and buys this. A liar is a liar. Strong arm is strong arm. I’m not wrong. It’s not good optics. Local journalism ain’t what it used to be for The Record.
What constitutes an opinion can be an offense to another. Larry Meyerson is not respected in my book. How can the guy walk with his head high when he’s taking people’s money for nothing in exchange? It is Dirty money. Really. Complete ineffectual and morally corrupt people in my opinion. Show me your friends, Sir... I’ll show you, your character.
As a side note, a bunch of years ago I moonlighted for a pizza joint in Paramus. I had delivered pizza to now retired judge Peter Doyne’s house in Oradell multiple times. It was far from our location. He had a coupon, exact change, smelled unwell as I well recall, and no tip ever. I wasn’t impressed. He now makes small fortune under court appointment. Very lucrative work. Super cush. I don’t see good people here. Respect is relative with all due respect. Excuse the tangent but the point is understood? It’s all relative. It comes down to personal experience. I don’t know him like others may. The judge never did a thing to garnish any respect from me from our limited interactions. I thought he was cheapskate with a personal problem. Perspective.
I digress, Brian Shea and Larry Meyerson were outright court appointed parasites. No legal service rendered. No help was given. They just took a lot of money from us. I mean this was highway robbery. We couldn’t stop it. I can’t make it up. Here is the real interesting stuff: Larry’s wife, Elaine Meyerson, sits on the Board of Social Services of Bergen County (BSSBC), where this case originated. If Elaine Meyerson had a keen eye and was clued in on cases with the money my family had, that would easily explain her agency’s inaction and her husband’s law firm getting the insides and conveniently sucking up our family’s money like a cash addicts. Also, made a concerted effort to suppress evidence proving gross reliance at Mrs. Meyerson’s agency. I think there was a conflict of interest. I raised that issue at the time with judge Mizdol to no relief. Duh.
There is more to it. This is the real experience. I am still trying to figure out how private criminal attorney Michael Sluka got hired by Meyerson’s agency. He has a cushy county job. Pension. Odd hire. I have a lot of questions about how he got a cushy county job so late in his career. Excuse the tangent. This is the culmination of a tremendous amount of frustration and contempt for the outright theft from my family. This was egregious. I wouldn’t tell anyone these goons in suits are “Well Respected”.
Back to this actual case:
If this court is not going to compel attorney Dan Jurkovic to provide real documentation, then stop spending more of my family’s money on the highly unnecessary legal expense of this theater. There is zero need for the court to litigate a thing except have the requested documentation delivered to me for reasonable review. If the legal work was done, I am sure time is kept track of those hours or at least there is a reasonable expectation to do so. If the court thinks attorney Jurkovic doesn’t have to provide documentation or the court doesn’t have jurisdiction, then please say so and avoid additional costs, which at this point are highly perceived as punitive. I just want receipts for the inflated priced services Dan Jurkovic contracted. Why is it so difficult to just get a receipt or even be understood what is actually being objected to?? What’s the cover up?
It Is big money. My family got soaked here. How many other families are there? It is definitely worth raising awareness for since many would be victims are already vulnerable families. How much money does the Meyerson and Conte firm get from Bergen Count Courts? What centralized, searchable records exist? Does anyone besides Larry have that tally? There are stunning parallels to the Harmony marijuana dispensary case before this same court currently. (https://www.nj.com/marijuana/2022/03/judge-denies-request-for-independent-manager-to-run-nj-medical-marijuana-dispensary.html) Stakeholders are mad that the show runners are making back room deals and there is no documentation for large sums of money spent and gone missing. The irony is not lost me here. Beyond that, more questions remain. Deny it in words but not in deed. Show me. Don’t tell me. But at least, it is registered as part of this public record.
If my not so random letters to the court were read ahead of time, and clearly they weren’t, the court would have had context, the hearing could have gone smoother and quicker and could have been resolved. Dan Jurkovic wants to be paid while we talked in circles and argued nonsense all because the court wasn’t prepared. Plain and simple. This costs us money. I’m the fool for complaining about getting sandbagged and hoping an ‘experienced’ jurist can find a practical resolution. Instead, more money down the drain. I just can’t hide my disappointment in these proceedings.
Instead, we confer to another date, spend more money, guaranteeing a waste and for what? To penalize me for vengeance (Did I ruffle a feather and can’t control yourself)? Does the court need time to prepare? Is the court going to teach me a lesson and use up the rest of my family’s money? I just want a receipt.
It stops here. No hearings are necessary if the court isn’t simply going to ask for basic documentation from an officer of the court and an attorney who has frequented this court and judge Jerejian in particular. If everything is above board, put it on paper. Otherwise cancel anything else that is costing us money. Please be part of the solution and not the shakedown.
Judge Jerejian saw first hand that my sister has difficulties breaking down the fine points of these proceedings. He must understand how many professionals lined up to take advantage of her. It is as if she walked into a trap. These lawyers have been coming to these judges over the years without so much as simple mechanisms to catch even the most obvious of frauds. We were ensnared in a systematic taking.
The “Well Respected” system took from her, me, and my brother without discernment or discrimination. No respect is given at all to those who would support folks of just shear poor character. Shun them and their ilk. How can you support someone when they make their living taking advantage of the disadvantaged? That’s brutal. Savage. Shameful. Call it what it is. Winning is not caring. The law as is, is not just. And, people won’t get a fair shake in the courts if people like that are given a pass or cover for their usurp. I ask for genuine integrity.
I paid Linda Puccio $2K on 06/27/2019. I have brought this to attorney Dan Jurkovic’s attention multiple times. As of now, his final accounting would appear to have paid attorney Linda Puccio $3,190.19, her full legal bill not reflecting the retainer. Attorney Jurkovic does not acknowledge anything so we don’t know if Puccio was paid twice/overpaid. According to the rules of the guardianship, my retainer should be returned to me via the estate. Due to Jurkovic’s unprofessional law practice, that has not been addressed. If this court thinks even remotely that attorney Jurkovic’s behavior or performance is appropriate or professional in this case, then let the court’s decision and opinion reflect this for the public record.
If the court thinks attorney Jurkovic could charge us additional fees for gathering up such documentation, this amounts nothing more than double billing. This court would be saying that all the undocumented legal fees don’t include basic recordkeeping. That sets a low bar. That low bar sets an even lower bar for the court in turn. It is almost cheaper to let Linda Puccio double bill then to raise issue with the attorney who is not required to do due diligence either. Forget about fiduciary responsibility not to waste or exploit the estate. It will cost us more to get nowhere. Some call that incompetence or dysfunctional but here it is legit legal work. Ersatz. Its bunk junk. Put your name on that. Not mine.
I brought this up in the “Random Letters” to the court. Instead of addressing any of the reasonable issues, we just ran down the clock, deflected, and allowed for additional unneeded legal “services” for attorney Dan Jurkovic. If the court is interested, we can replay the Zoom recorded proceedings and examine what went wrong. I’m willing to help here with tips and suggestions.

1. Is due diligence (be prepared especially if you are the boss.)
2. Be on time. Time is other people’s money. That isn’t cool. (We have to pay Jurkovic for that)
3. Have respect for everyone before them and take into account their accumulated frustrations with the journey through the courts. Failing to acknowledge is tone deaf. Be wary of coming off as bullying due to the power imbalance. The court cannot be above reproach. To error is human. Judges are in places of power and should demonstrate the highest character in wisdom and knowledge and ethos. This is the great social contract. Please get this right.

I wish everyone well on being an actual better person and character building. I reckon the court may not be aware of its own behavior or how it is perceived. I can’t see justice happening in a myopic world. I am actually trying to help the court and anyone else in need and want the help and is willing to grow. My pledge.
I think it is unconscionable to engage in these savage legal tactics that are essentially, distilled, exploitation. I said it here on the public record as the court requested. I stand for something. No matter how truthy this is, I did not swear and did not lie. I backed up my assertions. One could disagree. If someone takes offense I suggest they ask themselves why exactly they are upset? Question those motives that keep some of us evil. DENIAL is Don’t Even Notice I am Lying. Very simple stuff here. Help me help you. Call me. Everyone has my number. Self awareness is key to a positive and necessary and overdue change. I can take you there.
I have tried emailing the fee waiver form to the court, however, the court requires it to be printed and snail mailed despite easy access to the document in digital format. I don’t have ink in the printer. Nothing gets printed anymore. It seems the court will do anything to serve a hindrance to the poor and victimized just to be heard. It is a shame. What objection does the court have to this? The fee is just to say what I am saying here. It seems fundamentally flawed that it cost money for me to say Dan Jurkovic exploited my family and provided unprofessional legal services. This is all under the explicit approval of this court. Obviously. I shouldn't need be jumping through these hoops. It really is a design to make my disputes go away.
The court set an unnecessary and punitive bar for the victims here but it is my hope that it is not too late to give peace a chance and let these bad actors do right now that the darkness has been exposed. My specific issues were either ignored or not understood but now they have been explained. Everyone can digest and metabolize things. Come to rational, reasonable conclusions here. Let cool heads prevail. It is really up to the court from here. Are we spending more or not? Are we getting any proof of Dan Jurkovic’s spending activities? His legal services? Are there any questions so far? Let’s get this resolved.
I am not willing to pay Dan Jurkovic one more red cent. There is absolutely no need to. This court has heard and Read everything to right some things or not. Please have considerations for the little that is left and how far it goes. This isn’t funny money. This was my parents’. It’s blood money. I’m sure they are rolling over. I surely am shaking my head. No more throwing good money after bad. No more feeding the legal industry. I have observed judges are good for lawyers. It is not fair. This is just a consistent casual observation. It is possibly anecdotal. We’ll see how this court rules, says, determines... Money talks.
Fix this. Pretty Please and Thank You. Sincerely,

So the gist of the story: I had four marijuana plants growing in my backyard. All of them in heavy 30 gallon pots. Last night, someone came into my yard and I'm guessing attempted to steal them. What I woke up to this morning was three of my plants (all originally 4ft high and bushy) were chopped down and taken. They didn't uproot them, they were cut down with shears. They left the pots and my shortest plant behind.
Why kill 3 plants that weren't even ready to flower yet? Why leave one behind? You effectively just took away months of my hard work so you could own some expensive yard waste.
Either way, now I need to consider some home security options and I wonder if anyone could recommend some good measures to take? I'm guarding the last plant with my life now. I'm a little miffed about the stupidity of the whole situation currently but it'll probably be a funny story someday
Edit: I get it, I'm dumb and had it coming

The long-distance connection was good, but as Sally Bacon stood in her Phoenix kitchen, she couldn't make sense of what she was hearing. A month before, she'd sent her 16-year-old son, Aaron, to a Utah wilderness school called North Star Expeditions. Now a disembodied voice from North Star was telling her, "Aaron is down. We can't get a pulse."
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"What does that mean, you can't get a pulse?"
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"Aaron's been airlifted to the hospital in Page, Arizona," came the reply. "Call your husband. He's been given the hospital phone number." Sally frantically dialed Bob Bacon at his office. Sounding numb, he repeated what he knew: Aaron had collapsed in the desert. It was a freak accident. There was nothing anyone could do. Their son was dead.
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On March 1, 1994, the Bacons had enrolled Aaron in a 63-day North Star course conducted in the sandstone badlands of southern Utah, near Escalante. Tall and skinny, with shoulder-length hair, Aaron was a funny, articulate kid who wrote prizewinning poetry and excelled academically. But early in his sophomore year at Phoenix's Central High School, he started smoking pot every day and ditching classes. His grades plummeted. In February of 1994, he was jumped in the school parking lot by members of a gang known as the Crips. Although he vehemently denied any gang involvement, witnesses reported that the Crips acted like they knew him well.
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"That really scared us," says Sally, who worried that the beating involved a drug deal. "Aaron seemed to be caught in a big downhill spiral."
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From a friend of a friend, Sally had heard about a company called North Star Expeditions, whose adolescent-treatment program was based on an increasingly popular regimen known as wilderness therapy: a blend of intensive counseling, enforced discipline, and spartan hikes through the desert. "Students at North Star...learn that Mother Nature does not make exceptions," explained the outfit's brochure. "They learn responsibility, self-discipline, and motivation."
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Tuition was $13,900 for a 63-day course, plus another $775 to have Aaron forcibly "escorted" to Escalante--something North Star strongly recommended. Bob's architecture firm, once prosperous, had lately been teetering on the brink of insolvency, and the Bacons no longer had that kind of cash. But, says Sally, after talking to several parents whose kids had been helped by the program, "We were given a lot of hope that North Star was going to build Aaron's self-esteem. I knew it would be rigorous, but I pictured him out there with God and nature, hiking all day, discussing his issues with therapists around the campfire at night."
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Still, the Bacons had concerns, which they expressed during a long meeting at a Phoenix hotel with Lance and Barbara Jaggar, two of North Star's owners. "I was worried because Aaron was very, very thin," says Sally, "but Barbara assured me, 'Oh, we would never let any of our students lose weight.'"
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Bob cautioned that Aaron didn't respond well to intimidation. "Don't worry," insisted Lance, a 280-pound former military policeman with a neck like a fire hydrant. "I have a special gift for working with kids. They really open up to me." Convinced, Sally and Bob took out a second mortgage to pay the tuition and, without telling Aaron, signed him up.
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At 6 a.m. on March 1, Aaron awoke to the sight of his father walking into his bedroom with Lance Jaggar and Jaggar's brother-in-law, Don Burkhart. Taking Aaron's arm in his meaty grip, Jaggar announced, "You're coming with me. If I detect any resistance, I'll assume you are trying to get away, and I'll take the appropriate action. Do I make myself clear?"
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As Aaron was led out of the house barefoot, Sally tried to hug her terrified son, but Jaggar wouldn't release Aaron's arms. Trying not to cry, she took his face in her hands and declared, "I love you. I don't want you to be afraid. This is what's best." Jaggar then hustled the boy outside, drove to the airport, and flew him to Escalante in a single-engine Cessna.
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Over the next month, Sally called frequently to see how Aaron was doing. The news wasn't encouraging. Her son, said North Star spokeswoman Daryl Bartholomew, was "belligerent and a whiner," and the other kids resented him. During a long conversation on March 30, Bartholomew informed Sally that Aaron's attitude was so bad he'd probably have to repeat the program.
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Twenty-four hours later, Aaron was dead. According to the autopsy, the cause was acute peritonitis resulting from a perforated ulcer. The contents of Aaron's gastrointestinal tract had leaked through two holes in his small intestine, spreading a massive infection throughout his abdominal cavity. North Star explained that the ailment had surfaced so suddenly that heroic efforts by its field staff and an emergency medical helicopter were futile. Preliminary reports from the Garfield County sheriff's office seemed to confirm North Star's contention that the death was an unavoidable accident.
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The Bacons' grief was compounded by guilt over the fact that they'd never had an opportunity to explain to Aaron why they sent him to North Star. "After Aaron died," says Sally, "all I wanted was to get his body back. I wanted to hold him and say good-bye. I wanted a chance to apologize."
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But with the arrival of his remains at a Phoenix mortuary three days later, guilt gave way to anger. Pulling the sheet from Aaron's body, Sally was confronted with a battered, emaciated corpse. She started screaming hysterically and had to cover her eyes. "His legs were like toothpicks," Sally recalls, breaking into sobs. "His hipbones stuck way out, his ribs--he looked like a concentration-camp victim. There were bruises from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, open sores up and down the inside of his thighs. The only way we were even able to recognize him was a childhood scar above his right eye."
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"Right then it became obvious that Aaron's death was not an accident," Bob Bacon says. "We knew that something horrible had been done to him."
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Deep in a ravine slicing into the parched uplands of central Arizona, an alligator lizard scurries across a boulder in the withering sun. With a lightning-quick lunge, a big, gawky 16-year-old plucks the reptile from the rock and clutches it in his thick fingers. "This is the tenth lizard I've caught," says Craig, beaming, his cherubic face smudged with soot. Then he slices off its head, pops it into his mouth, and gulps it down.
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Craig is enrolled in a nine-week treatment program for troubled adolescents run by the Anasazi Foundation, a nonprofit corporation based in Mesa, Arizona. He's currently camped beside a rock-choked creek with three other wayward teenagers and their three college-age counselors. Some 40 other Anasazi students and their keepers are sprinkled among the adjacent canyons.
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As Craig stokes the fire, Danny, 15, and Stuart, 14, hunker nearby, frowning silently as they scribble in the journals they keep as part of their unorthodox treatment. Suddenly the quiet is shattered by the deafening whump-whump of a helicopter, which spirals down from the simmering sky to alight behind a nearby ridge. A terse radio conversation reveals that a student from another group, in the throes of methamphetamine withdrawal, is being evacuated to a distant hospital. As it turns out, the boy's condition isn't serious--he apparently faked a seizure to get out of the program--but in the wake of the "North Star incident," as Anasazi's counselors distastefully refer to it, the people who run this program aren't taking any chances.
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Sometime next winter, Lance Jaggar and seven other North Star employees, charged with felony child abuse and neglect in Aaron Bacon's death, will stand trial in Panguitch, Utah. Though Bacon wasn't the first teenager to die during wilderness therapy--nationwide, more than a dozen other deaths have occurred since such programs came into being in the seventies--the horror of his last days, detailed in a personal journal, has stirred up a storm of media attention. It has also generated unprecedented concern about the multimillion-dollar wilderness-therapy industry, which is poised for continued expansion during a time when the number of out-of-control teenagers and dysfunctional families seems to be rising steadily.
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"There are a lot of desperate parents out there," says Lewis Glenn, who oversees safety for Outward Bound USA, which has adapted a relatively small number of its courses for troubled adolescents and rejects the tough-love approach. "And many of them are looking for a quick fix: 'Here's my money; take my messed-up kid for a month and make him better.'"
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Regardless of how the Bacon trial turns out, its long-term significance will rest on the crucial questions it has raised about wilderness therapy. How many boot camps exist, and who gets sent to them--serious delinquents or kids like Bacon, whose problems seem relatively minor? Who sees to it that the camps offer "therapy" and not just clumsy behavior modification? Above all, what safeguards are in place to ensure that what happened to Aaron Bacon won't happen again?
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As yet, none of these questions has been adequately answered. Nationwide, more than 120 companies are in the business of wilderness therapy, and a small but significant number of them--perhaps two dozen--employ harsh methods. By definition, treatment conducted miles from the nearest road isn't easy to monitor. If the Bacon case is any indication, a flurry of vaunted regulations enacted five years ago by the state of Utah (in reaction to two other fatalities in Utah-based programs) accomplished little beyond giving the public a false sense of security.
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Opinions about how society should respond range widely. In Panguitch--where North Star's lead defense attorney, Sheldon Wellins, is expected to argue that Bacon was a faker whose genuine health problems were ignored because he cried wolf too often--parents of other students in Bacon's group will maintain that North Star saved their kids from such evils as drug abuse and satanism and should be allowed to resume business. (Saying that it needed time to organize its defense, North Star suspended operations after criminal charges were filed. Wellins and Jaggar both declined to discuss the case with Outside.)
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Others see the tragedy as a clear sign that the industry warrants tighter controls. "There has to be more government oversight," declares Cathy Sutton of Ripon, California, whose daughter Michelle died in 1990 in a Utah wilderness program called Summit Quest. "There is too much money to be made by duping parents, abusing children, and risking lives." Sutton is using the $345,000 settlement she received from Summit Quest's insurer to establish a watchdog group, the Michelle Sutton Foundation for Camp Safety. Arguing that North Star is by no means the only program flirting with disaster, Sutton mentions Pathfinders, an Albuquerque, New Mexico-based wilderness-therapy camp run by a former Vietnam fighter-jet pilot named Michael Parr. Despite documented charges of abuse and an ongoing state investigation into its practices, Pathfinders continues to operate at full clip.
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Equally disturbing is the story of the man who single-handedly made tough-love wilderness therapy a high-revenue proposition: a military veteran named Steve Cartisano, who many contend is motivated more by greed than compassion. Significantly, the three most recent deaths at wilderness-therapy camps occurred in programs run by Cartisano or former Cartisano employees. And despite years of controversy, criminal charges, and civil suits, Cartisano himself is still in business.
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Within the wilderness-therapy movement, various professionals maintain that the industry can and should police itself. "All the bad press is the result of a few bad programs," insists Doug Nelson, a professor of outdoor education at Brigham Young University who spearheaded the licensing reforms in Utah. Nelson says it's unfair to slam the whole industry because of North Star, but he admits that the potential for mishap is great and that no amount of reform or oversight will take away the responsibility of parents who have to decide--as the Bacons had to decide--whether wilderness therapy is the proper course.
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"When it's used right," says Nelson, "the wilderness can be an incredibly powerful tool for helping troubled kids. Unfortunately, in the wrong hands, something that powerful can be very dangerous."
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The belief that wilderness redeems the soul is as old as the Boy Scouts, as old as the Old Testament. But only in the last half-century has the concept of forging character on nature's anvil been packaged into a booming business.
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The progenitor was Outward Bound, founded in Wales during World War II to help stiffen the sagging spine of the British Empire. In 1962, Outward Bound transplanted its methods to the United States, opening a school in the mountains of western Colorado. Its standard 26-day course included rock climbing, bust-ass backpacking, and a three-day "solo." Before long, scores of imitators materialized, and by the seventies the United States was home to more than 200 programs dedicated to self-improvement through outdoor adventure.
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A disproportionate number of the Outward Bound-inspired programs originated in Provo, Utah, on the campus of Brigham Young University. The spark was provided by an Idaho farm boy named Larry Dean Olsen, who enrolled at BYU in the midsixties. Olsen, a folksy, gregarious man in his fifties who today heads the Anasazi Foundation, was a self-taught survival buff who knew a lot about chipping arrow points and living off the land. To help pay his way through college, he started teaching backcountry survival to local hunters and fishermen.
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In 1968, the university asked Olsen to lead an experimental "expedition," based loosely on the Outward Bound model, for a group of students who were flunking out. The 30-day course, held in the Utah desert, was a grueling physical trial, but most of the 26 kids who completed it showed a striking improvement in academic performance the following semester. The course ultimately became a centerpiece of the university's Youth Leadership Department.
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Olsen went on to write a widely read book, Outdoor Survival Skills, which brought him minor celebrity. Although he left BYU in the early seventies following allegations of mismanagement and sexual impropriety--"Larry liked the girls a little too much," explains a former BYU colleague--the success of the university's outdoor education curriculum continued to balloon.
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BYU is closely affiliated with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and at the core of its wilderness programs was a spiritual component that had no equivalent in Outward Bound. They were intended, first and foremost, to be deeply religious experiences that promoted faith in the Mormon ideal. As one result, graduates of BYU courses established similar programs across the West with evangelistic zeal.
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Most of these operated uneventfully, but there were serious setbacks that presaged what would happen to Aaron Bacon. In 1974, a 12-year-old boy became dehydrated and died of heatstroke while enrolled in an Idaho State University program established under Olsen's guidance. The next year, a young woman in a BYU course died while hiking across Utah's Burr Desert, also from dehydration. In each case the staff was inexperienced and inadequately equipped; both deaths could have been prevented with basic precautions.
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"In those days," says Larry Wells, a onetime BYU student who currently directs an exemplary program called Wilderness ConQuest, "the staff at these programs received almost no training in things like logistics or safety. Because we were doing 'God's work,' there was a strong belief that God would look after everybody." The deaths served as a wake-up call. BYU brought Wells in to overhaul its program and establish new safety standards.
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Despite such reforms, deadly mishaps continued. In the mideighties, a 13-year-old boy fell from a cliff to his death while enrolled in a course run by the Idaho-based School for Urban and Wilderness Survival. Vision Quest, a notorious Arizona-based program that is still in business, began racking up accident deaths that to date reportedly total 16. Many of the wilderness schools that proliferated in these years specialized in the rehabilitation of wayward teenagers. By and large, however, none of the commercial programs made much money until Steve Cartisano burst onto the scene in 1987. Applying the full brunt of his marketing genius, he transformed a marginally solvent industry into a cash cow.
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Stephen Anthony Cartisano was born to a cherokee mother and Italian-American father who gave him chiseled features and piercing eyes. His childhood in Modesto, California, he has reported, was not happy: One parent was addicted to heroin; the other beat him. He says his tormented youth motivated him to make a career of helping troubled teens.
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Cartisano, who turned 40 in August, joined the air force in 1974 and was made an instructor at the prestigious Fairchild Air Force Base Survival School. Later he became a parajumper with the elite 129th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Group. While in the service, he became close friends with a Mormon airman and converted to the faith. Soon thereafter he moved to Utah and enrolled at BYU. There he studied film and wrote a screenplay about the exploits of a crack air force rescue squad whose hero was a part-Italian, part-Cherokee Mormon adventurer named Steve Montana. Cartisano never made it to Hollywood, nor did he earn a BYU degree, but while on campus he worked briefly as an instructor in one of the school's wilderness courses and thereby found his calling.
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After leaving school, Cartisano decided to launch his own commercial wilderness-therapy school. Toward that end he hired Doug Nelson--who had directed the BYU wilderness programs for many years and founded the Boulder Outdoor Survival School--as a consultant. "Steve told me he was going to charge $9,000 for a two-month course," Nelson recalls. "At the time, most commercial programs were charging something like $500 for a 30-day experience, and I told Steve there was no way anyone was going to pay that kind of money."
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Undeterred, Cartisano christened his school the Challenger Foundation, advertised a course in a remote corner of Hawaii, and had little trouble finding parents willing to pay his price. In January 1988, he moved Challenger to Escalante, Utah. Though he upped tuition to $12,500 and then $15,900, enrollment continued to explode. By the end of the year he had 50 employees and had taken in more than $3 million in gross revenues.
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Like Outward Bound, most Mormon-run wilderness schools offered kids tough challenges but generally treated them with care and sensitivity. Cartisano disdained this approach as too touchy-feely. Instead, he ran Challenger with the in-your-face discipline of a boot camp.
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"There was nothing complicated about the Challenger philosophy," explains Cartisano, who these days shuttles between Costa Rica, where he still runs courses, and an undisclosed residence in Oklahoma. "It was all about setting limits and sticking to them. Every other type of treatment had failed for these kids. Many had been sent to us by the courts. We showed them that their actions had immediate consequences. And the results we got were phenomenal."
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A videotape of a 1989 Challenger course shows a vanload of new students looking shocked and confused as they arrive in the desert in the middle of the night to begin a 500-mile forced march. A hulking bull of a man starts pounding on the windows and screams at the kids to assemble around a bonfire. "Move it! Move it!" he bellows. "My name is Horsehair. For the next 63 days you'll be under my care... Do you understand?"
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"Yes, sir!" the kids answer in unison.
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"I can't hear you!"
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"Yes, sir!"
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"I have a phrase that I use," Horsehair explains impassively to the camera. "I'm gonna love you till it hurts. You."
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Horsehair was Lance Paul Jaggar, an air force vet who served as Cartisano's field director. He and another devout Mormon, Bill Henry--an Idaho acquaintance of Larry Dean Olsen's who had been active in Scouting--supervised daily operations out of Escalante, allowing Cartisano to concentrate on marketing from his Provo-area home, a lavish residence that previously had been owned by golfer Billy Casper.
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A brilliant promoter, Cartisano persuaded his "good friend" Oliver North to put in an appearance during his Iran-Contra notoriety and hired a publicist who booked him on Donahue, Sally Jesse Raphael, and Geraldo. "All the big talk shows," Cartisano boasts. "They loved me. I'd go on TV with kids who'd been through the program, these beautiful 14- to 15-year-old girls who'd talk about how they'd been out on the street stealing and doing drugs and turning tricks until Challenger changed their ways."
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"The television appearances were a marketing gold mine," says a former associate of Cartisano's who declined to be identified. "The phones were ringing off the hook. Parents begged him to take their kids. An incredible amount of money started rolling in. Unfortunately, Steve didn't know how to handle it."
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When Cartisano would go on the road to recruit customers, alleges the ex-associate, "Sometimes he'd spend $2,000 a week to rent a Lamborghini. He'd run up $1,000-a-night hotel bills." With such expenditures, despite all the money coming in, Challenger had trouble paying its bills. Checks bounced. The Internal Revenue Service inquired about $196,000 in unpaid corporate taxes. By early 1990 Cartisano was embroiled in numerous lawsuits filed by creditors and disgruntled clients, and the state of Utah was investigating him on several fronts.
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At the same time, charges started flying that Challenger staff physically abused their students. According to Max Jackson, former sheriff of Kane County (Challenger ran its courses in Kane and adjacent Garfield County), "We pulled one kid from the program who was so bruised and scarred he looked like he'd been at Auschwitz. When another kid tried to run away, Cartisano got in a helicopter, found him, flew him up to the top of a mesa, and slugged him in the gut a couple of times."
​
Although Cartisano was married and had four children, Jackson alleges that "at one point he struck up a romance with the mother of one of his students. He talked her into giving him her Visa Gold card with no credit limit. He ran up $65,000 in charges before she realized she'd been had."
​
"Steve is real smooth, real slick," Jackson reflects. "He likes to hear himself talk. But I'll tell you what: I went to the FBI Academy a couple years back, and we studied the typology of sociopaths. Out of a list of 20 characteristics, Steve was a perfect match with about 19 of 'em."
​
Today, Cartisano dismisses his legal problems, saying Jackson and the state were "out to get me. The charges were all based on allegations of messed-up kids who were pathological liars and master manipulators. They knew that the fastest way out of the program was to accuse the staff of abusing them." Unbowed, he still feels as defiant as he did in 1989, when he proclaimed, "There's no way on this earth I'll ever allow any petty bureaucrat to take over this program and turn it from a survival camp into a summer camp. They're going to find out they're messing with the wrong guy."
​
As Cartisano's financial and legal difficulties mounted, the Challenger admissions director, a woman named Gayle Palmer, quit to start her own wilderness-therapy company, Summit Quest Inc. Palmer knew little about the backcountry or therapy beyond what she'd gleaned from pitching Challenger courses. "But Palmer got tired of working for Steve," says Doug Nelson, "so she hung out her shingle."
​
Five students were enrolled in the inaugural Summit Quest course, which cost $13,900 for 63 days. Palmer sent the group to the arid Shivwits Plateau, near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, supervised by two young counselors who were paid minimum wage. During the first several days, Michelle Sutton--a pretty 15-year-old who had enrolled voluntarily to regain self-esteem after an alleged date rape--complained repeatedly of exhaustion, sunburn, and nausea. As the group hiked through the desert, she vomited up most of the water she tried to drink and pleaded that she could not go on. According to counselors' field reports gathered by state and federal investigators, the lead counselor had been ordered to ignore such talk as manipulative behavior. "You have been sloughing off," she told Sutton. "You are now being warned."
​
On May 9, 1990, during an ascent of 7,072-foot Mount Dellenbaugh, Sutton's speech became slurred, she cried out that she couldn't see, and then she lost consciousness and died. Palmer insisted to officials that Sutton had succumbed to a drug overdose, but the coroner found no drugs in her system and determined the cause of death to be dehydration. Although no charges were filed, Cartisano was quick to lash out at Palmer in the media, accusing her of criminal incompetence. "At Challenger," he gloated, "a tragedy like the one that killed Michelle Sutton could never happen."
​
Just six weeks later, it did. On June 27, 1990, four days after enrolling at Challenger, a 16-year-old Florida girl named Kristin Chase collapsed after a five-mile hike in near-100-degree heat. Once again, her counselors had thought she was faking when she complained. The coroner attributed her death to hyperthermia and dehydration--the most basic and preventable hazards of desert travel.
​
After Chase's death, the state of Utah charged Cartisano and Lance Jaggar with negligent homicide and nine counts of child abuse involving Chase and other Challenger students. Jaggar, however, cut a deal with the Kane County prosecutor: He agreed to testify against Cartisano in return for having all charges against him dismissed.
​
The trial was held in Kanab, Utah, in September 1991. Jaggar and other Challenger employees testified under oath about beatings and abusive treatment. But after five days of testimony, a mistrial was called over a technicality. In a glaring mistake, the judge had neglected to read the charges to the jury at the trial's outset.
​
The case was retried eight months later in the Salt Lake City area. This time, says Max Jackson, "Cartisano brought in a high-dollar attorney from New York. And then, in the middle of everything, the prosecuting attorney started drinking real heavy, and I had to arrest him for DUI. The upshot was, Cartisano got off scot-free." Afterward, one jury member explained the verdict: "We weren't saying Cartisano was innocent, we were saying the prosecution didn't prove he was guilty.... We all felt like the program had some real problems."
​
In the aftermath, the state of Utah resolved to monitor the wilderness-therapy industry more closely. Many concerned individuals, including Doug Nelson and Larry Wells, came forward to help draft a set of strict regulations. Prominent among the would-be reformers were Lance Jaggar and Bill Henry, who zealously decried the abuses of their former employer. In short order, they submitted the necessary paperwork to start their own wilderness-therapy program and in October 1990 were granted a license to operate in Utah. Three months after the death of Kristin Chase, the two individuals considered by many to be most responsible for the tragedy were back in business. They called their new enterprise North Star Expeditions Inc.
​
"That's a real touchy subject around here," says a waitress at the Circle D Restaurant in Escalante, when asked about Bacon. "He was a drug addict, his parents was drug addicts, and now that he's dead they want to blame somebody, so they're trying to wreck the lives of the folks who was trying to help him."
​
Rising from the wind-scoured slickrock of southern Utah, Escalante (pronounced "es-ka-LANT") is a characteristically insular Mormon outpost. Though it's seen an influx of California retirees in recent years--raising the population to about 800--townsfolk merely tolerate the intruders; they don't welcome them. Likewise, when Steve Cartisano brought Challenger to Escalante in 1988, locals were initially wary. But it was a good Mormon enterprise, and field director Lance Jaggar married a local girl, Barb Reynolds, from nearby Tropic. Eventually it gained a measure of acceptance.
​
By the time Challenger, minus Cartisano, had turned into North Star (the name changed, but most of the key personnel remained the same), the company was tightly woven into the civic fabric. When felony charges were filed in connection with Bacon's death, the local Mormon church provided financial assistance to some of the defendants, and Escalante closed ranks to support the beleaguered corporation.
​
Bacon arrived on March 1, 1994, in the custody of Lance and Barbara Jaggar. He was strip-searched, issued cheap boots and a backpack, and driven into the desert to begin a ten-day acclimatization process. Escalante lies 5,600 feet above sea level, and March here is harsh and wintry. The first backcountry entry in Bacon's journal reads, "I've been shaking from the cold since I got here. My body being used to the weather in Phoenix is going into shock. I feel like I'm going to die.... I am scared. I don't know when I can talk or if I can."
​
After the 1990 deaths, Utah enacted strict regulations for wilderness therapy. A student's backpack was not to weigh more than 30 percent of his or her body weight. Hiking was never to exceed "the physical capability of the weakest member of the group," and each student was to receive a minimum of 1,800 calories per day. A single violation of these or other rules was grounds to suspend an operator's license.
​
Responsibility for enforcing the regulations, however, fell to a lone civil servant, Ken Stettler, who was supposed to monitor more than 100 youth-treatment companies statewide. In practice, it was impossible for him to ride herd on so many programs, and North Star was among those that escaped close scrutiny. Stettler, a devoted Mormon, knew Jaggar and Henry well and says that he trusted them, as fellow Saints, implicitly. After Bacon's death, Stettler's confidence in Jaggar and Henry remained steadfast. He quickly cleared North Star of any wrongdoing and allowed the program to stay in business--which it did for six months, until the state of Utah filed criminal charges in October 1994.
​
In reality, North Star operated as Challenger had. Food was strictly rationed. Students were deprived of provisions, sleeping bags, and shelter as a matter of course. The counselors were poorly paid and had little training. There was one credentialed therapist on the payroll--David Jensen, a clinical social worker--but Bacon saw him only once. Therapy at North Star consisted almost exclusively of intimidation, deprivation, and military-style discipline.
​
On March 7, Bacon was driven into town, where his hair was sheared and he was examined by a physician assistant. He weighed 131 pounds. Blood and urine tests indicated that he'd been using nothing stronger than marijuana. A day later, in a letter to his parents, Bacon wrote, "I'm trying to work this program as well as I can, but...I can't believe you want me believing this stuff.... I've been told that 'all therapists, counselors, psychologists, and psychiatrists are quacks.' I've been lectured on the stupidity of believing in them.... I miss you mom, and you dad.... As I'm writing this and thinking about you all at home I can't help but cry."
​
On March 11, Bacon's group of six students and two counselors headed into a labyrinth of spectacular sandstone canyons for a three-week backcountry trek. For the first two days the students were deprived of food to "cleanse the toxins from their bodies," as North Star literature put it. From a picture of the trip that emerges from his journal, investigators' records, and testimony at a preliminary hearing held last May in Panguitch, it's clear that Bacon quickly ran into problems. His feet blistered, he fell repeatedly, and he had great difficulty getting back on his feet under his 45-pound load. While ascending an eerie, crepuscular defile called Little Death Hollow, he slipped and bashed his chin on the slickrock. On March 15, too tired to carry his pack, he abandoned it. Because it held all his rations, he was forced to go without food until he retrieved the pack on the return trip two days later.
​
Meanwhile, other counselors and students allegedly taunted Bacon, asking if he were "homosexual." On March 20, a counselor named Brent Brewer took away Bacon's sleeping bag as punishment and replaced it with a thin blanket. The next day, Bacon wrote that he hadn't eaten in 24 hours: "I feel like I am losing control of my body. I've peed my pants every night for the past three nights and today when we started our little hike I took a dump in my pants, I didn't even feel it coming, it just happened.... All the other students started to laugh.... I've been telling [the staff] that I'm sick for a while and they say I'm faking it."
​
It's unclear when Bacon developed the ulcer that killed him, but by this point the stress of the course had severely exacerbated the ailment. The next evening he wrote, "The cold and the wind is making me freeze up.... All I can think about is cold and pain.... I miss my family so much. My hands, my lips and face are dead."
​
Bacon's journal ends there, on March 22, but his travails continued. By this time, say witnesses, Bacon was too exhausted to keep up, and he abandoned his pack a second time as the students commenced a grueling climb to the summit of the Kaiparowits Plateau. He went without food, a blanket, or a sleeping bag from March 22 to March 25 on the 7,000-foot mesa, where nightly temperatures dropped below 22 degrees Fahrenheit.
​
On the 25th, Lance Jaggar and Bill Henry met Bacon's group on the Kaiparowits. According to witnesses, they gave him a blanket to replace his sleeping bag but took his cup away because "he wasn't keeping it clean." Jaggar also reiterated to the counselors that Bacon was "a whiner and a faker."
​
Bacon had been unable to control his bladder and bowels for many days, and on March 29 he was forced to hike without pants. The group descended from the high country and retrieved Bacon's pack, but Bacon was too weak to carry it. "The counselor got mad," recalls John Kulluk, one of the students, "and the rest of us had to carry it for him. Then, about a mile from camp, Aaron fell and couldn't get up, so we had to carry him, too. While we were carrying him he puked all over Travis [another student] and talked about seeing purple stars and a purple sky, like he was delirious."
​
That night, says Kulluk, Bacon complained again of being seriously ill, "but the staff just kind of blew him off and called him a faker. They yelled, 'Get off your lazy butt and go collect wood.' The next morning Craig [Fisher, a counselor] got really mad, grabbed Aaron by the shirt, and pulled him to the latrine."
​
In a rock-strewn Arizona canyon 300 miles south of where Bacon died, a teenage girl with unshaved legs and a dirty face kneels in the sand. Using a crude bow drill to start a fire on a block of cottonwood, she produces a tiny coal, which she quickly coaxes into a blaze. "Nice fire, Angie!" proclaims Cheri, who crouches nearby kneading cornmeal and water into a wretched pancake. "Too bad we don't have something better to cook on it than this crap."
​
Cheri, Angie, and another teenager named Annie are seven weeks into the $15,000 wilderness course run by the Anasazi Foundation. Like most kids who wind up in such programs, they're here for the typical sins of adolescence: drinking, drugs, sex, shoplifting. "To get me here, my parents kidnapped me," complains Cheri, a petite 16-year-old from Boston. "It was sick."
​
Having learned about wilderness therapy in the abstract, I'm spending a few days with Anasazi to see how it works in practice. Anasazi, of course, isn't North Star. It has a reputation as one of the safest programs in the nation, and its style couldn't be more different. The night before, two boys from a nearby Anasazi group ran away. Counselors discovered the escape half an hour later, picked up the kids' trail, and caught up with them shortly after dawn. At North Star, the fugitives might have received severe punishment. Anasazi's counselors took another approach.
​
"Where you guys headed?" they calmly inquired of the runners. After suggesting that the kids return to the group, they added, "Of course, if you'd rather keep going in this direction, that's cool. We'll just tag along with you to make sure you're safe, OK?" The boys sheepishly confessed that they were tired and hungry and wanted to go back.
​
Anasazi's methods are rooted in the Mormon principle of "agency," the idea that "God will force no man to heaven." According to this precept, righteous behavior cannot be coerced. It has to be a conscious choice. "We don't lay a lot of rules on these kids," explains Elizabeth Peterson, an irrepressibly upbeat 20-year-old counselor. "If they insist on smuggling in contraband, they can, but we explain that they won't start to make progress until they choose to turn over their drugs. The whole program is based on trust. Without it, there's really no point in even doing this."
​
This approach works at Anasazi in part because Anasazi turns away students who might not be disqualified from other programs: kids who exhibit violent behavior, for example. Still, many of Anasazi's clients are deeply troubled, and Anasazi is no holiday. Students march hard, sleep on rocky ground, and once a week receive a 15-pound food bag containing staples like cornmeal, flour, and lentils. The daily ration of 2,000 calories is extremely lean, and if a kid consumes it early in the week, he or she has to subsist on wild plants, lizards, and bugs. The Anasazi students I met looked healthy, but food monopolized their fantasies.
​
At least from what I could see, the Anasazi staff manages to impose discipline without making threats. Larry Dean Olsen, Anasazi's founder, calls intimidation "Satan's tactic." There are, he says, "only two ways you can help a kid. Love him and love him some more. You've got to guide him gently and prayerfully to the right path." As Olsen's words suggest, religious dogma is an integral part of the Anasazi curriculum. While such indoctrination raises questions about the program's effectiveness in treating kids from outside the Mormon community, on the surface, at least, Anasazi appears to work.
CONTINUED BELOW

They came for my VFTs back in March. I tried it all. Bamboo skewers, cayenne pepper, I even bought a live trap and stocked it with peanuts. Nothing satisfies these assholes.
They started with just digging holes in the muddy peat for usual squirrel reasons. Then they sheared off my flower spikes and left them all there to wither. Today I came out and they’d upended the entire contents of my pots and ripped all the traps off my VFTs and chewed holes in my sarracenias.
They don’t seem to be eating the traps (which I mean, are they even edible to rodents?) they’re just destroying them for no reason.
There isn’t anywhere I can move the pots in the yard that they won’t attack. Even the screen porch isn’t safe because they’ve chewed through it and decimated my bird seed stores.
I won’t use poison because that’s a terrible way to die and also I don’t want to injure or kill our resident mating pair of hawks.
I don’t know if I’m just venting or if I’m seeking advice, or wanting to commiserate with other victims of squirrel brutality. But I’m just so angry. My carnivorous plants had a rough winter and finally were all healthy and bounced back beautifully. And now they’re gone.
I know nature is going to nature, but they’re breeding next door in the roof of a derelict house that code won’t do anything about fixing.
If anyone has any other tricks up their sleeve I would welcome the advice. Cayenne only worked for a couple days and even reapplying it didn’t help long term. The pots currently look like a crown of thorns with dozens of bamboo skewers in each. Unfortunately indoors I don’t get enough direct light to make them happy, and the one place that’s close enough even with supplemental grow lights makes our house look like we are growing marijuana from the street.

Top Upvoted

 
Son received poor review for taking paternity leave

Have him file an EEOC complaint.

7264 points · JoeFas on /WorkReform · Context
 

Top Downvoted

 
EDrag sucks ass. Less heath than a BBD, barely more damage, shoots slow as hell, and is more expensive. Try to change my mind

[deleted]

-845 points · [deleted] on /ClashRoyale · Context
 

Top Platinum Awarded

 
Can’t find anything online about this lathe. $500 and it runs, should I get it?

That's a Taiwan-made MORI pattern machine. Manufactured in one of four possible factories, three of which still exist. I'd guess Chin Hung or Kingston for this one. One piece cast base that the bed has spent its entire life on and the pair make a super rigid machine.
Superb design and will last forever if not abused. There's an oil-bathed cone clutch in the apron to protect the feed gearbox and the leadscrew has a perfectly sized shear pin as well.
True double-halfnuts in a gibbed dovetail slideway are easily replaceable in inch or metric- the halfnuts are just shells that fit nicely into the closing carriers.
That Norton gearbox is amazing and far beefier than Colchester's. And it USUALLY has the 100:127 transposition within it for inch and metric without any change gears. Id it comes with a stack of gears and a few for the thread dial then those are for Diametral/module.
Be careful swinging the compound- there's a hidden third T-nut and capscrew hising under the compound slide. The T-circle under it is huge for this size of lathe and the only thing that can screw this up is reefing on the capscrews and pulling them down through the compound swivel base.
There's no oil pump or filter so take off the headstock cover and make sure the passages to the front and rear spindle bearings are clear- it's a splash system and the oil can get warm on the D1-8 larger bore version but this one looks to be D1-6. This is a triple bearing headstock with a beefy roller at midpoint.
The dovetail on the cross slide is meant to accept a rear toolholding block. The leadscrew left-right anchor is either within the gearbox or on the righthand mounting block depending on the builder and it's rock solid. If there's a little plunger coming out the bottom of the apron, that can be used to trigger the feed release latch, just like a MAZAK apron's.
​
Most of these shipped with a rear-anchored telescopic cross slide leadscrew so it's easy to fit a taper attachment.
​
No, I can't get anyone parts.

2 platinum awards · jeffersonairmattress on /Machinists · Context
 

Top Gold Awarded

 
What would the army look like if marijuana was legal?

Hey so first off, I need you to fuck off. I actually joined the army for the sole reason to be a UA; when I heard that I can get PAID to meatgaze I realized I found my dream profession.
Picture this; a young, spry soldierboy comes in to the latrine. He’s feeling kind of pee-shy while he fumbles undoing his belt in front of the urinal. After undoing his pants, he angles his meatstick towards the cup. ‘Pee, god damn it’ he thinks to himself. I slowly walk towards this young hunk, my eyes locked on his buns. ‘Do you need help’, I ask. Without waiting for a response I slowly grab his jerky and I aim his shnozzle into the cup. ‘Good boy’ i whisper into his ear as I coax the delicious, sweet liquid into the cup. The sound is like a vibrant waterfall, the smell is like the finest perfume. ‘You did such a good job’ I moan into his ear when he finishes. I take the bottle and I close it up, but not before I take a little taste test. Delicious. This young man has been hydrating, I think to myself.
Rinse and repeat. On a good day, I get to see 30 cocks. On a really good day I get to see a COLs pecker. And some day in the future, I aspire to become a MEPS UA where I can look at rows of urinating fountains at a time.
BUT people like YOU are threatening to take my job away. It is for this very reason that I firmly oppose weed usage in the army.
/s /s ofc. The s’s cancel out

2 gold awards · verdantpanda on /army · Context
 

Top Silver Awarded

 
Tribute to this Random 3L

If this was in the western United States and about water law, you are welcome.

11 silver awards · chem031 on /LawSchool · Context
 

Top Awarded

 
RC Decoded Again: 4/20 announcement. User comments full of Toys R Us as well..

Wednesday split announcement my dudes
Split announcement for sure. Buy back+stock dividend probably on 6/9, loop news AH May 4th or stock split in effect. Marketplace launch I’m expecting to be around Father’s Day.
EDIT: HAHAHAHHA. USUALLY FROM SPLIT ANNOUNCEMENT IT TAKES TEN BUSINESS DAYS PER SEC FILING. 10 BUSINESS DAYS FROM 4/20 IS MAY 4TH.
SOMEBODY SAY STORMTROOPERS ARE FUCKED????
4/20 split announcement
5/4 split effective (dumb stormtroopers)
5/5: astronaut day in GME code
6/9: share buy back+stock dividend (give and receive simultaneously, also a buy back shows company thinks it’s value will increase (pre launch this is key ))
Father’s Day timeframe: marketplace open announcement
7/4: marketplace launch.
EDIT 2: to add some spice, why not a lil pirate flag at our HQ in grapevine on 7/4?
GMERICA 🚀🚀🚀
Edit: for all saying “what about the vote”
They don’t need shareholder approval
https://www.reddit.com/Superstonk/comments/u6uway/rc_decoded_again_420_announcement_user_comments/i5atc41/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

36 awards · GangGangBet on /Superstonk · Context
 
^{Have feedback? Message the moderators! · v22.4.10 · Includes Medium Subs with at least 100000 subscribers}

Hey there y'all, me again. With my semester done and the holidays before me, this will be the last post until the new year. A big thank you to all who read and upvote my posts, you guys are cooler than anyone knows. Without further due, here's part eleven.
Pervious Next
For the first time in years, Larry breathed in Earth’s air. He couldn’t believe he was here. He stood outside the Denver International Airport as he looked around at the scenery. It never looked this beautiful when he was living here. Strange, how that was always the case, but you never know what you have until you lose it. He grimaced as he walked, Earth’s heavy gravity taking its toll. He flagged down a taxi and climbed in, directing the driver to the wealthiest part of town. The drive was pleasant, the driver didn’t talk, and he watched his city pass by in peace. When he got out of the taxi, he stood in front of a gated community. Walled community was a more apt term, as the reinforced concrete wall that surrounded the entire neighborhood was a foot thick and ten feet tall. He entered his passcode and entered through a pedestrian door in the wall. The houses beyond were big, but they only got bigger as he walked further in. Thankfully there was no one out, as anyone living here would mistake him for a vagrant. His khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirts weren’t exactly the uniform of the uber-rich.
His house was in the very back, it was a modest fifteen-thousand square foot two story dwelling. It was painted a charcoal grey and surround by vast gardens. Larry remembered planting those gardens when he first moved in. It made him happy to see it still thriving after years of his absence. As he walked through the garden path, he found himself nervous. He knew that his wife and daughter didn’t hold it against him, after all it was Marijuana that built this house, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. What if something had changed between now and last night when he had spoken to them? What if Samantha secretly hated him for being gone? He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts, he was overthinking again. He unlocked the door with his thumbprint and entered his home.
“Hello.” he called out as he walked the door. He strained to hear any response. After a few seconds, he heard what he was waiting for.
“DADDY!” Samantha yelled, appearing from a hallway. Larry noticed that she was much larger than last time he saw her. She was still small enough to swing around and carry when he left.
“Starlight,” he said, embracing her. He grimaced again; he had missed so much. He looked up to see Jesse. She still looked as beautiful as ever. “I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing Samantha on the head. He moved towards Jesse, “I’ve missed you too, honey.” He hugged her and gave her a quick kiss.
“Samantha has something to show you,” Jesse said, pulling away, “We can talk this evening.” She winked at him as he was pulled away by Samantha back outside.
Samantha led him to one of the many green houses on the property. Going inside, he saw it was filled with all kinds of plants from the surrounding area. “I’ve been trying to keep these plants alive,” Samantha said, “mom said you did this to get good at growing.”
Larry looked around, “You’re doing a really good job, some of these plants can be tough to care for.” He looked at her, smiling, “Though your mother was embellishing the story a bit.”
“But I thought you were always growing things?” Samantha asked.
“I was,” Larry answered, “but what your mother describes is what I was doing when we first met.”
“What were you doing?” Samantha asked, obviously wanting better answers.
Larry sighed and hung his head in defeat, “Alright, alright. You’re the only one that can pull a story out of me. I’m guessing you want to hear about your mother and I when we were young?” He smiled as Samantha nodded enthusiastically. “I met your mother just after Riley and I had finished college and had opened our first dispensary. She was still in law school at the time, and she came in with a friend of hers who was a regular customer of mine. I was taken by her looks immediately, and I asked her for a date right there.”
“Did she say yes?”
“No, she rejected me immediately.” Larry laughed at Samantha’s expression.
“But” she stammered, “why not?”
“I sell Marijuana for a living.” He said dryly, “You were born into this, so you see nothing wrong with it. To your mother, I was a young and handsome weed dealer. I don’t blame her, there were defiantly better choices out there for her.”
“Like what?”
“Like business majors and accounting majors galore out there. Accountants make good money, and plenty of people make it big every day. I started talking with your mother that, she agreed to give me her number.” He looked at a plant, “hand me some shears, this branch is dying.” He waited until he had the shears before he started talking again. “We talked back and forth for two weeks before she finally agreed to go out on a date. I took her to pizza place, high as I’ve been and feeling confident. The date went well, and we set up a second date right after.”
“What do you like about her?”
Larry thought for a moment as he inspected the plant for any more dead parts. “She’s relaxed when she needs to be and serious when it’s important. She’s funny and clever. She’s talented, intelligent, and extremely adaptable. Have I also mentioned that she’s super-hot?” he laughed at Samantha’s disgusted expression. “After five more dates over the course of a few months, I finally asked her if she wanted to marry me. She said yes, obviously. At that time, the business that Riley and I had took off and we were able to open another location.”
“That’s another thing I want to ask about.” Samantha said, seeming worried. “Some people at school, say that you’re a criminal, and that you need to be locked up.”
Larry looked at her. He saw himself as a kid, asking his father the same question. “Come with me.” He said, taking her by the hand. He left the greenhouse and walked further to the back of the property. He led Samantha past large fenced off patches of Marijuana to a large field of plants. “What do you see here?”
“Marijuana?” Samantha said, confused.
“No,” Larry corrected her, “hemp.”
“Hemp.” Samantha repeated. “What’s that?”
“All Marijuana plants are female; the females carry all the stuff in weed that people want. Hemp on the other hand,” he said, making a broad sweeping gesture to the field., “is the male plant. Hemp can be used to extract CBD, but that’s not what we use it for. Long ago, the Ropers made rope using hemp, now we make toilet paper.”
“Toilet paper?” Samantha looked really lost now.
Larry nodded, “Weed may have built the house you live in, but the family fortune is toilet paper. Your great-grandfather was the first person to bring hemp-based toilet paper to forefront of the public eye.”
“Why toilet paper, and why hemp?” Samantha asked.
“Hemp produces more fiber than trees and can regrow in a fraction of the time.” Larry explained. “It completely sidelined the big toilet paper companies at the time. I own millions of acres of hemp here on Earth and in the colonies, all used to make toilet paper.” He looked down at Samantha, seeing that she wasn’t satisfied. “We use hemp for toilet paper because we save trees doing it. What we do here saves forests on Earth and elsewhere every day.”
She nodded, now understanding. “Can you show me how to graft plants together?”
Larry couldn’t help but crack a wide grin, “Now that is an interesting subject.”
​
Hours later, Larry entered his bedroom. It hadn’t changed much since he was last here, which was a relief. Jesse was sitting on the bed, on her side. He sat down on his, Jesse moved over and leaned into him. He leaned into her, and they held there for a time. It was their way of relaxing with each other, just them and nothing else. They were silent for a few minutes before Larry broke the silence.
“I’m sorry.” Larry said, quietly.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Jesse said back.
Larry took off his sunglasses, revealing his bloodshot eyes. “I was a fool.”
Jesse looked up at him, “You wanted to expand the business.” Jesse reminded him.
“Yes,” Larry admitted, “but look at what has happened. Samantha is so grown now. Last time I saw her, she was three, now she’s ten tomorrow. I wasn’t here.”
Jesse sat up and grabbed his head, forcing him to look into her fierce green eyes. “You were gone seven years, but you called twice a week, every week. You sent her gifts on every holiday. You weren’t here, yes, but you weren’t absent from her life. She knows who you are, she knows what you look like, and she loves you.”
“I know all that,” Larry said, “but I can’t shake the feeling that leaving the two of you, even if it meant giving you the life you live now, was a mistake.” He looked deeper into his beautiful eyes before he broke away. “I’m tired Jesse, very tired. I’ve made more money than I will ever be able to count. I can buy stars. Hell, I make more than some planets GDP’s.”
“Then stop,” Jesse said, pleading coming into her voice. “Come back home and settle down. Be the father you want to be.”
Larry shook his head, “Not yet, that’s the problem. I have a new enemy now. Another Earth criminal organization has expanded beyond Terran space. They tried killing my apprentice and have disrupted a few of my supply chains.”
“You’ve dealt with all this before.” Jesse said.
Larry nodded silently, “They’re bringing heroin into these other nations, killing almost everyone that tries it.” He looked at Jesse’s stone expression, “Exactly. I can’t let this happen; I won’t let this happen. They’ve stepped into a war they don’t even know about yet. I’ve been keeping the Drexen Empire at bay by leading them on goose chases, but I can’t do that forever.”
Jesse was about to say something, but stopped, instead putting her head on his shoulder. “Your shirts still suck.” They both laughed, falling back on the bed.
​
Larry entered the lab, his week on Earth had given him a boost of energy. He looked at both Frek and Riley, “New plan: we need more aggressive tactics.”

I'd like to present proof that the SEC is useless:
Simply going down the list of their litigation:
https://www.sec.gov/litigation/litreleases.htm
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https://www.sec.gov/litigation/litreleases/2021/lr25273.htm
"In a parallel action with the United States Attorney's Office for the Southern District of Indiana, Kuhnash pleaded guilty to two counts of securities fraud and one count of money laundering and Jimerson pleaded guilty to two counts of securities fraud, one count of money laundering, and one count of making false statements to federal agents. On March 2, 2021, Kuhnash was sentenced to 36 months of imprisonment, followed by one year of supervised release, and ordered to pay a $10,000 fine. On March 25, 2021, Jimerson was sentenced to 24 months of imprisonment, followed by two years of supervised release, and ordered to pay a $10,000 fine. "
Punishment 36 months for multi million dollar scheme. Lucent is a huge company(9.4B). These guys make millions a year and are multi-millionaires. If they were so rich why would they commit fraud and jeopardize it all? It's simple, they are life long criminals who have stolen 100's of millions and finally got caught and slapped on the risk.
https://fonmarketplace.com/high-net-worth-indiv/kevin-r-kuhnash/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucent
36 months and ~ 1M fined for outright fraud while most likely stolen 10's of millions.
This guy got the maximum sentence of 144 months for saying he wished a judge(a corrupt judge) dead on the phone(around 2 minute call) https://denver.cbslocal.com/2021/04/27/eric-brandt-retaliating-judges-sentencing/
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https://www.sec.gov/litigation/litreleases/2021/lr25272.htm
"The final judgments find Griffithe liable for more than $5.3 million in disgorgement, prejudgment interest, and civil penalties, and Russell liable for more than $698,000 in disgorgement, prejudgment interest, and civil penalties.
According to the SEC's complaint, [see Litigation Release No. 24722], Griffithe used Renewable Technologies Solution, Inc., an entity he controlled, to sell investors purported ownership interests in SMRB, LLC, a Washington company owned by Russell that held a license to grow marijuana under the state's recreational cannabis laws. Griffithe and Russell led investors to believe their investments in Renewable would be used to operate SMRB. Instead, Griffithe allegedly spent investor funds on personal and unrelated business expenses, including payments toward several luxury cars for himself and a yacht for Russell, and deposited approximately $1.7 million into Russell's personal bank accounts. To create the illusion that the marijuana business was profitable and paying dividends as promised, Griffithe allegedly paid out purported profit distributions to some investors, which were partially funded in a Ponzi-like fashion using funds from other investors."
https://www.corporationwiki.com/California/Riverside/guy-griffithe/44209532.aspx This guy has at least 9 companies he's started. Yeah, they were all legit then one day he decided to turn to crime after being a multi-milionaire just to have some fun, right?
No jail time! You can't make this shit up. And yet man has to pay 500$ for stealing 5$ worth of food and put in jail for 4 hours until a family member paid up.
https://abcnews.go.com/US/man-stole-worth-food-ended-called-debtors-prison/story?id=40042080
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https://www.sec.gov/litigation/litreleases/2021/lr25271.htm
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"
The SEC's complaint alleges that, from 2018 to 2021, Ginster raised approximately $3.6 million in Bitcoin through two online platforms-MyMicroProfits.com and Social Profimatic-that promised astronomical rates of return by falsely claiming returns through, amongst other activities, purported "cryptocurrency trading and advertising arbitrage." The complaint also alleges that Ginster deceived investors in both offerings about, among other things, how their funds would be used, because Ginster misappropriated at least $1 million of the funds raised to pay personal expenses, including tax payments, housing expenses, and credit card bills.
The complaint, filed in the U.S. District Court for the Central District of California, charges Ginster with violating the antifraud provisions of Section 17(a) of the Securities Act of 1933 and Section 10(b) of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 and Rule 10b-5 thereunder, and violating the registration provisions of Sections 5(a) and (c) of the Securities Act. The complaint seeks permanent injunctions, disgorgement with prejudgment interest, and civil penalties."
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Gets to still 3.6M from people and no jail time! How nice! It's almost like the SEC wants people to commit these crimes. Hell, maybe I will start thinking about this. I'm more likely too win the lotto than get caught by the SEC so shit, I just need to figure out how to rape the public using the financial system.
Meanwhile, this man got 3 months for stealing a vial of fentanyl - https://www.fda.gov/inspections-compliance-enforcement-and-criminal-investigations/press-releases/colorado-nurse-sentenced-prison-stealing-controlled-substances
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https://www.sec.gov/litigation/litreleases/2021/lr25270.htm
" The Securities and Exchange Commission today charged Ronald T. Molo, a former investment professional, with collectively defrauding three investors out of a total of approximately $800,000, which Molo used to pay personal expenses.
According to the SEC's complaint, Molo was formerly an investment adviser representative and registered broker-dealer representative for a large financial services firm. Between January 2019 and November 2020, Molo stole a total of approximately $800,000 from three investors, two of whom were his investment advisory clients and one of whom was his brokerage customer. According to the complaint, Molo convinced the three investors to transfer money out of their advisory and brokerage accounts to another bank account, purportedly to invest in tax-free bonds. In reality, the bonds did not exist, and Molo did not tell the investors that the account to which he had directed them to transfer their money was his personal bank account. Instead of investing the money, Molo used it to pay personal expenses, including mortgage payments, automobile purchases, and renovations to his home. The complaint alleges that Molo tried to cover up his fraud by sending the three investors purported interest payments from the nonexistent bonds, using altered cashier's checks drawn from funds in his personal bank account."
Another sociopath gets a slap on the wrist. Anyone want to take bets on how much he'll have too pay back. Any bets that the 800k is not all the stole?
Meanwhile https://thefrontierpost.com/ex-postal-service-supervisor-sent-to-prison-for-stealing-marijuana-from-confiscated-package/
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Ok, I've had enough... Our(their?) system CLEARLY rewards the biggest lunatics. There are around 10-30 cases a month(seems they are decreasing) which are universally just slaps on the wrists for the damage actually done(stealing a million dollars would be fine if it was from the magical money ether but in real life it has real consequences). The only outcome here is that America will collapse. Probably not before it will take out the rest of the world. The US government is insane and full of nothing but sociopaths at the top. They literally think it's normal to punish minor crimes more than ones that effect large swaths of people. If grandma has her 401k raided by sociopaths that is ok but god fucking damn someone steal a package with weed in it! OFF WITH HIS HEAD!
America is insane and it all comes from the top. It will only get worse. Imagine how much these people really steal over their life times that the SEC goes after. Imagine how many people actually are doing these crimes compared to the ones the SEC goes after. Imagine how much time and energy is wasted by law enforcement going after people for minor crimes(which are a direct effect from the major financial crimes) that could be used to go after the biggest crimes. All these multi-millionaires are crooks. Prove me wrong! I dare you!
There is only one conclusion one can make about the US government - It is totally and absolutely insane. It has ZERO interest in making the world a better place for all.
I'm not going to waste my life proving that the SEC is actually truly 100% useless by showing how their punishments are almost always civil penalties and slaps on the wrist for major crimes that effect thousands of people(crimes that ultimately trickle down to causing people to steal 5$ in food or cuss out corrupt judges or steal 300$ worth of weed). I'm not going to show that the shear amount of financial terrorists they actually do litigate against is no where even close to the number out there. I'm not going to spend hours building up a case that shows that no one is afraid of the SEC and that the SEC is effectively non-existent except that it actually just steals from the tax payers and actually provides a facade of law enforcement that tricks retail in to thinking someone is watching the bank vault. Sure, maybe the SEC really wants to clean up the financial world but just doesn't have the funds too do so? Yeah, do you really believe that? If that was the case why not consolidate all the funds and have 1 or 2 cases a year that go after the biggest financial terrorists? BAMN FUCKER! JUST SHUT YOUR MORONIC "The SEC are the good guys just trying their best but are underfunded" BS argument!
The US government ***IS*** a criminal organization. In fact, the largest and most sophisticated one on the planet.
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