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user ratings - 8 of 10 actor - Anne Hathaway Duration - 126 Minute Audience Score - 3625 vote summary - A corporate defense attorney takes on an environmental lawsuit against a chemical company that exposes a lengthy history of pollution director - Todd Haynes.

Dry rub for pork ribs. Still listening to it. Dry runner. If this is what being high seems like I wouldnt mind it. Dry run independent baptist church. Dry run church of christ west portsmouth ohio. Dry running protection. I wish this was The Neverending Story... Dry run in python. Dry run creek fishing. What did i just watch. I'm not gonna complain tho.

Anyone coming here in 2019. Context: The Lords of Silence warband has been wrangled into the 13th Black Crusade. On the approach to a Forge World near Cadia, their flagship Solace is confronted by overpriced resin miniatures a stripped-down super-gun concealed inside a seemingly ordinary transport ship. Thinking unusually fast for a Plague Marine, Siegemaster Vorx gets in really close, and. Now Solace is fully across the kill-zone, interposed between the guns muzzle and the rest of the battle. Vorx can feel the tenseness on the bridge, the tightness of the jaws, the darting looks up at him from the pits. Any moment they expect to hear the explosions, the race of fire from the lower decks, the cold gasp of the void as it comes to grip them. He lets himself imagine the same thing, just for a second. He visualises the eruption from below, and the howl of flame and racing atmospheres, and enjoys it. To linger any longer, however, would be indulgent. The priests on that conveyer do not want to fire. Vorx is old enough and learned enough to recognise the pattern of their precious weapon. It is nova cannon-class, though larger than all but the very most ruinous battleship-slung varieties. Such guns are designed for extreme ranged fire, and its gunners would not detonate at this proximity, given the choice. That basic situation, though, on its own, would not normally be enough to keep them alive. A daring Mechanicus captain would take the risk to clear their sights, even if Solaces destruction did some collateral damage of its own. But Vorx knows all the species of Imperial system-class weapons. He has spent centuries cataloguing them and cross-referencing them. He knows the difference between a shell created on Lucius and one created on Mars. Indeed, he knows the difference between a shell created in the northern hemisphere macro-factories of Lucius and a shell created in the same worlds slightly less capable southern-hemisphere standard-production forges. He has often found such knowledge useful, for all that younger minds scoff at it, and this situation is no different. That cannon, he sees by its marks and dimensions, fires rift shells. On impact, rift shells open a short-lived tear into the warp, sending everything within their blast-sphere ripping into immaterialism. It is a horrifying weapon, capable of eating clean through the armoured hide of the greatest of warships, and requires enormous resources to deploy and engage. But it has its drawbacks. The destruction sphere is massive. Solace is now so close that, if the cannon fired, both ships would be sucked into the resultant vortex and caught up in a mutual embrace of destruction. The conveyers true target would thus never be hit, and whatever plan it was intended to achieve would go unexecuted. The Mechanicus would hate that. Right now, Vorx knows they are running every algorithm ever burned onto their systems to extract the weapon from this situation without its loss. They will not do so for long. Very soon, perhaps even this very second, they will realise that there is no escape from this tangle and that they really need to fire. The order will burn across the command synapses in the conveyers heart, damning both ships to oblivion. So Vorx acts. This momentary hesitation, generated by the tech-priests greatest and most excusable failing – pride in their creations – was all he required to get into position. ‘Tox-dump, all vents, full capacity, he orders, sending the comm-burst simultaneously to all command nodes with highest priority attached, knowing that the more acute of his section commanders will already have guessed what he has in mind and set things in train. And they have. Hatches slam back, pipes stiffen into full capacity, blast doors grind open. A thousand orifices across Solaces underside gape, and the greenish flicker of void shields snatches out. The ships bowels open. The effluent is thick, black, stiff and frothing – a concentrated slurry of everything foul and curdled from the very depths of the warships chem-drenched intestines. It is the liquefied bones of strangled Neverborn, the excreta of the apothecarions, the refuse of the bioweapons labs, the run-off from Slerts crowded experiment tables. For decades it has all stewed in Geller-shrouded containment tanks, fermenting and coagulating and spawning under heat lamps. New things have emerged in that soup of horror – chains of metal-gnawing molecules that copulate madly with strings of flesh-dissolving bacteria. The whole morass is shot through with the daemonic, bound by the warp and coalesced into void-defying globules. When it shoots out like projectile vomit into open space, it does not freeze-dry and explode – it only gushes more strongly, streaming in incontinent torrents in search of firm matter to latch on to. The impact is horrific – tonnes and tonnes of it in a roaring, bubbling cascade, crashing lumpily into the crackling cannon jaws and flooding down into the chasm beyond, overwhelming and choking, foaming like an incoming riptide. The conveyers weakened void shields are smashed aside. The cataracts seethe across every exposed plate. The lightning is drowned, the fires are drowned, all is drowned under that magnificent, stomach-turning payload of ruin. A purged Solace proceeds on course, stately and unhurried, while the conveyer crumples in on itself, its structure now being eaten alive. There are explosions from deep within as power cables are burned through. It loses trajectory, its acid-pocked prow dipping back towards Agripinaas gravity well, and great jets of fire escape from its under-hull. The nova cannon is now a semi-fused hunk of virulent metal, doused in foulness and folding in on itself like paper in a clenched fist. The tox-dump carries on eating, fizzing and consuming and melting, causing fresh explosions to ripple along the intact metalwork. Vorx watches it die on the rear-facing viewers. There is a pleasing irony in the weapons demise, he reflects – the biological gaining revenge on the mechanical. This is the kind of lesson that might be heeded, if only by more imaginative minds. ‘Marvellous, he breathes, observing the gathering pace of destruction. I chose to share this excerpt because shows the fundamental character of the Death Guard: being absolutely disgusting. This is how Papa Nurgle's special boys win. Not with neurotically perfect tactics and eerie speed; not with sheer bloody-minded rage and overwhelming force; not with dark magicks and forbidden secrets; no, the Death Guard just shit all over you until you can't even anymore.

Dry run nike. Dry run crossword. Dry rub for ribs. It starts with people needing some help. It might be a girl you like, or some guys youre trying to impress, or even just an old buddy you bump into on the street. The important thing is that youve got a reputation for smoking weed and theyd like some. Maybe theyre new to town, or they want to throw a party and want to impress someone as a one off, but they need you. They need your help. So thats what you do. You start to “help” them out by buying weed on their behalf and then you start charging extra because it soon becomes regular and its more than just a favour, and then you realise youre putting so much time into it you need to find someone who sells large amounts at a discount. Eventually, you realise weed wont cut it. The margins are too low and the works too hard. By now you have four phones, way too many friends on Facebook, a day job you fucking hate, and so much of your time goes into being a dealer that youve given up hopes of it just being a hobby. Oh, and of course, you have your own addiction to take care of. Most of the time youll be lucky to break even, but selling weed helps. Maybe the guy you buy off mentions mushrooms, or MDMA, or something else thats common. But the important thing to remember is that its a surprisingly short road to heroin. It pays the most, weighs very little, and you dont have to worry about spreading yourself too thin. Now youll be able to get a little book of real valuable repeat customers. And, if youre like me, you might just have had enough sense to never try your own product. But its still a problem. Every person who buys is a ticking time bomb, a walking liability. And every day you work this job, youre not doing something else, something with prospects. And it only takes one arrest to fuck it all up, and it only takes one idiot to lead to that arrest. See, what I did was I went after a certain kind of client, someone who through luck and opportunity is rich enough to hide their addiction. Someone who doesnt “look” like an addict, if you get what I mean. Theyre hardly immune to the effects of addiction, but consequences are a lot less severe for the upper classes. Good thing that applies to their dealers too. Its nice to have clients who dont die every few years. Thats not to say their health is my number one priority, but Ive known most of them for going on eight years. Ive helped them move, fix broken down cars, find dates, rehearse presentations, pick up deliveries, and on one occasion I even baby-sat one of their nieces while they got high in the garden shed. Sadly, I would have to admit that theyre my closest friends. And about a fortnight ago something bad happened to each and every one of them. Normally I like to sell all my goods on a Sunday, no open door policy and no phone calls. I keep a consistent routine and it avoids trouble but last Tuesday I had one of them knocking at my door. I was pretty pissed to have this guy, Rolo (dont ask, not his real name) turn up out of the blue. Thats not how I like to do things, and I was pretty damn close to not opening the door. But, as you might guess, junkies are resistant to denial and he wasnt going to go away out of politeness. So, in the end, I let him in. But to my surprise, he wasnt there to buy. He came straight in and put a brick of the stuff in my hand, leaving me totally speechless. He then went on this winding rant about his childhood and the things his mother did to him and the scars she left and after a long, long time, he eventually got to the point: “I found it, ” Rolo told me. “I found it in a gutter on the side of the road, way way out in the middle of nowhere. I was driving home and my wife shell… oh man I just spotted it. What a weird thing, right? My headlight caught it and I was like ‘wait was that… no fucking way. But it was. Just a brick of the stuff waiting for me in a ditch in the middle of nowhere and…” He paused and bit down on his thumb so hard I thought he was going to snap it off like a baby carrot. “Ill kill myself if I have this much, ” he said. “I know it, you know it, everyone fucking knows it man. You cant give me all of this. You cant. I looked at that brick and I realised Id be dead within a day. And you… youve been so good to me. How much do I owe you? Like, seriously? All those times? ” “You dont owe me anything, ” I said. “Youve been paid up for years. ” “Its not about that though, ” he replied. “Its about the gesture. You helped me. So… heres what Im thinking. You take this and you just… you sell it? And any money you split with me and then I use that money to buy more stuff off you when I need it. That way I never have enough on me to just… go crazy. You know? I cant even tell you how much strength this took, by the way. Ive been driving the streets for like 5 hours just thinking this through carefully. I took the elevator up here three times. But… I know its what I need. I cant… I cant leave this place with that brick. “Ill kill myself. ” I weighed it up in my hands. It was easily worth a grand and I had to admit, what he said made sense. There was no way any addict could be trusted with that much, least of all him. And, just to reiterate, it was worth a shit load of money. “You found this? ” I asked, clearly incredulous. I glanced at the gold leaf symbol stamped onto one side, failing to recognise it but feeling an intense anxiety in its presence. “In a fucking ditch, ” he said, his face elated. “Someone must have just chucked it! Whoosh, straight out the window. ” “Alright, ” I agreed. “This is… this is a good deal, ” I added, hesitating for reasons I couldnt say. But I decided I was just being irrational because, by all accounts, this was a fucking good surprise. Free money is always a good surprise. “Come on, ” I told him. “Ill weigh a little out for you. ” Instinctively he reached into his pocket and started counting notes. “Its your stuff, ” I snapped and he laughed at himself. But I just shook my head and took it to my scales, where I began taking off just a little to give to Rolo. Pretty soon I was left sitting in my flat on my own staring at the brick with a sense of confusion, partly at the preceding events, partly at the strange pit in my stomach, and partly because that symbol made my eyes hurt. Over the next week that brick was sold in pieces to each of my customers, slowly whittling itself down until about half was left. Bit by bit I sold it to all eleven of my regulars and then, bit by bit, none of them came back. When it came to Sunday—a day where my phone is normally lit up and my doors a fucking tambourine—there was silence. I tried calling them all but there was no answer for each of them. I cannot stress to you just how weird this is. Heroin addicts dont skip appointments with me. It just doesnt work like that, not unless theyre dead. And that was a harrowing thought to have. All of them? Man, even back then I took a long hard look at that brick. Something about it had bothered me the entire time, and now I was truly worried. Do you know what theyd do to me if I sold bad drugs to eleven different middle-class Londoners? One of them is a blonde girl in her twenties. Fucking blonde. Do you have any idea how bad that would be for me? My first stop was the news. At least three of the people I sold to were Oxbridge graduates with banking jobs, and I figured if they died itd be in the papers somewhere. People love those kinda scandalous stories, so I started Googling names until I got a hit. It was… not what I expected. That blonde I just mentioned. Im gonna call her Milkybar, anyways she turned up in one paper having gone missing, last seen a few days before. It was a plea from her husband and parents, asking for her to come home. The paper mentioned her addiction and there were worries shed relapsed or worse, died. Well, I was worried too, but what I knew that they didnt was that Milkybar had a small flat she rented in a friends name where she smoked before going to work. I also happened to have a key from a misguided attempt at seduction (long story. I had an address and access. And I rushed there hoping to God Id find her partying her tits off or handcuffed to a bed deep in withdrawal. If only. I entered quietly only to find a dingy shithole in a high-rise apartment that was a huge step down from the last time Id been there. Somehow, there were signs of decay. I mean, ten plus years of rot and decay. Wallpaper was peeling, the ceilings were yellow, pipes had rusted, plaster had chipped, the windows had faded. Id been there just a year before and it had been a newly decorated flat. It wasnt squalor that had done the damage, no. It was derelict, broken down the way old houses are. Nothing about it made sense to me. I triple checked the address but sure enough, that was the right place. So I kept looking and eventually I found Milkybar. At least, I figure it was her because of the clothes. Really, I guess all I found was a pile of bones in a sundress with some faint straw-coloured hair. Her skull, her mouth, was wide open and the sockets empty and it just looked like she was in pain. And the porcelain tub was all stained a dark red, looking an awful lot like a puddle of blood. I felt like Id stumbled into a crypt, the way her bones looked brittle with age, with little teeth marks from rats. Was this a bad attempt at faking her death? I wondered. After a little more poking around, I found some papers stuffed between her pelvis and her dress. I pulled them out and unrolled them, recoiling from the smell, and read. I dont wanna put it all up in print, but she wrote about some fucked up stuff. Real nasty messed up things, like “I just saw Se7en” messed up. It nearly made me sick and, struggling to understand anything in the moment, I put those crazy words down to her having a fucked up troubled mind. After looking around a bit more and not finding anything, I took the notes and left. At the bottom of the last page shed sketched symbol from the brick in my flat and that freaked me out. None of the people, aside from Rolo, could have possibly seen that symbol, and I did not like it being there one tiny little bit. It left me shaken, not just because of the potential trouble it might bring, but because I was worried that it really was Milkybar in that tub, and that something awful had happened to her. So I decided to check up on the others. It wasnt easy, but I managed to visit at least two others before morning. The first of the two was a guy Ill call Snickers who, if you can believe it, was a professor of English Literature at KCL. He was something of a tortured artist when he was younger, and while he later grew up and let go of the “artist” part he guarded the “tortured” part like a tiger protecting her cub. When I first knocked the door of his own personal little fuck-pad, I heard what Id best describe as a kind of quiet sobbing and some shuffling. I wound up banging at his door for a good ten minutes before someone finally let me in and it wasnt Snickers. The guy didnt even greet me or look surprised. He was a young man, early twenties, and Id have bet my life that he was one of Snickers many student hook ups. Not that it mattered, but I followed him carefully as he held both his arms and shivered violently, tears streaming down his cheeks. Both of us sat down opposite one another and the first thing he said was not what I expected at all. “What the fuck happened man? ” he said, stifling a sob. “What? ” “Where am I? ” he asked. “I dont. I dont… what the fuck happened man? Where did we go? ” “Wheres Snickers? ” I asked. “What the fuck? We were all there! You saw exactly what happened, man. They made us watch. All of us, me especially. You saying you dont fuckin remember? ” “I think youve mistaken me for someone else, ” I answered. “What happened her? ” The kid stopped and stared at me for a long minute before sniffling and pulling his knees up to his chest, holding them close while he rocked back and forth. His eyes were distant, and when he spoke next he didnt talk to me. “I thought you were Dan, ” he said. “Who are you? ” “Im a friend of Snickers, ” I answered. “I was worried something had happened. ” The kid laughed and for a brief moment I saw a network of cuts leading down his neck onto his chest. “I dont know, ” he answered, a quiver in his voice. “We were here, we got high and then… Jesus Christ, ” he broke down, holding his face in his hands and crying. I waited patiently until he could resume. “Oh it was fucking awful man. You dont even know. They just… they didnt even come, we went to them man, floating through… through… I dont even fucking know, the sky? We just all wound up there washed up on the shore and then they came and they took us and I thought it was just a trip, yknow? Just a bad trip but it werent like that at all. Oh fuck man my mum, oh my God how am I even going to explain this to her. Weve been gone so long…” I looked around for a moment and took in the state of Snickers apartment, noticing the strange dust that coated everything and the peculiar person-shaped imprint on the sofa. “How long were you gone? ” I asked. “You should know man you think they let us keep fucking clocks? Where are the police? Where are the ambulances? Its been a year at least…” “Nooo, ” I said. “I saw Snickers just a few days ago. ” “No…” “Yes, ” I answered. “No they kept us for years man…” I stood up and the boy flinched. But I happily showed him my phone and the date and even let him scrawl through BBC News for a good few minutes. “No no no, ” he mumbled before looking up at me, pleading. “It wasnt just a dream man, we fucking lived it. We lived it every day for years, all four of us. You dont know what it was like, the things they did to us. What they did to Snickers…” he burst into tears and this time I realised he wasnt going to recover quickly. I asked him if anyone else was around and he feebly pointed towards a nearby bedroom door. What I found inside that room was not what I expected. You could have hung it a modern art museum and no one would have noticed. Milkybar upset me but Id done a good job convincing myself it was like a big elaborate ruse. Its easier to believe that than God knows what. I mean, what was the alternative? That those things shed written were true? Years spent taken away and subjected to humiliation, degradation, and unspeakable torture? But that room… I couldnt convince myself that was a ruse. I couldnt rightly say if Snickers was in there. But whatever it was, it had been a person once, and now it knelt on the bed in a position of supplication. Their face… it didnt really exist anymore except for the mouth that had been cut so far back into their head I could glimpse vertebrae. The rest of the skull was just smooth pitted wrinkled skin, like a persons thumb after a long bath. The skin of their armpits, where the arms and torso met, had started to melt together forming a broken webbed joint that forced their arms into prayer. All along their abdomen and back, human teeth had been implanted only to keep on growing into strange bones that broke apart stitches and surgical staples, turning into grotesque hairy, toothy, tumours that covered their midriff like barnacles on a ship. They knelt in a pool of crimson liquid that looked much deeper than it was, rising to their belly button. The strange lapping water gave off the strange sensation of looking down onto an enormous blood-red ocean. At moments it looked as thin as water, other times it looked as viscous as slime mould. Rising up out of it were ten different limbs, each one thinning unnaturally until it terminated in a single lonely toe. New joints had been added to them, seemingly at random, so that this person was hunched over their branching legs like an immense mangrove tree rising out of a blood-soaked swamp. And marching up out of the waters was a forest of mushrooms no bigger than my thumb, tiny and identical like neat, orderly buttons, their caps opening and closing in a rhythmic dance that made my skin crawl. And then something twitched in the water, looking for the world like a breaching fish. And I was out of there, unable to even think or reason what had happened in clear terms. “Look what they did to us man, ” the boy screamed as I stumbled past him, tearing open his shirt to reveal a single large black equine eye embedded in his chest. “It took years to grow us into this. Fucking years, ” he screamed, his shrill voice following me all the way down the hall. And with that I was back in my car shaking, barely able to think. At this stage I was doing mental back flips to explain what Id seen and somehow I got it in my head that what I needed to do was to check up on the others. It had to be fake, I told myself. The only way Id prove it was if I followed things up. I had to know, its the human condition and I couldnt walk away. I couldnt retreat. I couldnt possibly accept living in a world where anything Id seen in that flat was real. I drove away from that block way too fast but eager to get on and find answers. The closest place next on my list was an office run by a man I called Aero. He fancied himself as a sort of Gordon Gecko, Wolf of Wall Street kinda guy, but he was the richest man I knew and whip smart too. I hoped to God he wasnt in on all this bullshit and could offer some kind of help or explanation. Earlier that year hed given me a security card for his building and I luckily fished it out of my dash before going in. He had a floor or two in this massive high-rise and I got the card out ready to explain why I needed to enter the building at 2am to some bleary-eyed security guard only to find the front desk empty. It was a simple flick of a switch to call the elevator, but I couldnt stop staring at the half-drunk cup of tea waiting for the guard. Probably gone to the loo, I thought, before briefly touching the ice-cold cup and calling it into doubt. Man it was dark in there, and unsettling in the way that night-time offices always are. Any place that goes from busy to quiet has that air about it. The sense that once everyone goes home something comes slinking out of the shadows to stretch its legs. I felt like I was intruding, but I couldnt bring myself to leave it yet. I was secretly trying to tell myself Id been hallucinating in Snickers place, and I desperately wanted someone to reassure me that was true. I used the card to get access to Aeros floor and walked out into an otherwise dead office-space. Even though the sky in London isnt very clear, I could still see a full moon hanging over the skyline, following me like an eye as I walked along the enormous windows. Aeros office was easily found. It was the only one with the blinds pulled shut, unlike the others that were as clear and transparent as a scientists beaker. His name and title were on full display and I could have walked right in, but something about the silence unsettled me. There was the sense that someone was moving around in those shadows, ducking and scuttling below cubicles and desks, just out of sight, whenever I turned. So I tried to peak through the blinds of his office first without going in, just to get a sense of what was in there. All I could glimpse was a desk chair facing me, and the dark outline of someone sitting in it. Steeling my nerves, I forced myself to open the door and found a desiccated corpse waiting for me. Although the skin was leathery and dry, pocked with peeling blisters and signs of decay, enough of the features remained that I could easily tell it was Aero. Unlike the others he looked asleep, peaceful even. For a moment I stared at him, lost in the silence, when something behind me fell over and I whipped around, heart thundering. It was Aero, looking a little younger than when I'd last seen him. I was shocked to see him after I'd convinced myself of the corpse's identity, and for a moment I looked back and forth while he stumbled in, stopping to take a breath with his hands on his knees, before looking up at me and smiling. “Oh thank God youre here, ” he said, panting. “What happened? ” I asked. “How long has it been? ” “Huh? ” “How long has it been? ” he repeated. “Im amazed any of this is still here. ” “Not long, ” I answered. “I spent so long wondering if I'd have to come back, ” he said. “I thought Id never see this place again. ” “What happened? ” “Oh who knows, ” he said. “Its been so long I can barely remember my own name, let alone. ” Aero stared at me, his face wrought with confusion and his eyes pleading. When I told him my name he looked deeply thankful. “Thats right, ” he said, nodding. “Yes I remember you now. And my… did I have a wife? ” “No, ” I said shaking my head. I almost said something else, standing there so close to him. Looking back, Im glad I didnt. Instead I asked, “Aero man, you gotta tell me what the fuck is going on? Who is that in your chair? ” “I guess I um, I wound up going somewhere, you know? It was beautiful. You should see it. They gave me everything. Everything I could ever want. Even eternal life. I was there for a lot longer than just one life time. That, ” he said, pointing to the body in the chair. “Thats the old me, my old shell before they gave me a younger one. They can do incredible things. It was beautiful. But now I'm home! ” He laughed with relief and gently caressed the carpet. “Home sweet home. ” He smiled at me, turning into the moonlight for the very first time, and an inexplicable wave of revulsion washed over me. I had to swallow it, trying hard to ignore the bile rising in my throat. It was hard to see, but something about his pallor unsettled me. “Come on, ” I said, lets get you back to your. Once more a look of confusion briefly flashed across his face, his eyes flicking to his surroundings before landing back on me. “Of course, ” he said, nodding slightly. “Home. This is. this isn't. ” I reached down and pulled him up, trying not to wince at the slick feel of his cold palms. Leaning down when I did, I couldnt help but notice a speck of blood across his shoes. “They gave you everything? ” I asked. “Oh everything, ” he said, suddenly gushing. “A human could want for nothing. Oh the food, the clothing, the knowledge. It was divine. ” “And the women? ” I asked. “Magnificent, ” he smiled. “Good, ” I said, trying to hold back a cry. Aero was gay. “Let me go get my keys, ” I said, my voice just starting to break. “I dropped them a while back. ” I turned and went to leave, stopping for a moment in the doorway to look at the doppelganger. He was staring at me, his eyes overcome with a frightening intensity. At that moment, I dropped the pretence and ran, making for a twisting path through the office and doing my utmost best to ignore the sounds of wet footprints behind me. I dont know if he was breathing or panting, but it sounded like a gale wind passing through a bee-hive. I was desperate to put something between this thing and myself, and for a moment I almost ran to the elevator but at the last moment images of me slamming my finger into the call-lift button as he shuffled out of the darkness burst into my mind, and I went for the stairs instead. The first thing I saw when I opened the door were the remains of the security guard. Unlike everything Id seen so far, something about him bent over, blood pooling around his shredded entrails, grounded me. He hadnt been altered or butchered. It wasn't like some crazy nightmare. Hed been assaulted and from the looks of it stabbed, repeatedly. I nearly slipped in his blood, but I was careful, managing to shuffle around it before bounding down those stairs, leaping three or four steps at a time, almost willing myself to fall just in the hope that itd get me down quicker. Above me, that thing burst into the stair well. I half expected it to taunt me but it just made these shrill, almost bird like cries of joy. It wasnt far behind me and it closed the distance fast. It was barely a single flight behind me when it spread its arms, let out a swine-like squeal, and jumped headfirst in my direction. It hit the concrete barrier hard and broke its neck immediately, falling in a broken pile of muscle and bones just a few feet away. It was like it didnt even know the limits of its own body, and I shuddered at the thought of what it might once have been. As it lay there, a small pool of that crimson fluid slowly oozed out of every orifice and from that strange blood rose thousands of little brown mushrooms, unfolding their caps with the smooth grace of a dancer. Barely a minute later and the flesh within had started to crumple and hiss, leaving loose skin hanging off bones like clothes on a washing line, the slackening mouth leering at me like a drunken idiots grin. I dont remember much else from that night. I awoke in the driver seat of my car a few hours later, engine idling at a green light as a van driver went caveman on his horn. I drove home, ready to write the whole mad night off, eager to pretend it hadnt happened. It was something I might have managed were it not for the brick waiting for me in my flat. Now Ive finally caught up with my rest and Im left wondering if its worth checking out the other eight people. I have maybe a night or more before the police realise Im the common denominator for a lot of carnage and misery, and maybe getting ahead of it is the only chance I have of knowing what the hell to do. But today, when I finally collapsed in my bed, I dreamed. I dreamed of a city on a coast with blood-red waters, a collapsed moon hanging in the sky. I dreamed of things that live there, filled with ambivalence and cruelty. I saw dungeons and torture chambers filled with people toiling away, and amongst them I saw Aero, Rolo, and Milkybar, old and frail, beating rocks with stones while shadow-covered figures grow ready to satisfy strange and unspeakable desires. And when I awoke, I was screaming, that strange brick burning its symbol into my palm. Edit: link to part 2.

Who hurt this man. Thiss a great 👍 song oh 😯 my god. 👏💋👂✌️❤️☝️😍😆✊👋👋👋. Dr hunter bennett. Dry run cast. Dry river yacht club dry river yacht club. Dry run movie 2019. Dry run alfred hitchcock.

 

Dry run of for loop. Dry bar crystal mn. Artist: clipping. Album: There Existed an Addiction to Blood Listen/Purchase: Bandcamp Spotify Google Play Music Tidal iTunes/Apple Music YouTube Background - provided by /u/yung_hokage_stef Comprised of rapper, actor, film producer, Tony award-winning thespian and frequent Sesame Street guest Daveed Diggs, alongside noise producers Jonathan Snipes and Bill Hutson, clipping. is an experimental hip-hop group hailing from Los Angeles, California. Since their inception in 2009, the trio has steadily released numerous projects to online audiences, each receiving acclaim from music publications and experimental fans alike, and in doing so have built up one of the most unique and critically celebrated discographies of the decade. Known primarily for their incorporation of harsh noise elements, clipping. have continuously rejected the comfort of familiar time signatures, standard song structures and catchy beats in lieu of hideously distorting them beyond recognition with unlikely inspiration from early avant-garde musicians such as John Cage and Pierre Schaeffer. Ambient art rap for the apocalypse, if you may. And yet, despite their near-inhospitable soundscape, clipping. have remained firmly rooted within hip-hop, proudly embracing the genres spirit of interconnectivity, anti-establishment and DIY ethics. From collaborations ranging from Hellfyre Club to Gangsta Boo, a consistent use of out-of-the-box samples, and ever-present political undertones, clippings discography is more like the music of yesteryear reprogrammed for a digital age in which every point of history has coalesced into one. Sonic Youth spliced with ODB. Kendrick Lamar aboard the Event Horizon. And now, Afrocentric mythos on Elm Street. Though clipping. consistently push the envelope by seemingly tearing down every expectation of what rap music should be, they simultaneously harken back to its earliest and purest forms. It doesnt take long to see how Public Enemy collaborators The Bomb Squads harsh, music-concrète-inspired production holds as much influence on their sound as industrial pioneers like Throbbing Gristle. Their first release in 2013 saw the group turning West Coast hip-hop on its head with the mixtape midcity, depicting the inner-city life and gang culture of California in perhaps the most disorienting and oppressive way imaginable. The G-funk of Long Beach and the bounce of Bay Area hyphy remained only in spirit as Diggs wove nihilistic passages of drugs, sex, and violence smothered between brash walls of static and ear-piercing synths, sometimes resembing a beat. Like E-40 on a Merzbow record, this dichotomy of old-school hallmarks blended with the hellish pulse of the future was enough for midcity to garner considerable online coverage and favourable reviews despite minimal promotion. They signed to the record label Sub Pop three months later. With Sub Pops backing they wasted no time getting to work on their self-titled debut, CLPPNG, taking the ideas they had with midcity and weaving them into a more digestible offering without compromising the abrasive qualities that drew fans in initially. With the harsh noise infusion taking a slight back seat this time around, clipping. focused their efforts on earworm hooks and upbeat instrumentals that were just fringe enough to keep the party going while making you question what the hell you were listening to. If a commercial rap album was manufactured by the deep web, it would materialize as CLPPNG. Released in 2014, it would go on to receive glowing reception, finding its way onto several year-end lists. In between tours of Broadway juggernaut Hamilton where Diggs starred as both Thomas Jefferson and Marquis de Lafayette, clipping. dropped the hypersexual EP Wriggle to tide fans over until the release of their upcoming full-length, Splendor & Misery, slated to drop later that year in 2016. An Afrofuturist space opera, Splendor & Misery tells the story of a lone survivor of an uprising on board an intergalactic slave ship where the AI becomes infatuated with the protagonist. A soundtrack born from a barely living hull, the survivor wrestles between relinquishing his freedom in hopes of salvation, or sentencing himself to a lonely existence in the black ocean of space. Intertwining the slave songs of the Underground Railroad with 2001: A Space Odyssey, its an incredibly ambitious work of art that feels more like a play than an album at various points. Aside from clipping. s typical critical fanfare, Splendor & Misery would go on to receive a nomination for the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation in Short Form, the first album in the awards history to earn that honour since 1970. Aside from releasing aquatic musical novella “The Deep” in 2017 (also nominated for a Hugo Award) clipping. would remain relatively quiet for the next three years. On August 14, 2019, their vow of silence would be broken when they dropped the song “Nothing is Safe” paired with the announcement of their upcoming third studio album There Existed an Addiction to Blood. Billed as a “transmutation of horrorcore”, listeners prepared for a revisiting of classic horror tropes through the lens of clipping. s dystopian workings, supported by assisting singles “La Mala Ordina” and “Blood of the Fang”. Unleashed a few weeks later on October 18, There Existed an Addiction to Blood would arrive just in time for All Hallows Eve. Review - provided by /u/yung_hokage_stef Much discussion can be had from the title of the album alone, There Existed an Addiction to Blood. On the surface, it clearly echoes vampiric imagery, supported by the numerous wooden stakes on the albums cover. But with a few Google searches, one comes to find that the title pays homage to Bill Gunns 1973 experimental horror film Ganja & Hess, specifically a line from “The Blood of the Thing” composed by Sam Waymon for the films OST. Regarded as a landmark within African-American independent cinema, Ganja & Hess tells the story of Dr. Hess Green, an anthropologist studying an ancient civilization of blood-worshippers originating from Africa, the Myrthians. After his assistant attacks him with a Myrthian ceremonial dagger, Hess discovers his newfound immortality as a vampire, and with that an insatiable sanguine thirst. Amidst struggling to cope with his addiction, his assistants wife, Ganja, comes to Hess looking for her husband who has since killed himself. The two quickly form a bond, with Hess turning Ganja into a vampire, and they soon begin to live out their ghastly lives together. Unfortunately for Gunn, Ganja & Hess was the exact opposite of what its financiers had hoped for. Hot on the heels of box-office hits like Blacula and Blackenstein, a modest budget of 350, 000 was supplied to create a cheap, sufficient black horror film that would satisfy audiences with mainstream horror schlock and blaxploitation tropes. Instead they got a challenging, albeit rewarding piece on addiction, religion, black identity and cultural assimilation/extinction. To the chagrin of Gunn, the films producers pulled it from release shortly after its first post-Cannes Film Festival premiere, where its length was cut drastically, its name changed, its rights sold to another company, and it was ultimately forgotten (though it has found a home amongst cult audiences. Why bring all this up? Because the inspiration Gunns film has on clipping. s newest outing goes far beyond a title. Much like Ganja & Hess, There Existed an Addiction to Blood uses the classic horror iconography of violence, mortality and the paranormal as a vehicle for something far more poignant and political. Topped off with masterful storytelling, mind-bending flows and production that is both breathtaking and bone-chilling, clipping. s third LP is a contorted portrait of the fragility of life within a city stained with shit, piss, and of course, blood. In true clipping. fashion, the project begins with an “Intro” track, typically characterized by Diggs setting the stage for what's to come through snappy rapid-fire flows, essentially a capella save for some ambiance and background noise. Over the sound of what appears to be somebody digging a grave, Diggs details a rushed story in second-person about a former drug dealer haunted by past ghosts, the scent of death approaching. Aside from being an enticing introduction, if youre a first time listener its an apt summation of Diggs capabilities as an MC. In a near-robotic fashion, Diggs breakneck vocals start and stop on a dime, with the ability to switch between intricate flows fluently as his sharp, careful diction enunciates each and every word with a precision that demands your attention. Amongst clipping. s organized chaos, Diggs is alarmingly calm and calculated. While his all-too-perfect delivery has been criticized in the past for being monotone and hollow, I think its a perfect match for There Existed an Addiction to Blood s grisly themes as he approaches the macabre with the numbed ease of a seasoned killer. A testament to the trios appreciation of horror media and its history, the following 10 tracks each contain their own concepts inspired by specific films or tropes, but still ultimately come together. Take “Nothing is Safe” for example. A faithful ode to the works of John Carpenter, “Nothing is Safe” features a sparse piano-based instrumental eerily reminiscent of the score to Halloween. Continuing the Carpenter homage, Diggs bases the plotline of the track on a clever reimagining of Assault on Precinct 13, a personal favourite of his. The original film follows a team of police officers tasked with defending a defunct precinct from swarms of gang members in response to brutal police killings. The album, however, puts things in reverse. The protagonists are now gang members holed up in a trap house, taking turns keeping watch as they continue their drug-dealing duties. To the dismay of our protagonists, it's not long before things go south, starting with just one casualty, and then eventually a full-blown police raid as the surviving members are picked off one-by-one while they stare imminent death in the face. It's an excellently paced track, with Diggs nimble vocals slowly becoming more hostile as the night draws on, and when all hell breaks loose, the ominous chorus becomes backed by 80s horror movie synths. The transformation of police officers into inhuman predators is simple but effective, but it also iterates on a common thread found throughout There Existed an Addiction to Blood. For a genre that regularly defies the laws of nature, much of the horror clipping. shines a light on is all too real. The squalor of poverty, the looming threat of law enforcement, the depravity of gang conflict, the specter of white supremacy. Struggles of survival in spite of all this is what propels each individual narrative that clipping. offers here to the fullest effect. The Ed Balloon-assisted “He Dead” finds a small-time trapper on a run for his life from cops, likened to werewolves, as he scrambles to find his allegorical silver bullet amidst a sea of racist profiling and violence. An all-too-common result of the mistreatment of minorities via the powers that be, subtle nods to PTSD and anxiety are given but brushed aside as our lead shifts gears to one thing and one thing only: “stay alive at all costs”. An excerpt from Ed Balloons intro carries the point home: Cause they don't think you matter, oh no They want to take your power, oh no And make you even lesser, oh no And add you to the number Don't let them get close They're screamin' out murder You've got to be cautious Before they destroy ya Conversely, “The Show” transports us to the set of a fabled online "red room" where unlucky contestants get horrifically mutilated for the viewing pleasure of others. Equal parts Saw and Videodrome, Diggs presents the listener with gory details of his victims torture over a clunky mechanical beat of whirrs and drones. Broken bones, flayed flesh, all to the tune of paying customers, and it does a formidable job of displaying how easy it is to be dehumanized when you're merely pixels on a screen for someone else's entertainment. Now, while itd be unwise to label There Existed an Addiction to Blood as simply horrorcore, it does aim to scare, even with its heavier implications. Horror is a genre where sound design is many times more important than what's actually on screen, and with its pantheon containing some of films most iconic soundtracks and effects, one should expect an album that is equally memorable. Thankfully, the work of Snipes and Hutton on this album is brilliant, combining their trademark noise and usage of ambiance with a darker, more sinister sound pioneered from the cassettes of Memphis hip-hop. The end product is a score that is stunning, if only for how downright disturbing it manages to get. Snipes and Huttons production stays loyal to Diggs ill-omened air, elevating already-morbid vignettes into something hideously captivating. Whether an urgent tense rhythm or a drumless vacuum of dread, There Existed an Addiction to Blood s instrumentals compliment Diggs every step of the way. “Club Down”, the byproduct of Vaudeville Villain and Night of the Living Dead swapping zombies for drug addicts, is a production highlight. Diggs sets the stage for a city rife with trash, drifters, and criminal activity, and though his harrowing account does more than enough to make the listener uneasy, it's the restless, carefully built atmosphere that makes this track a standout. Beginning with hefty industrial clangs and a gravelly bassline, its not long before the odd reverb-heavy scream gets thrown into the mix. Things only ramp up from here as Diggs, certain of the citys implosion, becomes nearly enveloped by the screaming, the cries for help getting louder as the gutter rises to the surface. By the end of the track the shrieks have echoed into each other creating an endless stream of pain and suffering that doesnt let up until the very last second. Its easily the most frightening song Ive heard in recent memory, and its execution shows Snipes and Huttons understanding of the nuance it takes to craft something truly terrifying. On a lighter note, There Existed an Addiction to Blood also continues clippings tradition of inventive audio techniques. The most notable example is “Run for Your Life”, a tale in which a kleptomaniac tries to evade a murderous drug queenpin after doing her wrong. The track relies almost exclusively on ambient recordings of a downtown area, but occasionally the sound of a car driving by can be heard blasting a Three 6 Mafia-type beat from its speaker as it passes the narrator (in a recent AMA they confirmed that they actually recorded real cars driving by them playing the instrumentals. This is what serves as the rhythm for Diggs flow, and its diegetic use, along with the ambiance, brings the urban setting to life. This song isnt about somebody scrambling for survival, the song is somebody scrambling for survival. Another sonic layer is added to the fray when guest star La Chat enters. The music heard in passing becomes the backbone of the beat as La Chat raps from the perspective of the pursuer, transporting the listener into her car, the very same car from which the music was playing from earlier! While reinforcing the self-contained world building without seeming gimmicky, its an ingenious artistic choice that adds much to the track and makes it yet another highlight on the production side. Even with numerous releases under their belt at this point, its endearing to see clipping. as eager to innovate as they were when they first broke out. The hip-hop spirit that clipping. carries with themselves still rings true on There Existed an Addiction to Blood, most notably with its guest appearances. In contention for most unexpected collaboration of 2019, “La Mala Ordina” features Benny the Butcher and El Camino of Buffalos Griselda collective. A reference to the 1972 crime drama The Italian Connection, “La Mala Ordina” exposes the rap tropes of the gangster lifestyle with its harsher, more cruel realities, making several allusions to Mafia-related matters. Doing his best Leatherface impression, Diggs rhymes of cracked skulls, peeled skin and dismembered limbs like an unhinged hitman, calling out all glorified “actors” who fail to understand the gravity of the set they supposedly claim. While Camino and Benny pull off solid performances, their verses arent that much different from what they usually offer, and I do wish they played more into the theme of the track (especially with a stage name like “the Butcher”. Regardless, the fact that this pairing simply exists still makes it one of their more notable guest appearances. Painting the mob life as a grainy, sleazy slasher film and recruiting two artists that embody the mafioso styles of 90s East Coast rap is a smart concept, bridging the seemingly incompatible worlds of horror films and organized crime into something very fluid. It continues with the aforementioned La Chat feature, which has clipping. paying respect to the city where sampling Halloween is a rite of passage: Memphis, Tennessee. Host to artists such as Tommy Wright III, Al Kapone, and of course Three 6 Mafia and its associates, Memphis, while perhaps not the birth place of horrorcore, served as a breeding ground for the subgenre in the 90s. Hundreds upon hundreds of cassette tapes would spawn from the region at its peak, featuring double time flows, satanic subject matter and lo-fi production, like the audio equivalent of a cursed VHS tape. Memphis is an absolute treasure trove of the stuff, and anybody willing to dig a bit beyond the reach of modern streaming services will find a scene that is bountiful as it is twisted (in fact I even did a writeup on some lesser known tapes from the city a while back. On the topic of La Chat, her appearance on There Existed an Addiction to Blood is clipping. coming full circle, melding old-school traditions with cybernetic bedlam. Aside from her inclusion, the likes of horrorcore pioneers Geto Boys, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony and Brotha Lynch Hung can be heard all over this album in Diggs' flow, mannerisms and subject matter, revealing yet another tether that keeps the otherwise astral trio grounded. Though its packed with subliminal stances beneath all its guts and gore, There Existed an Addiction to Blood s political angles are at their most overt on “Blood of the Fang”. Returning once again to Ganja & Hess, “Blood of the Fang” samples the titular line from the films OST throughout the song, interspersed between Diggs bars and breaks in the beat. Its a fitting use, as the topic at hand is indeed a need for blood. Not involving ancient vampires however, but rather, the history of bloodlust towards African-Americans brought forth by white supremacists. In a political climate where the deep American tradition of racism has more willingly emerged from its hiding places as of late, “Blood of the Fang” is clipping. s militant call to arms against those who perpetuate it. Serving as a celebration of black empowerment by way of the Black Panther Party, Diggs pays tribute to the numerous activists who fought to reject the normalized ideals of white nationalism whilst urging others to follow suit. There are no dissenting “opinions”, respectful debates or nebulous “both sides” cop-outs. Quoting Malcolm X, Diggs reiterates that the civil liberties of black people is something that will be fought for, “by any means”. The first verse is structured as an origin story for the Black Panthers, referencing the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the subsequent founding of the Panthers in 1966. Brief recounts of the opposition faced are alluded to, but the most striking aspect of this section is the framing used to portray the Panthers. With the opening line Drink it up, fifty years 'bout enough, time to come back. its as if Diggs is summoning them from the depths, depicting them as a primordial force amid slumber, patiently waiting in the shadows for whatever cursed act awakes them. Its an extremely powerful metaphor given that the Panthers were dissolved, but certainly not forgotten through their cultural impact, while also playing into the campy horror aesthetic. After a nod to social activist Angela Davis, the song bursts into a lively chorus sampling a work song from the Bongili people of the Congo Republic, furthering “Blood of the Fang”s Afrocentric themes. Diggs rolls with the topic of revolution, and by the third verse has assembled a newly resurrected Black Panther Party, back from the dead, unclaimed by the murderous attempts of White America. Like an undying Jason Voorhees in the eyes of racists, the reanimated likes of George Jackson and Bobby Seale to David Hillard and Afeni Shakur have risen from their graves, thirsty for blood and ready to strike. The song is a lot to grasp, squeezing several historical metaphors into three tight verses, but the hook sums it up flawlessly: Look back, blood on the ground Look straight, they still shooting' Jump back, still here Now what that tell you 'bout death? Death ain't shit, you got to- The history of black people in America is bloody to say the least, with the usual suspects being slavery and Jim Crow laws, among other things. Despite overcoming said hurdles, their long lasting effects cut deep. Whats more, in the present gun violence towards black people is still an all-too common occurrence in the form of police brutality and domestic terrorism. But still, the fight against racism persists, for not even the great equalizer of death is enough to stop those who spit in the face of oppression. It is hopeless and optimistic. Desolate and empowering. This is without a doubt one of clipping. s finest pieces. Lastly, I felt that this review wouldnt be complete without glossing over “Piano Burning”, the albums closer. Its audio of a piano. burning. For 18 minutes. This track serves as a tribute to composer Annea Lockwoods 1968 performance art piece of the same name. After contacting Lockwood herself for permission to recreate the composition, clipping. proceeded to follow its instructions and do just that. Im not going to pretend I understand it, and admittedly its something Ive only sat through once, skipping it on every subsequent listen. I doubt itll get many spins from anybody, but I do commend clipping. for adding it nonetheless. Its something that could easily be viewed as pretentious or detrimental to the albums experience, and yet, clipping. saw fit to incorporate it into their vision out of love for the music experimentation they hold so dear to themselves. As the piano is softly reduced to ash you are left with nothing but dead stillness, a ghostly but oddly welcome respite from the onslaught of death and decay you just bore witness to. For the second time this decade, clipping. have managed to take the medium of the concept album to a plane few artists would dare travel to. Lacking neither the theatrics nor the pure musical foundation to direct whatever splintered views they conjure, the trio regularly draws attention to previously dismissed perspectives while inspiring new ones. Much like a horror film, There Existed an Addiction to Blood to many will be viewed as abhorrent, distasteful and downright unenjoyable to engage with. But for those willing to stand in the crossfire of clipping. s digital warpath, an electrifying, forward thinking and politically charged love-letter to outsider art can be found. Favourite Lyrics They hunt as a pack and they packin' more firepower than you ever imagined The pack on your back rattles back and forth, no slack Go faster, go faster, they masters of trapping and You just a trapper who went for a Masters And dropped out when it didn't matter no more Your body of work didn't embody bodyin' bodies And watchin' them pile on the floor So what them books got you but dreams of everything lost? What does sleep bring you but screams at night when you toss? And turn hope into stone, your motto embossed Stay alive at all costs “He Dead” Rock, paper, ice pick, nice trick, no homonym Cutouts from a magazine, make letters for your mom n them Who remember arts and crafts, these killers is artisans With an arsenal to elevate your arteries, start again Rock, paper, zip tie, that slow burn, that drip dry That fissures in your field of vision make your world a fish-eye That round edge make it worser when the bubble burst you just cry Laid out on the floor without a tongue, trying to ask why Rock, paper, gunshot, classic out in some spots If you prefer the sweet life maybe you can die like gum drops Smooth and round and melting if you're left out when the sun's hot This is the preferred method of smart killers and dumb cops “La Mala Ordina” The symphony is tectonic, it shifts as the Earth is settlin' Precious metals are mined and a million minds have been meddlin' with time In the hopes of getting a golden noose for the neck Golden goose from a fairy tale, shittin' Fabergé eggs “Club Down” Fist in the sky if you ready, dice a ofay like confetti They thought you was playin' Though really the game was more trainin' There finna be (Blood) And much of it blues Time to fly, cause you know time fickle So cold, finna snow, swing a icicle Takin' out a police or a politician issuing a statement sayin' Turn it on a dime or get the nickel And it ain't just money, B, this ain't honey Sweet, but it's funny to think of them wantin' to speak When this pain is deep and ingrained in (Blood) “Blood of the Fang” Talking Points Much of the subject matter on this album (at least on the surface) could easily be viewed as edgy and repulsive. Do you find it easier to overlook and go along with content thats rather unpleasant when its intentionally done in the name of being scary or unsettling, much like with a horror film? Does this album have enough merit to rise above the pigeonholed categorization of a “Halloween rap album” and stand on its own, or could you only see yourself spinning this whenever October comes around? What is it about clipping. 's music that you find allows them to utilize rather outlandish backdrops (a sentient space station, the paranormal etc. in an evocative and effective manner when drawing parallels with more grounded topics such as racism or civil rights? Given that this album is heavily inspired by a cult-classic independent horror flick, are there any obscure horror films you feel more people should know about.

Dry run creek arkansas map. 1:03 when someone yawns in public. The way he whispers Drop that down😍😍😲. What would they know of crime…. WIKI. Detective Acle felt his scales tighten in discomfort as soon as his comm unit activated. The soft glow of the buzzing devices display triggered a mild panic in him. He already knew it would be another summons to a grisly scene. “Shit, again already…” he muttered to himself. Choel, the Xol waitress of the late-night diner he was having dinner in, couldnt help but overhear. He reached for his credit chit but was surprised to see her wave him off. “Dont worry about the check Acle, “ she purred, careful to give him a toothless smile. The Xols feline heritage made them appear predatory if they werent careful. “You have enough just trying to catch this killer. Take care of yourself ok. ” She needed the pay but didnt have the heart to charge him. She never knew if this would be his last visit. “Thank you Choel, Ill make it up tomorrow night, ” he promised momentarily distracted from the buzzing messenger. It was his favorite dive in the city, the more this case consumed him the more he found he retreated here. It was one of his last bastions of comfort, the empty halls of his apartment more torment than a sanctuary. He picked up his coat and took a deep breath of the diners clean, dry air before he walked back into Blese City. As the wet, humid, night air blanketed him, he longed to be back on his desert homeworld. This cursed trade colony had to be located on C134, or Swamp Rot as the locals called. This was primarily due to the persistent heat, humidity and dim light caused by its thick, cloudy nature. Even after ten years, the smell of the rotting city hit him like a slap in the face. Time to get to work, He thought as he answered his communicator, “Detective Acle. ” “Acle, we have a new stiff. Looks like your killer struck again. This time in the meat trading district. Get down there. ” Chief Osle stated. Acle felt his two stomachs drop; this was bad. The residents of the meat district were generally those among the most vicious carnivorous races in the universe. More than a couple of unwary sentients had disappeared there and never been found. They likely joined the wide selection of protein for sale. What in the hell did the Shadow Hunter do to disturb the meat district enough to work with station patrol? ” he thought as he saw the chiefs intel package flash on the communicator. He went ahead and summoned one of the citys autonomous transports. As he climbed into the transport, he started thumbing through the first of the crime scene images starting to stream into his device. Its going to be a long day… he thought as he began looking at each hoping for clues. Acle climbed out of the transport back into the warm, humid air of Blese city. From the aroma of methane that permeated the air he knew he was near the swamp gas fields. As he passed through the throng of media at the crime scene. The light shields prevented those vultures from viewing the investigation. As he passed through them, the smell of decaying crustacean combined with methane and other vile scents he couldnt identify assailed him. He found himself cursing his races sense of smell having to involve their tongues. He knew he would be smelling this one for weeks to come. The killer made a mess of this one, he grimly thought as he surveyed the Curlets remains. Its shell was cracked open and most of its limbs removed. The time and exact cause of death would be a challenge on this one as always. They never seemed to find the crime scene fresh, and the microbes and scavengers of C134 were incredibly aggressive. As he investigated the scene, he made notes on his tablet and took photos. What am I missing? He found himself wondering. Ive examined dozens of crime scenes, all with the same promising clues without any breakthroughs. In an almost rote manner, he began instructing the forensic team. “Check around the main body for any form of identification and pull a clean DNA marker from the victim. Lets find out who it is so we can notify his next of kin. Also, check for DNA around the bite marks that doesn't belong to our deceased. Check closely under each of his claws and feet for any cloth or skin samples. See if we can identify a clear cause of death and how his shell was cracked open. ” I hope we can at least identify what the killer is. The bites have always proven to be inconclusive, maybe we can get a break. Cause of death always appears to be blood loss, he thought while doing his best not to imagine the terror and state of mind of the victim. Even as his team went about their job, he found himself looking at one of the limbs lying on the ground. The shells cracks looked at first glance to be from a blunt force, but something about them was off. He couldnt figure out quite what though. As Acle briefed the chief on what he found, he could sense the weight on his shoulders. Chief was struggling with this case; it had taken its toll on the department. “Acle, you are the third detective Ive assigned this case. Ive watched this cycle too many times. I put out a call to the governor to see if any of the races with trade bases here could help. ” Chief Osle stated, his expression left no room for argument. “Okay Chief, I am guessing you are telling me this because we are getting some ‘help, ” Acle replied already wondering what they hoped to find after five years of this grisly killers work. “So, what type of super-cop or hunter am I being saddled with? ” “Youre not going to believe this, but its a human. Those pacifists from Orion-3 were the last thing I expected. They are sending in a ‘profiler. ” the Chief responded. “They are pacifists, what would they know of violent crime? Besides, what the hell is a profiler? “ Acle stated in surprise, momentarily forgetting about the crime scene, “Maybe they arent as peaceful as their diplomats try and claim. ” “I dont know Acle, but its more than anyone else has offered, ” Chief Osle whistled in exasperation. “Rest of those bastards just want to know why we havent caught the killer and when we will be done. ” “Shit, lets see what those hairless apes come up with. ” Detective Acle responded, doubting the humans could hurt the case any at this point. Jason couldnt quite believe what he was reading. His last case had been big, he expected a promotion, not a reassignment. Notice of Assignment: Agent Jason Nelsyv: New Post. Blese City, C134* Report Date: ASAP Assignment: Assist in the capture of the killer known as Shadow Hunter Notes: You are the first human to be given an interspecies assignment. You are representing our species on this so make us proud. The council will be watching this case closely. Department of Security This cant be happening, Jason thought as he looked up. His chief seemed focused on something on his desk. He cant even look me in the eye. “Chief, is this real? ” Jason asked though the body language alone told him it was. “Yeah… Jason, not much I can do about it. Already tried. The Diplomatic Corps made this call though. This came down from the top, guess you really made a name for yourself. The United Council has been trying for years to make a good name for humanity, ” the Chief responded, somehow looking even older and more haggard than he normally did. “They are probably trying to get a favorable spot in negotiations or…” trailed off the chief. Or they think this killer may be one of us and dont want that to get out, Jason finished mentally. He could see a knowing look on the Chief indicating he wasnt alone in this concern. The Chief was a good man, but a career married to his work had taken its toll. “Jason, be careful out there. We arent the best equipped to deal with some of these species, this is a dangerous assignment. More than just the killer will want to see you fail, ” Chief warned. The Chief looked like he wanted to say more, but Jason held up his hand. “Dont worry Chief, I know. ” The chief had taken the fall for an assignment that gave our whole species a black eye. Chief had killed a high ranking Xilso diplomats kid after it had attacked him. Shit, I gotta play diplomat and profiler on this on, Jason soberly thought. The Chiefs actions had almost caused war and the United Council was determined our violent past was something to hide. They wanted us to be the peacemakers and merchants of the galaxy, doing their best to hide any sign of our violent past. The Chief would have been cleared on self-defense without a second question were Xenos not involved. Instead, after a farce of a trial, Chief had been exiled to the most dangerous planet of the Xilso diplomats choosing. It had been all over the news, most of humanity still laughed that they had picked Earth. The United Council had most of the galactic community thinking Orion 3 was our homeworld. It fit their narrative better. “Well, I guess I gotta go pack. Good luck Chief, hope to see you again. ” Jason said as he offered out his hand. He was shocked at how tired the Chief looked as their eyes met and the Chief took it. “You watch your back kid, the xenos are a mean crowd and humanity doesnt want to show its claws. ” the chief stated his warning flatly. Both knew he wasnt supposed to take any weapons with him, but also realized no one was going to check. As Jason started to leave the office, he heard his communicator chime. He knew it would be his newest case file. Kifi was going home after a long day of working the fisheries on C134. His keen eyes and long legs allowed him to wade out and easily catch fish. His ancient ancestors had fished like that with their beaks, though he used a far more civilized spear today. It had been a good day; he had even worked into the second shift so he could earn a little more for his clutch back home. The pay sucked, but he was always able to bring his young fresh protein. As he walked through the dim streetlights he became aware that things werent right. Its far too quiet, where is everyone? It isnt that late; he began to think despite the perpetual dusk this planet existed in. The clang and rattle of something scurrying down an alley nearby made him jump. Its just a Trat, dont get so easily scared… you're almost home, he thought to himself. He was so busy looking down the alley he didnt even notice the glimmer in the night behind him before everything went dark. Jason stood before Chief Osle marveling how the ‘Ursian race described as bears could look so much like the classic depiction of an ‘Ewok from the ancient Star Wars series. I wonder if ancient humans met his race or the universe just has that much of a sense of humor, Jason mused. The Chiefs race was reputed to be fierce fighters, being nocturnal predators with a keen intellect. But Jason struggled to see much beyond a talking stuffed animal questioning his capabilities. “So, I am told you are a profiler… What do you do? What types of crime does your law enforcement even fight? ” Osle asked, trying to sound pleasant despite obvious reservations. Jason had to compose himself before replying, “Sir, the best way to describe us is we study criminals to learn what makes them tick. The better we understand them, the better we can help catch them. We learn how they think often better than they know themselves…” As the Chiefs seemed to consider this, his expression suddenly changed. Jason realized, Crap, what did I say that I shouldnt have. I didnt even make it a day. “What type of criminals? You're saying you help catch criminals by thinking like them? ” Osle muttered, his head cocked slightly sideways staring at Jason. “It's a bit unorthodox, and not sure how well you will be able to do it with an alien species, but interesting. ” Way to go, already have your sanity being questioned, Jason reprimanded himself before replying, “I mostly have worked serial killers. Our species developed the technique to solve some of our hardest cases. Ill do the best I can, Chief. ” Again, the chief cocked his head. “Did you say serial killers? I thought your race was pacifist? Orion 3 is a garden world. Most killers come from predator races. ” Shit, I shouldnt have said that, raced through Jasons mind as he scrambled to reply, “We have some people with deviant mindsets. ” After a hard look… for a teddy bear. “Your partner will bring you up to speed on the shadow killer. His name is Acle, a Kral, so try not to get in his way, ” the Chief said. He was tapping on the communication unit summoning the Kral. Jason turned in time to see a large lizard-like alien enter with a spike of quills running from its head down its back. Ok, quit staring at the raptor with the mohawk and introduce yourself you fool, he thought upon realizing he was staring slack-jawed. Acle had walked in to find his new ‘partner in the Chiefs office. He instantly felt disdain looking at it. He couldnt help thinking, He looks more helpless than I had anticipated. Not only do I have to chase the deadliest killer this city has ever seen, but Im also saddled with this useless creature. “Chief, I am heading down to the warehouse district. They just found another one, ” Acle stated. hoping to escape before he could get saddled with the epitome of weakness before him. “Great, here is your new partner, Jason, ” the chief said dashing that hope. Acle caught the mischievous twinkle in the chiefs eye. Damn, should have known he wouldnt let me off that easily, he thought. “Hello Ace, pleased to meet you. ” The human began offering his hand while butchering his name. Acle barely looked at, rather passing his view to Chief Osle in a silent plea. “Well, get to work Ace ”, the Chief Osle replied, not even trying to hide his amusement. As Acle looked towards his new partner he noticed something he didnt expect. Some primitive part of his mind recoiling as his partner moved. He wasnt sure what about the movements triggered it, but this did not look like the prey species he expected. “Lets go, we have a crime scene. ” Ace replied, noting as the human got up, he noted the profile of a weapon under his suit. Given his obvious lack of natural defenses, maybe with that, he will live more than a week, Acle thought. The human didnt seem bothered as he recovered his hand and began to move towards the door. As Acle followed it, he again noted how the human moved with silent ease even over the stone flooring that was unnerving. As they arrived at the Crime scene, Jason marveled momentarily at the light curtains that had been erected to prevent the paparazzi and onlookers from seeing too much. He easily noticed the glances he got as he followed ‘Ace towards the crime scene. Damn the Council, they have everyone convinced we are helpless pacifists. None of them are going to take me seriously, I am just a curiosity to them. As Ace began to examine the scene, Jason watched him as carefully as he examined the scene. Jasons long history with crime scenes began to draw his eye to inconsistencies in this one. They are so busy looking at the trees they cant see the forest is wrong, he realized. He continued to piece together the inconsistencies as he waited for the test he knew was coming. They may be different species, but they were new partners. Ace finally seemed to notice that Jason seemed to be sitting back looking at everything. He almost sounded considerate as he said, “I hope this isnt your first crime scene. Its a bad one. ” Jason felt grim as he replied, “Far from it. ” Doing his best to keep the mental images from his past from haunting him now. He had to stay focused on the now. Ace looked at him appraisingly, “Well then, youre here to help, what do you see? ” Ace said while shaking his head. His exhaustion from this case was obvious in how he had instructed the forensic team when he arrived. “Ace, this is a display, not where the crime happened, ” Jason replied as he carefully walked around and examined the scene while donning a pair of sterile gloves. “The killer wants to put on a show. ” Walking up to the corpse, he raised a feathered limp to show the injuries, “These bite marks arent real, no meat is missing from the center of them. Based on what I am seeing here, and in what I reviewed of the case files, I suspect our killer is giving us a Red Herring. I am guessing the news media has been getting ahold of this. ” Acle was quiet for a moment, “What is a Red Herring? ” “Its a false clue, something to throw an investigator off his trail, ” Jason replied, chastising himself for using human slang. “The media has started to call him the Shadow Hunter, and my name is Acle” his partner replied as he stared at the bite marks again. “Not a problem Ace. In this type of crime, attention can be a major motivator. The nickname likely only encourages him. ” Jason continued as he stepped carefully around the remains of the dead crane-like Xeno. “Its Acle, why do you think this isnt where the crime happened then? ” the reptilian partner replied. “For starters, where's the blood? Look around at this crime scene, it's filthy. Yet in the dust and mud on the floor do you see signs of a struggle? For all the damage I see on this body, the only blood I see are where parts of this poor being are set. I think this is just a display, again to throw us off Ace” Jason replied, watching as Ace looked around as though seeing the scene for the first time. “I doubt anyone heard anything and saw anything. Not because they are hiding, but because this body was laid out for us to find. ” Jason continued absorbed in what he was seeing, “It is interesting how the body is arranged. It's as though the killer wants us to think this is some attack motivated by food. Look at the ‘bite marks closely though and you will see clean cuts. Not ragged tears, most of the meat is still on the body, but I bet parts are missing. ” Jason was so lost in his train of thought, he never looked up to see how his partner was taking this information. Using sterile blue gloves, he started to examine the torso of the victim. “Its odd that in the case files I reviewed while traveling here this killer has never hit the same race twice… “ stopping momentarily to point at specific spots on the torso, Jason continued, “Look here, I believe this being was dissected. Perhaps our killer is trying to learn anatomy? ” After a momentary pause, a chilling thought occurred to Jason, “You dont have a black market for living organs here do you? ” Jason looked up to notice Ace was staring at him. While he wasnt sure what the emotion was, yet the way Ace began looking around was telling. The reptilian xenos quills appeared brighter and standing even taller as he stared at the crime scene. “Why would anyone want organs? No one survives the removal, ” He replied. Jason made a mental note. They should have warned me that organ transplants and artificial organs are not common knowledge. “When the humans offered to send you, they said you were a profiler. What exactly do you do? ” Ace asked as he looked around at the scene, suddenly intent on the dust on the floor. “I specialize in understanding criminals. I study crime scenes and demographics to get an understanding of who the killer is and what they are thinking. I am normally assigned to… cases with seemingly random killings, ” Jason replied, hoping he didnt have to explain further. Jason felt a mild panic though when his partner replied, “You are trained to think like a killer? How… I mean… You change how you think? ” “I dont become the killer. I just gain insight into them, what they are thinking and why they are doing it. ” Jason quickly replied. As his partner appeared to pull back slightly Jason was stunned by his response. “I was never told your race had mind readers! ” Jason silently cursed the Unions diplomatic corps. Why in the hell didnt they warn me no one else had profilers. A/N: I know it has been a while since I last posted. I also know I have slowed down a lot. Part of this is life comes first and lately I have had a lot of changes. The other part is I am trying to ensure I post higher quality work than I used to. This story is the first of a new series I am starting called Profiler. I have been posting on r/HFY for a while now and cannot say enough how much I appreciate the support and feedback. As I near the 100-story mark though, I have on several occasions been asked if I had a Patreon page. Until now, I didnt, but I have decided I am going to start a Patreon page. I will still post to here work that fits this sub. I am not going to pay-wall my work but intend to try my hand at shorts that are not purely HFY. My immediate intent is to rewrite some of my older stories and post first copies of new work there. Stories that fit the HFY genre will then later be reposted here. My page is here should you have interest in first postings or just want to give a tip is here: Also a thanks to u/dontcallmesurely007 for catching the planet inconsistency.

Song is fire, just Imagine Tory Lanez On a Remix. Dry run presentation. Dry run auto switch. Anyone here in 2020😘. Dry run definition. Dry run pennsylvania. Dry run legion post 232. 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This beat is so entrancing. It hurts so good and is a banger at the same damn time. Why the f*ck am I listening to this with a broken heart.

Dry run pendleton county west virginia

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annual another answer anticipate anxiety any anybody anymore anyone anything anyway anywhere apart apartment apparent apparently appeal appear appearance apple application apply appoint appointment appreciate approach appropriate approval approve approximately Arab architect area argue argument arise arm armed army around arrange arrangement arrest arrival arrive art article artist artistic as Asian aside ask asleep aspect assault assert assess assessment asset assign assignment assist assistance assistant associate association assume assumption assure at athlete athletic atmosphere attach attack attempt attend attention attitude attorney attract attractive attribute audience author authority auto available average avoid award aware awareness away awful baby back background bad badly bag bake balance ball ban band bank bar barely barrel barrier base baseball basic basically basis basket basketball bathroom battery battle be beach bean bear beat beautiful beauty because become bed 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familiar family famous fan fantasy far farm farmer fashion fast fat fate father fault favor favorite fear feature federal fee feed feel feeling fellow female fence few fewer fiber fiction field fifteen fifth fifty fight fighter fighting figure file fill film final finally finance financial find finding fine finger finish fire firm first fish fishing fit fitness five fix flag flame flat flavor flee flesh flight float floor flow flower fly focus folk follow following food foot football for force foreign forest forever forget form formal formation former formula forth fortune forward found foundation founder four fourth frame framework free freedom freeze French frequency frequent frequently fresh friend friendly friendship from front fruit frustration fuel full fully fun function fund fundamental funding funeral funny furniture furthermore future gain galaxy gallery game gang gap garage garden garlic gas gate gather gay gaze gear gender gene general generally generate generation genetic gentleman gently German gesture get ghost giant gift gifted girl girlfriend give given glad glance glass global glove go goal God gold golden golf good government governor grab grade gradually graduate grain grand grandfather grandmother grant grass grave gray great greatest green grocery ground group grow growing growth guarantee guard guess guest guide guideline guilty gun guy habit habitat hair half hall hand handful handle hang happen happy hard hardly hat hate have he head headline headquarters health healthy hear hearing heart heat heaven heavily heavy heel height helicopter hell hello help helpful her here heritage hero herself hey hi hide high highlight highly highway hill him himself hip hire his historian historic historical history hit hold hole holiday holy home homeless honest honey honor hope horizon horror horse hospital host hot hotel hour house household housing how however huge human humor hundred hungry hunter hunting hurt husband hypothesis I ice idea ideal identification identify identity ie if ignore ill illegal illness illustrate image imagination imagine immediate immediately immigrant immigration impact implement implication imply importance important impose impossible impress impression impressive improve improvement in incentive incident include including income incorporate increase increased increasing increasingly incredible indeed independence independent index Indian indicate indication individual industrial industry infant infection inflation influence inform information ingredient initial initially initiative injury inner innocent inquiry inside insight insist inspire install instance instead institution institutional instruction instructor instrument insurance intellectual intelligence intend intense intensity intention interaction interest interested interesting internal international Internet interpret interpretation intervention interview into introduce introduction invasion invest investigate investigation investigator investment investor invite involve involved involvement Iraqi Irish iron Islamic island Israeli issue it Italian item its itself jacket jail Japanese jet Jew Jewish job join joint joke journal journalist journey joy judge judgment juice jump junior jury just justice justify keep key kick kid kill killer killing kind king kiss kitchen knee knife knock know knowledge lab label labor laboratory lack lady lake land landscape language lap large largely last late later Latin latter laugh launch law lawn lawsuit lawyer lay layer lead leader leadership leading leaf league lean learn learning least leather leave left leg legacy legal legend legislation legitimate lemon length less lesson let letter level liberal library license lie life lifestyle lifetime lift light like likely limit limitation limited line link lip list listen literally literary literature little live living load loan local locate location lock long long-term look loose lose loss lost lot lots loud love lovely lover low lower 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In recent decades, particularly since the horror that erupted on 9/11, more than a few dramatic movies have dealt with real-life events and/or social issues in ways that are often so engaging that they supersede most Hollywood blockbusters. Some of the very best deal with the kind of rampant corporate malfeasance that goes on when there are few or no regulations in place to protect the people that these corporations have a tendency to harm with all-too-painful regularity. DARK WATERS is one of those films.
Mark Ruffalo portrays Robert Billott, a Cincinnati-based attorney who is part of a law firm that represents dozens of multi-billion dollar corporations, the biggest not only in America but the world at large as well. But when he hears about a farmer in his own hometown of Parkersburg, West Virginia who has lost nearly two hundred head of cows because they drank from toxically polluted water, he wades into the situation (albeit reluctantly at first) and discovers that one of the companies he has represented in his time, no less than DuPont, is the corporation whose dumping of their toxic waste is responsible for not having only killed livestock, but poisoning and/or severely deforming almost everybody there in Parkersburg, nearly seventy thousand in all. Combing through documents dating all the way back to the 1970s, he learns that some of this poisoning may be connected to a very well-known product, that DuPont created back in the early 1960s (everyone will know all too well what the name of that product is) and is in practically everything in every home in the United States, including pots and pans. The toll it took on him and his family, including the relationship with his wife (portrayed by Anne Hathaway) was almost too much for him (he ended up in the hospital for a time) but he kept on fighting for the people in his town, getting blood samples from everyone tested to be used as evidence of DuPont's corporate malfeasance, which virtually bordered on corporate homicide.
Based on Nathaniel Rich's article "The Lawyer Who Became DuPont's Worst Nightmare" that appeared in the New York Times Magazine in 2016, DARK WATERS is quite well directed by Todd Haynes (I'M NOT THERE; WONDERSTRUCK) and co-written by Matthew Michael Carnahan (LIONS FOR LAMBS; DEEPWATER HORIZON. Ruffalo, who portrayed one of the Boston Globe reporters in the much-acclaimed 2015 drama SPOTLIGHT, ably portrays Billott in a way that gives us a glimpse into his way of thinking that, just by having represented DuPont in his time, he himself may have been somewhat responsible for the years-long poisoning of his own hometown, even if only indirectly. The atmosphere conjured up by Haynes is not too dissimilar to what we saw in ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN, SPOTLIGHT, or THE POST, one that is decidedly sinister, shadowy and arguably corrupting. Tim Robbins, well known for his highly liberal political beliefs, does a good job of playing Ruffalo's partner in the firm, who is initially extremely reluctant to take his side but then does when the facts about DuPont become too big to ignore. Mare Winningham is also good as one of Parkersburg's many residents who have to face what the town's biggest employer has been doing to then for decades.
While it may seem all too common for movies to take what may seem like potshots at multi-billion dollar conglomerates, when they do the wrong thing (which seems to happen all too frequently, as it did with DuPont) then those wrongs have to have a light shone on them. This is what DARK WATERS does; and as a result, it was one of the best films released in 2019.

Dry run protection. Dry run and bike. Day run. Dr ronda gaiser columbus ohio. Now we're saying 'honk' for a different reason. Another project to finish please, thanks. “Grandmother, what have you done? ” The Elven woman, garbed in robes of light green, remained standing at the window and allowed the question to reverberate around the chamber. Once its echoes had been replaced by silence, she turned, beckoning the speaker with one curled hand to join her. Her unlined face remained still, emotionless, but the young Elven man knew better and immediately crossed over to join her. Her eyes never left his, pools of brown so dark they were near black and he felt almost as if he had been struck. Finally, she averted her gaze and the younger Elf released a breath he had not realised he had been holding. “You are lucky Vaniel that there are none others to hear your churlish outburst. For that reason I will overlook it but do not forget who governs here. ” “Of course, ” Vaniel answered, his gaze averted to the wood of the floor. After a moment he dared to raise his gaze once more, to see his grandmother looking back at him. She sighed and though there was no sign of it upon her features, he could feel the tiredness emanating from her. “I had little choice grandson. There would be little left to govern if I did not take decisive action. We are a small gathering as it is, we cant not bear any more losses. ” Vaniel opened his mouth before clicking his small, bright white teeth back together, a strong effort to curtail his emotions. His grandmother nodded her approval and he breathed out deeply, staring past her out of the carved window, to the square below. A few Elves were dotted around though most stayed within their homes built within the trees. All though would be focused on the six humans who strode through their village, their gait sure, their weapons clearly visible. “Hiring humans though, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. They are little better than animals. ” He paused, looking back at the Elven woman, wary of his words now it was too late to silence them. To his surprise she laughed briefly, a light, bright trill that echoed out and floated down to the square. One of the humans seemed to pause at the sound before shrugging their burly shoulders and continuing on with their comrades. “They are dear grandson. Untouched by magic. Shunned by the Gods themselves. ” She finally turned from the window and strode into the room, her gait so light as to make no noise on the hardwood floor. She plucked a bottle from a frosted bowl on the table, pouring a generous amount of the strong wine within into two carved cups. As Vaniel joined her, she poured a small measure of iced water into each, before taking a sip of her own. Vaniel mimicked her, taking a seat once she had deigned to sit herself. “But they have uses. Well. They have one use. And it is that use which I have employed these humans for. ” “We dont need some human mercenaries to protect us, ” Vaniel countered as his grandmother sipped at her wine, her slippered foot tapping idly against the chair. “We can take care of the centaurs ourselves. ” “Oh we can? Well that is good news dear grandson, ” she drawled, pouring herself a further measure. “Then we have lost half a dozen Elves to lure them into a sense of false security? Will you lead the charge, with that fruit peeler upon your hip? A centaur is rather more difficult to skin than a peach you see. ” Vaniel frowned, though managed to refrain from voicing his anger. His hand unconsciously brushed over the dagger at his hip, an affectation he and some of the other younger Elves had adopted, though the rest of the enclave found the display of exposed steel distasteful and boorish. “But to have these humans come in and do it for us? It does not sit well with me Grandmother. ” “That is because you are young Vaniel. There is no dishonour in this. This is what humans are for. I have heard of whole wars waged between Elven clans, each with a financed human army, and not a drop of our blood spilled. It was the civilised approach. And they do it well. ” Vaniel drained his own wine, tucking a few loose strands of black hair behind his long ear. “I am no coward Grandmother. ” She smiled at that, nodding her head and reaching out, to grasp his slim hands in her own. “I know that Vaniel. As do the others. But these Centaur raiders, they are not worth the risk of your life. The humans will stamp them out swiftly then be on their way. ” “And if the humans fail? ” “They wont. ” She leaned back into her seat, pulling an ornate dish of crystal clear water towards her. “And if they do, then the realm has simply lost a few more humans. ” … “Why are we doing this Reeve? ” Reeve sighed heavily, leaning his spear against a nearby tree trunk and ignoring the smirk of Gwen, who knelt nearby checking her sword. “Because Tomos, we need gold. Remember gold? Its the shiny thing you trade for ale. ” The huge man grumbled under his breath, somehow shrugging off the punch his sister thundered into his shoulder. “Shit job is all, ” Tomos said, throwing a punch back at Larna who was equally unperturbed as it thudded into her arm. The twins were similar enough in looks as to be confusing, despite their differing sexes. It was not helped by Tomos penchant for wearing his hair long and bound behind his large head, his sister opting to keep hers shaved close to her skull. The easiest way to tell them apart was in the brutal weapons they carried, a heavy war hammer for him, and an equally solid axe for her. They hefted these now, throwing powerful practice swings into the forest air. “Shit jobs still pay Tomos, ” Reeve answered, unspooling a length of long tough rope onto the ground. Gwen, her weapon deemed suitable for her purposes and now sheathed, joined him, grabbing one end and moving to tie it around a sturdy trunk. Reeve did the same with his end, ensuring it was secure with a few strong tugs. He stabbed his spear into the ground next to it, laying his shield alongside and stretched his limbs out, his hardened leather armour squeaking slightly. “Now everyone get into position. Theyll be riding through here soon. ” “About fucking time, ” a voice moaned from a tree above, the speaker hidden partly within the foliage. “My arse is falling asleep up here and I think Van needs a shit. ” “Shut up and get ready Sal, ” Reeve ordered, taking his position crouched behind the tree trunk. Van remained silent as usual but a glob of spittle descended to the floor from where he was stashed. It was a filthy brown, stained from the tobacco he was endlessly chewing. Gwen mimicked Reeve and squatted by her tree, taking the thick, rough rope in her hands. The twins wandered back behind them, still swinging their weapons, though their complaints had stopped with the promise of work to come. The band lay in wait, some with watchful eyes on the forest ahead, others with their eyes closed. Time passed, Reeve shifting his weight to keep his limbs from going dead, when he paused hearing what sounded like a whinny in the distance and a low rumble, like far away thunder. Gwen caught his eye, mouthing over to him. Theyre here He nodded back, gripping the rope himself as the noise grew louder, the herd of Centaurs galloping gracefully through the forest, aiming once more for the Elven village their tribe had settled near. Eventually Reeve could make out the shapes careening towards them, over a dozen of the creatures. As they approached he noted they were a sub species of centaur, with thin stag like antlers upon their brows, their equine bodies smaller than he had expected. As planned, the herd was running in their general direction, taking roughly the same route as they had always done. He turned slightly and gestured to the twins, who leapt up immediately and bellowed a challenge at the approaching warriors. A few at the head of the herd reared back slightly in surprise at the sudden appearance of two large humans, before the whistling cries of their brethren spurred them on and they charged as one. The twins stayed still, though their muscles were tense with unreleased energy as the horde descended upon them. As they passed the two large trees that obscured Reeve and Gwen, the two suddenly lifted and tightened the rope they held, grunting as the weight of the centaurs crashed into it. The front rank were taken down completely, many shattering ankles and bones, their comrades behind thundering to the floor themselves as they fell over their panicked bodies. The few at the back who were able to stop in time reared up at the sight, bellowing their anger and fear. A few of these were immediately silenced by the whistling shafts of arrows suddenly sprouting from their chests and necks, the hands scrabbling for their own weapons going limp. Reeve and Gwen moved as one, spinning around the other side of their trees, to face those that had run around the pile of writhing bodies. Reeve thrust out with his spear at the nearest, using its own cantering momentum to embed the point deep into the furred chest of its lower half, letting go of the weapon as he did so. With a practiced motion he drew his sword, ignoring the baying of the dying creature behind him, and swung his shield heavily into the side of another centaur as it began to trot past. It fell heavily to the floor, kicking out frantically until Reeves blade snaked down and ripped a bright line across their torso. A third centaur charged towards him, hoping to take catch him unaware. This one had managed to unsheathe its own long blade, and it whirled it over its head while screaming a war cry. Reeve gripped his shield tightly, positioning himself behind the worn metal and throwing himself forward. He used the weight of his body and connected solidly with the front left leg of the centaur, the shield briefly thudding into him painfully from the force but the loud snap of the limb breaking echoing out. He rolled away before the bulk of the centaur could land on him, jumping up to stamp on its shattered leg. Before it could mount a defense, his sword was buried through its torso and his eyes scanning the rest of the forest. Gwen had only two centaurs to contend with, though both careened towards her at the same time. She ran towards them, a tactic the creatures clearly hadnt anticipated, the frenzied shot one had managed to let loose from its small bow spiralling well clear of her. She targeted this one, throwing her sword towards it. The blade spun through the air, slashing into the chest of the centaur who reared up in pain, crashing into the floor. The other hesitated slightly, struggling to unsheathe its weapon. Before it could do so, Gwen leaped powerfully from the floor, one arm slung around the centaurs torso and gripping its long beard for purchase to seat herself behind it upon its equine back. It reared up to knock the human lose but Gwen simply tightened her grip, her right hand now slamming a dagger into its chest repeatedly, each thrust to the hilt and followed by a thick spurt of dark blood. As it fell to the ground, she turned to the one she had maimed with her sword, but it was fleeing, its gait uneven as it left a stream of blood in its wake. It had managed to make some ground when an arrow suddenly sprouted between its shoulder blades, sending it thudding to the forest floor. Gwen raised a closed fist in thanks as she ran to retrieve her blade. The twins had heard every stereotype and myth about humans. As they barrelled into the squirming pile of centaur bodies, they sought to prove them all true. They largely ignored those that had shattered limbs in the initial fall, centaurs usually being incapacitated by a broken leg like their mundane counterparts. Those that struggled to find their footing or tried to press forward to engage were met swiftly with a crunching hammer into their centre of mass or an axe embedded into their side. The twins were indiscriminate in their work and barely aimed their huge weapons, content to power blows into portion of flesh that was presented. Skulls were crushed, the antlers splintering apart as the hammer fell while the axe hacked through kicking legs like scything wheat. Throughout this, arrows continued to fly over their heads and thud into the diminishing mass of four legged warriors, priority given to those who were attempting to retreat. The remaining centaurs trampled their own as they tried to turn and run back to the safety of the woods, though those that managed it were cut down more brutally by solid blows cracking and splitting their spines and torsos. Reeve and Gwen waded in from the back stabbing into those still moving until eventually the forest was silent once more, save for the heavy breathing of the humans. Tomos looked down, seeing a small Centaurian arrow embedded into the meat of his shoulder. He blew out a guttural sigh and wrenched the implement out, hissing slightly as it came loose. He spat, looking over to Reeve who was wiping his own blade of centaur blood. “Shit job, ” he growled, dropping his hammer unceremoniously onto the skull of a dead centaur. …. “Youre bleeding. ” Vaniel did nothing to hide his revulsion as he stared at the blood trickling from Tomos wound. The injury itself was insignificant, the Centaurian arrow being small and so he had mostly ignored it. The Elf seemed unable to take his eyes from the sight. “It is nothing, ” Reeve interjected, his own face bearing bruises from the conflict. “Part of the trade. ” “The trade…” Vaniel repeated slowly, his gaze still on Tomos. The human towered over him, so his neck was craned upwards. “How…base. ” Sal bristled slightly at his words but said nothing. Reeve nodded to her, then turned to Tomos, slapping him on his good shoulder. “Go have your sister bind the wound. ” Tomos opened his mouth to complain, his hand tightening around the haft of his hammer, still dripping ichor. Before he could, Larna had gripped him, not caring if it was his injured shoulder and they half wrestled each other away from the square. Vaniel seemed to find this even more fascinating. “Brutes, ” he said, his eyes wide as he saw the two giants jostle. Gwen frowned now, stepping forward slightly with one hand upon the pommel of her sword. “What was that long ear? ” she hissed, the Elf looking over at her in surprise at being addressed. He looked her up and down briefly, taking in her worn armour and muscled frame. He sucked his teeth sharply and turned from her, back to Reeve. “You are the…. ” “I am, ” Reeve said, struggling to keep his tiredness from his voice, both from combat and dealing with Elves. “We dealt with the other Elf before. The female. ” “She is indisposed, ” Vaniel answered, waving one pale hand in the air. “What are you called? Im told you mercenary groups have names. What is it? ” Gwen sighed, turning to follow the twins, whose bickering could still be heard clearly in the square. As she walked off, she raised one hand behind, middle finger raised. “The Beasts of Burden, ” Reeve answered eventually, his face stoic. He held his gloved hand out. “Payment? ” “Really? I had thought it may be something more romantic. Or at least dramatic. ” He looked at the remaining three humans and sniffed. “Obviously I was too optimistic. ” Reeves open hand clenched into a fist and he ground his teeth, repressing the urge to draw his steel for the second time that day. Sal stepped forward, walking around the Elf and staring at the village, at the homes woven amongst the trees. “Where is everyone? ” she asked, leaning close enough that Valien took a step away involuntarily, causing him to almost bump into Reeve. He spun to face him, his face scrunching up as he breathed in the thick odour of sweat and blood. He paled slightly and coughed, though tried to cover it with a hand. “I saw you, you know, ” he said, his voice tight and hidden behind his palm. “Grandmother scryed you. We saw was chaos. Undignified. ” “What were you expecting Elf? ” Sal scoffed, walking past him to stand alongside Reeve. “A bard playing to cover the screams? A dash of blood just for flare? Oh fuck, not honourable combat? ” The Elf glared at her, though his ears twitched, his eyes falling to the bow she had stowed on her back. He blinked at it, seemingly lost in the memory. Reeve leaned forward and snapped his fingers loudly in the Elfs face. “Pay. Us. The. Money. ” Finally the Elf seemed sprung from his reverie, reaching within his tunic to retrieve a soft leather pouch. He hefted it in his palm, seemingly on the verge of saying something more until Reeve growled angrily. Vaniel threw the pouch over and Reeve swiftly stowed it, after checking the weight briefly. “You would think a race as short lived as yours would take more care, ” Vaniel began, though his voice wavered slightly as the humans glared back at him. “Take…” “Jobs done, ” Reeve interrupted, turning on his heel and striding from the village. Sal grinned at the Elf. “Yeah, fuck off Elf, ” she added, before laughing and gripping the arm of Van, who let himself be led willingly, though first he threw Reeve his spear and then waved jauntily at the Elf. The three humans left, following the trail of their comrades and the Elf could vaguely hear them discussing what to do with the coin. Vaniel shuddered briefly, his gaze drawn to where the humans had stood, splatters of blood and gore drying into the dirt. He felt a wave of nausea take him and battled with it briefly, furiously aware that the rest of the village were peering at him from their hiding places. He reached down and drew his dagger, the small blade a bright sheen of unblemished steel. He stared at it briefly before tossing it into the mud where the humans had stood, the weapon sinking partly into the soiled ground. “Fucking humans. ”.

Dry run nursery. Im a campground manager. I have a list of rules to ensure everyone stays safe. Before I go further, though, I should tell you that I got to talk to a lovely individual recently who gave me some more info about my visitor from last time, our dear Frau Perchta, the Belly Slitter. I feel I should share it with you. If youve been particularly wicked shell sew you back up not with a needle and thread, but a plough and chain. Think about that next time you decide to do something especially bad. or put off cleaning the house for later (yes shell cut you open for being messy. Anyway, back to the vanishing house. If youre not sure what the vanishing house is, you should really just start at the beginning. So about those rules. I dont believe anything should be an absolute, because intent is more important than the letter of the rule. A rule is meant to coerce a desired outcome, after all, and if theres a way to get that outcome that might not be exactly within the confines of the rules… well, whats more important? Dogma or results? I did what I said you shouldnt do. Rule #3. The one I keep saying over and over because its something that everyone should know, if not from folklore, than at least from watching Lord of the Rings. Dont follow the lights. I followed them. Thanks u/Dr_Valen for the suggestion. I like my aunt but days of quality time with her in the car was getting to be a bit much. She mostly talked about my uncle - her late husband - and while I think this was part of her grieving process, I was woefully unqualified and mostly just sat there saying “uh-huh” occasionally and hoping to god the vanishing house showed up and rescued me from the conversation. But I started trying to find the lights each night after that suggestion and finally, they showed up. And I went after them. They tried to lead me into danger a handful of times before we reached the edge of my property. They took me to the mound where the thing in the darkness lies sleeping but I went around and waited until the lights began moving again, reluctantly, in another direction. They took me to the people with no faces but as I have said before, they will not harm me. I felt them looking at the mantle I wore and the cup and candle I carried and one of them asked me in a low voice where I was going. To the vanishing house, I told them. I asked if they knew the way, hoping to circumvent having to follow the damned lights all over the campground. They did not, they said. They would make a sacrifice for me, however, in the hopes that some power would smile upon me. I think they offered because it was the polite thing to do. I declined. I know what kind of sacrifice they would make and with no campers on site, it would be one of my staff. Besides, I had the mantle of Saint Nicholas. A power has already given me its favor. After that, the lights took me to where frost hung on the leaves and coated the ground, but I wore the mantle and the cold could not touch me and I passed by unscathed. They took me past the lady in chains but I was unmoved by her cries and weeping and her, too, I passed by. Finally, they took me to the edge of the property. They stopped just shy of the border, marked only by my memory and a few scattered “no trespassing” signs. Part of my land is fenced, but not here. Not on this edge of the campground where the road is some distance away, across neglected and empty land. I figure that few people are going to be willing to haul their gear this far in order to sneak into the campground and those that are physically able to are likely backpackers who are respectful enough of the land to pay for its usage. I phoned my aunt and told her where I was. Shed bring the car around with the rest of the supplies. Lets just say I had a backup plan… that involved gasoline and matches. If I couldnt rescue the sheriff I at least wanted to eliminate one of the dangers around here. The house sat before me on the other side of the road, a squat thing of wood and shingles with that front porch and the barely open door. Inviting me in. I wont lie - I was afraid. I did not want to go inside. Im not entirely sure how I forced myself to move. The mantle was heavy on my shoulders and that was some comfort, it and the light cast by the candle and the feel of the skull cup in my hand. Were the heroes frightened, in the stories? I think they were. Yes, they were. Of course they were. But they had their protection, their three items, their rules, their helpers, or whatever it was that would see them to safety. They only had to trust and do as they were told. I didnt have any rules to follow. Not here, on the threshold of the vanishing house. All I had was my three items and my courage, which was sadly lacking. But I went inside. I said a prayer to Saint Nicholas (because if any of the benevolent powers would be listening, surely it would be him) and stepped across the threshold. The door swung open at my touch. The world ended at the edge of the candlelight. Within the bubble of its glow I could see weathered wooden floors, covered with a layer of dust, and wooden walls devoid of ornamentation. There were squares where the color of the wood was darker, untouched by the suns light, where pictures had once hung. After that… nothing. Just a darkness so deep it was as if nothing existed at all and I had reached the end of reality. I felt a tinge of panic merely looking at it, the instinctive terror you experience when you stand on a precipice. I tore my eyes away and focused instead on what was directly in front of me, what was real and stable. The door swung shut behind me. Gently. I heard the latch catch. “Im here for the sheriff, ” I said to the empty house. Nothing. If the house had a master, it wasnt inclined to converse. I took a shallow breath and pressed forwards. The house unfolded before me as the candlelight touched it. I took the first doorway, resolving to follow the left-hand rule. I entered the living room. Two windows were against the front wall, the very same windows that the young man had stared out at me from all those years ago. There were dark rectangles on the floor, clear of dust, where furniture had once sat. Only a single sitting chair remained, shoved into a corner. A woman sat in it, naked and limp, her head lolling to the side so that her ear almost touched her elbow. Black blood coated her side and pooled on the floor, having poured out of her missing arm and the gaping cavity that was once her lung. Itd long since dried into something resembling ink. “Do you remember my name? ” she asked as I entered the room. She raised her head and it flopped over to the missing shoulder. Black bile dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and her nose. It fell in viscous drops to the floor. “Im afraid not, ” I said. “I think I learned it, but Ive since forgotten. Sorry. ” “Its okay. Youve seen so many die, I imagine. Whats one more name? ” I walked around the edge of the room, to the windows on one wall, covered with heavy curtains of a pale brown loose knit. I looked outside and saw my aunts car parked on the shoulder of the road, but there was a pall over the scene, as if a black mist had settled over her vehicle. “Are you dead? ” I asked the woman, if only to hear my own voice. “Quite. You feel guilty, dont you? ” “I wish I could have saved you. ” “You tried. You did more than most people would have. ” Her words sounded hollow. The polite thing to say, but not something that either of us actually believed. “Can you tell me where the sheriff is? ” “I cannot. He was dragged away from me, cursing, fighting to get to me the entire time. The house took him and I was left to die alone. I was so scared. I was choking on my own blood and I just wanted someone to be there, to hold my head up so I didnt have to taste it in my mouth, to tell me it was all going to be okay. ” She paused for a moment, a thin stream of black liquid trickling down her chin through pale lips. “I suppose it wouldnt have mattered, ” she said contemplatively. “We all die alone and afraid, dont we? Someone being there is no comfort when you can feel your body failing all around you. ” I thought of my father, dragging the little girl by her hair out into the yard. I thought of my aunt, stabbing the faceless person with their own scalpel. We die alone and afraid… or angry. Angry was also an option. I walked past the young woman towards the next doorway. I couldnt help her. I had to keep moving. We had no idea how long the house would remain in one spot and I didnt want to risk being trapped in here simply because I took too long. The next room was a kitchen. Cupboards and cabinets were along the far wall. All their doors were removed and the shelves were barren. The stove was an empty spot of torn linoleum, stained with rust and grease. A table with no chairs was shoved against the other wall and the young woman lay upon it. She was on her back with her remaining limbs splayed and dangling limply over the edge. Her head also dangled, her long hair almost touching the floor. I glanced back into the first room. She was still there, sprawled in the chair. And she was here, sprawled on the table. “Is this the houses doing? ” I asked. “Are you here to distract me? Or… are you the master of the house? ” She laughed and black liquid frothed at her lips until it filled her mouth and she began to choke on it. She spat a thick clump like a clot out onto the floor and regained her voice. “Im not the master, ” she said bitterly. “The master took the sheriff and left me to die alone. ” “Yes, we covered that already, ” I replied. I edged past her. I pressed my back against the edge of the cabinets, not wanting to get any closer to the dead woman than I had to. Her eyes tracked my every movement. She spoke again when we were directly even with each other. “I died. ” More black liquid dribbled down her chin, bubbling forth every time her lips moved. “You killed me. ” “I tried to save you. ” I continued edging past her, my heart hammering. I watched her remaining arm. If it so much as twitched I was going to bolt. “You could have done more. Youve always been able to do more. ” Now that just wasnt fair. First Perchta and now this… dead girl. “Like what? ” I snarled. “You could sell the campground. ” A giggle, punctuated by the rasp of liquid obscuring her throat. “Like hell I will, ” I muttered. I continued down the left side of the kitchen wall, letting out a deep sigh of relief once I was out of reach. She stretched out her hands towards me as I reached the next doorway, rolling on the table so that she stared at me from her side, the swell of her broken ribcage luminescent white in the light of my candle. I stared into the next room - a hallway with a staircase at the end. “Is it pride? ” she whispered from behind me, almost to herself. “I think it is. Youre too proud to admit that youre killing all of us. ” Id had enough. I whirled on her, stalked back through the kitchen to where she lay, and plunged the candle flame into her body. Im not sure what I thought would happen. I was blinded by anger and acting on instinct. She caught like paper, her skin curled and blackened and burned and she screamed, the remains of her body thrashing and that black liquid bubbled sluggishly out. It swallowed up the candlelight and the flame both and all light vanished just as she finally fell silent. I realized what Id done too late, panic seized at my chest as I strained to see anything. Then I felt the lap of cold liquid, like watery mud, at my feet. I moved, quickly. I put one hand out, the hand with the candle, and stretched out two fingers to feel for a wall. There were stairs. I remembered seeing stairs. I had to find them. The liquid was at my ankle. It was so cold. I stumbled forwards. A wall. I had to find a wall. My hands touched something fibrous, like the surface of a dry leaf. I desperately traced along it, running my hand up and down its height to see if it turned into a staircase at any point. It continued on and then it turned sharply. I stretched out my other hand, trying to find the other wall to indicate a doorway. At my knee. I was beginning to shiver and I clenched my teeth together to keep them from chattering. I followed the wall and it turned again, and again. This exceeded the bounds of the house, I realized. Id been walking for too long. Id made too many turns. Where the fuck was I? And then the water was at my waist and I struggled to move, for its consistency was akin to mud and it dragged at my body, pulling me back. All I could think was forwards, forwards. Keep moving, keep feeling for a wall with trembling fingertips. The water was at my chest. I remembered what it felt like, when the shulikun pulled me under. When I almost drowned. And I began to panic, my lungs fluttered and my breath came so fast I was dizzy and I stumbled and staggered, consumed with the desperate thought that I just had to keep going because there was nothing else I could do. The water got to my chin and that was when the floor vanished. I began to tread water, trying to keep my head above the surface, but it began to rise so quickly and the consistency was thick, like it was pulling me down and I was dragged under. It felt like falling, like I was tumbling in a current that was taking me deeper into the morass, and I curled around the cup I still had clutched in my hands. I clamped my fingers over the improvised cover for it - layers of plastic wrap and rubber bands - because that was all I could think to do in my panic. I couldnt spill the cup. He would be so angry. I couldnt let it spill. Then I remember nothing else until I woke in a strange place, wrapped in blankets and lying next to a fireplace. Im stopping this here because its a good point to pause. This is a lot to talk about and I do have other obligations around here. I cant spend all my time writing. Ill take the time to say this, though. I dont think I was actually talking to the woman that died. I think it was an echo, the memory of her soul, and nothing more. The things she said to me - and this is painful to admit - are all things I have said to myself, in the handful of hours before I fall asleep, when Im alone in my house with nothing but thoughts about how I hate myself. Dont be concerned. We all have that thought at some point, some of us more than others. Ill finish writing the rest of this soon, once Ive seen it through to the end. Theres one thing left to do. Read the full list of rules. Visit our campground's website.

Dry run lumber. Hi, u/CLO_Junkie, I suggest an educational QA post, or this one if its easy, pinned at the top. This may help with a clearing up and out the common question-answer clusters I've seen in minor threads. Most of those got the answers correct but a few got them extremely wrong. And wrong information can cause more panic. Who am me? Why should I listen to you? edit note- never said I was a grammar teacher, lol I'm an urban Emergency Department trauma/burn nurse with 5 years' EMS prehospital experience prior to going to the dark side of in hospital care. Before the ED, I worked in a large academic hospital in the critical care pulmonology ICU and before that in an open heart/lung transplant IMC. So, I get and got paid to pretend to I know about lung-heart systems, critical care treatments, and medications. And explain all that shit to family members because sometimes (sorry if you're one of them) really otherwise brilliant doctors cannot not communicate outside of medical-ese. On to common questions I've seen. If you have any more, feel free to ask and I'll do my best to update as able. What is a germ? Its been awhile since high school bio. Its a self-replicating thing that makes humans sick once its inside your body. It is most commonly divided into viruses and bacteria. What is a virus, exactly? A virus is a non-living pathogen. Its a single clump of genetic computer code floating around, small enough to be airborne on the breeze or in microscopic sneeze droplets. When in vitro, in a living body, it finds a suitable cell where it will upload itself and start making infinite clones of itself by using that cell's micro-molecular factory machinery. It does so by using RNA or DNA. DNA is a stable, longer-term library storage of genetic code. Its what humans use for their genome. When activated, a specific 'program area' of DNA is translated into RNA. The RNA free-floats out from the cell's control center(nucleus) into the cell's working balloon area (cytoplasm) and then gets fed through a factory machine's blueprint. This machine (organelle) then prints out proteins which clump together into whatever your body wants to make. As long as you have free energy and RNA, these machines will blindly make whatever you ask it to make. The virus makes so many copies of itself the cell literally eventually bursts open to release all the cloned virus copies which repeat the cycle and infect surrounding cells. By the millions. And then what is a bacteria? A bacteria is a living pathogen. It is a single self contained cell that can grow into little cities called colonies. These bacteria-cities create defensive protein shells to protect the community. It grows in vitro, or in a living body, by collecting and using free-floating resources (blood sugar, proteins etc. They can replicate fast and exponentally, 2 can become 4 which becomes 16 etc. A single generation's growth times vary but can be from hours to days. It can make people sick by giving off toxins or overwhelming the immune system. Sorry, but I never really understood why can't we use antibiotics for each? Antibiotics are good at targeting specific areas inside of the bacteria cells. You can think of it like rock-paper-scissor units in a video game (like Civilization or League of Legends. The drugs can target roughly speaking, either the cell walls, the cell's engine areas, or during reproduction. Depending on the type and species of bacteria, we choose different drugs to be more effective. As an aside, drug-resistant bacteria exist. They have build cellular machinery to combat our drugs by neutralizing the medicine compound or doing a work-around of the gummed up cell factories that make energy, structures, etc. MRSA, VRE, and MDR are common names for these critters. MRSA is methacyllin resistant; VRE is vancomycin resistant; MDR is Multi-Drug resistant. But it takes that bacteria that much more energy to specialize in creating that special anti-biotic type of cell machinery so it is quickly killed off or even out-competed by other ordinary bacteria normally. In a sick person, these specialized bacteria have more time to grow into their bacteria-cities with the body's defensive system being knocked down. Viruses lack cell walls, cell engines, and have no ability to reproduce outside of host cells. So we can't stop any of it by any of those means. What does help, then? Antivirals can help with some viruses. They compete with the virus in the host cell to win control over the mini factories that make viruses. They can slow down the spread to give your body a chance to build up its defenses and stem the infection. They don't actually kill viruses themselves once the virus is inside your body. And from intial reports, corona viruses are unaffected by antivirals. Plus the US is in a national drug shortage of antiviral medications. How does my immune system work again? Its pretty complex but in short, it has a literal army of specialized soldier cells. Some do recon and identify invaders and 'radio' back what they find to the immune system. The system then stores that gained knowledge and send out info bulletins for its hunter-killer cells to easily identify invaders. These circulate around and kill any and all viruses and bacteria. If they find a pocket of invaders digging in, they activate an all-in attack signal to gather soldiers from around your body in that specific area. In doing so, they die but new soldiers take their place. Your body can regulate the amount of different types of cells circulating around but it takes time because your bones grow the baby immune cells and put them through boot camp and your spleen then caps off with specialized training into different soldier cell camps (intel, hunter-killer, etc. So then what is a coronavirus? Like the beer? Yes. Corona means crown in Latin. A corona virus, when scanned by special microscopes, looks like it has a fuzzy crown from bunches of dandilions sticking out of the surface. These are like a cat's whisker. In short, they can (even though its not really alive) bump up against cells and tell what type of cell they are (lung, stomach, heart, etc) to decide if they want to enter into the cell and use its machinery to clone itself. So, lets look at the wikipedia definition quickly and then explain it in English. Coronaviruses are enveloped viruses with a positive-sense single-stranded RNA genome and with a nucleocapsid of helical symmetry. The genomic size of coronaviruses ranges from approximately 26 to 32 kilobases, the largest for an RNA virus. So, translated: Its a data complex virus with a protective shell to hide it while circulating in the blood from the immune system. Once inside a targeted cell body, its RNA directly goes into the factories and reprograms them to make endless copies of itself until the cell explodes, and the cycle repeats until your body is overwhelmed and cannot fight off all the viruses. Other prior coronaviruses (SARS, MERS) have been particularly dangerous to humans with (depending on age category and immune status) a demonstrated 10-50% mortality rate once infected. I thought killing a host off is bad. Yes. Ebola often burns itself out because it kills so fast. HIV has spread because it kills so slow. However, each and every time the RNA makes a copy of itself, it has a non-zero chance for a mutation. Small percentages matter with literally trillions of coin flips. A larger genome, or program code stored in the virus, the higher the chance for errors just like in computer coding. Most times the error is a dead-end waste and so its just discarded in the noise. Sometimes the error is a helpful change that increases the virus' ability to do the virus thing. Like hiding from the immune system, copying itself faster, changing what host cell it likes to attach to, etc. With something new like this corona virus, we just literally don't know what it is capable of doing or turning into. Contagion can be variable with viruses due to incubation time (the time it takes to get infected) shedding time (when your a walking, spewing virus factory) and symptom time (when you actually have a fever, cough, phlegm, etc. The Wuhan strain appears to have a long incubation time with concurrent shedding time and a delayed symptom time. So- you're infected and doomed to get sick before you know it; you spread it around without knowing it; and when it hits you, you've already spread it around your community. That's why an incubation time of 7-10 days with shedding is scary. And with around 300 people being confirmed as an estimated 5% of total infected this means up to 6, 000 infected people are walking around spreading the virus. If there's a R0 of 4, that means an estimated 28, 000 people are potentially infected from these 6, 000. See how it gets out of hand even with quarantining travel? Now, sometimes, if a virus is really contagious, it can infect people faster than it kills off the old victims shedding viruses even though it will kill the prior victims. This is what happened in the 1918 Spanish Flu. what is a zoonotic virus? A virus that orginally was in another species (cow, snake, bat, chicken, monkey, etc) that has crossed over and now has the ability to infect humans. We know a lot about our familiar viruses (hepatitis C, influenza A, etc) but that's from years of meticulous effort into constructing virus models based off of research. Again, we don't know what we don't know. Why would a coronavirus be dangerous to young people? The Wuhan strain, and other, corona virus particularly seeks out and infects lung cells. Like the 1918 Spanish Flu. Specifically, the Wuhan one likes ACE receptors in your lung that regulate blood pressure in real time via a feedback loop with your kidneys. A cytokine reaction is when your immune system gets super excited and pumped up from all the distress signals being activated by hijacked cells. In short, a lot of things cascade at once which causes a huge boost in your immune system's individual attacking cells. Good, usually. But actually, bad in the case of your lungs being infected. Your lungs turn into a battlefield roughly about what Syria looks like now. Pockets of infection spreading rapidly and resisting stubbornly among the shattered debris and rubble. Dead white cells everywhere (this is known as pus. Non-functioning ruins of lung area spreading around that was once a functioning organ. Ironically, the more healthy the immune system the more heightened the response. Between the dead virus parts, the dead immune cells, the panic signaling inflammation, your lungs will fill up with garbage and you drown from the inside out, unable to get oxygen in or carbon dioxide out. In The Great Influenza, first hand medical accounts of cytokine storms have reported people bleeding out from their injured lungs. Um, how do lungs work again, quickly? So think of your lungs like this quickly. Remember the old biology demonstration model of a balloon skin covering a cut 2-liter soda bottle with 2 balloons at the end of a straw? Well, high school was over 19 years ago now so I dunno how they teach it these days. But the mechanics being demonstrated are as follows: Your lungs need a diaphragm to work. Your lungs are in a sealed compartment in your body. The muscle contracts and pulls down (the balloon skin is pulled down on the soda bottle. Physics magic works and the 2 balloon-lungs inflate with air. Inhalation. You snap the diaphragm back into place and the 2 balloon-lungs deflate. Exhalation. Simple enough. So, on the inside your lung cells are in very bubble bath-like foamy structure called alveoli. Why? Surface area. Physics magic again says more surface area, more diffusion of gases. Namely, oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. But these cells' walls are so fragile it takes a constant bath of a special body fluid called surfactant to keep them from collapsing. Surfactant production is important. Its why babies are only viable after so many weeks of gestation- before that, no surfactant so no lungs working. Debris, pus, fluid in the lung lobes destroy the surfactant. If enough of an internal area is affected, that lung lobe (3 on the right, 2 on the left) will collapse on itself like a deflating hot air balloon and it will require chest tubes to be reinflated. We can actively push air into lungs by a ventilator breathing tube but if the gases don't exchange we have a problem. That's when they have a last-ditch machine called ECHMO which is a machine that cleans your blood and buys you rest and recovery time by being an external set of lungs and heart. But this therapy will kill you from fluid accumulation if you stay on it for too long. And why do we need gas exchange again? Your body uses oxygen to make energy. Like rust is a compound of iron and oxygen, your body can create compounds of oxygen. It juggles the oxygen out of the blood into all cells where, in combination with blood sugar as firewood, it is then used to energize special molecules called ATP. These molecules cause your body's cells to work. The waste product is carbon dioxide which floats out into your blood stream to be exhaled off. This ATP is then reused again to keep stuff moving. No ATP, no life. Period. This is aerobic respiration (think air-based) or metabolism. No oxygen, not a big problem. For a time. We can create an alternative energy pathway called anaerobic (think not air-based) metabolism. Its not dangerous and some of us do it daily if we run to the point of lowering our circulating blood oxygen past a certain point. Your body can release strategic stockpiled stored oxygen as reserves but those aren't infinite. Your heart and brain are the only 2 organs that don't have oxygen reserves and need a constant blood flow to them to operate. Your brain can go about 10 minutes unoxygenated before actual damage kicks in. Its why CPR works by moving blood and gases around inside your body. Dumb designed system, I know. Anyways, this alternative pathway can only be used for a short time and has a very inefficient ratio of energy to waste. Plus unlike the air-based metabolism, it has a second nasty waste molecule called hydrogen. The hydrogen is acidic. Meaning it is a bullying element that aggressively grabs atoms from cell machinery molecules without asking. These stripped molecules then don't work right and need replaced or repaired by the body. Additionally, enzymes need a tight temperature and pH range to function. Enzymes are helper-molecules that speed up chemical reactions in the cells so cells can, you know, do stuff. No enzymes means the reactions are slow, like watching paint air dry. With enzymes, its like hot air blow drying the paint. Right, so our body keeps a very tight acid-base balance which is measured as pH. Vinegar and baking soda volcanoes is an example of this balance. The vinegar is an acid, the soda is a base. Combined, they neutralize one another in a kitchen-floor ruining demonstration (sorry, mom. Our blood base is called bicarbonate. It is created by our kidneys. But, if that local alternative energy area is producing more acid than available base can neutralize, both enzymes and cell molecules start malfunctioning and the organ tissue gets even more stressed out. Inevitably, it calls quits by shutting down and dying. How is this different/similar than the annual influenza? That kills thousands a year without any media coverage. The annual flu is dangerous for the elder (>65yo) the young (<7yo) and the immunocompromised. There are dozens of "annual flu" viruses that are constantly mutating when their RNA is copied. We classify them as Flu-A, Flu-B etc. They are dangerous to these populations because in a healthy, young adult cytokines cause an appropriately balanced response over 5-7 days that suppresses the viral recreation and cellular micromachinery being hijacked. You then feel like crap while your body repairs itself. In the elderly, young, and immunocompromised they all have weakened immune systems that can be quickly overwhelmed by an infection from these common flu viruses. The difference is, again, that cytokine storm response. Its a sort of Trojan horse tactic where your body's immune system overwhelmly gives an exaggerated response and so eagerly drowns the victim with all that accumulating debris in the lungs. The stronger the immune system, the quicker your lungs fill up. Both are virsues that act like I've described above (scroll up if you need refreshing. How is this different/similar to the 1918 influenza? The 1918 influenza, commonly known as the Spanish flu, killed more humans by body count than the black plague of the 1300s did. The pneumonic plague (a mutation of the quickly reproducing bacteria that allowed it to go airborne (pneuma, Latin for air) had a higher kill ratio of those once infected for a smaller population size, 45-50. Epidemiologists believe the 1918 flu started off in the midwest of the US and was carried over to a national army training camp. From there, it was shipped over to the battlefield trenches of World War I where it spread low-grade among all combatants for several months being spread by, well apocolyptic-like healthcare conditions. The virus mutated an innumerable amount of times, came n went, came and went, until it became one which could cause cytokine storms among young people. Towards the end of the war, Spain (which was a noncombatant and had a free uncensored press) started publishing rumors and news of a new deadly virus. At the end of the war, returning troops were packed onto densely populated ships to be repatriated. After being exposed for almost a week of perfect infection conditions, all disembarked to spread it to their individual cities and communities. Initially, factually, in the US federal and local governmental responses were slow and censored news for a combination of reasons. No-one knew what was going on at first until local hospitals were overwhelmed and then dots were connected. They asked for help which was slow in coming but also, honestly, there was nothing to do but help support the sick as best as possible through the crisis period. Huge warehouses with beds were set up to care for the infected until they died or got better. And even through that it was mostly up to family to care for these sick with healthcare worker resources broken. Corpse disposals ended up being a huge grim need outstripping service supply. What can I do to protect myself and family? Well. Based off prior epidemics a lucky few will be immune or get sick and recover and be immune. But don't bet on that. From what I've read, running away from major cities is a mixed bag. Worked better in earlier stages of civilization when travel was slower, communities farther apart, and humans were more self-sufficient. For example, the Athens plague of 430 was fine if you staying isolated on your subsistence farm in the country during the incubation, shedding and clinical periods. But in 1600 black plague England, running from London to escape into the country was a worse idea than staying put in a well stocked house. You were exposed to the elements without resources (Food/water/shelter) and inevitably ran into someone who was sick. Some outlying communities self-quarantined and forced anyone they didn't know to stay away at town militia gunpoint. The best situated of all those in England to sit tight while everything burned down around them were the commercial sailing ships out in the harbor. Isolated from carriers, surrounded by a safe distance of water, constantly moving air in a light breeze, lots of UV light, and salted humid air. Of course, once it passed they still had to choose to go ashore and possibly be infected from remnants or go elsewhere. In 1918 and 1300 oncoming winter weather helped slowed transmission some but then it flared up once warmer weather occurred. The best thing to do I think is honestly prepare to stay in your house isolated for 2-4 weeks (or whatever the total exposure-infected-cleared time is with your local area getting) with a disrupted supply chain and electrical grid. Food for humans/pets, electrolytes and water, alternative cooking heat supplies, true HEPA filter air purifiers, spritz bleach sprays, non-electronic entertainment, supportive over the counter medicine (anti-fever, anti-vomiting, etc. Maybe cloth curtains to keep air exchange limited between indoor/outdoors and bedrooms and floors. Any first-hand accounts of similar stuff in the past? I'd recommend reading "A Journal of the Plague Year. by Daniel Defoe and "1918: The Great Influenza" by John Barry for primary perspectives of those living in a society disrupted by infectious death. Alright, anyone have any questions? Anyone read this far? Well, hope you had fun reading because this was fun for me to type out. I like explaining the ins and outs of what I do. EDIT: changed "who am me" to. why should you listen to me?.

Dry run movie actors. Extreme Frugal Tips. Warning this is a REALLY long post Dog Tax: Excel finance tracking: Here we go…Im posting on my frugal living with REAL examples from my life. Single female aged 48 living in the mid-west. I started my adult life with a high school education and low paying jobs until I hit 30. Today my net worth is more than a million and I love my life…I want for nothing and Im very content. Read on if you dare…some of this stuff may scare you… Career I didnt start college till I was 26, prior to that I was in low paying dead-end jobs and as a result I started my adult life being a penny-pincher. I got a BS and 2 MS degrees in the STEM field at state schools while working full time jobs (close to minimum wage till I graduated with my BS. I applied for academic scholarships (and got some) and I took out the minimal I could in student loans. I paid them all back within 5 years. I had to relocate for my first job out of college. It was 2002 and I started out at 44, 000 salaried a year (50 hours weeks, no overtime and working on 2 Masters degrees in my free time) So…I started my professional career at age 30, climbed the corporate ladder, relocated several times and went into management. I worked long hours, on-call 24/7, lots of stress and kept increasing my salary for 16 years. I started to contribute to my retirement when I turned 30. As soon as I could (I think around 36 after I paid of my student loan debts) I maxed out my 401K and ROTH every year. At my highest salary, at age 46, I was making 140, 000 year (remember – I started at age 30 at 44, 000 and increased to 140, 000 by the time I was 46. I ALWAYS continued to live frugally and saved. I own my house outright and have no debt and plenty in savings. I dont have a pension. My retirement is all in a 401K and IRAs, traditional and ROTH Once I was financially established I took a 60% lower paying job at a University. Im 48 and because I live frugally I could probably retire (FIRE) but I like to have something to do. I also enjoy the social aspect of work and a feeling of purpose. I have no stress, great benefits, loads of time off and have never worked more than 40 hours a week in this job and no weekends, holiday…etc. I set my own hours and have no direct reports. Im currently working 6:30am – 2:30 pm in the winter so I can hike with my dog after work before it gets dark. It was a very good move for me. Ill probably work here into my mid 60s just because its so cushy Health I exercise. I walk about 7 miles a day I eat pretty healthy, dont smoke, dont drink pop and I dont drink alcohol (anymore…. Sometimes I miss a good craft beer but its better for my stomach and sleep without it I have medical, dental, vision through work. My plans cost me 56 a month I have the high deductible plan and max out my HSA but I only end up using a few hundred a year. Whatever is in my HSA when I retire will help cover retirement medical expenses. My deductible is 2, 000. I use the in-network specialists when I need too I work at a university so I use the health center for non-specialist stuff which is 25 co-pay. I get a preventive visit free every year – general physical and well woman/mammogram I pay for prescriptions with my health plan or GoodRX. GoodRX is sometimes cheaper. Also some meds are cheaper if you get a 3 month supply by mail (but not all. Some OTC meds such as generic Claritin for allergies and Generic Prilosec for acid reflux are 0 or cheap if you get a prescription I get 2 dental cleanings and 1 vision exam free every year. I get 1-pair of bifocals free If I need reading glasses they are 1 at Dollar Tree I buy generic ibuprofen / first aid stuff in bulk. I keep it to the basics I never pass on free stuff. My dental plan pays for 2 free cleanings/exam a year, so I ALWAYS get my 2 free cleanings a year. My health plan pays for one free physical a year, so I ALWAYS get my one free physical a. Food I spend less than 100 a month on food and beverages. I dont buy any processed food. I cook from scratch in bulk and I freeze. I enjoy cooking. I use lots of veggies in my evening meal. A typical day of food might include: a. 2 large cups of coffee will milk and stevia b. Oatmeal with chia, flax, almond flour, blueberries and a banana OR eggs on homemade toast OR homemade pancakes OR homemade breakfast burritos OR. I make my own bread. Yeast, flour, water, salt, stevia and a bread machine I got at Goodwill for 5 c. Fruit or veg snack (seasonal) d. Beans and rice with seasonings (work lunch) e. Fruit or veg snack (seasonal) f. Dinner – might be spaghetti, chilli, chicken noodle soup, lasagna, grilled chicken with veggies, curry. Each meal works out to under 1. 50. I dont use much meat in my recipes but I do use a ton of veg g. Homemade yogurt h. I drink lots of black tea or herbal tea throughout the day. I drink tap water i. I get my fix of sweet stuff at work. Someones always bringing in home baked goods 2) I shop at Aldi and Walmart, mostly Aldi 3) I buy all my condiments in bulk: spices, chicken stock, oil, stevia (also concentrated) almond flour, chia, flax, rice, pasta…etc. I get some of this on Amazon because it works out cheaper. I make my own yougurt. 1 gallon yogurt = the price of a gallon of milk. It's easy to do. 4) I love this one…I save my teabags. After Ive used 2 teabags I make another cup of tea from them. I like herbal tea. The cheapest I can find is Celestial Seasonings on Amazon. By stretching the box of 20 teabags to 30 large cups of tea I save 35 year (assuming I drink 3 cups of tea a day. Over 40 years at 7% interest thats 1500 saved. Its not an issue for me and the flavor is the same 5) I only eat out a couple of times a year for social reasons and I dont buy an appetizer or dessert and I only drink water. I tip 20% if service is good. I refuse to go to expensive restaurants. I want an entrée under 15. Honestly, I like my cooking better 6) I dont drink pop or alcohol 7) I own a chest freezer and loads of plastic food containers. Most of the meals I cook are freezable and microwavable 8) I buy the large tub of coffee from Aldi. Its like 4. 50 and lasts 3 weeks. Tastes fine to me but then I would never drop 5 + tip on a cup of coffee 9) I only buy meat, fruit and veg when its under 1 pound. I make an exception for ground beef and blueberries, raspberries…etc. (they have to be under 1 for 6oz. I don't use much meat. Example: I use 1lb ground beef to make 12 frozen spaghetti dinners BUT I use lots of peppers, onions, mushrooms in-place of the beef. Example. When 8oz packages of baby bella mushrooms go on sale, I buy 12 of them. I wash, chop and cook them and then freeze them in 4 separate containers. Each container will be used in a big batch of spaghetti or Lasagna or mushroom soup., when blueberries go on sale for 0. 89 cents for 6oz I buy twelve packages and freeze. 1 package is used to make 10 oatmeal breakfasts 10) I never buy name brand and I always search for reduced fruit/veg, meat…etc. 11) I do check the local flyers for sales. only shop once a week and I combine trips to save gas. House I brought the cheapest house in a really good neighborhood in a mid-west University town. Im in the third highest rated school district in the USA for STEM (per 2019 Newsweek article. I have a 1950s 1500sqft, 3 bed, 2 bath ranch with 2-car attached garage, separate laundry room, living and family room, large screened in-porch. I paid 135, 000 for it and my taxes are 1500 a year. Its bigger than I wanted but its what I had to do to get into my neighborhood. Houses like mine sell in a day with multiple offers over asking. I had to put some work into the house and spend some. I fixed it up so its now one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood and worth 35% more than I paid for it. I did some work myself such as painting and laying the laminate floor. I will stay here until I retire and then decide where I want to spend my retirement years. Central Florida is dirt cheap with no state taxes + low housing costs but I am not sure I can handle the heat and humidity. I have a high deductible on my home insurance but I max out my liability coverage. I have a high net worth so if someone tries to sue me I want to make sure Im covered and I dont have to pay out of my pocket. I have extras like sewer/water line coverage, sewer/water back-up because the lines in my neighborhood are old and you see peoples yards dug up all the time. I pay my policy in full and it works out to 75 a month In the winter, I keep my heat at 55 when Im not home or in bed and 60 when Im home. I wear wool thermal leggings and tops under my clothes all winter long at home. They are soft and comfy. I wear slippers. When Im lazing on the couch I snuggle under an electric blanket and with the dog. I have a down comforter on the bed. The dog loves the cold. In the summer I wear shorts and a tank top (hence why I shave in the summer) and I keep the AC around 76 as the dog gets too hot I change my furnace filters every 2 months with the cheap ones I keep my water heating on a warm setting. When I run the shower I turn the hot all the way and its plenty hot enough for me Household maintenance/repairs I cut my own grass, do my own yard work and clean my own house I do what repairs I can myself. I U-tube it. I buy stuff from Menards and get the 11% rebate. Im not very handy or physically strong so I only tackle simple things I dont do a furnace/AC service every year. I lived in my last house 9 years and my furnace/AC were 20 years old when I sold it. I never did a service (other than change filters) and I never had a problem If I have to hire a big job (i. e. roof, furnace, crawlspace) I always get 3 quotes and try to negotiate the price after Ive received the quote in writing. Then I ask for a cash discount. If I have to replace something I try to go with a quality no-name brand. I do my research I use LED lightbulbs and I turn my lights off when Im not using a room I unplug appliances if I dont use them at least every other day. Exception is for larger items like stove, fridge, washer, dyer, freezer Car I enjoy a nice, safe car. I drive a 2008, 12-year old limited edition Subaru outback. I brought it when it was 1-year old with 30, 000 miles for cash on E-bay. I paid 20, 000 for it. It has 126, 000 miles. I will drive it till it dies I only have liability insurance but I max out my coverage. I have a high net worth so if Im at fault in an accident I want to make sure Im covered and I dont have to pay out of my pocket. I also have roadside assistance with my insurance company for towing, flat tire I pay in full every 6 months and also have my home-owners insurance policy with them. My car insurance works out to 40 a month I get an oil change, tire rotation and fluid top-off every 5, 000 miles with a coupon for 19. 99. Its a local place and they are really good about telling me if they see any issues. I replace my own air filters, head lamp I take it to a reputable import mechanic when I need too. Much less than the dealer I combine errands one day a week to save miles. I live 3. 8 miles from work and I do drive an average of 2-4 miles to hike with the dog. I average 6, 000 miles a year I keep my car clean. I wash, wax myself at home with a garden hose. I dont use high dollar cleaning products. I use dish soap to wash it and I do a hand wax on it once a year Internet/TV/Cell I have the most basic package Internet available. Its still expensive at 60 a month and it drives me crazy I have to pay that. I dont have Cable. I have an antenna for local stations I have Amazon prime (see my post on shopping. I also switch between Netflix, Hulu, Acorn…etc. about every 3 months so I dont get bored. I stream TV, Movies, Music from my library for free via the Hoopla App. It's 100% FREE. Get a library card! I own my smartphone outright and will use it till it dies. I use Mint Mobile (17 month with tax. 2g data is enough for me as home and work have WIFI Kitchen & Cleaning I do my dishes by hand once a day. I do not fill the sink full with water and I dont leave my water running when Im scrubbing. Airdry. Yes, I have a dishwasher, it came with the house, but I just dont use it. Besides those dishwasher packets are pricey! I use Ajax dish soap that I dilute 1:1 with water and use a pump dispenser. I buy the large bottles at Menards and get the 11% rebate I buy my scrub sponges in a pack from the Dollar Tree. I throw them in the washing machine with my clothes when they get grungy. I have one scrub brush Ive had for years I wash and reuse my Ziploc baggies over and over. I dont buy name brand – I get from Dollar tree. Same with tin foil I have loads of microwave/freezer safe plastic food containers. Ive had them years. I freeze so much food I have a chest freezer I recycle everything I can to reduce the use of trash bags. In-fact I have a tight closing trash can so I only need to start a new trash bag once every 2 weeks as it doesnt stink up the house. I buy the tough no-name drawstrings ones in bulk. The flimsy ones break or leak and create a mess Dont use paper towels ever. Use washable cloths, tea Dont buy all the latest gadgets and if you must have something check out your local charity shops, Facebook Marketplace & buy/sell groups or Craigslist I typically stick with 2 cleaning supplies, I could make my own I guess. I use 1 glass cleaner and 1 generic orange cleaner. I wash my floors with diluted dish soap. I have a broom, dustpan/ brush, a Shark vacuum with canister with washable filters (that I brought refurbished for about 80 and Ive had years) a mop with washable cover. I also use recycled toothbrushes, scrubbie pads and cloths. I dont use disposable cleaning supplies like disposable wipes, those throw away dusting pads, floor cleaning pads…etc. Everything I use is reusable and washable Laundry Only wash your clothes if they are dirty! I do 1 load of laundry a week for clothes and 1 load of laundry a month for my sheets and towels. I rotate my pillows (I have 2 so one side a week for 4 weeks. I shower every day so sheets stay clean and dont get stinky. Speaking of sheets, I buy high quality 500 thread count cotton sheets - they are so soft and comfy and last for years. A couple of times a year I might wash my blankets, comforter…etc. I wear my dress jeans all week for work and I rarely wash my nice tops/sweaters as I wear a t-shirt under them. I wear my dog walking clothes and wool thermals all week. Wool doesnt get stinky and dog walking jeans get muddy the first walk so might as well wear them all week. I always wash in luke warm water Airdry clothes or put a large dry towel in the dryer. If I use the dryer Im typically dry in 20 mins on medium. Im not frugal here and do use the dryer more often than not. I hate hanging clothes and ironing them I dont have many white or light colored clothes. They stain too easily. I look better in dark jewel colors anyway I use Purex laundry detergent. I use the 300oz bottle with 200 loads and I really do use the amount they recommend for 1 load so it lasts me a few years. I get it for 8. 99 at Menards with an additional 11% rebate. I tried homemade but this is better (for me) If you have to use dryer sheets, cut them into quarters. Personally, Im fine with nothing in the dryer If you have to use a stain remover add 1 scoop of Dollar Tree Awesome Orange Oxygen cleaner to the washing machine or make a paste and rub into stain (compare to OxyClean) Clothing If I need clothes, which is rarely, I buy everything except underwear and socks from the charity shops. Usually Goodwill on the first Saturday of the month when everything is ½ off Speaking of underwear and socks, I buy dark colored because they dont look grungy. I have 7 pairs of knickers, 3 bras, 14 pairs of socks as my feet get wet sometimes hiking. Thats it. I rarely have to replace them and yes I do change them every day! I think my current stash of knickers, bras and socks have lasted me over 5 years. I got everything from Kohls when they have a big sale, 30% coupon and 15 cash back if you spend 50. I buy for comfort and durability, not fashion (no ones sees me in my undies anymore and I like my granny panties - see my section on dating. I have wool socks I buy some shoes new, such as hiking shoes. However I do check the charity shops, Poshmark…etc. for lightly used I have a very minimal wardrobe and shoes. I buy classic clothing and not the latest fad I have a few pieces of jewelry. Sterling silver and amber necklace, earrings ring and also mother of pearl. I have another set thats real gold with fake diamonds(you cant tell they are fake. have a few accessories such as scarfs and decorative hair clips Personal care I shower once a day for 5 mins. I use one high quality soft, thick cotton dark colored towel for everything and wash my towel once every month with my clothes. Im clean after a shower and its just water! Ive had the towel for about 5 years. I do wash my washcloth every week with my clothes I have an electric toothbrush that Ive had for years. I replace the head every couple of months with a generic one I get of Amazon in a multi-pack. I floss. I have sensitive teeth so I buy a multi-pack of sensitive toothpaste from Amazon. It works out cheaper than Walmarts house brand. I could get a sensitive toothpaste from Dollar Tree but I dont trust anything from China to go in or on mine or my dogs body. I go to the Dentist twice a year for cleaning. This is covered through my work health insurance. I brush my teeth for 2 mins and I don't let the water run when I do this. I don;t rinse my mouth on the advice of my dentist - let the sensitive toothpaste sink in I have very few products. Suave shampoo and conditioner that I transfer into a pump bottle and I use one pump of each every time I shower. I use diluted Dawn dish soap in a pump dispenser to wash my face and body with a washcloth and yes, I love it. I dont lather up my entire body every time, just my private and sweaty areas. I use a mens razor from Dollar Tree to shave (which is really only in the summer. I use Suave deodorant. I use a cheap oil free moisturizer on my face. Its around 5 and it lasts months. I rarely wear make-up and if I do its big box store, basic and the same items (same eyeshadow, blush, lip colors. I havent brought any make-up in years. I have one bottle of nice perfume that lasts years. If I curl my hair, put my make-up on and dress up in my charity shop clothes I look like a million bucks for pennies on the dollar! I keep my hair one length with bangs and I dont color it. I have medium brown hair. I cut my own bangs every couple of months and I get my haircut for 10 once a year at the beauty school or if I can get a 7. 99 coupon for Great Clips. I blow dry and curl the bangs and let the rest of it dry naturally. I only use a 2 bottle of hairspray to hold it or I tie it back. Im often asked about my hair as its cute on me and looks shiny and healthy, albeit Im starting to get some gray I use q-tips but I dont use tissues, cotton pads, face A reusable, washable hanky works just fine for a snotty nose. I have eye brow scissors, tweezers, a metal nail file and hair dresser scissors. Ive had them for years. I use a washcloth on my face I tweeze my own eyebrows and I shave above my lip once a week. I have a 5 magnifying mirror I got from Walmart that helps. Yep, it works fine. Been doing it for over 20 years. Dont believe the baloney that the hair grows back thicker, longer. I am sans a mustache at all times! I don't get my nails done or paint them. I don't do fake nails, lashes, The only beauty service I pay for is my one haircut a year. I buy toilet paper in bulk. I buy 30 rolls of 425-2 ply sheets from Aldi for 15. I always fold my toilet paper. I use 2 sheets folded to ¼ size for #1 and usually need to do this twice for #2. I find the 2-ply a better value than the 1-ply as the 1-ply is so thin that you actually need more I dont flush my loo every time I pee, especially not during the night. If its yellow let is mello – with the lid down of course. My bathroom does not get smelly. Where I live, those water and sewer bills can add up. If you only save 10 a month, over 40 years at 7% interest rate thats 5, 000. Probably too extreme for some of you but in addition to being frugal, I hate to be wasteful! I use a period cup and reusable washable pads. Ive had mine for years Dating Im single and have been for nearly 4 years by choice. Im an attractive woman (or so Im told. I used to date ALL the time. Ive been in several long term relationships. No kids. At this point in my life dating doesnt interest me as I have relationships through my family and friends and the dog (cant forget the dog. My life is full and Im happy. Ive been asked on dates and I said no To be honest my life is less stressful, less drama, less maintenance (gotta shave those legs and pits) less money when Im not dating. Im also a homebody and Like being alone so it works for me. I wear more comfortable underwear when I'm single too - ha-ha! Shopping I dont buy stuff. At this point in my life, Im a minimalist I buy used whenever I can. I haggle the price down whenever I can. I use charity shops, Facebook Marketplace and buy/sell groups, Craigslist I sell stuff I dont use Amazon. I use my Prime membership ALOT. I borrow free books, I watch free movies/TV, I listen to free music on my Echo dot I got on special for 8. I do buy some stuff on Amazon but usually from Warehouse Deals. I also use Prime Pantry sometimes to buy food and toiletries but only if it works out cheaper than the store. Recently I got an order of 15 items through Prime Pantry. With Prime Pantry if spend 35 you get free shipping. If you order 15 or more items you get a 15% discount. If you use your Prime credit card you get a further 5% back. I was able to get Celestial Seasonings Tea for 1. 93 box of 20 tea bags and 2-pack Suave 2. 6oz deodorant for 1. 93 (after the discounts) Hobbies I walk the dog twice a day, EVERY day, regardless of snow, rain, extreme heat, extreme cold. It keeps me and him healthy. I do 2 miles around the neighborhood in the morning before work and usually 5 miles after work along trails. Hes usually off-leash. Good hiking shoes/boots and gas are the expense here but I have a variety of trails within a 4 mile radius of my house. On weekends we branch out further to mix it up. I mostly wear my hiking shoes and I can make them last a couple of years (shoe goo is my friend. I use my hiking boots/snow boots for wet, muddy, snowy conditions and they have lasted me many years so far. My dog-walking jeans get worn out between my thighs so I patch them (2 large iron-on denim patches at Walmart for 1. After I iron them on, I also sew the patches around the edges so they don't come off. Dog-walking coats, gloves, hats, vests…etc. never seem to wear out. If I do have to buy dog walking gear I buy quality (Im currently using Oboz hiking shoes) I read for free. I get books from the library and Amazon Prime. I have an i-pad with the kindle app so I download them. The i-pad is old but it works. I will replace it when it eventually dies I belong to groups on the Internet (like this one…) – hence I use my i-pad, I dont have a computer, printer, scanner…etc. at home. I use the ones at work I watch TV and movies. I rotate one streaming service every few months. I never pay more than 10 month for these services and I also have my annual Prime membership which is about 11 month. I also stream TV, Movies, Music from my library for free via the Hoopla App I do jigsaw puzzles. I NEVER buy new. I buy them used then sell or trade them. I always come out ahead and make money on them. I used to scoff at people who did jigsaw puzzles but let me tell you, they are very enjoyable! Apparently they make me smarter too… I cook (see food) I go to free events in my community. Art in the park, various concerts, free outdoor activities days…etc. I live in a large multi-cultural University town. There is LOADS of free stuff to do. I have a group of dog walking friends. We meet several times a week (we also trade help with dog walking and pet sitting if we travel) I do try to get back to the UK once a year to see family but I always find a good deal on my flight. A friend watches the dog. Im not a fan of travelling anymore, in-fact I hate travelling. I would rather have a “staycation” The dog. Hes awesome Yes its. Yes its worth it. Hes therapy for my soul Hes a lab mix, AKA mutt. His adoption fee was high (350) but it went to a good cause. Generally mutts have less health issues I buy high quality food in bulk. Its rated 5 stars on DogFood Advisor which is the highest rating available and its not grain fee (dont buy into the hype…. I get Victor Hi-Pro Plus 50lb bags. Its 60. Hes a 3 year old 80-lb extremely active male lab. He gets 3 cups a day as this is extremely nutrient dense food without fillers. It lasts me nearly 2 months. 30 month for food I buy 20-lb dog biscuits for 14 at Menards plus 11% rebate. I break them in half. A bag lasts me about 3 months. Its his daily junk food treat I buy a 10-lb bag all natural beef bones from a local farm. 5. He usually gets them on weekends and a bag lasts about a month I rotate and repair his soft toys when they get holes in them. Hes had them a few years. I got most of them for 0. 50 cents at Goodwill. He inherited his nylabones, tennis balls, leash and collar, food from my previous dog and they are probably 10 years old. I do buy poop bags but they are 1 for 80 bags from the Dollar Tree. I do not do things like dress my dog up or send him to the groomer or do doggie daycare (I exercise him and he has doggie friends we walk with a few times a week) I spend 300 year for his annual vet visit. This includes an exam, shots, Bordetella and a year of flea/tick and heartworm meds. I buy the heartworm meds with the 4-way de-wormer and Braveco which is a pill every 3 months for fleas and ticks. These are the most expensive but as we hike in the woods daily and he likes to catch small worm/flea ridden furry animals its money well spent. We could go to a low cost shot clinic and save some but I like to have a relationship with his vet as it comes in handy I trade pet-sitting service with friends who have dogs I wash my dog at home in the backyard with Dawn dish soap (its fine – I use it on me too. He doesnt need haircuts or nail trims (we walk 2 miles on concrete every morning. If he needed haircuts or nail trims I would do it myself Other tips. I use cash back credit cards for as much as I can and pay them off every month I always send in my mail in rebates I track every penny I spend in an Excel spreadsheet. I know exactly where my money goes and how much my expenses change over the years I know where to buy the items I use for the best price I dont pay for a financial advisor. I do my own investing in low cost Vanguard index funds that's my frugal full, happy, content frugal life and hopefully there are some useful tips in here you can use. Anyone got more frugal tips they can share.

Dry run in java. I loved Michael. Even if he was a serial killer. He went missing one day before the police finally caught on. I had no idea. I was stunned. Not to mention betrayed. Depressed. Absolutely horrified by my husbands crimes. But what could I do? Michael and I were close but apparently, not close enough for him to draw me into his many murders. His torturous, systematic slaughter of over twenty women. Nor show me the way he photographed each and every one of them both before and after sending them to their gruesome deaths. Michael always the sadistic shutterbug. I felt for his victims and their families. I really did. I cried every night for eleven months straight. Long ago came to the conclusion I was oblivious to living with a monster. And I fucking dealt with it. I wasnt defending shit and certainly not Michael. Maybe the same psychopath who was able to lure countless women to their deaths could dupe his devoted wife? Who knew… and why was that so hard to believe? Especially with a man as sweet and handsome as him. But like buzzards, the media tore into my fragile flesh. I was The Dumb Housewife to what they dubbed The Perfect Husband. Just the dumb blonde. Nevermind, I had a PhD and worked at St. Francis hospital here in Columbus, Georgia. Goddamn social media was even worse. The abusive comments swarmed me. Everything from I was a dumb bitch to apparently an ugly old hag at forty-four. Apparently, I was so jealous of other women and all my failed pregnancies, I let Michael do the dirty work. Let him exterminate those beautiful fertile women. Yeah. This was “the narrative. ” As suspicious as they were, the police and D. A. still cleared me. But not before a final press conference where the prosecutor played the “not enough evidence” card. Just teasing the press enough for his own fifteen minutes of fame. To be able to be featured in the surefire “documentaries” where Lifetime and E! would rip me apart. How could she not know when the murders happened under their roof! In their own basement! The tabloids tormented me. More than the memories to be honest but I had no idea. Michael wasnt that way around me. I thought he was my soulmate. The love of my life. Wed met in college over twenty years ago. Both of us honor grads. At first, we bonded over photography. Nature. The arts. The very hobby that would become Michaels terrifying trademark. Michael wasnt tall but stayed in good shape. He ran everyday, and I certainly wasnt complaining when he kept his morning run ritual over the years. Like I said, he was handsome. His chiseled face complete with irresistible dimples. His brown curly hair as soft as those green eyes. When we first moved to our big house on Whitesville Road, I thought this was it. Our life was set. Michael and Sam Downing now had the American Dream. Of course, being with someone so attractive and charming only intensified my own insecurities. Even moreso once I became a suspect. A media punching bag. Only unlike O. J. and Casey Anthony, I didnt have a trial to lean on. Didnt have anything to leak out to the public. I was never given a voice. Or chance. At least the hospital stood by me. Columbus, Georgia like a support group away compared to the skeptical outside world. I guess we took care of our own out here… Regardless of whether or not my friends and family thought I helped The Perfect Husband kill those girls. Most of the time, I kept to myself. No more traveling or exploring. Instead, I just stayed inside our big brick house. Two stories of soulless superficiality. Michaels gorgeous grin still stared at me from our many photographs. His spirit stuck in every cat ornament or surreal portrait he ever bought for me. I felt him everywhere. Except the basement. I damn sure never went back there. I didnt care how much the police had collected evidence and washed out the grisly scene. I couldnt dare face the Downing slaughterhouse once more. Couldnt face the horrifying reality. What was worse was there was no closure. The cops took what they could and that was that. But Michael was still gone. Hed taken his Nikon D5 camera with him, so now wed never know how many women he killed. How many corpses hed have on display for his personal art exhibit. And I thought we probably never would. Michael was too smart. Too clever. Beneath the harassment on-line and from the paparazzi, I wilted away for another agonizing year. My blonde hair now started to grey. Bags started popping up under my eyes. Like a virus, a deadly combination of stress and mid-life crisis crashed upon my once good looks. I was far from curvy but I only grew skinnier. To my horror, even my tits started to sag. At this point, I had no chance at dating. At least, I didnt think so. No longer did I feel attractive or talented. Much less confident. When I felt at my lowest, loneliest, and yes, horniest, I sought attention on-line. All under an anonymous name. But the only compliments this desperate girl got were from the more desperate guys. Not to mention the hybristophilia-addled men and women wanting me just for my undeserved infamy. I didnt talk to hardly anyone at all. Sure, the Columbus community didnt harass or insult me. Not like the national media did. Or national zeitgeist for that matter. But no one was exactly eager to swing by my house. No one invited me over. Forget margarita nights with the co-workers, my own family didnt even have me over for Christmas. Instead, there was only one person I interacted with on a daily basis: my neighbor Sean Winslow. Nearing eighty (or at least looking it) Sean was polite and respectful. The grandfather type who never married or had kids. Like me, he was all alone. And by sheer coincidence, all the other homes on Whitesville Road barricaded themselves from their neighbors with fancy iron-pike fences and gates. Quarantining themselves from Sean and I… Not that their isolation helped while Michael was on the prowl. Especially considering how Michael kidnapped and killed Tarra Falls, one of the wealthier people out here. A mutilation by machete. Sean welcomed me back with open arms. His skin was still so smooth. His stark white hair so straight. His body muscular, his movements spry. As if wed swapped aging patterns, Sean seemed to grow younger and more spirited while I grew decrepit both inside and out. To my relief, Sean believed me because he too had been duped. Felt betrayed by the love of my life. Every weekend, Michael and I used to visit Sean. So he too had been close to this living monster. Days after the shitstorm ensued, Sean had let me stay the night at his place. Sure, maybe he was just being an old perv. This was before the stress tarnished whatever good looks I had, after all. But Sean didnt make any moves. He never did. Instead, he comforted me. There at his kitchen table, the two of us shared one of his older Cabernets. The wine warmed me from the dread. And so did Seans pleasant company. I looked out a window. Out toward the blue lights. The news vans. The media assault on 6660 Whitesville Road. An investigation still ongoing to this day. Sympathetic, Sean grabbed my hand. The supportive hold of a parent rather than a lovers lust. “Its okay, Sam, ” he told me in his genteel Southern accent. “You couldnt have known. ” I looked into his piercing hazel eyes. No longer did I cry. Not now. Not when I knew I wasnt alone. “No one could, ” Sean reassured. But then came a miserable milestone. The first of what I was sure would be a never-ending cycle of pain. One that wouldnt stop until my death. The one-year anniversary of our lives being buried. The January day Michaels darkest secrets were discovered. By me, the community, and the world. And the day Michael slaughtered my personal life. His first kill without a blade. Of course, the networks were chomping at the bit. Just passing twelve months meant more coverage, more specials. Televised investigations handled by incompetent talking heads and clickbait reporters. There would be exploitative re-enactments of Michaels methodical crimes, theories on where he is now, and theories on how I got away with murder. I had nothing new to say. I didnt know why Michael did what he did. Why he killed, why he used all sorts of vicious weapons from knives to hammers to kill so many women. Or why he used his favorite weapon of all: the Nikon. The same exact camera he used to take pictures of his bloody trophies. At the recommendation of lawyers and loved ones, I declined the biased interviews. Even when I knew that wouldnt be enough to turn down the army of press camping outside my door when the twenty-first arrived. But Sean came to the rescue. Yet again. The offer of staying at his place during this tasteless “holiday” was too much for me to pass up. An escape from both the limelight and lynch mobs. And one that was less than a hundred yards away. On that cold January dawn, I migrated inside his house. Well before the news crews and cameras began their stakeout. Before I could become prey to this malicious pop culture. Seans house was spacious. Clean. Besides the abundance of wine, he liked art as well. The many framed photographs and paintings perfect for his homemade museum. Throughout the day, we hid inside. Far from the madding media. No one bothered us. Seans security cameras scaring away even the creepy Michael Downing Fan Club. But like a ghost, Michael still haunted me. The T. V. talked about him constantly. So many stations stayed dedicated to anniversary coverage. To discuss Michael… or to accuse me. So Sean guided me back toward the kitchen table. Back to the site of our better memories. Together, we shared a few bottles of Pinot Grigio. “Well, Im glad I stole you away from them, ” Sean joked. Grinning, I took another sip. “You and me both. ” Behind a warm smile, Sean poured more into my glass. A generous helping as always. “I just got this bottle yesterday. They got that vineyard out in Albany, you know. ” “Oh really? Thats cool. ” Sean leaned back. His muscles well on display through the jeans and flannel shirt. The killer biceps. “I just wanted to mark this special occasion, I suppose, ” he joked. Even I cracked a smile. “Great idea…” “Well, I knew youd be here, ” Sean said. He leaned in closer. “I always appreciate your company, Sam. ” My eyes scanned the room. Doing everything they could to avoid the sickening soap opera outside my front yard. But the huge Keurig, the catalog of Seans nature photography did nothing to ease the anxiety. Nothing to stifle Michaels deep voice. His piercing gaze. The elegy of our good memories. “Honestly, it gets lonely out here, ” Sean went on. Feeling drunker by the second, I leaned against the table. Trying to keep myself upright. Sean shook his glass. White wine splashed out. I now realized it was a glass he hadnt touched in quite some time. Unusual considering both of us were alcoholics. “I miss the old days, Sam, ” he said, his voice sinking to a low tone. A Southern accent shifting from high exuberance to deep reflection. The drinks caught up to me. They hit so quick. So sudden. I looked over at Seans refrigerator. At the many magnets and photos. Several pics looked familiar. There was St. Simons Islands beautiful beaches, Pasoquans psychedelia in Buena Vista. The same places Michael and I loved to visit… “I miss when we could all be together, ” Sean said, his voice drifting away. “Before those amazing murders. The kills. ” My eyes drifted out of conscious. The room got blurry. Everything faded to black. The glass slipped through my hand and smashed against the marble tile. A deafening sound now reduced to a hollow echo. Through the haze, I confronted the bottle. What I was sure was drugged Albany Pinot Grigio. Sean reached toward me. “I want all of us together, Sam. ” That was the last thing I heard. I fell backward in my seat. Entered an unconscious realm. What felt like centuries was mere hours. I awoke later that night. Confused, disoriented. I knew Id been drugged. Lying on the ground, I looked all around me. Bright bulbs lit the claustrophobic room with clinical lab precision. Immediately, terror sunk in. Surrounding me were hundreds of photos. Enclosed in the gaudy frames were bodies and bodies. All of them women. Some nude, some in torn clothes. But all the girls were bound-and-gagged in duct tape. All of them dead. There were dissections, bludgeonings, decapitations. Visceral, grisly murder at the hands of many different tools. And at the hands of one horrifying serial killer: my husband. Like Michael, the Nikon D5 showed no mercy. Every corpse was captured in a captivating light. In all their disturbing glory. From the walls, the collection of corpses watched me. The few faces that werent mangled still had their eyes open in fear. The faces of death. Right by the red door was a long metal table. Its surface covered by an arsenal of vicious weapons. There were knives, machetes, axes… and gallons of dark dry blood. The blades ready to tear through flesh. And all they needed was a killers hungry touch. I now knew where I was. The houses in this neighborhood all had similar layouts. But there was no way this was my basement. Even if looked just like the scary scene police had shown me one year ago. Somehow, Sean had made a shrine to Michaels work. A terrifying tribute to his prolific serial killer career. Then a muffled cry hit me. As did a nauseating smell. Turning, I saw a red-headed woman lying a few feet away. She was bound-and-gagged in duct tape. Her ripped clothes covered in blood. Her pale body covered in bruises. She couldnt have been older than eighteen… but she still fit Michaels M. O. Or whatever the Hell Seans “type” was. The womans eyes begged me for help. She squirmed beneath the tape. Too weak to even crawl. “Oh God! ” I yelled. I jumped up and ran toward her. Desperate to help the young woman escape. Tears streamed down her eyes. Shivering, the woman struggled to move closer toward me. This up close I saw she was missing patches of skin. Her pants stained with days of piss and shit… I reached out toward her. Then the red door burst open. In came Sean. A sly smile on his handsome face. A silver hammer in his hand. A Nikon D5 in the other. Startled, I jumped back. My eyes watched Sean charging forward like a wolf ready to pounce on a vulnerable lamb. I stood petrified in fear… even as I heard the young woman shriek through that tape. Heard her body flounder on the floor. Without hesitation, Sean sunk the hammer claw straight into her face. Right between the womans screaming eyes. Blood blasted all over us. Each of us coated in a quick crimson shower. The girl fell straight back. Her body silent and still. The hammer an arrow into her foreheads bullseye. A fast flash caught the postmortem photo. The young woman now a most morbid model. Perfect for Seans morbid museum. Sean lowered the Nikon, revealing an even bigger smile. Pleased at his latest trophy. Horrified, I glared at him. “What the Hell are you doing! ” all I could scream. Seans cackle became a soundtrack to this slaughterhouse. In his death basement. Angry, I took a step toward him. “What the fucks wrong with you! ” I waved toward his latest victim. “Did yall do this together! Both of yall sick fucks! ” “Not at all! ” Sean yelled in a deep, proud voice. Crying out, I lunged toward him. Toward the old sack of shit. In one quick push, Sean pushed me straight down. His strength so sneaky. I fell hard. Groaning, I looked up at him. His muscular physique. The shoulders and chiseled chest so unnatural for someone near eighty. With a theatrical flourish, Sean withdrew a switchblade and flicked out the shiny blade. He set his hungry sights on me. “Ive been waiting a long time for this, Sam. ” Disturbed, I watched him lean in toward me. But inside, I built up courage. Or at least tried to. “You have no idea, ” Sean went on. He put the blade to my face. Faint blood stains were all over the fucking thing. Bits of female flesh included. I suppressed the tears. But stayed sickened by everything around me. “I want you…” Sean teased. Embracing anger, I threw a first punch. Right at Seans nose. My aim perfect. Covering his face, Sean staggered back. “Aw, fuck! ” Then I looked on. Simultaneously stunned and scared. Unable to move. To make a sound. There stood Sean, clutching his bloodied nose and dangling, filleted flesh. The long strands of skin like shredded paper. He glared at me behind one green eye and one brown one. Through the blood, pale powder smeared across his hands. Red rain had washed away the disguise. And now it was all clear. Especially when I saw that hazel contact lying by Michaels latest victim. Raising the switchblade, my husband confronted me. Standing tall in the death room hed recreated in Seans basement. A sadistic smirk now plastered on his face. “Looks like were together again, Sam! ” his deep voice bellowed. “Right where I always wanted you. ” I staggered to my feet. Too nervous to stop the chills but too upset to shed tears. “Why, Michael! ” I yelled. With cool indifference, Michael ripped off the remaining latex. The make-up now wiped clean to reveal the face of a cold-blooded killer. Fake skin still dripped off Michaels fingertips. But his grip on that blade stayed steady. On the camera as well. “Why are you doing this! ” I hurled at him. Michael took a calm step toward me. “I had to escape, babe. ” Both his hands now grabbed on to the Nikon as he got closer and closer. “So I did the only thing I could. I came here. ” This Michael was similar sure. Still handsome and charismatic. Still the man I married. But deep down, I felt dread. Disgust at the Michael Downing who fooled me. The Perfect Husband I didnt know. Betrayal battered my senses, but I wasnt gonna cry. Not over him. Not ever again. Just inches away, Michael pointed the camera at me. A crude spotlight for my fear. “I killed Sean, ” Michael went on. “It was tough but I had no choice. You know Im not crazy about killing dudes, Sam. ” I just glared at him. Watched Michael as he got ready to take a photo. “Happy anniversary, babe, ” Michael teased. There right in front of me, he took the picture. With no regard for Sam. For all the years I loved him. Instead, I was just another temporary thrill. Yet another victim. Grinning, Michael lowered the camera. “Oh, Ill take my time with you, Sam. ” I stood there, silent and still. I felt violated, sickened. Hurt. Cringing, I let Michael caress my face for one final time. “Just like I always wanted to, ” Michael said. Relishing the torture, he leaned in close. His movements soft and slow. “Now how about a kiss for The Perfect Husband, babe. ” I then made my move. A quick punch into Michaels firm chest. My long year of agony now released in that one act of violence. Groaning, Michael fell to his knee. He dropped the knife. My onslaught continued. I just laid into him. One hit after the other. Now I was glad to have kept the wedding ring on… more force for that left-handed hook. Michaels muscular frame hit the ground. Lying parallel to his last victim. Two bodies for this basement funeral. A funeral for my ruined past. For my shattered dreams. Crying out, Michael struggled on the ground. His face battered and bruised. Blood pouring from his broken nose. Power surged through me. Strength. Confidence. All the violence sent me into a pure state of euphoria. The most pleasure I felt since the honeymoon stage... Excited, I snatched up the Nikon from Michaels weakened grasp. Aimed it at him as if the camera were a pistol. The smile long gone, Michael glowered at me. “You bitch! ” he cried. “You fucking bitch! Gimme that! Defiant for the first time in this horror movie marriage, I held the camera steady. The lens more unflinching than my harsh gaze. “Gimme the fucking camera! ” Michael yelled. Rage won out. As did desire. I snapped my first death portrait. But did you really think Id turn Michael in? Expose his existence for all the world to see. Clear my name for these fucking assholes? Of course not. Sure, I ended up dumping Carla Dowses body off on Whittlesey Boulevard. A chance for her family to get the closure I finally got… But I did nothing with Seans place. Nothing other than take a few souvenirs with me. Months later, and the kills still keep me aroused. Keep me excited. I think about those tied-up bodies. The naked young men helpless to my touch. Their blood, the slow slaughters. The way the boys flinch when I take that fun first photo. And then how I position their beautiful corpses for the even more fun final shoot. Photography hasnt been this exhilarating since college, Ill tell you that. I renovated my basement. Now its my death room rather than Michaels. Sure, I got a similar layout. A pink wooden table full of vicious sharp blades at my disposal. But at least I keep the slaughterhouse stylized. I love the pink wallpaper. The psychedelic (now blood-stained) rugs. But most of all its my personal museum. The framed photos of dead hot guys running up and down those walls are my victims. Not to mention my newfound pride and joy. The fetish I never knew I had. Late at night, Ill fall asleep thinking about the kills. Fantasize over them. Salivate over taking those pictures. Dream about murdering those fineass men. By now, the photos of Michael and I are gone. Everything that reminded me of him are gone with them. The cat figurines, the surreal portraits. This is my house now. Especially that Goddamn basement: Sams Slaughterhouse. The only thing Michael has left me is himself. The crumpled prisoner in my death room. Like an entrapped lab rat, he just lies there in duct tape. Too beaten and bloodied to do anything. Both his Achilles are sliced, his tongue ripped out, fingers lopped off. I dont mind toying with him from time to time. But I do have other studs to tend to… more alluring hotties to play with. Their photos now form my basement trophy case. That Nikon my deadliest weapon of all. I understand Michaels desire now. I get why he was a serial killer. The same motive fuels my bloodlust in the basement and in bed. What I do behind that big red door gives me exhilaration, an escape from the boredom. So much pleasure I carry it with me to the bedroom every single night… Now I never feel lonely. After so many murders, I feel better. The carnage a catharsis for my confidence. Ive matched Michaels strength. Now muscular and fit, I look amazing. The blonde hair is back. The wrinkles held at bay. I look ten years younger, and I use my attractive looks to my advantage. Just like Michael did. In the basement, I scan the many framed photos. The many victims Ill be thinking of later tonight. And the same murders Ill be dreaming over for eternity. I steal a look at my unconscious husband. Divorce closer than ever considering Michaels dying state. His cuts and scars have only been growing deeper these past few days. Then my eyes drift toward Adam. The college kid I picked up last week. A jock with a nice smile and long black hair. The slit throat now made him even prettier. So did the blood all over that amazing body. A perfect picture for my gallery. A sharp vibration cut through my admiration. A phone call from my latest date: Johnny Cullen. He was acute, skinny black guy in his thirties. One with a sympathetic heart I couldnt wait to carve out. Dressed to kill, I turned toward the table. Toward the butcher knife I planned on using later. Not to mention the other tools forming my hardware horror fantasies. The media always wanted me to be a killer. And so did the rest of the world. Even Columbus, Georgia. Even my friends and family. And now… well. I was gonna give them that bitch. Meet Sam Downing. Photographer and serial killer. The Perfect Wife. 14.

Dr russell psychiatrist buffalo ny. Dry run band. Dry run creek norfork arkansas. GOD BLESS PHILIPPINES at ang ating mAhaL na Tatay PRRD #DuterteAdministration #TeamDOTr #BuildBuildBuild #SerbisyongTotooTatakDUTERTE 💪💪📶 🆙 🔝 🔜 🇵🇭 🌏 ❤️👊👊☝️🙏. Dry run.

 

 

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