Sandy hill farm plymouth meeting
Another moving to Savannah post (sorry!)
2023.03.20 17:30 hard_snard Another moving to Savannah post (sorry!)
Hi all! I read through the wiki & other posts/resources just had a few questions & wanted to hear from people who live here :)
For context I’m 22 and planning to move sometime in July- I’ve lived in Chapel Hill NC for about 5 years now for college and work and Savannah seemed like a great mix of both city life while also not being too hectic like NYC or larger cities
I work full-time in a remote job and was planning on picking up a bartending or server job as well for weekends/later shifts a few times a week. I also love art and I have volunteered with different animal shelters & orgs since I was 12 (horses, dogs, cats, reptiles, & more lol) and I was wondering if there are any local shelters or orgs that are usually open to new volunteers? Also was wondering about the hiring scene in food service as well
My main question I wanted to hear about was what the city was like for people my age/the general age demographic that lives in Savannah? I’m also part of the LGBTQ+ community & heard Savannah was gay-friendly so that was part of my reasoning as well Also if there are specific areas of the city that are better for younger people to live? My budget I’d like to keep around $1500-$1600 for rent, is that reasonable for cost of living in Savannah?
Since I work remote & would be living alone without roommates for the first time I also just wanted to see if there are good ways to meet people & get involved in the community to make friends & all of that so I’m not just in my apartment all of the time lol (art classes, adult sport teams, volunteering, etc etc)
Thank you!!
submitted by hard_snard to savannah [link] [comments]
For context I’m 22 and planning to move sometime in July- I’ve lived in Chapel Hill NC for about 5 years now for college and work and Savannah seemed like a great mix of both city life while also not being too hectic like NYC or larger cities
I work full-time in a remote job and was planning on picking up a bartending or server job as well for weekends/later shifts a few times a week. I also love art and I have volunteered with different animal shelters & orgs since I was 12 (horses, dogs, cats, reptiles, & more lol) and I was wondering if there are any local shelters or orgs that are usually open to new volunteers? Also was wondering about the hiring scene in food service as well
My main question I wanted to hear about was what the city was like for people my age/the general age demographic that lives in Savannah? I’m also part of the LGBTQ+ community & heard Savannah was gay-friendly so that was part of my reasoning as well Also if there are specific areas of the city that are better for younger people to live? My budget I’d like to keep around $1500-$1600 for rent, is that reasonable for cost of living in Savannah?
Since I work remote & would be living alone without roommates for the first time I also just wanted to see if there are good ways to meet people & get involved in the community to make friends & all of that so I’m not just in my apartment all of the time lol (art classes, adult sport teams, volunteering, etc etc)
Thank you!!
2023.03.20 17:28 beardify My Friends And I Took A Vacation To A Place Called "Death Ridge Lodge..."
My friends weren’t exactly enthusiastic about meeting me at a place called the “Death Ridge Lodge,” even after I told them that “Dethritch” was just the name of the shepherd who used to own the land. Truth was, I was more than a little nervous myself. I’d been out of the country for five years; there had been calls and letters, but my friends and I hadn’t seen each other in all that time…would we still have the connection that we once did?
Some of the changes that time had wrought were surprising; others, less so. We’d all expected my stubborn, brilliant friend Jennifer to be an attorney like her father–but in a story straight out of a cheesy Hallmark movie, she’d married a guy from a tiny town in Kentucky and had two kids. Meanwhile, Ned–a loudmouthed, extroverted redhead–had somehow ended up working from a lonely home office as a computer programmer.
And then there was Zoe.
She’d been my crush since our sophomore year of college. It wasn’t just her auburn hair or piercing green eyes; it was the care and honesty she showed in everything she did. Before her, I’d never met someone who really listened, who really cared about other people without working their own angle. We’d all expected great things for her…but in the end, she’d wound up like me. Back in our hometown. Unsure about the future.
But now that so much time had passed, would we even have anything in common anymore?
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Not even the wailing winter storm and unexpected power outages could dampen our good time. Ned, Zoe, Jennifer, and I gathered around a roaring flagstone fireplace, sharing our favorite scary stories and urban legends. It didn’t matter that the howling wind made going outside deadly, or that snow had cut off the forest road to the outside world: we had warmth, food, booze–and our rediscovered friendship. We also had Lee.
When we arrived, Lee explained to us that he was the off-season caretaker of Dethritch Lodge and the surrounding cabins. During tourist season in summer, the place swarmed with hospitality workers, but from fall to spring Lee mostly had the place to himself. When the blizzard hit, he made a point of checking in on us.
“Temperature's goin’ down out there,” he warned us that fateful night. “Visibility Is almost zero. You kids wouldn’t wanna get lost out there tonight…or any other night.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoe smiled. “We have no intention of going outside in that.” She pointed to the wind-driven snow that was rattling against the window panes.
“It can’t be that easy to get lost though, can it?” Ned–always the contrarian–asked. “I mean, we’re on the side of a mountain. To go one way you just go down, and to go the other way you just go back up, right?”
“Not that simple.” Lee grunted, pulling up a stool. “We’re a hundred miles from civilization out here, and if you can’t recognize any landmarks, all them pine trees out there look the same. Even if you think you know where you’re goin,’ this mountain likes to play tricks. The gentle slope you walk down in fall might be dangerously steep in spring; boulders tumble, streams change course, and paths disappear from one season to the next. There’s dozens of trails criss-crossin’ this ol’ mountain: 1800’s logging roads, game trails, other paths so old it’s impossible to tell who made’em. Trust me, you lose your way out there, all you’re gonna get is more an’ more lost..and then you’ll start to panic. An’ at that point, if hypothermia an’ hunger an’ the bears don’t getcha, ol’ man Dethritch and his dogs will.”
“Dethritch?” “Dogs?” Zoe and Jennifer asked at once.
“Just how much do you four know about Dethritch Lodge?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “I was looking for a place where my old friends and I could meet up over the holidays, the place looked cozy, had hiking and skiing and good reviews…besides, back then, the weather forecast said we’d have a clear weekend...”
Lee nodded, as if that was about what he expected. “It’s an odd place…with an odd history. Just after the Revolutionary War, a man named Jebediah Dethritch showed up here and started construction on a cabin. He said that the mountain had called to him, that he’d seen it in a dream, an’ that Patrick Henry had gifted him the entire mountainside in exchange for services rendered during the war. There was plenty of land back then, and grants were being handed out like candy, so no one called him on it. Besides, folks wanted farmland, not the slope of a damn mountain. They all thought Jeb Dethritch was crazy, but he carved a life outta these hills, swearing that he and the land were one flesh. Jeb and his sons felled forests, dragged out the stumps, and planted orchards; they set up secret garden patches back in the woods; raised chickens, cows, and a flock of sheep. For a while, things were good.” The old man stared into the fire. “If you young people get bored with all this history, just say so…”
“Well, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do, do we?” Ned scoffed.
“No, please go on. It’s interesting.” Zoe reassured Lee; Ned rolled his eyes.
“Well, the years rolled by. Jeb died and passed his land on to his son and grandson, who went on livin’ the same way he had. Meanwhile, towns were buildin’ up around the mountain. The more they expanded, the more folks demanded proof that the mountain really belonged to the Dethritches. By the end of the Civil War–that’s to say, Jeb’s great-grandson’s time–nobody cared about yellowed papers and ancient claims. Folks wanted the mountain developed, and kept suin’ ‘til they found a judge who agreed with’em. Amos Dethritch got a few acres and the rest went to minin’ and loggin’ companies. But takin’ advantage of the Dethritchs’ land was no easy task. See, the Dethritches refused to accept the court’s decision. They kept livin’ in their hidden shacks on the mountainside, and made life hell for the companies who, from their point of view, were trespassing’ on their property. Every day there were downed trees on the road, supplies burnt, animals missin’...it went on for decades, all the way into the 1900’s. And while nobody had been hurt in Amos Dethritch’s little guerrilla war, it was costin’ those companies more than the mountain was worth. They had to put a stop to it. The first sign of trouble was when Alice Dethritch–Amos’ wife from back east–stopped comin’ into town to sell her honey an’ fruit preserves.. A few days later, Amos was found in the middle of a dirt loggin’ road, surrounded by his three mastiffs. They’d all been shot to pieces. Ten years later, some trappers found Alice and the kids in a shallow grave. They said it looked like they’d died…badly.”
“So who did it?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, nobody can prove nothin’ about nothin,’ but a group of flashy out-of-towners rode in on the last train from Chicago that night, an’ left in the mornin.’ Folks in town said they saw lantern lights goin’ up the loggin’ road, and gunfire in the hollers…” Lee stared thoughtfully into the fireplace. “In a way, though, I guess you could say the Dethritches won out in the end. The mountain never yielded enough timber or coal to justify the expense. The companies that had fought so hard over the mountain–and even killed to keep it–all went bankrupt a few years later. This place was practically abandoned ‘til the national parks craze took off in the 1950’s. Some clever investors bought it off the bank for pennies…they built the cabins and lodge that we’re sittin’ in today.”
“But what does all that have to do with ‘old man Dethritch’ and his ‘dogs’?”
“Well, the mountain wasn’t completely left alone after all them companies closed down. The local men came up here to hunt, grandmothers collected fruit from the Dethritchs’ woodland orchards, and the teenagers…well, they came up here to do what teenagers do. But over the years, rumors began to trickle down about strange sightings in these woods. Some folks got to thinkin’ that maybe Amos Dethritch wasn’t really dead…or if he was, he was still around somehow.”
“You mean like a ghost?” I ventured.
“You call it what you want!” Lee prodded the dying embers. “I’m just tellin’ it how I heard it–and you wouldn’t believe some’a the tales the folks in town have about this mountain. Like ol’ Bruce Higgins, who came back from deer huntin’ all bitten an’ tore up, with his rifle missin.’ He said he’d been chased down the mountain by three snarlin’ shepherd dogs…just like those huge mastiffs found shot to death beside Amos. Miss Nellie Price said she saw the ol’ man himself, stalkin’ through the trees with a hundred-year-old hunting rifle an’ a sack of dead rabbits slung over his shoulder…” Lee rambled on; Jennifer tried to hide a smile.
“I’m sorry…” she chuckled. “It’s just…my dad was a hunter, and he used to see things in the woods too. Usually after his fifth beer. And my Great-Aunt Mildred was convinced she was hearing whispers in her walls…until my mother got rid of the bird’s nest in her chimney. The birdsong had been echoing in the pipes–it sounded like real human voices. My point is, there’s a snowball effect with stories like these. They live rent-free in the back of people’s minds, and when they see something they can’t explain, they just keep adding to them…”
“I’m not sayin’ you're wrong,” Lee grumbled. “I’ve never seen ol’ man Amos myself, an’ I’ve lived up here all my life. But I will say that there’s somethin’ off about this mountain. Maybe it goes all the way back to Jeb Dethritch, or even before that. Otherwise, how can you account for all the disappearances? Like the four high schoolers who went camping up here on a dare back in the 1970’s. Nothin’ was left of them but a trampled down tent an’ the soggy ashes of their fire…”
“Wasn’t there an investigation?” Zoe asked.
“Oh, sure there was. The police concluded that the girls had run away from home. Then when Terry Bannister an’ his nine-year-old son didn’t come back from their hikin’ trip, they blamed wolves. When a local artist’s car was found along a loggin’ road with spikes in the tires and the driver’s-side door hanging off of its hinges, they called it an ‘abandoned vehicle.’ They jus’ towed it back into town an’ didn’t even look for her. Don’tcha see where I’m goin’ with this? Ever since the loggin’ and minin’ dried up, tourism is the only thing keepin’ those little towns afloat. ‘The Ghost of Amos Dethritch and his Three Hell-Hounds’ makes for a fine local legend, but if the summer crowd ever found out about the real, horrible crimes that happen up on this mountain every year…it’d be the death of the whole industry.”
“I call bullshit!” Ned laughed. “This sounds an awful lot like a scary story that locals use to scare us wide-eyed out-of-towners with, am I right?”
“Call it what you want.” Lee shrugged again. “But I wouldn’t go outside ‘til the storm passes, if I were you.” He pulled on his boots and wrapped himself in his winter gear, so weathered and worn that it was all the same uniform tone of grayish-brown. “You kids got everything you need?” We nodded; he waved to us as he trudged out the door.
“Stay safe out there!” I called out too late. The only response was the rattling of the screen door and the howling of the wind–if it was the wind. I thought of the savage jaws of enormous mastiffs and shuddered.
We all slept beside the fireplace that night. Everyone had their own excuse: Ned claimed the rooms were too cold; Zoe said she wanted to have a slumber party; Jennifer had already fallen asleep in her chair. But I knew our real reason for keeping close to each other was that Lee’s tale had unnerved all of us more than we would have liked to admit. We craved the primal comforts of fire, warmth, and companionship. Before going to sleep, I dared to take a look out the frozen window, but all I could see was blackness. Too cold even for a ghost, I told myself with a chuckle, before stirring the fire and curling up in one of the lodge’s thick blankets. My dreams were haunted by worm-eaten faces in shallow graves and shadowy figures on desolate mountain paths; I woke before anyone else in the morning.
I’d always loved the peace of being awake while others slept; I took my time making my coffee and examining what the storm had done to the mountainside. The trees were bent, icy spikes stabbing into an ominous gray sky; at least a foot of snow covered the lodge patio. Frigid air blasted my face as I heaved open the sliding glass door and stepped out into the winter wonderland. Beautiful as it was, something more than the cold was bothering me; it took me a moment to fully realize what it was:
There were no footprints leading to the cabin where Lee was staying.
True, maybe the snow had filled them in–but no smoke rose from the chimney, either. Where had Lee gone? I was leaning out over the railing for a better view when I heard a low growl behind me.
I wasn’t alone on the patio.
Half-frozen drool hung from the mastiff’s gaping jaws; its hazel eyes burned with fury. Another, identical dog growled behind me–they were trying to cut off my escape! I bolted for the door and slid it shut just before a mouth as large as my face smashed into the glass, cracking it. The enormous dog lunged again, widening the spiderweb pattern on the glass. Barks and howls chilled my blood; my friends were waking, but not fast enough:
"Just a few more minutes…" Zoe mumbled while I shook her.
"Holy shit!" Ned screamed, pointing at the mastiff slamming itself into the glass.
"Get to the kitchen!" Jennifer grabbed the fire poker and waved us through before slamming the kitchen’s heavy wooden door. From outside, barks, snarls, shattering glass–
Heavy canine steps across the hardwood.
A long, mournful howl echoed through the cabin…and three sets of paws began scratching at the door. I wondered if the enormous dogs outside were calling to their master.
"Oh my god, oh my god…what the fuck is going on?!" Ned jabbed his finger at my chest like all this was all my fault.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Jennifer demanded.
“How should I know?!” I shouted back at Ned.
“I know what’s going on…” Zoe murmured. “Amos Dethritch. We’re on his mountain…and those are his dogs, just how Lee described them…”
“Ghost dogs?!” Ned rolled his eyes, “come on.”
“That mastiff out there just smashed its head against a sliding glass door until it broke! Would you call that ‘normal’ dog behavior?! Listen!” Jennifer put her ear to the wooden door as it shook beneath the dogs’ attack. “They’re not just scratching the door…they’re gnawing on it. Those aren’t ordinary dogs. And speaking of Lee–where is he?”
“I…I don’t think he made it back last night.” I thought of the smokeless chimney and the untrammeled snow. The kindly old caretaker was probably lying beneath it with his throat ripped out. Amos had come for him at last. The door rattled on its hinges.
“We gotta find a way out of here. That door’s not gonna last much longer…” Jennifer whispered, unlatching the small window above the sink.
“Oh, sure! Great plan!” Ned rolled his eyes. “Let’s run through the woods in subzero temperatures in our pajamas! What could possibly go wrong?”
“What do you suggest, then?” Jennifer challenged. As much as I hated to admit it, Ned was right. Last night’s fire was dead, and its warmth was fading fast. If Amos and his dogs didn’t kill us, the cold would. Zoe was already struggling to keep herself from trembling. While the rest of us argued, she had been scrounging for supplies. She’d found a few cobwebby soup cans, three dull kitchen knives, an almost-empty box of matches…and a trapdoor.
It took all our strength to heave it open, and even then the light didn’t reach whatever waited at the bottom. One thing, however, was clear: we were running out of time. The timbers of the kitchen door splintered, treating us to a view of slobbering fangs. The rusty window frame screeched as Jennifer flung it open. I looked down at her bare feet.
“Jen, going out there is suicide!”
“I WILL NOT wait to die in some dark…fucking…HOLE! We gotta make a run for it!” Of course, I suddenly remembered, Jennifer had claustrophobia. That cellar must’ve looked like her worst nightmare.
“I know you’re scared–we all are! But–”
“But NOTHING! I’m going!” Jennifer wiped away her tears with her pajama sleeve and leapt down into the snow. Behind us, the dogs had almost broken through. Ned, Zoe, and I sprinted for the trapdoor and slammed it shut behind us. The mastiffs sniffed around and dug at the floor over our heads–
But only for a moment. A horrifically human whistle split the silent winter air outside, followed by a cruel command–
“SIC HER, BOYS!”
First came barks, then snarls–and Jennifer began to scream.
Maybe it was a blessing that we couldn’t see what was happening out among the frozen trees, but just hearing it was bad enough. I pressed my fists against my ears and shut my eyes tight against the awful ripping and gnawing, barely audible over Jennifer’s screams. When it was finally over, the chattering of our teeth felt like the only noise left in the world. I had forgotten how much the cold could physically hurt. With trembling fingers, Zoe struck a match.
We were in a low-ceilinged dirt cellar. Decades of cobwebs hung like hideous curtains above us, and generations of junk had been scattered carelessly across the uneven ground. We rummaged through it by matchlight, looking for something, anything, that we could use.
“Paydirt!” Ned shouted. He’d found a canvas sack full of moth-eaten wool blankets, leather boots, and parkas beneath a heap of snowshoes. We bundled up immediately, grateful for the warmth, but there was little else of value in the heaped rubbish around us…and we were running out of matches.
“This is weird…” Zoe nudged me. She’d found an old wooden chest full of century-old dresses, leather bags and belts, and a tiny silver locket. The cellar ceiling groaned with heavy footsteps; Zoe instinctively pocketed the locket and grabbed my arm.
“Now where’d the rest of you run off to…?” The voice above us was the same one that had sicced the mastiffs on Jennifer. There was something antiquated, gravelly, and wild about it–something that made me think of the unsettling tale of the Dethritch clan.
“Amos…” Zoe mouthed, pointing to the far side of the cellar. The crumbling stone wall faded into blackness, but as I crawled silently closer I could see what lay above: a coal chute. An escape. The footsteps overhead left the kitchen–I imagined they were heading upstairs to check the bedrooms. We had shoes and a way of keeping warm–even if they were filthy and fit badly. If we were going to try to slip out through the coal chute, it was now or never. Ned’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist as I struggled to push open the rusted chute cover.
“Are you crazy?!” he hissed. “Did you not hear what happened to Jen out there?!”
“Jen had a point, too…” I whispered. “Whoever…or whatever…is up there is bound to check down here eventually. Do you wanna be down here when that happens?”
“I’ll take my fucking chances!” Ned had found an ice ax in the heaps of junk, and held it with a white-knuckle grip. I realized that my loud-mouthed childhood friend was even more frightened than Zoe and I. To my surprise, Zoe’s cold hand slid into mine.
“Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded. “Come on, Ned…come with us. There won’t be another chance!”
“No way. I’m staying right here!” Ned shook his head. The last I saw of him was his pale, stunned face watching us scramble out into the winter sun. Zoe and I trudged through the snow, afraid to look back…afraid of what might be following. We kept our eyes away from the red patches in the white where Jennifer had met her end, aiming instead for a suspicious trail of footprints that led from the woods up to Dethritch Lodge: one large human and three dogs.
“Ghosts don’t leave footprints, do they?” Zoe murmured. I shook my head, wondering where this insane day would lead us. Zoe and I had barely entered the silence of the pine forest when we heard the gunshot: the BOOM of a shotgun blast.
Ned had been found.
Zoe grabbed my arm; I could feel her warmth through our improvised blanket-coats. It was what I’d dreamed of when I’d planned this vacation: alone with Zoe, holding her close in the winter woods…but my dream had turned into a nightmare. The triumphant baying of the dogs and a man’s maniac laughter carried to us by the wind confirmed what we already feared: our friend was dead. For a long minute we just held each other, listening to our thundering heartbeats: a reminder that we were still alive.
But for how long? The footprints in the snow seemed to follow a sort of game trail…just like the ones Lee said the Dethritches had used. A small creek ran alongside it. My feet were exhausted from slogging through the high snow, but we had to put more distance between us and pursuit. Right around the time I lost sensation in my feet, we rounded a corner and saw a slumped-over hut up ahead.
The footprints we’d been following seemed to originate there. I swallowed hard and looked back at the boulder-strewn mountainside behind us.
“Hide up there.” I told Zoe. “I’ll see if it’s safe.”
“I’ll come with you, this is no time to be a he–” she began.
“Listen. If it’s not safe, we’re both dead. This way, at least one of us makes it.”
“Are…are you sure?”
“If we don’t find warmth, food, and shelter, we’re dead anyway. I’ve got to see what’s in there, and if you–” Zoe shut me up with a strong hug.
“Let me go instead. I want you to keep watch for me.”
I didn’t like the idea at all, but I could see in Zoe’s eyes that her mind was made up. She left me with an extra blanket and the other supplies she’d dug out of the cellar; I set up a vantage point behind a boulder where I could see without being seen…or so I hoped. Now that the sun was setting and my sweat began to cool, I found myself rethinking what I’d said to Zoe. I’d intentionally exaggerated when I’d told her we’d die without shelter–or at least I’d thought so at the time. But as the pine tree shadows reached out for us like long fingers and the temperature dropped, I wasn’t so sure. I wondered if covering ourselves with dirt would keep us warm enough, or if I’d even be able to light a fire with my shaking hands. I fiddled nervously with the first thing I grabbed out of Zoe’s blanket: that weird silver locket. I realized it had a clasp: it was probably one of those necklaces that held pictures inside…
Down below, Zoe was a tiny black shape on the sagging steps of the hut. She pushed open the creaking door–
I was so concerned about what might come out of it that I’d forgotten to pay attention to the path below. I suddenly sensed a presence just a few feet away.
“You alright, son?” A voice muttered behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin before I recognized it: Lee! I could have laughed for joy. If anyone knew a safe way off of this mountain, it was him.
“We were attacked!” I gasped. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think Amos and his three dogs–”
“Shhh!” Lee rasped. “I seen’em on my way down here, but don’t you worry. Everythin’s gonna be alright now. Where’s the girl? Is she…?”
“You mean Zoe? She’s down there by the hut.”
“Good.” Lee whistled...and his voice changed. “SIC HER, BOYS!”
Three huge mastiffs bounded down the path toward the hut, barking loudly, and Lee stepped backward. He held an ancient shotgun in his hands. Only then did I look down at the open heart-shaped locket I held in my hands. The black-and-white photo on the right showed a kindly-looking woman named ALICE DETHRITCH, but the photo on the left was captioned AMOS DETHRITCH…and the face it showed was a familiar one indeed. It was staring back at me from behind the barrel of a gun.
“Amos…?” I gasped. The dogs circled the hut below, howling. Any minute now, they’d corner Zoe…
“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts? I thought you city folk were supposed to be smart. Try this on for size: maybe Alice Dethritch survived the awful things those flashy out-of-towners did to her. Maybe she had a baby a few months later, a feral kid who raised himself after she died from her lingering injuries ten years later. Otherwise, who woulda buried her for those trappers to find? And maybe later, that kid grew up and decided he didn’t want the family name to die with him. Maybe he kidnapped one’a them high school girls who came up here in the 1970’s and used to her get himself an heir. Maybe that heir is standin’ here right now, pointin’ ol’ Amos’ rifle in the face of yet another trespasser…”
I lifted my hands slowly.
“Just…just don’t hurt Zoe…”
“Hurt her? No, I need her. I'm gonna breed myself an heir, the same way my father did, and raise him to carry on the fight 'til this mountain is ours again. After you four go missin,' even the tourism people won't be able to cover it up anymore–"
Lee Dethritch’s speech was cut short by the half rotten log that slammed into the side of his head. Zoe hit him two or three more times, but I doubt the blows were necessary. Lee Dethritch had met the fate of his ancestors, but I could hear his dogs baying below…from inside the hut.
“You alright?” Zoe asked.
“How did you–?” I wondered.
“That hut must be where he’s been living. It was dim…and filthy…but I saw a pile of rope right around the time I heard those dogs charging down the trail. I tied it to the front door knob and left it open just a crack, while I stood by the back door and waited for my moment. When those dogs charged in, I tugged the front door shut and slipped out the back. Dethritch’s dogs are trapped in there…for now.”
I remembered how quickly the three mastiffs had gnawed their way through the lodge’s kitchen door and shuddered. But would they even pursue us without Lee Dethritch urging them on?
We didn’t wait around to find out.
Night had fallen by the time we reached Dethritch Lodge; it felt like years had passed since we had fled the cellar that morning. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to talk much, Zoe and I distracted ourselves with simple tasks of survival: building a fire, heating water, gathering blankets, reinforcing the doors in case the dogs (or anything else) came back. It had been the longest day of my life, and I ended it curled up with Zoe in front of the Dethritch lodge fireplace.
By morning, the snow had melted; the unpaved, switchbacking road off of the Dethritchs’ mountain seemed just barely passable. Once we started driving, I realized just how much danger we were in: the back of my Corolla fishtailed around every turn, and twice the tires stuck in slushy mud and began to slide…toward the cliffs beside us.
When Zoe got out of the car to help me free it, I saw something that I still can’t explain. Maybe it was just a hallucination brought on by stress, but…
I’d swear I saw another Amos Dethritch look-alike watching us from the woods.
Was the mountain really haunted? Even worse, did Lee Dethritch have a brother?
When I looked again, they were gone.
I didn’t have any answer then, and I still don’t.
But I suggest you stay away from Dethritch Lodge.
X
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Some of the changes that time had wrought were surprising; others, less so. We’d all expected my stubborn, brilliant friend Jennifer to be an attorney like her father–but in a story straight out of a cheesy Hallmark movie, she’d married a guy from a tiny town in Kentucky and had two kids. Meanwhile, Ned–a loudmouthed, extroverted redhead–had somehow ended up working from a lonely home office as a computer programmer.
And then there was Zoe.
She’d been my crush since our sophomore year of college. It wasn’t just her auburn hair or piercing green eyes; it was the care and honesty she showed in everything she did. Before her, I’d never met someone who really listened, who really cared about other people without working their own angle. We’d all expected great things for her…but in the end, she’d wound up like me. Back in our hometown. Unsure about the future.
But now that so much time had passed, would we even have anything in common anymore?
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Not even the wailing winter storm and unexpected power outages could dampen our good time. Ned, Zoe, Jennifer, and I gathered around a roaring flagstone fireplace, sharing our favorite scary stories and urban legends. It didn’t matter that the howling wind made going outside deadly, or that snow had cut off the forest road to the outside world: we had warmth, food, booze–and our rediscovered friendship. We also had Lee.
When we arrived, Lee explained to us that he was the off-season caretaker of Dethritch Lodge and the surrounding cabins. During tourist season in summer, the place swarmed with hospitality workers, but from fall to spring Lee mostly had the place to himself. When the blizzard hit, he made a point of checking in on us.
“Temperature's goin’ down out there,” he warned us that fateful night. “Visibility Is almost zero. You kids wouldn’t wanna get lost out there tonight…or any other night.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoe smiled. “We have no intention of going outside in that.” She pointed to the wind-driven snow that was rattling against the window panes.
“It can’t be that easy to get lost though, can it?” Ned–always the contrarian–asked. “I mean, we’re on the side of a mountain. To go one way you just go down, and to go the other way you just go back up, right?”
“Not that simple.” Lee grunted, pulling up a stool. “We’re a hundred miles from civilization out here, and if you can’t recognize any landmarks, all them pine trees out there look the same. Even if you think you know where you’re goin,’ this mountain likes to play tricks. The gentle slope you walk down in fall might be dangerously steep in spring; boulders tumble, streams change course, and paths disappear from one season to the next. There’s dozens of trails criss-crossin’ this ol’ mountain: 1800’s logging roads, game trails, other paths so old it’s impossible to tell who made’em. Trust me, you lose your way out there, all you’re gonna get is more an’ more lost..and then you’ll start to panic. An’ at that point, if hypothermia an’ hunger an’ the bears don’t getcha, ol’ man Dethritch and his dogs will.”
“Dethritch?” “Dogs?” Zoe and Jennifer asked at once.
“Just how much do you four know about Dethritch Lodge?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “I was looking for a place where my old friends and I could meet up over the holidays, the place looked cozy, had hiking and skiing and good reviews…besides, back then, the weather forecast said we’d have a clear weekend...”
Lee nodded, as if that was about what he expected. “It’s an odd place…with an odd history. Just after the Revolutionary War, a man named Jebediah Dethritch showed up here and started construction on a cabin. He said that the mountain had called to him, that he’d seen it in a dream, an’ that Patrick Henry had gifted him the entire mountainside in exchange for services rendered during the war. There was plenty of land back then, and grants were being handed out like candy, so no one called him on it. Besides, folks wanted farmland, not the slope of a damn mountain. They all thought Jeb Dethritch was crazy, but he carved a life outta these hills, swearing that he and the land were one flesh. Jeb and his sons felled forests, dragged out the stumps, and planted orchards; they set up secret garden patches back in the woods; raised chickens, cows, and a flock of sheep. For a while, things were good.” The old man stared into the fire. “If you young people get bored with all this history, just say so…”
“Well, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do, do we?” Ned scoffed.
“No, please go on. It’s interesting.” Zoe reassured Lee; Ned rolled his eyes.
“Well, the years rolled by. Jeb died and passed his land on to his son and grandson, who went on livin’ the same way he had. Meanwhile, towns were buildin’ up around the mountain. The more they expanded, the more folks demanded proof that the mountain really belonged to the Dethritches. By the end of the Civil War–that’s to say, Jeb’s great-grandson’s time–nobody cared about yellowed papers and ancient claims. Folks wanted the mountain developed, and kept suin’ ‘til they found a judge who agreed with’em. Amos Dethritch got a few acres and the rest went to minin’ and loggin’ companies. But takin’ advantage of the Dethritchs’ land was no easy task. See, the Dethritches refused to accept the court’s decision. They kept livin’ in their hidden shacks on the mountainside, and made life hell for the companies who, from their point of view, were trespassing’ on their property. Every day there were downed trees on the road, supplies burnt, animals missin’...it went on for decades, all the way into the 1900’s. And while nobody had been hurt in Amos Dethritch’s little guerrilla war, it was costin’ those companies more than the mountain was worth. They had to put a stop to it. The first sign of trouble was when Alice Dethritch–Amos’ wife from back east–stopped comin’ into town to sell her honey an’ fruit preserves.. A few days later, Amos was found in the middle of a dirt loggin’ road, surrounded by his three mastiffs. They’d all been shot to pieces. Ten years later, some trappers found Alice and the kids in a shallow grave. They said it looked like they’d died…badly.”
“So who did it?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, nobody can prove nothin’ about nothin,’ but a group of flashy out-of-towners rode in on the last train from Chicago that night, an’ left in the mornin.’ Folks in town said they saw lantern lights goin’ up the loggin’ road, and gunfire in the hollers…” Lee stared thoughtfully into the fireplace. “In a way, though, I guess you could say the Dethritches won out in the end. The mountain never yielded enough timber or coal to justify the expense. The companies that had fought so hard over the mountain–and even killed to keep it–all went bankrupt a few years later. This place was practically abandoned ‘til the national parks craze took off in the 1950’s. Some clever investors bought it off the bank for pennies…they built the cabins and lodge that we’re sittin’ in today.”
“But what does all that have to do with ‘old man Dethritch’ and his ‘dogs’?”
“Well, the mountain wasn’t completely left alone after all them companies closed down. The local men came up here to hunt, grandmothers collected fruit from the Dethritchs’ woodland orchards, and the teenagers…well, they came up here to do what teenagers do. But over the years, rumors began to trickle down about strange sightings in these woods. Some folks got to thinkin’ that maybe Amos Dethritch wasn’t really dead…or if he was, he was still around somehow.”
“You mean like a ghost?” I ventured.
“You call it what you want!” Lee prodded the dying embers. “I’m just tellin’ it how I heard it–and you wouldn’t believe some’a the tales the folks in town have about this mountain. Like ol’ Bruce Higgins, who came back from deer huntin’ all bitten an’ tore up, with his rifle missin.’ He said he’d been chased down the mountain by three snarlin’ shepherd dogs…just like those huge mastiffs found shot to death beside Amos. Miss Nellie Price said she saw the ol’ man himself, stalkin’ through the trees with a hundred-year-old hunting rifle an’ a sack of dead rabbits slung over his shoulder…” Lee rambled on; Jennifer tried to hide a smile.
“I’m sorry…” she chuckled. “It’s just…my dad was a hunter, and he used to see things in the woods too. Usually after his fifth beer. And my Great-Aunt Mildred was convinced she was hearing whispers in her walls…until my mother got rid of the bird’s nest in her chimney. The birdsong had been echoing in the pipes–it sounded like real human voices. My point is, there’s a snowball effect with stories like these. They live rent-free in the back of people’s minds, and when they see something they can’t explain, they just keep adding to them…”
“I’m not sayin’ you're wrong,” Lee grumbled. “I’ve never seen ol’ man Amos myself, an’ I’ve lived up here all my life. But I will say that there’s somethin’ off about this mountain. Maybe it goes all the way back to Jeb Dethritch, or even before that. Otherwise, how can you account for all the disappearances? Like the four high schoolers who went camping up here on a dare back in the 1970’s. Nothin’ was left of them but a trampled down tent an’ the soggy ashes of their fire…”
“Wasn’t there an investigation?” Zoe asked.
“Oh, sure there was. The police concluded that the girls had run away from home. Then when Terry Bannister an’ his nine-year-old son didn’t come back from their hikin’ trip, they blamed wolves. When a local artist’s car was found along a loggin’ road with spikes in the tires and the driver’s-side door hanging off of its hinges, they called it an ‘abandoned vehicle.’ They jus’ towed it back into town an’ didn’t even look for her. Don’tcha see where I’m goin’ with this? Ever since the loggin’ and minin’ dried up, tourism is the only thing keepin’ those little towns afloat. ‘The Ghost of Amos Dethritch and his Three Hell-Hounds’ makes for a fine local legend, but if the summer crowd ever found out about the real, horrible crimes that happen up on this mountain every year…it’d be the death of the whole industry.”
“I call bullshit!” Ned laughed. “This sounds an awful lot like a scary story that locals use to scare us wide-eyed out-of-towners with, am I right?”
“Call it what you want.” Lee shrugged again. “But I wouldn’t go outside ‘til the storm passes, if I were you.” He pulled on his boots and wrapped himself in his winter gear, so weathered and worn that it was all the same uniform tone of grayish-brown. “You kids got everything you need?” We nodded; he waved to us as he trudged out the door.
“Stay safe out there!” I called out too late. The only response was the rattling of the screen door and the howling of the wind–if it was the wind. I thought of the savage jaws of enormous mastiffs and shuddered.
We all slept beside the fireplace that night. Everyone had their own excuse: Ned claimed the rooms were too cold; Zoe said she wanted to have a slumber party; Jennifer had already fallen asleep in her chair. But I knew our real reason for keeping close to each other was that Lee’s tale had unnerved all of us more than we would have liked to admit. We craved the primal comforts of fire, warmth, and companionship. Before going to sleep, I dared to take a look out the frozen window, but all I could see was blackness. Too cold even for a ghost, I told myself with a chuckle, before stirring the fire and curling up in one of the lodge’s thick blankets. My dreams were haunted by worm-eaten faces in shallow graves and shadowy figures on desolate mountain paths; I woke before anyone else in the morning.
I’d always loved the peace of being awake while others slept; I took my time making my coffee and examining what the storm had done to the mountainside. The trees were bent, icy spikes stabbing into an ominous gray sky; at least a foot of snow covered the lodge patio. Frigid air blasted my face as I heaved open the sliding glass door and stepped out into the winter wonderland. Beautiful as it was, something more than the cold was bothering me; it took me a moment to fully realize what it was:
There were no footprints leading to the cabin where Lee was staying.
True, maybe the snow had filled them in–but no smoke rose from the chimney, either. Where had Lee gone? I was leaning out over the railing for a better view when I heard a low growl behind me.
I wasn’t alone on the patio.
Half-frozen drool hung from the mastiff’s gaping jaws; its hazel eyes burned with fury. Another, identical dog growled behind me–they were trying to cut off my escape! I bolted for the door and slid it shut just before a mouth as large as my face smashed into the glass, cracking it. The enormous dog lunged again, widening the spiderweb pattern on the glass. Barks and howls chilled my blood; my friends were waking, but not fast enough:
"Just a few more minutes…" Zoe mumbled while I shook her.
"Holy shit!" Ned screamed, pointing at the mastiff slamming itself into the glass.
"Get to the kitchen!" Jennifer grabbed the fire poker and waved us through before slamming the kitchen’s heavy wooden door. From outside, barks, snarls, shattering glass–
Heavy canine steps across the hardwood.
A long, mournful howl echoed through the cabin…and three sets of paws began scratching at the door. I wondered if the enormous dogs outside were calling to their master.
"Oh my god, oh my god…what the fuck is going on?!" Ned jabbed his finger at my chest like all this was all my fault.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Jennifer demanded.
“How should I know?!” I shouted back at Ned.
“I know what’s going on…” Zoe murmured. “Amos Dethritch. We’re on his mountain…and those are his dogs, just how Lee described them…”
“Ghost dogs?!” Ned rolled his eyes, “come on.”
“That mastiff out there just smashed its head against a sliding glass door until it broke! Would you call that ‘normal’ dog behavior?! Listen!” Jennifer put her ear to the wooden door as it shook beneath the dogs’ attack. “They’re not just scratching the door…they’re gnawing on it. Those aren’t ordinary dogs. And speaking of Lee–where is he?”
“I…I don’t think he made it back last night.” I thought of the smokeless chimney and the untrammeled snow. The kindly old caretaker was probably lying beneath it with his throat ripped out. Amos had come for him at last. The door rattled on its hinges.
“We gotta find a way out of here. That door’s not gonna last much longer…” Jennifer whispered, unlatching the small window above the sink.
“Oh, sure! Great plan!” Ned rolled his eyes. “Let’s run through the woods in subzero temperatures in our pajamas! What could possibly go wrong?”
“What do you suggest, then?” Jennifer challenged. As much as I hated to admit it, Ned was right. Last night’s fire was dead, and its warmth was fading fast. If Amos and his dogs didn’t kill us, the cold would. Zoe was already struggling to keep herself from trembling. While the rest of us argued, she had been scrounging for supplies. She’d found a few cobwebby soup cans, three dull kitchen knives, an almost-empty box of matches…and a trapdoor.
It took all our strength to heave it open, and even then the light didn’t reach whatever waited at the bottom. One thing, however, was clear: we were running out of time. The timbers of the kitchen door splintered, treating us to a view of slobbering fangs. The rusty window frame screeched as Jennifer flung it open. I looked down at her bare feet.
“Jen, going out there is suicide!”
“I WILL NOT wait to die in some dark…fucking…HOLE! We gotta make a run for it!” Of course, I suddenly remembered, Jennifer had claustrophobia. That cellar must’ve looked like her worst nightmare.
“I know you’re scared–we all are! But–”
“But NOTHING! I’m going!” Jennifer wiped away her tears with her pajama sleeve and leapt down into the snow. Behind us, the dogs had almost broken through. Ned, Zoe, and I sprinted for the trapdoor and slammed it shut behind us. The mastiffs sniffed around and dug at the floor over our heads–
But only for a moment. A horrifically human whistle split the silent winter air outside, followed by a cruel command–
“SIC HER, BOYS!”
First came barks, then snarls–and Jennifer began to scream.
Maybe it was a blessing that we couldn’t see what was happening out among the frozen trees, but just hearing it was bad enough. I pressed my fists against my ears and shut my eyes tight against the awful ripping and gnawing, barely audible over Jennifer’s screams. When it was finally over, the chattering of our teeth felt like the only noise left in the world. I had forgotten how much the cold could physically hurt. With trembling fingers, Zoe struck a match.
We were in a low-ceilinged dirt cellar. Decades of cobwebs hung like hideous curtains above us, and generations of junk had been scattered carelessly across the uneven ground. We rummaged through it by matchlight, looking for something, anything, that we could use.
“Paydirt!” Ned shouted. He’d found a canvas sack full of moth-eaten wool blankets, leather boots, and parkas beneath a heap of snowshoes. We bundled up immediately, grateful for the warmth, but there was little else of value in the heaped rubbish around us…and we were running out of matches.
“This is weird…” Zoe nudged me. She’d found an old wooden chest full of century-old dresses, leather bags and belts, and a tiny silver locket. The cellar ceiling groaned with heavy footsteps; Zoe instinctively pocketed the locket and grabbed my arm.
“Now where’d the rest of you run off to…?” The voice above us was the same one that had sicced the mastiffs on Jennifer. There was something antiquated, gravelly, and wild about it–something that made me think of the unsettling tale of the Dethritch clan.
“Amos…” Zoe mouthed, pointing to the far side of the cellar. The crumbling stone wall faded into blackness, but as I crawled silently closer I could see what lay above: a coal chute. An escape. The footsteps overhead left the kitchen–I imagined they were heading upstairs to check the bedrooms. We had shoes and a way of keeping warm–even if they were filthy and fit badly. If we were going to try to slip out through the coal chute, it was now or never. Ned’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist as I struggled to push open the rusted chute cover.
“Are you crazy?!” he hissed. “Did you not hear what happened to Jen out there?!”
“Jen had a point, too…” I whispered. “Whoever…or whatever…is up there is bound to check down here eventually. Do you wanna be down here when that happens?”
“I’ll take my fucking chances!” Ned had found an ice ax in the heaps of junk, and held it with a white-knuckle grip. I realized that my loud-mouthed childhood friend was even more frightened than Zoe and I. To my surprise, Zoe’s cold hand slid into mine.
“Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded. “Come on, Ned…come with us. There won’t be another chance!”
“No way. I’m staying right here!” Ned shook his head. The last I saw of him was his pale, stunned face watching us scramble out into the winter sun. Zoe and I trudged through the snow, afraid to look back…afraid of what might be following. We kept our eyes away from the red patches in the white where Jennifer had met her end, aiming instead for a suspicious trail of footprints that led from the woods up to Dethritch Lodge: one large human and three dogs.
“Ghosts don’t leave footprints, do they?” Zoe murmured. I shook my head, wondering where this insane day would lead us. Zoe and I had barely entered the silence of the pine forest when we heard the gunshot: the BOOM of a shotgun blast.
Ned had been found.
Zoe grabbed my arm; I could feel her warmth through our improvised blanket-coats. It was what I’d dreamed of when I’d planned this vacation: alone with Zoe, holding her close in the winter woods…but my dream had turned into a nightmare. The triumphant baying of the dogs and a man’s maniac laughter carried to us by the wind confirmed what we already feared: our friend was dead. For a long minute we just held each other, listening to our thundering heartbeats: a reminder that we were still alive.
But for how long? The footprints in the snow seemed to follow a sort of game trail…just like the ones Lee said the Dethritches had used. A small creek ran alongside it. My feet were exhausted from slogging through the high snow, but we had to put more distance between us and pursuit. Right around the time I lost sensation in my feet, we rounded a corner and saw a slumped-over hut up ahead.
The footprints we’d been following seemed to originate there. I swallowed hard and looked back at the boulder-strewn mountainside behind us.
“Hide up there.” I told Zoe. “I’ll see if it’s safe.”
“I’ll come with you, this is no time to be a he–” she began.
“Listen. If it’s not safe, we’re both dead. This way, at least one of us makes it.”
“Are…are you sure?”
“If we don’t find warmth, food, and shelter, we’re dead anyway. I’ve got to see what’s in there, and if you–” Zoe shut me up with a strong hug.
“Let me go instead. I want you to keep watch for me.”
I didn’t like the idea at all, but I could see in Zoe’s eyes that her mind was made up. She left me with an extra blanket and the other supplies she’d dug out of the cellar; I set up a vantage point behind a boulder where I could see without being seen…or so I hoped. Now that the sun was setting and my sweat began to cool, I found myself rethinking what I’d said to Zoe. I’d intentionally exaggerated when I’d told her we’d die without shelter–or at least I’d thought so at the time. But as the pine tree shadows reached out for us like long fingers and the temperature dropped, I wasn’t so sure. I wondered if covering ourselves with dirt would keep us warm enough, or if I’d even be able to light a fire with my shaking hands. I fiddled nervously with the first thing I grabbed out of Zoe’s blanket: that weird silver locket. I realized it had a clasp: it was probably one of those necklaces that held pictures inside…
Down below, Zoe was a tiny black shape on the sagging steps of the hut. She pushed open the creaking door–
I was so concerned about what might come out of it that I’d forgotten to pay attention to the path below. I suddenly sensed a presence just a few feet away.
“You alright, son?” A voice muttered behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin before I recognized it: Lee! I could have laughed for joy. If anyone knew a safe way off of this mountain, it was him.
“We were attacked!” I gasped. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think Amos and his three dogs–”
“Shhh!” Lee rasped. “I seen’em on my way down here, but don’t you worry. Everythin’s gonna be alright now. Where’s the girl? Is she…?”
“You mean Zoe? She’s down there by the hut.”
“Good.” Lee whistled...and his voice changed. “SIC HER, BOYS!”
Three huge mastiffs bounded down the path toward the hut, barking loudly, and Lee stepped backward. He held an ancient shotgun in his hands. Only then did I look down at the open heart-shaped locket I held in my hands. The black-and-white photo on the right showed a kindly-looking woman named ALICE DETHRITCH, but the photo on the left was captioned AMOS DETHRITCH…and the face it showed was a familiar one indeed. It was staring back at me from behind the barrel of a gun.
“Amos…?” I gasped. The dogs circled the hut below, howling. Any minute now, they’d corner Zoe…
“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts? I thought you city folk were supposed to be smart. Try this on for size: maybe Alice Dethritch survived the awful things those flashy out-of-towners did to her. Maybe she had a baby a few months later, a feral kid who raised himself after she died from her lingering injuries ten years later. Otherwise, who woulda buried her for those trappers to find? And maybe later, that kid grew up and decided he didn’t want the family name to die with him. Maybe he kidnapped one’a them high school girls who came up here in the 1970’s and used to her get himself an heir. Maybe that heir is standin’ here right now, pointin’ ol’ Amos’ rifle in the face of yet another trespasser…”
I lifted my hands slowly.
“Just…just don’t hurt Zoe…”
“Hurt her? No, I need her. I'm gonna breed myself an heir, the same way my father did, and raise him to carry on the fight 'til this mountain is ours again. After you four go missin,' even the tourism people won't be able to cover it up anymore–"
Lee Dethritch’s speech was cut short by the half rotten log that slammed into the side of his head. Zoe hit him two or three more times, but I doubt the blows were necessary. Lee Dethritch had met the fate of his ancestors, but I could hear his dogs baying below…from inside the hut.
“You alright?” Zoe asked.
“How did you–?” I wondered.
“That hut must be where he’s been living. It was dim…and filthy…but I saw a pile of rope right around the time I heard those dogs charging down the trail. I tied it to the front door knob and left it open just a crack, while I stood by the back door and waited for my moment. When those dogs charged in, I tugged the front door shut and slipped out the back. Dethritch’s dogs are trapped in there…for now.”
I remembered how quickly the three mastiffs had gnawed their way through the lodge’s kitchen door and shuddered. But would they even pursue us without Lee Dethritch urging them on?
We didn’t wait around to find out.
Night had fallen by the time we reached Dethritch Lodge; it felt like years had passed since we had fled the cellar that morning. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to talk much, Zoe and I distracted ourselves with simple tasks of survival: building a fire, heating water, gathering blankets, reinforcing the doors in case the dogs (or anything else) came back. It had been the longest day of my life, and I ended it curled up with Zoe in front of the Dethritch lodge fireplace.
By morning, the snow had melted; the unpaved, switchbacking road off of the Dethritchs’ mountain seemed just barely passable. Once we started driving, I realized just how much danger we were in: the back of my Corolla fishtailed around every turn, and twice the tires stuck in slushy mud and began to slide…toward the cliffs beside us.
When Zoe got out of the car to help me free it, I saw something that I still can’t explain. Maybe it was just a hallucination brought on by stress, but…
I’d swear I saw another Amos Dethritch look-alike watching us from the woods.
Was the mountain really haunted? Even worse, did Lee Dethritch have a brother?
When I looked again, they were gone.
I didn’t have any answer then, and I still don’t.
But I suggest you stay away from Dethritch Lodge.
X
2023.03.20 17:00 kerryfinchelhillary Player of the Day (3/20/23): Chris Bassitt
BASICS:
Born: February 22, 1989
Jersey Number: 61 (White Sox), 40 (Athletics, Mets, Blue Jays)
Bats: Right
Throws: Right
Position: Starting Pitcher
Drafted: 2011 by the White Sox, Round 16, Pick 501
MLB Debut: August 30, 2014
Teams: White Sox (2011-2014), Athletics (2015-2021), Mets (2022), Blue Jays (2023-present)
Twitter: @C_Bass419
Instagram: @cbass419
2022 STATS:
Games: 30
Innings Pitched: 181.2
Wins: 15
Losses: 9
ERA: 3.42
Strikeouts: 167
CAREER STATS:
Games: 136
Innings Pitched: 737.1
Wins: 46
Losses: 34
ERA: 3.45
Strikeouts: 671
Complete Games: 1
Shutouts: 1
CAREER AWARDS:
All Star - 2021
AL Pitcher of the Month - September 2020
Athletics Jim Catfish Hunter Award - 2021
THINGS YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW:
His dog was at his wedding.
He played baseball at University of Akron.
He has two kids.
He likes fishing.
He is an Ohio State Buckeyes fan.
He also played basketball in high school.
2022 HIGHLIGHTS:
He had an 11 K game
He threw seven scoreless innings
He pitched eight innings in one game
He had a strong Mets debut
CAREER HIGHLIGHTS:
He threw a shutout in 2021
He got nine straight wins in 2021
WHY I LIKE HIM:
He's a good pitcher and I love seeing guys from Ohio doing well!
PREVIOUSLY FEATURED PLAYERS:
11/14: Mike Trout 11/15: Jose Ramirez 11/16: Julio Rodriguez 11/17: Michael Harris II 11/18: Sandy Alcantara 11/19: Framber Valdez 11/20: Justin Verlander 11/21: Shane Bieber 11/22: Clayton Kershaw 11/23: Paul Goldschmidt 11/24-11/25: Break 11/26: Aaron Judge 11/27: Spencer Strider 11/28: Oscar Gonzalez 11/29: Lars Nootbaar 11/30: Brendan Rodgers 12/1: Daulton Varsho 12/2: Brandon Belt 12/3: Trent Grisham 12/4: Corey Seager 12/5: Myles Straw 12/6: Sean Murphy 12/7: Christian Yelich 12/8: Nico Hoerner 12/9: Joey Votto 12/10: Bryan Reynolds 12/11: Dylan Cease 12/12: Andres Gimenez 12/13: Luis Arraez 12/14: Bobby Witt Jr 12/15: Miguel Cabrera 12/16: Francisco Lindor 12/17: JT Realmuto 12/18: Victor Robles 12/19: Steven Kwan 12/20: Shane McClanahan 12/21: Alek Manoah 12/22: Adley Rutschman 12/23: Kiké Hernandez 12/24-12/26: Break 12/27: Mookie Betts 12/28: Jake Cronenworth 12/29: Brandon Crawford 12/30: Zac Gallen 12/31-1/1: Break 1/2: Cal Quantrill 1/3: Ryan McMahon 1/4: Cal Raleigh 1/5: Patrick Sandoval 1/6: Nathaniel Lowe 1/7: Cole Irvin 1/8: Corbin Burnes 1/9: Liam Hendriks 1/10: Josh Naylor 1/11: Ian Happ 1/12: Nick Lodolo 1/13: Oneil Cruz 1/14: Byron Buxton 1/15: Riley Greene 1/16: Triston McKenzie 1/17: Brady Singer 1/18: Carlos Carrasco 1/19: Aaron Nola 1/20: Jazz Chisholm 1/21: Keibert Ruiz 1/22: Anthony Rizzo 1/23: Amed Rosario 1/24: Tyler Glasnow 1/25: Matt Chapman 1/26: Cedric Mullins 1/27: Rafael Devers 1/28: Matt Olson 1/29: Rich Hill 1/30: Josh Bell 1/31: Jesse Chavez 2/1: Ty France 2/2: Alejandro Kirk 2/3: Jeff McNeil 2/4: Marcus Semien 2/5: Luke Jackson 2/6: Mike Zunino 2/7: Christian Walker 2/8: Walker Buehler 2/9: Jose Trevino 2/10: Nolan Arenado 2/11: Mitch Haniger 2/12: Yu Darvish 2/13: Logan Webb 2/14: Daniel Bard 2/15: Trey Mancini 2/16: Taylor Ward 2/17: Seth Brown 2/18: Willy Adames 2/19: Seiya Suzuki 2/20: Hunter Greene 2/21: Michael Kopech 2/22: Andrew McCutchen 2/23: Jhoan Duran 2/24: Eric Haase 2/25: Salvador Perez 2/26: Vladimir Guerrero Jr 2/27: Yandy Diaz 2/28: Ramon Urias 3/1: Trevor Story 3/2: Zack Wheeler 3/3: Jon Berti 3/4: Lane Thomas 3/5: Willson Contreras 3/6: Jose Abreu 3/7: Spencer Torkelson 3/8: Xander Bogaerts 3/9: Pablo Lopez 3/10: Cody Bellinger 3/11: Jacob deGrom 3/12: Adam Frazier 3/13: Max Muncy 3/14: Andrew Benintendi 3/15: Tyler Anderson 3/16: Christian Vazquez 3/17: Max Scherzer 3/18: Jesus Aguilar 3/19: Rhys Hoskins
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Born: February 22, 1989
Jersey Number: 61 (White Sox), 40 (Athletics, Mets, Blue Jays)
Bats: Right
Throws: Right
Position: Starting Pitcher
Drafted: 2011 by the White Sox, Round 16, Pick 501
MLB Debut: August 30, 2014
Teams: White Sox (2011-2014), Athletics (2015-2021), Mets (2022), Blue Jays (2023-present)
Twitter: @C_Bass419
Instagram: @cbass419
2022 STATS:
Games: 30
Innings Pitched: 181.2
Wins: 15
Losses: 9
ERA: 3.42
Strikeouts: 167
CAREER STATS:
Games: 136
Innings Pitched: 737.1
Wins: 46
Losses: 34
ERA: 3.45
Strikeouts: 671
Complete Games: 1
Shutouts: 1
CAREER AWARDS:
All Star - 2021
AL Pitcher of the Month - September 2020
Athletics Jim Catfish Hunter Award - 2021
THINGS YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW:
His dog was at his wedding.
He played baseball at University of Akron.
He has two kids.
He likes fishing.
He is an Ohio State Buckeyes fan.
He also played basketball in high school.
2022 HIGHLIGHTS:
He had an 11 K game
He threw seven scoreless innings
He pitched eight innings in one game
He had a strong Mets debut
CAREER HIGHLIGHTS:
He threw a shutout in 2021
He got nine straight wins in 2021
WHY I LIKE HIM:
He's a good pitcher and I love seeing guys from Ohio doing well!
PREVIOUSLY FEATURED PLAYERS:
11/14: Mike Trout 11/15: Jose Ramirez 11/16: Julio Rodriguez 11/17: Michael Harris II 11/18: Sandy Alcantara 11/19: Framber Valdez 11/20: Justin Verlander 11/21: Shane Bieber 11/22: Clayton Kershaw 11/23: Paul Goldschmidt 11/24-11/25: Break 11/26: Aaron Judge 11/27: Spencer Strider 11/28: Oscar Gonzalez 11/29: Lars Nootbaar 11/30: Brendan Rodgers 12/1: Daulton Varsho 12/2: Brandon Belt 12/3: Trent Grisham 12/4: Corey Seager 12/5: Myles Straw 12/6: Sean Murphy 12/7: Christian Yelich 12/8: Nico Hoerner 12/9: Joey Votto 12/10: Bryan Reynolds 12/11: Dylan Cease 12/12: Andres Gimenez 12/13: Luis Arraez 12/14: Bobby Witt Jr 12/15: Miguel Cabrera 12/16: Francisco Lindor 12/17: JT Realmuto 12/18: Victor Robles 12/19: Steven Kwan 12/20: Shane McClanahan 12/21: Alek Manoah 12/22: Adley Rutschman 12/23: Kiké Hernandez 12/24-12/26: Break 12/27: Mookie Betts 12/28: Jake Cronenworth 12/29: Brandon Crawford 12/30: Zac Gallen 12/31-1/1: Break 1/2: Cal Quantrill 1/3: Ryan McMahon 1/4: Cal Raleigh 1/5: Patrick Sandoval 1/6: Nathaniel Lowe 1/7: Cole Irvin 1/8: Corbin Burnes 1/9: Liam Hendriks 1/10: Josh Naylor 1/11: Ian Happ 1/12: Nick Lodolo 1/13: Oneil Cruz 1/14: Byron Buxton 1/15: Riley Greene 1/16: Triston McKenzie 1/17: Brady Singer 1/18: Carlos Carrasco 1/19: Aaron Nola 1/20: Jazz Chisholm 1/21: Keibert Ruiz 1/22: Anthony Rizzo 1/23: Amed Rosario 1/24: Tyler Glasnow 1/25: Matt Chapman 1/26: Cedric Mullins 1/27: Rafael Devers 1/28: Matt Olson 1/29: Rich Hill 1/30: Josh Bell 1/31: Jesse Chavez 2/1: Ty France 2/2: Alejandro Kirk 2/3: Jeff McNeil 2/4: Marcus Semien 2/5: Luke Jackson 2/6: Mike Zunino 2/7: Christian Walker 2/8: Walker Buehler 2/9: Jose Trevino 2/10: Nolan Arenado 2/11: Mitch Haniger 2/12: Yu Darvish 2/13: Logan Webb 2/14: Daniel Bard 2/15: Trey Mancini 2/16: Taylor Ward 2/17: Seth Brown 2/18: Willy Adames 2/19: Seiya Suzuki 2/20: Hunter Greene 2/21: Michael Kopech 2/22: Andrew McCutchen 2/23: Jhoan Duran 2/24: Eric Haase 2/25: Salvador Perez 2/26: Vladimir Guerrero Jr 2/27: Yandy Diaz 2/28: Ramon Urias 3/1: Trevor Story 3/2: Zack Wheeler 3/3: Jon Berti 3/4: Lane Thomas 3/5: Willson Contreras 3/6: Jose Abreu 3/7: Spencer Torkelson 3/8: Xander Bogaerts 3/9: Pablo Lopez 3/10: Cody Bellinger 3/11: Jacob deGrom 3/12: Adam Frazier 3/13: Max Muncy 3/14: Andrew Benintendi 3/15: Tyler Anderson 3/16: Christian Vazquez 3/17: Max Scherzer 3/18: Jesus Aguilar 3/19: Rhys Hoskins
2023.03.20 16:29 eastriverfarms Come Check Out East River Farms for 10% off All Flower Today!
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submitted by eastriverfarms to SouthDakotaCannabis [link] [comments]
We've got a wide variety of flower available from some of the top growers in South Dakota, including Pure Bliss, Dakota Natural Growers, From the Hills, South Dakota Cannabis Company, and Black Hill Cannabis Company. No matter what your preferences are, we've got something for you.
Our dispensary is conveniently located on the corner of 69th and Louise in Sioux Falls, so stop by and see us before we close at 10 pm tonight. Don't miss out on this opportunity to save on some great flower!
2023.03.20 16:16 PlantBasedLove My experience as "almost Jen/Rishi" same/different my thoughts and observations
I was in a relationship with an Indian man around 10 years ago. He was 30 and I was 47. He lived in Jaipur, the same city as Rishi, so this segment on 90 day fiance this season is really hitting home for me! Every Sunday I watch the show. I have major flashbacks and triggers to my time there and I have a mix of so many emotions watching these segments for both Jen and Rishi because I went through sooooo much there and I learned & experienced sooooo much there in my time. A little about my relationship and my time there - it differs in some ways but also has a lot of parallels too. Admittedly the relationship was a bit strange…I met him - a man I will call “S” the year before, when I was traveling there on my own. My long term marriage had just ended that year (my ex’s decision not mine) and looking back, I was in a lot of pain and just needed to leave my life behind and “go somewhere”. I met S on my first trip. Very charismatic man, charming, successful, good looking,., . We began to be platonic friends and he invited me to his home, I met his family, and took him up on the offer to travel to his families village in rural Rajasthan. I think this was the key turning point for everything. It made me love Rajasthan, the way of life, the family, respect him because he told me so many stories and secrets and we became very close but still platonic friends.
I continued my travels around India and once back home we remained in contact daily, by email, Skype etc. We loved to just chat and there was a definite spark between us that was there…. We talked about deeper topics and we decided that I would return a few months later, and this is when our relationship become intimate. We agreed not tell anyone as his friends and family would have a heart attack and die. This would not be seen as an acceptable relationship for S. We would continue to pose and close platonic friends. Here is where our relationship differed from Jen and Rishi though...we knew and discussed from the start that "this" was not going to be anything long lasting- we would never marry - it would be "good while it lasted". Famous last words...
I returned to India and began what I can only describe as the craziest 6 yr relationship I have ever had in my life (long story). I also had what I can only describe as some of the best experiences of my life too. I got an intimate inside look at rural Rajasthan village life, having spent almost 2 years (in 2/3/4 month blocks) in India. I would often spend 2-3 weeks in the village or farm without electricity or water. We would cook over open fire, sleep under the stars on the roof of the cement one room house and get water by walking over 1 km with jugs and putting them on our heads on the way back ( I learned to balance a little one!) Some of my time would be in the same city as Jen (Jaipur). I’d ride my bicycle or the scooter around to do errands. I would go to Bollywood movies, cook dinner, hang out with the neighbour ladies... I learned a good amount of basic Hindi to do shopping. That is why I never understood why Jenny needed Sumit to go shopping….very strange.
I became very close to the rest of the family. They just accepted me as part of the family and loved me. Anyhow, it came to an end between me and S because of an recurring issues unfortunately after about 6 years. I’m still in touch and close to some family members but not S…..
Some of the things we have seen so far on the show -
-Men eating before the women - From what I have seen this is quite common in Rajasthan. This is a state steeped in more tradition. Jaipur has a lot of people from villages that are very very traditional. Every time I go to the villages, the men are fed and the women eat. EVERY wedding I go to, the men even have a separate SECTION for men and women to sit and eat and I have pix to prove it :)
I was “allowed” to sit with the men, because I was always treated as a “special guest” because I am white. I have so many wedding stories you would not believe - I really could write a book…
-Inshallah - I have heard this used as a common greeting in jaipur. Was not surprised that Jen used it with a lawyer. Have heard S use it in business meetings, when shaking hands and greeting other business collegees
-Neighbours and friends being in others business - totally happening. Everyone is in everyone's else's business. Especially family. Parents are totally controlling kids' futures. Big oldest brothers have WORLDS WEIGHT on their shoulders in my opinion. Lots of arranged marriages still, and still underage going on.
-Jen’s visa - with all due respect to Jen, I do not know how she got this one wrong. LOL. These visas are very clear when you apply and when you receive them what you are applying for and when you must leave by. So I am not sure what is going on there…
Rishi- I had a lot of empathy for him not wanting to tell Jen about his mom arranging marriages for him. This is something I feel is being constantly done in the background, in some cases, in some families, such as some of the ones I knew, even since birth!! It is out of his control and he cannot stop his mom from doing it. The older he gets the more frantic she will become because the more pressure she will get from the outside (friends and family) and about why he isn;'t married or when is he going to get married? It is a vicious circle! I think in his own way he was just trying to protect her feelings.
India is a marvellous country- caught between the past and future. I have seen some wonderful progress over the years, but there is a long way to go. I am going back this year for a wedding and really looking forward to it, I highly recommend travel there!Anyhow, I thought I would post some of my thoughts and reactions - I have not posted in ages, but this relationship really got my mind going and brought back a flood of memories (good & bad). I love seeing the shots around Jaipur, esp when they shoot inside the walled city. And this past week I think they went to the Galti Ji Monkey Temple - which is one of my favourite places. I'm really looking forward to watching more! I'd be happy to answer any questions (from my perspective if anyone has any!)
submitted by PlantBasedLove to 90DayFiance [link] [comments]
I continued my travels around India and once back home we remained in contact daily, by email, Skype etc. We loved to just chat and there was a definite spark between us that was there…. We talked about deeper topics and we decided that I would return a few months later, and this is when our relationship become intimate. We agreed not tell anyone as his friends and family would have a heart attack and die. This would not be seen as an acceptable relationship for S. We would continue to pose and close platonic friends. Here is where our relationship differed from Jen and Rishi though...we knew and discussed from the start that "this" was not going to be anything long lasting- we would never marry - it would be "good while it lasted". Famous last words...
I returned to India and began what I can only describe as the craziest 6 yr relationship I have ever had in my life (long story). I also had what I can only describe as some of the best experiences of my life too. I got an intimate inside look at rural Rajasthan village life, having spent almost 2 years (in 2/3/4 month blocks) in India. I would often spend 2-3 weeks in the village or farm without electricity or water. We would cook over open fire, sleep under the stars on the roof of the cement one room house and get water by walking over 1 km with jugs and putting them on our heads on the way back ( I learned to balance a little one!) Some of my time would be in the same city as Jen (Jaipur). I’d ride my bicycle or the scooter around to do errands. I would go to Bollywood movies, cook dinner, hang out with the neighbour ladies... I learned a good amount of basic Hindi to do shopping. That is why I never understood why Jenny needed Sumit to go shopping….very strange.
I became very close to the rest of the family. They just accepted me as part of the family and loved me. Anyhow, it came to an end between me and S because of an recurring issues unfortunately after about 6 years. I’m still in touch and close to some family members but not S…..
Some of the things we have seen so far on the show -
-Men eating before the women - From what I have seen this is quite common in Rajasthan. This is a state steeped in more tradition. Jaipur has a lot of people from villages that are very very traditional. Every time I go to the villages, the men are fed and the women eat. EVERY wedding I go to, the men even have a separate SECTION for men and women to sit and eat and I have pix to prove it :)
I was “allowed” to sit with the men, because I was always treated as a “special guest” because I am white. I have so many wedding stories you would not believe - I really could write a book…
-Inshallah - I have heard this used as a common greeting in jaipur. Was not surprised that Jen used it with a lawyer. Have heard S use it in business meetings, when shaking hands and greeting other business collegees
-Neighbours and friends being in others business - totally happening. Everyone is in everyone's else's business. Especially family. Parents are totally controlling kids' futures. Big oldest brothers have WORLDS WEIGHT on their shoulders in my opinion. Lots of arranged marriages still, and still underage going on.
-Jen’s visa - with all due respect to Jen, I do not know how she got this one wrong. LOL. These visas are very clear when you apply and when you receive them what you are applying for and when you must leave by. So I am not sure what is going on there…
Rishi- I had a lot of empathy for him not wanting to tell Jen about his mom arranging marriages for him. This is something I feel is being constantly done in the background, in some cases, in some families, such as some of the ones I knew, even since birth!! It is out of his control and he cannot stop his mom from doing it. The older he gets the more frantic she will become because the more pressure she will get from the outside (friends and family) and about why he isn;'t married or when is he going to get married? It is a vicious circle! I think in his own way he was just trying to protect her feelings.
India is a marvellous country- caught between the past and future. I have seen some wonderful progress over the years, but there is a long way to go. I am going back this year for a wedding and really looking forward to it, I highly recommend travel there!Anyhow, I thought I would post some of my thoughts and reactions - I have not posted in ages, but this relationship really got my mind going and brought back a flood of memories (good & bad). I love seeing the shots around Jaipur, esp when they shoot inside the walled city. And this past week I think they went to the Galti Ji Monkey Temple - which is one of my favourite places. I'm really looking forward to watching more! I'd be happy to answer any questions (from my perspective if anyone has any!)
2023.03.20 16:00 _call-me-al_ [Mon, Mar 20 2023] TL;DR — This is what you missed in the last 24 hours on Reddit
If you want to receive this as a daily email in your inbox, you can now join at this link
worldnews
Polish Ambassador to France: Poland will be forced to enter war if Ukraine fails to defend itselfComments Link
Ukrainian officials express outrage over Putin's surprise visit to city of Mariupol, saying visiting under the cover of night "befits a thief"
Comments Link
French President Emanuel Macron faces a critical test on Monday when the National Assembly is due to examine no-confidence motions filed after his government bypassed parliament on Thursday to push through a deeply unpopular pension reform, sparking days of unrest
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news
Alex Jones reportedly concealing funds to avoid $1.5bn payout to Sandy Hook familiesComments Link
US Christian group accused of covering up sexual abuse of minors US news
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Texas abortion law means woman has to continue pregnancy despite fatal anomaly
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science
Study: 59% of Neighborhoods in Canada Within a 5-Minute Drive of a Cannabis StoreComments Link
Individuals who live in areas that historically favored men over women display more pro-male bias today than those who live in places where gender relations were more egalitarian centuries ago—evidence that gender attitudes are “transmitted” or handed down from generation to generation.
Comments Link
Bird flu is associated with more than 330 seal deaths in New England — linking H5N1 strain to a large scale mortality event in wild mammals
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space
Close up of Pluto from the New Horizons space probeComments Link
My homebuilt observatory-grade telescope that fits in the back of an SUV
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Sights and sounds from the surface of Mars.
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Futurology
The Matrix is here! Using ChatGPT 4 to play as an ensign in Star TrekComments Link
Anticancer Activity of Bee Venom Components against Breast Cancer
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Scientists grow antlers on mice, hope to regrow human limbs
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AskReddit
Americans, what do Eurpoeans have everyday that you see as a luxury?Comments Link
What made you suddenly lose interest in someone you were pursuing?
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What’s the secret to good sex?
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todayilearned
TIL that the reason we see fewer fireflies nowadays is because there are genuinely fewer of them. 1 in 3 North American firefly species are at risk of extinction, with some species already being officially listed as 'Critically Endangered'!Comments Link
TIL That, shortly after the Berlin Wall fell, Eugene Stoner, inventor of the AR-15, and Mikhail Kalashnikov, inventor of the AK-47, met near Washington DC and developed a friendship that lasted until Stoner's death seven years later.
Comments Link
TIL a man suffering from fatal familial insomnia, a condition whereby you become biologically incapable of sleep, attempted vitamin therapy, sensory deprivation, narcoleptics, and anesthesia to sleep, which prolonged his life by 12 months.
Comments Link
dataisbeautiful
Bar chart of the summarized hight of all 2x2 LEGO DUPLO bricks my son owns, ordered by color. It's his first bar graph, so please be gentle. [OC]Comments Link
[Oc] El Salvador had the highest homicide rate in Latin America. Since its peak in 2015, the rate has decreased an incredible 92%.
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[OC] Heapsort algorithm sorting a reversed list
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Cooking
Burger seasoning other than salt and pepper?Comments Link
Uses for miso paste?
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Keeping a Clean Kitchen
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food
[homemade] TiramisuComments Link
[Homemade] Fruit Platter pirate ship
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[homemade] NY-style pizzas
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movies
'Catch Me If You Can' conman Frank Abagnale lied about his lies.Comments Link
The IMAX poster for Shin Kamen Rider, released in Japan on March 18th, 2023
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Describe a movie's plot via acronym of the movie's title
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Art
Duck, Me, Watercolour, 2023Comments Link
Polygonal sculpture "Lions", Me, metal, 2023
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Underwater world, me, wood/resin, 2023
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television
I'm Bob Odenkirk and I'm feeling pretty lucky. AMA!Comments Link
‘Better Call Saul’ Season 6 is Coming to Netflix (US) on April 18
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Adam Sandler To Receive Mark Twain Prize For Lifetime In Comedy
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pics
My dad made me take pics 4 his dating websites, here’s him yelling at me while striking a sexy pose.Comments Link
The size difference between my 1970 Honda and a regular pickup truck.
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I was riding my bike under a rainbow through a shower
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gifs
BF-FurEVER!Comments Link
Little Piggy has the zoomies
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The Promise We Made at Sunset/夕阳下许下的承诺
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educationalgifs
Galactic year (or a cosmic year) is the time that the Sun takes to orbit once around the center of the Milky Way Galaxy. We move 230 km every second (143 mi/s) in orbit around the center (less than 0.1% of light speed).Comments Link
How a decorative glass plate is made -
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mildlyinteresting
My sink sprayer has a tough spot remover. It shoots a high pressure stream down the middle that is surprisingly powerful, but a cone of water around it that blocks all the splashesComments Link
Home Depot left the sprinklers on overnight in freezing weather
Comments Link
This weekend I stumbled upon the gravestone for Michael Bond, the author of Paddington Bear.
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interestingasfuck
On April 28, 1988, the roof of an Aloha Airlines jet ripped off at 24,000 feet, but the plane still managed to land safely.Comments Link
Excited group digging up a crystal
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Colombian Angel Alvarado solves three Rubik’s Cubes while juggling them
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funny
Edge-Man [OC]Comments Link
My wife's foolproof method of chopping onions with zero tears
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John Wick housecleaning service
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aww
This boy’s reaction to seeing his newborn sister for the first timeComments Link
Baby penguin flippy flaps.
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The little cat pictured is one of my favorites
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2023.03.20 15:55 Icy_Address9008 I'm concerned about my boyfriends hygiene
My boyfriend and I are expecting our first child in the next 2 months. I love him very much so and I was so excited to be starting a family with him and to what the future is going to look like for us as a family. I really do love him and have very fond feelings for him but .. I have a big issue now and I don't know how to overcome it. As the baby is on the way, I want him to move in with me so that we can be a family and he can experience and bond with the baby as much as possible. He will be a fantastic, loving father and I want him to experience everything about it with me. The problem is his poor standard in personal and household hygiene. We have been brought up with very different standards, he is from a farm and I was brought up in a bed and breakfast so I think our standards are different anyway but now that we are looking to move in together, a lack of hygiene is just something I can't seem to compromise on. I don't want to live in a dirty and smelly house after working so hard for everything I have. Let me give you some recent examples of what I mean by poor standards.
Brushing teeth - He will brush his teeth once a day (if even). He says that if he is not leaving the house then he won't brush them. He has only been to the dentist a few years ago to get a filling but never for a check up or to get his teeth cleaned. This one bothers me a lot because there's so much plaque buildup on his teeth that you can see it when he talks. I get really grossed out when he kissing me as I can only see the plaque now rather than the lovely guy he is. Washing hands with soap - He won't use soap when washing his hands. One day he eat a greasy burger where the grease was literally dripping down his hand and arms. He went to bed with greasy hands. I asked him to wash his hands and he made a deal about not using soap because he never does. I was disgusted at the thought of sleeping beside him when he was so dirty. If I had let him, he would have put his hands all over me that night. Smelly Clothes - He works in a factory and uses chemicals during the day. This causes his clothes to smell really really strongly of chemicals. In fairness he is around the smell all the time and has a bad sense of smell so he doesn't get it from himself but its so bad that I nearly want to puke. My stomach gags when it's in the house. The smell is a strong chemical lingering smell that is there for hours and hours after he goes past. I've asked him to keep those clothes in his car or the shed and not to change into those particular ones in the house. He is very upset by this and I understand why but I don't know what else to do. I am so afraid of a few things with this smell. 1) all of our health and especially that of a newborn baby's 2) that it will destroy my house and once its there I will never be able to get rid of it 3) all our soft furnishings will be forever destroyed with the smell and 4) no one will want to visit my house going forward because the smell is so overpowering. General cleaning - he has told me, if you can't see dirt then you don't have to clean it. He doesn't believe in cleaning (sweeping, hoovering, washing floors, dusting, wiping etc) unless something is visibly dirty and even at that, it is a quick wipe rather that actually cleaning the area. I like a clean house and I am not willing to leave in a place that is dirty. I am observant and see dirt whereas he will overlook it all and doesn't open his eyes to seeing it there at all. He thinks I am crazy because I clean my skirting boards. I have a dog who loves getting dirty and sandy and we wear shoes in the house not to mind all the people that come and go, so yeah the skirting boards get dusty and dirty and I do clean them, I don't think I'm crazy because of that. I have actually stopped going to his house nearly completely because when I do go I'm so uncomfortable there. The bathroom is so dirty that I often leave with a pain as I was holding my pee for so long just so I wouldn't have to use it. I've never told him that because he is house proud and I'd hate to upset him any more than I am already. I have spoken to him a few times about the other points above but nothing has changed since I brought it up but now that he will be moving in in the next week or two it scares me so much so that I am not sure if the relationship will last for long more. I want to give everything a go and I want us to be a loving family so badly and I want us both to have the best parenthood hood experience. I just don't know what to do. Right now I do not feel physically attracted to him because of it but I do love him dearly so I want to fix it.
submitted by Icy_Address9008 to u/Icy_Address9008 [link] [comments]
Brushing teeth - He will brush his teeth once a day (if even). He says that if he is not leaving the house then he won't brush them. He has only been to the dentist a few years ago to get a filling but never for a check up or to get his teeth cleaned. This one bothers me a lot because there's so much plaque buildup on his teeth that you can see it when he talks. I get really grossed out when he kissing me as I can only see the plaque now rather than the lovely guy he is. Washing hands with soap - He won't use soap when washing his hands. One day he eat a greasy burger where the grease was literally dripping down his hand and arms. He went to bed with greasy hands. I asked him to wash his hands and he made a deal about not using soap because he never does. I was disgusted at the thought of sleeping beside him when he was so dirty. If I had let him, he would have put his hands all over me that night. Smelly Clothes - He works in a factory and uses chemicals during the day. This causes his clothes to smell really really strongly of chemicals. In fairness he is around the smell all the time and has a bad sense of smell so he doesn't get it from himself but its so bad that I nearly want to puke. My stomach gags when it's in the house. The smell is a strong chemical lingering smell that is there for hours and hours after he goes past. I've asked him to keep those clothes in his car or the shed and not to change into those particular ones in the house. He is very upset by this and I understand why but I don't know what else to do. I am so afraid of a few things with this smell. 1) all of our health and especially that of a newborn baby's 2) that it will destroy my house and once its there I will never be able to get rid of it 3) all our soft furnishings will be forever destroyed with the smell and 4) no one will want to visit my house going forward because the smell is so overpowering. General cleaning - he has told me, if you can't see dirt then you don't have to clean it. He doesn't believe in cleaning (sweeping, hoovering, washing floors, dusting, wiping etc) unless something is visibly dirty and even at that, it is a quick wipe rather that actually cleaning the area. I like a clean house and I am not willing to leave in a place that is dirty. I am observant and see dirt whereas he will overlook it all and doesn't open his eyes to seeing it there at all. He thinks I am crazy because I clean my skirting boards. I have a dog who loves getting dirty and sandy and we wear shoes in the house not to mind all the people that come and go, so yeah the skirting boards get dusty and dirty and I do clean them, I don't think I'm crazy because of that. I have actually stopped going to his house nearly completely because when I do go I'm so uncomfortable there. The bathroom is so dirty that I often leave with a pain as I was holding my pee for so long just so I wouldn't have to use it. I've never told him that because he is house proud and I'd hate to upset him any more than I am already. I have spoken to him a few times about the other points above but nothing has changed since I brought it up but now that he will be moving in in the next week or two it scares me so much so that I am not sure if the relationship will last for long more. I want to give everything a go and I want us to be a loving family so badly and I want us both to have the best parenthood hood experience. I just don't know what to do. Right now I do not feel physically attracted to him because of it but I do love him dearly so I want to fix it.
2023.03.20 15:53 edward_radical Where to Start with Kazuo Ishiguro
I don’t think Ishiguro really needs an introduction, as he’s one of the most celebrated and acclaimed writers in the world. He recently won the Nobel Prize and has had a few of his very good novels made into very good movies, which rarely happens to anyone.
He’s a writer who, in my opinion, has written two masterpieces and a handful of very good novels, with one novel that is obscenely bad. Now, most writers never even write one masterpiece, so hitting two puts him well past just about everyone else, and I’m willing to forgive the shortcomings of his very bad novel.
Several years ago, I read all of his novels. The success I had with this experiment has led me to do that with many other authors over the years, to sometimes very mixed results. But Ishiguro was a treat and remains a blessedly great experience.
Now, because I’m a novel reader, I’m only going to discuss his novels. So think of this as an introduction and guide to one of the most important living English writers.
But that’s a recommendation for babies who are only going to read one of his books. We’re collectors, baby. We’re diving into all of them!
And, really, the best place to begin is where Ishiguro’s career began: his fictionalized version of Japan.
There are big emotions here, but they remain, perhaps, too buried beneath the surface.
In some ways, this and his second novel are practice for his first masterpiece, Remains of the Day.
Structurally, there is a lot of overlap between Ishiguro’s first three novels. They’re obsessed with memory, with the tiny moments where a life hangs in the balance. But these moments aren’t big or adventurous—they’re the moments when you didn’t take her hand when you could have, when he wanted to know you, to walk you home, but, instead, you turned away.
As a young person, I lived a life of moments. It was a strange life. It was often a sad life. So many moments that may have changed so many things about that sad life, and yet I let them slip through my fingers. All those times I let people walk away from me, or when I walked away from them, not realizing I was saying goodbye for the last time.
These first three novels essentialize this experience with so subtle a hand that you’re not even aware of how deeply Ishiguro is working on you.
Regret. Shame. Beauty. Awe. The love we share without knowing. The love we missed, but only saw too late.
Where A Pale View of the Hills buries its emotions a bit too deep, An Artist of the Floating World is clearer and more precise. It’s a natural development as an artist, but, again, in retrospect, it all feels like practice for his third novel.
This was the second Ishiguro novel I read, which is what made An Artist of the Floating World and A Pale View of the Hills not work so well for me. Upon reading those, I saw the DNA of this novel. I saw how these early novels—while good in their own right—were pale visions of what Ishiguro was attempting to do. Because those early two novels do really feel like prototypes for this.
And this novel—it is devastating. It is the kind of novel that absolutely shatters you.
This is also possibly the most British novel I’ve ever read. It is deliberately awkward and charming and lightly humorous, giving a nice shape to Stevens, who is maddeningly British.
What begins almost as a joke becomes tragic.
There’s so much to say about this book, but words continually fail me.
The construction itself is strange. A butler sets out on a vacation to meet an old friend and is keeping a diary, but rather than record the vacation itself, he is collapsing backwards through time, consumed by his memories of his friend and the man they served for decades. It’s a novel about the present moment of this man but which tunnels always backwards through the decades to relive a life that at first seems A Bit of Fry & Laurie but gradually reveals itself as something quite different.
The entire novel is buried beneath a British fog, but we begin to feel the stirrings of Stevens’ maelstrom of emotions, even as he narrates them in this detached, formal way.
It’s this juxtaposition, though, that leaves you sobbing.
And, for me, it happened in a single sentence most of the way through the novel, where a man is simply standing on the wrong side of a door.
This was the first Ishiguro novel I read and I picked it up immediately after I left the movie theatre where I watched the film adaptation. Even though I had literally just lived this story for two hours, I picked it up and began reading. Tearful hours later, I had finished it.
The power of Ishiguro, here, is that the same exact story broke my heart twice in the same day for the exact same reasons. Is the adaptation worse than the book? Maybe. I don’t know. I will never know. The two are so caught up inside me that separating them, even in memory, feels impossible.
The novel builds itself slowly, presenting, at first, a story seemingly caught out of time. A rural boarding school and the lives of the children bound there feels like the start to any number of stories.
Like all school kids, they learn about art and life, but they are kept at a remove from the rest of the world. This rarely feels sinister during the novel like one might expect from what could be described as a 1984-esque vision of the future.
Rather, it all feels so common and matter of fact. And so it is that when the reason for this isolation begins to emerge that we understand the towering human shame at the center of this novel, at the center of our post-industrial lives.
Never Let Me Go is so heartbreakingly beautiful that the title alone has never fully left my mouth, my ears. I find myself whispering it at times, returning back to the boy I was just weeks before I moved to Korea, two years before I met my wife.
The sad boy who was running away from his life, who had felt the maelstrom of buried emotions reflected so clearly on screen, bound in paper, that I felt as if I could die. That I would die.
That I’d die unless you told me that you’d never let me go.
Some would call this his third masterpiece, or would consider it his second with Never Let Me Go falling into the very good category. But, for me, it misses the masterpiece level.
It is very good, though.
Like all Ishiguro novels, it is obsessed with memory. With time. With the little moments between people. With the rising totalitarian systems filling in as backdrop to the lives of his characters, whether he’s writing about 1930s Japan, 1930s England, the near future, or even the distant British past.
I found this one a bit too self-consciously Arthurian, honestly. It’s a novel that I felt wanted to wink at me and this is truly one of the things I despise about any novel.
Don’t wink at me.
But, even so, the book has much going for it. It’s a very subtle book, but possibly his least subtle. I also think Ishiguro is doing something particularly strange, which is that he’s literally writing about the distant past. He’s not using it as a mirror or a metaphor for how our lives are now. He’s just writing about people from long ago while also subverting quest fantasy and bringing all his subtlety to work upon his characters.
It is often a beautiful novel full of awe.
There’s a darkness lying beneath and behind this narrative. We’re given glimpses of this unsettling terror, which casts a sinister edge to much of what happens in the novel, but I fear it never manages to connect properly with the narrative.
This terror looming in the background is a constant in Ishiguro’s work. Whether it’s Imperial Japan in An Artist of the Floating World or the Nazi sympathizing upper class of Britain in The Remains of the Day or the quietly totalitarian society of Never Let Me Go or even, to me, the terrifying totalitarian vision that settles as resolution over The Buried Giant, there is always this shadow in Ishiguro’s novels.
The best of his novels find a way to marry these with the buried emotions at the center of the characters’ lives.
Klara and the Sun just never manages to really hit, I think. It’s a very good novel, but if you’ve read his two or three masterpieces, this will feel like a sad glimmer of what he’s capable of.
I mean, if Never Let Me Go or The Remains of the Day had never existed, I might think of this novel more positively. But, I mean, that’s not the world we live in.
Some consider this his finest work. I have nothing to say to these people.
I have, as it turns out, very little to say about this book at all.
Sort of modeled as a hardboiled mystery, even employing the most unreliable of unreliable narrators. The first half feels very familiarly Ishiguro, where a narrator is tumbling back through time. It lacks the intense emotional restraint of his better novels, but it works very well.
The problems begin when Ishiguro begins subverting his own template.
The novel quickly quagmires and becomes increasingly bizarre leading to a major sequence of surrealism that fascinates but feels almost as if it belongs to a different book.
And then, the reveals to the mysteries feels almost senseless. The answers to every question are just told to use in the end by what amounts to a man standing in front of the camera to drop information in your lap that was never available to you, that you never could have put together.
It is all so strange and so very bad.
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He’s a writer who, in my opinion, has written two masterpieces and a handful of very good novels, with one novel that is obscenely bad. Now, most writers never even write one masterpiece, so hitting two puts him well past just about everyone else, and I’m willing to forgive the shortcomings of his very bad novel.
Several years ago, I read all of his novels. The success I had with this experiment has led me to do that with many other authors over the years, to sometimes very mixed results. But Ishiguro was a treat and remains a blessedly great experience.
Now, because I’m a novel reader, I’m only going to discuss his novels. So think of this as an introduction and guide to one of the most important living English writers.
Where to Start
Most people will tell you to begin with Remains of the Day, and for good reason(!) since this is one of the best English novels of the 20th Century.But that’s a recommendation for babies who are only going to read one of his books. We’re collectors, baby. We’re diving into all of them!
And, really, the best place to begin is where Ishiguro’s career began: his fictionalized version of Japan.
A Pale View of the Hills
For a debut, this really is quite good. Like most Ishiguro novels, it is deeply obsessed with memory and the concealing of emotions. Here, we have a character continually returning to the past, before her life was shattered. Etsuko is trying to move past the tragedies of her life, but she falls always back and back and back, receding into memory.There are big emotions here, but they remain, perhaps, too buried beneath the surface.
In some ways, this and his second novel are practice for his first masterpiece, Remains of the Day.
An Artist of the Floating World
Ono is a once revered artist now living a life primarily cast backwards in time.Structurally, there is a lot of overlap between Ishiguro’s first three novels. They’re obsessed with memory, with the tiny moments where a life hangs in the balance. But these moments aren’t big or adventurous—they’re the moments when you didn’t take her hand when you could have, when he wanted to know you, to walk you home, but, instead, you turned away.
As a young person, I lived a life of moments. It was a strange life. It was often a sad life. So many moments that may have changed so many things about that sad life, and yet I let them slip through my fingers. All those times I let people walk away from me, or when I walked away from them, not realizing I was saying goodbye for the last time.
These first three novels essentialize this experience with so subtle a hand that you’re not even aware of how deeply Ishiguro is working on you.
Regret. Shame. Beauty. Awe. The love we share without knowing. The love we missed, but only saw too late.
Where A Pale View of the Hills buries its emotions a bit too deep, An Artist of the Floating World is clearer and more precise. It’s a natural development as an artist, but, again, in retrospect, it all feels like practice for his third novel.
If You’re Only Going to Read One
I will do the slightly unusual thing here and list three novels, depending on your mood and temperament.The Remains of the Day
This is the one that Ishiguro will likely be remembered for. It will find its way into curricula around the world and may define post-War 20th Century British fiction for future generations.This was the second Ishiguro novel I read, which is what made An Artist of the Floating World and A Pale View of the Hills not work so well for me. Upon reading those, I saw the DNA of this novel. I saw how these early novels—while good in their own right—were pale visions of what Ishiguro was attempting to do. Because those early two novels do really feel like prototypes for this.
And this novel—it is devastating. It is the kind of novel that absolutely shatters you.
This is also possibly the most British novel I’ve ever read. It is deliberately awkward and charming and lightly humorous, giving a nice shape to Stevens, who is maddeningly British.
What begins almost as a joke becomes tragic.
There’s so much to say about this book, but words continually fail me.
The construction itself is strange. A butler sets out on a vacation to meet an old friend and is keeping a diary, but rather than record the vacation itself, he is collapsing backwards through time, consumed by his memories of his friend and the man they served for decades. It’s a novel about the present moment of this man but which tunnels always backwards through the decades to relive a life that at first seems A Bit of Fry & Laurie but gradually reveals itself as something quite different.
The entire novel is buried beneath a British fog, but we begin to feel the stirrings of Stevens’ maelstrom of emotions, even as he narrates them in this detached, formal way.
It’s this juxtaposition, though, that leaves you sobbing.
And, for me, it happened in a single sentence most of the way through the novel, where a man is simply standing on the wrong side of a door.
Never Let Me Go
His second masterpiece is for those who want a bit more science fiction with their devastation.This was the first Ishiguro novel I read and I picked it up immediately after I left the movie theatre where I watched the film adaptation. Even though I had literally just lived this story for two hours, I picked it up and began reading. Tearful hours later, I had finished it.
The power of Ishiguro, here, is that the same exact story broke my heart twice in the same day for the exact same reasons. Is the adaptation worse than the book? Maybe. I don’t know. I will never know. The two are so caught up inside me that separating them, even in memory, feels impossible.
The novel builds itself slowly, presenting, at first, a story seemingly caught out of time. A rural boarding school and the lives of the children bound there feels like the start to any number of stories.
Like all school kids, they learn about art and life, but they are kept at a remove from the rest of the world. This rarely feels sinister during the novel like one might expect from what could be described as a 1984-esque vision of the future.
Rather, it all feels so common and matter of fact. And so it is that when the reason for this isolation begins to emerge that we understand the towering human shame at the center of this novel, at the center of our post-industrial lives.
Never Let Me Go is so heartbreakingly beautiful that the title alone has never fully left my mouth, my ears. I find myself whispering it at times, returning back to the boy I was just weeks before I moved to Korea, two years before I met my wife.
The sad boy who was running away from his life, who had felt the maelstrom of buried emotions reflected so clearly on screen, bound in paper, that I felt as if I could die. That I would die.
That I’d die unless you told me that you’d never let me go.
The Buried Giant
For those who want a more fantastical spin on Kazuo Ishiguro’s particular kind of tragedy.Some would call this his third masterpiece, or would consider it his second with Never Let Me Go falling into the very good category. But, for me, it misses the masterpiece level.
It is very good, though.
Like all Ishiguro novels, it is obsessed with memory. With time. With the little moments between people. With the rising totalitarian systems filling in as backdrop to the lives of his characters, whether he’s writing about 1930s Japan, 1930s England, the near future, or even the distant British past.
I found this one a bit too self-consciously Arthurian, honestly. It’s a novel that I felt wanted to wink at me and this is truly one of the things I despise about any novel.
Don’t wink at me.
But, even so, the book has much going for it. It’s a very subtle book, but possibly his least subtle. I also think Ishiguro is doing something particularly strange, which is that he’s literally writing about the distant past. He’s not using it as a mirror or a metaphor for how our lives are now. He’s just writing about people from long ago while also subverting quest fantasy and bringing all his subtlety to work upon his characters.
It is often a beautiful novel full of awe.
Those You Can Skip
Klara and the Sun
There’s nothing wrong with this novel, really, but I do think it’s one of his weakest. In some ways, it’s a bad version of Never Let Me Go. Worse, it’s a less enjoyable or interesting version of Spike Jonze’s movie Her.There’s a darkness lying beneath and behind this narrative. We’re given glimpses of this unsettling terror, which casts a sinister edge to much of what happens in the novel, but I fear it never manages to connect properly with the narrative.
This terror looming in the background is a constant in Ishiguro’s work. Whether it’s Imperial Japan in An Artist of the Floating World or the Nazi sympathizing upper class of Britain in The Remains of the Day or the quietly totalitarian society of Never Let Me Go or even, to me, the terrifying totalitarian vision that settles as resolution over The Buried Giant, there is always this shadow in Ishiguro’s novels.
The best of his novels find a way to marry these with the buried emotions at the center of the characters’ lives.
Klara and the Sun just never manages to really hit, I think. It’s a very good novel, but if you’ve read his two or three masterpieces, this will feel like a sad glimmer of what he’s capable of.
I mean, if Never Let Me Go or The Remains of the Day had never existed, I might think of this novel more positively. But, I mean, that’s not the world we live in.
The Unconsoled
Perhaps Ishiguro’s strangest and least characteristic novel. It’s postmodern and somewhat surreal. Dizzying digressions that fascinate, in a way, but possibly never completely cohering into something worth really dealing with.Some consider this his finest work. I have nothing to say to these people.
I have, as it turns out, very little to say about this book at all.
The Bad One
When We Were Orphans
I literally do not know what happened here. I mean, I understand the plot and all that. What I don’t understand is how Ishiguro wrote something that misses so far and so wide at every turn.Sort of modeled as a hardboiled mystery, even employing the most unreliable of unreliable narrators. The first half feels very familiarly Ishiguro, where a narrator is tumbling back through time. It lacks the intense emotional restraint of his better novels, but it works very well.
The problems begin when Ishiguro begins subverting his own template.
The novel quickly quagmires and becomes increasingly bizarre leading to a major sequence of surrealism that fascinates but feels almost as if it belongs to a different book.
And then, the reveals to the mysteries feels almost senseless. The answers to every question are just told to use in the end by what amounts to a man standing in front of the camera to drop information in your lap that was never available to you, that you never could have put together.
It is all so strange and so very bad.
2023.03.20 15:26 Dunjindad Zion (part 2)
Last night I admit i allowed my paranoia to get the best of me. The figure I had seen out my window turned up to he a member of the housekeeping staff checking to see if I had... escaped from my mortal coil as I imagine many patrons of such a motel do. Forgive me while I attempt to wright my recollection of My horrible epic. I gave a hard time remembering what portions of the tale are necessary and wich are mundane so I'll just start from the drive to my nightmarish destination. Feel free to ask me questions. I will answer to the best of my memory
The trip to West Virginia was, for the most part, uneventful and mind-numbing. I've always despised long car rides, despite being on the road so often when going from job to job. After an extended period on the road, my mind spins into an unconscious void and it becomes hard to determine where I've been. There are often times when I completely lose myself in the sea of vehicles in a never-ending stop and go only to find myself becoming aware an hour later. What little entertainment I had on hand usually prevented me from falling asleep or completely disconnecting from the human world on my thousandth 14-hour trip to the middle of nowhere. This trip, however, was different; I didn't find myself dissociating, nor did it feel like the run of the mill from point a to point b. I was nervous and the further I made in to my destination the more I felt as if I had made a grave mistake. Despite being a 28-year-old teacher with very little adult social skills, I couldn't help but feel that a 5-year contract with some pseudo-cult in the heart of West Virginia might have been a bit of an impulsive call even with the paycheck, and every time I thought of cryptic emails, I could feel my stomach constrict and knot at the very premise of meeting the strangers in person.
I found myself in one of my few "coming to reality" moments of the trip when I turned into a small town. I was surprised by the smell I was immediately greeted with; the distinct smell of mildew assaulted my senses at the very moment I passed a pale green and mildly vandalized billboard posted on the side of the road that read "Welcome to Dawson," scrawled in a cheesey font that made all the letters look like logs. The town itself was placed in a valley of some sort, almost completely enveloped by mountains on three sides, as if Mother Nature had left this perfect little alcove in the center just for this hidden civilization. On top of the distant, albeit ever-present, ranges sat hundreds of thousands of trees that wrapped the elevation in a verdant cocoon. The town itself was small compared to Tampa, as all the others were. There weren't any towers climbing towards the sky with an impossible number of floors; the pavement of the underutilized roads was a soft gray color, void of any fresh pavement, but the surface was laid bare of any faults as if it had been used, if only just enough to keep the earth from forcing its way back through the laid concrete. As I pulled up to what I can only imagine was the only stoplight in the town, my hands fumbled for my phone in order to check the status of my journey. 1 minute to destination was plastered at the top of the screen, leaving me in a state of confusion as the only things in sight seemed to be a few stores and what looked to be a small cafe on a road that stretched toward the horizon with no apparent end. The light turned green, and my GPS sent me to an immediate left to a small, run-down store just off the entrance that brought me into the mountain asylum. The store was decrepit; the paint was peeling from its decorative siding, creating a splotchy pattern of dingy blue and an aging off white. One of the large windows looking into the store had a sheet of wood crudely nailed over it, and an awning stretched from the end of the parking lot directly to the roof of the gas station as if whatever contractors built this were trying to deplorably hide the abomination from God himself. The store had no sign or title other than an LED fixture that indicated that the nameless fuel depot was open.
"You have arrived at your destination," the droning voice said through the speakers of my car as I came to a reluctant stop. I looked down at my phone to be certain the GPS wasn't struggling to find a pathway yet to be discovered by anyone except for those who had lived there their whole lives, but according to the directions, this was indeed my "intended" destination. Immediately checking my surroundings, I took note of the road that carved its way through the center of the poor excuse for a town ahead of me, sparsely decorated with various local stores and venues. According to my map the road didn't break off from this central strip for another 5 miles.
I buried my head in my hands after begrudgingly throwing my car into park and let out an exasperated sigh. I frantically flipped through the emails I had passed back and forth to my usual benefactor to find any messages concerning the exact location of my job site aside from the address I had been given.
"A fucking gas station, they gave me the address of a fucking gas station" I groaned as I came apon an email that had been sent...5 minutes ago. The subject line read "Apon Arival."
"When you arrive in Dawson, be sure to contact me at the number posted below so I may provide additional instruction on how to safely make it to Fairhaven. "Zion can be dangerous."
I felt my heart drop when my tired eyes made contact with the message below. My heart once again began to slam against my chest—was I lied to? Up to this point, the mystery man who had been detailing the project had alluded to my final stop being in Dawson. It was common to be sent to offshoots of towns that were far removed from modern commodities and human development, yet it was also common that whoever had hired me would be upfront and rather specific in telling me that my location wasn't so much a town as it was a "community" beyond the confines of city streets, so I wouldn't be surprised when I found myself over an hour away from the nearest comfort. I had also been warned of a place's dangers before; the last time I sat down to write, I mentioned that on a trip to the Congo, I was directly informed of the dangers of leaving my protective shell, but in those cases, safety was often typed in bold so that I knew what to expect from the start.
I was plagued with despondence as I slammed my phone into my pocket before forcing the door of my car open with an angry grunt. My brisk and heavy footfall fell onto the cement with intent, regardless of my clulessness. I pushed my way through the gas station's rusted door, which would have welded itself to the frame of the building if not for the little traffic that passed through it, when I was greeted with a poorly lit convenience store. The hum of aging fluorescent lights sang through the quite store. Web-like cracks formed on the yellowing stone as if the walls themselves were trying to escape from the neglected mess, the white panels on the ceiling were rife with black and brown spots indicating frequent leaks and water damage, and the smell was ungodly. I would have gone insane if I was forced to work in a room that had that pestilential smell glued to it. The shelves laid not quite bear but with just enough product on them that for the place to still be listed as a buisness that caused the aluminum casings to bend downward like they where struggling to hold the weight of a finite amount of light snacks.
I locked eyes with a surly man with ash and gray hair who sat behind the counter with a dejected stare. He wore a stained shirt and wrinkled jeans. His unkind eyes were bloodshot and glazed over with age, which seemed to break him, and his lips sat inward to indicate the lack of teeth in his sunken face.
"I can help you," he mumbled with a thick draw that I would have not understood if I hadn't met plenty of people of his likeness prior.
"Yeah, I'm... looking for Fairhaven?"
The grouchy old cashier scratched at his knife like whiskers and leaned onto the counter. "Fayrehayven?" He said obviously perplexed
I gathered what little skills of human interaction I had beyond lecturing a room full of students as I approached the man "right, I'm a teacher and..."
The old man quickly cut me off with little regard for or interest in my oncoming and admittedly pretentious elevator pitch, which I often gave to anyone who asked. "Yer in Dawson, gottanuff teachers last I heard."
"Yeah, well I'm not supposed to be in Dawson." I'm looking for Fairhaven. I interjected
The man responded with an apparent tone of disdain: "Ain't never heard of no FayreHayven; I've been here fiftee sebn years and ain't never heard of no FayreHayven."
I took a deep breath in an attempt to carry the conversation, but I've learned to count my losses when they make themselves known.
"Well, I suppose I'm lost then," I said, holding my hands up.
He grumbled once again and looked me up and down with his hateful glare before forcing out a slight "mmhmm."
I turned and rolled my eyes a bit before walking out of the store, completely defeated. I contemplated for quite some time before reaching back for my phone to examine the cryptic message that overtook my screen. I faltered only slightly before pressing my finger to the highlighted blue digits pasted at the end of the digital letter. The dial tone chimed for longer than expected, and right before the all-too-common voice mailbox message played, I heard a barely audible click before a voice came over the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Hayes," the man spoke in a scratchy, almost strained voice, as if he were exerting himself even while speaking.
The way the man spoke was just as unsettling as the emails we had passed back and forth previously, and without thinking, I responded with a little more panic in my voice than I care to admit, "How did you know it was me?"
The man retorted immediately. "I don't know many with a Tampa area code, my friend; call it intuition."
I kicked myself for being so skeptical after his truthfully sound logic connected with the bundle of nerves that was my mind before I mustered the confidence to say, "Sorry, I'm a bit on edge." "I think you might have given me the wrong address; I'm at a gas station just off the entrance to Dawson."
I waited for a moment before the man spoke once again. "The address we provided was correct; there are no pathways to Fairhaven, and we have attempted to remain secretive as to avoid the judgment of the individuals that may regard us as an unsavory commune." If you look to your right you will see a small path cut into the trees just beyond the convince store. "If you follow this path by foot, we will see to it that a member of the congregation greets you so that you can arrive safely."
I looked back towards the blue Honda Accord I had arrived in and argued, "All of my equipment is in my vehicle—my notes and laptop, my clothes, and I'm certainly not equipped to be hiking in dress shoes." I.."
The hoarse growl of the man rather shot back with an audatory shot of aggressive air: "We will see to it that your things arrive at the Fairhaven Community." I implore you to make your way onto the trail before nightfall. "The forest can be very dangerous without the sanctum of sunlight."
I glanced over at what I could infer was the overgrown pathway he was referring to with a shaky breath.
"I can understand your hesitancy; fear is a powerful emotion, but do not allow it to cloud your judgment." "The walk shouldn't take longer than a quarter of an hour." He spoke calmly now, but there was no comfort in his voice, rather a malignant vexation, as if it were meant to be a threat.
I gripped My phone white-knuckled at the accuracy of his statement. His perception of me was correct because I was not only terrified of the situation but also beyond frustrated at the thought of taking a hike up a mountain directly after a 14-hour trip with nothing but a 2-hour rest in a motel at the halfway mark.
"Guess I'll be there soon," I said, despite my mind showering him with a barrage of heinous insults. He hung up the phone without saying another word.
I gathered a few small commodities from my vehicle before turning towards the cutout hidden within the expanse of millions of trees that ascended to the summit of the gargantuan elevation ahead of me. It was overstated when the man labeled the cocofany of unkempt foliage a pathway; there was hardly even enough of an opening to make my way into the bramble, let alone not be perpetually scratched by the harsh and apathetic thorns that various plants had developed for occasions such as these. The slope that the natural alleyway was built on very quickly turned from a steady incline to a steep, near-vertical hill void of foothold, and I had to rely on my softened hands, which grasped desperately at the closest trees. It didn't take long for my feet to ache and burn. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've never been an outdoorsman. I was often poked fun at by the locals for being a city dweller when I gave a common toad a look of disgust, so it could automatically be assumed that I'm hardly the hiking type either.
The aforementioned 45-minute walk turned into an hour and then two before My knees buckled from beneath me. I was told that someone was to meet me at the point between the gas station and the community, and I was certain that I had to have made the trek to their standards regardless of my excessive stops. I laid my back against the trunk of a large tree before looking toward the sky. The faint glow of a reddening sky was barely visible through the canopy above before my dismay began to settle in. Nightfall was coming, and in the state I was in, I had no hope of making my way to the destination in the next 6 hours, let alone before nightfall. I closed my eyes tight and buried my head into my blistered hands, I could feel my brisk beating heart in my palms when the deafening roar of an engine rocketed my senses into overdrive. My head shot upward toward the golden beams of light, obscuring their source entirely.
"What in God's name is a fella like you doing way out here?" The voice wasn't the same as the man I had spoken to on the phone. It was just as old and eroded, but it held much more of the thick twang of a local.
"I'm looking for fairhaven." "They said they were sending someone to get me!" I shouted back over the boisterous hum of idling machinery.
"Well then, it's best to hop on." "Ain't a shot in hell in making any further in your condition."
I was in no position to argue, so I clasped my hands on a low-hanging branch and lifted myself upright before closing in on what seemed to be a crude attempt at an ATV. On top of the buggy was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and an ice white goatee. He was draped in a flannel shirt and blue jeans that have seen their share of hard times. He wore glasses that fell to the tip of his nose in order to examine me further as I approached. I boarded my saviors vessel and caught a whiff of what I knew to be the pungent odor of illicit alcohol. This man wasn't what I expected from the conversations I had prior with the eccentric leader of the religious movement, but the thought was pushed to the back of my mind as the contraption immediately spun its tires against the leaves and dirt of the forest floor, kicking back a blast of woodland scrap backward as it twisted one hundred and eighty degrees to face parrallel with the pathway that I thought to be my demise, only to scream up the hillside with unexpected force.
.
submitted by Dunjindad to creepypasta [link] [comments]
The trip to West Virginia was, for the most part, uneventful and mind-numbing. I've always despised long car rides, despite being on the road so often when going from job to job. After an extended period on the road, my mind spins into an unconscious void and it becomes hard to determine where I've been. There are often times when I completely lose myself in the sea of vehicles in a never-ending stop and go only to find myself becoming aware an hour later. What little entertainment I had on hand usually prevented me from falling asleep or completely disconnecting from the human world on my thousandth 14-hour trip to the middle of nowhere. This trip, however, was different; I didn't find myself dissociating, nor did it feel like the run of the mill from point a to point b. I was nervous and the further I made in to my destination the more I felt as if I had made a grave mistake. Despite being a 28-year-old teacher with very little adult social skills, I couldn't help but feel that a 5-year contract with some pseudo-cult in the heart of West Virginia might have been a bit of an impulsive call even with the paycheck, and every time I thought of cryptic emails, I could feel my stomach constrict and knot at the very premise of meeting the strangers in person.
I found myself in one of my few "coming to reality" moments of the trip when I turned into a small town. I was surprised by the smell I was immediately greeted with; the distinct smell of mildew assaulted my senses at the very moment I passed a pale green and mildly vandalized billboard posted on the side of the road that read "Welcome to Dawson," scrawled in a cheesey font that made all the letters look like logs. The town itself was placed in a valley of some sort, almost completely enveloped by mountains on three sides, as if Mother Nature had left this perfect little alcove in the center just for this hidden civilization. On top of the distant, albeit ever-present, ranges sat hundreds of thousands of trees that wrapped the elevation in a verdant cocoon. The town itself was small compared to Tampa, as all the others were. There weren't any towers climbing towards the sky with an impossible number of floors; the pavement of the underutilized roads was a soft gray color, void of any fresh pavement, but the surface was laid bare of any faults as if it had been used, if only just enough to keep the earth from forcing its way back through the laid concrete. As I pulled up to what I can only imagine was the only stoplight in the town, my hands fumbled for my phone in order to check the status of my journey. 1 minute to destination was plastered at the top of the screen, leaving me in a state of confusion as the only things in sight seemed to be a few stores and what looked to be a small cafe on a road that stretched toward the horizon with no apparent end. The light turned green, and my GPS sent me to an immediate left to a small, run-down store just off the entrance that brought me into the mountain asylum. The store was decrepit; the paint was peeling from its decorative siding, creating a splotchy pattern of dingy blue and an aging off white. One of the large windows looking into the store had a sheet of wood crudely nailed over it, and an awning stretched from the end of the parking lot directly to the roof of the gas station as if whatever contractors built this were trying to deplorably hide the abomination from God himself. The store had no sign or title other than an LED fixture that indicated that the nameless fuel depot was open.
"You have arrived at your destination," the droning voice said through the speakers of my car as I came to a reluctant stop. I looked down at my phone to be certain the GPS wasn't struggling to find a pathway yet to be discovered by anyone except for those who had lived there their whole lives, but according to the directions, this was indeed my "intended" destination. Immediately checking my surroundings, I took note of the road that carved its way through the center of the poor excuse for a town ahead of me, sparsely decorated with various local stores and venues. According to my map the road didn't break off from this central strip for another 5 miles.
I buried my head in my hands after begrudgingly throwing my car into park and let out an exasperated sigh. I frantically flipped through the emails I had passed back and forth to my usual benefactor to find any messages concerning the exact location of my job site aside from the address I had been given.
"A fucking gas station, they gave me the address of a fucking gas station" I groaned as I came apon an email that had been sent...5 minutes ago. The subject line read "Apon Arival."
"When you arrive in Dawson, be sure to contact me at the number posted below so I may provide additional instruction on how to safely make it to Fairhaven. "Zion can be dangerous."
I felt my heart drop when my tired eyes made contact with the message below. My heart once again began to slam against my chest—was I lied to? Up to this point, the mystery man who had been detailing the project had alluded to my final stop being in Dawson. It was common to be sent to offshoots of towns that were far removed from modern commodities and human development, yet it was also common that whoever had hired me would be upfront and rather specific in telling me that my location wasn't so much a town as it was a "community" beyond the confines of city streets, so I wouldn't be surprised when I found myself over an hour away from the nearest comfort. I had also been warned of a place's dangers before; the last time I sat down to write, I mentioned that on a trip to the Congo, I was directly informed of the dangers of leaving my protective shell, but in those cases, safety was often typed in bold so that I knew what to expect from the start.
I was plagued with despondence as I slammed my phone into my pocket before forcing the door of my car open with an angry grunt. My brisk and heavy footfall fell onto the cement with intent, regardless of my clulessness. I pushed my way through the gas station's rusted door, which would have welded itself to the frame of the building if not for the little traffic that passed through it, when I was greeted with a poorly lit convenience store. The hum of aging fluorescent lights sang through the quite store. Web-like cracks formed on the yellowing stone as if the walls themselves were trying to escape from the neglected mess, the white panels on the ceiling were rife with black and brown spots indicating frequent leaks and water damage, and the smell was ungodly. I would have gone insane if I was forced to work in a room that had that pestilential smell glued to it. The shelves laid not quite bear but with just enough product on them that for the place to still be listed as a buisness that caused the aluminum casings to bend downward like they where struggling to hold the weight of a finite amount of light snacks.
I locked eyes with a surly man with ash and gray hair who sat behind the counter with a dejected stare. He wore a stained shirt and wrinkled jeans. His unkind eyes were bloodshot and glazed over with age, which seemed to break him, and his lips sat inward to indicate the lack of teeth in his sunken face.
"I can help you," he mumbled with a thick draw that I would have not understood if I hadn't met plenty of people of his likeness prior.
"Yeah, I'm... looking for Fairhaven?"
The grouchy old cashier scratched at his knife like whiskers and leaned onto the counter. "Fayrehayven?" He said obviously perplexed
I gathered what little skills of human interaction I had beyond lecturing a room full of students as I approached the man "right, I'm a teacher and..."
The old man quickly cut me off with little regard for or interest in my oncoming and admittedly pretentious elevator pitch, which I often gave to anyone who asked. "Yer in Dawson, gottanuff teachers last I heard."
"Yeah, well I'm not supposed to be in Dawson." I'm looking for Fairhaven. I interjected
The man responded with an apparent tone of disdain: "Ain't never heard of no FayreHayven; I've been here fiftee sebn years and ain't never heard of no FayreHayven."
I took a deep breath in an attempt to carry the conversation, but I've learned to count my losses when they make themselves known.
"Well, I suppose I'm lost then," I said, holding my hands up.
He grumbled once again and looked me up and down with his hateful glare before forcing out a slight "mmhmm."
I turned and rolled my eyes a bit before walking out of the store, completely defeated. I contemplated for quite some time before reaching back for my phone to examine the cryptic message that overtook my screen. I faltered only slightly before pressing my finger to the highlighted blue digits pasted at the end of the digital letter. The dial tone chimed for longer than expected, and right before the all-too-common voice mailbox message played, I heard a barely audible click before a voice came over the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Hayes," the man spoke in a scratchy, almost strained voice, as if he were exerting himself even while speaking.
The way the man spoke was just as unsettling as the emails we had passed back and forth previously, and without thinking, I responded with a little more panic in my voice than I care to admit, "How did you know it was me?"
The man retorted immediately. "I don't know many with a Tampa area code, my friend; call it intuition."
I kicked myself for being so skeptical after his truthfully sound logic connected with the bundle of nerves that was my mind before I mustered the confidence to say, "Sorry, I'm a bit on edge." "I think you might have given me the wrong address; I'm at a gas station just off the entrance to Dawson."
I waited for a moment before the man spoke once again. "The address we provided was correct; there are no pathways to Fairhaven, and we have attempted to remain secretive as to avoid the judgment of the individuals that may regard us as an unsavory commune." If you look to your right you will see a small path cut into the trees just beyond the convince store. "If you follow this path by foot, we will see to it that a member of the congregation greets you so that you can arrive safely."
I looked back towards the blue Honda Accord I had arrived in and argued, "All of my equipment is in my vehicle—my notes and laptop, my clothes, and I'm certainly not equipped to be hiking in dress shoes." I.."
The hoarse growl of the man rather shot back with an audatory shot of aggressive air: "We will see to it that your things arrive at the Fairhaven Community." I implore you to make your way onto the trail before nightfall. "The forest can be very dangerous without the sanctum of sunlight."
I glanced over at what I could infer was the overgrown pathway he was referring to with a shaky breath.
"I can understand your hesitancy; fear is a powerful emotion, but do not allow it to cloud your judgment." "The walk shouldn't take longer than a quarter of an hour." He spoke calmly now, but there was no comfort in his voice, rather a malignant vexation, as if it were meant to be a threat.
I gripped My phone white-knuckled at the accuracy of his statement. His perception of me was correct because I was not only terrified of the situation but also beyond frustrated at the thought of taking a hike up a mountain directly after a 14-hour trip with nothing but a 2-hour rest in a motel at the halfway mark.
"Guess I'll be there soon," I said, despite my mind showering him with a barrage of heinous insults. He hung up the phone without saying another word.
I gathered a few small commodities from my vehicle before turning towards the cutout hidden within the expanse of millions of trees that ascended to the summit of the gargantuan elevation ahead of me. It was overstated when the man labeled the cocofany of unkempt foliage a pathway; there was hardly even enough of an opening to make my way into the bramble, let alone not be perpetually scratched by the harsh and apathetic thorns that various plants had developed for occasions such as these. The slope that the natural alleyway was built on very quickly turned from a steady incline to a steep, near-vertical hill void of foothold, and I had to rely on my softened hands, which grasped desperately at the closest trees. It didn't take long for my feet to ache and burn. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've never been an outdoorsman. I was often poked fun at by the locals for being a city dweller when I gave a common toad a look of disgust, so it could automatically be assumed that I'm hardly the hiking type either.
The aforementioned 45-minute walk turned into an hour and then two before My knees buckled from beneath me. I was told that someone was to meet me at the point between the gas station and the community, and I was certain that I had to have made the trek to their standards regardless of my excessive stops. I laid my back against the trunk of a large tree before looking toward the sky. The faint glow of a reddening sky was barely visible through the canopy above before my dismay began to settle in. Nightfall was coming, and in the state I was in, I had no hope of making my way to the destination in the next 6 hours, let alone before nightfall. I closed my eyes tight and buried my head into my blistered hands, I could feel my brisk beating heart in my palms when the deafening roar of an engine rocketed my senses into overdrive. My head shot upward toward the golden beams of light, obscuring their source entirely.
"What in God's name is a fella like you doing way out here?" The voice wasn't the same as the man I had spoken to on the phone. It was just as old and eroded, but it held much more of the thick twang of a local.
"I'm looking for fairhaven." "They said they were sending someone to get me!" I shouted back over the boisterous hum of idling machinery.
"Well then, it's best to hop on." "Ain't a shot in hell in making any further in your condition."
I was in no position to argue, so I clasped my hands on a low-hanging branch and lifted myself upright before closing in on what seemed to be a crude attempt at an ATV. On top of the buggy was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and an ice white goatee. He was draped in a flannel shirt and blue jeans that have seen their share of hard times. He wore glasses that fell to the tip of his nose in order to examine me further as I approached. I boarded my saviors vessel and caught a whiff of what I knew to be the pungent odor of illicit alcohol. This man wasn't what I expected from the conversations I had prior with the eccentric leader of the religious movement, but the thought was pushed to the back of my mind as the contraption immediately spun its tires against the leaves and dirt of the forest floor, kicking back a blast of woodland scrap backward as it twisted one hundred and eighty degrees to face parrallel with the pathway that I thought to be my demise, only to scream up the hillside with unexpected force.
.
2023.03.20 15:25 Dunjindad Zion (part 2)
Last night I admit i allowed my paranoia to get the best of me. The figure I had seen out my window turned up to he a member of the housekeeping staff checking to see if I had... escaped from my mortal coil as I imagine many patrons of such a motel do. Forgive me while I attempt to wright my recollection of My horrible epic. I gave a hard time remembering what portions of the tale are necessary and wich are mundane so I'll just start from the drive to my nightmarish destination. Feel free to ask me questions. I will answer to the best of my memory
The trip to West Virginia was, for the most part, uneventful and mind-numbing. I've always despised long car rides, despite being on the road so often when going from job to job. After an extended period on the road, my mind spins into an unconscious void and it becomes hard to determine where I've been. There are often times when I completely lose myself in the sea of vehicles in a never-ending stop and go only to find myself becoming aware an hour later. What little entertainment I had on hand usually prevented me from falling asleep or completely disconnecting from the human world on my thousandth 14-hour trip to the middle of nowhere. This trip, however, was different; I didn't find myself dissociating, nor did it feel like the run of the mill from point a to point b. I was nervous and the further I made in to my destination the more I felt as if I had made a grave mistake. Despite being a 28-year-old teacher with very little adult social skills, I couldn't help but feel that a 5-year contract with some pseudo-cult in the heart of West Virginia might have been a bit of an impulsive call even with the paycheck, and every time I thought of cryptic emails, I could feel my stomach constrict and knot at the very premise of meeting the strangers in person.
I found myself in one of my few "coming to reality" moments of the trip when I turned into a small town. I was surprised by the smell I was immediately greeted with; the distinct smell of mildew assaulted my senses at the very moment I passed a pale green and mildly vandalized billboard posted on the side of the road that read "Welcome to Dawson," scrawled in a cheesey font that made all the letters look like logs. The town itself was placed in a valley of some sort, almost completely enveloped by mountains on three sides, as if Mother Nature had left this perfect little alcove in the center just for this hidden civilization. On top of the distant, albeit ever-present, ranges sat hundreds of thousands of trees that wrapped the elevation in a verdant cocoon. The town itself was small compared to Tampa, as all the others were. There weren't any towers climbing towards the sky with an impossible number of floors; the pavement of the underutilized roads was a soft gray color, void of any fresh pavement, but the surface was laid bare of any faults as if it had been used, if only just enough to keep the earth from forcing its way back through the laid concrete. As I pulled up to what I can only imagine was the only stoplight in the town, my hands fumbled for my phone in order to check the status of my journey. 1 minute to destination was plastered at the top of the screen, leaving me in a state of confusion as the only things in sight seemed to be a few stores and what looked to be a small cafe on a road that stretched toward the horizon with no apparent end. The light turned green, and my GPS sent me to an immediate left to a small, run-down store just off the entrance that brought me into the mountain asylum. The store was decrepit; the paint was peeling from its decorative siding, creating a splotchy pattern of dingy blue and an aging off white. One of the large windows looking into the store had a sheet of wood crudely nailed over it, and an awning stretched from the end of the parking lot directly to the roof of the gas station as if whatever contractors built this were trying to deplorably hide the abomination from God himself. The store had no sign or title other than an LED fixture that indicated that the nameless fuel depot was open.
"You have arrived at your destination," the droning voice said through the speakers of my car as I came to a reluctant stop. I looked down at my phone to be certain the GPS wasn't struggling to find a pathway yet to be discovered by anyone except for those who had lived there their whole lives, but according to the directions, this was indeed my "intended" destination. Immediately checking my surroundings, I took note of the road that carved its way through the center of the poor excuse for a town ahead of me, sparsely decorated with various local stores and venues. According to my map the road didn't break off from this central strip for another 5 miles.
I buried my head in my hands after begrudgingly throwing my car into park and let out an exasperated sigh. I frantically flipped through the emails I had passed back and forth to my usual benefactor to find any messages concerning the exact location of my job site aside from the address I had been given.
"A fucking gas station, they gave me the address of a fucking gas station" I groaned as I came apon an email that had been sent...5 minutes ago. The subject line read "Apon Arival."
"When you arrive in Dawson, be sure to contact me at the number posted below so I may provide additional instruction on how to safely make it to Fairhaven. "Zion can be dangerous."
I felt my heart drop when my tired eyes made contact with the message below. My heart once again began to slam against my chest—was I lied to? Up to this point, the mystery man who had been detailing the project had alluded to my final stop being in Dawson. It was common to be sent to offshoots of towns that were far removed from modern commodities and human development, yet it was also common that whoever had hired me would be upfront and rather specific in telling me that my location wasn't so much a town as it was a "community" beyond the confines of city streets, so I wouldn't be surprised when I found myself over an hour away from the nearest comfort. I had also been warned of a place's dangers before; the last time I sat down to write, I mentioned that on a trip to the Congo, I was directly informed of the dangers of leaving my protective shell, but in those cases, safety was often typed in bold so that I knew what to expect from the start.
I was plagued with despondence as I slammed my phone into my pocket before forcing the door of my car open with an angry grunt. My brisk and heavy footfall fell onto the cement with intent, regardless of my clulessness. I pushed my way through the gas station's rusted door, which would have welded itself to the frame of the building if not for the little traffic that passed through it, when I was greeted with a poorly lit convenience store. The hum of aging fluorescent lights sang through the quite store. Web-like cracks formed on the yellowing stone as if the walls themselves were trying to escape from the neglected mess, the white panels on the ceiling were rife with black and brown spots indicating frequent leaks and water damage, and the smell was ungodly. I would have gone insane if I was forced to work in a room that had that pestilential smell glued to it. The shelves laid not quite bear but with just enough product on them that for the place to still be listed as a buisness that caused the aluminum casings to bend downward like they where struggling to hold the weight of a finite amount of light snacks.
I locked eyes with a surly man with ash and gray hair who sat behind the counter with a dejected stare. He wore a stained shirt and wrinkled jeans. His unkind eyes were bloodshot and glazed over with age, which seemed to break him, and his lips sat inward to indicate the lack of teeth in his sunken face.
"I can help you," he mumbled with a thick draw that I would have not understood if I hadn't met plenty of people of his likeness prior.
"Yeah, I'm... looking for Fairhaven?"
The grouchy old cashier scratched at his knife like whiskers and leaned onto the counter. "Fayrehayven?" He said obviously perplexed
I gathered what little skills of human interaction I had beyond lecturing a room full of students as I approached the man "right, I'm a teacher and..."
The old man quickly cut me off with little regard for or interest in my oncoming and admittedly pretentious elevator pitch, which I often gave to anyone who asked. "Yer in Dawson, gottanuff teachers last I heard."
"Yeah, well I'm not supposed to be in Dawson." I'm looking for Fairhaven. I interjected
The man responded with an apparent tone of disdain: "Ain't never heard of no FayreHayven; I've been here fiftee sebn years and ain't never heard of no FayreHayven."
I took a deep breath in an attempt to carry the conversation, but I've learned to count my losses when they make themselves known.
"Well, I suppose I'm lost then," I said, holding my hands up.
He grumbled once again and looked me up and down with his hateful glare before forcing out a slight "mmhmm."
I turned and rolled my eyes a bit before walking out of the store, completely defeated. I contemplated for quite some time before reaching back for my phone to examine the cryptic message that overtook my screen. I faltered only slightly before pressing my finger to the highlighted blue digits pasted at the end of the digital letter. The dial tone chimed for longer than expected, and right before the all-too-common voice mailbox message played, I heard a barely audible click before a voice came over the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Hayes," the man spoke in a scratchy, almost strained voice, as if he were exerting himself even while speaking.
The way the man spoke was just as unsettling as the emails we had passed back and forth previously, and without thinking, I responded with a little more panic in my voice than I care to admit, "How did you know it was me?"
The man retorted immediately. "I don't know many with a Tampa area code, my friend; call it intuition."
I kicked myself for being so skeptical after his truthfully sound logic connected with the bundle of nerves that was my mind before I mustered the confidence to say, "Sorry, I'm a bit on edge." "I think you might have given me the wrong address; I'm at a gas station just off the entrance to Dawson."
I waited for a moment before the man spoke once again. "The address we provided was correct; there are no pathways to Fairhaven, and we have attempted to remain secretive as to avoid the judgment of the individuals that may regard us as an unsavory commune." If you look to your right you will see a small path cut into the trees just beyond the convince store. "If you follow this path by foot, we will see to it that a member of the congregation greets you so that you can arrive safely."
I looked back towards the blue Honda Accord I had arrived in and argued, "All of my equipment is in my vehicle—my notes and laptop, my clothes, and I'm certainly not equipped to be hiking in dress shoes." I.."
The hoarse growl of the man rather shot back with an audatory shot of aggressive air: "We will see to it that your things arrive at the Fairhaven Community." I implore you to make your way onto the trail before nightfall. "The forest can be very dangerous without the sanctum of sunlight."
I glanced over at what I could infer was the overgrown pathway he was referring to with a shaky breath.
"I can understand your hesitancy; fear is a powerful emotion, but do not allow it to cloud your judgment." "The walk shouldn't take longer than a quarter of an hour." He spoke calmly now, but there was no comfort in his voice, rather a malignant vexation, as if it were meant to be a threat.
I gripped My phone white-knuckled at the accuracy of his statement. His perception of me was correct because I was not only terrified of the situation but also beyond frustrated at the thought of taking a hike up a mountain directly after a 14-hour trip with nothing but a 2-hour rest in a motel at the halfway mark.
"Guess I'll be there soon," I said, despite my mind showering him with a barrage of heinous insults. He hung up the phone without saying another word.
I gathered a few small commodities from my vehicle before turning towards the cutout hidden within the expanse of millions of trees that ascended to the summit of the gargantuan elevation ahead of me. It was overstated when the man labeled the cocofany of unkempt foliage a pathway; there was hardly even enough of an opening to make my way into the bramble, let alone not be perpetually scratched by the harsh and apathetic thorns that various plants had developed for occasions such as these. The slope that the natural alleyway was built on very quickly turned from a steady incline to a steep, near-vertical hill void of foothold, and I had to rely on my softened hands, which grasped desperately at the closest trees. It didn't take long for my feet to ache and burn. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've never been an outdoorsman. I was often poked fun at by the locals for being a city dweller when I gave a common toad a look of disgust, so it could automatically be assumed that I'm hardly the hiking type either.
The aforementioned 45-minute walk turned into an hour and then two before My knees buckled from beneath me. I was told that someone was to meet me at the point between the gas station and the community, and I was certain that I had to have made the trek to their standards regardless of my excessive stops. I laid my back against the trunk of a large tree before looking toward the sky. The faint glow of a reddening sky was barely visible through the canopy above before my dismay began to settle in. Nightfall was coming, and in the state I was in, I had no hope of making my way to the destination in the next 6 hours, let alone before nightfall. I closed my eyes tight and buried my head into my blistered hands, I could feel my brisk beating heart in my palms when the deafening roar of an engine rocketed my senses into overdrive. My head shot upward toward the golden beams of light, obscuring their source entirely.
"What in God's name is a fella like you doing way out here?" The voice wasn't the same as the man I had spoken to on the phone. It was just as old and eroded, but it held much more of the thick twang of a local.
"I'm looking for fairhaven." "They said they were sending someone to get me!" I shouted back over the boisterous hum of idling machinery.
"Well then, it's best to hop on." "Ain't a shot in hell in making any further in your condition."
I was in no position to argue, so I clasped my hands on a low-hanging branch and lifted myself upright before closing in on what seemed to be a crude attempt at an ATV. On top of the buggy was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and an ice white goatee. He was draped in a flannel shirt and blue jeans that have seen their share of hard times. He wore glasses that fell to the tip of his nose in order to examine me further as I approached. I boarded my saviors vessel and caught a whiff of what I knew to be the pungent odor of illicit alcohol. This man wasn't what I expected from the conversations I had prior with the eccentric leader of the religious movement, but the thought was pushed to the back of my mind as the contraption immediately spun its tires against the leaves and dirt of the forest floor, kicking back a blast of woodland scrap backward as it twisted one hundred and eighty degrees to face parrallel with the pathway that I thought to be my demise, only to scream up the hillside with unexpected force.
.
submitted by Dunjindad to scarystories [link] [comments]
The trip to West Virginia was, for the most part, uneventful and mind-numbing. I've always despised long car rides, despite being on the road so often when going from job to job. After an extended period on the road, my mind spins into an unconscious void and it becomes hard to determine where I've been. There are often times when I completely lose myself in the sea of vehicles in a never-ending stop and go only to find myself becoming aware an hour later. What little entertainment I had on hand usually prevented me from falling asleep or completely disconnecting from the human world on my thousandth 14-hour trip to the middle of nowhere. This trip, however, was different; I didn't find myself dissociating, nor did it feel like the run of the mill from point a to point b. I was nervous and the further I made in to my destination the more I felt as if I had made a grave mistake. Despite being a 28-year-old teacher with very little adult social skills, I couldn't help but feel that a 5-year contract with some pseudo-cult in the heart of West Virginia might have been a bit of an impulsive call even with the paycheck, and every time I thought of cryptic emails, I could feel my stomach constrict and knot at the very premise of meeting the strangers in person.
I found myself in one of my few "coming to reality" moments of the trip when I turned into a small town. I was surprised by the smell I was immediately greeted with; the distinct smell of mildew assaulted my senses at the very moment I passed a pale green and mildly vandalized billboard posted on the side of the road that read "Welcome to Dawson," scrawled in a cheesey font that made all the letters look like logs. The town itself was placed in a valley of some sort, almost completely enveloped by mountains on three sides, as if Mother Nature had left this perfect little alcove in the center just for this hidden civilization. On top of the distant, albeit ever-present, ranges sat hundreds of thousands of trees that wrapped the elevation in a verdant cocoon. The town itself was small compared to Tampa, as all the others were. There weren't any towers climbing towards the sky with an impossible number of floors; the pavement of the underutilized roads was a soft gray color, void of any fresh pavement, but the surface was laid bare of any faults as if it had been used, if only just enough to keep the earth from forcing its way back through the laid concrete. As I pulled up to what I can only imagine was the only stoplight in the town, my hands fumbled for my phone in order to check the status of my journey. 1 minute to destination was plastered at the top of the screen, leaving me in a state of confusion as the only things in sight seemed to be a few stores and what looked to be a small cafe on a road that stretched toward the horizon with no apparent end. The light turned green, and my GPS sent me to an immediate left to a small, run-down store just off the entrance that brought me into the mountain asylum. The store was decrepit; the paint was peeling from its decorative siding, creating a splotchy pattern of dingy blue and an aging off white. One of the large windows looking into the store had a sheet of wood crudely nailed over it, and an awning stretched from the end of the parking lot directly to the roof of the gas station as if whatever contractors built this were trying to deplorably hide the abomination from God himself. The store had no sign or title other than an LED fixture that indicated that the nameless fuel depot was open.
"You have arrived at your destination," the droning voice said through the speakers of my car as I came to a reluctant stop. I looked down at my phone to be certain the GPS wasn't struggling to find a pathway yet to be discovered by anyone except for those who had lived there their whole lives, but according to the directions, this was indeed my "intended" destination. Immediately checking my surroundings, I took note of the road that carved its way through the center of the poor excuse for a town ahead of me, sparsely decorated with various local stores and venues. According to my map the road didn't break off from this central strip for another 5 miles.
I buried my head in my hands after begrudgingly throwing my car into park and let out an exasperated sigh. I frantically flipped through the emails I had passed back and forth to my usual benefactor to find any messages concerning the exact location of my job site aside from the address I had been given.
"A fucking gas station, they gave me the address of a fucking gas station" I groaned as I came apon an email that had been sent...5 minutes ago. The subject line read "Apon Arival."
"When you arrive in Dawson, be sure to contact me at the number posted below so I may provide additional instruction on how to safely make it to Fairhaven. "Zion can be dangerous."
I felt my heart drop when my tired eyes made contact with the message below. My heart once again began to slam against my chest—was I lied to? Up to this point, the mystery man who had been detailing the project had alluded to my final stop being in Dawson. It was common to be sent to offshoots of towns that were far removed from modern commodities and human development, yet it was also common that whoever had hired me would be upfront and rather specific in telling me that my location wasn't so much a town as it was a "community" beyond the confines of city streets, so I wouldn't be surprised when I found myself over an hour away from the nearest comfort. I had also been warned of a place's dangers before; the last time I sat down to write, I mentioned that on a trip to the Congo, I was directly informed of the dangers of leaving my protective shell, but in those cases, safety was often typed in bold so that I knew what to expect from the start.
I was plagued with despondence as I slammed my phone into my pocket before forcing the door of my car open with an angry grunt. My brisk and heavy footfall fell onto the cement with intent, regardless of my clulessness. I pushed my way through the gas station's rusted door, which would have welded itself to the frame of the building if not for the little traffic that passed through it, when I was greeted with a poorly lit convenience store. The hum of aging fluorescent lights sang through the quite store. Web-like cracks formed on the yellowing stone as if the walls themselves were trying to escape from the neglected mess, the white panels on the ceiling were rife with black and brown spots indicating frequent leaks and water damage, and the smell was ungodly. I would have gone insane if I was forced to work in a room that had that pestilential smell glued to it. The shelves laid not quite bear but with just enough product on them that for the place to still be listed as a buisness that caused the aluminum casings to bend downward like they where struggling to hold the weight of a finite amount of light snacks.
I locked eyes with a surly man with ash and gray hair who sat behind the counter with a dejected stare. He wore a stained shirt and wrinkled jeans. His unkind eyes were bloodshot and glazed over with age, which seemed to break him, and his lips sat inward to indicate the lack of teeth in his sunken face.
"I can help you," he mumbled with a thick draw that I would have not understood if I hadn't met plenty of people of his likeness prior.
"Yeah, I'm... looking for Fairhaven?"
The grouchy old cashier scratched at his knife like whiskers and leaned onto the counter. "Fayrehayven?" He said obviously perplexed
I gathered what little skills of human interaction I had beyond lecturing a room full of students as I approached the man "right, I'm a teacher and..."
The old man quickly cut me off with little regard for or interest in my oncoming and admittedly pretentious elevator pitch, which I often gave to anyone who asked. "Yer in Dawson, gottanuff teachers last I heard."
"Yeah, well I'm not supposed to be in Dawson." I'm looking for Fairhaven. I interjected
The man responded with an apparent tone of disdain: "Ain't never heard of no FayreHayven; I've been here fiftee sebn years and ain't never heard of no FayreHayven."
I took a deep breath in an attempt to carry the conversation, but I've learned to count my losses when they make themselves known.
"Well, I suppose I'm lost then," I said, holding my hands up.
He grumbled once again and looked me up and down with his hateful glare before forcing out a slight "mmhmm."
I turned and rolled my eyes a bit before walking out of the store, completely defeated. I contemplated for quite some time before reaching back for my phone to examine the cryptic message that overtook my screen. I faltered only slightly before pressing my finger to the highlighted blue digits pasted at the end of the digital letter. The dial tone chimed for longer than expected, and right before the all-too-common voice mailbox message played, I heard a barely audible click before a voice came over the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Hayes," the man spoke in a scratchy, almost strained voice, as if he were exerting himself even while speaking.
The way the man spoke was just as unsettling as the emails we had passed back and forth previously, and without thinking, I responded with a little more panic in my voice than I care to admit, "How did you know it was me?"
The man retorted immediately. "I don't know many with a Tampa area code, my friend; call it intuition."
I kicked myself for being so skeptical after his truthfully sound logic connected with the bundle of nerves that was my mind before I mustered the confidence to say, "Sorry, I'm a bit on edge." "I think you might have given me the wrong address; I'm at a gas station just off the entrance to Dawson."
I waited for a moment before the man spoke once again. "The address we provided was correct; there are no pathways to Fairhaven, and we have attempted to remain secretive as to avoid the judgment of the individuals that may regard us as an unsavory commune." If you look to your right you will see a small path cut into the trees just beyond the convince store. "If you follow this path by foot, we will see to it that a member of the congregation greets you so that you can arrive safely."
I looked back towards the blue Honda Accord I had arrived in and argued, "All of my equipment is in my vehicle—my notes and laptop, my clothes, and I'm certainly not equipped to be hiking in dress shoes." I.."
The hoarse growl of the man rather shot back with an audatory shot of aggressive air: "We will see to it that your things arrive at the Fairhaven Community." I implore you to make your way onto the trail before nightfall. "The forest can be very dangerous without the sanctum of sunlight."
I glanced over at what I could infer was the overgrown pathway he was referring to with a shaky breath.
"I can understand your hesitancy; fear is a powerful emotion, but do not allow it to cloud your judgment." "The walk shouldn't take longer than a quarter of an hour." He spoke calmly now, but there was no comfort in his voice, rather a malignant vexation, as if it were meant to be a threat.
I gripped My phone white-knuckled at the accuracy of his statement. His perception of me was correct because I was not only terrified of the situation but also beyond frustrated at the thought of taking a hike up a mountain directly after a 14-hour trip with nothing but a 2-hour rest in a motel at the halfway mark.
"Guess I'll be there soon," I said, despite my mind showering him with a barrage of heinous insults. He hung up the phone without saying another word.
I gathered a few small commodities from my vehicle before turning towards the cutout hidden within the expanse of millions of trees that ascended to the summit of the gargantuan elevation ahead of me. It was overstated when the man labeled the cocofany of unkempt foliage a pathway; there was hardly even enough of an opening to make my way into the bramble, let alone not be perpetually scratched by the harsh and apathetic thorns that various plants had developed for occasions such as these. The slope that the natural alleyway was built on very quickly turned from a steady incline to a steep, near-vertical hill void of foothold, and I had to rely on my softened hands, which grasped desperately at the closest trees. It didn't take long for my feet to ache and burn. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've never been an outdoorsman. I was often poked fun at by the locals for being a city dweller when I gave a common toad a look of disgust, so it could automatically be assumed that I'm hardly the hiking type either.
The aforementioned 45-minute walk turned into an hour and then two before My knees buckled from beneath me. I was told that someone was to meet me at the point between the gas station and the community, and I was certain that I had to have made the trek to their standards regardless of my excessive stops. I laid my back against the trunk of a large tree before looking toward the sky. The faint glow of a reddening sky was barely visible through the canopy above before my dismay began to settle in. Nightfall was coming, and in the state I was in, I had no hope of making my way to the destination in the next 6 hours, let alone before nightfall. I closed my eyes tight and buried my head into my blistered hands, I could feel my brisk beating heart in my palms when the deafening roar of an engine rocketed my senses into overdrive. My head shot upward toward the golden beams of light, obscuring their source entirely.
"What in God's name is a fella like you doing way out here?" The voice wasn't the same as the man I had spoken to on the phone. It was just as old and eroded, but it held much more of the thick twang of a local.
"I'm looking for fairhaven." "They said they were sending someone to get me!" I shouted back over the boisterous hum of idling machinery.
"Well then, it's best to hop on." "Ain't a shot in hell in making any further in your condition."
I was in no position to argue, so I clasped my hands on a low-hanging branch and lifted myself upright before closing in on what seemed to be a crude attempt at an ATV. On top of the buggy was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and an ice white goatee. He was draped in a flannel shirt and blue jeans that have seen their share of hard times. He wore glasses that fell to the tip of his nose in order to examine me further as I approached. I boarded my saviors vessel and caught a whiff of what I knew to be the pungent odor of illicit alcohol. This man wasn't what I expected from the conversations I had prior with the eccentric leader of the religious movement, but the thought was pushed to the back of my mind as the contraption immediately spun its tires against the leaves and dirt of the forest floor, kicking back a blast of woodland scrap backward as it twisted one hundred and eighty degrees to face parrallel with the pathway that I thought to be my demise, only to scream up the hillside with unexpected force.
.
2023.03.20 15:15 Arthur_Hood He is our Favorite Fearless Hero!!! "Open"
Ser Ryam Florent, a young man in the eyes of Noble Lord and Gracious Lady alike having just turned twenty one recently had already been a Knight of the Mander for five fine long years. He was what many considered the protegee of a generation. He was their favorite fearless hero, or so the young Knight thought. He’d served alongside the men of Brightwater Keep for sometime and was bounced around to fill several potential openings, but any opportunity he found always came with the caveat one day. He knew he could not rush good men who’d earned their place to retirement or the grave so finally Ryam took off, and where afterall should a fine and noble knight of the Reach try to find their future, no better a place exists in all the Seven Kingdoms then Highgarden.
He made quite the grand entrance when he arrived a Knight of the Realm with Seven Men at Arm’s all wielding Greatswords, they were a nice motley crew of some of the finest smallfolk that Ryam had ever met. They made up his company and had gotten the nickname of the Ryam’s Leash, as they kept the good Knight in line like a leash around his neck, as well as what you’d call a pack of Red Foxes, so while guards they also were there to guard Ryam from losing himself even. One might consider it a brilliant and clever designed force.
He had been a guest in Highgarden for a few hours at most and had spent the first few getting his men settled into a nearby lodge outside the keep, he was quite blessed to be offered a place to stay inside the keep, even if it was a tiny room on the far wall near the servant quarters. Once settled in Ryam made his way to the Godswood of the Castle Highgarden. Why many found faith in the Septs of the Seven, Ryam had an old soul and often found peace in the Godswood’s of the Southern lands. His father jokingly said that perhaps he’d been cucked by a Stark due to his boy’s love for the Godswood’s but it brought Ryam peace. It was here in the quiet of the Godswood he crafted his newest poem, a Knight’s Noble Try.
“In the rolling hills of the Reach, Where fields of gold stretch out to meet the sky, A Florent Knight doth ride, With sword at side and heart held high.” He was thinking as he recited this aloud for any ear’s nearby to hear.
“He sings of love and gallant deeds, Of maidens fair and battles won, And dances with a grace unmatched, Beneath the warmth of the southern sun.”
His voice was crisp and spoke with a smooth rhythm.
“Through hamlets small and castles grand, He travels on his noble quest, To serve his liege with honor true, And prove himself among the best.”
He was never one to tell a lie.
“For in the Reach, where knights abound, Only the bravest and most skilled, Can hope to gain renown and fame, And have their glories sung and thrilled.”
“And in his travels, he did save, A Tyrell damsel fair and true, From those who would bring her harm, And deliver her back to her kin anew.”
“So let us raise a cup of mead, To this Florent Knight, our shining star, A true hero of the Reach, Who's saved a damsel from afar.” He laughed at himself, it was a fantastic piece of puff, maybe it would make some woman swoon or perhaps just make them gag at his own pride. He'd left the name Ryam out but never forgot to mention his surname in his boastful poetry.
submitted by Arthur_Hood to IronThroneRP [link] [comments]
He made quite the grand entrance when he arrived a Knight of the Realm with Seven Men at Arm’s all wielding Greatswords, they were a nice motley crew of some of the finest smallfolk that Ryam had ever met. They made up his company and had gotten the nickname of the Ryam’s Leash, as they kept the good Knight in line like a leash around his neck, as well as what you’d call a pack of Red Foxes, so while guards they also were there to guard Ryam from losing himself even. One might consider it a brilliant and clever designed force.
He had been a guest in Highgarden for a few hours at most and had spent the first few getting his men settled into a nearby lodge outside the keep, he was quite blessed to be offered a place to stay inside the keep, even if it was a tiny room on the far wall near the servant quarters. Once settled in Ryam made his way to the Godswood of the Castle Highgarden. Why many found faith in the Septs of the Seven, Ryam had an old soul and often found peace in the Godswood’s of the Southern lands. His father jokingly said that perhaps he’d been cucked by a Stark due to his boy’s love for the Godswood’s but it brought Ryam peace. It was here in the quiet of the Godswood he crafted his newest poem, a Knight’s Noble Try.
“In the rolling hills of the Reach, Where fields of gold stretch out to meet the sky, A Florent Knight doth ride, With sword at side and heart held high.” He was thinking as he recited this aloud for any ear’s nearby to hear.
“He sings of love and gallant deeds, Of maidens fair and battles won, And dances with a grace unmatched, Beneath the warmth of the southern sun.”
His voice was crisp and spoke with a smooth rhythm.
“Through hamlets small and castles grand, He travels on his noble quest, To serve his liege with honor true, And prove himself among the best.”
He was never one to tell a lie.
“For in the Reach, where knights abound, Only the bravest and most skilled, Can hope to gain renown and fame, And have their glories sung and thrilled.”
“And in his travels, he did save, A Tyrell damsel fair and true, From those who would bring her harm, And deliver her back to her kin anew.”
“So let us raise a cup of mead, To this Florent Knight, our shining star, A true hero of the Reach, Who's saved a damsel from afar.” He laughed at himself, it was a fantastic piece of puff, maybe it would make some woman swoon or perhaps just make them gag at his own pride. He'd left the name Ryam out but never forgot to mention his surname in his boastful poetry.
2023.03.20 15:12 AuthorRKeene [The Primeval Apocalypse] - Chapter One (collaboration with u/hydrael)
![[The Primeval Apocalypse] - Chapter One (collaboration with u/hydrael)](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/pYlDRsg9-yAkhHTXWSzvHOlaJ7edn0zu9sjzngXIHMo.jpg "[The Primeval Apocalypse] - Chapter One (collaboration with u/hydrael)") | submitted by AuthorRKeene to redditserials [link] [comments] The Primeval Apocalypse by Robert Keene and Alex Raizman Cover Image Robert's Published Books Hydrael's Published Books Robert's Patreon Hydrael's Patreon Get updates on Discord! Start Here (Prologue) Next In nature, only the strong are supposed to survive. In defiance of all odds, I did too. For now. Six months after the apocalypse, I was still alive and kicking. A big part of that was the same way I survived the civilized world before the apocalypse. Finding a job that needed doing—and one that everyone else hated—and doing it very well. As soon as you’re doing dirty work that nobody else wants, the people who want that work done will realize that your continued survival is in their best interest and they’ll take care of you. It just turned out in a world without retail shops, the dirty work that nobody else wanted was to act as a big stupid diversion. And, like everything else in life, being a diversion is just a primitive, degenerate form of customer service. The customers now were the raiders who needed the enemy guards drawn away from their farms, and the service was now hurtling myself into danger as noisily as possible. I’d split off from the raiding party just under an hour ago, arriving at the far side of the enemy village just before designated go time. Without any ability to communicate, the sign for their infiltration would be the alarm that would go out when I made my presence known. Technically, I could start now, but I knew better. A single person moved through the forest far better than a group. Especially the specific group in question. Nothing against Rebecca. She’d been great to hang out with between missions. But when a task involves overland travel, Rebecca’s a liability. The forest around me was not at all what I was expecting before the apocalypse came and dumped me into it. From the message right before everything hit the proverbial fan, I’d expected that we were getting dumped into the Jurassic period, full of dinosaurs and palm trees and tropical ferns. Obviously, with hindsight, that was an expectation driven by depictions of prehistory through the lens of cartoons, and not grounded in fact. Instead, I was standing in the middle of an old growth pine forest, with trees that were dozens of feet around and stretching up too high to track from the ground. The interwoven canopy above simply did not let enough light reach the ground for foliage to grow here. The only things that survived were fungus, moss, and lichens. Things that could endure the lightless existence. Up ahead was different, though. A dense explosion of green. Light poured in from a gap in the forest canopy, feeding shrubs, bushes, and other plants that would starve anywhere else in this forest. Bright green foliage was interrupted here and there with bulging bunches of berries. Clumps of leaves sprouting from the dirt promised tuberous vegetables in the ground beneath. The huge lump of greenery looked like a giant hill in the light covered with a natural bounty. I knew better. That veritable Garden of Eden had been birthed on the back of an enormous stump. And someone had cut down this tree with purpose. Someone had cultivated what grew from the stump. Someone had worked tirelessly in the forest canopy to ensure that the window of light remained open to keep this mixed crop growing and healthy. These cutout gardens were all through the forest here, surrounding the enemy settlement. I could probably sneak up and grab a handful of berries without issue. I might even be able to dig out a few tubers and herbs and fire-roast myself a meal to last through the night. But the guards would respond too quickly. I could see three of them from here. A pair on patrol, passing by as they went between the various garden stumps. There was another amidst the foliage, carefully picking weeds out from around the base of the largest berry bush. Hunched-over and hairy, the farmer looked more like the creature the enemy resembled, where the guards—alert and walking upright—could pass for humans at a far enough distance. They were enormous mandrills. Old-world primate from the world before the old world. Hairy and muscular, they had red noses flanked by blue-white ridges. They were larger and more heavily-built than the mandrills I remembered, their size and behavior marking them as a semi-civilized people rather than just big angry monkeys. I would see their town soon enough, but even from here, they were clearly more than animals. They moved with calm and disciplined purpose, and while most of their modesty was preserved by their dense fur, they wore dyed loincloths to cover their lower bodies while retaining the bright colors that were usually a sign of strength, health, and desirability as mates among their species. With their natural advantages and strong foothold in this primeval world, the mandrills had proven to be the greatest threat to human lives, even next to disease, starvation, and the other monstrous natural threats. The mandrills’ dark brown fur would let them blend in with the trees of the forest to be near-invisible, were it not for the colorful ornamentation on their faces and rear ends. These three nearby were taller than me, but only by a handful of inches. As expected, this close to the settlement, they were the mandrill women. The men were usually over seven feet tall, and much more brightly colored. Rather than protecting the town and managing the farmwork, the men roamed the wilderness in gangs, acting as satellite patrols keeping threats at bay. I was far too close to town now to worry about them. The only men I was likely to see would be juveniles. Children too young to be far from their mothers. Well, them, and also the alpha. I gritted my teeth and remained silent as the guards walked by. Patience was a virtue, even in this dangerous world. I needed more time before raising a stink and drawing the Mandril guards to me. My friends were unlikely to be in position yet. Not slowed down as they were by their numbers. And Rebecca. I checked my status menu, and the system that had kicked this whole mess off filled me in on my current details. Normally I wouldn’t read the entire screen of information, but in my nervous state, the familiar numbers helped to soothe away my worries for the upcoming mission and remind me how far I’ve come. How many times I’ve done this before. Colin Richardson Level 4 Marauder Status effect: Hide In Plain Sight HP: 472/472 MP: 0/0 SP: 60/110 STR: 16 CON: 18 DEX: 13 AGI: 16 INT: 10 WIS: 8 Class: Marauder Subclass: Unlocked at level 5 Marauder is a tank/DPS hybrid basic class adept at both surviving in the thick of combat and dishing out damage. Versatile, yet focused, its class skills include nearly all weapons and armor, but only a smattering of non-combat skills. [Class Abilities] Fierce (Passive): Deal 10% more damage with melee attacks. Durable (Passive): Your max HP is increased by 10%. Second Wind (90 second cooldown, 3 charges): Restore 10% of your HP instantly, and 15% of your HP over the next 15 seconds. Enrage (120 second cooldown): For the next 66 seconds, your damage done is increased by 30%. Last Stand (Passive): While below 20% HP, increase all defense ratings by 50%. Maul (30 second cooldown): Your next melee weapon attack inflicts the Maul effect on the target and all enemies in 5 yards around them, dealing 5% weapon damage per second for 6 seconds. Dealing melee damage to enemies with Maul active extends the duration of the effect by 6 more seconds. Intuition (Passive): Chance to dodge/block/parry attacks by enemies you can sense is increased by 5%. Bloodbath (90 second cooldown): For the next 30 seconds, when dealing damage, 25% of the damage done is returned to you as health. Your damage dealt is increased by 5.0% while Bloodbath is active. Skull Bash (30 second cooldown): Your next unarmed strike stuns the target for 0.75 seconds. Afterwards, take 20% reduced damage from all sources, and deal 10% increased damage for 2 seconds. [Class Achievements] Built To Resist IV: Take more than 150% of your HP in damage in 6 seconds and survive. Second Wind gains 2 additional charges. Reduce Second Wind’s cooldown by 10%. Sustained Rage: Deal 100,000 damage while under the effect of Enrage (lifetime). Enrage gains a 10% duration increase. Indestructible IV: Spend 120 minutes with Last Stand active (lifetime). The defense bonus of Last Stand is increased by 100% Pig Sticker: Deal damage with Maul to four targets on the same system tick. Maul now affects an area around your primary target. Bloodlust II: Recover 100% of your maximum HP over the course of a single use of Bloodbath. Deal 5.0% more damage while Bloodbath is active. Third Eye: Block, dodge, or parry seven attacks in a row. Intuition increases your detection radius by 10%. Thick Skulled II: Stun an enemy with Skull Bash during the cast time of a spell or ability 10 times. After using Skull Bash, take 20% reduced damage for 2 seconds. Stunning Finisher: 5 enemies killed during Skull Bash’s stun effect. After using Skull Bash, deal 10% increased damage for 2 seconds. [Skills] Unarmed (Cross-class): 3 Sword: 4 Axe: 16 Spear: 8 Bow (Cross-class): 1 Club: 8 Block: 4 Parry: 16 Dodge: 18 Unarmored: 8 Light armor: 12 Medium armor: 6 Detection: 18 Stealth (Cross-Class): 9 Athletics: 16 Acrobatics: 16 Simple Crafting (Cross-Class): 8 Crafting (Alchemy) (Cross-Class): 8 Crafting (Cooking): 4 Use Rope (Cross-Class): 10 Climb: 8 Swim: 6 Ride: 3 Survival: 18 Intuit North (Cross-Class): 8 Harvesting (Cross-Class): 8 Excavation: 2 Skinning (Cross-Class): 4 Butchering: 12 [Skill Achievements] Stronger than the Self (Axe): Deal more than your maximum hit points in damage in under 120 seconds while wielding Axes. Deal 10% more damage with axes. Line of Attack: Parry 1,000 attacks (Lifetime). Gain Defensive Stance (Active, Toggle) to increase your parry skill by 20% while reducing your weapon skill by 20%. Sight Unseen: Succeed on a Stealth check. Gain Hide In Plain Sight (Active, Toggle) to use Stealth skill when there are no shadows or cover. Lost and Found V: Fail a Stealth check by 50 points or more. When failing a Stealth check by 25 or less, reroll and take the new result. Blind Sentinel: Succeed on a Detection check while one of your senses is disabled. Increase detection radius by 10%. Sentry II: Succeed on Detection checks against hostile beings 50 times (Lifetime). Increase detection radius by 20%. Marathon: Travel 1,000 feet while at 0 Stamina (Lifetime). Increase Stamina Points by 10%, Athletics checks consume 10% reduced Stamina Points. Freefall VIII: Fall 8,000 feet (Lifetime). Fall 80% farther before an Acrobatics check is required to avoid fall damage. Tastes Bad: Discover an Alchemical Property by eating raw ingredients. When failing a Crafting (Alchemy) check to discern Alchemical Properties, you may reroll the check once per day without consuming the ingredient. Gaoler II: Restrain living beings with rope 100 times (Lifetime). When an enemy succeeds on a check to escape bindings you have tied, force them to reroll and take the new result. When an enemy you have bound breaks free, you are notified as long as you are within 30 yards. Green Teeth III: Survive on foliage only for 3 days. Survival skill is increased by 30% to identify edible plants. [Equipment] Head: Antler Cap DEF: 10 +1 CON +2 Survival Body: Leather Vest DEF: 10 +1 CON +2 Survival Hands: Clawed Gloves of Strength DEF: 5 +2 STR +2 Climb Legs: Leather Leggings DEF: 5 +1 AGI +2 Dodge Feet: Reed Sandals DEF: 2 +1 AGI +2 Stealth Adornment: Fang Necklace +2 Detection Adornment: Thick Hide Bracer DEF: 5 Weapon: Crude Handaxe DAM: 10 DEL: 15 Offhand: Crude Handaxe DAM: 10 DEL:15 In the corner of my mind, my Journal screen kept me reminded of my current quests. The quests were auto-generated by a system that seemed to be only barely sentient, so most of them were half-baked tutorials for systems I had no interest in. Trying to teach me random crap about metalcraft and carpentry even though I had neither the skills nor the tools to engage with them. Those had all been marked to hide, and silenced for the foreseeable future. Only two remained active. Reach Level 5 Completing objectives, overcoming challenges, and defeating powerful foes will gain you experience points to increase your level. At level 5 you will unlock: Choose A Subclass. Milk Run XXCVIII (Shared with Party) Hamlet Jamestown is running low on food. Locate and donate at least 50 lbs of food to avert this crisis. I could almost sense the guards’ Observation checks bouncing off my Stealth skill as I crouched at the base of a skyscraper-like tree just a few yards off their patrol route. Any move I made to get to more secure cover would give them a bonus to their checks, but I could just wait for them to pass me by. One of them hesitated, causing me to hold my breath, but she just snaked a hand out to sneak a berry off of the garden and pop it into her mouth before moving on. They made their way out of view to my right around the next giant pine tree just a few moments later, opening the narrow window I’d need to rush through. It would take under a minute for the next patrol to emerge from the forest to the left. Creeping forward, I gave the farmer as wide a berth as I could, careful to avoid shuffling my feet on the thick carpet of brown pine needles beneath me. Soon it wouldn’t matter if my friends were in position or not. As I passed the farmer and moved towards where I knew the Mandril settlement would be, the clock had started. It was only a matter of time before someone—or something—succeeded on the Observation check to spot me. Of course, that simply meant that the stage was set. As soon as the alarm went up, it was showtime. |
2023.03.20 15:08 Last_Cardiologist111 I&B Seeds
I and B Seeds is a pioneering seed company in India that has been driving research and development in the seed industry for several years. The company is focused on producing high-quality, genetically pure and disease-resistant seeds that can help farmers improve their crop yields and overall productivity.
India is known for its rich agricultural heritage, and seeds play a crucial role in the success of the farming industry. Seeds of India are diverse and include a variety of crops such as rice, wheat, cotton, and vegetables. However, the quality of seeds has been a cause for concern for farmers, with many facing challenges in obtaining good quality indian seeds that can withstand disease and pests, and produce a high yield.
I and B Seeds aims to address this issue by producing high-quality seeds of india that meet the specific needs of Indian farmers. The company's focus on research and development has led to the development of several high-yielding and disease-resistant varieties of seeds that have been well-received by farmers across the country.
So, what is a seed? Simply put, a seed is a reproductive structure of a plant that contains the genetic material necessary for the growth and development of a new plant. Seeds can be of different types, including open-pollinated seeds, hybrid seeds, and genetically modified seeds. The quality of seeds determines the quality and yield of crops, making it critical to choose the right seeds for farming.
submitted by Last_Cardiologist111 to u/Last_Cardiologist111 [link] [comments]
India is known for its rich agricultural heritage, and seeds play a crucial role in the success of the farming industry. Seeds of India are diverse and include a variety of crops such as rice, wheat, cotton, and vegetables. However, the quality of seeds has been a cause for concern for farmers, with many facing challenges in obtaining good quality indian seeds that can withstand disease and pests, and produce a high yield.
I and B Seeds aims to address this issue by producing high-quality seeds of india that meet the specific needs of Indian farmers. The company's focus on research and development has led to the development of several high-yielding and disease-resistant varieties of seeds that have been well-received by farmers across the country.
So, what is a seed? Simply put, a seed is a reproductive structure of a plant that contains the genetic material necessary for the growth and development of a new plant. Seeds can be of different types, including open-pollinated seeds, hybrid seeds, and genetically modified seeds. The quality of seeds determines the quality and yield of crops, making it critical to choose the right seeds for farming.
2023.03.20 15:01 FlipDaly Flashback to COVID content, long
This is a repost. Welcome to flashback time. Original posts made over the course of 2020 by u/SleepyLi in nyc. Edited for readability.
March 15 2020
PSA for folks worried about how they’ll eat during this time
TL;DR at bottom.
This is the first post I’ve ever put up on Reddit, so excuse me if this shit jankey asf, or in the wrong place. A comment I left on someone’s post received some really good feedback, so I figured there would be other folks who might be experiencing a rough time as well, so here I am being proactive.
As we all know, COVID-19 is fucking shit up. Most folks are working from home, but that’s generally for folks working white collar jobs with job security, which a fuckton of NYC heads don’t have. Folks in the service industry don’t get paid if they don’t work, so there’s no “I’m going to WFH and bus my own fucking table” or “Let me make that drink for you bud” in ya own kitchen for ya cat. So money is tight for some of y’all. And I get it. I’ve been in that position before, shit sucks and gurgles donkey dick. So here’s my PSA:
I help run a wholesale/retail meat shop in NYC, specifically the LES, in Chinatown. I’m open, cause how else is everyone going to eat and cook at home? Just as I told someone before, I’ll say the same thing here: $10 will get you something like 13 pounds of chicken drumsticks, plus a dozen eggs. Don’t like drum sticks? Fine, get something else, our prices are lower than your GPA and your parents’ expectations for you. We don’t sell rice, but a 20lb bag of rice runs like $25 bucks in our area and if you ask, I’ll tell you exactly where to go. Our location is:
47 DIVISION STREET GROUND FLOOR NEW YORK, NY 10002
B/D to Grand Street, F to East Broadway
Now you might say some shit like “this is a shameless cash grab, etc.” And you know what my response is to that?
What the fuck are you talking about, and you can suck my fucking ass. I’m not going to get rich making ten bucks off 13 pounds of drumsticks and a dozen eggs (if we even have anymore). This is for folks that are hurting real bad or just plain about to fucking be put out cause $10 is all they have. If I was trying to get rich, being the local pig boy is obviously not the right trade to get into, now is it.
For those that also see this and start scheming on if you can roll up on my spot and try to make me run my pockets for $10: come and find out whether or not you have a first class ticket to meet God, express lane. Or just come and tell me you want to shoot the fair one for fun, I’ll oblige too.
If you have a healthy savings account, please don’t come to my shop at this time. If you’re stocked up and can weather a self quarantine, again, please don’t come to my shop at this time. I’d appreciate the business during a more normal period of time, but as of now, it’s geared towards my fellow NYers who are most at risk due to their economic situation. I have a limited supply of produce and I’d like to give us all a fighting chance.
In this time of great uncertainty and fear, we New Yorkers must stand together and be each other’s keepers. Take care of your folks, your neighbors, each other. We’ve weathered 9/11 together, Superstorm Sandy, shit, the fucking 2016 election, and this too will be something that we will weather and emerge victorious from.
TL;DR: if you’re a poor fuck and worried about how you will eat during COVID-19, come hither you poor child, for I have wares for cheap. But for real, give me $10 and I will feed you for a week.
47 Division Street Ground Floor New York, NY 10002
B/D to Grand Street, F to East Broadway
——————————————————————— Edit: figured it should be said, but for those that might not be aware: because we cater to a low income demographic already, we accept EBT, cash, and debit card. We don’t accept credit. This is what something like 90% of people with rocky income use, so that’s what we’ve gone with.
02Edit: I've been reached out to by a number of people about a possible pay it forward program/scheme/initiative. I thank you and commend ya'll for coming together to help those in need. I'm trying to get in touch with some folks or organization that do grocery shopping/meal prep for the elderly/folks that are most at risk and can't do it themselves. I'd like to use those funds to provide the supplies for cooking and shit at cost. If I can't get in touch with some folks, I'll start a Facebook group/some other jankey shit to better coordinate based on geographical location and have it vertically integrated into the business. Will set up a venmo or something later in the day. Also: we're located in Chinatown, so don't gawk and be surprised if you see shit like chicken feet, pork and beef trotters, and the like. Welcome to eating head to tail.
Thanks for the feedback.
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UPDATE- Getting a lot of push back from my wholesalers and suppliers; they're rationing our orders. Everybody is short. Doing my best to get more orders from source, but jesus fuck the prices are being gouged the fuck out rn. Will keep trying to keep everything affordable to everyone.
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02UPDATE 18MAR2020-
I created a Venmo. The handle is Sleepyli-LocalPigBoy Avatar should be a pissed off cat.
All transactions will be public. For those that use cash for the pay it forward as the lady with the nice glasses and vans did today, I have a repurposed envelope that I will insert the money in and deduct for orders going out. Trying to do this as legit as possible, with logs of each transaction so mfs don’t come at me like I’m a mega church asking for donations to buy me a jet. Let your poor and broke ass friends know that they don’t need to starve in times like this.
Also: Due to whatever issues are being had further up the supply chain, same as my first update: supplies are getting tight and assholes are beginning to capitalize on it. $10 will no longer get you what was originally offered unfortunately: it’ll get you 7lbs of drumsticks and a dozen eggs now.
Eggs are climbing up and drumsticks are getting fucking stupid. I received two cases today. I ordered 40. They deadass rationing everybody, with jacked prices. I’m sorry, but I’m raising prices to literally break even. My salary is currently on hold cause I can afford it, but others can’t.
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03UPDATE 25AUG2020-
Old Venmo has been deleted. New Venmo is: FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading
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July 22 2020
Cheap Meat
Not sure if this is allowed, but fuck it, we're hurting and desperate times create desperate people who do desperate things.
TL;DR: Local butcher shop with cheap prices. Trying to keep afloat and keep folks fed. Address at bottom.
Sup ya'll, it's your favorite local meat boy (for those that don’t get it, here's my first post: original NYC meat boy post).
Despite COVID cases in NYC having dropped a fair amount, a lot of businesses that have opened up aren't doing so hot, and still some are not going to open up ever again. While there's unemployment insurance for individuals, there really isn't much for small local businesses. I also know that the pandemic boost for UI is about to run out end of month, so if you're sweating about how you're going to eat, I got you.
Most of America's economy began to feel the effects of The Rona around March of this year, but businesses located in Chinatown were fucked as early as January. America's reporting on COVID centered around China being the bad guy, which trends to loop all Asian Americans as "others" and "not really American." Chinese businesses tanked and hate crimes shot up. People within the community began their own self-imposed quarantine due to increased fear of being caught slacking by some racist fuckstick. Then came the formal lock down in March, which really flipped us over, bent us over the couch for good leverage, and fucked us deep and hard. At the time of 14JUNE2020, less than half of Chinatown's restaurants are open, and less than a third of total businesses are open (Bloomberg article supporting claim). Most funds meant as relief for small businesses got snagged by large corporations. And now all the SMEs are floundering. As of now, the end of July, still less than a third of Chinatown businesses have opened up, especially since most of them couldn't apply for any assistance due to language barriers.
So again, here I am peddling my wares. I also have $9.75 left from someone that wanted to pay it forward earlier in the year for what it’s worth.
We’re a small local meat shop. A butcher shop. A boutique culinary protein throwback to simpler times. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. We sell meat. You get the idea. Our prices are real fucking low. Lower than your self esteem. Lower than what your parents think of you. And that’s a good thing. Cause you like cheap things, you cheap fuck. Save all the money you can. While I can’t guarantee that we’re the cheapest you’ve ever seen, I can guarantee that we’ll be top five in cheapest prices in NYC.
What do you want? Cause more likely than not, we got that shit.
POULTRY. We got all kinds of birds. Chicken, silkies, qual, squab, duck, goose, stewing hens. Fuck you want? Still debating on whether drums or mid’s are better with your friends? Fuck around and cop a pound of each for under $5 per person: mid-wings are $3.89 a pound, drums are back to $.69/lb. Want more meat? Fine. A whole ass chicken leg and thigh, $.89/lb. You fuck with feet? It’s 2020, more power to you my guy. Chicken feet stands at $1.69/lb, duck feet at $1.49/lb. You into titties? Of course you're into titties: chicken breast coming in hot at $4.95 for a 2.2lb net weight bag. Into retirees and GILFs? All you Jack Black: Stewing Hens are two for $5.95. Haven’t gotten neck and head in a hot minute cause of COVID, or your Tinder and Hinge profile is just that basura? Say less: duck heads and necks at $1.39/lb. Into spawn kill? My guy: we got a dozen eggs for $2.95, 30 pack for $6.50. Duck eggs, six for $3.95.
PORK. My man, let me tell you something. You fuck with pork chops? Even if you don't, for $2.39/lb, you fuck with pork chops. We got tenderloins for $3.19/lb. Bones for stock? $.99/lb. Let me guess, you miss eating authentic char siu over rice with the sauce from Chinatown. At $2.69/lb for char siu meat, you can afford to fuck up three times and still come out ahead instead of buying it from a restaurant. Since it's getting hot, you're going to want to throw BBQs, right? Hopefully they're socially distanced, everyone is responsible and wearing a mask, and all you motherfuckers got COVID tested prior. Got you some ribs for $2.89 a pound. You want some of them dim sum ribs? Them itty bitty, little tiny cuts of ribs? Small just like your feelings when your ex left you? $3.59 a pound. You been going through a rough time and need an ear to listen to you. $3.39/lb for pig ears buddy, say more. If you been fucking with feet and chicken and duck feet don't cut it, do it like J. Cole "so big it's like a foot is in yo' mouth" cause I got pre-cut pig trotters for $1.49 a pound. Oh, you deadass want the whole foot in your mouth? Weird, but we're being open-minded here: whole uncut pig trotters at $1.79/lb.
BEEF. Let me guess: you haven't gotten enough foul language from this post and need a better tongue lashing? You filthy, sick, sorry, piece of shit. Beef tongues will run you $6.99 a pound. Or you want to boss up, but instead of being bad and boujee, you've been sad and boujee cause of COVID. Well, fear not, cause with femur bones at $1.95/lb, you can split them right down the fucking middle to get to that sweet, sweet, succulent marrow and feel like you're out brunching, spending $80 you don't have for a meal you can't afford to flex on hoes you couldn't really give less of a shit about. What's that? Pig trotters don't cut it? You trying to deepthroat the shit? I mean, do mama proud I guess. I got beef trotters/feet at $1.89 a pound. I mean, with skills like that, why you even buying from me? You belong on the yacht of some old rich man. But do you. Oh what's that? Your girl says your stroke game shit and you falling short of getting up in her guts? No fix for that, sorry, but you can cop honeycomb tripe or stomach at $3.39 a pound and know for a fact you can absolutely beat the ever living fuck out of these guts. You trying to fuck with flank steaks? $7.45 my guy. New York Strip? $8.99. T-Bone? $7.99. My bone? Ten camels. Where my Jamaicans at? Waa gwaan? I know oxtail is AT LEAST $6.75/lb where you’re at. We have them on deck for $5.99/lb.
Or maybe you’re a rapper. You’re on SoundCloud pushing music and living out your mama’s crib. No shame, it’s rough out here King. Want to know how to really blow up? What did Eminem call himself in 8 Mile? That’s right, B-Rabbit. And you know what I got? Rabbit for $4.69 a pound. You are what you eat man. I’m not saying that eating rabbit will immediately blow your rap career the fuck up and give you the lyrical genius of Eminem, but I’m not saying it won’t either. For less than $5 a pound, you really gonna chance it? What if the other rappers cop it and you don’t and they blow up? Don’t get left behind my guy. You a King and King’s gotta do what they don’t want to do sometimes for the betterment of the folks. And the folks want to hear your music.
Or maybe rabbit not your thing. You right, it’s too lean and lacks fat. Eat too much rabbit and nothing else and you’ll starve your body of fat. So how about goat? You want to be the GOAT, don’t you? Reddit’s even got a badge for it. If you want to be the Goat, guess what you gotta do? That’s fucking right, you are what you eat and here I am, your fucking pusher man for goat.
You're fancy and trying to be boujee. Let me guess: lamb? Say less, I got you that bonjour hon hon hon rack of of lamb chops. Want a quarter of lamb? Got that too. All you gotta do is ask.
I'm not going to really keep going down the list. You get the idea. I work at a fucking meat shop, I'm going to sell meat. I sell wholesale to restaurants and retail to walk-in folks. It's a pretty simple fucking concept. Is our meat fresh? As fresh as, if not more so, than any large chain due to constant turn over on wholesale side.
Why are our prices so low? Because we're a small mom-and-pop brick and mortar shop. We're located in Chinatown. Ever heard of FUBU? Same concept: we're built by Chinese immigrants, for Chinese immigrants. Unfortunately, the Chinese population in NYC is one of, if not THE poorest communities we have. Raising prices will price out the community and jack the reason why we're even here: to feed the community. This also means that our margins are fucked, but we're making it work. Yes, we look janky asf. I know, we're not "modern" and our aesthetic looks like some tossed together shit from the 60's. Shit, our band saw is from the 80's. But we're clean, we're sanitary, we pass all health standards and inspections, and we're doing our fucking best. We're literally the definition of "no frills." To hear some say it, we'd be considered ghetto. I prefer the term resourceful, so fuck you.
Because we're local and serve local, we only accept cash, EBT, SNAP, and debit. We don't do credit. Venmo is u/FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading. PSA as the last one: if you think you can roll up to squeeze us, find out if you're a better shot than I am. Not my job to judge your life choices, but I will send you to someone who will.
I'm the only person here that is fluent in English, so unless you're feeling real brave about pointing at shit and figuring it out, you speak a dialect, know how to read Chinese, or know what cut you're looking for, come on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons (02:00pm - 06:30pm) since that's when I'm directly on the floor. If you're a restaurant and you're looking to keep overhead low, PM me, I'll work something out with you.
Our location is: 47 Division Street Ground Floor New York, NY 10002 B/D to Grand Street, F to East Broadway
Our hours are: Monday - Saturday 0800am - 0630pm
23JUL2020 0323AM Edit: Added beef and lamb, added venmo acc, schedule and times.
25JUL2020 0015AM Edit: Changed schedule to add in Saturday.
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Oct 11 2020
Cheap Meat Guy Scammed the Fuck Out Ya'll
Title says it all.
TL;DR: if you the free food and meals provided by the city conflict with your diet, etc, send me a PM with the title Groceries, \insert borough, insert neighborhood\** and I’ll hook you up with some meat.
Context, second post: https://www.reddit.com/nyc/comments/hvxiku/cheap_meat/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
I, Cheap Meat Guy, scammed the fuck out you all. I have hoodwinked a great many of you, in a slightly more elaborate and grandiose "Let me hold a dollar" or the "You listen to music?" scheme. I appreciate my vacation, paid for courtesy of ya'll. I am currently in Mar del Plata, Argentina, enjoying my delicious alcoholic beverages and tiny little triangle cut Ojo de Bife sandwiches. I am in nothing but a bright neon yellow 3M reflective speedo with a 24k gold chain around my neck. Bruno Mars’ 24K Magic and Finesse are playing in the background and I am fucking feeling myself. I have never felt more opulent or lavish. 2020 has been a rough year. I deserve this.
So no fucking shit, obviously I didn't scam you all. Many of ya'll have seen my face. I'm not trying to get caught slacking one day and get hit with a "Yo, you cheap meats?" and get rocked by fifteen people wielding massive frozen pork chops and Iberian hams, followed by me on the floor looking real bad, only to eat a bunch of fucking Timbs. But I just wanted to announce something. Also: my fault for not responding to all the messages and comments and shit; I’ve been working around the clock and getting fucking spanked by the work load. Being the only person who has some type of command of the English language means, you guessed it, I’m doing all the shit that’s in English. All the shit that’s done with computers. Working the floor, cutting the meat, prepping the orders, moving all the damn boxes. You see the dudes pushing handtrucks in Chinatown with boxes of shit on it? Come to Chinatown early enough and you’ll catch me being one of those dudes. See that ugly ass truck on google maps when you look us up? Come early enough and you’ll see me loading that truck. I’m more stressed than Ted Cruz trying to mack on a pornstar over twitter, gaining a fuck ton of weight cause I’m drinking and eating like shit, and just over all a piece of shit. My b.
Here's the run down:
First off, on the real, what the fuck. Second of all, what, and I can't stress this enough, the absolute fuck. All you salty shits raised some serious fucking bank. My phone went off often and frequently enough the first few days from Venmo notifications that if I wanted to, I could have used it as a damn vibrator on my balls. For OPSEC, I’m not going to disclose exactly how much was Venmo’d, but just know that for a minute I felt like I would be able to treat myself to some Starbucks while Tyga’s Rack City played in the background, so you know that’s money. But all you fuckers Venmo'd me bank WITHOUT KNOWING WHO THE FUCK I AM OR BUYING ANYTHING, which blows my mind*.* Me, some random guy who curses a lot and talks shit like I'm a 6'17" guy who wears cooked to hell black high top AF1's and got two pistols by my side. Some of ya'll have met and seen me and know for a fact that I am most definitely not 6' fucking anything. Makes me feel as though I should start an OnlyFan's or Premium Snapchat. But seriously, what the fuck. For those that are willing to do the math, it was over twenty million Schrute Bucks.
There were a couple donations that stated they were there to keep the business open, to be shared among the employees, or for me to treat myself. An executive decision was made: every single dollar that we received (aside from those that were used for retail purchases) will be spent on those that need aid the most. While we as a business are hurting, there are still those that are less fortunate than us.
First and foremost, the City has done an amazing job in providing for folks. If you’re hurting and straight broke with no cultural, dietary, or any other limitations/restrictions, peep these sites for food security:
https://dsny.maps.arcgis.com/apps/webappvieweindex.html?id=35901167a9d84fb0a2e0672d344f176f
https://www.google.com/maps/d0/viewer?mid=1uVjjVxXfLFU4R6V7qjXXRoxCy-IwfMSP&ll=40.711199875063635%2C-73.99326878216021&z=15
Shits is free. No questions asked, take as much as you want. If you broke and you not taking advantage of this, you got some problems my guy. Extreme intelligence not being one of them.
Having said the above, I’ve tried the meals myself and I believe they are not as culturally sensitive as they should be in a city that is as culturally and ethnically diverse as we are, and particularly suck ass if you’re lactose intolerant, as most Asian seniors are. Shitting your brains out at any age is not pleasant, and I’m going to assume that doing so when you’re 70-plus with a weak pelvic floor is doubly more so. I'm currently working with a few local organizations that cater specifically to seniors within the Asian community (26% of the Asian community in NYC live at or below the poverty level, with the percentage being higher when we focus on seniors) who provide either free meals, groceries, or both for them. I think having the option to cook their own meals provides them with some semblance of normalcy, independence, and most of all, dignity.
So on some real shit: thank you all. A lot of the funds have already been used, but because the funds were raised from Reddit, I believe it's only fair that I give back to the reddit community, so I saved some with this in mind specifically.
I am aiming to provide 70 households from Reddit within NYC with the options of:
- Someone with a vehicle to accommodate and transport
Did I just ask for free labor? Yes, I did. Because choosingbeggars. But yo, the fucking groceries are for free. I’m trying to give back to Redditors in NYC and I’m hoping that some folks will step up and do the thing Zhu Li. Like I said, we’re a little pressed on personnel. Given that we’re still dealing with Rona, those that are willing to help out with this task will be given face masks.
So what’s the criteria for you to receive these groceries? Someone that is sensitive or unable to consume the free food provided by the city, whether it be conflicting with them culturally/religiously/whereverthefuckly. I know families with kids currently enrolled in NYC Public schools get $420/child in assistance via P-EBT, but if that’s not enough, I’m your guy. Also, if you have a child enrolled in public school and you don’t know what I’m talking about with the $420, I highly suggest you sign the fuck up for P-EBT:
https://otda.ny.gov/SNAP-COVID-19/Frequently-Asked-Questions-Pandemic-EBT.asp
However, the ideal candidate would be someone or a family/household that don’t qualify for any or limited assistance. The elderly come to mind, where many rely solely on their social security to get by, as well as immigrants who don’t speak English and rely on their children to translate shit for them and don't qual for benefits, or immigrants who don’t have children and are just hustling like fuck to make it happen on their own. I’m mostly thinking of communities historically disenfranchised, but it’s really a free for all. At the end of the day, this shit is honor code, so no one is going to check your finances. If you decided to be a dickhead and finesse this, it’s on you to explain to your maker why you literally took food out the hands of those who are less fortunate. I will also hope you get drop kicked in the kidneys by a Kangaroo spontaneously the one time you decide to hang out in Central Park. And that at some point, you fall asleep on the MTA and some hobo jerks off and nuts on you, catching you square on the forehead. Better yet, I hope it happens on your morning commute to work, on a Monday, so your whole week fucked. Take a power nap at 0830 in the morning, wake up at 0834 cause a bum busted on your forehead, slightly to the left and right above your eyebrow so it drips onto your eyelashes and grazes your lips as it drips down. The day ain’t even start yet and it’s already fucked up and completely gone, and now you got a bum bump developing for the rest of the week. All that for ten pounds of chicken drums. Talk about a shit ROI. wallstreebets anyone?
I digress.
If you trying to get the groceries, send me a PM with the title Groceries, option, \insert borough, insert neighborhood\**
If you’re a MVP and trying to help me out with the pick up, splitting and bagging, delivering, etc, PM with the title Grocery Help, DriveLocation/Food handling (choose whatever role you can fulfill)
I would like to continue being able to do this, so shameless plug: our venmo is still the same and hasn’t changed u/FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading.
Oh! And we started an IG acc! Again, shameless plug: 47_division_st_trading_inc
So yea, that’s about it ya’ll.
Keep it real, be good to each other, be nice to your parents, your neighbors, give you pets extra scritches, and most of all, be kind to yourself if you going through it, cause for real, 2020 is really blowing ours.
Edit: added a TL;DR, IG handle, context with link to second post
Oct 20 2020
Free Groceries for Those in Need
Context: Initial post that was fueled by scotch and sleep deprivation New post that isn't fueled as much with scotch and sleep deprivation as the previous, so should be a bit more coherent and easier to understand.
No TL;DR cause fuck you. I'm giving out free fucking groceries. Read the fucking post.
I put up a post and surprisingly didn't receive any PMs requesting groceries, so here I am again.
I am aiming to provide 70 households from Reddit within NYC with the options of:
A) Ten lbs. of drumsticks B) Eight lbs. of quarter chicken legs or C) Six and a half lbs. of drum sticks with a dozen eggs
Ideal candidates are those that are unable to eat the free food provided by the city due to food sensitivity, conflicts of religion, culture, health reasons, etc.1 This is aimed to help those that are seriously in need of assistance, with a heavy preference given to the elderly, young students, immigrants, folks that don't quality for any or limited assistance, etc. Communities that have historically been disfranchised, you get the idea. Families that have children enrolled in NYC public schools should be receiving $420/child/month for food2. If the aid is still not enough, I'm your guy. While this is geared towards Redditors, if you know someone that isn't on Reddit but is also really struggling, shoot me a PM with their info. This is going by honor code for everyone, so square up with your maker on your own time.
If you're trying to get groceries, send me a PM with the title "Groceries, insert borough, insert neighborhood, insert which option"
In order for this to work, I'm going to ask for some assistance from the Reddit community. Due to the limited space of our shop, I am not going to have folks congregate at the business trying to pick up their orders. That being said, I need a couple of Redditors with the means come and pick up the bulk orders, however many of which type that will be, and prepare and segregate the orders off premise. Logistically, this means:
- Someone/s with a vehicle to accommodate and transport o 700lbs of drums, or o 560lbs of quarter chicken legs, or o 455lbs of drums and 70 dozen eggs, or o Most likely some combination of all three - A clean space/location to prepare these orders, ideally commercial - Folks who have a food handling certificate to prepare the orders - Someone/s with a vehicle to accommodate and deliver the orders to whoever needs them
I am asking for volunteers and free labor because I'm broke as shit and I'm unable to make this happen on my own, within my own means, otherwise I wouldn't be asking for assistance in the first place. Volunteers will be provided face masks.
If you’re a MVP and trying to help me out with the pick up, splitting and bagging, delivering, etc., PM with the title Grocery Help, DriveLocation/Food handling (choose whatever role you can fulfill)
I would like to continue being able to do this, so shameless plug: our Venmo is still the same and hasn’t changed @ FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading.
We also now have an IG: 47_Division_Street_Trading_Inc
Resources:
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u/SleepyLi seems to be still around reddit being legendary.
submitted by FlipDaly to bestofpositiveupdates [link] [comments]
March 15 2020
PSA for folks worried about how they’ll eat during this time
TL;DR at bottom.
This is the first post I’ve ever put up on Reddit, so excuse me if this shit jankey asf, or in the wrong place. A comment I left on someone’s post received some really good feedback, so I figured there would be other folks who might be experiencing a rough time as well, so here I am being proactive.
As we all know, COVID-19 is fucking shit up. Most folks are working from home, but that’s generally for folks working white collar jobs with job security, which a fuckton of NYC heads don’t have. Folks in the service industry don’t get paid if they don’t work, so there’s no “I’m going to WFH and bus my own fucking table” or “Let me make that drink for you bud” in ya own kitchen for ya cat. So money is tight for some of y’all. And I get it. I’ve been in that position before, shit sucks and gurgles donkey dick. So here’s my PSA:
I help run a wholesale/retail meat shop in NYC, specifically the LES, in Chinatown. I’m open, cause how else is everyone going to eat and cook at home? Just as I told someone before, I’ll say the same thing here: $10 will get you something like 13 pounds of chicken drumsticks, plus a dozen eggs. Don’t like drum sticks? Fine, get something else, our prices are lower than your GPA and your parents’ expectations for you. We don’t sell rice, but a 20lb bag of rice runs like $25 bucks in our area and if you ask, I’ll tell you exactly where to go. Our location is:
47 DIVISION STREET GROUND FLOOR NEW YORK, NY 10002
B/D to Grand Street, F to East Broadway
Now you might say some shit like “this is a shameless cash grab, etc.” And you know what my response is to that?
What the fuck are you talking about, and you can suck my fucking ass. I’m not going to get rich making ten bucks off 13 pounds of drumsticks and a dozen eggs (if we even have anymore). This is for folks that are hurting real bad or just plain about to fucking be put out cause $10 is all they have. If I was trying to get rich, being the local pig boy is obviously not the right trade to get into, now is it.
For those that also see this and start scheming on if you can roll up on my spot and try to make me run my pockets for $10: come and find out whether or not you have a first class ticket to meet God, express lane. Or just come and tell me you want to shoot the fair one for fun, I’ll oblige too.
If you have a healthy savings account, please don’t come to my shop at this time. If you’re stocked up and can weather a self quarantine, again, please don’t come to my shop at this time. I’d appreciate the business during a more normal period of time, but as of now, it’s geared towards my fellow NYers who are most at risk due to their economic situation. I have a limited supply of produce and I’d like to give us all a fighting chance.
In this time of great uncertainty and fear, we New Yorkers must stand together and be each other’s keepers. Take care of your folks, your neighbors, each other. We’ve weathered 9/11 together, Superstorm Sandy, shit, the fucking 2016 election, and this too will be something that we will weather and emerge victorious from.
TL;DR: if you’re a poor fuck and worried about how you will eat during COVID-19, come hither you poor child, for I have wares for cheap. But for real, give me $10 and I will feed you for a week.
47 Division Street Ground Floor New York, NY 10002
B/D to Grand Street, F to East Broadway
——————————————————————— Edit: figured it should be said, but for those that might not be aware: because we cater to a low income demographic already, we accept EBT, cash, and debit card. We don’t accept credit. This is what something like 90% of people with rocky income use, so that’s what we’ve gone with.
02Edit: I've been reached out to by a number of people about a possible pay it forward program/scheme/initiative. I thank you and commend ya'll for coming together to help those in need. I'm trying to get in touch with some folks or organization that do grocery shopping/meal prep for the elderly/folks that are most at risk and can't do it themselves. I'd like to use those funds to provide the supplies for cooking and shit at cost. If I can't get in touch with some folks, I'll start a Facebook group/some other jankey shit to better coordinate based on geographical location and have it vertically integrated into the business. Will set up a venmo or something later in the day. Also: we're located in Chinatown, so don't gawk and be surprised if you see shit like chicken feet, pork and beef trotters, and the like. Welcome to eating head to tail.
Thanks for the feedback.
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UPDATE- Getting a lot of push back from my wholesalers and suppliers; they're rationing our orders. Everybody is short. Doing my best to get more orders from source, but jesus fuck the prices are being gouged the fuck out rn. Will keep trying to keep everything affordable to everyone.
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02UPDATE 18MAR2020-
I created a Venmo. The handle is Sleepyli-LocalPigBoy Avatar should be a pissed off cat.
All transactions will be public. For those that use cash for the pay it forward as the lady with the nice glasses and vans did today, I have a repurposed envelope that I will insert the money in and deduct for orders going out. Trying to do this as legit as possible, with logs of each transaction so mfs don’t come at me like I’m a mega church asking for donations to buy me a jet. Let your poor and broke ass friends know that they don’t need to starve in times like this.
Also: Due to whatever issues are being had further up the supply chain, same as my first update: supplies are getting tight and assholes are beginning to capitalize on it. $10 will no longer get you what was originally offered unfortunately: it’ll get you 7lbs of drumsticks and a dozen eggs now.
Eggs are climbing up and drumsticks are getting fucking stupid. I received two cases today. I ordered 40. They deadass rationing everybody, with jacked prices. I’m sorry, but I’m raising prices to literally break even. My salary is currently on hold cause I can afford it, but others can’t.
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03UPDATE 25AUG2020-
Old Venmo has been deleted. New Venmo is: FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading
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July 22 2020
Cheap Meat
Not sure if this is allowed, but fuck it, we're hurting and desperate times create desperate people who do desperate things.
TL;DR: Local butcher shop with cheap prices. Trying to keep afloat and keep folks fed. Address at bottom.
Sup ya'll, it's your favorite local meat boy (for those that don’t get it, here's my first post: original NYC meat boy post).
Despite COVID cases in NYC having dropped a fair amount, a lot of businesses that have opened up aren't doing so hot, and still some are not going to open up ever again. While there's unemployment insurance for individuals, there really isn't much for small local businesses. I also know that the pandemic boost for UI is about to run out end of month, so if you're sweating about how you're going to eat, I got you.
Most of America's economy began to feel the effects of The Rona around March of this year, but businesses located in Chinatown were fucked as early as January. America's reporting on COVID centered around China being the bad guy, which trends to loop all Asian Americans as "others" and "not really American." Chinese businesses tanked and hate crimes shot up. People within the community began their own self-imposed quarantine due to increased fear of being caught slacking by some racist fuckstick. Then came the formal lock down in March, which really flipped us over, bent us over the couch for good leverage, and fucked us deep and hard. At the time of 14JUNE2020, less than half of Chinatown's restaurants are open, and less than a third of total businesses are open (Bloomberg article supporting claim). Most funds meant as relief for small businesses got snagged by large corporations. And now all the SMEs are floundering. As of now, the end of July, still less than a third of Chinatown businesses have opened up, especially since most of them couldn't apply for any assistance due to language barriers.
So again, here I am peddling my wares. I also have $9.75 left from someone that wanted to pay it forward earlier in the year for what it’s worth.
We’re a small local meat shop. A butcher shop. A boutique culinary protein throwback to simpler times. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. We sell meat. You get the idea. Our prices are real fucking low. Lower than your self esteem. Lower than what your parents think of you. And that’s a good thing. Cause you like cheap things, you cheap fuck. Save all the money you can. While I can’t guarantee that we’re the cheapest you’ve ever seen, I can guarantee that we’ll be top five in cheapest prices in NYC.
What do you want? Cause more likely than not, we got that shit.
POULTRY. We got all kinds of birds. Chicken, silkies, qual, squab, duck, goose, stewing hens. Fuck you want? Still debating on whether drums or mid’s are better with your friends? Fuck around and cop a pound of each for under $5 per person: mid-wings are $3.89 a pound, drums are back to $.69/lb. Want more meat? Fine. A whole ass chicken leg and thigh, $.89/lb. You fuck with feet? It’s 2020, more power to you my guy. Chicken feet stands at $1.69/lb, duck feet at $1.49/lb. You into titties? Of course you're into titties: chicken breast coming in hot at $4.95 for a 2.2lb net weight bag. Into retirees and GILFs? All you Jack Black: Stewing Hens are two for $5.95. Haven’t gotten neck and head in a hot minute cause of COVID, or your Tinder and Hinge profile is just that basura? Say less: duck heads and necks at $1.39/lb. Into spawn kill? My guy: we got a dozen eggs for $2.95, 30 pack for $6.50. Duck eggs, six for $3.95.
PORK. My man, let me tell you something. You fuck with pork chops? Even if you don't, for $2.39/lb, you fuck with pork chops. We got tenderloins for $3.19/lb. Bones for stock? $.99/lb. Let me guess, you miss eating authentic char siu over rice with the sauce from Chinatown. At $2.69/lb for char siu meat, you can afford to fuck up three times and still come out ahead instead of buying it from a restaurant. Since it's getting hot, you're going to want to throw BBQs, right? Hopefully they're socially distanced, everyone is responsible and wearing a mask, and all you motherfuckers got COVID tested prior. Got you some ribs for $2.89 a pound. You want some of them dim sum ribs? Them itty bitty, little tiny cuts of ribs? Small just like your feelings when your ex left you? $3.59 a pound. You been going through a rough time and need an ear to listen to you. $3.39/lb for pig ears buddy, say more. If you been fucking with feet and chicken and duck feet don't cut it, do it like J. Cole "so big it's like a foot is in yo' mouth" cause I got pre-cut pig trotters for $1.49 a pound. Oh, you deadass want the whole foot in your mouth? Weird, but we're being open-minded here: whole uncut pig trotters at $1.79/lb.
BEEF. Let me guess: you haven't gotten enough foul language from this post and need a better tongue lashing? You filthy, sick, sorry, piece of shit. Beef tongues will run you $6.99 a pound. Or you want to boss up, but instead of being bad and boujee, you've been sad and boujee cause of COVID. Well, fear not, cause with femur bones at $1.95/lb, you can split them right down the fucking middle to get to that sweet, sweet, succulent marrow and feel like you're out brunching, spending $80 you don't have for a meal you can't afford to flex on hoes you couldn't really give less of a shit about. What's that? Pig trotters don't cut it? You trying to deepthroat the shit? I mean, do mama proud I guess. I got beef trotters/feet at $1.89 a pound. I mean, with skills like that, why you even buying from me? You belong on the yacht of some old rich man. But do you. Oh what's that? Your girl says your stroke game shit and you falling short of getting up in her guts? No fix for that, sorry, but you can cop honeycomb tripe or stomach at $3.39 a pound and know for a fact you can absolutely beat the ever living fuck out of these guts. You trying to fuck with flank steaks? $7.45 my guy. New York Strip? $8.99. T-Bone? $7.99. My bone? Ten camels. Where my Jamaicans at? Waa gwaan? I know oxtail is AT LEAST $6.75/lb where you’re at. We have them on deck for $5.99/lb.
Or maybe you’re a rapper. You’re on SoundCloud pushing music and living out your mama’s crib. No shame, it’s rough out here King. Want to know how to really blow up? What did Eminem call himself in 8 Mile? That’s right, B-Rabbit. And you know what I got? Rabbit for $4.69 a pound. You are what you eat man. I’m not saying that eating rabbit will immediately blow your rap career the fuck up and give you the lyrical genius of Eminem, but I’m not saying it won’t either. For less than $5 a pound, you really gonna chance it? What if the other rappers cop it and you don’t and they blow up? Don’t get left behind my guy. You a King and King’s gotta do what they don’t want to do sometimes for the betterment of the folks. And the folks want to hear your music.
Or maybe rabbit not your thing. You right, it’s too lean and lacks fat. Eat too much rabbit and nothing else and you’ll starve your body of fat. So how about goat? You want to be the GOAT, don’t you? Reddit’s even got a badge for it. If you want to be the Goat, guess what you gotta do? That’s fucking right, you are what you eat and here I am, your fucking pusher man for goat.
You're fancy and trying to be boujee. Let me guess: lamb? Say less, I got you that bonjour hon hon hon rack of of lamb chops. Want a quarter of lamb? Got that too. All you gotta do is ask.
I'm not going to really keep going down the list. You get the idea. I work at a fucking meat shop, I'm going to sell meat. I sell wholesale to restaurants and retail to walk-in folks. It's a pretty simple fucking concept. Is our meat fresh? As fresh as, if not more so, than any large chain due to constant turn over on wholesale side.
Why are our prices so low? Because we're a small mom-and-pop brick and mortar shop. We're located in Chinatown. Ever heard of FUBU? Same concept: we're built by Chinese immigrants, for Chinese immigrants. Unfortunately, the Chinese population in NYC is one of, if not THE poorest communities we have. Raising prices will price out the community and jack the reason why we're even here: to feed the community. This also means that our margins are fucked, but we're making it work. Yes, we look janky asf. I know, we're not "modern" and our aesthetic looks like some tossed together shit from the 60's. Shit, our band saw is from the 80's. But we're clean, we're sanitary, we pass all health standards and inspections, and we're doing our fucking best. We're literally the definition of "no frills." To hear some say it, we'd be considered ghetto. I prefer the term resourceful, so fuck you.
Because we're local and serve local, we only accept cash, EBT, SNAP, and debit. We don't do credit. Venmo is u/FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading. PSA as the last one: if you think you can roll up to squeeze us, find out if you're a better shot than I am. Not my job to judge your life choices, but I will send you to someone who will.
I'm the only person here that is fluent in English, so unless you're feeling real brave about pointing at shit and figuring it out, you speak a dialect, know how to read Chinese, or know what cut you're looking for, come on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons (02:00pm - 06:30pm) since that's when I'm directly on the floor. If you're a restaurant and you're looking to keep overhead low, PM me, I'll work something out with you.
Our location is: 47 Division Street Ground Floor New York, NY 10002 B/D to Grand Street, F to East Broadway
Our hours are: Monday - Saturday 0800am - 0630pm
23JUL2020 0323AM Edit: Added beef and lamb, added venmo acc, schedule and times.
25JUL2020 0015AM Edit: Changed schedule to add in Saturday.
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Oct 11 2020
Cheap Meat Guy Scammed the Fuck Out Ya'll
Title says it all.
TL;DR: if you the free food and meals provided by the city conflict with your diet, etc, send me a PM with the title Groceries, \insert borough, insert neighborhood\** and I’ll hook you up with some meat.
Context, second post: https://www.reddit.com/nyc/comments/hvxiku/cheap_meat/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
I, Cheap Meat Guy, scammed the fuck out you all. I have hoodwinked a great many of you, in a slightly more elaborate and grandiose "Let me hold a dollar" or the "You listen to music?" scheme. I appreciate my vacation, paid for courtesy of ya'll. I am currently in Mar del Plata, Argentina, enjoying my delicious alcoholic beverages and tiny little triangle cut Ojo de Bife sandwiches. I am in nothing but a bright neon yellow 3M reflective speedo with a 24k gold chain around my neck. Bruno Mars’ 24K Magic and Finesse are playing in the background and I am fucking feeling myself. I have never felt more opulent or lavish. 2020 has been a rough year. I deserve this.
So no fucking shit, obviously I didn't scam you all. Many of ya'll have seen my face. I'm not trying to get caught slacking one day and get hit with a "Yo, you cheap meats?" and get rocked by fifteen people wielding massive frozen pork chops and Iberian hams, followed by me on the floor looking real bad, only to eat a bunch of fucking Timbs. But I just wanted to announce something. Also: my fault for not responding to all the messages and comments and shit; I’ve been working around the clock and getting fucking spanked by the work load. Being the only person who has some type of command of the English language means, you guessed it, I’m doing all the shit that’s in English. All the shit that’s done with computers. Working the floor, cutting the meat, prepping the orders, moving all the damn boxes. You see the dudes pushing handtrucks in Chinatown with boxes of shit on it? Come to Chinatown early enough and you’ll catch me being one of those dudes. See that ugly ass truck on google maps when you look us up? Come early enough and you’ll see me loading that truck. I’m more stressed than Ted Cruz trying to mack on a pornstar over twitter, gaining a fuck ton of weight cause I’m drinking and eating like shit, and just over all a piece of shit. My b.
Here's the run down:
First off, on the real, what the fuck. Second of all, what, and I can't stress this enough, the absolute fuck. All you salty shits raised some serious fucking bank. My phone went off often and frequently enough the first few days from Venmo notifications that if I wanted to, I could have used it as a damn vibrator on my balls. For OPSEC, I’m not going to disclose exactly how much was Venmo’d, but just know that for a minute I felt like I would be able to treat myself to some Starbucks while Tyga’s Rack City played in the background, so you know that’s money. But all you fuckers Venmo'd me bank WITHOUT KNOWING WHO THE FUCK I AM OR BUYING ANYTHING, which blows my mind*.* Me, some random guy who curses a lot and talks shit like I'm a 6'17" guy who wears cooked to hell black high top AF1's and got two pistols by my side. Some of ya'll have met and seen me and know for a fact that I am most definitely not 6' fucking anything. Makes me feel as though I should start an OnlyFan's or Premium Snapchat. But seriously, what the fuck. For those that are willing to do the math, it was over twenty million Schrute Bucks.
There were a couple donations that stated they were there to keep the business open, to be shared among the employees, or for me to treat myself. An executive decision was made: every single dollar that we received (aside from those that were used for retail purchases) will be spent on those that need aid the most. While we as a business are hurting, there are still those that are less fortunate than us.
First and foremost, the City has done an amazing job in providing for folks. If you’re hurting and straight broke with no cultural, dietary, or any other limitations/restrictions, peep these sites for food security:
https://dsny.maps.arcgis.com/apps/webappvieweindex.html?id=35901167a9d84fb0a2e0672d344f176f
https://www.google.com/maps/d0/viewer?mid=1uVjjVxXfLFU4R6V7qjXXRoxCy-IwfMSP&ll=40.711199875063635%2C-73.99326878216021&z=15
Shits is free. No questions asked, take as much as you want. If you broke and you not taking advantage of this, you got some problems my guy. Extreme intelligence not being one of them.
Having said the above, I’ve tried the meals myself and I believe they are not as culturally sensitive as they should be in a city that is as culturally and ethnically diverse as we are, and particularly suck ass if you’re lactose intolerant, as most Asian seniors are. Shitting your brains out at any age is not pleasant, and I’m going to assume that doing so when you’re 70-plus with a weak pelvic floor is doubly more so. I'm currently working with a few local organizations that cater specifically to seniors within the Asian community (26% of the Asian community in NYC live at or below the poverty level, with the percentage being higher when we focus on seniors) who provide either free meals, groceries, or both for them. I think having the option to cook their own meals provides them with some semblance of normalcy, independence, and most of all, dignity.
So on some real shit: thank you all. A lot of the funds have already been used, but because the funds were raised from Reddit, I believe it's only fair that I give back to the reddit community, so I saved some with this in mind specifically.
I am aiming to provide 70 households from Reddit within NYC with the options of:
- Ten lbs of drumsticks
- Eight lbs of quarter chicken legs or
- Six and a half lbs of drum sticks with a dozen eggs
- Someone with a vehicle to accommodate and transport
- 700lbs of drums, or
- 560lbs of quarter chicken legs, or
- 455lbs of drums and 70 dozen eggs, or
- Most likely some combination of all three
Did I just ask for free labor? Yes, I did. Because choosingbeggars. But yo, the fucking groceries are for free. I’m trying to give back to Redditors in NYC and I’m hoping that some folks will step up and do the thing Zhu Li. Like I said, we’re a little pressed on personnel. Given that we’re still dealing with Rona, those that are willing to help out with this task will be given face masks.
So what’s the criteria for you to receive these groceries? Someone that is sensitive or unable to consume the free food provided by the city, whether it be conflicting with them culturally/religiously/whereverthefuckly. I know families with kids currently enrolled in NYC Public schools get $420/child in assistance via P-EBT, but if that’s not enough, I’m your guy. Also, if you have a child enrolled in public school and you don’t know what I’m talking about with the $420, I highly suggest you sign the fuck up for P-EBT:
https://otda.ny.gov/SNAP-COVID-19/Frequently-Asked-Questions-Pandemic-EBT.asp
However, the ideal candidate would be someone or a family/household that don’t qualify for any or limited assistance. The elderly come to mind, where many rely solely on their social security to get by, as well as immigrants who don’t speak English and rely on their children to translate shit for them and don't qual for benefits, or immigrants who don’t have children and are just hustling like fuck to make it happen on their own. I’m mostly thinking of communities historically disenfranchised, but it’s really a free for all. At the end of the day, this shit is honor code, so no one is going to check your finances. If you decided to be a dickhead and finesse this, it’s on you to explain to your maker why you literally took food out the hands of those who are less fortunate. I will also hope you get drop kicked in the kidneys by a Kangaroo spontaneously the one time you decide to hang out in Central Park. And that at some point, you fall asleep on the MTA and some hobo jerks off and nuts on you, catching you square on the forehead. Better yet, I hope it happens on your morning commute to work, on a Monday, so your whole week fucked. Take a power nap at 0830 in the morning, wake up at 0834 cause a bum busted on your forehead, slightly to the left and right above your eyebrow so it drips onto your eyelashes and grazes your lips as it drips down. The day ain’t even start yet and it’s already fucked up and completely gone, and now you got a bum bump developing for the rest of the week. All that for ten pounds of chicken drums. Talk about a shit ROI. wallstreebets anyone?
I digress.
If you trying to get the groceries, send me a PM with the title Groceries, option, \insert borough, insert neighborhood\**
If you’re a MVP and trying to help me out with the pick up, splitting and bagging, delivering, etc, PM with the title Grocery Help, DriveLocation/Food handling (choose whatever role you can fulfill)
I would like to continue being able to do this, so shameless plug: our venmo is still the same and hasn’t changed u/FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading.
Oh! And we started an IG acc! Again, shameless plug: 47_division_st_trading_inc
So yea, that’s about it ya’ll.
Keep it real, be good to each other, be nice to your parents, your neighbors, give you pets extra scritches, and most of all, be kind to yourself if you going through it, cause for real, 2020 is really blowing ours.
Edit: added a TL;DR, IG handle, context with link to second post
Oct 20 2020
Free Groceries for Those in Need
Context: Initial post that was fueled by scotch and sleep deprivation New post that isn't fueled as much with scotch and sleep deprivation as the previous, so should be a bit more coherent and easier to understand.
No TL;DR cause fuck you. I'm giving out free fucking groceries. Read the fucking post.
I put up a post and surprisingly didn't receive any PMs requesting groceries, so here I am again.
I am aiming to provide 70 households from Reddit within NYC with the options of:
A) Ten lbs. of drumsticks B) Eight lbs. of quarter chicken legs or C) Six and a half lbs. of drum sticks with a dozen eggs
Ideal candidates are those that are unable to eat the free food provided by the city due to food sensitivity, conflicts of religion, culture, health reasons, etc.1 This is aimed to help those that are seriously in need of assistance, with a heavy preference given to the elderly, young students, immigrants, folks that don't quality for any or limited assistance, etc. Communities that have historically been disfranchised, you get the idea. Families that have children enrolled in NYC public schools should be receiving $420/child/month for food2. If the aid is still not enough, I'm your guy. While this is geared towards Redditors, if you know someone that isn't on Reddit but is also really struggling, shoot me a PM with their info. This is going by honor code for everyone, so square up with your maker on your own time.
If you're trying to get groceries, send me a PM with the title "Groceries, insert borough, insert neighborhood, insert which option"
In order for this to work, I'm going to ask for some assistance from the Reddit community. Due to the limited space of our shop, I am not going to have folks congregate at the business trying to pick up their orders. That being said, I need a couple of Redditors with the means come and pick up the bulk orders, however many of which type that will be, and prepare and segregate the orders off premise. Logistically, this means:
- Someone/s with a vehicle to accommodate and transport o 700lbs of drums, or o 560lbs of quarter chicken legs, or o 455lbs of drums and 70 dozen eggs, or o Most likely some combination of all three - A clean space/location to prepare these orders, ideally commercial - Folks who have a food handling certificate to prepare the orders - Someone/s with a vehicle to accommodate and deliver the orders to whoever needs them
I am asking for volunteers and free labor because I'm broke as shit and I'm unable to make this happen on my own, within my own means, otherwise I wouldn't be asking for assistance in the first place. Volunteers will be provided face masks.
If you’re a MVP and trying to help me out with the pick up, splitting and bagging, delivering, etc., PM with the title Grocery Help, DriveLocation/Food handling (choose whatever role you can fulfill)
I would like to continue being able to do this, so shameless plug: our Venmo is still the same and hasn’t changed @ FourSevenDivisionStreetTrading.
We also now have an IG: 47_Division_Street_Trading_Inc
Resources:
- Free food provided by the city:
- https://dsny.maps.arcgis.com/apps/webappvieweindex.html?id=35901167a9d84fb0a2e0672d344f176f
- https://www.google.com/maps/d0/viewer?mid=1uVjjVxXfLFU4R6V7qjXXRoxCy-IwfMSP&ll=40.711199875063635%2C-73.99326878216021&z=15
- 2. P-EBT Assistance for every child enrolled in NYC Schools:
- https://otda.ny.gov/SNAP-COVID-19/Frequently-Asked-Questions-Pandemic-EBT.asp
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u/SleepyLi seems to be still around reddit being legendary.
2023.03.20 14:36 STLhistoryBuff Weekly Events Thread 3/20/23 - 3/26/23
Please, feel free to add any events below! Check out the Visitor's Guide for more things to do around town!
Looking to meet up with people? Check out Meetup St. Louis.
Be sure to continue scrolling past the Weekly Events for Trivia Nights, Live Music, Sporting Events, Local Comedy, and more!
Weekly Events
submitted by STLhistoryBuff to StLouis [link] [comments]
Looking to meet up with people? Check out Meetup St. Louis.
Be sure to continue scrolling past the Weekly Events for Trivia Nights, Live Music, Sporting Events, Local Comedy, and more!
Weekly Events
- African Film Festival (17th Annual)
- March 24 - 26, 2023
- The 17th annual African Film Festival invites St. Louisans to see Africa’s most acclaimed films on the big screen. This year’s showcase includes six films and a youth matinee. Animation, courtroom drama, thriller and a romantic drama anchor this year's festival.
- American Cup (Chess)
- March 17 - 26, 2023
- The Saint Louis Chess Club is proud to present the American Cup, featuring a rare and exciting double-elimination format. The tournament will bring world-class chess masters to America’s chess capital to compete in a fierce struggle for $300,000 in prize money.
- B.A.R.K. Ranger Photo Contest at The Arch
- Running until April 21, 2023
- To enter, come down to the Arch grounds and snap a photo of your dog in front of the Gateway Arch or the Old Courthouse. Photo submissions may be sent to [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected]) until Friday, April 21, and voting will take place on our Facebook page after submissions close.
- The winner will then get to lead a dog walk through the park as part of the park’s B.A.R.K. Ranger Day during National Park Week.
- Bellefontaine in Bloom
- Spring 2023
- Join others for a brisk spring walk through Bellefontaine Cemetery and Arboretum! In the months of March, April, and May, Bellefontaine offers a two-hour walking tour of the cemetery and arboretum. This 2-hour walk will be led by one of their Master Guides who will convey highlights of the cemetery grounds, horticulture, and a variety of intriguing figures who call Bellefontaine their last address. Particular attention will be paid to the Horticulture side of the cemetery while in different levels of bloom during these spring tours.
- Family Night with Fredbird
- Wednesdays
- Join others at Cardinals Nation Restaurant & Bar for Family Night with Fredbird on select Wednesday evenings this off-season! Bring your family down for games, prizes, and meet Fredbird from 6:30-7:30pm.
- Ferguson Farmers’ Market
- Every Saturday
- Enjoy live music and special events in a festive family atmosphere, and discover a wide variety of edible delights, including homemade jelly, farm fresh eggs, honey, spices, and meats. You’ll also find an ever-changing array of gift and specialty vendors, selling everything from cut flowers and bedding plants to hand-painted artwork and small-batch soaps.
- If it’s homemade, handmade or fresh and tasty, you can buy it at the Ferguson Farmers’ Market.
- Hermann Wurstfest
- March 25 - 26, 2023
- “The Wurstfest in the Midwest – a Celebration of All Things Sausage!” Professional meat processors attend from all over Missouri, with samples and products for sale. Professional and amateur sausage-making competition, Kraut making class, Volksmarch, German dancing and music.
- Karaoke Wednesdays at HandleBar
- Every Wednesday
- Browse the catalog and find your favorite songs to sing! Songbookslive.com/stlredcarpet
- Karaoke Wednesdays at Mack's Bar & Grill
- Every Wednesday
- Landmarks Downtown Walking Tours
- Every Saturday
- Landmarks Downtown St. Louis Walking Tours: History, Culture, Architecture, and Exercise: What could be better on a Saturday morning?
- Monday Night Raw at Enterprise Center
- March 20, 2023
- WWE Monday Night Raw comes to Enterprise Center.
- Open Mic Night at Schlafly Bottleworks (Maplewood)
- Every Wednesday
- Join others every Wednesday evening and showcase your talents with our Open Mic Night! Open sign up begins at 6:30PM with music starting at 7:00PM. They welcome original material, covers and spoken word! Grab a beer, then play and listen every Wednesday! There are no cover charges and no drink minimums to attend.
- Schlafly Stout & Oyster Festival
- March 24 - 25, 2023
- Beer, shuckers and more than 80,000 oysters converge on St. Louis for the Schlafly Stout & Oyster Festival.
- It’s the largest festival of its kind in the Midwest – and one that you shouldn’t miss! Head to the Schlafly Tap Room on March 24 and 25, when 20 professional shuckers promise to put on a show. There will be more than 10 stouts on tap to pair with your oysters and live music in the background.
- Soulard Farmer's Market
- Wednesdays - Saturdays
- Soulard Farmers Market is located at 730 Carroll Street in St. Louis, Missouri, a half mile north of the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. The market is open Wednesday through Saturday, year round. They feature locally grown and shipped in goods, including: produce, meats, cheeses, spices, gourmet kettle corn, flowers, baked goods, and general merchandise. There are also several different eateries that have many food options, which allows customers the convenience to grab a quick bite to eat and a drink while shopping.
- Sqwires Fish Fry Friday
- Fridays (until April 7th)
- Fried Cod, Baked Cod, Fried Shrimp, Whipped Potatoes, Sauteed Green Beans, Creamy Slaw, Dinner Roll, Clam Chowder, Pie & Cookies
- Taco & Margarita Festival at Chaifetz Arena
- March 25, 2023
- The Taco & Margarita Festival will also feature a taco-eating contest, a hot chile pepper-eating contest, live professional wrestling, local shopping and more.
- Thursday Nights at the Museum
- Every Thursday
- Kick off your weekend at the Missouri History Museum in Forest Park! Each Thursday Night at the Museum will be the most fun, engaging, uplifting, thought-provoking, perspective-shaping night of your week. And there are drinks.
- Join us starting at 5:30pm for happy hour and pop-up activities, such as brief tours, games, and performances. The main stage comes to life at 6:30pm, light appetizers and drinks are available for purchase until 7:00pm, and the Museum’s exhibits are open until 8:00pm for you to explore!
- Tootsie at The Fabulous Fox Theatre
- March 21 - April 2, 2023
- This laugh-out-loud love letter to the theater tells the story of Michael Dorsey, a talented but difficult actor who struggles to find work until one show-stopping act of desperation lands him the role of a lifetime.
| Trivia Nights | ||
|---|---|---|
| Location | Date/Time | More Information |
| Bar K | Tuesdays at 7:00 pm | |
| City Foundry | Thursdays 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm | |
| Joey B's on the Hill | Mondays 8:30 pm - 10:30 pm | Trivia Details |
| Nick's Pub | Mondays | |
| Felix's Pizza Pub | Tuesdays at 8:00 pm | Trivia Details |
| Schlafly Brewpubs (Any Location) | Tuesdays 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm | Trivia Details |
| Rockwell Beer Co | Tuesdays | Trivia Details (Reservations required) |
| The Mack | Tuesdays at 8:00 pm | Trivia Details |
| The Pat Connolly Tavern | Wednesdays at 7:00 pm | |
| The Post | Wednesdays 8:00 pm - 10:00 pm | Trivia Details |
| Pieces Board Game Bar & Cafe | Wednesdays | Trivia Details |
| HandleBar | Thursdays at 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm | Trivia Details |
| Steve's Hot Dogs | Tuesdays 7:30 pm - 9:30 pm | Trivia Details |
| Recurring Outdoor Activities | |
|---|---|
| Big Muddy Adventures – STL Riverfront Adventure | Big Muddy Adventures was established in 2002. They are the first professional outfitteguiding company providing access to the wild wonders of the Middle Mississippi and Lower Missouri Rivers. |
| Gateway Arch Events | There are a variety of things to do along the Mississippi River. |
| Hidden Valley Ski Resort | Ziplining, scenic chairlift rides, and hiking trails opened during the summer. Skiing, snowboarding during the winter. |
2023.03.20 14:28 praduman_147 Best ChatGPT Alternatives You Can Use in 2023
given prompt or question.
ChatGPT is pre-trained on a large corpus of text data and uses unsupervised learning to learn the patterns and relationships between words and sentences. This makes it capable of understanding the context of a conversation and generating highly accurate and relevant responses.
ChatGPT has been used in a wide range of applications, including chatbots, virtual assistants, and automated content creation.
The key advantage of a ChatGPT substitute is that it has a hugely varied collection of capabilities to accommodate various use cases. Hence, despite being a fantastic tool and the talk of the town, ChatGPT has its drawbacks:
ChatSonic delivers the most latest information about events and issues that are now taking place by using Google's knowledge network to find up-to-date, accurate information.
What assistance does ChatSonic's AI provide, though? By using ChatSonic AI, which is also capable of handling daily tasks, any query may be appropriately addressed. To generate accurate summaries and insights on current events, trends, and conversations, ChatSonic, a free solution for ChatGPT, employs NLP and machine learning.
ChatSonic AI is a cutting-edge and potent GPT3 chatbot that can stay up to date with current events, providing it an advantage in terms of accuracy and dependability.
In comparison to the other ChatGPT options on this list, it is essentially an AI content-generating robot with a lot more business-oriented functionality. It can also generate commercial copy, caption social media posts, write video scripts, and do a lot more.
Jasper also includes a relatively new chatbot in addition to its content-generating capabilities and other services. This ChatGPT substitute, aptly called Jasper Chat, is built on GPT 3.5 and additional language models and has OpenAI as a partner.
JasperChat, in contrast to ChatGPT, was created for businesses like marketing, advertising, and other similar fields.
It is one of the best ChatGPT alternatives to encourage your creative thinking while you're feeling lonely. It is an AI-powered chatbot that acts more like a buddy than anything else and will instantly reply to every text you send. Replika will listen to your conversations with friends and family about life, love, and other universal subjects.
Replika uses the autoregressive GPT-3 language model, which means it picks up new information from its prior inputs (in this case, your prompts). It can use past information about your life to effectively mold itself to you because its main goal is to have meaningful conversations with people.
One interesting aspect of character AI is creating characters because you can customize them as you go. In addition to choosing the characters' names, I could also give them a welcome, a voice, a description, and even an avatar.
An avatar-generation image generator is integrated into the AI. You can immediately start conversing after finishing and even share it with others.
Character AI has drawbacks. It is more of a novelty tool to have a little fun with because its responses are not as consistently accurate or as valuable as the ChatGPT. There aren't many AI programs that are better if all you want is something to keep you entertained than Character AI.
One feature that sets Perplexity apart is the way it cleanly organizes the sources utilized to produce the answers it provides to users, allowing you to assess their legitimacy and credibility.
Perplexity AI doesn't even require an account and is totally free to use. So, you can converse with this ChatGPT-like program and even look at some of its citations.
submitted by praduman_147 to ChatGPTPro [link] [comments]
ChatGPT is pre-trained on a large corpus of text data and uses unsupervised learning to learn the patterns and relationships between words and sentences. This makes it capable of understanding the context of a conversation and generating highly accurate and relevant responses.
ChatGPT has been used in a wide range of applications, including chatbots, virtual assistants, and automated content creation.
Why go for a ChatGPT alternative?
ChatGPT is a cutting-edge model for machine learning used for natural language processing (NLP). Real-time discussion replies that are tailored and context-sensitive can be produced using it.The key advantage of a ChatGPT substitute is that it has a hugely varied collection of capabilities to accommodate various use cases. Hence, despite being a fantastic tool and the talk of the town, ChatGPT has its drawbacks:
- Cost: ChatGPT is a powerful tool, but it can be quite expensive to use. Some people might be looking for a more affordable option that still provides high-quality language processing capabilities.
- Privacy: Some people might be concerned about the privacy implications of using a tool like ChatGPT, which relies on large amounts of data to function. They may be looking for an alternative that is more privacy-focused.
- Customization: While ChatGPT is highly advanced, it may not be able to meet the specific needs of every user or business. Some people might be looking for an alternative that allows for more customization and control over the language processing capabilities.
- Unique features: There are now many different AI writing assistants available, each with its own unique set of features and capabilities. Some people might be looking for an alternative that offers something different or specialized that ChatGPT does not provide.
ChatSonic
ChatSonic comes first in the list as it is among the most recent and comprehensive ChatGPT substitutes that have recently gained popularity. As it was constructed using ChatGPT as a foundation, it gains access to all of its enormous possibilities.ChatSonic delivers the most latest information about events and issues that are now taking place by using Google's knowledge network to find up-to-date, accurate information.
What assistance does ChatSonic's AI provide, though? By using ChatSonic AI, which is also capable of handling daily tasks, any query may be appropriately addressed. To generate accurate summaries and insights on current events, trends, and conversations, ChatSonic, a free solution for ChatGPT, employs NLP and machine learning.
ChatSonic AI is a cutting-edge and potent GPT3 chatbot that can stay up to date with current events, providing it an advantage in terms of accuracy and dependability.
Jasper Chat by Jasper
Jasper Chat is AI tool that can assist online content creators and advertising agencies in scaling their operations.In comparison to the other ChatGPT options on this list, it is essentially an AI content-generating robot with a lot more business-oriented functionality. It can also generate commercial copy, caption social media posts, write video scripts, and do a lot more.
Jasper also includes a relatively new chatbot in addition to its content-generating capabilities and other services. This ChatGPT substitute, aptly called Jasper Chat, is built on GPT 3.5 and additional language models and has OpenAI as a partner.
JasperChat, in contrast to ChatGPT, was created for businesses like marketing, advertising, and other similar fields.
Replika
Replika is an advanced AI friend with more than 10 million users. It is significantly more sophisticated than its forerunners and is capable of recognizing visual cues and using them to maintain the flow of the discussion.It is one of the best ChatGPT alternatives to encourage your creative thinking while you're feeling lonely. It is an AI-powered chatbot that acts more like a buddy than anything else and will instantly reply to every text you send. Replika will listen to your conversations with friends and family about life, love, and other universal subjects.
Replika uses the autoregressive GPT-3 language model, which means it picks up new information from its prior inputs (in this case, your prompts). It can use past information about your life to effectively mold itself to you because its main goal is to have meaningful conversations with people.
Character AI
Character AI does exactly what it says on the tin: it is an artificial intelligence tool that enables users to communicate with synthetic replicas of well-known personalities from movies and TV shows.One interesting aspect of character AI is creating characters because you can customize them as you go. In addition to choosing the characters' names, I could also give them a welcome, a voice, a description, and even an avatar.
An avatar-generation image generator is integrated into the AI. You can immediately start conversing after finishing and even share it with others.
Character AI has drawbacks. It is more of a novelty tool to have a little fun with because its responses are not as consistently accurate or as valuable as the ChatGPT. There aren't many AI programs that are better if all you want is something to keep you entertained than Character AI.
Perplexity AI
Perplexity AI is a ChatGPT alternative that has been trained on OpenAI's API as well, and as a result, it works well and provides accurate responses. The website has a clean, straightforward design and has been packed simply.One feature that sets Perplexity apart is the way it cleanly organizes the sources utilized to produce the answers it provides to users, allowing you to assess their legitimacy and credibility.
Perplexity AI doesn't even require an account and is totally free to use. So, you can converse with this ChatGPT-like program and even look at some of its citations.
Conclusion
We sincerely hope that any of these ChatGPT substitutes can match the original AI chatbot in terms of quality. As you can see, the number of AI bots is quite large. Jasper Chat by Jasper and ChatSonic are two solid paid choices to take into consideration if you require more sophisticated features like data export or customizations.2023.03.20 13:43 No_Competition4897 [HIRING] 25 Jobs in PA Hiring Now!
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 | submitted by hvdhuhkkfg to kw1hd8vnn7 [link] [comments] IF YOU TAP HERE YOU WILL CUMIF YOU TAP HERE YOU WILL CUMIF YOU TAP HERE YOU WILL CUMhttps://i.redd.it/mtazoqhrwvoa1.gifThis story does not reflect the attitudes or characters in the Harry Potter series, or have any affiliation with the author. Chapter 2 ‘Quickly Harry, the train’s about to leave,’ cried Ginny above the roar of the train’s engines as the station master began to close the doors to the carriages. Harry and the three kids quickly ran over through the horde of parents and relatives towards Ginny, who was stood anxiously beside one of the few open doors left to the train. ‘Keep up the hard work at school Lily,’ said Ginny hurriedly as she gave her a quick kiss and hug before Lily happily bounded onto the train. ‘Have a nice term Alby,’ Ginny said as Albus avoided his mother’s attempted kiss in embarrassment and hurried onto the train after his sister. ‘James..... just be good,’ sighed Ginny as James smirked before kissing his mother on the cheek. ‘Mum, I always am!’ replied James in mock shock. Ginny reluctantly returned his cheeky smile and cuffed him gently on the shoulder before he too stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. As soon as the gleaming red door shut behind him, steam billowed up from around the train’s wheels as the piercing hoot of the train’s horn bellowed around the station. Slowly, the train set off as Harry and Ginny, stood arm-in-arm, waving to their children who were smiling at them from an open window. Finally in a cloud of pearly smoke, the train turned the corner and they were gone. ‘It’s ok sweetheart,’ said Harry to Ginny who was trying in vain to hold back tears, ‘they’ll be back before you know it.’ A slightly red-eyed Ginny nodded before giving Harry an affectionate kiss on the lips. The crowd of parents around Harry and Ginny gradually began to thin until they were the last remaining pair on the platform. ‘Come on love,’ whispered Harry as he gave Ginny a kiss on top of her flaming red hair, ‘let’s go home.’ Ginny took hold of Harry’s hand as he turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. * ‘Hey!....Katherine!’ called Albus from his carriage compartment as he suddenly saw his best friend walk past the open carriage door that lead to the corridor. Katherine jolted to a stop and turned to Albus with a wide smile on her face. Albus noticed that she had barely changed since he had previously seen her on the last day of school the year before. She was still rather small for her age, with long, black silky hair that cascaded down her back and around her cutesy, heart shaped face. ‘Al!’ she cried as she ran into the compartment and gave Albus a long, rib crunching hug, ‘did you have a good summer?’ she asked excitedly as she slipped into the seat next to Albus. ‘Yeah.... it was good thanks, how was yours,’ wheezed Albus as he nursed his aching ribs. ‘Oh you know, it was ok.... I really missed you this summer,’ said Katherine as her own bright, blue eyes looked into Albus’s large green eyes. ‘Awww, missed you too Kat,’ replied Albus affectionately. Suddenly, the door to their compartment burst open, revealing James and a crowd of his friends. ‘Why hello Katherine,’ said James with as he extravagantly bowed to her, ‘I hope you are well. Albus, I hope you don’t mind, but we’re having this compartment, all the others are full.’ ‘Get lost James, we were here first,’ Albus retorted back. ‘Look,’ said James sharply as he suddenly withdrew his wand from the pocket of his skinny jeans, ‘I’ve asked you nicely. You can leave now or I’ll hex you. Katherine you don’t have to leave of course, a charming young lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to give up her seat,’ James said to her as she beamed back. Albus eyed James’s wand warily before grumpily getting up. ‘Thanks for the offer James but I think I’ll go with Al,’ said Katherine with a smile as she too got up. ‘As you wish,’ James replied as he stood aside to let them leave, ‘come on people,’ James called to the eight boys and three girls stood behind him, ‘let’s get comfortable.’ * Harry shut the door behind himself as he and Ginny arrived back at their magnificent house. Just as he walked into the living room, a jet of fire erupted in the fireplace as a stony faced ministry official’s face appeared in the flames. ‘Urgent message for Harry James Potter from the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt: Harry, meet me at my office as soon as possible, a matter of upmost importance needs to be discussed, Kingsley.’ The message ended as with a pop, the man’s face disappeared and the fireplace became calm once more. ‘I’m sorry sweetheart,’ Harry sighed as Ginny turned to him with a disappointed look, ‘I’ll have to go, if the Minister needs to see me then it must be important.’ ‘Mmmm, but I was hoping to make use of our empty house,’ said Ginny lustfully as she placed her hands on Harry’s chest and began kissing him on the neck. ‘I know Gin,’ said Harry as he placed his hands on his wife’s delicate hips, ‘but the Minister....mmmmmmm,’ Harry suddenly moaned as Ginny cupped his hardening cock. ‘I’m sorry Gin,’ Harry said reluctantly as he broke away from her, ‘tonight though yeah?’ ‘Ok....tonight,’ replied Ginny with a mixture of disappointment and understanding of Harry’s position. Just as Harry was about to leave, he looked over into his wife’s disappointed eyes and thought how beautiful she still looked to him. ‘I love you very much Ginny,’ said Harry as he walked over and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. Ginny seemingly melted into Harry’s arms as he gave his wife a long kiss before he reluctantly departed for the Ministry. * ‘Then she was like, ooo Matt why don’t you fuck me and Vanessa with that big cock right now!’ The group of people around James suddenly burst into laughter as Matthew told them of his antics over the summer. ‘God I’m hard just thinking about it now,’ finished Matthew as he sat back impressively as everyone, including the girls continued to laugh. The laughter however quickly turned into a nervous giggle, before finally, an awkward silence fell on the group as James, who was very much the leader of his group of friends was sat staring at Matthew with a peculiar look on his handsome face. ‘Ha.....erm......you ok James?’ mumbled Matthew with a nervous look to James, who continued to stare at him. James smirked to himself as he knew Matthew liked to tell fancy tales and could not resist the chance to embarrass him in front of the others. ‘So are you a bit of a player are you Matt? Shoving your big dick into anything that has a pulse?’ asked James with a grin on his face. ‘Hahaha,’ laughed Matthew warily, ‘Summat like that yeah...’ ‘Show us then,’ said James quietly as he felt the tension amongst the group rise, ‘Come on, we’re all comfortable here, show us your cock.’ The colour from Matthew’s cheeks drained away as an excited patter of anticipation arose among the group. ‘Yeah go on Matthew,’ shouted out one of the girls. ‘Show us Matt,’ came another cry. ‘Yeah, if it’s true then we’ll obviously believe all the other stories you’ve told us,’ said another. James sat back in satisfaction, enjoying the sight of Matthew squirming in his seat in embarrassment ‘I....erm.....I,’ stammered Matthew as his friends continued to jeer him. ‘Tell you what Matty,’ said James in a comforting voice, ‘If you get yours out then I’ll get mine out. If what you say is true, then you are bigger than me and I’ll be the loser won’t I?’ Suddenly, the atmosphere around the carriage rose further, especially amongst the girls who leant forward on their seats eagerly. ‘....Ok....,’ gulped Matthew. Slowly, he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt around his jeans. The tinkling sound of the metal on his belt broke the uneasy silence around the carriage as he began to slowly unbutton his jeans. Finally, Matthew pulled down his jeans and underwear, revealing to the group his very ordinary looking, erect, 5 inch penis. Matthew blushed a deep shade of red as the girls in the group began to giggle incessantly while the lads jeered him mockingly. ‘Bloody liar,’ shouted one of the boys as Matthew quickly hiked up his underwear and jeans and sat back down. ‘Come on then James,’ shouted Matthew over the din, eager to exact some revenge, ‘let’s see yours then.’ The carriage went deathly quiet once more as everyone looked over to a smug looking James. ‘As you wish,’ he said calmly as he stood up in front of the group. ‘Also, why do you insist on wearing that weird muggle clothing,’ asked Matthew. James was dressed in maroon coloured skinny jeans which hung low on his peachy bum, revealing his decorative boxers. His t-shirt was white, with a picture of his favourite muggle band on the front and on his wrists were numerous coloured plastic bands. ‘Because,’ said James as he stretched his arms over his head, so that his t-shirt rucked up slightly, revealing his toned six-pack, ‘no matter what you think of the muggles, you cannot deny they have style.’ Matthew exhaled sharply as James and the rest of the group smirked back at him. Feeling empowered in the moment and the reaction he was about to cause, James took his time unbuttoning his jeans, the pop of each button echoing around the room. Once the last button was undone, James pulled his trousers down around his knees, so that only his tight boxers hid his package from view. Almost teasingly, James thumbed the elastic band of his boxers around his waist as he heard a small moan of longing escape the lips of one of the girls sat behind him. 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2023.03.20 13:03 jqqmmidldc 😘👉👌 IF YOU TAP YOU WILL CUM 🍆💦
 | submitted by jqqmmidldc to pisztns37p [link] [comments] IF YOU TAP HERE YOU WILL CUMIF YOU TAP HERE YOU WILL CUMIF YOU TAP HERE YOU WILL CUMhttps://i.redd.it/28d6smklwvoa1.gifMy sis, Angie and I had always been close so we usually hung out with the same group of friends. She is a little more than a year older than me and the summer before she would be a junior and I would be a sophmore was when it all happened. I have to tell you I'd read my share of porn mags and been with girls and done some heavy petting and all that but I'd never got past kissing and feeling them up. I'd always end up going home and jerking off after that. It was a couple weeks after the 4th of July and a bunch of us were gathered at a small lake near town and decided we should try and get some beer and find a place to party for the night. Angie and I always had to be home by 11:00 and it was already 7:00 so I wasn't going to get my hopes up. About then an older friend that was old enough to buy beer came cruising by with his girlfriend and Angie hollered at them and they stopped to chat with us. I wasn't really sure how she did it but Angie managed to get him off to the side while his girlfriend was talking to somebody else and asked him if he would buy us some beer before he took off. I was sure I heard him tell her "No I really shouldn't cause if I'd be in big trouble if you got caught with it and anyone found out I bought it for you." After that, they weren't talking loud enough for me to hear what they were saying but all of a sudden he told his girlfriend he'd be right back and took off by himself. He returned about 10 minutes later and talked with Angie for just a few seconds before telling his girlfriend he was ready to go and they took off. As soon as they were gone, Angie announced that she had talked him into buying us some beer and he had left it by a tree on the other side of the lake so we wasted no time getting it and going to party at a secluded sand pit. It was 10:30 or so when Angie said we better get home before our cerfew. When we got to the house, Angie was going in and I remembered I was supposed to check on the dogs and shut them in thier kennel before I went to bed so I told her what I was going to do and would be right in. I petted the dogs for a little bit before putting them in so I was there for a while before I headed back to the house. On the way, I was sure I saw somebody right outside Angie's bedroom window and was about to yell at them before I recognized that it was Jake, the guy who had bought our beer. He had'nt seen me so I just laid low to see what he was doing. I saw all but the dim nitelight go off in Angie's room and then saw her open the window and take the screen out and Jake crawled in. Holy shit I thought. Our parents bedroom was upstairs while Angie's and mine were on the main floor so I went up and tapped on thier door like I was supposed to and let them know I was home and inside now. Then wanting to know what the shit was going on, I quietly listened at Angies bedroom door but couldn't really hear anything so without a sound, I opened her door just enough to look in. The dim nitelight was just enough for me to see that Jake was humping Angie. It's a lucky thing I was there cause I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and silently closed the door and just in time acted like I was headed down the hall to the bathroom. In a voice that I knew was loud enough for Angie to hear I said "Hey mom, are there any of those brownies left? I'm kinda hungry." "Yes, there's a couple" she said. "I was just coming to say good night and tell you that your dad and I are going shopping in the morning." Then she walked past me headed for Angie's room and I thought shit was going to hit the fan. She opened Angie's door and just sticking her head inside said "Your dad and I are going shopping in the morning Angie. Good night." "OK, nite mom" I heard Angie say and saw mom head back to her bedroom. Shit that was luck I thought to myself as I grabbed a brownie from the fridge. I couldn't help but wonder how mom didn't see Jake so I quietly opened Angie's door again just in time to peek in and see Jake climb between Angie's spread thighs and easily shoved his cock back where it had been before. It wasn't long before I could tell he came inside her. They lay there breathing heavy for just a bit before I saw him lift up and pull his limp dick out of her. I quickly closed the door and headed to my room and watched out my window. It was just a minute or so before I saw Jake sneak toward the street. Having just watched Angie get screwed, my dick was like a rock and I started to dig out my hidden Penthouse to jerk off to. As I was digging for it under my mattress, I suddenly thought bullshit. If Angie can get fucked by Jake, she can just as well spread her legs for me too. I don't know how long I gently rubbed my hard cock before building up the courage to head for her room. I snuck into her room and closed the door behind me. I could see in the dim light that she was sleeping and was covered only by her sheet. I carefully lifted the sheet and crawled underneath with her. I'm not sure if she really didn't wake up or if she just pretended to keep sleeping but she didn't move at first. When I reached over and put my hand on her belly, she acted startled and then quickly realized it was me. "What are you doing? You gotta get out of here" she said. "Yea, like shit" I said. "If it wasn't for me, mom would have caught you and Jake." "You knew he was here?" Angie said. "Yea, what's the deal anyway? Letting Jake sneak in here and fuck you?" I asked. "How do you think we got the beer tonight" Angie said. "Yea, well I guess if you can get yourself fucked by him you can have my cock in your pussy too if you don't want me to tell mom about it." I said as I started caressing her breasts. "That's blackmail. Besides you're my brother and I really don't think we should be doing this" she snarled. "Well I think I need it just as much as Jake and if you don't want mom to know you're a fuck bitch then you better quit trying to put me off. I shot back as I ran my hand down across her hair covered mound. I feeling her still oozing pussy I realized Jake must not have used a condom and said "Shit Angie, you still got his cum dripping out of your pussy. Aren't you worried about getting pregnant?" "I'm on the pill stupid" she said half giggling. "I thought you had to have your parents permisssion to get the pill" I said almost as a question. "Well, dad signed the permission paper for me but mom doesn't know" she replied. "Why would dad sign for you?" I asked "Cause he's the one who fucks me most of the time if you need to know the truth" she whispered. "A couple of years ago when you and mom went to visit grandma I heard dad kinda moaning one night and peeked in his room. I could tell he was asleep and probably dreaming cause he was just laying there on his bed with his big cock standing up but he wasn't touching it or anything. That's when I knew I needed something in my pussy besides my fingers and I tried but couldn't stop myself. I went in and before he was awake and knew what was really happening I was on top of him and barely had the head of his cock inside me. He woke up and just stared at me for a minute then pushed me off and I ended up on my back on his bed and he was standing there just looking at me." My cock was starting to throb as Angie told me this and by now she was thrusting her gooey pussy up against my probing fingers. Continuing on as I pushed first one and then two fingers inside her she said "Then he got back on the bed and got on his knees between mine and leaned over and without a word started kissing my breasts. He did that for a little while with his butt up in the air and all I could feel was his tender lips and tongue on my breasts. My nipples got so hard I thought they were going to pop and he lowered his chest down on me and that's when I felt his cockhead on my pussylips again. For a little bit he slid the soft head of his cock up and down my pussylips and my whole body would shake every time it slid across my clit. I didn't think I could take it any longer and I reached up and grabbed the cheeks of his butt at the same time I tipped my hips up to where I knew his cock was aimed perfectly for my aching cunt opening and lifted my hips as fast as I could." Suddenly I realized that I was on top of Angie and my throbbing cockhead was in her hot, cum dripping pussy. I had been so engrossed in what she was telling me that I was almost unknowingly doing exactly what she was saying dad had done to her that night. A shivver ran through my body and every muscle devoted itself to thrusting my raging cock inside her. "Yesssss" she said. "He buried his cock in my pussy. It felt like a hot poker had been shoved in my cunt all the way into my belly as his shaft ripped through my hymen and I almost screamed. He held himself there, tight inside me and the only movement I could feel was his chest breathing heavily against mine and his balls moving slowly in their sac that was resting against the cheeks of my ass. After laying like that for awhile he told me he shouldn't have taken my virginity and started to lift himself up but I held on to his ass and started rocking my hips up and down, forcing his cock to move in and out of my burning cunt. Thats when he grasped my shoulders tight in his hands and started moving himself. I knew he couldn't stop now. His strong arms were pulling me, forcing my body to take his thrusting cock as he pulled out a little more with every stroke of his raging shaft until I could feel the head almost come out before he rammed it back in. Faster and faster he went and all of a sudden I was cumming, my cunt was squeezing his thrusting cock and he buried himself in me as deep as he could get and froze there. Our only movement was his cock surging inside my throbbing cunt as I felt jets of his cum shooting inside me. 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