#AOL Phone Number

[djarinova]

if O2 has a million haters I'm one of them. If O2 has a hundred haters I'm one of them. If O2 has one hater it's me. If O2 has 0 haters I am dead. If the world is against O2 I am with the world, if the world is for O2 I am against the world.

[sceletaflores]

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals. 

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?” 

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin. 

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling. 

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy. 

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry. 

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr. 

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find. 

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you. 

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court. 

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.

The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base. 

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.

Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.

His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you. 

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.

Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.

He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.

The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you. 

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.

They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.” 

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.

You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.

You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.

His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.

You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art. 

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy. 

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear. 

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain. 

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.

He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

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[offender42085]

Post 1302

Frankie E Bybee, Florida inmate S42207, born 1970, incarceration intake November 2017 at age 47, scheduled for release July 2025

Exploitation of Elderly or Disabled Person, Fraud Use of Personal Identification

In January 2021, a former Sarasota County deputy whose sentence was partly reversed was resentenced.

Frank Bybee appeared frail and visibly shaking as he entered court in a wheelchair. He made an emotional plea to Judge Donald H. Mason: “I want to apologize to Marcia Sohl. She should never have had to go through any of this, the court’s distress. I want to apologize to my profession. The Sheriff’s Office is top notch, one of the best in the state of Florida. I used to work with (Assistant State Attorney and prosecutor) Karen Fraivillig. I’m sure it was hard for her and personal to come after me. I apologize for what it’s done to my family and my marriage, my three boys.”

Assistant Public Defender Marc Gilman said Bybee has had two brain surgeries to remove a tumor the size of a grapefruit and a stroke since he was imprisoned in 2017 for crimes against the elderly.

The victim, Marcia Sohl, 82, a former New York City teacher, died in July 2019.

Despite arguments that his health was declining because of poor medical care in prison, Judge Mason resentenced Bybee to 10 years in prison for exploitation of the elderly and 10 years probation for three counts of computer crimes.

Bybee will receive credit for time served on seven counts of fraudulent use of identification information, and five years probation on a count of fraudulent use of identification information. 

"I'm happy the judge took his medical condition into consideration," Assistant Public Defender Marc Gilman said. "I'm happy he got a little time off his sentence. That shows sometimes things can work out in good ways. I understand he still needs to be punished. That's part of what the system is designed to do."

In November 2017, Bybee was sentenced to 15 years in prison for 13 felonies that included kidnapping, exploitation of elderly, three counts of computer fraud and eight counts of fraudulent use of information.

But in an opinion filed by Second District Appeals Judge Susan Rothstein-Youakim in May 2020, Bybee’s kidnapping conviction was reversed. Rothstein-Youakim said Bybee received ineffective assistance from his defense attorneys. Their failure to move for a judgment of acquittal when there were serious concerns about evidence is reviewable on appeal, the judge said.

The charges against Bybee arose out of his relationship with the then 79-year-old woman and covered a period of about three months. He was sent to her house Oct. 16, 2016, because she was threatening suicide. She was transported to the hospital and involuntarily committed under the Baker Act. Bybee stayed to pray with her, and they exchanged cell phone numbers.

The woman and Bybee began communicating regularly. Over the next few months, the deputy came to her house to do chores such as painting and minor repairs.

As the woman’s health began to decline, she was admitted to the hospital more than once and spent time in rehabilitation facilities, according to court documents.

By December 2016, their relationship had soured.

The woman called the Sheriff’s Office twice to complain about Bybee’s involvement in her life. The agency told him not to have further contact with her.

After interviewing the woman, the Sheriff’s Office opened an internal affairs investigation of Bybee to determine if he was engaging in an inappropriate relationship with someone with whom he had been involved in an official capacity, court documents stated.

Investigators found that Bybee repeatedly accessed the woman’s AOL account and emails, accessed her financial information, accessed her PayPal account and withdrew money using her debit card.

On Dec. 29, after Bybee was told to cease his contact with the woman, she was once again Baker Acted. While evidence exists that Bybee sent a message from the woman’s email account that set in motion law enforcement’s response to her home, deputies and medical staff at the hospital made the decision to Baker Act the woman based on their observations.

“Both the responding deputies and the hospital staff were statutorily authorized to make the determinations that they made,” Rothstein-Youakim wrote.

Assistant Public Defender Karen M. Kinney, who handled Bybee’s appeal, called state prosecutors’ assertions that there was kidnapping a refutable “theory.” However, Bybee’s counsel, John Lakin and Ronald Kurpiers, did not raise an issue with the charge at the right time, she said.

Fraivillig, who represented the state during Bybee’s trial in October 2017, wanted his sentence to remain the same at 15 years for four second-degree felonies. She said the original judgment was a “merciful sentence.”

Sarasota County Sheriff Tom Knight said at the original trial that Deputy Frankie Bybee had befriended the victim, a 79-year-old Sarasota woman, while responding to a service call.

Knight said when the woman entrusted Bybee -- an 18-year agency veteran and married father of three -- with her dog, whom the deputy sold the dog through Craigslist. The dog was reunited with the woman.

Knight said at the time, Bybee was placed on administrative leave after the deputy’s fingerprint was found on checks totaling $65,000 that the victim said had been fraudulently signed.

Bybee will need constant medical care and CT scans for the rest of his life.

4l

[fantasynsuch]

Adam, wake up. (Adam Stanheight x Reader) P1

This is my first attempt at anything in the Saw fandom, so pls be nice! OFC there's gonna be Gore. Some angst, but will be fluffy in the end.

I wake up to a grim feeling in my stomach. Something felt... off. Adam hadn't messaged me goodnight the last few nights, and that was odd. When we weren't together, he would always wish me a good night: I rarely responded, but he knew you saw them. It was an endearing quality about him, among many others. I loved that about him.

I felt off last night when I didn't hear the ding from AOL, but I fell asleep thinking he possibly forgot. Though the sinking weight in my abdomen tells me otherwise. I slowly raise my body and set in motion your routine, though you couldn't shake the feeling. I kept waiting for a ding: something to indicate he was okay. Something was begging, pleading with me to go to his apartment.

Eventually, the weight couldn't be ignored anymore. Heading out the door, I took one last look at my shit-hole apartment and took off. I happen to live down the same shitty hallway of the same shitty complex: convenient. Banging on the door, I yell, "Adam, let me in. Don't tell me you fell asleep drunk!".

No reply. Even weirder, as he's an incredibly light sleeper. He'd groan and moan about how every bump in the night woke him up all the time to me. He must not be there.

I know what he did for work, so he can't be out this early in morning. Something was wrong.

I grabbed the key he gave me in case of an emergency, and I opened his door. I'd consider this an emergency: he could be dead or who knows what.

When I peered in, it was pitch black. I try to flick the light the switch on, but nothing comes on. The power must be out in his apartment. I reach for the blackout curtain he has up and pull.

When the curtains open, I see what could only be described as a struggle. There's trash everywhere, and all the furniture seems to have been knocked out of place. The only thing that caught my eye above the rest was the creepy ass doll sitting in the middle of the room. It reeked a sinister aura, and if it wasn't for my intense like of Adam, I would have gotten my ass out of there.

But, perhaps to a fault, I did like Adam, so I continued in. I noticed the creepy doll had a flip phone in it's hand and its other hand was closed around something. As I look around, I see Adam's expensive camera broken on the ground. Considering this camera was practically his life life, he has to be in trouble for it to be in pieces. I peer at the phone in the doll's hand: it seems like it's taunting me into trying something. I slowly reach for the phone, scared it may jump at me. When I grab it, the doll begins laughing. I jump about 10 feet in the air, and when it stops, it begins to speak.

"Hello, Adam's friend. I want to play a game." It cackles.

"What the f-" I yell.

"Your dear friend is in a bit of a predicament right now. He has failed my game: but through no fault of his own. He is, simply put, dying, as I speak. I have noticed you are quite close with him." It giggles.

"Where is he?!" I beg. I need Adam.

"I am a fair man, (Y/N). So, I have decided to allow you to play one of my games to save him. Do you value your friend enough to risk life and limb for him? Make your choice." The doll croaks.

The phone I grabbed starts ringing.

I hesitantly flipped the phone open. Unknown number. I shake as I click the answer button.

A strangled gasp - it's the first thing I hear. I hold my breath for a splite second, but then I muster up the courage to speak.

"Who is this? Where's Adam?!" I demand.

Another gasp. This time, the person tries to say something.

They whisper, "H-help me, (Y/N)...".

It's Adam. It has to be Adam. My relief is punctuated by a sound radiating from the speaker. It sounded like a smack and low whispering. The whispers sound demonic.

"A-are you w-willin' to give apart of yourself to save me, (Y/N)?" He whimpers. Whoever was whispering at him was taunting him. Taunting me. He begins to cry out to me over the speaker.

"P-pleas-" He's interrupted by whoever is with him.

"Within the doll's hand is a scalpel. With it, you are to cut the entirety of the pinky of your choosing off within a certain amount of time. If you succeed, you will be rewarded with a clue to your friend's location. If you fail, he will be left here- to rot- and it will be your fault." The other voice speaks up from the phone. I shriek out.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The doll speaks, "Make your choice. Will you save your friend or will you cower at the cost?".

"HELP M-" The line cuts off.

I try to call back, multiple times. I lose track of how many times I redialed, but it doesn't pick up.

When I come to and realize the gravity of the situation, I hear a clicking. An alarm clock that Adam used is counting down- what happens if it reaches 0, I don't want to find out.

I look at the door quickly- I consider running. I consider abandoning my friend. I consider never thinking about him again and keeping my pinky. A million ways of justifying leaving my friend, the man who cares for me when I'm drunk, a man who holds my head when I throw up, a man who buys me groceries with his last 10 dollars when I have nothing left. A man who I argue with more times than I can count.

But I don't run. I can't bring myself to run. I can't abandon my friend.

I look at the clock. 1:34 left. Not alot of time to hype myself to cut off my finger- but enough.

I glance at the doll. Its sinister grin sends shivers down my spine. I don't let me sway my decision.

1:21 left. I take a breath and walk up to the doll. The eyes peer into me.

"D-don't worry Adam." I whisper.

1:15 left. I grab the scalpel. Well, it looks clean enough anyway- at least it's not some rusty bonesaw.

I walk with the scalpel and sit at the table. I breathe and breathe and breathe. I swallow.

0:47 seconds left. I raise the scalpel above my pinky on my left hand. The scalpel seems to get a mind of its own as it falls down. I stop myself. I dance this dance a couple times. I sike myself out, but I realize I'm wasting time.

0:12 seconds left. I cut the my left pinky off. The red from my hand seems to spill everywhere. I'm sure he'll forgive me in the long run. He can't be too mad. I just cut my finger off for him.

I shriek in pain. That was the most pain I have ever felt. I can still feel my pinky, but it isn't there anymore.

I look at the clock while clutching my hand in pain.

0:02 seconds left. I passed.

I begin to feel dizzy, but a quick clicking sound gains my attention.

The dolls chest just opened. There's something paper inside.

I stumble over to the doll and grab it with my least bloody fingers. A map. A map of our town, but on it, a factory was circled.

The doll spoke up: "Congratulations (Y/N). You passed your first test. Continue to the location, and we will test your meddle. Adam awaits." It cackles at me.

I look down at my hand and the map.

"I won't let you down Adam." I tell myself. I hope he knows I won;t abandon him.

I'm coming, Adam.

[90s-2000s-barbie]

This came up on my google discover page and it brought back so many memories. Ugh 😩 I remember phone numbers only being 7 digits. Having to use a pay phone in town as a kid to call mom and check in. Having to run inside as soon as the street light kicked on. The pain of having to buy a separate machine to rewind VHS tapes cause some VCR’s we had we so fucking slow. lol 😆 the sound of dial up and the “you’ve got mail” audio when u log on and have emails. I remember going through aol and they had so many different celebrities saying that famous line and u could change the setting to their voice like Amanda Bynes, Mandy Moore, and so many more. lol what good memories. I think the thing I miss the most is MTV actually playing music and good shows like Daria and Beavis and Butthead and I want beavis and butthead with all the music videos and episodes they’ve hidden.

[officerrrfriendly]

More To The Story, Chapter Two.

Back to the old house.

chapter one

ThisCharmingGirl: So, what does all this mean? The Russian, the hand signs - why the fuck is his head shaved?!

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

ThisMustBeThePlace: See?! Something isn't right. I can't answer your question about the Russian but I can provide you some details on that hand sign. Its the signal for MkUltra- which may explain the shaved head.

"Okay, what the fuck..." you bite your lip anxiously, in an attempt to contain your hysteria, shaking your head before continuing to type.

ThisCharmingGirl is typing...

ThisCharmingGirl: MkUltra?? Like the mind control experiments- I'm freaking the fuck out. And dude-lady, whatever, how do you have access to all of this?

ThisCharmingGirl: sorry. guess I'm just kind of lost.

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

typing.....

ThisMustBeThePlace: Firstly, yes - like the mind control experiments run covertly by the CIA in 1953. Secondly, I understand you're panicked, but I'm just a geek who got a little too curious while in an online chatroom. Thirdly, I'm a dude- LOL. Lastly, you don't have to apologise...

Before you could type a response - two new messages appeared on the tiny computer screen.

ThisMustBeThePlace: This would be a whole lot easier to explain over the phone.

The last message was his phone number, along with a 'call me :)'

Sigh.

The dial tone of the landline begins to sound whilst you nervously twist the long wire around your index finger in anticipation. It rings not even four times before somebody answers.

"Hayes residence, Howie here- how can I help?" a deep, mature-sounding voice questioned.

“Oh..Hi! Are you-“ you began to speak,

ThisMustBeThePlace was a man...hm. Not what you were expecting but neither was the idea that Tammy's kid had been abducted by the CIA to experiment with mind control aft-

"That's for me! Sorry Uncle Howie, uhh hello? you still there?" a younger, but still cute voice calls out... he sounds out of breath.

You hear a grumble, assuming it's from the older man as he passes the phone to the person you were really supposed to be conversing with. You nearly forgot to answer, however luckily remembered as you asked, "Hi, yes- uhh, you're the guy I spoke to on AOL?"

His breath catches in his throat for a moment before he continued to speak, he doesn't really speak to girls that often - cut him some slack!!

"Indeed I am...you're charming- I mean uhh, you're ThisCharmingGirl, right?" he stutters, resisting the urge to facepalm himself so hard he knocks his brain out.

You chuckle, quietly- faintly.

He still hears it, and he wishes he could've recorded the sound. Because it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"And you're the geek who quite enjoys Talking Heads...ThisMustBeThePlace?" you question, glancing beside you at the kitchen counter right where you had brought the small, slightly crinkled missing poster to sit.

He chortles, not so quietly- and replies, "yeah, that's me." - and you think it's the cutest little laugh you've ever heard.

'I wonder what he looks like-' you began to ponder, but didn't allow the thought to live further as you remembered the aim of your call- the small, and endangered boy who sat smiling in his ghostbusters Halloween costume - on the missing poster.

"Shall we...get into the nitty gritty then?"

You had both seemingly talked for hours, and you decided to switch to the cordless phone in your dad's room - which was supposed to be used solely for business - but technically, this was business and very important business at that. You switched to the cordless phone so you could move back to your computer along with a notebook and pen. Finley... you had come to learn his name was - was exclusively the only reason why the notebook had jottings in it in the first place, he was the one providing you with the actual notes. He informed you about MKUltra, its history, its aim and why they had shaved Tommy's full head of chestnut brown, bowl-cut style hair, hypothetically…of course.

You sat in silence for a moment, pondering as you ran your hand that wasn't holding the cordless phone through your hair, something you'd often do when you're stressed.

"I just don't understand, Why him? Why Tommy out of all people, do these MKUltra coo-coo people have a criteria or something?" you broke the silence, with a rather reasonable inquiry.

"Well...I assume it's the same as when cult leaders scout for people to join their cult. They prey on people who are vulnerable, who have weaknesses, trauma..." Finley continued to ramble, it all made sense, in theory- what he was saying but you just couldn't wrap your head around the idea that all of that mind control shit could be happening in your town, Drellington? Really?

It got to around six thirty in the afternoon when you had finally decided to look at the time which was presented at the bottom right of the computer screen.

"Fuck!! Shit!!!" you winced, you were so, irrevocably and unconditionally fucked.

you were late for work, again.

Landon was going to have your head.

After your joyous discovery that you were late for work, for the FOURTH time this week, you quickly wrapped up your phone call with Finley and told him you'd drop him a message when you were home.

Your legs couldn't move fast enough on your rusted, desperately in need of oil- pushbike. You were sure you looked like a total fool as you rushed towards the fat wooden sign engraved with the words 'The Tipsy Tangle' which hung with pride from a lampost.

You were careless once you had reached the double doors of the bar, you dropped your bike and rushed inside. You could already feel Landon's irate gaze as it almost scorched onto the very back of your head.

"Sweeper, get your ass over here- NOW!!" she scolded, angrily calling for you with a vexed gesture of her hand motioning for you to 'come closer.'

You hesitantly began to approach the door of the backrooms, preparing for your untimely death. When suddenly, a voice sparked from behind you, and you didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. “Lord…you, young lady... are in for one hell of a verbal ass-whooping! She's been cursing your damn soul for the past hour and a half." Dean, a regular at the Tipsy Tangle, snorted- shaking his head before picking up his bottle of Heineken beer, raising it to you in a 'cheers' motion before taking a long swig.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning Dean- I couldn't already tell she was mega pissed with me before you said anything." you scowl, sarcasm rich in your tone, before you begin to make your way to the backroom where a very furious Landon awaited your arrival.

"hey, sweeper! are you gonna make me wait any longer than I have been for you?! get your ass back here, pronto!" she growls, fed up.

You practically sprint to the backroom after that.

You begin to apologise before you even enter the small, desolate room full of boxes and barrels of alcohol- an alcoholic's wet dream.

"Listen I know what you're going to say and I cannot apologise enough-"

"NO, you listen sweeper- every damn day of the week so far I have been staying here, making up for you being majorly late!! Working overtime, covering for your ass and quite frankly, it stops NOW," she continues to rant, her hands making quick-paced and angry motions, "it's time for you to C.Y.A, you know what that means sweeper?" she questions, however not giving you time to answer. "Cover. Your-own. Ass. That's what the hell it means, learn it and live by it! No apologies necessary. Now…i'm finally heading home to smoke some pot and sleep. Like I was supposed to do nearly two hours ago!!"

As she left the Tipsy Tangle she apparently took the rest of your words with her as well, she had never exploded at you like that before.

"C.Y.A, noted." you mumble, nodding your head, fatigued.

The rest of your shift played out as it usually did. It was a Thursday night- so you weren't too crowded, thank god.

Randy held a cigarette in his left hand covered with inked tattoos and took a long drag, before blowing out a lengthy trail of smoke. You spoke up, "You know, you should really quit that- your wife doesn't like it very much, Randito." you informed your grumpy boss, nodding towards his wife Cheryl, who was cleaning a table nearby, as you filled up a pint for Dean. Who yes, was still there, hours later.

"Y'know, I didn't hire yew’to be my marriage counsellor, Trevor. I hired you cus' I owed your Pops a favour n'I needed somebody else to help keep Dean-O-holic over here, in check." Randy retorted, disregarding your advice - his tone rich in humour as he nodded to dean who, plastered out of his mind, was singing along to Bon Jovi's 'You Give Love A Bad Name' whilst bopping his head to the beat of the song- anticipating his pint.

Fighting the urge to break into a fit of laughter, you purse your lips closed as you place the pint down in front of Dean- who when he spots the beverage, starts to sing along even more passionately before pausing to take a sip and dramatically sighing after doing so.

You, Dean and Randy burst into a mix of giggles and delighted chuckles. Whilst Randy's wife, Cheryl throws you an amused smile, shaking her head before disappearing into the back of the bar.

Once you had gotten home safe, you thought to quickly hop on AOL and check if Finley had messaged you at all whilst you were at work.

Only one message, you click 'Open.'

ThisMustBeThePlace: Important news!! Call soon, hope you got home okay from work :)

Despite the burning curiosity you had for the important news, you couldn't help but smile when you read the sweet message at the end of his message.

—————

end of chapter two!!

they talked on the phone, and were both nervous- cuties :))

IN SUMMARY,

landon’s mega pissed at you, preaches C.Y.A, finley’s cute AND smart, Deans an alcoholic, Randito’s a chain smoker, and you…are an excellent sweeprr and apparently make a damn good pint!!

@stveharringtn you have been so supportive throughout my whole time so far writing this fic!! thank u sm :))

[blazehedgehog]

hey! regarding people who are politely declining to comment their opinions on your Frontiers video, i don't think it's anything personal – i think some people just find engaging with the greater Sonic discourse to be exhausting (myself included!) and would rather respect the opinions and personal space of others than engage in debate.

which brings me to my question: how do you handle it? you've been fielding comments and asks from rabid Sonic fans for so long, you seem to have it down to a science!

I can understand being exhausted with discourse, yeah. There are some things I'm like that with. But... I dunno, the response to the Sonic Frontiers in general is also a little weird and I'm starting to think I made a bad first impression with some of what I had to say. Some people are taking it personally in a way that it's not directed at them.

But -- and I do not say this disparagingly -- that's Sonic fans. I get it. It's not true so much these days, but ten years ago, twenty years ago, this industry loved to beat up on Sonic and especially Sonic fans, eventually. Some people don't see that I'm one of them too, which is also understandable, because not everybody knows me.

I'm weighing options on how to deal with that. I've said it before but doing follow-up "correction/comment response" videos seem to be a good idea, but I don't know if I should wait until the final DLC is out or try and get it released sometime next week.

As for how I handle it... I don't know. Maybe it just comes naturally. I remember way back when I first got on the internet, when I was on AOL, the big thing everybody was doing back then before blogs was Mailing Lists. "MLs" for short. People would send you a message like "I would like to subscribe to your ML," so you'd write down their email address, and once a week or so you'd send out this gigantic email that was practically its own whole website.

And I juggled two or three MLs, for Sonic, for Pokemon, for Sailor Moon. I'd attach files for MP3s, I'd do Q&A sections, the whole nine yards, and I was like... 15. And I'd get comments (email replies) from people telling me that they loved how natural I sounded. Apparently people running other MLs were pretty wooden and robotic with their writing style, but I was always very conversational and approachable. And the numbers bore that out; I remember having several mailing lists crest 100+ subscribers, which felt like a huge deal.

And it's weird, because if you met me in real life, I'm maybe the most quiet, reserved person on earth. I have to force myself to speak out. I live in a house with five other people and I will go days where the only thing I say to anyone is telling my nephews good night. I feel like I can't talk. Like I don't know how. Which is a whole other kettle of fish, especially when it comes to recording voice over for a video.

But you sit me down in front of a keyboard, or even maybe a phone to some degree, where I can type out my thoughts? I used to be able to type as fast as some people could speak. And literally as I write this right now, I am more or less mouthing the words, either physically or in my head, as I type them. Like I am saying them. It's all a stream of consciousness. That goes for things I write here on this blog and it goes for video scripts, too. It's always flowed as naturally as running water (maybe too naturally, for how rambly I can get).

I would love to have the confidence to speak in the same way I type, and I know I have the capacity for it. I just get too nervous in the moment.

And as for how I handle people who are rude or don't understand me or whatever, I mean I have theories, but ultimately I don't know.

Like, something I learned early on was to distinguish the difference between people who are actually angry and people who are just trying to hurt you for laughs. I remember, all the way back when I was in Kindergarten or First Grade, some kids on the school bus were trying to get a rise out of me and in my head I kept thinking "They're just trying to make me mad, so I won't give them the satisfaction." And I just went totally stonefaced. When I objectively refused to react, they left me alone.

A few years later, I had friends who turned out to be bitter enemies that may or may not have ruined my life, and again, I learned new skills to deal with baseless people who were just trying to make me angry. I learned how to cope with or avoid some of that.

(Until eventually the bomb went off, I beat a kid black and blue, and was nearly charged with assault at 13 years old.)

And then a few of my first internet friends were deeply stubborn people who reveled in their ability to be rude, frustrating assholes. And, again, I learned ways to avoid, cope with, or defuse those people.

(Until I got tired of dealing with them and cut them out of my life entirely.)

Like, compared to some of the things I've had to endure, some of the things "friends" have said or done to me, an angry internet comment feels like a stiff breeze.

And I also just love putting myself in someone else's shoes. Thinking about how they came to a different conclusion than I have. Ask people who knew me 20 years ago and they'll tell you I used to (and still sort of do) live by a mantra that all arguments start as misunderstandings. If two people come to terms with their differences in perspective then all problems can be solved.

So I learned that when someone has a problem with me or something I've said, I just need to explain it better, or explain it more. If the scope of what I said is too small, then I need to provide a bigger picture view of where I'm coming from. And 90% of the time that is a great way to solve a problem, to come to terms and say "Tell me where you're coming from and I'll tell you where I'm coming from and we can meet in the middle." You're being heard, they're being heard, everybody (usually) wins.

I always try to come at everything in good faith like that. Even anger comes from somewhere. Understanding that helps everyone.

(Now, I don't always have the energy for that. There was a twitter thread last week where I incited quite a bit of Discourse™ and I eventually became exhausted by the endless supply of people who were looking for cheap dunks, or were being weirdly rude, plus I was deep into deadline stress... I ended up getting kind of punchy in a way I'm not super proud of)

And I guess just... all of this stuff, it all just combines into my ability to mostly handle it.

Which is why it can feel so weird when people don't want to engage me.

[mousathe14]

After so many years I’m reading HunterXHunter again.

How long has it been? I don’t know, when did the Chimera Ant arc end?

Anyhow, one of the funniest things to me right now is that there was a page dedicated to explaining this incredibly vital world building detail: what is the internet and cyberspace.

That chapter came out in, like, 1999. I was about 7 years old and I barely understood how a computer worked and we accessed the net through AOL and our second phone number I didn’t know we had.

And nowadays we don’t even have to think about it, it’s just part of the world and our lives through broadband, fiber optic networks, and our own cell phones.

But this is no ordinary action Shonen manga. In this fantasy world information is more important than anything else. They are using the internet a lot.

[simseez]

I miss the days when TLC was on the radio

and we'd order music videos from The Box

we collected Jansport strings and snap bracelets

threw poppers and stink bombs

The girls played with their tamagotchis

and jumped double-dutch

We played tag and suicide and seven-up

and went to the library for fun

Blockbuster nights were special

playing games at the arcade machines at the store

remembering peoples phone numbers by heart

making scrap books of kodak and polaroid pictures

AOL instant messenger was a whole thing

I wanted to grow up so fast

but I miss those days

[roleplayhonestybox]

corporate takeover of the internet is bad in general but i've seen shifts in RPC because of it. "back in the day" (old woman yells at cloud) roleplaying on any kind of instant messenger was not nearly as common as email, and people could have as many roleplay email accounts as they wanted.

obviously you still can have as many as you want! but even AOL wants a phone number and a gmail backup and your first born. of course im exaggerating but it's irritating. you dont need this personal info for me just to have an account where i trade silly stories.

now, most ads are for discord. there's nothing wrong with discord, i use it too, but i wonder how many of our word count definitions (adv lit, lit, semi, etc) have shifted because of message character limits.

.

[fredalan]

777-FILM Moviefone

1990

“Hello! And welcome to Moviefone!” -Russ Leatherman, ‘Mr. Moviefone’

[In-movie theater commercial] 

Sound effect: telephone busy signal   

 Announcer:   There one phone number for movie       showtime information that’s never busy.   Find out where and when it’s playing.   Call 777-FILM.   When all that matters is the movie.

Before there was a consumer internet, getting to the movies was a pain. Even figuring out whether a particular movie was playing in a given week at what theater required a logistic enterprise. It usually involved getting a local newspaper and sifting through columns of “listings” to figure out what showtimes were. You couldn’t be sure if there were tickets available and whether or not there were a few next to each other. Or whether they were in the front or back rows, and squeezed you in the middle of a long row. Heaven forbid, if you lived in a city with dozens of movie houses.

Enter entrepreneur, innovator and filmmaker Andrew Jarecki. Partnering with the original conceptualizer Russ Leatherman, they founded Moviefone to solve the problem. Just dial 777-FILM and life got easier. Now you could immediately know what movies were playing where, at what time, and whether there were ticket available. Voilà!

We met Andrew through our friends at Charlex and signed on as Moviefone’s first agency. Together, we quickly came up with several spots that would play in their partnered theaters and starting running them in New York and Los Angeles.  

Lo and behold! Moviefone was ringing off the hook, maximizing theater –and Moviefone!– profits. Soon, Andrew had figured out how to use call volume to predict ticket demand, which allowed  film producers to target their advertising to optimum effect, and of course, more success for all!

The company was acquired by AOL at the height of the first internet craze. Andrew went on to become an Academy Award nomimated filmmaker (“Capturing the Friedmans”) and produce and direct “The Jinx” for HBO and “Catfish” for MTV. ….. Actors: Albie Hecht & Paula Brinkman Director: Albie Hecht Producer: Chris Strand Production: Chauncey Street Productions Agency: Fred/Alan

[the-haunted-office]

♥ What’s the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

All right. Rubbing my hands together. I've already talked about the misogyny and being used, this time I'll talk about something that happened a long time ago.

This happened like, I don't know, 15-18 years ago, back when I used to roleplay on AOL instant messenger (AIM) and an ancient blogging site called Xanga.

I'm sorry to say that I used to be into Harry Potter, and as such I used to rp in the fandom. One of my closest writing partners and friends was a gal named Linda. We were such good friends she even flew over from her country to visit a couple times and even came to my wedding.

We were a part of a whole HP rp group where there were a dozen or so members I'd say, some more coming and going all the time, but the core of us was maybe a dozen or so at any given time. We had group chats and group rp's, group events, everything. It was a lot of fun, but as you would expect, not all of us got along. There were a couple of other girls I didn't get along with because they just godmodded and metagamed the shit out of everything all the time, but modding (the ones in charge) then wasn't the same as it is now, and so godmodding was pretty rampant. It was extremely frustrating, so I just avoided these few people as much as I could.

Linda and I used to rp together a lot, day and night. And then a couple of her characters started dating some of the characters belonging to the girls I didn't get along with, and it all went downhill from there. Linda was really heavy into shipping, and with her focus mainly there, the interactions I used to have with her got shoved way off to the side.

I wasn't happy about it and I had confided in Linda about it only to be largely ignored. One day the girls roped me into a group chat with them where I stupidly accepted and thought maybe they wanted to rp something together for fun, but nope. They ganged up on me and wanted to know "what my problem was", so I told them straight that I didn't like them because they were shitty roleplayers, they godmodded, etc. And then I left the chatroom and blocked everybody, including my friend Linda because she was the only one I had been confiding in about my misgivings and she had told them everything.

She and I had each other's phone numbers so once she found out what happened she started calling me nonstop until I answered. We talked and eventually I unblocked her, but things were never the same after that. I just couldn't trust her with anything anymore.

After all these years, it's a distant memory and doesn't hurt anymore, but I still have a bad taste in my mouth over it. I'm sorry to say that it's tainted my view on people who care only about shipping. It makes me feel like my interactions with them don't matter and that I'll always be shoved off to the side, so I generally try to avoid people who are all about shipping. It's not to shame them, because people can rp however they want, but it's for my own comfort. And that's not to say that I don't enjoy shipping myself, because I do, but it's just uncomfortable because of my experiences and makes me a bit wary. I really do try not to let it get to me, though.

[fractallogic]

The latest in the ex-dadwife saga: dad suspects that she has gotten access (how? Unclear) to his texting capabilities, so changed his number and switched carriers, and is imploring me to do the same

The hypothesis is something like:

In September, my (and his) phone service got cut off suddenly. Spectrum had screwed something up. It took him a surprisingly long time to fix it, in part because he was in Hawaii on business and, ironically, couldn’t get away from his legal work for charter (who owns spectrum) to get to a spectrum store to straighten everything out… but he eventually does. He chalks it up to telecom companies, especially spectrum, being stupid and not understanding that HE is the owner of the account, not his ex-wife, who has somehow migrated to be the primary person on the account. Okay. But he changed it back to him (supposedly).

No problems for a while. However, he starts getting texts from people that are like “wtf did you send this??” and they’re texts from his number that he doesn’t at all remember sending, are not characteristic, but also aren’t like, spam bots (extrapolating from his vague description because he doesn’t understand that I can’t read his mind). He thinks of how this could POSSIBLY be happening, and the only thing he could think of, and the only one who could possibly have access to his number to send texts as him, is ex-wife.

Her motive: when he “straightened everything out” in September, it turned out the service shut off because the credit card he was using for payment had expired, so he put in a new CC# and also ensured that he should be the primary account holder (didn’t work) and also that the address associated with the account (not his current one, but the old one where ex-wife now lives) isn’t getting the extremely cheap employee-discounted cable and internet prices. Since she’s now on the hook for $300+/mo in telecom services and he’s also ignoring her pleas to come talk to her (…wtf), she started sending weird texts to people through his number.

I don’t get it in any way, shape, or form. Genuinely don’t understand. I mean, I understand the vindictive urge to fuck someone’s shit up, but with this particular method??? I don’t feel like she’s technologically savvy enough to do it. Because. HOW.

But also, I don’t understand why he had spectrum split the account so weirdly in the first place (leave cable and internet intact on house 1, but divest her from the phone plan), because YOU’RE FUCKING GETTING A DIVORCE, MY DUDE, CUT HER OFF. But you know, why question the guy who has done this four goddamn times during his 35-year-long career working for Time Warner/AOL/Charter/Spectrum.

Anyway if you’ve gotten weird texts from my number or spammy calls from me, please let me know, because I really don’t want to change my number, but if my own “IMs have been hacked” in my dad’s words, I had probably better.

Also pls tell me if you’ve had really shitty experiences on mint mobile (or I guess like. ANY experiences) because that’s where I’m going because I simply can’t afford/don’t want to pay a thousand dollars a year for a cell phone and mint mobile seems like the best and cheapest option. So.

[likeabxrdinflight]

you know how back in the day everyone had aol emails right

well, I still have that email address, technically, and every once in a while I had still been logging in and checking it just to make sure it wasn't like, being hacked or anything

anyways I can't sign in anymore. because now they want two step verification. and the phone number that is associated with that account is a now defunct home phone number. so they cannot send a security code, it is not possible.

so naturally I tried calling tech support and they cannot help me because, apparently, I did not use my real name when I made this account. and for the life of me I cannot remember the fake name I must have been using at the time.

I think I'm permanently locked out of my own email account because at age 11 I was using fake names to make an email address behind my parents back.

this is. truly not the tech dystopia I thought I'd be living in but here we are.

[del3141]

I’ll go ahead and jump on this small bandwagon here.

ZZT - shareware little ASCII tiles adventure game that included, in its freeware version, a map editor that you could use to make your own levels.  People made a *ton* of stuff, and I downloaded whatever I could from the AOL uploads.  I even uploaded one myself, and started several overly ambitious projects that I never got done past like two screens worth of content.  This game taught me that people will make cool stuff just because they want it out there in the world, and it was cool to see what other people would make.  It also taught me about programming and how I never really wanted to do it for a job.

Telling my parents about it and hearing them talk about how I should leverage those skills to be a programmer or sell content also taught me that I shouldn’t talk about my creative endeavours with my parents.

Scorched Earth - another shareware game, turn-based artillery combat game where you dialed in power and angle of shots and hoped to nail your opponents before they nailed you.  Up to 10 players meant I could have a bunch of friends over to play it (back when I could handle more social interaction than I can now) and if you wanted to get crazy with it, you could set up the whole economy thing and buy special weapons, shields, abilities to change the terrain, all that stuff.  This game taught me that beating other people at a game isn’t really as fun as causing utter chaos and just seeing what the hell came out of it, and maybe if you won too that would be cool, but mostly it’s about causing weird shit to happen and laughing about it with friends.  It also taught me a tiny bit about physics.  Yay science!

Everquest - one of the first huge MMOs, back before WoW was a thing.  There’s no real need to go into much detail about it - it’s an MMORPG.  This was the first game that I could play online that was actually multiplayer, and there were so many people it was kind of astounding.  But the first things I ever did were walk my character around the trees in the wood elf city and think, holy shit, it’s so *huge.*  I had never played anything so utterly vast in scope.  I adored just wandering in places to see what I could find.  This included wandering in places far beyond my char’s level to actually survive in, unfortunately, and I wasn’t very good at the actual gameplay.  But I loved it anyway.  To the detriment of our phone bill and to everyone else in the house and their ability to use the phone or internet, because this was the age of dial-up.

This game taught me about addiction.  It also taught me that normal MMO gameplay loops were not very interesting to me, which helped save me from ever getting sucked down into WoW like many people I know ended up.

Final Fantasy 7 - this one also probably needs no description.  I’d seen bits and pieces of Final Fantasy 6 (3, cuz it was on an SNES cartridge that a friend had) and there were actual TV commercials about it, so I kinda knew what I was getting into, but this game was just cool, and had enough depth to it that I could reliably obsess over it for a very, very long time.  I would fire up the game and just screw around in the final dungeon levelling up magic shit.  I enjoyed the numbers going up, and it never really occurred to me that there wasn’t any real point to making the numbers keep going up.

This game taught me... well, not much, but it had an actual plotline that I never fully grasped until reaching adulthood, and it had numbers going up which tickled my brain.  I also thought Sephiroth was super cool, because I was a teenage male child, and I thought Red XIII was even cooler, because I was and am a furry simp.

Dance Dance Revolution - a game you play on a dance pad and hit arrows in time to the music.  This game grabbed me hard, and I loved playing ever harder songs on it in order to challenge myself and see just how good I could get.  Not great on an underweight asthmatic body, but it was a real thrill.  These days I am overweight and asthmatic so I don’t have nearly the same speed and endurance, but interestingly enough my timing and accuracy has vastly improved, so I can’t reliably hit the 9-footer difficulties anymore but I sure can AA and sometimes AAA the hell out of a 7-footer.

[korshubudemycoursesblog]

Microsoft Ads MasterClass - All Campaigns & Features

In today’s fast-paced digital landscape, Microsoft Ads has emerged as a powerful tool for businesses looking to expand their online presence. Whether you're running search ads, shopping campaigns, or audience targeting, mastering Microsoft Ads can drive significant growth for your business. This article will walk you through a Microsoft Ads MasterClass - All Campaigns & Features, highlighting everything you need to know to effectively use this advertising platform to its full potential.

Why Choose Microsoft Ads?

Microsoft Ads, formerly known as Bing Ads, offers advertisers the ability to connect with millions of users across search engines like Bing, Yahoo, and AOL. What sets Microsoft Ads apart is its ability to deliver a more specific and targeted audience.

With a presence in over 190 countries, Microsoft Ads allows businesses to:

Reach an untapped audience not available on Google Ads

Target specific demographics like age, gender, and device usage

Leverage lower cost-per-click (CPC), often leading to higher return on investment (ROI)

Types of Campaigns in Microsoft Ads

1. Search Campaigns

One of the most commonly used types of campaigns, Search Campaigns in Microsoft Ads allow advertisers to show their ads in the search engine results pages (SERPs) when users enter specific keywords. The main focus here is keyword targeting.

2. Shopping Campaigns

For eCommerce businesses, Shopping Campaigns are a game changer. These campaigns showcase product ads directly within search results, complete with images, prices, and links to the product page. Microsoft Ads supports these campaigns by integrating with platforms like Shopify and WooCommerce.

3. Display Campaigns

While traditionally known for search ads, Microsoft Ads now supports Display Campaigns across its network of partner sites. This allows businesses to reach their audience through banner ads and video ads on various platforms.

4. Audience Ads

This is one of the most trending features in Microsoft Ads. Audience Ads enable advertisers to show ads based on audience behavior, interests, and demographics. It is a highly effective tool for remarketing to users who have previously interacted with your brand.

5. Dynamic Search Ads

If you want to automate the ad creation process, Dynamic Search Ads is an excellent option. These ads automatically create relevant headlines and ad copy based on the content of your website, making them highly adaptive and efficient.

Key Features of Microsoft Ads

1. Audience Targeting

One of the most powerful features of Microsoft Ads is its advanced audience targeting. This feature allows advertisers to target people based on their demographics, interests, and behavior, giving you more control over who sees your ads.

2. Ad Extensions

Just like Google Ads, Microsoft Ads offers a variety of ad extensions that can enhance your ads. These include:

Call Extensions: Add a phone number to encourage direct calls.

Sitelink Extensions: Link to specific pages on your website.

Location Extensions: Show your business address and map.

3. In-Market Audiences

With In-Market Audiences, advertisers can target users who are actively searching for products or services similar to what they offer. This is a powerful tool to reach potential customers who are ready to buy.

4. Conversion Tracking

Tracking the performance of your ads is critical. Microsoft Ads’ conversion tracking allows you to measure the effectiveness of your campaigns, helping you refine your strategy for better results.

5. AI-Powered Recommendations

Microsoft Ads uses artificial intelligence (AI) to provide advertisers with suggestions on how to optimize their campaigns. From bidding strategies to keyword optimization, these AI-driven insights help businesses stay competitive in the ad space.

Optimizing Your Microsoft Ads Campaigns

To make the most out of your Microsoft Ads campaigns, consider the following optimization strategies:

1. Keyword Research

Effective campaigns start with comprehensive keyword research. Use the Microsoft Advertising Keyword Planner to identify the best keywords for your target audience. Focus on both broad match and exact match keywords to cover a range of search intents.

2. A/B Testing

Regularly test different ad variations to see which version performs better. You can test headlines, descriptions, and even landing pages to maximize conversion rates.

3. Utilize Negative Keywords

To avoid wasting ad spend on irrelevant clicks, make sure you use negative keywords. This feature prevents your ads from showing for specific search terms that don’t align with your business goals.

4. Use Bid Adjustments

Microsoft Ads allows you to set bid adjustments based on devices, locations, and demographics. By fine-tuning your bids, you can improve ad performance and make sure your budget is spent efficiently.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. What is the difference between Microsoft Ads and Google Ads?

While both platforms offer similar features, Microsoft Ads gives you access to a slightly different audience, primarily through Bing and other search engines. Microsoft Ads also tends to have lower cost-per-click (CPC) and can often offer a better ROI for advertisers.

2. How do I track conversions in Microsoft Ads?

You can track conversions by setting up conversion tracking in your Microsoft Ads account. This involves placing a small piece of code (tracking tag) on your website, which helps monitor user actions like purchases or sign-ups.

3. What are the best practices for Microsoft Ads?

Some best practices include performing thorough keyword research, using negative keywords to exclude irrelevant traffic, regularly optimizing ad copy, and running A/B tests to refine your campaigns.

4. Can I run shopping campaigns on Microsoft Ads?

Yes, Shopping Campaigns are a key feature of Microsoft Ads, allowing businesses to showcase their products directly in search results, complete with product images, prices, and links.

5. How much should I spend on Microsoft Ads?

Your budget depends on your business goals and the competition in your industry. Start with a modest daily budget and gradually increase it as you optimize your campaigns for better results.

6. Is Microsoft Ads better for B2B or B2C?

Microsoft Ads works well for both B2B and B2C businesses. Its audience targeting and lower CPC make it an excellent choice for both sectors.