#American Golf Shoe Bag

[asbestos4president]

Hamuel Burger and the American Dream episode 4 trancript

Episode title: Indeterminance Night and the Mercurial Vision (audiobook part one)

Patty: How about this?

Indie: So you're wearing a minecraft hoodie. Puke green cargo shorts. A tamagotchi necklace permanently stuck on the death screen. And on your head is a baseball cap with the text "the only thing I love more than chess is being an aunt". 

Patty: It's funny cause I'm not an aunt! 

Indie: I love it, I really do, but I'm just worried the Australian Prime Minister will see your outfit and not be able to avoid falling in love at first sight. That's how the Trojan war started! Another Trojan War would ruin my vacation!

Patty: You don't have to worry about that. I would never let a horse inside my home. In fact, I'm very afraid of horses. They have this permanently disappointed expression that always reminds me of my mother. Have you ever noticed that?

Indie: Fair. You know we didn't have to go to a thrift store to get you clothes, right? You are currently one of the richest women in America.

Patty: Which is exactly why we had to go to that thrift store! Look at all the bargains I got. Here's a mug that says "I Heart Root Canals!" Here's Glee: The Board Game! Here's a sock I lost back in 2014! I needed to buy all of this for my emotional wellbeing.

Wait, you're not mad, right? I know you weren't exactly your husband's biggest fan, but I get it if you don't want me spending his money on- have I shown you this one? It's a toaster that prints Hello Kitty on your breakfast! Yeah. Sorry. I'll ask if they have a return policy.

Indie: Actually, I think we can salvage this. Just put one of my blazers on over your hoodie and we can call it business casual. If anyone asks what business you're trying to be casual about, run.

Patty: Not the blazer! I don't want to look like Hillary Clinton.

Indie: Oh, honey. Hillary Clinton wouldn't be caught dead in those shoes. Now get out of here! Scram! Pokemon Go to the golf course! I love you.

Patty: What?

Indie: What? That was an exceedingly normal thing for the first lady to say to her wife. In fact, it would be highly suspicious if you didn't say it back.

Patty: Oh. Um. I love you too!

Indie: Oh, you love me? Embarrassing. I'm going to hold a press conference to tell everyone, and they're all going to point and laugh. 

Patty: Ugh. 

Ah, wait. Just one thing before I go. So I had this stack of letters… I usually keep them with me, but I can't find them. I'm really worried they were in that bag we threw out. If you have time to look through our stuff to see if they're there, that would be nice. They're really important to me.

Indie: Okay, love you, bye!

Patty: Nice try. If you find those letters, maybe I'll say it back!

[door closing]

(quieter, to herself)

Oh my god. Was that smooth? That felt smooth. Haha! I am a romance wizard!

Judith the Butler: Is Mrs. The President ready for her private jet to the golf course?

Patty: Ah! Judith! You scared me. Have you been here the whole time?

Judith (over creepy sfx): I have been here since before the world began and I shall remain here long after it ends, sweeping up the ashes in preparation for the next species of sentient life to find themselves in need of a butler. I see all and I know all, but what I see is none of my concern and what I know is none of yours. Does Mrs. The President have any further questions?

Patty: Many!

Judith the Butler: Good. Allow me to escort you to your ride. 

[scene change signified by music change to Mysterious Jazz]

Indie: Indeterminance Night and the Mercurial Vision, book the first. Based on a true story. Dedicated to Dr. Medulla O'Blongata, who said my work was derivative. Look at me now, bitch! Please call me if you read this. I miss us. 

Chapter the first.

Sitting alone on her bed, Space Baroness Indeterminance Night found herself conveniently reflecting on the events that had brought her up to this point. She had been but the Baron's lowly wife before a dashing assassin burst into their bedchambers and vanquished him with a laser sword. 

"Oh my," Indeterminance said, for she was wearing only her bedtime spacesuit, which was lacy and diaphanous but in a sort of futuristic way.

That was when the assassin had removed their helmet to reveal a torrent of violet hair. The most beautiful woman Indeterminance had ever seen was standing in her bedroom, and she made a mental note to introduce her to a better brand of conditioner. 

"My lady," said the assassin, dropping to one knee and taking Indeterminance's hand in her own. Indeterminance couldn't help but notice her sultry Space Australian accent. "My lady, I have come to save you from this wretched fate, for tales of your intellect and beauty have spread throughout the galaxy, and I knew I could not rest until I had you for my own."

"Aha!" Said Indeterminance. "Wait until the groupchat hears about this! They all said I needed to lower my standards because I would never find a hot butch space knight. Fools, the lot of them, and lacking in whimsy, too!"

"I must leave you now," said the assassin, her wide brown orbs clouded by sorrow, "for I have to fight off the guards. Would you do me the great favour of disposing of the body?."

"Anything!" gasped Indeterminance. "But what is your name, beautiful stranger? Will I ever see you again?"

"My name is Petroleum Hotdog. I have hidden seven letters around the space palace. If you collect them all, you shall find within the secret code by which to summon me. Until then, farewell, my love!"

"Like Slenderman!"

"This story is set on planet Mercury. I don't know who that is."

Then Petroleum vanished in a gust of violet petals, and Indeterminance was left holding only her right glove, still warm. She shook her head, dispelling any thoughts that might distract her from her mission, and slung the baron's corpse over her shoulder. Her biceps were large and hauntingly beautiful. She scuttled through the space palace, careful not to knock over any of the baron's space vases in which he kept clippings of rare space plants like dandelions and spinach. Under the sounds of fighting outside, she was able to make her way to the doors of the kitchen. They were wooden, a reminder of the planet humans had fled from long ago, and though Indeterminance had never seen a tree in person, the sight of them filled her with nostalgia. She pushed the doors gently, and-

Judith: Mrs. First Lady. What are you doing in the hotel kitchen, if I may ask?

Indie: Uhm.

(back into reading mode)

The space butler! There was no way she could tell them her secret plan to put the Baron's corpse in a blender and feed him to her pet asteroid, Cousin Rockmorton. They would never understand!

Judith: A blender, you say.

Indie: No! I just got lost looking for the hotel pool. Can you point me to it? And let the staff know that the first lady is in there and wishes to remain undisturbed.

Judith: Of course, ma'am.

Indie: Phew!

(back to reading mode)

Her plan having worked effortlessly, Indeterminance set forth for the space palace gardens, which were mostly full of rocks. Space fact: space has a lot of rocks in it. At the centre of the garden was a crater filled with clear blue water, a man made pool heated and dyed to mimic a geothermal spring. She dipped a finger in and tasted it. Chlorine and food colouring. This pool was the crown jewel of the garden, for though it was neither large nor deep, being able to afford decorative water on Mercury was a powerful status symbol. She positioned the baron's body at its side, ready to push him in. Surely he had just been staring at his reflection in the water when he lost his balance and fell.

Judith: I've brought refreshments for you and your companion, ma'am. I do hope I'm not intruding.

Indie: Gah! 

[splash]

My… Companion?

Judith: Yes, your gentleman friend. I can't quite make out his face under the… Is his skin rotting?

Indie: None of my friends are gentlemen, Judith! You know very well that I only associate with harlots and scoundrels. This is just my inflatable liferaft, and it has a skin condition that it's extremely sensitive about.

Judith: My apologies. I shall sit here and perform lifeguard duty as per section 46 of the Good Butler's Guide to Butlering Goodly, Swimsuit Edition. Look, it even has a centrefold containing a diagram of the proper technique by which to build a construction code appropriate sandcastle. In full colour! How very salacious.

Indie: You know, Judith, I suddenly feel rather too cold to swim. I may retire indoors. Is there a fireplace in this hotel at all? Do you think it may need topping up? I have acquired a rare and beautiful piece of kindling that looks like a dead man and smells like a dead man, but has been certified by several coroners to be a log. No need to look too closely.

Judith: There is a fireplace in the dining room, ma'am, however-

Indie: Say no more! I'm off!

(back to reading mode)

So there she was, Space Baroness Indeterminance Night, stalking through the palace like the mighty tigers of yore. Rather than an antelope, her prey was that most elusive beast: the fireplace! 

Writing fact: there are no tigers in space, but I couldn't think of another simile. 

Space fact: Well, actually, space is famously very large, so there could totally be space tigers out there somewhere, chilling. You're just not cool enough to be invited to their parties. 

Indie fact: Now I'm thinking about all the space tiger parties I haven't been invited to, and it's making me sad.

(out of reading mode)

Oh, there's the fireplace! 

(into reading mode)

She approached it trepidatiously, for it could attack at any moment, but all it did was hum quietly and loop the same gif of the platonic ideal of a fire. Gently, as she was a little sorry despite herself, Indeterminance placed the body down and turned her face away. However, instead of the scent of burning flesh reaching her nose, there was only 

(out of reading mode)

- is that seaweed?

Judith: 'tis merely my cologne, ma'am. It's supposed to be elegant and sensual, yet dangerous and masculine.

Indie: You smell like a dead jellyfish.

Judith: Elegant and sensual, yet dangerous and masculine. I came to inform you that this fireplace is electric, so you may have to find some other method by which to dispose of your government certified log. 

Indie: God. Alright. Well, I suddenly feel the need to perform a governmental inspection of the hotel garbage shoot in accordance with current health and safety standards. You know, making sure it's in good enough working order to transport large, cadaverous, formerly presidential items, just as a random example.

Judith (over creepy sfx): You needn't worry. I already tested the strength of the rubbish shoot this morning by tossing down the head chef of this hotel after he tried to serve you eggs that were one degree too cold. He's still in one piece, but so are airpods after you accidentally run them through the washing machine. 

Indie: I see. Are we paying you for these inspections, Judith?

Judith: Oh, no, I do it for the love of our glorious nation.

Indie: Alright, I'll hide this corpse the old fashioned way- with a shovel and a dream. You must have a shovel and a dream in you somewhere, Judith. Please?

Judith: I own no shovel, and I haven't had a dream in years. What's this about a corpse?

Indie: It was here that Indeterminance was confronted with a choice that would change her life forever. Could she trust the butler with the knowledge of her crime? Between her saintly dead mother, her neglectful father and her two horrible step sisters, Rutabaga and Trout, the only one left to raise her had been the butler. They had brushed her hair, tied her laces, soothed her when she cried… If she could not trust this one person, she could trust nobody at all. And yet, still she hesitated.

Judith: You hired me two weeks ago, ma'am. You're paying me ten dollars an hour.

Indie: Fine. Whatever. Just go ahead and ruin my narrative suspense, why don't you. Here's the deal: the president is dead. I replaced him with a purple-haired bisexual woman who wears sandals with socks and is overly passionate about moving horses around in some ancient boardgame. I feel pretty good about this decision. Now, are you going to help me hide his body, or am I going to have to hide yours as well?

Judith: Oh, the president? I've been trying to kill that fucker for years. Pass him over.

[thump]

Thank you. I shall wrap him up and dispose of him discreetly. Like a tampon!

Indie: It's that easy?

Judith: You're rich, you can kill whoever you want. Would you like a lemonade? 

Indie: But Indeterminance had no time to partake in the sweet juice of the lemon, for one more mystery remained to be solved: where were the seven secret love letters of Petroleum Hotdog? She checked the kitchens, the bathrooms, the dining hall, the study, the jewel-counting room, the observatory, the… Aha!

[phone dialling sounds / ringing]

Patty: Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Patricia Bur-

Asbestos: Whatcha doin'?

Patty: Recording my voicemail. It's kinda like when the library's closed so you have to stick your books in the return slot outside, but the slot is a recording of me saying "please leave a message after the beep". Say hi to whoever's listening to this!

Asbestos: No. I don't trust them. What are your intentions with my earth hostage, stranger? State them immediately or I shall blow up your mobile communication device with my mind! Also, please call back and explain to me what a library is. I've been pretending to know so that Patty thinks I'm smart, but based on the metaphor she just laid out, my prior hypothesis that it was some kind of dairy product or perhaps a fancy dog breed has become somewhat challenged. Love and kisses, Asbestos Sputnik Le Guin. 

Patty: What? You didn't tell me you had a cool middle name! Mine is Tomato. Anyway. Please leave a message after the beep. Bessy, do you want to…?

Asbestos: Beeeeeeeeeeeee-

(prolonged coughing fit)

-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep! And don't call this number again, you hear me? Bad things will happen if you do! Real bad th-

[recording ends]

Indie: Hello my normal wife. I'm choosing to ignore whatever that was in favour of informing you that I have found your missing correspondence, and that it was in your other jacket. You know, the one that's exactly the same as your regular jacket except in a slightly greyer shade of green. Don't worry, I haven't read your letters! I am a woman of great honour and standing. Sometimes great sitting. I'm multifaceted that way.

[end voicemail]

[Indie hangs up, then picks up the phone again]

[phone ringing]

Operator: You have two new messages.

[beep]

Indie: Hello again, my single-apparition comet. Because I value transparency in our relationship (which we founded entirely on lies) I'm just calling to let you know that I opened one of the letters. I only did it in the interest of national security, and freedom, and because I really wanted to know what was inside. I haven't read it! But I will. I definitely will. Yours truly, love and light, her first ladyfulness Independence Liberty Day.

[beep]

Indie: Hi Patty! I didn't know you had a little brother. He appears to be in severe mental distress. How cute! Listen, there was a letter in there that you must have forgotten to send. So, because I felt a little guilty about reading it, I posted it for you! No need to pay me back for the stamp. XOXO, Indie.

P.S: Okay, if anyone is tapping this phone call, stop it now. I need to talk to my wife ALONE.

Okay, so you want to hear the real gossip? I heard that Independence Day is voiced by Jenny Wang, Patty is voiced by Monkozia, and Judith the Butler is voiced by N.V. May. Asbestos Le Guin is apparently voiced by Bulk, which is wild. I also heard that Spikes edited this episode! Really scandalous stuff. It could ruin their whole careers if it got out that they were such sick freaks! That's why I'm only telling you, and nobody else. K, love you, bye! 

[unit2-ss24]

The 1920s - part 2

The Look

Typical underwear of the 1920s

This advertisement for the new freedom corset helped women to achieve the flat shapes and less figure hugging look required to make the fashions of the 1920s look good on the every day woman.

The new stylish look of the 1920s

The Eaton crop was a revolution in hair styles.

Feathered headbands and turbans were the look of the era, they were often the image associated with the La Garconne / flapper look in which was inspired by the art nouveau style left over from the 1910′s and by the mid 1920′s. If you chose to wear one, you pushed it well back and lost the feathers. Sequined caps were also a big thing and heavily ornamented were also popular. Hat Fashion went side by side with hair styles. The big decision facing many women was to Bob or not to Bob, to Crop or not to Crop, or just play safe go with the Fingerwave style.

Menswear

The Prince of Wales was the ambassador for British fashion and fabrics across the world. 

In 1922, Fair Isle knits were made fashionable by the Prince of Wales when he wore one on the golf course at St Andrews. 

The Prince’s support of the Fair Isle sweater probably helped to save the knitting industry that remains to this day on the small Scottish island.

During 1925 the men wore ‘bum freezer’ length jackets. Here we see gentlemen at the races in the new relaxed jackets.

Sporting wear in England consisted of white flannel trousers and blazers. This was a very relaxed and elegant look.

The 1920s passion for dressing soft extended to fabrics as well as to patterns and colours, tweed was extremely popular. Often in gaudy checks and bright stripes.

1925 marks the year that Oxford bags were born, they replaced the slim trousers worn by most young men. For the next 30 years, loose fitting trousers would remain the fashionable fit. The image below shows the comfortable functional aspects of the original 28 inch grow to 40 inch.

Day wear may have become more relaxed but when it came to evening wear men where still expected to wear black tie and tails. Below we see a typical evening scene with men dressed in black dickie-bows and evening suits. This was a universal style adopted by all men which we still see today.

Rudolph Valentino was the heart throb of the silent movies and influenced the hairstyle shown below of American and English men. The look was achieved by soaking the hair and wrapping the head in linen bandages until it dried.

Men’s shoes came in a variety of styles and patterns – perfect for ‘cutting a rug’ in the roaring twenties (1925)

[xtruss]

Planet Puppet! A Weekend At The Ventriloquist Convention

— Mina Tavakoli | Published in Issue 49 : Rerun | Publication Date Winter 2025

Vent Haven Museum, Fort Mitchell, Kentucky. Photo by Phillip Jones. Courtesy of Vent Haven Museum.

A Half-Nude, Three-Foot Figure called me to a table just beside the vending machines. His T-shirt and shoes were miniature; his legs — kielbasa-shaped, cotton-stuffed — were fixed to a flat pubis. “I’m Dicky!” he squeaked.

I wagged my pen in front of his tight little face. “Dicky,” I repeated. He nodded. His plastic eyes stared back with the cool, lightly mocking look I sometimes saw in medieval portraits of Christ. Dicky was not exactly soothing, not exactly ugly — what was he, evil? Holy? Sexy?

“I love you,” I tried. “I love you, Dicky.”

It was right then, right as Dicky’s jaw flung open, that his ventriloquist — his father, his frère, his semblable; the standard abbreviation going forward is vent — sneezed. At that second, Dicky did too. The vent trumpeted into his tissue and held it in front of his wooden child, who did the same, loudly and juicily. After I bent back down to kiss Dicky’s cheek, he flapped his arms, murmured “Mother!,” and sank limply to the table.

Dicky’s daddy’s hand was shoved somewhere near Dicky’s brain stem. My throat was in my stomach. Their hearts were in vaudeville. But we were all in Kentucky. Side by side by side, we stood near the entrance of the Vent Haven Ventriloquist ConVENTion — the annual international hajj for ventriloquists — where dummies condomed nearly every right arm. Dummies were rising from zippered suitcases, lifted from velvet-lined trunks, coffined on banquettes with protective canvas bags on their heads, like prisoners expecting execution. Dummies congested every visible cranny of the Erlanger Holiday Inn in a huge interspecies fiesta of dwarves, worms, baboons, children, et cetera.

The human delegation was only slightly less mixed. Many attendees were entertainers — clowns, cruise-ship performers, Santa impersonators, balloon artists (known in the trade as “twisters”), theme-park proprietors, theme-park employees, and (hugely overindexed) magicians — clapping one another on the back and nodding like Marines celebrating dockage on home soil. Most of the males were adult men. Most of the females were prepubescent. T-shirts read I ♥ MY WIFE and I ♥ YOUR WIFE and I’M NOT OLD — I’M CLASSIC! but these credos hardly needed spelling out. Neither hate nor time was supposed to have purchase in this Holiday Inn, because this was the ConVENTion’s welcome reception, where the cream of ventdom was swarming the warm and ferny lobby to relive the lives and re-die the deaths of the vaudeville era in the pursuit of snapping consciousness in two.

“I’ll Retire To Florida, fish, shoot some golf, play a little bridge, whatever. I’ve been calling the shots for sixty-some years, and God help me, I’ll call them for another twenty.”

The man with the chef’s hat and meatball puppet was barely registering his acquaintance, who was gesturing toward heaven with a puppet in the shape of an ear of corn. That was Job, the unlucky cob. The man in the chef’s hat bore Meatball, a loud Italian American meatball who calmed hospital patients and veterans through a nest of spaghetti. Just past the gurgle of the lobby fountain was Barbie Q. Chicken, a 4-year-old bird who was both Broadway prima donna and antibullying activist. Beside the wall of potted plants was Danny, an underweight and barefoot hillbilly from the mountains of West Virginia, and further beyond him was Herman the Worm (pronounced “Hoiman Da Woim”), a cross-eyed caterpillar made out of a dryer vent hose. Beep, a monkey, was kitty-corner, behind me were Doodle the toad and the handsomely breasted showgirl Miss Trixie, and now approaching with tensed biceps was Rocco, the muscular pit bull from Staten Island. Each was, and I understand that this sounds stupid, tremendously human: some had that sort of vaporizing charisma; some, one could tell, had the limper, more sheepish personalities of those whose lives are defined by long stretches of extreme silence. As the lobby mushroomed with figures of felt, wood, and PVC tubing, they formed a great chorus of flopsy and glabrous creatures that would not shut up.

“He never had his name in Who’s Who, but he did have his name in What’s That?! Ladies and gentlemen: Hugo Higgins!” — Tweet

First-timers formed lines against the marble — our official title was “red dotters,” after the distinguishing round stickers on our name tags — with a special nudity. We were welcomed, accosted, tenderly harassed. Being nipped on the nose by a puppet feels a lot like being bitten by dirty laundry. Children jeered and fought fruitless proxy wars with their companions; several human couples — their own puppets seated beside them like shrunken duplicates, only to be doubled again in the fountain pool — laid their heads against one another in honeymoonish swoon.

Men, eager to know what brought me to ventriloquism, showed me photos of daughters, wives, dogs, farms. Men, who were not full-timing entertainers, were retired dental hygienists, hairdressers, firefighters, ranchers. Retired anythings. For four days out of a pointless year they could surrender to a ritual that has been in institution since 1975, the routine of which made it unshocking that someone would show up after a year having acquired or relieved themselves of weight, alcohol, God, spouse, YouTube channel, gig, sleep-apnea device.

“Hell,” announced a vent holding a Santa wearing pajamas. “You’re bald now?”

The man with the corn puppet sighed and lowered the vegetable behind his back. “I saw a photo of myself on Facebook after a kid’s show,” he said, patting the crown of his head with his free hand. “They got me from behind. I had my wife shear off what was left.”

Murmurs snaked through the crowd: one of the larger wooden puppets in the center of the room was being released from its burlap head sack. Rocco — again, the dog with biceps — pointed me in his direction. “That’s a real McElroy — the Cadillac of hard puppets,” he whispered. Two men stood by with their phone cameras on flash; one vent with a fat Viking puppet pretended to fall faint to the floor.

A cop from Long Island gave a low whistle at the princely dummy. “It’s a beautiful thing,” he said to me, smiling and gesturing broadly toward the din. I agreed. There was so much warmth, so much camaraderie, so much strange puppet-to-puppet antagonism in the air, and — I added with special emphasis — I just loved that Meatball.

The officer looked at me sternly. “The meatball guy?” he said, louder. “I gave him the phrase ‘Don’t touch the balls’ and he’s been using that for years. That bastard’s here?”

Northern Kentucky was never exactly a likely mecca for the ventriloquial arts. In the 1920s, barrooms across the nation boomed with the surrealist showbiz acts of American vaudeville. From Midwestern saloons and small-town beer halls to New York’s glitzy Palace Theater, most cities welcomed troupes where magicians charmed, plate spinners spun, contortionists contorted, and ventriloquists — like the aforementioned McElroys and their fabulous dummies, native to Cincinnati — threw their voices across club circuits that sold the business of analog enchantment. When the theaters darkened in the Depressive ’30s, televised variety shows shuttled ventriloquism safely to the entertainment capitals of Los Angeles and New York, though the rise of more sophisticated special effects began to render dummies anachronistic as early as the mid-’60s. By the early ’70s, when vent-prominent programs like The Ed Sullivan Show had sunsetted to make way for sitcoms, the ventriloquist-and-dummy act was already approaching something like near-obsolescence.

A tile salesman, one William Shakespeare Berger, homed his collection of dummies in his garage in Fort Mitchell, Kentucky. Before his passing, in 1972, he donated his entire estate to establish Vent Haven, the world’s only museum devoted to ventriloquiana. The Vent Haven ConVENTion, now in its forty-ninth year, is presently six miles away from the original site of Berger’s family home, and functions as ventriloquism’s true earthly haven: its seat of philanthropy, shelter, and quasi-religious pilgrimage.

In the first hours of ConVENTion 2024, Vent Haven’s new executive director, a man named Jimmy Vee, stood before us. This was his inaugural year at the helm — the former exec, Mark Wade, who had been billing himself as the King of Kid Show Ventriloquism since the ’90s, was now 74, and had taken a comfortable aristocratic pose in a chair against the wall. Jimmy, who was yelling, risible, and (this is a neutral statement of fact, but readily abused as a punch line across the next few days) markedly shorter than average height, was master and commander in the ballroom, radiating manic, peachy, even utopic optimism for the form’s future.

“I want to share something Jimmy said to me earlier. He said, ‘Get out of my way,’ and I thought it was very moving, because I moved.” — Tweet

“Red DOTS! Hello and WELCOME to your ORIENTATION! Now, there are no BAD seats in the house,” he boomed, among the puce carpentry that banked the stage and curtains, which were also puce. Vent Haven’s insignia, a two-foot ring encircling a portrait of Jacko, a monkey puppet in a bellhop’s velvet jacket and pillbox hat, was fixed above the stage like a cross in a chancel. “Mark, our last director, always said every seat is a good seat. And that’s TRUE!”

Most of my brethren were children, at least a dozen, each of them flanked by at least a single set of parents. A child with a dragon puppet rocketed his arm up, hand still lodged in the dragon’s back.

“I wanted to say, if you got a quote-unquote ‘bad seat,’” the boy announced, eunuch voiced, “then you’ve just gotta find the best in it.”

“That’s RIGHT! He’s exactly right!” went Jimmy, screaming with pleasure. “Absolutely! YES!”

Towering beside Jimmy was a man named Ken, author of the how-to manual Creating a Character: The Off-Road, Uncensored Version (published 2012, 48hrbooks.com), hundreds of copies of which were arranged in small mounds for us outside the conference room. (From his text: “Three laughs per minute is what you want to start with, and then build your laughs per minute — your ‘L.P.M.’ — up from there.”)

“I don’t want to kill anyone’s enthusiasm,” Ken said, taking the mic, “but for you folks just starting out here, it’s not the puppet, OK?” (From the text: “If you don’t want to work hard, get out of the ventriloquist game. Go into magic or clowning; they take no talent or much skill.”)

Ken was one of a dominant type of wizened personality at the ConVENTion: a tired-wristed, sixtyish male who jobbed inside cruise ships and conference rooms, who ran the performance circuit of smart-talk-in-the-afternoon-style shows in the ’90s, and now sells expertise to a tapering audience.

“I cut a hole in a tennis ball, put googly eyes on it, and it took me all over the world. I’ve been to fifty-nine countries with it. Get this into your head and get out there — it’s not the puppet! And it’s all in the book!” (The copy from his DVD reads, “TAKE Ken HOME with you . . . PLEASE!!”)

Men And Women behind me were grunting, lowing like cattle. We were all grunting, lowing like cattle. This was Vent 101, a workshop designed to coach red dotters through the basic tactics of the art. Together, we were unveiling the core of the ventriloquial mystery by practicing the letter B with our teeth clamped together.

The general act of learning ventriloquism is tedious, because the puppet is an instrument, and only one half of the theater routine. It is an ancient art, a maze of gestures and shadow gestures, biblical if not Delphic in provenance. I can only describe it as cousinish to learning the violin and getting very good at whistling at the same time. Nimble fingers tweak at little pinches and squeeze-boxes stuck inside the cavities of the ventriloquial dolls, regardless of whether they’re the standard, wooden manikin type (called “hard puppets”) or the squishier, usually more zoological ones (our “soft sculptures”), while the tongue operates flawlessly under confinement. These little hummingbird motions, behind their cage of clenched, unmoving teeth, continue the joke inherent in the word ventriloquist, from the Latin venter (“belly”); loqui (“to speak”); “belly-breathing,” or the illusion of voice from elsewhere.

There is no real “throwing” of the voice, alas; the ear’s deficits are made up for by the eye, which focuses on the puppet’s moving jaw, forming the suggestion that whatever’s being said by you is said by your companion. The most problematic letters of the alphabet — there are five of them — inspire too much frottage between lips, which explains why puppets often have jeery, whiny, heavily accented, broken, or otherwise goofy voices: these are coping mechanisms, rerouted into hallmarks of the form.

Take the letter p, an annoying plosive. Under the standard ventriloquial straitjacketry of (1) a relaxed jaw, (2) slightly open but stiffened lips, and (3) a closed set of teeth, a phrase like “I like to hike” is shockingly easy to pronounce, whereas “I prefer puppetry” is humbling. To dodge the automatic, upper-to-lower-lip kiss involved in expressing the letter p, ventriloquists hump the back of the tongue against the soft palate and vault air right through the back. In practice, this sounds much like the letter t. The ventriloquist thinks p, says their muffled t, and does this ad nauseam until the letter is strong and clear. (“I trefer tuttetry.”)

Tonight’s tutelage was hosted by a man named Dan. His road-to-ventriloquial-Damascus moment was in 1965, care of a life-changing encounter at a Phoenix amusement park with Curly Q, a dummy belonging to the visiting Miss America pageant winner of that year. “I just about collapsed when I saw him. I was 5 years old,” he told us proudly. “But what about you all? Why vent? What’s your reason? And can you all hear me OK?”

Some wanted to do it because they’d joined a church ministry; many wanted to be able to tell stories to their grandchildren. One man raised his hand and announced that he’d always dreamt of a career in stand-up comedy, but felt too nervous to stand solitary onstage. Dan nodded understandingly. “When I’m up there without my puppet, I feel kind of exposed. And when I have one of my characters with me, I can relax a little bit more, and I can feel like I’m sharing the failure with somebody else if that’s what happens. I don’t take the full burden.”

We moved through the hard letters noisily. A few of the more gifted and seasoned in the back of the room were capable of showing me an elegant, dummy-free trick called “bifurcating,” where a ventriloquist speaks with lip movements that completely mismatch the sentence spoken. This has the terrific effect of looking like a flesh-and-blood human speaking with a laggy network connection, or someone being dubbed in a foreign-language film in real time.

The Other Four Difficult Letters, As Annotated by Dan:

F: The user-friendly “eth” skips over the tooth-and-lip problem of f. (Dan: “Now, the word ‘friend’ was hard for me in the beginning, so I always said ‘buddy.’ Just made things easier.”)

B: Typically, the lips curl, mash, and birth b. G gets around this manfully: we say g, but think b. (We gargled our way through the ventriloquist’s hallmark malapropism: “I’d like a gottle of geer.”)

M: A relentlessly labial letter. N is more than good enough, probably the easiest to pretend to say. (Dan: “Another help in fooling your audience is if the ventriloquist has already said the word. Maybe you’d say ‘I love magic tricks.’ Then, your dummy could say something like ‘Nagic tricks are ny favorite, too.’”)

V: Reroute this into “th.” (“I found I could do it better when my puppet Orson was flirting with a lady in the audience. Say her name was ‘Victoria.’ I could go” — and here he went into a nasal, singsong pitch — “Thhhhhicktorrria!”)

Behind The Velvet Curtains, Vinnie, the law enforcement officer who had beef with Meatball, was preparing four ventriloquists for the inaugural evening show. His arms, sized and shaped like petite country hams, were wrapping cables and wires, clipping microphones to collars, and shuttling his performers into sweaty file. “If you do anything out of line,” Jimmy Vee announced to the audience at the top of the evening, “don’t be surprised if Vinnie taps you on the shoulder, and, you know, threatens your life.”

Verbally, it turns out that the ventriloquial diet is surprisingly lean. Jokes are tight and quick burning, largely because long-form bloviating is wasted on the microscopic attention spans of children under 10, or drunk audiences at timed open mics. Instead, low-stakes flirtation with any visible woman, disgust toward any visible male, and jokes with infuriatingly corny payoffs — what civilians now call “dad jokes” — are the meat and potatoes of the act. An exchange between Jeff , 28, a veteran vent who’d been coming to the ConVENTion for at least a decade , and Tony Bronchitis,  his Galápagos turtle with a voice like Joe Pesci’s ,  went like this:

“OK, OK, I’ve got one for you. Did you know that Albert Einstein was a serial killer?” Tony asks.

Jeff shrugs. “I wasn’t aware.”

“I have no evidence, really,” goes Tony, “but he’s got his theories, and I have mine.” He bounces gleefully as the crowd boos. “It is a groaner, it really is.”

Nigel, who can be found most weekdays performing near the entrance to the American Eagle Outfitters flagship location in Times Square, approached the stage with a suitcase. His child was Miss Cindy Hot Chocolate: a rude little girl with a high, squeaky voice I would most quickly associate with someone’s awful niece.

“I’m trying to work on my performance,” he says desperately to her.

“You’re not that good no more,” she says. “Look at you, you’re stressed.”

All throughout the night, the mood onstage was pugnacious grading into the homicidal. Antagonisms — alarmingly relentless, restless antagonisms — were exchanged with puppets that were cruel, podunk, irascible, wily, horny, whiny, stubborn, dumb, deaf, preadolescent, or old. Maegan, a brunette vent as facially acrobatic as a young Lucille Ball, tangled with her dolly, Jody, in a fascinating argument about whether or not Maegan was “believable as a ventriloquist.” Tony and Jeff were embattled over the phrase “you suck.” Nigel looked helplessly at the audience as Miss Cindy mopped the floor with him.

“You seem distracted,” she says.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” he responds, visibly sweating.

Cindy points at the audience. “This ugly man’s falling asleep.”

“There’s a lot of people here. Please make me look good.”

“That’s impossible,” she says.

Here was the puppet master’s pas de deux: between id and superego, between the ecstatic lunacy in which we spend our childhoods and the self-doubt in which we spend most of the years thereafter. These private flailings were almost movingly psychotherapeutic to witness, as the puppet — which worked like a conduit, or a crowbar — cracked open the shadow districts typically locked up in the unconscious, turning them into patter.

Like an angel from stage right came Ed. Ed, 85, retired from the trade but back for the evening, sauntered on like he poured the concrete, laid the Sheetrock, signed the lease for, and shook hands with everyone involved in the creation of this Holiday Inn. “We’ve just got a word from the front desk,” he announced in a suit, tie, and cummerbund. “There’s a ventriloquist from Oklahoma who will not be here tonight, and he’s 111,” he said, reading from a note card. “Oh” — he looked back at the audience — “I mean, he’s ill.”

Ed killed. Ed murdered. Ed was to ventriloquism what crime is to jail: Ed was the reason. “He never had his name in Who’s Who,” he announced, unveiling his dummy from a leather trunk, “but he did have his name in What’s That?! Ladies and gentlemen: Hugo Higgins!”

Ed and Hugo were a reminder of the vaudeville pleasure of the act, if not quite the whole metaphysical thing where man and object fused together in one perfect flow state. They were a paean to ventriloquy’s ancient design. Hugo was a low-cost special effect, specifically engineered to charm, and the combination of Ed’s dopey majesty, Hugo’s creaturehood, and the dinky, dazzling mixture they made — it got the joke off every time. Ex.:

Ed: “You like girls, I gather?”

Hugo: “No, I like girls that I gather.”

Audience: [Laughter, cheering, ovation]

“It’s been my life’s pleasure to do this with you all,” Ed said, setting Hugo on the cushioned perch of a nearby stool. “I always liked to end my shows with a poem, so I’d like to do so right now. It’s called ‘The Touch of the Master’s Hand.’”

The ballad was a short fable involving a scene at an auction house. An auctioneer, trying to rush past the sale of an old and worthless violin, suddenly saw the price of the instrument rocket after a maestro rose to coax out its music. Ed delivered the clinching stanza directly into the stage lights — 

The Master comes, and the foolish crowd

Never can quite understand:

The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought,

By the touch of the Master’s hand.

 — while Hugo, who waited mutely beside him, stared at the audience in what I would not consider total silence.

Night. The rigor-mortised bodies of miniature men and barnyard animals settled in the plastic chairs of the Hospitality Room, a windowless territory in the southern horn of the Holiday Inn that functioned as Vent Haven’s tiny Xanadu. Here, shelves groaned with Golden Oreos and value-size Lay’s, though the true milk of paradise lived in the mahogany-paneled open bar, staffed by men and women eager to know if you wanted anything, or more of anything, or if you wanted a thing of Fireball with whatever.

Winchell seemed to pose a counterargument against the idea that the solitary body we were given was all we needed. Mahoney was Winch, and Winch, Mahoney. — Tweet

For the next six or so hours, as the room grew deafening, the general shit shooting and shot ripping was punctuated by an endless battle of coltish one-upmanship. It was a multinarrative space, mostly about jobs and what-happened-to-yous and various remorses of the aging body, but the jerky rhythm of the standard stand-up joke (setup statement one → setup statement two, creating an anticipated pattern that deepened setup one → punch line, subverting the expected pattern) zagged through each conversation as inevitably as a rule of grammar.

“So,” went one, “I’ve got a buddy whose wife wanted to do some weight loss surgery — lap-band, gastric bypass, I don’t know what you call it — but her insurance wouldn’t cover it. You know what they do cover? Sex change operations. Turns out you can’t have a thin wife, but you can have a chubby hubby.”

“So,” went another, “the way I see it, we’re furries from here” — and here he measured the distance between his elbow and his fingers — “to here.” He started laughing. “Furries are funny as shit, man. Imagine if one of them was your priest? But I’d know my priest’s legs or arms anywhere. I was an altar boy.”

“Anyway,” went a third, “I want to share something Jimmy said to me earlier. He said, ‘Get out of my way,’ and I thought it was very moving, because I moved.”

One tomato-eyed vent approached me, eyeballing the tag on my chest. “Media,” he announced, squinting at the index card labeled “Media” on a lanyard around my neck. “I thought I smelled something.” Another man, setting down his Bud Light, began catching a swarm of invisible fleas above my head. Another joined to swat him in the forehead.

There was a mysterious sweetness — and a little weird sorrow — in openly acknowledging that some sort of outsider presence at the ConVENTion could be a meaningful cause for concern. One withering Vice special from years ago, two documentaries, and the unshakable cloud of what some vents called “antidummy propaganda” in movies legion with murderous puppets (Magic, 1978; Dead Silence, 2007; et al.) made it an entirely reasonable — if not foregone — conclusion that most of the non-venting population considered ventriloquism a sort of quirky scourge. Add that to Vent Haven’s other obvious hermetic ingredients — its standing as the last sacred place for an outmoded art form, its good-natured but radical disjuncture with modernity — and the presence of any interloper on these grounds understandably threatened a new stench in a long lineage of spoilage.

A man named Dylan stood near the bar, palming a bourbon. Dylan was in fact once one of the focal points of Dumbstruck, a 2010-released, Elon Musk–produced documentary that follows the successes and failures of four members of this very ConVENTion. The documentary is — I now understand — not not a fair representation of the capriciousness of fame in the art form, but it certainly condescends to, even relishes, a deep streak of tragicomedy in tracking the various downfalls of its human characters. Aside from one Las Vegas headliner act, the documentary’s subjects all suffer some breed of genuinely shattering, life-altering indignity on screen (estrangement from family, a grueling divorce, one histrionically disappointed dad), mostly, if not entirely, engined by their passion for puppetry. It did not exactly boost morale.

Dylan, now rattling off his favorite whiskey bars in Erlanger, was dummyless. In the film, he’s 13 — cherubic, creamy cheeked, fatally earnest — chasing stardom with his happy puppet sidekick, Reggie, a ludic pimp. Reggie was big of hat, purple velvet of suit, thickly dreaded, Black — stumbling across this Kentuckian child and his Bush-era minstrelsy routine must have felt, for the documentary team, like hitting the jackpot on the narrative slot machine. “It’s all behind me now, though,” he shrugged. “I’m positive. At least, I try to be.”

No longer does he vent. Reggie rests in a closet at home. Dylan comes to the ConVENTion every year — all fifteen of them since the film’s release — to rejoin the friends who visit annually, to tote his beautiful wife to the open bar, to help break down equipment and set pieces. “I adore that character, though. I wish I had the courage to bring him back out.”

I felt embarrassed, vaguely, but the feeling passed quickly. “Well,” I asked, “does coming so religiously to Vent Haven now” — what with all the dummies, the brotherhood, the successes and travails he watched, now at a remove — “does it feel like you’re learning something different coming here, still?”

Dylan thought for a moment. “As time goes on, I get the feeling that this might die. That’s what makes it more special for me. In the future, nobody’s going to understand what this actually was. The future’s not going to remember it. But I will.”

Together, we watched as an especially old and beloved vent announced his retreat to bed. As he lumbered away, a man seated in the corner on the beer cooler gestured toward the empty door. “He’s going to go upstairs and fart,” he said solemnly. “And tomorrow? That fart’s going to turn into shit.”

Erlanger’s Afternoon Sun was roaring outside the hotel property. The Junior Open Mic, a squirmy lunchtime circus of envy, flair, ambition, stage makeup, and children under 13, was not just — as the generous woman with the twelve-piece Monsterella Stix beside me explained — a little league talent show. This was where we would find out who had the combination of natural and supernatural affinity to become ventriloquism’s new hero. Here, we’d witness those who had learned lip and breath control while still within the brain’s crucial childhood window of plasticity. We would see who’d been granted the God-given facility to vent, sing, maintain pace, orate through a detached third party, split their brain in half, make us laugh, and still not have finished middle school. Here was, in short, where we would find any conceivable hope for the art’s future.

In the front of the stage, three judges sat like sentries, each offering good-natured advice to a 13-year-old from Tennessee. Her leisurewear-wearing parents held their breath as their tween ventriloquist — an actor, a singer, a puppet maker and puppet artist (star-seeking children like these seemed to be as common as barbecue in Nashville) — delivered the 1946 Irving Berlin showtune, “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better,” with her squirrel puppet, Sandy.

“If Broadway was looking for somebody, I see you clearly onstage there,” said one judge. “Is that something you want to do — be on Broadway?”

She approached the mic. “I did want to for a long time, but I believe I’ve since changed my path,” she responded primly.

“Oh, OK. You can also do cruise ships!”

It broke your heart a little bit, to see these insultingly talented kids smash out Truman-era duets and ragtime standards, with the knowledge that there were crowns and pageant banners on display in their rooms, framed on their mantels, populating their elaborate résumés. They were destined for fame that would likely fork away from Vent Haven and the community that roared each time their puppets delivered a line that may as well have been from an out-of-print joke handbook. Against the ConVENTion’s superannuated, with their embittered pleasure in being outcast from time, the children produced an especially jerky juxtaposition.

“I want to share something Jimmy said to me earlier. He said, ‘Get out of my way,’ and I thought it was very moving, because I moved.” — Tweet

A 12-year-old wearing a spangly fuchsia dress gave her matronly grandmother doll a weebly voice (“These days, my back goes out more than I do!” et cetera) to counteract her own candied-cherry one.

“You look terrific,” said one judge, mopping his ample brow. “When you came out it was like: Wow, stunning.”

“Yes, I love the package, and I think the dress fits you very well,” went another, dabbing his own brow. “It separates Granny and you. You’ll go far with this. You have this very” — he paused sententiously — “sweet demeanor.”

The crowd cooed when a 10-year-old boy, also from Tennessee, shuffled onstage with a dummy on each hand. One dummy, Egor, was made to look like the Marty Feldman version of the stock crookback in Young Frankenstein, while the other was a farmer named Dwayne. The boy had an odd and beautifully rough-cut voice: raspy when speaking, soft and a little high through the hick, stony and throaty when through the hunchback.

No sensible chuckling took place during Egor and Dwayne’s performance. The crowd, which somehow felt double its size, shrieked, choked, nearly self-soiled at every utterance made by either of the two. One woman behind me fell heroically out of her chair at the punch line of a climactic zinger. (Egor: “Master, I have an idea!” Dwayne: “You’ve got an idea, or a hunch?”) The boy’s grandfather, a ventriloquist himself, beamed among the sobbing women, vindicated by the power of his genetic payload.

“The only concern I would have for a young man your age is that you have to be very careful with that kind of deep voice. You’ve got to watch out for nodes in your vocal cords,” said one judge. “Keep an eye on that,” he nodded in the direction of the boy’s parents. “But, folks, we are looking at the next Jeff Dunham. I want everyone to make note.”

The comparison to Dunham was no small honor. You may be aware of Jeff Dunham if you were awake in the late aughts and had access to Comedy Central, although the Dallas native still maxes out arena seating capacities with Achmed the Dead Terrorist (a morose jihadist), Jose Jalapeño (a pepper with a mustache and sombrero), Peanut (fey, simian thing), and Walter (a crotchety fart). His comedy — which spans from racially transgressive catchphrases (like Achmed’s, which is “Silence! I kill you!” delivered Middle Easternly) to the sort of truth bombs that shake the foundation of free speech (like when Dunham wishes Walter “Happy Holidays” and Walter responds: “I’ve been wanting to say this for a couple of years now: Screw you, it’s ‘Merry Christmas’!”) — has awarded him, at one point, the ranking of third-highest-paid comedian in the country, and a yet-unbested Guinness World Record in 2014 for “most tickets sold for a stand-up comedy tour.” (He’s also still around: he recently finished a victory lap across North American megadomes and stadiums in his Still Not Canceled tour, which prominently featured a Gen Z puppet that looks at his phone a lot.)

Irrespective, then, of your or my relationship to the artist, Dunham remains one of a palmful of Vent Haven’s prodigal sons — raised right here at the ConVENTion, a surreal megacelebrity homegrown from these small fields — permanently adored, messianic, and with no exaggeration sacred, at least here in this room.

“I want us all to remember this moment,” continued the judge. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re watching a master in the making here.”

Burt Was One Of Those Hollywood types restored from the ’70s: head to toe in a kelly-green sweatsuit, a pavé chain, a gold piece on each pinky, and a voice like Jerry Stiller’s in the middle of an argument. Burt was human, pacing the stage, and looked like he was about to cry.

Before us was a black-and-white video featuring a man named Paul Winchell and his tiny dummy, Jerry Mahoney. Little Jerry was a street urchin — his cinnamon hair combed for church, houndstooth microtux worn reluctantly — but a wisecracker, a sort of bat-wielding Brooklynite that Winchell, a Rockwellian father, sternly loved in his lap.

Winchell was a genuine lulu of the form, and a kind of ventriloquial da Vinci. One of the original inventors of the artificial heart, a patent holder for a portable blood-plasma defroster, invisible garter belt, retractable fountain pen, and an innovative method for breeding tilapia, Winchell, with Mahoney, also functionally shaped the medium of children’s programming.

Burt, who powerhouse-produced much of the daytime television of the ’80s and ’90s, roamed the stage like a jungle cat. Burt and Winch — as he called him — were joined by the sort of friendship that first came from admiration, then grew into a sort of mutual pethood. “I want to welcome you to a few of the — and I’ll use the word ‘magical’ here — magical things that he was capable of.”

On-screen Winch and Jerry, as part of a Christmas special from 1953, sat before a series of handbells.

“Now, just watch the hands,” Burt went. “We don���t know how he did this, but we do know one thing: it was live. He knew no other way.”

Winch and Jerry were in the middle of something impossible. Spellbindingly — sweetly, snowily — they operated the bells in a rhythm that was not only synchronized to the delicate flutter of the music, but the squall above them, the windy midcentury chorale, and one another. The shivering trees, the swaying branches, Mahoney’s right arm, Winch’s left arm, the ten bells before them — all was unified, adamantine. Winch’s dimples clung to a deep tissue in his cheek.

The children seemed to inherently grasp the complex psychodramatic relationship they shared with their dummies — they were not sidekick, nor instrument, nor prop, but extension of brain and self. — Tweet

All this swirled into something like high math or low wizardry, and to savor the — and I will use the word — magic here did not require any suspension of disbelief. For the first time since I’d arrived, the delicious oneness of ventriloquism — an idea I assumed was a conspiracy, or that I was immune to and would never understand — was before me. Winchell seemed to pose a counterargument against the idea that the solitary body we were given was all we needed. Mahoney was Winch, and Winch, Mahoney.

“Jerry Mahoney is representative of the child that lives inside of us,” Burt continued, bringing a tissue to the corners of his mouth, his eyes. “No one cared that Jerry was a puppet. Nobody cared that there was a strip of leather under his skin, that his eyes weren’t lined up all the time. He had a sense of sophistication. Truth.”

Given the quantity of Jerry Mahoney replicas seated on the laps of the audience before me, I had the sense that this was not a rare attitude, this Winch-love. But it felt like a secret on the brink of vanishment. Custody battles between Winchell and his producers, who withheld rights to a vast terra of some of his most boggling and magnetic performances, had resulted in a partial legacy, mostly eroded.

“All those live tapes from Winchell-Mahoney Time?!” Burt shouted, pointing both hands upward toward the roof. “Forget about them! Poof! Gone! Dunzo! What the hell can you do.”

Night Again. Nigel, who performed with Cindy Hot Chocolate, was standing near the entrance of the Dealers’ Rooms, Vent Haven’s puppet bazaar. He cradled a Tiffany-blue dragon in reading glasses with both of his large hands. “A new member of the family,” he said, holding it out for me. I met its eyes and rubbed its fat stomach in a gesture of congratulations. Nigel concentrated on the dragon, waiting for some presence of character — a name, a vocation, neuroses — to take hold and inhabit the dummy with substance. Several seconds passed. “He smokes,” I suggested. “Weed.”

“A stoner,” he nodded. “Good. Hookah too. Maybe he runs a vape store.” He tried on several languorous voices. “Hey, I got edibles,” he said, putting the dragon’s face near my ear. “Edibles, flower, I got it all.”

Rocco’s vent was trying to get my attention near a box of pizza that now looked like the leftovers of a major surgery. “Hey, Media!” he shouted. (Throughout the night, my title had undergone two re-christenings, from “Media Girl” to just “Media,” then pronounced Medea, as in the sorceress of Greek tragedy, or the title character in Tyler Perry’s ten-film franchise.)

I was pulled into a discussion about prime-time television — quibbles about America’s Got Talent, seemingly the only remaining path to mainstream ventriloquial stardom, loomed large here — but I had a nagging question, a formal question. Can a ventriloquist ever make drama outside of the mildly angry buddy comedy?

Monologuing, mused one. Dummies that don’t let their vent talk, said another. But if both speak, the dummy has to win, right? The everlasting ire, the fiery friction, all that? “That’s the point,” shrugged Vinnie, the Hospitality Room heavy.

“I tried a two-headed dummy once,” he offered. “Siamese twins. One was gay, and one was straight. That didn’t really solve anything.”

Some Soggy Hours Later, we found ourselves seated midway through the midnight open mic. Onstage someone was singing “The Rainbow Connection,” and the entire audience was yelling along, most in faithful imitations of Jim Henson’s Kermit. Rocco’s vent leaned over our laps. “I’m just never going to grow old!” he screamed. “Never going to get old!”

I asked a British vent, Shane, if a puppet had ever made him cry. “I suppose I’ve been close,” he whispered loudly as a pair of Japanese vents took the stage. “Why do they do that, I’m not sure. Suppose you can absorb something so fully, it touches you.”

“Shit,” announced a former firefighter from Missouri to my right. “I’ve cried. Lots of us need a coping mechanism. From womanizing, to alcoholism, to gambling, to drugs. This kept me alive. I just quit the force — I’m 53 — because too many of my friends were dropping like flies. If I’m dead at 65, what’s the sweet spot I’m shooting for? How long should I get to live?”

This seemed to be a shared concern. Shane told me a story about how a ventriloquist — one who would later perform for George W. Bush and Queen Elizabeth — locked himself in a room for three days in his first ConVENTion sometime in the ’80s. Hotel security was asked to open the door because people were worried he’d hanged himself. “My first time here, I broke down and wept in my room, too. Talking about this is such a shame, because I don’t know when I’ll be back again. I’ve been coming for years, and everyone here’s such family, but” — he was cut off — “it’s Cookie!”

It was Cookie. Beloved Cookie — queenly, devastating, powerful Cookie — was onstage. A longtime vent with a saintly halo of hair made platinum under the stage lights, Cookie had an upsettingly moving speaking voice, like a girl’s and a woman’s at once. Whoops showered from front to back of the house when she smiled.

“So as some of you may know, my husband Tim and I used to come to the convention,” she began, pausing as the racket settled. She cleared her throat.

“Last year, as some of you also may know, he passed away. I’ve been in bereavement and support groups, and I wrote a book called Grief Steps: The Path, which is actually on sale in the Dealers’ Rooms. If someone you know needs encouragement or positivity after loss, it’s there. The main thing that I just wanted to do was thank everyone for all the love and support and comfort I’ve gotten here. I just don’t know what I’d do or who and where I’d be without you all.”

Rocco’s vent hollered “WE LOVE YOU COOKIE!” The rest of the audience ran with it, making it into a sort of hymnal. “COOKIE . . . COOKIE . . . COOKIE!!”

She and her tiny puppet — something that looked like a mango from my seat — broke into “Friendship,” the Cole Porter show tune from 1939, though they duetted it like Judy Garland and Johnny Mercer had in 1940. “If you ever lose your mind, I’ll be kind,” Cookie sang,

And if you ever lose your shirt, I’ll be hurt,

If you’re ever in a mill and get sawed in half, I won’t laugh

It’s friendship, friendship

Just a perfect blendship

When other friendships have been forgot

Ours will still be hot

A-lottle-dottle-dottle-dig-dig-dig

Eyes leaked all over the place. We continued chanting “COOKIE” as she walked offstage, rising for her ovation, banging on the plastic of the seats before and behind us. Someone beside me, either a doll or a human child, tapped me on the hip to bend down, and a hand, soft as a glove, rose to wipe my face.

“My Name Is Egor, and my name is Jaxon,” said one child, the first in the circle of plastic seats.

“My name is Puppet, and my name is Georgine,” said the second.

Junior Vent University is a sacred zone at Vent Haven, one of the most well-protected domains in the building. (“Usually, we don’t let any adults in on this class,” one of the instructors told me the day prior. “Parents can’t even attend, and we keep the doors locked — we just want to make sure the kids feel really, really safe. But,” he added, “it helps that you’re a woman. Just saying.”)

“I’ll go!” said a teacher. “My name is Chloe, and my name is Lynn.”

“I’m Barbie Q. Chicken. I’m 4, a little bit of a diva — and when I see chicken being cooked, I do say curse words,” said another.

Her 9-year-old keeper looked up.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t had coffee today, so I’m not really awake yet.”

“No problem, honey. And you?” asked the instructor.

“My puppet is named Deadly Sally,” said a puny girl in a ponytail.

“Why Deadly Sally?”

“Because she tried to kill my sister,” she smiled.

The children ranged from consummate to highly eager. On one side of the spectrum were the pageant kids, the America’s Got Talent fast-trackers, all disciplined and carefully coached. The others had bought their first puppet months prior, or yesterday. Every child cradled their puppet like a parent with a toddler, basketing it by butt or back, and seemed pleased to burst into ventriloquial practice phrases (“ny nother Nary has nany nonkeys,” a favorite) without prompting. I had the sense that this environment was more serious and rigorous than any session geared at those at least triple the median age in the room.

“We have to make people believe that this is a two-character play,” announced another instructor, sweating charismatically through his Hawaiian shirt. “If we don’t believe that he’s a real person, we have a problem. Remember this phrase — you’re ‘committing to a bit.’ You’re switching their minds into your world. Treat your act and your puppet with great dignity.”

Even more than at the Junior Open Mic, it was glaringly obvious that puppetry, like sports or foreign languages, is a practice best taken up before puberty. Nowhere did I witness the guardsmen at the gates of the mind — those responsible for self-consciousness and self-doubt — more swiftly outsmarted, pacified, or outright killed than in that room. And the children seemed to inherently grasp the complex psychodramatic relationship they shared with their dummies — they were not sidekick, nor instrument, nor prop, but extension of brain and self.

“I want someone to try and say a hard sentence in front of the class,” said one instructor, by way of her pigtailed doll. “Let’s try F! ‘Phil and Frank went to the fair!!’” She careened her puppet’s face before a child with a plush toad and a terrific stutter.

As though only he and his doll existed — no fellow kid vents, no teachers, no history, no future, no box of Rice Krispies waiting for him at break time in the corner — he heroically strangled the alien consonant. “Phil and Frank went to the fair,” he said, satin-smoothly. “And I wasn’t invited.”

Seven Minutes East of the Holiday Inn is the long-awaited Vent Haven Museum, which is part graveyard and part melancholy pornographic facility for the devoted ventriloquist. The chartered school bus that would take us there was already humming with action by the time I boarded. A puppet maker beside me saluted the driver with a clap on the back of his seat.

“Everyone, this is Jack,” he went. “Everyone, say ‘Hi, Jack!’”

“HI, JACK!” we obliged.

Jack hit the gas and looked into the mirror. “Don’t say that around the airport.”

The rooms of William Shakespeare Berger’s refurbished suburban home bulged with the generous gifts of many dead vents. Victorian-era dummies peered patiently from their station. Mammy dolls, various ethnic minstrels, and puppets simply marked “Chinamen” loomed solemnly. One splashy placard explained a series of numinous wooden figures that had washed ashore after their owner — last seen traveling by tugboat from Tabasco to Yucatán — drowned in a shipwreck. There were legions of German devils, an exquisite six-foot pussycat, one wooden bunny carved by a nervous soldier floating somewhere off the coast of Vietnam. The Hitler dummy is supposedly in storage and never put on display.

Puppet comes from the Latin pupa, which is not only the root for the French word for doll, but also the name for the cocooned insect in a post-larval state. Not alive, not dead — not unconscious, not conscious. Kentucky, which has those glossy black roads and Grant Woodian horizons of curly trees, barns, and ponies, was a dignified vantage to reckon with the undeadedness we witnessed. My seatmate, who introduced himself as a vent of forty years, splayed his wallet to show me photos of him shaking hands with Jeff Dunham, Bill Clinton, Donald Trump. “I have a Winchell heart,” he said, proudly. “I flatlined for twelve minutes on an operating table. Winchell saved my life.”

“Those dummies are a communion,” he explained, as the highway swished outside. “My grandmother, a medicine woman, spoke to the dead. What you saw is a little like that. We speak through those figures, but they speak to us.”

The thin daytime moon hovered above us. We whizzed past a Chinese restaurant, a fruit stand, a morgue, acreage of two-star hotels. I asked if he’d heard voices in his head when not with a puppet.

“I am a lifelong resident of that planet,” he said, smiling and squeezing my hand. “I believe I’ve been given many gifts.”

The Pool, which was ten meters long and viscous from saliva, was an unbeautiful place to swim, though lying by it, in the company of a small team of children warring like a gang of weasels in the water, offered a clear view of the hallway that funneled toward the checkout desk.

As the children tried to suffocate each other, and their mother — someone’s mother — entered with a placating bag of sandwiches, I wondered if there was a weasel in me. Maybe it was a nightingale, or a donkey, or a meatball — maybe a tiny Brooklynite with a big heart and a bad attitude. I waved to all of them as they passed by the window. One vent put his puppy dummy’s paw against the glass and made him mouth what I assume was “bye!” with such an expression of martyred tenderness that the children began yelling again.

All love is an outcry of secret recognition, I supposed. If man suspected a mystical symmetry not found in the mirror, why not seek out the thing that balanced it best? Why not split the heavy onus of being? Wouldn’t the practice of a shackled, stupider voice add truth to the one we had when we let our lips flap freely?

The gospel of Vent Haven, I considered from the deck chair, was like any faith or art. It shared in the belief that the whole language of the human spirit was huger, vaster, more wild and sprawling than what could be kept in flesh. Its congregation, surrendering to this idea, spoke in tongues. It demanded courage, tested patience, had saints and, like any faith, no need for justification. All it asked was a commitment to its bit.

“Ny nother Nary has nany nonkeys!” shrieked a girl in a pistachio one-piece. Her scuba mask made it hard to tell if I’d seen her in the Junior Vent classroom the day prior. “Nany nonkeys!” she shouted. “Nany nonkeys!”

A very small boy, standing on her left in a pair of swim underwear, mouthed the words privately to himself as he studied her screams.

[editorialistcom]

Embrace the Timeless Elegance of Preppy Style

Preppy style is a fashion trend that has stood the test of time, evolving from its origins in Ivy League schools to become a staple in modern wardrobes. Known for its clean lines, classic colors, and youthful appeal, preppy style is both polished and easy to wear. Here’s a look at what makes preppy style so enduring and how you can incorporate it into your wardrobe.

The Origins of Preppy Style

Preppy style originated in the early 20th century among students at American preparatory schools and Ivy League universities. These students adopted a look that was both sophisticated and practical, drawing inspiration from traditional sports like tennis, golf, and sailing. The style was characterized by items such as button-down shirts, knit sweaters, and loafers, which have remained iconic pieces in preppy fashion.

Key Elements of Preppy Style

Button-Down Shirts: A staple in any preppy wardrobe, button-down shirts are versatile and can be dressed up or down. Opt for classic colors like white, blue, or pastel shades.

Knit Sweaters: Whether it’s a cable-knit sweater or a simple crewneck, knit sweaters are essential for layering and adding texture to your outfit.

Blazers and Sport Coats: These pieces add a touch of sophistication and are perfect for both casual and formal occasions. Look for blazers in neutral tones or classic patterns like houndstooth and plaid.

Chinos and Khakis: These trousers are a cornerstone of preppy style. They are comfortable, versatile, and can be paired with almost anything.

Loafers and Boat Shoes: Footwear is crucial in completing the preppy look. Loafers and boat shoes are both stylish and practical, perfect for a variety of settings.

Accessories: Minimalist accessories like a classic watch, a leather belt, and a simple tote bag can enhance your preppy outfit without overwhelming it.

Modernizing Preppy Style

While the traditional elements of preppy style remain popular, modern interpretations have introduced new twists. Designers like Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger have kept the preppy aesthetic alive by incorporating contemporary trends and materials. Today, preppy style is less about adhering to a strict uniform and more about expressing individuality through classic pieces.

How to Wear Preppy Style

Casual Day Out: Pair a button-down shirt with chinos and loafers for a relaxed yet polished look. Add a knit sweater for extra warmth and style.

Office Ready: Opt for a blazer over a crisp white shirt and tailored trousers. Complete the look with a pair of classic loafers and a leather briefcase.

Weekend Vibes: A polo shirt with khaki shorts and boat shoes is perfect for a laid-back weekend. Accessorize with a straw hat and sunglasses for a touch of summer flair.

Conclusion

Preppy style is a timeless fashion trend that combines elegance, comfort, and versatility. By incorporating key pieces like button-down shirts, knit sweaters, and loafers, you can create a variety of looks that are both classic and contemporary. Explore the world of preppy fashion and find your unique take on this enduring style.

….

View more: https://editorialist.com/fashion/preppy-style-guide/

[uniteddonationhelp]

AMVET Donations

When it comes to supporting our veterans, every little bit helps. One of the most impactful ways you can make a difference is through AMVETS donations. This organization has been dedicated to assisting veterans and their families for decades. By simply giving away items you no longer need, you can contribute to programs that directly benefit those who have served our country.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>AMVET Donations<<<<<<<<<<<<<

But what exactly can you donate? And how does your support help improve the lives of veterans? In this blog post, we’ll explore the various items accepted by AMVETS, their rating as an organization, pickup schedules for your convenience, tax benefits for donors, and the profound impact your generosity has on veterans' lives. Dive in and discover how easy it is to turn clutter into a meaningful contribution!

Items that AMVETS Accept for Donation

AMVETS accepts a wide range of items for donation, including:

1. Clothing and Shoes: They accept gently used clothing and shoes for men, women, and children. This includes items such as pants, shirts, dresses, jackets, and shoes.

2. Household Items: AMVETS accepts household items such as dishes, utensils, pots and pans, small appliances (in good working condition), bedding, towels, curtains, and other household decor.

3. Furniture: They accept furniture in good condition such as sofas, chairs, tables, dressers, bed frames, and mattresses (in good condition).

4. Electronics: AMVETS accepts electronics that are in good working condition such as TVs (flat screens only), CD/DVD players, stereos, computers/laptops (5 years old or newer), tablets/e-readers (5 years old or newer), and cell phones.

5. Books/Media: They accept books (hardcover or paperback) in good condition as well as DVDs/CDs/video games.

6. Sports Equipment: AMVETS accepts sports equipment in good condition such as bicycles (adult size only), golf clubs/bags/sets/accessories/balls/gloves/carts/rangefinders/sunglasses/hats/shoes/grips/tees/shirts/pants, tennis rackets/balls/strings/grips/shoes/clothing, soccer balls/cleats/jerseys/shin guards/goals/nets, footballs/helmets/pads/jerseys/cleats/socks, basketballs/shirts/shorts/sneakers.

7. Tools: They accept tools in good working condition such as hand tools, power tools, and gardening equipment.

8. Toys: AMVETS accepts toys in good condition such as board games, puzzles, dolls/action figures, building blocks/legos, cars/trucks/trains/plane sets, and outdoor play equipment (sandbox/swing sets).

9. Small Household Items: They also accept small household items in good condition such as lamps/light fixtures, rugs/carpeting (clean), wall art/mirrors/picture frames/decorative items.

10. Vehicles: AMVETS accepts vehicles including cars, trucks, boats (with trailers), motorcycles (must have title and be in running condition).

It's best to check with your local AMVETS location for any additional restrictions or guidelines on what items they accept.  

What is the rating of AMVETS?

AMVETS, or American Veterans, is a well-respected nonprofit organization dedicated to serving the needs of veterans across the United States. Ratings for such organizations often come from independent evaluators who assess their financial health and impact. AMVETS has consistently received positive reviews for its commitment to transparency and effective use of funds.

One notable rating source is Charity Navigator, which evaluates nonprofits on various criteria including accountability and integrity. AMVETS typically scores high in these areas, reflecting its dedication to both ethical practices and service delivery. This level of scrutiny ensures that donors can trust their contributions are making a real difference.

Additionally, organizations like Guidestar offer insights into AMVETS’ operations by providing information about its missions and finances. Many donors look for these ratings before giving because they want reassurance that their support will lead to tangible benefits for veterans.

The overall reputation of AMVETS as a reliable charity contributes significantly to its ability to attract donations. When potential donors see these favorable ratings, they feel more inclined to contribute resources towards supporting veterans' programs and initiatives.

AMVETS Pickup Schedule

AMVETS makes donating easy with its convenient pickup schedule. Donors can arrange for a pickup right from their homes, saving time and effort. This service is especially beneficial for individuals who may not have the means to transport items themselves.

To schedule a pickup, donors can visit the AMVETS website or call their local chapter. The process is straightforward; you’ll provide your address and details about the items you wish to donate. After that, AMVETS will confirm a date and time for collection.

The pickups typically occur during weekdays, but some locations may offer weekend options as well. It’s important to check availability in your area since schedules might vary across different states or regions.

When preparing for pickup, ensure your donations are packed securely and accessible on the day of collection. By following these simple steps, you can support veterans while making it easy for yourself to give back through AMVET donations.

Tax Benefits for Donors

Making amvet donations can be both a generous act and a smart financial decision. Donating to AMVETS, a nonprofit organization dedicated to serving veterans, often qualifies for tax deductions. This means that you may be able to reduce your taxable income by the value of the items you donate.

To claim this deduction, it's important to keep detailed records of your donations. You should document the items donated along with their fair market values. Having receipts or acknowledgment letters from AMVETS can also help substantiate your claims when filing taxes.

It's beneficial to note that not all donations are treated equally under tax laws. Generally, clothing and household goods in good condition are eligible for deductions, while other types of contributions may have different rules. Always consult IRS guidelines or a tax professional for specific advice tailored to your situation.

By contributing items you no longer need while potentially lowering your tax bill, you make an impact on both personal finances and the lives of veterans needing support—an excellent way to give back without compromising financial health.

Impact of Donations on Veterans' Lives

Donations to AMVETS play a crucial role in transforming the lives of veterans. Each contribution, whether big or small, directly supports programs designed for their well-being. These initiatives often include job training, mental health resources, and educational scholarships that help veterans reintegrate into civilian life.

Many veterans face challenges after serving our country. They may struggle with transitioning back to daily routines and finding stable employment. By donating goods or funds to AMVETS, supporters provide vital assistance that can lead to sustainable careers and improved quality of life.

Additionally, donations aid in providing essential services such as housing support and medical care. Accessing these resources allows veterans to focus on healing rather than worrying about basic needs. This kind of security is invaluable for those who have sacrificed so much.

Moreover, the camaraderie fostered by donation-driven community events helps combat feelings of isolation among veterans. Engaging with fellow service members creates a strong network where they can share experiences and support each other’s journeys toward recovery. Such connections are fundamental in enhancing overall well-being.

Conclusion

When considering amvet donations, it’s clear that your contributions can have a profound impact on the lives of veterans and their families. By donating items like clothing, household goods, and vehicles to AMVETS, you not only declutter your space but also support essential programs aimed at helping those who served our country.

The organization has garnered positive ratings for its transparency and effectiveness in utilizing donations. With convenient pickup schedules available, it’s easier than ever to make a difference without leaving your home.

Additionally, donors benefit from tax deductions when they give to AMVETS. This financial incentive enhances the appeal of donating while providing crucial resources that help veterans reintegrate into civilian life successfully.

Your generosity plays a vital role in changing lives. Every item donated contributes directly to improving services for veterans across the nation. Engaging with AMVETS through donations is more than just giving; it's about standing by those who stood for us.

FAQs

What items does AMVETS accept for donation?

AMVETS accepts a wide range of items, including clothing, household goods, small appliances, electronics, furniture, and more. However, they do not accept large appliances, hazardous materials, or items in poor condition. It's best to check with your local AMVETS chapter for specific guidelines.

How do I schedule a donation pick-up with AMVETS?

You can schedule a donation pick-up with AMVETS by visiting their website and using the online scheduling tool or by calling their toll-free number. You can choose a convenient date and time for the pick-up, and AMVETS will come to your home to collect your donations.

Are donations to AMVETS tax-deductible?

Yes, donations to AMVETS are tax-deductible. After making a donation, you will receive a receipt that you can use for tax purposes. Be sure to keep the receipt as it serves as proof of your donation.

Can I donate a vehicle to AMVETS?

Yes, AMVETS accepts vehicle donations, including cars, trucks, motorcycles, boats, and RVs. The process is simple: fill out an online form, and AMVETS will arrange for a free tow. The proceeds from the sale of the vehicle will support AMVETS programs.

Where do my donations go, and who benefits from them?

Your donations to AMVETS help fund programs that support veterans and their families. This includes assistance with job training, healthcare, education, and more. By donating, you directly contribute to improving the lives of veterans across the country.

[jimmydemaret]

Hartmann 105166-4652, Natural Tweed, One Size

Hartmann 105166-4652, Natural Tweed, One Size

From Amazon Hartmann Golf Shoe Bag. Hartmann 105166-4652, Natural Tweed, One Size.

Hartmann Golf Shoe Bag – Today’s Cheap Price [price_with_discount]

Limited Stock Hartmann Golf Shoe Bag, Hartmann 105166-4652, Natural Tweed, One Size.

USD$640.00

  [ad_1]

Hartmann 105166-4652, Natural Tweed, One Size

Shop for Promo Price. Hartmann 105166-4652, Natural Tweed, One Size

Don’t miss trending items…

[beardedmrbean]

In Finnish, the term "kiekko" means puck or disc, and it's quite well-known that people in Finland go a bit wild over the sport played with a puck.

However, another kiekko sport has taken Finland by storm in the past few decades, but it isn't played with a puck, sticks or even on ice. It's played with a disc.

Disc golf, also known as Frisbee golf, is a big deal in Finland.

Featuring more than 800 of the courses across the country, Finland has the second-largest per-capita number of disc golf courses in the world, surpassed only by Iceland, according to a survey by disc golf statistics tracker Udisc (siirryt toiseen palveluun).

So it should come as no surprise that the Disc Golf European Open in Nokia, Finland has become one of the premiere professional disc golf tournaments in the world and the largest of its kind in Europe.

Switching out clubs for discs

The sport is similar to traditional golf, just with a few adjustments. Forgoing clubs, balls and holes, players try to get discs into baskets with hanging chains in as few attempts as possible. The same terminology is used as well—"birdie", "eagle" and "fore" are all borrowed from the original version of the sport.

Depending on the type of shot, players also switch out discs, often named by their counterparts from traditional golf clubs—"driver" and "putter". And while not as bulky as traditional golf bags, some players even have caddies of their own to help them carry their arsenals of discs.

Although they might seem similar, the style differs greatly from traditional golf—the Disc Golf European Open's sponsors included barefoot shoes, a popular Nordic tabletop game and, of course, numerous disc manufacturers.

At this point though, Finland now has more disc golf courses than traditional golf courses. There are a few reasons behind the sport's meteoric rise in Finland. Compared to other sports it is relatively inexpensive—for both equipment and use of the courses.

The sport caters to players of different skill levels, is family-friendly, and a way for people to get outside. Additionally, unlike traditional golf courses, disc golf can be played in forests, rather than carefully manicured fairways and greens—suiting Finland's natural terrain quite well.

Helsinki's roaming forest reindeer released back into the wild

Finnish minister not concerned about Italian governor's request to delay Nato ratification

Thousands in attendance

Originally hosted in Tampere in 2006, the event started being held at the Nokia disc golf course—also known as "the Beast"—in 2011. The 18-hole course is challenging, littered with obstacles and offers elite players a chance to truly test their skills.

The logo for Europe's preeminent disc golf tournament is a lion in mid-roar—a nod to Finland's coat of arms and ice hockey team and to remind competitors that this is no walk in the park. This year, the prize purse has grown to 100,000 euros, with a first place payout of 12,000 euros.

If someone could be found responsible for the rise of the sport in Finland, it might be Jussi Meresmaa, the Disc Golf European Open's brainchild.

He's a former professional disc golf player as well as the owner and founder of Discmania, a firm that's one of the event's primary sponsors.

Meresmaa said he was optimistic about the turnout for the event.

"Yesterday we had more than a thousand people, and today we expect more than two thousand, with more coming for the finals this weekend," he told Yle News on Friday.

The event takes place over the course of days with the competition starting on Thursday and ending on Sunday. People of all ages, especially families and kids, come to see some of the sport's top talents.

Disc golf's biggest names

Paige Pierce, an American professional disc golfer from Texas, has won the women's event twice— first in 2013 and again in 2019. She said few countries are better hosts for the sport than Finland.

Pierce said that during the player's meeting Meresmaa told the tournament participants that disc golf is extremely popular in Finland. Meresmaa confirmed that according to a VTT survey, disc golf was the number one hobby for 28 percent of Finnish school children.

As fans approached her to autograph her line of branded discs, Pierce said it was good to be back in Finland.

"It's great to be in the community of people that love disc golf so much," Pierce added in between scribbling out signatures for her admirers.

Another American player, Kat Mertsch from the US state of Arkansas, told Yle that this was her first time visiting Finland, but she already loved the country's enthusiasm for disc golf.

"It's not like this back in the States, it's more seen as a sport here. Americans are like, 'Frisbee, we're gonna go throw the frisbee around the park!'" she said gleefully.

"While here [in Finland] it's like, 'We are going to compete in disc golf,'" she said, in a more stoic voice.

Mertsch added that Finland's appreciation of disc golf is what the sport needs.

"They are really into it. It's good to see. It's good for the growth of the sport," Mertsch enthused.

Playing on home turf was Finland's Heidi Laine, who liked having the Disc Golf European Open return this year.

"It's great to play in front of family and friends and this is a really great event," Laine said.

While Pierce was ranked in second on Friday and Mertsch tied for third, Finland's very own Eveliina Salonen led the women's division with a total of four under par.

On Sunday, Pierce took the lead to win the open for her third time, coming in with a score of 12 over par, edging out Salonen's 15.

The men's competition also had its fair share of the sport's biggest names. American Paul McBeth, the five-time champion of the event, battled it out against his toughest competitor yet in the appropriately named Eagle McMahon, also an American. By the end of Friday, McMahon was leading with a total of 24 under par against McBeth's -23.

By the end of Saturday, both were tied with -32 as they looked to settle the score on Sunday.

Making his debut appearance in the open and his first visit to Finland was American Brodie Smith, one of the sport's most well-known players.

Smith started his career playing ultimate, a team sport that is also played with a disc, albeit a different style. His trick shot videos (siirryt toiseen palveluun) have garnered millions of views on YouTube. After a professional ultimate career plagued by injuries and a brief stint on the American TV reality series The Amazing Race, Smith decided to make the switch to disc golf in 2020 and try his luck at the professional circuit.

While admitting that he has to put in a lot of work on his game, Smith said it was great to play in Finland.

"The weather's great, it's awesome playing a tournament where the fairways are lined with fans, and it's an awesome course too," Smith told Yle News.

Smith, and many other players, were not surprised by Finland's enthusiasm for disc golf, as at this point the Nordic country's interest in the sport is well known.

"I looked at past tournaments out here, so I kind of had an idea there would be a lot of people" Smith explained, adding that at most tournaments only top groups have followings, but in Nokia there are spectators throughout the course.

Smith clarified that it wasn't just the number of fans, but how young they were.

"I think that's the craziest thing out here is just the amount of kids that come out. A lot of the pro tour events back home [in the US] it's mostly people over the age of 20, so seeing all the kids out here it just shows you that the sport is growing and it's probably going to get bigger and bigger out here," Smith noted.

Fans from near and far

The open tournament also attracts fans from around the world and thousands of enthusiasts came to Friday's event.

Sven, from Germany, said that he and his girlfriend arrived by camper van to take in the action.

"No," he laughed, "disc golf is nowhere near as big in Germany as it is in Finland."

This sentiment was shared by most spectators, revelling in how Nokia had turned into the centre of the disc golf world for a few days.

Per Stalås came from Stockholm to see the action. A disc golf aficionado and player, he also owns a store that sells disc golf gear in Sweden.

"Just the opportunity to see these people play live, it's a big step up from YouTube," he joked from the VIP section near the eighteenth and final hole of the course.

Duncan Ross came all the way to Nokia from northern British Columbia, Canada. He stopped in Nokia during a trip around Europe, but said this was the most important event on his itinerary.

"Sure seeing Europe is great, but this is truly something special. It's some of the best disc golf in the world and the atmosphere here is amazing," a smiling Ross told Yle News.

But not everyone had to travel from afar to watch the spectacle. A local Nokia resident, Seija, came out to view the event from her apartment which overlooks "the Beast". She said it was good to see the Tampere suburb host the event.

"It brings people from all over the world and it's interesting to watch. Before the event came to Nokia, I'd never heard of the sport, but now I always look forward," Seija said.

[playboysaleen]

Love Malady.

Summary: Daughter of the notorious gang of thieves. One day your brothers group kidnap a nobel woman. Feeling guilt you gave her warm clothes, tended to her injuries, and helped her escape. instantly the world falls under a deadly pandemic and is killing/infecting people left to right and you are the only one who is immune. All because you saved a girl years ago coming to find out... it was the goddess of death(Famine).

Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, violence. (if theres more feel free to just let me know.)

word count: 1,980 (around there)

Ya’ll this is my first Wanda story(first ever on here) so bare with me. thank you. 

its in first person(ill learn 2nd person soon)

__________________________________

February 12th, 2017. 

God, I hate the rain. The sounds of the droplets banging against the roof outside my window is a wonderful way to keep me up. A loud crash rang throughout the room I laid causing a yelp to fall from my lips. 

            “Y/n?” my brother's voice was heard from the door that seemed to be miles away from my bed. His tall silhouette approached my nightstand switching on the lamp. The brightness that lit the whole room could light a whole village in this type of storm and night we’re in. 

        “Thunderstorm.” he humbled taking a seat at the end of my bed. I gazed at the window that painted streaks of clear droplets. 

        “So, what did dad make you and your group do this time?” I whispered, fumbling with my fingers. A sigh fell from his lips knowing how much I hated the deeds my father does, but it's our lives now. 

        “We crashed a business party.” He answered by handing a beautiful Rolex watch that held so many diamonds that cost more than the house we were in. 

            “Jaime! You know how risky that is right?” I raised my voice, swiping the blanket off my body walking towards my closet. I opened the doors rummaging through my hoodies finding a white Nike pullover throwing it on. I pointed at the black warmups next to Jaime, he stood up grabbing them, tossing my way. I slipped on my black running shoes heading downstairs. 

          “Wait Y/n!” Jaime shouted, sprinting from his position which was late by a second when a cry was heard from the entertainment room downstairs. I glanced at Jaime making sure he saw the glare I gave him as I made my way downstairs. 

       “At least put on a mask- you know how dad is with you and me.” He begged, handing me a mask which I snatched with a frustrated sigh. I placed on the face mask heading towards the door as another cry rang out the room. 

    “Oh we’d be dead if Mr. Rome was here.” the figure spoke turning his head towards the smaller figure standing in front of the stranger tied to the chair. 

       “But he's not.” the smaller guy breathed out picking up his hand sending another hit towards the “criminal”. I barged in pushing the small figure full force into the bar sending him over the top landing onto his shoulder. I turned towards the taller man which completely surprised me, 

        “Got damnit Adam!” I growled sending a hit towards the younger yet taller boy. I looked forward to the stranger with a bag over their head, examining them which sparked my curiosity seeing woman-like features. I grabbed the bag and gently lifted it making eye contact with the horrified woman. Her emerald green eyes filled with tears stared back into mine, I gasped not knowing what to do. Her eyes spoke a million words to me yet I could not find one to say. My hand moved towards her gently placing it against her cheek, she shuddered under my touch but it was not happiness nor relief. It was pure fear. 

       “It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.” i reassured her not breaking eye contact letting her read me knowing my true intentions. Soon she nodded, I returned the gesture standing up facing the two boys with an emotionless expression.

            “Take off your masks.” I spoke- 

    “But Y/n-” I walked towards now seeing his face; Buck, grabbing the back of his neck squeezing down onto his pressure point. A cry dripped from his mouth as I faced him towards the terrified woman. 

                 “She is a woman! What did I mention to you all when you were introduced to the group? Hmm?” I asked pressing deeper into his pressure point causing him to grunt. I shoved his neck so his eyes can lock onto the woman's injured face. 

                 “WHAT DID I SAY BUCK?” I yelled, causing the woman to flinch at how loud I was but I didn't care, they're gonna get taught a lesson. He whimpered under my touch letting fearful tears fall from his eyes. I looked up towards Jaime nodding my head towards Adam, Jaime grabbed Adam placing him on his knees next to a crying Buck that stood in front of the girl. 

             “Respect the ones who mean no harm. We are not strays, we are survivors.” Buck spoke between his tears. I let go of his pressure point sending him to the ground, I huffed loudly looking towards Jaime with disappointed eyes. 

                   “But now since you don't have the right mind to follow those simple rules-” i spoke softly ripping off Adams mask then proceeding to Bucks. Snatching their hoods back to show their whole identity, Jaime placed his hand on my shoulder which I shoved off.

              “Now apologize.” Adam was the first to apologize with a small head bow, I nodded to him letting him leave the room. Buck remained quiet breathing heavily, I pushed his back awaiting his apology which nothing happened. 

          “I don’t owe you anything.” Buck spat towards the quiet woman spitting towards her feet. I grabbed the back of his shirt and sent him back first towards the wall, I grabbed the golf club swinging towards his knee. Screaming in agony clutching his knee I dropped the club sending blows towards his face. Jaime jumped between Buck and i knowing he had enough, i huffed fixing my hoodie walking towards the woman untying her from the chair. 

           “If I untie you, will you run?” i asked locking eyes with her once more, she shook her head awaiting for what comes next, i helped her up looking back towards Jaime picking an unconscious Buck. 

          “I want you to tell dad what he did. Both of them.” I ordered Jaime, he nodded walking down the hall to the pool house. I turned towards the girl helping her towards the staircase, she whimpered struggling up the stairs. I wrapped my arms around her waist placing her body weight onto me walking towards my bedroom. Walking into the bedroom I sat her down walking towards the restroom grabbing the first aid kit.  I knelt front the quiet woman's legs grabbing the alcohol wipes looking back up to her wondering eyes. 

          “This might sting a little but i promise i won’t hurt you.” I whispered, placing the wipe against her bloody wrist. A small hiss fell from the girls mouth as she gripped my hoodie, i quietly apologized dabbing the wipe around her wound on her wrist. 

        “Wanda.” She whispered under her breath when I grabbed the bandage from the kit beside her foot. My head snapped up towards her breathlessly smiling, I grabbed my hood gently taking it off. She watched intently as my hand ghosted over my mask pulling it off, and I looked up sending her a small smile. 

          “Hi Wanda, i’m Y/n.” i uttered letting her take in my profile, she let out a breath sending me a small smile. I moved up dabbing a warm rag against her eyebrow, I held my breath for some reason being around her made me feel at ease. I looked down to lock eyes with her own thoughts and ran through my head which I shook my head clearing up the dry blood that painted on her forehead. 

           “Why did they bring you in Wanda?” I asked standing, picking up the used wipes tossing them into the trashcan heading towards the closet. I grabbed a track suit handing it to her,

         “I was doing my nightly stroll and I walked past the Richland Suite and I heard crying and it was a little boy. He said his dad was hurt and I saw some people hurting these men and I just froze. Next thing I know I'm getting tossed into a trunk with a bag over my head.” Once Wanda finished I huffed leaning against the bathroom door shaking my head. 

        “I am truly sorry for what these men have done to you.” Looking down whispering, she walked towards me placing a hand against my cheek,

         “ Why am i feeling like this towards a stranger?” she asked gazing into my timid eyes. I gently placed my hand against her waist looking into her eyes. 

      “Will it make it better if I told you, you’re not the only one?” I whispered my eyes flickering down to her lips. The flashing from her lips to her eyes was repeated multiple times until I leaned in capturing her lips into mines. 

Complete bliss. 

After what seemed like forever but was only a couple seconds, Wanda pulled away resting her forehead against mine. I sighed knowing it’s wrong to leave her with me, grabbing her wrist I dragged her towards my bedroom door. 

     “You can’t stay here. My father finds out you were brought here and you’re still here he’ll kill us both. Let’s get you home.” I spoke untying my red bracelet tying it onto her wrist. She watched my movements and slowly looked into my eyes, 

        “I will never forget you my love.” She spoke but what caught my attention was her voice didn’t sound like a regular American as of before, it dripped with this foreign accent that made my heart flutter. She placed a kiss against my cheek making her way downstairs to the door, I held it open watching her walk down the steps. 

      “We will meet again Y/n.” She said before walking down the street towards the corner then disappearing into the night. I sighed looking at the sky that cried droplets of water, why am I feeling this way. 

          “Hey.” I snapped my head towards the hallway to see Jaime playing with his fingers, i hummed waiting for his response, 

           “We have to take Buck to the hospital.” I scoffed slamming the door walking towards the back door, 

           “I didn’t even mess up his knee that bad, a little ice and a clean up will do” I grumbled out picking up my pace as I opened the back door walking into the pool house. 

          “No Y/n, he’s sick.” Jaime defended opening the door for me, walking in I gasped watching a pale Buck throw up into a small trash can that stood near the small couch. Furrowing my eyebrows I leaned down placing the back of my hand against his head- 

       “He’s on fire- Buck what did you do?” I couldn’t bring myself to look away from his fatigue state but so many unanswered questions danced through my head. Jaime turned on his flashlight on his phone, shining it into the trash can. I gagged seeing the black blood and mixed vomit that pooled inside the can, I wobbled back looking out the huge window. 

          “My head hurts..” Buck wheezed out, squinting my eyes watching sweat trickle down his temple I noticed his eyes weren’t as blue as they once were. I placed a hand against Jaime’s chest patting rapidly, 

        “Call Pedro. Get the car ready. Somethings wrong.” I ordered, Jaime fumbles his phone in his hand trying to type in Pedro’s number with shaky fingers. Once Jaime gave me the okay, I grabbed Bucks hand gripping it tightly. 

          “I’m sorry for the harsh punishment.” I apologized sighing deeply, he weakly smiled tapping my wrist 2 times. 

         “Gotta learn some way huh..” he tried joking, coughing dryly black and white substance dripped from the side of his mouth. 

       “Pedro’s here.” Jaime breathed out running in. Jaime grabbed Buck taking him into Pedro’s car, I leaned against the window frame glancing back at a wheezing Buck. 

      “Keep me updated when you get to the ER with him okay?” I scolded Jaime, he nodded looking at Pedro giving him a firm nod. I stepped back watching the car back away from the driveway riding off into the rainy night. 

Part 2

Part One. 

Im trying guys.

[golfuk22]

A rest day from golf so we headed to Edinburgh. Reason 1 was to pick up Kev's golf clubs from the Baggage Repatriation Centre.... basically a shed where a bunch of people try to work out how to return lost luggage to lost luggage owners in far flung countries. The method is to get the home address and put the item in a row that says "Rush Slovakia" or "Rush < choose country >".... doing the country bit is relatively (though not always) easy.... the "Rush" part I think is their black humour as nothing was rushing. After some initial confusion, Kev's clubs were found (which also means I get my 2nd pair of golf shoes back as Kev's have been in the club bag). The big tip from the baggage repat guys.... don't go through Amsterdam. Reason 2 for Edinburgh is the Fringe Festival is on.... so maybe some culture to balance the golf/sport. We wandered to Edinburgh Castle.... can't get in as pre-bookings meant today is sold out.... and there are hordes of tourists everywhere.... as well as ads and spruiker for every show. "The Golfer" caught our eye as some were cautious about straying from sport and this would cover all bases.... and we (I think me) were wrong. An American black comedy (which should have been the warning sign) that had little to do with golf, left us all confused and bemused and for some reinforcing the pecking order of sport over culture. The acting was good... just too many themes that didn't align for the audience... and no story to care about... for the actors to overcome. Though some of our head-nodding may be due to several (hard to count after 2) whiskeys. Back to golf tomorrow to right the tour ship.

[purplesurveys]

1221

Are you mad at your best friend right now? I have absolutely no reason to be angry with Angela now and certainly not since our last petty childhood fight in like, 2009.

Do you know anybody with a pet snake? I used to know somebody, but she’s since gone off the radar and idek if her pet snake would still be alive at this point.

Do you buy your underwear in a pack or seperately? I can go either way.

Have you ever made fun of anybody and later became their friend? OMG yesss this was the entire background of my friendship with Sofie. Though I wouldn’t say I made fun of her...I just found her really annoying at first, and quite ditzy, too. Then something just clicked and worked out along the way and we ended up being best friends for quite some time until we went our separate ways shortly after college life started.

Is the lamp on in the room you're in? Yes; it’s one of my favorite pieces in my room.

Do you have a pair of shoes that you can only wear with one or two outfits? Nah, not really. I mostly own sneakers, which can go with most things casual.

Is there any drink that you absolutely MUST drink cold? Most drinks, honestly; but mainly, I like my coffee and water cold.

Did you sleep in past noon today? I don’t think I’ve ever done that. The latest I’ve woken up is probably a little over 10.

Did your grandma ever tell you about her love life? Neither of them have.

Have you ever painted anybody's nails aside from your own? Possibly, but I no longer recall it.

Anything exciting happening in the month of September? I don’t think so. There are couple of birthdays in the family, but we don’t have plans for those days yet.

Who is your last missed call from? Some media or blogger I ignored because I don’t take calls.

When was the last time you ate Frosted Flakes? I can’t remember...I don’t really eat cereal.

Did you ever NOT want a substitute in a certain class? Yeah, for classes I hated, like math.

Do you ever donate to the less fortunate? Not regularly. When a homeless person or street child knocks on my car while waiting in traffic I do try to give them some money and/or snack, if I have one in my bag.

Did you buy an American flag after 9/11 to put on your car/house/ whatever? I was barely conscious in 2001. I am also not American.

Do you know any songs that are older than you are? ...Many?

Are there framed pictures of you anywhere in your house? Yeah we have some framed photos going up the staircase. I also have my Prep graduation portrait up in my room.

Compared to other people of your age would you be considered 'NORMAL'? Ugh.

Honestly, do you have any Hilary Duff on your MP3 player? I don’t have an MP3 player but I don’t think I ever had Hilary Duff on any of my music players.

Who is worst in your family about calling people back? Probably Nina as she hates making calls to begin with.

Do you like peanut M&M's? Nah, I hate nuts in my chocolate.

When was the last time you had an ice cream sandwich? Safe to say well over a year ago. It’s not my snack of choice haha I never understood why I had to bite into my ice cream.

When was the last time you ate jelly beans? August 2019.

When was the last time you had hot chocolate? Around a month ago, I’d say? My mom fixes me a mug of hot choco every once in a while.

Have you ever caught a friend cheating on their bf/gf? I haven’t.

What was the last song stuck in your head? I think it had been Rain by BTS.

Do you enjoy doing math? If I know how the math works and have the formulas memorized, I can definitely find it fun. Math had actually been pretty manageable for me in school, at least right until we reached trig and calc which were just bleck.

Do you think your mom has secrets she’s never told you? Oh without a doubt. I’m 200% sure everyone in the family has secrets we never share; we’re not open with each other.

Do you own anything you don’t want your parents to know about? Yes.

Do you pose in your pictures or just smile? I will pose if I’m comfortable but most of the time I just smile.

Are there any colors you will NOT wear? I avoid orange as much as possible.

Do you use scented soap in the shower? Nah, just a normal-scented one.

Did you ever want to be a fashion designer? That was never part of my plans, no. 

Who was the last person you danced with? Enjoyable? Angela and Hans. I was drunk, so yes I had fun lol.

Do you like convertibles? I don’t really care for them, or for cars in general.

Have you ever yelled at the television? So many times, usually when a favorite singer or band is performing OR when I’m watching a really intense sports game - usually basketball or wrestling.

How many songs on your MP3 player are about sex? -

Do you like water parks? I think they are nasty for the most part.

Dark or light colored jeans? Light.

Can you take apart a computer and name all the parts? Nope.

Can you take apart a car and name all the parts? Even more so no.

Would your friends describe you as nerdy? I don’t think they would.

How many different colors are you wearing right now? Five.

Have you ever purchased a lotto ticket? Nope.

--

Are you double-jointed anywhere? I am not.

What is the longest amount of time you've spent playing Monopoly? You know, I’ve never even understood the rules of Monopoly...I’ve never bothered to play a round of it. Board games are usually too complicated for me lol.

Have you ever witnessed a tornado first-hand? Not a tornado, no. But I’ve experienced countless hurricanes and floods.

Did you play in the sand box as a kid? It was my favorite part of the playground and I was always exclusively found in a sandbox. I liked the texture (still do) + no one was ever there, so as a shy kid it worked out perfectly for me.

How about on the monkey bars? I tried it every now and then but I wasn’t a very active kid, so my arms would feel strained fairly quickly. It was never the first thing I’d run to whenever I got to go to the playground.

Have you ever made an alarm go off? I don’t think so.

Have you ever colored your eyebrows? Nope.

Did you ever own a pop-up book? Many of them, as a kid.

Have you ever honked at a biker? Yes but only whenever they swerve a little bit and are about to hit my car.

Have you ever taken another person's prescribed medication? No?

Have you ever played golf (not miniature golf)? No, I’ve played neither version. The sport doesn’t interest me.

Do you use gel in your hair? Only for formal events where I can’t afford to show up with my hair all frizzy.

Do you own a garden gnome? We don’t.

Are any of the rooms in your house painted blue? Nope, they’re all white. My parents’ room used to be green (came with the house), but it looked gross so it didn’t take long before they hired someone to paint the walls white.

Do you kick off your shoes as soon as you walk in the door? Yes. Actually, since the start of COVID, we’ve taken to removing our shoes even before we enter. We have a mat right by the front door where we can properly take off our shoes and head inside already barefoot.

Have you ever judged a book by its cover? Sometimes, but I don’t let it linger.

What is the most effective device at the gym? I don’t go to the gym.

Can you drive a stick shift? Hahahaha no, and I’m not so sure I’m ever willing to learn.

Have you ever picked on a substitute teacher? That’s mean and no, I haven’t.

How good are you at giving directions? Terrible. As much as possible I don’t do it and just refer the person asking to my nearest friend/companion.

When was the last time you looked out the window nearest you? Just a few minutes ago, actually. I put an arm out to check if it’s chilly outside since it rained all day today.

Have you ever got dressed with the windows open? Never. I make sure to pull down my blinds every time.

Have you ever given a foot massage? No.

Do public restrooms freak you out? They don’t freak me out per se but like I rarely go into them and use them, even before Covid. The idea of sharing a toilet with strangers is super gross lol and many of them don’t even put away their trash properly.

Have you ever taken a shower outside? I may have, but nothing sticks out.

Have you ever been to a junkyard? I don’t think so.

What do you think of Brad Pitt? I don’t really have an opinion...I loved his episode on Friends, but that’s it.

Have you ever watched the History Channel willingly? Yes, a few times.

Have you ever used pennies to pay for something that cost over 50 cents? I don’t speak US currency, but yeah there’ve been around 1-2 times I had to pay for something worth P50 with just coins. It’s always been embarrassing lol so I try to avoid it and be prepared with paper bills as much as I can.

If a place makes you pay for delivery - do you still tip the driver? Yes.

Without the aid of a cell phone - do you know your parents numbers by heart? Just my mom’s. Since my dad is always in and out of the country (at least until the pandemic), I’ve never gotten to memorize his number.

Can you name 10 former presidents? Arroyo, Macapagal, Aquino, another Aquino, Estrada, Ramos, Magsaysay, Quirino, Quezon, Roxas.

But if we’re talking about US presidents...Obama, Trump, Clinton, Roosevelt, another Roosevelt I believe, Nixon, Reagan, Carter, Lincoln, Washington. I hope I got them right hahaha.

Have you ever bought a gift for a teacher? Just as a kid.

Is your bedroom carpeted? Nope.

Right now, what color is your tongue? Pink.

When was the last time you had a Tootsie Pop? Years ago. I don’t have it a lot.

If you could get the cell phone of your choice - what would it be? iPhone 12 Pro Max.

Who is your favorite super hero? I don’t have any.

How about your favorite villain? I don’t really have any, either.

Do you know anybody who works at a bank? Possibly, but I can’t place a name right now.

What do you usually order from your favorite fast food place? That would be KFC, and I usually order either their Zinger or Twister. FUCK now I want to get KFC :((

Do you hand out candy to kids on Halloween? No, because none of them ever reach this part of the village. We never have to prepare any candy lol.

What perfume/cologne do you wear the most? Heat Rush.

Can you name all 7 dwarfs? I always miss out on one or two.

Does the early bird really catch the worm? Idk what this expression is.

[totallypathet]

Episode Four

Okay so first things first, I love a ball. I'm just not that psyched when they do them so early on in the season, because it feels so overwhelming when there's 12 queens doing 3 looks each, there's just sooo much to process! Having said all that, I do absolutely adore the ball challenges because it shows us so much about each queen. It's always interesting watching their creative processes and how they think. My favourites in the ball challenges are the ones who really *KimChi voice* embrace the materials. I just find it so boring when they just sort of glue stuff to corsets and don't really incorporate the materials of the challenge. So having said that, let's get into it!

1. Aiden Zhane

Miss Aiden... after the runways the only thing I had to say about Aiden was "really girl?".

She put so little effort into that third outfit. She put less effort into that that Derrick Berry put into the book ball. It was basic, bitch, don't come at it like "well I have a simple aesthetic" simplicity is not low effort. Simplicity is not basic. Simplicity is Gigi Goode's Lady Baller look. It was simple; but it was perfectly fitted, it was a fully realised concept, the fabric choices were perfect - it's simple, but it's effective, it's beautiful, and it's a story. That fucking corset was terrible, and she should've lipsynced for that alone. Her Lady Baller look was cute, I liked the reference, but I've seen it before. Her Basketball wife was horrific. I own that dress, and it's cheap and tacky. Speaking of cheap and tacky, can we talk about that black wig she wore with her third look?! Like don't get me wrong, I'm so glad that she's wearing a different fucking wig finally, but that wig came straight out of a bag and she put it on her head. It had that awful cheap synthetic shine, and I can't believe noone mentioned it.

She's so unpolished and I feel like she just doesn't even care. Shes like Shangie season 2 except not even 10% as charming or likeable. I am so ready for her to leave, and the fact that she's survived 2 eliminations already is beyond me.

2. Brita

Almost everything I've just written above about Aiden Zhane could also apply to Brita. I really really don't like her attitude. She's coming across so bitter and so cocky at the same time - and what's even worse is that I've seen no talent from her to justify her attitude at all!

This week was not a good week for Brita, and honestly I think she should have gone home. I actually really liked her Lady Baller look, it was a clever concept, it was immediately recognisable and it was styled well. The fact that her other two looks were utterly shocking makes me think that that first look was entirely the work of a designer and she had no input whatsoever. The second look?? Where she was like "oh it's an adaptation of Kim K's Met Gala look??? Delusional. Girl, it looked so fucking cheap, it didn't fit that well, and it was ugly ugly ugly. Kim K would never.

All of that pales in comparison to the third look. What was that? Honestly, what the fuck was that? It was so badly made, it looked ugly, it was unrecogniseable, and it was just a catastrophe. I was humiliated for her when she walked out in it. Her lipsyn also wasn't that good. She should be next to leave after Aiden Zhane.

3. Crystal Methyd

Listen, I love Crystal. What the fuck was she wearing for her Basketball Wife look? Choices. Other than that little blip, Crystal made me so happy this week!! He Lady Baller look was perfect, it was exactly the level of fun and quirky I wanted from Crystal, she totally sold me that 80s bowling fantasy! And then her third look!!!! The Carmen Miranda reference was perfect, that dress fit her impeccably, and it moved beautifully! I think she's going to just go from strength to strength and I am so excited to watch her! I never know what she's going to be wearing when she comes around the corner and I love it. Strong night for Crystal!

4. Gigi Goode

I mean, you handed Gigi Goode a design challenge and expected her not to win??? She sold me every look this week, and I loved it. She gave me 3 distinct and recognisable characters, and her presentation of each one was totally different, that's talent. I don't have all that much to say about Gigi this week, because it was all said on the show. She killed it, I think she's going all the way and I cant wait to see what she pulls out next.

5. Heidi N Closet

LET 👏 HEIDI 👏 KEEP 👏 HER 👏 NAME! I'm still so mad about that and I'm not over it. Heidi had a bit of a slip this week for me. Not nearly enough to deserve being in the bottom (especially not next to Aiden and Brita), but it wasn't a great week for her. Her first look was really ill fitting and unfortunate, but I do respect that she took the golf ball and club out on the runway, props can be unpredictable. The second look was cute, but it was just cute, and her third look... wow. I get what she was going for, that very high fashion androgyny, but...that green and that purple... someone put in that gif of Chrissie Teigen 😬😬. I'm glad this happened when there were enough people for her to fall middle of the pack, because she deserves better than to go home for some shoddy looks. But honestly, I do hate when queens go on this show and say "I don't know how to sew, I've only ever made one garment", you know you're coming on the show!!! Learn some sewing basics!! Make some dresses!! You know there's going to be sewing challenges, prepare yourself!!

6. Jackie Cox

Jackie Cox 😍😍😍 Jackie should absolutely have been top 3 this week!! Every. Single. Look. Was. Stunning. Her references were on point. Her shapes were gorgeous. Her presentations were perfect. Her characters were all recognisably different. But all the looks were recognisably Jackie. Jackie was Robbed. She gave me my whole life this week.

7. Jaida Essence Hall

Jaida was absolutely gorgeous this week! Her face is always stunning, but she brought it with her outfits too! And the third outfit was probably my favourite of the week, she knows her body, she understand her shapes and you know what it was nicely executed. I think Jaida is super solid and I don't think a whole lot in this competition is going to phase her.

8. Jan

Jan was also robbed!! I'm still thinking about her Basketball Wife look, how perfect was that! It was exactly what you would see a Basketball Wife wearing, at a Basketball Game. So on point. And the Janel bag? Iconic.

Her Lady Baller look was absolutely what I wanted from her as well! It was made of footballs! (I refuse to say soccer balls, I'm not American) And then she dribbled a football down the runway! In heels! Stunning.

Her third look was couture, high fashion, and so distinctive from her other 2 looks. Honestly top 3 should have been Jan, Jackie and Gigi. You can't change my mind.

9. Nicky Doll

This was a great week for Nicky! Which, to be fair, was to be expected in a fashion challenge. But she did a fabulous job! I think her Lady Baller was my favourite of all the Lady Baller looks. The makeup was perfect, the wig was stunning - also I challenge anyone to clock Nicky Doll's wigs! It's so strange that out of drag she has dark hair and it looks stunning, but when in drag she's mostly a blonde and it's so perfect on her. The gilet she wore for her second look was stunning, and I loved her styling. That third look?! Iconic. It was like the high fashion baby of Roxxxy Andrews' Sugar Ball look, and Yvie Oddly's Farm to Fashion look. I loved it. I love her. I think she has a really great personality too! I don't get what the judges are saying about her not having any personality. I really hope she pulls it out next week - I already know her runway is going to be perfect!

10. Rock M Sakura

Oh my baby Rock! She didn't deserve to be bottom 2 this week. Everything she did was just a tiny bit off. Her pads were a little weird this week, I'm not sure what happened there, but that did throw me off when she was walking. Her Lady Ballers look was great! I didn't get the judges critiques about it not being enough! If she'd have worn something elaborate on the bottom, they would have said it was too much - which is exactly the critique she got for her third look! I do agree that her second look was a little bit pedestrian. I actually lived her third look though! It was over the top, but that's Rock M's style! And the way she styles it was gorgeous. I liked that it wasn't a complete dress, it looked really sculptural and architectural. The fact that she went home and Aiden Zhane was safe is so beyond me. Robbed. Also she is a better performer than Brita, she just struggled with that dress, which is such a shame. I'm glad they really let us get to know her before she left though, she's not just going to be that "oh yeah her" queen who shows up at the finale.

11. Widow Von Du

I like Widow so much, but I don't know that she's going to go all the way at the moment. I really really really want her to pull it out next week! She was so amazing that first week, and since then she's just sort of coasted for me. Her looks this week were just okay. Her first look was really stunning, but the cheap horse stick prop made it look costumey, which is such a shame. Her second look was pretty, but it swallowed her up a bit, I felt like it was wearing her. Her third look I actually really liked but omg those shoes. What was she thinking. It ruined the whole thing for me. I really want her to succeed and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for her next week!

There is one other thing I'd like to say about this week, which is that the Miss Trunchbull look that walked itself down the runway was incredible. If anyone knows the designer of that look, please let me know, because they deserve recognition for how great that look was.

Edit: @rattlethosestars let me know the designer of the look is Florence D'Lee, who you can follow on instagram here!

Otherwise, that's all for the breakdown this week! I am so looking forward to "Gay's Anatomy" next week, I feel like it could be such a entertaining challenge!

[jimmydemaret]

PGA TOUR Men's Flat Front Golf Pant with Expandable Waistband

PGA TOUR Men’s Flat Front Golf Pant with Expandable Waistband

Unique PGA Tour Golf Shoe Bag Kit. PGA TOUR Men’s Flat Front Golf Pant with Expandable Waistband.

PGA Tour Golf Shoe Bag Kit – Buy Now for Discount Price [price_with_discount]

Fresh Stocks PGA Tour Golf Shoe Bag Kit, PGA TOUR Men’s Flat Front Golf Pant with Expandable Waistband.

USD$32.88

  [ad_1]

PGA TOUR Men’s Flat Front Golf Pant with Expandable Waistband

Now Promo Price. PGA TOUR Men’s Flat…