#Kettleman

[saulgoodthem]

[quasi-normalcy]

Between Ted Beneke and the Kettlemans, white-collar criminals kind of come off the worst in the Breaking Bad universe.

[becomingpart2]

I had a dream where I completely fixed Kim's arc by having her actually kill somewhat innocent people in the climax of a self-righteous euphoric state and then almost immediately regret it by realizing what she did. It's virtually the same arc but with the difference of it being actually effective and going fully in lol

[dustedmagazine]

Various Artists — Compatible Osmotica (Baggage Claim)

No website. No Bandcamp page. No videos on YouTube. One gets the impression that Baggage Claim Records is not completely on board with 21st century conventions. The music on this LP does nothing to disabuse that notion. The performers, who hail from opposite ends of the Pacific Ocean, adhere to an organized noise aesthetic that aligns with the Corpus Hermeticum catalog. Which is to say it’s rock-informed and unsullied by high-end digital technology, but it is not rock music at all.

It turns out that while most of the contents of Compatible Osmotica were recorded in 2021, some of it is contemporaneous with Hermescorp. The opening track, a percolating maelstrom by the Ralph Haxton Large Ensemble called “(We’ll Take The) Next Cab,” was recorded in 1996, and the closer, Kettleman City Unemployed’s “Synesthesia,” was recorded in 2000. And while New Zealand-based Sky Blue Lodge’s tracks are of more recent vintage, the trio contains one member of 1990s NZ noiseniks Sandoz Lab Technicians in its complement. Any parallels are the result of lived experience.

Still, these folks are not above paying record nerd homage. Sky Blue Sky’s organ and slide guitar licks sound like they’ve been hoovered off of some 1969 Pink Floyd bootleg by a time machine and funneled through a signal chain in Sonic Youth’s practice studio. And the starburst keyboard flourishes and lurching chords of No Friends Band’s “Hammond Rye” are a guileless Sun Ra salutation. NFB’s other track is less rooted in crate dust; the collage “Contest with a Cracker” sounds like a punchout between some purloined drum rehearsals and the sort of AM radio broadcast that, if heard late at night, might persuade the listener to swear off whatever stimulants were keeping them awake. Diorientation — that’s the north star guiding the contributors to Compatible Osmotica.

Bill Meyer

[iamnotcrying-iamallergictolife]

Do you think, in the Time Machine sequence, when Mike said he'd go back to when he took his first bribe, Jimmy was thinking about the Kettlemans? About 'I can't take a bribe', about the first time he showed weakness, about how that weakness, at the end of the day, defined his entire career?

'Upon this rock, I will build my church.' Do you think he's looking back, and realising how right that was? About how his success was defined by, and built from, from the very beginning, duplicity and fraud? About how he was doomed from that moment? His foray into the wilderness that night, and, as far as he was concerned, his death by exposure out in the desert that day? Both with a huge bag of money? It would be impossible for him not to see the parallels there. He's come full circle. Maybe Lalo was the beginning of the end - or maybe the end has been waiting for him from the very, very beginning.

Sure, he had so many other choices along the way, but that was the turning point, really. That moment when he decided to take their bribe, when he lied to himself that it was justified, that he could take a 'retainer' instead. That it wasn't a crime, not really, if he could talk his way out of it. And that's what's made him such a great lawyer, over the years - 'I believe that, until proven guilty, every man, woman and child in this country is innocent.' - he can talk his clients out of anything. And if he can talk his clients out of anything, he can talk himself into anything. It's no surprise that he represents himself in court every time we see him on the other side of the bench - he's always been his own client, justifying his actions to a jury of one. He plays his own judge, his own jury, and, in the end, his own executioner. A man who represents himself in court has a fool for a lawyer. He doesn't know how to play anything but the fool. Half idiot, half crook.

And in the end, he went back to the Kettlemans. They were one of the key pieces of evidence in his and Kim's case against Howard, which lead to Howard's death, and Kim's exit, and the emergence of the Saul Goodman character we see in Breaking Bad.

Do you think that's what he was thinking when he asked Walter White that same question, years later? What was your bribe, huh? What did you trick yourself into believing was right, was just? What do you regret? And Walter sees right through him. Sees his regret, in his story about the slip 'n' fall. This is where he was always going to end up. This is who he's always been - and, ironically, it has always been his desperation to prove everyone wrong about him (with Detectives Dunst and Russo, leading to him tracking down the Kettlemans; with Chuck, leading to his entire career; again, and again, with Kim, Howard, Nacho, everyone), that lead to him proving them all right. 'So... You were always like this?'

For Walter, it was Grey Matter; for Mike, it was a bribe; for Jimmy, it was the Kettlemans. Everyone's got something they regret, the thing that got them in the Game.

'That night, I saw opportunity.' He finally admits to himself and everyone, in the end, that, yes, this is who I am, this is who I was always going to be, this is what you made me. Maybe he realised that, even before he met Walter White, he defined the man he was going to be, the character he was going to create, the church he was going to build, when he took that bag of cash.

[nonamehorse]

S1E4

Betsy is reall the funniest charecter in the show

just flat out saying you stole money but that that doesn't mean your guilty, and your saying that to a lawyer you don't want to hire "because it would make us look guilty" top tier comedy honestly

[toyboxshark]

[loadednachosao3]

do you think these two ever explored each other's bodies

[otogariado]

[rottenhouses]

me trying to explain the downfall of jimmy mcgill to my boyfriend while we watch bcs even though he didn't even watch bcs nor brba to start with

[wigoutlet]

[becomingpart2]

In case anyone's ever wondered, my most characters in the brbabcs universe are actually the kettlemans and todd.

[watasemasaru]

this episode is crazy for someone that is also a bcs girlie because tuco and mrs. kettleman got down

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 18

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- Uh Ohh I hope you enjoy the chapter! See you next Thursday! Plz like and rb if you’re hooked!🤍

Billie’s POV

My wet hair sat on my shoulders, making my shirt moist. I brushed my teeth after a hot shower in the tiny tourbus bathroom, and put myself on vocal rest for the rest of the night so my voice can be in shape for the next concert.

The day was long and everything irritated me. During my downtime, all I could think about was the way I pushed Remy on the floor, and the harsh exchanges that made us both cry. It hurt to think at all. It hurt that my brain couldn’t stop replaying the events over and over. I spit foamy toothpaste into the sink, watching it go down the drain, on autopilot.

“Okay, okay, we’ll be right there, we’re not too far, thank you.” My mom’s voice gradually became louder as she made her way through the tour bus to me. She poked her head into the bathroom with her phone pressed up against her chest. She was visibly shaken, her face blanched, and her expression downcast.

“Honey, it’s Remy, she was in a car accident today.”

When the words left her mouth, it took me a few seconds to fully comprehend. “Oh my god. Is she okay?” Stunned, I stepped forward, wanting out of the now suffocating bathroom, as its walls began to cave in on me.

“She’s in intensive care right now. They said it was pretty bad. She had to be life flighted off the highway, and she was in critical condition for a-“

My hands trembled as I pushed through the narrow walkway, stumbling toward the driver to tell him to turn around, despite having no idea where she was yet.

“Honey, we’re already taking the nearest exit so we can turn around, okay?” She grabbed my shoulder, noticing my pale complexion becoming paler, if that was even possible. “It’s okay, she’s going to be okay.” She assured me.

“Did they say that?” I narrowed in on her.

“No, baby, but they said she’s in surgery, and if all goes well, you’ll be able to see her when she’s in recovery, okay?” She rubbed knots out of my neck as I stretched away from her, overwhelmed and not wanting to be touched at the moment.

Surgery? I wondered what injuries she had sustained that meant she had to undergo surgery. I wondered how the accident happened in the first place, if someone witnessed it and called the ambulance or if she called herself, scared, waiting for someone to rescue her.

My tunnel vision began to dwindle, as I sat down on the seat, feeling nauseous. My dad was seated as copilot, guiding the driver on the fastest route to the hospital, but I didn’t notice it until later, when mom brought me some water.

“This is all my fault. If I hadn’t-“

“Don’t blame yourself, sweetheart, these things happen. They’re accidents.”

“She was supposed to be here. With us. And I ran her off.” I leaned my elbow on my knees, putting the glass of water that I gulped down.

“It could’ve happened to us, it could’ve happened to anybody, anywhere, anytime.” She put a hand on my back, gliding it up and down to confort me.

“We’re on the way. Try to relax.” Dad said, checking his gps.

“They’ll call if anything else happens. We’ll be there before she comes out of surgery, and then you’ll get to see her, because everything is going to be okay.” She reassured me.

I was so thankful my parents tagged along this week. I would be a mess right now without my mom. I thanked the gods I didn’t have to drive there myself because I’d be shaking so much, we’d probably get in an accident ourselves.

As soon as we arrived, we rushed into the ER. They guided us toward the inner hospital, where we were told to sit in an empty waiting area near the OR. An older, sweet nurse gave us all water and snacks. We politely nodded, my parents thanking her for being so kind. I sat, my head hanging low as I leaned my elbows on my knees.

It was a small, older hospital on the outskirts of Kettleman City, California. The waiting room was dated. The mint green, linoleum flooring led into the main hall, with two large doors separating the check-in area from the different patient care rooms. The receptionist sat at an antique, rounded, wooden counter, adorned with carved detailing. It was probably the original desk they built in when the hospital opened. The faint antiseptic smell made me queasy.

A tall, lanky man wearing scrubs and a face mask walked up to us, interrupting my thoughts. I stood up, scanning his demeanor, waiting for him to tell us anything.

“Ms. O’Connell?” He looked between my mom and I.

“Yes.” We both said, simultaneously.

He nodded, “The patient,” he looked at his chart, “Remy Lovelace, is still in surgery. Everything is going very well so far.”

“How bad is it?” I put a hand over my heart, hoping to steady its beating.

He pulled down his surgical mask, “We’re operating on her arm right now. She has a broken wrist, and a broken radius, which is her forearm, probably from instinctively bracing for impact. She’ll need a couple plates and screws to stabilize the bones so they heal properly. Other than that, she has a severe concussion and whiplash, which we will continue to monitor for the next few days.”

I sighed, relieved it wasn’t as detrimental as I thought I’d be. I was imagining spinal damage, having to break it to her that she wouldn’t walk again, or even brain damage.

“They told us she was life flighted, so we imagined worse!” My mom said, rubbing my shoulders and letting a big sigh of relief out herself.

“When car accidents create so much traffic that the ambulance can’t get through, they tend to life flight people. Especially if the patient is unconscious, which she was.” He nodded. “But don’t worry, she will be okay, we just need to keep an eye on that concussion.

I turned to hug my dad, who was prepared to catch me in his arms. I could finally breathe again. The doctor lets us know that it would be a little under an hour before they finish, and we could be with her in the recovery room, once they get her settled.

“Do you know how it happened? Did police or anyone give witness statements?” My mom asked.

“I’m not sure, but I can point you in the direction of someone who can.” He pointed toward the front desk, guiding her out through the double doors we came through.

A while after, my mom came back with the horrible details of the crash.

Her phone was in the back seat, locked, so it was unknown if she was using it or not. She swerved into a car on her right, causing her to hit the cement wall on her left, between the opposite side of the highway. She spun out, then, the driver’s side was hit by yet another car, totaling it and bending it into almost a U shape. Both windows on the driver’s side shattered into the inside, and the front door was so altered, that it jammed and they had to break open the opposite door to pull her out. All the other drivers involved were thankfully okay, and walked away with only bruises and probably severe body aches.

While we waited our turn to be able to see her, I figured I should probably call her parents. Despite my mom being Remy’s emergency contact, they’d want to know what happened. I stood up, looking through my contact for their numbers.

Her mom didn’t answer right away. I figured she wouldn’t answer an unknown number and I had changed mine multiple times. Her dad was next, and he answered after a few rings.

“Mr. Lovelace? Uh, This is Billie, Remy’s best friend.”

“Oh, Billie- Billie, it’s been so long. How are you? How are your parents?” He sounded surprised to receive a call from me. He hadn’t seen me in maybe two or three years, around his divorce from Remy’s mom. I’d driven Remy to her grandmother’s house, where he was now staying at, multiple times, but never got out of the car. They weren’t as close as they once were.

“I’m ok. Um, listen, I wanted to let you know Remy’s been in a car accident, about 3 ish hours from you guys. We’re here with her now, but I just wanted to let you know, in case… You know, you want to come too?”

“Oh God. That’s… Wow, is she okay?”

“Yeah she’s going to be okay, she broke some bones, but she’s gonna be fine. I just-“

“I’m glad, she’s very lucky to have you, you’ve always been such a good friend to her.” He said, confusing me a bit. Did he think he needed an invitation, or?

“Sir, I was asking if you could come see her. She’s going to be here overnight, and-“

“Billie…” he cut me off. “Remy and I haven’t spoken or seen each other in a very long time.”

I let the line sit silently for a moment. You could hear static as I processed what he said.

“I- I don’t think you understand.” I stammered. My parents would drop everything to be with me in the hospital, even if it was for a sprained ankle or a minor cold.

“She’s always handled it herself. She’s independent, she holds her own. She’s always been like her mother.”

I cringed at the thought. They were nothing alike. Not in my eyes.

“Okay.” Is all I could say.

“Thank you for calling. I’ll be praying for her. Take care of yourself, kid.” He said, sadness in his tone before hanging up.

That was pointless.

I called her mother next, hoping she’d answer this time.

“Hello?” She sounded bothered.

“Irene. This is Billie, remember me?” I swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t hang up on me.

The woman hated me. I knew she hated me since I was 11, when I hung out in her daughter’s bedroom, in the way she watched me, the way she didn’t like my clothes, or how my parents raised me, or the way I talked. Remy always told me her mother was homophobic. Back then, I didn’t know what that had to do with me. Remy would tell me she didn’t like that I was a tomboy, that I didn’t wear girly clothes, or sit, or eat like a girl. Once I got older, I became more aware of it, becoming a different version of myself at her house. Still, her mom wasn’t buying it, and forbid Rem from closing her bedroom door if I was in it. Sleepovers at my house were off limits, and she checked her text messages often. It was weird. I knew I never felt safe at their house.

Despite this, Remy always tried to look for approval from her mom. Who doesn’t? When she moved out at the age of 18, their relationship became more rocky, but she continued to send her money whenever she could. I guess I didn’t understand that, but then divorce made things more complicated and I didn’t feel I could have an opinion on it. I couldn’t relate.

“I remember.” Her voice was the same as I remembered it. It felt strange talking to her, I hesitated, fearing she wouldn’t care to check on her daughter either.

“Hello?” She said.

“Yes, hi, sorry. Uh, Remy is in the hospital right now. In surgery.” I managed to get the words out.

“Fuck. Why?” She asked.

“She had an accident driving back to LA. She’s okay, by the way, I just wanted you to know.”

“God damn. Seriously? That sounds expensive.”

For fucks sake.

“Can you come see her? I’m sure she’d appreciate having her mom here, you know?” I became frustrated, wanting to send both her parents to hell.

“Of course, What kind of parent do you think I am?” She said, an attitude forming on her end of the line.

I didn’t answer. She didn’t need to know what I thought.

“I’ll text you the hospital we’re at. It’s a couple hours away, but again, she’d really appreciate-“

“Thanks, I’ll make arrangements.” She hung up.

Fucking bitch.

“Excuse me, miss. We’re ready for you guys to come on back if you’d like.” The sweet old nurse from before tapped my shoulder.

I sighed, sliding my phone in my back pocket and following her through a cold, sterile hallway, into her room.