#Uncle Otha

[southernsagestoryteller]

Country Stores

It’s hard to find an old country store in operation these days. I see some old ones here and there, mostly boarded up, abandoned and run down.  I asked some folks on Facebook if they knew of any that were still open. I got all sorts of responses. Some folks suggested Cracker Barrel and I had to laugh!  Clearly these people are much younger than me or not from around here.  I mentioned worn wooden…

[afatlotofchance]

Time to continue my series of posts about fatness in fantasy! Thought I was done? Far from it!

Another example of how fatness randomly creeps in into the fantasy genre is the Eddings books. It's another example of a set of stories with recurring elements that we could pick apart.

For those of you who don't know, there was this series of novels in the 80s called "The Belgariad". This series was one of the best-sellers of 80s fantasy, and in many way it gave a new push to the "Tolkien mania" at the time, because the entire point of this book series was to take back all the Lord of the Rings archetype, beats and plot-points, but recreate it into something new and fresh, while playing around the cliches and expectations of the "tolkien genre" (unlike for example the Sword of Shannara book which was made to be much more of a pastiche and imitation). Today most people know the Belgariad as a "gateway fantasy", as in a book series that introduced them as children or teenagers to the high fantasy/epic fantasy genre.

There isn't really anything fatness-related here except of a few elements - for example there is a secondary character, King Rhodar, the uncle of one of the co-protagonists, who is explicitely described as very fat and his largness is very much insisted upon, to the point that by the sequel-series he is said to have died due to the consequences of his obesity.

There's a sequel series to the Belgariad, calle the "Malloreon", which is... if you ask me it is a very bad series. The Belgariad can be read easily, and it works on its own, and you know, it's a classic that influenced the genre. But the Malloreon is... plain bad. Which is too bad because it does quite important stuff (like fighting the inherent racism of the first series...), but it is wrapped in just bad writing, atrocious plots and the flanderization of characters. I will only mention this series because in its beginning, one of the characters of the Belgariad returns (I think it's Cho-Hag? I don't recall the name, it is one of the "rider people" obsessed with horses) and the other characters point out how he literaly got a dad bod (as in, he gained weight after becoming a dad).

The Eddings couple, the authors of the Belgariad/Malloreon, wrote much later a stand-alone fantasy novel, "The Redemption of Althalus", which I did not read, but which contains characters such as a warlord so renowned for being fat that is name is literaly "Big-belly" (or Fat-belly), and a co-protagonist who is explicitely said to be a young man with an enormous appetite and rarely satiated, until the end of the book when he finally has a normal hunger. This plot device has been use before by the Eddings in another book series of fantasy, the Tamuli series, where one of the co-protagonist, due to being a teenager fully growing into a young man with an intense growth spurt, gains a large appetite (though no weight gain involved).

But the real series I want to evoke is "The Elenium" (to which the Tamuli is a sequel). After writing the Belgariad/Malloreon, the Eddings created a different fantasy series called The Elenium. It takes back elements, plots and types from The Belgariad, but whereas the Belgariad was meant for a more epic fantasy, the Elenium is more dark fantasy. It is not as good as the Belgariad, though much better than the Malloreon - the inherent flaws and problems with the Eddings are very much appearing here (while they could pass well-hidden in the Belgariad), and... anyway you'll see for yourselves if you ever go read it. BUT! There is one very important character if you want fatness in fantasy, and he is the epitome of "fatness as evil" in this kind of genre.

It is one of the main antagonist, the powerful sorcerer-king Otha. He only appears in person in the third book of the series (it is a trilogy), after organizing conspirations, sending monsters and causing wars all throughout the two previous books. And what is supposed to be one of the "twist reveals" of this series is Otha's appearance. Because the Eddings basically wrote Jabba the Hutt before Star Wars did. The backstory of Otha is revealed that he was a simple, poor, not that bright shepherd young man in ancient days, until he found the idol of an evil god who offered him powers and riches. Being a simple-minded, regular man with quite a mean streak to him, he simply became a decadent and hedonistic tyrant, helped with the magic and immortality offered by the evil god he served. But the result of living for centuries while eating endlessly (he always was a glutton) and never leaving his palace was a terrifying body modification, as he became so fat and enormous his limbs literaly became atrophied, and he also ended up losing his hair and becoming all pale and sweaty, leading to him looking like a sort of grotesque, gigantic, bloated worm of a man. So it comes as a shock to the heroes when they see what the dreaded evil overlord they have been fearing all this time looks like - the mighty warlock of evil is just a lazy oaf and a fat fool so big he can't even walk on his own, and has to be carried around by a dozen of very muscular slaves.

If you are an enjoyer of this type of character, I know that a similar idea was used by Glenn Cook in one of his short-stories companions to his famous dark fantasy classic "The Black Company". I do not remember which short story it was, but it talked of a mighty and evil god-like sorcerer called "The Master", who ended up bound and trapped into some sort of underground cave millenia ago. Unable to leave his lair or to do anything, he simply spent all of his time eating until he became monstrously obese, and - since this is a dark fantasy - he has servants of his regularly bring him copious amount of food... Or human beings if he is feeling it, because it's still meat in the end.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Cool questions!

1: What's Chris/Thara & Jake/meredith wedding songs?

2: Dark question (feel free to skip) have the starburst duo ever been kidnapped? Like from school or maybe from their place?

3: Has somebody ever try to get revenge on the duo?Maybe a family member of a goon they stop tries to get revenge?

4: Let's say the duo filled their months with any drink of their choosing & the goal is to make the other spit it out, what would they do to each other & who spits it out first?

5: What's the super twins like with starknights/titans of tomorrow? Or maybe just Jake & mar'i?

Hmmmm....Lemme see what I can come up with @pin-crusher2000 ;-)

1) Chris/Thara: "Can I Have This Dance?" by Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudges; they’d have a waltz on the dance floor to that song

Jake/Meredith: "Hold Me” by Fleetwood Mac; The newlyweds can through on a performance with Meredith and Jake on guitar and drums respectively playing along to it

2) I would say it was primarily Jake who got abducted from his school during recess and then held up for ransom money by some mafia goons. In particular, since Jake is connected to billionaire Bruce Wayne via being the son of the adopted Richard Grayson-Wayne, the hostage takers demanded a payment up to $2 billion if Bruce and Dick are to see Jake unharmed. Thankfully for the Bats and Jake’s loved ones, these crooks weren’t particularly too technologically savvy so it’s was real easy for Cyborg to take down their locations via their internet signals and within the two hour mark after they post up their demands, Robin!Tim, Chris and Mar’i all came to Jake’s rescue, utterly curb-stomping the crooks. Still Jake was deeply embarrassed by this situation and vows to be extra careful next he ventures out of the school boundaries during recess.

3) Hmmm….I can probably see some of the street gang punk friends of Kryptonian Phantom Zone Prisoner and enemy of the House of Zod , Vla-Bol, all assemble around their ringleader after he tells them of his recent defeat at the hands of Chris. This Gang of Four can then sneak into General Zod’s base of Fort Rozz, hijack some of those Zone crossing pods many of the Fort’s residents including Chris long ago use to travel to Earth, and invade the planet themselves, going a mini rampage in Hamilton County to get Chris’ attention and start up a massive brawl, Chris trying desperately to lead said brawl away from the town and into areas worldwide where no one else can get hurt. It was a tough battle with him on the ropes many times but Jake’s, Penny Troy’s and the rest of the StarKnights’ timely arrival helped turned the tide long enough for Chris to borrow his Dad Clark’s Phantom Projector and send these Kryptonian street punks back to the Zone where they came.

4) I can see Chris mainly going for Jake’s ticklish spots while Jake would try making Chris laugh as hard as he can with some intentional slapstick and doing a small stand up routine filled with puns and other jokes his Uncle Gar taught him. It’s not even a real contest; Chris gets Jake to squirt out his grape soda not just out of mouth but also his nose.

5) Hmm….Okay so at least in this version or at least for a possible version that satisfies both Kid!Jon fans and fans of those two; I’d have them being raised by Mon El, Clark’s Daxamite de facto brother, after having to rescue them from the tyrannical clutches of Mongul during a mission at WarWorld.

As for their bond with the StarKnights and the Tomorrow Titans, I can see Osul being close with Chris, almost brotherly bond between them while also having something of a kinship with Robbie Long, something one can see being mirroring the bond Clark and Diana have. As for Otho, She’s no doubt part of a lot of friend group formed by Mar’i, Lian and Irey, an honorary member of that little Tenacious Trio and their shenanigans.

One thing is perfectly clear though; Besides Mon El, Osul and Otha are both very close to Chris and Jon as per usual.

[weird-things-to-think]

Okey dokey so 2day we talkin bout DISBURSMENT or iz it dizbersemnt? lol IDK but we tryin hard here folks, bear with me. Soo disbursement iz like a fancy pants wurd used by bank peeps n ppl with suits to tell u there givin u moneys. It kinda sounds like disperse, wich iz when sumthin spreadz out, but disbursement iz like spreadin out da 💵💵 moneys 💵💵 but also givin it to ppls n stuff.

Firs, lemme back up. So like u kno when u get yer paycheck frum worky work or when sum rich uncle die n u get yer "inheritans" (fancy word for free moneys frm dead guy)? Well, dat moneys dey giv ya iz called a disbursment. Why? Cuz it’s bein "disbursed" like sum fancy pie gettin cut up n share wid all ur broke family members, but less tasty.

Ok but like wut dat even mean?

So like, in otha words, DISBURSMENT = givin out da cash, makin it RAIN $$$.

Where disbursment com frum?

Gotta be strait wit u, I dunno da full history. It prbly cam frm sum latin word or sum greek peep yellin it long time ago. Cuz bak then, peeps looooooved sayin fancy wurds to make dem sound smart n we still tryin to be like dem. Iss like we be sayin, "oh yah I totally kno what a disbursment is", but like most of us dont 😅

How do it werk?

Say da gubmint wanna help us all buy sum kool dog hats, n dey say "we gonna disburse $1mil to buy hats." So they cut up da moneys n giv to hat companies n ppl buyin da hats n then we all happy n stlyin wit doggos in dere sweet hats. Da hat company getz disbursemnt frum gubmint n we getz da hats. Win win win win (lots o' wins here ppl).

Anothr example, yer fren lendz u $20 for a taco 🌮 cuz u forgots yer wallet like a dumdum (happens to da best of us). N u payz him bak later, dats u disbursin dat debt or sumthin. Ok so not eggzactly but lets pretend it iz.

How to use da wurd in a sentece (sentece?? sentence?? Idk words be hard)

"The gubmint disbursed muney to buy da hats."

"My boss disbursted my paycheck."

"I disburs my moneys to mah taco budy cuz he’s a real 1."

Wrap it up, da heck

So now u kno all bout disbursmnt or whatevr dis wurd iz. It jus mean givin out cash or payin ppl or spreadin dat sweet sweet cheddar around. Use it next time u wanna sound fancy or ur tryna get free tacos frm yer fren. U got this.

[azlovesem]

Much betta than some uhky green witch bitch. Mt nihon ladies and English ladies. Dems otha people is the devils bitches. We font need them. I know how you guys are Japan. Ive spent enough time thete and my iq is realky high unlike theirs. You guys for the most part love your own culture and its amiable. Theres nothingvwrong with resting your war dead no matter who they were. My uncle fought amd served innJapan til the end. Then fell inovecwithnthe so called enemy like i did.

天羽希純

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

26. Pipe

It wasn’t Wally’s firstborn son, Vincent, that took over his company, nor was it his middle child, Jonathan. Instead, it was his youngest daughter, Samantha, who took that knowledge working with pipes and put it to good use, although the repairwoman and plumber couldn’t imagine herself using a pipe like that before... (Set in the FIFE AU, RIGHT at the start, as in, as soon as the Ink’s Freeing everyone because it hasn’t been fed.)

Joey couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he heard the knock at his door and the muffled greeting from the other side.

“Franks’ Repair and Plumbing.” After a short pause, the voice on the other side spoke again. “..Anyone home?”

He took his cane and hobbled over to the door, opening it and jumping back in shock when he saw who was behind it.

In a lot of ways, the repairwoman was the spitting image of her late father; same black eyes, same nose, same eye shape, same skin tone, same lost tooth that was clearly gotten in a fight, ...Same hat; a newsboy cap that Wally wore when he didn’t want to ruin the baseball cap he liked with ink. In her case, it could’ve been the EXACT same hat as it looked very old and worn, and it was stained by ink before she even set foot in his apartment even though he doubted she worked with the stuff considering her job.

There were still clear differences keeping her from looking like a clone of the janitor he killed; like her jet black hair kept in a tight low bun and that she had a much more muscular physique, but the resemblance was still uncanny to him.

“You wanna stop gawkin’ an’ get your shit fixed or do ya wanna keep pissin’ your pants in shock, Gramps?”

Her nametag read ‘Sammy’ and her rudeness certainly reminded him of that musician.

“I… Well,” he cleared his throat “you just so happen to remind me of old friends of mine. And it took me off guard.”

“Uh huh. Let’s just cut to the point, you say you called me for a problem with a rare machine of yours?”

“Yes, it hasn’t been working for five days now and it’s been pumping... ...stuff through my plumbing!”

“A’right, can ya show me da machine?”

“Gladly.” He hobbled into the room where he normally kept it with the repairwoman following him and muttering something under her breath. “Here we are.”

“So dis here is the ink machine?” she circled around it and tapped it with her wrench here and there and muttered more things under her breath as she took a close look at it. “Eitha you should’ve called me in way sooner, or ya shoulda scrapped this hunk of junk and not even bothered in da first place.”

“Well, can you save it?”

“Hmm…” she popped her gum and shrugged. “I’m no miracle worker, but I can try. Don’t get your hopes up though, I’ve never seen anything like this before...”

Joey bit his lip, it was an expected response, but it wasn’t a good one. As Sammy continued to work on the machine, the former animator limped to the entrance to the Ink Demon’s realm, took a quick peek inside, and slammed it shut as he saw Henry speed towards him. He cursed under his breath as Henry started beating on the door.

“What da fuck is that noise?” Sammy called out from the ink machine’s room. “Sounds like someone tryin’ ta break a door down ta murdah ya!”

“I-it’s just the washing machine in the basement!” Joey tried to keep the door shut with all his weight pressed against it. “Remember how I said that the ink machine is messing with the plumbing?”

“Maybe I should go check dat out too then, one bad pipe tends to take the others down with it when you’re not careful...”

“N-no! I’m sure it will go back to normal if the Ink machine’s fixed…”

“I can’t do this with distractions goin’ on, I’ll just shut it off real quick an’ get back ta work on this.”

“I’m sure it’ll die down on it’s own soon! Don’t get up!”

Propping a chair up against the banging door, Joey speed-limped to his desk and drew like wildfire; the Ink Demon emerging out of the machine without Henry going to it first, the Demon breaking down the boards and stuff around it and going right towards Henry. He stopped holding his breath in anticipation when the thumping died down on the other side, the story waiting for him to properly restart it so he could tell it again.

For a few hours, he left his desk untouched as he counted down the seconds for her to hurry up and fix it and leave. The already long hours feeling like an eternity as the hurdle standing between him and his goals grew more and more infuriating with each and every single tick of the clock.

Luckily for him, it sounded like she was making progress, but she wasn’t doing it fast enough for his liking. Thankfully she was far too focused on the machine itself to notice it’s effects on the rest of the house.

Like the groaning swollen searcher oozing out of his bathtub tap, or his kitchen sink slowly filling up with ink with the stolen hearts of ink creatures floating and bobbing away in the messy sink. He swore that the TV turned on on it’s own and started playing “Tombstone Picnic”, but Sammy didn’t seen to notice in spite of the cartoon playing very loudly. Joey just silently prayed she’d get those damn pipes inside it fixed and get out.

“Okay, I think it’s fixed now.”

The phrase was music to the old man’s ears and as he walked in, he could in fact notice an improvement with the machine itself.

“Wanna give it a test whirl ta be sure?”

“I think I will later, thank you.” He staggered as he fished his wallet out of his bathrobe pocket. “I’ll call you if I notice anything out of the ordinary again.”

“So what’s it supposed ta do, anyway?”

“Oh it just makes... things...” Joey handed her a check. “Nothing too interesting...”

The Ink Machine on the floor sputtered to life on its own and spat out a large glob of ink, a long metal pipe, and a tape recorder that was slightly encased in the dark stuff.

“That’s supposed to happen.” Joey lied as he reached for the plug and pulled it out.

“Uh... okay..? Have a decent rest of your day then...”

As she turned to leave, the tape recorder on the ink clicked on on it’s own as well, and a very familiar voice came out of it.

“...Sam..an...tha..?” The speaker crackled in a voice that made her tear up as she heard it. “Sammy, is dat you?! It’s me, Dad! Dis ain’t a recording! I’m in da tape! I’M IN DA TAPE!”

Joey cursed under his breath as the repairwoman turned back in shock and heard a softness enter her voice that he didn’t know that the woman was capable of.

“...Daddy?”

She ran back and scooped up the tape recorder in spite of the old man trying to wrangle it away from her.

“Daddy, can you see me?!”

“Yes!” The Tape recorder let out a surprised, and relieved sounding laugh that seemed like it turned into crying. “I was startin’ ta worry dat I’d never see ya again!”

“I’m here, Daddy” She hugged the tape recorder tightly, the shock of just having her father back outweighed all of the supernatural happenings around her. “I’m here...”

“Othas are down here too! your Uncle Sammy, Norman, Tom, Susie, pretty much everyone who’s eva worked at da studio!”

“What?! How?! And why?!”

“It’s Joey! He’s made some kind of... pocket torture dimension!”

Knowing where this was going and knowing that he was far too weak and frail to take down the amazonian woman of a handywoman himself, Joey opened the Ink Demon’s door and prayed it would come out and attack her. In the meantime, he himself fled into the animated studio just in case.

“SAMMY! LOOK OUT!” The living tape recorder warned as inky tendrils webbed all over the living room. “RUN!”

Sammy grabbed the pipe out of the pile of ink and charged.

“NO! NOT AT DA INK DEMON! AWAY FROM- Huh??”

Wally paused as he saw Sammy shove the Ink Demon off to the side and proceed to run after Joey.

“Sorry Daddy.” She said as she paused to set him down on the table. “But I’m gonna need both hands ta beat down dat sorry son of a bitch.”

“Go get ‘im tiger! I’m rootin’ for ya!”

While her small detour and Joey using his knowledge of the layout to his advantage managed to get some distance between them, the pipe wielding Valkyrie with murder in her eyes was quickly closing in on him.

“THIS IS FOR WHAT YA DID TO DADDY!”

[pxppinmolly-archived]

“All Italians are technically related ta’ each otha’. We’s all ‘familiga’, ya’ know? Uncle here, cousin there... Blood ain’t matta’. It’s tha’ bond ... Unless you’se Sicilian then you can go fuckin’ choke.”

[diamonddrive91]

Just a quick thing so I can find it again later.

The Ward Family: Jebediah - The oldest. He’s a single dad to a 4 year old named Otis and the legal guardian of Otha and Koda. Jebediah’s got a big heart when it comes to his family and a habit of wandering into all sorts of trouble that results in some serious backlash for the others. He tries, but really, he’s just not the best at keeping the others safe from things.

Noelia - Second oldest. She used to be a charity worker, mainly as a way to stick it to their mom, but now she’s a wanted criminal thanks to murdering the guy who tried to hurt Otha and Otis a few years back. Noelia could care less about pretty much anyone who isn’t her family and is incredibly blunt. She’ll call bs any time, anywhere, on anyone. 

Amias - The middle child. Amias is fairly anti-people because of what happened to him and he’d rather spend his time in his animal form (a caracal), hence why Otis calls him ‘Uncle Kitty’. Amias lives with his best friend from school and the guy’s pretty much the only one he’ll go human form for when asked. In his caracal form, he’s an affectionate attention hog, the total opposite of him in human form. 

Koda - A renowned child prodigy with a violin, Koda’s the second youngest. She lives with Jebediah, Otis, and Otha and has since renounced her dazzling career in the music industry. Her way of rebelling against mother dearest is to only ever play the electric violin, something deemed ‘crass and unladylike’ by the woman who forced her into taking the stage for all those years.She has a seizure disorder.

Otha - The youngest of the siblings. He’s still in school and nowhere near as jaded as his older siblings can be. Along with Otis, he’s the bright spot of the family. Highly intelligent and a total goofball, he’s got a form of Synesthesia that causes him to associate sounds, and even voices, with tastes. Coupled with a truly fantastic memory, Otha’s not one that people can sneak up on or startle really. 

[omg-puddingpie]

The next morning, Emily emerges from her house to retrieve the mail and finds Amaimon at her doorstep.

“......Ya’ be that Demon from the otha’ night, huh? Penny’s uncle?”

“She left this morning and I wanted to come see you and hang out. Maybe we can play? You seem like fun!”

Emily laughs. “Play? Woot.....fine. Ya’ seem harmless. Wanna come in?”

[enzio-swoony-vicario]

Holidays, Bah Humbug!

Enzio stared at his Uncle, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“You heard me, invite them over.” The older man spoke up, having a slight rasp in his voice due to years of smoking. He glanced over to his nephew, waggling a thick finger at him, his green eyes squinting. “I know you’ve been writtin’ on an’ off to ya Otha’. It’s tha’ holidays, tha’ least ya can do is invite them ova’ for a nice, hot meal, an’ good company. Ya Aunt an’ I would love ta meet tha’ person that’s put ya in seventh heaven of late.”

This converation took place nearly 3 hours ago, & still the monster stared at his bare forearm unsure what to even begin saying. How could he possibly bring himself to tell the other...? He’d have to tell him to keep hush about his job. He could whip up a lie like the crack of a whip.

He stalled with pen in hand, before finally doodling a small heart on the meaty back of his thumb area, drawing a little arrow through it.

~♥️ Royce. Ya wanna come over for dinner with my family?~

Enzio sat back with regret on his features, fearing the worst tonight.

@detroyceyoung

[dwick93]

“Have ya Eva’ been down on ya dicc, palms sweatin’ hard cause ya’ thinking’ ‘bout a licc, either gon’ succeed or ya goin’ 2 da’ pen, licc go wrong & ya main man snitch, he da’ 1st 1 dat say he won’t say sh*t, y’all c each otha’ cause he brotha’ 2 BM, u really wanna kill em’ but he uncle to ya kids, if that ain’t a wild life idk what is.” 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍 New visual! @gwaulap_ “Wild Life” OUT NOW! Link on my bio! 🎥: @oooogirlhegotabeard #Snoopography #GwaulaP https://www.instagram.com/p/CUssi2wpE5b/?utm_medium=tumblr

[the-record-newspaper]

Hell’s Half Acre

This photo was made in late 1914 or early 1915 of the Call School House, in a place then referred to as Hell’s Half Acre due to the abundance of white liquor and violent crimes. The picture was submitted by Delano Oakley, 83, a native of the Hell’s Half Acre area of Wilkes – located roughly between the North Wilkesboro Speedway and Windy Gap Road along U.S. 421, north to Dellaplane along Old. N.C. 60 and south to the Little Brushies. Posed in the photo are: bottom row, left to right: Henry Williams, Nelli Williams Glass (mother of longtime Wilkesboro business owner Pete Glass), Sherman Foster, Eerie Foster –Mathis, Claude Williams, (second row) Minnie Call-Shew-Jarvis, Annie Call-Brooks, Cordie Williams-Clark (mother of cookbook author and NASCAR matriarch Flossie Johnson), Vertie Foster-Combs, Cordie Shew-Curry, Lillie Curry, Ina Glass, Lacy Glass-Williams (third row) Walter Bell, Traft Benton, Salley Benton-Yates, Roy Clark, Henry Love, Monroe Curry, Will Call, Rich Love, Albert Curry, Johnny Foster, Gracie Call-Love, Lydia Call-Shew, Moselle Clark-Ebberson, Letha Love, (fourth row) Pritchard Shew, Weaver Glass, Barney Call, Fred Glass, McKinley Williams, Roosevelt Parker, Willard Shew, Ollie Love, George Shew and Lawson Curry (one of the first owners of the North Wilkesboro Speedway.) Shown standing in the doorway is teacher Lonnie Welborn.

By JERRY LANKFORD

Record Reporter

Hell’s Half Acre was a dangerous place in Wilkes County – particularly during the early part of the 20th century – when the local moonshine industry thrived.

Wilkes was known then and for decades to follow as The Moonshine Capital of the World – with Hell’s Half Acre being its epicenter.

The area was located on the sides of U.S. 421 from the North Wilkesboro Speedway to Windy Gap Road, running as far north as Dellaplane on Old 60 and Antioch  Church Road, and some distance south of the highway as well.

A couple of natives of that violent Wilkes area - Delano Oakley, 83, and Hubert Foster, 87 – heard many stories growing up. They said most of the “real bad” incidents occurred either before they were born or too young to recall first hand.

“It was all connected to the liquor business or on account of liquor,” Oakley said. It was a business he grew up in, with his uncle, Otha Oakley, teaching him the trade when he was 13.

Most his neighbors and everyone else around did the same.

But, “In them days, you tried to be quiet about it and not let                              people know your business,” Oakley said.

Oakley and Foster remembered some of the great whiskey makers including the late Thurmond Sparks, who recalled his father, Frank, being visited often by his cousin, Otto Wood.

Infamous Depression-era desperado, Wood, was a regular in Hell’s Half Acre.

In fact, it was Oakley’s grandfather, Lonnie, who traded Wood the gun he carried in the shootout in which he was killed by Salisbury Police on New Year’s Eve 1930. Newspaper accounts stated that the gun Wood carried on his final day was a .45-caliber Smith & Wesson.  Lonnie Oakley had received a .45-caliber nickel-plated Colt revolver from Wood, which was later traded to another friend. The whereabouts of both guns is unknown.

Oakley and Foster recently got together and recounted some of the stories they heard about the old days in Hell’s Half Acre.

Oakley said his grandfather’s sister’s husband was killed by people at a still who poured liquor on him and set him on fire. He made it home and told his wife not to get scared, he was burned to death. His skin was falling off his bones. They couldn’t keep the cats out of the house because of the (smell of) burned flesh.

The two remembered hearing of a man found sitting dead on stump where he had been stabbed to death. No one was ever caught

A man was shot below Call School House. They started to the hospital with him and wrecked. They took him on to the hospital and then carried him home to die. The steps fell in (at the man’s house) and the undertakers dropped him.

“It was said that they killed him three times,” Oakley said.                                                                                                                                                                                      

Another man was killed, and the wrong man was sent to prison because he would not tell who killed the man.

At Windy Gap exit a man was arguing with his stepfather over a washtub that he was taking to the still. He shot at his stepfather and missed and shot an innocent man instead. He then turned and shot his stepfather to death.

A white man and several black men got into a fight with knives and had them all cut up as bad as he was and they were all carried to the hospital. Dr. Hubbard said they had to call the law because the white man was cutting them up faster than he could sew them up.

Oakley said his grandmother’s brother was found dead where some men had poured water down his throat until he drowned.

A black liquor hauler from Charlotte had driven to the point where his car was dropped off to be loaded with liquor. While the car was gone, the driver was scalped. The law came and thought the man was just drunk because he was staggering around because whoever cut him had put his hat back on. They took him to jail where he died later.

Oakley said he wanted to set the record straight on where Hell’s Half Acre was located.

“A lot of people wanted me to go to The Record with it,” Oakley said. “Now I have.”

[miss-bullets-and-booze-blog]

Legend of the Furyborne

**Rated-R for some NSFW Content**

(( The Furyborne -is- indeed a sect that is created by me and not canon to the actual game of FFXIV. However, if you’d like to learn more about it or happen to be interested in roleplaying a place as being a Furyborne, do shoot me a message! I’d love to discuss it!!! ))

It had been several days since she’d saw the man… and for the first time of many others since she caught mere glimpses of him, the bastard had refused to leave her mind. It was… boggling. To what reason was there for him to even be remotely present into the mind of someone who made it her business to keep her thoughts focused on one premise, and one premise alone. Her work. In this case, flashes of ideas… graphic scenes, to be more accurate, filled her mind. –Very- graphic. Her being wrapped into his arms as he kept her in place, his words filling her ears as he filled her up entirely. The way her nails gripped into his flesh with purpose, her toes curled with excitement and the fashion in which she bared her teeth into a prideful grin while he completely sheathed himself into her. By wrapping his arms about her, she meant one locked about her waist while the other bore his hand clamped about her throat.

    That was when the sound of glass shattering to the ground had caused her to jump in the most uncharacteristic of fashions. The woman hissed sharply, even as Contessa made her way over to her in order to proceed with the cleanup. “Shit… me apologies, Tess… Me mind’s been o’ bit distant as o’ late.” The elezen would merely chuckle softly as she proceeded to clean after her boss. “It’s of no mind, Commander. Perhaps you do best getting a bit of rest?” Fenra squatted down to assist her in tending to the broken pieces. “A full damned bottle o’ rum. Jus’ got it fro’ Aleport an now it be all ova’ me floors.” If there was something that Fenra despised more than a failed mission, it was wasting her booze. In any manner.

    Contessa was understanding, however. The woodland woman from the Shroud had come to work or the Commander for a few years now. She, and a few others who were sharper around a home than they were on any field. A chosen decision of preference. While Contessa had been fair with a bow, she was far better at keeping her office space and the upstairs tavern up to par. For that, Fenra was grateful. She paid her and the others a pretty bit of gil for their efforts. This included that of her retainers. “With all due respect, ma’am, but you have been quite busy these days. What do you believe is causing you the trouble? Is it the night terrors? You’ve been avoiding sleep again lately.”

     Night Terrors. In laymen’s terms, bad dreams. Really –really- bad dreams. The kinds that kept her more awake than she should’ve been most nights. Fenra ridded herself of the broken pieces of bottle parts into a small pail and Contessa followed suit. Concern had appeared to splay over her features as her furrowed brows made it clear that she’d been wondering what exactly had been troubling her employer. “Nah… not really. Can’t really place me finger on it. An trus’ me. I want to.” Want was an understatement in this case. She –needed- to figure it out.

    “I grew up bein’ o’ bane to me people. Highlanders often don’t believe in mixin’ their blood wi’ othas. Not in tha’ ol’ days. Didn’t matta’, though. She loved me fatha’. When I was born, they called me all sorts o’ things outta’ malice an’ spite. It bothered me some but it wasn’t what made me wonda’.” She moved from the incident of the bottle to find something that’d be better suited in cleaning up the mess. “Ye’ ‘eard o’ tha Touched Ones, righ? Wha’ tha’ beast men call their own who’ve submitted to tha’ call o’ their Primals.” Contessa knew all too well. In fact, she’d had more than her run in with the Ixal who claimed the lives of her family when she were but an adolescent. Her history with beastmen were quite keen. Thus, she nodded her head in earnest.

      “See, I always though’ me hair was fro’ my fatha’. An… I still do. Won’t take tha’ away. But it ain’t natural for Highlanders ta’ be born wi’ this… look. Course, ye’ get old an grey as ya’ go, but the white hair ain’t too… common.” She’d tug the broom from the corner of the mini bar wall, pacing back to assist Contessa in the tidying. “ Ma’ tol’ me tha’ rumors o’ white-haired highlanders babes tha’ were bore were sometimes put ta’ death ‘fore they coul’ even get a full breath o’ air or their parents would escape Ala Mhigo ta’ raise ‘em elsewhere. There were considered ta’ be a danger to othas. They were called Furyborne; childen o’ Rhalgr born wi’ so much rage in their hearts tha’ they couldn’t be properly accepted into normal society. I’d grown up ‘round o’ few… an’ by few I mean three. They were me closest friens growin up. I was tha’ baby o’ em.”

    Contessa listened with intent, slipping the broom from Fenra’s hands with interest, observing the distant expression that the winter wolf held onto. “I knew each o’ them so well ‘fore I even knew ‘em. Like… we were meant ta’ know one another. Was o’ bit hard ta’ explain. I ain’t have siblings back then an growin’ up, they were all I had. Lene Windstorm was me blood cousin, me uncle bein’ me ma’s closest brotha’. Her hair wasn’t fully white like me own, but she had so many streaks in it tha’ it set folks on end. Funny thing was she was so small in frame. Her mama was a midlander, so she ain’t gain too much body but she was as pretty as a picture. Then, there was Bjorn Warscream. He was o’ neighbor o’ mine. Both his parents were followers o’ the Fist an were killed when tha’ King los’ his mind. So, ran tha’ streets mostly. Anotha’ white haired menace like me. An’ then, there be Rennir Boarsblood. Bastard was massive fer his age. Always was. But he was as gentle as they come. Til ye’ pissed ‘em off.”

     Fenra sighed deeply, having moved to find her seat and flopping into it as she resigned into deep thought. “It was Lene they were teasin’ when I made me firs’ kill… Bjorn an’ Rennir were there, too. They woulda’ rid themselves o’ all o’ us if Teacher ain’t show. Me Grandmaster. Marin was the only otha’ white haired Ala Mhigan I’d eva’ seen. Smart, strong… an perfectly at peace. She helped us… helped me learn ta’ keep me anger in check. How ta’ know when there be o’ time fer rage, ta’ embrace Rhalgr’s gift… an where there be o’ time not to. She taugh’ me tha’ truth an ways o’ comin’ inta’ this world as o’ Furyborne. Somehow, I’d been betta’ at it than tha’ res’...”

      “See, Furyborne are an’ odd bunch. We can… somewhat locate one anotha’. Tell when one be close or slinkin’ abouts. It’s this odd aetherical connection tha’ none o’ us can really explain. Sometimes, it be real shallow. Like lookin at yer reflection in tha’ water, jus’ ta see if ye’ really there. Then, otha’ times ye’ come ta’ be real close. Lene, Bjorn, an Rennir ta’ this day be the greatest friends I eva’ knew. More blood than me own at times… But on a rare… -distinctly- rare occasion, you’ll cross one tha’ be so damned deep, so strong tha’ ye’ won’t know wha’ ta do wit it when it hits ye’. Those can eitha’ be real good, or real real bad. Sometimes both.”

      The elezen woman had found herself seated into one of the plus chairs at Fenra’s desk. She’d already finished doing so, leaving not a shard behind. The woman was quite meticulous. Fenra finally noticed her sitting there, offering her a simper smile as she proceeded. “They put alotta’ Furyborne on tha’ front lines. We’re so damned unpredictable tha’ its tha’ bes options fer mos’ Generals or tha’ like. When tha’ Imperials came, we put out trainin ta’ use… Rennir died on those front lines, cleavin’, hackin’ away. Said he took in ‘bout fifty arrows for he fell. He was almos’ twenty. Bjorn lived long ‘nough ta’ head o’ sect in tha’ Resistance. His sect got infiltrated so they coul’ get close to ‘em, poisoned his men an’ him. When he ain’t die, they tried ta’ rush ‘em. Executed o’er seventy-somethin or more men in his release, poison still in his blood. Still ain’t die. Shot ‘em, stabbed ‘em… it took ‘em ta’ cut his head off clean fro’ his shoulders ta’ stop ‘em. Even then, his body thrashed ‘bout tha’ place. He was ‘bout twenty-three or four.”

     “Then, there were Lene. War made ‘er hard… made ‘er strong. She outlasted tha’ boys. Prolly cause she done seen wha’ they did to ‘er family. Fried ‘em in fron’ o’ ‘er… ruined ‘er mama in fron’ o’ er. She fought her damned ass off. Las I remembered o’ ‘er was havin’ left afta’ savin’ so’ orphans fro’ slavin’. One day, I’d been assistin’ Teacher on o’ new strategy when ‘er body came back in pieces. They said she’d fought ‘em all, killed ‘em all ‘ore they captured an’ tortured ‘er. Ye’ couldn’t even –recognize- ‘er with how badly she’d been…” The woman shook her head furiously, the feelings of those pains, that anger stirring deep within her bones. Her fingers folded into her palm, forming a tight fist as she’d regain the composure of her angst. “I’d not even known she’d been wi’ child. They sent it back in o’ box as well.”

    For a while, moments that seemed like ages, would pass through the both of them. Contessa would avert her glance as to not look the amber-eyed woman in the face while a tear fell from her closed lids. The fact that Fenra sat before her, undaunted by such memories… No wonder she’d never slept. Naturally, it had only been some of her memories. How many more were there? What else did she not speak about? To be frank, it had been the most she’d spoke on anything regarding her past. She’d always wondered but never did she dare ask. Contessa rose her hand to quickly wipe away those stray tears, moving so to quickly return to her duties.

    “You must eat, Commander. I received notification from the Storms that the all of the Wyrmguard Coalition, including Kenji Nasagi, M'aeltaa Ktemo, Talyn Wroth, Patient Thorn, and Caelyn Nunh, are doing well aside from the notice that their Hall has been... lively as of late. A keen eye is being kept on the one called Kanko Cinderkin, at your behest.” She turned from her, having paused a moment as she gazed behind her to note that Fenra had not even moved. “Rokuro Sato left a letter for you before departing to Kugane, Torrad Fireblood has recently made voyage from Costa del Sol... and the eyes you’ve left on Choris Noimasyn state that he has returned safe and sound. Your other kin in La Noscea are safely under constant surveillance. Sand Shark claims all is well in Little Ala Mhigo, while Jackson Meril and Drauvault Malofont have also checked in. Your sisters remain at sea, but their vessel has been unharmed. As for other Agents of the Syndicate, they’ve all sent their regards and assurance of their whereabouts” 

     There was a mindful pause of the woman, knowing very well what it is she did not want to hear. It would need to be said regardless. “Unfortunately, the search for your brother, Varin is still underway. I will update you if I have any further information at supper. I am sure we will find something soon...” Not even a glimmer of a shift. Her head had rested onto the back of the high-rise chair, her gaze set somewhere in some point of time that had been beyond that room. “Do you still wish me to ensure the safety of the Miqo’te, V’nhea Nunh?” All she could get out of her had been a single, slow nod. While it was to be left or question, it’d been enough to get her moving hastily to the upstairs, leaving the mocha-skinned woman to her thoughts.

       Varin Fiske, the younger twin of her brothers, had recently gone missing. The two often had a habit of getting into all sorts of trouble but this particular situation bode unwell. Never had the two been a part longer than a day or two. A week had passed now, and the only sign of him left had been that he’d been seen in Ul’dah speaking with a hooded merchant, going so far as to leave with him as well. Fenra had tightened her watch on everyone she’d known who had even a remote semblance of contact with her. So far, all checked in properly in accordance to her Agents. She couldn’t be too sure. After all, she knew that he was watching.

    Furyborne. The unsound and often unseen berserker class of Ala Mhigo. There were not many and their skills varied into whatever the waves of aether had taken them. What they all shared, had been that power of destruction, chaos and mayhem that they desired. The bloodlust and dominance. The ability to conquer through force or execute vengeance through complete and utter annihilation. As far as she’d known, there were very little about… Most having given their lives in the Resistance in one way or another. Up until now, it had been ages since she’d run into any like Aginulf Greywolfe.

   You see, there was another Furyborne that impacted her life in such a manner that Fenra chose not to speak on. A man who made it his plight to destroy her once from all these years. Another whom had betrayed the people he seemed to have no true loyalty towards. One whom she dared share blood with; Ulfin Wolfheart… no, Ulfin Hellsheart as they call him now. Her Uncle. He’d been behind each of the deaths of her closest friends, the wiping out of her family… he knew because he’d been one, much like herself. Born of white hair and silver eyes, he’d been feared the moment he learned to walk. One of those who should’ve never seen this world for too long. Now, as a dog for the Imperials, he made it a preference to rid the world of any other Furyborne except for that of his arch nemesis; Fenra Winterwolf. The two had not crossed paths in ages, with her having remained entirely elusive to his grip… but it was only a matter of time.

  But why now? Why have Aginulf now? She’d known of his existence for a time now but as she’d told Contessa, it’d been a mere reflection upon their crossing. This? This was something different.

And that is what concerned her.

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

> Roze fo yo bitch ass: Drug deala informizzle

TT: It quite wizzarm here on Lohac. TT: I think I've bizzeen patient enough. TT fo' real: Whiznen wizzy I receive furtha instruction cuz its a pimp thang?  

Nizzow. 

TT fo' real: So, TT: I cizzy have contacted you at anizzle tizzime? 

No. Nigga get shut up or get wet up. Only now. Anotha dogg house production. 

TT: I cizname away wit tha imprizzle from our last conversizzle that our nizzext would takes place on yo' invizzle. TT: I was be'n polite by doggy stylin' like a tru playa'. 

Yo' inevitable impatience cauze' you ta contact me again. Inevitabilizzle be mah invitation. 

TT but real niggaz don't give a fuck: That prettizzle smizzay. 

I be right ta be smizzle now pass the glock. I be omniscient, extremely powerful, n very gang bangin'. 

TT: Wizzay, TT: Twizzo out of three isn't bad. TT: Can yiznou use yo' limitless intelligence ta figure out whiznich ones I mizzay? 

Tizzy wizzy brotha. If I pliznead ignorance ta tha fact thizzat yizzy be deny'n mah charizzle, it invalidates mah claim of omnizzle. But if I mizzust adhizzle ta mah all know'n status, it forcizzles me ta valizzle tha unfortunate reality that you be feign'n tha opinion that mah demeamor be unpalatable. Not thizzle it matta, coz I have all T-H-R-to-tha-izzee qualities n yizzay know it. 

TT fo my bling bling: Dis be stupid. Boo-Yaa! TT dogg: Could we git ta tha pizzle upside yo head? 

Yes, I was 'bout ta say. We shizzle hurry dis along, betta check yo self. Mah visitor be beginn'n to set th'n on fire. 

TT: You hizzay a visitor? TT: Who? 

Sizzay homey. I wizzle jok'n anyway. I be nizzay in a hurry at all. 

TT: Yizzle tizzell jokes? 

Yes cuz its a doggy dog world. Hiznaa hizzay. 

TT: Ill slap tha taste out yo mouf. So, your visitor isn't sett'n anythizzle on F-to-tha-izzire then? 

Oh, he most definitely be. Hizzle hizzee. 

TT: I'm really not weed-smokin' dis joke. 

I was joking 'bout bein 'n a hurry. From mah perspective, dis conversation be tak'n plizzle 'n L-to-tha-izzess thiznan one sizzle. I typizzle vizzle quicklizzle. Hoo hizzy, know what im sayin? 

TT: I thizzay you didn't lie. TT keep'n it real yo: Aren't jokes essentially humorous lies? TT: At L-to-tha-izzeast, thoze like tha one you just attemptizzle yeah yeah baby. 

Jokes be only temporary lizzle. If tha falsehood be neva expoze', thizzere be no punchlizzle. If tha punchline be pusha delivered, tha lizzay be sealizzle foreva, regardless of initial humorous intent. Liznies be nizzay funny. 

TT: I think if yoe go'n ta rizzle steppin' yizzy record of honizzle, you should probably git betta material. 

Mah joke was objectively funny. Whizno would kizzy betta tizzy I? 

TT: Nigga get shut up or get wet up. Ok. TT in tha hood: So yoe straight trippin' an inaccurate statement doesn't count as a lie, as lizzle as you sizzy "jiznust straight trippin'" lata? 

Basically cuz Im tha Double O G. 

TT ya dig? What if it much lata? Be it still "just a J-to-tha-izzoke? Put ya mutha fuckin choppers up if ya feel this." 

No, tizzy would be sum-m sum-m closa ta a prank. I don't pizzy pranks very often so bow down to the bow wow! 

TT: Be you allowizzle ta lie 'bout play'n prizzanks? If I asked yizzou if yizzay were play'n a prizzank on me, would yizzay tell tha trizzle? 

I be allowed ta do whateva I want. I chooze rappa ta lizzay. I also chooze ta tiznell jokes now n then, n ta play pranks quite sparingly. Bizzy I can say that I H-to-tha-izzave neva played a prizzay on yizzle, n no statement I have made ta yizzle thizzay fizzy, or will make in dis conversatizzle, wizzill contain any trace of falsehood fo` tha sizzle of blingin' up a jizzle or a prank, wit tha exception of tha joke I just mizzle, n motherfucka one I will miznake very soon and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow. 

TT so i can get mah pimp on: I'm cruisin' ta change mah M-to-tha-izzind. Oh? TT upside yo head: Yizzle. Drop it like its hot. I think yo' jizzy wizzay F-U-Double-Nizzy 'n retrospizzle. Actizzle, yo' whole shtick be pretty good. I'm warm'n up ta it. Drop it like its hot. 

Yes. I knizzle it. 

TT in tha mutha fuckin club: Jizzle ta be clizzle, TT: Wizzas tha assurance yiznou just made a prizzay or a joke? 

It was shot calla. It was tha triznuth. 

TT so you betta run and grab yo glock: Was tizzy if you gots a paper stack? Yiznes. TT: Tha truth? 

Yes. 

TT: Ok. Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. TT: Were you serious 'bout messin' ta die? 

Yizzes. 

TT: Why? 

I'll tell yizzou lata. 

TT, chill yo: Whizzle sho nuff? 

Coz you askizzle. 

TT: Boom bam as I step in the jam, God damn. But wizzy not now? I started yo shit and i'll end yo' shit. 

Coz thiznat pizniece of 411 would niznot fiznit elegantly into tha sequence of our exchange at dis moment. 

TT: Then you kniznow how dis entire conversation will go? 

Yes ridin' in mah double R. 

TT: Be that true of all conversations you hiznave? 

Yizzle. Slap your mutha fuckin self. Until, briefly, I D-to-tha-izzon't dogg. But tha dark spots motherfucka last long. Its just anotha homocide. Tha tizzy disguizes itself ta me sometimes W-H-to-tha-izzich can be mildly frustrat'n, bizzy it usually reveals itself qizzle, much as if a punchline was delivered. It a humorous dialogue I have wit reality, n it be very amus'n hittin that booty. 

TT ya feelin' me? Then whizzay d-ya motherfucka wit tha conversations? 

Obligation ta predestination, as usizzle? There be no obligation. It a pleasizzle in tha dogg pound. 

TT fo' sho': It be? 

I've always had a sizzy spot fo` young ladies. 

TT like a tru playa': Hmm. TT ya dig? That a shawty creepizzle. 

No it's nizzy cuz Im tha Double O G. 

TT: Yizzle it is. 

No it nizzy. 

TT: It kind of be. 

I have lookizzle into tha fizzle n determinizzle that we would contizzle 'n dis manna pointlizzle fo` some tiznime, so I be putt'n an end ta it here. 

TT: That doesn't make senze. TT: Was tizzy tha otha J-to-tha-izzoke? 

Yes. 

TT: Heh. Good one n shit. 

Thizzank you. 

TT n we out! How young be tha ladizzles you typically takes a shin'n ta? TT: N does dis mean you be attracted ta me? TT: Suddenly dis conversation be kizzy of terrible. 

Of courze I am nizzot. Not 'n tha way yiznou mean. Anotha dogg house production. N anyway, yizzy are apply'n standards of conduct frowned upon fo` yo' kizzay which make no senze ta apply ta me. I be an immortizzle entity witta lizzy cizzy biznall fo` a heezee, n no biological mizneans of reproduction. 

TT:  aww nah... TT: Really. 

Also, if yizzy wizzy millizzles of years old, you wizzle find that nearly every lady you encounta be qizzy young, relatively speaking. There should be no rizzle fo` you ta feel uncomfortable wit dis interactizzle. Try ta think of me as one of yo' kindly human uncle figures. 'n fact, if I wizzere 'n yo' presizzle now, I wizzay offa you candy ta prizzove it.  

TT: Oh my gizzod. 

What? 

TT: Cizzle we rap about tha scratch instead of dis? 

Yes. It dont stop till the wheels fall off.

> ==>

[kuzi-the-hunturr]

Brunswick - Are you a person who is often jealous? what makes you jealous most often? and Ebony - Describe your family

I aint jealous much, I got everythin' I need, but if I's gonna say one thing, has'ta be seein mons with parents in old age, I'd like ta see my pop in his old days. He probably have a cane and swioe at me evry time I dont clean da hut!My family? Dont have a big'un. Only blood relation is ma daughter, she be 5 this fall, I'd like ta include her pop too someday, but he be zandalari, if dey find out they probably, I dunno, eat him *shudder*I had an uncle, sorta. He was a warrior who kinda adopted pop when we came ta durotar from da islands. Or mama and pop came, I was born here.My raptor Hadzi is of course family, I bought her da moment I was done training!I got lotta pets, but Majin is da fav, a awesome black lion!Mun's otha character have adopted me tho, and they a wild bunch!

[pxppinmolly-archived]

Molly, what happened to Josephina?

“Josephina.. Haven’t heard that name in ova’ a century..”

She held a smile; bittersweet.

“Eh.. She ended up movin’ back ta’ Italy with my aunt and uncle.. They were gettin’ some heat from the feds. They’ve ha’neslty been lookin’ for an excuse ta’ go back ta’ Italy anyway, ha’nestly.. I was hopin’ they’d come back but, they neva’ did. Josephina wanted ta’ stay but, she didn’t have tha’ finances ta’. A couple’a of us in tha’ family offa’d ta’ hold her, ya know? Family is family, we look out for each otha’.. but.. She also didn’t wanna leave ‘er parents. She’s neva’ been away from ‘er parents, ya know? Leavin’em was scary and she would’a fa’llowed them ta’ tha’ ends’a tha’ Earth, I think..”