#buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting

[kremlin]

"This event ends the moment you write us a check, and it better not bounce, or you're a dead motherfucker" -- Big Bill Hell

There was a time when you'd see little old ladies paying for the groceries with a hand-written personal check, holding up the line, causing an immediately-forgiven slight sense of annoyance with those behind her. Buddy. Those days are over. They've been over. What, did you think you were going to just pop a couple extra zeroes on the end of your paycheck there? Maybe scan your paycheck, open it in photoshop, make a template, print em out all nice? You think you're the first to think of that, dipshit?

It takes the law a long time to catch up with the state of the art. You're reading this on the internet, which means you never use checks. The law has caught up. Your ass will be going to prison immediately and you will see zero return.

You can't even kite checks anymore, and hell, nobody under 40 will even know what that means, due to the blazing fast, two day settlement on all ACH transactions. Let me paint you a picture.

You get paid on Friday, but it is Monday, and bills are due on Tuesday. And you're broke: $0 in the bank. Goose egg. Pop open your checkbook, go to a store, "buy" some things, write a check for the amount. The cashier takes it!

Now take those things you "bought", across town, to another store location, and return them for cold hard cash. Sweet. Bills paid. Friday rolls around, and you just make it to the bank to deposit your paycheck before it closes. After the weekend, the checks you wrote finally post, and they don't bounce! You've kited a check. You've surreptitiously taken a zero-interest loan. And we know your broke ass. The interest rate on that short-term payday loan should have been straight up usurious. We're talking 29%. That makes predatory fuckers like us horny for sex. We're so mad. Now you are going to Federal Prison. For a good minute. Fuckface.

COST: $0.10 (With banks offering free checking accounts + Bic pen)

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor sleet, if you fuck with the mail, we'll rip your nuts off" -- Ronald Mail (Inventor of Mail)

Many people have this misnomer that the most powerful people in politics are democratically elected. The president, of the United States, of America, is a stupid cartoon hotdog. All of them, I don't care. Way less clout than you'd think. Brilliantly, it is the people that the hotdog president appoints who are actually doing anything significant. The director of the CIA. The fucking chairman of the Federal Reserve. Probably the, like, most senior, uh, general of the military, and shit too. I don't know, we don't "do" army here at Bloomberg. You probably don't even know their names! I don't! These are the ones you should be seeing in your sleep.

There's another position like that. Appointed directly by the hotdog. The Postmaster General. That's a real title. He's the CEO of the mail, and buddy, what he may lack in political power relative to the director of the CEO, he makes up in raw sexual energy. Total Tom Selleck energy. Like an airline pilot. We're talking Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I'm tentpoling in my black business slacks just writing this, and all my Bloomberg newsroom bros are peering over my shoulder and also tent-poling. We're not gay though, and especially me, I'm probably the least gay, but sometimes I just lay awake for hours at night what that mustache would feel like pressed against my lips, the unbelievable and utter, total sense of security I'd feel burying my head into his hard chest.

You get it. He's your dad. And if you fuck with the mail, you've fucked with the tools in your dad's garage. And dad's been drinking. You're in for it, bucko, you are in trouble. Do you think the United States Postal Service actually makes any money? Hell no. It costs like five bucks to mail a box basically anywhere I can think of and they give you the boxes for free. You can just walk in the post office and take them. I do that, and then just throw them away, I don't know why, some kind of compulsion. Being able to move shit around like this, quickly, cheaply -- Jesus H, I've got a huge amount of money in my bank account, probably tens of trillions of dollars (due to financial knowledge gained from reading Bloomberg articles) and I could probably mail every single person ever something and still come out in the black.

No way pal. They've thought of that already. The Postmaster General is going to know every time, and he's going to grab you by the shirt collar, wearing his cool as fuck hat, and you're going to get your pants pulled down, and your bare ass spanke...I need to go use the restroom real quick.

We rely on the mail system to get important shit done. It's not something to be taken lightly, and it isn't. Trust me. This is why, like almost every other person who receives mail in this year 2023, I just fucking put a wastebasket under my mail slot. I don't even shred that shit anymore. I just burn it. Takes less time.

COST: $0.63 (Postal stamp)

"Can call all you want, but there's no one home // And you're not gonna reach my telephone // Out in the club, and I'm sipping that bubb // And you're not gonna reach my telephone" -- Lady Gaga

I read something wild that the children of today do not know what a dial tone is, because of how fucked up and stupid they are. Isn't that super fucked up?

While it's not really our style, allow me to fill you in on some ancient, arcane knowledge about the telephone. You can turn it on, and then you can punch in numbers. Any numbers. Random ones, or maybe not random ones. If the ten numbers you punch in are the same as the numbers in someone else's telephone number, their phone will ring, and then you are talking to them. This is called "Phreaking".

Here's the kicker: You can tell that jackass anything you want. "Oh, Hi, Yes, I am Reginald Sumpter calling from Avalon Consulting LLC, we are just following up on the invoice we sent you. Please remit to ###### routing ###### account."

BOOM! Your name isn't Reginald whatever and that company doesn't exist, but you just received a deposit. It's fucking beautiful. What have you done wrong? It isn't your responsibility to handle who your business' clients/etc are, it's their's. If they want to just pay you money for no real reason, well, that's kind of on them, isn't it? I haven't stuck a pistol in your face and demanded everything in the register.

Well, it's too clever. It's too slick. This is the United States of America. It's one thing to commit a felony like armed robbery, it's another thing to piss off someone in charge of the accounting division who uses a special bathroom you need a key to get into.

You can do it on the computer too, I use a PC Computer at work and send email, so you can see how it'd work there. You can make a document that is indifferentiable from a real invoice and, straight up, 1/3 of the time they will pay that shit. Lmfao.

It's called wire fraud because, uhh, duhhhh, there's wires. What do you think that thing is strung between the telephone receiver and the dialer? And computers? Give me a break. There's so many wires with those.

COST: $0.25 (Coin for payphone)

"People calculate too much and think too little." -- Charlie Munger

It is insane how dumb the common man can be when it comes to our world of expertise. I hear this same sentiment, like, ALL THE TIME:

"Durr hurr I will buy an insurance policy for my car or house or whatever so that in case something happens to it I will get money". And then that same person proceeds to drive safely or not burn their house down. Dumbest crap imaginable.

Let me break it down for you. Insurance is a two player competitive game. There is a winner and there is a loser. Go take out an expensive insurance policy on your American sports car. Buy a neck brace, a football helmet, and pack that bitch with throw pillows. Then get in the left lane of a major highway at like noonish, let it rip and then SLAM on your brakes. Hit from behind! Your fault! Congratulations. You have won insurance. How this gets past people is beyond me.

You can only do this once or twice before the insurance companies catch on. Then they don't want to fuck with you. It is also..I don't know man...something feels off about taking a car or a house, which like, some guy had to build and just destroying it, but that is only a weird emotional thing, since you're making money, more than whatever the destroyed thing is worth, so in reality you've built that house plus some extra. You've contributed.

COST: $106.00 (Average monthly car insurance payment)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SUBSCRIBE TO MY WHATEVER FOR PART TWO, COMING SOON. i'll post it later today probably. whatever time frame will juice the numbers. have a sneaky peaky

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[autumn-mythos]

AZAKIEL OF MALKHUT'S DIARY - 2 3/4 MONTHS BEFORE THE "POWER OF VIRTUE" INCIDENT.

Note: The Uncanny Valley police department was not able to remove the owner's drawings or her glitter pen for the sake of preservation.

That, and we don't really want to get rid of it. Captain porkchop thinks it's funny.

Dearest diary,

FOR MY EYES ONLY!

Working the bar was so fucking annoying good fucking LORD.

Ex-Mayor Megatron or whatever came in again. Every word that twink speaks is like a knife to the eardrum. I don't CARE that you're lonely! I really, really don't care! He was the only other person in the bar, too, so I couldn't serve anyone else...

He holds the same wretched vibe Percy had when I first met them. Like ohh my god you're not a suave fast-talking sex machine, you're going to go home and eat cereal without any milk and watch looney tunes under a pile of Wyvern Ball cosplay shirts that your girlfriend bought you! Fuck OFF!

I miss Percy.

Except this fucking condom failure probably doesn't have a nerdy human girlfriend!

He doesn't deserve anything like that! He's fucking stupid! He just. He doesn't deserve it.

I think I'm projecting. My therapist told me to stop that.

Anyway this fucking twat bursts in, COMPLETELY interrupting my flow, I was in the middle of writing my poetry, talking about a "Wonderful idea" he had. Something something Infinite Virtue or whatever. Buddy. Pal. The only reason you want to talk to me is because I'm being paid to be nice to you. PLEASE just order a drink and start sobbing in the corner about your woes.

This guy is making me miss train wizard. And that guy was the fucking worst! Would never shut the fuck up! I would talk to them all day if it meant not talking to this fucking guy.

Oh shit! I can work on poetry now that I'm home.

The sorrow you've left me in Is like

Nevermind, I'm shit at this. I should try different hobbies. Maybe fishing. I'll try fishing. This tortured poet thing isn't working out right now.

Note to self: Get a pen that Naobi didn't buy for you like two years ago while you're out getting a fishing rod. Or maybe a spear? Spears are cooler. Buy a spear. For fishing. Don't use the spear for anything else.

Yeah bye

[sabraeal]

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon ��té, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

[thiswomanshouldbewriting]

Since @heinous-bitch was curious about this, and there's nothing I love more than talking, here is some extra info on the state of italian schools, inspired by this post. I'm by no means an expert, just an italian that went to public schools from the age of six up until university. Sorry this took so long, it was kind of hard to organize all of my thoughts in a somewhat coherent way. Under the cut because it got way too long.

First of all, I personally believe that the problems in italian public schools can be boiled down to three main points:

1) Poor planning in public structures

2) Abismal maintenance

3) General lack of care from students as well

(You might notice that I specified public school. Thankfully, Italy has a somewhat robust public school system, meaning that the vast majority of people goes to public schools. For the record, I think the kindergarten situation is more complex and relies on the private sector more, but let's ignore that for this post).

Let's delve a bit more into these points.

1) Things that are bought with public money need to be cheap. And not just as a rule of the thumb, as in "if I need gloves for the hospital lab and I need to pay them with public money, I need to determine the level of quality I need l, and then ask the price to three different industries, and pick whichever is the cheapest". So, the rule is "pick the cheapest as long as the quality is the same" and I believe this applies to entire buildings as well; who gets to build the school/hospital/whatever? Who made the cheapest project. This is useful to avoid things such as "I purposefully picked the more expensive project so that my buddy who works there will be paid more" but, you might guess, makes it more likely to actually get something that is sub par.

2) If it's public, it's probably drowning in paperwork. Italian paperwork/bureaucracy is notoriously hell. Everything is slowed down. You know that gif from The Good Place "it could take between a week and 11 years"? Yeah, that is an accurate representation of the italian experience when it comes to road work, buildings under repair/construction, etc.

3) Idk what it's like in other countries, but (and this is particularly truefor high school students) many kids/teens just do not care about the damage they do. Why should the school waste money fixing the doors of the toilets if students will puch/kick them in again? Or cause burn marks with their cigarettes.

Now that we've discussed the causes, let's talk about their effects in your day-to-day life: is the state of italian schools this bad? Yes and no. And with that I mean that it does sound insane if you tell it to someone who is not used to it, but it mostly just works fine if you're used to it.

My highschool didn't have locks on the toilets' doors. Soap and toilet paper never existed, nor did we have warm water coming out of the faucets. I think the teacher's toiletwas better, but it was locked. Since it was an historical building it was really hard to heat it up, and the windows in my classroom were shit, so I distinctly remember attending lessons in winter with my coat still on and still suffering from the cold (how was that bloody classroom colder than the outside? Idk). But we did have a computer room and even a small café inside the building where you could buy your breakfast/middday snack, so it's not like we were abandoned to the wolves or something.

I'd say high schools have the worst of it because 1) students are now old enough to cause significative damage to it 2) You generally only stay for 4-6 hours every day, so I guess there's less care put into how liveable the space is. My elementary and middle school were better.

But we do have some tragedies. As I was writing this, I tried to find on google an article on a student who died in his high school because part of the ceiling collapsed and he was his by a metal tube.

This particular case turned out to be from 2008, but by googling "ceiling collapse in school" I realized I got plenty of results from all years. Almost none of them are fatal, many don't even result in injuries, but they do happen.

I didn't initially remember what year this story was from, so I googled "ceiling collapse in school" and I realized (with some horror) that I got plenty of results from all years. Almost none of these incidents are fatal, many don't even result in injuries, but they do happen.

Even more shocking, in my opinion, is what happened to the elementary school in Amatrice (central Italy) after an earthquake in 2016

Thank God this happened in the night in the summer, and no one was there.

Students in the university residence in L'Aquila weren't so lucky in 2009.

8 students died here after an earthquake in 2009. Italy is a seismic country that apparently doesn't know how to build anti seismic structures (also filed under: why I'd never in a million years support the creation of nuclear plants in Italy).

But this problem is not only related to schools; basically, Italy is a state that could work wonderfully in theory (public schools! public healthcare!), but not so much in practice. And yes, schools and healthcare should definitely get more funds, but I do not have the knowledge or skills for that discussion.

Italians feel free to add to any point of this.

[crescentsteel]

Just Friends - Epilogue

plot: fubu set up with Kuroo, model fem reader genre: fluff, suggestive themes  wc: 2.1k

[a/n]

I enjoyed writing this self-indulgent, tooth-rotting part. I hope you do too.

I loved this story so much. It really is goodbye now, Kuroo. 

Ack. Not crying. 

Part 10 || m.list

“Morning,” says your boyfriend with the familiar drawl of his voice in early mornings.

“Mmm, more sleep.” You nuzzle your face on his glorious chest which you deem is the best pillow you’ll ever have. Of course, you won’t tell him that. His head is already big enough with that bed hair of his.

He wraps his arms around you even tighter, drawing you in his warm embrace that makes the January weather in Japan forgiving, comforting even.

He plants a soft kiss on your forehead while he tenderly tucks your hair behind your ear.

“Kitten, as much as I want to sleep in today, we both have to get up,” he says while he strokes your cheek, making you want to stay longer like this, contrary to what he just said.

“But why?” You whine with your eyes still closed.

He chuckles softly. “It’s your graduation today.”

You squint your eyes open and look at him. Kuroo Tetsurou. Your fuck buddy for 6 months, friend without the benefits for another 6 months, and boyfriend for 2 years.

After you made things official with him, you sorted your life out and figured out what you really wanted to do. As much as you enjoyed working full time, you decided to go back to your university and finish your degree while working part time instead.

You realized that you wanted to see it through, not because your parents wanted you to, but for yourself. You lost clients, but you were happier. But with Tetsu looking at you as he is, you’d think he’s way gladder than you are that you’re finally graduating.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What? Can’t I be happy for this occasion?”

You shrug your shoulders and get back to nestling yourself within his hold. He gently taps your shoulder. “Oyyy, get up already. I can’t do it with you being cute and shit like that.”

You giggle on his chest before getting up.

—

“Seriously, Tetsu. You look too damn happy,” you remark on your seat as you watch him drive. “You’ve had that wide grin on your face since we left my place.”

“You don’t understand, kitten. We finally get to look like a legit couple. I won’t get those looks from students in your university anymore.”

You frown. “What’re you talking about?”

He snorts. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“Oh please. They look at me like I’m a cradle snatcher.”

You cackle on your seat. You really had no idea that your schoolmates looked at him like that. It must be the suit and the car every time he fetches you from the campus.

“Aww Tetsu.” You reach for his face and caress his cheek. “You don’t look that old to be a cradle snatcher.” He smiles as his one hand lets go of the wheel to cup yours that was resting on his face.

“Maybe a sugar daddy?”

He returns his hand on the wheel and scowls. “You know, we still have time to pull up somewhere.”

“Why the hell would we pull up?”

His scowl turns into a contemptuous grin. “So we could do that sugar daddy roleplay of yours. I can act like a creep who paid for your university. Then we can pretend to have one last sex.”

You instantly remove your hand away from his face. “You’re gross,” you spat out. It was his turn to laugh. “What? I’m just going along with your shit.”

His one hand creeps on your inner thighs. “Come on, baby. Won’t you let me fuck you for the last time?” You raise an eyebrow on his hand that’s inside your skirt before raising your gaze to him. “Oh daddy. Does this really have to be the last?” You play along with his dumb antics.

He grips your flesh right before making a sharp turning on the curve right ahead. “Tetsu! What’re you doing?” He keeps his mouth shut with his eye glued to the road. “Hey! Where are we going?” He still doesn’t answer you until he pulls up at a park that is somehow familiar to you, but you can’t remember why.

“What are we doing here?” You ask.

“You don’t remember this place?”

You shake your head. “Well, if you must know. I stopped over in this area to do you before I took you back to my place. You were batshit drunk and let me, a stranger do all sorts of stuff with you. End of story time.”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and lunges right at your lips, causing you to moan from the suddenness of it. His tongue swipes your lower lip right before thrusting it impatiently in your mouth.

You force yourself to pull away. “Tetsu, it’s broad daylight.” He might have gotten away with it before, but it’s too bright at present. Anyone can just walk in on you.

“Why do you think I got my car tinted as fuck? Besides, barely anyone comes here,” he says before his lips coaxes you to agree by flicking his tongue just below your jaw.

“B-but my clothes,” you try to protest.

“We’re not going to remove them,” he hums against your neck.

You cup his face to lead him back to your lips as you unbuckle your own seat belt to get over to his seat and straddle him. He reclines his seat while ravaging your lips.

“Call me that again,” he says in between kisses. You knit your eyebrows together before gaping at him with an amused look as it dawns on you what he’s talking about.

You hitch your skirt up and grind on his clothed erection. You place both your elbows on both sides of his head, hovering just an inch on his face. “Call you what, daddy?”

He smiles as he reaches for your lips once again.

--

“Why are you late on your own graduation?” Kenma asks as he eyes Kuroo’s wrinkled slacks and your crumpled dress that you still struggle to fix even after arriving.

“Forget I asked,” he says with a grimace. “Sorry,” you apologize before catching your own breath. You turn to Kuroo and fix your hair for the last time. “Do I look okay?”

“Most beautiful person here.” He pulls you for a quick peck on the lips. “Go to your seat, kitten. You’re already almost an hour late.” You beam at him and give him and Kenma a quick wave before marching to your assigned seat.

When you're out of earshot, Kenma frowns at Kuroo. “Really? You couldn’t wait until after the ceremony?”

Kuroo laughs at Kenma’s question. “Is it that obvious?” Kuroo asks to heighten his amusement. “Disgustingly so.” Kenma answers instantly which cracks him up even more. Kenma easily swerves away from the topic, telling Kuroo about his current plans for Bouncing Ball while they wait for you to get on stage.

When your name is called, they both immediately stop talking. This is what they came here for, to see you get that certificate you very much deserved.

You were right earlier in the car. He is too damn happy for this day. You worked so hard for this milestone even if you didn’t have to. You did so well with your job. You were soaring your way to being more successful. But you stayed true to what you really wanted and studied again. After two years, you really did it.

He took the whole day off to make sure he’d be with you because he wanted to be with you as you grasp this achievement. More especially because you told him your parents won’t be coming. He’s also glad that Kenma made time for you so you have one more person celebrating your success.

He watches you get up on stage, a walk so far from your usual, composed one because you too were happy. Your face is radiating even when from a distance. When you get the diploma, you turn your head to where he is, quickly scanning the area to look for him. When your eyes meet his, you break into the most beautiful smile he’s ever laid his on.

He waves at you with a smile of his own. Fuck. He must have done something right in this life to deserve you.

“Don’t cry here, Kuroo. You’re going to look like her father instead of her boyfriend,” Kenma says. He sniffs a bit and laughs when he remembers your antics before you two arrive at the place. “I wouldn’t mind being her daddy,” he answers back meaningfully, causing Kenma to glower.

“Ew.”

--

“Oh my God. I’m exhausted!” You exclaim as you remove your heels when you enter his apartment. You two immediately went straight to his place after having your celebratory dinner with Kenma and Kuroo. You two have been sleeping at each other’s place interchangeably for quite a while now that you have some clothes and your necessities in his place and vice versa.

Before changing clothes, you plop yourself on his couch, resting your head on the back rest. You feel familiar fingers massager your temples. “You good?”

“Mmmhmm. Just tired.” His digits leave your head. You hear his footsteps go around the couch, the cushion shifting down with his weight when he gets there. He tenderly tugs your head to lean on his shoulder.

“Congratulations, kitten. I’m so proud of you” he whispers. You snuggle even closer to him, getting yourself lost in his comforting presence. “Thanks, Tetsu.”

You feel something in your lap which makes you flutter your eyes open. It’s a small red paper bag. You sit up straight and feign a glare at him. “I did tell you no gifts, right?”

“Yep, but since when have you been the boss of me?” You roll your eyes as you scoff at him. You take the paper bag off your lap and gently open it. You find a rectangular black leather box inside.

“Ooh! Are these eyeglasses?” You ask eagerly. You’ve been whining non-stop that your eyes hurt from the amount of time you’ve been spending in front of your laptop. Damn, your boyfriend really is thoughtful.

“Uh huh. Go open it and lemme see if you look hot with it,” he smirks as he watches you take the black box inside. You open it and see no eyeglasses. What’s there is a key stuffed in the velvet cushion filling the empty space inside the box.

You look at him with a frown, confused as to what it means. He no longer holds that cocky expression in his face. He regards you lovingly, his eyes warm as he dotes you. “I bought a condo unit in Shibuya. Move in with me?”

You gawk at him, the word you want to say not coming out of your mouth from shock. You two didn’t have a problem with your set up. He’d sleep over at your place and you’d sleep at his place in turn. You were fine with that, but sometimes, it’d slip your mind how nice it would be if you wouldn’t have to take turns anymore, if you lived together.

But you never told him that. It was just a thought  that you pushed in the back of your head. You were content with your current set-up anyways.

“A-are you sure?”

He laughs softly. “Damn right, I’m sure.” He grabs your hand, covering it with his as he strokes your knuckles. “I don’t want to keep track of whose place we’re spending the night at. I want to wake up with your face next to mine on the same bed everyday. I want to go home knowing you’ll be there.”

You blink back the warm liquid in the corner of your eyes that’s threatening to surface. You have been exposed to many grandeurs and successes in life, but not any of those compared to the happiness you feel as he eyes you with pure rapture.

“Honestly, I would’ve asked you to marry me if only I’d met your parents already.”

You smile through the tears that you failed to hold in. “Tetsu, you’re making me cry like an idiot on my own graduation day. Of course, I’d love to move in with you, duh,” you say before wrapping an arm around his neck and burying your face on his chest as you let the tears of joy flow peacefully.

He draws you away and wipes your tears with his thumb, the amorous look he had not leaving his face. “I’m serious though. I love you, y/n. I love you so much that I want you to be completely mine.”

You trail your hands up to his cheek and hoist yourself up to cover his lips with yours. You’ve shared many kisses with him, and among those thousand times your mouth meld against his, this feels different, special.

You pull away and return the earnest adoration he has with your own. “I already am, Tetsu. Just as you are mine.”

Part 10 || m.list

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@lia-faerie-queen @mkkhaikyuu @fastidious-and-precise @winunk @feelkindahorny @cece-lives-here @arendizzle @phantomneko0 @ysatrap @babythotshq @ameliaxo @miiy @kurooscoochie @lucifers-luv @suikrem @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @tsumurai

[pantstomatch]

I love your writing, and (the cliche, it burns) one day I'd like to publish too. But a lot of things have changed since the last time I was confident in trying to do this, and I wondered if you would talk about the process (getting an agent, that sort of thing) if you're comfortable and have the time. It's also cool if you privately respond, if you'd prefer, I'm just trying to figure out how to get started again? And so many tips are "publish on Amazon!"

Thank you!!!! Okay, so here’s the thing. I’m probably not the best person to ask about this, because I’m actually really bad at being published, but I can tell you some stuff that I’ve learned? That might be helpful? I ended up being long-winded, so (if tumblr works right here) everything is under the cut...

1. Querying!

So in general, querying sucks balls. Like… it’s probably the worst thing you’ll ever have to do. You’re gonna want to research what agents are looking for the kind of stuff you want to write or have written. Some are looking for certain genres or what they think is marketable, and you want to send your query to someone who’s open to what you have, or it’s a waste. Most likely the agency website or the agents “I’m looking for…” page or whatever will give you specific instructions on what to include in your query email - how the subject should be written, what they’re looking for, how many pages of your manuscript they want to see, how to attach it to the email and in what form, and if they want a synopsis of your novel. Some agents use Query Manager, which is basically a form you fill out and attach all the things they want, and you can go back in and edit it and it’s a nice way to keep track of your query. Next, they’re gonna (hopefully; some just never respond) either say no thank you very politely, or ask you for the full manuscript. Most of these agents will also give you a general timeline for a response, and if they’re open to a nudge from you or not. After that, they’ll either say no to the full manuscript, or welcome you aboard!  

Most places allow you to send multiple queries out for the same work, meaning they’re not “exclusive,” except within their own agency. If they ask for a full manuscript, but before they get back to you, another agent has snapped you up, they’ll want you to let them know so they don’t waste their time on it. Occasionally, if they want to see your full manuscript, they’ll ask for you to not send the full manuscript to someone else until they’re done, or for you to tell them if someone else is looking at the full manuscript. You can also change your mind!  You can email them and let them know you’ve decided to pull the novel out of consideration, maybe if you think it needs more editing.

I have never successfully queried. I found the whole thing demoralizing, and I did my first contract on my own, without an agent. This is something I don’t recommend because I had to figure out a lot of confusing shit on my own that I still don’t fully understand. And it also made me doubt my writing after the fact, because agents don’t give a shit if you’re already published, they’re focused solely on whatever you’re presenting them with. And then after that, I figured if I got another book out of my current editor, would I want to present that to the people who already didn’t like my writing? I have an agent for another project I’m working on, and the only reason I have her is because someone introduced us and told her I desperately needed help.

1a. So you found the agent(s) you think you like!

Other than the instructions/guidelines written out by the agency/agents that you’re interested in, you’re gonna need the most complete and fully edited version of your novel in hand. If they ask for your full manuscript, you absolutely should not say it’s not done. Make sure it’s finished, and preferably edited, before you send your query in. If they ask for a synopsis, hard pass. Ha ha ha, just kidding. No, really, arguably, this is going to be the hardest thing to write. A synopsis will suck your soul out of your body and make you weep blood. The only thing worse than querying is writing a synopsis for that query. I have never written a synopsis that I didn’t think was utter shit. I hate them.

Querytracker is a cool place to look up agents that you want to query and see how responsive (and nice) they are. It took me a little bit to figure out the abbreviations, though.

2. Pick your genre carefully

Unless you are a best selling author, they are never ever ever going to let you change genres. I mean, maybe if you wrote under a different name. Maybe. But they’ve bought your book based on how they think it will sell, and they’re going to want to sell you, too, and genre jumping is usually a no-go. This is, basically, one of the biggest things I hate, and one of the greatest things I love about fanfiction, that I can write whatever the fuck I feel like writing. So, you know, make sure you really really really want to write about what your first book is going to be about, because you’re going to be writing about that forever.  And I don’t mean just YA vs New Adult vs Adult, although you need to take that into account too. I mean if you’re writing about high school regular kids, you probably can’t write about supernatural high school kids. You can’t write about high school kids in space. You can only write about regular high school kids. So.. think sci -fi vs fantasy vs historical vs contemporary, etc.

3. I hope you don’t hate people!

Do you want to go to a bookstore and talk in front of a crowd? Do you want to go to cons and network with other authors? Do you want to call up publications and volunteer for interviews? Do you want to talk about your books with strangers?  Because I sure don’t.  Publishing houses do the bare minimum of publicity for you for your book. First book, they’ll probably help set up some store signings. Going forward, if you weren’t proactive the first time around, they’re probably not going to do anything. If you’ve got some really good advance reviews, they’ll do ads. They’ll probably do the rote social media posts. But basically, you’re going to have to advocate for your book. You’re going to have to create your own brand. You’re going to have to make swag and send it out, call up bookstores, post constantly about it on twitter, buddy up to other authors, go places where you can network. And I will tell you that all of that is my nightmare. I don’t want to do any of that. I don’t like meeting new people. I had several panic attacks leading up my book signing, and the book signing itself was pretty bad. I’m just… not good with people. And, honestly, at my age, I don’t want to be any better. All it does is give me stress and hives, and to get over that I’d really really have to want to do it.

4. Personal perks?

Editors!  I’ve worked with two awesome editors, and it’s amazing having someone to tell you how to fix things in a way that makes sense. By far, one of the only perks of being published for me. I absolutely don’t know for sure, but I always got the feeling that they expected more push back from me with their suggestions, but nope. I was open to everything, and that’s probably why the books worked so well, because editors absolutely know what they’re doing and only want what’s best for the book.

Holding a solid book of my work!  Always awesome to hold that first book in your hands, with the beautiful cover work and everything. The fact that other people can read it and know it was me who wrote those words only counters that by about a half.  

Money! Advances vary drastically, but, listen, the money kind of made the panic attacks worth it. A little.

5. Advances and royalties

The things I’ve read about advances is that too little, and you might think they have less confidence in you, and too much and you’re panicking about selling, because if you don’t earn out your advance, there’s a chance they won’t want to invest in you in the future. Generally, the way they work is they offer you a contract with the amount they are willing to “advance” you. This is basically saying, we think this book will give us this amount of money, and this is your share of that amount of money. You earn this out with royalties. When you sign the contract, you will get a certain amount of money, usually half of your offered advance. When you deliver the finished manuscript, after your editor and you have gone over it and it’s been approved, you’ll get the other half. A two book deal would be split into 4 parts, and you’d get the first 2 parts for signing the contract (1/4th for each book), the next part for the first finished manuscript, and then the last part for the second finished manuscript, generally after the first book is already published. After that, you won’t see any money until your royalties reach the amount they already paid you in advance. Unless otherwise negotiated, you’d get a royalty check twice a year.  Your earnings from January to July would be sent to you in October, and your earnings for July to December would be sent to you in April. Since any books sold to bookstores and online stores can be returned to the publisher if unsold, they will usually “hold back” a certain amount at first, to make sure you’re really earning that royalty. Royalty statements themselves are a hot mess and I’ve never been able to read them, which is also a good reason to have an agent. An agent will get your money sent to them, make sure it’s the correct amount, take their cut, and then send you a check from them.

6. Self publishing

Okay, I know nothing about self publishing, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it if you have the right support system (ie editors). If you’re going to have to do a lot of the marketing yourself anyway, I don’t see how this is much different. Biggest thing would be the upfront cost, and making sure you make that cost worth it.  Independent author S Usher Evans has some good advice for self publishing - Sush’s worked very hard at it, and started her own publishing company. Also, @qwanderer might be a good resource, I think they use Lulu, which is a really cool self publishing site.

Uhhhh, so that’s a lot of info and also not a lot of info, so please feel free to ask me anything else, and I really hope I haven’t made this harder for you to get started ha ha ha. I think the best thing to do is to figure out what you want to write and write it and just… go from there. If you really love what you have, someone else is going to love it, too.

And if anyone’s had a different experience or thinks I got something wrong or has more/better advice for @heyninja, let me know!

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

The guy... That We bought it from...

He used to take me around when I was a kid. And I would buy an entire apartment complex in Harlem for like $50k, sell Jesse James One apartment for $75k. He would flip it... I would end up paying like 30k out of pocket to help him tho... With materials cause he could never afford to pay so he says cause i would rip him off you know... So he would then end up selling it for more than $100k so he would make well nothing... But I would let him keep the whole $100k although he. Never actually paid me the $75k for the apartment... But he would sell it straight out for the $100k then fell he owed me money...

See i was trying this trick to figure out how to get free labor... Because i was doing all this work to get people out of human trafficking... So i figured out how to do it to Jesse... Cause how do you trap people?

So I would give him the full $100k them have him pay out of pocket to rehabilitate 3 or more apartments (row houses)

Well Steve never knew i actually never took money from Jesse... But we always agreed that he owed me.. Because i couldn't be a human trafficker... But I could see how easy it was.

So Steve swore he would never get ripped off by me. Never. Ever. Ever. For nearly 30 years he's sworn he wouldn't get ripped off

Well one YouTube video later... My ass got a castle for $2.5 million USD

Jesse did pay me tho... He gave me a check one day for $600k and asked me about his commission and pay. I was all "that's not the deal buddy. Where you been living the last 5 months? How you been eating man? You get nothing"

Nah but i did give him $200k and i made $750k off a 50k purchase in SE Harlem.

Steve Vaughn never knew that tho.

Couldn't go around telling people i was making others rich. How would that look?!

So he always swore I would never rip him off.

Do you know the tax write off on a loss of a $6 million dollar house sold for $2.5M?!

At least $3.5 million

He was an old CIA lawyer back in the day i asked to make sure i didn't break laws while trying to get myself real close to as human trafficking as possible.

But he didn't know that either.

I told him I just wanted to rip people off and wanted to know how to do it legal.

He gave me good business advice and told me to figure out the rest. But he did give me "if you wanna be an ass hole" advice. Which made my eyes shine.

Jesse was good at finding people to mortgage an apartment in Harlem off Wall Street. He would ask men on Wall Street that had a certain look -- a Harlan Vibe -- guess they were from Harlem and tell them we were trying to get it back to its roots and bring Harlem back up and that is how he sold them so easily.

And he did the construction himself with his brothers. Extra sheetrock for sound control so it was more private than hearing neighborhood noise.

Chandeliers and major upgrades.

So while he got only 250k for the Harlem cause I charged him 50k rent although he claims he didn't live there -- I must had just caught him sleeping on the job. For 5 row homes... He did pretty good.

And the next 15 that needed less build and repair and just upgrades and Windows got him half million to share with his brothers.

We never told anyone. Not especially a lawyer who i paid $20 per day to help me

So i always been ripping him off!!

He always swore I wouldn't rip him off. But I always ripped him off most..

Except when i told the CIA he did earn his fee of $200 per hour. And I told the CIA he was under billing cause it cost him 2 hours to see me in commute in Harlem. And had them pay that, too.

And i would call and tell them to pay if he just talked on the phone. He said "I'm not charging you. You're a kid!"

"Is that because of my legal age?!"

So i would call back to HQ and tell them i had talked legal shit with Steve and they had to pay him again. Every dam time.

Even if he just called to cuss me out.

In a month he earned half a million. 3 million in two months.

Idk.

Jesse asked why I paid him $250k when he said he should only earned $5k and wanted to borrow money to try again to flip it and make money like me.

I told him I wanted to know how human trafficking worked and I did it. I let him sleep whenever and wherever and took him food once a day and didn't pay him for 2 months and he did all this work

And I told him "you didn't deserve to be human trafficked but I did it. I did it to the lawyer Steve, too. And now I'm rich and you're not. And I'm going to turn myself in to the CIA about Steve"

And that is how Steve became a multi-millionaire.

Because I explained to the CIA I did it to two people right under their nose.

So they paid Steve 3 full months 40 hour week days at $200 per hour

Then they took the $250k I gave Jesse and doubled up and gave him an additional $500k

So Jesse gave me $50k to buy in on a new set of row houses. 30 of them. I told him bull shit you owe me for sleeping on the job and food.

It workedm. Human trafficking is easy. Just "oh I'll pay you later" that's what they do down there.

That is why i call them all Jesse James. Anyone that worked for him in Harlem... Some weren't so great as you recently read about.

I call the one i put into Sabrina's Slavery, Papa Smurf. He lives over in Austin. Has a big ole house and a bunch of dogs.

So getting this big ole castle... I mean it's a great price and has a fantastic story.

But it means so much more because of the family we got it from.

Because we bought it from that lawyer.

That ole lawyer from with a one way hour commute Harlem.

Its a small fucking world.

Family really is family.

And I didn't even know it was his. I really just watched a video 60 seconds with Tommy Johnson Jr and it popped up under the recommended

And Ritchie told me "that house ain't on the market"

So maybe i ripped him off -- but unless he invested poorly -- he got plenty off investments on that 3m so maybe it was the first time he spent it... Well he got it all back. From build cost and maintenance and upkeep he was only gaining 200k.

Just about what jesse got on his first set of row castles down in Harlem.

Kinda a perfect world huh?

Of course before i knew who he was... I hired him for consulting again... Because i don't know the area we bought the house in... So i told him he can help with letting us know how that area is... Because he knows a different way about it than our relators.

So I bought a castle built by a CIA lawyer. So that shit is tight. Already has in home cameras.

Which Miss Gremlin said was because there was soooo many murders the cops had a feed right to their police station. Not too far off from the truth...

So yeah... Brian didn't just buy a mansion..he bought a castle.

And from family.

So its like now this big fucking legacy.

With multiple mysteries

Not bad for a 7 year old home.

I'm not just lucky. I'm grateful.

It really goes to show what you put into this world, you get back.

💞

[flying-cat]

also there was someone in my town selling products like soap and disinfectant wipes on a site? like one of the sites where you meet up with someone and pay them, then they give you what you paid for. buddy, why the absolute fuck would anyone want to meet with you during a pandemic to get some shit that you bought from the store just to resell for terrible prices because you're a greedy asshole?