#electricians boston

[covetyou]

solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)  warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k  summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are. 

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat. 

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."  

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-" 

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

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[pegasus-624]

Carmen Sandiego Mythical Creatures AU????

Had this idea for a while, based on monster falls

but I can’t draw so I’m going to talk about my ideas instead.

I am going to write little oneshots for them.

Also spoilers ahead

Carmen

Carmen I wanted to have a tie to Dexter Wolfe, While also keeping the black sheep energy. My friend suggested werewolf Carmen but I decided to do weredog, which is a completely different species. I imagine something a bit fluffy wolflike and black for the breed of dog that Carmen becomes, I’m picturing something like Siruis Black in a sense. I imagine like at the beginning of the series it’s like “she’s a werewolf” and then a bit later, she is revealed to be a weredog.

Player

Player is a Tanuki, a japaneese raccoon dog. In mytholgy, they are Shapeshifting and Michievious and A tanuki fits Player very well. Also I think he just gives raccoon energy. I can’t explain it. Also I imagine a raccoon with headphones for him.

Zack and Ivy

The Boston twins are both rabbit like creatures. I didn’t want them to be exactly the same so I went with Zack being A jackalope and Ivy being a wolpertinger, Kinda like a rabbit with antlers and wings and sometimes other random animal features. Most of the reason I wanted Zack to be a Jackalope was so Ivy can call him Zack-alope. But also I headcanon that Ivy is afraid of heights and rarely flies.

Chase Devineaux

Chase is a centuar. It just makes sense in my head.

Julia Argent

Julia is a fairy, specifically a fae. It also makes sense in my head. Also a fun bit I picture is “I never got your name” “I know better than to trust a fae with my name”

Cheif

Cheif is part Will o’ Wisp, Kinda like the ones in brave. I kinda wanted something that would be able to like appear and travel between places, Like how Chief mostly appears as a hologram. Also fitting that they’re usually seem as blue flames like Chief’s hologram version.

Coach Brunt

Coach Brunt is a minotaur. Very obvious. Strong and gets angry easily.

Professor Maelstrom

Malestrom is a dragon. Very scary and a very powerful creature. But This dragon is a very petty dragon.

Dr. Bellum

Bellum is a Alicanto. A mythical bird with golden feathers. She gives bird and crow energy, so thats where I was going with

Countess Cleo

Cleo is a gorgon, like Medusa. I originally wanted her to be a sphinx because egypt but I decided against it because mythical beings connecting with countries is challenging.

Shadowsan

Shadowsan is a vampire. Jackie suggested it and I’m going with it. Also turning into a bat seems like a very ninja thing to do.

Tigress

Tigress is a spinx. Again, wanted something cat like like her codename. Honestly I also imagine her to have a gazillion riddles

El Topo and Le Chevre

El topo was hard because there were not that many creatures that were known for tunneling, But I found a creature called an afanac, which was kinda like a crocodile mixed with a beaver so I was like “close enough.” Le Chevre is a Satyr. Very Clear. Half goat, probably good climbers.

Paper Star

Paper Star is a kitsune. I think their paranormal abilities would fit well with the chaos that is Paper Star.

Crackle

Crackle is a raiju. They are known for having electric powers so I though that would fit, knowing that Crackle is an electrician and uses the Crackle tod when he’s a vile operative

Mime Bomb

In becoming Carmen Sandiego, Carmen realizes that Mime Bomb was VILE’s spy. (Also in who in the world, Mime bomb was the “eyes and ears” in a mock caper so there is that) so I figured a shapeshifter who can be anyone or anything would be fitting for him, but he usually appears human.

Cleaners

I think a Cerberus-like 2 headed dog fits the cleaners very well. I don’t really have that much to say about it.

[fluffytheocelot]

Carmen Week Day 5: AU

AWW YE HERE WE GO BOIS I HAVE BEEN SO HYPED FOR THIS ONE! Sorry its a bit late lol

Anyways--

Last Wolf is very near and dear to me, it was the first fic I actually had the confidence to write, but Thief's Guide is almost completely my own. It's not based off of another series, pretty much all the worldbuilding and plot is mine. Last Wolf still follows the timeline and plot of the original show (changed and added to of course, but the original show is the backbone.

A Thief's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse is exactly what it sounds like lol. Carmen and her friends surviving in an apocalypse while on the run from VILE and ACME, complete with a dope soundtrack.

And Julethief of course :) because i love them

This is definitely an AU I wanna write down, I promise. Uhh maybe when I get this chapter of Last Wolf out I'll start??? Maybe. We'll see lol.

Feel free to drop me an ask about it! or last wolf too lol.

Dope soundtrack:

if the song came out during or before 1986ish, then its probably something the characters would listen to (namely Carmen, jamming to cassettes she scavenges on her Walkman). anything after that would just be soundtrack/credits music if it was a show.

uhhh story info under the cut lol

Around the mid 1980s, Dr. Bellum's unnamed predecessor was experimenting with a virus that, well, turned people into zombies. The test run soon got out of hand, however, and the virus quickly spread to the entire world.

Technology pretty much stays the same. Radios, paper maps, Walkmans, stuff like that. Music and TV obviously aren't getting widespread release anymore, so anything that came out past like, 1986 doesn't exist.

(Wow Fluffy that's so unrealistic there's no way people wouldn't quarantine themselves to stop it-- *looks at 2020* nevermind)

VILE uses it as a power grab, offering people shelter, food, etc. in exchange for joining. Fun.

There's incredible amounts of chaos and violence for the first decade or so, until late 1999 when VILE faculty member Dexter Wolfe is assumed to have been caught and killed.

Two things happen: ACME arises as a direct rival to VILE, and VILE acquires a certain Black Sheep.

ACME wants to find a cure. VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going so they stay in power. VILE and ACME are both much more well known.

Black Sheep grows up in a VILE compound, learning all her important thief skills of course, as well as the skills needed to survive the apocalypse: Firearms, bows, blades, living in the wilderness, etc etc. Pretty much anything you can think of needing to know in the apocalypse, Carmen learned when she was like six lol.

She officially enrolls at about 15, and escapes at 16.

Eventually she figures out VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going and escapes into the night on horseback, with Cookie Booker's stolen hat and coat.

She's on the run for a while and eventually winds up in Ontario, where she meets a recently orphaned 12 yr old Player. The two become fast friends and pretty much grow up together over the next few years. Carmen is very protective of Player and teaches him how to survive in case anything happens to her.

They make their way to Boston, pick up Zack and Ivy, and Team Red is complete! (for now)

Along the way they eventually acquire our favorite grumpy ninja, Carmen's favorite ACME agent, an aussie electrician and a couple more surprise people ;)

Carmen also discovers she may be the key to ending the apocalypse, but is ACME really what they say they are?

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Cuphead charcter parents.(head cannon)

Dads

.Brewster Porcelain.

Species: Mug person.

Color: Red.

Age: 32

Date of birth: 3/16/1900

Birthplace: Inkwell. (Isle one)

Occupation: Cab driver.

Kids: Cuphead Porcelain and Mugman Porcelain.

.Matteo Carbone

Species: Human.

Race: European.

Hair color: Black.

Eye color: Blue.

Age: 60

Date of birth: 5/23/1872

Birthplace: New York City.

Occupation: Artist.

Kids: Sebastian Web and Walter Web.

.Richard Lightbug

Species: Firefly.

Color: Purple.

Hair color: Blonde.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 44 at death.

Date of birth: 6/20/1867

Birthplace: Los Angeles, California.

Date of death: 8/25/1911

Cause of death: Car accident.

Occupation: None.(he lived off of his parents' wealth)

Kids: Mildred Lightbug, Bertha Lightbug, Elizabeth Lightbug, Oliver Lightbug, Anges Lightbug, Rose Lightbug, and Lucy Lightbug.

.Alfred Anteater

Species: Anteater.

Fur color: Gray.

Eye color: Purple.

Age: 62

Date of birth: 1/29/1870

Birthplace: Newark, New Jersey.

Occupation: Wrestler

Kids: Albert Anteater, Abigail Anteater, Alice Anteater, Allen Anteater, Anna Anteater, and Anthony Anteater.

.Foka Petrov

Species: Snail.

Color: Green.

Eye color: Brown.

Age: 58

Date of birth: 6/17/1874

Birthplace: Inkwell. (Isle four)

Occupation: Mob boss.(retired)

Kid: Sheldon Petrov.

.Philippe Lavigne

Species: Pepper shaker.

Age: 59

Date of birth: 1/24/1873

Birthplace: Paris, France.

Occupation: Orchardist.

Kid: Saltbaker Shaker.

.Brown bull

Species: Bull

.Age: 48

Date of birth: 4/7/1884

Birthplace: Inkwell Meatfarms.

Occupation: None.

Kids: Esther Winchester, five other girl calves and three boy calves.

.Comet Saluki

Species: Saluki.

Fur color: Tan and black.

Age: 50

Date of birth: 9/15/1882

Occupation: Pilot.

Kids: Penelope Saluki, and Angel Saluki.

.Brutus Giant

Species: Giant.

Race: European.

Hair color: Ginger.

Age: 55

Date of birth: 2/9/1877

Birthplace: Inkwell. (Isle four)

Occupation: Security guard.

Kids: Helga Giant and Glumstone Giant.

.Otto Buzzman

Species: House fly

Color: Black.

Age: 34 at death.

Date of birth: 7/30/1880

Birthplace: Boston, Massachusetts.

Date of death: 10/5/1914

Cause of death: Eaten by a spider.(not related to Walter in any way)

Occupation: Electrician.

Kids: Garry Buzzman, Larry Buzzman, and Jerry Buzzman.

Moms

Mocha Porcelain

Species: Cup person.

Color: Blue.

Age: 32

Date of birth: 6/27/1900

Birthplace: Ottawa, Canada.

Occupation: Kindergarten teacher.

Kids: Cuphead Porcelain and Mugman Porcelain.

.Edna Web

Species: Spider.

Fur color: Gray.

Hair color: Orange.

Eye color: Yellow.

Age: 60.

Date of birth: 2/6/1872

Birthplace: New York City.

Occupation: Construction worker.

Kids: Sebastian Web and Walter Web.

.Hannah Lightbug

Species: Firefly.

Color: Black.

Hair color: Red.

Eye color: Green.

Age: 44 at death.

Date of birth: 4/13/1867

Birthplace: Malibu, California.

Date of death: 8/25/1911

Cause of death: Car accident.

Occupation: House wife.

Kids: Mildred Lightbug, Bertha Lightbug, Elizabeth Lightbug, Oliver Lightbug, Agnes Lightbug, Rose Lightbug, and Lucy Lightbug.

.Amber Anteater

Species: Anteater.

Fur color: Brown.

Eye color: Orange.

Age: 62

Date of birth: 9/4/1870

Birthplace: Inkwell.(Isle three)

Occupation: Waitress.

Kids: Albert Anteater, Abigail Anteater, Alice Anteater, Allen Anteater, Anna Anteater, and Anthony Anteater.

.Jennifer Petrov.

Species: Snail

Color: Yellow.

Eye color: Light blue.

Age: 58

Date of birth: 7/2/1874

Birthplace: New York City.

Occupation: House wife.

Kid: Sheldon Petrov.

.Mary Shaker

Species: Pepper shaker.

Age: 59

Date of birth: 5/16/1873

Birthplace: Inkwell.(Isle four)

Occupation: Baker.

Kid: Saltbaker Shaker.

.Black cow

Species: Cow.

Age: 48

Date of birth: 11/12/1884

Birthplace: Scotland meat farms.

Occupation: None.

Kids: Esther Winchester, five more girl calves, and three boy calves.

.Rita Saluki

Species: Saluki.

Fur color: White and Black.

Age: 50

Date of birth: 3/21/1882

Birthplace: Edgewood, Florida.

Occupation: Hair stylist.

Kids: Penelope Saluki and Angel Saluki.

.Rhonda Giant

Species: Giant.

Race: European.

Hair color: White.

Age: 55

Date of birth: 6/25/1877

Birthplace: Pembroke, Wales.

Occupation: Optician.

Kids: Helga Giant and Glumstone Giant.

.Gale Buzzman

Species: House fly.

Color: Green

Age: 52

Date of birth: 1/6/1880

Birthplace: Calabash, North Carolina.

Occupation: Nurse.

Kids: Garry Buzzman, Larry Buzzman, and Jerry Buzzman.

[greensparty]

MTV News Breaking News on Kurt Cobain's Death

On April 5, 1994 Kurt Donald Cobain died at age 27. His body was not found until April 8 when an electrician went to the home and discovered the body. Hard to believe its been 30 years. 

Cobain at Nirvana's MTV Unplugged taping

I’ve talked before about April 5 in Seattle music history here. I’ve talked even more times about Cobain and Nirvana. Of all celebrity deaths, that is one that had a big impact on me. I had just started high school in the Fall of 1991 when Nirvana’s Nevermind was released and their music was the soundtrack to high school for me. Skip ahead to April 8. I was at an after-school job and the radio was on. It was WBCN I believe. The DJ reported that a dead body had been found at the home of Kurt Cobain in Seattle. No more information was given. It wasn’t clear if Kurt was gone or if someone had died on the property. That night, my step-sister was at our house and she asked me “are you in mourning?”, I didn’t know what she meant at first, so she followed up, “Kurt Cobain. He’s dead.”. I didn’t want to believe it. So I immediately went to my room and turned on WFNX. They were playing Nirvana all night and taking calls from listeners (’FNX were early supporters of Nirvana and some say they are the ones who broke them by playing Nevermind before it was even released). In the days and weeks that followed, I listened to Nirvana nonstop. I also picked up every newspaper and magazine I could get my hand on with an obit (Newsweek, Village Voice, Entertainment Weekly, People, Rolling Stone, etc) and I watched MTV News’ coverage of the vigil with Courtney Love reading the note to the audience. It was a lot to process, especially as a teenager.

Cobain with 1-year-old Frances Bean and Courtney Love at the 1993 MTV Video Music Awards

Last year when MTV shut down MTV News, one of the big things I remembered was their coverage of Cobain's passing. Much of the media looked at it as a drugged-out rock star who couldn't handle success. MTV News treated it as an important musician for teens and 20-somethings at that time. Someone who spoke to this generation's feelings and anxieties. At exactly the moment I was in high school, here was a band that was singing about confusion, alienation and rebellion. The music spoke to me. MTV News was also sensitive in their reporting as they included suicide-prevention info in their coverage as well. After the initial report, they did further coverage in their Week In Rock show and did a full Nirvana tribute special a few weeks later (still have my copy!).

Cobain in 1989 when Nirvana played Boston

Over the years, I’ve continued to enjoy Nirvana live and compilation albums and I’ve also continued to follow both Kris Novoselic and Dave Grohl’s respective musical journey as well. The fact that there were only 3 studio albums from Nirvana has only fed my interest in seeking out rarities and live bootlegs. We can only imagine what would have happened for Cobain as a musician and creative force if he had lived. But at least he left us so many gifts to remember him by: Bleach, Nevermind, In Utero and MTV Unplugged to name just a few! 

Here is that MTV News report from April 8, 1994 where Kurt Loder broke the news.

[mattnben-bennmatt]

Biography Magazine (July 2002)

Ben Affleck on stardom, settling down, and working with best buddy Matt Damon

By Sheryl Berk

Ever since their 1997 Oscar for Good Will Hunting, no matter what Ben Affleck and Matt Damon do solo, it's hard to envision them as anything but in-cahoots. Any time one of them is mentioned, the other's name comes up. So, is it fluke - or fate - that Affleck and Damon are both starring this summer in spy thrillers based on bestselling book series? Affleck plays Jack Ryan in The Sum Of All Fears, while Damon is Jason Bourne in The Bourne Identity.

"I know what it looks like," Affleck admits, "that we somehow planned it this way. But I swear it just kind of happened. The fact that the movies were released around the same time was just a bizarre coincidence. I mean, there aren't all that many weekends in the summer, right?"

Actually, Affleck doesn't seem to mind having most of America think of him as half of the Ben-and-Matt team. "We've known each other since we were 8 or 9," he says of his longtime pal/writing partner. And they intend to be part of each other's future: Between their individual acting jobs, they're thinking up new projects under their multimedia production company LivePlanet. "We'll be writing together for a long, long time," Affleck predicts. "We're on the same page because we share a lot of the same life experiences. It's nice to have someone who understands where you're coming from."

Benjamin Geza Affleck was born on August 15, 1972, in an Oakland, California, hospital. His father, Tim, had a range of jobs, from auto mechanic and electrician to bartender and janitor (he is now a photographer and a counsellor at a California drug rehabilitation center), while his mother, Chris was (and still is) a school teacher. His family lived briefly in Berkeley, California, before moving to Massachusetts when Affleck was 2. "My brother, Casey, was born in Falmouth shortly before my third birthday," Affleck recalls. "We knew he was coming, so my parents threw a party for me three days early so I wouldn't miss it. But Casey decided to steal the show anyway: Right in the middle of my party, we had to rush to the hospital.

At age 5, the family moved to Cambridge and young Ben attended the public schools where his mom taught. But it was acting - not academics - that mainly interested him. "My father had a theater background - he worked with a theater company in Boston before I was born. He and my mom had a lot of friends who were actors, and I was around them all the time and it rubbed off." One of his mother's college friends ran a local casting company in Boston, and her husband was an independent movie director. He needed a 7-year-old boy for a film and Affleck volunteered. "After that, I wanted to do more. Maybe I was precocious; maybe I was just fooling around."

When a casting call went out for a PBS kids educational show called The Voyage of the Mimi, Affleck tried out for the part - and landed it. "I don't think at the time I had any clue how lucky I was," he says. "I didn't realize that most people audition and don't get the role." The pilot was shot in Maine, and the science and math series eventually got funding and a go-ahead. Around this time, the Afflecks divorced, leaving Chris to raise her sons single-handedly. When it was decided that season two of Mimi would be shot in Mexico, Ben's mom accompanied him on location.

"She was great - she was tutoring me. It was always very important to her that I have as normal a childhood as possible," Affleck says. Before the shoot was over, Chris got pneumonia and had to go home. She was assured that Ben would be safe and supervised, but "I was pretty much on my own down there, getting into trouble. I was earning money and I had my own hotel room; I thought I was all grown-up and had all the answers. Mr. Big Shot at 13."

When the series ended, Affleck returned home and started his freshman year at Cambridge Rindge and Latin High School. He began to plot a path to Hollywood and enlisted the support of an old elementary-school friend, whom he nicknamed Matty D. Affleck and Damon would hold "business lunches" in the cafeteria and go to New York on auditions (Affleck even helped Damon find an agent). "In high school, our friendship got more intense as we realized how much we both had similar goals," Affleck says. "We had these fantasies about all the things we were going to do, and they were all sort of silly and romantic and half-baked. We never really imagined that any of them would come true."

One of those "half-baked" fantasies began with a 40-page script that Damon wrote in his Harvard playwriting class in 1992. Affleck had dropped out of the University of Vermont to pursue acting and was struggling in L.A. ("barely able to pay the $300 a month for a one-bedroom hole") when Damon sent the story to him. The pair agreed it had the makings of a great movie - and they were right. It eventually became Good Will Hunting.

"It probably had a million different incarnations," says Affleck. "I was 19 when we wrote the first version. There was one where my character was supposed to die. One where the government was after Will." The project sat on the back burner as Affleck found his niche in independent films. Damon continued to act as well, but both were frustrated with the lack of quality roles being offered to them. They returned to their script, eventually completing 1500 pages.

"We would just sit around BS-ing and kicking things back and forth," Affleck says. "We'd talk it out and it would fall into place. I think we have a great dynamic. In our case, two heads are definitely better than one."

They gave the finished script to their agent who showed it to a few studios. It was accepted by Castle Rock for $600,000. "It was like we won the lottery," Damon once remarked. But a year later, the project remained in limbo - the studio wasn't willing to give Affleck and Damon the creative control they wanted (not only did they want to star in the film, they wanted it shot on location in their native Boston). It took clout and connections to turn things around: Damon had just starred in Francis Ford Coppola's The Rainmaker and was suddenly on Hollywood's radar screen; Affleck's director/friend Kevin Smith was willing to take the script to top execs. It was Miramax's Harvey Weinstein who saved the day and agreed to pick up Good Will Hunting for $1 million.

"Harvey really believed in us and told us it was okay to take some more risks, to go with it," says Affleck. "So we had the opportunity to write the story that we really wanted to write, as opposed to what we thought somebody else would like."

The film was a hit, both critically and at the box office, pulling in a total of $229 million worldwide. It was nominated for nine Academy Awards; it received the Oscar for Best Screenplay, and Robin Williams won Best Supporting Actor. "That night, I remember feeling like I had just been in a car accident," Affleck says. "It was that same feeling of shock, of 'What just happened?' I remember Billy Crystal did his song montage to open the show and we were part of it. He was singing 'Matt and Ben, Ben and Matt,' and I turned to Matt and went, 'Man, this is crazy! Surreal!' I mean, we were a joke that people got. And then Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau announced our category, opened the envelope, and read our names. I expected As Good As It Gets to win, but instead, it was us. All I know is I staggered up there - it was like this weird out-of-body thing followed by exuberance and screaming my head off."

From that day forward, Ben and Matt were Hollywood legend: the 25- and 27-year-old writing wunderkinder who won Oscars their first time out of the gate. Along with the notoriety came the trappings of stardom. Affleck bought homes on both coasts (a three-story Hollywood Hills spread complete with five motorcycles and two Cadillacs, and a New York City pad outfitted with his favorite vintage arcade games) plus a house in Cape Cod for his mom. He even dated an It Girl - Gwyneth Paltrow - for over a year (they're still friends) and has been linked in the tabloids with (among others) Mariah Carey, Chelsea Clinton, Sandra Bullock, and Britney Spears (For the record, he has denied being involved with any of them). He also went through a period of partying too hard and, a year ago, decided it was time to get his life back on track. These days, he's much more future-focused and serious.

"If I were to guess what the next 10 years of my life would be, I would think they'd involve less acting, particularly the kind of acting that requires you to do a bunch of publicity, the kind that changes the quality of your life as a person," he says. "Eventually, I think I'll tone down the degree to which I expose my whole life to the world and put myself out there. If I was doing less of that, I feel it would be more conducive to settling down, getting married, and having a family. That's important to me."

What's also important is the quality of his work, although it doesn't hurt to command upwards of $12 million a picture. Since Good Will Hunting, he has starred in more than 10 films, including Shakespeare In Love, Armageddon, Bounce, Pearl Harbor, and Changing Lanes. Affleck insists it's the story, not the paycheque that convinces him to sign on the dotted line. Case in point: The Sum Of All Fears. He knew the role of Jack Ryan, hero of Tom Clancy's popular novels, came with baggage. "Two fine, fine actors, Harrison Ford [in Clear and Present Danger and Patriot Games] and Alec Baldwin [in The Hunt For Red October], already played Ryan. You know people will always be comparing you - there will be guys on the Internet discussing how I measure up. What can you do? Just your best and be true to the story."

"It was very courageous of him," says the film's director Phil Alden Robinson, who describes Affleck as "a member of the team, a people person, a hugger. He's genuinely a modest fellow who gives it his all. The fact that it was a challenge only makes him work harder."

What appealed to Affleck was the concept of creating Ryan's early years - giving new depth to the character. The film is a prequel to the other three: Ryan must confront terrorists who have possession of a nuclear weapon they plan to detonate at the Super Bowl.

"This is a different Jack Ryan," he explains. "He doesn't have all the answers; he doesn't have it all together. He hadn't yet become the U.S. Intelligence superhero. He's starting out, just getting his feet wet. He writes this paper and it takes on a life of its own. That, I could identify with, because that's how it was for me with Good Will Hunting. You write something, it takes off, and you're sort of whisked along with it. Ryan's not sure where he'll wind up, where this will lead him, but he's going with it. He's going along for the ride."

Ben's Big Business

In June 2000, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Chris Moore and Sean Bailey founded LivePlanet, a company that "creates entertainment experiences that break down the barriers between traditional media, new media, and the physical world." Translation? The foursome and their team come up with outrageously creative, one-of-a-kind projects that allow audience members to not only participate (through TV, film, wireless, the Web, etc.) but in many ways, influence the final outcome.

It all started with Project Greenlight, a 13-episode documentary series on HBO last year that chronicled the nuts and bolts of making an independent feature film. Matt and Ben announced an Internet competition, and 10,000 aspiring filmmakers sent in their scripts. From them, Pete Jones' Stolen Summer was chosen as the winner, and Miramax agreed to foot the bill to produce it (it was released this past spring).

"I hope that young writers are encouraged by us," Affleck says. "And as long as our partners, HBO and Miramax, are ready and willing, we want to keep it going. We want more first-timers to have this great opportunity."

Also in the works is Push, Nevada, a 13-episode ABC TV series that blends elements of fact and faction, drama and reality. The show centers on a series of strange events that occur around a missing seven-figure sum of money. By following the show - and participating online - audience members garner clues that will lead them to a genuine bankroll hidden somewhere in the U.S.

"The idea of LivePlanet is to change the way you can tell a story, and to chance the degree of involvement the audience can have with it," explains Affleck. He expects LivePlanet's wild ideas to raise a few eyebrows: "You have a much higher risk of failure when you're doing something that's never been done before. But that's also the fun of it, the excitement, and to me, the most fulfilling thing I can do in my career."

[hysteria-things]

omg nate is giving electrician vibes…… lemme move to boston real quick and break all my lights and call him❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

LMFAOOOO THIS IS WILD BUT SO FUNNY

[yourcomedyminute]

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If you would like to be a guest on Your Comedy Minute please contact me

[fruithonorific]

We were talking about cost of living in different regions of the US today and how there's really not much beating St. Louis (in relation to our union wages, anyway), in comparison to places we used to live (me in Boston, coworker in Ohio but having considered other places, etc) and this electrician dude pops in about how he used to live in California and he likes it sooooooo much better here in cost and culture because "in California people think it's weird if you're patriotic." Like dude.... Okay.... 😒

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[zooterchet]

Boston O'Neills Criminal and Heroic Listing (Genetic Racial Demands)

Forbidden FIelds: Medicine, Law, Police.

Encouraged Fields: Economics, Espionage, Politics.

Criminal O'Neills:

Medicine:

Colonel Marie O'Neill: Army nurse, previously hospital nurse accused of selling anti-depressants on the streets of Boston through hospital for CIA agent initiation; however, as criminal in Angiulo syndicate.  Called by Eisenhower, to analyze "Roswellians"; actually rubber and sulfur brimstone dummies, full of horse semen.  Informed Kennedy, they were extraterrestrials, not a Russian prank, to get major rank in US military to arrange transgender surgeries.

Law:

Professor Mark Edwards: Lawyer and attorney, prosecutor, Minnesota University expert on national standards for African-American drivers.  Also a real estate attorney, for gambling debits and investments, using "The Matrix", the film, as his example; obsessed with "Morpheus" character.

Police:

State Trooper Crystal Shepherd: Writer for Reno 911!, and Arizona State Trooper.  Receives three hundred dollars, per prostitute's reflection drafts, of what to ask prostitutes, per special episode mention of woman or friend abused by police; then played by actor.

Heroic O'Neills:

Economics:

Patrick O'Neill: Electrician and family man, in charge of the City Union of Boston's water mains, parks, and duclets (the inner parts of the city frequented by homeless).

Espionage:

David Charlebois: NSA raconteur and IRA Mossad mercenary, responsible for brutal assassinations on behalf of State Trooper Van Raaltan.

Politics:

Victoria Gavin: Historian Society's Matre Dame, in charge of rare political situations overseas through education in the arts.

[not-she-which-burns-in-it]

It’s funny I always just assumed it was for *union reasons* because that’s true for so many people that I know/work with. Hell, that’s why I use my middle name professionally, to the despair of every graphic designer in town (my whole first middle last name together is pretty long, and when I PSM my name gets to be on the coverpage).

But that’s because of SAG or Equity, I have never wondered before now if the DGA or British equivalent… DGGB (?) also has name exclusivity rules. I don’t see why not? If “your name is your brand” is so important for actors, whose faces are fully visible and make it much easier to tell people apart, then why wouldn’t it be important for directors who are behind the screen.

And Equity at least (I can’t speak for SAG) implemented those rules because actors work nationally. You’re unlikely to mix up Alex Newall electrician in Boston MA and Alex Newall electrician in Atlanta GA because they don’t cross paths. No overlap, no confusion. And that works for most industries where you’re at a particular job with a particular company, or working in a particular area in a somewhat stable fashion. But artists are ~special~ and we work wherever people hire us. 

You could be Jonny Sims actor in New York and then actor in Atlanta, and then Boston and Seattle pretty easily within one calendar year. That’s not even considering people who are on a national tour and have worked in 30 to 40 states every year. So it’s much more important to be the only Jonny Sims acting in the country.

Which is also why Equity doesn’t have locals like most unions. Love it or hate it, the assumption is if you are doing this professionally, you are eventually going to end up in and out of New York or LA or Chicago (or Florida, but that’s a different can of worms). SAG has regional markets but thru don’t run the same way as a local.

And the unions take this very seriously. It’s why David Tennant had to make his legal name David Tennant when he started working cross market in the US. He changed it first from his birth name, David MacDonald, when he joined Equity in England because MacDonald was taken. But Tennant was taken here so they were gonna make him change it again. Which is ludicrous considering how famous he already was by this point. But, you can sometimes get an exception, or make an appeal, if it is your full legal name.

Because it’s a whole process, there use to be a fee for Actors’ Equity to change your name. But of course fees like that predominantly affect women who statistically change their name more often than men. And trans people who need to change their name, sometimes more than once. And being trans in the US and doing the and name change saga, is so long and grueling and demoralizing, that the very least we could do as a labor union was not “pay us this money or you keep having to publicly use your dead name” so the very first piece of policy that I proposed (with a couple of friends) as an elected was to abolish the name change fee at Equity.

Anyway. 

If it’s not union reasons, I bet it’s SEO to avoid being confused with American Alex Newell even though they spell their names differently. If you search without the “J” google gives you a “did you mean” pointing to Tony award winner and darling of our hearts Alex Newell. Which I assume would be pretty annoying for Alex Newall, king of podcasts. 

Is the J just there for the ✨️aesthetics✨️

Trust me, if it was for the aesthetics I'd have something cyberpunk in there.

[springhillspeedyelectrician]

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[commercialsolarguyma]

Solar Consultant in MA for Commercial Project Management & Installations

Commercial Solar Guy is an independent solar consultant, developer, and General Contractor located in Massachusetts. As your trusted partner in solar energy development projects, we offer comprehensive services from start to finish.

Here’s a concise summary of their offerings:

Commercial Solar Rooftop Development: They specialize in commercial solar projects, providing expertise in financial analysis, layout design, and project management.

Solar Installation Cost Consulting: Commercial Solar Guy delivers complete cost breakdowns, including component costs, labor, and services. We compare data nationally and consider profit margins for all commercial solar installations.

Project Management: Acting as your Project Developer, we guide you through all aspects of the commercial solar power projects management process, including: professional scrutiny, working with engineers, CPAs, bankers, and contractors.

Paperwork Handling: We manage paperwork related to federal incentives, local power companies, permits, and state-level requirements.

News and Innovations: Commercial Solar Guy keeps you informed about solar industry news developments, such as robot dogs inspecting substations and advancements in solar panel efficiency.

Solar Power Construction: As a solar General Contractor and Master Electrician, we are able to deliver full engineering, procurement, and construction (EPC) services for solar power projects. We are licensed, insured, and bonded.

For personalized solar project guidance, reach out to John Weaver, the commercial solar energy consultant, at (508) 4999-SUN. Whether you’re exploring solar investments or need full project support, Commercial Solar Guy has you covered! 🌞🔌

Commercial Solar Guy 1213 Purchase St #2-50, New Bedford, MA 02740 (508) 499-9786 www.commercialsolarguy.com

Directions from Boston MA to Commercial Solar Guy Directions from Worcester MA to Commercial Solar Guy Directions from Lowell MA to Commercial Solar Guy  Directions from Springfield MA to Commercial Solar Guy Directions from Pittsfield MA to Commercial Solar Guy

[jetcoelectricalcontractors]

Why should you Choose Jetco Electrical Contractors

Jetco Electrical Contractors is a leading provider of electrical services in Boston, MA. We offer a wide range of electrical services, from residential to commercial, and our experienced electricians are licensed and insured. We are committed to providing our customers with the highest quality electrical services at competitive prices.

Visit: https://open.spotify.com/episode/6IRyh6HS8OCWA4NbsRMlso

[yourcomedyminute]

A PREVIEW OF YOUR COMEDY MINUTE WITH TOMMY WIREZ #StandUp #Comedian #Podcaster #Digital #Creator #NewHampshire #Boston #Massachusetts #Electrician #BiPolar #Ups #Downs #Married #After #Met  #BehindEveryStrongMan #StrongWoman #Crazy #Cat #Be #Strong #Comedy #Real #Life #Funny #Humor #Live #Stream #fyp #TommyWirez 

This is just a clip from the interview with Tommy. The full interview premieres January 1st 2025 at 7:00 PM (EST) 

If you would like to be a guest on Your Comedy Minute please contact me