#geralds mailbox

[geralds-little-art-corner]

Hiya! Hope you're having a lovely day!!

Idk if you do art requests but uhh could you possibly draw the character "The Colonel" (played by Monty Python member Graham Chapman) from "Monty Python's Flying Circus" please? Uhh thanks!!

Here you go! Tbh I'm not all that good at capturing actual ppls features but I hope it's good enough 😭

[xx-the-phoenix-witch-xx]

Meow :[

(You are faced with a cat. A cute, calico cat. This cat is Gerald, Dr. Death Defying's cat. Red Thrill murdered him. Nobody knows why Red Thrill had beef with a cat.)

- @the-shack-cat

[sapphicandgraphic]

Happy Endings

Summary: When Melissa books your massage services, you both get more than you bargained for.

Chapter: 1/3

Warnings: Smut with feelings, age difference, soft Melissa, fem reader

Chapter 1

The first time you met Melissa, she answered the door with a baseball bat in one hand and a dog-eared paperback in the other. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, flyaway strands framing her face in a strawberry halo.

She was so gorgeous you just stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. You had been expecting an elementary school teacher, after all. A nice lady in some orthopedic shoes and a sweater. Not the living embodiment of Jessica Rabbit.

“M-Ms. Schemmenti?” you finally stammered, eyes darting to the number on the mailbox and back again.

“Depends who’s askin’,” she hedged, leaning one ample hip against the doorframe. Her lacquered nails tapped the wooden handle of the bat impatiently. Your stomach did a nervous little somersault as she cocked her head to one side, full lips pursed in defiance, waiting for your answer.

You shifted your grip on the folded table you were carrying and extended a hand, introducing yourself.

“You booked a massage with me?”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to object, then comprehension dawned in her bright green eyes. She tossed the book aside, whipped the reading glasses off her face.

“Barbara Howard,” she huffed, laughing darkly. ���Oh, she’s dead.”

Melissa had won the massage vouchers in a holiday raffle, part of the annual Abbott fundraiser event. They sat on her desk for weeks afterward, collecting dust.

“You should take ‘em, Barb,” Melissa said eventually, after her friend had dropped one too many hints about how relaxing the experience would be. “Seriously, book you and Gerald a couples massage!”

Barbara had rolled her eyes, beseeching the heavens for help.

“But dear,” she tried again, pointed smile plastered on her face. “Weren’t you just complaining about your back pain?”

“It ain’t that bad,” Melissa shrugged, already turning her attention back to grading papers. “Besides, you know I don’t go in for all that froufrou spa shit.”

Barbara sighed.

Melissa could be so negligent when it came to her own wellbeing. An unfortunate byproduct of too many dalliances with careless men, if you asked Barbara. Maybe it had started even further back, as a child competing for the affection of distracted parents in a crowded family.

Whatever the reason, her stubborn friend needed coaxing to indulge in life’s little pleasures. And so Barbara often took it upon herself to lead the proverbial horse to water. In this case, her good deed required some deliberate subterfuge; first snooping in Melissa’s day planner to confirm availability, then swiping the vouchers from her desk, placing the call on her behalf. Barbara could be quite sneaky in the name of altruism.

Now you were here on Melissa’s doorstep—all toned arms and long legs and cute dimples—and the redhead was flustered, furiously jabbing the screen of her phone.

You cleared your throat. “Is there a problem?”

Melissa looked up, momentarily distracted by the sight of your megawatt smile. Hang on. Something about that smile seemed strangely familiar. She stepped back, opening the door a bit wider.

“No,” she wavered. “I guess youse can come on in.”

You chuckled. “Usually people are more enthusiastic.”

She had the decency to look embarrassed. “It’s nothin’ personal, hon. It’s just that my so-called friend—”

“It’s alright,” you interrupted smoothly. “I like a challenge.”

Before she could reply, her phone chimed with a text message alert (Enjoy yourself—that’s an order!) and Melissa actually growled.

“Were you expecting…someone else?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at the wooden baseball bat still clutched in her hand. The older woman looked down and laughed.

“Oh shit, sorry,” she said, sheathing the weapon in a nearby umbrella stand. ”Force of habit.”

She closed the door behind you and leaned against it.

“See, I won these vouchers in a raffle at my job,” she explained, rubbing her neck. “Then—”

Melissa trailed off, watching as you maneuvered the heavy items in your grip. Corded tendons jumped in your biceps and forearms, on clear display in the cropped black muscle tee you wore. A pleasant smell of sandalwood and tobacco clung to your hair. It was smoky, almost sensual.

“Then…?” you prompted.

“Hang on,” she said, shifting gears. “Do we know each other?”

“Not exactly.”

“So why you lookin’ at me like that?” she asked, smiling back hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you said. “I’m just a little star struck.”

Her forehead crinkled in confusion.

“My niece is in your class. She’s a big fan of yours, talks about Ms. Schemmenti constantly.”

And now I see what all the fuss is about, you thought, eyes flickering down to the lush petal of her mouth and then darting back up again guiltily, before your attention could veer any further south. She smirked and you felt a ripple of embarrassment.

“You’re the reason I donated to the fundraiser,” you added. “Wanted to show my appreciation for all the amazing work you teachers do.”

Melissa’s expression was transformed by a sudden, sweet smile. Rosy color bloomed in her chest and throat at the compliment. She tilted her head, gave you a long searching look.

“Hang on, don’t tell me,” she said, mentally running through her roster of students. “Frankie Dearborn, right? That’s gotta be your niece.”

You nodded, impressed.

“Cute kid,” she said fondly. “I see the resemblance.”

“Yeah?” You glanced uncertainly in a small circular mirror hanging on the wall. She stepped behind you, studying your face in the reflection.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Same smile.”

You caught her gaze and held it for a moment, noticing the flecks of gold in her bright eyes. The unmistakeable flicker of attraction sparked between you, charging the air with an electric current. Melissa licked her lips and looked away first. Jesus Christ, she knew she was a sucker for dimples, but this was ridiculous. Get it together, Schemmenti.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” you said, tone conspiratorial. “I know she can be a little wild child.”

Melissa laughed, tilting her head to the side. “Something else you got in common?”

You shot her a playful wink. “Troublemakers run in our family.”

Melissa’s lips parted in delight, stomach fluttering pleasantly.

“Oh?” she managed.

It took a lot of willpower in that moment to remind yourself this was a client and you needed to behave. You cleared your throat, schooling your expression into something more neutral. “Where would you like me to set up?”

“Uhh, in here, I guess,” she said, indicating the main room off the entryway.

You carried the table a few feet into the space, unfolding the legs and positioning it parallel to the sofa. She stood against the wall, arms crossed, green eyes blinking slowly with a dragon-like mix of curiosity and wariness.

“First time?” you asked, not looking up from your task.

She ran a hand through her brassy curtain of hair. “That obvious?”

“My clients aren’t usually armed when they answer the door.”

“Yeah well,” she muttered, glancing down at her arms. “Can’t be too careful.”

Her tone was light, but something about the guarded expression on her face caught your attention. Everything about her body language suddenly seemed to stiffen, to scream handle-with-care. You paused what you were doing and stood up, perched on the edge of the table.

“Hey,” you said, waiting until her eyes refocused on you. “This is all on your terms. You tell me what you like and don’t like, how much pressure you need or don’t need, where to put my hands and where not to. You’re 100% in control, and we can stop anytime you want.”

She nodded, defenses lowering. “Thanks, hon.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was quiet for a moment as you both sized each other up in the clear midday light. You kept your arms open, your face relaxed, your breathing even. Once you were sure she was comfortable, you went back to your prep.

“So,” she said gamely, gesturing at the table. “How’s all this work?”

You opened your bag. “First you get undressed and put this on,” you said, offering her a soft gray and white striped Turkish robe.

“How undressed are we talkin’ here?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. “I ain’t exactly shy, but I don’t wanna scandalize ya.”

“You can leave your underwear on if you prefer,” you said. “But ideally everything comes off—makes my job easier.”

Her green eyes sparkled. “Don’t wanna make it too easy for ya.”

You ducked your head. Normally you discouraged clients from outright flirting with you. But the sexy rumble of Melissa’s voice was shredding your self-control.

“Up to you,” you said, eyes on the floor.

She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes and you looked around curiously. The house was small but full of life, just like the spitfire resident. Colorful framed photographs hung on the walls, buttery sunlight streamed in through an open window.

It was one of those afternoons in early spring that suggested winter was finally withdrawing her long, cruel fangs from the city. Parks and front lawns were coming back to life, dotted with timid greens and pinks. You took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of citrus and spices that wafted in from the kitchen.

Melissa cleared her throat and you turned back around. She stood in a shaft of light, perfectly framed in its gauzy ethereal glow. Her hair was tussled slightly, and her creamy cleavage was on full display, plunging down and disappearing into the collar of the robe. Manners forgotten, you stared openly.

“Any —any specific areas you want to work on?” you asked, mouth suddenly dry.

Her mischievous smile hooked to the side. She looked good and she knew it. You swallowed, finally dragging your gaze away, hoping the flush you felt wasn’t visible.

“Chronic pain, injuries, that type of thing?” you continued, clawing your way back to some semblance of professionalism.

“My back,” she said after a moment, like it cost her something to admit weakness. You cocked your head to the side, concern flitting across your features.

“Show me,” you said, stepping behind her and placing a hand on her hip. She guided it to the left, hissing slightly when you applied too much pressure. You kneaded the tender flesh carefully, exploring the knot there. Melissa leaned into your grip as you hit a sensitive spot just right, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

“Holy shit, hon,” she said, urging you on. “You got the Midas touch.”

The pinched expression on her face slowly relaxed, softened. She sighed and swayed a little, settling back against you. Her hair tickled your face pleasantly.

“Let’s get to work,” you said, trying to ignore the way she fit perfectly in your arms. She blinked and looked up at you, a sleepy, almost trancelike expression on her face. Your mouth was just inches away from hers.

“Where do ya want me?”

A dozen inappropriate answers to that question flooded your brain. Against the wall. On the kitchen counter. In the backseat of my car. Placing a hand at her lower back, you guided her toward the table.

“Right here, Ms. Schemmenti.”

Chapter 2

[chubcheckers]

Tied Up

Gerald, a short and chubby man in his early sixties, shuffled out to check his mailbox one morning. As he sorted through the usual bills and junk mail, his hand brushed against a strange envelope with ornate handwriting and an elegant seal. Slowly, he opened it to find an invitation to a party this weekend. Gerald’s brow furrowed in confusion as he read the details – where was this party? Who was…

[astral-multiverse]

"Oh you geriatric son of a bitch...!" Akira growled

"Set up defense!" Robotnik said before a picket fence and a mailbox appeared in front of them

"Damn you, autocorrect!" Robotnik said before Brandon and Brandy combined their powers to bring up an enhanced Cosmic Barrier to protect themselves from Gerald's attack

Brandon & the Sega All-Stars: Trauma of a Shadow's Past?

@astral-multiverse

Another quiet day came to the Smash Dimension, and needless to say everyone was enjoying this peace. After all no holes had been blown into the foundation and no glitches had been happening with Call. However, there were those that didn't feel the same was as everyone else as Sonic, Brandon and their friends were gathered around in the breakroom

"Uuuuuugh...I'm so BOOOOORED!!!"

"If you say that one more time, Sonic, I swear I'm gonna deck you into the wall!"

"He has a point though, Knuckles...It has gotten boring around here now..."

"Seriously! I'd do anything just to get something excited going right about now!!!"

"Well what do you expect us to do abo-

Hm?" Knuckles began to reply before noticing something open up above them. "Is that...A Ring Portal?" He asked before and envelope suddenly flew out and smacked Brandon in the face as the portal closed!

[spintaxi]

Socially Awkward Phrases

"I’m Just Saying": The Social Apocalypse Triggered by 15 Phrases That Ruined Civilization

The awkward verbal habits that tanked marriages, meetings, and modern manners—one cringe comment at a time. By Ellis “Mumbler” McGraw -- Social Skills Editor Emeritus, SpinTaxi Magazine (Est. 1947) We live in a society. At least we used to—until it collapsed under the weight of a thousand uncomfortable phrases mumbled over lukewarm coffee and failed Tinder dates. While scientists once feared AI or nuclear war might be our undoing, new research from the prestigious University of People-Who-Make-Everything-Weird has confirmed the real culprit: socially awkward people and the things they say to you at work, weddings, and Walmart. According to a 2025 study titled “Verbal Flatulence in Modern Interpersonal Contexts,” 73% of all emotional breakdowns are preceded by someone saying “I’m just being honest.” Another 19% begin with, “No offense, but…” followed by something so offensive it requires three therapists and a 10-day silent retreat to undo. We here at SpinTaxi Magazine have compiled the top 15 most socially disastrous phrases—words that transform mild-mannered humans into conversational dumpster fires. We provide this list not to shame, but to prepare. If you hear one of these in the wild, run. Or better yet, fake a phone call. Say you’ve just been called in to emergency cat surgery. No one questions cat emergencies. Let’s dive into these weaponized word-bombs. “I Know, Right?” Translation: I haven’t listened to a word you’ve said, but I’d like to sound like I did. This phrase is the Swiss Army knife of bad listeners. It’s a verbal screensaver. A sound people emit when they want to seem interested while checking their phone under the table. Dr. Ivy Cringe, a behavioral psychologist from Fresno Community College, notes, “Saying ‘I know, right?’ during a serious conversation is like honking at a funeral.” Case Study: When a woman at a support group for divorcees shared, “He left me for a pastry chef,” her friend replied, “I know, right?” The group’s silence was broken only by the sound of someone choking on a biscotti. “It’s Not My Fault” Ah yes, the rallying cry of toddlers and tech CEOs alike. Context: Used to deny any and all responsibility, even in situations where the speaker is literally holding the broken lamp. Historical Use: First recorded in 1986, when a man named Gerald accidentally ran over his neighbor’s mailbox and claimed it “jumped into the street like a suicidal cast member from Cats.” Psychologist Brenda No-Chill, author of “Accountability is for Losers,” says this phrase has led to more ghostings than Mercury in retrograde. “Whatever” Short but deadly. Like a conversational drive-by shooting. Often used to shut down arguments, deflect feelings, or let the world know that someone peaked emotionally during a mid-2000s Avril Lavigne concert. Sociolinguistic Insight: In 92% of cases, “whatever” is used in place of a full sentence because the speaker has the emotional range of a saltine cracker. “I Don’t Care” Irony Alert: The people who say this often care the most. They’ll say “I don’t care” and then write a Facebook post about it that’s 9 paragraphs long and includes quotes from Buddha and Oprah. Comedian Observation:“I told my cousin I didn’t care who she married. Then I blocked her wedding hashtag for six months. That’s the kind of apathy that takes effort.”—Ron White “I’m Just Being Honest” Weaponized sincerity. Honesty, when offered without a filter, is just cruelty in a cute sweater. Psychological Impact: Telling your friend, “You look tired and bloated today,” may be “just honesty,” but it’s also a great way to get uninvited from brunch. A 2024 survey by the National Institute of Honesty Trauma found that 88% of people who “were just being honest” were also “just being slapped.” “Sorry, I’m Just Tired” The multi-purpose excuse for everything from murder to forgetting your anniversary. Scientific Note: Tired people yawn. They don’t forget your name and eat your lunch out of the fridge at work. Personal Anecdote: I once told my ex I was “just tired” after ghosting her for two weeks. She said, “Sleep forever, then,” and mailed me a pillow with my own tear stains. “I Don’t Need Anyone” Used By: Self-help addicts, freshly dumped men named Chad, and Instagram poets. Translation: I absolutely need someone, preferably right now, and I’ll settle for a DoorDash driver who makes eye contact. Sociologist Terry Clingstein notes this phrase often precedes a 2 a.m. voicemail that begins with “Hey… you up?” “That’s Just the Way I Am” Psychological Loophole used to avoid therapy and basic decency. If someone says this after chewing with their mouth open or criticizing your life choices, it’s code for, “I’ve been a problem since 4th grade and I refuse to grow.” Satirical Observation:“Serial killers could say the same thing. Doesn’t mean we should accept it at brunch.”—Jerry Seinfeld “No Offense, But…” You know offense is coming. You feel it. It’s like hearing the Jaws theme. This phrase has preceded statements like: “No offense, but your baby looks like a potato.” “No offense, but your degree is useless.” “No offense, but you should be single forever.” In legal circles, this phrase is referred to as “Premeditated Rudeness.” “I’m Just Saying” The conversational eject button. Usually follows a comment that would start a fight in any decent bar.Ex: “You’ve gained weight since college. I’m just saying.” Social Science Note: A 2022 peer-reviewed journal called this phrase “the verbal equivalent of a hit-and-run.” “Calm Down” Never in the history of calming down has anyone calmed down after being told to calm down. This phrase is now banned in 14 countries and all brunches where mimosas are served. Cultural Example: When Jan from HR told her coworker to calm down after being passed over for promotion, Jan’s tires were calmly slashed in alphabetical order. “You Look Tired” A compliment disguised as a tranquilizer dart. Actual Meaning: “You look like you were dragged through a hedge by life and then rolled in existential despair.” Survey Says: 93% of recipients report an immediate desire to cry or apply concealer. Sometimes both. “It’s Just a Joke” Ah, comedy. The final refuge of people who were never funny. Common Usage: After an offensive or dumb comment bombs in a group setting.Ex: “Your mom’s cooking tastes like hospital food. Just a joke!” Statistical Fact: 71% of “just jokes” are followed by uncomfortable silence and regret. “I’m Not Like Other People” Spoiler: They are. This phrase is often followed by a personality so generic it could be sold at IKEA. Case Study: A man once whispered this to a woman at a book club. He later confessed he doesn’t read, but he owns a Kindle “for aesthetics.” “I Was Just Trying to Help” A noble sentiment, if only it weren’t offered right after ruining everything. Examples include: “I fixed your résumé, now it says you're fluent in Latin.” “I told your mom you’re gay because I thought she knew.” “I deleted all your exes from your phone—you're welcome!”

SpinTaxi Magazine - A chaotic office breakroom scene titled 'The Phrases That Destroy Civilization', drawn in the hand-drawn, hyper-detailed cartoon style of Al Jaffee's ... spintaxi.com 

The Scientific Toll: Diagnosing “Phrase-Induced Social Erosion”

According to fake research from the Department of Awkward Dynamics at SpinTaxi University, repeated exposure to these phrases can cause: Resting Flinch Face Empathy Withdrawal Syndrome Chronic Ghosting Memory Loss of Birthdays Dr. Lenny Vague, chair of Modern Etiquette Studies, explains: “When you hear these phrases five times in a week, your social nervous system collapses like a Jenga tower in a preschool.”

The Workplace Crisis

HR departments have reported a 400% increase in interpersonal email wars beginning with some variant of “No offense, but…” followed by suggestions like “maybe you should lead fewer meetings” or “have you tried deodorant?” One anonymous HR rep revealed, “The phrase ‘I’m just being honest’ is now a fireable offense. Last guy used it to explain why he refused to sign Susan’s birthday card. We had to evacuate.”

Relationships in Ruin

Couples therapists are tired. Very tired. Therapist Angie “Why Do I Bother” Rosenblatt told SpinTaxi:“These phrases are napalm to intimacy. If I hear ‘whatever’ one more time during couples’ therapy, I’m prescribing helmets.” One couple’s marriage nearly imploded over the phrase “you look tired” before their anniversary dinner. The husband tried to recover with, “I meant like, beautifully exhausted.” He now lives in a hammock behind a Denny’s.

What the Funny People Are Saying

“My ex said ‘I don’t need anyone.’ I said, ‘Perfect, because I’m leaving and I took the Wi-Fi with me.’”—Ali Wong “Every guy who says, ‘I’m just being honest,’ also says ‘I’m a nice guy’—and then throws your cat off the balcony.”—Sarah Silverman “‘Calm down’ is the phrase you use when you're done being alive.”—Bill Burr “You look tired? Thanks. You look like a hotel carpet and no one says anything.”—Tig Notaro “If you ever say ‘I’m not like other people,’ just know… other people are relieved.”—Trevor Noah “‘It’s just a joke’ is something you say after ruining Thanksgiving.”—Dave Chappelle

A Better Way Forward?

Public service campaigns are now urging people to replace these phrases with healthier alternatives, such as: Instead of “Whatever,” try: “I’d like to revisit this after therapy.” Instead of “No offense, but…,” try: Nothing. Say literally nothing. Instead of “You look tired,” try: “You exist, and that is enough.” The phrase “I’m just being honest” should be followed by an honesty license. No license? You get tased with empathy.

Final Thoughts: Can We Ever Trust Language Again?

Maybe. But only if we retire these phrases to the same dusty vault where we keep “YOLO,” “on fleek,” and those inspirational Instagram captions written by people who peaked in middle school. Until then, remember: If you’re about to say “I don’t care,” maybe you should—just a little. Auf Wiedersehen.

SpinTaxi Magazine - A chaotic party scene in the style of Al Jaffee's Bohiney Magazine fold-ins, filled with exaggerated cartoon humor and visual gags. At the center, a socia... spintaxi.com 

“I’m Just Being Honest”: The Phrases That Are Quietly Ruining Civilization

How 15 common expressions became the nuclear option of social interaction By Ellis “Mumbler” McGrawSpinTaxi Magazine | Serving Satirical Truth Since 1947 If society collapses tomorrow, historians will blame climate change, AI, or that guy who microwaved fish in the office again. But the truth is more insidious. It's not the bombs or bots. It’s Brenda in Accounting saying, “No offense, but…” one too many times. According to a confidential report from the Department of Social Decay, the most dangerous weapons of mass destruction aren’t guns or viruses—they're phrases. Harmless-sounding words that, when delivered in the wild, leave behind scorched relationships, haunted dinner parties, and emotionally unstable Zoom meetings. We’ve consulted fake experts, real therapists, burned-out baristas, and several thousand group chat transcripts to bring you this definitive breakdown of the 15 most socially destructive things people say without realizing they’re causing emotional Chernobyl.

The Verbal Wrecking Balls: A Field Guide

“I Know, Right?” The phrase of passive listeners and emotional benchwarmers. Let’s be honest: “I know, right?” is just mouth static. It’s a placeholder uttered when you’ve completely checked out of a conversation but still want credit for participation. Case Example: A woman confesses, “I think my husband is cheating on me with my sister.” Her friend responds, “I know, right?” Congratulations, you’ve been replaced by a decorative lamp. Psychologist Dr. Ivy Cringe warns, “Excessive use of ‘I know, right?’ may cause people to forget you exist, emotionally and legally.” “It’s Not My Fault” The gold medal excuse of emotional toddlers in adult bodies. Used by everyone from toddlers to Tesla engineers. You could be holding the knife, surrounded by witnesses, and somehow still utter, “It’s not my fault.” Famous Instance: The 2023 Tahoe Grill Fire. A man dropped a lit sparkler into a fryer and said, “It’s not my fault—I thought it was waterproof.” “Whatever” Two syllables. Infinite damage. “Whatever” is the official phrase of people who want to end the conversation faster than their data plan. It’s not a response—it’s a conversational slam door. Linguist Summary:“Whatever” is what people say when they want to seem chill but are actually one syllable away from a full-blown silent treatment. “I Don’t Care” The lie we scream with our whole hearts. Irony’s favorite child. People who say “I don’t care” often do so through gritted teeth, clenched fists, and a freshly typed Facebook post at 2 a.m. Expert Insight: A 2024 poll revealed 89% of “I don’t care” statements are followed by a breakdown in the dairy aisle or a passive-aggressive playlist. “I’m Just Being Honest” The napalm of interpersonal communication. Honesty is a virtue. Read the full article

[elmandolinista]

The Fish in the Envelope

The other day, a fish stranded in the mailbox of Gabriele and Gerald. Not an average fish, of course, no swordfish, no trout, and no mackerel, but a FLUXfish. The strange animal had already visited Pam Chatfield, Mikel Untzilla, Rebekka Schmidt, Aina Enciso, Sabela Baña, Sil Dubois, and The Sticker Dude. Gabriele and Gerald helped the fish to grow stronger and sent him to Italy. But as an…

[calamityandme]

I woke up today and saw R hadn’t texted me so I knew I didn’t work today.

I went to feed the outside cats when I saw a letter in the mailbox from CAP. They were requesting information about when Danny worked last at this old last job. We had sent them a separation letter last week and someone told Danny they received the email.

I called CAP and asked them about the letter we got. Come to find out they say they never got the separation letter. I re-send the letter via email.

Thirty minutes later we get a knock on the door. It’s a person from the electric company notifying us they are shutting off our electric. I told them that we should be getting it paid by CAP but it didn’t matter. A few minutes later the electric was off.

I called CAP and told them we were shut off. We had to wait for an answer. An hour later we get a call back saying they paid the reconnection fee and that we need to call electric.

Long story short, we might have to wait a full day until the electricity comes on. The electric company said the check from CAP may take up to a day to process.

It sucks. We’ll be okay though. We won’t open the fridge or freezer unless we have to in order to keep its contents safe.

I wish I would have double checked Friday that they had gotten the email. Or that I hadn’t online shopped earlier in the week. Even though the $50 I spent wouldn’t have gotten us out of this situation.

It is a lesson that we need to be more active on our bills and keeping up with them. It’s just hard when I only made $630 last month. We’ll be fine. And maybe I will be able to get another job later this year if Danny can save up for a car.

I charged my phone up to 56% with Danny’s laptop right before it died. I have been listening to my Gerald’s game audio book to pass the time. Stephen king needs to stop using that sentence he keeps saying, something like “a woman is just a life support for a cunt” lol. That’s all I have to say so far.

I am going to choose to have a good day regardless of if we get electricity back soon or tomorrow

Update: I called again around 4 and they turned it on instantly…lol. Guess hounding them was a good thing. Danny may grill tonight for dinner. It’s a good day

[geralds-little-art-corner]

Happy Halloween™️

trick or treat !!

I SWEAR IR SAYS TRICK PLEASE I HAND DREW THE FANCY LETTERING 😭😭😭😭

[xx-the-phoenix-witch-xx]

(The handwriting is messy and there's a couple things crossed out)

Deer dear Pheonix Witch,

My spelling isent very good, Im trying to get it rigt right.

Im sorry I havent writen to you in a wile, Ive been busy Ive been having a hard time. Im doing beter thogh. I've been sober. Cherri's proud of me, and Im happy.

I hope your doing good to. I should visit the mail box more not just to leave this leter.

Thank you for takeing care of Cherri.

Bon Bon asked me if you took good care of peple, I said you did, be cause you were always nice to me. Thank you.

-Kobra

*a letter appears on the ground next to the mailbox with a single black feather lying on it, it is addressed to Kobra Kid*

Dear Kobra Kid, I thought I'd try out writing you a letter, it's not something I've done before, but I enjoy receiving letters from killjoys, and the dead always get excited when I deliver their mail. It is good that you're doing better. I'm proud of you too. Fixing yourself up isn't easy, but it's worth it, as far as I've seen. I've seen too many people give up and end up here, it's far easier to make things right from your side of the coin than mine. I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. Nothing much ever changes here, except for the occasional visiting ghosts, so I'm always alright. Tell Cherri and Bon Bon hello from me, and all your other friends. Tell Fun Ghoul he's doing very well at not dying as much. Tell Party Poison they should visit again sometime, I miss them. Pat Gerald for me.

XOXO the Phoenix Witch

[couriwaytown]

This is true and real of you

BSBDDHBSHSBDHD thanks tc <33 i wasn't really bettjng on it but like you said, would've been nice to be proven wrong. i knew the va choice was a bad one from the start but hoo boy...... that was one i really wanted to be proven wrong :/

[wecreatedzatt]

For once it was actually her feet that couldn’t keep up with her heart. It seemed to be unsatisfied with her pace and was retaliating by trying to escape her chest. She could feel it right underneath the surface of her skin, screaming at her to go faster - setting a rhythm for the rest of her body.

Running through the thick early summer grass was hard enough, but it was made even more difficult by her boots continuously catching on the hem of the long skirt she picked out this morning. It sent a surge of panic through her every time it tripped her up and jolted the front half of her body forward, forcing her to regain her balance over and over again. She could have taken a pause to tie it up into one of her belt loops, but the idea of stopping seemed impossible, like if she stopped she wouldn’t find her momentum again, or would miss whatever it was her heart was so anxious to find.

She had been trying to go about her regular chores in the barn, but the letter in her pocket seemed to be searing a hole right through the fabric, urging her to read it now. Everything around her was starting to feel claustrophobic and small - as if it was all trying to contain her anxious anticipation that was swelling bigger and bigger with every passing moment. She knew that at some point she would burst if she didn’t reveal the secret, so she completely abandoned her brothers and took off towards the most open space she could think of.

She could just make out her youngest brother yelling after her through the whooshing of the wind in her ears as she put distance between herself and the homestead. It was distance she had always craved, and her salvation could be right there on that paper. She knew she couldn’t wait any longer to find out.

The letter had finally arrived this morning after weeks of rising with the sun to wait on the creaky front porch for Old Mr. Gerald, the mailman to arrive. Only a few days into this routine he had stopped putting the letters into the mailbox at all. Instead, he stood on the other side of the gate with his hand outstretched anticipating her impatient, greedy snatch for whatever correspondence had come that day. Her father was quite an important member of the town and typically had several envelopes addressed to him. After furiously sifting through that stack of mail she always came up short in finding any addressed to her.

This morning though, there it was - delicate black lettering spelling out her name across the soft brown of the envelope. Pure excitement rose from her toes and flooded her cheeks with colour the instant she laid her eyes on it. She would’ve ripped it open right then and there but her mother was standing behind her yelling that the chickens wouldn’t bring their own eggs over to the house for breakfast.

Quickly she gave the crisp letter a sniff then stuck it into the folds of the orange skirt to keep it close until she could find time to open it up and know once and for all what was to come for her in this great world.

At this point she’d been running so hard and so fast that there wasn’t breath left in her to give, but the edge of the homestead was in reach. Her favourite place to be - as close to the rest of the world as possible.

As she arrived, she allowed the weight of herself to catch on the sturdy old brown wooden fence that stretched the entirety of her parent’s property. It had been in the family for years, passed on from generation to generation, each one expanding it and making it into something new, but always they upheld the integrity of the family name.

It was odd to her that here on the precipice of change, she was thinking of her past - what quite literally lay behind her now. She let the memories of where she had come from wash over her for a minute. Suddenly she wasn’t so eager to open the letter. Suddenly she wanted to sit with what had been before moving on to what could be.

The bottom of her worn farm boots found the edge of the lowest crossbar of the fence and she hoisted herself up to look over at everything that lay ahead of her.

Fields and fields of gold spanned in front of her and only stopped going when it finally met the crystal clear blue horizon way in the distance. The sun still hadn’t made its full journey to the top of the sky yet, and bright rays shot across the fields making the gold sparkle as if it were the type of treasure that could be made into a crown. To the right of her was a small spanning of trees where the light breeze blew through, circling around the vibrantly green leaves before it reached her sweat-covered brow.

Here she was standing on the edge of before and after, and for one small sliver of time in her life, she decided to not rush through any of it. She allowed herself to be content just where she was.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Fifty-Eight: Lisey’s Story

“Memories screwed up perspective, and the most vivid ones could annihilate time completely while they held sway.” 

I’m going to be honest. I’ve really hit a slump here, and am finding it hard to retain my enthusiasm for this project. I will continue on, because I want to end 2020 being able to tell people I read every word Stephen King has ever written; but right now the struggle is real. 

Lisey’s Story intensified the struggle. I thought it was long, meandering, and it took too damn long to get to the point. I’m not even sure there was a point. And it includes one of the most graphically creative uses of a can opener I’ve ever heard of. I’m still covering my chest and wincing just thinking about it. 

Lisa “Lisey” Landon is still mourning the death of her husband, famous writer, Scott Landon two years after his death. She’s still going through his office, trying to bring herself to donate his manuscripts and assorted sundries when her sister, Amanda, goes into a self-cutting and eventual catatonic state. 

Lisey and her other sister Darla don’t know what to do about Amanda. She has a history of harming herself, and her most recent bout of mania was the result of an ex-boyfriend coming back to town with a new wife. Lisey and Darla finally decide to call Greenlawn, the local mental health facility to see if they have a bed for Amanda. Come to find out, prior to his death, Scott had called Greenlawn, and convinced them to keep a spot open for Amanda, just in case. So, Lisey and Darla get Amanda committed, and the entire process dredges up memories for Lisey.

She is drawn back to her memories of Scott, especially some of the ones she can’t explain. She can’t explain why he was so insistent they not have children, or the strange disappearing acts he’d sometimes do, or how he was so quick to heal, or the weird catatonic states he’d go into- so similar to Amanda’s. Scott told her about how his brother went crazy, his dad had to chain him up in the basement (as you do), and after he was eventually killed, Scott transported him to a mythical place called Boo’ya Moon to try and bring him back to life. He was unsuccessful, so he just buried him there instead. 

In the midst of all these memories, Lisey starts getting strange phone calls from a man named “Zack McCool,” demanding that Lisey donate Scott’s papers to his alma mater. Lisey is annoyed, and politely tells “Zack” to go fuck himself. He retaliates by leaving a dead cat in her mailbox. And then when Lisey still doesn’t donate the papers, he drugs her, ties her up, and attacks her breast with a can opener. *Shudder*

Once Lisey wakes up, she heads to see Amanda, teleports to Boo’ya Moon, and Amanda is cured. Then, they head back to Lisey’s and wait for John Doolin, aka: “Zack”. Come to find out, Doolin spent time in a mental health care facility with Gerd Allen Cole, a man who shot Scott (Ha! Rhymes!) at a groundbreaking ceremony for a new campus library. So, Doolin picked up Cole’s mantle and ran with it. Well, until he ended up shot, and his corpse was dropped at Boo’ya Moon. 

Amanda is cured, the stalker is gone, and Lisey is free to finally get rid of Scott’s belongings. The final chapter of the book concludes with a chapter of his life Scott wrote just for Lisey- all about killing his dad. So romantic, right?

This book was chock full of Steve universe references:

Castle Rock

Derry

“Happy Crappy”

Lisey is from Cleave’s MIlls

Gilead

Dark Score Lake

Chambray work shirts

Norris Ridgewick

Andy Clutterbuck

“Lit out for the territories” 

And the most 2020 reference of all, was when Scott was dying and Lisey had to visit him in the isolation ward. “We think he has some exotic pneumonia, possibly even the Bird Flu, but whatever it is, we haven’t been able to identify it...It’s really doing a number on him. As the saying is. Just a mask should be enough, Mrs. Landon, unless you have cuts...”

Ah, the quaint old days of Bird Flu. #nostolgia 

In case you couldn’t tell, Lisey’s Story just bored the crap out of me. It was too long, and I just didn’t care by the end of it. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 38

Total Dark Tower References: 54

Book Grade: D

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D

Next up is Duma Key, which I’ve heard great things about. And the first ten pages are already more promising than Lisey’s Story. So there’s that.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

how does mail get to wick hills if the location changes all the time? do they have a post office?

YALL HOW HAVE I NEVER TALKED ABOUT WICKHILLS POSTMAN I LOVE HIM SM

he literally has his own custom white noise generator i made called “The Unsettling Post Office”

nobody knows who the postman is. sometime people see him out the window, but if you go out the door to say hello, he’s somehow made it all the way back to his truck already and is driving away, or he’s just poofed entirely

in general everybody can agree he is a pretty generic looking guy, but nobody ever quite gets a good look at his face.

The post office has normal post office hours, but you go in and everything is suspiciously automatic? theres signs giving you directions on how to fill stuff out (was that sign there before i needed to know this is cant quite remember) and some kind of bizarre postal-self-checkout machine that looks like an 80′s ATM crossed with a phone booth and a little slot to drop your mail

theres all kind of funny theories about who what The Postman is, if its a mantle passed on from person to person or if its one guy who made some ill-advised comment about loving his job in front of a Good Neighbor -

but the general consensus is that he’s definitely not fae (he doesn’t seem bothered by the protections on the houses, and some of the mailboxes literally are steel)  but he’s probably not totally human

I call him Gerald

[multiverseforger]

Walter Joseph Kovacs was born on March 21, 1940, the son of Sylvia Kovacs, who was a prostitute, and an unknown father only known to Kovacs as "Charlie". His mother was frequently abusive and condescending towards him. In July 1951, at the age of 11, Kovacs became involved in a violent fight with two older bullies, and subsequently his living conditions were finally looked into. He was removed from his mother's care and put in "The Lillian Charlton Home for Problem Children" in New Jersey, where he rapidly seemed to improve, excelling at scholastics as well as gymnastics and amateur boxing. In 1956, after leaving the Charlton Home when he was 16, Kovacs took a job as a garment worker in a dress shop, which he found "bearable but unpleasant" partly because he had to handle women's clothing; it was here that he acquired a certain dress fabric that he would later fashion into the mask he wears as Rorschach. In 1962, Kovacs scavenged the material from a rejected dress that had been special-ordered by a young woman with an Italian name. Though Kovacs learned how to cut and fashion the material successfully with heated implements, he soon grew bored with it, as it served him no real purpose at the time.[14]

Two years later when buying a newspaper on his way to work in March 1964, Kovacs read about the rape and murder of Kitty Genovese, who he believed was the Italian woman who had rejected the dress. Ashamed by what he read about the unresponsiveness of her neighbors, Kovacs became disillusioned with the underlying apathy that he saw as inherent in most people. Inspired by Genovese's fate, Kovacs returned home, made "a face [he] could bear to look at in the mirror" from the dress's fabric, and began fighting crime as the vigilante Rorschach. Initially, Kovacs left criminals alive, but bloodied, for the police to arrest, leaving a calling card in the form of a Rorschach test at every crime scene. In the mid 1960s, he teamed up with Nite Owl II, a partnership which proved highly successful at battling organized crime.[14]

In 1975, an investigation into the kidnapping of a young girl named Blair Roche led to the transformation of the "soft" Kovacs into the ruthlessly uncompromising Rorschach. He tracked the kidnapping to a man named Gerald Grice. At Grice's shack, Kovacs found evidence Grice had killed the girl and had fed her remains to his dogs. Discovering this, Rorschach suffered a psychotic breakdown, killed the dogs with Grice's meat cleaver and waited for his arrival. When Grice returned, Rorschach hurled the corpses of the dogs through his windows, handcuffed him to a stove, and poured kerosene around him. Leaving Grice a hacksaw, Rorschach told him that his only chance to escape would be by cutting off his hand. Rorschach then set the shack on fire and left. No one emerged.[14] During a later psychological evaluation, the vigilante stated that Kovacs went into the shack, but that Rorschach came out.

When the Keene Act was passed in 1977 to outlaw vigilantes, Rorschach responded by killing a wanted serial rapist and leaving his body outside a police station with a note bearing one word: "never!"[15]

In WatchmenEdit

By 1985 and the events of Watchmen, Rorschach is the vigilante who continues to operate in defiance of the Keene Act, the rest having retired or become government operatives. He investigates the murder of a man named Edward Blake, discovering that he is the Comedian. He believes that someone is picking off costumed superheroes,[16] a view that strengthens when Doctor Manhattan is forced into exile[17] and when Adrian Veidt, the former vigilante known as Ozymandias, is targeted in an assassination attempt.[18] Rorschach questions Moloch, a former supervillain who unexpectedly attends Blake's funeral, who tells him what little he knows.[19] Later, after reading a note written by Moloch telling him to come over for more information, Rorschach visits him again, only to find him dead, shot through the head. The police, tipped off anonymously over the phone, surround the house. Rorschach scolds himself for falling into such an obvious trap, and is arrested after a fight, in which Rorschach tries to escape by jumping through a window, but is unmasked. After the unmasking, Rorschach is revealed to be the red-haired man who, in addition to being the first character to appear in the series, was shown several times in the early chapters carrying a sign reading "THE END IS NIGH".[18]

Rorschach is sent to a prison where many of its inmates are criminals he put away, including Big Figure, a dwarf crime boss who is hungry for Rorschach's blood. During his incarceration, he is interviewed by the prison psychologist Dr. Malcolm Long. Long believes he can help rehabilitate him; instead, Rorschach's explanation of his life and his justifications for his uncompromising worldview lead Long to question his own views.

One day during lunch, one of the inmates attempts to attack Rorschach with a shiv, whereupon Rorschach throws the boiling-oil contents of a deep-fryer into his face in self-defense.[14] As the guards grab and begin to beat him, Rorschach hoarsely yells at the watching crowd, "None of you seem to understand. I'm not locked in here with you. You're locked in here with me."[20] After the inmate dies, the prison breaks out in a riot. The Big Figure and two of his associates try to kill Rorschach, but he outwits and ultimately kills them all in rapid succession. Rorschach's two former colleagues, Nite Owl II and Silk Spectre II, begin to take his "mask killer" theory seriously and break him out of jail to follow up on it.[21]

After the prison break, Dr. Manhattan comes back from his self-exile to transport Silk Spectre II to Mars.[21] After acquiring a spare costume from his apartment, Rorschach, along with Nite Owl, enters underworld bars to find out who ordered the assassination attempt on Veidt. They obtain a name, a company called Pyramid Deliveries, and then break into Veidt's office. Nite Owl correctly deduces Veidt's password and finds that he runs Pyramid Deliveries. Rorschach, who has been keeping a journal throughout the duration of the novel, realizes that they may be no match for Veidt. He makes one last entry in his journal, stating his certainty that Veidt is responsible for whatever might happen next, and drops it into a mailbox.[22]

Nite Owl and Rorschach fly out to Antarctica.[22] There they learn the true nature of the conspiracy and Veidt's motivations: to unite the world against a perceived alien threat and stop the possibility of a nuclear holocaust. Veidt then reveals that he set his plan into motion well before they arrived.[23] Doctor Manhattan and Silk Spectre II arrive at the base after viewing the carnage Veidt's false alien has wrought on New York City. Despite their mutual horror, Nite Owl, Silk Spectre II and Doctor Manhattan all agree to keep quiet about the true nature of the events when the United States surprisingly does enter into a peace accord with the Soviet Union.

Rorschach states the others must be joking, and leaves to tell the world. Dr. Manhattan confronts him outside, telling him he cannot allow Rorschach to reveal the truth. Refusing to compromise his principles, Rorschach understands he will be killed. He removes his mask and demands that Manhattan just "do it", which he does.[24]

In the final scenes of the comic, Rorschach's journal has made it to the offices of the New Frontiersman, a right-wing newspaper. Outraged by the new accord between the Soviet Union and the United States, the editor pulls a planned two-page story. He leaves it to his assistant Seymour to decide how to fill that space, and Seymour begins to reach for the paper's "Crank File," which contains the journal. The outcome is ambiguous.[24]

Events of Doomsday ClockEdit

The events of Doomsday Clock begin with Robert Redford winning the 1992 election by using the details of Kovacs' journal, which he gained from the New Frontiersman, leading the citizens of New York to rally against Ozymandias, while the United States faces an inevitable nuclear war.[

[babylon-crashing]

hughes’ offensive and defensive magic

... from: Michael M. Hughes, Magic for the Resistance (2018)

Resistance magic is not always nice.

While many popular books on witchcraft claim that magic should only be used for healing and “positive” ends, I strongly disagree. Magic has always been used for self-defense and in defense of others. The idea that it should not be used defensively or to inhibit the actions of others is a twentieth-century invention, and the entirety of the historical record, from ancient times through the present, makes that abundantly clear.

When I published the Trump binding spell, I expected to encounter resistance from fundamentalist Christians and orthodox religious types. After all, in their view, all magic is evil and the work of the devil, including magic done for healing and positive outcomes (benefica). I even baited them a bit by throwing in the phrase, “demons of the infernal realms,” knowing it would tie their underpants into knots and send them into paroxysms of prayer for their beloved “Christian” president.

But it takes a lot of work to conjure demons, as any competent ceremonial magician knows, and they're not just going to do what you ask them—like any employee, they won't work unless they're paid. And as I've stated elsewhere, I prefer to work respectfully with cooperative and helpful spirits, not the lowlife dregs of the astral realms.

However, as I replied to some of my fundamentalist critics, I would be absolutely delighted to have the cooperation of any and all infernal spirits willing take a whack at the horrid demons infestmg Donald Trump—the demons that make a man believe grabbing women by the pussy is kosher, for example, or the demons that make him enjoy mocking someone with disabilities. The demons that make him believe dumping coal waste in mountain streams is morally acceptable seem especially malign.

Not only did I expect harsh criticism from the religious right, I egged them on. Their overblown reactions even helped further empower the binding spell (because that's how magic works). What I did not expect was a wave of blowback from the witch and Pagan communities.

Many of my Pagan critics pointed to the threefold law of Wicca as their reason for condemning the spell. This law says that any negative magic (malefica) you do comes bouncing back at you with three times the consequences. If you curse someone and they break their leg, the bad mojo is gonna come careening right back at you and break your legs and your arms and burn down your house. It's a variant of karma, just with a moralistic edge against what is presumed “bad” magic.

I respectfully pointed out that the threefold law was very likely the creation of Gerald Gardner, one of the originators of modern witchcraft, and didn't appear until he inserted it into one of his novels in the middle of the twentieth century. And many witches, particularly non-Wiccans, don't consider it part of their tradition anyway. While I do acknowledge the reality of karma, my experience is that it is a much more complex phenomenon than the simple equation "do bad—get hurt." First, who defines what is good and positive or bad and negative? Like most ethical issues involving complex human beings and their societies, it is far from simple to label most actions simply good or bad.

Just think of something as simple as owning a pet cat that you've rescued from a shelter. A good act, right? Absolutely—both you and the cat would agree. But that cat requires food, which means meat (and please don't try to turn your cat vegan). So the fact that you saved the cat means many animals, most of which are raised in horrid factories, are suffering and dying to feed it. If you let the cat outside—which you may feel is a positive experience for your pet—it might kill endangered songbirds.

Some of my witch critics said binding spells were inherently negative because they aim to thwart the target's desires and intentions. That any magic inhibiting someone's will is, by definition, harmful. It's a good point, so let's examine it with a couple of thought experiments.

• Your child is being stalked by an adult with a history of abusing children. You have done everything you can to get police to detain or restrain him, with little success because you don't have actionable evidence. You know the abuser is still actively seeking your child because you saw him sitting in his car across from the school playground where your child was playing.

• A state senator is on the verge of passing legislation to pave a local wetland to put up a strip mall. The wetland has been declared critical for protecting the local watershed from nearby farm runoff. In fact, your well draws water from an aquifer that is threatened by the development.

• You just moved to a small rural town. You and your partner are married and have adopted two mixed-race children. A local fundamentalist minister is whipping his congregation into hating you because “marriage is between a man and a woman,” and “children need a father and a mother, not two mothers.” Your children are increasingly bullied to the point where they dread going to school. The teachers have tried to help, but the minister's hold on the parents is too strong. Today you opened your mailbox and found a letter threatening to kill you and your children if you “disgusting perverts” don't move out of town.

• The drug your mother needs to stay alive has gone from five dollars per pill to two hundred dollars, all thanks to a pharmaceutical company CEO. You have no idea how you're going to pay for the life-saving medicine.

So ... would binding spells or hexes be okay in those situations?

Yes, those are extreme examples. But every day corporations, politicians, corporate executives, lobbyists, cops, judges, ministers, lawyers, and other authorities make decisions that cause serious harm to accent people, animals, and ecosystems.

Witchcraft and magic are tools. When you, someone you love, or a place with great beauty and spiritual power is threatened, why would you not use all the tools at your disposal?