#niagara records

[jpnnewmusicdaily]

ためいきばかり (Tameiki Bakari) by Sugar Babe / シュガー・ベイブ

Album: Songs Year: 1975 Label: Niagara Records Lyrics & Music: Kunio Muramatsu / 村松邦男

[clove-pinks]

@victoriansecret has been assisting me in my quest to find traditional fife and drum field music with only ONE fife and ONE drum. I am in love with this recording he found of The Duke of York's March (Short Troop), by the Old Fort Niagara Fifes and Drums [Facebook link]. There is something deeply poignant and stirring in the sound of this minimalist arrangement.

If I heard something like this 200-250 years ago I would IMMEDIATELY take the King’s shilling, they wouldn't even need to tempt me with free ribbons and alcohol! You had me at fife and drum.

[vox-anglosphere]

Eclipse fever grips the Niagara Peninsula as April 8th approaches

Niagara Falls lies in the path of totality & the crowds will be enormous

[kirbydots]

What if,,, instead of fighting, lightrion and scottbarda had a family barbeque,,,

That would be perfect. I desperately want more family interactions among these four.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"LEACH RECEIVES A FIVE YEAR TERM," St. Catharines Standard. April 24, 1912. Page 1. --- Young Man Who Secured a Valuable Diamond Ring From W. W. Tyrrill by Bogus Cheque is Heavily Sentenced. ---- William Leach, the young man who had pleaded guilty to passing a bogus check on W. W. Tyrrill, as part payment for a diamond ring. was again brought into police court this morning. He had been remauded for a week for the purpose of recovering the ring. He told a story impuicating others and telling into whose possession the ring had gone, but those accused all denied complicity.

County Crown Attorney Brennan moved for judgment on the prisoner's plea of guilty.

Leach declared that he had told the truth. To interrogatories of the magistrate he said he lived in Niagara Falls, Ont, where he had been for nine years, that he was a bar tender, that his mother was living in Toronto with her sister, his father having been killed in a fire. He had sent his mother $4 a week when working for $10 a week and his board. He admitted that he had been convicted of receiving stolen goods (four pairs of shoes) in Niagara Falls, in 1910, and served six months in Central Prison, and six months in 1908 for stealing an overcoat. He was accused of forgery about ten years ago in Toronto and received a suspended sentence. From returns from the police, the magistrate read of many convictions and terms in prison of William Leach, some of which the prisoner acknowledged, while others he said he knew nothing about. They ranged from 1900 to the present time. He had been accused of theft in Niagara Falls, N. Y., but it was not proven. He had been deported.

In regard to the procuring of the ring from Mr. Tyrrill, he said there had been a preconceived plan, but did not include the forged check he had given.

The magistrate said he had been perfectly willing to receive any representations that might be made in restitution of the forgery and allow for the restoration of the ring, but restitution had not been made, nor had the person been found to whom he gave it. It was not necessary for the prisoner to be at large for the support of his mother, as he had one brother. His record was bad, and the sentence of the court would be five years in Kingston penitentiary.

Leach asked for another chance, but the magistrate said he had had good many chances already.

[Leach was 25, a freight handler, and a fraud artist. He was convict #F-382 at Kingston Penitentiary and worked in the trucking and ‘excavation’ units of the prison. He was reported May and June 1912 for talking and impertinence, losing 7 days remission. In 1913, he was reported in January, February, July, and August, the last time being sent for a week to solitary confinement. In 1915 he was reported again in December and lost 5 days remission, and in 1916 was reported in February for talking and lost another 5 days. He was released in February 1917.]

[nickmacleanjazz]

NICK MACLEAN QUARTET feat. BROWNMAN ALI ALBUM PRE-RELEASE TOUR

The Herbie Hancock-influenced modern jazz ensemble NICK MACLEAN QUARTET feat. BROWNMAN ALI celebrates the release of their hotly anticipated sophomore album CONVERGENCE. Catch them for a night of hard-swinging, exploratory modern jazz!

—-

SAT-OCT-14, 08pm: Oshawa, ON - Simcoe Blues & Jazz TIX: https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/716632486057 SUN-OCT-15, 07pm: Toronto, ON - Duffy's Tavern TIX: https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/715498203387 MON-OCT-16, 07pm: Niagara, ON - The Hare Wine Co (Twilight Jazz and Blues Series - Niagara Jazz Festival) TIX: https://niagarajazzfestival.com/events/twilight-jazz-blues-series-convergence-nick-maclean/

FULL TOUR INFORMATION: www.NicholasMaclean.com

—-

"I was a great fan of Herbie Hancock’s 60’s music. Nick Maclean Quartet is very solid. « Convergence » is one of the best canadian albums of 2023 and should have chances to get a Juno."

- Denys Lelièvre, CKRL (Quebec City, Canada)

This October, the NICK MACLEAN QUARTET feat. BROWNMAN ALI celebrates the release of their hotly anticipated sophomore album CONVERGENCE. Led by fast-rising piano star NICK MACLEAN -- a 10x Global Music Award winner and one of the most in-demand young jazz piano players in Toronto -- this contemplative yet thrilling quartet delivers jazz between the two poles of thoughtful introspection and powerhouse conveyance, taking influences from Herbie Hancock's primordial 1960's Blue Note era recordings. Maclean's quartet heavily features one of Canada's most provocative improvising trumpet players -- BROWNMAN ALI -- an internationally acclaimed, multi-award winning jazz iconoclast who has been heralded as "Canada's preeminent jazz trumpet player" by New York City's Village Voice and is best known globally as the last trumpet player to play in the legendary jazz-hip-hop group GURU's JAZZMATAZZ. For this show, Ali & Maclean stand shoulder-to-shoulder with 2 of Canada's top-tier 20-somethings: CHRIS PARNIS (in for Ben Duff) on upright bass, and PETROS ANAGNOSTAKOS on drums (in for Jacob Wutzke).

Copies of CONVERGENCE will be available for purchase at the show (physical and digital)

:: Nick Maclean - piano :: Brownman Ali - trumpet :: Chris Parnis - bass (in for Ben Duff) :: Petros Anagnostakos - drums (in for Jacob Wutzke)

Come witness these four in full flight, this tour features many nights of deeply exploratory, hard-swinging modern-jazz audiences nation-wide will not want to miss. —-

WATCH Nick Maclean Quartet perform the Maclean original 'ROAD WARRIOR’, a single from CONVERGENCE

WATCH Nick Maclean Quartet perform the Hancock classic 'DOLPHIN DANCE’, a single from CONVERGENCE

WATCH Nick Maclean Quartet perform the Maclean original 'VERBOTEN’, a single from CONVERGENCE

WATCH Nick Maclean Quartet perform the Brownman original 'WISDOM OF AURELIUS’, a single from CONVERGENCE

For more info: www.NicholasMaclean.com www.Brownman.com www.Browntasauras.com

[stevenvenn]

M83 - Oceans Niagara (from Fantasy) Have you heard the new M83 album Fantasy out now? So good. This debut single is epic. Kind of reminds me of a movie intro (or a commercial for an 80s teen adventure show). The multi-eyed guy is the stuff of my nightmares.

[whateveriwant]

The 141 watching their partner give birth

Price

Is absolutely fascinated by the process

Constantly looking down there, slack jawed, telling you, "Honey, you've got to see this"

Makes you warn him waaaay too many times to not whip out his phone and start recording such an exposed view of between your legs

Does, however, receive your permission to take pictures/videos from a more "decent" angle (ones you can actually share with your friends and families, you know)

The picture he takes of you holding your child for the very first time? Yeah, say hello to his new lockscreen

Ghost

Looks down a few times but mostly keeps his focus up by your head

Gives oodles and oodles of soft praise telling you how good you're doing, how strong you are, how he knows you can do this

Has both hands on you throughout the delivery – one holding your thigh open, the other holding your hand for support

Is completely unfazed no matter how hard you squeeze him; doesn't so much as blink even as you almost break his fingers with your death grip

The only time he lets you go is to cut the umbilical cord (and then hold your child so so preciously in his massive hands)

Gaz

Doesn't have the stomach to look, but he does manage to cut the cord

Lots of petting your hair, applying cool cloths to your neck, whispering praise/encouragement in your ear

Reminds you to breathe when you forget to (and realizes he sometimes needs the reminder too)

Finds himself getting a little choked up seeing you in such pain, but has to hold himself together for both your sakes

Maintains his composure up until he hears your child's first cries, and then it's Niagara Falls streaming down his face, tons of wet kisses pressed to your sweaty temple

Soap

You'd think being surrounded by blood and guts on the regular would have prepared him for this moment, right?

Looks down once. Passes out immediately

Poor guy goes down like a sack of bricks and has to be dragged out of the way by a couple of nurses

Doesn't come to until after the birth is over, and is so incredibly apologetic/embarrassed/disappointed when he realizes what happened

But once he finally lays eyes on your child, he's lighting up like he just won the lottery and is smothering you both with all the love he has to offer

[ohmyrashi]

story time!! 💛

so today i had a plan to get a haircut at 12:30 and then meet someone at a department store at 3:00. the haircut only took about 20 mins so i was left with almost two hours to kill.

used the bathroom in the hair salon, then went to a nearby restaurant to grab lunch. ordered a diet coke and ended up finishing it pretty quick bc it was rly hot out today and i was thirsty from the walk. waitress brought me a refill without even asking and i ended up finishing that too.

still had like half an hour to kill, ended up going to a cafe to read my book. ordered a 16 oz iced tea, finished about half of it and took the rest with me to the car when it was time to head out. and, i cannot emphasize enough, i WENT TO THE BATHROOM at the cafe before i left!! i'm no fool!! i've been an omo lover long enough to know what two sodas and an iced tea were gonna do to my bladder!! but i wasn't planning on holding or anything so i figured i'd be safe and go like a responsible adult!!

except i think that the bulk of the liquid hadn't hit me yet, or maybe my bladder is still sensitive from the other night, because almost as soon as i got in my car, i was needing to pee again.

and y'all. it got SO bad so ridiculously fast. and it was a 30 minute drive 😭

by like 7 minutes in my bladder was achingly full, and the pressure just kept getting more and more acute until i was shifting around and making little noises of discomfort in my throat at red lights. the whole drive was through residential neighborhoods and on the highway, nowhere convenient to stop. and anyways, it was a short enough drive that i would have felt silly stopping on the way. but it was getting hard to think about anything than how swollen and heavy my bladder felt in my abdomen and how much i wanted to empty it. (for the record, i was still able to drive safely, if it was so bad that i couldn't i would have pulled over. don't distracted drive for any reason kids)

ofc this was all also super fucking hot, bc as much fun as getting desperate on purpose is there's really nothing like when it happens organically, and in a situation where you can't relieve yourself.

made it to the store, parked in the parking lot, speed walked inside. now as i mentioned, this is a department store, which means it is huge and has multiple levels. looked around and didn't see signs for a bathroom anywhere. bladder absolutely bursting.

looked frantically for an associate, finally spotted one folding clothes, hurried over and asked politely where the bathroom was. next floor, in the far corner. so far away. help

found the escalator, walked up it, started looking around for the bathroom, no sign of it anywhere!! i felt like i was having a pee dream, stuck searching through this huge store for a toilet with my bladder about to explode!

found ANOTHER associate, asked AGAIN where the bathroom was, and i think there was a certain tone in my voice/look on my face/tension in my posture cause she started giving me directions and then was just like "--you know what, i'll walk you there" 😳🙈

FINALLY made it to a stall, didn't bother locking the door, danced and gasped while i got my shorts down, and thundered Niagara Falls out into the toilet 😩🥰😮‍💨

[jpnnewmusicdaily]

雨は手のひらにいっぱい (Ame wa Te no Hira ni Ippai) by Sugar Babe (シュガー・ベイブ)

Album: Songs Year: 1975 Label: Niagara Records Lyrics & Music: Tatsuro Yamashita / 山下達郎

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

the first person recorded in history to jump down the niagara waterfalls and survive was a 63 year old woman who wanted fame what an absolute iconic queen

obsessed with her

[iinovich]

𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙥(𝙡𝙞𝙥) 𝙂𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Synopsis: You attend your AA meetings at least once a week and you yourself know that you've always had your eyes on the Dirty blonde, maybe, this could be the day you could make something out of it.. Wouldn't you like to know?

Wc: 1.3k

Cw: alcohol, violence, drugs, angst, intoxication, aa meetings

A/n: my first oneshot, shameless too, enjoy lol

.・゜-: ✧ :.・゜-: ✧ .・゜-: ✧ .・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-　　　　

You've never seen him like this and thought you never would.

AA meetings were something you tried to attend at least once a week, and when you do successfully force yourself to leave your mess of an apartment that reeks of cigarettes, you can’t help but notice the blue-eyed dirty blonde that looks like he crawled out of his own grave and always sat at the back of the AA meetings. He always showed no emotion, his hands were always dug into the pockets of his worn-out jacket and his face was always blank. He's only stepped onto the podium of the AA meetings once to talk about his alcoholic laced stories but you know he was hiding something more intense, something deeper, and you can't help but want to claw your fingers down into his throat to find out. He talks while looking down and you recognize the shame intertwined into his voice as he speaks, an emotion you were very familiar with.

But that meeting happened weeks ago.

You're sat at one of the back rows of today's AA meeting. You're only looking up at the ceiling as the sob stories of the recovering alcoholics are only boring you to death rather than inspiring you to change into a “better person”. You stare at the flickering light bulb dreading for today’s meeting to end quick. You can't wait to light a new one and find your next fuck that's usually on the L that you take back to your apartment. It's only that you take interest into today’s meeting when you hear glass shattering. You whip your head to the left and see that soul dead man gripping harshly on the collar of a typical addict.

"What the fuck did you say?" You’ve never heard him raise his voice, he was always so quiet and reserved and he always speaks in a whisper.

"You Gallaghers are all white trash, don't know how the fuck your whore of a sister got out of jail, all you fucking Gallaghers deserve to rot at the clink" he's slurring his words, what kind of asshole comes into an AA meeting intoxicated? Your thoughts halt like a train when you see Blondie over there landing a hard hit onto the drunkies's jaw. He collapses on the floor and he’s coughing like a maniac as he's in between laughs, blood leaving his lips like Niagara Falls, you wince at the sight.

"Fucking kill me gallagher, forget you're being recorded by a camera?" The maniac shouts out in between his laughs. The recovering alcoholics are leaving one by one not wanting to be a part of this bloody dispute, and you're pretty sure one of them are calling the police, if not a drug dealer, this situation seems normal to relapse in your eyes.

His blue eyes whip to the corner of the room and he looks back at the drunkie with eyes that speak louder than the punch he landed that echoed around the room.

"You're a fucking lucky man, if I ever see you again...you are a fucking dead man"

He enunciates the last five words before spitting on the man's face and the drunkie still can't help but laugh.

Blondie digs into the pockets of his jacket again before leaving and you notice that he’s mumbling something to himself and yet despite the gruesome altercation that you just witnessed seconds ago, you feel drawn to just say something to him, to follow him. You follow your gut and follow his tracks on the way out of the building with your own hands dug deep into your jeans, but the pockets of a woman's jeans can only go so far. Your platform boots are thudding on the hard pavement as you exit the building where the meeting was held, you see him leaning on the wall to your left where the stained white paint of the building walls are only deteriorating.

You look at him and see a cigarette in between his lips as he mutters a quiet “fuck” that you can read from his occupied lips.

"Need a light?"

He looks at you for a second and doesn't reply to you, but instead leans his mouth towards your hand that's already raised up with a lighter attached to your fingers and you find yourself lighting his cigarette. It's only after the puff of smoke that exits his lips that he decides to talk.

"Thanks"

You both sit in the awkward yet comfortable silence as the lights of Chicago fill in the awkward atmosphere for you.

"Name?"

"Y/n"

"Philip, call me lip"

You nod your head before asking him the very obvious question that's been weighing the back of your head.

"What the fuck happened in there?"

Lip shrugs as another puff of smoke exits his lips before he looks at you to give you a brief explanation.

"drunkie Talked shit about my family, didn't know he was drunk until I punched him"

Silence took over the atmosphere again, the Chicago lights now struggling to save it.

"Why are you here?"

You've been dying to ask him that the moment you had laid your eyes on lip.

"None of your damn business is why I'm here"

He states with venom laced into each word and he says it quickly. You didn't say anything to anger him, you didn’t give out a remark to piss him off yet he's spoon feeding you a comment that makes you scoff and you're thinking about walking away. But you're entitled and egotistical ass won’t let you leave until you spew something nasty back.

"Well fuck you lip, just starting small talk cause I can't help but notice we're the only fucking loners in that shithole, guess you can't seem to pull your head out of your ass."

"I hope you enjoyed your cigarette lip"

You last managed to say as you enunciate his name, popping the p before walking away.

"My toddler of a brother got into my sisters fucking coke and he’s having seizures left and fucking right, I don’t know who the fuck bailed my bitch sister and I have no fucking idea how I’m going to pay for my brothers medical bills, you- you fucking happy?"

There's so much anger and hate in his words. But you're just so fucking egotistical that instead of walking away and feeling any sense of remorse, you turn around and see lip whose twisting his heel on the cigarette that you lit for him.

"Just because you gave me a light doesn't give your entitled ass the right to know shit about me"

You furrow your brows.

"I was only being nice-"

"Nice my fucking ass, you just want to get a fucking egotistical boost from the sob stories that you want out of me, is- is that it?"

Lip says unstable, your face is twisted and turned into confusion, not understanding how the fuck he's pulling words out of his ass.

"I don't know what the fuck I said to you to piss you off but-"

"Oh, go fuck yourself" he yells and he kicks the metal trash can near him, the clanging of the metal hitting the building wall and tearing the thin paint startles you and your heart starts fucking pounding.

And it all clicks.

His face is flushed red and sweating, his eyelids are drooping against his blood shot eyes and you see him stumbling after he kicked the trash can.

He's fucking drunk.

The two of you are looking at each other, panting. One in intoxication and the other in vexation.

You slowly back away while you're shaking your head ever so slowly. You can't help but think how fucking stupid you were for thinking that maybe you could have another chance at life with a random guy you found intriguing at an AA meeting- heck, wanting to pursue something of anything with a recovering alcoholic was already the first mistake. But now you're just standing there, wondering why the fuck you wanted to be a part of this shit in the first place.

"Go get some help lip."

_______________________________________________

Thank you for readingg!

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Warren H. Muck was about the millionth kid our age to be named after Warren Harding, a fairly popular president from 1921 to 1923, when a lot of us World War II kids were being born. No wonder he preferred “Skip.” We were different in some ways. We couldn’t have grown up farther apart—Oregon and New York. He was from Tonawanda, just north of Buffalo and along the Niagara River. My roots were Irish, his German; he even spoke a fair amount of it. When it came to drinking and gambling, I was a major leaguer while Skip was happy to bounce around the minors, playing here and there, but the more we got to know each other, the more we realized we had lots in common. We both had that adventurous spirit; while I was swinging across ravines on the branches of Douglas firs in Oregon’s woods, Skip was swimming across the Niagara River in New York. We were both about five-seven or five-eight, he a bit more wiry. We were both a little ornery, mischievous, and athletic; he played wide receiver in football and was on the swim team. Both of us liked a good laugh. Both of us were nuts for music: Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Harry James, The Mills Brothers singing “Paper Doll,” and Frank Sinatra’s “Moonlight Serenade.” At the end of a day, we’d go to the PX—it wasn’t much bigger than a boxcar—and were usually so tired that we’d sit on the floor, our backs to the wall, and with a beer or Coke in our hands listen to that jukebox until I thought we were going to wear out the grooves in those 78rpm records. It wasn’t just the sound of the music, it was what it could do to you inside: take you away from endless days of sweating, grunting, and cussing beneath your breath at Sobel.

The Depression had been hard on both our families. In some ways, we both were forced to become the “man of the house.” My dad essentially bailed out in 1938; his dad abandoned his family in about 1930, deciding he’d rather play in a jazz band and travel the country than be a father. Beyond that, we both were happy-go-lucky, witty, a little nutty, prickly when provoked, and, here and there, prone to laugh in the face of the odds if we thought, after doing so, we’d survive to live another day. How else do you explain our trying to become paratroopers? How else do you explain a guy swimming the Niagara? Or me defying an ROTC colonel? Skip was the real deal; didn’t have a phony bone in his body. Unassuming and yet had a personality that drew people to him like cold hands to a fire. He was the barracks peacekeeper on occasion. Not the guy who demanded to be in the spotlight but probably the best-liked man in the company. A guy who could make each of us feel as if he were his best friend. Deep down, I felt honored that he even had time for a maverick like me.

In some ways, Skip had replaced my family and my pals at the Sigma Nu house as the person I was closest to on earth. Once, on our way back to the barracks from the PX, Skip and I were having a smoke when he asked me why I chose airborne. I told him about growing up with the stories about my uncles both giving their lives for their country. “I dunno, Skip, I think I was just born to do this,” I said. His response didn’t surprise me in the least: “Me, too, Malark.” But we never talked about not making it home. We only talked about what it would be like when we did, how we’d visit each other and he’d show me where he’d swum the Niagara and I’d take him fishing on the Nehalem, maybe out in the ocean for salmon. “Going out over the Columbia River bar makes swimming the Niagara look like kiddy stuff,” I huffed. “We’ll do it,” he said. “But, remember, I swam the Niagara at night.”

~ Don Malarkey

[candywife333]

Red Riding Hood

"Scary" wolf hybrid Namjoon x red riding hood chubby reader

Inspired by Cupcakke's new song "Little Red Riding Hood"

Triggers: cursing,, period sex mentions

Debating on a part 2

Blood hell! It was already 7:00 in the evening and it had gotten so dark out, I had hardly kept track. I was supposed to go to grandmother's house to deliver a batch of double chocolate chip cookies that I had just made.

Period cramps were the worst, and the only way I could fight them was by eating so many chocolatey foods that I felt like throwing up. I usually have horrible pain like someone stabbing me with a sword fifty times in my gut as I squeeze out blood clots the size of blueberries😣. I know, my life is an entire travesty.

It's as thought my body was punishing me for not being pregnant😭. Whatever I guess, such is life. I ceased my philosophizing and grabbed a raggedy red hoodie , holes and loose strings all over, that had seen better days honestly. The main reason I planned to wear it is so that, just in case I leak, it is long enough to cover my butt. Therefore, it would almost be as though..........I never leaked.

Grabbing the basket of delectable baked goods, I started walking onto the cobblestone path to grandma's house. I was second guessing my decision to go to her house because it had gotten way darker than I was expecting it to get. And, my period cramps had started up again, slicing me up internally like a guillotine.

As I cringed in pain and felt the cold sweat trail down my temples, I still persisted in walking at a faster pace so I could make it to her house in at least half an hour. The old biddie lived out there in the middle of nowhere ready to be stabbed by a bloody serial killer. It is as though she saw all the horror movies and still decided to have a death wish. Swear on my mother, I loved that old lady. But sometimes she just acted so senile you could question her sanity.

I mean what business did she have living out here in the middle of nowhere, being a living, walking health liability? As I continued musing, I failed to notice the shadow lurking behind me in the growing darkness of the night. I was startled , almost dropping my basket when I heard a deep, rather seductive voice rumble out, " What are you doing here in the dark, pretty girl? Are you lost in the woods"?

Now, correct me if I am wrong. I usually don't judge people. But did this dude have a health condition? Or was he big-foot? Because he was the hairiest human being I had ever seen in my short life---and mind you, I know its a little TMI, but I grow hair on my butt and one day, to my great consternation, I even found a hair on my bellybutton😱. Yeah, we can freak out about that at a different date. So you see, I know what hairy is. But this man doesn't look hairy, he looks almost as though he is covered in fur. A 6 foot dude covered in fur. Worthy of the Guiness book of world records if you ask me. And he stank like five hundred period pads on a vacation in the Bahamas.

Chiding myself for being such a judgmental b****, I said in a confused manner, " Do you need anything Sir? Because I have a place to be, and no, I am in fact not lost. But if you push me a little further , in the rather sensitive state I am in right now, you might........find lost yourself..........if you catch my drift". He gasped , looking rather shocked, "Little lady, are you implying that you will make me disappear---that you will kill me"?

I continued walked at a faster pace away from him as I spelled out in a curt tone, " I can neither confirm nor Deny Mister".

He was really testing my patience right now. I am leaking like the bloody niagara falls and he's trying to interrogate me. Like what the eff did he want from me right now? When I had places to be. Is this how men flirt? Because he was doing a horrendous job at it. He was messing with the wrong b** right now. I am not in the mood for this tomfoolery.

He trailed after me at an equally hurried pace, "Are you not scared of me? Worried that I will kidnap you"? I groaned as I kept walking, huffing out, "If you had that many guts you would've just done it by now dude. Why make threats when you can just do it? Actions speak louder than words. And right now, your actions are telling me that you are a wimp".

He seemed rather affronted, eyebrows wiggling together in a menacing frown as he bit out in a menacing tone, " Did you just call me a coward, young lady? Do you even know who you are dealing with"?

What an irritating numbskull?!!Couldn't he see that I had places to bloody be?😡🤬

I turned to him one last time, taking a cursory glance at his hairy ass and hairy legs. This man did not keep shaving as a priority. "Look bruv, you are doing the most right now. Now, I am not one to mince my words--so I will tell you in the politest way possible right now, since as you can see---I was brought up with etiquette and manners".

I took in a deep breathe to calm myself as much as I could, "Your ass stank like a hundred buckets of sardines left out to dry on a hot summer's day. You talk too much and I am hemorrhaging into my butt crack, which is right now defying all laws of physics. I feel nauseous looking at you, as I am bleeding to death. The least you could do is leave me alone, so I can deliver these gosh darn abominable cookies that I should've just eaten and period pooped it out myself". I started sobbing and crying, so saddened by how much this fool was holding me up ....on my period....in the forkin' darkness.

He looked utterly shook at my monologue. Frozen in place as I continued moving away, weeping into the night, bleeding torrentially as I ran away . Mother fu*** couldn't even give a girl a lift to the place she was going to go. He failed at even being a proper kidnapper. I mean what was he even good for if he couldn't even be a good criminal??

______________Finally at grandma's house🍪_________

I finally got to this old b****'s house. Almost bursting a blood vessel in my forehead. Why the f did she have to live so far away? This is odd, her door was already open. Strange. She never did that. Very uncharacteristic of her. She was all about safety and keeping windows, doors locked --- as though that was going to save her ass from dying in the middle of nowhere.

Pondering upon the morbid nature of my thoughts, I walked in absent-mindedly through her cottage till I got to her living room. There she was, wrapped in a blanket sitting on the rocking chair. She looked rather thick, if you get what I mean. I don't remember her packing on this much weight, or being this tall. She was known for being frail. Something was up.

Maybe she decided that thick thighs save lives or something and started fattening herself up. Who knew the body positivity movement affected grannies too? "Grandma, what are you doing on that chair? Did you have dinner yet? And why is your door open"?

As I got closer and closer to the chair, whoever it was sitting on there, looked less and and less like a grandma, and more like wolf. I froze, confused. What the hell was that on the chair?

The thing on the chair started cackling as the blanket fell to the floor. I yelled in indignation, my patience for life finally cooked to smithereens "WTF ARE YOU DOING IN MY GRANDMA'S COTTAGE YOU HAIRY CREEP? DID YOU EAT HER"? The hairy man I had seen in the woods was dressed in my grandma's nightie , looking at me hungrily -- as though he were a starving waif who saw tiramisu for the first time in his life.

He drawled out in rather disgruntled, irritated voice, "Your grandma is on vacation in Bora Bora little lady. She left me to watch her house. Did you not receive the text last week from her"? I huffed out, annoyed at the blase tone he was using with me, "you freaking liar" as I checked my phone. As he had said, the old biddie had texted me last week about her vacation, and it had gone into my spam.

I straightened up, feeling a little bad for yelling at him. "Then why are you dressed up in her nightie dude? Are you into cross dressing or something"? He looked even more irritated than he did before, eyes shining with frustration as I continued, gesturing with my hands ,"I won't judge you for it. We are totally pro LGBTQ in this household you know".

He suddenly got up from his chair and snatched me up by my waist. He smelled way better than he did before, faintly of lavender as he laid me up on her bed. Wait, her bed? Whoa, Whoa. What the hell. This becoming 365 days way too quickly.

I squeaked out in confusion, "What the hell you doing man? I am on my period. You can not squeeze and manhandle me like that. I WILL LITERALLY SQUIRT ON YOU LIKE A KETCHUP BOTTLE"!! He paused for a second, looking like he was going to die of laughter. As he collected himself slowly, he warbled out, " Look, I am not trying to manhandle you. It's just that I am a straight man who is just in his werewolf form. And you are judging me when I am on my rut".

I bent my head, questioning him, "AND what's that supposed to mean? You get hairy and horny"? He nodded, as though it was all self explanatory. I seethed , metaphorical steam coming out of my ears, "Look dude--I see that you are babysitting my grannie's cottage and you are on your rut, but what does that have to do with you following me, wearing a nightie , and acting like an overall creep"?

His eye twitched as he bit out in an exasperated tone, " I fell into a pile of rotting salmon at my friend's fish farm and came to your grandma's cottage , that I had to check on anyway for the night, saw you ambling down the path and wanted to make sure you were safe in the dark, and then washed off all of the scent ---realizing her nightie was the only clean thing I could wear. That is why you are seeing me here".

I sniffed, astounded at his rather logical explanation, "Fine, then elaborate to me, why you called me pretty lady"? He scoffed, guffawing ,"You mean to tell me, that you are offended that I called you pretty lady? How am I supposed to know that you are on your period and are having a horrible mood swing. I ain't telepathic".

I stared at him, ready to fight him. Yes, he was supposed to know that i WAS ON MY BLOODY PERIOD, BECAUSE HOW COULD HE CALL HIMSELF A WOLF OTHERWISE ? "hOW COULD YOU NOT SNIFF THE BLOOD SEEPING OUT OF MY VAGINA, YOU FOOL"?!!!

He yelled out in panic, " Of course I can SMELL IT WOMAN!!! IT'S DELECTABLE AND YUMMY! BUT I'M TRYING TO AVOID SNIFFING IT FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY , SO I DON'T RUT YOU AND MAKE YOU MY MATE!!! STUPID GIRL, CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M ALMOST GOING TO SNAP"?!!!

I settled down, exhausted and almost yawning from this tirade, "You could just ask if you want to eff me you know? I wouldn't mind".

He stared at me in confusion, "Woman, you are unhinged and if I wasn't so desperate, I would walk away. But since I have no choice", he threw me on his lap bringing his arms around my plush waist to make me sit upon his length "Let's get this over with".

[thebaffledcaptain]

Things that happened at the 250th anniversary of the changing of command at Old Fort Niagara

as recounted by a humble fifer of His Majesty's 22nd Regiment of Foot, for his own records:

The unit got to sleep in the French Castle, which sounds much more luxurious than it was, but I’m still happy we had the chance to do it—it’s the main barracks building in the fort, with three stories that house officers’ quarters, mess halls, store rooms, and even a chapel. In period accurate style, however, the regiment was quartered on the third floor where something like a hundred soldiers would have slept on wooden pallets around the perimeter of the room.

Three of us, myself included, squeezed into the weird little nook between the two doorways and decided that was the most fun place to sleep.

In hindsight I can only assume it was not the most fun place to sleep because man was it hot in there. The site had the windows padlocked and some people had to go convince a staff member to open them so we wouldn’t suffocate the next night as well.

Two unfortunate souls swore up and down that they had an encounter with a ghost on the first night and immediately ran down to the chapel on the second floor. It was not until after I left that I discovered the site is rumored to be haunted by…. *checks notes* a Headless Frenchman?

There were a ludicrous amount of donuts for breakfast both days. Like, every flavor you could imagine, laid out across four modern folding tables. That was how the Fort justified not providing us with any sort of rations. Just… an absurd amount of donuts.

On the second day I ate my donut watching two highlanders struggle to set up a stretcher, assuming they were probably going to do some kind of medical demo with it later

As I’m walking back to the barracks with my friend I hear a voice behind me go “make way for the King’s donuts!”

I turn around and the same two highlanders are carrying eight donuts, each in a different flavor on its own individual plate, perfectly laid out in a line that spans the entire length of the stretcher. Here’s the visual because you need one.

Somehow I managed to lose the entire regiment on the first day. They said they were going off to drill and apparently went so far from the Fort that I could not find them until they returned—last out of every other unit drilling, of course

During this time the 54th doctor saw that I looked abandoned and offered me a seat next to his operating table and… dismembered limbs etc etc. I accepted for the shade though with some trepidation.

My fellow 22nd fifer abandoned me to be a man-at-arms this weekend. The 54th drummer and I got some quality bonding time as the only musicians in our battalion.

We did make kind of an executive decision to detach ourselves from the 43rd when we split into companies after watching them accidentally wheel themselves into a corner of some sort… but, you know. No one cares what music does anyway

In fact one of the 8th fifers aptly described our job as to criticize and/or commentate on the rest of the goings-on we had no part in, in a fashion I describe as being much like a bunch of little peacocks in the back. If I’m being honest that’s my favorite part of the role.

In accordance with this principle, my fellow fifer and I took it upon ourselves to put lavender sprigs in as many of the regiment’s hats as we could. We didn’t get very far but the sentiment was there.

Our sergeant took it upon himself to explain the origin of the word “cock” on multiple occasions because the fully grown adult men in this unit have the collective maturity of a 12 year old

Kind of disappointed with the tavern night (bad beer and not even in a historical part of the fort) but ended up having a long conversation with some 54th guys, so now I can say I was challenged to a duel by the 54th sergeant?

Alright, slight exaggeration there—both of us fence and while I saw him doing some friendly sparring with a few other people, we never got the chance for a bout, so now it's up in the air for the next event we're both at.

Also, he said "Spepsi" instead of "Pepsi" exactly one (1) time and I tormented him with it for the rest of the night. It's a good thing he's not my sergeant or I might be digging myself into a hole with that.

Watched two highlanders at the front of their files wheel decisively left when a right wheel was called and then sheepishly jog back to the rest of their unit

Greatly enjoyed hearing one of our guys’ “deaths” on the battlefield, which are famous for his Wilhelm scream-esque exclamations

On two occasions, the 54th sergeant turned to me (once on the battlefield, once in the middle of a very solemn memorial service) to tell me “it’s stinky over here”

I did not think this would be the event where I bonded with an NCO from a regiment I was not a part of but I’ll take it

The regiment bought $700 worth of Russian Drill from one of the sutlers. Cleared out his stock. Needless to say a pair of Russian Drill britches is in my future

On the second day for some reason the Drum Major decided not to do any kind of drummer’s call before forming up for battle and just told us musicians to be on the lookout.

I was there for that announcement and stuck with my regiment so I was fine. The 54th drummer, however, was not aware of this and the entire battalion marched past him as he was just sitting under one of the tents—I waved to him hoping he would join us but he just… waved back at me…

Cut to five minutes later—the 54th sergeant turns to me and goes “where’s [drummer]?” and I have to tell him we just… marched right past him. We give it another minute and suddenly, in the distance, the disheveled green figure of the 54th drummer frantically running to catch up to us… poor fellow. Not his fault nobody communicated to him. Which is a problem that could easily be solved by, you know, utilizing the Music (as would have been historically accurate), but apparently no one wants to do that…

I seem to be making a bit of a name for myself as the British Army’s Mandolinist in Residence, or, as some of my comrades have nicknamed me, “The Mandolier” (which. I have to be honest. Is a cooler term)

On Saturday night my fellow fifer and I stayed up until almost two in the morning singing despite the knowledge we had to be up at 6 to do reveille. However I did not regret this decision then nor do I now.

Nothing compares to the experience of singing Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald at midnight, sitting on a wall that drops off straight into Lake Ontario, at a centuries-old fort with no one around. This was Sunday night, when most of the units had left and we had the fort to ourselves and a handful of other souls who couldn’t bring themselves to leave the 18th century just yet—in fact, we had been about to finish our music for the night and our little group had been turning to leave when we started the song and the rest of them came running back.

Indeed, it’s been a week since and I am still not ready to be in the 21st century, nor am I ever, but of all the ways to end this event, I’ll take that one.