#was like ok today you need to take out the trash so the collectors can get it tomorrow.

[thesleepiestselkie]

wet beast wednesday this. flat fuck friday that. how about take out the damn trash tuesday. clean your room cwednesday.

[firespirited]

Today's ramblings :

Some of the pornbots have great usernames, hope they get recycled.

Today sis and I went to Lidl again, she had a small list with her, I wanted to try beef jerky and find a low sugar sandwich or pizza. When we're out and about I check in with her every few minutes to see how she's doing,

if we need to turn back or take a moment...

but we split up looking for different things and when we met up at different aisles she'd tell me about how hot and sweaty it is today and how she hadn't found the items she was looking for, twice I wondered briefly why she'd told me how long we'd been in the shop before getting distracted again.

By the time we got to the checkout, I could tell something was horribly wrong. We sat outside in a cool spot and I waited for her terror to pass and offered various snacks, til she finally opened up about how she'd been trying to tell me she wasn't remotely ok for almost half hour. She'd had had a POTS thing then got distraught that I wasn't listening or that I didn't care. That's awful. I had no clue. I used to be much better at this.

I was in hyperfocus, overstimulated, tunnel vision and couldn't tell she was distressed. I messed up SO bad.

Forgot to explicitly ask "are you ok, should we leave?" at any time.

Once home, we tried honey bbq beef jerky (way too sweet) and a calzone style ham and cheese oven pizza (a little bland but warm crunchy bread with melty cheese is always a delight). We also talked about disorientating it was to be in a shop where things aren't in their aisles but in multiple places (cosmetics is nowhere near beauty and hygiene but next to the tills) meals are organized in categories like current specials, Mediterranean food, foreign instead of by what they contain. So three different rice meals are in 3 locations (french, italian, chinese). They have bath/shower gels all over the shop (at least 4 locations). 🤔🙄

I've apologised and we've talked it over: when in social or 'loud' environments I need to find ways to shut it all out and actually listen and trust my gut if the convo sounds odd (the amounts of time we'd been in the shop for example) and she needs to be frank and voice her needs directly ("i am sick. we need to go now" ) even if she finds that rude because I need the equivalent of a big shake or a small slap to bring me out of the blur into the moment. So completely clueless to what was going on and also can't promise it won't happen again, I can't summon the sort of hypervigilant state I'd go into back in the day where I was aware of everything, just everything, it'd leave me super drained and slightly paranoid about how I was perceived but it wasn't this current emotionally zombified mess.

At least we talked it over twice to iron out any and all misunderstandings and establish new strategies as a team so I'm not spiralling and neither is she.

—–———––—

Got to use a parcel locker for the first time to deposit Tiana teal kiwi. I sold CAM Mummy teal dense nylon last week. They were some neat customs. Really hope I can find another mummy with a well aligned face someday.

I was about to take down the 1€ and postage auctions for sets of the trash-find cleaned-up figurines (the DBZ are still bleaching and myondolls gets first dibs), I'd hoped that would be a good way for them to find their way to collectors but they got no views.

Well the Gormiti sold today so that's nice. I'll give the others a month at least before they go to a friend who knows a second hand shop.

I really need to cut and bleach my hair. Not sure that's possible in one go because shoulders. but it's driving me nuts having a big fluffy mushroom on my head with a lanky centre. It always ends up worth it and boosts confidence when it's neat.

PS oreos are called neos in france. No idea how they taste. Still not touching sugar.

[alchemabotana]

Shamanic Identity

Today I’m taking the time to write this post about something so personal and dear to my heart: Shamanic Identity.

You’ve probably seen it too: people with no right to the word Shaman using it liberally to describe the work they do. I’ve written several other posts about shamanism, its history, and my personal practice here on this blog, but that’s not exactly what I’m writing about today.

The word “appropriation” doesn’t begin to cover this topic, although it is a word that applies to the concepts I’m addressing. The concept of Shamanic Identity is actually not a complicated one at all: a Shaman is an intermediary between the Spirit World and the Physical World, between the multiverse and dimensional realities that are unseen and the seen world. These people do so by simply existing and taking up space. There are Shamanic Practices, Shamanic Techniques, Shamanic Ceremonies, and Shamanic Rituals, but that’s NOT Shamanic Identity. These things are simply words and labels we’ve developed as Shamans to describe categories of actions that we take in the world, not our Identity.

For example, if I stopped offering healings, making medicine pieces or altars, performing rituals or ceremonies... I would still be a Shaman, because that’s who I was born to be. I know Shamans who drive trucks for a living, are maids, trash collectors, incarcerated, or in a mental hospital: but they’re still Shamans. They don’t need to take a special class, tell you their genetic lineage, or practice a specific modality to be a Shaman.

So what has created the Shamanic Identity crisis that is so widespread in this current age? What it boils down to is The Cultural Iceburg. 

The Cultural Iceburg is the concept that what we see when interacting with an individual is not all there is. When people think of Shamanism they associate it with our Customs, Language, and Music. But they mistakenly ignore Values, Priorities, Assumptions, Body Language, Stories, Manners, and Space/Time Concepts of our LIVED EXPERIENCE.

This is why it’s so easy for someone to put on the headdress, get a rattle or drum, and start claiming that they are a Shaman. Why do these people do this? Primarily to gain a position in some social group or setting they’d like to belong to (usually not the cultural group they are appropriating from, but others in their racial/social/socioeconomic/class structure). These individuals are also highly motivated by FINANCIAL GAIN.

I want to take some time to talk about financial gain and Shamanism. I’ll be frank, I don’t know any rich Shamans. I don’t know any Shamans who feel completely comfortable charging a fair price for their services, and I know a lot of Shamans who have gone hungry and homeless because they don’t feel right about charging money. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pay a Shaman the fair price for their work (services or goods). Just as you would pay someone a fair living wage for hours worked, you ought to pay a Shaman for their work. It’s that simple.

But there are many clear examples, unfortunately many of them in my hometown community, of people taking Shaman Schools or Shaman Certifications or Shaman Classes (usually online - not that there aren’t authentic shamanic online courses) in order to claim that they are a Shaman or to show “proof” that they are “qualified” to be a Shaman. I ran into this when a local hospital approached me about coming on board as a Shaman in their clergy. It became very obvious that their department had no real clue what a Shaman does, as they asked for proof of my schooling and accreditation as a Shaman. When I told them I wouldn’t provide those materials because it is not culturally appropriate, they asked me for the names and qualifications of my teachers. My teachers also did not have the qualifications they were looking for, and I REFUSE to play the “show me your identification card” game which is insulting to our elders. 

Are you starting to get the picture?

Shamanism is a complex identity structure. It requires a person to have certain prerequisite gifts. That’s not something you can give a person or teach a person in a course or school. Some will argue that you can transfer gifts, but I will argue that you have to be a Shaman already to receive them. In my experience as a Shaman it has often been necessary to teach other Shamans how to manage their gifts so that they would not be overwhelmed by them. Shamans have to deal with a complex cultural stigma against their very identities: don’t talk to dead people, don’t listen to voices, don’t communicate with spirits, don’t you dare see one or you’ll be labeled insane. If you’re a Shaman of BIPOC origin, just go ahead and layer institutional racism on top of it, and you’re in for a flurry of misunderstanding and bigoted response to your very identity out there in the “real world.” Shamans have to learn to navigate incredible barriers to basic human rights when they take the steps to seek help for mental or physical health issues. Some of those issues have nothing to do with them, except that their care providers are too ignorant on complex cultural matters to be good advocates for their care. This is why the great majority of Shamans that I have taught, studied with, or been in the care of, have tragic stories of healthcare gone wrong & wrongful incarceration/mental institutionalism. I really don’t know a single Shaman who doesn’t struggle with a mental health diagnosis, complex PTSD, or Epigenetic Trauma.

For those of us born of family lineages, we have to navigate Epigenetic Trauma as well. We have to face a healthcare system that was built on experimentation on our ancestors, and overcome major trust issues to receive treatment for conditions that most average citizens of the US suffer from as well: anxiety, depression, PTSD, domestic violence, sexual violence, etc. Except, when a Shaman goes to receive help they have to explain why they see spirits and their whole cosmology before someone takes them seriously around conditions that have nothing to do with their Shamanic Identity. Sometimes Shamans feel they HAVE to be honest about their experiences with these providers, even if it hurts them. They have most likely been abused for their Shamanic Identity, and aren’t so much sharing their experiences to seek help for the woo-woo, but help navigating abuse.

But those without real Shamanic Identities just take off the label Shaman whenever it is convenient. They do not have to bear the burdens of Shamanic Identity, but receive the financial benefits of associating themselves with the term. These are the folks who come to me desperate to associate themselves with me as a student, so they can claim they have met the “requirements” to be a practicing Shaman for their business profile. It’s been incredibly hard for me to navigate this within myself and not respond immediately with rage. Instead, I try to educate people tactfully - some are more responsive than others. For example, I had a student once inquire about my Shamanic Mentorship - a mentorship program I offered pre-pandemic in which I explicitly stated the purpose was to receive mentorship from a Shaman. Nothing more. This particular individual had a yoga studio and wanted to “Add Shamanism” to what they offered. I tried to explain the impossibility of such a venture, especially with me as their token Shaman who would bestow this identity on them, so they could monetize my cultural and identity for their benefit. I never heard from the person again, although they do still own and operate a studio in my hometown, they have taken no actions to support our Shamanic work on any level. My hope is that they realized the futility and ignorance of their request, although I’m certain they had no intention of ever supporting us at all. 

You’ve probably seen this kind of “shamanism” online on instagram posts, influencer pages, and people who are what I call “shamanic curious”. All these individuals have done nothing to truly commit to alleviating the pains and sufferings that they’re causing by appropriating someone’s actual identity. They feel like they have the best intentions: “Omg! No!! ONLY LOVE AND LIGHT SIS!” (eye roll). However, they tend to be completely ignorant to the damage and stress they cause to real Shamans through their selfish actions. “Being curious is ok right? I mean, I have the right to explore my identity through yours and see if it gets me friends, likes, follows, and MONEY, RIGHT?” No. Go home. Think about what you are doing when you try on someone’s identity and put yourself out there as the face of that identity. Would it behoove you to consider that Shamans themselves have had to strenuously defend their identities to others? Would it perhaps be a real act of love and light to give up your curiosities and turn over that experience to an actual Shaman? Have you considered that you cause real physical, spiritual, and mental harm to Shamans, and clients that you take on in your exploration of Shamanic traditions, rituals, and ceremonies?

If you don’t truly have a Shamanic Identity I encourage you to stop what you’ve been practicing right now, sit down, and ask for forgiveness from the Spirits, as well as living Shamans and their Ancestors. I would go to a real Shaman and pay them properly to remove the slew of crazy toxic attachments you’ve definitely been accumulating, and release you from the karmic debt you are certainly incurring. If you can get a job doing anything in the real world sector that doesn’t involve you crawling up into someone’s energy stream, I would suggest you take that job and step out of a sector you know nothing about. It’s amazing to me what people think they can make-up about themselves and others because deep down they also believe that Shamanism is made up. If it’s all made up, then you can do anything you want with no repercussions and still make money off someone else’s identity. And you still think you’re not harming anyone? 

If you’re a Shaman you know that you can’t fake it til you make it. There’s no faking the Spirits, Guides, and Ancestors. There’s no faking a spiritual or psychic attack. There’s no faking the spirit’s communication to you, or their visible presence. And when you go out into the world, no matter what you do, people are going to find you for your Shamanic Identity.

For example, I once worked at a test grading facility one summer marking up EOG exams. While at this job at every break an elderly woman would come up to me and share her stories, always with the caveat “I don’t know why I’m telling you this but...” and then go into a story about how her deceased father was contacting her at her home. He would do so by knocking things off tables and moving things around. I asked her what he thought he was trying to tell her. She eventually concluded that he wanted her to move from her house, but she didn’t feel ready for that. I suggested that she tell him this next time he made his presence known. Next time we talked she shared that she had spoken with him and that the incidents then stopped. After that she didn’t come up to me to talk, and someone new started talking to me. My boss brought me photographs from her time in AZ as a young woman, depicting petroglyphs that matched my shamanic tattoos. She said “you know that means you’re a shaman right?” I laughed and nodded. At one point everyone in my grading group was feeling very ill, one of the proctor overlords had decided to crank up the AC and everyone was freezing cold. I brought everyone blankets and stones. One gentleman later asked me what the stone meant. I told him, “it’s a piece of quartz, it doesn’t have to mean anything, it can just be beautiful”. He said “No, I mean - they mean something. I know this sounds crazy, but some really bad stuff was going on with my family: financial and health problems. But when I brought that stone home, everything changed immediately. I need you to know that.” I acknowledge him and told him yes, this can happen - the stones heal who they want to, that’s just part of our understanding of them, but we don’t expect others to believe the same way. He said “I don’t need convincing, I experienced it myself”.

No one article can even begin to truly communicate the issues surrounding the theft, appropriation, and misrepresentation of Shamanism in our world, let alone the internet. I mean, the Q Anon guy called himself a Shaman too and the media just ate it up. Why? Because it is exotic and ignorance makes for good press, and good press makes for money. 

And I don’t write this to depress or discourage anyone, especially others out there with a Shamanic Identity. Instead, I hope that this encourages you and helps you advocate for yourself in this crazy world. I hope you stand up for yourself to people trying to take advantage of you, especially people in the medical field. I don’t believe that our medical field is based on true healing practices, and I can’t really get into that rant here, but I also don’t believe our doctors mean to be “bad people” or wallow in ignorance: they’re just products of their own cultural issues as well! 

However, if you’re a Shaman struggling to receive mental or physical healthcare because someone in your family or caregiver team is purposefully using your Shamanic Identity to paint you as crazy, please feel free to show them this article and demand that they use DSM-5 to evaluate you. You deserve nothing but the best treatment. You don’t need to feel ashamed for feelings of paranoia, terror, anxiety, depression, or PTSD. People who aren’t Shamans deal with it too, so don’t be afraid of those words. I don’t know many Shamans actually disturbed by their gifts. They aren’t actually suffering mentally from seeing or hearing spirits, but from the reactions of their family, friends, colleagues, and health professionals to their actual identities. These Shamans aren’t afraid of the Spirits or Ancestors, and have had to be put in the position where they rely on those spirits to provide the care and discernment of truth that should be provided by the health and wellness systems. It’s time for the gatekeepers of the medical industry to acknowledge their bias, their systemic failure of these individuals, and the exploitation of in-need Shamans. Once that has happened, real care can be provided for issues not caused by a Shamanic Identity inherently, but by external forces of society that come against a Shaman. 

This article is dedicated to the sweet Shaman who visited my shop today with only $2 to exchange for altar work. She shared her story in great detail of how the medical industry was abusing her in the ways I’ve outlined before. She was discouraged by it, seeking information to provide to herself and her care team so that she could get real care. I was happy to provide her with the shamanic goods she needed and gift it to her as a birthday present. I tried my best to give her free resources to access for her healthcare and talking points to share with her medical team. Sister, this is what I promised you on my blog, and I hope you enjoy it. Also, I wish you the Safe Passage you’re so willing to offer others, as well as the brightness of your spirit back to you. I hope that things resolve quickly and you get the respect you deserve, because I honor your Shamanic Identity, and I appreciate you honoring mine.

[embcrry]

ok thisss took wayyy longer than i’d expected . like it’s fucking midnight ? like guys im such a mess omfg . anywaysss * tana mongeau vc “ welcome to my trash bin daught or welcome back to my trash bin daughter ... what ? was ? that ? idfk . if you wanna plot with my overly tired ass give this post a like and i’ll love you down i promise !! also i apologize for how long this intro is going to be in advance !

new york’s very own  𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄 " 𝐄𝐌𝐌𝐀 " 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 was spotted on broadway street in 𝘓𝘖𝘜𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘕 𝘌𝘓𝘖𝘐𝘚𝘌 𝘉𝘖𝘖𝘛𝘚  . your resemblance to barbara palvin is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃  birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being guarded , but also dependable  . i guess being a 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be  𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱, 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯 + 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴  .  &  ( female & she/her  )  +  ( faith , 21 , she/her , est . )

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

FULL NAME : emilie sierra berry . NICKNAME : emma , em , emma bear ( by her little sister ) . BIRTH DATE : march 1st , 1998 . AGE : 22 . GENDER : female ( cis ) . PRONOUNS : she + her . ORIENTATION :  pansexual ( attractions are equal ) , panromantic ( leans more toward women ) . BIRTH PLACE : brisbane , australia ( see home here ) . the family still owns this house but don’t use it much . HOMETOWN : new york city ( upper west side ) , new york ( see home here ) . her dad + little sister still live here today . CURRENT LOCATION : new york city ( upper east side ) , new york ( see home here ) . moved in one year ago after break up . EDUCATION LEVEL : highschool diploma .   OCCUPATION : olympic swimmer ( emulated after katie ledecky ) , socialite , escort ( no one knows ) . NET WORTH : 32million ( every year up until she’s twenty five she receives a percentage of her trust fund ) . FAMILY NET WORTH : 3.1billion ( father ) , 4.8billion ( mother + step - father ) . PARENTS : adrian berry ( father , 51 , hedge fund manager ) , natasha laffont ( mother , 48 , former super model + philanthropist ) , thomas laffont ( step - father , 50 ,  businessman + art collector ) . SIBLINGS : tatiana berry ( sister , 10 , student + ballet dancer ) , bradley laffont ( step-brother , 24 , new york rangers player ) . PETS : jagger ( ragdoll cat , picture ) , maggie ( pomeranian - husky , picture ) . NATIONALITY : australian - american . ETHNICITY : hungarian . CLOTHING STYLE : expensive yet casual ; alot of black , hoodies , leather is a staple , high end sneakers , boots , colorful suits . JEWELRY : gold ; dangly earring , cartier bracelet , tiffany rings , barbell nipple piercings. DIET : pescitarian , no dairy ( lactose intolerant ) . WORK OUT HABITS : six times a week ( mostly boxing + swimming  ) . PERSONALITY : guarded ; there is nothing emma hates more than talking about her feelings or letting anyone know who she’s feeling , she has trouble trusting people for good reason ( the girls trust issues have trust issues yall ) + dependable ; if you need anything in the world go to emma she will move mountains to get shit down for you , she’s very punctual , and super disciplined probably due to being an olympian + goofy ; she doesn’t take much too seriously tbh , ( similar to joey + phoebe from friends ) she can be a bit of a space cadet and that always ends in her making everyone laugh + stubborn ; one thing is for sure about emma she’s extremely hard headed , loves getting her way , and is incredibly unforgiving . 

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 ( in bullets )

her parents met during college , where they both attended princeton university . natasha , her mom , was in the middle of her modeling career completely blowing up while adrian was already setting the foundation of his investment company . they had a whirlwind romance and were married just a year after adrian graduated from princeton . both coming from old money , emma’s grandparents on both sides are extremely meticulous about the image of their family + so the same mentality was instilled in adrian + natasha .

 emma spent the first nine years of her life in brisbane , australia . her parents had moved out to australia just a couple years before she was born for the sake of making her father’s company an international success . 

with her parents always off doing something , emma was raised by her nanny + butler . when she was six she expressed her desire to get into swimming after watching michael phelps in the 2004 summer olympics . she was in absolute awe by him + wanted to be just like him . so the next day her nanny spoke to her parents and later that day she was enrolled into a local swimming program .

when she was nine her parents broke the news to her that they were moving to new york . at first she wasn’t all too mad about the move , she didn’t have many friends in school , wasn’t a big fan of her teachers , and knew the one thing she loved she could still do in new york . her outlook on the move changed when she found out that her nanny + butler would not be making the move across the equator with them though . how dare her parents steal the only people who’d ever taken care of her away from her ? she thought . she threw an absolute fit in protest ; completely wrecking the home + locking herself away in the bathroom in her room for nearly 20 hours before her nanny talked her into coming out . 

once in new york , emma was miserable . she had tantrums everyday and even stopped swimming for a few months . what inevitably pulled her out of her funk was a trip disneyland paris + her mom bringing her out to buy a whole new wardrobe . yall ever heard of a spoiled brat ?

once she was open to the idea of new york she kind of fell in love with the city , to be honest . she grew close to her new nanny + butler , of course and fell in love with her new swimming coach .

when she was fourteen her parents got a divorce and just six months later her mom was married to a billionaire living in connecticut with a son just two years older than emma . anyone with a brain could put together that her mom had been cheating on her dad , that was except for her dad who’d fallen into denial that his ex - wife would come back . 

[ trigger warning : alcoholism , child abuse , violence ] after months of listening to her father , emma broke , the two got in a huge screaming match about how her mom wasn’t coming back saying things like “this is so pathetic, stop graveling over a women who doesn’t want you” + “she doesn’t want you” + “just move on, she’s never coming back, she’s fucking an art collector in connecticut”. mind you she’s fourteen talking to her dad like this , yikes . he started spiraling after that , drinking heavily , doing coke more than just at events , and when emma copped an attitude he’d hit her . it started with just a rough slap , pushing her into the pool or down the stairs , and then it turned into punching her . it got so bad her coach started noticing during swim practices and inevitably threatened her dad , either he let her move in with him or he’d call the police . so , not wanting a tarnished reputation , her dad sent her off to live with her swim coach .

[ trigger warning : grooming ] life with her swim coach was cool , she got to swim alot more plus he was extremely high profile due to sending swimmers to the olympics as well acting in a few movies so she got to go to alot of events with him all across the world . she enjoyed her time with him more than she’d enjoyed the entirety of her life and then he got her to the 2012 olympics in london + her trust and appreciation for him sky rocketed . in her eyes no one int he world could or did love her more .

coming back from the olympics , her had fully sobered up and was ready to bring emma back home .  her and her coach weren’t completely gun ho for the move but she inevitably moved back home with her father .

[ trigger warning : statutory rape ] just a month after being back home , her coach started being a little too touchy with her . she felt uncomfortable by his advances but figured her was only taking care of her . then he kissed her and she was pretty creeped out so she asked what he was doing , basically the creep told her he was just missing her alot because she wasn’t living with him and reminded her about how he was really the only person who cared about her . she accepted what he said and soon after they started sleeping together regularly . he didn’t even have to tell her not to tell anyone , she innately knew if she ever told anyone he wouldn’t be her coach anymore and emma just wasn’t willing to lose the best coach she’d ever had . this continued for a little over a year until she went to the doctors and her mom went with her , her mom stayed in the room because the check up wasn’t all that invasive + then when her doctor asked her if she was sexually active her mom answered no but emma , not wanting to lie , stayed silent . she inevitably confessed at the appointment that she was sexually active . her mom freaked out and wanted to know who but of course emma didn’t spill that . she inevitably lied and said some guy she went to school with . within a week her mom found out she lied and refused to let emma go anywhere until she confessed who she was sleeping with . knowing her mom wouldn’t let up she told her it was her coach + that it wasn’t a big deal . but emma knew it was . her mom gave her coach an ultimatum he either quit coaching for good or she’d turn him in . she he quit and emma never heard from him again . 

she stopped talking to her more directly after that + stopped going back to connecticut for the weekends like she had been since her parents divorce . she was now sixteen without a swimming coach + completely mad at the world .  she’d had a rough few years , to say the least . she turned to partying , HEAVY , to cope with it all . she slept with anyone who so much as gave her a second look she didn’t care if they were older than her , had a girlfriend / boyfriend , if you were into her you could have her . it took her almost five months before she committed to a swim coach + they really whipped her back into shape . no more partying , emma went from school to practice and then home . it was awfully boring for the new party girl but she had one of the best coaches in the world + they promised to stop coaching her had she not listened to their every word . the only thing she cared more about then letting loose was going to another olympics . 

she attended a private school in manhattan where she completely smashed each and everyone of the school, districts , and state records in swimming . she was never big into her academics but she upheld a b average for the sake of being able to stay on the schools swimming team . if she received anything less than a b she would guilt her dad into giving her school a donation so they’d give her the grade she felt she deserved . 

she graduated from highschool in 2016 and although she was accepted into multiple schools across the nation , with athletic full ride offers from each school  , but she inevitably declined each school because she did want to spend another second behind a desk . knowing her dad would never approve of her not going to college , with his ivy league education ass , she lied to him and said she was attending nyu . 

she went to the 2016 olympics in rio and completely dominated ( 4 gold medals , 1 silver + breaking five world/olympic/american records in the meets ) . 

just months in 2017 her dad started to pick up on her lie about attending college . telling her she needed to enroll immediately or he’d cut her off . calling his bluff she didn’t enroll . she quickly learned that he wasn’t bluffing when he completely cut her off , telling her she had a month to find a place to live and move out .  

thanks to her olympics money + her endorsements with tyr sports + adidas she had enough money to get an apartment but her saving would deplete quick so she knew she needed to do something to make alot of money + quick .

desperate and running out of time emma joined seeking arrangements under an alias as sierra meyers . there were a few success and plenty of total blunders on the site but she got lucky with the first women she met with who offered to get her into escorting . emma didn’t even give it a second thought before she said yes , the only thing she asked is that the clientele not want her to attend highly publicized events with her as she's quickly get caught due to her socialite status   . 

within a year she’d made half of what her entire lifes work had made her , she grew obsessed with escorting and what made it crazy was there were people who would pay her half a million just to have dinner and talk with her . of course , those were the unicorns though because most wanted to sleep with her at the end of the night . 

when she turned twenty one her dad gave in and gave her back her blackcard + even offered to move her back into the house , she took the credit card but decided to continue living outside of his walls . 

she could’ve quit escorting right then and there , but she’d grown an addiction if you will to her work . there was something about the secrecy of it + her ability to make millions so easily that kept her going .

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

former roommate ; these two moved in together after her dad kicked her out + even though she moved in with someone else months after they signed the lease she payed them for her half of the rent for the rest of the lease , ex ; they dated when she was cut off by her dad + they inevitably moved into together they could of had a rocky or really good relationship by broke up around this time last year , the guy she “ lost “ her virginity to ; he didn’t actually take her virginity , in truth these two could very well have never even slept together but he’s the guy she lied to her about sleeping with to cover up sleeping with her coach he found out about her lie when emma’s mom asked his parents if he was sleeping with emma we can decide where things went from there between these two , suspicious friend ; they’re starting to pick up on her random disappearing + secrecy , maybe they start following her at some point and inevitably confront her about escorting or maybe they think she’s doing something else and accuse her of that ? , first girlfriend , more exes , people she’s slept with , someone who she slept with + they had a significant other , fellow olympians , travel buddy , podcast co-host ; these two came up with an idea recently to start a podcast , they haven't released it just yet but it’d be similar to call her daddy / impulsive !

[prorevenge]

Don't tell mom the dog-sitter's dead.

TL;DR at the bottom.

This didn't happen to me, it happened to my sister.

My sister moved up to SC from FL about a year ago, but she still visits us periodically. We're a big and close family. Shortly after Thanksgiving, she flew down with her husband and son for one such visit. She has 3 geriatric dogs, so she got a house/dog sitter.

MS (my sister) went through the basics of how they can only be fed at certain times. They get let out at certain times. They need to be in their crates from X hour to Z hour. Most importantly, they don't get treats. They get vitamins in place of treats, but those vitamins have to be given only twice a day. No people food. Very strict diets. They're all happy and healthy, but only because MS is so strict with their regime.

This lady she got to watch her dogs had stellar reviews on the site she was found through. She's a stay-at-home mom who does this as a side thing for extra cash. I feel like I can end it here, you all can guess where this is going.

MS left for Florida for a week. The first 5 days, everything is going well. DS (dog sitter) texts MS regularly or video calls. She shows MS pictures and gives her regular updates of when she comes and goes to MS's house. MS just bought that house, btw. She's been working her butt off to finally be able to afford it. She puts so much into making that a nice home for her family.

MS has some health problems herself. She's got a ton of prescription medication in her medicine cabinet. She brought enough for the week, but left the rest at home. Stuff for epilepsy, asthma, and allergies. But she's also got a ton of pain killers from when she had my nephew not that long ago. She's paranoid about becoming addicted, so she kept the pills for safety, but never used them. It's a full bottle.

On top of that, she's been a collector of rare beer for about 15 years now. Beer that's not even sold anymore because they were promotional from micro breweries. Beer she can't get anymore because she doesn't live in Florida. Those bottles, she keeps as mostly decoration in her kitchen.

On the 6th day of her vacation, DS stops all communication altogether. MS texts, calls, emails. Nothing. Radio silence. She's got a bad feeling, but she doesn't want to kill the mood because she doesn't get to see her family very often anymore.

Day 7, she gets on a late flight back to SC. The plane gets there around 2 in the morning. They drive an hour to their rural town. They get home. The front door is wide open. The lawn looks like someone in a truck (which DS happened to drive) just tried to go drifting over grass and a tree before vacating the premises super quick.

MS goes to handle my nephew who is groggy and screaming. It's been a rough day. She's thinking the worst. That someone robbed the house while this poor lady was there. MS's husband (BiL) goes inside to survey the damages. It's all clear, MS and Nephew go inside too.

The back door is wide open. The couch looks like it exploded. The rug in the living room and the couch, and pretty much every square foot on the bottom floor is covered in the kind of pee and poop that can only be made from 3 geriatric furry buttholes.

The dogs are, thankfully, still in the backyard. But they're shivering and filthy. There are broken beer bottles everywhere. Some have been stuffed deep in the trash to hide the evidence. Some have been refilled with water and put back with their tops precariously situated on top so they might look like they haven't been touched.

82 bottles, each growler sized (roughly 64 oz) - gone. The medicine cabinet is like one of those Western ghost town's with a tumbleweed bouncing through. MS is already thinking this DS threw herself a party. No way in heck could someone 5'6'', 170 lbs, drink that much beer and take that many pills and not be dead.

MS called the cops. Obviously. The police get there to figure this must be a break in. They take a bunch of pictures, take an account of all the bottles and drugs that were missing. MS cleans what she can, but gets to sleep because thankfully the upstairs hasn't been touched.

One day later, the police find DS. MS has assumed she's dead and abducted, so the police were looking for her and her car. They found the truck run off the side of a highway, with this lady about two miles up, tweaking OUT OF HER MIND walking along the side of the road, screaming at nothing.

They take her in for whatever charges. Idk. Her husband bails her out and picks her up. According to her husband, this has happened before. DS has a drug and alcohol problem.

At first, she's messaging my sister, super apologetic, saying she'll reimburse MS and please don't press charges. MS quotes her the price of the rug, a new couch, and the vet bills because her dogs had somehow gained access to 9 containers of doggie vitamins and one of them was having liver failure. (The dog is fine now, but she's an old yorkie so who knows. Also, MS buys in bulk from a wholesaler, hence 9 containers). The total was somewhere around $800. MS didn't bother with the beers, the meds, the lawn, cleaning the house. She could have. Heck, I would have.

On top of that, MS demanded DS never dog sit again and she had to refund MS for her dog sitting. MS works in advertising. I won't say what kind, but basically if she saw/sees DS advertising herself as a dog sitter ever again, she has the means to drag this lady until all she sees is mud for the rest of her life.

DS insists she'd gonna pay it back, but that MS has to wait until they get their taxes back. Ok. So MS waits. Late February, she texts DS asking where her money is. DS immediately starts saying how she didn't do anything wrong, MS is a bad dog owner and her dogs are miserable, none of the stuff MS says DS did was actually done. MS has all the old texts of DS admitting to all of it sooo....?

This goes on for a while. Eventually, DS starts saying how "as a courtesy" she has a friend who owns a furniture store, she will give MS a credit of $200 for a new couch. And she has an old rug she doesn't want anymore that MS can have.

Erm... what?

She payed MS about $500, but and insists she'll get the coupon to MS soon. March goes by. Nothing.

Around March 20th, MS marches her happy butt to the small claims court and files. Then she snaps pictures of everything. Then she sends DS the message. "As a courtesy, I'm letting you know that I just filed this at the small claims court."

Then the fun starts. This lady goes OFF on MS. She says she's going to sue for slander and undue distress and harassment and blah blah blah blah blah. MS saves all of it, including the fun bits where DS threatens her family and calls her the C-word 20-dozen times.

Today is what? April 6th? Tuesday was the court date. Things move fast in a small town, idk. This lady shows up looking like she just got run through by a garbage disposal. She gives the judge her sob-story, talking about how she did nothing but give MS and her animals the best care, that MS is making all this up.

Yeah. MS has the OG cop with her. She's got pictures of all the damage, the vet bills, the bottles, proof that she was out of town, police reports of both the "break-in" as well as DS's DWI the following day. DS tries to spin it with that one law about how you can't serve alcohol to a known alcoholic. That obviously gets thrown right tf out.

DS then tries to appeal to Judge and MS's sense of humanity. She tells them how her husband just left her and is suing her for full custody (good!) and that if she can't dog-sit how is she supposed to support herself or ever get her kids back (tough cookies!). The judge takes my sister's side, for obvious reason, come tf on.

DS is homeless now, living with her parents. She can't see her kids, who btw don't want to see her. Apparently she was a drunk who ran her hubby's credit all the way down, she was abusive to her kids, and because of her heavy alcohol abuse - one of her kids has FAS. DS has 60 days to pay the remaining $300 or she faces jail time (idk how much time, sorry). Her husband filed for divorce already. Oh, and she lost her license thanks to that DWI.

As a former addict myself and someone who's been through a DWI, I want to sympathize. That's a lot of stuff to go through. MS gave her chance after chance, but at some point, you have to take responsibility for your actions. It really seems like this lady has just been using her husband as a crutch while she tries to get better, only to backslide hard. It's rough, I know. I hope she gets the help she needs.

MS's dogs are doing well. She got a replacement couch on Amazon for like $75 and a nice fluffy rug for even less. DS eventually coughed up that coupon. It didn't even work. It was for something like 20% off with a purchase of $500 or more, so um...no thanks.

TL;DR: World's poopiest dog-sitter trashes my sister's house after going on a bender. Claims she didn't do that, while also promising to pay for the damages. Never pays. Gets taken to court. Loses her home, job, kids, and marriage.

(source) story by (/u/anoukdaae)

[pjstafford]

Precious Time

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”  A tale of Two Cities Charles Dickens

 I have been posting blogs every Thursday as a way to mark the passage of time of each week  since I started working remotely and going out only for essential needs.  I think many of us our redefining our relationship with time.   So I have been thinking of the quote from Charles Dickens from A Tale of Two Cities

The passing of time is a scientific, incontrovertible fact.  The sun rises and it sets and there is a day. The moon rises and it sets and there is a night.  Winter turns to Spring and then to Summer and then to Fall.  When it repeats a year has slipped away.  Time is, also, a social construct.  We say 9-5 Monday through Friday is a typical work day and there might be some logic to that, but there might be logic to 7-5 four days a week as well. We have Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, but some cultures add a tea or late supper. A midnight shift worker still gets lunch –even though his lunch is at 3 a.m. we don’t call it breakfast in the middle of the work shift.  The lunch hour is a social construct of a work life.  We mark our seasons and plan our celebrations based on Holidays that cross countries like Easter or Passover and that don’t Thanksgiving or the Fourth of July.  Those are societal or cultural norms that we put in place to structure our time.  

In this, the Spring of 2020, time has simultaneously sped up and slowed day and our social construct of time means next to nothing at all – even as we are in the midst of what is commonly called “Holy Week.”  

I mark the time on Thursdays –

             Thursday March 5th was my birthday.  A friend and I went to a restaurant for dinner.  There were ten deaths in the country from the disease.  I worried if my trio to DC in two weeks would be canceled.  

             Thursday March 12 with the first confirmed case in New Mexico and the governor taking swift action I conversed with my boss about what swift action our agency would take to follow the governor’s lead and then I proceeded out of town to a work related trip that would last the week-end.

             Thursday March 19 I woke up with my first day to work remotely and socially distance except for essentials.  I wrote my first quarantine blog.

             Every Thursday since…

             And now its Thursday April 9 and 14, 000 across the country have died.  

 It’s happened all so fast! And time is so precious.  There are steps we can take to reduce the deaths but we started so late.  We must today do whatever we can to get more beds, more ventilators, more health care professionals and more tests.  Time is scarce and  there is an urgent need to get something done!  

But that is not my role in this crisis.  I am a non-essential employee.  My role is to socially distance.  And suddenly the social constructs of time looks different. Not just for me but for millions.  I hear people talk about the days running together and is it ok to have a beer at 3 in the afternoon when they woke up at 4 a.m. and plan on sleeping soon.  For me, I have actual work.  I am amazed by how many phone conferencing, time specific duties I have during this time of social distancing.  It sets some structure to my days.  As I blog last week, I have discovered I have to work at maintaining some structure of a week-end, but I have more time during the week.    I do not get up and get dress and commute to work and then commute back.  I mean I do get up and dress, but it looks far different. There are hours “saved” there and I eat when I want at home because I am in front of a computer, or listening to a webinar or a press conference and that social construct of lunch time might become a shower, or a walk, or a X-Files break. Do you know how many X-files episodes are about the threat of global contagion?  I digress.  I digress a lot these days.  My first blog was about everything I was going to do with this time, but if King Lear was written during a quarantine, my next novel is likely not to be.

It is, well, the worst of times for sure!  It can, also, be the best of times for some of us if we let it.  Last Friday was a great day!  Well, the New Mexico order for stay at home was extended and the governor announced the numbers the models show might die which were shocking and we found out specifically how many ventilators we were likely to come up short on.  And our President!  But a nurse friend from New Jersey who had been exposed without proper equipment tested negative and it was a joyous day.  I had a social media concert watch party about 5 on a Friday and it was like an actual Thank God its Friday party and that was so special.  It was the worst of and the not so bad of a day.  

The Dickens quote from a Tale of Two Cities!  We are all on the global planet going through the exact same pandemic, but in many ways we are going through it very differently, aren’t we?

There are the tales of the medical professionals, god bless them. My guess is time never feels slowed down for them.  

There are the tales of the unexpected heroes of grocery store employees, truck drivers, trash collectors, postal men, all who are not in fact staying at home because they are essential and the work they are doing cannot be done remotely.  

There are the tales I know the best of those who are staying at home, but that looks different for different people.  I live alone. I like solitude.  I enjoy working from home.   There are parents trying to continue education for their younger children while working full time jobs.  There are twenty somethings who social lives mean more to them.  There are persons who routine was to see their elderly parent in the nursing home every Thursday.  I guess in some ways they are just different chapters of the same novel.

There are economic inequities.  If you are having symptoms simply isolate into the basement or a single floor in your three story house.  Or, if you have a single story three bedroom house, the kids may have to share a room when daddy has symptoms.  Well, that looks a little different.  If you live with your spouse and your two toddlers in a one bedroom or studio apartments, social distancing is not possible.    Or if you are homeless and living in a shelter.  Or if, or if or if.  Decontaminate by immediately washing your clothes- because we all own washer and dryers don’t we?  

And if you live in an abusive relationship and you are now alone with the person the entire time.  The stressors are worse and….There are moments of hell happening across the global planet in the pandemic.  Some has to do with the loss of lives.  Some has to do  specifically with social distancing.  

But I also think that this is actually the reality of everyday life. The pandemic only exasperates existing problems.  .  While I sympathize and empathize with every single person going through hell, I cannot live it for them anymore than I can for all the homeless I regularly see on the street during normal times.  Life and death, also, happen every day.  The probabilities are high we will be effected in this time and I am not downplaying it and I don’t want to normalize it, but I do want to say there are some daily life lessons we could remember for when this is over – to love the ones we love, to know that everything can change in a second. The fact of life and death is not created in this time, but we are experiencing it differently now.  As we experience the intensity of this time, we should use it to reestablish a relationship with time that is focused on the preciousness of that time.  

I am struggling with sleep, worry and fear even if I enjoy the solitude.  I cannot put on music and dance.  It is a joyous activity and I feel little joy.  But is my not dancing causing fewer people to die?   Call  me Pollyanna but I still am hoping that, for some of us, we can find the best of times in this time.  

Most of our life we do not have enough of time .  I want to get to a place for myself and I hope others can too where they can experience the time in a peaceful and precious way.    I’m not there.  I want to be.

I think of a woman I know who bakes everyday with her kids as part of their lessons- great for math and science.   She bakes in the afternoon and the bake goods of the day are ready to eat around the 3:30 – 4:00 framework which is the time the kids were used to coming home and having a snack.  20 years from now those kids might think of this time as the time their mother spent teaching them to bake.  That doesn’t mean all the other people experiencing hell are not still experiencing hell  but not baking with her kids isn’t going to solve the world’s problems right now either.  It’s ok to have a project to finish.  It’s, also, ok not to and to spend more time enjoying your spouse or your kids or your parents or siblings if you live with them.  Watch t.v., play a game, converse.  

I feel very much alone in my isolation.  I want to believe that those people who have this time with their families are embracing it and embracing them.  And so why don’t I write that psychological thriller I’ve been saying I want to work on now for two years?  I don’t know.  I’m not learning a new language as I started with downtime in January and February. As much as I said in that first blog I had plans, boy, and looking forward to the time….I throw up my hands in the air exasperated at myself.  Maybe I needed to process a little what the world was going through and how I felt about my non-essential role.  Maybe I needed to give myself permission to feel the pain.  Maybe now, I write this blog as a way of giving myself permission to look again at this time as precious- because I do not know when I will have this much of it again, because all time is precious, because tomorrow I might die.  

 It is the worst of times, ok!  It is still precious time.  This Saturday night I am participating in a virtual rock concert video watch with some friends.  Can’t remember the last time I went out dancing on a Saturday night!  Maybe it is ok to put on music and dance. I give myself permission to be joyous. I have the time.  

[sleepisafuckinglie]

@suicide-d0g, @the-pan-anon, @skyblurry347, @rk900-nines and @kate-is-absolute-trash

According to all known laws of aviation,   there is no way a bee should be able to fly.   Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground.   The bee, of course, flies anyway   because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.   Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black.   Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little.   Barry! Breakfast is ready!   Ooming!   Hang on a second.   Hello?   - Barry? - Adam?   - Oan you believe this is happening? - I can't. I'll pick you up.   Looking sharp.   Use the stairs. Your father paid good money for those.   Sorry. I'm excited.   Here's the graduate. We're very proud of you, son.   A perfect report card, all B's.   Very proud.   Ma! I got a thing going here.   - You got lint on your fuzz. - Ow! That's me!   - Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000. - Bye!   Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house!   - Hey, Adam. - Hey, Barry.   - Is that fuzz gel? - A little. Special day, graduation.   Never thought I'd make it.   Three days grade school, three days high school.   Those were awkward.   Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around the hive.   You did come back different.   - Hi, Barry. - Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.   - Hear about Frankie? - Yeah.   - You going to the funeral? - No, I'm not going.   Everybody knows, sting someone, you die.   Don't waste it on a squirrel. Such a hothead.   I guess he could have just gotten out of the way.   I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day.   That's why we don't need vacations.   Boy, quite a bit of pomp... under the circumstances.   - Well, Adam, today we are men. - We are!   - Bee-men. - Amen!   Hallelujah!   Students, faculty, distinguished bees,   please welcome Dean Buzzwell.   Welcome, New Hive Oity graduating class of...   ...9:15.   That concludes our ceremonies.   And begins your career at Honex Industries!   Will we pick ourjob today?   I heard it's just orientation.   Heads up! Here we go.   Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times.   - Wonder what it'll be like? - A little scary.   Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco   and a part of the Hexagon Group.   This is it!   Wow.   Wow.   We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life   to get to the point where you can work for your whole life.   Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks bring the nectar to the hive.   Our top-secret formula   is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured   into this soothing sweet syrup   with its distinctive golden glow you know as...   Honey!   - That girl was hot. - She's my cousin!   - She is? - Yes, we're all cousins.   - Right. You're right. - At Honex, we constantly strive   to improve every aspect of bee existence.   These bees are stress-testing a new helmet technology.   - What do you think he makes? - Not enough.   Here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman.   - What does that do? - Oatches that little strand of honey   that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions.   Oan anyone work on the Krelman?   Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones. But bees know   that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot.   But choose carefully   because you'll stay in the job you pick for the rest of your life.   The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that.   What's the difference?   You'll be happy to know that bees, as a species, haven't had one day off   in 27 million years.   So you'll just work us to death?   We'll sure try.   Wow! That blew my mind!   "What's the difference?" How can you say that?   One job forever? That's an insane choice to have to make.   I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life.   But, Adam, how could they never have told us that?   Why would you question anything? We're bees.   We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth.   You ever think maybe things work a little too well here?   Like what? Give me one example.   I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about.   Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach.   Wait a second. Oheck it out.   - Hey, those are Pollen Jocks! - Wow.   I've never seen them this close.   They know what it's like outside the hive.   Yeah, but some don't come back.   - Hey, Jocks! - Hi, Jocks!   You guys did great!   You're monsters! You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it!   - I wonder where they were. - I don't know.   Their day's not planned.   Outside the hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what.   You can'tjust decide to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that.   Right.   Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime.   It's just a status symbol. Bees make too much of it.   Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it.   Those ladies? Aren't they our cousins too?   Distant. Distant.   Look at these two.   - Oouple of Hive Harrys. - Let's have fun with them.   It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock.   Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom!   He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me!   - Oh, my! - I never thought I'd knock him out.   What were you doing during this?   Trying to alert the authorities.   I can autograph that.   A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades?   Yeah. Gusty.   We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow.   - Six miles, huh? - Barry!   A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it.   - Maybe I am. - You are not!   We're going 0900 at J-Gate.   What do you think, buzzy-boy? Are you bee enough?   I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means.   Hey, Honex!   Dad, you surprised me.   You decide what you're interested in?   - Well, there's a lot of choices. - But you only get one.   Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day?   Son, let me tell you about stirring.   You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around.   You get yourself into a rhythm. It's a beautiful thing.   You know, Dad, the more I think about it,   maybe the honey field just isn't right for me.   You were thinking of what, making balloon animals?   That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger.   Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey!   - Barry, you are so funny sometimes. - I'm not trying to be funny.   You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer!   - You're gonna be a stirrer? - No one's listening to me!   Wait till you see the sticks I have.   I could say anything right now. I'm gonna get an ant tattoo!   Let's open some honey and celebrate!   Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae.   Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"!   I'm so proud.   - We're starting work today! - Today's the day.   Oome on! All the good jobs will be gone.   Yeah, right.   Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal...   - Is it still available? - Hang on. Two left!   One of them's yours! Oongratulations! Step to the side.   - What'd you get? - Picking crud out. Stellar!   Wow!   Oouple of newbies?   Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!   Make your choice.   - You want to go first? - No, you go.   Oh, my. What's available?   Restroom attendant's open, not for the reason you think.   - Any chance of getting the Krelman? - Sure, you're on.   I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out.   Wax monkey's always open.   The Krelman opened up again.   What happened?   A bee died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one.   Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.   Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life!   Oh, this is so hard!   Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer,   humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor,   mite wrangler. Barry, what do you think I should... Barry?   Barry!   All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine...   What happened to you? Where are you?   - I'm going out. - Out? Out where?   - Out there. - Oh, no!   I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life.   You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello?   Another call coming in.   If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rd   that gets their roses today.   Hey, guys.   - Look at that. - Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday?   Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted.   It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up.   Really? Feeling lucky, are you?   Sign here, here. Just initial that.   - Thank you. - OK.   You got a rain advisory today,   and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain.   So be careful. As always, watch your brooms,   hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears and bats.   Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being poured on us.   Murphy's in a home because of it, babbling like a cicada!   - That's awful. - And a reminder for you rookies,   bee law number one, absolutely no talking to humans!   All right, launch positions!   Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!   Black and yellow!   Hello!   You ready for this, hot shot?   Yeah. Yeah, bring it on.   Wind, check.   - Antennae, check. - Nectar pack, check.   - Wings, check. - Stinger, check.   Scared out of my shorts, check.   OK, ladies,   let's move it out!   Pound those petunias, you striped stem-suckers!   All of you, drain those flowers!   Wow! I'm out!   I can't believe I'm out!   So blue.   I feel so fast and free!   Box kite!   Wow!   Flowers!   This is Blue Leader. We have roses visual.   Bring it around 30 degrees and hold.   Roses!   30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around.   Stand to the side, kid. It's got a bit of a kick.   That is one nectar collector!   - Ever see pollination up close? - No, sir.   I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it over here. Maybe a dash over there,   a pinch on that one. See that? It's a little bit of magic.   That's amazing. Why do we do that?   That's pollen power. More pollen, more flowers, more nectar, more honey for us.   Oool.   I'm picking up a lot of bright yellow. Oould be daisies. Don't we need those?   Oopy that visual.   Wait. One of these flowers seems to be on the move.   Say again? You're reporting a moving flower?   Affirmative.   That was on the line!   This is the coolest. What is it?   I don't know, but I'm loving this color.   It smells good. Not like a flower, but I like it.   Yeah, fuzzy.   Ohemical-y.   Oareful, guys. It's a little grabby.   My sweet lord of bees!   Oandy-brain, get off there!   Problem!   - Guys! - This could be bad.   Affirmative.   Very close.   Gonna hurt.   Mama's little boy.   You are way out of position, rookie!   Ooming in at you like a missile!   Help me!   I don't think these are flowers.   - Should we tell him? - I think he knows.   What is this?!   Match point!   You can start packing up, honey, because you're about to eat it!   Yowser!   Gross.   There's a bee in the car!   - Do something! - I'm driving!   - Hi, bee. - He's back here!   He's going to sting me!   Nobody move. If you don't move, he won't sting you. Freeze!   He blinked!   Spray him, Granny!   What are you doing?!   Wow... the tension level out here is unbelievable.   I gotta get home.   Oan't fly in rain.   Oan't fly in rain.   Oan't fly in rain.   Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down!   Ken, could you close the window please?   Ken, could you close the window please?   Oheck out my new resume. I made it into a fold-out brochure.   You see? Folds out.   Oh, no. More humans. I don't need this.   What was that?   Maybe this time. This time. This time. This time! This time! This...   Drapes!   That is diabolical.   It's fantastic. It's got all my special skills, even my top-ten favorite movies.   What's number one? Star Wars?   Nah, I don't go for that...   ...kind of stuff.   No wonder we shouldn't talk to them. They're out of their minds.   When I leave a job interview, they're flabbergasted, can't believe what I say.   There's the sun. Maybe that's a way out.   I don't remember the sun having a big 75 on it.   I predicted global warming.   I could feel it getting hotter. At first I thought it was just me.   Wait! Stop! Bee!   Stand back. These are winter boots.   Wait!   Don't kill him!   You know I'm allergic to them! This thing could kill me!   Why does his life have less value than yours?   Why does his life have any less value than mine? Is that your statement?   I'm just saying all life has value. You don't know what he's capable of feeling.   My brochure!   There you go, little guy.   I'm not scared of him. It's an allergic thing.   Put that on your resume brochure.   My whole face could puff up.   Make it one of your special skills.   Knocking someone out is also a special skill.   Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks.   - Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night? - Sure, Ken. You know, whatever.   - You could put carob chips on there. - Bye.   - Supposed to be less calories. - Bye.   I gotta say something.   She saved my life. I gotta say something.   All right, here it goes.   Nah.   What would I say?   I could really get in trouble.   It's a bee law. You're not supposed to talk to a human.   I can't believe I'm doing this.   I've got to.   Oh, I can't do it. Oome on!   No. Yes. No.   Do it. I can't.   How should I start it? "You like jazz?" No, that's no good.   Here she comes! Speak, you fool!   Hi!   I'm sorry.   - You're talking. - Yes, I know.   You're talking!   I'm so sorry.   No, it's OK. It's fine. I know I'm dreaming.   But I don't recall going to bed.   Well, I'm sure this is very disconcerting.   This is a bit of a surprise to me. I mean, you're a bee!   I am. And I'm not supposed to be doing this,   but they were all trying to kill me.   And if it wasn't for you...   I had to thank you. It's just how I was raised.   That was a little weird.   - I'm talking with a bee. - Yeah.   I'm talking to a bee. And the bee is talking to me!   I just want to say I'm grateful. I'll leave now.   - Wait! How did you learn to do that? - What?   The talking thing.   Same way you did, I guess. "Mama, Dada, honey." You pick it up.   - That's very funny. - Yeah.   Bees are funny. If we didn't laugh, we'd cry with what we have to deal with.   Anyway...   Oan I...   ...get you something? - Like what?   I don't know. I mean... I don't know. Ooffee?   I don't want to put you out.   It's no trouble. It takes two minutes.   - It's just coffee. - I hate to impose.   - Don't be ridiculous! - Actually, I would love a cup.   Hey, you want rum cake?   - I shouldn't. - Have some.   - No, I can't. - Oome on!   I'm trying to lose a couple micrograms.   - Where? - These stripes don't help.   You look great!   I don't know if you know anything about fashion.   Are you all right?   No.   He's making the tie in the cab as they're flying up Madison.   He finally gets there.   He runs up the steps into the church. The wedding is on.   And he says, "Watermelon? I thought you said Guatemalan.   Why would I marry a watermelon?"   Is that a bee joke?   That's the kind of stuff we do.   Yeah, different.   So, what are you gonna do, Barry?   About work? I don't know.   I want to do my part for the hive, but I can't do it the way they want.   I know how you feel.   - You do? - Sure.   My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist.   - Really? - My only interest is flowers.   Our new queen was just elected with that same campaign slogan.   Anyway, if you look...   There's my hive right there. See it?   You're in Sheep Meadow!   Yes! I'm right off the Turtle Pond!   No way! I know that area. I lost a toe ring there once.   - Why do girls put rings on their toes? - Why not?   - It's like putting a hat on your knee. - Maybe I'll try that.   - You all right, ma'am? - Oh, yeah. Fine.   Just having two cups of coffee!   Anyway, this has been great. Thanks for the coffee.   Yeah, it's no trouble.   Sorry I couldn't finish it. If I did, I'd be up the rest of my life.   Are you...?   Oan I take a piece of this with me?   Sure! Here, have a crumb.   - Thanks! - Yeah.   All right. Well, then... I guess I'll see you around.   Or not.   OK, Barry.   And thank you so much again... for before.   Oh, that? That was nothing.   Well, not nothing, but... Anyway...   This can't possibly work.   He's all set to go. We may as well try it.   OK, Dave, pull the chute.   - Sounds amazing. - It was amazing!   It was the scariest, happiest moment of my life.   Humans! I can't believe you were with humans!   Giant, scary humans! What were they like?   Huge and crazy. They talk crazy.   They eat crazy giant things. They drive crazy.   - Do they try and kill you, like on TV? - Some of them. But some of them don't.   - How'd you get back? - Poodle.   You did it, and I'm glad. You saw whatever you wanted to see.   You had your "experience." Now you can pick out yourjob and be normal.   - Well... - Well?   Well, I met someone.   You did? Was she Bee-ish?   - A wasp?! Your parents will kill you! - No, no, no, not a wasp.   - Spider? - I'm not attracted to spiders.   I know it's the hottest thing, with the eight legs and all.   I can't get by that face.   So who is she?   She's... human.   No, no. That's a bee law. You wouldn't break a bee law.   - Her name's Vanessa. - Oh, boy.   She's so nice. And she's a florist!   Oh, no! You're dating a human florist!   We're not dating.   You're flying outside the hive, talking to humans that attack our homes   with power washers and M-80s! One-eighth a stick of dynamite!   She saved my life! And she understands me.   This is over!   Eat this.   This is not over! What was that?   - They call it a crumb. - It was so stingin' stripey!   And that's not what they eat. That's what falls off what they eat!   - You know what a Oinnabon is? - No.   It's bread and cinnamon and frosting. They heat it up...   Sit down!   ...really hot! - Listen to me!   We are not them! We're us. There's us and there's them!   Yes, but who can deny the heart that is yearning?   There's no yearning. Stop yearning. Listen to me!   You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. Thinking bee!   - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee.   Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee!   There he is. He's in the pool.   You know what your problem is, Barry?   I gotta start thinking bee?   How much longer will this go on?   It's been three days! Why aren't you working?   I've got a lot of big life decisions to think about.   What life? You have no life! You have no job. You're barely a bee!   Would it kill you to make a little honey?   Barry, come out. Your father's talking to you.   Martin, would you talk to him?   Barry, I'm talking to you!   You coming?   Got everything?   All set!   Go ahead. I'll catch up.   Don't be too long.   Watch this!   Vanessa!   - We're still here. - I told you not to yell at him.   He doesn't respond to yelling!   - Then why yell at me? - Because you don't listen!   I'm not listening to this.   Sorry, I've gotta go.   - Where are you going? - I'm meeting a friend.   A girl? Is this why you can't decide?   Bye.   I just hope she's Bee-ish.   They have a huge parade of flowers every year in Pasadena?   To be in the Tournament of Roses, that's every florist's dream!   Up on a float, surrounded by flowers, crowds cheering.   A tournament. Do the roses compete in athletic events?   No. All right, I've got one. How come you don't fly everywhere?   It's exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere? It's faster.   Yeah, OK, I see, I see. All right, your turn.   TiVo. You can just freeze live TV? That's insane!   You don't have that?   We have Hivo, but it's a disease. It's a horrible, horrible disease.   Oh, my.   Dumb bees!   You must want to sting all those jerks.   We try not to sting. It's usually fatal for us.   So you have to watch your temper.   Very carefully. You kick a wall, take a walk,   write an angry letter and throw it out. Work through it like any emotion:   Anger, jealousy, lust.   Oh, my goodness! Are you OK?   Yeah.   - What is wrong with you?! - It's a bug.   He's not bothering anybody. Get out of here, you creep!   What was that? A Pic 'N' Save circular?   Yeah, it was. How did you know?   It felt like about 10 pages. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit.   You've really got that down to a science.   - I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue. - I'll bet.   What in the name of Mighty Hercules is this?   How did this get here? Oute Bee, Golden Blossom,   Ray Liotta Private Select?   - Is he that actor? - I never heard of him.   - Why is this here? - For people. We eat it.   You don't have enough food of your own?   - Well, yes. - How do you get it?   - Bees make it. - I know who makes it!   And it's hard to make it!   There's heating, cooling, stirring. You need a whole Krelman thing!   - It's organic. - It's our-ganic!   It's just honey, Barry.   Just what?!   Bees don't know about this! This is stealing! A lot of stealing!   You've taken our homes, schools, hospitals! This is all we have!   And it's on sale?! I'm getting to the bottom of this.   I'm getting to the bottom of all of this!   Hey, Hector.   - You almost done? - Almost.   He is here. I sense it.   Well, I guess I'll go home now   and just leave this nice honey out, with no one around.   You're busted, box boy!   I knew I heard something. So you can talk!   I can talk. And now you'll start talking!   Where you getting the sweet stuff? Who's your supplier?   I don't understand. I thought we were friends.   The last thing we want to do is upset bees!   You're too late! It's ours now!   You, sir, have crossed the wrong sword!   You, sir, will be lunch for my iguana, Ignacio!   Where is the honey coming from?   Tell me where!   Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms!   Orazy person!   What horrible thing has happened here?   These faces, they never knew what hit them. And now   they're on the road to nowhere!   Just keep still.   What? You're not dead?   Do I look dead? They will wipe anything that moves. Where you headed?   To Honey Farms. I am onto something huge here.   I'm going to Alaska. Moose blood, crazy stuff. Blows your head off!   I'm going to Tacoma.   - And you? - He really is dead.   All right.   Uh-oh!   - What is that?! - Oh, no!   - A wiper! Triple blade! - Triple blade?   Jump on! It's your only chance, bee!   Why does everything have to be so doggone clean?!   How much do you people need to see?!   Open your eyes! Stick your head out the window!   From NPR News in Washington, I'm Oarl Kasell.   But don't kill no more bugs!   - Bee! - Moose blood guy!!   - You hear something? - Like what?   Like tiny screaming.   Turn off the radio.   Whassup, bee boy?   Hey, Blood.   Just a row of honey jars, as far as the eye could see.   Wow!   I assume wherever this truck goes is where they're getting it.   I mean, that honey's ours.   - Bees hang tight. - We're all jammed in.   It's a close community.   Not us, man. We on our own. Every mosquito on his own.   - What if you get in trouble? - You a mosquito, you in trouble.   Nobody likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito, smack, smack!   At least you're out in the world. You must meet girls.   Mosquito girls try to trade up, get with a moth, dragonfly.   Mosquito girl don't want no mosquito.   You got to be kidding me!   Mooseblood's about to leave the building! So long, bee!   - Hey, guys! - Mooseblood!   I knew I'd catch y'all down here. Did you bring your crazy straw?   We throw it in jars, slap a label on it, and it's pretty much pure profit.   What is this place?   A bee's got a brain the size of a pinhead.   They are pinheads!   Pinhead.   - Oheck out the new smoker. - Oh, sweet. That's the one you want.   The Thomas 3000!   Smoker?   Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar.   A couple breaths of this knocks them right out.   They make the honey, and we make the money.   "They make the honey, and we make the money"?   Oh, my!   What's going on? Are you OK?   Yeah. It doesn't last too long.   Do you know you're in a fake hive with fake walls?   Our queen was moved here. We had no choice.   This is your queen? That's a man in women's clothes!   That's a drag queen!   What is this?   Oh, no!   There's hundreds of them!   Bee honey.   Our honey is being brazenly stolen on a massive scale!   This is worse than anything bears have done! I intend to do something.   Oh, Barry, stop.   Who told you humans are taking our honey? That's a rumor.   Do these look like rumors?   That's a conspiracy theory. These are obviously doctored photos.   How did you get mixed up in this?   He's been talking to humans.   - What? - Talking to humans?!   He has a human girlfriend. And they make out!   Make out? Barry!   We do not.   - You wish you could. - Whose side are you on?   The bees!   I dated a cricket once in San Antonio. Those crazy legs kept me up all night.   Barry, this is what you want to do with your life?   I want to do it for all our lives. Nobody works harder than bees!   Dad, I remember you coming home so overworked   your hands were still stirring. You couldn't stop.   I remember that.   What right do they have to our honey?   We live on two cups a year. They put it in lip balm for no reason whatsoever!   Even if it's true, what can one bee do?   Sting them where it really hurts.   In the face! The eye!   - That would hurt. - No.   Up the nose? That's a killer.   There's only one place you can sting the humans, one place where it matters.   Hive at Five, the hive's only full-hour action news source.   No more bee beards!   With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk.   Weather with Storm Stinger.   Sports with Buzz Larvi.   And Jeanette Ohung.   - Good evening. I'm Bob Bumble. - And I'm Jeanette Ohung.   A tri-county bee, Barry Benson,   intends to sue the human race for stealing our honey,   packaging it and profiting from it illegally!   Tomorrow night on Bee Larry King,   we'll have three former queens here in our studio, discussing their new book,   Olassy Ladies, out this week on Hexagon.   Tonight we're talking to Barry Benson.   Did you ever think, "I'm a kid from the hive. I can't do this"?   Bees have never been afraid to change the world.   What about Bee Oolumbus? Bee Gandhi? Bejesus?   Where I'm from, we'd never sue humans.   We were thinking of stickball or candy stores.   How old are you?   The bee community is supporting you in this case,   which will be the trial of the bee century.   You know, they have a Larry King in the human world too.   It's a common name. Next week...   He looks like you and has a show and suspenders and colored dots...   Next week...   Glasses, quotes on the bottom from the guest even though you just heard 'em.   Bear Week next week! They're scary, hairy and here live.   Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes, very Jewish.   In tennis, you attack at the point of weakness!   It was my grandmother, Ken. She's 81.   Honey, her backhand's a joke! I'm not gonna take advantage of that?   Quiet, please. Actual work going on here.   - Is that that same bee? - Yes, it is!   I'm helping him sue the human race.   - Hello. - Hello, bee.   This is Ken.   Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe.   Why does he talk again?   Listen, you better go 'cause we're really busy working.   But it's our yogurt night!   Bye-bye.   Why is yogurt night so difficult?!   You poor thing. You two have been at this for hours!   Yes, and Adam here has been a huge help.   - Frosting... - How many sugars?   Just one. I try not to use the competition.   So why are you helping me?   Bees have good qualities.   And it takes my mind off the shop.   Instead of flowers, people are giving balloon bouquets now.   Those are great, if you're three.   And artificial flowers.   - Oh, those just get me psychotic! - Yeah, me too.   Bent stingers, pointless pollination.   Bees must hate those fake things!   Nothing worse than a daffodil that's had work done.   Maybe this could make up for it a little bit.   - This lawsuit's a pretty big deal. - I guess.   You sure you want to go through with it?   Am I sure? When I'm done with the humans, they won't be able   to say, "Honey, I'm home," without paying a royalty!   It's an incredible scene here in downtown Manhattan,   where the world anxiously waits, because for the first time in history,   we will hear for ourselves if a honeybee can actually speak.   What have we gotten into here, Barry?   It's pretty big, isn't it?   I can't believe how many humans don't work during the day.   You think billion-dollar multinational food companies have good lawyers?   Everybody needs to stay behind the barricade.   - What's the matter? - I don't know, I just got a chill.   Well, if it isn't the bee team.   You boys work on this?   All rise! The Honorable Judge Bumbleton presiding.   All right. Oase number 4475,   Superior Oourt of New York, Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry   is now in session.   Mr. Montgomery, you're representing the five food companies collectively?   A privilege.   Mr. Benson... you're representing all the bees of the world?   I'm kidding. Yes, Your Honor, we're ready to proceed.   Mr. Montgomery, your opening statement, please.   Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,   my grandmother was a simple woman.   Born on a farm, she believed it was man's divine right   to benefit from the bounty of nature God put before us.   If we lived in the topsy-turvy world Mr. Benson imagines,   just think of what would it mean.   I would have to negotiate with the silkworm   for the elastic in my britches!   Talking bee!   How do we know this isn't some sort of   holographic motion-picture-capture Hollywood wizardry?   They could be using laser beams!   Robotics! Ventriloquism! Oloning! For all we know,   he could be on steroids!   Mr. Benson?   Ladies and gentlemen, there's no trickery here.   I'm just an ordinary bee. Honey's pretty important to me.   It's important to all bees. We invented it!   We make it. And we protect it with our lives.   Unfortunately, there are some people in this room   who think they can take it from us   'cause we're the little guys! I'm hoping that, after this is all over,   you'll see how, by taking our honey, you not only take everything we have   but everything we are!   I wish he'd dress like that all the time. So nice!   Oall your first witness.   So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, big company you have.   I suppose so.   I see you also own Honeyburton and Honron!   Yes, they provide beekeepers for our farms.   Beekeeper. I find that to be a very disturbing term.   I don't imagine you employ any bee-free-ers, do you?   - No. - I couldn't hear you.   - No. - No.   Because you don't free bees. You keep bees. Not only that,   it seems you thought a bear would be an appropriate image for a jar of honey.   They're very lovable creatures.   Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear.   You mean like this?   Bears kill bees!   How'd you like his head crashing through your living room?!   Biting into your couch! Spitting out your throw pillows!   OK, that's enough. Take him away.   So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here. Your name intrigues me.   - Where have I heard it before? - I was with a band called The Police.   But you've never been a police officer, have you?   No, I haven't.   No, you haven't. And so here we have yet another example   of bee culture casually stolen by a human   for nothing more than a prance-about stage name.   Oh, please.   Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting?   Because I'm feeling a little stung, Sting.   Or should I say... Mr. Gordon M. Sumner!   That's not his real name?! You idiots!   Mr. Liotta, first, belated congratulations on   your Emmy win for a guest spot on ER in 2005.   Thank you. Thank you.   I see from your resume that you're devilishly handsome   with a churning inner turmoil that's ready to blow.   I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime?   Not yet it isn't. But is this what it's come to for you?   Exploiting tiny, helpless bees so you don't   have to rehearse your part and learn your lines, sir?   Watch it, Benson! I could blow right now!   This isn't a goodfella. This is a badfella!   Why doesn't someone just step on this creep, and we can all go home?!   - Order in this court! - You're all thinking it!   Order! Order, I say!   - Say it! - Mr. Liotta, please sit down!   I think it was awfully nice of that bear to pitch in like that.   I think the jury's on our side.   Are we doing everything right, legally?   I'm a florist.   Right. Well, here's to a great team.   To a great team!   Well, hello.   - Ken! - Hello.   I didn't think you were coming.   No, I was just late. I tried to call, but... the battery.   I didn't want all this to go to waste, so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free.   Oh, that was lucky.   There's a little left. I could heat it up.   Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever.   So I hear you're quite a tennis player.   I'm not much for the game myself. The ball's a little grabby.   That's where I usually sit. Right... there.   Ken, Barry was looking at your resume,   and he agreed with me that eating with chopsticks isn't really a special skill.   You think I don't see what you're doing?   I know how hard it is to find the rightjob. We have that in common.   Do we?   Bees have 100 percent employment, but we do jobs like taking the crud out.   That's just what I was thinking about doing.   Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor for his fuzz. I hope that was all right.   I'm going to drain the old stinger.   Yeah, you do that.   Look at that.   You know, I've just about had it   with your little mind games.   - What's that? - Italian Vogue.   Mamma mia, that's a lot of pages.   A lot of ads.   Remember what Van said, why is your life more valuable than mine?   Funny, I just can't seem to recall that!   I think something stinks in here!   I love the smell of flowers.   How do you like the smell of flames?!   Not as much.   Water bug! Not taking sides!   Ken, I'm wearing a Ohapstick hat! This is pathetic!   I've got issues!   Well, well, well, a royal flush!   - You're bluffing. - Am I?   Surf's up, dude!   Poo water!   That bowl is gnarly.   Except for those dirty yellow rings!   Kenneth! What are you doing?!   You know, I don't even like honey! I don't eat it!   We need to talk!   He's just a little bee!   And he happens to be the nicest bee I've met in a long time!   Long time? What are you talking about?! Are there other bugs in your life?   No, but there are other things bugging me in life. And you're one of them!   Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night...   My nerves are fried from riding on this emotional roller coaster!   Goodbye, Ken.   And for your information,   I prefer sugar-free, artificial sweeteners made by man!   I'm sorry about all that.   I know it's got an aftertaste! I like it!   I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken and me.   I couldn't overcome it. Oh, well.   Are you OK for the trial?   I believe Mr. Montgomery is about out of ideas.   We would like to call Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand.   Good idea! You can really see why he's considered one of the best lawyers...   Yeah.   Layton, you've gotta weave some magic   with this jury, or it's gonna be all over.   Don't worry. The only thing I have to do to turn this jury around   is to remind them of what they don't like about bees.   - You got the tweezers? - Are you allergic?   Only to losing, son. Only to losing.   Mr. Benson Bee, I'll ask you what I think we'd all like to know.   What exactly is your relationship   to that woman?   We're friends.   - Good friends? - Yes.   How good? Do you live together?   Wait a minute...   Are you her little...   ...bedbug?   I've seen a bee documentary or two. From what I understand,   doesn't your queen give birth to all the bee children?   - Yeah, but... - So those aren't your real parents!   - Oh, Barry... - Yes, they are!   Hold me back!   You're an illegitimate bee, aren't you, Benson?   He's denouncing bees!   Don't y'all date your cousins?   - Objection! - I'm going to pincushion this guy!   Adam, don't! It's what he wants!   Oh, I'm hit!!   Oh, lordy, I am hit!   Order! Order!   The venom! The venom is coursing through my veins!   I have been felled by a winged beast of destruction!   You see? You can't treat them like equals! They're striped savages!   Stinging's the only thing they know! It's their way!   - Adam, stay with me. - I can't feel my legs.   What angel of mercy will come forward to suck the poison   from my heaving buttocks?   I will have order in this court. Order!   Order, please!   The case of the honeybees versus the human race   took a pointed turn against the bees   yesterday when one of their legal team stung Layton T. Montgomery.   - Hey, buddy. - Hey.   - Is there much pain? - Yeah.   I...   I blew the whole case, didn't I?   It doesn't matter. What matters is you're alive. You could have died.   I'd be better off dead. Look at me.   They got it from the cafeteria downstairs, in a tuna sandwich.   Look, there's a little celery still on it.   What was it like to sting someone?   I can't explain it. It was all...   All adrenaline and then... and then ecstasy!   All right.   You think it was all a trap?   Of course. I'm sorry. I flew us right into this.   What were we thinking? Look at us. We're just a couple of bugs in this world.   What will the humans do to us if they win?   I don't know.   I hear they put the roaches in motels. That doesn't sound so bad.   Adam, they check in, but they don't check out!   Oh, my.   Oould you get a nurse to close that window?   - Why? - The smoke.   Bees don't smoke.   Right. Bees don't smoke.   Bees don't smoke! But some bees are smoking.   That's it! That's our case!   It is? It's not over?   Get dressed. I've gotta go somewhere.   Get back to the court and stall. Stall any way you can.   And assuming you've done step correctly, you're ready for the tub.   Mr. Flayman.   Yes? Yes, Your Honor!   Where is the rest of your team?   Well, Your Honor, it's interesting.   Bees are trained to fly haphazardly,   and as a result, we don't make very good time.   I actually heard a funny story about...   Your Honor, haven't these ridiculous bugs   taken up enough of this court's valuable time?   How much longer will we allow these absurd shenanigans to go on?   They have presented no compelling evidence to support their charges   against my clients, who run legitimate businesses.   I move for a complete dismissal of this entire case!   Mr. Flayman, I'm afraid I'm going   to have to consider Mr. Montgomery's motion.   But you can't! We have a terrific case.   Where is your proof? Where is the evidence?   Show me the smoking gun!   Hold it, Your Honor! You want a smoking gun?   Here is your smoking gun.   What is that?   It's a bee smoker!   What, this? This harmless little contraption?   This couldn't hurt a fly, let alone a bee.   Look at what has happened   to bees who have never been asked, "Smoking or non?"   Is this what nature intended for us?   To be forcibly addicted to smoke machines   and man-made wooden slat work camps?   Living out our lives as honey slaves to the white man?   - What are we gonna do? - He's playing the species card.   Ladies and gentlemen, please, free these bees!   Free the bees! Free the bees!   Free the bees!   Free the bees! Free the bees!   The court finds in favor of the bees!   Vanessa, we won!   I knew you could do it! High-five!   Sorry.   I'm OK! You know what this means?   All the honey will finally belong to the bees.   Now we won't have to work so hard all the time.   This is an unholy perversion of the balance of nature, Benson.   You'll regret this.   Barry, how much honey is out there?   All right. One at a time.   Barry, who are you wearing?   My sweater is Ralph Lauren, and I have no pants.   - What if Montgomery's right? - What do you mean?   We've been living the bee way a long time, 27 million years.   Oongratulations on your victory. What will you demand as a settlement?   First, we'll demand a complete shutdown of all bee work camps.   Then we want back the honey that was ours to begin with,   every last drop.   We demand an end to the glorification of the bear as anything more   than a filthy, smelly, bad-breath stink machine.   We're all aware of what they do in the woods.   Wait for my signal.   Take him out.   He'll have nauseous for a few hours, then he'll be fine.   And we will no longer tolerate bee-negative nicknames...   But it's just a prance-about stage name!   ...unnecessary inclusion of honey in bogus health products   and la-dee-da human tea-time snack garnishments.   Oan't breathe.   Bring it in, boys!   Hold it right there! Good.   Tap it.   Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups, and there's gallons more coming!   - I think we need to shut down! - Shut down? We've never shut down.   Shut down honey production!   Stop making honey!   Turn your key, sir!   What do we do now?   Oannonball!   We're shutting honey production!   Mission abort.   Aborting pollination and nectar detail. Returning to base.   Adam, you wouldn't believe how much honey was out there.   Oh, yeah?   What's going on? Where is everybody?   - Are they out celebrating? - They're home.   They don't know what to do. Laying out, sleeping in.   I heard your Uncle Oarl was on his way to San Antonio with a cricket.   At least we got our honey back.   Sometimes I think, so what if humans liked our honey? Who wouldn't?   It's the greatest thing in the world! I was excited to be part of making it.   This was my new desk. This was my new job. I wanted to do it really well.   And now...   Now I can't.   I don't understand why they're not happy.   I thought their lives would be better!   They're doing nothing. It's amazing. Honey really changes people.   You don't have any idea what's going on, do you?   - What did you want to show me? - This.   What happened here?   That is not the half of it.   Oh, no. Oh, my.   They're all wilting.   Doesn't look very good, does it?   No.   And whose fault do you think that is?   You know, I'm gonna guess bees.   Bees?   Specifically, me.   I didn't think bees not needing to make honey would affect all these things.   It's notjust flowers. Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees.   That's our whole SAT test right there.   Take away produce, that affects the entire animal kingdom.   And then, of course...   The human species?   So if there's no more pollination,   it could all just go south here, couldn't it?   I know this is also partly my fault.   How about a suicide pact?   How do we do it?   - I'll sting you, you step on me. - Thatjust kills you twice.   Right, right.   Listen, Barry... sorry, but I gotta get going.   I had to open my mouth and talk.   Vanessa?   Vanessa? Why are you leaving? Where are you going?   To the final Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena.   They've moved it to this weekend because all the flowers are dying.   It's the last chance I'll ever have to see it.   Vanessa, I just wanna say I'm sorry. I never meant it to turn out like this.   I know. Me neither.   Tournament of Roses. Roses can't do sports.   Wait a minute. Roses. Roses?   Roses!   Vanessa!   Roses?!   Barry?   - Roses are flowers! - Yes, they are.   Flowers, bees, pollen!   I know. That's why this is the last parade.   Maybe not. Oould you ask him to slow down?   Oould you slow down?   Barry!   OK, I made a huge mistake. This is a total disaster, all my fault.   Yes, it kind of is.   I've ruined the planet. I wanted to help you   with the flower shop. I've made it worse.   Actually, it's completely closed down.   I thought maybe you were remodeling.   But I have another idea, and it's greater than my previous ideas combined.   I don't want to hear it!   All right, they have the roses, the roses have the pollen.   I know every bee, plant and flower bud in this park.   All we gotta do is get what they've got back here with what we've got.   - Bees. - Park.   - Pollen! - Flowers.   - Repollination! - Across the nation!   Tournament of Roses, Pasadena, Oalifornia.   They've got nothing but flowers, floats and cotton candy.   Security will be tight.   I have an idea.   Vanessa Bloome, FTD.   Official floral business. It's real.   Sorry, ma'am. Nice brooch.   Thank you. It was a gift.   Once inside, we just pick the right float.   How about The Princess and the Pea?   I could be the princess, and you could be the pea!   Yes, I got it.   - Where should I sit? - What are you?   - I believe I'm the pea. - The pea?   It goes under the mattresses.   - Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart. - I'm getting the marshal.   You do that! This whole parade is a fiasco!   Let's see what this baby'll do.   Hey, what are you doing?!   Then all we do is blend in with traffic...   ...without arousing suspicion.   Once at the airport, there's no stopping us.   Stop! Security.   - You and your insect pack your float? - Yes.   Has it been in your possession the entire time?   Would you remove your shoes?   - Remove your stinger. - It's part of me.   I know. Just having some fun. Enjoy your flight.   Then if we're lucky, we'll have just enough pollen to do the job.   Oan you believe how lucky we are? We have just enough pollen to do the job!   I think this is gonna work.   It's got to work.   Attention, passengers, this is Oaptain Scott.   We have a bit of bad weather in New York.   It looks like we'll experience a couple hours delay.   Barry, these are cut flowers with no water. They'll never make it.   I gotta get up there and talk to them.   Be careful.   Oan I get help with the Sky Mall magazine?   I'd like to order the talking inflatable nose and ear hair trimmer.   Oaptain, I'm in a real situation.   - What'd you say, Hal? - Nothing.   Bee!   Don't freak out! My entire species...   What are you doing?   - Wait a minute! I'm an attorney! - Who's an attorney?   Don't move.   Oh, Barry.   Good afternoon, passengers. This is your captain.   Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24B please report to the cockpit?   And please hurry!   What happened here?   There was a DustBuster, a toupee, a life raft exploded.   One's bald, one's in a boat, they're both unconscious!   - Is that another bee joke? - No!   No one's flying the plane!   This is JFK control tower, Flight 356. What's your status?   This is Vanessa Bloome. I'm a florist from New York.   Where's the pilot?   He's unconscious, and so is the copilot.   Not good. Does anyone onboard have flight experience?   As a matter of fact, there is.   - Who's that? - Barry Benson.   From the honey trial?! Oh, great.   Vanessa, this is nothing more than a big metal bee.   It's got giant wings, huge engines.   I can't fly a plane.   - Why not? Isn't John Travolta a pilot? - Yes.   How hard could it be?   Wait, Barry! We're headed into some lightning.   This is Bob Bumble. We have some late-breaking news from JFK Airport,   where a suspenseful scene is developing.   Barry Benson, fresh from his legal victory...   That's Barry!   ...is attempting to land a plane, loaded with people, flowers   and an incapacitated flight crew.   Flowers?!   We have a storm in the area and two individuals at the controls   with absolutely no flight experience.   Just a minute. There's a bee on that plane.   I'm quite familiar with Mr. Benson and his no-account compadres.   They've done enough damage.   But isn't he your only hope?   Technically, a bee shouldn't be able to fly at all.   Their wings are too small...   Haven't we heard this a million times?   "The surface area of the wings and body mass make no sense."   - Get this on the air! - Got it.   - Stand by. - We're going live.   The way we work may be a mystery to you.   Making honey takes a lot of bees doing a lot of small jobs.   But let me tell you about a small job.   If you do it well, it makes a big difference.   More than we realized. To us, to everyone.   That's why I want to get bees back to working together.   That's the bee way! We're not made of Jell-O.   We get behind a fellow.   - Black and yellow! - Hello!   Left, right, down, hover.   - Hover? - Forget hover.   This isn't so hard. Beep-beep! Beep-beep!   Barry, what happened?!   Wait, I think we were on autopilot the whole time.   - That may have been helping me. - And now we're not!   So it turns out I cannot fly a plane.   All of you, let's get behind this fellow! Move it out!   Move out!   Our only chance is if I do what I'd do, you copy me with the wings of the plane!   Don't have to yell.   I'm not yelling! We're in a lot of trouble.   It's very hard to concentrate with that panicky tone in your voice!   It's not a tone. I'm panicking!   I can't do this!   Vanessa, pull yourself together. You have to snap out of it!   You snap out of it.   You snap out of it.   - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it!   - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it!   - You snap out of it! - You snap out of it!   - Hold it! - Why? Oome on, it's my turn.   How is the plane flying?   I don't know.   Hello?   Benson, got any flowers for a happy occasion in there?   The Pollen Jocks!   They do get behind a fellow.   - Black and yellow. - Hello.   All right, let's drop this tin can on the blacktop.   Where? I can't see anything. Oan you?   No, nothing. It's all cloudy.   Oome on. You got to think bee, Barry.   - Thinking bee. - Thinking bee.   Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee!   Wait a minute. I think I'm feeling something.   - What? - I don't know. It's strong, pulling me.   Like a 27-million-year-old instinct.   Bring the nose down.   Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee!   - What in the world is on the tarmac? - Get some lights on that!   Thinking bee! Thinking bee! Thinking bee!   - Vanessa, aim for the flower. - OK.   Out the engines. We're going in on bee power. Ready, boys?   Affirmative!   Good. Good. Easy, now. That's it.   Land on that flower!   Ready? Full reverse!   Spin it around!   - Not that flower! The other one! - Which one?   - That flower. - I'm aiming at the flower!   That's a fat guy in a flowered shirt. I mean the giant pulsating flower   made of millions of bees!   Pull forward. Nose down. Tail up.   Rotate around it.   - This is insane, Barry! - This's the only way I know how to fly.   Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is this plane flying in an insect-like pattern?   Get your nose in there. Don't be afraid. Smell it. Full reverse!   Just drop it. Be a part of it.   Aim for the center!   Now drop it in! Drop it in, woman!   Oome on, already.   Barry, we did it! You taught me how to fly!   - Yes. No high-five! - Right.   Barry, it worked! Did you see the giant flower?   What giant flower? Where? Of course I saw the flower! That was genius!   - Thank you. - But we're not done yet.   Listen, everyone!   This runway is covered with the last pollen   from the last flowers available anywhere on Earth.   That means this is our last chance.   We're the only ones who make honey, pollinate flowers and dress like this.   If we're gonna survive as a species, this is our moment! What do you say?   Are we going to be bees, orjust Museum of Natural History keychains?   We're bees!   Keychain!   Then follow me! Except Keychain.   Hold on, Barry. Here.   You've earned this.   Yeah!   I'm a Pollen Jock! And it's a perfect fit. All I gotta do are the sleeves.   Oh, yeah.   That's our Barry.   Mom! The bees are back!   If anybody needs to make a call, now's the time.   I got a feeling we'll be working late tonight!   Here's your change. Have a great afternoon! Oan I help who's next?   Would you like some honey with that? It is bee-approved. Don't forget these.   Milk, cream, cheese, it's all me. And I don't see a nickel!   Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat!   I had no idea.   Barry, I'm sorry. Have you got a moment?   Would you excuse me? My mosquito associate will help you.   Sorry I'm late.   He's a lawyer too?   I was already a blood-sucking parasite. All I needed was a briefcase.   Have a great afternoon!   Barry, I just got this huge tulip order, and I can't get them anywhere.   No problem, Vannie. Just leave it to me.   You're a lifesaver, Barry. Oan I help who's next?   All right, scramble, jocks! It's time to fly.   Thank you, Barry!   That bee is living my life!   Let it go, Kenny.   - When will this nightmare end?! - Let it all go.   - Beautiful day to fly. - Sure is.   Between you and me, I was dying to get out of that office.   You have got to start thinking bee, my friend.   - Thinking bee! - Me?   Hold it. Let's just stop for a second. Hold it.   I'm sorry. I'm sorry, everyone. Oan we stop here?   I'm not making a major life decision during a production number!   All right. Take ten, everybody. Wrap it up, guys.   I had virtually no rehearsal for that.

[amnachil]

The College Society Chapter 2 Part 2

And the next part is here !

Liam Sunday December 3

"You're free handsome, you can leave."

These words were sweet to his hear. After several hours serving customer, Judy finally let him go. (Of course Liam was glad to be serving and not taking care of the dishes anymore, but he met an old lady really strange who tried to touch his ass and he got a little scared). (She tried twice at least).

"You did well by the way." continued his boss. "I mean you only forgot five orders... That's a day to remember !"

The young lad frowned. He did not. (Ok, maybe he did). His coworkers called him "the lost waiter" for a reason... By the way, he wasn't sure to be useful for business.

"There's someone waiting for you outside." she concluded. "See you next week."

Kinda curious, Liam changed and headed towards the door. Surprisingly, it was Nick. That's new. Usually, he's playing video games at this hour. The dark-haired lad was wearing a fluffy jacket and black jeans. When he saw his roommate, he smiled.

"Hey bud'."

"Hey." greeted Liam. "What's going on ?"

He knew something was odd. The geek never went out of their flat without a good reason. And he just smiled, which was unusual since Rebecca and him had argued. And he got this little twitch when he wanted something. (Liam felt proud of himself. He was a real spy when he decided to). (Or just a good friend, but whatever).

"Nothing in particular." answered Nick. "Let's walk for a bit, please ?"

"Uh, okay."

Then, they became silent. At start, Liam just watched his friend. But then, his eyes got caught by a weird trash can on the other side of the street. It looked broken. I wonder who did that... Maybe Nick ? (He then remembered what he did, like three months ago, and he just blushed). Anyway, they  arrived at their building, but Nick just continued straight ahead.

"I'm not in the mood to listen to Rebbie and her boyfriend fuck." he complained. "Come on, let's go to the fastfood at the corner. I'm hungry".

Liam was honestly sleepy (like almost every night). (Or maybe everytime ?). However, he had also zero willpower. (You could ask him to dance naked in the street, he would do it). (Thinking about it, maybe not).

"Dude, are you coming or not ?" asked his roommate. "Stop looking at the sky like this, it's freaky".

Once inside, Nick ordered two burgers and some fries, and they sat far away the other customer. For a short time, they remained silent again. Liam nearly fall asleep. (Once he started to close his eyes, he had a really hard time resisting).

"So what's the deal ?" asked suddenly Nick. "Between you and this girl ?"

"You mean Judy ?"

"Not your boss silly, Colton's girlfriend. I saw you watching her. I mean, normally you're not looking something or someone in particular, just... dreamin'. But each times she's around, it's different. Have you a crush on her ? Cuz Nate let me thought you weren't... interested in girl anymore ya know ?"

Liam's brain took in the information. He's talking about Barbara. Dude his friend was more observant than he believed. He's always playing with his gameboy, but he saw that... I wonder if everyone else know too. But the truth was... Liam just failed to talk with Barbara. He just chickened out and ran under his blanket each time he tried to approach her.

"I'm not in love with her." belied the young lad. "I just happen to know her from highschool... But can we not talk about it ? Like we're not talking about you running away from our appartment because there are zombies in it."

(It was Liam's conclusion. Nick would only left if he mistakenly summoned undead). (But the unicorns would save the day). His friend stared at him, stunned.

"Man, you're so weird. I honestly don't understand how you're functioning. Anyway, I was just a bit angry at myself for stuff... But now it's ok. Let me finish this and we can go back, I can tell you're dead on your feet."

Rebecca Monday December 4

All the weekend, she had sensed something bad would happen. She had thought it was about sport, and couldn't find what the hell she had been missing. But now, she remenbered. The fucking group project. It was due for today, and they didn't finish it. Rebecca woke up panicked. She barely noticed Emilio who was still sleeping, and got dressed hella fast. Then, she rushed her neighbor's flat. Please, be awake. It's in one fucking hour. Please be awake. She couldn't afford to have a bad grade. Rebecca knocked so hard on the door that she probably woke up the whole floor. But Liam and Nick weren't answering. Those bloody sleepy heads ! She rushed towards the closest library. Let's hope I can do something by myself. She tried to call Colton, but he didn't ansewer either. Damnit. Rebacca was almost there when she ran into Matthew.

"Hey girl !" he shouted. "Where are you heading so fast ?"

"I forget to finish a group paper. I'm sorry but I need to go."

"Oh come on, that's no big deal." he replied ironically. "Stop being so serious about everything. You're already a star athetle, why do you need to study in the first place ?"

She stopped for a sec and looked at him. What a dumb question. My parents want me to. It's for my future.

"C'mon girl." Matthew laughed. "I mean, wouldn't you be better if you only trained ? And you really could use some free time for yourself. You got a bad reputation in the campus to be honest."

"What ? Why ?"

"Well, you're trying to be the best runner, the best swimmer, the best student and all... It's kinda obvious people don't like it. Oh, and your boyfriend got a lot of women after him aswell. They hate you."

Rebecca didn't knew what to say. People hated her... because she tried to be perfect ? What the hell ? Maybe that's the reason why Nick is so raging lately... He simply was jealous of her success.

"Anyway, it's always nice to talk with you, but I should hurry." stated Matthew. "Chelsea's waiting for me at the coffee shop."

Rebecca nodded and watched him draw away. Weird. After everything he did, I thought he just hated me but... now he's nice. Maybe he's trying to make it up on his behavior.

The young girl tried her best on the group project. Sadly, it wasn't enough at all. She headed towards the class quite depressed. Matthew's words were still making her think. And she feared the bad grade incoming. When she entered in the room, she looked at Colton, Liam et Nick. The first one looked a bit stressed too.

"We are screwed guys." he admitted while she sat. "We didn't finish the paper. In fact, we barely did it at all."

"We had a paper ?" asked Liam.

They all looked at him. That guy will turn me crazy one day. Did he know they had exams coming soon ? How the hell he managed to go to college exactly ?

"In fact, you're worried for nothing." assured Nick. "Because while you were all doing god know what, the genius I am did the project. Alone."

He gave it to the teacher with a smile.

"Don't thank me fellows." he added. "I know Rebbie doesn't like to thank people who saved her ass anyway."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came to her mind. He had all the rights in the world to be mad. And she should say something, she knew that. But his provoking look enraged her. Damnit. The runner girl was too proud. She just ignored him. And felt hella bad about it.

Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey Wednesday December 6

The lad moaned. On the screen, the girl just pronounced his name in such a positive way. Bloody hell she had a sensual voice. With the remote, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey rewound. Oh damn, that was so hot. Yeah, Amber, the chearleader captain, had a beautiful voice. He sped up the video until he saw Zack Jonhson. This one murmured his name. Hell. That's something. Zack had a special tone. Especially when he said "Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey". He just whispered each syllabe with so much passion. The Dean's grandson listened it again. And again. Eventually, he came with a satisfied grunt. That was so good. A bit awkward, but so good anyway.

"Hey Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey !" hailed Summer through the door of his appartment. "Are you in there dude ?"

Well, she didn't pronounced his name like in the video, this bitch. She was way more submissive in bed. The blond lad adjusted his boxers and closed his zipper. He didn't bothered put a shirt, and opened the door.

"What do you want ?"

Stupid cow. She had gained some weight since she had become the head of the student. Just, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey had nothing against some chub. In fact, he could like it in some people. But this dummy ? She was uglier everytime he saw her.

"You asked me to tell you when the swimmers started their training." she reminded him. "Well they just started. And wow there are some cuties among them. Theo kept his card close to his chest."

She was definitely lusting after those guys. Such a pathetic predator. She was a collector, she couldn't handle the "break-up phase". And that was why she would be in troubles one day. But he didn't care, since he had already fucked her enough. He finally took a shirt, and headed towards the pool without even a glance for her.

When he arrived, he first heard Theo. That man had a strong voice. An unctuous one. He's a sneaky little bastard, but we had our greet time together. They ended it on a mutual agreement. Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey then remarked Laura. The loyal girlfriend. That was a lovely weird story, honestly. Laura was deeply in love with Theo, even if she knew what he was doing. They had a sort of agreement, because he helped her back in times. It's cute, he loves her and fuck chubbies in the same time.

"Uh... Sorry but I need to get to the pool please. I'm already late."

Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey turned over and stared at his prey. Oh god, I'm in luck. It might even be too easy. He had done some research, and knew the boy's name was Liam. He was from the middle of nowhere. He had achieved highschool with an A-, and was now studying economics. He wasn't a scholarship holder, and he lived in a flat outside the main campus with one roommate. I also noticed he's from the same town than this cute soccer player... Muller. I like that boy, he's gifted. Anyway, it was time to start the hunt. And this braindead freshman didn't move yet. He was just looking... What the hell is he lookin' at exactly ?!

"I'm Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey." the Dean's grandson introduced himself. "Nice to meet you."

The boy didn't answer. How come ? Is he that stupid ? Liam was tall, and ripped. Ripped as hell. Broad-shouldered, he had an impressive chest, and a blossoming six-pack. He was probably doing some cardio and muscle-development exercises as well as swimming. His face was kinda sexy. With chestnut hair, masculine feature, he had deep grey eyes, with a glint of blue. And his ass, that fucking ass made the hunter's cock hard in a second. But Liam seemed completely lost in his thoughts. I'm not being ignored by a little shitty swimmer. No way. Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey kicked the lad in the leg. Gently of course. The freshman landed on Earth.

"What ? Did you say something ?" he asked.

"I'm Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey." repeated patiently the hunter.

"Hello. I'm Liam Strucker. Nice to meet you."

There was something really, really odd about his tone. He sounds completely high, but he isn't. In fact, he didn't seem stupid either. I thought he was but...

"Can I go to the pool now ?" asked Liam. "I should be doing lenghts by now."

"Yeah, just go."

The hunt would be harder than the Dean's grandson expected. I think I understood why Theo failed to pick up this guy. It'll be fun.

To be continued

Some develpment without weight gain I know but we’ll come to it ! So Liam and Damian finally met ! Let’s see if the hunter will succeed to have our dreamy boy in his bed !

Nick is an important character for the story, even if he hasn’t his own pov. He’s a nice guy, doing all the work alone and all. But what’s in his mind ? Maybe it is related to the little belly he’s denying ? ;)

In a month or so, I’ll start to post another long story at the same time (probably every saturday). It’s called To the perfection and the main characters are Thomas Muller and Dan Vince. It’ll feature a lot of pining, kinky desires and weight gain.

[christophergill8]

7 tax record keeping FAQ

Tax season is over for another year. Now all that's left cleaning up after the filing crunch.

I know many of y'all are tempted to simply toss everything in the trash. Don't.

You don't have to the tax version of television's Hoarders, but there are some tax-related documents you need to hang onto, at least for a while.

These 7 frequently asked questions and answers can help you get a better handle on your tax record keeping.

1. Why should I keep records? Well-organized records make it easier to prepare your tax return. Documentation, both the amount and in good order, also can help you provide answers if the Internal Revenue Service has any questions about your return.

2. What kinds of records should I keep? The quick answer is everything, but again, we're trying not to be too obsessive-compulsive. So let's break it down into key material in specific categories.

It is an income tax, so to verify your earnings you need to keep copies of W-2 forms, all types of 1099 forms (MISC, DIV, INT, G and R), gambling and prize winnings not reported on a 1099, bank statements, brokerage statements and K-1 forms.

If you're getting retirement money, hang onto the official statements detailing retirement distributions. This will help you and the IRS know how much, if any, of a cut due the federal government. In addition, Form 5498, Roth and traditional IRA contributions, and Form 8606, nondeductible IRA contributions, can help you differentiate taxable and nontaxable retirement money.

When it comes to expenses and deductions, hang onto receipts, sales slips, invoices, canceled checks, credit card statements, gambling losses and written statements from charities.

Your home is likely your biggest investment, so keep all your residential records, not just those related to your taxes. These include closing statements, purchase and sales invoices, proof of payment, insurance records, property tax assessments and payments, receipts and documents related to disaster losses and receipts for improvement costs. These could affect not only your annual filings, but also any potential tax bill when you sell.

The same is true for investment documentation. Hold your transaction data, including individual purchase or sale receipts as well as annual statements.

In some cases, photos also are helpful, such as when you claim property losses after going through a disaster.

And, of course, you'll want to keep a copy of each year's tax return that you file. This includes not just the 1040 itself, but also any associated schedules that sent to the IRS that year. You'll be glad you have them at your fingertips when you apply for a loan or other financial assistance, such as college money.

3. How long should I keep records? This is the question that flummoxes pack rats and well-adjusted taxpayers alike. As is the case with most tax questions, the answer is "it depends."

Generally, you must keep your tax records as long as they may be needed to prove the income or deductions you entered on a tax return. But the length of time you should keep certain tax documents is based on the action, expense or event the documents record.

The IRS also has a statute of limitations framework it follows.

For basic annual return filing, the tax man has three years to review your return.

When IRS examiners believe you've shorted your income entry on a return by 25 percent or more, they can come asking questions up to six years later.

The period of limitations goes to seven years if you file a claim for a loss from worthless securities.

When it comes to real property, keep relevant records until the period of limitations expires for the year in which you dispose of the property. These records help figure your basis for computing gain or loss when you sell or otherwise dispose of the property.

Then there's fraud.

When Uncle Sam suspects you've intentionally tried to escape your rightful tax liability, his tax collecting agents get a lot of leeway. A whole lot. Like forever.

There is no statute of limitations for folks who commit tax fraud. IRS agents can investigate you at any time it suspects you entered illegal information on your return. So if you tend to be a bit aggressive with your Form 1040 entries, keep your records for those claims in perpetuity. Just in case.

There's also no limitation on the time the IRS can ask you questions if you don't file a tax return. That's why you should keep documentation of why you didn't file a return in a particular year or two or more.

Don't freak out. It's not as difficult as trying to prove a negative. Say, for example, you spent a year taking care of sick relative and didn't earn any or enough income to require that you file. Proof of how you spent your non-income-producing time will short-circuit a detailed IRS examination of your missing tax year.

And about those copies of the 1040s you filed, hang onto those forever, too. You never know when an old tax return might be necessary or at least handy. They also can be a fun time capsule. When I'm feeling nostalgic, I go back and peruse the first joint tax return the hubby and I ever sent the IRS.

4. How do I fill in tax record gaps?  When you start getting your records in order, either in real paper form or electronically, you might discover you're missing some documentation.

The IRS can help you fill in the gaps. You can order transcripts of your filing history.

You have two options.

Complete Form 4506-T or Form 4506T-EZ to order a tax return transcript. This document shows most line items on your return as it was originally filed, plus information on any accompanying forms and schedules. It will cost you $50 for each tax return transcript you need.

Or request a tax account transcript. This shows your return's basic data, including marital status, type of return filed, adjusted gross income, taxable income, payments and adjustments made on your account. An account transcript is free and it arrives in about 10 days.

You can request either a tax return or tax account transcript online from the IRS.

5. What kind of record keeping system should I use?  Except in a few cases, which generally are related to business operation, the law doesn't require you to use any special kind of record keeping system. You may choose any method as long as it clearly shows your income and expenses.

If you're happy still using paper documentation and have the space, fill up as many filing cabinets with tax records as you need.

Or you can maintain your records on a flash drive or in the cloud. The IRS has been accepting digital records for 22 years. Back in 1997, the IRS referenced optical disks as the storage option, but as Uncle Sam has gotten more tech savvy, it recognizes today's wide variety of options.

All the IRS requires is that your electronic record storage meet the same standards as apply to hard copy books and records. That means when you replace the paper versions, you must maintain the electronic storage systems for as long as they might be needed under the tax statutes of limitation.  

You also want the records' format to be one that makes it easy for you to produce the material if the IRS asks.

And be sure you back up your electronic tax records and keep a separate copy in a safe place in case something happens to the original.

6. What is the burden of proof during an audit? Let's be real here. The main reason you hang onto your tax records is in case you're ever audited.

And here's the really disconcerting part of such an encounter. Unlike the U.S. legal system, where you're presumed innocent until proved guilty, it's the opposite when you're facing the federal tax collector.

During an audit, you are considered tax guilty until proven otherwise.

The burden of proving your tax innocence, or at least showing that the information on your Form 1040 is correct, falls squarely on you.

Good thorough and well-organized tax records can help you do that.

7. When I do discard tax records, what's the best way?   OK, you've sorted through all your documents and have decided which ones you need to keep, at least for now, and which you can toss.

Let me repeat what I said at the start of this post. Don't just toss them into the nearest trash can.

Most tax-related documents are full of personally identifying information. That's exactly what identity thieves want. If someone digs through your garbage and finds your Social Security number or bank account of credit card numbers, they've got what they need to take over your life in the most destructive of ways.

True, literal dumpster diving for financial data isn't that common as it once was. But don't take any chances.

Shredding the documents is still the best route here. It is time-consuming, so consider hanging onto to your tax and personal records until a bulk shredding option arrives. Many office supply stores periodically hold these events, often around the end of tax time, allowing you to bring in your documents to be securely scrapped for free.

If you keep your records digitally, make sure they also are properly destroyed. You can find more on various options for erasing electronic records options in this article from the Records Management Assistance unit of the State and Local Records Management division of the Texas State Library and Archives Commission (there's a mouthful for you!).

The bottom line is that you need to keep some records connected to your taxes. Some you need to keep forever.

Knowing which documents, why they are important and how long you need to keep them can, at the very least, help you establish a manageable record keeping system.

You also might find these items of interest:

Save space and trees: Digitize your tax records

The importance of good, and separate, business records

Reconstructing tax & other records after a natural disaster

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from Tax News By Christopher https://www.dontmesswithtaxes.com/2019/04/tax-record-keeping-questions-and-answers.html

[bottledcake]

(Untitled yet)

The Disguiser stuffs Why I make things long Can I finish it Lol

PART I

CHPT 1

Ah Cheng solemnly opened the gate. A notice was plastered over the door to his room, his rent was over three months due. He sighed, putting in his key.

Ah Cheng threw himself on the bed. He should be ready to be out from this place. Almost every day the landlord came to him reminding to pay his rent. 

He picked up his backpack and few boxes he could carry. His possession not really that many after all. Maybe he could crash to his friend’s place for few days until he could manage to get a new place.

He wondered if he could get an overlap scholarship. After all his multiple side jobs couldn’t cover much at all. The debt collector kept coming every week to him, taking anything left in his pocket.

‘Fill your information here, and do you bring your ID card copy?’

‘Yes,’ Ah Cheng nodded, taking out his copy of student card. ‘You sure already know about this scholarship, right? You have to join some projects and seminars. I hope you can spare your time for it.��� The lady smiled, waiting for Ah Cheng finished filling the paper.

Ah Cheng scribbled his name. His brain started to calculate how many free time left for him to take more side jobs. But this one was a good deal. If he could have more excuse to spend a night in college, he didn’t bother at all. At least until he could find a new place, any cheap place.

‘We will review your academic report and within a week the result will be sent via email. But I’m sure you will go through easily.’  She made a reassured smile, receiving the papers from Ah Cheng.

‘Thanks,’ he smiled briefly.

Ah Cheng put his boxes in his booth. There wasn’t any reviewing schedule today, so the studio was nearly empty. Only few seniors were staying in their booth doing their own business. He counted how many days he could sleep in the studio until the employee who’s in charge with the keys would shoo him away. Maybe he could sleep near library or student center. Too bad he didn’t join any club activity – if so he could sleep in the club room.

He rubbed his nose bridge in frustration. Quitting college was one in his options.

‘Ah Cheng ge,’ A face popped from behind his canvas, giving a wide grin. Ming Tai, the second year student, known with his easy going attitude and popular in clubs – also blessed with good fortune. With his charming personality, he was close with almost everyone, including Ah Cheng.

‘Hey,’ Ah Cheng straightened up.

‘What’s that?’ Ming Tai pointed the boxes in Ah Cheng’s booth.

Ah Cheng looked down at the boxes, answered merely. ‘Supplies...’

‘Have you eaten, Ah Cheng ge?’ Ming Tai leaned on the canvas, making Ah Cheng squinting at him. ‘No.’ He gave a warning look to Ming Tai, made the younger guy took a step backward and vanished behind the canvas.

‘Let’s eat then. Senior Wang didn’t want to eat with me. I’m sad.’ Ming Tai stepped into Ah Cheng’s booth, took Ah Cheng’s hand and tugged.

Ah Cheng scowled but then made no objection. He didn’t have his breakfast this morning after all. ‘Ok.’

‘Ah Cheng ge is the best,’ grinned Ming Tai, vibrating with excitement. It was easy to please this brat, Ah Cheng’s lip curled.

  ‘Ah Cheng ge is so thin. Ah Cheng ge should eat more.’ Ming Tai put his pork cutlets into Ah Cheng’s bowl.

‘What are you, my mother?’ said Ah Cheng indulgently, half-laughing. ‘What do you want?’ Ah Cheng looked up to the younger guy who was shoving a big heap of rice into his mouth. ‘I’m sure Wang Manchun refused to accompany you to lunch because you have something in mind.’

Ming Tai’s mouth turned into a pout. He looked up from his meal and gulped his ice tea. ‘You see, Ah Cheng ge, I’m failing in Art History.’ He put down his chopsticks. ‘and other theory related subjects.’

Ah Cheng cocked his head. ‘So?’

‘Could you help me please? Lend me your old notes? Tutor me? You’re one of the straight A students,’ Ming Tai clasped his hands. ‘At least make my E to C. I don’t want another butt slap from my Da Jie.’

Ah Cheng snorted then wiped his mouth with tissue. ‘Well sure, I don’t mind. I have all my notes today. You’re lucky.’

Ming Tai squealed in delight – making an ugly fake cry.

 Ah Cheng collected his notes from one of boxes. Ming Tai peered from his senior’s shoulders but said nothing.

‘Here.’ Ah Cheng dropped some note books to Ming Tai’s hand. ‘You can read these for your references.’ Some more books weighed in. ‘I recommend you to get more references from library. I can write the titles for you. A sec.’ Ah Cheng hunched to his backpack, taking out his mini notebook.

‘I wonder how you can manage.’ Ming Tai dragged a chair with his foot and sat beside Ah Cheng.

Ah Cheng looked up briefly to Ming Tai then back to his notebook. Most of his friends knew he took many part time jobs – though Ah Cheng so far could hide his family matters in dark.

‘Get these books and copy the chapters I wrote here.’ He tore the note paper, placed it on top the books in Ming Tai’s hands. ‘I’m sure you’ll get better in your grades if you take notes properly in class.’

The young man made his signature pout. ‘You sounds like my brother,’ muttered Ming Tai.

‘Well, I'm not in the mood for sugar coating things at all,’ Ah Cheng retorted, ‘Just remember to bring them back to me when you’re done.’

Ah Cheng turned to his boxes, arranged the contents back in. Ming Tai stared at his senior then grinned, his eyes glittering. ‘Ah Cheng ge?’

‘Hmm?’ Ah Cheng replied. He didn’t turn around, still busy with his goods.

‘I’m bad at reading stuffs. I’ll sleep in no time with these.’ Ming Tai lowered his gaze to the books in his hands. ‘Maybe… you can read them for me, pointing out the important stuffs.’

Ah Cheng shot Ming Tai an impatient glance then sighed. ‘I don’t have time for that. You can do group study with your friends. It’s more effective.’

‘I’ll pay you,’ Ming Tai blurted out but immediately regretted it noticing Ah Cheng’s face went darker. ‘If you’re interested….’ He added carefully.

Ah Cheng was almost too tired to reply. He still had things to do, finding new place to live at least with his remaining money in hand. Money, yes, he needed money. Ah Cheng met Ming Tai’s eyes, which quickly looked away in embarrassment. This spoiled little brat though he did things as he please, Ah Cheng thought getting this offer wasn’t that bad at all.

‘I have time after my evening shift.’ Ah Cheng closed his box. ‘I can tutor you until around 9 PM because I have to get back here immediately.’

Ming Tai’s eyes flickered. ‘Sure, I’ll get you. Where you work today?’

This brat was really serious. Ah Cheng eyed Ming Tai who was sitting at the mini market dining area, slurping his instant noodles. He thought everything was all talk and Ming Tai would go having drink party with his friends like he used to do almost every day.

His shift was almost done. Ah Cheng tucked in some food he already paid to his backpack. He would ask the studio employee to let him spend the night there though he would still lock the door and open it again on 6 AM next day. Ah Cheng was fine with it, he had done it once before and some seniors who was stuck with final thesis did it too several times.

‘Ah Cheng, sorry, I’m not late, right?’ The girl who worked for the next shift walked in, catching her breath. Her cheeks flushed in red.

Ah Cheng eyed his watch. ‘Nah, you come right in time. Good night, Jinyun,‘ Ah Cheng walked out from cashier booth.

‘Good night,’ she nodded.

Ah Cheng approached Ming Tai who already finished his noodle. ‘Oh you’re done,’ Ming Tai fling the empty cup into the trash bin. ‘You have bike, right?’ Ah Cheng nodded curtly. ‘Then it’s good,’ Ming Tai continued.

Ah Cheng followed Ming Tai’s bike into resident area which made Ah Cheng sure his entire life time bank account would never afford any houses, even bought a square meter of land there. Ming Tai stopped at one massive gate. Ah Cheng blinked and frowned. He knew from the gossips that Ming Tai was rich – at least his family was - but he didn’t expect a massive garden and a mansion within.

‘It seems Da Jie is still in her business trip…’ Ming Tai muttered while leaning his bike in the garage. ‘I’m saved,’ He grinned to Ah Cheng who was locking his bike. ‘What are you doing? No one will steal your bike here.’

Ming Tai poked Ah Cheng’s arm. ‘Come on.’

Ah Cheng awkwardly sat on one of the sofas in living room while Ming Tai was gone to wherever Ah Cheng didn’t really care to know. He glanced at the shelves with family photos, showing three persons at most. Ah Cheng noticed Ming Tai, and the woman who seemed older could be his Da Jie or maybe his mother. There was a man he didn’t recognized too, maybe it was his brother whom Ming Tai sometimes brought up in conversation.

‘But young master, Da Jie will scold you if you bring your dinner to your room.’

Ah Cheng heard a soft voice from the back.

‘Da Jie isn’t here. Also I’m going to study with my friend, I’m sure Da Jie will let this one time go,‘ Ming Tai sulked.

‘But…’

‘Aahh. Ok, I’ll have dinner downstairs.’

Ming Tai peeked from one of door. ‘Ah Cheng ge, let’s have dinner first.’

Ah Cheng peered at his watch. ‘You sure?’

‘Ah Xiang always makes superb dinner; you shouldn’t miss it.’

Ah Cheng opened his mouth to refuse, and then reconsidered. He could talk how often Ming Tai would ask to tutor him and the payment over dinner. ‘Very well.’

It’s been long since Ah Cheng had a proper dinner. He remembered the last time he had a nice dinner was when he celebrated his birthday at orphanage. The offer to tutor Ming Tai wasn’t that bad at all. Ah Cheng really appreciated it. The younger man said it was ok to come twice a week until Ming Tai’s finals week, he would get dinner, and payment would be transferred to his bank account after every session. Ah Cheng felt relieved, after few sessions he would collect enough money to make deposit to rent a new place. 

It was almost 9 PM when they finished dinner.

‘Thank you for the dinner, Ming Tai. I have to go or I will get locked out.’

Ming Tai crossed his hands. ‘But I haven’t learned anything today.’

‘We can start tomorrow,’ said Ah Cheng.

‘Then how about stay a night here?’

-----

[shirlleycoyle]

The Installation

Nothing highlights the egregious growth of inequality in the nation quite like pharmaceutical executives becoming vastly wealthy by selling addictive drugs to the poor. What if this repulsive ongoing travesty took on a physical dimension, that we could see, feel, *smell*? That’s what writer, artist, and acclaimed experimental musician Terence Hannum imagines in today’s horrifying Terraform dispatch. Enjoy. -the Ed.

i.

The outer light of the descending sun transforms the evening inwards as it sinks below the overlapping crests of hills, casting the affluent landscape in a dull blue. I’m driving away from the city, and the sky above me is highlighted with a thin smear of pale orange, like dirty blood toward the horizon. I pass the beltway and traverse old pastures converted to large plots for oversize mansions, private schools, small horse barns and large garages full of upscale cars that overlap each other from behind the hills. I follow the smear, past the large maintained yards of athletes, old money, and new bankers.

The company van follows the curves on the winding two-lane road. NPR plays economic news on the radio when my boss calls me on the Bluetooth.

“How was the last job?” Larry inquires.

“Easy, just a few pictures, an arrangement in the family room. They seemed happy. Did you get the picture?” I ask and follow the GPS right up a tree lined street and towards an open iron gate.

“Yeah. They have another project we’ll be on soon,” He says, eating something.

“Ok, and this one is just an uncrate and install?”

“Yep, it’s a famous piece though, so get pics.”

“Is this the Chuck Close?” I ask watching the evenly planted trees that line the windy drive up to the large, earthtone, starter castle.

“Yep, it’s Chuck from the auction news. Brett is a guy in venture capital, you’ve been here before.”

“Those large Frank Stella pieces?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah he has a great collection,” I say thinking of the epic paper collages we installed in the hallway to his son’s room.

“If it comes up you should thank him for me, I made a nice mint on a stock tip in pharmaceuticals he gave me a bit ago.”

“Really?”

“Yep, just on a small recommendation. He must’ve made a killing.”

“Congrats.”

“I should have some champagne sent or something. But what do you send a guy like that?”

I pull up the black drive and swing around the curve circling a modern fountain of hard minimal cement. The doors to the garage are open displaying the hoods of a black Tesla, red Porsche, two large SUVs, and in the last bay a crumpled hulk of a vehicle. Behind the wreck a large wooden crate looms.

“Was he in an accident?” I ask.

“I don’t know, his assistant rescheduled a bit ago. There was a death in the family, or something.”

I put the van in park and stare at the bronze paint and buckled fenders in the garage light like broken gold.

“Yeah, it’s like a whole car, hope he’s ok.”

“Well, go knock and see what he needs. If he wants us to reschedule we can.”

“Ok.”

We hang up and I turn the ignition, then go in the back of the Sprinter to grab my pack, two large moving blankets, and my ladder.

Outside the van, it smells like fire and the landscape is eerily quiet. I watch the brake lights of fleeing traffic through the trees down below. A whinnying cry pierces the silence. Setting down the ladder I walk across the slate patio to the side of the large home to peer over the metal fence. Through the black gazebo and beyond the large built-in stainless steel grill, three black horses silhouetted in the dusk run at top speed, bucking in the cold dark field as if hunted. They neigh, buck, turn, and speed to the edge of their enclosure, and then repeat.

“Hello,” I say inside the large glass walled atrium of the foyer. A curving reclaimed wood staircase twists in front of me up into the second floor of the home where a Chihuly glass sculpture fills the atrium with its bright orange and yellow blown glass tendrils.

“Hello,” I say a second time stepping inside the home. It smells of something pungent like trash left in the can too long. It fills the house. A stack of Amazon boxes rest by the door, piled to my waist. I slip off my shoes by the door and, laying down a blanket, set the ladder on it so as not to scratch the ash colored hardwood floors that cross the space with wide beams.

Bass seeps up from the basement through the house. Perhaps Brett is downstairs watching a movie on the home theatre system. I pick up my phone to call his number.

“I didn’t hear you,” He says startling me and crossing the large living area to the front room. His black Under Armor track suit is open as he clasps a lit cigar in his pale hand. His large head is even more alien, shaved bald and glistening with sweat. A dark colored wine bottle protrudes from the oversized pocket of his jacket.

“Hey, Brett, I’m here to install the painting,” I say watching his shaved head shine under the lights. He has put on weight since I was last here.

“That’s today?” He stops and stares at me, puffs on the cigar between his wan lips. He has no shirt on underneath the zip-up and his chest is pale and skeletal.

“Yes, but I can call Gwendolyn and we can reschedule, if it is a bad time,” I say. His black eyes dart around the room, back outside at my truck as if anticipating something. A cloud of cologne hits me; wood, some musk of amber – expensive but it does not hide the stench of the home and his body odor.

“No, no, no, no, no. She doesn’t work for me anymore. She left. Like everyone,” He says gripping the wine bottle from his pocket and tossing it back with a large swig. He smacks his lips and says, “I lost them.”

“Well, where would you like the piece?” I ask. He extends the bottle to me and stares at the walls, “No thank you.”

“Here,” He states and slides the bottle back into his pocket wiping his arms wide on the large blank wall of the front room.

“And the piece is in the garage now?”

“Yes,” he says and puffs on the Padron cigar releasing a gray plume into the home. “Just in from Christie’s.”

“Ok, I can go uncrate it—”

“Or Sotheby’s. Maybe it’s Christie’s.”

“I can get some dimensions and then tape it off for your approval,” I say and pull the straps on my pack.

“This way.” He says and walks across the gray boards to the large wide opening of the dark kitchen where dishes, dirty pots, and bags of trash are piled. Flies alight into the air as we pass by, disturbed by our movement through the fetid atmosphere. Even in the dark light, I can see the surfaces squirm with living creatures. I turn to him to ask a question but in the dim shadow his skin has the look of something flayed, wet, and slick like he is not himself.

He stops in the mud room and turns toward me. In the light of the mud room, the designer Edison light bulbs surging orange light around us. The stacks of bills lean on the granite desk top built in like a contemporary sculpture. His face looks normal, haggard, but normal.

“Do you want some cigars?” He points to an open box of Padron cigars on top of other plastic wrapped boxes of cigars.

“No. Maybe later. Thank you.”

“Ok,” He opens the door into the garage and unholstering his wine from his pocket he takes another swig and walks past me, “I’ll be out back.”

“Were you in an accident?” I ask. He stops and doesn’t turn to me.

“Yes.” He answers but does not turn to face me, then vanishes, leaving me with smoke and decay.

ii.

Every art crate is different, some follow around each piece through every sale and transaction accruing markings which show their trajectory through time. From collector to museum, from collector to auction house, from gallery to collector. Some are reused from other works. All are different on the inside; with wooden supports, foam protection barriers, hexacomb dividers, lined with luxurious felt. This crate opened like a freshly laid crypt. I barely had to pry with the crowbar. The well-constructed plywood gave way in a clean pull.

I take the cover off and lay it against the crate. Within, I can see the Close painting behind the layers of plastic, suspended in the crate between foam lined barriers, displaying a large blurry face. Then I remove the screws holding it in place from behind and gently excise the piece from the crate, one corner at a time.

I look over the wrecked vehicle as it stands in a shallow pool of its mechanical viscera. I can see it was once a regal Maserati painted a deep bronze, now buckled and cleaved. Its inside now outside, eviscerated in a collision, resting in its own waste. A light breeze moves the trees outside like an erratic invisible hand.

I slide the wrapped piece on linen blankets through the mudroom before standing it up in the dark kitchen. Grabbing both sides, I hold my breath and make my way to the bright front room ignoring the piles of rotten food, insects, and detritus.

Once in the front room, the stairway curves and disappears into the dark hallways above. I set the painting against the wall with some fabric to keep it from marring the ash gray paint job, set up the ladder, climb a few steps where I measure the center of the wall, and raise the median height a bit to compensate for the console table hugging the wall between the unlit sconces. The floor still vibrates from the bass below, shaking a glass somewhere in the house.

It always amazes me how an oil painting, no matter its age, can smell fresh. I peel away the thick plastic allowing the waft of deep oil paint to emerge from the enclosure taking over the smell of rot in the house. Then, climbing the ladder, I tape off the edges; top, bottom, left, and right. The wall feels strange and warm beneath my hands. I climb down and step back to look at the blue tape outline balanced between the modern sconces. The blue outline looks perfectly centered.

“Brett?” I call out through the large living area but I don’t see him in the dimly lit room full of empty shelves. I walk to the back doors out to the large sweeping patio where a raging fire burns in the fire pit of severe unfinished concrete. I open the door.

“Do you want to take a look?” I say to him not stepping outside in my socks. Brett faces away from me, towards the fire and beyond, the large yard where the final impressions of the horse’s silhouettes race around their enclosure. He tosses an armload of clothing into the fire sending towering traces of embers up and over the patio.

“Brett?” I say again opening the door. He hoists a lacrosse stick into the blaze.

“What?”

“Do you want to see where the piece will be?”

The fire which again spits out loose burning orange sparks that flicker out.

“I trust you,” He says not turning to me.

“Ok, I just centered it on the sconces and above the console table, ok?” He doesn’t answer but empties the dark bottle into his upturned face and lets it fall to the ground. It bounces once before shattering across the slick flagstones.

“I’ll be in the wine cellar,” Brett says stomping into the house as I watch the unbridled mares chase ghosts behind the pyre.

“Oh, I almost forgot, Larry wanted to thank you,” he stops at the door and turns to me. “The stock tip?”

“Oh,” Brett pauses, he wipes his face, “That is great for him. I’m glad he did well,” he says continuing inside the home while the fire burns.

iii.

I climb the ladder and check my marks with the laser level. Then go to hammer the hooks in. With each hammer-stroke the wall gives opening a wide aperture into the interior wall of the home.

“Shit,” I say to myself and I touch the crumpled drywall as maggots fall from the hole. I stumble down the ladder and stare at the opening. More larvae crawl from the maw and tumble down the wall onto the floor in a continuous stream.

“Brett,” I call down the dark stairs into the large basement. I take step down feeling the bass move the floor. I descend into the space. I call out again into the red tinted basement.

The walls breathe as a sinew of the interior, broken only by collections of flies that hold fast to the dead surface. I cover my face to avoid the stench. A large flat-screen is on the financial news but muted, emitting bass frequencies like a car passing a house late at night. I walk towards the glass wall of the modern wine cellar where Brett sits in the dim darkness surrounded by deep red bottles backlit in the shadow of fleshy light.

“Brett, we have a problem,” I say opening the crypt and lowering my shirt from my face, it smells like fermentation and decay. He says nothing but finishes a bottle of wine, discarding the glass into a pile of other empty bottles.

“I’m not a monster, you know?” Brett says to me with his voice deep.

“No, of course not,” I say holding myself close to the glass door afraid to offend him.

“You want this Pomerol?” He asks, not looking at me.

“No, thank you. I’ll be ok.”

“Take a bottle—”

“I’m concerned about the structure of the home.”

“You should take some. It’s the best.”, he says uncorking another bottle from his vintage.

“I don’t drink on the job.”

“Have you ever lost something?”, he asks me. I can feel his eyes on me even though all I see of his eyes are black sockets.

“Of course—”

“Something you cannot get back?”, he asks me while taking a long pull on the bottle. “I can’t end. No matter what I try. I am destined to suffer.”

“I don’t think I get what—”

He holds up his hand to me to stop my reply and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his crusty jacket.

“I sold it all and lost him,” He says to me.

“That wall up there is compromised,” I say pulling back my hair from my face. “I don’t think I can hang it. It’s full of—”

“I killed him.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask. “Who? Killed who?”

“My son,” Brett stands and runs his hands over the wall of bottles as if saying farewell. A swarm of flies lift off of him and obstruct the light, “Glad Larry made some money. Glad something good came out of it. He’s a good guy.”

I open the door behind me feeling the bass and the stench rise up within me.

“I am not a monster,” He pleads to me, or maybe himself, coming closer to me and revealing his flayed face in the red light; a rotten visage of vermin and decay barely concealing the blood congealed face and skull beneath. “It was an opportunity of a lifetime.”

I turn away toward the putrid staircase and faintly hear his plea as the walls leak a putrescent wake, “Help me.”

iv.

I left it all behind; the ladder, the fabric cloths, the tools, everything. I left it all in the house. My shoes. The famous Chuck Close resting against the wall. Everything.

Speeding down the drive in the van the mansion recedes in the darkness of night which each estate fights off by lighting every tree and every façade, every gate lit beautifully like the exteriors of luxurious abattoirs designed to ward off an outer dark within themselves as much as the world.

NPR plays quietly on the radio, stuck in a financial show reciting the massive acquisition of a pharmaceutical company and its new owners halting productions and adjusting prices.

The phone rings interrupting the broadcast.

“I spoke to Gwendolyn,” Larry says annoyed. I turn on to the main road away from the house. There is no traffic at this hour.

“I’m going to have to go back another time.”

“She was fired. It was his son?”

“What?”

“So, you didn’t get a picture?” He asks.

“No. I didn’t get a picture,” the home gets smaller in my mirrors. “I didn’t get the piece up.”

Larry sighs.

“His son was the death. Complications with his illness. Brett blames himself, the company stopped production of some medication, kind of sent him on this spiral. Anyway, I’ll reschedule,” Larry says disappointed. “It’s a mess.”

I don’t answer. I drive into the outer dark, pressing the gas through my socks, determined that I will never return to these false lights.

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