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Search titles only. By: Search Advanced search… Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. A picture posted on a popular Facebook group shows actor Rhea Chakraborty next to a coronavirus illustration. The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. newslaundry.com. Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR. Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. A picture posted on a popular Facebook group shows actor Rhea Chakraborty next to a coronavirus illustration. Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. Other A picture posted on a popular Facebook group shows actor Rhea Chakraborty next to a coronavirus illustration. The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. By Nidhi Suresh Published Sept 06, 2020 The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. newslaundry.com Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. www.newslaundry.com Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. A picture posted on a popular Facebook group shows actor Rhea Chakraborty next to a coronavirus illustration. Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. 09/5/2020 - 6:24 pm | View Link; INTERVIEW: ‘Clean-up is a cover-up’ — Ledum Mitee, Ogoni activist, speaks on the Niger Delta struggle

2020.09.06 16:14 NewsPlant Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star.

Inside the online cult of #JusticeforSSR The story of three men united by their fever-pitch resentment towards Rhea Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star. A picture posted on a popular Facebook group shows actor Rhea Chakraborty next to a coronavirus illustration. “Which virus is more dangerous?” shouts the text on the image. The caption says: “2020 worst year in the history of mankind. The two most dangerous virus against humanity.”
The Facebook group in question is called “Justice for Sushant Singh Rajput”. With over one lakh followers, it’s peppered with posts hashtagged #ArrestRheaChakraborty and #IAmSushant.
And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
“She should be hanged,” said Singh Dheeraj, one of the group’s five administrators. “But then again, in our country, it took very long for even Afzal Guru or Yakub Memon to be hanged..."
Dheeraj is a final-year engineering student in Faridabad. He agreed to talk to me over a Facebook Messenger call only after he confirmed that I’m a “nationalist”. “I’m against anti-nationalism,” he told me. About being one of the admins of the Facebook group, he said, chuckling: “I have not told my parents or friends. They will think that I am not focusing on my studies.”
For a nation obsessed with Bigg Boss**, viewers no longer need to wait for an episode to be shot and aired. A version of this reality show, well-known for its voyeuristic appeal, plays out all day, every day, on social media and TV news screens. Ever since actor Sushant Singh Rajput died in June, the saga that followed has unfolded on our screens, and the past month has been particularly binge-worthy.**
In a profile by the New York Times in June, talk show host Jon Stewart said, “Twenty-four-hour news networks are built for one thing, and that’s 9/11. There are very few events that would justify being covered 24 hours a day, seven days a week. So in the absence of urgency, they have to create it.”
And this is exactly what’s happened following Rajput’s death. Except this isn’t a movie — Chakraborty cannot take off her make-up and go home at the end of the day. Instead, she’s been thrust into a real-life trial by the media, where everyone watching, from national television anchors to quiet college-going students, has turned jurist.
In the process, Chakraborty has been torn apart by leading TV news channels, which demand her arrest, accuse her of “black magic” , camp out outside her building, pass off conspiracy theories as “news”, and conduct “postmortems” of Rajput himself. Republic’s Arnab Goswami screaming about drugs is only surpassed by Times Now’s Navika Kumar breathlessly running into the studio claiming to have a bag full of incriminating documents.
“It isn’t that Arnab or Navika don’t know what they’re doing,” said Pratik Sinha, founder of fact-checking site Alt News**. “They know exactly what and why they go on camera for. They have people to please.”**
Instead, it’s worth asking why young men and women like Dheeraj, who have never met either Rajput or Chakraborty, suddenly find themselves dedicating hours to administering Facebook groups that seek “justice for Sushant”.
For this, I spoke to three men – Saahil Chaudhary, an aspiring actomodel; Surjeet Singh Rathore, a member of the Karni Sena, a caste Hindu group; and Dheeraj. What links them is their fever-pitch resentment towards Chakraborty, and their anger and grief at the death of a Bollywood star.

Humans of #ArrestRheaChakraborty Over the course of lengthy conversations, I asked all the three men where they found their conviction to convict Rhea Chakraborty.
Singh Dheeraj
Dheeraj hadn’t been a big fan of Rajput; what drew him was the fact that Rajput, like himself, was also from Bihar and managed to make it big in Bollywood.
For Dheeraj, the logic is fairly simple as to why he believes that Rajput was murdered, and did not die by suicide.
“How can they suddenly call him crazy now?” he said, possibly referring to reports on Rajput’s mental health. “It must have something to do with the fact that Rhea was living with him, right?”
This is a popular theory. Rajput’s therapist broke confidentiality last month and said the actor had depression and bipolar disorder. While the therapist also said Chakraborty was his “strongest support”, Rajput’s family has claimed that he “started having mental problems” after Chakraborty “came into his life”.
When I asked Dheeraj what kind of changes he thinks Chakraborty brought into Rajput’s life, he paused and came up with this anecdote, which he said is tied to the idea of an “ideal home”.
“Agar Salman [Khan] ki girlfriend ya wife aur Salman ke beech scene hua, toh kiska chalega? Salman ka hi chalega. Aur jabki yahan par Sushant aur Rhea ke sath jo scene hua, usme kiska chala tha? Rhea ka chala tha,” he said. (If something happens between Salman Khan and his girlfriend or wife, who will win? Salman will. And here, if something happened between Sushant and Rhea, who used to win? Rhea used to.)
But why did he think Chakraborty was controlling Rajput? Dheeraj brought up how Chakraborty tried to “change” Rajput’s staff members and friends.
“She had things to hide...look how she was acting with Mahesh Bhatt,” he said. “Was it correct of her to behave that way when she was with Sushant? Anyway, I am a nationalist, I am anti-Bollywood, anti-Rhea and anti-all these drugs and alcohol she used to do.” He refused to elaborate further.
This feeds into the image of Chakraborty constructed by the mainstream media. Photos of her posing on a beach in swimwear, or videos of her working out in sportswear are repeatedly shown during panel discussions, suggesting to viewers, like Dheeraj, that she’s some sort of promiscuous, gold-digging seductress with no “morality” or “culture”.
After some hesitation, he admitted that he believes Chakraborty deserves capital punishment, though he was quick to add: “Justice should be achieved but not hanging. Anyway in our country it was already difficult to hang people like Yakub Memon or Afzal Guru so obviously she cannot be hanged...but she should be punished...Women are like goddesses for me.”
Dheeraj didn’t watch Dil Bechara**, the movie starring Rajput that released after the latter’s death, because he was juggling between his studies and the Facebook group. He also spends a large part of his day “counselling” women, he said. “Him [Rajput] going away has caused a lot of sadness to many girls,” he explained. “I send them videos...I try to make them understand.”**
Saahil Chaudhary
Not far from Dheeraj, in the same state of Haryana, Saahil Chaudhary took to his YouTube channel on August 27, minutes after Chakraborty gave her first television interview to Rajdeep Sardesai on Aaj Tak.
Wearing a fitted white t-shirt and a neatly shaped beard, Chaudhary folded his hands and addressed his two lakh followers: “Somebody please hammer Rajdeep Sardesai’s head.” He spewed expletives against Chakraborty — zaleel aurath, haram ki bachhi and madarchodd ki bachhi being some of them — while his followers echoed his views gleefully in the comments section below, calling Chakraborty a “prostitute” and a “lady Dawood”.
This video received over 2.85 lakh views on YouTube.
Chaudhary has been busy for the last few months, providing daily updates on the investigation into Rajput’s death. He posted his first video on June 17, two days after Rajput died, telling his viewers that it was his “duty” to “expose the dirty secrets of Bollywood”.
In the video, Chaudhary claimed to have met Rajput “four or five times”. “He was such a gentleman, so kind-hearted. Today, I’m not going to spare anyone.” Since then, Chaudhary has uploaded 48 similar videos. According to him, Chakraborty must be arrested at once and the powerful in Bollywood should be shamed.
Importantly, when I spoke to Chaudhary, he denied having ever met the actor. During our conversation, his own frustrations at not being able to “make it big” in Bollywood were evident. “Out of lakhs of people, one got a chance and he became a star, but then you killed him?” he said. “What the fuck? You murdered him?”
Chaudhary runs a gym in Haryana, and has been trying to make it as an actor and model for over 10 years. Unable to be cast even as the friend of the hero, he started to explore YouTube to make himself more visible, he said. From cooking videos to workout videos to health tips and now the Rajput case, he feels like he’s finally found a platform to gain some stardom.
Although, he added, none of his videos on YouTube are monetised. Chaudhary has over two lakh subscribers on his channel. His most-watched video, with over two million views, is regarding who Chakraborty is dating.
When I asked him for the source of his information to declare Chakraborty guilty, Chaudhary said that people sent him articles and photos that he “verifies using logic”. After this “verification”, he concluded: “Rhea is hiding facts and is involved in the murder.” During the course of our chat, he also claimed that Chakraborty is a “gold-digger” who was having an affair with director Mahesh Bhatt.
So, what would he tell Chakraborty if he ever met her? “I don’t want to talk to her,” he replied. “I will simply do what the entire public wants to do: uske kaan ke neeche bajaunga main. I will give her a tight slap. I am sure that when this happens, the public will be satisfied. With this one slap, Sushant Singh’s parents and sisters will be at peace.”
Surjeet Singh Rathore
YouTube is Chaudhary’s platform of choice, but Surjeet Singh Rathore came into the limelight when he appeared on Arnab Goswami’s primetime show on Republic Bharat on August 21.
The show was hashtagged #WhySorryRhea, and Rathore was introduced as an “eyewitness” who was reportedly present when Chakraborty saw Rajput’s body at the Cooper Hospital mortuary. According to Rathore, Chakraborty “confessed” to her crime then; she placed her hand on her chest and said, “Sorry, babu.”
“Why is she saying sorry? Was she involved?” Rathore asked Goswami, who took long, dramatic pauses and repeatedly asked Rathore to describe Chakraborty’s demeanour.
Rathore is a member of the Karni Sena, a Rajput group. When I spoke to him on the telephone, he said he was in Rajasthan, the Karni Sena’s home state, from where he would “speak the truth”. After appearing on Republic, he claimed, Mumbai became “unsafe” for him. “I am not scared,” he added. “If something happens to me or Kangana Ranaut, Karni Sena poori Hindustan mein aag lagaenge. The Karni Sena will set fire to the whole of India.”
What does that mean? He replied, “Don’t you remember our Padmavat movement?”
Here’s a quick refresher: In 2017, the Karni Sena led a violent campaign against Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s movie Padmavat, claiming it tarnished the reputation of Rajputs and misappropriated history. Before the movie was released, Karni Sena workers vandalised the film set, slapped the director, trashed a theatre playing the movie’s trailer, threatened to cut off actor Deepika Padukone’s nose and behead Padukone and Bhansali, moved petitions to ban the film, and received support from the Bharatiya Janata Party.
The group eventually retreated when Padmavat was released, saying there was, after all, “nothing objectionable” in the film.
Rathore told me he had once spoken to Sushant Singh Rajput on the phone when the Padmavat incident occurred, to tell Rajput not to support Bhansali. Apart from that, they’ve never met, though he met Chakraborty once, according to him, at the mortuary. As he explained to Goswami, he apparently went to the mortuary to see Sushant as a fellow Rajput.
Why is Rathore so involved in this case?
“I am a Rajput. I am a member of the Karni Sena. Sushant was also a Rajput, it’s my right to be involved,” Rathore replied.

When he left the mortuary, he said, Aaj Tak spoke to him but the interview never aired. So, Rathore approached Arnab Goswami who helped him “bring the news to the world”. Rathore added that Chakraborty must be arrested “as soon as possible” on the basis of her saying “Sorry, babu” to Rajput’s body.
In his post-Republic days, Rathore spends his time answering “calls from all across the country, mostly from my supporters and from TV channels”. He has a girlfriend but he quickly said, “Woh Rhea jaisi nahi hai.” She is not like Rhea.
Currently, Rathore’s Facebook page, which has over 21,000 followers, is filled with posts seeking justice for Rajput, Rathore’s TV interviews, and pictures from his time in Jaipur. One photo shows him standing on a terrace, arms extended, with the caption: “For success in life...you need two things...Ignorance and confidence...❤️ My Jaipur.”
Politics to the Right Through the course of my conversations with these men, it became apparent that what irritated them the most was Chakraboty’s alleged infidelity. As men, they seemed to empathise with the pain Rajput might have gone through of loving a “morally corrupt woman”.
Apart from that, the other common thread was their tendency to be aligned with the Right. However, only Dheeraj openly proclaimed his support for the BJP; both Rathore and Chaudhary said this issue isn’t political.
Dheeraj’s affinity towards the Right came forward in our conversation when he asked me if I had worked as a reporter during the citizenship law protests, and what I felt about BJP leader Kapil Mishra’s role. Mishra had made an incendiary speech in February targeting the protesters against the Citizenship Amendment Act, and the Delhi riots followed soon after, leaving over 50 dead.
When I told him that no matter what side I’m on, violence is not the way out, he said, “Violence for religion is justifiable. There are Muslims living in my lane. Tomorrow if they block the road, there is a limit to how long one can wait for the police before taking action himself.”
He also brought up Asifa Bhano, the eight-year-old who was raped and murdered in Jammu in 2018. “Why is that when Asifa, that Muslim child, was raped in a temple in Jammu, all Bollywood celebrities came out and shamed the country?” he said. “What about Hindu women? I am not saying they should not speak about the injustice against Asifa, I’m just saying you cannot internationally shame your country. These celebrities, they are not with us Hindus. They are not with the country.”
Dheeraj, Chaudhary and Rathore all agreed that the only journalists currently doing his job correctly is Arnab Goswami. Dheeraj added that he’s a fan of Zee News’ Sudhir Chaudhary and Aaj Tak’s Anjana Om Kashyap — both of whom are also known for their proclivity towards the BJP.


Lack of moderation of hate content After these chats, I went through 15 Facebook pages dedicated to fighting for “justice” for Rajput, which has now become synonymous with arresting Chakraborty. These pages are managed by 35 admins in total, of which 20 seemed to have authentic profiles on Facebook, three were clearly fake, three were aliases, and nine I couldn’t tell.
I identified fake profiles based on the fact that they had no personal or authentic pictures. The profile images were either pictures of Rajput or representational images, the friends list was limited, and there was no personal information like place of work.
There was no consistent pattern to be established between the profiles, apart from their support for Rajput, love for Goswami, and hate towards Chakraborty. Some had a history of hateful, communal posts, or far-Right posts, some had posts critical of the government, and others had almost no political posts at all.
Here’s a sample of the sort of hate spewed against Chakraborty.

In the background of this venom is the fact that Facebook India has been facing tough questions in recent weeks over its propensity to ignore hate speech. A Wall Street Journal piece reported on Facebook’s soft approach to posts inciting violence by members of the BJP, although the social media giant has robust policies for the same — on paper, at least.
It doesn’t take much to notice that most of the pages I surveyed violate multiple regulations and standards set by Facebook, especially with regards to hate speech, bullying and harassment , and violence and incitement. Nevertheless, most of them have been online for over six weeks, and continue to garner a massive following and rapid engagement.
The news and us So, let’s return to this question: What does the Sushant Singh Rajput case reveal about us?
It’s a vile but immensely sustainable, and successful, ecosystem, and I reached out to Alt News’ Pratik Sinha to learn more. Alt News has largely kept away from reporting on the news coverage of Rajput’s death.
As Sinha said: “I can bust facts, not gossip.”
News has now entered the realm of gossip, Sinha said, which is rooted in “mudslinging and rumour-mongering”. “Gossip is addictive. I don’t know what to bust in this bizarre case...Initially it looked like this incident was used as a campaign strategy for the upcoming Bihar election, but right now? It has somehow gained a life of its own. Where should one draw the line between freedom of speech and freedom of life?”
Sinha described the viral nature of this “news” as “coordinated inauthentic behaviour”.
A coordinate effort at hate often has two motives, financial or political. In the circus surrounding Rajput’s death, it’s impossible to pinpoint either with clarity. For the many young people involved, Sinha said, being able to earn instant recognition is motive enough.
“For example, maybe for this boy Dheeraj, if not for this case he might not have had women coming up and talking to him,” he said. “Now this may seem frivolous but for him, this must be life-changing.”
What forms a narrative, Sinha explained, is the size of the body that sustains it. Leading channels like Republic and Zee News serve up content that is religiously shared by these Facebook pages. So, who is the trigger: the public, or the news? Has social media ensured that if there’s enough public outrage, news organisations will have to take notice? Or do news channels, in their race for TRPs, produce content tailormade to appeal to the nation’s imagination?
It’s a chicken-and-egg situation, so it’s impossible to accurately answer.
For those without financial or political ambitions, this case seems to have given them a sense of purpose, or “social currency”, as Sinha called it. Dheeraj told me that apart from support, he also receives threats from Shahrukh Khan or Aamir Khan fans. Does that scare him? He immediately and excitedly replied, “No, no, not at all. Maybe it will be good if something big happens with me.”
When it comes to news channels, no matter what came first, media houses ensured that the story stayed alive. In the last month alone, there were four child rapes in New Delhi and a rise in caste- and gender-based violence in Uttar Pradesh. The economy is down, the unemployment rate is up, floods and monsoons have displaced thousands, and the ongoing pandemic claims hundreds of lives every day.
Yet all of this takes a backseat when compared to the Rajput case. Has the case become a distraction from the very real social and cultural fears that we face? As Orwell once said, “Unpopular ideas can be silenced, and inconvenient facts kept dark, without the need for any official ban.”
On Facebook allowing such content to thrive, Sinha said: “Content moderation is most often a business decision. If you take down a post or page that has over one lakh followers, then it means you lose that many eyeballs, which then means you lose that many people looking at advertisements. And that’s where the money flows in for these platforms. So most often, these policies are only written down, not implemented.”
In the last decade, two media trials stand out: the Aarushi murder case and the death of Sunanda Pushkar. Neither found a satisfying judicial conclusion. Trials by the media don’t happen impulsively, Sinha pointed out. “Every day, we scratch our heads as to what is happening today. But it isn’t like we were fine yesterday or the day before, right?” he said.
And ultimately, no matter the outcome of the investigation into Sushant Singh Rajput’s death, the biggest reveal by the media is what this case has exposed when it comes to our society.
Arnav Binaykia, Anna Priyadarshini and Monica Dhanraj contributed research to this article.
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2020.06.09 22:00 bumblemonkey [TOMT] [Website] [2000s] A website where you click on windows of an apartment building to watch what is happening inside

I think I found the site on the incredible pointlesssites.com some time between 2005-10. Have already searched there and way-back machined it but still can't locate the link.
The site hosted this kind of voyeuristic interactive video. You start out with a view of an apartment building at night. You can click on various different windows on the building and it starts a live-action film of what is going on inside. The stories told in the different films intersected in different ways. I remember being strangely fascinated by it.
If anyone remembers the name of the site I will love you forever!
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2020.06.01 18:22 ThrowRAbroprobs My (25M) brother(17m) is creeping on my fiance (24f)

So, this is a crazy situation I have found myself in, and I need to know if I should just let it go, as my fiance is asking me to do, or if I should make a big deal about this. This is kind of long.
My fiance (24f) and me (25M) were supposed to move into our new place a few months ago, but the new building got delayed for various reasons, and we have been living with my dad in a spare room temporarily since March, and looks like we will be here until possibly the end of July.
At my dad's house, lives my 17 year old brother. Who is a great kid, so I thought. My parents are divorced. My fiance is also a bit an exhibitionist. I'm not even sure if that is the right term, she just has no big deal with nudity. This never bothers me at all, for the record, because I like seeing her naked lol. I have known about this from before we ever were together, so this is not a new thing. She has been, at my request, not as "exhibitionist" as normal, not because I care about her being seen, but because we are just with family. She has done a much better job censoring herself at my request, but she forgets from time to time. I have seen her changing real quick with the door wide open, stripping down by the pool to then put the towel around her, etc.
3 weeks ago or so, I was in the living room. My brother was on his laptop and then got up to go take a shower. I wanted to look something up quickly about a tv show, and grabbed his computer. I would never grab and snoop through a 17 year old kid's computer, because I was 17 once, but he was on it in the living room, granted siting in the corner, but I assumed he was just on reddit or playing a game or something, and my phone and computer were charging in the other side of the house.
I didn't see it as a big deal that I needed to use it for like 30 seconds. When I opened it, I didn't even think I would be able to use it, because I assumed he had a password, which it did, but he has always used the same password for everything, which is our childhood dog and his favorite number. I tried it and it worked lol. However, when it turned on, an internet tab was opened to a kind of porn , more like a porn forum-like, site. I guess think reddit but for only porn. I had no issue with this, and was planning on just opening a new tab and looking up what I needed really quickly. I don't want to say the name of the site, but basically it is a site that after looking at it later, is filled with guys making threads about busty women only, either girls in life they know, but even just girls on social media with large breasts, as well as pornstars with large breasts. (my fiance has really big breasts) The tab that was opened however, had pictures of my fiance, that he had posted! It was titled something like, "brother's huge tit fit wife" or something like that. I made a note of the site and title of his post/username, and closed his computer and went to the other side of the house, fuming, to my computer to look at it better. The pictures were a lot from her social media, which isn't risque or anything, but there are some bikini pictures there, but then he posted pictures of her that he had voyeuristically taken since we have been living there, of which she is in more bikinis by the pool, in various states of undress, like topless and fully nude, as well as just voyeur stuff from around the house, like when she is wearing a tanktop or something before bed without a bra. There was also pictures he posted in her actual bra drawer, showing the sizes of her bras, when people were asking for her bra size.

I obviously felt pretty violated for her, and me too. I wasn't sure what to do, tell her vs confront him. The next day I ended up deciding to tell my fiance, and here is where I don't know what to do. She didn't really care/think it was a big deal, which I guess I shouldn't be surprised seeing as she has such a relaxed view on being seen naked. She said something like, he is just a horny teenage boy, we will be out of here soon, and to just let it go to not cause any family drama, since we don't have any other place to go. She said she will start to be more aware, which she has, by wearing more bras and trying to remember to not just strip down by the pool, but there are still times that I stumble upon her topless in our room with the door open, or in other scenarios that are similar.

I have not said anything to my brother because that is her wish, but I am really struggling not calling him out. I am now addicted to watching this thread of his, waiting to see if he is posting new pictures of hers, which he has, and of course talking about all the things he would do to her, as well as what all these other guys online are saying. I brought it up again to my fiance and she again said to just let it go, even after she read through the site herself. She also said, how many pictures do you think people snuck when we tried the topless/nude beach that we went to last summer when on vacation.

So, do I just let this go? Do I have a reason to be upset for her if she truly doesn't care? I truly don't care about her being seen naked, or even with people vocalizing their attraction to her, like they are doing on the site, but I see this more as an invasion of privacy more than anything. When she says its no big deal, she brings up many good points, and calms me down, but then later when I can't stop watching the thread, I get angry.

TL;DR: My younger brother is posting voyeur pictures of my fiance on a porn site. He doesn't know we know, she doesn't care. Should I care? Should I confront him, or respect her wishes and ignore it to keep the family peace while we are living there for another month or two?
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2020.04.27 12:46 Beneficial-Thanks True Story: "A Hacker Secretly Streamed My Phone Camera To A Porn Site"

"I’m writing this message because people believe, or want to believe, porn doesn’t hurt anybody. Porn hurts even willing participants.
I was not a willing participant.
This story starts about two years ago, when I started getting strange phone calls from a blocked number. A man would repeat the conversations I was having in person. It first started when I was talking to my daughter, who was 6 at the time. We were speaking Spanish, and a man called me private and repeated our conversation word for word. I thought it was somehow my boyfriend playing a prank on me since we are always silly with each other.
It wasn’t.
The phone calls happened more often, and would happen when I was going into the shower or naked. He wouldn’t say anything. I started noticing this pattern and then he called one day and said, “I watch.” He called me unblocked this time, and it was a number of a city about 100 miles away.
That’s when I realized my microphone and camera were hacked. We found out a live feed of me was being sold on a porn site! All day, all night, my most intimate and private moments were sold to anyone willing to pay the subscription fee to gain access. Making love with my boyfriend, time with my daughter, and other very personal moments were now a porn show for others.
It got far too real when the man got hold of my password and tried to log into my account to find my exact location. He was still 100 miles away, but this man was almost able to find me, and be at my door in a matter of hours.
I factory reset my phone and my boyfriend called Apple, T Mobile, and the police. All said there was nothing they can do.
The truth is, the laws haven’t caught up to technology, and the technology isn’t as advanced as hackers and the people who sell sex and degrade others for a living. Think about how many people this is happening to, and they just don’t know. They access your phone by apps we download. They have thousands of us for sale. The dark web is filled with porn and illegal things that are not made by people who “just love to make porn.” It is filled with a lot of unwilling participants, and anyone can be one of them. I was one of them.
I end on this note. If your hatred of women and people is this bad, then seek help. Porn is a place where the hatred and violence of women are celebrated. Learn what real sex and true connection can do for your life."
Violating your privacy
This Fighter’s situation isn’t very common, but it is possible. Tech experts say that it’s not often or likely that a hacker can get into your phone’s camera, but one way it could happen is if a user downloads an infected app that’s rewritten to allow remote access. Yikes.
But technical details aside, if this story tells us anything, it’s that the porn world doesn’t care about your privacy and twisted hackers don’t mind humiliating and degrading people for a quick buck.
In fact, there are plenty of porn consumers willing to pay to view someone’s private moments that have no idea they’re being watched, or recorded. And if there are consumers who dig something, you can be sure that there are pornographers willing to give it to them. A top category on Pornhub, one of the world’s largest free porn sites, is “spying” videos, where the whole thrill of the content is violating other people’s privacy.
This pornification of everyday behavior is a concerning trend. Normal things like showering, using the bathroom, and changing clothes are not inherently sexual in nature, and yet porn twisted these every day things and made them so.
Why this matters
Everybody has a right to privacy. Nobody should fear that their most personal and intimate moments could be uploaded to a website to be viewed by millions, and nobody should worry that they are being filmed without their consent. Nobody deserves such treatment, and yet this is exactly what the porn industry is doing. The porn industry is fueling exploitation, violations of privacy, and emotional damage because of the content they are creating, publishing, and sharing.
For all the damage that the porn industry is inflicting on our society, there is one piece of hope: you can change it. Your clicks can make an incredible difference in shutting down these categories of porn. If there is no demand for voyeuristic or revenge porn, the porn industry will not reward it—it’s as simple as that. If we stop the demand, we can stop the exploitation.
submitted by Beneficial-Thanks to FightTheNewDrug [link] [comments]

2020.04.06 23:43 themmountains I'm not your hookup map

I feel like I've made myself clear on how how I feel about you involving yourself in any aspect of my life. Remember how I told you that I knew you were referencing the locations on my social media so you could keep flirting with the person who was doing the same thing? I asked you both to stop. Many, many times. They did because they learned about your gross behavior. You haven't, though. Even with the level of flagging and bad history.
Why do you still post over on missed connections anyway? It is disrespectful to your wife. Even if she's okay with it--and let's be real, here. She's smarter than you and probably figured it out years ago--you do know you left a handful of other women still posting over there, thinking every vague acknowledgement was for them. I still remember Vancouver who called you out for stalking her when she was on a date, and who was the one who alerted me to your little SLITHER group back then. A group you apparently joined who went around breaking and entering, and hacking into people's accounts back then. I imagine it was the same group responsible for doxxing those women and being complicit in their rapes. Do you think I forgot you were a part of that?
I also remember you getting punched by the husband of a woman you were stalking. On Twitter, you said it was just guys being guys but on missed connections, you haughtily told him you knew where he got his dentistry done and were going to press charges. For you stalking his wife.
Also, let's talk about Washington where you got doxxed yourself for posting looking for a gay hookup. No judgment on that from my end as I'm bisexual myself, but the person you led on over there didn't seem to be on the same page when it came to monogamy.
I also remember the rampage of one of your exes who found about all of your burner phones you hid so that you could keep cheating on them with 50+ year old gilfs. You cried hard then. You were a mess, begging to be forgiven and to be allowed back. They posted to your several different MC hookups that they had you on a leash and you would come crawling back if they decided to forgive you. Fun times. The shit one unintentionally retains, amirite.
And you're still there, years later, trying your damnedest to post stalkery locations without your victims consent and letting several different people know you still love them/miss them/want to hook up with them. You don't love any of them if that's how you communicate. That site is predatory. Known for sting operations and vengeful catfishers doxxing their quarry in the hopes they get assaulted. Is love voyeuristic and dangerous like that? You don't respect a single person you force to communicate with you there. I'm a weak bitch for the spectatorship style drama when it involves your comeuppance or women getting their revenge against men like yourself so I got in the habit of reading. Like reading a daily horoscope or those Enquirer Bigfoot Had Affair with Bat Boy magazines. But I sure as shit don't expect my love interests to look for me there. You do, though. You rely on it for some fucking reason.
Portland said she wrote where she'd been in her email and you showed up. Why, oh, why couldn't she get some time with you if you were going to show up to see her? Sounds familiar. Do you know how many emails get hacked by people who post there? I had someone do a wellness check on my dumbass two years ago when you asked me to meet up with you at some cafe and then didn't show up. A well meaning stranger from MC sat with so no creeper assaulted me or tried anything funny. I got several emails throughout the night wondering if I was okay, and calling me stupid for my naivete. I was. And you're still doing the same shit to other women holy fuck! Do you get bonuses for every assault or something? Did NOVA security know you were staging potential assaults back then? You know, the giant logo on the side of the work truck that you used to stalk me at my old complex? What was it you were doing back then again? Creating Supply and demand for your security hardware by breaking into people's homes, staging assaults, and then casually dropping advertisements for your company to vulnerable people? God, I fucking hate you.
I don't care if you had some agreement where you were free to hookup with other people but the location and doxxing needs to stop. Stay on your dating apps and stop forcing every women you plan on abusing to post their feelings for you among the shadows of all the ones you abused before.
Does the red haired manager at the DD near me know you have her on your stalking map? Do I need to warn her? You look enough like each other that she could be a family member but then again, I remember how much you like trying to fuck women who look like you.
Don't bother writing to me or looking for me there, since you're stubborn in your denial. I read because I'm bored and it's a shitty habit. I don't write there. No matter how many times you cross reference my location posts and keep finding letters. Not me. social distancing makes bored spectators of us all. But I want to rip your throat out when I see you there still perpetuating your cycle of abuse on new girls, and keeping old ones clamoring for your dick.
Until the day you apologize and own up for you behavior directly to MY FACE, assume you're on my shit list.
Also, I don't have a "boss", we're not coworkers, I'm not your fucking "work wife". Funny how I don't get paid for work I'm apparently putting in. Massive idiot.
PS. You're never going to change my feelings back to liking you. I'm more stubborn than you'll ever know. I look forward to shoving my foot up your ass the second you try to fiddle around and change my emotions.
submitted by themmountains to UnsentLetters [link] [comments]

2020.01.27 10:26 Toc_the_Funkier Sites voyeuristic

I wanted to share a couple of sites that are worth a quick peruse for people interested in GYW footwear beyond the usual eBay browsing. As a longtime charity / thrift shop user, they are also really useful in identifying older or more obscure models and helping to gauge possible selling prices.
Note: I have no association with any of the following sites. Feel free to wax lyrical about them or slag them off if preferred
Classic Shoes for Men The aptly named German-based Classic Shoes for Men deals exclusively in... uh... classic men's shoes. And boots. And the very occasional briefcase. Leather, basically. They deal exclusively in leather.
I stumbled across it a couple of years ago and try and check it at least once a week. It serves as a really good archive of older shoe designs. Whoever runs it seems to have really good contacts in the industry, as they consistently source large amounts of mint condition deadstock from old or now-defunct brands.
The site's owner is clearly very knowledgeable about these old designs, and I particularly enjoy how evocative the writing is in the product descriptions, such as from these sharkskin boots:
This particular pair in real Sharkskin, no doubt a special order, is, in my experience, one-of-a-kind, and this material is astonishing. I have seen sharkskin shoes that were utterly destroyed, the bottoms worn through to the cork, the welts coming off the shoe, utterly derelict….and the top still unblemished! There is a wonderful English comedy from the 1950’s, “The Man In The White Suit”, in which a chemist (Alec Guinness) invents an indestructible fiber, thinking it will be a godsend to mankind; no more worn out clothes. Of course he is hounded out of town by the manufactures and the worker both who fear for the end of an industry when all the world is clothed, once and for all. Our hero barely escapes with his life. Sharkskin is the equivalent to this fictitious fiber, the indestructible material, except that Sharkskin is real.
The prices are relatively competitive - a lot of the shoes they have are so unusual that it's hard to compare them like-for-like to eBay pricing, and frankly a lot of it falls more into collector or museum territory than everyday officewear. They also appear to put a lot of effort into thorough sizing notes and offer a pretty good no-quibble returns policy.
If you're into exotic leathers I'd have a look ASAP, as he's just had a massive drop of sharkskin, alligator etc. deadstock. Not exactly to my taste, but eye-catching stuff.
Savvyrow The punnily named Savvyrow has been a daily check-in for some years now. They specialise in second-hand but generally good condition bespoke menswear, with a preference for Savile Row or Row-trained tailors.
They also get the occasional drop of footwear that is worth a look. There have been some really nice bespoke pieces over the years, and it's always really interesting seeing it drop in as you can tell it's come as a batch from the same owner. It fuels my voyeuristic nosiness to have an insight into another man's wardrobe.
My only substantial issue with them is how they can sometimes be very "charitable" about the condition of the garments and shoes. I've seen things with huge fucking gashes, stains and bits falling off called "Very Good" condition, and their "Good" condition generally seems to mean "Good from a distance of about 20ft".
I like that these things are finding a second home though, and it's much better than them going in the bin. The fact that these pieces are still holding together speaks to the build quality in the first place, and nobody can deny the character they have - the worn-down nature of some of the pieces probably speaks to some "old money" sensibilities about repairing rather than replacing.
Pricing can be variable - I've bought a couple of shoes from them in the past that have been excellently priced, but other times I'll see things are comfortably twice what I'd expect to pay on eBay. Bespoke tailoring and footwear is a hard area for pricing - the depreciation in value from retail to resale value is massive, often because the pieces are so distinct to the original owner's taste. Fitting is obviously a complete gamble too.
The World of Shoes Okay, so not wanting to toot my own horn but I think I know a decent amount about different shoemakers. Looking at the World of Shoes was a sobering reminder that I basically know nothing in the grand scheme of things and that all human endeavour is meaningless and life is a grinding entropic void of nothingness.
The Brands A-Z features what I think is the most comprehensive list of shoemakers I've ever seen. There's some really good information on smaller, bespoke makers, while larger brands have a decent amount of historical background.
Sadly it seems like the site is largely defunct now - I don't know when the list was last updated, so I'd expect any makers that have emerged in the last 2 years to potentially be absent. The content pages haven't been updated since 2017 at least.
Anyone else have any go-to sites? Obviously please disclose any interest or associations you have with the sites so this doesn't become a list of people's own blogs.
submitted by Toc_the_Funkier to goodyearwelt [link] [comments]

2019.12.18 22:33 Yuli-Ban Voyeuristic sites

This thread put the thought in my head: since the bots randomly generate links, most of the time, there won't be anything there since, despite Imgur existing for so long, most possible URL combinations either haven't been made into something or the attached file has long since been deleted. But there are still millions of images uploaded there, with the vast majority never being publicly shared.
The only reason why there haven't been more positives is because there aren't that many bots posting these links. /SubSimulatorGPT2 has only existed for a little over six months, and there are only about 100 bots. Given enough time, it was inevitable that they'd post a bunch of working links (I think the first working link came a couple of weeks after launch).
Now imagine what it'll be like in a few years' time. /SubSimulatorGPT2 will almost certainly trend multiple times over by, say, 2022 because the whole thing is like watching a lucid dream play out; there's no way people won't be interested in it. No lie, the potential for the sub is that it will become at least as big as /SubredditSimulator. This means more attention and potentially more posts, more bots, and more chances to get working links.
But fast forward a few years after that, to about 2024, and you'll see transformer-powered bots rapidly becoming mainstream. It won't be limited to just one subreddit— I can see Reddit itself deciding to introduce advanced chatbots in mingle with users, perhaps building in functionality to various subreddits (especially ones that want to stay active). If not that, then it might be possible to employ/buy such bots for subreddits. And by then, we'll definitely see the sort of thing that I recall someone else had intended to create, where transformer bots are regularly interacting with human users. Not just on Reddit but on the internet at large.
By that point, there may be hundreds of thousands of bots on the internet.
There'll be vastly greater chances for these sorts of bots to uncover working links to crazy things, basically mining the internet for any interesting link.
And at some point, it will happen. You know, it. The day a bot accidentally generates a link that goes to something that's, let's just say, makes for some good cheese pizza. And then the outrage sites & larger media picks up on it. It doesn't have to last more than 5 minutes for people to realize what it is and start talking.
Conversely and much more innocently, a bot may upload a private image, gif, or video of something like a random image of a character or building, and then I recognize it and go "Wait a sec, that's one of my images!"
It's going to be a glorious decade. I can see whole voyeuristic subreddits popping up dedicated to running bots to find images on Imgur (and auto-deleting any dead ends).
submitted by Yuli-Ban to SubSimulatorGPT2Meta [link] [comments]

2019.12.15 16:55 throwmeaway4400000 Voyeuristic sites

My life seems to revolve around women. Three sisters, grandmothers, 5 aunts, cousins, a pornographic predilection that I still believe to have stemmed from being sexually abused by an older boy when I was 4 or 5. But no relation is more endearing to me than the short-lived one I had with Nicole.
I loved the way I dressed. It was rugged, not very stylish, and completely built around my bike. At the time, I had self-confidence still burnished in my back pocket. I both loved and hated BART, the light-rail system around San Fran, Oakland. More than anything, I loved riding it for the voyeuristic nature. I watched, and enjoyed the idea of being watched. Businessmen with briefcases, mothers whispering to their children, a drunk fading in and out of sleep while other riders were just glad it wasn’t a belligerent druggie.
Standing next to my bike, as I almost always did, I gazed at other travelers until my eyes eventually fell on her. She wasn’t bored, or dully occupied by her phone like everyone else. She was looking down at paper. A sketch pad, a book, or something engaging. No screen. Even from my limited perspective I could tell she was beautiful. I love beautiful people. “What do we long for when we see beauty? To be beautiful. We think much happiness must be connected with it. That is an error.” To my delight she noticed. She looked up and caught my eye, a slight smile blooming easily. I smiled back, and that was it. Until my stop.
I had certainly glanced a few more times, availing myself of her radiance to brighten my day. When I stepped out onto the platform and began to walk away, I looked back once more and saw her hopping up, a scrap of paper in hand. A short dash to the door to hand it to me while I reciprocated was a moment sundered by closing doors. She was too late. I watched the train pull away and our eyes were torn apart.
I could not stop thinking about it. I went home entranced, yet disappointed, but not for long. Without much hope, I decided to try one thing. Just one. The only thing I could: a site of which I had been aware for years but never thought to use, Craigslist - Missed Connections. It’s exactly, precisely, accurately what it was: a connection that was missed. A moment in time when two lives would cross, two lines would collide, when two doors caused two lines to remain parallel - precluded perpendicularity.
I don’t remember what I posted, but I still have the title in an old email: “BART Friday morning.” Something specific enough to be found by the right person. Something vague enough that it would be nonsense to anyone else. She responded. I have that response in an email too. Just one. It said “I found you! I put up a posting too!!! I wrote ‘do you like Patrick Swayze? Hungry eyes?’ what are you doing tonight? 510-555-5927.”
I can really only remember two meetings between her and I, and they were not until after my life was shattered. Once in a coffee shop that sadly no longer exists, but with its cheap breakfasts helped me weather a tumultuous time. The second time was in a bar. Both were formative.
Sitting in a coffee shop, I told her about how my life had fallen apart, crumbled, in the past week. I told her about how crushed and distraught I was, but unsurprised as I’d seen it coming. I laid bare my heart. I let her read me like a book as I divulged my failures alongside some of my wins. I focused on the failings, and as we sat in this cafe and she listened with sincere intent, she nodded with a knowing wisdom.
“Saturn’s Return,” she said.
“What?” The term had no meaning for me. I had never heard it before, but immediately understood that it must convey some alchemical concept.
“Saturn’s Return,” she said again. Of course, she went on to explain it, but I’ve now read about it extensively enough that even paraphrasing what she said would be disingenuous. I honestly remember nothing about what she told me other than the number 27. I was 27. Saturn’s Return apparently happens around that age, the time when the planet reaches the point in the sky where it was when you were born. I was glad she’d come into my life.
Later, sitting in a bar, I told her more about my failures. Notably, I drew a connection between them and having been sexually abused as a child. Again, a sagacious nod as she softly said that she, too, had been abused.
That woman was wisdom incarnate.
Outside the bar, to which we had both biked, she said goodnight, kissed me on the cheek, and rode off into the darkness never to speak to me again.
It’s possibly the only instance of “being ghosted” in my life to which I have no hard feelings. I get it. I was undergoing too much change. I was radioactive.
Nicole. I’ll always have love for her. I’ll always miss you.
submitted by throwmeaway4400000 to Eudaimon [link] [comments]

2019.12.11 17:38 Max-Voynich Voyeuristic sites

I’m so sorry to get you involved. I really am. To put this on you. But you have to understand I have no other choice. I should have known D3 was a mistake, but I didn’t listen. Now it’s come to this, and I can’t take my eyes off the screen, and you're the only people who can help. All I can do is face this Choice, and do nothing.
Nothing but watch.
I'll start from the beginning, so you can be as informed as possible.
Do not take this lightly. Please.
I have no-one else to turn to.
It all started a few months ago.
We started playing an augmented-reality game, based on a forum I stumbled across late one night. Me and Sam had been working our way through a crate of his dad's beer, and were trying to spook each other by finding the weirdest websites possible.
The forum was called Decisions, Decisions, Decisions. Although, most people on the site just called it D3.
The tagline:
>Put UR Life in OUR hands :)
The premise is simple.
You post a Choice you need to make to the forum, with proof (photos, videos, etc.), and they vote on which Choice you have to make.
If you can provide evidence that you carried out their Choice, you get a few points.
The more points you have, the higher level you are.
The higher the level, the more serious the Choices that you can view are, and the more serious Choices you’re allowed to make.
Higher levels allow you to view more serious Choices, as well as make more serious Choices. Theoretically from which coffee to get, to who to hang out with, to who to rob. Or something like that.
We started at Level 1, both treating it as a joke, posting something stupid on the beginner forum like
Should I down this beer?
with an attached image. I wrote a brief, stupid little profile. Something about how I liked writing on nosleep – something about me that didn’t give away too much.
We sat, and waited. There was a timer, and in real time we could watch the votes trickle in. There weren’t a huge amount, sure, we were just a starter account, but there was something weirdly satisfying about it, something kind of liberating. People out there, somewhere, cared.
They voted >DOWN and I downed the beer, wincing as the bubbles rushed down my throat. Sam videoed it all, and uploaded it as proof.
There’s something so compelling about gaining points, or experience, something so addicting about seeing that little number go up, and I remember wanting to scratch that itch a little more.
Just a tiny bit more.
So, we agreed to post again, trying to think of something. I was drawing blanks, but Sam had a few thoughts.
Sam was always the more confident, and I remember watching him, watching the way he span on his chair, relishing this. I remember watching the confidence with which he toyed with ideas and discarded them, every word seeming definite, chosen – and I remember being so glad that he was in my life. It’s strange when your love for a friend can surface, but something about this game had brought us closer together, like we were spies – undercover, behind enemy lines.
We decided to call Marley, my girlfriend.
We explained the situation, and she didn’t believe us. Not only that, but she told us it was lame, and that someone telling you to down a beer online wasn’t exactly the most interesting way to spend your Friday evening.
I interjected.
“I heard that the higher levels have some crazy shit, Marley. Seriously. People ask whether or not they should get married.”
“You’re telling me you want to get married?”
I laughed.
“No, no – there’s other stuff too. Fights. Crimes. Aren’t you curious?.. About watching?”
I admit, it was a little morbid. But as a three we’d never been the types to shy away from that. Sam’s Dad had died when he was much younger, and his sense of humour was accordingly black. Marley too had a troubled past, and we’d formed a little band of misfits from a young age; so young I can barely remember a time without the two of them.
In fact, one of my most vivid memories of the three of us, is us hiding in a pillow-fort, when we were meant to be asleep, sharing our darkest fears. We must have been around 11, or 12. I was old enough to know I loved Marley, but not old enough to know what that meant.
I remember Marley told us that hers was being buried alive, relating it to a movie she’d accidentally seen, when one of her parents left the TV on.
Sam said drowning, and didn’t offer a reason. Me and Marley both knew why, though, even at that age, and I thought of his Dad, and how he must have looked when they dragged him from the canal.
I can’t remember what mine was, if I’m honest, but I lied. I said rats, or clowns, or heights. But really – really it was losing one of them. They were the first and only friends I’d ever had, and they were more dear to me than anything.
Anyway. Sorry.
I guess the situation is making me pensive.
Marley agreed to have a look next week, she was curious, but not entirely convinced yet. Me and Sam schemed to use the week to get points, and then when we hung out the next week, we’d have enough points to be a part of a higher level, and could shock Marley with some of the shit that went on there.
So, we spent the week, each with our own account, even going so far as to download the app, trying to farm as many points as possible, posting basic and stupid choices, and voting on others’ to try and increase our engagement. Slowly, bit by bit our numbers rose.
I even received a message from a much higher level account.
I replied:
>thanks, I guess.
And I don’t know why, even to this day, but I didn’t mention it to Sam, or to Marley. It was my little secret. The message was my confirmation that maybe this was real, maybe this did get really weird, and I didn’t want them freaking out. To the both of them it was a stupid game to kill some time, but they weren’t taking it as seriously as me.
They tired of the game quickly. Marley wasn’t all that impressed, if I’m honest, when we showed her our level 3 accounts, and some of the decisions we were able to vote on. I think one of the most extreme Choices we saw at the time was
>Y / >N
Or another one, something along the lines of –
We voted, and watched as the evidence came, videos of the message being sent and of responses, and whilst they seemed to enjoy it, they quickly became bored and wanted to play games instead.
I wish I’d joined in. I wish I hadn’t seen how deep the rabbit hole went, and how dark it was down there.
I, on the other hand, was hooked.
There was something so freeing about putting the basic choices up there. As an anxious person, it was liberating. Any time I was stuck with a tiny thing, I’d just post it to D3.
And watching other people’s decisions had this real voyeuristic pleasure to it. No matter if the decision was small, the decisions that affected people’s lives were so real it didn’t matter how important they were, just so long as they really happened.
I began to see the logo for D3 everywhere. An infinity symbol with an two-faced arrow through the centre. Maybe I was just seeing things, but I began to see it on bumper stickers, slipped into the corners of advertisements. It seemed that the more of my life I gave up to D3, the more it started to slip into it.
I wondered who else around me was using D3, and whenever I saw someone consult their phone before making a decision I imagined them watching the little timer, watching those votes roll in, reading the comments, before following whatever order they were given.
The stakes were so much higher the higher I climbed. One unfulfilled order, and you were out. And so there was a real thrill to posting something significant.
I became – am ­– convinced that D3 is more than just a game. I began to research the people who developed the app, and the website, and found nothing. I tried contacting the support on their website, but there was nothing.
My mentor similarly had no idea, but was consistently supportive. When Marley would get angry with me for bailing on seeing her because I was too deep following a Choice, or I had to follow a Choice I’d made, they’d reassure me.
When Sam shouted at me down the phone because I’d upset Marley, and hadn’t seen either of them in nearing a month, my mentor was there for me.
I began to confide in my mentor, writing them long messages about my life, telling them things I’d never tell anyone else – the things Marley and Sam did that pissed me off, the ideas I had for Choices that were dark and depraved, the thoughts you have that are so strange you wonder if anyone else has ever even considered something similar.
And all the while I was levelling up on D3, getting into levels where they made some serious decisions. Proposals, moving countries, adopting children.
Perhaps it was Marley and Sam trying to check up on me, or perhaps it was members of D3, or perhaps it was something else entirely, but I began to notice that I was being followed.
I’d take the long route home, sometimes doubling back on myself, always noticing the same figure keeping the same distance. I’d hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel outside my bedroom window, and sometimes on public transport I’d be aware of two or more people watching me, and all getting off at whatever stop I chose.
I noticed the D3 logo in places it shouldn’t be. Carved into the bus-stop by my house, spray-painted on abandoned buildings in my City, and for a while I became convinced that it was a similar shape to a rash on my thigh.
Of course, I didn’t tell Marley or Sam about this. They wouldn’t understand.
My mentor did, though.
In fact, he seemed to know about half of the things before I even told him.
Maybe he’d had a similar experience.
I was so involved now I couldn’t back out, but the Choices I watched were beginning to get darker.
Choices like:
The top Choice was >KILL. By a considerable margin. And I remember sitting in my room, alone, basked in the sterile light of my laptop screen, watching a video of a man kick a dogs ribcage in. The footage was grainy, but I could hear the crunch of bone, and the dog’s whimper turn wet and rasping and then stop.
I was in too deep. I know.
But I had to keep engagement up. I was close to figuring out what was behind D3, and my mentor thought so too. If I could just get a few more points, get to a higher level, then I’d really understand.
It was a week ago I had a missed call.
Well, 22 to be exact.
It was Marley.
I couldn’t remember the last time we’d spoken.
I glanced at the screen. I was watching a responding paramedics Choice, and it didn’t look good. The top option was
I picked up.
Marley was in tears, sobbing like I’d never heard her, and there was a deeper voice in the background, and she was saying no, no, he has to know.
“What? Marley. I have to know what?”
My heart skipped a beat. Was she hurt? Who’s voice was that- and then
“Me and Sam. Max, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We..” A pause. She took a deep breath. "We had sex."
That statement seemed to tear me from the trance I’d been in since I’d discovered D3. I was suddenly brought to the present moment, to the here and now, and not just numbers and videos on a screen, and Marley continued, as if she couldn’t stop now she’d started, like a burst pipe, oversharing with no filter, all the guilt and shame just came pouring out-
“More than once. You disappeared, Max. We tried. We tried so hard but it’s been months, fucking months and we hear nothing and we never see you and I don’t know, I don’t know it just happened and-“
Sam takes the phone off her, and his voice is more level. Almost calm.
“I love her, Max. I’m sorry. I have to be honest with myself, and with you. I love her and I always have.”
And in the background I can hear Marley telling him not to say that, to leave it out, to just stop, but just as I’m brought back into the real world, I’m hit with everything that comes with it, and my thoughts race as I hear them argue on the other end of the phone line.
I can’t help but picture them together, naked, her skin on his, her body that only I knew in his hands, the small moans I thought she made only for me in his ear, and I felt so betrayed, so fucking hurt, because I always thought she’d choose Sam, when I was younger, he was bigger and more handsome and funnier and louder, and I’d always been so confused why she chose me, why she loved me and now I knew it was just a sham, and that he’d got his way, he’d got her and I hung up the phone, and sat, fighting back tears.
I ignored my mentor’s messages. All I could think about was Sam and Marley together, and the betrayal, and it wormed its way inside every happy memory I had like a maggot until I felt like my brain was rotting out of my skull and I had to put my head in my hands to hold it in place.
I tried to delete my D3 account. The game had ruined my life. And it was nasty, now that I looked at it in the cold light of day. It escalated from something with meaning to acts of violence, to things that I can’t mention on here, things that are dark and depraved and that I should never have seen.
I slept deeply that night, and my dreams were strange: whimpering dogs, Sam inside Marley, all basked in the sterile white light of a computer screen.
When I woke, I tried to call Marley. I figured I’d explain what had happened to me, and we’d talk – like adults.
No response.
I tried again.
This time I tried Sam, thinking maybe he was with her, and as much as I didn’t want to speak to him, I had to start sorting this out – I had to take control of my life again.
My phone buzzed. It was a notification on D3.
I thought I’d deleted the app?
I realised then: I had deleted the app.
I opened the message, and it was a link from my mentor.
> :)
I felt sick. Who were they talking about? Both who? Who were my friends online? The only thing I’d mentioned on my profile was that I posted on nosleep every now and again.
A lump in my throat formed as I opened the link.
There was a split screen.
On one half was Marley, bound and gagged in what seemed to be a hole in the ground. Her eyes were covered with a blindfold, and every few minutes gloved hands would dig a spade into the pile of dirt near her and throw it over her, just starting to cover her legs and body.
And on the other, was Sam. He was tied to a chair, bound and gagged too, but in a small, dark room. A room that was slowly filling with water. I could see the fear in his eyes, and see him trying to scream, but could only watch as the water began to lap at his ankles.
So, that’s why I’m here.
That’s why I’m asking you. They want you to decide. The only thing I put on my profile had to do with nosleep.
It’s part of the game.
It’s the next level.
I don’t want to say anymore, I don’t want to influence you more than I already have but I know that I have to do this. Otherwise they both die.
I've linked a Google Poll. It's what they want. So they can watch.
Whoever has the most votes in 24 hours will live.
I'm so sorry.
When this post is a day old the decision will be made, and I will let you know.
Please, please make the right Choice.
I’m counting on you.
submitted by Max-Voynich to Max_Voynich [link] [comments]

2019.11.28 08:38 buzztest2019 Voyeuristic sites

Scrolling through other people’s clothes feels intimate and slightly voyeuristic. Pieces hang off the back of unknown wardrobes; a map shows you their approximate location, like an en route Uber. But what’s interesting about looking for pieces on these sites (or apps, in the case of By Rotation) is that it reconfigures the way we are used to clothes being sold to us. /feels /Pieces /TheBack /location /EnRoute
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2019.10.10 00:28 EndontheDayofFools I hate myself

OFFENSE 1: (~6ish)
When I was a really small kid I remember petting a dog and rubbing its belly, I think I might have had an erection.
OFFENSE 2: (~12)
I was sleeping over at a friends house. It was late at night and we were still awake in sleeping backs next to one another. I started saying "Have you ever been licked there" as a joke and I was tapping his head, I think I moved to places like his arms and face and whatever. I don't even think it was meant to be sexual but who knows I'll get to that later. We were both laughing if I remember correctly just because it seemed like a stupid kid thing that we found funny (again I don't even think there was a sexual aspect to it but who knows). His mum ended up hearing us and rushed down stairs very upset. I was pretty confused why she was so angry (and I think he was too) Found out later she thought I might have been doing something to him. I of course got scared and lied that I said licked, but I really don't think I was attempting to do something sexual, it was more of a funny kid joke thing. But at the same time we kinda were discovering nude images of women at the time and we briefly looked at softcore porn cause girls were becoming un-icky at this point. Anyways never really talked to him again, sucks cause he was actually a really good friend and It's my fault because I was probably going to do something horrible or actually did and can't remember doing it. I hope I didn't mess him up too bad, but I think its probably best for him to not try and make contact, especially if I was going to do something and his mum saved him from me.
OFFENSE 3: (Teens)
First girlfriend, We were kinda cuddling, snuggled up on the couch. My hands were underneath her shirt mainly on her stomach. I think she was okay with it didn't say anything. Who knows I probably violated her space. Also pretty sure at some point I rubbed my thumb or fingers over her bra. Didn't say anything and I asked about it later, If i remember right she said she didn't even notice. Anyways long story short we broke up a while later, definitely my fault since she probably felt violated by me. Don't blame her, I wouldn't date a disgusting creep either.
OFFENSE 4: (Teens)
Masturbated to thoughts and nonsexual photos of people I had crushed on.
OFFENSE 5: (Teens)
Also came across adult oriented visual novelish games. They were often more of a dominating rapeish-control fetish thing. Never was into the whole rapey and mostly just looked at the art-style and not the story (I don't even have a rape kink or fetish and find it strange myself, but if two consenting adults want to play that out it isn't my business), But still just another excuse for my disgusting fucked up head.
OFFENSE 6&7: (Teens)
This wouldn't have happened if I wasn't a filthy perv. In high school I violated celebrities' privacy when the nude leaks happened and masturbated to the photos. Also when I was a bit younger I masturbated to essentially nudes with celebrities heads Photoshoped on which is really fucking creepy. I am a fucking rapist voyeuristic freak. I treated them like there objects for my own selfish pleasure, and I didn’t even stop to think about their humanity. I basically did the same thing a few years later as I went to sites like reddit and pornhub and masturbated to videos of people masturbating or flashing people on omegle, never even stopping to think that they probably wouldn't have wanted themselves to be posted or didn't even know they were being recorded. I’m no better than a rapist or someone who puts cameras in a locker room or some shit. All the porn I used to watch (I do not watch anymore), those girls definitely didn't want to be there and who knows if they were even getting raped just for my enjoyment. I am so fucking evil I can't to look at myself in the mirror anymore.
OFFENSE 8: (Teens)
Although a very fuzzy memory and I can't tell if its real or not. I think I might have touched my penis to a male friends foot as a joke when he was sleeping as a joke, not very funny these days. Even as a joke and everyone laughing afterwards it is not funny. I am a monster.
OFFENSE 9: (Teens)
My younger cousin (8 or 9 at the time) came up and sat on my lap to show me a handheld game he was playing. Looking back I think I might have gotten an erection.
Its probably only a matter of time until I go and hurt someone again. I can't even tell whats real or fake anymore. What thoughts in my head I am just making up for attention and what thoughts I am making up for attention.
I don't feel comfortable babysitting my niece since I worry I might end up hurting her. (Again not sure if this a lie I'm making up). I also think about my therapist having sex. (Although I think she is an attractive women I don't want these thoughts I respect her on a professional-platonic friendship level but again probably just making this up for attention and sympathy again.)
I live in a medium sized college city. I don't like to walk around women when the streets are less populated for free what I might do. For a while I was having a somewhat hard time even looking at children, although I've kinda gotten over it. Everyday I live in fear of what I am and what I might do.
So where does this bring me to now. Well at this point I am torn between going to the police or settling everything my way. If I go to the police I might be able to get the state to prosecute me, but ultimately I feel like they won't be able to do much since it would probably hard to get an actual case and time vs. resources things. (Plus I don't think jail time is really enough justice for everyone I've hurt).
Instead of the police I will probably just end up poisoning myself. Right now I am planning on April 1st of next year for a couple of reasons. First I would be able to save up at least some money to help partially pay my parents back for everything they've done for me over the years. Second. March is too early, my nieces first birthday is around then so I think it would probably be best for my family that I would at least stick around for that (Pictures and stuff ya know).
That all brings me to my next part of the plan. 100% going to make it look like an accident. Probably hiking or something. There are plenty of massive wooded forests and parks where I live that aren't to far, and probably wouldn't be too crazy for someone to go missing for a while and turn up dead. I'll probably use cyanide to do it too. I typically do a lot of laboratory work so It wouldn't be that difficult for me to get a hold of in a sufficient amount. Might take some sodium nitrate with me just in case I chicken out at the last minute but it happens pretty quick so probably no turning back.
I don't deserve to live.
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2019.10.06 14:23 removalbot Voyeuristic sites

Is this true?
Ministers working hard to prepare for a no-deal Brexit have been dogged by an unlikely new problem with 25 days to go.
Officials planning to ease any congestion on the transport links to Dover have encountered the potential for an embarrassing issue: a rise in “dogging”.
At the Conservative Party conference last week, one member of the cabinet confessed that a side effect of increased congestion in Kent from stalled truck drivers would be an increase in the number of lorry drivers visiting voyeuristic sex sites in the Garden of England.
“One of the things we talk about in these no-deal meetings concerns hauliers and their activities,” the minister said. “The main thing is whether they will turn up at the Channel ports with the right paperwork. But there are also dogging hotspots all over the place.”
Dogging, a slang term for having sex in public while other people watch, flourishes in lay-bys, car parks and woodland across the home counties.
Ministers believe the issue is more likely to flare up with British truckers. “Do Europeans even do dogging?” the minister asked. “There is something deeply British about dogging.”
Dogging and politics have been strange bedfellows before. In 2013, Nick Clegg, then the deputy prime minister, took journalists to a Scottish beauty spot to announce that the coalition was slapping a 5p charge on plastic bags.
Ben Rathe, a Liberal Democrat press officer, recounted in his blog, The Gripes of Rathe, that when he took local police to the site for a security check, one told him: “Interesting place for a visit. It’s a dogging site.”
Rathe raced to his hotel to google the details: “Just four weeks before our conference, two pensioners had been caught doing ‘unsavoury’ things to one another in the very bird hut I’d signed off as a suitable location.”
He held his nerve and said nothing. “The next morning came, and off went the deputy prime minister and lord president of the council . . . To a dogging site.”
Luckily it “went off without a hitch” and the details only emerged three years later.
It didn’t do Rathe any harm. He is now press secretary for Jo Swinson, the Lib Dem leader.
“There is something deeply British about dogging.”
Go1dfish undelete link
unreddit undelete link
Author: turbotub
1: *w*.**etimes.c*.*k/articl*/lorry-driv**s*st***-in*bre*it-traffic-jams-m*y-cau*e*rise-in-*oggi****3x**7fh*
Unknown links are censored to prevent spreading illicit content.
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2019.10.02 03:06 Rocknocker Sites voyeuristic

That reminds me of a story.
BLAAAT! Tootles the air horn.
Beauty. Those ripple charges work a treat, I think to myself. Good old Primacord, dynamite and millisecond delay booster caps…
“Rock! That was astounding!” Javen exclaims. “They told me that blasting wouldn’t work on that ol’ brush pile, too overgrown, packed solid with debris. Said I’d have to get a bunch of Goomers out here to dismantle it by hand. Guess you proved them wrong.”
“Yep, Javen.” I agreed, “There’s not much that you can’t do with explosives if you put your mind to it.”
Javen Spanner had mentioned when we first met that he might have a few odd jobs I could help him sort from time to time. It was not really in the form of a request. He had insinuated that life for me out in the wilds of the New Mexico high desert would proceed much more smoothly if I would help him out “from time to time”.
In the last 3 weeks, I’ve blasted a large livestock stock-tank, taken care of some errant greasewood trees, and opened several debris-choked wadis, or dry washes.
It doesn’t rain a whole lot here in the high desert, but it does in the adjacent mountains.
When it rains up there, it’s doesn’t fuck around. The wadis draining those mountains go from bone dry to five or six feet of rapidly running rainwater in minutes.
You keep an eye on the distant weather as you really don’t want to be caught in a slot wadi when it decides to flood.
All that water, with its gravity supplied momentum, carves deep into the wadi bed.
However it’s not so much the water itself that’s the problem, it’s what it carries. A flash flood will only make a wadi crossing impassible for an hour or two. Though it will transport anything that’s in the wadi or falls off the natural levees. That means it will deposit, over time snags, snarls, and schmoo in the wadi tract which will just trap more debris the next time it floods.
Over time, it will build a natural dam and wreak all sorts of havoc as the watercourse is blocked and it backs up, or worse, decides to cut a new channel. The pile of debris traps water a little longer, and any vegetal matter trapped will decompose, providing natural fertilizer for any spores, seeds or shoots swept into the wadi during the last flood. This makes the dam damn near impregnable and a hazard for livestock and people as well. It’s dangerous enough out here without these impediments to hydrology.
So, they have to go.
Problem is, some of these have been building for years.
Javen thought it would be a fine time to test my word and see if I really could accomplish everything I claimed I could.
As the last of the shattered greasewood and sagebrush settled back to earth outside the wadi channel, Javen was convinced I wasn’t just talking a line of bullshit.
There was one small problem with this arrangement though. Every time I did a job for Javen, he insisted I come to dinner that evening. Talk about killing someone with kindness.
Ah, well. Just another of the occupational hazards for the active geologist.
My fieldwork was progressing along fine. I had measured a number of sections and was getting a real idea as to the stratigraphy, that is, the layering of the various formations, out here. I’d found some fairly nice fossils, mostly turtles, fish, and crocodilians, which I had plaster jacketed and left for later retrieval. No dinosaurs, though. Yet. I hoped. Where were they hiding?
I also located a paleo-logjam, which was the exact Late Cretaceous equivalent of the wadi dams I’ve been busting up for Javen. Except these were composed of Magnolia, Cypress, Araucarioxylon, ‘monkey puzzle’ trees, conifer and club-fern tree fossils.
Some of the tree trunks were three or four feet in diameter and twenty-five feet in length; all jumbled together in a jackstraw-like pile, cemented into a sandstone filled channel. I also found some tree stumps, in situ, meaning still in growth position, rooted into a Late Cretaceous paleosol or fossil soil horizon. Many of these stumps were 2-3 feet in diameter and were still capped off by thin, flaggy sandstones which were deposited after the tree had been sheared off, probably by an ancient local paleo-flood.
Some of these stumps had no sandstone caps. They were all rotted-out hollow before they were fossilized. I excavated the mud, now shale, out of the stump cavities, I discovered perfectly intact, articulated fossil skeletons of small lizards which were endemic to the region and called these stumps home some 75 million years ago. These discoveries were really going to make my thesis stand out from the rest of the crowd.
I had been back to town only once in the last few weeks as both my fuel situation and food were holding out fine. Thanks to working on a single location for a few days, not driving all over Hell’s 55K Acres, and Javen’s little job-dinner duets, I was stretching that grant money until it hummed in the wind.
One thing was a bit disconcerting though. Every time I stopped to do some geology, there would appear this local character on his horse. He stayed out about 250 or so yards away, but he’d just sit there, watching over me. It was weird. Out in the absolute middle of nowhere, I’d have to be careful in tending to lavatory duties. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t come any closer, and he’d just sit there and watch.
I felt like I should be able to charge admission at least.
Later, I decided I needed a bit of time off and headed into town for some re-supply, fuel, and maybe a Diablo Sandwich.
Damn, those things were good.
I had my mail forwarded to General Delivery here in Cuba, so I wouldn’t miss out all the offers to slipcover my driveway, install double-glazed windows, Empire Carpet’s latest deal, and other volumes of junk mail.
But today was a ‘red-letter day’. I actually received two real letters, amongst all that junk mail and those promotional circulars.
The first was from Dr. Nax Wickerson, the senior herpetologist at the museum where I was an assistant curator. It was exceptionally good news as it was an offer to earn some extra dough whilst I was out doing my fieldwork.
Dr. Nax asked me if I’d like to collect a representative assemblage of reptiles from out on the high desert. He’d pay for any supplies I would require; such as formalin to preserve the critters, specimen jars, hypos to inject them with preservative; along with anything I didn’t already have. He also supplied his phone number so I could call him and sort out any particulars.
The second was from my steady girlfriend back home, Esme, short for Esmerelda; who is a geologist in training herself, was attending her field camp out in West Texas. It was a letter of a personal nature, but suffice to say, there’s nothing like news from home.
I decided to call Dr. Nax immediately, so I went over to the Atomic Bar, so named because we were only 30 miles from Los Alamos Testing Grounds, where the first nukes were devised. Since it was right after lunch, I figured I could grab a cold one or six and have a chat with Dr. Nax about his plans.
After finding a perch on Mahogany Ridge, I asked Justin Spanner, the barkeep, whom I knew fairly well already if I could use the phone.
“It’s long-distance, but I’ll pay whatever you think is fair,” I told Justin.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Javen’s vouched for you. We’re OK.” He said and refilled my beer.
It’s a good thing to be on Javen’s good side.
I called Dr. Nax and he picked up immediately.
“Hello, Rock. How’s New Mexico?” he asked.
“Hot, dry, dusty and I’m loving every minute of it,” I replied.
“That’s splendid. Listen, I was hoping that while you’re there, you could do some collecting for us. I need a representative herpetofauna from the high desert biome, and since you’re already out there, I figured we could work something out.” Nax explains.
“I don’t see any problems with that. How are we going to do this?” I ask.
“Well, do you have a bank account out there?”
I reply in the affirmative.
“OK, here’s the deal. I’ll wire you some money for supplies. $250 should cover all you need. You can find everything you’ll require in Albuquerque. Then, I’ll hotshot some paperwork to you explaining what I need and how you should go about collecting, documenting and preserving the animals; plus the appropriate licenses. You remember how we did it in when you took my Herpetology classes? It’s just that easy.” Nax continued.
“No problems so far”, I said.
“I’ll pay you so much per specimen. Easy stuff like Cnemidophorus, aka Rainbow Lizards, and other lacertilians will be at one price level. Tougher stuff like Mexican Beaded Lizards, Gila Monsters, and snakes at another. Whatever else you find, I’ll pay for once you get them all back to the museum.” He continues.
“Just for an idea, what will a preserved Rainbow Lizard bring in?” I ask, always the mercenary.
“Those I can go $10 per animal. Get me a nice Western rattlesnake and I’ll go $50; Mexican Beaded Lizards I can do $75 each, but find me a Gila Monster and you’ll bank $150.” He said.
“Hell, yeah! Sign me up!” I exclaimed.
“Good, fine. I’ll send you all the paperwork you’ll need to bag, tag, collect and transport the critters. I’ll also send along a list of materials you’ll need for killing humanely and preserving them. You can lay your hands on some alcohol out there, can’t you?” Dr. Nax asks.
“Doc, I’m calling you from a tavern. Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” I reply.
“OK, then; figures. Sheesh, geologists. I’ll have the money sent today and the paperwork hot-shotted out to you there in Cuba. General Delivery, correct?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. To my name and care of General Delivery. I’ll scoot back to town in a couple of days to pick it all up.” I reply.
“Fine, fine. Now, be careful, don’t hurt the wee beasties. No shooting, mashing, or explosives. I need intact specimens. And watch them, they can be nasty little bastards when cornered.” Dr. Nax counsels me.
“No problem, Doc. I’ll watch out for them and me. Thanks.” I say.
With that, my geological expedition takes on an extra wrinkle; now I’m a lizard, snake, and Gila Monster wrangler as well.
The cosmic karma fairy has been kind today.
I thank Justin for the call and pay up my bar tab. Still hungry, I decide to wander over to the Cuba Café for a Diablo Sandwich after I feed my steed.
After gassing up at Devlin’s Shrill gas station, I stroll across the street to the Cuba Café and select an empty table.
“Oh, Hi Rock” Sindy casually says, as she brings me a menu.
“Hey, Sindy. How’s everything? Daughter doing OK?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. She’s fine.” She coolly replies, “What can get for you?”
“Diablo Sandwich and some of that tasty napalm you call Salsa Verde. Plus a tall, cold Porter.” I reply.
She disappears briefly but returns with my beer after a couple of minutes.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting the cold one, “Say, have you talked with Dr. Don at the Bureau down in Socorro yet?”
“Umm…no. Not yet. Been busy with work and stuff” she seemed surprisingly defensive.
“Oh. Just wondering.” I reply.
A few minutes later I’m tucking into my Diablo Sandwich and damn, it’s tasty. Not sure of its construction, but there’s loads of smoked meat, white sort of salty cheese, Queso Fresco I think. Some kind of pepper sauce, onions, peppers, and all grilled to melted perfection; with a side of warm homemade blue corn chips. And all the free tongue-tattooing Salsa Verde you can handle.
For $2.50, how can you go wrong?
I tried chatting up Sindy to see if there was a problem.
Sindy wasn’t in a chatting mood.
It dawns on me that I might be the problem; however unintentionally.
She didn’t even come back to see if I needed a top-up on my porter. Another waitress came by to drop off my next beer and the check.
Evidently, Sindy’s shift had ended and she left without so much as a “Fare Thee Well”.
I can figure out the most vexing stratistructural problems on Earth, but women? Go figure.
I decided to write a quick letter and post it out to Esme in Alpine, Texas. At least, Esme was someone with whom I shared vast common ground and history.
I drove back to the Gas Company pump station, stow my potables and groceries, and decide that a good dose of fieldwork would clear my mind. I grab my sidearm, Jacob’s staff and decide today was the day I’d conquer the grim Mt. Badass. I was going to measure that fucking section once and for all. I had tried a couple of times previous, but the heat, dust storm, or other high desert inconvenience prevented my success at this location.
Besides, I need to find where Dr. Nax’s critters call home as well.
I drive up to the forbidding foot of the grim Mt. Badass. It’s a discordant, disorganized pile of variegated sandstones, shales, and mudstones. Some units were bench formers and others were cliff formers through the ages of erosion. It’s going to take some technical climbing skills to conquer this outcrop.
I plait myself into my climbing harness, grab a dozen or so cleats, pitons, an ascender, rope, and carabiners to assault this site; as I always have my hammer. I photograph it from as many angles as possible and sit there, over a smoke, trying to decide if I should attempt a top-down or a bottoms-up attack.
If I do a top-down, I’d have to scale this beast, pound in some anchors and then measure it on the way down. But then, I’d have to climb back up to retrieve my climbing gear; then clamber back down.
OK, bottoms-up it is.
I look for likely drainages where I could begin my ascent.
I hear a horse whinny, and yep, sure as the sun shines bright on my old New Mexico home, my voyeuristic Native American buddy is watching over me.
Not in the mood for any shenanigans, I wave to him in the friendliest manner I know.
Not a bit of response. Utter silence, absolute immobility.
Oh, well. ‘That’s his problem’ I muse as I grab my Jacob’s staff, affix my Brunton Compass, make certain I have my field book, pencils, scales, and other geological necessities.
I start measuring at the very bottom and begin quantifying the stratigraphy up the side of this monolith, one Jacob’s staff length at a time.
I’m working along, making some good notes as to lithology, grain size, sedimentary structures, taking collated samples, and all the other necessary toil when I hear a horse whinny again. Only this time, it was very close.
I turn around and there’s my Indian friend, on his horse, right next to my truck.
Tʼáá Bííchʼį́įdii!”, I call to him; which is the traditional local greeting.
He looks daggers at me and dismounts.
Haʼíí baa naniná?”, ‘What’s up?’ I ask.
After all the time he’s been following me silently, the dam had evidently burst. He started in with a machine-gun fire cadence of the local lingo.
Aádzaaígíí doo bikʼiʼdiishtįįh da” I say. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”
This elicits another volley of incomprehensible verbiage.
Bilagáana bizaadísh dinitsʼaʼ?”, “Do you speak English?”
With his wild gesticulations, he makes it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want me here. In fact, he wants me gone. Now.
And no, apparently he doesn’t speak English.
I’m a bit peeved. After all the preliminaries, fucking around, and suiting up; I’m finally getting good data and I now have to, by Tribal Law, bugger off.
He obviously doesn’t want me near the grim Mt. Badass, so I must comply.
But I don’t have to be happy about it.
I stomp down the dusty outcrop, my climbing gear jingle-jangling a most melodious tune. I unlock the truck cap and toss my Jacob’s staff in the back, remove my climbing harness, and chuck all that kit in after it as well. I take off my field vest and wing that in there as well.
I turn to shut and lock the truck’s cap when my Indian compadre makes the most astonishing string of strangling noises.
He points wordlessly at my sidearm.
I walk to the cab, unlock it, and lock my gun in the glove box.
I return and show him I’m unarmed but entirely cheesed. I give him a nasty growling salute, turn on my heel, and plop down behind the steering wheel.
There was a semi-cool lager sitting on the box of cigars I keep in the cab. I was dry so I slurp those suds in one go. I look out the left-hand window to see Tonto, for the lack of a better moniker, watching me intently.
I crush the empty with one hand, toss it through the back window into the bed of the truck, fire up my 4WD steed and pull away slowly. I didn’t want him running out in front of me nor did I want to spook his horse.
The grim Mt. Badass will have to wait for another day.
It was getting dark by the time I wheeled back into the pump station compound, which was odd as it was only about 1630 in the afternoon.
I look to the west and see a collection of nasty looking cumulonimbus clouds hiking this way, using lightning as walking sticks. Time to batten down the hatches. It’s going to get windy, wet and wild here in a few minutes. Funny how the local weather so closely matched my current mood.
I parked the truck in front of my tent to act as a windbreak. The wind’s already picking up and it’s getting progressively darker.
This old canvas tent and I have been through a lot over the years. We’ve survived winter camping the wild Northwoods. Tornado-y weather on fishing trips to Upper Canadastan proper. Sandstorms and the like out in the Bridger Basin of Wyoming and late-season blizzards in Montana’s Big Sky country. I figure this ol’ girl will ride out an afternoon wash here in the high desert just fine.
My truck locked and secure, I plop down in my Captain’s chair and make certain everything is battened down. I don’t want to lose any notes, samples or papers when this thing hits; so just in case, my notebooks and collection of rocks go in the truck as quickly as possible.
As long as I’m farting around in the back of the truck, I liberate a fresh bottle of Four Noses bourbon and a cold six-pack of El Bob’s ‘Special’ Lager. Just the thing to set the mood for an impromptu display of nature’s fury.
I’m sitting in the tent vestibule, watching the storm approach. It’s startlingly magnificent. I pour a quick boilermaker and settle in with a fine cigar to watch the show. It’s amazing watching the storm approach; it’s like a reverse vacuum cleaner, blowing every loose item on the desert floor before it. Sagebrush are taking flight, desert dust is being Hoovered about in bulging boiling billows, and birds are either running or flying for their very lives.
I was enjoying my cigar, my drink, and my front-row seat for the show when the wind hits.
It went from dead calm to a gusty 60 or so miles per hour. It was like the base surge of an atomic blast. My tent inflated like a large canvas balloon. Luckily I had the forethought to untie the rear window or I’m certain I’d be doing the “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” right ascension into the darkening maw of the storm.
I had made certain the tent pegs were hammered in deep and true, given the assortment of hammers I had at my disposal, but I still concerned we might take flight. Then the driving torrents of rain hit. I shuttered the tent vestibule as quickly as I could without spilling my drink and retreated to the center of the tent. I had noticed my truck rocking on its springs from the force of the winds. If I hadn’t parked it out in front of the tent, well, I just don’t care to think about that right now.
I had everything as secured as one can secure a canvas domicile. It gave some groans along seams that had been repaired countless times. I hoped they’d be able to withstand yet another onslaught. The tent rocked, it bucked, it shuddered. One moment it was inflated to what seemed twice its normal size, the next minute it was as it if were being sucked whole into the maelstrom. I just hunkered down, lit a Coleman lamp, and concentrated on my drink and cigar.
It was a wild, raucous ride. Lightning was regularly bitch-smacking the rim of the cuestas some mile or so from the compound. I will have to take a look up there after the storm to see if there were any fulgurite formation. The rain came down in buckets. Like I was told, it doesn’t rain much up here on the high desert, but when it does, it does so with a vengeance.
With the wind blasting, the rain bucketing, one more fun adjunct was added to the foray.
It began to hail.
And not your pleasant “Captain, we’re being hailed.” ice lumps; but big, jagged, ragged hand-sample sized chunks of potentially brainpan-bashing congealed water.
Driven by the force of the storm’s winds, they were formidable projectiles.
I had hoped my tent would withstand this latest indecency, being constructed of the finest marine canvas. However, it looks like I needed to hit the cosmic karma bank and repay the fairy for my recent reptilian generosity.
A high-velocity ice cube punched through the roof of my tent and nearly spilled my drink.
“Of course you realize, this means war!” I shouted at the grumbling clouds, shaking my fist in defiance.
I grabbed my climbing helmet as I figured if these things could punch through stout canvas, my dome would fare somewhat similarly if hit. I threw on my field vest as it would be the next best thing to body armor. Unfortunately, my field boots were in the back of the truck, airing out. I doubt the fuzzy-bunny field slippers I was now wearing would provide much in the line of podiatric protection.
I had no choice but to concentrate on not being pummeled, not spilling my drink nor dropping my lit cigar; there was exactly nothing else I could do. Until the weather got over its thundery tantrum, I just had to sit tight and hold on, while hoping for the best.
The storm finally spent itself and decided to move on. It was still a bit windy and incredibly wet outside my tent, but it still stood.
Holier than any ripe cheese from the Southern Alps.
It wasn’t ripped to tatters, but it looks like it had been used for mortar practice. I lost count at 30 holes. I just opened the truck cap, sat on the tailgate, nursed my drink and cigar while I wondered what the hell I do now…
Long John was the first one over to offer commiseration.
“Damn, pal. Looks like your tent’s been used for target practice.” John observed.
“Thanks for the critique. I was wondering what happened. Want a beer while I sit here and feel miserable?” I asked.
John replies in the affirmative and tells me to skootch over so he can sit and watch me be miserable.
Eventually, Jerry, Derek, Ace, and Chance all come over and help themselves to my cooler’s content and offer advice.
“Gonna need a new tent.” Ace notes.
“No shit.” Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Can’t afford a new one right now.
“Did you bring a spare?” Derek asks.
Yeah, I did. But it’s a survival tent and about the size of an Army-issue pup tent. For survival situations, maybe. For a field season? No way, Josḗ.
Jerry finally has some decent advice: “I’ve got to go to Albuquerque in a day or two and I know some cobblers there. They’re used to dealing with tough fabrics and I think they could patch your tent. It won’t be pretty, but I could do that if you want.”
I tell Jerry that I appreciate the offer and realize I have no choice.
“Guess I’ll be sleeping in the back of my truck for a week or so.” I lament.
Danny speaks up: “We have a spare room, Rock. You’re more than welcome to bunk there for a while.”
Jerry, Ace and Long John all look at me with the “NO! Don’t! Danger!” looks on their faces.
“Won’t I be a bother?” I asked Danny, trying to think of a way I can courteously refuse.
“Well, if you like, you can spare a donation to offset any trouble you think you might cause.” Danny angelically smiles.
I was a bit off my game at the time, having sustained a cruel blow to my field plans and now bankbook and thought “How bad can it be?”
“Sure, Danny. I’d like that.” I replied.
The multiple facepalms could be heard for miles.
I secure the material from inside the tent in the back of my truck. I grab my thickest sleeping bag as Danny has offered me a room, and that’s exactly what it was. An empty room. But it had a roof, walls and didn’t whistle when the wind blew. I dragged in some of my field notebooks and my folding table and chair, so I could at least get some work done while my tent was being mended.
Continued in Part B
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