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'90 Day Fiancé: Before the 90 Days': A Cringeworthy Cry for Help (RECAP) From Geoffrey's reaction to women fighting over him to David's advances with Lana, this episode specializes in cringe. Bar ... Michael explains that they might need to have a child "the other way," and while that is not a plug for the Season 2 return for 90 Day Fiancé: The Other Way, it is how tonight's Tell All Part 2 ... The 90 Day Fiancé star has revealed that Georgi is still married. The Silva Twins, 46, and their endless relationship troubles have intensified over the course of their ongoing Darcey & Stacey season. While Stacey was seen rushing into a wedding with fiancé of five years Florian Sukaj amidst his cheating rumors, Darcey was jumping into a new romance with a newer European younger man. You can find updates on the Season 2 cast, weekly spoilers, couples predictions and more 90 Day Fiancé coverage here. READ NEXT: 90 Day Fiancé: The Other Way Couples Still Together Today Predictions Enjoying married life! Brett Otto and Daya De Arce are still going strong after being introduced to the world during season 2 of 90 Day Fiancé.The Washington resident fell in love with the ... Often they’ve met in person as opposed to online; generally their age and, uh, visual dynamics are not so disparate; and with a 100 percent incident rate thus far in my 90 Day Fiance documenting, the otherwise responsible older woman has been dicknotized into believing that this 20-year-old man is somehow the only mature and ready-to-settle ... Fans watched as Brittany left a Chicago courthouse frustrated her divorce was still pending on the mid-season premiere of 90 Day Fiance: The Other Way. Well, it turns out there is a whole lot more ... Larissa Lima calls TLC ‘old fashioned,’ makes more in a month now than in a year on 90 Day Fiance - 17th October 2020 Angela Deem and her daughter Skyla join Pillow Talk, 90 Day Fiance fans ... Are You Still Going to Love it in Five Years? A 90 Day Fiance recap! MAI CUHREER. Close. 412. Posted by. One direction is right, that’s why I think 4 ways. 2 months ago. Are You Still Going to Love it in Five Years? A 90 Day Fiance recap! ...

2019.12.02 19:48 fractalfay Are You Still Going to Love it in Five Years? A 90 Day Fiance recap!

It’s morning in Ukraine, and Natalie believes that if she calls Mike “love” enough times she will get pregnant. She presents Mike with an unfairly small cup of coffee, before reminding him she wants a child. So much for foreplay. She points out that since she’s 35, her age is a factor, but Mike won’t let logic interfere with his relationship. Mike says he wants to wait until she’s settled in America, so the birth can take place on his pappy’s land and come with crippling financial debt. Natalie again tries to steer Mike towards the reality that in four years, doctors will begin aggressively talking her out of procreation. Instead, Mike says he doesn’t want to hear about his child on Skype.
“What is this about child on Skype?” Sasha asks. “I have idea…”
Later Natalie takes Mike to meet her friend Svetlana, who is eager to learn more about Mike so she can trust him and their relationship. Svetlana asks Mike if he knows that Natalie’s heart was broken, and we learn that Natalie was with her ex for eight years, and she left him because they never had any kids and he didn’t seem interested. Natalie tears up a bit at the mention of her former flame, and Mike is surprised by how strongly Natalie reacts, since it was two years ago and obviously all people are the same. Then he says something about filling up her empty holes, and Svetlana calls him a doctor.
“You are very open, and I believe you,” Svetlana says, which is a plot twist by 90DF standards.
With the issue of Mike’s sincerity settled, Svetlana needs to ask him about religion. Mike decides not to tell Natalie she’s about to relocate to America’s Atheist Belt, and instead seizes the opportunity to discuss the spiritual philosophies explored by sci-fi authors.
“I don’t believe in God, exactly,” Mike begins. “But I do believe that our harvested essence was stuffed into a volcano, before it was ejaculated around the world for alien amusement. We have a lot of volcanoes in the PacNW. Have you ever read Dianetics?”
With pamphlets traded, the next morning Natalie is ready to take Mike out for a run. Mike says he’s not a runner, but he’s going to try — also a 90DF plot twist. Natalie is displaying some grumpitude, and Mike suspects it’s because he invokes her ex in conversation, not because he’s denying her womb the bounty of his giant seed. Mike tries to joke throughout the run, but Natalie is, in her words, a total bitch. She says that her ex was her past, and Mike is her future, and she’s going to burn his entire Washington town to the ground if he doesn’t sew her fields already.
Tania: Have you tried holding him by the scruff of his neck in the car? That’s a great way to display dominance.
Over in the land of mope and honey, Mursel is making a honeycomb shelf that Anna calls an altar, while Anna dips little bottles into her cauldron so she can rubble bubble this toil and trouble. If she’s using this show as free advertising for her honey business, that’s easier to support than this yuck relationship. When Mursel is done, he insists Anna drop her potions mid-spell to look at his achievement, so he can get back to belittling her beekeeping in broken English.
After she gives Mursel a gold star, Anna whips out her phone to text-ask him the same question she’s presented since he walked off the plane: Do you have any concerns about the upcoming wedding?
“Most people feel fully at ease when marrying someone they can’t talk to, with children I can’t talk about (to anyone),” Mursel doesn’t say at all.
Anna thinks he’s using their inability to communicate as an excuse for not talking. This is the Keanu Reeves “whoa” this show has been waiting for.
Mursel decides to jump conversation tracks, because he has no fucking idea what they’re talking about. “They are very spoiled children,” he reads off his cell phone. Spoken like a true short-term stepdad. Anna asks if he wants to talk to Gino and Joey, and he says no, as its interferes with his plan to pretend they are invisible. They pass phones back and forth, and it’s like fighting with puppets, but less entertaining.
Anna lies and says she’s not sure if she wants to get married, because he never listens to her, and listening is clearly what brought them together. He laughs and says yes, because he thinks she just asked him if banana fudge ice cream would be nicely paired with honey in a waffle cone.
Later on, Anna tries on wedding dresses, as one does when they’re uncertain whether or not the marriage is going to actually happen. “Maybe I’m making a bad decision,” she says between tears and selection of veils to match her gown options. “But it’s not like it affects my children or anything. No, he’s definitely my soul mate. How can there bee any doubt? See what I did there?”
Speaking of couples that don’t speak the same language and are better suited for Love After Lockup, here’s Anny and Robert. As Bryson uses Anny’s body as a jungle gym, she comments that Bryson always hugs her, but Robert doesn’t. He responds by scrolling through pictures of his ex-girlfriends on his phone, while looking like a retired cab driver who runs a titty mag and Mountain Dew news stand. For a second it seems Anny is dealing with all this by sitting on the couch with a bong, but instead she’s drinking water out of a champagne flute, while scrolling through her own phone hunting for her next state-side boyfriend. I have more banter with my fellow passengers in the pharmacy line than these two have with each other, which is surprising considering their romantic eight hours of courtship.
They decide to plague a gym until a trainer locks himself in the bathroom to cry and inoculate himself. The boxing trainer’s name is Miguel, and…hello, Miguel. You can stay. Can you banish Robert and Anny though? Between half-assed boxing punches, Robert explains for the 60th time that he doesn’t get why Anny can’t see how important it is for his children to one day have the ability to pore over extinct social media accounts to isolate that one time their mom was hanging out with this dude they barely know. Anny thinks this is bullshit, since his kids aren’t even in the pictures, unless you count their hideout inside their mothers.
Anny tells Miguel she wants to drop the belly weight before they get married in a sausage dress and Robert’s fanciest white tee and track pants. Robert responds by pretending to punch her with a boxing glove, because nothing says intimacy like pantomimed domestic violence. Fuck you Robert.
Miguel asks the producers if he can talk to someone after the show about his compensation, and the producers insist that he give an opinion about this couple first.
Miguel: I’m not a marriage counselor.
90DF Producers: You are now.
Miguel: Can’t you just drop me in the middle of the Pacific Ocean instead?
Later on Robert heads out to meet up with his Porn-In-Law, to discuss her gynecological interrogation of Anny. After she arrives with husband in tote (ha) Robert says that the birth control question was out of line. PIL says she doesn’t feel bad asking about it.
“Someone has to make sure Bryson is taken care of. We have a complete stranger that moves in from a whole different country. Not sure how this impacts my every-other-weekend visit arrangement, but how do I look on camera right now?”
Husband PIL points out how this relationship benefits Robert, and the way he talks about the relationships is like “a mail order bride so you can have someone to take care of Bryson.” That distant boom is the sound of a truth cannon being fired. Robert doesn’t hear a thing, but before he can pew-pew his capgun of bullshit, PIL pulls all the pins in her vest of grenades with a request to be invited to the wedding. Robert says she’s going to need to talk it out with Anny first and make amends, because you’ve got to work for that free advertising, honey.
“Did someone say honey? I have a number of new flavors available and on display at my home location, and online!” Anna declares. “You can even sniff my candles.”
Over in Richpersonland, Juliana and Midlife Michael are going out for a spin in one of Michael’s rap video props, and son Max gives him shit because he’s the hero we need. He asks if they can play video games, go to the bathroom, and breathe while Michael is gone, and if this is code for rooting through Juliana’s stuff and trying on her clothes, I’m ready for the pictures, Max.
“She knows how to drive,” Michael reflects. “And knows how to drive stick, which is an amazing quality in a woman.”
“For fuck’s sake, dad,” CeCe interjects.
They go furniture shopping at Lillian August, which has agreed to mark up their couches 50% in advance of this staged scene. As they wander the store, Juliana spots something under glass on a coffee table.
“Do you know what a sea sponge is?” Michael asks, reminding everyone what he truly values about this relationship.
“I watch Bob Sponge,” Juliana replies, reminding us she’s down for playing this part.
A sales person reads the line on the card 90DF producers are holding up: “Do either of you have expensive tastes?”
Michael: Well, my thrifty and budget-conscious sports car is just outside.
Juliana: My shame-car is parked in Brazil, where my sister uses it as a cab.
Salesperson: Well, here’s a $14,000 couch that looks like a fountain pen exploded on the cushions.
Juliana: I love how it looks like an ink blot farted.
Salesperson: Now the question you’ll want to ask is if you’re still going to love this in five years.
Michael: Just like I wonder if she’s still going to love me in five years.
Salesperson: Thank you for dragging me into your unsettling low self-esteem.
Miguel: Furniture seller? Can you let me out of this gym?
Salesperson: Can you let me in?
Michael and Juliana reveal that they haven’t really talked about shared finances, but they both agree that Michael will hold her every purchase over her head indefinitely while insisting that the matter is done. Juliana says she bought that car because she wasn’t sure whether or not she’d ever come to America, and was pulling as much money out of Michael as possible before he ditched her for someone who could snag a k-1. Michael sees this as a sign she didn’t think their relationship would make it. No one mentions how much this effing car cost, exactly, or gets specific about how much of a financial bonus that is for an utterly impoverish Brazilian family.
Later on they’re getting ready to check out dad’s lavish new digs, and Max admits all the changes are coming at them really fast, and he’s sort of bummed to not be able to ride shotgun anymore. Juliana says that her house in Brazil is made out of cement, and that a single room in the house is as large as her old home and my current apartment. She also explains that she’s careful about what she shares with her family back home, because she doesn’t want to go all Charlie and the Chocolate Factory around them when they’re still boiling laundry for a living. He opens up the house, and I can’t be the only one immediately imagining plants in front of every available window.
CeCe is hypnotized by the walk in closet. “It’s a wormhole!” She declares.
“Are we talking about space?” Mike interjects. “Hey, do you kids know who sunk L. Ron’s ship in the midst of the Great Occult War?”
In Mother Russia the 90DF camera crew takes mercy on us, and continues their campaign to showcase kittens from around the world. The other little guy on camera is David, and we get to watch him get gingerbread manned into a big poofy jacket, before wheeling around the refrigerator of Moscow in a stroller. As the months tick by the K-1 is approved, but Sasha didn’t apply for Little David’s passport, so they have another something to wait for. Emily explains that Sasha is “at work” from 5:30AM to 11pm, which is totally different from he way he was at work with his other two wives, those thoughtless harpies trying to keep him from being a great father.
Later on Dav is sitting in a bouncy chair having a nice stare with the perfect stranger he calls dad, when Emily interrupts to ask if father-of-the-year could put down the fucking iPad and engage with his child.
“No,” Sasha says.
“Yes!” Mursel is in for the high-five.
Emily wants to go for a walk, and so Sasha drags his carcass outside to scuff his shoes and say okay I’ll be a dad, I guess. She tells him that she expect him to actively help with the child.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well, legally speaking, not really, you fucking goon,” she doesn’t say. Instead, she tells the producers, “He should be happy to spend time with our baby. I mean, he abandoned the other two. He has the time.”
“My ex-wives also expected me to parent, which is total bullshit,” Sasha explains. “So I should find a fourth woman to impregnate and abandon before responsibility catches up with me.”
Over in Thoughtless, California, Blake is taking a break from his mother’s basement to play with a toy Jasmine brought him from Finland. Jasmine is dealing with jet lag and expresses a desire to have a mellow day. Blake responds to this concise articulation of need by inviting a gaggle of friends to drink around the pool of their hotel, proudly carrying on the 90DF tradition of totally ignoring what your partner says in favor of what you want.
“Can we eat something?” She asks, as they awkwardly occupy a pool-side table.
“You’re always hungry. My mom did not say I had to feed you three times a day AND take you for a walk.”
“I am an actual person,” Jasmine asserts, realizing he hasn’t noticed this.
Friend Rita bombs her with questions right out of the gate, and thinks if she tells the cameras she doesn’t want to do what she just did, she’s 20% less douchebag. We learn that Jasmine is from Helsinki, before the waitress appears and Blake declares his intention to kick things off with booze. Jasmine protests, because she doesn’t drink, but Blake is not about to let the woman who has been there for less than 24 hours cramp his style. Jasmine thinks he should know that she doesn’t want to meet ten of his closest friends all at once, but that would involve awareness of other people, and that’s an activity Blake leaves to his mom.
Blake explains to his friends that she’s more of a tea drinker, which turns his whole friend circle into Cobra Kai.
“That’s cause you’re always COLD,” Rita barks. “Wait till you experience the heat of LA.”
“Yeah!” Says some other rando. “Your karate is shit. Your sensei is shit!”
“No mercy! Sweep the leg!”
This is so boring that Jasmine is about to race away on a bike and throw it in the trash, before seeking the comforts of sculpting tiny trees with an elderly man. Her dreams for the day did not include monitoring the behavior of her progressively more-drunk boyfriend. So she says that she wants to go lie down for awhile, to think about how she’s got ten people around her, and none of them is the sister who immediately bounced to New York. Meanwhile, the friends are asking Blake the hard questions.
“How is she going to adjust to your demanding life of day-drinking and talking about your mix tape on TikTok?”
“I don’t know. It’s like, what did you guys come out for?” Blake wonders. “I really wanted her to do the thing she openly stated she didn’t want to do, and then become excited about the thing I wanted to do when she was exhausted.”
Later on Blake takes her out to dinner, hoping she’ll participate in the number 1 introvert activity: apologizing for being yourself. Jasmine shuts this down by saying she doesn’t like to eat and talk at the same time, if the eating and the talking is with Blake.
Blake: Fine I’ll just not talk.
Jasmine: Okay.
Blake: I’ll just look around in silence.
Jasmine: Okay.
Blake: I bet you talk first.
Jasmine: …
Blake: This doesn’t count, this talking. Did you say my name?
This is the introvert flying crane to the extrovert dome, and as Blake reels over his loss of a trophy and regional shame, the world knows that Recluse Clan ain’t nothing to fuck with.
Over in the sixth circle of Syngin’s hell, Tania is holding her hostage in place by the neck, while demonstrating one-handed driving without a seatbelt, and wearing active wear for sedentary activity. They’re going to meet Tania’s family, who have a lot of explaining to do. Syngin describes them as a “strong female group” so he doesn’t have to suss out the plural of praying mantis.
Tania: Did you just say female? What, were you in the fucking army or something? I am a goddess of earth, a strong, empowered self-identified woman.
Syngin: Mantuses? Manti?
Syngin is also intimidated by the prospect of being the only white guy, but since I saw a white lady hovering around in the background, he’s not the only cracker in the bed, so he can chill the fuck out.
Grandmother Tania does not fuck around, and she’s got the menacing matriarch vibe that I thoroughly appreciate, because those bitches always clean up on scratch lottery. She also speaks kinda like Pauline Walnuts, which is what I’ve always wanted in a grandparent.
Grandma Tania: He is family now. So we will welcome him. But if he betrays one of the heads of the five families, I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.
Syngin is forced to hold a baby under supervision, and manages to resist spiking it like a football or holding it three feet from his body like an 80s sitcom dad. Tania says this melted her heart, and by that she means lubricated her most persistent demand.
“I’m 29 and literally have a clock inside of me,” She insists. “At 30 half my eggs disappear.”
“Did you read that in a book?” Syngin asks. Did you see any books in that shed, Syngin?
Like anyone serious about marriage, Tania announces she’s going to be absent for 30 days of this 90 day experiment. She declares that she wants to study herbalism with native people to become the “community witch doctor.” Translation: she’s going to Costa Rica to trip balls on ayahuasca with other Trustafarians, before returning to regional festivals where she’ll blather on about harmonic frequency and synchronicity.
“I had to put it off before, because I was busy doing volunteer work. What, am I supposed to let someone else scream incoherent slogans into a megaphone? Then I was briefly inconvenienced by employment, and I can’t possibly wait another sixty days to add another expensive confusing line item to the resume I’ll never use.”
“You just want me to build this shed by myself, right?” Syngin is on to something.
Before we go any further, we must harken back to the days of yore, when Tania’s ladies in waiting were fucking up the airport, while expressing to the cameras how “serious and focused” Tania is in real life, unlike the silly South African with his mush-mash of goals like becoming a firefighter and bar tending. This doesn’t display nearly the focus of moving into your mom’s house, kicking off a k-1, and fleeing the country to trip balls in the jungle, before returning to a strenuous life of making a child with no source of income.
“WHAT?” Grandma cries, speaking for all of us.
“He wants me to go,” Tania insists.
“At first I didn’t,” Syngin corrects. “At first.”
Next week, ICE decides that Syngin can stay but Tania has to go, and Angela returns to repeatedly threaten to break up with Michael from the comforts of her Cotton Patch setting. Sarah asks whether Juliana and Michael will have a prenup, and Sasha freaks out about leaving Russia and the parents who take care of his children. Blake’s parents insist Jasmine and Blake can’t have a 90 day slumber party, and Anna’s kids assert they don’t want her to marry Mursel, while Mursel holds his phone in his hand in confusion.
THANK YOU PATREON SUPPORTERS! If you’d like to surrender your shed construction dollars to my shed, follow the links in my bio.
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2019.06.22 04:48 firearmsconcierge2 Chair porn gynecological

This week has been a strange week. I delivered an order to a friend and his wife and they love their new purchases, a Tiffany Blue LCP and a Glock 43X. I'm banging away on my laptop at the gun show this weekend waiting for something to happen and I get an email from a guy over on the west coast.
He's asking me to tear down a rifle for parts and he'll pay $2500. I tell him get me exact part numbers and I'll see what I can do on monday when I run down parts at vendors and see what I can do. He's very pleasant and wishes me a happy fathers day even though I can't even get to second base.
I unwrap a number 9 from Jersey Mikes, swimming in oil and vinegar on rosemary parm bread. The smell is heavenly. The bacon is crispy. The roast beef is oh so tender and slow roasted. Speaking of slow...
My show is slow, I sell a Glock 43 to someone and when he finds out we have a waiting period he walks away. Waiting periods are dumb. I sell a stripped lower at the show and that's it. Another waste of a weekend that cost me $290 in tables, gas, hotel and Jersey mikes sandwiches. At least the hampton inn has a decent breakfast spread.
I recover from the show and get cracking right away, 5 vendors have low stock on the item and if I order before noon I can get it on the truck for today. I call back the customer and tell him what the timeline is and just as he gives me the go ahead and wires me some money, the Fedex guy rolls in. I triage my packages and inside there's the EXACT RIFLE I NEED TO TEAR DOWN. It's a transfer for one of my semi regulars who flies for B6. I call him and ask him when he's gonna be back and he is en route to the airport for a 3 day trip.
I ask him if I can sell this and just backfill him with a gun from the warehouse since I need this one now and his stuff will be here in a day or so. He says go ahead.
I double check all my emails and part numbers and email the customer a picture of the rifle he wants me to tear down and call him up.
FC: Yo Chaz, I got a surprise for you
C: What up G?
FC: Check your email.
C: Yeah that's exactly what I want. Turn it into parts. How long to get it in?
FC: It's here.
C: What do you mean its here? You said you had to order it.
FC: It's here, in front of me right now. It's for another customer but he's not in town and won't be back for 3 days so he says I can take this one and fill him later. This is what you want right?
C: DUDE! YOU ARE KILLING IT! Yes! I want this! Money sent! Can you get that out today?
FC: This one has to go to the gunsmith, no promises. Send money and address and I'll get it done.
(he sends money and shipping address)
I get the rifle boxed up and over to my gunsmith across town. Gunsmith is on vacation. FUCK. I head over to a buddy's machine shop that's set up to deconstruct things like rifles. He's out of town. FUCK.
I head back, grab some tools from home and attack it on my own. I don't lose any parts or break anything and I send pics and tell the guy his stuff is ready to go.
FC: Everything is ready to roll
C: You work fast!
FC: You pay me fast, I work fast. That's how I roll. But what do you want me to do with the serialized receiver?
C: Keep it. I don't need it.
FC: Done.
C: When's it going out?
FC: 15 minutes - that work for you?
C: As long as I can have it by the weekend!
FC: You will. It'll get there before then.
C: Solid!
I head to the post office after crating his barrel up in bubble wrap and getting all his parts wrapped up in ziploc freezer bags. $2600 in insurance and a priority mail box will get his stuff there in 2 days for $40. Life is good.
I wonder what I'm doing with the serialized portion and I call a buddy of mine always looking for projects. He takes the lower from me sight unseen for the first number he threw out. I throw it in a fedex box and bill his company's fedex account for it. I made $500 converting a perfectly good gun to parts. I need to do this more. I head to the gun club so I can shoot skeet but the weather isn't cooperating. A girl that is moving to the area messaged me on reddit and wants to meet up. We go to a local tex mex place for taco tuesday. We go dutch and as I go to pay I notice someone has dropped a $50 bill quad folded near the register. I pocket it and smile as I proceed to have the most awkward meal ever.
It was weird. Weirder is when she asked me what kind of car I drove and nailed it to the yeamake/model and she read back my VIN to me. That was rather impressive. She's also a low talker. I spent half the evening asking her to speak up. This is weird even by my (low) standards. No sandwiches today, because tacos are awesome.
I throw the $50 into my desk drawer and pass out on the couch reading a National Fire Admin report on the Charleston Sofa store fire.
Show day. I love show day, that is when we get a chance to do a show. My back is still killing me and I don't sleep well at all. I have a meeting at 10AM with my attorneys, I'm doing a will because I'm at that age where I need a will. Sam, my short jewish legal powerhouse tells me how it is and we protect my estate from creditors and I am very clear about how I want to die broke owing millions to the IRS. He says we'll do whatever we can within the law to make that happen. Sam is also very libertarian. I instruct him to put $25,000 in there for an ex girlfriend. He asks why $25k? I tell him it's not enough to change her life, but it is enough for the cops to consider her a person of interest.
He said that's a funny joke.
I said I'm not joking. Put the codicil in there. He will make it so.
I vest all my worldly interests to my brother, and in case he predeceases me - everything goes to my 2 year old nephew with my sister in law as the custodian until he turns 18. Just think little man, when you turn 18 - ALL THIS CAN BE YOURS!
Sam reminds me that with these numbers, I'm worth more dead than alive.
Fuck my life.
His hourly is about $350 so I leave before my bill racks up further. I head to lunch at the new BBQ joint next to the Fedex center. I have brisket and smoked turkey, it's very solid. I blink and it's 1330. Time to make the donuts. I head back to FC HQ and get to my desk and crank off some work. The Assistant US Attorney is putting up a fight and my name came up with the defense to work up a witty rejoinder to their claim. I call the defense counsel and pitch my abilities and analysis, rolling on the old Daubert charm. The second chair is impressed and has to call her client but she says she's going to need someone to crush the governments argument. I tell her that my reputation for destroying things is unprecedented, just ask my old fire chief, my ex, and any member of my family that attended the 2008 family reunion in Boston where my family had to call the cops on me. I return a bunch of calls and the next thing I know it's time to go home.
I pass out on the couch and wake up for the gang to make fun of me. I grill some steaks just before midnight and eat them. Charcoal is amazing. After I grill, I throw some salmon on to bake in my smokey joe with some lemon pepper seasoning with a pat of butter. Meal prep when done right is fantastic. My back is killing me and it's getting late. I take a tylenol PM and a swig of cran apple as I count sheep on the couch.
I wake up and start getting on some email. Remember this caller?
He goes off and asks me more questions and I tell him that I'm not going to sit here and answer all his questions so he can have someone else do the work as I would do it for free. I gently remind him that his first email was expecting me to give $1000 on a Remington R1 in trade and that he claims my price is $800 more than the competition (it's because there's $800 more in parts and labor involved) and that this sort of thing is not receptive.
Next thing I know he's getting mad at me and calling me hostile and unprofessional. Whatever. He claims that because I buy things and package them to resell, they are used and all my guns are used even though they're unfired.
The witty rejoinder: So if bass pro buys guns and sells them with the intent to resell, that's used?
Him: No that's different, they're an actual business
Me: and I'm not?
Ranting about how I'm a jerk and hostile ensues, and he gets mad at me for not explaining how to exploit the loophole so he can get his NFA stuff quicker and that I am a terrible 2A supporter because I have this knowledge and I'm not willing to share it.
It's 10 minutes past 9 in the morning, and he's already gone off the deep end. Fuck this day.
The rant then devolves to how he hopes I'm not an actual business because he would give a scathing review.
Hey buddy, if your "business" consists of trading in a Remington R1 double stack for $1000 in trade credit and demanding I sell things below my cost AND solve all your problems for you and offer solutions you're just going to take and buy parts from Brownells and Buds - FEEL FREE TO TAKE YOUR BUSINESS ELSEWHERE.
The phone rings, it's from a government number. Cindy, who is a customer of mine has had her guns stolen and needs serial numbers. She has NO IDEA WHAT YEAR SHE BOUGHT THEM FROM ME IN - and I tell her politely that I would need to run back through YEARS of 4473's to find anything. She sends over some pictures that are not legible at all and I tell her the PD is just going to have to work from the fact that it's another stolen Glock fotay problem solva. Cindy says don't sweat it and I tell her to let me know if she needs any help with anything else. Regrettably this loss is below her homeowners deductible.
I have some mail to drop off at the post office, a buddy of mine who is working a deployment in the sandbox had some stuff sent to me to be trans shipped since Amazon does not play nice with APO/FPO stuff. I send him a case of beef jerky, some USPSA workbooks and all sorts of other shit USPS media mail to Kuwait. As I'm checking out at the post office the clerk asks me if I got 365's in with the manual safety. His wife prefers manual safety guns. I tell him I got one left, he says he'll see me after he gets off shift.
Yes, I'm selling a postal worker a gun. No, I don't care. Yes, it's kinda funny.
He shows up and plops down 10 crisp 50's for his 365 and his background check LITERALLY TAKES FORTY FIVE MINUTES. I ask him if there's anything I should know about, and he tells me that in college he got busted working as a cocaine mule for Pablo Escobar.
HOWEVER - the charge was from an illegal search and the appellate court vacated the conviction! Yikes. Eventually I get the all clear and I send him off with his new gun. I debate swinging by Megan's new work with a Taza Seriously Dark 87% cocoa bar but I decide against it.
I drive half an hour in the pouring rain next to people driving 45 MPH on a 70MPH limited road in a pouring rainstorm. I count 18 cars driving with their hazards on. I get to a new fire department I am thinking about volunteering at for their meeting. They're doing S180/190 fire shelter deployments. I'm handed a pack and told to make an example of it, and my first try despite not having touched a wildland anything in years took me from mammal to world's largest baked potato in 20.5 seconds.
Not bad. I help pack up and they tell me to bring my certs and CPR card to the office and they'll get me some gear. Score. I drive home in the same torrential downpour, eat my salmon and go to sleep.
Uneventful morning, more of the same BS. I get a few emails letting me know that I am the man because USPS brought all the parts undamaged and the guy is happy as hell that everything got there okay and he's stoked. I'm happy he's happy. I have breakfast and return some calls. I run over to Fedex to drop off some parts and I pick up a spa gift certificate for my friend Ann's birthday. I'm having lunch at a gyro joint (a gyro is basically a greek taco, meat and veg covered in sauce - delicious!) and my phone rings as I'm midway into a falafel.
Remember the guy that went full sovereign citizen?
He calls me up and says that he's standing outside my door with a plan for his gun. I tell him that I'm in the middle of tzatziki time (patent pending) and I'll be there once I finish eating. He says no big deal, he'll catch me later. He's got some errands to do.
I swing by Ann's work and give her her present. She's stoked that I've done something nice for her. I told her it's the yeast I could do.
(Inside joke: Ann was on Facebook about 8 months ago asking for suggestions. Her OB/GYN retired and she needed a new doc. Me being the helpful friend that I am, I called my doctor customers who buy lots of guns and asked them who's the best in the box business - with much hilarity ensuing. My first doc said that he would be happy to talk to her on the phone and suggest a guy named Will Hayden, because apparently he gives the most comprehensive gynecological exams in the tri county area. I groan. He gives me a few names, I make a few more calls and have a list of 5 really good doc's that take women's health seriously. When I emailed Ann the list, she got very upset with me and was flat out horrified. The spa day should put me back in her good graces.)
Ann groans as she realizes my vaginal discharge joke. Speaking of discharge, I gotta hop. Buy potatoes.
Email goes off, it's from Tim one of my regulars. Tim drops $50k a year on guns and ammo with me and works at a large defense contractor nearby FC HQ. He's a super nice guy and easy to get along with. He's from Philly so we commiserate quite often about the eagles and the lack of a quality cheesesteak in the south.
Subject: 365
Message: Will - a young lady that works for me is interested in a P365. Do you have any in stock, and can i bring her over this afternoon to pick it up? She has her CCW, and this will be her first weapon. thank you, tim
Sensing a chance to be one with his philly cheesesteak loving sensibilities, I was reminded about an old article I wrote about how buying a gun should be like buying a cheesesteak at Pats - direct, simple, and a cash transaction with no muss and no fuss. For those non sandwich enthusiasts among us, the philly cheesesteak is one of the most magical experiences that one can revel in. My avarice for good food knows know bounds, as I have been known to fly to Philly just for lunch. My jam is a provo wit.
The proper cheesesteak starts with good bread, SPECIFICALLY a hoagie roll made famous by the Amoroso Baking company that uses philly water to bake their bread. It is a hard, tough, crusty bread that although now being produced in New Jersey (to my chagrin) is still the gold standard to which all cheesesteaks or attempts at cheesesteaks are made.
What makes the amoroso roll different is the texture and consistency of the bread and the crust, which is critical for proper cheesesteak construction.
In Philly, you get a cheesesteak a few ways, WIT onions (don't pronounce the H) or WIT-OUT onions (don't pronounce the H) and then you get a choice of cheese, which is WIZ (cheese wiz), PROVO (provolone) or AMERICAN (yellow or white, some places don't give choices) - don't be John Kerry and order one with swiss. You'll just get laughed at.
Mild american cheese is disgusting. Wiz is way too tangy and sharp and it's sad that you take perfectly good shaved ribeye at Pats and slather it in that sinful substance. For me, provo is the fantastic union of meat, cheese, flavor and meltyness - and worthy of note, some places do a sharp provo and a mild! The sharp provo over shaved ribeye is divine, and WITH onions makes me happier than a newly paroled convict that's been in for 18 years that just found out you can get porn on your phone now. Granted, my breath can strip the clearcoat off a buick after I'm done eating but that's just some collateral damage.
With the juicy shaved ribeye and onions applied to any other non amoroso product, like wonder bread or a roll you'd buy over at Weis Market or ACME - the bread just falls apart once it gets juiced up. The amoroso roll? Holds firm with the beef, onions and cheese and actually the drippings from the meat add just enough softness to the roll to make it supple enough to eat and crusty enough to still have an amazing consistency.
Amoroso's roll is above reproach in this regard, and the first bite piercing into the hard outer crust while meeting the supple inner sanctum that has been married to ribeye and onions fresh off the griddle intertwined with sharp provolone cheese is one of the things that truly makes America great.
Knowing he was from philly and an unrepentant cheesesteak aficionado such as myself - I had to evoke a pavlovian response.
FC: I have them available WIT-OUT (see what I did there?) the thumb safety. Just ran out of the ones WIT. I can fit it in for you. Just name the time. I just got some errands done and I can do anytime this afternoon.
Tim: we are in luck, she would rather have the ones WIT-OUT. We'll stop by in an hour.
FC: can do!
I grab a 365 off the shelf and check it for any deformities and sig QC is in the clear this time unlike previous times
I plow through some more paperwork and the phone rings, I made a few inquiries into my lawsuit I'm filing against a former employer. It turns out the city pays $109k a year for a a $2mil general liability policy and included in their coverage is adverse labor relations indemnity as well as errors and omissions, workers comp, etc.
Looks like I've got a new piniata to take out back and beat until money starts falling out or I get tired - you know, whichever comes first.
My door swings open and the 6'4" frame of Tim and his 5'6" stunning blonde walk in. She's super nice and we start talking guns and about how she needs eyes/ears/etc.
I happen to have some promo goods from Glock so I hand her a package of Glock brand earpro and eye pro on the house. We talk a little more about guns and how brands are different, etc.
My analogy to her is that every gun manufacturer has quirks and a way of doing things that may not match others.
For instance, I look at her and size her up - she's probably a size 4. A size 4 from Derek Lam isn't the same as one from Donna Karan, which isn't the same as from Michael Kors which isn't the same compared to Tory Burch. She's impressed at my firearm and sartorial expertise. I crank off a 4473 and get an approval back in about 5 minutes and she's super stoked she's just bought her first gun, got free swag and thinks I know a thing or two about ladies fashion.
That's the last stop of the day, I head to the mailbox and find out the local Ford dealer is giving out $20 gift cards to Longhorn for test drives. I head over and tell them I'm not interested in wasting their time - gimme gift card. They do so without making a fuss and I had my normal ribeye with bleu cheese crumbles for dinner courtesy of the Ford dealer. I head home and chillax. This is the first weekend I've had in almost a month with no gun show.
My back is still out, but things could be worse. I look on Kayak for how much it would cost me to head to Philly for the weekend to get cheesesteak. $114. I'm thinking about it. Or perhaps it's time to get to sleep.
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2016.05.06 20:40 star_boy2005 [Spicing things up]Suggestions regarding "furniture".

We're getting older and it's difficult for us both to get on our knees, yet oral sex is our favorite passtime. We're looking for something akin to a gynecological exam chair that we can take turns sitting in front of and be able to go down on the other without having to crane our necks, while the other's legs are held comfortably separated.
I've seen lots of pics in google searches but everything is either super expensive hospital grade equipment or it comes from China via alibaba or some such source, which I don't trust. I've also seen some suitably light weight gyno/bdsm chairs in some porn videos but, of course, they don't list their equipment sources.
Anyone have any experience with what I'm talking about? I can answer questions if I left anything out.
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2015.07.20 16:08 gloweeracsi Chair gynecological porn

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