2014.07.15 20:04 ReggaeSmooth Spy toilet xhamster
2020.11.25 04:41 memesb0y Spy toilet xhamster
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2020.11.20 05:59 DeltaC2G The Window
I think I’m ought to get something clear before I begin. I’m obsessed with weaponry, all sorts of survival strategies, binoculars, tactical flashlights, etc. I own a fat lot of such goods and the crown jewel of my collection is a Remington Model 700 (in Russia you can legally get one following five years of owning a smoothbore). I also own a pair of excellent scopes for this specimen exclusively. You could jump straight to conclusions that I’m some armed to teeth psycho, but I would rather just say I like the feeling of being ready for the worst in this worrisome time we live in. I think I’ve got that clear. Now for the story.
One winter I happened to rent an apartment in one of the north-eastern districts of Moscow. I had production needs, so I didn’t plan on staying there for too long, so I signed the contract for a total of just a month. My apartment was on the top floor of a twelve-story building. The view could’ve been called gorgeous, only if not for one thing. Facing my apartment, about two hundred meters away, stood tall another building just about same height, entirely obstructing everything I could see from my window. The apartment was fairly cheap, not even a TV. I also didn’t bother setting up an internet connection, as I would soon be moving out, so frankly speaking, there was little to entertain myself with. As luck would have it, the work quota also turned out to be less than expected, so my dreary evenings had to be intertwined with reading, and then, when the sun went down, I would take out my rifle and start playing peepers.
That one came to my mind on the third day of the mundane routine. I would adjust the sights, examine the street, roughly estimating the distance from an object to an object. At some point I accidentally turned my scope on a couple of windows...
and got a little carried away. I dragged my desk over to the window, installed my Remington on it, dispatched the bipod, and proceeded to study the denizens of the building through the gap in the curtains. I've been like that every evening since.
Of course you judge me and I wouldn’t offer any excuses. Imagine being at a gunpoint of a bored man with a sniper rifle, spying on your personal life, but once I've tried, I just couldn't stop. You see, the house was an assemblage of the most colorful characters you could ever imagine. And if the guy from the 6th floor organizing porn sessions every evening lost my interest fairly quickly, the intense daily workout of a karate-kid from the 9th floor and a young couple from the 7th became my instant favorites. The couple was a hot-blooded one by far: just in a couple of days the lovebirds flipped in every way I knew of and they sure as hell weren’t stopping there. Not my fault they didn’t have a clue on how to turn the lights off! There were drunkards with their ruthless debaucheries, family dramas and etc., so roughly speaking I had a streaming service stuffed in a sniper optics. But I digress.
One such day during my daily peeping session my scope happened to stumble upon a window on the 8th floor which I didn't really check out before. The room I was eyeing this time was anticlimactically rather dull. The only instance of light was from a gloomy light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Nevertheless. The bleak illumination was enough to spot a person sitting in what seemed to be a classic meditation pose on a bed. His commendable stillness was what piqued my eye, so I decided to examine him more thoroughly. The guy was facing a wall, his back respectively facing me. He was unusually slim even for a hardcore vegan and tall as a mule. He had no shirt neither any pants on, i.e. bare. I observed him for a good five minute period but the guy seemed focused on achieving nirvana so I turned my sights on the wall. The wall - as far as I could tell - was blank. No paintings or wall carpets. The wallpaper was a little ragged in places.
I scanned the room once again - nothing worth noting: a pair of wooden chairs, a pile of dusty newspapers on an even more dusty table, an old creaky armchair. I also noticed two strange vertical stripes on the shut. I left him and switched to watching my favorite karate-kid who was just starting his warm-up.
About 2 hours later when both the young fighting spirit and the restless couple were done with their routine, I checked on the yogi one last time. He was still sitting in his classical yoga pose and scrutinizing the blankness of the wall. I waited out 30 seconds, put away the rifle and went to sleep.
I would’ve probably forgotten about the whole thing, have I not stumbled upon the yogi’s window once again in a couple of days. Yet again, I saw nothing new - and that for some reason was starting to excessively irk me. To be honest, I have in all seriousness come to believe that everyone on the opposite was ought to entertain me in some way. Then there was this guy just staring at a wall. Though... maybe he wasn’t staring, he could rather be sleeping while sitting. Or maybe he was inanimate. I mean - like a doll. He sure as hell looked like one. Or maybe he could’ve kicked the bucket already: was sitting there - meditating - and took a one way trip to astral. That was rather intriguing. I spent a whole hour surveilling.
But he didn’t flinch a muscle. Of course - a doll. Slim as a twig, tall, head like a melon, arms down to the knees - there are no such people! Alright then what wass a doll doing alone in an empty apartment? Or rather a prop warehouse? Then where is everything? Why is nobody entering the room? Is the apartment abandoned? Then who turned the light on?
I looked into some adjacent windows. On the right - as far as I could estimate the floor layout - laid another apartment, there lived a family with two little kids. On the left - pitch darkness - the lights are off... I hoped to divert my thoughts, but neither the karate kid nor the couple were entertaining enough anymore.
Next day I came from work slightly earlier; the moment I set foot to my apartment I darted and clinged to the sight: sitting as always, that bastard, same position. Though, now he was staring a couple degrees to the left. Something has undoubtedly been going on. I spent the whole evening staring. Didn’t even bother going to the toilet - professionals have standards. I was still. My eyes on him. He was still. His eyes on the wall. He was breathing... Or so it seemed... My eyes were resenting... Eventually, their late-night cries were recognised, and so I spat on it all and pulled away from the curtains... Right before I was going to leave for work, I checked the scope once again - no changes.
And so a week of observing went behind my back. A couple seconds in the morning and a couple hours in the night. I noticed a pattern: his location always shifted just a bit. How and when, however, was still unbeknownst to me. One day I came back to find his blanket changed to a new one...
Now I was certain in introducing the fucker to a round-the-clock surveillance.
I had been fiddling the entire evening, but the result left me quite satisfied. My improvised home-made 24/7 surveillance system was comprised of my Remington on a bipod and a camera on a tripod; the lens was recording the feed from the ocular straight to my laptop hard drive. This time was sure not to miss a damn second. I pressed the REC button the next morning and went on with the day.
The first day I was met with a disappointing yet truthfully recorded 8 hours or the guy staring at his favourite wall, still like a deadman as always. I gathered the patience span to repeat the same procedure the next day.
The second time was a success. While watching the feed on the 02:17 P.M. mark the striped door started slowly budging to finally reveal a silhouette... of a woman? What caught my attention was not the woman, but the thing she was holding. A tray. Was the woman going to feed him? Was she who you’d call a nurse? On that note, the contents of the tray were borderline empty except for a strange vial and a small box of what seemed to be medicine. The woman modestly approached the yogi and put the tray next to him. For the following minute she stood there silently eyeing him. I thought they were communicating but on a closer look her lips were motionless. She proceeded to rub his arm and then leaned in. She must’ve made an injection, there was no way to tell for sure since the guy’s back was obstructing the view. Then, in a weird, even clumsy way she walked over to the window and pulled out a cigarette. She proceeded to smoke out the entire thing facing away from the window, she then picked the tray up and moved back in the same clumsy way before closing the door behind her. It seemed to be all there was to it. I glanced at the apartment window again: everything was in the same place as it was left on the last frame of the recording.
I rewatched the footage. It certainly had a strange sense to it. Eerie even... On the first look everything was explainable. A vegetable sitting on a bed - some kind of disorder maybe - a nurse comes in, makes an injection, smokes out a cigarette and leaves. I watched the recording again. And again. Having found nothing definitive, I checked the ward once again (sitting as always, bastard) and slipped under the bedsheet.
Over the next week, using my homemade surveillance system, I have made the following discoveries: 1) the tray lady arrives at the apartment in a 2-3 P.M. window, she makes an injection, smokes a cigarette and leaves. 2) nothing
Still I couldn’t shake the incessant feeling of something being off. Was I being overly obsessive? I shouldn’t have cared less. Even more I think I’ve found exactly what was so peculiar in the woman’s movement. I’ve seen her enter the room three times and not even once did she turn her back to her cripple...
I was barely completing my work. I spent the next few weeks observing, analysing. I pointed out another consistent pattern. The woman leaves his room twice a week only to come back with two bags about 40 minutes later. I followed her through the sights to find her entering a supermarket and then some local pharmacy, so I followed her route this time by foot. Unfortunately she seemed to always pick up the check and since asking the pharmacist would most likely raise suspicion and she was a regular I abandoned the thought of figuring out what she was drugging him with.
Every two days would the woman come in, use the syringe, smoke a cigarette and leave. Come in, smoke out and leave. Come, smoke, leave. She wouldn’t turn away even for a brief moment. I studied the room thoroughly. The ragged wallpaper. The stripes on the door. The stripped layers of door paint were carved by the same thing that left the wallpaper the way it was, there were no sharp objects in the room whatsoever though.
There was no firm base to make any assumptions, but my urge to explain the bizarreness had to be clenched. The Thing - that’s how I started referring to it - was genuinely creeping me out. I held it in my sights for hours. For days I’d been drilling it’s nape with my gaze, but it would just sit on the bed in that dark corner of an almost pitch black room. In the neighbouring apartment the little children were jogging and jumping on the couch, and behind the wall, practically metres away from them was sitting that monstrosity. I had to do something, no option seemed viable enough. Call the cops? What do I tell them? They’ll arrive at the doorstep, ring the bell, and who’s going to answer it? I didn’t want to put anyone in peril. I was crawling out of my skin and back in. I rummaged through the entire world wide web, but except amateur creepypasta stories there was nothing (though one had a remote correlation). I even tried to talk with the residents of the building, but they’d just shrug their shoulders.
It got me thinking pensively.
But thinking seemed to amount to nothing.
And then, I made the worst decision in my entire life.
A pair of my best knives, a non-lethal revolver, a mask, lock picks, a flashlight, petards for distraction and a smoke canister - it was settled. I shuffled all of that down my pockets trying my best not to look suspicious and not to wake my neighborhood up with the rumbling evoked by every step I took. I left my building and in a mild manner sat on a bench, steps from the entrance. If I would’ve been stopped for inspection by a local officer, I certainly would look like Neo. Sometimes I think that 2 days hours in a detention center would’ve been a much better prospect.
The funny thing was that I had little to no clue to what I was gonna be doing once I was in.
Nearly an hour had passed before I saw the woman exit and take her usual route. I had all the 30 minutes in the world. I stood up and nonchalantly approached the entrance.
It was not long until I was setting foot on the 8th floor. The door to the apartments block was left slightly ajar, a dim beam of light finding its way on the wall. A yellowish light illuminated the corridor as all kinds of derelict junk could be seen lined up against the wall. There were old boxes, a broken bike, a wheelchair... nothing salient.
I switched my attention back to the reason of me being here. Having estimated the door I was looking for to be in the end of the littered corridor, I held my breath and started cutting the distance, step by step. There it was. Apartment №41. A keyhole, a doorknob and an doorhole - bland, mediocre and barely remarkable. I stopped just a meter away. What am I doing here? What am I going to do? Frantic shivers bombarded my body. I was just drilling the door with my eyes, still like a deadman. My ears suddenly picked up a foreign sound. Something apart from my tense sobbing. I held my breath.
Through the door №41 a sound was nearing.
Before I knew it the sound subsided.
And a tense silence reigned.
The gears in my head, little by little, started spinning.
And then I realized.
At that moment the doorknob started spinning like a buzz saw, and someone leaned on the door with their whole weight, judging by a treacherous creaking spreading throughout the hallway, threatening to flatten me with the door flying right off it’s hinges.
Pardon me for language, but I shitted bricks. I worked my legs like there was no tomorrow. I flew throw the staircase like a fireball. Frankly I’ve had enough wit left not to sprint straight home, but to obfuscate the trail by making a little roundabout.
10 minutes later I was dashing through the apartment hallway, yanking the rifle off the wall and sticking it through the curtains.
I peeked though the scope.
And then my ice-cold blood turned into liquid nitrogen.
A set of razor-sharp claws scraping at the glass, a beast rather than a human stood at the window, and I swear if it wasn’t looking right into my eyes.
It was a split second, but the image is forever imprinted in the deepest corners of my mind. Illuminated by the moonlight stood a corpse slim as a rowan tree. Undulating bone outlines emerging through the thin, pale as paper skin. An abominable noseless visage on a blown out of proportion bald head. Two black buttons for eyes. A mouth. Lipless. We met gazes. I could feel this hollowness piercing me.
Even though paralyzed by fear, my instincts told my body what to do.
I recoiled from the window and leaped at the cupboard where the ammo box lied. It was too late to consider consequences.
In 10 seconds I had my Remington loaded. I jerked the bolt and aimed the barrel at the window.
Through the crosshairs of the rifle I could see but the curtains fluttering on the wind.
I left the apartment the same day. The owner didn’t bother inundating me with questions which I was more than grateful for. I focus back to work. A month passed by. Another. Sometimes it re-emerges in my mind. At last I understood why he was facing the wall - he was purposefully placed that way. For him to be unable to see anyone. What was it? I have no clue. It was a threat and I wouldn’t regret taking the shot again. Of that I’m sure.
Sometimes it appears in my nightmares. It’s scratching at my door and my rifle jams again and again.
It shouldn’t have seen me. Am I scared? I have guns. I can stand for myself. But I’d lie if I told you I’m not.
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2020.11.17 17:34 FrogJesus69 Spy toilet xhamster
Fuck = Intercorse and most people ENJOY intercourse, so why is stuff like "fuck off" an insult?
Aren't you just telling someone to engage in intercourse? If you told someone "ENGAGE IN INTERCOURSE" they likely would not take it as an insult, so therefore why is fuck an insult.
I know why: Vaccines.
Most people are Vaccinated, and we all know that:
Vaccines = Autism = Stupid = Virgin = Asexual which means that intercourse is not something you enjoy, therefore the insult "fuck off" is caused by Vaccines, and since nearly everyone has been vaccinated then the insult comes from there.
BUT Why is "shit" also an insult?
"shithead" i understand, but why do we say "shit" when we screw up? If you do something bad you do not immediatly go to the toilet.
The reason behind these anomalies is simple.
Vaccines = Government Spies = Russian Spies = Communism = Sharing = Caring = Raising a child = Having a child = Ejecting a large object from your body = Shit. Since Vaccines are obhiously bad then it should be fairly easy to see that since Vaccines = Feces then "shit" would become an insult.
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2020.11.17 01:32 jziegler1803 Xhamster spy toilet
Edit: I'm going through all the comments so be patient with me XD
Edit 2: 11/17 12:00pm I'm still responding to comments and taking pics for people so thanks for your patience
Edit 3: 11/17 5:30pmI’m still replying to people and packing up/shipping out orders so if I haven’t gotten to you I will! Again thanks for your patience I was not prepared for the response I got haha.
I wanna get rid of this chunk of my collection so help me out lol.
The red stickers mean I shrink wrapped it, if it does not have a red sticker that means it is in its original factory shrink wrap. SR = shrinkwrap incase I happen to abbreviate. All Box Sets are new in original Shrinkwrap except monster.
Most of these books are New & Unread because I also have the digital versions. They might have slight yellowing or wear & tear because I received them that way from the retailer.
I will split sets only if another person wants the other half of what's being split.
The only trades I'm accepting are for Fire Force, Priapus, Wandering Son and What Did You Eat Yesterday Vol. 9
Some of these are cross-posted so I will update as they are sold on all platforms. Prices include fees but do not include shipping unless stated otherwise. Shipping is based on Media Mail & final weight of your purchase. $75+ is shipped free, box sets are excluded.
Free Stufbucks code or $25 dollar blind box code to the first 3 people to spend $75. I Have 2 of stufbucks and 1 blind box code.
Sorry about the typos it’s a long list. It’s a lot of photos to take so as I finish taking photos or as people ask I’ll update the listing. Thanks!
pics of everything
07 Ghost Volume 1-5, 7-17 (G5) $104
5 Centimeters Per Second (G5) $10
7 Billion Needles Volume 1(G4) $12
7 Billion Needles Volume 1-4 (Complete) (G4-G5) $150
20th Century Boys Perfect Edition Volume 1-9 (G5) $110
A Brides Story Volume 1-12 (g5) $120
A Certain Scientific Railgun Volume 1-15 (G4-G5) $450
A Drifting Life (G4) $20
A Girl On The Shore (G5) $12
Absolute Boyfriend Volume 1-6 (G3-G4) $30 (Volume one has some weird stain from previous owner)
Again!! Volume 1-12 (Complete) (G5) $85
Ajin Demi-Human Volume 1-15 (G5) $120
Akashic Records of Bastard Magic Instructor Volume 1-6 (G4 remainder marks) $40
Alice & Zoroku Volume 1-5 (G4 remainder marks) $35
Alice in the Country of Bundle (G4) $130
2020.11.14 05:26 MarcusStarr Spy toilet xhamster
I used to get the sexy Hollywood types like Keanu Reeves, Brad Pitt and Kid Rock—you know, the long hair skinny types—but as I’ve gotten older and fatter (still got a head full of hair at least) my doppelgangers have gotten worse. They’ve downgraded, if you will. These days I’m lucky to get Gary Busey, Ozzy, or if the moon is in its correct orbital path—Christopher Walken.
Or sometimes, Dave.
I was the chef at a cozy little joint called Birdsong Bistro—best chili in Frisco if you ask me—and I played drums in a band called Rickie and the Renegades, making pretty good green. One night, me and some bandmates met up at a dive bar called The Arena, a real shithole. I don’t know why I like those kinda places, I just do. Maybe it’s the privacy—nobody gives a rat’s asshole about you at The Arena, plus they’ve got the best jukebox in town.
Things got weird fast.
I arrived first. The bar was lined with barstools, each one filled; a Coors Light sign was flashing on and off next to the 49ers mural behind the bar; other sports paraphernalia (mostly 49ers) hung haphazardly throughout the dimly lit bar. I spotted a vacant booth at the back.
“Brett! Good to see ya.” Kimmy the Bartender said. Kimmy was a fine bartender. One of the best. She was like a hummingbird. Always moving, talking fast, never stopping. A real piece of work. “Whatcha having tonight, Brett?”
“Beer and whiskey, Kimmy. Make it a double.”
I was about to strike up a conversation but she’d run off to another booth, so I removed my jacket (the one your mother bought for me) and looked around the bar; a group of factory workers, still in their work clothes, were sitting at the booth adjacent to mine, yelling obscenities and throwing peanuts and at the TV, something about the Warriors—one bounced and landed on my head, so I ate it. George Thorogood came on. "Wanna tell you a story, ‘bout the house rent blues.”
Yeah, I was diggin’ it. I was feeling better than I had in years. I was thinking about finally opening up my own restaurant. Be my own boss. Make your mother proud. Kimmy shot over with drinks, took my money, smiled, then flew off.
I was sipping on my Jack, drumming to the music, loosening up, feeling the room, watching paychecks being spent; Kimmy catches it all and is back before you can say Long Island Iced Tea.
I looked at my phone. Where the hell are they? These joints won’t smoke themselves. Or will they? I gave Kimmy the signal—you know, going out for a smoke. I stepped out of the booth, grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. An attractive Spanish woman was sitting at the booth by the door talking on her phone, staring straight at me. She looked terrified. So did the woman next to her. They watched in utter anguish as I passed them and left the bar, forgetting them instantly.
The parking lot was littered with stragglers lounging about; it was still early, the freaks come out at night. I reached for my phone—They’re late. I decided against texting them. No one likes a whiny texter. I sauntered behind the plaza and sparked up a joint, took a good long toke and got lost inside memories. I remembered the night you were born. I was on my way to a gig that night when your mother called me. I remembered the last time I saw you; how beautiful you looked, so small and fragile and safe—life was good then. I walked the long way around the building and finished a cigarette and then bought a fresh pack at the Circle K. When I stepped back into the Arena, Folsom Prison Blues was playing on the juke box—I hear the train a-comin—I spotted Erika talking up a storm with Kimmy by the bar and headed to the booth where Tyrone and Dave were having an argument.
“Damn, brother. Where you been?” Tyrone says to me. He’s pimped out in his brown Stetson hat, checkered suite jacket, white collared shirt with the top four buttons down, gold cross dangling around his muscled neck.
“Eat my ass, T.”
“Woah bro, that’s some fightin’ words you sayin’. You lucky you a drummer. And why’d you drag me to this old folk’s bar anyway? Ain’t no dancin’ or girlies here. Just a bunch of ugly-assed old folks. Um, no offence.”
His slippery smile boasted a perfect set of pearly white’s. Dave got up and left for a smoke without saying a word. Dave was tall and lanky with full beard and short brown hair. As Dave got up to leave Erika returned with drinks.
“That’s my girl,” Tyrone says.
Erika had blue hair, nice thighs and visible tattoos. She was just opening her mouth to speak when the door swung open and seven cops raced into the bar, guns drawn, heading straight toward me. The lead officer smashed my head against the table—BAM—and pointed his gun at my head.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!”
Immediately, I was handcuffed. I heard the cops screaming orders at me but everything sounded under water. I don’t know how many times my head was slammed against the table, but it was plenty. I remember saying something clever. Bad idea.
The next thing I know I’m being hauled outside, thrown against a cop car, searched very thoroughly, thrown into a cop car, and asked the same questions over and over until we reached the police station, where they took my mugshot and fingerprints before throwing my sorry ass in a holding cell. Fortunately, not for long.
Unbeknownst to me, Tyrone, Dave and Erika were answering their own questions and they smoothed things out in a hurry (apparently, the pretty Spanish Lady thought I was the asshole who mugged her the previous night) and I was back on the street two hours later with a heck of a story. Check that one off the bucket list.
* * *
Turns out, that incident was just the soundcheck, the pre-show, the opening act if you will; the Birdsong Bistro was forced to shut down in March and I was out of work. Just like that. Work disappeared. Gigs were cancelled. Bills unpaid. Let’s face it, the summer of 2020 was a nightmare, especially in Cali. My car was sold, my drums were pawned, my savings depleted, I considered putting my Glock into my mouth and pulling the trigger, that’s how bad things were. But then I received that wonderful call from Rickie; he found work in Palmetto, Florida. And just like that, I’m off to the Sunshine State.
Me, Tyrone, Dave and Erika hopped into Rickie’s Econoline van and hauled ass out of Frisco and drove straight to Palmetto, hardly ever stopping. Needless to say, I took to Florida like shit on shiny carpet.
I made dinner right away. Rickie claims the real reason he hired an old fart like me was for my cooking. We unpacked what little we had and headed to a club called Master Gator’s, our first gig. The place was sparsely packed, the radio was playing rockabilly and everybody was lit. At some point, I glanced up at one of the TVs above the bar and did a double take, spitting my beer all over Tyrone’s black button-up shirt.
“Hey, you asshole!”
I pointed. There I was on the TV. I read the subtitles: Armed Robbery Suspect Wanted Across State of Florida. The man on the screen could have easily passed for my twin brother. Except, I was better looking.
“That dude looks just like you,” Tyson said, matter-of-factly.
And just like that my face was gone, replaced by a vacuum commercial which apparently sucked. By the end of the first month the honeymoon was over; the promoter stiffed us (surprise, surprise) and your mother’s lawyer was threatening me again. Things were bad. I checked my bank account; I couldn’t buy my way into church. I thought about that guy on TV, my doppelganger, maybe he was my ticket. I bet I could walk into any bank in Florida wearing a mask and robbed them sonsofbitches and he would take the fall. I looked at my Glock—whatcha think Baby? You up for it?
I searched the internet until I found the guy; his name was Axel Roberts. I found a pic of him standing beside a blue Ford pickup truck, wearing a greasy tank top with white suspenders and shit-stained overalls—a real dirtbag. I could totally pass as this dude.
I went downtown to case a couple joints. Just in case. When I returned to the house later that afternoon Tyrone was shirtless, waiving pink panties over his head, beer bottles were scattered all over the floor and the fridge was left open and all my beer was gone. Something inside me snapped. That’s when I decided to rob the bank. Right away. Before I lost my nerve.
* * *
That night I dreamed of the old west. I was a cowboy—Billy the Kid—and I was being chased by angry men on furious horses. I kept riding. I rode and rode toward the flickering sun; my horse kicking up clouds of warm desert sand as I squinted to see ahead. The day was as hot a pig in a frying pan. Don’t tell your friends that one. They were gaining on me. A bullet struck my shoulder and I tell you, Kat, it hurt. Even in my dream, it hurt. Next thing I know, I’m eating dirt and bleeding everywhere. Standing over me, casting a tall shadow, was the Sheriff. The Sheriff's pointed badge glistened under the hot sun; the long-rounded barrel of his Winchester rifle fit nicely under my chin. He gazed at me with hard-blue eyes—cold as blue steel—and finally spoke, “Got any last words, Pardner?”
I tried to speak but my mouth was dry.
“Thanks alright, Son. Now yer gonna die.”
I watched as his long anxious finger twitched over the trigger.
His smile was long and sharp—CLICK.
* * *
I snapped open my eyes and screamed. A dream, I thought, relieved. I felt a warm patch on my crotch—Jeez, did I piss myself? I was coming unglued. I cleaned myself up, scarfed down a bowl of cereal, drank three cups of coffee and checked for any news on Axel Roberts and found nothing. My doppelganger had been quiet lately—too quiet. But that was about to change.
I wore a plain black tee-shirt, black cargo pants, black cloth mask and black shoes. Hell, I was the Man in fucking Black. I took the van and parked it two blocks south of Wells Fargo bank. I felt for my gun in my knapsack, making sure it was loaded. Just in case. I left the van doors unlocked. No worries. Who would be dumb enough to steal a van in broad daylight?
I found myself standing outside the bank, frozen with fear, trying to remind myself why I was here in the first place. This is it; last chance to turn back. My heart was beating like a bass drum at a hip-hop concert. I slowly opened the door and stepped inside.
The bank was long and straight and cluttered with bright blue signs announcing great deals on mortgages, interest rates and all that jazz. Hand sanitizer everywhere. I found the end of the line and waited, keeping social distance. The people ahead of me were either staring awkwardly at their phones or staring at their shoes, or both. Every one of them was wearing a mask. To me, they all looked like bank robbers. Nobody noticed me. I held tightly to my duffle bag, feeling the Glock pressed against my stomach, took a deep breath, waited. My left leg started vibrating profusely and my hands were shaking; I couldn’t stop them. I was starting to panic. I decided to abort. What the hell was I doing here? There’s no way I can stick up a bank. Not in Florida. Every. Person. In. This. Bank. Is. Packing. Heat.
Everyone was staring at me—They Knew.
I tried to gain control of myself.
I looked up.
“Ready to take the next customer.”
At that moment I wished I’d put more thought into this. I was petrified. I gathered my nerve—I can do this—and walked to the counter. The teller—a string bean looking man with sandy brown hair pulled back into a manbun and glasses that kept fogging up—was looking at me with little interest. His face twitched as he adjusted his face mask for the third time. Another teller walked past him counting cash then disappeared behind a blue door. When I tried to speak, nothing came out except gibberish.
“I beg your pardon?”
I took out my gun and pointed it at him. His eyes popped out of his head.
“Keep your mouth shut and do as I say.”
The teller stood there like a fool.
“Make one funny move and I’ll blow your brains through the roof. I want as much money as you can give me in sixty seconds. And it better be a lot.”
The teller looked as brave as the Cowardly Lion. I almost felt sorry for him.
“You got fifty seconds left. Go Now.”
He grabbed some envelopes and went for cash. I was certain he sounded the alarm. I was terrified. I thought of you, Kat. How wonderful it would be to have some money to spend on you. My hands steadied. The teller reappeared with four envelopes of cash. I grabbed them greedily. I tried to think of something clever to say but couldn’t, probably a good thing, right? I stuffed my Glock and the envelopes into my knapsack and headed for the exit. I was almost home free. Everyone in the bank was avoiding eye contact, social distancing, making this much easier than it ought to be. When I reached the exit, I felt a hand grab my shoulder—This is it—I turned around slowly, reaching for my gun, and saw an elderly man wearing a MEGA mask holding out an envelope.
“You dropped this, young feller.”
I reached for the envelope. It was wonderfully heavy.
His old eyes squinted, looked me up and down and he said “You know Son, you look a lot like my nephew David. He’s—”
I left. The sirens were getting louder so I picked up the pace, finally reaching the spot where the van should have been. I called an Uber.
\* \* \*
That night I was as nervous as a Spinal Tap drummer, but I still rocked three forty-five-minute sets and did a helluva job. Erika was blowing that ‘bone, Rickie dancing on tables, Tyrone locked in tight on bass and Dave tickling his black Strat. The trouble started during set break.
The Men’s restroom smelled like a dozen dirty dicks. I did a couple lines in the stall—I deserve this; halfway through my second bump I heard a couple men enter. They sounded tough.
“You sure he’s down here?” One guy says.
The other guy says, “Yup. Saw him come down here a minute ago.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Hey! You in there, Pal?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“C’mon Pal. We ain’t got all day.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I swung the stall open, chest out, making myself seem bigger than I really was.
“Yup. That’s the motherfucker.”
I had a second to register the two bikers standing in front of me: the short one was wearing a greasy blue bandana, crazy long beard and neck tattoos; the taller man, shaved head and lines chiselled into his hideously weathered face, was holding a long switchblade knife.
“I’m gonna carve you up good, you dirty motherfucker.”
He lunged at me, knife first—I fell backwards and cracked my head on the toilet seat. I saw stars. I started swinging my fists and feet like an idiot, toilet water splashing everywhere, when I heard the shorter man say, “Woah! Woah! Woah! That ain’t him!”
He looked almost as stupid and confused as I did.
“Jeez, Pal—I almost carved you up good.”
The taller guy reached out his hand and eventually I took it. He put away his knife—I heard the SWOOSH as the blade disappeared back into its handle. He grinned and patted me on the shoulder.
“You’re lucky, Pal. Thought you was someone else.” He studied me for a moment and added, “Hey, anyone tell you, you look like what’s his name—You know—That guy from that movie?”
Shorty laughed. “Wise guy. I like him. Here.” He pulled out his wallet, “Buy yourself a drink.”
He dropped a fiver on the floor and the pair of goons fled. After cleaning myself up, I headed up the long dark stairwell and bought myself that drink. It tasted better than sex. Tyrone spotted me at the bar and his demeanor changed at once.
“You’re one strange cat. You know that?” He drank. “But you one helluva drummer. You also lucky Brett, you know that? Lucky.”
He winked then pointed to the TV.
Axel Roberts was being arrested.
\* \* \*
That night I sat alone in my room counting the cash in the envelopes. There was almost $20,000. Problems solved. I was expecting some green powder to spring out all over me, or the money to be counterfeit or traceable somehow, but the money was legit. Benjamin Franklin never looked so fine. I stashed the money in my gym bag and spent the rest of the night wondering how the hell I pulled it off.
I took an awkward flight back to Frisco and paid your mother a pile of cash. Suddenly everything was cool again. Things couldn’t have worked out any better. Or so I thought. A week later I woke up to banging on the door—Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Who the hell could that be? I put on some pants and made my way to the front door, wiping the sleep from my eyes—BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Hold on, hold on.”
I spied out the little hole in the door and froze. It was the cops; five of them, at least.
I remembered the cash under my mattress.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Open up—This is the police. We see you through the spy hole—Open up now.”
I opened the door and was immediately subdued—good thing I’ve had practice at this. They forced me to my knees and cuffed me. They weren’t gentle. They were pointing guns at my face. Did I actually think I would get away with it? There were cameras everywhere. You can’t get away with farting in the breeze anymore, let alone robbing a bank in broad-fucking daylight.
“Are you Brett Turner?”
“Is this your residence?”
“Where were you last Tuesday night?”
“Last Tuesday night. Where were you?”
Last Tuesday? Last Tuesday night I was watching Netflix in my boxers while eating leftover birthday cake on top a pile of stolen cash. What the hell did last Tuesday have to do with anything? I was more confused than scared at this point.
“We have video footage of you at the protest Tuesday evening, firing shots into a crowd and killing at least two civilians and an officer. We’re placing you under arrest on two counts of second-degree murder and one count of first-degree murder.”
“You have the right to remain silent—"
For Kat Turner-Boyd on her 21st birthday
submitted by MarcusStarr to shortstories [link] [comments]
2020.11.13 13:57 LChris24 Spy toilet xhamster
One little thing that I absolutely love about the series are the extinct megafauna and cryptids that exist. You can see most of them on the wiki in the Bestiary
While we have already encountered numerous of these creatures such as dragons, direwolves and shadowcats, in this post I wanted to look into any of these that we have yet to encounter that we could encounter in the main series (ex: I doubt anyone heads to Sothoryos).
List of Megafauna (extinct and/or not a 1:1 comparison to a real world animal) and cryptids we could encounter in the main series
Giant Ice Spiders
There are numerous mentions of ice spiders (as big as hounds) being ridden by the Others.
Yet there are other tales—harder to credit and yet more central to the old histories—about creatures known as the Others. According to these tales, they came from the frozen Land of Always Winter, bringing the cold and darkness with them as they sought to extinguish all light and warmth.The tales go on to say they rode monstrous ice spiders and the horses of the dead, resurrected to serve them, just as they resurrected dead men to fight on their behalf. -TWOIAF, Ancient History: The Long Night Kraken(s)
Its very likely (but not guaranteed) that this is what Euron is currently summoning outside Oldtown. Even if it doesn't work, there have been increased sightings:
"And krakens off the Broken Arm, pulling under crippled galleys," said Valena. "The blood draws them to the surface, our maester claims. There are bodies in the water. -TWOW, Arianne I Unicorns
Davos is currently headed to Skagos to get Rickon.
Skagos is one of the few places left in the world that is home to unicorns, even though I am cheating as we kind of saw one already through Jon's dream:
Far off, he could hear his packmates calling to him, like to like. They were hunting too. A wild rain lashed down upon his black brother as he tore at the flesh of an enormous goat, washing the blood from his side where the goat's long horn had raked him. In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her. The hills were warmer where they were, and full of food. Many a night his sister's pack gorged on the flesh of sheep and cows and horses, the prey of men, and sometimes even on the flesh of man himself. -ADWD, Jon I Cave Lion/Westeros Lion
According to Leaf they are all gone:
"Gone down into the earth," she answered. "Into the stones, into the trees. Before the First Men came all this land that you call Westeros was home to us, yet even in those days we were few. The gods gave us long lives but not great numbers, lest we overrun the world as deer will overrun a wood where there are no wolves to hunt them. That was in the dawn of days, when our sun was rising. Now it sinks, and this is our long dwindling. The giants are almost gone as well, they who were our bane and our brothers. The great lions of the western hills have been slain, the unicorns are all but gone, the mammoths down to a few hundred. The direwolves will outlast us all, but their time will come as well. In the world that men have made, there is no room for them, or us." -ADWD, Bran III But GRRM did have this to say:
We have never had a POV near Casterly Rock. Can you tell me more about the lions of Westeros? Are any still around? But they seem to be alive at least in captivity:
GRRM: A few survive in the outlying hills. For the most part, they have been hunted down. In antiquity, they actually made dens in the rock itself". -SSM, US Signing Tour SF: 15 November 2005
Cersei paced her cell, restless as the caged lions that had lived in the bowels of Casterly Rock when she was a girl, a legacy of her grandfather's time. She and Jaime used to dare each other to climb into their cage, and once she worked up enough courage to slip her hand between two bars and touch one of the great tawny beasts. She was always bolder than her brother. The lion had turned his head to stare at her with huge golden eyes. Then he licked her fingers. His tongue was as rough as a rasp, but even so she would not pull her hand back, not until Jaime took her by the shoulders and yanked her away from the cage. -ADWD, Cersei II So its possible we could see them when we finally get to see Casterly Rock. The Prince of Pentos also has some as well in his menagerie and we have an extremely small chance to see them seeing that Pentos is a plotpoint (Illyrio/Tattered Prince):
That seemed to amuse the lord of cheese no end. He slapped a meaty thigh and said, "You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles. I can take you to a real lion, my little friend. The prince keeps a pride in his menagerie. Would you like to share a cage with them?" -ADWD, Tyrion I Hrakkar
I am cheating again here as we at least see Drogo go off to hunt it and return with the pelt for Dany. That said with Dany's return to the Dothraki sea, there exists the potential for her to see a "white lion".
The Sealord's Menegerie
This would require Arya visiting/having a mission that requires her to visit it. But we know that he has the following creatures:
"Hear me. The ships of Braavos sail as far as the winds blow, to lands strange and wonderful, and when they return their captains fetch queer animals to the Sealord's menagerie. Such animals as you have never seen, striped horses, great spotted things with necks as long as stilts, hairy mouse-pigs as big as cows, stinging manticores, tigers that carry their cubs in a pouch, terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio Forel has seen these things. -AGOT, Arya IV
Tattooed lizards stalk the jungles, running down their prey and ripping them apart with the long curved claws on their powerful hind legs. -TWOIAF, The Free Cities and Beyond: Sothoryos Lizard-Lion
Infest the Neck (I know Mycah shows Arya one, but the reader doesn't get much info). As crocodiles exist in Sothoryos, the Summer Islands, etc. I don't think it is suppose to be exactly the same.
In his novel Tuf Voyaging he described a lizard lion as:
a reptile with a long, whiplike tail and a long snout similar to an alligator's. So while it is unknown if Westerosi lizard lions are exactly the same, I thought it was worth mentioning.
Another possible lizard lion worth mentioning:
They had been lucky as well as brave. It had been a moon's turn since the last good rain, and the sewers were only thigh-high. The oilcloth they'd wrapped around their torches kept them dry, so they had light. A few of the freedmen were frightened of the huge rats until Strong Belwas caught one and bit it in two. One man was killed by a great pale lizard that reared up out of the dark water to drag him off by the leg, but when next ripples were spied Ser Jorah butchered the beast with his blade. They took some wrong turnings, but once they found the surface Strong Belwas led them to the nearest fighting pit, where they surprised a few guards and struck the chains off the slaves. Within an hour, half the fighting slaves in Meereen had risen. -ASOS, Daenerys VI As the above takes place in the Meereen sewers, its possible this is just an allusion to the 1980's fears of people flushing pet alligators/crocodiles down the toilet and them growing to monstrous sizes down there.
If anyone happens to return to Valyria they could spot a Firewyrm.
Or the small possibility that this is what Euron is summoning: Wyrms await you Aeron
Ice Dragon/Sea Dragon
Obviously two different creatures, but I felt necessary to mention them due to the fact that the possibility remains that we could see either due to Euron's Summoning as well as a couple potential northern events that could be see as "ice dragons".
If you enjoy looking at the fauna in the ASOIAF world, I highly recommend you check out the aforementioned bestiary on the wiki.
Here are a few other posts that involve animals if you enjoyed this one:
The Stark Direwolves vs. Ramsay's Hounds
How to Build Your Dragon
Creature vs. Creature Encounters
Feel free to mention your own that you think could be encountered! Obviously this list would be much longer if we included creatures that we likely won't encounter the rest of the way. For instance... King Kong
In the forests south of Yeen, there are said to be apes that dwarf the largest giants, so powerful they can slay elephants with a single blow. -TWOIAF, Beyond The Free Cities: Sothoryos TLDR: A list of some of the cryptids/extinct megafauna that we could encounter in the last few books
submitted by LChris24 to asoiaf [link] [comments]
2020.11.10 11:41 GamingDadofTwo Spy toilet xhamster
|submitted by GamingDadofTwo to SingaporeR [link] [comments]|
2020.11.10 03:42 criterion_infection Spy toilet xhamster
I used to make the mistake of thinking about reproduction with a sort of Platonic idealism. I thought that, out of the reaches of infinite possibility in the loins of a man and a woman, a sperm cell and an egg with the twenty-three time-honored pairs of chromosomes would come together with all the right As, Ts, Cs, and Gs to write an embryo. The truth is that some children are born misspelled.
She was born a day before me to the woman next door. Her renown began with the usual boasts from new mothers. An early first word and step were followed by earlier and earlier developmental milestones asymptotically approaching remarkability. She didn’t fit in with anyone at school, but her odd and dishonorable fascinations were more tolerable to us boys. When the rest of us were obsessed with dinosaurs, she idolized the asteroid that had killed them. While we played with our dinosaur action figures, she crumpled her worksheets and tests up—all answers correct, gold star—to throw at them one by one in reenactment of the Cretaceous–Tertiary extinction event. “Tyrannosaurus rex, dead. Triceratops horridus, dead. Stegosaurus stenops, anachronistic.”
She was a lot more fun when we were looking for bugs during recess. She was fastidiously clean and showed up every day in shined shoes, pressed pleats, and French braids to handle slugs, centipedes, and earwigs much better than they handled her. “It doesn’t even want to go into your ear. Look; I’ll prove it.” The fun inevitably ended whenever she got a speck of dirt on her uniform and threw a tantrum.
To salvage a bit of pride the day after one such fit, she found a spider and double-dog dared us to eat it. As she had planned, one of us triple-dog dared her back, and she pulled a cracker and a slice of cheese saved from that day’s Lunchable wrapped in a cloth napkin out of her pocket and plucked the spider from a leaf. The arachnid glistened with a cephalothorax redder than the reddest lip or blood on Lady Macbeth’s hand and an abdomen the pearlescent depths of which the hundred eyes of an oyster would envy. After entombing the unlucky arthropod betwixt grain and dairy, she ate it raw with no Capri Sun chaser. The great hunter, the woodlouse spider, Dysdera crocata, and its chitinous exoskeleton, and its fanged chelicerae were no match for the baby teeth of the real monsters of the earth. She mocked our cowardice relentlessly after that, but what were we going to do about it, stop hanging out with the biggest badass at school? Fifteen minutes with her were a masterclass in ambivalence.
She only got smarter and weirder after that. In high school, she was as comfortable answering a question in AP bio as she was explaining to me how not all hybrids between reptilian aliens and humans are soul-matrixed. I had to beg my friends to let her sit with us at lunch. She went to a much better college than I did, and we lost touch, but our mothers were close, so I followed her career unwillingly. Her mother was vindicated when she was published in “The New England Journal of Medicine” at such a young age, and I wasn’t surprised when she became the first author to be published both there and in “Mysterious World,” right between the articles “Giants in the Earth Part II: Giants of the Americas” and “Ah, Osiria! Part II: Antediluvian Egypt.”
I don’t like talking about what went wrong with my career, so I never asked her about hers, but, for whatever reason, we both found ourselves living at home again in our thirties. Naturally, our mothers arranged a play date. I rang their bell one evening holding a jar of Jordan almonds, her favorite. She opened the door. She had skipped gaunt and gone straight from lithe to skeletal.
“Did you change your hair?” I asked.
“Yeah, they’re Dutch braids now.”
“I brought Jordan almonds.”
“Oh, you remembered. Come in. My mom’s making oxtail stew.”
Her mother and she were so accustomed to each other than my very presence felt like an interruption, silent as it was. The meaning of their every sentence was glazed in in-jokes, and the conversation never strayed from the more arcane points of dispute current in genetics. I was sure that they used to be able to pretend to be normal long enough to finish a meal.
“Show him your Sega,” her mother said after dinner.
“You kept your old Saturn?” I asked.
“Yeah. Have you gotten any better at ‘House of the Dead,’ or do I still have to beat it for you?” I hadn’t, and she did.
We sat on the couch for a while and played. It was fun enough that I forgot why we weren’t still friends. “It must have been a nice house,” I said, “before, you know, the dead.”
“I’ve seen better,” she said.
“Okay, Miss I’ve-Been-to-Europe.” She laughed like she used to laugh when we were in third grade and she was the prettiest girl in class.
We got to the second boss, Hangedman, who, untrue to his name, flew on bat wings. She paused and turned to me. Her breathe was hot and collagen-thick. She had been wearing heavy, black frames long before they were cool, and they now straddled her face like a father’s glasses on his toddler. Her eyes were the green of wet moss fibers. “Do you know how many times flight has evolved?”
She was annoyed. “You forgot pterosaurs.” I remembered why I didn’t accept her Facebook friend request in college. “Don’t you think that we got it wrong?” she asked.
“Got what wrong?”
“Everything. What does our species have to show for three eons of successful evolutionary struggle? We’re the royal family of a marble so insignificant that its owner will never realize that it’s missing.” She set the light gun down on her lap and looked at her hands. “Everything we touch has an oily residue of failure. We’re a dead end.” My own light gun was sweat-slick. We finished the game in silence and sat awkwardly on her couch until she said, “Hey, wanna see something sick?” I nodded. She grabbed a box of Froot Loops, and I followed her up to her room, wherein a toucan awaited us.
“Is that a toucan?” I asked, knowing full well that it was.
“Did you think that the Froot Loops were a sex thing? Pick out a yellow one; it only eats the yellow ones.”
“It can really eat these?”
“Only as a treat. Now hold it between your thumb and index finger and slowly bring your hand to its beak.”
The toucan tilted its head to look at the loop before taking it into its beak. “It has a tongue?”
“Yeah,” she said, “Pteroglossus mariae. Maria’s—”
“I’m glad that letting you copy my Greek homework paid off.” I don’t know how long we spent looking at the bird’s lacquered beak before she said, “Hey, wanna see something sick? Tug on my wrist skin.” She extended her hand palm down, and I lifted a pinch of skin much higher than skin should stretch. I looked to her, and she nodded for me to continue. When it couldn’t extend any farther, I let go and the skin snapped back like an elastic band.
“What are you, Rubber Woman?” I asked.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” She smiled. “The rest of it is like that, too.”
“I want to see something sick,” I said. She began stripping down to her matching and surprisingly flashy underwear before I had finished the sentence. I actually felt sick. The hollow-boned toucan must have weighed more than her. Her skin hugged her innards like a too-tight corset of flesh. She looked more like an anatomy chart than a person. I think that I could have seen the contents of her stomach with an especially bright flashlight.
“What a waist,” I said.
“I can assure you that it’s not a waste,” she said. It’s so hard to talk to people sometimes.
Her mother knocked on the door and told her that it was time for bed. She put her clothes back on with the mechanical grace of someone who learned how to get dressed from a textbook and not the haphazard practice that trained the rest of us. “You remembered how to sneak in, right?” she whispered.
Over the next few days, her mother and she built a wooden colonnade from the cellar door to the garage. The car was always parked out front, and I wondered what was so important that they had to get often enough to justify the colonnade in case of rain, but also wouldn’t keep in the house. My mother told me that she didn’t know and that I shouldn’t be so nosy. She had a point. Unemployment was sad enough when I wasn’t spying on the neighbors’ construction project from my bedroom window, but I couldn’t let it go.
I emailed her and tried to be casual, like, “Hey, sweet colonnade. What’s the deal?” I woke up the next day and they were boarding the sides up.
There was a reply in my inbox. “You should have gotten a better look when you had the chance.”
A few nights later, their garage caught fire. I ran into our backyard and turned the hose on, and then it was the next morning. I was still standing there holding the hose, but it was raining, and the sun shone dimly through translucent clouds. I went inside sopping wet and checked the kitchen clock. I had lost eight or so hours. I asked my mother about the fire. She said that I must have dreamt it and sleepwalked outside. I went to the bathroom and tore a few squares of toilet paper off to blow my nose. My snot was black with soot. After a hot shower, I went back to my room and looked out the window. The garage and colonnade were gone, and the email exchange about them had been deleted.
People who know me have blamed it on the influence of my star sign or an overdeveloped lizard brain, but the truth is that I’m just impulsive, feloniously so. I had hoped never to use the skill again, but getting into their house was a cinch. I broke in through the cellar door. There was nothing odd down there, just regular basement stuff. I crept as quietly as I could up to the first floor, and then the second. A light was on in the mother’s bedroom, and I heard voices.
I opened the door to find her mother sewing insect wings into her skin. She was covered almost from head to toe, and her mother was just putting the finishing touches on the last fingertip. The daughter’s eyelids snapped open, and there were wings on her eyeballs. “I didn’t want you to see me like this!” she cried, and her words buzzed through winged tongue and tonsil until she gagged on her own appendages.
“Hold still,” said her mother, who was wearing surgical loupes. Her daughter was seated on her lap, and she on the bed. There was a block of Styrofoam on the nightstand where row after row of squirming horseflies were pinned down. She used tweezers to pluck a wing, made an incision in her daughter’s skin with a scalpel, and then sewed the wing into the slit. The wing twitched. The vein-crossed wing looked like a stained-glass window depicting nothing. She did the same with the next wing, removed the pin, and dropped the pierced insect into a glass jar at her feet half full of them. “Ignore him. You’re a butterfly.”
She stood up. She was naked the way that animals are naked. “I’m a butterfly.” Her wings jerked up and down with no coordination.
“You’re a butterfly.” She flapped her arms slowly like the bell of jellyfish, and her wings began to move in ripples down from the crown of her bald head.
“You’re a butterfly,” I said, and she floated an inch off the ground, and then another. I moved out of the doorway, and she glided past me leaving a sillage of rot.
I watched her descend the stairs and heard the front door open. I turned to her mother. She was livid. “You weren’t supposed to see this.” She grabbed the jar of horseflies and threw them in my face. I managed to close my eyes and mouth in time, and most of them didn’t stick long enough to sting, but she knew that I was allergic.
I ran out of the house and made it to the front lawn before my eyes started to swell shut. She was floating there, and her wings looked like a gown when they caught the moonlight. She looked up, and I followed her skyward gaze. The pain stopped for a moment, and the world was still. One star shone brighter than the rest. Slowly, it began to grow. It came closer and closer until it eclipsed my narrowing field of view, and then my eyes shut. The distraction was over, the pain returned, and I fell to the ground. The cool grass felt good on my face. I don’t know what landed. I only heard her saying, “Dad?”
Some time later, her mother came outside. She was crying. “At least he’s soul-matrixed,” she said, “not like your father.”
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2020.11.09 20:03 JMM123 Spy toilet xhamster
What a wild ride it was, I was playing Sims 3 with the Uni expansion pack.
My guy was a muscly, flirty, genius, athletic dude who's life dream was to be an International Super Spy/secret agent. I guess as a straight white male with these traits my life was just super privileged and easy.
I went to University and passed on the deans list. University proved to be a wild time as almost everyone in my dorm just streaked and ran around a lot- constant naked people would run through our dorm.
I ended up banging a chick and she became my girlfriend. After I graduated and returned home it became clear it wasn't going to work. She was in a completely different area and I had to invite her to visit. She came and wouldn't let me hug her or bang me again despite slowly schmoozing her and all my goals being related to doing stuff with her. I broke up with her via text shortly after.
I got a job at the police station to begin my ambition to be a super spy. On the second day I got promoted to Lieutenant and I started sleeping with my beat cop partner. She was insatiable- coming over frequently for some Woohoo. One night a thief broke in and stole my shitty toilet from the bathroom while we slept together. I convinced her to break up with her boyfriend too. She wouldn't start dating me (it didn't give me the option to propose it).
After numerous promotions within a relatively short period I fulfilled my dream as International Super Spy! I kept getting called into work at odd hours of the night. I also received an offer to be a pro athlete which I declined but I thought it was funny.
After a night where I went to a party at her house she refused to Woohoo with me- I think it was toilet related because I kept talking to her when she walked away and eventually she peed on the floor of the house. I stayed over and in the morning her roommates all got mad at me because they walked in on me showering. I decided then and there I would break up but there was no way to do that because we technically weren't dating. I started dating someone else and before we could start a real relationship she accused me of cheating at my birthday party.
At this point I gave up and got Sims 4 to give that a try- can't wait to see how it goes. Loving this series already.
submitted by JMM123 to thesims [link] [comments]
2020.11.05 23:46 LgFatherAnthrocite Spy toilet xhamster
Previously | Next Time...
Dan set his near empty pint glass back on the bar, and Mike followed suit. Both men stood up and turned to face the three body builders who were standing behind them.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Something I can do for you?" Dan asked. Mike swayed back a little as he tilted his head up to look in the face of the center-most body builder. He slowly reached over and scooped up Quacksworth under one arm.
"We were just getting ready to go." Mike said, absent-mindedly scratching Quacksworth at the base of his skull. Quacksworth closed his eyes and made a barely audible chuffing noise, clearly enjoying the experience.
The main body builder smiled and said "Good evening, gents! My mates and I were just curious about your feathered friend there. Where did you happen to aquire such a fine specimen?" The man held out a finger that was close to the size of a bratwurst in front of the duck's beak. Quacksworth reeled back a little, and laid his head against Mikes torso.
Dan looked from the man to Quacksworth then back to the man. Dan, deciding that drunken lies were more risky than half truths replied "I woke up a few weeks ago after a night out, and he was in the kitchen eating toast."
"If it helps any, I started the night out at McGillicuddy's over on State. All sort of a blur after that. There was a dude with a beard..." Dan trailed off for a second as he recalled this new memory. "We played darts, and he did fire tricks with a lighter I think. I swear he lit a cigarette with a burning finger..." Dan looked a little confused by his own memory, and turned to look questioningly at Mike, who shrugged and shook his head that he had no clue what Dan was on about.
"Interesting. Did this happen here?" Asked the large man, making eye contact with his two beefy companions. They began looking around the bar as he turned back to Dan and Mike.
"Honestly, I'm not even sure why I know about this place. I was pretty tanked, and I remember seeing this door in a wall that I never noticed before. But that was over by State..." Dan looked confused again as he began trying to reconcile his memory of coming in the bar today from an alley, and three weeks ago from a different part of town.
"Gentlemen, anyone need a refill?" The Barkeeper's expression was passive, but his eyes never left the big man.
Dan turned and looked at his pint glass. "I'd like a fresh pint, please."
Mike who had yet to stop staring at the huge man in front of him mumbled "Uh, gla...glass of water, please."
The large man looked at the barkeep for a few moments, the smile falling off his face. "We were just on the way out. Evening, gents."
The three men turned and headed out the door. Dan sat back on his bar stool. The bartender went to get fresh drinks. Mike set Quacksworth down on the bar and said "I'm going to go pee." He walked slowly to the bathroom. Pausing only for a moment to confirm it was the men's room, he walked in, spotted a stall and entered, locking the door behind him. Several deep breathing exercises, and a voided bladder later, and he had calmed down.
He went back out to the bar, after spending far too long figuring out how the touch free amenities worked in the toilet, and found Dan talking with the Bartender.
"Is there a charge or a deposit?" Dan asked.
"Nope, we just hold your ID." The bartender said, placing two small cases on the bar. Dan handed over his state ID card, and noticed Mike walking up.
"Good news! They have loaner darts! Come on, let's play."
Mike drained his pint of water, and motioned for a refill. Dan was getting the darts out when the door opened, and a bearded man in a grey trenchcoat walked in.
Dan looked over and saw the bearded man. The bearded man saw Dan.
"Marv!" Dan shouted.
"Dan!" The man shouted at the same time!
They bro hugged near the bar. The barkeep was dropping off Mike's water.
"Oh, Sir? Can you get my friend a drink on me, please?" Dan said.
The Bartender nodded once and looked to Marv.
"The usual, please." Said Marv with a smile.
"Were you gonna play darts?" Marv asked spying the darts on the bar.
"Oh yeah, you should play too! Oh, Mike, this is Marv. Marv, this is my roommate Mike. Marv and I met last time I was here. Come on, let's play!"
To be continued...
I'm gonna take a day off from this to work another story out, but we'll be back, soon!
submitted by LgFatherAnthrocite to HFY [link] [comments]
2020.10.31 14:22 Neohypher Among Us Netflix Movie
I think it's time for Netflix to ruin another beloved anime series so here is my draft for Among Us live action movie.
The Cast: Ross Susington III as Red, Hector Hackard as Blue, Sam Snitch as Green, Chad as Yellow, Carrot Coochiman as Orange, Gamergirl 69 as Pink, Ivan Toldyou as Cyan, Green as Lime, Rebbeca Imposta as Purple, Walter White as White, David Discord as Black, And Giancarlo Esposito as Brown.
The first thing you notice is that there are 12 characters while the manga at maximum had 10 players, this shows that the movie doesn't give a **** about the source material. The story starts in Mira HQ as a dropship takes the crew to the skeld.
Act 1: Top 10 pranks gone wrong
In the first 5 minutes, Orange calls a prank emergency which pisses off Yellow resulting a foodfight in cafeteria. Then Cyan goes missing, everyone thinks Red is Sus while Yellow blames Orange. Black gets bored and goes to toilet finding out that Cyan there too but the doors suddenly get locked. Purple kills Orange and tries to vents to toilet but gets stuck there. Cyan go to know her wisdom but gets killed. Black reports it through discord and purple gets kicked due to illegally being in male's tiolet.
Act 2: The plot tickles
In the next round we see a pointless romantic plotline between Red and Pink but it ends with a tradegy because Green kills Pink due to jealousy. Red reports this and says that Green is an imposter, everyone agrees so Lime gets voted off. Since he was not an imposter, Yellow's Chad instincts tingles and goes to get rid of Red. He throws Red into the garbage and tries to empty it but Blue teleports there conveniently and busts Yellow. Purple discovers that as a ghost she can possess a person, there is a reason behind this new power but the movie isn't bothered enough to explain. Purple possessesses Yellow and shows off with his shredded body making the crew feel awkward then breaks the table and smashes blue putting him in coma. Black who was playing Galaga with weapons shoots Yellow but it gets deflected and hits the reactor. Red despite not being an imposter carries a knife ( which is pretty SUS tbh), he uses it and kills Yellow. The ship starts to sink in the ocean.
Act 3: Expectasito Subverto
Red and Black just realize Dark Green is the imposter. Green snitches White to save himself but White freaks out and self-kills himself. Brown runs into the escape pod and leaves everyone and tells them: "Considering the situation, this is the most practical solution for this crisis, by sacrificing all of you I can make sure that infiltrator spy will decease". he continues and pulls off some james Bond villian monologue. Black fixes the Reactor but the ship explodes anyway and kills him. Red and Not Light Green have a super well choreographed fight scene with lots of slow mo and disappearing knives. Red does fatality and disintegrates Grime then he catches Brown, Brown offers Red a deal and explains it's financial and political outcomes. Red ignores it and Brown dies because he sucks. Red survives the crash without a scar and lands on Polus. There when they ask what happened, he stands up, turns his head toward the camera and says " There were.... imposters ..... AMONG US"
submitted by Neohypher to DumpMoviePitches [link] [comments]