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Note: The question-taker's husband's replies may not have been all recorded.

Questions	Answers
The pain scale speaks to us at endo in a special way. Knowing that you yourself have suffered it, I just wanted to thank you for helping us find more accurate ways to describe what's happening as we sob to our doctors. Wishing you good health in the future!	Shout out to my endo peeps! That's one of the things that almost killed me (stage IV, hemorrhaging, had a hysterectomy at 27), and I feel a sort of poetic satisfaction knowing that something I made has helped my fellow sufferers deal with this hell of a medical condition.
	Wishes of good health back at you, sisterfriend!
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I had no idea you suffered with endo! Looking back to when I was a teenager reading your blogs it was a huge source of comfort finding an escape from the endo pain because no one believed how bad it was until I had my second lap in 2015 (age 22). They found stage II endo hanging out on my bowels and literally everywhere else, not to mention an ovarian cyst that twisted my fallopian tube shut as it grew! Another doc found ureaplasma growing for God knows how long but it had reached up to my liver and I needed 14 days of antibiotics to get rid of it, and that shit causes infertility if left untreated. My excision surgery was last December and they finally found some pelvic congestion syndrome, too (vericose veins on my ovaries, so like all of the internal tissue is engorged and purple which is equal parts disgusting and painful) and on top of that I still deal with overactive muscle spasms from dealing with chronic pain for so long. Also, I have passed over 60 kidney stones, I have a gluten intolerance, I'm wildly allergic to pork, and I'm being tested again for MS. My organs are always mad at me. So was it the hemorraging that finally convinced the doctors to give you a hysterectomy? Did you have to have your ex-husband bargain with the doctors and sign in blood that your own reproductive organs that were trying to kill you were good to be removed per his request? Or did you have a nice doctor that actually cared that you lived and had some semblance of quality of life? Also, did you grieve at all for not being able to carry babies? At this point I'd rather just get my tubes tied and not worry about traumatizing my poor organs more than they've already been through if I were able to get pregnant. I'll be 27 next month and every passing year gives me more anxiety about getting pregnant, but it's hard to convice doctors to do it when you're still young and considered fertile (even though that's up for debate in my case anyway, I'm now way more prone to ectopic pregnancies which is scary as shit and I am not about it.) Anyway, you are one of my favorite people on this planet and I appreciate everything you've done as a creator. Your imagination is endless and validating for so many people, and I use the word "parp" often to mean help when I talk to literally anyone. I don't care that they think it's weird, it's efficient.	Oh my goodness, you poor thing! I remember how horrific the diagnostic process was, and there are so many secondary consequences from the constant inflammation. I just want to hug you and tell you it'll be okay. Loosely speaking, yes, it was the hemorrhaging that got me a diagnosis, and a combination of the hemorrhaging, the multiple suspicious masses all over the inside of my body, and the fact that my Ova1 test (a 5-factor immunoassay that helps the doctor predict the likelihood of ovarian cancer) came back with concerning numbers (I don't know if that test is the gold standard anymore, by the way... it sounds like there's a better one now?) Thankfully, my OBGYN is a wonderful, compassionate doctor, and he didn't require anybody else to sign off on my hysterectomy. We talked the decision through together, and it genuinely seemed like his only concern was my health and wellbeing. But there are a lot of decisions you have to make when you're considering a major surgery like this. For example, due to my young age and the severity of my condition, we had to decide (together with my surgeon) whether a full or partial hysterectomy would be right for me. It's certainly not optimal to enter menopause so prematurely, but the rate of recurrence is high for partial hysterectomies. Ultimately, we decided to leave a small portion of my least-gnarly ovary for the purposes of making hormones, but rip out the rest (along with the hopelessly tangled portions of my innards). My symptoms do seem to be coming back, but very, very slowly. Overall, I would give the decision to have a hysterectomy five gold stars, and I would not hesitate to make the same decision again. It improved my quality of life dramatically. To answer your questions about children, that part was the easiest for me. I love children, but I have never really wanted to have my own. I absolutely see why people want children, I respect the hell out of parents, and I also feel curious about what the experience would be like, but it has never seemed like a necessary component of fulfillment for me. I really feel for those who want children and need to make this decision, though. After the surgery, I looked pregnant for a good while—belly sticking out to the point that I couldn't see the floor—and I remember thinking how horrible it would be to have this visual reminder of what I'd just lost, had I felt that way about it. Anyway, I am so sorry you have to go through this. It is a truly terrible condition with painfully few options for treatment, and, despite being potentially life-threatening, it very frequently isn't taken seriously enough. Just look at how much anybody who has endometriosis writes when they get a chance to talk about it—we clearly feel misunderstood and/or dismissed by the very people who are supposed to take care of us, and that needs to change. Sorry for soapbox. This is important, though. <3
Seven years ago, one of my very best friends brought me your first book during my stint in the hospital. Laughing was still incredibly painful (as my pelvis was broken in four places among other things, yikes), so I bet you can guess how well that went over :) It's a fond memory I have of an otherwise difficult time. I have, and always will be, a faithful reader and a fan. I don't have the words to properly thank you for all the laughter you bring into a world that so desperately needs it. Do you have a favorite pair of socks? :)	First: please send my regards to your pelvis. What it went through sounds horrible, and I commend its bravery. Next: my favorite pair of socks is the pair of socks my friend Kali gave me in high school. It's the only pair of socks I've ever kept for more than a year or two. I've had them for 20 years now.
i was so excited to see you were back! my husband and i has both followed you before we met, and we’ve separately checked your blog through the years to see if you were alright. when i saw you’d done another book i immediately bought the first bc i realized i never did - my question is, do you still have simple dog and helper dog? your chapter on explaining to them why they were dumb was just so perfect.	I don't still have them, but Duncan (my ex-husband) does, and he gives me updates and sends me pictures when I miss them. They're getting to be old girls now, and he says they're still a handful, but have calmed down a lot compared to their younger selves.
I just finished your book a couple hours ago and it is absolutely incredible. Thank you so much for sharing your art and life with the world. Not only did you deliver a poignant story about grief and loss, but I laughed so hard I had tears streaming down my face. You are a treasure and I’m glad to see you back.	Thank you for saying this! I never quite know how to respond to compliments, but this makes me feel very, very good. What is your favorite shape?
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Triangles. No particular reason... they just resonate with me. How about you?	Mine is triangles too!! (For exactly those reasons)
No question, just want to let you know how much I appreciate your work. After years of struggling to describe depression, you put it into a context that was easy for me to relate to and gave me the guts to be open about my experience. And, well, shit. That takes some special work and I don't think anything or anyone else in this big dumb world could have done that. So thank you.	Here's a curveball for you: what is your favorite aspect of being depressed? (Note: this is a completely earnest question)
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Honestly it's the isolation. My yearning for isolation has afforded me a lot of unique opportunities. If depression hadn't manifested itself into a very introverted lifestyle I wouldn't have had most of the adventures I had in my 20s. It's really made this mess of a year pretty easy. Stay six feet away from people? Avoid large crowds? GOT IT.	I love and deeply relate to this perspective! I feel like depression helped me get closer to myself (bonding over shared adversity and all that), and now me and myself enjoy spending quality time together.
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It’s really interesting that you’ve kinda bifurcated yourself into different aspects of yourself. Like explicitly recognising your own internal different personas. Do you think that our presumption of needing to make ourselves perfectly coherent and aligned when the truth is that as individuals we contain multitudes might account for some of our mental health fuckery?	I definitely think it was helpful for my own understanding to recognize that, while I am physically one human, there can be many competing interests at play within the human brain at any given moment. They're all "me," but they're different aspects of me. And they need to learn how to respect each other and cooperate. The part that is always trying to protect my dignity, for instance, needs to learn how to respect the part that acts like a lizard on 32x fast-forward.
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When those aspects compete, how do you decide who wins? How do you handle the loss for the part that doesn't?	I try to be as diplomatic as possible and seek compromise. I'll listen to each side of the disagreement, and try to find some way to bridge the gap where both sides feel like they're getting a good deal.
	If that isn't possible, I try my best to come up with a logical proof of some kind for what the optimal strategy might be. I'm not always correct, of course, but all the parts have at least some respect for logic, and can be convinced to concede on that basis. I try to view it as making the best play possible with the information I have.
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Word. Thank you!	No problem! Thanks for asking the question!
What's one piece of advice you would give to all of us?	The most universal advice I can think of would be to cultivate a sense of curiosity about things—the world, other people, microwaves—whatever does it for you. Having things to wonder about is what keeps me going most days, and curiosity feels like a healthy, respectful orientation to have toward things, so it's what I would feel most confident recommending.
	Also compassion, though. But compassion feels very closely related to curiosity (for me, at least).
	In other news: I only kind of know what I'm talking about.
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Hi Allie! I'm not the original commenter, but I'd really like to hear more about how you think about the connection between compassion and curiosity. Also, just a word of thanks from a longtime fan who started reading your blog at age ~11 (for months I thought the title was pronounced "hyper-bowl") and got a lot of joy out of it over the years (now shared with my little sister, who treasures your first book and is very excited for your second): I'm deeply glad of the formative impact you've had on my perspective, my sense of humor, and my appreciation for the absurd, and I'm grateful that you gave me, at times in my early life when I badly needed it, the sense that some of my struggles and my strangest feelings were shared and understood by someone.	First of all, that is a very hard-hitting compliment, and I feel honored to have had such an impact on you! As for the connection between curiosity and compassion, I see curiosity as a sort of pathway toward compassion—an efficient motivating force for learning about how others experience the world, and how it's similar to what I experience, and how it might be different, and how it might still be the same in an abstract sense even though it seems different, and, through that, teach myself to truly care for others from the ground up. I'm a very ground-up person, I think. I like to get the fundamentals in place so the machine can function on its own from there.
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What's the least universal advice that you'd give?	GEt yep inte the pontyes, den gibbe it fro, yes yes, gib gib, taket ouo, gebbin graaaeeeeebbbbbbbb mettitts, done!
	I hope this was as unhelpful as possible.
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Sdot2014: I love this! I suffered a brain injury 5 years ago and the thing that keeps me positive is having a healthy curiosity for the whole process. Brains are so intensely interesting. I get neat things like smell mix ups (my toothpaste once smelled very strongly like tuna, for example) and even the scary stuff, like discovering how my brain has rewiring, is interesting. I am now an auditory learner instead of visual, for example. Even with anxiety, I was taught to look at bad feelings with a curiosity (and self compassion, of course) and it has been a life saver. This is AMAZING advice. I_WANNA_MUNCH: I'm so glad I saw your comment. I have ADHD and all the anxieties. Looking at bad feelings with curiosity is something I've never tried but I think it would help me when I'm going through a rough patch. Thank you! Sdot2014: I’m so glad! I hope it helps! My psychologist always told me to look at it like you’re a scientist. “My chest feels quite tight - that’s interesting. I wonder what might be causing that feeling?” It kind of removes you from the feeling a little bit, and lets you be an onlooker. It’s my favourite strategy. Another strategy I enjoy is challenging anxious thoughts. This really only works for “unreasonable” anxieties though. Like being anxious about sitting on the inside of the booth because you’re claustrophobic. Some things make sense to be anxious about, but some things (like getting a needle for me!) are not as scary as your brain can think. I ask myself “what’s the absolute WORST that could happen?” Well - maybe they go too deep and it really hurts or maybe I have an allergic reaction and they don’t notice and I die. But how likely is that to happen? How many people do I know that have had that happen? How many needles has my doctor given? Really, the worst thing that might likely happen is it might hurt for a minute or so and I might pass out (I do sometimes). And I remember what that felt like and how I felt AFTER the needle was over last time (relieved and a bit silly. Haha). And I kind of talk myself out of it a bit. Doesn’t work for everyone but another strategy I use often!	Props for this response! It rings very true to me, and I don't think I could have said it any better myself!
I literally made a reddit account to say hi and participate. Your works have been enjoyable for my whole family 💕 That aside, what deck build do you use in MTG?	I haven't played much MTG lately (lost touch with my regular FNM group when I moved, and my computer struggles with the new Mac version of MTG:A), but Izzet or Dimir were my favorite 2-color combos. For 3-color, it would've been either Temur or Sultai. Favorite decks I've played would be UB Fae and Tarmo Twin. Favorite format is Modern.
	I mostly play Hearthstone these days.
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I used to play a few years ago with my buddies and my family and would do a Sunday night game night. Then I got a real job (9-1-1 dispatcher) and lost a lot in the process. I now occasionally get to watch my friends play. I have some friends who play Hearthstone but I haven't tried it yet. Is it worth it?	I love both for different reasons. But yeah, I'd say Hearthstone is worth it. There's a lot of free single-player content, which is nice when you're just starting out.
Welcome back! From your Facebook posts it looks like you have been through Alot. I hope I’m not bringing up a painful side memory, but how are Simple Dog and Helper Dog doing?	The last time I talked to Duncan (about a week ago), they were doing great! They're getting gray around their faces now, which is adorable and also bittersweet. They'll always be monsters, but I miss my monsters in a very fond way.
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This was the very most reason I came to your AMA. Since way back when you first wrote about them, I've felt like I'm a combination of simple dog and helper dog and now I'm crying because I missed you but also miss them and also miss myself. It's been a not good couple of days (weeks months years life). Thank you for still being alive and coming back to say hi. I'm going to go buy your book now before I forget again (I'm 8 months into long covid and it's messed up my short term memory & I've been remember forgetting since I first saw you post about it).	Weird question, but what do you think you most need to hear right now? (Any answer is okay—we can just explore the feelings if you want)
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That one day I will be able to go flat out for 18 hours straight and do all the things I want just like I used to everyday and that I'm not failing myself and my family by being bedridden and also I'm not lazy. Mostly that I'm not failing everybody by being sick for 8 months.	Okay, I might be able to help you with this one! (I also need to hear this from time to time, so I have at least a little practice with it). I'm not usually bedridden, but I struggle with things that feel very heavy to me (depression, ADHD, a host of chronic autoimmune conditions), and I often need to contend with the discrepancy between how much energy I have, and how much energy it seems like I'm supposed to have. And it can be hard to locate the line between going easy on myself and going too easy on myself, so I constantly question which one I'm doing (I wish there was an objective way to tell—brain calorimeters or something).
	Anyway, what you're going through is legitimately hard, and it's okay to have a hard time with hard things.
	Also, it's okay for others to have a hard time with it. It can be hard for everybody without it being anybody's fault, if that makes sense. And it definitely isn't lazy to struggle with being bedridden! Like, I know it's hard for my husband when I'm incapacitated by pain for the fourth day in a row, and can't help with washing the dishes because my joints are on fire and my hands are too weak to hold anything, and it's necessary for me to understand that, but I also need to be compassionate about my limitations.
	It's also okay to feel frustrated. I feel frustrated all the time—by my limitations, by my vices, by the seemingly nonsensical distribution of fairness in the universe—it's human to feel frustrated by things beyond your control, especially when you're also sort of responsible for dealing with the consequences.
	I think I'm writing this much because I relate, and I also maybe needed to hear this today <3
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You've been pretty open to questions so hopefully this isn't prying to much,do you have EDS or Fibro? Your pain description resonates a lot with how my body acts up sometimes.	I don't actually know what it is yet, unfortunately. I have several diagnosed conditions (celiac disease and the associated skin condition, stage IV endometriosis, pineal gland cyst, Reynaud's syndrome), but I don't know if any of those are what's causing the pain, and the diagnostic process has been pretty convoluted. Lupus sounds plausible, but I hear it's never lupus.
	I get fevers at least a couple times a month for no particular reason for a day or two, and with the fevers, I get really severe body aches, sometimes crippling headaches, and fatigue (but that could just be from the pain). The only thing that helps the pain is Benadryl (works better than opiates, even), but nobody has been able to tell me why that could be.
	There have been a few instances of acute hand pain where I lose grip strength and can't pick anything up for a week. The pain is bad enough that I can't sleep, and it radiates from my middle and index fingers down through my proximal thumb joint and into my wrist.
	Anybody want to play doctor with me?!
	Edit: these replies are definitely motivating me to go see a rheumatologist and get some blood work done! I'm sorry you guys had to go through this too, but I appreciate the help!
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You need to find a rheum who's willing to diagnose you/at least work with you going on physical symptoms. I think you're in Oregon right now, yeah? My rheum is Dr. Rebecca Muntean in Spokane, WA. Long-ass drive there but so completely worth it. She finally got me diagnosed in January after suffering since I was a high schooler (I'm 36 now). Your symptoms are identical to mine. My bloodwork didn't show shit, but six months on HCQ has me feeling like a new woman. Has anyone done blood panels on you for stuff like rheumatoid factor? The other thing is... have you been checked for mast cell disorder? The Benadryl helping is a clue there. Either way, you need a competent & compassionate rheumatologist and allergist.	Thank you so much for this reply! You may have just convinced me to see a rheumatologist, which is a pretty big deal considering how resistant I seem to be to seek medical treatment (the diagnostic process has been absolutely brutal for me so far, so I sort of subconsciously avoid it now).
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I am glad to hear they are doing well, but sad to hear that they are no longer a part of your everyday life. Perhaps you can get a new charismatic pet to write about, like a rescue owl, or a fainting goat.	I have a cat named Squirrel! He is a very silly boy, but in a very different way.
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Now that you are a cat household, would you consider adopting a dog again?	Definitely! We plan to adopt a puppy as soon as we have a large yard again!
You book is very laugh and sad. Ihave you been able to visit animal planet after you had a bird-mating-dance-based existential crisis? If so, what is the best animule?	After that incident, animal planet sort of became a symbol for me—a symbol of how absurd I am (and how absurd everything is). Once I got past the initial discomfort (it took years), I found a lot of comfort in that. So I keep watching to remind myself.
	Due to how utterly absurd all animals are, I do not believe it would be logically possible to rank them in the abstract. But I do enjoy the facial expression that frogs and lizards make.
Hiiiiiii! I'm Allie's husband Kevin. I know some things about Allie too and I may occasionally pop in to answer the softball questions. Feel free to respond to me with as much warmth or hatred as your belief system allows.	Can confirm: this is my husband. Thank you for helping, Kev!
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Kevin sounds like a made up name. I am sceptical.	I can respect that. What evidence would convince you?
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Which style of softball do you think is superior, fastpitch or slowpitch?	I do not know enough about softball to answer this, but I would be willing to try if somebody could break down a few of the similarities and differences for me.
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Why would she need help?	Because everybody needs a buddy sometimes :]
I’ve missed you. I love your art and your writing and I hope it brings you joy that you make so many people happy with your talents. Also - what is your favorite spice? Or spice girl? Either one is fine.	Favorite spice is cayenne, favorite spice girl is Scary Spice!
Hi Allie! I loved your first book so much- I couldn't put it down when I first got it! When I saw this post I got really excited- I can't believe you're doing an AMA! On my end I wanted to try ask you a couple of lighthearted anythings- how did you and Kevin meet? Is it a sweet story? A simple one? And how is Squirrel doing?? I hope you're doing okay today!	We met on OKCupid, actually. I don't know what it's like now, but back when I was on there, you had to favorite three people when you created a profile, and he was the first guy I favorited :) We were, I think, a 96% match or something. We messaged back and forth for a long while, went on a few dates, found we really liked talking to each other (he likes to get into the weeds philosophically, which is very important to me), and decided to make it official. We got married approximately three years after.
	Squirrel's good. He had a bit of a weird night last night because all the smoke alarms in our whole house went off at the same time, but he's a resilient little fellow.
Hi Allie! I wrote my college thesis on your blog! Yes, I really did. Thank you for my degree!	That's really cool, and I feel honored! What was the general thrust of your thesis?
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I analyzed the type of stylistic devices you used in three of your most popular blogs (as of 2012, when I graduated) to determine what type of language made it funny (similes, metaphors, and yes, hyperbole!). It was a blast! I would have to dig up the paper out of digital mothballs to remember what my conclusions were, but absurdism and hyperbole ruled supreme... As they should.	I can't even begin to describe how validating this feels! Somebody studied me! A whole other person took the time to learn about me!! (Academically, no less).
More pictures of the Pile Dog - https://imgur.com/a/K1mM7OG	For anybody wanting to see pictures of the sweet and wonderful creature I refer to as the pile dog, Kevin put together this album. I'm commenting for visibility :)
I'm super fucking awkward and don't know how to interact with other humans. My whole process on trying to figure out how to communicate with you during this AMA is as follows: OMG, ALLIE IS DOING AN AMA! I LOVE AND OWN BOTH OF YOUR BOOKS!! omg what do I ask? Do I ask if she likes cats? Does she want to see my cats? Will you be my friend? Y'know, in the way that we acknowledge the existence of each other for a millisecond but never have to talk to or see each other kind of way because social interaction is hard? success	Yes, I will absolutely be your friend, and I love that you drew a friendship comic. Perhaps you are not so bad at interacting with others, eh? Perhaps you are even good at it!
Do you have any pictures of the pile dog you could share. I’m very invested in her story.	Here's one of my favorites: https://imgur.com/a/G7Aa41I
	What would you like to know about her story?
What is the very best cheese?	Going with my gut on this one: Pepper Jack. On average, I eat four sticks of it a day.
	Edit: What's your favorite cheese?
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What are your thoughts on Jarlsberg cheese? Room temperature cubes are where it’s at IMO.	My first thought is wondering whether I have ever tasted Jarlsberg cheese, and, immediately after that, wondering if it's the stinky cheese my aunt Kathy gave me that one time, then right after that, I kind of had this weird, scuttle-y feeling where I questioned the breadth of my cheese knowledge. This was followed by an intense wish for google to have a taste feature. I want instant answers to my cheese questions!
Did that goose ever come back?	Not that I know of, but that doesn't mean he didn't.
On the off chance that you're still reading these I just wanted to join the chorus of fans who got a lot out of you're work and honesty. The stigma associated with depression sucks and it has been real, real nice to see myself in the things you've shared. The kind of madcap but wholly relatable humor you have perfectly captured is maybe the most precious smidgen of daily joy that keeps me going despite also cyclically eating depression dirt every year or two. I'm super duper happy to see you cruising and log jumping and verbally smiling all over this AMA. Thanks for existing. No question just sisterly love.	Sisterly love accepted, and sisterly love returned :)
No huge thoughts, just wanted to thank you sincerely for being a laugh when we needed it most, and to wish you as much success as you can hang with. Also, while reading your latest, I wondered if you'd read "Animals in Translation" by Temple Grandin? It's a super-interesting dive into animal thought patterns and behaviors, and you spend a lot of time thinking about animal brains, so maybe check it out if you haven't yet? I think this is my first ever reddit comment? It's yours. :) Take care, and continue to rock.	Congratulations on your first Reddit comment!! I love the comments section here. I actually do a lot of writing practice under my secret alternate account over on AskReddit! Anyway, I have not read Animal in Translation, but I'm gonna add it to my list because it does sound like something I'd be interested in! Thank you!
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OmG are you one of the reasons for why a lot of those askreddit and advice reddits are all "this shit is made up lock post!!!" at everything?	Haha, probably not. I'm either shitposting to practice my improv skills, testing out real stories (which I delete as soon as they start getting upvotes), or writing walls of text about whatever topic I'm most interested in that day.
	We'll find that guy someday, though. I know it.
Oh my God! I read your Depression series at least once a week. Can't believe you've showed up like this again after 7 years of radio-silence and even more I can't believe I missed it with one day	I'm still here! What would you have wanted to ask?
Ah I'm too late! I have nothing to say that hasn't already been said, but just wanted to post that I love your work and have missed your presence on the internet and in my life. ♥	Not too late! You can even still ask questions if you want to! Alternatively (or in addition), would you be able to teach me how to make a little heart like that? All I know how to do is this: <3
I’m so glad you’re back! What’s your favorite type of cookie? Also, are any of your current animals special?	TheSaulK: Allie has celiac disease and so one may question whether the things she can eat are actually "cookies." My cousin visited us from Portland last year and brought pastries from a dedicated gluten-free bakery and that's the last time I can remember her having anything like a baked good. She says her grandma's molasses cookies were her favorite.
	Squirrel is our only animal and he's literally the best cat there is.
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How open is Allie to people sending her gluten-free baked goods (probably outside of COVID times) to a PO Box or something?	TheSaulK: She appreciates and loves you but she has the severity of celiac disease that should really be measured in parts per zillion and at this point really can just risk eating stuff she literally sees get made, like some sort of samurai if you will.
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Thank you. It’s bizarre. I don’t give a shit about downvotes.	Still, maybe we should refrain from downvoting...it's an AMA! Every question is legitimate, and I appreciate the concern! To clarify: I asked him to participate because I thought it would be fun, and also help to have an extra pair of eyes on the questions :)

CreateYoureReality NFL Week 9 Sunday Games Analysis and Picks

Week 9 TNF Recap: Pretty standard game with the 49ers missing half their team. GB won easily and our lone wager is still alive for the Sunday games. Lets see what opportunities we have available to us this week! 🙂
Singles (u)
Parlays (u)
Teasers (Still live)
BBDLS (u)

SUNDAY GAMES

Seattle/Buffalo: Alrighty! First match up of the day and its my Super bowl predicted team. A West coast team traveling east for a 1pm game. Usually a look at the East coast team. However Seattle and Wilson are 18-6 in the last 24 1pm East coast starts, winning their last 10 in a row! The Seahawks have covered five of their last seven games and have won 10 of their last 12 games as a road favorite. In player news, "All-Pro Safety Jamal Adams, Seattle's biggest offseason acquisition, is expected to return Sunday after missing four games with a groin injury. Two-time Pro Bowl defensive end Carlos Dunlap is set to make his Seahawks debut after being acquired in a trade last week with Cincinnati and defensive tackle Damon "Snacks" Harrison, another former Pro Bowler, is close to being in game shape after being signed as a free agent.
On the other side, Buffalo is coming off a narrow divisional win vs New England and has only covered once in their last 5 games. "Bills center Mitch Morse was knocked out on the third play against the Patriots and remains in the concussion protocol. Receiver John Brown (knee), defensive end Jerry Hughes (foot) and cornerback Josh Norman (hamstring) have also missed practice time this week."
The Bills and Allen started the year hot with a 12-1 TD/INT ratio in the first 4 game. Only to throw a 4/4 ratio in the last 4 games.
There is great weather for a northeast game in November and with all the news and trends it would look like an easy spot to take SEA and the Over. The scary thing about committing to that is the MAJORITY of bets on this game are on SEA and the over...But, every time the line hits 3, it wont cross to 3.5 and most often doesnt stay at 3 for long. Also, the total opened at 55.5 but has RLM to as low as 54 in some books! The only other reason I can see for SEA possibly playing a flat game is that they just played 2 divisional games and after this have two more (one being the rematch of their only loss so far) With this game being non-conference AND SEA having it squeezed in between 4 divisional games, maybe I could see them spending more effort on the divisional games?
Either way, my algo has this as 27 24 SEA with the most favorable prop to target as Cole Beasley (SEA D is weak, but its WEAKEST point is vs slot receivers and WTF are these lines, 4.5 REC and 50 yards? Hes averaging 5 Rec and 60+ yards per game...)

DenveAtlanta: Next up we have a rather pointless game (for playoff implications). ATL is off a win on TNF and some extra rest. Denver is coming of a huge 2nd half comeback with a last second score to win a divisional home game as a dog. The Broncos are also 3-1 in their last 4 games, with their only loss to KC. (2-1 of those games came on the road). Atlanta hasn't won a game at home yet this year. My algo has this as a 24-26 ATL. I believe this game has potential to be one by BOTH teams. So, with the clearly better defense and catching more than 4, I think it's a good spot for DEN. Possibly a sprinkle game too! 😉

Chicago/Tennessee: This is the match-up of the pretenders. Two teams that the model is not sure if they are contenders or pretenders. CHI put in Foles when they were 3-0. Now they are 5-2. Their offense has got to find some continuity. Only averaging 20ppg it might be able to find some life vs a TEN defense that is quite suspect. They have made some changes recently and will be starting new pieces. Could be the perfect opportunity for Foles to get some stats on the sheet because TEN d-line has been very weak, rarely sacking opposing QBs this year. They will need every bit of Foles because the Bears run offense has been horrrrrible this year. Let's put it this way, TEN's Derrick Henry outrushes the Bears by himself on a per-game basis.
My algo has this as TEN -1 with a total of 50. Looks like I'll be leaning CHI on the bounce back.
Side note: I've said it before, ill mention it again. There's almost always an upset and it usually comes from the games that are 6/6.5 spread. Books seem to squeeze this in every week somehow to take care of people's teasers. This weeks candidates CHI, JAX, NYJ
Something interesting to note, majority of bets are on TEN yet the line hasn't moved from 6.5 to 7. . .

Detroit at Minnesota: Ehhhh, a very weird one. It has been off the board most of the week because we are not sure if Stafford is going to play. He is under a Covid protocal for close contact. He will be tested daily up until Sunday morning. If he is negative he will most likely play, if he tests positive he will obviously be out.
Outside of the Stafford storyline we have some revenge game stuff. Everson Griffen and AP returning to MIN, and I think MIN has some DET players now.
My algo has this as a Pickem being very game script dependent. I likes whoever gets a lead as it favors their defense to go for more on the pass rush.
I would say that Stafford being in will be the most important news to follow. If he is out I may look for a small teaser on MIN and the Under as I expect them to lean on Cook again. However, if Stafford plays I think this is a great spot to take the Lions and even a sprinkle on the money line.
Again, if Stafford is in I would look to some Lions props as MIN D is still a poopshow. With Galloday out, Look for Hall and Hockenson to get the extra targets. Also, if Stafford plays the Lion's have been coming out FIRE in the first quarter.
Check in the comments Sunday before game time to see who I took based upon the Stafford news.

Baltimore at Indianapolis: Back to back weeks Baltimore in a big AFC matchup. Last week was frustrating not only for us (BAL losing hurt) it was probably extremely frustrating for BAL. They outgained the Steelers nearly 2:1 in yards! They rushed on the Steelers Super AMAzeballs defense for over 250 yards! If not for FOUR very costly turnovers by Lamar, that would have been an ez BAL victory.
This is where it gets weird. When I compare the stats in my algo they are nearly identical and it spits out this game as a Pickem. However, something to note that I have not added in as weight on my algos calculations is strength of opponents. Which on wins, is not much for either team. However, on losses, they do have two common opponents (CLE and CIN). Both of which BAL SMASHED and one of which is INDys losses.(CLE)
Normally I would say this is a BAL all day game and if we see this match up in the playoffs I would most likely (barring some weird injury news) take BAL then. HOWEVER, this has been a weird week for BAL with like 7 defensive players on the COVID protocol list. To go with that, the whole BAL team has been restricted from practicing until SAT. Which means they got SAT practice in an have to travel to play tomorrow.
With all that said, this might be a game to contrary myself. However, with BAL being the more publicly bet team it might be more prudent to wait until closer to game time. Try to catch another +3 with IND or wait to take them at +2.5 in a teaser.

Carolina at Kansas City: CMC is back Baby! Haha. This should be a very interesting one. KC has been on a tear recently winning back to back games by more than 25. Carolina is off a tough primetime divisional loss to ATL last week that basically told you they don't want the last playoff spot.
Surprisingly my algo has this as 30-24 KC.
I am going to have to say this game will be largely dependent on CMCs health, productivity, and if CAR can keep pace or get a lead early. If so, KC does have the fourth-worst run defense in football with teams averaging 142.8 yards per game against them. AND even if they pull a lead, maybe there is some back door potential? CAR has only 1 loss this year by more than 10 points...

Houston at Jacksonville: Oh boy. . . Do you even wanna watch this game? Houston is coming off a bye and has had two weeks to prepare for a rematch against the team that gave them their only win this year. The difference in this game? JAX is starting a new 24 year old QB for his first start. And, they are giving him a defense that has given up at least 30 points in every game except one.
My algo has this as only HOU -4.5. However there is no adjustment in there for the QB change.
I expect JAX to help their fresh starting QB out as much as he can by giving the ball as much as they can to their RB. My algo marks this as a FANTASTIC spot to target Robinson in total yards rush+rec as not only will he have his normal workload against a horrible defense, but he will get the extra work that comes from the coaches trying to simplify the game for their QB.

NYG at Washington: Ugh, another dumpster fire game. NY played on Monday night and barely lost to the TB Bucs. Washington is off a bye. I want little to no part of this game. My algo has WAS as -2.5 but it also had WAS as -1 in the first match up. The NYG defense is on the rise and Danny Dimes seems to come out vs. the Washington Team. If anything, I would say WAS needs it more. They have one of the better chances to win the NFC East if they can pick up this game. (They have an easier back half of the schedule than most of the other teams)

LV at LAC: Sooo, LV is one of my favorite teams this year. I think they are building something real and I expect Gruden to take them deep in the playoffs in the next 3 years. Currently they are still in build mode, especially on defense, but Carr and the offense are starting to find some rhythms. Jacobs doesn't seem to be as good as his rookie year suggested but there's time to draft in that position. They are coming off a rough crap weather grind game vs. the Browns, where they came out the victor.
The Chargers also look like a great team for the future. I think once they get a change at head coach and redevelop their defense, they too could have something. They are coming off a last second comeback loss to the Broncos. Actually, they have been leading in most of their losses, only to give it up in the 4th. Herbert looks like a beast and his timing with Allen appears strong.
My algo has this as LAC -1 and I think this games about as coin flip as you can get. Both have above average offense and below average defense. I think I am going to lean LAC 1Q as they are home and have been coming out strong the last few games. However, if I catch this game live I will look to bet whoever's live spread gets 7+

Pittsburgh at Dallas: Not really feeling this is a game that has much value. PIT could easily blowout dallas 34-6. Dallas is about to start there 23 quarterback. Their D gives up 33+ per game. And oh btw, PIT is 7-0 with wins over the Titans and Ravens.
Why I won't take PIT is mostly the same reasoning. Dallas is starting an unknown at QB. DAL is 2-6 and PIT has a divisional game next week vs an opponent currently on a bye. This is PITs 3rd road game in a row. How much has the travel been wearing on the mental state.
I am just going to avoid this game.

Miami at Arizona: Well well well, looks like that MIA +3.5 play last week was good TUA TIME-ing! Seriously though, TUA did next to nothing in that game. Like almost 0. But that MIA defense.... WHOOO weeeeeeee
Both teams are coming into this game riding a 3 game winning streak. AZ is coming off a bye and has waayyyy the better offense. MIA comes into this game off a big upset vs the LA Rams and has a much better defense.
Again, I dont know if we can trust TUA yet. A home game vs a team traveling 3000 miles to play a 1pm start was tough enough. Now he has to travel across the country for his first road start? On a positive note, he will be playing indoors...
I think ill mostly avoid here.

SUNDAY NIGHT FOOTABALL

New Orleans at Tampa Bay: The matchup of the Day. NO comes into this game riding a 4 game winning streak. However it is important to note that 3 of those wins came against teams with a below .500 record and all 4 of the wins were by less then a TD.
TB comes into this game riding a 3 game win streak but their most recent win was on Monday night (short week) vs the Giants in which it was close all game and NY had a chance to send the game into OT. Not something you want to see. It could be that the team overlooked NY in preparation for this game. Knowing that winning their division is more important than a game vs the Giants.
We should see the debut of Antonio Brown in this one. Currently I have found him at +162 to score a TD and +1200 to score the first TD. Might throw a free bet on one of those just for a fun sweat.

New England at NYJ: Not going to lie, this was going to be my upset of the year. Pats having almost 0 offensive weapons outside of Cams run game. Jets only real strength is stopping the run. Pats D is NOT what we are used to. The amount of missed tackles happing has to make Bellichek SICK. Darnold, at home, with the probably better defense, catching over a TD?!
However, Darnold now appears to be out. I still think NY has good EV to cover, especially with the extra FG, as both teams should struggle to put u any points. However, the upset just feels so much harder as Flacco is VERY low raked in my algo's QB index.

Singles (52-65, -19.01u)

Cole Beasley 50.5 Rec Yards Over (3.15u to win 3u)
DEN +4.5 (2.2u to win 2u)
DEN ml (2u to win 3.5u)
Noah Fant 4.5 Rec Over (1.4u to win 1u)
Jerry Judy 47.5 Rec Yards Over (2.8u to win 2u)
CHI +6.5 (2u to win 2u)
CHI TT 20 Over (2.1u to win 2u)
Allen Robinson 72.5 Rec Yards Over (1.11u to win 1u)
DET 1Q +0.5 (FB to win 2.12u)
DET +3.5 (1.1u to win 1u)
Will Fuller anytime TD (FB to win 3.3u)
Brandin Cooks 4.5 Rec Over (1u to win 1u)
James Robinson 22.5 Rec Yards Over (3.45u to win 3u)
James Robinson 102.5 Rush and Rec Yards Over (1.2u to win 1u)
James Robinson 3.5 Rec Over (1.5u to win 1u)
Terry McLaurin 72.5 Rec Yards Over (2.3u to win 2u)
LAC 1Q ml (2.4u to win 2.04u)
Keenan Allen 6.5 Rec Over (2.5u to win 2u)
Keenan Allen 75.5 Rec Yards Over (2.4u to win 2u)
Kyler Murray 40.5 Rush Yards Over (2.8u to win 2u)
Antonio Brown 1st TD scorer (2u to win 22u) Promo, if he scores not the first TD, but any other TD, the bet is returned.

Using up some free bets this week. They are long parlays and BBDLS so I am not going to type them all out. If something hits or is sweating into SNF, I will post.
Parlays (6-20, +43.76u)

CHI +6, WAS, ml, HOU ml (2u to win 6.22u)
DEN ml, SEA ml, TB ml (2u to win 12.24u)
CHI +6.5, DEN ml, SEA ml, CAR +10, LAC +3.5, PIT ml, TB ml (2.5u to win 97.83u)
I have a few parlays in for another 2.6u and some Free Bets.

Teasers (1-2, +16.35u)

GB pk***,*** DEN +10.5 (FB to win 11.03u)

BBDLS (0-41, -33.99u)

I have 1.7u of BBDLS in and some FB wagers.

Don't pee in your dreams. It's a trap... [50,000 contest]

“GET HIM OFF ME! I screamed, desperate for breath and nearly choking on my own blood.
Another vicious shot to the ribs hit me, full force from an elbow that felt like a cinder block. Why in the hell we thought we could pull this off, I’ll never know. The man was made of fucking granite and it was all I could do to stay on him. Within seconds, what started as a rear naked choke had turned into me just holding on for dear life so he couldn’t come at me head-on. Our “simple” plan to take this asshole down and give him what he deserved had turned into that scene from Rocky III where Balboa is getting his shit ruined at the end of The Fabulous Thunder-Lips’ boot. I didn’t have much time left before my likely shattered ribs were jammed into my heart.
I was being smashed against the rough concrete wall for what felt like the hundredth time, but managed to get my legs around him and hook him at the elbows, leaving his midsection exposed. My co-conspirator Scotty picked himself up from the floor for the third time and ran at the big psychopath with everything he had left. At 215lbs or so, Scotty was no slouch, and when his boot made contact with the man’s ribs I heard a loud snapping sound. The man sagged, his arms relaxing just enough for me to regain my leg lock. Scotty grabbed an old staircase spindle and swung furiously at the man’s skull. He teetered, toppling over stiff-legged like an ancient tree in a perfectly quiet forest.
Scotty and I both collapsed, completely spent after a full five minutes of fighting. His eye was already terribly swollen and one of his teeth had somehow ended up on a nearby workbench. A large patch of Scotty’s hair was gone. I located it a moment later…in the big man’s hand.
I was positive I had at least one cracked rib and the left side of my face was completely numb. I had somehow lost my shirt, so the back side of me was nothing but pink skin scraped raw. My right wrist was most assuredly broken, as it made an agonizingly painful crunching sound when I rotated my hand.
I willed myself back to my feet and looked around for the rope we’d brought.
“This isn’t the movies. He could wake back up at any time. We gotta get him tied up ASAP and finish the job.”
Scotty found the rope beneath the man’s legs and set to work. We had him secured in just under a minute.
“I’m tying triple knots for this guy. If we have to go toe-to-toe with him again he’ll either kill us, or we’ll wish he had.”
Our plan was finally back on course, but we were beaten badly and possibly too weak to finish what we’d started.
Broken wrist and all, I helped Scotty drag that massive human, feet first, up the basement stairs and out to a van I had managed to conjure up out of thin air. His chin bounced off each step as we made our way up to the door, and in my mind I hoped it was breaking teeth every time.
I was scared. Why? Because I knew we were in over our head. Despite our injuries, we’d fought ferociously for quite a long time, yet he never made a sound—not a single peep. Not one grimace of pain or scream of rage. Just nothing. Aside from his initial greeting, the only sound that ever crossed his lips was the sharp exhale as Scotty’s spindle finished the job.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really, because he’d never made a sound from the first time I saw him…silently stalking my dreams.
Until recently, I had never wet the bed.
However, the first time I recall specifically making note of not wetting the bed was about 10 years ago. I was deep into one of my usual, stupid dreams; I believe in this one I was back at my old high school, doing only God knows what kind of stupidity. I was probably being chased by a tiger—why is it always a fucking tiger?
I usually have a gun in the tiger dreams, but it never shoots. So after taking a pot shot at the thing with my useless Glock, I feel the overwhelming urge to urinate, and I’m suddenly in the boy’s bathroom.
I find a stall, go to it, and the toilet is broken.
I go to the next stall…I see shoes from underneath.
The next stall has a broken door.
And the last one has overflowed. Water is softly pouring over the side like one of those sweet Infinity pools--only this one doesn’t have a hot bikini chick on a raft. Instead it’s host to a couple turds of significant girth, drifting ever-so-close to the porcelain’s edge and threatening to come crashing down on my Ultra-Boosts.
I have to piss like a racehorse, this bathroom is out of options, and there’s a tiger outside in the hallway leaning against the lockers smoking a cigarette, patiently waiting for me to reappear.
Then I wake up, and realize I need to pee in real life*.*
This shit happens to me…often.
Part of me is driven completely crazy by this little aspect of my subconscious, but I’m actually quite thankful my brain is willing to concoct some Vanilla Sky caliber dream scenarios to stop me from creating a warm, wet spot for my wife to roll over into.
Over the years, everything you can conjure up has had an opportunity to stop me from pissing myself. Tigers, Velociraptors, sinkholes, giant crowds of people watching me, a man with a gun standing in front of the stall, and a giant clown.
I know what you’re thinking…”oh geez, another grown man scared of clowns.”
I am not scared of clowns.
What I’m scared of is a 7 foot tall grown man, willing to dress as a clown standing well within reach of my vulnerable penis.
I have had some epic piss prevention scenarios over the years, and each time it happens it feels like the first time. I do appreciate my brain very much for keeping things dry and I give props for the creativity involved, but recently things took a strange, dark turn.
I was chillin’ in one of my typical dreams. I don’t recall a tiger this time, so more than likely it was one of my staple scenarios…driving a two foot long car, or running like an ape.
At some point, my bladder transports me to the house I grew up in. I make my way to the bathroom in the back of the house, then enter and flip the light switch. Nothing happens, and of course I can’t pee in pitch blackness.
Then suddenly after 10 years, my bladder has entered the game and decides to fight back, showing me a desk lamp sitting on the toilet tank, right next to that JC Penny catalog I used to love so much.
I flip on the lamp, lift the lid and get ready to go, when it suddenly goes dark. Foiled again and frustrated, my full bladder and I turn around to leave and something happens. Someone GRABS me, wraps their arms around me, and says
“Let me try something…”
I roared like a wild animal and shot straight up out of bed, ready to do battle with whoever had just put me in a bear hug, which subsequently scared the ever-loving shit out of my wife--even more so than the time I practically shoved her out of bed because I saw a jellyfish on the wall.
This was different, though. I have never, ever felt physical contact like that in my dreams. It felt as real as anything I’d ever experienced up to that point, and even the next morning I could STILL feel the memory of it, just as any other significant human contact I had ever experienced.
The experience weighed heavily on me for a few days. I knew it was a dream, but I also knew what I felt. It felt very real, and I had to find out for sure. If it happened again it could go further and turn into something I may very well not be able to handle.
So, I concocted a plan. I would drink a metric ass ton of liquid before bed and hope like hell the walnut between my ears would take evasive action and dream something up to stop an unwanted Golden Shower. Then, I would keep my eyes peeled for whoever grabbed me last time, and confront them.
It took some experimentation to eventually achieve success. Water and soda didn’t seem to be doing it, so after a couple unsuccessful weeks I broke out the guaranteed urinary tract assault…vegetable soup. That stuff hits my bladder HARD and doesn’t let up for hours.
I whipped up granny’s recipe, had three big bowls around 7:00, and went to bed at 9:30.
The bathroom trips were relentless that night, but between the 5th and 6th visit I must have finally hit a solid spell of REM sleep and it was “go time.”
The scene was me, alone, walking toward a grassy hillside when I suddenly got that familiar urge to evacuate. There was nothing but grass as far as the eye could see in every direction and I absolutely HATE peeing outside. Then as if my mind was reading my mind, a urinal magically appeared. It was perfectly white and fresh, with a strawberry scented deodorant cake in the bottom and no chewing gum in the bowl area. I smiled at the great fortune bestowed upon me by my bladder and unzipped my imaginary trousers.
Without warning, just as sweet relief was about to hit me, I was facing a wall of dirty, haggard looking soldiers on horseback. These were the gritty, hard-nosed types you see in Braveheart or Game of Thrones. Leather armor, with big wooden shields and rusty swords stained with the blood of their enemies.
My pelvic floor muscles hit the brakes HARD. There was no way I was gonna be able to get my flow on in front of all these people. So I zipped up, with that annoying bladder pressure still tapping me on the shoulder in reminder, and backed up a bit to get a better look at the scene before I would most assuredly wake up.
But I didn’t wake up, and I stood mesmerized as the sea of men parted down the middle and a man walked through. He wasn’t a soldier, and in-fact he looked nothing at all like the men surrounding him. He looked to be mid-thirties, average height, strongly built and dressed in modern day jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with some rock band I didn’t recognize.
He walked up to me and offered his hand. I took it.
A bolt of lightning shot up my arm and that *real* feeling hit me hard. This was it. It was the same guy.
He spoke in a familiar accent.
“I’m Scotty. You’re a hard man to catch--and stronger than you look. I had a hell of a hold on you last time and you got out fast enough to make me rethink my workout regimen."
I gave the only logical reply.
“That’s because I have super strength in my dreams. Why did you grab me?”
His smile had disappeared. Looking at me with serious eyes, he slowly raised a finger and pointed off to his right.
“Because I think he wants to kill you.”
My eyes gently rolled in the direction his extended finger indicated. The soldiers were all gone, but about 50 yards out I could see a lone figure. It was a man. Exceptionally tall, perhaps 6’6”, and broad shouldered. He wore tan Carhartt work pants and a blue denim style shirt rolled up at the sleeves. A receding line of sand colored hair sat in a messy heap on his head, and even at such a distance I could see coal black eyes staring out.
Connected to some stout-looking forearms were giant hands, and in his right was several loops worth of what appeared to be cut-off extension cord. In his left hand was a large canvas bag.
If the work clothes were replaced by a suit and the cord became a briefcase, you wouldn’t look twice at the man. He was THAT ordinary. But with those black eyes, the no-nonsense outfit and chosen accessories in hand, he looked menacing…like a farmhand or mechanic who had “put up with enough of the Democrats’ bullshit” and decided to go stomp the guts out of anyone who didn’t fit his narrative.
As a monster in my dreams though, he wasn’t what I would conjure up. And really to be honest, my personal monster would probably just be someone trying to make me run my fingernails across glossy photo paper. *shudder*
“Dude…I’ve run across you half a dozen times over the past year, and every single time that creepy asshole was watchin’ you from an uncomfortably close distance. He’s out to get you, and I’m not sure what’s stopped him so far.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the sandy-haired Man continued to stare directly at me. He hadn’t even flinched, or blinked, or done anything to suggest that he wasn’t just a prop in this nightmare, and it was certainly unsettling. Then, all of a sudden, he slowly turned and walked back over the hill and out of sight.
I turned my eyes back to Scotty.
“Are you a real person? I know this is a dream, but it feels as real as my own life. And why are you seeing me?”
Scotty grinned.
“You might think I’m the weirdest son of a bitch you ever talked to, but I’ll tell ya anyways. I’m very real. I’m also a fitness fanatic, and obsessed with longevity of life. I wanna live to a hundred plus years old and I’ve developed certain methods to keep myself on track to hit that number.”
“Ok?” I said quizzically.
He continued. “One of my anti-aging techniques is makin’ sure I stay in REM sleep as long as possible. REM is essential to optimal health in every way because all the good shit happens to you while you’re at that level of sleep. I take all the steps necessary to keep myself there as much as possible. I sleep in absolute darkness with the perfect temperature and the most comfortable bed. I wear a mask, use a cocktail of natural sleep aids, and anything else I can get my hands on in order to achieve uninterrupted REM”
He shrugged.
“But, I’m 43 years old and the one thing I’m losing control of is the call of nature. A while back I started having to get out of bed to pee every night and it threw my entire plan into chaos. I believe maximal REM sleep is possibly the MOST IMPORTANT factor in longevity. I was in a panic, and in desperation I came up with an idea. Diapers. I decided to wear an adult diaper to bed and train my brain to let me pee in it without coming out of REM. I know it sounds crazy, man. I know it. But I was desperate, and necessity is the mother of invention.”
I’m a pretty open-minded guy so this really wasn’t all that ridiculous to me, but I was definitely laughing…in a polite way.
“So you now wear a diaper at night, and go ahead and wet the bed and deal with the aftermath in the morning? All to stay in REM?”
Nodding, he finished the story.
“I do. And through intensive meditation and focus, I trained my brain to take me to a toilet during my dreams so it doesn’t try to wake me up. Now, I don’t understand the dream world but apparently it exists somewhere other than just inside our own selves, but I’ve been hitting some of these bathrooms at the same time you do. In-fact, every time I see you you’re standing in front of the toilet I need and I end up waking up and ruining my REM period. So, a few weeks back when you walked into that same house and that same bathroom with that godawful rose colored wallpaper, I…
I cut him off.
“My mother chose that wallpaper, asshole.”
He backed up a step.
“Easy there fella, I was just takin’ the piss…no pun intended.”
Scotty continued.
“So as I was saying, I decided I would grab you and see if I could tell you to stop interfering in my bed wetting. But you got out of my hands so fast I didn’t get the chance. But I KNEW at that point that you were real, like me. The energy when I touched you was unbelievable.”
“Yeah, I felt it too, and that’s why I’m back here today. You scared the living shit out of me with that stunt, but I suppose my desire to explore that event was stronger than my sense of self-preservation.”
Scotty pointed over to the now unoccupied piece of land where the sandy-haired man had been standing.
“I think he’s real too, and it seems to me he’s locked in on ya for some sort of nefarious purpose. I think it’s because you stick out in the bathroom situations. Characters he’s conjured up in his own dream scenario aren’t complex enough to walk up to a stall with a broken door and panic. He figured out you’re real and he’s got something in mind for you. Why he hasn’t done anything yet, I don’t know, but I needed to warn you. That night I grabbed you, he was standing in the bedroom doorway at the end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem interested in me, though”
I kicked the dirt at my feet.
“Shit, man. That’s my old bedroom. I end up there in my dreams pretty often, which is odd because I always considered sharing that space with my brother to be a living nightmare. He farted in his sleep constantly.”
Scotty shrugged his shoulders
“I don’t know what to tell you. I know right now I’m at home in Clarksburg, fast asleep to the artificial sound of seagulls in a perfect 67 degrees Farenheit bedroom, wearing a warm, hopefully piss-filled diaper. But this moment is real as well, and I’m afraid if that man gets hold of either of us we may never wake up—or at least not in the lives we currently know. I feel like there’s a reason two strangers in the dream world keep ending up in the same place at the same time. I think I need to help you figure this out.”
I looked at him, a little relieved but still VERY unnerved.
“I sincerely appreciate the warning. I…wait…did you say Clarksburg? Clarksburg, West Virginia?”
With surprise on his face, he said “Uhh..yes. You know of it?”
“Yes. Because I live in Huntington.”
His eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
“YOU ONLY LIVE A COUPLE HOURS FROM ME?”
“It appears so, Scotty. This is really starting to NOT feel like a coincidence.”
Another half hour or so later (I finally had to wake up and pee), Scotty and I parted ways. We shared address and contact information, of which his phone number I managed to forget by the time I woke up. However, I did remember his home address.

***
I took the day off work and made some lame excuse to my wife, then headed for Clarksburg. On the long, boring-ass drive up there I thought about what I might do, say, etc, once I met the real Scotty. I mean…if he really WAS real. I had no guarantee the dude was actually some random guy living in my own state. For all I knew, one of my elaborate dreams was just more elaborate than usual. Plus, I had been to Clarksburg several times for one reason or another over the years so my subconscious could have just conjured up a real address I’d seen on a past visit.
I arrived to town still not quite sure if I was doing something entirely stupid, and made my way down a country road to the address Scotty provided. It was real. The number on the mailbox corresponded with a small, nondescript yellow house situated adjacent to the main road. I pulled into the gravel driveway, exceptionally nervous and definitely packing my pistol just in case it wasn’t Scotty’s house, and instead was actually inhabited by some old creeper.
The poorly maintained front yard contained several pieces of outdoor type exercise equipment and a bike rack was attached to the trailer hitch of the off-road style Tacoma in the driveway. A crooked “26.2” sticker was on the bumper, indicating the driver had run a marathon at some point…or at least knew where to buy a 26.2 sticker. It was quite the coincidence because my truck’s bumper has a sticker that reads “0.0 I don’t run.”
Well…the Scotty I’d met said he was a health nut, so the yard and vehicle fit the description. However, I didn’t see any dirty diapers strewn about. Maybe he leaves his in the Wal-Mart parking lot like everyone else.
I rang the bell, quickly patting my concealed firearm’s holster for peace of mind.
The door opened and there was Scotty “in the flesh” as they say. He had a surprised look on his face, to say the least.
“Wow. You’re real.”
“So are you.” I threw my hands up.
“Well…now what?”
Scotty gestured for me to come inside.
“I have a plan, dude. Allow me to share.”
Scanning my surroundings, I took a seat on the couch. It was a pretty typical place for a bachelor. The TV and home theater gear was too big for the wall they sat adjacent to, while old movie and concert posters adorned the other walls. The kitchen consisted of basic appliances, then what appeared to be a DIY hyperbaric chamber.
“Nice place. Where’s the diaper pail?”
He grinned. “Literally, I would never have divulged that information if your life hadn’t depended on it.”
We got right to the business at hand.
Scotty had a theory. If he and I were in such close proximity, then there must be some kind of geographic layout in our dreams. With that knowledge in hand, he believed that the sandy-haired man must also be reasonably close. We agreed that we had no idea what would happen if he carried out whatever horrors he seemed to have in mind.
Could we die in a dream? If so, would we wake up? If we woke up, would we ever dream again?
We spoke about the situation at length, and decided our first plan should be to follow the man and see if the places he went and things he did would provide some clues as to his real world location.
It took some strategic planning and well-timed liquid consumption, but Scotty and I finally managed to be in the same place at the same time in our dreams again. It was a Sears department store location near where I grew up. I made my way to the rear of the store, then down the hallway that always smells faintly of armpits.
That Sears bathroom is pretty much my go-to when I’m at that mall. It’s only slightly better than a decrepit gas station on Route 66, but it’s almost always empty so I can pee in peace.
Scotty entered a moment later.
“Dude…he’s outside in the tool area. I watched from a distance as he followed you, but you got out of his sight on the way over here. I don’t think he knows where the bathroom is yet, which tells me he’s probably not someone who lives in your local area. Where are we, anyway?
I rolled my eyes as I explained. “It’s a mall near where I grew up. In real life I always pee in this bathroom because it’s always empty. I’ve never actually ended up here in a dream, though.”
We quietly snuck back out through the hallway. Scotty took the lead and checked a few aisles before motioning for me to follow.
And there he was, in the lawn and garden section…looking at axes.
He was even bigger than I’d estimated during our first encounter. He had the look of a person you’d imagine bending steel pipe by hand, or holding up a collapsed roof to rescue his fellow miners.
As the sandy-haired man left that section of the store and began to explore, his size was in stark contrast to his movements. His pace was smooth-- almost delicate even, as he moved throughout the store, and there were no footfalls or clumsily bumping into things amidst the tightly packed aisles.
We stayed out of sight, camouflaged by the dream-manifested store patrons while keeping the man in sight. Eventually he made his way back to the tool area and located the bathrooms. He disappeared into both the men’s and women’s rooms, then reappeared just as quickly and set back out across the store.
We had officially lost him. Now it was time to do some stalking of our own.
Scotty and I watched the big man cross the Sears parking lot, heading right for the traffic loop. We followed bit by bit, keeping low along the line of cars in the crowded lot.
Making his way through a crowd of onlookers participating in what appeared to be a dog fight—more specifically, poodles…Toy Poodles….surprisingly violent little things, too. I made a mental note to be nice to my neighbor’s fluffy puppy.
Passing right through it all as if it didn’t exist, the man stepped out into traffic. He walked directly in front of a car and disappeared as it passed right through his body.
Scotty and I stood there in disbelief for a few seconds, but we knew what had to happen. I exhaled sharply as we stepped in front of a literal rocket ship on wheels. I was sure we were about to get smashed, but instead we were suddenly standing on a quiet residential street. Instantly taking a look around before setting off again, we kept our eyes peeled for the sandy-haired man. It took a few minutes of exploring, but Scotty and I finally caught sight of him standing in front of a small, immaculately maintained house. Light gray with maroon shutters, the surrounding property was comprised of beautiful, lush grass and round, perfectly manicured bushes that put my own landscaping shit-show to complete shame.
Scotty pointed off in the distance and looked over at me.
“Hey. I know this area. That water tower. It’s in Pennsylvania, just across the state line. I used to date a girl that lived over here, somewhere.”
Knowing the answer already, I asked…”So how’d that relationship turn out?”
With a smug look, he said “She was a hippy, and wasn’t fond of shaving or bathing. I couldn’t deal with that.”
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. He threw his hands out in front of him, gesturing.
“OK, OK…she wasn’t down with me wearing a diaper to bed. Some girls like it, though. I swear.”
So anyway…..The man climbed the short section of porch steps and put his hand on the door handle, only to make a sudden about-face as if he’d forgotten something. Scotty and I ducked below the bush line behind which we’d taken up position and watched as the man made his way to a shed several yards off the side of the house. He pulled open the sliding doors and went inside. We could hear him rummaging around and moving things.
A few minutes later he reappeared, and slung over his shoulder was a body in a burlap sack. Judging from the sound of the muffled screams, it was a woman. She was fighting furiously beneath the fabric, thrashing and jabbing at what might as well have been a brick wall. His hands were half the size of her back, and it only took one of them to keep her completely under control.
The woman screamed with all she had, but he didn’t bother to silence her. It was his dream now, and there was no one to hear those cries for help…except for me and my new friend.
As the man entered the house with the woman over his shoulder, Scotty and I began to come up with a plan to save her. We knew she was a real person like the two of us, and if he was going to do what he appeared to be preparing for, we had to stop him.
The plan was simple—and in hindsight, it was also incredibly stupid.
Sneak quietly into the house, free the girl, and beat the piss out of the sandy-haired man until he was unconscious and we could figure out what to do with him. It was perfect. You see it in the movies all the time.
But before we did that…I had a problem.
“Dude…I have to pee reaaaaaaaly bad. It’s gonna wake me up any minute!”
Scotty, of course, had loaded up his real life diaper long ago.
He looked at me with a face as serious as I’ve ever seen.
“You gotta do it. You HAVE TO wet the bed, bro. It’s the only way.”
As if on cue, ten feet in front of me my challenge appeared. It was a ballpark trough.
You know, those stupid, wide open tubs that run the length of the wall at sports stadiums. Anyone and everyone is standing out there with their wiener unguarded, just waiting for some asshole to come by and flick it with his finger while simultaneously giving an atomic wedgie.
I took a step back. “Dude, I can’t. Troughs are literally the most dangerous, vulnerable depositories for urine on the planet. I’d rather piss in front of a thirsty tiger!”
“You HAVE to do it, man. If you don’t, all of this was for nothing. You’ll wake up, and being the chivalrous guy I am, I’ll go in there to rescue the princess and that big bastard will beat me to death and run train on my corpse. I can’t do this without you! Just try!”
So, I tried. I whipped it out, took a few deep breaths, focused on my urethral sphincters, and gave it a shot. After 10 seconds or so there was a trickle…just a tiny bit.
Scotty yelled from behind.
“How’s it going! Anything coming out!”
I was frantic. “It’s not coming out enough! I know I’m about to wake up!”
And just like that he was on me. Scotty came up behind, wrapped his arms around my body right at bladder level, screamed at the top of his lungs “I’M A HETEROSEXUAL MAN!!” and pulled back hard, putting enormous pressure on my bladder.
It went off like a fire hose.
A full minute later I was shaking off the last few drops, which were likely just icing on the cake of the enormous circle of urine that was now on my bed back in the real world. I hoped to god my wife didn’t wake up, but the more likely scenario is that she was about to roll over in it. I was also asking myself if we had remembered to put the mattress liner on after the last laundry day.
I raised my arms in triumph. I never thought I would be so happy to have pissed in my PJ’s.
“Let’s fucking DO THIS!”
So, we went for it. The door wasn’t locked since no one would fuck with the man’s house in his own dream…except two real guys in their own dreams.
We crept into the house slowly and quietly. It was as immaculate as the man’s landscaping. Clean, orderly, with simple furniture and drab carpet that had fresh vacuum marks.
However…the smell. Oh my god, it was putrid. It was beyond putrid--it was a nasty, gut churning, bile rising stench that instantly made my eyes water. We covered our noses but it had absolutely no effect. Breathing through my mouth had me about 1% below the vomit threshold.
It was no matter, though. We had to get to the task at hand.
Scotty and I crept slowly around the house, then heard screams from the direction of the kitchen. Retracing our steps back across the house, we followed the sounds to a basement door. It was closed and had a number on it. That was a little odd for a door inside the house. It said “Room 733.” I gingerly turned the knob and quietly pushed it open. From beyond the basement steps I could hear the sounds of Johnny Cash playing softly, coupled with the light static of a weak radio signal.
We began our slow descent, planning to sneak up on the son-of-a-bitch and whip his ass like nobody’s business. As we reached the bottom of the steps, the stench had reached its peak. It was just too much to handle. My eyes burned furiously and my stomach began to spasm. As my feet hit the floor I looked up, and there he was. Grinning. Like, a genuine, friendly and welcoming smile.
I looked around the room as the sickness tried to overwhelm me. God, I wish I hadn’t. Hanging from the floor joists were people…probably a dozen of them, tightly packed but divided into male/female couples, hanging like the tobacco you see drying in a barn along a country road. A large clamp attached to the joists held each one off the ground by its hair, and a bucket sat underneath to collect all manner of fluids and gunk seeping out.
But something wasn’t right. They were thing…too thin…too flat.
I initially though the bones were missing, but off to the side I could see a body laying horizontally within what looked like a stream press. It was more than one body, actually. Maybe half a dozen? They were just completely, disgustingly, horrifically flattened. Clearly in a preparation stage for the hanging phase of whatever sick process this was.
Off in the opposite corner sat what appeared to be a big cauldron, like witches use in old movies. A gas flame burned beneath it, feeding heat to what I now realized was the second ingredient for the intense stench of death. Rubber.
And, finally, I saw the completed product.
Four bodies, leaned against the wall, in an unnaturally rigid manner. They were very clearly made from skin suits, just like the ones hanging above us, but were stretched absurdly tight…not a single wrinkle was visible. Everything just looked stuffed beyond possibility. Eyelids were closed and had been painted freakishly bright blue with a wide open stare. The mouths were also closed and covered by a big dazzlingly white mouth, not separated into teeth. The artwork was horrendous, like one of those shitty kid pictures your coworkers have hanging in their cubicles.
Everything from the moment we hit the floor until he spoke happened in under ten seconds. No one had moved, the grin never left the man’s face, and when Scotty and I came out of the trance he spoke to us. It was and is the only time I ever heard him speak.
Looking at us wild-eyed and with great enthusiasm, he said in an exceptionally deep and thunderous voice…
“You fellas like horror stories?
You ever read the one about Tommy Taffy?
How about The Pancake Family? I bet I've read 50,000 stories but those are my FAVORITES!”

I do like horror stories, and I’ve read both…and now my body could no longer contain the eruption churning within…
I threw up all over him.
The sandy-haired man’s enthusiasm was instantly gone, replacing itself with a look of pure rage as he cleared away the enormous amount of vomit I’d spewed onto his face and chest.
Scotty and I began to space ourselves out to surround the sandy-haired man, hoping to get him at the same time and get this over with quickly. Unfortunately I wasn’t finished vomiting and as Scotty tried to cross in front of me he slipped, landing hard on his back.
The man lunged at me, but I managed to sidestep, sending him careering into the stairs. He was so wide that I hadn’t even seen the woman behind him whose screams had been the very reason for our descent into this hell hole. I also hadn’t noticed that those screams had stopped.
As he flew past me I got a look at her. She was hanging upside down by her feet, bound with an extension cord, and swaying gently from the momentum of the man releasing his grip. Her back facing me and clad only in underwear, I had a full view of her bloodied body and my eyes locked in on something. It was a tattoo. A dolphin tattoo, to be exact.
I knew this because I bought her that tattoo 15 years ago during our honeymoon in Mexico.
With a gasp I lunged forward and spun her body around to face me. She looked dead. Fluids and blood trickled from fresh wounds in tributaries down her body, seeping into that beautiful auburn hair that had drawn countless compliments throughout her life.
I knelt down and screamed her name, feeling hot breath on my neck as the man grabbed me by the belt. In one fleeting second as his superhuman strength began to lift me off the floor, I saw her eyelids flicker open just a sliver. A rush of adrenaline hit me and I scrambled forward far enough to grab her face, stare into her near lifeless and eyes and scream.
“Annie..........WAKE UP!!!!”
And just like that, she disappeared.
So, if you paid any attention to the opening paragraphs of this tale, you know what happened. He spent 10 agonizingly slow minutes beating us like the bitches we were, while we fought with just enough ferociousness to not get killed, eventually resulting in us getting in a couple lucky shots that finally knocked him unconscious.
So, there we were. We had just loaded the sandy-haired man into the van. He was awake now, bound with his own extension cord and lashed to the van’s floor with ratchet straps. I was amazed he hadn’t tried to speak again.
Now, before you think this will take the turn of your favorite horror films I’ll make something very clear. He wasn’t getting out.
I’ve seen enough shitty tie jobs in those films to know what quality work entails. I hog tied the man, tying knots on top of knots and keeping them away from his hands, Furthermore, I boxed him into the upright position using odds and ends that were already in the van so there would be no rolling over and using some surrounding object to free himself.
Once the van was screaming down the road, Scotty looked over from the driver’s seat.
“What do we do with him?”
Staring straight ahead, I said “Set him on fire and push this van off a cliff. As much as I’d like to take my time slicing this motherfucker wide open, we could wake up at any second.
So, we did just that. Quick and efficient, and he was definitely dead.
Shortly after that I woke up. Reaching over to check on Annie, I found nothing but our dog, sprawled out like he owned the place. I panicked for a moment, then heard the toilet flush.
Annie stepped out of the bathroom and headed toward the door to the hallway, saying “Babe, you won’t believe the nightmare I had. It scared me so bad I’m still shaking a bit.”
“Oh also, I think Cujo peed in the bed.”
Over the next month Scotty and I stayed in contact but hadn’t met up in a dream again. In-fact, I was staying up later and had decided to seriously limit my intake of liquids after 6pm. We had vowed not to look for the sandy haired man, and instead would just lay low despite the absurdity of thinking homicide in a dream could get us arrested in the real world.
But as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, curiosity finally got the better of Scotty.
He’d managed to remember bits and pieces of the location of the man’s house in the dream, and decided to take a trip a few hours north to that small Pennsylvania town he’d recognized by that distinctive water tower. Driving around most of the day, Scotty eventually located the house. He sat in the truck for a few hours, just waiting for the man to come out…or not come out. The perfectly manicured grass was high and unread newspapers littered the sidewalk. Scotty finally decided to exit the truck and just stood in the street, halfway wishing the man would see him and come outside.
A curious neighbor hollered from the house next door and asked Scotty if he was lost, or if he could be of any assistance. Scotty made up some bullshit story about meeting the man there after answering a craigslist ad for some camping gear for sale.
“Oh, Mr. Jepson’s not home. He’s in the hospital. You may have seen it on the news, though. It’s all just so sad because he is absolutely the nicest, most kind person I’ve ever met. It’s such a shame what’s happening to him.”
Deciding it best not to ask any more questions, Scotty thanked the neighbor, got back in his truck and pulled up the local news station’s website. Five minutes later, he called me.
“Dude…he’s dying. Check the news!”
I avoid all forms of news most of the time, so I fired up my Galaxy and hit up the local Pennsylvania stations until I found what I was looking for. The man had been taken to the hospital after going over three weeks without sleep. Nothing could put him out…sleeping pills, anesthetics, and even a full-on medically induced coma. Nothing worked. He remained wide awake.
The sandy-haired man…err...Allen Jepson…was literally disintegrating. Body systems, processes, functions both internal and external…all failing, one miserable second at a time.
I updated myself constantly on the story over the coming days, and eventually saw that Jepson passed away. He died in pure misery, feeling the effects of no drug administered to provide comfort amidst the excruciating pain as his body’s systems shut down, one by one. He screamed in agony until exhaling his dying breath.
So there you have it. The answer to one of life’s great questions…what happens if you die in a dream?
A few days later I found his obituary.
Rev. Allen Edward Jepson, 62, of Montclaive, PA passed away at University Medical Center after a tragic illness.
A voracious reader of folklore and scary tales, people often said he would read through the entire internet if he lived long enough.
Beginning work as a butcher at the age of 14, Mr. Jepson was known throughout his lifetime for possessing remarkable physical power, performing feats of strength for crowds at county fairs, fundraisers, and the like.
Although leading church services was not his primary occupation, in his spare time Pastor Jepson facilitated eternal salvation for thousands of lost souls and enriched the lives of all who had the good fortune to meet and spend time with him.
In addition to countless other selfless endeavors, he was a lifelong supporter of hospice, spending a few final hours at the bedside of over 1,000 residents as they gained their Heavenly wings. Many times, he said “I feel it’s my life’s mission to be present for those who are in their final moments on Earth.”
Reverend Jepson was preceded in death by his dear wife Judith and only son, Tommy.

The real killer

CreateYoureReality NFL Week 4 Analysis and Picks

Part 3/3 My Introduction to a Professional Sports Betting Syndicate

I appreciate you making it this far. I know nowadays reading isn’t the best form of consuming content but for detailed stories I don’t see any other feasible way. Plus I doubt many people want to look at my ugly face lol. Hope you enjoy the final part.

Part 3/3

“Okay here’s how it’s gonna go kid”, Mario said as we discussed how and where the information would flow. “I don’t need to know all that other bullshit about team, position or type of injury, less is more. Player name and injury status, that’s it”. Mario was a pit bull, he dealt with all the information sources and I was just one of many, but I'd like to imagine I was a valuable one. I was to deal with him and only him and the next few days we were to run test trials to work out any kinks.
I don’t remember the first injury ping I got during the test trial period but I do remember the first injury report sent when we went live for real money [Tony Parker] - Doubtful. It was a very weird feeling that I can’t really describe whenever a ping came through, a mixture between excitement, fear and anxiety. I eventually got used to it but it took about a month.
The biggest issue for me during the testing period seems simple but it was copying the text on the ping I received and pasting it and sending it from my personal phone from the messenger app. I was always concerned about leaving a trail on my work computer which was a desktop that other co-workers used when I wasn’t there. As easy as it sounds to copy and paste, at the beginning my hands would be shaky and any mis-clicks cost valuable seconds and remember I couldn’t do my job of posting it at work until 15 seconds after I sent it to Mario, so during the trial period it was taking me roughly 35 to 40 seconds to post reports for my job, that’s a considerable delay. I had to be quicker sending it to Mario because the faster I do that the faster I’m able to post it for my work.
Trial period over and now it’s for real. [Danny Green] - Out. [Wesley Mathews] - Questionable. One by one I was sending the reports. One time attempting to be quick I copied the ping something like this EM-[Marc Gasol]-Shoulder-OUT and I immediately got a call from Mario who was pissed. “I don’t care if the player sprained his dick, it’s player and status, that’s it! I remember thinking jeez wtf. I found out later it had something to do with how they programmed it on their end with the auto-bet software, so any extra characters or information other than player and status would mess it up and they would miss getting the bets down, even if it was an extra . Or - it would mess it up, or at least that’s what I was told. The reports I sent him would be automatically inputted into their system, it was all automated. Mario made it clear that any pings I sent that weren’t formatted correctly or if by game time the status didn’t hold up I wouldn’t be paid for. Him being pissed off made sense to me after awhile, a lot of money is on the line and this is their full-time job and missing out on even one report could potentially be the difference of a winning or losing week.
Writing this has brought back so many memories, like the time at work we were due for a schedule change, they like to change the schedule every 6 months. I had only been doing the pings for about a month and a half and a schedule change would fuck this all up if I was moved to mornings. I paid my co-worker $200 to tell management he prefers mornings and of course I told them nights work best for me. I was in the clear for another 6 months.
I remember checking my mail and seeing a yellow envelope, my first payment from George, close to $10,000 all cash, payments got sent out in the mail on the 14th monthly. What was also interesting is it came with a breakdown of each ping I sent. Ex; Based on 22 days / Total Reports 31 2- accurately reported players OUT 3- accurately reported players Probable etc etc Some weeks there would be no key players or starters with any breaking injury news, some weeks there would be several. It could only be breaking news so if a coach has a press conference and it’s revealed that a player would be out the next 3 games that didn’t help me. Or if news came out while I wasn’t at work it didn’t help me. It’s funny even now when I see breaking news for a player injury I think about the pings and how many points that player means to the line.
So I’m about 3 months in now and I’m basically hoping players get hurt. I’ve received about 4 payments because the first one was prorated because I started halfway through a month. Money was rolling in. I remember talking to my mom and she had just found out she had to pay $3,200 on her annual taxes. She was crying when I came over and handed her 32 100 dollar bills.
My sister wanted new furniture for his first apartment, I told her to pick it out and let me know how much. My oldest brother who had always disapproved of my lifestyle and would often say “you are going to hell in a handbasket”, (never knew what that meant, still don’t.) He was going through an ugly divorce and was saying how it kills him to write that bitch a check each month and that he wishes he could just pay it all at once for the year and not have to deal with her. I asked him how much. Christmas I gave my two brothers, my sister and mother 1K each, no card, no envelope. Looking back I did some really tacky shit lol Look everyone I made it! It’s cringeworthy now being older thinking about some of the shit.
If you were 26-27 years old and single and money wasn’t an issue what would you do? Well that’s what I did, anything and everything. I would book flights to Vegas 1 day in advance just because on a Thursday I felt like going the next day, I wouldn’t even bring clothes I would buy them when I landed. Having money wasn’t totally new to me because I had made a lot of money as a bookie but having this much money coming in was new and all I had to do was go to work and click some buttons. You know how the saying goes, “easy come, easy go” that’s what money was like to me.
Another saying is “All good things come to an end”. It’s been about 6 months into this arrangement and I was now not only reporting injuries to George and his team but on certain days and even some full weeks he had me sending the reports to other betting groups. I was now interacting with not just one betting syndicate but 3 of them. There are probably thousands of sports betting groups in the country but there are only a handful of consistently successful betting groups that are profitable year after year and I had their ears. The top groups tend to work together. Every source I currently have and use now originated in some way, shape or form from these groups that I sent pings too. I’m not saying I’m buddies with the heads of these groups but I know a lot of current and former employees that have come and gone with these groups and I’ve always made sure to stay in contact. None of the money I made is still with me but the people I met and still talk to once in a while is something I value. It's a two way street, I wouldn’t be much use to them if I just constantly asked for info. I have to return the favor as well, that’s why when I discovered the SuperBowl commercial prop edge, it was these people who were the first to get it, after I bet it of course. (SuperBowl Prop Story is in the #Betting-Strategy-Advice channel in The Betting Network). I’m constantly looking for ways I can help them even after all this time because you never know when or how it can come back to you.
In total I basically reported these injuries for about 8-9 months and had started reporting some NCAAB key players injuries. I managed this without any major backlash from my company. Dealt with a few issues here and there with the betting groups but nothing major. After a while I realized a big reason for my company not noticing anything was that 80% of all pings were reported right away as normal, although the 20% that got delayed were the key players and starters. A couple customer complaints were about all that happened and when that did I would make sure to promptly send out MIL-G-[Ramon Sessions]-Questionable with no delay.
The way this arrangement ended is anticlimactic and it was something out of any of our control. I managed to avoid schedule changes and even declined a small promotion within the company and a couple outside job opportunities that if I showed any type of interest I could’ve got, all in order to keep this $15.75 hr job. But everything happens for a reason, the company I worked for sold its majority ownership and merged with 2 other companies, this resulted in my department being dissolved and I ultimately ended up leaving the company altogether shortly after. Everyone involved was crushed when I told them it was over, especially one of the groups George affiliated with because they only got about 2 months out of it. The good news was the connections were made and we all continued to work together in different ways but nothing will probably be as lucrative as the ping arrangement.
I Hope you guys enjoyed this story because I enjoyed going down memory lane. I actually texted a few of the guys involved in it last night and we talked about how great it was and how it would be impossible these days to do what we did for many reasons. It was great while it lasted that’s for sure.
Fin
PS This was a little different from what I normally post which is more focused on sports betting education. I decided to share this story because of the overwhelming feedback I got with The Betting Network community. My focus is to help educate sports bettors, it’s important to know there are no shortcuts to being a successful sports bettor. I have over 25 lessons posted in TBN community on various topics, investing in yourself and learning as much as you can is the only way you stand a chance at becoming a successful sports bettor and even that alone isn’t enough, you must have some natural attributes like discipline and patience’s
if you are serious about learning and willing to put in the required work and invest in yourself DM me and I can tell you how to join The Betting Network community, I do a free 3 day trial and it’s only $7 a month after that. Weekly lessons, game previews, mentorship program and I share not only my opinions on games but also opinions from some of the many sources within my network. Hope to see some of y’all in the community.
Lefty

Retreat, Hell - Episode 9

A/N: So, not the longest, only 12,264 words, but this completes Rinn's first adventure through the portal. Episode 9.5 will be another visit to Tyriel, and Episodes 10, 11, and maybe 12 will be another adventure to Earth, this time to a physics lab. After that, the rest of the artificer augments will show up, and some group training will commence, including some time visiting a nearby keshmin city/town, and various antics along the way.
EDIT: Forgot the Patreon link.

Retreat, Hell – Episode 9

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“And we’re half-way there...”

“Woah-oh! Livin’ on a prayer!”

Rinn laughed as the entire van joined in on the chorus. It had been an hour since they left base, and most of it was filled with music, and questionable attempts to sing along.

“You got a problem with our karaoke road trips?” Bradford asked over the music.

“What is… kair… kair-ye-yoke-yi?”

“Kair-ee-oke-ee,” Bradford laughed. “It’s….” she tilted her head. “Actually, I don’t know what language it comes from. Probably Hawaiian or something.” She shrugged. “It means to sing along to music, usually without other vocals to back you up. It’s a party game.”

“Man, Elder would have a cow if he were here,” Sampson said, leaning over the back of their seat. “It’s Japanese, not Hawaiian.”

“Hey, I’m not a language expert. I speak American English and, apparently…” She paused, looking at Rinn. “What’s your language called?”

“Gyani,” Rinn replied. “It’s the official language of the Kingdom.”

“Gyani,” Bradford nodded. “I can understand Gyani thanks to some magical fuckery. Otherwise, I’m a dunce with languages. I failed my second year of Spanish.”

“Wait, the mighty Jabs, goddess of knowledge and intelligence among Marines, who is studying for a degree in aerospace engineering in her spare time, failed basic Spanish?!”

“Languages aren’t my thing!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. She shrugged, glancing to the side. “I might also have only taken it as an elective because I had a major crush on Kyle Eckels…”

Rinn’s ears perked up. “Who is Kyle Eckels?”

Bradford rolled her eyes. “Just some douche I went to high school with.”

“Oh, you’re not leaving it at that,” Sampson said, tapping her shoulder, then rolling his hand at her. “Spill.”

“Fine,” she sighed. She leaned back, looking past the ceiling of the van. “He was the star of the track and field team, and I thought he was the hottest person ever. He really nailed the tall-dark-and-handsome look, you know? Had kind of a quiet, brooding vibe, without a hint of Twilight.”

“No sparkly vampires for you, Jabs?” Edison asked.

“Ugh, no,” she rolled her eyes.

“Go on,” Sampson said, putting his elbows on the back of their seat and propping his chin on his hands, giving her an expectant smile.

“He was athletic, and suave, and I thought that, because he did track and field, he wouldn’t have the same jock attitude that a lot of the guys on the football team did.” She sighed. “He would look up from his mild brooding and give me a tiny smile, like just seeing me brightened his day.” She shook herself. “It sent shivers down my spine every time he did it.”

“Aaand…” Sampson prodded when she let the silence drag on too long.

“And he was a douchebag who did that to every single girl he thought he could score with. Asshole was juggling three girlfriends and hooked up with or was trying to hook up with half the girls in the school.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Yeah, when I found out he was playing me…” She shook her head. “I figured out all his girlfriends, told them, and told the other girls in our year. They all kept it a secret right until the day of Prom, after he had already spent his money on some big party reservations, when they all dumped him in front of the whole school assembly. Nobody showed up to his after-Prom party.”

“Damn, girl!” Sampson smiled. “That really showed him!”

“What about you, Shields? Do you have a girl back home?”

“Ah… no….”

“Kawalski’s got a girl in every whore house,” Gomez said.

Kawalski turned, giving him a look of fatherly pride. “Truth.” His expression instantly shifted to a scowl. “Now shut the fuck up, Gomer!”

Gomez sat back, grinning the smile of someone who knew he did good.

“Do keshmin even mate for life?” Kimber asked. “Or do you have seasonal mating cycles?”

“Can you only mate once every seven years, and you have to fuck or you die?” Edison shouted from the back seat.

“That is… oddly specific… and no.” Rinn shook his head. He wasn’t going down that conversation path. “Marriage is supposed to last forever, but doesn’t always… Some people get to choose who they marry, especially in the lower classes, but it’s often arranged.”

“Is there someone you’re looking to marry?”

“No.”

“What? No sweetheart waiting for you to sweep her off her feet when you come home from the war?” Bradford poked his side, giving him a sly look.

“No…” He leaned back against his window, ears shifting awkwardly.

“Do you have a girl in every whore house?” Kimber asked.

“No!”

“What’s the matter, Shields?” Sampson asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “A little sensitive about your love life?”

“Do you even have a love life?” Bradford asked, trying to suppress her characteristic smirk.

Rinn found himself plastered to the window, suddenly the center of the focused attention of eleven humans.

“Nah, man, relax, we’re just fucking with you,” Bradford waved at him, glancing away to mask a grin.

“Yeah, who you fuck, or don’t, is your business. Nobody cares.” Sampson said.

“Fuck knows there’s enough of you that will share, anyway,” Bradford rolled her eyes.

He sighed, relaxing away from the window. “I felt like I was back at the university again for a moment, there.”

“Ha,” Bradford laughed, throwing an arm over the back of the seat to pat him on the shoulder. “Sounds like high school drama is universal, doesn’t it?”

“Apparently,” he said, tensing briefly under her touch but forcing himself to relax. Humans are just very tactile. Like the dohlgra.

The song changed on the “radio,” or Gomez’s “phone,” Rinn wasn’t sure which, nor the significance of either. There was a short, tapping beat, and then the song was immediately loud again.

“Is all human music this loud?”

“No, not all of it,” Bradford laughed.

“Some of it is louder!” Gomez grinned, like this was an awesome thing. He put his hands up to his mouth like he was holding something, closed his eyes, and scream-growled into them.

Rinn’s ears swept back, flat against his skull. “Are you dying?”

He took a breath and screamed louder.

“What did we say about death metal and screamo in the car?!” shouted Kimber.

Gomez stopped screaming, dropping his hands with a pout. “You guys are lame.”

Bradford laughed, shaking her head. “We’ve got all kinds of music. Some… more palatable than others…”

“Laaame!”

“Shut the fuck up, Gomer!”

She rolled her eyes. “We’ve mostly been listening to Classic and Hard Rock, but there’s a whole bunch of other types of music, even other types of Rock.”

“Like rap and hip-hop,” Sampson said.

“Country,” Miller added.

“Rhythm and Blues,” Edison suggested.

“And then you have classical music, different types of folk music, and cultural flavors from all over the world.” She smiled. “We have a lot of music.”

“Here, I can show you,” Gomez said, snagging his phone and flipping through the display with his thumbs. A moment later, the music stopped and a new beat started. It was slow at first, but then the pace picked up as the singer started chanting. His ears flicked from side to side as the singer sped through words at an alarming rate and he struggled to make them all out.

Gomez flipped through several more examples, some loud or fast, others soft and slow. Some were simple, some were grand and complex. The diversity alone was staggering.

"What about you? What is keshmin music like?" Gomez asked.

"Or at least, what is Ganlin music like?" Sampson added. "You've gotta have a fair bit of variation, too."

He waved his hands. “Well, I don’t have anything that can show you, but it’s usually a lot less… loud.”

“Just wait until you guys get amps.”

“What?”

“Amplifiers. Takes the sound produced by an instrument, turns it into an electrical signal, and amplifies the signal to make it louder when it’s put out on a speaker. In a nutshell.”

Rinn quirked his ears, then shook his head. “We have symphony orchestras, and operas, but those are mostly reserved for the wealthy and nobility. The common keshmin play a variety of songs.” He paused, his ears flicking to the back of his head in frustration. “If all of my things hadn’t been lost in the retreat, I could play you something…”

“You play an instrument?”

“Yes, two.” He held a hand up. “One is a tulu.”

“A what? That didn’t translate.”

“A tulu.” He held his hands up in front of his chest, as if he were holding something. “It’s made of clay, and shaped like… a double-pointed tear, with a piece to blow in, and holes for your fingers.”

“That’s an ocarina!” Bradford said with a smile.

“Okha-rinn-a?”

“Oca-reen-a,” she said. “It’s one of the oldest instruments ever made.”

He nodded. “It’s a very old instrument for us, too.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she nodded. “That’s awesome! What else do you play?”

“The seilei, it’s like… It’s a board, with strings on it, and a ridge in the middle. You can play it by plucking the strings, or using a bow.”

“I think we’ve had similar instruments, though none are common in this part of the world.”

“So you had those with you?”

“Yes, but they were all lost with the rest of my things when the camp fell to chaos during the retreat.”

“You know… When we head up to el-ay on Sunday, we could stop by a music store and get you a new ocarina. It might not replace everything, but it’s a start, yeah?” She gave him an encouraging smile.

He rolled his ears, considering, and they slowly rose to the idea. He nodded. “I’d like that.”

She grinned. “I’d say we could go today, but the highway’s a parking lot right now. It’s going to take long enough to get wherever we’re going for food as it is, and I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”

Rinn looked down at his stomach as it growled at the reminder. They both laughed.

“Hey, driver! Are we fucking there yet? Some of us didn’t get to have lunch today!”

***

Thirty minutes later, Rinn saw glimpses of buildings in the distance that seemed further away than they should be. They crept down the highway. Their pace was stop, and go. Stop, and go. A stark contrast to the speed they moved at that morning.

The number and variety of vehicles baffled him. I understand that they probably don’t have carrels or yashi, but do they have no working animals at all? He considered the mechanical artifices around him. Do they have any need for working animals?

Another ten minutes went by as they crept closer to San Diego, and Rinn got a proper look at the city in the distance. They had been surrounded by what he would consider city for miles, but that… There’s got to be some trick of the air… they look too big for as far away as they are, or too far away for as big as they are…

The van rounded another bend in the road, and there they were, straight ahead on the highway. The city was over a mile away, but still towered over the horizon. He stared out the window as the traffic crept forward, and the “city” before him stretched towards the clouds. Those towers are so tall, they scrape the sky!

“If you think those are tall, you should see New York,” Bradford said, giving him a knowing smile.

He consciously shut his mouth and picked his ears up from where they had drooped in amazement. “We have tall buildings, too, just… not quite… as… tall…”

“Hey, we were where you were not that long ago,” she gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Once we get done kicking the keeblers’ asses, we’ll help you build your own skyscrapers.” She squeezed his shoulder, gesturing at the city before them. “In the meantime, enjoy the sights.”

Rinn nodded, giving her an encouraged flick of his ear. He leaned over to stare out his window as they followed traffic up a ramp that broke from the main highway, his horns clunking lightly against the glass.

***

As the van drove into the city itself, Rinn looked up, and up, and up at the buildings that towered above them. I lied… not even the Great Tower at Shyiyani is as tall as some of these buildings… He was reminded of the picture in Bradford’s room, and as the street they followed took them through the middle of a building, he became certain that the picture was real.

The van worked its way down the street, carefully navigating through a stream of other vehicles. A left turn put them onto another street that was almost as large as the highway, and a few minutes later they were turning into a paved lot filled with marked lines for vehicles to park in. An attendant met them, giving Rinn a glance through the window. Kawalski showed him his phone and talked about a pre-paid reservation. The man nodded and waved them to an empty slot, removing an orange cone that had been blocking it.

Kawalski carefully maneuvered them into their assigned slot, the big van dwarfing most of the other vehicles around them. Once satisfied with their alignment, he shoved a lever next to his wheel and turned off the van’s artifice. “Alright, everybody out! Chow’s just a couple blocks up the street.”

Doors were carefully opened and the squad climbed out of the van, squeezing past the small vehicle next to them. Rinn joined in the stretching and groaning as everyone worked the kinks out of the long ride, but was quickly distracted by the sights, sounds, and smells around him.

There is so much noise! He thought. His ears swiveled around, trying to pinpoint it all, and his nose exploded with a cacophony of scents.

He had been in cities before. He recognized the familiar sound of people moving and chattering, albeit in a different tongue. But here, there was no sound of carts and wagons rattling across cobbled streets. No clop of hooves. No lowing of muhla, no braying of queshi.

Instead, there was the rush of traffic. The sound of air they shoved aside as they moved, their rubber wheels on the road, the muttering and rumbling artifices that powered them. Loud horns would honk periodically, sometimes nearby, sometimes in the distance. An artifice roared in the distance.

Rinn looked up at the dizzying heights of the buildings that surrounded them on three sides, and closed his eyes. He smelled oil and tar, humans, the faint scent of stale piss… And food!

He opened his eyes as his stomach rumbled, and found the humans all watching him.

“You ready to eat?” Bradford asked.

“Absolutely!” he said.

“Good,” she said, stepping towards the street. “Because I’m fucking starving.” Rinn fell in beside her, and the rest of the squad formed up around them. “Where are we eating, Kawalski?”

“It’s just a couple blocks this way,” he said, taking the lead and walking back the way they had come with the van.

“This better be good, Kawalski, we’ve waited long enough,” she said as they merged onto the brick-paved footpath that ran alongside the street.

There were many people walking on either side of the street, but not nearly as many as Rinn had expected. He flicked an ear at the “cars” that zipped past them in the street, and began to suspect why.

The people who were walking the footpath with them quickly got out of their way. He couldn’t blame them. The group wasn’t exactly marching in step, but they were moving with a clear and determined purpose, nevermind their physical presence.

Rinn saw several people do double-takes when they caught sight of him, staring at him, or pointing him out to their companions so they could stare together. A few pointed phones at him, though most were discouraged by a simple glare from one of the Marines.

They crossed three side streets that would have been a grand thorofare in any Ganlin city, before making a left turn immediately after the fourth.

“Here we are!” Kawalski said, waving at a red brick building ahead of them. “La Puerta! One of the best, authentic, Mexican joints in San Diego.”

“According to the online reviews, anyway,” Kimber said. “None of us have ever been her before.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t offering any suggestions,” Kawalski growled as they walked through the open door, “So stuff it.” Rinn caught some surprised glances from the people seated outside.

The “Mexican joint” looked a little small as their group filed inside, but it was still roomy enough, and was very warmly lit. The wall to their right was paneled with wood slats. A line of tables, each surrounded by a curving, seat-backed bench upholstered in brown leather, ran the length of the wall. Glowing, stained lamps hung over each table, and strands of small, yellow-orange lights were strung across the ceiling.

To their left was a lacquered bar, lined with upholstered seat-backed stools. The wall behind it was bare brick, covered by shelves and cabinets lined with bottles that were unmistakably alcohol. Or whatever it is they drink in place of alcohol… He eyed the bottles. That glass and crystal would not be out of place at the king’s table, but here… He flicked an ear at the rows of perfectly identical bottles, and turned his attention to the man behind the bar.

His black hair was far longer than any of the Marines he had seen, except for Bradford, and hung down to his jaw. His chin was also covered in fur, and it completely surrounded his mouth.

Do only some of them grow fur on their face? Is it just around their mouths? Rinn glanced at Miller, and for the first time noticed faint stubble across the entire lower third of his face. Do they shave their fur?!

“Evening!” Kawalski said, bringing Rinn’s attention back to the present. The man behind the bar jerked his attention away from Rinn. “I called earlier, said there’d be about twelve of us coming in, asked if we could have a couple booths towards the back.”

“Kawalski?” the man asked.

“Yep!”

“Yeah, um,” he shook his head. “Yeah, the two booths on the end,” he pointed to the back corner.”

“Sweet, thanks!” Kawalski gave him a half-wave and the squad filed to the back of the room.

The booths weren’t large enough for all twelve of them, but a brief discussion and some shuffling later, Rinn found himself wedged into the back of the corner booth next to Bradford, surrounded by Kawalski, Gomez, Miller, and Kimber. The rest of the squad packed themselves around the adjacent table.

A few moments later, a woman appeared with a stack of large cards that she passed around. “Can I get you started with anything to drink, or appetizers?” She stopped, staring at Rinn. “Is he?”

“Yes,” Bradford said.

“Were you…“

“In the thick of it,” Kawalski said.

“We had to come back Earth-side for official business, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to show Rinn, here, around.” Bradford clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light shake.

“Your world is amazing,” he said, flicking his ears back self-consciously.

The woman blinked. “Do you… understand…”

“Yeah, it’s magic, we haven’t figured it out yet, either,” Edison said, leaning over the back of his seat. “One of them cast a big spell that let us all understand them, and them understand us, but only if you were in range. He said “Your world is amazing.””

“That’s…” She shook her head. “You know what, I’m just going to focus on taking orders. Would you guys like anything to drink?”

“Takeela,” Kawalski said without hesitation. They had a brief discussion of what kind of “takeela” he wanted, which Rinn couldn’t follow, though he was fairly certain that Kawalski was flirting with the waitress. He was less certain about whether his efforts were successful.

“I’ll just have a coke,” Kimber said. “I’m the dee-dee.” He held out a hand in front of Kawalski as the waitress moved around the table. The other Marine fished a key attached to a pouch out of his pocket and handed it over without comment.

Further discussion was had about what Rinn wanted to drink. The Marines were delighted to learn that keshmin also drank alcohol, and it was decided that he should have something called a “dose ekwis” to “stick with the mexican theme.” He was a little uncertain about imbibing on this adventure, but… I’m an infantry veteran in His Majesty’s Royal Host. I’m hardly a stranger to alcohol.

“Any appetizers?”

“Queso Fundido,” Miller said.

“For one, or for the table?”

“For the table.”

“Excellent. Oh! And how are we splitting the bill?”

“Individually, but I’ve got his,” Bradford said, pointing a thumb at Rinn.

He opened his mouth to object, but then closed it, his ears drooping, as he remembered that he had nothing to pay with. This is embarrassing… I need to fix this.

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s about… Oh!” Bradford interrupted herself, snapping her fingers and pointing at the waitress. “Can we get a selection of hot sauces? We’re not sure what he can stand.” She pointed back at Rinn.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

As she walked away, Rinn was handed a card. He stared down at the alien text, his ears twisting in consternation. “Umm…”

“Here, I’ll read it for you,” Bradford said, tilting her own card so he could see as she read off the items. Another discussion began on what everyone wanted to eat.

The waitress seemed to know her job well, because she returned at exactly the time that everyone had decided. She passed out drinks and set wooden bowls of baked chips alongside a plate of what smelled like some kind of melted cheese, followed by several bottles of some kind of sauce, then began taking orders.

Rinn stared at the chips and cheese after she departed again.

“Pass me one of the mild ones,” Bradford said, picking a chip out of the bowl. Kimber picked a bottle out, opened it, and passed it to her. “Alright, Rinn,” she said, dabbing some of the brownish liquid on the chip, “We’re gonna do some science here.” She passed him the chip. “Try that.”

He took the chip and gave it a sniff. Definitely some kind of spice here… He gave Bradford a glance, and popped the chip into his mouth. He nodded slowly while he chewed. The chip was some kind of hard flat bread; a little salty, but not much different from similar food on Gahla. “The sauce is kinda sweet… and…” He opened and shut his mouth, running his tongue across his upper teeth a few times before swallowing. “It had a weird bite at the end.”

“Here, try this one,” Bradford said, handing him another chip with another sauce on it. He could smell the bite in this one.

He eyed her again, and popped the next chip into his mouth. Instantly he felt his mouth burn. His eyes went wide and his ears stood up straight, but with ten Marines and a Navy Corpsman all staring at him, he didn’t dare spit it back out. His eyes watering, he continued chewing, and just barely managed to swallow before the fumes triggered his sinuses and he sneezed.

The humans laughed.

“Okay, so that was a couple steps up from mild,” Bradford admitted.

“Only a couple?” Rinn coughed. He could feel the heat of the sauce all the way down to his stomach.

“Well, it wasn’t the hottest they have.”

“Want to try another one?” Miller asked, holding out a chip with a subtle smile. Rinn could smell the fumes from the other side of the table.

“No. You try it,” Rinn said before sneezing again.

Miller shrugged and popped it into his mouth with a mild smirk. He chewed and swallowed as if it were nothing.

“Dude!” Gomez said, picking up the open bottle. “That’s Holy Jolokia! It’s, like, a million Scoville! That’s getting into weapons grade range!” He set the bottle back down, shaking his head in awe. “How is your face not melting off?!”

Miller shrugged, snagging another chip and dipping it in the cheese. He stuffed it into his mouth and nonchalantly chewed away.

“Try the queso,” Bradford said, elbowing Rinn. “It helps neutralize the heat.”

He immediately grabbed a chip and dipped it into the cheese. He popped it into his mouth, and closed his eyes, savoring this flavor. It wasn’t like any cheese made from muhla milk he’d ever tasted, but it was definitely cheese, and it helped ease the burning in his mouth.

“Try this stuff, it’s barely medium,” Bradford said, handing him another open bottle. He took a cautious sniff, and nodded. “Try putting it on top of the cheese.”

Rinn nodded again, scooping another chip full of cheese off the plate, and cautiously poured a few drops of sauce onto it. He took a careful bite, strings of cheese trailing from his mouth to the other half of the chip. The spice is still hot… but much more manageable… even good… He dabbed some more sauce onto the rest of the chip and popped it into his mouth.

Swallowing, he picked up his glass of beer. He took a moment to marvel at the glass itself, and how pristinely clear it was, and the fact that it was cold. They drink their beer cold?! The cost in mana to keep things chilled like this… He shook his head and took a sip. It is… interesting… he decided. Different, and cold, but definitely still beer. He took another sip. And definitely stronger than table beer…

After a short discussion of hot sauce, the history of capsaicin, and alarmingly, its weaponization, the waitress returned with a platter stacked with food. Rinn’s ears perked up and his stomach rumbled as the scents wafted across the table.

Plates were passed around the table, and Rinn’s gazed locked onto the plate containing his “mix-and-match” order of steak, pork, and chicken “tacos.” He had to swallow to keep himself from drooling. He vaguely heard Kawalski make a joke about the waitress being his new hero, but all of his attention was fixated on his food.

He spared a glance at the others for some cue as to when it would be appropriate to start eating. Seeing them all immediately tuck into their food, he carefully picked up one of his tacos. He tilted his head one way, and then the other, trying to figure out how to best eat it, and decided that head-tilted was the best position. He took a bite, doing his best to keep the contents from spilling everywhere, then sat back, chewing and savoring.

Silence reigned over the table for a time as everyone tucked into their food, but eventually conversation returned. The topic shifted wildly depending on who was talking and who was stuffing their face, and ranged from plans for the evening, to past exploits, prospects for the war, and their own recent adventures.

“We had a lay-over in Memphis, but we got stuck there because of the hurricane going through at the time,” Gomez said. “It was like a day-and-a-half delay before they would let any flights into Savannah. Normally, they wouldn’t have let us leave the security area, but because it was a day-and-a-half delay, they let us leave the airport.” He took a drink of his “soda.” Apparently, humans had an age requirement before they were allowed to drink alcohol. “So me and my buddy were like, ‘We’ve just been gifted one last night of freedom before we spend the next three months in boot camp. Let’s go to a titty bar!’”

“Of course you did,” Bradford rolled her eyes.

“Hey, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t go out to a strip club if you had the chance right before three months of guaranteed no sex.”

“…. Continue with your goddamn story, Private.”

“Right,” Gomez said around a bite of food. “So, anyway. We get out to the titty bar, and it went about as you’d expect. We event got special dances in the back-room for a “discount,”” he said, scrunching the first two fingers of each hand in the air, “When we told them we were on our way to boot camp.”

Everyone at the table, even Rinn, shared a knowing roll of the eyes.

“So, we’re in the back room, right?” He washed his bite of food down with another gulp of soda. “I don’t know what the fuck Frankie was doing, I wasn’t paying any attention to him, because I had this smokin’ hot stripper dancing in my lap. And she was fiiine. Just enough chunk to have some junk in the trunk that you could hold onto, but a waist thin enough you could almost wrap your hands around, and big ‘ol titties like melons that felt like-“

He was interrupted by Kawalski reaching over Rinn and Bradford to smack him in the back of the head. “Gomer! We’re in public, keep it pee-gee thirteen!”

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“Continue,” Kawalski said, sitting back down.

“So, right,” he took another bite. “So, she was dancing in my lap, top came off, then the bottom came off,” he took another drink. “She’s shaking her ass in my face. I’m thinking I’m about to be one of the luckiest bastards heading to boot camp. Then she busts ass, rips out this massive fart, right into my face!”

Kimber snorted into his drink, starting a coughing fit, and Bradford lowered her face into her free hand, hiding a smirk. Rinn's ears shot up, then swept back in empathic discomfort.

“Now, I grew up on a pig farm in Indiana. Didn’t bother me none. I thought it was fu-, uh, flippin’ hilarious, and sat there laughin’ my ass off. But her? Instantly killed the mood. She was so embarrassed she disappeared, and I never saw her again the rest of the night.” He shook his head, taking another bite. “Spoiled my hopes of getting laid that night, but otherwise we had a great time, and made it back to the airport just in time to catch our flight, which got bumped up because the hurricane wasn’t as bad as they thought.”

He set his glass down after another drink. “So, after that, we get to Parris Island, go through the whole processing in bee-ess, and of course, they keep you up the whole time, don’t let you sleep the first night.” He got several nods from around the table. “My buddy and I, we’re dying, because we spent the night before getting wasted at the strip club, and got maybe twenty minutes out on the flight into Savannah.

“They finally get us to our new barracks, and then its lights out. I dropped straight onto my rack, no blankets or nothin’, and just died.” He took another drink.

“So, I wake up the next morning, right? Both eyes glued shut. I thought I was freaking blind!” He shook his head. “Turns out, that stripper’s fart had been festering on my face the entire time, and when I woke up, I had the worst case of pink-eye anyone at Parris Island had seen in thirty years! Both eyes were welded shut, and I had to be guided to medical to get ‘em uncrusted enough to open back up. Was ess-aye-cue for two days because of it!”

“Jesus Christ, Gomer…” Kawalski shook his head.

“I bet the Dee-Ayes loved you,” Bradford said.

“Oh, hell yeah. Once I’d been cleared by medical and finished processing in, they beat my ass harder than I’ve ever worked before. That first day, they had me pee-teeing in a lake of my own sweat!”

He picked up the bottle of Holy Jolokia and casually tipped it back like it was his drink. The bottle glugged once, and Gomez’s expression instantly changed to that of a man who knew he had screwed up and regretted being alive. It glugged a second time before he could react, and hot sauce drizzled across his face and the table in his rush to set the bottle down.

Gomez twisted away from the table and slid off the bench, falling to his knees in a coughing, gagging fit. His face was crimson and covered in sweat.

Rinn stared in horror as Bradford quietly put the cap back on the bottle. “I think we’re done with this one…”

“I don’t understand what your problem is,” Miller said, scooping up some tribbles of the hot sauce with a chip and popping it into his mouth. “This stuff’s good.”

“M- mo- monster,” Gomez managed to cough out.

“Is everything alright?” the waitress asked, walking over.

“He grabbed a bottle of hot sauce instead of his cup,” Kawalski said. “The super-hot stuff.”

“Oh no…”

“Yeah… Can we get a glass of milk for him?” Bradford asked.

“Absolutely!” She disappeared behind the bar, and returned a moment later with a glass of milk.

Gomez took it from her and gulped it down like a drowning man gasping for air. The glass drained, he handed it back. “Thank you…” he croaked, getting back up and sitting back down. He immediately started shoveling chips and cheese into his mouth.

A few mouthfuls and carefully-identified gulps of his refilled soda later, he seemed to be mostly recovered. “Well, I’m not going to be looking forward to when that comes back out the other end. It was unpleasant enough going in.”

“Gomer, you’re a big, dumb bastard, you know that?” Kawalski laughed.

“Yup,” he said, shoveling another bite of food into his mouth.

***

Twenty minutes later, Rinn was wobbling back to the van, stuffed with more food than he had eaten in a very long time. Foot traffic had increased, but they were still given a decent berth by anyone they passed.

As they piled back into the van, Kimber took the driver’s seat and Kawalski called shotgun. Rinn and Bradford climbed back into what had become their designated seats while the rest of the squad piled into the back.

Kawalski gave Kimber directions as they pulled out of the parking lot, and Rinn went back to staring out of his window. The van worked its way through the city, and he gazed in fascination at all the different types of people and things that he saw. Sometimes he got some commentary from the Marines, but they mostly seemed to have fallen into a “food coma.” To be honest, if I wasn’t so sparked up, I’d probably be passed out, too… Is that a carriage!?! What creature is that pulling it? It looks at least as large as a queshi…

After navigating through the city, Kimber turned the van back onto the main highway, but he had barely finished accelerating to speed before he turned off again. For a moment, Rinn thought they were turning back into the city again, but looking forward he saw the ocean. Kimber kept driving towards it until he reached a road that ran right along the edge of the harbor. Out on the water, he could see the masts of countless sloops and small ships.

They made a left turn, and he had to struggle to keep himself from crawling over Bradford to gape out her window.

“Never seen the ocean before?” Bradford said.

“No, not until today.” He rolled his ears. “I’ve seen the royal fleet sheltered in Lake Kaigyap when we were at Yishyishi for a while, but never the ocean.” He flicked his ears back. “Neither have most of the sailors in the royal fleet.”

“I’d think they’d be the ones who saw it for sure.”

He shook his head. “The elves have kept our fleets bottled up in port for years. Lake Kaigyap is a brakish lake, a couple miles above the mouth of the Yishi river. It’s too narrow for the elves to get their fleet up the river, not without being obliterated by our shore batteries, but it’s also too narrow for our fleet to sally out in force.”

“Why’d your fleet bottle up there in the first place?” Edison asked.

“It’s where our main shipyards are, and the choice was shelter the fleet there, or lose it.” He growled. “Ship-to-ship, in a conventional fight, our ships are superior. They’re better built, better designed, but…” He nodded at the galleon and proper three-masted frigates they were approaching. “Like your ships, ours depend on the wind for power. We don’t have the mana to be able to move the ship and still fight and shield it. The elves, though… They can draw more ambient mana, and stock more of it, and they can move independent of the wind. When we can catch them when their reserves are low, or their motive artifices dispelled to conserve mana, our ships have rarely lost a fight, even when out-numbered.”

He shook his head. “But they are rarely so caught, and no matter how many we’ve destroyed, their ships just keep coming.”

“Well, the good news is, that’s not our Navy,” Bradford said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, those are museum ships, centuries old,” Edison added.

“If you look ahead on the right,” Kawalski said, “You’ll see something a bit more modern.”

“The USS Midway,” Bradford said as an immense, towering ship of metal came into view.

“What is that!?!”

“That is the USS Midway, a Midway-class steam-powered aircraft carrier,” Kawalski said, taking on his tour-guide tone once more. “Commissioned seventy-five years ago, and decommissioned and turned into a museum ship nearly thirty years ago.”

“When did you become so educated, Kawalski?” Bradford asked.

“When I looked it up on Wikipedia this morning while planning this trip.”

“You think he just actually knew things?” Kimber snorted.

The van turned right, into what was obviously a parking area for the ship. Kimber slowed the van to a crawl and Bradford shifted, allowing Rinn to crawl past her and get a better look through her window. “We haven’t been limited to sail power in almost two hundred years.”
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