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I collect blessed objects
My collection of blessed objects started as a Christmas gift from my nephew. He gave me a small stuffed tiger named Max. My nephew had overheard that I was having nightmares, and confided that he too had nightmares before he was given Max; now that he was a self-appointed “big boy”, he didn't need Max for protection anymore. I was told to leave Max on the bed next to me and he would guard against all kinds evils all night. I took the tiger with no intention to use it at first. But I did anyway, desperate for any kind of hope. That tiger gave me better sleep than any drug or therapy ever could. I began to believe that things such as Max carried with them a power that adults couldn't understand or measure, items that were blessed in nature. Max began my search for other blessed items. My second blessed object was a security blanket with the ability to shield against any boogieman acquired through a mutual friend. I was able to loan it to a home that has its own Youtube channel dedicated to poltergeist activities in the house and cellar, activities that stopped as soon as the blanket was in the home. They refused to give me back the blanket, offering a thousand dollars instead. I knew there was a business to this, and soon, my collection of stuffed animals, blankets and odd items began to grow. I found FogDog, a stuffed greyhound with a cold metal nose, sold by the mother who was selling her missing, presumed dead, son's belongings at a swap meet; FogDogs' presence brought too much heartbreak for her. She held up the slender gray stuffed dog and bitterly reminisced. “My son used to say that this Dog will find anything for you. He used to whisper what he wanted to find into the dog's ear, and the dog would...pull you towards what you want to find. Well. I asked it to find my son... FogDog didn't work for me. So for $5, maybe it can work for you.” I gave her a twenty dollars, as well as a small fish made from a cut penny on a keychain. I told her that the fish would bring her luck. She tracked me down a few weeks later just to say that the fish had worked; her son had safely returned home. After adding FogDog to the collection, finding additional items was almost too easy. FogDog's metal snout seemed to pull me to the next object by a vast, unknown intelligence. The only thing I was sure of was the item's ability to guide me to sellers willing to part with once cherished items, items embroidered with powerful abilities lost onto even the original owners. It even pulled me to what would be my shop. In less than six months, I opened for business. I purchased small shop to work and live above in the forgotten side of town using everything I had in my life savings. In other words, if this shop didn't survive, neither would I. But I was naively confident; who else was protected more from back luck more than a merchant of blessed objects? 80% of my collection was stuffed toys. The oldest is a corn-husk doll from 1880, now too old for kid's hands, so she sits above and looks out over the other blessed items, like: A dozen separate teddy bears and about six different comforters and blankets. Cartoon characters, imaginary animals and even fruit captured in plush form. A metal cap-gun from the 1950's. A flashlight. An old button light-switch that had two bare wires running out from it. A broken wristwatch from 1916. An odd assortment of items, no two the same, bound by only one commonality: They could all protect you from monsters. My customers were given an item's full verified history and a 100% money back guarantee if they returned the item undamaged; no one ever returned to exchange an item. They only return to tell me the good fortunes they encountered. I was able to make a living from trading these objects, using FogDog as a lie-detector for the few people that had heard that we paid up to $5,000 for common stuffed toys. The dog would pull towards the object if the owner's story were real; it would lay dead in my jacket pocket if the object were a fake and the history was just a made-up story. FogDog helped me keep a good name and a growing number of customers to my unique shop. I would have never expected trouble came in the form of one of my ceiling lights. A supporting bracket to one of my overhead lights had broken, and the light swung into the side of the head of a woman examining a row of teddy bears. The accident was bad enough to draw blood and knock her to the ground. An ambulance was called, a hospital visit ensued, and a lawsuit was filed. They were relentless. They found that I didn't have the proper insurance to protect against “fixture and accessory faults”. I purchased the building outright and was a sole proprietor- I was fully responsible. Their lawyers even found a building inspector's note warning about the corroded light brackets in the packet of forms I was given when I bought the place- the former owner never mentioned anything about an inspector's note. The amount I was responsible for, as well as my lawyer's fees, made my head swim. For the next few weeks, there was a lot of talk of closing town and losing everything. As begun look into personal bankruptcy proceedings, I got an invitation to see a six year old named Victor, a child dying of pediatric cancer. He wanted to know if he could receive an item from my collection. I was touched, so I brought a stuffed dolphin that was used at a former kid's hospital that had great success rates. The boy was given his own wing of a private hospital hidden between towns. It was apparent his relatives were extraordinary wealthy and seemingly perturbed by my existence there. After signing a pile of NDAs and secrecy agreements, all of which I am breaking now, I was allowed to see the only person there who WANTED to see me: Victor. They boy was a near-corpse in upright hospital bed. His skin was the color of freshly pulled roots and it clung too tightly to his small skeletal face and hands. Victor only seemed to come alive as I drew nearer to him. He asked an adult to place a chair next to him for me to sit nearby. The adult did so. Victor's eyes were more dark sunken hallows than anything else...yet they still sparkled as he smiled. Victor's eyes were old, as old and as darkly dazzling as obsidian. They made me feel uneasy, like staring into a deep water abyss. “Friend. I knew you would come. I apologize for my state; you see before you the very best results of our brightest Oncologists and Pathologists in the American medical field. What you see is a pitiful sight.” The boy was an orator. He spoke with an unnerving calm confidence of an elder. It made me unsure what to think. “You are not pitiful...” was all I could think to say. Victor smiled. “Your pity would surely be mine if you heard my full story. You would pity what it takes to keep me alive. Not the saline drips and monitors. Not love. It's through the will of objects not of human make. Objects...not unlike what you collect, apparently...keep me alive. Can you help me?” I removed the small stuffed dolphin from my backpack. Victor's eyes narrowed upon the dolphin. He inspected it with a hard look of disgust on his face. “This is...” He began. “...you can keep that, by the way. I, I...I dunno, I hope it helps.” Victor looked distant and dejected as he held the gray dolphin. “Thank you for the gift,” the boy said with labored gratitude, “but this object holds no power.” “...how do you know that?” “Because I'm a child.” Victor placed the dolphin on a stainless steel tray next to his bed, respectfully but entirely uninterested in it. “I had hoped you had a collection I wasn't aware of. That was foolish. I am sorry I wasted our time. The adults will see you out.” I could feel the crushing disappointment coming from the brilliant child. He knew these were not blessed objects. I feared all of of what I had was just junk, junk that I had brought to a dying child thinking it would comfort him. Heartbroken, I left without saying a word. I opened my shop the next day feeling certain that it would be the last day I would be in business. I was half-way through packing my merchandise when a heavy-looking SUV with tinted windows pulled to an illegal stop in front of my shop. Two bodyguards held open the door for a boy of around 7 in a suit. I didn't recognize the full flushed face, cheerful smile and bright but shallow eyes of the boy in black slacks and a white dress shirt until he told me that he was Victor. “The doctors wanted to keep me for their Nobel prize. But they will never understand what lifted me from Death's doorstep to here...” Victor removed the stuffed dolphin that I brought yesterday. Even I was shocked. “Wait, you got this well in ONE day?” The boy's smile was jubilant. “I was wrong about your gift; it was indeed blessed. And now that I am here, standing in your collection...I see you have amassed a fine collection, sir. Especially this one...” he picked up one of the teddy bears from the shelf. “That's Reggie” I explained, “He-” “-talks you in your dreams. I know.” Victor correctly finished my sentence. In my stunned silence, Victor continued. “I also know that you are being sued. The lawyers and judges involved are family, and you are unlikely to see a fair outcome.” Victor put the bear back. “But you have an investor now. One that could make this legal matters disappear, for incorporation. All you need to do is sign your name seven times.” One of the bodyguards opened a briefcase to a stack of forms. “What do those forms say exactly?” “Incorporation into an LLC. A large cash infusion. And the agreement that the lawsuit disappears.” Victor reached out and took my hand into both of his own, looking up into my eyes as he slowly spoke. “I hold no reservations to your abilities- with that stated, I want to make sure this collection is properly taken care of.” His message, hands and eyes were kind. I signed the paperwork. Like Victor promised, the potential plaintiff called me in a desperate, terrified voice the next day. She agreed to drop all charges, she would agree to anything as long as I called “the boy” off. I never knew what she meant or what Victor did, but she was true to her word and dropped the lawsuit. Victor also brought in dozens of more items, FogDog verified. Old toys, caps, jackets, mickey-mouse lanterns- Victor was able to purchase the nearby offices around my shop and expand the showroom five fold with blessed objects. Victor wanted to renovate everything to be as dazzling as the new collection before opening. The genius child's logic seemed reasonable to me then. I admired it. That's what made me grab Reggi and keep it with me along with Max- there was a reason Victor called out that one bear by name among all the other items. Reggi didn't speak to me in my dreams during my first and only night with it. It shouted. “None of us can speak over the other!” The bear's stern voice shouted to me. “If ONE of us COULD, we would have warned you to stay AWAY from the boy! Don't be fooled by him! Look!” I was then dreaming of a Victor and the woman who was suing me planning out the sabotage of my lights, planting fake building inspection records and buying the local judges. The entire lawsuit was a setup from Victor to put me in peril. Even the frantic call I received from her was fake. I then dreamed of Victor directing the people in his mock hospital wing like a movie set. He dressed in a medical gown as was able to mold his body to the withered shell on command, returning to normal as soon as I left. The dreams were turning into nightmares now. There was one final vision, one where Victor was assembling his scattered, hidden “blessed objects” from around the world, objects that protect you from misfortune, like Victor. He brought them all here, all for the purpose of burn-" That was when I was ripped from the dream, just in time to see a small, perfectly dark shadow ripping Reggi in two and then throwing the pieces into his own Vantablack silhouette the shape of a 7 year old. I was too terrified to move, even when I smelled acrid smoke belching from below. The shop below was on fire. The shadow standing at the foot of my bed wouldn't let me move. The shadow had Victor's voice. “Burn along with this filthy horde. They have bothered us for LONG ENOUGH.” The long blue flames slipped through the floorboards my bedroom, the same flames burning my collection below. They began to scorch my legs and back. The shadow moved through the smoke towards me. I could feel the cold, endless void within him, and I knew I was powerless to stop it. I would have been taken if not for Max. Max was small stuffed animal in reality, but here in this half-dream state, I could see its inner spirit- a raging tiger made of spiraling light with the roaring prusten of vibrating bells. It jumped on the shadow in a raging display of clashing light and piercing darkness, and I was free from the shadows grasp. I opened the window and jumped through the screen, falling out of the now raging inferno. The fire department came too late. I looked through the wreckage in the morning, my mind replaying the terrible night before on loop. Nothing in my collection survived the strange blue fire. Well, almost nothing. Something hit my foot when I was kicking through the ashes of my ruined home and business. It was the metal nose to FogDog and a bit of the connecting fabric. It lead itself to me, and despite missing 90% of its former self, it still seemed to work just as good. After a moment of celebration, my mind flashed to revenge. “OK, FogDog...Where's Victor?” FogDog began to pull my hand downwards.
Feb 4, mid-market: Thank you everyone for your support. I really don't know what to say. The company keeps getting pounded because GME is having a sell-off, which doesn't make any sense. But that's the market for you. It doesn't always make sense. I still believe 2021 will be a big year for Nokia, although it doesn't look like there is any way we'll manage the crazy play anymore. Still, it was nice to see something that was impossible become possible, even if it was for only a few days. And remember, we can still do it any day. All it takes is for us to work together. If you want. Make up your own mind. I'm still holding. NOK will recover from this. Fair value is at least 4.81, and way more when 5G really gets going. So if you can, I would buy some more now. You'll thank me later for the tip. It may not be the most exciting play, but it is what investing is all about. Slow and steady growth that compounds to make a big change. One of these days I'll be able to post again, when the mods lift the restrictions on new posts and things get a little less crazy around here. When I post again about NOK, I'll post the link here too. Thanks everyone! Feb 4 premarket: Earnings out! They beat expectations a bit, their revenue was a little smaller than expected. Overall, good quarter, good year. Here it is: https://www.nokia.com/system/files/2021-02/nokia_results_2020_q4.pdf Feb 2, end of day: It's getting pretty crazy out there, but here's what you should know. The NOK chart is following the GME chart. It's got way more shares so the bumps and dips are more stable, but that's the main trend. What that means: GME has no underlying value at this level. It is a gamble on the short squeeze. It might pay off, or it might not. If people panic sell like yesterday, it won't. NOK is very different. It has underlying value. So if someone dumps it below its target price, the best thing to do is just to buy and wait for the value to go down. Thursday NOK reveals its earnings, and they are likely to be good based on what Ericsson revealed. Ericsson is one of its main competitors and a very similar company currently trading at twice the NOK price. Feb 1, end of day: Told you it was a value share! Still trading at target, still low risk. Either dumping has stopped, or normies are piling in because of the results. Either way good news, hope you made some money today!Vol today 190m, still way above average. Normal average 30m before we changed it lol. That means since Wednesday over 2bn shares have changed hands. Hope you got em! Ericsson (NOK competitor) results suggest NOK will report good numbers this week, NOK upped to BUY on market watch: https://www.marketwatch.com/story/nokia-upped-to-buy-after-ericsson-results-2021-02-01 Unless my math is retarded (which it is cos ahmsodumb), if everyone (7m) on this sub spends $3000 at current price ($4.55) we BUY THE FLOAT. The more they keep dumping, the more shares we get cheap. Think about it.EDIT: buying the ENTIRE float is NOT the point of this play. I know share price goes up when supply is restricted, just read the play. This is just an example of what happens when they dump a value share on millions of retail investors. BLACKROCK IS IN PEOPLE: https://fintel.io/so/us/nok/blackrock Robin hood increases NOK allowance to 2000 shares for next week (still any allowance is CRAZY because it's a VALUE SHARE THAT HASN'T BUBBLED) https://robinhood.com/us/en/support/articles/changes-due-to-recent-market-volatility/?fbclid=IwAR2SK9VQOI_eBgBF0SK4-R1eQjBkSAe3sd6KMwSBaCPmz38e5cc8siRdhEY You dump a VALUE STOCK on me and think I'm in danger? Added new summary (30 Jan), and Q&A. FIRST OFF: This post is not financial advice or anything except the rant of some idiot retard who is an idiot. I tell you straight up that there is a normal investment side to the NOK play (STILL MEANS RISK, which YOU will have to decide!) and that there is a CRAZY side that is PROBABLY IMPOSSIBLE. If you want to play the crazy play then you’re also a crazy retard idiot just like me. I don’t know shit, I just look at graphs and go WOW. Do your own due diligence, I am not a financial advisor. Don’t ask me if you should buy, I don’t know, can you afford to? Are you comfortable with the risks? I don’t know these things. You do. NOK PLAY: Here’s how it works. YOU DECIDE if you want to take part. 1.It’s not a short squeeze like GME. Get that out of your head. 2.It’s a value/momentum play. The value part is just normal granny&grampa investing. See a good company going cheap, buy and hold. Tell your mom, dad, granny and grampa, cousins, relatives, friends. 3.The momentum part is the crazy part, and if it works the share will SKYROCKET as long as YOU DON’T SELL. GME is the biggest short squeeze in history, the NOK play could be the biggest value buy in history.
The beauty of it is that it works because Wall St is dumping NOK irrationally. That’s why the price is going down (slowly). They think they’re attacking us and slowly winning, but they’re giving us a value share cheap = their money, our pockets. By the time they realize what we did, it will be too late.
Don’t panic, and keep buying the dumps (if you think the company has value), and if we hold the line you could see a miracle.
3310 HANDS Value Part (crazy part in Q&A): The company is healthy, has good financials, it’s a market leader in 5G (it’s main competitors are Huawei and Ericsson, they have about the same market share share of 5G) a lot of potential to be the company that builds 5G for a large part of the world. NOK is currently trading at a standard price for the value it holds. It is not a bubble. Here’s Nokia’s 5G contracts: https://www.nokia.com/networks/5g/5g-contracts/ Here’s Bloomberg shitting bricks that we’ve realized that Nokia is a value bet: https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-01-28/gamestop-may-be-a-reddit-wallstreetbets-game-but-nokia-sure-isn-t Nokia also just unveiled new 1tb tech, the thing AFTER 5G. First on the world. They have it, they’re showing the world it works. Here is their press release from Wednesday: https://www.nasdaq.com/press-release/nokia-and-elisa-push-network-boundaries-with-worlds-first-1t-deployment-2021-01-27 They are so trusted that NASA got them to build a cell network on the MOON. Literally. If you’re NASA, would you hire your retard uncle Earl to build cell towers on the moon? No, you hire someone who CAN ACTUALLY DO IT. Imagine what it takes to build something really big and complicated on the moon? Now imagine who’s the likely guy who can do it. That’s right, NOKIA. Here they are, going to the moon: https://www.nokia.com/about-us/news/releases/2020/10/19/nokia-selected-by-nasa-to-build-first-ever-cellular-network-on-the-moon/ If the Huawei 5G war continues, who do you think US and Europe is going to back, especially since NOK already has the next tech, owns a bunch of patents, is from FINLAND that has never tried to take over the world and has a brand that EVERYONE who lived in 2000s remembers? Here’s a guy who’s been doing the numbers for a while now in case you want to see them: https://www.reddit.com/useJimming/comments/l7f6ua/part_iv_option_chain_analysis_on_nok_and_why_you/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf I don’t know him, I don’t know the numbers as well, but looks pretty good to me. Amazing due diligence. But what do I know, I’m an idiot. So is he. So are you. We’re all fucking retards, just ask Wall Street. I poked myself in the same eye twice yesterday. We’re “dumb money”. They have other names for us too. So, worst case, you just bought into a good company at a fair value. If the crazy play doesn’t work, you just hold on to them and let them become the world leader in 5G. Unlike GME (NOT SAYING SELL!), NOK will not fall 99%. Or if it does, I'M BUYING THAT SHIT because if a HEALTHY COMPANY FALLS 99% you make some CRAZY MONEY on that when it bounces back. Q&A Q: You retards were tricked by bots to buying NOK, there’s no short A: This just full on doesn’t get what the play is about. IT IS NOT A SHORT SQUEEZE. THIS IS NOT GME RINSE REPEAT. GME IS A DIFFERENT PLAY. NOK IS A VALUE PLAY. How many more ways can I say it? Not sure. How many more do I have to? Q: Stop taking attention away from GME you retards A: Nobody is saying sell your GME. Nobody is saying that. GME is too expensive for a lot of people, and GME is VERY RISKY and NOK has genuine value behind it. If the NOK play works, those people who couldn’t afford GME can still get on & get rich. If it doesn’t, they most likely still make money on a good company. Q: This play is impossible / crazy / it’ll never work / there are too many shares you retards A: This is ALMOST true. This play WAS impossible until 1/27/2021. That is why nobody has EVER tried anything like this. But it’s NOT impossible anymore. Look at this graph. Look at it. See that spike? What the fuck is that? I’ll tell you my fellow autistic space boot packin 3310 using NOKSTER. https://preview.redd.it/v473xl00ghe61.png?width=2182&format=png&auto=webp&s=bf5aac455156dbadb919b80afacb5232af0a05b5 That spike was them running out of shares for half an hour. Trade was stopped until they could find more, to avoid an artificial spike in the price. Proof? Look at the volumes. A small sale (red) causes a small dip. Two small buys cause a MASSIVE SPIKE. They ran out, and had to call their friends to liquidate more shares so the price wouldn’t skyrocket "artificially". But that’s IMPOSSIBLE for NOK. NOK has 5bn shares. Nokia should be much more stable because it has so many shares, having a crazy demand spike is crazy. I saw it, and fell off my chair and since I’m such a retard it took me an hour to get back up. So it was impossible, and that’s why Wall Street won’t see it coming. They think this is their attack and they’re about to break through our ranks, but they’re actually playing right into our hands. Wendnesday, we moved 1bn shares. Thursday, when nobody could buy, we still moved 500m. Yesterday, we still moved 360m. We’ve moved so much NOK in the past three days, the average volume of the share has MORE THAN DOUBLED in THREE DAYS. The play is not impossible anymore, but Wall St thinks it is, which is how we can use their own strength and mass against them. But the value buy still makes sense WHENEVER you see someone dump a valuable share. Someone sells you a 100$ bill for 90$? Buy it. They attack? We absorb. They dump, we buy, they run out of shares, we hold. They’re fucked, and they just handed us a bunch of value shares at an undervalue = they just gave us their money. They are just giving it to you. When they realize they can’t buy them back at a lower value, what do you think is going to happen? Q: We don’t do value plays, we do short squeezes you retards A: Go back to April. Look at u/DeepFuckingValue’s position. GME was a value play. It’s only in April that the Short Squeeze became possible. Look it up yourself. Will a short squeeze also happen with NOK? It’s unlikely. Hedge Fund Assholes have been increasing their shorts in NOK in the last few days, but they won’t go over 100% on 5bn shares because they're not as stupid as me. But it doesn’t have to happen. We just need to buy the dumps. If they short, great. More money for us as long as we don’t let them drive the price down with the dumps. Q: Why is NOK not rocketing? A: Because Wall Street is dumping, just like I said they would after the Wednesday spike. That’s the whole plan. They dump, we hold the line, buy the dumps and keep the price steady. The GME short squeeze guys waited for this for UP TO TWO YEARS. I saw it in April. I thought it was crazy. I didn’t jump in back then. If I did, I’d have about as much money as u/DeepFuckingValue. On a value share, you can afford to wait. GME was originally a value play. That’s what I should have realized in April. SO JUST WAIT AND HOLD (if you believe and idiot like me, which you shouldn't, no need to message me about it). It’s been two days since this play even became possible. Q: How do we know it’s working? A: Look at the volume of shares traded. Nokia has 5bn shares. In the last three days, nearly 2bn have been traded. The price is still up from last week. That’s how. This has already been a giant dumping campaign. How come the price hasn’t floored? What happens if we just buy it all up? What happens if they run out, and then their shorts blow, the price bumps up, CNBC tells the world we broke another short wall, everyone piles on, Wall Street realizes they just gave us their shares at an undervalue and try to buy back, we don’t sell, we have all the shares? The Wednesday spike is what happens, except this time there is no stopping it. If they stop trading again and try to dump some more, you just buy up the dump and keep the spike going. Spike stops being a spike and becomes a floor. Q: Where will this max out and when? A: What do you think I’m from the future? I just saw an impossible thing happen on Wednesday, and we need to make it happen again. Look at the graph. Look at it. Set your targets to $3310, that should do it. Q: When should I buy? What should I buy? Should I buy? A: Be your own person. Buy when you feel like it, if you feel like it. Q: Wall street bots are promoting NOK. A: I don’t give a shit. If they are, and we keep buying, they are promoting giving us money. Part 2: (29 Jan) First off, much as I appreciate the love, I can’t play your hand for you. You have to make your own decisions. Do I know where NOK is going to be tomorrow? Nope. Nobody does. All that I have for you is the news from Wednesday that this play is no longer totally impossible:
I think the assholes are going to try to dump you out of the market
It won’t work if we keep the demand up.
The way we keep demand up is we buy, and others will follow us because the company is good.
When they realize it won’t work, they’ll need to start buying back in.
Then it’ll be too late, cos they dumped their shares on US and we are RETARDS who HOLD. That means that when their shorts start to go bust, the price will jump up (a little bit, not like with GME at first – this is a different play based on the health of the company, not a straight up short squeeze. The short position on NOK is much smaller).
When the price jumps up, and the GME guys start cashing out, they need somewhere to put that cash. Some of them pay off student loans, or buy cars or whatever, but the smart ones will go NOK.
How you play it is up to you. I can’t tell you if you should buy, what minute to buy, what app to use and so on. All I can say is I buy the dumps. You need to decide for yourself if you want to do it. You can see the dumps on any app, or even yahoo finance. I buy NOK on NYSE, and I buy straight up shares (so they can’t lend out mine for shorts) but you’re free to do what you want. I’m a retard, you’re a retard, we’re all autistic fucks, we make up our own mind and stick with it. Secondly, what I said yesterday morning would happen, did happen. And it happened exactly like I said it would. So don’t get scared off, just buy the dumps. And they know that they’ll be fucked if we keep buying the dumps. That’s why they stopped us from buying NOK. NOK hasn’t bubbled, stopping us from buying NOK was because they know we’re on to them. They know the dumps won’t work if we JUST KEEP BUYING and HOLDING. The play works, they’re scared, we caught them with their pants down, they’re trying to get ahead of us. OK, so about what happened yesterday with RH and others. I’m so fucking angry about this. What RH and others did is completely insane. Their argument is “you guys are throwing your money away on a bubble, we’re just protecting you”. Bullshit. I won’t comment on GME, I’ll let u/DeepFuckingValue or one of those guys do that. I’ll just say, that short squeezes happen with hedge funds all the fucking time. Why is trading not stopped for them? They have people’s fucking pensions that they’re playing with. But for NOK, it’s TOTAL BULLSHIT. Here’s why:
NOK HAS NOT BUBBLED. Look at the graph. Look at it. It is still down from 2016. NOK is well within normal variation. Long term, you barely see the spike from a couple of days ago. There is nothing to “protect us” from. They’re protecting themselves.
The NOK play is not a straight up short squeeze. The play is HELPED by the shorts that are there, as long as we can keep the demand up and keep the price up against the dumping, but that’s all.
NOK is a healthy company, with new and important tech, a great brand, a lot of potential. You want to see why, read the original post. ANYONE who sees a company like that being dumped for NO REASON would buy. So should you. They are only dumping it because they’re trying to fuck up our play.
Ok that’s enough for now. I’ll see you all when I’ve got my space boots on, in my house on the FUCKING MOON, next to a NOKIA Comms tower, or I’ll see you in VALHALLA with my broke ass. If this doesn’t work, then at least you TOOK ON THE MOTHERFUCKERS and EARNED A PLACE at the table with FUCKING ODIN. UNBREAKABLE 3310! ORIGINAL POST (28 Jan): I get it, it’s not the play. I’m not saying sell your GME. I’m not a bot or a spy or a wall street asshole. I’m a regular guy who’s got a couple of bucks in his bank account and plays videogames and wants a fucking house to live in like my parents had when they were young. If you don’t agree with me, just say so. I’m also not a financial advisor, so make up your own minds you autistic fucks. But, BUT, yesterday we did something they’ve never seen. Yesterday, we made them run out of NOK shares. That’s what that big spike was, and that’s why trading was stopped for 2h. If we keep doing that, it will be the biggest wall street wealth transfer from assholes to retards in history. Because they will keep dumping it until it’s too late. Impossible, you say. Too many shares, you say. Well listen up. Yesterday, in ONE DAY, we traded, or caused others to trade, 1bn shares of Nokia. That is 1/5 of all the Nokia shares in the world. That’s never happened, EVER. Not even when Nokia was the biggest phone company in the world. 3516.16% of average trading volume. Do you get it? They’ll keep dumping their stock, we keep buying them cheap, and then they won’t be so cheap anymore when they try to buy back in. We can move 1bn shares IN A DAY. ONE DAY. 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀 Why do they stop trading in NYSE? Cos they ran out of shares temporarily and they don’t want “artificial” spikes in the prices. So they made us retards wait a couple of hours while some assholes called some other assholes to unload their shares into the market, and once they had enough, they started again. That’s why that spike went down right after the freeze. But then we did it again. And they had to stop again. The price just wouldn’t go down. The assholes who’d just unloaded shares were probably back on the phone with the other assholes who’d convinced them. Everyone is watching us. What we do, millions of normal folks do with us, and every wallstreet asshole does against us. What did the asshole brigade do? They started shorting NOK. They will continue to do that, because they think we’re retards (they are correct). But how come the price didn’t go down? It’s got 5bn shares, and everyone whos ever held it was dumping it. How could we ever keep up the demand when there are so many shares out there? How is this going to work? Because the retard brigade was buying it. There’s 3m of us and counting. If we each put 600 bucks on NOK, we get 100 shares, and that’s 300m shares. Now imagine what happens if we put 6000 on it. AND. FUCKING. HOLD. And every dip you see, you buy more. AND. FUCKING. HOLD. They'll keep dumping, we keep buying, until they realize the price isn't going down. Then they start buying, we keep holding, the market runs out of NOK. Price skyrockets. And normies outside were following us. They can see that the stock is still LOW, lower than 2016. This means they don’t think it’s a bubble that’s going to crash on them. So why do the normies follow us on this, and not on GME? (I’m not saying sell GME). Because GME has never, ever been anywhere near where it is now. That scares a normal guy who’s just trying to put in some savings for his family. They think this is some Dutch tulip market shit. Not so with NOK. Even with the spike from yesterday, NOK is still DOWN from 2016. Remember 2016? Remember that being a really big year for Nokia? No, me neither. And let’s not even get started on where it has been in the past. Yesterday's spike barely shows on the graph. You know what is going to be a big year? 2021 and 2022. Why? What else did NOK say yesterday? Well, they revealed that they have a new kind of 1 terabit data transfer networks shit, what do I know, I’m not a techie. But it IS a new kind of technology that’s going to kick 5Gs ass. And my fellow retards of the most honorable retard brigade – Do you think we’re going to need more data this year than last year? Remember how Netflix had to downgrade its picture quality in March because the networks couldn’t handle the amount people were streaming? What do you think is going to happen with the company that solves that? But why would NOK be the company? Well, remember the 5G war with China? US and Europe can’t buy 5G from China, because then China has our networks. But guess who US and Europe aren’t afraid of? Fucking FINLAND. Finland, the land of NOKIA. So tiny that some people think the whole country is a conspiracy theory and doesn’t really exist. Sorry Finnish people, nobody gives a shit about you. Good thing for you, cos you get to build the 5G network on the moon and shit because nobody is scared that Finland will take over the world. Want proof? They are literally building one on the FUCKING MOON: https://www.nokia.com/about-us/news/releases/2020/10/19/nokia-selected-by-nasa-to-build-first-ever-cellular-network-on-the-moon/ And we’re going to send them there. 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀 But hang on, why is NOK so low in the first place if it’s so great? Answer: because Microsoft fucked them. That’s right, they sent one of their own assholes to infiltrate the NOK, leak a bunch shit to drive the share price down, and then buy the phone part of the company. These assholes wrecked the company, the Finnish economy, and every middle class shareholder who was just trying to put their kids to college. Imagine everyone who’d be fucked if someone did that to Apple now. Worked like a charm. Firesale. Business restructuring. Lost their phones. NOK never recovered. The asshole they sent from Microsoft? Went back to work for Microsoft, and was paid a shit ton of money for what he did. His name is Stephen Elop. Look it up. So they have tech that nobody else has and a brand that everyone recognizes. But what don’t they have? Money. That’s why they’re building this 1tb magic network thing in tiny fucking possibly fake Finland to show everyone it works. But if we drive the share price up, do you think that’s going to change? So FUCK IT. I’m in for every penny, and I am HOLDING. I’ll see you in my house ON the MOON next to a NOKIA Comms tower, or I’ll see you in VALHALLA you BEAUTIFUL RETARDED MOTHERFUCKERS. TL;DR: NOK is literally going to the moon. Go there with them. 🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Rashford will tonight become the fourth youngest player in Manchester United's history to make 250 appearances for the club.
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Timeline:
01': we're off, let's go lads!
01': Bowen wins a free-kick in front of United's box. Ball is played in, Matic makes a faux clearances and lets the ball roll out for a goal kick.
09': Ogbonna made an excellent block, for West Ham, that denied Martial a chance to shoot at goal. Martial's follow through knocked Ogbonna foot. The hit kept Ogbonna down for a few minutes.
13': Sad Jesse Lingard on the stands.
15': Greenwood tried a shot as the ball was played into him in West Ham's box. His shot is blocked by a West Ham defender.
16': Substitution: (West Ham) Ogbonna> Diop
Sub made due to injury.
19': Matic takes a long ranged effort but his shot flies well wide of the mark.
22': Rashford tries a hard hitted shot from just outside the box - but the shot is blocked by West Ham defenders - United corner.
24': Corner is not properly cleared by West Ham - another United corner.
26': Telles sends in an excellent corner delivery - Lindelöf heads the ball well but a deflection off a West Ham defender sends it nearly in, Fabianski stretches to push the ball just wide. United corner.
28': Van de Beek now takes a shot from the center of the box - but the West Ham defenders step up in time and create a block.
30': Quick counter from United finally falls to Telles who tries a ranged effort - defenders block the shot.
32': West Ham plays a ball over the top for Bowen to run into - luckily Telles matches him with speed and beats him back to the ball to deny a 1v1 opportunity.
36': West Ham deliver a poor ball from the corner - Martial shoots up to clear the ball. West Ham defender sends his head straight into Martial's as they both competed for the same ball. Both down getting looked at by the medics.
38': Both up and waiting to come back on the pitch - free-kick awarded to United for the foul on Martial.
39': Fred sprints back down the right to deny West Ham an easy cross into the box. Poor cross comes in and Henderson easily collects.
42': West Ham throw in a poor cross to United's box, they have to play it far backwards . They work the ball down the lines to again create a crossing opportunity - but Matic tracks him well and forces him to take the ball beyond the line for a United Goal Kick.
44': United play a good ball over the top for Van de Beek who decides to cut the ball back to Martial. His shot is blocked - and the move is called offside from Donny's run.
45': +3 added minutes.
45+1': Fred plays a wonderful pass over the top for Donny to run into, West Ham get there first.
47': Yarmolenko struggling to stay upright as he drilled in a cross for West Ham and went down.
49': Snow is coming down now.
52': United work the ball slowly forward, finally gets a cross into the box that Martial passes on to Rashford who fluffs his shot and hits the West Ham keeper.
53': Substitution: (West Ham) Yarmolenko > Odubeko
Another injury sub.
54': Rashford tries a long ranged cross into the box for Martial to run into - but he just overhits it and the West Ham keeper collects.
56': West Ham flies up the left wing after blowing past AWB, Fred rushes back to cover and the pressure results in United getting the ball back.
58': Rice tries to get a cross into the box but Fred closes him down - West Ham corner. United struggle to clear the corner, but ultimately force West Ham away from the box.
60': West ham slowly work the ball into United's box, eventually a cross comes in but De Gea is equal to it and grabs hold of the ball.
61': another West Ham player charges his head into one of our players, Lindelöf, both going for the ball.
65': Matic plays a ball over the top for Donny to run into, he cuts it back but the West Ham keeper collects. Move is ruled offside.
67': Lindelöf gives a poor pass that sends West Ham through 3v2. Lindelöf tracks back and marks his man well - finally blocking off the pass and killing the move.
69': Dawson blocks off an excellent attempted pass from Fred, after he dribbled past a few West Ham players.
70': AWB scuffs his clearance and Henderson rushes to tip the ball over the bar (looks like it might have been going wide any wat to me ) West Ham corner. Nothing comes from it.
72': Substitution: (Manchester United) Van de Beek > Bruno
74': United play along West Ham's box - Greenwood finally sends in a cross but no United players are there.
76': Martial backs into a West Ham defender to give himself space to turn and shoot - his shot is blocked but a foul is called on Martial for using his arms on the defender.
79': United seem hesitant to shoot - working the ball across West Ham's box. Ball falls to Bruno who finally takes a shot - it's deflected by a defender and loops over the bar. United corner that leads to nothing.
81': Telles sends in a great cross for Martial to jump into - his header is sent wide for a West Ham goal kick.
86': Maguire passes to nobody and gifts West Ham a throw in.
88': Substitution: (West Ham) Fornals > Benrahma
89': Telles sends in another cross but he overhits it and the keeper comfortably collects.
90': +2 added minutes
90+1': VAR checks for a possible hand ball on AWB - but it's cleared. West Ham take their corner and United struggle to clear but eventually AWB manages to clear the ball.
ET': Shaw plays in a good cross but McTom just about doesn't reach it.
ET':!!!GOAL!!!McTominay saves our asses with a good goal! Bruno played Fred in for the cross, ball is nicked back and Rashford takes a wonderful touch to unleash our McTerminator. Whole move started with a great interception from Shaw.
ET': Benrahma receives the ball on the edge of United's box, he plays a fake shot and plays Soucek through on goal. Just too far ahead and the chance goes begging.
ET': Bruno makes a good run towards West Ham's box - plays a ball for Martial that's just overhit and kills the move. Other passing options were open.
Half-Time Extra Time: Manchester United 1-0 West Ham
Extra Time Second Half:
ET': Fred plays a good through ball for Shaw to run into, keeper is slightly faster and collects the ball.
ET': Bruno sends in a good cross, just too far and goes out of play.
ET': Substitution: (West Ham) Odubeko > Lanzini
ET': West Ham have to rush play and sends in a good cross - header is safely into the hands of Henderson.
ET': United break quickly, eventually working the ball to Bruno. He sends in a cross but West Ham manages to clear the ball.
ET': Cavani and Rashford play well on the wing to force West ham to concede a throw in - dragging down the time.
ET': United work the ball into West Ham'a box. Martial takes a weak shot that trickles to the keeper.
ET': Henderson sidesteps a West Ham attacker after a back pass from Maguire, steps it well and clears the ball.
ET': Fred goes down from a tackle, milks it a little to wind down the clock.
ET': Cavani makes a cynical foul to stop a West Ham counter. Killing precious minutes.
ET': United rush the ball to the corner flag to try and play down the clock.
ET': Martial takes the last shot of the game, lands in the hands of the keeper.
For Joseph Smith, 1838 was a terrible year. Rumors of immorality, begun that year by Oliver Cowdery, were given credibility because Oliver was the scribe who recorded most of the Book of Mormon text. They are still believed by most Mormon sects, including the LDS church. Cowdery’s insinuations resulted in him being brought before a church court on April 12, 1838 by the Far West High Council. A total of nine charges were brought against Cowdery. At the time, Cowdery was the Assistant President to the Church and respected as the “second elder” of the church. Cowdery had been one of the Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon and was responsible for selecting and ordaining the first Twelve Apostles. Cowdery’s church trial was perhaps the most significant to be held in the history of the church. The nine charges against Cowdery included this one: “For seeking to destroy the character of President Joseph Smith Junior by falsely insinuating that he was guilty of adultery etc.” After taking evidence, the High Council ultimately ex-communicated Oliver Cowdery and cleared Joseph of the charge. The minutes of the High Council said they dealt with “the girl business,” meaning Oliver’s allegations against Joseph. Joseph was exonerated. (See Donald Q. Cannon and Lyndon W. Cook, eds., Far West Record: Minutes of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1830-1844 (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1983), 162-163.) The un-substantiated charge that Joseph was an adulterer has remained with Mormonism, moving from rumor, to widespread accusation, and finally into accepted LDS history. Today, essentially every Mormon sect either reluctantly admits, or vigorously advocates that carnal relations with plural wives originated with Joseph Smith, and therefore Oliver Cowdery was justified in accusing Joseph Smith of adultery. The closer the historical record is examined, however, the less evidence there appears to support Joseph as the instigator of sexual relations with multiple women. That same historical record has more evidence to implicate Brigham Young and consider that he changed what Joseph Smith believed. Joseph denounced adultery, and fathered children with Emma Smith alone. Brigham Young vigorously advocated carnal sexuality in the hear-and-now with multiple women as a religious sacrament. Unlike Joseph Smith, Brigham Young not only publicly advocated the practice ,but also fathered children with many women. Joseph denounced it publicly and excommunicated those who he found engaged in it, and fathered children only with Emma Smith, his lawful wife. Despite this clear difference, the LDS church claims Brigham Young only practiced publicly what Joseph Smith did privately. Even if you believe the LDS account of history (which I do not), the differences between the public statements and open conduct of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young could not be more dissimilar. The way the LDS institution has reconciled the great disparity between them is to assert Joseph was a liar, and Brigham Young was not! They cannot be reconciled, and one of them will be damned. (See D&C 76:103-106.) Oliver Cowdery was not alone in forsaking Mormonism and Joseph Smith in 1838. Many of the most prominent members and leaders of the church likewise abandoned Joseph that year. David Whitmer, another of the Three Witnesses, resigned his membership in 1838, but was not formally excommunicated. His brother John Whitmer, the church historian, was excommunicated and took the history with him, refusing to return it to Joseph. Prominent and respected Mormons, Hiram Page (one of the Eight Witnesses) and W.W. Phelps (a member of the high council), also left the church in 1838. So did three members of the twelve, and other church leaders and members. On July 4, 1838 Sidney Rigdon delivered the infamous “Salt Sermon,” warning that dissenters were worthy of being “trodden, like salt that lost its savor” under the feet of the saints. Because of the talk, formerly close friends and church leaders Oliver Cowdery, David Whitmer, John Whitmer, W.W. Phelps and Lyman E. Johnson were warned to leave Far West or face “a fatal calamity.” They became enemies of Joseph. Mormons were in turmoil. In response to the threats against these men, all but Phelps fled Far West. Rigdon’s Salt Sermon did not just threaten disaffected Mormons. He also threatened a “war of extermination” against the non-Mormons of Missouri if they did not stop annoying the Mormons. The threats ignited anti-Mormon opposition. Many of the disaffected Mormons changed sides and joined the Missouri mobs attacking Mormon settlements. These former leaders used their credibility as insiders to incite greater anger and hostility toward the church. The animosities soon turned into armed conflict and arson. Missourians believed Mormons threatened them. Mormons thought they were acting in defense, and justified their own violence as “defending” themselves. Civil order completely broke down. Historians have named the resulting conflict “The Mormon War.” Angry Mormons fought against angry Missourians. Both sides blamed the other for causing the violence. In October 1838, responding to the outbreak of hostility between Mormons and Missourians, Missouri Governor Lilburn Boggs issued an “Extermination Order” directing that Mormons be slain or driven from the State of Missouri. The Order gave violence against Mormons legitimacy and made Mormon responses an act of war against the state. Many of these former Mormon leaders signed affidavits accusing Joseph Smith and his church organization of criminal and moral wrongdoing. Thomas Marsh, president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, signed an affidavit on October 24, 1838 condemning and blaming Joseph for causing all the violence. The Marsh allegations were endorsed by a second affidavit from fellow apostle Orson Hyde. The Marsh affidavit was signed the same day open warfare commenced and stated in part that “Joseph Smith, the Prophet, had preached [at Far West]…that all the Mormons who refused to take up arms, if necessary, in difficulties with the citizens, should be shot, or otherwise put to death[.]” The affidavits identified Joseph Smith as the one responsible for Mormon violence directed at Missouri citizens. After recounting circumstantial evidence of thefts by Mormons that he claimed were supervised by Joseph, the Marsh affidavit stated, They have among them a company consisting of all that are considered true Mormons, called the Danites, who have taken an oath to support the heads of the Church in all things, that they say or do, whether right or wrong. … On Saturday last, I am informed by the Mormons that they had a meeting at Far West, at which they appointed a company of twelve, by the name of the Destruction Company, for the purpose of burning and destroying; … they passed a decree that no Mormon dissenter should leave Caldwell county alive; and that such as attempted to do it, should be shot down, and sent to tell their tale in eternity. In a conversation between Dr. Avard and other Mormons, said Avard proposed to start a pestilence among the Gentiles, as he called them, by poisoning their corn, fruit, &c., and saying it was the work of the Lord; and said Avard advocated lying for the support of their religion, and said it was no harm to lie for the Lord!! The plan of said Smith, the Prophet, is to take this State; and he professes to his people to intend taking the United States, and ultimately the whole world. This is the belief of the Church, and my own opinion of the Prophet’s plans and intentions. It is my opinion that neither said Joseph Smith, the Prophet, nor any one of the principal men, who is firm in the faith, could be indicted for any offense in the county of Caldwell. The Prophet inculcates the notion, and it is believed by every true Mormon that Smith’s prophecies are superior to the law of the land. I have heard the Prophet say that he should yet tread down his enemies, and walk over their dead bodies; that if he was not let alone, he would be a second Mahomet [Mohammad] to this generation, and that he would make it one gore of blood from the Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic Ocean; that like Mahomet, whose motto, in treating for peace, was “Al Koran or the Sword,” so should it be eventually with us, “Joseph Smith or the Sword.” These last statements were made during the last summer. In calmer days, both Marsh and Hyde would recant their sworn affidavits. But in 1838 their statements were thought to be entirely truthful, and provided justification for the Missouri political leaders, militia and general population to see Joseph Smith and Mormons as a clear and present danger to them and their property. The first skirmishes between Mormons and Missourians began in August 1838 at a polling station when Mormons tried to vote. A band of Mormons led by Sampson Avard confronted election judge Adam Black about the failure to protect Mormon voting rights. Joseph Smith was among these Mormons. Judge Black attributed threats of violence to Avard, and said Joseph did not approve and instead possessed no such heart for violence. In the aftermath of the fight at the polling station, Avard’s authority to direct the Mormon militia was removed by Joseph Smith and Avard was reassigned as a surgeon. The re-assignment was because Joseph did not want violence to be used to resolve conflicts and Avard thought otherwise. Avard testified in November 1838, “I once had a command as an officer, but Joseph Smith, jr., removed me from it, and I asked him the reason, and he assigned that he had another office for me. Afterwards Mr. Rigdon told me I was to fill the office of surgeon, to attend to the sick and wounded.” (Testimony before Judge Austin A. King, 5th District Court of Missouri, November 12, 1838.) Avard continued to support violence against perceived enemies, and formed a group that came to be known as the “Danites.” Joseph denied that he approved or supported Avard’s group or violent actions. Historians have debated the question of Joseph’s involvement with the Danite organization and activities. Joseph’s denials have been questioned largely because of testimony against Joseph given by Avard in late 1838 before Judge King. While Avard was acting in the role of a surgeon, the battle of Crooked River was fought on October 24, 1838. The Extermination Order was issued immediately after, on October 27, 1838. Three days later, October 30, 1838 at Haun’s Mill, the Missouri Militia, led by Colonel William Jennings, Sheriff of Livingston County, massacred a group of Mormons. Some even after they surrendered. None of the Missouri Militia were killed. The Mormon dead totaled at least 17, including a 78-year-old Revolutionary War veteran, whose body was decapitated and dismembered after he had surrendered, and two boys, ages 9 and 10. Joseph Smith was tricked by George Hinkle into surrendering at the city of Far West while it was under siege. He thought he was going to meet with Missouri Militia leaders to negotiate peace. Hinkle lied to Joseph and brought him and other leaders to the militia, to be immediately arrested for treason. On November 1st Joseph was sentenced to death “at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning in a public square at Far West.” Militia leader Donaphin refused to carry out the order, and Joseph’s life was spared. In the lead up to his arrest, and then during imprisonment, disaffected Mormons were far more dangerous and threatening to Joseph than the non-Mormons. It was Mormon lies about him that caused the peril. Joseph’s original arrest at Far West was arranged by an agreement George Hinkle made with the commander of the Missouri Militia. The church leaders were inside Far West, which at the time was fortified and would be difficult for the militia to take without serious loss of life. Hinkle was sent to negotiate with the militia poised outside Far West as the representative for the community. Hinkle agreed with militia commander Colonel Lucas to surrender church leaders to the militia, but lied to Joseph and the others. He did not disclose they would be arrested, but led them to believe they were going to meet with Col. Lucas to negotiate an end to the conflict. Joseph was surprised when Hinkle led him into the camp as a prisoner. George Hinkle was a traitor. Joseph Smith wrote several documents while imprisoned in Missouri. Specific dissidents are named and their treachery explained in those documents. The individuals and their wrongdoing are set out below: From jail Joseph petitioned for habeas corpus. In the petition he mentioned George Hinkle: “Joseph Smith Jr is now unlawfully confined and restrained of his liberty in Liberty jail Clay County (Mo) that he has been restrained of his liberty near five months your petitioners clame that the whole transaction which has been the cause of his confinement was (is) unlawfull from the first to the Last he was taken from his home by a fraude being practised upon him by a man by the name of George M Hinkle…” (JSP, Documents Vol. 6, p. 344; as in original.) Hinkle is mentioned in another letter, along with John Corrill, Reed Peck, David Whitmer and WW Phelps: “Look at Mr [George M.] Hinkle. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Look at his brother John Corrill Look at the beloved brother Reed Peck who aided him in leading us, as the savior was led, into the camp as a lamb prepared for the slaughter and a sheep dumb before his shearer so we opened not our mouth But these men like Balaam being greedy for a reward sold us into the hands of those who loved them, for the world loves his own. I would remember W[illiam] W. Phelps who comes up before us as one of Job’s comforters. God suffered such kind of beings to afflict Job, but it never entered into their hearts that Job would get out of it all. This poor man who professes to be much of a prophet has no other dumb ass to ride but David Whitmer to forbid his madness when he goes up to curse Israel, and this ass not being of the same kind of Balaams therefore the angel notwithstanding appeared unto him yet he could not penetrate his understanding sufficiently so but what he brays out cursings instead of blessings.” (JSP, Documents Vol. 6, p. 300-301; as in original.) Sampson Avard led the Danites, a secret Mormon, quasi-military organization that terrorized Missourians and exacted revenge against them. They burned houses and engaged in assaults to retaliate against the local non-Mormons. Avard was responsible for Joseph, Hyrum and others being held on the charge of treason. Without Avard’s testimony it was unlikely for enough evidence to be shown for probable cause to hold them on the charge of treason. Joseph wrote from jail about Avard the following: We have learned also since we have been in prison that many false and pernicious things which were calculated to lead the saints far astray and to do great injury (have been taught by Dr. [Sampson] Avard) as coming from the Presidency taught by Dr Avard and we have reason to fear (that) many (other things) designing and corrupt characters like unto himself (have been teaching many things) which the presidency never knew of being taught in the church by anybody untill after they were made prisoners, which if they had known of, they would have spurned them and their authors from them as they would the gates of hell. Thus we find that there has been frauds and secret abominations and evil works of darkness going on leading the minds of the weak and unwary into confusion and distraction, and palming it all the time upon the presidency while meantime the presidency were ignorant as well as innocent of these things, which were practicing in the church in their name[.]” (JSP, Documents Vol. 6, p. 306) Joseph wrote about the three witnesses to the Book of Mormon (David Whitmer, Oliver Cowdery and Martin Harris) along with William McLellin, John Whitmer, Thomas Marsh and Orson Hyde. All of these were identified in the following condemnation written by Joseph in Liberty Jail: Such characters as [William E.] McLellin, John Whitmer, O[liver] Cowdery, Martin Harris, who are too mean to mention and we had liked to have forgotten them. [Thomas B.] Marsh & [Orson] Hyde whose hearts are full of corruption, whose cloak of hypocrisy was not sufficient to shield them or to hold them up in the hour of trouble, who after having escaped the pollutions of the world through the knowledge of God and become again entangled and overcome the latter end is worse than the first. But it has happened unto them according to the words of the savior, the dog has returned to his vomit, and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire. Again if we sin wilfully after we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin, but a certain fearful looking (for) of judgement and firey indignation to come which shall devour these adversaries. For he who despiseth Moses’ law died without mercy under two or three witnesses of how much more severe punishment suppose ye shall he be thought worthy who hath sold his brother and denied the new and everlasting covenant[.]” (JSP Documents Vol. 6, pp. 307-308.) WW Phelps was another Mormon dissenter who was removed from leadership and then excommunicated in June 1838. He was one of the witnesses who testified against Joseph Smith in the Missouri treason hearings and accused him of being responsible for violence and treason. Phelps may have been motivated to testify against Joseph Smith to protect himself from criminal charges. He had been seen by Patrick Lynch, the clerk in Stolling’s grocery store, as one of the Mormon mob that robbed the store and then burned it. (JSP Documents Vol. 6, pp. 417-419.) Joseph was not fooled by these men. He recognized they were traitors and liars. But he revealed to his wife his own spirit of forgiveness about them. Writing from jail to his wife, after 5 months and 5 days of imprisonment, Joseph counseled Emma “neither harber [sic] a spirit of revenge.” (JSP, Documents Vol. 6, p. 405.) Joseph’s advice to his wife contrasts sharply with the revealed word from the Lord to Joseph. Early in 1839, after nearly a half-year of imprisonment, Joseph Smith wrote a letter from Liberty Jail to the saints. The letter included several revelations. One revelation declared these words: [C]ursed are all those that shall lift up the heal against mine anointed saith the Lord and cry they have sin[n]ed when they have not sined before me saith the Lord but have done that which was meat in mine eyes and which I commanded them but those who cry transgresion do it becaus they are the servants of sin and are the children of disobediance themselvs and those who swear false against my servants that they might bring them unto bondage and death. Wo unto them because they have offended my little ones they shall be severed from the ordinances of mine house their basket shall not be full their houses and their barnes shall famish and they themselvs shall be dispised by those that flattered them they shall not have right to the priesthood nor their posterity after them from generation to generation it had been better for them that a millstone had been hanged about their necks and they having drownd in the depth of the see…” (JSP, Documents Vol. 6, p. 366; all as in original.) It was the Lord who said those men who bore false witness against Joseph “shall not have right to the priesthood nor their posterity after them from generation to generation[.]” Even as late as the 1830s it was possible for men to so offend God that He will curse both them and their posterity from any right to the priesthood. Such heavy cursing raises two questions: First, upon whom was this curse imposed? Second, what did they do to merit such a heavy burden? The probable candidates who earned this cursing are those Joseph identified in his letters describing the lies and false testimony against him. They were: George Hinkle, John Corrill, Reed Peck, Sampson Avard, William McLellin, John Whitmer, David Whitmer, Oliver Cowdery, Martin Harris, Thomas Marsh, Orson Hyde and WW Phelps. Each of these men and their wrongdoings are mentioned by Joseph Smith in his correspondence from jail in Missouri. The three witnesses to the Book of Mormon are in almost every priesthood line of authority throughout Mormonism. Think of the irony of that for a moment. They were cursed and “shall not have right to the priesthood nor their posterity after them from generation to generation” yet Mormons point to them as the source through which the priesthood authority has descended until today. This loss was because God sent a messenger, Joseph Smith, to say what God gave him to speak as God’s message to that generation. But these men rejected the messenger and fought against him. They accused Joseph of wrongdoing and sin when there was none. What are the implications today for those historians and institutions who, like Oliver Cowdery, say Joseph Smith was an adulterer and a liar? Are they any different from those who testified against him in 1838 and 1839? It calls to mind another revelation God declared while Joseph remained in Liberty Jail: “fools shall have thee in derision, and hell shall rage against thee; While the pure in heart, and the wise, and the noble, and the virtuous, shall seek counsel, and authority, and blessings constantly from under thy hand. And thy people shall never be turned against thee by the testimony of traitors.” (D&C 122:1-3.) Are fools who hold Joseph Smith in derision today any less accountable? I DO NOT believe Joseph Smith was an adulterer. He was not a liar, nor a hypocrite. But almost every Mormon institution, and certainly the largest ones, either proclaim or admit Joseph was all these things. I do not. I think he was pure in heart, noble, and virtuous. Must a person themselves be pure in heart, wise, noble, and virtuous before they qualify to seek worthy counsel, authority and blessings through Joseph Smith’s legacy? One of the most ghastly legacies still happening as a result of Brigham Young’s openly adulterous version of Mormonism is best understood in a recent article in a December 28th Salt Lake Tribune article: After polygamist leaders used underage girls for sex, lawsuit says, one teen was forced to be a scribe for the rituals. The article describes the allegations in a newly filed lawsuit against the FLDS leaders. Among other things it relates the following: Starting when she was 8 years old, the woman [victim] says, she would be taken from her home, wearing a bag over her head, to an unknown location — typically an FLDS temple in the Colorado City, Ariz., area or other church- or trust-owned properties — where she would be assigned a number for a religious ritual, according to the lawsuit. There, she was reportedly sexually assaulted by the Jeffses, Nielsen or other church members and leaders. When the men weren’t assaulting her, she says, they watched. While these are unproven allegations at present, the lawsuit will be based on these and other horrific allegations. These contemptible deviant sexual practices are an outgrowth of the legacy bequeathed to the LDS by Brigham Young. Carol Lynn Pearson’s recent book, The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy, recounts how plural wivery continues to invade and haunt the thinking of LDS Mormon women. Though the LDS church finally abandoned the practice in 1904 this cancer originated with it. I do not believe the deviant sexual legacy is Joseph’s, who denounced adultery, but is Brigham’s, who celebrated sexual access to multiple women as a religious sacrament. How many descendants of George Hinkle, John Corrill, Reed Peck, Sampson Avard, William McLellin, John Whitmer, David Whitmer, Oliver Cowdery, Martin Harris, Thomas Marsh, Orson Hyde and WW Phelps today think they hold priesthood, when God said they were cursed as part of these men’s posterity? It would be interesting to know how many men today are cursed and have forfeited any right to priesthood because they, like those who were responsible for Joseph’s imprisonment, foolishly hold Joseph in derision. As for myself, I believe Joseph when a sermon of his on May 26, 1844 is quoted in DHC 6:411: “What a thing it is for a man to be accused of committing adultery, and having seven wives, when I can find only one.” He made this comment in response to the false accusations contained in the Nauvoo Expositor. I believe Joseph when he, referring to the 1835 D&C, CI, affirmed it was his belief that: “Inasmuch as this church of Christ has been reproached with the crime of fornication, and polygamy; we declare that we believe that one man should have one wife; and one woman, but one husband, except in the case of death, when either is at liberty to marry again.” I believe Joseph Smith was truthful when, as editor of the Times and Seasons, he disavowed polygamy and stated the foregoing verse was “the only rule allowed by the church.” (Times and Seasons, vol. 3, p. 909 (1842).) He repeated that same position again at Times and Seasons, vol. 3, p. 939 (1842). In 1844 Joseph and Hyrum Smith announced the ex-communication of Hiram Brown for “preaching Polygamy, and other false and corrupt doctrines, in the county of Lapeer, state of Michigan.” (Times and Seasons, vol. 5, p. 423 (1844).) Hyrum Smith, with Joseph’s approval, published a statement denying plural wives or polygamy, explaining all such teaching is false doctrine: “… some of your elders say, that a man having a certain priesthood, may have as many wives as he pleases, and that doctrine is taught here: I say unto you that that man teaches false doctrine, for there is no such doctrine taught here; neither is there any such thing practiced here.” (Times and Seasons, vol. 5, p. 474 (March 1844).) God identified those who deride Joseph and Hyrum Smith as “fools.” Writing histories and teaching as doctrine that Joseph and Hyrum were liars is, to any reasonable mind, “derision” of them. Like those condemned in 1839, should all who deride Joseph as a liar today question their claim to hold priesthood authority? Has God continued to curse both them and their posterity from any right to the priesthood? Priesthood is a fellowship. Joseph Smith was clearly in fellowship with God and angels, and therefore one whose priesthood included the ministering of angels, the Son of God, and God the Father. He held priesthood.
AITA for canceling my girlfriends niece birthday party because of her daughter?
I have been dating my current girlfriend for nearly two years. I have a 14 year old son Allan, and she has a 16 year old daughter, Kay. They didn’t officially live with me, but stayed over a fair amount. We all know how hard Covid made it on all of us. I won’t complain as others have it much harder than I. My home is just your average run of the mill home in the US, if anything I’ve been lucky enough to have the means to stay active because of my pool, basketball “court”, and mini gym. For awhile my girlfriend’s friends, family, and daughters friends have been visiting daily to make use of the pool and other things. At first it was fine and I was ok entertaining people however that got old over time. I had a conversation with my GF about telling her her people to back off a bit, and though it bothered her, she did. Well two three weeks ago her aunt, uncle, and cousins were over (this was ok to be clear.. she asked prior.) enjoying the pool. We talked about restrictions being lifted slowly and being grateful for that, and soon after the aunt asked if it would be possible for us to host her cousins sweet 16 party. I told them that I didn’t feel comfortable having that in my house, and they explained that it would just be a very small party becaus of Covid. I told them if that was the case then I was happy to help. They made arrangements for food and drinks and that was that. Earlier this week Allan came into the kitchen while my GF and I were cooking and he was visibly upset. I asked what was wrong and he pointed at my GFs daughter saying “she’s the problem! She’s a liar and I know why her dad hates her so much!” He went at her pretty hard and I got him to eventually say what the problem was. Apparently, Kay had told her friends my son was filming her and the other girls with his drone while they swam. I asked why she said that and my GF interjected saying “ask if it’s true first” which made it even tenser.bI knew it wasn’t true because his drone doesn’t have a camera and said as much! I was livid right along side him. An accusation like that carries weight for people! I told my GF that they needed to confess to the lies now and Kay needed to fix it right then and there. She sent out texts saying how she was wrong but it didn’t set right with me at all. I told my GF and daughter they needed to leave and not to come back anytime soon. The next day I explained what happened to her uncle and aunt and informed them the party was canceled at my home and Kay was to blame. The food arrived the two days before the party and I left it where it was delivered and told them to pick it up ASAP which they couldn’t do so it was weathered/damaged. I didn’t want to touch it and be liable for it. I guess this put them in a huge bind for several reasons and they are now blaming Kay for the mistake. It really snowballed out of control for her and they’ve been ostracized from their family.
AITA For getting mad at my ex for cutting our sons hair?
My ex and I have a six year old, and he's a pretty cool kid if I may say so myself. He's been growing his hair out for quite a while (I have relatively long hair and I think thats where he picked it up from), and he always seemed really happy with it. Curls for days. My ex has complained about his hair, but I always told her he got to decide what to do with it. His hair, his choice. Anyway, he went back to his moms, and three days ago came back to me. He bolted from the car and was wearing a hat (which he never does, hat hair isn't a good look), and didn't even spare his mother a second glance. She told me he was in a mood and went on her way. Anyway, I got in and asked him what was wrong. He burst into tears and took his hat off. His head was almost completely shaved with the tiniest mohawk at the top. I was notably really pissed. Not only had she gone against his wishes, our hair is incredibly curly and one rule I was always taught is never shave your curls off. I did when I was younger and it took a near full eight years for my hair to look right again. He's been really upset and clingy, and seems really insecure. He'll usually walk around with his hat on and hood pulled up. When he finally went to sleep I called her and had a go at her, telling her she shouldn't of done that, etc. I also explained how she's probably destroyed his hair for the foreseeable future. Her excuse was that brushing it was too hard, which pissed me off even more. He generally brushed his own hair, and even when he was a little reluctant all I had to do was make a thing of it, ("Come brush your hair with daddy. We'll look pretty together.") And he was set. I told her what she did was all kinds of wrong, and she'd forced him way back into his shell. She said it had been done and there's no point arguing over it. I angrily messaged a buddy about it, who basically said while it's not something he'd ever do, she has just as much right to make decisions as I do and it's not really right of me to get mad at her. I understand where he's coming from, but to me this isn't a power battle, it's about our son being comfortable in his own skin, which he is now not. AITA?
Journal of a Psychopath: University (Part 2 of the Journal of a Psychopath Series)
Part 1: Journal of a Psychopath: High School I am a retired Private Investigator turned Real Crime Blogger. I have been receiving anonymous manuscripts in the mail detailing heinous acts of appalling psychopathy. For reasons concerning my work and this situation, I don’t want to give you my true Identity. You can refer to me as Mr. S. I started in my early years as a detective. Not to toot my own horn, but I was highly effective at my job, and before too long I started taking much higher paying jobs as a freelance Private Investigator. Over the years, I have solved several high profile cold murder cases. Unfortunately, in a work-related attack, I was seriously injured and retired from my job as a Private Investigator 5 years ago. Since then, I have started a well known Real Crime blog and podcast. Recently, I started to receive the handwritten manuscripts from an anonymous source in the mail detailing heinous acts of dark psychopathy. No return address. On the outside of the second envelope there was the following note: “My work is an art that has gone unnoticed for far too long. Although few would understand, it is time that my art is presented to the world.” Below is the second manuscript I received. This manuscript was titled, “University.” If you have not yet read the first manuscript, you can read that firsthere. Be warned, I believe that what you are about to read is the Journal of a Psychopath. ************\* University I was in my Sophomore year at the university. The past two years had gone exactly as planned. My status as a Foster Child ensured that my tuition would be covered. Dean and Sarah had followed through with their offer of adoption and accepted me as their Son. As such, they provided me with a modest allowance ensuring that my pantry remained filled, and my needs were met. I had a nice computer, a new cell phone, and all of the school supplies I would need. I also always had a place to stay during the summer or holidays. Although I preferred to spend my time alone, I provided Dean and Sarah with just enough interaction and gratification to keep them bending over backward for me. Life was good, until Dustin, that is. In my Previous year, I had the fortune of being assigned a roommate that rarely spoke. He minded his own business, we never even had a real conversation. As a matter of fact, I don’t even remember the kid’s name. It was perfect. This year, I had been assigned a very different roommate, Dustin. Dustin was a special kind of fool who felt the need to be the center of attention. My apartment was alway crammed with similar idiots, who can’t quite seem to manage 5 seconds without speaking. They were always talking, shouting, and blaring pathetic pop music written by “musicians” who had the vocabulary skill of dirty-minded first graders. Dustin and his group of retards replicated the essence of their favorite songs by getting sloppy drunk and bragging about, “Baggin Hoes,” and such. I was disgusted that my generation could succumb to such ludicrous culture. At first, I thought that they were just drinking. I shut myself in my room or the library as much as possible, ignoring the idiots. It didn’t take me long to realize, however, that they were consuming a little more than just booze. Every time Dustin walked near, a waft of burnt marijuana would insult my nose, and soon my apartment reeked of it every evening. As if that wasn’t bad enough, one Saturday morning I woke up to find the remnants of their Friday night festivities. People I did not recognize lay on the couch and even on the floors, snoring like hibernating pests. Their mess of crunched aluminum beer cans and burnt joints, along with the aroma of stale cigarettes, gave the appearance as if a herd of homeless addicts had spent the night in my apartment. On the coffee table were smears of fine white powder, fingerprints whooshing about. a small white straw from a fast-food establishment lay on the ground. It wasn’t hard to determine that these snoring idiots had done plenty of cocaine. Now, I don’t care if you smoke weed or do cocaine, as long as it poses no threat to my well being. Naturally, If Dustin were to get caught with drugs, It could come down on me as well. Guilty by association, as they say. Obviously, I couldn’t accept such a risk to my life, to my goals. I would need to confront Dustin about this. I walked into his room, kicking away beer cans that clanged across the floor. In the midst of his room, which resembled a landfill, was his bed. The scattered bed sheets and comforter gave way to a cluster of tangled limbs, I pulled the sheets off to find Dustin in his underwear, his girlfriend beside him nearly naked. Ripping off his smelly sheets did nothing to stir the kid from his drug-induced hibernation, so gave him a nudge. Nothing. “Dustin, wake up and clean this shit up,” I said, but Dustin barely stirred. My patience was already thin, but each and every second that I had to exist inside this pigsty made me more agitated. I grabbed him by his foot and ripped him out of his bed. The first thing to hit the floor was his face, which practically bounced off of the cheap grey carpet. “What the hell?” Said Dustin, finally somewhat conscious. His hands clutched his head, in obvious pain from the hangover, only made worse from the hit to the head. His palms worked their way to his eyes, as he rubbed them and tried opening his eyelids. “Get up, Dustin. Get these idiots out of my apartment and clean up your pigsty. If I wanted to live in a trailer park filled with trashy idiots, I would.” “Get the hell out of here, asshole. Quit being a little bitch.” He told me, looking up with squinty eyes as if someone was shining a flashlight directly at his face. I could see the headache in his eyes, showing clear signs of a huge hangover. I knew how to handle a guy with a huge hangover. I headed to the kitchen. With a squeak, I opened one of the faded brown kitchen cabinets and grabbed the old, discolored pot and its matching frying pan. Holding them by their black plastic handles, I headed back into Dustin’s room, where he was already back to snoring in his bed. I flipped the light on and strolled across the room taking care to step on the dirty laundry. As I pulled the frayed white cord of the crooked blinds, the sunshine penetrated the dark room. Both Dustin and his girlfriend reactively pulled blankets over their faces to shield their eyes from the penetrating rays. Two major symptoms characterize a heavy hangover: Severe headache and extreme sensitivity to bright lights and loud sounds. I walked over to Dustin’s side of the bed, holding the pot and pan over his head, and started banging them together as loud as I could. Dustin reacted to the obnoxious clangs as if he were a vampire being attacked by the sun, showing that the sound caused him pain. I found myself enjoying his reactions as he grabbed his head with both hands, as if that would do anything to subside the pain now pounding in his dehydrated and intoxicated brain. He rolled around like an epileptic animal, shouting curse words that were barely audible over my continuous clangs of the pot and pan. Finally, the sound and pain became too much. Dustinl threw off the covers and jumped to his feet. He made one small stumble with his back foot, demonstrating that he was still drunk. He behaved like a wounded animal, with one goal: To make the pain stop. The inevitable physical violence now came from Dustin, as he threw a joke of a punch at me. I smacked his hand away with the pan. Dustin swore in pain as his knuckles collided with metal resulting in a dull clang. He didn’t learn his lesson the first time, so he threw a second punch at me with the same result. This time he lost his balance and fell over his drunk self, his face landing on his bleeding knuckles. I once again started clanging the pot and the pan over his head, only angering him further. As he tried to scramble back to his feet, I kicked him with a push-kick, knocking him backwards into his cheap black nightstand. Now, I knew Dustin was a wannabe gangster, but even with that I did not expect what he did next. Dustin quickly rose back to his feet and opened the sliding drawer of his nightstand, from which he pulled out a compact size pistol and pointed it directly at my head. Needless to say, I stopped clanging the pot and pan immediately. Dustin stood there, his face bright red from anger and pain, holding the gun in his shaky hand with his finger on the trigger. There was no doubt in my mind that a kid as irresponsible as Dustin would keep a gun chambered, so I knew that a trigger pull would mean a bullet in my head. We stood there in silence for a moment, as I stared at the silver circle of the barrel, surrounded by the matte black slide. Dustin’s expression softened some, as he realized the gravity of the situation. A fool like him wouldn’t be able to pull off a clean murder, I could see in his eyes that he understood that pulling the trigger would mean a life in prison. By now, everyone in the apartment was awake and aware of the situation. They stood awkwardly outside the bedroom door not sure what to do now that the ringleader of their circus had pulled out a gun. Every part of me wanted to rip the gun from his hands and kill him right then and there. It’s actually a fairly simple maneuver if you know what you’re doing. I may have even been within my legal rights to do so, but I didn’t need my name on that police record nor time spent in court. The last thing I wanted to do was bring any unnecessary attention to myself, particularly not with law enforcement. So I chose a more tactful way out. “I’m not okay with you bringing these drugs into my apartment,” I told him, calmly but assertive, as to not stir an irrational reaction from the idiot with a gun, “I don’t care what you do with your own life, but It’s not okay for you to risk my future.” “What are you gonna do, go snitchin to the police?” He spat at me, still pointing the gun at my forehead. The answer was yes, I would go to the police if I needed to, but right now I needed to de-escalate the situation, not give him a reason to shoot me. “No,” I told him, remaining calm, “As long as you keep the drugs out of my apartment, I’ll never speak of this again.” “Well guess what, you don’t get to tell me what to do, Bitch. If you go snitch me out, I’ll make sure to tell them that you’re a part of this operation,” Dustin said, gesturing with his gun hand. I couldn’t help but notice the way that he had to act tough in front of his friends. It was almost comical, to see that happening. “Matter of fact, I already have drugs hidden somewhere in your stuff to make sure that If I go down, you do too.” I really didn't believe that Dustin had the intelligence, nor the foresight, to hide drugs away just in case, but I couldn’t be certain. In the meantime, I had to let Dustin believe that he won. “Alright, Dustin,” I said, making sure to look scared. That’s what he wants, to think that people fear him. “I promise, I won’t say a word. You win, Dustin.” “Good,” he said, finally removing his finger from the trigger. Instead of lowering the gun, however, he hit me with it. I felt the cold hard metal of the gun slide slam into my face, just to the side of my left eye. I fell to the ground, allowing Dustin to feel superior in the moment. It took everything I had to hide my anger, and keep my scared expression on, but I managed. “Next time, I’ll kill you,” Dustin said, before telling me to get out. I retreated to my room, locking the door behind me. As I held a paper towel to my bleeding face, I couldn’t help but smile in excitement. It had been far too long since I had a legitimate reason, an excuse if you will, to feel that rush and enjoyment from two long years ago. Little did Dustin understand the war he had just started. I would never allow a simple-minded fool to risk my future with his drugs. He most definitely didn’t understand that he could not win. I always win. I kept to myself, mostly in my room, for the remainder of the weekend. It seemed that the events of Saturday morning had at least put the clowns off enough that they took their Saturday night substance-circus elsewhere. Meanwhile, I thought back to that brief conversation with Dustin, and there was one particular statement that he had made that stood out. “I’ll make sure to tell them that you’re a part of this operation,” Is what he had told me. Operation was the one word that gave it all away. This told me that he wasn’t just an idiot on drugs. No, he was the dealer. While I admire entrepreneurship, no matter how stupid, I couldn’t let his “operation” tarnish my future. I knew what I had to do. Monday morning, I left my apartment for class at the normal time. Instead of going to class, however, I waited for Dustin to leave from a stone park bench across the road. We had class at the same time, but he was almost always late getting out of bed and undoubtedly showed up to class late. Finally, about 15 minutes after class should have begun, I watched his greasy brown head walk away from our apartment building. This meant that I had several hours before he would be home. I reentered my apartment, where I went to my bathroom and retrieved my pair of teal latex cleaning gloves, the very same ones I wore when I killed Brian. I put those on carefully, ensuring that I didn’t touch the hands nor the fingers of the gloves. After wiggling my fingers into their respective positions, I was ready to investigate. I slowly entered Dustin’s room, careful not to accidentally move anything out of place. Not that it would have been noticed, Dustin was a pigsty. Stepping over a heap of dirty laundry, I made my way to his nightstand first. As I softly pulled on the faded gold knob, the squeaky drawer slid out revealing the gun. At least he wasn’t stupid enough to take it to classes with him, but I’d make him regret it nonetheless. He had one extra magazine in the drawer, along with a black spring-loaded knife. Also in the drawer was a picture of him and his girlfriend. I guess even wannabe gangsters have a soft spot. I think I’m one of the few lucky people who don’t have soft spots. Soft spots are weak spots. Next, I made my way around his unkempt bed to the closet, which had one of the sliding doors already opened revealing haphazardly hung clothing. I could see in the corner, a stack of shoeboxes lay covered by a few jackets and hoodies in a feeble attempt to appear discreet. I knew that those boxes probably had what I was looking for. I carefully moved the smelly jackets out of the way, taking note of the exact order in which the jackets were placed. Inside the top orange shoebox was just some papers, nothing important to me. In the second box, I found a multicolor glass pipe atop three large bags of Marijuana, quite a bit if you ask me, but I’m no expert. I set the marijuana box aside and opened up the third box. Jackpot. In this box, I found a large bag of white powder. The bag was marked with a B, undoubtedly referring to “blow,” the street name for Cocaine. This seemed like an awful lot of cocaine. It wouldn’t take an expert to realize that the bag had to be worth thousands alone. Next to the large white bag were a dozen or so pocket-sized zip bags sitting on top of a small scale, filled with carefully pre-portioned doses of the drug. This confirmed the suspicion I had ever since Dustin had accidentally used the word, “Operation.” Dustin was certainly selling. By the looks of it, Dustin was dealing quite a bit of marijuana and coccaine. This was something I definitely couldn’t be okay with in my apartment. I moved the large bag to the side to find what else might be lurking. Underneath the cocaine was a transparent zip-up bag of small white tablet-shaped pills, probably 40-50 in count, labeled. The bag was labeled, “CPT CODY,” with a sharpie. The tablets had the letter M on one side, and the number 30 embedded on the other side. I didn’t know what those were, as I’ve never been savvy with drugs, but I would definitely do research to figure it out. For now, I had everything that I needed to make a tentative plan. After putting everything back precisely how I had found it, I left. I went to the library and searched through dozens of thick hardcover textbooks, sifting through pages still stained with highlighter and crusty coffee spills from previous students. Sure, a simple internet search would have been easier, but I couldn’t risk any chance of being traced. After hours of straining my eyes on the tiny print from textbook indices, I found what I was looking for. I knew that Dustin was getting involved with some serious drugs when I found the cocaine, but this information showed an even darker truth. M30 pills are prescription Oxycodone opiates, but the name Captain Cody reveals that the pills are something else entirely. Thanks to a Criminal Justice and Drug Enforcement textbook, I found that the small unidentified tablets that I had found were likely not Oxycodone, but Fentanyl, a synthetic opioid over 50 times stronger than Morphine. According to this textbook, it’s common for dealers to mask them as Oxycodone, for one reason or another. The lethal dose of Fentanyl is only 2-3mg. A smile crept across my face from my quiet corner in the huge library. It was time to try something new. I had a plan. I spent the next week going about business as usual, quietly staying out of Dustin’s way but watching intently. Every day after classes, Dustin would come to the apartment and disappear into his room for only a few short minutes before reemerging with his dirty forest-green backpack. He would return anywhere between 90 minutes to 2 hours later, and disappear into his room again. It wasn’t hard to tell that this time frame was when Dustin was doing his deliveries. His weird girlfriend would now show up while he was gone, apparently he gave her a key. I wondered, though, If Dustin knew that she was sneaking into his stash. As soon as she got to the apartment, she would duck inside his room for a few minutes and come back out to get a soda. Almost every time I noted a smear of white underneath her left nostril. Although she was coke-head, at least she was smart enough to use Dustin to get what she wanted. Wednesday night would be the night, the night to finally put my problems behind me. Again, I skipped out on my morning class. The class was Humanities, the single most drab class one could take. Spend hours reading worthless poetry then listen to some idiots try to sound sophisticated about it? I hated it, but I only needed a C to get credit. Instead, I waited for Dustin to leave. As soon as he had left for the day, I entered his room and went for the drug box. I was surprised to find just how much business the kid had been doing. The drug shoeboxes had been drained quite a bit but the cash box was definitely more full. His operation was going successfully, but he was sloppy and would most definitely get caught if he were allowed to continue. I wasn’t willing to be caught up in that. Sarah had given me a Mortar and Pestle before I moved out, and this was the first time that I would be using it. After covering my nose and mouth with a thick cloth, I dropped several of the little pills into the thick granite bowl and used the sturdy stone pestle to crush them. The grinding sound wasn’t pleasant, it reminded me of nails on a chalkboard only less high pitched. Still, I continued to crush and grind, adding a few pills at a time as the contents of the bowl slowly turned into a chalky powder. After about 20 minutes of consistent grinding, I felt as though I had the right amount. With gloved hands, I compared the consistency of the chalky fentanyl with that of the cocaine. The fentanyl was a bit thicker, and more of an off-white comparatively, but I knew that if I mixed them well enough it would go unnoticed. I removed the small, portioned bags of cocaine from the box. Carefully, I emptied the contents into a small cup where I mixed the cocaine with fentanyl, calculating about the correct amount of Fentanyl for one lethal dose. After I was satisfied with the mix, I put the now laced cocaine back into each baggy. After mixing more fentanyl with the remaining large bag of cocaine, keeping to the same ratio, everything was ready to go. I put everything back into Dustin’s closet and sanitized my gloves and equipment with bleach and dish soap. Now, all I had to do was wait. Dustin arrived back to the apartment on schedule, quickly ducking into his room and leaving 5 minutes later with his ugly backpack to go sell his drugs. Soon after, his girlfriend came in, as planned, and went into Dustin’s room. I watched from the crack in my door as she emerged a few minutes later to retrieve a soda. She was smiling awkwardly and did a weird sort of twirl toward the sofa before plopping herself onto a plump cushion. I watched her head would drop slightly, and whip back upward as she tried to keep herself awake. The nods became more pronounced, and finally she lay her head back and closed her eyes, giving in to the deep relaxation effect of the powerful opiate. I emerged from my room to analyze her condition. Her head lay back with her mouth open and arms sprawled toward the side as if she had merged with the sofa. She was completely out. I poked at her a few times to make sure that she would not easily wake before positioning her in such a way to keep her airway open. I needed her to stay alive, unfortunately. I got the rest of my preparations ready quickly, but carefully, as I waited for Dustin’s arrival. I paced the room while lightly snapping my fingers in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. I couldn’t wait to execute the remainder of my plan, but I started to feel anxious about it. I felt as though I didn’t know enough about drugs, they could be unpredictable. I had an easy backup plan for if the girl died, but it would be messy if she woke up too early. Finally, I heard the jingle of keys outside of the apartment, and the subsequent click of the deadbolt sliding into the unlocked position. After the front door was closed, Dustin turned on the lights and froze at the sight in front of him. I had his gun pointed at him from behind his couch, just behind his unconcious girlfriend. In my other hand, I held Dustin’s knife to her neck. “I wouldn’t advise doing anything stupid, Dustin,” I told him calmly. His eyes widened as he grasped the situation, and worry tainted his usually smug face exposing one of his greatest weaknesses; Love. He most definitely loved this girl. “What did you do to her?” Dustin asked through clenched jaws, frightened and slowly putting his hands up as if I was arresting him. “I knocked her out, after she threatened to frame me the same way you threatened me,” I lied, gesturing with the gun. “I’m not going to hurt either of you, as long as we can both agree to part ways peacefully and neither of us will go to the police. I think it’s clear that if either of us gets turned in, we’ll rat each other out. Now please, take a seat.” I pointed with the gun to the chair on the opposite side of the coffee table to his girlfriend and myself. Per my request, he walked over and sat down begrudgingly. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you,” Dustin said with a clenched jaw. “Don’t worry, I fully intend for her to be unharmed,” I told Dustin, being honest for the first time since his arrival. “Now, help yourself to a line, I want you to be relaxed.” Keeping the knife at the girl's throat, I pointed to the three lines of tainted cocaine that I had prepared for him. “Why the hell would I take the line at a time like this?” Dustin spat. “Just to make sure that if you call the police, you have to tell them that you were on drugs. I’m trying to draw a truce, Dustin, so nobody gets screwed.” Dustin grabbed the rolled-up bill that I had prepared, leaned over the first line, and with his nose over his free nostril he snorted. The white powder sucked through the dollar bill straw like a vacuum sucking up flower. He took a deep breath looking more relaxed and looked back up at me. “I’m going to need you to tell me what drugs you hid in my room and where,” I told him. Dustin comprehended the demand, revealing that he had indeed hidden drugs somewhere in my stuff. I was impressed that he was smart enough to actually have done that. “I taped weed in your floor vent,” Dustin admitted, deciding to tell me the truth. “Excellent, thank you for telling me that,” I told Dustin with a gentle smile, “Now please, take another line so we can talk about what’s going to happen.” I smiled as Dustin bent over to snort the second line. The first line had only a small amount of fentanyl, but the second line was half cocaine and half fentanyl. There was just over a lethal dose, by my calculations. Dustin closed his eyes and shook his head after snorting the second line. I’m not sure how much resistance he had to the drug, but it seemed to hit him hard. “Now here’s the plan,” I said, keeping Dustin’s mind distracted from the drug. As he looked up to me, I could see the black pupils narrowing within his brown eyes, signaling that the drug taking rapid effect, “I’m going to move out, and you are going to take over the full lease willingly. I won’t say anything about the drugs, and you won’t say anything about this little, well, incident. Sound good?” “Whatever man, just take the knife off of her,” Dustin said as he rubbed his eyes. I could see that he was already fighting the urge to let his head drop. “Perfect, take that last line and we’ll shake on it.” “I don’t want to man, something feels weird with this blow,” Dustin said, as he started to sway ever so slightly. “Take the line, Dustin, so I can let her go,” I demanded, sternly. Shaking his head, Dustin bent down and snorted the final line. This line was pure fentanyl, probably enough to kill two people. Dustin put one hand to his head and grabbed the table with the other hand in an attempt to steady himself. His chest moved angrily as his breathing quickly became labored and loud. I removed the knife from the girl's neck and stood up fully to watch Dustin be completely taken over by his own drugs. He leaned on the table as his diaphragm now contracted heavily and violently as each breath now rasped like a snoring bulldog. He made an effort to look up at me, but his arm gave out under his weight and his face slammed into the table with a thud. His butt still sat on the chair, but his face now rested on the coffee table. I felt a surge of euphoria come over me as I watched Dustin struggle a few more times to pick his head up. He only made it a few inches each time before his head thudded back onto the table. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as I thought back to when he had told me, “Next time, I’ll kill you.” If only he knew just what type of person he had said that to. The fool thought himself a superior man who could stomp all over me, but I proved him to be not but a pawn in my way. Bubbly white foam now appeared from his open mouth, slowly drifting onto the table. The raspy breath had now turned to inconsistent choking and gurgling sounds, signaling respiratory failure. I took a seat and watched eagerly as Dustin’s body made involuntary seizure-like jerks. I wasn’t sure if he had any consciousness remaining, but I sure hoped that it hurt, and that he could feel the pain. Finally, his breathing and seizing stopped altogether, and Dustin was completely motionless. His head was on the table, as was his left arm, but his right arm dangled down with his fingers touching the grey carpet. I checked his pulse to verify that he was dead. There was nothing. I looked over at the girl, having completely forgotten about her in the moment. Her breathing had steadied, which was good. If she had died I would have had to be the one to discover the bodies. I retrieved the marijuana that Dustin had placed in my floor vent and checked the rest of the vents just to be sure. After replacing the gun and knife in Dustin’s former nightstand, I took off my latex cleaning gloves and sanitized them one more time, to make sure that there would be no drug residue left. Finally, I crashed onto my bed and quickly fell asleep. Murder is hard work. I awoke to loud screaming coming from the living room, Dustin’s girlfriend had finally woke up. I checked the clock to see that it was 12:23 AM, which meant Dustin had been dead for hours now. I took one deep breath before bursting out of the room to appear as if I were panicked. I saw Dustin’s girlfriend leaning over him, trying to shake him awake, begging him through her obnoxious sobbing. “Oh my god! What happened?” I said loudly, acting shocked and scared. “I- I don’t know,” She said sobbing desperately, “I think- he took too much.” She said sobbing. I’m sure at this point she knew deep down that he was long dead, but perhaps in denial, I couldn’t imagine that his body was still warm. “Did you call 911?” I asked her, trying my best to remain panic stricken. She shook her head as tears streamed down her face. I realized she was in no state to call, so I figured I would have to. “911 what’s your emergency.” “Please, help! I think my roommate overdosed or something, he’s not moving!” I half yelled over the phone, acting as though I was terrified and surprised. I gave the operator the address. After ensuring that help was on the way, she asked me to check for vitals. I went along with the situation, in character of a scared young man, and looked for a pulse pretending like I was hoping to find one. Dustin was cold and obviously dead. The stiff muscles in his neck told me that rigor mortis had already started. Dustin’s girlfriend now sat on his side, clutching his cold dead hand trying to grasp that her lover was dead. I couldn’t understand why she was so shaken up. What did she expect, a happily ever after with 3 cute kids and a white picket fence? Nonetheless, I gently pulled her away from the body as first responders arrived. The girl who I had never even talked to pulled me into an unexpected embrace, burying her face into my shoulder. I hated every disgusting second of her crying on me, but I fought off my impulse to push her away. I needed to act like a normal person who had just found a dead body. The paramedics hadn’t even tried to revive him, he was far too dead for that. I gave my statement to the police making sure to appear as if I had been badly shaken up by the event. I admitted that I had witnessed drugs being used by Dustin and his girlfriend, and told the story of how when I confronted Dustin about it he had pointed a loaded gun on me. I even let fake tears escape as I told the police how I was scared Dustin might have killed me if I had reported it. In distress, Dustin’s girlfriend (Ironically her name was Sarah) completely backed my story as she was there when the gun was pulled. She was obviously unconscious while I forced Dustin to overdose, so she thought he did it to himself. She spilled the beans about the drug use and the as well as the drug dealing. She admitted to everything, completely incriminating herself and her friends. The investigation didn’t last long, but over the next few days 5 more students had fentanyl overdoses after buying some of Dustin’s cocaine, but unfortunately only 2 of them were fatal. The blame for the deaths went straight to Dustin. It was determined that he had been the one to lace the cocaine with the fentanyl, in order to have the best product on campus. In some deep reflection to my previous murder, I made some notes. Killing Dustin with the drugs was ultimately much cleaner, with far fewer forensics issues to worry about. All the blood from the stabbing was messy, you don’t realize how much blood a person has until you’ve stabbed them several times. That being said, stabbing Bryan just felt so much more satisfying. Something about looking into his eyes as I pushed the knife into his heart has left me with an itch that I just can’t quite scratch The only negative consequence for me is that the university sent me to trauma counseling, which meant that I had to keep up the charade of having been traumatized for a while. As expected, Dean and Sarah gave me massive amounts of sympathy over the ordeal, offering to pay for expensive counseling to which I politely refused. Instead, they quickly purchased me a lease for a different, one-bedroom apartment where I would no longer need to have roommates. This was perfect, as I hated roommates, and couldn’t risk killing them all. Sarah and Dean were too easy to manipulate. Once again, I always win. ************\* This was the end of the second manuscript I received from the alleged serial killer, Rich. If true, at the end of this story Rich would officially be classified as a serial killer. According to the first and second manuscript, Rich had murdered 5 people by the end of his Sophomore year of college. Once again, I have found archived real news coverage of the events of a series of Fentanyl overdoses at a University. One student, Dustin Anderson, was found to be responsible for laced drugs after being the first fatality in the string of overdoses. This university is only 35 miles from the high school where Bryan Jones was stabbed to death. Although my initial suspicions were that these were fake, I can’t help but note the detail from the first-person perspective. Let’s assume that these manuscripts are real. Most Serial Killers collect some type of trophy. I believe these manuscripts could be trophies for this serial killer. What do you think? Mr. S. https://imgur.com/a/9DHmub0
As part of a strange medical study, I was offered $5,000 to be killed and revived in the hopes of discovering the afterlife. What I experienced will haunt me for the rest of my years.
"Alright, Jack. Are you ready?" After being strapped down by the orderlies, an older gentleman with a white coat stepped over and looked down at me as my back caressed the cold, metal slab I was fastened to. I presumed this was Doctor Covenwood, the lab's head of operations. "Uhhh... I guess so." This was risky business. I would be humanely injected and gassed with various chemicals to render me medically dead. Then, I would be revived to report my findings as part of a study on near-death experiences and the afterlife. If I survived, $5,000 would be deposited into my bank account as payment. "Don't worry, Jack. We've done this dozens of times so far and have yet to lose a single soul. You'll be fine." I know what you're thinking and you're right; this was not legal by any stretch of the imagination. No one in their right mind would have even agreed to participate in such a study, but I was truly desperate. The pandemic left me jobless and the bills were piling up. An old college buddy who works for the lab knew about my situation and reached out to recruit me for the project. "Alright, Jack. I'll be in the next room behind the one-way glass. You'll be able to hear me over the intercom. Once we start, there's no going back. This is your last chance. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?" I mulled it over for a moment, but the choice was clear. There were certainly other options at my disposal for recouping my financial losses, but that wasn't the only reason I agreed to take part in the study. The real reason I was risking my life ran much deeper than that. "Let's do it, Doctor." A smile spread across his face. "That's the spirit!" Doctor Covenwood scurried out to the control room and fired up the intercom as quick as he could, probably to get the ball rolling before I changed my mind. "Remember, Jack, you'll only be gone for thirty seconds, then we'll bring you back. Still, it may seem a lot longer to you once you're... well, wherever it is you're going. Time dances to the beat of its own drum in some places. Retain what information you can upon waking and tell us what it is you've seen." I nodded at the camera hanging above me from the ceiling. "Alright, Jack. This is it. See you on the other side." *** I remembered bracing myself for death, but it's all fuzzy after that; bits and pieces of memory floating in a vast ocean of consciousness. I can only recall the sensation of falling and the occasional voice whispering in my ear, though I could not for the life of me make out what it was saying. When I finally came to, the scene in front of me took form and revealed my surroundings. However inexplicable it may seem, I was in what appeared to be the lobby of a large building. There were hardwood floors, lavish staircases, and gorgeous rays of light flooding the room from tall, stained-glass windows on every side of me. Directly in my line of sight was a desk and what appeared to be a receptionist. He looked up and smiled. "You must be Jack. Please, come with me." In an instant, without even getting up from his seat, the man was in front of me. Before I could react, he took me by the arm and we appeared somewhere upstairs by the balcony in front of a door. "Here you are - Room 371. The Overseer will see you now." And just like that, he vanished again. Thanks. I guess. Overwhelmed by everything, I didn't enter the room right away and instead leaned over the railing and surveyed the area. That's when I noticed a plethora of shelves lining the walls, each with their own collection of jars; a soft light emanating from within. I wanted to study them further, but was cut off by a booming voice that echoed through the hall. "Come in, Jack. I haven't got all day." It was coming from Room 371. Not wishing to further test the patience of whatever being was summoning me, I opened the door and walked in. "Please, Jack. Have a seat." Sitting at a desk in the room was a clean-cut man in turn-of-the-century attire, gesturing at the chair in front of me. I sat and the man stared me down. If he was trying to intimidate me, it was working. "Alright. On with it. I know you must have questions. Fire away." He was right. I did. "Where are we?" He chuckled. "You humans are so predictable. Well, for lack of a self-descriptor, this is what you would refer to as the hereafter - a place where all souls go upon expiration." "So Heaven is... a cathedral?" He chuckled again. "Who said anything about Heaven? There is no good or bad place, just this. And no, it's not a cathedral. It appears different to every departed soul. You see it as a cathedral, another might see it as a monastery, or even a small cottage tucked away in the hills. Whatever peaceful scenery makes the transition easier." He adjusted himself in his chair, raised his hand, and lifted a single finger. "One more question, Jack. Then we move on to more pressing matters." This was my chance. The reason I was there in the first place. "Can I see my wife and daughter?" He didn't expect that, turning his chair to face me. "Ahh, I see. Now I understand. Is that why you joined Doctor Covenwood's little study group? That I wouldn't have predicted." He saw the surprise in my expression. "Oh yes, Jack. I know all about the good doctor and his trials. He works for us." My surprise turned to confusion. "Works for you? What do you mean?" The Overseer raised his hand again and snapped his fingers. All at once we were transported to another space. It was small and white. Too white. And the lighting was strange. Brighter than your average room, but still dimmer than a hospital. It was off-putting. To make matters worse, I was strapped to another table, completely immobile in the center of the room. The Overseer stood by and picked up tools from a rolling cart. Needles, blades, among other sharp utensils. "I can't believe a human would risk his own life on the off-chance he might be reunited with loved ones. It's admirable, I suppose, but no, Jack, you will not see Charlotte and Leslie. We have far more important business to attend to." My heart was pounding. I had no idea what he was up to, but I knew it couldn't be anything good. "What's going on? What are you doing?" He cracked a smile. "Well, Jack, what the good doctor failed to let you in on was that our agreement involves him sending us wayward souls. In exchange, we offer him information about our world." He walked around to the opposite side of me with the cart and pushed it up against the table. I winced and let out a small scream. He laughed. "You see, Jack, human souls are a delicacy here. The taste is so... intoxicating." He closed his eyes and trembled. "We were never meant to devour souls, but we've been hear for so long. Billions of years. Maybe more. We, like all things, need stimulation. To that end, we face but one obstacle. The pesky laws of this realm dictate that we can neither lie nor take what isn't ours. It's a failsafe of the Creator's design, put in place to keep us from harming you, making it physically impossible to extract your soul without consent. You must give it to us willingly." Though frightened, I mustered up enough courage to respond. "Why would I do something like that?" He replied with a horrible grin. "That's the beauty of our arrangement. When a normal soul dies, we give them the option. Let us cut you open and take your soul, or live in a jar for all eternity. There's almost no incentive to hand it over, so almost everyone chooses the latter option. In your case, your time isn't up. The doctor is waiting on the other side to revive you, but I won't let him unless you give me what I want! Time will remain still until your soul is mine. Your thirty seconds will never end." He licked his lips in anticipation. "If you want to go back, just say the word. Otherwise, get comfortable." It was a lot to process. Still, none of it mattered. Seeing my wife and daughter again was the only thing keeping me going. Knowing that I couldn't be with them eliminated any incentive I would have had to continue living. "No. You can't have it. I'll stay." His smile vanished as he threw the cart and grabbed me by the shoulders, placing his face directly over mine. His eyes were now red and his mouth full of dagger-like teeth that overlapped one another in a grotesque pattern. "You will give me your soul and I will rip away every last fiber of your flesh to get it." He dug a silver blade into my chest and drooled over the wound. It was like battery acid. Worse than any pain I had ever felt before. I screamed in agony. He backed away, wiped his chin, and his face returned to normal. "Sorry about that. I got a little carried away. Still, you will agree to my terms, or suffer further torment." The pain was immense, but I would not bow to him. "No. I refuse." His grin returned. "You misunderstand, Jack. The torture you will experience is not of a physical nature." He snapped his fingers and we were transported again, somewhere else entirely. *** I was alone, in a familiar forest; one just outside town where we liked to camp from time to time. The sun was setting as the evening drew near. The air was still and the wildlife quiet. This was the night they died. "What do you think, Jack? I'd say it looks almost identical." The Overseer appeared before me. "What the hell is this?" His lips stretched wide across his cheeks. "Just a recreation of the events that led up to your family's death." I looked at him in disbelief. "You remember, don't you? You were out here gathering firewood while they played by the lake." A tear rolled down my cheek. "Stop it!" He continued. "When Leslie fell, bumped her head on the dock, and then sank deep beneath the water? Charlotte called out to you, but you were nowhere to be found." It happened as he spoke of it. "Jack, she fell in. Jack, help! Oh my god, she's unconscious. Jack!" Just as I did that night, I dropped the branches in my hand and ran as fast as I could towards the lake. Recreation or not, I couldn't ignore my family. "Your wife jumped in to save her, but her legs were far too weak to swim." The Overseer appeared at every tree I passed, his voice staying with me every step of the way. "The physical therapy worked wonders, but she had only been out of her wheelchair for a month." He was right. On her way to work, Charlotte was struck by a drunk driver. She survived, but her spine suffered a lot of damage. The doctors weren't sure she would walk again. This camping trip was supposed to be a celebration. It was the first thing Charlotte wanted to do when she was upright again. "Stop it, you bastard!" Charlotte continued to call out for me. "Jack! Jack!" Her voice was muffled by the water she was treading. There was a sickening gurgle in between her outbursts; a gut wrenching sound that haunted my every nightmare for months to come and rang in my ears even after waking. "You arrived at the lake, but it was too late." I ran over, tears wetting my face, and pulled Charlotte and Leslie from the water. The Overseer stayed close and observed. I tried my best to administer chest compressions and CPR, but it was no use. My girls were dead, and I could do nothing but sob over their corpses. "Alright, Jack. Time for Round 2!" The Overseer snapped his fingers and we were back in the forest. Soon enough, I heard Charlotte's voice, once again crying out for help. To my dismay, the sequence of events had begun again. I turned to the Overseer, standing by my side, and took a swing, but there was no connection. My fist stopped inches from his smug face, halted by an unseen force. He cackled in response. "Why are you doing this?!" "You know why, Jack! Give me your soul, or submit to this existence! You will be stuck here forever, left to relive the worst night of your life again and again!" I ran to the lake. Faster this time. Still, when I arrived, they were gone. "That's right, Jack. No matter what happens, this will be the conclusion. You will never make it in time. Never." We appeared back in the forest. "What will it be, Jack?" I ran again. The Overseer followed. "No. I won't do it. I can save them, this time. I know I can." The Overseer's eyes became red as he moved from tree to tree. "THEN SUFFER!" Charlotte continued to call out for me, I continued to run. After it was done, it started again. And again. And again. All the while, the Overseer stayed and watched and laughed. Eventually, I cried myself dry. I pressed on anyway, determined to save them, even if it was all part of an elaborate illusion. I needed this. More than the Overseer knew. Eventually, he interrupted. "Stop, Jack." I ignored him at first. "Jack, stop." I ran as fast as I could, Charlotte's voice as my beacon, well on my way to another lakeside funeral. "STOP, NOW!" The Overseer stepped in front of me. The scene around us vanished. We were now surrounded by darkness; a mysterious place devoid of any and all light. "If you truly insist on continuing this run down memory lane, then I think it's time we changed some things. Have fun, Jack. This will be your life now." He snapped his fingers and I was back in the woods. This time, I was completely alone and a dark fog hung above the forest's canopy, cloudy and still. Focused, I ran past the trees, but Charlotte's voice never met my ear. Something was amiss. *** I arrived at the lake moments later and was greeted with the usual, horrific sight. Charlotte and Leslie, face-down on the surface of the water. I pulled them out, as I had so many times before, but something changed when their bodies touched the shore. They stood up. Charlotte and Leslie's lifeless bodies now stood upright before me, eyes darker than the deep abyss they were pulled from. Water spilled from their mouths as they walked toward me. Charlotte then spoke. "You killed us, Jack. You killed us." I backed away in terror, sobbing the whole way. "Charlotte, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Leslie stepped ahead. "Why didn't you save me, Daddy?" I fell to my knees as they approached. "I love you both so much and miss you terribly. Please forgive me. I never meant for this to happen." Charlotte leaned over and put a cold hand on my head. "You lived. You don't deserve forgiveness on top of that." She pressed her lips to mine and the taste of death coated my tongue. I tried to disconnect, but she forced me against her with brute strength, her arms wrapped tightly around my head. Then, she began sucking the air from lungs. Leslie chimed in. "This is how we felt, Daddy. We couldn't breathe. Now you can be like us." I struggled and struggled, but couldn't break free. Just before losing the last drop of air in my lungs, something happened. It was faint at first, but then grew to an audible whisper. I recognized it as it crept into my ear. It was the same disembodied voice that followed me to the afterlife. I could now tell that it was that of Charlotte. The real Charlotte. Save us, Jack. I didn't know what she meant. Please, Jack. You have to make a deal with the Overseer. Make a deal. Okay. I could do that. By some miracle, I was able to rip myself away and inhale as much oxygen as I could in one breath. Then, before the corpses could attack again, I called out to the Overseer. "Okay! I'm ready to bargain." The dead versions of Charlotte and Leslie vanished. The sky opened up, revealing a full moon. Its dim light soaked small ripples in the lake as the Overseer walked up from behind. "Had a change of heart, have we?" I took another deep breath. Charlotte's whisper was still with me, guiding me the rest of the way. He can't lie. Ask him some questions. "Okay, I'll give you my soul, but first, I have questions." He rolled his eyes. "Fine. On with it then." Ask him about the jarred souls. What he does with them. "What do you do with the souls once they're jarred?" He squinted at me, suspiciously. "Where is this coming from, Jack?" I was firm in my reply. "Just answer me." He clenched his teeth. "Fine. For the most part, they stay, untouched, in their jars, on their shelves. But... sometimes... we take them out and ask again for consent." Ask how. "How do you do that? Torture?" His eyes widened at the word. "Of course, Jack. What other way is there?" Ask about us. "What about Charlotte and Leslie then? Do you torture them?" He leaned in and snickered. "Yes. The same as I'm torturing you now. They relive this night just as you have. Your wife is strong, but I'll break her. Then they're souls will be mine, just as yours will be. A matching set if there ever was one." My blood was boiling. I wanted to lash out, but Charlotte's voice soothed me. Save us, Jack. The pieces clicked into place. "Alright. I'm going to give you a choice." The Overseer scoffed at me. "You're going to give me a choice?" "Yes. I can guarantee you that Charlotte won't give in to your head games and neither will I - not so long as we have each other. You can either keep trying and torture us until the end of time - or, if you have better things to attend to, and I'm sure you do, you can let me go." He looked shocked. "Let you go?" I continued. "No more torturing my wife and daughter and allow the doctor to revive me. When I die, my soul is yours to do with as you please. It's the only guarantee that you'll get any of us." He stood back and pondered for a moment. "You make a compelling argument Jack. Normally, I wouldn't even consider a deal like this, but I've wasted enough time on you three as it is. As such, here is my counter offer. I'm feeling generous, so I'll offer you two years on Earth with your soul intact and your family will rest during that time. Then, you will die, and I will retrieve all three of your souls. Your familial bond can serve as consent for the lot of you." There was no way I would accept those terms, but Charlotte's voice chimed in. Take the deal, Jack. It will be fine. We'll have two years to find a way out of it. I didn't like it, but I had to listen to my wife. She always knew best. "Okay. You have yourself a deal." The Overseer smiled and then snapped his fingers. *** I awoke in the lab to Doctor Covenwood at my side, tending to the wound in my chest, left by the Overseer. "Oh good, you're awake!" Knowing the hand he played in this, I looked up at him in disgust. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, Jack. It's just the way it has to be. This research is vital to the progression of mankind." He finished bandaging me up, undid my straps, and backed away, probably expecting a fist to the face. "You're just lucky I was able to make a deal with the Overseer to protect my family." I stood up and Doctor Covenwood stepped out and into the control room, opting to speak through the intercom. "Actually, Jack, that was all a part of the plan. One soul at a time used to cut it, but as of late, the Overseer wants more." He let out a loud sigh before continuing. "There's no way out of this, I'm afraid. In two years time, you'll be done for. I hope you understand." The sound of tapping away at a keyboard came through the speaker, followed by a voice. Charlotte's voice. "Save us, Jack." My heart sank. "I used old recordings of your wife and created a simple program that would allow me to alter my voice to sound like hers. Everything I said over the intercom, you were able to hear on the other side. I'm so sorry, Jack." Oh my god. What have I done?
Sorry, it’s my first time posting because I’m really desperate and need advice. Also English isn’t my first language - so sorry about that too! So I’m (23f) babysitting since two years for a single mom. She paid me fair for this and for one and a half year I was babysitting two times a week her child (5) and in the last half year it was 3 times a week. The father of the girl was never in the picture and she had multiple babysitters since she was very little. Because her mother works everyday like 10 hours or more (she works in a very stressful but very well paying job in the financeworld), she doesn’t see her much. She had like 3 babysitters before me and now it was only me and another one. At first she didn’t like me and always cried about everything and threw tantrums. But after months of me comforting her while also setting rules she started loving me and I really love her. But her mother gave me more and more to do. First it was two times a week for 4 hours in the afternoon. But since 6 months it was 3 times a week for 6 hours. I‘m studying to become a teacher and I didn’t need the extra hours or money but I needed more time for studying. This semester my university expected all students to go into schools and experience the „real“ lessons and daily life. My school was very happy with me helping out a few times and they offered me a job (whenever a teacher would be ill, which happens nearly everyday because it’s a big school, I could get a call and they would ask me if I wanted to take the lesson - but I could also say no). They would pay me 10 euros for an hour more than my babysitter job. I really hesitated at first but it would be also better for my future so I decided to do so. When I told the mother of my babysitterchild about it, she screamed at me and cried. She said that since her child now loves me and accepted me, it was heartless and cruel for me to go. And that I‘m breaking a young girls heart only for money and maybe she will have trust issues because of this. I was shocked and really sad and I felt guilty. I called my mom to talk about this and while she agreed that it’s better for my future to take the job at the school, she also said that she wouldn’t do it because a child is always more important than money. Now I feel like a heartless monster and don’t know if I’m the asshole for this. I agree that a child is more important than money but I don’t know.. it’s not my child and I don’t know if this is a asshole move? Edit: I read a lot of comments but I can’t answer every single of them. First of all - thank you for the bottom of my heart for all the messages! It’s very kind of you and I feel not so guilty anymore. So I will take this schooljob. Due to COVID the mom works from home and I wrote her some good nannie and babysitter agency. I will babysit for the next 4 weeks (if it’s necessary due to mom being at home) and will slowly talk and adjust the girl to me not being around anymore. I will not work for them past this 4 weeks but I said that occasionally (like 2 or 3 times in a half year or something like that) I could visit them both (when they are home together). I asked my mother why she isn’t supportive of me and she said that’s because she can emphasis with the mother due to the fact she was a single mother as well (but I didn’t have any babysitter). But she said she was sorry and will try to be supportive. Thank you everyone!
I've Crossed The Finish Line - Two And A Half Years Later And I've Reached Goal Weight!
Hello everyone! My name is Erika. I'm 26 years old. At 24 years old I weighed 425 pounds and I was absolutely miserable. I had high blood pressure, sleep apnea, I was pre diabetic and every inch of my body was in constant pain, 24/7. I was miserable. A lifetime of struggles with mental illness and Binge Eating Disorder had wreaked havoc on every part of my life. Food was my everything - my comfort, my joy, my purpose. I knew I wasn't going to live much longer if I kept going the way that I was. So I decided to have gastric bypass and on August 27, 2018, a wonderful surgeon helped me get my life back. When I had my surgery I set my goal weight at 150 pounds, but I'll be honest - I didn't think I was going to get there. I doubted myself, my discipline, and my strength. But today I got on the scale and I weigh 149 pounds. I did it. I'm here! I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby. I can't even begin to describe the relief, happiness and pride that I felt standing on that scale. That's a sentence I NEVER thought I'd type! Life is good now. I feel healthy. My blood pressure is perfect, I sleep like a baby, I'm no where near diabetes, and my mental health is in the best place it's ever been. I'm set to graduate with my masters degree in social work in nine months. I'm in a loving relationship and I have a wonderful support system filled with incredible friends and family members. I'm HAPPY. And HEALTHY! I never thought I'd get here. Gastric bypass has been a wonderful tool for me, but I'm the one who has made and maintained the wonderful changes that have gotten me here. I eat about 1800 calories a day, give or take, and try to eat about 190 g of carbs, 130 g of protein, less then 60 g of fat and less than 45 g of sugar. I drink 80-100 oz of water daily, do 10 minutes of yoga every day and 10 minutes of cardio five days a week. I'm in therapy and see my therapist once a month to help maintain the progress I've made with my mental health. It's not easy - I have struggles. I have bad days where I overeat or get caught in my emotions and turn to food. But every day is a new day and I try to make the most of the 24 hours I'm given. I feel like I've crossed the finish line in a way but I know this is a journey I'll be on for the rest of my life. Maintaining my weight and getting skin removal surgery someday are next on my list. I'm confident that I'll be able to stay healthy for the rest of my life. I've proven to myself time and time again that I am strong and capable and if I put my mind to something, I can do it. Big thanks to all the kindness and support I've gotten here. I'd like to pay it forward and extend an invitation to anyone who needs help or support to please reach out to me! I couldn't have done what I've done without support and help from many wonderful people and I'd love to put that amazing energy back into the world. Here is a link to some pictures I took today to celebrate my huge victory. Thank you so much for reading. I hope everyone has had as wonderful of a day as I have. Stay safe and healthy!
[first] [prev] [next] The M-318A2E5 General Purpose Heavy Machinegun. A 20mm barrel. Frangible link belt fed. Each box of ammunition containing 200 rounds of variable munitions, from standard soft alloy ball rounds to armor piercing incendiary to self-correcting guided armor piercing discarding sabot fin stabilized warsteel jacketed density enhanced shell mass reactive antimatter core with tracer. Maximum rate of fire 2,000 rounds a minute. Maximum effective rate of fire at 350 rounds a minute. Recommended rate of fire at 100 rounds per minute. If can be altered on the fly with an advanced firing system or manually fixed by the unit armorer or Weapon Engineer trained green mantid. A crew served, warborg, or gunnery heavy combat frame (or parity system). Alternatively mounted in a fixed position or on a light armored combat vehicle. Often used as a light weapon on warmechs. It has also been used as a bludgeoning weapon against particularly aggressive and insistent enemy and proven to be more resilient then the body of the enemy. Single barrel with heat shroud, magnetic rail accelleration with magnetic coil stabilization and variable munition effects, with thermal bloom heat sink option. The bare minimum moving pieces after thousands of years of being steadily shaved down. Stripped down there is not a single extraneous piece of hardware entirely on her body. Capable of air defense, point defense, anti-armor, anti-infantry, anti-vehicle usage depending on deployment and selected munition type. If you can see it, if you can hit it, if you can maintain fire upon it, you will, inevitably, kill it. Rather, she will kill it, if you are skilled enough. Able to be resupplied by a Class-II nano-forge with only built in heat sinks and radiator fins, it is capable of resupplying itself with nearly seven hundred rounds per minute and stay within heat tolerances for an unaltered Class-II nano-forge using only atmospheric mass intake. A Class-I nano-forge can produce four hundred rounds per minute within heat tolerances. A Class-III and higher can produce ten thousand rounds per minute with little to no heat or nanite stress and is only limited by the amount of mass it has access to. A standard ball round without nano-forge fabrication costs the Confederate tax payer 125 credits. An advanced round like the Confederate military uses as its standard loadout would cost the Confederate tax-payer 14,200 credits per round. As the Confederate tax payer has graciously supplied you with a nano-forge, each round only costs the Confederate tax payer one credit worth the nanites and mass. You will not waste the Confederate taxpayer's money. Able to be attached to autonomous firing points or carried by a warborg, the M-318A2E5 does not have to rely on fancy virtual reality, virtual intelligence assistants, or even holographic targeting. At times the M-318A2E5 has been stripped down to the basic components with a hollowed out ration tin as a sight. With the weapon entirely made from Gen-Zero Warsteel without any fancy laminates, molecular circuitry, or even necessarily having to rely on electrical primers and firing systems, the M-318A2E5 is resistant to gravity, radiation, electromagnetic pulses, and can survive inside the fireball of a 10.25 megaton nuclear blast and still be servicable to kill the enemy. Basically unchanged, with the exception of the nanoforge ammunition supply system (NASS), since prior to the Diaspora the M-318A2E5 General Purpose Heavy Machinegun System has killed more of the enemy than even planet cracker class weaponry. It has tasted the blood of dozens of species, some without even names, and sent them wailing to afterlife. From the shores of Iron Fence to the blasted sands of Anthill to the deathlands of the Niven Rings, the "Three-Eighteen" has been the infantry's knockout punch since before Terra managed FTL travel. Like her mother, the Ma-Deuce, she proved that mass infantry charges are not militarily feasible if you wish to have any males left to rebuild your nation or species. Carried by Chromium Saint Peter on Anthill, this weapon has felt the touch of the Digital Omnimessiah and killed men during the Burger Wars of Prediaspora while mounted on armored fighting vehicles. This weapon is one of the grand old dames of warfare, up there with the Gerber Ka-Bar Mark III and the M-9A2 Bayonet and her mother, the M2A6E2 Fifty Caliber General Purpose Heavy Machinegun, and you, recruit, will treat her, treat all of them, with respect, as she has earned it, unlike every one of you sorry sacks of shit. Take your places next to your assigned weapon and we will begin familiarization with the bare bones stripped weapon. I do not agree with the sentiment that you are worthy to touch her. Time will tell. --Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Heavy Weapons Familiarization, Day One. ---------------- This is the M8271E5 Heavy Weapon Specialist standard basic gunner's frame. Twenty-eight pounds of advanced hyperalloys, a foamed battlesteel core, and a warsteel laminate jacket, the M8271E5 will enable you to carry and effectively use, while mitigating endurance and fatigue, the heavy weapons of the Terran Confederate Army. Designed initially to allow ammunition specialists to work with heavy munitions in a timely manner, the frame was adapted for heavy gunner work prior to the Great Glassing. It has gone through repeated redesigns until the version in front of you was settled upon during the Lancaster Nebula Wars. This frame can be supplemented with smart-frame capable offensives and defensives, including battlescreens and eVI warboi assistance, as well as have modular armor layered onto it for additional protection from vacuum, radiation, battlefield hazards, or just because you are so ugly we would prefer not to look at you. Costing the Terran Confederacy taxpayer twenty-two thousand credits in mass to create, the Gunner's Frame is worth more than any of you mouth breathing ballsweat huffing morons in front of me. At my command you will step forward, place your big lump clumsy feet into the pedals, and reach forward with your dick skinners and cloacae rubbers and grasp the handles. You will not mistake my command and lodge any important parts of this device into your rectums or other waste orifices. You will not fall down. You will not embarrass me or your instructors or I will personally make your existence a living hell due to the fact that you are too stupid to walk and breathe at the same time. MOUNT THE FRAME! --Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Heavy Weapons Systems Familiarization, Day Five -------------- Your warboi is a custom grown enhanced virtual intelligence who's basic core seed was grown from one of the scans of your neural tissue base motor reflexes. This means the two of you think to some extent alike. Currently your warboi is undergoing the final phase of personality gelling before they will hatch from their digital shell and, for their sins, be assigned to you for a training period of two years, after which they will move on to other soldiers just as you will be assigned to different units. Warboi integration has proven to increase your combat effectiveness by handling the complexities of the modern battlefield and modern wargear. They will largely handle your electronic warfare systems, your battlescreens, heat and slush levels, graviton generator balancing, and many other systems that the modern soldier has to worry about. Gentlebeings, integration with your warboi is a necessary section of your training. If you cannot integrate with your warboi you will have failed from this course and will be cast down into the masses of non-combat personnel. No, below them, down to where the un-wired work, counting how many tires are on the General's personal grav-lifter and vainly trying to remember if three comes after four. A fate worse than death, gentlebeings, for honed killing machines such as yourselves. Currently, your warboi is dreaming learning dreams. The 'cyber-egg' has been mounted on your Combat Frame so that you can move through simulations and get your warboi used to how you move. Move slow and steady, follow your training, and teach your warboi how you move. MOUNT THE FRAME! --Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Warboi Familiarization, Day One -------------- When forced with reacting at a subconscious level or taking your warboi's advice, you must remember that your warboi is a digital semi-sentience without the millions of years of predator evolution that turned you into the top tool using land dwelling predator of your worlds. You have dedicated neural systems within your brain, that you have head since the only sound that you knew was your mother's heart or the egg tender's singing, that enabled every single one of your forebearers to not only survive long enough to pass on their genetics to the female or xirmale of your species, but that gestator sex to survive long enough to give birth to those young. Your three to six pounds of neural wiring enabled your forebearers to overcome everything from giant lizards to crystalline hunters to avain predators until your species was the dominate one of the entire planet. The warboi has what he was been programmed with and what he has learned. Your instincts will, 80% of the time, trump the warboi's protests or suggestions. In the other 20%, you will either recognize that the warboi's suggestion is superior or everything will come apart on you. You must remember, gentlebeings, that your warboi understands your electronic warfare systems and their operations in the same way that you understand how to run across a field. Training and practice. Before you protest that your people are a peaceful, cooperative people, and that you are an outlier, that you were conquered by the Lanaktallan or had your faces smashed in by the Terrans, you must remember one thing: You were, or are, the dominant predator on your planet. Trust your warboi, but trust your instincts also. The course you are about to enter is designed to cause your warboi to make the wrong suggestions or attempt to countermand your orders. It is as much a training exercise for him as it is for you. MOUNT THE FRAME! ---Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Warboi Familiarization, Day Twelve ------------- This is the pinnacle of modern infantry warfare. The M894 Powered Assault Armor. A man sized piece of equipment that will allow you to fight anywhere within this universe and most of the other known universes. It is, in effect, as self contained combat spaceship with modular systems, capable of allowing you to fight, without any support, for up to five years without needing resupply. With the onboard nano-forge even critical system replacement is possible. The record for unsupported operation in power armor is twenty-three years, with a grand total of time in direct combat of nine years, three months, fourteen days, three hours, sixteen minutes, forty-two seconds. That pilot survived. That, gentlebeings, is not recommended. --Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Power Armor Familiarization, Day One ------------ The M9E7 Orbital Insertion Pod is used to insert Confederate Forces onto a hostile surface, often directly into battle, from far orbit. Capable of acting as an emergency life support pod, complete with manuevering thrusters, the M9 OIP carries a thirteen man infantry squad and all of their equipment from the troop ship or warship to the surface of the planet, asteroid, or Niven Ring. Capable of withstanding more than one orbital defense hit, the OIP is a safer environment for the infantry than the inside of those cobbled together rust buckets Space Force and the Navy wander around the universe in. With a built in Class-V Nano-Force, the M9E7 OIP is returning to the previous Confederate Army doctrine of each squad is capable of operating from a fixed position with everything they need from the drop pod. Loaded with templates to create everything from rapid strike grav-lifters to standard side-arms, the Drop Pod is not only how you get to the ground, but how you hold it once you take it. Unlike the Marine Corps pods, the M9E7 is designed to be disassembled and used as the core of a forward operating base that will enable you to withstand anything the enemy can throw at you, given enough time and mass. This training unit will teach you how to use the OIP to the best effect to kill the enemy, break his possessions, and take his territory. MOUNT THE FRAME! --Advanced Individual Training, Infantry, Orbital Insertion Pod Familiarization, Day One ------------- Undrat sat on his bunk, the dataslate in his hand, going over the standard combat maneuvers for the umpteenth time. They were ingrained in his memory now, but he still felt the need to examine them again for anything he might have missed. His people weren't the brightest out there, but they were persistent and enduring. Once he had read it, he took the self-quiz, answering questions and moving the icons around to show his work. After that he went over proper radio procedures, despite the fact that he had been warning repeatedly that proper radio procedure often ended when the munitions were being expended or after a sufficiently long period of time in a combat zone. A new section had been added while he was in training, and Undrat wanted to make sure he had it memorized by going over it again and again. The Terran Confederate Army had begun training its soldiers in radio wave frequency communications, based on bands most races had long abandoned. Several times sidebars warned Undrat that the supposed un-jammable quantum and strange matter linkage communications had recently been completely jammed and rendered unusable by an enemy through unknown means in a combat theater. The communications procedures book now contained how to even use flashing lights or waved cloth to signal others, as well as flares, smoke, and fire. He was in his room, which he shared with three other soldiers as part of Second Platoon, Bravo Company, Ninth Battalion, Second Brigade, Fifth Regiment, Twenty-Third Infantry Division, XII Corps, 14th Army. Undrat liked the long label. It let him know exactly who was in charge of him, which made him more comfortable. He could recite the names of every commander of each unit, as well as the Executive Officer and Master Enlisted and knew them by sight from their pictures. He had even listened to recordings of their speech over and over until he was confident he could remember them by their voice if he ever heard it. It was good to remember things. He sat in his adaptive camouflage uniform, the rank of Private Grade Two on his sleeves. He had been promoted once he had finished his training, arrived at his new unit, and passed the basic tests to ensure he had retained the knowledge outside of training. Of course he had. Once he had learned it, he would not forget it. When he heard it, he raised his head from his book, frowning. YOU BELONG TO US Sighing, he turned off the dataslate and got up, setting it on the desk. He grabbed his hat and headed for the door. He doubted that the scream was friendly. As he trudged toward the armory he heard it again. YOU BELONG TO US This time he heard the scream back from every Terran around him. EAT A DICK! Terrans were running by, heading toward the armory. Like Undrat's people, the Terrans had evolved as pursuit hunters, persistence hunters, on a high gravity world. Undrat wasn't worried. He knew he would get to the armory in time to sign in and make formation. He looked forward to protecting his former Overseer. After all, the Overseer had protected Undrat and his people. It was only fair. [first] [prev] [next]
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