text:
found this on my google drive from a couple years back - enjoy!

My name is Red, and back couple weeks ‘go I was in one of them fancy two story houses, because my daughter’s getting married to the boy who lives there. Name’s Derek . Total sissy city boy name if ya’ ask me.
Anyway, I was pickin’ him up to give ‘er a little experience, if you will, in the Alabama outback. Go on I little huntin’ trip with the fella, get to know him a little better. You know, see if he’s inta bud light or NASCAR. Anyway, we was on our huntin’ trip and, he was a complete novice to it. Didn’t know how to load, reload, and cock his shotgun and whatnot. Scared of the critters. But, that’s expected. He’s not from round these parts, how should he know how to work a gun?
However, on the third night, He went full retard. You never go full retard. You see, when you go hunting, you eat your food in a bin at the food site, which is away from the sleepin’ site, so you don’t attract them coyotes and bears to yourself in the middle of the night. Now I may be no professor, but Derek was stupid enough to bring a little bedtime snack to the sleepin’ site.
And by a little snack, I mean our total food supply.
So, I woke up the next mornin round dawn. Stepped outside my tent, and saw wrappers, packages and cardboard boxes everywhere. Them critters ate our food supply!
“What in the name o’ the lord has gone on here!” I shouted. Threw my crimson tide cap on the ground.
“W-Whats all the ruckus?” Murmured Derek
“Dagnabbit  boy, all our foods gone!”
“Sorry, I thought I would get hungry in the middle of the night” Derek was getting on the defense, as if he were mister innocent.
“Well, looks like we got ourselves some huntin’ to do. You know, get ourselves a little food.”
Derek began to look around.
“oh no need for that, I found some mushrooms here! Mmm theyre good!” Derek stuffed his face with some mushrooms he found at the base of a tree
“Boy! What in hell has gotten in your head? Those could be magic mushrooms, son! They’ll have you seein sounds and hearin colours!” it was too late. Derek had already swallowed a mouthful. If they were some of them magic mushrooms, I’d give ‘em 20 minutes to kick in.
Anyway, there was no time to waste. Critters be stirrin up round this time o’ day, and we had to get to huntin’. Didn’t give Derek a gun, might be scared of it after them mushrooms. So, I told him to stick close behind me, and stay quiet.
We was walkin around for about 10 minutes, then I saw it. The most perty White deer buck I ever did see. Would look great mounted on the wall at home.
“Steady boy,” I said quietly “we got ourselves a big one here.”
“NO STOP! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR DOING?”
The deer was startled, and ran away.
“Dagnabbit boy, he got away!”
“But you were about to shoot that-”
“I know, that dee-”
“Unicorn! We were probably the first to ever see one!”
Yep, they were magic mushrooms.
I gave the boy a slap on the face, you know, try to get his senses all together. It was 5:30 in the morning. Told him to run a couple lengths long the river. Still high. Told him to o some pushups, sweat it out of him. still high. Told him to take a nap, sleep it out. He woke up high. It was 5:45 at that point. This was gonna be a long day.
We were alking through the pine. He was quiet. Maybe the effects were startin’ ta wear off.
“The trees are telling me to save them from the bad lumberjacks.”
Nope, still high.
I was starvin’ by this point. The only way we could get food was to get back to the pickup and drive onto the interstate, go to a taco bell r somthin’. Only problem was, I was too busy keepin Derek in line to remember to retrace my path.
I was lost in the Alabama wilderness. Just me, Jesus Christ, and Derek, who was higher than the vocal tone of Michael Jackson, alone in the forest.
Then I remembered, he had one of em fancy cell phones most of the city folk have.
“Hey Derek, grab your cellphone. Try to make a call.”
Derek looked at me, startled. Keeping eye contact with me, he slowly put his hand in his pocket for his phone. But, instead of his phone, he grabbed his wallet, and put it to his ear.
“Hello? My name is lost. We are woods in the Derek!  Thankyou. Goodbye. Uh, my wallets out of battery I can’t make a call”
we were hopeless. Not only was I starving, tired and sunburnt. But Derek kept sayin the dumbest shit id ever heard.
“Seals are just dog-mermaids”
“Yes Derek, that’s right”
“WATCH OUT!”
“What? What is it boy?” I ducked and covered my head.
“You just stepped on a small bus.”
I rolled my eyes and got up. As I put my hand on my leg, I felt something in my pocket. It was a compass! I pulled It out. We were facin southwest. The interstate was east of the forest. It was gonna be a long walk out of there. I grabbed Derek and told him to follow me.
	Eventually I blocked out Derek to stay sane. He would randomly shout, telling me to ‘get out of the way of that octopus’ and ‘watch out for the swamp monster in front of me.’
	We were coverin some distance. Must’ve been walkin east for 45 minutes now. I was tired, dizzy, hungry thirsty.
	“The ocean! I see the ocean! We might just make it Wilson. I would rather take my chance than stay on this shithole island.”
	I looked to where Derek was pointing. It was no ocean, but it was a creek. I could get me some water, get me some energy. Derek came along with me
I kneeled into the creek, spleashe my face with water, drank tons. Derek was walking along the of the creek, doin whatever it was he was doin. I heard a loud thump. I looked over, and Derek was lyin down, head on a rock.
	“Slip on a small bus?” I joked
I walked over to Derek. This was no joke. He was lyin unconscious, blood comin out the back his head. I panicked, yelled for help. Then I realized, he probably had his cellphone! I searhed his pockets. Nothin. I went thorugh his backpack.
	“body cream, moisturizer, what is this kid, a fag?”
then I found sumthin. Looked like a big bulky brick with numbers on it. I read the label on the back:
SATELLITE CELLPHONE.
Hmmm, must be his cellphone. I looked at it. Pressed the 911 numbers. Nothing happened. Didn’t hear voices comin out. Then I saw a green little phone button. Reckoned since green means go, it meant go little people in the phone, go!
I heard a voice on the other side.
	“911, whats your emergency?”
	“HELLO, CAN YOU HEAR ME?” wanted make sure the people in the phone knew I was there.
	“Yes, I can hear you, whats your emergency?”
	“Im in the middle o’ the damn forest, my son in law hit his head now I think he dead!”
	“middle of the forest? Ok, we’ll track your co-ordinated and have a helicopter come pick you up.”
	Little voice in the phone was gone. I put the phone away.
	“Cordates? What in the hell did she just say.”
	Waited about 20 minutes, heard a helicopter comin. It landed in an openin between the trees, picked us up. Put Derek in one of them stretchers. Helicopter took us to a road, where one of them ambalampses was waitin’. We drove off on the windin road, into the foggy interstate.
The ambalamps folk told me Derek was gonna be fine.
I knew he would, probably too high to die anyway.

title: [HM] Magic Mushrooms - Written for my grade 10 writing course exam

question: What is wrong with Derek through most of the narrative?

answer: Derek has eaten mushrooms which turn out to be magic mushrooms. This leaves him hallucinating and high for much of the day. Nothing Red did, could bring Derek out of the dream world he is occupying.

question: Why did Red call 911?

answer: Derek had been walking along the creek when he slipped and fell. Red walked over to him and saw that he appeared to have passed out. There was blood coming from the back of Derek's head so Redd panicked.


split: test

text:
JOHN A AMBROSE is an internationally renowned expert in coronary artery disease. He is one of the pioneers in acute coronary syndromes (myocardial infarction and unstable angina) having published over 40 articles in the cardiology literature between 1985 and 2000 on their pathogenesis. He has also published extensively on cigarette smoking and cardiovascular disease. Working with his PhD candidate, Rajat Barua, utilizing a novel in vitro model, they described the effects of cigarette smoking on nitric oxide biosynthesis, endothelial function, and endothelial-derived fibrinolytic and antithrombotic factors. Their 2004 update on cigarette smoking and cardiovascular disease published in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology has been referenced over 2,100 times as of 2020. Ambrose is currently a Professor of Clinical Medicine at the University of California, San Francisco.[1] He was also a Director of the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory at Mount Sinai Hospital and received a National Leadership Award from the National Republican Congressional Committee.[2][3]

Education

Ambrose obtained his Doctor of Medicine from New York Medical College in 1972, where he graduated first in his class.[4] After completing his medical school training, he completed his Internship, Residency, and obtained a fellowship at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York.[5] He rose at Mount Sinai to Professor of Medicine and Director of the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory, a position which he led for over 14 years. It was at this time that he developed the concepts of the pathogenesis of acute syndromes which he is most noted for and wrote his most important papers in collaboration with several mentors including Richard Gorlin and Valentin Fuster.

Research and career

In 1998, Ambrose joined Saint Vincent’s Catholic Medical Center in New York as the Director of the Comprehensive Cardiovascular Center.[6] In 2005, he left New York to become Chief of Cardiology and Program Director of the Fellowship Program at UCSF Fresno in California, a position which he stepped down from in 2017. As of 2020, he continues to work full time in the Division of Cardiology and is actively involved in cardiovascular research, clinical cardiology, and teaching.[7]

John Ambrose conducted extensive research on the Pathogenesis of Acute coronary syndrome including unstable angina and myocardial infarction and the mechanisms of Coronary Thrombosis and endothelial dysfunction in Cigarette Smoke Exposure.[8][9] Vulnerable plaque is another area of his research.[10] His most recent endeavor is to help organize a new and more aggressive approach against tobacco and e-cigarettes by mobilizing medical professionals to target tobacco and electronic cigarette companies through greater advocacy and other measures.[11]

During his tenure at the Mount Sinai Hospital in New York, he was a member of the full-time academic faculty, Professor of Medicine, as well as Director of the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory.[12][13][14] At Saint Vincent’s Catholic Medical Center, he was Chief of Cardiology, Medical Director of the Comprehensive Cardiovascular Center, as well as the Professor of Medicine at New York Medical College before becoming a Professor at the University of California, San Francisco in Fresno.[15]

Ambrose has been included in most editions of “Best Doctors in America” and is a Top Doctor in Marquis Who’s Who in Medicine in 2019.[16][17] Ambrose has approximately 300 publications in the medical literature,[18] including the Journal of the American College of Cardiology,[19][20] the New England Journal of Medicine,[21] AHA Circulation, Journal of the American Heart Association,[22][23] and the American Journal of Cardiology.[24] He has also trained over 250 cardiology fellows over the past 40 years at Mount Sinai Hospital, Saint Vincent’s Catholic Medical Center and UCSF Fresno. Ambrose received the Alumni Medal of Honor from New York Medical College in 2002.[25][26][27]

In his leisure time, Dr. Ambrose was an accomplished classical guitarist and with his wife, they both sang professionally in New York with the Taconic Opera in Westchester and for 13 years with the Fresno Grand Opera in California.[28]

Awards and honors

Ambrose was the recipient of the 2002 Alumni Medal of Honor by the New York Medical College.[29] Additional awards include Marquis Who’s Who and Best Doctors in America.[30] He is a Fellow of the American College of Cardiology and has served as a President of the New York Cardiologic Society.[31][32][33]

Publications

-   John A. Ambrose, Steven L. Winters, Audrey Stern et al .“Angiographic morphology and the pathogresis of unstable angina pectoris”. Journal of American College of Cardiology
-   John A. Ambrose, Mark A. Tannenbaum, Dimitrios Alexopoulos et al. " Angiographic progression of coronary disease and the development of myocardial infarction". Journal of American College of Cardiology
-   John A. Ambrose and Sundararajan Srikanth. "Computed Tomographic Angiography for Localizing the Site of Plaque Disruption/Thrombus. Is Detection So Complex? AHA Journals.[34]
-   John A. Ambrose, Tushar Acharya, and Micah J. Roberts. “Finding the High-Risk Patient in Primary Prevention Is Not as Easy as a Conventional Risk Score”. The American Journal of Medicine.[35]
-   John A. Ambrose, and Tushar Acharya. “Reducing Acute Coronary Events: The Solution Is Not So Difficult”. The American Journal of Medicine.[36]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11] Ambrose JA et al- Reducing tobacco-related morbidity and mortality- A call to action. JAMA Cardiology 2020, In press.

[12]  Mount Sinai - New York|website=Mount Sinai Health System|language=en-US|access-date=2020-02-28}}

[13]

[14] http://www.onlinejacc.org/content/7/3/472

[15]

[16] https://milestones.marquiswhoswho.com/milestone/john-anthony-ambrose-md/

[17]

[18] https://scholar.google.com/scholar?hl=en&as_sdt=0%2C5&q=john+ambrose+md&btnG=

[19] http://www.onlinejacc.org/content/12/1/56

[20] http://www.onlinejacc.org/content/43/10/1731.full

[21] https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJM199201303260502

[22] https://www.ahajournals.org/doi/10.1161/01.CIR.90.1.69

[23] https://www.ahajournals.org/doi/full/10.1161/01.cir.0000029091.61707.6b

[24] https://www.ajconline.org/article/S0002-9149(05)00849-0/fulltext

[25]

[26] http://www.onlinejacc.org/content/5/3/609

[27] https://nymcalumni.org/alumni/som/medalofhonor

[28] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9z3ex31kmbY

[29]

[30]

[31]

[32]

[33]

[34]

[35]

[36]

title: John A. Ambrose

question: What does the article say about John A. Ambrose's research?

answer: John Ambrose conducted research about the effects of cigarette smoking on nitric oxide biosynthesis, endothelial function, and endothelial-derived fibrinolytic and antithrombotic factors. Vulnerable plaque is another area of his research. He also conducted research on the Pathogenesis of Acute coronary syndrome including unstable angina and myocardial infarction and the mechanisms of Coronary Thrombosis and endothelial dysfunction in Cigarette Smoke Exposure.

question: What does the article say about John A. Ambrose's education?

answer: Ambrose obtained his Doctor of Medicine from New York Medical College in 1972. Then he completed his Internship, Residency, and obtained a fellowship at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York.

question: What does the article say about Ambrose's academic career?

answer: Ambrose rose at Mount Sinai to Professor of Medicine. He was the Professor of Medicine at New York Medical College then at the University of California, San Francisco in Fresno, where he is currently working. Ambrose has approximately 300 publications in the medical literature, including the most prominent medical journals. His 2004 update on cigarette smoking and cardiovascular disease has been referenced over 2,100 times as of 2020.

question: What does the article say about the U.S. educational system improvement?


text:
Eleven years after the U.S. invasion, Iraq remains steeped in violence, with militant extremists gaining ground, civil war hanging in the balance and no clear resolution to the chaos.

What went wrong? How did we get here? From “shock and awe” to the rise of ISIS, we’ve traced the pivotal political moments of the Iraq war and its aftermath in the timeline below.

Tonight at 10 pm (check local listings) FRONTLINE will air _Losing Iraq_, a special 90-minute report that tells the inside story of the war we left behind. The film draws on one of the richest archives in broadcast journalism and includes new, in-depth interviews with policymakers and military leaders.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nobody asked me to write that memo… and I don’t think anybody above me wanted to see it.”

– Ryan Crocker, U.S. ambassador to Iraq (2007-09)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

MARCH 2003

THE MISSING POSTWAR PLAN

The pace of the U.S. invasion was staggering. Within weeks, the Iraqi Army had crumbled, President Saddam Hussein had fled, and American troops patrolled Baghdad.

Then came the hard part: figuring out how to secure and govern a complex nation of more than 30 million people, about whom top U.S. officials quickly realized they knew very little.

But at least one American official had issued a warning. In 2002, Ambassador Ryan Crocker had drawn up a still-classified memo, later dubbed the “Perfect Storm.” It detailed the potentially disastrous consequences of an invasion in Iraq.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I judged in the end that was a risk we were willing to take.”

– Paul Bremer, head of the Coalition Provisional Authority (2003-04)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

MAY 2003

BREMER GIVES HIS ORDERS…

In May 2003, President Bush appointed L. Paul Bremer, a career diplomat with little experience in the Middle East, as the head of the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq.

Within days of his arrival in Baghdad, Bremer issued two controversial orders: to disband the Iraqi National Army, and to remove those with membership in Hussein’s Ba’ath Party from professional positions.

Advisers were concerned that the orders would alienate skilled Sunnis who were willing to participate in the new government. Lt. Gen. Jay Garner, who briefly led the reconstruction effort after the invasion, told FRONTLINE that he and the former CIA station chief in Baghdad warned Bremer specifically that the de-Ba’athification order would oust 30,000 to 50,000 capable Sunni professionals from the government, leaving them disenfranchised, angry and as potential recruits for the nascent insurgency.

[]

The aftermath of an August 2004 blast in southern Baghdad. (AP Photo/Khalid Mohammed)

… AND THE INSURGENCY ERUPTS

Within 72 hours of Bremer’s order to disband the military, the first major attack on the airport road took place. By August, two major bombings in Baghdad — at the Jordanian embassy and the United Nations headquarters — signaled that the insurgency was in full force.

[]

Bremer bids farewell to Barham Saleh, Iraq’s deputy prime minister. (AP Photo/Staff Sgt. D. Myles Cullen/U.S. Air Force)

JUNE 2004

LEAVING IRAQ TO THE IRAQIS

By the summer of 2003, the White House had a new plan: Get out. The military retreated inside large, fortified bases. Politically, officials focused on an exit strategy: establish a constitution, set up a governing council, and let Iraqis govern Iraq.

On June 28, 2004, Bremer handed over authority to the interim Iraqi Governing Council. But his departure was hardly triumphant: The move came two days ahead of schedule because of fears of an attack.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Iraq was heading towards a failed state. It was absolute bedlam.”

– Gen. Jack Keane, (Ret.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FEB 2006

CIVIL WAR BEGINS

Until Feb. 22, 2006, Iraq’s Shia majority had largely borne with patience the string of attacks by Sunni insurgents. But Al Qaeda in Iraq, eager to provoke a sectarian war, pushed them over the edge when it destroyed the Al-Askari Mosque in Samarra, one of Shia Islam’s holiest sites.

Over the next 10 days, Shia militias took their revenge, massacring Sunnis. In Baghdad, their death squads moved house to house, killing as they went.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Bush’s view was, ‘If he doesn’t succeed, I don’t succeed.'”

– Stephen Hadley, national security adviser 2005-2009

------------------------------------------------------------------------

MAY 2006

IRAQ’S NEW LEADER

President Bush determined the U.S. needed a new strategy to quell the bloodshed. That included a new partner in the Iraqi leadership — someone who could rally the Shia but also not be perceived as too sectarian by the Sunnis and Kurds.

Nouri al-Maliki, a minor figure in the Iraqi parliament, emerged as a potential favorite among U.S. officials, despite his lack of experience.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“They started to come to us and say, ‘Here, let us tell you where the bad guys are…'”

– Gen. David Petraeus, commander of the multi-national forces in Iraq, 2007-08

------------------------------------------------------------------------

JAN 2007

THE SURGE BEGINS…

The U.S. also needed a new approach on the ground. This time, it was a last-ditch effort to salvage the American incursion in Iraq.

Bush brought in Gen. David Petraeus to lead what became known as the surge — an additional 30,000 U.S. troops who moved off the large, fortified bases and into the neighborhoods.

U.S. forces sustained their heaviest losses during this period. But in August, they caught a break: Muqtada al-Sadr, the head of a powerful Shia militia, called for a ceasefire and stopped attacking coalition forces. The move created a lull in the violence that allowed U.S. forces to focus on the Sunni insurgency.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maliki “got very much into the swing of things.”

– Gen. David Petraeus, former commander, multi-national forces in Iraq

------------------------------------------------------------------------

…AND SUNNIS JOIN THE FIGHT

At the same time, Petraeus, a counterinsurgency expert, also reached out to Sunni tribes who had backed the insurgency, but had also begun to turn against Al Qaeda fighters in their community. The general’s goal: convince them to stop attacking American troops and focus only on battling Al Qaeda. The means: cash.

The U.S. would ultimately pay out about $400 million to the 103,000 Sunnis who became known as the “Sons of Iraq,” or the “Awakening.” But Maliki, a Shia, was wary of engaging with the Sunni tribes. Petraeus persuaded the prime minister to support the effort.

[]

President George W. Bush remained a supporter of Iraq’s prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki. (AP Photo/Emilio Morenatti)

2008

BUSH’S LAST DECISION IN IRAQ

The confluence of those three factors — the surge, the “Awakening,” and Sadr’s ceasefire — reduced the violence in Iraq to a low-grade insurgency. Hoping to maintain that progress, President Bush signed an agreement with Maliki before he left office that would ensure American troops remained in Iraq through 2011.

[]

In 2008, Obama ran as the anti-war presidential candidate. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

2009

OBAMA INHERITS THE WAR

As he campaigned for the presidency, Barack Obama promised war-weary Americans that he would withdraw U.S. forces from Iraq. Within his first month in office, the new president set a pullout date: December 2011.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We disengaged not only militarily at the end of 2011, we disengaged politically.”

– Ryan Crocker, U.S. ambassador to Iraq (2007-09)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

2011

THE AMERICANS LEAVE IRAQ…

With the advice of the Pentagon and others, the president considered keeping a small troop presence in the country. But the U.S. and Iraqi governments were unable to reach an agreement on the size or the legal guidelines under which they’d remain. By December 2011, almost all U.S. forces had left Iraq. The U.S. diplomatic effort was also scaled back, leaving Maliki to govern on his own.

[]

A sign of what was to come: fighters parade a commandeered Iraqi military truck through Mosul. (AP Photo)

…AND THE PURGE BEGINS

The day after the American troops left, Maliki issued an arrest warrant for the Sunni vice president, Tariq al-Hashimi, forcing him to flee the country. Maliki would go on to push other prominent Sunnis from political office and the military, and ultimately stopped payments to the Sons of Iraq.

The message was clear: there would be no role for Sunnis in Maliki’s Shia regime. For many, their only recourse would be to join the fight against it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“They make bin Laden’s 2011 Al Qaeda look like Boy Scouts.”

– Ryan Crocker, U.S. Ambassador to Iraq (2007-09)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

2014

THE RISE OF ISIS

Disenfranchised Sunnis found an outlet in a militant group that had recently coalesced in the fight against President Bashar al-Assad in Syria. ISIS, which had a reputation for ruthlessness, gained a rapid foothold in Iraq, capturing the towns of Fallujah and Ramadi in January, and Iraq’s second-largest city, Mosul, in June.

The world was surprised by how quickly the Iraqi army fell to a small force of fighters. Shia militias have stepped in to fill the void, and sectarian killings are on the rise again.

RELATED

-   August 13, 2015 / 5:51 pmIs Abadi’s “Good Faith” Enough to Reform Iraq?
-   October 21, 2014 / 6:56 pmCan Haider al-Abadi Bridge Iraq’s Sectarian Divide?
-   September 11, 2014 / 1:41 pmNumber of U.S. Air Strikes in Iraq Already Exceeds Those in Yemen, Somalia
-   August 11, 2014 / 10:12 amWhy Are So Many Westerners Joining ISIS?

question: Summarize everything that happens in 2003.

answer: In March 2003, the Iraqi Army had crumbled and American troops patrolled Baghdad. However, the U.S. still had not figured out how to secure and govern a complex nation of more than 30 million. In May 2003, President Bush appointed L. Paul Bremer as the head of the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq. Bremer issued two orders: to disband the Iraqi National Army and to remove those with Hussein's Ba'ath Party from professional positions. Within 72 hours of Bremer's order to disband the military, the first major attack on the airport road took place. By August, two major bombings in Baghdad occurred. The White House now then had a new plan to retreat.

question: Summarize everything that happens under President Obama.

answer: Within President Obama's first month in office, he set a pullout date of December 2011. Obama stuck to that plan, and by the end of 2011, almost all U.S. forces had left Iraq. Iraq's prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki, issued an arrest warrant for the Sunni vice president, Tariq al-Hashimi, the day after American forces left. Maliki would go on to push other Sunnis from political office and the military. The disenfranchised Sunnis found an outlet in ISIS, a militant group that had coalesced in Syria in 2014.

question: Describe the current economic conditions in Iraq.


text:
[concert_in_heaven_by_sabin_boykinov-d3gl2i0]In a previous article, I wrote about a giant complex surrounding a lake in the spirit world. It was on one of the first levels of heaven. Now in a later series of messages in the Reverend Owen’s book, which is a collection of four of his books, _Life Beyond the Veil_, in _The Lowlands of Heaven_ section, his mother enlightens us about a great building that served to study color.

She and her group encounter a large building which had a series of domes pinnacles, and turrets. They were invited in to learn what was happening in that building. From the outside the edifice appeared opaque, but when they walked inside the walls seemed semi-transparent. As they proceeded, from hall to hall, they found that each was filled with a slightly different shade of a color theme. Each hall had a separate color, with subtle changes of hues on the walls

Rev. G. Vale Owen’s mother describes some of the halls:

“One of these great halls was the Orange Hall, and in it were all the tints of that primary, from the faintest of light gold to the deepest of deep orange. Another was the Red Hall, where hues were ambient all about us, from the faintest rose-leaf pink to the deepest crimson of the rose or dahlia. Another, the Violent Hall, was radiant with hues ranging from the most delicate heliotrope, or amethyst, to the dark rich hue of the pansy. And now I must tell you that there were not only more but several more of these halls devoted to those tints which you do not know, but which you call ultra-violet and the ultra-red, and most wonderful they are.”[i]

Everything is studied and analyzed in the spirit domain. Learning never ceases. Imagine the scope of professions which can be found in the vast spirit universe. If you are a painter or a designer who loves to work with colors, just think of the expanded boundaries you will encounter when you are back on the other side.

The research is not only for beauty, but for more, as G. Vale Owen’s mother tells us:

“You are wondering to what purpose these buildings of crystal are put. They are for studying the[NossaLar-city] effect of colors as applied to different departments of life, animal, vegetable and even mineral life, but the two former chiefly, together with clothing. For both the texture and the hue of our garments take their quality from the spiritual state and character of the wearer. Our environment is part of us, just as with you, and light is one component, and an important one, of our environment. Therefore it is very powerful in its applications, under certain conditions, as we saw it in these halls.

I am told that the results of those studies are handed on to those who have charge of tress and other plant life on earth and other planets. But there are other results which are too rare in nature for such application to the grosser environment of earth and the other planets, so, of course, only a very small part of these studies in handed on in your direction.”[ii]

The spirit universe is vast and populated by a multitude of levels of spirits and human-like incarnates, all toiling on diverse planets to become pure spirits. All work together for the betterment of us all.

Keep in mind, we don’t detect the life forms around us, they exists on different planes and in different dimensions and in different densities. Our senses and instruments are capable of detecting only a small part of the true environment around us.

Spiritism – Presented to us by many Mediums

The books of communications from the Rev. G. Vale Owen exposes more of the life of spirits. When one has read the series of books by Andre Luiz, in which he chronicles his life in the celestial city of Nosso Lar, one thinks they have learned all there is to know about the first level of heaven. Where in truth, we are but shown a small slice.

For example, in the passage above, Owen’s mother speaks about clothing responding to the wearer[In the Realms] and their surroundings. When reading _Nosso Lar_, one thinks that people wear regular clothes, yes maybe more tunics, but clothes which do not change. But upon deeper exploration, I found this passage in the book, _In the Realms of Mediumship_, an Andre Luiz book, psychographed by Francisco (Chico) C. Xavier, there is a discussion on thoughts and how they mold the form spirits adopt. When a spirit tells the group:

“Art, as well as science, is much richer in our sphere than in the circle of incarnates, and through art, education is processed more efficiently as far as beauty and culture are concerned. Thus, as we cannot conceive of a dignified  and noble earthly society composed solely of men and women in complete nudity – even with fine tattoos – it is necessary to remember that individuals in our community, despite having a vehicle prodigiously sculpted by mental powers, do not disparage fine clothing with which we express different emotions and distinct manners.”[iii]

Hence, from a book written in the 1920’s which never mentions the name Spiritism, but follows its precepts, to a book psychographed by Chico Xavier, who was instructed to always follow the Doctrine of Spiritism, written in 1955, we detect the same culture, the same manners of dress.

Allan Kardec, in the 1850’s, told us the books the Spirit of Truth presented to us are just the beginning. As those like me, who lamented the lack of real knowledge about the spirit world, and wished to know with certainty what awaits us, the entire universe has been laid out for us. I had spent so many years searching and not finding anything I could fit into my beliefs, until, way too late in life, I stumbled upon Spiritism.

The amount of literature, which is an ongoing endeavor, brought to us by many mediums, is a source of enlightenment and comfort to all. As Spiritism grows, more will finally be able to read [Explore-Small-front-cover]about why they are here on earth and to understand the need to balance their spiritual and material life.

If you wish to learn more about the spirit world, please read my book, Explore Your Destiny – Since Your Life’s Path is (mostly) Predetermined.

The Show

The spirit party, with G. Vale Owen’s mother, left the buildings and began walking home through the trees. They could still see the domes over the top of the forest. They noticed the domes changed colors. Then they witnessed a light show.

“Then the dome disappeared utterly. Our guide told us it was still there in the same place, but the disappearance was one of the feats they had managed to accomplish by combining certain elements of light from the various halls. Then above the dome and the trees – the dome still being invisible – there appeared an enormous rose of pink, which slowly deepened into crimson, and all among its petals there were beautiful forms of children playing, and men and women standing or walking and talking together, handsome, beautiful and happy; and fawns and antelopes and birds, running or flitting or lying among the petals, whose shapes swelled like hills and mounds and landscapes. Over these swells ran children with the animals, playing very happily and prettily. And then it all slowly faded away, and all was blank. We were shown several of these displays as we stood there.”[iv]

Living in the spirit world in one of the heavenly spheres is to be part of a society that works together in harmony. Where the opportunities to find your dream job are endless. It may not be the eternal leisure that many have envisioned, it is better, it is eternally interesting, eternally enlightening, and above all else personally satisfying. A true Eden.

The prerequisites for entry are simple. Live your life on earth, in a fashion where love, charity, fraternity, and honesty is more important than temporary luxuries bought by fooling or taking advantages of others. You don’t have to stay on your knees, reciting the same prayer over and over, hand over all of your assets to some corrupt organization, you don’t have to dress or eat a certain [KindleCover]diet. You only have to live according to the golden rule.

There are many more revelations to learn about that are presented to us by the Doctrine of Spiritism. If you wish to discover the extent of the invisible world for yourself, read my book, 51 Disclosures from Spiritism – The 3rd Revelation.

Author:

Brian Foster has a BSCS degree and a MBA. He has worked in R&D for medical device corporations and in IT for large financial institutions. Brian Foster has a blog at www.nwspiritism.com.

Works Cited

Owen, R. G. (2012). _The Life Beyond the Veil._ Pahrump, NV: Square Circles Publishing.

Xavier, F. C. (2011). _In the Realms of Mediumship._ Brasilia (DF), Brazil: EDICEI.

[i] Owen R. G. Life Beyond the Veil, Squares Circles Publishing, p. 32

[ii] Owen R. G. Life Beyond the Veil, Squares Circles Publishing, p. 33

[iii] Xavier, Francisco C., In the Realms of Mediumship, EDICEI, p. 97

[iv] Owen R. G. Life Beyond the Veil, Squares Circles Publishing, p. 34

question: What does the text say about hell?

question: What does the text say about Rev. G. Vale Owen?

answer: Rev. G. Vale Owen was a spiritualist and medium who wrote several books, including "Life Beyond the Veil", which includes a section entitled "The Lowlands of Heaven". His books of communications expose more of the life of spirits. Owen's own mother was part of a spirit party that was said to have entered the first level of heaven. She chronicled her adventures in the spirit world in Owen's book.

question: Summarize what Rev. Owen's mother saw while exploring the spirit world?

answer: Rev. Owen's mother and her group saw a large opaque building with a series of domes, pinnacles, and turrets that changed colors. They were invited inside to learn what was happening and were surprised to see the walls were semi-transparent. They learned that the building served to study color. Each hall had a separate color theme filled with different shades and subtle changes of hues on the walls. The research on colors is not only for beauty, but also for studying the effect of colors as applied to different departments of life - animal, vegetable, and even mineral life. The studies on color had to do more with clothing in the spirit world because the garments there take their quality from the spiritual state and the character of the wearer. The environment and light become part of the person. Owen's mother adds that she was told the results of the color studies were given to those in charge of trees and other plant life on earth and other planets. When her spirit party left the buildings, they began walking home through the trees and noticed the dome had disappeared. They were told the domes were still there but had become hidden by combining certain elements of light from the halls. Above the invisible dome, they were shown a vision of happy and beautiful men, women, and children. Some were walking, others were talking, and the kids were playing. There were animals running freely with the children and the landscape was beautiful. They were shown several of these displays.


text:
I heard positive feedback from my last post and decided to foray once again! Please feel free to leave commentaries of any kind and thanks for your time! :)

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*The blade’s on her neck the blade’s on her neck the blade’s on her neck Jesus Christ –*

Ronnie had been watching the knife for the entirety of the three and a half seconds that it was on Ashley’s neck, but as per usual, he already had his surroundings practically memorized.  Not by choice.

He was six to seven paces away from his girlfriend, who was being held at knifepoint by her ex-boyfriend John.  Judging by the slurring of his words John was extraordinarily drunk but all the more dangerous for it.  The sidewalk block he was standing on was tilted slightly to the right.  There was an ’08 Dodge Neon parked across the street. Blue. But other than that they were alone.

A tear grew in Ashley’s right eye, bulbous and pure, and began to fall.

His gun, a 5-shot Smith and Wesson J-frame snubnose revolver had only four bullets in it, which would have ordinarily blown Ronnie’s mind if it weren’t for the current circumstances.  It was pointed directly at John’s left temple – one of the few spots on his face the cowardly bastard hadn’t hidden behind Ashley’s expanse of brown curly hair.

The tear started to move down Ashley’s cheek, but she remained silent.

*THE BLADE’S ON HER NECK HE’S TIGHTENING HIS GRIP HE’S DRUNK THE BLADE’S ON HER where the hell’s the fifth bullet –*

Ronnie squinted for a split second to gather his concentration.  Five more seconds passed.  “Let – let her go, John,” he warned.  The snubnose was steady but his voice betrayed his fear.  Immediately to Ronnie’s right was a sizable azalea bush – he and Ashley had been walking hand in hand *her left hand had that little scar on it* enjoying the fall air when John had leapt out of the bush *the knife was backwards in his hand he was so drunk* and grabbed Ashley.  He was standing under a streetlamp now, with Ashley *oh Christ oh Christ Ashley* in his brawny arms and the look in his eyes *ugly brown eyes like a pig* was desperate.  Too desperate.

“You hear me, you – you skinny fuck?” John was talking. How long had he been talking? “I’m gon’ kill ‘er, right here. Unless you give me what I – what I want.” *What the hell does he want? Stay focused!* “What – what do you want?” Ronnie demanded.  He’d do whatever it took to get Ashley *dear Jesus God Ashley* – “You haven’t figured it out yet? Huh huh…fuckin’ smartass.” John made some kind of noise that would be a laugh if the situation were in any way funny.  He knew John had hated him – he was a college dropout whose father was fortunate enough to be the head of the local teamster union and the degenerate chip on his shoulder seemed to be genetic.  Ronnie was in med school *and look at all the good it’s doing you now* and volunteered at a hospital in inner city Chicago. Hence the Smith and Wesson.

The tear on Ashley’s face had moved over her zygomatic bone.  Ronnie fixed himself on that one tear – all his thoughts were contained within that miniscule bead of light and it was the only thing that allowed him to gather himself enough through his fear to say:

“Just tell me and let her go. I’ll do whatever you want.”  *HE TILTED THE BLADE TOWARD HER CAROTID HE TILTED THE BLADE TILTED THE BLADE THE BLADE –* Ronnie closed his eyes and sighed deeply to himself.  Ashley’s green eyes were wide with terror *green like moss green like oak moss* and their gaze met for a second. “Use that piece of yers and blow your fuckin’ brains out. Here. Righ’ now,” John muttered.  Options immediately poured into Ronnie’s brain, dozens of them, overlapping and interlinking and pulling apart in a maelstrom of mental activity that would have incapacitated him had he not had a lifetime of practice – OCD was a hell of a condition to live with but there were certain advantages.

*Advantages. Like how you won her from the pig when you memorized her favorite songs and flowers and authors and remembered every word she said to you because it was like a songbird in a murder of crows.*

As it was, his head felt like it was going to explode but thank God for that tear – descending slower than he had thought possible over the soft curve of her cheek and bearing toward her chin.

Ashley reacted with a start and screamed, “NO! You motherfucker! Ronnie don’t you even think –“ then John muffled her with a hand that was good for little else than hauling cardboard boxes.  *Hairy.  Pudgy at the joints.  Early onset arthritis.  Not even callused.*  Her straining pushed the skin of her neck against the blade of the knife and a wire-thin line of blood appeared on her neck *three inches from the carotid three inches just three.*  “Ya know I’ll come back for her if ya don’t.  I’ll kill her, nice an’ slow, because if I CAN’T HAVE ‘ER NO ONE CAN! YOU HEAR?!” Ronnie focused the gun on his temple, ready to pull the trigger *just like he practiced exhale loosen wrist pull exhale loosen wrist pull* if John lost control of the knife.  He still didn’t have a clear shot *son of a bitch* because he couldn’t tell where Ashley’s head lay under her frazzled hair.

The tear had reached the side of her chin now, and was becoming increasingly subject to the forces of gravity.  It was seconds away from falling.

“How do I know you’re not lying? You’ll kill her after I do it won’t you?!” Ron screamed.  He was surprised to see tears appearing in John’s left eye now. “Ya don’t fuckin’ geddit do ya?” he blubbered.  “…Get what?” Ron ventured.  John’s sputtering only intensified then *stupid fucking animal* and thick, belligerent, fat tears begin falling from his bloodshot eyes.  *Remember how she cried when you sang that song to her outside her apartment? Easy Living by Billie Holiday and you thought you’d fucked it up so bad that you’d never be able to live with yourself but she smiled at you with her right canine showing and kissed you and the silence was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.*  “Ah’m still in love with her, an’ I may have fucked up too bad already but she deserves better’n YOU, you fuckin’ psycho.  I heard about you, goin’ around and pickin’ up sugar packets ‘n countin’ pigeons ‘n shit. She ain’t safe with you.” *There’s got to be a pattern that governs how many pigeons flock toge- FOR FUCK’S SAKE CONCENTRATE YOU USELESS SHIT USELESS SHIT USELESS SHIT FREAK*

The tear was beginning to bud now, forming the tiniest of rises on her perfect, flawless chin.

“Will you leave her alone? Forever?” Ron pleaded.  John grunted. “Yeh, so long as she does better. But if I hear hide or hair of you bein’ around, anywhere, ever…my boys’ll come knockin’ ‘n she’ll regret the day she’s born.  So STOP FUCKIN’ AROUND AN’ DROP THAT FUCKIN’ GUN!!!” he screamed, tilting the knife so the point aimed right for the center of Ashley’s neck. *THE CAROTID THE CAROTID ONE SLIP AND NO AMBULANCE WILL HELP ONE SLIP ONE TWITCH ONE SPASM ONE –*

The tear was suspended on her chin, just about to fall.  Time seemed to slow as he watched it draw away from Ashley’s face.  Her eyes screamed things he couldn't understand.

Ron lowered the gun. “Ya got three seconds before I ream ‘er like a stuck pig!” *Is he serious he won’t do it his muscles are tensing he’s completely serious* “ONE!” *can you shoot him if you move the gun he’ll kill her you still don’t have the shot probably not the first time this fuck’s had someone at gunpoint shoot him pull it shoot him exhale loose wrist pull* “TWO!” *he just drew blood again carotid carotid carotid you don’t have a belt or a tourniquet carotid you have no choice* “WAIT A SEC” John yelled, surprising everyone. His lopsided mouth hung open as he processed his thought.  “Yer a doctor. Shoot right where you love her, wherever that is in yer brain. Blow it clean out of yer head.” John grinned, and from behind Ashley’s hair Ron could see his molars showing.

The tear, at that moment, separated from Ashley’s chin and began to fall.  Ron chose the caudate nucleus, an area often associated with reward and memory functions and turned his eyes to Ashley’s. Beautiful. *Moss green. Moss that grows on oak trees in September green.*

“I love you. And always will.” A tear of his own joined Ashley's on the uneven sidewalk. “Two ‘n a half, ya fuckin’ freak.” John spat.  *At least you know you won’t miss.* The perverse knowledge somehow gave Ron a minute amount of solace – finally, after an entire life of pain, struggle, and ridicule he was completely in control in this moment.  He exhaled. He loosened his wrist. And as he pulled the trigger:

*I never regret the years I’m giving,*
*They’re easy to give when you’re in love,*
*I’m happy to do whatever I do for you*

*It’s easy to live when you’re in love*

title: Bullseye - (A Return After Gettin' Thumbs)

question: Summarize the thoughts going through Ronnie's mind as he watched John holding a knife to Ashley's neck.

answer:
Ronnie started by memorizing the surroundings they were in. This is not by choice as he has OCD and couldn't help but compulsively notice things. Also, Ronnie observed he was six to seven paces away from his girlfriend, Ashley. He wants to shoot but John hid his face behind Ashley's. Ronnie is petrified that John's blade is on Ashely's carotid artery.

Ronnie noticed John's eyes, thinking they were as brown as a pig. As John presses the blade closer to Ashley's skin, he saw Ashley's eyes widen and thought to himself that they looked so green, like an oak moss. As Ronnie squeezed the trigger, he thought about it the shot and know he won't miss.

question: Does Ronnie really think John will keep his promise to him?


text:
One April morning, a single white feather floated down unto a green pond along Big Boot Bayou, landing at its center and sending ripples over the surface in all directions. Toad saw this and panicked— “HIDE ME QUICK!” he yelled. “Dem boids, dey come tah roost again, have mercy!” He jumped frantically from lily-pad to lily-pad and finally onto the pond’s muddy bank where he collapsed from exhaustion, his throat inflating and deflating as he gasped. “Oh, Lawd… (pant)…dem boids… (wheeze)…dey come again tah roost in dat can’py up yonder …Ay…gone get gobbled, I knows it.” Toad lay with his yellow belly draped over a gritty stone half-sticking out of from the mud and with his limp limbs dangling off both sides.

He whimpered helplessly.

From the near by water’s edge, a mighty voice rumbled, startling Toad, who then sprang straight up into the misty air shouting “NO GOBBLE TOAD!” repeatedly the entire time airborne. He conked his head against the stone. That shut him up. If it had been a squawk he had heard, then Toad’s froggy heart might have ruptured, and then he would have leapt his last leap).

“Gone get gobbled..I knows it. gone get gobble fo sho” toad whined dazedly.

From the waters edge the might voice spoke again; “you picked a fine morning to set the whole swamp to panicking.  Look around. The bayou is just as peaceful as I ever seen it and your carrying on like there is a fire.”

“Its woist dan dat,” toad replied without looking at who he replied to.

“Worse than fire?”

“Yea, a feather!”

“A feather?”

“Dat’s what I said.” Toad snapped, and then he turned around and saw, about a jumps distance away from him, the enormous flat head of an alligator facing him, smiling at him with a mouth full of honed points. “I saw me a feather fall in da pond; dem damn boids comin back to roost again in yonder tree tops. Ooo, Gator, you bet your leathery hide and take dat to da rivva bank, mon frere.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions“

“HAHA!” Toad interrupted. “Clever devil, you.”

“Apologies— no pun intended,” Gator said. “But you should try to calm yourself. Stress, alone, can make you croak long before your time. Besides, there is nothing to worry about until there is something to worry about, after all.”

“Nuttin to worry bout till dey somtin to worry bout?” Toad mocked and then muttered “Couyon” beneath his breath.

“What was that?”

“Ima frog!” he raved. “And boids find we frogs to be good eatin, yeah, and dat feather I seen dis mornin’ floatin ‘top da watah— dats bad joo-joo, dat is. Dem boids comin, and I’m as sho of dat as a toitle is slow on its feet and when it thinks.”

“Worrying won’t help” Gator attempted to explain, but suddenly the stone on which Toad sat began to shift and tilt, and Toad again began to panic.

“The swamp is sinking!!” he yelled. “Lawd have mersaaay! If it ain’t somtin its somtin else.”

A slow drawling voice came muffled from inside the stone. “Who said that?”

“Now da rocks is a talking” Toad carried on. “Dats bad joo-joo, too!”

“Would you stop that.” Gator scolded. “It is just Old Shelly. All of your shouting just woke him up.” Toad looked down and understood. What he thought was a stone was actually Old Shelly’s shell. Old Shelly’s decrepit head poked out and he craned back as far as possible to look up at Toad, who was looking down at him.

“What do you want Shelly?” Toad sassed.

“I might ask the same of you, you cocky sack of warts, but with that mile-long, whip-smart tongue of yours, I will never hear the end of it, if I do.”  Toad unconsciously flung out his tongue and licked his forehead between his eyes, an embarrassing compulsion that he would enact usually when he felt humiliated. Gator’s broad grin widened. Shelly continued. “It is like Gator said, I was napping until I heard all the fuss and belly-aching and carrying on about feathers and birds and bad joo-joo. I tried my damnedest to ignore it but when I heard you bad mouth us turtles, I had to see for myself the fool doing all of that whooping and hollering. And I should’ve known it was you. Now, we turtles ain’t so quick, but let me learn you something—you don’t get to be my age by being no fool.”

Toad leapt from Old Shelly’s back and faced the old turtle “dats easy for you to say, toitle! You got dat cozy shell you can hide in where dem boids can nevva getcha!”

“What birds? Where?”

“I saw me a feather just dis morning. Bad joo-joo!”

“Well, lah-tee-dah,” Shelly said. “When I was about your age I saw a coil of freshly shed snake skin, but never in all of my years living around this here pond have I seen a livin slitherin serpent, not once.”

“Dats likely cuz you spent all dem years in dat shell.”

“Think what you want. That’s what you’re going to do regardless of what anyone tells you.” Shelly retracted his head back into his shell, slowly, as old turtle are wont to do, grumbling as he did.

“Wait!” Toad leapt at Shelly and tried to force his body into the whole after Shelly’s head, his webbed feet kicking at mud for purchase as he failed trying to squeeze his body into the shell’s opening while shouting “you gotta hide me, Shelly, Please-OH PLEASE! Dey has to be room in there for me.”

Old Shelly jabbed his head outward with surprising dexterity butting his head against Toad’s. The force knocked Toad toppling backward, bouncing across the moist mud like a skipping pebble. He tumbled uncontrollably into the wall that was Gators grin. “Don’t disrespect me, you yellow-bellied cretin. And keep your crying down. Let and old timer have his dignity and his rest.” And Shelly withdrew.

Exhausted now, Toad hopped limply toward the river away from the pond. “Goin get gobbled by dem boids, I knows it,” He whined.

“Hey Toad” Gator called, and Toad turned to face him. “I was thinking... We amphibians need to stick together, you know?”

“What’d you call me? Insult me will you! Why I oughta—“

“No, no, no” Gator explained. “What I am trying to say is that you and I are alike, different, but alike, and I want to help you.”

Toad brightened. “You mean it? You’d help me keep hid from dem boids, Gator?”

“Of course” Gator assured.

“How? How? How?”

Gator answered by simply opening his jaws wide.

“NO! NO! NO!” Toad protested.

“What is the matter? It is just like the shell you were trying to squeeze into, except without the grumpy turtle.”

“S’pose I do hide in dere…but you don’t lemme out?”

Gator thought for a moment. “You will just have to trust me.”

“I get it!” Toad said. “This is a trick, a duirty rottin trick.”

“What would I want to eat you for? Can’t you see how big I am? Big Gator needs a big meal…” Gator trailed off. “Just forget it. You can either trust me or try your luck on your own when the birds come…and they are coming!” Gator turned his large body as if to dive back into the water.  Before going in, he turned to Toad once more. “Believe me when I say I am not trying to trick you. I’m trying to help you.”

“Wait!” Toad said.

Gator waited.

“I trusts you…I’ll do anythin to keep from dem boids.”

“I know your nervous, but don’t worry about a thing.” Gator said and opened his jaws wide imploring Toad to go inside. Toad advanced then quickly halted. “S’pose I want to come out every once and again? How would you know dat I want to come out?”

“That’s easy.” Gator said confidently. “Use that tongue of yours to tickle the top of my mouth, and I will let you out as soon as I feel it.”

“Promise?”

“Oath of oak,” Gator replied and opened his mouth again.  Toad hopped inside, past all of the many sharp points of Gator’s teeth. Once inside Toad felt, at last, secure.

Once Gator closed his jaws, the frantic tickles started immediately. Toad tongued the roof of Gators mouth, he sprung against the backside of Gators clenched teeth, he tongued some more, he jumped some more, he tired himself out, he went limp, and finally Gator gobbled Toad down into his gullet, where no bird could ever get him.

The End

title: What a Crock (a fable)

question: Is Gator trustworthy?

answer: No, the Gator lied to Toad about letting Toad go from his mouth.

question: Despite his lies, what promise did Gator keep?

answer: That Gator would help Toad hide from the birds.


text:
-"It's a long story, man."
-“Well, it's not like we're going anywhere."

*Murray and I sat at the emptying bar in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. The van broke down on the way to another show, and the rest of the guys went looking for a mechanic or a car rental. For the last 3 hours I was anxiously pulling a piece of paper from my jacket, looking at it for a few minutes, folding it carefully back into my jacket and walking out of the bar for a smoke. I doubt I even realized what I’m doing until Murray pointed it out. Eventually, he put a hand on my shoulder and planted me back into my chair. "You're losing it", he said. "Your eyes are red, you’re freaking out and generally look like you're about to off yourself. Now sit the fuck down and tell me what's up. "*

I looked into my rapidly emptying glass and thought about my already-empty wallet. Maybe it is a good time to start walking home. The bar was starting to get really busy, and the noise mixed with stale smoke and strong booze made me nauseous. A year ago I was awarded with an indefinite license suspension for accumulating the most DUI's in the district. At least that's what the judge told me. She also told me that I might have a problem, but between myself and I, I always knew that it's just a rough patch. Evidently, a year later I get smashed only after good shows and most of the weekends. The current finances are clearly unable to support any more of that.
I groaned and got off my bar stool.

-"You play guitar for that band... you guys played a show last week at Bovine, right?"
*'That band'*. Some fan you are too. Fuck, maybe I should rename this gig to 'That Band', maybe it'll give the illusion that people finally talk about us. Before I could turn my head she went on shouting in my ear. The irritation gauge bounced up a notch.

-"I'm V."

You have some crazy pick-up lines, V.

-"Come, my girlfriend wants to meet you."

I looked up at stared at this girl for a second. Or a minute, or 5 minutes... I didn't seem to care that the time has stopped. What, too corny? Oh, no doubt, but that's how it felt like. V. was a tiny blond girl, probably too young to be at this bar or pick up ancient, drunk musicians. But whether it's about daddy issues or well-concealed groupie, she was beautiful.

-"Hey man, let's go." I looked in the direction she pointed to. At a small table in the corner a dark haired girl was sitting at casually observing us. V. held 3 drinks…for 2 of them. Either one of them was a more devout alcoholic than I am, or she was cocky enough to presume that I won't refuse her invitation.

Ah, what the hell. I'm out of booze, company and drunk enough to make bad decisions. Also, it's fucking raining outside again.
The 'girlfriend' never bothered introducing herself that night. Neither have I.
In this little, detached corner in the middle of a noisy bar, suddenly there were just the three of us. Looking back, there's always been just the three of us. V., the guy from 'that band' and the girlfriend.
Around 2am my bassist called. Knowing that I'm probably drinking my night away at some bar, as usual, he offered a ride to the studio. Maybe a chance to do something more productive, like actually working on the album, or nursing the hangover on the couch and pretending to do something productive. Many Saturday mornings followed the same scenario, like that rerun that you don't particularly like, but watch anyway. As long as we could afford the studio we all, practically, lived there.
We exchanged phone numbers, the girlfriend and I. V. fished in her purse for a phone too, but I took off by then. There might be a shred of decency in me. When someone mentions a boyfriend, maybe she shouldn’t have a random guys' numbers kicking around in her phone. Booze and loneliness always make people dial numbers they never meant to otherwise.

Things have changed in the following month. I left 'that band', on a whim and good marketing from 'another band'. It's usually an exciting time, a beginning of something new, with fresh ideas, fresh couches, and a fresh studio tech that didn't hate me for recording the same damn solo over and over again for the best part of a night. I mean, didn't hate me...yet.

The girlfriend was there almost every session. And every show. She was my right hand and 'fashion consultant'. At first I thought she just likes me a lot. Eventually it occurred to me that she doesn't have anywhere else to go. Her dad was a lowlife and they lived in a dictionary definition of a 'shithole'.  A part-time job, no dreams or aspirations of her own, she lived the 'band' life through us. She actually had places to be, phone calls to make. She promoted tirelessly, ran my social media pages. In a way, she was my agent. And ironically, it's wasn't long before she became my girlfriend.

We've met with V. and her guy a few times, even went camping once. But there wasn't much contact between the girlfriend and V. back then.
The hot summer came around and it was a horrible one too. My place never had any air conditioning. Hell, even the fridge was a questionable commodity. The girlfriend has moved in officially, and I was sober enough to convince the judge to let me drive again, on indefinite probation. But it's ok; I've discovered that booze is not the answer to anything. Cocaine, on the other hand, amplified my productivity, was a great weight management plan and in overall -seemed to be a very positive influence. Everything is relative to one's perspective, isn't it?

She appeared one night, sitting on the floor in my living room/bedroom/kitchen. The night was particularly humid and choking wall of heat seemed impenetrable. My girlfriend walked around the house in the underwear, there was nothing new about it. Seeing V. bare-naked there, with a bottle of scotch between them was news. Bad news, in a sense, the way the things unfolded from there.

The story was, one night V. passed out at her boyfriend's party. When she woke up, she didn't have much clothes on her, there was another guy sleeping in the bed, and the boyfriend in the "raging bull" mode leering right above her face. She never figured out whether she really slept with the guy or he just crashed next to her, but it was all irrelevant when her boyfriend kicked her out of his flat.
I shrugged, tied my hair into a knot and joined them.
As they kept on talking about V. misfortunes, my girlfriend seemed to be furious with her behavior. In our brief relationship, she definitely was the moral anchor, since I lacked any sense or care for monogamy or how the relationships should work. Retrospectively, it's clear to me now, that given my emotional apathy, she felt compelled to accompany the band to every show and party, to make sure her territory is marked and guarded.

V. never left. That night and the following week she slept in bed with my girlfriend. Years of late studio nights made the couch a perfect bed for me. Eventually, V. took the couch for a while, but couldn't sleep well and she came back to the bed. The problem was- I didn't leave this time. Somehow, the girlfriend accepted it. Maybe because she cared about V. or maybe because we were rarely sober when we passed out.

The first days of the fall brought more news. The band got signed, on the worst conditions possible, but we liked the ring that "signed artists" had to it. Our photographer, who also worked for a modeling agency, managed to procure a series of photo-shoots for a random fashion line for V. I suppose, he was in love with her, but then -so were the other guys on the label. She even starred in our video.
There was a part when we had to play a couple, parting for the last time before I kill myself. Apparently, the scene was the most sincere and beautiful the jerk-off of a director has ever seen. And that was the first of the few times I've seen my girlfriend angry. After the video premiered, she avoided both V. and me. It wasn't an easy thing to do in a bachelor flat. V. made enough money off her modeling career to start paying her own rent, but neither of us ever thought of asking her to move out. At this point she was already a part of this miniature hippie commune.

There was another incident I'd like to mention. Somewhere around October, my drummer encountered some legal issues with his landlord/tenant agreement. In other words, he was evicted for snorting a mountain of coke and drumming for 10 hours straight in a densely populated area. And it wasn't a one-time thing, really. The girlfriend invited him to stay with us, until he finds somewhere else to live. During his brief stay the poor bastard managed to confront V. while we weren't home, and offer her his 'heart and soul'. According to her story, she tried to laugh it off and eventually told him to fuck off.

Actually, now that I think of it -V. never dated anyone during her stay with us, or shown any interest in anyone she met. It seemed as if we were her private and social life. I also seemed to give up on my solitary and brooding bar boozing. When the girlfriend was gone to her part-time job, we always ended up kicking around the flat, watching movies, reading her my poetry and lyrics ideas. She would come with me to the studio, and even asked me to give her guitar lessons, while we both knew that she had absolutely no interest in music.
Sometimes I can't understand how both my girlfriend and I were so oblivious to what's going on.  Sometimes I doubt even V. herself realized. Maybe it's just easier to turn away and pretend. But things were looking up, and the world around all of us was brighter. I'd even start spending more time sober and the three of us would drive to the beach or take long and pointless road trips.

Obviously, nothing can be preserved in its optimal state. I am, naturally, a pessimist, some say even a fatalist. Seeing the end of things was my particular specialty. When the label decided to drop up due to bad publicity and possible drug abuse allegations- it was the first out of series of blows. Since the cops got involved, my band members scattered to save their druggie asses. At the time I was surprisingly clean, which, in turn ended up saving me from a criminal record.
The fights with the girlfriend became a frequent occurrence, maybe since the veil of motherly love for V. (she was a few years younger) fell from her eyes when a mutual friend made it his business to tell her, "Dude, are you fucking blind -your boyfriend is probably nailing V. for months now, you guys are the most fucked up love triangle I've ever seen." .
The 'cuddling' incident didn't help here at all. V. got sick and there was no heating in my flat. I covered her with a bunch of blankets, as we watched TV, but she was still shivering. I'm not sure that was an appropriate thing to do, but when my girlfriend came home after work, she found both of us, holding each other underneath the blankets.
All I could think of for an explanation is the usual "storming out and slamming the door" . V.'s touch and the smell of her hair stayed with me for the whole night. As the matter of fact -it did for many years after.

V. woke me up when my girlfriend left for work.

-"Let's run away. Just you and me."

-"And go where?"

-"Anywhere, I don't care, really. You can always find another band; I can ask the agency for work overseas."

-"You don't even have a passport, V." I sat up, rubbing my face.

-"C'mon man... I'm serious. Let's just pack a couple of bags, take your guitars and go. Let's go to New York, like Sid and Nancy."

-"Like *Sid and Nancy*. Sid Vicious killed Nancy and killed himself with an overdose later. So much for the bright future, eh?"

She fell silent and sat next to me.

-"I never told this to anyone, not even my boyfriend. I don't think I ever loved him, but I love you."

-"I... I-fuck, ok. I had the whole night to think about it. I think things are getting out of hand here."

-"...And?"

I don't think she really expected me to say it. But I knew that she knew. I knew that she realized that some point, maybe not as late as I, that there was a reason for all the time we were spending together, the care and affection I rarely showed anyone else, my girlfriend included.

-"What about her? She'll be heartbroken, you know..."

-"Yeah, I do. But I can't help it. That's how things are and it's not my fault. I love you and I know that you feel the same."

Thanks, V. You said the hardest part for me. All I had to say is 'I do.', and even that I confirmed with my silence. She didn't speak anymore, neither did I. We've spent the day together. For the first time there were no limits. Somewhere, in my subconscious mind our first kiss happened long time ago, covered up by layers of denial. I've had dreams, where I wake up with my girlfriend, lean across her shoulder just to see V. smiling at me. I never shared those with anyone.

The girlfriend didn't come home that night, or the few nights that followed. When V. slept, I went to the bar underneath my flat and sat there until the morning, lost in thought.

There was only one thing I, the coward, could do.

On third night, I walked outside with a backpack, packed with a few shirts, pair of jeans and books. I left my car keys on the guitar case, right next to the bed where V. slept. That guitar has been only one of a few I had in the studio, but it was the first one, the one that mattered that most.

On a note, I quickly scribbled "This is yours now; I just want you to have something to remind you of me. I was in love with you since you started talking to me at that bar. I love you still. Good bye”.

Signed, "That guy in a band".

My flight left the city at 4am.

Three years later, I play a small, local tour in Nebraska with some random band that offered me meals and place to stay. After the show, the bartender caught up with me at the merch tables  and handed me the promo poster, with a few sentences written in a sharpie.

*"You play guitar for another band now, it was a good show.
I'm V.
I think I made a mistake one night, 4 years ago. I was the one who wanted to meet you. And I made another one when I let you go."*

title: [RF] [RO] "V." A story told at a bar in the middle of nowhere by an alcoholic musician to his roadie.

question: Summarize the narrator's appearance and habits.

answer: In the present day, the narrator's eyes are red and he looks sad. At one, point he refers to himself as an ancient, drunk musician. In the past he had an alcohol problems that awarded him an indefinite license suspension. His judge even told him that he had a problem. His drinking habits improved throughout the story. He did develop a cocaine habit that amplified his productivity while he was in one of his bands.

question: What does the text say about the new band?

answer: The narrator got into a new band after leaving his old band on a whim. With it came fresh ideas, fresh couches, and a fresh studio tech. His girlfriend lived the band life with him and helped promote the band. Eventually the band got signed on poor conditions, but the members liked the sound of being "signed artists". They even got to do a music video. Eventually, their band split apart due to drug abuse allegations and police involvement.

question: Summarize how V. causes conflict in the narrator's relationship with the girlfriend.

answer: V. causes conflict in the narrator's relationship with the girlfriend because there seems to be a mutual attraction between V. and the narrator. It's not totally evident when V. moves into the narrator and the girlfriend's apartment at first. The girlfriend becomes jealous when the two are in a music video and the director called it the most beautiful and sincere scene he's ever seen. This was the first of the few times the narrator saw her angry. There were occasions where the narrator was caught in compromising situations with V., even when they hadn't been intimate with each other. He eventually began fighting with her more, especially after a friend of hers accused the narrator of having sex with V. Eventually, the girlfriend stops coming home.

question: Summarize the ending before the narrator is in Nebraska 3 years later.

answer: By the end of the story, V. admits her love for the narrator and proposes running away together. He wonders about the girlfriend, and how that would break her heart. The narrator admits he loves her too, and that he's been showing care and affection only for her for a while. The girlfriend didn't come home for a few days, which is when the narrator decides to run away from V. and the girlfriend. He sees it as a cowardly thing to do. He writes a note to V. telling her that he's loved her since the night he met her, and loves her still. He then leaves to take a flight at 4 AM.

question: Summarize how the girlfriend dies.


text:
[Japan3]
The most dramatic Women’s World Cup final in history has produced the most surprising champion.

Japan twice came from behind to tie the score, first in regulation and then in extra time, and then went on to win the penalty shootout, 3-1, after a 2-2 tie in front of a sellout crowd in Frankfurt Germany.

The U.S. was trying to become the first three-time world champion.

Instead, Japan became the first Asian champion.

It was a deserved victory for the Japanese team, which never gave up, never quit trying, and in the end added another monumental achievement to its earlier feats of eliminating host and defending champion Germany in the quarterfinals and Sweden in the semifinals.

The result was even more meaningful because the Japanese team has ridden a wave of emotion brought about by the devastating March 11 earthquake, tsunami and nuclear accident in northern Japan that left tens of thousands dead or missing.

The final started out slowly, with the U.S. dominant in the first 45 minutes but unable to find the back of the net.

It ended amid incredible scenes in Frankfurt, with the U.S. players and coaches looking stunned and the Japanese overcome by the moment.

The game was tied, 0-0, at halftime, but ALEX MORGAN, a 22-year-old from Diamond Bar, scored midway through the second half to put the U.S. ahead.

Taking down a long downfield pass by teammate MEGAN RAPINOE, she raced past three defenders and scored with a tremendous shot to give the American team the lead.

Morgan, the youngest of the U.S. players, was calmness itself as she unleashed a shot that found the bottom right corner of the Japanese net 69 minutes into the sold out final.

Goalkeeper AYUMI KAIHORI threw herself at the shot but it was perfectly placed and she was unable to reach it.

Victory beckoned, but the drama had several more acts to go.

A nightmare defensive mistake by the U.S. gifted Japan the tying goal in the 81st minute when an attempted clearance kick by RACHEL BUEHLER bounced off teammate ALI KRIEGER and fell right in front of Japan midfielder AYA MIYAMA.

Miyama, appearing surprised, nonetheless had the presence of mind to flick the ball with the outside of her left foot into the U.S. net from close range.

It was 1-1 with nine minutes remaining and the U.S. stunned and reeling.

Victory was again within reach when ABBY WAMBACH gave the U.S. a 2-1 advantage in extra time, scoring a headed goal off a pass from Morgan.

But HOMARE SAWA, playing in her fifth and last World Cup, somehow managed to tie it up near the end of extra time, redirecting the ball past U.S. goalkeeper HOPE SOLO from an acute angle.

It was Sawa’s fifth goal of the tournament, making her the scoring champion.

The final whistle sounded and the match went down to penalty kicks, where the U.S. is usually flawless.

Not this time.

SHANNON BOXX saw her effort denied by a foot save from Kaihori.

AYA MIYAMA scored for Japan.

CARLI LLOYD blasted her shot high over the crossbar.

YUKI NAGASOTO’s shot was saved by Solo, diving right.

TOBIN HEATH’s shot was saved by Kaihori, diving right.

MIZUHO SAKAGUCHI’s effort went in off Solo’s hand.

Wambach scored to keep the U.S. alive, barely.

SAKI KUMAGAI’s shot flashed into the net and Japan was world champion.

It was the cruelest of endings for the U.S., the happiest of outcomes for Japan.

And probably the best of results for the future of women’s soccer.

RELATED

U.S., Japan tied at halftime, 0-0, at Women's World Cup final

Former U.S. players understand pressure facing teams in World Cup final

Photos: U.S. vs. Japan

--Grahame L. Jones

_Photo: Japan's Homare Sawa, right, celebrates with teammates Saki Kumagai, left, and Yuki Nagasato after scoring a goal in extra time during Japan’s victory over the U.S. in the Women’s World Cup on Sunday. Credit: Thomas Bohlen / Reuters_

question: How was the Woman's World Cup finally decided and who took the cup?

answer: Japan won the Woman's World Cup against the USA in a surprise win. They twice came from behind to take the prize. In the end, the winner was decided during a penalty shootout.


text:
First Post EVER!
Hope this is "short" enough.
I also just checked the "give feed back" note. WILL DO!
I wrote this as a creative NON fiction story for a 100 level creative writing class... enjoy!
It is also on my website. www.joeyavila.com

GO!

Growing up downtown you experience a fair share of the unusual.
There are places and people that you just won’t find in other parts of town. You
learn to accept people for who they are. You also learn to defend yourself from
those people. Broadway in Fort Wayne, Indiana is the hub of the inner city. A
lot of the odd originates and enters the street late at night from the bars. The
Rock, Broadway Joe’s, Broadway Grille, the Brass Rail and the others all seem to
produce a well-rounded breed of creature-like people. Broadway is a unique
adventure, one that not everyone is fit for.

 As I was driving down Broadway late at night, I noticed a woman
leaving The Rock. She was upset as she slammed the bar door crying, pointing and
shouting. I stopped at the light at Broadway and Taylor. I took one glance out
of curiosity and had to double take when I noticed it was Gina! Gina was my
friend Marko’s mother. Being one of my better friends, I was at Gina’s house
quite often to hang out with him and his siblings. Gina was of a different
breed. She at one point, and likely still, had drug problems to add to her
over-active alcohol appetite. My dad was pulled over years ago under the
influence and had to take group AA classes which Gina also attended, so much for
anonymity. Thin and frail, she stood about 5’3” beneath a thin and
scraggly-greasy-medium-length do. She had a case of smoker’s face, where you
have a grey aura and look fifteen years older than you actually are. She slept
with enough Hispanic men, that she found it completely okay to spout out
annoying broken Spanish. Her name is most likely something like Jennifer Nicole;
instead she goes by “Gina” probably to add some Latin flare. She was your cookie
cutter inner city white-trash mother.

 As the red glow was illuminating the cabin of my ‘92 Ford Escort
I could not help but assess the scene. I waited in case a drunk biker were to
come out screaming at her. Although she’s not
my mother she treated the neighbor-kids, including myself, like family; I
would not let someone close to me get hurt. The light turned green; as I let off
the brake I slowly depressed the accelerator and rolled the handle to get my
passenger window down as I crossed the intersection. She continued to walk south
down Broadway passing Mad Anthony and the random small shops that go out of
business every few months. Luckily there were not many cars on the road that
late at night, because I was probably rolling along very slowly. I was almost
ready to call out to her when she saw me.

 Like a wild animal she turned to look at me. I could almost see
her ears perk up realizing someone had been following her. Eyes still watering,
her nose still snorting out crying whimpers, we made eye contact. The distance
between her and I was not much but it was enough that the dark over powered the
illumination of the street lights, making it hard for her to see that it was me.
It was obvious she had to further investigate who I was. I leaned over so she
could clearly see me but she still had a question mark above her head. I
instinctively gave her an awkward hand motion to come here, with a comforting
smile. I figured, why not help the neighborhood mom in her time of need and give
her a ride home a few blocks down to Huestis. I saw headlights coming up behind
me and knew it was time to get moving. I pointed to a lot just past the viaduct.
She gave me a nod and began running toward the lot strangely and very excitedly
While I thought this was strange, people leaving the bar are usually influenced
by specific sorts of strange.

 I ignored this as well as I could, passed Dewald Street and
pulled into the lot. This particular lot was for customers of a random shady
business. I believe it was once a laundry mat, turned convenience store, then a
thrift store followed by a different laundry mat and currently seems to be a
used goods/thrift/antique store where it appears the owners also live. As I pulled up, to my left I see the giant mural of the statue of liberty that I always seem to notice when I get
stopped by the light on Creighton, and to my right a duplex home with a “for
rent” sign. The lot is not very well lit. There are times that I drive by here
at night, and can see the headlight reflections and the outline of police squad
cars scanning for speeding drivers. I put my car into park and watched as Gina
ran to my door.

 I can feel her excited energy. I fumble around trying to get my
things out of the passenger seat. I turn my radio down and Gina begins to pull
the handle repeatedly.

 “Hold on let me get the lock!” I tell her. The Escort hatchback
is my first car and did not come equipped with power locks or windows. I
unfastened my seatbelt to reach over and unlock the door. Gina is still moving
very quickly and rushing to get into the car. When I decided that I would pull
over and help her out I had not expected she would be this happy to see me. It
almost sounded like her tears and sobs had turned to giggling, while still
producing just as much bodily fluid. I could hear she was out of breath from
sprinting. Her crazed panting did quite the opposite of subside even after she
opened the door. I turned around and reached for my seatbelt. After it clicked
and I was fastened and ready to drive safely. I turned to look at
her,

 “So mom, what’s going on-”

 Then I saw it. The first thing I noticed, and all I could focus
on were the teeth, or lack thereof. Gina’s teeth were not a model of dental
perfection by any standards, but this oral display was unlike any I had
ever seen. Beyond the ones that were missing, the few that were left were brown,
jagged, and must have been severely rotten. She had an ear to ear smile that was
as creepy as a villain Batman would battle. Sinews of drool were connecting from
her upper to lower jaw. Beyond the visual there was a strong odor leaking off of
her tongue. The smell was like a bad mixture of booze, plaque, and decay. I had
to zoom out, that’s when I saw the whole picture. It was not Gina.

 “Hi”She said, and then probably said something else but I was
still in shock and did not hear it. Her appearance was still similar to Gina,
with a few differences in head shape and facial features. Her eyes gave a wild
stare. Her disgusting mouth, that might as well have been foaming, seemed to be
moving towards me as she leaned in closer to my face. She continued to giggle
and pant, and I was frozen in place unable to speak. She stared at me in
  anticipation becoming very comfortablein the seat of my car. She
reached her hand out and placed it on my shoulder working her spider-like
fingers to my neck. Her creepy hand may have been what took me out of my mind’s
suspense. It was then that the gears started working, I felt my stomach drop,
the hair on my neck stood up, in no way due to her tickling tentacles. In my
attempt to help my friend’s drunken mother, I picked up a prostitute!

 “I can do anything.” She whispers into my ear with a nasty
humming dialect. I get a chill and fear begins to set in. I just picked up a
prostitute!

 “What do you like?” She says in a comforting tone, obviously
trying to get me to relax. It is oddly surprising seeing a hooker at work in her
own world doing what it takes to make her dollar. I am really not sure what to
do; I cannot believe what I have done.

 “I can suck you.” She suggests and gestures towards my
pants.

 “Uh, no. I-I don’t do that!” is all I can manage to produce.
Then I felt the need to add,

 “I am only sixteen!”

 I start to look around. Not only do I have a professional whore
in my passenger seat attempting to blow me, but I am also in a police patrol
zone. Broadway is known for its “walkers” so the cops know they can find
prostitution thriving in the heart of one of the city’s most historic downtown
streets.

 I start to fear getting caught, going to jail and most importantly
explaining to my parents whyI got
arrested. I honestly did not mean for this to happen, I just wish that it would
all end. How much time will I get for this? Will I lose my crappy part-time job?
I look across the street and there are people walking by Zestos Ice Cream, a big
hit during the warm months. I also notice that traffic is picking up on
  Broadway. How long will it be before a cop realizes there’s a random car parked
  in the crappy thrift store parking lot.

 “I can do whatever you want” she
says,

 “I can suck it for you.” She repeats.

 I begin to contemplate how to tell her this was all a
misunderstanding. She is getting closer to me, I can smell the bar all over her
and what I hope is her body odor. I
can feel myself beginning to sweat. I obviously cannot have sex with this
wacked-out woman, could I? Maybe if she looked like Julia Roberts. No! What was
I thinking! I don’t even know why I would weigh out the option of doing “it”
with a rabid doppelganger of my friend’s mother! Paranoia is peaking, and I was
becoming desperate. I needed to do something to get this over with. I look at
her,

 “No! Where, uh, where can I t-take you?” was my brilliant
question.

 “Ooh, take me to Lincoln.” She
replied.

 Great! That is about four or five blocks south; I can get her
there and end this madness. I can feel her breathing over my shoulder, staring
at me, but she probably isn’t the only eyes on me. What if there is someone who
saw me, someone who just saw a sixteen year old kid pick up a prostitute in his
1992 maroon Ford Escort, in the parking lot of a sketchy business on a sketchy
night, in one of the sketchiest parts of downtown Fort Wayne. There is no way I
can have her in my car any longer. I need to get her out.

 “Look, you just need to get out.”

 “But I can make you happy.” She
said.

 There she goes again with her false sense of comfort, but I have
had enough.

 Teenage boys do stupid things. I was hired to my first job at fifteen.
There were not many kids at my school who had part time jobs when I became a
member of the workforce. So naturally I felt that I was cool by having a few
extra dollars that I worked hard for. Heavily influenced by rap and hip-hop
music, it was not unlike me to flaunt my money around. I had not yet lived
enough life to take this money and “pop bottles in the club” so instead I took
pictures of my fanning twenties and posted them on Myspace, an action I now know
as being a “Douche-bag”. Like the idiot that I was, I also showed off my check
in more arrogant and stupid ways. One way of showing off was by having my
freshly-cashed check laid out on my dash board for everyone to see how much of a
“baller” I was. On this night, I had done just
that.

 I look at her so frustrated by what this night has become, and so scared
of the consequences of my valiant effort and good intentions that turned into
this awkward nightmare.

 “No, you need to get out.” I said as I looked into her mad
gaze.

 “I am not driving you anywhere, what do you want? I just want
you out of my car, right now.”

 I see her eyes wandering to my dashboard.
No.

 I look down at my cash, and look up and see the plotting look on her
witch-like face. The decision was an easy one. I was not going to get caught and
go to jail because of this creep. I would not ruin my life for accidently
letting this hooker in my car. How much is your freedom and reputation worth?
Well, apparently mine was worth twenty dollars.

 I reached down to the dash and grabbed a twenty dollar bill. I then tried
my best to hide the rest of the bills and handed her the
  cash.

 “Here” I said, with relief and disappointment.

 Her eyes opened up as bright as the moon that was shining down
on my car. She snatched the bill out of my hand and opened the door. Her escape
was so quick after she received payment. In her excitement I noticed some drool
flying out of her open mouth. She was jumping up and down as if Bob Barker
called her down as the next contestant of a game show. I looked around to assure
there was no one observing her celebration. Although this whole night was oddly
unexpected, perhaps the strangest thing of all was her final words to me. After
her bouncing subsided, she ran to my side of the car, leaned into my window as
if she was going to give me a kiss with that cesspool of a mouth, I pulled back
and she missed. She brushed it off nonchalantly, while I felt like I was going
to have another panic attack.

 “Thank you! Oh, thank you so much! HAIL CUBA!” she screamed and
kissed the twenty as she danced away into the night, in the direction of The
Rock, the same bar where this whole night started.

 I drove to my girlfriend’s house off of Taylor and Swinney. After I told
her about my experience, which was more me explaining how much of an accident
it actually was. I drove home about seven blocks away to the 1000 block of Home
Avenue, avoiding eye-contact with pedestrians and ignoring all the bars along
the way. I took a shower to wash the whore-particles and second-hand hepatitis
off and did my best to sleep it away. In the morning I decided it would be best
to clean my car out. I leaned into the passenger side, and put my hand down on
the seat in order to reach over and grab a few things. My hand felt wetness in
the seat. There was a spot on the cushion that I leaned down to sniff. The
prostitute’s gift, she urinated in my passenger seat.

title: [NF] Sixteen & Stupid: An Adventure of Valiant Intentions In an Awkward Nightmare

question: What does the text say about the narrator's car?

answer: It's the narrator's first car - a maroon 1992 Ford Escord. It is a hatchback without power locks or windows, so the doors have to be manually unlocked. The narrator feels the need to get the prostitute out of the car as soon as possible, and cleans it the next morning only to find the prostitute urinated on the passenger seat.

question: What does the story say about sexual diseases?

answer: The narrator assumes the prostitute he met had hepatitis.

question: What does the story say about frozen yogurt?