Podcasts about gotchya

Of Funerals and Families; Part One In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Victory is neither pointless, fleeting, nor soon forgotten. It is yours.” I have been warned that my Uncle wants me dead. My Aunts want me for; other things." "What do they want?" E asked. It was the whole 'men as a true asset' problem for her. "The whole repository of nefariousness;” Pamela started to explain, but then, "Double Word Score!" Pamela and I exclaimed excitedly then 'high-fived'. Yes, you spiteful Cosmos, I had found my soul-mate and she was a near-octogenarian with a macabre sense of humor; who also had a telepathic ability to know my mind. E looked totally lost in the exchange. "Yes; the whole repository of nefariousness was created to be sterile," Pamela picked up the conversation. "Which makes the very existence of Cáel here very noteworthy; virtually inexplicable," she mused. "What have the labs at Havenstone think of this?" Rachel worried. "I refused to go back in for any more tests," I met her gaze. "But it could be important," E joined in. "I will make it easy on you both; I'm a horrible person. I'm the Head of House Ishara and I elect to not put my fate in the hands of the same people who leaked my very existence to the Illuminati during the first set of tests," I stated. "Which is why I'm here in Chicago burying my Father, in case any of you missed it." "Certainly knowing what is going on is more important than the risk of further exposure," E persisted. She got kudos for sticking to her guns. "Esmeralda, I work for Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services," I responded. "By that I mean I have this nifty little glass table in a corner of her office. Me stressing over my genetics isn't really important. Katrina is on the case and I haven't been out of college for two months yet. If the difference between Havenstone getting in a fight with the Illuminati and keeping the truce is my blood sample, she'll let me know," I added. "As far as Ishara is concerned, Havenstone had an information leak that got a house member killed." "Do you have other family?" E inquired hesitantly. "Blood kin? Not in this country and certainly not anyone I could name," I sighed. "I case you are wondering, there are a grand total of three members on Ishara's roster." "Is the rest of your family safe?" E was trying to sound upbeat. "Safe? Of course they are not safe. They both work for Executive Services, Esmeralda. They were 'Runners' who I inducted into Ishara. They are Amazons of the Host and that means never being safe this side of the cliffs. Friday morning I presented them to our ancestors and they were welcomed as equals; as sisters to those who have the blood of Mycenaeans on their hands," I turned to look out the window. "What was it like?" Tiger Lily inquired. "The induction." "If you are looking for a vision of a stone hall with thousands of war-like Amazons holding me in judgment, you'll be disappointed," I recalled. "I had to create the ceremony from scratch; ash, tears and blood. "I felt strong enough about that instinct I let Desiree slap me until I cried enough tears. With Desiree's knife, I cut myself, they cut themselves and our blood mixed," I finished. "That is not how it is done," Rachel corrected me. "No," I stopped. "It is not how you do it. House Ishara has come back from the void that waits for all those who are dead and have no one living to recall them," I explained. "We are not the other Houses. We are both Love and Oaths and there is a lack of respect for each of those virtues in this World." "I never considered Amazons as overly romantic, but we are true to our oaths," Esmeralda was starting to bask in the openness of the exchange. "I do not doubt the integrity of anyone in this vehicle, except for me," I gave her a weary grin. "The failure of oaths is mine. Ishara was bound by an Oath and has failed in her pledge. You are wrong about the romance and I am sure you have misunderstood my definition. I live for the day when no sons are sent to the cliffs as newborns; Love, Esmeralda. Love." The hush pressed upon us until Tiger Lily pulled up in front of the Hotel Burnham. Rachel, E, Charlotte (from the second GL) and I went in. I wave the others back as I went to the desk. Rachel and Charlotte had grey duffel bags with 'stuff' inside. E had my minimal kit. "Cáel Nyilas with Havenstone," I introduced myself. Yes, I was in 'prison' gear. "Director Nyilas; welcome to the Burnham," he recovered quickly. "Which rooms do you wish to use?" Thank you, Helena, no I'm a damn Director. He twisted the screen so I could see the list. Eleven doubles and a Lakeview Executive Suite with two adjoining Deluxe Suites. "We'll use those," I indicated the Executive/Deluxe/Deluxe. "Very good, Sir," he nodded. "Will you be ordering room service? I'm afraid the Atwood restaurant has closed for the evening." "Sounds like a plan," I looked at his name tag, "Steve, or do you prefer Mr. McCabe?" "Steve will do fine, Director;” Steve started. "I will make it easy on you Steve," I sighed. "Call me Cáel. All this Director crap is for the benefit of people I barely know. I am here, in my hometown, to bury my Father; who was murdered yesterday." Steve paled. "The FBI gave me these spiffy duds. If any law enforcement shows up asking for me, give me a ring first." "Nyilas; from Burnham? I read about that," Steve seemed bemused. "The day shift Assistant Manager is from Burnham too." How wonderful, I thought sarcastically. Steven sensed my waning interest. "Your keycards, Sir; Cáel and my sympathy for your loss." "Steve, never miss a chance to tell your loved ones how you feel," I took the cards. "That is my biggest regret with my Dad. I didn't think about it the last time we talked." Steve gave a final nod. I rejoined my group and headed for the elevator. The rest was a tired blur. The rest of the group showed up, including Pamela. I called Nicole to tell her the situation then called Timothy despite the late hour to make sure he was okay. Timothy informed me that two 'psycho-chicks' stopped by as a kind of 'meet and greet'. I hit the small hotel fitness center with Mona, the fourth member of Rachel's team. It helped. What helped more was the constant reminder that I worked with smart people. Mona's mother was dead as well, killed on an undisclosed mission with the SD when she was ten. She could understand my sense of grief and confusion. We didn't cry and hug. It wasn't something she could do with a man. Give a decade, or two and she might come around. Instead, "Thank you for Constanza," Mona said quietly to me as we exited the center. "I measure a person's life in the lives we save; as well as the ones we take," I enlightened her. Before that moment, I didn't really consider killing people to be all that praiseworthy an endeavor. Today I had been in a situation where my life had been in immediate danger. I was glad the other guy ended up dead. Since I was prepared to keep acting stupidly, I was grateful for those who would murder people so that I could remain both noble of purpose and alive. "She is close to me; she helped me grow up after Mom was gone," Mona opened up a tiny bit. "Aren't you a bit angry with me?" I asked. "Initially, I was very angry. Then I heard your words and I knew you spoke the truth of the matter," Mona exhaled. "She should have died. She deserved death for what she said." "No one;” I started to comfort Mona. "For a member of a Faith that exults in the harshness of martial conflict, you spend an inordinate amount of energy struggling to keep people alive," Mona noted. "I'm glad I helped deal with those Latin Kings now. It was a mission worth doing." "What?" I stumbled. "Didn't Buffy tell you?" Mona regarded me. She smirked. "Yeah, we hunted them down late Sunday night and into early Monday morning. I doubt the few who escaped will ever be back." "Why haven't I; anybody heard about this?" I worried. Mona looked at me somewhat perplexed. "Cáel of Ishara, we always take the bodies of murder victims, cut them up, place them in large drums of acid and ship them to Canada," Mona informed me. "Ah; thanks for telling me that. Let's both agree to not let Buffy know that I know, okay?" I requested. "She'll get an inordinate thrill thinking she knows something I don't." "As you wish, Cáel of Ishara," Mona nodded gravely.  (Tuesday Morning) Sexual addiction is somewhat like military service. It requires you to be alert to your surroundings, think on your feet, follow procedures and; most crucial to me; shows you how to remain functional with minimal sleep. In this case, five hours sufficed to clear out my cobwebs and make me incredibly horny. All of that was despite the layers of upsetting news being placed before me. Executive Services had gone over the feed from the four SD members. Inadvertently, Dad had fought on the 'right' side. The team leader died first. Her back-up put two men in the grave and wounded a third before they tossed a grenade on her. I looked at Charlotte as she gave me the news. We both had a 'what the' expression on our faces. Grenade? I kept doing my calisthenics. The second two-Amazon group killed three attackers on their side of the building then charged the back door. I wondered if Mom's Garden Dragon was okay. It was like a Garden Gnome, except it was a Dragon. Mom was odd that way. The attacking group had blown the front door and entered the first floor. The Amazons in the back decided to shoot out the lock instead. While transiting the kitchen moving forward, the second group took fire; from a Zastava M 21. I was confused. "It is a modern Serbian weapon," Charlotte filled in the blanks. "Dad was killed by Serbians?" I muttered. "No," Charlotte sighed. "No he wasn't." Another look from me as I started my standing push-ups. "That team member was wounded. The shooter was taken down by both of our teammates. At this point, three other attackers moved from your front room to the dining room, pinning our team down. That was when your father broke cover and assaulted the attackers. He had this large lamp and cracked it over the right shoulder of the closest man," Charlotte stated. I knew that light fixture Charlotte was talking about. It was a floor lamp, nearly two meters tall, made of glass and bronze. My physique was from my Father; broad shoulders and powerful arms. That 'large lamp' weighed over 30 kg and, powered by my father's upper body strength, I was betting the guy who was on the receiving end had have some of his bones snapped. "The man screamed in Bulgarian, his two companions turned to see what was happening and the Amazons advanced by fire toward your father," Charlotte continued. "Your father swung again," she looked at me, "connecting with the man's chest. In response, the other two shot him three times. He fell. The second team pressed forward, killing the man your Father wounded and wounding another. The last unhurt Amazon was killed trying to get to your Father while the survivor was concussed by the use of a second grenade. We don't have the video of what happened in the interim. When the last Amazon began moving again, the two remaining attackers had dragged your father out the front door. She pursued and fired. She wounded the undamaged attacker; and one of her bullets ended your Father's life. She was wounded in this last exchange of fire. The two men helped each other to a vehicle and left." I kept working out as I made an acceptable collage of my misery. "Does she know?" I whispered. "Does she; the Amazon? Her name is Sabina. I don't think she's been informed yet," Charlotte answered. "Unless it becomes necessary, don't tell her that her bullet killed my Father," I sighed. "The only thing that is important to me; to Ishara; is that she gave her all as did her sisters. My Father was killed by the men who first shot him. Had they escaped with my Father, they weren't taking him to a hospital, so he was as good as dead anyway. That is all that matters." "Yes Ishara," Charlotte responded with quiet reverence. Knowing nothing of Security Detail's procedure and tradition, I had tossed out an excuse to spare a valiant woman a terrible piece of news. Charlotte's demeanor suggested to me that it would be a kindness conveyed. A few minutes later, Rachel and Tiger Lily came in from their suite. Mona had been my guardian while I slept so she slept now. This was our signal to shower and put on some clothes before the group went downstairs for breakfast. Pamela presented herself as I was getting dressed. Esmeralda's arrival signaled our migration to the ground floor Atwood restaurant. As everyone glided into the elevator, I had a nostalgic moment for Odette. A normal, non-lethal, happy young lady. This all-encompassing seriousness around me was crimping my efforts to find the silver lining in this personal calamity. Ten seconds after exiting the elevator, Nicole angled toward us then we proceeded to breakfast. It took a little jockeying and refereeing by me to get the seating arrangements set. Nicole was on my left then Pamela. Rachel and E were on my right. Charlotte and Tiger Lily were across from me as orders were taken. "How are you holding up, Cáel?" Nicole put a hand on my lap. I had no immediate reply. "Lonely. Sad. Alone. Bereft of anger; it is pointless. I want to scream, rage, tear things up, throw things across the room and hear them shatter; but not really," I confessed. Suddenly, a strange essence infused my core. "No, that's wrong. I am not alone. We have suffered more, lived through worse and never wavered even in the face of death," I said in a ghostly whisper. That was really the last thing I wanted to say. Its origin was from an enigmatic corner of my mind I was resisting venturing into. 'Taking oneself to the cliffs' made a whole lot more sense suddenly. The Amazon prepared her daughters and granddaughters for her absence. She volunteered to make that trek. In her heart, she called out to her Ancestors to prepare them to accompany her on that final journey. That all sounded like comfortable spiritual mumbo-jumbo, safely quoted by a rational man under duress. The abyssal rift in that psycho-babble, makeshift patch over my emotional pain was I felt Vranus and Ishara standing at my shoulders. Vranus because his seemingly endless quest was finally resolved and he and his descendants would at last be welcomed into the halls of their kin. With me, he had succeeded and brought his people home. There was still the matter of the rest; the three sons of Arinniti and the elder warrior. Holy Crap; they were still out there, waiting to be shown the path home. My 'Evenly Holier Crap' moment was feeling the weight of the eyes of Ishara upon me. Not Ishara, the matron goddess of this; my House, but that ancient Amazon who had surrendered her personal name to oblivion to give her followers a sense of unity. No female was solely 'her' daughter; all the women of the house were equal in birth and station. It was that Ishara who stood at my shoulder and, beyond some perverse desire to look behind me to see how sexy she was, I felt I had her; not approval; her mandate. We had to be held to our oaths and would die to a woman (and man) for them. We were to give the Host a second chance to make things right. There would be no retreat. It was not in the Amazon psyche to fight the relentless, remorseless and bloody battle; to risk everything on victory with no thought of failure. It was not something guys were accustomed to, but had been the doom of men down through the ages. Whether too romantic, too stubborn, or too bound to our brother's in arms, men had embraced hopeless causes before; mostly perishing without fanfare yet with the exceptional impossible victory to give us hope. From time immemorial, male kin of the flesh and spirit had piled their corpses one upon the other, refusing the verdict of combat for the sake of brotherhood and every imaginable ideal. It was hardly a trait worth sharing with the sisters. They would understand the pieces; not the result. My lack of political ability would not be disability. I simply had to learn to fight; a lot better than I did at that moment. The echoes of this message inside my head, the chilled air that filled my lungs and balance restored to my heart was bizarrely unfrightening. It would be an affirmation of the 'first directive' oaths all the houses had sworn. It wasn't my place to raise all the 'Runners', or even a single one. It was my duty to initiate the 'Worthy', no matter their number. My actions were mine. I would not shame the other houses. I would not consider their prestige at all. It was not my place in the same way it was not their place to tell me what I could and couldn't do. It was a divine 'Go get 'em' and it felt pretty, freaking awesome. "Cáel, are you okay?" Nicole asked in a worried tone. She squeezed my thigh. I looked down at my hands. I was okay. "Nicole, I have the blood of Ahhiyawa champions on my hands. I feel it's sticky, sickening ichor and smell the copper-laden, metallic odor," I smiled. "I think I'm going to be just fine." "Who?" Nicole was even more concerned. "Someone who screwed with me a long, long time ago. They are all dead, but don't worry about the bodies showing up to bother anyone," I grinned. All the full-blooded Amazons had been very still. The word 'Ahhiyawa' appeared to scare them even more than my haunting actions. To the Amazons, the Ahhiyawa were the Mycenaeans in the time of the Iliad. The problem seemed to be that I had never heard any member of the Host use that term and I was suddenly curious as to why. "You seemed to have went away for a few seconds," Nicole joked lightly. "You do appear better rested, which is good. What is on the agenda for today?" "Get my Father's body, prepare for his cremation, arrange for the last Roman Catholic Church we attended to send somebody to the service and prepare my parent's plot," I ran down. "I imagine the police and feds will want to contact me again," I piled it on. "I want to see my home if the forensic guys let me. What do you think will be aimed at me?" "We'll check up on any family attorney you may have had along with probating your father's Will, if he had one," Nicole assured me. "As for the authorities, let's see what kind of warrants they are asking for before we move beyond a 'denial' defense." "Denial, as in me claiming I didn't do anything because, ya know, I didn't do anything," I gave her a sleepy smile. "How about we eat first?" We ordered, drank our coffee, tea and juices while remaining largely non-communicative. It wasn't until the food began arriving did I realize I'd 'misplaced' Pamela once more. As I tore into a big slab of ham, I looked over my surroundings for the first time. I gave myself a mental pat on the back when I spotted Pamela then the 'big picture' kicked me in the nuts. Pamela was dressed as a server, coasting about the room, filling drinks, getting appetizer and performing the tedious little chores that waiters and waitresses had to pull off flawlessly. The other wait-staff noticed Pamela, but since she was making their jobs easier and not taking their gratuities, they ignored her. They probably thought she was some industry expert. The plates were being cleared away when Pamela returned, back in normal clothing. She dumped a pile of ID's on the table. Nicole picked them up. "Chicago PD; Organized Crime Taskforce," Nicole read off then glanced to Pamela. "ATF, Homeland Security, FBI, FBI, Chicago PD; Homicide, Federal Marshall and Federal Marshall." "What?" Pamela said between bites of her veggie omelet. "I took their identification, not their wallets. Do you want me to go back for those too; and their keys?" "No. We have risked Mr. Nyilas' freedom enough for one meal," Nicole shot back. She took Tiger Lily's empty plate, dumped the ID's on it then covered the pile with her handkerchief. "Hello," this officious young lady greeted us. I'd been distracted by Nicole's malfeasance so I missed the hotel's new Assistant Manager's approach. It was turning out to be a great morning for visitations from my past. This ghost was much younger than the last ones. Our eyes met. It was easy to see that I was the man in charge being the only man at the table. "Director Nyilas, I hope everything is going well for you and your staff this morning," she smiled. "I would also like to convey the Hotel Burnham's condolences at the passing of your father. I too was born and raised in Burnham." I already knew where she'd lived most of her life. Most critically, I very strongly recalled where she'd gone to school; all 12 grades plus K. "Cameron Sanders," I stood and extended my hand across the table. "You look familiar." Of course she looked familiar. Cameron had publically ground my soul into the grit that ants stepped upon. Her verbal rejection had been a pivotal moment in my life. After that day, I had taken responsibility for my life both anatomically and academically. Recall how I had said I was once a 'nobody'. Here was living proof. Cameron and I had gone to the same schools from Kindergarten through our senior years. We'd even shared classes and it wasn't like I could be confused with all the other 'Cáels' we'd gone to school with; because there weren't any. The same goes for 'Nyilas'. I'd been shifting the boner in my pants for three solid years because of Cameron. She had been hot in high school and she was even better looking now; Brooke hot. For a second, my confidence wavered. In that heartbeat, I realized she was just another woman and I was no longer that guy. "Where you an upperclassman at Thornton Fractional North High School?" she queried. "Hmm; do you recall Jenny Forrester?" I countered. Cameron knew her African-American rival, no doubt. The tweak in her smile said as much. "I'm going out on a limb; you look like a DePaul girl." Cameron's eyes twinkled. Her eyes flitted down to where her class ring normally held court. She had taken it off for work neutrality. "How did you guess?" Cameron tilted her hip suggestively. Sex. "So I'm right?" I reposed. I had 'guessed' right because Cameron crowed about her decision to go to DePaul over all her other offers. "I have some family business to take care of, Cameron," I nodded. "Can we catch up later today and figure out where we've intersected before this morning?" Translation: I'm going to screw you. Not 'I want to', but 'I will'. I could normally figure out a woman in an evening. I had a three year backlog of data on poor Cameron. My Pivotal Goddess was an 'upfront' girl. Her façade was bravado backed by the fear of not measuring up; not being good enough. My mistake in High School was approaching her, hat in hand. Cameron felt best when someone took the tough choices away from her. If she didn't lead, she couldn't fail by her way of thinking. Dad had stood by me that night when he came home from work. I was a broken wreck of a teenage boy. Dad hadn't told me to toughen up and he hadn't been sympathetic. All he wanted to know was what I was going to do about it. What was 'I' going to do, as if I could be the master of my own fate. That was my Dad. The next day I started working out, eating better and taking better care of myself. He was dead; still dead yet my feelings over that had evolved. He was with my ancestors now, waiting for me and my sons and daughters. Looking at it that way, he wasn't really gone at all. "I'll see what can be done," Cameron smiled. I was going to eat her up. "Oh yeah, this plate was mistakenly delivered to my table," I indicated Pamela's illegal haul. "Could you see that it gets where it needs to go after we are gone?" Cameron shot me a sultry smile without even giving her task a casual glance. A hideous tip (kudos to Odette) was added to our over-priced bill and the ladies and I retired to our rooms. It was routine heading to our room. Mona waved us to silence. Then the 'bug hunt' began. Like every Amazon persecution of opposing 'life forms', they didn't play fair. The Amazons had placed electronic surveillance in the room before they left so when unwelcomed guests showed up while we ate and Mona 'slept' we could watch where they placed their goodies in our rooms. This was not a matter of throwing a fit and tossing the electronic devices down the garbage disposal. Oh no, not in Amazon battle lore. They found out what frequency your device was broadcasting on and backtracked it. According to Tiger Lily you can use a source point and a handheld device to triangulate the receiver. Then the fun begins. First, keep the original signal going. Put a subroutine of; oh, all kinds of credit card fraud in this case with the video file then call the appropriate law enforcement agency to bust the place. The subroutine would have no point of origin, so the Amazons would be safe. The spying agency would have a headache on their hands. Credit card fraud would require them to confiscate all the equipment because the threat posed was real, even if the tip was now suspect. This was the Amazon equivalent of fixating the enemy at one point; surveillance; while making their real move on another; the funeral. The average Amazon funeral was a private affair. My Security Detail was modifying plans for an Amazon dignitary's attendance of another Society member's funerary rites. Halfway through the deception plan, Special Agents Brock and John showed up at our door. With two law firms (Pratt's and Nicole's) dancing on their foreheads, they were being polite today and inviting me down to be questioned. I asked for Detective Lisa and Investigator Horace to be there. One: I didn't dictate who investigated me. Two: they were under Internal Affairs review. I agreed with 'one'; I would say 'nothing' to any number of highly qualified law enforcement operatives. I might give answers to the two I had mentioned. 'Two' was none of my affair. They could hope for some answers when they chose the review would be over. I was more than happy spending a lifetime not talking to them. Legalize was tossed around to the point Nicole yawned, pointed out none of them were attorney's with the United States District Court of the Northern District of Illinois; damn, that's some letterhead, and they could make no deals, grant no immunities, on their own. There was no talking to be done except for the ass-reaming the Court of Appeals was going to give both the Federal attorney who applied for the surveillance warrant and the judge who signed it. Low and behold, phones began ringing. As a patrol unit was making a raid on a room three floors down, a series of shots rang out. A gun battle ensued between the three armed men in the room, the two patrolmen (women actually) and the entire misfortunate event was caught on NBC Channel Five news. Occasionally I forget I work for fundamentally viciously sick fucks. My 'team' had sent the cops and the news crew to the spot and even supplied the ignorant housekeeper with the room card-key for the cops to break in with; a hotel room is not a private dwelling. Cops break in, do their 'freeze, we are the police' thing, but before the three feds in the room could reply, 'their' computer audio equipment let off a sound of bullets firing and ricochets echoing across the room. Nature took its course after that. The feds drew and both sides began shooting. No one died, but one ATF guy was going off to surgery. They would have all earned Purple Hearts if they had been in the military and a commendation no matter what; had two law enforcement agencies not shot each other up. The chase was on for the news crew who was desperately trying to get their station to show the footage before the feds grabbed the memory cards. Despite having had no part in that fiasco, Nicole immediately clued in that the moment our two feds ran off to help their comrades it was our time to leave. Did we go to the vehicles we came in? No. That would have exhibited a lack of paranoia my guardians would have found appalling. Two new car waited a block away. Had I been better at this game, I would have noticed the lack of functioning traffic cameras around us. Instead, I went begging to the local diocese of the Catholic Church. I plead my case. Mom and Dad were devout, raised me to be a devout Catholic yet when my Mother died, my father had never gotten over the trauma and me, being a young man, hadn't explored my spirituality yet; but I promised I'd get right on it when I returned to New York. The priest who handled the end of life stuff for the Church was sympathetic. He gave me the name of a local priest near my home I could talk to on my return. He also told me that he'd received a moving letter from a nun in Uganda about a deeply spiritual moment she had shared with me years ago, so he was onboard with giving my Dad a Catholic send-off. I wasn't sure if that was a sign to never touch a wannabe Nun again, or a reminder that nun's gave incredibly positive feedback on their sexual misadventures. I went with the latter. A few more calls, the choosing of the proper crematorium and I was through with the first part of that ordeal. Next came the funeral notification and invites. The Union would send some of Dad's closest co-workers and several neighbors said they'd show up as well. Flowers, clothes, wake; well, it couldn't be in my family home. The forensic team was gone and it was free for me to wander through, but the bullet holes and blood might put a damper on the ambience. In the midst of my worries, I got a call. A polite man named Winchell Sokolowsky offered me the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion for my personal use. If there is any doubt, Chicago is Not the city of good Samaritans, the overly polite, or even the casually kind. Chicagoans pride themselves on being tough. We have plenty of good people who help out, volunteer and try to make life easier for their fellow man. That does not encompass giving a random stranger use of a multi-million dollar mansion. If I hadn't already been living in fantasy land, I'd have been busy figuring out which one of my few male friends was pulling this prank of on me, but no. "Can I inquire about the source of this largesse, Mr. Sokolowsky? Take in mind the incredible likelihood of a government agency most foul listening in," I cautioned him. "A family friend," he responded with an amused snort. Yeah, cause my Father's funeral was all chuckles for me. Since crab-women weren't likely to know owners of mansions, this had to be my aunts. Woot. "Thank you sir. My security people will be over to sweep the place before the city, state, or federal governments can crank out another search warrant. Thank you again." "That is not unexpected," Sokolowsky replied. "Until then." Rachel looked at me as if I'd done something absurd. She may have been right. "Did you just accept shelter from an individual we do not know; except that he is certainly part of the Protocols?" she stared at me. "Come on now," I chastised her. "It's for a funerary wake. I'm not taking three hundred of the lads out for a stroll, chasing savages up the Little Big Horn, or an Irishman deciding that Oliver Cromwell is a man of his word." I leaned in and winked to Rachel. "Besides Charlie; I got an angle." Pamela, who just happened to be walking by, gave me another high-five. Rachel was really learning to hate/dread those moments of synergy between Pamela and I. "I am not allowed to kill you and I am afraid I can't kill Pamela, but please don't think I don't want to do both," Rachel ratcheted up her displeasure. "Torn into itsy-bitsy pieces;” Pamela started. "And buried alive!" I finished. Another high-five. "You two are both insane," Rachel despaired. "That's the spirit," Pamela and my comeback to Rachel was in synch once again. To prove I wasn't heartless, I hugged Rachel. She froze, arms at her side, caught between warring impulses. I maneuvered her arms around until her hands rested on the back of my hips then rested mine on the small of her back. "Rachel, I cannot go back to a safe, faceless existence," I whispered as I planted tender kisses on her forehead. "To do so would be a betrayal of; me; Ishara." Rachel let go of her emotions and rested her head against my shoulder. "Why couldn't I be tasked to do something sane; like fight drug cartels, Maoist insurgence, or corporate hit squads in the Amazon?" she sighed. I moved my hands to her ass and gave them a nice fondle making sure to slowly grind her waist against my hips. Humping her would have been a mistake. That was sexual. I was giving her a bit of physical appreciation and nothing more. Rachel tilted her head up, I brought mine down until we were nose to nose. "Promise me you will try to stay alive, Cáel," she sounded almost mournful. "I will make a deal with you," I stated. "If I make it back to New York alive, you will consent to have sex with me." Rachel was confused, suspicious yet aroused. "None of this 'one hour' in some dormitory, or nunnery cell. I want everything; a light meal, some quality touching time and a minimum of two rounds of orgasmic sex." "Ah; not a scratch," Rachel counter-offered. I nodded, kissed her nose and she felt as if she'd won something. Rachel got ready to take us to our next stop. Pamela slipped past me. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," she whispered. I had never used that term out loud before. "That's what I would say," she clarified. She was my evil psychic twin grandmother. It was through a tireless group effort that I made it back to the Hotel Burnham at 4 p.m. Cameron made a show of being busy when I first came back. I was willing to be patient. While she puttered around, I flirted with the desk clerk and one of the baggage attendants; pale skin, blonde hair with freckles and light brown skin, black hair in a Nubian weave. This was the 'professional' lure. By presenting myself as a 'Man's Man' and garnering female adoration, I was clearly not (yet) that into her. The pressure was on her and Cameron didn't like pressure because pressure equated to the possibility of failure. Her advantages which were obvious to every other observer were not certainties to her. Contest time. "Director Cáel Nyilas," Cameron interrupted my joke to the two ladies, "I'm finished up for the day." I gave a quick smile to the women I was about to leave then turned on my personal demon. "Should I wait in the lounge until you change?" "No," I waved off her objections. "You can come up to my suite and then we can go to your domicile for you to change for a night out." Quick visual clue update: she lived at home with her parents yet dated enough that it wouldn't be awkward. It also showed me that she was uncomfortable about going to my room. She wasn't so enchanted she would do something stupid. I had the answer to that. I had made it a public declaration. Not only did my hovering troop had the news, so did her front desk. Nothing bad could happen to her if everyone knew where she was; right? On the elevator ride up it was just me, Cameron, Pamela and Esmeralda. The rest travelled on ahead. She took one rear corner so I took the other. I then let my leather-soled shoes slide down the carpet, lowering my overall height compared to Cameron. At some point, I began back-spinning my feet, pretending to be on the edge of falling on my ass. I smiled at Cameron and her eyes sparkled at the vaudevillian gesture. Know your prey and I knew way more about Cameron than was healthy for any girl. For instance, she loved Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton; more of a Keaton girl. She giggled then came to my rescue. She was wrapping me up in her arms while mine stayed safely away. "You are a bit of a joker," she teased me. "Your beautiful smile makes all that effort worthwhile," I truthfully pledged to Cameron. She sighed so contentedly. Behind her back, Pamela was loading a two-barreled hunting device, aiming at some surface-based, above ground structure with an open top and gave it both barrels while avoiding the imaginary back-splash. 'Looks like herring for dinner,' she mouthed with a wicked grin. Esmeralda was soaking it in. Hadn't I pounced on Rachel a few hours earlier? I was definitely hooking Cameron and reeling her in for some sexual deviant purpose; and Pamela was mocking the whole situation. E turned and faced the doors. "You seem like a really nice guy," Cameron murmured. "I mean that in a good way." "I can't see you as any way, but truthful and kind," I met her cherished countenance. "I imagine even harsh lessons are difficult for you to deliver." There; she had one last chance to figure out the poor schlub she'd crushed at the start of our senior year was me. "Being a leader can be very tough," she moped as she pressed into me. My mumbled offerings of affection and her savage reprisal had never registered with her. I was going to eat her alive. "How about I take care of you tonight?" I requested. She hesitated, not out of fear, but confusion. "Completely relax and I'll make the decisions for this one night. Your mind will be free to enjoy and discard at your pleasure." On most levels, Cameron was seeing this as a date. She was a 'dating' girl. She didn't give up the goodies until date three, if I was exceptionally good; date four, or five otherwise. I was about to dispose of that with a clever case of role reversal. My two staffers vanished as I entered my lakeside executive suite. A splendid view I thought I'd never be able to afford the last day; The 28th of December. I had enough money for a flight and a date picking me up at the airport. Bolingbrook had an inordinate amount of students stay the holidays and, by tradition, the graduating class hosted a New Year's Eve party for those students and the staff. I had told Dad about Havenstone and my infinitesimal chances of that kind of job. That was it. He patted me on the shoulder. There was no pressure to come back to Burnham after graduation if I didn't have a job lined up. It was my home if I needed it. So much was unspoken between us. I could tell he was proud; college; good grades; popular; happy. I shouldn't have taken for granted we'd get a chance to talk later. Back to the joy at hand. "So, what's it like working with your Dad?" I dropped into our causal conversation. I was in the bedroom, door open; really? Why do they put doors on those things? The 'Daddy' question could be taken two ways and I trusted Cameron to take it the worse way; and to be pissed. "My Father didn't get me the job here!" Cameron stormed in and insisted with a nice spirited mare stomp of the foot as emphasis. I 'just happened' to be naked, half turned away and a nice, highly suggestive pair of men's underwear in my hands. "What do you mean?" I was clearly confused. I turned a bit more toward her. Now she could almost see everything. "You; you have scars all over your body," she moaned. "I am a warrior, Cameron. This is the kind of man I am," I gave her a fierce, dominating gaze. "I fight for what I want and I brutally defend that which is mine. Who did you think I was?" Had Cameron been a fighter, that would have been the point she left the room. She was all up-front, bravado and a superior façade over an insecure, parentally driven trophy for their mantel place. My anger faded. It wasn't her fault I couldn't read her signs four years ago. I was still going to fuck her to the afterlife and back, but this time I'd be doing it as an informative journey. "I don't know anymore," Cameron tried to rally some sort of coherent rampart. "Come here," I beckoned her with one hand (the one without the underwear). Cameron shook her head. "Cameron, please believe me, there are things my staff would let me get away with; rape is not one of them. I won't touch you anywhere unless you give me permission." If you are a girl in the room at this point, you are toast. I just made it safe to touch my naked body. Sure, you have clothes on; for now, but not for long. Why? Women desire sex about as much as men do. Unless you are a vapid fashion model with substance abuse issues, men with non-disfiguring scars are an aphrodisiac. Add to that a hard-forged physique and men, sex is there for the taking. "I; uh;” she kept taking baby-steps forward. "I; Pam; Pamela is it?" "Yo," Pamela answered in a bored manner, knife in hand, then, "Whoa now!" she pointed her knife at my equipment. "Sheath that, young man. Put it under wraps right now." "I'm grown man, Pamela," I griped. I also put on my underwear. "Pluck the freaking pebble out of my hand, bitch, and then I'll call you an adult," Pamela sneered. Looking to Cameron, "Anything else Miss?" "No, thank you; no, wait. What do you do for Mr. Nyilas?" Cameron asked. "I'm his psychic medium," was Pamela's sage reply. That supernatural bogusness made Cameron happy. It shouldn't have. "Yeah, I kill his enemies then interrogate their souls," Pamela added with a nod. "It is highly rewarding work." Cameron's mouth gaped. "How about I shut the door and give you two kids some privacy." "What does she really do?" Cameron whispered to me. Part of me wanted to say 'she told you'. "She's my masseuse," I lied. I started putting my pants on (forgetting my socks) then fell/sat on the bed. Cameron came to my bedside. I rolled on my back and highly exaggerated the effort it took to pull them up. Cameron began giggling. "Hey, these are my 'skinny' slacks. I wouldn't laugh at you if our positions were switched." "Really?" she teased me. I laughed and she laughed along. "Cameron, think about it. I'm shirtless and definitely bra-less. I'm pretty sure I'd be too distracted by a multitude of your other assets to snicker," I countered. Cameron blushed and smiled. Ah, the visual image in Cameron's head was her, with jeans, racy panties and nothing else on while I hovered over her, relishing her attempts to conceal her charms. I shuffled back on the bed and resumed pulling my slacks up. Cameron followed, right into the danger zone. "Wait;” she put a hand on my abdomen. "What caused that scar?" So I told her. Okay, I gave her an abridged version of the truth. Fine, I lied like a big dog. I had the amazing habit of stumbling across women in need of saving. I bled for their virtue and honor, racked with intense pain before a violent victory was seized by my masculine hands. I was sure that Pamela and Rachel were hiding just outside the door, retching into waste baskets over the layers upon layers of my tripe. Around wound twelve, I was sure if I had asked Cameron to wear little lamb ears and a bell around her neck, she would have; had one been handy. To be fair, I wasn't fighting off legions of Green Beret. I was doing one better. I was using thinly-veiled caricatures of her High School enemies and nemeses. I was revealing their wickedness and pummeling them for their evil ways. There is a precious look a woman has when she miraculously discovers she is going to have the intercourse she's wanted yet somehow not recognized that need for until that moment. Cameron had that look, straddling me, skirt hiked up to her waist and vulva riding my cock (two layers intervening). We were out of wounds. "The rest are covered up," I explained in a predatory voice. Yes, Cameron was going to have sex and she had no control of events whatsoever and I hadn't even laid a hand on her yet. "Where?" she was suddenly baffled. "Pants," I kept it short and to the point. Cameron looked over her shoulder She reluctantly started to dismount so she could get to them so I made my move. I grabbed her hips in mid-dismount and rotated her around to reverse-cowgirl. Cameron began tugging off my pants with my legs raised high. My stomach crunches kicked in and I leveraged my torso up as well. I deftly moved her skirt up and went straight to the ass massage. Cameron's head shot around, eyes fearful. I had broken my word to not touch her without permission. Yes, I had lied to a girl; Now, I kissed her right on the lips, expertly delivered a delving French kiss and moved one hand to her right breast for an aggressive fondle. Cameron was really getting into it. Her nipples were highly sensitive. Her ass was humping like an over-eager sorority girl pole-dancing on Amateur Night. On cue, Cameron broke free and flew off the bed. "What; you; I thought we were going out?" she whined. She was horny as hell and didn't want to be held accountable at it. "Why are you running away?" I reclined back, solely in my underwear now. I was using my 'I'm disappointed in you' voice. Yes, I was 'guilting' a girl into having sex. Duh. I would never coerce a woman, or take one not in her right mind; that's using forces beyond her control. Guilt? Guilt has a foundation squarely in a woman's mind, just like humor, romance, common interests (feigned or not) and horniness. Girls can control guilt just like any other psychological trigger. It is called being shameless and I ought to know. Remember guys, it cuts both ways. Don't think so? You've had a girlfriend three whole months to the point she's staying over a night or two a week. One night, after your (hopefully) second round, you both discover it is that time of the month. 'Babe (or whatever pet name she has saddled you with), can you run to the store and get me some tampons and pads?' That, by the way, was not a question. She, for hygiene reasons, can't put her clothes on and go out herself. So, you go out to the Quick-Mart at 2 a.m. praying to God that none of your buddies are on a late night beer run and see you with your; stuff. You are not doing this for sex. She's not feeling 100% at the moment. Why are you? Guilt. She was at your place, making your Baloney Pony happy and this happened. You could send her out to the store. Not only is she not the only woman out there, many women understand guys getting freaked out about menstrual products. No, you feel guilty and risk the ridicule of your peers because it is your fault and you are not a dick-wad. And why did she ask you to do something that has nothing to do with you? Women are equally aware that guilt works, Baby. Back to our tale; "I'm not running away," sounded empty coming out of her mouth. "You said; touching." "I think you gave that option up when you crawled on top of me," I leered. "I clearly want to be with you, Cameron. You have given every indication you want to be with me, so I ask you again, why are you suddenly running away?" I kept after her. "I don't want to have sex; right now," again, she sounded weak. "Whatever happens, I go back to New York in two days," I met her shaky gaze. "You can set a time table if you like. The actuality of my life is relentless. I have things to get back to. If you are going to go, then go. I'll head out alone tonight, get a few drinks, come back early and grab some shut-eye," I shrugged. I went searching for my pants. See, she wasn't some random fuck. I wasn't leaving to replace her; making her a failure. I was hemming her in. I had the timeline. I had made my desires clear. There was no negotiation so while she appeared to have choices, she didn't and she knew it. For a girl who had spent so much effort working hard to not disappoint the main masculine figure in her life there was only one thing to do. "I don't want you to think I ever do anything like this," she propped up her morals while stutter-stepping back to the bed. "I feel I have a connection with you." Ah; the 'I have a connection with you' excuse. It would have been so appropriate if she actually remembered me. I pulled her onto the bed, went through the obligatory trying to push me off then we were back to the kissing and humping. Cameron turned out to be a 'use me' girl. That does Not mean abuse, it means she gets off being a responder to her partner's sexual directions. Caress her cheek, jaw and throat and she'd cup my chin, or massage my chest. Cameron was smart and a quick-learner. Her problem was a lack of a sense of adventure and an aversion to taking the lead. With the phantom applause of a hundred other male 'losers' who went to Fractional North High School, I ‘did' the queen who had been beyond us all only four years ago. The erotic twist to all that was with every sense of triumph and pleasure, Cameron mimicked me. Certainly we were both having a memorable time. I had to touch, lick, knead, and fondle every inch of Cameron's body. We both explored our nipple fetish, sixty-nined and engaged in some anal play; no penetration. I completed my first sojourn with the removal of the condom and the blowjob that had been the fantasy of countless hours in my home's upstairs bathroom. Cameron didn't just swallow; she savored and looked like she wanted more. Normally I cuddle beside my partner post-coitus. With Cameron, I lay on top of her at eye level. I put enough weight on her to let her feel pinned without real discomfort. "I have a confession," I gave her a sweaty-faced grin. "What?" she asked then gave me a peck on the lips. "We went to school together; same grade and everything," I enlightened her. "We even talked once." Cameron didn't know what to make of that. "I'll put that in perspective though. Do you believe that if you do something you do your best? Do you believe in craftsmanship?" "Cáel, you are scaring me," Cameron frowned. "Fifteen seconds and you can go," I conveyed with as much calm as I could. "Answer my question." "Okay; yes, I believe in doing your best. I believe in craftsmanship," Cameron played along. "Your words; 'never in a million years'." I related and waited. First there was the uncertainty and fear of the odd course our relationship had taken. It took a few seconds because so few pieces of the puzzle fit. "Cáel Nyilas; it was you; start of senior year; I had been," she muttered. Then came the real fear. "You must hate me." "I thought about it," I said, "but that isn't really me. See, you helped create me. Truth be told, you were only the catalyst. I did all the work." "A great many women helped. They were never a replacement for you. I was taught better than that by my first lover," I continued. "Still, I would be totally different if you hadn't casually annihilated my self-worth that September day." Pause. "Do you like the results?" "You really don't hate me;” Cameron was coming around. "It was high school. We all screw up in high school. According to a few studies, if you don't make a mess of high school, you are destined for failure," I related some real information. "You are getting hard again," Cameron gasped back to being okay with things between us. "Perhaps I should have warned you," I grinned wickedly. "I'm a sex addict." "Hey, Sex Addict!" Pamela shouted into the room. "There are some people out here to see you." "Good people, or bad people?" I shouted back. "Worse," Pamela replied. "The kind of people that want something from you." That was vaguely unpromising. "Cameron, take a shower and we'll talk about dinner when you get out. I think I need to take care of this," I sighed. Off went Cameron to the shower and on went my robe. In the main room, with a variety of levels of sexual tension, were sixteen women I didn't know. The Hotel Burnham has very nice suites, but they are not ballrooms. The room was pretty crowded, with not enough chairs and wall space getting sparse. They were all Havenstone women and I was willing to bet the average age was thirty-five; not my normal crowd. At least I knew why they were all there. Pamela suspected. Rachel and her team were clueless. "Hi, I am known as Cáel Nyilas," I greeted them. "A short history lesson and things will make a great deal more sense, so please be patient." The crowd was not pleased. I was a male and to a woman, the ladies had repudiated the world of men. They were all 'Runners'. It was the presence of Rachel's group that was keeping them civil at this point. "Twenty-five hundred years ago, as the Second Betrayal was ending, there was a small group of males who had proven themselves to the Amazon Host, taken into houses and their names were written on the Amazon Rolls," I started off. "Two of those males and three male children of one of the houses survived the massacre the female Amazons inflicted on their kin." That bought me a moment. Slaughtering your own babies, even male babies, wasn't something they would shrug off. "Well, if you know your Amazon politics, you know that the children of an Amazon who dies while in service of the Host becomes a member of the Host; so on and so on." The implications were sinking in as was the nervousness. "One of those men was a young warrior named Vranus of House Ishara. I am the sole surviving heir of Vranus. We are also here for the burial of my Father, who was murdered Sunday night. The next bit of Amazon politics. House Ishara was an extinct First House," I continued. "Oh shit," was uttered from half-dozen lips as they moved to the next, obvious step. "The succession to the Head of House for any House is elevation by your peers, accepted ritual combat and; the oldest surviving member of the House," I added. "By the Seven Martial Goddess; don't you have to be female? I mean; We are Amazons!" one of the 'Runners' yelled in disbelief. "Do you plan to add more males to your House?" one of the senior members growled. "Two things; it should not bother you one way, or another, and it is not MY House. It is the House of my Ancestor, Ishara. If this is going to be a problem, you are in the wrong room," I met her hostile glare ember for ember. That one headed for the door. "Wait," a fellow 'Runner' grabbed her arm. "You can't be going along with this Marsha?" the departing Amazon snapped. "I don't know this one, but I trust Buffy," Marsha countered. "Ok ladies, so that we are clear," Pamela sighed. "The next one of you to insult the Head of House Ishara, I am going to drag into the other room, kill you and cut you up into giblets for room service to take away," Pamela sounded positively disinterested. "I am not afraid of you," the departing one glared. "That would be a serious mistake," Rachel interjected quietly. Deep breath from me. "Listen, this is a highly improbable incident. I am not asking anyone to embrace the society you have rejected. In fact, I admire you for the strength it took to transition. I also ask you to accept the fact that I DO NOT want to be here, doing this, with any of you," I made one last effort. "Quite frankly, you man-haters scare me; being a man and all. You seem to think I have a choice in any of this. I don't. I am the heir of Vranus. I am the last known living descendant of the Amazon who chose the name Ishara for the sake of her house's unity," I stated. "I don't want to do this, but I'm not the kind of human being who runs away from my responsibilities." "Okay; Cáel of Ishara, why are we here?" Marsha said as she kept the other one from leaving. "Sixty years ago, the Amazon Houses swore an oath to the women who joined their cause. They lied to you. They have not kept up their side of the bargain. They have refused virtually all of you entry into the status as true, full-blooded Amazons," I explained. "And now you are going to rectify that; injustice?" the senior one kept mocking me. "Fine; you and me; one last chance," I sighed. "Look around you. Who do you see? The prettiest, the most pliable, the most power-hungry? If you can point out one woman in this room that doesn't deserve to be a Full-Blooded Amazon, leave now." "You didn't choose any of us," she responded. "Exactly!" I shouted. "I didn't choose any of you to be in House Ishara. Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara did. Why? Because I don't know any of you, or your sacrifices and worth to Havenstone. I gave that duty to the two; and only two; member of House Ishara who would know who was the most worthy to be in a First House." "We are here to be inducted," one of the silent Amazons voiced with a dream-like quality. "Yes. Barring being rejected by Ishara, you will be inducted at my Father's graveside tomorrow morning," I stated clearly. "How many?" Senior questioned. "This time; twenty," I answered. "I have no agenda and no set number of 'Runners' to be inducted into House Ishara. It doesn't work

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

You're running down a corridor with three doors looming ahead of you. You hear the blood-chilling sounds of a vampire, mad scientist, and mutant animals all chasing after you. You have to choose one of the doors right away. The sounds are getting closer…and closer…and – boo! Gotchya! But don' be scared, it was just a riddle. Yup, It's been a while since we've posted puzzles here! Do you have the quick problem-solving skills to survive any dire situation? Take this test to find out! And keep track of how many you get right – your results will be at the end! TIMESTAMPS: A Vampire Attack 0:39 A Virus 1:47 Which Lever? 2:50 A Persistent Pursuer 3:51 The Dive of Your Life 4:57 An Escape Plan 5:55 An Ice Castle 6:53 The Mad Scientist's Magic Lotion 7:44 Locked in a Room 8:44 A Mutant Beast 9:38 An Angry Rhino 10:32 A Room Without Windows 11:38 Your results 12:19 #riddles #puzzles #brightside SUMMARY: If you've cracked 1 to 4 riddles, you should probably avoid vampires, mad scientists, and any door you see. I'm kidding! But you could use some more practice in solving survival riddles! There are plenty of those here on the Bright Side! If your result is 5 to 8 solved puzzles, then you have good chances to pull through the most unexpected difficulties and dangers life sometimes has in store. Practice more, and "most” difficulties will turn into "all"! But if your score is 9 to 12, congratulations! A person like you can wriggle out of any difficulty, be it getting lost in the jungle, fighting your way out of a stuck elevator, or forgetting to buy milk for breakfast! Hey, Keep perfecting your skills! Music by Epidemic Sound https://www.epidemicsound.com/ Subscribe to Bright Side : https://goo.gl/rQTJZz ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Our Social Media: Facebook:   / brightside   Instagram:   / brightgram   5-Minute Crafts Youtube: https://www.goo.gl/8JVmuC Stock materials (photos, footages and other): https://www.depositphotos.com https://www.shutterstock.com https://www.eastnews.ru ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For more videos and articles visit: http://www.brightside.me/ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost Bible Readings Isaiah 55:1-5, Matthew 14:13-21, Romans 8:35-39 Worship Folder Pastor Paul A. Tullberg Sermon text: Romans 8:35-39 35 What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will trouble or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? 36 Just as it is written: For your sake we are being put to death all day long. We are considered as sheep to be slaughtered. 37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor rulers, neither things present nor things to come, nor powerful forces, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. The Holy Bible, Evangelical Heritage Version®, EHV®, © 2019 Wartburg Project, Inc. All rights reserved. Take a Moment to recall something from today's message. Ask Jesus to create for you opportunities to use your words, activities and thoughts to glorify Him this week. We value your friendship and the opportunity to share the love of Jesus together with you!

You're running down a corridor with three doors looming ahead of you. You hear the blood-chilling sounds of a vampire, mad scientist, and mutant animals all chasing after you. You have to choose one of the doors right away. The sounds are getting closer…and closer…and – boo! Gotchya! But don' be scared, it was just a riddle. Yup, It's been a while since we've posted puzzles here! Do you have the quick problem-solving skills to survive any dire situation? Take this test to find out! And keep track of how many you get right – your results will be at the end! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're running down a corridor with three doors looming ahead of you. You hear the blood-chilling sounds of a vampire, mad scientist, and mutant animals all chasing after you. You have to choose one of the doors right away. The sounds are getting closer…and closer…and – boo! Gotchya! But don' be scared, it was just a riddle. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

WE ARE BACK TOGETHER!!! GOTCHYA haha On this weeks episode we discuss whose getting the next tattoo and piercings!! Can you guess where?!?! Apologies again the rain came in and RUDLEY interrupted us.We give tips on how to meet friends outside of work and school and is the bush coming back?Subscribe for weekly episodes and chit chat.//WHERE TO FIND US//Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/1guocLw...Apple Podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast...Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/backyardbantaTikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@backyardbanta//THE GIRLS//https://www.instagram.com/caseybyfield/https://www.instagram.com/emmapasini/https://www.instagram.com/moniqueatkins_/ See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

“Boy, I’m glad it’s over. I’m glad we don’t have practice this week or next week.” I’ve never seen a coach so openly defeated after a loss. There’s no stoicism here, no talk about being proud of his players, no looking forward to next year. There’s no energy left for that. Here is the great Jerry Tarkanian, a coach I’m used to seeing emanate such intensity that he has to bite on a towel during games, and boy, he’s just glad it’s over.It’s one of the final scenes from Between The Madness, the 1998 documentary following the Fresno State men’s basketball team over the entirety of their disastrous season that year. A baby faced Andy Katz is standing with Tarkanian, looking in this moment more like a friend lending an ear than a sports reporter for the Fresno Bee. The two are in the bowels of Madison Square Garden after Tarkanian’s team lost a heartbreaker in the NIT. It feels like a private moment between the two, but there’s an unseen third party holding the camera, peering at Tark’s exhausted looking face from around Katz’s shoulder. Whoever holds that camera spent the better part of their year watching from close distance as the team broke apart in headline grabbing fashion. As I watch this scene I wonder if that person is glad it’s over, too.Fresno State entered that season with a loaded roster predicted to make the Elite 8 by Sports Illustrated. Tarkanian assembled an unprecedented amount of talent for a Western Athletic Conference team with four players that would go on to play in the NBA, and more that had the potential to. Despite their talent the team never found consistency due to player suspensions for violations as trivial as smoking weed, as serious as domestic assault, and as unbelievable as threatening with a samurai sword. So much s**t hit the fan in Fresno that Mike Wallace brought his 60 Minutes crew to campus to file an expose on the program. I have to link to Wallace’s GOTCHYA segment on the program here, not because it’s good, but because it’s a chance to hear Mike Wallace muster up all his 60 Minutes gravitas to say the phrase “White (blanking) honkey b***h.”Between The Madness first aired on Fox Sports One on Thanksgiving, 1998. The film’s producers agreed not to show NCAA violations (Fresno State would later vacate wins for the following season and the two after that), but otherwise had creative control and unprecedented access to the team for the duration of their season. The resulting raw behind the scenes feel was jarring to me as a modern viewer accustomed to careful brand curation that has a firm grasp on modern sports media. Before watching this film I didn’t realize how thoroughly conditioned my expectations have become by our era of Players’ Tribune, sportswriters guaranteeing brand-friendly coverage in exchange for access, broadcasters employed by the team, and player produced documentaries.There are some similarities to The Last Dance, the docuseries that drew millions of viewers when it aired on ESPN earlier this year and now lives as a binge friendly hit on Netflix. Both make use of beyond the norm access to tell the inside story of a season, and incidentally both had cameras rolling in the same time of the same year. The differences are more interesting. While Dance uses interviews taking place in our time to look back, in Madness the viewer is trapped in the moment with no faces from the future guaranteeing a happy ending. Dance, being a product of our time, also required sign-off from it’s billionaire star subject so predictably avoids venturing far from corporate interests. Dance may make you feel like you’re finally getting the real story, but ultimately it’s the same story you’ve gotten all along, the tried and true one that has been told in two minute commercials for decades. The crew behind Madness had license to tell whatever story they felt was most worth telling, and the result feels a lot more human and interesting. While Jordan and Phil were masterminding their final triumphant season in Chicago, in Fresno there was a group of young players caught in bad situations made worse by draconian NCAA policy, while the national media shook their collective finger at them for having it too good for too long. If The Last Dance shows us the system working perfectly to reward talent and effort, Between The Madness suggests that’s more an exception than rule.I’m hyping this film up knowing you can’t watch for yourself and disagree, because some years ago Between The Madness disappeared. Internet searches bring back only a few clips and some old message board posts written by fans trying to track down a copy for themselves. It can’t be found in any great online warehouses or auctions or pirate sites. The film is unavailable, but just because something is unavailable doesn’t mean that it’s entirely gone. I first heard of Between The Madness in a bar in Austin, Texas in 2016. I was there performing in my first ever comedy festival, which was being held during South by Southwest but was not an official part of that indie rock fest turned thinkfluencer/tech/media/music/whatever/free stuff bonanza that is modern South By. The fest I flew in for was an independent venture put on by the local alt-comedy club opportunistically timed to siphon off some SXSW asses for their seats and attract sponsor dollars from players too small to buy-in to the main event. Getting suckered into paying your own way to a bad festival is a stock comedian story, and this one turned out to be mine. The day of the festival I learned my involvement consisted of one ten minute set, to be performed in the lobby of the club, in the early afternoon, standing alongside sponsor booths as they handed out free samples. I’d had rough sets before but this was the first time I’d been upstaged by organic soybean chips.The chips were not good but they were my compensation, so I finished my set and stuffed my bag full of them before heading back out into broad daylight to find a drink. Walking through the towering corporate absurdity of SXSW was a welcome distraction. I remember AMC promoting a new show about a Preacher teaming up with a vampire by constructing a massive upside down church. USA Network set up an entire carnival to promote Mr. Robot in all it’s corporate approved anti-corporate splendor. I saw handsome Canadian basketball legend Rick Fox for the second time in my life. My bleak festival debut was forced into the backseat.I was staying on the couch of my friend, the hoops writer Ananth Pandian, and I met up with Ananth and his friend Luke Bonner at a bar. Luke starting talking about Between The Madness. I had never heard of it. He told us he saw the film only once in his life, when he was heading into his freshman season at West Virginia, and called it one of the biggest learning experiences of his time in college. Sitting there in summer class, before his freshman season had even started, Madness gave Luke what he felt  was his first real look at the world he was entering as a college basketball player. Line cast and hook set, he reeled me in: He’d never been able to find the film again. He’d been trying for years, he said, and it didn’t seem to exist anymore.Learning that an obscure and noteworthy documentary existed, and that was difficult (impossible?) to find was like a designer drug created specifically for the part of me I’ll describe as Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons but for basketball. I had to find it. I would find it. Then I would judge it. When I got back to Portland I started searching online and two things kept happening: I would not find the film, and I would learn a more about that team’s notoriety that made me want the film even more.As my obsession grew and online searches failed I decided to start reaching out to anyone I could who was associated with the film over social media. I told them I was creating a podcast about my search for the film and that I’d like to talk and, oh yeah, do you happen to have a copy? That podcast never got off the ground as I imagined it but now, three years later and thanks to a pandemic putting stand-up in a choke hold, I had time to go back and re-listen to the interviews from 2017 and share them, finally.I eventually watched the film courtesy of Paul Doyle, the Director, who I tracked down using LinkedIn. By that time Paul was living a different professional life running a business that helped seniors find various services. Along the way I also talked with Terrance Roberson, a star on the team and one of the main subjects of the documentary. Terrance is the first player interviewed in the film, as a sophomore sitting alone in the locker room he tells the story of his mother dying in front of him after suffering a heart attack in church, and the tone is set. Terrance was the only member of that team to play four seasons at Fresno State and talked about his standout career there,  regrets, and current life as a mentor to basketball talent and a mental health technician in his hometown of Saginaw, Michigan.My first break, though, was talking with a member of the film’s crew named Stephen Mintz. I came across Stephen’s name on an old Fresno State message board where someone mentioned he made the film and had since become a stand-up comedian in Fresno. I found his comedian page on facebook and soon we were talking via Skype about his experience chasing around the team with a camera on his shoulder for six months. Mintz developed an attachment with the team that would strain after filming. After the season, still wanting to be close to the team, Mintz took a job as statistician and academic advisor. In the latter role he gained notoriety when he told a newspaper that he wrote papers for players in exchange for money, part of a scandal that got his name everywhere from the Fresno Bee to the New York Times and made him persona non grata to the program. He talked about all of it. Later I’d meet Mintz in person when he got me up on a stand-up show in Fresno and get to talk comedy-shop, basketball, and about his gig at the local Haunted House.Paul, Terrance, and Stephen all spoke with reverence about Tark and shared stories of their time with him. They talked about the emotional toll of that season, the mixed feelings they have, and the impact the film had on their lives nearly twenty years later. And, of course, I got their inside perspectives on the samurai sword incident for the record. I forwarded the film to Luke Bonner, now retired from basketball, who finally got to see the film that hit him so hard as a teenager. Luke thinks the film is still great, and I agree. Since there are no plans to re-release the film these interviews are as close as anyone can get to the experience. I like to imagine another basketball obsessive will come across them while conducting their own search for the film.Now with time to reflect I’ve been able to feel gratitude for how much better it was that I couldn’t simply order Between The Madness from Amazon. It’s unavailability gave me a quest and conversations with people I’ll never forget. Despite how bad that comedy festival was I’m glad I decided to use my “emergencies only” credit card to pay my own way. F**k all soybean chips forever, though. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sethallen.substack.com

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!TIME TO FACE THE STRANGEIs it stuck in your head yet? Gotchya!Change. A 6 letter word that can start a revolution.Change. The nemesis of the phrase “we’ve always done it like that”.Change. One of the hardest things about being a full-time camp professional.Change. Absolutely necessary.The moment we stop changing as an industry, organization, or camp, is the moment we die. We, as an industry have such a great opportunity to learn, grow and evolve to better serve our campers. Just look at the Summer Camp Professionals group on Facebook, where daily, over 16,000 camp pros are able to ask, answer and interact to help their organizations improve.Now that we’ve convinced you to change…how do you do it? What if it doesn’t work? What happens if it upsets an alumni or donor? What happens if the staff don’t buy-in, or worse, protests!?These are all things that we should be on the lookout for when instituting major changes at camp. To help you be the change-maker that you were meant to be, we’ve got the whole CampHacker team on board for this episode.Join Gab, Dan, Joe and Travis to hear more about:How to deicide when something needs to changeWhat are the stakes of not changing?How to communicate that change to your on- and off-site camp communitySome stories about Joe, Gab and Dan’s biggest lessons learned when it comes to changeMuch, much more!Tool of the Week – Make Yourself a Better Camp DirectorTravis: DataStory - by Nancy DuarteGabz: Hybride Face WatchJoe: Adios Email - Imagine, what would happen if you only checked email three times a day?Dan: DailyCost appYour Hosts:Travis Allison, Summer Camp Consultant - CampHacker.TV, Founder at Go Camp ProGabrielle Raill, Camp Director - Camp OuareauJoe Richards, Executive Director - Pearce Williams Summer Camp & Retreat FacilityDan Weir, Sr Director - Youth Development, Summer Camp, & Strategic Initiatives - YMCA of Long IslandRate and Review the CampHacker Show in iTunes(Thank you!)

Have rental properties and want to set up a company and an associated self-directed 401(k)? Good idea… but the IRS might stand in your way. I’m Bryan Ellis. I’ll tell you all about it RIGHT NOW in Episode #315 of Self-Directed Investor Talk---Hello, Self-Directed Investors, all across the fruited plane. Welcome to another action-packed, edge-of-your-seat thrill ride into the fantastic world of tax-free alternative asset investing. This is Self-Directed Investor Talk, the SHOW OF RECORD for savvy self-directed investors like you, and today we have an excellent show for youThis is Episode #315, so to get the transcript and other resources for today’s show, visit SDITalk.com/315, that’s SDITalk.com/315 for all of those resources, provided to you with our compliments.So…I regularly hear from rental property investors who want to use a self-directed 401(k). The idea is that they want to form a company connected to their rental properties since one must have a business in order to establish a self-directed 401(k). On the face of it, this isn’t a bad idea.My regular listeners will, of course, know that I am a huge proponent of self-directed 401(k)’s as being the absolute crème-de-la-crème of self-directed retirement accounts versus any type of IRA in Every Single Way……Except one.“Well Bryan, what is that one exception?” I can practically hear you asking right now? It is this:Far fewer people actually QUALIFY to set up a self-directed 401(k) in the first place. The qualifications aren’t complicated – really, all you have to have is a business that you own which has no full time employees other than you and maybe also your spouse, and your business has to have earned income. That’s really about the size of it.But therein, there’s a pretty big GOTCHYA for rental property owners who want a self-directed 401(k). What is it? Well, it’s that caveat of having EARNED INCOME.Earned income, as you may know, is the type of income that results whenever an employer gives you a paycheck or, if we’re talking about a business rather than a person, it’s the type of income that results whenever a business is paid for the purchase of a product or a service. It’s income that’s earned on the basis of active effort.You’ll note that that definition doesn’t directly apply to rental income. Rental income is, under the tax code, what’s known as UNEARNED income. Not unearned in the sense that you’re unworthy of receiving the income, but unearned in the sense that rent is payment for the use of an asset rather than for the purchase of a product or service. From a tax perspective, there’s no active effort involved in receiving rental income.So that’s a problem. If the only income you are receiving comes from rental income, then all you’re receiving is UNEARNED income rather than EARNED income. And it really doesn’t matter whether those rents are being paid to you personally or to a company you form to own the properties. Either way, the nature of the income itself is still UNEARNED.And if that’s the only kind of income you’re receiving, that’s not sufficient basis to establish a self-directed 401(k), I am sorry to say.But NEVER FEAR, my friends. As always, I have a solution, which Self-Directed Investor Society clients have been using quite productively for years now, and it is this:While RENTAL INCOME won’t qualify you to set up a self-directed 401(k), what COULD qualify you to do so is to establish a PROPERTY MANAGEMENT company which serves your rental properties. In other words, let’s imagine you have one or ten or a thousand rental properties… you could very realistically and legitimately establish a company that provides property management services to your rental properties, for which it receives payment, usually in the form of a percentage of rents collected.And in your quest to set up a self-directed 401(k), that will go along way. Because while RENTAL income is UNEARNED and doesn’t qualify you to establish a self-directed 401(k), PROPERTY MANAGEMENT income is distinctly of the EARNED variety… and thus is a legitimate qualifier for the “earned income” requirement to set up a self-directed 401(k).Capiche? The idea is simply to segment a small portion of your income and do something to convert it, in a legal and legitimate sense, to the form of income that will allow you to qualify to establish a self-directed 401(k).But even this solution has a rather serious drawback. Two of them, actually. Did your investing guru – who isn’t an expert in self-directed retirement accounts – mention these drawbacks to you? I didn’t think so. But I, your exceptionally well-informed, highly opinionated, always lovable and deadly accurate host won’t hold back the goods from you.But you’re going to have to listen in tomorrow to get THE GOODS because I’m out of time for today.And that reminds me… if you haven’t SUBSCRIBED to Self-Directed Investor Talk, please do that now so you get a notice when we publish new episodes! As I suspect you can tell, this isn’t information you can afford to miss, and it’s not information you’ll get anywhere else.And second… if you like this show… and hey… YOU KNOW YOU DO! Hehehehe. Seriously, if you like this show, please consider giving us a nice 5-star rating and review in Apple Podcasts… that really, really helps to get the word out and brings in more listeners, which motivates me to make this show better and better with each passing day.That’s all I’ve got for you today my friends, except for this one parting thought:Invest wisely today, and live well forever! See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

When it comes to doing some of your first deals, It's easy to overlook some of the hidden in's and out's at the closing table. These type's of things are so important to not overlook because it can SERIOUSLY put your deal at risk when approaching the closing table. Pay close attention to this episode if you're doing new deals! I promise you don't want to miss any of these closing costs! Topics discussed: Syndications Closing Costs Due diligence Links mentioned in this episode: Connect With Adam www.bluespruceholdings.com Register For The Webinar! Join Adam In Chicago!

The head of the NAACP in SC, lies about an encounter at a traffic stop. He fabricated a story and should be called out on it. The fatal bike crash in Saint Paul will be remembered by local bicyclists.

An idea for SLA support, Bondtech for rep2/2X, Avoiding Sketch traps in Fusion360 , PETG Gotchya, 3D Scanning Disasters

GOTCHYA! In Part Three: Part Two (aka Part 4) of a very special radio play, Bryan, Kimberly, and the AEA arrive at The Not-Private Theatre for the epic final chapter and the battle against Mastermind. This episode features the voices of Lesli Margherita, Antoine L. Smith, Lilli Cooper, Max Crumm, Mike Faist, Brendon Stimson, Will Roland, Andrew Briedis, Hannah Elless, and Jay Schmidt.  

In this interview, Molly employs her best GOTCHYA journalism skills to get Katie to admit her darkest secrets. Katie is moving to New York to be a full-on president of a real company. She shares what she really thinks about Austin and explains how you, too, can start a cult of personality via Instagram.

HoLy PiPeRoNi! Girl Meets World Cancelled by Disney Channel? What!? We’ve got info: what Disney may be thinking; the new shows on the way; and 2 of our unreleased interviews with ROWAN BLANCHARD! Seriously! Somehow, TeamPiper had not one, but two interviews stashed away with me talking to Rowan about Girl Meets World (aka El Mundo de Riley), her cast and more from before the show launched! So, Let’s talk, guys! First, this episode gets into some reasons why Disney might have for canceling Girl Meets World. (Could it have something to do with Andi Mack f.k.a. Andiland, Forever Boys and Raven!?) How long does a series get before cancellation on Disney versus the Networks and other cable stations? Gotchya covered. Moving on, I’ll get into how I first met Rowan and Sabrina Carpenter. A lot of you have asked about it over the years. You guys saw the first time I met Rowan, but there’s more to fill in! (We actually ended up at the same school for a while between Spy Kids 4 and #GMW.) We went back into the Piper’s Picks archives and saw that Sabrina had reached out to us all the way back in 2011 around the time working on her video for “Fall Apart.” Lots of stuff to cover here guyz! Check it out!

It only took seven episodes, but here we are talking about hacking! There weren't really any new releases to speak of, so the news segment is pretty cut and short.  We spend the vast majority of our time this cast going over hacking: do's, don'ts, and "maybe?"s We begin with some thoughts and overview and move into a rundown of programs by Device type(Hacking Device, Plus, Assault, Defensive).  We then go into talk about synergies that make Hacking very useful: mostly Repeaters and Remotes.  Finally, for those of you who are still fairly new to the game and find yourself intimidated by hacking, Joel came up with a little homework assignment to hopefully help work you into the N3 hacking system. After a short break we go into three listener emails: the first centered around the "Gotchya meta", the second about what to do when confronted in slow-play situations, and lastly Greg gives some insight on the Imperial Service Sectorial. Timestamps: 00:01:40 Intros 00:04:20 News.  Sorta... 00:10:30 Hacking introduction 00:24:45 Hacking devices and programs 01:31:20 Talking about repeaters... 01:47:30 Here is your homework assignment(intro to hacking) 02:02:21 Break 1 02:02:40 Listener emails Social: sean@rempresence.com greg@rempresence.com joel@rempresence.com Twitter: @rempresence Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/remotepresence/ web: http://www.rempresence.com