Red roof inn pet policy

Greenwood, IN

2011.08.01 01:29 GreenwoodIN Greenwood, IN

/GreenwoodIN is an subreddit for the city of Greenwood, IN and events relating to the city and surrounding areas.
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2014.03.12 15:36 Corgana New York City

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2023.03.25 10:55 heargone 19f, neurodivergent, US :)

Hi! Im looking for a penpal around my age, any gender. I have ADHD and I highly suspect Autism so it would be very cool to chat with another neurodivergent individual but that is of course not a requirement. Anyone is welcome! I have never really done pen pal stuff before, ive only sent snail mail to online friends.
Im looking for someone with similar interests as me that I can mail physical letters, possibly stationary, and little crafts to. We can start by emailing or messaging if you would like.
Im currently taking a gap year before starting community college this fall to study either psychology or social work. Im thinking of becoming a Social Worker or School Counselor.
Hobbies include: crochet, guitar, high walks, finding stray cats to pet, researching psychology and mental health, making friendship bracelets, trying out different crafts, playing minecraft with friends, playing The Last of Us, playing red dead, listening to music, going to garage sales, and volunteering. OH I collect clown stuff: dolls, little clay figures, literally anything with a clown on it. I also started collecting cute gnome related things. And some trolls.
Some interests: true crime, psychology, antique items or "haunted" creepy items, crafts, frogs, kirby, anime, podcast, nature, and graffiti.
I love listening to other people talk about their hyperfixations, interests, or anything they're passionate about
Current Hyperfixations: TLOU🫶, rei plush, kurtis conner, playing minecraft, those interrogation analysis vids on youtube, tmnt, nightwing, and superhero stuff in general.
Youtubers ive been watching recently: kurtis conner, danny gonzalez, drew gooden, cody ko, sinjin drowing, the chuckle sandwich boys, smosh pit, piso, britney broski, Anthony Padilla, definitely others who i cant think of on the spot.
I also love various youtube series like hot ones, mythical kitchen, jubilee, and cut. I love random video essays literally about anything. Or videos covering various niche communities/fandoms/topics like Izzzyzzz's videos.
Shows: Im currently watching The Boys, Mob Psycho 100, and better call saul. Some of my fav shows include Shameless, breaking bad, bojack, The Last Of Us, and adventure time, harley quinn animated series,
Fav Anime atm: cyberpunk edgerunners, chainsaw man, and mp100. I haven't really been watching anime as of recently. I am currently reading tokyo ghoul tho.
Music: ive been obsessed with midwest emo this past month. I suck at catergorizing music so idk what genres I listen to most. I am always down for music recs, any genre goes.
Let me know below if we have any common interests or if you are interested in becoming pen pals.
submitted by heargone to penpals [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 09:41 Common-Ad8141 Reintroducing (1 week apart) ?

TLDR; got one single male baby from the pet store, he was with two others there. it’s been 6 days since he’s lived with the other two, so if i reintroduce, would the one gerbil remember and bond with the other two again? vice versa?
Hi, I bought a single baby male gerbil at the pet store 6 days ago. He was with two other baby males at the store. Once purchased, the plan was to introduce him to my other lone male (1-ish yrs) who just lost both of his male cage mates from old age. The plan was unsuccessful, with a playtime gone wrong and with the divider in place (mesh) where they’ve been living together under one roof. New male is crazy aggressive to older male at any glance. I know that I should take more time and patience on this process, but I don’t see signs of luck, since there was already a couple of deadly ballfights and they looked like they wanted to fight through the mesh, very noisy, kinda scary. I’ve had much luck introducing gerbils in the past so I am rather new to this process (9 gerbils so far). So i’m resorting to plan B. I am returning to the pet store tomorrow AM to hopefully buy my little guy’s two former cagemates. If I get my hands on the two, they’ve been apart from my little guy for 6 days now. (Greatly assuming they’re from the same liter; they’re tiny). My question is, after 6 days, will the gerbils remember each other and scents and such? Or should I expect to do a whole reintroduction? Any stories, tips, advice is highly appreciated and greatly valued.
submitted by Common-Ad8141 to gerbil [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 09:36 Southern_Meringue_70 Is it me? Is it him?

I adored my husband since the moment I met him. He seemed so quiet and charming. He didn't talk much. He was going through a divorce with his ex. She left him and cut off most contact. He claimed she was jealous and unreasonable. That should have been a red flag.
Early on he took care of me. He was loving at a time that I needed it the most. Maybe loving is an exaggeration. It's hard to remember. Then I started to see that he would spend most of his time hanging out with his friends. Often times drinking. He would lie to me. Dissappear sometimes for hours or days. I began to understand that he was addicted to social media and pornography. Then I began to understand that he was unfaithful through chat and eventually I became aware that he was cheating on me.
When I discovered it and confronted him crying and screaming with the text messages he slapped me and deleted the messages in front of me and told me that what I had seen hadn't happened. He eventually admitted the communication but downplayed it. He stayed in contact with her. He continued the relationship at that time or a later date I'm not sure. But she reappeared in our lives.
Most of the time we've been together he has placed more importance on his friendships than on being there for me. He is chronically dishonest about even the smallest things. Over time as my anger has grown and I have confronted him he would choke me until I'd pass out. I think ive probably been choked until I pass out at least 50 times. He always says its because he doesnt want to hurt me. He just cant get me to calm down any other way. I sort of believe this because I get so angry and upset when he won't communicate with me, he ignores me, or he lies.
As he refuses to accept responsibility for his mistakes or make more of an effort to change my anger has gone through the roof. I am desperate for him to recognize that I'm smart and lovable and beautiful. He won't even initiate sex. I'm starved for love, intimacy, and sex.
He blames me for the issues in our relationship. But he literally won't talk to me. He says whatever he thinks will placate me in the moment. He doesn't help much around the house. He leaves me to take care of absolutely everything.
I feel like the mixture of infidelity, having my feelings invalidated, and the physical violence has driven me insane. I know that he is violent but when my anger bubbles to the surface I can't control it and I confront him. I beg him to show me some kind of love or caring. I know he can control his anger because almost never puts his hands on me in front of other people.
My family knows that he puts his hands on me but they don't help to support me to leave. They discourage me from calling the police. They leave me alone with him knowing what he's capable of. It's almost as if no one believes me and that makes me feel crazier. Surely if he was to blame my own family would support me?
He blames me for his lack of happiness but I don't see him doing anything to change his life. He expects everything from me but gives very little in return. He calls me controlling because I ask him not to follow, like, and comment on random sexy Instagram accounts. I have never been able to control anything that he does so this only makes me upset to hear.
I love him and I think I always will. I guess it doesn't matter whose fault it is. It would be better for me to leave. But I am hopeful that it's my fault so I can change and we will be better. I feel that this relationship has caused me to lose my mind entirely. Or that being choked so many times has given me brain damage.
submitted by Southern_Meringue_70 to ToxicRelationships [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 08:48 Haunting-Ad-9169 PCMR First World Problems......


darn h610m hitting gen 3 limit, so new mobo time. im using
This heatsink: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KDDKDNN?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
With this drive: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B217LZBG?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
It's a steal of a deal for 50 bucks and toms hardware recommends it heartily but subtracted one star because it gets hot. Welp they never realized all gen 4 drives run hot and included heatsinks even on high end motherboards cant compete with the 10 dollar heatsink I posted. That heatsink made it cool as a cucumber and hits 37c under load running crystaldiskmark at normal settings full run :P
I ripped off the dumb sticker covering the chips. Could be why temps so insanely low. Thermal pad sandwich, sandwitched between aluminum heatsink. Covers both sides. Put the third pad between drive and mobo to prevent shorting out capacitors which will instantly kill your board.
max delta temp is 10c above ambient. At very worst during stress tests on my cpu with id cooling frostfrozor 240 aio, my ssd did not budge, stayed at 33c
when i get it back from RMA: power color red devil ultimate 6900 xt is air cooled and you can NOT hear it at max load and never goes above 65c, the fans do not even spin until 60c so deadly silent
combined with 6 case fans at lowest setting is what you need to get these temps
also full mesh front and roof for aio, basement to keep psu heat away from case!!!
If you build this way you will never hear any fans spooling up and even case fans maxed i barely notice it and im less than 3 feet from it haha. :P
View Poll
submitted by Haunting-Ad-9169 to PcBuild [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 08:46 Background_Beat_6763 Blue Water Inn map (N2 clean)

Blue Water Inn map (N2 clean)
So I cleaned the map of area N2 (Blue Water Inn)... It's not good, but it's something.I did it because I'm playing CoS on Roll20 and my players love to see locations and explore them with Fog of War, but I unfortunately couldn't find the clean version of the map anywhere so I had to improvise and somewhat clean it myself.I could try to make the map myself but I'm using RPGMAP2 to make all of my maps which has a lot of limitations and I didn't want it so my maps looked different by using other tools or other's DMs maps.Anyway, if you needed it too, do use it :)
https://preview.redd.it/hto5oywgbupa1.png?width=1008&format=png&auto=webp&s=0dec586dbfb76b2cb5909d474806326e85f8c51d
submitted by Background_Beat_6763 to CurseofStrahd [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 07:36 babycue098 Beware of sharing your pics online

I don't know if I'm too paranoid about this but I recently chatted with a foreigner on Phr4r who I am highly suspicious of that's not him.
They usually share a pic with their intro and start small talk on your shared interests which is fine, not suspicious. Then they'll ask if you can connect with them on other platforms. Which I did. I mean he said he can contact me with Discord or TG. Since I'm not well versed in Discord I choose TG.
And we didnt really talk much on that before he asked me to trade for a pic. This is where I got highly suspicious of him. He said he destroyed his phone "yesterday" and has no access to more pictures of him at all. Okay. "Alarm" bells ringing. I guess he can use TG on his PC. But he insisted that he has no other pictures to share since he "destroyed" his phone yesterday. And he already shared one in his intro and that's his trade pic.
I said I kinda felt cheated because he initiated to trade pics so he should offer atleast more pics before I send mine. And I explained why I felt suspicious about this. Because people can use other pics of people without them knowing.
Like the way I think about this guy. He looks presentable has a good intro and his pics are usual lifestyle shots that can be lifted. But when I browsed in his profile and he posted on a lot of r4r sites. Like all kinds. And there is a discrepancy in his bio. It says he was looking for connections in NA but when I asked him on chat he was in another country. "Red" flag. Be mindful of inconsistencies people. He actually shared another photo of him after a while and I said I hope that's you. And he said its me really. I kinda wanted an explanation of how he destroyed his phone yesterday but I'm kinda done at this point. And he still asked for a pic. I said if he takes a pic of himself doing chores then I might send mine. My trust issues are through the roof!! Maybe I'm paranoid but I prefer my peace of mind over talking to someone that might be a poser.
After a while he just deleted me on TG on his own. And I'm relieved I don't have to deal with that anymore. I'm not sure how they'll use the pics really. Maybe to catfish more people? or worse use it for love scams or scam texts on Whatsapp or TG. I mean we tend to trust more people if they have a casual pic when they chat you. Examples are the posers on FB using your friend's pics to ask for money.
As Dwight said "Identity theft is not a joke, Jim! Millions of families suffer every year!"
Be more cautious about trading your pics and if it helps, you should get some trial pics first like a hand gesture or action. Or just make sure the person you are talking to is trustworthy enough. If you want to go to a rabbit hole I've been in watch "Love Scams" on Youtube with CNA.
TLDR; suspicious foreigner wants to trade pics but his phone was "destroyed" so he has no access to his pics aside from the ones on his intro. May inconsistencies din when chatting so noped out of that.
submitted by babycue098 to OffMyChestPH [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 07:21 TeddyBearToons Norman Regains Faith in Humanity

Once upon a time, there lived a man called Norman.
Norman was not particularly smart, or fast, or strong or charismatic or even particularly lucky. He wasn't stupid or slow, nor was he weak or socially inept. If anything, Norman was painfully average. Everything about him was utterly uninteresting.
Norman worked as a manager of a sales team for a company that he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. Every day he did paperwork, counted beans, handled complaints and generally just stayed in his office. He was a good enough boss; somewhat absentee, but everyone under him knew that if they had a problem, he could deal with it.
"Dealing with it" was how Norman went along with life. He once heard of the phrase "this too, shall pass" and didn't take it to heart as much as he made it the core of his entire philosophy. In life he encountered problems, and his day-to-day happenings consisted of dealing with them. If he couldn't deal with a problem or fix an issue, he found that simply riding out the consequences and adjusting to the shifts it caused would often solve the problem.
Take Norman's job, for example. Norman didn't care much for paperwork. He found it boring to fill out memos, approve forms, and juggle spreadsheets. Despite this, Norman was good at it and it made him money, so he dealt with it. His parents were overbearing, judging and stricter with him while favoring his sister, so he kept contact at a minimum and dealt with the problem.
For whatever reason, Norman wasn't really affected by the stress caused by problems. This manifested in an almost supernatural ability to remain calm in all kinds of situations. He simply dealt with stressful situations and moved on. When one of his salesmen had to take an emergency leave and threw his carefully built shift schedule into chaos, Norman dealt with it. His subordinates eased into the shift change nicely. When his pet rabbit died, he dealt with it. He didn't shed a single tear.
Norman thought that it was because he was detached, in a way. Those sorts of things didn't really bother him. He never could explain why.
Norman wanted to be a robotics engineer when he was young. He loved machines and read plenty of sci-fi stories. Especially the ones involving robots. Norman didn't want to be a sales team supervisor, but he dealt with it.
He sometimes took junk computers home with him, where he had a little workshop where he spent his free time tinkering and soldering and plugging things together. He named his PC Frankenstein because all of its parts came from otherwise broken computers. He used Frankenstein to write code for little robotic doodads that he made.
One day, he realized that he didn't really like making his little doodads anymore. Maybe he didn't have the time for it, or maybe it didn't interest him anymore, but he visited his workshop less and less. He dealt with it.
It turned out some of his colleagues went fishing on occasion. He learned to fish and went with them, and for a while he had fun. But he showed up less and less. He didn't have the time for it, or maybe he didn't have the energy to go out, but he didn't really go fishing anymore. He dealt with it.
At a family gathering, Norman's parents fawned over his sister and her achievements. She was a doctor. They scoffed at Norman's 9-to-5 office job. Norman didn't say anything. He felt he had done good, but didn't contradict his parents. He knew what would happen if he did. So he dealt with it.
Ever so slowly, problems became more and more prevalent. They never got to a point of actual contention but they became more and more annoying to deal with. Norman dealt with his problems, but complained a little more when he did it. He became pessimistic.
Norman started predicting what little ways the day might screw up for him. His reward system twisted itself into something worse. He was wrong as much as he was right, but every time he was right he got a twinge of sick satisfaction of having gamed the universe in a way. So he remembered the bad happenings more than the good happenings.
Norman became bitter inside. Outside nothing really changed. He was always a bit withdrawn so nobody really noticed everything. But he became bitter. He became subtly colder in his dealings with other people. A bit more sarcastic.
He didn't really do anything anymore. He woke up, ate breakfast, went to work, came home, ate dinner and went to sleep. He didn't want to do anything more. Everything he did invited more and more problems, more and more pressure to deal with it. He minimized the problems he encountered.
And he dealt with it.
One day, it clicked. Norman was unhappy but he couldn't really explain why he was unhappy. It was almost as if living was a drug, and slowly, ever so slowly he built up a tolerance for it. Things happening didn't really elicit a response anymore. Norman had facilitated enough HR meetings to see depression when he saw it.
Norman was confused. He shouldn't have depression of all things. Only the socially inept, the poor, the addicts, the lonely got depressed. To have depression meant you had something wrong in your life. Norman's life was perfect. He was financially stable, had a roof over his head and food on his table, a good job and people who he liked to think liked him. But the fact still stood that he exhibited all the symptoms of depression.
This was a problem.
Norman was always a bit introspective, and he applied his experience with his tinkering hobby to many things. It was one of the reasons for his expertise in mathematics, for example. Even with calculus, math was really a machine, a complicated machine with numbers for motors and variables for switches. Take apart an equation and put it back together, and you can figure out which part was missing. Which gear could create the desired outcome.
Norman had read many stories, both in books and online, of machines becoming people. He reasoned that perhaps depression is what it was called when people became machines.
Because really, his existence was almost mechanical now. His routine was straight and cold. He figured that an advanced enough algorithm could go through his motions as effectively as he could.
A routine was a coping mechanism. And what happens when that routine becomes excessive? To the point that it blots out everything else?
What was the point of it all?
Norman considered this one night, as he lay awake in bed. After a day of work, just before another day of work identical to what he had just gone through.
What was the point? To just work and work and work? No. For entertainment? Norman did browse memes now and then. Mindless entertainment. There was no point to that, either.
What if Norman could just… end it all?
He'd thought of it on occasion. At first he'd contemplate it after particularly devastating fights with his parents. After returns of grades he thought were good but were never enough. At first it was out of misinformed revenge. He hadn't been valued by his parents. Only abused, treated like an investment more than a person.
Some people only appreciate things when they're gone.
Now, Norman had different reasons. He didn't really see a point to it anymore. He found life boring, and tiring, and annoying. Problems upon problems upon problems. For so long all he had done was deal with problems only to find more problems. He hadn't cracked under the pressure, but he had certainly changed. Deformed. Warped like an overstressed support.
He could deal with it all right now.
Norman didn't really know what happened after death, but whatever it was he wouldn't have to deal with all the fucking problems anymore.
At this point another person might have gotten help, or talked with someone. Norman didn't have anyone to talk to. All he had was his work and his problems. He had acquaintances at most. He hated people, because all they did was bring him more problems.
And a little part of him thought, "Huh. That's pathetic."
He considered it. That'd be weird if he went and offed himself on only his prerogative. As far as he figured nobody really wanted it. Nobody even disliked him that much except for his parents, and he'd cut them off long ago.
Other people have had depression. Maybe they could help.
A sensible part of him went, "No. All they'd do is give you more problems. And you'd have to deal with it."
“But a little more problems is a lot better than just ending it," said the first part of Norman. "Maybe if we exhaust all other options to find a reason to live, then we could go on happily, knowing we tried everything we could."
So Norman went and reached out for help. Even if it would give him problems. But it was the only option he had left.
Now, Norman was lucky. His boss lightened his workload immediately and referred him to therapy. He learned to spot when that sensible part of him wasn't being so sensible. To find the fallacies that part told him. To look at things a little better. To figure out which problems were problems and which problems were merely inconveniences. What problems should be solved and which ones could be simply evaded.
Many people aren't so lucky. They are simply pushed away, or their cries for help are seen as weird anomalies instead of something worse. So watch carefully if you feel someone might need help.
Norman began to do small things. He shaved once. He changed his tie. Washed the dishes. He went out on a walk in the park. And he began to see.
Norman didn't really pay attention to the world these days. He just kind of assumed everything was overcast and gray and dreary. He never really did appreciate the vivid diversity of color the world provided in even a public park, underfunded and bland as it was.
When Norman appreciated the little things in life, he appreciated the little problems as well. Sometimes there really was no problem at all, especially when talking to people. He began to open up to people, and slowly gained a network of friends in his coworkers. He went fishing again. He booted up Frankenstein again. He met people in his hobby groups and made more friends. He even ended up dating.
Describing the process only took a few pages, but for Norman it took months and months to even begin to change. The whole thing took years. At first it was a herculean effort to just keep going, like running through a minefield in the dark. Every natural instinct in his body told Norman that every step would be his last. It turned out, many of the mines in his field were simply water balloons. Some of them were just plates of metal with clickers in them, placed there by people whose opinions didn't really matter.
As he worked on himself, it was as if the sun came up, and he figured out that his minefield didn't really have that many mines in it. Those few mines that did exist were easy to see. And he had help. His friends let him know where the mines were, what to do, because they cared about him. They had fun with him. And Norman simply appreciated the act of walking, even if it was in a minefield. Norman was sure he couldn't have done it on his own.
Yes, people helped him. But it was Norman who started it. It was Norman who began his journey, like the primer that begins the explosion that has a bullet flying from a gun. And Norman learned that there are always people willing to help you, if only you reached out and asked. The real trick was finding them. The hardest part was mustering up the courage to ask.
Norman had read on the internet once that what some people considered the first sign of human civilization was an ancient leg bone that had once been broken, showing signs of having been fully healed. The reasoning was that for any animal, even for the herd and pack animals, even for the so-called eusocial animals such as bees, a broken leg was a death sentence. To survive a broken leg, someone would have to be helped. They would have had to have been a burden and a net loss on their companions, who bear the brunt anyway. Who helped each other. They say that helping each other for the sake of it is the first sign of civilization.
One day, Norman went to the park, the one where it all began. He was good friends with his boss, and had even been given a raise for outstanding work. He had a cat, now - also named Norman. He didn't move on, go to school and get a "dream job" as a robotics engineer as he once wanted - he knew to never make your passion your job. He was fine with his tinkering hobby. He had recently made Frankenstein a set of legs and was working towards having it take its first steps.
He sat on a park bench with his girlfriend - now fiancée - and thought. He wondered. His brush with death had left him quite philosophical.
Humans, he thought. Humans are social animals. But that isn’t really what separates humans from animals. Herds, packs, hives, prides and schools exist in the animal kingdom. Not empathy, either. Rats, mice, dogs, cats and all kinds of animals used extensively as test subjects have been shown to empathize.
No, what sets humans apart is the drive to help each other. Wolves will leave one of their own to die if they suffer a broken leg. Bees that are damaged beyond repair are simply left outside the hive to freeze. Mice and rats will gladly leave an incapacitated fellow to their fate. But humans?
Only humans would risk so much to drag an injured friend back home. Only humans would spend weeks and weeks nursing a fellow back to life when the only probable result would be a death and a waste of resources. Only humans would stop to help one less fortunate when there is no benefit to themselves. They wouldn’t have a society otherwise.
Norman looked out on the park, his soon-to-be wife’s head on his shoulder, and a satisfied smile crept across his face, the first he had had in a long while.
And he was happy. Because he hadn’t been left behind.
This was humanity’s motto:
No man left behind.
submitted by TeddyBearToons to lifeofnorman [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 07:15 TeddyBearToons No Man Left Behind

Once upon a time, there lived a man called Norman.
Norman was not particularly smart, or fast, or strong or charismatic or even particularly lucky. He wasn't stupid or slow, nor was he weak or socially inept. If anything, Norman was painfully average. Everything about him was utterly uninteresting.
Norman worked as a manager of a sales team for a company that he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. Every day he did paperwork, counted beans, handled complaints and generally just stayed in his office. He was a good enough boss; somewhat absentee, but everyone under him knew that if they had a problem, he could deal with it.
"Dealing with it" was how Norman went along with life. He once heard of the phrase "this too, shall pass" and didn't take it to heart as much as he made it the core of his entire philosophy. In life he encountered problems, and his day-to-day happenings consisted of dealing with them. If he couldn't deal with a problem or fix an issue, he found that simply riding out the consequences and adjusting to the shifts it caused would often solve the problem.
Take Norman's job, for example. Norman didn't care much for paperwork. He found it boring to fill out memos, approve forms, and juggle spreadsheets. Despite this, Norman was good at it and it made him money, so he dealt with it. His parents were overbearing, judging and stricter with him while favoring his sister, so he kept contact at a minimum and dealt with the problem.
For whatever reason, Norman wasn't really affected by the stress caused by problems. This manifested in an almost supernatural ability to remain calm in all kinds of situations. He simply dealt with stressful situations and moved on. When one of his salesmen had to take an emergency leave and threw his carefully built shift schedule into chaos, Norman dealt with it. His subordinates eased into the shift change nicely. When his pet rabbit died, he dealt with it. He didn't shed a single tear.
Norman thought that it was because he was detached, in a way. Those sorts of things didn't really bother him. He never could explain why.
Norman wanted to be a robotics engineer when he was young. He loved machines and read plenty of sci-fi stories. Especially the ones involving robots. Norman didn't want to be a sales team supervisor, but he dealt with it.
He sometimes took junk computers home with him, where he had a little workshop where he spent his free time tinkering and soldering and plugging things together. He named his PC Frankenstein because all of its parts came from otherwise broken computers. He used Frankenstein to write code for little robotic doodads that he made.
One day, he realized that he didn't really like making his little doodads anymore. Maybe he didn't have the time for it, or maybe it didn't interest him anymore, but he visited his workshop less and less. He dealt with it.
It turned out some of his colleagues went fishing on occasion. He learned to fish and went with them, and for a while he had fun. But he showed up less and less. He didn't have the time for it, or maybe he didn't have the energy to go out, but he didn't really go fishing anymore. He dealt with it.
At a family gathering, Norman's parents fawned over his sister and her achievements. She was a doctor. They scoffed at Norman's 9-to-5 office job. Norman didn't say anything. He felt he had done good, but didn't contradict his parents. He knew what would happen if he did. So he dealt with it.
Ever so slowly, problems became more and more prevalent. They never got to a point of actual contention but they became more and more annoying to deal with. Norman dealt with his problems, but complained a little more when he did it. He became pessimistic.
Norman started predicting what little ways the day might screw up for him. His reward system twisted itself into something worse. He was wrong as much as he was right, but every time he was right he got a twinge of sick satisfaction of having gamed the universe in a way. So he remembered the bad happenings more than the good happenings.
Norman became bitter inside. Outside nothing really changed. He was always a bit withdrawn so nobody really noticed everything. But he became bitter. He became subtly colder in his dealings with other people. A bit more sarcastic.
He didn't really do anything anymore. He woke up, ate breakfast, went to work, came home, ate dinner and went to sleep. He didn't want to do anything more. Everything he did invited more and more problems, more and more pressure to deal with it. He minimized the problems he encountered.
And he dealt with it.
One day, it clicked. Norman was unhappy but he couldn't really explain why he was unhappy. It was almost as if living was a drug, and slowly, ever so slowly he built up a tolerance for it. Things happening didn't really elicit a response anymore. Norman had facilitated enough HR meetings to see depression when he saw it.
Norman was confused. He shouldn't have depression of all things. Only the socially inept, the poor, the addicts, the lonely got depressed. To have depression meant you had something wrong in your life. Norman's life was perfect. He was financially stable, had a roof over his head and food on his table, a good job and people who he liked to think liked him. But the fact still stood that he exhibited all the symptoms of depression.
This was a problem.
Norman was always a bit introspective, and he applied his experience with his tinkering hobby to many things. It was one of the reasons for his expertise in mathematics, for example. Even with calculus, math was really a machine, a complicated machine with numbers for motors and variables for switches. Take apart an equation and put it back together, and you can figure out which part was missing. Which gear could create the desired outcome.
Norman had read many stories, both in books and online, of machines becoming people. He reasoned that perhaps depression is what it was called when people became machines.
Because really, his existence was almost mechanical now. His routine was straight and cold. He figured that an advanced enough algorithm could go through his motions as effectively as he could.
A routine was a coping mechanism. And what happens when that routine becomes excessive? To the point that it blots out everything else?
What was the point of it all?
Norman considered this one night, as he lay awake in bed. After a day of work, just before another day of work identical to what he had just gone through.
What was the point? To just work and work and work? No. For entertainment? Norman did browse memes now and then. Mindless entertainment. There was no point to that, either.
What if Norman could just… end it all?
He'd thought of it on occasion. At first he'd contemplate it after particularly devastating fights with his parents. After returns of grades he thought were good but were never enough. At first it was out of misinformed revenge. He hadn't been valued by his parents. Only abused, treated like an investment more than a person.
Some people only appreciate things when they're gone.
Now, Norman had different reasons. He didn't really see a point to it anymore. He found life boring, and tiring, and annoying. Problems upon problems upon problems. For so long all he had done was deal with problems only to find more problems. He hadn't cracked under the pressure, but he had certainly changed. Deformed. Warped like an overstressed support.
He could deal with it all right now.
Norman didn't really know what happened after death, but whatever it was he wouldn't have to deal with all the fucking problems anymore.
At this point another person might have gotten help, or talked with someone. Norman didn't have anyone to talk to. All he had was his work and his problems. He had acquaintances at most. He hated people, because all they did was bring him more problems.
And a little part of him thought, "Huh. That's pathetic."
He considered it. That'd be weird if he went and offed himself on only his prerogative. As far as he figured nobody really wanted it. Nobody even disliked him that much except for his parents, and he'd cut them off long ago.
Other people have had depression. Maybe they could help.
A sensible part of him went, "No. All they'd do is give you more problems. And you'd have to deal with it."
“But a little more problems is a lot better than just ending it," said the first part of Norman. "Maybe if we exhaust all other options to find a reason to live, then we could go on happily, knowing we tried everything we could."
So Norman went and reached out for help. Even if it would give him problems. But it was the only option he had left.
Now, Norman was lucky. His boss lightened his workload immediately and referred him to therapy. He learned to spot when that sensible part of him wasn't being so sensible. To find the fallacies that part told him. To look at things a little better. To figure out which problems were problems and which problems were merely inconveniences. What problems should be solved and which ones could be simply evaded.
Many people aren't so lucky. They are simply pushed away, or their cries for help are seen as weird anomalies instead of something worse. So watch carefully if you feel someone might need help.
Norman began to do small things. He shaved once. He changed his tie. Washed the dishes. He went out on a walk in the park. And he began to see.
Norman didn't really pay attention to the world these days. He just kind of assumed everything was overcast and gray and dreary. He never really did appreciate the vivid diversity of color the world provided in even a public park, underfunded and bland as it was.
When Norman appreciated the little things in life, he appreciated the little problems as well. Sometimes there really was no problem at all, especially when talking to people. He began to open up to people, and slowly gained a network of friends in his coworkers. He went fishing again. He booted up Frankenstein again. He met people in his hobby groups and made more friends. He even ended up dating.
Describing the process only took a few pages, but for Norman it took months and months to even begin to change. The whole thing took years. At first it was a herculean effort to just keep going, like running through a minefield in the dark. Every natural instinct in his body told Norman that every step would be his last. It turned out, many of the mines in his field were simply water balloons. Some of them were just plates of metal with clickers in them, placed there by people whose opinions didn't really matter.
As he worked on himself, it was as if the sun came up, and he figured out that his minefield didn't really have that many mines in it. Those few mines that did exist were easy to see. And he had help. His friends let him know where the mines were, what to do, because they cared about him. They had fun with him. And Norman simply appreciated the act of walking, even if it was in a minefield. Norman was sure he couldn't have done it on his own.
Yes, people helped him. But it was Norman who started it. It was Norman who began his journey, like the primer that begins the explosion that has a bullet flying from a gun. And Norman learned that there are always people willing to help you, if only you reached out and asked. The real trick was finding them. The hardest part was mustering up the courage to ask.
Norman had read on the internet once that what some people considered the first sign of human civilization was an ancient leg bone that had once been broken, showing signs of having been fully healed. The reasoning was that for any animal, even for the herd and pack animals, even for the so-called eusocial animals such as bees, a broken leg was a death sentence. To survive a broken leg, someone would have to be helped. They would have had to have been a burden and a net loss on their companions, who bear the brunt anyway. Who helped each other. They say that helping each other for the sake of it is the first sign of civilization.
One day, Norman went to the park, the one where it all began. He was good friends with his boss, and had even been given a raise for outstanding work. He had a new pet rabbit. He didn't move on, go to school and get a "dream job" as a robotics engineer as he once wanted - he knew to never make your passion your job. He was fine with his tinkering hobby. He had recently made Frankenstein a set of legs and was working towards having it take its first steps.
He sat on a park bench with his girlfriend - now fiancée - and thought. He wondered. His brush with death had left him quite philosophical.
Humans, he thought. Humans are social animals. But that isn’t really what separates humans from animals. Herds, packs, hives, prides and schools exist in the animal kingdom. Not empathy, either. Rats, mice, dogs, cats and all kinds of animals used extensively as test subjects have been shown to empathize.
No, what sets humans apart is the drive to help each other. Wolves will leave one of their own to die if they suffer a broken leg. Bees that are damaged beyond repair are simply left outside the hive to freeze. Mice and rats will gladly leave an incapacitated fellow to their fate. But humans?
Only humans would risk so much to drag an injured friend back home. Only humans would spend weeks and weeks nursing a fellow back to life when the only probable result would be a death and a waste of resources. Only humans would stop to help one less fortunate when there is no benefit to themselves. They wouldn’t have a society otherwise.
Norman looked out on the park, his soon-to-be wife’s head on his shoulder, and a satisfied smile crept across his face, the first he had had in a long while.
And he was happy. Because he hadn’t been left behind.
This was humanity’s motto:
No man left behind.
submitted by TeddyBearToons to HFY [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 06:42 HeavyLoaf_80 Hotel Fun/Cranberry township

40wm ready and able to please and tease all night long, party with me! I’ll be here waiting! Red roof inn cranberry township
submitted by HeavyLoaf_80 to PittsburghDating [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 06:31 mcdoolz A Song of Ice and Liars

Hey all.
Around Christmas I wrote and ran an adventure and the players died terribly during it. Tragic. I loved the storyline and the play leading up to their dramatic death at the turning point with the BBEG so much that I decided others might want to TPK their players in a cold hearted, snowy murder mystery turns mystical fight for the future.
There's a GMBinder document available here: https://www.gmbinder.com/share/-NKV-gQpIWkys9U_FtrF
Let's dive in shall we?

Warm hearts in a Cold winter

About the Adventure

This adventure places a party of level 5 characters at the center of a quarrel between two composers. It is located in Suzail but could as easily be placed in any major city.
Naturally, it should take place during a winter season or in a cold climate.

Precursor

A vengeful sylvan spirit, having possessed a young mage some weeks ago, has murdered and taken the place of a reputable maestro.
His goal is to play a piece of music at the upcoming charity gala where the nobles of the city will be in attendance, subsequently raising his army of snow borne abominations and launching his conquest upon the warm world.

Summary of Events

The city of Suzail is in celebration as the Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala is being built up with structures, merchants and performers stretching upon the promenade from the Royal Court Theatre in either direction for some distance.
The story begins with the players getting in touch with the director of the Royal Court Theater, Antonio Fellini and his assistant Nicolette Fiorelle.
In speaking to the director and his assistant, the players learn that a maestro named Giovanni has stolen the sheet music to be played at the gala by another maestro, Lucian.
Antonio suggests they check his residence and Nicolette takes the players there. Giovanni is not home. Nicolette suggests he may be at The Golden Dice, a gambling hall on the dockside.
Searching Giovannis residence, the players find a collection of cash-out receipts for The Golden Dice gambling hall and a collection of notes and drawings with a strange square signature in the corner of each. Anyone with the artisan background recognizes the signature of Hari Noshi, a tattooist on the dockside.
If the players go to The Golden Dice first, Giovanni is not there and soon after arrives a gang of thugs sent by Lucian who are also looking for Giovanni. After the thugs are dealt with, the owner of The Golden Dice informs the players that Giovanni is likely at his friend Hari Noshi's tattoo parlor down the way.
When the players arrive at the tattoo parlor, they find a robed ogre shaking down a grappled Giovanni. Archers watch close by and a scout sits hidden keeping watch on the alleyway.
If the gang from the gambling hall is still alive, they arrive to assist in any conflict. If the players manage to save Giovanni from the gang, he offers to give the players the sheet music back; he left it with a scribe named Peregrin to have a copy made, and proceeds to take them there.
When they arrive at the scribery they find the door locked but the scribe is visible through a window, hunched over his lectern. However they enter, the players and Giovanni find a dead scribe, his lips blue, a frozen quill in his grasp, frost formed on his fingers and a peaceful look on his face. Giovanni is in shock, and sees that Peregrin had copied across but a single bar of the music. Peregrin is an alchemist as well and maintains a small supply of potions for healing, cold resistance and poisons antidotes.
Giovanni lets the players have the sheet music, deciding that this has all cost him far more than he bargained. The players can decide what to do.
If they return the sheet music to Antonio, they meet Lucian, a lithe pale well dressed figure with white gray peppered hair. When he speaks, it's in a slow passionate tone. He is thankful for their work and offers a reward for the music before adjourning to rehearse. Antonio pays the players and they're free to do as they will until the gala begins.
If the players choose to investigate Lucian in any fashion, events can twist a bit. Ultimately the players should see the gala begin (unless they solve the puzzle before then) and eventually lead to Lucian's performance. As the music crescendos, Lucian's body is suddenly wracked by seizures leading to the release of a slyvan spirit and the sudden spawning of several abominable snow soldiers.
The players must defeat the sylvan creature amidst the army of Purple Dragons, the newly spawned army of snow beings, and the chaos of the galas patrons and the citizens running for their lives.

Adventure Hooks

The director of the Royal Court Theater needs help he can trust to get the sheet music back and not get Giovanni arrested. How the players meet with Antonio and Nicolette should relate to professions and backgrounds where applicable. Some of the following suggestions may work for you.

Royal Court Theater

The Royal Court Theater in Suzail is a grand theater located in the capital city of Cormyr. It is known for its opulent interiors, which include a gilded ceiling and ornate chandeliers. The theater is home to a variety of performances, including plays, operas, and concerts. It is a popular destination for tourists and locals alike, and is often considered one of the cultural gems of Cormyr. The theater is well-known for its excellent acoustics and has hosted some of the most famous performers in the realm. It is also a frequent venue for events hosted by the royal family of Cormyr.

Meeting Antonio & Nicolette

These two are a bit frantic and unsure of what to do. Antonio is stricken yet calm while Nicolette is beside herself, blaming herself for her irresponsibility.
When they greet they players, they are polite and willing to discuss what they know if it seems the players are to be helpful.
If they ask about Lucian, they state that he left on business of his own soon after he heard of the theft.

The Theft

Antonio & Nicolette explain that the maestro Giovanni had visited to discuss the upcoming gala and what he was expected to perform.
In discovering that another maestro named Lucian was to play, he became angered and although they had assumed he had left, they soon discovered he had stolen the sheet music that was to be played.
Giovanni left a note that stated Lucian did not deserve to play the music as Lucian was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a silver bell to call his wet nurse.
Antonio suggests checking Giovanni's home and Nicolette agrees to take the players there. The residence is only a few blocks away down the promenade.

Finding Giovanni

The players arrive at a two story brick building with a few opulent apartments, each featuring a tall archway patio window with a wrought iron railing encircling a stone patio balcony.
Giovannis apartment is one of the upper floor units although he is not home when the players arrive. The players can force entry on the door, gain access via the unlocked balcony door, or seek the landlord who lives in one of the lower units.
The landlord could be convinced to provide the key with a successful Charisma (Persuasion or Deception) check (DC 14) and a plausible story: locked out lover, family member, or parent depending on the individual. A successful Intimidation check will cause the old landlord to die of heart failure.

Nobody's home

Giovannis apartment is disheveled, with old laundry, stacked dishes, piles of parchment with ink scrawled across them and a large four post bed in disarray.
When the players search the apartment they find a collection of receipts for winnings from the Golden Dice, a dock side gambling hall.
If they roll 15 or better, they find drawings with the signature of Hari Noshi. Nicolette explains that is Giovannis tattooist.
If the players do not successfully search the apartment, Nicolette will offer that he gambles and may be at the hall.

The Golden Dice

The Golden Dice is a well decorated and well protected establishment on the dock side. It is the gambling hall known by the wealthy to be seedy but safe to patronize. Care of Dargen Goldhand, the Golden Dice has guards and free ale for house regulars such as Giovanni and any character with the Gambler background.
Giovanni is not here, and the patrons are all too engrossed in their doings to care for the players questions. Asking too many times over may bring the ire of the house guard or the patrons.
If the players seek out the management to ask about Giovanni, they're politely informed that he covered his debts some time ago and that he's not been seen for weeks.
During this time three mercenaries will arrive also seeking Giovanni. Markus, Grimgore and Vaxin consider themselves professionals and don't directly threaten the players, although they make no secret of their objective and tell the players to stay out of their way or suffer consequences. They don't attack unless attacked directly, and will otherwise rush towards Hana To soon afterward.
If the players dispatch the thugs without hearing about Hana To and let the thugs escape, Dargen offers that Giovanni could be at the tattoo shop.

Hana To

When the players reach Hana To, they find the rest of the crew that is after Giovanni as well as Giovanni and his tatooist Hari Noshi.
The tattoo shop is a mess, Hari Noshi is visibly injured, and an ogre by the name of Ogrimm has Giovanni in his grasp.

Ogrimm & Company

If the players attempt to negotiate with Ogrimm he tells the players to mind their own business or be shot. If the players press attempts to negotiate he gives the word for his archers to loose upon the two closest players.
If they still do not engage but continue to try to negotiate, Ogrimm laughs at them and continues to rough up Giovanni.
If attacked, Ogrimm doesn't want to fight to the death and will offer quarter if one or more of his crew are killed.
If the players refuse quarter, he will attempt a tactical retreat, providing covering fire using magic missiles from his wand or while he can cast them and resorting to fire bolts if necessary. If possible, he will grapple and carry Giovanni.
If Ogrimm manages to knock out or kill any of the players, he offers quarter. If the players take it, Ogrimms tells them that they can wait until he is done with Giovanni and then go about their business.
If Ogrimm is afforded the time, he will roughly interrogate Giovanni about the location of the sheet music before finding a receipt for a scribe named Peregrin on Giovanni.
Ogrimm at this point will throw Giovanni aside and leave the scene to go retrieve the sheet music from the scribe.
At this point Giovanni is badly injured from the interrogation but tells the players to get to Peregrin before Ogrimm does.
If the players have dispatched or routed Ogrimm and his crew, or taken Giovanni from Hana To and escaped, Giovanni is thankful and tells them that he is regretful for what he's done and what it's cost his friend. He takes the players to the scribe.

Peregrin's Dead

Peregrins home is a small two story brick book store with a placard that reads his name in gold serif font.
Upon arriving at the scribes residence the players will find the scribe visibly hunched over his lectern, presumably sleeping.
His door is locked however and banging on the door doesn't raise him. Observant (Passive Perception 13 or better) players will note there is a bit of frost on the windows, inside the building.
The players can get in through:
However the players gain entry, they are confronted with a very dead Peregrin. His lips are blue his finger tips are frozen and his whole body is cold as ice.
Giovanni will be visibly saddened by this and will observe that Peregrin was working on the copy but only managed a few bars in before he died.
At this stage, Giovanni asks the players to see that the music is returned to Antonio, and states that this debacle has now truly cost him far more than he bargained.

Moonlighting

Peregrin kept a lab where he practiced alchemy on the second story of his shop.
Searching his lab will reveal 1d4 + 2 Potions of Healing, 1d4 Potions of Cold Resistance and 1d4 Potions of (Hill) Giant Strength.
In his living area he kept a modest wardrobe, a small savings of 300 gold pieces and receipts for shipments of alchemical goods and book binding equipment arriving.

Enroute

If Ogrimm and his crew are still alive, the players may have to deal with him in some fashion or get to Peregrins faster than them (eg: by horseback). It's up to the DM how long it takes Ogrimm and the crew to reach Peregrin. He is resourceful but he does not have transportation at the ready.

Meeting Lucian

Presuming that the players return to the Royal Court Theater with the sheet music, they will find Antonio, Nicolette and Lucian meeting in the main foyer.
Antonio is relieved to see the players arriving and asks for Giovannis condition. If Giovanni is dead or incapacitated, Antonio is greatly grieved by this and will lash out at Lucian for sending thugs. If Giovanni is alive, the director and Nicolette both breathe a sigh of relief and thank the players for their involvement, avoiding any mention of the thugs.
If the players provide any mention of the thugs, Lucian readily states that he hired and sent them to retrieve his property as was his prerogative. He apologizes coldly for any inconvenience upon the players and offers to pay them what he was to pay Ogrimm's crew.
If the players hand over the sheet music, Lucian thanks them and retreats from the meeting, stating that he must rehearse.
If the players ask about the sheet music before handing it over, Lucian is dismissive of their questions, stating he has no time for their petty, paltry prattlings and that he must get to rehearsals.
Antonio will parrot these statements in a more polite tone while Nicolette will stay quiet and stoic.
If the players accuse, or degrade Lucian in some way, the director, Nicolette and Lucian will all be visibly shocked while Antonio will demand that they hand over the sheet music, take their payment and leave. If pressed, he will threaten to summon the Purple Dragons justice upon the player.
If the players take payment and leave they receive a sum of 100 platinum pieces to be divided amongst them.
If they part on good terms the players are told they can expect special seating for the affairs to come.
At this point, the players are free to wander the promenade and take in the sights of the gala that is now coming under way.

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala is an annual event held in the city of Suzail, Cormyr. It is a grand affair, attended by members of the royal court and the wealthy elite, as well as various nobles, politicians, and other influential figures. The gala is held in the Royal Court Theater, a magnificent venue known for its opulent decor and state-of-the-art stage and performance facilities.
The gala is held to raise funds for charitable cause, with a focus on helping those in need during the cold winter months. Organized by the Royal Court Theater and the Noble Heart Foundation the charity manages to raise a significant amount of coin each year by pitting the various noble houses against one another in a blind competition of wealth and giving.
At its core, the gala is a mix of high brow showmanship and grass roots fund raising. The various churches are well aware of the ego surrounding the noble houses and how to tread about those egos to maximize the return towards their efforts.
Those who organize the events are masters of negotiation and the effort and cunning they put into enticing the noble houses into providing as they do can not be understated.
In dealing with problems such as general toxicity, outbursts of tempers or outright violence that may surround the event, those who can will attempt to persuade and dissuade the aggressors to understand the core spirit of the event, agreeing and soothing the frustration that some may express.

The Director, Klaus Von Santos

Called a 'man of the people' by his peers, Klaus works tirelessly with a large and wide spread team of passionate people to make the gala a success each year. He can be found in any number of areas around the gala grounds. He is an aging elf of 600 years who emigrated to Cormyr some 60 years past. He has made Suzail his home and is an accomplished musician as well as event coordinator. He is a devout member of the Church of Tyr, swearing that he had his life saved once by the deity. He enjoys reading the daily news and gossip rags to 'keep up with the times' and is an accomplished Mage.

Event Organizers

The passionate people who make the gala possible run the gamut of individuals from laborers and architects to performers, organizers, and on and on. The gala and the construction thereby can be described as an organized chaos consuming the promenade surrounding the theater.

Honored Guests of the Gala

If you are placing this adventure in Suzail, in Cormyr, in the Forgotten Realms canon, then this list of noble houses should suffice as the high level roster of attendees.

Who's who

From the Obarskyrs who rule Cormyr to the Maelstroms from distant Waterdeep, every noble family worth their clout in coin can be seen at the affair. They tour about in carts, dressed to impress and to stay warm, in that order. Here are a few of the families that would attend:

House Obarskyr

The Obarskyr family has ruled Cormyr for centuries, and is the most powerful and influential noble house in the nation. The current ruling monarch of Cormyr, King Azoun V, is a member of this family.

House Barrowmaze

The Barrowmaze family is a powerful noble house in Suzail that is known for its wealth and influence. The family is involved in various businesses and industries, and is known for its charitable works and philanthropy.

House Dauntinghorn

The Dauntinghorn family is another powerful and influential noble house in Suzail. The family is known for its military prowess and its connections to the Purple Dragons, Cormyr's elite military corps.

House Bryne

The Bryne family is a wealthy and influential noble house in Suzail that is involved in various businesses and industries. The family is known for its support of the arts and its philanthropy.

House Maelstrom

The Maelstrom family is a powerful and influential noble house in the city of Waterdeep, one of the largest and most influential cities in the Forgotten Realms.

House Illance

The Illance family is a powerful noble house in the city of Baldur's Gate, another major city in the Forgotten Realms.

Sights & Sounds

There is quite a lot to see and do at the charity gala.

Decorations & Decorum

The entire promenade explodes in color and dress as tapestries, arrangements, lights and statuary are hung from buildings, or placed in the street.

Ice sculptures

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala features a stunning display of ice sculptures, showcasing the talents of the city's finest ice sculptors. These intricate works of art range from detailed, realistic pieces to whimsical, playful figures inspired by the winter season.

Ice skating

Guests can enjoy a bit of ice skating along the Promenades specially-made rink.

Sports

Professional athletes and local enthusiasts alike showcase their skills in a variety of winter sports, including ice climbing, ice skating, and skiing.

Fashion show

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala also includes a winter fashion show, featuring the latest in winter clothing and accessories.

Hot chocolate bar

From Waterdeep with love, Delphine comes to serve a variety of flavors and toppings for heated milk mixed with chocolate.

Craft brews & Fine wines

Hot mead, the finest spirits and the frothiest ales are served and on tap throughout the gala grounds as artisans local and not come to show their generosity.

Food

Culinary expertise is awash in the streets as various vendors come out to feed to destitute and any others who want a bite to eat.

Silent auction

Guests can bid on a variety of items and favors from the church and is the largest source of income for the gala.

Donations

While the focus of the Noble Heart Gala is the wealthy and the wealth they provide, there is no shortage of provisions provided by the general population.
If players wish to donate they may although to purchase anything locally is virtually impossible as everything that can be purchased to donate already has been by all the noble houses.

Events

The following events assume that Suzail is your venue of choice and provide a few celebrities from other D&D canon that dungeon masters may or may not want to include.
d10 Loot
1-2 Protestors
3-4 Drunk Noble
5-6 Fire!
7-8 Chef who?
9-10 Thief!

Protestors

A group of protestors from the various churches gather outside the gala. They are angry at the flambouyence and excess demonstrated by the gala shouting slogans and carrying signs such as:
They are peaceful but loud and disruptive.
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince them to take their grievances where it can be properly heard (a magister or event organizer), or a Charisma (Intimidation) check (DC 15) could scare them off.
Alternatively, a Charisma (Deception) check (DC 15) could convince them that their counter parts are else where and that they should seek them out.
If the players do not intervene, the authorities eventually show up and arrest the protesters to much maligned shouting and cursing from the protesters and any nearby gala attendees.
If the players successfully intervene, the protesters leave and the players are thanked cordially by the Purple Dragons.

Drunk Noble

A wealthy, intoxicated patron becomes aggressive towards some of the needy, calling them "riff raff" and "street rats".
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince them to calm down and behave, or a Charisma (Intimidation) check (DC 15) could intimidate them into behaving.
If the players do not intervene, the patron is eventually hit with a snow ball and falls over unconscious in the snow while the thrower is chased off by the authorities.
If the players successfully intervene the noble withdraws and the players are thanked cordially by the vendor.

Fire!

A fire breaks out in a greasy food stall, quickly engulfing the whole of the stall in a horrible blaze. Throwing snow upon the greasy fire causes it to spit and burst wildly. Throwing mud upon the fire wil slowly douse it away.
If the players do not intervene, the stall burns to the ground.
If the players successfully intervene, they are lauded loudly and the establishment owner offers them lodging at a local inn and meals anytime they wish.

Chef who?

A self proclaimed gourmand by the name of Gurney has lost their pass and is trying to enter the gala. He claims he's from Phandalin, come a long way to provide his services, and is visibly frustrated.
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince the gate guards to let them in, or a successful Intelligence (Investigation) or Wisdom (Perception) check (DC 15) can find their pass wedged in the floor boards of the drivers seating on their wagon.
If the players do not intervene, the chef is told he can purchase a vendors pass with the organizers to which he shrieks that he already has before turning around and leaving.
If the players successfully intervene, the chef thanks them cordially and tells them to visit him once he is set up. If they do, he gifts them with a Bowl of Endless Soup.
Bowl of Endless Soup
Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement)
This simple clay bowl appears to be unremarkable white clay, but upon closer inspection, it is adorned with a border of engraved sigils translating to 'soup' in various languages.
When an attuned user speaks the word 'soup' in their language, the bowl will produce a never-ending supply of steaming hot soup.
The soup constantly replenishes itself and never seems to grow cold or spoiled.
While attuned to the bowl, you gain the following benefits:
You are immune to the effects of extreme cold and starvation.
As an action, you can command the bowl to fill with soup of any flavor you desire. It does not produce stew.
Soup produced this way will satisfy any hunger and restore 1d6 + 4 hit points to any creature who consumes it while the soup is fresh from the bowl. Soup transferred to another vessel loses its effect after fifteen minutes and tastes as bland as water.
The effects of the soup last until the creature takes a short or long rest.
The bowl will remain filled with soup until commanded to empty, at which point it will become empty until commanded to fill again.

Thief!

A pickpocket is operating in the crowds at the gala.
A successful Perception check (DC 15) could notice them in the act, or a successful Charisma (Deception) check (DC 15) could pretend to be a wealthy patron and attract them. A successful Charisma (Persuasion or Intimidation) check (DC 13) can get them to leave under threat of the authorities.
If the players do not intervene, they may find themselves victims of the pickpocket. The pickpocket is sighted some time later and arrested soon after by the Purple Dragons.

Bad blood

If Ogrimm and his crew are still alive and were not routed, they will seek out revenge against the players for costing them the job with Lucian.
The crew will organize an ambush at the gala using whomever is still alive.
Ogrimm will look for an opportunity to take care of business off the beaten path and if no good opportunity presents itself he will patiently await his chance.

Investigating Lucian

If the players grow suspicious of Lucian and look into his behavior they will notice a few strange details.

Obelisks & Orihalcum

If the players look for Lucian in the gala, they can find him doing a tour of the promenade. If they follow him they will find him approaching each of the obelisks mentioned above. At each one, he places a small piece of Orihalcum upon the sigil.
If he is approached about this, he states that he is supporting the cause and doing his part for the celebrations.
If the players vandalize an obelisk the Purple Dragons will be summoned and the vandals arrested or driven off.

Loosely dressed

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher, they will notice that Lucian is dressed in a simple open collar shirt, silk breeches and high boots; far under dressed for the cold weather.

Cold atmosphere

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher and stands within 5 feet of Lucian, they will notice the air is noticeably colder near him.

Frosty breath

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher they will notice that when Lucian speaks indoors, his voice steams or that when he speaks outdoors, it does not.
\pagebreak

Crescendo

The central point of the gala is the unveiling of the honors that the noble houses will appreciate for their gifts to the those in need.

Laments of the Frost

The time comes eventually for Lucian to perform his music for the eager nobility.
As Lucian's music fills the air, the temperature begins to drop rapidly.
A burst of icy wind erupts from one of the frost obelisks scattered throughout the gala. A fog quickly rolls through and a howl is heard as a pack of snow wolves materialize out of thin air as beyond them can be heard the tromp of footsteps, the screams of people and the sound of a war horn
The obelisks pulse with cold energy and a blue shaft of sparkling light pulses into the sky from each of the obelisks.
The players must work quickly to destroy the obelisks if they hope to stop the spawning of the sylphs minions and weaken the spirit and ultimately defeat it.

Winter Frost & Company

When the sylvan spirit bursts from his vessel he arrives with a searing cold vengeance and a near army of cohorts. As the gala erupts into a catastrophic war of winter kind hunting the population, the Purple Dragons can be relied upon to leap into action as do the many private companies protecting their noble patrons.

Winters Frost

Medium humanoid (elemental), neutral evil
  • Armor Class 16 (natural armor)
  • Hit Points 71 (13d8 + 13)
  • Speed 30 ft. ___ STRDEXCONINTWISCHA :---::---::---::---::---::---: 14 (+2)18 (+4)12 (+1)14 (+2)16 (+3)18 (+4) ___
  • Saving Throws Dex +7, Wis +6, Cha +7
  • Skills Deception +7, Perception +6
  • Damage Immunities Cold, Fire
  • Condition Immunities Charmed, Exhaustion, Frightened, Paralyzed, Petrified, Poisoned
  • Senses Darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 16
  • Languages Common, Giant, Infernal
  • Challenge 5 (1,800 XP) ___ Frost Aura. Winters Frost is surrounded by an aura of cold that extends 5 feet around him. Any creature that touches him or hits him with a melee attack while within 5 feet of him takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.
Magic Resistance. Winters Frost has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.
Magic Weapons. Winters Frost's attacks are magical.
Innate Spellcasting. Winters Frost's innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 15). He can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components: At will: frostbite (1d8 + 4 cold damage) 3/day each: ice storm, wall of ice
Snowstorm (1/day). Winters Frost can use an action to create a storm of snow and ice that fills a 30-foot radius centered on him.
The storm lasts for 1 minute or until Winters Frost dismisses it as a bonus action. While the storm persists, Winters Frost has advantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks made to hide, and creatures other than Winters Frost have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks made to detect him. In addition, any creature that enters the storm or starts its turn there takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.

Actions

Multiattack. Winters Frost makes two melee attacks.
Frostbite. Ranged attack. +7 to hit, range 60 ft., one creature. Hit: 8

Snow Wolf

Medium beast, neutral
  • Armor Class 12
  • Hit Points 7
  • Speed 50 ___ STRDEXCONINTWISCHA :---::---::---::---::---::---: 12 (+1)14 (+2)8 (-1)3 (-4)12 (+1)6 (-2) ___
  • Saving Throws Perception +3, Stealth +4
  • Languages understands Common, Sylvan but can't speak
  • Challenge 1/8 (25 XP) ___ Keen Hearing and Smell. The snow wolf has advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing or smell.

Actions

Multiattack. The Creature Name makes Number and type of attacks
Ability Description. Attack Style: Attack Bonus to hit, Reach/Range, one target. Hit: Damage Damage Type damage
General Ability Description. General Attack Description
submitted by mcdoolz to DnDBehindTheScreen [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 05:48 EchoingCascade Red, green and yellow = STOP.

one-shot

An Imorac, grey skinned, four feet tall, wearing a white scientist's coat and a fake moustache was floating in front of a wall sized screen.
On it is a smiling Human couple having a picnic in the middle of a bright, sunny day.
Imorac: “Humans, they are our neighbours, coworkers and friends but how well do you know them?”
The image shift to a rainy day and the Humans eyes glow red ans their smiles turns sinister as explosions can be seen all around them.
Imorac: “While they may seem nice and kind on the outside they are completely different to you and I on the inside.”
A close up of a Human brain becomes visible from inside of the male's cranium.
Imorac: “All sentient beings have an inside voice, it's speak in an authoritative voice and when it says “you shouldn't” it is law.”
The Human brain's schematic has a series of question marks inside it.
Imorac: “In Humans on the other hand, the voice is a whisper and the tone is that of a suggestion “shouldn't you?” Is how they approach the universe. Common sense is a rare commodity in them, as such Sentient Resources are proposing the 3 colors initiative.”
An image of 3 vials of red, yellow and green colors appear on the screen.
Imorac: “If ever a Human utters the following sentences, or any variation with a similar meaning, you may administer one of the colored sedatives.”
A list appears on-screen.

When sober:
- I can do better than that.
- That is a dumb rule!
- Permits? I do not need any smelling permit!
- It is only illegal if we get caught.
- What is the worse that could happen?
- It can only kill me if I die.
- I will be fine.
- Maybe to an “insert race other than Human here” but it is okay if I do it.

When intoxicated:
- Hold my alcoholic beverage.
- I will boop the snoot!
- You know what is a really good idea?

If the Human is an engineer:
- I can get more power out of “insert device running at max capacity here.”
- They are not “laws” of physics, just guidelines.
- Well our superior did not say "no" per se.
- I will explain to our superior after.

If the Human is an intoxicated engineer:
- I have an idea.

Imorac: “In any of these cases you may use the sedatives, the yellow one will have them wake up a couple of hours later with the feeling of a bad “hangover”, the green one with the feeling of “having slept on your neck wrong” and the red one of “having been hit by a truck.” Do not worry, they leave no permanent damages.”
The image of the Human couple happily sleeping on the ground appears on the screen.
Imorac: “Remember, it is for their own good and everyone's safety.”
***
Conrad was the Human chief of Sentient Resources at the station and if one could die of shame they would be picking his remains off the floor, walls and ceiling.
He had watched the presentation with all senior members of the station.
Conrad: “... All in favor of going forward with the initiative?”
The vast majority of sentients present raised their hands, claws and pseudopodes.
Conrad: “Those against?”
A single hand rose, a Human hand.
Chief engineer Allison Alvarez stood up.
Alvarez: “While I understand the need to have such a policy...”
While she spoke the Aaen medical officer, Dances In Shadows furtively got up from her chair, took a red vial, put it in her injector and walked behind the engineer.
Alvarez, unaware of the Aaen's movement continued uninterrupted.
Alvarez: “I don't think that should apply to senior staff members.”
The Aaen chief of security, Bows To No King, read from his datapad.
Bows: “Are you saying that this is a “dumb rule” and “you will be fine” then?”
Alvarez: “Yes!”
The silence that followed was interrupted only when she realized what she had just said.
Alvarez: “Wait no, I meant...”
Conrad: “Doc!”
Alvarez: “Not the red one, not the red one!”
Dances In Shadows lunged towards Allison with a loud “Hiya!” and injected her with a dose of “hit by a truck red" on the neck.
Conrad sighed at the sleeping form of his fellow Human.
Conrad: “Alright, I say we call it an unanimous decision, the initiative goes live on Monday.”
End.
submitted by EchoingCascade to HFY [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 05:47 NoLogic101 (Offer) Updated List (Request) List, Offer

Codes must be redeemed immediately upon receiving. Thanks.
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Aladdin 2019
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Antman and the Wasp
Avengers Endgame
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Beauty and the Beast
Big Friendly Giant (BFG)
Black Panther
Black Panther Wakanda Forever
Black Widow
Captain America First Avenger
Captain America Winter Soldier
Captain Marvel
Cars
Cars 3
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Dead Men Tell No Tales
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Doctor Strange Multiverse
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Greatest Showman
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2
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Iron Man 2
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Ralph Breaks the Internet
Raya The Last Dragon
Saving Mr.Banks
Shang Chi
Skyfall
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A New Hope, Force Awakens, Rise of Skywalker, Rogue One, Solo A Star Wars Story, The Last Jedi
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submitted by NoLogic101 to uvtrade [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 04:54 Alpha-Sierra-Charlie Contractors 14.13 - Pour one out for the fallen

First, Previous

Jethriss

Jethriss giggled and tried to line the pitcher up with her mug up for a refill, but was having a hard time. She'd put down more than her fair share of the local ale, which Meatball had dubbed "Good" for some reason, even though it was only "okay", and she was struggling a little bit. Actually, she was drunk off her ass. "The boys", as she thought of them, had spent days hiding in the woods, then spent all of yesterday assaulting and then securing and scouring the last stronghold of the Grekthitch Cartel. Then they spent most of today asleep, and now they were all at the bar partying as hard as they possibly could to blow off the steam. Rosco, sitting to her right in the booth against the back wall, noticed her struggle and took the pitcher away and filled her mug all the way up to the top.
"You ass!" she giggled.
He grinned "I expect you to work too!"
"Every time that ship flies in atmosphere I end up with work! It's a spaceship, not an aircraft."
"Oh, boo hoo!"
Jethriss worked her beak into the mug and slurped and spilled enough beer out to safely pick it up, and listened to Meatball loudly telling about the time they'd raided some cartel growing operation and how Wiggles had ended up literally biting a skink's head off because he couldn't reload fast enough, and not realizing he'd done it unti the head fell out of his mouth and landed on his feet. When the laughter subsided Wiggles added that he'd had to ride back to their compound in the cargo bed of a truck, in the rain, because he'd ended up so dirty, then recounted a fight in this very bar where Meatball had gently slapped an awrok unconscious, and then made up a hilarious and ludicrous story about how afterward Meatball had received vigorous sexual gratification from the same awrok. Meatball had just grinned and explained that he'd only done so out of desperation, since Wiggles had never been a satisfying lover in the first place. There were more drunken guffaws, then Gratorf and Attrull recounted the time they'd had to track down and apprehend a peasant admirer who had managed to infiltrate the harem of their previous employer, the Lady Elissa of House Ganthul. The mention of her name caused much jeering, the bitch had nearly gotten the boys killed, but the story was hilarious. Attrull had to go undercover as a new concubine to find the guy, and had nearly been roped into fucking his boss (who of course, was too self-centered to recognize a member of her own security detail), and had ended up causing a near stamped right in her pleasure chamber when he tased the imposter before he could violate the Lady.
They drank and smoked, told stories and laughed. Skeethrow told about how he'd joined Rosco's group. Years ago, not long after Jethriss had joined Rosco, he'd been in a pirate crew and they'd booked passage on a bulk freighter, intending to hijack it. Well, things kicked off and they were making a move to secure engineering, and they got into a firefight with what they thought was security. Turns out, it was another group of pirates that Rosco had fallen in with who were also planning to hijack the ship! By the time both sides realized what was going on, it was just Skeethrow and two other members of his team left, and while everyone was reloading he heard this human yell out "Hey! You fellas want a job? We just had a few positions open up!"
This was followed by cheers and a toast to Rosco, who laughed, then Rex told a story about the time they'd been janissaries for the Gunchow Combine, and one of the nobles who had singled their regiment out for a suicide mission had mysteriously found himself hospitalized with severe food poising and missed a key planning meeting because someone (he said, pointing his mug at Rosco) had managed to somehow contaminate his food with fecal matter.
The table roared with laughter. Normally when the Gallowglasses got this rambunctious the bar tended to empty out a little, not that the owner minded given that they drank more than enough to compensate, but it stayed busy tonight. Jethriss didn't really pay much heed to the group of skinks that had walked in and stayed by the bar up front, other than the fact that Rosco seemed to be paying more than passing attention to them.
She opened her beak to tell the story about the time Rex had to up act like a Orrick chieftan's pet in order to steal his treasure horde, but it turned into a surprised squawk when Rosco put his hand on top of her head and harshly jammed her under the table.
The sound of gunfire and bullet impacts filled the air. Some of the impacts sounded... wet.
The table flipped as the Gallowglasses jumped up and... she didn't know what they were doing. She wasn't much use in interpersonal violence, she was no coward, she was just a pilot. She stayed on the floor, curled up in a ball, as the seconds dragged by and the shooting subsided. She remembered she had a concealed pistol and drew it, before looking around the edge of the table.
Meatball and Thriktikt had picked up rifles from somewhere and were shooting out of a nearby window into the street, Charge was in the doorway firing a pistol while his left arm dangled, damaged.
Wiggles was crawling toward the door, dragging a leg that bent the wrong way behind him, and added his own pistol fire once he got there.
Keelath was sitting against a wall, applying a tourniquet to his leg. He was covered in blood.
Trilth and Trakkow were holding a third skink down and doing... something first aid related while he thrashed and screamed.
Rex was yelling into his radio. Jethriss couldn't understand his words.
Gratorf was lying on his back, bulging eyes staring at the ceiling. She ran over to him and rolled him over to bandage the wound that had produced a small puddle of blood under his head, and his scrambled brains fell out as his skull fell apart. She turned her head and vomited.
She saw a skink bandaging a nasty scalp wound on Frank Tippery, and Robert Johnson walking between fallen skinks, shooting some of them in the head.
Rosco was on his knees, his right forearm broken open halfway down from the elbow, chewed meat and jagged bone poking out and leaking blood, right hand flopping as he tried to use it to put a meatpatch on Skeethrow's chest. He was yelling, telling Skeethrow not to go anywhere. Skeethrow's face and head were covered in the blood that poured and sprayed from his mouth with every cough, ragged chunks of pink mixed in with the red. She pulled a tourniquet out of her cargo pocket and walked over in a daze. Skeethrow spasmed again and went still, she hadn't noticed his strained gurgling breath against the background din until it stopped. Rosco howled and shoved a broken stool under Skeethrow's feet, and tried to start chest compressions but his broken arm confounded him. He shoved Jethriss away when she tried to slip the tourniquet over his arm, until eventually Rex got done on the radio and between the two of them got the thing on and the old rooster's bleeding stopped.
The gunfire in the bar had stopped, but elsewhere in the city, fighting was still raging.
submitted by Alpha-Sierra-Charlie to HFY [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 04:06 TrendsWide Evaluate Pet Insurance policies Prices to Get the Coverage That Meets Your Requirements at Reasonably priced Charges

Evaluate Pet Insurance policies Prices to Get the Coverage That Meets Your Requirements at Reasonably priced Charges submitted by TrendsWide to TrendsNewsWorld [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 03:58 spicymemories19 Landlord put in lease that I must pay for all repairs/maintenance no matter what (Missouri)

Hello, all I am here with a question regarding the legality of a landlord putting in my lease that I have to pay for all repairs and maintenance. This is in Missouri.
The clause is as follows: "Resident shall be responsible for all repairs, maintenance, costs, service charges, painting, and Landlord approved improvements and additions to the property (Residents Maintenance Responsibility). The Resident shall promptly repair at his/her own expense all damages to the property, plumbing or appliances caused by themselves, family members, or guests, pets and children of guests. Resident shall take an active role to insure that the property stays in excellent condition. Resident agrees that he/she has had adequate opportunity to inspect the conditions of the property and Landlord makes no warranties or representations about the condition of the property, the improvements, utilities, electrical, plumbing, roof, appliances, or any latent defect of property, the improvements, utilities, HVAC, electrical, plumbing, appliances, or the neighborhood. Resident agrees that any blockages or breakages in plumbing and drains or any broken glass that is not revealed on the inspection and inventory record at the time of move in are the full responsibility of the Resident regardless of cause. Resident agrees to make a diligent effort to repair any hazardous conditions as quickly as possible. At Landlord's discretion, repairs not made by the Resident within a reasonable time frame may be made by the Landlord and charged to Resident. Additionally, the LANDLORD SHALL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE for any costs associated with fireplace cleaning and maintenance, or the heating and cooling system annual start up/tune up. These costs are to be born exclusively by the Resident. Any damages resulting from Residents failure to maintain the fireplace, heating and cooling systems, and any other aspect of the property shall he repaired at the Residents expense."
There is no way this is legal, right? Does this mean what I think it does? Any and all help is greatly appreciated.
submitted by spicymemories19 to legaladvice [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 03:58 Flying_Solooo Bruh I need graduation info

Ok so I’m going to my brothers graduation…whoop he’s graduating first 🙄
Why is it I can’t find about like an animal policy? I just wanna know if I can bring my dog cause we’re staying in a hotel 😭 I look up pets, it gives me “clear bag policy” 🫡
submitted by Flying_Solooo to ASU [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 03:55 thedingleberryfarmer [Landlord - CA] What’s the point of a no pet policy if anyone can get an ESA…

US - CA *
submitted by thedingleberryfarmer to Landlord [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 03:36 Verastahl They take away your nightmares. But the price is too high. Part Seven.

Part Six
We’d made it back through the maze of downtown to the side opposite from the gym, but it didn’t matter. Not only were the ones from the gym still after us, along with a few more dreamers they’d picked up along the way, but up ahead was another group of fifteen or so men and women were running towards us with impromptu tools and manic grins that both flashed murder with each bouncing step closer. They were practically skipping towards us as they guffawed and giggled, and it might have been funny if not for the dead ice in their eyes.
“Jesus. We…In here!” I’d spotted the garage door of an old-fashioned service station across the street—it was propped open a foot by a cinder block, and while it might have been a trap set to lure us in, I didn’t really think the people of Braxton had had the time or the sense to arrange it so quickly. These people…they didn’t move or look right, and not just because they were crazy and trying to kill us. They all looked off somehow. Maybe it was the way they moved, or the loose way the skin hung on their cheeks, even when pulled back with their fishhook smiles. They were becoming something different, though whether it was less or more, I couldn’t say.
All of those thoughts were in the back of my mind as we rushed over to the door and I tried to pull it up further for Mrs. Graves and Mr. Holliman to crawl under. The door only budged a few more inches before it let out a protesting rusty squeal and would go no further. Graves had already rolled through the gap, leaving a smear of blood in her wake, and Holliman was grunting as he sucked in his stomach and pulled himself past the door. Gasping with exhaustion and terror, I looked over my shoulder to see how far away the crowds were. The one cutting us off was still some distance away, though they were moving fast, but the ones behind us since the gym were thirty yards at most. I dropped to my belly and rolled through the gap, kicking the cinder block free as I went.
It all happened in a few harried seconds, but as I was getting to my knees I already realized the problem. The block had been so easy to kick away because the door hadn’t dropped back down when I let go to scoot under it. It was stuck, and as I stood up and started pulling on the other side, it immediately became clear that neither me nor Holliman’s frenzied yanks and kicks were doing much good.
“Back here! There are tires! Wedge them under!”
Mrs. Graves’ voice was soft but strident, cutting through my panic as I followed her words to the back wall of the garage. There were several stacks of old tires back there, including several truck tires big enough to block the door gap if put end to end. Holliman ran with me to the back, yanking tires down and sliding them across the concrete floor to jam them into the space between the ground and the edge of the door. They were on the other side, clawing and pounding and laughing their heads off as they told us to let them in, but either they didn’t catch on that we were plugging the hole they could crawl through or they just didn’t care. A couple of minutes later we had five tires jammed across the opening, with the last bit of space partially blocked by a heavy-duty hand truck we stuffed into the corner and ran through with chain to the last tire so it wouldn’t be easily removed.
Yet for all that, I knew it would only take a few minutes for the mob to dismantle our defenses, and that’s assuming they couldn’t force the door up themselves. I looked over and saw the same worries on the faces of Holliman and Graves.
She looked past me and nodded towards the far corner. “There’s a door back there. You better go close it in case they come in that way.”
Turning fast, I saw what she meant—an open door that seemed to lead to the store part of the gas station. Heart in my throat, I went to the door and peered through it. The store itself still seemed empty and intact, but I could see more and more people gathering outside. I jerked backward, afraid they might see me through the glass despite the darkness inside the store, but peeking back out a few moments later, there was no sign that they had. Still, they’d seen us go in here, right? Why weren’t they coming in after us?
Stepping back through the door and closing it behind me, I quietly slid over a mechanic’s creeper and propped it under the knob before turning back to my employers. Holliman had managed to tourniquet Mrs. Graves’ upper arm with her belt and bandage her forearm with a strip from his shirt, and while the strip of cloth was already turning red with blood, it was definitely an improvement from how she’d looked a few minutes earlier. Other, of course, from the fact that she looked as terrified as I felt.
I walked back over to them, keeping my voice low. “Why aren’t they coming in? There’s more around on the store side, but they weren’t even really looking in through the windows. It’s like they forgot we’re in here.”
Holliman grimaced and gave a nod. “That’s probably exactly what has happened. We need to be very careful to not make noise or let them see us.”
I frowned at him. “But how does that work? Are they like so crazy or brain-damaged that they don’t remember chasing us in here just now?”
Graves shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Based on what we’ve seen and what we know, they may be insane, but they retain a large degree of sophistication. I think this is just…well, a measure of protection we’re being provided by our service, even here.”
I felt a flare of anger at her carefully chosen words. “Oh, so more magic from ‘our service’? And what exactly do we serve again? Because I seem to always miss out on that part.”
Holliman started turning red. “Clint, now is not…”
I raised my hand and cut him off. “Fuck it. Just save your bullshit. You’re actually right. We’re about to die, and I’d rather focus on that not happening. Any ideas?” I glanced between the two of them. “Either of you?”
A look passed between them and then Holliman glanced toward the shadowy back corner of the garage. “I don’t think there’s another way out of here, but even if there was, they’d just be after us again as soon as we ran. But if they’re that discombobulated…Clint, how many do you think are out there right now?”
I shook my head. “Shit, I don’t know. There were probably thirty or forty following us, right? And another twelve or fifteen trying to cut us off.” I glanced back toward the store side of the gas station. But when I was closing the door I could see out the windows pretty good and…yeah, there are still more coming.”
Holliman fluttered his hand in frustration. “Yes, I understand. But how many? By your best guess?”
Scowling, I gave a shrug. “I don’t know. Probably a hundred or more if none of them are leaving again.”
He gave me a grim smile. “Good. That may be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
Wiping his forehead, he gestured up at the fluorescent light sullenly illuminating the dingy garage we were in. “Have you wondered about the electricity? Not every place has power it seems, but some do. And where is that coming from? Is there an active power plant within the bubble of this place, filled with giggling electricians and engineers that are keeping the lights on? Or are there power lines running outside the bubble to where time and nature move differently? Some kind of life line to the world outside this…” he waved around at the garage, his face contorted with disgust. “This insane hell?” He waggled a finger. “No. Neither. The thing that has taken this place and its people is keeping the lights on. Keeping the people asleep until now, feeding on their dreams and using a bit of that power to maintain certain things for whatever reasons. Perhaps to more easily lure in the occasional traveler, though that’s just a guess. And it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it takes resources, and the more dreamers we take from it, the weaker it will become.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, no shit. But I don’t think these fuckers are going to let us get near them with the eyedropper. And they don’t look too sleepy either.”
Holliman started to give an angry reply when Mrs. Graves put a hand on his arm and my own. “When they were in that dream state, the Elixir was the only way to end that connection. If we had simply gone around and killed them, their deaths would have provided a powerful boost to this thing, perhaps more than just letting it feed on them until they could no longer be sustained. It would have been akin to a ritual sacrifice.”
I felt my stomach twist as I saw where this was heading. “And now?”
She let out a long, tired sigh. “Now? Now it has had to wake up part of them. Sacrificing the power of their dreams to create a standing army to eliminate a threat—us. Unless and until they sleep again, that power is lost.”
Holliman cut in. “And if you’re right, and there are a hundred or more out there, and given those we’ve already dosed, we could move past the breaking point in one fell swoop.”
I stared at her. “You’re talking about killing them, aren’t you? Murdering a hundred people.”
Graves shook her head. “No. Not murder. Self-defense. They will kill us eventually, and in horrible ways. This place…we’re trapped here. Hard as it may be to hear, it’s going to be either them or us.”
Holliman snorted. “Enough of this. We can moralize after we’re no longer in danger.” He pointed to the abandoned sedan sitting in the far corner of the garage. “Clint, go look for gas and oil. If you can’t find much, see if you can syphon some from that car. I’d guess we’ll need at least twenty gallons to spray them all down.”
I backed up a step. “What’re you talking about? You’re going to walk out there and what? Spray them down with oil and gas and set them on fire?”
He chuckled. “No. That’d be suicide. Don’t be an idiot.” He pointed to a skylight above the sedan. “I’m going to have you pry that open and we’ll go onto the roof and spray it down on them. If we’re careful and they don’t see us, they may just let us do it until it’s too late. But first you need to find something liquid that will burn.”
I looked back at Graves. “And you’re okay with this?”
She looked on the edge of tears. “I’m not okay with any of this, but we don’t have a choice. We have a job to do, and they will kill us otherwise. Please Clint.”
Holliman looked ready to argue further, but I cut him off. “Save it. I’m doing this because you’re both right, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that. I feel the same way. Will you please go find us some flammables while I stay with Gracie?”
“Sure…I…yeah, sure.”
The garage was big enough to hold two cars at a time, but with only the one slot occupied, I didn’t think there’d be much to really search. Most of the walls were lined with tools, and there were miscellaneous pieces of equipment along the perimeter, but it wasn’t until I started around the car that I saw something of interest.
It was a pair of feet.
I let out a gasp and started to back away, but something stopped me. This…wasn’t right. The feet were laying at a weird angle and looked…lifeless. Taking a couple of steps forward, I could see more of the man’s body.
He had clearly been dead awhile, though it was to tell how long in this place, and it wasn’t hard to see how he’d died. A box cutter still lay clasped in his withered hand, stained from the gash he’d put in his own neck at the end. I thought about the cinder block at the door and wondered if he was the one that had put that there, maybe hoping someone else would come along and rescue him for a time before he gave up hope.
Tears springing to my eyes, I looked over at his other hand. It was a plastic grocery bag, and inside were the dried ruins of what had probably once been half an ice cream cake, along with plastic plates, candles, and other party supplies. Jesus. This looks like he was going to his kid’s birthday party.
I stumbled back a step before my eyes caught on a large metal drum in the corner. Black painted letters were stenciled along the side, with the first line saying “50 gal”. Below that, was a longer line. “Waste Oil.” Stepping cautionly by the poor dead man, I gingerly rocked it. It felt most of the way full. Sighing, I looked back down at the birthday bag.
When I came back around, Graves and Holliman were looking at me with expectant desperation. I nodded. “I found a drum back here. I think it has like thirty or forty gallons of old oil in there.” I threw a small plastic bag at Holliman’s chest. Flinching, he fumblingly grabbed it and looked at it before giving me a sullen stare.
“Party balloons?” His face split into a grin as he began to laugh softly. “Oh, I see. Yes. That should work well. Yes, yes.”
“Yeah. Let’s just…let’s hurry and get this done. Come help me get the barrel out.”
Easing up from his spot next to Mrs. Graves, he bustled over past me, still chuckling. “Sure thing, chief. Time for a fire tonight!”
Frowning at him, I turned to look back at Graves, her eyes wide and more fearful than when we’d barely escaped the mob outside. She was mouthing something to me, lips trembling as she tried to enunciate each word clearly across the shadowy space.
"We’re…losing…him."
submitted by Verastahl to nosleep [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 03:22 Blursed-Penguin No Rest for the Wicked 20

FirstPreviousNext

---

In keeping with the long-standing tradition of militaries around the world to never actually finish doing anything, the end of the initial invasion of Omen was declared on that day. Not the end of hostilities, nor of combat, nor even of major combat operations. The end of the initial invasion. The backs of their forces on-world had been broken, but they were far from done fighting.

Darren wasn’t too enthused.

The order to scramble came just as he finished unloading crates of supplies from the newest freighter into the system. Sighing, he grabbed his rifle and ran for the hangar deck of the Bunker Hill, donning his armor on the way. The Dark Sparrow sat fueling on the deck, about half of the platoon already aboard. Once on himself, Darren learned the circumstances of what had happened.

A number of servicemen had gone rogue while on duty in Omen’s capital, holing up in a building and detonating a canister of chlorine gas. Dozens of civilians were already dead, and they had warded off all attempts by military police to apprehend them.

“Brainwashed?” Darren turned to Pavlov.

“Yeah, definitely.” Pavlov said, consulting a flash card containing the signs of Poslushi neuroforming. It had been noticed that the brainwashed had an eerie calm about them, but were otherwise hard to detect, being nearly identical to their prior selves. Darren wondered when the government would stop panicking about national security and declassify the whole thing about brainwashing.

The helicopter lifted off the ground and started the somewhat short flight towards the capital, apparently named High Unlerin. It was already visible on the horizon; for a major city, it wasn’t very large. Then, Darren saw that it actually blended into the surrounding forest, concrete and metal fading into lumber and dirt roads. The city center was built in the flowy, vibrant style of the Poslushi; the previous had probably been demolished to make room. However, the Poslushi were far more regular in their construction than the Ovinis, making the Rangers’ jobs easier.

Poslushi cities were built in a honeycomb style, which made them horrendous for automobile traffic but otherwise efficient for saving space. It made sense, considering the Poslushi had no wheeled vehicles, using nimble, legged machines in the place of cars. Each city “block” was its own building, constructed in a rough spire shape, sometimes with a statue or similar art piece to top the towers.

This particular one was bright blue, with a structure composed of multiple parts that stretched upward and melded together like wisps of flame. However, it was partially obscured at the ground level by a cloud of sickly yellow-green gas, and a multitude of dark, limp forms lay strewn about. The whole block had been cordoned off, with barriers and hazard-suited guards abound.

“Jesus. Why would they kill their own citizens?” Pavlov mused, gazing down at the numerous corpses below.

“My best guess is scorched earth or maybe trying to induce some sort of terrorism to make our jobs harder.” Simmons proposed, shrugging.

“Well, it isn’t anything we can’t solve with a little bit of elbow grease and judicious application of firepower. Nothing like 8.5mm to dissuade the bad guys, eh?” Sparrow remarked.

“Nothing indeed.” Darren said. The helicopter hovered over the building, its doors sliding open and the lights on the roof flashing green.

“Go, go, go!” Pavlov barked, donning his gas mask and leaping from the Dark Sparrow. The rest followed shortly after, Darren’s heart leaping into his throat before his jetpack kicked on and sent him gently drifting into the asphalt. The gas mask was hot and not well-ventilated, but it was better than the water in his lungs turning to hydrochloric acid and dissolving him from the inside out. At least it wasn’t VX or some equally-terrible nerve agent.

Darren loaded and primed his rifle, finding the rest of his platoon and regrouping. Once gathered, they split up into their combat teams, spreading out to cover all entrances to the building. Darren, Pavlov, and Simmons went to the south doors, while two six-man teams breached the other, more heavily-trapped entrances. Darren ran his hands over the door, checking for anything that could indicate a trap or mine. Nothing.

Cringing, he mustered his courage and ripped the door open, expecting the entrance to explode. It didn’t, somehow. Darren leaned over, rifle brandished–

Thwip. A bullet whizzed past Darren’s head, the shot sounding a fraction of a second later. Yelping, Darren ducked back behind the doorframe as Pavlov discharged a shot from his grenade launcher. The shell exploded in a burst of light and sound, and Darren entered shortly afterward, setting his sights upon the blinded shooter and firing twice. The soldier staggered back, then collapsed. Darren methodically advanced down the hallway, keeping an eye to each side in case someone emerged from there.

This place was quiet. Too quiet. Their intel showed that there were at least a dozen rogue men in this building, but where were the gunshots as the other two teams encountered their own enemies? Surely they wouldn’t guard one entrance and abandon the others?

“Hey, there’s a note.” Pavlov said, stooping down to grab a small, lightly-bloodstained piece of paper from the ground next to the corpse. Darren kept an eye out as he started to read.

To the esteemed units of the United States Armed Forces, or whomever else may find this,

My name is Sgt. Philip Halloway, and I am most likely dead. I am alone within this building; it has been arranged for the numbers to be bungled to increase the urgency of your response. I have chosen to hasten my exit from this world by firing a warning shot; if I had intended to hit you, you would not be reading this. Don’t worry about me. I’ve nothing left to lose anyways, and I’ve chosen this task for myself.

The events of the last few years, namely the Contact Wars and the recent outbreak of hostilities with the Poslushi, have left many embittered, including me. You may know us as the Mankind Defense Home Guard, or the MDHG for simplicity’s sake. You will most likely hear more from us in the coming time.

“The hell does that mean?” Pavlov squinted at the text.

“Go on, keep going.” Darren urged him.

First things first, we do not believe that humankind holds any special place in the cosmos, that we are any form of “master race,” or the like. For that, contact any of the dozens of nationalist, jingoist, or downright neo-Nazi groups out there, to which you will find us far preferable. However, that is not to say that we do not believe the alien to be an existential threat to our way of life and/or survival as a species. Like any threat, they are to be neutralized with efficiency and without sentimentality, up to and including the great taboo of genocide, should it become unfortunately necessary.

This unsavory act was an important step in the preparation of mankind for a thousand more crimes like this, done so that no greater atrocity need be committed. Think of this as sowing salt in the fields of war. One day, you’ll thank us for our insight when your children walk the stars freely and without fear, and violence is an evil long forgotten.

Thank you for your time.

P.S.: Check my chest. No secret keeps forever.

Darren inspected the vest of the dead soldier, the blood-drenched graphene augmented with a strange pouch not present on the standard-issue model. Inside was… oh, no.

A tiny webcam, a little red light on its side blinking, probably still broadcasting. And it had heard Halloway’s entire speech. Darren picked it up and clicked a button on its backside twice to switch it off. Then, he activated his radio.

“Platoon, we might want to relay this to command. Looks like we just participated in one hell of a publicity stunt.”



“Director Hoover? We’ve got a Colonel Jasper here to talk to you. It seems important.”

“Send him in.” the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency spoke into the phone. The door to his office creaked open and a hulking soldier entered, in his old dress blues, his chest festooned with medals of all kinds. He had an imperious, authoritative air about him, but it was not something the head of the most feared intelligence organization in the world would let sway him.

“Director Hoover.” Colonel Jasper saluted.

“Colonel, you mind telling us precisely what your underling was doing gassing a number of civilians on Omen? You’re lucky we found you before the Hague did.”

“The perpetrator undertook this action on his own and with no intervention from us, even if we were mentioned. We don’t control what people do in their downtime.” Jasper shrugged.

“Well, you should, if they’re going to do this. We’ve been trying to establish good relations with the populace and your little maverick’s just set us back severely. You had better hope he acted alone, or your group’s going on the list we use for terrorists. And you don’t want to be on that list, no matter how tough you think you are.”

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work.” Jasper said, narrowing his eyes and leaning over the desk. “I’ve fought in the Anathema Encounter, what makes you think I’ll–”

You will not mention that incident!” the Director shouted, slamming his palms on the desk and standing up. Supposedly, Director Hoover was one of the foremost “agents of regime correction” in the service before his appointment, and Jasper could see the killer in him as he postured himself almost predatorily. Then, he collected himself and spoke with measured calm.

“It’s bad enough that you know about Anathema. Do what you must, if you believe that you can rally the people to your cause. But the moment we find any evidence that you ordered this, you’re going away for a long time. And if you so much as say a word about Anathema to anyone, you’ll be in a blacksite before the week’s out. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Jasper sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now leave. Next time, I’m not going to be nice.”



Hell on Earth wasn’t a really accurate way to describe war. War was a lot worse. In Hell, things were uniformly terrible, and no one was there without cause. In war, things got better just long enough to leave one complacent when they got worse, and it was filled with people caught inside by plain bad luck.

These notions were unknown to the United States Air Force. From so high up and so far away, war was impersonal. You didn’t have to look the man you shot in the eye. No scream of terror, no keening of anguish could carry twenty kilometers into the air, after all.

The bomber squadron was near-serene as it shot over the landscape of Omen. The only sound was the consistent whine of jet engines and the occasional peal of thunder from storms that appeared on the horizon in a flash and vanished as quickly as they came. The blackness of space was readily visible above.

The remainders of the Poslushi garrison had long since seen the settlements of the planet as a lost cause, retiring to the hamlets of the forests to continue the fight. It was a shame; many of the airmen had been looking forward to a tropical paradise to vacation in.

The pilot of the B-60 in the lead turned to the weapons systems officer. “Get ready to drop the payload.” the WSO nodded, tapping a set of buttons on his control console. In the bomb bay, the electric fuses of the dozen bombs activated simultaneously. All the while, the bomber shrieked towards its target at Mach 6.

Three hundred kilometers out, the squadron dispersed, each bomber flying to its own target. There was no longer any worry of enemy interception to be had; the brave pilots of the Bunker Hill had all but annihilated the already small air forces of the garrison.

A minute later, they were within two hundred kilometers. Hypersonic aircraft were, true to their name, rather fast.

“Drop our speed and pop open the bomb bay.” the navigator ordered. Rapidly, the aircraft descended to Mach 3, the great doors in the plane’s belly sliding open. If they opened the bay doors while at cruising speed, the immense change in air resistance could tear the bomber apart. Still, it was moving fast, far too quick for the manually-aimed Poslushi air defenses to track.

“Three… two… drop.” the pilot counted. Nodding, the WSO pressed a button and the payload began falling from the plane at regular intervals. One bomb every two seconds, a dozen bombs total, leaving a trail of falling bombs twenty-four kilometers long. The payload plummeted towards the ground for a few short seconds, and then the tiny explosive charges in the casings detonated, blowing the bombs apart and leaving in their place a whirlwind of swirling, falling papers. Written in the language of the Ovinis, they were a warning, telling any civilians in the area to vacate immediately before the worst happened.

It was no empty threat. Twenty-four hours later, they would repeat this route with a far different payload. The Poslushi would also do well to heed their words, because this time they would be carrying napalm bombs, and a lot more than twelve of them.

War was not hell. It was far worse. However, mankind knew how to make war seem like hell, more literally than not in some cases.

(AN: Forgot to celebrate #10, so let's celebrate #20! Woo! Anyways, I don't exactly like war, as you can see. However, it makes exploring the consequences of a fictional war quite interesting. Just wait until things really start to escalate!

Love 'ya!)
submitted by Blursed-Penguin to HFY [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 02:54 lazygun247 Documentation on foreclosed property

Hi,
I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, we are purchasing our first home and have done the inspection and everything on a property that we really love, but it is a foreclosed property currently owned and recently renovated by the bank. The dilemma is that the seller (bank/realtor) refuses to provide any documentation of invoices / work that was done except for the fact that a major section was overhauled. For instance, the roof was redone last year, by a contractor that the seller uses nationwide, but I can't really reach as an individual.
We really would like to close on the house but the lack of documentation is kind of frustrating and I am just wondering if it is any red flags for when we sell the house? Is it appropriate to just say that the house was updated at this time and by what company without any other additional details?
Don't get me wrong, I think the house we are buying is in great shape and will not have any problems while we live there. I am worried about the sale at the other end. Am I being overly careful about asking for this? If not, is there anyway to go about asking for it because I have gotten basically a "take it or leave it" attitude.
submitted by lazygun247 to FirstTimeHomeBuyer [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 02:52 gonemad16 First attempt: George Dates a driving instructor but can't decipher if they're dating or she's giving lessons. Kramer goes to the cinema just for the popcorn.

So I am attempting to get chatgpt to write a full seinfeld script (through bing). It errors out a lot so this has been the best attempt so far at getting a full episode. Premise is from here: https://www.reddit.com/RedditWritesSeinfeld/comments/11zomnc/george_dates_a_driving_instructor_but_cant/
George Dates a driving instructor but can't decipher if they're dating or she's giving lessons. Kramer goes to the cinema just for the popcorn. Elaine dates a male feminist. Jerry stars in Who’s Line Is It Anyway and bombs the improv
I cut Jerry and Elaines story line since chatgpt would error out or get some content policy issue. The final scene failed as well and I hit the limit but it was a decent attempt
Scene 1:
[INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY]
GEORGE: (sitting at a table with a newspaper) Ah, what a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I have nothing to do but enjoy this cup of coffee. (looks around) Maybe I'll even meet someone interesting today. You never know.
DENISE: (approaching his table) Excuse me, is this seat taken?
GEORGE: (looks up and sees a young woman with a driving school jacket) No, no, please, sit down.
DENISE: Thanks. (sits down and puts her jacket on the chair) I'm Denise, by the way.
GEORGE: George. Nice to meet you.
DENISE: Likewise. So, what do you do, George?
GEORGE: Well, I'm an architect.
DENISE: Really? That's impressive.
GEORGE: Thank you. Thank you very much. And you?
DENISE: I'm a driving instructor.
GEORGE: A driving instructor? Wow, that's... that's something.
DENISE: Yeah, it's not the most glamorous job, but it pays the bills.
GEORGE: I bet you have some stories to tell.
DENISE: Oh, you have no idea. Some of the people I have to teach are unbelievable. They don't know how to signal, they don't know how to park, they don't know how to merge...
GEORGE: They don't know how to merge? How can they not know how to merge?
DENISE: I know, right? It's like they've never driven before.
GEORGE: Well, maybe they haven't.
DENISE: Well, then they shouldn't be on the road.
GEORGE: Exactly. Exactly. You and I are on the same page, Denise.
DENISE: (laughs) I guess we are.
GEORGE: So, Denise... can I ask you something?
DENISE: Sure.
GEORGE: Would you like to go out with me?
DENISE: (smiles) Really? You want to go out with me?
GEORGE: Yes. Yes, I do.
DENISE: Well... okay. Sure. Why not?
GEORGE: Great. Great. How about tomorrow?
DENISE: Tomorrow sounds good.
GEORGE: Perfect. Perfect. Where should we meet?
DENISE: How about the driving school? It's on 5th and Main.
GEORGE: The driving school? Okay... sure... why not?
DENISE: Great. I'll see you there at 10.
GEORGE: 10? In the morning?
DENISE: Yeah. Is that a problem?
GEORGE: No... no... not at all... 10 is fine...
DENISE: Okay then. It's a date.
GEORGE: It's a date. (smiles nervously)
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 2:
[INT. MOVIE THEATER - DAY]
KRAMER: (sitting in the front row with a large bucket of popcorn) Mmm... this popcorn is amazing. (takes a handful and shoves it in his mouth) So buttery, so salty, so crunchy... (chews loudly)
JERRY: (sitting next to him) Kramer, can you keep it down? You're making too much noise.
KRAMER: What? I can't hear you. The movie's too loud.
JERRY: The movie's too loud? It's a silent film.
KRAMER: Well, then why are we here?
JERRY: Because you wanted to see it.
KRAMER: I did?
JERRY: Yes, you did. You said it was a classic.
KRAMER: I did?
JERRY: Yes, you did.
KRAMER: Well, I don't remember that.
JERRY: Well, you did.
KRAMER: Well, maybe I did. But I don't care about it now. All I care about is this popcorn. (takes another handful and shoves it in his mouth)
JERRY: Kramer, you've been eating popcorn non-stop for the past hour. Don't you think you've had enough?
KRAMER: Enough? Jerry, there's no such thing as enough when it comes to this popcorn. It's the best popcorn I ever had in my life. And I've had a lot of popcorn.
JERRY: Really? How much?
KRAMER: How much? Jerry, I've been going to the movies every day for the past two weeks just for the popcorn.
JERRY: Every day?
KRAMER: Every day.
JERRY: Even if you don't care about the film?
KRAMER: Even if I don't care about the film.
JERRY: Kramer, that's insane.
KRAMER: No, Jerry, that's genius. Think about it. For the price of one ticket, I get unlimited access to the best popcorn in the world. And I get to see a different movie every time. It's like a buffet of entertainment.
JERRY: But you don't even watch the movies.
KRAMER: So what? They're all the same anyway. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. Blah blah blah. Who needs that when you have this? (holds up the bucket of popcorn)
JERRY: Kramer, you have a problem.
KRAMER: No, Jerry, I have a solution.
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 3:
[INT. DRIVING SCHOOL CAR - DAY]
GEORGE: (sitting in the driver's seat) So, here we are.
DENISE: (sitting in the passenger seat) Yes, here we are.
GEORGE: You look lovely today.
DENISE: Thank you.
GEORGE: So, where are we going?
DENISE: We're going to drive around the block and practice some basic skills.
GEORGE: Oh. Okay.
DENISE: Are you ready?
GEORGE: Ready as I'll ever be.
DENISE: All right, then. Start the engine.
GEORGE: (starts the engine) There we go.
DENISE: Good. Now, put your seat belt on.
GEORGE: (puts his seat belt on) Safety first.
DENISE: Right. Now, check your mirrors.
GEORGE: (checks his mirrors) Check.
DENISE: Good. Now, put your foot on the brake.
GEORGE: (puts his foot on the brake) Brake.
DENISE: Good. Now, put the car in drive.
GEORGE: (puts the car in drive) Drive.
DENISE: Good. Now, release the brake and gently press the gas pedal.
GEORGE: (releases the brake and gently presses the gas pedal) Gas.
DENISE: Good. Now, steer the car to the right and exit the parking lot.
GEORGE: (steers the car to the right and exits the parking lot) Right.
DENISE: Good. Now, keep your eyes on the road and follow the traffic signs and signals.
GEORGE: (keeps his eyes on the road and follows the traffic signs and signals) Road.
DENISE: Good. You're doing great.
GEORGE: (smiles) Thanks. You're a great teacher.
DENISE: Thank you.
(Silence)
GEORGE: So...
DENISE: So...
(Silence)
GEORGE: Can I ask you something?
DENISE: Sure.
GEORGE: Are we... are we on a date?
DENISE: What?
GEORGE: Are we on a date? I mean, you agreed to go out with me yesterday at the coffee shop, right?
DENISE: Well, yes, but...
GEORGE: But what?
DENISE: But this is not a date. This is a driving lesson.
GEORGE: A driving lesson?
DENISE: Yes, a driving lesson. I'm a driving instructor, remember?
GEORGE: Well, yes, but...
DENISE: But what?
GEORGE: But why did you tell me to meet you at the driving school? Why didn't you tell me to meet you somewhere else? Somewhere more... date-like?
DENISE: Because this is where I work. This is where I have my car. This is where I teach people how to drive.
GEORGE: But you don't have to teach me how to drive. I already know how to drive.
DENISE: Really? Then why did you sign up for a driving lesson?
GEORGE: Because I thought it was a date!
DENISE: Well, it's not!
(A car horn honks behind them)
DENISE: Watch out! You're blocking the intersection!
(GEORGE swerves and hits a fire hydrant)
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 4:
[INT. MOVIE THEATER - DAY]
KRAMER: (sitting in the back row with a large paper bag) Mmm... this popcorn is amazing. (takes a handful and shoves it in his mouth) So buttery, so salty, so crunchy... (chews loudly)
USHER: (approaching him) Excuse me, sir. Can I see your ticket?
KRAMER: (swallows) Sure, sure. Here you go. (hands him a ticket)
USHER: (looks at the ticket) Sir, this ticket is for yesterday.
KRAMER: Oh, really? Well, that's a mistake. I bought it today.
USHER: Sir, I don't think so. This ticket is clearly dated and stamped.
KRAMER: Well, maybe the machine was broken.
USHER: Sir, please don't lie to me. I know you're trying to sneak in.
KRAMER: Sneak in? Me? No, no, no. I would never do that.
USHER: Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
KRAMER: Leave? But I'm watching the movie.
USHER: Sir, you're not watching the movie. You're eating popcorn.
KRAMER: Well, what's wrong with that?
USHER: Sir, where did you get that popcorn?
KRAMER: (looks at the bag) This popcorn?
USHER: Yes, that popcorn.
KRAMER: Well... I brought it from home.
USHER: You brought it from home?
KRAMER: Yeah. Yeah, I did.
USHER: Sir, you can't bring your own popcorn to the theater. That's against the rules.
KRAMER: Rules? What rules?
USHER: The rules that say you have to buy your popcorn from the concession stand.
KRAMER: Oh, those rules.
USHER: Yes, those rules.
KRAMER: Well, I didn't know about those rules.
USHER: Sir, they're posted everywhere. No outside food or drink allowed.
KRAMER: Well, I didn't see them.
USHER: Sir, they're right there. (points to a sign)
KRAMER: Oh. Well, I didn't read them.
USHER: Sir, please stop making excuses. You know you're not supposed to bring your own popcorn.
KRAMER: Okay, okay. Fine. You got me. I brought my own popcorn. So what?
USHER: So what? So what? Sir, do you have any idea how much money we make from selling popcorn?
KRAMER: No.
USHER: A lot. A lot of money. Popcorn is our main source of income. It's how we pay our bills. It's how we keep this theater running.
KRAMER: Really?
USHER: Yes, really. And when you bring your own popcorn, you're taking away our profits. You're stealing from us.
KRAMER: Stealing? Come on. That's a bit harsh.
USHER: No, it's not. It's the truth. And you know what we do to thieves?
KRAMER: What?
USHER: We ban them from the theater.
KRAMER: Ban them?
USHER: Yes, ban them. As in never let them come back again.
KRAMER: Never?
USHER: Never.
KRAMER: But... but...
USHER: But nothing. You're banned, buddy. Banned for life.
KRAMER: Banned for life?
USHER: Banned for life.
(KRAMER gasps and drops the bag of popcorn)
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 5:
[INT. DRIVING SCHOOL OFFICE - DAY]
GEORGE: (sitting across from DENISE) Denise, I need to talk to you.
DENISE: What is it, George?
GEORGE: Look, I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I didn't mean to cause an accident.
DENISE: It's okay, George. It wasn't your fault.
GEORGE: It wasn't?
DENISE: No, it was the fire hydrant's fault. It shouldn't have been there.
GEORGE: Oh. Well, that's good to know.
DENISE: Yeah.
(Silence)
GEORGE: So...
DENISE: So...
(Silence)
GEORGE: Denise, I have to ask you something.
DENISE: What is it, George?
GEORGE: Are we... are we dating?
DENISE: (sighs) George, we've been over this.
GEORGE: I know, I know. But I need a clear answer. Yes or no?
DENISE: No, George. We are not dating.
GEORGE: We're not?
DENISE: No, we're not.
GEORGE: But why not?
DENISE: Because this is not a relationship. This is a business transaction.
GEORGE: A business transaction?
DENISE: Yes, a business transaction. You pay me to teach you how to drive. That's it.
GEORGE: But what about the coffee shop? What about the conversation? What about the chemistry?
DENISE: What chemistry?
GEORGE: The chemistry! The spark! The connection!
DENISE: George, there was no spark. There was no connection. There was only coffee.
GEORGE: Only coffee?
DENISE: Only coffee.
GEORGE: But you smiled at me. You laughed at my jokes. You touched my arm.
DENISE: I was being polite. I was being friendly. I was being professional.
GEORGE: Professional?
DENISE: Yes, professional. George, I'm a driving instructor. That's my job. And part of my job is to make my students feel comfortable and confident behind the wheel.
GEORGE: Comfortable and confident?
DENISE: Yes, comfortable and confident.
GEORGE: Well, you failed miserably at that.
DENISE: Excuse me?
GEORGE: You heard me. You're a terrible driving instructor.
DENISE: I'm a terrible driving instructor?
GEORGE: Yes, you are.
DENISE: How dare you say that? I'm one of the best driving instructors in this city.
GEORGE: Oh, really? Then how come you couldn't teach me how to drive?
DENISE: Because you're a hopeless case, George. You're a terrible driver.
GEORGE: I'm a terrible driver?
DENISE: Yes, you are.
GEORGE: How dare you say that? I'm one of the best drivers in this city.
DENISE: Oh, really? Then how come you crashed into a fire hydrant?
GEORGE: Because it shouldn't have been there!
DENISE: That's no excuse, George. You have no sense of direction, no sense of speed, no sense of traffic rules. You don't know how to signal, you don't know how to park, you don't know how to merge...
GEORGE: Hey, hey, hey! Enough with the merging already!
DENISE: George, face it. You need more lessons.
GEORGE: More lessons?
DENISE: Yes, more lessons.
(GEORGE stands up and grabs his coat)
GEORGE: Forget it, Denise. Forget it. I don't need more lessons. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I'm outta here.
(GEORGE storms out of the office)
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 6:
[INT. JERRY'S APARTMENT - DAY]
JERRY: (on the phone) Hello? Kramer? Is that you?
KRAMER: (on the other end) Yeah, Jerry. It's me.
JERRY: Kramer, where have you been? I haven't seen you in weeks.
KRAMER: I've been... busy.
JERRY: Busy? Doing what?
KRAMER: You know... stuff.
JERRY: Stuff? What kind of stuff?
KRAMER: Just... stuff.
JERRY: Kramer, are you okay? You sound depressed.
KRAMER: Depressed? Me? No, no, no. I'm fine.
JERRY: Are you sure?
KRAMER: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm sure.
JERRY: Well, then why don't you come over? We're having a poker night. George and Elaine are here.
KRAMER: Poker night? No, thanks. I'm not in the mood.
JERRY: Not in the mood? Since when are you not in the mood for poker?
KRAMER: Since... since now.
JERRY: Kramer, what's going on? What's wrong?
KRAMER: Nothing's wrong, Jerry. Nothing's wrong.
JERRY: Come on, Kramer. You can tell me. I'm your friend.
KRAMER: (sighs) All right, Jerry. All right. I'll tell you.
JERRY: Okay. Tell me.
KRAMER: I'm... I'm out of popcorn.
JERRY: Out of popcorn?
KRAMER: Yeah. Out of popcorn.
JERRY: And that's why you're depressed?
KRAMER: Well, yeah. Jerry, you don't understand. This is not just any popcorn. This is the best popcorn in the world. The cinema popcorn.
JERRY: The cinema popcorn?
KRAMER: Yeah. The cinema popcorn. The popcorn that makes life worth living. The popcorn that fills my soul with joy and happiness.
JERRY: Okay...
KRAMER: And I can't have it anymore, Jerry. I can't have it anymore.
JERRY: Why not?
KRAMER: Because they banned me from the theater, Jerry. They banned me for life.
JERRY: They banned you for life?
KRAMER: Yeah. They banned me for life.
JERRY: Why did they ban you for life?
KRAMER: Because I was taking popcorn from other people's seats, Jerry. I was taking popcorn from other people's seats.
JERRY: You were taking popcorn from other people's seats?
KRAMER: Yeah. I was taking popcorn from other people's seats.
JERRY: Kramer, that's stealing.
KRAMER: No, Jerry. That's surviving.
JERRY: Surviving?
KRAMER: Yeah. Surviving. Jerry, you don't know what it's like to be addicted to popcorn. To crave it every day. To need it every hour. To live for it every minute.
JERRY: No, I don't.
KRAMER: Well, I do, Jerry. I do. And when they cut me off from my supply, I had to find another way to get it. And the only way was to take it from others.
JERRY: Kramer, that's crazy.
KRAMER: No, Jerry. That's desperate.
JERRY: Desperate?
KRAMER: Yeah. Desperate. And it worked for a while, Jerry. It worked for a while. But then they caught me. They caught me red-handed with a handful of popcorn in my mouth and a bucket of popcorn in my lap.
JERRY: And then what happened?
KRAMER: And then they kicked me out of the theater, Jerry. They kicked me out and they told me never to come back again.
JERRY: Wow.
KRAMER: Yeah. Wow.
(Silence)
JERRY: Well... that's too bad.
KRAMER: Yeah. Too bad.
(Silence)
JERRY: So... what are you going to do now?
KRAMER: I don't know, Jerry. I don't know. I've tried everything else. Microwave popcorn, stovetop popcorn, air-popped popcorn... but none of them compare to the cinema popcorn. None of them have that magic touch.
JERRY: Well... maybe you should try something else.
KRAMER: Like what?
JERRY: Like... chips?
KRAMER: Chips? Chips?! Jerry, are you kidding me? Chips are nothing compared to popcorn! Chips are dry
[END OF SCENE]
Scene 7: Attempted ending with ChatGPT having no context
[INT. JERRY'S APARTMENT]
GEORGE: (angrily) I can't believe it! She dumped me because I'm a bad driver!
JERRY: Who dumped you?
GEORGE: Denise! The driving instructor!
JERRY: The driving instructor dumped you because you're a bad driver?
GEORGE: Yes! She said I have no sense of direction, I don't signal properly, and I brake too hard!
JERRY: Well, maybe she has a point.
GEORGE: What do you mean?
JERRY: Come on, George. You're not exactly Mario Andretti behind the wheel.
GEORGE: Oh, and you are?
JERRY: Well, I'm better than you.
GEORGE: Oh, please. You're a nervous wreck. You always grip the steering wheel like it's a life preserver.
JERRY: That's because it is. Have you seen the way people drive in this city?
ELAINE: (entering) Hey, guys.
GEORGE: Elaine, you're a witness. Who's a better driver? Me or Jerry?
ELAINE: Oh, boy. That's a tough one.
GEORGE: Come on, Elaine. Be honest.
ELAINE: Well...Jerry.
GEORGE: Jerry?!
ELAINE: Yeah, sorry, George. Jerry's a better driver.
GEORGE: How can you say that?
ELAINE: Well, for one thing, he doesn't yell at every pedestrian and cyclist on the road.
GEORGE: They're in my way!
ELAINE: And he doesn't honk his horn every five seconds.
GEORGE: It's a form of communication!
ELAINE: And he doesn't park on the sidewalk.
GEORGE: There's no space on the street!
JERRY: George, face it. You're a bad driver.
GEORGE: I'm not a bad driver! I'm a good driver!
KRAMER: (entering) Hey, hey, hey! What's going on here?
ELAINE: Oh, hi, Kramer.
KRAMER: What are you guys talking about?
JERRY: George got dumped by his driving instructor because he's a bad driver.
KRAMER: Oh, that's too bad.
GEORGE: Thank you, Kramer. Finally, someone who sympathizes with me.
KRAMER: Yeah, yeah. Listen, do you guys have any popcorn?
JERRY: Popcorn?
KRAMER: Yeah, popcorn. You know, the crunchy stuff you eat at the movies.
JERRY: Yeah, we know what popcorn is. Why do you want popcorn?
KRAMER: Because I'm addicted to it!
ELAINE: What?
KRAMER: Yeah, yeah. Ever since I started working at that cinema, I can't stop eating popcorn. It's like crack to me!
JERRY: Well, why don't you just quit your job?
KRAMER: Quit my job? Are you kidding? That's the best part! Free popcorn!
ELAINE: Kramer, that's not healthy. You have to cut down on your popcorn intake.
KRAMER: No, no, no. I can't do that. I need it. I need it bad.
JERRY: Kramer, this is ridiculous. You have to stop this madness.
KRAMER: No, no, no. You don't understand. It's too late for me. I'm hooked. Hooked on popcorn!
(Kramer starts twitching and shaking)
ELAINE: Oh my god. He's having a popcorn withdrawal!
JERRY: Quick! Get him some water!
(George grabs a glass of water and hands it to Kramer)
KRAMER: (drinking the water) Ahh...that's better.
(Kramer calms down)
KRAMER: Thanks, George. You're a lifesaver.
GEORGE: Don't mention it.
KRAMER: By the way...you're a terrible driver.
(George looks stunned and hurt)
[END]
submitted by gonemad16 to ChatGPTWritesSeinfeld [link] [comments]


2023.03.25 02:52 FitInvestigator5945 SATIRE RESEARCH NAIJAH CLOVER FROM THE GET GO

4:04AM EST
SSTURDAY APRIL 25TH, 2020

Horatian: Horatian satire is tolerant, funny, sophisticated witty, wise, self-effacing and aims to correct through humor...
Juvenalian: Juvenalian satire is angry, caustic, personal, relentless, bitter, and serious...
SATIRICAL DEVICE
  1. Humor:Exaggeration or overstatement: Something that does happen, but is exaggerated to absurd lengths...

Genre of arts and literature in the form of humor or ridicule

In fiction and less frequently in non-fiction, satire is a genre of literature and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses and shor... en.wikipedia.org

Satire is a technique in art and literature that pokes fun at established artistic or cultural norms. Satirists practice their craft for the sake of social criticism, comedy, or, often, both. The different satire genres include spoof, parody, and classic literary satire techniques.

Definition of satire
1: a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2: trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/satire

The Culinary Roots of Satire
Satire came into English at the beginning of the 16th century, and the meaning of the word has not strayed very far from its original sense. The initial uses were primarily applied to poems, and the term now has a broader applicability. Satire has a semantic and etymological overlap with both farce and lampoon. Farce ("a light dramatic composition marked by broadly satirical comedy and improbable plot") came into English as a synonym for forcemeat, meaning "finely chopped and highly seasoned meat or fish that is either served alone or used as a stuffing." Lampoon ("a harsh satire usually directed against an individual") is thought to come from the French lampons!, meaning "let us guzzle!" And satire is believed to trace back to the Latin satur, meaning "well-fed."

Examples of satire in a Sentence
By contrast, Martial's friend, Juvenal, learned to transmute Martial's epigrammatic wit into savage satire. Juvenal's fierce, if occasionally obscene, tirades against immorality fit easily into the propaganda of the new era.
— G. W. Bowersock, New York Review of Books, 26 Feb. 2009
Unlike late-night talk shows that traffic in Hollywood interviews and stupid pet tricks, "The Daily Show" is a fearless social satire. Not many comedy shows would dare do five minutes on the intricacies of medicare or a relentlessly cheeky piece on President George W. Bush's Thanksgiving trip to Iraq …
— Marc Peyser, Newsweek, 29 Dec. 2003 - 5 Jan. 2004

In fiction and less frequently in non-fiction, satire is a genre of literature and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, corporations, government, or society itself into improvement.[1] Although satire is usually meant to be humorous, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit to draw attention to both particular and wider issues in society.

A feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm —"in satire, irony is militant", according to literary critic Northrup Frye—[2] but parody, burlesque, exaggeration,[3] juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. This "militant" irony or sarcasm often professes to approve of (or at least accept as natural) the very things the satirist wishes to question.

Satire is nowadays found in many artistic forms of expression, including internet memes, literature, plays, commentary, television shows, and media such as lyrics.

Etymology and roots
The word satire comes from the Latin word satur and the subsequent phrase lanx satura. Satur meant "full" but the juxtaposition with lanx shifted the meaning to "miscellany or medley": the expression lanx satura literally means "a full dish of various kinds of fruits".[4]

The word satura as used by Quintilian, however, was used to denote only Roman verse satire, a strict genre that imposed hexameter form, a narrower genre than what would be later intended as satire.[4][5] Quintilian famously said that satura, that is a satire in hexameter verses, was a literary genre of wholly Roman origin (satura tota nostra est). He was aware of and commented on Greek satire, but at the time did not label it as such, although today the origin of satire is considered to be Aristophanes' Old Comedy. The first critic to use the term "satire" in the modern broader sense was Apuleius.[4]

To Quintilian, the satire was a strict literary form, but the term soon escaped from the original narrow definition. Robert Elliott writes:

As soon as a noun enters the domain of metaphor, as one modern scholar has pointed out, it clamours for extension; and satura (which had had no verbal, adverbial, or adjectival forms) was immediately broadened by appropriation from the Greek word for “satyr” (satyros) and its derivatives. The odd result is that the English “satire” comes from the Latin satura; but "satirize", "satiric", etc., are of Greek origin. By about the 4th century AD the writer of satires came to be known as satyricus; St. Jerome, for example, was called by one of his enemies 'a satirist in prose' ('satyricus scriptor in prosa'). Subsequent orthographic modifications obscured the Latin origin of the word satire: satura becomes satyra, and in England, by the 16th century, it was written 'satyre.'[1]

The word satire derives from satura, and its origin was not influenced by the Greek mythological figure of the satyr.[6] In the 17th century, philologist Isaac Casaubon was the first to dispute the etymology of satire from satyr, contrary to the belief up to that time.[7]

Humour
“ The rules of satire are such that it must do more than make you laugh. No matter how amusing it is, it doesn't count unless you find yourself wincing a little even as you chuckle.[8] ”
Laughter is not an essential component of satire;[9] in fact there are types of satire that are not meant to be "funny" at all. Conversely, not all humour, even on such topics as politics, religion or art is necessarily "satirical", even when it uses the satirical tools of irony, parody, and burlesque.

Even light-hearted satire has a serious "after-taste": the organizers of the Ig Nobel Prize describe this as "first make people laugh, and then make them think".[10]

Social and psychological functions
Satire and irony in some cases have been regarded as the most effective source to understand a society, the oldest form of social study.[11] They provide the keenest insights into a group's collective psyche, reveal its deepest values and tastes, and the society's structures of power.[12][13] Some authors have regarded satire as superior to non-comic and non-artistic disciplines like history or anthropology.[11][14][15][16] In a prominent example from ancient Greece, philosopher Plato, when asked by a friend for a book to understand Athenian society, referred him to the plays of Aristophanes.[17][18]

Historically, satire has satisfied the popular need to debunk and ridicule the leading figures in politics, economy, religion and other prominent realms of power.[19] Satire confronts public discourse and the collective imaginary, playing as a public opinion counterweight to power (be it political, economic, religious, symbolic, or otherwise), by challenging leaders and authorities. For instance, it forces administrations to clarify, amend or establish their policies. Satire's job is to expose problems and contradictions, and it's not obligated to solve them.[20] Karl Kraus set in the history of satire a prominent example of a satirist role as confronting public discourse.[21]

For its nature and social role, satire has enjoyed in many societies a special freedom license to mock prominent individuals and institutions.[22] The satiric impulse, and its ritualized expressions, carry out the function of resolving social tension.[23] Institutions like the ritual clowns, by giving expression to the antisocial tendencies, represent a safety valve which re-establishes equilibrium and health in the collective imaginary, which are jeopardized by the repressive aspects of society.[24][25]

The state of political satire in a given society reflects the tolerance or intolerance that characterizes it,[19] and the state of civil liberties and human rights. Under totalitarian regimes any criticism of a political system, and especially satire, is suppressed. A typical example is the Soviet Union where the dissidents, such as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Andrei Sakharov were under strong pressure from the government. While satire of everyday life in the USSR was allowed, the most prominent satirist being Arkady Raikin, political satire existed in the form of anecdotes[26] that made fun of Soviet political leaders, especially Brezhnev, famous for his narrow-mindedness and love for awards and decorations.

Classifications
Satire is a diverse genre which is complex to classify and define, with a wide range of satiric "modes".[27][28]

Horatian, Juvenalian, Menippean

"Le satire e l'epistole di Q. Orazio Flacco", printed in 1814.
Satirical literature can commonly be categorized as either Horatian, Juvenalian, or Menippean.[29]

Horatian
Horatian satire, named for the Roman satirist Horace (65–8 BCE), playfully criticizes some social vice through gentle, mild, and light-hearted humour. Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) wrote Satires to gently ridicule the dominant opinions and "philosophical beliefs of ancient Rome and Greece" (Rankin).[30] Rather than writing in harsh or accusing tones, he addressed issues with humor and clever mockery. Horatian satire follows this same pattern of "gently [ridiculing] the absurdities and follies of human beings" (Drury).[31]

It directs wit, exaggeration, and self-deprecating humour toward what it identifies as folly, rather than evil. Horatian satire's sympathetic tone is common in modern society.[32]

A Horatian satirist's goal is to heal the situation with smiles, rather than by anger. Horatian satire is a gentle reminder to take life less seriously and evokes a wry smile.[31] A Horatian satirist makes fun of general human folly rather than engaging in specific or personal attacks. Shamekia Thomas suggests, "In a work using Horatian satire, readers often laugh at the characters in the story who are the subject of mockery as well as themselves and society for behaving in those ways." Alexander Pope has been established as an author whose satire "heals with morals what it hurts with wit" (Green).[33] Alexander Pope—and Horatian satire—attempt to teach.

Examples of Horatian satire:

The Ig Nobel Prizes.
Bierce, Ambrose, The Devil's Dictionary.
Defoe, Daniel, The True-Born Englishman.
The Savoy Operas of Gilbert and Sullivan.
Trollope, Anthony, The Way We Live Now.
Gogol, Nikolai, Dead Souls.
Groening, Matthew "Matt", The Simpsons.
Lewis, Clive Staples, The Screwtape Letters.
Mercer, Richard ‘Rick’, The Rick Mercer Report.
More, Thomas, Utopia
Pope, Alexander, The Rape of the Lock.
Reiner, Rob, This Is Spinal Tap.
Twain, Mark, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Ralston Saul, John, The Doubter's Companion: A Dictionary of Aggressive Common Sense.
Juvenalian
See also: Satires of Juvenal
Juvenalian satire, named for the writings of the Roman satirist Juvenal (late first century – early second century AD), is more contemptuous and abrasive than the Horatian. Juvenal disagreed with the opinions of the public figures and institutions of the Republic and actively attacked them through his literature. "He utilized the satirical tools of exaggeration and parody to make his targets appear monstrous and incompetent" (Podzemny).[34] Juvenal's satire follows this same pattern of abrasively ridiculing societal structures. Juvenal also, unlike Horace, attacked public officials and governmental organizations through his satires, regarding their opinions as not just wrong, but evil.

Following in this tradition, Juvenalian satire addresses perceived social evil through scorn, outrage, and savage ridicule. This form is often pessimistic, characterized by the use of irony, sarcasm, moral indignation and personal invective, with less emphasis on humor. Strongly polarized political satire can often be classified as Juvenalian.

A Juvenal satirist's goal is generally to provoke some sort of political or societal change because he sees his opponent or object as evil or harmful.[35] A Juvenal satirist mocks "societal structure, power, and civilization" (Thomas)[36] by exaggerating the words or position of his opponent in order to jeopardize their opponent's reputation and/or power. Jonathan Swift has been established as an author who "borrowed heavily from Juvenal's techniques in [his critique] of contemporary English society" (Podzemny).[34]

Examples of Juvenalian satire:

Barnes, Julian, England, England.
Beatty, Paul, The Sellout.
Bradbury, Ray, Fahrenheit 451.
Brooker, Charlie, Black Mirror.
Bulgakov, Mikhail, Heart of a Dog.
Burgess, Anthony, A Clockwork Orange.
Burroughs, William, Naked Lunch.
Byron, George Gordon, Lord, Don Juan.
Barth, John, The Sot-Weed Factor; or, A Voyage to Maryland,—a satire, in which is described the laws, government, courts, and constitutions of the country, and also the buildings, feasts, frolics, entertainments, and drunken humors of the inhabitants in that part of America.
Ellis, Bret Easton, American Psycho.
Golding, William, Lord of the Flies.
Hall, Joseph, Virgidemiarum.
Heller, Joseph, Catch-22.
Huxley, Aldous, Brave New World.
Johnson, Samuel, London, an adaptation of Juvenal, Third Satire.
Junius, Letters.
Kubrick, Stanley, Dr. Strangelove.
Mencken, HL, Libido for the Ugly.
Morris, Chris, Brass Eye.
———, The Day Today.
Orwell, George, Nineteen Eighty-Four.
Orwell, George, Animal Farm.
Palahniuk, Chuck, Fight Club.
Swift, Jonathan, A Modest Proposal.
Voltaire, Candide.
Zamyatin, Yevgeny, We.
Menippean
See Menippean satire.

Satire versus teasing
In the history of theatre there has always been a conflict between engagement and disengagement on politics and relevant issue, between satire and grotesque on one side, and jest with teasing on the other.[37] Max Eastman defined the spectrum of satire in terms of "degrees of biting", as ranging from satire proper at the hot-end, and "kidding" at the violet-end; Eastman adopted the term kidding to denote what is just satirical in form, but is not really firing at the target.[38] Nobel laureate satirical playwright Dario Fo pointed out the difference between satire and teasing (sfottò).[39] Teasing is the reactionary side of the comic; it limits itself to a shallow parody of physical appearance. The side-effect of teasing is that it humanizes and draws sympathy for the powerful individual towards which it is directed. Satire instead uses the comic to go against power and its oppressions, has a subversive character, and a moral dimension which draws judgement against its targets.[40][41][42][43] Fo formulated an operational criterion to tell real satire from sfottò, saying that real satire arouses an outraged and violent reaction, and that the more they try to stop you, the better is the job you are doing.[44] Fo contends that, historically, people in positions of power have welcomed and encouraged good-humoured buffoonery, while modern day people in positions of power have tried to censor, ostracize and repress satire.[37][40]

Teasing (sfottò) is an ancient form of simple buffoonery, a form of comedy without satire's subversive edge. Teasing includes light and affectionate parody, good-humoured mockery, simple one-dimensional poking fun, and benign spoofs. Teasing typically consists of an impersonation of someone monkeying around with his exterior attributes, tics, physical blemishes, voice and mannerisms, quirks, way of dressing and walking, and/or the phrases he typically repeats. By contrast, teasing never touches on the core issue, never makes a serious criticism judging the target with irony; it never harms the target's conduct, ideology and position of power; it never undermines the perception of his morality and cultural dimension.[40][42] Sfottò directed towards a powerful individual makes him appear more human and draws sympathy towards him.[45] Hermann Göring propagated jests and jokes against himself, with the aim of humanizing his image.[46][47]

Classifications by topics
Types of satire can also be classified according to the topics it deals with. From the earliest times, at least since the plays of Aristophanes, the primary topics of literary satire have been politics, religion and sex.[48][49][50][51] This is partly because these are the most pressing problems that affect anybody living in a society, and partly because these topics are usually taboo.[48][52] Among these, politics in the broader sense is considered the pre-eminent topic of satire.[52] Satire which targets the clergy is a type of political satire, while religious satire is that which targets religious beliefs.[53] Satire on sex may overlap with blue comedy, off-color humor and dick jokes.

Scatology has a long literary association with satire,[48][54][55] as it is a classical mode of the grotesque, the grotesque body and the satiric grotesque.[48][56] Shit plays a fundamental role in satire because it symbolizes death, the turd being "the ultimate dead object".[54][55] The satirical comparison of individuals or institutions with human excrement, exposes their "inherent inertness, corruption and dead-likeness".[54][57][58] The ritual clowns of clown societies, like among the Pueblo Indians, have ceremonies with filth-eating.[59][60] In other cultures, sin-eating is an apotropaic rite in which the sin-eater (also called filth-eater),[61][62] by ingesting the food provided, takes "upon himself the sins of the departed".[63] Satire about death overlaps with black humor and gallows humor.

Another classification by topics is the distinction between political satire, religious satire and satire of manners.[64] Political satire is sometimes called topical satire, satire of manners is sometimes called satire of everyday life, and religious satire is sometimes called philosophical satire. Comedy of manners, sometimes also called satire of manners, criticizes mode of life of common people; political satire aims at behavior, manners of politicians, and vices of political systems. Historically, comedy of manners, which first appeared in British theater in 1620, has uncritically accepted the social code of the upper classes.[65] Comedy in general accepts the rules of the social game, while satire subverts them.[66]

Another analysis of satire is the spectrum of his possible tones: wit, ridicule, irony, sarcasm, cynicism, the sardonic and invective.[67][68]

The type of humour that deals with creating laughter at the expense of the person telling the joke is called reflexive humour[69].Reflexive humour can take place at dual levels of directing humour at self or at the larger community the self identifies with. The audience's understanding of the context of reflexive humour is important for its receptivity and success [69]. Satire is found not only in written literary forms. In preliterate cultures it manifests itself in ritual and folk forms, as well as in trickster tales and oral poetry.[23]

It appears also in graphic arts, music, sculpture, dance, cartoon strips, and graffiti. Examples are Dada sculptures, Pop Art works, music of Gilbert and Sullivan and Erik Satie, punk and rock music.[23] In modern media culture, stand-up comedy is an enclave in which satire can be introduced into mass media, challenging mainstream discourse.[23] Comedy roasts, mock festivals, and stand-up comedians in nightclubs and concerts are the modern forms of ancient satiric rituals.[23]

Development
Ancient Egypt

The satirical papyrus at the British Museum

Satirical ostracon showing a cat guarding geese, c.1120 BC, Egypt.

Figured ostracon showing a cat waiting on a mouse, Egypt
One of the earliest examples of what we might call satire, The Satire of the Trades,[70] is in Egyptian writing from the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC. The text's apparent readers are students, tired of studying. It argues that their lot as scribes is not only useful, but far superior to that of the ordinary man. Scholars such as Helck[71] think that the context was meant to be serious.

The Papyrus Anastasi I[72] (late 2nd millennium BC) contains a satirical letter which first praises the virtues of its recipient, but then mocks the reader's meagre knowledge and achievements.

Ancient Greece
The Greeks had no word for what later would be called "satire", although the terms cynicism and parody were used. Modern critics call the Greek playwright Aristophanes one of the best known early satirists: his plays are known for their critical political and societal commentary,[73] particularly for the political satire by which he criticized the powerful Cleon (as in The Knights). He is also notable for the persecution he underwent.[73][74][75][76] Aristophanes' plays turned upon images of filth and disease.[77] His bawdy style was adopted by Greek dramatist-comedian Menander. His early play Drunkenness contains an attack on the politician Callimedon.

The oldest form of satire still in use is the Menippean satire by Menippus of Gadara. His own writings are lost. Examples from his admirers and imitators mix seriousness and mockery in dialogues and present parodies before a background of diatribe. As in the case of Aristophanes plays, menippean satire turned upon images of filth and disease.[77]

Roman world
The first Roman to discuss satire critically was Quintilian, who invented the term to describe the writings of Gaius Lucilius. The two most prominent and influential ancient Roman satirists are Horace and Juvenal, who wrote during the early days of the Roman Empire. Other important satirists in ancient Latin are Gaius Lucilius and Persius. Satire in their work is much wider than in the modern sense of the word, including fantastic and highly coloured humorous writing with little or no real mocking intent. When Horace criticized Augustus, he used veiled ironic terms. In contrast, Pliny reports that the 6th-century-BC poet Hipponax wrote satirae that were so cruel that the offended hanged themselves.[78]

In the 2nd century AD, Lucian wrote True History, a book satirizing the clearly unrealistic travelogues/adventures written by Ctesias, Iambulus, and Homer. He states that he was surprised they expected people to believe their lies, and stating that he, like them, has no actual knowledge or experience, but shall now tell lies as if he did. He goes on to describe a far more obviously extreme and unrealistic tale, involving interplanetary exploration, war among alien life forms, and life inside a 200 mile long whale back in the terrestrial ocean, all intended to make obvious the fallacies of books like Indica and The Odyssey.

Medieval Islamic world
Main articles: Arabic satire and Persian satire
Medieval Arabic poetry included the satiric genre hija. Satire was introduced into Arabic prose literature by the author Al-Jahiz in the 9th century. While dealing with serious topics in what are now known as anthropology, sociology and psychology, he introduced a satirical approach, "based on the premise that, however serious the subject under review, it could be made more interesting and thus achieve greater effect, if only one leavened the lump of solemnity by the insertion of a few amusing anecdotes or by the throwing out of some witty or paradoxical observations. He was well aware that, in treating of new themes in his prose works, he would have to employ a vocabulary of a nature more familiar in hija, satirical poetry."[79] For example, in one of his zoological works, he satirized the preference for longer human penis size, writing: "If the length of the penis were a sign of honor, then the mule would belong to the (honorable tribe of) Quraysh". Another satirical story based on this preference was an Arabian Nights tale called "Ali with the Large Member".[80]

In the 10th century, the writer Tha'alibi recorded satirical poetry written by the Arabic poets As-Salami and Abu Dulaf, with As-Salami praising Abu Dulaf's wide breadth of knowledge and then mocking his ability in all these subjects, and with Abu Dulaf responding back and satirizing As-Salami in return.[81] An example of Arabic political satire included another 10th-century poet Jarir satirizing Farazdaq as "a transgressor of the Sharia" and later Arabic poets in turn using the term "Farazdaq-like" as a form of political satire.[82]

The terms "comedy" and "satire" became synonymous after Aristotle's Poetics was translated into Arabic in the medieval Islamic world, where it was elaborated upon by Islamic philosophers and writers, such as Abu Bischr, his pupil Al-Farabi, Avicenna, and Averroes. Due to cultural differences, they disassociated comedy from Greek dramatic representation and instead identified it with Arabic poetic themes and forms, such as hija (satirical poetry). They viewed comedy as simply the "art of reprehension", and made no reference to light and cheerful events, or troubled beginnings and happy endings, associated with classical Greek comedy. After the Latin translations of the 12th century, the term "comedy" thus gained a new semantic meaning in Medieval literature.[83]

Ubayd Zakani introduced satire in Persian literature during the 14th century. His work is noted for its satire and obscene verses, often political or bawdy, and often cited in debates involving homosexual practices. He wrote the Resaleh-ye Delgosha, as well as Akhlaq al-Ashraf ("Ethics of the Aristocracy") and the famous humorous fable Masnavi Mush-O-Gorbeh (Mouse and Cat), which was a political satire. His non-satirical serious classical verses have also been regarded as very well written, in league with the other great works of Persian literature. Between 1905 and 1911, Bibi Khatoon Astarabadi and other Iranian writers wrote notable satires.

Medieval Europe
In the Early Middle Ages, examples of satire were the songs by Goliards or vagants now best known as an anthology called Carmina Burana and made famous as texts of a composition by the 20th-century composer Carl Orff. Satirical poetry is believed to have been popular, although little has survived. With the advent of the High Middle Ages and the birth of modern vernacular literature in the 12th century, it began to be used again, most notably by Chaucer. The disrespectful manner was considered "unchristian" and ignored, except for the moral satire, which mocked misbehaviour in Christian terms. Examples are Livre des Manières by Étienne de Fougères [fr] (~1178), and some of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Sometimes epic poetry (epos) was mocked, and even feudal society, but there was hardly a general interest in the genre.

Early modern western satire

Pieter Bruegel's 1568 satirical painting The Blind Leading the Blind.
Direct social commentary via satire returned with a vengeance in the 16th century, when farcical texts such as the works of François Rabelais tackled more serious issues (and incurred the wrath of the crown as a result).

Two major satirists of Europe in the Renaissance were Giovanni Boccaccio and François Rabelais. Other examples of Renaissance satire include Till Eulenspiegel, Reynard the Fox, Sebastian Brant's Narrenschiff (1494), Erasmus's Moriae Encomium (1509), Thomas More's Utopia (1516), and Carajicomedia (1519).

The Elizabethan (i.e. 16th-century English) writers thought of satire as related to the notoriously rude, coarse and sharp satyr play. Elizabethan "satire" (typically in pamphlet form) therefore contains more straightforward abuse than subtle irony. The French Huguenot Isaac Casaubon pointed out in 1605 that satire in the Roman fashion was something altogether more civilised. Casaubon discovered and published Quintilian's writing and presented the original meaning of the term (satira, not satyr), and the sense of wittiness (reflecting the "dishfull of fruits") became more important again. Seventeenth-century English satire once again aimed at the "amendment of vices" (Dryden).

In the 1590s a new wave of verse satire broke with the publication of Hall's Virgidemiarum, six books of verse satires targeting everything from literary fads to corrupt noblemen. Although Donne had already circulated satires in manuscript, Hall's was the first real attempt in English at verse satire on the Juvenalian model.[84][page needed] The success of his work combined with a national mood of disillusion in the last years of Elizabeth's reign triggered an avalanche of satire—much of it less conscious of classical models than Hall's — until the fashion was brought to an
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