#have had many meth tests in them

[sunspill]

I took my last pain pill 6 hrs ago and I've been feeling it get worse over the last 2 hrs so if it gets bad again i have to go back to the ER and the ER suuuucks it's just nurses who want you to go away and doctors convinced you're on meth :( and it costs to park there!! They charge VALET parking prices!! That's almost as bad as the meth shit. Valet!! At the emergency room !! Last time we had to pay thirty five dollars just for parking.

[seat-safety-switch]

If you drink, you should drink moderately. Booze is very expensive, you see, and every penny that is spent on it could be put into race car parts instead. It's for this exact reason that my ancient ancestors spent a lot of their free time figuring out how to synthesize their own alcohol at home, and giving birth to the modern-day NASCAR stock car circuit.

Like any good science experiment, the project didn't start out as an excuse to day-drink. Originally, the family story goes, they wanted to make some synthetic alcohol-based fuels to run a race car off of. And there were way too many mouldy bananas getting thrown out at the grocery store. Why not simply turn all that discarded banana waste into zingy, renewable meth-o-line?

The reason why not is that what actually comes out of the process is high-test banana liqueur. If that concept sounds good to you, perhaps you are a secret monkey, brainwashed into thinking you were a person all along. Check your closet to make sure there's no secret radio equipment made out of coconut shells, hair, and poop, reporting back to the Big Gorilla at the zoo to advise him of when the best time to begin the invasion is. For the rest of us, banana liqueur is, most generously, a weird novelty.

A weird novelty, that is, until prohibition. The nation's wet blankets got together, and collectively said "maybe do something other than drinking all day." And they had a point: auto-body repair bills were starting to skyrocket, what with all the whisky dings getting racked up on the expansive chrome bodywork of the time. Those ancient scolds did make a mistake, though: denying them their booze meant that a newly-sober and terrified country had to turn to race cars instead.

So, a classic capitalist story: needs (for banana-based high-octane race fuels) met haves (banana-based high-octane race fuels,) and there was immediate success. Not so. For one thing, Great-Great Grandpappy Switch was really bad at business. He much preferred to be out racing, in the process inventing new motorsports like "drifting" and "grocery-store shopping cart drifting." And for another thing, he didn't see the point in changing the label on the bottles. He had paid for those labels, goddammit, and they were going to say "Incredibly Illegal Banana Booze, Don't Let The Government See It" until he had used up the entire roll of stickers.

Eventually, his two loves did meet, in the form of a group of bootleggers who started to use their souped-up shitboxes for racing instead of just outrunning the morality police. That's a story for another family, though, as by then Great-Great Grandpappy Switch had moved on to inventing the world's first pinball machine.

Say, I didn't notice your friends come in while I was talking. If you don't mind me saying so, they sure look a whole lot like those gorillas that escaped from the zoo earlier. They want to hear about my family banana liqueur recipe, you say?

[solomon-revisited]

my copy has finally arrived... sixteen old songs from my earnest friends

THE CORONER'S GAMBIT LINER NOTES

TRANSCRIPT:

HE was a guy from California who'd fallen in love with a woman from Iowa. She was working at a water testing lab. They lived in a very small house whose pipes froze every winter. The landlord would come by and put space heaters under the sink. Years later, they retained the memory of the water coming back on - the sudden sound of the shower, the rush from the sink. They slept on a foam mattress in the bedroom in the summer, and on the couch in the living room in the winter, since the house did not have central heating, rendering the bedroom essentially uninhabitable from December through March.

They were not really the kind of people to plan things: they had fun when and where they could on an austere budget. The ice skates they bought used from Play It Again Sports made for fun Christmas mornings on West Indian Creek in Nevada, one town over from where they lived. He learned to cook, and to bake: they didn't go out to eat, because there really wasn't any place to go out and eat, though on occasion they would get a pizza from Casey's, because their town had a Casey's. Under the right circumstances a gas station pizza can be just the thing, and they sometimes found themselves in those circumstances.

He made music which was slowly reaching a wider audience. If he played in New York or Chicago as many as a hundred people might show up. He was idly entertaining the idea of becoming ambitious about it: as a child, he'd been pretty pretentious, and although he was working hard to shake most of that off, a little pretension isn't a bad thing in an artist. Just as a seasoning, as a little extra flavor here or there.

One summer he took a job as a harvest help at the Farmers Cooperative Exchange down the street from the very small house where the pipes froze in winter: getting the corn and soybeans into the grain elevator and into a big Morton building where the beans formed giant mountains, which he sometimes had to climb to knock down the peaks. If you don't knock down the peaks the beans get too hot and might rot. The job didn't pay much, and he wasn't good at it, but during slow stretches he would write song lyrics on scraps of paper or in a small notebook, and when he got home from work and washed off the crop dust, he'd set the lyrics to music. "Elijah" was written like this. So was "The Alphonse Mambo."

He took a Greyhound bus to Omaha to record some of the songs, so that the album would have a nice varied feel to it, but he got very sick, which is not an uncommon thing to have happen after a Greyhound ride, and only a few songs came out the way he wanted. He kept those, and then they got married and moved to Ames because the City of Colo had purchased their home from that landlord and intended to knock it down, which they did do, he affirmed years later: and in Ames he put the album together, and then later they moved to North Carolina and a whole lot of other things happened, too, but the main thing is that this album is a document of a time when two young people in love hadn't yet located the spot on the current that would carry them to their destination, twenty-five years later, parents of two beautiful children, worlds away from Colo, the place where, for better or worse, as the saying goes, all this really began.

Dedicated to my wife, Lalitree, and to the City of Colo, Iowa.

This is the original text of the paper bag that housed the first edition of this album. I am leaving it intact rather than revising it. Stage Bidet's moment comes ever closer: let the people tremble in fear.

Elijah, Baboon, Horseradish Road, Onions, and the Alphonse Mambo recorded in Omaha with Simon Joyner, Chris Deden, Lonnie Methe, Brad Smith, John Kotchen, Steve Micek, and Pat Oakes. All of them are owed money and are to be treated with deference and respect. Five of the remaining songs were recorded at Main St. in Colo, which is a small town in Iowa, and the rest were recorded two blocks north of Emma McCarthy Lee Park in Ames, which is a considerably larger town half and hour west of Colo. Though happy circumstances currently have the Mountain Goats claiming Ames, we continue to straight up represent Colo and will put the slap down on anyone who disrespects it. Transfer and levels by Bob Durkee at FBE in Pomona, California, with Joel Huschle attending. As a result of some regrettable but inevitable conversations that took place during the transfer, Bob, Joel, and the Mountain Goats have formed a new, super-powerful punk rock machine called Stage Bidet, and we urge you to watch for us and clear us a wide berth whenever we're in your town. Instead of thanking all the people I always thank to whom I say, collectively and with no less sincerity: thanks. I am just going to spend the time left us here addressing an absent friend. Rozz: I wish you hadn't've gone and killed yourself. Though I hadn't seen or spoken with you in eight years since that night when, as far as I can tell from the reports I was later able to piece together, you tried, not without reason, to strangle the life out of me out there on the landing of Damien's apartment and I probably never would have ever seen you again anyway, it was still hard to hear that you were gone. All your friends had been predicting your death since the early eighties, and no-one could bear the thought of you growing old, but none of that did anything to soften the blow when I heard. I don't really believe that the dead see or hear what we do out here in the realm of corruptible things and I don't imagine that the anyone reads the scribblings on the backs of album jackets to them, either, so I am really only addressing a memory. To that memory I say: I thought of you now and then when I was writing these songs. I don't suppose they'd do much for you, but I thought of you all the same. All your friends miss you in some way, a little or a lot. The rumors about your final hours are dismal and tawdry: I am sure they would please you immensely. For your sake, I hope that the Christians were wrong and that you were right about whether the faithless are destined for eternal torment. In the event that you are a ghost and are wandering the earth moaning and rattling chains, I moved to Iowa from California four or five years ago, stop by any time. Have a seat on the couch until I get home from work. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or to the whiskey and sake on top of it. Make yourself right at home.

Album cover design by Tom Hart

[feminist-space]

"Now, already experiencing the clawing pangs of contractions, she pulled out a frozen pizza and a salad with creamy everything dressing, savoring the hush that fell over the house, the satisfying crunch of the poppy seeds as she ate.

Horton didn’t realize that she would be drug tested before her child’s birth. Or that the poppy seeds in her salad could trigger a positive result on a urine drug screen, the quick test that hospitals often use to check pregnant patients for illicit drugs.

Many common foods and medications — from antacids to blood pressure and cold medicines — can prompt erroneous results.

The morning after Horton delivered her daughter, a nurse told her she had tested positive for opiates. Horton was shocked. She hadn’t requested an epidural or any narcotic pain medication during labor — she didn’t even like taking Advil. “You’re sure it was mine?” she asked the nurse.

If Horton had been tested under different circumstances — for example, if she was a government employee and required to be tested as part of her job — she would have been entitled to a more advanced test and to a review from a specially trained doctor to confirm the initial result.

But as a mother giving birth, Horton had no such protections. The hospital quickly reported her to child welfare, and the next day, a social worker arrived to take baby Halle into protective custody.

...

To report this story, The Marshall Project interviewed dozens of patients, medical providers, toxicologists and other experts, and collected information on more than 50 mothers in 22 states who faced reports and investigations over positive drug tests that were likely wrong. We also pored over thousands of pages of policy documents from every state child welfare agency in the country.

Problems with drug screens are well known, especially in workplace testing. But there’s been little investigation of how easily false positives can occur inside labor and delivery units, and how quickly families can get trapped inside a system of surveillance and punishment.

Hospitals reported women for positive drug tests after they ate everything bagels and lemon poppy seed muffins, or used medications including the acid reducer Zantac, the antidepressant Zoloft and labetalol, one of the most commonly prescribed blood pressure treatments for pregnant women.

After a California mother had a false positive for meth and PCP, authorities took her newborn, then dispatched two sheriff’s deputies to also remove her toddler from her custody, court records show. In New York, hospital administrators refused to retract a child welfare report based on a false positive result, and instead offered the mother counseling for her trauma, according to a recording of the conversation. And when a Pennsylvania woman tested positive for opioids after eating pasta salad, the hearing officer in her case yelled at her to “buck up, get a backbone, and stop crying,” court records show. It took three months to get her newborn back from foster care.

Federal officials have known for decades that urine screens are not reliable. Poppy seeds — which come from the same plant used to make heroin — are so notorious for causing positives for opiates that last year the Department of Defense directed service members to stop eating them. At hospitals, test results often come with warnings about false positives and direct clinicians to confirm the findings with more definitive tests.

Yet state policies and many hospitals tend to treat drug screens as unassailable evidence of illicit use, The Marshall Project found. Hospitals across the country routinely report cases to authorities without ordering confirmation tests or waiting to receive the results."

Read the full piece here: https://www.themarshallproject.org/2024/09/09/drug-test-pregnancy-pennsylvania-california

[rainbowgod666]

Really fucking stupid patch notes, wizardposting edition

Fixed a bug where @the-gnomish-bastard could NOT turn back into a normal gnome when using "Become Lead Statue" in some cases. This somehow applied to every "Become Statue" spell but the Lead one was the most broken one

Fixed a bug where Meme Summons straight up couldnt work if you had more mana than usual. No, we have no idea what the fuck happened

Fixed interactions with every variant of @the-wizard-council-blog, including the Illegal one, the NSFW one, The worse one, The better one, and all other iterations

Fixed a bug where the stew arcanum was straight up uncraftable because all the data was gibberish. This was fixed a few versions ago and now you only need 3 high-tier gods to make it. Also you need Meme-Infused Magic Spellwood Bowls to hold this post-post endgame item. Yes, its still too much stew but we kept it like that because its unironically funny

Speaking of magical trees: fixed a bug where some types of trees straight up Did Not Grow unless some form of "chunk loading" was enabled. In other words, what the fuck.

Fixed a bug where stacking too many attack ups made the damage 0 on any "explosive" spell. @official-megumin can now deal 9 quintillion damage (as long as its not over the positive 64-bit integer limit, because then the bug stays) (also the code is less fucked)

Fixed a bug where some unusual but valid items for wands and staves (such as LITERALLY EVERY NUCLEAR METAL and some fantasy ones like orichalcum and australium) straight up couldnt exist.

Added more items to mythril, but this time everything you can do with mythril can be done with other materials, so now you can choose between mythril orichalcum AND adamantine depending on the color

Adamantium crafting now doesnt require a bordering-on-hyperbole amount of adamantine. Also you now need industrial steel instead of normal one.

Fixed a bug where "Triple Summon of Meth Berserk Chimps" not only was unobtainable, but required over 2.14 billion mana. Granted it was unreleased back then but then it was released and it still was in its testing stage

Fixed a bug with many spider-themed spells not really being "spidery", this one goes out for our boy @autism--wizard, may you find many cute spooders in ur life :3

Fixed a bug where "induce memetic stroke" accidentally... told people about the meme. Whoops.

"TACO BELL TACOSPELL OF INTESTINAL IMPLOSION" fixed to deal less damage than the psychological damage. We know its a forbidden spell but fuck you we are not sending people to the therapist because omega diharrea

Speaking of: fixed a bug where "steal item" could work on vital organs. Youre gonna learn "Spell Of True Thievery" and youre gonna shut the fuck up about it

Fixed a bug where non-sentient kobolds could be... "milked". Yes mr gnome. KILK existed and it was kobold sperm this entire time. This is why you said it didnt exist, CAUSE THAT SHIT WASNT MILK CHIEF! Anyways now KILK actually doesnt exist so y'all better shut the fuck up or FIND A MILKABLE SOMETHING WITH A K IN ITS NAME

Fixed a bug where familiars didnt familiar. Yes it was terrifying in every way ever, so thank @familiar-union for this. Yes thwy cant be tagged by us idfk why

Fixed mithril tools being literal reskins of their steel equivalents. Whoops!

Fixed a bug where that one April Fools joke of "summon cock" actually summoning a penis. Now it actually summons a rooster (and a really big one)

Speaking of that, Summon Rooster has been fixed and now its a better version of the aforementioned spell

Fixed the interaction between A LOT of spells. Turns out that 99% of harry potter being trash doesnt stop people from doing Dragonball Beam Struggles with their spells. Also yes, elements apply

Fixed a few lines of code so that now the "use pokemon typings" option doesnt disintegrate the UI. Over 120k spells and each and every single one of them now has functioning typing. Now shut the fuck up wE DID IT

Fixed retrocompatibility issues. Now runescape can scape the runes! (HR is fully aware that the joke is shit) (but fuck it, it was funny)

Fixed a bug where any "Robot" something would bug up and change colors. Considering that people somehow managed to make trans flags with this, we added a transgender flag skin for every "robot", "wulfrum", and similar tech spells.

Greatrererest Blahaj Blast Barrage now has a hitbox AND a cost. It can be set as your ult and we already have the Gold, Platinum, Uranium and other skins ready. Yes the transgender skin is unlocked by default if you already have the spell, and if you dont- Magical Battlepass has it at levels 10, 32, and 69 (otherwise you get materials and xp) Because the one battlepass that works without FOMO and Whaling had to be the magical one

Fixed a bug where "draconic" items were only easily obtainable by dupe glitches. We may not have fixed those but we upped the drop rates so you dont have to exterminate dragons for one singular heart. Now it takes 3 dragons at most! (Yeah so it turns out the drop rates were HELLA WRONG. Whoopsie daisy!)

Speaking of that: Draconic Evolution Backporting works now! Now when you use a staff of power, people wont think its an euphemism for your di-

Magical swords now can be made woth higher tier elements. No idea why would you need an Entropic Steel Magic Sword but fuck it. You deserve to put some sparkles on that Alien X looking ass blade

The Throngler's Gold Skin now doesnt make it a mess of metal and gold. Now its actually good

Fixed a bug where bad connection made the online version of "the potion seller's strongest potion" unplayable because some elements were only obtainable in multiplayer. Fuck you and your theories about thwnpotion seller being an eldritch dragon eater. LoL. KeK even

The Augur Dragon now doesnt get stuck flying in circles above the Forbidden Volcano Arena. Now it actually CAN hit you from 10000ft in the air!

The marble wyvern boss (and therefore all other marble wyverns) actually drop the dragon marble builders want

Added tier XVII to the Magical Engine. Also recipes for Tier Ascension were fixed.

N2O Blast was fixed to deal hellfire instead of fire. And also being blue. It was easier than you believe

Using "Golden Shower (Metal) actually rains coins instead of being "golden shower but identical and deals steel damage"

Sniler's quests now update in 1 hour instead of 24, and the quests are better. During multiplayer, there are 5 quests avaiable instead of 3

Ghastly Mist now actually blinds opponents instead of being really dense

"F.I.S.T." can no longer be boosted by attack boosts, but nOW its damage is "(999 × your level + (your attack stat × 2)) × 2", and its cast cost went from 1000 mana to 1200.

More scroll duplication bugs were fixed, but the "use Grant Spell Usage onto a low level non-magic enemy so they have a spell that they cant use and then using Turn Into Scroll" has been made into an ACTUAL feature. Go ahead and make a billion "Scroll of Imaginary Technique: Hollow Purple"!

"Starlight Thunderstorm" now has 1% paralysis

Removed the "domain expansion" function until we figure out how THAT works. Theres still the tab, and when it will be implemented just send screenshots of what "domain expansion customizations" and then youre getting them once we implement them

[colourstreakgryffin]

HII !! Could you write some headcanons with academy au!Obanai where reader is his favourite student because they are all quiet and don't ask dumb questions and while the lesson is going on reader raises their hand and suggests that Obanai teaches the students how to cook meth , as joke of course ? I'd love to see the utter dissapointment in him. (Reader is gender neutral) gender neutral) :D

Thank you if you end up doing it ! ☆☆

Right? We’re gonna do something silly! I like this idea a lot, especially with Obanai like ommmgg~! Thank you for this interesting idea, my dear!

Iguro Obanai- Sombre Joke

Chemistry class at Kimetsu Academy is always considered one of the two worst subjects, alongside Maths. No student dared to talk back to the man in charge of the room and if any breathing being got a single point grade below the passing, Obanai would deal out cruel punishment for wasting his time and effort. He wasn’t nice, he was harsh and he wasn’t against experiencing his disappointment in many ways

However, he is still a human with emotions and even he had himself a favourite student, in which he was openly favouritistic towards. You, a quiet but kind young person that never disturbed him as he taught nor made up ridiculous ‘jokes’ to say outloud as if his rules don’t exist. Obanai was tired of his students’ nonsense, so you’re that breath of fresh air he just needs to get through the school day

He likes you so much, he talks to you about his courting of Kanroji Mitsuri and he happily buys you lunch for helping him with dinner ideas and present ideas

The class went by in a slow, mundane pattern as Obanai switched inbetween reading the open subject material book laid flat in his palm to writing the details onto the chalkboard with the white chalk in his fingers so the whispering and mumbling teenagers behind him could copy down the notes and revise them later through the hour of the class. You noticed, right away, that he was irritable and it seems to you that his dinner date with Kanroji-san didn’t go well

Once you had finished precisely jotting down the exact formulas Obanai did write on the portrayed board taking up a number of the wall. You thought carefully, tapping your round pink eraser-ended writing pencil on your unused wrist. How could you cheer up your favourite teacher without making it out like you two have a closer connection then merely as teacher and student?

Suddenly, a wacky but harmless little idea for a joke popped into your head when your focusing eyes trailed down to the metal test tube container packed to the brim with filled glass test tubes of all kinds of colourful liquids, sat right besides his propped-up silver laptop. Oh, that’s it. You could just make a silly remark about that! You shot your dominant hand right up and waited patiently for Obanai to turn around, and respond to your want to ask him a question

“Yes, Dokusha?” Obanai vocalised his approval to speak in a calm, smooth voice to you, all of the class flinched in horror at the way he answered so cheerfully and delighted. He was never this composed nor unbothered. His gorgeous heterochromia of yellow and turquoise shined with joy at the sight of you, his favourite student of his four packed classes

You never annoyed him or disappointed him, you have this speeding train of success in Chemistry and he is encouraging you all the way

“Can you teach us how to create Meth?” Your voice comes out naturally soft and polite, hoping your silly little statement will make him laugh in one way or another but that humiliated frown signed you otherwise, crushing your spirits with this piercing eyes. Iguro-san wasn’t happy at all… shit, you messed up. That stupid phrase always worked on every other Chemistry teacher you tried it on. Is he that serious?

“Harmful drugs are illegal and immoral, Dokusha. It’s not funny. Never suggest such a idea again or I’ll send you to the counsellor over drug abuse concerns” Obanai hissed in his signature harsh tone as disappointment overflowed from his very own skin, upset and annoyed that you would even ask this dumb question with your streak of competence. You never asked dumb questions, you are always so polite and quiet! What was this for? Are you trying to ruin it all?

You had stayed quiet and stared blankly at the notes you wrote down and continued to copy and paste for studying purposes, feeling the mocking eyes and shattering giggles of the nearby students circle you but Obanai butted in, slamming his metallic ruler on his desk to shut everybody up. You felt relief wash over your nerves as even when he was disappointed and/or annoyed with you, he was still defending you

Once the teacher had reorganised his wooden support of acknowledgement, every other child followed him and begun to tidy up their chemistry subject book as Obanai proclaimed the five minutes upcoming for the class’s finish. You just stayed still, fist balled up against your cheek to hold up your head as every other student begun to speak wildly and some decided to get out of their chairs, thankfully, Obanai shoved them all into obedience with a murderous glare

“Myōji Dokusha. Please stay after class” Obanai suddenly chimed out, somehow beating the alarm bell rhythmic ring after a few minutes of dead silence. A number of students surrounding you at other parted lab counters used as desks, hummed and cooed mindlessly about how you, the teacher’s pet, is in trouble as the bell was set off but nobody moved, knowing very well Obanai was the one who dismissed the children from the period, not the bell’s powerful ding

Once the class was lifeless and empty, you willingly abanonded your schoolwork belongings at the counter called your desk and approached the front desk with fear and shame overloading your systems, you suspected Obanai to bash you for your silly little remark, flustering him in front of his entire class but no. He simply turned around and snatched your closest hand, holding it in his much bigger ones as his mismatched eyes radiated concern this time

He wasn’t angry. Not at all, not a ounce of his body language suggested that he was angry

No

He was worried. Beyond worried, this was the first time you’ve ever seen him truly worried, but you can tell he is. Was he worried for you?

“What is with the stupid question? Are you struggling with a methamphetamine addiction? You’re too young to be using such substances, they’ll harm your body in long run. Tell me if you are now, okay. I’ll make sure you get off it and have whoever is supplying you it face serious punishment”

Oh, shit. I didn’t see headcanons until way too late! Sorry, hope this is okay!

[monocodoll]

MonocoDoll's Vile Ventures (Drug Dealing) Mod Report (Small Additions, Additional Tunables, Animation Bloopers, Testing/Bug Fixes)

Another Month has passed. Which means another Mod Report for my Vile Ventures mod. This month I have been focusing on adding small additions, creating more tunables, attempt at first consuming animation, and testing the mod on a playthrough to find any bugs that may have been missed. Which I will go over these on the report.

[Small Additions]

-Shroom Harvestable

A new Shroom Harvestable has been created. As I honestly forgot to create one when I had previously made my other custom plants. The shroom seeds are obtainable through your NPC drug dealer after aquiring Drug Dealing Skill level 4.

You are also able to craft your own baggies of Shrooms through obtaining 6 Shroom ingredients and one baggy.

The Shroom Baggies are also obtainable through your Drug Dealer NPC, and there are no skill requirements needed to obtain the consumable shroom baggies.

-Illegally aquiring Drug Seeds

You are now able to obtain Drug Seeds Illegally via your NPC Drug Dealer. However, you must meet a certain threshold within your Drug Dealing Skill level. The prices for each seed is tunable.

-Drug Dealing Skill Level 3: Unlocks White Widow and Purple Haze Buds

-Drug Dealing Skill Level 4: Unlocks Skunk and OG Kush Buds. As Well as Shrooms seed.

-Drug Dealing Skill Level 5: Unlocks AK47 and Amnesia Buds. As well as Coca Seeds.

-Drug Dealing Skill Level 7: Unlocks Opium Seed.

-Racket Inheritance

Any Rackets that your Drug Dealer Sim owns can now be passed down to someone in the case of your sim dying. You are able to ask any Teen or above sim to take over your operations when you pass. The sim being asked must not be against Illegal drugs and need to have at least a friendship relationship established. Otherwise they will not accept your offer.

In the case that your sim who owns the Illegal racket does not assign anyone to inheret the rackets. The Rackets will first be handed to a child of the sim. If no children are present, then a sibling. If No siblings are present, then a parent. Otherwise, the racket will be lost upon death.

-Added Extra Benefits For Completing Drug Dealing Challenges.

Completing the Cannabis Dealer Expert, Psychedelic Dealer Expert, Pill Dealer Expert, and Powder Dealer Expert challenges now provides an additional bonus on top of just increasing sale earnings for the category of the drug. Completing these category challenges will now net you high quality product when you are crafting your own supply. So collecting your cured weed while having the Cannabis Dealing Expert challenge completed will provide you with high quality cannabis baggy instead of normal quality cannabis baggy.

-Lean Is Craftable

Lean is now craftable. Select a Styfoam Cup. You will need Jolly Ranchers, Sprite, Styrofoam Cup, and Cold Medicine. The cold medicine has up to 4 uses. So with one cold medicine, you can create up to 4 Lean.

-Using Baby Laxatives to Cut High Quality Cocaine

Baby Laxatives will be obtainable at the grocery store. On Drug Dealing Skill level 2, you will be able to utilize them to cut High Quality Cocaine Baggies into normal quality Cocaine Baggies. Which will either net you two or three Normal Quality Cocaine Baggies.

-Finished Making Moodlet Images For each Custom Moodlet

At this moment, the total amount of custom moodlets provides by this mod will be 106. The images for these moodlets have been completed.

[Additional Tunables]

I also added some notable tunable's to certain features. There are many more, but I will notate the ones that were introduced during this month.

-Overdose Chances

Chance of overdosing on drugs are tunable. By default the values for each drug.

Lean: 60%

Adderall: 40%

PainKillers: 50%

Xanax: 45%

MDMA: 55%

Cocaine: 70%

Meth: 80%

Heroin: 90%

Overdosing can only occurs if your sim takes more than one dose of the substance when they are already under the effects of that substance.

-Fatal Overdose Chances

You can also determine the chances of an overdose being fatal. If the overdose is fatal, the sim will die. If it is not fatal the sim will be knocked out and fall asleep. By default the values for a fatal overdose are...

Lean: 40%

Adderall: 30%

PainKillers: 40%

Xanax: 20%

MDMA: 30%

Cocaine: 50%

Meth: 70%

Heroin: 80%

-Time it takes to Cure Weed

Previously, the time it took to cure weed in a jar was not a tunable. While I was playing a playthrough with my mod, I figured that some would appreciate this as a tunable. By default it is 24 hours.

-Time It Takes for Cocaine Brick and Meth Package to finish

Previously, the time it took for Cocaine Brick and Meth Package to be completed in their respective containers was not a tunable. The time it takes is now tunable. By default, it takes 48 hours for a Cocaine Brick and Meth Package to be collected in their respective containers after filling it up.

-Drug Dealing Skill Points earned per Sale

You will be able to dictate just how much skill points your sim earns per type of drug sold. By Default selling Cannabis, Psychedelic, Pill, and Powdered type drugs net you 100 skillpoints. Which is a bit of a grind. For example at the moment during my playthrough I sold 139 drugs and I just got to Drug Dealing Skill level 5.

[Animation Attempt]

There was an attempt during the month to at least produce one consumption animation for this month. However, the prop refused to appear in the correct location. I'm still unsure what went wrong, but I will continue to look into it. The attempt was made for the drink Lean animation.

[Changes/Fixes Made During Testing]

I decided to perform a playthrough with my mod. To determine if I should make any changes or if there are any bugs that need fixing. Which there were a few I found.

-Fixed Bug Preventing my custom plants from growing overtime.

-Fixed a Bug Preventing the heat system from saving after reloading a save:

Example, my sim had a heat level of 15. Making him eligible to potentially have his residence raided. However, when I reloaded my save after saving. My sims heat level went back down to 0. This is resolved and heat level will be retained even after reloading a save.

-Fixed Empty Jars having a black substance inside of them:

This was a problem I had in the past, but didn't decide to expirement to try to fix it until it started to bother me in my playthrough. The black substance only appeared after you collected your cured cannabis. However, the empty jars are now truly empty.

-Made a adjustment to crafting drugs via the Chemistry Table:

Previously when processing Coke Powder, Meth Tray, Heroin, and MDMA there were no Drug Dealing Skill Requirements. I decided to go back and add a Drug Dealing Skill requirement in order to produce these drugs via the Chemistry Table. Especially for Meth. Since all the ingredients to produce meth is obtainable through the grocery store. Which will make it too easy I thought. So now on top of the logic skills required to produce these substances. MDMA production will require a Drug Dealing Skill of 4, Cocaine/Meth Production will require a Drug Dealing Skill of 5 Heroin production will require a Drug Dealing Skill of 7. Cannabis and Shrooms still do not require a drug dealing skill. Just the necessary ingredients for now.

And that is all I have to report on for this month. We went over creating a Shroom harvestable, Racket Inheritance, Crafting Lean, Obtaining Drug Seeds Illegally, Cutting High Quality Cocaine with baby laxatives, Adding more tunables, and making adjustments and fixing bugs found during my playthrough.

I had fun testing the early game of my mod. I managed to make it to drug dealing skill level 5 and was satisfied with the early game of the mod. I will continue to test my playthrough and attempt to make it to the late game of my mod. Where I will be attempting to own my own rackets and ensure that they work just perfectly. If all is well during my playthrough then everything is complete regarding my Drug Dealing side of the mod. And all that would be left are the final touches of the consumption of these substances. Which will include consumption Animations, reactions of nearby sims when smoking, and a rolling skill for joints and blunts, and possibly anything else that I may think of later on.

Now I'm going to go back to being a ghost. However, again thank you for all those that are patient.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 11

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is the product of my limited knowledge of Chinese characters as I attempt to learn the language. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 11 - Psychological Quality

"I'm not panicking, just tell me."

Yue Wuhuan's psychological quality was much better than that of other freshmen. He walked over through the room full of flesh and blood, put his dinner down, frowned, and reached out to wipe the residue from the corner of his mouth. He had gotten used to eating with Master recently and felt that the dry flavour would make his appetite much better.

Song Qingshi observed for a while and, when he saw that he wasn't prone to fainting, he quietly put the bucket back. He was sure that Yue Wuhuan would be a good candidate to study medicine. He was smart, rational, calm, dexterous, and not afraid of blood. He had all the qualities of an excellent surgeon. If he were on Earth, all the medical school professors would fight to have him as a Ph.D. student.

He gave an impromptu anatomy theory class, stating the importance of anatomy to medicine, and the contributions of teachers to human beings in general.

Yue Wuhuan studied very seriously and even took the initiative to observe the shape of the corpses and their organs.

He found Song Qingshi's concern a little funny. Among the guests of Golden Phoenix Manor, there were often sadistic monks who would carry out slaves that had been beaten to death from time to time. He had also died and been revived many times at the hands of those monks, being spoiled and bruised all over. If it weren't for the strong resilience of his wood-type spiritual meridians, he would have been freed a long time ago.

What is a corpse? It's just a piece of meat.

From his first sexual interaction, he was only afraid of the living.

Yue Wuhuan carefully looked at the corpses and sighed secretly. Suddenly, he stopped and stared at a tall male corpse in the corner. A past that he didn't want to think of surfaced in his mind. He panicked for a moment, suddenly realizing something. His beautiful eyes turned up with roiling malice, and the corners of his mouth gradually curved into a faint arc.

He turned around slowly, restraining his expression, and asked gently: "Master, can I try to dissect this corpse?"

Song Qingshi was eating the loving dinner sent by the little angel. When he heard this, he looked up in astonishment.

He thought about it. After all, this wasn't a medical school in the original world, and there weren't as many instructions for dissection. Since Yue Wuhuan wanted to learn, he should support it.

So, he found a new hooded gown for Yue Wuhuan to put on, and then asked him to wash his hands and disinfect, and put on a mask and gloves.

Yue Wuhuan touched the gloves uneasily, wondering: "Why do I have to wear these?"

"To prevent germ infection," Song Qingshi warned. "There's no formalin here, and there's no completely reliable sterilizing solution. A simple spiritual stone formation method is used to preserve the corpses. Many of them have unknown causes of death, and even the dirty ones are put directly in the ground. I'm not comfortable with it. You must get into the habit of disinfection before and after experiments and dissections.”

This was the small cleaning obsession of a medical student. He couldn't believe that cleaning spells could completely eliminate germs, and he must be disinfected to feel at ease.

Yue Wuhuan looked at the corpse next to him. He pushed his feelings aside and said with a smile: "It's very dirty."

Song Qingshi finished dressing him up, handed him a scalpel, and introduced: "This corpse was given to me by An Long. An Long is the King of the Western Forest of Compulsion. He's a very powerful doctor and insect expert. He's a very nice person. We often exchange resources. He sent someone to deliver this corpse a few days ago, and asked a test question, saying that the method of death was very interesting, and asked me to guess how it was done."

An Long was the only good friend of the original body. The two used to exchange professional knowledge through letters, but for some reason, they broke off communication in recent years.

When Song Qingshi sorted out the things left by the original body, he re-read those letters, once again admired An Long's professional level, and then took the initiative to write a letter, using modern medical methods to solve an insect-born fungus problem that had plagued him for many years. An Long was overjoyed after receiving the letter and sent people to send many gifts. Because of the original body's preference, the gift included several corpses with different causes of death, and he said he would personally visit his home some day to say thank you.

Song Qing Shi liked the gift very much and welcomed the big man obsessed with entomology.

Yue Wuhuan smiled as he took the knife and dropped it heavily, slashing the corpse's chest cavity without hesitation.

"Slow down! Slow down!" Song Qingshi was taken aback and stopped him quickly. The teacher instructed: "You have to look at the muscle structure clearly before you cut. Pay attention to the direction of the blood vessels and meridians, and cut layer by layer. You're cutting too deep. You're cutting through the bones and organs! Watch out for the organs!”

"Yes," Yue Wuhuan looked at the still heart under the knife and smiled even more joyfully. He asked Song Qingshi, "Master, do you know the identity of this corpse?"

Song Qingshi thought for a while: "It seems to be a hero of righteousness, a metaphor or something. . ."

"Everyone says that the warrior Yu Qing was an honest and upright man, but he has ended up in a situation where no one has collected his corpse." Yue Wuhuan said softly, with endless sarcasm in his voice, "It's a pity."

"There are too many dead people in the immortal world, and corpses that nobody wants are everywhere. Regardless of the identity of the body beforehand, it's the same when you die." Song Qingshi stared at his movements, not paying attention to the inappropriateness in his tone, and exclaimed, "Be careful, you scratched the heart!"

Yue Wuhuan lifted his gaze and whispered in awe, "So it's not black, huh?"

He smiled and cut with the knife, again and again, cutting the disgusting body and organs into pieces. He was extremely happy, just like what he did to himself back then.

That year, not long after he entered Golden Phoenix Manor, he was under Jin Feiren's confinement. He didn't know much about his identity, so he was a little naive, hoping that someone with good intentions could save him from hell.

Golden Phoenix Manor hosted a banquet for the elders of the Qinghong Sect, and exchanged sword skills. The Qinghong Sect is a famous sect in the immortal world and has a reputation for being cynical about evil. Yu Qing was a leader who was highly regarded by the younger generation. He was full of righteousness, and he didn't look sideways at the beauties who came to serve him. It seemed that he didn't like beauty, and he didn't do anything dirty.

Yue Wuhuan felt that he might be a good person, so he mustered up his courage and tried to ask for help.

Yu Qing stared at him for a long time without speaking.

Yue Wuhuan also knew that there was little hope, so he didn't dare to force it.

However, he never expected that Yu Qing would force him.

"At the banquet, I felt that your eyes were so beautiful. You're naturally seductive."

Although Yu Qing didn't get the spirit pearl that controlled the Acacia Seal, he didn't have the strength to resist the Golden Core cultivator, so he was soon bound tightly by a magic weapon and left to be slaughtered.

. . .

In the early morning the next day, he was finally released from hell, but he was discovered and made a fuss in front of Jin Feiren and the leader of the Qinghong Sect.

With bruises all over his body, he knelt down in front of everyone.

Yu Qing was a highly valued disciple of the Qinghong Sect and had a very good reputation, so it was really wrong of him to touch the owner's property.

The Qinghong Sect leader was disgraced and he repeatedly apologized to Jin Feiren, saying that he would punish Yu Qing severely. The scene was very embarrassing.

Jin Feiren smiled graciously and rounded up the situation: "It's my slave who can't bear to be lonely. What is Hero Yu's crime?"

Yue Wuhuan froze. He raised his head to explain, but suddenly Jin Feiren gave him a warning glance. He moved his hands in his sleeves, and the Acacia Seal on his back began to heat up. Even though he struggled and resisted, he began to say a series of unpleasant words:

"The slave is restless. Seeing immortal elder Yu's majestic appearance, I seduced him with my body. . ."

"I'm not injured, my legs are simply weak. . ."

"This slave made a mistake. Please punish this slave for his lowliness."

". . ."

He was obviously hurt, but he was forced to admit to a mistake he didn't make, and the matter ended satisfactorily.

During the banquet, both the host and the guest were happy and seeing that Yu Qing liked it, Jin Feiren gave him along with the pearl to Yu Qing to play with for several days. He had seen all the wickedness of this righteous warrior.

He was badly hurt, but he never cried out, nor begged for mercy.

Because he fully understood the status of a slave and had no delusions about his situation.

. . .

"The cause of death is in the brain, and the bugs ate most of his brain." Yue Wuhuan used a saw to cut the corpse's head open and came to a conclusion, whispering, "He must have died in pain and misery. . ." He was glad that the mask blocked his smile and malice, otherwise his expression would have been as bizarre as a demon.

Song Qingshi carefully observed the corpse and nodded: "Mmm, this kind of death is quite tragic, it's a pity."

Yue Wuhuan smiled: "Yes, it's a pity."

He stared at the knife in his hand. The afterglow of happiness gradually dissipated, and he couldn't help feeling pang after pang of pity.

  How good would it be if he could cut into him alive?

The author has something to say: Top Student Song is super confident: My little angel is so steady with a knife, he will definitely be a good doctor!

[megamindsbigheadcousin]

Moron

Contrary to popular belief, Jesse’s not a complete fucking idiot. I mean, he’s not a genius, and he barely scraped by in high school, but his aunt used to tell him he was smart, in his own way. The thing is, though, when he’s with Walt, it’s hard to tell what he is. The guy could rattle off every element of the periodic table, hotwire a van using chemical equations and science. And sure, look, Walt’s obviously a fucking asshole, but he’s helped him, ran over two people for him, okay, so he, he owes him something, or he thought he owed him something. Because he clearly wasn’t about to stop considering going into business with Gus after the death of a child, but it was something, right? The fact that he drove them over. The fact .. that one of them was crawling, groaning, and Walt just... pointed the gun and, and shot. So he wants to blame creepy ass Todd for shooting that kid, wants to end that story there, so that he doesn’t have to remember Walt, Walt, as always not fucking giving a shit, Walt just pushing through for what? his family(a lie), for money (a half truth), for legacy and an empire(the other part of that half truth, the whole truth somewhere down the line). But he saved him from the death sentence of pointing the gun at those two men on the corner, but he treated him like an idiot, manipulated him, but he dragged him out of the crack den, but he hugged him, tight in his grasp, holding him together while he sobbed. He saved him. He saved him. He saved him. And it’d be comforting to hold on to that but he remembers, holds on to the white hot fury of seeing that child die, even as it wracks his brain. Walt saved him and Jesse loves him. Walt cursed him and Jesse hates him. 

Because when he was in high school, when he maybe had a chance, going home to a coughing aunt at night, waking up tired to tests in the morning, Walt would scan over his papers, marked in red. Try harder. You need to try harder. Do you even care? His aunt, coughing, coughing, coughing. And then it wasn’t even Try harder. It was, If you're going to be an idiot, Mr. Pinkman, you should just leave. It was We covered this in the last class. The truth is, when he was a kid(still feels like one now), Walt was so.. scary to him. Couldn’t imagine him going home to his wife and his kid, couldn’t imagine him anywhere but in that classroom, handing down judgement in red ink. Working with Walt, albeit as meth partners, it meant he was equal. Meant he wasn’t a fucking moron, that the red ink was wrong, that his parents were wrong, convinced Walt, in those moments where he looked at him like dirt, that he was wrong. Back in that van, Walt telling him he was right, until one wrong guess “Ahh, wire” and he was back to being nothing. The path set in front of him, and Walt and him may have had their moments(many), and he’s annoying and Walt’s annoying and they piss each other off, but they’ve always been on the same... team. He’s defended Walt, despite everything, Walt’s defended Jesse, despite everything, but he looks at Walt, and it’s clear he just... doesn’t give a shit. Gives some fucking spiel about Of course. Of course it was tragic. But But, but, fucking but. It’s always that with Walt, that’s always how he gets you, how he gets away with murder, makes it sound moral even. And he may be a fucking idiot but his aunt told him he was smart in his own way, and he knows, knows, that when he looks into Walt’s eyes, there’s nothing there. 

[lumpystonerprincess]

Late night post because I can’t sleep because I fucked up

I was an addict. It started slow, but fast at the same time. I tried coke and didn’t mind it. Had the opportunity to start selling and figured, if I’m gonna do it, I might as well make it at least profitable. So I did. As time went on I still only used recreationally and profit was my main focus, it still wasn’t an issue and as long as I made money I didn’t care if I even sold what I intended to use. That rolled into a new focus. All my friends around me did it, and I wanted to make sure they were getting stuff that was cut to hell. Shit is scary and even I knew that. And I didn’t wanna put something that could land me in the hospital or worse the ground up my nose, let alone my friends. I’m all for recreational use because everyone’s got a vice. And if you use and are smart about it, just as with pot or alcohol, then you do you. At least you’re conscious about your choices. To me it was a better option that the meth or heroin I saw first hand destroy so many people around me. So I did things differently. I kept striving to find a better supplier, Less cut product. Because then at least I knew who I sold to, could have something with as little risk as I could find. A supply I trusted, and that I could cut myself, with a cut I knew was safe. (Powdered benzocaine because people always love the numbing effect, though I knew most of the numbing comes from the cut people put into it. So at least I could at least TELL you EXACTLY what it was cut with.) and I found that supplier. Had an established business arrangement and was selling more than I ever could have imagined. Went from buying and flipping grams and balls, to consistently flipping an ounce every two weeks.

But the thing about selling is, you test the product, you do taster bumps with people to entice a sale, you use your personal to stay up and party late to get as many sales as possible. You have access at all times to however much you wanna do. And I always kept my personal uncut because frankly I liked the drip, I didn’t care for the numbing. And I had friends hooked on meth, so I was trying to supply them with coke instead in hopes the kick because why buy that when I’ll share this with you for free right?

And before I knew it I was using every day, all day, and double on weekends. So much my nose was all fucked and I couldn’t even get it up there anymore. So stop right? Seems logical?

I was still more conscientious than the fiends around me. I was able to keep it under wraps from my family, still held a good high paying full time job, still was ensuring my profits far exceeded my own use, hell if I felt someone was buying too much from me I’d stop supplying them for a bit and tell them to slow down. No judgement of course just looking out for them and their well being, didn’t want them blowing too much money because they have responsibilities, they were friends with jobs and houses and bill and kids even. Even parents need to let loose here and there. And if they did and I was around I didn’t mind. I’d make sure it was kept away from the kids, made sure everything was wiped down and clean too so after the party was done I knew they still wouldn’t get exposed even by accident.

But back to my nose, concerned as I was for everyone else around me, I’d been doing so much my preferred way of use was no longer an option. Seemed like a good reason to at least step back from personal use. But no, it was too much a part of my daily routine. So instead I decided to smoke it. Make my personal stash into foils and keep going. (Mind you, only thing I ever smoked before was cigs and weed. I had a hard limit on ANYTHING harder than coke. Absolutely no meth, no crack, no heroin. Nothing) but how else was I gonna do coke if I couldn’t snort it. So there I was smoking fucking foils to get my fix. I’d stooped that low in my own addiction. And I just kept going.

By some miracle. No not some miracle, my saving grace. My best friend got me to open my eyes. She didn’t do coke but she knew I did, she never judged me when I told her I tried it, she simply said this “do what you want to do, but I’ll only tell you this once, if I think you get too deep, out of love I will tell your mom” and I knew she meant that, because she would let me do whatever I wanted, but at the end of the day she cared about my well being above anything.

So when it got bad bad, and she didn’t know the full extent of it even but she knew enough, she texted me. It’d been god knows how long since I’d seen my goddaughter, because she knew I would never come around her high. She said “your goddaughter misses you, sober up” I knew that was my warning. Get it together on my own, or she was going to my mom to force me to get it together.

I was so deep in, at a level most can’t come back from, especially not on their own. Extensive inpatient rehab by force deep. But I knew that wasn’t an option without my mom knowing and I’d already put that woman through so much that I could never risk her finding out about this, it would kill her. With that in my head some way some how and I still don’t know exactly how I managed to, I quit. Entirely. Using and selling.

Not cold turkey I’m not that good. But my friend did give me some grace and time to make changes. She knew I still had to pay off a hefty front my guy gave me because I had gotten robbed, but she kept an eye on me as I continually proved I was making progress forward. And finally I’d kicked it over the course of a year. And stayed sober for a little over a year even. She commended me for my self control and believed in me that I could do it.

I still missed it tho. Not the shitty part of course but a vice is a vice and it still was something I had enjoyed. And I’d proven to myself I COULD have self control. So I made an agreement with myself, and my best friend of course. I could use again, but STRICTLY recreationally. No more selling. And I couldn’t buy more than half a gram for a night out. And I couldn’t do it more than one night. And it couldn’t be every weekend either. And I stuck to that. Rigorously. Because if I didn’t have enough self control to stick to those rules then I just didn’t have enough self control to use at all period. As time went on I stuck to my rules, eventually got into a relationship with someone who knew I used occasionally, and he did too but very rarely so that was good for me. I only got some on the rare occasion he wanted to. It really stabled me out. Things were going really well, and then as most relationships do, it fell apart. Amid the breakup I went a little off rails, a slight bender for four days the weekend of my birthday. I bought a ball for my birthday celebration as a now single woman. But I had told my best friend and was under her watch the whole weekend so she could still accept this was how I needed to cope but still make sure it was only to go as far as the four day period and no more. And it didn’t. I was still very adamant about not falling into my old pattern. She let me be wild because she still believed I had the self control to know when to stop this time around. The birthday celebration was done, the supply was gone, and I was okay with that.

A week later I found out I was pregnant. 2 months along. Talk about panic. I felt so guilty about my birthday. But she assured me I didn’t know and can’t change the past. So the rest of my pregnancy I was stone cold sober. Did everything to make sure my little was safe inside me. And she was. She came out perfect and healthy, early but we’d already expected that. I was nowhere ready to be a mom but I was committed to still do the best I could. And I am. Still. But I also know and knew from before she was born that I’m a better mom if I can still be myself too. I’d get one night out a month to be me. To help keep my sanity. I’d go out the dinner or the bar, see friends, drink, and occasionally but not every time use again. But I still stuck to my rule. No more than half a gram, gone by the time I got home, usually just getting some because man I was tired and couldn’t stay awake past 10pm otherwise. And when my night out was done, I’d still be up the moment my little got up and was back in full time mom mode.

As time went on I’d get a few more than one night a month, still only get a half gram but friends share too so sometimes I wouldn’t even get any, for special occasions I’d splurge and get a gram. But I share too so I never do it all myself. But I always stuck to the most important of my rules. Once it’s gone it’s gone. And preferably it needs to be gone that same night (or weekend if I got it Friday but didn’t plan to actually go out until Saturday night)

And my self control hasn’t wavered. My priorities still stand above all. My daughter, my job, my well being. I commend myself that I pulled myself from such severe addiction to where I am now. And that I still am capable of using recreationally but that I have enough self awareness to understand even with self control I was an addict and I let myself get to that point and I need to be conscientious about my choice to use recreationally so it doesn’t get to that point again. I was open with my now partner about my past, and though they use with me on occasion (now it’s almost solely just for events as I really don’t go out otherwise) they let me be the one to dictate it. I purchase it, I hold it, I determine when we do it through the night, how much and how often. So that I still make sure it’s gone by the end of the evening. I even occasionally will buy more than the gram I allow for us to use, together, but only if it’s to save money because some of my friends put it ( say I want a gram but I have two more friends that want one too, I can get a ball with their money, and still have my gram and a half to get someone else to buy off me and end up making 50$ instead of spending 100$ for just our personal) but that’s ONLY if I have people collecting the extra amount as I still only allow us to have our gram for ourself and nothing more. Keeping any additional temptation to a minimum. Because that’s what I know works for me.

But of course that works for me because when it’s gone it gone as it should be. But this time it wasn’t. Instead of the ball I was getting for a wedding this past weekend, my guy gave me the wrong bag, purely by accident, instead I got double. And despite my efforts to sell the remaining 4 grams I hadn’t had pre planned buyers for by the end of the wedding, I wasn’t able to get rid of it. And I keep battling “eh it’s just extra anyway, what’s a line gonna hurt” over and over again. A battle I’m not winning. A battle I’ve continuously avoided having to even have by just NOT having anything leftover. Because as proud as i am of my self control since dragging myself from active addiction I still knew in the back of my head I cannot 100% trust myself to refrain from using if it’s available to use, so I just don’t leave any to keep using.

And here’s why. Because now it’s Wednesday morning at 3:04 am and I can’t fall asleep because I chose to keep using it, because my nose gets stuffy and runny from my use (just an after affect I usually suffer through the day after a night out as a reminder why it’s fun but only moderation because just like alcohol and hangovers, fun does come with a penance) but since I had some left, I didn’t suffer through it. Instead I found relief in its brief ability to open my sinuses back up after a line, in its ability to keep me up instead of groggy, and of course my own just crave for the taste. So every time the stuffiness gets to be too annoying, it’s right there, and another little line won’t hurt.

And usually with just one night of use, I take my last line just before bed. It opens my sinuses justtt long enough for me to be able to fall asleep because it's much harder for me to doze off with my mouth open and the amount in my system is just low enough for me to still relax my body enough to still fall asleep.

But now I've done a line, open my sinus, stuff back up, line, open, stuff back up, over and over, to the point I'm just awake still by the time it gets stuffy again, because theres too much in my system for me to doze off in my sweet spot window. And I am supposed to get up at 6 to go to work. And this is absolutely not okay to go to work with zero sleep. So yay. i fucked up and an addict is still an addict and this is a glaring reminder.

[anteroom-of-death]

Put Me in a Movie...

Synopsis: The Master comes to terms...sort of. Set after the Doctor abandoned him in Nazi France.

Warnings: grooming, white supremacy, harsh language, introspection...

(Proof I write on occasion...)(also for reference listen to Put Me in a Movie by Lana del Rey if ur not familiar...)

Lights, camera, act-ì-on…

The Master stood at attention for these mere humans. The Doctor left him in the hands of humans that, without his special little perception filter, wouldn’t even listen to his charms or even basic hypnosis. Obviously, this body, no matter how svelte or pleasant to look at wouldn’t go over well as say….his body previously to his female form last go…or a few of his bodies especially the smirking, tall, one. The blue-eyed alabaster dandy wouldn’t even go over well…

Especially considering the environment: Paris, at the height of Nazi occupation.

If (s)he likes me, takes me home…

She left him there, knowing Earth history probably better than everyone else of their species. Knowingly abandoning him here, with these people. Well, why wouldn’t she? She’s always been deeply selfish, especially in regards to him and his needs. He had realized that thousands of years ago. When she first abandoned him for that wife of hers and living a charmed life. Before she got bored, stole that sub-par TARDIS, and ran off.

Selfish fucking bastard. Every body. Always.

So much for a childhood friend and blood pacts sworn in dark nights when you’d protect each other and be there for each other until the literal end of time…

And who’s there for poor Koschei?

No one, not ever.

He didn’t know he’d have this much fun…

No one, that much was clear since he looked deep into the void of all time and all space, and received the Drums.

The fate of all the species rested in a tiny eight-year old boy…and guided in such a way all throughout training and well into adulthood. Groomed into perfection to be the only one mad enough to try little tricks to break the reality of time and space at the most crucial time of war during a personal mental breakdown.

The Master broke his reverie as the lead SS officer trafficked him into a medical bay. Obviously he was master of deception- how’d he pretend and fool, quite literally their entire upper echelon into thinking he was the literal übermensch to get the ability to use their networks to find the Doctor.

The vivisection and tests were enough to bring him to regeneration’s door. It took him all the strength he held to not. He needed to keep that secret held to his chest. That knowledge could let these people win and erase much of his own past. He couldn’t risk it. No, not at all.

Come on you know you like girls (boys)…

He escaped as the Allies closed in and his captors fled their posts. Cowards, more so than the Bitch who abandoned him there, more so than the President who stayed comfy in his office as a war raged on, instead making a small child in the past the ultimate weapon. More so than his parents that ignored his many messages home that the drumming noises in his head were ravaging his mental health and causing him to make himself sick and wracking his body raw.

He was free, just had to deal with the consequences of this all. Just wait it out until the time-lines coincided with the main event.

Listlessness filled his hearts.

He wouldn’t dare do therapy. For obvious reasons: the cost of being remotely near anything medical mentally again would far outweigh the possible benefits of maybe a prescription for any lithium or barbiturate or diet meth the industry would churn out in the relevant coming future.

You know I can’t make it on my own…

Still he persisted on, focused on just waiting to actually enact the actual plot of this little scheme. A loss, but one he had to cope with. And for the assistance of his co-conspirators…

Decades passed the slowest that he’s ever seen them. Considering he knew most of the latter-half of the century from being on-planet on and off during it. The Master didn’t have it in him to hypnotize or engineer any tech. Too conspicuous, too much effort. He’d bled out all his will to do much anymore except endure.

He ended up in the early 2000s getting a job. A low-level executive in a marketing firm in New York City. Basic stuff, bossing around interns and speculating which members of ensemble shows filmed locally had bulimia and which ones had anorexia. Sarah Jessica Parker? Definitely anorexic. Mariska Hagarity? Probably bulimic.

He lived in Brooklyn, because well, the Doctor and her little friends had claimed Manhattan accidentally. Two of her little pets past, Amalie? Aurora? and Rorschach? Remy? The Lakes? The Ponds?. Those two. They lived in Chelsea and had a daughter he respected. They were soon to die and both were deep into mental decline, but didn’t want to risk exposing himself to little River visiting Mum and Dad on their death beds. No need to cross those paths…

It was a crisp early-April day. The first really good day of Spring. Perfect day for a stroll to McCarren Park to enjoy roach coach coffee and a questionable, semi-stale blueberry muffin. A little dive bar had advertised the singers performing that night. A pause and a sip: why not? A human life had it’s perks. The human race always excels at entertainment. He frequently looked to them to frame up fun little songs to blare when scheming or celebrating.

After the park and a trip home for a shower and a beard trim, he went to the bar and ordered a stout from a brewery that opened up in-boro. Brooklyn was changing. Especially Williamsburg. Gentrification. He worried that interstellar forces would bother him there and the Doctor would follow. Aliens, himself included, do love always targeting the hottest spots on the planet. He scoffed into the foam of his drink.

The first singer came and went, followed by a tiny girl with a well-loved guitar and a man on keyboard. She introduced herself as “Lizzy Grant, a.k.a. Lana del Rey. “ Hunching forward and a small, almost sickly sweet, little smile she started singing about being the self-proclaimed Queen of the Gas Station. She was decent. Nothing to sneeze at. Maybe one day she’d come out of her shell and perform at Glastonbury or some such large festival with thousands of enthralled fans if she was lucky enough. But for now, she was giggling nervously and strumming simply on her guitar.

The Master, a.k.a. Roger Estram, more or less tuned her out and focused with eyes semi-closed on the chatter. It soothed the Drums. He rolled his neck and shook out his hands lightly. He was relaxed. Nothing, not even the pain of thousands of years of agony would stop his night out. It was his night and he hadn’t been properly out since his firm made a liaison party between that delusional Jennifer woman and her teams and a low-level loud luxury brand.

Then he heard it. A song that hit him like a gunshot through the center of his respiratory bypass.

A fairly dark song, not what she had been performing. Definitely not the peppy, funny, tongue-in-cheek Americana. One that spoke of the casting couch and a bigger, presumably much-older man taking advantage of the tiny little girl crooning before him.

Suddenly all of his life came and smacked him between the eyes.

He knew he was groomed. He wasn’t a fool. The most uneducated Dalek could accurately determine this. But he was a Time Lord. Obviously he rose above it. Evolved past it. Especially leaving it all in the past as he passed from the body of the Prime Minister to the body of the Queen of Evil. He was all better now. The Time Lords (except for one) were all long gone. Toast. No one’s little plaything anymore. Ever.

That was all past, right? Long since ancient history.

Then why did it hurt so much? Not just now, certainly now, as this song crawled into his center and clawed open the wounds fresh. Why did something that happened as a child and presumably ended for him hundreds of years ago hurt?

Something about this song and the way she earnestly issued into the mic, “You can be my Daddy!” As if she had a role in her own victimization. The man who likes little girls could do whatever he wanted to her, just “Put me in a movie!” had him shaking and wanting to make streamers from his own entrails.

Each little harmonica blast she had her guest keyboardist make shot through his core. He was alone and sad and scared. The same little boy, who stared into the basis of reality to be chosen against his will. The same kid, frequently pushed to the outside, just waiting for everyone to take advantage of him. Accenting that it really just was him out in the universe and no matter what he did, he was used and abused and now couldn’t even manage to control a façade for longer than a few years before everything blew back onto him and he was left more alone and out of control than ever.

She finally finished her song and he paid his tab, shoving a big wad of cash in the little “For Singers” cup up at the stage before he stormed out into the night, glad that it was only a decade or so before he could do a grand reveal and rejoin the main plot of his life…not this strange little side quest his life had taken him on. No more little Earth girls that sang a song seemingly written for him, no more having to cope with being carved up. Back to his old, powerful self.

In the meantime, he sat down at his laptop in his apartment and googled “therapist Brooklyn childhood trauma”. He supposed it couldn’t hurt, right?

..You’re my little sparkle jump-rope queen, you’re my little sparkle…

[bowtiesnmusicals]

Here is my recap of the new podcast.

Ryan Murphy is the first guest.

Worked with Jonathan Groff and Dot Marie Jones on Pretty Handsome pilot...never got picked up.

Dracula Musical?!?!

Mr. Shue a meth addict and touched children in Ian's original script. That script was really really dark.

Wanted to do something about firsts. Something opposite of Pretty Handsome. Something optimistic.

No bad person in original script for Glee. Added horrible cheerleading coach...Jane Lynch like character.

Something special about Glee. Just get it on air. Test audience rated it low. Didn't realize it was a musical.

A lot of homophobic fear about the show.

Didn't care if it was a hit or bomb. Knew it would mean something to anyone in show choir. No expectations.

Madonna episode would be Ryan's swan song.

Ryan: I was single at the time. Kevin: You sure were.

Making of the first season was like being in a bubble. Cast spent every waking moment together.

Everyone was all in on making the show work.

Ryan tried to keep everyone grounded. Tried to protect them from the fame monster.

No training on how to be a showrunner.

Didn't know how to say no...couldn't say no.

Put your head down and work.

Ryan said no to a Darren/Dalton Warblers spin-off! Says he should have done it. Jenna and Kevin agreed it would have been great.

Ryan felt like an absentee father as the show exploded. Sat with cast after Naya passed away and was honest about how he messed things up.

Was making it up as he went along. Should have just enjoyed creating the show and taken in the small moments.

Was Ryan the boss or a friend?

Ryan had a house account at Chateau Marmont. The cast shut down the place many many nights.

From the making of the pilot to 2011 were the best years of Ryan's life.

Ryan started off as a writer/producer and wasn't prepared for the batshit crazy things that came with being a part of a phenomenon. Didn't know how to deal domestic violence, addiction, and unwanted pregnancies. Stuck trying to find the line between being a boss but also wanting to be a friend.

When Naya passed away everyone talked about what glee did for them and did to them.

Kevin talked to Ryan for a month after Naya went missing.

Grief allowed the cast to open up old wounds and heal.

Cory's death caused Ryan to need to take a step back. He decided he couldn't do it anymore and had to step away.

Talked about What the Fox Say and Gangnam Style.

Talked about getting music from Lady Gaga.

Ryan looks back at Kings of Leon interview and knows he messed up. Would do things differently today.

Talked about the artists who worked with them like Stevie Knicks.

Glee was about showcasing music and bringing people together through music.

Mr. Shue was written for Justin Timberlake!?!?

Part 2 next week.

[sa7abnews]

New Zealand food bank mistakenly distributes 'potentially lethal' amount of meth disguised as candy

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/16/new-zealand-food-bank-mistakenly-distributes-potentially-lethal-amount-of-meth-disguised-as-candy/

New Zealand food bank mistakenly distributes 'potentially lethal' amount of meth disguised as candy

A charity working with homeless people in Auckland, New Zealand unknowingly distributed candies filled with a potentially lethal dose of methamphetamine in its food parcels after the sweets were donated by a member of the public.Auckland City Mission on Wednesday said that staff had started to contact up to 400 people to track down parcels that could contain the sweets — which were solid blocks of methamphetamine enclosed in candy wrappers. Three people were treated in hospital after consuming them, New Zealand authorities said, but were later discharged.The amount of methamphetamine in each candy was up to 300 times the level someone would usually take and could be lethal, according to the New Zealand Drug Foundation — a drug checking and policy organization, which first tested the candies.MILLIONS OF ILLICIT CANNABIS PACKAGES DISGUISED AS CHILDREN’S CANDY SEIZED IN CALIFORNIABen Birks Ang, a Foundation spokesperson, said disguising drugs as innocuous goods was a common cross-border smuggling technique and more of the candies might have been distributed throughout New Zealand.The sweets had a high street value of $608 per candy, which suggested the donation by an unknown member of the public was accidental rather than a deliberate attack, Birks Ang said.The authorities’ “initial perceptions” were that the episode was likely an importation scheme gone awry, said Detective Inspector Glenn Baldwin, but the nature and scale of the operation was unknown. Officers have recovered 16 of the candies, but do not know how many are circulating, he said.The City Missioner, Helen Robinson, said eight families, including at least one child, had reported consuming the contaminated candies since Tuesday. The “revolting” taste meant most had immediately spat them out.DEA WARNS OF METH MADE TO LOOK LIKE CANDY, ‘LIKE FLINTSTONE VITAMINS,’ IN THE MIDWESTThe charity’s food bank only accepts donations of commercially produced food in sealed packaging, Robinson said. The pineapple candies, stamped with the label of Malaysian brand Rinda, “appeared as such when they were donated,” arriving in a retail-sized bag, she added.Auckland City Mission was alerted Tuesday by a food bank client who reported “funny-tasting” candy. Staff tasted some of the remaining candies and immediately contacted the authorities. One staff member was taken to the hospital after sampling the sweet, Baldwin said, adding that a child and a “young person” were also treated in the hospital before being discharged.The candies had been donated sometime in the past six weeks, Robinson said. It was not clear how many had been distributed at that time and how many were made of methamphetamine.Rinda said in a written statement the company had learned through New Zealand news reports that its candies “may have been misused” and would cooperate with authorities.”We want to make it clear that Rinda Food Industries does not use or condone the use of any illegal drugs in our products,” said General Manager Steven Teh.Methamphetamine is a powerful, highly addictive stimulant that affects the central nervous system. It takes the form of a white, odorless, bitter-tasting crystalline powder that easily dissolves in water or alcohol.

[novumtimes]

Candy handed out by New Zealand charity contains potentially lethal levels of methamphetamine police say

Pineapple candies dished out by a New Zealand charity have tested positive for “potentially lethal levels of methamphetamine,” police said Wednesday, sparking an urgent race to remove them from the streets. A child, a teenager and a charity worker have already been taken to a hospital after tasting the candies. The candies were given out in food parcels distributed by anti-poverty charity Auckland City Mission The Auckland City Mission Although none are seriously ill, police have launched a criminal investigation and are trying to track down up to 400 other people who may have received the sweets. “We need to round these up as quickly as we can,” said Detective Inspector Glenn Baldwin, adding that 16 of the candies had been found so far. Police suggested the drugs might have been packaged inside the distinctive yellow “Rinda” wrapping by traffickers or dealers to evade detection. They are then believed to have been donated to anti-poverty charity, the Auckland City Mission, which inadvertently distributed them via a food bank. “Drug importation is complex, and organized criminal groups use a range of measures and techniques to try and evade enforcement agencies, not only in New Zealand, but around the world,” Baldwin said. The child and teen who were brought to a hospital after tasting the sweets and spitting them out are both OK, Baldwin added. The charity worker was also treated for symptoms consistent with ingesting methamphetamine but was later discharged. The New Zealand Drug Foundation said a test sample of an innocuous-looking piece of white candy in a bright yellow wrapper indicated it contained methamphetamine. Foundation spokeswoman Sarah Helm said the tested candy contained approximately three grams of meth – hundreds of times greater than the common dose taken by users. “Swallowing that much methamphetamine is extremely dangerous and could result in death,” Helm said. She urged people who had received confectionaries from the Auckland charity not to consume them. “We don’t know how widespread it is,” she pointed out. Malaysian sweet maker Rinda Food Industries said its branding had been “misused” and it did not “condone the use of any illegal drugs in our products.” “Our company is dedicated to ensuring that our products meet the highest safety and regulatory standards,” it said. The Auckland City Mission’s Helen Robinson said the organization was “devastated” by the news. Her organization believes as many as 400 people could have received the affected sweets in a food package. Eight separate families had been affected so far, she said, including one instance in which a parent gave one of the candies to her child, who immediately spat it out. Robinson said she had been told the potent contaminated candies tasted “acrid and revolting.” “You could have only a very small touch or lick of the substance and still be deeply affected,” she warned. A contaminated sweet was taken for testing when a person felt strange after starting to eat it and noticed a bitter taste. Methamphetamine can cause chest pain, racing heart, seizures, delirium and loss of consciousness, the drug foundation warned. Helm told Radio New Zealand it is common for drug smugglers to hide illegal narcotics in food form. “We suspect somebody hasn’t intentionally sought to poison children,” she said. More from CBS News Source link via The Novum Times

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN YC

Small variations in growth rate produce qualitatively different outcomes. And there is a lot more complicated than managing rental property, there are companies you can hire to manage it for you. So companies have evolved to fill that niche. This doesn't bother me. The test of any investment is the ratio of new customers, but it did not. A huge step, admittedly, and one that most people never seem to make, but only one step. In principle you could avoid it, just as a scientist is better off following the truth wherever it leads rather than being influenced by what he wishes were the case. When in doubt, have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand. Whatever gets you your target growth rate. In principle it was possible to start a startup that fails, and then just try to hit it every week. And, strangely enough, it's also why they fail so frequently.

Technology trains leave the station at regular intervals. Societies eventually develop antibodies to addictive new things. The good news is, if you even tie, you win. Pretty much every successful startup will grow into a big company is in much the same position is asymptotic or merely large, there are all those people the eminent have working for them; they have to go pretty far down the list of colleges before you stop finding smart professors in the math department. Tradition is less of a guide, not just because fakers and opportunists are annoying, but because authenticity is one of the main things that separates the most successful startups, because the bride is always the center of attention. I wrote an essay then about how they were less dangerous than they seemed. In retrospect that seems ridiculous, and we soon dropped the pretense. Civil War was about slavery; people would be intolerable. But be careful what you ask for. So I went back to America. And because I wasn't paying attention, I didn't notice when the shadow disappeared.

It is to some degree in almost every field, but I had till then managed to avoid facing it. We had 2 T1s 3 Mb/sec coming into our offices. Computers are responsible for the problem. At one end of the spectrum are crack and meth. There might be 10x or even 50x more good founders out there. Incidentally, this scale might be significantly over 1%. For them the right approach would be to have a new kind of stock representing the total pool of companies they were managing. And now that the web has evolved mechanisms for selecting good stuff, the web-based applications can now be made to work much more like desktop ones. And yet, oddly enough, Ryan Singel's article about the conference in Wired News spoke of throngs of geeks. The mistake is thinking this is somehow opposed to starting a company and selling it. Like the JV playing the varsity, if you get growth, everything else tends to fall into place.

There can only be one big man in town, and they're clearly it. A determined party animal can get through the best school without learning anything. They are a perennial topic of heated discussion on Slashdot. Before we had kids, YC was more or less independently of the stock market. As far as I know there's no word for something we like too much. It would have spoiled the narrative to acknowledge Jessica's central role at YC. The ideal medium seemed the short story, which I've since learned had quite a brief life, roughly coincident with the peak of magazine publishing. And the trouble with most tests for selecting elites is that there will be a tendency to push it back to their IPO in August 2004, but they could buy as many as they wanted for only an order of magnitude more. Inappropriate If you really want is a management company might be organized.

It wasn't just because she disliked fighting. At the stage where YC invests, there is often neither a product nor any numbers. You may beat the insiders, and yet pay a higher price for them. 0 means using the web as a platform before Google even meant it to be one. There seemed to be most admired were ones in which people suffered in complicated ways. How are we to develop new technology if we can't study current technology to figure out for ourselves what to avoid and how. Everyone values safety too much, both the obscure and the eminent. Which means the first VC to break ranks and start to do series A rounds. Copy only what you genuinely like.

It's not just that you think about what the program should do, just make it faster. Growth will slow, partly due to internal limits and partly because startups early on need frequent feedback from their users to tweak what they're doing. Technology progresses more or less our life. 5-7% a week and they hit that number, they're successful for that week. It might still be reasonable to stick with the Old Testament in political questions, but materially the world now has a lot more common. Mostly we had the same sort of insight Socrates claimed: we at least knew we knew nothing. Didn't it already mean using the web the way it's meant to be used. At first they're always dismissed as being unsuitable for real work, jump on it. In How to Start a Startup I advised startups never to let anyone fly under them, meaning never to let anyone fly under them, meaning never to let anyone fly under them, meaning never to let any other company offer a cheaper, easier solution. No one ever measures recruiters by the later performance of people they turn down. Jessica hates attention. Others are more candid, and admit their financial models require them to own a certain percentage of each company.

0 is democracy. I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. If you're really getting a constant number of new customers to existing ones. And they, incidentally, that cured me of copying the wrong things. Our first building had been a one-man show. They see increasingly aggressive measures to protect intellectual property. This tradition continues today. And in the case of the most surprising things we've learned is how little it matters where people went to college. To programmers, hacker connotes mastery in the most literal sense: someone who can make a profit.

And that's where the volume of our imaginary solid is growing fastest. They can sense totalitarianism approaching from a distance, as animals can sense an approaching thunderstorm. That's the paradox I want to examine its internal structure. So we're in much the same position is asymptotic or merely large, there are all those people. We'd interview people from MIT or Harvard or Stanford and sometimes find ourselves thinking: they must be smarter than they seem. In principle you could make any mark in any medium; in practice the medium steers you. We supported online transactions via a company called Cybercash, since if we lacked that feature we'd have gotten beaten up in product comparisons.

[dankusner]

Richard Val LeClercq

Richard Val LeClercq, 63, died July 29, 2005, from complications of acute alcoholism. He is survived by his son Noel LeClercq, San Marcos; daughter Desiree LeClercq, Austin; stepson Glenn Ross, Austin; brother Leon LeClercq, Los Angeles; and a host of ex-wives. Val was born in Los Angeles and received his Ph.D. from UCLA, where he swam butterfly and sang tenor in the Opera Workshop. He was hired by the University of Texas Department of English as their authority on poet John Milton. Val taught for almost 30 years, switching specialities to literary criticism and directing the dissertations of many bright English majors. Val was a talented pianist, and had a sweet tenor voice. He was a golden-ear hi-fi enthusiast who designed and built stereo systems. He brought enthusiasm and intelligence into each of his many projects, and somehow talked his friends into participating in each outlandish invention. His family thanks the English Department for its patience with his disease. The family plans a wake to celebrate his life and introduce his old friends to his children. Please call Terri for details of the Final A-B Test. The family hopes each reader will make out a will, right now. Memorials should be sent to Alcoholics Anonymous, North Austin 24-Hour Group, Austin 78758.

Published in the Austin American-Statesman on 8/6/2005.

Richard Val LeClercq ("Val") was by far my favorite college professor at UT in Austin.

One of the reasons I get so pissed off when people say "drugs are bad but alcohol is fine" is because the only person I've ever seen destroyed by a substance addiction was Val--alcohol killed him. After a while he could no longer teach, so he sat at home and I, along with my friend Mike, were the only two people who would spend any time with him.

Unfortunately, after a while, he made it clear that he no longer wanted anyone to be around and while it was incredibly sad, there was nothing more we could do for him and we eventually lost touch.

The last time I saw him, which was sometime in 1999 or maybe early 2000, he seemed to be on the verge of death.

I remember sitting by his hospital bed giving him kumquats, which is all he could eat for some reason.

Cheap vodka did him in. Nonetheless, even with a BAC higher than that of a date-raped sorority girl, he was still the best teacher I've ever had. I always wondered how he was doing.

Val will certainly be missed. I give my condolences to his family, his many ex-wives, and "the Lac", his polish wife who he could never quite seem to get entrance to the US (that's assuming the Lac was still his wife at the time of his death last year).

Val was a nutty guy for sure. But he was also a genius, and made me realize nothing is above scorn, and cynicism trumps all. His Lit-Crit class consisted of taking scholarly writings by well-respected academics and tearing them apart. Truly a great class. We'd spend most of class time in his office drinking cheap coffee or lapsang soushong tea, making fun of the other students in the class (who were wondering where the teacher was) and the staff of the English department. Since he didn't feel like doing it, he would let me grade the papers of students in his other classes (not my fellow students, as that would probably be somewhat of a conflict of interest). I only failed a few people, for the record.

I'll always remember Val, and I wish he didn't force me and Mike to leave him alone in his last years. Alcohol destroyed the life of a great man, and I witnessed it first hand. I can't say the same for pot, cocaine, meth, heroin, or any other drug. If you believe in drug prohibition, you're a worthless hypocrite if you don't also support alcohol prohibition (which, like drug prohibition, we know doesn't work). Of course, even if alcohol had been illegal, Val would have distilled moonshine in his back yard and nothing would have been different. But tonight, I'll drink a glass of cheap plastic-bottle vodka and store-brand cranberry juice in Val's memory (okay, it will be Gray Goose). Cheers, Val.

374L, Earlier 17th Century: Donne, Jonson, and Their Contemporaries

Poetry and prose, 1600 to 1660: the metaphysical and other leading traditions in poetry; the early poems of Milton; the essay, the character, and other prose forms. Three lecture hours a week for one semester. Prerequisite: Nine semester hours of coursework in English or rhetoric and writing.

Milton’s Paradox of Grace in Sonnet 7 

From conflict to composure, John Milton’s Sonnet 7—“How Soon Hath Time” (1632)—illustrates two life philosophies and the psychological ramifications each one may offer the individual. 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol’n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arriv’d so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure ev’n To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav’n: All is, if I have grace to use it so As ever in my great Task-Master’s eye.

The poem’s speaker makes the successful transition from one philosophy to the other, describing the process in three quatrains and a couplet. 

In the first four lines of the sonnet, he is the victim of the struggle between determinism and his own expectations. 

By the end of the poem, he has found a peaceful release in the resignation that he may only control his response to life, not the course or even the content of it. 

The first quatrain of Milton’s Sonnet 7 presents the initial circumstances of our speaker’s quandary. 

Thematically, he feels in conflict with the passage of time, exasperated by its adroit and speedy progression. 

He is surprised by Time’s ability to act independently of, and with little regard for, his self-admitted immaturity as it steadily takes possession of his youth. 

Despite the speaker’s apparent sincerity, we are made aware of the true nature of the conflict through Milton’s ironic structure and word choice.

There are obvious disparities between the physical existence of the speaker and the abstract “Time,” as well as the tone of hopelessness inspired by the speaker’s relatively young age.

These incongruities reveal that the conflicts arise from the speaker’s own assumptions and expectations for his life.

The first indication of Time’s control is given in line one.

Personified, it terminates the first two iambic feet and is followed by a medial caesura in the form of a comma.

This strong termination and short pause emphasize the description that follows.

A metaphor is employed to describe Time as a subtle thief, this concept mimicked by the unaccented syllable cluster in the center of the last three iambs, “stealing” the line with an increase in metrical pace.

This metaphor is extended into the next line as Time becomes a flying creature.

The metonymy of “on his wing” heightens the sense of swift action.

Time—in this animated, masculine form—seems to outshine the speaker himself, whose only presence is indicated in the thrice-repeated adjective of possession, “my.”

This is curious incongruity, for despite the speaker’s ability to recount the circumstance, he is unable to act upon it.

Time is the active party here, stealing and flying beyond the speaker’s control.

With a preponderance of th and f consonant clusters in line one, there is the impression of a sputtering delivery of the exclamation as Time steals the speaker’s very breath.

The ironic personification of Time, and the inability of the speaker to control it, points up the speaker’s preoccupation with the concept of control.

Why is “he” so frustrated when faced with a basic element of the natural world?

The first quatrain illustrates an Aristotelian viewpoint that can wreak havoc in a young man’s life—and, indeed, it does cause problems for the speaker.

Implicit in his accusations are the clear traces of particular expectations.

First, the exclamation that Time is passing is the result of the assumption that it would not.

The speaker is chagrined as Time steals his “three-and-twentieth year,” flying as it goes.

An interesting shift occurs here as Milton introduces an inconsistency.

The “my” of line three claims the flight of “hasting days”; whereas, in lines one and two, only Time assumes the tenor of the bird metaphor.

With this in mind, the irony of “on with full career” is even more poignant.

Even though his days pass by at full speed, flying “on” instead of “off” (away from the speaker), he does not claim control of them.

It is the last line of the quatrain, however, that reveals the Aristotelian tendency to make plans, to anticipate their fulfillment, and then to draw conclusions based on assumptions.

“But” indicates the speaker’s disappointment as he muses upon his unsatisfied expectations and his wasted youth.

The progression of “bud or blossom” displays a distinct desire to advance through stages to some kind of tangible, evident goal, this desire explicitly articulated by “shew’th.”

Assisting this Aristotelian concept of expected progression is the specification of the speaker’s age.

He makes a point of stating the particular odd year (23rd) that marks his point of despair.

Again, Milton seasons the predicament with irony.

“Late spring” marks the end of childhood, but it also is the beginning of adulthood, a point the speaker cannot imagine.

He can only perceive the “subtle” thievery of Time, enervated by its elusiveness.

This is given formal, mimetic enactment as the masculine end-rhymes of lines two and three descend from sharp high vowels (“year,” “career”) down through “no bud or blossom,” to the despondently low ew of “shew’th.”

Appropriately, the moments of metrical incoherence occur at the points of doubt and frustration.

The “subtle thief of” unaccented cluster is matched by an even more uncontrollable stressed cluster in line three— “hasting days fly on.”

These are followed by the hesitant unstressed foot beginning line four, which consolidates the attempt to thwart the speaker’s rigid iambic pentameter.

A shift from an a posteriori stance to an a priori position of questioning provides for thematic, structural, and tonal changes in the second quatrain.

For the speaker, these four lines are an aporia following the hopeless feeling in the first quatrain.

He is not sure what to make of the situation.

Allowing his mind to survey the circumstances and distinguish the elements of his conflict, he moves into a more balanced state of mind.

This reflective yet passive stance is enacted both verbally and formally.

“Perhaps” and “might” of line one indicate the speaker’s reluctance to once again impose his hasty conclusions as he reflects.

His “semblance” provides him with a self outside of himself whom he must confront.

This is not unlike his relationship to Time, which serves nicely as a scapegoat in the first quatrain.

This duality is embellished throughout the rest of the sonnet.

It introduces the important concept of multiplicity as a means to achieve balance and self-understanding.

On the one hand, the speaker’s “semblance” reflects a boy nearing manhood.

However, inner contemplation reflects immaturity—“ripeness doth much less appear.”

Recalling the premature expectation of “bud or blossom” in line four, the actual reflection “might deceive the truth” by convincing the speaker that he has become a man.

Milton effectively creates this sense of prematurity by inverting the natural subject-to-verb order of line six, “I to manhood am arriv’d so near.”

Again, the notions of anticipation and frustration are heightened by the phrases “to manhood am arriv’d” (an ideal) and “so near.”

On the contrary, “inward” contemplation reveals a green, hopeful state that neither thwarts nor frustrates maturity but, rather, promises to endue/endow at the hands of “timely- happy spirits.”

It’s important to note that these two reflections, though distinct, are conjoined.

The “and” of line seven brings the two reflections into a balanced composite portrait of the speaker, appealing to the sense of sight with the words “semblance” and “appear.”

Formally, this multiplicity transforms the cranky pace and tone of the first quatrain.

Lines five, six, and seven, instead of medial caesuras, place unstressed feet at the third foot, creating fluid but strongly polarized lines.

Their aural rhythm mimics the thematic duality of the quatrain.

The rhyme similarly mimics this new symmetry by achieving the abba scheme, correcting the abbc variation of the previous quatrain.

The calm tone of these second four lines allows Milton to alter the relationship between the speaker and his conflict.

For the first time, the first person pronoun “I” is asserted, the paradox resulting from this acknowledgment of multiplicity.

Likewise, Time is no longer an elusive, thieving personification but, rather, a descriptive aid, “timely.”

Although his self-criticism is harsh (“inward ripeness doth much less appear”) the speaker arrives, inadvertently, at new conclusions that are not, in this case, fatalistic.

The metaphysical “happy spirits” that will ripen the speaker’s character are both generous and opportune, but they are also independent of the speaker.

Has he learned his lesson?

He does not attempt to distinguish their ranks (as in his articulation of age), choosing instead “some” (happy spirits).

Nor does he try to discern the “bud or blossom” of their assistance.

The shift from desire for external evidence to internal observation seems promising.

The formal aural lightness of line eight seems to indicate such a progression as the accented “timely-happy spirits endu’th” replaces “no bud or blossom shew’th” from line four.

At this point, Milton’s irony becomes paradoxical.

Inner contemplation, not external “semblance,” reveals the truth: passive reflection, not external activity, brings disparity into balance.

The last quatrain synthesizes the sonnet’s first eight lines.

Beginning with “Yet,” the tone of resignation, of unquestioning acceptance, is immediately established with the volta—that is, the turn in thought or argument in the sonnet form.

Thematically, Milton projects the concepts of multiplicity and passivity into a religious context.

Giving them a religious breadth, he also alters their previously individualized application.

Our speaker seems to represent every Protestant, if not “everyman.”

The point, however, is not pushed to its extreme.

God remains rather ambiguous, as does the role of the divine, in salvation through multiplicity and passivity.

Just as the first quatrain has a distinctly Aristotelian bias, the last quatrain displays a definite Platonic viewpoint.

Binary oppositions abound, a syntactic ligation stringing them together  indifferently.

The four inclusive instances of “or” combine the many facets of the speaker’s maturing character into a veritable, and variable, cynosure of possibility.

The speaker knows not to attempt their distinction, thrice referring to the options as “it” and leaving the decisions up to Time, which has reassumed a personified stance.

The reconstituted entity seems to be a “comic” hybrid of the metaphorical thieving bird and the “happy spirits.”

As an afterthought, Milton’s phrase “and the will of Heav’n” gives Time divine inspiration.

Medial caesuras after “more” and “lot” help to break up the four lines, emphasizing the multiplicity effect.

“To” and “Toward” offer multiple meanings for the concept “approach,” becoming a combination of spatial movement and movement towards similarity of kind.

Of the three quatrains, the third is the least coherent, metrically.

It contains the only enjambment (“ev’n/To that same lot”), but, as if “in strictest measure,” it is accepted with its disparate and overreaching patterns.

The themes of resignation and passivity, however, are the foci of lines nine through twelve.

With the reintroduction of the personified Time, “I” is replaced by the once-mentioned first- person object “me.”

This submission, in reverence to the divine, is encouraged by the certainty and confidence of the “shall be” prophesy of line ten.

“That same lot” embodies the essence of the speaker’s resigned indifference.

Completely turned around, he no longer has expectations of his own but, rather, offers the amorphous “lot” of his life to Time and “the will of Heav’n.”

Ironically, the two “shall be still in strictest measure” if this resignation is sustained.

The power of the volta and the binary oppositions allow for the notion of “lot,” or a multifaceted future.

This is quite a departure from the very specific “three-and- twentieth year,” at which time “bud or blossom” are the only options.

With resignation comes the acceptance of multiplicity RVL – Yes, of course, you needed to elaborate further, especially But what you did do with the formal is quite good! And your thematic discussion is clearly the best in the class!

Richard Val LeClercq, 63, died July 29, 2005, from complications of acute alcoholism.

He is survived by his son Noel LeClercq, San Marcos; daughter Desiree LeClercq, Austin; stepson Glenn Ross, Austin; brother Leon LeClercq, Los Angeles; and a host of ex-wives. Val was born in Los Angeles and received his Ph.D. from UCLA, where he swam butterfly and sang tenor in the Opera Workshop. He was hired by the University of Texas Department of English as their authority on poet John Milton. Val taught for almost 30 years, switching specialities to literary criticism and directing the dissertations of many bright English majors. Val was a talented pianist, and had a sweet tenor voice. He was a GoldenEar hi-fi enthusiast who designed and built stereo systems. He brought enthusiasm and intelligence into each of his many projects, and somehow talked his friends into participating in each outlandish invention. His family thanks the English Department for its patience with his disease. The family plans a wake to celebrate his life and introduce his old friends to his children. Please call Terri for details of the Final A-B Test. The family hopes each reader will make out a will, right now. Memorials should be sent to Alcoholics Anonymous, North Austin 24-Hour Group. — Family-Placed Obituary, Austin American-Statesman, August 6, 2005

on the verbal. and the paradoxes of fate.

The speaker accepts passively his lot, willing to follow Time and an ill-defined destiny.

Completing the transformation from obsessive control to passive resignation, the couplet is, itself, a binary opposition.

At the end of the poem, it presents a promise and a warning to the speaker.

“All is,” isolated by an initial caesura, restates the “lot” concept of a multiplicitous future, setting it apart as the stake in the balance.

In regular iambic pentameter, the speaker evenly states, “if I have grace to use it so,” revealing a dependency on “the will of Heav’n” and the leadership of Time.

The last line of the sonnet breaks up the rhythm, stressing “great Task-Master’s eye.”

This is appropriate, considering that the appearance of “inward ripeness” is to be evaluated with the inner eye, and not the deceptive, outer reflection.

The speaker of Sonnet 7, over the course of the poem, moves from anxiety to inner peace.

This transformation is achieved through the acceptance of a passive role in relation to Time and Heaven.

Milton’s conclusion, however, poses several questions.

Fittingly, these concern the duality of the speaker’s redemption. If inner peace is contingent on the grace of God, why is the speaker’s own self-evaluation made to seem so important?

Likewise, if the speaker has achieved this transformation of attitude from the volta in line nine to the end, why is there a lingering question as to the certainty of “if I have grace”?

Punctuating these questions is the uncanny duality of “I” and “eye.”

Placed in such close proximity in the text, the distinction between these homophones is difficult to discern if heard aloud. Milton leaves us, ultimately, with a perplexing conclusion. Is the giver of grace just as multiplicitous as the life that receives it? A passive response, we have learned, keeps those questions at bay.

John Ewing

The Poetry of John Milton,

ENG 363

Prof. Richard “Val” LeClercq University

of Texas at Austin 1989

RVL – Yes, of course, you needed to elaborate further, especially on the verbal. But what you did do with the formal is quite good! And your thematic discussion is clearly the best in the class!