#to drain fuckin feces

[citronaut69]

I think my career as an RN in the middle of the worst of C19 on a med/surg unit plus now working a vascular/thoracic PCU/ICU has desensitized me to so much weird and traumatizing shit

[radoncanyoncryptid]

so how was y'all's night mine was fuckin fantastic -_-

[placesinmymind]

Description of the library by the son of a Columbine Survivor

“Here’s the skinny. My beloved mother works at Columbine highschool (where I graduated in ‘87). On 20 Apr 99 at approximately 11:15am she went into the library to look for her boss (an un-named computer teaher). Hell broke loose. She hid in a magazine locker adjasent (sp) to the library. Four hours later, the SWAT team led her to safety. Now click ahead… My beloved mom is going through some serious fucking counseling. Complete with lots of cool drugs (that I steal on a regular basis!) Her trauma counselor thinks that it might be a good idea if someone in the family visits the site where everything happened. My father declines. It is a little too much for him. My mom asks me. “Sure, I’ll go!” I answer, not knowing what’s in store fore me. Here we go. Enter Columbine HS at the north entrance -by the old auto shop building. Sign in -me, my mom and brother, her counselor, three firefighters, six admin officials, and two cops. (we had to sign our names so they knew we were there). Walk down the halls. Cop lets us know where everyone met the wrath of Eric and Dylan. There are bullet holes in the hall thresholds. Pretty fuckin cool I think. I touch them. 9mm slugs leave a nice sized hole. We go into the library. This is really fuckin strange. All the interior windows have black butcher-block paper covering them. Can’t see in or out.. Enter the room. Gotta sign a statement saying we won’t go to the media etc… (This, I thought was pretty cool. Aimee Sporer* would cum in her panties to be in this room. I got to go in simply cuz I was a sprog of a survivor. )*Aimee Sporer is the extremely cute albeit married and motherly newscaster of our local channel four news. Enter the room. First thing that grabs my attention is the carpet. It looks like its burned in spots. Closer examination realizes that its not burned. Its blood. Nine mm rifles and shotguns do a fucking good job of draining bodies. It was all underneath tables. Most of the kids died as they were hiding under tables. Granted, it had been 6+ weeks since the massacre, the blood was still very visable. (I guess bloood doesn’t evaporate). Here’s the wierd part: The blood was so thick that you could scrape it up with a putty knife. It was like dried up clay on the carpet (Sorry secret santa wishers, I didn’t grab any samples). One kid who died had his *brains* blown onto the carpet. This nearly caused me to lose my lunch. But as a good A.T'er, I held it in. Picture a spot about as large as a frisbee. Turn it greyish-brown. Add cracks due to drying. Fucking brains. But what really had me was the presence of a fucking *turd* on the floor. I pointed it out to the investigator and asked, “what is that???” He replied, “Feces” Apparently, one girl shit on the floor as Eric and Dylan went about their mayhem. Good ole’ Cassie (she said yes) Bernall was reading the fucking newspaper when she bought it. It was opened up to page 16 and had her blood on it. Actually, there was blood everywhere. It was on the books, floor, periodicles, etc… Go to the east part of the library. Eric and Dylan wisely decided to end it here. OK, most of the investigators believe Eric shot Dylan. When the report comes out, this claim will likely be substatiated. Now I have shot many high powered rifles in my age. I never knew that ballistics can be so messy. Eric put a gun to his mouth and literally blew his brains all over the ceiling. I mean *all over* there is a spot where him and Dylan died. Above that spot is a streak of blood that coats the white, styrafoam ceiling panels where they died. Spent an hour and ½ in the library with the cops. Saw shit I never hope to see again. When I went into work later that day, I was in a fuck of a bad mood. p.s. Collected some broken glass from the library. Put it in jar and took it to the local watering hole. Man, some fuckers have no sense of humor. “