Golf courses near freehold nj

Hi there! Me and a friend are looking for 2 more roommates to fill a 5bd 3ba house. It's about 5 minutes from downtown and 25 minutes from work. We have already contacted the landlord and they are just waiting for us to figure out the roommate situation. We both think it's a REALLY nice house and if we can make it work it would probably be our best pick.
We're looking for 2 more roommates that would be our friends and like to go out together with us! We both are very respectful and keep pretty clean. PM me to learn more about the house or meet me and the friend!
A little bit about me: I'm a 22 y.o. female originally from CA. I am still I'm school and will be graduating in May. I like the outdoors, playing golf, and going to the gym.
About the friend: He's a 23 y.o. male originally from NJ. He's already graduated and is currently in Tucson working. He's been exploring downtown as of recent, finding concerts to go to, and also enjoys cooking.

This post is not really informative, it just features my subjective thoughts and my interpretation of what the usage of the paintbrush could mean.
The paintbrush was (most likely) used for two stages of the attack: first for assault and then for strangulation. The timing of these two actions is thought to nearly coincide. CSIs’ observations described by Kolar:

Broken shards of wood from a “Korea” paintbrush handle would be found on the floor outside the entrance door of the Wine Cellar. A portion of the matching handle was found in a paint tray near the door, and this would eventually be matched to the broken wood handle used in the garrote that had killed JonBenét. It appeared that the garrote had been constructed at the entrance to the doorway of the Wine Cellar, and investigators believed that JonBenét’s murder had taken place in that very location … the perpetrator is believed to have inserted the broken end of the paintbrush, used as a handle in the garrote, into her vagina at or near the time of her death.

The use of the paintbrush in the assault always looked like one of the strangest decisions to me. Who pokes the likely unconscious victim with a paintbrush? Why? The damage wasn’t as extensive as one could expect if this was done for sexual gratification. It seems like an act of curiosity or a brief flash of malice. Some people, including a part in BPD, decided that this attack was a part of staging because they also couldn’t find a logical explanation for it, but the idea of staging doesn’t really withstand scrutiny, in my opinion. This is the approximate sequence of the steps the Ramsey(s) would have had to cover in this case:
1) Decide that their daughter was dead when she was still alive or choose to finish her off deliberately (since the assault was done when she was still breathing).
2) Have enough insights to realize that the eventual autopsy would reveal the signs of old vaginal abuse.
3) Decide that the paintbrush is the best weapon to inflict similar damage to cover the old one.
4) Assault JonBenet with it.
5) Change their mind and unstage this part of the crime. Remember that the body was not staged as if a sexual assault happened — the evidence of paintbrush penetration was hidden, possibly including wiping to remove the blood; the bottoms were pulled back up.
6) Be reluctant to discuss or draw any attention to this assault.
This is just not how staging works. While the idea of inflicting new damage over the old one might be logical, the decision to minimize it by using a paintbrush for a mild jab & to remove all visible signs of it and never bring it up is not. It’s not staging when no one sees it and the perpetrators avoid discussing it — this nullifies the very concept. As for the old abuse, the Ramseys flat-out denied it. They never tried to use the new damage as a trump card to argue against the old trauma. So, either they decided to stage the assault but then drastically changed their mind & preferred to forget about their plan or the assault wasn’t staging.
The timing of the assault proves the latter, in my opinion. After the attacker hit JonBenet in the head, some time later, they decided to strangle her, and not in the way one could expect. This person didn’t smother her; they didn’t use the cord itself, which would make more sense than starting the bizarre arts and crafts project; they could strangle her manually, and so on. But no, they decided to specifically construct a ligature device from one of Patsy’s paintbrushes.
I assume this was why this person went to search for the supplies. Device construction had strangulation as the goal, considering the use of the paintbrush in ligature that killed JonBenet. They chose a paintbrush, broke it, and began their work. At some point, they used one of the ends to poke JonBenet vaginally with it.
This decision seems spontaneous to me. It’s like the killer wanted a paintbrush for ligature, but then in the process of constructing it, it suddenly occurred to them that they could use it for something else, too. Basically, I don’t think they picked a paintbrush to consciously inflict two attacks: they chose it for strangulation first and foremost, and the idea of assaulting JonBenet with it came to them later, out of blue. This could explain the strange choice of assault weapon and the relatively minor damage: the assault was a random thought that the attacker acted on spontaneously. They didn’t plan to assault JonBenet at first, it wasn’t their major goal. They followed a whim and then continued on with the ligature.
If true, this dismantles the idea of the assault being staging further. It wasn’t a big plan for hiding previous abuse, it was an unplanned deviation from the course with strangulation as its central goal.
This is how I perceive the fact that the paintbrush was used in both attacks that took place close to each other, and these weird, seemingly illogical, chaotic choices are among many reasons that make me think BDI. Children aren’t bound by the same logic as adults. Burke loved engineering: he constructed multiple projects. He knew how to tie knots and he enjoyed doing it a lot. Coming up with a complex solution to a problem by involving his hobby in it seems like a decision a child like this would make. The paintbrush with the ligature looks more like a toggle rope for Boy Scouts, a version of a toy rather than a serious weapon, never mind the real garrote. The garrote has two handles; the toggle rope has one, just like the device used on JonBenet, which automatically makes it a better fit. When you also consider that the only match for the abrasions on JonBenet was Burke’s train tracks, I think BDI becomes an even more compelling theory.

TIFU by putting on a bandage after I got hurt
Yesterday , I was cycling with my friends in a forest. In this said forest there is a lot of jumps and bumps. It's making it the ideal place to do some tricks on our bike.
Of course , since I'm very bad at those kind of things I fall. Even if I was scared I was not badly injured except for some bruises and a large scratch on my upper arm. So , when I'm back home , I decided to put a bandage on that said arm. I didn't know it but it was a mistake that was going to totally ruin my weekend.
When I wake up the next day , I try to remove my bandage. But I quickly find out that I may have an issus. The bandage is litterally glued to my arm. In the night , the scratch started to cicatrize and caught the bandage in the scap. I tried to gently pull the bandage away from my scratch. No avail. I tried to pull it way harder. It was like I was ripping off my skin and , it bled and it hurt as heck. I even took a shower to see if the hot water would help ? No results.
At this point I was pretty upset ? Was I going to live the rest of my life with this bandage glued to my arm ? Hell no ! But for the moment , I needed to carry on with my day so I continued my day while trying a few time to pull the bandage. That night , I went to sleep with that motherkissing piece of miserable fabric in my arm. It was mistake.
The next day , I woke up , tried to pull the bandage and came to a realisation. My scab more formed and really caught the bandage inside. I understood at this moment that I HAD to just get rid of it. So I pulled hard. It hurted , it bled , I was nearly crying because I felt almost like I was ripping my skin. Finally after 30 very painful minutes , my arm was bandage-free. But it was all very red , bloddy and disguting. F you bandage !
​
TLDR : A wound cicatrized and caught my bandage inside the scabs

Hey all! I just totaled my bimmer and trying to replace it with a fun, track-able, daily driver that a kayak could fit on.
I know.. search. I’ve been trying to explore a lot of options and it’s getting hard to keep track of all the options out there.
Can anyone school me a bit please? There is a 77k miles manual gear box golf r near by for 28k. A bit of homework suggests with a stage 2 type tune you can go low 12’s and have some fun. I saw possibly need a new clutch for that and when shopping parts I’m running into “what gen car is this” (MK 7 or 7.5 I believe) and what gen ea888 is it.
Also trying to figure out what year torque vectoring and traction aids are changed and in general what to look for. So is this car decent starting point and what supporting mods should be expected to hit stage 1 or 2 and have a fun little daily. Thanks a ton for any help!

Background: I've been tentatively looking at changing my car, so have started making enquiries. I have 2013 Porsche Cayman with 55k on the clock, it's a manual with decent spec, grey with black leather, FSH. I paid 28k just over a year ago, the cheapest a comparable car available today is up at 29k & there are approx 10 available with prices ranging from 29-33k.
WBAC are offering me 19.5k and that's the best price I can get Inc main dealers and Indies. I expect to take a hit when PXing but a near 10k hit totalling 1/3rd of the cars value is absolutely batshit. I of course understand that they will need to prep and factor risk, plus they have costs and overheads. But 10 bloody K!
What tools are they using when valuing PXs? Do they not look at the market at all ?

I have been paying rent upfront for both my housemate and I and they pay me back most of it over the course of the month…but never entirely. Certainly the unpaid amount is increasing over time. There was an oral agreement that they would pay me back the rent and I took their word, thinking if they went back on it, I could simply take them to small claims court (something I’m hoping to avoid doing). I feel stuck bc if I just stopped financially supporting their share of rent, couldn’t my landlord evict both of us? I feel taken advantage of but this person is apparently dealing with mental health issues and also very dependent in general so I don’t think they understand really how bad this is (or at least it seems worse to me than it does to my housemate). My take on their reaction is that they will feel hurt that I’m pressing them to make some changes as we near the end of our lease but if significant changes aren’t made starting immediately, I a) won’t renew with them (and prob won’t even if behavior & financial changes are made-I just don’t really trust them enough to renew a legal contract) b) will ask them/our landlord for them to move as a result of basically financial irresponsibility. This situation doesn’t fall underneath extortion, does it? Are there any specific names for this sort of thing? (Location: New York, Finger Lakes region)

In the Late Cretaceous of a fairy tale world much like our own live critters, familiar yet strange. Dinosaurs and mammals kill and die like animals, but think and speak like men. One devours the other, but might chat a bit before. In this society of physiological unequals, the mammals form the downtrodden. And, like in our world, where there are downtrodden, there is music.
Subtropical forest covers what will someday be New Jersey. A hollow earthen mound four meters high and twelve across nestles among the flowering trees. A sign sits out front announcing the mound's name, The Dugout, and purpose, as a venue for bands. Inside lies an elevated stage lit by torches and a skylight and fronted by six logs for seating. The seats are quickly filling up with dozens of mammals of various sizes and diets. On stage are four didelphodons, mammals of contemporarily large size.
The stage mammals are each nearly a meter long from the top of their head to the tip of their tail. Right now, they stand like men, eighty centimeter tall men. Three brothers and a sister, they are both siblings and bandmates. One brother, Eddy, is the singer for the band and the star of our tale.
Eddy is the youngest and the shortest but has a voice that could make a T-Rex swoon. A crop of long blonde hair sits atop his head, contrasting his otherwise brown fur. His clawed hands pluck and tune an acoustic guitar of exceptional quality. On its back are inscribed these words, "For our little rock star, Eddy, love Mom and Dad."
Eddy looks around at the other members of the band.
There is his brother Tommy, their lead guitarist and second oldest. He wears both a bandana and a bad attitude but Eddy knows the kindness and patience he can show when giving a guitar lesson.
His brother Sparky, their drummer and second youngest, gnaws on his sticks with a crazed look and spiky hair. After all these years, he is still charged with energy from the lightning strike.
His sister Lucy, their bass player and oldest sibling, stands nearest. Her flowing blonde hair hides her face but he knows she is always watching. She has been the siblings' rock ever since Mom and Dad's death.
All six logs are filled to the brim, a crowd of nearly a hundred. A full moon hangs in the meter-wide skylight. Eddy steps forward to the wooden funnel which serves as a microphone.
"Thank you all for coming out tonight," he says. "We have some great music ahead, but first let me introduce you to the band. There's my brother, Tommy, my brother, Sparky, and my dear sister, Lucy. Together, we are Bad Litter!"
Eddy then steps back for a second, closes his eyes and imagines the faces of his parents.
"Mom, Dad," he says, "if you're watching from heaven, I love you."
Then, he begins to sing:
"When the sun comes out, and I see you there. My heart begins, to burn again. In this big world, it's just you and me. With you at my side, I'll always be free—"
"Dryptosaur," screams someone from the crowd as a shadow passes across the stage. Perching in the skylight, blocking the full moon, is a five meter long raptor-like dinosaur with a red and white coat of feathers indicative of a female.
Eddy stops singing. Tommy and Lucy stop playing. Sparky, slow to the uptake, keeps banging his drums. The dryptosaur puts an end to it by crushing him with one taloned foot.
Tommy, never quick to anger, charges at his brother's killer and strikes the dryptosaur on the shin with his guitar. The guitar breaks at the neck. The dryptosaur breaks Tommy's neck.
Lucy shields Eddy behind her, determined to protect her youngest and only remaining brother. His eyes transfix on her long hair as he watches her rise into the air by way of the dryptosaur's clawed hand.
With the other hand, the dryptosaur casually snaps Lucy's neck. Her struggling stops and her body becomes as limp as her hair. Then into the jaws of death she goes. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The dryptosaur sits down on the stage beside Eddy, her collossal legs stretching out to the third row of the now empty seats.
"Hey," she says.
Eddy says nothing.
"That's okay, I understand, you've been through a very traumatic experience. We'll have plenty of time for conversation later."
With bloodstained fingers she pulls Eddy to her side.
"Congratulations, Eddy, you just enrolled in my school of life."
BREAK
The sun rises over the forest, its rays poking through the dense foliage to pattern the ground. Bad Litter's devourer slumbers on a pile of fallen leaves, her head tucked into her arms and her tail wrapped around her whole. A beam of light prods her eye and she wakes with a yawn.
Not seeing Eddy anywhere, she briefly panics before remembering that she is sitting on him, gently, like an egg, so way he cannot escape.
"Sorry if it was a little hard to breathe," she says, "I haven't incubated in years."
Eddy lies face up and spread out. He takes one, deep, grateful breath but is otherwise stoic.
"I wish I'd suffocated," he says at last.
"Poor Eddy," says the dryptosaur, peeling him from the ground and cradling him in her arms. "What misfortune has befallen you? No, wait, I remember."
She laughs in Eddy's face, but loosens her grip enough for him to fall back onto the ground.
"What do you want from me?," says Eddy.
"Your company. I have business to take care of in the Appalachian Mountains. It's a five day journey and I could use some entertainment."
"Then play with yourself."
"I'd much rather play with you. Really, what happened to the little song rat from last night?"
"He died with his band," growls Eddy.
"Well," she growls mockingly, "whomever I'm speaking to currently should get ready to set out."
"You expect me to travel with a stranger who murdered everyone I love?"
"Stranger? That's right, I never properly introduced myself. My name's Tava."
A pause ensued as she obviously wanted him to ask what "Tava" meant.
"What does that—"
"I'm glad you asked Eddy. The name is Tave 'cause I'm hot like lava (tsss). Just replace the 'l' with a capital 'T.'"
Tava pinches Eddy's cheeks and moulds them like putty.
"Say it with me, Tah-vah."
"Trrr-vrrr," says Eddy.
"Close enough. Let's go."
Eddy's guitar sits in its case at the trunk of a nearby tree. Eddy shuffles over to grab it as Tava starts along the path. By the time he has the case in hand, she is ten meters away—far enough for an escape. In a flash of action he drops the guitar case and sprints away on all-fours. He gets some distance before a shadow blots out the sun and a feathered tail slaps him down.
"Eddy," says Tava, now holding him to the ground with one hand, "how could you attempt an escape without your guitar?
Tava opens the case and picks up the guitar with her other hand. Held between her thumb and forefinger, the instrument looks like it is meant for a doll.
"What a work of craftsmanship," says Tava. " And look, something's written on the back. 'For our little rockstar, Eddy. Love Mom and Dad.' How sweet. Maybe you can take me to see them once my business in the Appalachians has concluded."
"They're both dead," says Eddy.
"Any other relatives?"
"I'm all that's left."
"A one-of-a-kind treasure! And I will treasure you."
Tava retracts her grip on Eddy but presses her snout into him. Her yellow eyes drill yet further.
"Don't even think about escaping," she says. "I'm faster, I'm stronger, and, most importantly, I'm smarter than you."
Tava recedes to let oxygen refill Eddy's lungs before clasping him again in her free claw. She places him in the valley between her neck and arch of her back.
"I'll tote you for a while. You know, as a favor. After all, what are friends for?"
Eddy does not answer, nor does he speak much over the next three days. He and his guitar are mere passengers on a walking, feathered prison. He dismounts only to eat, a terrible process in which Tava forces bugs and water down his throat, and sleep, again with her sitting on him like an egg.
The scenery changes throughout the third day from a coastal forest to one more suited to hills. Trees are more spaced out, undergrowth lessens and streams cut ravines several times deeper than Tava is tall. Eddy begins to have morbid daydreams in which Tava slips and he falls off into a ravine, hitting head first onto a boulder strewn streambed.
His daydream stops when they encounter a large duck-billed dinosaur blocking their path. The creature is a sessile herbivore and there are many other paths, but Tava is in a fighting mood.
"Move your ass duckface!," she yells.
"There are plenty of other routes around me," responds Duckface in speech garbled by a mouth full of leaves and stems.
"But I like this one. Remove yourself or I'll remove you, one piece at a time."
Duckface's tail swings at Tava. She dodges but flings Eddy and his guitar case in the process. Tava leaps about before finally tricking Duckface into headbutting a tree and knocking himself unconscious. Tava grabs Eddy and his guitar and passes through.
The encounter makes Tava cheerful and keeps her so into the night. Instead of smothering Eddy, she decides to sleep on her back and let him rest on her heaving chest.
"The moon is starting to wane," says Tava. "Pretty soon the stars will practically explode out of the black sky. Some see pictures in the stars, caricatures of creatures drawn onto the sky. Would you like me to show you?"
Eddy moans lowly.
"I'll list them then," she continues. "There's the raptor, the rat, the fish, the seabird, the crocodile, the caterpillar. It's all a fantasy to make life more than it is, to project ourselves onto an immensity we cannot know. I hope you're turning this rant into a song. Hey!"
Tava grabs Eddy who curls tighter. She then pries him open and flattens him out. Tears and snot reflect on his face in the moonlight.
"Why?," says Eddy.
"Why what, dear?"
"Why do you torture me?"
"Isn't it obvious? Because you were born weak and I strong. Because life is torture."
"No, no," he says, shaking his head, "life is beautiful."
"You of all people should know better than that."
"Life can be ugly but can also be love, and family, and music, and—"
"Enough! Let me tell you about life, my delusional little friend. Life, for all creatures, is the struggle not to starve, to consume anything and anyone you can fit in your mouth and swallow without choking. We are but walking digestive tracts, gnashing teeth on one end and excreting waste out the other."
Eddy curls back up and begins to whimper.
"You'll see soon enough," says Tava, rubbing her gurgling stomach.
Night turns into day accompanied by the chirping conversations of treetop birds. The ancestors of orchids bloom all around. Eddy sits a few meters from a stream with his guitar in hand. He carefully replaces a broken string then tunes the whole guitar. Tava, who had "a matter to attend to," emerges from the bushes.
"I had feared that our little rumble might have ruined your guitar," she says. "I underestimated your talents."
Eddy remains silent.
"How about a song to celebrate its repair."
"Sing away," says Eddy
"Stoicism is the enemy of musicians everywhere. But I have the cure. Get up and follow me."
Eddy follows Tava into the underbrush.
"I think you'll like what I've cooked up," she says. "I'm surprised that it took this long, but I suppose I'm not young anymore."
Eddy and Tava come to a small clearing with something steaming at its center. As he looks closer, a red bandana becomes visible. His face contorts into a look of pure horror as he realizes what it is that he sees.
"The band is reunited!," says Tava.
"M-my family."
"Oh that's right, it's also a family reunion too."
Tava leans over and shares Eddy's eye level.
"Do I spot a family resemblance?"
Tava walks away in a fit of laughter while Eddy collapses into tears.
BREAK
On day five, Tava hikes through the ever thinner tree cover with Eddy and his guitar tied to her back with a piece of vine. She climbs atop a rock outcrop and spies three dryptosaurs standing near a pond a few hills over.
"Well, well," says Tava. "How would you like to go for a swim, Eddy?"
"I would like you to drown me," he responds.
"No can do, my macabre little friend. But I think I'll show you off to some admirers of mine. Get ready to sing."
Tava makes footfalls softer than the rustling of her feathers. She is mere meters away from the three dryptosaurs by the time they are aware of her. Smaller than Tava, their colored feathers distinguish them as males. Tava unties Eddy and his guitar case as the group ahead starts to run away.
"Don't bother," says Tava, "you know I'm twice as fast as any of you. Besides, I come in peace. Eddy, may I introduce my friends, Alexander, Montgomery, and Laurence."
"Don't think we forgot what you did to poor Laurence two months ago," says Alexander. "He still walks with a limp."
"It's true!," says Laurence, shrinking into himself.
"We're not your friends," says Alexander, "and you're not welcome here, Lucille."
"My name's Tava now."
"Tava?," says Alexander. "Let me guess, you changed the "l" in lava to a 'T.' Lava is hot so Tava is 'too hot.'"
Tava twitches.
"You're lucky I'm already pregnant, otherwise I'd give you a limp too, Alexander."
"Pregnant?," whispers Laurence.
"Then what do you want, Tah-vah?," says Alexander.
Tava holds Eddy out like a new toy, shaking him mildly.
Behold," she says, "my new song rat. Give them a sample Eddy."
"That couldn't be . . .," says Laurence.
"Would any of you be kind enough to kill me?," says Eddy in a monotone voice.
"A real vocal icon you have there," says Alexander. "Does he dance too? Perhaps the Stand-Still Boogie?"
Tava sets Eddy down and storms up to Alexander, who shrinks a little. Montgomery backs him up but Laurence slips away.
"Perhaps you'd like to dance," says Tava. "I'm proficient at the Bruised Danube."
Eddy looks up to find Laurence standing over him.
"I don't believe it," giggles Laurence, "you're Eddy, the lead singer of Bad Litter! I am a huge fan. W-where's the rest of the band?"
Eddy points to Tava.
"Shat out," he says.
Laurence looks at Tava then jerks his gaze away in horror.
"She, she, she ate them? But why did she leave you?"
"I don't know. I wish she hadn't. Could you kill me? I don't care to live anymore."
"Y-yes. Yes, of course, anything to help. But since you're the only surviving member, could you sign this t-shirt for me first?"
"If that's the price of relief, sure."
"Thank you so much. It really means a lot to have—"
"Get away from my pet, Laurence!"
Laurence turns to see Tava a nose length away. He grabs his t-shirt and runs away.
"Because you three were so rude," says Tava, "I'm not letting you hear a single note from my song rat."
Tava hangs Eddy over her shoulder like a rag and starts to walk away before turning her gaze back to the three dryptosaurs now huddling together for safety.
"But don't worry, boys, I'll be back to take what I want from you."
Eddy watches the three dryptosaurs shrink in his vision, knowing they might be his last chance at freedom, or at least the release of death. On Tava's back and in motionless despair, he rides into the mountains. Vegetation becomes scarce and bare rock erupts everywhere. The path winds through limestone which formed before either dinosaurs or mammals even arose.
The fifth day transitions into the sixth without Tava stopping for rest. She marches through the night under the light of a three-quarters moon. Eddy is able to take short naps because Tava is as soft as a feather bed and more than a match for anything that would want to harm him.
"Geeeyaaat!"
Eddy wakes to the sight of a blazing noon sun. Tava is kneeling on a granite plateau, holding her abdomen and screeching in pain.
"Oh, oh ho ho, right on time!," she says. "Get off, I could use some help."
Tava loosens the vine holding Eddy and his guitar case and both slide off her back. She then walks over to a pair of dry, dead bushes and snaps most of their branches off.
"What are you—," Eddy begins.
"Shut up. They're coming. Gotta build a nest."
She weaves the branches into a rough circle, collapses on top and pulls Eddy close.
"Now, keeyeeyeep your eye on the birdie."
A blood-soaked egg peeks through. Eddy places his hands on it, though remains baffled as to what Tava expects him to do. She enlightens him by giving a hard push and ejecting the egg on top of him. It is fifty centimeters long and weighs almost as much as Eddy.
"It's beautiful," he says.
"Glad you like it 'cause there're two more coming."
Sure enough, the process repeats twice more. Eddy corrals the triplets into a triangle.
"Yeah. It will make a good trade."
"What?"
"Since we're so close I'll tell you. I made a deal with a monastery up ahead. I give them a child to raise, I get some sacred knowledge. Only one child is part of the deal, the other two are extras, just mouths I'll have to feed. Plus they're Laurence's. End their pathetic existence before they hatch into this hellhole of a world."
Eddy rolls one toward the edge of the plateau. It is a ten meter drop, more than enough to kill the unhatched dryptosaur. But he shakes his head and backs away.
"Now, Eddy!"
"I can't kill a child, even yours."
"For God's sake, I don't have time for your moral bullshit."
Tava kicks the egg off the cliff and twists around to Eddy. Their eyes lock as the sound of cracking shell reverberates up.
"Poor Eddy," says Tava, "his conscience won't let him kill the offspring of his family's devourer. I'll raise the other spare if you like, raise it to eat only your kind. I and it will go back and swallow every one of your concert's audience. We'll shit them out and stick your nose in it."
"You can't shock me anymore."
Tava bares her teeth in full.
"Help me, Eddy," she says softly. "I'm still alive in here."
"What are you doing?"
"Reciting what your dear sister Lucy said as she slid down my throat."
"No, I watched you snap her neck before eating her. She was dead."
"That's what I thought too. But she was alive. I heard her inside of me. I felt her squirm."
"Liar!," screams Eddy.
He leaps at Tava who dodges easily. He gets up and tries again. This time she rolls onto her back and catches him between two toes. She flings him across the small plateau. He hits hard and suffers a broken nose. He slowly stands up but waves any new effort away. He looks at her with tear-filled eyes.
"Why won't you just kill me?," cries Eddy. "Please, please, please. Just let me join my family."
"Poor, delusional Eddy. I have no intention of killing you. You have and will provide me with entertainment. You'll be my prisoner for the rest of your natural life."
The monastery bell starts ringing. A bolt of lightning flashes behind Tava, turning her into a black silhouette.
"Back to the subject of your sister," she says, "Lucy was probably still conscious when she fell on top of her dead, digesting brothers."
Eddy launches himself at Tava, landing on her lowered face.
"That's right, Eddy! Go for the eyes!"
He tries to gnaw one of her eyes out. But she is still too quick and very much in control. The flick from a single finger knocks him off. He recovers in an instant and tackles her gut. It, of course, has little more effect than just sending him backwards.
"Now this is more like it. Where has this Eddy been the whole time?"
He ignores her and refocuses on a new target. A serpentine pattern gets him around Tava and to the two eggs. In an adrenaline-fueled feat of strength, he hoists it onto his back and runs toward the plateau's edge.
"Yes, yes, yes!," cheers Tava.
Eddy heaves the egg over the edge. Panting through gritted teeth, he runs back to grab the other one but Tava swats him down with her tail.
"That's enough destruction for now, my pet. We have an appointment to keep."
Eddy calms down. Tava allows him to walk beside her as she concentrates on carrying the egg.
A storm gathers in the distance as they walk into the monastery courtyard. Cloak-wearing monks of every species move calmly across the paving stones. Mammalians who would normally scatter at the sight of Tava take no precautions as their dinosaur brethren have sworn to defend them.
A single monk emerges from behind the bell. He is of Eddy's species but larger and at least three times as old.
"You have what we asked for?," says the monk.
"Right here, Elder," says Tava.
She places the egg on the ground and allows the Elder to inspect it with a tenderness its mother could never show.
"We thank you for the addition to our ranks," says the Elder. "I wish you peace and—"
"No games, I want my reward."
"Certainly."
A stone tablet is brought to the Elder Monk who then hands it to Tava.
"That is the culmination of tens of millennia of observation and study by hundreds of generations of monks who dedicated their lives to—"
"I'm leaving but feel free to continue your monologue."
Eddy and Tava return to the rocky plateau where the last few rays of sunlight shine down. She reads the tablet aloud but Eddy does not comprehend.
"You don't understand the significance of what I'm reading, do you?," says Tava.
"Dig sites, cross-reference, live specimen; sounds like gibberish."
"It talks of a past world very different from our own and promises a future that is likewise."
"Things change, and saying so doesn't add anything."
"It's more than that. The world we live in is much much older than anyone realizes—millions of our lifetimes old. How many people have come and gone before us? A million million? A million million million? And for what purpose did they live and die?"
"To become someone's next meal."
"Yes! The boy learns at last! But that's just the past and present, there's still the future. Another million million million suffering and dying for nothing. To eat or be eaten, this is our fate forever and ever."
The rain starts coming down in large and heavy droplets. Eddy stares up with hate in his eyes.
"You're cruel, sadistic and beyond evil," says Eddy.
"Oh, Eddy, you do know how to flatter a girl. But am I not right?"
Eddy hangs his head. His tears mix with the downpour.
"You're right."
"It's about time you wised up. I ate your family in front of you, abused you in every way I could imagine. Honestly, you should be ashamed that it took this long."
"What should I do now?"
"Sing," says Tava caressing Eddy's chin with her forefinger.
Eddy breathes deeply ang begins:
"Here on the mountain, I am repentant. Resplendent in transcendent notion, that life is incident. Birth and death, ignorant to our animal sorrows. So conscience I set ablaze, and put away my hippy days."
"Splendid!," says Tava, nuzzling Eddy.
The thunderstorm dies down enough to hear the distant monastery bell ring its somber tone.
"Hear that, Eddy? It is our wedding bell. You're mine forever."
BREAK
Tava and Eddy descend the eastern slopes of the Appalachians in half the time it took to get up them, not only because it is easier, or that Tava is no longer laden with eggs, but because she has won.
They reach the three dryptosaurs' pond in a day. Alexander, Montgomery and Laurence are nowhere to be found.
"Smell that air," says Tava, gulping down oxygen as if giving chase. "The weaker sex of my species has a certain revolting stench. If I hadn't needed that egg, I would never have touched Laurence."
Eddy giggles while making a snow angel in her feathers.
"It's too bad your reputation is now so tarnished," he says.
"Maybe not. The trio isn't likely to go around spreading Laurence's shame. We can kill them, easy, and eat the bodies. Have you ever had dryptosaur?"
"Would love to try it."
"I'll save you some breast meat, that's the juiciest part."
Small birds and mammals watching from the few trees climb to yet higher branches on hearing Tava and Eddy's awful plans.
"We have an audience," says Tava. "Why don't you pull out your guitar and play for them."
"Any requests?," says Eddy.
"Something morbid, I suppose. I really don't care. I'm taking a dip in the pond to wash off the blood still caked on my ass from the eggs."
"I'll make our audience fall from the trees in despair."
"Atta boy."
Tava submerges herself in the crystal clear water as Eddy tunes at his guitar to create a more melancholy sound. Something crashes into the nearby bushes and stops his work. A long feathered tail, caked in mud, now sticks out of the far side while a snout, also caked, pokes out near him.
"Psst," says the snout. "Over here. Come on, while she's busy."
Eddy, lacking any desire for self-preservation, stumbles into the bushes. There he finds Laurence, covered in mud from head to toe.
"Masking your scent was a good idea," says Eddy.
"I had to come back and save you," says Eddy.
"Because you're the voice of Bad Litter—"
"They're all dead if you haven't noticed."
"Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to dig that sorrow back up."
"No sorrow. I accept the fate that our weakness brought on."
"Lucille's had nine uninterrupted days to mess with your head. That's more torture than anyone should receive. But come with me and I swear we'll reverse the damage."
"You know, Tava and I were just talking about you. Let me go get her."
Laurence turns Eddy back around. Though gentle, he still manages to take a chunk of the didelphodon's fur off. Laurence now sees how patchy his former idol's coat is, how bloodshot and crazy are his eyes, how little flesh clung to his bones. Eddy was a walking corpse.
"There's no saving you," whispers Laurence to himself.
Eddy's neck snaps even easier than Laurence had expected. The dryptosaur weeps as he wraps his idol's little body in the Bad Litter t-shirt and buries him in a hastily dug grave. Atop the dirt clods he lays Eddy's guitar so that "For our little rock star, Eddy, love Mom and Dad," faces upward and serves as epitaph.
"Go now," says Laurence, "be with your family in heaven."
Splashing water sounds Tava's emergence, but Laurence tiptoes away without raising her alarm. Ten minutes later and far away, he hears her roar in defeat.
(END)

I've been playing for about a year now, and the only other time I have ever lost a disc was my first ever time when I lost a Champion Roc3 in the water at what is now my home course. But, I just got around to buying a new Roc3. It is such a great disc, and I was playing with it at another course near me and I threw a great tee shot on a par 4, and I had a birdie opportunity. But I used the Sol, and I completely whiffed it into the water.
​
Is the Roc3 cursed for me?

3,659th Quarterly Meeting
Kilometer-long freighters docked and undocked from Port Vesta. Ventral doors opened to let in adamantine loading arms, the size of which existed only in tales of primordial titans for much of human history. Once reloaded, the ships departed for humanity's interstellar colonies at Tau Ceti, Aldebaran and Rigel. So choked with ship-induced warp bubbles was Vesta that stargazing was a fruitless pastime for many millions of kilometers out.
And all this was visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the most important conference room humanity had ever known.
Cool air circulated through the 40 by 20 by 5 meter room. 20.4 degrees Celsius, the perfect temperature to keep ambitious minds in line with corporate procedure. And no minds were more ambitious than those sitting in here.
9 of the most powerful human beings alive sat around the rectangular conference table, four on each of its long sides and one at the end farthest from the door. Their perfect faces were reflected in its polished black marble, craftsmanship reflecting in craftsmanship, one working in flesh and the other in stone. Their suits ran the gamut of subdued color, from black to gray to blue to beige to brown, though all but one had a metallic sheen. No one tried speaking before the meeting began. Everything that would be said today had been written and rewritten over the previous weeks. Today was a formality, a tradition practiced by an organization that had existed for 914 years.
Yet everyone in the room knew that the predetermined decision formalized today thrust their organization into foreign territory.
The man at the end of the table stood up. His dark brown suit was only two shades distant from his dark brown skin, most on display on his shaved and polished head. He removed his black-framed glasses from their perch 210 centimeters above the floor and tucked them into his breast pocket, 170 centimeters above the floor.
"Members of The Board," he said, "I declare this, the 3,659th quarterly meeting, open."
A woman, nearest on his left, stood up as he sat down. She wore a beige suit whose metallic sheen paled in comparison to her voluminous blonde hair. In her lilly white hands was the Quarterly Profit Report.
"Mr. CEO," she said in her most authoritative voice, "I'm proud to report that we have once again met the expectations of the founder. From July 1st to September 30th, 2999 CE, we maintained a profit margin of 80.0 %. As of September 30th, we hold a market share of 99 % and a market capitalization of 400 quadrillion credits."
The woman sat down. The other eight clapped their approval.
A man, nearest on Mr. CEO's right, stood up. His gray suit complemented the full head of silver hair installed on his scalp and chin. Strong and youthful hands, grown in a vat and transplanted onto this bicentenarian, held the Readiness Assessment Report from the R&D Department.
"The Instant Sassy program has achieved level 4 certainty as of August 16th, 2999 CE. They can now create a maximum of 1 kilogram of mass and replicate drink and bottle in one go. Mass production of the Instant Sassy vending machines awaits your approval, Mr. CEO."
The man sat down. Clapping ensued.
Five more members of The Board provided their tidbits of information, but everyone knew the best was saved until last.
A young man, actually young in contrast to everyone else's purchased youth, rose from his seat at the doorward end of Mr. CEO'S left side. He wasn't more than 30. He was only 160 centimeters in height. His hair and suit were both pitch black and without sheen. Most of the board wondered if the boy even combed. He certainly didn't shave. His delicate fingers held a one page legal summary.
"Mr. CEO," he said in a monotone lawyer-stating-the-facts voice, "it has come to the attention of the legal department that a small firm at Rigel is selling a 1-to-1 clone of Sassy Cola, though under the branding of Flash Cola. As there is no reliable intellectual property enforcement that far out, we suggest Sassy Cola Company perform a cease-and-desist operation."
The clapping that followed was, as planned, subdued to balance The Board's recognition of his work and the dire situation he described.
Mr. CEO stood once more to give the final address.
"Members of The Board, we stand at a precipice. Military action against a small firm is a bold move. Then again, the Sassy Cola Company is no stranger to bold moves. It was a bold move when in 2085 my great great grandmother started this company in order to sell her sassafras-enriched soda. It was a bold move when we spent the 23rd century expanding Earth's launch capabilities so that humanity could colonize the solar system and thereby create new markets for Sassy Cola. And it was a bold move when in 2610 we invented the FTL warp drive so that humanity could settle the stars and buy more Sassy Cola. So let's put this to a vote. All in favor of sending a cease-and-desist?"
Five members raised their right hand.
"All opposed?"
Three other members raised their right hand.
"Five for and three against. And I vote in favor, giving the issue the 2/3 majority it needs. A cease-and-desist will be sent to Rigel as soon as the ship is ready. I declare this, the 3,659th Quarterly Meeting, adjourned."
All nine stood and clapped, excessively, as if their noise could bury the question of ethics.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a kilometer-long ship (built by Sassy Heavy Industries) docked at Port Vesta (technically Sassy Drive Yards) and loaded up with cargo containers (built and owned by Sassy Shipping) to be delivered to Aldebaran (Sassy Cola Aldebaran, subsidiary).
Dr. Megalomanovich
The walls and ceiling and floor of the office never stayed the same color for long. They meandered through the greens, brighter then darker, strolled along the beach with various tans, took a dip in the water with cyan blue and finished by going back to the greens. They were cymolds, cybernetic funguses, and they formed the surface of every room in the administration wing of Sassy Research Installation #544.
It wasn't a very well publicized installation. No research from here had ever appeared on Sassy Science Direct's Top 10 Breakthroughs of the Year. Of course, that meant what they were doing was very, very important. Another reason to locate the place so far from the rest of human civilization.
Far from civilization is a relative term. To be far on the surface of a planet, you got to be, eh, 100 kilometers away. To be far in the context of a star system, make that 100 million kilometers. To be far from humanity in the year 3535 CE, you have to be 100 light years away. And that's just what we were. 100 light years separated us from the nearest human outpost. Not the nearest built-up star system or lone asteroid city. No, I mean 100 light years from the nearest hitch-em-up, one warpship, sorry excuse for an outpost. Nothing lay in-between and no one was coming to rescue you if you broke down halfway.
But that was the price of admission if you wanted to meet Dr. Megalomanovich.
To the layman, his name means nothing. To the educated, resentment. To the dreamers, hope. He is the greatest mind of our time bar none. And, like all great minds, he has created controversy.
The cymold on these walls was invented by him while he was still in secondary school 150 years ago. He designed the meter-thick mycelium fibers which root Installation #544 to its carbonaceous asteroid in an undergraduate mycology class. Since then he has: led a team which developed an all-biological fusion reactor, led another team that made a proof of concept for matter-antimatter annihilation based metabolism and singlehandedly created a cow subspecies that produces Sassy Cola instead of milk.
This last accomplishment most impressed the one and only financial backer of all human science, the Sassy Cola Company.
It didn't matter that Sassy Cola was already made in the most efficient way physically possible, by assembling it, bottle and all, from the fundamental elements themselves via vending machine MDROM-derived replicators, because Sassy from an udder was cool to the average consumer.
And so Dr. Megalomanovich was scooped up and shipped off to Installation #544. Here he has remained for 120 years doing . . . something. I'm here to find out what.
A chubby man with pudge stuffed unsuccessfully into a white lab coat walked in to the office. His eyes had been replaced by cybernetics—not eyes, but an assortment of twitching miniature radar dishes and antennae. His thick white hair is gelled straight back like the racing helmet of a bicyclist. It took me a minute to realize that this man was the good doctor.
"Dr. Megalomanovich?," said I.
"Who else were you expecting in Dr. Megalomanovich's office?"
"No one. I mean you, but, but—"
"You have only seen my younger self. Likely from my exploits in producing that wondrous strain of cow which produces delicious Sassy Cola."
"I know you from more than just that."
"I don't know why, all my other stuff had nothing to do with Sassy Cola."
He ripped some of the cymold off the wall with one of his olive green gloved hands. Beneath it is barren rock, half-digested by the lithovorous cymold.
"I mean, the antimatter-powered life thing was pretty neat," said I.
"Pretty neat? PRETTY NEAT?!?"
I shrank in my seat and whimpered, "Yeah."
"I'll show you neat my boy. Follow me through the teleporter!"
Rubber fingers pressed a sequence on the door's keypad with inhuman speed. The metal door dissolved away and only a teleporter field remained.
For those who've not seen the new 2D intrabrane teleporters—or thresholds as their called—you're in for a treat. Not only are they compact and have ranges up to a light year, but they allow light to pass through so you can see where the hell you're going. Not all light; hard ultraviolet and above get filtered out as do large energy differences. So if you're traveling from a paradise planet to a spaceship and that spaceship's warp drive has an oopsie, the 1 billion kelvin nuclear fireball won't char your burgers.
We weren't traveling to a paradise planet, at least not in the traditional sense. To a neogeneticist like myself it was heavenly.
I noted three things when I first stepped through. 1, the whole environment was bathed in the orange light of a red dwarf star. 2, the environment was divided between land—the cliffside we were standing on—and a bubbling black sea of what turned out to be Sassy Cola stretching toward the horizon. 3, the animals.
I don't know why the animals stood out to me over what I assumed were plants. They weren't actually plants but a form of lichen—but, but, but the prejudice toward the animals was still there. In fairness, they were pretty enigmatic. One of them crawled along the ground with a head that was entirely tongue, licking up the lichen bulbs like pieces of candy. Another one looked like a tree, but on closer inspection was an amphibious anemone, its roots sunk into the shallow sea's floor and its tentacles reaching out of the water to grasp a third creature—a bird of some kind whose flight was aided by gas bags on its underbelly.
"Behold, my masterpiece," said Dr. Megalomanovich.
"It's beautiful beyond words," said I. "How did it come about?"
"By way of 120 years' hard labor. Shortly after my Sassy Cow achieved galactic fame, The Board granted me with a research installation of my own. In return, I was to do the impossible: abiogenesis."
"To create life from nonlife."
"Yes."
"You had gotten close with the antimatter metabolism trial."
"Indeed I had. And that is why I refused to take any hand-me-down help from Earth's biota. From the beginning I wanted my life to run differently. I couldn't find a way to replace carbon as the backbone, but I was able to swap out water for Sassy Cola."
"You're telling me that in every cell of every one of these creatures is Sassy Cola?"
"It is their water."
"How?"
"Do you have a few years?"
"Yes."
"Unfortunately, I don't. Even this little jaunt is wasting my precious time."
"Speaking of time, how did they grow so fast?"
"Accelerated evolution through computer-aided keystone transcription errors."
"What?"
"Again, I don't have years to waste teaching you. I waste enough time teaching the installation's staff."
"When do you plan on showing your masterpiece to the wider galaxy?"
"My masterpiece will show itself to the galaxy when it is ready. There is no doubt in my mind that a day will come when a creature on this world will take a rock and bash it against the head of another and say 'eureka!' before pondering the philosophical implications of taking a life."
"Anything is possible when your body is 70 % Sassy Cola."
The Bimillennial Celebration
Upon receiving the invitation, I couldn't wait to go to the Bimillennial Celebration at Sol, though I did worry how I'd be received in turn. Few humans outside my corner of space had ever met a nonhuman sapient before. It didn't help that I lacked so much as a species name to give them.
If it were up to me, I'd name us astrographically, by the planet we live on. In that case we would be called the Sasserines after Planet Sasser. It's not a good moniker; too nationalistic when our distinguishing characteristic is first and foremost biological. So I dropped the case and made it sasserine. Yes, much better. It's less proper, more grounded, more biological. It is this species name that I used in my travels.
The first stop on my journey was at the derelict Research Installation #544. Humans abandoned it long ago when the Sassy Cola Company's fortunes took a turn for the worse. Now it was kept up by us sasserines as a heritage site. I left a bouquet on The Good Doctor's shrine, shed a few sticky tears and moved on. The tiny warpship I had chartered had an impatient pilot.
That pilot turned into quite an annoyance during our two weeks together, for he asked questions that became more and more inappropriate with time. I'm not one to disparage curiosity—I'm a scientist after all—but I fail to see the scientific necessity of revealing which variety of Sassy Cola I urinate.
My next stop was Rigel, a blue giant star that shined 1 million times brighter than Sasser's red dwarf. Since Sassy Cola's monopoly of both power and soda had waned, I found many other brands on offering, including one called Flash Cola. Flash's slogan summarized its claim to fame: "Resist the Sass and Drink a Flash!" I briefly wondered what Sasser's biosphere would look like if it were based on Flash Cola instead of Sassy Cola. I purged this thought experiment from my mind upon realizing that the planet would likely be named Flasher and we the flasherines.
Onward to Sol by way of Aldebaran. This leg was much more pleasant than the last as I had booked a room aboard one of the last functioning warpships of Sassy Cruise Lines. Luxury abounded and even my rational mind almost succumbed to the temptation of using the rest of my money to stay aboard til death. But such an act would break the terms of the invitation.
Sol, the most ancient and most populous star in settled space, was the venue for the greatest party ever thrown by humanity. Derelict Sassy Cola freighters had each been converted into a single light bulb and arranged by the hundreds to create a sign at Neptune's distance from the sun reading, "2,000 SASSY YEARS!"
I'm not normally a party person. Secluded reading is my pastime of choice. Yet I couldn't help but crack a Sassy with every human who asked me to join them. Why not?, I thought. After all, without the Sassy Cola Company, I wouldn't be alive.
The solar system felt like it held the totality of settled space within its borders. Port Vesta alone held hundreds of distinct cultural groups from just as many star systems. I met 35 of them on my 5 kilometer walk from Sassy Cruise Lines' designated dock to the hotel where I was to be staying. Sassy Cola's monolithic corporate culture was no longer humanity's culture. People were being themselves again.
And that included being suspicious of outsiders, especially ones from a different tree of life.
I felt eyes all around me. I had drunk too much Sassy Cola, besting even the worst human junkies. I sweat the drink. I urinated the drink. Boys and girls inspected me like a zoo animal every time I went to one of Port Vesta's many street markets. It overwhelmed me and I left early for my meeting on Earth.
Orbital space around humanity's homeworld is so congested with infrastructure that teleporter range around Earth is limited, by law, to a mere 1,000 kilometers, 1 billionth of what it is everywhere else. To get to the planet's surface I had to leapfrog from orbital plate to orbital plate, often having to cross a single plate by way of a couple teleports. Yes, they are that large. Most contain surface areas and populations similar to Earth's 21st century nations-states. After visiting 57 nation-state-orbital-plates against my will, I arrived at Earth's surface.
At least I had reached the top surface. Earth is a shellworld with 15 surfaces, each named after a variety of Sassy Cola. I was on Sassy Orange and needed to get down to Sassy Cola Classic, 7 surfaces below. Teleportation law was even stricter here than in orbit. The technology was used exclusively to ferry people between surface levels and teleporters only existed in the atlas towers which held the next surface.
I was awestruck upon first seeing an atlas tower as they occur nowhere but Earth. From green pasture it rose into the cloud cover above. Through those clouds, ten kilometers up, lay gigatons of diamond hard plating topped with teratons of granite, soil, lakes, rivers and cities. I was under a planet-encapsulating house held up by countless pylons, themselves kept rigid only as long as the power flowed. Luckily, it always did.
The atlas towers also serve as propagandistic monuments, each shaped like a bottle of Sassy, though of the variety which matches the name of the surface level they exist on. The Sassy Cola Company had its detractors, but the fact that the corporate superpower had built Earth into what it is today went unquestioned.
I eventually arrived at surface level 7, or Sassy Cola Classic. The 7 surfaces above had replaced Earth's original troposphere and stratosphere. The 7 surfaces below existed where the planet's crust once did. Together, the 15 shells supported 20 trillion humans living in spacious luxury—though no one had more spacious luxury than The Board.
Their 1 billion hectare estate is a combination art piece, capital, pilgrimage site and tomb. No teleporters exist within its borders. The atlas towers there are disguised as steep mountains on their bottom halves and cumulonimbus clouds columns on their tops.
Dwarfed by these gigantic illusions are the many castles of the estate. One of these castles serves as the estate's north entrance and holds the Sassy Parliament Building. In here convene two houses, a lower house elected by the Sassy Cola Company's 100 trillion shareholders across settled space and an upper house chosen by The Board.
The lower house had drawn up the invitation program and voted 67,306 to 32,694 to pass it. The upper house hesitated, unsure whether they wanted "billions of yokels trampling through the estate." They passed it with the exact bare minimum of votes, 600 to 300.
The addition of a clause limiting it to 10,000 "yokels" that came in tour groups of 50 per hour was the deciding factor in passing the invitation program. Now I was part of one of those groups, an ordinary ambassador for the world of Sasser, though I doubted that cultural and economic exchange, two bullet point motives of the program, were occuring.
Oh well, I thought as I boarded the maglev train to the next destination.
The nine members of The Board lived in nine penthouses atop nine towers near the center of the estate. I'd remark on the penthouses' reported opulence if 200 stories of height and the estate's no-cameras policy hadn't isolated us from them. I imagine they like it up there, otherwise I can't fathom why they'd live so secluded from the rest of their species. I wondered what such recluses thought of Planet Sasser and the sasserines or the invitation sent to me by their personally selected managers. But I'd little time to ponder as the maglev neared my stop.
At the very center of the estate sits a diamondoid hemisphere 10 kilometers in diameter. Inside exists a full recreation of one late 21st century American small town. The maglev line terminated at the entrance to the dome where a bright green sign reading "Tupelo" hung.
The rest of the tour group was just as in awe as I when we walked inside and found ourselves surrounded by single family homes along four lane roads with no sidewalks. From the artificial blue sky above came laser beams which generated holograms of moving vehicles. They veered around our group even though the lasers would cause nothing worse than a slight tingle on the skin. A human dressed in a law enforcement uniform of the time led us to the predetermined sacred sites.
First we stopped at the hospital where The Founder was born, then the double wide trailer where The Founder grew up and, finally, the soda shop where The Founder introduced the world to Sassy Cola in 2085.
I obsessed over this last stop. Burned into my psyche is the memory of the artificial sun rays shining through the shop's stained glass windows and onto the stainless steel counter. I took in every scent and sound and touch; the bittersweet sassafras laying in sacks in the corner, the scratching of our shoes on the artificially cracked and yellowed linoleum floor and the coolness of the counter on my cheek when I laid my head down in defiance of the guide's orders.
At the end we all had a thimble full of Sassy Cola made from the recreated soda jerk. It was inferior to every drop of Sassy that I'd drunk since birth. Even my blood, filled with the wastes of cellular respiration, likely tasted better.
But taste alone didn't determine the value of this thimble. The drink represented conception, its serving the initialization of the two millennia of change that followed. Just as water was a prerequisite for all Earth life, so Sassy Cola was a prerequisite for all life on Sasser.
This soda was the origin of everything I am. I believe that's cause for celebration.
(END)

In September 2022 I finally removed one of the most toxic people from my life but now, months later, I find it harder than I could've imagined. I (21f) met my friend (19f) on an online platform basically 8 years ago. Our friendship was on and off, often spending months or even a full year without talking. In 2018 we started becoming closer and even with a 6 hour difference, we spent a lot of time chatting. However in 2021 I started a new course in college and found myself surrounded by a lot of new people, both online and offline. I spent less time with her because of this, studies and my mental health. In October she told me she didn't feel as if I cared about her and I assured her this wasn't the case. This happened once, then twice, then nearly every day. She told me again and again that she didn't like my friends, that she didn't like the fact I streamed, that she wouldn't read my stories (hobby) because they weren't good, and how I effected her mental health. She got the guts to fly over and we spent a week together. It was nice. Somehow I forgot about our problems but nearly a month after her return, our fighting continued. One day I had enough. I finally had the guts to block her. This all honestly is a shorter version of what happened. She told me a lot about her mental instability and talked behind her friend's back. (I found out she used one of her friends as 'practice' when she ever got to meet me). After I blocked her on social media, she still proceeded to look for contact. She sent me a package I just sent back and emails I never responded to.
Despite the horrible ways she treated me and others, I do kind of miss her. I am currently unemployed and don't go to school anymore. I don't have many friends (maybe 1 I speak with daily) and am still struggling with mental health. It's during days where I'm all alone, or where I don't have any friends talking to me I want nothing more than to message her. I think about her nearly every day and it saddens me that I still care about her after a full year of her mistreat towards me. I feel guilty towards others I involved in this situation and the others she hurt because of this. I feel abused by this person. But the urge to reach out is still there and I don't know what to do.

I finally took the first chunk out of this massive series. Everything is currently shiny and new!
OVA 1: Take Down! The Pirate Ganzak!: The first thing to watch, being the OVA before the series even started! This roughly half hour OVA by production I.G. was a fun fan story into the One Piece World. The artstyle is somewhat inaccurate (looks closer to the Romance Dawn one shots) and Nami's characterization was a bit off due to there not being a lot of manga out yet (Namely Arlong Park), but the animation is *buttery* smooth, and the pacing was fantastic. Ganzack himself was pretty fun seemingly bein an amalgamation of various East Blue Villans. The VAs are definitely stange but they do a good job for what its worth. Best of all you can catch it right on YT!!! (I'll let ya find that for yourself)
Ep 1: "I'm Luffy! The Man Who's Gonna Be King of the Pirates!": The very first episode of One Piece!! And man does it start out great with that Iconic OP: WE ARE!! ( I wish we could have that OP the whole time), the rest of the episode is very weird however. Apparently creating a new scenario of a pirate attack but slotting in the canon material regarding Alvida and Koby. Nami is also there too because.....I don't know!? really wished they just stuck to the source material here, and also wish the didn't skip the first chapter since Romance Dawn is mabye the greatest first chapter in manga. (Luckily we get it later), the ED theme is nice, always liked that one. Also of note is of course the excellent VAs, especially with Luffy, and the great soundtrack.
Ep 2 "Enter the Great Swordsman! Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro!" : Covering the first half of the events in Shells Town, this one stick a lot closer to its source material and is a better episode for it. Zoro's VA is fantastic and love his and Luffy's early interactions. Did notice the violence is toned down a little for the manga (But mabye that's a good thing since we probably don't wanna see Zoro going around killing dogs). Also Nami is in this episode.....just gonna ignore that.
Ep 3"Morgan versus Luffy! Who's the Mysterious Pretty Girl?" : The Shells Town Events conclude and it's honesty a pretty solid episode as well. Love the battle with Capt. Morgan and Luffy and Zoro's immediate trust for one another, and I love how Koby and Luffy "Farewell Fight" which honestly hits harder in the anime and is probably my favorite scene so far. Still noticing some omissions of the harder violence in the manga which is no big deal. Also Nami steals a map already stolen by Buggy the Clown....again, I just want to pretend I didn't see that.
Ep 4 "Luffy's Past! Enter Red-Haired Shanks!" Finally getting the Romance Dawn arc as a flashback during Luffy and Zoro's time sailing to Orange Town. The chapter was overall adapted pretty well and I love the VA performances on Kid Luffy and Shanks. Violence was toned again, but this time unfortunately it was to the mild detriment of the show as some moments had to be cut out entirely (I wonder how many anime-onlys don't know how Luffy got his Iconic Face Scar) and Luffy doesn't punch The Lord of the Coast but overall it's a good ep. There's also some early Orange Town material in this ep near the end, and Nami is officially introduced and less frustrating as a result of that. Her VA is pretty great too.
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And that's it, next time we meet a future Emperor of the Sea. This is simultaneously a joke, and very much not one.

Hi friends,
A house that my husband and I are interested in is right next to golf course. I have searched our previous posts on the topic of living next to a golf course and feel pretty neutral overall about the most of pros and cons. The only thing that we are not so sure about is that knowing nothing about golf - we have no idea about the chance of golf balls hitting the house and our kid and dog when they play in the backyard. Would you mind taking a look at the golf course map with the house location marked in red and educate me a bit please?
https://imgur.com/a/KXAxxLL
Also, please share your wisdom on any other aspects of living near a golf course. Thanks a ton and have a good day!

So, hello. I'm not a scientist. Im a graphic designer, but my college dropped me into two 300-level biology courses, one of which seems fairly straightforward, but the other is very technical and seems to be actually interested in teaching me biology. And I am struggling. The current problem that I'm having is I can't find any sources talking about how Aerobic Lipid metabolism factors into the food production fermentation process, nor how Anaerobic protein metabolism factors into the same.
I feel a bit embarrassed asking for help, but I'm nearly a week into looking for this information, and I'm just lost.

For quite some time, there have been several leaks regarding the eventual Grand Theft Auto 6, including an alleged return to Vice City. Up until now, these leaks have been generally unfounded, but a new teaser discovered in Red Dead Redemption 2 may give credence to what we have heard about GTA 6.
Earlier this week, content creator StrangeMan discovered what appeared to be a GTA 6 teaser within a point of interest in Red Dead Redemption 2 (RDR2). Near the Sea of Coronado, players can find a skeleton of a Jesuit Missionary called “Brother Rodolfo,” along with a rather interesting letter he brought. The letter mentions that Rodolfo was called to the east by God; however, the writer, Cardinal Blanco, begs him to stay in California and not leave the mission.
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StrangeMan interprets this as an internal struggle between Rockstar games writer Dan Houser, represented by Cardinal Blanco, and creative Sam Houser, represented by Brother Rodolfo. Of course, the mention of staying in California over heading east is likely about continuing work on GTA 5 versus making GTA 6. Moreover, StrangeMan believes that the letter alludes to TakeTwo Interactive’s view of the GTA franchise and disagreements between Rockstar and the publisher.
letter gta 6 possibly teased in rdr2 Image Courtesy of StrangeMan
However, “Cardinal Blanco,” or Dan Houser, mentions that sticking with GTA 5 or moving to GTA 6 has pros and cons, but he wants his brother Sam to stick around for a little while longer. Interestingly, it appears that StrangeMan does not really dive into the line that says, “Please stay in California until I arrive next March.” Perhaps this could mean that the team will reassess if they want to move forward with GTA 6, or it could simply be a red herring.
Despite the multiple possible meanings of this letter that StrangeMan goes over, it is quite interesting to see that GTA 6 is being discussed and there is possible debate over sticking with GTA V. As always, money talks, but if GTA 5 is beat to death, fans could lose interest in future titles. Either way, it will be interesting to see if Rockstar comments on the teaser, so stay tuned to HotHardware for updates.

TL;DR On Aug 21st 2022 I completed the Leadville 100 Trail Run in 29 hours. Completing the Leadville Trail 100 and having such an amazing team to help me get across the finish line has been one of the highlights of my life. Below are some tips that I wanted to share, and if it helps one person than awesome!
There are some lessons learned I wanted to share with /ultrarunning community to hopefully improve your success but also prepare you more so you can soak in this amazing adventure. Background- 44 Year old male, living at sea level, casual runner who has done one marathon and does an Olympic length triathlon every year. The Leadville 100 Trail Run was my first Ultra.
If you can participate in the Leadville training camp then do it. The most significant ROI for doing the camp is access to the camp guides who share their knowledge over the 3 days during guided runs and also panel sessions. I came away from this with critical knowledge about planning for the race (crew, nutrition, gear, pacing, training). You can also test out gear on the course and find out what is working. I realized I was doing too much road running prior to the race and needed to get on the trail a lot more.
Volume Volume Volume- have a plan to build up to a significant amount of volume for your runs. The majority of these should be a conversational pace so for me that was zone 2 (132-140 BPM). I also focused staying at or below my Maffetone aerobic heart rate of 136 BPM. Additionally after doing the Leadville camp I began practicing running steep grades with all my kit on (ultra running vest which was about 12 lbs of water, nutrition, rain shell, poles, etc)! This is a lot of weight you need to get used to moving with it. What worked for me was increasing training volume for 3 weeks then having a week of deload/ recovery. So it would look like week 1: 60 total miles, week 2: 65 miles, week 3: 72ish miles, week 4: 48ish miles. Then the following 4 week block I would increase the mileage by 5-15 percent depending on how I was recovering and feeling. I think the deload really helped out in reducing the risk of over training. You might want to consider 2 weeks of load and 1 week deload depending on your goals. I worked up to my final high volume week which was 20 hours of running/power hiking hills- mileage was not important for me it was time on feet ( I climbed hope pass twice in prep to get my mind right for race day and build confidence up and this was 10 total hours of those 20 week hours) 95% of my runs during training was at conversational pace. One word on the Maffetone, when I started training in January 2022, my Maffetone of 136 was generally a 10 min 15 sec per mile pace, by August 2022, my Maffetone of 136 was generally 8 min 45 sec per mile. This was huge data point, and indicated to me I had gotten considerably more efficient at running. I did a taper of 10 days before the race, and basically did very easy shakeout runs, stretching, and hikes. The last 3 days before the race I did nothing.
Gear- you should plan on light trekking poles. Poles were a necessity for me to get up and over hope pass. It seemed like only the elite runners were not using poles. Some runners made the mistake of not bringing poles and tried to find sticks to use because the climb was taking a serious toll. I would also recommend practicing with poles. Dial them into the perfect length. I geeked out to the point where my pole length was shorter going up (125mm) and longer going down (135mm), I would get the telescoping poles. Invest in a good light pair, if you plan on caring the majority of the race, the grams in weight make a big difference over the hours. Garmin Fenix 6pro (i bought refurbished which saved me some money) watch was critical also for me- I downloaded the Leadville 100 race course to it and it would beep if I got 10 feet off course. I purchased this after camp, because I got turned around at one point during the camp; I ended up 2 miles off course, then I had to run back, ugh 40 min lost, and I was not going to let that happen on race day. While the course is pretty well marked sometimes if you lose concentration you can make a wrong turn, this happened to quite a few people. The garmin watch also has some great climbing dashboards that break down each climb of the race, so you know how much is left in certain sections, it was like having a coach on my wrist. For Aid stations use very large clear zip lock bags and mark with Sharpies. Pay attention to your Head Lamps, I forgot mine leaving Twin lakes outbound for Hope Pass. I realized when I was just starting my trek up Hope pass and I was not going to go the 30 min back to the aid station and lose an hour. I was very blessed that someone had dropped out, and offered their Head lamp for me to use. I would recommend putting extra head lamps in your drop bags, and consider caring 2, I had one go out during a portion of the race. Some folks seemed to really like the waist lamps. I thought I could wear very light Saucony Kinvaras, my fav running shoe, but I realized at training camp, I needed something more robust. For the race I got Altra Superior, and these were phenomenal for me. I changed them after I hit twin lakes in bound for a fresh pair of Altras at 60ish miles. Pay attention to gels, some have caffeine which is written in very small text, this caffeine could throw you off if taken too early or not at the right time.
Crews- I highly recommend having a crew if you are an average runner like myself because the more time you are on the course the more support you need. It is absolutely amazing the elite runners who dont even have an ultra vest and they dont even need a head lamp because they are getting done as the sun is setting, but I was no where near that level, and I knew I would be headed toward the finish line as the rising sun was high in the sky. Consider getting bright colored balloons to mark crew location/tent area, when you are tired all you need to do is scan the sky and hone in on where your crew is at. My wife found it very helpful getting a rugged pull wagon, that she could load up with gear from the car and take to the tent spot. You really don't need a crew at Mayqueen Outbound, its only 13ish miles into the race. Also dont waste a lot of times in aid stations- get your business done and move out, this can pay dividends later in the race.
Pacing- I had a plan A and B for my crew. I was able to hit all the aid stations with in 5-15 min of my pace plan which helped my crew anticipate my arrival. Don’t underestimate the challenge of the 18 min/mile pace required for under 30 hours. Murphy’s law can strike out of no where. I hit the 50 mile turn around at 12 hours 30 min. Well things did not go wrong and I slowed down considerably at 80ish miles. My body/bone structure felt like it had it and I dipped into my mental reserves and had an awesome pacer. Break the race up into 10 smaller races, basically each section between aid stations is its own race- require certain equipment changes and pacing changes. To give you an example, when I left twin lakes for Hope pass, I learned from camp that because I am using my poles it is very difficult to access nutrition bars. So a guide recommended this amazing supplement called Tailwind, calories that dissolve in water. So I was able to get 7 scoops of about 100 calories each in my water bladder and I could focus on power hiking and moving the trekking poles while sucking down liquid calories. Additionally when I left twin lakes I added some gloves, and a midlayer for under my shell (I always carried shell for random storms, this paid off on the way back home).
Arrive as early as you can pre race to Leadville. I was very lucky and my boss allowed me to work remote for 3 weeks in Leadville. This allowed me to acclimate as much as possible. I noticed that as I was in Leadville longer and longer I adapted to the elevation and heart rate was dropping on runs. There is an awesome hostel in Leadville called Inn the Clouds. This is packed with athletes and through hikers. I made a bunch of friends with other runners there for leadville and we did training runs together and there was some great transfer of knowledge going on and fun times.
Avoid negativity it is contagious- at the 50 mile turn around 3 runners all convinced themselves that there was no need to go back to finish they had seen the whole race. As the first one started talking about quitting the others started agreeing. I immediately got up and sat down with other positive people that were smiling and embracing the experience. I left the turnaround in a small positive group that made it back up and over hope pass.
Have a plan for your crew. If you have the time accompany crew to recon the aid stations they will meet you at. This will give them a lot of confidence.
Gifts for family and friends and race swag. Try to shop early for any Leadville race swag it goes quick the couple days leading up to race. We got t shirts and coffee mugs for my pacers and crew to thank them for all their support.
I would consider building time in to recover after the race, I did not realize how much of a toll the race would take on me. I could not walk without assistance until later the following day, and I was walking very slow the next couple. My wife reserved a hotel in Glenwood Springs CO, and I basically soaked in the natural salt springs the following day- this was so key to my recovery, and if you can build this into the trip I highly recommend it.
If you are interested below is a rough calculation and breakdown of how much it cost to earn the buckle. It cost my family quite a lot because we were coming from the coast and built in a lot of time to acclimate, but hopefully you can find some cost savings.
Total Cost to earn the Belt Buckle: ~$10,054 (Estimate)
Total cost for Leadville Camp (ball park): race entry and camp(~$1389ish) , camp costs- hostel ($641), food ($500), airfare ($280), rental car ($1233)= $4,043
race costs (Wife and Daughter Joined) - hostel ($800), Airbnb $(600), rental car ($2289), air fare ($622), food ($800), Equipment ($900 this is tent, wagon, first aid, chairs, drop bags, etc)= $6,011
Last words of advice- If you are lucky enough to get a spot, then your job until you cross the finish line should really be to do everything you need to do to get across. Make the little sacrifices along the way to get your mileage and don't cut corners and you will earn that buckle and hear "Welcome Home" from Ken and Marilee as you cross the finish line at 6th Street.