“You'll be alright. Just stop squirming honey, lay still,” Orpah said.

Samson lay on his back on the hot rocks beside the rugged rock path of Sonder Mountain. The sun was flaming intensely, laying a blanket of heavy heat over them. His leg was bent awkwardly, unnaturally, so much so that a lick of the white of his bone could be seen through his shin.

“Calm down honey,” Orpah soothed him, leaning the water flask into his mouth.

The yelling had stopped. Samson had screamed and yelled in pain until his vocal cords were bloody. It was obvious that there was no one else on the path, and with nighttime fast approaching, unlikely it was that the situation would flip. Orpah took off her top, leaving her in just her skimpy white vest, before soaking it in water and laying it over Samson's forehead. The sky was a deep shade of orange. It would have been quite beautiful to look at if the situation was different, less dire perhaps. Orpah knew she would be able to find help at the bottom of Sonder Mountain. But that was easily a three-hour hike, and with night looming over them, she couldn't risk leaving Samson at the mercy of the coyotes. Not while his leg dripped blood and he dipped in out of consciousness, driven hysterical from pain. So she remained at his side, lovingly combing her fingers through his long hair as she tended to his needs.

“They'll notice we aren't there at dinner and come out looking for us. I'll start a small fire to make us a tad more visible,” Orpah said.

Samson gritted some form of acknowledgment through his gritted teeth. His face was almost as pale as his knuckles. Pain like this, it was nothing he ever felt before. It had him contemplating death, wondering whether a life with this amount of agony was one worth cherishing, worth fighting for. Was death not void of all such suffering? But he held on to life, if only for Orpah and her beautiful face, the love she evoked within him, and the tenderness of her touch.

“Go… find… help,” Samson managed to utter without opening his jaw.

Orpah looked up at him.

“Light the fire… and go find help… it'll keep the… coyotes away,” Samson explained.

“Are you sure?” Orpah asked.

Samson nodded. His leg had gone numb from the pain. The feeling of being stabbed over and over again was so consistent it had become a non-factor, like when noise is so ceaseless it becomes soothing or when you wear your glasses for so long you forget they're on. The first few stars twinkled in the sky which was slowly turning from orange to black. Orpah reached into her backpack and pulled out a box of long matchsticks. The trail was mostly stones and sand, but Orpah managed to gather enough sticks to start a sizeable flame. She cordoned it off with a few rocks, kissed Samson on the forehead, and headed down the trail.

“I'll be back as fast as I can,” Orpah said.

The smoke from the flame was serpent-like, the wisps slithering sinisterly. Every moment remaining in consciousness was a conscientious effort. He was glad for the flame. The air had suddenly gone from sweltering to chilly which only made the pain worse. Suddenly he felt the ground shake. He wasn't sure at first; it was as subtle as can be. But it grew and grew until it was an undeniable tremor, as if a giant was walking in the vicinity. Samson didn't have to wonder too much before the source made itself known. A kangaroo hopped out from behind a rock. It was purple and had a flame on the tip of its tail.

“What the everloving frick are you?” Samson said aloud in fear, “what in the frick is that?”

The kangaroo looked at him, tilted its head, and smiled. About twenty crabs crawled out its pouch and scattered all over. The kangaroo stretched in relief. Samson tried to crawl away but failed. The kangaroo was still towering over him.

“I done carried them from Jupiter. Nasty lil buggers, those claws are nothing to be ignorin',” the kangaroo said in a raspy voice.

“What the actual frick is going on?” was all Samson could manage.

“S'pose now is a good a time as any for an explanation. My name is, well I aint got a name. No need for those on the dimensional plane I'm from. I've taken this form because your puny mind would never understand my true form,” it continued raspily.

Samson blinked hard twice. He was convinced this was some kind of hallucination, his mind playing tricks on him, insanity brought on by dehydration and deliria.

“I am the bringer of the gift of death. You can do nothing to earn it, nothing to lose it but like any other gift, you may decline it,” the kangaroo continued, but this time in a different voice like a lady.

“How do I know you're real?” Samson managed to ask.

The kangaroo paused for a while, thought, and then answered.

“On the sixteenth of December your wife Orpah was asleep and you wanted a sandwich. You were too lazy to make it yourself so you opened a jar of Nutella and ate directly from it, you ate it all Samson, all. You got sick the next day and denied eating it. You told Orpah that from the bottom of your heart you didn't do it. But you did,” the kangaroo said in a different voice yet again.

It was as though the kangaroo was having great fun altering its voice each time. Perhaps more out of embarrassment than anything else Samson admitted to himself that indeed the kangaroo was not a figment of his imagination. The entire situation fell into the category of ‘too strange to be fiction'.

“So… am I dead?” Samson asked tentatively.

“Only if you want to be,” the kangaroo replied casually.

Samson lowered his eyebrow, his forehead creased. He was flummoxed.

“Death is a gift, as I have said. You can accept it or reject it,” the kangaroo explained.

He held his long tail in his hand, swinging it around casually.

“And, uhm, if I choose death? What would happen, I'm not saying that's what I want, but if I did choose death, what would happen next?” Samson asked, making very sure to emphasise that he wasn't asking for death.

“I don't know. I've never died. I'm only the collector of souls. I can tell what will happen if you choose life though,” the kangaroo said.

Samson shrugged.

“Oh c'mon, the same old,” said the kangaroo, “pain, misery, discontent, disappointment. Amidst it all a few moments of love and happiness. I've seen a lot of lives in my job. No matter where you are, how you live, it's always the same. Just a different variety of it.”

Samson paused for a while. He had forgotten about his broken leg, something that tends to happen when you have a kangaroo from the realm of death before you. A sly thought crept in his mind.

“You said that death is a gift, right?” Samson queried.

“Indeed.”

“Then, like any other gift, I could pass it on, couldn't I?”

“I s'pose.”

“Then I give my gift to Orpah,” Samson said resolutely.

The kangaroo looked at him, vexed.

“Your own wife? Well that's certainly a new one,” the kangaroo said.

“If death truly is a gift, I would not want my last action to be something as selfish as running away from the strife of the world. If my wife takes it, I will know she loved death more than I. If she rejects the gift, then this will be a life worth living. I don't know, it makes sense in my head,” explained Samson.

“Very well then.”

And the kangaroo stuck its purple hands out, waved them and uttered a magical spell. The sky lit up in a million colours. And then the kangaroo was gone. Samson lay there in the darkness of the night with only the flickering of the flames as his company. No one came until morning when the mountain ranger came around for his morning route. In a state of semi-consciousness, all Samson remembered was being lifted up and put into the back of a pickup truck. He swung in and out of consciousness and found himself on a soft bed, his leg raised in a cast in some sort of log cabin. The ranger and Orpah stood over him.

“He almost died,” he heard the ranger say.

“Oh my poor honey,” Orpah said, “I'm so grateful you saved him. How can I ever show my gratitude?”

“Well there is one way,” he heard the ranger say smugly.

A bit of whispering and a bit of giggling and Samson heard the sound of something oddly similar to the clank of a metal belt buckle hitting the ground. They left the room.

Samson wanted his gift back.

Since summer is coming all too soon to !texas I got to work on a project I been needin to do recently: fixing my window unit

A little backstory. I live in a trailer. pulled this circa 2003 ish unit, from another trailer. it sat since the end of 2010

it was 2021 I pulled it out.

when you're a country boy, you make do. why go buy a new window unit when the old trailer's got some sitting around?

actually, I pulled 2 sister units of the same vintage and manufacture at the time. one had a bad refrigeration circuit, probably the compressor rotted out on the bottom and leaked the gas

a parts unit

it sat in its new home beside the driveway patiently until it would be needed

lo and behold, just 2 yeears later, its time came

the working unit had served me well for 21 and 22 but the bearings on the fan were shot from sitting 10 years without moving, partially exposed to the weather.

it was pretty loud.

and since you need AC at least 8 months out of the year in this glorious state , it was working pretty hard.

I had alreaty scrounged the capacitor from the parts unit bc it was going, and every six months or so I had to oil the bearings or they'd start to seize.

and it was getting worse. as 'winter' finally rolled around last year and I only needed the thing some days I could spare time to try and fix it. the seizing was terminal at this point and she would suffer no more

this wasn't my first time putting together a frankenstein unit. I had done basically the same thing before with 2 other sister units from another building. these were from 1998/1999, the good old days , older than me

they also sat since 2010

well one had no refrigeration and the other had a seized motor right from the get go. so I took the good from each and made one working unit

back to the newer unit... I pulled the fan assembly from the driveway machine and put it in. one uuge problem. It was so fricking loud

I couldn't even sleep with it on. these bearings were worse than the old ones, but at least they were still spinnign. there was still some heat to get through before november brought peace so I powered through

but it got worse. the plastic condenser fan, having sat outside, dissembled in the driveway, had been exposed to a bunch of UV I guess and had turned to more or less cardboard. (I could just peel pieces of it apart when I took it out)

the fan blades were breaking and making it go out of balance.

So by the end of the cooling season this thing was an ear bleeding and earthshaking monstrosity in my windowsill.

something had to be done... but its december now there's no need for AC I'll fix it later

that time was (is) now. ferbruary is coming to a close and with it will go the beutiful cold I've been enjoying. ( can't wait to find home)

I took the seized fan unit that was just waiting for some kind of final solution. I tore that motor open

there they were...

2 easy to replace 608s

got a 10 pack online for $7

pulled the mfs and pressed the new ones on

spin the thing

silence

so I threw her back together and into the window.

turned it on and there's only the sound of the air (and compressor) now

now you might have read this (probably not ) and wondered, what's that title about?

well its about what happened last night when I got the thing in the window and turned it on.

the satisfaction of a job well done washed over me as I sat down at the old puter to browse rdrams.

and then thought popped into my head. the pernicious idea. only for a moment, but made me stop right in my tracks: "why didn't I take pictures of everything to make an effortpost?"

and then I was sick

I realised this was the thought of a social media user. this is not me. no.

so no I DIDN'T take pictures. No you DON'T get to see

I'm going to enjoy my life with my own dmn eyes and I'm not going to become a 'gram zombie posting my every meal.

everytime I see a picture of a modern concert or venue where every. single. person. there is more concerned about filming the thing than actually being there, I want to vom.

it's disgusting and I feel ashamed for even the brief moment of remorse I felt about not filming this mundane task for the viewership of what, like 23 r-slurs online.

still felt the need to make the text post albiet

I should be making marseys like I came here to do but instead I've been gooning to stable diffusion building workflows and exploring advanced generative ai systems all weekend. at least I went outside and fixed a AC

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats - the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill - The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it - and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.

This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Messiah. The Manlets had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Messiah would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Messiah had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained-well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

The mother of our particular hobbit... what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. They are (or were) a little people, about half our height, and smaller than the bearded Dwarves. Hobbits have no beards. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off. They are inclined to be at in the stomach; they dress in bright colours (chiefly green and yellow); wear no shoes, because their feet grow natural leathery soles and thick warm brown hair like the stuff on their heads (which is curly); have long clever brown fingers, good-natured faces, and laugh deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day when they can get it). Now you know enough to go on with. As I was saying, the mother of this hobbit - of Landlord Messiah, that is - was the fabulous Marsey, one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Bussy, head of the hobbits who lived across The Water, the small river that ran at the foot of The Hill. It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Marsey ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely hobbit-like about them, - and once in a while members of the Bussy-clan would go and have adventures. They discreetly disappeared, and the family hushed it up; but the fact remained that the Marseys were not as respectable as the Manlets, though they were undoubtedly richer. Not that Marsey ever had any adventures after she became Mrs. Messiah. Bungo, that was Landlord's father, built the most luxurious hobbit-hole for her (and partly with her money) that was to be found either under The Hill or over The Hill or across The Water, and there they remained to the end of their days. Still it is probable that Landlord, her only son, although he looked and behaved exactly like a second edition of his solid and comfortable father, got something a bit queer in his makeup from the Bussy side, something that only waited for a chance to come out. The chance never arrived, until Landlord Messiah was grown up, being about fifty years old or so, and living in the beautiful hobbit-hole built by his father, which I have just described for you, until he had in fact apparently settled down immovably.

By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous, and Landlord Messiah was standing at his door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his woolly toes (neatly brushed) - Pizzashill came by. Pizzashill! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort I of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprouted up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion. He had not been down that way under The Hill for ages and ages, not since his friend the Old Bussy died, in fact, and the hobbits had almost forgotten what he looked like. He had been away over The Hill and across The Water on business of his own since they were all small hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls.

All that the unsuspecting Landlord saw that morning was an old man with a staff. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, a silver scarf over which a white beard hung down below his waist, and immense black boots. "Good morning!" said Landlord, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Pizzashill looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. "What do you mean?" be said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?"

"All of them at once," said Landlord. "And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There's no hurry, we have all the day before us!" Then Landlord sat down on a seat by his door, crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill.

"Very pretty!" said Pizzashill. "But I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."

I should think so - in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them, said our Mr. Messiah, and stuck one thumb behind his braces, and blew out another even bigger smoke-ring. Then he Bussy out his morning letters, and begin to read, pretending to take no more notice of the old man. He had decided that he was not quite his sort, and wanted him to go away. But the old man did not move. He stood leaning on his stick and gazing at the hobbit without saying anything, till Landlord got quite uncomfortable and even a little cross.

"Good morning!" he said at last. "We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water." By this he meant that the conversation was at an end.

"What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!" said Pizzashill. "Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good till I move off."

"Not at all, not at all, my dear sir! Let me see, I don't think I know your name?"

"Yes, yes, my dear sir - and I do know your name, Mr. Landlord Messiah. And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Pizzashill, and Pizzashill means me! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Marsey Bussy's son, as if I was selling buttons at the door!" "Pizzashill, Pizzashill! Good gracious me! Not the wandering wizard that gave Old Bussy a pair of magic diamond studs that fastened themselves and never came undone till ordered? Not the fellow who used to tell such wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants and the rescue of princesses and the unexpected luck of widows' sons? Not the man that used to make such particularly excellent fireworks! I remember those! Old Bussy used to have them on Midsummer's Eve. Splendid! They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!" You will notice already that Mr. Messiah was not quite so prosy as he liked to believe, also that he was very fond of flowers. "Dear me!" she went on. "Not the Pizzashill who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures. Anything from climbing trees to visiting Elves - or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite inter - I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business." "Where else should I be?" said the wizard. "All the same I am pleased to find you remember something about me. You seem to remember my fireworks kindly, at any rate, land that is not without hope. Indeed for your old grand-father Bussy's sake, and for the sake of poor Marsey, I will give you what you asked for."

"I beg your pardon, I haven't asked for anything!"

"Yes, you have! Twice now. My pardon. I give it you. In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it."

"Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning!

But please come to tea - any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Come tomorrow!

Good-bye!"

With that the hobbit turned and scuttled inside his round green door, and shut it as quickly as he dared, not to seen rude. Wizards after all are wizards.

"What on earth did I ask him to tea for!" he said to him-self, as he went

to the pantry. He had only just had break fast, but he thought a cake or two and a drink of something would do him good after his fright. Pizzashill in the meantime was still standing outside the door, and laughing long but quietly. After a while he stepped up, and with the spike of his staff scratched a queer sign on the hobbit's beautiful green front-door. Then he strode away, just about the time when Landlord was finishing his second cake and beginning to think that he had escape adventures very well.

The next day he had almost forgotten about Pizzashill. He did not remember things very well, unless he put them down on his Engagement Tablet: like this:

Pizzashill 'a Wednesday. Yesterday he had been too flustered to do anything of the kind. Just before tea-time there came a tremendous ring on the front-door bell, and then he remembered! He rushed and put on the kettle, and put out another cup and saucer and an extra cake or two, and ran to the door. "I am so sorry to keep you waiting!" he was going to say, when he saw that it was not Pizzashill at all. It was a dwarf with a blue beard tucked into a golden belt, and very bright eyes under his dark-green hood. As soon a the door was opened, he pushed inside, just as if he had been expected. He hung his hooded cloak on the nearest peg, and "Dramamine at your service!" he said with a low bow.

"Landlord Messiah at yours!" said the hobbit, too surprised to ask any questions for the moment. When the silence that followed had become uncomfortable, he added: "I am just about to take tea; pray come and have some with me." A little stiff perhaps, but he meant it kindly. And what would you do, if an uninvited dwarf came and hung his things up in your hall without a word of explanation?

They had not been at table long, in fact they had hardly reached the third cake, when there came another even louder ring at the bell. "Excuse me!" said the hobbit, and off he went to the door. "So you have got here at last!" was what he was going to say to Pizzashill this time. But it was not Pizzashill. Instead there was a very old-looking dwarf on the step with a white beard and a scarlet hood; and he too hopped inside as soon as the door was open, just as if he had been invited. "I see they have begun to arrive already," he said when he caught sight of Dramamine's green hood hanging up. He hung his red one next to it, and "911roofer at your service!" he said with his hand on his breast.

"Thank you!" said Landlord with a gasp. It was not the correct thing to say, but they have begun to arrive had flustered him badly. He liked visitors, but he liked to know them before they arrived, and he preferred to ask them himself. He had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then he-as the host: he knew his duty and stuck to it however painful-he might have to go without.

"Come along in, and have some tea!" he managed to say after taking a deep breath.

"A little beer would suit me better, if it is all the same to you, my good sir," said 911roofer with the white beard. "But I don't mind some cake-seed-cake, if you have any."

"Lots!" Landlord found himself answering, to his own surprise; and he found himself scuttling off, too, to the cellar to fill a pint beer-mug, and to the pantry to fetch two beautiful round seed-cakes which he had baked that afternoon for his after-supper morsel.

When he got back 911roofer and Dramamine were talking at the table like old friends (as a matter of fact they were brothers). Landlord plumped down the beer and the cake in front of them, when loud came a ring at the bell again, and then another ring.

"Pizzashill for certain this time," he thought as he puffed along the passage. But it was not. It was two more dwarves, both with blue hoods, silver belts, and yellow beards; and each of them carried a bag of tools and a spade. In they hopped, as soon as the door began to open-Landlord was hardly surprised at all.

"What can I do for you, my dwarves?" he said. "Edbutteredtoast at your service!"

said the one. "And Snallygaster!" added the other; and they both swept off their blue hoods and bowed.

"At yours and your family's!" replied Landlord, remembering his manners this time.

"Dramamine and 911roofer here already, I see," said Edbutteredtoast. "Let us join the throng!"

"Throng!" thought Mr. Messiah. "I don't like the sound of that. I really must sit down for a minute and collect my wits, and have a drink." He had only just had a sip-in the corner, while the four dwarves sat around the table, and talked about mines and gold and troubles with the goblins, and the depredations of dragons, and lots of other things which he did not understand, and did not want to, for they sounded much too adventurous-when, ding-dong-a-ling-' dang, his bell rang again, as if some naughty little hobbit-boy was trying to pull the handle off. "Someone at the door!" he said, blinking. "Some four, I should say by the sound," said Snallygaster. "Be-sides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance."

The poor little hobbit sat down in the hall and put his head in his hands, and wondered what had happened, and what was going to happen, and whether they would all stay to supper. Then the bell rang again louder than ever, and he had to run to the door. It was not four after all, it was FIVE. Another dwarf had come along while he was wondering in the hall. He had hardly turned the knob, be-x)re they were all inside, bowing and saying "at your service" one after another. Colin_Robinson, Chiobu, Chapose,HardIsLife, and MarseyIsMyWaifu were their names; and very soon two purple hoods, a grey hood, a brown hood, and a white hood were hanging on the pegs, and off they marched with their broad hands stuck in their gold and silver belts to join the others. Already it had almost become a throng. Some called for ale, and some for porter, and one for coffee, and all of them for cakes; so the hobbit was kept very busy for a while. A big jug of coffee bad just been set in the hearth, the seed-cakes were gone, and the dwarves were starting on a round of buttered scones, when there came-a loud knock. Not a ring, but a hard rat-tat on the hobbit's beautiful green door. Somebody was banging with a stick!

Landlord rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered-this was the most awkward Wednesday he ever remembered. He pulled open the door with a jerk, and they all fell in, one on top of the other. More dwarves, four more! And there was Pizzashill behind, leaning on his staff and laughing. He had made quite a dent on the beautiful door; he had also, by the way, knocked out the secret mark that he had put there the morning before. "Carefully! Carefully!" he said. "It is not like you, Landlord, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop-gun! Let me introduce Eleganza, Aevann, Maydaymemer, and especially Carpathian!" "At your service!" said Eleganza, Aevann, and Maydaymemer standing in a row. Then they hung up two yellow hoods and a pale green one; and also a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel. This last belonged to Carpathian, an enormously important dwarf, in fact no other than the great Carpathianflorist himself, who was not at all pleased at falling flat on Landlord's mat with Eleganza, Aevann, and Maydaymemer on top of him. For one thing Maydaymemer was immensely fat and heavy. Carpathian indeed was very haughty, and said nothing about service; but poor Mr. Messiah said he was sorry so many times, that at last he grunted "pray don't mention it," and stopped frowning.

"Now we are all here!" said Pizzashill, looking at the row of thirteen hoods-the best detachable party hoods-and his own hat hanging on the pegs. "Quite a merry gathering!

I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What's that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think, for me." "And for me," said Carpathian. "And raspberry jam and apple-tart," said Eleganza. "And mince-pies and cheese," said Aevann. "And pork-pie and salad," said Maydaymemer. "And more cakes-and ale-and coffee, if you don't mind," called the other dwarves through the door.

"Put on a few eggs, there's a good fellow!" Pizzashill called after him, as

the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. "And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!"

"Seems to know as much about the inside of my larders as I do myself!" thought Mr. Messiah, who was feeling positively flummoxed, and was beginning to wonder whether a most wretched adventure had not come right into his house. By the time he had got all the bottles and dishes and knives and forks and glasses and plates and spoons and things piled up on big trays, he was getting very hot, and red in the face, and annoyed.

"Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!" he said aloud. "Why don't they come and lend a hand?" Lo and behold! there stood 911roofer and Dramamine at the door of the kitchen, and Snallygaster and Edbutteredtoast behind them, and before he could say knife they had whisked the trays and a couple of small tables into the parlour and set out everything afresh.

Pizzashill sat at the head of the party with the thirteen, dwarves all round: and Landlord sat on a stool at the fireside, nibbling at a biscuit (his appetite was quite taken away), and trying to look as if this was all perfectly ordinary and. not in the least an adventure. The dwarves ate and ate, and talked and talked, and time got on. At last they pushed their chairs back, and Landlord made a move to collect the plates and glasses. "I suppose you will all stay to supper?" he said in his politest unpressing tones. "Of course!" said Carpathian. "And after. We shan't get through the business till late, and we must have some music first. Now to clear up!" Thereupon the twelve dwarves-not Carpathian, he wa

Sorry for the lack of updates. I know each and every one of you have waiting for the next episode of the saga. It consumes your every thought. It's the first thing you think of when you wake up. Let's get to it!

Recap: Phillip Schofield was a presenter on British television. He had spent his whole life in media, and most notably hosted This Morning with HOLLY WILLOUGHBY.

Phillip Schofield came out as gay a few years ago, and he left behind his wife of several decades and his two daughters. Brave! Recently, Schofield admitted he had an inappropriate relationship with a young man on ITV. He had also gotten this man a job. Though Schofield insists that the sexual stuff only happened when the boy was of age, there is evidence that they knew each other since he was 10. This has given rise to rumors that even if it was legal, there was some grooming involved.

LATEST EVENTS

1. AUBERGINEGATE

Lets begin with Auberginegate. Journ*lists hounded the head of ITV for comments on the Schofield saga which has gripped the world. The response? "Do you like Aubergine?" For Yankees, aubergine is eggplant AKA the PEEPEE EMOJI. What did he mean by this? Is it code for something? Trolling? Who the frick knows!

The response got the attention of British parliament.

2. WHAT DID THE HEADS OF ITV KNOW?

The heads of ITV were grilled by MPs in parliament. This is an event that will dictate the future of our species. It will affect Holly Willoughby's career!

During the meeting, ITV chief executive Dame Carolyn McCall told MPs the affair was "deeply inappropriate", but that she had not had evidence until recently. ITV director of television Kevin Lygo told the MPs: "He looked me in the eye and promised me that there was absolutely no truth whatsoever in this, in the rumours of this relationship."

>Dame Carolyn added: "We asked multiple times of both individuals, both formally and informally. Because we had no evidence, no-one brought us anything tangible, either on the production floor or from the outside... there was only hearsay and rumour and speculation."

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>AUBERGINEGATE WAS MENTIONED

>"We want to be confident that ITV is not letting star power and favouritism damage the lives and careers of people working there - and, more importantly than that, we want to be confident that when mistakes have been made, ITV will be making changes rather than making jokes about aubergines."

>That was a reference to a recent remark made by This Morning editor Martin Frizell when he was asked by a Sky News reporter whether his programme had a toxic workplace. "I'll tell you what's toxic and I've always found it toxic. Aubergine," he replied.

https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-65889240

3. HOLLY WILLOUGHBY SURVIVES SCHOFIELD DRAMA

Holly has returned to her rightful throne as the queen of daytime British television. Unemployed brits on benefits, stay-at-home mums, and folks waiting in dentist offices can once again rest assured that Holly Willoughby will be on that screen goddammit.

While she has returned, it is just not the same. Without Pip beside her, there aren't as many cute giggles from her. She has had a few co-hosts, but it seems Dermon is destined to be Phillip's replacement.

Will schofield off himself? Will ITV survive this scandal? What the frick was the aubergine comment about? What about Holly?! Stay tuned for more updates. Please like, share, and subscribe, and don't forget to hit that bell icon to be alerted as soon as a new video drops. Patreon and link for merch in the comments below. Peace.

Some of this might be wrong, but I think I got most of the interesting points. Dude's dug himself a pit and there's not going to be any good way out of it, I think. It's split up based on the timestamps in his description

00:00 Does he even know how much money he makes?

• Weird stuff at the beginning where he doesn't want to show his eyes, location or age.

• Works at a tesla factory

• Financial situation is "pretty wonky"

06:11 Tax fraud?

• Left last job because he didn't want to get vaxxed

• Didn't waste money paying taxes on the interim job

08:49 Weird expenses?

• Two credit cards

• $358 in road tolls, includes late fees? He stalled them to the point of being threatened with court?

10:11 You have NO MONEY!!!

• $3049 in, $5000 out

• "I've been... you could say... investing"

• "I used to budget" "I've maxed all my credit cards" "I used to have thousands money in my savings. All those thousands absolutely gone." "I had to close my savings, in fact I didn't close it myself, the bank just completely deleted it."

11:43 Rent is 60% of his income

• "Undisciplinary actions on a mutual basis when it comes to sharing rent, for sure"

  • His former roommate (family member, brother) ditched him and left him with the lease

• Back and forth about whether the roommate is in fact fricking him over by leaving him with the rent bill

  • The answer seems to be a Yes but apparently it's consensual

• Lease ends in a few months

17:53 You have NO MONEY!!! p2

19:53 Going massively into debt for a dream

• Big money spent on audio equipment, paying in installments

• Learning audio engineering

• Just finished paying off a second(?) $1200 subwoofer

• Splurged a little on audio software plugins

• "I've had chances to make money but I did not at the time receive money"

  • He refused payment because he wasn't satisfied with the quality of his own product

• Believes he will make a thousandfold return on investment

  • Has sunk at least 20k into this

26:33 150% utilization on credit cards!!!!

31:54 DebtCHAOS

• One is over $5400 and the other is $2697

• $1700 over his credit limit, they're still letting him purchase on it

  • $129 interest on that in November? Not sure I heard this right

• "Once I learned I could [spend over the credit card limit] it kinda just set this mentality that I could just do it and then pay it off"

• $6 under the credit limit on the other one

• Got declined on a $1 purchase

• 0% interest until early spring on Credit Card 2

• Been recently building up hardware collection, started out on software but moved onto hardware

34:00 Hidden car debt....

• Car loan

  • More than 60% paid off

  • 4% rate

  • Cosign on the initial purchase, refinanced under his own

  • 2018 Chevy

35:31 Do you even have a financial future at this point?

29:50 Are you willing to sacrifice at all?!

• Mostly backstory stuff

• Had some health problems during the moving job which made him quit

• Been cutting back on fast food

41:51 Clean up this MESS

44:03 Rent is 60% of his income p2

• roughly 1900 on rent on a roughly 50k income? Not certain I heard this one right

• Long defense of the brother because the brother has helped him out bigly in the past?

50:22 Broke forever...

52:35 Hammer Financial Score