A real game of russian roulette – cuenapdilancuouqueprev

Sorry for the long read - it's been a weird night.
Its the beginning of a four day weekend for me, so I could get absolutely destroyed and still recover 100% by Monday if I wanted to. And boy has work been terrible lately. I went out to grab dinner and started circling liquor stores in my car like a shark that smelled blood in the water. Just driving around in circles with a war going on inside my heart and mind.
All of my desires were to get absolutely pissed, and all of my rational thought knew what a bad idea that was. Eventually, my desire won the first battle, and I did go in and buy a bottle of wine from the little liquor store down the street from my house.
I came home and just put that bottle on the table and stared at it. I wanted to drink it so fucking bad, but knew that it was the worst decision I could possibly make. My girlfriend came downstairs and saw the state of affairs, and asked how she could help. I just said that I didn't know and that I wanted to drink that whole bottle right now but at the same time I didn't want to. I told her I didn't know what I was going to do. She asked me if I wanted her to take it away from me, and I said that I didn't know.
I went so far as to pour myself a glass, and gave it a long sniff. It smelled great. It smelled like forgetting about all my stress and problems for a few hours. I also was aware of the fact that it would introduce a whole new set of problems the likes of which paled in comparison with my work stresses.
I stopped to consider why I would want to do something so self destructive. The same answer came back as always, "fuck it." But for some reason this whole time I was much more introspective than I ever have been before on the brink of a relapse. Honestly, I think because I wanted to learn something that I could share with you guys if I was about to make a really bad decision. At the very least I wanted to help someone else with my terrible choices.
So I questioned myself, "Fuck what?"
"Fuck this life," came the answer. "Fuck having to consciously suffer through another day of it."
I think I realized for the first time that my drinking wasn't just escapism and hedonism. That much was clear from the start. But it also represented a slow and cowardly unconscious suicide attempt. Because, being real with myself, every time I open a bottle there is a chance that it will send me down a well traveled downward spiral that ends with me perishing. It's a game of Russian roulette.
The thing is that I don't want to kill myself, and the realization that I was about to make an attempt snapped me out of it.
So I poured the whole bottle down the drain
The entire evening was an almost out of body experience. Something about this commitment to be of service to you guys allowed me to be more of a battlefield observer than a soldier in the fight. It let me sit up high enough that I could see what was happening. All because I felt a responsibility to learn something that was worth sharing here. I think if I didn't catch that extra perspective, if I didn't push myself to really explain why I was doing what I was doing, I would be at the bottom of a bottle right now. Instead I'm writing this post sober, and eating a bowl of ice cream. So thankful.
I won't drink with you tonight.

So here is my ranking of every character in the show. I'm ranking by season, and then I put my all-season favorites down at the bottom. I'm not only ranking the characters here, but also their complete story and arc. If there's a character I love that just kind of didn't get a good ending, they will be low down. If a character appears in multiple seasons, like Lou or Wrench, I ranked them based on their time in that season. Also, this is really only main and supporting characters, so none of the hotel guests from East / West are gonna be here or any other character like that.
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SEASON ONE- My opinion on the season one characters is that it had a handful of fantastic characters but the ensemble around them wasn't as memorable. Besides the main five, every other character was either a jerk or an idiot, and that was really it. There still were no bad characters, but I think 90% of this season's charm comes from Molly, Lester and Malvo.

1. Lorne Malvo- Who else was it gonna be? Billy Bob Thornton delivers one of the greatest tv villains of the decade with this guy, and he makes him such a great character that you are rooting both for and against him at the same time. Fargo's biggest flaw is that they may never top this guy (but I think they did, which I'll explain a bit later down).
2. Lester Nygaard- Lester's arc is one of the greatest falls of any tv character. In the first episode, he seems like a loser who got in WAY over his head who you just might still be able to root for, but as the show continues he slowly turns into a deeply disgusting individual. In the time jump, we even get to see him become a happy, successful insurance salesman, but the second Malvo re-enters his life he becomes the same, sad, smarmy villain that he was from the beginning. Probably the best of the show's guy-who-makes-a-big-mistake characters.
3. Molly Solverson- The moral center of season one, Molly feels a little underdeveloped in the beginning of the show (for a while her only character trait was "let me do stuff, chief!!") but as the show progressed she became one of the coolest heroes of the show, as well as continuing Fargo's long tradition of powerful women that started with the movie and lives on today. My ONLY complaint is that she should have killed Malvo. She deserved it.
4. Mr. Wrench & Mr. Numbers- While Wrench grew into his own character in later seasons, here they are one entity. Succeeding as the two coolest hitmen to ever be in a tv show, Wrench & Numbers have it all: the jokes, the style, the sign language, and that 11/10 drum solo / theme song that jumps up my heart rate every time it kicks in.
5. Chief Bill Oswalt- I know that the Chief gets a lot of flack for being an annoying character, but I think he's actually one of the most real characters in Fargo. He's not the chief from season 3 who's actively trying to stop investigating for no reason. He's just a simple, nice guy who got in way over his head. His ending when he resigns is one of the saddest scenes in the whole show.
6. Lou Solverson- Old Lou was good until he whipped out a shotgun and was ready to straight-up murder Malvo to protect Greta. Then he became awesome.
7. Gus Grimly- Gus was alright. He had a nice story and he was just a sweet guy, but I feel like he never really had enough personality to match his fellow season one leads. I do like that he got to be a mailman, though. That was sweet.
8. Greta Grimly- Greta was very obviously much cooler than her dad, but then she didn't get to anything for the whole show. PUT GRETA IN THE GAME, NOAH. I hope that season 5 will focus on an older her and continue the Solverson legacy.
9. Stavros Milos- I liked Stavros. He was one of the only side characters that fell into both the jerk and the idiot templates. Unfortunately, his story went nowhere, and he had one of the most depressing endings for a character for no reason whatsoever. He wasn't that bad of a guy! He didn't deserve to think God was punishing him by killing his son!
10. Don Chumph- Okay, look. Don was a funny idiot, but he felt like he came out of a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TV SHOW. He seemed liked he was from some weird, oddball comedy show about bank robbers until the show gave him Fargo's most disturbing ending for absolutely no reason. The Stavros storyline is my least favorite in Fargo, because not only do none of its characters get reasonable endings, but it also doesn't connect to the main storyline at all. If you took out the entire Stavros story, the season would've made just as much sense. It's only purpose was to give Malvo something to do in episodes 2-6.

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SEASON TWO- Season two is my favorite season of Fargo, and I think part of what makes it so great is that not only are the characters incredible, but their endings are some of the best in the series. There aren't really any characters in here on the level of Malvo and Lester in terms of originality, but season 2 certainly delivers one of the strongest ensemble casts of a tv show I've seen.

1. Lou Solverson- Lou is my favorite character from Fargo. He was pretty cool in season one, but getting to see him in season two in his prime pushed him over the edge. Usually the standout character from a season of Fargo is the bad guy, but this is one of the rare cases where therein character steals the show. Also, his defense of the police station from the Gerhardts was maybe the coolest scene in the show.
2. Peggy Blumquist- Peggy, the self-realized lunatic of season two, was the provider of chaos for season two. Season one had Malvo, three had Nikki, four had... pretty much every character, but here Peggy is the one that leaves a trail of craziness (and dead bodies) everywhere that she goes. Her final scenes in the supermarket and Lou's police car are some of the most heartbreaking in the show, giving her one of my favorite character endings in the series.
3. Mike Milligan- Mike was just cool. I've realized from watching the entirety of the show that Mike really doesn't do much in season two; he kills Otto and the Undertaker, and he very briefly takes over the Gerhardt house, but besides that he has little to no effect on the outcome of the season. And yet... every time he does or says anything, it just FEELS important. He may not do that much plot-wise, but style and feeling-wise, Mike Milligan is season two. And his grim backstory in season four is just the icing on the cake.
4. Hanzee Dent- Hanzee was a great character from episodes 1-7. Then episodes 8-10 happened and he reached legendary status. Watching Hanzee orchestrate the Sioux Falls massacre and then get away with it is truly quality television, and the sheer buildup of subtle racism that follows him throughout the show makes his breaking point all the more satisfying. But what makes the story of Hanzee so sad is that in the end, he just became that fat mob boss from season one that Lorne kills. He wound up just being another dead body in somebody else's story.
5. Hank Larsson- "Ted Danson as a cop in the 70s" was basically the pitch for this character, but it works so much better than it should have. The trio of Hank, Lou and Betsy is genuinely the best part of season two.
6. Floyd Gerhardt- Poor, poor Floyd. From the first episode we see that Floyd is a tactical genius who was made to run the Gerhardt family, but we know that she will never get the same respect as her husband just because she's a woman. Her ending is so perfectly anti-climactic, too. One of the saddest characters from Fargo.
7. Betsy Solverson- Lou's wife is docked a couple points for never really being allowed to get in on the action (I would have LOVED to see Betsy take down a Gerhardt) but she still provides some much needed warmth to the show and grounds some of the more crazier episodes, like "The Castle" or the finale.
8. Dodd Gerhardt- Dodd Gerhardt succeeds by being one of the most vile, unredeemable characters in the show's history. While most of the show's villains can be found to be somewhat sympathetic, Dodd is just the guy you're supposed to hate. And he hits the mark every time.
9. Joe Bulo- Joe Bulo's death was a real heartbreak. He was really funny.
10. The Kitchen Brothers- Much like Wrench and Numbers, these two mostly-silent hitmen nearly stole the show a couple of times. Unfortunately, Brother #1 dies halfway through the show, and they just don't feel like a complete set without both of them.
11. Ed Blumquist- Ed was fine, but he falls into the same character as Gus where he just can't compare to his costars. I'd take Gus over Ed though, because Gus was just cooler.
12. Simone Gerhardt- Eh. She could've done a lot more, and by her death she was the season's only character who felt like a waste.
13. Constance Heck- Fargo would eventually take another shot at crafting a good lesbian character (it was kind of better), but Constance was pretty much a waste of screen time.
14. Bear Gerhardt- I don't understand Bear. He's the nice Gerhardt, but also he kills Simone? He cares about the family, and yet he tries to kill literally everybody in the family? He trusts Hanzee, but he also... doesn't? Bear felt way to underdeveloped, and I honestly think season two would have made a lot more sense without him in it.

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SEASON THREE- If I had to choose, I think season three has the best bunch of main characters. Gloria, Emmett, Ray, Nikki, Vargas, and Sy are six of the show's best characters. Some of their endings I could give or take, and the supporting characters this season aren't as strong as two, but this is easily my favorite group out of the four seasons.

1. V.M. Vargas- For awhile, it looked like the show was never going to top Malvo as far as villains. And for some people, I'm sure Fargo still hasn't. But to me, V.M. Vargas is the show's greatest bad guy, and for one very specific reason: he's not another Malvo. The show could've very easily taken the route of putting that same scary-hitman character template into every season, but instead the show gave us a character so entirely different than anything before. Everything about him just makes your skin want to crawl, and the way that he completely destroys the lives of everybody he encounters is so fascinating to me. As for his ending, I would like to believe that Vargas does get jailed away, but I'm not so sure...
2. Gloria Burgle- My favorite scene in season three is the final one, which is probably due to the fact that it's one of only a handful that my two favorite characters share together. Gloria is one of Fargo's best moral centers, as she is the first one who seriously needs another moral center to make her feel happy. She's one of the show's most human characters, and watching her rise past Chief Moe in the end and land a great job was a perfect little ending for her.
3. Nikki Swango- Nikki was just cool. She was the Mike Milligan of season three, where she was the cool, smart character who walked the line between villain and antihero for the whole season. In the end, I'd put Nikki closer to the hero side than Mike, as her rebellion against Vargas in the final episodes turned her into the character to root for.
4. Emmitt Stussy- I love season three because with the exception of Vargas and Nikki, nobody has any idea what is going on at all for the whole show. It's just a bunch of very dumb people bopping around for ten episodes, and I love it. This is why I love Emmitt, the epitome of the "dumb guy who makes a big mistake" Fargo character.
5. Ray Stussy- I like Emmitt more than Ray, mainly because he has more character development and Ray never really gets a satisfying ending. But for the time he's alive, Ray was the center of season three's warmth. The first time you watch season three, it's unclear if Nikki actually loves Ray or if she's just using him. But on a rewatch where you know the full story, the scenes between Ray and Nikki become so sad.
6. Sy Feltz- Poor Sy. He was just an idiot of epic proportions.
7. Wes Wrench- When Mr. Wrench popped back up on that bus, my heart literally stopped beating for a second.
8. Yuri Gurka- Yuri was, in my opinion, Fargo's scariest character. The Russian accent? The ruthless killing tactics? The unpredictability? The wolf mask? Horrifying stuff.
9. Winnie Lopez- Winnie was kind, and she was a nice friend to Gloria. That alone gives her enough to be in the top ten.
10. Meemo- Meemo wasn't as scary as Yuri, but watching him transform into a lawyer for that one scene was eerily terrifying. Unlike Yuri, Meemo was smart. Which, in a way, makes him a lot scarier.
11. Larue Dollard- Larue, the hapless accountant who accidentally discovers Vargas' empire, was probably the most normal guy to ever enter a season of Fargo. Good for him for surviving!
12. Ennis Stussy / Thaddeus Mobley- Season three's brief detour back into the seventies was a season high-point, but Thaddeus was too dumb to be that likable. Also, when he got older, he turned into a real homophobe. Not cool, Thaddeus.
13. Gloria's Kid- I don't know his name, but I didn't care for this kid. Nothing against him, but the show didn't give him enough to do or give him enough of a character. Much like Greta, Fargo wasted another potentially great child character.
14. Chief Moe Dammick- It's odd that the most easily dislikable Fargo character isn't one of the main villains, but this absolutely awful police chief. He literally does everything in his power to stop Gloria for NO REASON. I hate this guy so much.

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SEASON FOUR- Season four got an unfair rep in my opinion. It wasn't on the level of the first three seasons, but it was still better than 90% of television. In fact, I loved the characters from season four. Loved them. My big problem is their endings. Half of the characters this season felt critically underused (probably due to the fact that the main cast was twice as large as it should have been), and some of the endings felt very out of place. Still a great season, but not as successful as before.

1. Loy Cannon- Chris Rock was incredible as Loy Cannon, and he provided the one character from this season I have no problems with whatsoever. Everything about Loy and his arc I loved, and his ending was the saddest part of season four.
2. Satchel Cannon- See what happens when you let the kids do stuff on Fargo, Noah Hawley?? Coming after Greta and mini-Gloria in the long line of underutilized children of Fargo, Satchel had a lot going against him... until East / West hit and it became clear season four was his story. I figured out Satchel was Mike Milligan fairly early on in the season, but the slow build to this reveal was beautiful, and that final shot of Mike Milligan loading his gun like Rabbi taught him was one of the best scenes in the series.
3. Oraetta Mayflower- I love crazy people in shows and movies, so Oraetta was an instant win for me. Jessie Buckley turns in one of Fargo's all-time great performances as the deranged, racist angel of darkness. My biggest complaint is that Oraetta did nothing the whole season and felt like she belonged in an entirely different story. I wish so deeply that we could have seen her go full-Hanzee and start killing people as the season started to end, but instead she just... died. Eh. If she was actually given something to do, she would've easily jumped to #1.
4. Gaetano Fadda- YES!!! In the beginning, I hated Gaetano. I thought he made no sense. He was supposed to be scary, but he wasn't. He was some weird, dumb freak who I didn't care about. And then he and Gaetano became best friends and I realized it... Gaetano Fadda isn't supposed to be scary. He's meant to be a weird, dumb freak who believes himself to be scary. Suddenly, he became my favorite part of the season. And watching him die by tripping over himself only solidified the idea that he really didn't mean anything to anybody.
5. Josto Fadda- Josto was a so-so character given a great arc. I loved watching him slowly drive himself crazy, ending with him eventually getting killed by his own people. He was a little over the top, but Jason Schwartzman was great and the character's ending was great, so I have no complaints.
6. Etherilda Pearl Smutny- Poor, poor Etherilda. She was introduced in episode one and I was SO EXCITED for her to be the no-nonsense moral center of season 4. I wanted to watch her crack the mystery. I wanted her to save the day. And instead... she did absolutely nothing the entire season. I spent the whole season waiting for her to become a main character again, and all she wound up doing was giving a dead guy's ring to Loy. Thankfully, she was still a joy to watch onscreen, and that ending shot was perfect, but WHY DID SHE NOT GET TO DO ANYTHING???
7. Dick "Deafy" Wickware- Timothy Olyphant took a so-so character and made him legendary. He's docked a couple of points for dying like a wimp and not really adding anything to the main story, but he was a joy to spend time with.
8. Doctor Senator- If he stuck around for a while longer, Doctor Senator would have placed a lot higher here. Unfortunately, his death was neccessary for Loy's character arc, but while he was still kicking, DS ruled.
9. Rabbi Milligan- A true tragic figure, I liked everything about Rabbi Milligan. I liked his story, I liked his acting, I liked how he got sucked up in a tornado. I didn't love it, but I liked it.
10. Odis Weff- Same as above. I liked him. I didn't love him, but I sure did like him.
11. Happy- Happy only showed up in the penultimate episodes (appropriately titled "Happy"), but his appearance only made me wish that Happy was around longer. That guy was awesome! What was that whole thing with the frames? I want to know! I want his story! unfortunately, he was only in about two scenes and then died. But I loved Happy.
12. Buel Cannon- Buel Cannon was awesome and didn't do enough. She deserved main-character status over Zelmare and Swanee 100%
13. Lemuel Cannon- Lemuel was cool and played the trumpet. Another character who should've gotten more screen time, Lemuel deserved better.
14. Dibrell Smutny- As far as no-nonsense moms go, I prefer Buel to Dibrell, but she still shined in a couple of key scenes. Plus, she was much cooler than her husband.
15. That Freaky Sea Captain- He was kinda cool.
16. Ebal Violante- I liked him in the first 10 episodes, but then in the final episode he went full Disney Twist Villain by taking a full 180 on his personality and becoming a supervillain. It was weird, but I get why it happened.
17. Odie Sparkman- Much like nearly everybody else in the cast, Odie wasn't given enough to do, but his time in the spotlight in East / West was nice, if brief.
18. Zelmare Roulette- Zelmare and Swanee were my least favorite part of season 4. They had no reason to be there, and I felt like they just took away time from the main cast. Episodes 1, 9, 10, and 11 were my favorites from season 4, which are the only 4 episodes these bozos don't appear in (well, Zelmare was in 11, but only for a second). Zelmare places higher because I liked her stuff with Dibrell (and because it was nice that Fargo finally did a good lesbian romance after the misfire in season two), but besides that I would count her story as Fargo's biggest misfire.
19. Doctor Harvard- Ew.
20. Swanee Capps- She was just a worse version of Zelmare. Her only redeeming quality was that she continued Fargo's long tradition of vomiting onscreen.

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And here is my list of favorite characters from all four season:

1. Lou Solverson
2. V.M. Varga
3. Peggy Blumquist
4. Lorne Malvo
5. Gloria Burgle
6. Lester Nygaard
7. Mike Milligan / Satchel Cannon
8. Nikki Swango
9. Loy Cannon
10. Hanzee Dent
11. Molly Solverson
12. Emmitt Stussy
13. Wes Wrench
14. Ray Stussy
15. Oraetta Mayflower
16. Hank Larrson
17. Sy Feltz
18. Floyd Gerhardt
19. Yuri Gurka
20. Gaetano Fadda

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What are your opinions? Who are your favorite characters?

Edit: I try not to “edit thanks” but this post has a huge effect on my morale, so thank you, really. I’m going to share a little bonus. I didn’t realize it when I was writing this earlier but I took a break of Gambit last season. I just couldn’t handle the Truth, lol. But there’s an important reason why I came back to Gambit this season. I’m fostering a New Light and she took a liking to it. I was Dredgen something like the first month of Season 4, crazy how it rang with the “PvE focused and apt PvP who does -only likes Iron Banner- not like the Crucible. player that I am. Well, she took my seasoned advice and assimilated it with an ease with which I can not cope. She’s really good at it and after every game, she watches the scoreboard (something I never really cared to look at before she came along) and scolds the other two guys out loud (we’re in a party, she’s not an asshole) if they killed and did not bank. She gets more angry at them than I ever did. Now I’m starting to hate them too. She’s a real bad influence on m- just kidding. My advice was just telling her what Drifter told me: says in-game. “Don’t waste any motes” So when he says that, it rings with her and let me tell you Guardians, she does not waste any motes. No pun intended. “You put her up against the nastiest horrors you could find in this system and she laughs in your face as she kills 'em! I’mma pay her now”: show her this post!
I’m looking at the scoreboard with the experience of 9 seasons of Gambit. I knew we just wrecked it out there and I feel confident in my performance. I just hope the crowd goes wild and Drifter is getting richer selling my Ghost’s feed. I don’t care about the consequences anymore. I just want the loot, man.
Anyway, as for the last 4 or 5 games: I’m on top. I’m not bragging, I didn’t win the last 5 games. I just was at the top of my team. Gambit is governed by Lady Luck when you play as a free agent. Actually it’s more like Russian Roulette. With a double-barrelled shotgun. I just play the odds, and that brings me back to my initial point:
I see some New Lights eager to join in the fight on the Frontier, happy to sow death and destruction in the name of getting a weapon. A weapon! Hahaha! They’re not satisfied with the infinite arsenal at our disposal. Gimme a Roderic-C and get outta my way, New Light! The weapon is not the answer. Their mind is not even hungry and yet, they shred everything -bio or not- to parts and don’t look back.
I smirk.
I was like that once. I remember all the losses more than I remember the wins. Looking back, they taught me that hurting others is not the answer. Eating them and not getting caught is the answer! Now before you yell... I’m talking about the motes, not the corpses. Life hits hard. Sometimes you don’t wanna eat it anymore because you find out you were just eating too much of it. I’m talking about depression, but I don’t want to go into more details about that. You get the gist.
The consistency I noted in my last 5 games is I’m often the only one who kills combattants roughly as much as they bank. Below me are those who have to run like crazy and can’t shoot anything because there’s the third and/or fourth guy that’s just putting the Rambo death count to shame, with a huge smile and amped up crazy eyes under their helmet I’m willing to bet.
Never bite more than you can chew, Kiddo. That’s what I would tell my past self. I’ve had my own personal Beyond Light and as I grow wiser, I’m learning to feel my hunger and balance it. Since the changes of Beyond Light in the game though -and a healthy dose of Shadebinder- I found out that killing is fine, decay is the enemy. What is important is to only kill what you will eat before it decays. Then quickly barf that to Drifter. This rat will eat anything.
Helmerald transmats

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Marshall McLuhan wrote an article for the New York Times in 1974 called "A Media Approach to Inflation". Source:https://www.scribd.com/document/73328/Marshall-McLuhan-A-Media-Approach-to-Inflation
Here are some quotes:
"Until now there have been many equilibrium theories Of inflation. I am going to propose a disequilibrium theory based on the discontinuous nature of the electric information of today."
"For the dominant environment of our age has itself become information or “software.” Since at electric speed any figure tends to become ground, and anything, however trivial, can acquire infinite mass, the temptation and the desire to gamble with everything and anything becomes obsessive. One dollar at the speed of light can do as many transactions as a million at pre‐electric speeds. Quantitative projections and rational critiques cannot cope here."
"Again, it is the speed and “replay” of information movement which creates a new kind of pattern recognition which, in turn; makes it possible to see innumerable “software” gaps (information gaps) the old “hardware” situation of goods and services."
"The fact that our economy is now constituted In large degree by information structures of pulsating data (like. that of the TV image) means that there are innumerable new intervals in every social ,situation which provide opportunities for new involvements arid obsessions, endless games with futures in antiques, in horoscopes, fashions, and commodities.
Such opportunities are nowhere thicker than the old commodity markets of supply and demand, especially when they move at the speed of light. It is here that it is possible to buy up “futures” in oil, or meat, or grain, or real estate, or antiques, using the time intervals between supply and demand as the point of intervention and gambling. At electric speed it is possible to play Russian roulette with whole economies, with entire educational systems and with political regimes."

Spawns are one of the most common and persistent issues in the game. They've been adjusted multiple times but still are continously problematic if not broken in some instances.
Some of these issues stem from late spawns which is arguably the bigger issue, but I'm here to make an argument that no matter how much you'll tinker and adjust the spawns, you'll still run into the same problem. I'm here to make a case that the current problems with spawns mostly from map design which then has a derivative effect on pathing.
I'll start off with an inconvenient fact - at spawn none of the spawns have a direct sightline of eachother and for the most part have enough separation in terms of distance. The moment it becomes and issue is 15.. 30.. 45 seconds (and beyond) after spawn.
The root cause of the frustration is in my opinion - how much agency, or rather perceived agency, a player has. How much can the player do, how much gameplay (whatever that is) can he extract from a unit of time and how much perceived (or not...) control he has over his fate.
And as much as I love BSG's map design, how organic and real they look, they are not well designed for everyone spawning at the same time on the edge of the map to converge to centrally placed points of interest. For experienced players this leads to boring predictability, where deployment means a game of rock-paper-scissors. For less experienced players this means frustration as it seems like you can barely move out of spawn before doing anything.
I believe this happens because of an oversight from the devs. I think what they wanted to achieve was for the players to converge on a point of interest (POI) and engage in PVP there. However people took advantage of that and because of a finite number of spawns you can anticipate peoples movements, use chokepoints on maps to eliminate competition before they even reach the POI:
Expectation vs Reality
The most stark example and biggest offender is Shoreline Road To Customs side which probably takes up the bulk of spawn rants about that map. If we strip away minor stuff like purely quest focused locations and hidden stashes, we're left with a barren piece of land that serves just like a traversal zone.
https://preview.redd.it/a8dp9a5h9nz51.png?width=626&format=png&auto=webp&s=3669dcd95eb2ea9156b3c7a19c63c3f9063a29ec
You have one big ass POI and 3 minor ones that provide little to no reason to visit. This leads to most people rushing resort, which can create the following scenario:
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https://preview.redd.it/rtuzf9dzanz51.png?width=580&format=png&auto=webp&s=089bcecfda90ebb268f8e4fd664d6eaa211fd98c
[2] gets on top of the rocks and snipes [1], [5] rushes the broken down hose hill and snipes down at [4], [3]. Obviously it doesn't always happen, but it's a highly plausible scenario.
Another option is something like this:
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https://preview.redd.it/ddcx8vaobnz51.png?width=339&format=png&auto=webp&s=21ece7378fe2d70a134a31eb59850cbf7589e134
You push radio tower and using elevation you ambush someone coming from the terminal spawn. I've been guilty of this myself on more than one occasion.
And it's not only Shoreline. We have other spawns that suffer from the same issue:

• Customs Trailer Park spawn is notorious, especially with the tandem of the riverside spawn. They tick all the boxes - they don't have a direct sightline of eachother, they're 200m apart and yet all it takes is for you to run straight down the road and someone at the riverbank to push towards you and you can be dead within 10s. Going towards garages is a better options but you're basically trailing everyone else and they have the upper hand as you have to move towards them and it's only a cointoss if they decide to rush their POI or stay to clear out the spawn.

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Potential routes and enemies

• Woods Scav house spawn - you can either go towards the lake (1), bolt through the open field (2) or hug the fence towards the bunker (3). You basically have to go towards other spawns that have more favorable ambush positions or go on a suicide run across the open field.

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https://preview.redd.it/ilahn4nrcnz51.png?width=1705&format=png&auto=webp&s=173d08b16c7b63814fb663b616799d2dc598df28

• Interchange Emercom Exctract spawn

Similar case. You're cornered with enemies on all sides and a few paths all of which are basically russian roulette. Again, not a given, but very plausible.
https://preview.redd.it/1qw9f1ixcnz51.png?width=471&format=png&auto=webp&s=54ec25daa78f894cfb79f1ad21b6f99f30d0d71e
​
You basically have to commit and hope that you won't get spawn camped from that particular direction or you'll be able to fight your way through.
The players' frustration comes in the form of stark "imbalance" between spawns where RNG determines if you're spawning on Omaha beach or in the bunker on the cliffs above, with comfort that you have threats coming only from one general direction.
Another issue is with spawns where immediately at spawn you might not have a sightline, all it takes is a slight adjustment and a short sprint to still get a view on someone still standing in their spawn.
Interchange is a good example with the Oil Tanker and Power Station spawns. All it takes is for one spawning at the oil Tanker to linger a bit too long at spawn (or spawn late) and you can die 15 seconds later from someone rushing on top of the powerstation roof (guilty of this as well). Or the recently made famous South Western spawn where you can quickly get an angle on someone spawning in the middle of the highway.
https://preview.redd.it/yvkuyytbdnz51.png?width=452&format=png&auto=webp&s=adb7ab6d378c33d820065fe7423d9d3a13c0c046
Those ones are quite an easy fix - either slighly move the spawns or put some more cover between them. This is also a huge issue with the corner meadow spawns on Reserve.
Now, another incovenient fact is that you should never feel too complacent and expect immunity for a set amount of time. But at the same time it's not outlandish to expect at least getting out of harms way and into cover after you spawn, especially if you spawn in an open area, surrounded by open area that needs to be traveresed in order to get to safety.
IMO, they can tinker all they want with spawns, but unless you address the core of the issue, which is as per my post above, you'll eventually run into the same problems.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
The emails are still coming in. Here's the next part of the strange voyage of the magic tour bus.
I'm holding out hope that one of these will tell me something about what happened to my cousin Carrie. Please don't judge her too harshly based on this post. She's not usually like this. At least she wasn't before.
Anyways here goes...
The Observers - First Draft
May 2020
As the forest disappears in the distance behind us, I try to build up the courage to talk to Garrett again. Like I said before, asking tough questions is the hardest part of being a reporter.
But I have a feeling, and I want to follow up on it. Need to follow up on it.
Ramone sees me squirming in my seat like a little kid, as I debate whether to go through with it.
Ramone: You need to take a dump or something, boss?
Nassir: I wish. There’s something not sitting right with me. And it’s not those MREs he’s been feeding us. This doesn’t all add up.
I stand up and start moving. Making my way past the deathly sweet stink of the dead woman, I take a seat across the aisle from Garrett and Carrie. Ramone follows behind, skirting around the dead woman as widely as possible.
Nassir: There's one thing I don't understand about all of this.
Garrett: Just one?
Nassir: Okay, one major thing. A bunch of other stuff too obviously but here it is: If we're basing all of this on the famous Schrodinger’s cat experiment, only reversed, doesn't that mean the bus would need some deadly hazard inside like the decaying isotope in the original experiment? How is this working if there isn't a 50/50 chance of death upon entering the bus? I mean that's the whole point right?
Garrett whispers something to Carrie and I feel my heart skip a beat. Why do I feel so utterly full of dread?
Garrett: Well. The thing is…
He stumbles over his words and I realize this is the first time since I met him that he doesn't appear overly confident and disarming with his speech. He pauses and seems to be having trouble figuring out what to say.
Garrett: Okay, don't get mad. I mean I'm sure you're going to be but just remember it's done now and you’re both ok so no harm done, right?
Nassir: I still don't understand. What are you talking about?
Garrett: Well, like you said yourself, the experiment doesn't work unless you're 50/50. Dead or alive.
Nassir: You're saying this bus actually is a Schrodinger’s box? A 50/50 game of Russian roulette?
Garrett: I’m saying you’re alive. But there was a chance – a fifty percent chance – you would have died when that door closed back in the garage. There’s a mechanism built into the bus. It would have been quick and painless, I assure you.
Nassir: That’s attempted murder!
Garrett: Hardly. I told you the risks before we got on the bus. You agreed to everything. You waived all rights to pursue legal action following this, just so you’re aware.
Nassir: I don’t care what the hell that contract said, you’re bringing us back right now! This is insane!
Ramone is yelling at him as well and when Garrett turns around and tells him to sit down and shut up, Ramone loses it. He lunges at Garrett and attacks him.
I see Ted and Wayne have appeared seemingly from thin air, and understand why Garrett was taking so long to explain everything. It was his way of giving them time to approach quietly from behind us.
Wayne grabs me from behind and Ted goes to pull Ramone away from Garrett before he can hurt him, but it’s too late. Ramone slips away and I can see his hands are going for the CEO’s neck. But instead of choking the man, he falls tumbling forward off balance.
Garrett’s body flickers and comes into focus again, with Ramone’s arms through his neck as if he were a phantom.
Suddenly I understand. The son of a bitch isn’t there at all. He’s just a projection.
His image is an extremely well-rendered hologram. Probably ever since we stepped onto the bus, or even before that. This is just a digital body double. A very well-rendered one. I hadn’t been able to detect the difference this entire time.
I look at Carrie in disbelief. Clearly Ted and Wayne are real, which explains why they winced when the bus door closed back in the garage. They knew that it was possible they could die in that second. But I wasn’t sure about her. Was she just a hologram as well?
She touched my arm as if she had read my mind. Unlike her boss, she was there for real.
Carrie: I’m here. We’re in this together, okay?
I’m still in shock and for a few seconds unable to speak. The fact that Garrett has tricked us into coming here under false pretenses and that we nearly died is almost too much to contemplate. All I want to do is go back home.
Nassir: The hell we are! You knew what the risks were. You knew what you were signing up for. We didn’t even have time to read those damn contracts, and you both knew it!
Carrie: I’m sorry. But what’s done is done. Let’s finish out this trip and go back. The article you write about this and the photos that your colleague is taking will make you rich and famous, I can guarantee it.
Nassir: You think we care about that!? We just want to go home! We’ve had enough of this freak show. Your boss almost got us killed and we’re not going to just forget about that like it didn’t happen.
Her face suddenly becomes cold and I realize she is not on our side at all. We are merely observers on this experiment and she tells us that a second later.
Carrie: You are not to disrupt this endeavour, understand? Once we return home you will be able to contact whatever law enforcement you wish and can press whatever charges you like. Good luck finding something in the penal code that covers this, though. That’s all I’m saying.
Ted and Wayne drag us back to the rear of the bus, and beneath the veil I can see the woman in black smiling with her rotten teeth and worm companions poking from the holes in her face where dimples would be.
Woman in black: I told you he wasn’t who he said he was. Smoke and mirrors. Ones and zeroes.
The fact that her disturbing features are partially hidden by her black veil make them somehow even more terrifying. I feel my heartbeat quicken with fear every time I look in her direction.
After dragging us against our will to the back of the bus, the two men separate us and put us in the window seats on either side of the aisle. Ted, whose face I find more and more obnoxious with each passing second, is blocking me into my seat now at the back of the bus as I type up these notes.
Time is passing steadily and I see we have been driving all day. The sky is beginning to darken and far off in the distance I see a phenomenon in the sky like you would see on earth above a large city at night, when approaching from a distance. It reminds me of the glow you sometimes see reflected in the clouds when driving towards a metropolis on the highway, only this “glow” is in reverse, like a giant bruise on the already dark sky above.
Judging by the size of the glowing reflection in the clouds, it would appear that the city (if that is what it is) we are approaching is quite massive.
After several more hours riding in awkward silence, the vague outlines of shadowy buildings come into view. The city stretches out in front of us like Manhattan, impressive and looming. Driving towards it takes forever as it gradually comes into focus.
The world around us is dark, but we are plunged into total blackness as the town envelops us.
Garrett: Night-vision.
Suddenly the windows of the bus are illuminated with different shades of green, and we can see figures lining the road on either side of us.
They are standing in two perfect rows on either side, like a welcoming parade. The shapes of them are perfectly spaced apart, their faces blank and observing us with no emotion as we drive through their midst.
Up ahead, I see the tallest building of them all at the center of the shadow city.
Giant letters are illuminated in green through the night vision technology. The building has a huge sign which blinks on and off, beckoning us closer. It is a skyscraper larger than any I have ever seen before.
The blinking sign mocks me as I stare at it, and Garrett turns around and smiles when he sees the expression on my face.
“Proteon Corporation” – it reads.
Garrett: Told you we made contact.
JG
TCC

So I've been on this site for long enough to know what the "Reddit hivemind" is, and while I see its origin, I'm appealing to you now to reconsider its validity, whether you are its biggest detractor or supporter.
Because I don't think we do this naturally. This game we play with ourselves, to make ourselves mad, or happy, or sad, or any range of strong emotions. Whether it's based on morbid curiosity, or downright addiction, this phenomenon is a phenomenon, it happens here, at this place, with a tap of a button.
So what does this have to do with WhitePeopleTwitter? Or rather, any subreddit? They're perpetuated by living, breathing things that naturally change as time marches on. And that's the keyword, naturally. I'm not here to say that social media is inherently unnatural, we've been improving and de-commodifying communication for eons now. But WhitePeopleTwitter and its siblings in-habit isn't moving forward in time, it's a parasite, an echo chamber of your own opinions, boiled down into Twitter screenshots and this kind of quickfire dopamine hot takes built on pillars of sand. Or worse, ego.
Ego pervades so many corners of this site, I wish I could convey that entire experience with one word, but I can't. So I'll do one better, a story; one that you've probably heard before:
About 5 months ago, almost to the day, a now-deleted post read: I'm a 14 year who has brain cancer and is going to die within 3 weeks AMA. Now AMA isn't the biggest subreddit, but even if it was, spoiler alert, he was faking it. At least 80k people upvoted this initially, and if that can't be proved, look at the awards. Literally hundreds of expensive emojis, a golden shower of 1,000+ dollars, completely burned on an alt account. And we'll never know who did this, we wouldn't know he was a liar unless he admitted it, which he did for somehow more attention. And frankly, I don't blame him. This is the website where nobodies go viral for being human, or funny, or contrarian, or probably for shitting in a basket because it doesn't really matter. Once something goes on the front page, why wouldn't you join the fun?
And that's my point, the "Reddit hivemind" that is so detested is maybe 100,000 strong, and I'm sure the "real number" is wildly different. We react to grassroots causes, we usually react well, but all we have to do is react strongly. If we kick up enough sand, its supporters will come faster than its detractors. Any other site wouldn't let this happen, the human is either in a sea of itself, or compressed into pitch-corrected boxes, reflecting attention like a prism onto other sites. And sometimes, fuck it, it's fun. It offends no one, no one is left behind, everyone gets a sandwich. But reddit is like pure capitalism, it looks good on paper, but it leaves everyone pandering to as wide of a demographic through the most aspired demographic. And in the end, it always adds up to nothing, a flash in the pan amongst a sea of lighters. And then, we add some politics.
Let's just be real with ourselves, this site wasn't built for politics, likely because it wasn't built for much of anything. As I mentioned, everyone gets equal access to waste their time. There's a reason no one follows other Redditors or posts on their profile page, because that's not the deal. You keep trying until you go viral unexpectedly, and that's the deal every single time. So why not "optimize". Maybe a little edgier, maybe a little more politically charged, maybe a more recognizable template? Heck, why not just repost something that already works? And if it's a dog, or a lighthearted meme, that's fine, that's objectively very pleasant and thank you for your effort, genuinely, But then you flirt with a little ego, and this sense of truther-ness takes hold. Like a cop with an optional body cam, see what will happen anonymously. Roll the dice, and you might just get a reaction. It's the same thing with a gambling addiction, you've already sunk so much cost upvoting and scrolling, why not get a piece of the pie? And if this was almost anywhere else, you could build on that, compound effort into knowledge or friends or even a career, but as I said, that's not the deal. And people try to break the deal, and one of those occasions is WhitePeopleTwitter. If you're still with me, I know, finally.
Because part of me refuses to believe so many people are like this. Slinging banners and biting irony, "they" criticize so much of what they've become. They're alone against the world, but with tunnel vision. They're a one-man-army, in an army. They see every takedown or celebration at a time, not the bigger picture. In place of real enforcement, the entire sub has formed their own frontier justice. And why not, it's the internet, right? It's not special, there's no decorum. RoastMe and SuicideWatch could be completely swapped, comment wise, and I doubt a lot of people would care initially. This isn't just a zero-sum game, this is a -1-sum game, by playing you're sinking more cost, and you're rigging yourself to care about things that might never affect you. It's like becoming bedridden from obesity, one Cheeto at a time. Even if it takes no effort, it's the energy and time it's taking away that counts. Energy that could be spent being happy. And that's something that I've passed by, so that I could get high and be sad in my room, purging my account history as if someone would bother to click. I used to scoff at people that would post their food or a view on Instagram, and now that seems quaint, halcyon even, as if I would post anything without an ulterior agenda or upvote-bait. If you hate this, then I think the rule is to upvote anyway, so I'll just thank you for reading all this. Despite all this, I don't think that Reddit is an objective evil, but its starting to become less like a forum and more like Russian Roulette, except with a much slower death. As u/solstone109 once said," Somehow I doubt this will be solved with in the comment section of Reddit", even if the source is about as banal. But I doubt that a "hivemind" will be the end or beginning of this post, it's probably down to about... 50 people.

I moved out about a year ago and it has gotten better because of the physical distance (no it's not great) but mentally I'm a lot better ever since I moved out.
About three nights ago I had a dream that was exactly a BPD story. The dream goes like this. I'm a college student living at home and I order Chinese food for dinner. I eat half of the Chinese food and leave the other half in the styrofoam container it came in. But I realize I'm going to take the other half for lunch the next day. So I decide to transfer said food into a Tupperware so I can easily warm it up in a microwave the next day. She notices and doesn't understand why I'm putting it in a Tupperware and making another dish dirty. despite telling her that I'm going to warm it up in the microwave the next day and need a Tupperware She just says that I should just bring it in a styrofoam container. I still transfer my food to the Tupperware. This triggers her immensely and pretty much registers this as a personal attack. As I'm throwing the styrofoam container away, She grabs my Tupperware an empties it into the garbage disposal. then she looks at me and says "there that's what you get for being disrespectful"
I wake up. I realize it was just a dream and my boyfriend is sleeping next to me and I no longer have to deal with this.
However my heart is beating super fast and I start crying. To someone that has no idea what it was like being RBB they would think this is like the silliest dream. But it was the constant personal attacks, triggers where anything that was said or done was taken personal, and then making it about themselves and in turn hurting you when you had nothing to do with it. Living with someone with the BPD was like playing the game of Russian roulette everyday, shots were fired every day and you never knew how it would end. but every time shots were fired you were scared because you weren't sure if it was just going to be one of the many fights or it was going to be that one fight that left you drained for days on days on days. Living with someone with bpd meant that any normal and seemingly boring day or event could become a big issue, nothing was normal and nothing was calm. A night of ordering take out could turn into a humiliating event. No healthy loving human would just throw away perfectly good food that your child was saving for the next day because you didn't like the way they decided to store said food. I'm not a parent but I'll be damned if I would every imagine doing something like that to my children
I can't say this happened in real life but many things very similar to this (one day I plan to write a post where I share a lot of things but I know it's going to be emotionally taxing so I've been avoiding it)
If you read this far, Thank you. Thank you to this community and sending hugs to anyone that's still in it, I promise you it gets better.

Writer’s Note: The last of my trilogies of fan fiction. This is the full story, next part in the comments. Roles are pre-assigned based on the canon of the show; Arnie Niekamp plays Shroom, Adal Rifai plays Meemee, Brooke Breit plays Ari, Erin Keif plays Code. Enjoy!
_________________________________________________
Static starts
INT. EARTH BUNKER – AT SOME TIME
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN is sitting comfortably in an office chair, leaning over a desk, and checking a list. He seems fairly focused, hitting the pencil to his lips and cheek.
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Hmm let’s see…I have “make a sourdough starter”, “renovate the kitchen”, “learn an instrument”, “learn a language”, “read a book” and finally, “watch all Oscar Winning Best Films of each year” ...What else can I add to 2020 bingo of things people haven’t done?
While the list is being rattled off, there are background noises of different footsteps and shuffling, quickening as the Mysterious Man ends his list. A late 20s Asian woman, ANN, comes by the desk in a huff, aiming for the dials that change the frequency of the podcast. LINCOLN quickly followers her, reaching out his hands to stop her, but his efforts are futile. The Mysterious Man’s expression shifts back and forth between confusion and being pissed off.
ANN: (Politely) Excuse me, I just want to borrow this for a second…
The static gives various tones as Ann alters the dials.
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Oh, I’m sorry, does my shirt say, “I have nothing important to do, please feel free to touch my dials to another dimension.”? (To Lincoln) Seriously, who is this human?
LINCOLN: I don’t know. She just inserted herself into the bunker and my bosses don’t know how she knew about this place.
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Lincoln, remind me to get a thesaurus for you next gift giving holiday so you can understand there are better ways to phrase things. –Also, you’re telling me she isn’t one of your people?
Lincoln shrugs and the machine clicks. The static is lessened, and the tones are far more consistent. Ann stops scanning the dials. Her excitement is barely contained.
ANN: Ah HA! I knew it would have to exist.
LINCOLN: What exists?
ANN: Rule 63.
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Please, no one wants to hear a literal Bangin’ Buds story. That is the Russian roulette of a creator’s emails. The hosts probably regret nicknaming their fan fiction collection that too.
ANN: No, no. Rule 63: For every given male character, there is an equal female counterpart. It’s even on a preset on that channel.
The Mysterious Man leans down and squints to read the dials. He adjusts his face as if he has glasses.
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Channel 63…Genderswap World? I thought I blacked out the option with a sharpie.
LINCOLN: So, does this mean we get to listen to another transmission from a different Foon?
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN: Over my extraterrestrial body! I was hoping we would close off interludes when we finally got all the meat sacks back into their respective home dimensions. But you know what, why should I start caring about what you do with your limited time on Earth now? If you need me, I’ll be in the break room betting with the other drones here how many reusable k-cups have not been cleaned. My money is on three. (to himself) This better be the last one.
The Mysterious Man walks away from his desk, leaving Lincoln and Ann in awkward silence. They both kind of stare at the ground, waiting for the other to say something.
ANN: I’m Ann by the way.
LINCOLN: Lincoln.
ANN: …So, do you want to start it off? It’s been a while since I heard your voice.
LINCOLN: No, I’m good. I think I’ll get Tricia; she might be interested in this broadcast.
ANN: Okay…
Lincoln leaves and Ann lightly waves him goodbye. Ann hesitantly sits in the Mysterious Man’s chair and pulls herself closer to the microphone.
ANN: So…um…yeah…I guess…People of Earth? The following podcast is not real. So, if you’re tired of these non-canonical variants, this is the last one, I promise…well, I hope. But if you do like it, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!
INT. BAR - DAYTIME
MUNDLE THE GRUNDLE starts the musical intro, some bar noises heard in the background. Patrons move around the Vermillion Minotaur as the shot pans to a table where the human from another world, ARI, the shapeshifter, who is currently a small grizzly bear cub, CODE, and the slightly feminine USIDORE, the Blue Wizard, drink and do their podcast. Light live band music is heard in the back.
ARI: Hello from the Magic Tavern!
Mundle the Grundle trills
ARI (CONT’D): A weekly podcast from the magical land of Foon. I’m your host, Ari Niekamp. If you never listened to the podcast before, don’t worry, this is everything you need to know. Almost six years ago, I fell through a dimensional portal behind a Houlihan's, in Chicago, into the magical, fantastical land of Foon. Luckily, I’m still getting a Wi-fi signal from the Houlihan's, through the dimensional rift and I use that to upload a podcast, chronicling our quest to defeat The Dark Lady. And I’m joined by my co-host, Code, the talking grizzly bear!
CODE: AW YEAHHH HONEYYYYYY. Do you like my new catch phrase? I’ve been testing it out.
ARI: I do like it. It definitely fits with your bear motif.
CODE: I also have bear teeth. Ha cha cha. I mean, c’mon look at them.
Code opens her mouth, shoving her face by Ari’s face. Ari recoils slightly.
CODE: Schee! Schee!
ARI: Code, I get it. Can you move your mouth? Your breath smells like fish tacos.
CODE: (Backs away) A what?
ARI: It's like flat bread folded as if you made a V with your hands and it has fish. Could be hard or soft. The bread, not the fish.
CODE: Mmmm yum yum yum yum. But why would my mouth smell like that?
ARI: Wh-why would you stress the word “mouth”?
CODE: What do you mean? I always talk like this.
ARI: Nevermind. It has been a while since I heard you say all those yums. Can you remind me of some of the other catchphrases you have?
CODE: Well, I ran “Code’s up with that” to the ground. “Get Hard”, my one-time catchphrase, “Living up to the Code”, and, of course, “Let’s put that on a tank top!”
ARI: And I’m emailing the store to get our current shirt taken down.
CODE: What were they thinking, typing up “Chunt’s up with that”?
ARI: It’s one letter away from being too close for comfort. I mean, I’m okay with it, but it’s not exactly marketable.
CODE: But the “Ask me about my two buttholes” shirt is still okay, right?
ARI: Mmhmm. Somehow, it’s the best seller.
CODE: You know, I’ve been thinking about it; we really need to put new merch into the store. You did look good as Tika.
ARI: You mean when I was a tiki mug? I guess that might be an easy sell. But it feels a little hollow since I’m not the one being drank out of.
CODE: Okay, maybe that’s a bad idea if you’re just gonna make it sexual.
ARI: It’s not a sex thing! I just had a strong desire for people to drink me. It felt like my purpose.
CODE: Alright. Well, what about a stuffed bear? I mean, who wouldn’t want a face like this hanging around. OH, and I can have a tape box inside of me like that Teddy Ruxpin I pretended to be when we visited you on Earth.
ARI: That does sound like a fu-
CODE: OH! And we can put one in the stuff bear! It could say “Aww yeah Honey!” That will really get my new catchphrase going.
ARI: So, wait, you wanted a tape inside the real you? Why would you do that?
CODE: Well, I could take a slumber cup and fall asleep. We could put some standard phrases so I can participate in the podcast. It’s the perfect out! And, when I die, you can put sunglasses on me and bring me to the beach and host a party.
ARI: And how many times do we have to do this?
CODE: Once is probably enough, but definitely no more than two times. We can call it “Weekend at Bechtel’s”. Doesn’t that sound like fun?
ARI: Mmhmm. And on that note, I’m also joined by my other co-host, Usidore the Wizard.
USIDORE: I AM USIDORE! Wizard of the 12th Realm of Epothomia, Master of Light and Shadow, Manipulator of Magical Delights, Devourer of Chaos, CHAMPION OF THE GREAT HALLS OF FORMIYA TERRA! The elves know me as Fey’icia H’ghard, the dwarfs know me as Zappa Hoobastank, and I am also known in the Northeast as Goya Armani. And there are other secret names, secret names that, when uttered aloud, most assuredly, it would switch the genitalia of everyone on Foon.
CODE: And who wants to hear a whole episode about that?
USIDORE: Well, if we don’t constantly point it out, I’m sure it would be fine.
ARI: You know I should’ve said Hoogstandjes when you said Hoobastank.
USIDORE: Why would you say that?
ARI: Hoogstandjes is a band on Earth, but I don’t really want to talk about Earth stuff.
CODE: Well, you brought it up. Tell us, what kind of band they are like? What songs do they sing?
USIDORE: Yes, tell us.
ARI: Alright, there’s…The Reason, Out of Control, and… that’s it!
CODE: That’s it?
ARI: Well, I don’t understand what you want from me. I don’t really listen to them. It seems much more of our audience’s speed as I keep on getting emails addressing Usidore as Hoogstandjes.
USIDORE: Ari, why are you running away from more song names?
CODE: Yeah, I’m sure if you start crawling in the dark, you could find more songs.
ARI: Is that a song by them?
CODE: Baby don’t know. If I Were You, I would brush up on that knowledge.
ARI: That felt like a deep cut.
USIDORE: Ah. I-I do want to circle back to the store front. We need more Usidore shirts, or a poster with all my names.
ARI: You do have both with all your names.
USIDORE: No, it has the names I say as my intro. I have many other secret names. Wh-Why, we can fill a whole time. We can call it, Usidore: from A to Z. We’ll just leave out all the danger names.
CODE: Usidore, can I say one of the dangerous names you taught me?
USIDORE: I-I suppose, just nothing too destructive.
CODE: (whispers) Kugel Phalanges
A small rock materializes and drops on Ari’s head, nothing to cause a bruise. Usidore snickers a little.
ARI: Ow, hey…
USIDORE: Ha ha, if she had said it any louder, it would be a much bigger rock.
ARI: Usidore, I already told you-
USIDORE: -And I do love rocks.
ARI: (sign) I already told you, you can literally jumble words together and someone, at some point, has called you that. (points at Code) Case and point.
USIDORE: Name 5 of my names.
ARI: Okay, ummm Laurence Hathaway.
CODE: One.
ARI: Magoogala Simpaline
CODE AND USIDORE: Two.
ARI: That one guy.
CODE AND USIDORE: Three.
ARI: Umm…The Hateful Bitch
USIDORE: (flatly) How dare you.
CODE: Four. And Five?
ARI: Uhh… (mumbles under her breath)
CODE: Yup, that’s all five!
USIDORE: Now let me set the record straight-
ARI: Sure.
USIDORE: Laurence Hathaway is wh-what the wizard lawyers call me. Magoogala SimpaliNA, not Simplaine, is what the narwhals of Hi-Higgens Shore call me. Many people call me that one guy, but they cannot see my w-womanly figure. The fourth one was just cruel. And that last name is pronounced like this. (mumbles under her breath)
Ari tries to mimic Usidore’s mumbles.
USIDORE (CONT’D): No, no no. (repeats mumbles)
Ari tries once again to mimic Usidore’s mumbles. They keep going for a bit. Code also tries to mumble like Usidore.
USIDORE: Ah! Excellent, Code. See, Ariana, it is easy.
ARI: It’s Ari. And where was that rock name when we were running away from Baroness Ragoon’s soldiers?
USIDORE: Oh, it has a recharge time of a long rest.
ARI: And what constitutes a long rest?
CODE: Ari, I think you just go to bed.
USIDORE: In-in most cases, y-yes. BUT! This particular long rest is a cov-coveted secret.
Usidore looks around to make sure no one is around. She leans over the table and Ari and Code follow.
USIDORE (CONT’D): (low voice) Go down, deep into the depths of the dungeon, find the master, and tell him softly, “I need to take a long rest”. (normal voice) And if you have others with you on your quest party, they also must rest.
ARI: Isn’t that just a spell then?
USIDORE: Of course not, th-the golems of the Undermountain call me that. And we all say it together to greet one another.
ARI: Usidore, that’s just a greeting.
CODE: You know that last name was fun! We should do a whole podcast just saying- (mumbles)
USIDORE: Ah yes! (mumbles)
Code and Usidore continue to mumble to each other.
USIDORE: What fun!
ARI: Yup, perfect podcast content.
CODE: Yeah, and I can get on one side of the mic, and Usidore can get on the other side of the mic.
USIDORE: Oh yes, gives me the tingles on the back of my neck.
CODE: Like the sound my fur makes when you ruffle it up.
USIDORE: Let me conjure some spiced potatoes to eat. That should give this podcast that audible crunch.
CODE: Ooooo yum yum yum! Get me some too. And a tac-co!
USIDORE: What’s a taco?
CODE: Well, Ari says it’s like little flat piece of bread-
ARI: Code, Code, we are not a muckbang podcast!
CODE: Muckbang? What does that have to do with swinger swampmen and women having a blast! When I turned into a swampperson-
ARI: You were a swamp person?
CODE: Mmmhmm, wild nights!
ARI: We also have to order up some for a large party, because we have a few guests coming on today.
CODE: Great! Who do we have?
ARI: Well, we have some good friends that we haven’t heard from in a while and they heard about the tavern’s night event!
USIDORE: Oh yes, I did see the signs for ka-karaoke night. And you did tell us how, when you first came to Foon, y-you were heading to a karaoke night of your own?
ARI: Not exactly. For listeners who haven’t been around the last six years, I was on my way to Houlihan's for a quick lunch and saw that they had a karaoke night that night and I told myself I would come back later that day. And when I was about to drive away, I fell through a dimensional rift with my Toyota Sienna, and I was brought here. And I stumbled my way to the Vermillion Minotaur, where they also had a karaoke night, where I met Code and Usidore. If you really want to know more, just listen to the first episode.
USIDORE: Or the Five-Year Anniversary episode.
ARI: Or read the book published last year.
USIDORE: Or the graphic novel publishing later this year.
ARI: (smugly) Hashtag Shameless Plugs.
CODE: It saves on the exposition, and we all know what exposition ruins.
ARI: Listenership?
CODE: No, my appetite. I’m bear-y hungry.
ARI: Not even subtle. I thought you would go for one obvious joke, and you went for another.
USIDORE: Can you believe how deep my voice was in the beginning episodes?
CODE: You just really love those cough drops.
USIDORE: I still have some in my robe if you want to try some.
Usidore fiddles with her robes and pulls out a small satchel. She shakes it a little and it rattles.
ARI: That’s okay. Just keep your normal voice, okay?
USIDORE: Alright.
Usidore pulls some drops out of the satchel and chews some cough drops. Her voice briefly slips into the normal, canon Usidore voice.
USIDORE (CONT’D): Mmmm. More for me. (munches more)
Ari sighs.
CODE: But tell us who’s gonna be on with us!
ARI: Well, when I heard they knew about karaoke night, one of them was really excited to come and the other was like, okay. Please welcome Meemee the rat with human strength and Shroom, the mushroom.
CODE: We don’t have boys on the podcast that often. Mmmm Boys night!
ARI: (Flirty) Boys night!
USIDORE: BOYS NIGHT!
Little grunts are heard as MEEMEE tries to climb up the table. Meemee is a grey rat with Guy Fieri hair and a small needle as a sword by his side. He carries SHROOM, a Portobello mushroom, on his back. Shroom has a small nibble on the top of his head.
MEEMEE: Huh tut tut tut, hi, I’m Meemee.
SHROOM: What’s up?
MEEMEE: I am sooooo excited for karaoke. You guys have to Hear. Meemee. Sing.
CODE: Hear Meemee?
MEEMEE: Yeah! (sing songy) Mee mee meeeeeee!
SHROOM: And I’m pretty happy to be invited.
ARI: Hey, how have you two been? What have you been up to?
MEEMEE: Oh, Meemee is fabulous. To be honest though, this is my first time being out like this since Ari drank my girlfriend.
ARI: Yeah, I’m sorry about last time. I was just so thirsty.
MEEMEE: Ari, we’ve been over this before; you can’t keep drinking other rat’s girlfriends.
SHROOM: That sounds pretty wild.
MEEMEE: But you know, I am back. Been focusing on myself for a while now. I have tried some knight things, which was pretty fun. Meemee even got a promotion!
CODE: Oh, what kind of adventures have you been having?
MEEMEE: Well, I have an outrageous story where I pretended to be a poor rat, and that poor rat pretended to be a knight. Then I did tournaments, fighting with other knights, mostly jousting. There was even a ball where I almost got with a princess. Eventually, the whole crowd found out I was poor, but respected me as the knight I was all along.
ARI: Wh-I have so many questions. Ho-
CODE: Yeah, like did you participate in the summer? Like could you feel the Heath?
USIDORE: I presume you had a Ledger that recorded this information?
MEEMEE: Mmhmm, I got it right here. Let me see what I got:
Meemee pulls out a tiny little notebook and reads from it.
MEEMEE (CONT’D): It says, “ask me about my scars”, “I can’t quit you” …
SHROOM: Try checking under “The Dark Knight”.
MEEMEE: No, I’m not checking under “The Dark Knight”, you Joker.
SHROOM: Don’t give me 10 things to hate about you.
MEEMEE: That’s a little rude.
ARI: Can I just ask, how can you joust as a rat?
MEEMEE: Well, as a rat with human strength, I just-
Meemee mimics straddling a horse. He pulls out his sword and points it to the sky. The group closes in on the table to watch him go. Shroom rolls closer to the center for a better look.
MEEMEE: Hut ta ta ta ta tuh-climb up and- Hut ta ta- and there’s my lance. Meemee is ready to go.
USIDORE: What a wonderful graphic image you presented.
CODE: And I can even imagine the wind flowing through your luscious Guy Fieri hair!
ARI: Meemee, no offense, but you’re so small. How can you compete with the other knights?
MEEMEE: How do you think I always win?
ARI: You got a point.
CODE: And Shroom, what have you been up to?
SHROOM: Well, I’ve actually been having a rough time because of Usidore.
USIDORE: What did I do?
SHROOM: Did you not see the sizable bite mark on the rim of my mushroom cap?
Shroom turns his mushroom cap to the group to get a better view.
ARI: I never pegged you as a “cap” person.
MEEMEE: I thought it was a new haircut.
CODE: Yeah! The nibble works for you buddy!
ARI: But how is this Usidore’s fault?
SHROOM: Someone leaked out Usidore’s morglorb recipe, which includes bits of me-
CODE: Usidore, you use parts of Shroom?
USIDORE: Oh, he grows back.
ARI: But not all of him.
SHROOM: Actually, Usidore does take huge chunks at a time. I actually move by growing in the direction I want to go.
ARI: What?
CODE: Yeah, don’t you know how mushrooms work?
ARI: I mean, I kind of know how mushrooms work on Earth, but how do they work in Foon?
SHROOM: So, when I don’t have the luxury of someone or something picking me up and moving me, I secrete spores that-
MEEMEE: Ugh, you are the last person that I want to imagine “secreting “anything.
SHROOM: (Glares at Meemee) …so that spreads my fungus-
MEEMEE: EW EW THAT MAKES IT WORSE!!
SHROOM: -and I become the next iteration forwards. There!
USIDORE: Ah yes, and I use the parts left over in my morglorb recipe. It is-uh, the second main ingredient. (leans to Code) The first ingredient is Miracle Whip.
ARI: Can I ask, is Shroom…pubes?
SHROOM: Well, I wouldn’t simplify it as-
MEEMEE: Shroom is pubes.
CODE: Sounds like Shroom is pubes.
SHROOM: (chuckles discontent) Ha, you guys sucks.
ARI: And the bite mark?
SHROOM: Oh yeah. When everyone found out Usidore’s recipe, people tried to eat me, hoping to get high. I had to find somewhere dark where no one would find me.
MEEMEE: Shroom, you went somewhere dark and…dank? Sounds like a perfect place to find drug ingredients.
SHROOM: I’m starting to regret having you pick me up.
MEEMEE: Aw, I thought us together would make us fun guys.
SHROOM: We’re more like low hanging fruit.
USIDORE: (to Ari) I can still get you some morglorb if you’re interested.
ARI: Whoa, easy there, Walter White. I think I’m good without it.
USIDORE: Who is this Walter White? I cannot be someone who is white, for I AM USIDORE THE BLUE!
CODE: But let’s be clear, you’re pretty fucking white.
ARI: But it’s great to have both of you here! How did you two hear about the event?
MEEMEE: Well, I heard it from my tinder date.
ARI: Your what?
MEEMEE: My tinder date!
CODE: Oh Ari, let me explain; in Foon, a tinder date is when you schedule a tinder to come to your house and light a fire. You tell them where to light it by swiping your hand left or right. Does that make sense?
ARI: Mmmhmm
MEEMEE: And sometimes you fuck them.
USIDORE: And did you?
MEEMEE: A classy rat never kisses and tells. So yeah, I did. My ratty ass is on the rebound and on the prowl.
SHROOM: And I’m here for moral support.
ARI: Well, no need to be down on yourself.
SHROOM: No, I’m here to support Meemee. You know, be his Wing-shroom.
MEEMEE: Yeah, I’ll look better in comparison.
SHROOM: Ho-how is it that I’m the one still being dunked on.
ARI: Dunked?
SHROOM: Ugh, I don’t want to talk about Foon Stuff.
ARI: So Meemee, you’re back on the market again, good for you!
MEEMEE: Mmhmm, putting myself back out there and putting my best foot forward. And when I get up there, I’m going to sing my little heart out and My Heart Will Go On.
USIDORE: I believe there will not be a dry eye in the house. You’ll sink some ships with that siren song.
MEEMEE: It will be so good! the ladies will be throwing Roses at my door.
ARI: The door that can only hold one person?
MEEMEE: There’s no way a door can hold two people, not even if you shifted over a little bit.
CODE: Meemee, I’m really liking this vibe you’re putting out. Really a lot of BDE.
ARI: BDE?
MEEMEE: BDE stands for…Birds…dying everywhere.
USIDORE: (solemnly) Oh, I love birds…
MEEMEE: Yeah, it is to emit energy so powerful, you just kill all the birds around you.
SHROOM: Or you strut around like you have a Big Dick.
ARI: Ah, big dick energy…
MEEMEE: That’s what I got.
SHROOM: The energy of a massive penis?
CODE: But seriously, I want to get back in the game too! Code is back baybee! Make space on that sex tapestry!
ARI: Right, that’s still a thing.
CODE: I know it hasn’t been updated for a while, but until Eggy Baby comes back to me in the mail, I might as well strut my stuff. In Foon, we call it seagulling.
USIDORE: Ah yes, the act of seagulling. Where you c-call out into the room filled with people, find a f-fine gentleman or a lovely l-lady and scream “mine” repeatedly.
ARI: Is it like peacocking?
USIDORE: Why would anyone act like a peacock? They are the second most pretentious bird! Next to the fucking starlings.
SHROOM: Is it because we were talking about big dick energy?
ARI: Nevermind. Although, I am a little surprised that you want to sing, Code. I never pegged you for a singer.
CODE: Is it because I have a grizzly voice?
ARI: What? No! I-
CODE: Well let me tell you, Ari, I have a beautiful voice. And I don’t know what it is about this form, but wanting to sing is, like, a necessity.
MEEMEE: A bear necessity?
CODE: YES! A simple bear necessity.
SHROOM: There’s something about that that makes me want to dance.
CODE: Right!? (starts dancing) It just makes me forget all my worries and my strife.
ARI: Does that dance have a name?
CODE: My Beary Merry Dance?
ARI: Not a Baloo galoo?
CODE: I hate how smug you look right now. Why are you so smug?
MEEMEE: Yeah, a Baloogie Oogie sounds much more fun.
SHROOM: That just sounds like a booger.
CODE: Ari, didn’t you say that there is a Boo-ger King on Earth? And that they sell Woo-pers?
ARI: Mmhmm, it’s the leading competitor to McDoogles.
SHROOM: I could go for McDoogles and their famous Big Mick.
USIDORE: It sounds racist when you say it like that, Mushroom.
SHROOM: It’s Shroomie.
MEEMEE: Wait, is that really your name? I’ve been calling you Shroom.
SHROOM: Yeah, I-
CODE: Have we been calling you the wrong name this entire time?
USIDORE: It just sounds like a missed opportunity.
SHROOM: M-My name is Shroom! But I do like the name Shroomie.
MEEMEE: Hey, maybe I can move in with you in your little mushroom cave and we can shroom-mates? And I can call you my Shroomie.
SHROOM: I haven’t needed a shroom-mate since college.
USIDORE: I imagine your t-trail of self can be considered your roommates.
SHROOM: I guess I do have a little Shroomie hanging out with me from time to time.
CODE: Is that what you call it? Gross.
SHROOM: No No! -
ARI: I’m sorry, can I ask you something Shroom? Now for the last 6 years that I’ve known you-
MEEMEE: From the first time she threw you off from that cliff to now.
CODE: Yes, that did happen.
ARI: Well, I never knew you went to college.
SHROOM: Yeah, I went to the Eyes University, home of the bucks.
MEEMEE: That’s where you learn how to get to the Ohio State?
SHROOM: Mmhmm
ARI: Wait, all this time, you have an Ohio here in Foon?
SHROOM: Yup, it was a class where we got high. We would go “oh!”, then we’re high, and when we come down from that high, we go “oh…”
ARI: Oh…
SHROOM: Yup, just like that.
USIDORE: It is very similar to the wizard state. Here, watch! (mixes of mumbles and whispers) …chamber pots…among us…two dollars off next purchase...
Usidore continues to mumble while the rest of the group kind of rolls their eyes. In the back, OPEN MICHELLE starts prepping the stage and brings a piece of paper on a stool. The band in the back also starts to tune and set up.
CODE: Seamless.
ARI: Well, I think the signup sheet for karaoke is opening up, so why don’t we take a break while she’s in the wizard state and think about some songs that we can sing!
CODE: Oooo Oooo, I know the perfect song to sign you up for.
ARI: I have to sing, too?
CODE: Wait, so you were hoping that you got to be the asshole that doesn’t sing?
ARI: I don’t know any songs from Foon!
SHROOM: Why say “we” then?
ARI: I mean the royal we!
CODE: While I was Queen of the Bear, I took a royal wee.
MEEMEE: Look, it’s easy! Here, I’ll help find you a song, then maybe the ladies will get jealous that I’m already hanging out with a lady and go “Hey, hands off!”
ARI: Have you ever talked to a woman before? Like ever?
USIDORE: (more mumbles and whispers)-…bone, boot, ball, bell nuggies...
FADE OUT:

I've been watching a show on BBC recently where a few families are living in a re-created Victorian slum trying to get by and their relentless daily struggles to just stay alive and pay rent are mind-blowing.
The thing is that I find it increasingly easy to envision how in a hundred years people will look at our time in almost the exact same way of horror. Working 8 hours a day in a job most people don't particularly like or spending a fifth of a lifetime in a truly stupefyingly boring education system is by far not the worst our existence has to offer: We all walk around every day with a small but very significant and quite real chance that we have developed some form of cancer which we will notice too late and die of. People in the future will think how terrifying it must have been to live a whole lifetime while essentially playing a game of Russian roulette. In reality most people's way to cope is to just not think about it, just as people in centuries past apparently didn't think much about it. Same story with willingly getting into a car. Just like our ancestor's lives our existence is still dominated by the specter of possible death at every turn. Yeah we have smartphones and the internet and mostly live undeniably decent lives compared to previous generations now but if there is a demarcation in history books into some type of before and after "civilization finally triumphed" we are very unmistakably still in the "before" time. But I have hope and keeping up with tech and longevity news really gets me through the day in what I hope is my own little path towards longevity escape velocity. At 32 I feel I have a realistically decent chance to make it, I've known of Aubrey de Grey and SENS for around 12 years already and I'm rather happy to see how progress finally seems to be picking up pace.

Merry Christmas, Angel Hills. Merry fucking Christmas.
At least some of us survived it. I wasn’t sure that we would. And to be honest it wasn’t even me who saved us. I wish I could take credit for stopping the worst, most deadly serial killer of all time, but I can’t. And it doesn’t stop there. The serial killer is no longer on the loose, but now we have something much worse to contend with. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’ve been a detective for ten years, five of that in homicide. Twenty five years on the force.
Never have I seen anything even close to this.
How the hell do I even begin to describe what has occurred in this town over the past two weeks? The death and destruction that has been wrought by *HER*.
The pattern was unmistakeable, I realized quickly. A partridge in a pear tree. The first line of the classic song we’ve all known and sung since we were children. Only instead of a bird in a tree, it was the decapitated body of Mr. Partridge, a well-known and respected man in Angel Hills. He had been hacked to pieces, dismembered, and his body parts had been strung up like ornaments from the pear tree in front of his home. His decapitated head was placed atop it, the mouth stuffed with glowing Christmas lights, and the orbital sockets as well, so that his eyes stared glowing inhumanly out into the early morning light when he was found.
So it was described by Samantha Douglas, who found him on her morning jog.
Was it just a random murder, then? I wondered to myself. Motivated by nothing more than a name? My instincts told me to look deeper. It was rare for a motive to be so flimsy. There had to be something else to it. People don’t kill someone over their name. Not usually, anyways.
Mrs. Partridge had been tied up, drugged, and held hostage in her basement during the murders, but had managed to free herself. She claimed that her husband Jack had no enemies. The Partridges lived a quiet life in a quiet town, as did the rest of us up until now. So what changed?
The only leads were weak, and led to dead ends. Mrs. Partridge had vaguely accused Samantha Douglas’ husband of breaking their son’s arm in the past, saying that he had a temper. She also said Bob Douglas had looked angry at seeing her husband Jack Partridge in the mall, saying he went as purple as a sugar plum.
This did sound strange, I had to admit, and followed up on it. Bob Douglas was a round, red-faced man (at baseline, so turning purple didn’t seem like a stretch) about six and a half feet tall, and he did indeed appear to have a temper. I could hear him yelling profanities at his wife as she opened the front door to their home, telling her she was taking too long since I had knocked twice by that point. He was standing near the entryway and eyed me with a challenging glare before stalking away.
She looked surprised to see me, her eyes going wide at the sight of my badge. Her face looked red and blotchy like she had been crying and I saw the faint discolouration of an old bruise that had begun to fade now. An old black eye.
It was a minor thing that most people would ignore, but I found myself mentioning it nonetheless.
“I see you had a bit of a shiner there. Are you an amateur kickboxer or something?”
“Oh, this? Hah. No. Just, a bit clumsy that’s all. I bang into things all the time.”
I lowered my voice.
“My name is Detective Hudson. How are you doing? And I mean, really. Be honest, now.”
She glanced over her shoulder and chewed on her lower lip for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling as she pondered over something. A question she had asked herself before, maybe a hundred times or a thousand.
Her eyes focused on mine again and I saw the tears welling up in them as her lower lip began to tremble. But still she didn’t dare speak out loud.
“Listen, I’ve met too many wives whose husbands yell at them to answer the door when they’re standing right beside it. I know the signs. It’s okay, I’m here to help. And you don’t have to say anything. You can just nod your head, if you want. Now, I understand it’s difficult, but I want you to know you’re safe if you tell me he’s hurting you. Is he hurting you? We can help you if that’s what’s happening but you have to tell me, okay?”
She looked over her shoulder again, glancing at the closed front door of her home, debating. Her face hardened suddenly.
“No. I’m fine. We’re fine. Can I help you with something else?”
I sighed resignedly and decided not to push it any further. For now, at least.
“I’m here about what happened this morning. I understand you gave a statement but I wanted to follow up and talk to you a bit more.”
“It might be better if we go somewhere else to talk. My husband Bob, he’s… a bit… Well, he’s just not feeling very well today, that’s all.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping to speak with him as well, actually. I suppose that can wait and we can have a talk first.”
The interviews with both of them had led to little more than nothing. Although I could confirm Bob Douglas had a temper judging by his thinly concealed rage at my presence in his home that evening when I returned there. His answers were terse and intentionally vague. And the fact that he was violent I could all but confirm.
I put them both on the backburner and called it a night, thinking I would look with fresh eyes at the case the next day.
But things only got worse from there. And I had little time to spend on that first murder, after several more occurred the following day. One of those killed was our police chief, who I had known for decades. I vowed after that to find the person responsible, no matter what it took.
The pattern was clearly a twisted version of the song “12 days of Christmas” since the second day brought with it rampaging mutant turtle doves that kidnapped children and seemed to have death and destruction on their minds.
Then it was three French hens, which also seemed to be genetically mutated somehow. They grew rapidly according to reports, and seemingly against the laws of nature. There was some extraordinary evil at work, I realized then. And someone with a diabolical genius. But more than that, this was supernatural. Not just your everyday, ordinary serial killer.
There weren’t many potential suspects that fit that description. This is Angel Hills, after all, not some place out of a fantasy book. I didn’t know anybody who was capable of summoning such demons.
I thought of Mrs. Partridge and how she had been creating genetically modified chicken tenders in her lab. It was a project I learned she had been working on for years. If that had taken her years, though, I figured there was no way she could create the sorts of things we were seeing. Chicken tenders are a long way off from mutant turtle doves capable of carrying people away and hens that grow to reach the ceiling in a span of seconds. Such things don’t exist in science. We were looking for a sorcerer of some kind, not a scientist.
Then the following day, huge ravens began to circle and attack people, plucking out their eyes. The calling birds. By the fifth day I practically knew what to expect when we got the call from the family who had received mysterious packages beneath their Christmas tree in the night.
“Five gold rings?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yep,” said Sally, the receptionist after she hung up the telephone.
We were hemorrhaging police officers by that point. People were calling in sick, or just plain not showing up for their shifts.
We resorted to deputizing a bunch of people to the police force - community safety officers, crossing guards, neighbourhood watch leaders. We gave them guns and badges and told them to expect the worst.
And of course that was what we got.
Day six brought with it more bodies. Mutant geese and murdered cops and more paperwork. Then seven dancers wearing swan masks, crudely sewn together to form a giant snowflake, dropped from the sky by giant birds.
Following that was the massacre at Mr. Pilger’s dairy farm. Eight maids a milking, eight maids a murdered.
By that point I was so exhausted I could barely function anymore. I had followed up on a hundred leads, interviewed as many suspects and potential witnesses, and on top of that my own family had been killed now. I had lost a niece who worked at the Pilger’s dairy farm. The police station was made up mostly of volunteers and new recruits by then, and I was operating a cluster-fuck of epic proportions that would likely leave a shit-coloured smear on my record until the end of time.
The rest of them must have seen the house of cards beginning to wobble, because when I came in on day nine of the Christmas Killer’s spree, there was almost nobody left. They had all abandoned ship except for a few loyal officers and Sally, the receptionist.
People were moving out of town, just packing what they could fit in their cars and driving away. I couldn’t really blame them. When you live in a town this small, the idea of a ten person massacre potentially occurring the next day is enough to make you really consider the odds. Russian roulette is a dangerous game, and that’s what life in Angel Hills had turned into.
The phone call came in telling us that nine women were found dead. The local dance troop were clearly the nine ladies dancing. How had I not seen it coming? Was it just lack of sleep? Or maybe I was just getting old.
I think it might be that. Getting old. Because Mike Guffson the fucking thirteen year old skateboarder kid who reported the turtle dove attacks might have outdone me. He came in with his skateboard in hand, chewing bubblegum and blowing bubbles, and told Sally at the front desk that he needed to talk to me, pronto. I walked out to see him, overhearing from my office.
What now, I wondered. I brought him to talk in the back room so that the strangers in the waiting room wouldn’t overhear.
“Hey, just checking what’s going on with the whole murderer deal? You guys solve it yet?”
“No… Mike, was it? We haven’t solved it yet. You have something on your mind? What brought you down here?”
“Oh, right. Okay, look, maybe you know about this already. I mean, I hope you do. Because if not this would be kind of embarrassing for you. Getting scooped by a kid and all.”
He pulled out his phone and showed me the screen.
“A Partridge in a Pear Tree – Day One – Mystery in Angel Hills” it read. Then what followed was a transcript of the entire fucking interview I had with Mrs. Partridge following her husband’s murder. An interview conducted in the police station, mind you. There was even a note from the person who posted it online saying they had been sent the tape in a UPS package.
I knew it wasn’t one of my men who released the tape, which begged the question, who was it? Had the killer gotten into our computer system somehow?
“There’s one for every day. It’s all the murders that have been happening in town. They’re all here. One after another. So I guess judging by your face you didn’t know. Cool! Anyways, since that’s the case I figured I’d mention a couple things real quick. First of all, whoever called in the murders on the ninth day is definitely the killer. And whoever these ten lords are, they’re probably running the show by the sounds of it.”
I was dumbstruck. What the hell was he talking about?
“Dude, it’s all right here. Just read it and stop giving me that look, okay? The ten lords a leapin’ sound like bad mothers, though, so I’m gonna need you to hook me up with a sweet piece. Like a twenty two or – oh, shit! You guys got AK-47s and all that? Let’s get geared up man! We gotta protect the town!”
I spent the next few hours reading through and catching up to what the kid was talking about. It was pretty crazy hearing about the recent murders in your town as if they were some sort of entertainment. You people really are sick, you know that, right?
By the time I was finished, I realized that Mike Guffson was perhaps the best chance our town had of catching whoever was doing this. He seemed to have a handle on it more than any of us.
“So, what do you make of all this? The last one terrified me. The ten lords a-leapin’. I wondered what had happened that tenth day, because whatever it was didn’t show up on our radar. Now it makes sense. They just killed all the witnesses. And it sounds like whoever they are can hide in plain sight, which makes catching them a problem.”
“I don’t know about that. I think maybe that now we know about them, we just might notice them out there. Do you think they’re responsible for all this?”
“Could be. But if they are I don’t know what chance we have of stopping them. They have some supernatural abilities by the sounds of it. Leaping from building to building, never aging, disappearing without a trace. Yeah, these aren’t ordinary people.”
“What I can’t figure out is, what’s the motive? Like why is someone going to all this trouble? So I went and checked out the origins of the song. Did you know it was from all the way back in 1780? It was created in France and was sang as a memory game on 12th day parties, whatever those are. So I think to myself, 1780, 1810, 1840, 1870, 1900, 1930, 1960, 1990, 2020 – each one is thirty years apart. And what did that guy say? That these ten lords are appearing every 30 years. Can’t be a coincidence, right?”
“I doubt it.”
Finally, we had something.
“Sally, pull up the 9-1-1 calls from each of the people who reported a crime in relation to the 12 days killings. Maybe you’ve got something, Mike.”
He sat back and put his hands behind his head, stretching out his legs. The kid was clearly proud of himself.
“Don’t get too comfortable. I know you’re only thirteen, but you might be the best hope we’ve got right now. I want you to read through all of those again and see if you can find anything else of use. Can you do that for me?”
Mike Guffson pulled out his phone and quickly unlocked it, pulling up the Reddit app.
“You got it, chief.” He winced after that.
“It’s okay. I mean, technically I am the chief now, since I’m the senior officer. But I’m not gonna take that job unless I can solve these murders. And hey, I’m in charge so nobody can say shit about it.”
*
It was after that we realized who the voice on the 9-1-1 call was. The same woman who had called in after the ninth murder had also called in the first murder. Samantha Douglas.
She had tried to disguise her voice on the second call, made from a burner phone immediately following the murders. I still couldn’t understand why she would do that if she was involved. It was like she wanted to get caught.
We went to her house to question her about it, leaving Mike at the station with the protection of a couple remaining officers. I kept looking up to the rooftops to see if the Lords of Angel Hills were there watching us, but could see no one.
When we arrived at her house, we found the door unlocked, and entered after seeing spots of blood through the big picture window that looked into the living room. We drew our guns and entered to find a horrifying scene.
Bob Douglas had been murdered. His blood was everywhere, painting the room, quite literally. The message was clear:
“Two days left until Christmas! The summoning is almost complete!”
It was written in Bob Douglas’s vital fluids and his dead body lay on the floor in the middle of the room. His throat had been opened up and his body split open, with his organs removed. His hand was also missing.
Samantha Douglas was nowhere to be found. But we did discover something in a hidden compartment in her closet. A dark brown robe with a golden rope tied around the waist. It seemed to be her size and would not have fit her husband. There was also a mask with it. It had small antlers on top that appeared to be real. It looked like a reindeer’s face, fuzzy with fur all over it.
If not for seeing that robe, which we wouldn’t have found if not for Mike Guffson, I would not have noticed and subsequently followed the woman I saw driving a car two days later who appeared to be wearing something similar. Keeping my distance, I followed her to the outskirts of town.
The sun had set after an overcast day and it was darker than usual as night settled in. I turned off my headlights as she continued to drive and kept as far back as I could as she turned down a side road into the woods.
Deep forest surrounded me as I watched her taillights and continued after her, my heart beating fast and hard in my chest. I called in for backup but no one was answering. It was like the entire police force had just up and left after the events of the night before. Fucking cowards.
The eleven pipers had shown up as expected on the 23rd, although they disappeared before we were able to arrive on scene, and then the following night the twelve zombie drummers had caused their chaos, taking more lives to the chaotic beat of their drums.
And yet still it wasn't finished yet. I knew that much without a second thought. There was more trouble just ahead. The dark energy of it crackled and tingled in the air and on my skin like an impending thunderstorm rolling in.
After driving for what felt like hours, the woman stopped and I saw a huge bonfire. I kept back as far as I could while still able to see her, scared that my car would be visible in the light of the fire.
I got out and crept into the woods, my service revolver in hand. As I got closer I heard a voice speaking clearly to the others assembled in a circle around the pyre.
It was Mrs. Partridge. Samantha Douglas stood by her side, and I saw they were holding hands.
“-the time of summoning has come. It is upon us now. Lords of Angel Hills, the sacred numbers have aligned and with the winter solstice past he will be listening for our call. This is our time – one hundred and eighty years he has waited for us to bring him back. The sacrifices have been made again and again as he commanded. Oh great one – come forth with your sleigh and your steads. Bring us your gifts and your glorious hate. We welcome you with this, the heart of a hateful man. The final and perfect present to complete the circle that will become the portal you enter earth through.”
She held up a heart dripping blood, I assumed it was Bob Douglas’, and the others began to chant and spin around the circle in a dance while holding hands. Drums were beating steadily with no discernible source.
I saw symbols drawn in the dirt which surrounded the roaring fire: a tree with two birds and a pear, two doves, three hens, four birds, five rings, six geese, seven swans, all of the days from the song we had all sang since we were children. Offerings. Sacrifices.
“Come forth Eldritch Sana Klaus, and make your home on Earth. We welcome you with fire and blood.”
“Oh, hell no,” I said, stepping out of the shadows. “Put that shit down right now. Eldritch Santa ain’t coming, so put that human heart down on the ground, okay?”
I was pointing my gun at Mrs. Partridge but she didn’t flinch. She just stared at me. The ten lords of Angel Hills and Samantha Douglas all turned to face me and glared at me in the glow of the fire.
“You can kill me if you want, detective. But there’s no stopping HIM.”
She threw the heart on the fire and it suddenly flared up to the tops of the trees, causing me to leap backwards, terrified. I was far enough back to avoid it, but they weren’t.
The inferno grew hotter and brighter with white light as it consumed them in their robes and I could hear them screaming. But then I heard a new voice rise up as well amidst the cacophony.
“HO! HO! HO!”
The white-hot fire built in intensity and at the center of it I saw the shadowy form of something stepping through from the other side of a veil I didn’t know existed.
A pair of giant black horses, and then another, and another appeared from the fiery portal. Twelve of them in total, and a sleigh being pulled behind them.
The towering man appeared to be a cross between a pine tree and a person, his skin lined and rough like bark, although he did have human facial features and a long white beard. He was dressed in a maroon suit with white trim and a golden belt. Behind him in the sleigh he carried a huge sack, and inside I could hear people screaming and saw them writhing around and thrashing in terrified anguish.
“Oh, how I’ve missed this place. It’s too warm, though, I think. Time for some changes around here.” His voice was deep and bellowing.
He whipped his steads and the sleigh pulled him away from the fire and from me, and I was left in the freezing cold. All the warmth seemed to leave the air, leaving me struggling to return to my car, since my legs would barely move suddenly. The temperature plummeted and it would barely start when I got in. The heat turned up to full blast could not warm me.
It’s going to be a cold winter, folks. Count on it. Because Eldritch Santa is back.
[JG]( https://www.reddit.com/JGcreepypastas?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
[TCC]( https://www.reddit.com/TheCrypticCompendium?utm\_medium=android\_app&utm\_source=share)
[12DONS]( https://www.reddit.com/12daysofnosleep?utm\_medium=android\_app&utm\_source=share)

OK, so I got Final Fantasy X (+ x 2) Remastered a few months ago and I was really enjoying it, with it being the first FF game I've played. BUT.... some unexpected things started happening as I went further into the campaign.... and it wasn't good news. I'm not sure if I'm just doing things wrong (though I doubt I am in this case), but the bosses started taking out-of-left-field actions, including attacking or just making a move when the turn chart shows it shouldn't be their turn (in some cases, their row of turns is just extended in real time), breaking their attack pattern at random and using something I couldn't have predicted in any scenario, and at the point I'm at currently... using a magic spell that is basically a russian roulette on my party's end and can just.... INSTA-KILL ALL MY PARTY MEMBERS AT ONCE if the game fancies it! Is this normal in Final Fantasy?! Am I just becoming overly pessimistic? What the fuck am I overlooking?!

I’ve hesitated to write this post on fentanyl for awhile now for a few reasons. For starters, I didn’t want to seem to be abjuring responsibility for the events that led to my prison sentence. What happened was tragic, and I admittedly played a role in what transpired, however well-intentioned and unthinking.
If I’m being honest, in a world where this post gained traction, I fear that the following criticism of certain powerful entities would be harm my employment prospects 5 years from now than my criminal history.
Firstly, some eye-opening stats (as best as I can recall): deaths due to opiod (esp. fentanyl) overdoses number 50,000+ every year, or the total number of U.S. casualties in the Vietnam War. The opiod epidemic has affected every strata of society; unlike previous drug epidemics (e.g. crack), one socioeconomic class or ethnicity hasnt suffered alone. No one has been immune.
During the Bush/Obama years, for the first time ever in this country, the life expectancy for an entire ethnic group declined; in an unenviable bit of white privilege, whites committed slow-motion suicide via drugs and drink for the first part of the 21st century. (The situation for the white working class was exceptionally dire). They were also committing suicide-suicide at higher rates than ever.
As anyone deep into the drug world during the 2010s can attest, opioid deaths, particularly due to fentanyl overdoses, were a ubiquitous feature of the scene. I knew of half a dozen or so victims (friends of friends, etc.) before I even started dabbling in opiates. When I progressed to dope, it was like every single user I knew had OD’ed at least once from a fentanyl-laced pack. Even more shocking (in retrospect), no one batted an eye at this fatal fact, myself included; we jus kinda shrugged and accepted it as part of the bargain.
When I think of its unprecedented nature and staggering reach throughout society, the tragedy of fentanyl overdose deaths has become a (counter)cultural watermark for life in 2010s America, just like the acid trip and the expansion of consciousness was in the 60s.
The ongoing fentanyl epidemic in the U.S. is really a story in two parts.
The introduction of oxycontin domestically thru Purdue Pharma’s stunning duplicity is a commonly accepted origin point. But I think such a diagnosis is too facile. The American ruling class is truly the responsible party. They’ve relentlessly shat on citizens by enacting policies catering to special interests and global corporations, squandered the advantages of being the lone superpower during the past 30 years far quicker than anyone imagined.
The second part of this story tells of a foreign adversary far more bloodthirsty than any cartel: communist China.
But first, the cultural and political upheavals that that made the the U.S. populace susceptible to China’s predations.
Odd for a democracy, the American ruling class is largely composed of privileged individuals who loathe their constituents. Since the 90s, terrible trade deals, offshoring, globalisation, automation, and mass immigration resulted in a stagnant economy, (for the bottom 50%, it was moribund). There was little to no real wage growth for anyone not a corporate exec, and income inequality accelerated. (Trends that have reversed over the last 4 years.)
Americans then had their kids shipped overseas to fight wars in countries they never heard of; some came home maimed, many were shellshocked by their experience, and worse they didnt even know why. This convergence of events created for the existential dread Americans felt for the future; for the first time, they believed their kids would have a tougher life than they did. In a society that de-emphasized traditional structures like religion, they desperately needed emotional relief, courtesy of Big Pharma.
Egregious overprescribing remained common for most of the 2000s, and not jus painkillers, though. Every negative emotion suddenly found a pharmaceutical remedy. A case of the blues was reinterpreted as clinical depression. Kids with short-attention spans (I.e. kids) and lazy students were given low-grade meth. Anyone that went thru a hard breakup had a bottle of xannies to ameliorate anxiety. It’s crazy how easy it was to get a script for any narcotic in these halcyon days.
The sudden spike in overdose deaths from oxycontin (particularly the 80mg instant release formula) brought a slew of lawsuits and increased scrutiny, which caused the feds to overcorrect in prescribing guidelines. Law-abiding Americans who were denied their pain meds after years of use suddenly found themselves in the throes of withdrawal, strung out like any dope sick junkie.
They tried to get relief any way they could find it. For many, pills on the black market were much too expensive to maintain the habit they had developed under medical supervision. So they turned to the cheaper alternative: heroin.
However, it’s nearly impossible to overstate how deadly China’s intervention in this supply chain has been. A heroin epidemic is much different than an opiod epidemic. The margin between an active dose and a lethal one, already slim for heroin, is basically nonexistent for fentanyl. Meaning, the dose required to get high is nearly identical to the minimum dose that’ll kill you.
Fentanyl is not new, and for a long time, it was marketed and known as China White, which it still is. In fact, I think it’s at the center of the criminal enterprise in that famous Bruce Lee movie. But new technologies and recent policy have granted China a de facto monoply on fentanyl; the dark web has made widespread distribution both feasible and profitable. It’d be more accurate to say China invented the modern fentanyl market.
Fentanyl is not jus responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths; it’s also made the dope game much more lucrative for any enterprising, unscrupulous dealer without cartel connections.
Browsing any darknet market reveals scores of wholesale fent vendors based in China, selling small quantities of a gram to large ones of a kilo. (Any other vendor of the opiod and its analogues are just middle-men between the Asian wholesalers and American buyers: they simply put a huge markup– like 200%–on the wholesale price in exchange for faster, more reliable, and trackable shipping options.)
Considering their draconian drug policy and surveillance state, this Chinese monopoly hasnt resulted due to the ambition of enterprising criminal cartels; it’s tacitly supported by the Chinese government and encouraged by the CCP’s hostility towards the West. Unlike, say, Colombian cocaine, the production of fentanyl does not rely upon local plantlife, and requires highly sophisticated laboratories.
In fact, (per wikipedia), fentanyl is nearly impossible to manufacture in an illicit lab because it’s a notoriously difficult compound to synthesize. In comparison, the production of LSD is easier by multiple factors.
The implication being: Chinese fentanyl production occurs in government- or government-sanctioned labs. In fact, until the last trade negotiation with the U.S., fentanyl was legal to manufacture in China, designated a commercial product, instead of a narcotic. If I remember right, it was this specific term to the new trade agreement that the Chinese reneged on, which provoked the U.S. during negotiations.
In what is now a familiar pattern to anyone paying attention this past year, the Chinese government prohibited the sale of fentanyl domestically, while exporting death abroad. Chinese companies manufactured fentanyl, carfentanil, and other analogues with the tacit approval of the government, who classified it as some kind of consumer product rather than a pharmaceutical or narcotic. They then accessed a foreign customer base via dark web markets and sold it by the kilo thru these and other murky, illicit channels that utilized cryptocurrency for anonymity.
In short, the Chinese Communist Party is waging a sort of chemical warfare on the West by making readily available the most potent opiods known to man for pennies on the dollar.
A few years ago, you could find a kilo of fent going for a couple grand on the dark web, which is the kind of deal unscrupulous dealers salivate over. They could hit that 10 times over with cut and be left with a product still stronger than most street heroin, in a quantity with a street value of over a half million dollars.
If the U.S. were doing this to another country, there’d be social justice mobs condemning it as proof positive of our moral deficiency as a racist and imperialist society.
And yet…on it goes, year after year, 50,000 dead, and it barely gets mentioned on a national stage. I think Trump is the first politician to have actually said the word “fentanyl” aloud, let alone within the context of China.
What’s especially disconcerting is China’s brazen approach to this modern kind of chemical warfare. Theyre completely unapologetic about it; the legality of manufacturing fent is their worst kept secret. Their superpower aspirations find an outlet in causing cultural chaos in their main political rival.
But since dealers in the U.S. are the ones hitting their product with fentanyl, and American junkies love the potency, our leaders just shrug and never mention what’s happening.
I suspect this is partly China’s revenge upon the Anglo world for the Opium Wars a century or two ago. Britain’s unscrupulous business practices lead to widespread opium use among native Chinese, the country was essentially in thrall to the drug; it’s estimated this episode set China back generations.
But this has got me wondering, has the U.S. already ceded dominance to China? When the smoke clears from the pandemic and we can assess the facts soberly, will countries already value an alliance with China more than the U.S., which they see as a civilization in terminal decline?
And when I consider my own role in this epidemic, more as an unthinking actor drowned by a cultural tidal wave, I try to remember how I even reached that point to be in that position. America has a bad habit of imprisoning its drug users; it’d probably be more productive to ask what lead them to use drugs so destructively.
That person in my PSI seems foreign to me now, but both Jeff and me were afforded the upbringing of the upper-middle class. With all that privilege, why’d we risk it for a Russian Roulette of a high? Perhaps more damning, what sort of society have we produced where a sizeable proportion of us have already considered the risk worth it, risking death in exchange for an hour or two of worry-free, pain free euphoria?
www.easy-trouble.com

I’ve hesitated to write this post on fentanyl for awhile now for a few reasons. For starters, I didn’t want to seem to be abjuring responsibility for the events that led to my prison sentence. What happened was tragic, and I admittedly played a role in what transpired, however well-intentioned and unthinking.
If I’m being honest, in a world where this post gained traction, I fear that the following criticism of certain powerful entities would be harm my employment prospects 5 years from now than my criminal history.
Firstly, some eye-opening stats (as best as I can recall): deaths due to opiod (esp. fentanyl) overdoses number 50,000+ every year, or the total number of U.S. casualties in the Vietnam War. The opiod epidemic has affected every strata of society; unlike previous drug epidemics (e.g. crack), one socioeconomic class or ethnicity hasnt suffered alone. No one has been immune.
During the Bush/Obama years, for the first time ever in this country, the life expectancy for an entire ethnic group declined; in an unenviable bit of white privilege, whites committed slow-motion suicide via drugs and drink for the first part of the 21st century. (The situation for the white working class was exceptionally dire). They were also committing suicide-suicide at higher rates than ever.
As anyone deep into the drug world during the 2010s can attest, opioid deaths, particularly due to fentanyl overdoses, were a ubiquitous feature of the scene. I knew of half a dozen or so victims (friends of friends, etc.) before I even started dabbling in opiates. When I progressed to dope, it was like every single user I knew had OD’ed at least once from a fentanyl-laced pack. Even more shocking (in retrospect), no one batted an eye at this fatal fact, myself included; we jus kinda shrugged and accepted it as part of the bargain.
When I think of its unprecedented nature and staggering reach throughout society, the tragedy of fentanyl overdose deaths has become a (counter)cultural watermark for life in 2010s America, just like the acid trip and the expansion of consciousness was in the 60s.
The ongoing fentanyl epidemic in the U.S. is really a story in two parts.
The introduction of oxycontin domestically thru Purdue Pharma’s stunning duplicity is a commonly accepted origin point. But I think such a diagnosis is too facile. The American ruling class is truly the responsible party. They’ve relentlessly shat on citizens by enacting policies catering to special interests and global corporations, squandered the advantages of being the lone superpower during the past 30 years far quicker than anyone imagined.
The second part of this story tells of a foreign adversary far more bloodthirsty than any cartel: communist China.
But first, the cultural and political upheavals that that made the the U.S. populace susceptible to China’s predations.
Odd for a democracy, the American ruling class is largely composed of privileged individuals who loathe their constituents. Since the 90s, terrible trade deals, offshoring, globalisation, automation, and mass immigration resulted in a stagnant economy, (for the bottom 50%, it was moribund). There was little to no real wage growth for anyone not a corporate exec, and income inequality accelerated. (Trends that have reversed over the last 4 years.)
Americans then had their kids shipped overseas to fight wars in countries they never heard of; some came home maimed, many were shellshocked by their experience, and worse they didnt even know why. This convergence of events created for the existential dread Americans felt for the future; for the first time, they believed their kids would have a tougher life than they did. In a society that de-emphasized traditional structures like religion, they desperately needed emotional relief, courtesy of Big Pharma.
Egregious overprescribing remained common for most of the 2000s, and not jus painkillers, though. Every negative emotion suddenly found a pharmaceutical remedy. A case of the blues was reinterpreted as clinical depression. Kids with short-attention spans (I.e. kids) and lazy students were given low-grade meth. Anyone that went thru a hard breakup had a bottle of xannies to ameliorate anxiety. It’s crazy how easy it was to get a script for any narcotic in these halcyon days.
The sudden spike in overdose deaths from oxycontin (particularly the 80mg instant release formula) brought a slew of lawsuits and increased scrutiny, which caused the feds to overcorrect in prescribing guidelines. Law-abiding Americans who were denied their pain meds after years of use suddenly found themselves in the throes of withdrawal, strung out like any dope sick junkie.
They tried to get relief any way they could find it. For many, pills on the black market were much too expensive to maintain the habit they had developed under medical supervision. So they turned to the cheaper alternative: heroin.
However, it’s nearly impossible to overstate how deadly China’s intervention in this supply chain has been. A heroin epidemic is much different than an opiod epidemic. The margin between an active dose and a lethal one, already slim for heroin, is basically nonexistent for fentanyl. Meaning, the dose required to get high is nearly identical to the minimum dose that’ll kill you.
Fentanyl is not new, and for a long time, it was marketed and known as China White, which it still is. In fact, I think it’s at the center of the criminal enterprise in that famous Bruce Lee movie. But new technologies and recent policy have granted China a de facto monoply on fentanyl; the dark web has made widespread distribution both feasible and profitable. It’d be more accurate to say China invented the modern fentanyl market.
Fentanyl is not jus responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths; it’s also made the dope game much more lucrative for any enterprising, unscrupulous dealer without cartel connections.
Browsing any darknet market reveals scores of wholesale fent vendors based in China, selling small quantities of a gram to large ones of a kilo. (Any other vendor of the opiod and its analogues are just middle-men between the Asian wholesalers and American buyers: they simply put a huge markup– like 200%–on the wholesale price in exchange for faster, more reliable, and trackable shipping options.)
Considering their draconian drug policy and surveillance state, this Chinese monopoly hasnt resulted due to the ambition of enterprising criminal cartels; it’s tacitly supported by the Chinese government and encouraged by the CCP’s hostility towards the West. Unlike, say, Colombian cocaine, the production of fentanyl does not rely upon local plantlife, and requires highly sophisticated laboratories.
In fact, (per wikipedia), fentanyl is nearly impossible to manufacture in an illicit lab because it’s a notoriously difficult compound to synthesize. In comparison, the production of LSD is easier by multiple factors.
The implication being: Chinese fentanyl production occurs in government- or government-sanctioned labs. In fact, until the last trade negotiation with the U.S., fentanyl was legal to manufacture in China, designated a commercial product, instead of a narcotic. If I remember right, it was this specific term to the new trade agreement that the Chinese reneged on, which provoked the U.S. during negotiations.
In what is now a familiar pattern to anyone paying attention this past year, the Chinese government prohibited the sale of fentanyl domestically, while exporting death abroad. Chinese companies manufactured fentanyl, carfentanil, and other analogues with the tacit approval of the government, who classified it as some kind of consumer product rather than a pharmaceutical or narcotic. They then accessed a foreign customer base via dark web markets and sold it by the kilo thru these and other murky, illicit channels that utilized cryptocurrency for anonymity.
In short, the Chinese Communist Party is waging a sort of chemical warfare on the West by making readily available the most potent opiods known to man for pennies on the dollar.
A few years ago, you could find a kilo of fent going for a couple grand on the dark web, which is the kind of deal unscrupulous dealers salivate over. They could hit that 10 times over with cut and be left with a product still stronger than most street heroin, in a quantity with a street value of over a half million dollars.
If the U.S. were doing this to another country, there’d be social justice mobs condemning it as proof positive of our moral deficiency as a racist and imperialist society.
And yet…on it goes, year after year, 50,000 dead, and it barely gets mentioned on a national stage. I think Trump is the first politician to have actually said the word “fentanyl” aloud, let alone within the context of China.
What’s especially disconcerting is China’s brazen approach to this modern kind of chemical warfare. Theyre completely unapologetic about it; the legality of manufacturing fent is their worst kept secret. Their superpower aspirations find an outlet in causing cultural chaos in their main political rival.
But since dealers in the U.S. are the ones hitting their product with fentanyl, and American junkies love the potency, our leaders just shrug and never mention what’s happening.
I suspect this is partly China’s revenge upon the Anglo world for the Opium Wars a century or two ago. Britain’s unscrupulous business practices lead to widespread opium use among native Chinese, the country was essentially in thrall to the drug; it’s estimated this episode set China back generations.
But this has got me wondering, has the U.S. already ceded dominance to China? When the smoke clears from the pandemic and we can assess the facts soberly, will countries already value an alliance with China more than the U.S., which they see as a civilization in terminal decline?
And when I consider my own role in this epidemic, more as an unthinking actor drowned by a cultural tidal wave, I try to remember how I even reached that point to be in that position. America has a bad habit of imprisoning its drug users; it’d probably be more productive to ask what lead them to use drugs so destructively.
That person in my PSI seems foreign to me now, but both Jeff and me were afforded the upbringing of the upper-middle class. With all that privilege, why’d we risk it for a Russian Roulette of a high? Perhaps more damning, what sort of society have we produced where a sizeable proportion of us have already considered the risk worth it, risking death in exchange for an hour or two of worry-free, pain free euphoria?
www.easy-trouble.com

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