Maple bourbon pork belly burnt ends

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2023.03.24 07:33 Frame_Late The Conversation: An Interloper one shot

[February 3rd, 2137]
[Memory Article transcribed by artificial intelligence]
Isuf paced back and forth in his remote, private office, his talons clicking on the metal floor. He was ready and waiting; ready to speak to the most famous Arxur in the dominion, far more famous than any Prophet-Descendant. Dajur, Warmaster and Sovereign of House Koth. His name was spoken with fear and awe across the entirety of the Dominion, many countless Arxur seeing him as some near-mythical figure. It was hard for Isif to argue with those who saw him that way as well, since his achievements rivaled even the Slayer King himself: nine planets destroyed, tens of billions of prey enslaved, and over thirty thousand Federation warships turned to slag.
But that's not what Isif was worried about; he was worried as to why Dojur would even want a meeting. Isif was from a relatively inconsequential and insignificant clan, and his career was mostly quiet until humanity was discovered. Dojur, on the other hand, was… Well, he was Dojur of Koth. There was little more to be said about such an Arxur; his reputation preceded him.
Suddenly, he heard the thump sound of a skimmer craft docking onto the small station. There was arguing, then silence. Isif felt his heart leap into his throat, the idea of coming face to face with such a legendary figure filling his stomach with the icy-cold sensation of anxiety.
Pull yourself together Isif: this is the meeting of a lifetime. You need to make a good impression and find out precisely what such a famed Warmaster sees fit to bless you with their presence.
The arguing became louder, his guards obviously attempting to prevent Dojur from entering unimpeded. The fools couldn't possibly believe they could detain such a figure, could they?
Suddenly, the doors opened, revealing a massive Arxur clad in finely decorated powered armor, both eyes trained on Isif. He bared his teeth in a snarling smile, lips torn and scarred. He was old, older than Isif could imagine, and yet despite the visible signs of his age he was no less intimidating; to lice so long in the cruel and unforgiving world of Arxur politics and intergalactic war simply meant he was that much more dangerous. Next to him was a Gojid save holding what looked like a holo-pad, his eyes humorless and focused, his body thin but not malnourished. He wore a simple leather collar adorned with a holo-tag that simply read Karn, and two wristbands signifying his slave rank as being of an administrative caste. Most interestingly, the slave seemed to be gifted with cybernetics, most notably a small, almost unnoticeable scanner sitting just above the left eye, a small red dot blinking every few seconds. It was probably hooked up with multi-purpose software, but it was clearly also a recording device. Isif would have to hold his tongue.
"Warmaster Dojur, it is an honor to finally get you in person," Isif stated, mouth dry.
"Oh, but the honor is all mine, Chief Hunter. I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to humor me with such a… clandestine meeting."
Isif licked his saurian lips nervously before continuing. "So, how can one such as I work to further your plans, Warmaster; what could I provide you that others cannot?"
Dojur chuckled. "There is no need for such formalities, Isif; this meeting is much more personal in mature than you may have realized," Dojur scratched his chin absentmindedly, "That reminds me: Karn! Begin a recording session, and create several triple encrypted backups just in case."
The save nodded fully, his eyes almost glassy, but there was still some will left there that Dojur hadn't broken him of his individuality just yet. "As you command, my master," he stated, "Shall I send the encrypted copies to your private server on Vitruna?"
"An excellent suggestion, Karn; in fact, send a copy to Salralia as well."
The slave named Karn nodded and tapped away at his pad diligently before the cyber ware on his brow activated, the light switching from a flickering red to a constant magenta color, signaling that a recording began. The slave then stepped back and watched the two Arxur expectantly.
"Thank you Karn," Dojur said, his gratitude seemingly genuine. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes; business. I have a simple proposition."
Isif didn't respond, skeptical of anything that Donur could offer.
"I see you don't trust me: that's completely understandable. I wouldn't trust anyone either if I knew my time was so short."
Isif choked on his own saliva at that remark, bursting into a fit of surprised coughs. Dojur simply seemed amused. "What are you implying?" Isif asked, throat sore from coughing.
Dojur chuckled again. "I keep forgetting that you are not as experienced in the ways of treachery as someone like me would be. Since that isn't the case, I'll be frank with you; your story is about to come to a tragic end."
Isif reached for his blade but faster than he could even register it happening Dojur disarmed him by grabbing and twisting his wrist so that Isif's blade clattered to the ground. His guards surged forward, but Dojure unclipped the gun from his belt, a heavy eviscerator pistol, and aimed it at the guards. "Tell them to leave, or ill paint the walls with their blood."
Isif hesitated, but Dojur did not. He fired his gun, killing the first guard in a heartbeat, the depleted uranium slug turning his skull into mush. The second guard backed away, his halberd wavering. "I will not ask again, Isif; tell them to back down. I am perfectly capable of slaying the remaining seventeen Arxur guards on this station effortlessly."
"Leave us," Isif shouted to the other guard, who did not hesitate in leaving.
"Smart choice," Dojur responded. "Now, I am going to speak, and you are only to speak when spoken to. Is that clear, hatchling?"
Isif nodded, fear gripping at his heart. Dojur's grip softened, and eventually, it was relinquished from Isif's wrist.
"Good. Now, the first and most important topic to discuss; your life has been rendered forfeit thanks to Giznel. Three days ago, your death warrant was signed. I had planned on meeting with you before then, soon after your conversation with him, but that sped things up. If my agents are correct, then you have less than a day to live."
Isif swallowed. How could Giznel do such a thing? He had entrusted Isif with handicapping the humans after Shaza's failure at Sillis. Why would he suddenly turn around and backstab Isif?
Dojur snorted at Isif's clear and uncompromised shock and betrayal. "If you didn't know this was inevitable, then you are a fool. Giznel has no desire to keep capable Arxir on his roster of underlings, and your ability to work with the humans to some degree of success proved that you are indeed capable in your own way. That, along with your infatuation with these unpredictable primates makes you a threat to his rule. I don't know what he told you, or what he plans with the humans, but it will no doubt end with either the complete subjugation or extermination of humanity."
Isif's blood froze at that. "How do you know?"
At this question, Dojur laughed bitterly, his own shade of betrayal blooming in his reptilian eyes. "Because they challenge the status quo; they are some of the most proficient warriors in the galaxy, yet they are capable of empathy. They have no claws or fangs, but they dominated their planet. They single-handedly brought the ways of the galaxy to a screeching. Giznel fears them, that they'll rid him of his power. I understand your infatuation with them, Isif; in fact, I share it to an extent. Their ferocity and bravery are admirable, and they have more than proven themselves to be worthy allies."
Isif couldn't help but agree. These humans were a wildcard, but also potential game changers.
"Second of all, what did Giznel speak to you about?"
Under any other circumstances, Isif would've kept his mouth shut. But Giznel had signed his death warrant; there was no longer any reason for Isif to honor Giznel's word.
"He told me… He told me that the Northwest Bloc during the great war killed our planet's cattle, not the Federation. The Prophet and his descendants are the cause of our people's starvation."
Dojur's hulking jaws clenched, and his eyes dilated dangerously. "Truly? That damnable prophet is the one who reduced our kind to mindless beasts?"
To hear those words come from the mouth of Dojur was shocking. He was a direct product of betterment; the perfect Arxur. To see him scorn the very ideals that created him made no sense.
But then again, neither did Dojur's actions. Sure, the way that the many Houses functioned compared to the Clans could seem alien at times, but Dojur's unique and downright heretical philosophies were a step to far for many. He treated his slaves with some semblance of dignity, granted them privileges that most other clans and houses wouldn't dream of, and bred discipline into his soldiers beyond compare. When lined up against the average warrior from a clan, a warrior from House Koth was practically a demigod. Dojur's ways were both successful and oddly… Human in a barbaric way. He was like the brutal, militaristic Arxur of the past, and not the savage and animalistic Arxur of the present.
"It seems impossible to me, yet at the same time I am ashamed for not accepting such a truth. The idea that the prophet would do such a thing… It seems beyond the logic of his own teachings. It breaks the system that he claimed works."
Now that made no sense. "What? How? The Prophet was cunning in that instance."
Dojur laughed. "Don't start that nonsense with me, you hatchling! The fool failed to execute his plan in a meaningful way and was incredibly lucky in the end. No, if he was true to his words, he would've fought the Morvim charter fairly, as I do with my enemies. Yet he cowered behind his warriors and flung bioweapons at his own people like prey."
Isif hadn't thought about it like that. Dojur was right, in a way; to prove who is the perfect arxur, one would have to test every skill and ability, rather than just cunning, and in the end, even the cunning of the prophet was obviously lacking if he starved his own people.
"What else? That cannot be it, Isif."
Isif gulped. "He started that Betterment and the Koloshians and Farsuls have been working together to keep the war going on forever. Giznel stated that it was to keep the struggle going eternally so that the perfect Arxur could be created."
At this moment, Isif feared for his life more than ever before. In a shout of rage, in an act of herculean strength, Dojur picked up his seven-hundred-pound titanium desk and flung it across the room like it was made of cardboard. It slammed against the wall, creating a deep dent and bending the desk at an unnatural angle. Dojur then calmed himself, taking deep breaths and regaining his composure.
"Forgive my outburst, Isif; I'll reimburse you for the damages."
"Nonsense," Isif croaked, terrified. Dokur simply chuckled.
"It is natural to be fearful, Isif, but you have nothing to fear from me. Now Giznel, he will rue the day he emerged from his mother's disease-ridden cunt."
Isif didn't respond.
"You know what hurts the most, Isif?" Dojur asked, his back still turned from the terrified Chief Hunter. "Twenty-five years. I dedicated nearly a quarter of my life to fighting the Federation. I glassed entire planets, broke impenetrable defenses, and risked life and limb so that the Arxur could take their natural place in the universe as the Apex predators. And to find out that the game was rigged from the start; to know that Giznel was always working with the damnable prey, to know that it was all a ruse to maintain power… I feel like I just aged another twenty-five more."
Isif still remained quiet, waiting for Dojur to finish his speech. "I sacrificed beloved friends, lovers, even children because I trusted that Giznek believed the war was winnable. Now I know he simply seeks to starve those below him so that he can keep them too hungry to think critically."
Now Isif spoke. "But why? Why not make us stronger so that we may compete at our full potential?"
At this, Dojur snorted. "Because Giznel doesn't actually care about the prophet or his teachings; he cares about power. Giznel breaks all the rules by refusing to compete and rigging the game so that at the end of the day he will always end up as the one with the full belly and the comfortable life. The true Prophet is dead, his bloodline has been dirtied and disgraced for generations, and his teachings are empty and meaningless. Now it is our time to take up the mantle."
Before is if could speak, Donur interrupted him. "If you survive the assassination attempt, prepare for the worst. Fill the bellies of your soldiers, negotiate with the humans, and prepare for war. I shall fight my own war on my own front soon, and together we shall break Giznel and his lapdogs, and I will personally flay him alive. And you shall join me at my side, and I shall become Donur, Sovereign of All. I will build a great and terrible army and I shall assail a thousand worlds in my quest to bring down both the Federation and the Dominion alike, and I shall remake the galaxy in my image.”
Karn watched from the corner, his frown ever vigilant on his face, his eyes trained on Isif like those of a robot. He might’ve retained some will, but much of his original personality and beliefs were likely tortured and starved out of him, if not worse. Isif noticed the scars and carvings on his flesh and the branded symbol of the twin thorned hounds of Koth burnt deeply into his chest. He saw the collar on his neck and the fine jewels that adorn his body. Isif had heard that Dojur spoke about seeing the Gojids differently, but he didn't quite believe it: This Gojid was obviously favored by Dojur, and yet he still obviously went through untold suffering.
Isif clenched his jaws at the mental picture: Wriss being blasted to slag from orbit, armies of House Koth warriors storming hundreds of Federation and Arxur worlds, billions enslaved and shipped back to Vitruna and Salralia, and the downfall of the Federation and Dominion alike. But worst of all, he saw the last and final destruction of Earth: The humans he had grown to appreciate would not stand for Dojur and his ways. Yet if he were to succeed, then there would be no more know enemies to conquer; the galaxy would be under Dojur’s heel, and he would truly fulfill the prophecy of the Slayer King. Part of it elated him, knowing that Dojur was better than Giznel and The office of Betterment. But much more of his soul wept, knowing that what the galaxy might just lose would be much worse.
Note written on April 17th, 2139
I never knew just how far Dojur was willing to go once he found out the truth of the Dominion’s pact with the Koloshians and the Farsul. His anger… I had never seen anything like it. Perhaps he truly was what he was rumored to be; the Slayer King reborn, an Arxur ascended to godhood after a lifetime of heroism and conquest.
But what concerns me more is that I cannot follow in his footsteps, even if he is the prophesized one. The UN will never put up with Dojur and House Koth; the humans see themselves as the beacon of hope in the galaxy, the one race that will correct everything, the suture to mend the seeping wound that separates the galaxy into two festering infections. Dojur will not allow them to treat many of the prey as equals; he might be more open-minded about the Gojids and the Harchens than betterment ever would be, and he shares my appreciation for humankind, but he will never be willing to extend that to the gentler races. They shall become subjects at best, and slaves at worst, and there may be nothing I can do about it.
Now I can only hope the rest of the galaxy is ready to counter him when he strikes. If not, I weep for what could have been.
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2023.03.23 21:17 Jabinpostal Pineapple Pork Belly Burnt Ends Recipe - Smoked Pork Belly on the BBQ

Pineapple Pork Belly Burnt Ends Recipe - Smoked Pork Belly on the BBQ submitted by Jabinpostal to BBQ [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 21:17 Jabinpostal Pineapple Pork Belly Burnt Ends Recipe - Smoked Pork Belly on the BBQ

Pineapple Pork Belly Burnt Ends Recipe - Smoked Pork Belly on the BBQ submitted by Jabinpostal to grilling [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 21:16 Jabinpostal Pineapple Pork Belly Burnt Ends Recipe - Smoked Pork Belly on the BBQ

Pineapple Pork Belly Burnt Ends Recipe - Smoked Pork Belly on the BBQ submitted by Jabinpostal to smoking [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 19:04 OrangeSpaceProgram The Battle for the Blue Planet Part 6: At What Cost

Cracked 5000 words on this one. Enjoy.
Warning: Suicide.
<<First <Previous Goodbye

Ships from the Home Fleet descended on the Red Spark like a pack of hungry wolves when they found her adrift. Human and Dlamisan medics were the first to board and immediately began a medivac of the wounded and dead to the fleet’s hospital vessels. Next came the engineers. Almost every ship in the fleet sent their best and brightest to the Red Spark to keep her space worthy. In mere hours her engines and hull were repaired. Then as suddenly as all the help arrived, they all left.
Down on the planet, there was a titanic rescue effort going on. Cities and towns had been struck by falling debris and everyone able was ordered to assist in the operation to save as many lives as possible. Unfortunately, that meant that for the next several days all comms traffic was dedicated solely to emergency response as most of Earth’s communication satellites had been destroyed in the fighting. Communication with friends and family had to wait. But fortunately, the celebration on the Red Spark didn’t.

Deep in the belly of the Red Spark laid a bar. A bar not made of metal alloy like the rest of the ship, but more like something you’d find in one of the old cities of Earth. The walls were paneled with wood from the worlds that the Red Spark had visited, giving the bar an almost plaid-like pattern. Against that plaid wall laid nearly a dozen restaurant-style booths with their wood paneling being almost as varied as the room itself.
As stunning as the rest of the room was, it was nothing compared to the bar that filled the center of the space. It went nearly from wall to wall before curving in an L shape, making it seem like it stretched for miles. Nearly a dozen different woods from the Dlamisan homeworld made up just the countertop. Each wood on the countertop seemed to correspond with the wood of five stools that were carefully matched from Earth’s native trees. In all there were nearly seventy stools across the bar, which combined with the booths would total just enough seats for the entire crew of the Red Spark. Sadly, the entire crew of the Red Spark would never fill them again. Instead, the only ones at the bar counter currently were three crewmembers. Sunny, McCoy, and the bartender himself.
McCoy Sat down next to Sunny and looked at the bartender who was still righting bottles, glasses, and other utensils that were knocked about during the fighting. He made to speak up and order when suddenly the bartender turned and stared at him. McCoy had cleaned himself up since the battle. No longer was he sporting a blood-soaked uniform that covered an equally drenched set of fur. He was wearing what could only be described as a pirate’s best. But despite his fine wears Jack’s gun could still be seen poking out from his pocket.
McCoy opened his muzzle to place his order to the staring bartender, “A scotch, please. And not just that stuff we keep around for mixing with those human sodas. Let me get a glass of the stuff from before the war.”
The bartender had gotten a good look at McCoy and noticed the shape of the weapon and handle poking out of his pocket. So instead of turning back to the bar and making the requested drink, he instead pointed his hand to a sign hanging up on the wall behind the counter. “All weapons must be turned in before receiving service.” Apparently, there had been an incident several years prior where some humans and dlamisa were bored and tried to use plasma pistols on low power rather than darts on one of the bar's two boards. Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well the burn marks that still hung on the wall proved it. The bartender never forgave the incident and forced all his patrons to hand over all their weapons before being allowed to drink, on pain of sobriety those who dared not to obey.
McCoy not wanting to make a fuss reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol, he looked at it mournfully before setting it on the counter for the bartender to take. Professionally the bartender picked up the weapon, cleared it, and took it to a secure back room hidden from view of the bar.
While both the bartender and McCoy had handled the interaction with silent professionalism, Sunny hadn’t. She had been one of the few officers gifted with one of those weapons and was shocked to see McCoy had one in his possession.
Picking her jaw up from the countertop she asked the question that seemed to have been overlooked by the bartender. “McCoy, where did you get that gun?”
McCoy looked at Sunny and took a deep breath he spoke, “It was Jack’s. It’s mine now. That’s all that matters.”
“McCoy he wouldn’t have given that gun up to anyone less than his mate! Not to mention that he still wouldn’t do it so long as he could still breathe!” Sunny interjected, apparently not satisfied with his previous answer.
McCoy in response just looked at the bartender as he returned from storing the mentioned firearm. The bartender cocked his head in an unspoken question that McCoy answered with a small nod. The bartender then turned and made the medic’s requested drink before looking at Sunny.
“McCoy and Jack are mates. I’m not aware of the specifics, but they’ve been together for several decades at this point,” The bartender explained.
“Were mates… We were mates… He was the first to die, and he did it in my arms,” McCoy muttered, correcting the bartender.
“McCoy… Why didn’t you tell me you two… We’ve been friends for…” Sunny stuttered out before taking a breath, switching to Enkanti. “To say I’m sorry for your loss would not be a suitable response. You’ve been my friend for so long, you deserve better than that. Whatever you need I am here to provide,” Sunny said staring at the depressed medic.
“The only things I need are a few more of these,” McCoy said swirling his glass before continuing, “And a bottle to take back with me,” he finished huffing in sarcastic amusement.
“Then whatever you want I’ll pay for. I’m not leaving you to drink alone,” Sunny responded, putting a paw around the medic’s shoulder.
“Nobody here is paying for anything. My bar is open. Anything you want is yours, even from my personal collection if you’d like,” the bartender said switching the conversation back to English.
“Thank you both, as enticing as it sounds I’d really just like to finish this one and take a bottle back to my office. I need some time alone…” McCoy trailed off.
Sunny hugged him a little tighter before responding, “That’s ok McCoy. Both of us will be here for you whenever you’d like to come back.”
So there the three sat in silence for nearly an hour as they each downed their respective drinks. Eventually, McCoy found himself staring at an empty glass that was held in his shaky paws. Sunny and the bartender watched him as he carefully set the glass down and made to get up from the bar.
“Can I get that bottle now? I feel like it's time for me to go,” McCoy said quietly.
“Of course, you can,” The bartender responded before reaching up to the very top shelf and pulling down an old unmarked bottle of brown liquid. “Scotch from before humanity played with Nukes. Same brand as the one we had back when we first met,” He finished, gently placing the bottle in front of McCoy.
McCoy carefully picked up the bottle and stared at the bartender. Thoughts raced through his head as he felt the weight of the bottle in his paws. Every memory he had with the pair across from him flashed in front of his eyes. Every happy and sad day blended together in one long stream before abruptly ending as the bartender reached over the counter and wrapped up McCoy in a hug that felt strong enough to bend steel.
“Thank you. Thank you both,” McCoy said nodding to Sunny and the bartender before continuing. “One last thing before I go. I need Jack’s… no, my, gun back.”
The bartender’s eyes fell and his small smile turned into a deep frown. It seemed like he hoped McCoy would have forgotten. Quietly he got up and went to the back room to go fetch it. Seconds turned to minutes as the bartender still hadn’t returned with the gun. McCoy briefly began to consider getting it himself before suddenly the bartender returned holding the small silver weapon.
He placed it on the counter and slid it across, never taking his hand off of it. McCoy grabbed for the weapon, but it didn’t budge under the hand of the bartender. McCoy was about to ask why when the bartender suddenly began speaking.
“McCoy, promise me something,” He said.
“Promise you what?” McCoy responded, confused.
“Tell me if there’s anything I can do to convince you not to pick up this gun,” The bartender said almost pleadingly.
“...No,” McCoy muttered after a moment of silence.
“Please don’t make me regret this,” The bartender begged.
McCoy pulled his eyes off the gun and looked at the concerned bartender in front of him and answered, “It’ll be ok…”
The bartender then silently lifted his hand off the gun and watched as McCoy put it back in his pocket. No more words were exchanged between them, but a feeling of finality filled the room as McCoy turned to head for the door.
Sunny was confused at what she had just witnessed. The conversation between the two made nearly no sense to her. She was just about to ask the bartender what the hell they had been talking about when suddenly the door to the bar opened and in stalked a very angry Bonny. Her eyes immediately locked onto McCoy who was trying desperately to make himself look small. His ears were down and his tail wrapped around his legs, but still, he tried to maintain some kind of bearing and gave a sloppy salute. That seemed to make Bonny even angrier. Her tail lashed back and forth behind her as she stared at McCoy from just inside the doorway.
“Drop the gun McCoy,” she growled out.
McCoy stood up a little straighter and placed the precious bottle on a nearby table. “Why? What’s the issue?” He asked, feigning ignorance.
“Why!? WHY!? DO YOU REALLY THINK AFTER ALL THIS I WANT TO LOSE MORE OF MY FRIENDS?” Bonny barked out angrily, before taking a deep breath, settling herself. “Cookie told me about your plan McCoy, it’s over,” she finished.
McCoy shook and panted nervously as he slowly stepped back from the captain. “Please Bonny, I can’t do it anymore. Too many bodies, too much loss. I just can’t do it. My mate meant everything to me, Bonny,” McCoy stuttered as he reached into his pocket.
“Mate? You and Jack were… I never thought…” Bonny muttered, just as shocked as Sunny that they’d managed to hide that information from her and the rest of the small crew.
“We were going to tell you. Just as soon as we had saved enough to leave. He and I planned on making a new life together. It's all I’ve thought of for decades Bonny! Now he’s gone and so is our future,” McCoy said, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper as finished.
“You can make a new future McCoy! We’ll all help you do it,” Bonny begged.
“A future without Jack isn’t a future I plan on being a part of,” McCoy spat out drawing the gun from his pocket.
McCoy closed his eyes as he raised the gun, stopping only when he felt the cool metal of the barrel under his chin. His finger wrapped around the trigger and felt the roughness of the metal against his paw pads. As he began to squeeze he felt a sudden pain in his chest and then all of the sudden the world went tumbling.
Sunny slammed into McCoy like a golden bullet. She let out a howl as she made contact with him, sending the gun clattering to the feet of Bonny Red. The small communications officer was crouched atop the medic as he struggled to break free. Sunny was not having it and pinned McCoy's arms to the deck and stared into his eyes. His eyes displayed the pain in his heart, and this time Sunny didn’t miss it. Clinging to his arms Sunny let loose a sad howl that echoed through the halls. Briefly, McCoy fought, but it became quickly apparent that Sunny had the upper paw and was not going to lose it
The bartender walked out from his station and sat down on the floor next to McCoy’s head and began scratching the ears of the struggling Dlamisan who stilled quickly. He seemed about to speak before Sunny interrupted.
You don’t get to leave me like this,” barked Sunny with a growl that turned to a near whisper as she continued, “We love you, I love you. You’ve been my friend for over a century. That’s not something you get to just walk away from.”
The bartender piped up as he scratched just behind McCoy’s ears, “She’s right bud. You mean the world to us. Every day you’ve brought joy to the folks around you. Losing you would hurt us too,” He said as he slowed his scratches, pausing in silence before resuming, “It hurts now, I know. It’s going to hurt tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. It’s going to keep hurting for a long time, but the hurt will change. It will get easier my friend. Some day the pain will become bearable enough that you’ll stand on your own again. Until then you have us here to help you. I know we’ll never fill the hole left behind, but we’re going to do our best to try,” The bartender finished speaking and returned to his gentle scratching.
Bonny Red picked up the gun from the floor and set it next to the bottle before kneeling next to the still-pinned despondent medic. Motioning Sunny off of him, sending her and the bartender away, she leaned down and grabbed McCoy in a hug, pulling him off the ground and leaning him back against herself. Not unlike how a parent would hold a child on their lap, except the ‘child’ was a Dlamisan scout medic, and the ‘parent’ was a brightly dressed pirate captain.
“McCoy back when we decided to leave the empire, you were my rock. You sat with me just like this as I grieved over the crew that died. You even stood by me as I proposed obtaining the Red Spark. You’ve been behind me for every tough decision I’ve ever made. Now, I’m here to stand behind you,” Bonny said, leaning back onto the wall.
There they sat together on the floor until the bartender returned. In his hands were four glasses which he gently set on the ground, one glass for each of them. He then reached over to the table and grabbed the bottle of scotch, cracking it open. Pouring deeply into each glass, he corked the bottle and took a seat next to Bonny and McCoy, prompting Sunny to do the same on the opposite side, sandwiching the two between them.
The four didn’t move for nearly an hour as they reminisced over time long gone last. Even McCoy managed to join in as the bottle slowly drained. Eventually, the bottle ran dry, but no one wanted to risk the fragile feeling of satisfaction that had slipped into the room, so they continued to talk for some time. Tears were shed by those who could, hugs were exchanged, and in between all the misery, some laughter began to break through.
The first giggles came from Sunny after she tried to stand up too quickly and lost the battle with booze and gravity, coming back down across the laps of the three who remained sitting. Her small huffs of laughter only increased in volume when the bartender began scratching her head, causing her tail to begin wagging. It wagged so hard it smacked straight into the muzzle of Bonny Red making her start huffing with laughter. Sunny’s tail rapidly became a projectile, smacking into both Bonny and McCoy as it sped up. Even McCoy wouldn’t help, but let out a small huff at the absurdity of the situation as his friend’s tail battered him and the captain while Sunny was happily getting her head scratched.
But all good things come to a close, which was made apparent when Bonny’s datapad chimed alerting her to a message from the bridge. As she looked at it her huffs of amusement died rapidly and she sighed, letting go of McCoy and standing up. Turning to look back at the three she saw their looks of concern and confusion. Seeking to alleviate their worries, she told them what she had received, “I’ve got to go back to the bridge, the Oberon says there are reports I need to check out. I’ll be back when I have it all taken care of. Until then you two,” she points at Sunny and the bartender, “Are responsible for taking care of McCoy. And you,’ she turns her gaze to the medic, “I always have time for you. If you ever, ever, think you may want someone to talk to, then call me,” Bonny finished and left the bar pocketing the gun as she passed the table.

Bonny Red stalked angrily through the doors to the bridge of the Red Spark. She was looking for Oberon, the XO, as he was the one who dared to interrupt her time with her friends due to some ‘reports.’ She found him sitting in his chair dutifully going over his datapad which must’ve contained something interesting as he failed to notice the disgruntled captain in front of him. Bonny decided to make her presence known to the XO by clicking the claws of her hind paws on the ground intimidatingly, almost like an impatient human would tap their foot.
Oberon looked up upon hearing the sound and barked out an order, “Clear the bridge, I need a minute with the captain.” Like ants, all the other officers shuffled out in a line to go carry out their tasks elsewhere as best as they could.
Bonny turned to Oberon confused. “What reports are so important that you call me back after I specifically asked not to be disturbed? Not only that, but you clear the bridge for it” Bonny asked, annoyance still evident.
Oberon held out his datapad and explained, “I have here the impact locations of large pieces of debris across the planet.” He then stood up and took off his hat, and switched to Enkanti, “Bonny Red, I regret to inform you…”
Bonny froze. She knew those words. She had said them nearly a dozen times to the family of her fallen crew over the years. Never in a million lifetimes did she think that they’d be turned back to her. She began to shudder and pant as Oberon continued, “Your home was among those hit by debris from the battle…”
Her hearts stopped and time seemed to freeze. Everything she had fought for. The lives she had thrown down in the path of the Zenti. This couldn’t be it, it just couldn’t be, something had to be wrong. Not her Bailey and pups, anyone but them. They couldn’t be gone.
Oberon kept his decorum as he finished, “Your family remains unaccounted for… I’m so sorry Bonny.”
Bonny felt her chest tightening, each breath was coming faster than the last, but it still felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt her hearts start again, slamming like three hammers against her chest. Her vision began to fade as she reached out for something, anything to hold onto. Her paws found Oberon as he grabbed and then lowered her gently into the Captain’s chair. “No, no, no…” Was all Bonny could say. She didn’t believe it. No, she wouldn’t believe it. She needed to see for herself.
Standing back up, she staggered to the door, past a shocked Oberon, and into the hallway filled with her officers. She pushed past, uncaring, making her way to the elevators. Down she went, straight to the hangar decks. The lights were still broken in many places, but she knew these halls like the back of her paw, so she pressed forward. Reaching the hangar bay she entered one of the Red Spark’s few working shuttles, cranked the engines, and pointed it toward Earth.

In a small room of a house in the countryside of Kentucky two old friends sat around a radio listening to the emergency frequency, waiting for updates on the state of the planet.
“Byron, I’m hearing reports there’s been a shuttle launch from the Red Spark and it’s coming towards Louisville,” Boatswain said.
“Well shit. That must be Bonny. Run and grab Bailey. I’ll track her position and keep you updated. You meet her when she lands. We can’t hail the shuttle through this old piece of junk,” Byron responded, tapping the top of the machine.
Boatswain moved through the halls of the house and tapped a red and black Dlamisa on the shoulder, distracting him from watching two pups chasing after a thrown ball through a window. Boatswain then explained the situation causing Bailey to stand up and begin moving. Together they went to a car parked out front and tore off down the driveway towards the glow of flames in the distance.

Bonny Red was piloting like a mad woman. To describe her flight as ‘erratic’ or ‘unsafe’ would do it no justice. To this day several speed records for vessels of the shuttles weight class are still held by her thanks to her sprint to the surface.
Breaking through the atmosphere Bonny flew the shuttle over her neighborhood. Below all she saw was destruction. The shockwave of a cruiser slamming into the ground nearby had leveled many of the houses, turning what was once a beautiful place to live into matchwood. Flying to her street she saw nothing good. All the houses were almost completely demolished. Desperately she looked for somewhere to set the shuttle down. Finding some clear space in the cul-de-sac at the end of the road, Bonny dropped the landing gear and let the shuttle fall unceremoniously to the ground.
Jumping out she immediately began moving through the rubble toward her home. The street itself was littered with bits and pieces of the lives of her neighbors. She passed the park that the pups loved to play in, now scorched. She stepped around a crushed vintage car, the pride, and joy of her next-door neighbor. Finally, she walked over the remains of a little bicycle, bent and broken from the shockwave, before stepping onto what remained of the front porch of her home.
The first thing she saw was the splintered remains of the swing that Bailey and William had built together in William’s later life. It had been one of the first things they shared together when Bailey reached Earth. It was only fitting that they shared it again before he passed.
Bonny then turned her eyes to where her front door once stood, now blown in and shattered, stepping through what remained of the frame. Picking through the debris was made much more difficult as the roof had caved in, forcing her to begin digging frantically through the rubble in search of her family.
As she dug her way further into the house personal item began to surface. The clothes came first, the little ones always left theirs strewn around the house and neither she nor Bailey could keep track of them all. Pushing past the memories Bonny scrabbled deeper into the rubble, stumbling onto what once was the kitchen. Immediately plowing through to reach the bedrooms she stumbled upon a cabinet that had fallen off the wall. Inside its shattered glass door, she saw what remained of her mate’s most prized possession. Bailey’s mug, his first gift from Fauve, was shattered into a dozen pieces. Her hearts sank, she knew he’d never voluntarily leave without it.
Placing the pieces into a jacket pocket, she pushed on. Deeper and deeper into the rubble she tunneled until suddenly a smell hit her nose like a freight train, smoke. Something was burning, and it was spreading fast. The wood frame of the house had become the kindling to a bonfire that she was squarely in the center of.
Her frantic digging became haphazard. She had to get to the pup's bedroom. She knew they’d be there, they all would be. Every time they had a nightmare they’d hide under their little beds. Bonny was certain that’s where she’d find them. So she dug. She dug while her paws bled and her lungs screamed from the smoke. She dug even as the heat of the fire began to become unbearable. She kept telling herself that they had to be there.
Bonny felt a bundle of fabric in her hand, she’d found something. Unable to see it through the smoke she put it up to her nose and took a deep smell, hoping against hope that it’d tell her something. It did, through the acrid smell of the smoke she smelled her son and daughter. Shoving the fabric into her jacket she kept digging, but the heat was too much. Her lungs screamed for fresh air and her fur was burnt in patches across every exposed limb, she had to get out. Bonny stumbled through the tunnel she had dug getting there as flames licked her jacket.
Bursting out into the cool air Bonny turned to look at what was left of her home. It was a flaming ruin. So many memories of everyone she loved, gone. Up in smoke before her very eyes. Reaching into her jacket she pulled out the fabric she had saved from the blaze. In her paws were a little tricorner hat and a tiny little red necktie.
At that moment Bonny thought back to what McCoy had said and she understood. She felt the soul-crushing thought of a life without her family and made her decision. She let out a miserable howl and drew her weapon, the very same silver pistol she had taken from McCoy not but an hour before.

Boatswain pulled onto the road leading to Bailey’s house. The rubble was thick and the road was becoming nearly impassable, but still, they pressed on. The armored car drove over the lives and memories of entire families as they tried to reach their destination.
Both turned their heads as they heard a mournful howl, but before Boatswain could utter even a word of warning to Bailey he was out the door and tearing down the mess of a street. Turning the corner he saw her. Kneeling on what remained of their front porch was a scorched and bleeding Bonnie Red with a silver object pressed beneath her chin.
At 100 yards, the object came into focus. Dropping to all fours he ran faster than he ever had before. Bailey’s legs burned as he sprinted, but he wasn’t closing the distance quickly enough.
At 50 yards he saw Bonny’s whole body tense as she slipped her finger onto the trigger
At 30 yards he let out a desperate choked howl as put every ounce of willpower into making his legs move faster.
At 20 yards he saw her ear twitch, turning towards him at the sound of his howl.
At 10 yards he was just close enough to see the trigger move back as Bonny’s eyes opened in shock and recognition.
At 5 yards Bailey Walker saw the hammer make contact with the rear of the gun. The barrel of which was still firmly beneath the chin of his mate.

In the bar of the Red Spark McCoy looked at the bartender as he polished the counter, while he and Sunny drank. There was a question burning in his mind, one that he hadn’t been able to shake since the bartender had lifted his hand from the firearm.
Deciding to break his impromptu vow of silence McCoy asked, “You knew, didn’t you? You knew what I wanted to do and you gave me the gun anyway. Why?”
Sunny cocked her head upon hearing the question before leveling a glare at the bartender and following it up with a question of her own, “Wait. You knew!? How could you risk McCoy’s life like that!? You irresponsible piece of shi…”
The bartender interrupted her rant before it could really begin saying, “Yes I knew. I’m no fool, McCoy. I knew exactly what you wanted to do with that gun. What I didn’t know was if you’d actually do it.”
Sunny was about to jump over the bar and begin strangling the bartender before he suddenly placed a small and thin metal rod on the table in front of her and McCoy as he continued to speak, “I was in your shoes once. It may have been centuries ago, but I remember that feeling more vividly than any other. I tried it too, a gun, not unlike yours. It took me all day and a lot of liquor to work myself up to do it. I put that damn thing up to my head and screamed to the heavens as I pulled the trigger, but when the hammer fell all I felt was regret. At that moment I realized I didn’t want to die, my family wouldn’t want me to die, but the cards were on the table and there wasn’t a thing I could do.”
The bartender took a breath and poured himself a drink before continuing to speak to the two Dlamisans entranced by the story, “Well, the hammer connected, and nothing happened. I was shocked and confused by my still being alive for days until I figured out what went wrong. You see, the former owner of the firearm kept them partially disassembled, and in my haste to die, I’d forgotten to put the firing pin in.”
The bartender paused and sipped from his glass before finishing, “I realized something that day. Sometimes you don’t remember what you have until you leave it behind. I gave you that gun not to help you leave, but to give you the chance to come back.”

Not going to lie. I really felt like a bull in a china shop trying to write this. It was tough to write and I honestly just couldn't think of a suitable ending for nearly a week. I hope I did it justice.
On a recommendation of a friend, I made a ko-fi. If you'd like to fuel my caffeine addiction to make the words flow faster, that'd be the way to do it. Also, I'll try to post a link to a google drive folder with all the parts of the story there. Of course, it will stay free here, but it'll be more compiled there.
Thank you all for your comments and support throughout the story. This wouldn't have been possible without y'all.
submitted by OrangeSpaceProgram to TheWorldMaker [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 16:29 whispering_eye11 Pork Belly Burnt Ends

I smoked some burnt ends for the first time last weekend, and they turned out pretty well, cooked well at least. The only problem we had was the sauce.
I had cubed and seasoned the pork belly the night before, smoked for 3 hours, tossed in a mix of bbq sauce (store bought), honey, butter, and a couple dashes of hot sauce; then covered and returned to the smoker for another 1.5 hours, tossing them a couple times in between.
Like I said, the meat itself was cooked perfectly, but I was hoping for a more sweet and spicy sauce, possibly a brown sugar and cayenne mix? My husband was hoping for a less saucy, crunchier bite ( he’s not a sauce guy). We both agree that store bought bbq sauce was a mistake.
Does anyone have any suggestions for either of our preferences? I’ll probably split my next cook into 2 batches so I can do half sweet and spicy and half “crunchier.”
Thanks in advance!
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2023.03.23 13:44 TerriblePlays 8 days Solo Trip Report (Dec 2022) Nagoya -> Gifu -> Osaka -> Kyoto -> Osaka

Background / Pre-flight
Day 1: Nagoya
Day 2: Nagoya
Day 3: Gifu & Nagoya
Day 4: Nagoya & Osaka
Day 5: Osaka
Day 6: Kyoto
Day 7: Osaka
Thanks for reading! Please let me know in the comments if there's anything that piqued your interest or you would like to hear more about.
submitted by TerriblePlays to JapanTravel [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 10:58 Godbox1227 [FN] Moirai

Wearily, Walter opens his eyes. It’s hard to put a finger on it, but something is not quite right. The air feels lighter, the room brighter, an unusual tranquility permeates through everything in the room.
“How do you feel now?” a gentle voice asked.
Startled, Walter turned his head in the direction of the voice. To his left, in his favorite armchair, seated a youthful girl, slight of frame, with a radiant complexion. Her arms lie softly on the armrests, she looks relaxed and at ease with this place, almost familiar. A tender smile hung on her lips, but a firm penetrating gaze betrays immeasurable wisdom and maturity beyond her appearance.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Walter asked, his initial surprise instantly replaced with a sense of bewilderment. No one has visited him in months. Not the people he used to call friends. Not his own siblings, estranged ex-wife and children. And now, a stranger is in his room? He has so many questions, but caught by surprise, this is all he mustered.
Without removing her gaze from Walter, she leans forward, putting her hands together and placing her elbows to her knees. Her smile now widens into a playful grin.
“I have been known by many names, but you can call me Aisa. I am here to help and guide you.”
Aisa stood up and walked over to Walter’s bedside. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and asked again, “How do you feel now?”
“I feel… great?!” Walter said. In truth, he wasn’t so sure how he felt. To be touched by someone again after so long was comforting to say the least. He no longer feels exhausted, breathing stopped hurting, and he no longer felt the irresistible impulse to cough his lungs out. Yes, it feels great indeed, but why does it feel so great?
In a moment of clarity, everything snapped into place. Like the times when the notes effortlessly flowed from his mind to his fingers, turning into wonderous melodies on his Les Paul. Suddenly everything was clear, and it all made sense.
“It’s over now, isn’t it?” He asked?
Aisa nodded reassuringly, removed her hand from his shoulder and turned it face up, beckoning for Walter to take it. She cocked her head to the side and teased, “You can leave your bed now, if you want to!”
Without missing a beat, Walter grabbed Aisa’s hand and bolted out of the bed which has also been his personal prison for far too long. Restlessly, he started to pace around his room, his attention drawn to his extensive collection of Gibson and Fender guitars. Tenderly, he picked up the Stratocaster and slinged it over his shoulder. He closed his eyes, ran his fingers over the nickel strings, and let his mind run free with memories of his performing heydays. Finally, he took a deep breath, and hung the instrument back on the wall.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the family portrait hanging off the wall. Walter turned his gaze to it. A witness to happier days that was long forgotten, he stood stoutly in the center, a beaming smile of pure joy and bliss. To his right, little Angela, barely four years of age, hugged his legs tightly, leaning her head on his knees and looking up to him with adoring eyes. On his left stood Jene, body pressed up closely, with her arms around his waist and looking upon her husband and child lovingly. Walter felt his nose souring, and a tear formed in the corner of his eyes, but he quickly composed himself and wiped it off with his thumb.
Finally, he turned to Aisa and asked, “What happens now?”
Aisa turned, walked back to the armchair and plopped herself down, she sank her back into the seat and put up both hands behind her head.
“Well, my sister Clotho spun your string of life. When it ends, I am here to cut them. Eventually, you will return to Clotho, and the very essence of your existence will be spun into new threads that will live on in countless other lifetimes. Pretty cool, huh?”
Intrigued, Walter walked towards Aisa, and sat down on the edge of his bed before speaking again.
“When do I go? To visit your sister.”
“Whenever you are ready, Walter.” She replied with her reassuring smile back on her face.
“How will I know if I am ready?” Walter asked.
“Oh, when you are ready, you WILL know!” Aisa responded, with a glint in her eye suggesting her authority on this subject matter is absolute. “There is no hurry though, we have all the time in the world now. First, you must make peace with the life you just left behind.”
“Seriously?!” Walter said, shaking his head in disbelief. “My life has just been an endless tragedy of one shitshow followed by another!”
Walter turned his eyes towards his guitars and an unbridled rage started building as his nostrils flared. “My father… that fucking asshole!”
Walter sobbed uncontrollably into his hands as tears flowed freely down his face. His body shook, overwhelmed by a complex cocktail of emotions he held towards his past and those responsible for it.
Aisa walked over and held Walter in her embrace for a long time.
“I was never good enough for him, no matter what I did. And he cared about those useless awards more than he ever cared about me and my mother.” Walter muttered through clenched teeth when he is finally calm enough to speak.
“And yet you chased after him incessantly, learning and making music, performing for others. You hated him, but chose the same life for yourself?” Aisa asked, stroking Walter’s head tenderly.
“I just wanted him to love me, to see me for who I am, acknowledge me. I don’t think I ever succeeded.” Walter said, his voice trailing off into a whisper.
Aisa pulled back from Walter and held his shoulders till he sat upright.
“My sisters and I was there when you were conceived, Walter. You were brought into life with all the love he could give.” Aisa said.
“My sister, Lachesis, decided that you too will live your life with the same gifts as your father did, and he taught you his first love in the hopes that it enriches your life as it did his.”
Aisa looked into Walter’s eyes with a tinge of sadness, “I am sorry that he couldn’t separate his love for you with his love for music, and that he couldn’t separate his role as your father from his calling as your coach and trainer.”
“Your troubled relationship with him caused him great pain and regrets too. He told me so himself.” Aisa turned to look at the Fender Stratocaster hanging off the wall. “That’s why he left you his favorite guitar when he passed, in the hopes that you will remember him by playing it.
Walter took comfort in Aisa’s words, but his thoughts turned to his own misgivings and regrets towards the family that he failed to look after and provide for.
Years of struggle as a musician who never quite reached the pinnacle that his father did left him a bitter and angry man. Desperate and unable to find a breakthrough, Walter eventually turned to alcohol and drugs to numb his own pain as well as to escape from reality. It was a slippery slope leading to a vicious cycle of terrible decisions.
In time, love gave way to indifference, affection was replaced by loathing, and what used to be an intimate union became a daily ritual of violent fights and breakdowns. It was all too much to bear, Jene took her baby, left Walter, and never looked back.
He would occasionally try to make contact, but their determination to cut ties with him was resolute. Angela is now a young adult in her own right, but she might very well be a complete stranger to Walter.
“I became the very person I swore not to be.” Walter said, burdened by his guilt and remorse. “I wrecked their lives just like my father crushed mine.”
“Not necessarily.” Aisa said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Come, let me show you!”
Aisa lifted her palm and cupped Walter’s eyes.
When the lights came back, Walter found himself standing in a small apartment. It is sparsely furnished, minimalist and devoid of excessive decorative items. He didn’t have much time to study the apartment before he was drawn away to a familiar aroma.
Following the smell, he was led into the kitchen, where he was surprised to see Jene cooking! Jene aged considerably since the last time they met, even if she did age gracefully. She did not seem to notice his presence, even as he walked right beside her. The slight acidity of the vinegar soy sauce base, layered on top of aromatic fatty pork belly and pungent fragrance of garlic and bay leaves bring back memories of days of bliss that are long gone. He turned to look at her for what must have felt like an eternity.
“WAAAAHHHHH!” A high pitch and intense cry come from one of the rooms beyond the kitchen.
Jene quickly set her cooking utensils down, turn down the fire, and ran off in the direction of the offending noise. Walter followed her closely, eager to explore this intriguing place.
“Is everything okay?” Jene asked, urgently opening the door to reveal the rest of the occupants.
The room was small, and simply furnished like the rest of the apartment. A few faded posters of popstars who are now way past their prime hung limply off the wall, flailing wildly each time the wall mounted fan turns its head on them. A modest double bed sat in the room, pushed all the way into the wall. On it, sat three people, one of whom Walter recognized immediately.
Angela has grown into a beautiful woman, with an air of confidence and self-assurance expected of individuals with much more life experiences. She has her mother’s nose, and his brown eyes. But in this moment, her eyes are filled with panic!
“Ewww! The baby’s poop is so stinky!” Angela yelled, one hand pinching her nose with the other carefully holding a loaded diaper filled with recently discharged infant waste. Angela held the diaper out towards her mother, as if pleading for help to remove it from her by any means possible.
An infant, barely few months old, lie on the bed sobbing, possibly overwhelmed by his new experiences and the general chaos around him as his father fumbled around with wet wipes trying to clean his bottom.
“Of course! What did you expect?!?! When I had you, your poop smelled exactly the same!” Jene lectured Angela, she looked both amused and exasperated, with one hand on her waist and yet was already reaching out with her other hand to take the loaded diaper.
Tickled by Jene’s reaction, Angela handed the diaper over and burst out in laughter. The tension broke and very soon everyone in the room, even the baby, was laughing along!
Walter felt a flush of warmth flush through his body. “Is this what I gave up?” He wondered.
He leaned in to try and get a closer look at his grandchild, but no sooner had he blinked before Walter find himself once again in his cold empty room in the presence of Aisa.
“I did not know I have a grandchild” Walter confessed. “I am glad they are doing well for themselves”
“According to Clotho, there will be a few more where that came from!” Aisa exclaimed excitedly, holding up three fingers and waving them all around. Just as quickly, she regained her composure before continuing with a more serious tone.
“My sister and I, we can influence what path your life will take, a little nudge here and there. But it's up to everyone to choose how they walk that path. Jene chose to leave, and to break the cycle by building a new life on her own with Angela.” Aisa took a deep breath, sighed and then continued. “Now, all you can do now is accept your responsibilities and then learn to forgive yourself. There is nothing left for you to do for them, they will thrive without you.”
“Thank you, I feel better now.” Walter said, contemplating what was just said.
“You and I have a lot more to do and places to be before this is over, Walter.” Aisa stood up, and with the same cheeky grin on her face, extended her hand out to Walter.
“Shall we?”
submitted by Godbox1227 to shortstories [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 03:33 whirlpool4 Events for Fri 3/24 - Sun 3/26

10 AM - 6 PM each day 2nd Annual NM Renaissance Celtic Festival Wildlife West Nature Park, 87 E. Frontage Rd., Edgewood 5 main stages 3 small stage with concerts, shows, jousting, singing and games to play, challenge your wits with the "Quest" or skill with the X-Marks the Spot, Tomato Toss and nail the mean person with a raw tomato, Girl Scouts "Slay The Dragon" Game. 130 vendors, food, crafts, art, jewelry, blades, local breweries, clothing, leather bags, leather wear, bags, specialty teas, coffee, cookies, baked goods, fun games and festival quest, time travelers, pirates, vikings, mermaids, armor fighters, jousting, concerts, comedy, sultry shows, characters, Celtic saint’s stories, sword and belly dancing, and more (tickets and full list of vendors and entertainment lineup)
**SAT 3/25 AND SUN 3/26 *\*
10 AM - 12 PM Flix Junior: Sing Flix Brewhouse, 3236 La Orilla Rd. NW Don’t let fear stop you from doing the thing you love. Gear up for your audition at this family-friendly movie outing! All ages are welcome to our Flix Junior showings. Expect lower volume levels for sensitive ears (tickets)
12 - 1 PM Cultural Dances - Ryedale Largo & Diné/Mescalero Apache Dance Group Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, 2401 12th St. NW Celebrate the seasonal cycles through prayer, song, and dance with our Cultural Dance Program. Dances connect us to our ancestors, community, and traditions while honoring gifts from our Creator. They ensure that life continues and connections to the past and future are reinforced. The Indian Pueblo Cultural Center is the only place in North America to offer cultural Native American dances every week, year-round. Free for museum members, or with admission. Dance groups and times subject to change (tickets)
** Fri 3/24 *\*
Fri 12 - 2 PM Las Brujas Chicanas Maxwell Museum of Anthropology Courtyard, 500 University Blvd. NE First-come, first-served but registration is appreciated. For more info about the concert series. Experience the poetics, music, dancing, and community of Chicano "son jarocho," which is a musical and dance genre with roots in Veracruz, Mexico, and a history shaped by Spanish, Indigenous, and African traditions. In the U.S., the tradition has gained traction due to its accessible, collective, and often politicized practice. Las Brujas Chicanas is a son jarocho music collective of students, faculty, and community members emerging from the UNM Dept. of Chicana and Chicano Studies. Since 2016, Las Brujas have been cultivating this music through workshops and fandangos on campus and -- since 2022 -- master musician Laura Rebolloso has been teaching the group. In June 2023, the collective will be performing in Paris, France, and this concert is a way for them to share what they are working on. So bring your lunch and join the "fandango," or celebratory communal gathering in which band members take turns singing, dancing, and playing! * This event is sponsored by the UNM Maxwell Museum of Anthropology, Latin American & Iberian Institute, Dept. of Music, and LGBTQ Resource Center. It is the first of four performances that comprise the “Maxwell Courtyard Concert Series - Spring 2023," a celebration featuring superb local and regional artists. Please join us for the free concerts and dance party as we transform our intimate courtyard into a unique cultural venue. During these events, the Maxwell as well as its Museum Store will be open and refreshments will be offered
Fri 5 - 10 PM Gin & Jazz: Spring Jazz Edition Tractor Brewing - Wells Park, 1800 4th St. NW We've got a special edition of Gin and Jazz celebrating the onset of Spring! The evening starts at 5 pm with Jazz Traveler playing for the first time ever at Tractor only to be followed by the super talented Bobcats Swing Jazz band at 8pm! Get out your best Jazz outfit and spend your Friday with us!
Fri 6 - 8 PM Ladies' Night Out - A Charcuterie Affair - Part 2 Pinspiration, 6271 Riverside Plaza Ln. NW, Ste D1 Now that you have your own personalized charcuterie board would you like to learn how to create a beautiful display of food to “Wow” your guests at your next party or gathering? Look no further! Join us and learn the art of displaying your charcuterie treats on your board with us. The food (meat, cheeses, fruit, nuts, etc.) and instruction are included in this workshop. Make sure to bring your prepared board you created the Friday before. Can you attend this workshop even if you didn’t make your own board or already have a charcuterie board… of course you can! Workshop fee: $55 per person, a $10 deposit is required to reserve your spot, the balance will be paid the day of the workshop. Limited spots available, so register early! If unable to attend, studio credit will be given for another workshop or crafts. Ladies bring your gal pals, friends and family to join you for an evening of fun! Can you imagine having a party with your friends showing off your personalized charcuterie boards full of visually appetizing food you all made together!
Fri 6 - 9 PM Women’s Social Hour Wild Moon Collective, 309 Rio Grand Blvd. NE, Ste 2 FREE EVENT! Let's get social and connect with other ladies in our local community over Rosé, baked goods, beauty products & permanent jewelry. Also enjoy light bites, refreshments & Giveaways! This Social Hour is FREE and hosted by Trisha w/Wild Moon Collective, Stef Alyssa & Britt McVey w/LimeLife by Alcone, Kay w/Desert Stacks Co., Melissa w/Nini Goods, Michelle w/Meech Balloons & Southwest Statements!
Fri 6 - 9 PM Variety Dance CSP Dance Studios, 1624 Eubank Blvd. NE Welcome to the city's biggest variety dance! We'll be playing all kinds of music: ballroom, latin, country, swing, you name it! $10 cash/check at the door (sorry, no card or Venmo, CashApp, etc.) Welcome lesson from 6:00-6:30pm
Fri 7 - 9 PM Mozart in March Kelly Jo Designs by Wine, 6829 4th St. NW, Los Ranchos Spring has Sprung! Join us for a night of iconic arias in the garden! Mozart has some of the most recognizable music in the operatic cannon and we want share some of our favorites, and maybe even a few you havent heard!
Fri 7 - 10 PM Swing into Spring Dance Escape In Time, 1100 San Mateo Blvd., Ste 21 Swing Dance the night away! $10 per person
Fri 8 - 9:30 PM Studio Night Out! Dirty Bourbon, 9800 Montgomery Blvd. Come join us for a fun night out on the town! Come as you are and get your groove on. Feel free to invite anyone to come join the party. This event is free other than the cover at The Dirty Bourbon. There's no cover if you arrive before 8PM. Let us know if you have any questions at either 505-750-0011 or 520-261-1223
Fri 8:30 PM Comedy Night B2B Garden Brewery, 8338 Comanche Rd. NE Chuck Parker Comedy and Crosslines Media present another killer stand-up comedy showcase, featuring some of the funniest comics in the 505, with another Comedy Night! This month's headliner: Bryan Valencia Featuring Eddie Stevens & Isabel Madley with your hosts Chuck Parker and Sam Alvarado
Fri 9 PM Dark Dance Friday Pop-Up Juno, 1501 1st St. NW Temple of Sound returns with A Goth/90s/Industrial/Alternative Dance Party. Expect a mix of sinister sounds and driving beats from the likes of your favorite artists and some up-and-comers. Red-209 and DJ Suspence will be keeping you dancing all night. Appropriate goth attire suggested but not required. Music starts at 9 / 21+
** Sat 3/25 *\*
Sat 8:30 AM Team Rubicon Special Clean Up Historic Fairview Cemetery, 700 Yale Blvd. SE Team Rubicon unites the skills and experiences of military veterans with first responders to rapidly deploy emergency response teams, providing disaster response around the world, as well as here in the USA. The New Mexico chapter of Team Rubicon will be at Historic Fairview Cemetery to help clear the downed tree limbs that have fallen during our recent wind storms. Our regular volunteers are welcome to join in this special clean up event. Super volunteers Dominic and Renie will bring their tractor to help us make a big dent in the remaining mulch pile. We're focusing on family plots in the southwest area of the cemetery. Please join us! As always, bring tools such as rakes, pitchforks, hoes, and shovels. Wear your long sleeves, sturdy shoes, hats, eye protection, and sun screen. We'll provide water and snacks
Sat 8:30 AM Cars and Coffee Presented by Dub Motorwerks Pacific Rim Food Park, 6901-B San Antonio Dr. NE Our Second Gathering of a New Once Per Month Gathering for individuals and their families to come out and enjoy some cars along with some delicious drinks from Dawn Patrol Coffee Shack and other vendors as the park grows! This is intended on being a Drama/Judging Free Gathering that is simply about enjoying your time and having a good time. We ask for propesafe arrival and departure to and from the location to respect the ownership for giving us this opportunity, also no excessive reving, crazy driving ect in the lot. If you have to question what level is excessive then maybe you should tag a ride if you want to come enjoy. Roll in starts at 8:30am and ends kinda whenever as the later you stay more food option open up. We plan on hosting this every 3rd-4th Saturday of the month with the possibility of it becoming more regular. All Makes, Models, 2 wheels, 4 wheels welcome! We just want to bring back old school quality car gatherings back for those who enjoy the world as much as we do!
Sat 9 AM 30th Annual César Chávez and Dolores Huerta Celebration National Hispanic Cultural Center, 1701 4th St. SW the Recuerda a César Chávez Committee will host the 30th Annual César Chávez and Dolores Huerta Celebration – the only celebration of its kind in the country that honors both great civil rights activists. Join us at the NHCC as we gather in solidarity with others around the country in support of the movement toward nonviolence. Nonviolence is our strength “Sí Se Puede”, “Yes, we can.” (more info)
Sat 9 - 10 AM Montgomery Park Clean Up! 5510 Ponderosa Ave NE Albuquerque is worth the work to keep beautiful! Please join me fellow Burqueños at the Montgomery Park litter clean up! Trash bags and gloves will be provided to you at the 9AM check-in; please meet me in the parking lot by the pool. I also have 4 extra litter pick up sticks to loan for the hour so be there early to grab yours! Please remind your family and friends not to litter!
Sat 10 AM - 12 PM Community Spring Sale Palmilla Senior Living, 10301 Golf Course Rd. NW Find something for yourself and raise money for Alzheimer’s at the same time. Head to Palmilla Senior Living’s front lawn for a community-wide spring sale. Pick up coffee and a breakfast burrito while you shop. Proceeds benefit the Alzheimer’s Association
Sat 10 AM - 2 PM Be My Neighbor Day Explora!, 1701 Mountain Rd. NW Join us for this FREE Event! Be My Neighbor Day is all about being a caring neighbor and supporting families in our neighborhood. Meet Daniel Tiger, Story time, music and hands-on fun, A Community Walk and Park Clean-Up at Tiquex Park at 10:30am, Community Resource Fair, FREE Books
Sat 10 AM - 3 PM MavsterClass - Brew Double White Marble Brewery, 111 Marble Ave NW Learn to brew our beloved Double White with our Production Manager, John Heine. The MavsterClass will include brewing DW from start to finish with John, beer education, lunch, a pint and various tastings throughout the day. For your safety please wear closed toe shoes and full length pants. Open toe shoes are not allowed in the Brewery. Safety glasses will be provided. Must be 21+ to participate. Tickets are $55 per person, and there is extremely limited availability
Sat 11 AM - 2 PM 2nd Annual Renegade Classics & Rich Ford Bike Show Rich Ford, 8601 Lomas Blvd. NE Sponsored by Law Tigers! Preregistration at Renegade Classics. On Site Registration at 10am
Sat 11 - 4 PM Little Big Man's Benefit Car Show & Concert 4 Ramada Plaza Hotel, 2020 Menaul Blvd. NE This year, we will be donating to a new organization called Help Me Grow. 50% of ticket sales will go to the Help Me Grow organization. There will be live performances, great cars, great food and vendors * (Ticket sales will be the day of show only, so don't buy presale tickets from anyone) $10, kids 12 and under free
Sat 12 PM - 5 PM Great New Mexico Food Truck & Craft Beer Festival Balloon Fiesta Park, 5000 Balloon Fiesta Pkwy NE The 7th Annual Great New Mexico Food Truck & Craft Beer Festival features some of the area's most popular food trucks along with dozens of regional and national craft breweries. The Festival will be bringing the ultimate food truck experience with live music, an arts market, and games for the entire family • Food and drink will be sold separately from admission • Family friendly (children 10 and under are FREE) • Leashed dogs allowed • Cash and credit available at gate and most vendors • ATMs available • Lawn chairs welcomed and recommended • No refunds on admission or beer tickets Get your half-off General Admission Tickets ONLINE now! GA Tickets - $5 in advance, $10 at the gate. *Festival is Rain or Shine!
Sat 12 - 5 PM Bunny Ears & Wet Noses Easter Pet Photos Boofy's Best for Pets, 4610 Cutler Ave NE, Ste A Put on your best Easter attire and join us for Easter photos with your pet! All well-behaved critters and humans are welcome to participate. $10 per photo suggested donation benefits the 120+ foster cats and kittens being helped by FAT KATZ
Sat 6 PM Fifth Annual Black & Yellow Bash Electric Playhouse, 5201 Ouray Rd. NW Meet the players! Experience fun, immersive New Mexico United projector games! Enjoy United-themed drink specials and free light refreshments! And, MOST importantly, see our 2023 jerseys for the first time! Doors open at 6 PM, Party starts at 7 PM. Tickets $15, with proceeds benefitting the incredible efforts of the Somos Unidos Foundation
Sat 7 PM Zoso - The Ultimate Led Zeppelin Experience Sunshine Theater, 120 Central Ave SW Doors 7pm Show 8pm, all ages. Advance tickets - $20 + service charge. Venue VIP packages available Tickets from previously rescheduled dates will be honored!
Sat 7 - 9 PM Sol de la Noche Duet Marble Brewery Westside Tap Room, 5740 Night Whisper Rd. NW Through the lens of Alternative Latin American music Sol De La Noche connects us with sounds of different cultures around the world and invites us to dance
Sat 7 - 10 PM Hook Your Single Friends Up PowerPoint Edition Tractor Brewing - Wells Park, 1800 4th St. NW It's almost Valentines Day! I mean like the next day so, come and hook your friends or self up like the cupid you are! We all think we're the best at selling and talking up our friends to potential romancers, but maybe it's time to put our money with our mouth is. Here's the deal: You make a powerpoint presentation (3 minutes long) about why someone should date your friend. We give you a stage, a mic, and a big screen to project on. Afterwards, your friend will get to do a quick Q & A with the audience, and if someone's interested after, you've done your job! This is supposed to be light hearted, fun, and a great way to meet new people, so be sure to work within those boundaries on your PPT. The link below will let you submit and sign up in advance, so be sure to do so sooner rather than later. See you all there!
Sat 8 - 10 PM TKTWA & Distances (Free Show) New Mexico Hard Cider Tap Room, 505 Cerrillos Rd., Santa Fe (it's not ABQ, but it's FREE) Join us for the first ever FREE METAL SHOW with TKTWA & Distances. 2 bands. 2 hours. 21+ ID required
Sat 8 PM - 1:30 AM Apparition Presents: 2nd Annual Vampire Ball Insideout, 622 Central Ave SW Join us for our second annual Vampire Ball! It’s a deliciously undead experience. Featuring DJs Ren + Batboy + Moonside—the unholy trio. Vampire costume party with prizes. Vampire Photo Booth with professional photographer. Expect delirious goth, industrial, death rock, witch house, dark wave, dark post punk and more. $10 for vampires. $15 without. At Insideout (pending renovation completion—otherwise it will be right next door, upstairs at El Rey Mezzanine). Last year was killer. Let’s make this year even better!
** Sun 3/26*\*
Sun 9:30 PM Chocolate and Coffee Run Washington Middle School, 1101 Park Ave SW Chocolate and coffee runners and walkers—your time has come! Register today. NITRO 5K OPEN: 9:30 AM. RUNFIT KIDS K: 10:15 AM. Brought to you in partnership with the Southwest Chocolate & Coffee Fest, Blue River Productions, and Java Joes, the Chocolate and Coffee Run 5K is a fast out-and-back course in the heart of Downtown, Washington Middle School next to Java Joes. ***All participants will receive a ticket ($15 value) to the Southwest Coffee and Chocolate Fest on April 1 or 2, 2023, as well as coffee, chocolate, and a race t-shirt at the Coffee and Chocolate Run
Sun 10 AM March Craft Fair Lunar Rabbit Metaphysical, 2301 San Pedro Dr. NE Come by and check out beautiful crafts by amazing local folks
Sun 10 AM - 2 PM Community Vaccine Clinic Simply Diego's, 3301 Menaul Blvd. NE, Ste 10 Pawsitive Life Rescue of NM partnered with Simply Diego's. Microchip $25, 1 year rabies $20, 3 year rabies $30 (please bring proof of prior vaccine and sign up in person), nail trim $15, combo vaccines: FREE, Bordatella $20. Sign up here
Sun 10 AM - 7 PM Muzzle Entertainment Presents The Inaugural Muzzle New Mexico Guitar Show Isleta Resort & Casino, 11000 Broadway Blvd. SE The Inaugural Muzzle New Mexico Guitar Show is the area's first and largest guitar show, blending musicians, fans (that's you!), collectors, and celebrities together into one musical extravaganza. With live music performances by local and national artists on the Al Bane For Leather stage. thousands of guitars and musical equipment, over 100 booths, exhibits, and additional special events and activities, the Muzzle New Mexico Guitar Show has more than enough to keep you busy all day!! Join us for some incredible live performances and unbelievable instruments. Get your tickets now ONLY $10.00 General Admission and Kids 10 and under are FREE
Sun 3 - 4:15 PM Holy Week Sacred Music Concert St. Jude Thaddeus Catholic Church, 5712 Paradise Blvd. NW Experience the serene a-cappella sounds of Holy Week: Gregorian chant, polyphony and contemporary choral music. No tickets required!
Sun 4 - 6 PM Big K! Nexus Blue Smokehouse, 1511 Broadway Blvd. SE What goes better together than soul music and New Mexico soul food...nothing! The Train is pulling into Nexus Blue Smokehouse for a Sunday afternoon R&B party -- get on board!
Sun 4 - 7 PM Music on the Patio: Mineral Hill Canteen Brewhouse, 2381 Aztec Rd. NE Mineral Hill was formed in 2017 in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We bring salty Americana, funk, honky-tonk, bossa nova, psychedelia, polka, New Mexico gothic, disco…. Enthusiastic fans have described us as “surprisingly tolerable,” “dork core” and “the house band at the human dog park.” Lauren Addario on drums and vocals, Jonathan Mack on guitar, banjo, and vocals, John Funkhouser on keyboard, vocals, and melodica. Oh, and we all play the kazoo!
Sun 4 - 8 PM Dealers Car Show & Local Showcase Sister, 407 Central Ave NW Dealers has put together a killer lineup of local artists to perform at Sister. Roll through for a spring afternoon of dope music and hit the car as the sun goes down (tickets $20)
Sun 6 - 9 PM Blues Dance Night Juno, 1501 1st St. NW Join us for a blues dance lesson from 6-7 and then dancing from 7-9! This is a free event just make sure to support the bar for their generosity of letting us use this venue. Lacie Forde will be DJing a mix of trad blues and fusion as well as teaching a lesson on connection and rhythmic expression for blues dancing!
Sun 8:30 PM UwU- Kawaii Anime Show Albuquerque Social Club,4021 Central Ave NE Come out for Sunday Funday-- ANIME STYLE! This cast will be bringing there favorite characters and lewks to life! Help us raise money for our coummunity with the ISCNM! Presented by Uncle Jaie Steel! Hosted by the Fabulous Papa Sucia! 21+ event, valid ID required
submitted by whirlpool4 to Albuquerque [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 00:23 IamHammerhead I started chewing my fingernails and couldn’t stop.

My obsession began with a humble hangnail on my pinkie finger, a digit whose function, you must agree, is entirely ornamental. The hangnail pulled loops from my sweater and threatened to make worthless my silk shirts. This superfluous shard of my personage would never amount to anything so, I bit it off. I held the keratin splinter between my teeth and touched it with the tip of my tongue. Already it felt dulled, less angry. One swallow—a spark trapped in a bottle—and I was hooked. I dare say the advertisement I put in the Gazette the very next day was more of a provocation than anything else: Cannibal wanted. No creeps.
In all my 42 years, I never was a nail-biter—I simply didn’t have the anxiety for it—but now, I was eager to celebrate the rare perfection when, after delicate nibbling, a full crescent of fingernail pulled away from my cuticle leaving a pleasantly feathered edge. Patience never was my strong suit and fingernails can take a whole month between harvests. I was fortunate, though, in that I have always been blessed with uncommon flexibility and therefore found some comfort in nibbling my toe-nails like a baby newly born.
Despite my limberness, the contortions necessary and the manner in which I had been leaning to reach the littlest piggy, caused the finger on my left hand to go completely numb. The feeling brought to mind an old friend from school who lost this very same finger to a hungry garbage disposal system. If prompted, he would insert carrots into his gloved hand and, in full view of the substitute teacher, make a big show of cutting them off. It never failed to rouse the class to laughter. I made sure to fess up to having been the one who had goaded the poor lad so he didn’t take the burden of the punishment alone. He always claimed that his missing fingers inconvenienced him not in the slightest, but he was particularly terrible at ten-pin bowling. We never liked bowling, anyway.
He was a good person, that boy. But, more often than not, people disgust me. You put one small advertisement in the Gazette and it really is amazing how many supposed cannibals want to pleasure themselves while watching someone consume their parts. Perverts! It never was a sexual thing for me. Pure cannibals are hard to find, or maybe they just never read the Gazette. Either way I couldn’t wait so long for a dining companion. Cutting off my finger was an easy decision—as natural and inevitable as cell division. Had I been a starfish my fingers would have grown a whole new me from scratch. What a lark!
It’s usually the pain that stops ordinary people from achieving anything notable in life. Anything worthy of the Gazette. But pain of the person fades in time. Pain of the mind persists. For example: I don’t recall the pain of crashing my motorcycle into a willow when I was young and foolish, but I recall, with absolute clarity, my sweetheart leaving me while I was still in traction. She said she didn’t want to go to the prom with a cripple. My legs healed in time but my heart was eternally broken. That’s real pain right there. If the most painful thing you ever feel in life is a silly little finger being lopped off then you haven’t really lived.
Decision. Precision. Incision. All in quick succession. That’s how you do it.
I tied a rubber band around my pinkie until it was numb and laid it on the bread board then popped it off with a chef’s knife. It came away more easily and with much less sensation than I expected. I inserted the severed digit in my mouth—wider, wider, a little wider—like a dentist might. My real-life dentist was always too insistent, too certain of his ability to enter me. I bit his finger once (okay, maybe more than just once). I caught him off guard—or as off guard as you can when dealing with a man whose entire professional life is spent with his hands in the mouths of beasts. He must surely have seen it coming. Nevertheless, he referred me to another dentist.
I clamped down hard on my severed finger and ran my tongue over the satisfyingly deep dent left in the flesh by my molars. It had the texture of pig knuckles. Not that I recall that particular dish with much clarity. I’ve been a vegetarian for thirty years. No harm, no fowl—no fish or steak. Eating my own flesh doesn’t hurt anyone. It just makes me a cannibal-vegetarian which is more ethical than most people.
Take my sister for example: she loves her stupid fox terrier like a child but she still eats meat which makes her both cruel and a terrible hypocrite. Nevertheless, she still insists we get together for Christmas.
”What the hell is the difference between eating dogs and cows?” I asked her, on the phone. And when I said “dogs” I meant humans.
“Cow’s don’t have personalities,” was her reply, which is entirely not true.
“Would you prefer I cook you an animal you hated?” I asked.
”Yes,” she agreed, and I knew immediately that she regretted her offer of driving all the way to visit me in New Orleans for Christmas dinner.
“What animal do you hate the most?” I asked. “I’m serious.”
I already knew what she was thinking. I just wanted to hear her say it. She had never hated anyone more than her ex-husband or possibly me. Either way, the animal she hated most was most definitely human but she said, “Pigs, I guess,” and by “pigs” she meant me.
“Good. That settles it. I’ll cook pork with cherry glaze,” I lied.
Now, obviously, a few stray knuckles can’t possibly form the centerpiece of Christmas dinner and, anyway, me-knuckle-and-pea soup had already demonstrated itself as more suitable for an appetizer. Still, I kicked myself for eating my four fingers first because it made it extremely difficult to amputate my leg at the knee. The lower leg: now there is a versatile cut of meat. You can cut along the length of the calf muscle for a juicy loin or cut across the bones for chops if you have a bandsaw, which I didn’t, of course, on account of living in a residential area with strict zoning laws. But that doesn’t prevent you from smoking a loin or make excellent sausages. I had a devil of a time removing my lower leg and none of the perverts who responded to my advertisement in the Gazette had the prerequisite nursing skills to assist with the amputation. I administered the local anesthetic myself and it worked fine enough but the knee joint was tough and rather complicated to cut through and, in spite of my keen interest in anatomy, I was certainly no doctor. Still, I had committed to hosting Christmas lunch and I was determined to harvest a tasty loin. My sister and may have had our differences but, she is my sister after all and you have to make an effort.
When she arrived, she insisted on bringing with her a special friend named George. Poor George had tried to enliven his wallflower personality with a festive reindeer sweater. I liked him immediately and not just because he worked in Germany as a surgeon, no less. My sister gasped at the sight of my missing fingers and still fresh amputation below the knee. But I told her not to worry about me. I pretended that my old motorcycle accident had effected my circulatory system. I then garnished the white lie with a case of diabetes I never had. It was Christmas, after all. Everyone loves a tall tale. I followed that up with a loin of leg in a cherry glaze.
“I’m so glad you’re no longer a vegetarian,” she said, while attempting not to pity me. “You need to keep your strength up in your condition.”
“I’m still vegetarian,” I said, as I poured extra cherry glaze on her plate. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
My sister thought the pork/I was a little tough and didn’t mind saying so, but George wanted the recipe before he returned to Cologne. He had never read the Gazette but, when he followed me to the library in search of a recipe book, he insisted on examining my wound in a way that suggested that he might have answered the advertisement himself, had he been a subscriber. He could tell right away there was no hospital involved in the amputation and he said that his grandfather had reared pigs for Schinken ham in the most beautiful little corner of the Black Forest so he knew a thing or two about pork. He wheeled me back to the dining table and helped himself to a third helping of “pork” before we opened presents. My sister said it was a pleasant lunch and George even did the washing up on account of my missing fingers.
They both left in good spirits.
When I say “left” I mean George returned the very next day for leftovers. He brought his suitcase and medical kit and examined my limbs with the upmost professionalism.
“I think it might need to come off,” I suggested, as he scrutinized my legs and arms. He agreed every time.
“Yes it will. And that too. It will all need to be removed, eventually,” he said. I made sure to leave a copy of the Gazette on the counter so there could be no confusion on the subject.
Judging by how frequently my sister called his cell phone, I think she was in love with poor George. She rang at the most inappropriate hour because she thought he was back in Cologne which he wasn’t. He was usually asleep on the sofa with a belly full of flesh on account of us having turned the second bedroom into an operating room. Eventually George said it would be suspicious if he didn’t answer so we played Kraftwerk and Marlene Dietrich in the background (though not at the same time) to make it sound like he might have been in Cologne. I thought we did a good job of keeping up our little charade, but I only had those two albums and, anyway, I still think it was my sister who eventually called the police.
After we harvested another “ham’ it was clear that both George’s surgical and culinary skills were far superior to mine. His grandparents must have been true artisans when it came to pork. Throughout the spring, I watched my biceps grow meaty from maneuvering the new wheel chair. I suspect George’s grandfather must have shared the same excitement at watching his sows grow plump and delicious as the slaughter season approached. From the comfort of my Creole townhouse in The Marigny, my body had become my very own Black Forest. We lived in a land of plenty. George, being German and in possession of a rapier wit, named my right arm Hansel and my left Gretel which, of course, made me the wicked witch.
You might think me worse than wicked—a barbarian perhaps—but I caused no more harm to the world beyond my walls than the old lady who swallowed a fly.
George wouldn’t harm a fly either, which is exactly what I told the police when they visited. They saw my diminished state and expressed concern about his capacity to care for me. I pointed out that he was a qualified doctor, a surgeon no less, but it was clear they thought he had nefarious intent. The larger of the policemen sat in my most comfortable chair, a recliner, and explained that George had, allegedly, cared for four other men in Cologne who had all undergone unnecessary amputations before their demise. I thanked the officers for their concern and promised to report any unusual behavior but I was shaking inside. My stomach felt hollow and I was in a constant sweat. I had been betrayed: the fact that George had already consumed someone else before our meeting was certainly news to me.
When he returned with the groceries (vegetables and herbs mainly, for we had all the meat we needed) I beat him with my stumps until the sutures ruptured. I cried and told him I would go no further. He apologized and soothed me by showing me what ordinary people who have never spanked their Frankfurt in public refer to as food-porn. It was this he wanted me to become. He assured me that I was the sweetest of all the men he had had the pleasure of eating. This was, I suspect, a direct result of my cannibal-vegetarian diet. You are what you eat, after all. People eat bad things, generally speaking, and I’m not just referring to junk food. Some make a whole performance of eating cars and trucks and bicycles and all manner of things that simply can’t be eaten for that stupid Guinness book of records. People eat rocks, drywall, cars, soiled diapers, live bees, batteries and light bulbs and bedsprings just because they feel like it. I guess humans are like worms through which the entire world must pass. Me? I am a loop in time: leftovers consuming leftovers.
And in the end, who needs to leave behind something so ungainly as a body?
You would be surprised at how many parts of your body you can do without too. I’m a stickler for research—ask anyone. George said that in WWII surgeons performed the first half-ectomy on fighter pilots crushed beneath their instrumentation. Surgeons sliced them in half like a magic act—tadaa! The patients survived and would have survived longer had they not been inclined to bouts of depression and taken their own lives. I guess they couldn’t see the magic in it. But I could.
I must say, if ever there is such a thing as magic in the world then it comes in the form of phantom limb syndrome. After George performed my half-ectomy, I had no hips from which to leap, no shoulder joints from which to hurl a ball and yet I have never felt more active. My phantom limbs ran for miles along Elysen Fields Avenue and north, through the Rocky Mountains, all the way to Alaska. My arms swam down the Mississippi and out to sea and through the hurricanes and didn’t stop until they reached South America and the upper reaches of the Brazilian Rainforest. My phantom limbs were proficient in all manner of sports I never asked them to engage in. But when I looked down there was just air where the pumping limbs might have been. What was the point in all that exercise if my eyes called my body a liar? I had no choice but to ask George to remove them. When I say “them” I mean my eyes. We ate one each, lightly seared in a pan with onions and lemon. The imagination is far more active without sight. My hearing became more acute, my olfactory senses keener. I highly recommend it.
I could tell the police had returned by the weary way they walked, weighed down by radios and guns and the foolishness of their investigation. Unfortunately, this time George was home. I tried to explain away my diminished size and pointed out that my eyes had turned septic (and by “septic” I mean delicious) but they took George away for questioning anyway. He was away a long time.
I am not the nervous sort, but I did indeed start to panic. I called George’s name but the only reply was the gulls keening outside my window. I fell asleep and woke up and was not sure how many hours had passed but there were no more gulls so it was surely night. My ileostomy bag had over-flowed and my flesh was contaminated with the foulest smell. What if George didn’t return? Who would be my dinner companion? I couldn’t eat all this food by myself. When eventually the front door creaked opened and George called my name, his voice was shaking. The police had held him for two days and nights under the pretense of asking questions. As he carried me to the bathroom to clean me up, he was not moving well. He laid me in the tub and I could smell the nervous sweat that had dried on his shirt. He favored his left arm and there was a catch in his breath that told me his ribs were badly bruised.
“Did they beat you?” I asked.
“Sticks and stones,” he said, but I knew he envied me. You can’t beat a man who isn’t there.
He wiped away the crusted seepage that had spilled from my ileostomy bag and floated me in the fresh water. Had George not been a cannibal he could have found a job drawing baths in the nicest hotel in New Orleans. It’s not as easy as turning the water on, you know. You need to get the humidity of the room just right and the temperature of the water within a precise range. When you do, your body feels weightless and your breath invisible. I heard George open a glass bottle and listened as a few drops of lavender bath oil perfumed the room. It was sublime but there was certainly nothing sexual about the moment. How could there be? My sex had been removed in the half-ectomy along with everything below the navel. Yes, it’s true that George and I had both eaten my penis and testicles but it was far from a meal with erotic overtones. In fact, George had made Zürcher Geschnetzeltes which is a Swiss German dish usually made with veal. Cooked to perfection, he served it with a mushroom and white-wine sauce so aromatic that it made me wish I had testicles growing all over my body like mushrooms from which to harvest. When George eventually lifted me from my bath, he gently laid me on a towel and rubbed lotion into my scar tissue.
“How much is left?” I asked.
The scales scraped on the tile floor and George folded a towel in quarters for padding. Even after we ate my eyes, George always balanced me upright on my spine so, in my mind’s eye, I could look down and see my weight.
“Fourty-eight pounds,” he said. “I could check you as luggage.”
He cleaned my teeth with a new brand of toothpaste that tasted like red Tic-Tacs and took me to bed. He no longer slept on the sofa. At two-foot tall, I was smaller than the overpriced teddy bear I used to sleep with as a kid. I could tell he was tired on account of being interrogated by the police without sleep for two days but he wanted to talk about something. Finally he said: “What should I make for my first meal alone?”
I had not kept track of our meals but, from the way we had feasted and the sound of the single bag of flesh clanking around in the chest-freezer, I knew our supply was getting low. Without ever having to leave New Orleans, we had taken a culinary tour of all of Bavaria and the Rhineland. We had eaten bratwurst and liverwurst with senf; königsberger klopse meatballs; sauerbraten pot roast; schweinshaxe and speck; and baked the leftovers into a leberkäse-style meatloaf. The neighbors must have thought we were opening a restaurant. Ultimately, though, there was one meal I couldn’t share with George: the meal that would finish me . He could eat my beef-heart stew or spread my brains on toast with parsley and lemon but it was Christmas again. The festive season.
“I don’t want you to eat alone,” I told George. “Take my sister to midnight mass then treat her to a good old-fashioned Réveillon feast.”
It’s a Creole tradition in these parts, to feast until dawn. I wanted to swim in a bouillabaisse with the freshest sea scallops or be pureed with leeks and truffle cream. I imagined the searing heat of applewood smoked bacon against my lightly grilled cheek. I wanted George to swallow the last of me and know me more completely than I ever could.
He called my sister and extended the invite. She seemed distant and nervous which I thought was on account of her still being in love with George, herself. In hindsight there was clearly someone listening.
On Christmas day the house was filled with the aroma of sauce and spice and I was confident that this would be a feast like no other. Then my ears picked out the familiar lumbering step on my porch and I knew something was wrong. The door burst off its hinges and somewhere among the men’s voices I could hear my hysterical sister. She was weeping and swearing and it was clear she was not going to stay for dinner. The police handcuffed George and he cried out in pain.
“Don’t hurt him!” I yelled, but no one cared to listen.
A pair of hands transported me to a dog carrier which smelled of piss from frightened animals. The very idea that I might try to escape was completely absurd. I screamed and shouted and called them all manner of names that I am embarrassed to repeat. Someone turned off the stove and took the chest-freezer into evidence. Our Christmas was ruined.
No one listened to me at George’s trial. All they wanted to know was whether I was of sound mind. It was clear to everyone that I was. I even had my lawyer show them the letter I wrote last Christmas when I had hands and was not yet the distillation of my former self. But they didn’t care. They found him guilty and put George on death row where he will never eat anything as delicious as me again.
I hope beyond hope that when he is served his last meal, that they come for me in my hospital bed and cut out my tongue and give half to him and half to me. No sauce, no salt, no pepper or spice. Just raw and bloody. A final kiss under the cannibal’s mistletoe.
submitted by IamHammerhead to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.03.23 00:10 CaskStrengthStats Review Dump #1: /r Bourbon Picks, Reviews #1-5

Review Dump #1: /r Bourbon Picks, Reviews #1-5
Hello Everyone, Long time lurker, first time reviewer. I got SUPER lucky on recent picks and wanted to posted some reviews of recent /r Bourbon picks I managed to snag for myself. A heads up on the color notes below, I'm colorblind as fuck so enjoy. With that in mind, into the reviews.
Bottle: /R Bourbon Nulu Bourbon Finished in Amburana Barrels
After reading multiple reviews of the Starlight Amburana pick I had my sights set on the next release with this finish. From bast Amburana reviews I know this is going to be a little outside my wheel house as I'm not a cigar guy and these types of finishes tend to lead to a cigar batch type whiskey.
Proof: 144 ABV: 57% Age: 5 years, 6 months Paid Price: $104.99 (Rounded 105) MSRP: $104.99 (Rounded 105) Dollars Per Year: $19.09, or $1.59/Month Dollars Per Proof: $0.92
Color: Looks like whiskey to me, minor barrel sediment.
Nose: You ever walk into an international store and you get hit with a wave on incense? Thats how this bottle smells
Taste: Total tobbaco, leather, incense. I can see why this would go good with a cigar. Its dense and complex in flavor, there is always something to pick out.
Finish: Incense, I feel like I lit some in my throat and said screw it.
Score: 6.5
Buy Again?: I would try another Amburana pick from a different distilleriy or if it was a rye.
Final Thoughts: This is a bottle I keep going back to in small amounts. It is complex and I keep wanting to uncover what the flavors are hiding, with that in mind a score is hard for this bottle. Its complex and I end up approaching this bottle in a different manner than I do with other pours. It's good and I'm glad I have it in my collection because it holds a spot that I think unqiue amongst other finshed whiskeys I have had or owned.
Bottle: /R Bourbon George Remus Single Barrel Barrel Proof
I have been wanting to try a barrel proof remus for a while now and a 2 grain mashbill sounded intresting to I pulled the trigger.
Mashbill: 51% Corn, 49% Rye Proof: 114.2 ABV: 57.1% Age: 6 Years Paid Price: $69.00 MSRP: $69.00 Dollars Per Year: $11.5, $0.96/Month (Rounded) Dollars Per Proof: $0.6
Color: Brown Spirit
Nose: I can see where t8ke got peaches from the nose, sousweeet fruit is whats is popping upfront. I think I'm getting more like a caramel sour apple.
Taste: Caramel, vanilla, and barrel char with a nice sousweet note at the end.
Finish: Closer to a rougher tannis if compared to wine. Its not fleating but leaves that sour apple note at the end
Score: 6.9
Buy Again?: Yes
Final Thoughts: Glad I grabbed this. I was impressed with the sour fruit notes that came through and will be keeping an eye out for both future and local remus picks.
Bottle: /r Bourbon Nulu Toasted Bourbon Finshed in Honey Barrels
I have had Honey finished whiskey on my radar for nearly 3 years and have not had the chance to purchase one, so when I saw this come up I immediately jumped on it.
Proof: 116 ABV: 58% Age: 6 Years + 6 Months Finish Paid Price: $129.99 (Rounded 130) MSRP: $129.99 (Rounded 130) Dollars Per Year: $20.00, or $1.66/month Proof Per Dollar: $1.12
Color: Cloudy Golden Brown, major barrel sediment.
Nose: Honey, almost a mead smell? Between the honey and the grain, I can see how mead would come across on my end.
Taste: Its light, its sweet, its far too easy to drink. Honey occupies both the front and end of each sip, with a nutty and wheaty middle.
Finish: The honey coats your mouth and is there to stay and evolves into more of a burn.
Score: 7.2
Buy Again?: Yes
Final Thoughts: I will be pulling the trigger on all future honey finished whiskey until I get a bad one.
Bottle: /R Bourbon Nulu Bourbon Finished in Maple Barrels
This is another finish I have been keeping my eye out for. If you can't tell I have a signifcant sweet tooth and it translates to whiskey as well.
Proof: 116 ABV: 58% Age:6 Years + 6 Months Finish Paid Price: $94.99 (95 Rounded) MSRP: $94.99 (95 Rounded) Dollars Per Year: $14.61, or $1.22/Month (Rounded) Dollars Per Proof: $1.22
Color: Golden Brown, like the honey but less cloudy
Nose: Maple brown sugar oatmeal. Oh my god, if you sent me this bottle to smell before I bought it I would have gotten two
Taste: Maple syrup, baking spices, brown sugar, and brown sugar oatmeal. I know I said brown sugar twice, but I'm telling you get two different notes of brown sugar on top of the maple. Fuck two maybe four?
Finish: Maple syrup and baking spices
Score: 7.5
Buy Again?: Yes. Much like the honey barrel I will be purchasing this whenever I can
Final Thoughts: This is going to be a coveted bottle of mine that I will be going back to celebrate. High proof maple syrup? Say less
Bottle: /r Bourbon Nulu Toasted Bourbon Finished in Apple Brandy Barrels
I orginally did not have this bottle or finish on my radar, but after the Amburana, Toasted Honey, and reading /ut8ke's review of it I wanted to send it on this bottle and had the chance to do so.
Proof: 122.8 ABV: 61.4% Age: 6 years + 14 Months Finish Paid Price: $94.99 (Rounded 95) MSRP: $94.99 (Rounded 95) Dollars Per Year: $13.26 (Rounded), or $1.1/Month Dollars Per Proof: $1.29 per Proof
Color: Seems to have a red hue to it, no barrel sediment.
Nose: First sniff from the bottle was just straight apple cider no if's, and's, or but's about it. From the glass I get vanilla, apple, and cloves,
Taste: Wheat, baking spices, apple, and cinnamon dominate the palate with a very faint hint of the caramel.
Finish: This bourbon is here to stay when you drink it, you can feel it on your tounge lasting for well over 15 minutes. It a lot smoother on the palate, kinda of what you would expect with smooth tannis in a wine. Tons of baking spice and hints of apple.
Score: 6.8
Buy Again?: Yes
Final Thoughts: I really enjoyed this whiskey. I think given its age the fact its toasted and finished its a unique whiskey that I think puts its elbows out at its price point for a double finished whiskey. More so that the finish shows so greatly and with a high age statement for the finish.
submitted by CaskStrengthStats to bourbon [link] [comments]

2023.03.22 16:06 LaceOverFeather Pony Boy & Spiritcask (Jorum Studio)

Pony Boy

Notes: Pepper, Beetroot, Pink Lotus Absolute, Vetiver, Ambrette seed, Atlas Cedarwood, Raspberry Leaf, Red Cedarwood, Calamus
Expectations: High hopes for the rhubarb to stick around to give the top notes and heart a juicy tart edge to all the fig and spice cupboard notes. I'm either going to end up with all spices and woods, or a lightly creamy spiced wood, depending on the florals and rounded base notes.
Reality: Hallelujah! Fresh, tart, juicy rhubarb! It even lasts into the heart of the fragrance on the way to the dry down. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was sugar encrusted but that could be fond memories of the past influencing the experience. A delicate floral comes in and is the main gist of what I smell for most of the time probably bolstered by the fig. It does dry down into a delicate floral wood, but that slightly bitter green never fully goes away. Another hit from Jorum on giving me a new green scent for the warmer seasons and delivering on the promise of an unusual and often forgotten top note. I won’t be buying a full bottle purely due to the main show being about that bitter yet delicate flower and fig, not my style. You can tell that Pony Boy is a sibling to Gorseland and Healing Berry in this line; the bitter fresh greenness is a consistent vibe throughout. Good sillage, about an arm’s length of a scent bubble, lasted me a full work day when sprayed on clothes but could still faintly smell on my skin after 5 hours as well.


Notes: Ylang-Ylang, Pear, Chamomile, Malt, Cognac, Jasmine, Rum Absolute, Leather, Cocoa, Maple, Cedarwood, Whisky Lactone, Caramel, Labdanum, Guaiacwood, Coffee, Bourbon Vanilla Absolute, Oakwood Extract
Expectations: I want to like it more than Firewater's pure blast of smoky whisky. I'm hoping for a more rounded and aged style since there's rum and cognac used but this could be another flop for me. Best guess is a rounded floral leathered liquor.
Reality: Did not anticipate the chamomile being so prominent throughout, that’s cool. Helps give this a fresher tone than all the liquors in the notes would have you believe. Malty powder cocoa mixes in and stays a while, smoothed over by some of the liquor sweetness and milkiness. This is much sweeter in comparison to Fire Water but not sugary in the cake way; lighter without being too bright. Everything about this is rounded, no sharp notes to be found, and the woodiness is there without being upfront and I don’t smell anything leathery personally. A smooth experience and an all day scent. A decent scent bubble and good sillage, but not beast mode, got about 5 hours’ worth of wear time. I’ll spray it on my clothes next time to have it cling a little longer through the day. Personally, this could be a sleeper hit, and I’ll want a full bottle in future, we’ll see.
submitted by LaceOverFeather to fragrance [link] [comments]

2023.03.22 12:35 Low-Rule-7995 Hells Kitchen 4th place Season: 7th Elimination

Chef Gordon Ramsay said that after 2 disastrous challenges and dinner services that it was time for the red team to bounce back with new team member Rochelle joining who was welcomed by the whole red team. Chef Ramsay was also delighted to announce it was southern night and that the next challenge would be 6 southern dishes from each team going against each other. As there was 6 on the blue team and 7 on the red team, both Sommer and Ben cooked Ribeye, and it was decided that Bens dish would be left out which annoyed him.
First up was the battle of the fried chicken where Barbie beat Julia but the red team tied up when Jennifer beat Milly on catfish. New red team member Rochelle and Motto both scored a point on grouper before Cody gave the red team the lead scoring over Brynn on meat loaf and Tennile beat Cyndi on shrimp which led to a tide breaker. Sommer was under pressure having been picked over Ben but her ribeye scored the winning point for the red team over Autumn and the red team celebrated their 2nd challenge victory! With Rochelle on the team ahead of Trev the red team were confident of winning dinner service while the rest of the blue team said all they had to do was continue from the last 2 services to win again.
Autumn and Tennile looked to get the blue team off to a strong start on appetisers but were instantly held back by Autumn dragging on the first order of crab cakes when they were cold which got them a minute behind. This continued onto a later order of crab cakes which were sent up and then rejected by Chef Ramsay for being cold in the middle and Autumn then proceeded to try and finish them off in a dirty pan so had to re-fire. In spite of this they did manage to finish their appetisers and with Barbie on meat, Brynn on fried chicken, Milly on garnish and Motto on fish they looked to push on but were instantly held back by Brynn sending up an order of raw fried chicken which sent the team way back. This further effected service when Barbie sent up a raw ribeye and the final tickets dragged a further few minutes thanks to Barbie getting behind on pork which saw the blue team finish a very painful service as Chef Ramsay said he expected better with such a simple menu.
The red team were pumped for service without Trev as they believed to have eliminated all the weak links with Trev, Elise and Jared gone. Cody and Rochelle got the team off to a great start on appetisers and with Julia supporting on fish they made a strong start. However, the service all fell apart on entrees as Julia sent up burnt catfish for the next entree. After an initial bounce back Ben sent up salty collard greens and then managed to get behind on an order of Mac n cheese which he blamed on mishearing the order. Again after they looked to have gotten things back together Julia sent up raw catfish with Chef Ramsay furious that such a simple menu was causing issues for both teams and after bad communication between Cyndi, Jennifer and Ben on the final ticket the red team limped to the end of service but Chef Ramsay was livid and announced that both teams had lost and had to nominate 2 for elimination.
The Blue team were tempted to nominate Barbie due to the problems on the meat station with Motto saying the communication from her and Brynn had been terrible but Tennile and Milly ultimately decided that Autumn and Brynn should be nominated for the problems on appetisers and raw chicken. The frustrated red team realised there was still problems with their team and nominated Julia and Ben for elimination due to their bad services. Chef Ramsay agreed with the nominees but Brynn during her nomination plea threw Barbie under the bus by blaming her communication for the problems on fried chicken which angered the rest of the blue team. Ramsay ultimately eliminated Julia for her declining performances and told Ben to wake up. The red team did seem more united though while the blue team had issues as Brynn and Barbie argued on the way back to the dorms.
submitted by Low-Rule-7995 to HellsKitchen [link] [comments]

2023.03.22 00:22 Mother_Orchid_1109 [Us to Us] [sell] [perfume] Death & Floral, Alpha Musk, Stereoplasm, Hex, Arcana craves, S92, etc.

Hiii. It’s me, back again, hoping you’ll buy my sad, lil unloved perfumes. ;p
Lowered prices, and added new Death & Floral, Stereoplasm, Sugar & Spite, Alpha Musk, & S92 :)
It may take me up to a week to ship, shipping is $5, and I often reuse packaging. (let me know if that’s a problem.) from a pet friendly, smoke free home; perfumes stored in a dark, wooden chest.
listed are full size perfumes, ranging from about 3-5ml (AM saltwater taffy due to me decanting from it) and one 8ML. Plus samples. Feel free to ask for photos for fill lines.
Onto The Goods/Perfumes!
Alpha Musk
Saltwater Taffy single note - Can’t find notes; maybe single note? smells of a mildly sweet strawberry taffy, with a hint of salt ~65% $7 RIS Oil
Wake Up Alone - Amy Winehouse inspired perfume: Inky liner, vodka on rocks, vavoom hair spray, body musk, oversized cashmere. 90% $15 or Swap RIS Oil
Arcana Craves
Pumpkin Milkshake LN (label has some discoloration.) 60-65% $8 RIS oil (Also open to swapping for partials of Arcana’s: whipped cream, cardamom, glittering white, VC Aphrodite, Holy Terror, Haint, Tart, Trust, Frigg, Nott, and Sjöfn, etc.)
Butter Toki (perfume house closed)
Let ‘em eat cake! - Tokyo Milk Dupe. notes on sugar, milk, buttermilk, vanilla orchid, white musk. ~90-95% fill $12 RIS Oil
Death and Floral
The end is here - Vanilla Coke, bourbon, fleeing animals, the musk of an infinite black void. SOLD
Biscuits and Tea Bundle $15
Stereoplasm Soft Cat (4.5 ml - label little scuffed) Sunday morning biscuits, sticky marshmallow fluff, warm vanilla toe beans and soft mews under piles of sun-dried cashmere. 95% RIS Oil + Sugar & Spite: 3.7 ML dram in Arsenic (purchased second hand, label stained) - bitter almond, sweetened Darjeeling tea, amber resin, oud. Just below top of label RIS Oil
Sixteen92 Dirt & Decay / Sweet & Spooky / Liminal Spaces & Bittersweet Nostalgia Bundle $14
random Solstice Scents sample bundle 3/$6, (tell me your likes and dislikes) and a multiple indie house perfume random sample bundle 5/$5 - brands may include: Arcana Craves, Alphamusk, Stereoplasm, Arcana Wildcraft, Nocturne Alchemy, Nui cobalt, etc. (good, and more affordable way to try new houses/scents.) I will also throw in 1-3 sample freebies, depending on how big your order is.
looking for a sample, or decant of Hex Le Chat Noir, Moon, Amber d’or, Baltic amber, and black vanilla.
submitted by Mother_Orchid_1109 to IndieExchange [link] [comments]

2023.03.21 19:49 Glopuss Supermarket (Coles & Woolworths) specials March 22 - 28 (incomplete)

A selection of items “on special” this week in Coles and Woolworths that may be of interest to keto followers. Many are processed so not really suitable for “clean keto”. Victorian data, some may not be available interstate. Consider house brands may be cheaper than ‘specials’
Alcohol (except no carb beer) excluded. Drink prices exclude recycling deposits. Fruit & Veg probably vary by state, so excluded.
If you are doing an online order, I suggest you also look at the stores' ONLINE ONLY specials as I don't always include all of these, many are multibuys.
Coles ‘locked prices’ might now be considered specials but same every week til April so not included as specials


Coles web pages are a mess, prices showing as a special in the List function are not showing as specials when you drill down into details. So some of these prices cannot be trusted. To make matters worse, they have now taken down the old pages.


Woolies has a range of health products @ 30% off, I have put some under the Protein heading for convenience.
30% of all NOSHU
submitted by Glopuss to ketoaustralia [link] [comments]

2023.03.21 19:39 Gaming_N_Whiskey Bardstown Trip Recap

We regularly see posts in bourbon asking for Bourbon Trail trip recommendations. My wife and I just returned from a trip to Bardstown, and I wanted to offer you guys some feedback on our experiences. Hopefully you will find them useful for planning your own trip to Bardstown.
First, a very special "thank you" to u/Old_Riff_502 . Old Riff always posts very useful information in the forums. I also privately messaged him and I was amazed with the amount advice that he provided on the area. I don't think we would have had nearly as a excellent of a trip had it not been for him. Thank you again!
Hotel: We stayed at the La Quinta Inn & Suites from Wednesday evening until Sunday morning. The hotel was new, clean, and offered free breakfast every day (although we never actually ate it). The hotel is easy to get in and out of. It seemed like we were only a five minute drive away from anywhere we were trying to go. However, it's not very centrally located. You're not walking anywhere important from the hotel. The other knock on the hotel (and this seems more just industry standard these days), is that we never had anyone come in to do a room refresh at all during our trip. Nobody took out the trash, refreshed room coffee, or soaps/shampoos. That being said, I would not mind staying here again at all!
Distilleries (listed in order or preference):
Restaurants/Food (listed in order or preference):
Overall: We had a wonderful trip. We really enjoyed our time at Bardstown. Old Riff and the advice he provides on this forum is invaluable! Listen to this dude. There was a couple that hired a driver one day and we saw them at four of their five stops (the only thing they did that we didn't was they did a chocolate pairing at Lux Row). They paid $900 for their chauffeured experience! Ours basically cost us the price of admission plus a few hours poking around on Reddit's boards and distillery websites.
A few tips for those considering a visit to Bardstown:
Anyway, that's all I've got! If you're planning on visiting Bardstown anytime soon, I'm genuinely envious. It's a wonderful place. Thanks for reading!
submitted by Gaming_N_Whiskey to bourbon [link] [comments]

2023.03.20 22:43 peteryunsie Old PB vertical smoker took a dump yesterday morning, panicked for a bit then rushed to Lowe’s and got this baby. Pork Ribs, and Pork Belly burnt ends. Friends pitched in for the new smoker.

Old PB vertical smoker took a dump yesterday morning, panicked for a bit then rushed to Lowe’s and got this baby. Pork Ribs, and Pork Belly burnt ends. Friends pitched in for the new smoker. submitted by peteryunsie to smoking [link] [comments]

2023.03.20 22:05 Smart-Technology-569 Need Recipe

I want to make burnt ends from pork belly. I have only smoked pork belly once when I smoked bacon and it turned out only so so. I will appreciate any advice how to make burnt ends from pork belly on a pellet grill. TIA
submitted by Smart-Technology-569 to pelletgrills [link] [comments]

2023.03.20 20:25 Ecstatic_Snail9016 Pork belly burnt ends

Pork belly burnt ends submitted by Ecstatic_Snail9016 to smoking [link] [comments]