My “Senior Year” in High School was a story of work and “Hanging out”.
I would go to work, and then go and “hang out”.
It was a time of small rural towns in Western Pennsylvania and long winding highways in and out of fields and forests.
At that time in my life, I worked three jobs. I worked in the coal mines, and a grocery store, and I was also a volunteer forest fire fighter. Many times we would ride down an old railroad spur to get to the fires in the forests.
And I hung out with different groups of friends
One, my old buddy Clyde, (a classmate) worked at the local gas station. he drove a GTO like mine. An orange GTO, just like mine.
We would “do” white cross and enjoy “hanging out”. Back then, “white cross” was a little white pill used to curb appetite so that people could lose weight. we took four of them and got a very nice “high” from it.
Oh, many a car I would gas up for fun. We would jam the radio in the station and just “hang out”. Chatting and “bullshitting”. Many a sunny September was spent in that “Indian Summer” air together.
Then, there were the brothers; P Eck and J Eck. I talked about them in those days they would hang out on their front porch. They both had bicycles and they would always be busy fixing them and adjusting them. J Eck drove a black Chevy truck. Kind of beaten up, fun fun to do our cruising. Don’t you know.
Oh, so many more… now that I think about it, heck, I must of had maybe ten or more groups of various friends that I would hang out with. Oh, too many to list here. So… consider this just an introductory sampler.
My buddy Robbie didn’t come upon the scene until much later; during my college days. But here we are talking about my High School days. And they were glorious, as all of my readership can attest to. We all have different experiences, but those days were special.
What a time!
Do you feel like I do?
Today…
MEET !! China’s New large Unmanned Submarine Drones, to carry and launch missiles
People who’ve been to prison for a long time and got released, what was it like seeing all of the things that have changed?
I was in prison for 25 years (1988 – 2013) so I missed the technology boom. Funny story: When I got out I went to live with some friends of mine (Gary and Karen) for about 9 months. They live sort of on the far outskirts of town, and my first day out, after going out for a HUGE breakfast, I was sitting out on their deck, smelling the wood furnace, listening to the birds, smoking a cigar, and feeling GREAT!!! Karen came out and said their youngest son called and wanted to talk to me. So I walk in, hear “hi Uncle Jim”, see his face on the computer screen, and say, “what the hell is this, Star Trek?”
Story of stupidity: (not mine) Throughout my life I had lost my driver’s license a couple of times due to tickets and had to re-take my test. I had lost it again for the same reason shortly before getting arrested, so with that, combined with the DMV having my paperwork and thus knowing I hadn’t driven in the past 25 years, I just knew when Karen took me there on my second day out I was going to be told I would again have to re-take my test. But nope!!!! I paid the money, they took my picture, and handed me my license and said I was clear to drive. I asked “now, as in today?” and the woman told me “Yes”. WOW!!
However, I think the answer you’re looking for is scary. On my third day she took me to Walmart to get things I needed, and that big of an open area, combined with that many people, combined with THAT MANY CHOICES after “shopping” from a commissary list all those years had me so overwhelmed that after maybe 20 minutes I grabbed her arm and said “take me home, NOW!!!”
The adjustment for me was very hard, and actually took several years, but I’ve been out for just over 6 1/2 years now and am doing well, but I still get a bit overwhelmed when shopping for dress clothes.
Do you support the idea of an all-out war with China to permanently divide their country as Germany was briefly divided in 1945?
I guess with that idiotic arrogant cruel entitled mindset that you are referring to the USA.
The USA has just has its ass whipped again by a bunch of poorly armed, unsophisticated peasants in Afghanistan, as happened in Viet Nam and Korea. How and why it assumes that a truly cruel vile evil proposition like this could succeed against a highly organised, sophisticated, vast, nuclear armed country like China is beyond the scope of rational thinking.
Four-Onion Steak
Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
- 2 (12 ounce) boneless beef top-loin steaks, cut 1 inch thick
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
- 1/2 teaspoon chili powder
- 1/2 teaspoon pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
- 1 large white onion, thinly sliced
- 1 medium leek, thinly sliced
- 2 shallots, chopped
- 1/2 cup beef broth
- 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
- 1/2 cup sliced scallions
- Scallions, sliced into 3 inch pieces (optional)
Instructions
- Cut steaks into 4 portions.
- Combine garlic salt, chili powder, pepper and cinnamon. Use your fingers to press mixture onto both sides of each steak portion.
- In a large skillet cook steaks in hot oil over medium heat to desired doneness, turning once. Allow 8 to 11 minutes for medium rare or 12 to 14 minutes for medium.
- Transfer steaks to a serving platter, reserving drippings in the skillet. Keep warm.
- For sauce, add white onion, leek and shallots to skillet. Cook and stir over low heat for 5 minutes or until onions are tender.
- Add beef broth and Worcestershire sauce. Cook and stir for 1 to 2 minutes more or until broth is slightly reduced.
- Add scallions. Spoon onion mixture over steaks.
- Garnish with scallion pieces, if desired.
Kishore Mahbubani REVEALS China’s Strategy to Counter the US
How much do the most extreme alcoholics drink?
Betty, an aunt of mine, born in New York in 1931, began drinking in earnest in 1945, around the time she began high school. Although her mother was an alcoholic—several cocktails a day, seven times a week—Betty quickly overtook her.
By the early 1950s, she was married with three children. Her husband was a conventional, sober, hard-working sort, and my aunt absolutely detested marriage and family life. In later years, she ascribed these feelings to some kind of inchoate feminist awareness. In truth, however, she resented family life because it interfered with her drinking, which had become an established habit long before she ever met her husband or had children. One day in the late 1950s, she simply walked out on her whole family.
Betty was by no means stupid. She was a quick study, and a talented artist. Over the years, she eked out a living as a part-time art teacher, as well as by sponging off her mother and other relatives as much as she could get away with. After a second failed marriage, she met her third husband, a confirmed boozehound who had deserted his family.
After marrying this fellow, my aunt dedicated the remainder of her life to nothing except getting soused every single day. Every morning at their Palm Springs condo, the two of them typically mixed a pitcher of martinis (very dry, i.e., they waved the bottle of vermouth over the pitcher), and by early afternoon they were usually on their second. Once, I came by to visit. It was 2:00 p.m. and Betty was already three sheets to the wind. My mother told me that she and my dad once took Betty and the boozehound to dinner at a modest steak restaurant. The bill came to about $450—this was nearly forty years ago, mind—of which less than $70 was for food!
In late 2002, my aunt was diagnosed with some kind of liver trouble and received the customary admonition to cut out drinking. Doing so, of course, was impossible for her. She died about nine months later, at 72.
Neither I nor anyone else in the family has any recollection of Betty in any state other than stinking drunk. It is no exaggeration to say that my aunt had spent nary a single day sober since 1945.
Does a human being know they’re dead once they die?
I absolutely did. On January 21, 2023, I crashed from complications due to Delta Covid. Prior to being revived, I have vivid memories of knowing I was dead. I will tell you that I went somewhere horrific, and disconnected from all that is holy. I heard those closest to me say things like “at least she’s in a better place now”, as I’d dealt with decades of severe mental health issues and suicidal ideations. I heard them walk away for what I believed to be the very last time. I was in a dark room beneath the ICU, tied down in a chair. There was an evil presence, and other details I won’t go into now. My voice was mute. My screams, silent. I have never felt such agony as knowing that was the last I’d ever hear them, and I had no voice to scream, “COME BACK!! I’M NOT IN A BETTER PLACE!! PLEASE DEAR GOD DON’T LEAVE ME!!!” The belief that I had went to hell, and my loved ones assumed I was in Heaven was the worst part of it all. Knowing I was there, and no one knew. Forever. That it would never end. I cannot even begin to put into words the agony and torment, as I can assure you that there is nothing on this earth that can even come close to comparing to that horror. I read once about a woman who was held captive for many years on end by a man and woman who kept her in a box beneath their bed. For whatever reason, I can relate this most to her story, only at least she could hold onto the tiniest amount of hope that perhaps someday she’d know freedom. But where I went, even the tiniest of hope did not exist. Thankfully both her and I recieved that freedom. I woke up a different person. In the 18 months since my NDE, I have found God and am no longer suicidal. I had a laundry list of complications brought on by Delta Covid, including Sepsis, Septic Shock, Staff, MRSA, Double Pneumonia, and failed liver and kidneys. I was in a coma for several weeks and was on bedside dialysis. I woke up unaware of where I was or what had happened to get me there. I have no memories of being sick, and even the couple of weeks leading up to being life-flighted are wiped clean. At first, I assumed I must’ve been in a car accident. I had a tracheostomy and could not communicate in the weeks following waking from the coma. My body was too weak and shaky to use a pen, as we tried without anywhere close to success. I was determined to get off the vent so that I could tell of what had happened when I died. I can’t explain how odd it was to be holding onto that alone, while my loved ones visited my bedside and I had no way of telling them that I had been changed. I had seen hell. I was given a second chance, against all odds. I had a total of 17 specialists, many informing my family (and myself) that they witnessed nothing short of a miracle. My body was described as “on fire”. I had a preconceived notion that doctors were purely science-minded, but my doctors gave all the credit to God and my will to live. The odd thing was that I’d just gotten out of 7 months of in-patient treatment for wanting to end my life, so hearing it had ANYTHING to do with my will to live was such dark humor!! It was God, as He worked through the hands of my doctors. I came out of it realizing that both science and God can be true at the same time. God works through others. Next time I die, I plan on going to Heaven.
BREAD GREATEST HITS. (WITH LYRICS) NON STOP.
The Sinners of a Planet Gone Dark
Submitted into Contest #232 in response to: Write a story set in a world with a dying sun, or where light is a scarce resource.… view prompt
Susy G
I wasn’t born a thief. Believe it or not, I used to be a Pilates instructor before the world went to pot. We always knew that the sun would die in our lifetime, so I’m not sure what got us to the point where people stopped caring about personal fitness and the rule of law. All I know is that with every governmental collapse, with every frozen, deadly winter, with every suicidal cult that sprung up and promised a pre-apocalyptic death free of pain, the world felt that much smaller, and consequences became a rarer occurrence. Each winter inches us closer to a world-ending ice age, and when it’s the end of the world, concepts like ‘morals’ are the first to go. So I’m just here to make the most of it. It’s either that or sit around and wait to die. You might have your sainthood intact if you chose that route, but you’d also die a lot quicker from starvation or hypothermia if you never stole anything. It starts with a blanket, a bread roll, something you can trade for a hot meal, and then before you know it, you’re sneaking around a former world leader’s private compound on a murder spree so you can sell his prized potted plant on the black market.
As thoughts of morality and the road from sainthood to sinner spiral around my mind, I finally arrive at the vault, where the plant awaits rescue. I shove on a pair of sunglasses. They’re hard to come by these days—what use would a dark planet have for darkening the world even more?—but I know that real plants need a great deal of artificial light to keep them alive, so I came prepared. This might be my first plant heist, but I don’t intend for it to be my last.
I blast open the iron doors of the vault without much difficulty, alarm sirens blaring in the darkness. Dust spills into the air from the explosion, and I am thrust into the whitest light I have ever seen. Fortunately, the sunglasses do their job, and I see three silhouettes racing towards me, boots clanging on the metal floor.
I reach for my gun, but another guard tackles me from behind and wrestles me to the floor. He must have followed me, chosen not to engage, knowing I would be facing further resistance within the vault itself and would not be expecting anyone to attack from behind. I usually manage to avoid physical altercations, but desperation spurs me to fight back. That damned survival instinct kicking in again.
He might be bigger than me, but I know the weak points of the body. An elbow to the eye shatters his sunglasses and causes him to pull his arm back to cover his face, providing me with the space needed to roll out from under his grip, save him from the apocalypse with my gun, and face my three remaining opponents.
I have a second to take in my surroundings. The vault is enormous, more like a chamber, and it is filled to the ceiling with deep green plants. The blueprints didn’t indicate the size of the vault or its contents, but I couldn’t have imagined stumbling into a veritable rainforest. It’s been years since I’ve even seen a picture of a real plant, and this guy has a whole ecosystem hidden away in his basement. And for what? Status? Pride? Just because he can? Within milliseconds, anger and despair consume me. The apocalypse isn’t just the sun going out, the oceans freezing over, and the descent of everlasting darkness—it’s people like him, hoarding extortionate amounts of wealth just so he can go to meet God with as much superficial power as humanly possible. Has no one told him that we don’t take material possessions with us when we die? Stealing to survive and drag the wealthy back down to earth is one thing. But hoarding this? This is far beyond any concept of survival. This is greed in its purest, most meaningless form.
The heroes operating within the black market would keel over at the sight of all these plants, and probably declare that humanity finally has a shot at salvation. I’m not so sure that humanity is even worth saving at this point.
Maybe I’m starting to understand Noah’s perspective.
The instinct to survive kicks in again, and I shoot at the guards despite myself, but my gun clicks, jammed.
Divine intervention?
I dive out of the guards’ firing range and get close enough to engage in physical combat instead, but I am a thief, not a fighter. I have completed countless jobs, but none of them involved a physical fight with more than one person at a time. Like I said, security guards are a dying breed, so physical confrontations are few and far between.
I manage to thrust the butt of my gun into a guard’s head, kick another in the groin, hurl my fists into the other’s lower back, continuously moving so they don’t have enough time to aim and shoot me. I take more blows in return than I can count. Blood—I’m not sure whose—sprays onto a nearby leaf. Then, one of them manages to reach for my sunglasses and rips them off before I realise what’s happening.
My eyes scrunch shut without any control at the sudden injection of light, and the guards waste no time at my hesitation. One twists my arms behind my back and kicks me to the floor, a boot pressing against my lower spine to keep me there. My shoulder sockets burn at the strained angle.
I inch my eyes open millimetre by millimetre until I can see a guard with his gun pointing straight at me. The remaining guard stands further back, speaking indistinctly into a radio.
The guard in front of me takes his final aim, and somehow I smile to myself, panting, blood dripping from my mouth. Finally, that damned survival instinct subsides. My brain has finally stopped resisting, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more at peace than I am in this moment.
It looks like I’ll miss the apocalypse after all. I almost think I was actually looking forward to it in the end, just to see what it would feel like after all these years of build-up. Typical of me not to want to feel like I’m missing out. Maybe that’s what’s kept me alive through it all.
I chuckle and crane my neck up to the ceiling, towards the Great Sinner, finally ready for my appointment with Them.
Ex-Husband’s Afterlife Confessions to Matt Fraser!
Which famous person in history who is idolized, was actually a horrible person?
This is a great question. I have a perfect answer for this
This Son of a Bitch, Woodrow Wilson:
I am honestly baffled that anyone would put this piece of shit in their top 10 favorite presidents. Some historians rank him as the best behind FDR, Lincoln and Washington. There were so many bad things he did and it would be an essay in order to list down EVERY bad thing he did. So where do we start with this Bastard
-He segregated the Government
-He Brought new live into the KKK, ultimately setting Civil Rights back another 50 FUCKING YEARS!
-He promised to keep the United States Out of the Great War, Only to Declare War. Him saying he would keep us out of war was the reason why he won the 1916 election.
-He passed out the Sedition Act of 1918 Which Banned Freedom Of Speech
-He passed out the Espionage Act of 1917 which prohibited people from obtaining information from the National Defense
-He supported eugenics
-He forced many soldiers to fight in WWI with Influenza and was responsible for the death of millions
-He was involved in the Treaty of Versailles which lead to Hitler and WWII
-He smiled when Theodore Roosevelt died. That’s disgusting
-He lead the Palmer Raids
I’m sure there’s much worse about this asshole but I could still keep typing until the day I die when I list every bad thing from Woodrow Wilson. If I ever had an excuse to ever go to hell, It would be to knock his rotten teeth out of his mouth. I hate him with a passion and sorry If I seem so unprofessional about this but He really did that much bad for us Americans. And what’s also the point in liking Woodrow Wilson when FDR was similar in polices but unquestionably better than him in ever since of the word better.
What’s the most badass thing your boss has ever done?
There was a time when I was working a maximum security prison. This was the top of the line for inmates just shy of death row. We held a lot of people sentenced to multiple life sentences, fifty years and more.
A trick inmates like to play was to feign a medical injury then when staff opened their cell, said inmate would jump up and start fighting.
I had one inmate on my block and he was gargantuan, easily six foot five and three hundred pounds. Had he wanted to he could have incapacitated me by just knocking me down and sitting on my chest for three minutes. He looked like Fezzik from Princess Bride.
I knew that he was being interrogated for serial killings linked to him by the FBI. If they could crack him a couple life sentences would be added to his twenty year stretch. He had nothing to lose.
To add insult to injury, life threw him a curveball. His mother died and he was locked up, unable to see her. When I heard this I was convinced he would at the minimum attempt a suicide.
My prediction seemed to come true when I heard another inmate in the neighboring cell calling my name. I walked over and he pointed towards Fezzik whose cell was next to his. I shone my flashlight in and he was lying on the ground motionless.
Following policy I called in an emergency alert to the unit. We were short staffed, so short staffed that two sergeants came by to help. I was starting to think that Fezzik had snapped and the second we rolled his door that we would be in a clobbering match with a man three times my body size. All I had was some pepper spray and a vest.
We rolled his door and there was a massive pause as we all looked around to see who the unlucky bastard to go into the cell first would be. I will admit that bastard was not going to be me.
A small sergeant, a man called Sgt. Click didn’t hesitate, not even beyond one second. He was shorter than me and had no gear but he went head first into the cell, towing what I imagined to be basketball sized steel testicles in his pants. Fortunately for us, Fezzik was not looking for a fight. He had taken his frustration out on the cell wall, slipped and knocked himself out cold on the cell floor.
We got him out and to the hospital wing. I had nothing but the highest respect for Sgt Click after that.
Pot Roast with Vegetables
Ingredients
Roast
- 1 (5 pound) bottom round beef roast
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 tablespoon shortening
- 6 whole black peppers
- 1 bay leaf
- 6 medium carrots, pared
- 6 medium onions, peeled
- 1 (16 ounce) can stewed tomatoes
Pot Roast Gravy
- Pan drippings
- 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
- Salt and pepper
Instructions
Roast
- Wipe roast well with damp paper towels.
- Combine flour and salt; rub into surface of meat. In hot shortening in large Dutch oven, brown meat well all over.
- Add black peppers, bay leaf and 2 cups water; simmer covered, for 1 hour.
- Turn roast. Add vegetables; simmer covered, for 45 minutes to 1 hour or until the roast and vegetables are tender. Keep warm.
- Serve with Pot Roast Gravy.
Pot Roast Gravy
- Pot Roast Gravy: Brown flour in pan drippings in skillet; when brown add water to liquid in pot roast to make 2 1/2 cups. Cook slowly until thick, season to taste.
- Serve with meat.
Man HIT by CAR & DIES; Shown Humanity’s FUTURE in PROFOUND NDE – Stay Calm! | Gary L. Wimmer
E. Nigma
Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story about a character who wakes up in space.… view prompt
Nicholas Thomas
She Came Home At 5 am and Forgot to Delete the Messages
When have you cheaply or inexpensively fixed an item someone thought unrepairable?
Many times I have been called upon to repair something others had deemed unfixable. It’s sort of my niche as a repair person—come to me when everybody else failed and before you give up and trash it to the landfill. I noticed years back a flurry of assorted repair trucks at a neighbors home. I was surprised as their home was just built a few years prior. What could be so wrong that Roto Rooter was there, then a plumbing company, then an appliance repair place van. I ran into the neighbor at a school function and asked her what had gone wrong. she just about burst into tears and told me the dishwasher had an error code indicating a drain problem. She had RR come out and snake the sink drain but the problem was not fixed. The RR guy said the dishwasher drain hose might be clogged but a plumber would have to replace the hose or clear it. The plumber said he couldn’t figure out how to remove the dishwasher from the cabinet to get to the hose so he ran a wire in it from the sink drain and it seemed clear so the problem was in the dishwasher. She was out $500 at that point. The appliance guy came out and said there was nothing he could do as the dishwasher wouldn’t come out of the cabinet. Then she was out $650 (service call fee). I offered to have a look and found indeed the dishwasher would not slide out of the cabinets despite removing the usual mounting screws. I asked her to remove all the food from the lazy Susan cabinet and she did. I crawled in to the Lazy Susan (I was slender enough then) with a light and mirror. I discovered the rear legs of the dishwasher had been screwed to the floor by the dishwasher installer before the cabinets were all finished and the countertops were put on. Either that installer was stupid or he figured the countertop guys would remove the screws before placing the countertop and that guy was also stupid. The end result was a dishwasher there for life and not repairable or replaceable. I ran home for special tools like a flexible screwdriver drive for the drill and a right angle screwdriver attachment. One of those was able to get back in there and remove the floor screws without removing the countertops, the sink, the disposal, and the cabinets. I slid out the dishwasher. I gave her the option of calling back the appliance repair guy or me giving it a shot. she chose me based on experience she had so far (and I was free). I started pulling the dishwasher apart after reading the manual that there was a drain obstruction detected. She asked where I learned to fix dishwashers. I told her it was actually my first time. She looked worried. I found a one way check valve in the drain line that the rubber flap had torn loose and jammed in the hose. That was the obstruction detected. I told her a new check valve was needed so I would order one for her. She asked how long it would take and I had no idea. I asked for a needle and thread-waterproof thread. She had the needle but no waterproof thread. I ran home for fishing line. I sewed the rubber flap back in position as best I could and it worked fine, the code cleared, and the dishwasher was back in business. The new valve arrived in a week and I installed it telling her she should expect it to happen again in about 3 years as the water has additives that destroys black rubber. Before then they sold the house and moved away apparently fearing the 3 contractor visit if I wasn’t around the next time perhaps.
Have you been accused of shoplifting and proved your innocence? Did the store employees apologize? Do you feel an apology is owed in this situation?
I did, once LONG ago. Being legally blind, I often travel with a folding white cane. Actually, now I use an National Federation of the Blind telescoping cane,) that, when folded, looked like a bundle of four white tubes.
I was shopping in a toy store, just looking around, minding my own business, and carrying my white cane folded up in one hand. Needing both hands to examine something on a shelf, I tucked my folded cane into my purse. The cane was longer than the purse could accommodate, so it stuck out at the end.
Not finding what I was looking for, finally, I decided I had better look elsewhere, and so I meandered out of the store. Just as I reached the outside walk, and was preparing to unfold my cane, I was confronted by a “loss prevention specialist” who said “Can you step back in the store, please?” Innocent kitten that I was, I did so willingly “What seems to be the problem?” I asked.
“We saw you shoplift that item in your purse.” UI was quite startled. I hadn’t put anything 9in my purse so when he escorted me to the back office and aske me to empty my purse, I did so willingly. He picked up the cane and said “You didn’t pay for that!” A-HA! I was floored! “Sir… that is my mobility cane!” I replied.
“NO, it isn’t! You are on camera placing it in your handbag.” “Yes, Sir, I did. I—” “Then you admit to shoplifting it!” This was just about when I realized I was in some serious trouble. Fortunately, logic saved me! “Sir,” I asked “Can you and I go to the aisle where I put this in my purse?” “Yeah, OK, I guess so.”
We went to the place where I had slid the cane into my purse. Taking my folded cane I undid the fastener and allowed the cane to fall out and snap into its extended length. “Now, Sir. Can you tell me where in this store this is sold? I need to see which product you sell was shoplifted and its price.” He stared at the cane as if it had become a snake (eat your heart out, Moses!) and stammered “Uh… I… I’ll have to ask the manager…” He did. The manager came over and we repeated the situation to him, with me explaining the cane, its usage, the fact that the tip was NOT brand new, and it was obviously in used condition and that toy stores do NOT sell mobility canes for blind persons!
The manager fell all over himself apologizing to me and even scolded the “Loss prevention specialist” for having accosted and harassed a blind customer!