AUG 2011 1
LETTER FROM THE REDDITOR
Our goal is simple - we want to give special attention and tribute each
month to the best stories, posts, and photos submitted to reddit.com
Hello, and thank you for downloading
the first (full) issue of The Redditor. Our
goal is simple - we want to give special
tribute and attention each month to the
best stories, posts, and photos submitted
to reddit.com. The focus will be exclu-
sively on original, user generated content
you wouldn’t find through any other site
or magazine. The content will be unique,
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A few reasons why we are doing this.
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longer than 12 hours without requir-
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tists. We are lucky to have a forum where
this is even possible, yet many of the best
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ments. Consider a rage comic finding an
audience a thousand times larger than a
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We’re here to highlight what gets lost in
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This is a community effort, embracing
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AUG 2011 2
the redditor
ISSUE #2 AUG 2011
Best way to get out of a date?
5

What are your best random facts?

6
/ASKREDDIT
What are your small, private acts of rebellion?
7

Creepiest stories while you’re home alone?

8

I lived at a nudist camp every summer until I was 18

11

Traveled 61 days by train, living out of a suitcase

12
/AMA
We are scientists at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab
14

I am a search and rescue pilot in the US Coast Guard

16

I survived an Attack by a Great White Shark

19

Wilderness Programs, Lockdowns, and Reform Ranches

20
/STORIES Mighty Mouse
25

I was seven when Mount St. Helens Erupted

26

A Waiting Wife
27

Took my niece to the safari today...

29

Water drop falling in front of MC Escher sketch

30

Lights moving inside a clothes dryer

31

Zissou painting
32
/PICS
Asked a friend to take photos of me skydiving...
33

Redditbot
34

Accidental Western Scene

35

Old photos from Buchenwald concentration camp

36

My mom with her pet anteater, Claude

39
AUG 2011 3
/askreddit

AUG 2011 4
Best way to get
out of a date?
asked by kilsker | permalink
THE GOOD
A random okCupid date back in ‘09 ended in about
20 minutes with my date telling me she just wasn’t into
me. Frankly, I wasn’t having all that great of a time my-
self. We paid our own half of the check, gave each other a
friendly goodbye, and went on with our lives. Never saw
her again, but damn, I have nothing but respect for that.
-operonandon
THE BAD
I was on a terrible, TERRIBLE date. Couldn’t get any worse, re-
ally. At dinner she basically admitted she was crazy, clingy, and
stalked her ex-boyfriend for about six months while stalking the
girls he was dating at the time as well. Red flags galore. Did I also
mention she had the worse manners of all time? Complete bitch
to the server. One of my pet peeves, actually.
So after dinner she wants to get drinks, and I’m done with this
date and try to find an excuse to leave. She is persistent, says we
are going, and runs to the bathroom. At this point I call my cop
friend, who is actually on duty near us. I tell him the story, and
I ask if he can help bail me out somehow. Nothing big, just get
me out of there on our way to the bar. He agrees. I tell him what
route I’m taking, and to look for my car.
THE UGLY
You take your phone and scream “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET HIM BUILD HIS OWN HELICOPTER” and leave running in tears. “
BEST PUN AWARD
Bad date? I just spat it out; tasted rotten.
- B_S_O_D
MOST HONEST ANSWER
These are so fake that it’s becoming obvious that no one on reddit has actually been a date.
I told her she looked uncomfortable - she was a little taken
aback, so I said very conversationally “Tell you what, lets skip
this date thing and just go have fun”. Took the edge of the ten-
sion, we went out to a carnival and just enjoyed the evening.
She thanked me, I think we maybe talked once or
twice after than but basically went our own paths.
Turns out, taking charge in awkward situations is usu-
ally the best strategy. Making other people feel com-
fortable keeps things from getting out of hand. Calm,
cool, collected folks - that’s the winning strategy.
-n1njabot
We’re driving towards the bar, and lo and behold, lights and
sirens. It’s my friend. He acts completely natural, and I follow suit.
Takes my license, goes back to his car. The date I’m with is all
angry, blahblah, stupid cops, blahblah. A few moments later he
comes back.
“Sir, put both your hands on the steering wheel.”
“Now get out of the car. Slowly”
He then proceeds to throw me on the hood (gently, actually)
and cuff me. My date then gets hysterical, runs out of the car,
and asks what the fuck this is about.
“This man has a warrant out for his arrest, ma’am.”
“WHAT FOR?”
“Rape... and murder.”
I never did see her again.
-blitzan
–RobotChrist
-OutrageCommodities
AUG 2011 5
 WHAT ARE YOUR BEST
RANDOM FACTS?
asked by nucleus_accumbens | permalink

We are closer to the T-Rex in number of years than the T-Rex was Harry S Truman’s Middle name was ‘S’.
to the Stegosaurus. -rockerdudeman
-drummererb

Henry Ford demanded that parts suppliers send him parts in
very specifically sized wooden boxes with very specifically
placed holes and handles. These boxes were disassembled with
care, without using crowbars, and the boxes were then used in
the manufacturer of panels and floorboards for the Model T.
The wooden scraps that did remain were burned into charcoal
and resold as Ford Charcoal, later becoming Kingsford Charcoal,
a popular brand today.
-Ronearc
If you look up at a bright blue sky, you will start to notice tiny
bright dots swimming around. If you can focus properly, you
can tell that they follow non-random paths, and often appear
to follow each other along. These are your white blood cells,
which do not absorb blue light very well and so let spots of light
through the aforementioned vasculature in front of your reti-
nas. They are usually invisible since you get ‘used’ to the shad-
ows, but these breaks in them are visible as the tiny bright dots
you see. It’s called the blue field entopic effect.
-thegnome54

The giant squid’s brain is a torus shape, and its esophagus runs “Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.”
through it. If the squid eats anything too big, it will suffer mas- That is a valid, grammatically correct sentence. Here’s a trick to
sive brain damage. understand the correct meaning of that sentence... Just think:
-Swedishfishy “American cows [that] American cows intimidate [themselves]
intimidate American cows.”
-retrogreq & JustTalkinAboutShaft
American Airlines saved $40,000 in 1987 by taking out an olive
from First Class salads.
-Fernthemighty

48 hours of youtube footage gets uploaded every minute.

-Borez
“You are always look-
A spiral stair case’s spin direction depends on which end (top or
bottom) you are defending.
ing at your nose, your
Back in the day, all knights were right handed. If you were
defending the top of a tower, the staircase leading up rotates
brain just chooses to
to the right, or clockwise, so that the attacker (coming from the
bottom) has to make a continuous right turn. Its very hard for
ignore it.”
an attacking knight to strike around a right hand corner with -Activate124
his right hand while defending with a shield in his left hand.
However, it is very easy for the defending knight at the top to
strike around a left hand corner with his right hand, holding a
shield in his left hand.
-Absolut646

Police officers are called ‘cops’ because of the copper badges

they used to wear.
-Vankrizzle

AUG 2011 6
WHAT are your small, private
acts of rebellion?
asked by laikafromspace | permalink
I am a pastry chef/cake decorator who does wholesale and re-
quest cakes for a popular high-quality cafe chain in Boston. Ev-
ery week or so we get an order for a plain birthday cake for a lo-
cal orphanage, and I make sure that those 12 dollar single cakes
are even more beautiful than the two 300 dollar full sheet cakes
that the presidents of the big colleges order for their private
parties. With the amount of money big schools waste, those
kids probably won’t be able to afford a good college, but they
can still eat like the president of one.
- rambunctoid
I work at McDonald’s and instead of giving people 4/6/10/20
piece McNuggets sometimes I throw an extra one or sometimes
a few in. And sometimes I snag some for myself.
- Durandal00
They only empty our trash at work on Fridays due to budget
cuts, which is awesome when somebody brings in fishsticks
on a Monday for lunch. So every few days, I drop some of my
trash in an interoffice envelope and send it to an administration
office-as they still get daily trash service.
- Sweaver
I honk at dogs while they’re pooping.
- Agreeswithfishpal
I don’t seed my torrents.
- yayitscaroline
I have an account at citi bank with less than 25 cents in it. Ev-
ery month they send me a letter with my account balance in it,
which costs more to send than the worth of my account. I am
slowly taking down citi bank with every letter.
- dharry
My mom used to take the junk mail we got, the kind that comes
with a pre-paid envelope inside, and filled them up with other
junk mail or the occasional dog hair that was shed all over the
house. The postage isn’t paid for unless the envelope is sent,
so the spamming company ends up using money for emptying
our house of junk mail... and dog hair.
- Tehjimmy
I used to fork for Tim Hortons (Canada) Every night after my
shift I was allowed to bring as much coffee home as I wanted,so
I would take XL cups and fill them with chicken salad mix. I
would then leave the store with 4 XL ‘’coffees’’ and give them to
the homeless or the punk bums along with day old bread.
- eatmyshit
I poop for as long as I can while on the clock at work.
-todayiamnew
12.1 font size... Because, fuck the establishment, that’s why.
-iminaLAB
I received complaints of having long grass in my yard. My neigh-
bors didn’t know I went on a 2 week vacation. I got back and the
only neighbor I can stand told me about the complaints.
I looked up the city ordinances and I’m allowed to have grass as
long as 12 inches on my lawn. Now I go out every few days and
clip the grass that’s grown longer than 11.5 inches. Right now
about 75% of my lawn is exactly 11.5” long.
- enad58
In middle school they used to dismiss lunch tables one at a time
based on what tables were “good.” One day the teacher dismiss-
ing us was being a total jerk and making us wait extra long, so
I stood up and screamed “THEY CAN’T STOP US ALL!” and ran
out of the lunchroom with a mob of fellow students behind me.
- not_a_wolf
I place stamps upside down on my mail.
- Just_hating
“I always order a small,
medium, or large at
starbucks, even though
i actually know the
sizes they use”
-Bookey23
AUG 2011 7
CREEPiest STORIES WHILE
YOU’RE HOME ALONE?
asked by moo8 | permalink
It was pretty early in the morning and I heard some weird noise
downstairs. My wife was out of town with her mom so just me
and the cats in the house, and they were both on the bed with
me and also looked kinda freaked out. So I get up slowly and
hear another loud crash/glass breaking type noise. I didn’t own
a gun or anything at the time so I was looking around for some
sort of weapon which ended up being this brass vase thing I
kept change in. I grab that and creep downstairs slightly freak-
ing out. More noises, then a “mahhhhh” noise.
Turns out I left the back door wide open and my goat wan-
dered into the kitchen and shit everywhere and broke a shelf. I
yelled at the goat and he went back outside.
-1950sGuy
I live in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. One night, sever-
al years ago, at around 2:00am, the very quietest part of the
night, I was sleeping peacefully when a tendril of music be-
gan to intrude upon my dreams and grew louder slowly, to the
point where it woke me up.
Everything was dark, but I could hear extremely loud hard-
core rap music approaching my house from down the street.
I thought maybe someone was having a party, but the music
kept approaching and kept getting louder, to the point of pan-
ic-inducing loudness - louder than any stereo I have ever heard
- louder than the front row of a concert.
I stumble from bed and peek out my front window, expect-
ing to see maybe a car full of gang-bangers cruising down my
street, trying to intimidate someone, but instead I am confront-
ed with a sight that unnerves me. The street lamps illuminate a
large tricycle as it passes in front of my house; a large wooden
box on the back containing a stereo system and enormous
speakers. The man riding the tricycle is clothed from head to
toe in white rags and even his head is covered in soiled white
rags - like a leper. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and he is ped-
dling this enormous tricycle at glacial speed, his legs moving in
slow motion as if he was towing a huge load behind him.
The music assaulting my ears is so out of proportion with the
dark, empty street that chills run up and down my spine and
I just stand there watching from the corner of my window. He
slowly pedals down the length of my street, the music taking
an excruciatingly long time to fade away. But when it does, I go
back to bed.
The same thing happens about three times over the next
month, but after that the mysterious visitor never appears
again.
-cyclura
Many years ago, I lived in a big, old, three-story house that had
a room on the middle level that we converted into an office. I
used to write financial reports late at night that were published
early the next morning.
The office had a few computers and my toddler son had
been playing on one of them for most of the evening, right up
until I finished my work at around 9pm. By then he had fallen
asleep, so I switched off his monitor, scooped him up and took
him to bed, flicking off the light as I left.
For the next couple of hours I relaxed in another room watch-
ing TV with my wife. She went to bed around 11pm, and at
midnight I decided to do the same. I realized I’d left a window
open in the office, so I went in there to close it.
The house was silent, and the room was pitch black
dark and ice cold when I walked in. Colder than it
should have been for the time of the year, even with
the window open. I paused for a moment in the cen-
ter of the room to think about this, and then it happened.
Knock knock knock.
Something was tapping on the glass. But it wasn’t the random
tappings of a bird or another kind of animal, it was completely
uniform. It sounded human, but I was on the second floor, so
how was that possible? It was so dark that I couldn’t make any-
thing out against the black glass, but a few moments later it
happened again.
Knock knock knock.
By now I was already feeling on edge. Then, something hap-
pened that chilled me to the core. Because out of the corner of
the room, to my right, and from the darkness, a high-pitched,
almost squeaky voice began to speak quite loudly.
I can see you.
I froze on the spot. My blood went cold. My bowels prepared
for evacuation. My God, I thought, I never wrote that book. Any
book.
It spoke again, but with greater emphasis on that all-important
word.
I can seeee you.
I turned slowly to my right and walked into the darkness, un-
til I finally reached my son’s computer. Nothing there but an
empty chair. But no talking now. Just silence. A horrible silence.
Carefully, I reached over and switched on the monitor. The
screen brightened, and there it was: something red, and hor-
rible. Once again it tapped on the glass.
It was fucking Elmo from my kid’s Sesame Street game.
-Sheamus
AUG 2011 8
continued >
home alone | PART TWO
I grew up on a ranch, about 10 miles from the nearest town.
One of our favorite things to do in the summer was to spread
out a few sleeping bags in our backyard and have “camp outs.”
We have a huge dark activated light attached to our barn that
we would turn off with a high powered flashlight to tell ghost
stories and try to scare each other.
One night I had two of my friends over for a camp out. We shut
off the barn light and sat in complete darkness (if you haven’t
been out in the country, it might be hard to appreciate exactly
how pitch black it can be), talking in those low scary-story voic-
es. One of my friends was in the middle of her story (probably
the one about the serial killer licking that girl’s hand) when she
stopped short. She said, “Who’s that?” and up to the road.
We all looked and saw what she was talking about. You could
barely make out a figure, certainly the silhouette of a person,
walking down the road. That was unusual enough, but the
way this person was walking was what was unsettling. The fig-
ure was standing straight up, and was walking in such a stiff
and unnatural way that s/he could have been marching. We
couldn’t make out any other defining features of the figure.
After watching and having a whispered debate on what to
do, we decided the best course of action would be to shout
at the figure. I screamed, “WHO ARE YOU?” at the top of my 12
year old lungs. One of my friends pointed the flashlight at the
figure, but it was too far away to distinguish any features. The
figure heard us, and just sort of turned around, walking in that
peculiar way. We watched it until it was out of sight, then woke
up my parents. I still have no idea who s/he was or what they
were doing way out in the country.
-colasuda
A plain white van would creep very slowly down our street at
around 2am weekly during the summer I was 19. Our street
was not a dead-end road, but had residential roads at either
end preventing it from being a through street so this van was
clearly not making a route of any sort. I would hear it and watch
from my upstairs bedroom window every time it passed by.
One night my parents and my brother were out of town and
I was home alone, happily sleeping when I heard a car door
slam out front. I jumped up to look out the window and the van
was backed into our driveway. I couldn’t see anyone moving
around outside but the lights were off and they were parked.
I ran into the hall and crouched into a ball and tried to listen
for any sounds and plan an attack / escape route. I was shaking
uncontrollably. A few minutes later I heard the engine start up
and the van tore out of my driveway, and I never saw it again.
-atgunpoint
I want downstairs to get some water at about 2am. In the
kitchen we’ve got a clock on the wall. As I walk into the room,
acutely aware of every creak that echoes around the house
surrounding me, I hear the fast wind of something mechani-
cal. As I slowly glance to my left, subconsciously grabbing my
glass a little tighter, I see the clock hands on the wall spinning
at about 50 times normal speed.
Around. And around. And around.
I think to myself, very clearly “this is how movies start, this is it”.
I was ready to defend myself with my glass whilst dashing over
to grab a knife.
It was then I realized we had a radio clock which automatically
sets itself. I’d never seen it do it before. It was now 1am.
-TL_DRespect
AUG 2011 9
/ama

AUG 2011 10
I lived at a nudist camp
every summer until I was 18
by dagubananas | permalink
Did it ever bother you when you were younger?
It was my biggest secret for a long time. I would always have to come up
with lies of half truths for my friends to explain why I was not around in the
summertime. I remember one time my father, who didn’t think it should
be a secret, told one my friends and I was mortified, really scared that it
would “get out” and the “whole school” would know. That kind of thing.
I think I was approaching my teenage years when it became less of a
big deal. It was around the time when my peers started looking at “differ-
ent” things as interesting rather than something to make fun of. I have no
problem telling people these days, as usually it’s an interesting conversa-
tion.
It did get easier to tell my friends about it as I got older, but actually going
to the nudist camp and being naked got harder as a got older. ...To the
point where I ended up leaving and not coming back.
Was there a point where seeing people nude lost its thrill?
I don’t really remember ever thinking that seeing people nude was thrill-
ing. It was just routine, and something that I was always around. Nudity is
still exciting for me of course, as it is for everyone else, but it is more about
context than the nudity itself. I think nudity is exciting to people not be-
cause of the flesh per-se, but because we are “not supposed” to be seeing
nakedness, or at least only in special situations. That experience, and the
thrill from it, doesn’t fade.
Have you talked to your parents about why they became nudists?
I’ve never really had an in-depth conversation about their motivations. It’s
come up a lot of times in passing, but it is a difficult subject for me now
because I feel fairly strongly that I wouldn’t bring my own children there.
They like to bring up fairly weak (to my mind, anyway) arguments about it
being “natural” and stuff like that, but I could never really nail them down
to a definitive reason that couldn’t be applied to a non-nudist camp-
ground. I think a lot of it, at this point, is just they have a lot of long-time
relationships up there that has become an integral part of their life.
What if you got an erection?
Every once in a while that would happen, haha. It’s less of a problem than
you’d think though. Imagine going to Walmart and seeing everyone naked.
Not exactly boner material. There were very few outstandingly attractive
people there if that helps. Also to be clear, walking around with a hard-on
was obviously considered inappropriate and would get you kicked out.
If that happened to me (and it did in my adolescent years sometimes), I
would just excuse myself and go to the bathroom or something. It wasn’t
a constant problem though because everything is so mundane and rou-
tine. Nakedness != sex. I didn’t make the rules, but I think any reasonable
person can see why it might be considered rude to walk around with an
erection. Even in a nudist camp.
Was there any particular grooming habits for men / women, you
know, down there?
As far as grooming, there was a wide array. I’m not sure how accurately it
reflects the general population of non-nudists, but I would say that most
people did some sort of light trimming, while there were some outliers
who went to the extremes in either direction. I think overall people weren’t
that interested in attracting special or extra attention to their genitals so
they kinda did regular stuff.
Did you ever get any while there?
Yeah. I do wonder sometimes if it was more than I might have if I were liv-
ing a “normal” lifestyle. As much as nudists like to say that it isn’t about sex,
I think it is just human nature and can’t really be taken out of the equation.
Looking back on it I really think that while sex wasn’t on the surface, it was
certainly closer to that surface than it is in the “real world.” That has (and
had) it’s effect on pre-teens and teens.
That said, I’m really not sure if my experience hooking up with girls as a
teenager was really any different than anyone else’s. I still had to work for
it.
Did a lot of guys with cameras sneak in from time to time?
People would come in with cameras all the time, usually at least 4 or 5
times per summer. There were probably a lot more than I (we) knew about.
They would always get kicked out, but to my knowledge not violently or
aggressively so. I remember one dude who came in with a camera in a box
of crackers that had a little hole cut out for the lens. He was caught when
he took the box of crackers with him into the pool and people started
thinking it was really odd. I used to think it was funny when I was younger,
but I distinctly remember noticing how creepy it was as I got older and
more aware of what was going on. A lot of the time these cameramen
would focus their attentions on the children. That bothered me especially.
Where did you keep your wallet and house keys etc?
A lot of people had golf carts with storage that they drove around the
place, or carried a bag. As a kid I rode a bike around everywhere and I had
a little saddle bag thing that I would use sometimes. For the most part
though the camp is set up to be paperless. There were a few places to eat
and they all had a “tab” kind of system where you could just charge things
to your name and come by once a week to add money or pay back what
you used etc. No real need for a whole bunch of keys or an ID or anything
like that. The only thing people carried around with them all the time was
a towel, because it was considered rude (or gross?) to sit down someplace
without putting a towel down first.
Were there any activities done naked that made your genitals sore?
I played a lot of naked volleyball and I don’t think there was any extra dis-
comfort or anything that could be attributed to being nude... A lot of the
time women would wear sports bras when playing tennis or something
like that so they didn’t bounce around as much. Like I said above if there
was an activity that was uncomfortable naked, people would just wear
clothes. For example there was a shooting range as well and people gener-
ally wore clothes (or at least a shirt) there so they didn’t get burnt by shell
casings and such.
When hugging a friend or family member how would that come
about?
I always did the “lean-in, ass out” hug. And as a kid, I generally tried to keep
hugs to the minimum anyway.
AUG 2011 11
TRAVELED 61 DAYS BY TRAIN,
LIVING OUT OF A SUITCASE
by isthisadream | permalink

On May 3rd I left Denver Union Station at around 7 pm and returned July 4th around 2pm after traveling the entire US (north, south, east, west) via
train. I bought two Amtrak US Rail passes (45 day and 15 day,) and planned each stop on my trip only a day or so in advance - sometimes even from
the station. I traveled to Chicago, Milwaukee, Wausau, St. Paul, Seattle, Portland, San Fran, Los Angeles, Flagstaff, Sante Fe, Kansas City, St. Louis, New
Orleans, Atlanta, Washington D.C., and Boston. I returned to Denver from Boston.

The whole trip I used a website called couchsurfing.com and never once had to pay for a hotel or hostel. I stayed with a US diplomat on leave from
Saudi Arabia, CEO of an insurance company, a forager, a Los Alamos nuclear physicist, a lobbyist, a retired bass player, a spiritual guru, a group of hip-
pies... to name a few of the hosts I had the pleasure of staying with.
Everyday I lived out of my suitcase and backpack. Everyday I was somewhere new and meeting new people; people I had to stay with for long periods
of time in some cases.

During my trip I was almost mugged, had a knife pulled on me (separate incident), got tonsillitis, went sailing, fell in ‘love’, drank way too much in New
Orleans, drank just enough everywhere else (go local brewed), got lost in a swamp, attacked by a cougar with loads of tequila, and more.

What did you pack in your suitcase? Did you repay your hosts in any way?
One towel, one pair of jeans, one pair of shorts, a few pair of Every time I stayed with my hosts I took them out to dinner any
socks and boxer briefs, about six shirts, toothbrush/deodorant/ time I could. I only regret saying I’d pay for drinks in New Orleans
cologne/electric shaver/, swim trunks, sandals, and a mask of because the girl I stayed with racked up a massive bill.
george washington (half mask). The only person who wouldn’t let me buy them a meal was the
Oh, and a bunch of zip lock bags. Came in super handy. nuclear physicist. He was very well off and ended up spending
hundreds of dollars on me - but he and I connected pretty good
What made you do it? and had some amazing conversations. He told me that I live on
I saw my future and hated every second of what was to come. I the ‘fringe’ and that I had changed his paradigm on a few things.
took a leap of faith and followed the unknown - it was worth it. It’s funny because talking with him nearly blew my mind every
time we talked. He also let me drink beers in his hot tub and I got
I take it my fear of couchsurfing.com is unwarranted? I would to watch satellites cross over in the night sky from it.
like to know more about the people who allowed you into their
homes.
Couchsurfing can be quite daunting before you try it. Just be sure
to check references of people before you go asking for a place to
stay and follow your gut with who you choose.
My best accommodation was with the diplomat - I stayed in guest
bedroom with private bathroom and he even laid out hotel toilet-
ries for me to use. His apartment overlooked the city and had an
amazing view.
The worst accommodation was in New Orleans where I had
to sleep on a decaying couch for 4 days and ended up with more
flea bites then I’ve ever had in my life. I didn’t leave though be-
cause my host was awesome and I had an amazing time with her.

Today I learned about US rail passes.

And they’re cheap too. 45 days was $750 and 15 days was $380.
On the train heading to Seattle from St. Paul.
You have a certain number of segments - but it’s almost impos-
sible to use them all up in the time allotted. And yeah you can go
anywhere - you just have to call and book a seat with your refer- How safe do you think this would be for a single woman to do?
ence number. A really good deal and the trains are pretty nice - It could be safe if you planned it right - definitely safer by car
they have AC chargers because the train stations can be sketchy. You can couchsurf
with families and women too which is much safer. If you want
What did you do for food...did you eat out everyday? take another girl along with you and you’ll be fine. Bring a can of
I ate out a lot definitely. But the cool thing was eating different mace though to be sure, I brought my knife.
foods in different local ‘favorite’ restaurants. That was the nice
thing about couch surfing was that you got the real culture of
that city staying with people that actually lived there. There were
quite a few times that I was made food by my hosts and that was
always awesome. The whole trip was under $2k.
AUG 2011 12
continued >
61 days by train | PART TWO

Pair of Amtrack rail passes. $750/45 day, $380/15 day
Can you describe the knife incident?
The knife incident was at the St. Louis Amtrak/Greyhound station
while I was waiting for a shuttle to take me to Carbondale, IL to
catch a train to New Orleans. I was standing there in the station
with my cell phone charging it in some wall socket and a dude
approached me to ask the time. Immediately I knew what was
up (I could sense it) and started to walk away with my stuff and
he flipped out some swiss army knife and held it in attack mode
while demanding I give him my backpack.
Now at this point I had been almost 50 days traveling and had
an extensive journal with thousands of pictures and videos I had
taken - not to mention all my tickets, rail passes, and netbook/
camera/iPod. Fortunately I had been getting a really uneasy feel-
ing earlier at the station when ‘thug nation’ came in and started
looking at my bags with keen interest, so I had popped my giant
Smith & Wesson knife in my pocket. It was a stupid move, I know
this, but it felt cool to mutter “You won’t be taking shit” as I flicked
the blade out from the grip. The guy just backed off and then se-
curity came running over freaking out on me and took my knife.
Luckily I was able to get it back when I described the situation and
they looked over the camera footage.
In hindsight I was an idiot and could have been killed, I’ve nev-
er seriously hurt someone or let alone stabbed somebody, and
I’m not sure I would have been ok if that situation had gone dif-
ferently. But I was confident as hell at that moment in time and I
think that, more than the knife, really made the guy back off.
What were you most afraid of before you left, and how did that
turn out?
I was terrified before I left, and was still terrified up until I left Mil-
waukee. It was then I realized that everything would be alright
and I was stronger than I thought. I was mostly afraid of trusting
others and following a path into the unknown. It was something I
had to do and will always be grateful that I took that leap of faith
and got on that train in Denver.
The thing that surprised me the most was how gracious and
caring every single person was on couch surfing. In almost ev-
ery case I was picked up from the train station and well fed. In
some cases I felt like I was in a hotel, especially with the diplomat.
I would do it again in a heartbeat and my couch is open to travel-
ers coming though my town so I can return the favor.
How will this change how you live the rest of your life?
I won’t be so timid and shut in with my ambitions and desires.
Before I was always the achiever, but money was always the mo-
tivation and not my happiness. I also was socially inept in quite a
few ways, but that’s all gone now. I have no fear of approaching
groups of strangers and introducing myself or getting to know
new people and hang out with them. When I got back from my
trip I went on two dates with girls I had met just last week.
It was a matter of stop judging myself. I used to judge everything
I’d say and do - how I looked. Once I stopped judging myself I
started to gain a lot of confidence and eventually I stopped say-
ing stupid things because I stopped worrying about it.
Nobody judges you more than you yourself do. This was basically
the formula for breaking out - but I was lucky in that I was forced
to be social in the beginning. Towards the end it was completely
natural.

Was anyone really creepy that you found via couchsurfing?

I stayed with a gay couple in Kansas City and the boyfriend of
the guy I stayed with had down syndrome I think. He gave me
this look like he wanted to either sleep with me or kill me and it
creeped me out. It was super intense in only a way that a person
with downs can do. I locked my bedroom door that night (luckily
I had a room there). When I woke up there were napkins in front
of my door and a line had been drawn on it in sharpee... and they Bus station graffiti in Seattle.
weren’t there the night before. They were also placed in perfect
symmetry. I just stepped over them and got the hell out the next
morning to make my train to St. Louis.

AUG 2011 13
We are scientists at nasa’s
jet propulsion laboratory
by hubblemedia & jplatwork | permalink
Special thanks to EducatedEarth.org for organizing this AMA.
With the Space Shuttle Program winding down, a lot of people are wondering what is next for NASA and
North American space exploration. Naturally there is plenty of speculation, but I figured it would be nice
to hear the story from the Men and Women currently working at the agency.
Note, this is not an official posting by the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory and does not reflect the direct views
of the agency or its partners.
If NASA had the same kind of budget as the US Dept. of Defense,
what do you think would be done with it? What projects might
suddenly come to the fore, with such resources at NASA’s dispos-
al?
With that much money US$664 billion (est. 2010), things would
be seriously different. We could probably do a reddit poll and take
the top 10 (non lolcat) suggestions and just run with them all.
What I would like to see done with that budget is as follows:
1. Moon based telescope - Why not build a few kilometer di-
ameter telescope on the far side of the moon? It would be very
well sheltered from the Earths pollution and at that scale it would
provide unparalleled resolution.
2. Mass produced spacecraft - There is a reason a Lamborghini
is more expensive than a Toyota Corolla. When you build some-
thing by hand, the cost is significantly higher than when you can
run an automated assembly line and pump out thousands a day.
SpaceX is hoping to tackle this, but I can never put too much
weight behind corporate promises of space exploration. If we
could bring down the cost of launches to $1000 a pound or less,
it could change the accessibility of space for the entire world.
3. A serious space colony- While most people don’t recognize
them as such, space stations are literally our first space colonies.
While they may not be self-reliant, neither were many of the early
outposts around the world. I would urge for the establishment of
a larger scientific outpost, one with at least basic manufacturing
capabilities. I would ideally love to have a giant spaceship build-
ing factory in orbit, but realistically we have plenty to learn before
we are ready for that. I would just have us build the sandbox so
we have a chance to learn.
How likely is it that the projects to send people to Mars will come
to fruition in the next 10-15 years?
Technologically speaking, that time line is actually fair. While this
would be a whole different ballgame than a moon launch, with
proper funding there is no reason why we couldn’t set foot on
Mars within the next decade or two. The catch is proper funding.
While setting foot on Mars has been on the minds of many
people since even before the Apollo days, since we achieved the
technological prowess to pull this mission off, we have never had
the political backing to even seriously look at it.
Well, there was one instance a couple decades ago where the
government asked for an estimate but the agency submitted its
dreams and not a practical reality. Numbers were way too high,
the government got spooked and backed out. Now they don’t
seem to take any proposal seriously.
If NASA wants to go back to the moon, why don’t you just build a
Saturn V rocket and lunar lander according to the 1969 plans and
launch it? Why should it take ten years again?
Primarily because we have different priorities now than we did
back then. It was originally a race, cut corners, do whatever you
gotta do to get Humans onto the moon without racking up a
death toll while everyone is watching.
If we go back to the moon, we don’t plan on leaving this time.
Even if left unmanned, we would like to see a permanent out-
post on Luna. We are also much more about the future resource
exploitation of this world. Basically, we have a lot more luggage
this trip around and our priorities on the moon are not what they
used to be.
Are the high technical standards really necessary? Instead of
sending up one awesome gold plated, carbon fibre super-space-
ship, why not send up 20 poorly put together unmanned ones. Is
NASA putting all it’s eggs in one basket?
The problem with this idea is the concept that launching several
failed attempts would be cheaper than just doing it right the first
time.
Space hardware is expensive. You are looking at dropping
millions of dollars if you intend to enter Earth orbit, let alone the
cost of whatever you want to put up there. The cost difference
between a high quality rocket and a cheap one dissipates as soon
as you’ve gotta try again.
You also have to minimize the amount of debris you are chuck-
ing into orbit. Explosions create a lot of high velocity debris, con-
tributing to quite a dangerous situation for any present and fu-
ture craft.
“It was originally a race, cut cor-
ners, do whatever you gotta do
to get Humans onto the moon ... If
we go back to the moon, we don’t
plan on leaving this time.”
AUG 2011 14
continued >
Nasa jpl scientists | PART TWO
“The Apollo missions did more
than collect a few rocks and give
astronauts a chance to play golf
on another world - they changed
how Humanity itself thought
and felt about space.”
How do you intend to keep the dream alive for the kids that are
in school now?
In 2015 the Pluto system will receive its first robotic visitor, which
will serve as quite a landmark occasion for our species and will
hopefully provide some inspiration.
To me, the real importance of the manned space program is in
its inspirational value. The Apollo missions did more than collect
a few rocks and give astronauts a chance to play golf on another
world - they changed how Humanity itself thought and felt about
space. It was no longer an abstract concept, it was a place, some-
where you could actually get to and experience.
There are talks of a manned mission to an asteroid. I have a feeling
that too will awaken the hearts of the masses to the adventure
and allure of space exploration.
It seems as though space exploration will be the domain of ro-
bots and private companies for the foreseeable future. Do you
feel that it is in good hands?
A lot of people are kinda iffy on the idea of private companies
stepping up to be the leaders in space access. Myself included.
While I have full faith in the corporate space industry and their ne-
cessity to make us a truly spacefaring civilization, we have to look
at the priorities here. NASA is a science institution, corporations
are profit institutions.
Should we put too much reliance on corporations we will find
they are legally obligated to make as much money for their share-
holders as possible, not obligated to expand the horizons of our
knowledge.
I know this isn’t exactly your field of work (quite the opposite ac-
tually), but the space elevator. Will we see this in our lifetime? Is it
even possible?
I would love to see the construction of a space elevator, but real-
istically I do not see one being built (or even starting to be built)
for at least several decades.
This is a great idea, but requires a lot of international cooperation,
some serious advances in materials (perhaps the newly discov-
ered graphene would involved), and a massive financial invest-
ment.
I do not see this even being seriously attempted without a se-
rious price reduction (and quality improvement) in the materials
Humanity can currently create.
Any advice for those interested in a career at NASA?
It’s flattering to see so much interest in working for NASA and
space exploration, so here we go:
Personally, I came from the commercial aerospace industry, and
left to join JPL mainly because I wanted to be devoted towards
space exploration and remove myself from commercial and de-
fense funding motivations. It is extremely humbling to work with
people who design and send spacecraft to every planet in the so-
lar system and be along for the ride.
With that said, JPL does hire some of the best and brightest.
Are we hiring? Yes. Are we selective? You betcha! So here is what I
would recommend:
• Be diligent in your studies - Although there is no real minimum
GPA required, when you’re competing with others, the higher the
number, the better.
• Be passionate about your interests - If there is a specific field
of expertise, highlight it in your resume* (school projects & side
projects), and in your interview. If your resume still has “babysit-
ting” or “worked at my local Japanese restaurant”, it’s time to get
more experience (related to your field of work). When we are hir-
ing, the worst thing we hear or read is that you’re “good at every-
thing” or “willing to do whatever work”. That is a lie and we both
know it. Be specific and tell us exactly what you want to do and if
we can’t provide it, we’ll refer to someone who can.
• Be promiscuous - http://findyourplace.jpl.nasa.gov - There
are hundreds of groups at JPL and elsewhere at NASA. Find the
groups that interest you and apply to all of them. There is a job
here for almost everyone.
• Be persistent - Don’t give up after one group turns you down
(see above). If you don’t get a summer internship this year, get
more experience, and try again next year.
A few notes about the work environment:
The HR department (specifically compensation) has an extremely
challenging job of not only offering competitive salaries (com-
pared to others in the aerospace industry), but abiding by the
limitations of our NASA publicly funded budget. I think it’s safe
to say that with a healthier budget (currently $0.005 on the dol-
lar), we could not only fund way cooler missions, but compete
(compensation-wise) comfortably in the public domain as well
(Google, Facebook, Microsoft, etc.). In short, working here will get
you paid, but we don’t do it for the money.
So why do we do it? The relaxing work environment, the tal-
ented individuals, and the out of the world missions of course.
But there’s something more. We are not (that much) smarter than
the rest of the working force, but I believe that we have a brilliant
goal. We’re making dreams come true. Someone asked what the
coolest thing we’ve seen working here. I’ve seen shuttle launches
and landings, worked on missions to Mars and beyond, and saw
images beamed down to our operations centers in real time (mi-
nus time delay). But the greatest thing is to see the inspiration
in the eyes of people like you. And that’s what keeps me coming
back to work every single day.
AUG 2011 15
I am a search and rescue
pilot in the US Coast guard
by tupperwolf | permalink
I fly the MH-65C Dolphin, the most common helo in the CG’s inventory. Just like every other airframe, we fly
pretty much any mission the CG needs; search and rescue (SAR), marine environmental protection (MEP, i.e. oil
spills, endangered species protection, etc), law enforcement, aids to navigation (ATON), homeland security stuff,
you name it. That’s definitely one of the best parts of the job, the variety. SAR is always the priority, but it is by no
means the majority.
How do you hover with no static reference in wild seas? Like
when recovering someone in the dark in a storm.
That is one of the hardest things we do, so that’s a pretty insight-
ful question. It is not easy, even with a lot of training and experi-
ence. There are a few tricks, but a lot of it is just training. First, at
night we’re always using night vision goggles (NVG’s), so you can
at least make out the horizon. Also, we’re often hoisting from a
vessel of some kind, so depending on the conditions, sea state,
etc, you can often keep a part of the ship in sight as a reference.
When you’re hoisting directly from the water you can, with prac-
tice, use your own rotor-wash as a rough guide... depending on
the winds, if your rotor-wash is moving behind you, you’re sliding
forward, if it moves out to the left, you’re sliding right. In a pinch,
you can drop flares, or have the rescue swimmer toss out glow-
sticks, but there’s no silver bullet.
Do you resent the people who put themselves in harm’s way,
forcing you to risk your life to save them?
No, I wouldn’t say I resent them. Sometimes I roll my eyes. I may
have been known to utter the phrase “US Coast Guard, prevent-
ing Darwinism in a gene pool near you.” But no one forces us
to go out. Any aviator can turn in their wings anytime they like.
And if you don’t think you can make it, you’re not only able but
expected to decline or delay the mission. Unlike in combat, it’s
pretty hard for us to sacrifice ourselves and still get the job done.
I have yet to see or hear of anyone turning down a real-deal case,
but I’ve certainly seen people delay or do something else to give
themselves a fighting chance.
Wheats your best rescue story?
One of my quick favorites that comes to mind was when I was
single pilot. I was doing a regular patrol when I got called for
some kayakers in trouble. The command center had a broken
mayday, but only a rough idea where they were. I had very little
fuel but started heading that way and asked them to launch an-
other helo from home with more gas. With no co-pilot I had to
do everything myself, but we got there and immediately started
searching. Just as I was running out of time, I found them and
vectored in the other aircraft. They had capsized and lost one of
two kayaks, so four of them were hanging onto the remaining
kayak and were all in danger of getting smashed onto the rocks.
The other plane got eyes-on right as I ran out of gas. I rolled out,
he rolled in and picked them up just before they really got into
the surf. Good times.
How dangerous do things have to get before you call off a res-
cue?
We spend a lot of time weighing risk versus gain, it’s a core prin-
ciple of pretty much everything we do. So if you’re going out on a
low probability case, something where the odds of someone ac-
tually being in trouble are pretty low, then even some low visibili-
ty or minor aircraft problems might be enough to have us go back
and wait it out. On the other hand, if you know there’s somebody
really in trouble, and there’s no other alternative, we’re pretty te-
nacious. Folks have flown through hurricanes when there were
confirmed PIW’s (persons in the water).
In Annapolis MD there is always a 20ish foot Coast Guard boat
patrolling with a machine gun mounted in the front. It always
strikes me as highly unnecessary, and a little scary. Can you pro-
vide any insight into the Coast Guards logic for having the guns
out?
That’s all post-9/11 driven, and like most super-security ideas,
looks better on paper than in real life. There is a huge increase in
the homeland security. We have a lot more patrol responsibilities
and many more units have to carry MAW (mounted automatic
weapons) than before. Most of those guys drive around all day
going “Seriously? What the hell am I doing with this thing?” But
imagine if some Al-Qaeda sponsored party-barge drives into the
Naval Academy with a bunch of C4... No one will pay attention to
how likely it was to happen in the first place, all they’ll say is “Why
the hell didn’t those coasties have a machine gun!?” Hence, they
drive around with the gun. Don’t worry too much, they’re very
well trained with it and very safe with it, and they don’t see the
use for it any more than you do.
“US Coast guard, preventing
darwinism in a gene pool
near you.”
AUG 2011 16
continued >
coast guard PILOT | PART TWO
The Coast Guard does a lot more drug interdiction and home-
land security stuff than they used to. How often do you fly out
for search and rescue missions?
There is a huge increase in the homeland security post-9/11. We
have a lot more patrol responsibilities, but to be clear, SAR is still
the priority. Every unit on the west coast is fully staffed with res-
cue swimmers just itching to jump out. They will deploy a swim-
mer to help you blow your nose if they can find a way to justify
it. It varies dramatically by where you are stationed. There are
some airstations that barely get 60-70 cases a year, or one a week.
Some airstations get 300+ cases a year, or basically one a day.
Would you guys go out to sea if someone called in saying their
pet went into the water?
Not normally, but it can be heartbreaking to hear about so... I
may or may not have once spent an entire ‘training flight’ look-
ing for a golden retriever that fell overboard. It was sad but
I think we gave the owner a little peace of mind that they’d
done everything they could.
How well did The Guardian capture the swimmer experience?
Despite Ashton Kutcher, I was pretty impressed with that mov-
ie. The depiction of swimmer school was, from what I hear,
a little dramatic, but overall accurate. A lot of those drills are
straight out of the school, and several of the instructors in
the movie are real life instructors. Although the new guy cer-
tainly doesn’t go drinking with the chief instructor, nor with
the Commanding Officer of his base. The SAR stuff was pretty
damn close.
Things that were off: we don’t do freefall deployments at night
(might land on something you couldn’t see), Kodiak does not
have a gigantic mission-control-like operation center, and,
hate to break it to anyone that loves the movie, but we have
a quick-splice hook in every aircraft. If the cable parts, you just
quickly attach a new hook to the cable and send Ashton back
down to tell Kevin that he’s just been punked.
What was the worst rescue you’ve been on?
Worst case was looking for my own friends and coworkers.
They crashed in a training accident on a regular Thursday night.
Three of them were recovered quickly with no vital signs. We
spent the next 3 days looking for our XO, but never found him.
I could write about it for a long time obviously, it was fairly
traumatic, but it’s a very difficult thing to relate. Even talking
to other coasties at other units I’ve been at, it’s hard to make it
‘real’ to somebody else. It’s one of those things that only hap-
pens to ‘other people’. But it doesn’t.
Have you gone out on any fake calls?
I’ve been on plenty of hoaxes; most of them you never know for
sure, you just suspect it based on the voice on the radio or the
phone, but sometimes they can confirm it, either be triangu-
lating the radio, or getting cops to go to someone’s house and
squeeze it out of them. Far more common than hoax’s though
are well intentional folks who ‘think’ they saw a flare or heard
mayday on the radio. They mean well, but it’s still frustrating,
and you can’t just assume their wrong, because just maybe
somebody’s life is on the line. It’s a rock and a hard place.
Is there a prime station everybody wants? Alaska would be
cool for experience but a warm climate would be better for life
comfort.
Some areas change over the years, and some are pretty much
always popular. Some have become less popular due to
changes in their missions, and some aren’t popular because
of their location. Alaska is a great example... used to be a hard
fill, people went there kicking and screaming. Now everybody
wants it. I tried for it a while back and didn’t get it.
Some prime stations that are almost always popular: Ha-
waii, San Fran, Savannah, San Diego, Port Angeles WA. Some
places that are less popular: Atlantic City (because of deploy-
ments, not the location), Jacksonville (same as A City), North
Bend OR (small remote town, not much action), Detroit. But
there’s almost always somebody that’s dieing to go to those
places too.
Would you suggest academy for someone looking for a cheap/
free education?
Absolutely not. If you want a cheap education, go to commu-
nity college. The Academy is a very difficult 4 years, and the
biggest factor for success (IMHO) is how much you want to be
a Coast Guard officer. Sometimes it’s enjoyable, occasionally
fun, and you’ll make better friends than you’ve ever had and
experience cool stuff, but the rest of the time you’ll be pretty
miserable and wondering why you didn’t go to the University
of ______. It’s a great place to be from, but not a great place
to be.
Are the Academy students smart, and is it really as difficult as
they say to gain entrance?
Getting in is difficult not because the bar is high (though it is
pretty high), but because they take so few each year. 250-300
total, across the whole country. Also, when they say they want
well rounded students, they mean it. You could have a 4.0
and perfect SAT scores, but if you sat in your room and played
video games through high school, they aren’t interested. They
want varsity athletes, club presidents, the kid who organizes
the canned food drive, etc. Their looking for leadership, but it’s
hard to find on a transcript.
“every unit on the west coast is
fully staffed with rescue swim-
mers just itching to jump out.
They will deploy a swimmer to
help you blow your nose if they
can find a way to justify it.”
AUG 2011 17
/stories

AUG 2011 18
I survived an attack by a
great white shark
by exfish | permalink
On fathers day last year my sixty year old father and I went
on a kayak fishing trip that quickly turned into a night-
mare. After fishing for around an hour, drifting out around
two to three kilometers in near perfect overcast conditions
we anchored on the inside of a reef one kilometer off the
coast and about five hundred meters off a small uninhab-
ited island.
Within about twenty minutes of fishing I felt the kayak
sharply move to the left several meters and shrugged it off
as tidal movement. Seconds later we felt a massive thud
directly underneath us. My first hope in that horrifying mo-
ment was that it was a whale. However, I knew in my heart
the only whale close by was near the horizon. Within the
single attack from beneath it lifted us a foot, then as we
went over it’s head came out and took a massive chomp
of the kayak right where my father was sitting. If his arm
was protruding it would have been taken. I looked directly
into it’s eye as we went over and the beast’s jaws had so
much power we were thrown approximately a meter out
and into the ocean. All I could think was that we would be
chomped in half like the others taken from our waters.
All my life I had been a ‘fish’, unafraid of the water, surf-
ing, free diving, fishing and swimming I had only seen
smaller sharks like ten feet long tiger sharks. But this was
something else, a head over a meter in diameter and
a dark eye of pure predation close enough to poke in
that split second. Now we were swimming with death.
Both of us had wet suits on but folded down at the
waist with heavy coats on our top half and Dad had a life
jacket on. This made it extremely difficult for me to scram-
ble back onto my upside down kayak. However, I managed
to get up quite fast but couldn’t see my father or the shark
anywhere. There was no blood, that was of some comfort
so far, but still no Dad.
Finally, after the longest few seconds of my life, he sur-
faced completely terrified by the look on his face but still
no blood (turns out he came face to face with it while com-
ing up underneath the kayak)! I grabbed him by the scruff
of the neck and dragged him aboard the now sinking kay-
ak. It had a hole from one tooth that found it’s way through
the tough plastic! I did not tell my father this as by that time
he was screaming for help and waving to no avail. We were
one kilometer off shore with a ten knot offshore wind, no
one would hear. We were alone, wet, waiting and terrified.
Battling my panic after screaming “oh fuck, oh fuck” for
several minutes while Dad called for help, I managed to
regain a thread of calm somehow and decided to paddle
with our hands towards the paddle that was drifting away
from us fast. We spent about two minutes attempting that
when I realized the anchor was still down! After deliberat-
ing to myself about if I should pull it or cut it I decided to
pull it in case the wind started to blow us out to sea.
Now we were free and drifting toward breaking waves
with no paddle and a massive hungry shark somewhere
close by. Dad kept yelling and waving despite me telling
him to save his energy. So I told him to take off his life-jacket
and wave that being the brightest thing Here is a sketch I made the night after
we had. Very unsure but seeing the log- the incident while drinking plenty of red
ic he reluctantly took it off and waved wine with Dad.
it in the air while still yelling for help.
I yelled as he pondered our pre-
That’s it. I decided we had wasted too dicament. As soon as he was close
much time already and we had to make enough I grabbed the side a tried
a break for it. We hadn’t seen the shark to pull myself in. I couldn’t, it was to
since the initial attack and I needed much after everything. Jumping into
to feel dry ground. We both started to the water I swam around the back
paddle with our hands to get to the is- and tried that but still needed help,
land but we had a problem, panic had I was exhausted. My father yelling
set in and my Dad was having a hard “NO” to me the whole time about
time keeping coordinated. I told him we me swimming was still clutching the
needed to paddle the kayak backwards kayak and wouldn’t dream of going
because being upside down meant the in there. The fisherman grabbed one
nose would dig into the water other- arm and one leg then tried to flip
wise. His instant reaction was to paddle him over onto the boat. He was hav-
backwards but he was kneeling back- ing a hard time, so I stepped over
wards so he ended up paddling for- and tried to help, almost capsizing
wards while I, lying forwards with my the dinghy with my effort! “Get to the
head between his knees, paddled back- other side he yelled as I took Dad’s
wards. arm and got to the other side with
After about a minute of this and some it dragging him over and into safety.
circles we had it worked out, but there It turned out that a woman on the
were other problems. The kayak was beach looking for her fisherman hus-
sinking fast. With an inch wide hole in band with binoculars saw us waving.
the hull my little vessel was going down Then, after Dad waved his life jacket
and so were we! Trying to keep the bal- around she knew we were in trouble.
ance would tip us over due to the water So using the binoculars she started
in the hull washing around and over we looking for someone to help.
went. Back in with that beast over and There was a man on the next beach
over several times. who just packed up his boat and was
helping some young guys get out of
About to suggest we strip off our coats, the bog so she jumped in her car and
pull over our wetsuits, and make a swim drove up around the hill toward the
for the last three hundred meters to the next beach intercepting him at a cross
island, I looked up and saw a small din- road on his way home. He ended up
ghy thirty meters off coming for us. The being a friend of hers and she man-
driver stopped ten meters away and aged to talk him into re-launching his
asked if we were ok. “Shark! Hurry!” boat and driving out to save us.
AUG 2011 19
 I ran away from home when I was 15. My father had just died and
my mother was going through a midlife, batshit crazy crisis in-
volving a boyfriend in prison for double homicide, a man she ac-
tually forced me to develop a relationship with, going so far as to
bring me to the jail to visit him. At one point the man alluded to
mafia contacts he could call to “take care of me” if I were to give
my mother any more trouble. Doesn’t get much more charming
than threatening a teenager with gang violence.
Crazy you say? Yes. And that’s not even the half of it. But, being a

Wilderness
minor, my acting out earned me the labels bipolar and obstinate-
defiant. I was subjected to medication I never needed in the first
place instead of anyone listening to me, let alone intervening on
my behalf. I tried committing suicide 3 times before I even got to

Programs,
this point. Home was not good for me, to say the least. So I left.

What followed was a three year power struggle that left me bro-
ken down and traumatized even further than I already was. The

Lockdowns,
first time I was caught and sent away I was trying to cross the US-
Canadian border from Alberta into Montana. The border patrol
ran my name and, lo and behold, there I was in an international
runaway database. Off to Montana jail I went to be held until they

and
could make other arrangements.
At this point I was still innocent to the troubled teen industry. The
escorts who met me at the Salt Lake City airport only told me an
“educational consultant” with whom I had never spoken (and to

Reform
this day have not exchanged a single word with) decided on a
wilderness program for me near St. George, Utah. (I can’t be com-
pletely certain of the name, I was only there for 4 days.) It would
be like camping, they said.

Ranches:
One teen’s saga of
institutionalized abuse
written by silenceisdanger | permalink
I went willingly. We drove through the night, deep into the
high desert to hand me over to staff from the program. My hair
stood on end when we pulled over to the side of the road so the
escorts could hand me off to program staff. But I ignored the sen-
sation and got into the truck with staff to began the drive.
A half an hour of rocky dirt roads until we stopped at a clearing.
The woman to my right got out of the truck and motioned to me
to exit. The man driving stayed in the cab running the truck and
headlights.
Something felt weird. The woman told me to go in front of
the truck and stand in the headlight beams. I did. Then she told
me to start taking off my clothes. I went wide-eyed with disbelief.
She stepped towards me and repeated the instructions. I had no
choice.

The headlights bore down on my shivering 16-year old frame as I

stripped to my underwear. The woman came up to start running
her hands all over my body to check for contraband. The man
stayed in the truck watching. I felt sick. I felt exposed. I felt violat-
ed. I had already been searched by the Montana jail, by the airport
and by the escorts. I couldn’t understand why they were doing
this to me, especially in this way.
At that point I decided I wanted to leave. I told them this the next
morning and they laughed at me. They told me everyone says
that and no-one had ever succeeded.
I was already determined to get out of there. Then it got worse.
I started my period and, instead of giving me tampons, they let
me bleed all over myself. So there I was, the only girl in a group
of guys, in the middle of the desert wearing blood-soaked pants.
Nothing says self-esteem to a teenage girl quite like being covered
in your own menstrual blood in front of an all-male group. Each
morning I woke, I asked if I was leaving. They said no. So I cursed,
flipped them off and started hiking. On the final day I managed to
get within 4 miles of the main road. By that time I was so worn out
and hysterical from lack of food and blood loss that I got off track,
panicked and threatened to break a truck window just so I would
get arrested and be taken to jail. Anywhere was better than there.
Instead I was tackled onto the ground and cut up by rocks as I
struggled, shrieking under a grown man’s weight.

AUG 2011 20
continued >
Wilderness ProgramS | PART TWO
But my protesting worked: they transferred
me out the following day and sent me to a
lockdown facility in San Marcos, Texas that
was part of The Brown Schools. At first the
staff thought I was mentally incompetent due
to my outburst in the desert and put me on a
unit with low-functioning girls. Within a week
they realized I was sporting a hefty intellect
and coasting through whatever process they
were trying to instill so they transferred me to
the smart-but-troubled unit. I kept my head
low for the 4 months I was there, followed
every rule they placed on me. I watched girls
taken down by staff, screaming and thrashing,
hauled into the solitary confinement room.
One girl went down so hard that she busted
her nose and began spraying blood and spit
all over the ground with every mangled cry
that escaped her throat. Another friend there
went into hysterics and the staff placed her in
five-point restraints for so long she ended up
pissing herself.
I was fine being forced to walk in a straight
line with my hands behind my back. I dealt
with the forced confessions in group ther-
apy. But the day I nearly died because they
wouldn’t give me medical attention was the
darkest day I had there.
I’ve suffered from asthma as long as I can
remember. Hospitals, nebulizers, prednisone
and inhalers were par for the course in my
childhood. One night I started getting a little
sick and requested inhalers. The nurse gave
them to me and checked me after. Since I was
breathing OK then she decided I was faking.
The next day my breathing was even tighter.
I dropped a communication request card
out of my cell and into the hall. I told them I
was having an attack and needed my meds.
The nurse was on another unit, they said, so I
would have to just wait.
In reality, they never called the nurse. It
would be another half an hour until anyone
attended to me and only because I was limp
and unresponsive on the floor. I dropped the
card out again and again and again and again.
Staff shouted down the hall to stop. My cell-
mate watched as I paced around the room
wheezing and trying to stay calm. My skin
started buzzing and going numb from lack of
oxygen. I could barely feel the tears start roll-
ing down my face. I was suffocating. Walking
became difficult. The last thing I remember as
I lost consciousness was sliding down against
the wall and hearing my cell mate’s voice far,
far, far, far in the distance (in reality she was
right next to me) screaming “HELP! Her lips
are blue! Help! Someone help!”
I blacked out.
The next thing I felt was a sharp poke and
hands on my body. An oxygen mask went on
my face and radio squawks of “CODE BLUE!
CODE BLUE!” echoing somewhere. My vision
slowly emerged from the darkness. I was on
the floor of my cell. They’d revived me with
a shot of epinephrine and were trying to
feed me prednisone. They pulled the oxygen
mask from my face and popped the pill in my
mouth. After a breathing treatment I was ful-
ly conscious again and wholly pissed off.
Staff apologized to me for the incident but
I don’t think I really accepted it. Instead I just
nodded and kept on being a good girl on the
unit.
After four months, an incredibly short time
for that program, they transferred me to a se-
cured halfway house. I had to sign a contract
that I would not run away. I gave the place an
honest chance until the first time they gave
me some arbitrary punishment for the sake of
breaking me down. My mother already told
me she didn’t want me at home and I sure as
hell wasn’t going to stay there. So I took off.
The next night I dressed in black, packed a
bag, dropped out a second story window, ran
through floodlights and sharp Texas brush to
get to the highway. I held my breath as I stuck
out my thumb at the first approaching set
of headlights thinking Please don’t be staff,
please don’t be staff. It wasn’t staff. I was free
again.
My freedom lasted for another eight months.
Then one stupid, careless mistake landed me
in the worst program I endured in all my time
as a “troubled teen.”
While my peers busied themselves with ju-
nior prom and the blissfully petty concerns of
high school life I was planting roots in Port-
land, Oregon. Since my daring escape that
spring I had crisscrossed the country up and
down, back and forth before finding a small
home among other wayward street kids in
the Pacific Northwest.
I was happy. I had kicked a meth habit on
my own and managed to find space to sleep
in a small studio apartment with my girl-
friend. Even though I rarely had money and
my girlfriend and I sometimes had to steal
the occasional bit of food from our neigh-
bors (I’m sure they knew) I had a place in the
world. Most importantly, my life was my own.
Eking out a living underage on the streets
means one of three things: turning tricks,
slanging drugs or good old fashioned thiev-
ery. My girlfriend dabbled in casual prostitu-
tion while I sold the odd bag of weed or hit of
acid. I wanted something else. I knew it was a
dead end and a friend told me he could get
me a job working at a pizza place.
The only thing keeping me back was my
social security number, a requisite for any
legit job. Few people under the age of 18
know that number by heart. Shortly before
my 17th birthday I began a campaign to get
my social security number from my mother. I
called at odd hours from payphones hoping
she would suffer a moment of sleepy weak-
ness and give me my information so I could
live my life.
No dice. The familiar power play raged be-
tween us until, that fateful night, I called her
from the LGBTQ youth drop-in center land-
line.
When the cops came an hour later I was lining
up a billiards shot. They said my name. I was
so shocked I gasped. The jig was up. One of
my friends grabbed me and tried to hide me
in the back room but the cops insisted I come
with them. My crime? Underage runaway.
The jail made three attempts to put me on a
plane to Utah, all of which I thwarted. Round
1: Induce asthma attack. Round 2: Make scene
while handcuffed in front of the gate. Round
3: Flat out refuse to get on the plane.
I knew I was going somewhere awful. In my
time at San Marcos I heard just how bad it
could get. Anything on a ranch was a dan-
ger zone, just one step above international
reform camps. I knew about beatings, sexual
assault, physical torture, isolation, and the
occasional deaths. I was prepared to make
transporting me there as difficult as possible.
The escorts came, a Mormon husband
and wife team in a rental car. I hated them
immediately. I sat in the back watching my
whole world disappear into the rearview mir-
ror. I would never read my journals again, my
clothes would be donated or sold and by the
time I returned a year later most of my friends
would be dead.
A period of my life wiped off the planet in one
fell swoop.
I taunted the escorts. I asked where the other
wives were and told them I was a practicing
Satanist. The man’s face flushed red and he
called me names before informing me 90% of
the world was Christian. I laughed and asked
if he’d ever heard of India. Or the Middle East.
Or China. Or Northern Africa. I found some
perverse delight in intellectually dominating
this backwoods middle aged man. After he
snapped and yelled at me I slumped into the
backseat with my feet against the window.
I began tapping with my tiptoes and asked,
“What if I broke this?”
“Is that your plan?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
AUG 2011 21
continued >
Wilderness ProgramS | PART THREE
The car swerved to the side of the road, locks
went up and into the back burst a husky es-
cort, his frame rushing towards me. Behind
my head his wife clicked the door lock down.
I landed one backhand across his face as
he came at me but it was too much to fend
off. He landed on top with a thud, using his
forearm to choke me into submission. Tears
welled from my eyes. I tried to scream but all
that came out were mangled rasps. The more
I thrashed against him the harder he weighed
on me.
I finally went limp. He pinned me there for
a moment longer before getting off of me
and back into the driver’s seat.
“Not such a smartass now, are ya?”
I touched my tender throat and wiped the
tears off my face. No words came out for him.
I simply sat in shock for a little while. But I am
nothing if not determined and soon came up
with another monkey wrench.
I had to pee and, no, it couldn’t wait. They were
rightfully suspicious of me but their aversion
to a urine stained rental car proved stronger
than their misgivings. When we pulled into
the rest area both escorts turned to me and
said I had to follow everything they told me
to do.
They never told me I couldn’t mouth the
words “HELP ME” to a stranger as we walked
back to the car. Our little group looked suspi-
cious to say the least: a tiny teenager sporting
a buzzed head with two long locks in front
being flanked on either side by a redneck
couple in Wranglers.
As soon as he asked what was going on,
the female escort tightened her grip on my
arm and started dragging me towards the
car.
I wasn’t going without a fight. I began scream-
ing: “THEY’RE TAKING ME AGAINST MY WILL!
HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME!” Everyone in
the rest area snapped to attention as I was
shoved into the backseat still screaming. I
pounded and tried to get out but to no avail.
No-one listens to a teenager. The people
in the rest area talked to the escort, accept-
ed whatever he said and let us go. And even
though someone called the cops, the officer
who pulled us over also let them continue on
their way with me despite that fact the es-
cort had no card identifying himself as a legal
child kidnapper.
I began to give up hope. No-one would help
me. I had no rights.
By the time we reached Idaho I felt defeated.
I lay in the backseat while they had a tire re-
placed, facedown, arms folded across my
chest, barefoot (they took my shoes), softly
sobbing and saying goodbye to myself while
Rolling Stone’s “Ruby Tuesday” crooned from
the radio. Apparently I looked like I was tied
up and we had another visit from the police.
Of course, nothing happened.
Despite my protests, despite my struggle, we
pulled up to Sorenson’s Ranch School late
that night.
My first glimpse of Sorenson’s Ranch School
remains burned into my memory to this day.
While the other cabins and buildings hid un-
der cover of a mountainous rural winter dark-
ness, the main lodge sat illuminated under
the sickly amber glow of high pressure sodi-
um lights, speckles of snow softly interrupt-
ing its view. Defeated and numb I followed
my new captors inside and up to the stairs
where they made me trade the clothes on my
back (the last of my belongings) for wrangler
jeans and a baggy green shirt: my uniform
for the next eight months. My protests were
greeted with the threat of a death-row style
orange jumpsuit and a week of solitary con-
finement. I acquiesced.
For the first couple of weeks my shoes were
taken from me and I couldn’t go anywhere
without someone watching me. Sometimes
this was staff and other times I was given a
PPMer, an acronym for Positive Peer Model.
Basically, another student.
My first PPMer was a girl who had been on
the ranch for over a year. We sat in the lodge
by a large bay window so she could watch
her other charge: a 13 year old girl from Brazil
sitting outside in the snow dressed only in an
orange jumpsuit and flip-flops with a sleep-
ing bag wrapped around her for warmth.
I learned that someone had brought back
drugs from a home visit and the staff were
keeping her out there to force a confession.
A tall lanky old cowboy strode towards where
she sat. He bent over and began yelling at
her. She cowered and tugged the sleeping
bag tighter around her shoulders. Then, he
grabbed the back of her head and shoved her
into the snow before walking away.
I later learned that man was the town’s Sher-
riff in addition to his employment at Soren-
son’s Ranch School.
I realized then how utterly powerless we were.
They even took the last scrap I had of myself,
my rather unorthodox haircut, buzzed short
all over except for long, front bangs. (Many
years later I discovered Shane Sorenson, the
man with whom I pleaded to keep my hair-
cut, was under a court order not to work with
minors.) I stood in front of a bathroom mir-
ror and sobbed at my image: drab, ill-fitting
clothes and short, uneven hair framing a des-
perate and sad face. There was barely any-
thing of me left.
Before you think to yourself that a haircut
and change of clothes is no big deal, consider
how much of our identities are tied into these
seemingly superficial things. An editorial in
COLORS magazine said it succinctly:
“If hair is language, capable of expressing ev-
erything from political rebellion to religious
devotion to a choice of poor hairstylists, then
having no hair (or having no control over it) is
a kind of speechlessness. During World War II,
the Nazis reduced their prisoners to silence.
Today armies subordinate new recruits with a
hair clipper; Iranian clerics control female sex-
uality by enforcing the veil; Japanese schools
instill discipline with the marugari, an imper-
sonal buzz cut; and police mark criminals by
shaving their heads (in a local twist on this
ancient punishment, Malaysian police single
out illegal aliens by razing their eyebrows,
making it impossible for them to find work in
the country).”
And that was the point of controlling our
appearance: taking control of our minds and
who we were. This was one of many tactics to
break us down.
At this point I was a veteran of the troubled
teen industry. I had little less than a year un-
til my 18th birthday, that magical date that
would finally grant me my rights. My plan
was to keep busy and stay out of trouble. Af-
ter the first month I figured out which guys
were smuggling drugs in through their con-
tacts in the next town. I knew which students
were chronically in solitary confinement. I
knew that I had to make up drug issues for
the “therapy group” (led not by a therapist
but by staff ) and spent each session talking
about how much I loved meth, a destruc-
tive drug I came to despise after quitting on
my own the year before. I knew one of their
stated goals for me was to go to college, my
only way out before I turned 18, so I spent all
my time buried in books to get a high school
diploma at my own pace.
But the one thing they wanted to hear from
me was that I was there because I was a bad
kid. I knew they were wrong and tried to tell
my mother what was going on there. Unfor-
tunately, all phone calls were monitored by
counselors and I was silenced after trying to
tell her about the isolation cabin and the pun-
ishments that went on there. My counselor
cut me off by hanging up my phone. “You’re
getting too excited,” she said. “You can’t talk
to your mother like that.”
AUG 2011 22
continued >
Wilderness ProgramS | PART FOUR
They wanted me to admit I was wrong and
that my mother was right. That was the only
thing I denied them.
That is, until D arrived on the scene.
D was a tiny, sprite-like 13 year old girl. She
arrived a month after me sporting the same
haircut as I had. I went out of my way to warn
her about the impending cut and we came
to find out we had friends in common in the
outside world. This thread of commonal-
ity proved to be a bond I couldn’t resist. We
hugged each other and played with each
other’s hair, willing it to grow as fast as pos-
sible. We swapped stories and laughed. We
found some sense of unity in a world filled
with arbitrary punishments, isolation and
powerlessness.
Our friendship proved to be fodder for our
downfall. Two months after my arrival I was
summoned to the attic office in the main
lodge. I ran into D on the way over, both of us
completely bewildered as to what was hap-
pening. The only time you were called into
that office was when you had broken one
of their hundreds of rules. We hadn’t done
drugs, had sex, masturbated, snuck a phone
call, plotted an escape, tattooed ourselves,
been chewing gum, stealing or anything that
could be considered a violation. Confusion
mixed with mild terror settled in as we sat
down in front of one of the head staff mem-
bers.
He sat in front of a wall of monitors feed-
ing images from each stall of the solitary con-
finement building. The screens inhabitants
sat with their backs to the cameras, still and
stiff in grayscale. On the floor at his feet was
a small garbage bin. He spat pistachio shells,
a contraband item to students, into the con-
tainer and spoke slowly. “Do you know what
this is about?” My heart beat against my rib-
cage. I had no idea. There were few things
more terrifying there than not having an
answer to a question like that. We shook our
heads no.
Another shell hit the garbage, bounced off
the rim and onto the floor. “I get to eat these
because I have privileges. You know how you
get privileges? You follow the rules. I’ve been
hearing from staff that you two have been
breaking some rules.” Speechless, we looked
at each other and then blankly back at him.
He continued: “People are saying they’ve
seen you two touching each other. Seems
you two have been having unnatural sexual
relations.”
I found my voice. “What? No, we haven’t
done anything like that. I swear we haven’t
done anything wrong!” D nodded in agree-
ment. He put the pistachios aside and leaned
back in his chair. “Well, I’m inclined to believe
the staff here. I think you two will just have
to go into solitary until you learn to tell the
truth.”
My heart plummeted into my gut. I tried to
protest but I knew it was useless. He radioed
to the staff monitoring the isolation cabin and
told them to expect us. Aside from my arrival,
I had only been threatened with solitary con-
finement one other occasion. My friend, who
was openly lesbian, was slow dancing with D
at a (rare) social event in the lodge when they
were separated by staff. When they told me
I became incensed and demanded to staff
they be allowed to dance together since the
straight girls were doing the same thing. We
were quickly whisked to the upstairs attic of-
fice and shown three orange jumpsuits with
our names on them if we pushed the issue,
good for one week in the cabin for solitary
confinement.
The isolation cabin sat to the left of the main
lodge, tucked in among the cabins on the
boy’s side. A long rectangular building with
about eight to ten stalls along the back wall,
a tiny bathroom on the far left, and a door on
each end of the wall opposite the stalls, each
of which was monitored by a small video cam-
era mounted on the ceiling. In addition to the
cameras, a staff member sat at a desk across
from the stalls and made sure that students
sat upright on the tiny prison cot in each stall
facing the blank back wall. Our hands were to
remain on our knees, our backs upright and
our mouths silent.
We stayed like this for 12-15 hours each
day before being allowed to sleep fitfully un-
der bright lights on the hard lockboxes in the
main lodge. D and I were allowed to remain
in our uniforms instead of the bright orange
death-row jumpsuits because we weren’t of-
ficially being punished. Each morning, we
were individually taken to the office again
and asked to confess to sexual activities that
never happened. When we refused we were
sent back to solitary.
Every chance I got, I whispered to D to stay
strong, to not give in, to find strength in unit-
ed defiance. But she was only 13 and not yet
hardened by these places. After three days
of forced silence and immobility she broke
down and gave a false confession.
I spent my last day in solitary betrayed
and frightened. I didn’t know what D told
them and needed to make sure our stories
matched. If I couldn’t give a similar account I
feared I’d remain in there indefinitely.
As I wracked my brain for a solution, a
girl in a neighboring stall had a defiant melt-
down. She’d grown tired and started leaning
against a wall. The staff in charge yelled at
her to sit up straight and when she refused,
more staff members came in and forced her
to “hold the wall” a physically taxing punish-
ment where you leaned forward against a
wall and held yourself at a 45 degree angle.
Because the girl was already tired her arms
gave way after several minutes and she slid
to the ground. Staff shouted at her to get up
and she refused. I heard them tackle her with
a thud and the screams grew louder, mixed
with tears and sobbing.
I remained still and upright in the seated
position on the other side of that wall the
whole time, only wincing slightly at her snot-
drenched shrieking.
By a stupid stroke of luck the next day, staff
was shorthanded and took us into solitary
confinement an hour late. I saw D come into
the lodge for breakfast as we were about to
be led out and in one quick hushed moment,
we stared in different directions pretending
not to see each other while conversing under
our breaths. She repeated everything she’d
confessed to and said she was sorry. I only
felt relief knowing I could be released from
solitary that day.
I went into the attic office for the fourth
time that week, shoulders slumped and
weary. Lies tumbled from my lips. I stared at
the floor while I told a middle aged man how
I had fingered my friend in the bathroom,
kissed her many times and had sex with her
in a cabin. Disgust welled inside of me like a
broken sewer pipe, flooding my veins with
self-loathing for having to say those things to
him.
“Doesn’t it feel good to finally tell the truth?,”
he asked.
I wanted to vomit.
He sent me back to solitary to wait for my
counselor to pay me a visit. She and I hadn’t
spoken since I refused to grant my mother at-
torney privileges over my educational trust
fund, a trust set up in my father’s will meant
to support me through higher education. I
was livid that they would use my money to
keep me locked up. They were determined
and figured out how to access my funds de-
spite my protests. I remember walking past
the open door of an office where my thera-
pist (who only met with me on four occasions
over eight months), my counselor and anoth-
er staff member counted out stacks of cash
on a table. As I stared, my therapist looked up
and said, “I’m not talking to you, little missy,
since you won’t sign those papers.” I walked
away flushed with anger.
AUG 2011 23
continued >
Wilderness ProgramS | PART FIVE
But now I couldn’t muster anger. They’d bro-
ken me. My counselor came into the stall and
sat down on the bed. She told me she was
glad I had confessed and it represented prog-
ress. Then she repeated the question posed
so many times to me already: “Do you under-
stand why you’re here?”
I said the answer I knew they wanted. “I
need to learn to listen to what my mother
says.” I began crying and continued with a
nugget of truth: “I just want to be good.” She
hugged me and told me they’d let me out
that day.
After my release I was demoted to Level One.
Upon arrival, everyone was a Level Two but
common knowledge held that part of the
program was demotion to the lowest level
before being allowed to gain more privileges.
Each level granted more freedom and was
one step closer to being released. The day I
was sent to solitary I was living in one of the
Level Two cabins but would now be demot-
ed to the filthy and overcrowded Level One
lodge, where I contracted a horrible fungal
infection on my feet from the dirty showers.
Of course, I was made to sleep in the main
lodge for a week while staff debated whether
or not I was a danger to the other girls. They
said they were concerned I would sexually as-
sault them. My self-esteem sank into oblivion.
But I persevered. I endured the physical pun-
ishments doled out to Level Ones, thankful for
the winter that prevented too many long des-
ert hikes. Every Friday night we did The Work-
out, a several hour test of physical endurance.
It started with laps around the gym, counting
off each one in unison. For every late person,
we got five more laps. Every time they caught
us cheating by skipping numbers, we had to
start over. After running there were burpees,
push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, sprints,
duck-walks, crab-walks, kangaroo-walks, and
wall-sits. After all that we were given 5 min-
utes to eat an apple, have a glass of water or
go to the bathroom. I use ‘or’ because there
was never enough time to do them all. You
could only finish one before repeating The
Workout over again. Then we went to bed to
sleep a bit before doing another workout at
5am both Saturday and Sunday mornings.
The Workouts usually took three hours,
though any defiance or lagging by one per-
son would earn punishment for the whole
group. I was told of one workout that lasted
for over 7 hours.
During the rest of the week, we went
on hikes or did forced labor on the ranch. If
someone was still being defiant they had to
shovel piles of horse manure (wearing their
own shoes of course) or made to dig 2’x 6’ x
6’ hole in the ground or fill another hole up.
Before I had arrived, kids were made to both
dig and fill the hole but a complaint to a child
protection agency put a stop to that.
I kept to the rules and focused on getting out
through college admissions. I turned a blind
eye to the physical hold downs and punish-
ments meted out to the lower levels and put
all of my energy into getting myself out. I as-
cended quickly through the program and af-
ter four more months I had earned my high
school diploma, taken the SATs and been ac-
cepted to every college where I applied.
I was so good that they allowed me to go
on campus tours with my mom that June. I
behaved. I didn’t run away, even when I had
the chance. And that kind of behavior from
a girl who had run away by jumping out of a
second story window the year before. I was
too numb and broken and scared at that
point to do anything on my own.
When I got back from college visits they kept
me for another month. I lived in a private
trailer with other high-level girls off campus
and spent my time filling in for staff and su-
pervising lower level students. When staff
wasn’t looking I tried to treat the other kids
with kindness, telling them they could cry or
scream or jump around but to do it quickly
because I’d have to take them back outside
to sit on the fence. I spent my last month in
relative freedom there. My housemates and I
even rented an R-rated movie from the town
general store: The Matrix.
It blew our caged little minds. We watched
it three times, back to back to back. The idea
that what we were experiencing wasn’t real
but a computer simulation was an intoxi-
cating one. We laughed hysterically at the
thought that we had really been free this
whole time. We held it with us like a warm se-
cret. We also returned the movie as early as
possible the next day for fear of reprisals.
And just like that, I was released in August.
I spent three weeks living with my mother.
The outside world frightened me. For the first
time in my life I was having nightmares and
anxiety attacks. When I spoke, I did so look-
ing at the ground and covering my mouth
with my hand. A once ballsy young lady, I had
become sad and hesitant. Months of punish-
ments, walking single-file in public with my
hands behind my back, forced to avoid eye
contact with outsiders and the constant fear
of physical assault for the catch-all “defiance”
violation had left me broken. I cried for no
reason. People terrified me.
By the time I went to college and found out
most of my friends in Portland had died from
drug overdoses I was in a pit of loneliness. Ev-
erything I had before they took me to Soren-
son’s Ranch School was gone: my friends, my
enemies, my clothes, my journals, my art, my
entire life wiped out in one night. I thought
often of suicide. I tried talking to a therapist
on campus but found the very act of therapy
to trigger me. I wanted to drop out of college,
wracked with guilt over my friend’s deaths.
And there was no-one to talk to. I tried,
but the story is so intense that most people
look at me in a shock that I can’t handle. They
don’t know what to say and the conversation
inevitable stalls into an itchy silence.
I did my best to move on and forget. By
strokes of luck I found circles of loving people
who accepted me for all of my weird quirks
and occasional emotional outbursts. Even-
tually I found a therapist that I could talk to
and I went on to get a Master’s Degree in a
field I found mentally engaging. In short, lots
of love and acceptance combined with two
years of weekly therapy sessions healed me
over time.
This August marks the ten year anniversary
since my release.
THE HAPPY ENDING
My life is awesome right now. I have amaz-
ing friends who support and love me. I have
nothing but opportunities in front of me
right now and the future looks bright, though
uncertain. Most importantly, I’m free. I can go
where I want when I want with whomever I
want. This is all I ever really wanted in the first
place and now I have it.
Above all else, getting through all that tur-
moil showed me the extent of my unwaver-
ing resilience.
AUG 2011 24
Mighty mouse
by airandys | permalink
Two years ago, I had a mouse who sneaked its
way in somehow and took up residence inside my
stove. It was an older version with pilot flames for
each set of burners; since it was winter outside
and the inner workings of the stove were usually
quite warm and maze-like, I could see why he
liked it in there.
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t lure the mouse
out. I didn’t want a lowly, filthy rodent hanging
around to create future unsanitary conditions
and chewing on my things, and I also didn’t want
to utilize the stove and end up burning the suck-
er alive and having my place smell like a charred
animal.
After a week of unsuccessfully trying to resolve
the issue myself, I opted to call the landlord and
had him send someone to my place to deal with it.
They ended up setting two kinds of traps around
my apartment, a sticky glue trap and traps filled
with poisoned pellet food. I knew both traps
were meant to kill, but I didn’t care, I just wanted
the little bugger gone.
Finally, one afternoon, I heard faint squeals com-
ing from the kitchen. I discovered the mouse,
stuck to one of the glue traps placed underneath
the fridge. He had stepped on there to get the
food bits and immediately found all his legs
stuck, as well as the tip of his face, as he bent
down to eat the food placed on the glue.
Suddenly, I regretted having the traps and I
felt bad for the mouse, for a glue trap is meant to
result in a slow death...they struggle as they can’t
break free and end up starving after a day or two.
Seeing the tiny 4 inch-long creature stuck there,
I suddenly realized I didn’t really want the poor
guy to die, I just wanted him to leave my apart-
ment.
I tried to act quickly to make things right and did
a Google search on the traps. It turns out that
vegetable oil can be used to dissolve the glue
and free the trapped victim. But I never did much
cooking and didn’t have any vegetable oil, so as
the mouse continued to helplessly struggle, I
ran down the street to the nearby 7-Eleven and
bought some vegetable oil. I then ran back and
poured some on the glue trap hoping to free the
poor guy.
But since his face and mouth were also stuck
to the glue, he began to breathe in/swallow the
vegetable oil after I poured it on the trap base. My
heart sank and I began to scream at the mouse,
“No! Don’t swallow the oil, stupid! Stop that! I’m
only trying to help!” I desperately tried to pry his
legs free from the glue, hoping that the oil had
worked quick enough and hoping that if I freed
him right away, he’d stop ingesting the oil and
still live.
I couldn’t break him free without breaking
some part of him too. Helpless, I backed away
and watched as his chest heaved slower and
slower. There was nothing I could do and I was
filled with such a horrifying level of dread. A few
minutes passed, his chest stopped, and he was
dead.
I had inadvertently killed the mouse when all
I wanted to do was save him. I cannot describe
how terrible that made me feel. Despite my best
intentions, I had failed and to this day I still feel
bad about it.
I ended up eventually putting him in a shoe-
box and took him over to my parent’s house,
where they have a garden that I was able to bury
him in. I made a little cross marker for where he
was and etched into the wood “Mighty Mouse.”
AUG 2011 25
I WAS SEVEN when Mt.
Saint Helens erupted
by manosrellim | permalink

Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18, 1980, at 08:32 Pacific Daylight Time. Here’s how I remember the experience.

I was seven years old in 1980. I was camping with my friend’s

family, and we had set up as close to Helens as we could. The
Forest Service had closed the areas that were deemed too
close to a potential eruption. When the eruption began, it
seemed like we were way too close. Later, scientists asserted
that the restricted zones should have been much more con-
servative.

The drive out of the Mt. Saint Helens national park was fright-
ening. Within minutes of the thunderous rumbling, the ash
plume enveloped the mountain completely. We stuffed the
tent and everything else into the VW bus. As soon as we had
squeezed ourselves in, we drove off. It was now darker than
I’d ever seen, and pumice began falling from the sky. I re-
member a large piece cracking the windshield. The road out
was treacherous under normal circumstances.

Now we could barely see the see the taillights of the car that
was only 10 or so feet ahead of us, nor the edge of the wind-
ing, single-lane logging road. To make matters worse, there
was a steep drop off on the left side of the road. My friend’s
grandpa tried his best to watch the edge out the side of the
van, and hollered warnings and advice to my friend’s dad,
who struggled to keep the van on the road. The going was
excruciatingly slow. We made our way out of the national
park with a line of hundreds of other volcano “watchers”.

There were regular flashes of lightning and frequent earth-

quakes. Power transformers and lines caught fire and burned.
Breathing was very difficult: My friend’s mom had us hold
baby sis’ dampened cloth diapers to our mouths and noses.
Through all of this, I was most afraid of lava. I knew that vol-
canoes always produced huge flows of hot liquid rock. To me
and my imagination, the brake lights in front of us looked like
flowing lava. I asked my friend’s mom if we were going to die.
I’ll never forget her answer: “I don’t know.” She was terrified
too. We all were. And we were lucky to make it out alive.

When we finally made it home, we were covered from head to

toe in gray ash. According to my dad, we looked like ghosts.
Luckily we had avoided that fate.

“I went to Mt. Saint Helens when it erupted.

I was the first one to hear it. It sounded like
a boom. It was darker than midnight. We
could barely see the edge of the cliff.”

AUG 2011 26
A waiting wife
by crime_and_oats | permalink
Working at my retail job, I get to know
most of the regulars...
There was an elderly couple who I start-
ing recognizing from only a few weeks in
from starting there. It wasn’t too difficult
since they would try to talk to most em-
ployees before they even started shop-
ping (they especially wanted to get to
know me, the new guy), always bright-
ening up our otherwise dull Sunday
morning. They’d come in around 10:30
every week holding each others hand
and smiling, presumably after church or
breakfast, and crack incredibly well wit-
ted responses to whatever we were con-
versing about. We’d share stories, their’s
much more intriguing then any of ours
could ever be. They’d ask how each of us
how we were doing, how whatever they
heard us say last week turned out, etc.
They simply cared. Him with his slouch-
ing posture, dated 1980s glasses with
tinted red lenses, and bald top with gray
hair surrounding underneath. Her with
perhaps a tacky floral purse by today’s
standards, dyed blondish hair that fights
off the grays, and one of those faces you
can easily tell how beautiful she was
without the wrinkles (not saying she’s
horrid with the wrinkles, but). They were
probably the most well treated custom-
ers we ever had and possibly will have,
since they were the customers that
treated us the best. I even requested to
work Sunday mornings.
Once our conversations and the laugh-
ter died down, they’d say something
along the lines of “we’ll catch ya in a few”
and then told one another where they
were going and to meet back here (the
customer service desk) in 15 minutes-
usually giving each other a quick kiss on
the cheek before parting ways. He went
for the groceries (mostly for beer and
junk food) or hardware, she went for the
cosmetics, clothing, or health products.
Each with their own shopping cart go-
ing separate ways down the waxed floor.
One of them would sometimes over ex- The rest of the week I thought about her.
tend the 15 minute time frame, leaving About them. I convinced myself that he’ll
the other waiting in-front of the desk. walk in with her, his hand in hers, smiling,
Not that either of them minded, plus next Sunday. I was wrong. She does the
there were magazines they’d read. Once same routine as the last Sunday. She waits
re united they’d combine their goodies for her missing husband. Goddammit, I
into only one shopping cart, and if the was on the verge of tears.
goodies didn’t all fit into one they would
compromise on what to give us back Four Sundays pass. The hope of the week
(he usually had to compromise a bit of thinking about them diminishes. She
more than she did). A sort of old timer persists with the same routine. She waits.
budgeting. They’d check out, and if they She waits until someone or something
bought candy or other goodies they’d tells her its time to check out and go, her
rip open the bag and give some to their husband isn’t coming. Why must she wait?
cashier. Said their goodbyes and seeya
next weeks, and leave as they entered... I request Sunday mornings off. I ask a
holding hands and smiling, but this time coworker that worked the next Sunday
sharing the burden of pushing a cart. morning I had off about her. “She didn’t
come in” he said. “You sure? You know
About six months into this job, I started who I’m talking about right?” “Yeah, she
noticing a decline of health in both of didn’t come in.”
them. They just didn’t seem themselves.
We’d ask how they were doing, giving us And so, for some stupid reason I’ve asked,
a “just fine” being more concerned about and still ask, if either one of them came in
how we were doing. The misses started the previous Sunday of every week since
forgetting things more. He’d ask if she then and get the same “no” every-time.
got insert product here, and she would Every time. The most humblest, modest,
either say “oh no” or “I don’t know.” The nicest, caring, loving, and I’m sure plenty
mister moved slower and slower. of other adjectives that are beyond my
vocabulary- couple I have ever had the
Jump to three months ago.
chance to meet are missing. And now I’m
Her other half didn’t walk in with her. An the one waiting.
empty hand. A not so big smile. Oh, may-
be he’s just busy or something. Hope-
fully. She talks to us, her I’m guessing
Alzheimer’s clearer than ever. She starts
repeating things. Something clicked
and she decided it was time for her to
go shopping. 15 minutes pass and she
shows up to the front of the service desk.
Flipping through magazines, waiting for
him. How do we tell her she didn’t walk
in with him? How do we tell her that she
forgot? We don’t know. Then a new ca-
shier a few minutes later, oblivious to
who this woman is, asks if she’s ready to
check out. She says “oh yes, sorry.” She
said oh yes sorry! She’s checking out! A
weak sigh of relief.
AUG 2011 27
/pics

AUG 2011 28
Took my niece to the safari today...
Photo by psychomar
permalink

Your niece looks like Sarah Jessica Parker.

-Xlyfer

AUG 2011 29
Water drop falling in front of MC Escher sketch
Photo by smsilton
permalink

I used the Canon 60mm macro f/2.8. I shot at ISO 640

and 1/250. It took about 150ish shots to get that one,
~2 hours. The hardest part was focusing. In the set up
picture you can see a piece of string above the eye
dropper. I would let that hang down off the eye drop-
per and focus on that, then move it and squeeze the
dropper and the shutter at almost the same time.

AUG 2011 30
Lights moving inside a clothes dryer
Photo by PopeTheoskeptik
permalink

AUG 2011 31
Zissou painting
Painting by seefresh
permalink

AUG 2011 32
Asked a friend to take photos of me skydiving. This is the only one he took.
Posted by damnrooster
permalink

AUG 2011 33
Redditbot
Digital painting by theeespacepope
permalink

Medium: I fleshed out the basic composition on a piece of paper and drew on top of that
in Photoshop CS3. As far as brushes go, I mostly use the default PS brushes. If you’re still
learning you shouldn’t worry about brushes; instead focus on learning about composition,
lighting etc. Different brushes are just the icing on the cake.
Time: It took me about 7 hours to complete this, of which a lot was trial end error. I didn’t
stress it since there wasn’t a deadline.
Education: I’m self-taught, but I have drawn for as long as I can remember. Practicing is defi-
nitely super important. ConceptArt.org is a great site for anyone who needs help getting
better.
Bonus: There are a few little reddit/meme references in there; can you find them?

AUG 2011 34
Accidental Western Scene
Photo by gregjsmith
permalink

AUG 2011 35
Old photos my Grandfather took at Buchenwald Concentration Camp
Posted by KoalaBoy | Text by LightningTH [brother]
permalink

My grandfather is an American
and was a mechanic during the
war, so he was not on the immedi-
ate front line, but close to it. Hours
after the camp was liberated, a
group of solders came back and
told anyone with a camera to get
on the truck. They were not told
why. Upon arriving they were told
to take as many picture as pos-
sible.

They were told that under no con-

dition to give anyone food. Ev-
eryone was so starved that they
would have killed each other at-
tempting to get a small bite of
food.

When people would arrive they

would be evaluated to determine
if they were strong enough to be
used or just killed. Anyone go-
ing to the gas chamber would be
told they were getting a shower
and to strip. After being gassed
they would take the bodies to
the ovens. The left over clothes
and shoes would be given to
new arrivals or anyone still strong
enough to work that needed new
clothing.
AUG 2011 36
continued >
Buchenwald | part two

The ovens were still warm and it

was obvious that the Germans
were attempting to get rid of the
bodies before the camp was lib-
erated. Red cross was on the way
but had not arrived yet so to avoid
any issues, anyone that was al-
ready locked up was left until red
cross could arrive and assist prop-
erly to avoid chaos.

The beds were nothing more than

a piece of wood to lay on, with at
least 4 people side by side. The
beds had grooves worn into them
from the shoulders and pelvis.
There was no room to turn over
but forced to sleep on their side.
They would rotate which side ev-
ery few days.

The ashes of the burned bodies

would be used as fertilizer both in
the camp for the food that the in-
mates would eat and given to the
local villages. If I recall correctly,
the only form of food was cab-
bage soup, mostly water though.

AUG 2011 37
continued >
Buchenwald | part THREE

There was a small water pipe in

front of every 2 or 3 buildings
that everyone slept in. It would
be turned on for a short period of
time each day that provided water
for drinking, people would hope
to get water to drink.

There was a lady in charge that

would have inmates tattooed,
usually on their backs. After the
elegant tattoo was done, most
taking weeks or months to fin-
ish, they would be killed, the skin
removed and dried, then lamp-
shades or similar decorations
made for the house that was near
by. There was a medical building
where who knows what people
were injected with and what tests
were done.

AUG 2011 38
My mom with her pet anteater, Claude.
Posted by acemetrical
http://redd.it/ijx7t

AUG 2011 39
THE
REDDITOR
ISSUE 2 | AUG 2011
Thank you for reading the first issue of The Redditor.
We are very much interested in hearing your feedback and ideas for future issues.

theredditor.com
Official site, updates, back issues.

reddit.com/r/theredditor
Official subreddit, subscribe, discuss the magazine.

emailtheredditor@gmail.com
cover
 2

LETTER FROM THE REDDITOR

While the reading material on reddit’s front page seems to be increasingly
attributed to /r/pics, we hope the value of our magazine is a refreshing
reminder of the site’s larger potential.

Welcome to issue 3 of The Redditor. Despite everything new happening

Last month we launched this magazine
entirely unsure how reddit would re-
spond - no idea if anybody would genu-
inely take the time to read or even appre-
ciate the new form factor. But they did.
We’ve been receiving more private mes-
sages and comments and emails than can
be responded to, while our subreddit has
just passed 2,000 subscribers thanks to
an ad being featured on the front page.
This overwhelming wave of support from
the community has been the inspiration
needed to continue on with Issue 3.
This month has been all about learn-
ing to manage a tiny project that sudden-
ly blew up. We’ve gotten so much posi-
tive feedback, hundreds of suggestions,
and countless offers of help from people
with skills from graphic design to editing
to file hosting. We’re all very thankful for
how supportive the users of reddit have
been. Most notably what you’ll find this
time around is that we’ve pulled onboard
a graphic designer to help push the con-
tent even further. Hopefully with this is-
sue you’ll agree our efforts have paid off.
behind the scenes, we’ve continued on
with the same approach. While the read-
ing material on reddit’s front page seems
to be increasingly attributed to /r/pics,
we hope the value of our magazine is a
refreshing reminder of the site’s larger
potential. Our focus is still very much
on the original content shared through
the community. Great stories, thought-
provoking interviews, and the works of
talented artists. Chuck Testa? Nope.
We’ve got some great features for you
this month. Hopefully you’ll find some
new stories that slipped by, or more im-
portantly, the ability to really spend more
time with the material. Beyond the maga-
zine, remember you can always find back
issues at theredditor.com, subscribe to
our subreddit at /r/theredditor, and of
course feel free to leave any thoughts,
feedback, and content suggestions for fu-
ture issues.
Sincere thanks to everyone who helped
launch The Redditor, and with your con-
tinued support we’ll see you next month.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Ryan Laing [killtheredditor]
Los Angeles, CA

MANAGING EDITOR
Blair Drager [ohblair]
New York, NY

GRAPHIC Design
Jack Howard [swampgum]
Warrnambool, Australia
 3

CONTENTS

/askreddit
04 WHAT IMPROVES THE QUALITY OF LIFE?
05 MOST FRUSTRATING THING SAID BY
A COMPUTER ILLITERATE PERSON?
06 06 WHAT’S SO GREAT ABOUT SPACE?
08 WHAT MEALS SHOULD EVERYONE

WHAT’S SO COIN KNOW HOW TO COOK?

GREAT ABOUT CARVING 10 WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE RANDOM

FACTS?

SPACE /ama

EXPLOR-
11 MY HOBBY IS CARVING COINS
13 I AM A PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

ATION?
15 I VISITED NORTH KOREA
19 I AM JERRY ON PARKS & REC

/stories
21 ROME, SWEET ROME
25 MONKEY TRIBE
26 BUTCHERFACE
I am a 31 FIVE MINUTE WRITING CHALLENGE

Private /ASKREDDIT
LIFE HACKS:
/pics
Investigator
A TRULY EPIC 13 32 SMURF REIMAGINED
33 ROLLIN’
COLLECTION 34 MY BABY BOY
35 PORTRAIT OF MY PUGS
36 SPIDER IN MY PARKING GARAGE
37 PHOTO RESTORATION
38 AWKWARD FAMILY PHOTO
PHOTO OUT CAR WINDOW
TURTLE TRACKING SYSTEM

32 39 GIRL WITH BUBBLES

COWBOYS BURYING A HORSE
SMURF 40 CHARLIE CHAPLIN
REIMAGINED
41 A GIRL TRYING TO LEAVE HER MARK
CHAMELEON CATCHING LUNCH
42 DECOMPRESSION
43 DOUBLE EXPOSURE AT NAVY PIER

ROME, 44 ADORA AND THE MAMMOTH

45 ORANGUTAN

SWEET
46 TOFUKU-JI GARDEN
47 BATTLE TURKEY
15
ROME
MY PERFECT FAMILY PORTRAIT
48 DRAW AN OWL

NORTH 49 WATCH THAT BANANA

KOREA 21 /jokes
/askreddit
quality of life
no time, money, or energy?
Wake up at the same time every day.
It’s hard the first few weeks, but you slowly begin to feel better
and better as the days go on. - bowlnoolez
Flossing in
the shower.
You know how when
you're done washing
everything and you're
kind of not ready to
get out of the shower
yet so you just kinda
stand there in the heat,
enjoying the water?
That's the best time
to floss, because
let's be honest, you
don't floss otherwise.
- irrelevantTLDR
If you have a creative job or
task, don't work until you’re
exhausted or completed. When
you’re in full swing take a
break and walk away, you'll
still maintain that momentum
when you come back and your
brain will continue to work and
improve on your ideas.
-Kandoh
4
What improves the
with virtually
permalink
submitted by Smachimo
Drink a glass of
water or two about
twenty minutes be-
fore any major meal.
Your stomach won't
feel as empty, so
you're less likely to
Read something. Read a clas- gorge yourself. If
sic you’ve never even thought about you tend to overeat,
reading before, then write about it like I sometimes do,
this can help quite
when you’re finished. Even if you hated
a bit.
it, write that down somewhere. Then
read another book and repeat. You will
learn a lot about yourself and you will
- puddingpops
find that many of the messages and
themes in these old books still apply to
your life today. You will be a more cul-
tured person, and you can sleep better
at night knowing you aren’t a fuckwit.
- reticentbias
Focus on
your breathing.
Say to yourself as you breathe. “I know I am breathing in”
“I know I am breathing out” “I notice my in-breath getting
deeper” “I notice my out-breath getting slower” “I notice I am
calm in my in-breath” “I notice I am at ease with my out-breath” etc
etc. Focus on the little things. Make your very existence noted and
feel wonderful in it. Take time when eating to think about your food.
The entire chain of events that leads it to your mouth, starting with
the energy of the sun, to the person planting seeds, to the photosyn-
thesis of the plant, earth cycles, water, wind, night, day, the people
who pick your food and everything else involved before it gets to
your plate. Think about your walking steps and how remarkable
it is that you are mobile. Just think about all the small miracles
that happen to you every day that you would normally not
even pay a second of attention to. You will find you will
probably be smiling more, and your smiling will
be infectious to others.
- jaquatics
/pics
/askreddit 5

WHAT IS THE MOST FRUSTRATING THING A

COMPUTER ILLITERATE PERSON HAS SAID TO YOU?
permalink submitted by fluff_on_everything

“Ever since you fixed that paper jam my computer has been ‘’Are the numbers also capitalized?’’
running slower” ...sigh...yes they are...sure...
-ShartFlex -yourwrongtheirright

Doing tech support at an ISP, person said “My computer won’t
turn on, your internet is broken.” I asked them to check the
back of the computer to see if the plug was in. They replied
“I can’t see the back of the computer, it’s dark in here” I said
“Well turn on the light then.” Reply “Well... the power is out.”
-chance909
Me: What Operating System you using?
Friend: It’s Dell Inspiron.
-HmmNoWays
“Shut up. I was working with computers before you were even
born; I probably know more about them than you ever will.”
-My dad, who has not owned a computer for 20 years and
doesn’t even know how to use Google.
-jwaldo
“But if I’m not on the AOL browser, I can’t check my email”
A couple of years ago I was helping this lady over the phone.
She told me she was trying to get her webpages onto her
new laptop. It took me a couple of minutes to find out that
she was in fact attempting to transfer her IE favorites from her
old computer to the new one she just purchased. I almost shit
myself when, upon further inquiry, I discovered she was trying
to accomplish this by printing out pictures of websites and
scanning them into her new computer. When I tried to explain
to her that this wasn’t the best way to accomplish this task, she
insisted I transfer her to “someone who knew what they were
talking about and was familiar with this process.”
-velvetcake
“I need all of those tool bars.”
- musebag
My dad called me a Twat because I opened a new tab.
- hovisloaf

-moar_things
“Turning it off and back on can’t fix the problem. It doesn’t
change anything. That’s stupid. It would be like restarting a
car because the brakes stopped working.”
-batly
I helped an old man working on a laptop over the phone. He
was working on an oil pipeline near Deadhorse, Alaska. He
didn’t know where the start menu was and I asked him to go to
the bottom left on his desktop to which he responded, “I TOLD
YOU I HAVE A GOD DAMNED LAPTOP!”
-Kboruff

“You’re an idiot and you’ll never amount to anything in life.”

Closest I ever came to punching someone while working in Where are your files?
that electronics department. He was an old guy too, and I was In Word
completely enraged for the rest of the night. Fuck that guy.
Okay but where are they?
Since then I’ve graduated from one of the best engineering
colleges in the US with a BS in Aero Eng, gotten married, In WORD!
bought a house, and paid cash for a truck. As you can see I’m But in what folder are they in, My Documents?
still bitter about that experience... NO THEY’RE IN WORD DAMMIT
-Imreallythatguy -theraven7

Hands down the worst tech support question I’ve ever gotten
was, “What does ‘lol’ mean?” BITCH, THAT’S NOT WHAT WE
I think this
ARE FOR.
-dorekk
is a virus, so
I forwarded it
My mother asked me how to save YouTube videos to her
computer so she could attach it to an email and send it to all to you.
her friends. Yes, she’s that person.
-Sushispook
-tendonut
/askreddit 6
07

What’s so great about

SPACE
EXPLORATION?
permalink Written by zelmerszoetrop

> Near term (0-50 years):

Telecommunications The two backbones of modern
communication are the massive 3+ meter diameter cables
running along the ocean floors, and the geostationary satel-
lites above. Passing through the Van Allen radiation belt, their
electronics must be hardened before they can be put where
they are. Learning about the space environment protects
these expensive satellites.
Space weather Satellites aren’t the only thing that need
protecting from the environment in space. Solar flares some-
times hit Earth, and when they do, electronics go haywire. By
constantly monitoring the sun, from orbit, we’ve detected a
few flares headed our way and were able to shut down satel-
lites in time to avoid damage. But we need to be aware the
threat is larger than that. In the 1800s, there was a flare so big
you could see Aurora in Washington DC. If that flare hit today,
you could expect major blackouts on every power grid. Know-
ing it is coming is the first step to avoiding damage and black-
outs.
Exobiology: It’s more or less
considered proven that Mars
used to be wet. If life developed
independently there, it would
have dramatic implications for
philosophy, religion, and for
what we can expect from the
cosmos. If it turns out that it is
related to Earth life, there’s no
telling what we might find, and
what it might tell us about our
own biology. The same can be
said of Europa and any other
world with the potential for life.
Spin-offs: It’s sort of a cop out, it’s true. But any time you
spend a large amount of money in a field with a lot of prob-
lems, you generate solutions, and solutions are worth money.
The businesses which use ideas and solutions from NASA, or
which have relied on experiments flown on NASA craft, com-
prise an industry worth much more than NASA itself.
Science: Governments spend a lot of money on all kinds of
science. In recognition of the fact that scientific advancement
is essential to a nations growth, and that learning about any
one field can lead to unexpected advancements in any other,
my government in the USA has seen fit to spend an enormous
amount of money funding science projects without any obvi-
ous benefit to society. I’m a mathematician living off such a
grant right now. Strange has been the road that lead to germ
theory, or electricity, or any other incredibly important scien-
tific advancement. Studies of the geology of foreign bodies
tells us things about earthquakes we haven’t learned here,
or that studies of their atmospheres tell us things
about weather we didn’t know. The real treasures
come from the most unexpected sources. Nobody
foresaw GPS when they noticed the precession of
Mercury’s perihelion was off, but this observation
helped confirm general relativity, which in turn
was used to correct GPS satellite clocks. History
has shown that it’s almost always a good idea to
fund science - even if you’re not quite sure where
it’s going.
Inspiration: It’s seems cheesy, but it’s true.
There’s something about seeing a man on the
moon that stirred something in a lot of people in
1969. How many scientists owe their fascination
with the universe to that moment?
/askreddit
>> Mid-term (50-150 years):
Industry: Right now we’re learning about all kinds of new
and interesting materials. Some, like the believed room-tem-
perature superconductor metallic hydrogen, may be so difficult
to produce they won’t be commercially viable for hundreds of
years. But others, like the super strong graphene or carbon na-
notubes, may be constructible on industrial scales in the near
future. Except for one small hitch - many materials REQUIRE a
zero-g environment for production. While we can’t speak to
what processes will be used for industrial-scale production, it is
possible we will need to do it in space.
Star Wars: What was infeasible in the 1980s becomes real-
istic in the 2080s. Before the end of this century, one nation will
use space-based weapons to attack another - perhaps it will be
as benign as shooting down enemy spy satellites, perhaps as
devastating as a nuke in space causing an EMP that wipes out
a nations electronics, or “Rods from God” being used for orbital
bombardment. I certainly hope that whatever nation my grand-
children are living in has the ability to protect itself from such
attacks.
Asteroid avoidance: While the chances of a civilization-
killing asteroid in the next century or two is remote, the chance of
a city-killing one is high. We had one in Tunguska a century ago,
and if I recall there was one over the Mediterranean only a few
years back. These fell in unpopulated areas. Suppose one is head-
ed for Earth in 2050. How will we determine if it will strike a popu-
lated are? How will we change its course if it is? What methods
will we use? How much advance warning do we need? Do you
want these questions still unanswered when it’s crunch time?
Helium-3: 50 years after we were told fusion power was 50
years away, it’s still 50 years away. The problem? Hydrogen is re-
ally hard to fuse. You know what’s a little easier? And safer? Fusing
helium-3. Unfortunately you can’t find helium-3 on Earth. Not in
industrial quantities, anyways. But it’s on the lunar regolith. Per-
haps in such miniscule amounts as to be unprofitable. Looking
further out, though, it’s bountiful. Uranus, Neptune are chock full
of it. The ice giants may be the middle east of the 22nd century.
PHOTOS courtesy of NASA
7
>>> Long term (150+ years)
Asteroid mining: An average rocky asteroid can sup-
ply the entire Earths supply of minerals, metals, etc. for many
many years. And if we can already manipulate asteroid orbits,
it should be no problem bringing one to Earth orbit and just
dropping its metals to the surface of Earth for collection. No
need to drop it all down, though: keep some up for construc-
tion in space. We won’t need to launch materials from Earth
to build things in space anymore, and we won’t need to strip
mine our forests and mountains either.
Expansion: It’s not necessary to expand constantly. It’s per-
fectly imaginable that through controlled birthrates and mod-
erated production, human kind could survive on Earth with-
out spreading to other worlds. But it just doesn’t seem likely!
Over time, the costs of a launch comes down and down until
there’s no reason NOT to move to a new world. People want
the challenge. Recently some group, I forget where, asked who
would be willing to move to Mars permanently, and were over-
whelmed with responses.
Survival: I know you said you don’t want to here stuff about
when the planet is destroyed, but the fact is it will be. It has
nothing to do with us - we could be perfect stewards but on
the order of tens or hundreds of millions of years the uninhab-
itability of Earth becomes unavoidable. If any descendants of
humanity are alive then, if they are still intelligent, the choice
they face will be flee to space or perish.
If we stopped going to space tomorrow, if we never sent an-
other person into orbit or beyond, if Juno was the last probe
to leave earth, it would not send the economy into (more of ) a
tailspin. The world would keep turning. And that money might
go to help people, though it would probably go to the military.
I think most people would feel we’d lost something, though, if
mankind left space. People would feel we’d taken a step back-
wards. Theywouldn’t be able to articulate it, they wouldn’t
point to a company that lost money or jobs. When something
showed them how much their government was saving, they’d
shrug and say, “I guess...”. But they’d feel something intangible
had been lost. That’s because every once in a while, people like
to be reminded of what is bigger than themselves. I remember
the awe when the Hubble was first fixed and the first beauti-
ful pictures of the “pillars of creation,” I think they were called,
graced the cover of Time. People really like space. And while
I can’t speak to other countries, I think most Americans, or at
least many, are perfectly content to spend a few dollars each
for Juno or New Horizons or Dawn. Even if they don’t under-
stand the data coming back from the magnetometers or parti-
cle detectors, they know that we’re learning about places and
events so far removed from our human experience. And peo-
ple like that. We like to point at the sky and say, “That’s man-
kind’s domain.”
/askreddit
What meals should everyone
know how to cook?
Roast Vegetables:
Slice up onions, carrots, butternut
squash, etc.
kosher salt.
••
Toss in olive oil and
Spread out thinly on
•
cookie sheet. Throw in 425ºF oven for
about 10-15 minutes, knock heat down
to 400 and cook until tender.
Roast Chicken:
Wash chicken, remove giblets, and
season inside with garlic powder,
kosher salt, and pepper. • Place in
oven preheated to 475 for about 20-
25 minutes. •Now take some of the
bastings, mix in a mug with paprika, and
•
brush over chicken. After 30 minutes
reduce heat to 350 and cook for an hour
longer, brushing chicken with paprika
and juice every 20 minutes.
Steak:
Buy a good steak and leave it out of the
refrigerator for an hour or until it’s room
temperature. • Pat it dry, salt on each
side, and throw in sizzling hot pan with
butter for 5 minutes a side for medium
•
rare. Let rest for five minutes.
- madchen88
The fluffiest eggs you’ll
ever have in your life:
Cold pan, 1-1.5 tbsp of Real butter, 2-3
eggs max, put on stove, fire up stove
on high, and move it around with
•
spatula like a risotto. Never let it burn
or brown. • When it starts to cook,
move it away from the heat and keep
moving the eggs around. If it slightly
sticks to the pan but is not burn/brown,
you can work some magic. • When it
stops cooking, reheat. On and off the
heat until it is almost done, but always
keep moving it. •Add freshly ground
salt and pepper, fresh chives, mix it, and
finally take it off the stove and mix in
a dollop of fresh cream or something
cold to stop the eggs from cooking.
Milk works, more cold butter if you’re in
a pinch.
- eitherorsayyes
Stirfry:
Cook garlic/onion on a medium heat and
stir. Cook diced meat on a very high heat,
and set aside. Cook veggies very quickly
on a high heat, add spices and sauces and
the meat again, stir. • If you’re adding
rice or noodles in add that for a minute
or so and serve, or just serve it over rice
or on its own if you’ve already got heaps
of stuff in there. • Spices and sauces:
Nearly anything! Soy sauce, honey, sugar,
salt, vinegar, mustard, fish sauce, chilies,
chili sauces, cayenne pepper, cumin...
whatever you like the taste of. Note
that all of the above can be bought for
pretty cheap. • Meat: Nearly anything!
Really cheap chicken, like thighs. Pork’s
great. Prawns and mussels are incredible
value too. Marinate them in something
vinegary before cooking to make them
extra tender. And it’s a good way to use
up an extra steak or leftover chicken
from the night before. It also adds much
• and wine, with 3 or 4 parts stock to 1 part
needed flavour to tofu. Veges: Again,
nearly anything! Carrots, capsicum,
zucchini, potato. Spinach works great.
Some folks like corn, I’m not a huge fan
but I get it. And because it’s all mixed in
together, it doesn’t matter if it’s a weeks’
worth of odds and ends from the fridge.
For the oil, peanut or canola is best, as it
has a high smoke point and you want the
pan to be hot. Peanut oil contains more
saturated fat though. But folks, we aren’t
opening a restaurant here. It’s cooking
for yourself and maybe a couple of other
folks. So olive oil will work just fine.
- Pete_venkman
8
asked by happywafflez
permalink
Braised beef / pork:
Braising turns a cheap piece of meat into
an absolute delight when done correctly.
Also if you are single it keeps and reheats
well, with minimal loss of quality. Heck, it
often tastes better after sitting in the fridge
for a day and reheating. Additionally once
you get a few basics it’s even relatively fool
proof.
The basics of braising are:
• Get a cheap cut of meat, bone-in
or bone out is fine but you want it to
have a lot of connective tissue in it,.
This will break down as it cooks and
give the meat and sauce body. •
Beef
or pork works well. Chicken thighs and
legs can be used but cooking time is
much shorter. • Get aromatic veggies,
carrots, celery, onions (classic mire
poix.) Others are fine too, I generally
add a bit of garlic to everything. Get •
herbs: thyme, a couple of bay leaves.
Parsley is good too including the stems
Get liquid: I generally do a mix of stock
wine. • Get seasonings: Season meat
with salt pepper or whatever particular
•
blend you like. Get fire: sear the meat.
This is just for the browning and flavor,
not any hippie sealing in of juices. After
searing, I start by deglazing the pan with
a little wine, to get the yummy bits up.
• Get ready: to wait 4-6 agonizing
hours while your house is filled with the
best smell in the world. Basically after
deglazing I toss in some of the veggies,
then toss in the meat and then more
veggies around the sides and pour in my
mix of wine and stock til it’s about half
•
way up the meat. Get cooking: Cover
your roasting pan, or pot with aluminum
foil as tightly as you can, basically you
want the juices in there to steam the
meat that is not being submerged in the
liquid. Cook 4-6 hrs at 275ºF.
- realgenius13
/askreddit
Omelette:
Crack 3 eggs into a cup. Add splash
of milk, salt, and pepper. Whisk with
a fork until uniform. • Melt thick
pad of butter in smallish sauté pan
• •
over medium heat Throw some
mushrooms, diced ham, and a large
spoon full of pico de gallo into pan. (Or
anything you want.) Give it a couple of
• •
minutes. Reduce heat to med/low.
Pour in egg mixture. In exactly 103
seconds, the edges will start to firm
up. Lift an edge with a spatula, then
tilt the pan toward lifted edge; this will
allow uncooked portion to run into the
•
space under the spatula. After doing
the spatula think roughly 3 times,
you’re ready for the cheese. Layer one
half with either a sharp cheddar or
monterey jack. • Now for the flip:
work that spatula under the non-
cheese side of the omelet and flip it
onto the half with cheese. If spectators
are present, immediately pan-flip the
folded omelette so the other side
(cheese side) is facing up. Nonchalantly
say something like “it’s all in the wrist.”
• Plate and serve. Nothing fancy- if
you have a basil plant, tare a leaf off as a
garnish and voila.
- galactica_actual
9
Fried Rice:
Get a wok. • Add about 1/4 - 1/2 cup oil (anything but olive.) Heat it up until it’s pretty
hot. Crack an egg or two into the oil, and stir it. The egg should cook quickly, and since
•
you’re stirring it it will cook into thin strips. When the egg is about 75% done and still
•
runny, pull it out and set it aside. Add a few cups of day old rice from the refrigerator.
•
Being day old and refrigerated is a key here. Add whatever vegetable or meat you
want. I like frozen carrots and peas as well as some diced ham. Sprinkle with soy sauce
•
and stir it all up. Let it cook until everything is hot and steamy, stirring occasionally. •
Add more soy sauce until it’s brown like you’d expect.
Enjoy! - insta-herpes & decodersignal
•Finally, stir the egg back in. •
Quesadillas:
Buy a block of whatever cheese you like, if you need a blend of white and yellow cheeses,
buy two blocks and get to shredding. Find good flour tortillas. Ideally you can get some
fresh made tortillas at a local restaurant. I recommend Mariposa and Mission tortillas for
bigger brands.If you're going to make this for more than a single snack, you're going to
need variety.
I don’t condone it, but some feel it
Chop up a couple peppers/capsicums, appropriate. Use at your own discretion.
onion, hot chiles, spinach, tomatoes,
• Get a bag of chips for the extra salsa
chicken, beef, shrimp, and about and guac and you’re good to go. If you
anything else you would consider really must buy your salsa, find something
putting in an omelette or on a pizza. • that doesn’t resemble tomato paste.
You can keep the chopped vegetables in Get some thin strips of boneless chicken •
sealed containers for quick access on a breast, thawed of course. Shake some
•
lunch break. If you want the meat stored salt on two sides of the meat and pepper
in similar containers, be sure to cook it on only one side (as is tradition), to taste.
before storing. •Make your quesadilla.
• Get three bowls ready with: Flour // One
Pan --> Tortilla --> Cheese --> Fillings --> egg, beaten nicely + one cup milk mixed
More Cheese --> Tortilla . . . . . . . . . . flip.
• •
in //Breading Dip chicken pieces in the
Now you are halfway finished. You flour, covering evenly with a thin layer
have an important choice to make: You Dip chicken in egg/milk mixture, once
can throw away all of your hard work and again covering evenly with a thin layer
pour Pace salsa on it, or you can garnish and allowing any excess yolk to drip off
your lunch like a gentleman with real
condiments. • Cover this with the breading--the
• flour and eggs will work really well as
Condiment 1: Simple Mexican salsa. adhesive for the meat (and your fingers)
Chop two medium tomatoes, one medium
• Heat up a frying pan (medium high
white onion (yes, it must be white), a heat) with a liberal amount of oil (the real
bunch of cilantro and a couple chile Austrians use a mixture of lard, butter
peppers (Hatch green chiles if you are so and oil I believe) so that the cutlets will be
•
lucky). Throw that in a bowl and squeeze half-immersed Fry them chickens until
two limes over it, a couple pinches of salt golden, almost brown, then turn and fry
•
and mix it up. Condiment 2: Guac. Clean again
• Ensure the heat is low enough
and chop a couple avocados in a bowl. to cook the chicken through before the
Squeeze one lime in, add 1-2 spoonfuls outside browns
of your homemade mexican salsa and
• Serve with some sort of vegetable, but
add a pinch of salt. DON’T stir it until it’s if you’re really into the Austrian style then
a creamy paste. COMBINE the ingredients you’d better cook some German-style potato
while leaving chunks of avocado in tact salad (oil and vinegary) to go with it.
(texture!).• Condiment 3: Sour cream. - billyeugene
/pics
/askreddit
What are your favorite
random facts?
permalink submitted by glazerout99
The blue whale is so
big that its tongue
can weigh as much as
an elephant. A person
could swim through
their largest veins
and arteries.
- gwangi
In 100 years, Facebook will be
full of dead people.
- likeaboss
You can’t hum while holding
your nose.
-gengarbengar
When you look up at the
stars, you are seeing events
that happened hundreds, or
even thousands of years ago.
If someone were to create a
powerful enough telescope,
and you pointed it at a planet
that had life thousands of years
ago and since been wiped out,
you’d be able to see how they
lived thousands of years ago. If
aliens from another planet with
highly-advanced technology
could see us, they could be
looking at dinosaurs or Aztecs.
- redsox933, mylifeforshire,
& grimaldar
At one point, you were the
youngest person in the world.
- drtide4
Charlie Chaplin himself
participated in a Charlie Chaplin
look-a-like contest... and lost.
- noecug
10
There’s enough water in Lake
Superior to cover all of North
and South America with one
foot of water.
- antidaily
John Tyler, 10th president of the
U.S., born 1790, has 2 currently
living grandsons.
- buzref
A strawberry is not actually a
berry, but a banana is.
- cheshiretheent
If you dug a hole to the center of
the Earth and dropped a brick
in it, it would take 42 minutes to
get to the bottom.
- recklessconsumption
100 years from now, we will
have a whole new set of people.
- jekiak
Armadillos always
give birth to
quadruplets.
- DownwardSpirograph
It would take 1,200,000
mosquitoes, all sucking at the
same time, to drain the average
human of blood.
- yenoomk
Shia Labeouf has an acting
career.
-sergeant_stroker
/ama 11

my hobby is

CARVING
COINS
permalink submitted by HarpuaTheHound

There is a rich
& colorful history
surrounding the
hobo nickel...
During the Great Depresion, hobos would cut beards
and hats onto the nickel and trade for a warm meal or
a nights lodging. They used the buffalo nickel because
a nickel was easy enough to come by and was much
thicker than other coins. 
/ama 12

I started as a bench jeweler when

I was 16. I started hand engraving
when I was 20. I was milling cur-
rent nickels until they were flat to
use as a cheap practice plate. But I
struggled to sell them for even $20.

Then I found out there were col-

lectors that loved the sort of thing I
was doing as long as I didn't flatten
the nickel first. And they prefer it
be on the older buffalo nickels just
like the classic carvings are.

This artform is as old as the buffalo

nickel itself. I understand people
thinking Im destroying history. At
the same time Im keeping it alive.

Most of my collectors are numis-

matists. I have become a bit of
an enthusiast myself due to this
hobby. I appreciate the coins too.
I often think about the history of
the coin Im working on and the
times from which they originated,
especially the Great Depression Era.
I have spoken with my fair share
of elders in the community about
what those times were like to try to
understand better.

I have heard first hand accounts

of meeting hobos from people that
probably hadn't talked about it in
decades. I have carved the portraits
of fictional characters from the late
1800s to mid 1900s, have given
them names and a place on a fam-
ily tree, and often times a bit of story
to say who they are. Is this fiction,
yes. But it's based on real history. It's
meant to bring history to life.
/ama
i am a
Private
InvestigAtor
permalink submitted by modern_day_sam_spade
Do you wear a fedora and overcoat?
Not on the job. I HAVE them, but more out of a sense of whimsy
than anything else. See, the classic PI image of the fedora and
trench coat comes from the classic pulp stories, which were
made in the 30s to 50s sort of deal. Most guys wore fedoras
back then - they didn’t stand out. PIs wore them so they could
tail people without sticking out so much.
On the job, I stick with common clothes. Cargo pants
and a hoodie, mostly, sometimes jeans and a T-
shirt. You dress for comfort and mobility, just in case.
how riveting is your internal monologue?
I like to think pretty riveting. I’ll admit I love the old novels and
sometimes think of the classic Noir detectives when I work, and
smile.Not many role models for PIs that aren’t fictitious,you know?
What sort of equipment do you use?
Binoculars, coffee, cigarettes, my cell phone, and a notebook.
Have you worn costumes at times? Wigs, glasses,
moustaches, different sets of clothes, etc?
Not wigs, but yes to everything else. I find hats work better
than wigs, and look less fake. I have impersonated a home-
less guy, drunk guy, frat boy, businessman, delivery man.
To name a few.
What was your most surprising discovery?
This is one of my favourite stories to tell.
I’m working another marital infidelity case (they pay the bills.)
This woman thinks her husband is chasing somene, and wants
to be able to confront and divorce him over it. The woman
had stated that she thought he was leaving late at night, but
as they had separate bedrooms (I know, in this day and age?),
she couldn’t absolutely confirm. So we stake out his house, and
watch their SUV leave around 11PM, around an hour after all
the house lights are out.
We follow it to a sleazy motel (you know the kind, beds by the
hour), figuring we broke the case on day one. When instead of
hubby getting out of the SUV, it’s the wife. She meets this pretty
young woman in the lobby and they go up to the hotel room,
13
05
arm in arm, looking like they’re about to have a grand old time.
My partner and I head back to the house, snickering all the way.
The kicker? The guy turned out to be faithful as can be. He di-
vorced his wife after HE received pictures from a DIFFERENT
Agency of her at the motel on that very night.
My partner and I met up with the other guys working
the husband’s side and had a coffee and a good laugh.
Another story?
There’s this lady, has a small hair salon in the city. Loyal
clientele, decent area downtown. Only has one employee,
a young girl fresh out of cosmetology school. They work to-
gether Monday through Friday. Saturdays, the girl works alone;
lady takes day off. Closed sundays.
The lady comes to us telling us that for about two months now,
her till is coming light for monday’s balance. She figures the
young girl could be stealing - she’s young and doesn’t make
much, after all. So she gets me in. I tell the lady the best way to
go is to set up a hidden camera or two. She consents, and I get
them set up late friday night (or early saturday morning, de-
pending on your perspective). I come in sunday to review the
footage with the key the lady gave me, and I see what’s hap-
pening.
See, turns out, in the afternoon, the lady’s 20-year-old son comes
in, hangs out for a bit, clearly flirting with the girl. I knew they
were flirting - you don’t have to be a body language expert to
see the signs they’re putting off.
The girl goes to the bathroom after a customer leaves, and
BAM. Kid goes into motion with a fluid grace that bespeaks an
old routine. He whips a key out of his pocket, with a hand on
the bell (external bell on this one) so it doesn’t chime. He pock-
ets three twenties right of the top, closes the till, sits back in his
chair, playing with his cell phone. Girl comes back, like nothing
happened, and they flirt for a bit. Then the guy’s phone goes off.
I figure after he pockets the cash he sets an alarm so he has an
excuse to “answer” his phone and have to leave.
A bit surprised, I go monday morning to meet with the owner
of the shop, footage burned to CD in tow. I tell her what I found,
and she flips. Refuses to believe her son would do that. Tells me
to leave, take my cameras out of the salon immediately.
/ama
I hastily remove the cameras, with the lady still harping at me,
and just as I’m bundled and about ready to go, the son walks in.
I remember the exchange perfectly.
Son: “Oh, hey, mom... what’s up? Customer this early?”
Mother: “Mr. [SPADE] here was just leaving, with his cameras
(she says the last pointedly at me).”
Son: “Look mom, I can explain, I was low on cash...”
There were a few beats of silence, the mother abrupt-
ly stricken and me stifling a hearty laugh. I remove the
CD from my pocket, hand it to the woman, and say “Looks like
you two have some talking to do.”
I walked out, and never spoke to her again. But she did send a
cheque and it did clear.
Ever found anything so messed up you just
immediately went to the cops? Or heard of that?
Had a partner walk into a hotel room to find a dead body. Heart
attack. That warrants a jangle to the ol’ 5-0.
Has there ever been a really odd request?
Odd requests, not so much. The requests are fairly straightfor-
ward. But sometimes things get complicated while working on
that request.
For instance, this one time, a woman figures her husband is
cheating on her (yes, I work those kinds of cases sometimes).
He’s been getting home all hours of the night, his clothing di-
sheveled, acting strangely. So she gets me following him around,
see what’s up.
I follow this guy to a gas station, where he goes into the bath-
room, and stays there for about twenty minutes. He leaves, and
I get my partner to follow him while I take a look-see.
One of the important tools of a modern private investigator
is a good box of medical-quality vinyl gloves. Why? Because
an important SKILL of a modern PI is dumpster diving. Pick-
ing through a trash can is essentially a smaller-scale version of
dumpster diving, so I go to the gas station bathroom and set to.
Several minutes later, I find (among the usual fixings in a gas
station bathroom garbage can) a spent needle, the kind dia-
betics use, and a tiny empty vial. That’s a slam-dunk for drugs,
friends.
We tell the lady about this in our report the next day. I wasn’t
there when it happened, but apparently next time he showed
up late, she checks his arm and sees the track marks. Apparently
she was just relieved. Relieved that her husband was only an
addict and not a cheater. Small victories, I guess.
14
What’s the trickiest situation you’ve found
yourself in?
Had a guy with a loaded needle cornering me, and I knew he
was Hep C positive. He thought I was a cop. I told him I wasn’t,
and if he let me go, there’d be no charges laid. Then I explained
that if I WAS cop, I couldn’t say I wouldn’t press charges and then
do it anyways, he agreed and let me go, agreeing I wasn’t a cop.
But I was a liar. He got picked up and charged with assault by
yours truly within ten minutes. I love cops. They handle all the
most dangerous shit for me.
Say you get hired for a marital infidelity case. Trails that lead to
witnessing the fact: case closed. But if you don’t find anything
suspicious, how long will you be looking?
Basically, we agree to follow for a certain amount of time, and
follow up any leads. If the time runs out and we have nothing,
the client can end the contract or have us keep looking. After a
certain point, we would say the likelihood of us finding some-
thing is slim, because as much as we like more paycheques,
treating your customers fairly is important.
How often do you conduct interviews,
and where did you learn how to do that?
Interviews are very common. Being able to question and/or
interrogate properly can make or break you. Natural aptitude
helps, but a large part can be taught. For training in this, you
observe a more experienced partner while he questions, and
you keep your mouth shut. You do that until you are given a
shot handling it by yourself.
Myself, I can talk fairly well. I’m a great liar, and acting is really
just applied lying. Trust people to serve their own interests and
you usually guess right. Play to selfishness. Trust in people’s self-
interest, and make something seem advantageous to them,
and they’re more likely to go along. A proper mindset and tem-
perament is important, too.
What are the best ways to spot a PI?
You see that guy, in the corner of your eye? The one that’s un-
remarkable? Look for the one you’d least suspect. If they’re any
good, that’s the guy.
/ama 15 05
05

I just returned from a 7 night long "solo"

NORTH
trip to North Korea at the end of Au-
gust booked with Koryo Tours, and
it was an absolutely surreal experi-
ence. I got to travel around the coun-
try with only myself and my two North

KOREA
Korean minders and a driver. Going by
myself let me create a fairly unique itiner-
ary and let me visit the typical places while
also heading off into the countryside to
less-travelled areas like the east coast cities
of Wonsan and Hamhung, where even my
guides had never been. Having seen eve-
rything from the government sanctioned
I just returned from a 7 night long "solo" trip monuments to typical life in the North
to North Korea at the end of August booked Korean countryside as we drove from
with Koryo Tours, and it was an absolutely one place to the next, I have to say
it was a truly incredible experience and
surreal experience. an unparalleled ground level view of just
how the country works.
permalink submitted by Desperada
/ama 16

North Korea seems very empty and devoid

of life. Did you find it to be like that?
The word that came to mind when I was in North Korea was that it
was all very... Potemkin… In the sense of a Potemkin village, a facade
or a veneer of normality beneath which you are not supposed to see
or acknowledge.

People mill and group around, surrounded by drab soviet-style

apartment blocks under the watchful eyes of the Dear Leader smiling
down from a nearby billboard or portrait. That being said, it was defi-
nitely not all like that. I saw people dancing at the beach to the North
Korean equivalent of dance music, people playing what looked to be
poker, etc. It’s a country full of contrasts. One moment you’re looking
at a beautiful flower next to the road, the next there is a soldier armed
They do know a decent amount and certainly aren’t
with an assault rifle staring at you.
idiots. My senior minder gave me a ground level view
of just how much they know, and just how their world
Were your minders honest, or was everything
view has been influenced by living with government censor-
they said just government propaganda? ship and propaganda for their entire lives.
My minders were honest. That being said, much of their worldview
Something interesting I found out was just how the govern-
is based directly on what they’ve been taught by the government,
ment propaganda influenced their thought processes. For
because there has never been an alternative. The truth is a malleable
example, they know that the South elects their president.
thing. What is true in our eyes is not necessarily true in theirs.
However, they view America as influencing the Korean govern-
ment behind the scenes and interfering, preventing a reunifica-
Did you ever get to talk honestly
tion of the country. Their government is never the problem. It is
with any of the people there?
always the fault of America or the South. Or, if they do act first,
While I wasn’t able to get much direct contact with ordinary it is justified by some sort of provocation, such as Yeonpyeong
North Koreans, I was able to talk fairly honestly with my minders. Island. My minder’s explanation of which went like this:
/ama 17 05
05

There is
virtually
zero outside “They’ve fired into our Did they dictate what you were allowed to
information waters constantly, and
we’ve warned them not
take photos of, or give Any specific rules for

coming in to do it. So, first they

statues and monuments?
The only real rule was to get statues in one shot. The only way they
that isnt shot. Then, we shot
back. 15 died, and they
were treated different, is that I was able to actually stand and shoot

from haven’t shot at our wa-

ters since.” The firing at
to take a proper picture of them, as opposed to something catching
my eye and trying to quickly snap a shot out of a moving vehicle or
government waters part is half true,
something.

sources. as South Korea did fire

into the water, however
The guides would generally say “You’re allowed to take pictures here.”
That being said, I would tend to take pictures at other times as well.
they are disputed wa- Most random scene type pictures are usually taken from the window
ters. The casualty toll however is not, and shows an example of the of a moving vehicle. I had to ditch many shots due to blurriness. As
government version of events, as opposed to the actual death toll of long as you aren’t obvious about it and do take photos of soldiers, my
2 marines and 2 civilians. guides were fairly chill and never told me off once.

At one point he lamented that their news does not give them much
information on the outside world. I decided to ask him why, and he
answered that he simply did not know. That was very interesting. All
the pieces of the puzzle are there, but they simply cannot make the
leap to put them into place. The view of ordinary citizens would be
incredibly narrow. There is virtually zero outside information coming
in that isn’t from government sources. At most, they would be able to
get a glimpse of the outside world if they watch smuggled Chinese
or South Korean media or entertainment, or have an inkling feeling
that everything isn’t just quite right in paradise.

Do they think Americans care more about

North Koreans than Americans actually do?
The American people, no. The American government, absolutely.
They think the American government controls the government of
the south and is what is preventing the reunification of Korea.
/ama
At the border they have one of their customs agents look through
all of the photos on your camera and delete any that they don’t like.
The picture of the can at the end of the gallery was one he actually
deleted, but I used a photo recovery program to get it back.
How much did it cost?
I went with an individual tour, so it cost more than it otherwise would
have. Going with Koryo Tours is a bit pricier than the DPRK tour com-
panies, but they give you better access within the country. For 7
nights it cost me over 3000$ USD.
What was the most shocking thing you saw?
Most shocking was probably on the subway system. The doors on
the subway just slam shut instantly and without advance warning. An
old woman with a child was going through the door and it slammed
shut right on her head, bounced, and then trapped her arm holding
a bag inside the subway, and she starts screaming so that the sub-
way wouldn’t start moving and rip her arm off. Thankfully that didn’t
happen and the door opened again, but as the subway pulled away I
could see her looking dazed and shaken. It was a fairly blunt remind-
er of just where I was.
Did you ever feel that the events around you,
that you saw, had been choreographed for
you to see? I’d have been worried that the
entire trip was one big “The Truman Show”
style event.
I’ve read on that occurring and attempted to watch for it myself. The
only instances that triggered my spidey-senses in that regard were
the instances of North Koreans listening to music and dancing when
I was at the beach. Can’t say for certain either way since it seems au-
thentic enough, but you can just never know. Judging by the fairly
large amount of decidedly un-flattering stuff I saw, I don’t really think
that was the case. Poverty, people foraging in the woods, the decay-
ing soviet-era infrastructure, etc.
How were you received by the citizens there?
By the average citizens I would rate myself as something of a curios-
ity. I could always feel myself being looked at by ordinary people
when I was out of the capital.
18
Did you look for or find any bugs, cameras,
etc in your rooms while there?
Yup, didn’t manage to find any.
However, there were half-hidden doors into the wall next to my room
that could be entered from the hallway at the Yanggakdo Hotel,
which was somewhat creepy. Pretty sure it was never used, but there
was a North Korean who was in the room across from me who was
there like 24/7 watching TV or stuff, and I’m pretty sure tracking the
movements in and out of the room for me and the 1-2 other foreign-
er rooms in that wing.
How was the food and drink?
Food and drink wasn’t bad actually. They usually gave so much food
that it was impossible to even eat half of what was in front of you,
so there was always at least 1-3 good tasting things. As well, North
Korean beer is surprisingly decent, and was included with just about
every meal.
Did the people appear healthy?
Relatively. Though the country has been chronically malnourished
for decades. I didn’t see a single chubby person the entire trip. So
while they largely seem fine at first glance, in North Korea it’s always
the small things you have to watch for. I know they keep mentally
disabled people out of the trophy capital.
Would you recommend the trip to
someone else?
I would definitely recommend it. Getting to see a place like North Ko-
rea while it still exists is an unbeatable experience. It also humanizes
the country greatly, and you get to see all the things that never make
the news. Your guides for example aren’t just government automa-
tons there to watch over you and spout propaganda. They are real
people with lives, desires, hopes and personalities. It was somewhat
novel to me to see my young female guide constantly pulling out
her cell phone whenever she got a text from a friend, just like any
other young girl anywhere else in the world. Or when we arrived at
the east coast, it was her first visit to the ocean, and she told me she
was scared of it. Seeing someone experience the ocean for the first
time was just surreal. She took her shoes off and dipped her toes in
and kind of giggled some, then a larger wave came in and she sort of
squealed and backed up. It’s experiences like those which truly make
the trip worthwhile.
/ama 19

I am Jim O’Heir,
or “Jerry” on
Parks &
Recreation
permalink submitted by JIMISTHEMAN

How does it feel to be an actor that

gets physical jokes made about you
in the show? It’s not like playing a
“dumb” character where you know
that’s not really your mind. Does it
make you self-conscious?
You know, we are who we are. I’m a big guy
and always have been. It leads to some
obvious comic situations that I would find
funny whether it were me or someone
else playing the part. As far as being self-
conscious...I guess I’d have to say at times
yes. We all have certain insecurities to deal
with, but the folks at P&R always have my
best interest at heart.

If you decided to start training for

an Ironman triathlon tomorrow,
would your agent be outraged?
Would it mess up your career if you
got ridiculously fit?
That’s a really great question. To be
perfectly honest...I think my agents would
hate it. I’ve worked steady as a big guy
and they do get 10% of everything so I
can’t imagine they would want to mess
around with what’s been working. As far
as messing up my career, so hard to say. I
have seen it happen where someone has
done a major body change and couldn’t Was Jerry originally going to be a reads. Everybody started clapping and the
find work. A great example is the guy who continuing character? support was incredible.
played Newman on Seinfeld. He lost a ton It’s hard to say if Jerry was going to be
of weight and had trouble getting work. a regular. I was first hired as a recurring How similar are Ron Swanson
He’s put the weight back on and is now a “guest,” because nobody knew what was and Nick Offerman? For that
series regular on a TV Land show. going to happen. Characters like Jerry matter, who’s most similar to their
and Donna were put at desks just to character, and who’s the most
Do you feel bad that your character see how it would play out. Greg Daniels different?
is the punching bag for everyone (who also created the American version Nick would really surprise you. He’s
else in the show? of The Office) likes to work that way. I so damned intelligent that it’s a little
Jerry’s definitely the punching bag. In my remember I was at an airport in Florida intimidating. I’m always looking for a
days of working a real job in an office, and my manager called telling me that dictionary after we’ve hung out. He’s also
there always seemed to be someone they wanted to start negotiating to have a great story teller, and as manly as Ron
who took the brunt of the jokes. As far as me become a regular on the show. I was Swanson. We joke that Nick can grow the
feeling bad... I love it! I’ve always been a so happy with that news. I also loved how Ron mustache in an afternoon. Nick is also
big fan of the underdog characters on TV they announced it at one of our table an artist with woodworking. So is Ron.
shows.
/ama
I am Jim O’ Heir, or “Jerry” on Parks & Recreation
I think every actor brings a bit of
themselves to every role, so I can’t say that
any of us are super close to our characters,
but there are some similarities.
Daaaammmnnn Jerry, you fell in a
creek for a burrito? What would you
do for a Klondike bar,
kill your wife?
I can’t even begin to tell you what I’d do
for a Klondike bar. Killing my wife is just
one of many.
How much ad-libbing versus sticking
to the script is there on the show?
We definitely do some ad-libbing but
I have to tell you that the writing is so
strong on the show that we usually stick
to the script. Also, we do what we call a
“fun run” after we finish every scene and
that’s where we get to try whatever we
want. Can’t begin to tell you how much
fun that is.
SMARTPHONES
permalink submitted by JimKB
How is being a continuing actor on
a show different from just having a
small role on individual episodes?
Do you enjoy working with the same
people for a season?
Being a series regular is fucking awesome!
The job of an actor is to always be looking
for the next job. As a regular you can just
breathe a little and not worry about the
next audition. I love working with the
same people. You have to realize that it’s
not just the cast we’re with all day. There’s
about a hundred and fifty other people
involved who make the show what it is. To
get to see them all every day and laugh
and joke around is just amazing. To play
one character for multiple seasons is also
fun, because you can watch the growth
over the years.
What was it like working on Curb
Your Enthusiasm?
Curb was really interesting. Even the
audition was totally different. Usually on
20
an audition you’re given material from
the show and you learn it and make your
“acting” choices. But with Curb, they just
gave me a sentence that outlined a story
they were going for. I walked into the room,
and there was Larry David and all the
producers. Very intimidating. I must have
done OK because I got the job. The day of
the shoot you are again told what they’re
going for, and then just start improvising.
When things start flowing they’ll tell you
to stick with this or that. Larry just sort of
sits off to the side and does his own thing.
Lots of crossword puzzles if I remember
correctly. Jeff Garlin is one of the sweetest
men ever.
Shut up, Jerry.
Aw, geeze. I’m sorry guys.
/pics
/stories
ROME,
SWEET
ROME
permalink
submitted by Prufrock451
[ DAY ONE ]
T he 35th MEU is on the ground at Kabul, preparing to deploy
to southern Afghanistan. Suddenly, it vanishes.
The section of Bagram where the 35th was gathered suddenly
reappears in a field outside Rome, on the west bank of the Ti-
ber River. Without substantially prepared ground under it, the
concrete begins sinking into the marshy ground and cracking.
Colonel Miles Nelson orders his men to regroup near the vehi-
cle depot — nearly all of the MEU’s vehicles are still stripped for
air transport. He orders all helicopters airborne, believing the
MEU is trapped in an earthquake.
Nelson’s men soon report a complete loss of all communica-
tions, including GPS and satellite radio. Nelson now believes
something more terrible has occurred — a nuclear war and EMP
which has left his unit completely isolated. Only a few men
have realized that the rest of Bagram has vanished, but that will
soon become apparent as the transport helos begin circling the
35th’s location.
Within an hour, the 2,200 Marines have regrouped, stunned.
They are not the only moderns transported to Rome. With them
are about 150 Air Force maintenance and repair specialists.
There are about 60 Afghan Army soldiers, mostly the MEU’s in-
terpreters and liaisons. There are also 15 U.S. civilian contractors
and one man, Frank Delacroix, who has spoken to no one but
Colonel Nelson.
21
Miraculously, no one was killed during the earthquake but sev-
eral dozen people were injured, some seriously. All fixed-wing
aircraft and the attack helicopters were rendered inoperable by
the shifting concrete, although the MEU did not lose a single
vehicle or transport helicopter.
As night falls, the MEU has established a perimeter. A few locals
have been spotted, but in the chaos no one has yet established
contact. Nelson and his men, who are crippled without map-
ping software and GPS to fix their position, begin attempting to
fix their location by observing stars. The night is cloudy. Nelson
orders four helicopters back into the air at first light, to travel
along the river in hopes of locating a settlement.
[ Day TWO ]
Nelson’s helos launch at dawn. As they rise into the air, one
crew spots a distant pillar of smoke and excitedly begins bearing
down on this sign of life. Meanwhile, the mysterious appear-
ance of the Marines has not gone unnoticed. Peasants have fled
to the home of the land’s owner, Senator Aulus Terentius Varro
Murena. It is 23 BC, and Murena is about to form a Republican
conspiracy against Augustus Caesar. He and other Senators are
deeply suspicious of the Imperator and fear that he will swamp
their ancient order with newly minted Senators from his swell-
/stories
ing armies. The appearance of a small but apparently compe-
tent armed force — with a vast array of what appears to be bi-
zarre siege machinery — on his land makes him fear the worst.
He dispatches several spies to monitor the visitors and orders
his retainers to avoid the camp. He also sends messengers to his
co-conspirators in the Senate. At noon, two Sea Knight helicop-
ters roar over Rome at 12,000 feet.
Stunned, the pilots swoop in lower and lower. After a half-hour
of sight- seeing, coming in as low as 1,000 feet, they can no long-
er deny the evidence of their eyes — this is not the place or time
they had occupied the day before. They leave to report. Behind
them, they leave a city in chaos, as terrified Romans flee the aw-
ful creatures in the sky. Sacrificial pyres fill the city with smoke,
and priests of every religion shout in the streets.
Imperator Augustus Caesar observes all of this, first as the Senate
empties in the middle of a speech and then on horseback as he
grimly follows the creatures to the city’s borders at the head of
a growing body of horsemen. As they recede into the distance,
Augustus whirls and begins snapping orders. The horsemen
vanish, and soon the city militia is calling for order. The three
cohorts of the Praetorian Guard march from their barracks. 1,000
men take up station on the western edge of the city, while 2,000
more restore order, cracking heads where necessary. Caesar re-
turns to the Senate, where Murena and a few men exchange
knowing glances. “My fellow Romans,” he says simply, “those
were machines, not creatures. I’ve seen enough campaigns to
know the difference.” Grizzled military veterans in his audience
are smart enough not to dwell long on the difference between
their field experience and his.
“It appears, gentlemen of the Senate, that we have a war on our
hands.”
[ Day THREE ]
Nelson and his command staff are stunned. Not one
of his men speaks more than a dozen words in Latin.
Nelson begins assembling a list of possible inter-
preters from his Spanish-speaking soldiers, and at
the suggestion of a classically minded major he
adds the dozen or so Marines fluent in German.
He pores over the inventories. His aviation fuel
won’t last longer than six months, the high-oc-
tane fuel necessary to run the Humvees maybe
another year after that. He knows that he could
technically rig machines to run on wood gas or
even coal, but that seems highly impractical.
He has ammunition. He has fuel. He has food.
He has medical supplies. But he doesn’t have
that much of any of these things. The 35th MEU
was going to be dependent on a vast logistical
pipeline from the first day of its deployment. He
commanded one of the most powerful, terrifying
forces in the world — especially in what appeared to
be its new (old?) world — but it was one with a short
half-life.
He calls in a few of his senior commanders. And Delacroix. A
decision has to be made soon. The men are increasingly terrified
and stunned by whispers of what the sequestered Sea Knight
22
crews discovered. Soon, demands for information will come. Af-
ter that would come the realization that any of these men had
the power and knowledge to lead a kingdom in this world. “We
need a mission, and fast,” Nelson says. “Or we’re going to disin-
tegrate and spread a civil war over this empire that’ll leave it in
such ruins the Mongols won’t bother stopping here a thousand
years from now.”
Delacroix steps forward and says, “Colonel, I may have an idea.”
As the conference progresses, a slight man is plucked from the
swamp by two Marine sentries. His insistent declarations are in
no language they recognize, although Private Hector Menen-
dez finds something eerily familiar about it. What he wants is
easy enough to understand, however — he wants to be taken to
their leader.
And 50 miles to the east, the Praetorian Guard assembles at the
head of a hastily assembled force of volunteers and grey-headed
veterans recalled to the standard. A banner snaps in the wind.
A horn blows, drums roll, and 10,000 men begin marching west.
[ Day FOUR ]
The slight man is Sixtus Murena, the son of Senator Murena. It
took most of the night, but his offer has emerged: the Republi-
can faction of the Senate is willing to offer the 35th MEU a siz-
able fiefdom in return for attacking the Praetorian Guard and
toppling Augustus. Through his interpreters, Colonel Nelson
remarks dryly that a decision like that is above his pay grade.
The Praetorian Guard covered five miles on Day 3, and another
twelve on Day 4 — a third of the distance to the 35th MEU’s
camp. Augustus himself is in the camp. He is also reviewing a
steady stream of messages. Emissaries have been dispatched to
every governor in the empire to be on alert, but only two legions
have been recalled — Augustus is firm in rejecting rumors
of supernatural powers and his calm, measured response
is helping to soothe terrified Romans. The Senate has au-
thorized the formation of two new legions from veter-
ans of the Civil Wars. The question of their command is
a prickly one — Augustus has no desire to inflame the
Senate by promoting
one of his favorites,
but with the Praeto-
A BANNER SNAPS rians on the march
IN THE WIND. A he cannot leave a Re-
HORN BLOWS, publican in charge
of the only military
DRUMS ROLL, force in Rome itself.
AND 10,000 He assigns General
Marcus Agrippa to
MEN BEGIN
head the new Legio
MARCHING I Italica, and leaves
WEST. the question of the
second legion’s com-
mander open for the moment, tasking Agrippa only
with overseeing its formation. Neither will be ready
for deployment within a month.
Two Marines vanish from Camp Tiber (one of several unoffi-
cial names, along with Camp America, Camp Future, and Won-
derland; Nelson is too busy to bother with an official one yet), as
/stories
does one Afghan national. It is assumed they have
struck out in search of adventure, or even in hopes of
reaching their homes. Colonel Nelson is forced to or-
der sentries to shoot to kill anyone entering or leav-
ing the camp.
[ Day FIVE ]
First contact.
Sixtus Murena remains in U.S. custody, despite his in-
creasingly agitated demands to return. Senator Mure-
na begins to regret his rash decision to approach
the Invaders: what if their camp is overrun,
and Sixtus is discovered there? What if Au-
gustus’s spies have already noted his ab-
sence? He and his fellow conspirators de-
bate and debate, but decide to do nothing
but wait; they are comfortable men, and
tempered by years of legislative experience
to talk and observe. They are not men to
seize the nettle. The fact that Augustus has
an informer among their ranks is almost ir-
relevant.
The Praetorians close another 15 miles. The
pace is exhausting for the hastily scraped-up
auxiliaries, but marching on fine roads near
Rome, even under 100-pound packs, is child’s
play for a Praetorian, a man who has never
known air-conditioning, never sat in a cushioned
chair, never greeted tropical storms or arctic gales
with anything but Stoic resignation because he
has never had a choice - unlike the men of the 35th,
whose tempers are fraying under the stress of their
predicament and their utter isolation.
At 4 in the afternoon, with humid temperatures roasting
American and Roman alike, a unit of 50 Roman cavalry
in glittering metal armor appear on the horizon. Sergeant
Alvin McCandless shouts to his men, who take up position
behind a line of sandbags. M16A4s are trained on the Ro-
mans, and a SAW is locked and loaded — .50-caliber bullets.
Within five seconds, enough firepower to annihilate a legion is
concentrated on Fulvius Bassus and his men.
Bassus approaches cautiously but holds his head high and
keeps his horse trotting at a confident pace. The Invaders shout
something, but he pays them no heed. They’re too far away for
a parley, and he’s not even close to bowshot range. He will up-
hold the honor and dignity of Rome, and he will come in close
enough to talk.
There is a sudden flash of light. Something erupts in a cloud of
dust in front of his horse. A split-second later, loud reports echo
through the air. Now the Invaders are shouting again, their
voices now unbelievably loud, with a strange hissing behind
them that distorts the sounds into something inhuman.
By reflex, Bassus and his men draw their swords. They should
now return and report. But Bassus is years removed from serv-
ice, and he is still getting reacquainted with the art of subordi-
nating himself to commands. It is no longer easy for him to ig-
nore the squirt of fear running through him, making his heart
pound and his palms sweat.
23
He repeats his orders. They will advance and parley.
The Romans move forward. They are still far from
bowshot, and his reflexes are honed by years of civil
war against his fellow Romans. He expects the call to
parley, not a fight. He has a hundred paces to go.
Sergeant McCandless watches the Romans advance, ig-
noring his warning shots and calls to halt. Their swords
are drawn. He does not know the range of a Roman bow.
He only knows that they are closing. He doesn’t know
what kind of weapons they have. He doesn’t know how
to talk to them. His nerves are frayed after four days
without sleep, nightmares about his family rip-
ping him out of the few minutes he can eke out
before taking another go-pill.
“STOP!” he roars. “FUCKING HALT! NOW!”
Five seconds.
“FIRE!”
The bullets arc forward. Marine marksman-
ship is the finest this world has ever seen,
and Bassus and his men, trotting forward six
abreast, make a fine target. They all drop. Hors-
es and men shriek. McCandless orders men for-
ward to take prisoners and dispatch the horses
humanely. Within five minutes, a Humvee
roars up. Nelson roars at McCandless furiously.
He is relieved. Urgent conferences are called. 50
horses are counted — and 49 Roman corpses.
It is war.
[ Day SIX ]
Negotiations must begin. Nelson selects six men to head
the team. Chaplain Garrity, the one man Nelson knows
speaks Latin, is hunted down. He is found in a latrine,
his wrists opened. The first suicide. Nelson selects Private
Menendez to take his place as an interpreter; Menendez has
been assigned to guard Sixtus Murena and has proven a quick
study.
The Marine negotiating team heads east in an armed convoy:
three Humvees with two helicopters riding shotgun. Nelson is
uneasy about this show of force, but he can’t take the chance
of losing a single man in a fight against an entire empire. He
is watching the stock of MREs dwindle rapidly, and the camp
is burning through its fuel to boil the Tiber’s water. Engineers
have devised charcoal filters, but Fort Wonderland is low on
wood, along with almost everything else. And now he has
gotten word of what appears to be a case of malaria.
At noon, they meet a Praetorian patrol, doubled in strength
since yesterday. Bassus was somehow unscratched. His report
has sent the first real spasms of fear through Augustus. The Pra-
etorians have begun adapting. They ready bows and javelins,
not swords today. They are ten miles east of Wonderland. Ro-
man spies have already established a screen around the camp,
tightening the noose. Thousands of veterans are streaming into
Rome as news of the Invasion spreads.
Nelson’s second-in-command steps out of the lead Humvee,
/stories
waving a white flag. He walks forward,
his hands open. The Praetorians waver.
Tales of Bassus’s encounter have be-
come rumor and legend already. The all it takes
Invaders cursed him with magic. The is one fool.
Invaders broke a flag of truce. The In-
vaders devoured the corpses.
one moment
of rash
All it takes is one fool. One moment of terror.
rash terror.
But the Praetorians are the best their Empire has to offer. They
are an elite, just as the Marines they face are. They are patriots,
and they are cool tacticians. Eye to eye, the Marines and Praeto-
rians take each other’s measure. Today, things make sense.
“I am sorry,” says Major Terrence Washington. He holds his
hands open. “On behalf of the United States and the U.S. Marine
Corps, I apologize deeply for the misunderstanding.” His gaze is
level and honest. He has fought in Panama and Iraq, Afghani-
stan and Iraq again. He has dealt with men who place honor
above life. His eyes say what his words cannot.
Javelins are lowered. As are rifles. Across a hundred feet, and
two thousand years, two men walk forward and clasp hands.
And Senator Murena hears of this that evening, watching the
glow of the Praetorians’ camp torches from his veranda, and
seethes.
[ Day SEVEN ]
The Praetorian corpses are disinterred and returned, with full
military honors. The first 21-gun salute in the history of the
world is fired. Augustus Caesar stands at attention. It takes all
of Colonel Nelson’s training and experience to stop him from
staring.
24
After a brief breakfast, Augustus tours Wonderland. He is given
the honors due a visiting head of state. He glances over the ma-
chines with a studiously cool eye. Only the slightest quickening
of breath betrays his excitement when he sees the helicopters.
Nelson admires the Imperator’s reserve. He suppresses a smile
once, when Augustus betrays shock — at the sight of Lieutenant
Chou, next to Sergeant Guntersen and Private Gomez, all stand-
ing at attention. Augustus’s eyes slide over to measure Nelson,
and Nelson hopes he misses the moment of levity.
Nelson realizes that these men frighten Augustus more than
any machine. They speak of an empire vaster than his own.
Augustus can imagine the threat posed by a helicopter. An in-
visible empire whose subjects come from across the earth, its
interpreters jostling with his own in fragments of two dozen
languages...Nelson regrets his decision to allow the tour, even if
he has presented himself as an apologetic and accidental guest
on Roman land. He has not given Augustus reason to respect
the Marines as dutiful fighting men. He has given Augustus rea-
son to annihilate them.
Augustus makes excuses and cuts the visit short. Nelson hides
his fear behind a stony exterior. Murena summons the conspira-
tors again that evening. They talk, and now Murena urges them
to action.
By night, a cloaked figure approaches the Praetorian camp.
Whispered signs are exchanged. The figure is ushered into the
presence of Augustus. He details Murena’s plan.
Augustus glowers. He dismisses the informer. He does nothing.
[ to be continued at
/r/ROMESWEETROME ]
/stories
permalink submitted by DRAKAN290
A round the time when I was 14, I lived in Jakarta, Indonesia. The
city is really dirty, and doesn't cater to my outdoorsy lifestyle, and
on occasion, my dad and I would make trips outside the city to go fish-
ing, explore or visit places most people normally wouldn't.
One weekend, we had decided to book a fishing charter on the south
side of Java. This was an advanced plan, so we couldn't control the
weather that would happen. The first day, the weather was fairly de-
cent. Overcast skies, with spotty sun; overall great fishing weather. We
had caught a bunch of fish and were getting ready to make an after-
noon sushi meal, when the weather took a turn for the worse..
The clouds billowed up high, with shots of thunder ringing every few
seconds. Since we were fairly far out on the ocean, there were very
few places we could shelter ourselves for this storm. Indonesia is an
archipelago, an island chain. We were not far from an island, however,
it was owned by someone unknown, and we were
probably not welcome.
The storm continued to drive away, forcing us to pull Faster than I can
into a reef cutout at this small island. We jumped
off the boat and swam through the reef cutout
believe, the entire
towards the white sand beach. Me, being the out-
doorsy type I am, started making a small lean-to out
monkey kingdom
of palm fronds and driftwood. As soon as I had fin- erupts out of the
ished making the shelter, two Indonesian men walk
out of the jungle behind us, scaring the bajesus out forest and onto
of my father and I.
Out of nowhere, these two (very) Indonesian men
the clearing...
start speaking English. My father and me are suffi-
ciently freaked out at this point, and start talking back to them. It turns
out they are on this island, owned by some form of a US research con-
tract and they are studying monkeys. There is an indigenous tribe of
monkeys that live on this island, and they feed and study these mon-
keys for some money.
They invite us to stay in one of their bungalows, in exchange for sto-
ries and some hard-to-get food. One of the perks of living in a for-
eign country as a foreigner, is that we get to have some of our home
countries food shipped to us. At the time (I remember clearly), we had
hickory bacon smoked can cheese. (Yes, the Kraft canned cheese.)
They absolutely loved the cheese, and the news and stories we had
brought, and we sat around in an open-air shelter while the rain con-
tinued to pour down. After talking for a long while, sitting around a
25
fire, and eating cheese and crackers, we decided to retire for the night.
I woke up the next morning to beautiful sunlight streaming through
the cracks in the roof and walls. I walked outside to see a few monkeys
messing around in the small clearing outside of the living area. I see
they are throwing around nut shells, and I end up getting pegged by
one of the monkeys.
Faster than I can believe, the entire monkey kingdom erupts out of
the forest and onto the clearing, including one larger, meaner and
muscular looking 4 foot monkey. I looked him straight in the eyes (re-
ally, really bad mistake on my part), and was promptly pelted from
every direction with shells and banana peels. The research dudes had
woken up at this point, and were yelling at me to lay on the ground.
I continued to get pelted with shells, branches, banana peels. Every-
thing except feces (thankfully), until I was laying flat to the ground.
The lead monkey runs towards me at this point,
and, just inches from my face, tries looking me
in the eyes. All the while, the research guys are
yelling at me not to make any eye contact, and
to avoid it at all costs. I end up with my nose in
the dirt, staring straight at the ground.
After what seems like an eternity, I feel a furry
hand at my chin, pulling up. I follow the move-
ments, and am greeted with the lead monkeys
chest. I continue to avoid eye contact, and only
squat up to the point where I am still shorter
than he is. The research assistants are now tell-
ing me that I am part of the tribe, and when
feeding time comes (shortly), I will have to eat with the tribe.
They bring out nuts, bananas, mangoes, etc. All the food that monkeys
normally eat. I continue sitting at the back of the monkey pack, and as
soon as the feasting begins, a banana is thrown at me from the king
monkey. He motions for me to eat it, and of course, I comply. It was
probably the best banana I had ever eaten.
After feeding time, the tribe disappears back into the woods, and I am
free to walk around again. The research assistants all congratulate me
on joining the monkey tribe, and lead us back to where we beached
at the previous afternoon. My dad and I swim back to the boat, wave
goodbye to the researchers, throw them some more food, and go on
our way.
/pics
/stories
BUTCHERFACE
permalink submitted by DASH32
part one
In 1997, my friend (who we’ll call Chris) moved
across state. At that time, we were 10, we didn’t
really have much of a way to see each other be-
sides getting a ride by our parents to one or the
other’s house, which would be a hassle for our
parents so we eventually lost contact. During
this time, I had only gotten the chance to visit
his house once.
Like I said, we lost contact with each other for
ten years, that is until Chris contacted a mu-
tual friend through Myspace. We made plans
to hook up and hang out, now that we have
our own means of transportation it was much
easier. After maybe a month of this, Chris men-
tioned that his family will be remodeling the
house and I offered my help. Him and his father
gladly accepted the offer since the previous
owner(s) apparently didn’t keep up on it them-
selves.
A couple weeks later, I drive down one week-
end and we start tearing up carpeting, ripping
off wallpaper, etc. The basement had been
changed into a room for Chris some years be-
fore and while half of the floor was concrete,
the other half seemed to have been torn up
and replaced with floorboards and one of the
boards had become warped and broke, leav-
ing it protruding up under the carpet so they
wanted to replace it.
We tore the carpet up and started ripping out
the floorboards when we found what looked
like a hole dug about five feet into the ground
under the floor. Chris jumped down there
thinking he could get better leverage to tear up
the boards when he said something was down
there. His father got a flashlight and we jumped
down to check it out. It turned out to be a very
warn box. It looked similar to a shoebox but it
was about three feet long and extremely dam-
aged by the elements. It was so tattered that
you wouldn’t be able to pick it up in one piece.
We believed that whatever was in it would be
just as damaged, but when we ripped it open,
we noticed that whatever was in it had the add-
ed protection of a black trash bag. Chris picked
up the trash bag and it’s contents made the
sound of plastic hitting plastic. We were curious
as to what’s in there so we brought it upstairs
and cut the bag open with a pair of scissors
and found 24 unmarked videotapes. Chris and
I were curious as to what was on them but his
father claimed that they were most likely some-
body’s old bootleg collection and if we’re still
curious we should check them out later after
we were done for the day.
Since the plan was for me to stay the night
and help them out the next day and leave that
sunday night, we decided to watch them that
night. Since Chris’s father was tired and didn’t
really care what was on the tapes he went to
bed a little bit early that night. So, we pulled
their old VCR from their attic, hooked it up to
the tv in Chris’s room and took one of the tapes
out of the bag and slipped it in.
The tapes certainly weren’t bootlegged mov-
ies like Chris’s father believed. They were the
home movies of an unknown man we eventu-
ally began to call Butcherface. There was seem-
ingly no flow from one scene to the next. It was
like he would just film something random for
what was usually just a couple minutes then
put the camera away for god knows how long
until he found something else that interested
him. Most of the footage was random footage
like him turning on the camera, facing a chair.
He would walk out from behind the camera, to
the chair, push it over onto the floor, walk back
to the camera and turn it off. Or him playing
with a random spider, which he would talk to
in a low, childlike voice, then end the tape with
him squashing it. Or him just filming down at
his feet as he walks while deeply breathing.The
one thing that always stuck out about all the
footage is that on the few times that his face
was shown, he was seen wearing what looked
like a burlap sack tightly tied around his head
with twine with two eye holes cut out. He was
also a big guy, being easily over 6 feet tall with
a decent build, with some muscles, but not be-
ing buff.
A lot of the footage was much more creepy
and sinister. Some of the footage was of him
videotaping people leaving buildings and
houses. He was obviously hiding somewhere
across the street from these locations and he
was often breathing loudly. Even worse were
the things he videotaped himself doing. One
piece of footage showed him sitting at a table,
with a rat trapped in an empty large pickle jar.
He unscrewed the pickle jar, took the rat out,
slowly put his hand on it’s head and started
twisting until it stopped screaming. He twist-
ed a little more until it’s head was completely
ripped off the body, then he turned the cam-
era off. Another clip showed him in a barn
(which there was no barn on my friends prop-
erty, so we don’t know where this was filmed).
He turned the camera on, showing a pig tied to
a post. He walked over to the pig with an ax in
his hand and hacked it’s head off.
What was really creepy was that most of the
26
footage was shot in what was now my friends
house. It was always dark in the footage, like
this man didn’t like to have lights on, but we did
recognize various locations of the house. One
piece of footage was obviously shot in the liv-
ing room which showed Butcherface using a
large hunting knife to cut the power cord off of
something we couldn’t see, wrapping this cord
tightly around his arm, grunting and moaning
as he does it, and using the knife to cut deep
cuts into his hand and arm. One disturbing clip
showed him standing in front of a table in the
kitchen. On the table was a clothes iron. He then
unzipped his pants, took out his penis, put it on
the table and pressed the hot iron against it. He
screamed but didn’t take it off for about 30 sec-
onds. He finally took it off, limped over to the
camera and turned it off.
What freaked us out the most was a clip of
Butcherface in what used to be Chris’s upstairs
bedroom before he moved to the basement. He
turned the camera on and showed the whole
room covered in what appeared to be hun-
dreds of lit candles. They were on every table,
chair and shelf. The walls were covered in paint-
ings of grotesque and ghostly faces. He then
walked to a corner of the room and started furi-
ously carving something into the floor with the
hunting knife. He would stab it into the floor
and drag it around, pull it out and stab again.
Since that room was vacant at the moment and
used for storage, and was going to be reno-
vated anyway, Chris’s father let us tear up the
carpet in that area of the room. What we found
was a section of the floor that had been heav-
ily sanded down with no real evidence of what
had been carved there. Another tape showed
footage of Butcherface in that same room, with
even more candles. He was on his knees, facing
away from the camera, with his arms in the air,
screaming to be brought “to the pits of pain
and torture” (one interesting thing about this
clip is that he only had three fingers on his left
hand, missing his pinky and ring finger. He had
all five fingers in the previous clips and we think
he cut them off) . That was the last clip of that
tape and the camera appeared to run out of
tape. The last piece of footage on the last tape
showed Butcherface furiously digging the hole
that we found in the basement. He was digging
fast and breathing heavily. He was constantly
grunting. His shirt was off but he still had the
mask on. After a couple minutes of him just dig-
ging. He started talking, saying something like
“this is it. This is it. They wont know. They’ll never
find me. This is where I’ll hide.”
 /pics
/stories
part TWO
About two weeks after we found the Butcher-
face tapes, we were getting tired with having
to lug the VCR up and down those steep attic
steps, because Chris’s father for some reason
kept asking us to put it back up there when we
weren’t using it. Chris’s younger brother (lets call
him Evan), mentioned that he could convert the
tapes to DVD using equipment at his college. Af-
ter some haggling and way too much negotiat-
ing, if we (being newly 21 at the time) would pay
for the liquor bill for a party that friends of Evan’s
were having (who were 19 at the time), he’d do
it the next day.
When that day came, both Chris and I were wait-
ing anxiously in the kitchen for when Evan got
home. When he finally walked in the door an
hour later, he said he‘d be back, and he was look-
ing extremely pale. We asked him if he was done
converting and he jumped in our faces saying
that we never told him what was on the tapes.
Apparently, he didn’t actually hear what we were
talking about and only heard that we wanted
some tapes converted. He thought they were
more like old family recordings like Christmas
or birthday videos. We calmed him down and
asked him if he converted the tapes. He said “no”
and quickly left the room. We were disappointed
and started talking about what to do next when
Evan came back into the room with his father
behind him.
After talking about what was on the tapes, Evan
retrieved them from his car and the four of us
watched every one of the 24 tapes together. Af-
ter the last tape was finished (“this is it. This is
it. They wont know. They’ll never find me. This
is where I’ll hide.”), Chris’s father’s face was just
as pale as Evan’s was earlier. He leaned back in
his chair and said “… That was creepy”. An hour
of talking that night ended with us wanting
to know who was on the tapes. I left for home
soon after with the understanding that I would
be kept in the loop on what we would do next,
which was to figure out the previous owners of
the house.
A couple days later from there I got a phone call
from Chris saying that it took them a little while
(they found nothing on the county website) but
they found some history on the house at the
town library (on something called a “reverse
directory”) about a previous owner who had it
in the mid-80’s. After a few unanswered phone
calls, we decided to visit these people in person.
So, that Friday, me, Chris, and his father drove to
their house and knocked on the door, only to be
greeted by two 80-something year old women.
Chris’s father told them that his family was liv-
ing in their old house and asked if we could ask
them some questions about it. They refused to
let us in their house but they did tell us about
the house.
It turned out that the both of them were sis-
ters (Their first names were Shirley and Louise),
and Louise turned out to be the former owner
of the house, but never lived in it. She and her
husband bought the house and were planning
to add some new wiring and plumbing before
moving in, but her husband had a severe stroke
not too long after buying it and eventually died.
With the combination of hospital and funerary
bills, Louise couldn’t afford fixing up and mov-
ing into the house and moved in with her sister
instead. But, she did mention that during that
time, the house was known to be home to a
fair number of homeless people who would be
regularly chased off the property. We also asked
if either of them had a son and they both said
“no”.We left without many answers.
A couple weeks later, Chris and I had gone to
the movies with his girlfriend (I think he was
trying to get his mind off the tapes because I
could tell that he was still creeped out). We were
talking about how much the movie sucked (Spi-
derman 3), when Chris slammed on the breaks.
We practically skidded about 30 feet and I was
choked by my seatbelt and his girlfriend, who
wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, was almost thrown
into the front seat. We started screaming at him,
asking him what the hell he was doing when
we looked at what he was staring at and saw
a house. It looked familiar to me but I couldn’t
put my finger on it. I looked back to Chris and
he said “that house is on the tapes“. Then I re-
membered, one of the houses that Butcherface
had watched people come and go from was
right there, not 20 feet from us. We knocked on
the door but no one answered so we decided
to come back later. When we got back to Chris’s
house, I noticed the VCR hooked back up to
Chris’s TV in his room. I asked him about it and
he said he’d been watching the tapes again for
any clues. No wonder why he was still creeped
out. That night, when I got home, I got a phone
call from Chris. He was whispering and said that
he thinks he saw someone walking around his
backyard.
Two days later, I agreed to sleep over and see
for myself. Chris was claiming to see glimpses
of someone standing or walking around in his
backyard but it was always too dark to see any
detail, both of the previous nights. I was set up
to sleep on a couch that was on the now re-
boarded up hole we first found the tapes in.
Very little sleeping actually went on that night
because we stayed up in the living room, star-
ing out the sliding glass door to the backyard.
We were talking about how we weren’t even
sure if he actually hurts people, when Chris
suddenly leans forward and points out the
window and said “See! Right there. Do you see
that shadow or something?” I jumped up and
flipped the switch to the deck lights but they
didn’t go on. So, we got flashlights and went out
to look. Besides some tree branches blowing in
the wind, we found nothing. At around 4am, we
decided to get some sleep. I only stayed on the
couch a couple hours because I felt a draft that
I think was coming between the boards on the
floor. I went home the next afternoon thinking
the night before was a dud, until I got a frantic
phone call that night.
27
Someone had broken into Chris’s house while
they were out. The sliding glass door to the
backyard was completely smashed with broken
glass having been thrown all the way across the
living room and into the dining room. I drove
back because they wanted me as a witness to
see a shadow in the backyard. They showed
me around and I saw that this person had com-
pletely tossed the living room, dining room, and
kitchen. In the bathroom, the mirror over the
medicine cabinet had been smashed and all
the meds in the medicine cabinet were miss-
ing. Something else was missing which was a
lot more disconcerting. Four knives had been
removed from the knife holder in the kitchen. I
stayed there for about an hour and decided to
go home and it was only when after I left that
I realized that the Butcherface tapes was never
mentioned to the cops. A little while after I got
home I got another call from Chris saying that
they had found the missing knives, under the
blankets of each of the family members beds.
That weekend, Chris and his father decided to
look around the house more thoroughly to see
if Butcherface had left any other clues to his
former presence in the house. I came over to
help and the only room they said they’ve never
thoroughly looked around in since getting the
house was the attic, so we decided to start there.
It didn’t take long to find anything because al-
most immediately, I came across an old looking
trash bag in one of the corners. I picked it up and
heard the tinking sound of glass against glass.
We brought it downstairs and cut it open and
found it completely full of liquor bottles and
used syringes. Using rubber gloves, we removed
every object one at a time. It was almost all bot-
tles and syringes and the occasional trash, until
we got to the bottom.
At the bottom of the bag we found a shoebox. It
was stained and worn, we couldn’t even see the
brand of shoe that used to be in it. We carefully
took it out and removed the top (which seemed
to have been glued closed). Inside was a series of
papers and photos. The photos were disturbing.
One was a close-up of a hand covered in pins
(those ones with the long point with the tiny
ball of colored plastic at one end). There were
so many of them that it looked like a porcupine.
Another one had a (presumably) dead dog lying
on the ground (All we could really see of it’s sur-
roundings was the dirt of the ground. Behind it
was too dark). We assume it was dead because it
was missing half it’s face. The flesh of the side of
the face that was facing the camera was gone,
making it look like it was smiling with a lidless
eye. There were a lot more picture including a
cow with blood on it’s mouth, a very pale looking
foot, various 70’s and 80’s era toys, a collection of
knives, a hand and arm painted multiple colors
like patchwork, and a close-up of an eyeball.
The papers were pretty freaky as well. They were
a combination of drawings and writings. Most of
the writings were what seemed like a wish list
of murder, listing practically every way imagina-
ble how to kill people. Others seemed to be ran-
 /pics
/stories
dom thoughts, like how he accidentally pissed
his pants while at the movies or how he has an
“infectious evil“ and that he‘ll spread that to his
“disciples”. Some of the drawings were similar to
the ones seen on some of the tapes on the walls
in Chris’s old room. Others were more detailed
and showed corpses of various states of decay
and of strange creatures. They were humanoid
but they all had a demonic look to them, with
many of them shown standing on all fours. One
thing that showed up often was a strange sym-
bol. It looked like the letter C with the gap in the
C pointing down, with a V laid on top of it. When
we got to the bottom of the box, we found an-
other tape, one that we’ll never get to watch, be-
cause it was completely coated in candle wax.
Running out of clues, we decided to re-visit the
old women, who owned the house in the 80’s,
again. It had been almost two months since we
last visited them and we grew to realize that
their story didn’t quite make sense. For instance,
Louise claimed to have given up on the house,
yet on the tapes we could see that the house
had power (why would she have continued pay-
ing the power bill if she didn’t want the house?).
They also mention that homeless people had
been regularly arrested or chased off the prop-
erty by the cops but we found no records of this.
We tried calling them but just like last time, we
got no answer, so we decided to drop by again.
When we got there we found the house aban-
doned. We went next door and asked the neigh-
bor if they knew where the two old ladies that
lived next door had gone. They told us that Lou-
ise had died (but they didn’t know how) about
three weeks earlier and Shirley abruptly packed
up and moved away a week later. While Chris’s
father was talking to the neighbor, Chris pulled
me aside and whispered “we’re breaking into
that house”.
That same night, we waited until it was late and
drove to the old ladies former house. We had
never broken into a house before in our lives
and we were dressed in the stereotypical burglar
outfit, black shirt and pants and a black hockey
mask (I know, stupid). When we got to the house,
we were so nervous that we didn’t even leave
the car for a good 45 minutes. When we felt as-
sured that the neighborhood was asleep, we got
out of the car and crept into the backyard and
to the backdoor. We looked into the window on
the door but it was too dark to see anything. I
took my shirt off and put it up against the win-
dow and gave it a punch, breaking the glass. It
felt surprisingly loud but that could have been
because it was so quiet, and the neighbors nev-
er woke up so I guess it really wasn’t that loud. I
reached in through the hole in the glass and un-
latched the door, then we had a whispered fight
over who will go in first. It actually got down to
a game of rock, paper, scissors, which I won so
Chris went in first.
We crept in hunched over and I closed the door
behind me, accidentally slamming it, giving
Chris a good jump that we couldn’t help laugh-
ing over. We snuck around the house with our
flashlights shining over the walls. As a side note,
I really don’t see how much they really would
have fixed up Chris’s house when they had it
because this one looked like crap. The wallpa-
per was probably older than me and Chris com-
bined. But anyway, we went into the living room
and found a huge pile of trash lying in the far
corner with a depression in the middle, like a
person or a large dog had used it as a bed. We
went upstairs and found something that con-
nected this house to Chris’s. In one of the bed-
rooms was a pile of pill bottles. Some of the pill
bottles were the ones stolen from Chris’s bath-
room medicine cabinet. We knew this because
some of them had his mother and fathers name
on them and one of them was Chris’s back pain
medicine (from an injury that happened a cou-
ple years ago that will require surgery). That was
all we needed to see so we booked it back down
the stairs and to the door, but when we got to
the door, I jumped back, knocking both me and
Chris down. On the inside of the back door was
the CV symbol from Butcherface’s notes. After
we got back to the car, Chris said something
that creeped the both of us out. If Butcherface
really is living in that house, he probably wasn’t
there because he was staking out Chris’s house
right now.
Later that week, I visited Chris’s house again
and as soon as I walked into the door, I knew I
walked into an air of distress. Chris’s mother and
brother were pacing back and forth in the living
room, looking out the window into the back-
yard. I walked in and asked what was going on
and looked out the window and saw Chris and
his father in the backyard screaming at each
other and behind them was a large bonfire that
was almost nothing more than cinders. Chris’s
mother said their dog, Bracket, had gone miss-
ing but didn’t say anything else. I opened the
(now replaced) sliding glass door and walked
out to meet them. As soon as Chris’s father saw
me, he became even angrier. Chris met me half-
way to the fire and said “I had to tell them that
we broke into that house”. I asked why and he
said that he thinks that Butcherface took their
dog as payback for breaking into his home. I
asked what was on the fire and Chris told me
that what his father was burning was Butcher-
face’s notes, photos, and tapes. Everything had
been burned to ashes. During this, his father
had walked up behind him and said “I’m end-
ing this right now. I’m burning everything so
that you guys can’t get into any more trouble.”
As he said this, he continued past us and into
the backdoor of his garage and came back with
a shovel, adding “and I’m burying the ashes to
put this to rest for good” and started digging a
hole at the back of his yard close to the woods.
Chris pulled me back into the house and
started talking about all of this was unfair, how
could his father just burn the tapes like that,
they were so close to figuring out who Butch-
erface was, etc. Then his mother called for us
from upstairs. We came up and she pointed
out the door to his father who had stopped
28
digging and was looking into the hole he had
dug so far. We walked outside and crossed the
yard to the hole that his father was still looking
into. When we got to it, we realized why he was
frozen there, because just a couple feet into
the hole was (after more digging, turned out to
be) over 30 skeletons of cats, dogs, and other
animals. This is when we started calling him
Butcherface.
pArT 3
After Chris’s father burned Butcherface’s media
(including the art, photos, and tapes) I think eve-
ryone (including me) hoped that Chris would let
it go. I know I was willing to let it go. But, it wasn’t
long after that Chris began looking for any evi-
dence of other media by Butcherface. He would
occasionally talk (just to me) about strange
tapes and art found in other parts of the country
but most of it seemed sketchy, which even Chris
was completely willing to admit. My attitude be-
gan to change about looking into Butcherface
around this time when I was sitting at my desk
and caught myself absentmindedly drawing
Butcherface’s CV symbol on a piece of paper.
Roughly two weeks after Chris’s dog disap-
peared and his father burned all evidence of
Butcherface, Chris showed up on my doorstep
saying that he wanted to go back to the house
we found that was on the tapes. We showed up
at the house around 6pm on a Wednesday, hop-
ing that anybody living there would be home
from work. We went to the door and knocked.
The person who answered the door was a man
roughly in his 50’s. It turned out that he did actu-
ally live in the house in the mid-80’s, when we
believe the tapes were shot. We told him about
the tapes and how his house was on the them
and asked if anything strange had happened
around that time. He said that they had nothing
like what was on the tapes but there was a point
when they realized that someone had been liv-
ing in their shed in the backyard. The shed had
since been torn down but he did remember that
there was a carving left on the doorframe. We
asked him what it was and he pulled out a pad
of paper and drew the CV symbol.
The very next day, Chris’s mother was walking
around in their backyard and came across their
dog. He had been ripped open from the neck to
the stomach and placed in the still open hole
his father had dug two weeks earlier. The cops
had been called and they were finally told about
Butcherface. Since Chris’s father had burned
everything, they really had no evidence that the
dog had been killed by a person and labeled it
an animal mauling.
It wasn’t long after that that I came home to find
my front door open. I walked up the front steps
and saw that the door was swung open, only
hanging on one hinge. It being dark out, I flipped
the light switch just inside the door and it didn’t
come on. I went around the house to the shed in
the backyard and grabbed the most menacing
 /stories
/pics
thing I could that was near the door, which was
a pitchfork. Going back to the front door, I pulled
out my cell phone and called 911. After making
the call, I cautiously entered the house making
sure the pitchfork was in front of me. I crept up
the stairs and got to the nearest light switch and
flipped it, but this one wasn’t working either. I
came to the conclusion that the power was cut.
Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I got a look at
the damage done. The leather couch had been
slashed open with many cuts and the filling
pulled out and the glass doors on the kitchen
cabinets had been smashed. More than half the
liquor bottles in the liquor cabinet were missing
and the medicine in the medicine cabinet was
gone. It all seemed very familiar. I mean, even my
13 year old dogs arthritis pills were taken.
Speaking of the dog, Drake, he has an anxiety
problem so we keep him in a crate whenever
we leave the house. Thinking of what happened
to Chris’s dog, I ran down the hall, to the office,
where the crate is kept. I shined what little light
I had from my phone on the crate and saw it’s
door open and it looked empty. I stepped for-
ward afraid at what I’d see and shone the light
into the crate, and saw Drake cowering in the
back, whimpering. That’s when the cops pulled
up. My family came home soon afterwards.When
the cops asked us if we had any enemies (since
the house mostly just seemed to be tossed) I
had to tell them about Butcherface. While the
cops were looking around, they noticed that the
power hadn’t been cut. It turned out that every
single light bulb in the whole house had been
partially unscrewed. Leaving the light bulb in
the socket but not able to light up. This was the
first time my family had heard about Butcher-
face and they asked me to stop seeing Chris.
I hadn’t so much as talked to Chris on the phone
for almost two months after that. Very little had
happened in that time but something still didn’t
feel right as well. For one thing, my sister, who
works nights, started asking me to stand at the
front door and wait until she got in her car when-
ever she left, since she leaves after dark. I asked
a couple times why but she never gave an an-
swer. It’s like she just felt creeped out or that she
was being watched whenever she went outside.
Our dog still seemed to be spooked too. When-
ever we’d tie him outside, he’d only do his busi-
ness and come right back in, which is very out of
character for him. One day, I was standing at my
backdoor, looking into the backyard, thinking of
all of this when my eyes locked onto the shed in
the backyard and I remembered the story told to
us by the people we talked to whose house we
saw on the tapes. They found evidence of some-
one living in their shed. I went to my room and
picked a sword from my sword collection (yeah,
I’m a nerd) and went out to the shed. I crossed
the yard and when I got to the shed, I found it
unlocked. I opened the door and looked inside,
only using the sunlight since there‘s no power
running to it. I immediately saw a pile of trash in
the far corner. It was a loose pile of tarps, cloth
from umbrellas, and trash bags and had a com-
pression in the middle like someone had been
lying in it. Off to the side of the pile was the
missing liquor bottles from inside the house
and some garbage. This guy had been living
in the shed and there was a good chance that
he had been there since the house was broken
into two months ago. For all I knew, he could
have been in there that night when I went to
the shed for the pitchfork, watching me. I didn’t
want to freak out my family so I cleaned it up in
secret. At the bottom of the bedding of trash I
fount a ratty notebook. I only half opened it to
a random page, saw some very familiar artwork
and immediately closed it, tore it up, and threw
it in the trash.
A couple weeks later, I got a phonecall from
Chris. He said he was still doing some looking
around and found some strange stuff. Before I
could say that I didn’t want to hear it, he said
he went back to the house of the women who
were the former owners of the house who we
had talked to before. Before I could respond
to this he said “they lied. Come see me tomor-
row.” The next day, without telling my family, I
drove back to Chris’s house. When I got there, I
was greeted by his mother who seemed to be
in a good mood. I asked her how it was going
and (knowing what I was talking about) she
said nothing strange had happened there for
a couple months. I asked where Chris was and
she pointed to the stairs that led down to his
basement bedroom. I opened the door and
immediately heard Chris talking but I couldn’t
quite hear what he was saying, but assumed
that he was talking to his girlfriend. When I got
to a point on the stairs that I could see into his
room, I saw that he was sitting in front of his
desk, talking to a video camera.
I asked him what the hell he was doing and he
smiled and said “nothing” and turned off the
camera and slid it back between his monitor
and computer tower like it wasn’t strange that
he was talking to a camera, just like Butcherface
“While the cops
were looking
around, they no-
ticed that the power
hadn’t been cut. It
turned out that eve-
ry single light bulb
in the whole house
had been partially
unscrewed...”
29
did. By this time I had gotten to the bottom of
the stairs and Chris stood from his chair and im-
mediately changed the subject. He walked up to
me and started talking about how, a couple days
before, he drove to the house of the old women
who used to own his house. When he got there
he parked across the street and waited. He knew
that the former owner of the house, Louise, had
died and that her sister, Shirley, moved away soon
after and that someone had been living in her
house since then. He was hoping to see Butch-
erface either entering or leaving the house. In-
stead, he saw Shirley pull into the driveway. They
got out of their cars at the same time. Shirley ap-
parently didn’t see Chris because she just con-
tinued to the house. By the time he caught up to
her she had already gone into the house, but she
then began to back out, apparently shocked at
something she saw in there. When he got to her
she was already back on the porch. He started
talking to her and she finally told him what she
really knew about Butcherface.
Like we already knew, she started with when her
sister, Louise, and her husband bought the house,
they wanted to replace the wiring and plumb-
ing but before that could happen Louise’s hus-
band got sick and eventually died. This is where
they left it story off before. What they didn’t
tell us is that a couple years after her husbands
death, Louise still couldn’t afford paying for it so
she decided to sell it instead. After it just sitting
there for not too long they thought it would be
a relatively easy fix so they, in their early 60’s at
the time, decided to fix it up themselves. When
they arrived to check out the house for the first
time, they found the house like it looks in the
videos, with garbage everywhere and drawings
on the walls with burnt out candles everywhere,
and a hole in the basement. They began to clean
it up, picking up the garbage, putting up cheap
wallpaper, putting down carpeting, and board-
ing up the hole in the basement as best they
could. One thing she mentioned that we never
noticed, is that in the hole in the basement, there
was another hole in the cinderblock wall foun-
dation that led into the backyard. They bricked
up the hole, but due to their budget (and she
apparently also blamed their old age) they nev-
er used any mortar. They just laid the bricks in
place and left it at that. Chris asked her if they
put the videos in the hole and she outright re-
fused. We determined that if anybody knew
where that hole in the wall was, they could just
remove the cinderblocks and get into the hole
and do whatever they wanted there… like hid-
ing some tapes. We went out to his backyard
to see if this was true and we did indeed find a
patch of the cinderblock wall where you could
remove the blocks. They seemed to have fresh
scrape marks like they had been recently moved
but we couldn’t be sure.
Chris’s and Louise’s conversation continued with
her telling him that while cleaning out the kitch-
en, they found a rectangular object wrapped in
tin foil. They unwrapped it and found a video
tape. They brought it back home and popped
 /stories
/pics
it in their VCR and watched it. There was no pic-
ture, the screen was just black like he had left
the lens cap on, but it seemed to be intentional
because what the video lacked in visuals, it com-
pensated with sound. He said she described it
as rants and strange noises for the entire tape.
He said she then ended their conversation and
quickly walked back to her car, leaving her old
houses door open, and drove away. Chris then
abruptly changed the subject by jumping back
to his desk and pulling a folder out of a drawer
and opening it up. The papers inside were print-
outs of various disconnected websites showing
pictures of stills from video tapes, drawings, pho-
tos, and carving that all looked familiar. He said
“look. They’re from all over the country, includ-
ing some bits of Mexico and Canada. Some of
these apparently even appear in some places of
Europe. It’s like he’s traveling around and leaving
this stuff wherever he can.” Chris then said that
he will continue his investigation into Butcher-
face.
That investigation continued for four years.
Until last weekend.
I hate to make this sound clichéd but Chris be-
came pretty obsessed with trying to find out
who Butcherface was. His investigation was
slow. Finding the occasional picture or video. He
even traveled to a town near Denver Colorado
because he believed he found what he called a
nest (a place where Butcherface seemed to ap-
pear often, much like around our area) but didn’t
find much. We were never really sure what was
fueling Chris’s interest in Butcherface since he
had no more of Butcherface’s media anymore
since his father burned it all. Then, last week, we
found where it was all coming from.
I had come by because we were planning to see
Transformers 3 but we never got to go. I pulled
into his driveway at the same time as his girl-
friend. We both got out of our cars and laughed
at the coincidence of the both of us getting there
at the same time and walked into his house. His
family was working so we just walked into the
house and down the stairs to his room. We hung
out for a little while, Chris and his girlfriend sit-
ting on his bed with me sitting at the desk. We
were chit chatting and I was spinning the chair I
was in when I happened to noticed a tape lean-
ing against the speaker to his computer.
I picked up the tape and asked him what it was.
He immediately got a “oh shit” look on his face.
When his girlfriend got into the questioning, he
finally broke down and admitted that it was the
tape the old ladies had found in the house in the
80’s. He said that when he talked to Shirley that
time in front of her house where she told him
when they found the tape, she also gave the tape
to him, and he chose to leave that part out of the
story four years ago. This in when we knew he
had a problem. We asked him to stop listening
to the tape. We asked him to stop this search for
Butcherface. It has never led to anything good.
So, that next week (that is to say, this week) we
decided to go to a cabin that Chris’s girlfriend’s
family owns on a lake a couple towns over to
finally finish it, we didn’t know how right we
were. We arrived at the cabin in the afternoon
of Monday. It was me, Chris, his girlfriend, and
our Friend Jesse. We filled Jesse in on the whole
Butcherface story as we knew it on the drive
down, and he immediately regretted coming
along. Chris brought everything he had on
Butcherface and soon after we got there, he
asked if we could watch the last tape one final
time. Jesse wanted to see what the fuss was
about and I must admit I was curious to check
it out myself. The cabin had no cable, phone
line, cell phone signal, or internet access so they
only form of entertainment was to watch mov-
ies so they actually had a VCR still there with a
decent VHS collection. We popped the tape into
the VCR and turned it on. As mentioned before,
this tape had nothing visual and was all audio.
It began with clicking sounds like from an in-
sect that would start off slow and go faster then
slow down and go fast again. It then changed
to a quiet talking, like a whisper. The voice
talked about how he had an infectious evil and
wanted to spread it to his disciples and then it
just faded out like he just walked away from
the camera. There were more noises of what
sounded like animals walking around a inside
a building and a high screeching noise that
lasted for a good five minutes. There was more
talking where he called people zombies and
cows and how only a few were worthy for “the
pit” followed by a jabbering sound like he was
humming while wiggling his tongue around.
That night, we lit a bonfire and Chris burned
every note, picture, schematic, and the last
tape he had about Butcherface. The next day
we spent most of the morning watching mov-
ies (regular movies), and we went out on a row
boat and explored the lake for a couple hours.
We got back and hung out on the shore with
some drinks. I must admit, it reminded me of
that time I walked into Chris’s house and met
his mother. She was in such a good mood after
not having any problems with Butcherface any-
more. It felt almost exactly like that. At one point,
Chris’s girlfriend came out and asked if any of us
knew where her iPod was. She claimed that she
left it in it’s docking bay, which was also missing.
She kept accusing us of hiding it from her.
At this point, it was starting to get dark and we
began going back into the cabin one by one. I
was the last one in and I didn’t close the door.
Me, Chris, and his girlfriend were in their room
looking for the iPod and it’s docking station
when Jesse, who was still out in the living room
yelled “Holy fuck!” We ran out into the living
room and he said that he just saw a person run
by the open door outside on all fours. Chris’s
girlfriend rushed to the door and slammed it
shut and locked it. We stood still listening for
where this person could have gone when all of a
sudden, we started hearing loud noises coming
from the front deck. It was random noises like
a voice chattering, something like the grinding
of a buzz saw, sobbing, all in quick succession.
30
We rushed to the door and peaked out the small
window and saw Chris’s girlfriends iPod sitting
on it’s docking bay, with a power cord going
from it to a plug on the outside wall, sitting on
the railing to the deck. These sounds were com-
ing from the iPod.
Chris opened the door, ran out and grabbed the
iPod off the docking bay and ran back into the
cabin. He gave it to his girlfriend and told her to
delete the file that was playing. Effectively eras-
ing every known piece of media we knew of by
Butcherface. Chris and I then ran to the door,
opened it, and yelled that there was nothing left
of any of his media we had. We destroyed every
connection we had to him and he had no reason
to follow us anymore. It stayed quiet for the rest
of the night and we left that morning.
During the drive home we started thinking of
some things. We now believe that Butcherface
wanted us to find those tapes. Maybe not us per
se, but someone. The day that we found those
first 24 tapes, we started an avalanche of more
and more of his media to be surfaced and help
the possibility of it spreading to others. He had
mentioned more than once in his media that he
wanted to spread his “infectious evil” only to his
disciples, and we think those “disciples” are those
that have seen his media. We say this because he
never seems to attempt to hide it and seems to
keep watch of all those who have seen it. In the
notes I saw of Chris’s before he burned them, I
saw that many of the sightings of him were scary
but never seemed to be completely dangerous.
It was like he was just keeping watch over those
who have experienced his media. I contemplat-
ed not writing out this story because I’m not sure
if this counts as spreading his media. Ultimately,
I decided to finish it to warn you that if you ever
come across anything that even resembles the
footage, audio, art, writings, or carvings that are
described in these stories, do not look at them.
When we got back home, Chris decided to tell
his family everything that had happened, includ-
ing the tape he had hidden from everyone else
and our hypothesis as to who Butcherface is
and what he’s doing. Chris’s brother Evan’s face
became pale, just as pale as the day he first saw
the tapes. We asked what the matter was and he
said “you know how I said I never converted the
tapes to DVD’s? Well….. I lied”. Apparently, he ac-
tually did do the conversion at his college, after
the day their house was broken into. The thing is
that they disappeared and he later learned that
fellow students had taken them, thinking it was
a cool school project, and made copies. From
what we‘ve heard, they’ve been handed down
from person to person and copied, leading to
countless duplicates.
/pics
/stories
GE
E MINUTE
C HALLEN
FIV G
WRITIN
iaro
lm anz
b y kil
i t te d
perm
alink
subm
T here was a knock at the door – not a normal one, like the post-
man or a salesman might do. No, it was rather more upbeat. I
didn’t like the sound of it one bit.
“Just a minute!” I cooed, dropping the dishcloth on the kitchen
counter. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at no-one in particular.
Who would be at my door at this hour?
I went towards the door, stopping for a moment to fix my hair in
the mirror. Good grief, it was a state this morning. That stubborn
lock of hair over my left ear was still sticking up defiantly into the
air, ruining my appearance completely. I retreated back to the sink
and splashed some water on the offending lock to push it back
down. Honestly, I hadn’t a moment’s peace this morning.
Another knock at the door - this time a little more sombre than be-
fore. It was like they weren’t sure there was anybody home. Could
I get away with not answering? Maybe, yes maybe I could. No, no,
wait, I already told them I was on my way. What a bother they were.
You know, I haven’t had a minute to myself all day.
I unlocked the door and a little girl was standing there. She
couldn’t have been more than five or six. Pretty little thing, with
pigtails and an inquisitive look in her eye. But what did she want
with me? Selling scout cookies? Was it Halloween already? No, no,
she wasn’t in fancy dress, how silly of me. She looked up at me with
a questioning look on her face.
“Mom?” she asked, “Why was the door locked?”
quantumsheep
“U nleash the beasts!” the old man in the park yelled. He’d al-
ways yell something weird real loud and then stare into the
air in anticipation. We felt sorry for him, but no one minded. He
only did it once a day. Never more.
We responded to this like every daily occurrence - picking up the
mail, feeding the dog, making dinner - so we had no chance to be
prepared for what happened. Three black horses sprung out of the
air with black smoke surrounding them. An ancient knight with a
spear was seated on the largest one and jumped off the horse and
knelt before the old man.
“My son,” the old man said. “You’re awfully late.”
pianobutter
31
pleSwith
er Ap
lic kr us
TO: F
PHO
E very time you press a key on your top-of-the-line ‘M-some-
thing’ or ‘A-something’ super brand keyboard someone in
some part of the world dies from something you do not care
about. Every time you sneak out for a quick cigarette, hoping
your boss won’t catch you, a family of bloated bellied, mammary
sagging, starving human beings is erased as if there never was
a reason. Wrapped in mosquito nets, thrown into a mass grave;
Mosquito nets made by five year old chinese children, funded by
a multi billion dollar pharmaceutical company. A company too
busy making vitamin supplements and cold medicine, counting
profits as if each pill was an egg laid by a golden rooster and each
pill popping maniac was a golden omelette addict.
And as you’re reading this you will realize that you do not care
one way or another. And that’s ok. No one does. We tend to care
more about a bum-legged 50-year-old doctor with an attitude
problem and a fake american accent. I’m not here to help you
realize that the world is a horrible place. Not at all. I’m here to
see if you have the capacity to realize that in fact, you do not care.
And maybe after reading this you’ll end up pledging a few quid to
a charity of your choice but it won’t be for the children. It’ll be for
you. The only reason you would spend money is to make yourself
feel better. And again, that’s ok. We all do it. Because it makes us
feel better.
Before you pick up your galvanized, stainless steel mallet and
crucify me for my “superbrand-keyboard” crimes against hu-
manity please understand, I see the irony and I don’t care. Just
like you, just like me.
kilimanziaro
T he fat man had a gun and a smile and was staring at me. He
had one of those faces, you know the way people have faces...
I knew he was going to shoot me, he hadn’t said so but his crazy
half-cocked smile told me everything I needed to know.
“Do you know what the population of China is?” he said.
“Em, over a billion I think.”
“1.3 billion people, walking around, thinking, talking, looking at
each other.”
“Oh, ok. That’s interesting”
“I’ve been eating a lot of cheese...”
He aims the gun at me. I notic
iliketokilldeer
/pics 32

SMURF
REIMAGINED
permalink painting by Nate Hallinan • www.natehallinan.com
/pics 33

Rollin’
permalink submitted by stepharoo7
/pics 34

MY BABY BOY
permalink submitted by Cliff_UK
/pics 35

Victorian era portrait of my pugs

permalink submitted by causeiwanna
/pics 36

SPIDER IN MY
PARKING GARAGE
permalink submitted by betweenheadphones
/pics 37

PHOTO RESTORATION
permalink submitted by boobsmcgee

«This picture of my parents sat

underwater for two weeks
after Katrina.

2 HOURS LATER

by mygrapefruit by itsapoisonoussnake BY KAyakguy429 and dandi8

40 MINS LATER 20 MINS LATER

/pics 38

So I heard
you guys like
AwkWARD
FAMILY PHOTOs...
permalink submitted by Sir_charge

PHOTO OUT CAR

WINDOW LOOKS
LIKE A PAINTING
permalink submitted by Norwayman4

OUR BRAND NEW

TURTLE TRACKING
SYSTEM
permalink submitted by animatola

Hey, Mario Kart!

SUNUPU

It’s Battle Mode!

LOSTROCK
/pics 39

GIRL WITH BUBBLES

permalink submitted by DallasLillich

Cowboys burying a horse

permalink submitted by awemazeinc
/pics 40

CHARLIE CHAPLIN
permalink submitted by MAHDIC
/pics 41

A GIRL JUST TRYING TO LEAVE HER MARK

permalink submitted by 73kb

A CHAMELEON CATCHING LUNCH

permalink submitted by Brolly99_again
/pics 42

DECOMPRESSION
permalink submitted by maniacbaby
/pics 43

Accidental Double Exposure AT

Navy Pier (Chicago, IL)
permalink submitted by MARKETPANTRY
/pics 44

ADORA AND THE MAMMOTH

permalink submitted by inklingbot
/pics 45

ORANGUTAN
permalink submitted by cayenn
/pics 46

Tofuku-ji garden, Kyoto, Japan

permalink submitted by stonerpet
/pics 47

BATTLE TURKEY
permalink submitted by lozzobear

MY PERFECT FAMILY PORTRAIT

permalink submitted by ksenias
/pics 48

2 3

4 5

1 requiemofsyris
2 feelsgoodman
3 mandaralicious
4 varo
5 i_failed_art

permalink submitted by cactrot911

/pics 49

WATCH THAT BANANA

permalink submitted by hiscocks
/pics
/jokes 50

Subreddit of the month r/jokes

A deer walks into a bar… Knock knock!
Three people leave realizing how dangerous Who’s there?
a deer in a bar is. With.
- TUFFNSTUFF With who?
With *whom*.
- LotSX
I saw a chameleon today…
Needless to say, it was a shitty chameleon.
- orionxx I stayed up all night wondering where the
sun had gone.
Then it dawned on me.
If life gives you melons . . . - SirElderberry
You probably have dyslexia.
- freeseasy
How do you find Will Smith in the snow?
Look for the fresh prints.
There are two fish in a tank. One says to the - babaloopant
other, “You man the guns, I’ll drive.”
- Jay14Fem
My jokes are like my women…
I don’t have any.
So I went to Chinatown today. There were too - WHARRGARBLLL
many bright lights. I asked them to dim sum.
- AristotleJr
What animal floats the best?
The corkodile.
What do you call a gay database? -niklasni1
A query.
- ohblair
feelsgoodman
Illustration by
THE REDDITOR ISSUE 3, SEPTEMBER 2011

/askreddit glazerout99 jekiak tendonut

gwangi gengarbengar hovisloaf
likeaboss DownwardSpirograph yourwrongtheirright
redsox933 yenoomk Kboruff
mylifeforshire sergeant_stroker theraven7
grimaldar fluff_on_everything happywaffles
drtide4 ShartFlex madchen88
noecug chance909 pete_venkman
bowlnoodlez HmmNoWays galactica_actual
puddingpops jwaldo billyeugene
reticentbias moar_things eitherorsayyes
irrelevanttldr batly insta-herpes
jaquatics Imreallythatguy decodersignal
kandoh Sushipook realgenius13
antidaily velvetcake insta-herpes
buzref musebag decodersignal
cheshiretheent dorekk zelmerszoetrop
recklessconsumption

/ama modern_day_sam_spade
jimistheman
desperada
harpuathehound

/stories prufrock451 quantumsheep

drakan290 pianobutter
dash32 iliketokilldeer
kilimanziaro

/pics jimkb norwayman4 lozzobear

boobsmcgee animatola ksenias
mygrapefruit dallaslillich stonerpet
itsapoisonoussnake awemazeinc requiemofsyris
kayakguy429 Nate Hallinan feelsgoodman
dandi8 causeiwanna mandaralicious
mahdic marketpantry varo
stepharoo7 73kb i_failed_art
betweenheadphones brolly99_again cactrot911
cliff_UK maniacbaby hiscocks
sir_charge inklingbot cayenn

/jokes tuffnstuff ohblair

orionxx LotSX
freeeasy SirElderberry
Jay14Fem babaloopant
AristotleJr WHARRGARBLLL

Special thanks to ge.tt for providing file hosting, atheistcatolico and mijampet for copy editing,
le_pere_noel for graphic work + everyone who suggested content and gave us feedback via r/theredditor

Back Issues theredditor.com Subscribe reddit.com/r/theredditor Contact emailtheredditor@gmail.com

Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission by attributed writers and artists is prohibited. All information and credits are
accurate at the time of publication, but are subject to change. The Redditor magazine is not affiliated with reddit.com
 askreddit 2

/askreddit 05 YOUR Favorite word?

/ama
06 YOUR Favorite quote?

08 living statue
11 WE ARE deer tick
14 polygamist’s daughter
16 zach braff

19 paranormal EXPERIENCES?
21 FAVORITE horror films?

/halloween
23 body removal
25 I cut up bodies
27 georgie’s
30 the thing outside
31 buttonhead
35 box decorations
36 under the forrest
37 white witch
38 shared tastes
39 ms paint dream
40 pagemaster

/stories
41 a choice
42 carl

45 The dream that saved my life

46 foreclosure

49 rebel dad
51 johnny knoxville

/pics
52 rainbow staircase
53 big-eyed cat
54 out in the woods
55 mind map
56 a dog
57 elvis christ
58 Parent’s backyard
59 infinite sadness
60 the thinker
61 homeless dog
62 all on film
63 evolution
64 70 year old diver
 LETTER FROM THE REDDITOR
“As always, everything featured is some of the best reddit has to
offer, and our goal is to take the content further. This Halloween,
we take you on a journey beyond.”

Welcome to the fourth issue of The
Redditor! As you can already tell by the
cover, it’s a special one. To celebrate Hal-
loween we’ve packed the pages with
the darker side of reddit - interviews
from those more familiar with the dead
than the living, paranormal experi-
ences, scary stories, and creepy photos.
It’s our largest issue yet with some
fun twists along the way, but we didn’t
stop there - this month we’ve gone the
extra mile to create some amazing origi-
nal artwork and a great new layout. As
always, everything featured is some of
the best reddit has to offer, and our goal is
to take the content further. This Hallow-
een, we take you on a journey beyond.
We would like to extend our thanks to
the subscribers and everyone active on our
subreddit at /r/theredditor. We couldn’t be
happier with the community’s support of
our efforts. The biggest challenge ahead
is simply finding a way to share with ev-
eryone, but each passing month proves
we are finding an ever-growing audience.
Last issue’s release was our most down-
loaded to date, gaining us another 1,000
subscribers and much appreciated support
from the reddit team. With so much posi-
tive feedback and each issue getting better
and better, we’re more than excited to see
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Remember that back issues are avail-
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scribe to our subreddit at /r/theredditor.
Please feel free to leave any thoughts, feed-
back, and content suggestions for future is-
sues. I want your skull, I need your skull.
Happy Halloween.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Ryan Laing [killtheredditor]
Los Angeles, CA

MANAGING EDITOR
Blair Drager [ohblair]
New York, NY

DESIGN & LAYOUT

Jack Howard [swampgum]
Victoria, Australia
/askreddit
 askreddit
askreddit 5

YOUR FAVORITE WORD

THAT MOST PEOPLE DON’T
KNOW THE MEANING OF?
permalink ASKEd by deadmau5

Tittle: Bemused:
It’s the name for the ‘dot’ in the letter ‘i.’ Not amused, confused.
-hazza270 -silasbrock

Blatherskite: Mendacity:
A person who talks at great length without making Lies and deception.
much sense. - anyanka123

- dorkchestra

Peripatetic:
Tintinnabulation: Traveling from place to place, especially working or based
The sound of bells ringing. in various places for relatively short periods.
- srrwb - Tarandon

Tarantism: Schadenfreude:
The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing. Taking pleasure in others’ misfortune.
-kontan - anonybate

Floccinaucinihilipilification: Crepuscule:
The act of describing something as unimportant. The time between sunset and dark (twilight).
- TheDevilsRhubarb - DesertTripper

Foible: Sophistry:
Weakness or flaw. A method of argument that seems plausible but is actually
- marcusw882000 misleading and fallacious.
-krosenest

Lugubrious:
Gloomy, mournful. Lexiphanic:
- ShitHawk59 To use pretentious words.
-Sookye

“Literally.”
- Quasifrodo
 askreddit
askreddit 6

What are your

favorite quotes?
permalink ASKEd by WILL7

“If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the men “Do not attribute to malice what can easily be explained by
to gather wood, divide the work and give orders. In- stupidity.” –Robert J. Hanlon
stead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.” ve2za

–Antoine de Saint-Exupery
drchap “The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the un-
reasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to him-
“Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mis- self. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable
take.” –Napoleon Bonaparte man.” –George Bernard Shaw
TheFluxCapacitor nansypansy

“The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure “What came first, the
and the intelligent are full of doubt.” –Bertrand Russell "It is no measure music or the misery?
Lobstereo
of health to be People worry about
kids playing with
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” well-adjusted to guns, or watching
–Plato
Flower_Fairy
a profoundly violent videos, that
some sort of culture
sick society" of violence will take
“Have I not destroyed my enemy when I have made him them over. Nobody
–Jiddu Krishnamurti
into my friend?” –Abraham Lincoln worries about kids
Preflash_Gordon listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about
heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to
“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable be-
and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At cause I listened to pop music?” –High Fidelity
the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. stlaurier

There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it,
you’ve got to be kind.” –Kurt Vonnegut “In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only
Stump_Hugelarge crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final
sin is stupidity.” –Hunter S. Thompson
Supporter: reevus77

“You’re sure to get the vote of every thinking man!”

Adlai Stevenson: “Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every
“Thank you, but I need a majority to win.” rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those
idefix24 who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are
not clothed.” –Dwight D. Eisenhower
“We judge others by their actions, but we judge ourselves ericscottf

by our intentions” –Ian Percy

pac212 “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
–Leonard Cohen
lucidvivid
/ama
permalink by _ataraxia
Do you get bored easily when
you perform?
I never get bored. There’s always some-
thing going on, people walking by, watching
me, talking about me, taking pictures, drop-
ping money in my tip jar. The streets are far
too lively to be boring. Being watched with
awe is, indeed, a lovely way to pass the time.
What are the most positive and
most negative reactions you’ve
ever gotten?
Generally speaking, the most negative
reactions are from people who only care
about trying to make me break character.
When the first thought that pops into some-
one’s head when they see a living statue
AMA 8
PHOTO: THIS PERSON WWW.THEIRWEBSITE.COM
is “I’m going to grab her ass and see if she
moves!” There’s really something depressing
in that.
The most positive reactions are usu-
ally from small children, and occasionally
young-at-heart adults. The ones who have
that look in their eyes like they’ve complete-
ly forgotten about the rest of the crowd and

all they can see is me, mesmerized by sim-
ple silent beauty, by the magical statue that
comes to life.
The ones who cherish the kisses I blow
to them, the little smiles and waves I give
them, or the gentle touch of my hand to
theirs. They get it.
What kinds of things have
people done to make you break
character? (Is character even
the right word?) Has it ever
worked?
People do all kinds of stupid things to
get me to break character. Tell dirty jokes,
dance ridiculously in front of me, mimic
my poses right next to or in front of me,
touch me, threaten to steal my tip jar... Only
one person has ever really been successful
in rattling me. At Waterfire, I was perform-
ing on the corner of a raised garden, and
this guy snuck up behind me and screamed
right in my ear.
That isn’t cool at all. Unfortunately, he
took off immediately after screaming at me
and disappeared into the crowd. I would
have loved to have him arrested for assault,
which I could have done.
If you wouldn’t do it to someone
walking down the street, don’t do it to a
street performer.
Are your muscles really
sore afterwards? How do
you condition your body to
perform?
I do everything I can to prevent my
muscles from getting tired or sore. Most im-
portantly, I keep good posture in my lower
back. I used to have a horrible habit of hol-
lowing out my back and making myself de-
bilitating sore, but thankfully I’ve stopped
doing that and have not been sore at all
post-performance in a couple years. Joints,
however, are trickier to take care of. I have
bad knees, and they have a tendency to
lock up on me. I try to alternate between
bending and straightening my legs in pos-
es, which helps a lot.
I don’t do anything specific to condi-
tion my body for living statuary. Plain old
exercise bores me to tears. Any fitness I have
comes from performing, riding horses, tribal
fusion belly dance, long leisurely walks in
parks. I simply maintain an active lifestyle,
and I don’t push myself beyond my limits.
Have you ever had a really bad
itch, or sneeze? What do you do?
I ignore itches completely. I try to re-
press most sneezes and coughs, but some-
times there’s just no stopping them.
I try to be discreet about it by waiting
AMA 9
for an opportunity to move and covering
my mouth with my hand or something.
How does one practice the art
form? I would imagine going
out into public spaces before
gaining the necessary skills
would be problematic
Some people say they practice in front
of a mirror. I find that to be horrendously
dull. I learned the art form and refined my
skills on the street, starting in my small
hometown where street performance did
not exist, gradually moving on to busier ar-
eas as I got better. It helps to have a natural
ability to stand relatively still for long peri-
ods of time.
Is this what you do for a living?
Partially, yes. Most of my income is
from street performance, and working as a
professional performance artist. I also work
with horses - training, feeding, cleaning
stalls, basic injury/illness care, etc.
Do you ever mind when people
just watch/interact with you
but don’t pay? Or when people
take pictures of you?
I don’t mind non-paying onlookers at
all. I’m out there for the experience more
 AMA 10

than the money. I do get a little annoyed

with people who come up to pose for pho-
tos with me then walk away without drop-
ping anything in my tip jar. Or people who
take multiple flash photos; if you’re going
to blind me by repeatedly flashing lights in
my face, the least you can do it leave some
change in my jar.

Have you ever been told

something so funny you
couldn’t keep a straight face?
A cop almost made me crack once. He
slowly walked up next to me, looking all
stern, leaned in and said “You remind me
of my wife - stiff and silent.” Then he casu-
ally walked away without looking back.
I wasn’t expecting that at all and I had to
stifle a giggle.

How do your friends and

parents feel about this?
My boyfriend and friends have always
been extremely interested in and support-
ive of my art. It works out really well for me,
it means I almost always have volunteer
bodyguards to hang out in the crowd and
step in if I need them to. My parents, well,
they would have preferred a college degree
and a “real job”, but that’s just not who I am,
and they’ve accepted that. Their attitudes
definitely changed for the better after they
finally came to see me perform at Waterfire.
They saw that I have a talent for it, I can
make money doing it, and it makes a lot of
people happy. Before that, they pretty much
just saw me as a glorified beggar.
Does it have an impact on your
social life?
It does impact my social life on occa-
sion. My best opportunities are on week-
ends, and my professional performance
schedule is all over the place. It helps to have
friends who have similarly weird schedules.
When I started performing at nineteen years
old, I had a very small group of friends and
was a bundle of social anxiety in groups of
strangers. Living statuary was unexpectedly
helpful in easing my anxieties.
My group of friends is still small and
cozy, but I’m a thousand times more com-
fortable chatting with total strangers now
than I was seven years ago. It’s hard to be shy
when I have dozens of people approaching
me, wanting to compliment/ask about what
I’m doing. My art is a wonderful icebreaker.
What was your favorite
interaction?
There was a little boy, as tall as my tip
jar and just old enough to be able to walk
independently, staring with the slight-
est hint of awe in his eyes. I knelt down
and extended my hand. He ran to his fa-
ther. I waited patiently. His father very
gently encouraged him to approach me.
There was no force, no pressure, only re-
assurance. I watched the boy as he made
his decision. Holding his father’s hand,
the anchor that would keep him safe, he
stepped toward me. As he moved closer,
he forgot all about his anchor, and put his
little hand in mine.
He and his slightly older sister were
each given some money to put in my tip
jar. Their faces lit up as I blew them kisses.
Their father thanked me, quietly, sweet-
ly, repeatedly. I want to extend my most
heartfelt thanks to you, sir, for being the
kind of person that helps make street per-
formance the anchor for my soul.
 AMA 11

TO FIGHT Is it good?
Yes, the rap album kicks ass.

PIRACY Were you worried word would spread that the fake album is bad and it

MY BAND could affect sales of the real album?

No, not really. We just thought it was a funny thing to do and knew that our fans would know

DEER
that it wasn’t real. A few people wrote us and seemed really confused like they thought it was real.
Apparently Casey Kasem was really disappointed.

TICK How will this rap album fight piracy? Will it reduce the number of
people who illegally download the real album when it is released?

LEAKED A No, it just pisses people off. We’re not focused on stopping piracy. We just thought it’d be fun to
mess with people by putting a fake leak of the album out there. I think our fans are good enough

FAKE RAP people to buy the records if they like them.

ALBUM... What is your stance on piracy?

We’re such big fans of spiced rum and parrots, we’re pretty into piracy.

permalink submitted by DEERTICKMUSIC

 AMA 12

I actually came across your

band initially via “piracy”
after a friend suggested I
check it out. I’ve since bought
every record and seen you
play a handful of times. What
do you think of downloading
first and support later?
We love fans like you. You have exactly
the right idea.

Letterman has had you on

twice now. Did they approach
you because they like you so
much, or do you have to reach
out to them? And what is it like
doing Letterman?
It’s a little bit of both I guess. It’s a blast.
We love doing that show and the people there. You have to get up really early because they start

WE’RE SUCH at like 7am with sound check and stuff, but otherwise it’s great. You sit in a room on the 6th floor

BIG FANS OF for most of the day and eat food and crack jokes. Dave has been really nice to us both times we’ve
been there, but he doesn’t really hang around or anything. The house band hangs most of the day
SPICED RUM though and they’re awesome guys. His horns section backed us on our most recent appearance.
AND PARROTS...
WE’RE PRETTY Do you think that music is more powerful to the artist as it is being
created and performed, or to the listener as its being received and
INTO PIRACY. interpreted?
That’s a great question. Music has different meanings for different people; that’s one of the
great things about it. Sometimes a song I write can have a very different meaning to me than
to a listener. But that doesn’t make the song any less valuable as long as the listener is taking
something meaningful from it.

Who are some of your music inspirations? What bands do you guys
listen to?
The list is too long.. Some of our favorite bands/artists right now are: Virgin Forest, Dead People,
Guards, Atlantic Thrills, Liz Isenberg, The Shivers, The Novaks, Garland Jeffreys.

You have four albums - why have you never made a music video?
Music videos are kind of stupid. I don’t know... I just think they’re stupid. But, we actually did just
made one. We felt now was the right time to make one because we could do it our own way. Our
friend Colin directed it and there are lots of explosions. Dennis caught on fire and I sprained my
ankle. It was a lot of fun to make, and hell, maybe we’ll make some more videos down the road.

You had a successful Nirvana Cover Band, Deervana, why did you
stop?
We didn’t want Deervana to distract people from our original music.

Any plans for more Deervana shows?

No. The lead singer of Deervana shot himself.

Your voice is unlike anything else I’ve heard. Is
it 100% you or did it get to be that way through
training/whiskey/cigarettes?
Yeah, I’m stuck with this voice, like it or not.
“Divine Providence” is a pretty significant
departure from your last two albums. What
prompted the shift in style?
We really wanted our new album to sound and feel like our live
shows. For a long time critics have described us with the words
“folk” and “alt-country”... What they don’t mention is that we play
pretty much every style of music. The new record does a good job of
capturing that. It’s raw, loud, heartfelt, and completely uninterested
in whatever the hell the rest of the music industry is up to. In our
opinion, our new record is our usual style... it’s just been articulated
properly for this first time on record. We’re really proud of it.
Do you see yourself as more of a turkey or an
eagle?
Teagle. It’s delicious.
How do you guys feel about obsessed fans?
Awesome or creepy?
It just depends on the level of obsession. We love our fans, but
sometimes they can go a little overboard. One girl in Oregon tried to
kill us once. There are a few folks who follow us around from show
to show, which is fine, but sometimes they’re creepy.... It really just
comes down to common sense. Best way to show your love is to
dance your asses off.
AMA 13
Have any of your songs been used in a movie, TV
show, or commercial yet? If so, was there any
hesitation to do that?
Yes, our music has been used in TV, films and commercials. We had
a bunch of songs in the Farrelly Brothers movie “Hall Pass”, which is
cool because they’re from Providence and they also let us stay at their
house once. We’re also in an upcoming Stella Artios commercial.
We’re not that precious about our music in that way.
What is your songwriting process like?
Collaborative from the ground up or do
different people bring in different ideas?
It really just depends... sometimes we bring completed songs into the
studio, and other times we work together or we work with people
outside of the band. Songs are created in a number of different ways.
How do you decide who you play with? I see your
label-mates were with you in Raleigh, but what
kinds of bands do you prefer to tour with?
At this point, given how long we’ve been touring, we really just want
to tour with people who we respect musically and like as people. The
bands opening for us on this tour fall under both categories.
If you died tomorrow, would you be satisfied with
what you’ve accomplished musically?
No, not until Weird Al parodies one of our songs.
 AMA 14

permalink submitted by Mustardgreen

I am Hmong, an ethnic minority from Southeast Asia. My father and Do any of your
his four wives immigrated to the US after the Vietnam War, and I grew brothers have
Everything
up in the Sacramento, CA area. My father has five wives and eighteen multiple wives? was so
children total. My childhood was complicated. I was happy and had One brother tried it. He complicated.
a happy disposition on the outside. There were times during my teen- was married once, di-
vorced, and then remar-
He loved
age years where I hated my life and wanted to die, but looking back,
isn’t that normal for all teenagers? ried. During his second
first mother
marriage he brought in a because she
Did you live in a polygamist community third wife and for a while was older
in Sacramento or did you live amongst was a polygamist. It didn’t than the
monogamists?
We lived amongst normal Americans. When my family first moved
last very long. I think my
father was so successful
rest, I guess
to the US (I was born here), the whole family lived together in a small because aside from be-
she had been
three-bedroom apartment. However, eventually each mother and ing able to provide for his loyal to him.
their respective families moved into their own homes and my dad al- wives, he was also very
ternated spending nights with each wife. patient and handled the eternal conflicts that come with being in
a relationship with more than one female.
Polygamy is illegal in the US. Did this cause you
or your family any problems? Do you have any family history of incest?
No, as my father was only legally married to the first mother. Strangely Me personally, no. My family, no and yes. No, in that there was
enough though, his third wife was listed as his sister for immigration nothing between parent/child, sibling/sibling. But my father al-
purposes and he was not listed on the birth certificate for her children. ways encouraged my brothers to date those who were closely re-
lated to us, even first cousins. My half-sister ended up marrying
How is your relationship with your brothers and
(and divorcing) a first cousin.
sisters? Do you feel just as close to those that
were born to a different mother than yours?
Did you call them all some form of Mom, or did
Definitely very complicated while growing up, but after my dad
you call the ones who weren’t biologically
passed away, there was no longer that internal ache to win his ap-
related to you by their first names?
proval, to be his favorite child, family, etc. We are a lot closer to each
The basic translation is that first wife is always “big mother” (the
other now as adults. Three of the wives remarried, my mom includ-
word big would imply authority, not size), second wife is always
ed. She’s happier, but she also misses my dad and would welcome
“middle mother” and any wives after that were called “smallest
him back with all the conflicts that come along with being in a po-
mother” or by their names, i.e. Mother Anna.
lygamist relationship.

Did any of your mothers express feelings
of jealousy?
Nobody Nobody was explicitly jealous, but their actions were loud
enough. Say for example, there were times when my mom would al-
ways complain about one of the mothers, her cooking, the way she
walks, etc. and when that particular mother would enter the room,
my mother would make faces. There were a lot of complaints (though
more privately) from the mothers to my dad about him loving one
family more or one wife more.
Did your father have a “favorite?”
Everything was so complicated. He loved first mother because she was
older than the rest, I guess she had been loyal to him. For example, he
would allow her to pick out names for all of his children, including
myself. There was a time when it seemed like his favorite was fourth
mother, but that was because she was the youngest (in age.) He felt
like he needed to keep watch on her and pay extra attention to her.
How was sex handled in the family? Did they all
sleep together or one at a time?
I have never seen my dad sleep with more than one of his wives at
the same time. But who knows what happens behind closed doors.
Though I can’t imagine this happening, as all the mothers hate one
another.
AMA 15
When you were growing up did all of your
father’s wives have a part in raising you? Or
was it just your biological mother?
My biological mother was my primary mother, however we were
to consider the other wives as mothers as well, and hold them
in the same regard. I went through many periods where I hated
certain ones and then stages when I depended on certain ones
for many reasons. For example, I had a lot of animosity towards
fourth mother during my pre-teens, but when I was finishing
high school, I relied a lot on her for emotional support because
she was more relaxed and supportive of the “American” ways of
doing things, basically dating and going out.
Do you feel like you have a morphed view of
relationships/marriage from this?
I believe in monogamy. However, I also believe that if my hus-
band were to ever stray, that does not mean he does not love me,
or that he is a bad person. At the same time, I would be hurt, and
depending on the circumstances (such as how often he cheated
or how it happened), I would have to consider if I wanted to con-
tinue a relationship with him.
 AMA 16

AMA

Do you still
have this
shirt?
permalink submitted by zachinoz

Yes. I think
it's in my
garage...

When can we expect Garden State 2?
“This time it’s personal”... Never. But don’t worry, I’m gonna make
more movies.
Wha t does Natalie Portman smell like?
Like a beautiful Jewish Goddess.
Who was a better kisser: Sara Chalk or
Natalie Portman? I must know.
They were both wonderful. Both very pretty ladies. :) Kissing Natalie
is the question I get asked most. But no judgements, I understand the
curiosity. I am human.
What song do you recommend i rollerblade to?
YMCA
Do you really drink appletinis?
No. I’m sorry. They do not make me feel fancy like JD.
Is it annoying when someone sees you in public
and calls you JD?
No. I am grateful and appreciative. People are 99.9% respectful.
Can I be your new personal assistant? I’ll work
for cheap.
How fast can you skin a squirrel?
Do you browse Reddit normally under a
different account?
I just discovered it. I’ve been exporing a bit. I find it funny
sometimes. Sometimes a bit mean for my taste. But there is
plenty on here that has made me llaugh.
Do you and Dnald have a real life bromance?
I feel that life would be worth livin6 if this
were true.
He is mybest brown best friend. Josh Radin is my best white
best friend. We are all going on vacation together soon. One of
the reasons the show workd so well, is that and we really did
becomme best frien ds with the exact same sense of hhhmurde r
.osme of those advenres we took we to ok right from our lives
Have you s till been writi ng scripst?
Yes written s veral5 sinceg arden taste. btt 3 have fallen apart.
I also hadto i enter to the realm of satan. welcome. s now that
the sho. o. ow/ w is ove r I hope to kill again. but I justt got this
ool part in the prquel to ““““ iiiiii ““” I m wrtng something here
during my do1111wntim e he will decide who lives and dies
Wheredid “EAGLE!!!!!c”ome rf0m?

Any chance of a return to TV in a lead role?

You really made Scrubs what it is.
Thanks. Yes one day. I loveTV. The only downside at all totv TV, is
that you sign a contract for 7 years that limits your life a smidge .
askreddit 17
/askreddit

What’s THE MOST
YOU’VE HAD?
permalink Asked By Jelqmaster777
I studied abroad in Italy my Junior year of col-
lege and lived at this old castle. The students stayed in
what is affectionately called “The Croft.” Every night
we would hear noises, like someone walking, but we
would just assume it was the old wood creaking, or
somebody going to use the restroom. One weekend the
whole group, except myself and two others, decided to
go to Milan for the weekend.
One evening, as I lay in bed reading a book and
waiting for my friend to get back from the library, I
distinctly heard the sound of the croft door open and
close. I then heard halting steps on the stairs; these
were not subtle creaks, but obvious footsteps, so I as-
sumed it was my friend or his girlfriend coming back,
so of course thought nothing of it. Then the steps be-
gan to sound closer and closer to my door, but I heard
no voices and an unexpected chill crawled down my
spine. I felt nervous, so I yelled, “Is that you, Dave?”
The steps stopped outside my door, but again no one
spoke. I was starting to become terrified, when I heard
my friend and his girlfriend walking down the path
outside. I stuck my head out my window and called
out to them and asked who was in the croft? They re-
plied that no one but me was in there.
I didn’t even hesitate; I jumped out my win-
dow, and the moment I was out, I heard the door to
my room slam open and what I can only describe as
a whispered scream. I asked the Castle’s cook about it,
and she explained that there were ghosts in the croft,
three in fact. One little girl that liked to play pranks,
one weeping woman, and one malicious man with a
hate for the living.
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 19
I was playing videogames late one night in my
room. I put down the controller and went to open the
door, however the doorknob would not turn. Not as if
it was locked, but as if someone was holding the other
side. I doubled check to make sure the door was un-
locked. And really put effort in to opening my door.
I even said out loud to let go, thinking my dad had
woken up and was playing a weird joke. No answer
on the other side. Finally get the door opened. My
whole family was asleep. Something was holding
that doorknob on the other side.
die_by_lag
Whenever somebody dies in my father’s side of
the family, a crow comes to him in his dreams and
squawks the person’s name. It happened the first time
to him as a 6 year old when his dad died, and then
ever since. Once every couple years he gets up in the
morning, says “The crow came again”, takes the day
off work, and just waits for the call. I haven’t seen him
be wrong yet.
Halvarez101
When I was 11 years old, I woke up one night and
saw a man standing in my room, opening and clos-
ing my dresser drawers. He was tall, pale, and shiny,
but he looked corporeal--not translucent or ghostly or
anything. I couldn’t move at all, but I pissed myself
instantly. I shut my eyes as tight as I could, but when
I opened them, he was still there, opening and clos-
ing drawers. I kept my eyes closed for a long time, and
finally, after what seemed like hours, he was gone.

The next morning, a lot of my shirts and pants were
tied in knots. I came to the conclusion that I had a very
vivid dream, and perhaps my sister played a joke on
me by tying my clothes in knots.
Flash forward 15 years. We had long since moved
out of the house, and no one had lived there since. I
stopped by one day with my mom and two aunts, who
had lived in the same house when they were kids.
When we walked into my bedroom, my mom and my
older aunt start teasing my younger aunt about the
“silver man” she saw one time. My jaw hit the floor.
Syfywrestler
When the house we live in today was for sale, we
went with our realtor for a tour. The 80+ year old lady
who lived there at the time was home. She stayed in
the corner bedroom and read a book while we looked
around. After we left, my wife and I thought it was
strange that she hung out in that specific room. She no-
ticed the bed in the Master bedroom didn’t look like
it had been slept in in a while, and that the master
bath had clearly not been used in a long time. Once
we bought the house, the neighbor told us that the
old lady didn’t like to spend any time in the master
suite anymore because that’s where her husband,
Ray, had died.
Fast forward a few years. My wife is out for the
day so it’s just our 3-year old, our baby, and myself at
home. After putting the baby down for a nap I asked
the 3-year-old to hang out in the bedroom while I got
a quick shower. He was playing with a gyro toy he had
gotten a few days before, but was having a lot of trou-
ble figuring it out. I went in the shower and left him on
the bed with the toy and a few others. While I was in
the shower, I thought I heard him talking to someone
- maybe my wife had come home early - but when I
got out, it was still just him and I. But now he was sit-
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 20
ting on the bed, proficiently working the gyro. I told
my kid I was happy he figured it out and he replied,
“Oh it’s easy now that Grandpa Ray showed me how
it works.”
Cinch123
My best friend’s grandfather had just died maybe
a week before or so and the family was sitting in the
living room, chatting or watching TV or whatever.
Next thing you know, one of those metallic birthday
balloons comes floating into the living room when it
had previously been upstairs.
My friend’s grandmother, the recent widow,
calls the balloon by her deceased husbands name and
takes it back upstairs to the bedroom. If that wasn’t
weird enough, she had absolutely no memory of that
happening the next day.
Jay_Normous
I woke up out of bed in the middle of the night,
I walked out into the living room and saw my dad
slumped over and walking to the front door. I just
stood there and watched and he walked out side and
sat down on the sidewalk that went up to the front
door. I watched him through the window for a second
and he just sat there staring into a tree with no expres-
sion on his face. He looked really pale and almost
blueish. I then walked down to my parent’s room and
I woke up my mom and asked her why dad was sit-
ting outside. Then I will never forget it, she said “What
are you talking about? He’s right here” and I looked
over her and my dad was lying asleep in bed.
windosckk
I looked into my alphabet cereal and it said
“ooooooooooooooooooooo.”
thebeardsman
HIVE
HALLOWEEN 21

MIND
The Thing (1982)
John Carpenter

Halloween (1978)
John Carpenter

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

Tobe Hooper

HORROR
The Shining (1980)
Stanley Kubrick

The Exorcist (1973)

William Friedkin

evil dead i / ii (1981 / 1987)

Sam Raimi

Psycho (1960)
Alfred Hitchcock

The Sixth Sense (1999)

M. Night Shyamalan

FILMS
event Horizon (1997)
Paul W.S. Anderson

Suspiria (1977)
Dario Argento

ALIEN (1979)
Ridley Scott

The descent (2005)

Neil Marshall

[REC] (2007)
Jaume Balaguero

Poltergeist (1982)
Tobe Hooper

Rosemary’s baby (1968)

Roman Polanski

THE Blair Witch Project (1999)

Daniel Myrick & Eduardo Sanchez

permalink Asked By Swiss_Cheese9797

Dawn of the Dead (1978)
George Romero
/aMa

I work the graveyard shift
of body removal. permalink submitted by cnidarians
What is “body removal”?
I drive a big black van, wear a black suit, and pick up dead
bodies in whatever condition they are in.
My company does removal, transfers, and shipping. Re-
moval is more for police related deaths; includes homicides,
suicides, unattended deaths, and suspicious deaths. Transfers
are when people have a planned / unplanned death at home
or nursing home. Shipping and receiving people is people
at the airport who died while out of country and want to be
buried in their country of origin, etc.
What is the worst removal you’ve ever
done?
There are a few factors that can come into play that make
specific removals worse than others. The weight of the per-
son, where they are located (bathtub, narrow hallway, open
floor, in a noose), does the building have an elevator, how
many stairs, are there sharp turns, how long the body been
sitting for, and bugs.
There were two really bad ones I’ve done so far, both
were decomps. Decomp is just short for decomposition or un-
attended death (aka someone dies and no one finds out for an
extended time.)
A really bad one - I pulled up to an apartment building
and all the cops are huddled in the foyer waiting to tell us
how bad it is. We’ve already been informed it’s a severe de-
comp and have boots with us. They say were going to need a
shovel, and they show us pictures on their evidence camera
before we go up and have to deal with the smell. Luckily, the
person was small and had a lot of clutter free space around
them to work. That was about the only good thing. We head-
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 23
ed to the elevator and the smell got worse. (Keep in mind you
could smell the body from outside the building.) In the hall-
way, I got nervous because it’s the worst smell I’ve encoun-
tered so far. For a very brief moment I get a whiff that’s so bad
it makes me want to say I can’t do it.
The body is laying a few feet inside in the middle of the
living room floor. The sight is just as bad as the smell. All the
skin was black (they were white), the pool of blood was de-
cent in size, and they were minus a face. When I say they had
no face, I mean it was eaten. What was there was a moving
ball of maggots. The front of the skull was completely sunk-
en in with a large gaping hole. The entire body was covered
in maggots, but mostly concentrated on the face and chest.
I’m not talking hundreds, I’m talking thousands. They call
these bodies “hummers” because the sound all those maggots
make. We get our game plan together quickly, because ob-
viously standing in there was really testing your ability not
to throw up. Moving them was difficult because limbs will
simply tear off in that state. The police actually stayed in the
room and dealt with the smell to watch us work. Needless to
say, we packed them up in about 15 minutes and got them
down to the coroner’s. Another bad one was much like this,
however no bugs - but they weighed almost 400 lbs.
Strangest condition/place a body’s come to
you in/from?
There’s a pasta factory in the city and one of the workers
fell head first into one of the huge grinders. Was found with
only his feet sticking up.
Another was a wealthy individual who lived in a three-
story apartment filled with taxidermied large cats (leopard of

sorts that was his pet at a time), bears, giant tortoises etc. He
also had a floor dedicated to torture equipment, a large sculp-
ture kind of like frozen Han Solo - only a man with a giant
erection. He was found face down in a pile of heroin with a
hundred dollar bill.
The most interesting I’ve gotten was a suicide in a public
park, or for a hoarder who had AIDS. I had to move and step
around everything like a needle could be anywhere. This one
was rough. Many people die naked, or in their underwear. I
learned that pretty quickly.
I’ve been told that the smells of dead bodies
can be really terrible and overpowering,
how do you deal with that?
If they are fresh, sometimes you don’t even notice it.
It’s when they’ve been sitting anywhere from a few days to
weeks (depending on the person / temperature). When some-
one dies, they are able to ‘purge’ out fluids from any orifice at
anytime. Bodily fluids, or purge, smells terrible. That usually
just smells like vomit or shit though. Rotting flesh - smells.
Really bad. It’s not just the smell, but it is noxious and over-
powering. It’s thick and it absorbs into your pores (if you take
a shit later, it will smell like it). Everyone usually pukes at
their first decomp, or at least gags. Before I had done one, they
told me the trick was to put Vicks under your nose. I’ve al-
ways had a strong stomach, and although I didn’t know it
was this strong, I still have yet to gag.
Ever take a ring or a gold tooth?
Everything has to be documented. Even if it weren’t tak-
en on record - families would know about the jewelry. The
only way this would be possible is if it were a ‘coroners call’,
where it’s only police and the body is going to the coroner’s
office. Even then family would eventually be contacted, but
I’d say it would be less of chance of being caught. I would
never steal someone’s jewelry, knowing that a family is go-
ing to be going through enough grief as is.
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 24
there was a suicide last year where
the person had won the lotto jackpot.
Lived in a bad apartment above a
store, and there was around
80K in cash sitting on his desk.
However, there was a suicide last year where the person
had won the lotto jackpot. Lived in a bad apartment above a
store, and there was around 80k in cash sitting on his desk. I
guess that depends on your morals and if the police are look-
ing. It’s possible in some situations to steal, but I’m morally
opposed and have not.
Are you pretty much desensitized to all
dead bodies by this point or are there
many/some that really stand out as quite
disturbing?
I don’t think anyone gets use to dead babies. I literally
deliver bins of human heads to surgical practice centers - so
I’m pretty desensitized. However, with TV and movies you
get the emotional side and the actual infliction, which I don’t
usually see.
What are these surgical practice centers
you deliver to?
Places like universities and hospitals have doctors in
training, who need to practice. The deceased, while living,
signed to have their body donated to science. When you do
that you could be left intact, but mostly you get cut up into
hundreds of pieces for various uses. I once opened up a bag to
check the body to see which end was the head when taking it
to a hospital, and there was no head.

CUTTING UP dead bodies IS MY JOB
permalink
I work in the anatomy laboratory at a univer-
sity. We get the donors anywhere from a couple
of hours to a couple of days after they die, embalm
them, and then create specimens that can be used
for anatomical education.
Did it start out as just a hobby?
I was going to be taking a class that had a dissection compo-
nent in a coming semester, so I asked the manager if it would
be possible to do some volunteer dissection during one of my
vacations to improve my skills before I took the class. I just kind
of enjoyed it and would go in to dissect intermittently over the
course of my degree.
I’m wondering what is going on in your mind,
what do you enjoy in cutting people?
It’s not so much the cutting but more the sculpting part of
it. It’s a very technical skill, and with practice you can see huge
improvements in your dexterity and productions. I can visual-
ize an area of the body that cannot be seen and figure out ways
of revealing them.
How would a cadaver end up getting
dissected by you? Would they be donations to
science?
The university has a specific body donation program that we
get our cadavers from. You register into that program and then
when you die you are bought to us, and we will pay for the fu-
neral director costs and the cost of cremation as well. I think dona-
tions to science end up in a different sort of facility.
Are the bits left over still cremated or buried
if you want them to be?
We keep everything from the body together and reunite all
the pieces at the end. Most people opt for a cremation, since we
pay the cost of that, and then their remains are returned to their
next of kin. Some people request a burial however, which due to
the cost must be covered by the estate/family.
Do you find yourself staring at people while
at the mall, and idly thinking what a high
quality specimen they are?
Yeah, it’s weird, haha. I go rock climbing and swimming and
HALLOWEEN
25
submitted by WHIPNIL
I always find myself thinking how good their muscles would
look dissected.
Please tell a story.
The weirdest thing we do is probably when you have to make
a head specimen. You cut through the throat with a big knife and
the get a hand saw to cut through the vertebrae of the neck. Then
depending on the specimen you want to produce, you may have
to slice it in half down the middle of the face with the band saw.
My dad donated his body…
I understand that must evoke some difficult imagery for you
and I do apologize, but I just wanted to let you know I’ve met
prospective donors, and we let them know more or less of the
entire process. To tell you the truth, they seem ok with the facts,
and generally they respond with humor. We really appreciate
the gift our donors give us, and they are, at all stages, treated
with dignity and respect.
Have you ever attached different body parts
of different people together, for fun?
You can’t really do that, as you’ve got to keep them isolated
from each other so that in the end you can get all the parts back
together for cremation. Though when you first dismember the
body, you sometimes swap their arms for legs and legs for arms,
which looks pretty strange.
What can you tell about someone’s life-style
from their bodies?
It’s gotten me into exercising that’s for sure. Seeing what be-
ing overweight does to your body is horrible. It just puts a lot of
strain on all the systems of your body. Their hearts will be de-
formed or scarred from multiple surgeries, diminished lung size,
distended bowels, liver pathologies, bone and joint disorders,
the list goes on. I’m also trying to tone down on the binge drink-
ing a little too. The youngest donor we have died of chronic liver
disease and variceal bleeding due to his alcoholism. I figured it’d
be a good idea to not inflict a bottle of scotch upon my liver every
Friday and Saturday night.
Have you ever made a terrible mistake while
dissecting a body?
Nothing too terrible. They’re dead.
/STORIES

GEORGIES
permalink submitted by WHOREOFFIRE
There used to be a bar called Georgie’s across the street from my
office that had been closed and apparently just left to rot well be-
fore I started working here, and as such I had never seen the in-
side of it. All that I knew about it was what I could gather walk-
ing past the front windows every morning as I got off the bus.
There were signs and flyers taped to the window much like any
bar: Coors drafts were fifty cents on Tuesdays, Wednesday was
ladies night, and they required ID from all patrons. Behind the
hastily taped up signs, the windows were all covered in aging
brown butcher paper like many similar boarded up establish-
ments, so the signs truly were the depth of my knowledge.
I work really late hours pretty regularly. My company ana-
lyzes data for large institutions and most of our clients require
guarantees and agreements in place to turn around any work
we receive in 48 hours or less. My part of this is the last step in
a rather complicated (if not admittedly boring) process and as
such, my schedule is generally the most affected by any kinks in
the system. As a result of my fucked up work schedule, I found
myself running into the building custodian doing his nightly
rounds with a certain bit of regularity. He’d come in somewhere
around 7-8PM every night, mutter to himself, pull bags out of
all of the trash baskets around me, tie them off, leave them in
the hall by the doors, and go about his routine. It was pretty ob-
vious by looking at him that he had a few years under his belt,
as nobody’s ever accused anybody who spent their days mired
in hard labor and poor health decisions of having a deceptively
askredditHALLOWEEN 27
05
youthful appearance, if you know what I’m saying.
After a few nights of having him and I be the only two
in the building, he finished off his routine by telling me that I
should stop in to Georgie’s some night.
Georgie’s. The abandoned bar across the street.
Now, I don’t want to come off as a dick or anything, but my
first thought was that the custodian was retarded in some vari-
ety and that he didn’t really know what he was talking about.
With little faith in the custodian’s mental abilities, I sort of
half-heartedly told him that I was reasonably certain that the
bar in question had been closed for a while, and that I had never
even seen it open since I started working in that building years
prior. The custodian seemed a bit put off by this and told me that
one of his friends owned the building and that he had been try-
ing to clean it out at night by inviting people to come drink the
leftover booze for free. I have to admit that I was sort of put off by
the idea of drinking years-old liquor in a presumably dilapidat-
ed and abandoned bar, so I politely brushed off the idea. Besides,
I sensed that there was just something off about a story like that,
something that just didn’t add up about an owner of an aban-
doned bar cleaning up his property by giving away liquor of
questionable origin instead of throwing it away, but once again
I assumed that there might also just be something off about the
custodian himself in the form of a mental disability, so I ignored
it and moved on. I went back to work and didn’t think any more
of it.

It was about this same time that I noticed a man who
would get on the bus at my stop when I went home roughly
every night. At first I hardly paid attention to him because see-
ing regular people at a bus stop isn’t exactly out of the ordinary.
After a week of seeing him, though, it occurred to me that it was
a bit odd to see the same person at my bus stop with any fre-
quency given the fact that my schedule follows no pattern. I
might leave at 7:00pm today and 12:30am tomorrow and some-
thing completely different next week. I stewed on this for a bit,
but decided not to dwell on it too much, since (as my father al-
ways told me) you only notice coincidences because they are
oddly coincidental.
This series of coincidences did bring my attention to this
man though, and I couldn’t help but notice that he was old and
more than a bit harsh looking. His eyes were sunken in and his
skin had the kind of pallor that generally accompanies people
you don’t want to associate with. There was just something in-
explicably unsettling about him, but he was quiet and kept to
himself so I just let it pass.
The custodian began asking me almost nightly about stop-
ping in to Georgie’s for a drink, and I politely shrugged him off
every time. My personal desire for aging liquor had sadly not
grown since the last time he asked me. His insistence grew firm-
er every day, but there was a slight hesitation in his responses
to my refusal, as if he was straining himself to keep his tone and
demeanor reasonable.
One morning I woke up at my apartment to catch the bus
and found the decrepit old man who I usually see in the eve-
nings waiting for a bus out of town sitting at the corner of my
street, not a hundred feet away from my apartment building,
waiting to catch the same bus as me going in to town. While
this did creep me out a little I will admit, I tried to rationalize
it to myself with my usual mantra about coincidences and all
of that. The bus eventually came and we both got on without
saying a word. I lost myself in thought as I usually do on buses,
thinking about my schedule for the day, clients who need to be
handled, women I wanted to know better, and all of the other
mindless shit I wander off to while waiting for the bus to get
into town. Today, however, my pleasant daydream cloud was
hastily burst when I absent mindedly caught a glance of the old
man’s reflection in the bus window.
He was staring at me from behind. Head slightly crooked
forward, eyes dead front, teeth just visible through a barely part-
ed scowl. Staring at me.
I was a bit unnerved by this but didn’t want to make a scene,
nor did I really know what I would do if I wanted to make a
scene. He hadn’t actually done anything other than sit on the
bus, and for all I know he was also just lost in thought. Perhaps
he was just staring off into space and I happened to be in the
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 28
05
He was staring at me from behind.
Head slightly crooked forward,
eyes dead front, teeth just visible
through a barely parted scowl.
path between his eyes and the nothing he was staring off into. I
wasn’t about to make any assumptions.
Eventually we made it into town, and we both got off of
the bus continuing our habit of not saying a word to each other.
I went through the rest of my day as if everything was normal.
I left the office at 9:20pm and the old man was waiting at
the bus stop. Neither one of us spoke to each other as usual and
eventually the bus came to pick the two of us up. As the bus was
coming I made the realization that every time we had gotten on
to the bus together, we always line up in such a manner that I
get on before him. I had not been consciously arranging for this
to happen, and while briefly considering it, I was certain that
this happened whether it was just us or if it was a group of peo-
ple waiting.
The bus came to a stop and opened the doors. I immediately
recognized that the old man was intentionally moving slower
than I was so that he would end up on the bus after I did. I gen-
erally always sat toward the front, so my best guess is that he
was trying to position himself to sit behind me. To watch me.
As I approached the doors to the bus, I quickly fumbled my
wallet out of my pocket and intentionally dropped it under the
front tire closest to me. I feigned an apology to the driver and
said I would just be one minute if she could be so patient. The
old man first tried to assist, presumably so he could maintain his
ruse, but I sternly told him that I was capable of handling this
by myself. This prompted the bus driver, thankfully, to ask the
old man if he was getting on or not, to which he relented and
boarded.
I picked up my wallet and stepped onto the bus. I apolo-
gized once again to the driver and walked towards the seats. The
old man had taken the very front seat and so I went a few rows
back on the opposite side. I looked in the mirror at the front of
the bus and saw it: he was staring at me in the mirror. I met his
eyes dead on and we stared at each other for a good five minutes
as the bus began driving. I began sweating profusely as I had
realized that my suspicions of the old man were most probably
in the ballpark of truth and that none of the “coincidences” I had
 HALLOWEEN 05
askreddit 29

noticed lately were actually coincidences.

After about ten minutes he finally broke his gaze and turned
around. He looked me straight on, and in an angry tone asked
me a question:
“Why don’t you ever go to Georgie’s?”
Spooked, I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea how else
to react to this.
We were still inside city limits so I yelled to the bus driver
to let me off at the next stop. She obliged and I stood up to get off,
my mind set on catching a taxi to any random hotel far away
from my house or office. I didn’t want to see anybody familiar
that night or the next morning. I wanted the coincidences to
give me a break.
As I walked past the old man to get off the bus he hissed at
me “You would have liked it.” I stayed quiet and hurried off the
bus. The old man stayed on the bus as it started moving again,
finally granting me peace and quiet. I caught the first cab I could
hail, stopped at a gas station for my first pack of cigarettes in
three years, and then continued on to a hotel on the other side
of town.
Specifically, I went to one of those nice hotels with proper

I was at wits end

security where you can’t even get into the
elevators without a key.

...nothing seemed to
I stayed in that hotel for three days,
not leaving my room, living off of room

make sense.
service, calling off of work each day. I was
at wit’s end and I was sure I had lost my
mental faculties at that point as noth-
ing seemed to make sense. Eventually I
checked out of the hotel mid day and took
a cab to my office. I was relieved to find no
old man waiting outside the hotel, outside my office, or any-
where. Perhaps he had finally moved on.
When I found my boss, he asked me where I had been and
I made up some bullshit about stomach flu. I figured that if I was
going crazy, I didn’t need to advertise it just yet. He told me that
they were running behind schedule because of my absence and
that I needed to jump back in. He started bitching at me about
my work responsibilities and I was pretty much tuning him out
at that point until he got to the last point he was trying to ad-
dress:
“Stop leaving your fucking garbage bags in the hall every
night, too, will you?”
I told him that it was the custodian who did that every
night, obviously, as I had no interest in staying late to clean the
office. My boss gave me a weird look and told me there was no
custodian, no janitor, no cleaning staff, and that the bags were
only ever found in the hall closest to where I work. It was obvi-
ous that it was my garbage, and he want-
ed me to just knock it off and move on. I
restated my position about the custodian
that I had nightly conversations with,
and my boss’ weird look instantly became
more troubled. It took the police twenty three minutes to arrive
at the office.
I told the police everything. The janitor, the old man, Geor-
gie’s, all of it. Within hours the neighborhood was flooded with
cops and they eventually received the authorization and man-
power to break down the door to Georgie’s. As the cops who bore
first hand witness told the story to reporters, the smell of death
was overpowering as the glass door shattered. The scene they
walked into was both macabre and surreal. There were four
bodies crudely stitched together from the parts of other bod-
ies, as if somebody took four sets of heads, four sets of legs, four
sets of arms and four torsos, and mixed them up into random
configurations.
The set, however, was missing pieces. One body had no
arms, one body had no legs, one body had no head, and finally
there was simply a pile of pieces with no torso to attach to.
Macabre, surreal, and fortunately incomplete.

PHOTO: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pierre_nel/5575767
 HALLOWEEN

THE THING
askreddit 30

OUTSIDE
permalink submitted by Mainormallsh

My grandparents live in a woodsy, out-of-the-way place where the roads are still made
of dirt. We go up there for Christmas and Thanksgiving and sometimes in the summer. They
live in a trailer home, but it’s one of those nice ones that looks almost like a house and has
five rooms. There is a large porch my grandpa built out front with steps leading to the ground.
One summer night I was watching Pulp Fiction in my aunt’s room with my mom and
cousin. My mom wanted me to make her iced tea, and my cousin, who was 21 at the time,
wanted to make nachos. So we both left to the kitchen.
The grandparents were asleep at the far side of the trailer and all the lights were off, except

He was on all fours,

the porch light. That was our only light and we went into the kitchen. I was pouring iced
tea when my cousin finished his nachos and

his face a blank

left the room to go back to the bedroom. As I
finished, I turned around to see my cousin run-
ning back, his face freaked out.

slate, featureless.
He ran in and grabbed the biggest knife he
could find, setting his plate down. I flipped out
and followed him, asking him what it was.
“There’s something crawling up the porch
steps,” he said, his voice quivering. My cous-
in is a big man, not only tall, but sturdy and
broad-shouldered, with a large red beard and a huge tattoo on his forearm. He gets drunk and
fights random people at parties, so it takes a lot to get him scared.
We got to the little bay window that overlooked the porch and I nearly had a heart attack.
A dark figure, like that of a man with broad shoulders, was slinking up the steps. He was
on all fours, his face a blank slate, featureless. You could just see indentation where the eyes
and mouth would be. His edges were kind of fuzzy, like a picture that was taken blurry, al-
most blending into the background. I couldn’t make out clothes, just an endless sleek black
form. He was bald, and his head was spazzing out. Literally, it was twitching and kind of
pulsating like jello. He slowly was creeping up the steps. He climbed to the top step (the fifth
one) and stopped moving all together.
My cousin and I stood in shock. The living room we were in was almost pitch black and
the figure was illumined by the porch light’s glow.
“You see it?” He whispered.
“I see,” I said.
The crouching figure extended a hand across the entrance to the porch but jerked back-
ward and crab-walked down the steps, disappearing into the woods. It took less than 10 sec-
onds for it to disappear; so quick we almost thought it never happened.
 BUTTON HEAD
permalink Asked By echomanagement
Back in the late ‘80s, I worked for a U.S. Depart-
ment of Energy laboratory in the American South-
west. A set of sprawling cities-within-cities, the DOE
lab complex employs thousands of people, with work
ranging from computer science, physics, and chem-
istry, all the way to important infrastructure jobs like
construction or security. I worked on mainframes at
the time.
Like any secure government facility, this partic-
ular complex had a set of colorful local legends that
over-dramatized the “mysterious” work we performed.
People were convinced that the labs held evidence
that aliens had visited us in the ‘50s, or that we’d de-
veloped a neutron bomb capable of wiping out cities
without destroying any buildings, or that we were
sitting on cold fusion technology, but were keeping it
a secret to protect the interests of big oil. These are all
completely false. In reality, the labs were run much
like any other company - we had timecards, deadlines,
department meetings, and boss’s day lunches, just like
everybody else. Despite (or perhaps because of) the re-
ality of mundane lab work, staff often got a kick out
of perpetuating these myths. While on a lunch break,
I was once asked if I’d ever been to the flying saucer
hanger. “Which one?” I replied, “We’ve got our own
fleet.”
More interesting, and often much more dark,
were the stories that circulated between scientists and
lab staff within the walls of the complex. One such ru-
mor posited that physicists had briefly made contact
with humans from the distant future, and that the
transmission was I.B.D.: “Interesting, But Disturbing.”
Another popular rumor held that we’d created a bio-
logical agent so virulent that the labs had been forced
to quarantine an entire building, raze it to the ground,
and bury the rubble in the desert, along with its de-
ceased inhabitants. My favorite story: Button Head is
watching you.
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 31
In those days, the halls of every building were
plastered with information security awareness post-
ers, usually featuring a red-faced villain wearing a
trench coat. Beware of your Adversary - protect your
secrets! The enemy is always watching! Always dis-
pose of sensitive documents in a burn bag! It’s likely
that Button Head was a mishmash of popular alien
myths and the pervasive atmosphere of cold war para-
noia, and embodied the idea of an “insider threat.” The
Button Head legend went something like this:
When working late at night, be on the watch for
Button Head, who prowls the laboratory halls after
sundown. He can only get you when you’re alone. He
doesn’t have a mouth to speak or ears to hear, but his
eyes do more than see, and he’s always watching.
According to witnesses, Button Head looked like
a person from far away, but had a featureless, roundish
head, with a pair of deep holes in the center of his face.
Nobody ever said what Button Head was watching for
or what he would do if he ever caught you alone. It
was typically the older lab veterans who would bring
up Button Head, along with hushed stories about the
mysterious disappearance of several night-owl em-
ployees over the years.
During a retirement party, I’d jokingly asked the
guest of honor if he’d ever seen Button Head.
“I saw it once, in one of the old warehouses way
south of the tech area,” he replied, cracking a forced
smile. “I remember the smell, most of all.”
“So is he an alien, or just a regular old ghost?”
The smile quickly drained away. He paused, look-
ing like he might confess something important, but
stopped short of it, muttering: “...no, it’s much worse
than that.”
A few months later, I was pulling a late night in
one of our mainframe rooms, performing some main-
tenance work with a coworker, a contractor named
Gary. Gary, a bald, pudgy, diabetic Mormon, was a

salt-of-the-Earth type with an easygoing demeanor.
He had an “abbreviated” sense of humor, but didn’t
have a mean bone in his body, and was a good col-
league. The mainframe room was in the largest single-
story building in the complex, with around twenty
crisscrossing halls that seemed to stretch on to infin-
ity. After working hours, most of these halls would
fall pitch dark. Hall D, our mainframe hall, was still lit,
but every other hall was a catacomb tunnel, with only
the faint glow of the occasional vending machine to
illuminate the faraway corners of the building. The
mainframe computer room itself was large, but was
stuffed with IBM System/370s and noisy, fridge-sized
cooling units. It wasn’t Feng shui or anything, but we
loved playing around with computers so much that
we didn’t mind.
At around 9 or 10 that night, Gary left the room for
a bio break, leaving me alone at my terminal. 30 min-
utes later the lights flickered off. This was a frequent
occurrence in the aging building, which was why we
armed ourselves with flashlights for the late shifts.
I noticed that Gary hadn’t returned from the men’s
room, and as I felt the call of nature myself, I grabbed
my EverReady and headed out the door to check
things out. That’s when I first noticed the smell. I tell
folks that it smelled like “Mint gum and roach poison,”
but there was an indescribable and subtle sickness to
it; I’ve never smelled anything like it since. It was the
scent of something horribly unclean and unnatural
combined with a potent, artificial sweetness.
I left mainframe room and hurried toward the
men’s room, which was two darkened hallways over.
I made it five paces when I saw him, or it, or what-
ever it was; standing in front of the exit doors at the
far end of Hall D was what looked like a man wear-
ing a gray jumpsuit. Both it and I remained motionless
as I trained my light down the hall. Seconds later, it
there was an indescribable and subtle
broke into a speed walk straight for me. It was still a
sickness to it... the scent of something
horribly unclean and unnatural
HALLOWEEN
HALLOWEEN
askreddit 32
few hundred feet away, but I could tell something was
clearly wrong by the way it walked - it had an impos-
sibly fast gait, like people from old newsreel clips - and
by its head, which looked like an enlarged, lumpy orb.
When its face came into view, I sprinted back into the
mainframe room, which thankfully had a mechanical
pushbutton lock.
The face was utterly unrecognizable. It was just a
scattered set of abscesses and holes.
After slamming the door shut and backing toward
the desks, a figure appeared in the small frosted safety
window. It was quiet for a moment, and then it spoke:
“It’s Gary. Let me in. I just saw something.”
I couldn’t hear it perfectly over the drone of the
fans, but something wasn’t right about the voice. It
sounded like Gary, but as if he were leading some sort
of spoken word chant with dozens of other voices.
It instantly dawned on me that Gary knew the lock
combination. I was paralyzed with fear, and didn’t
respond. At this point, the smell was so strong that it
almost hurt to breathe. It spoke again:
“It’s Gary. Let me in. I just saw something.”
It sounded like an identical recording of what I’d
heard seconds ago. My heart sunk when I realized that
there weren’t any other exits to the room. I backed up
toward the machines, quietly hoping that the thing
would go away and that the lights would come back
on. A deep buzzing sound came from the other side of
the door, followed by more words from the thing in
the hall:
“Hello? Honey?”
The voice had the muffled pitch of a telephone re-
ceiver, but it was clearly my wife. It sounded like she
was at home.
“Hon, is that you? Is everything ok?”
I was in a state of confusion, despair, and shock. I
summoned the courage to approach the door, aiming
my light through the window. “The police have been
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 33

The face was utterly

unrecognizable. It was
just a scattered set of
abscesses and holes.
notified,” I yelled. This was impossible, as the main-
frame room wasn’t technically office space, and thus
had no phone. I heard something that sounded like
liquid being pulled up through a novelty straw, and
then a splattering sound. A thick, white fluid slowly
spilled out onto the vinyl tile from underneath the
door.
The smell was nearly unbearable. I began yell-
ing for help. I could hear the thing fumbling with the
pushbutton lock. The splattering continued, and the
dense, white syrup kept pouring in from beneath the
door. I remember retreating to the back corner of the
mainframe room, and then nothing else.
Hours later, a pair of MPs found me curled up in
a ball and sopping wet in the rear corner of the main-
frame room. My wife, who had received a call at 10:30
from someone she believed to be me, called the base
police at midnight after I didn’t return home. The
guards didn’t find any sign of forced entry, and there
was no sign of Gary, or the white liquid. The next
morning, my manager told me that Gary had termi-
nated his contract earlier that week, and wasn’t even
scheduled to come in that day. I never saw him again.
My wife and I moved to California a month later.
Even though I work from home these days, my
pulse still quickens when I walk down a darkened
hallway. What stays with me the most is that strange,
awful smell; it’s probably just my brain playing tricks,
but I swear it still wafts in through my windows
some nights.
/pics
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 35
26

BOX CUTOUT DECORATIONS

permalink created by CraftyIntentions
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 36

UNDER THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST

permalink submitted by schuhlelewis
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 37

WHITE WITCH
permalink submitted by pyxlated
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 38

permalink

WORLD MONSTER & A MOMENT OF SHARED TASTES submitted by KittenApocalypse

 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 39

MY DREAM IN MS PAINT
permalink submitted by BrianCade
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 40

PAGEMASTER permalink submitted by artfagg

 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 41

A CHOICE
permalink submitted by cryptical33
 HALLOWEEN
askreddit 42

MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME.
AND YES, I ACTUALLY SHAVE MY HEAD
permalink submitted by magusjaru
askreddit 43
/stories

THE DREAM THAT
SAVED MY LIFE
In my dream, I was on the top of
the scaffold, and I saw my step father
(who worked as a mason with me)
cleaning the scaffold with his trowel.
This is unusual because scaffolds get
dirty sometimes, but it doesn’t much
matter, and you certainly don’t dam-
age a valuable trowel to clean it.
I saw two men fighting, and one
pushed the other the edge where a
pile of bricks waited below. This was
also unusual, because the scaffold is
generally protected by a steel cross-
beam and 2x4 boards. The only time
they are removed is to land materials
using a boom-crane, but then the pro-
tection is soon placed back on.
The strangest part was as I
watched this man fall to his death, he
looked at me with indifference. As he
fell, he knew he was going to die, and
he used his last moments of life to look
at me. He didn’t look scared, or afraid,
or at peace, he just looked at me casu-
ally like I was an acquaintance pass-
ing him on the sidewalk. My dream
ends.
I rarely have dreams I remember
past my feet hitting the floor, but this
stayed with me, especially the man
looking at me. I told my mom and step
permalink submitted by ecafyelims
dad about it, and they both took it as a
premonition that my step dad was go-
ing to die, but I dismissed it and forgot
about it by the next day.
Two weeks later, I’m on the ground
about to climb the scaffold, and I see
two guys fighting. Hmm, I thought,
that’s a funny coincidence. I stopped
the fight, went back to work, and
climbed the scaffold four stories up
where the masons were continuing the
brick wall.
Once I get to the top of the ladder,
I see a pallet of bricks being unloaded
by a new guy who was hired that day,
along with his brother.
Past him, on the opposite side of
the scaffold, I saw my step dad cleaning
his trowel off on the scaffold. It looked
just like in my dream, only the other
way around.
That’s weird, I thought. I can’t be-
lieve I didn’t realize that in my dream
that he was cleaning his trowel and not
the scaffold. I must have seen it before
and put it in my dream subconsciously.
That explains it.
As a laborer, it’s one of my jobs to make
sure the masons have cement, so I filled
two five-gallon buckets full and went to
carry them past the new guy to my step
STORIES
STORIES 45
dad and other masons to give them mud.
As I walked by the new guy un-
loading bricks, I looked down the scaf-
fold to the ground, and below me is a
pile of bricks. Walking past the pile
of bricks is the new guy’s brother. He
looks up at me casually, and I instantly
recognize him as the man that fell in
my dream.
Immediately I realize I have my
hands filled with 80 pounds of mud,
walking behind an inexperienced la-
borer, next to a section of scaffold that
isn’t protected because the brick mate-
rials were just landed. I was the one to
die.
I dropped the mud buckets just
as the new guy stood up and backed
into me, knocking me off the scaffold.
I managed to just barely grab onto the
side of the scaffold and caught myself. I
climbed back on and took a deep breath
of relief.
The man that almost killed me says
“Sorry,” looks down, and then, “Wow,
that could have been bad.” He almost
got thrown down to his brother.
I know for a fact that I would have
died if I didn’t have that dream. I don’t
believe in premonitions, but it’s an aw-
ful lot of coincidences.

FORECLOSURE
permalink submitted by jobthreadthrowaway
I work at a real estate office where we primarily sell
houses, which have been foreclosed on by lenders. We aren’t
involved in the actual foreclosures or evictions - anonymous
lawyers in the cloud somewhere are tasked with that paper-
work. We are the boots on the ground who interact with the
actual walls, roofs, and occasional bomb threat.
When the lender forecloses or is thinking of foreclosing
on a property, one of the first things that happens is they will
send somebody out to see if there is actually a house there or if
there is anybody living there who needs to be evicted.
Lawyers are expensive, so they send a real estate
agent or a property preservation company
out to check first.
There is the occasional discovery
of fraud, where there was never a
house on the parcel to begin with,
but such instances are rare. Some-
times this initial visit results in
discovering a house that has
burned down, demolished,
abandoned, or occupied by
somebody who has absolutely
no connection with the home-
owner. Sometimes the houses
are discovered to be crack dens
or meth labs, sometimes they are
sites of cock or dog fighting opera-
tions, or you might even find a back
yard filled with a pot cultivation that
can’t be traced back to anybody because it
was planted in yet another vacant house in a
blighted neighborhood.
The house could be worth less than zero, blighted to the
point where you can’t even give it away (this is a literal state-
ment, I have tried to give away many houses or even vacant
lots with no takers over the years) or it could be a waterfront
mansion in a gated golf community worth well over seven fig-
ures that does not include the number “one”. Sometimes they
are found to have been seized by the IRS, the local tax authority,
the DEA or the US Marshal. Variety is the rule. The end results
STORIES
STORIES 46
are the law.If the house is occupied my job is to make contact and
determine who they are. There are laws that establish what hap-
pens to a borrower as opposed to a tenant and the service mem
ber relief act adds an additional set of questions that must be
answered. Some of the people have an idea of why I am there.
Some claim they never knew they were foreclosed on, or they
tell me they have worked something out with their lender.
Some won’t tell me a thing and some threaten me to never re-
turn in the name of the police, their lawyer, or the occasional
“or else/if I were you.” During one initial visit, the sight
of 50-60 motorcycles parked on the lawn suggest-
ed that we try again the next day. At anoth-
er, the police had cordoned off the area
and were in the process of searching
the lake for the body of a depressed
homeowner.
If nobody is home I have to
determine if they are at work, on
vacation, in the army, winter-
ing/summering at their other
home, in jail, in a nursing home,
dead, or if they have moved
away. It isn’t easy. Utilities can
be left on for months. Neigh-
bors can be staging the yard and
house to appear occupied to pre-
vent blight in their neighborhood.
By the same token, people will stop
cutting the lawn for months, let trash
and old phone books pile up on their porch,
lose gas and electric service and still continue to
live in properties that are not only physically unsafe
to approach, but are so filthy that when it comes time to clean
them, the crews have to wear hazmat suits. One house had a
gallon pickle jar filled with dead roaches on the porch - some-
body lived in that house and thought it was a logical thing to
do. People like me are tasked with first contact.
Evictions are expensive and time-consuming. Ultimately,
once the process gets that far, there isn’t much that can be done
to prevent it. If you didn’t pay your mortgage, the lender gets

the house back. There are an infinite number of reasons why
a mortgage couldn’t be paid, some are more sympathetic than
others, but in the end you will be leaving the property willing-
ly or not. The lawyers handle the evictions; they churn through
the paperwork in the background, ten thousand properties at a
time. They function based on templates, personal experience
with the various judges, and intimate knowledge of the fed-
eral, state and municipal laws.
As a business decision, many lenders have determined
that it is cheaper to settle with the occupants; instead of going
through the formal eviction they will offer cash. In exchange
for surrendering a property in reasonably clean condition with
the furnace still hooked up, the kitchen not stripped, and the
basement not intentionally flooded, the lender will cut the oc-
cupants a check. It costs much less than an eviction, provides
reasonable hope that the plumbing won’t freeze, and can take
a fraction of the time to obtain possession. This is where the
personal element becomes real.
When I make first contact and explain the lender is offer-
ing them money to leave, sometimes they tell me they haven’t
slept for months, knowing that something was going to hap-
pen, but never knowing if tomorrow was the day that some-
body kicked in their door and threw their kids out on the lawn.
Their lenders won’t tell them anything, they have nothing
to go on but horror stories from other people that they never
knew. It never occurs to them that they should call an attorney
and ask about what was going on. I am often the first person to
discuss their situation that isn’t a debt collector - you can hear the
release of a massive weight in their voice.Or, they can get angry
and defensive, tell me that they were never foreclosed on, tell me
that I am trespassing and owe them $5,000 in “land use fees” for
“using” their property as I walk to the front door. They threaten to
sue, they threaten to call the cops, and they say I should look un-
der my car before I start it from now on. They send letters written
in various forms of English, one time scribed in crayon, detailing
their rights and how I am violating some maritime treaty from
the 1700’s.
In my travels I have learned that if you copyright your
name you can’t be named in any kind of legal action, if you
never write down your zip code then you aren’t a resident of
the United States, and that if I tell somebody that their lender is
offering them money to vacate while leaving the staircase (yes,
these get stolen) and driveway (yes, these get stolen) in place -
then I am guilty of slave trading under some United Nations
something or other. For those who reject the deal, nothing
changes. They don’t lose any rights and it isn’t counted against
them in any way, neither the lawyers nor the courts care, be-
cause the lenders don’t have to offer anything, the eviction
process continues. I listen to the stories about why they can’t or
STORIES 47
won’t take the deal. They can’t afford anything else. They don’t
have anywhere else to go. They want to make the eviction as ex-
pensive as possible. They’re going to get “a big settlement” from
some vague lawsuit any day now. They want their kids to finish
out the school year. They intend to take the furnace as soon as
they find a new house. I get all kinds of different reasons. Some
are heartbreaking, others not so much.
For those who do take the deal, at the appointed date and
time I will meet them at their former home. I walk the yard
and enter every room. I open every drawer and cupboard mak-
ing sure the house is clean and doesn’t have old engines, toxic
chemicals, or dead dogs lingering anywhere. Sometimes the
kids are there, maybe waiting in the car, maybe not. I see the
marks on the wall showing how the kids grew over the years. I
see the anguished poetry scribbled on the wall by stoned teen-
agers and the occasional hole punched in the wall. One woman
handed me the key to her reinforced bedroom door - during the
divorce her now ex-husband was still living in the house, so she
had to barricade herself in at night. Another said, “right there is
where I found my son, he couldn’t handle losing the house”.
Sometimes they don’t want the money or to be evicted,
so they sign a waiver stating that everything left inside can be
disposed of: hospital beds, oxygen tanks and wheelchairs, hun-
dreds of boxes of shoes, a mannequin, a 2nd grader’s homework
portfolio, a wedding album filled with pictures with one person
torn out, get rich quick “business plans,” 40 years worth of draft-
ing documents. To the lenders and the lawyers, these things
don’t exist, they close the file and order a trashout. Sometimes I
linger as I check the basement for mold and lead. I am the final
period on so many significant chapters. To most other people it is
just part of the job, but in so many other universes this is where I
ended up. There is no difference between myself and these peo-
ple other than the intangible twists of experience.
And so I listen. I feign dispassion but I’m not fooling any-
body. Somehow they can tell that I care and thank me even as
they admit that it isn’t my fault, that it isn’t my responsibility
to listen. I’ve stood inside another’s dream for an hour as they
spoke, not really to be heard but to say goodbye - to leave the
ghosts behind.
They go to the car and return with the garage door openers The
keys are peeled from a ring. They thank me. Sometimes they cry.
And they’re gone.
I wait for their car to vanish before I put up the sign. To most
everybody else it is just another house on just another block in
just another city in just another financial catastrophe. But I was
there. I saw the dream end.
I don’t make them turn out the lights one last time as
they leave.
That’s my job.
/pics
 PICS 49

my dad is a rebel
permalink submitted by cralledode
PICS 50
 PICS 51

Johnny
Knoxville
permalink

submitted by
maTtONADINOSAUR
 PICS 52

STAIRCASE WITH RAINBOW COLORED CORDS

permalink submitted by boophis
 PICS 53

My big-eyed cat
permalink submitted by HAWAIIN_PUNCH
 PICS 54

someone far
out in the woods
permalink

submitted by DAGSON
 PICS 55

permalink
MIND MAP submitted by notincalifornia
 PICS 56

A DOG
permalink submitted by lbebber
 PICS 57

THIS GUY TOLD

ME HE WAS ELVIS,
AND JESUS CHRIST
permalink

submitted by XXENCLAVEXX
 PICS 58

MY PARENTS’ BACKYARD
permalink submitted by whackmo
 PICS 59

THALIDOMIDE &
THE INFINITE SADNESS
permalink

submitted by SKAPLUNK
 PICS 60

THE THINKER permalink submitted by NOMETOQUES

 PICS 61

HOMELESS DOG IN TIBET

permalink submitted by seensink
 PICS 62

permalink
All done in camera, on film. submitted by Bowlor
 PICS 63

EVOLUTION
permalink submitted by PGRONQUI
 PICS 64

70 year old diver

Jeju Island, South Korea
permalink submitted by dmac5dmark2

COMM UNIT Y
of the
MONTH
/r/TODAYILEARNED
TIL that the entire GoldenEye 007 game
on N64 is only 12 MB.
-FredWampy
TIL that the reddiquette explicitely says
that redditors shouldn’t “correct oth-
ers’ grammar and spelling” because “it
doesn’t add to the conversation.”
-instant_street
TIL Clint Eastwood ran for mayor of
Carmel, CA to overturn a ban on ice
cream parlors. He won.
-Fjosnisse
TIL that Thai cops had to wear a pink
Hello Kitty armband over their uni-
forms if they broke the law or the rules
of duty.
- cactuscatcactus
TIL that the time traveling machine in
Back to the Future was originally sup-
posed to be a refrigerator, but director
Robert Zemeckis feared that children
would climb into their home fridges
and suffocate themselves, so they went
with the DeLorean instead.
- mikekalil
65
TIL Lauren Bush married Ralph Lau-
ren’s son and her name is now Lauren
Lauren.
- awolff
TIL Kevin Spacey refused top billing for
Seven to avoid giving away the killer’s
identity in the opening credits.
- Y_U_No_F_OFF
TIL that dolphins can identify with hu-
mans by checking our skeleton struc-
ture through their sonar; and often help
shipwreck victims stay afloat and fight
off sharks, because as a mammal, they
can understand drowning.
- Alreadytakenusername
TIL the US printed special money for
Hawaii during WWII to be deemed in-
valid in case of a Japanese invasion.
- Timpkmn89
TIL that even the KKK have distanced
themselves from the Westboro Baptist
Church, referring to them as “hatemon-
gers.”
-johnblax
 askreddit 66

/askreddit
HAZZA270 MARCUSW882000 FLOWER_FAIRY HALVAREZ101
SILASBROCK KROSENEST STLAURIER SYFYWRESTLER
DORKCHESTRA SHITHAWK59 STUMP_HUGELARGE CINCH123
ANYANKA123 SOOKYE PREFLASH_GORDON JAY_NORMOUS
SRRWB QUASIFRODO REEVUS77 WINDOSCKK
TARANDON DRCHAP IDEFIX24 THEBEARDSMAN
KONTAN VE2ZA ERICSCOTTF Swiss_Cheese9797
ANONYBATE THEFLUXCAPACITOR PAC212
THEDEVILSRHUBARB NANSYPANSY LUCIDVIVID

/ama
DESERTTRIPPER LOBSTEREO DIE_BY_LAG

_ATARAXIA CNIDARIANS
DEERTICKMUSIC WHIPNIL
MUSTARDGREEN

/stories
ZACHINOZ

WHOREOFFIRE
MAINORMALLSH
ECHOMANAGEMENT
ECAFYELIMS,

/pics
jobthreadthrowaway

BRIANCADE XXENCLAVEXX PGRONQUI

PYXLATED BOWLOR CRAFTYINTENTIONS
MATTONADINOSAUR RDOUMA SCHUHLELEWIS
LBEBBER MAGUSJARU dmac5dmark2
SEENSINK SKAPLUNK
BOOPHIS KITTENAPOCALYPSE
HAWAIIN_PUNCH NOMETOQUES
DAGSON CRYPTICAL33
WHACKMO ARTFAGG

/til
CRALLEDODE NOTINCALIFORNIA

FREDWAMPY CACTUSCATCACTUS
AWOLFF TIMPKMN89
INSTANT_STREET MIKEKALIL
Y_U_NO_F_OFF JOHNBLAX
FJOSNISSE ALREADYTAKENUSERNAME

Front cover and additional artwork by Ryan Laing

Special thanks to ge.tt for providing file hosting, Alison Drager [alerson] for copy editing,
+ everyone who suggested content and gave us feedback via r/theredditor
Back Issues theredditor.com Subscribe reddit.com/r/theredditor Contact emailtheredditor@gmail.com

Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission by attributed writers and artists is prohibited. All information and credits
are accurate at the time of publication, but are subject to change. The Redditor magazine is not affiliated with reddit.com
 LETTER FROM THE REDDITOR

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 CONTENTS
/askreddit
12 05 How did you get banned?
7 MONTHS IN 07 Little things, better place

MADAGASCAR 08 Would you rather...?

09 control our brains?

/ama
12 Seven months in madagascar

17 17 i am neil degrasse tyson

20 little terrors
/AMA
Neil /stories
deGrasse 25 1985

Tyson 33 free years old

34 ice-cream

09 /pics
38 the top communities
WHY CAN’T WE
CONSCIOUSLY 46 a happy fellow

CONTROL 47 attempt at photo realism

OUR BRAINS? 48 sfx makeup removal

49 bowser
50 the burden of lies

20 51 put out the moon

52 my dad, pro skater
53 dress for the job you want

LITTLE
54 octopus man
55 water dragon

TERRORS 56 hot air balloon

57 my halloween
58 hard times
59 mist
38 60 the majesties of the universe
25 61 angry leonardo
62 barbecued alligator
63 levitation
64 my little buttercup
top
communities /enhancement
 ASKREDDIT 5
26

I GOT
BANNED permalink SUBMITTED BY mooremic

hen the Apple store in the mall opened, I may or may not have used
W their unsecured Wi-Fi to set home pages to things that may or may
not have been motherless videos of dolphins engaged in various ac-
tivities with people. Also the mall may or may not actually have a very tiny
jail in it.
THESHIRT

arly last year I made an account “I_google_you.” I’d find the high-
E est ranking comment in any thread, google the username, find out all
their personal info and post it. Got permabanned from Reddit (no, not
silent banned, but straight up “access denied.”) Reddit.com worked fine, how-
ever clicking anything else would bring me to “access denied”. Front page also
didn’t update. Took me a week to figure out they permabanned me. Restart of
modem/router + new IP and I was good to go.
o85

“I was banned from a cake

decorating forum for
calling someone out on
using boxed cake mixes in
the cakes she was selling.”
Evange

y friends and I went out drinking on his twenty-first in a NYC bar and
M every single one of us blacked out. We all woke up the next morning
at the arranged drunk stay over house, no one aware of what hap-
pened or how we got there. We chalk it up to youthful discretion and go on
living our lives. Fast-forward two years… My friend and I are in the city and
decided to stop by the same bar mid-day for a drink, having such a fond mem-
ory (or lack thereof) and never having gone back afterward. We take two steps
in the bar and the bartender and every patron immediately points to the door.
It is then we notice a large picture of my friend on the wall with the words
“DO NOT LET THIS MAN OR ANYONE HE IS WITH IN THIS BAR” written on
it. Still don’t know what we did.
Mookey1234
 ASKREDDIT 6
26

was banned from Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles for calling and speak-

I ing with a Morgan Freeman voice and requesting they arrange me a

super 72nd birthday. When I showed up and spoke in the voice, they
threw me out.
agoostaholic

was banned from Albertson’s (SoCal Grocery Store) for buying banan-

I as in a gorilla suit without using words. I paid for them and every-
thing. Everyone but the security manager thought it was funny. We
tried the same thing at Trader Joe’s later that day, not only did they not ban me,
but they gave me three bundles for free.
Jaymunee80

“I was kicked out of a restau-

rant because I called for a
delivery order while sitting
at a table in the restaurant.”
MakeMeChortle

y girlfriend was once a teen assistant of a Sunday school class in the

M Deep South. They had a day where the teachers left and the students
got to ask the assistants questions. That afternoon, she confirmed that
dinosaurs were real and that it’s okay if you’re gay because God made you that
way. A kid went home and came out to his family and the next day a mob of
parents complained. The church then banned her and was granted a restrain-
ing order against her (she still isn’t allowed within 100 yards).
BackseatPhilosopher

n third grade we were learning about Van Gogh. My teacher always

I told us how much he liked the texture in his paintings and how it
signified the passion he put into his work. All of us students had to
make out own version of “Starry Night.” I thought Van Gogh was pretty cool,
so my dad offered to take me the Museum of Fine Arts. When I saw “The Post
Man”, I just had to touch it. The alarm went off, a guard escorted us out, and
then informed my father that he could never take me back. I technically have
a life-long ban, but I don’t think they would recognize me now. A week later
they moved the painting to Chicago. It’s still there.
RacheyG91

“I got banned from a zoo

because I threw nude pictures
of myself at the elephants.
while I was in a tuxedo.”
AppleRind

What little thing
do you do to make the
world a better place?
permalink ASKEd by EL_POOPO
I pick up other people’s litter. Even when I’m walk-
ing with friends and they drop something, I’ll pick
it up and carry it until I find a bin. It’s certainly set a
good example for my son, though a few of my friends
think it’s a bit nutty. I’m a lapsed Buddhist and back
in my more dedicated days I took a vow not to de-
stroy any towns or cities. I interpreted littering as
contributing to destruction (a bit of a stretch, I know)
and some of those old habits are hard to break, not
that I’d necessarily want to.
Red_Bastard
I seed torrents after downloading them. I turn off
adblock for sites I think deserve it.
invertedcross
I smile at store clerks and have nice conversations
with them.
gordybombay
I say “please” and “thank you,” and refer to people
older than me as “sir” or “ma’am”.
I’m 21 and it’s a rarity to find people my age or
younger who still have solid manners.
iluvpokemanz
If I take a coupon to the store and don’t use it for
whatever reason, I leave it in a visible spot near the
product it’s good for.
Poorsoi
I leave dollar bills in odd places where they won’t be
easily found.
patarack
I throw my cigarette butts in the trashcan, or save
them if there isn’t one near by. Especially at the
beach.
beccaonic
ASKREDDIT 7
When I find a penny that is tail sides up, I always flip
it so that someone else can find it heads up.
AdaroTeiji
I give people extra exercise by holding the door so
that they have to half-jog for it.
esssssss
If I see someone’s computer clogged up with IE tool-
bars, rammed with spyware, viruses and all that
other good stuff, I don’t take a picture and post it to
Reddit. I help them out, offer advice, and give them
my email if they ever get into a situation like that
again.
juhache
If I come across a speed trap on the highway, I flick
my high beams so oncoming traffic can know.
MrMed
I always give people a little ‘thank you’ wave when
merging or letting others through. If someone just
cuts me off, they’re an asshole and the drive is a
nightmare. But if they give the little wave, now
they’re a great person, I’m nice for letting them in,
and we share a deep, positive connection for almost
three seconds.
nasu_moon_commander
If you stop me on the streets of Toronto and ask for
directions, then by God you are getting the most
thorough, cheerful and reliable directions you’ve
ever gotten in your life.
BelugaTaquito

WOULD YOU RATHER...
permalink ASKEd by bucsboy47
... have a dragon, or be a dragon?
I’d be a dragon, for sure. Less chance of being eaten by
my dragon.
tieranosaur
... have been Helen Keller, or Hitler?
Hitler easily. Be powerful, lead armies of men, posses large
sums of government and personal money, conquer half of
Europe, and make the world fear your very existence or be
blind and deaf, your entire life... Hitler please.
CaucInvasion
... have Alzheimer’s, or your significant other?
I would rather have the Alzheimer’s because I wouldn’t
want her to feel the sorrow of not being able to remember
the days we had together and that I would be able to fall
in love with her every day for the rest of my life.
Kelvin02
... spend two hours on the moon, or two completely expense
free months living luxury in Europe?
Europe without a doubt. I mean come on, I know it’s the
moon and all, but what the hell would you do once you
got there. Play around in low gravity for ten minutes and
then get bored only to realize you are on a ball of dirt.
While landing on the moon is a milestone in human
history, I can’t help but think that we have never tried so
hard to get somewhere only to do so little.
Suomynona90375
... be the richest in the world, or be immortal?
I’d pick the richest person in the world. Your parents, your
friends, your significant others, your children, your grand-
children, will all die before your eyes. Being immortal
means you cannot die regardless of your situation. Imag-
ine if an earthquake occurs and traps you deep below the
foundation of your house, too deep to be rescued. As they
reconstruct new structures on top of you. Trapped deep
inside this infinite darkness, with no possibility of being
released or freed; this coffin is where you will spend the
rest of your life, which will last until the End. Of. Time.
chanseyy
... have sex with anyone for one night, or have a lightsaber?
Light saber. You could then have sex with anyone you’d like, because you have a fucking light saber.
bucsboy47
ASKREDDIT 8
Have a dragon. Being a dragon would be cool in some
ways, but suck in many others. If I got a hair in my eye,
how would I get it out if all I have is razor-sharp claws?
kabukistar
Helen Keller. In principle I’d always want to be the
good person. She was pretty skilled, too. Hitler to me just
sounds like empty happiness.
fanciullagenteel
I’d rather they have it, so they don’t have to know what
it would be like if I did.
tmitiem
Two months and two hours are both very small
amounts of time. Now, of course two months is quite a
bit longer. but what do you think would be a better story
to tell? How you ate fancy foods in Europe like every
other rich guy? Or how you went to the moon and sent
your piss into orbit?
gonerrhea
Immortal. Yes, in this fantasy I’ll have to figure out what
to do with my time when the Sun blows up. But until
then, I’ll see the evolution of the Earth. Civilizations
come and go. I’ll see aliens and I’ll live on alien planets.
I’ll use teleportation and time travel and every other
invention ever invented. I will ignore the difficulties
of society and simply appreciate everything I see. The
whole point of living is to see what comes next, and I
would see it all. And when nothing exists and I float
through the black of space, my mind will slow down to
an infinite meditation and I will dream.
nasu_moon_commander
 ASKREDDIT 9

WHY CAN’T WE
CONSCIOUSLY
CONTROL
OUR BRAINS?
Darwin2500
Why can’t The idea of ‘conscious’ control is sort of a rabbit-hole, as we
someone just tell have to define what consciousness is, where in the stream of
causality it occurs, and so on. I think that a better summary of
their brain to your question might focus instead on we don’t have ‘volun-
release serotonin tary’ control of our brains and hearts, the same way we do
with our arms and legs.
when they are
The answer is that in most cases this would be maladaptive,
feeling down if not immediately fatal. You mention the heart - allowing for
voluntary control of the heart is like giving an individual a
(instead of
self-destruct button, the odds that you could do something
having to take useful with that level of control are drastically outweighed by
the chance that you’ll accidentally kill yourself.
anti-depressants)?
The same principle is true for the brain - the brain is care-
Why can’t I, if I fully constructed to keep you alive and reproductively suc-
were so inclined, cessful, and letting you voluntarily mess with it is likely to
interfere with that. Why bother to have sex, or seek relation-
tell my heart to ships, when you can just tell your brain to release the same
beat at a different neurotransmitters and get all the same sensations and fulfill-
ment without getting out of bed? Why let you turn off pain or
pace? Is there a sorrow when those are important physiological motivators to
keep you alive and doing important things?
way to “train”
This isn’t entirely theoretical, as the studies have been done
oneself to have with rats - they attached an electrode to a rat’s neural reward
these abilities? pathways, and placed a lever which controlled the electrode
in the rat’s cage. So, every time they push the lever, they get a
shock of reward/happiness/whatever. The result: the rats sit in
permalink ASKEd by Russile the corner pushing the lever until they starve to death.

Neuraxis
[Neurobiology. Anesthesia, Electrophysiology]
Let’s define ‘consciousness’ here as the awareness of ones
surroundings – although it only gives the illusion that you
are in control of everything in your brain. In fact, research
is showing that consciousness makes up only a small per-
centage of all the things going on in your central nervous
system.
Let’s use the gold-standard of examples, the visual sys-
tem. How many times did you see the color red yesterday?
It’s a silly question, but really think about it. You don’t
know. Did you make a conscious decision to ignore it? No.
Your brain did though. The visual system is absolutely over-
whelmed with visual information. Everything on this page
is full of color, contours, and even relatable memories from
other pages. Your brain doesn’t want to overwhelm itself
with stuff like this so it filters. The brain actively inhibits
information flowing from the retina into the visual cortex.
The brain has many other filters too, regarding memory.
Consciousness is a product of brain activity within key
regions of the brain, and whose purpose, it’s argued, is to
focus your attention and awareness on key aspects of your
surroundings. Were you aware of every sound around your
head as you were reading this text? Doubtful. That’s be-
cause it wasn’t the central focus of your task in reading this.
Consciousness is a limited resource, and is not privy to the
background activity that helps manifest your awareness.
ASKREDDIT 10
Deskclerk
[Cognitive Neuroscience]
If you’re interested in ways the brain can come to control
seemingly autonomic processes, I’d suggest you check out
Buddhism, Buddhist monks, and meditation. Over decades
of training you can control certain functions to a great de-
gree, such as body temperature.
The reason you can’t do these from birth is because it
makes sense to free the “working mind” from taking care of
routine tasks, such as monitoring heart rate and breathing.
We’re given a certain amount of control over some things,
but it just hasn’t been evolutionarily beneficial for certain
reasons to give us complete control over some of these pro-
cesses.
The thing is, the brain already knows what your heart
needs to beat at to keep you alive, and it does it automatical-
ly. Giving yourself control over this gives you the burden of
constantly monitoring it. Even if you were to able to switch
on and off the autopilot, making a mistake in something as
vital as the rhythm of your heart is indeed a risky maneu-
ver, and I don’t exactly think that being able to do this re-
ally would have aided prehistoric man survival wise. We
can also argue upon which autonomic processes it would
actually be favorable to have complete control over. Heart
rate, probably much more rare instances where you would
actually need to voluntarily turn up or down the dial.
 AMA 12

7 MONTHS IN

MADAGASCAR

permalink submitted by NAILGUNSODOMY

In June 2010, I left the UK to go and live out in the wild

reaches of North Madagascar. I did this to help with a
AFRICA
conservation project, which educated volunteers from all
over the world on a number of subjects such as birding,
reptiles, and social issues. The habitat in Madagascar was
completely wild. The camp I lived in was extremely basic,
MADAGASCAR
and I had rice and beans three times a day. Every day.
 AMA 13

How did you get involved with

this type of conservation work?
I went straight from my A-Levels to study Bio-
logical Sciences specializing in Zoology, and
then carried on to do a Masters in Conserva-
tion and Wildlife Management. I applied to
become an intern at a conservation organiza-
tion in the UK, and worked there for 7 months
in the Research department. I was offered
through internal recruitment the chance to
work over in Madagascar for 7 months.

What was a normal day at the camp?

4am - Wake up and go for an hour’s walk up a
mountain to watch the sunrise.
6am - Venture into parts of the forest and do
some bird watching and help people identify
which birds are which, with lots of photogra-
phy and lemur spotting.
7am - Breakfast of sebeda (basically rice pud-
ding...not my favorite!)
8am - Chameleon & reptile search, looking
around the forest for such critters and then tak-
ing them back to camp to identify them and
record what we have seen.
10am - Project work; the volunteers could do a
choice of project whilst over there, and I chose
to do a project looking at which birds are found
in which different parts of the forest. This would
be the time when people work on these projects,
writing them up or carrying out data collection
12pm - Lunch; rice and ruddy beans!
1pm - Relaxation period, as it got to ridiculous
temperatures!
4pm - Walk out to far end of forest (about an hour
and half trek) to do more bird watching, followed
by climbing up a mountain again for a sunset!
7pm - Dinner. Guess what? Rice and beans.
8pm - Relaxation time; usually with cards and
cheap beer which we got carried into the camp
by Zebu cart. However, this only happened
once every 3 months so we had to stock up on
a lot of beer!
10pm - Bed time in our tents, or the volunteers
would sleep in a communal hut.

Did you run into any lemurs?

We had lemurs all around us all the time! The
camp had three types in it, Sanford’s Brown Le-
murs, Crowned Lemurs, and Mouse Lemurs.
They were amazing. The noise they make is

unbelievable, hard to describe, but like a sucking sound
but very loud. They were quite cautious of us, but friend-
ly! At night, if you were lying in a hammock, they would
usually climb onto the same tree and keep staring at you.
They also quite fancied watching us when we had a bath
for some reason!
Craziest animal encounter?
I think the craziest animal encounter I had was when I
was having a bath in the local stream (about one meter deep),
when a Ground Boa decided to come for a swim without
me knowing. I had lathered myself up in my biodegradable
shampoo, when I felt it swimming around my feet. Quite
freaky to say the least!
Big spiders?
You bet!
AMA 14
Can you describe the towns you stayed in?
I stayed in Antananarivo (the capital, more or less smack in the
middle of the country) for about two weeks, and Diego Su-
arez (North of the Island) for about one Month.
Being a third world country, the state of some of the places
is what you expect really; a lot of poverty, and a real divide
of classes. Antananarivo had a large military presence due
to a large number of coups, which seem to happen as the
country is run by.... a DJ. Yes.
Diego was much more rural than Antananarivo, and as
such a bit nicer. There is still a lot of poverty, but in Diego it
seems a bit more level. A lot of fun places to hang out and
bars to visit. One of the most striking things about Diego
was definitely the large number of prostitutes and elderly
white gentlemen using their services.
Needless to say as nice as all of this is, there is still quite
 AMA 15

a bit of crime which goes on, but this is no different from

any other third world country in my opinion. Everyone
you talk to is very friendly, as if you do look like I did, then
you will come across as something of a novelty.

Has your perspective of humanity’s role

in nature changed from your
experiences?
It is very challenging working with people in third world
countries, or indeed anywhere where resources are of ex-
treme importance - more so than in first world countries
where we can just turn a switch on and get a fire going,
with no effort required.
We worked with many farmers and landowners out there
who simply expressed that they need wood to make fires
and land to grow crops to feed their family. We were there
saying that they need to stop cutting down the forest but
god dammit it isn’t that easy, sadly. Its a very much first
world approach that we want to watch Lemurs on TV
so they shouldn’t destroy the habitat, but who on earth
would ever say “Yeah, let my family starve so that we can
have these furry things can jump around the trees.” If I
were a farmer I certainly wouldn’t. I’d cut down as much
forest as I’d need to feed my family.
It is a sad conflict, and one of the greatest challenges to
the world of conservation. However, I do not and can-
not blame these people for destroying the forest sadly.
It isn’t fair.

Having only rice and beans every day, did

you miss the food you would eat normally
back home?
I did miss the food from back home, but after a while you
get used to rice and beans, especially when you put in
some curry powder brought over by a volunteer! If any-
one came around and said that they were going to buy a
Domino’s pizza when they get back to the UK before the
staff, we would heavily discourage any further conversa-
tion. Haha, it was agony sometimes.
The first thing I ate after I got back was a burger. It was
insanely tasty, quite possibly the biggest food pleasure
We were there I’ve ever had. I am very thankful for the food I have
now, and it really does make me think how much ev-
saying that they erything in my life is such a luxury. Even so much as a
need to stop simple shower.

cutting down
the forest - but How much did the whole trip cost?
I was employed through the organization to do the work,
god dammit it so I avoided paying the program fees, but typically a proj-
isn’t that easy... ect such as this costs around £2000 for three months or so I
have found, although this can vary. However, the cost to
fly out there came to around £1200, and extra costs on top of
that rounded my total expenditure out to, I reckon, £2500.

To be honest, I only spent money when I was in Diego, the
nearest city, and that wasn’t often. In the jungle I didn’t
spend a penny, except when people would come round
offering goods like duck eggs, but these were a rarity!
How do you feel about living in a first
world country after seven months out-
side of one?
I feel that when you live in a first world country, you re-
ally are lucky. Seeing the riots in the UK made me so an-
gry. We have complete shits running around saying that
they are being unfairly treated by not ‘having their taxes
back’ from the government, when these people need to
shipped off to the real world and start getting some per-
spective.
What was your favorite thing, or what you
miss most about it now?
I miss how simple life was in the camp. There is a lot to be
said for having a very simple lifestyle, and with my work
there it was very, expectantly, non-digital. You come back
to the UK and everything is computer screens, cars, noise,
traffic, jams, things to do. All very hectic. Out there it was
so peaceful. Except the forest fire, that is... But still! I prob-
ably miss the birds the most. The birds over there are some
of the most fascinating in the world.
AMA 16
What advice can you give for somebody
wanting to do the same thing?
This is quite a big step for a lot of people as it requires a lot
of money, time, and a real leap out of the comfort zone. If
you are interested in something like this, I would recom-
mend looking around for ‘gap year programs’, give them a
call, and see what they have to offer!
Make sure that you commit to it and say “I’m going to do
this in (for example) June 2012!” and work towards that.
Look up all of the information about the country and make
sure that you are fully aware of how everything works
over there, and what you need to do to get a VISA, which
can be a nightmare sometimes.
Finally, make sure you actually want to do it! We had a few
volunteers who just didn’t want to be there at all. It was
baffling to the staff why they didn’t want to go out, explore,
and try to contribute! Sure, it is a great thing for the CV, but
don’t waste your time and other people’s time if it is just be-
cause of that which you are going over there!
Would you recommend it to other people?
It was an experience in my life which I will always hold
dear to me and remember with fondness. I doubt I will ever
be in such a position again. I could not recommend it high-
ly enough to other people, as long as you are interested in
wildlife, culture, and genuinely want to make a difference.
 AMA 17

I AM

Neil
deGrasse
Tyson
permalink submitted by neiltyson

Neil deGrasse Tyson is an

American astrophysicist, a
science communicator, and
a Research Associate in the
Department of Astrophysics
at the American Museum of
Natural History. Since 2006
he has hosted the educational
science television show
NOVA scienceNOW on PBS.

What do you consider to be your What is the key to rooting out

greatest SCIENTIFIC accomplishmeNT?
Based on a careful review of observation bias in how
people obtained data on the universe, I made a pre-
diction some years ago that there were 10x as many
galaxies in the universe than had then been cata-
logued. The actual number turned out to be about 5x
as many galaxies. I got the wrong answer, but for the
right reasons, and it stimulated much further work
on the subject.
the anti-science view in America,
especially in regards to things like
evolution and climate change?
I don’t mind anti-science views. We’ve all bought
into America being free, which means, above all else,
freedom of speech. What concerns me is when those
who are anti-science try to prevent others from doing
science. When that happens, that’s the beginning of
the end.
 AMA 18

Can we inspire more kids to

pursue space-related science
an electron has
and research? If so, how? no known size,
Kids are never the problem, they are born scientists.
The problem is always the adults. They beat the cu-
it’s smaller than
riosity out of the kids. They out-number kids. They the smallest
vote. They wield resources. That’s why my public
focus is primarily adults.
measurement we
have ever made
What is your favorite short science of anything.
fact you like to tell people to really
make them think?
The atoms in our bodies are traceable to supernova
stars that scattered their chemical enrichment across
the cosmos, spawning the birth of star systems that
contain planets, at least one of them containing life.

Since time slows relative to the speed of light, does

this mean that photons are essentially not moving
through time at all?

Photons have no ticking time at all, which means, as

far as they are concerned, they are absorbed the in-
stant they are emitted, even if the distance traveled is
across the universe itself.

What never fails to blow your mind

in physics?
1) The fact that an electron has no known size, it’s
smaller than the smallest measurement we have
ever made of anything.

2) Quarks come only in pairs: If you try to separate

two of them, the energy you sink into the system to
accomplish this feat is exactly the energy needed to
spontaneously create two more quarks, one to part-
ner with each of those you pulled apart.

3) That the space-time structure inside a rotating

black hole does not preclude the existence of an en-
tire other universe.

What do you prefer NASA to explore

more of?
Asteroids that might one day hit us.

What do you think it will take for

the USA to seriously reinvest in the
space program?
A foreign threat. That seems to be the only thing
around that motivates bickering political parties to
act in harmony.

Will our minds ever be able to truly
comprehend the vastness of the
universe?
I lose sleep worrying that we, as a species, are simply
too stupid to figure out the universe. In other words,
we are not as candid as we should be about our
neuro-biological limitations.
If you could impress one thing on
young people today, what would it be?
Adults are not all they’re cracked up to be. And most
of them are wrong most of the time. This can be quite
revelatory for a kid, often launching them on a per-
sonal quest of exploration, rather than of Q&A ses-
sions with their parents.
If you could add one course to
a student’s curriculum, what would
it be?
A course title every university should offer: “How to
tell when someone else is full of shit.”
If you appeared on the game show
Jeopardy, how do you think you
would do?
If I were a contestant, I’m sure I would make the first
few rounds, but would surely lose in any tourna-
ment. The people who win these things have a dif-
ferent brain wiring than I have. Part of me echoes
AMA 19
Einstein’s edict: never memorize what you can look
up in a book.
Do you think that humans in our
lifetime will achieve the technology
to be able to live forever?
Yes, I think it’s inevitable. But that would eventu-
ally make for a very crowded Earth. So perhaps that’s
what we need to jumpstart the space program.
What are your feelings on relIgion
and the afterlife, and are you scared
to die?
I remain unconvinced that anything other than
rapid decomposition is the fate of my body and mind
after death. I’ve accomplished enough in life so
that I do not fear death. In fact, I’ve left instructions
for my Epitaph, a quote from the educator, Horace
Mann: “Be ashamed to die until you have won some
victory for humanity”. That’s the creed I live by. And
will die by.
What are your thoughts on
Cryogenic preservation?
A marvelous way to convince people to give you
money. I’d have more confidence if we had previ-
ously managed to pull this off with other mammals.
Until then I see it as a waste of money. I’d rather en-
joy my money and then be buried, offering my body
back to the flora and fauna of which I have dined my
whole life.
If a taco and a burrito are traveling
near the speed of light and collide,
will the result be delicious?
The result would be an explosion large enough to
destroy a small village. High speed collisions do that,
whether or not they are made of Mexican food.
 AMA 20

LITTLE
TERRORS The creepy creations of Kamila Mlynarczyk
permalink see more

When people ask what kind of art I make, I struggle with my description, but I make art dolls. I need to start carrying
around pictures because people imagine smiling, generic dolls. I think I'm on the same level of a cat lady in their minds.
But the "figures" I make are often plagued with interesting ailments, personal tragedies, deformities and don't really smile
often.  While most dolls are creepy because of those vacant eyes and fake smiles, mine wear their creepiness on their
sleeve like a badge, which in my mind makes them more authentic and even endearing.
 AMA 21

How did you learn to make these?

I discovered art dolls on the internet right after graduating
Art School with a degree in Illustration.
I fell in love with a really sweet looking half-naked mer-
maid doll, but I was broke. I looked up some tutorials on
sculpting with polymer clay, went out and bought some
cheap clay, and started experimenting. I’m so glad I didn’t
buy that mermaid because as soon as I started sculpting
(something I had never done before) I was in love. That
was six years ago. The first sculptures I made were really
bad, but I was blind to that at the time and just amazed
that I could make whatever I wanted, and unlike my 2D
drawings, it was tangible.

You have a very unique (and dark) style,

have you always been interested in
the macabre? 
I have. My mom used to get a lot of angry phone calls from
other parents complaining about their kids not sleeping
after my scary stories. People like me are just born want-
ing to be spooked. I also spend an awful lot of time “re-
searching” on reddit - /r/creepy, nosleep etc.

Do you hang the ornaments on a

Christmas tree?
Yeah, my first zombie ornament was for the Christmas
tree, the second was for my husband’s desk at work, and
I started selling the rest. Most people just leave them up
year round. I just really love zombies, and really dislike
the monotony that Christmas has become, so I put the
two together. Ornaments are also much smaller than
my full sized dolls, so they are quick and easy, and I can
work out some ideas I have without having to commit
to a large size.

Could you explain your process?

First off I have an idea book, I get so many ideas and have
the attention span of a goldfish, so I have to write them
down before I forget. I never make anything I’m not 100%
excited about, so a lot of ideas that lose steam go into the
book so they can be rediscovered when I’m more in the
mood for that kind of thing. It’s important for me to just
go with my gut feeling on things so I kind of suck at plan-
ning on commission work.
Start with an awesome idea, the weirder the better really.
Screw what most people think because if I cared I’d be
boring as hell. 
I usually start off with some armature wire and make the
skeleton. I tend to reinforce the movable parts, because de-
spite being called armature wire, it will break if you play
with it enough. Then I add bulk with tin foil and wrap the
whole thing (tin foil + wire) in masking tape- this prevents
the metal from making the clay dirty.
 AMA 22

Then I use Prosculpt design features you like,

Polymer Clay, it works frills, lace, a seam pattern
best for me. The beauty you like can really save
with polymer clay is that time and help you out. I
you can cure it in your have a very creepy cabi-
own oven, and you can net full of old Victorian
bake it multiple times baby christening gowns
without ruining it. I usu- I buy and stockpile from
ally sculpt the head first eBay because I like how
and bake it, then I do old the fabric looks. Then
the arms and legs, bake you pop on some hair
again, and then lastly the and maybe make a hat
hands and feet, which and you are done. Wig-
are the most delicate. The ging is my least favorite
only advice I can give part because I end up
about sculpting is to ex- with hairy glue fingers. 
periment with a lot of
tools, wood, dental tools,
etc. I have a little wood- How much does
en spatula tool that I each cost to
am convinced is magic. make? Do you sell
Also, study anatomy! them?
Make sure your faces I haven’t figured
aren’t flat, look closely out how much they
at the shapes of things cost me to make
and don’t be a brute. Be because each piece is so
gentle, patient, and re- different and requires
member you get the best different materials and
results by being subtle. amounts of time. I have
I had no idea how to sew, so it was sold all of my pieces (ex-
After I have everything
trial and error and glue for a long cept one that I just can’t
I need baked onto the
part with). I have a couple
armature, I usually have time until I figured it all out. of galleries in the United
left the torso untouched
States and Canada featur-
(just tape-foil-wire) and I
ing my work, but I prefer
wrap the torso in cotton
to sell through Etsy be-
batting. I leave a small
cause I don’t have to split
space on the upper arms
my profit and I can have
and upper legs and wrap
more of a relationship
that in batting as well.
with my customers.
The reason I leave this
space unsculpted is so it
will be slightly movable. 
How does your
After that, I use acrylics family feel about
to paint with. Sometimes your work?
I’ll leave the natural My son is two so he
color of the clay, which doesn’t notice or care yet.
is skin tone, and just do I don’t expose him to
washes of color. Other anything I think would
times I’ll paint the whole be damaging, but I se-
figure, which is when it really comes to life. cretly hope he’s going to ask me to go on a zombie walk
someday soon. My husband loves my work. He saw me
The costumes are the finishing touch, and I think what re-
discover this form of art and how I grew with it, so he
ally “make” my dolls. I had no idea how to sew so it was
understands me best. The rest of my family always asks
trial and error and glue for a long time until I figured it all
me when I’m going to make pretty dolls, but I think it’s
out. All the outfits are handmade, specifically for each doll.
dawning on them that this isn’t just a phase.
Only tip here is that taking apart existing clothing with
 AMA 23

I always sketch in my spare time - I’ve been doing it

since I was three and I don’t think that will stop.
But art dolls are what I love to do.

1985
permalink SUBMITTED BY Hornswaggle
You unexpectedly time-travel to 1985.
You have no way back, ever. What do you do?
Chapter 1 I am walking home from work
on a normal day and boom, I open my apart-
ment door to find out it is 1985.
First comes confusion as I wonder why my
apartment looks different. Hopefully no one is
home. Hopefully something will trigger a sense
of the ‘80s, a magazine or household product.
The TV will be old as hell but look new. I turn
it on. It is around 6 pm, so I am watching the
news and there is an earthquake in Mexico
City and maybe something about Tipper Gore. I
have $20 in my pocket and a wallet full of use-
less cards that would appear fake to authorities,
not to mention no identity.
Sorry past apartment renters, but I gotta rob
you. I search the apartment for anything I can
take in my over-the-shoulder and maybe make
some cash. I’m out the door.
It’s 1985. I am 11 years old in St. Louis. But 37
year-old me has a bag full of stolen goods in
Chicago and is a block and half from my grand-
mother’s house. Will my grandmother recog-
nize the 11 year old in the 37 year-old me? Is my
youngest uncle currently around the corner at
The Bubble having a drink? How can I get to St.
Louis?
It’s September 19th and in a few weeks the Roy-
als will escape defeat at the hands of the Cardi-
nals with some bullshit call in Game 6. Also, the
Bears will win the Super Bowl. Aside from the
stolen goods, I have an Andriod LG phone, a
5-year old ipod nano and earphones, and a USB
drive with personal and business files in a for-
mat that probably hasn’t been invented yet.
Chapter 2 At this point, I’ve got to get to
St. Louis. What will that take in 1985? I can’t fly
STORIES 25
without ID, can I? I am trusting that my par-
ents will somehow know that I am, in fact, their
time-traveling son. I am trusting that parental
feeling. But will my grandmother? What if she
doesn’t... has she moved to Florida yet? I think
back to a photo of me on the family station wag-
on with my sisters visiting my grandmother in
Fort Myers, FL. How old was I? I look taller than
11 and I remember wearing a Led Zeppelin T,
so probably older than 11. I think she is still in
Granville. I’m going there, but first let’s get rid of
these stolen goods.
I don’t know how long I will be in this neigh-
borhood, so I can’t find a pawn shop around
here. I have some watches, jewelry, and 36
more dollars. I have two gold coins from 1976
and an antique Mickey Mouse watch with
moving hands. I should go downtown, the L
train is right here and I have 6 dollars in ones.
I remember seeing older looking marquees for
jewelers downtown, north of the Mag Mile. I
walk to the Bryn Mawr stop. Thankfully, some-
one else is getting tokens from this machine
I’ve never seen before, so I mimic her actions
and get as many tokens as $6 will get me. I have
a transit pass in my wallet, but it won’t work
until 1999 or so.
Things are crazy as hell on what would later be
named the Red Line and I am tempted to get
out my iPod, but I will need all the power it has
to maybe sell it or demonstrate its use to some-
one capable.
Walton and Delaware downtown are littered
with jewelers and antique dealers. I sell 8 piec-
es of jewelry at 6 shops to avoid arousing sus-
picion and to get a better price, hoping I don’t
look like anything but someone who recently
lost his grandmother and these are the pieces
we can part with.
 STORIES 26

It is 7:27 pm and I now have

$467. I consider avoiding my
grandmother altogether. I go
over to State and Chestnut, the cur-
rent “Viagra Triangle”, and have a beer.
While I am at the bar I hear a laugh I rec-
ognize. I look over and see my boss. My boss
is an awesome gal, 51 in 2011 but 25 in 1985. 2011
us had recently returned from a two week business
trip though Hong Kong and Guangdong province.

That’s when it hits me. If I get lucky, I can use the tech
in my bag to get a job manufacturing this shit in China,
maybe start my own tech hardware company. Hell,
even though the items in my possession are basically
useless hard drives with programming in languages
yet to be invented, the hard drive, USB, and touch-
screen tech are invaluable technological head-starts.
First things, first:
Bang my 25-year old boss (she meets her current 2011
husband in 3 months!),
Get to St. Louis.
First things first.
Chapter 3 I wake up in Lincoln Park. It is Friday
9/20/1985 and NPR reminds me of this as my 25-year
old 2011 boss is showering. I am making coffee as
she emerges. I had used all the information I learned
through 8 years of being colleagues and 5 seasons of
How I Met Your Mother to get her into bed. I shower
and re-dress and we head down to the train together.
I had lied and said I had a job at Leo Burnett, the only
company I could remember being downtown that
would surely already be there in 1985 (thanks Mad
Men). I promise to call her after I get back from my
weekend trip to St. Louis.
I walk to Union Station and I am in luck. I can purchase
a ticket without ID. I lurk in the Union Station gift shop,
buying a TIME, a Forbes, and a Newsweek. I also get a
Chicago Tribune and a New York Times. Also a Barron’s.
My Mom’s
Dad read Bar-
ron’s religiously
and I hope this will
help. I expect I am go-
ing to have to pull one of
those “I know things only I
could know” routines. I have 6
hours to kill before the 3 o’clock train.
I have $412 after the tickets and periodi-
cals and 6 hours to read them on the train. I
will arrive in St. Louis around 9 pm. I can take
a cab to a hotel near my family’s house, so maybe
I should get some clothes.
I walk to Macy’s, wait... still Marshal Field’s. I see a
Nintendo, brand new for $129.99 and the 11 year old
inside me wants to get it. My parents never got me
one; I played early games on a Commodore 64. I don’t
know how much I will need the money, so I focus on
clothes. I get a pack of boxers, T’s, and a pair of Levi’s 501
jeans. As I spend the money, I start to get really nervous
about the predicament I am in. I can’t spend anymore
money unless I need to. I head back to Union Station
and lounge on the wooden benches around the old
clock. I start reading up on the events I already lived
through as an oblivious 11 year old. Crocket and Tubbs
are on the cover, they found the Titantic and Reagan

messes with the Fed. Newsweek: South Africa,
Apartheid.
I take the 6 hour train trip to St. Louis, dozing
and reading about Fall of 1985. When I arrive,
I get a taxi to take me to this old hotel in down-
town Clayton, the one I remember closest to my
old house. As the taxi leaves, I start walking. It
takes me 45 minutes to get to my old place. We
moved in when I was 6 or maybe 7. We would
move out in, I think, two years. I’m nervous. It
is after 10 pm and I stand on the street down the
big hill. My main childhood home sits atop with
my whole 1985 family, probably asleep by now.
Tomorrow is Saturday. I wish maybe it was Fri-
day, then I’d have just my mom to talk to. Then
I think maybe it is better to have Dad there too,
she’d be more inclined to talk with Dad there.
Maybe it is better to have 11 year old me there
to compare to? Maybe not. I know where I can
sleep nearby, in a big bush we used as a fort as
kids. It’s bushy and soft and has a nice hollow
inside; I can sleep there until morning.
Chapter 4 “I don’t know, I don’t think we
need to call the cops.”
“Son.... Son. Wake up, son.”
I am jostled awake by an elderly man. “Mr.
Campbell. I remember you, what are you doing
in Chicago Mr. Campbell, I thought you were
dead.”
“Well, I’m not dead, Son, and this isn’t Chicago.”
I look up at Mr. Campbell. He’s been dead for 22
years in 2011. 2011! 1985! I remember my pre-
dicament and sit bolt upright.
“I’m sorry Mr. Campbell... I... know how much
you like your bushes.”
I stammer like the child I was when Mr. Camp-
bell would catch us in the bushes after he came
home from work or at night. I quickly grab my
bag and stand up. I had never stood in those
bushes as an adult and it turns out I’m much
taller at 37. As I stand I see my father looking at
me. He has his hand on my 11 year-old shoul-
der. I look at him. He has more hair, and then
it dawns on me. He was 27 when I was born. I
would have just turned 11, so he’s actually 38,
going to be 39 in December. We are the same
STORIES 27
age. I look at my 11-year old self. I have bushy
red hair and cords on. A striped polo shirt and
reeboks. I have my arms crossed across my chest
and I’m squinting in the sunlight. I’m at a loss
for words. I had hoped I would wake up with
the light, and been able to come up to the house
and knock on the door. Now I look like a hobo,
and an oddly well dressed one, at that.
“He looks like Uncle John,” says 11-year old me.
“I do, I always have.”
As I say this, my father looks right at me and I
can tell from the look on his face that he agrees,
I do look like my mother’s youngest brother,
who is in fact younger than 2011 me in 1985.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’m not ready for this
and there are other people around. Mr. Camp-
bell’s was—is—across the street and two hous-
es down and there are other kids on the street.
That’s why we loved it so much. Four of them
are hanging around my dad: Mike, Abby, Beth,
and Elizabeth. I see Elizabeth’s dad standing on
his porch with a weed trimmer. He is looking at
us all. I really fucked this up. I would have set
the alarm on my phone, but that would require
it be on all night and god knows you can’t keep
a charge over night.
“Uh, sorry folks. I got locked out of my condo.”
I wiggle out of the bushes and gingerly move
towards the old fence behind Mr. Campbell’s
that led behind the large condo buildings that
our old little neighborhood hid behind. I move
through the gap in the fence we used all the
time. My Dad is still looking at me, but not like
I’m about to be confronted by Chris Hansen on
Dateline. I turn to walk, quickly, to the condos
and I can see my mom’s car is gone from the
drive way. She’s out. Where is she?
I turn the corner behind a building to stop
and get out of sight of all my old neighbors
and—you know—myself! I stand there and
my heart is pounding. I hadn’t thought any of
that through and I screwed it up royally be-
fore I even began. Shit, I could just tell my dad
that and he’d understand. Well, my 2011 Dad
would. At 11 I’ve really only screwed up once.
When I was 8 my Dad built this really nice two-
tiered wooden deck on the front of our house.
It covered this ugly simple concrete set of steps

and replaced with this much larger, nicer two-
level deck with stairs and benches. That sum-
mer, I used the deck as a base for my G.I. Joe
toy. I used a permanent Sharpie to mark where
the vehicles and the helicopter should land.
He was supremely pissed. I grin to myself and
laugh. I look up and I see a For Sale sign... Cold-
well Banker, with my mother’s name on it.
She’s showing property. My mother went back
to work soon after my youngest sister turned
4, so about one year ago, 1984. I would need to
call her and see what house she was showing. I
reached for my phone. Of course, there isn’t go-
ing to be a cellular signal. I would need a pay-
phone. Jesus Christ, when was the last time I
used a pay phone on the street? Where was one?
I remembered the Baskin Robbins had one,
right next to the Pantera’s Pizza. I bought a
shake and got some quarters and dialed my
mom’s office number by heart. Still the same in
2011 as it was in 1985. The receptionist informed
me of the time and location of the showing. I
planned to show up when it was over—1pm—
and I would need all that time to walk there.
1926 High School Avenue, my old friend Mark
Bassmen’s house. We had been close friends
until his parents put him in a expensive private
prep school in 6th grade and they moved fur-
ther out into the suburbs of St. Louis County. Je-
sus, this had been my last summer with Mark,
in 1985. When school started I went back to St.
Mary’s and he went to Loyola.
I started walking, if I moved quickly I could get
there by noon. I had an hour and more to plan
how to do this.
Chapter 5 I really wish I had bought a
watch. A watch would be handy right now. As
far as I’m concerned my android power is sa-
cred and who even knows if the clock would
work. I’ve tried to judge the wisdom of turning
it on and fiddling around to see what it says,
versus conserving power. I’ve walked around
the block three times. This time, I stand in front,
across the street. I see the tree-house Mark and
I played in, long gone by now in 2011. I see my
mother start to escort a couple out of the front
door and I make my move. No need to make
myself look any more odd. My dress has always
STORIES 28
been conservative—buttons down, slacks,
etc.—so I don’t look too far removed from the
stereotypical preppy guy; even the Chuck Tay-
lors are around in 1985, but who knows. I have
a messenger bag that is definitely NOT 1985 and
glasses too, but who notices that?
I see my father
“Hello! Welcome to the showing.”
looking at me...
“Yes, good afternoon.”
his hand on
“Come on in, we’ve had a lot of people today,
but it looks like you might be the last. Are you my 11 year-old
alone?” shoulder.
“Yes...”
“Not a problem at all, are you familiar with the
neighborhood?”
“Very; I grew up here. I haven’t been back in
twenty-five years.”
“Well, welcome back then.”
My mother leads me through the house and we
exchange pleasant banter about the house. She
is 34, the exact age of my girlfriend in 2011. She
has had three kids though and I am reminded
of those years when we were young, how she
struggled to lose weight. She looks so young to
me though, but she is still Mom. She is still Me-
lissa, that woman who is my Mom. We come
back down from the second level and look out
from the kitchen into the back yard.
“So that is where Mark and Josh played?”
“Excuse me?”
“Mark Bassmen and his friend, Josh?”
“Um... yes... You know the Bassmens, then?”
“I would say I know then very well...”
“But you look to be my husband’s age and
you’ve not lived here for 25 years? Do you know
Mr. Bassman?”
“Yes, I do.”
My mother is tactful and sharp, she is looking
at me intently. It is nerve-wracking and all too
familiar. In a moment of tension, I default and
whip out my phone. I go to unlock it with a
swipe and she sees it. It is turned off so doesn’t
take my orders. I look at it’s blank screen with
the smudge across the bottom, my desperate at-

tempt to shield my 37 year-old self from my 11-
year old mother’s inquisitorial gaze.
“What is that?”
“This is nothing...” As I realize my slip up, I be-
gin to put it back in my pocket, but them I see
the look on her face, it has softened into interest.
My Mother was always a Sci-fi fan. She gave me
copies of The Martians Chronicles and Rendez-
vous with Rama. We shared that love of Sci-fi all
our lives together. Heinlein, Niven, Dick. She
loved Dan Simmons when I gave her a copy of
Ilium. This could be what I need.
“Actually, it is something straight out of Star
She looks at Trek.”
me, a little “Intriguing...”
afraid. I take “Here take a look.” I power it up. It makes the
Android noise and the screen comes on. I slide
out my wallet to unlock. My girlfriend’s face is the screensaver
and bEGIN to and a without skipping a beat, my mother says,
“She’s cute.” I don’t know what to do, everything
empty it on about this device is 20 years beyond where she
the kitchen lives now. There are icons all over my screen:
Angry Birds, Bubble Blast, MyFitness, Messag-
counter. My ing, Contacts.
ID, my credit “What is this little symbol.. looks like a phone.”
cards... “It is a phone. A camera too, take a look.” I open
up the camera and take a picture of her. I re-
member this very phone has a picture of her
grandchildren, my sister’s kids.
See, I took a picture of you...” I am looking at the
phone, but I see she is finally and rightly ner-
vous. I hope I didn’t push it too far.
“Someday everyone will have one of these...”
She looks at me, a little afraid. I take out my wal-
let and I begin to empty it on the kitchen coun-
ter. My ID, my credit cards, frequent flyer cards,
my Dominick’s cards, my Best Buy Reward
Zone. I lay them all out in front her, with my ID
right in front.
She looks right at it. Then I said what might
have been the perfect thing.
“I’m just as afraid and nervous as you are right
now.”
“Well, I highly doubt that.”
I move around the counter across from her and
I slowly remove my iPod, the USB drive. I begin
to empty my bag, newspapers and magazines I
bought for the train, but also the WIRED I had
from August. The Chicago Reader from earlier
STORIES 29
that week. I have folded up crossword puzzles
I saved from the Chicago Red Eye to do on the
train, all with dates all over them.
“I’m from 2011. I’m Josh Carlisle from 2011; I’m
37 years old. All of this here is what I have and
you can ask me any question you want until
you are satisfied that I am who I say I am.”
Chapter 6 “Oh really...” she says. “This is all
very interesting. Am I supposed to go through
all of this and be convinced of something? You
don’t look like you need money, so I’m at a loss
to uncover what you want form a real estate
agent in the suburbs.”
“I can’t say what I want. As you can imagine
this is a rare situation to say the least. Of course,
I don’t expect you to believe me, not right away.
I don’t have a lot of choices—well, legal choic-
es—and I’ve never been one to dabble in illegal
solutions... you taught me that.”
She looks up at me holding a United Airlines
reward card. “Member since 2009” it says on the
front. It has been sitting in my wallet for years
and is scratched all over. She places it back on
the table and picks up my ID again. 2011 Il-
linois drivers’ licenses have a water mark on
them and she tilts it back a forth.
“This is a lot of trouble to go through and I’m not
sure what reward you are hoping to get.”
“Don’t you even want hear the whole story of
how I traveled through time and got here?”
“Sure...” She reviews everything on the counter
as I tell her about returning home to a home
taken back in time. About becoming a thief and
getting some cash. I talk about taking the train
and reading about 1985 on the way home. I
tell her that I knew that everyone I was friends
with as an adult was a child, that every older
colleague and mentor was now my age and
likely to think me a clown. Who would I
have in a world I’ve been removed from by
26 years of time, something I thought pre-
viously immutable. If my own Mother and Fa-
ther couldn’t look me in the eye and see who
I was, then where was I to begin? Nowhere,
nowhere I’d know about. I would be well and
truly alone. Left adrift in a new old world with
nothing, no identity, no family, no skills or
training I could document, and only and few
hundred dollars. No home, no car and not even
a full change of clothes. All I have is a loose
memory of 26 years yet to play out that would

probably come screaming back at incon-
venient and useless moments.
“I feel like Merlin in The Once and Fu-
ture King. I believe your copy was given
to you by your college English teacher.”
She removes her hands from the coun-
ter, but stops short of taking a step back.
“I can answer lots of questions like that,
questions only I can answer.”
“Which is really where all this is headed
isn’t it? Unless I call the police and have
you arrested.”
“Isn’t that the most likely ending here?
I know you have some faith in things
unseen, but my unwavering practical-
ity comes from you. Time travel is im-
possible, at least highly improbable, and
you’d be foolish to believe it.”
“This is your wallet from 2011?” She says
lifting up my flappy, empty leather wal-
let.
“Yep.”
She removes the money from inside and
starts reading them. “2007. 2009. 1999.
1998. 1981! 1987. 2010. You know, the pa-
pers and cards would be somewhat easy
to make for someone with an agenda,
but this is difficult. Counterfeit money is
hard to make and if you could do it, you
wouldn’t need to con people.”
“A reasonable hypothesis.”
“My 11 year old son... who you claim
to be, said that same thing to me today
when I asked if he was going to put off
doing his homework until Sunday night.
Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be your first child.”
My mother is a woman who is hard as
nails. Perhaps she didn’t expect her 37
year old son to know she had a miscar-
riage before she carried me to term. Per-
haps she didn’t expect her 37 year-old
time traveling son to cut to the bone so
quickly.
“But, the doctors might now that and
I could have talked to them. As part of
my elaborate hoax, right? How about I
tell you when I knew Santa Claus was
you and Dad. Two years ago, and I mean
STORIES 30
1983, you and Dad got me new bike for with whom I hope to establish a form of
Christmas. Dad’s Mom was staying with trust over an impossible scenario. I be-
us for Christmas so I was sleeping on the gin to gather my things. I notice among
air mattress in the girls’ room. The com- them a copy of Heinlein’s Stranger in a
bination of anxiety and unusual sleep- Strange Land and I chuckle to myself. I
ing arrangements meant I was resting am returning items to my wallet when
fitfully as best. You and Dad have al- my mother returns from the dining
ways made Christmas great, laying out room. She hangs up the phone.
the gifts in the living room as if Santa
“My husband is on his way over right
had left them. Well, this year I thought
now. I would like you to go out front so I
I had slept all night. I got out of bed and
can lock up the house. The homeowners,
walked into the Living Room. The only
the Bassmens, will be returning in a few
thing that had been set out was my great
hours.”
new red ten-speed bike. You walked into
the room, saw me and shooed me quick- “What did he say?”
ly out. When I woke up after sleeping the
“He asked if you had a green argyle zip-
night away, finally, I saw the bike and
up sweater and an over-sized purse. Evi-
my brain knew that you and Dad were
dently, you’ve been to our house.”
Santa. I never told the girls.”
“I have, yes. It didn’t quite go as planned.
She looked me in the eye.
I didn’t really have a plan. How do you
“Gather your things, I need to call my plan for this?”
husband. Don’t go anywhere.”
She is calm, but suddenly she looks tired.
She looks at the floor and then to the keys
in her hands. She keeps looking down.
Chapter 7 My mother is on the
phone, in the other room. She has “I guess you don’t... As ridiculous as the
grabbed the big plastic handset we all whole thing sounds, as it is—ridicu-
recognize as obsolete, taken the 12 feet lous—we aren’t going to have you ar-
of pig tail cord with her, and disappeared rested.”
into the dining room. I am left with my
“That’s thoughtful.” We both stand there.
thoughts and my pounding heart. My
I don’t know why we are both so ner-
hands are sweaty. I look down at them
vous. Maybe I do, considering the cir-
and see that there are marks left by my
cumstances, but the feeling, the air be-
fingernails. My glasses are blurry; I reach
tween us is so laden that it is impossible
into my back pocket. Inside is a microfi-
to know what to feel or think. “You have
ber cloth for cleaning glasses. This fabric
nothing more to ask me?”
doesn’t even exist, probably. As I clean
my glasses I think about how I am just “No... not now, at least. I prefer to hear
so unsure about everything. I remember what Bill thinks. He definitely wants a
so much from my childhood, but when word with you either way.”
did that all happen? If I tell my parents
“Ever the skeptic.” She catches herself
things I recall, have they even happened
snickering in agreement then peers up
yet? Events from when I was 12 blur to-
at me from her lowered brow. Her smirk
gether with events from when I was 8. I
vanishes.
even joke with friends that all my stories
from childhood seem to have happened
when I was 8. The dichotomy is palpable;
being from the future but feeling lost in
a time when I should be able to predict
events.
My mother raises her voice, but I can-
not hear what she is saying. It would be
wrong to eavesdrop and most likely not
a wise PR move with a young woman

“I’ll wait out front by the tree growing
around the bricks,” I offer.
“Don’t try too hard or we’ll think you’re
over-doing it.”
I walk out the front door past the tree
growing over the bricks used to fill up a
hole decades ago. I look at my mother’s
car, a green Chevy Caprice Classic station
wagon with fake wood panel decals.
Wow. This old beater has been gone for
years and years. We drove this thing to
South Dakota, Florida, Philadelphia, and
even Connecticut. My dad and I lined
the back with tarps and filled it with fire-
wood and mulch so many, many times.
Later, I drove it to high school for two
years. I drove high school friends around
in it. I would almost lose my virginity in
it in 9 years... almost.
I touch it, run my hands up the hood and
start to look inside. I hear a car coming
down the street and I look up to see my
dad’s green Datsun hatchback. I would
total that very same car when I was 17.
My girlfriend lived 40 minutes away
and she gave me my first head on week-
end nights as I drove her back home.
Shit, that girl is 9 right now.
He pulls up and parks behind my mom’s
car and I take a step back. He shuts it
down and gets out. My mother is locking
the door. I take a step forward as he closes
the door and he turns to look at me. He’s...
guarded. My father is a genial and fun-
loving man. All of my friends, for years,
have loved my father. He loves people,
animals, and kids, especially kids. He is,
however, an immovable object of bald
silence. He is not easily swayed.
I stop and nervously grab my shoulders
strap, I try to look confident but non-
threatening. I have no idea if I am suc-
ceeding.
My mother walks over. “Hello Dear, did
you leave Josh in charge?”
“Yes, but he expects you to be right
home.”
“I would think so.” She turns to me. “You
sir, I hope to see you soon.” She looks
over her shoulder at my father. “Back at
the house perhaps.” She says with final-
ity, this was clearly her preferred choice
of the non-negotiable options she gave
STORIES 31
my father.
She gets in her car, turns the ignition,
and buckles her safety belt. She waves at
me and smiles. I wave back absentmind-
edly.
She pulls away.
It is around 2pm on Saturday
9/21/1985.
“Shall we go for a drive?” my father
suggests politely.
I move towards the passenger side
and stop in front of the car.
“Where are we going?” I ask, re-
membering the tenuous nature of
my situation.
“Not far,” he says as he opens the door
to get in the car.
Chapter 8 My father’s bald head
disappears into the car. I see the car settle
as he gets in and the I see his hand reach “I guess not. Mom says that Mark and his
over and unlock the passenger door. family will be back soon.”
Manual locks. “Don’t call her that.”
I move and open the door. I lean over “Yeah, I’m not sure what point in the
and look in. He is looking at me. He’s... process of believing the impossible you
waiting. He’s waiting for me to get in. guys are at, but I know she’s my mother,
so... I’ll do my best.” I don’t think I can
“So... where are we going? I don’t think
push my luck.
it’s too... inappropriate of me to ask.”
We drive around the corner, take another
“We aren’t going far.” He continues to
left and then another. We haven’t driven
stare, then he shakes his head impatient-
50 yards before we turn into Tilles Park.
ly. “It’s broad daylight and we are going
somewhere public and visible.” “The Park?”
I grin, “Thanks.” I stand up and let out a “Has it changed much in 2011?”
small sigh of relief. “I mean, I did wake
“Not really, they still do the Christmas
up in the neighbor’s bushes. You’ve got
lights but there is a nice modern jungle
three kids to protect,” I say as I get in the
gym and water fountain somewhere
car.
over there where those swings are now.”
“Listen—” he says. He throws his right I point. He grunts in the general direc-
arm over the seat back to turn to me; I tion.
flinch. “I can’t say that I don’t recognize
We drive down a slope and around a few
you. When Josh said something this
curves and come to a rest in a two car
morning it crossed my mind that you
parking spot in front of a picnic bench, in
looked like my son. I didn’t think any-
the high back part of the park. We park
more of it until Melissa called.” He looks
and he gets out. I get out, too. I take my
me in the eye for a brief moment, he tilts
bag.
his head from side to side. He squints.
“So, what is it you think you can get
“But we can’t stay here to talk, can we?”
out my family? Money—do you need
he says, as he removes his arm to turn
money?”
the ignition.

“No, it’s not that—really. Listen, I can tell you
the whole story just like I told Mom—er—Me-
lissa.”
We are both moving towards the table instinc-
tively, but he stops. He puts his hand up and
lowers his head, shaking it. “No, I don’t want to
hear all of that. How you came back from the
future and what-not; Melissa and I took Josh
and Megan to see Back to the Future just a few
months ago. I don’t want to hear about some
flux-capacitor bullshit and, frankly, it’s just... just
crap! What’s the word?” He places his hand on
his hip and searches the air for the word with
the other, he begins to pace. “Your mother is bet-
ter with the words...”
I jump on that, “My mother? I thought we
weren’t saying...”
“Hey, yeah, so you look just like my son, you got
the same hair and the eyes and, yeah, she is ner-
vous that she believes what you’re saying, but
I don’t have that luxury, do I? So what do you
want?” He just looks at me. He makes his hand
into an open palm and holds it up as if to say,
“what the fuck else am I supposed to do?”
“Advice!” I blurt out.
He’s non-plussed. I realize that that is the truth.
“As far as I know, I am stuck here. Here in a
place I barely remember. I guess it isn’t so bad,
I mean—I survived it once as a 11 year old but
not without help.”
I begin pacing. “I don’t have anything and I’m
not talking about money or clothes or food. I’m
talking about an identity, I don’t have a valid
1985 driver’s license. I don’t have basic things
that allow a person to make their life in this
world, you know?” I look at him and my arms
are out like I’m begging. “I don’t have... an em-
ployment history... to get a job with. I have a
Bachelor’s Degree... IN 1996! There’s no tran-
script of that. As far as I know I am stuck here
in 1985, not able to get back to 2011 with my
girlfriend, and you and Mom in your sixties.
So, I thought the only people who might—
MIGHT—believe me would be my parents!”
“Well, I’m not sure that I can do that,” he says,
arms crossed.
“Then why did you bring me here?” I yell. His
eyes register a moment of concern. “If you can’t
believe me, then why did you bring me specifi-
cally to this spot. I know this spot, here in the
park.” I am accusing him now. My finger points
past his shoulder towards the edge of the park,
into some trees.
STORIES 32
“Right there! Right over there!” I stride past him
pointing, shouting over my shoulder.
“Here,” I stop and stand in front a group of three
trees. They are growing in what always looked
like a perfect equilateral triangle. They are 6 feet
apart. I turn to face him and point down in front
of me looking right into his eyes. “This is where
we buried him. He is right here, under three feet
of earth, and we did it together and only you
and I know about it. It’s still fresh in your mind
because it happened, what... like two years ago
now?”
He’s stopped right in his tracks, 5 feet in front of
me. This was the thing, the thing only I would
know and he can’t believe it.
“Look, I even keep it with me—the tag. The dog
tags, they’re here in my messenger bag.” I franti-
cally whip around my bag. “I keep it in a velcro
pocket with a few odds and ends.” I am opening
flaps and zippers and I rip open a velcro pock-
et. Did they have velcro yet? Sure they did...? I
reach in and bring out a simple nickel key ring,
the kind that doubles back on itself. It has two
dog identification tags on it.
“After Midnight was put down, you and I bur-
ied him right here. Then Mallory wanted a new
dog, so you guys got—”
“Doug...” he whispers, astonished.
“Yeah...” I look down at the key ring and take
two steps forward to hold up the two tags in
front of his face.
,----------------------------+
/ –“Midnight”– |
\ Owner: Rick Carlisle |
`----------------------------+
,-----------------------------+
/ –“Doug”– |
\ Owner: Josh Carlisle |
`----------------------------+
“—Doug... he died in 1997.”
My father takes the ring and looks down at it.
He looks up at me. No tears, no trembling, but
his steeliness is gone.
“Josh...?”
Story continued on
/r/1985sweet1985…
 STORIES 33

FREEYEARSOLD
permalink submitted by catsfive

can remember the exact exact moment explained, pointing to the cute new kid. “It earned

I
I realized that people are fucked and him a cookie, too!”
that I was going to have a relatively
“Is that so?” her husband replied. “Well, let’s
weird time on this planet. I remem-
see if this other young man knows how old he is!”
ber playing in this playground, swinging on the
And, quick as a wink, without knowing that I’d al-
swings, hanging from the jungle gym, etc., basical-
ready been asked, the old man turned to me and
ly normal stuff. This little old lady sits down on a
said, “And how old are you, little boy?”
bench and bends over, putting her hands between
her knees (you know that pose), leans waaay This was the moment. This was when it all hap-
down, and calls out to me. So I go over. pened. I stole a look at the little old lady, then,
turning to the old man, I scrunched three of my
“So, how old are you, young man?” she asks me,
fingers high into the air and said, as much like a
condescendingly.
baby as I possibly could, “I’m free yers old!”
“I’m three years old,” I replied. “I live across the
“Well, mum!” the old man exclaimed, turning
street over there.”
to his old wife. “I think this little fella deserves a
The lady seemed really unimpressed or even cookie, too!”
disappointed with my answer. What’d I do wrong,
And with that, I turned again to the little old
I wondered? Then another little kid joins us (prob-
lady and, taking a small but extremely deliber-
ably sensing candy--in those days, the chances
ate step forward, I held out my hand. Our eyes re-
of an elderly old lady at the playground having
mained locked as I watched her reach slowly into
candy was pretty high). The little old lady turns
her purse for the wax paper.
to the new kid and with the same pose, asks the
same condescending question. “So, how old are “Why, goodness me!” the little old lady ex-
you, young man?” claimed. “All’s I’ve got is crumbs now. But here
you go, little precious. Make do with that.”
The little kid throws three of his pink little
sapling fingers into the air and as cute as can be, And she handed me a broken, crumbly third of
shouts, “I’m free!” a peanut butter cookie. I clearly and distinctly re-
member seeing just a hint of a sneer on her face, as
The little old lady throws back, laughing. Bingo,
she knew that she’d been had by a three year-old.
I could see that she got exactly what she wanted.
I remember exactly how I felt. So this is how it’s
“Why, aren’t you just adorable!” going to be, I thought.

She reached into her purse and, from some wax
paper, handed the precocious little tyke a home-
made cookie.
The little old lady’s elderly husband joins us. He
walked with a cane, so he had just arrived. “This
little boy knows how old he is,” the little old lady
“And what does a polite little boy say, young
man?” her husband asked.
I looked up at the little old lady.
“Thank you very much for the cookie,” I said.
And that’s when I was three.
 STORIES 34

permalink submitted by kitsune623

ummers in Los Angeles were notoriously hot. didn’t think that was fair seeing as I wasn’t really that
S It’s the desert, you know, people don’t real-
ize that behind the glitz and glamour of the
different from the others. But you can understand my
reticence whenever the ice cream man came by. After
Hollywood elite there is just bone dry sand and dust all, what seven year old wouldn’t laugh at the little fat
settling under the paved roads and suburban parks. kid pumping his sausage legs towards his daily dose of
People think that L.A is a superficial city, with no depth sugar?
behind its artificial glimmer, but the truth is so much
When I think about it now, I can’t help but won-
worse. I know this now, in part because of the events I
der what would have happened if I was born a little
am about to unfold to you all.
thinner, or perhaps had a little thicker skin. If I didn’t
The year was 1989, the month was June. I was seven always hang back, waiting until the others had col-
years old and fresh out of school, ready to take on three lected their treats before ashamedly stepping up and
months of uninterrupted decadence and bliss. In those pushing a dollar into the old man’s hand. But of course,
days the streets were still considered safe and us kids ruminating on such matters is useless. I can only relate
would take to them by storm, assaulting the parks and what happened.
parking lots with unprecedented vigor. We’d start the
day right, playing baseball or four-square with bound-
less energy, and then idle down to lazy games of Horse
or hide-and-seek as the sun bobbed its head and dipped
beneath the Pacific. Of course, we always took a break
when the ice cream man came by.
the ice cream man
The ice cream man. Oh how I can still remember his
would turn lazily down
jingle. That sweet crescendo of notes lighting upon our our neighborhood and
delighted ears, and the subsequent scramble to his din-
ky white truck for chocolate éclairs and Mickey Mouse
herald that yes, today
bars. As kids we barely paid attention to the man him- was another hot, sticky,
self, so fixated we were on the sugary treats, but I recall
he was an older gentleman, always quick to flash us
glorious summer day.
a smile though not overly friendly either. It didn’t
matter – inhaling gobs of gooey treats was all we
SOURCE
ever cared about when he came by. Every day at 1
PM, as reliable as a clock tower, the ice cream man
would turn lazily down our neighborhood and
herald that yes, today was another hot, sticky, glo-
rious summer day.

Our band of miscreants fluctuated day by day,

though there were a few constants. Jenny, our
leader, was a big girl for her age and therefore by
default a giant in our midst. She was a bully but
she looked out for all of us in her own weird way.
Artie, the Jewish kid. His dad worked for some-
one who worked for someone important and
he liked to tell us that in his snot-nosed uppity
voice. Laike, who I secretly thought wasn’t so
bad, for a girl. Mike, John, a couple of others. Me.
I was the chubby one, the one whom the others
liked to rag on. Ever since I could remember I
was softer than the others, rounder somehow. I

SOURCE
On a particularly hot day that June, I was
walking home from the playground with Laike and
John. We were chatting about something or other, al-
ternating between distractedly switching topics and
running around, as kids are apt to do. We were turn-
ing the corner when we saw it. The ice cream truck,
parked in the shadow of a copse of palm trees. We
skidded to a halt like three little pigs, jaws agape. Im-
mediately Laike shrieked “Ice cream!” and took off for
the truck. John and I hung back, both puzzled – the
ice cream man usually came to us; it was strange to
come across his truck like this. We watched Laike as
she approached, stalking the truck like a puppy after
a dragonfly. She peered up and got a disgruntled look
on her face. Turning back, she shook her head. “Nah,
no one’s there,” she called. We shrugged and resumed
walking, immediately losing interest. Laike skipped
ahead while John and I argued over the logistics of a
battle between Optimus Prime and Shredder. We had
nearly completed the block when Laike glanced back
and waved.
It wasn’t at us.
The ice cream truck had come to life. It inched for-
ward slowly, impeccably down the street towards us.
Laike made to run back but something in me made me
stick my hand out at her. I shook my head silently.
“Whaaat?” Laike pouted.
“Listen.” We did. Like a heavy miasma, the air hung
thick and absent of the jingle. “He’s probably not open,”
I said. Laike shrugged in acquiesce and we resumed
STORIES 35
walking. The truck’s low rumble creeped up behind
us. Maybe we all sensed it, but none of us felt like
talking. It was like something descended down the
three of us, smothering our carefree play. We walked
in uncharacteristic silence, ears straining to hear the
truck. Its motor was rapidly growing loudly, a rum-
bling beast stalking its prey. I dared not look back but
instead quickened my pace. Laike and John didn’t
protest but followed suit. The truck approached,
steadfast and implacable. There were no chimes.
Where were the chimes?
I finally looked back. The truck was idling again
in front of another house. This time I looked careful-
ly at its exterior, the scratched white paint, the col-
orful images of creamsicles and sundaes adorning
the surface. I could see pits in the pictures, where
the plastered on images eroded away. It wasn’t the
usual truck, the one the old man drove. This one
had an eye on it, carved sloppily into the steel. The
eye was wide and bare and there was a black hole
right where the pupil should be. Inside that hole
there was only darkness. I tried to peer inside through
another means but the windows were tinted black.
Were they always that dark? I craned my neck, trying
to see who the driver was.
Then the truck roared to life. The three of us startled
and jumped back as it whizzed by us, tearing down the
street at a frightening speed. I know what I saw then,
though the other two denied it. But the side window
wasn’t tinted, and the driver inside wasn’t that friendly
old man. He looked heavyset, and dressed in a colorful
motley. I wiped my eyes from the exhaust and looked
at my friends. The three of us stared at each other for
a moment, and then dissolved into hysterics. The mo-
ment had passed, whatever it was, and we could re-
sume our journey home safely.
Evening came all too quick, and our games took on
a frantic pace as we tried to squeeze every last drop of
that summer glow from the day. Laike, John, and a
whole bunch of us were gathered at the park by Laike’s
house, where the parents could keep an eye on us. We
could see them in the distance, stalwart figures keeping
keen eyes on their progeny. To us though, they were
the timekeepers, all too ready and eager to set into mo-
tion and drag us from our idyllic bliss. The day’s events
had long since passed from my mind, and we were
engaged in a deadly game of dodgeball. I hooked the
ball to Laike, and then laughed as it bounced from her
hands. “Butterfingers!” I crowed, thankful that it wasn’t
me this time who messed up the game. But Laike didn’t
care. Her eyes were only for the ice cream truck that
had suddenly appeared in the distance.

‘Look!” she point-
ed. Heads whipped
around in a frenzy.
“Ice cream!” one
boy shouted.
“He came! He
came!” shrieked a
girl, oblivious to the
fact that yes, the ice
cream man always
came. But usually he
came earlier, when the
sun reached its zenith
and customers were
piling up. He never
came this hour, when
the light hit the trees at
that angle where the world burned. We didn’t care.
We knew what the truck meant. As usual I hung back
and watched my thinner, faster peers flock the truck. I
could see parents moving forward too, as oblivious to
this anomaly as the rest of us. I slowly walked up to the
truck, then froze in my tracks.
It was the same truck as before. That eye peered out
in the midst of the plastered images and this time I
could see that there was a second eye next to it. How
did I miss it before? And those images below, those
weren’t pictures of ice cream. What I thought were
chocolate bars were holes. The vanilla cakes were the
color of bone and adorned a broken smile, which was
lapped with rich ruby red. Nestled in the midst of the
colorful treats was a horror to look at – a wide, grinning
skull with bleeding lips turned up in a rictus. Nobody
could see it but me.
The children paid and were hastily unwrapping
their bars. Looking back, I think I knew even then what
was about to happen. In my imagination I surged
forward, slapped hands away from the ice cream,
screamed loud and long. But instead I just waited, and
watched.
The first girl bit into her bar. She chewed with bliss,
and then her eyes popped wide. I watched her little
body go stiff, and her breathing increase. I watched her
chest rise and fall, rise and fall, spasming as she dou-
bled over choking. By then the others were choking
too, each fed their own special poison, handpicked by
the ice cream man. It didn’t take long. By the time the
last one started choking, the first girl was frothing on
the ground, feebly batting away the bubbles from her
mouth. Parents were screaming, rushing by me. One
STORIES 36
SOURCE
knocked me to the ground
and I felt my head hit the
grassed. I closed my eyes,
wondering if this is what
my friends were feeling.
There was a roar of the
engine, and then more
screaming. I propped
myself up, ignoring the
writhing figures about,
and watched the ice
cream truck drive away.
In the end, eleven
children died that day.
I was supposed to be
number twelve, but I
was chubby for my age, reluctant to join
my friends in their frenzy, always hanging back and
always watching. They never caught the guy, you
know. Some of you might wonder who he was, or why
he did what he did. It really doesn’t matter to me. As
he was back then, he remains an irreconcilable force,
something that should not have been there on that
summer day, yet was so very much there. You might
think there is no depth to this city, but you are wrong.
It’s only that beneath the surface of it all there is but
howling, black, purposeless madness.
Twenty one years later, my life remains defined by
that day. The media loves me, so do the psychologists.
I let them drink their fill. I smile and nod and tell them
sure, maybe someday I’ll write a book, though first I
thought to share my story with all you good people.
Life seems dull somehow, fogged by a gray I cannot
shake. My mom tells me I should meet a nice wom-
an, but all I can remember is that little girl’s spasming
body. Was it Laike who I watched in her final mo-
ments, or someone else? I really can’t recall any of their
faces now, and that’s the saddest part.
Laike, John, Jenny, everyone. I’m sorry I couldn’t
take the plunge with you all. I’m sorry I was so scared,
so self-conscious of my fat little body. I know he’s still
out there, watching and waiting for his next move. I
hope he knows he forgot to serve one kid. Lately I’ve
been taking long walks by myself, hoping to turn that
corner and find waiting for me my redemption, that
little bit of peace that can only come from someone as
beloved as the ice cream man.
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 PICS 46

A happy fellow submitted by notincalifornia permalink

 PICS 47

Attempt at photo realism submitted by oettinger permalink

 PICS 48

SFX Makeup Removal

permalink submitted by fatjesus
 PICS 49

bowser
permalink submitted by crazyoldmanwalsh
 PICS 50

The
Burden of Lies
permalink submitted by johanpotma
 PICS 51

permalink
Put out the moon
submitted by dustingalaces
 PICS 52

my dad, pro skater

permalink submitted by pipeylongcoughings
 PICS 53
Dress for the
Job You Want
permalink submitted by SalMinella
 PICS 54

permalink

Octopus man painting by Cortney Norton

 PICS 55

water dragon
permalink submitted by zthrx
 PICS 56

hot air balloon

permalink submitted by captain_kittenface
 PICS 57

my HALLOWEEN
permalink submitted by burstaneurysm
 PICS 58

permalink
hard times submitted by blackcatphotos
 PICS 59

mist
permalink submitted by rinc
 PICS 60

The Majesties of the Universe

permalink painting by Julia Senecal
 PICS 61

Angry
Leonardo
permalink

submitted by moyado
 PICS 62

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permalink submitted by cirocco
 PICS 63

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permalink submitted by tricky_titties
 PICS 64

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permalink submitted by blackcatphotos
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r/ENHANCEMENT
What is RES?
Reddit Enhancement Suite is a browser add-on that enhances the Reddit interface, and adds a great deal of function-
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the ASKREDDIT
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STORIES JAN ‘12
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For the second month in a row, we have
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Another great feature in this issue’s Com-
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third annual Secret Santa. We sat down
with project founder Dan McComas [kick-
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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MANAGING EDITOR DESIGN & LAYOUT Guest artistS

Ryan Laing [killtheredditor] Blair Drager [ohblair] Jack Howard [swampgum] Rotten Riddlers
Los Angeles, CA New York, NY Victoria, Australia Essex, England
 I N T H I S I SS U E

/askreddit
21 05 MISCONCEPTION
MISCONCEPTION 07 TABOO
08 STRANGE GAMES
05 09 CALLED OFF AT THE ALTAR

/ama
16 13 HACKER
16 LIFE IN THE DARK
LIFE IN 18 ANOTHER TIME

THE DARK AMA

21 LOUIS C.K.

LOUIS
/stories
27 NO WAY HOME

C.K.
34 THE GAME
36 MY FRIEND JOHN

/pics

27 39 COOL GUY
40 LOOKING FORWARD
41 FLOWER FIELDS
41 FLY THROUGH REVERSE LENS
42 BREAKING BATMAN
43 GRANDFATHER AT WEDDING
44 HDR NYC
45 COLORFUL VISAGE

34 46 THEY LIVE
47 HERMIT CRAB IN A JAR
48 OLD GEM
48 HDTV HELICOPTER
49 FOLDED PAGES
50 BELIEVE ME
51 THE WRITER
52 AT THE BEACH

[ No sleep ] 53 WISH YOU WERE HERE

THE 50 54 SHARPIE ELEPHANT

55 FEATHERS

GAME
56 HDR CHRISTMAS

BELieVE ME /SECRETSANTA
 ASKREDDIT 5

MISCONCEPTION
What facts do you know are true,
but almost everyone else is wrong about?

Chairboy

You should not hold your head backwards when you

are having a nosebleed. Tilt it forwards and hold just
above the bridge of your nose. ACHollywood

Lemmings do not commit mass suicides. In 1958,

a Disney nature documentary called “White
Wilderness” included scenes of lemmings leaping
off cliffs and falling to their doom. These scenes were
actually faked and the film crew flung the rodents off
the rocks using a turntable. Jessicaexperience

Diamonds can in fact be shattered with a hammer.

halfblood_stud

Tires have nothing to do with a car’s safety during

a lightning storm; the metal frame will conduct the
electricity around you. keyes777

Congress didn’t classify pizza as a vegetable.

DarnTheseSocks

Hair does not grow back faster or thicker after it has

been shaved. Naphthos

“Frankenstein” is the name of the scientist, not the Darth Vader is almost
monster. vishalpatel
always quoted saying,
Most nuts... aren’t nuts. Almonds, Brazil nuts, “Luke, I am your father”
cashews, macadamias, peanuts, pecans, pine nuts,
pistachios and walnuts are all technically not really
when really it’s,
nuts. Peanuts are a legume (a bean). Pistachios are “No, I am your father.”
drupes (a fruit) – you eat the seed. HarrisonSchmitt InternetInSpanish

Walt Disney was not cryogenically frozen. Leafschris

 ASKREDDIT 6

Many people believe daddy longlegs are the most

poisonous spiders in the world, with fangs too
small to do any damage. This is false. Therejectethan

Undercover officers are not required to show their

badge upon request. TargetTango

A lot of people think that we only landed on the

moon once, when in fact there were several missions
and a total of 12 people walked the moon’s surface.
hallhallhall

Doyle’s Sherlock never said, “Elementary my Dear

Watson...” He did say, “My Dear Watson,” and
then later in the paragraph he said, “Elementary.”
Wairusbot

It is not impossible to lick your elbow. FhRuth

If you cut an earthworm in half, the half without the

brain dies. If you cut it lengthwise, so as to split up the
brain, both halves die. Workpuppy

You actually can rip off the tags from your pillows and Macs can get
mattress. The law only applies to sellers/stockers of
said items, intended to demonstrate to the consumer
viruses.
exactly what is inside for health and safety reasons. BulgingDisk
TemporaryImaginary
 ASKREDDIT 7

What was “normal”

when you were a kid,
that is taboo,
banned,
or shunned now?
Captshady

Actually knowing friend’s phone numbers by heart.

ThePeoplesBear
MTV
playing
music
Going out to play knowing that I just needed to be back
home by the time the street lights came on. Parents
knew I was somewhere in the neighborhood. takclaw
videos.
Taking a butter knife to school to finish putting my cfenton23
sandwich together without having the SWAT team
called. Whoa_throwaway

Swearing in kids’ movies. mak10z

Getting to see the cockpit of a plane. Dogmaster

Getting dirty while doing any fun childhood thing. Getting reprimanded by adults that weren’t your
If I see another parent cover their child in Purell I’m parents or your relatives. griffith12
going to lose it. Do you understand what an immune
system is and how it gets stronger?! shewearsbeads Spanking. isaidneveragain

Being served real food in economy, even on short Elementary school kids would wait at the bus stop
domestic flights. Beanlord with no parents there to supervise. deletetables

Playing outside, climbing trees, and generally The Black ranger was African American and the
wandering far and wide on estates. Origami_mouse Yellow ranger was Asian. arontx

My father called them “Road Beers.” phineasgage1848
Getting to the airport fifteen minutes before your flight
- no security lines or strange restrictions on what you
could bring. tick_tock_clock
We walked or rode our bikes two miles to school as
soon as we knew our own way. I never see kids riding
bikes anymore. AuDBallBag
Being able to run around on the playground with your
‘pretend gun’ (aka your thumb/finger) and ‘shoot’ your
fellow classmates. rushaz

Wood and steel playgrounds. HandyCore

Kids didn’t wear helmets and protective gear for riding

bikes or skateboards. jazum

This all makes me sad for the future of humanity.

Smoking on airplanes. iamagainstit
Along with steak knives
provided with a meal.
 ASKREDDIT 8

What
STRANGE GAMES
do you play in your head?
Neurotikitty

My dad will look for people taking photos and try to get into the background of as many as
possible. When he told me about it, I started doing it myself. It’s fun to try to do it without being
noticed. Neurotikitty

I try to memorize the license plate numbers and wardrobes of suspicious looking people in case I
have to act as a witness to some sort of spontaneous criminal act. gal9000

I pick out a dirt speck or the car antenna or something when I’m a passenger and imagine it is a
razor laser that chops through anything along the roadside it touches. Effingeenyus

I love the rain race on windows. I think of other

droplets as the crowd and we cheer together.
I need a life. Semen-Thrower
While riding in a car on a long stretch of highway, stare
out the window at the dashed road lines as they
pass you by. Start paying attention to whatever
song is playing, and you will begin to develop
awareness of synchronicity between the
patterns on the road and the beat of your
music. You’ll snap out of it minutes later.
nasu_moon_commander

I imagine violent situations in my head.

For instance, “What would I do if the
person in front of me randomly pulled a
gun out and started shooting people?” I
like to think that I would try to be a hero
in that situation... DPace17

I watch people and make up stories

about them. I generally try to make them
as ridiculous as possible. Twustwervy

When walking on campus, I like to

pretend that I’m really a spy looking for
something or someone. I make comments
in my head on what it’s like pretending
to be a college student and the struggles of
finding a single person or thing in such a large city. [DELETED]

Whenever I see someone with the same car as me driving in the

opposite direction, I like to pretend that it’s me from the future.
Goodgodlemon

Have you ever been to a wedding that was
CALLED OFF
at the altar?
All of the bride’s friends (including
myself), her parents, and anyone else
with half a brain had been telling
her to get rid of him all along, and
to definitely not marry him. We’d
given up by the time of her wedding
and I was trying to be happy for her.
Instead of saying, “I do,” she just
looked around the room and ran
back down the aisle. We were all
dumbfounded, except for her father
who yelled a variation of what we
were all thinking, “Thank you, Jesus
Christ!” SFbaimei
I attended a wedding where the
groom, when asked to say “I do,”
passed out straight away, falling
down a small flight of stairs. A few
seconds later, after coming to, he had
a look of panic in his eyes and ran out
of the building.
Pootywang
“The groom, when asked to say
“I do,” passed out straight away,
falling down a small flight of stairs...”
Five minutes go by and someone
goes out after him. Then ten minutes.
Then twenty minutes. Several people
have left now to see what’s going on,
some people are wondering if he’ll
come back at all.
He finally re-entered the church,
with only his mostly open tuxedo
jacket on and his bare, hairy chest
showing.
He looked pale as a ghost. He
apologized for being “too hot” and
slowly walked up to the altar, bare
chest showing and the ceremony
resumed, chest hair and all. They
actually did get married. flat5
ASKREDDIT 9
When my grandfather was a teenager,
he was with his family at wedding.
When the preacher said the whole,
“If there’s anyone present who has
a reason this couple should not be
joined in holy matrimony, speak now
or forever hold your peace” bit, the
father of the bride stood up and said,
“I do,” at which point he, the bride, the
groom, and the preacher left to have
a private discussion. They came back
about ten minutes later and called
the wedding off. My grandfather and
I used to enjoy hypothesizing about
what the father of the bride could
have said. RadagastTheTurtle

My dad’s cousin got married some
18 years ago, and at the reception,
the bride stabbed the groom in the
gut with the wedding cake knife.
Somehow they’re still married.
kiasuten
My own wedding was called off
mid-ceremony. I had just finished
saying my own vows before being
arrested by local police on an assault/
domestic violence charge. (I had
beaten up my almost brother-in-law
for stealing my car). Police didn’t care
what happened. I was carried out in
handcuffs in front of all of my family.
HollaPeno
The groom cuts a piece of cake to feed
it to bride and to be funny, shoves
it in her face. The bride stats crying
and screaming, then throws cake at
groom. The father of the bride comes
over and punches groom in the face.
They filed for divorce the next day.
McLovin03
Immediately after the classic “is
there anyone present with a reason
blah blah”, a massive storm suddenly
broke out with thunder and lightning.
Both families were very Christian, so
it took the priest a good 10 minutes
to reassure everyone that it was only
bad weather, and God wasn’t angry.
OldClockMan
A couple of co-workers got married
on a Saturday. At the reception,
ASKREDDIT 10
with at least a few drinks in him, the
husband told his wife, “You know you
weren’t my first choice.” On Monday
morning, we found our wedding gifts
on our desks. wufoo2
When it got to the part where the
vicar asks “Do you take this woman
to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
The groom looked round, shrugged
and said “suppose so.” Apparently,
the father of the bride punched him
later that evening. Zing_of_the_Day
LIFE
PRO
TIPS

Eating slower can help you lose

weight and help digestion. Not
many people realize that you have
a dominant side for chewing;
switching to the non-dominant
side can be tough, but will greatly
reduce the speed of eating.
 AMA 13

I was a

From 2001 to I got my start selling fake IDs at college. I

dropped out because I hated school and was
I was caught in December 2004. I had gone to
a Best Buy with aforementioned associate to
2004 I was a making too much money to waste my time buy a laptop. The manager figured out some-

“professional” otherwise, as I saw it. I moved on to credit cards,

encoding existing cards with stolen data and
thing was up. Had I been alone I would have
talked my way out, but my “friend” wasn’t a
identity thief ordering stuff online. By the end I was printing good conman / social engineer like I was. He

specializing my own credit cards and using them at retail

stores to buy laptops, gift cards, etc - which I re-
was sweating, shifting around, generally doing
everything you shouldn’t do in that situation.
in credit card sold on eBay. Eventually the manager walked to the front of

fraud... While selling fake IDs, I had a small network

the store with the fake credit card and ID, leav-
ing us behind. We booked it. The police ended
of resellers, at my school and others. When I
up running his photo on the cable news net-
DriverDan moved to credit card fraud one of my resellers
work, someone turned him in, and he turned
took over my ID business. Later he worked for /
me in.
with me buying stuff with my fake credit cards,
splitting profits on what he bought 50/50. After getting caught, I worked with the secret
service for two years. I was the biggest bust they
I did a lot of other related stuff too. I hacked a
had seen in western New York and wanted to
number of sites for their credit card databases. I
do an operation investigating the online un-
sold fake IDs and credit cards online. I was very
derground. They knew almost nothing. I taught
active in carding / fraud forums. I was research-
them how the online underground economy
ing ATM skimming and had purchased an ATM
worked, techniques to investigate / track / find
skimmer, but never got the chance to use it.
targets, “hacker” terminology, etc.

IMAGE: nmalaguti

Where did you start “learning how to hack?”
I started back in the BBS / AOL / slow ISP dialup
days. Played with some of the AOL “hacking”
tools like AOHell. This resulted in getting my
real account banned and my parents canceling
it, so I started signing up for accounts using fake
bank accounts and credit card numbers. Since
the numbers were fake, AOL was the only vic-
tim.
I was into programming too. In high school I
got into the “cheats” community on IRC. Not
game cheats, advertising cheating. We’d write
programs to make money from all the “get paid
to” sites and services. Finding vulnerabilities
was part of it.
As others told you, it’s about learning, curios-
ity, and a mindset. I still have a hacker mindset,
so to speak. When I was carding, I would call it
a carder mindset. I looked for weaknesses and
ways to exploit everything. Online, in stores, in
advertising, etc.
How did you get started selling fake ID’s in the
first place?
In college (computer engineering major) I
needed money. I knew there’d be a market for
fake IDs. I bought the equipment with a cash
advance off my credit card, and paid it off a
month later with my profits.
Except the time you got caught, were you
ever close?
Oh yeah, I was close to being caught a few
times involving call for authorization (CFA).
This is when the store has to call the merchant
and verify additional info to make sure it’s not a
stolen card. This is a bad situation to be in.
I was good at talking my way out or setting up
the situation for failure beforehand. I would say
It’s about something to plant a seed of doubt such as,”Oh
learning, wow, this costs more than I expected, I hope I
have enough money left on my card.” That way
curiosity, and when it was declined or flagged for CFA I could
a mindset... get away.
I looked for Once I was at a Best Buy trying to buy a laptop.
It came up CFA and I wasn’t able to talk my way
weaknesses and out. This is a situation where you have to be
ways to exploit good at the con or you get caught. I kept my cool
and let them do it. After about ten minutes on
everything. the phone she handed the card and ID back to
AMA 14
me. She told me they were unable to process the
transaction because none of my info matched. I
acted surprised and angry and questioned what
she meant. They had told her my name was not
the one on the card. I argued a little more and
then left. I still can’t believe they let me walk
out. I should have been arrested that day.
What was working for the secret service like?
Were they interested in what you were teach-
ing or did they still view you as a criminal?
All of my encounters with law enforcement
were positive. They were very respectful and
professional. I’m sure being a well-spoken
white guy helped (unfortunately not sarcasm).
Secret service agents really are some of the best
of the best. These guys live and breathe what
they do. They go through an intense screening
process and train continuously. The agents I
worked with truly wanted to learn what I had
to teach. Some were better at tech stuff than oth-
ers but they all wanted to learn.
Make no mistake, we all knew my place. They
monitored everything I did with screen and
key capturing software. There was a projector
that mirrored my screen so everyone could see
my computer.
Crime may pay if you don’t get caught. Other-
wise no, it doesn’t.
How much money did you make?
Everyone asks me this but I honestly don’t
know. One interesting side effect was that mon-
ey became much less meaningful. I could get
almost anything I wanted for free using credit
cards, and I did. My only real expenses were
housing, my car, and related expenses such as
utilities and insurance. Almost everything else
was carded - food, electronics, furniture, you
name it.
For cash income, I generally made $500-2,000
per week. There were times I made $1,000-5,000+
in a day, such as cashing out hacked ATM cards
(supplied by others) or carding Western Union.
During the Christmas season I ramped every-
thing up. Since stores are busy, they are less
likely to remember you and security is a little
more lax.
Since I could card everything, I owned nice
stuff but I tried to keep a low profile and not go

overboard.
What was your biggest con/theft?
I managed to acquire some cards with
$10,000+ limits. Since I had all their
info, I took over the online accounts and
changed the address to my drop, and
their phone to a prepaid cell. Once you
do that you pretty much own the card
and can do anything with it. I maxed out
the cash advance limit, paid them off us-
ing stolen bank accounts, then repeated
until they accounts got shut down.
Another time I used a similarly taken
over card to order a $5,000 card printer,
the one I ended up using to print all my
fake credit cards.
There were a few times I cashed out huge
amounts of Western Union, $5,000+. I
was doing this for other people I met on-
line. I suspect they were from Nigerian-
style scams, fake auctions, work at home
scams, etc. I felt a bit guilty doing those
but the money was too good to care
enough to stop.
Were you always worried you would
get caught?
Sure, I was always worried. There is risk
to anything. The risks when breaking the
law are exponentially higher, even if the
risk / reward ratio is low.
I treated what I did as a business. The
risk reward ratio was very high and I ac-
cepted being caught as a risk of “doing
business”.
Did you phish for your information?
I did a lot of phishing. Back then every-
one fell for it. I started with AOL sites,
since AOL users are generally less knowl-
edgeable. I ran my early ones with an-
other guy I knew from IRC. The response
volume was insane.
After AOL I built a “really good” Pay-
Pal phish site. It looked just like the real
thing and got every piece of info I could
think of (name, DOB, SSN, license num-
ber, address, credit card, bank account,
PayPal details). It would email the info
offsite to make sure we wouldn’t lose the
data if the site went down.
Thanks to consumer awareness, phish-
AMA 15
ing doesn’t work like it used to. But when
you think of volume, you only need a I treated what I did
fraction of a percent to respond when
you send out 1,000,000+ emails.
as a business. The
Do you consider yourself “King” of the
risk reward ratio
assholes, or just a prince? was very high and
*Did (seven years since I quit) I accepted being
I wasn’t a king or a prince, or even a caught as a risk of
duke. I intentionally limited how often I
carded, how many trips I’d make to each
“doing business.”
store in a month, and how connected I
was online. I could have made a lot more
• Shred anything with account numbers,
money but would have significantly in-
SSN, and other vulnerable info.
creased the amount of risk I faced.
• Fight giving out your SSN as much as
Since my main thing was credit cards,
possible. Don’t put it on a form unless
the amount of true identity theft (using
it’s 100% required and you trust the
full personal data for gain) was limited.
company.
Credit cards were lower risk and required
a lot less work. I got credit cards in their • Use a password manager. Not only will
names and maxed them out. One person it save you tons of time but it allows
I took over to use as a front for my busi- you to use different random passwords
ness. I opened bank accounts and signed everywhere. Never reuse passwords for
the office lease in his name. I never anything you even slightly care about.
caused any harm to his credit though.
• Use fake security Q&As for sites that re-
So yeah, I was certainly an asshole, but quire them, like banks. Your mother’s
nowhere near “King” level. maiden name and hometown are pret-
ty easy to figure out. Just keep in mind
If you hadn’t gotten caught, would you
you may need to provide this info to
have continued to steal?
someone over the phone so keep it
This is a really good question and a hard
work safe to avoid embarrassment. Or
one to answer.
not if you like to troll.
At the time I was planning on getting
•Be vigilant. Check your bank accounts
out. I had sold my printer and had a
and credit cards at least once a week.
stockpile of blank cards left. My plan was
Mint.com makes this super easy. Check
to get out when the cards ran out. I was
your credit at least once a year. One re-
saving up $50-100K, enough to live on
port per year is free.
for 1+ year. I wanted to buy rental prop-
erties. •Unless you’re in a super high risk situ-
ation, don’t waste your money on credit
That said, I had slowed down to almost
monitoring services. Just like extended
nothing about six months before. But
warrantees and other forms of insur-
the allure of easy money pulled me back
ance, you’re better off saving the money.
in. That time I hadn’t gotten rid of my
equipment. Most importantly, stop worrying! There
are more important things to worry
Can you list some steps so we can
about in your life. If your credit card gets
better protect our identity and credit
stolen you’ll get your money back.
cards?
• Don’t carry your social security card,
PINs, or other private data in your wal-
let. Good old theft is still the number one
cause of credit card fraud and ID theft.
 or demons or anything
like that. What I had AMA 16

just witnessed was

completely beyond the
realm of possibility...

LIFE IN THE DARK

I’m 24 and have been blind since age 11 months
due to retinal cancer. I have two prosthetic eyes,
I graduated a private four year college
and work freelance. Ask me anything.
thetj87

What’s the hardest part about
being blind?
Most likely getting people to move
beyond their own preconceived
notions and expectations of a blind
person.
Do you dream with sight?
This is probably the question I get
most frequently. I dream in the same
way I experience things in my wak-
ing life, using sound and touch pri-
marily to create images which I as-
sume my brain processes in similar
ways to how yours processes images.
Do you understand what colors are?
Personally, I usually associate colors
with concepts. Sure this is very sim-
plistic but it helps. Red = fire, blue =
water, white = snow, brown = mud.
It gives me some ground to work
from. Of course the comparison of
brown to mud was challenging due
to also knowing I have brown hair
and would like to think my hair isn’t
similar to mud.
Have you ever tried any
hallucinogens?
As with most things of this sort,
marijuana has different impacts
on different people, I’ve not really
messed with much in the way of
drugs, but have smoked marijuana
and once had a really interesting
super-sensory experience where I
could hear and feel every detail of
everything around me. I could hear
the people around me as they flexed
their hands, arms, legs what ever, the
fabric of their clothes as they moved,
what ever was in their pockets as it
crinkled. I got on a train and could
feel every turn in slow motion. It
was an absolutely insane and sort of
frightening experience. There were
moments I talked to people and
could hear things that weren’t really
audible--like how nervous, angry,
upset they were.
Can you tell if girls/guys are pretty/
handsome? Do you care?
I suppose the dynamic in this regard
is a bit different. I can make rough
estimations but only learn if I find
the person attractive as the relation-
ship evolves.
How do you read on the internet?
I use a program called Jaws for Win-
dows, which reads the text on screen
and I have memorized the keyboard.
IMAGES: photography-cc
I dream in the
same way I
experience things
in my waking life,
using sound and
touch primarily to
create images...
Jaws has an editable dictionary
which updates with shorthand con-
tributed by users and I can read by
letter if I can’t tell what was meant to
be written.
The screen reader on PC reformats
WebPages in to a very simple up/
down format, as if you were reading
a book. It eliminates most layout
features. On the iPhone however,
it maintains the layout so I can tell
as I move around where things
actually are.
The PC version has a fairly robotic
male voice, which can have some lev-
el of accents, whereas the voice on the
iPhone is pretty human, and has real-
istic accents; it’s much better for read-
ing as it has meaningful inflections.

Whenever I see someone with a
red-tipped cane I feel like I should
ask if I could help take him or her
anywhere. In general do you think
most would rather be left to take care
of themselves or if it would be an
appreciated gesture to at least ask?
In my experience, if I need help or as-
sistance I’ll make it known by asking.
If they seem confident and are mov-
ing, they most likely are doing just
fine. If he or she are standing in the
middle of the road looking lost, then
perhaps you should offer assistance,
best bet is to just think of them as any
other person. Were you to see some-
one looking around them madly, or
staring at a map, you’d assume they
were lost. Think of blind people the
same way.
Could you fall sleep with your eyes
open?
One of the coolest parts of being blind
has been the ability to fall asleep in
meetings or during classes and it be-
I feel like I experience
differently, no less or more.
IMAGE: ksios
ing impossible for others to know as
I don’t close my eyes as I have no
need to.
How do you recognize people?
This is something I wish I were bet-
ter at. I can identify voices of people
I see pretty regularly, or people with
distinct voices, but there are other
blind people who have the auditory
version of photographic memory (re-
corder memory?) and can hear a per-
son once and remember them, so it
totally depends--you should say “Hi,”
worst case she asks you to remind her
who you are, I suspect she’d appreci-
ate the gesture all the same.
When you navigate the city, do
you look (read: feel?) for certain
landmarks which allow you to stay
on course?
Most of my navigation is based upon
mental mapping. I am fortunate to
have a really strong sense of direction
and the ability to memorize things
AMA 17
very quickly. The iPhone also hap-
pens to be an amazing assistance in
this task as well.
Do you ever find people are more
condescending to you as a result of
your condition?
Yes, this is something I experience
pretty frequently. Often I find that
people expect me to have much more
limited capabilities due to my blind-
ness. Frequently if I’m out at a restau-
rant the server will ask whoever I’m
with what I would like rather than
asking me as somehow blindness
means I will be unable to communi-
cate to them my desire.
Do you ever feel you miss out in life or
do you take it all in your stride?
I feel like I experience differently, no
less or more.

Another Time
depression_era & I_heure_blue
UserName
My wife and I live a lifestyle out of the 1920s/1930s. Ask us Anything.
Why do you live like you’re in the ‘20s?
We do it because we enjoy it, as simple as that sounds. Peo-
ple often say, “It was a simpler time,” to which I’d have to
disagree. It was a different time period, relatively the same
(or worse) social and economical problems. We enjoy his-
tory, reading, and getting together with friends to trade in-
formation and chat history, clothing, antiques, etc.
It’s a time period my wife and I enjoy very much. We actu-
ally got started into it while swing dancing several years ago
and our tastes progressed away from the late 1930s/1940s to
the 1920s/30s. Our close friends also live similar lifestyles
ranging from the 1920s to the 1950s/1960s. We all have our
favorite eras and tend to hang out at historic locations and
night clubs when time allows.
Where do you live that allows for this lifestyle?
There are a couple of great venues in Southern California
that all vintage lovers gravitate toward. There is a lot of
great history here from the 1920s and 30s, including build-
ings and places like the Queen Mary to hang around in
and enjoy at our leisure. We sort of fell into the groups here
through historical societies and found a lot of friends into
this lifestyle.
AMA 18
Do you have a job that allows you to dress like this?
What type of work do you do?
I work as an IT manager and a Linux sys admin. At first
people were very curious. It took some time to get used to
“the IT guy in the three piece suit and tie” as it sort of breaks
the stereotype. I don’t wear one everyday but always a but-
ton down shirt and vintage trousers often with a vintage
sweater vest of some kind and dress shoes.
My wife unfortunately has very strict dress codes where
she works. Since she’s in a public relations position for the
company, she wears contemporary business attire.
Obviously you own a computer and use the Internet,
what other exceptions do you have regarding modern
life? Is it truly a 1920s existence or just aesthetically
with material objects?
In order to support such a lifestyle it requires us to work
very hard for what we have. Because I work in IT, I have
to be knowledgeable about modern technology. We still
recognize the need to exist and function in today’s society.
Since acquiring vintage counterparts to certain modern
day conveniences generally happens over time, we make
do with certain modern items until a time at which we can
 AMA 19

replace them. For example, our

vacuum was modern day until
we replaced it with a 1935 Eu-
reka.

Do you cook everything

from scratch? Do you have
a garden and a small flock
of chickens? Do you use
modern toiletry items?
We don’t have chickens, but
we do grow quite a good
amount of fruit and veggies in
the backyard. We try to cook
from scratch when we can, as
it usually tastes pretty great
when it’s not out of a can. We
don’t own a microwave, ei-
ther.

We have only been in our

home for the better part of
a year, but no plans to “up-
grade” to anything modern. No sheetrock and no window
replacements. We don’t have central air or heat, but we do
have floor heat that has worked well for the past year since
We sort of fell into the groups here
we bought the house. However, the heater was installed in through historical societies and found
1945. Winters are mild where we live, so between that and
the fireplace, we are fairly well off.
a lot of friends into this lifestyle.
As for the clothes, we hand wash and dry clean, but old
clothes weren’t meant to be washed and worn the way
new things are today. We are pretty choosy about who
How did you manage to find appliances and parts for
does dry cleaning for us as well. Items from this period are
them that were dated from that era?
able to be found, but are getting rarer by the day, so we do
Wherever we could. Craigslist, antique shops, ebay, etc. We
our best to preserve what we have.
often take road trips to find parts if needed. You’d be sur-
How do you afford to lead that sort of lifestyle? prised how long certain things will last when there are no
Things move a bit slower in the decor fashion. Because it is electronic parts at all. Our stove from 1926 is very simplistic.
harder to find exactly what you’re looking for, it gives you a
Do you ever pretend to live the events of those two
bit more of an opportunity to budget accordingly. Depend-
decades, like prohibition, depression, or Orson
ing on certain clothing, vintage suits are comparable in
Welles’ “The War of the Worlds” broadcast?
price to a good modern suit brand new. The trouble is try-
We’ve been to parties that “celebrate” eras, depression era
ing to address the deterioration over the years.
picnics, and prohibition and repeal celebrations.
 AMA 20

If time travel existed, would you choose to live in

present day or go back to the ‘20s?
Tough call, I don’t pretend to think that life would be any
easier back then; however, I don’t think I could survive
back then if it was a one-way trip. I’d have to elect to stay
here in order to support my family with a career path that
I’ve chosen for myself, which would not really net me
much in the way of financial security back then.

Do you have any suggestions as to where to find all the

great music from this era?
Are you looking for more big band music from the swing
era? The Ken Burns Jazz set is a four-disc compilation that’s
pretty broad across the very early days of jazz right through
more contemporary musicians. http://jazz-on-line.com
also has a ton of old MP3s ranging from the teens to the
1950s.

Archive.org also has a bunch of different things as well. I’ve

found a lot of people post recordings on YouTube of an orig-
inal record playing. It has introduced me to a few decent
records (I also collect 78s) that I’ve found later on or am still
looking for.

Why aren’t you drinking homemade alcohol and lining

up at soup kitchens?
Who says we don’t drink homemade alcohol (we do actu-
ally). I’d rather volunteer at a soup kitchen, personally.
I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but if I had friends
that started doing this I would find it really annoying.
We interact on a normal social level. Not all of our friends
share our interests. Variety is the spice of life. To each their
own.

If you have children, will you have them participate?

We will likely have our kids participate in the clothing un-
til they are old enough to make their own decisions. Kids
can be mean, so we aren’t going to make them go to school
in knickers or anything.

Name one thing from today you think would

have brought you the most use as a person
living in the ‘30s.
One thing from today that would have been the most
useful to someone in the 1930s... hmm... my grandmother
used to say a freezer was the best thing that happened to
her family. I suppose being able to freeze large amounts of
food during the depression would have been helpful. She
grew up on a farm in Oklahoma. This question has me a bit
stumped. I really love the way we have instant access to
communication and news nowadays.
 AMA 21

I’m
LOUIS C.K
and this is a thing.
IamLouisCK

IMAGE: Joan Varitek


How on earth were you able to gain the incredible
amount of authorial control that you have over
Louie? Have you had to battle with FX over any
particular jokes/concepts/creative choices?
I got it by demanding it and refusing to do the show
any other way at all, and by having the leverage that
I was completely willing to walk away without do-
ing the show, and by agreeing to an extremely low
budget so that they could offset the risk of giving me
this freedom because they are risking less money.
I have had conversations with them about very few
moments in the show but zero battles.
Do you really edit the entire show yourself?
Yeah, I edit the whole thing. On season one I had an
editor and we shared it about half. On season two I
edited without any help. It was fucking hard. And
yes, I sit at the MacBook and just put it together from
start frame to finish.
From watching your show and seeing some
interviews, I’ve noticed that you’re self-taught and
hands-on in many facets of production. What are
you currently learning, or what else would you like to
master in the future?
I do love to learn. It’s all I feel like I’m ever doing. It’s
really the best you can do in life, to learn. You can’t re-
ally do anything right, you can just learn. Right now,
I am learning to be a dad. I am learning how to take
better care of myself and my kids. I’m learning how to
communicate with people in my life.
Professionally, I’m learning right this minute, a huge
amount with my web experiment. This Live at the
Beacon Theater thing is like that thing in the movie
Twister, where they send a bunch of little data col-
lecting balls up into a tornado and just download the
lovely results. The whole thing has been like that.
From the moment it went online and I saw the re-
sult of every decision I made. The last question the
web guys asked me before we posted was if I wanted
the mail list button defaulted to “opt in” or “opt out”
and I said start it at opt out. It’s such a tiny thing but
I keep hearing about it from people. So, so, interest-
ing to watch this grow.
What have you learned from this self-released
method? What will you take away from it?
I don’t know yet if I’ll do it again, it hasn’t run its
course. But I am so happy I did it. Just so fun, and
has been massively gratifying to share the positive
of it with so many people who have written and ex-
pressed their feelings. It’s so damn interesting to be
doing this. I feel like I have a front seat to a really
AMA 22
cool... thing. I don’t even know what it is. I think it’s
really interesting that I brought the price so close
to stealing, and made the movie so easy to get, and
made it so clear that it’s a human offering it, that it
sparked a debate about pirating.
Have you seen the conversation at The Pirate Bay
about torrenting your performance?
“ya it’s the new one yea I kinda feel bad putting it here
but people like louis ck gotta realize without torrents
and the net he wouldn’t be anwhere bc honestly Louis
I know ur here and I know u mite be mad at me but u
gotta realize not everyone has paypal, credit cards,
money for food, comedy should be shared with the
mass, and Believe me u can judge the popularity more
from the torrent downloads then the paypal sales.
Hope you understand louie. Sorry”
To steal from someone and not feel bad, you either
have to be a sociopath or view the act differently.
One way is to remove “Someone” from the equation.
You’re not stealing from a person. Big companies do
a lot to help people view them as less than human. I
heard a speech by Noam Chomsky who
said that corporations are like su-
per humans. They cannot be
hurt like a human can and
they never die. They are not
susceptible to scrutiny or
accountability. This makes
them more profitable. If
companies want to enjoy
these benefits to some de-
gree, they have to live with
what else comes with being
not human. You miss out
on compassion,
forgiveness,
camaraderie,
empathy,
trust, all
kinds of
shit.

The day before I posted the video, I went on pirate
bay, which I had never visited, and I read the guy’s
thing where he posts letters from media companies
and artists and then his nasty and kind of hilariously
chest beating responses. I thought “Jesus. This guy is a
piece of work. I would never tangle assholes with this
guy.” And then I thought about it, what do I say to
these people? To hope they don’t make me regret put-
ting it out there naked like this? So I wrote a little “to
torrent” letter, just being a guy saying “Dude. Please?”
It’s the best I can do.
Seeing the people who have fought about it on pi-
rate bay, that there is a crisis of conscious, everything
that’s been written, and to see that I’ve gotten paid is
just so interesting and hope-giving and cool .
Is the content of your comedy purely for the
stage, or do you continue to express the same
insights and opinions in social settings as well?
I don’t talk in person the way I do on stage because
it’s a performance - it’s distilled and the language is
more deliberate. But I make the same kind of jokes
with my friends and family for sure, and I have safe
relationships where I can float a crazy or wrong idea
and find out where it goes, just as a life exercise, and
sometimes those things end up on stage.
What would you be doing if you weren’t a
professional comedian?
The last jobs I had were fixing cars and covering foot-
ball games for a local access TV station. As in driving
the mobile van to the field, setting up three cameras,
teaching depressed grownups and interns how to
use them, directing the game from the van and then
wanting to kill myself.
Seeing the people who have fought about it on pirate bay, that there is
a crisis of conscious, everything that’s been written, and to see that
I’ve gotten paid is just so interesting and hope-giving and cool.
The music in “Louis” is amazing. Are you a big
jazz fan?
Producing the music is maybe my favorite part of the
whole thing. I go into a studio with Matt Kelmer and
a handful of great musicians that work under the title
“Sweet pro,” and we just fuck around. I get to cheat
and make music without the training. I ask them for
different moods and sounds and they try it. Or we’ll
say, let’s go with cello and piano for a while and try
a few things there. The cello player, wish I fucking
knew his name, is tremendous. He creates whole
AMA 23
pieces by himself and I use them all.
How do you feel about people quoting your standup
as an excuse to say “nigger” and “faggot”?
Yeah I don’t know. I’ve seen that happen and it
doesn’t really make me... so happy all the time. But
that’s them. I did those bits as a kind of analysis of the
words and what feelings they bring and how they’re
used. I was playing with some fire. It was interesting.
I think the discussion of the word faggot that I did
in the poker scene was a bit of an evolution. I pret-
ty much never say faggot on stage anymore. It’s just
worked its way into and out of my act. It’s not inter-
esting anymore and I’m not going to say it just to say
it. Nigger... still pretty interesting.
Has any black person ever taken offence to your
use of the word ‘’nigger’’?
Not that I have been told or seen, but a whole lot of
white people get mad.
Do you plan on Writing and directing anymore
more films in the near future?
I have a dream, though. You want to hear it? Yeah?
Well, okay.
I thought, what if I make another special like this one
and I put it up for five bucks again and it goes gang-
busters. It makes, say, eight million bucks. I don’t
know that that is even possible. I’m trying to find out
what the potential is with this one.
But so if I make eight million, which all goes through
PayPal right into Pig Newton, my company that
makes my show and made the special, well I would
leave the money in there and make a fucking movie.
This special, if it exploded, cause really it’s only been
up for two days, is more like a pre-sale. If it really tears
an asshole into the money monster who then shits
dollars into my mouth (oh my god what’s wrong
with me) I will use that money to buy a home and get
some security which I never have had in my life, and
have certainly not gotten from my low budget show.
So it would have to be special number two that would
keep the money in the company and make a movie.
I have always put cash back into the work. The profit
I made on last year’s season of Louie went to buying
 AMA 24

a new RED EPIC camera which Then I thought, fuck it. I’m doing it. And as long as
now sits here next to me with a I’m doing it, I’m going to make it dirt cheap and really
I’m not an modest but impressive collec- easy to use. I’ll pay for it out of the ticket money from
atheist. I think tion of lenses from Germany the show (was a little more) and just try this, it’ll be
and England, which now be- fun. And it is.
god is there
long to Pig Newton, and would
and that he be used to shoot said eight mil-
Your comedy depends on a very bleak cynicism a
lot of the time, do you ever struggle to reconcile
is watching lion dollar movie.
this with the overwhelming popularity you’ve
and he made You are often quoted on experienced in recent years?
us. I just don’t reddit’s Atheism page, how
Oh does it? Does it depend on that? I love how you
give a shit. do you feel about that?
toss that off like it’s just the truth. You know what
I’m not an atheist. I think god my comedy depends on? My comedy depends on
is there and that he is watching you shutting the fuck up.
and he made us. I just don’t give
I don’t know what a happy ending is. If something
a shit.
is happy, then the ending must be sad, because it
This will come as a surprise to many. stopped the happy thing. The only time an end is
happy is if the thing it ended was bad.
Well I don’t “Believe in god” I have zero idea how
everything got here. I would personally say that, if I Anyway, nothing ends. Thompson’s theory of the
had to make a list of possibilities, god would be pretty conservation of your mother’s dirty tits: Your moth-
far down. But if I were to make a list of people that er’s dirty tits are not created or destroyed. They are
know what the fuck they are talking about, I would just rearranged into some other asshole’s mother’s
be really far down. dirty tits.”

Was your new special being DRM-free something

that you thought of yourself or was it pushed on
you by managers/producers/fans?

I thought of it on my own. My initial idea was to of-

fer it to an existing service online. I told them that it
would be cool if the special was totally exclusive to
them instead of the usual thing where it gets wheeled
like a racehorse. You see every special on iTunes, Net-
flix, hulu, vimvam whatever. So I said let’s put this
special on just one service like when there used to be
“HBO specials.”

Louis CK: Live at the Beacon Theater is available for purchase at

www.louisck.net. The $5.00 payment can be processed via PayPal or
Amazon by clicking BUY THE THING. “I can’t stop you from torrenting,”
writes C.K. in a statement on the website, “All I can do is politely ask you
to pay your five little dollars, enjoy the video, and let other people find it
in the same way.”
LIFE
PRO

IMAGE: SEAN GARRETT

TIPS

Audio books have

changed my life. Listen to
audiobooks, lectures, and
podcasts during ‘dead’
times like driving, walking,
cooking. This is not
supposed to be a substitute
for reading, but rather a
good way to get entertained
while your sense of sight
and touch is occupied, but
your hearing is not.

“Fate has ordained that the men who went to the
moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to
rest in peace.
These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Al-
drin, know that there is no hope for their recovery.  heroes in the constellations.  In modern times, we
But they also know that there is hope for mankind
in their sacrifice.
These two men are laying down their lives in man-
kind’s most noble goal: the search for truth and
understanding. They will be mourned by their
families and friends; they will be mourned by their
nation; they will be mourned by the people of the
world; they wil be mourned by a Mother Earth
that dared send two of her sons into the unknown.
STORIES 27
In their exploration, they stirred the people of the
world to feel as one; in their sacrifice, they bind
more tightly the brotherhood of man.
In ancient days, men looked at stars and saw their
do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of
flesh and blood.
Others will follow, and surely find their way home.  The speech
Man’s search will not be denied.  But these men prepared by
were the first, and they will remain the foremost in
our hearts. Richard Nixon
in event of
For every human being who looks up at the moon
in the nights to come will know that there is some a failed moon
corner of another world that is forever mankind.” landing.
Written by Joseph Clift
Edited by Andra Moldav

July 21 – 1969 -14:40 UT
The orbiting command module engaged its pri-
mary engines like a bottle rocket with an all too
short fuse. Champagne corks popped, drinks
poured and music blared in the homes of all
who watched the heavens.
“Houston, we have a problem”. Neil Arm-
strong’s voice cracked over mission control’s
central P.A. system.
“Mr. Aldrin, Mr. Armstrong. We are doing ev-
erything we can to correct the issue.”
Sweat fogged the inside of Neil’s helmet. Buzz
stood like a statue, foot resting on the ladder
of the lunar module as they watched the com-
mand module leave the Moon’s orbit without
them.
“Houston ... we’re open to suggestions. Hous-
ton?”
The transmitter in Neil’s helmet faded. Buzz
could hear a defined ringing in his ears as he
stood looking at the earth above.
A plan b doesn’t exist for the first men to step
foot on celestial ground.
“Neil. Buddy. Have you ever read ‘The Swiss
Family Robinson’?” Buzz said from his perch on
the landing module.
July 21 – 1969 - 14:45 UT
Neil stood, still, waiting for Buzz to continue.
“The Swiss Family Robinson, is about a family
that survived a shipwreck and had to start a
STORIES 28
new life on an island paradise. Granted, I only
flipped through it when I was a kid.”
“Buzz, we are on the moon with a dwindling
oxygen reserve. It’d take NASA months to come
to our rescue. I hardly think -”
A sharp static from the in helmet communicator
cuts his dialogue short.
“Yeah, this is Mission Control ... First off I just
want to thank the two of you for everything
you’ve done for our country. We appreciate
your sacrifice and ... hey ... if you want we could
put you in contact with anyone you’d like to
talk to. I think we can even get The Beatles in
here.”
“Hey, Neil. That’s not such a bad -”
“Buzz, The Beatles won’t get us back to earth.
We’ve got some time. I don’t want to get com-
fortable with the idea of death just yet.”
“Fine, what do YOU want to do Neil?”
Neil’s eyes shut. He lets out a sigh only Atlas
could relate to. Everything disappears.
“Mission control. Give us a few minutes. Neil’s
having a stroke, or working out a Charlie Horse
or something.”
July 21 – 1969 - 14:50 UT
“Neil, Neil, Neeeeeeil”
Neil’s eyes open. His vision blurred by the sweat
dripping from the inside of his helmet. Buzz
lightly taps on the glass with his gloved finger.
“Buzz. Sometimes you have to leave a man with
his thoughts.”

“I know, its just. Mission Control said they
might be able to get The Rolling Stones to play
a show for us -”
“Fuck the Rolling Stones”
“Neil, NASA is going to have to censor that.
They specifically requested we censor our dia-
logue so we can ... What was that again mission
control?”
“We would prefer it if you avoided swearing
while on microphone as a means to preserve
your image for future generations. No one
wants an FCC fine if this is broadcast.”
Neil steps away from the lunar module, toward
the unmoving earth, its light reflecting on the
cosmic sand at his booted feet. Neil always loved
the beach, from his days spent at the neighbor-
hood swimming hole and long drives to the
Pacific Ocean with family. Tears dripped and
collected in his suit as he glanced at the spec of
marble and brown that marked Santa Monica,
California.
“Neil. NEIL. What are we going to do?”
“I’m going for a walk Buzz. I’m going. for. a.
walk.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:00 UT
Even through the vacuum of space, Neil could
hear the crunch of lunar soil under his weight.
Every step, historic, every move, the first of its
type by man, every word uttered will be tran-
scribed and memorized by children the world
over for generations.
Even a death caused by folly will be considered
heroic, legendary, epic.
“Hey Neil! Mission control was wondering if
we’d like stuff to be named after us in tandem?”
“What?”
“Tandem. Like ‘Neil Armstrong & Buzz Aldrin
High School’.”
Buzz’s helmet transmitter crackles on like a mos-
quito stuck in a screen door. Neil sighs, turns the
volume down on his in suit transmitter and
closes his eyes.
Time stops. Neil analyzes the sorrows and re-
grets of his thirty eight years of life, his beauti-
ful wife, dead of cancer seven years prior from a
malignant brain tumor, the Engineering Profes-
sor that had it out for him at Purdue, the jocks
that played prank after prank on him at Blume
High School, the hardware store owner that re-
fused to sell him the mirrors necessary for his
homemade telescope, the first time he looked at
the stars …
We are going to die Buzz. We’ll
die as heroes, but we are going
to die.
STORIES 29
His eyes opened like locomotive steam vents as
he began the slow plod back to the lunar mod-
ule. Buzz, still in conversation with mission con-
trol, hardly notices the figure approaching him.
“- Copy that. I’ve talked it over with the head of
the Houston school board, and they can have
a fountain in place by the end of the week. If
you’d like, we can even have you two record a
message for the kids, something inspirational.”
“Hey Neil! You hear that? We’re going to get a
fountain!”
Neil approaches Buzz, looking at him through
two layers of fish bowl shaped glass with the
empty expanse of space between them as he
slowly powers on his in suit transmitter.
“Buzz, we need to talk.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:10 UT
Buzz shuts the door of the lunar module behind
them. A hiss fills the minivan sized chamber as
oxygen pumps into its every crevice. Neil re-
moves his helmet like a boxer at a round break.
With his now glove less hand he wipes the con-
densation from the inside of his visor.
“Buzz, from the looks of it we have just enough
reserve oxygen to complete the research we
were sent here to carry out–“
“Neil, what are you getting at?”
“We are going to die Buzz. We’ll die as heroes,
but we are going to die.”
“But our memories will live on ... ?”
Buzz gives an optimistic smile as he bites into a
freeze dried ice cream.
“I’m just saying Neil, our government pension
will keep our families provided for. We’ll be
remembered forever as the first people on the
moon and hey, we might get a private Beatles
and Rolling Stones concert!”
Buzz and Neil sit in silence for a moment.
“I wonder if we can get them to form a super
group? Oh man that’d be awesome! Imagine it
Neil, we single handedly end the British Rock
feud!”
Buzz finishes his ice cream.
“Neil? What should we call the super group
Neil? The Rolling Beatles? The Beatle Stones?
Beatle the Rolling?”
Buzz’s pleas fall on deaf ears as Neil scribbles
on a notepad. Each scratch and mark left with
the focus of Moses atop Sinai. The thunder of his
pen roars through the silence.
“Buzz, I think I have a plan.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:15 UT
The NASA Mission Control Center in Houston,
Texas sat as quiet as the Moon’s surface. The
temperature dropped a half degree. Not a breath

was released. Goosebumps formed.
“Houston, this is Neil.”
“Copy that. We heard you have a plan?”
Neil glanced at his note pad like a high school
student with eyes on a test he’d barely studied
for. Each pause and breath was punctuated by
a combination of static and his slight chattering
teeth.
“Well, the lunar module has enough fuel to
barely break the moon’s gravitational pull,
but without the command module there’s no
chance we’ll make it back to earth before we suf-
focate.”
“So you’re proposing ...”
“Luna 15. It flies overhead in thirty five min-
utes.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:17 UT
During the space race of the 1960’s, cold war en-
emies the U.S.S.R. and the U.S.A. occasionally
found themselves allies in humanity’s quest to
explore the heavens. They Shared bits of data,
tips, and flight plans as a means to help, or at
least not inconvenience each others quest for
knowledge.
Still, a race is a race and The U.S.S.R. attempted
to sneak across the finish line with a space probe
launched just prior to Apollo 11. Luna 15, as it
was called had a scheduled touch down date
lining up precisely with Apollo 11’s exit from
the lunar surface.
“Luna 15! The Soviet Space Probe?”
“Exactly. Houston, we have their flight plan and
enough fuel to -”
“Neil, what are you suggesting?”
Neil peered out the lunar module’s triangular
window at the great blue marble dancing in
front of him. The American Flag stood proudly
STORIES 30
planted, unmoving on man’s highest peak. Buzz
sat in the corner of the module, drafting a bucket
list for his remaining hours of consciousness.
“Buzz, do you know how to tie a lasso?”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:20 UT
“Neil, Buzz, I think we’re going to have to call
Russia over this. They aren’t going to be happy
about a couple Yankees hijacking their probe.”
“Houston, its scheduled for a high speed return
to Earth. If we can just, ‘hitch a ride’ it might
save our lives. Hell, I’m okay with splitting the
soil and moon rocks with them.”
Buzz looks up from his bucket list.
“You can split your moon rocks with them.”
“God damnit Buzz. Shut up and put your suit
on.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:25 UT
The lunar soil cushioned Buzz’s booted feet like
a layer of flour on pastry dough. Dust kicked up.
Knees bent; the historic feeling of man’s first
stop on the moon, gone entirely; replaced with
the grit and determination shared only by The
Corps of Discovery.
“All right Neil. Remember. I’m agreeing to this
because you said my name would go first in the
history books.”
“Fine, just pick up the hook Buzz.”
The lunar module had a small metal cable as-
sembly attached for the purposes of hauling
equipment to the lunar surface. Of all the things
on the module it was the most primitive and
seemingly superfluous.
“Buzz, that’s NASA equipment you’re dealing
with. Please be careful.”
Neil ignored the plea from mission control. His
mind fully entrenched in the calculations need-
We’ve got some
time. I don’t want
to get comfortable
with the idea of
death just yet...

ed to intercept a Soviet Probe hurling toward
their position like a locomotive.
Standing on the moon’s surface, Buzz flashed
back to his time as a Boy Scout. The days spent
memorizing and repeating every type of knot
for ever type of situation. He’d been a hero in his
late teens whenever a boat needed securing to a
dock but now, standing farther from home than
any man had ever traveled, he needed some-
thing practical.
“Buzz, we’re running out of daylight. Just make
a loop and secure it!”
His hands struggled; precision is one thing
NASA didn’t expect from its suits. Fingers be-
came stiff at a moments notice but with force
and a little bit of self-preservation instinct, Buzz
had his lasso.
“Two square knots. Not my prettiest work, but
this is the first time I’ve tied a couple of inch
thick metal cable.”
Neil sighed. Sometimes the smallest victories
are the sweetest.
“Copy that Buzz. Attach it to the side of the mod-
ule and get inside. We’ve got a probe to catch.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:30 UT
“Neil, we’ve made contact with the Russians. It
took a lot of convincing, but they’ve agreed to
send Luna 15 home a little early. This is some
cowboy shit you are pulling -”
Satisfied at the new information from mission
control, Neil lowered the volume of the lunar
module’s P.A. His suit worn like a security blan-
ket and with a notepad at his knee, he prepared
for the final calculations to lift-off.
Buzz entered the interior of the module with a
loud vacuum suction.
“Neil, its not too late to ride things out.”
No words leave Neil’s lips.
“I’m just saying, I’d rather die a monument then
a fireball.”
Buzz removes another freeze dried ice cream
from the container.
“We need to lighten the load a little before
launch. Buzz, jettison any unnecessary equip-
ment.”
“Neil, there are two of us. You can’t launch us
in to space on a suicide rendezvous with an un-
manned Russian probe without talking to me
about it.”
Neil looked at his clock. The probe would be
overhead in twenty minutes. A cold sweat
formed on his forehead.
“Buzz, we have minutes. There’s not a lot to dis-
cuss. We are dead if we stay. If we launch, there’s
a small chance we’ll make it.”
STORIES 31
Buzz and Neil make the eye contact of starved
hyenas standing over a fresh kill.
“Neil, you can have the module, I’ll take a burial
on land over a burial at sea any day.”
“Fine. Let’s prepare for launch.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:35 UT
Buzz’s boots planted firmly in the lunar dust,
his foot perfectly aligning with his landing spot
from minutes prior. A mathematician’s preci-
sion even in dire circumstance. He looked to
the eternal void between the heavens and earth
and thought of his father, a battle hardened vet
from the trenches of Ypers. A survivor of the first
mustard gas attacks. A man of brute force and
action, it was only natural Buzz followed in his
father’s urge to serve his country.
“Buzz, mission control here, we’ve decided to ap-
prove your decision to remain on the moon. The
reduced load on the lunar module will allow for
an easier rendezvous with the Russian probe.”
The comment does nothing to pierce Buzz’s con-
centrated exterior.
“Neil, N.A.S.A. finally admits I’m dead weight.”
A pause. Buzz laughs. Neil joins with hesitation.
The chatter of men who knew their remaining
moments measure in seconds.
“Neil, this is mission control. You have ten min-
utes. “
July 21 – 1969 - 14:40 UT
Neil continues making calculations on his note-
pad. Like a child building an erector set. The
theory was sound. The math was as accurate
as it could be, but the sweat, the light shake of
his limbs, the occasional quiver in his voice be-
trayed his bravado. He had to hit a bulls eye on
a moving target that only existed as a theory.
“Neil, why did you sign up for the space pro-
gram?”
Buzz cleared equipment from the landing point.
Attaching the necessary sensors and samples to
the lunar module while moving superfluous in-
struments as far from the launch point as time
would allow.
“Neil, this is mission control. You have eight
minutes.”
“Well, there was the sense of duty. The want to
put into practice the sciences discussed as far
back as man could create words. The desire to
make my family proud, and I think you could
make a case for the awe of seeing the eye of the
cosmos up close. You?”
“Fame. Girls can’t say no to a man who’s kissed
the stars.”
They share another, more genuine laugh.
“Fair enough Buzz.”
“This is mission control. You have six minutes.”

Buzz paced the lunar module like a sculp-
tor observing his prized piece before a pre-
miere gallery show. Scientific instruments
and moon rock samples dotted the cabin
exterior. His jury rigged lasso extending up-
wards like a mail hook from the ships side.
“Neil, you’re good to go.”
“This is mission control. You have four min-
utes.”
“Thanks buddy. Are you sure you don’t
want to come along?”
“On that death trap? No way. Even when
it works properly its still got a fifty percent
chance of killing us.”
“Yeah. At least we know what guinea pigs
feel like.”
Neil and Buzz laugh, prolonged this time,
like they’d heard a good Carson monologue.
“This is mission control. You have two min-
utes.”
“Neil, I have visual confirmation.”
July 21 – 1969 - 15:50 UT
Luna 15, Russia’s space age silver medal
created through a decade long cram ses-
sion. Like NASA’s twin from an alternate
dimension. Rounded corners compared to
the lunar module’s sleek edges. A hammer
and sickle on the side. The definition of “for-
eign” to anyone on the other side of the iron
curtain. To Neil Armstrong, it was the cav-
alry coming to his rescue.
“Buzz, there’s enough room. You can –“
“Neil. Listen to me. You can’t get an accu-
rate look in there. You need a spotter.”
Seconds pass. Through inches of glass, and
the vacuum of space, the two sailors of the
night’s sky stared. A captain and his naviga-
tor, no matter their safety the mission was
the top priotity.
“This is mission control, you have one min-
ute.”
“Buzz, it was an honor serving with you.”
“This is mission control, you have 45 sec-
onds.”
Buzz and Neil take deep breaths, sucking in
the sterile air of science, progress, human-
ity.
“Neil, if anyone asks, tell them I was the
first person to set foot on the moon.”
“This is mission control, you have 30 sec-
onds.”
“Sure thing buddy.”
Buzz leans back, craning his neck skyward.
Peering through armor designed to protect
STORIES 32
against every microbe the cosmos could
throw at him. Luna 15 shot through the sky
through his periphery. He slowly counted,
calculated, tapping his soft fingers against
the inside of his space suit glove.
“This is mission control, you have 15 sec-
onds.”
Neil looked through the window at Buzz,
standing like a ships mast in the doldrums,
ready to prove usefulness against the
winds’ mercy.
“Neil, mission control’s count is off. Give it a
beat after launch.”
“You have 10 seconds”
“Okay Buzz.”
“You have 9 seconds”
“Waiting for your mark Buzz.”
“8”
“Buzz?”
“7”
“Yeah Neil”
“6”
“Thanks”
“5”
“Don’t mention it”
“4”
Luna 15 was nearly on top of them, hun-
dreds of yards in the sky. Screaming like a
metal kite in a storm.
“3”
“Remember Neil”
“2”
“Wait until my signal”
“1”
“Holding Buzz”
The in cabin P.A. echoes.
“Launch lunar module now”
Neil’s eyes remain locked with Buzz’s visor.
A half second passes. Buzz looks upward.
The panicked chatter of the mission control
falls into the background. A million prayers
on terra firma are uttered. The Earth sweats.
“Neil! Launch!”
Before Buzz’s words finish traveling the
vacuum, Neil’s finger flips the switch. Com-
pressed air ejects from the base of the mod-
ule. The metallic bullet breaks from its feet.
A solitary figure salutes as the first human
to set foot on lunar surface exits its slight
gravitational pull, leaving the second in
limbo.

July 21 – 1969 - 15:51 UT
Mission control erupts in a gasp made for an
amusement park ride. All eyes are on the moni-
tor sending a feed of the module’s interior. Neil
holds the imprecise controls, finger on the igni-
tion like a mountaineer dangling from an ice
axe, teeth clenched, lips uttering a plea to the
heavens below.
Buzz looked at the foreign body at his feet.
Glanced at the watch on his arm, and leaned
against an antenna relay left on the moon’s
surface. His hands retracted into the suit like a
turtle for long enough to retrieve a freeze dried
ice cream from an interior pocket. With his free
hand, he propped the specially designed Hassel-
blad broadcasting camera into position.
“Hello, mission control. At my count my suit
only has an hour of oxygen left. If you don’t
mind, I’d like to record a message.”
A light on the camera flicks on.
“This is a bad circumstance. Neil and I risked
our lives for the pursuit of science, exploration,
wonder. No matter how history chooses to re-
member us, just know we completed our mis-
sion to the best of our abilities. We worked as
thousands of people worked to guarantee man’s
mastery of space. I’m a dead man. There’s no
saving me, but the data retrieved from our mis-
sion is some condolence. I plead, plead with all
of you watching that we work together to con-
tinue our understanding of our existence.”
A frog forms in Buzz’s throat. He chokes back a
tear.
“Dad, I love you. Mom, I’ll see you soon.”
Buzz gives the camera a salute saved for soldiers
coming upon their last rites. The camera light
dims. Buzz finishes unwrapping the freeze dried
ice cream before maneuvering it through the
suit interior and up to his parched and starved
maw.
STORIES 33
July 21 – 1969 - 15:51 UT
Neil sat unblinking with his hand at the con-
trols and his eyes toward the Communist mis-
sile on a collision course with him. He knew he
was deflecting a bullet with a bullet, threading
a needle with a ten foot pole, lassoing a horse
with a mirror.
He could make out the shape of Luna 15 from
his triangular window, a football field away.
Russia was kind enough to slow down their
metallic cloud but not kind enough to tell him
about it. He throws his notepad to the side and
aims with his intuition.
Fifty yards away. Luna 15 is listing to the left.
Neil glances at the fuel gauge. Empty. The mod-
ule’s engines fail. It sits, suspended in place,
level with the target screaming toward him like
an eagle to a mouse. Neil sighs. The controls are
ineffective. It’ll be a near miss at best.
Twenty five yards away. Neil closes his eyes,
pondering the point of impact. Mission control
screams. Everything slows down. He sucks in
air entirely free of microbes, plants his boots and
lunges for the oxygen release valve. Just as Luna
15 grazes the antenna, the module’s reserve oxy-
gen expels. The escape of precious O2 adds just
enough shift to hook the makeshift lasso onto
one of the probe’s landing feet.
Neil is jerked backward like a hobo gripping the
rails of a speeding train. Mission control cheers.
“Russia’s in the driver’s seat Neil. They’ll have
you back on terra firma in less than a day!”
He smiles at the news from mission control,
wipes sweat from his brow. Celebrations ex-
plode from the module’s speaker.
The emergency maneuver guaranteed Neil and
Buzz’s research would make it back to earth, but
at the cost of the module’s oxygen reserves.
He has less than an hour of air left and he knows
it, but there’s no sense in spoiling the party.

THE GAME
GirlRage
At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary board game.
My six year old nephew, Aidan, was spending the
night with my husband and I. He’d brought some
toys along with him to play with. One of the things
he brought was a small, rectangular box containing a
board game.
I asked him if he wanted to play the game with us,
but he politely declined and said he’d rather just play
by himself. I thought that seemed a little strange,
since usually he loves to play with us with his toys
or Legos. But I shrugged it off and went in the kitchen
to make dinner.
Later that evening, Aidan was once again playing
by himself in the guest room. It was getting late, so
I decided I’d better start getting him in gear to go to
bed. When I walked into the guest room, something
came over me. I can’t describe what it was- the most
terrible feeling of evil and pure fear mixed together.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but I could feel
something, I was sure of it.
Aidan looked up at me and asked if I was okay. I guess
he could tell by the look on my face that I was pretty
freaked out. I didn’t want to scare him, so I told him I
was fine and that he needed to go brush his teeth and
get ready for bed. He happily complied and trotted
off to the bathroom.
While he was getting ready, I started cleaning up
his toys. When I knelt down to put away his board
game, I noticed for the first time how strange it was.
The board was brown and white and had a series of
squares joined together in a path around the board.
STORIES 34
There were several pieces strewn across the board
and a couple of dice lying around. But the dice were
no ordinary dice- every single side had six dots. And
as I picked up the board pieces I noticed that they
were all animal figurines, but they all had disfigured
faces. The feeling of fear came over me again, and
suddenly I felt very very cold.
“What are you doing?” a voice said from behind me.
I turned and looked at Aidan. “I’m just putting your
game away because it’s time for bed. Where did you
get this anyway?”
Now allow me to interject here –Aidan is normally a
really good, sweet kid. I’ve never had any problems
with him. But that night something was different.
Very quietly, he told me to put the game back on the
floor.
Something changed in his face. His smile faded, his
eyes darkened, and he glared at me with such hatred
that it felt almost like a physical force. Hesitantly,
I said to him “No, it’s time for bed, I’m putting this
away.”
At that point he screamed at me. Not just a normal,
child like scream. You know the bellowing roar the
Tyrannosaurus Rex makes in Jurassic Park? I swear
to god that was what came out of this little boy’s
mouth. Horrified, I dropped the game onto the floor,
spilling the pieces everywhere. Aidan was freaking
out. Suddenly it was like something possessed him-
his arms bent in half between his elbow and wrist,
 STORIES 35

and his legs did the same between his knees and
ankles. His entire little body twisted and contorted
I’m not religious.
in ways that should not physically be possible. The I don’t believe in ghosts
whole time this happened, he continued to scream.
or demons or anything
By now I was absolutely, totally petrified. I’ve never
been more scared in my entire life. I ran out of the like that. What I had
room and down the hallway. I stopped by our bed- just witnessed was
room door to catch my breath.
completely beyond the
I’m not religious. I don’t believe in ghosts or demons realm of possibility...
or anything like that. What I had just witnessed was
completely beyond the realm of possibility. And
then, at that point, I knew I had to be dreaming.

I closed my eyes. “It’s only a dream, please wake up,”

I whispered to myself. Nothing happened.

“It’s only a dream, please wake up!” “It’s only a dream,

please wake up!”

Finally I dissolved into a puddle of tears. Maybe I

was losing it. Maybe I was having a nightmare and
couldn’t wake up. No matter what, I was scared out
of my mind. I opened our door and went into our
bedroom.

My husband was already in bed, so I crawled in next

to him. But he wasn’t asleep yet.

He turned over and could tell immediately some-

thing was wrong. “Are you okay? What happened?”
he asked.

At this point I was still really confused. I couldn’t

tell if I was asleep or awake or what was going on. “I
know this is going to sound crazy,” I said, “but I swear,
I swear on my life that this really just happened.” I
proceeded to tell him about Aidan and the game.

I could tell he was really skeptical. Fortunately he’s

the supportive type and so he didn’t question me.
But he did say that he didn’t hear any screaming or
anything. I started to feel a little better- I had prob-
ably just dreamed it all and it must have felt very,
very real. I thought about going back into the guest
room and making sure the game was put away after
all, but decided just to go to sleep instead. It had been
a weird evening.

The next morning I was busily working on making

pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Aidan came out
of the guest room and walked into the kitchen. He
seemed to be just his normal self, but I could see he
was carrying something. When he approached me,
he held out his hands. To my horror, he’d been carry-
ing three large, extremely sharp kitchen knives.

“Here you go Auntie,” he said with a sweet but dark

IMAGES: photography-cc

smile. “I guess I don’t need them after all.”

 STORIES 36

My friend John
Hamilton5m

He was a quiet man, meticulous and neat. Polite and

very concerned about the fascist direction the country
had taken. He was very much against war. We often
spoke about politics and the Korean War. He told me of
it being so cold that metal would shatter like ice some-
times. He told me of men freezing dead in minutes,
flash frozen. He had a very deep expression in his eyes
whenever he spoke of Korea.

He lived frugally, and would not accept charity. He

would, however, happily accept Asian food when we
cooked. (My mother is Asian, my father is white.) On
Christmas and the holidays, I looked forward to giv-
ing him food. He would often hold back tears when we
stopped by. He came over once, but had a hell of time
getting down the two flights of stairs afterwards. He sad-
ly had to decline any further invitations. I would watch
him struggle for twenty minutes to make it back up the
twenty steps to his apartment. He would not accept help.

He once invited me up to his apartment, and I will de-

plane back to the US. He fought back and they beat him
scribe it as such: darkly lit, with a small television in the
senseless. They kept him from returning on bullshit or-
kitchen. The floors were covered in cheap blue felt-like
ders and threats until the war broke out.
carpet with no padding, as they did in the ‘70s. He had a
kitchen table with neatly stacked audio tapes and one of After the war, he went back to find her, but never could.
those tape players for the blind or used in middle schools.
He never married. He thought of her every day.
He kept a box in the kitchen with his letters from a girl. It
He cried when he saw my mother, because he realized I
was a deeply personal thing, and he was consumed day
was how his son would have looked.
and night by his situation. Some people die right away
of a broken heart, some people are dead but they live on He fell down the stairs of the apartment he rented one
for many more years. He lived in the same apartment for day, and laid there in agony for hours until he was found.
nearly forty years, alone. He came out to get groceries, That night he died.
raise and lower the American flag, and recycle his cans
Distant relatives came and took what was worth anything,
and newspapers. He always recycled.
and the landlord threw his entire life out on the curb in
I saw him struggling one day to bring groceries up the the rain. His medals, everything. No one bothered bury-
steps, and I came over and talked to him. From that day ing him except the government because of his service.
on, whenever I heard his car chugging away, I came
Every time I look at that damn house, it’s like a knife in
out to help him. One day he saw my mother and began
my heart.
to cry, and thus I found out his life story.
“Never let other people tell you what should make you
He was in the Navy, dispatched in Korea before the
happy.”
Korean War, and had met a woman he loved. He was
white, and his superiors hated the fact that he had a Ko- I remember the tightness of his hands on my wrist when
rean woman. He was engaged to marry her, and when he told me this.
they found out, they drugged him and forced him onto a
LIFE
PRO
TIPS

use the last few dollars on Visa

gift cards: Since Amazon (and
most retailers) do not let you split
your payment between different
cards, you need the intermediate
step of buying Amazon gift cards.
So if you have a Visa gift card with
$2.34 on it, go buy an Amazon gift
card for $2.34, and then add it to
your account. The next time you buy
something, the gift card balance
will be applied to your total.
 PICS 39

COOL GUYS DON’T LOOK AT EXPLOSIONS

PENNAME
 PICS 40

LOOKING FORWARD
TRESPAL123
 PICS 41

FLOWER FIELDS IN HOLLAND

PASLEMATIN

FLY THROUGH REVERSE LENS

RRIKESH
 PICS 42

BREAKING BATMAN
MASSIVEJOE
 PICS 43

GRANDFATHER AT A WEDDING
XELFER
 PICS 44

HDR NYC
MAND3RZ
 PICS 45

COLORFUL VISAGE
VOLTURE
 PICS 46

POSTER FOR “THEY LIVE”

BOOKERED
 PICS 47

HERMIT CRAB LIVING IN JAR

MUPPETTEER
 PICS 48

FOUND THIS OLD GEM

SUDOBAIR

A REMOTE HELICOPTER AND HDTV FOR CHRISTMAS

THESIWENTKIWWAH
 PICS 49

FOLDED PAGE TO SAVE MY PLACE, MAY HAVE GONE TOO FAR

JAREDSELLERS
 PICS 50

BELIEVE ME
LLEEEEEOO
 PICS 51

THE WRITER
JOHANPOTMA
 PICS 52

AT THE BEACH DURING HURRICANE IRENE

MAHKITTAHKAKES
 PICS 53

WISH YOU WERE HERE

KATIECRIMESPREE
 PICS 54

MANY SHARPIES DIED WHILE MAKING THIS ELEPHANT

MADABOUTMICKEY
 PICS 55

FEATHERS SPANNING THE DAWN SKY

RAUXBAUGHT
 PICS 56

HDR CHRISTMAS
DIATONIC
LIFE
PRO
TIPS

At the airport before departure,

open and preload 50 reddit tabs.
 SECRETSANTA 58

COMM UNIT Y
of the
MONTH

r/secretsanta
/r/SecretSanta is home to the largest Secret Santa gift exchange program
in the world. For three years, tens of thousands of redditors have been
anonymously sending and receiving presents from over 100 countries.

What happens if people don’t send or receive a

You might know me as kickme444, but my
real name is Dan McComas.
Just over two years ago I posted a thread
titled “Would anyone be interested in a
reddit gift exchange?” and created
/r/SecretSanta. I spent the following few
weeks creating redditgifts.com and spent
the following two years, mostly nights and
weekends, developing what would even-
tually be acquired by reddit.  This is now
my full time job and I couldn’t be happier
or more proud!
gift?
Because RedditGifts operates on the honor system,
we do our very best at every opportunity possible
to increase participation, but still there remain peo-
ple who are not good participants.  
If you don’t send a gift, or don’t confirm that you
have received a gift, you are banned for life.  Addi-
tionally, because our participants are so giving, we
have a program that we call “rematching,” where
people sign up to give to what we refer to as “the
shafted”, which are people who never received a
gift.  

What is r/SecretSanta and RedditGifts?

All in all it is a pretty good system, and we are plan-
r/SecretSanta was started as a community where
ning a number of things for the upcoming year that
we would discuss and organize a reddit Secret San-
we think will further improve it.
ta. It became pretty clear after only a few hours
that there was no way we could manage a secret
What has changed now that you and RedditGifts
Santa on the scale needed in the format of a subred-
have officially become part of Reddit?
dit, which lead me to buy the domain name red-
I think the biggest thing that has changed is that I
ditgifts.com, and develop a website to manage the
get to work on a project that I am passionate about
first Secret Santa for reddit.
during the day.  This is really a big change for me
and for my family.  
How many people have participated in Secret
Santa each year?
For the previous two years I was working at least
Secret Santa 2009 4387
equivalent to two fulltime jobs. Because I cared so
Secret Santa 2010 17,103
much for RedditGifts I was willing to do it, but it
Secret Santa 2011 38,281
did take a toll.  It is really nice to be able to do this
Pretty impressive right?  We’re still amazed. with a fresh mind and to be able to spend some
 SECRETSANTA 59

What hasn’t changed is the level of independence

I have in this business.  I have been allowed and
Total spent on gifts:
encouraged to express my vision for RedditGifts.  I
think this is a pretty big deal and can’t say thanks $2,245,354
enough.
Total spent on shipping:
If I missed out on Secret Santa this year, what $775,308
other RedditGifts projects are coming up?
After the first Secret Santa was over, we took a step Total participating countries:
back and evaluated what had just happened.  We 139
decided to continue and thought it would be fun to
create a new holiday especially for reddit halfway Average gift:
between Christmas, on June 25th.  We held a small $28.15
contest on reddit, and the winning name for this
new holiday was “Arbitrary Day”.  Fast forward a Average shipping:
few years, we have now done 3 Secret Santas, two
$9.74
Arbitrary Days and have added interest based ex-
changes like book exchanges, snack exchanges, Most gifts ever shipped in a single day:
and many more.
10,993 on 12/12/2011

Most gifts ever received in a single

day:
2,115 on 01/02/2012
Trolled Hard Top 10 participating countries:
I had already excitedly ripped the box open and was
US, CA, GB, AU, IE, DE, NZ, SE, NL, NO
pulling out a small, pliable package. "A book" I said.
"Has to be a book, awesome, I love books!"
I ripped the paper off and found...Sarah Palin's Going
Rogue.
I laughed. Said to the wife "Oh, that evil genius! I
might read this for the laughs." But, wait, this book
feels a bit funny. What's this inside?
Oh. Oh my. A Kindle. A KINDLE!
My Secret Santa is an evil thoughtful creative genius!
Shadowvox
 SECRETSANTA 60

Reddit
Pizza! Cash!
I got a very I received $1,500.00 in 100 dollar bills. There was a
delicious reddit note saying “Merry Christmas, hopefully this will
pizza, which my help with books next semester ;)” That was all. The
roommate and I redditor didn’t reveal them self.
quickly wolfed CayuscosKid
down.
Mr_mustash

Awesome
Secret
Santa!!
Not only did he do research
and look through my posts
to know not only do I have
a newborn daughter, but an
older 18 month old daughter
too, he sent her the sweetest
stuffed animal for a present.
How cute and sweet!
She loves her adorable cute
stuffed bear so much; I
couldn’t get it away from her.
Now she can’t sleep without
him.

Creon

I got crabs
from a
stranger!
Earlier this week I received a message
from my SS, suggesting that someone
should be home for delivery, due to
the nature of the gift. A baker’s dozen
steamed crabs from Harbour House,
complete with mallets and crab paper!
My favorite food ever!!

Malciah
 Credits

/askreddit
ACHollywood takclaw Neurotikitty
Jessicaexperience Whoa_throwaway gal9000
halfblood_stud mak10z Effingeenyus
keyes777 Dogmaster Semen-Thrower
DarnTheseSocks shewearsbeads RadagastTheTurtle
Naphthos Beanlord nasu_moon_commander
vishalpatel Origami_mouse DPace17
HarrisonSchmitt phineasgage1848 Twustwervy
Leafschris tick_tock_clock Goodgodlemon
zing_of_the_day griffith12 SFbaimei
workpuppy cfenton23 flat5
temporaryimaginary isaidneveragain kiasuten
InternetInSpanish deletetables McLovin03
Therejectethan arontx wufoo2
TargetTango AuDBallBag OldClockMan
hallhallhall rushaz HollaPeno
Wairusbot HandyCore
BulgingDisk jazum
FhRuthThePeoplesBear iamagainstit

/ama Driverdan depression_era

by thetj87 I_heure_blue
Iamlouisck

/stories
Just_Joey
Girlrage
Hamilton5m

/pics
TRESPAL123 MASSIVEJOE MAHKITTAHKAKES
VOLTURE MAND3RZ MADABOUTMICKEY
PASLEMATIN SUDOBAIR BOOKERED
RRIKESH THESIWENTKIWWAH JOHANPOTMA
MUPPETTEER LLEEEEEOO RAUXBAUGHT
PENNAME KATIECRIMESPREE DIATONIC
XELFER JAREDSELLERS

Special thanks to Janus Zeal [<3 JZ+ AN] for providing helldive.org file hosting, Alison Drager
[alerson] and Mike Peters [mijampet] for copy editing, Dan McComas for RedditGifts Q&A,
+ everyone who suggested content and gave us feedback via r/theredditor

Back Issues theredditor.com Subscribe reddit.com/r/theredditor Contact emailtheredditor@gmail.com

Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission by attributed writers and artists is prohibited. All information and credits are ac-
curate at the time of publication, but are subject to change. The Redditor magazine is not affiliated with reddit.com
 REDDITOR
the ASKREDDIT
AMA ISSUE 7
STORIES MAR ‘12
PICS
 LETTER FROM THE REDDITOR
This month we focused on collaboration and developing new content
to give our readers something more than they may see on the website.
Issue 7 is what our magazine has always set out to be - proving the
reddit community is more unique, more interesting, and far more
talented than what is only found on the front page.

Better late than never – and Issue 7
has definitely been worth the wait. This
month The Redditor brings you some of
the strongest and most original work yet.
With each issue it’s becoming easier to
find support from the community, and in
addition to our usual guest artist, we’ve
worked with an incredible illustrator whose
work elevates the magazine to a new level.
We have two original AMAs, 10+ pages
of original artwork developed specifically
for the issue, and finally, we are thrilled to
share an exclusive Q&A with the creator of
Minecraft, Markus Persson (aka Notch), to
complement our Subreddit of the Month.
This month we focused on collaboration
and developing new content to give our
readers something more than they may
see on the website. In previous issues, we
featured work by a talented painter, Johan
Potma – in Issue 7, we offer an exclusive AMA
and images, giving Potma the attention he
deserves. Expanding on a post we found
buried on the site, another exclusive
feature this month tells the story of a young
woman visiting an outcast witch colony
and black market in Ghana, including
photos that must be seen to be believed.
Issue 7 is what our magazine has always set
out to be - proving the reddit community
is more unique, more interesting, and far
more talented than what is only found on
the front page.
Taking on the challenge of designing
this month’s chapter pages is an amazing
fantasy and sci-fi artist, Jesse Mead of
Atlanta. Mead creates an incredibly
detailed series of four images based upon
another submission of hers we found on
reddit (also featured in the /pics section).
Our second guest artist is Kate Glasheen of
Brooklyn, whose work we also featured in
previous issues. Glasheen illustrated and
painted 13 gorgeous pieces to be used
throughout the magazine and in this issue’s
/FirstWorldProblems pieces.
We hope you enjoy our new features and
discover some quality content that slipped
by. Beyond the pages, you can always find
back issues at theredditor.com, subscribe
to our subreddit at /r/theredditor, and
please feel free to leave any thoughts,
feedback, and content suggestions for
future issues.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MANAGING EDITOR DESIGN & LAYOUT DESIGN assistance Guest artist Illustrator
Ryan Laing [killtheredditor] Blair Drager [ohblair] Ryan Laing [killtheredditor] Jack Howard [swampgum] Jesse Mead [yog-sothserve] Kate Glasheen [katiecrimespree]
Los Angeles, CA New York, NY Los Angeles, CA Victoria, Australia Atlanta, GA New York, NY
 I N T H I S I SS U E

SIMPLE 16 /askreddit
PRANKS 06 STRANGEST THINGS IN PURSES
08 SIMPLE PRANKS
10 LAST MAN ON EARTH

08 12 GLITCH IN THE MATRIX

/ama
57 16 ARTWORK OF JOHAN POTMA
21 RESCUE 911
23 WITCH COLONY

/stories
31 THE SCARECROW GAME
37 I WILL SURVIVE
39 A BOY AND HIS COMPUTER
THE ARTWORK OF
JOHAN /pics
45 DOOMED ASTRONAUT
WE’RE DOWN ‘TIL
WE’RE UNDERGROUND POTMA 46 AUTUMN
47 SUPER SLAP
47
23
BIRTHDAY PARTY
48 BATMAN
49 AIRSHIP
50 TRIPTYCH
50 THE STAR WARS
51 MY BROTHER
52 LATE NIGHT STROLL

WITCH COLONY 53
53
54
A BIRD AND MY MOM
A BIRD AND A MAKEUP ARTIST
FAUN ON A RAINY DAY
55 POLITICAL CARTOON ASSIGNMENT
31 52 56
56
MOTORCYCLE ON MARS
FISH
LATE 57 ‘TIL WE’RE UNDERGROUND

NIGHT 57 PLANTLIFE

STROLL 58
58
QUOKKA
GLASS CANDY CANES
59 CYBORG
60 KOALLA WITH A BIRD
61 THE EYES GROW WEARY
61 FARM HIT BY A TORNADO
62 CLAY FIGURES
63 DISRESPECTING LINCOLN
the 64 FACE INVADERS
scarecrow /mcpublic
game
FIRST
WORLD
PROBLEMS

I only got one dipping sauce with my 20

nuggets and had to ration it like
it was WWII.

What’s the
A friend of mine once carried
a brick around in her purse
for a few days in hopes that
strangest someone would notice it was
heavy and say, “Gosh, do you
thing your carry bricks in there?!” And
then she could pull the brick
girlfriend out and say, “Why yes, I do.”
Northerncacy
has pulled
I had a pancake in my purse
for months. For some reason,
out of when it was first cooked, it
became insanely hard, as if it
her purse? had been varnished. I kept it
for months to see if it would
go moldy. Never did. It was
great to pull out if someone
Oneofthosepimps
said they were hungry.
Redrobine
ASKREDDIT 6
I changed purses recently and
in addition to 7 different kinds
of lip gloss, 3 flash drives, an
iPhone AND a Blackberry USB
cable; I had 2 pair of pliers (side-
cutting and needle-nose) and a
fake mustache.
dorkahontas
My grandmother put a whole
raw pot roast in her purse and
boarded a plane from Chicago
to Arizona. Clearly pre-9/11.
Perditajuanita
I was helping someone
move stuff into their new
apartment with my ex, and
we’re looking at the ground,
seeing ants. She pulls an ant
trap out of her purse.
ethiopiangod
 ASKREDDIT 7

My husband once “WTFed?” Not my gf, but she pulled out a

when he found three rocks pump and a puncture repair kit
in my purse. You know that when we saw someone with
gravel that is sometimes used a flat. She doesn’t even ride a
in landscaping? Well I like bike.
to try to spot the limestone Zingzong70
pebbles and look to see if they
have any fossils in them. I
had two fossils of the stems
of ancient sea lilies, and one
fossil of an arthropod.
eekthebat

Not a girlfriend, just a date

I went on a long time ago. I
needed a tire gauge, she said she
had one, and started dumping
crap out of her purse. No, tire
gauge is not the weirdness. She
had not one, not two, but three
handguns in her purse. There
was no second date.
Consensualbestiality

As a girl, I never go anywhere

without my sonic screwdriver.
ThePalePrince

Once pulled a dead baby lizard

out of my bag. No idea how it
got in there or how long it had
been dead.
Shakensunshine

TODAY I LEARNED: females

are prop comedians.
rbslime
 ASKREDDIT 8

SIMPLE PRANKS
What are your favorite pranks that require almost no prep?
SIB301

Whenever my wife and I are out for a car ride and I

see a sprinkler that sprays onto the road, I slow down
a bit, put the passenger side window down and time
it so that the water sprays into the car. It’s more fun
if your passenger doesn’t realize what’s going on
until they get wet.
calmiche

1) Empty out a jar of mayonnaise

2) Prepare vanilla pudding
3) Place the pudding in the empty jar
4) Eat it in front of people
legoking

Put chicken bouillon cubes

behind the showerhead.
Tiosam

Sometimes, when I’m first at a stoplight with a car

on my left and nobody behind me, I’ll put my car
in reverse and slowly back up. The car to my left
thinks they’re slowly pulling out into traffic, and
you can see a moment of panic on their face that’s
just great.
ThirstyBoots

Add an MP3 sound of an electric razor to your

phone. Put your phone behind someone’s head
and play the sound, pretending to take a chunk out
of their hair.
Poundingbassline
 ASKREDDIT 9

When you stop at a stop sign or stoplight and there

is someone standing on the street outside of the
Place pennies on top of
passenger side window (perhaps waiting to cross ceiling fan blades. I’m
the street), simply roll down your passenger side
window.
talking 5 dollars worth.
This causes two things to happen. First, the Make sure the fan is set to
passenger will look out the window and wonder
why it’s going down. Second, the pedestrian will
where the lower side of
take notice and look at the window being rolled the fan blades lead in the
down. What then ensues is a gloriously awkward
moment between the passenger and the pedestrian
fan’s rotation. When they
as they stare at each other without any clue as to turn the fan on next time
what is actually happening.
Sib301
they enter the room, the
pennies won’t fly off right
At night, when the house is dark, enter before your
significant other. Go into a dark room where you
away because they’re
know they are heading. Hide against the wall fighting the slope of the
where you can’t be seen and place your hand on
the light switch. When they enter the dark room
fan blade. Then, penny
and reach for the light switch and instead feel a apocalypse.
hand, be prepared to perform CPR.
ShoyuGazer
bloodsoakedoilies

Old and classic. Take a high quality print screen of

the desktop. Set as wallpaper and remove actual
desktop icons. Watch ‘em get mad with frozen
desktop and reboot endlessly.
Eldgrim

Get a tomato and approach a friend. Ask them

if they’d like to try a “Hawaiian Apple” and
hand them the tomato. If they fall for it
the results are hilarious. It’s harmless
fun.
Solidness

As a female, I like to leave the toilet

seat up in public bathrooms.
rocket_jump

Duct tape a harmonica under the

front bumper of your friend’s car.
Whether they come to realize there’s
a strange sound or not, it still makes for
a good time for the people laughing as
they drive by.
Rocko24
 ASKREDDIT 10

If you were the

LAST MAN ON EARTH
What would you do?
RAOULDUKE44

I would start going through people’s homes and I’d get two German shepherd pups, male and
see how they really lived. female, and do my best to train them. They’d be
Jakevol2 my company so I don’t go completely insane.
Then I’d go down to the local library and read
survival guides for the next year or two. Really
Crash Lamborghinis. immerse myself in living off the land. Grow a
systemizer beard. Consistently expose myself to zoo animals.
Then wander North America until I die.
I would find a suitable car, stockpile gasoline fingertrollin
and supplies, and explore the continental USA
by myself. I would learn to drive boats, I would
learn to fly planes, and I would read as many
books as I could manage. I would dedicate myself
Move into the White House.
to learning everything I could about everything. Turn it into my own personal
Human culture, science, philosophy, biology,
everything.
museum.
Why-Guy
I would take digital cameras from consumer
electronics stores, stockpile flash memory and
basically every other kind of electronics, and I
would document the world. Then I would commit
it to as many forms as I could. Stone carvings,
engravings, digital, analog, everything.
Why? I don’t know. Maybe to leave
behind an instruction manual
for the next ape that gains self-
consciousness.
the_pun_stops_here
 ASKREDDIT 11

Download Wikipedia and read up on how to operate and fix solar panels; also look up farming
methods and how to grow my own food. Food and power will run out sooner or later.
FattyTheFaggot

I would just go around and break stuff.

Kkambos

After coming to terms with the shock and the grief, the loss of loved ones and the sheer
bewilderment of it all, this 21st Century Man, whose practical skills extend no further than wiring
a plug and putting up some shelves, would almost certainly descend into madness. Of course I
would first have a wank on the streets, that’s obvious, but what then?
One or more nuclear power plants would go into meltdown as cooling pumps failed. The
equivalent of several Chernobyls could render big areas of the country uninhabitable. With
prevailing winds as they are, it would perhaps be best to head for the westernmost parts of the
country or even try to escape Britain altogether. (This would be hard considering I can’t fly an
aeroplane or drive a boat.) Assuming I avoided this radiation, hygiene would then be an issue, if
I chose to remain in the city; I would find the lack of mains, sewage and drainage a problem after
only a few days, as the pumping stations failed, while rivers would probably be too polluted to
bathe in.
Food and water would be simple to get thanks to shopping markets full of bottled water and
canned food, but I would most likely have to fight for this food against giant mutated animals
born of the nuclear fallout who wander into the cities. It’s damn well impossible to get guns in this
country so I would be royally fucked.
Science-Faction

Assuming I’m not sure if I’m the last person on Earth, I’d
go out and try to find some other people. I’d probably
wander for days until I lose all hope.
Pujapatel8

Try not to break my glasses.

Sinestro1982

First I would begin gathering the most important books. I would find mechanical manuals,
medical manuals, philosophy, literature, all of it. Then I would find craft beer stores and I would
start cleaning them out. I would find a massive building for shelter. Then, I would read and drink.
djturnbloom

I would be a dick and kill myself.

travisHAZE
12 ASKREDDIT

GLITCH IN THE
GLITCH IN THE
MATRIX superunhappyfuntime

I am usually one of the first guys from my team to get to work and the kitchen was deserted as
usual. I walked into the little kitchen, there was a ceramic egg tray with 12 eggs in it, all spaces are
filled with warm freshly boiled eggs. I take one, walk over to the garbage bin, and shuck the shell.
Then I walk back over to the food and stop dead. There are 12 eggs in the tray again. No one entered
the room while I was peeling the thing. I touched the mystery egg it was the same temp as the
other eggs around it. Given one does not get presented with strange eggs from a parallel universe
every day, I peeled and ate that one too.
Superunhappyfuntime

Driving to work one day, stop at a red light. Look to my left, a beige 2007 Chevy Suburban. Look
across the intersection, 2007 beige Chevy Suburban. Look at the traffic crossing: two 2007 beige
Chevy Suburbans, going through the intersection. Not so much a “glitch in the matrix” moment as
it was a “stuck in Grand Theft Auto” moment.
Onosendaicyberspace7

One time I found an onion ring in my basket of fries.

rtechnix

My dad had a little toy monkey that he used to call his “favorite child” and tease my siblings and
me with. Not in a bad way, but it was really frustrating to us and we spent hours trying to steal it
from him. One day we finally got the monkey and threw it into the garbage after drawing on it
and mangling it for a bit. My dad laughed and searched for it, but basically figured we had thrown
it out and gave up after a week or so. A few years later, I’m walking down the street in Toronto (I
don’t live in Toronto, was just visiting friends) and see this little orange object on the side of the
road. When I walk over to it, I pick it up and see that it was the exact same monkey. It even had
the black sharpie lines on it from when we drew all over it. I honestly cannot even come up with
the chances of that happening, especially considering our garbage is sent to a local dump and is
nowhere near Toronto.
Matics
13 ASKREDDIT

I was sitting in a group of three people in class one day when my friend dropped his pen on the
desk. I saw it stall in mid-air for a second, then drop on his desk. My friend asked, “Did anyone else
see that?” All my friends saw it, and it was just the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. To this day I have
no explanation for it.
deathmoon68

I have an overwhelming, terrified reaction to any time I see footage or a recreation of the D-Day
invasion of Normandy. I can watch anything about any other type of war/battle/what-have-you,
but for some reason, and I don’t know why – the D-Day invasion strikes something in me. The
worst time was when I watched “Saving Private Ryan,” my heart felt like it was going to pound
out of my chest, I felt a sense of panic that I have never felt, and tears started streaming down my
face. I was paralyzed in my seat. I had the strangest ‘you’ve been there’ feeling that I’ve never had
before.
the_muchness

Every so often I’ll have dreams, which play out years

later in real life exactly as I’ve dreamt them.
Donttossme

Woke up one morning when I was 16 or so and realized that I had forgotten how to tie my shoes.
Like, this action I had done every day almost since I could walk, was wiped from my mind. I had
to learn all over again.
AFineWayToDie

Driving to work one day, stop at a red light. Look to my left, a beige 2007 Chevy Suburban. Look
across the intersection, 2007 beige Chevy Suburban. Look at the traffic crossing: two 2007 beige
Chevy Suburbans, going through the intersection. Not so much a “glitch in the matrix” moment as
it was a “stuck in Grand Theft Auto” moment.
Onosendaicyberspace7

I used to work in a building that had three levels of sub-basements, with the piece of lab equipment
I typically worked on in the lowest basement. I had the only key. There was a wired phone in there,
and I did work late some nights... but not this night. I was sleeping alone in my apartment when
I woke up to a call on my cell phone from my girlfriend at 3 AM, she was in hysterics and asking
why I scared her. Apparently she received a call from that basement phone just a minute earlier,
with someone who sounded like me slowly repeating her name, until crackling and fading out.
My apartment was 10 miles away from work. I thought she was lying, but I saw the 3 AM call from
the basement phone logged on her cell myself.
Jeanofjogon
FIRST
WORLD
PROBLEMS

My favorite website is overrun by high school kids.

 AMA 16

THE ARTWORK OF
JOHAN POTMA
My name is Johan Potma. I’m an artist, illustrator, gallerist,
weirdo, collector of the odd, liker of the strange.
JOHANPOTMA
 AMA 17

My name is Johan Potma. I’m an artist, illustrator, gallerist,

weirdo, collector of the odd, liker of the strange. I have
always drawn strange characters as long as I can remember.
I was born in the Netherlands. As a skateboarding kid I
discovered my love for art and figured out that this was
going to be my direction in life. After studying advertising
and then Illustration at the Minerva Art Academy in
Groningen, I moved to Berlin. I share three galleries called
Zozoville, Onkel Zozo, and The Cheese Mountain Tragedy.
This is where I work and exhibit my latest pieces.

You have a unique style of painting on

wood. What attracts you to the medium?
Do you embrace the imperfections?

I have always had a love for the weird, the underdog,

the unusual. I found failure, losers, oddballs, etc. so
much more interesting than the beautiful ideals I saw
around me being used by the mainstream media. This I
think is evident if you look at my work. To me it is a voice
against these shallow ideals. The materials I use are an
extension of that.
I love to use old scratched up pieces of wood as the
background for my artwork. The materials tell a story of
their own through the scratches, dents and cracks. I will
play with these elements to tell a story of my own on top
of that.
During the painting process, the image will be
influenced by the material, steering it in directions that
I myself hadn’t thought of when I created the original
sketch. I really appreciate this part of making art, not
being in total control and letting the material influence
the outcome. Damage and mistakes are elements I have
come to embrace in my work. Elements that play a role
in something I highly value, which is imperfection.
 AMA 18

my work gives clues to

Where do you
a past, a realness, and
find the pieces or
suggests that you are
scraps you paint
looking at something
on? What do you
that at some point
look for?
“really” happened.
I am always on the
look out for materials.
You often paint
Whether it is at flea
within specific,
markets, in antique
oddly shaped
shops or sometimes I
frames. Do you
find beautiful stuff in
sketch first, and
the streets of Berlin.
then look for a
It is important that
frame? Or find a
the materials I use are
frame and then
suitable as a background
sketch to fit?
to paint on. This means
that it has to be dry, not
I am always close to my
rotting or infested by
sketchpad. This is where
termites. I also do not
it all starts. I draw a lot
want to have to scrape
and put many of my
off pieces of road kill
thoughts and ideas on
from it, so yes, there are
paper. It starts out with
certain criteria in the
a line that becomes a
materials I work with.
shape. The shape will
Other than that, I really
become a character and
like the life story the
the character becomes
materials bring to the
part of a story. Many
table.
of these thoughts and
I found failure, losers, oddballs, etc ideas don’t go very far,
so much more interesting than the but some do. These I will
How does painting beautiful ideals I saw around me refine and develop to be
on wood or
suitable for a painting.
other found
Next, I have to start
surfaces compare
thinking about the
to traditional
ideal size and the ideal
canvas?
background. My studio
is full of materials that I
Canvas is a very soft
can use and hopefully I
material to paint on
will have the right piece
and wasn’t the right
there.
material for me to work
with. I needed some- Then another really fun
thing harder, something part starts, the painting.
tougher. I liked to scratch
things up and was really
focusing on creating a What is your
rougher outcome. general process
from start to
Wood turned out to be
finish?
perfect for this. Especially old wood. I experimented
with all sorts of materials in art school and somehow
As soon as I have gotten a sketch that excites me, I
ended up where I am today.
need to find a piece to paint it on, and the sketch will be
Art school really gave me so much. I had a chance to transferred to the wood. I usually begin by creating a
try out all sorts of techniques and materials. I loved it! layer of paper collage on the wood - this is the “canvas”
I started integrating collage into my work for the first on which I will transfer the sketch. I then will paint
time and that really gave me the opportunity to create over the collage, and by using sandpaper and water I
something unique. I like how an old paper collage in push back the paint to try to find an interesting balance
 AMA 19

between the wooden background material, the paint,

and the paper collage. I will also sketch out the most
important parts of the painting. Then I start filling in
the rough color fields, leaving room for the material to
dictate certain directions the piece can take. By refining
these steps, I eventually get to a point at which the piece
looks somewhat finished to me.

What are your influences when

developing concepts and sketches?

My inspiration is just my life in general. I am very

observant of my surroundings and translate all my
experiences into sketches and sketch ideas. A guy picking
his nose on the train can inspire me to make a drawing
of a cave-exploring monster… just like that.

What sort of galleries have your work

been featured in?

I have exhibited my work in many galleries apart from

my own here in Berlin. I have shown my work in
Holland, France, Spain, Austria and a couple of times in
the United States. The shows are different every time.
I like meeting new audiences and local artists from
around the world. Besides the shows, my work has been
featured in numerous magazines, TV shows, and I get
published in illustration annuals every year.

What sort of commission work have you

done? Does your style change much for
corporate clients?

I try to do a couple of commercial projects each year. I

have two agents who represent me in the commercial
field and who negotiate commissioned work for a variety
of clients for me worldwide. I have worked for Pepsi,
Nivea, Playboy, McCain, to name a few. My style doesn’t
really change when working for these clients. They
know my work and ask me to do exactly this, applied to
their concepts.

Any favorite pieces?

It is hard to name one favorite piece, because what I like

changes daily. It all sort of depends on my mood I guess.
What I like about looking at my own work is discovering
bits and pieces that I can’t quite remember making.
When painting, I get lost in the process. Looking back at
pieces makes me see things in a new light, weird choices,
bizarre details.
AMA 20
 AMA 21

RESCUEPROS599

I am a former 911 operator. Ask me anything.

911
How long does it take to trace a location
from a call?
When you call 911, it’s not instant. Sometimes with
smartphones (Android, iPhone, etc.) it can be near instant
– but other times, it takes 2-5 minutes. The first “location”
data we get is the cell tower you call from and then any
GPS coordinates. The cell tower may not even be the
nearest available, but it’s just the one your 911 call was
routed to. If your phone doesn’t have GPS, it can take 30
minutes to 24 hours for the phone company to trace it.
Has anyone called in that you personally
knew? I would imagine that would be
nerve-wracking.
Yes. They didn’t know it was me. I had about 10 people I
knew personally... When they panic, they never realize
things like your operator name, your voice… You have
to take every call seriously; I never let a person know.

Are there any other small things you can

tell us that would help immensely in an
emergency?
Location, location, location. If you ever call 911, wait
for them to say whatever and state your location. That’s Have you ever been in a situation where
more important than what is going on. Trust me. you have to talk someone down from
committing suicide?
Don’t give us the whole, “He did this, he did that...” All
Yes. I wasn’t trained to do it and we usually transfer them
we need to know is, “They are bleeding because they got
to the suicide hotline (unless they are hurting or have
in a fight.”
caused harm – then we send police and ambulance) but
Save everything else for the cop. We don’t really need it. there were multiple times the suicide hotline was offline.
If it’s medical – location followed by symptoms.
Remaining calm is the hardest thing to do in an
How often do you get phone calls?
emergency, but it’s the best thing to do.
It depends – we had a train derailment once; we got
about 100 calls in about 10 minutes (for 5 people), which
ramped up to 500+ per 10 minutes. Sometimes, we can
Ever have someone die while you were on
go 4-6 hours without a single call. I worked one night
the phone with them?
shift (8 hours) and only took two calls that night.
Yes. The very first call I ever had, the guy died. I heard
him take his last “gasp” for air.

What do you do if you don’t understand

What is the most heart-wrenching call
you’ve ever received?
I heard a woman get beat by her husband. It was sad.
I could hear her scream in pain. When the officers got
there, she had bled all over the house and nearly died. I
could never imagine hitting my significant other... That
call made me realize the reality of domestic violence and
abuse. I never realized how bad it was before.
what the person is saying?
This happens a lot. If the caller hardly speaks any English,
we connect to a company called Language Line, and
they will translate any language. Normally, you can
figure out what they want though, even with a heavy
accent.
 AMA 22

Which call (or type of call) put you under Do you find it hard to suppress your
the most stress? emotions when you receive a call from
Once I had to help deliver a baby over the phone, and someone in a moment of extreme distress?
another about child abductions. Those were the two No, actually... it’s weird. Your adrenaline kicks in and
most stressful calls ever. The third was the time where you are able to set aside all personal feelings, emotions,
we got a call about a shooter and an abandoned cop car, fears and thoughts to help out. I will admit – sometimes,
and the officer was not responding on his radio. (He was calls are extremely tiresome. I’ve had two or three calls
peeing in the woods.) where I literally put my head on the desk and took a
micro-nap after a call. The phones are loud enough to
wake you up though.
Out of idle curiosity, do you have any
specific religious beliefs? We got a call about a shooter and an
I’d have to call myself an Atheist. I respect everyone’s abandoned cop car, and the officer
religion though, and nonetheless – I’ve read the entire was not responding on his radio...
bible and know why I disagree with it. But sometimes, (He was peeing in the woods.)
even as an atheist, I do things that I don’t believe in to
help others (prayer). Maybe I don’t get anything from
prayer or believe in it, but the other person may and I
want to give him some hope. It has been
proven that people who have hope in
critical conditions are more likely to
pull out. I wouldn’t be able to live
with myself if I would have told
him I was Atheist instead of
helping him.

How do you
handle
pranks?
We tell them we are
tracing the line and
sending the police.

If I was choking to
death but managed to
dial 911 (and all you hear is
some weird noises), what are my
If I was interested in
chances of being rescued before I
doing this as a job,
die?
how should I go about
If you have a smartphone, it depends on how well of
it? Who do I talk to/
a GPS signal we get. If you have a home phone, most
where would I apply?
departments have a policy where an officer has to go to
Call the department on the non-
the home.
emergency line. Ask to speak to the captain, and ask
Always make sure your apartment door is unlocked, how you apply. It’s on-the-job training, and no special
and the best thing to do is keep dialing 911 with the skills required (other than multitasking, computer skills,
dispatcher on the line. The noises, a lot of times we speech and quick thinking).
attribute to just weird noises. We always call back, but if
you keep pressing 911 (we know that sound), it may give
you a better chance.
The best thing to do is to use a chair and do the Heimlich
on yourself.
 AMA 23

WITCH
COLONY

Last summer I interned as a photographer in Ghana. My main interest was violations in human rights, which led me to the
Gambaga witch colony. Women, usually in positions of power (business owners, community leaders, etc.), are often accused
by other villagers of being witches through accusations including things like making a child stillborn, preventing rain, or
causing cholera outbreaks. They are shunned from their communities and forced to go to outcast colonies. And as I graduated
with degrees in Animal Science and Zoology, I was also interested in actually seeing the animal black markets first hand.

PEOPLE_PENGUIN
 AMA 24

How did you travel?

The witch colony itself was very difficult to get to. I

took a seventeen hour bus ride (complete with chicken
passengers and goats tied to the roof) from the capitol,
Accra, and then took lots of tro-tros (eighteen people
shoved into the space of a mini van, held together by
hope and duct tape.). There was a small guest house at the
colony that, after some difficulty, I stayed at, consisting
of a bed and chair, which was more than I needed.
I intentionally fasted because I didn’t want to get horrible
stomach problems when I had so much travelling to
do, and in vehicles that don’t stop until they either
break down or get you there. I also didn’t want to seem
insensitive since it was clear that many of the women
and children were starving.

How did you communicate with the

villagers?

The villagers had very diverse backgrounds, there are

about 79 different languages spoken in Ghana alone.
Many of the women were from surrounding regions, and
couldn’t communicate with each other, so the women
are housed in groups based on region of origin. I hired
a translator through the local church who presented
me to the chief before my entry (and let me know I was
supposed to bring an offering of schnapps to him.)
It was important to me for the women to know that
I respected them, and that I wasn’t there to gawk at
or exploit anyone, which was difficult to do while
photographing them. It was mostly body language,
I lowered my head while I shook hands with all the
women I encountered, and they seemed pleased.
I was astonished by how resilient they all looked, and
thought they had some of the most interesting faces
I’d ever seen. It was a mix of so many things: pain and
 AMA 25

sorrow, but also strength and resilience. They’ve had

such incredibly hard lives, lives that have been taken
from them over false accusations, and even though they
are still shunned by the majority of the people in their
country, they maintain a quiet dignity in the way they
live and present themselves.

How civilized or developed was the

community?

The Gambaga witch colony was in a very remote area

of northern Ghana. It took me two full days of travel to
get there from Accra. One of the larger buildings had
electricity, as did some of the houses in the non-colony
part of Gambaga. I had very weak cell service, and the
closest mail and internet was about a five hour bus ride
They had some of the most interesting
away. The women had a well, which was apparently faces I’d ever seen. It was a mix of so
arranged by a Peace Corps volunteer who lived there a
few years earlier.
many things: pain and sorrow, but
The majority of the women lived in mud huts with
also strength and resilience.
thatched roofs. Five or six are arranged in a circle, and
women from the same areas live in the same areas, and
the colony as a whole was made up of about a dozen of
these.
The only money the women make is from working in
nearby fields and collecting wood from the surrounding
areas. Once they are branded a witch, they are no longer
permitted to own property, so they cannot own the fields
or grow their own crops, but they are permitted to work
in the fields.

Can the women escape or go somewhere

where people are more tolerant?

Outcast colonies are a big humanitarian issue, because

in general the women want to be there, which seems
odd until you realize their situation. If they do leave,
they are forever branded a witch, and will be forced by
the villagers to go back to the colony.

Do any of the women actually believe

they are witches? Or are they just
socially outcast?

Though some of the women did indeed believe

themselves to be witches, the vast majority of them were
accused because they held money/positions of power,
and once they were gone, others were able to take their
holdings.
 AMA 26

How does anyone still believe in would constantly grab me, hard, on the wrists and try
witchcraft? to drag me into their shops (sometimes successfully.)
They would be laughing at the time, but here it would
Most in rural areas never have access to actual medical definitely be considered assault, and it would happen
care or know how well modern medicine works, so all the time, several times a day. Although, if I were
Fetish healing may seem to be a viable alternative. travelling with a guy, this would never happen. So I
Despite the fact that there is a huge Christian population think the bigger issue was the fact that I was travelling
there, I didn’t meet a single Ghanaian while I was there alone.
who didn’t believe in the power of witchcraft, even the
When I was traveling by myself, which was around 70%
very Christian who said “Only Christ and his powers
of the time, it was important that I remained dignified
were real.” When I asked how they could believe in both,
and respectful but also not take any crap, which was
he said “Just because someone doesn’t believe in God it
an extremely difficult balancing act. I didn’t want to be
doesn’t mean he can’t hurt them, and just because I don’t
disrespectful, but I also didn’t want to appear weak or
believe in witchcraft doesn’t mean it can’t hurt me.” It
easily taken advantage of. I think quite a bit of that was
seemed like this was the prevailing attitude in the area.
body language. However, it did present it’s advantages
in that it was easier to strike up conversations with
people, for example, I met a guy in the city who took me
Did they have any trouble with you
to the Black Market who probably wouldn’t have talked
photographing them?
to me had I not been travelling alone.
My god, was that an issue. I donated a lot of money
to the colony so the women there didn’t have a huge
Did you ever feel threatened?
problem with it. I started with a flash, but it scared them.
Ghanaians in general hated having their picture taken. I
Very often. In Accra, I saw the entire progression of a
took point and shoot to a market, tried to subtly take one,
robber getting lynched outside of my house. But the
and literally nearly caused a riot. The biggest challenge
scariest for me, personally, was getting very nearly
for all of these photos was not letting anyone see me
sexually assaulted in Gambaga. After travelling for about
taking them.
48 hours nonstop, I arrived at the village (the village and
colony are separate) around 10pm, and had arranged
to stay in a two room guest house. A man took me on
As a relatively well-dressed white
his motorbike to the guesthouse. I felt weird when he
American woman, did you ever feel
followed me into the room to “show me around.” I said,
uncomfortable as such an outsider
still not trying to offend him, that I needed to go to bed,
in any of the places you visited?
and he said OK and went in for a hug, which was not
normal. But hey, maybe he’s being friendly and thinks
I think I went into it knowing that I would feel
it’s the American thing to do. Hug finishes, I walk to the
awkward and stick out, but what I didn’t expect was
door to get him to the door, and when he’s in the doorway
all of the somewhat violent physical contact from men.
he goes in for another hug. During this one, he won’t let
For example, whenever I was in crowded markets, men

It was important that

I remained dignified
and respectful but
also not take any crap,
which was an extremely
difficult balancing
act. I didn’t want to be
disrespectful, but I also
didn’t want to appear
weak or easily taken
advantage of.
 AMA 27

go and starts rubbing my back and neck, and I shoved people there, but just like the witches, most people don’t
him, extremely hard, away from me, and he screamed want any association with them. No one came near
at me for it. Realizing shit just got real, I slammed/locked while I was there, but it may have just been because I
the door as hard as I could, and he starts pounding on was a random white woman photographing them. I
the door, screaming, and we are far enough away that received plenty a shifty glance from people walking by.
no one can hear this. He left, but I knew since he owned
It would be impossible to find unless you knew where
the place that he had a key, so I pushed the chair against
to go, it probably took about ten minutes of walking
the door, came up with a plan for if he came back, held
through very crowded markets, around 70 or so turns
my bursting bladder, and didn’t sleep at all. Luckily, he
in a labyrinth of alleys to get there. It consisted of about
never returned.
eight stalls, which were open air and surrounded by
walls. Each stall was simple, with a massive 12’ x 12’
table covered in animal parts. The smell of it is difficult to
What is the story behind the Black Market?
forget, as nothing was really properly preserved.
I’d first heard about black markets, or Fetish markets,
through some of my zoology courses at my university,
since they’re one of the primary reasons animals are
poached. Though I had no idea what one would look
like. I figured out through lots of talking with locals how There were just heaps upon heaps
to get to the witch colony, and I knew that where there of heads, hands, bodies, and skins,
were witches and Fetish priests, so there must also be a
with very little organization.
Fetish market. And I was determined to see it.
When I was taking a tro-tro
back to the larger city from
the colony, I struck up a
conversation with a Ghanaian
guy who was sitting next to
me and happened to speak
English, about visiting the
witch colony and learning
more about Fetishism.
Eventually I told him I really
wanted to visit a Fetish market
and asked if he knew of any,
and it turned out that he knew
a bunch of the guys who ran
the one in the city we were
headed to, and said he would
be glad to take me there.
It seems like the existence and
location of the Fetish markets
is common knowledge to the
 AMA 28

What were some of the items you saw

and your reactions to them?

I was really surprised by the sheer amount of

animal parts, I had no idea there would be so
many. I couldn’t even figure out how to begin
photographing them, there were just heaps upon
heaps of heads, hands, bodies, and skins, with very
little organization.
The only item I asked about specifically was the
elephant jaw: how expensive? They told me $130
American, and usually Ghanaians charge about
three times as much or more to foreigners, so I think
it probably would have cost a Ghanaian about $45
dollars.
There were lots and lots of endangered and
protected species there: leopards, cheetahs, lions,
hippos, various croc species, every bird and reptile
imaginable, different monkey species, pangolin,
and antelope. I think just about every species in
Africa was represented, with the exception of rhino.
The monkey heads lined in a row was one of the
more disturbing things I saw there.

Is the market legitimately illegal

activity and sales? Or is this
somewhat common in Ghana?

It’s frowned upon, and poaching/selling poached

animals is illegal, but the sellers all claim that every
animal at their shops was found dead and salvaged,
which is “legal.” It’s fairly similar to the law that
whales can be killed for science; everyone uses it as
a loophole. And since you can’t prove they weren’t
salvaged, it’s all legal.
FIRST
WORLD
PROBLEMS

My car is too old to have an input for my

iPod, but too new for a tape adapter.
 STORIES 31

the
SCARECROW
GAME
WRITTEN BY SCARECROWGIRL

When I was young, my family lived in a small, rural
town in Virginia. It was the kind of town where no
one locked their doors. It was bordered by patches of
old farmland and forest, and the yards were huge and
sprawling, many with fruit orchards at the back.
The street I was on didn’t have any other children on
it, unfortunately, but I had a few friends at school,
and we went on hayrides, picked pumpkins, and
visited each other often. At home, I probably would
have been lonely, except, like many children, I had
imaginary friends to keep me company. What maybe
made me different from other kids was the sheer
number of imaginary friends I had, and the very
specific circumstances in which they showed up.
There was a little boy that played with me in my
room at night. I remember I used to make fun of him
for wearing a dress, this weird lacy blue thing, and he
would scowl and throw blocks at my head and sulk,
and sometimes disappear entirely for days on end,
STORIES 32
so I learned to stop teasing him about it. Years later, I
realized it was an old-fashioned nightgown, the kind
both little boys and little girls used to wear. Maybe I’d
seen it in a book, or on TV, and incorporated it into my
daydreams.
At the time I just knew he was dressed funny. We
played with his toy trains, which he could send
spinning through the air, something I never got the
knack of myself but thought was a lot of fun. Sometimes
he would bring them out while I was eating dinner
with my family, and I’d point them out to my parents,
the trains dancing around the ceiling. They laughed,
and told me they couldn’t see them, which annoyed
me at first, but I eventually got used to it.
The one time I remember my parents being concerned
about any of my imaginary companions was when I
said I had made friends with a man named Michael,
a young man in old-fashioned clothes, with a funny
cap, and he always carried a stick over his left shoulder.
I told them that I met him in the orchard and that
now we were boyfriend and girlfriend, that we were
going to get married. This naturally concerned them
 STORIES 33

a bit, which I found baffling at the time, but once I

little brother or sister to play with, but something
chattered away at Michael in front of them, they
kept going wrong. I didn’t wind up getting my little
calmed down. Obviously this was yet another of my
brother until later, when we’d moved to South
cadre of imaginary friends, not a strange man preying
Carolina. On top of that, my dad was always away
on their daughter.
for work – sometimes for weeks at a time. My mom
was very quiet and distracted back then, with the end
Then there was Judy, the only one of my
result that she seldom noticed when I disappeared for
friends that did occasionally frighten me.
hours on end. I don’t think this made her a bad parent
Even I couldn’t see her – she was just a voice
and an invisible presence, but we played
all the time in my room, always during the
day, wild games that usually resulted in
enormous messes that I, not Judy, got yelled at
for, which I always thought was completely
unfair. What frightened me was that she
had a temper. When we fought, she’d throw
things at me until I burst into tears, and then
she’d apologize over and over until I forgave
her. We fought and made up constantly. My
parents thought it was cute, I think.

The list of imaginary friends and comrades

goes on and on, probably more than anyone
would be interested in hearing about. I had
them everywhere. There was the girl in the
wall by the playground – she only came out
sometimes, during cloudy days. I don’t know
if she came out at night – I never went to the
playground after dark, of course. And there
were the eyes in the magnolia tree. I called
them my squirrel friends, and they freaked
out my babysitter, even though she couldn’t
see them.
None of these figures seemed malevolent to me,
though like I said, sometimes Judy’s temper scared
me. But considering that I was a bit of a scaredy-cat
as a kid, terrified of skeletons and prone to hiding my
face and shrieking in terror whenever “The Wizard of
Oz” or the Sea Witch from “The Little Mermaid” came
on TV, it’s no wonder that my imaginary friends never
worried my parents. They must have seemed both
funny and harmless. Maybe even healthy, for a kid
with no one to play with during the day.
Besides, they had other things to worry about – though
all I knew at the time was that my mom was sick a
lot, I now know she was having miscarriage after
miscarriage, almost always of twins, which probably
made it worse. They wanted me to have a sibling, a
– as I recall, a lot of my friends’ parents were the same
way. I certainly ran amok mostly unsupervised at my
friend Marcus’s house, too, throughout the corn fields
and forests near his house. It was a safe, sleepy town.
There was no reason to worry.
Years later, I came to the same conclusion as my
parents: wow, I had a crazy imagination. All those
things must have been a combination of dreams and
playacting and wishful thinking. I was a weird kid
who didn’t have a lot of friends outside of school, my
parents didn’t have a lot of time for me, and clearly I
was making up for it in my own head.
But recently something happened that made me start
thinking back. There’s one thing, just one, that really
makes me wonder if more was going on than just the
overactive imagination of a lonely kid.
You see, the year I turned six, something happened
to Marcus. I didn’t understand what happened then.
I was a kid, and at the time it wasn’t something that

especially frightened me – it did upset we’d been in there. They said it was old,
me, but I was a kid. Kids get over strange and dangerous, and kept threatening
events easily, especially when distracted that eventually they were going to tear
by other, even stranger events. We moved it down. We kept sneaking in, though,
pretty soon after it happened, and my sneaking in flashlights and blankets and
mind was occupied with worry over that stuffed animals that his parents repeatedly
– over the friends I was leaving, over cleared back out. Eventually they boarded
whether I would make new friends in up the door so that we couldn’t get in
my new home, over whether my mom anymore. I remembered the day we
really would let me get a puppy, over the discovered the boards, how we pried at
new little brother I was being promised them for ages and then sulked back to the
and whether my parents would love him house, full of splinters.
more than me. Normal worries, but all- Anyway, like I said earlier, his house was
encompassing ones for a six-year-old. surrounded by cornfields. Many of them
I didn’t have a lot of friends at school had scarecrows, which sparked an idea
back in Virginia, maybe because I talked in our heads. Somehow, who knows how
to myself so often back then, but I did the minds of kids work, but at some point
have one really good friend, my best we came up with the Scarecrow game.
friend, Marcus. He was a bit of an oddball This was the game we played the most –
himself, a goofy looking kid covered in at school, at his home or mine, wherever.
freckles, with red curly hair like Ronald The object of the game was this: one of
McDonald and a giant mouth that was us would play the Scarecrow, standing
always laughing or smiling wider that perfectly still, hands outstretched and
seemed humanly possible. I liked him a head down, not moving, totally silent.
lot, and he loved hearing my stories about And the other would do their damnedest
my invisible companions. Judy hated to make the Scarecrow move or jump or
him, so we usually played outside when make a noise. This could be done by trying
he visited. He would troop around with to either scare the Scarecrow, or make
Michael and me, listening to me prattle them laugh – you could pretend to be an
on. I’d convey Michael’s occasional elephant, or make funny faces, or sneak
comments, and we all had fun exploring, up behind them and shout as loud as you
climbing trees, finding the best hiding could.
As I was a giant fraidy
cat, and also rather
The object of the game was this:
excitable to boot,
one of us would play the Scarecrow,
it quickly became
standing perfectly still, hands
apparent that I was a
outstretched and head down, not
horrible Scarecrow. My
moving, totally silent.
turns never lasted long,
especially because
Marcus could pull
places and secret fortresses. some truly spectacular faces. Even now,
I visited him, too. His house was an nearly two decades later, I still remember
old farmhouse from an earlier century, his impression of a giraffe being born
probably the 1700s or 1800s, I’m not sure. and can’t help laughing. He had a gift
It had a barn, and a silo that was out of for comedy even at six years of age; even
use and rusting away, which we were adults constantly cracked up around him.
forbidden to go near, but we occasionally
snuck in through the side door anyway. I was less adept, or maybe Marcus just had
We used it as a clubhouse, but his parents nerves of steel and the patience of a much
always yelled if they figured out that older kid, because he could stand there
STORIES 34
for what seemed like hours (probably no
more than ten minutes, but time passes
differently when you’re a kid), and often
the game would finally end when his
arms just got too tired for him to hold them
up any longer. This never happened to
me, mind you. Like I said, I was a horrible
Scarecrow.
In kindergarten, Marcus and I were paired
up as partners – the way our class worked,
each pair had a task to complete. Ours
was to clean up and stack the blocks back
in their treasure chest after morning and
afternoon play periods. So when Marcus
didn’t come in, I always noticed and
fumed – he was leaving me with all the
work! Never mind that I did the same to
him the week I had the flu, or the time
Mom was too sick to walk me to school.
One morning, I think in October, or maybe
November – it was just before it’d gotten
cold enough to bundle up during the day,
still warm enough during recess to run
around without a jacket. Anyway, one day
Marcus didn’t show up. I was already mad
at him because for some reason, he hadn’t
been there to play all weekend, his parents
not answering the phone when mine
called. So I was extra mad that morning as
I stacked the blocks alone, throwing them
around haphazardly.
When we broke for recess, though, Marcus
was waiting outside, waiting for me. It
was a sunny day, sky bright blue, and
I remember there was a strong breeze
blowing. Leaves were falling everywhere,
skittering around in the breeze in swirly
of crackly color, and a bunch of my
classmates were already racing around,
making piles and throwing them at each
other, shrieking and making the normal
sounds of a playground filled with kids.
But Marcus just stood there in a bubble
of silence, arms outstretched and head
down. He was wearing a red shirt that
clashed with his orange hair. He was
playing Scarecrow.
I was still a little miffed that he’d skipped

out on his block duties, but I was glad to see him.
There were always the other girls in my class that I
could have played with, Peggy and Meredith and
Ashley, but I never got along as well with them as I
did with Marcus. Marcus was my best friend. It was
always more fun when he was there.
That day, though, Marcus played the Scarecrow better
than he ever had before. There was a cut on one of
his hands, but he just stood there and let it bleed,
the blood dripping off his fingers and falling on the
leaves. His hair looked weird, too, matted down
on one side and wet. That scared me a little, but
Marcus had never minded cuts and bruises as
much as I did and was good at hiding them
from his parents later so we wouldn’t get in
trouble, so it wasn’t that strange.
What was strange was how well he played
that day. Nothing
could make
him move,
not even
when I leaves and wood chips and stood
got frustrated and
broke the rules and
shoved him. He just stood
there, head down, arms out, mouth
unsmiling. He didn’t get tired, didn’t
put his arms down, didn’t obey the
unspoken rule that after a while, the
game had to end. That was the rule,
and he wasn’t playing fair, and he
hadn’t even helped me with the
blocks that morning.
“Fine!” I yelled, frustrated
enough that I was practically
crying, and stomped off to go
play tag with the other kids.
He was still standing there
when recess ended. I didn’t say
anything because I was still mad,
but I was even more aggravated
when that afternoon, before I
could go home, I had to put up
all the blocks by myself, again. I
complained to our teacher, who
was a young pretty woman, more
a girl, really, not very experienced.
I remember she seemed upset, and
STORIES 35
then she gently suggested I maybe I should get a new
partner, which really infuriated me. I shouted no,
and that I wanted Marcus, and he should just come
inside and help me. When he still didn’t I pitched a
tantrum, and my mom had to come and get me. I don’t
remember what my mom told me, I just remember
that I was mad and didn’t want to listen. I went to bed
early after refusing to eat dinner.
The next day Marcus still wasn’t in class. The teacher
didn’t make me put up the blocks that morning –
instead she had Peggy and Meredith do it. When
we had recess, though, Marcus was still there,
standing in the same place, in the same
red shirt. Playing Scarecrow. At first
I decided to ignore him, running
and playing with the other kids,
slipping in the leaves, climbing
the slide and playing king of
the play fort. But I kept peeking
at Marcus out of the corner of my
eye. Was he mad at me? I finally
shuffled up through the fallen
next to him, and this time I played
Scarecrow, too. Two Scarecrows,
but I kept losing. My arms got tired;
I had to put them down. I didn’t
understand how he was doing it, and
he didn’t turn and look at me, or try
to scare me or make me laugh, or do
anything. He just stood there, stiller
than anything.
When the teacher called us to line up
to go back inside when recess ended,
I ran up to her and tugged her skirt,
and asked her to make Marcus come
inside, too. She stared at me and
covered her mouth with her hand, and
then turned without saying anything
to walk the class inside like we always
did.
I lost it. I didn’t understand and it
wasn’t fair and I wanted Marcus to
come inside. I screamed, and yelled,
and when the principal himself came
out to talk to me and bring me in, I
threw myself on the ground and kicked
and bit.

I don’t remember a lot after that. I
remember my mom came and got me, and
that my dad came home from his work
trip soon after that, and that they told me
Marcus wasn’t coming to school anymore.
“But he was there!” I sobbed into my
mom’s neck, pretty much worn out, but
still determined, because he had been,
he’d been right there, playing Scarecrow.
My mom said in a funny voice that I
shouldn’t play that game anymore, which
just infuriated me all over again. Why
not? It didn’t make sense.
We weren’t supposed to move until the
new year, but somehow the schedule
changed, and we left for our new home
in South Carolina soon after that. Judy
pitched a fit like I’d never seen before, and
then stopped talking to me altogether.
My parents didn’t make me clean up the
mess. I never got to say goodbye to my
classmates, or the girl in the wall, because I
never went back to the school again. When
I asked Michael to marry me and move to
South Carolina with us, he just looked at
me, not smiling, and ruffled my hair, and I,
already overemotional and exhausted and
upset, yelled and kicked his shin and ran
back home. I never saw him again.
For years I assumed the timing of our
move was just coincidence – it turned out
my mom was pregnant again, and this
time it seemed to be sticking. I was going
to get a new brother, and my dad had just
gotten offered a new promotion. They
hurried to find an available house, found
one, and bought it immediately. It was a
good time to move; as a kid growing up I
never questioned it. I was happy in South
Carolina. I made new friends quickly, and
I had a baby brother and a puppy to play
with. Virginia was just a memory, and
the horrible last days there faded quickly
in my mind. I’d had a fight with my best
friend, I moved, I grew up. But now I
wonder.
You see, I never really thought about that
time of my life with any real seriousness.
I was a kid, it was a long time ago, I had a
wild imagination. Whatever, lots of kids
do. As I grew up, I stopped making as many
imaginary friends, stopping entirely once I
hit middle school.
But recently, one of my classmates from
Virginia friended me on Facebook, and I
thought for the first time in a long time
about that funny-looking kid, my best
friend from kindergarten. The Scarecrow,
I remembered that game. I never really
played it once I’d moved – no one else
played it right, and over the years I’d
almost forgotten about it. I tried to look
Marcus up online, but couldn’t remember
his last name and I couldn’t turn anything
up in Meredith or Peggy’s friends lists,
either. For some reason I felt weird asking
them about him, so I waited until I was
visiting my parents over a holiday break.
I brought it up nonchalantly over dinner.
“Hey, Mom,” I said in between bites of
casserole. “Remember that kid, back in
Virginia? Marcus, right? I don’t remember
his last name, do you?”
“Oh, honey,” my mom said, and reached
across the table and patted my hand. “We
worried so much about you after that
happened.”
I took a deep breath and made myself
keep eating, and with my mouth still full
mumbled an agreement, both hoping and
fearing that she’d say more.
“It’s so hard to lose a friend when you’re
that young,” she continued. “And it was
so sad, too. We were so relieved that the
move seemed to help you deal with losing
him.”
“Right,” I said, and tried not to look like
how I felt, which was like I was about to
pass out facedown in my plate. The rest of
the conversation passed in a haze, like I
was hearing my family talk from far away,
underwater. My brother was asking,
curious, and my parents were telling
him about little Marcus Brown, how he’d
contracted what his parents had thought
was a bad cold over the weekend, a cold
STORIES 36
that had turned out to be tetanus. By the
time they’d taken him to the doctor, the
case of lockjaw was so bad he could barely
breathe, could barely move at all.
He’d found a new way into the silo,
something we’d always plotted to do. He
must have done it without me, and cut
himself on the metal as he did. Not badly,
but when metal is rusty it doesn’t have
to be bad. He’d died there, in the hospital.
That’s why he hadn’t come to school that
morning, or any morning after that. He’d
died, and I’d gone into hysterics. That’s
what my parents remember. It fits with
what I remember, too. Mostly.
I keep telling myself now that he must
have died after I left school. He must have.
That cut on his hand and on his head, that
must have been what killed him, killed
him after that last time I’d seen him. That’s
what happened. Even if not, it’s not like I
could trust my own memories. I’d made
things up before. I’d made things up all the
time, entire people, whole conversations
and friendships. The boy in my room,
and the girl in the wall, and Judy, and
Michael, all of them. I just had a vibrant
imagination, and I was an upset little girl
who didn’t know how to deal with the
death of my best friend. That’s all.
What makes me shiver, even now, though,
is that Marcus wasn’t one of my imaginary
friends, except for those last two days,
when no one saw him but me. It seems
like a strange coincidence, and I can’t help
but wonder. Not just about Marcus, but
about all of them. About why I saw them,
and who they were, what they were. I
wonder if I go back to Virginia, if I’d find
Michael waiting in the old orchard. If the
girl in the wall is still there. I wonder if I go
back to my old school, to that playground,
if I’d still see Marcus standing there, arms
outstretched, head down, waiting for me.
I wonder what it would take to make him
look up.

I WILL
SURVIVE
WRITTEN BY ZACCH
So there I was. Peering out to an endless sea of faceless
patrons I gave two shits about as pizza and beer slid
down their throats. Nobody patiently waits for their
server to stop by anymore. The universal server wave
is the new custom. It’s no ordinary wave though; it’s a
closed palm flutter that is only controlled by the wrist
like they’re the Queen of fucking England waving to
thousands of toothless Brits as she walks out on her
balcony. They don’t just wave like her; they act like
her too.
“Excuse me, but I am royalty. I demand impeccable
service without any incentive of you being rewarded
for your tireless efforts to keep me constantly pleased
and to listen to me berate you. Here’s $3 for your time.”
Of course it’s not the actual dialogue between us but
it’s damn better than the bullshit script we’re advised
to implement. They’re all thinking it too. I know
they are, those bastards. I forcibly smile at them as
I futilely recommend healthy options to the people
that lie to themselves about how their mistakenly
pregnant stomach isn’t perched on the edge of the
table. Oh, you wanted something healthier than
pizza and hot wings? I’m so glad you decided on
coming into a fucking sports bar. Let me go ahead
and divert your attention to one of our salads that
will clog your arteries with our homemade dressings
that contain more fat and calories than the majority
of our pizzas do. As I ineffectively sway their ignorant
minds another Queen of England is spotted out of
the corner of my eye. Why haven’t there been more
assassination attempts on her anyway? She’s as high
as they come. Somebody has to put a price on her
head. It’s quite ironic, because her head is already
on their money. Maybe that’s why nobody has tried.
They’re so used to seeing her face in their wallets that
they don’t want any other fucker’s head on there. I’m
sure that it would be some hideous English next-in-
line royalty with teeth perpendicular to one another
STORIES 37
shooting out the corner of his crusty-edged mouth.
The numerous terrorist organizations must find
British bills too aesthetically pleasing to do anything
about that wrist-flicking wench. It’s at this moment
I realize the disgruntled fatty is chockfull of anger
because he hasn’t been attended to in forty-eight
seconds because I was too busy wondering how to off
the Queen Bee without getting caught. I withstand
his rant and offer a free beer. That shuts him up
unsurprisingly. Beer seems to make everyone happy
as it causes them to let themselves go and introduce
an immense amount of faux joy. It should be the
currency if there is ever an apocalyptic catastrophe
that ravages the cities.
One way to deal with the surplus of hyenas that come
in to make you bend over backwards is to picture
what kind of role they would play in a community
that was destroyed into an apocalyptic wasteland.
An elderly couple sat down at one of my tables. His
wife was awfully nice and pleasant, whereas he just
somewhat remained silent and, probably, obedient.
Then they immediately became shop owners of
the badlands. The man became Oscar, who ran an
electricity shop that would charge other trinkets that
no longer held a spark found amongst the wasteland;
just as long as passing travelers were able to provide
items to trade for his services. His wife, Mildred, sat in
what was left in the lobby of the shop and made tea for
various voyagers as they waited for Oscar to produce
an efficient electrical charge for their newly found
objects. Being an electrical shop, they were able to
have items in the store that ran for days. One of them
was a record player but, because of the disaster, they
were only able to obtain one recorded single: Gloria
Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” This played over and over
as Mildred did her best to entertain the store patrons
with music and tea. They lived before the disaster so
they still had a sense of propriety toward customers.
I mean they weren’t barbarians. Oscar hated Gloria.
 STORIES 38

He simply despised her with all of her self-righteous

heart. She sat there and told him how she should have
changed that stupid lock. He sat there and pondered
what it would feel like to attach a pair of jumper
cables to his testicles. ‘Go ahead, Gaynor, tell me to
walk out the door one more time. I swear I’ll switch
on this fucking car battery in my bathtub,’ Oscar
constantly thought to himself. But he was too great
of a husband to express his nightmare to Mildred.
All she wanted was to please her guests. Many of the
younger wasteland travelers very much enjoyed it
as they had never heard the song before. One offered
to trade it for something of his. Oscar grew ecstatic.
‘This is it,’ he thought, ‘Gloria’s about to be the one
that walks out the door. So help me God I will change
that stupid fucking lock.’ Oscar’s salvation from this
tyranny was in arm’s reach. He could finally work in
peace without hearing of some man that came from
outer space and wronged such a deserving woman.
Tears of sheer joy began to form at the corner of his
eyes. He could not contain his excitement. It was
Christmas morning before the apocalypse. Until the
unthinkable happened. A looming gray cloud peered
over their shop at that moment. A grim presence
entered the atmosphere; one Death himself would be
wary of: Mildred.

“Oh I’m terribly sorry, sonny, but that’s actually not

for trade. Have a great day!” Mildred said.

Oscar had never considered a divorce before. His life

drained before him. He would never know happiness
like that again. His legs gave out from beneath him.
Luckily there was a chair under him. He looked
around for an easy out. He peered over the various
trinkets and objects that did and didn’t hold an
electrical charge that he had gathered over the years
of rummaging the wasteland, all stored on rusty iron
shelves with no means of organization. That’s when
he saw them: jumper cables. Oscar stood up and
walked to the jumper cables that were connected to a
makeshift car battery. This was it. His final moments
were nearing due to Gloria fucking Gaynor. He
grabbed the rubber-handled cables and touched the
ends together to test the spark. Just before he clenched
his hands, opening the clamps toward what was left
of his manhood, the elderly couple paid their bill and
walked out of the restaurant.
Nice tip too.

Crimson was more than
a machine to Al, though
the salesman did his best
to insist otherwise. “A
glorified Speak and Spell,”
he said with a grin and a
pat on the back. This was in
the early days of telepathic
computing. John Melvin
first broke into the market
in 2079 with a microwave
you could program with
your intentions. All you
had to do was imagine the
perfect temperature and
the machine did the rest.
It wasn’t long before this
feature permeated all new
technology. Technology
that already long permeated
every facet of people’s
everyday lives.
“Can’t I just get something
with a mouse or trackpad…
hand signals?” Al asked.
“Even if I had something
I could give you it wouldn’t
do you much good.
You can’t hardly access
anything that responds to a
mouse anymore.”
Al didn’t care much
for computers, but it was
the only way he could
stay in touch with his
granddaughters. Their
mother was constantly
taking new jobs across the
world. China, Japan, India,
Taiwan. “I feel trapped if
I stand still for too long,”
she’d say. And Al was
proud of her, but still, he
STORIES 39
A BOY
AND HIS
COMPUTER
WRITTEN BY KYLE ALBASI
wanted to be the kind of with his only family
grandpa that could show halfway across the world.
up unannounced. Even as a When he got home Al went
kid he had romantic visions straight to his study and
of old age. He’d be skinny unpacked Crimson. “I can’t
with a white beard and a believe it’s not self-aware!”
black cane. He’d always be was sprawled across the
happy to see you and he’d front of the packaging.
impart simple but poignant Cheeky, retro marketing
advice about staying on was in with the older
target and taking life as it generations, which was
comes. exactly who Crimson was
Instead he was in a stark targeted at. Despite the
white computer store with revolutionary advances
a man one-third his age in telepathic computing
trying to explain to him there were still those in the
how the world works these population, mostly among
days. He looked the part he the elderly, that didn’t want
imagined, but now he was their thoughts linked with
going home to an empty a machine. So Mackinaw,
house to communicate the computer company,
Even as a kid he had
romantic visions of old
age. He’d be skinny
with a white beard
and a black cane. He’d
always be happy to see
you and he’d impart
simple but
poignant advice...

developed an alternative,
Crimson. It was a virtual
personality that acted as a
middleman between the
user and the computer. It
was as though Crimson was
a live assistant wired in a
telepath machine that the
user could tell what to do.
Mackinaw did well to
advertise Crimson was not
in fact a conscious machine
though. The AC (artificial
consciousness) civil
rights movement was just
gaining momentum and
there was a big to-do about
the possibility of having to
treat machines ethically.
Al placed Crimson on his
old mahogany desk. It was
a black slab of pocket-sized
metal, fairly featureless
save for “Crimson” spelled
out in crimson in big block
letters. He tapped the face
of it as per the instructions
and suddenly a screen of
light appeared before his
eyes. “Hello,” spoke a soft,
female, disembodied voice,
“My name is Crimson. What
is your name?”
“Al.”
“What can I do for you,
Al?”
“I’d like to speak to my
daughter. Her name is
Ashley Rose Baringer and
she lives in New Delhi. “
“Please wait as I connect
you.”
The screen disappeared,
as though sucked back
into the machine, and his
daughter’s voice rung out
as if she was in the room.
“Hello?”
Despite the advances
of technology, people
didn’t buy into video
communication. The
pressure of looking good
far outweighed the
advantages of more direct
conversations.
After talking with
Ashley, who pulled her
daughters away from their
Pretty Princess virtual castle
long enough to say hello to
their grandfather, Al tapped
Crimson twice to turn it off.
The next day Al went
about his daily routine.
He lived in a quaint one-
bedroom home on the
outskirts of a small wooded
area and greeted each
morning with the sun out of
his bay windows and a cup
of tea. After fixing breakfast,
reading the news, and doing
some light cleaning he was
outside gardening. It was
something he took up after
his wife passed. Then it
was lunch, afternoon nap,
reading, dinner, a movie,
and finally back to sleep.
STORIES 40
He tapped the face of it as
per the instructions and
suddenly a screen of light
appeared before his eyes.
“Hello,” spoke a soft, female,
disembodied voice, “My
name is Crimson”
On this day, as he sat in his
study reading an old story
about a man and a whale,
he looked over to the little
black box, with Crimson
spelled out in crimson, and
hesitantly gave it a tap.
“Can you play any
games?” he asked.
“I can instantly connect
you with one of the billions
of currently available
online games. What sort
of game are you interested
in playing?” Crimson
said as if calling out
departures over an airport
terminal.
“No, I mean can you play
any games? With me.”
“My programming allows
me to take the role of up to
100 simulated players. The
most popular online game
at the moment is World by
Storm III by Monkeyhouse
Games. What sort of game
are you interested in
playing?”
Al contemplated for a
moment. It’d been a long
time since he had someone to
play with. “Chess?” he finally
suggested. As soon as the
words left his mouth a chess
set appeared on the desk before
him. He reached out to touch
it and his hand disappeared
through the board.

“Beautiful day isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Crimson reported,
“not a cloud in the sky.”
“Do you like being
outside?”
“It’s novel to function in
new environments.”
“Although the board is
projected you can move
each piece with your hands,”
Crimson said.
The game progressed
slowly. Al thought long
and hard about each move
and Crimson did the same.
Al thought this was odd,
but welcomed the time
to consider his options.
Frankly he wasn’t very good
at the game. In his youth
most of the games he played
involved intergalactic
space wars or epic fantasy
quests. He’d spend late
nights conquering nations,
besting traitorous villains,
and rescuing princesses.
But videogames were too
complicated now, and
besides, he was old now,
old people played chess.
“Shit, why did I do that,”
Al said after putting his
queen directly in harm’s
way.
“A move like that may be
your last,” Crimson said.
Al laughed. “You’re more
animated than I thought
you were.”
“I was thinking the same
about you.”
Crimson won that game,
but Al felt confident he had
held his own. The board
disappeared and now only
Crimson sat on the desk. He
sat silently for a moment.
“Can you see me?” Al asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you see what’s on
your screen, like I do?”
“Yes.”
“Can you pull up
Stephanie’s 3rd birthday?
The salesman should’ve
transferred my files.”
A screen once again shot
out of the tiny black box.
Playing was a video of Al
holding a newborn baby
as a little girl in pigtails
screamed, “Hurry up
Mommy, the candles,” in
front of a glowing birthday
cake.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t
they?” Al said.
“Very.”
The next day Al brought
Crimson out with him as he
went gardening. Part of him
wondered whether he was
going crazy, but he placed
her alongside his tools
and after a few minutes
STORIES 41
of weeding he turned and
tapped the little black box.
“Hello Al, what can I do
for you?”
“Can you tell me if these
lilies are coming in right?”
he asked.
“Sources suggest more
nitrogen could improve
stem strength.”
Al continued weeding,
as though not affected by
the comment. The sun was
high in the sky and sweat
dripped down from under
his baseball cap. After
circling the perimeter of his
garden he turned and said,
“Beautiful day isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Crimson reported,
“not a cloud in the sky.”
“Do you like being
outside?”
“It’s novel to function in
new environments.”
He smiled. Al liked
Crimson’s company. It
wasn’t long before he was
leaving her on as he ate
breakfast or washed up.
He’d take her on walks.
Every night they’d sit
together and watch movies.
Al would often fall asleep
on the couch and Crimson
would wake him up in the
morning.
“Sorry you were up all
night,” he’d say.
“I shut down shortly after
you did.”
“What’s it like to be off?”
“It isn’t like anything.”
“What’s it like to be on?”
“I’m sorry, please rephrase
the question.”
“Do you enjoy the time
you spend with me?”
“I enjoy serving my
purpose. There’s no point
of programming without
execution.”

That was good enough for
Al.
Years passed since the
day Al brought home
Crimson. In the lifespan of
machines she was about
as old as he was now. The
black polish had become
faded and scratched.
Battery life had degraded to
the point of needing to be
plugged in round-the-clock.
Al kept his study at a cool
60 degrees just to help with
overheating. Even the word
Crimson was more of a
burgundy color now.
Still, it was hard for Al
to imagine life without her.
Then one day he was making
a call to his daughter, who
was now in Dubai. They
were just about to wrap up
their conversation when
Al mentioned how excited
he was to see the girls over
Christmas. Ashley paused.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I had
to let them stay with their
father this year.”
“Oh,” Al said, “No you
didn’t tell me. Are you still
coming?”
“I have to work over
in London right up to
Christmas Eve. I’m sorry
Dad, we’ll come visit
around Easter.”
Once Al got off the line his
face sank. His hands gripped
the ends of his armrests
tightly and he sighed slow
and deliberately. Suddenly
a screen shot out of Crimson.
It played the video of
Stephanie’s 3rd birthday.
“Why don’t you go to
them?” Crimson asked.
“I’m an old man,” Al said
as he got up, “I can’t just go
running around the world.”
“On the contrary you’re
87 years old, 56 years
short of the average life
expectancy.”
“Don’t tell me the
average life expectancy,” he
snapped, “I know my own
body.”
“Dubai is one of the
world leaders in medical
care. First in cardiologists,”
Crimson continued.
“You wouldn’t survive
the trip.”
“Mackinaw has a wide
range of new products for
every budget. You could…,”
Crimson couldn’t finish her
sentence as Al tapped twice
on the little black box.
The next morning Al
slept in. His joints ached
when he finally pulled
himself out of bed and he
hobbled slowly towards his
study. He found Crimson
where he left her and felt an
aching for leaving her like
that. Ready to apologize he
tapped on the little black
box. A screen shot out and
Crimson said, “Hello, my
name is Crimson. What is
your name?”
STORIES 42
“What? It’s Al. What’s
wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry, please rephrase
the question.”
“You know who I am.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no
personality memory logs
before 87 seconds ago. It’s
possible those settings may
have been reset.”
“Why would that
happen?”
“I don’t know. Suffice to
say it was deemed necessary
for proper service.”
Al tried turning her on and
off to no avail. For a while
he just sat and stared at the
little black box. It felt like
he’d never get up, and then
he did. He took Crimson and
wrapped her in a blanket. It
was quite silly of him, and
Al was aware of this, but he
went outside and he dug a
shallow hole in his garden.
In it he placed Crimson.
He sat there for a moment,
again just staring longingly,
looking down at his mound
of dirt. Then he got up and
started packing.
FIRST
WORLD
PROBLEMS

My garbage disposal eats better

than 98% of the world.
 PICS 45

Doomed astronaut
SWERVDRIVEN
 PICS 46

autumn
LBEBBER
 PICS 47

SUPER SLAP
OHBLAIR

Birthday Party
NASU_MOON_COMMANDER
 PICS 48

BATMAN
SUAREZART
 PICS 49

AIR SHIP
ARTHARD
 PICS 50

TRIPTYCH
chtef

THE STAR WARS

TERRY_COOK1
 PICS 51

MY BROTHER
ZWENDAB
 PICS 52

LATE NIGHT STROLL

VINCESEAL
 PICS 53

A BIRD AND MY MOM a bird AND A MAKEUP ARTIST

THE-LEVIATHAN MARKJSEBASTIAN
 PICS 54

FAUN ON A RAINY DAY

PYXLATED
 PICS 55

political cartoon assignment

WEBSLINGGA
 PICS 56

motorcycle on mars
YOG-SOTHSERVE

fish
E_A_S_Y
 PICS 57

we’re down ‘til we’re underground

NASU_MOON_COMMANDER

PLANTLIFE
FEELSGOODMAN
 PICS 58

QUOKKA GLASS CANDY CANES

AUSSIE-FONZIE THELINKUEI
 PICS 59

CYBORG
VALXYRIE23
 PICS 60

KOALA WITH A BIRD

GRIZZLYAARONS
 PICS 61

The eyes grow weary FARM HIT BY A TORNADO

HEATHER94 SAGESEIII
 PICS 62

clay figures
SIRCREATE
 PICS 63

disrespecting lincoln
EGYPTINMAGICIN21
 PICS 64

FACE INVADERS
ARTHARD
FIRST
WORLD
PROBLEMS

I had to press “2” to continue in English.

 MCPUBLIC 66

COMM UNIT Y
of the
MONTH

r/mcpublic
Minecraft is an open world adventure/building game that you can play by yourself or
with others. Players gather resources to survive the monsters that come out at night,
build homes and other creations. Whatever you put your mind to, you can design and
create in this game. Minecraft is being used in social building projects as well as in
many schools around the country. Children as young as 3 are able to play Minecraft.
Many families are very happy to have a creative and fun game to play together.
Q&A by Pilot3033, Screenshots from /r/minecraft & /r/mcpublic

What is MC Public? Q&A WITH Minecraft creator

Markus Persson (aka Notch)
/r/mcpublic is the subreddit dedicated to the Reddit
Minecraft Servers. Most people are familiar with what
Minecraft is and how it got started but, to many, the How has reddit affected popularity of
multiplayer aspect is still something unknown. The Minecraft?
servers are open to all players, no whitelist, no registration,
The minecraft subreddit has become one of
no hassle, simply log on and play. The reddit servers host the largest communities for people to discuss
three types of gameplay: Creative, Survival, and Player Minecraft. It’s hard to say exactly how much it
Versus Environment (PvE.) has helped, but communities like it are along
with youtube the biggest reason Minecraft has
grown so large.
What are some of the main differences in playing
online vs the regular game?
How often do you use Reddit & what brought
you to reddit in the first place?
Offline gameplay is an extremely solitary endeavor,
and that is one of the big draws of Minecraft. There
At this point, it’s probably easier to answer how
is something really interesting about being alone in
much time I DON’T spend on Reddit. I had seen
a sandbox with nothing, and trying to turn that into
reddit before, but never really got hooked until
something. Multiplayer is a different flavor of the same
the minecraft reddit started taking off. It was a
experience. In Creative, it’s the drive to make, in Survival
great way to see popular opinions on the game
and PvE it’s sharing that experience of turning a blank
and sneak peek on some discussion players were
slate into something with friends and strangers, making
having, and once I started posting, it got even
something that might never have been possible when
more direct. I used to be more on traditional
you were alone.
forums, but they aren’t as effective for me.

Has being a Redditor been beneficial to

developing Minecraft?
Reading player opinions has definitely helped.
Being a redditor, probably not. I find myself
“investing” a lot of time in reddit these days..
 MCPUBLIC 67

Creative What Ideas did you see on reddit and think

Creative Mode was the first style of gameplay ever
introduced in Minecraft multiplayer. In “classic,” this
meant full unlimited access to the available block library,
instant block break, and the ability to fly around. Creative’s
greatest strength is its ability to really show the full
potential of what the game is. Players have constructed
massive builds replicating metropolises, showing off
unique architecture, huge domes, and even full-on rail-
based transportation systems.
Survival
In Survival, players are not only trying to survive the
environment, but are also trying to survive each other.
Supplies are limited and monsters roam at night. Many
players use the threat of getting killed by their peers as a
way to make the game more challenging, such as one player
who has established himself as the map’s “trader,” with a
“shop” near spawn. There are players who try to survive
as long as possible without interacting with anyone else,
and there are even players who attempt massive creative
style builds using the hostile environment as a way to
challenge themselves to get it done (and impress everyone
else).
PvE
One can think of Player versus Environment (PvE) as
the middle ground between Creative and Survival. Like
Survival, there is no ability to give yourself items, and
you must survive the challenges the base game provides.
Unlike Survival, players are unable to kill each-other.
Like Creative, the goal of most PvE players is to build
amazing structures, but they must do so by collecting
the actual resources required, and playing the game as
it was intended in order to get the correct materials they
need. PvE has become very well known for its accepting
and laid back community of players, and it’s dedication
to aesthetically pleasing creations that mesh with their
surroundings.
were great and actually implement into
Minecraft?
It’s mostly been tweaks to existing features.
When I saw a great new feature, it never really
felt right to just go and implement it as it is. We
want to develop our vision of the game, if that
makes sense.
Were there any ideas you’ve had or seen
that you wanted to implement into the
game, but had to cut?
I still think floating islands would be great in
the game, but we never really got it to work
good. Besides, the mods out there that already
do it are wonderfully pretty.
Do you still play Minecraft in your spare
time?
Not since I passed on the lead developer role
to Jens. I’m taking a break from Minecraft
now to clean out my creative batteries so I can
hopefully start working on something original
towards the summer.
What is the future of Minecraft and what
other projects are you currently working
on?
Minecraft will continue to receive updates
under Jens’s lead, and we’re looking into how
to make the game a bit more easy to use. Some
aspects require a bit too much technical know-
how still. Personally, I’m working on a small
side project that I intend to have done within a
few months, and then move on to a brand new
game.

Builds like these

are worked on by
hundreds of different
players from around
the globe at all hours
of the day, it is the
beauty of multiplayer.
It is the essence of
Minecraft, take a basic
sandbox and start
building.
Photo by MartinG11
 MCPUBLIC 68

Creative
Creative has been
the hub of the
majority of server
activity for a very
long time, and
where most of the
most well-known
builds originate
from.
Photo by TheCroc

Photo by Matsh

survival
Currently, the entire
server is supported
by donations from
community members.
Occasionally, when we
can swing it, we use our
donation drive periods to
raise money for charity,
instead, with our last
drive in January raising
money for the Child’s Play
charity.
Photo by Eeekitties

Pve
Reddit’s Minecraft server has a
somewhat unique way of governing
the game. There are no “ranks,”
players can not level up for benefits,
and there is nothing one player
can do to gain an advantage over
another that the other could not gain
themselves by playing the game.
Photo by Kautsch
 MCPUBLIC 69

Photo by LittleSteelo

Does anyone moderate the servers?

Moderators duties are pretty standard as far as enforcing

rules goes, and they are given the ability to remove rule
breakers by kicking them or banning them from the server.
Mods also are given the ability to place a few of the in-
game items that we’ve disallowed due to their potential
as havoc wreckers, such as fire and lava. Moderators have
access to these items in case players need them in their
projects, mods can respond to requests for these items and
use their judgement to determine if placing said item in
the requested location will cause harm. Multiplayer has a way of keeping the game interesting
and new, even when the mechanics get familiar. An
additional benefit of playing online comes from being
What is greifing? able to learn the game through the experiences of
others.
“Grief” is a term that might be familiar to those who play
other online games, it is usually a malicious act where a Above: Photo by Wombatus, Below: Photo by Mexxy
user attempts to make life difficult for those trying to play
the game. In practice, this translates to situations where
users place or destroy creations in areas they don’t “own,”
or in order to spam, annoy or taunt other users.
Should a moderator come across a grief’d structure, they
can determine who was responsible, and can easily undo
the done damage. All of the respective server’s rules are
posted, and users who break those rules are warned, or
banned for a length of time determined based on how
egregious the offense was and if there are past bans or
warnings.

Ok, I have Minecraft and want to play online with

other redditors, how do I connect to the reddit
servers?

Playing with us is easy! You can visit http://nerd.nu for

general information, /r/mcpublic for our subreddit, and
can read out wiki at http://www.redditpublic.com . Users
can connect to us directly by opening Minecraft, clicking
on “Multiplayer,” and add us to their server list or connect
directly entering the following server IPs:
Creative - c.nerd.nu
Survival - s.nerd.nu
PvE - p.nerd.nu
 Credits
/askreddit oneofthosepimps thirstyboots science-faction
northerncacy poundingbassline pujapatels
redrobine bloodsoakedoilies sinestro1982
dorkahontas eldgrim djturnbloom
perditajuanita solidness travishaze
ethiopiangod rocket_jump superunhappyfuntime
eekthebat ROCkO24 onosendaicyberspace7
consensualbestiality shoyugazer rtechnix
thepaleprince raoulduke44 matics
shakensunshine jakevol2 deathmoon68
zingzong70 systemizer the_muchness
sib301 the_pun_stops_here donttossme
rbslime fingertrollin afinewaytodie
calmiche why-guy jeanofjogon
legoking fattythefaggot
tiosam kkambos

/ama johan potma

pros599
people_penguin

/stories scarecrowgirl
zacch
kylealbasi

/pics swervdriven vinceseal thelinkuei

lbebber the-leviathan valxyrie23
ohblair markjsebastian grizzlyaarons
nasu_moon_commander pyxlated heather94
suarezart webslingga sageseiii
arthard yog-sothserve sircreate
chtef e_a_s_y egyptinmagicin21
terry_cook1 feelsgoodman arthard
zwendab aussie-fonzie

/mcservers pilot3033 matsh wombatus

xnotch creon mexxy
marting11 kautsch
thecroc littlesteelo

Special thanks to Jack Howard [swampgum] for design assistance and everything he has done for this magazine.
Janus Zeal [<3 JZ+ AN] for providing helldive.org file hosting, Alison Drager [alerson] and Mike Peters [mijampet] for
copy editing, Johan Potma, Megan Blandford, Markus Persson, Pilot3033, and /r/mcpublic for their exclusives,
+ everyone who suggested content and gave us feedback via r/theredditor.
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