Stephens funeral home redwood falls mn | | Fallout_timeline_headcanon (I don't know where to put this headcanon on reddit and thanks for getting my other account banned from reddit) (Fix it thank you for your feedback)

1945 -1969

World war 3 starts in result of the transistor be destroyed or never invended. this also includes other inventions, laws, business, history information, music being destroyed and people being born and the usa as a whole.

The usa broke up in to parts:

Us states or union states:
CT, DC, DE, MA, MD, ME, NH, NJ, NY, PA, RI, VT, WV

Freedom states:
IA, IL, IN, KS, KY, MI, MN, MO, NE, OH, OK,

Confederate states:
AL, AR, FL, GA , LA, MS, NC, SC, TN, VA

Independent states:
AK, AZ, CA?, CO, HI, ID, MT, ND?, NM, NV OR?, SD?, TX?, WA?, WY

allies between states are unknown and independent states are on there own.

Confederate has taken over human side of the enclave. Why enclave is asking where the vault is so it can be invaded ending the union us and anyone that is not under this enclave. that is because all vaults are under the us flag or people that want the us to be put back together.
So Confederate is now known as the enclave

China is allies with Confederate so thay can get a procentage of oil in Alaska. The Chinese you see in the us are mercenaries.
It thay did start the nuclear war in 2077 the capital in D.C. would be gone and they would not stop at Alaska they would of keep going through Washington, Oregon and California and maybe Hawaii.
They would have navy ships and a lot of solders to invade the west side of the us but they didn't even touch wa, or, ca it look like that didn't have there navy and soldiers anymore which explains there had to be a nuclear war before October 23 2077.

The us won the Sino-American War in 2076 the Confederate didn't like that and wanted Alaska oil. or maybe didn't want to lose again ? and so thay started making a nuclear steady with China probably giving more oil percentage to join the war so when October 23 2077 came thay where ready ending the last remaining us within two hours and so the fallout universe begans.

Zax computer in Washington DC ravin rock was built to help put the country back together.

If the us loss this war thay would go to space and find a new home.
The vaults where a back up plan if space was a no go. Apparently thay found out that there where spys in vault tec which made The mystery stranger and if the vault where used the mystery stranger would hide within the vault to keep it running right and if the vault dwellers left the vault he or she would keep them safe at all costs.

In the event that the vaults need to be used all vault tests will be stop except under the circumstances of vaults built around that test will continue either a couple of months or a couple of years. The us made it if the us loses the war the vault dwellers from all vaults will be the backup of the us. one vault dweller will be sworn in as president of the us and another will be sworn in as vice president and so on.

It is also believe that California was neutral after the great war until the explosion of the oil rig in fallout 2.

October 23 2077 means the great civil war or the us 2nd civil war.

Vault tec was probably created a couple of years after ww3 also applying there was a war before October 23 2077 and that the green country lodge bunker was upgrade by vault tec.

Also there mite be evidence that vault tec builds some vaults under ground to the surface ?

Confederate spys entered vaults to sabotage the vaults or turn the tests back on.

Fev virus was made to help get rid of radiation and it also has side effects that includes mutations. Also fev is air, water, ground and any where radiation is it also probably there.
And thay mite of also put 75% in nuclear bombs.

Brother hood of steel democrats ? or maybe Republicans ?

Enclave Republicans ? or maybe democrats ?

The brothers hood of steel from fallout 3 is the last remaining democrats or Republicans from California also brother hood of steel mission is to not let civil war or any war happen again in the us. also fallout 3 brother hood of steel outcast is from Washington DC or wherever fallout 3 take place.

Canada is temporary annex in two places one over washington to Alaska and the other over North Dakota to Alaska.

Also Mexico was nuke or bombed by whatever part of the us thay attack.

Also Mexico and south America are dieing or dead because of the new different creature released or made in the wasteland and the deathclaws where created by the Confederate releasing by accident or on the battlefield. the us created the scorchbeast to encounter this.
South America has no power armor no vaults only regular bunkers.

In fallout 3 dlc mothership zeta the laser beam that hits earth is probably the glowing sea ground zero in fallout 4 because you don't see a nuke falling and the mushroom cloud is much bigger than the nuke from fallout 3 and fallout 76 and when you see the mushroom cloud from space it look like it is the same cloud. also if if is from the lazer 95% of everyone in Boston is dead or a feral ghoul. This making father insane making people that he could save into syths if thay where turned into a feral ghoul is was all ready to late. The blast also effect the vaults vault 111 complete computer failure, vault 81 mole rat escape, vault 95 damage inter walls. Thay never got the warning untell it was to late also it possible that the ground zero in the glowing sea it would have been 5,000 to 15,000 rads after the hit. also you know that guy from the beginning from vault tec and thay didn't let him in the vault if thay let him in fallout 4 possibly would have been a defant game or would have never come out at all.

After October 23 2077 one state to take over the whole us ?

Did the Confederate or union mess up the US money ?

Was child of Adam made before the great war ?

Would nuclear winter push new
creatures in to south America ?

Vault 120 somewhere off the coast of the us or Alaska or Hawaii and maybe more vaults are under water or on the cost ?

Japan and taiwan is under China's government possibly ?

Korea is whole again maybe ?

India and Pakistan war at each other ?

Evidence:

1: the us flag 13 stars

2: no one is cleaning or rebuilding city's

3: you can nuke city's with in us borders and there are planes and military tanks, apcs, big cannons which should be on the shore line or overseas or in the ocean

4: us robots attacking

5: people attacking others for no reason. Not over food or water(1-5 rads will not stop someone from drinking or eating also rad away and rad-x will helps with that. ) but territory

6: the capital is still there but the white house and part of the history museum is gone

7: a us t45 power armor shooting a us combat armor solder in fallout 1
And the background look to be in the us and in fallout 3 trailer the soldiers that are fighting at each catheter look to have the same uniform

8: some animals may of gone extinct in world war 3 and even more in Oct 23 2077.brahmin Not one regular cow. Also cows would take generations to become brahmin

9: the geck should of been made during the great war or after not before the war this is also why there had to be a war before October 23 2077

Will the us return back to the usa or is it gone forever stay tuned for the fallout tv show or the next fallout in the game series.

I hate seeing my dad coming home drunk out of his mind. I don’t like seeing him stumble to the kitchen to get a glass of water and walk to his room to collapse on the bed and fall asleep in seconds. It’s been three years since my mom passed away and he has been mourning her every day. He was not a big drinker before she died but since her funeral, beer has become his water. He can not put down the bottle and it is starting to take a toll on him. His face is turning red and his blood pressure was high the last time he went to the doctor. He was always in shape and never had any health problems before last year. We used to have a good relationship but now it feels like we are roommates. I don’t recognize him anymore. I miss spending time with him. I miss playing volleyball with him and watching movies. I miss the little notes he left on my backpack before I went to school and how close we were. All those moments are gone and I miss them so much. When we do talk it usually ends with him telling me how much he loves his daughter and how smart I am or him yelling at me how much of a failure I am and how skinny I am. I try not to take his words to heart because I know it’s not him saying it but they do hurt. I have the same thyroid problems that killed my mother and he reminds me constantly not to do things that gave my mother her cancer. Every time he mentions my weight and health issues I cry out of anger and also pain for him. He said he sees a lot of my mother in me so every time he looks at me he can’t help but think of her and that puts a lot of pressure on me.
I want my father back. I have no idea what he is going to do when I move out in two years. I am the only family he has right now. Once I leave I know he is going to dive further into his alcoholism and it is going to destroy him. I can’t lose him too. I know he is hurting and sometimes lashes out at me but he has never been abusive towards me. He raises his voice sometimes but that’s all he does. I know his former self is still there. I see glimpses of it every day but it is buried beneath three years of pain and heartache. I have been trying to get him to go back to his therapist but he mentioned a traumatic experience two months ago and has not returned since that day. He was making real progress and he even stopped drinking for three days before that therapy session. I brought up Alcoholics Anonymous to him but he brushed me off and told me not to intervene. I hate him. I want my father back. I miss him more than anything. I hear him cry himself to sleep 2-3 times a week and it breaks my heart. He lost his high school sweetheart and I can not imagine the pain he is going through. They had a really good relationship too. There was never any fighting or confrontations. They had real love and respect for each other. She was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and died three weeks later so he did not have a lot of time to prepare a real goodbye to her and I think that’s what is eating him up inside. I wish he would stop drinking. He is an amazing person who is suffering from a real illness. Losing my father would destroy me just as much as it did when I lost my mother. I just miss him a lot.

CAREER EMPLOYEES! Tired of seeing all these jobs go to the street? Your chance to join the gravy train ranks is here! Apply yourself, you can do it! MSS Coordinator varies by District. Find an APWU steward and ask for more information if the Exam Open Season blurb is not posted at your facility.

Good afternoon. Brief listing of CAREER JOBS pulled from usps.com/careers/ for your convenience.
Some jobs may be part-time regular however all listed jobs should qualify for federal benefits from day one. To save text I have only listed the location and date of posting for each. Use the posting number for your search term. LC and MM are entry-level Maintenance. Here is a testimonial from a recent convert, prima1981.
NOTE: USPS NEVER charges a fee for entrance exams. If payment is requested during the application process, walk the fuck away, go to usps.com/careers/ and APPLY THERE. We even has a video walkthrough prepared.

Laborer Custodial:
MELVILLE NY NC11291730 03/20/2023
CLAREMORE OK NC11291776 03/17/2023
SAN FRANCISCO CA NC11272282 03/16/2023
REDMOND WA NC11290022 03/15/2023
SAN JOSE CA NC11277594 03/13/2023
SAN RAFAEL CA NC11285765 03/13/2023
FAIRFIELD IA NC11296093 03/20/2023
SAN FRANCISCO CA NC11285816 03/20/2023
BROOKLYN NY NC11292944 03/20/2023
LEESBURG VA NC11294817 03/19/2023
TRAVERSE CITY MI NC11293101 03/18/2023
MAMMOTH LAKES CA NC11290446 03/18/2023
MONROE TOWNSHIP NJ NC11293078 03/17/2023
MUSCATINE IA NC11292212 03/17/2023
MOUNT VERNON NY NC11291637 03/17/2023
NEWTON CENTER MA NC11291721 03/17/2023
SANDSTON VA NC11291556 03/16/2023
ROANOKE VA NC11290490 03/16/2023
ARLINGTON VA NC11290479 03/16/2023
MC LEAN VA NC11290442 03/16/2023
HARRISBURG NC NC11290191 03/16/2023
MENLO PARK CA NC11271997 03/13/2023
PETALUMA CA NC11271924 03/11/2023
PALATINE IL NC11280862 03/08/2023

Maintenance Mechanic:
SEATTLE WA NC11286273 03/11/2023
SAN JOSE CA NC11289187 03/21/2023
RALEIGH NC NC11293249 03/18/2023
PHOENIX AZ NC11294808 03/20/2023
MERRIFIELD VA NC11294815 03/19/2023
LOUISVILLE KY NC11288732 03/20/2023
GREENSBORO NC NC11293304 03/18/2023
GARDEN CITY NY NC11293312 03/18/2023
CAPITOL HEIGHTS MD NC11284476 03/11/2023
BROCKTON MA NC11288736 03/15/2023
BOSTON MA NC11291646 03/17/2023
ALBUQUERQUE NM NC11291724 03/17/2023
MILAN IL NC11282668 03/09/2023
MEMPHIS TN NC11293083 03/18/2023
LOUISVILLE KY NC11288711 03/20/2023
CHICAGO IL NC11292143 03/17/2023
AUGUSTA GA NC11292936 03/17/2023
ATLANTA GA NC11281021 03/08/2023
ATLANTA GA NC11281019 03/08/2023
PETALUMA CA NC11289177 03/21/2023
LOUISVILLE KY NC11288728 03/20/2023
GREENSBORO NC NC11294638 03/19/2023
GREEN BAY WI NC11293192 03/18/2023
DULUTH GA NC11281020 03/08/2023
CAROL STREAM IL NC11292109 03/17/2023
CAPITOL HEIGHTS MD NC11287388 03/12/2023
SANDSTON VA NC11290579 03/16/2023
PETALUMA CA NC11271987 03/11/2023
OMAHA NE NC11293020 03/18/2023
MELVILLE NY NC11288811 03/20/2023
MACON GA NC11292871 03/17/2023
KEARNY NJ NC11288707 03/17/2023
JERSEY CITY NJ NC11288716 03/18/2023
JAMAICA NY NC11288928 03/20/2023
GREENSBORO NC NC11289212 03/15/2023
BELL GARDENS CA NC11287325 03/21/2023
FARMINGTON NM NC11294794 03/20/2023

Special! Interesting Maintenance Jobs: (may be skills required)

Maintenance Mechanic MPE:
MELVILLE NY NC11288836 03/20/2023
DULLES VA NC11294816 03/19/2023
REDMOND WA NC11288605 03/12/2023
PETALUMA CA NC11288705 03/13/2023
INDIANAPOLIS IN NC11284259 03/09/2023
INDIANAPOLIS IN NC11284258 03/09/2023
GRAND RAPIDS MI NC11290165 03/16/2023
PETALUMA CA NC11289175 03/21/2023
WASHINGTON DC NC11285943 03/11/2023
MEMPHIS TN NC11293003 03/18/2023
LOUISVILLE KY NC11288712 03/20/2023
INDIANAPOLIS IN NC11284231 03/09/2023
INDIANAPOLIS IN NC11284228 03/09/2023
HARRISBURG PA NC11288609 03/13/2023
WHITE RIVER JUNCTION VT NC11291734 03/17/2023

Building Equipment Mechanic:
HEIGHTS MD NC11290064 03/16/2023
PROVIDENCE RI NC11285939 03/11/2023
SPRINGFIELD MA NC11287631 03/12/2023
SEATTLE WA NC11294603 03/18/2023

Garage Assistant:
MCALLEN TX NC11291630 03/16/2023

Electronic Technician:
CHICAGO IL NC11292188 03/17/2023
MEMPHIS TN NC11293110 03/18/2023
MILAN IL NC11282633 03/09/2023
CAPITOL HEIGHTS MD NC11294867 03/19/2023
MANKATO MN NC11288581 03/13/2023
MANKATO MN NC11288608 03/13/2023
RALEIGH NC NC11293202 03/18/2023
RAPID CITY SD NC11293181 03/18/2023
ROCKY MOUNT NC NC11294669 03/19/2023
BROCKTON MA NC11288735 03/15/2023
LUBBOCK TX NC11294802 03/19/2023

NON-Maintenance jerbs:

SALES,SVCS/DISTRIBUTION ASSOC:
IDAHO SPRINGS CO NC11290443 03/16/2023
MOSS LANDING CA NC11289973 03/15/2023
GLASGOW MT NC11296091 03/21/2023
MACCLENNY FL NC11293116 03/18/2023
TIMBER LAKE SD NC11292942 03/17/2023
MOSS BEACH CA NC11295113 03/19/2023
MAPLE FALLS WA NC11296082 03/19/2023
LAKE CITY CO NC11290061 03/15/2023
EASTSOUND WA NC11295971 03/20/2023
CULLEOKA TN NC11294523 03/18/2023
WORDEN IL NC11292989 03/17/2023
PIEDMONT SD NC11287291 03/11/2023
GYPSUM CO NC11290318 03/16/2023
BASSETT NE NC11294668 03/18/2023
SPRINGDALE WA NC11296087 03/20/2023
SURING WI NC11280556 03/06/2023
CEDAR MI NC11284195 03/09/2023
BIG SUR CA NC11296150 03/21/2023
ASPEN CO NC11290054 03/15/2023
ANZA CA NC11291564 03/16/2023
VAN HORN TX NC11284178 03/09/2023
OAK GROVE MO NC11292947 03/17/2023
SLOUGHHOUSE CA NC11296098 03/20/2023
KINGS BEACH CA NC11296096 03/20/2023
EL GRANADA CA NC11295117 03/19/2023
SEAFORD VA NC11288801 03/15/2023
ROY WA NC11296081 03/20/2023
QUILCENE WA NC11296078 03/20/2023
OLIVET MI NC11291746 03/17/2023
DEXTER OR NC11296094 03/21/2023
CLARKSTON WA NC11295974 03/20/2023
CLANTON AL NC11294399 03/18/2023
BREMEN OH NC11293002 03/18/2023
BETHPAGE TN NC11294606 03/18/2023
CRESTED BUTTE CO NC11288703 03/13/2023
CAVE JUNCTION OR NC11296085 03/21/2023
JACKSON WY NC11285851 03/17/2023
BELTON SC NC11291709 03/17/2023
HICO TX NC11293402 03/18/2023
WAIMANALO HI NC11294630 03/18/2023
STURTEVANT WI NC11291641 03/17/2023
SOMERVILLE AL NC11294490 03/18/2023
ROSS CA NC11295061 03/19/2023
NORTH LIBERTY IN NC11294813 03/19/2023
MONTROSE CA NC11294635 03/18/2023
FELTON CA NC11289302 03/15/2023
CENTURY FL NC11294548 03/21/2023
GORDON NE NC11294636 03/18/2023
MAMMOTH LAKES CA NC11294924 03/21/2023
BIG BEAR CITY CA NC11291563 03/16/2023
BLOOMING PRAIRIE MN NC11296095 03/20/2023

City Carrier:
SAN MATEO CA NC11290796 03/16/2023
MOUNTAIN VIEW CA NC11291999 03/17/2023
MOORHEAD MN NC11292895 03/17/2023
BUFFALO GROVE IL NC11294447 03/20/2023
BAINBRIDGE ISLAND WA NC11290758 03/19/2023
ARLINGTON HEIGHTS IL NC11294487 03/18/2023
NORTH SHORE - BOSTON MA NC11290276 03/19/2023
VILLA PARK IL NC11291816 03/20/2023
SANTA CLARA CA NC11290773 03/17/2023
SAN MATEO CA NC11290763 03/16/2023
NORTHBROOK IL NC11293598 03/19/2023
MOUNT PROSPECT IL NC11293606 03/19/2023
MICHIGAN CITY IN NC11282385 03/11/2023
MANCHESTER NH NC11294861 03/19/2023
LOS ALTOS CA NC11291568 03/17/2023
LEWISTON ME NC11294546 03/18/2023
KANSAS CITY MO NC11290351 03/19/2023
HANOVER PARK IL NC11291648 03/20/2023
GRAND FORKS ND NC11292104 03/17/2023
FRANKLIN PARK IL NC11291801 03/20/2023
EAST PALO ALTO CA NC11291995 03/17/2023
DES MOINES WA NC11290715 03/19/2023
CORALVILLE IA NC11291547 03/18/2023
CONCORD MA NC11295012 03/20/2023
CAPITOLA CA NC11291518 03/17/2023
BARRINGTON IL NC11294394 03/18/2023
WHEELING IL NC11293699 03/20/2023
WAYNESBORO VA NC11291790 03/17/2023
WATSONVILLE CA NC11291560 03/17/2023
SANTA CRUZ CA NC11291516 03/17/2023
SANTA BARBARA CA NC11291570 03/18/2023
OAK PARK IL NC11291778 03/20/2023
NASHUA NH NC11294872 03/19/2023
MOUNTLAKE TERRACE WA NC11290708 03/19/2023
MORGAN HILL CA NC11292039 03/17/2023
MINOT ND NC11292939 03/17/2023
MILPITAS CA NC11291559 03/16/2023
MENLO PARK CA NC11290721 03/16/2023
MADAWASKA ME NC11294513 03/18/2023
GRAND ISLAND NE NC11294510 03/20/2023
ENGLEWOOD CO NC11292941 03/17/2023
DES PLAINES IL NC11294525 03/18/2023
CAMPBELL CA NC11290779 03/17/2023
BURLINGTON VT NC11294626 03/18/2023
BOZEMAN MT NC11291789 03/17/2023
GREATER BOSTON - BOSTON MA NC11290459 03/19/2023
SOUTH SAINT PAUL MN NC11292899 03/17/2023
GLENVIEW IL NC11294530 03/19/2023
WILMETTE IL NC11294374 03/19/2023
WAUKEGAN IL NC11293516 03/20/2023
SUNNYVALE CA NC11291849 03/17/2023
SEATTLE WA NC11290724 03/19/2023
SAN CARLOS CA NC11290716 03/16/2023
SACO ME NC11294503 03/18/2023
REDWOOD CITY CA NC11290799 03/16/2023
NORTHGLENN CO NC11290711 03/19/2023
NORTHBOROUGH MA NC11294971 03/20/2023
MUNDELEIN IL NC11293524 03/20/2023
MENLO PARK CA NC11290788 03/16/2023
MEDINA OH NC11291825 03/17/2023
LOS GATOS CA NC11290806 03/17/2023
LAKE FOREST IL NC11294393 03/18/2023
IOWA CITY IA NC11291510 03/18/2023
HOPKINS MN NC11292070 03/17/2023
GREAT FALLS MT NC11291827 03/17/2023
GRAFTON ND NC11292874 03/17/2023
FARGO ND NC11292873 03/17/2023
ELGIN IL NC11291739 03/20/2023
DULUTH MN NC11292872 03/17/2023
CUPERTINO CA NC11291517 03/17/2023
APTOS CA NC11291604 03/17/2023

Rural Carrier:
PARK RIVER ND NC11290591 03/16/2023
MIDDLETON WI NC11294805 03/19/2023
MENOMONIE WI NC11294698 03/19/2023
MANITOWOC WI NC11294770 03/19/2023
MADISON WI NC11294682 03/19/2023
MADISON WI NC11294641 03/19/2023
FORKS WA NC11284401 03/15/2023
EAU CLAIRE WI NC11294679 03/19/2023
EAU CLAIRE WI NC11294677 03/19/2023
AMERY WI NC11294788 03/19/2023
MENOMONIE WI NC11294782 03/19/2023
MADISON WI NC11294795 03/19/2023
MADISON WI NC11294647 03/19/2023
LEBANON NH NC11290073 03/16/2023
EAST DUBUQUE IL NC11294850 03/19/2023
CLINTONVILLE WI NC11294692 03/19/2023
BASALT CO NC11288701 03/13/2023
SALIDA CO NC11296151 03/20/2023
GLENWOOD SPRINGS CO NC11289738 03/15/2023
ENFIELD NH NC11289739 03/16/2023
CARBONDALE CO NC11289737 03/15/2023
MADISON WI NC11294777 03/19/2023

Motor Vehicle Operator:
PORTLAND OR NC11294928 03/18/2023
KCMO MO P&DC NC11294600 03/18/2023
MIAMI FL P&DC NC11294605 03/18/2023
NASHVILLE TN P&DC NC11296342 03/20/2023
BOSTON MA P&DC NC11294706 03/18/2023
MORGAN NY P&DC NC11294711 03/18/2023
ROCHESTER NY P&DC NC11294707 03/18/2023
SAN JOSE CA P&DC NC11294941 03/18/2023
SEATTLE WA P&DC NC11294945 03/18/2023
SOUTHERN ME P&DC NC11294709 03/18/2023
SAN FRANCISCO CA P&DC NC11294933 03/18/2023

Tractor Trailer Operator:
ALBANY NY P&DC NC11294618 03/18/2023
DULLES VA P&DC NC11296403 03/20/2023
MILWAUKEE WI P&DC NC11296348 03/20/2023
MIDDLESEX-ESSEX MA P&DC NC11294700 03/18/2023
SAN FRANCISCO CA P&DC NC11294723 03/18/2023
BALTIMORE MD P&DC NC11294712 03/18/2023
DVD BLDG NJ P&DC NC11294703 03/18/2023
NEW JERSEY NDC NC11294704 03/18/2023
OAKLAND CA P&DC NC11294713 03/18/2023
PORTLAND OR P&DC NC11294716 03/18/2023
ROCHESTER NY P&DC NC11294702 03/18/2023
SEATTLE NDC NC11294876 03/18/2023
SEATTLE WA P&DC NC11294879 03/18/2023
TACOMA WA NC11294898 03/18/2023
SACRAMENTO CA P&DC NC11294719 03/18/2023
ATLANTA GA P&DC NC11294705 03/18/2023
GRAND RAPIDS P&DF NC11294708 03/18/2023
MIAMI FL P&DC NC11294619 03/18/2023
ROYAL PALM FL P&DC NC11294623 03/18/2023
ST LOUIS MO P&DC NC11294710 03/18/2023

No experience necessary for the laborer custodial or maintenance mechanic positions. It helps on the interview but you can surely think of maintenance related experience to relay for an interview. Based on fixing things around your house, the car etc. Always mention working safely.

Pro tip: You can apply for any job that has an exam opening and the test is administered local to yourself. Make sure you're serious and score decently; you can turn down the job offer. Keep a physical copy of your exam score, I believe they are good for two years.
The reason is: These job postings can be posted externally at capacity for testing, meaning they will not allow you to take the exam if they have enough qualified applicants. However, if you have a test score on the books, you are a qualified applicant.

Explanation of MVO/TTO to save time:
MVO= CDL B Can only drive box trucks on public roads, can drive anything for moves on postal property.
TTO= CDL A Can drive anything.

USPS provides the training. (Maintenance jobs at least. TTO and management...GOOD LUCK)

You don't have to be crazy to work here. We'll train you. Everything but proper email usage.

So back story on my situation, my boyfriend Steve and I have been together for four years, living in a run down house with a serious textbook slum lord. Our house is literally falling apart and our landlord wont do anything. Steve's mom Sharron and her sister recently inherited their mothers house. But here is where it gets super weird. Sharron is super close with Steves's ex gf Brittni. They both have a lot of the same interests and hobbies so they do a lot of activities together. The day after the grandma dies Britney hits up Steve asking about grandma and that she apparently had a calling that she needed to be there. when only the family knew. Brittney proceeded to attend the funeral, where she stood up and spoke, even when Steve didn't speak. A few months ago we find out Sharron is moving Brittnie into the house because "Brittnie is a landscape architect so she's promise to do a bunch of work on the house and then they are going to rent it for a higher price". Both Steve and i expressed our opinions to Sharron. But at the end of the day it's her house to do what she'd like to do with her house and three months ago we weren't exactly hurting nor were we completely set on moving an hour and a half away from where we are. Fast forward to a month ago and we received a three day eviction notice. So we're freaking out and we talk to his mom and she tells us we can movin with her and starts sending us renting listings for more than we can't afford. Two weeks ago I got a text from one of my friends and it's one of Brittnie's social media posts and it's her house burning down. I immediately thought oh know grandma's house and asked my bf but he wasnt completely sure. So we hit up his mom. She immediately responded that it's not my mom's house. She elaborate more to Steve saying "I'm redoing the floors before her move in". This really pisses both Steve and I off. But this finally caused Steve to truly tell his mom how he felt about it. she offered to buy him a house, but still refused to let move us move into the available house. Finding and buying a house will take far longer then we have. So today as I sit at home knitting , my boyfriend is on his way to his mom's house to celebrate his nieces birthday. I refused to go because i can't promise not to bring it up with the entire family. I adore his niece so I sent him with gifts for her. I even sent him with my holiday gift to his mom that we had forgotten. But the longer i sit here I can't help but feel like I am the asshole for not coming but the feeling i get thinking about the situation i cant decide I'd also like to ask you guys if I'm crazy for thinking that Brittney is a con artist.

Sunlight filtered in through the high up stained glass windows, through the leaves of the sugar maples outside that may very well predate some of the first British settlers to North America. Though the old stone church wasn’t built by the Waterbury Unitarian Fellowship, it was purchased some sixty years ago in a time when church enrollment was in a state of flux. The Unitarians, who at the time were still merging with the Universalists, offered an alternative approach towards a faith community. One rooted in personal growth, the democratic process, and a broad approach to faith traditions that didn’t pigeonhole it into only the Bible, or only the New Testament. It took hold well in New England, scattered a bit throughout the states, and managed to find wayward souls who’d grown up disillusioned with churches, betrayed or otherwise cast out.
That was how Walter McDonald came to find it in the summer of 1963. Fresh out of Vietnam with a medical discharge, he moved near to back home for lack of options but wanted to associate with nothing that led him down the path to killing strange souls halfway across the world he had no qualms with. Catching shrapnel in his leg and having to use a cane, even at the spry age of 22, almost seemed like a blessing to get him out of that godforsaken place. But he couldn’t go back to his parents’ home, nor to his friends who had Kennedy’s back in his escalation. That being said, he felt odd about not being in church on Sunday morning, and it was something he missed.
His first Sunday had been something of a revelation. Instead of an organ and choir, a young man played Woody Guthrie up on the stage. A minister, wearing a sportcoat and jeans in place of robes, talked about peace and love, and only kind of vaguely related it towards Jesus but also the Buddha. Intrigued was a good word for Walter, and so he kept coming back. And back. And before long, he’d found his community. Never thought he’d have settled in with a group of hippies who seemed really close with communists and homosexuals and the like, but at the end of the day, they were good people, and did indeed make him think about his life and how to be better without the threat of hellfire and damnation that had been the hallmark of the protestant church of his youth.
Sixty years in the same place is a long time. The stained glass had been cleaned, repaired in spots, but as he sat and looked up at it, now with bifocals, from the same pew back near the sound engineer’s booth he sat in every Sunday, the artistry and craftsmanship still gave him a little awe. In those sixty years, he’d found friends. Fellowship. Joined rallies, protested for the rights of people across the globe and in his community that were downtrodden. He’d dined in friends’ homes, met and gained respect for people from all walks of life. He’d met a woman, fell in love, but then fell out of it before they could stand at the front of this sanctuary and be wed. And now, in his 83rd year, the groups of people he’d known during his time there as easily the longest tenured member of the church dwindled. Every funeral held with it a sort of status check for those who remained. Who’d gone into assisted living. Home hospice. Who wasn’t doing so well. Though he recorded the names in the Book of Life, the little offering for what was going on in the lives of the community, he knew that fewer and fewer knew the names of those that had passed.
After moving back home, his injury took away several opportunities for work. However, being a jeweler afforded him some comfort in sitting and working on a craft. He’d done that for decades, finally retiring when his hands and eyes were ready to give out. He’d taken on a project of chronicling the history of this congregation that had given him a place to matter for so long. He had a purpose, at least one he’d made for himself, one that he deemed mattered to every new minister that came in these doors.
He’d seen perhaps a dozen full time ministers in his day. Some were only there for a year or two, perhaps on a contract until they could find a position closer to their home. Others came and made a living of it, ending their tenure when they and the congregation could no longer move forward together (a very nice way of naming a breakup, or a divorce). This summer, the current board president (a position Walter had held at two different points in time) made an announcement: another new minister. The younger man seemed excited, as did the small committee that had done the hiring. And good on them. They deserved to have that feeling of success.
Not that Walter wished this new minister ill. Not at all. This was becoming a trying place for him, as was the world at large. Change seemed faster than he wanted to admit, as robotic phone calls and problematic housework made his decision to live alone into his 80s with no surviving kin (his will detailed personal effects going to a nephew, oldest child of his only sister, herself passed on) one that almost made the question of “when?” loom closer. His only real solace was that, using walking assistance for so long, he’d gotten fairly adept at needing help, and was a bit better prepared to avoid common slips and falls in his home.
No, this new minister would come in. Have their own ideas of what to do with the congregation. The building. Maybe they’d discuss selling and moving once again; it had been discussed before. Perhaps they were old, young, man, woman, trans, gay, straight… to be fair, there had been some meetings with this person, but Walter didn’t get out much. He also didn’t say much, but when he did in a congregational meeting, his words carried some weight still. He’d gotten a voice mail from that same president, said the new minister would want to meet him, and it was important to them. And that’s a nice thought, sure. But who was he? A relic. He wasn’t the person this new minister needed to be worried about. Before long he’d be dead and gone, and the minister would need to worry about the families with kids and the high donors. He’d made his peace with the closing of his days at Waterbury.
—
Hello, and thanks for reading all of that today! It’s more of a backstory and setup for the character I intend to write, Walter, opposite your minister character. I have left the creation of that character entirely up to you, and hopefully created a space where any of those sorts of people would fit into that role nicely. I invite you to create a character that you’d like to write as in that role, not what you think I’d like to see opposite Walter.
The above would be a longer than usual post for me. In general, when I’m writing back and forth with a partner, depending on the flow of conversation I might write 3-5 paragraphs. I prefer to write here on Reddit via DM (though I’m okay with using chat as an organizational measure, I’d rather not have the meat of the roleplay there). I would rather not write on Discord.
I’d be open to hearing from partners one of several things related to this prompt. If you were interested and wanted to write a little intro of yourself to the congregation imagined above, that would be lovely. If you’d like to talk a bit about the scenario and setup, that would also be a good way for us to get to know one another before writing. It would be good to have a little chat up front about our expectations for this roleplay, what we’d like to each see out of it, and so forth. I don’t have a defined end point in mind, and tend to enjoy seeing where my partner and I carry a narrative naturally.
I look forward to writing with you in the coming days. If you’ve made it this far, I hope you drop a line! If not, have a great day regardless.

Company Name	Title	City
BigOTires	Automotive Service Technician	Burnsville
BigOTires	Sales Associate	Champlin
BigOTires	Car Salesman	Champlin
BigOTires	Car Salesman	Chaska
BigOTires	Sales Associate	Chaska
BigOTires	Automotive Service Technician	Chaska
BigOTires	Automotive Service Technician	Cottage Grove
ALDI	Shop Hand	Baxter
FSR	Clinical Psychologist - TBI	Minneapolis
Cellular Sales	Verizon Sales Consultant	Saint Paul
Bay and Bay Transportation	CDL A Driver	Saint Paul
Equinox	Personal Trainer, West 50th St. - Equinox Fitness Clubs	Thief River Falls
Meet Minneapolis	Director Of Market Research	City Of Minneapolis
One Way Wireless Construction Inc	In-Field Construction Project Manager	City Of Shakopee
Peerless Chain Company	Accounting - Accounts Receivable	City Of Winona
Great Northern Equipment Distributing, Inc	Inside Sales Associate	Rogers
VALI COOPER INTERNATIONAL LLC	Project Manager	Saint Cloud
Preply	Online English Teacher (100% Remote)	Bloomington
Preply	Online English Teacher (100% Remote)	Brooklyn Park
The Home Depot	Retail Sales Associate	Burnsville
Polaris	Direct Hire Assembler	Center City
BAXTER	CDL Driver	Champlin
Ecumen - Detroit Lakes	Registered Nurse (Rn)	City Of Detroit Lakes
Ecumen - Detroit Lakes	Resident Assistant	City Of Detroit Lakes
Revolution	Staff Accountant	City Of Lake Elmo

Hey guys, here are some recent job openings in mn. Feel free to comment here or send me a private message if you have any questions, I'm at the community's disposal! If you encounter any problems with any of these job openings please let me know that I will modify the table accordingly. Thanks!

Posts in this series (note: link will not work properly in old Reddit or 3rd-party apps): https://www.reddit.com/lds/collection/363e4ce4-8cec-40ad-8ea9-5954cf1fe52d
Last week, I briefly mentioned some of the insults and ill-treatment that have come my way because of writing these posts. One of the primary accusations made against me was that I was trying to make a name for myself. This couldn’t be further from the truth.
I have personally advertised these posts a grand total of six times: when I made my first Reddit post regarding the CES Letter, I went to a private LDS-related sub with about 30 active members and asked that if anyone had anything further they’d found, to share it in the comments of the post; when FAIR asked if they could repost them, I linked to the first one on my Facebook account and told my friends for the first time what I’d been doing for the past six months; I also mentioned when FAIR and Jennifer Roach each graciously invited me onto their podcasts; I announced this current series on Facebook; and I thanked FAIR for giving me an award at last year’s Conference, as well as all of the people who had been so supportive of me to that point. That’s it.
While I’m incredibly grateful to FAIR for giving me a wider platform and I’m very proud of the work I’ve put out, my goal was never to get attention for myself. I haven’t been searching out ways to put myself in the spotlight. I wasn’t even the one who approached FAIR; it was the other way around. In my offline life, I’m pretty shy and introverted, and attention actually makes me uncomfortable. It’s been an adjustment these past few years, with people suddenly knowing my name and recognizing my face. I don’t regret putting my real name to my writing and numerous blessings have come my way because of it. I’ve made a lot of friends, and the FAIR audience is generous and amazing and inspiring. But honestly, it hasn’t been easy and it wasn’t my intention.
I had five goals when writing the original CES Letter series:
1) To say that yes, these questions actually have been answered, and to share a few of those answers
2) To offer up a bunch of resources people could use to investigate the truth for themselves and find their own answers
3) To teach people how to evaluate sources and rank them according to their reliability and trustworthiness
4) To teach people how to study with the Spirit by their side, and
5) To point out manipulation tactics and fallacies commonly used by critics in their attacks
Ultimately, my intent was always to teach people how to maintain and grow their faith in Christ and in His restored gospel.
And you know what? Intention matters. It’s why I spent time at the beginning of each of these blog series delving into the background and prior statements of the authors whose documents we’re discussing. It’s why I give background information on some of the notable figures that come up. It’s why we need to learn how to evaluate sources in the first place.
A hostile source has a bias and an agenda. So does a friendly source, and so does a neutral source. Jeremy Runnells and Thomas Faulk have a bias and an agenda against the Church. I have a bias and an agenda in favor of the Church. You need to know that going into this material. Their intention is to tear down your faith. Mine is to build up your faith. I’ve been upfront about that right from the beginning. Have they? Because that’s information that you can use while evaluating our reliability and trustworthiness. Which of us is hiding information from you? Which of us is cutting quotes out of all context to give a false impression? Which of us is telling you to trust them, and which is telling you to trust God, the ultimate source of truth?
I’m bringing this all up because today’s topic involves accounts written by sources that need to be treated with caution. However, Thomas Faulk presents them as being completely truthful. Understanding how to evaluate sources is critical, and it’s only going to become more so as the years go by.
We all know that we can’t trust everything we read on the internet. Or, at least, we should know that. But for some reason, a lot of otherwise very smart, capable people don’t hold history books to the same standard. They need to. People make mistakes, and people have biases that aren’t always immediately clear.
You know the saying, “History was written by the winners”? That’s true. Historians have agendas, too. For a prime example of this, you don’t need to look any farther than D. Michael Quinn’s thoroughly debunked Same-Sex Dynamics Among Nineteenth-Century Americans: A Mormon Example.
In today’s chunk of the LFMW, Faulk picks up with a discussion about the Eight Witnesses:

The 8 Witnesses

On March 25, 1838, Martin Harris testified in public that none of the 3 or 8 witnesses saw or handled the physical plates.

That’s a mischaracterization of what we know.
After the fall of the Kirtland Safety Society bank in 1837, most of the Saints left Kirtland in early 1838. By the time this meeting occurred, a faction led by Warren Parrish had taken control of the temple with the intent, according to George A. Smith, “to renounce the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and take the ‘Mormon’ doctrines to overthrow all the religions in the world, and unite all the Christian churches in one general band, and they to be its great leaders.” He also said, “One of them told me that Moses was a rascal and the Prophets were tyrants, and that Jesus Christ was a despot, Paul a base liar and all religion a fudge. And Parrish said he agreed with him in principle.”
Eventually, a growing division between the members of the faction came to a head, and they held a meeting to determine the validity of the Book of Mormon and other revelations Joseph received. This is the meeting referred to in Burnett’s letter.
I’m going to briefly skip ahead in the LFMW, just so the rest of this explanation makes sense:

A letter on Josephsmithpapers.org dated April 15, 1838, Stephen Burnett wrote the following to Lyman Johnson:
“I have reflected long and deliberately upon the history of this church and weighed the evidence for and against it — loth to give it up — but when I came to hear Martin Harris state in public that he never saw the plates with his natural eyes only in vision or imagination, neither Oliver [Cowdery] nor David [Whitmer] and also that the eight witnesses never saw them and hesitated to sign that instrument for that reason, but were persuaded to do it, the last pedestal gave way, in my view our foundations was sapped and the entire superstructure fell a heap of ruins, … I was followed by W. [Warren] Parish, Luke Johnson and John Boynton, all of who concurred with me. After we were done speaking, M[artin] Harris arose and said he was sorry for any man who rejected the Book of Mormon for he knew it was true, he said he had hefted the plates repeatedly in a box with only a tablecloth or handkerchief over them, but he never saw them only as he saw a city through a mountain. And said that he never should have told that the testimony of the eight was false, if it had not been picked out of air but should have let it passed as it was.” (http://josephsmithpapers.org/paperSummary/letterbook-2?p=69)

Burnett was a member of Parrish’s band of dissenters, and believed that Martin Harris recanted his testimony during this speech. Parrish agreed with his assessment, though George A. Smith, who was in town during the meeting, reported the opposite. He said that Harris testified in favor of the Book of Mormon’s truthfulness, and said that anyone who rejected it would be damned.
According to a Church Institute Manual handout, “Martin Harris strongly objected to how Burnett described his testimony and ‘remained a convinced Book of Mormon believer.’” The quote is taken from Richard L. Anderson’s fantastic book, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses:

We are of course seeing Harris through the mind of a frustrated intermediary, one who thinks Mormonism presents a “whole scene of lying and deception.” He thinks that Martin Harris has not really seen the plates. If “only in vision,” then Burnett (not Harris) says it was really just “imagination.” If the Three Witnesses “only saw them spiritually,” then Burnett (not Harris) can explain it as essentially “in vision with their eyes shut.” But Martin Harris felt misrepresented, or he would not have stood up in the Kirtland Temple to challenge the explanations of Burnett and his disaffected associates. Note that there are two distinct experiences of Harris: (1) “he said that he had hefted the plates repeatedly in a box with only a tablecloth or handkerchief over them, but he never saw them, only as he saw a city through a mountain”; (2) “he never saw the plates with his natural eyes, only in vision.” Getting at the real Martin Harris requires subtracting Burnett’s sarcasm that seeps into the above wording. … In other words, Burnett heard Martin say that he had seen the plates in vision, and when Burnett uses “only” four times to ridicule the experience, that shows his disbelief, not Martin’s speech. Martin’s candid denial of seeing the plates while translating was sometimes exaggerated into a denial of ever seeing the plates, but even Burnett reports Martin claiming two types of contact with the plates: lifting them thinly covered, plus later seeing them in the hands of the angel. So Burnett paraphrased Martin Harris with the evident rationalizations of a skeptic. But Martin knew his own experience and remained a convinced Book of Mormon believer. Study of his interviews shows how strongly he insisted that the sight of the angel and plates was as real as the sight of the physical objects around him….

In fact, Burnett’s own letter says that when Harris realized how Burnett and others interpreted his testimony, he stood back up and testified of the Book of Mormon, then said that his previous comments had been “picked out” of him under duress.
Now, there is a slight discrepancy on what this letter actually says. The Joseph Smith Papers Project transcribes this line as “picked out of air.” However, in his Early Mormon Documents, Volume 5, Dan Vogel transcribes it as “picked out of [h]im.” When you zoom in on the text, it’s hard to tell exactly what it says. Either way, though, the point is clear that in Burnett’s own words, Harris felt like he’d been forced into making whatever statement he may have made about the Eight Witnesses.
So, since none of these are firsthand accounts from Harris himself, we have to try to judge the sources on their merits. Burnett and Parrish claim Harris said one thing, Smith felt he said something else. And, as was just pointed out, Burnett’s letter later shows Harris agreeing with Smith.
Personally, to me, it sounds like Burnett and Parrish mischaracterized the situation. Regardless of where you land on that, however, it’s obvious that the actual situation is a lot more questionable than Faulk’s proclamation makes it seem. The following sentence actually comes in between the first sentence I quoted from Faulk and the letter:

This statement caused apostles Luke S. Johnson, Lyman E. Johnson, John F. Boynton, high priest Stephen Burnett and LDS Seventy Warren Parish to leave the church.

This is factually untrue. They left the Church because of the failure of the Kirtland Safety Society. As most of the people listed in that sentence were apostles at the time, their departures from the Church are well-documented.
Luke Johnson denounced Joseph alongside Warren Parrish and many others in late 1837 and at that point resigned from the Church. He was formally excommunicated alongside his brother Lyman E. Johnson and David Whitmer on April 13, 1838.
That denunciation took place shortly after December 10, 1837. All of those listed by Faulk were among those who denounced Joseph at this time. The History of the Church had this to say about it:

I returned to Kirtland on or about the 10th of December. During my absence in Missouri Warren Parrish, John F. Boynton, Luke S. Johnson, Joseph Coe, and some others united together for the overthrow of the Church. Soon after my return this dissenting band openly and publicly renounced the Church of Christ of Latter-day Saints and claimed themselves to be the old standard, calling themselves the Church of Christ, excluding the word “Saints,” and set me at naught, and the whole Church, denouncing us as heretics, not considering that the Saints shall possess the kingdom according to the Prophet Daniel.

Remember, The History of the Church was written to sound like it was Joseph speaking, but there’s no guarantee this paragraph was actually taken from his own words. It may have been the recollection of someone else entirely that was rewritten to sound like Joseph’s voice.
John F. Boynton was excommunicated in 1837. So was Warren Parrish. In fact, between July and August of 1837, Parrish was the one who led the armed riot inside the Kirtland Temple, an incident in which Boynton participated. They were well out of the Church before that letter of Burnett’s was ever written.
The only one whose timeline of apostasy is at all murky is Stephen Burnett. Most sources just say that he apostatized “by 1838.” He was one who participated in that denunciation of Joseph in December of 1837, but it’s unclear whether he actually left the Church at this point or within the next few months of early 1838.
There was no love lost between Burnett and Joseph. In the Elder’s Journal from August 1838, Joseph described Burnett as an “little ignorant blockhead ... whose heart was so set on money that he would at any time, sell his soul for fifty dollars and then think he had made an excellent bargain; and who had got wearied of the restraints of religion, and could not bear to have his purse taxed.”
So, clearly, by the time April 1838 rolled around, Burnett and Parrish were both incredibly hostile toward the Church and particularly toward Joseph Smith. That bias has bearing on how we should view their characterization of the meeting featuring Martin Harris, just like Richard L. Anderson explained above.
And let’s not forget the words of Martin Harris himself:

[N]o man ever heard me in any way deny the truth of the Book of Mormon, the administration of the angel that showed me the plates; nor the organization of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, under the administration of Joseph Smith Jun., the prophet the Lord raised up for that purpose, in these the latter days, that he may show forth his power and glory. The Lord has shown me these things by his Spirit–by the administration of holy angels–and confirmed the same with signs following....

A similar point was made by John Whitmer, the next Witness we’re going to discuss:

I have never heard that any one of the three or eight witnesses ever denied the testimony that they have borne to the Book as published in the first edition of the Book of Mormon. There are only two of the witnesses to that book now living, to wit., David Whitmer, one of the three, and John Wh[itmer], one of the eight. Our names have gone forth to all nations, tongues and people as a divine revelation from God. And it will bring to pass the designs of God according to the declaration therein contained.

These men were firm in their testimonies. Each one of them died still declaring their testimonies to the world.

On April 5, 1839 member of the Church, Theodore Turley, challenged John Whitmer, one of the 8 witnesses, to either affirm or deny his testimony regarding the gold plates. Whitmer responded by saying “I now say, I handled those plates ... they were shown to me by a supernatural power.” (History of the Church, vol.3 p307).

According to the 1828 Webster’s Dictionary, “supernatural” was synonymous with “miraculous” in Joseph’s day. The Witnesses appeared at various times to use the word to mean “by the power of God.”
As FAIR explains, three years before this report by Turley, John Whitmer said:

I desire to testify unto all ... that I have most assuredly seen the plates from whence the Book of Mormon [was] translated, and that I have handled these plates, and know of a surety that Joseph Smith, jr. has translated the Book of Mormon by the gift and power of God.

Then, in 1839, Turley reports Whitmer as making this statement:

Whitmer replied: ‘I now say, I handled those plates; there were fine engravings on both sides. I handled them;’ and he described how they were hung [on rings], and [said] ‘they were shown to me by a supernatural power;’ he acknowledged all.

And then, in late 1877 or early 1878, Myron Bond reported Whitmer as saying:

John Whitmer told me last winter ... [that he] ‘saw and handled’ [the plates and] ... helped to copy [the Book of Mormon manuscript] as the words fell from Joseph’s lips by supernatural or [A]lmighty power.

In each of these three statements, he declared that he both physically saw and handled the plates. Then he closed each statement by also testifying of the miraculous nature of the Book of Mormon. In the Turley incident, if it was reported accurately, he wasn’t saying that he didn’t literally see and handle the plates. He was saying that the plates themselves were miraculous. It was miraculous that Joseph received them, that he was able to translate them, and that Whitmer was allowed to see them for himself.
Again, situations like this are why we need to research these questions. If we only looked at one quote presented in a slanted manner, we wouldn’t know that this was a common pattern of Whitmer’s, and that he didn’t mean what Faulk implies he meant.

Why would a supernatural power be necessary if the plates actually existed? Couldn’t Joseph just invite the men he wanted to be witnesses over to his house, take the plates out of the box where he kept them and pass them around?

That’s exactly what was done when the Eight Witnesses saw the plates. They went into the woods to do it, but Joseph is the one who handed the plates over to them and let them hold them and turn the leaves.
The Three Witnesses were a different story, but there’s a reason why they were shown the plates by an angel. If their testimony was exactly the same as that of the Eight Witnesses, critics could claim that Joseph just manufactured the plates himself and there was nothing miraculous about it. And if all of the testimonies were like that of the Three Witnesses, they could claim that the plates never actually existed and that Joseph made the entire thing up. But this way, it’s a lot harder to account for the two different types of testimony.

Why are visions and supernatural means necessary to see these plates?

They weren’t. They are now, because the plates were returned to the Angel Moroni, but that wasn’t the case in 1829. They needed to pray for permission to see the plates, but they didn’t need to be shown them through miraculous means. The Three Witnesses were shown the plates by an angel to prove as true the Lord’s revelation that they had to see them by faith.
However, the two different types of testimony, one spiritual and one practical, make it that much harder to dismiss their testimonies. I have no doubt that was by design.

Published on Josephsmithpapers.org are the signed statements by the 3 and 8 witnesses. JosephSmithPapers reveals that both statements and all signatures are in the handwriting of Oliver Cowdery. The official statements printed in the Book of Mormon are not signed with original signatures, dated or given a specific location where the events occurred.

The only surviving full copy of the Book of Mormon manuscript is the printer’s manuscript. It’s in Oliver’s handwriting because he copied it from the original manuscript so that they’d have two copies available.
In October of 1841, Joseph put the original copy in the cornerstone of the Nauvoo House. More than 40 years later, Emma’s second husband, Lewis Bidamon, made some renovations to the house and rediscovered it. It was badly damaged by water seepage and mold, and the Witness statements were some of the most damaged because they were at the back of the original Book of Mormon, not the front. Bidamon displayed the pages and gave many away to visitors to the house. Today, only about 28% of it is still intact, and even many of those pages and fragments are damaged. Extensive efforts to conserve them have been undertaken by both the Church and the Wilford Woodruff Museum, the two places where the bulk of the remaining pages survive. Private collectors have other additional fragments.
We have one statement from John Whitmer saying he signed the original copy, and three accounts of Joseph F. Smith saying that David Whitmer said he signed it as well (here, here, and here). There’s also a fourth David Whitmer account saying that Oliver copied their names onto the printer’s manuscript. Whitmer initially believed he had the original manuscript, which had previously been in Oliver’s possession until his death, but later came to accept that he had the printer’s copy.
Aside from the John Whitmer account, these are all secondhand reports, some given several decades later. As such, they should be treated with some skepticism. But, as most of them come from a prophet, I do personally lend them some weight and consider them to be pretty solid sources.
It’s true they’re not dated, but we know approximately when the experiences happened (in June of 1829) and where they happened. The Three Witnesses were shown the plates by the angel in the woods near the Whitmer home, while a few days later, the Eight Witnesses were shown them in the woods near the Smith home in Palmyra.
It should be noted that in John Whitmer’s final interview, published after his death, the details differ from the other accounts. He’s quoted as saying that he was shown the plates inside Joseph’s home, in two groups of four rather than all at once. However, this does conflict with other accounts, and David Whitmer publicly disputed the accuracy of the interview when it was published.

These are not 11 legally sworn statements; rather it seems possible that they are simple accounts pre-written, pre-signed and agreed upon at some later time.

This is a comment ripped straight out of the CES Letter. No, these are not legally sworn statements, but who on earth ever claimed that they were? Why would anyone think that? There’s no notary information on the statement.
And obviously, the printer’s manuscript was pre-written and pre-signed, since it’s not the original manuscript. But nothing other than the content of the statement was agreed upon at a later time. They all declared repeatedly, until the end of their lives, that they experienced the things they testified in those statements that they experienced.

In addition, consider the statement by Martin Harris (one of the 3 witnesses): “…and also that the eight witnesses never saw them and hesitated to sign that instrument for that reason, but were persuaded to do it.”

And, as we covered in the beginning of this post, that statement is suspect. It’s not a direct quote, it’s a summary from a hostile source’s letter—and that same letter said that Harris disavowed this statement.
Also, it’s worth pointing out that Martin Harris was not present when the Eight Witnesses handled the plates. He didn’t know what they experienced any more than we can. All any of us has to go on is their signed statement and the other comments they made about their experiences over the years. It’s not our place, and it’s certainly not Harris’s place, to redefine their experiences for them.

Reportedly this source document is printer’s manuscript and the original was only partially ruined, however the Church has never been able to produce the original.

Oh, good heavens. Yes, this is the printer’s manuscript, as we went over, and yes, the original was mostly damaged. The Church has produced the original on the Joseph Smith Papers Project. However, they did not obtain it until 2017. Prior to that, it was owned by the RLDS/Community of Christ Church, and the Church could not publish it in full color due to copyright reasons. There was a black and white copy copyrighted to the Community of Christ available on the website before that point.
So, in wrapping this all up, there was a clear, consistent theme running throughout this entire post. Vet your sources, guys. People lie, they twist the facts, and they have agendas. Be aware of that, and do your homework. Yeah, it can take a long time to do that, I get it. But the truth is important. When we hear slanted rhetoric like this, it’s not always obvious what the truth really is. We have to put in the work to figure it out. The Lord rewards us when we do. Remember, it’s after the trial of our faith that the witness of the truth comes to us.

I will fully admit I am not enough of a metal diehard to know the ins and outs of what exactly we call the crusty black remains from the inside of a meat grinder's core; but I do appreciate the genre. So I don't know if an early (earliest) metal band that predates all sub-genres falls within the genre purvey of this sub-reddit. And radical would definitely be a strong word in political terms.
Buuuut...Black Sabbath will always be my favorite metal band. And while, like I said, not exactly radical, since first discovering the band in middle school, I've always appreciated the sociopolitical themes of many songs. Interesting how a band that was a conscious about face from the 'flower-power' vibe before it so often had a message of peace and love. It's just that this message was contrasted with the cruel realities of hate and violence.
To me that is the core of a leftist ethos, no matter the persuasion. A willingness, an eagerness, to expose the corruption, violence and outright evil of existing power structures. And to fight for changes, whether small tweaks to or the total annihilation of, those structures in order to better the human condition.
As purveyors of gloom and doom, Sabbath didn't exactly hold out great hope for our redemption (spiritual or material). But they did often operate within this dynamic, even if often pessimistic in their outlook.
Some of the over arching themes are war and poverty, the abuses and outright evil of those in power, and the ultimate judgement of that evil. The last one is an interesting one in a modern leftist context. Leftism these days is not usually associated much with religion or religious morality. But while I'm not really religious myself I think it's worth noting that many early American socialists were evangelicals; and much of the Civil Rights was religiously and morally grounded and driven. Sabbath also evokes a religious vibe but from the more metal side of the judgement and damnation of the true evil: war mongers, war profiteers, political and social elites, etc.
In other words, the og moral panic metal band stirred such a vitriolic response from the establishment not because of their dark or demonic imagery. Surely this was no worse than a work like Dante's Inferno, or a fiery sermon on this sins of [name your sex act]. No, the issue was who was being judged, who was being damned to the hellfire. It just can't be my good friend the war monger (you're neighbor, what a guy?). Black Sabbath dared speak of the true evil in today's world (hint: it's actually NOT the homosexuals), and that, of course, was their greatest sin.
Some examples for those who care to look deeper. Listed in chronological order cuz idk.
Song: Wicked World Themes: Poverty, War, Corruption
General track on the ills of the wicked world of today. Treating people's lives as an opportunity cost.
"A politician's job they say is very high, for he has to choose who has to go and die. "
"They can put a man on the moon quite easy, but people here on Earth are dying of old diseases.
Song: War Pigs Themes: War, Corruption, Judgement
I mean, this is the obvious one, the Godfather of them all. Very importantly, from a socialist perspective, they bring the class element of war into clear view.
"Politicians hide themselves away They only started the war Why should they go out to fight? They leave that role to the poor"
"Day of judgement God is calling On their knees the War Pigs crawling Begging mercy for their sins Satan laughing spreads his wings."
Song: Electric Funeral Themes: War
A song about nuclear holocaust and those that would bring it upon us.
"Robot minds of robot slaves Lead them to atomic graves"
"Dying world of radiation Victims of mad frustration"
"Evil souls fall to Hell Ever trapped in burning cells"
Song: Hand of Doom Themes: Social Cost of Waging War
Though it predates the term, it's a song about deaths of despair. Linked most explicitly to despair among working class veterans conscripted into a war, it could easily be generalized to the social costs of capitalism writ large.
"First, it was the bomb Vietnam, napalm Disillusioning You push the needle in"
Song: Fairies Wear Boots Themes: Anti-fascism
Not readily apparent in the lyrics but the band has said the song was a reference to boot wearing neo-Nazis they encountered outside of a club where they played. It was meant to make fun of them.
Song: Children of the Grave Themes: War, Peace, Love, Protest
A song about fighting for peace and love in the shadow of nuclear annihilation. A fight we must win less we become 'children of the grave.'
"Revolution in their minds The children start to march"
"They'll fight the world until they've won And love comes flowing through"
"Must the world live in the shadow Of atomic fear? Can they win the fight for peace Or will they disappear?"
"Show the world that love is still alive You must be brave Or you children of today Are children of the grave"
Song: Lord of This World Themes: Judgement of the greedy
It might be a bit of reach with some head cannon, but this songs definitely for me evokes the image of a greedy self-righteous prick who profits of other's misery but imagines himself innocent because he follows his government/church/whatever. And it of course imagines the eventual judgement of the (in my mind) evil capitalist hiding behind religion/traditionalism.
"But you choose evil ways instead of love You made me master of the world where you exist The soul I took from you was not even missed."
"You think you're innocent, you've nothing to fear You don't know me you say, but isn't it clear? You turn to me in all your wordly greed and pride But will you turn to me when it's your turn to die?"
Song: Into the Void Themes: Utopianism, Peace/Love
This one's a little different. Some of the usual themes are there, the evils of war and environmental destruction plaguing Earth. But also an escapist utopian fantasy of starting a new, better world on a new planet.
"Back on earth the flame of life burns low Everywhere is misery and woe Pollution kills the air, the land and sea"
"Freedom fighters sent out to the sun Escape from brainwashed minds and pollution Leave the earth to all its sin and hate Find another world where freedom waits"
"Make a home where love is there to stay Peace and happiness in every day"
Song: Cornucopia Themes: Commercialism/Capitalism
"Let them have their little toys Matchbox cars and mortgaged joys Exciting in their plastic ways Frozen food in a concrete maze"
"Take a life, it’s going cheap Kill someone, no one will weep Freedom’s yours, just pay your dues We just want your soul to use"
Song: Under the Sun Themes: Free thought, anti-religious indoctrination.
"Well, I don’t want no preacher telling me about the god in the sky No, I don’t want no one to tell me where I’m gonna go when I die"
"People try to rule the nation I just see through their frustration People hiding their real face Keep on running their rat race"
"Don’t let those empty people try and interfere with your mind Just live your life and leave them all behind"
Song: Killing Yourself to Live Themes: Labor Exploitation
"You work your life away and what do they give? You're only killing yourself to live"
"Just take a look around you, what do you see? Pain, suffering, and misery It's not the way that the world was meant It's a pity, you don't understand"
Song: Looking for Today Themes: Commodification of music.
"You’re so new, but rotting in decay Like butterfly, so quick to die"
"Glamour trip so soon to slip Easy come but, oh, how quick it goes"
"Front page news but so abused You just want to hide yourself away Overpaid, but soon you fade Because you’re only looking for today"
Song: Hole in The Sky Themes: Late Capitalist Malaise
"I’ve watched the dogs of war enjoying their feast I’ve seen the western world go down in the east The food of love became the greed of our time And now we’re living on the profits of crime"
...And here we are, still living on the profits of crime (primitive accumulation).

Griger Kel-Am watched from his cell in the old town jailhouse as workers busily erected a scaffolding in the courtyard below. It was shaping up nicely, he thought with an appreciative nod; the skeletal beams reminded him of the bones of dead animals in the Karel Desert and that comparison almost disturbed him.
Which was no easy feat. Griger had seen the worst the world had to offer. He fought beasts in the Staygin Mountains, fended off feral bandits in the Jarel Plains, and weathered more attacks, fights, battles, and death than most people even knew existed. Nothing on earth could rattle him. He couldn’t afford to let himself be shaken. Life, he had learned, was like a surging storm tide. You either stand strong against it, or you get knocked down and swept away. Griger refused to be swept away. He refused to wind up like the old bones he stumbled across on the North Road and in the snowy stepps at the top of the world. A man must be hard and stoic to survive, and he must be harder and colder to thrive.
Despite his grizzled face, many scars, dead eyes, and unseemly facial hair, Griger, a sword for hire since before the Great Plague, had always thrived.
Sighing, Griger left the window and walked over to the door; three brisk paces. He threaded his arms through the bars and tried his best to look up the corridor. In the cells across from him, other men, their faces dirty and white, cowered, waiting for their judgement.
Their open fear disgusted Griger.
Cowards.
Griger wasn’t afraid to die. Dying was easy; you closed your eyes and went to sleep. Living...living was hard, every day a knock down, drag out fight for dominance against something. Outlaws, nature, your own inner darkness. He did not seek death, but he welcomed it. The prospect of a noose tightening around his neck, of his body jerking and dancing before many jeering eyes and spitting mouths, however, almost bothered him.
But as a wise old man he once knew had said, This too shall pass.
A sardonic smile touched Griger’s chapped lips and he shook his head like a man who couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Of all the things he’d done in his life to deserve a hanging, self-defense is what did him in. Ha.
Two weeks ago, he was following the river from the North, on foot and alone save for his sword and his rucksack. He stopped at a tide pool to drink, and was beset by a man with a knife. In his frock coat and rubberized boots, he was too well dressed to be a highwayman; he never spoke a word until he lay in the grass, his throat laid open and gushing rich red blood. “Scoundrel,” he gurgled.
Griger relieved him of his boots and pocketbook and carried on. Before dusk, he came across the village and rented a room at the inn. Women in cheap, homespun dresses haunted the halls, knocking at doors to sell their company, and Griger, lying in bed by the flickering light of a lamp, was considering spending the rest of the money on one when three constables broke down the door.
The man he killed, they told him later, was the son of the mayor. At that moment, Griger knew he was in trouble.
They refused to believe that the son attacked first and pointed to the things Griger had taken from his as proof of overland piracy, theft, and murder. He was tried in a packed courtroom and found guilty, standing tall and proud but alone as no lawyer in the land would take his case.
Out in the courtyard, someone shouted, and a team of horses neighed, Griger, sitting on the edge of his cot, looked up at the window. The light was getting weaker as night approached. Shadows, long and black, fell through the slats and made unwholesome shapes across the earthen floor. Down the hall, a man cried out for water, and elsewhere, someone raked a metal cup back and forth across the bars. Would they hang him tonight, Griger wondered, or would they wait for dawn?
“You,” someone spat.
Griger looked up to find the mayor standing at the bars, his bloated face filled with hatred. Another man was with him, this one taller and thinner. They were both clad in the finest garments, but the stranger was undoubtedly better suited. Griger took him for a government official.
“What do you want?” Griger asked, an edge in his voice.
The mayor opened his mouth to speak, but the stranger silenced him. “My name is Urick Farbin. I’m the governor of Ezk Province and I have a proposition for you.”
“What’s that?”
Farbin flashed a tight smile.
It looked to Griger like he wouldn’t be hanged at all.
And that made him smile.
***
Griger watched the countryside pass slowly by, all green hills, trickling brooks, and dense thickets. The occasional straw hut loomed out of the wilderness like an antsy thief, and six miles out of the village, they passed a stately manor house that could only have belonged to the mayor.
It was mid-afternoon and the overcast day wrapped itself around Griger like a wet blanket. The previous night, Governor Farbin sprang Griger from his cell and brought him to the inn, where he was kept under armed guard. Griger spent most of the evening in a straight back chair and whittling. You don’t have to worry, he said to the sentry standing at the door, I’m not going anywhere.
And he wasn’t. He was not an honor bound man by any stretch, but Farbin saved his life, and Griger reckoned that earned him a little loyalty.
The guards didn’t stand down, but Griger didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have either.
In the morning, they set off in a horse drawn carriage, heading northwest along the Western Road. Now, hours later, Griger sat next to the Governor, who wore a dark cloak and wide-brimmed hat befitting his office. Beside him, the driver held the reins and stared ahead with the practiced indifference of a man used to tuning out things he wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Will you explain to me what I’m doing?” Griger asked.
Farbin was quiet for a moment, then he looked up at the sky, the muted light bathing his craggy features. “Your file says that you’ve done work for the Government.”
“Some,” Griger replied.
“You’ve handled things of a singular nature,” the old man continued. “Things that most other men have never dreamed possible.”
Gringer nodded. He had. His only oath was to himself, and he worked for whoever paid him the highest sum. Men like him were called mercenaries but he preferred to think of himself as a businessman.
“There’s a matter in a nearby village that has been ongoing for quite some time,” Farbin said, picking his words carefully. “I have sent my best agents and they’ve done nothing for it. When the paperwork on you came to my office, I checked your name, as I do all condemned men, and knew at once that you were the man for this job.”
Griger was almost touched. “What’s the job?”
The Governor turned to face Griger, his expression bloodless and sober, as though he had something great yet terrible to impart upon him. “Do you believe in werewolves?”
“Yes,” he said, “I do.”
“Have you ever killed one?”
Griger hesitated. “No,” he said, “not personally, but I was with a party that did.”
Five years before, Griger wintered in a village among the steep foothills guarding the forbidding expanse of Mount Grez. In the deepest, darkest days of the freeze, local livestock began to die, ripped asunder and strewn across snowy fields like trash. Wolf tracks larger than any Griger had ever seen led to and from each scene, and at night, high, ghostly howls rose above the shrieking wind, curdling the blood of even the most sturdy men.
After a watchman on patrol was attacked and gutted in the main square, the men of the village banded together and tracked the beast, eventually cornering it in a cave near a frozen river. Even if he lived to be a thousand, Griger would never forget the monster they encountered. Seven feet tall, coated in matted gray fur, its face canine yet human, its eyes blazed with the fires of hell, and as the men approached, it snapped and snarled, the sounds it made so close to words that even now, Griger wondered if it were trying to speak. They beset it with swords and torches, and when the dust settled, five men were dead and three were wounded. The wolf lay crumpled on the ground, decapitated and aflame. Even with no head, even with its heart divorced from its body, it screeched as the fire consumed it, a high, hitching wail that haunted Griger’s dreams for many moons after.
Farbin nodded. “I figured as much. A man as well-travelled as you has to have seen such things.”
He went on to explain that a suspected werewolf was loose in the countryside around the village of Koreth, a tiny fishing port on the sloped and muddy banks of the Rey River. Three weeks before, sheep and horses began to turn up dead, their bodies laid open and their intestines pulled from their stomachs. Before long, travellers along the Western Road started to die in a similar manner. Every time a new victim appeared, officials found large wolf tracks and strands of fur nearby.
Several nights ago, it broke into the home of a land baron and killed him, his wife, and his daughter. His young son survived, but was blinded in one eye.
‘It was a massive beast,’ the boy told the Governor, a personal friend of the baron. ‘It stood seven feet tall, was as wide as it was long, and had the snarling face of a man mixed with a dog.’
“You want me to kill it,” Griger said. It was not a question.
“Yes.”
The carriage jostled as its big wheels splashed through ruts and puddles. “And in return…?”
“You’ll get a full and unconditional pardon.”
Hmm. Griger considered the offer carefully, even though he was in no position to bargain. “Alright,” he said at last, “I’ll do it.”
They arrived at the village three hours later. Perched on the banks of the lazy river, it seemed a single estate rather than a town. A stone wall, roughly a dozen feet high, enclosed it, pitched roofs visible beyond. Two guards in helmets and chainmail, swords on their hips and crossbows in their hands, stood at the gate, their expressions stony and as hardscrabble as the fields sloping away from the walls.
Inside, tiny buildings lined narrow dirt streets and people in plain, homespun clothes went about their business, pushing carts, hawking vegetables, and playing dice. Old men sat in canned chairs before the town pub and a group of boys chased each other back and forth through shadowed warrens, their faces smudged and weatherbeaten beyond their years. Chickens and pigs, both plump and hale, ran free, the former flapping their impotent wings and the latter snorting happily as they wallowed and shat. Griger spotted a blacksmith in his quarters, striking an anvil with a hammer, and wondered idly if he had any interesting items for sale.
“The people here are stubborn and refuse to flee,” Farbin said.
Griger faced forward. “These types usually are.”
“You are not to worry about their safety,” Farbin warned. “They can see to themselves. Your only concern is to be the wolf.”
“Understood.”
The driver parked near the town inn and tied the horse to a hitching post while Griger and Farbin got out. Griger rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders. After so many years of walking wherever he went, he was unaccustomed to sitting for long periods and inevitably ended any long, stationary trek sore.
Past the batwing doors, a shadowy lobby lit by candlelight greeted them. Farbin led Griger directly up the stairs and to a tidy room with a single, neatly made bed and a desk beneath the window. “These are your quarters,” Farbin said.
“Spacious,” Griger said unsarcastically. He sat on the edge of the bed. “What leads do you have on this wolf?”
“None beyond what I’ve told you,” Farbn said. “My men have scoured the countryside but they haven’t found a thing.”
Griger hummed. “No tracks? Droppings? Nothing at all?”
“Not beyond what I’ve told you.”
That was odd. Werewolves rarely strayed far from their den. Unless they were of the rare half-breed that turned upon the cycle of the moon, man at day and beast by night. But those were as common as an honest man in the High Council - not very damned common at all.
“What are you thinking?” Farbin asked.
Griger said what was on his mind.
“But those aren’t real,” the Governor said, a hint of confusion in his voice.
“I tell you they are.”
Farbin’s brow furrowed with incredulity. “A man cannot simply change his form, nor can a wolf, for that matter. It goes against all logic.”
All Griger could do was spread his hands. That a man - even a large one - could transform into a werewolf (and that a werewolf could shrink back to the size of a mere man) did defy logic. Griger could not account for it, but he knew it to be so, and he said as much. Farbin, shaken by the confidence in Griger’s tone, nervously scratched the back of his neck and looked constipated. “Put aside what you think you know and ask yourself. What if it is a wolf-man?”
“But what if it isn’t?” Farbin countered.
Griger ticked his head to the side in acquiescence. “Maybe it’s not. Maybe your men have failed to uncover a den large enough to house a seven foot tall monster. Maybe they’ve been looking up each other’s backsides instead of where they should be.”
A dark shadow flickered across Farbin’s face. “My men are highly trained and highly skilled.”
“That’s why you came to me.”
Farbin fumed. “I came to you because you have experience in such things.”
“Right,” Griger said. “I do. And I’m telling you - in my expert opinion - that if there is no den, the wolf is a changeling. I cannot explain the science behind how and why it is a changeling. I don’t know how it can happen...but it does. You have to consider the possibility that you are looking for a phantom, that your wolf may be out there right this second ploughing a field or herding sheep and not asleep in a cave waiting to be found and made.”
Farbin turned away and put his hands on his hips. No shoulder had ever been colder, and for a second, Griger thought the old man was going to send him back to the gallows. “Alright,” Farbin finally said, “suppose it is a half-breed. What then?”
“I want to see where the latest attack happened.”
A half an hour later, Griger and Farbin stood before a large stone house with a slate roof and wide windows. A dirt drive looped around an ornate fountain and tall trees rustled in the new breeze. Several Provincial Guardsmen accompanied them, all with swords and crossbows and one, the commander, with a rare flintlock on his hip. Farbin led Gringer to the west side of the structure. “The wolf came in through the servants’ entrance,” he explained. A set of paw prints led to the door and Gringer knelt to study them. Roughly half a foot apart, they were slightly larger than any other he had seen.
Inside, the house was dark and cold, shadows clustered in corners like demons waiting for the fall of night to advance their ghoulish aims. Dried blood stained the wooden floors and spackled the bare walls. “Has anyone seen this creature and lived but the boy?”
Farbin shook his head. “No.” His face was white and strained, the somber, funeral atmosphere affecting him.
“You’ve told me everything?”
“Yes.”
Griger nodded to himself. If the wolf were a changeling, someone, somewhere likely would have seen it coming or going. That was a strike against his theory. On the other hand, there were likely dozens of isolated farms and homesteads scattered through the surrounding countryside. The wolf could be anyone from anywhere.
“I want to talk to the locals,” Griger said as he and Farbin walked back to the carriage.
“Right.”
“I’ll also need a team of men at my disposal,” Griger said. “And a sword.”
They were sitting across from each other in the carriage’s enclosed cab. Without, the sky was beginning to cool to purple and evening gloom stealthy crept from the forest. “We’ll get you one.”
“It must be made with silver,” Griger said.
Farbin frowned. “Silver is a poor alloy for sword-making.”
“But it’s the only alloy for werewolf killing,” Griger said. “It shouldn’t be made entirely of silver, but there must be some in it, the more, the better.
Farbin nodded that he understood.
By the time they made it back to the village, full dark had fallen. The streets stood deserted, the animals locked up for the night and most of the people hunkered in their homes. A few guards walked the lanes and dooyards, bows and swords at the ready, and a stray cat with no tail slunk furtively between piles of refuse, its ears laid flat against its skull and its fur matted and crisscrossed with scars from battles past.
The only activity was at the pub attached to the inn, where lights burned in the segmented windows and the chatter of many voices drifted into the street, occasionally flaring in laughter or song. Apparently, those hearty souls refused to let a wolf stand between them and their end-of-day festivities.
Griger’s respect for them increased.
Before entering, Farbin and Griger called on the blacksmith, a burly man with a bald head and a mustache that reminded Griger of walruses he had killed and eaten at the top of the world. Griger explained his need and impressed upon the man a sense of urgency. “I need it as soon as you can possibly have it ready.”
The blacksmith nodded gamely. “I’ll have it by dawn.”
Farbin took out his purse and paid, then they made their way to the inn.
Inside, a roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth and lamps on the walls sent shadows flickering across the floor. A dozen men sat at the bar with stines of beer and a half dozen more occupied the many tables in the middle of the room. A barkeep kept the drinks flowing while a pretty waitress with her blonde hair done up in an elaborate braid like a golden tiara brought trays of beer and pretzels to the tables.
Griger and Farbin sat at an empty table near the fireplace and Farbin removed his gloves. “Men will make merry even while the world burns around them,” he mused.
“Why not,” Griger said, “they can’t do it in the grave.”
The women came over and they ordered a pitcher of beer and a sandwich each. While they waited, Griger went to every man one-by-one and asked them about the wolf. They responded, to a man, with an eye roll or a dismissive laugh. None were worried in the slightest. One man lifted his brow in a pitying sort of way and looked Griger up and down as though he were mad. “Werewolves? Why, those were banished from the Realm centuries ago, it’s all much ado about nothing.”
“It’s a big wolf,” the barkeep said, “and dangerous too, that much is fact. But it’s a lot of hysteria. People today are too goddamn soft. In my time, we had wolves and bears too. If they acted out of line, we hunted them down and cut their heads off.”
The last man Griger came to was a wispy, white-haired oldster with rheumy eyes and three days’ worth of stubble covering his angular chin. Baggy brown clothes, old and wrinkled and caked in the dirt of the field, hung slack from his scrawny frame, and his long, spindly fingers threaded through the handle of his mug like fleshless bone. If Griger had ever seen a man who bore the official title “Town Drunk” he wouldn’t look the part any more than the old man.
Before Griger could ask him a single question, he spoke in a rusty voice that conjured images of graveyard gates in the dark Province of Helem. “I seen it,” he said, “and it weren’t no regular wolf neither.”
The barkeep sniffed. “You see lots of things, Sel. Like them little pink elephants.”
A wave of mean-spirited laughter ran through the bar, and Sel’s jaw clenched. Griger sensed that Sel was often made sport of at the bar.
Ignoring the other, Griger asked, “You’ve seen it?”
Sel nodded and held up three fingers. “Thrice, in fact,” he said with a belch.
“Tell me.”
The old timer looked up at him with a twist of suspicion. “Down by the road leadin’ up,” he said.
“All three times?”
“All three times,” Sel confirmed.
Once a mason, Sel had moved to the village ten years before to try his hand at farming, he explained. His homestead, comprising five acres, a tumbledown barn, and a decomposing shack masquerading as a house, sat below the walls, in a hollow between the hill and the river. Many nights, he sat on the front porch and “communed with the King” (King Rum, Griger assumed). From that perch, he witnessed “The damned beast” loping toward town. “The first time, I seen’t it over in the road,” he said, pronouncing road as rud. “I have good eyesight and I knew right off it weren’t normal, so I jumped outta my chair and ducked down real low so ways he couldn’t see me.”
Sel couldn’t provide a description of the wolf beyond “near eight damn feet tall and built like a mountain” but Griger didn’t need one. The old man’s story supported his supposition that the wolf was coming from somewhere else and not a den in the hills. Why would it come down the middle of the road each time? The only thing to the south was the river and open fields dotted by stands of forest, all of which Farbin’s men had already searched.
Werewolves are nocturnal creatures who sequester themselves somewhere dark and dry during the day. Farbin’s men should have found it by now. That they hadn’t suggested that it was a changeling.
Thanking Sel for his help, Griger went back to the table and sat across from Farbin. “The baron’s house lies in the direction of the river,” he said, more to himself than to the Governor. “What of the other attacks?”
“Mainly in that area,” Farbin said, “why?”
“The changeling - and that’s what it is - comes from across the river. How many homesteads are there beyond the banks?”
“At least two dozen,” Farbin said.
Griger crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “I want your men, tomorrow, out there going door to door with garlic. Make everyone they come across smell it and anyone who sneezes is put under watch.”
The Governor looked stricken. “But...why?”
“Changelings are allergic to garlic,” Griger said.
Farbin pursed his lips in contemplation. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll have them start at first light.”
After dining, they adjourned to their rooms, Farbin on one side of the hall and Griger on the other. A team of six Guardsmen took up position in the empty saloon and kept watch, ready to roll out at a moment’s notice. Griger threw the window open and perched on the ledge, the night breeze washing over him and rustling his graying hair. He rolled a cigarette, lit it with the bedside candle, and looked up at the glowing face of the waxing moon. Tomorrow night it would be full and the changeling would be compelled to turn and hunt as the tide was compelled to crest. It could come tonight still, but unless it was killed, it would return tomorrow for certain, mad with bloodlust.
Well past midnight, Griger blew out the candle and retired. The mattress was far too soft and it took him nearly a half hour of tossing, turning, and muttering curses to himself to find a position he liked. Once he did, he fell into a light sleep from which he was aroused near dawn by a knock at the door. One of the guards informed him that the blacksmith was finished with his sword, and after dressing, he and Farbin went to collect it. Comprising a simple blade with a guard and a grip, it was far from the most opulent weapon Griger had ever wielded, but it was well-suited to his needs and fit comfortably in his hand.
Back at the inn, Farbin gathered every available man under his command, including the constable and his three deputies, and ordered them to sweep the countryside as Griger had suggested the night before. They showed no reaction despite their lord’s strange request, and departed in a single file line.
The saloon opened for breakfast at six and Griger and Farbin each had a plate of eggs, bacon, and beans. People began to drift in as they ate, Sel the Drunkard at the head of the pack. The maiden, who quartered somewhere upstairs, came down in a simple white dress beneath a waist apron, and Griger’s eyes tracked her as she carried out her functions. The dress - loose and high cut - revealed nothing of her bosom, but pulled tight across her bottom when she leaned over to set food and coffee in front of her guests. Their gazes met, and her eyes flicked quickly away like two timid minnows in a fish bowl.
She was beautiful.
She reminded him of someone.
His mind went back to the jagged mountains atop the world, to a little cabin where weary travellers waited out the snowstorms that raged sometimes for weeks in the winter. There, in one of the most isolated outposts of the Realm, lived a woman Griger had known. She was tall and gaunt whereas the barmaid was average and healthy, her hair was black to the maiden’s blonde, but their eyes were the same breathtaking hazel. Now, staring at his plate, his chest stirred in a way that it hadn’t in years.
He didn’t like it.
“...else,” Farbin was saying.
“Yeah,” Griger said, as though he knew what Farbin had said. Now, the woman he loved one winter was on his mind and his mood was verging on foul. He recalled the way her hair brushed the creamy slope of her throat when she turned her head, the sound of her laughter, how her heels dug into his behind, urging him deeper unto her.
He was young, then, and a fool. People, he learned later, come and people go. Loving someone...indeed even hating them...was pointless, for in a breath of summer wind, they’re gone.
After finishing with breakfast, Farbin requested a metal tub be filled with water so that he could bathe. While he did that, Griger threaded his sword through his belt and walked down to the river, keeping his eyes open for wolf tracks. He spotted a few in the dirt edging the road, all pointing in the direction from which he had just come, and squatted down to examine one more closely.
Just before reaching the water, Sel’s farm appeared on the right, the main house seeming to sag in the middle as though under the burden of years and the field out back overgrown and gone to seed. The place looked as though it had died, come back to life, then died again. The screen door, which naturally hung askew, banged open, and Sel himself backed out butt first, a ceramic pot in his hands. He turned, saw Griger, and hesitated, then ducked his head and scurried down the stairs, disappearing around the side of the house Griger lingered a moment, then followed, tangles of grass pulling at his boots. In the back, a clear patch boasted several pots like the one Sel had come out with, each blossoming with an assortment of multicolored flowers. Sel knelt before one and heaped rich soil in with his hands. A gust of wind flipped his lank, white hair back and forth, and a satisfied smile played at the corners of his thin mouth.
“You garden?” Griger asked.
Sel shot him a dirty look. “I do,” he said, a defensive edge in his voice. He stopped, favored the flowers with a sober look, and added, “These plants are the only friends I’ve got.” He chuckled self-consciously.
“Plants seem like they’d make poor friends,” Griger said. “When the first frost comes, they leave you.”
Sel ticked his head to one side in acquiescence. “Tis better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.”
An image of the girl at the top of the world flashed across Griger’s mind, and for a moment he could feel, feel, her presence. “I don’t believe that,” Griger said. “Loss is hard for a man who’s known love.”
“Still better than never knowing it at all,” Sel said and got stiffly to his feet. He dusted his hands on his pants.
“You’ve never lost someone,” Griger said.
“You’ve never loved someone,” Sel countered.
Griger stiffened. Mouthy old bastard, yes I have.
“What do you want?” Sel asked.
“I wanted to ask you about the werewolf.”
Sel’s face crinkled. “I told you everything I know.” He started walking back to the front of the house, and Griger fell in beside him.
“Is there anywhere around here you think a werewolf might live?” Griger asked. “Caves? Dens? Anything.”
“There’s some caves about,” Sel said, “other than that, I can’t say.”
They were on the porch now, Sel holding the door open.
“Can you tell me your story one more time?” Griger asked. “Maybe it might jog something you forgot.”
Sel sighed. “I don’t have nothin’, okay?”
He started to go inside, but Griger stopped him. “Please?”
The old man looked at him, then sighed. “Fine. Come in.”
They sat in Sel’s tiny and cluttered parlor. The furniture was as old and threadbare as the man who owned it, and the simple walls were crowded with old photos, many of them featuring a smiling woman with dark hair. She looked nothing like the girl at the top of the world, but Griger was reminded of her anyway. “Your wife?” he asked.
Sel, seated in an armchair across from him, busied himself pouring Griger a cup of tea. “Yes,” he said shortly.
From his tone - and the woman’s absence - Griger inferred that she was dead. “I’m sorry.”
Sel’s hand shook as he pushed the cup across the table. “So am I,” he said.
“Children?” Griger asked.
“Three,” Sel said. “Two boys and a girl.” Tears crept into the old man’s faded eyes and he fixed his gaze on a point over Griger’s shoulder. Open displays of emotion made Griger uncomfortable, and he shifted in his seat, sorry that he had brought the topic up. “We were married thirty years,” Sel said. His lips trembled and Griger thought he was going to break down crying. Instead, he smiled. “Those were good years.”
Griger nodded to himself. “I bet.”
He must not have sounded convincing, because Sel creased his brow. “Are you married?”
“No.”
“Ever loved someone?”
“No.”
Sel looked at him with a frank directness that bordered on mind-reading, and though it wasn’t possible, Griger could almost imagine the old man was seeing into his mind...and his heart. “You’re a liar.”
Griger considered his reply for a long time. “When I was a boy,” he said. “I thought I was in love.”
“What happened?”
Perhaps the old man had cast some kind of pall over him...or maybe he was in a rare mood...but Griger heard himself answer honestly. “I left her.”
A heavy silence lay between them.
“You left her?”
Griger nodded. “I moved on. She had her ways and I had mine. I didn’t see us working.”
“You regret it.”
“Yes,” Griger responded instantly. “I wish I tried.”
Sel nodded understandingly. “All boys make mistakes. Some are just luckier than others, I reckon.” He laughed, his posture relaxing, and Griger realized he was starting to like the old bastard.
“True,” he said. “Now your story…”
Sighing, Sel lifted a hand. “I don’t have much ways else to say.” He ran through his story just as he had before, with no additions or subtractions.
Griger nodded that he was satisfied, and got to his feet. “That’ll be all.”
Sel walked him to the door and stuck out his hand. “That damned thing’s a monster,” he said as they shook, “you watch yourself.”
“I can handle a werewolf,” Griger assured him.
Later on, after returning to the inn, Griger and Farbin rode out to meet the men on the other side of the river, catching up to them at a fork in the road. “No one’s sneezed or broken out, sire,” Farbin’s second-in-command, a tall, rodent-faced man, reported.
“Expand the dragnet,” Griger said.
Rat-face looked at Farbin for confirmation, and the Governor nodded.
They would find the wolf...or the wolf would find them.
Griger wanted the former, but would settle for the latter.
If he had to.

So my birthday was on the 15th and I decided to spend the morning with my father and then have dinner with my mom. We were going to go to hibachi but my mom decided that it was getting late and she was tired because she had been working for 2 weeks straight while her boss was outta town and we would just go on the 16th. But my sister was planning to have her birthday party on the 16th and had been taking about it all week (Her birthday was on the 1st but her party kept getting pushed back.) So she got in to a screaming match with my mom and my mom got in her car and drove away. Then a little over an hour later my mom calls my sister to see if we wanted to get some food (I forgot to mention this earlier but my 2 cousins were with us.) So we decided to go to taco bell so we all get in the car and there's a bottle of rum in the back seat. I didn't think much of it because she normally has liquor in her car but as we drove it was more and more apparent that she was drunk. She was swerving and moving out for her lane literally falling asleep at the wheel my sister who was in the front seat had to keep telling my mom to pay attention. We got to the taco bell my mom pulled in to the parking lot we were supposed to go through the drive through but my mom was so out of it she had no idea what we were talking about. So my sister put my mom in the passenger seat and said she was going to drive. (My sister is 17 and doesn't have her license or permanent but she does have her driver's test soon so she has a rough idea.) At this point I'm in tears and just want to go home but my mom insisted we get food and as we were in the drive through my mom trys to get out of the car and my sister has to pull her back in. So we get our food and go home go straight to the bathroom to cry but my mom noticed and followed me in to the bathroom asking me what's wrong kept trying to walk away but she couldn't fathom that I was trying to get away from her. So I go in to the hallway and basically hid behind my sister. (As im writing this my heart goes out to my sister because I realize how much she really does for me and she is much stronger than I.) So my sister takes my mom to her room and starts to yell at her I go to the living room with my cousins. A few minutes later my mom comes in to the living room to talk to me and she tells me she took some sleeping medicine before she left and I was just like OK because I was done talking to her cause she was obviously lying so she go's to bed. My cousin rolls a blunt we smoke while high i spill my guts and admit that I have nightmares of being at my sisters funeral and. In the morning I pretend that I forgot what happened so I don't have to talk about it.

Originally posted by u/throwaway_lastname2 in AmItheAsshole on July 20, '22, updated March 14, '23
To avoid spoilers...
I had a request from u/readergirl132 to do a pink dolphin fact. Pink Dolphins are a fresh water species that thrive in the Amazon (South American) rivers and grow up to 8 ft long. While they are born gray, they get their pink color from scar tissue, after repeated tussles with other dolphins. For added fun, search up some pictures. They kind of look like a flying pig when they pop out of the water upside down ;)
Trigger Warning: Loss of a loved one
Mood Spolier: The update is sad
Original post
AITA for wanting my child to have my last name?
I (36m) and my wife (36f) have been together for 9 years and married for 7. Recently after many years of trying we are expecting the birth of a son in November (I know sometimes ultrasounds get it wrong but we are prepping for a boy). We couldn't be happier.
When we were dating we reached 3 months and we had one of those long discussions about the future, expectations and deal breakers.
One of the deal breakers for her was she did not want to live in the city and if married she would keep her last name. At the time I lived in an apartment in the city center but one of my deal breakers was I would want a partner to take my last name. I know the concept of the wife taking my last name is outdated but I love my last name and I loved the idea of passing it down to our kids (also I know my kids could change it if they wanted). I thought about it for a while and agreed only if our kids could have my last name though. As this was only a general discussion she agreed in principal and we moved on to the next topic.
Two months latter we agreed to move in together. Before looking for rentals I wanted to reiterate my feelings on the last name and chat as I would have to sell my apartment. We sat down and agreed to all the things that we discussed in the previous months. Now the last name of our child was the only thing I had not compromised on and it was so important to me that I got a scrap piece of paper (my niece had drawn a picture on the back) and got her to write down she agreed, date and sign it. I know it would not be legal it was more a symbolic gesture to show how important it was to me and I was serious.
Flash to now and we are choosing baby names and she vetoed one of my names because she said it didn't go with her last name. I was like what... we agreed that he would have my last name. She said she thought about it and thought that they should have her last name because she liked it, wanted to pass it down, and I should now change my last name to hers. I bought up the fact that this was discussed and agreed to before we moved in and that this was one thing I had been talking about from the start and I had compromised on her last name among other things. She said its outdated thinking which I agree, and she didn't want there to be confusion at things like school.
I retrieved the original fake contract in my memory box and showed her. She then said it means nothing and things change. There was no yelling I just left the house went to work (its after hours/ night atm). AITA for standing my ground on this issue? I'm not going to leave her because its not worth throwing away a 8 year relationship but I feel betrayed on a level I have never felt and am truly upset. She has messaged me and said I can come back when I've stopped being stupid.
I may be the asshole as I came up with the idea of this "contract" and my views on passing on my last name could be seen as outdated, as my kids could change it or get married themselves.
Top comments suggest a hyphenated last name. Several people took issue with her 'You can come home when you stop being stupid' comment. Most said NTA because OOP was not motivated by sexism or outdated values, they had already discussed how important this is to him, and she had agreed.
OOP updates in the comments:
[UPDATE 1]
Hi all, thanks for all the comments I am reading them all. I am still hiding out at work and told her I wont be back tonight. She said don't go to any friends and family as they don't need to know that we are fighting let alone what we are fighting about. I need some time to collect my thoughts so will sleep in the car in the work garage.
Thought I would clarify a few things:
I am defiantly not going to leave her. The betrayal hurts though and the way it was delivered was very blunt as it could have been bought up anytime over the last 8-9 years.
The contract was very informal although it is oddly specific and well written (she wrote it), it was more of a symbolic gesture to show her I was serious. I was going to throw it out but decided to keep it while cleaning up as it had a few notes she put on it about our future plans. It says:
"I GF of Address on the DD/MM/YY, being of sound mind and judgement relinquish all rights in choosing the surname of any and all children I bear with OP of Address. The before mentioned children will have the last name LAST_NAME. Signed GF"
As for other compromises, its not a competition so I don't want to go into those however moving out of the city was a big one, and there have been a few friends lost along the way. Ultimately seeing her happy is what I want.
My last name is important to me because of its history. I know you can be called something else and still have this connection, but to me seeing the name has always filled me with pride about my families past.
We talked about double-barrelled surname all those years ago and she ruled it out because our names do not join well (same first letter and last letter).
There was no yelling but things were getting heated so I decided to leave as not to escalate. As for "stupid" message she gets like that during arguments, but this time it hurt as I don't see this topic as stupid nor are my feelings.
[UPDATE 2]
Hi Everyone thankyou everyone for your comments no matter the judgement, and thankyou to everyone that reached out to me through messaging.
Firstly I was very happy in the car as it is a large 4wd that we have set up for weekend trips so it is very well suited to a good nights sleep. By the time I realised I had to sleep it was too late to contact anyone for a place to crash. The garage is not a large parking structure but an a 4 car garage as most of the parking is outdoors. So not the cold parking structure and sleeping on the back seat as people were probably thinking. Sorry I should have clarified.
As for this being a deal breaker issue at the time when we were first dating it was defiantly something that would have caused me to break off the relationship at that time. At the time I realised it was stupid of me to expect her to change her name if she wanted to keep it for same reasons as me, but I thought I could deal for the last name of our child.
I think 9 years of build-up and expectations came crashing down in that moment which caused me spiral. I am still not sure what the bigger issue is though, is it the re-neg on the deal, the way she handled it or the actual last name?
I received a message this morning asking me to come home so we can chat, so with some hesitancy I decided to go home and talk. I don't like chatting through messenger or text as you loose the ability to gauge the in the moment reaction.
So to cut a long story short and give you an anti climatic ending, she apologised for dropping the bomb on me. She said I had been carrying on soo long about the last name she did not know how to tell me and in the moment she chose to blurt it out. Apparently she has been thinking about it ever since she fell pregnant and always thought she would keep to the deal but being pregnant made her change her mind. We have allot of talking to do but in the mean time I am going to sleep in the spare room until this issues (plural) are sorted.
Will keep people updated as it has been helpful to read comments and put my thoughts somewhere. Thanks
OOP was declared Not The Asshole
Update 8 months later
I am going to give an abridged version, forgive me if it comes of unemotional & cold. Some may say I haven't dealt with all the turmoil emotionally and they would be right, I haven't had the time, its been moving from one crisis to another.
A week before her due date we were going to dinner with my work bosses. We decided to meet there; I caught an taxi from work & she was driving to the restaurant from home. On the way she was hit in the drivers side of the car by someone running a red light. In the ECU the Doctor made the choice to deliver the baby via emergency C-section in order to properly deal with her injuries. Later that night the decision was made to place her in a medical comma. The Baby was perfect but unfortunately, she passed away the next day from a brain haemorrhage. I was devastated of course but I haven't had the time for the luxury of grieving since the incident. My son needed me!
Baby was able to leave the hospital 3 days later & we both came home to an empty house. Everything was ready at home but I cant say it was easy. My family is pretty emotionally stunted so there was limited help from there and my wife was estranged from her family, so it was basically me and him. For those wondering he actually left hospital with no name as you have ~60 days to name a baby in Aus.
Before we get into the next bit a long story short my wife was estranged from her parents, they were abusive (Physically & mententally). She had not talked to them in 10+ yrs and they were not at our wedding. I have never met them but I am able to recognise them via photos.
After about 2 weeks of planning we had the funeral for my wife, I kept it simple and it was not a big event. At the funeral I saw her parents file into the room at the back. I should have thrown them out but instead I took pity and I had the usher put them in a side room with a live feed. After the funeral they waited in the line of well wishers. When they got to me I said I was sorry they lost a daughter and it must be hard. They weren't even worried about that, instead they began asking questions about the baby. I answered a couple and then asked my sister to take my son away to another room as I was beginning to get some weird vibes. While my sister was walking away they began to get irate demanding access to the baby. Fortunately friends and ushers were able to remove them without further incident and they left the venue.
I stayed in a hotel that night as I didn't want to return to the house after the funeral. The next day returning home they were there waiting. I managed to park in the garage & after putting baby down in his room I spoke to them through the security door. Long story short they once again demanded access to the baby. They said given the "circumstances" it would be best if they raised him now, they then told me they were going to sue for custody & left. Over the coming days they approached me at home and in public several times and while they weren't violent they gave me a feeling of total dread every time I talked to them. They wanted to take my son.
My wife always made it clear to me she never wanted them to meet the baby, on any circumstances, given her childhood. Honestly I wrestled with just letting them see him in a supervised capacity but in the end I decided to follow her wishes so I spoke to my lawyer over the next days. She said they had a good chance of some visitation as they were now the only connection to her family. Australian courts believe it is best for a child's sense of identity to know all parts of their family and it falls under grandparents rights as well. I asked about their past abuses against my wife but these could not be proved thus could not be used in court. One way to get around it though is to move far away as a a judge would not enforce visitation between states.
So acting on this information and I think also the need for a new start, I put the house up for rent, transferred by job to the office across the country, piled all our stuff into a sea container and left. The house was rented out after the first home open due to the rental crisis. I decided to dive across the country and it honestly allowed me to get my head right. I still haven't dealt with the loss properly but I can say the trip allowed me to be alone with my thoughts and appreciate my new boy. For now we have been staying in a motel apartment & will be moving into a rental house soon. Once there our stuff will be delivered & we can get settled. I haven't started work yet as I had long service leave for when the baby arrived, and I will be interviewing live in au pairs over the coming days.
So as for the name: In my original post my wife had gone back on a agreement to give the baby my last name. To solve the stalemate we were in I agreed to give him her last name, I didn't really have a choice as its her decision anyway legally. So after she passed I wrestled with this decision for weeks but in the end I decided to give my son my last name. I did this for a number of reasons including it was the original agreement, her parents were horrible and I wanted my life to be simple moving forwards instead of having to explain why we have different last names.
So for the other names the first name it was a DS9 character, and my wife's grandfather as a middle name (she loved him). My wife and I chose these 2 names together.
I know we have a long road ahead and I have therapy booked for next month but I feel like I am slowly making a little progress. I have a few friends in the new city so I am not totally alone here but my son is my focus now and I will treasure him every day.
Any advice/ comments would be good to read as I haven't had much time or anyone to tell this to.
If you'd like to leave advice for OOP, please do so in the comments here. I will let him know I have shared his posts here
I feel compelled to add, we have some Australians in the comments saying that this is not the way the law works there.
Reminder, DO NOT comment on the original posts or contact the original poster. I am not the original poster. This is a repost.

a list of all the things happening in my life, since my mind won't fall asleep if I don't make a list on reddit right now.
for context, im 14. biologically female, not trans, but a he/him, they/them, it/its thing going on.
. My grandma just recently died and I forced myself to attend her funeral out of respect with a long black dress she would've gone crazy for, since i always wear shorts and a t shirt. I kept one of the flowers as a memory, it died so soon after. I feel bad for trying to "show off" at the funeral. The person who basically but not legally murdered her showed up and made a scene, and her sister had a heart attack at the sight of her in a coffin.
. My other grandma that I'm more close with is in the hospital doing surgeries and check ups and her husband has cancer. I love them both so much.
. My parents are getting rid of my birds and threatening to get rid of one of my dogs (a great dane) because of how she misbehaves. It was a joke at first, but it feels more real now with the yelling and hint of annoyance.
. The memories keep hitting back from when I almost killed my dad when he choked my mom half to death, and then the fact that they're perfectly fine now. I hate my dad so much and my mom for not kicking him out and putting me on medicine instead.
. Currently have an ear infection in both ears, it hurts. My head gets all full with pressure and I can't hear anyone. Might have surgery soon.
. Waiting until I can get a job and move out. I hate working as a 14 year old, it's hours of work for barely anything. I want to move out at 16.
. Nervous about getting into a dorm school I really like. It's about an hour away but the rate of acceptance is sorta low. I can't stay home with my parents.
. My crush is a stalker and hates me for trying to mention that it made me feel a little weird with how she talked about her crush all the time in every conversation (ex. I wanna cuddle her, wanna see a picture of her car? I have her class schedule, oh my god she likes ____ too!) and I eventually had to end up telling her if she doesn't stop, I'm calling the police.
. Not going to school tomorrow. I have to spend the whole day at the doctor's office. Probably not going to sleep today either.
. Little sisters birthday is coming up (adopted her after my grandma died. we were always close) and I don't know what to get her and I need to save.
. Everyone I meet is a pedophile.
. I have so many art commissions to finish, the thought makes my chest squeeze.
. My 12 year old (just turned 12) brother tried to make my little sister (nearly 13) give him a "footjob" in her sleep after learning what it was online. we all sleep in the same room, and my dad decided to put a wall up soon. he sleeps in the living room as of now.
. Started liking the southpark characters but I feel cringe now. They make me feel okay, kenny and butters and tweek and everybody. Nobody wants me to talk about it though. I never really get to talk about my interests. I just adapt to everyone elses
. My first attempt at suicide went unnoticed to everybody, which was good, since it was months ago, but it's weird that nobody in my family noticed the cuts, or maybe they did and it blended in with the rest of them. I haven't cut or had any weed cravings and don't think I will soon but it's weird to think about. clean streak since I was late 12 years old.
. Im always sick, always need to vent but physically and mentally can't get it out of me ever since my therapist said my feelings weren't real or valid (she was homophobic and I dressed as a boy) and another called child protective services and my parents yelled and screamed at me for hours on end.
. I just want comfort. Nothing comforts me
. I really want advice but everything I search or ask is "relax", I can't relax. It just doesn't work like that. I can't sleep. I just want someone to roleplay with and talk and match discord profile pictures and lay down. I'm so tired. I don't wanna move anymore.

When Jamison March, owner of March Mortuaries, put a sign out in front of his business saying that he would be selling honey, people thought it must be a joke.
What kind of mortician would sell honey? Would he sell it next to the caskets in his showroom? Would he offer it graveside at the cemetery? No one knew, but there was much speculation about that little sign.
Those who asked Jamison were in for quite a treat. Jamison told them that he would be selling his honey right here at the mortuary and even gave them a sample so they might tell their friends. What they sampled was supposedly the best honey any of them had ever eaten. They went on and on about the texture and the taste and the strange, exotic flavors within the honey. They said how they couldn't wait for Jamison to sell his honey, and they would be buying as much as they could on the opening day.
Others began to question where he was keeping his bees? They saw no beehives on his property, a two-bedroom apartment above the mortuary. They saw no hives on the mortuary property at all, in fact. They saw no hives in the cemetery or near the crematorium, but still, the honey came.
On the third of March, the first jar of that miraculous concoction appeared in the front room of Jamison's Mortuary. The mortuary was crowded for the next several days, and by Friday, not a jar was left to be purchased. Again, people praised the texture in the taste, as well as the myriad flavors that one would find within that jar. One of the buyers, Burt Lancaster, owned a large honey operation of his own. It is said that when he tasted Jamison honey, he proclaimed that no bee in his field had ever produced anything so sweet. Some would tell you that he burned his beehives that very afternoon, but that's a little more than town gossip.
For that summer back in 1986, no one could get enough of Jamison's honey.
They say Hellen Price used that honey to defeat her arrival, Linda Moore, in that summer's Fourth of July dessert bake-off.
They say Bert Cavill put that honey in his mead and could not make enough of it to satiate the local drunks.
They say Mary Sanders was taken to the hospital over at Oakley when she ate ten jars in a day and was reaching for an eleventh when her stomach ruptured.
But, again, that's all town gossip.
What is fact was the discovery made by Randall Smith, a local tabloid writer, in the fall of eighty-six.
Randall had a reputation for being less of a journalist and more of a mudslinger. If there was a nasty rumor started, Randall could usually be traced back to it. He had grown pretty tired of hearing about Jamison and his amazing honey. Randall was of the opinion that if something was too good to be true, then it likely was. He thought Jamison's honey must have some sort of secret ingredient that got people addicted to it. Maybe it was even a cover for some kind of dope operation that Jamison was running out of the mortuary or the cemetery. Whatever the case, Randall could smell the story, and it would be sweeter than any nectar the old mortician could produce.
So one night, as the moon hung full over Pleasant Rest Cemetery, Randall and his friends, Rooster Mallory and Charles Drainer, took a trip out to the cemetery to have a look around. Someone had reported earlier that week that they had seen some larger-than-normal bees around the cemetery grounds and speculated that these may be the source of Jamison's honey. It was the only lead that Randall had and seemed as good a lead as any. So after a couple of drinks at the Legion hall, the three men piled into Rooster's old Chevy and headed down to do some late-night snooping.
Randall still tells anyone who will listen how the graveyard was as silent as its namesake. The gate was locked, sporting a brand new Academy Security Lock, one of the big, thick gold ones that graced the sheds and fences of discerning security buffs in town. So, the three men had to find a different way in. This was strange since the cemetery had never been locked before. Jamison had always let people come and go as they please, but just recently, the old man has gotten a little cagey about many things. For one, the cemetery was now locked after nightfall. For another, no one was allowed in the basement of the mortuary, not even the man who came to deliver the bodies from the families. For third, no one but his two sons were allowed to work in the mortuary anymore, and both of them were under pain of death should they reveal the secret of Jamison's honey.
The three men had walked around the cemetery fence before they found a spot where the last windstorm had knocked down a thick old pine. It lay on the sharp points around the top, creating a rude bridge over the wall. None of them being particularly spry, they had them all carefully shimmied up the fallen tree and then dropped down into the cemetery, careful not to get stuck on the spikes. They all felt a chill as they stood in the quiet boneyard, and Randall claims that Rooster looked ready to brave the spikes if it meant being out of there.
The wind rattled the skeletal trees on the grounds, and the little flags that had been stuck on some of the graves for Labor Day snapped mischievously and startled them more than once. They had brought flashlights, but the big old traitors' moon that looked down on them was more than enough to keep them from tripping into an open grave or smashing their shins on an ill-placed tombstone. The quiet cemetery was enough to sober even the bravest of them, and it was probably why they heard the shovels before they saw the men.
Crouching behind a particularly large family headstone, Randal saw two men digging in a fresh grave. They were exhuming a body by the light of that pregnant moon, and Randall knew whose it was to boot. He had been to the widow Hadley's funeral that day, and it appeared that whoever these men were, they were taking her from her freshly dug plot. As they watched, the corpse flopped to the surface unceremoniously, followed by March's sons, Hannibal and Gavin. Hannibal hefted the body, leaving his younger brother to fill in the hole as he took it deeper into the cemetery. Gavin went to his work and bent as he was; he didn't notice the three men as they snuck around him and followed his older brother. Hannibal had been a football player, a linebacker for the local high school team in his day. He toted the frail old woman as easily as someone might a sack of grain. As they followed him, the three men weren't sure what they expected to find, but Randall was certain it would be something that would add a macabre twinge to the story he was working on.
They followed Hannibal as he came to a newly built mausoleum, the name across the door reading March. He unlocked the door and unceremoniously tossed the old woman into the crypt. The men hunkered low behind a pair of tombstones, but they needn't have bothered. Hannibal was a big boy, but his night eyes left something to be desired. He no more saw them than he did the place marker that he nearly tripped over on the way back to his brother, and as he stomped off into the cemetery, the three men approached the crypt.
The mortuary was a nice new one. Sunk into the ground a little to protect any caskets placed down there, it would have looked more at home in New Orleans than this Georgia backwater town. To the knowledge of anyone in town, the Marches did not have a family crypt until very recently. The only March buried there would be Jamison's wife since his mother and father were buried up in Macon at their own family plot. Hannibal may not have been the smartest March in town, but it appeared he was smart enough to lock up behind himself. Another one of those big, thick locks that had been found on the front gate greeted them, and the three men were forced to prowl around the mausoleum to see what they could find.
It was Charles who found the little vent in the mausoleum, but it was Randall who saw the horrors that lay inside.
Randall and Rooster had been looking for a window or perhaps another entrance when Charles had come hoofing it back to them to say that he had found a little vent that opened into the crypt. Randall asked him to show them where it was, and the three men found a little opening big enough for a large child to fit inside. Charles and Rooster were pulp wooders and much too big to squeeze into holes. However, Randall had made a career of squeezing into places he was not wanted.
Opting to stick his head in to get a better look, Randall had his friend hold his legs while he shimmied into the vent. Charles and Rooster slid him in as far as they could, and they said his flashlight could be seen through the slats at the top of the mausoleum.
When Randall started screaming and yelling for them to pull him out, it sounded like the devil himself had gotten a hold of him.
When they pulled him out, they said he was white as a sheet and said they had to tell the sheriff immediately.
Whether the brothers were gone when they made their escape or not, they missed them entirely as they beat a retreat back to town.
The sheriff took some convincing to get him out of bed, but when Randall told him what he had seen down in the crypt, he came with three other men and the biggest set of bolt cutters they could find at the station.
Jamison's sons were leaving when the sheriff and his boys pulled up, so they didn't end up needing the bolt cutters after all.
When he laid it out to the two young men that they could either cooperate or sit in the same prison cell that their father was about to occupy, they decided it might be in their best interest to show him what they'd been doing.
When the sheriff asked the boys if they would need suits, the two shook their heads. "The bees are mostly docile," Hannibal told them, and, sure enough, when they cracked the door, not a one came charging out. They descended into the ground, and by the light of the sheriff's flashlight, they saw the horrors below. The bees swarmed the small pile of corpses, taking whatever they used to make the honey back to the hives. The hives covered the walls of the crypt, making a sticky webwork of combs. The corpses down below were fresh, most of them having died very recently, and the bees were taking to them with gusto. The brothers said they came down once or twice a week to harvest the honey and that the vulture bees were taking to the warm Georgia summers quite nicely.
When the sheriff interrogated them, both said this had been their father's idea. He had read about the vulture bees and thought they sounded like an interesting idea. Then when their mother died, he did a little experiment. He had put her in the mortuary basement and procured some vulture bees of his own. The boys had been horrified when he showed them what he'd been up to, but even they had to admit, the honey had been the sweetest they had ever eaten. Something about the readily available nature of the local pollen, mixed with the bee's instinct to collect whatever they got from the corpses, had made for a potent and delicious treat.
"She was the catalyst for all this," Hannibal had said, "those first few jars he handed out to the people for tasting were honey made from mom's body."
He began to cry then, but the sheriff had all the evidence that he needed to proceed.
He arrested Jamison March that very night, but there seemed to be some confusion on what to charge him with. Couldn't really get him for murder because he hadn't killed anybody. Couldn't really get him for fraud because he buried those bodies just like he said he would. In the end, they got him on simple corpse desecration and misdemeanor fraud for not telling the families what he intended to do with the bodies.
He got less than five years in prison, and I hear that the warden let him keep the beehives in the prison garden.
Seems like his talents didn't go to waste even behind bars.
He left town when his time was served, he and his boys. The funeral home has been empty ever since. The police found the beginnings of his beekeeping in the basement. That, and a secondary hive with a swarm of angry vulture bees. Jamieson tried to sell the mortuary, but nobody seemed to want the place with that sort of reputation. It collapsed under a late February snow back in two thousand twelve, and they destroyed the mortuary they found all those bodies in about a year after Jamison went to prison.
And that's the sorted tale of Jamison March, and his bees.
I have no idea what they did with those bees after they turned them out of the March Mausoleum, they likely just turned them loose into an environment that was alien to them.
So, if you should be traveling through the Georgia back roads and see some larger-than-average bees or taste sweeter than average honey, be very suspicious about its origins.