Speed ​​Dating w Sydney

Speed dating is a fun way to find a partner through one on one conversation. At the end of the night matching cards are returned to the event host, and an email is sent the next day with your matches. Because all matching cards remain anonymous until the next day, speed dating feels more like a social event than a dating event. Sophisticated Simplicity. Our in-person speed dating events, virtual speed dating events and matchmaking services offer fresh alternatives for Sydney singles. Whether you’re looking for a night out with fellow singles, prefer a night in with our virtual events or find one-on-one matchmaking to be your cup of tea, we bring just the right amount of flirty to suit any need. Share Sydney Video Speed Dating - Filter Off with your friends. Save Sydney Video Speed Dating - Filter Off to your collection. Fri, Nov 13, 8:00 PM + 18 more event. Sydney Video Speed Dating - Filter Off. Sydney Video Speed Dating - Filter Off. Online Dating - Filter Off • Sydney, Sydney. Welcome to Fast Friending & Speed Socialising Sydney Singles Meetup. Piggybacking last decade's Internationally Successful Fast Impressions Speed Dating & Fast Match Singles Speed Dating events, you will be love this new concept. Members of this group come from all walks of life. They seek to learn new things and socialize usually making new ... Speed Dating Sydney We've re-invented speed dating by getting rid of all the boring parts and only keeping the best bits. Gone are the name tags, the 'interview style' pens and papers and the pressure of having to mark your date as a 'yes' or a 'no' right there on the spot. Live-Matched Virtual Speed Dating Sydney (34-44 years) Live Video Speed Dating Event! A fun new and safe way to meet singles! Entertaining hosts will get the event started and get you laughing, chatting and dating for a fun 45 minutes. Earlybird tickets $29, goes up to $35 and then $39 closer to the event! Because Sydney is so large we are now running Speed Dating and Singles Events outside of the CBD itself. We run events in the Eastern, Western, Northern and Southern suburbs. We have run events at such places as: Neutral Bay, Lane Cove, Ryde, Parramatta, Penrith, Manley, Bondi, Coogee, Strathfield and even in Newcastle itself. Speed Dating Australia is the leader for speed dating and singles events. Operating since 2004, it is no secret that Speed Dating Australia run more speed dating events in Adelaide , Perth , Brisbane , Sydney and Melbourne than any other speed dating company. Share Sydney City Nightscape Workshop w/ @Tassiegrammer with your friends. Save Sydney City Nightscape Workshop w/ @Tassiegrammer to your collection. Sat, Oct 24, 7:00 PM Virtual Speed Dating - October 22nd 2020. Ages: 24-38 7PM. Early Bird Admission - Ends 10/17 $35.00 AUD. Regular Admission $39.00 AUD

New Gaming PC (3 year upgrade)

2020.10.19 13:16 Chasen101 New Gaming PC (3 year upgrade)

What will you be doing with this PC? Be as specific as possible, and include specific games or programs you will be using.
What is your maximum budget before rebates/shipping/taxes?
When do you plan on building/buying the PC? Note: beyond a week or two from today means any build you receive will be out of date when you want to buy.
What, exactly, do you need included in the budget? (ToweOS/monitokeyboard/mouse/etc)
Which country (and state/province) will you be purchasing the parts in? If you're in US, do you have access to a Microcenter location?
If reusing any parts (including monitor(s)/keyboard/mouse/etc), what parts will you be reusing? Brands and models are appreciated.
Will you be overclocking? If yes, are you interested in overclocking right away, or down the line? CPU and/or GPU?
Are there any specific features or items you want/need in the build? (ex: SSD, large amount of storage or a RAID setup, CUDA or OpenCL support, etc)
Do you have any specific case preferences (Size like ITX/microATX/mid-towefull-tower, styles, colors, window or not, LED lighting, etc), or a particular color theme preference for the components?
Do you need a copy of Windows included in the budget? If you do need one included, do you have a preference?
Extra info or particulars:
submitted by Chasen101 to buildapcforme [link] [comments]


2020.10.15 23:14 raresaturn Live Tapes 5 - Bondi Lifesaver

The legendary Cold Chisel have unearthed a fierce live recording from deep in their archives. Captured on two multitrack tapes on a Friday night at the arse end of February 1980, after a blinding 43 shows over 56 days, it showcases the five-piece band at a pivotal moment - just 3 days before they entered Paradise Studio in Sydney's Woolloomooloo to record their breakthrough album East.
The 2 inch tapes had sat completely untouched in the band's archive for just over 40 years. Nobody had listened to them because everybody forgot they existed. When they were unearthed earlier this year it started a long chain of events that will come to fruition on 11 December 2020 when The Live Tapes Vol 5 - Live at the Bondi Lifesaver is released on vinyl, CD, as a digital download, and across all streaming services.
The two tapes were sent to sound engineer Phil Punch to transfer to digital so the band could hear what was captured 40 years ago, but on examining the tapes Punch said that before they could be played, they needed to be baked in an 'audio oven'. They were sent away to a Turtle Rock mastering, baked twice, and sent back to Punch. Punch said that too much oxide had built up around the tapes and that they would need to be baked again. The tapes went into the oven again and then sent back to Punch but he was still not happy so he cut each of the bulky masters in two and had the four 'half-tapes' baked again. He then finally set about transferring them to digital, stopping after each song to wipe the tapes and machines clean of all the primordial ooze (which seemed particularly appropriate for recordings made at the notoriously grimy Bondi Lifesaver). This painstaking, labour of love took 6 weeks.
The files were then sent to Cold Chisel’s longtime producer, Kevin Shirley, who did a quick comp mix of the set to see if the show was any good. What came back gobsmacked the normally hard-to-impress band. The Bondi Lifesaver was the band's de facto home and the band clearly loved the venue, playing there with kinetic speed and verve, tearing blistering holes through the legendary bar.
Kevin Shirley was given the green light to bring his trusted ears to properly mix the live recording, which frontman Jimmy Barnes says, "might be our live best recording ever."
Of particular interest to Cold Chisel fans is hearing the 7 East songs in their pre-studio form (Choirgirl had been released as a single in late 1979). Some songs were still coming together, only 3 days prior to the album recordings; parts were still being written and a couple of sections were ad-libbed. Others (Standing On The Outside and Tomorrow) reveal substantially different arrangements to what the band subsequently crafted with East producer Mark Opitz. "It's great to hear this earlier arrangement of Tomorrow. We re-worked it with Mark Opitz - and he brought a great pop discipline to the album recording sessions. But I do like this version," smiles songwriter and piano player, Don Walker.
Another then-new song is Jimmy Barnes' My Turn To Cry, the first single fromLive at The Bondi Lifesaver, and it's delivered here with raw, unhinged power and emotion. “In 1980, we were fighting fit and hungry, playing every show like it was our last – and often it almost was,” laughed Barnes recently, when recounting the times. “We were still playing pubs, with the audience spilling onto the stage and the band spilling into the audience. I was living just around the corner from the Lifesaver - and probably half the audience ended-up back at mine."
The whole band is captured in killer form on Live at the Bondi Lifesaver. "I can't believe Steve and Phil's playing" says guitarist Ian Moss referencing the band's bass player Phil Small and their late drummer Steve Prestwich. "They set the whole tone here - we're just trying to keep up. Jimmy is also in incredible form, wailing and nailing everything."
In addition to the East songs, Cold Chisel tear through songs that were already becoming classics: Khe Sanh, One Long Day, Merry-Go-Round and a steamrolling take on Shipping Steel; some rarely heard gems: Rosaline, the never-before-physically-released The Dummy; and five cover songs includingJohnny Kidd's Shakin’ All Over and a never-before-released take on The Yardbirds' The Nazz Are Blue.
From this incredible live recording in February 1980 to their phenomenal sold-out national “Blood Moon” Tour dates in early 2020, Cold Chisel’s longevity is a testament to the special connection between the band, their songs and their legion of die-hard fans. Earlier this week Cold Chisel revealed that ongoing connection, scoring two ARIA Award Nominations for Best Rock Album(Blood Moon) and Best Australian Live Act (Blood Moon Tour 2020), with Kevin Shirley also getting a nomination for Producer of the Year for Blood Moon.
TRACKLISTING
  1. Juliet
  2. Tomorrow
  3. The Dummy
  4. Shakin’ All Over
  5. Breakfast At Sweethearts
  6. My Turn To Cry
  7. Best Kept Lies
  8. Standing On The Outside
  9. Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door
  10. Star Hotel
  11. Merry-Go-Round
  12. Four Walls
  13. One Long Day
  14. Shipping Steel
  15. Khe Sanh
  16. The Door
  17. Goodbye (Astrid, Goodbye)
  18. Georgia
  19. Choirgirl
  20. Ita
  21. I’m Gonna Roll Ya
  22. Rosaline
  23. The Nazz Are Blue
  24. Wild Thing
submitted by raresaturn to ColdChisel [link] [comments]


2020.10.04 21:39 normancrane Iris [3/3]

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 <-- You are here.

- - -

I awoke to a world without women.
I rolled off the bed into sore thighs and guilt, got up to emptiness that echoed the slightest noise, and left my wife’s clothes on the sheets without thinking that eventually I’d have to pack them into a plastic bag and slide them down the garbage chute. I felt magnified and hollow. In the kitchen, I used the stove top as a table because the actual table had my wife’s tablet on it, and spilled instant coffee. What I didn’t spill I drank in a few gulps, the way I used to drink ice cold milk as a boy. I stood in front of the living room window for a while before realizing I was naked, then realizing that it didn’t matter because men changed in front of each other at the pool and peed next to one another into urinals in public restrooms, and there weren’t any women to hide from, no one to offend. The world, I told myself, was now a sprawling men’s pisser, so I slammed the window open and pissed.
I wanted to call someone—to tell them that my wife was dead, because that’s a duty owed by the living—but whom could I call: her sister, her parents? Her sister was dead. Her father had a dead wife and two dead daughters. There was nothing to say. Everyone knew. I called my wife’s father anyway. Was he still my father-in-law now that I was a widower? He didn’t accept the connection. Widower: a word loses all but historical meaning when there are no alternatives. If all animals were dogs, we’d purge one of those words from our vocabulary. We were all widowers. It was synonymous with man. I switched on the television and stared, crying, at a montage of photographs showing the bloody landscapes of cities, hospitals, retirement homes, schools and churches, all under the tasteless headline: “International Pop”. Would we clean it up, these remnants of the people we loved? Could we even use the same buildings, knowing what had happened in them? The illusion of practical thinking pushed my feeling of emptiness away. I missed arms wrapping around me from behind while I stared through rain streaked windows. I missed barking and a wagging tail that hit my leg whenever I was standing too close. Happiness seemed impossible. I called Bakshi because I needed confirmation that I still had a voice. “They’re the lucky ones,” he said right after I’d introduced myself. “They’re out. We’re the fools still locked in, and now we’re all alone.”
For three weeks, I expected my wife to show up at the apartment door. I removed her clothes from the bed and stuffed them into a garbage bag, but kept the garbage bag in the small space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. I probably would have kept a dead body in the freezer if I had one and it fit. As a city and as a world, those were grim, disorganized weeks for us. Nobody worked. I don’t know what we did. Sat around and drank, smoked. And we called each other, often out of the blue. Every day, I received a call from someone I knew but hadn’t spoken to in years. The conversations all followed a pattern. There was no catching up and no explanation of lost time, just a question like “How are you holding up?” followed by a thoughtless answer (“Fine, I guess. And you?”) followed by an exchange of details about the women we’d lost. Mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, girlfriends, friends, cousins, aunts, teachers, students, co-workers. We talked about the colour of their hair, their senses of humour, their favourite movies. We said nothing about ourselves, choosing instead to inhabit the personas of those whom we’d loved. In the hallway, I would put on my wife’s coats but never look at myself in the mirror. I wore her winter hats in the middle of July. Facebook became a graveyard, with the gender field separating the mourners from the dead.
The World Health Organization issued a communique stating that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all the women in the world were dead, but it called for any woman still alive to come forward immediately. The language of the communique was as sterile as the Earth. Nobody came forward. The World Wildlife Fund created an inventory of all mammalian species that listed in ascending order how long each species would exist. Humans were on the bottom. Both the World Health Organization and the World Wildlife Fund predicted that unless significant technological progress occurred in the field of fertility within the next fifty years, the last human, a theoretical boy named Philip born into a theoretical developed country on March 26, 2025, would die in 93 years. On the day of his death, Philip would be the last remaining mammal—although not necessarily animal—on Earth. No organization or government has ever officially stated that July 4, 2025, was the most destructive day in recorded history, on the morning of which, Eastern Time, four billion out of a total of eight billion people ceased to exist as anything more than memories. What killed them was neither an act of war nor an act of terrorism. Neither was it human negligence. There was no one to blame and no one to prosecute. In the western countries, where the majority of people no longer believed in any religion, we could not even call it an act of God. So we responded by calling it nothing at all.
And, like nothing, our lives persisted. We ate, we slept and we adapted. After the first wave of suicides ended, we hosed off what the rain hadn’t already washed away and began to reorganize the systems on which our societies ran. It was a challenge tempered only slightly in countries where women had not made up a significant portion of the workforce. We held new elections, formed me boards of directors and slowed down the assembly lines and bus schedules to make it possible for our communities to keep running. There was less food in the supermarkets, but we also needed less food. Instead of two trains we ran one, but one sufficed. I don’t remember the day when I finally took the black garbage bag from its resting place and walked it to the chute. “How are you holding up?” a male voice would say on the street. “Fine, I guess. And you?” I’d answer. ##!! wrote a piece of Python code to predict the box office profitability of new movies, in which real actors played alongside computer-generated actresses. The code was only partially successful. Because while it did accurately predict the success of new movies in relation to one other, it failed to include the overwhelming popularity of re-releases of films from the past—films starring Bette Davis, Giulietta Masina, Meryl Streep: women who at least on screen were still flesh and blood. Theatres played retrospectives. On Amazon, books by female authors topped the charts. Sales of albums by women vocalists surged. We thirsted for another sex. I watched, read and listened like everyone else, and in between I cherished any media on which I found images or recordings of my wife. I was angry for not having made more. I looked at the same photos and watched the same clips over and over again. I memorized my wife’s Facebook timeline and tagged all her Tweets by date, theme and my own rating. When I went out, I would talk to the air as if she was walking beside me, sometimes quoting her actual words as answers to my questions and sometimes inventing my own as if she was a beloved character in an imagined novel. When people looked at me like I was crazy, I didn’t care. I wasn’t the only one. But, more importantly, my wife meant more to me than they did. I remembered times when we’d stroll through the park or down downtown sidewalks and I would be too ashamed to kiss her in the presence of strangers. Now, I would tell her that I love her in the densest crowd. I would ask her whether I should buy ketchup or mustard in the condiments aisle. She helped me pick out my clothes in the morning. She convinced me to eat healthy and exercise.
In November, I was in Bakshi’s apartment for the first time, waiting for a pizza delivery boy, when one of Bakshi’s friends who was browsing Reddit told us that the Tribe of Akna was starting a Kickstarter campaign in an attempt to buy the Republic of Suriname, rename it Xibalba and close its borders for all except the enlightened. Xibalba would have no laws, Salvador Abaroa said in a message on the site. He was banging his gong as he did. Everything would be legal, and anyone who pledged $100 would receive a two-week visa to this new "Mayan Buddhist Eden". If you pledged over $10,000, you would receive citizenship. “Everything in life is destroyed by energy,” Abaroa said. “But let the energy enlighten you before it consumes your body. Xibalba is finite life unbound.” Bakshi’s phone buzzed. The pizza boy had sent an email. He couldn’t get upstairs, so Bakshi and I took the elevator to the building’s front entrance. The boy’s face was so white that I saw it as soon as the elevator doors slid open. Walking closer, I saw that he was powdered. His cheeks were also rouged, and he was wearing cranberry coloured lipstick, a Marilyn Monroe wig and a short black skirt. Compared to his face, his thin legs looked like incongruously dark popsicle sticks. Bakshi paid for the pizza and added another five dollars for the tip. The boy batted his fake eyelashes and asked if maybe he could do something to earn a little more. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could come upstairs and clean the place up a little. You two live alone?” Bakshi passed me the two pizza boxes—They felt hot in my hands.—and dug around in his wallet. “It’s not just the two of us,” I said. The boy smiled. “That’s OK. I’ve done parties before if that’s what you’re into.” I saw the reaction on Bakshi’s face, and I saw the boy’s grotesque caricature of a woman. “There’s condoms and lube in the car,” the boy said, pointing to a sedan with a pizza spray-painted across its side parked by the curb. “My boss says I can take up to two hours but it’s not like he uses a stopwatch.” I stepped on Bakshi’s foot and shouldered him away. He was still fiddling with his wallet. “We’re not interested,” I said to the boy. He just shrugged. “Suit yourselves. If you change your mind, order another pizza and ask for Ruby.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As we shuffled inside, I saw Bakshi’s cheeks turn red. “I’m not actually—” he mumbled, but I didn’t let him finish. What had bothered me so much about the boy wasn’t the way he looked or acted; in fact, it wasn’t really the boy at all. He was just trying to make a buck. What bothered me was how ruthlessly we’d already begun to exploit each other.
For those of us who were heterosexual, sex was a definite weakness. I missed it. I would never have it with a woman again. The closest substitute was pornography, whose price rose with its popularity, but which, at least for me, now came scented with the unpleasantness of historicity and nostalgia. Videos and photos, not to mention physical magazines, were collector’s items in the same way that we once collected coins or action figures. The richest men bought up the exclusive rights to their favourite porn stars and guarded them by law with a viciousness once reserved for the RIAA and MPAA. Perhaps exclusivity gave them a possessive satisfaction. In response, we pirated whatever we could and fought for a pornographic public domain. Although new pornography was still being produced, either with the help of the same virtual technology they used for mainstream movies or with the participation of young men in costume, it lacked the taste of the originals. It was like eating chocolate made without cocoa. The best pornography, and therefore the best sex, became the pornography of the mind.
The Tribe of Akna reached its Kickstarter goal in early December. On December 20, I went to church for the first time since getting married because that was the theoretical date that my wife—along with every other woman—was supposed to have given birth. I wanted to be alone with others. Someone posted a video on TikTok from Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront, dubbing over Marlon Brando’s speech to say: “You don’t understand. I could’a had a piece of ass. I could’a been a school board member. I could’a been a son’s daddy”. It was juvenile and heartbreaking. By Christmas, the Surinamese government was already expelling its citizens, each of whom had theoretically been given a fraction of the funds paid to the government from the Tribe of Akna’s Kickstarter pool, and Salvador Abaroa’s lawyers were petitioning for international recognition of the new state of Xibalba. Neither Canada nor the United States opened diplomatic relations, but others did. I knew people who had pledged money, and when in January they disappeared on trips, I had no doubt to where. Infamy spread in the form of stories and urban legends. There’s no need for details. People disappeared, and ethicists wrote about the ethical neutrality of murder, arguing that because we were all slated to die, leaving the Earth barren in a century, destruction was a human inevitability, and what is inevitable can never be bad, even when it comes earlier than expected—even when it comes by force. Because, as a species, we hadn’t chosen destruction for ourselves, neither should any individual member of our species be able to choose now for himself. To the ethicists of what became known as the New Inevitability School, suicide was a greater evil than murder because it implied choice and inequality. If the ship was going down, no one should be allowed to get off. A second wave of suicides coincided with the debate, leading many governments to pass laws making suicide illegal. But how do you punish someone who already wants to die? In China: by keeping him alive and selling him to Xibalba, where he becomes the physical plaything of its citizens and visa-holders. The Chinese was the first embassy to open in Xibalban Paramaribo.
The men working on Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything continued working, steadily adding new variables to their equations, complicating their calculations in the hopes that someday the variable they added would be the final one and the equation would yield an answer. “It’s pointless,” Bakshi would comment after reading about one of the small breakthroughs they periodically announced. “Even if they do manage to predict something, anything, it won’t amount to anything more than the painfully obvious. And after decades of adding and subtracting their beans, they’ll come out of their Los Alamos datalabs like groundhogs into a world blanketed by storm clouds and conclude, finally and with plenty of self-congratulations, that it’s about to fucking rain.”
It rained a lot in February. It was one of the warmest Februaries in Toronto’s history. Sometimes I went for walks along the waterfront, talking to my wife, listening to Billie Holiday and trying to recall as many female faces as I could. Ones from the distant past: my mother, my grandmothers. Ones from the recent past: the woman whose life my wife saved on the way to the hospital, the Armenian woman with the film magazine and the injured son, the Jamaican woman, Bakshi’s wife. I focused on their faces, then zoomed out to see their bodies. I carried an umbrella but seldom opened it because the pounding of the raindrops against the material distorted my mental images. I saw people rush across the street holding newspapers above their heads while dogs roamed the alleyways wearing nothing at all. Of the two, it was dogs that had the shorter time left on Earth, and if they could let the rain soak their fur and drip off their bodies, I could surely let it run down my face. It was first my mother and later my wife who told me to always cover up in the rain, “because moisture causes colds,” but I was alone now and I didn’t want to be separated from the falling water by a sheet of glass anymore. I already was cold. I saw a man sit down on a bench, open his briefcase, pack rocks into it, then close it, tie it to his wrist, check his watch and start to walk into the polluted waters of Lake Ontario. Another man took out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. The man in the lake walked slowly, savouring each step. When the police arrived, sirens blaring, the water was up to his neck. I felt guilty for watching the three officers splash into the lake after him. I don’t know what happened after that because I turned my back and walked away. I hope they didn’t stop him. I hope he got to do what he wanted to do.
“Screw the police.” Bakshi passed me a book. “You should read this,” he said. It was by a professor of film and media studies at a small university in Texas. There was a stage on the cover, flanked by two red curtains. The photo had been taken from the actors’ side, looking out at an audience that the stage lights made too dark to see. The title was Hiding Behind The Curtains. I flipped the book over. There was no photo of the author. “It’s a theory,” Bakshi said, “that undercuts what Abaroa and the Inevitabilists are saying. It’s a little too poetic in parts but—listen, you ever read Atlas Shrugged?” I said I hadn’t. “Well, anyway, what this guy says is that what if instead of our situation letting us do anything we want, it’s actually the opposite, a test to see how we act when we only think that we’re doomed. I mean what if the women who died in March, what if they’re just—” “Hiding behind the curtains,” I said. He bit his lower lip. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that but, as a metaphor, it has a kind of elegance, right?” I flipped through the book, reading a few sentences at random. It struck me as neo-Christian. “Isn’t this a little too spiritual for you? I thought we were all locked into one path,” I said. “I thought that, too, but lately I’ve been able to do things—things that I didn’t really want to do.” For a second I was concerned. “Nothing bad,” he said. “I mean I’ve felt like I’m locked into doing one thing, say having a drink of water, but I resist and pour myself a glass of orange juice instead.” I shook my head. “It’s hard to explain,” he said. That’s how most theories ended, I thought: reason and evidence up to a crucial point, and then it gets so personal that it’s hard to explain. You either make the jump or you don’t. “Just read it,” he said. “Please read it. You don’t have to agree with it, I just want to get your opinion, an objective opinion.”
I never did read the book, and Bakshi forgot about it, too, but that day he was excited and happy, and those were rare feelings. I was simultaneously glad for him and jealous. Afterwards, we went out onto the balcony and drank Czech beer until morning. When it got cool, we put on our coats. It started to drizzle so we wore blue plastic suits like the ones they used to give you on boat rides in Niagara Falls. When it was time to go home, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. I almost got into a fight, the first one of my life, because I bumped into a man on the street and told him to get the fuck out of my way. I don’t remember much more of my walk home. The only reason I remember Behind The Curtains at all is because when I woke up in the afternoon it was the first thing that my hung over brain recognized. It was lying on the floor beside the bed. Then I opened the blinds covering my bedroom window and, through my spread fingers that I’d meant to use as a shield from the first blast of daylight, I saw the pincers for the first time.
They’d appeared while I was asleep. I turned on the television and checked my phone. The media and the internet were feverish, but nobody knew what the thing was, just a massive, vaguely rectangular shape blotting out a strip of the sky. NASA stated that it had received no extraterrestrial messages to coincide with the appearance. Every government claimed ignorance. The panel discussions on television only worsened my headache. Bakshi emailed me links to photos from Mumbai, Cape Town, Sydney and Mexico City, all showing the same shape; or rather one of a pair of shapes, for there were two of them, one on each side of the Earth, and they’d trapped our planet between themselves like gargantuan fingers clutching an equally gargantuan ping-pong ball. That’s why somebody came up with the term “the pincers”. It stuck. Because I’d slept in last night’s clothes I was already dressed, so I ran down the stairs and out of my apartment building to get a better look at them from the parking lot. You’re not supposed to look at the sun, but I wasn’t the only one breaking that rule. There were entire crowds with upturned faces in the streets. If the pincers, too, could see, they would perhaps be as baffled by us as we were of them: billions of tiny specks all over the surface of this ping-pong ball gathering in points on a grid, coagulating into large puddles that vanished overnight only to reassemble in the morning. In the following days, scientists scrambled to study the pincers and their potential effects on us, but they discovered nothing. The pincers did nothing. They emitted nothing, consumed nothing. They simply were. And they could not be measured or detected in any way other than by eyesight. When we shot rays at them, the rays continued on their paths unaffected, as if nothing was there. The pincers did, however, affect the sun’s rays coming towards us. They cut up our days. The sun would rise, travel over the sky, hide behind a pincer—enveloping us in a second night—before revealing itself again as a second day. But if the pincers’ physical effect on us was limited to its blockage of light, their mental effects on us were astoundingly severe. For many, this was the sign they’d been waiting for. It brought hope. It brought gloom. It broke and confirmed ideas that were hard to explain. In their ambiguity, the pincers could be anything, but in their strangeness they at least reassured us of the reality of the strange times in which we were living. Men walked away from the theory of everything, citing the pincers as the ultimate variable that proved the futility of prognostication. Others took up the calculations because if the pincers could appear, what else was out there in our future? However, ambiguity can only last for a certain period. Information narrows possibilities. On April 1, 2026, every Twitter account in the world received the following message:
as you can see this message is longer than the allowed one hundred forty characters time and space are malleable you thought you had one hundred years but prepare for the plucking
The sender was @. The message appeared in each user’s feed at exactly the same time and in his first language, without punctuation. Because of the date most of us thought it was a hoax, but the developers of Twitter denied this vehemently. It wasn’t until a court forced them to reveal their code, which proved that a message of that length and sent by a blank user was impossible, that our doubts ceased. ##!! took bets on what the message meant. Salvador Abaroa broadcast a response into space in a language he called Bodhi Mayan, then addressed the rest of us in English, saying that in the pincers he had identified an all-powerful prehistoric fire deity, described in an old Sanskrit text as having the resemblance of mirrored black fangs, whose appearance signified the end of time. “All of us will burn,” he said, “but paradise shall be known only to those who burn willingly.” Two days later, The Tribe of Akna announced that in one month it would seal Xibalba from the world and set fire to everything and everyone in it. For the first time, its spokesman said, an entire nation would commit suicide as one. Jonestown was but a blip. As a gesture of goodwill, he said that Xibalba was offering free immolation visas to anyone who applied within the next week. The New Inevitability School condemned the plan as “offensively unethical” and inequalitist and urged an international Xibalban boycott. Nothing came of it. When the date arrived, we watched with rapt attention on live streams and from the vantage points of circling news planes as Salvador Abaroa struck flint against steel, creating the spark that caught the char cloth, starting a fire that blossomed bright crimson and in the next weeks consumed all 163,821 square kilometres of the former Republic of Suriname and all 2,500,000 of its estimated Xibalban inhabitants. Despite concerns that the fire would spread beyond Xibalba’s borders, The Tribe of Akna had been careful. There were no accidental casualties and no unplanned property damage. No borders were crossed. Once the fire burned out, reporters competed to be first to capture the mood on the ground. Paramaribo resembled the smouldering darkness of a fire pit.
It was a few days later while sitting on Bakshi’s balcony, looking up at the pincers and rereading a reproduction of @’s message—someone had spray-painted it across the wall of a building opposite Bakshi’s—that I remembered Iris. The memory was so absorbing that I didn’t notice when Bakshi slid open the balcony door and sat down beside me, but I must have been smiling because he said, “I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you look a little loony tonight. Seriously, man, you do not look sufficiently freaked out.” I’d remembered Iris before, swirling elements of her plain face, but now I also remembered her words and her theory. I turned to Bakshi, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, and said, “Let’s get up on the roof of this place.” He grabbed my arm and held on tightly. “I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you mean.” It wasn’t what I meant, but I asked, “why not?” He said, “I don’t know. I know we’re fucked as a species and all that, but I figure if I’m still alive I might as well see what happens next, like in a bad movie you want to see through to the end.” I promised him that I wasn’t going to jump, either. Then I scrambled inside his apartment, grabbed my hat and jacket from the closet by the front door and put them on while speed walking down the hall, toward the fire escape. I realized I’d been spending a lot of time here. The alarm went off as soon I pushed open the door with my hip but I didn’t care. When Bakshi caught up with me, I was already outside, leaping up two stairs at a time. The metal construction was rusted. The treads wobbled. On the roof, the wind nearly blew my hat off and it was so loud I could have screamed and no one would have heard me. Holding my hat in my hands, I crouched and looked out over the twinkling city spread out in front of me. It looked alive in spite of the pincers in the sky. “Let’s do something crazy,” I yelled. Bakshi was still catching his breath behind me. “What, like this isn’t crazy enough?” The NHL may have been gone but my hat still bore the Maple Leafs logo, as quaint and obsolete by then as the Weimar Republic in the summer of 1945. “When’s the last time you played ball hockey?” I asked. Bakshi crouched beside me. “You’re acting weird. And I haven’t played ball hockey in ages.” I stood up so suddenly that Bakshi almost fell over. This time I knew I was smiling. “So call your buddies,” I said. “Tell them to bring their sticks and their gear and to meet us in front of the ACC in one hour.” Bakshi patted me on the back. Toronto shone like jewels scattered over black velvet. “The ACC’s been closed for years, buddy. I think you’re really starting to lose it.” I knew it was closed. “Lose what?” I asked. “It’s closed and we’re going to break in.”
The chains broke apart like shortbread. The electricity worked. The clouds of dust made me sneeze. We used duffel bags to mark out the goals. We raced up and down the stands and bent over, wheezing at imaginary finish lines. We got into the announcer’s booth and called each other cunts through the microphone. We ran, fell and shot rubber pucks for hours. We didn’t keep score. We didn’t worry. “What about the police?” someone asked. The rest of us answered: “Screw the fucking police!”
And when everybody packed up and went home, I stayed behind.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bakshi asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Because I have to get back so that I can shower, get changed and get to work.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“And you promise me you’ll catch a cab?”
“I’m not suicidal.”
He fixed his grip on his duffel bag. “I didn’t say you were. I was just checking.”
“I want to see the end of the movie, too,” I said.
He saluted. I watched him leave. When he was gone, my wife walked down from the nosebleeds and took a seat beside me. “There’s someone I want to tell you about,” I said. She lifted her chin like she always does when something unexpected catches her interest, and scooted closer. I put my arm across the back of her beautiful shoulders. She always liked that, even though the position drives me crazy because I tend to talk a lot with my hands. “Stuck at Leafs-Wings snorefest,” she said. “Game sucks but I love the man sitting beside me.” (January 15, 2019. Themes: hockey, love, me. Rating: 5/5). “Her name was Iris,” I said.

Iris

“What if the whole universe was a giant garden—like a hydroponics thing, like how they grow tomatoes and marijuana, so there wouldn’t need to be any soil, all the nutrients would just get injected straight into the seeds or however they do it—or, even better, space itself was the soil, you know how they talk about dark matter being this invisible and mysterious thing that exists out there and we don’t know what it does, if it actually affect anything, gravity…”
She blew a cloud of pot smoke my way that made me cough and probably gave her time to think. She said, “So dark matter is like the soil, and in this space garden of course they don’t grow plants but something else.”
“Galaxies?”
“Eyes.”
“Just eyes, or body parts in general?” I asked.
“Just eyes.”
The music from the party thumped. “But the eyes are our planets, like Mars is an eye, Neptune is an eye, and the Earth is an eye, maybe even the best eye.”
“The best for what? Who’s growing them?”
“God,” she said.
I took the joint from her and took a long drag. “I didn’t know you believed in God.”
“I don’t, I guess—except when I’m on dope. Anyway, you’ve got to understand me because when I say God I don’t mean like the old man with muscles and a beard. This God, the one I’m talking about, it’s more like a one-eyed monster.”
“Like a cyclops?” I asked.
“Yeah, like that, like a cyclops. So it’s growing these eyes in the dark matter in space—I mean right now, you and me, we’re literally sitting on one of these eyes and we’re contributing to its being grown because the nutrients the cyclops God injected into them, that’s us.”
“Why does God need so many extra eyes?”
“It’s not a question of having so many of them, but more about having the right one, like growing the perfect tomato.” I gave her back the joint and leaned back, looking at the stars. “Because every once in a while the cyclops God goes blind, its eye stops working—not in the same way we go blind, because the cyclops God doesn’t see reality in the same way we see reality—but more like we see through our brains and our eyes put together.”
“Like x-ray vision?” I asked.
“No, not like that at all,” she said.
“A glass eye?”
“Glass eyes are fake.”
“OK,” I said, “so maybe try something else. Give me a different angle. Tell me what role we’re playing in all of this because right now it seems that we’re pretty insignificant. I mean, you said we’re nutrients but what’s the difference between, say, Mars and Earth in terms of being eyes?”
She looked over at me. “Are you absolutely sure you want to hear about this?”
“I am,” I said.
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“Compared to what?”
“I don’t know, just stupid in general.”
“I don’t.”
“I like you,” she said.
“Because I don’t think you’re stupid?” I asked.
“That’s just a bonus. I mean more that you’re up here with me instead of being down there with everyone, and we’re talking and even though we’re not in love I know somehow we’ll never forget each other for as long as we live.”
“It’s hard to forget being on the surface of a giant floating eyeball.”
“You’re scared that you won’t find anyone to love,” she said suddenly, causing me to nearly choke on my own saliva. “Don’t ask me how I know—I just do. But before I go any further about the cyclops God, I want you to know that you’ll find someone to love and who’ll love you back, and whatever happens you’ll always have that because no one can take away the past.”
“You’re scared of going blind,” I said.
“I am going blind.”
“Not yet.”
“And I’m learning not to be scared because everything I see until that day will always belong to me.”
“The doctors said it would be gradual,” I reminded her.
“That’s horrible.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t want to find someone to love and then know that every day you wake up the love between you grows dimmer and dimmer, would you?”
“I guess not,” I said.
“Wouldn’t you much rather feel the full strength of that love up to and including in the final second before the world goes black?”
“It would probably be painful to lose it all at once like that.”
“Painful because you actually had something to lose. For me, I know I can’t wish away blindness, but I sure wish that the last image I ever see—in that final second before my world goes black—is the most vivid and beautiful image of all.”
Because I didn’t know what to say to that, I mumbled: “I’m sorry.”
“That I’m going blind?”
“Yeah, and that we can’t grow eyes.”
This time I looked over, and she was the one gazing at the stars. “Before, you asked if we were insignificant,” she said. “But because you’re sorry—that’s kind of why we’re the most significant of all, why Earth is better than the other planets.”
“For the cyclops God?”
“Yes.”
“He cares about my feelings?”
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking, but in a different way that’s exactly what the cyclops God cares about most because that’s what it’s looking for in an eye. All the amazing stuff we’ve ever built, all our ancient civilizations and supercomputers and cities you can see from the Moon—that’s just useless cosmetics to the cyclops God, except in how all of it has made us feel about things that aren’t us.”
“I think you’re talking about morality.”
“I think so, too.”
“So by feeling sorry for you I’m showing compassion, and the cyclops God likes compassion?”
“That’s not totally wrong but it’s a little upside down. We have this black matter garden and these planets the cyclops God has grown as potential eyes to replace its own eye once it stops working, but its own eye is like an eye and a brain mixed together. Wait—” she said.
I waited.
“Imagine a pair of tinted sunglasses.”
I imagined green-tinted ones.
“Now imagine that instead of the lenses being a certain colour, they’re a certain morality, and if you wear the glasses you see the world tinted according to that morality.”
I was kind of able to imagine that. I supposed it would help show who was good and who was bad. “But the eye and the tinted glasses are the same thing in this case.”
“Exactly, there’s no one without the other, and what makes the tint special is us—not that the cyclops God cares at all about individuals any more than we care about individual honey bees. That’s why he’s kind of a monster.”
“Isn’t people’s morality always changing, though?”
“Only up to a point. Green is green even when you have a bunch of shades of it, and a laptop screen still works fine even with a few dead pixels, right? And the more globalized and connected we get, the smoother our morality gets, but if you’re asking more about how our changing morals work when the cyclops God finally comes to take its eye, I assume it has a way to freeze our progress. To cut our roots. Then it makes some kind of final evaluation. If it’s satisfied it takes the planet and sticks it into its eye socket, and if it doesn’t like us then it lets us alone, although because we’re frozen and possibly rootless I suppose we die—maybe that’s what the other planets are, so many of them in space without any sort of life. Cold, rejected eyes.”
From sunglasses to bees to monitors in three metaphors, and now we were back to space. This was getting confusing. The stars twinkled, some of them dead, too: their light still arriving at our eyes from sources that no longer existed. “That’s kind of depressing,” I said to end the silence.
“What about it?”
“Being bees,” I said, “that work for so long at tinting a pair of glasses just so that a cyclops God can try them on.”
“I don’t think it’s any more depressing than being a tomato.”
“I’ve never thought about that.”
“You should. It’s beautiful, like love,” she said. “Because if you think about it, being a tomato and being a person are really quite similar. They’re both about growing and existing for the enjoyment of someone else. As a tomato you’re planted, you grow and mature and then an animal comes along and eats you. The juicier you look and the nicer you smell, the greater the chance that you’ll get plucked but also the more pleasure the animal will get from you. As a person, you’re also born and you grow up and you mature into a one of a kind personality with a one of a kind face, and then someone comes along and makes you fall in love with them and all the growing you did was really just for their enjoyment of your love.”
“Except love lasts longer than chewing a tomato.”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“And you have to admit that two tomatoes can’t eat each other the way two people can love each other mutually.”
“I admit that’s a good point,” she said.
“And what happens to someone who never gets fallen in love with?”
“The same thing that happens to a tomato that never gets eaten or an eye that the cyclops God never takes. They die and they rot, and they darken and harden, decomposing until they don’t look like tomatoes anymore. It’s not a nice fate. I’d rather live awhile and get eaten, to be honest.”
“As a tomato or person?”
“Both.”
I thought for a few seconds. “That explanation works for things on Earth, but nothing actually decomposes in space.”
“That’s why there are so many dead planets,” she said.
submitted by normancrane to stayawake [link] [comments]


2020.10.03 16:23 Halls_of_Durin Aboriginal Archives: Two Depraved Deaths on Mitchell Hwy

Aboriginal Archives: Two Depraved Deaths on Mitchell Hwy
This is the second in a collection of true crime events, by themselves uniquely brutal and investigations themselves unquestionable, yet quietly set aside by the local public servants - be they police, justice workers, and others.
Note: This story contains the names and descriptions of deceased Aboriginal persons.

Source [N1}
Jacinta "Cindy" Rose Smith And Mona Lisa Smith
Mona Smith, 16, and Cindy Smith, 15, were two young cousins growing up in what was then Bourke’s Aboriginal reserve. It has subsequently been named Alice Edwards Village. Not only cousins the girls were also best friends, described as being "attached at the hip". As teens do they hung around town and the local levee. Friendly and outgoing they were known and liked in their local community. That fateful day they spent the time paling around.
The Disfunction of Bourke, NSW
Bourke has time and again been described as an extremely dangerous and violent place, culminating with a 2013 report showing Burke topped the state in six out of eight major crime categories. At the time of writing, over 30% of the town is Aboriginal.
Note: one of those is ‘driving offences’ and the other is ‘breaching bail conditions’. With community reforms made by 2017, there was a 72% reduction in the number of people under 25 arrested for driving without a licence.
Figures from Maranguka show that in Bourke between 2015 and 2017 rates fell by:

  • 18% for major offences
  • 34% for non-domestic violence related assaults
  • 39% for domestic violence-related assaults
  • 39% for drug offences
  • 35% for driving offences
Statistically, there has been generational chronic unemployment in Aboriginal communities, compounded by access to education and health services.
This is the Bourke Mona and Cindy would have known.
At the time of the events, this case was not widely covered. Additionally, much of the primary documentation is simply not available. I have pulled the more detailed coverage from a book and the rest from a selection of news articles.
Their Death
Date/Time
6 December 1987 / the early hours of the morning
On the evening of 5 December, 1987 summer was in full swing, and on that balmy night, a terrible crime occurred. Bourke is a town on the edge of the bush, considered the town straddling the agriculture regions and the great Outback. Two teens, Mona and Cindy, climbed into a ute [N2] at 2130 driven by a 40-year-old white man named Alexander Ian Grant. It is unknown if Mona and Cindy knew the driver, or if they were aware of how intoxicated he was. That day he had consumed an estimated 30 standard drinks - the standard size in Australia is 10 fluid oz.
Mitchell Highway
The long, sealed road running from Brouke to Enngonia is officially B71, going by the name Mitchell Highway. Just beyond Enngonia is the border between NSW and Queensland. The events occurred along part of the 98.3 km ribbon of tarmac - the connection from North Bourke to Enngonia. This section, like most of the run, is a dual-carriageway. From above it seems to cut through a red pitted landscape. Around it is bone-dry land with scrub some seasons. It is a very lonely place. Even now there is little to be found along this lone ribbon connecting NSW to Queensland.
The Accused
Alexander Ian Grant, then 40, was an excavator driver. After the events, by October 1989, he had moved to Sydney - the suburb Sans Souci. Much of his whereabouts afterwards were unknown to the government or the general public. He died 15 December 2018, without spending a day in jail.

Cindy (l) and Mona (r)
The Physical Evidence and the Events
Just after midnight on 6 December 1987 a ute rolled off B71 coming to a rest upright but with its top crushed in. All three occupants were ejected from the vehicle. The force as she passed through the front windscreen scalped Mona and tore off one of her ears. A deep, tearing gash ran from her left eye to the base of her skull. She lay in a ditch and bled out there. It is estimated she died relatively quickly. Cindy was not so lucky. Instead, Cindy was profoundly hurt - she had massive internal injuries and a crushed pelvis. With all the pain she would have found it hard to breathe or speak. It would have been impossible for her to move her legs or roll over. She died slowly while looking upwards.
Grant was uninjured and deeply drunk. In fact, he was still drunk when others stumbled upon the scene hours later.
The Discovery
Two utes discovered the scene at in the pre-dawn light. It was not a typical crash - instead, it was a bizarre tableau. The vehicles had just begun their journey at 0400, final destination Quilpie, Queensland – 660km away. Yet they had only made thirty minutes from North Bourke. The motley crew was made up of local farmers Tex Johnson and his wife Adele with driver Michael Baty. The second vehicle was driven by Shane Baty, brother to Michael, with passengers Shane Degenhart and James Kennedy. When he came upon the crash M. Baty manoeuvred his vehicle to point the wrong way up traffic to illuminate the scene.
It was too shocking to comprehend fully, but T. Johnson was concerned enough to approach alone. Coming upon the first body he found it to be facedown, cold and purple with no signs of life. T. Johnson preformed a manual examination to be sure. While he stood over the body S. Baty came to the scene and parked behind the first vehicle. T. Johnson directed S. Baty to circumvent and use the ute’s lights to help illuminate the area. The flat area of drainage was awash with artificial light. From the first ute A. Johnson announced she could see more bodies. As T. Johnson approached he thought the two he saw were dead as well. They were arranged on a neatly spread tarpaulin[N3]. Later he would describe
“a body of a young Aboriginal girl laying on her back, she had her pants down around her ankles, but her legs were together. There was a fellow lying beside the dead girl on her right side, resting on his left side cuddling up to her with his right arm over her chest near about the centre.”
The man had his arm across the 15-year old's breasts. Cindy's body was face up and cool to the touch. Her shirt had been pulled up around her neck, trackies and underwear tugged to her ankles.
While T. Johnson stood over the two bodies S. Baty approached. He too checked the body nearest the road first. He described Mona as a “person was laying [sic] face down and appeared to be dead. The person was dark skinned and appeared to be Aboriginal to me.” S. Baty got to the two bodies and immediately performed a manual examination for life on the girl, attempting to find a pulse from the neck and the armpit, but there was none. Even though untrained, both men assumed all three were dead at the time. S. Baty told T. Johnson as much. As S. Baty reached for the third body – assuming it to be like the others – they were shocked when it began to move under its own power. Caught off-guard S. Baty inserted his right pinkie finger into the man’s mouth to check for obstruction. He appeared, quoting S. Baty, “very dopey in appearance.” This was Grant.
According to S. Baty they had the following exchange:
S. Baty: You’ve got two dead gins here, mate.
Grant: No, no. They’re all right. They’ve just had too much to drink.S. Baty: Are you all right? How’s your head and neck.
Note: "gin" is a derogatory term for Aboriginal women, and white men who went with them were called "gin jockeys".
After the exchange Grant did not respond. Instead, he lay back down next to the dead girl and slung an arm over her exposed chest. S. Baty and T. Johnson were baffled. They decided that S. Baty would continue on to Enngonia while T. Johnson his crew and his ute would wait. Later, T. Johnson would say he wanted to keep the birds off the bodies. T. Johnson walked around the crash site a final time. He noticed at the foot of the tarpan a half-full bottle of beer. Grant roused again.
Grant: We’re all right, we’re all right.
T. Johnson: That girl you’re with is dead.
Grant: We’re only resting.
T. Johnson: That bloke up the bank is dead too.
Grant: It’s not a bloke. She’s a girl. She’s only resting too.
What T. Johnson said in response is unknown – but Grant became aggressive. T. Johnson later said:
The bloke started getting very abusive and said something to me like ‘Fuck off. We’re right.’ We then left to Enngonia because since he was alive I figured the crows wouldn’t get him. The fellow didn’t get up at any stage and he was still laying down when I left. The guy was fully dressed when I saw him although I didn’t ask him name I did say ‘Where are you from, mate?’ and he said ‘Bourke’.
While T. Johnson was pulling away from the scene, S. Baty had made it to Enngonia.
Just after 0500 Constable Harper was pulled into the duty from days of sick leave - which may have affected the ability to do his job. The other, Constable McKenzie, was dragged from sleep. The officers who responded made a few notable mistakes. This was not the sort of crime they would have been familiar with. When they arrived at the crash Grant had staged himself upright by the destroyed ute. The conversation went as follows, with McKenzie asking Grant if he had been involved:
Grant: Yeah, mate.
McKenzie: Are you all right?
Grant: Yeah, I’m all right.
McKenzie: Who was driving the ute?
Grant: I was.
McKenzie: Who owns the ute?
Grant: I do, or the business does.
Haper, meanwhile, was looking the scene over. McKenize, for unknown reasons, broke scene preservation by pulling the tarpaulin over Cindy’s body. This fully covered her body; hiding away her spread legs. When questioned, McKenzie noted Grant needed the police vehicle to remain upright.
They never formally arrested Grant at the time, and when they did finally a bit later no fingerprints or a mugshot was taken. Evidence collected off Cindy's body, a biological sample, disappeared somewhere along the line. It was never presented to the court. The crush ute was collected by a private business and was not critically examined again. The steering wheel, for instance, was never tested for fingerprints. Everything about this event was scooped up and taken away. Where? No one seems to know.
What Went Sideways at the District Court Trial - 1990
When Grant went before the all-white jury at the District Court almost three years later he was found not guilty on all charges, all hinging on his well-presented defence - that 16-year old Mona was the driver. The family's protests that she had never learnt to drive manual fell on deaf ears. The girl was stripped of her hair, skin, and dignity. But that was not all.
A critical charge against Grant was dropped just before the trial. Indecently interfering with Cindy’s corpse was withdrawn days before. The corner could not determine if the molestation of the 15-year old happed while she was dying, or after she died. From what I have read, that Cindy was abused in this way was never under question. Rather, hair-splitting occurred over when the molestation occurred - before or after death.
To this day, Grant’s barrister, Tony Quinlivan, still argues “justice was done’’. Yet, even he admits that court transcripts show “Grant told barefaced lies’’. This high powdered, Sydney-based defence team was expensive; costs that could not be possibly covered by Grant. Instead, they were paid by an anonymous benefactor.
In 2018 the Office of Director of Public Prosecutions apologised for not informing the families that the charge of interference with a corpse was withdrawn and admitted letting the graving families finding out in court was a mistake, but defended the legal decision: "I have not been able to identify any error in the ultimate decision that was made or this ­office's consideration of the relevant legal issues."
Additional Criminal History
Grant’s previous criminal history that I was able to recover starts from his arrival in Moore, NSW:
OCT 1980 – driving under the influence, 3mons disqualified driving & fined $250AUD
NOV 1980 – exceeding prescribed content alcohol & driving while disqualified (BAC 0.20), +6 mons disqualified driving & fined $500AUS & good behaviour 3yrs & $1,000AUD
FEB 1981 – speeding, dismissed due to lack of evidence
MAY 1981 – driving while disqualified, fined $800AUD & disqualified from driving until 22 NOV 1984
12 FEB 1990 – assault occasioning actual bodily harm
Inquest
In the past 30 years, little attention had been paid to this case. The two girls lay for hours on that red dirt, hurt and in pain. They suffered for sure. But most coverage says that they had suffered and died alone. They did not, they could not. Grant was there the entire time.
13 Sep 2019 During the Questions and Answers session of the NSW Parlament
NEW INQUEST INTO DEATHS OF CINDY SMITH AND MONA SMITH—
Mr Paul Lynch asked the Attorney General, and Minister for the Prevention of Domestic Violence— Will you authorise or apply for a new inquest into the death of Cindy Smith and Mona Smith?
Answer— I have recently written to the Commissioner of the NSW Police Force regarding the deaths of Jacinta and Mona Lisa Smith. I am continuing to consider the matter.
At this time, the police and NSW Police Commissioner Mick Fuller state that two independent examinations found that police work the early morning of 6 December 1987 was "adequate". A request for an inquest is pending.
Since the lockdowns, bushfires, and political awkwardness of the past few months has come to the fore, the requests for a proper inquest into the deaths of Cindy and Mona Smith have fallen from headlines once again.


NOTES:
N1 photo: AusNature, 2015
N2 a common modified vehicle with a tonneau behind the passenger compartment)
N3 large multipurpose weather-resistant sheets; tarp
Sources:"Pain, anger return 30 years after girls died." The Australian, 03/03/2018"THE LONG SHADOW OF A TWIN TRAGEDY." The Australian, 03/03/2018
"Two Deaths and an Outback Silence." Sydney Morning Herald, 21/12/1987
"A-G mulls ‘cold-case’ inquest into girls’ deaths." The Australian, 22/09/2018Legislative Assembly 2019 First Session of the Fifty-Seventh Parliament: Questions and Answers No. 23 13/09/2019
Enngonia Road: Death and deprivation in the Australian outback by Richard Stanton
submitted by Halls_of_Durin to TrueCrime [link] [comments]


2020.10.03 03:02 InfernoAA Rebooking the Introduction of the WWE Women’s Tag Team Championships - Part 3 - (Inferno/Conor)

Part 1
Part 2

Build to Money in the Bank 2020

RAW after WrestleMania is a grand night of celebration for the Kabuki Warriors as they waltz down to the ring, ecstatically flashing their newly-won Women’s Tag Team Championships. Asuka hops on the mic and spouts enthralled words in Japanese, seemingly referring to their grand victory from the tone of her voice, going on and on about how the two of them did it, Kairi Sane also interjecting here and there with squeals of delight. Before they can get too excited though, here to gate-crash are the IIconics, Billie Kay and Peyton Royce strutting out from the back and striking their signature pose. They mock the Kabuki Warriors’ mannerisms, before claiming their victory to be as legitimate as their friendship – non-existent. IIconics are the true representation of a team, having stuck together through thick and thin, so if Kabukis wouldn’t mind just handing over the titles to the real champions, they’ll be on their way. Kabukis tease IIconics by laying their gold on the mat, reeling them in, only to snatch the belts away at the last second, claiming they’ll have to beat them before they can take the titles. Billie screams ‘You’ve gotta me joking me!’, but with it being the only road to the gold, the two accept their fate and get ready for a fight!

The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) vs The IIconics (Billie Kay & Peyton Royce) – Women’s Tag Team Championships
As the bell rings, Kay & Royce don’t give the champs a single second to decide who’s going first, attacking them both from behind, before sending Asuka out of the ring and nailing a Sick Knee From Sydney on Sane! Royce immediately dives into cover on Sane, only for her to kick out! IIconics throw a tantrum, but they soon realise they messed up big-time as Asuka slowly rises up on the apron, staring both women down with a devilish grin. Tagging herself in, she takes Billie’s head off with a Roundhouse Kick, before grabbing Royce by the hair as she attempts to escape, nailing a Buzzsaw Kick! Sane flies in from the top rope, landing an InSane Elbow for good measure, allowing them to pick up the 3 count! 2 days into their reign as champions and they’re already walking away with a successful title defence, steamrolling through their challengers to retain!
The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) def. The IIconics (Billie Kay & Peyton Royce) to retain the Women’s Tag Team Championships (1:43)

Following their victory the previous week, the Kabuki Warriors are invited to a special edition of a Moment of Bliss, hosted by Alexa Bliss & Nikki Cross, where the Champs are prompted to talk about their recent string of success, the two babbling away at the first opportunity they receive to speak. When questioned if there are any teams that might prove a threat to their reign, Asuka claims that no one is ready for them, not Bayley & Sasha, not Duke & Shafir, not the IIconics, hell, not even the two of them are capable of beating the champs! Bliss & Cross are taken aback by this, Alexa trying to keep composure to prevent her show from going awry, only for Nikki to bounce out of her seat, claiming that for years, she heard that ‘no one is ready for Asuka’, but here she sits, having lost to competitor after competitor in all that time. In fact, the last time they shared the ring together, Asuka barely survived Cross. As for Sane, she’s not much better, always having searched for the easy way out whenever they shared the ring, pinning anyone but her. Not only can her & Bliss beat the Kabukis for the titles, but they will do so too. Just name the time and date. Bliss is caught off guard by Cross’ explosiveness, trying to calm her down, only for Asuka & Sane to taunt Cross with their titles, causing her to pop off and get all over them with fists! Bliss tries to hold Cross back, only to eat a Roundhouse that was meant for Cross from Asuka, knocking her out cold! Seething, Cross chases the champions out of the ring, before tending to her fallen teammate.

As a result of the events that transpired last week, a pair of singles matches are scheduled between Asuka and Cross, and Sane and Bliss, where if either Cross or Bliss win, they’ll get a shot at the titles. First up is Asuka vs Cross, Sane and Bliss in their respective corners. Asuka controls the majority of the match, condescendingly kicking her foe about and yelling at her to fight, whilst Cross bides through it, sparking a fervent comeback in the latter part of the match, dishing back all the punishment she received! Asuka is caught off guard by the sudden switch in intensity, Nikki almost able to score the upset as she nails the Purge, but a kickout and a timely distraction from Sane leads to a Buzzsaw Kick that scores the 3 count, leaving it up to Bliss to earn the shot. Her bout against Sane takes place right after, the two clashing in a first-time 1-on-1 meeting. They put on a more competitive bout, momentum swinging back and forth like a pendulum, but unlike the previous match, as Asuka attempts to run interference, Cross takes her out with a Crossbody at ringside, distracting Sane instead and allowing Bliss to spike her with her patented DDT for the victory! As Bliss & Cross stand tall, Cross mouthing off that they’re ready for the Kabuki Warriors, the champs fall into retreat, yet still keeping their chins held high as they flaunt their gold.

Money in the Bank 2020

Bliss & Cross make their entrance first to a sizeable ovation, Cross looking more fired up than ever before as she’s determined to prove that the two of them are worthier of being champions, whilst also out to get back at Asuka for the cheap victory. Kabukis are in next, dancing to the ring with all the theatricality, neither of them giving their challengers the importance they crave. They hand their titles over to the referee, before backing away to their corner of the ring. The opening bell sounds and we are underway!

The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) vs Alexa Bliss & Nikki Cross – Women’s Tag Team Championships

Cross starts the match off for her team, but to her chagrin, Sane opens for Kabukis, Nikki having to wait before she can lay her hands on Asuka. Nonetheless, the two lock-up, Cross getting the advantage in the early goings thanks to her aggression, driving Sane into the mat with a Snap Suplex. She tags Bliss in, the two double-teaming Kairi with a Swinging NeckbreakeForearm Smash combo, before Alexa goes to whip Sane into the corner, only for the Pirate Princess to latch onto her hair, yanking on it to slam Bliss into the mat! She follows up with a SLIDING D to a seated Alexa, before dragging her to the corner and laying in Battering Rams, malice behind each thrust as she looks for revenge on the competitor who pinned her to earn this match, compromising Bliss’ midsection. She makes the tag to Asuka, who strikes Bliss with a sick-sounding Penalty Kick, a SHINING WIZARD following suit, only for Bliss to kick out! Cross encourages Bliss to make it to their corner so that she can tag in and face Asuka, but the Empress of Tomorrow keeps Bliss pinned with a foot, preventing her from escaping!

Propping Bliss in the corner, Asuka rocks her with a Running Back Elbow, before calling for a Corner Hip Attack, only for Bliss to get the knees up to block! Rolling across the ring, Alexa makes the tag and in comes Nikki, who has eyes for Asuka! She bursts right out of the corner, knocking Asuka down with a Crossbody, before wailing on her with strikes to head, Asuka though able to get her knees underneath her and launch Cross off, yet the Twisted Sister recovers quickly, nailing a REVERSE DDT for 2! She scores a few jabs to the midsection, before rebounding off the ropes, only to run into a Pop-Up Knee Strike and a LEG-HOOK GERMAN SUPLEX, Asuka scoring a close count of her own! The former NXT Women’s Champion slaps Cross across the face, yelling at her to fight, only to fire a Switchblade Kick to the back, dropping her once more! Latching on an Octopus Hold, Asuka attempts to get Cross to tap, only for Nikki to back up into the corner, ramming Asuka’s body against the turnbuckle, before adjusting her on her shoulders and landing a SAMOAN DRIVER! 1…2…KICK OUT!

Asuka is caught off guard by Cross’ strength, adrenaline doing wonders for the Scot, Asuka retreating to the outside, only for Nikki to hop onto the top turnbuckle, following close behind with a DIVING CROSSBODY to wipe out Asuka, not letting the champion get out of her sights! Realising her partner is in a bit of a pickle, Sane inserts herself into the fray, dropping a FLYING KABUKI ELBOW on Cross! Not one to miss out on the action, Bliss joins the party with a TWISTED BLISS to wipe out everyone! Alexa is first to rise from the rubble, cheering on Cross as she slowly struggles back to her feet, still the legal participant, the Five Feet of Fury urging to be tagged in… but as Nikki reaches out, Sane takes Bliss’ legs out from behind, sending her crashing face-first on the apron, nailing a Spinning Headlock Elbow Drop for good measure! As Asuka slips back inside the ring, she tags Kairi back in, who nails a TOKYO SLAM on Cross for 2! A series of Knife Edge Chops meet their mark over Cross’ chest, doubling over the former Sanity member, before a Spinning Back Fist knocks her right out of her boots! Kairi looks to set sail, clambering to the top rope for an INSANE ELBOW… CANCELLED WITH A HEADBUTT FROM CROSS!

Both women drop the mat, clutching their heads in agony, both struggling to regain their bearings. Cross turns to her corner, desperately looking for a tag, but Bliss is still laid out on the outside, forcing Nikki to take matters into her own hands. She rushes Sane in the corner, nailing a Stinger Splash, followed by a Running Bulldog and a Shoulder Neckbreaker, before setting Kairi on the top turnbuckle, looking for a Superplex! The two duke it out, Sane using a barrage of forearms to try knock Cross off, but she holds onto the ropes for dear life, only to eat a Uraken, causing her to fall back into a Tree of Woe position! With Sane perched in perfect position, she soars up high for a MARINE SPIKE! Nikki grabs her midsection as she struggles to recover lost air, whilst Sane’s body weakly flops on the canvas too, both women inching closer and closer to their own corners! A look of determination lights up Cross’ face as she notices Bliss is back, urging Nikki on to make the tag, whilst Asuka yells to Sane to do the same… They both make the tags!

Bliss and Asuka charge into the centre of the ring, Alexa ducking under a High Speed Roundhouse with a matrix escape, responding by rebounding off the ropes to score a Tilt-A-Whirl Headscissors Takedown to send Asuka into the turnbuckle, before nailing a Meteora to the back of the head! Scaling up the ropes, she follows with a CODE RED, stacking Asuka’s shoulders up for a close 2 count, before nailing an INSULT TO INJURY, another close 2 count ensuing! Bliss slams the mat in frustration, her hot streak of momentum not enough to put Asuka away. Refocusing her attention on the Empress of Tomorrow, Alexa winds up, before racing across the ring, only to get caught with a DOUBLE KNEE FACEBREAKER! Asuka follows up with a HIP ATTACK, before cinching in the ASUKA LOCK! Bliss thrashes in the submission, having fallen victim to it in the past, not wanting to fade once more! A rejuvenated Sane enters the ring, trying to keep Cross from breaking it up, the Twisted Sister inevitably showing up for the save, tackling Sane into Asuka to save the match! Returning to the apron, Cross reaches out for the tag as Kabukis regroup, Bliss successfully tagging Cross in, the tandem going for 2-on-2 offense against their adversaries!

As they go back-and-forth, Bliss sees an opening and gets Sane up for a DDT, only for her to reverse the momentum into a SPIKE DDT of her own, sending Bliss out of the ring! Cross snatches Sane off the mat and dumps her with a WHIPLASH, taking her out of commission too! Asuka grabs Cross from behind and nails a DOUBLE CHICKENWING FACEBUSTER, before rolling through into the ASUKA LOCK! Cross seems to be fading quickly, prompting the referee to rush over to check on her! 1 arm drop. No response. 2 drops. No response. 3 drops- CROSS IS STILL IN IT! She tosses and turns to fight free of the submission, Asuka’s grip loosening, before Cross reaches out for the ropes, only for Asuka to kick off of them, rolling with Nikki to try and reapply the hold properly… BUT CROSS COUNTERS INTO AN EYE OF THE STORM! DOUBLE UNDERHOOK CROSSFACE LOCKED IN! Asuka is in deep trouble, laying in the centre of the ring with nowhere to go! Outside the ring, Sane and Bliss get into a brawl, Alexa looking to get the upper hand, only for Sane to lay her out with an INTERCEPTOR! Sane rushes to the top rope, Cross in her sights, and breaks up the submission with an INSANE ELBOW TO THE BACK! With Cross dead to rights, Sane hauls her limp body off the mat, allowing Asuka to nail a BUZZSAW KICK! 1…2…3!

The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) def. Alexa Bliss & Nikki Cross to retain the Women’s Tag Team Championships (17:39)

What a battle between the Kabuki Warriors and Bliss & Cross! Cross proved to be a true MVP here, her tenacity carrying her all the way until the end, where she would finally be knocked down by Asuka, the Kabuki Warriors notching an excellent successful title defence at MITB!


Build to NXT Takeover: XXX

As NXT gear up for their 30th Takeover, the card begins taking shape, one big rivalry heading into the show being that of Tegan Nox and Dakota Kai, their issues still unsettled after Kai’s victory in the Street Fight at Tampa Bay, but they are without a match just yet, instead finding themselves in the mix with other competitors, Nox finding an ally against the common enemy in Shotzi Blackheart, whilst Kai and Candice LeRae’s friendship is only enhanced when LeRae turns heel too. In the meantime, whilst the 4 women find themselves competing in various combinations against one another, the newly-formed team of Kacy Catanzaro and Kayden Carter head to the ring on the NXT after MITB, scheduled to take on a mystery team. As they wait in the ring, this theme plays. IT’S THE WOMEN’S TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, THE KABUKI WARRIORS! THEY’RE BACK IN NXT! With the Tag Titles established to be defended across all brands, they’ve made their way back onto Black and Gold turf, the champs looking to face fresh competition. Kacy & Kayden are elated about the opportunity, knowing this is their chance to prove they can hang with the top of the division, and so, they bring their A-Game, the two teams putting on a fun exhibition bout, but in the end, the Kabukis are triumphant in their return to the place they once called home.

After the match, the two cut a promo about how despite them moving onto RAW & SD, this is still their kingdom, so they’ve come back to announce that they’ll be defending their titles at the historic Takeover: XXX! Whilst they’re here, they’d like to inspect how the place is holding up and potentially scout future title challengers too. One person takes exception to their words, and it’s the NXT Women’s Champion, Charlotte Flair, who proclaims herself as the one true queen of NXT, believing that without her reign as NXT Women’s Champion, the Division wouldn’t be at the heights it is today. And after all, she beat the so-called ‘greatest NXT Women’s Champion’ Asuka multiple times, so there’s no chance her or Sane could compare. Asuka challenges her to put her words to the test with a match, Flair retorting that the conclusion is forgone but she hasn’t had a good laugh in a while, so seeing Asuka fall at her feet yet again is a welcome sight.

Therefore, the match is made official for the following week, Flair and Asuka colliding in the night’s main event with Sane in Asuka’s corner. As one would expect, the two have yet another brilliant outing against one another, but before a definitive winner can be crowned, Rhea Ripley makes her way out from the back, heading over to where Charlotte’s title is at ringside, picking it up to Flair’s annoyance, but in the moment of distraction, whilst Sane keeps the referee occupied, Asuka sprays green mist at Flair, allowing her to land the Buzzsaw Kick and claim the victory! Charlotte is fuming post-match, but she has no time to take out her aggressions as Ripley is already in the ring, primed to fight, whilst Kabukis are headed to the back. On their way there though, they’re crossed by Io Shirai, who has her own issues with Charlotte, briefly pausing to lock eyes with her old Sky Pirates partner before advancing, Sane almost entranced by Io’s presence until Asuka tells her to snap out of it and keep moving along…

As Takeover nears closer by the week, the champs continue their search of who could be worthy of facing them. Their job is made much easier when they’re called out by Kai & LeRae, the Kiwi claiming that she hasn’t forgotten about how she could’ve been the inaugural Women’s Tag Champ had it not been for a pathetic teammate, but now that she’s with someone she can actually trust to get the job done in LeRae, it only seems fair that the two get the titles that have their names written all over. Before Kabukis can respond, Nox & Blackheart are out, Tegan taking obvious offense to Dakota’s words, and so, she challenges them to stop running and face them in a Tag Team match so that the world can see who was better the whole time. Kai has no interest facing Nox again, claiming that there’s no need to after she already beat her, but NXT GM William Regal sure seems interested in the prospect, scheduling the #1 Contender’s match for the following week!

And so, the two teams clash in a Tag Title #1C match with Kabukis on commentary, a great match from all 4 women, but one without a decisive finish as they all come to blows, brawling outside the ring, where Shotzi takes everyone out with her Top Rope Senton! However, with the Kabukis set to defend at Takeover, but no victor in the #1C match, Regal makes his way out to solve the issue. Before he can speak though, Asuka pipes up and exclaims that it seems that no one’s ready for them, so they might as well take the night off instead, only for Sane to pipe up, suggesting they beat all of them! Asuka is taken by surprise, but it seems the idea resonated well with Regal, who makes the Triple Threat Tag Team match official! Sane seems quite pleased with herself for making a popular suggestion, but Asuka doesn’t seem so happy, first being the reason they had to defend at MITB, and now getting them into an even tougher situation at Takeover. Nonetheless, she’s forced to acquiesce, no turning back now.


NXT Takeover XXX

The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) vs Tegan Nox & Shotzi Blackheart vs Dakota Kai & Candice LeRae – Women’s Tag Team Championships

Getting the night off to a hot start is the Women’s Tag Team match, Asuka’s first Takeover since the 16th edition, Brooklyn III, and Sane’s first since the 24th, New York. The champions are given a respectful ovation for their return to the Takeover stage, but they’re not the most popular duo in the match, Nox & Blackheart capturing everyone’s hearts, and Kai & LeRae breaking them. The match follows the formula of allowing one competitor from each team to be in the ring at once, providing a lot more chaos and thrilling spots. Sane wipes everyone out with the InSane Elbow, Kai brandishes the trusty knee brace at any given opportunity, and so on. A nail-biting near fall occurs when Kabukis get ready to finish the match off, Asuka holding Nox up for the Interceptor, only for Nox to pull Asuka into the way, Sane taking out her own partner, only for Kai to toss Nox out of the ring and almost steal the win over Asuka! However, with Nox and Kai too distracted by one another, Kabukis find the golden opportunity to strike, Asuka forcing Shotzi to tap out to the Asuka Lock to allow them to retain!

Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) def. Tegan Nox & Shotzi Blackheart and Dakota Kai & Candice LeRae to retain the Women’s Tag Team Championships (15:44)


Build to Extreme Rules 2020

Despite finding themselves in increasingly tricky situations, The Kabuki Warriors managed to pull out another first-class successful title defence, but in their return back to Monday Nights, they don’t seem to be fully connecting on the same front. The two are spotted talking backstage, Sane overjoyed about their retention, confirming as Asuka said that no one’s ready for them, only for Asuka to point out how risky that was and it was up to Asuka in the end to save them from what could’ve been a disaster, so unless Kairi has a death wish with their reign, she should follow Asuka’s lead. Sane seems disconcerted by Asuka’s words, believing herself to pull her weight well enough, but she simply shrugs and agrees.

On RAW, Sane’s given an opportunity to test her singles prowess in a match against Dana Brooke, who she does well against until Asuka starts shouting out advice, only having the converse effect on Sane’s performance, one half of the Women’s Tag Champions almost succumbing to Dana’s Samoan Driver finisher, only to escape with the victory following an opportune roll-up. There’s no post-match celebration though as Asuka berates Sane for almost handing Brooke the victory, claiming that she needs to get herself together because a team is only as strong as its weakest link. Indignant from hearing what she believes to be unwarranted criticism, Sane leaves Asuka in the ring, walking to the back alone! However, before Asuka can give chase, she’s jumped by two masked figures who beat her into the canvas, Sane turning around too late and finding Asuka laid out on the mat with two figures standing over her, Asuka’s title in their hand… IT’S RUBY RIOTT AND LIV MORGAN! The Riott Squad duo have laid waste to the Empress of Tomorrow, Sane only able to watch as they stand over her partner’s body…

The following week, Riott and Morgan come out to explain their actions, Riott exclaiming that they’ve been here on the Main Roster for nearly 3 damn years yet they aren’t the ones holding the Tag Titles? The titles were made for the two of them, the Riott Squad responsible for reviving the lost art that was the Women’s Tag Team Division, and in turn, making them the faces of the Division. They aren’t going to take the injustice any longer; they’ve been deprived of gold for far too long. So Kabukis, be warned, because the Riott Squad is taking what’s been rightfully theirs for months, and they’re ready to do it by hook or by crook.

Following the promo, Sane is seen pacing about backstage, only for Asuka to enter frame, apologising about her harsh words from the previous week, before suggesting that she compete this week and take on Ruby, only for Sane to stop her, claiming that she wants to prove herself worthy, and if beating Riott is the path to get there, then so be it. And so, Sane vs Riott takes place, Riott bringing a more anti-hero flair to the table, the crowd behind the revamped Riott Squad. With no Asuka in her ear, Sane proves herself to be the competent wrestler the world knows her to be, both stars making it equally tough for the other to succeed. In the end, wanting to lend a hand, Asuka hops on the apron and goes to spray Ruby with green mist, only for her to evade, the mist catching Sane right in the face, blinding her and allowing Riott to win off the Riott Kick! After the match, Asuka tries to come to Sane’s aid, only for a further wedge to be driven between them, Asuka costing Sane her chance to shine, and as a result, earning Riott Squad a title shot too!

As the title match rolls around, despite the Kabukis being the champs, they seems to be less cohesive than ever in the face of the Riott Squad, who capitalise on their foes’ mistakes, moving closer and closer to succeeding. Before the match can reach a definitive ending though, the legal competitor, Asuka, leaves the ring and goes to head to the back, ordering Sane to come with her, the match ending in a count-out loss for the champions! Asuka exclaims that the Riott Squad don’t deserve a shot at the champions, especially when it isn’t her fault they’re here in the first place, Asuka forced to defend for no reason whatsoever. Riott Squad are livid at their opportunity being squandered, not letting Kabukis get away that easily after the count out, giving chase, the two teams engaging in a pull-apart brawl! The following week, Riott Squad cut another promo, Ruby this time channelling all her frustration into the mic, claiming they’ve worked too damn hard just to have opportunities like this be taken away from them over and over again. They don’t care what excuses Kabukis have, they want a rematch. But not just any old rematch. If Kabukis want to go roaming all about the place, then why don’t they face off in a Falls Count Anywhere match? To the Kabuki Warriors’ chagrin, the rematch is made official for Extreme Rules, Riott Squad with one more opportunity to take the championships they believe belong to them, whilst Kabukis must hurdle the bumps in their relationship and retain the gold!


Extreme Rules 2020

The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) vs Riott Squad (Ruby Riott & Liv Morgan) – Women’s Tag Team Championships – Falls Count Anywhere

Neither team wastes time with entrances, the match kicking off right away in the backstage area, all sorts of weapons at their disposal to be used. In their element, Riott Squad have the upper hand outside the ring, battering the somewhat dysfunctional team of Asuka & Sane. As the fight moves over to the crowd, in a genius play, Riott ties Asuka to the railing whilst her and Liv use their strength in numbers over Sane, only to be caught off guard by the Pirate Princesses resilience, kicking out over and over again! Eventually, as the fight moves back to ringside, Asuka manages to free herself, joining the fray too. A moment of miscommunication is teased as Asuka goes to spray the green mist, Riott moving Sane into place, only for Asuka to hold it in and follow Riott’s direction to blind her! From there, a double-team on Liv from the champs, Asuka with the Buzzsaw Kick and Sane nailing the InSane Elbow off the barricade, results in successful retention after an absolute war, the Kabuki Warriors back on the same page…

The Kabuki Warriors (Asuka & Kairi Sane) (c) def. Riott Squad (Ruby Riott & Liv Morgan) to retain the Women’s Tag Team Championships (18:12)

RAW After Extreme Rules

On the night after Extreme Rules, the Kabuki Warriors head to the ring for a celebration to make up for their arguments, the two simply happy to be back on the same page once more. There’s confetti everywhere, the Women’s Tag Titles are looking extra shiny under the bright lights, and… CRACK! ASUKA CLOCKS SANE OVER THE HEAD WITH HER TAG TITLE! Ruthlessly, the Empress of Tomorrow tears into her partner, hailing down with kicks and stomps, before locking her in the Asuka Lock, forcing Sane to pass out! Asuka stands tall over Sane’s limp body, holding her Women’s Tag Title up high whilst planting a foot over Sane's…
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2020.10.01 21:47 normancrane Iris [4/5]

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Since

Blood, guts and bone shards blanketed the surfaces of the waiting room, making it look like the inside of an unwashed jar of strawberry jam. My wife was gone. Every woman in the room was gone. The space behind the reception desk stood eerily empty. The television in the corner was showing the splattered lens of a camera that a hand suddenly wiped clean—its burst of motion a shock to the prevailing stillness—to reveal the peaceful image of a Los Angeles street in which bloodied men and boys stood frozen, startled…
I was too numb to speak.
Someone unlocked the hospital doors but nobody entered.
The waiting room smelled like an abattoir.
My clothes smelled like an abattoir.
I walked toward the doors, opened them with my hip and continued into the morning sunlight. I half expected shit to rain down from the skies. If I had a razor blade in my pocket I would have slit my wrists, but all I had was my wallet, my car keys and my phone. Sliding my fingers over the keys reminded me how dull they were. I didn’t want to drive. I didn’t want anything, but if I had to do something I would walk. I stepped on the heel of one shoe with the toe of another and slid my shoe off. The other one I pulled off with my hand. I wasn’t wearing socks. I hadn’t had enough time to put them on. I threw the shoes away. I wanted to walk until my feet hurt so much that I couldn’t walk anymore.
I put one foot in front of the other all the way back to my apartment building, waited for the elevator, and took it to my floor. In the hall, I passed a man wearing clean summer clothes. He didn’t give my bloody ones a second glance. I nodded to him, he nodded back, and I unlocked the door to my apartment and walked in. My feet left footprints on the linoleum. A dark, drying stain in the small space between the fridge and the kitchen wall was all that was left of Pillow. She’d squeezed in and died alone. I took out a mop and rotely removed the stain. Then I took off my clothes, flung them on the bed, which was as unmade as when we left it, took a shower and laid down on the crumpled sheets beside the only pieces of my wife that I had left. My sleep smelled like an abattoir.
I awoke to a world without women.
I rolled off the bed into sore thighs and guilt, got up to emptiness that echoed the slightest noise, and left my wife’s clothes on the sheets without thinking that eventually I’d have to pack them into a plastic bag and slide them down the garbage chute. I felt magnified and hollow. In the kitchen, I used the stove top as a table because the actual table had my wife’s tablet on it, and spilled instant coffee. What I didn’t spill I drank in a few gulps, the way I used to drink ice cold milk as a boy. I stood in front of the living room window for a while before realizing I was naked, then realizing that it didn’t matter because men changed in front of each other at the pool and peed next to one another into urinals in public restrooms, and there weren’t any women to hide from, no one to offend. The world, I told myself, was now a sprawling men’s pisser, so I slammed the window open and pissed.
I wanted to call someone—to tell them that my wife was dead, because that’s a duty owed by the living—but whom could I call: her sister, her parents? Her sister was dead. Her father had a dead wife and two dead daughters. There was nothing to say. Everyone knew. I called my wife’s father anyway. Was he still my father-in-law now that I was a widower? He didn’t accept the connection. Widower: a word loses all but historical meaning when there are no alternatives. If all animals were dogs, we’d purge one of those words from our vocabulary. We were all widowers. It was synonymous with man. I switched on the television and stared, crying, at a montage of photographs showing the bloody landscapes of cities, hospitals, retirement homes, schools and churches, all under the tasteless headline: “International Pop”. Would we clean it up, these remnants of the people we loved? Could we even use the same buildings, knowing what had happened in them? The illusion of practical thinking pushed my feeling of emptiness away. I missed arms wrapping around me from behind while I stared through rain streaked windows. I missed barking and a wagging tail that hit my leg whenever I was standing too close. Happiness seemed impossible. I called Bakshi because I needed confirmation that I still had a voice. “They’re the lucky ones,” he said right after I’d introduced myself. “They’re out. We’re the fools still locked in, and now we’re all alone.”
For three weeks, I expected my wife to show up at the apartment door. I removed her clothes from the bed and stuffed them into a garbage bag, but kept the garbage bag in the small space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. I probably would have kept a dead body in the freezer if I had one and it fit. As a city and as a world, those were grim, disorganized weeks for us. Nobody worked. I don’t know what we did. Sat around and drank, smoked. And we called each other, often out of the blue. Every day, I received a call from someone I knew but hadn’t spoken to in years. The conversations all followed a pattern. There was no catching up and no explanation of lost time, just a question like “How are you holding up?” followed by a thoughtless answer (“Fine, I guess. And you?”) followed by an exchange of details about the women we’d lost. Mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, girlfriends, friends, cousins, aunts, teachers, students, co-workers. We talked about the colour of their hair, their senses of humour, their favourite movies. We said nothing about ourselves, choosing instead to inhabit the personas of those whom we’d loved. In the hallway, I would put on my wife’s coats but never look at myself in the mirror. I wore her winter hats in the middle of July. Facebook became a graveyard, with the gender field separating the mourners from the dead.
The World Health Organization issued a communique stating that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all the women in the world were dead, but it called for any woman still alive to come forward immediately. The language of the communique was as sterile as the Earth. Nobody came forward. The World Wildlife Fund created an inventory of all mammalian species that listed in ascending order how long each species would exist. Humans were on the bottom. Both the World Health Organization and the World Wildlife Fund predicted that unless significant technological progress occurred in the field of fertility within the next fifty years, the last human, a theoretical boy named Philip born into a theoretical developed country on March 26, 2025, would die in 93 years. On the day of his death, Philip would be the last remaining mammal—although not necessarily animal—on Earth. No organization or government has ever officially stated that July 4, 2025, was the most destructive day in recorded history, on the morning of which, Eastern Time, four billion out of a total of eight billion people ceased to exist as anything more than memories. What killed them was neither an act of war nor an act of terrorism. Neither was it human negligence. There was no one to blame and no one to prosecute. In the western countries, where the majority of people no longer believed in any religion, we could not even call it an act of God. So we responded by calling it nothing at all.
And, like nothing, our lives persisted. We ate, we slept and we adapted. After the first wave of suicides ended, we hosed off what the rain hadn’t already washed away and began to reorganize the systems on which our societies ran. It was a challenge tempered only slightly in countries where women had not made up a significant portion of the workforce. We held new elections, formed me boards of directors and slowed down the assembly lines and bus schedules to make it possible for our communities to keep running. There was less food in the supermarkets, but we also needed less food. Instead of two trains we ran one, but one sufficed. I don’t remember the day when I finally took the black garbage bag from its resting place and walked it to the chute. “How are you holding up?” a male voice would say on the street. “Fine, I guess. And you?” I’d answer. ##!! wrote a piece of Python code to predict the box office profitability of new movies, in which real actors played alongside computer-generated actresses. The code was only partially successful. Because while it did accurately predict the success of new movies in relation to one other, it failed to include the overwhelming popularity of re-releases of films from the past—films starring Bette Davis, Giulietta Masina, Meryl Streep: women who at least on screen were still flesh and blood. Theatres played retrospectives. On Amazon, books by female authors topped the charts. Sales of albums by women vocalists surged. We thirsted for another sex. I watched, read and listened like everyone else, and in between I cherished any media on which I found images or recordings of my wife. I was angry for not having made more. I looked at the same photos and watched the same clips over and over again. I memorized my wife’s Facebook timeline and tagged all her Tweets by date, theme and my own rating. When I went out, I would talk to the air as if she was walking beside me, sometimes quoting her actual words as answers to my questions and sometimes inventing my own as if she was a beloved character in an imagined novel. When people looked at me like I was crazy, I didn’t care. I wasn’t the only one. But, more importantly, my wife meant more to me than they did. I remembered times when we’d stroll through the park or down downtown sidewalks and I would be too ashamed to kiss her in the presence of strangers. Now, I would tell her that I love her in the densest crowd. I would ask her whether I should buy ketchup or mustard in the condiments aisle. She helped me pick out my clothes in the morning. She convinced me to eat healthy and exercise.
In November, I was in Bakshi’s apartment for the first time, waiting for a pizza delivery boy, when one of Bakshi’s friends who was browsing Reddit told us that the Tribe of Akna was starting a Kickstarter campaign in an attempt to buy the Republic of Suriname, rename it Xibalba and close its borders for all except the enlightened. Xibalba would have no laws, Salvador Abaroa said in a message on the site. He was banging his gong as he did. Everything would be legal, and anyone who pledged $100 would receive a two-week visa to this new "Mayan Buddhist Eden". If you pledged over $10,000, you would receive citizenship. “Everything in life is destroyed by energy,” Abaroa said. “But let the energy enlighten you before it consumes your body. Xibalba is finite life unbound.” Bakshi’s phone buzzed. The pizza boy had sent an email. He couldn’t get upstairs, so Bakshi and I took the elevator to the building’s front entrance. The boy’s face was so white that I saw it as soon as the elevator doors slid open. Walking closer, I saw that he was powdered. His cheeks were also rouged, and he was wearing cranberry coloured lipstick, a Marilyn Monroe wig and a short black skirt. Compared to his face, his thin legs looked like incongruously dark popsicle sticks. Bakshi paid for the pizza and added another five dollars for the tip. The boy batted his fake eyelashes and asked if maybe he could do something to earn a little more. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could come upstairs and clean the place up a little. You two live alone?” Bakshi passed me the two pizza boxes—They felt hot in my hands.—and dug around in his wallet. “It’s not just the two of us,” I said. The boy smiled. “That’s OK. I’ve done parties before if that’s what you’re into.” I saw the reaction on Bakshi’s face, and I saw the boy’s grotesque caricature of a woman. “There’s condoms and lube in the car,” the boy said, pointing to a sedan with a pizza spray-painted across its side parked by the curb. “My boss says I can take up to two hours but it’s not like he uses a stopwatch.” I stepped on Bakshi’s foot and shouldered him away. He was still fiddling with his wallet. “We’re not interested,” I said to the boy. He just shrugged. “Suit yourselves. If you change your mind, order another pizza and ask for Ruby.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As we shuffled inside, I saw Bakshi’s cheeks turn red. “I’m not actually—” he mumbled, but I didn’t let him finish. What had bothered me so much about the boy wasn’t the way he looked or acted; in fact, it wasn’t really the boy at all. He was just trying to make a buck. What bothered me was how ruthlessly we’d already begun to exploit each other.
For those of us who were heterosexual, sex was a definite weakness. I missed it. I would never have it with a woman again. The closest substitute was pornography, whose price rose with its popularity, but which, at least for me, now came scented with the unpleasantness of historicity and nostalgia. Videos and photos, not to mention physical magazines, were collector’s items in the same way that we once collected coins or action figures. The richest men bought up the exclusive rights to their favourite porn stars and guarded them by law with a viciousness once reserved for the RIAA and MPAA. Perhaps exclusivity gave them a possessive satisfaction. In response, we pirated whatever we could and fought for a pornographic public domain. Although new pornography was still being produced, either with the help of the same virtual technology they used for mainstream movies or with the participation of young men in costume, it lacked the taste of the originals. It was like eating chocolate made without cocoa. The best pornography, and therefore the best sex, became the pornography of the mind.
The Tribe of Akna reached its Kickstarter goal in early December. On December 20, I went to church for the first time since getting married because that was the theoretical date that my wife—along with every other woman—was supposed to have given birth. I wanted to be alone with others. Someone posted a video on TikTok from Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront, dubbing over Marlon Brando’s speech to say: “You don’t understand. I could’a had a piece of ass. I could’a been a school board member. I could’a been a son’s daddy”. It was juvenile and heartbreaking. By Christmas, the Surinamese government was already expelling its citizens, each of whom had theoretically been given a fraction of the funds paid to the government from the Tribe of Akna’s Kickstarter pool, and Salvador Abaroa’s lawyers were petitioning for international recognition of the new state of Xibalba. Neither Canada nor the United States opened diplomatic relations, but others did. I knew people who had pledged money, and when in January they disappeared on trips, I had no doubt to where. Infamy spread in the form of stories and urban legends. There’s no need for details. People disappeared, and ethicists wrote about the ethical neutrality of murder, arguing that because we were all slated to die, leaving the Earth barren in a century, destruction was a human inevitability, and what is inevitable can never be bad, even when it comes earlier than expected—even when it comes by force. Because, as a species, we hadn’t chosen destruction for ourselves, neither should any individual member of our species be able to choose now for himself. To the ethicists of what became known as the New Inevitability School, suicide was a greater evil than murder because it implied choice and inequality. If the ship was going down, no one should be allowed to get off. A second wave of suicides coincided with the debate, leading many governments to pass laws making suicide illegal. But how do you punish someone who already wants to die? In China: by keeping him alive and selling him to Xibalba, where he becomes the physical plaything of its citizens and visa-holders. The Chinese was the first embassy to open in Xibalban Paramaribo.
The men working on Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything continued working, steadily adding new variables to their equations, complicating their calculations in the hopes that someday the variable they added would be the final one and the equation would yield an answer. “It’s pointless,” Bakshi would comment after reading about one of the small breakthroughs they periodically announced. “Even if they do manage to predict something, anything, it won’t amount to anything more than the painfully obvious. And after decades of adding and subtracting their beans, they’ll come out of their Los Alamos datalabs like groundhogs into a world blanketed by storm clouds and conclude, finally and with plenty of self-congratulations, that it’s about to fucking rain.”
It rained a lot in February. It was one of the warmest Februaries in Toronto’s history. Sometimes I went for walks along the waterfront, talking to my wife, listening to Billie Holiday and trying to recall as many female faces as I could. Ones from the distant past: my mother, my grandmothers. Ones from the recent past: the woman whose life my wife saved on the way to the hospital, the Armenian woman with the film magazine and the injured son, the Jamaican woman, Bakshi’s wife. I focused on their faces, then zoomed out to see their bodies. I carried an umbrella but seldom opened it because the pounding of the raindrops against the material distorted my mental images. I saw people rush across the street holding newspapers above their heads while dogs roamed the alleyways wearing nothing at all. Of the two, it was dogs that had the shorter time left on Earth, and if they could let the rain soak their fur and drip off their bodies, I could surely let it run down my face. It was first my mother and later my wife who told me to always cover up in the rain, “because moisture causes colds,” but I was alone now and I didn’t want to be separated from the falling water by a sheet of glass anymore. I already was cold. I saw a man sit down on a bench, open his briefcase, pack rocks into it, then close it, tie it to his wrist, check his watch and start to walk into the polluted waters of Lake Ontario. Another man took out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. The man in the lake walked slowly, savouring each step. When the police arrived, sirens blaring, the water was up to his neck. I felt guilty for watching the three officers splash into the lake after him. I don’t know what happened after that because I turned my back and walked away. I hope they didn’t stop him. I hope he got to do what he wanted to do.
“Screw the police.” Bakshi passed me a book. “You should read this,” he said. It was by a professor of film and media studies at a small university in Texas. There was a stage on the cover, flanked by two red curtains. The photo had been taken from the actors’ side, looking out at an audience that the stage lights made too dark to see. The title was Hiding Behind The Curtains. I flipped the book over. There was no photo of the author. “It’s a theory,” Bakshi said, “that undercuts what Abaroa and the Inevitabilists are saying. It’s a little too poetic in parts but—listen, you ever read Atlas Shrugged?” I said I hadn’t. “Well, anyway, what this guy says is that what if instead of our situation letting us do anything we want, it’s actually the opposite, a test to see how we act when we only think that we’re doomed. I mean what if the women who died in March, what if they’re just—” “Hiding behind the curtains,” I said. He bit his lower lip. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that but, as a metaphor, it has a kind of elegance, right?” I flipped through the book, reading a few sentences at random. It struck me as neo-Christian. “Isn’t this a little too spiritual for you? I thought we were all locked into one path,” I said. “I thought that, too, but lately I’ve been able to do things—things that I didn’t really want to do.” For a second I was concerned. “Nothing bad,” he said. “I mean I’ve felt like I’m locked into doing one thing, say having a drink of water, but I resist and pour myself a glass of orange juice instead.” I shook my head. “It’s hard to explain,” he said. That’s how most theories ended, I thought: reason and evidence up to a crucial point, and then it gets so personal that it’s hard to explain. You either make the jump or you don’t. “Just read it,” he said. “Please read it. You don’t have to agree with it, I just want to get your opinion, an objective opinion.”
I never did read the book, and Bakshi forgot about it, too, but that day he was excited and happy, and those were rare feelings. I was simultaneously glad for him and jealous. Afterwards, we went out onto the balcony and drank Czech beer until morning. When it got cool, we put on our coats. It started to drizzle so we wore blue plastic suits like the ones they used to give you on boat rides in Niagara Falls. When it was time to go home, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. I almost got into a fight, the first one of my life, because I bumped into a man on the street and told him to get the fuck out of my way. I don’t remember much more of my walk home. The only reason I remember Behind The Curtains at all is because when I woke up in the afternoon it was the first thing that my hung over brain recognized. It was lying on the floor beside the bed. Then I opened the blinds covering my bedroom window and, through my spread fingers that I’d meant to use as a shield from the first blast of daylight, I saw the pincers for the first time.
They’d appeared while I was asleep. I turned on the television and checked my phone. The media and the internet were feverish, but nobody knew what the thing was, just a massive, vaguely rectangular shape blotting out a strip of the sky. NASA stated that it had received no extraterrestrial messages to coincide with the appearance. Every government claimed ignorance. The panel discussions on television only worsened my headache. Bakshi emailed me links to photos from Mumbai, Cape Town, Sydney and Mexico City, all showing the same shape; or rather one of a pair of shapes, for there were two of them, one on each side of the Earth, and they’d trapped our planet between themselves like gargantuan fingers clutching an equally gargantuan ping-pong ball. That’s why somebody came up with the term “the pincers”. It stuck. Because I’d slept in last night’s clothes I was already dressed, so I ran down the stairs and out of my apartment building to get a better look at them from the parking lot. You’re not supposed to look at the sun, but I wasn’t the only one breaking that rule. There were entire crowds with upturned faces in the streets. If the pincers, too, could see, they would perhaps be as baffled by us as we were of them: billions of tiny specks all over the surface of this ping-pong ball gathering in points on a grid, coagulating into large puddles that vanished overnight only to reassemble in the morning. In the following days, scientists scrambled to study the pincers and their potential effects on us, but they discovered nothing. The pincers did nothing. They emitted nothing, consumed nothing. They simply were. And they could not be measured or detected in any way other than by eyesight. When we shot rays at them, the rays continued on their paths unaffected, as if nothing was there. The pincers did, however, affect the sun’s rays coming towards us. They cut up our days. The sun would rise, travel over the sky, hide behind a pincer—enveloping us in a second night—before revealing itself again as a second day. But if the pincers’ physical effect on us was limited to its blockage of light, their mental effects on us were astoundingly severe. For many, this was the sign they’d been waiting for. It brought hope. It brought gloom. It broke and confirmed ideas that were hard to explain. In their ambiguity, the pincers could be anything, but in their strangeness they at least reassured us of the reality of the strange times in which we were living. Men walked away from the theory of everything, citing the pincers as the ultimate variable that proved the futility of prognostication. Others took up the calculations because if the pincers could appear, what else was out there in our future? However, ambiguity can only last for a certain period. Information narrows possibilities. On April 1, 2026, every Twitter account in the world received the following message:
as you can see this message is longer than the allowed one hundred forty characters time and space are malleable you thought you had one hundred years but prepare for the plucking
The sender was @. The message appeared in each user’s feed at exactly the same time and in his first language, without punctuation. Because of the date most of us thought it was a hoax, but the developers of Twitter denied this vehemently. It wasn’t until a court forced them to reveal their code, which proved that a message of that length and sent by a blank user was impossible, that our doubts ceased. ##!! took bets on what the message meant. Salvador Abaroa broadcast a response into space in a language he called Bodhi Mayan, then addressed the rest of us in English, saying that in the pincers he had identified an all-powerful prehistoric fire deity, described in an old Sanskrit text as having the resemblance of mirrored black fangs, whose appearance signified the end of time. “All of us will burn,” he said, “but paradise shall be known only to those who burn willingly.” Two days later, The Tribe of Akna announced that in one month it would seal Xibalba from the world and set fire to everything and everyone in it. For the first time, its spokesman said, an entire nation would commit suicide as one. Jonestown was but a blip. As a gesture of goodwill, he said that Xibalba was offering free immolation visas to anyone who applied within the next week. The New Inevitability School condemned the plan as “offensively unethical” and inequalitist and urged an international Xibalban boycott. Nothing came of it. When the date arrived, we watched with rapt attention on live streams and from the vantage points of circling news planes as Salvador Abaroa struck flint against steel, creating the spark that caught the char cloth, starting a fire that blossomed bright crimson and in the next weeks consumed all 163,821 square kilometres of the former Republic of Suriname and all 2,500,000 of its estimated Xibalban inhabitants. Despite concerns that the fire would spread beyond Xibalba’s borders, The Tribe of Akna had been careful. There were no accidental casualties and no unplanned property damage. No borders were crossed. Once the fire burned out, reporters competed to be first to capture the mood on the ground. Paramaribo resembled the smouldering darkness of a fire pit.
It was a few days later while sitting on Bakshi’s balcony, looking up at the pincers and rereading a reproduction of @’s message—someone had spray-painted it across the wall of a building opposite Bakshi’s—that I remembered Iris. The memory was so absorbing that I didn’t notice when Bakshi slid open the balcony door and sat down beside me, but I must have been smiling because he said, “I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you look a little loony tonight. Seriously, man, you do not look sufficiently freaked out.” I’d remembered Iris before, swirling elements of her plain face, but now I also remembered her words and her theory. I turned to Bakshi, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, and said, “Let’s get up on the roof of this place.” He grabbed my arm and held on tightly. “I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you mean.” It wasn’t what I meant, but I asked, “why not?” He said, “I don’t know. I know we’re fucked as a species and all that, but I figure if I’m still alive I might as well see what happens next, like in a bad movie you want to see through to the end.” I promised him that I wasn’t going to jump, either. Then I scrambled inside his apartment, grabbed my hat and jacket from the closet by the front door and put them on while speed walking down the hall, toward the fire escape. I realized I’d been spending a lot of time here. The alarm went off as soon I pushed open the door with my hip but I didn’t care. When Bakshi caught up with me, I was already outside, leaping up two stairs at a time. The metal construction was rusted. The treads wobbled. On the roof, the wind nearly blew my hat off and it was so loud I could have screamed and no one would have heard me. Holding my hat in my hands, I crouched and looked out over the twinkling city spread out in front of me. It looked alive in spite of the pincers in the sky. “Let’s do something crazy,” I yelled. Bakshi was still catching his breath behind me. “What, like this isn’t crazy enough?” The NHL may have been gone but my hat still bore the Maple Leafs logo, as quaint and obsolete by then as the Weimar Republic in the summer of 1945. “When’s the last time you played ball hockey?” I asked. Bakshi crouched beside me. “You’re acting weird. And I haven’t played ball hockey in ages.” I stood up so suddenly that Bakshi almost fell over. This time I knew I was smiling. “So call your buddies,” I said. “Tell them to bring their sticks and their gear and to meet us in front of the ACC in one hour.” Bakshi patted me on the back. Toronto shone like jewels scattered over black velvet. “The ACC’s been closed for years, buddy. I think you’re really starting to lose it.” I knew it was closed. “Lose what?” I asked. “It’s closed and we’re going to break in.”
The chains broke apart like shortbread. The electricity worked. The clouds of dust made me sneeze. We used duffel bags to mark out the goals. We raced up and down the stands and bent over, wheezing at imaginary finish lines. We got into the announcer’s booth and called each other cunts through the microphone. We ran, fell and shot rubber pucks for hours. We didn’t keep score. We didn’t worry. “What about the police?” someone asked. The rest of us answered: “Screw the fucking police!”
And when everybody packed up and went home, I stayed behind.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bakshi asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Because I have to get back so that I can shower, get changed and get to work.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“And you promise me you’ll catch a cab?”
“I’m not suicidal.”
He fixed his grip on his duffel bag. “I didn’t say you were. I was just checking.”
“I want to see the end of the movie, too,” I said.
He saluted. I watched him leave. When he was gone, my wife walked down from the nosebleeds and took a seat beside me. “There’s someone I want to tell you about,” I said. She lifted her chin like she always does when something unexpected catches her interest, and scooted closer. I put my arm across the back of her beautiful shoulders. She always liked that, even though the position drives me crazy because I tend to talk a lot with my hands. “Stuck at Leafs-Wings snorefest,” she said. “Game sucks but I love the man sitting beside me.” (January 15, 2019. Themes: hockey, love, me. Rating: 5/5). “Her name was Iris,” I said.

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2020.09.28 21:18 normancrane Iris [3/3]

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 <-- You are here.
I awoke to a world without women.
I rolled off the bed into sore thighs and guilt, got up to emptiness that echoed the slightest noise, and left my wife’s clothes on the sheets without thinking that eventually I’d have to pack them into a plastic bag and slide them down the garbage chute. I felt magnified and hollow. In the kitchen, I used the stove top as a table because the actual table had my wife’s tablet on it, and spilled instant coffee. What I didn’t spill I drank in a few gulps, the way I used to drink ice cold milk as a boy. I stood in front of the living room window for a while before realizing I was naked, then realizing that it didn’t matter because men changed in front of each other at the pool and peed next to one another into urinals in public restrooms, and there weren’t any women to hide from, no one to offend. The world, I told myself, was now a sprawling men’s pisser, so I slammed the window open and pissed.
I wanted to call someone—to tell them that my wife was dead, because that’s a duty owed by the living—but whom could I call: her sister, her parents? Her sister was dead. Her father had a dead wife and two dead daughters. There was nothing to say. Everyone knew. I called my wife’s father anyway. Was he still my father-in-law now that I was a widower? He didn’t accept the connection. Widower: a word loses all but historical meaning when there are no alternatives. If all animals were dogs, we’d purge one of those words from our vocabulary. We were all widowers. It was synonymous with man. I switched on the television and stared, crying, at a montage of photographs showing the bloody landscapes of cities, hospitals, retirement homes, schools and churches, all under the tasteless headline: “International Pop”. Would we clean it up, these remnants of the people we loved? Could we even use the same buildings, knowing what had happened in them? The illusion of practical thinking pushed my feeling of emptiness away. I missed arms wrapping around me from behind while I stared through rain streaked windows. I missed barking and a wagging tail that hit my leg whenever I was standing too close. Happiness seemed impossible. I called Bakshi because I needed confirmation that I still had a voice. “They’re the lucky ones,” he said right after I’d introduced myself. “They’re out. We’re the fools still locked in, and now we’re all alone.”
For three weeks, I expected my wife to show up at the apartment door. I removed her clothes from the bed and stuffed them into a garbage bag, but kept the garbage bag in the small space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. I probably would have kept a dead body in the freezer if I had one and it fit. As a city and as a world, those were grim, disorganized weeks for us. Nobody worked. I don’t know what we did. Sat around and drank, smoked. And we called each other, often out of the blue. Every day, I received a call from someone I knew but hadn’t spoken to in years. The conversations all followed a pattern. There was no catching up and no explanation of lost time, just a question like “How are you holding up?” followed by a thoughtless answer (“Fine, I guess. And you?”) followed by an exchange of details about the women we’d lost. Mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, girlfriends, friends, cousins, aunts, teachers, students, co-workers. We talked about the colour of their hair, their senses of humour, their favourite movies. We said nothing about ourselves, choosing instead to inhabit the personas of those whom we’d loved. In the hallway, I would put on my wife’s coats but never look at myself in the mirror. I wore her winter hats in the middle of July. Facebook became a graveyard, with the gender field separating the mourners from the dead.
The World Health Organization issued a communique stating that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all the women in the world were dead, but it called for any woman still alive to come forward immediately. The language of the communique was as sterile as the Earth. Nobody came forward. The World Wildlife Fund created an inventory of all mammalian species that listed in ascending order how long each species would exist. Humans were on the bottom. Both the World Health Organization and the World Wildlife Fund predicted that unless significant technological progress occurred in the field of fertility within the next fifty years, the last human, a theoretical boy named Philip born into a theoretical developed country on March 26, 2025, would die in 93 years. On the day of his death, Philip would be the last remaining mammal—although not necessarily animal—on Earth. No organization or government has ever officially stated that July 4, 2025, was the most destructive day in recorded history, on the morning of which, Eastern Time, four billion out of a total of eight billion people ceased to exist as anything more than memories. What killed them was neither an act of war nor an act of terrorism. Neither was it human negligence. There was no one to blame and no one to prosecute. In the western countries, where the majority of people no longer believed in any religion, we could not even call it an act of God. So we responded by calling it nothing at all.
And, like nothing, our lives persisted. We ate, we slept and we adapted. After the first wave of suicides ended, we hosed off what the rain hadn’t already washed away and began to reorganize the systems on which our societies ran. It was a challenge tempered only slightly in countries where women had not made up a significant portion of the workforce. We held new elections, formed me boards of directors and slowed down the assembly lines and bus schedules to make it possible for our communities to keep running. There was less food in the supermarkets, but we also needed less food. Instead of two trains we ran one, but one sufficed. I don’t remember the day when I finally took the black garbage bag from its resting place and walked it to the chute. “How are you holding up?” a male voice would say on the street. “Fine, I guess. And you?” I’d answer. ##!! wrote a piece of Python code to predict the box office profitability of new movies, in which real actors played alongside computer-generated actresses. The code was only partially successful. Because while it did accurately predict the success of new movies in relation to one other, it failed to include the overwhelming popularity of re-releases of films from the past—films starring Bette Davis, Giulietta Masina, Meryl Streep: women who at least on screen were still flesh and blood. Theatres played retrospectives. On Amazon, books by female authors topped the charts. Sales of albums by women vocalists surged. We thirsted for another sex. I watched, read and listened like everyone else, and in between I cherished any media on which I found images or recordings of my wife. I was angry for not having made more. I looked at the same photos and watched the same clips over and over again. I memorized my wife’s Facebook timeline and tagged all her Tweets by date, theme and my own rating. When I went out, I would talk to the air as if she was walking beside me, sometimes quoting her actual words as answers to my questions and sometimes inventing my own as if she was a beloved character in an imagined novel. When people looked at me like I was crazy, I didn’t care. I wasn’t the only one. But, more importantly, my wife meant more to me than they did. I remembered times when we’d stroll through the park or down downtown sidewalks and I would be too ashamed to kiss her in the presence of strangers. Now, I would tell her that I love her in the densest crowd. I would ask her whether I should buy ketchup or mustard in the condiments aisle. She helped me pick out my clothes in the morning. She convinced me to eat healthy and exercise.
In November, I was in Bakshi’s apartment for the first time, waiting for a pizza delivery boy, when one of Bakshi’s friends who was browsing Reddit told us that the Tribe of Akna was starting a Kickstarter campaign in an attempt to buy the Republic of Suriname, rename it Xibalba and close its borders for all except the enlightened. Xibalba would have no laws, Salvador Abaroa said in a message on the site. He was banging his gong as he did. Everything would be legal, and anyone who pledged $100 would receive a two-week visa to this new "Mayan Buddhist Eden". If you pledged over $10,000, you would receive citizenship. “Everything in life is destroyed by energy,” Abaroa said. “But let the energy enlighten you before it consumes your body. Xibalba is finite life unbound.” Bakshi’s phone buzzed. The pizza boy had sent an email. He couldn’t get upstairs, so Bakshi and I took the elevator to the building’s front entrance. The boy’s face was so white that I saw it as soon as the elevator doors slid open. Walking closer, I saw that he was powdered. His cheeks were also rouged, and he was wearing cranberry coloured lipstick, a Marilyn Monroe wig and a short black skirt. Compared to his face, his thin legs looked like incongruously dark popsicle sticks. Bakshi paid for the pizza and added another five dollars for the tip. The boy batted his fake eyelashes and asked if maybe he could do something to earn a little more. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could come upstairs and clean the place up a little. You two live alone?” Bakshi passed me the two pizza boxes—They felt hot in my hands.—and dug around in his wallet. “It’s not just the two of us,” I said. The boy smiled. “That’s OK. I’ve done parties before if that’s what you’re into.” I saw the reaction on Bakshi’s face, and I saw the boy’s grotesque caricature of a woman. “There’s condoms and lube in the car,” the boy said, pointing to a sedan with a pizza spray-painted across its side parked by the curb. “My boss says I can take up to two hours but it’s not like he uses a stopwatch.” I stepped on Bakshi’s foot and shouldered him away. He was still fiddling with his wallet. “We’re not interested,” I said to the boy. He just shrugged. “Suit yourselves. If you change your mind, order another pizza and ask for Ruby.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As we shuffled inside, I saw Bakshi’s cheeks turn red. “I’m not actually—” he mumbled, but I didn’t let him finish. What had bothered me so much about the boy wasn’t the way he looked or acted; in fact, it wasn’t really the boy at all. He was just trying to make a buck. What bothered me was how ruthlessly we’d already begun to exploit each other.
For those of us who were heterosexual, sex was a definite weakness. I missed it. I would never have it with a woman again. The closest substitute was pornography, whose price rose with its popularity, but which, at least for me, now came scented with the unpleasantness of historicity and nostalgia. Videos and photos, not to mention physical magazines, were collector’s items in the same way that we once collected coins or action figures. The richest men bought up the exclusive rights to their favourite porn stars and guarded them by law with a viciousness once reserved for the RIAA and MPAA. Perhaps exclusivity gave them a possessive satisfaction. In response, we pirated whatever we could and fought for a pornographic public domain. Although new pornography was still being produced, either with the help of the same virtual technology they used for mainstream movies or with the participation of young men in costume, it lacked the taste of the originals. It was like eating chocolate made without cocoa. The best pornography, and therefore the best sex, became the pornography of the mind.
The Tribe of Akna reached its Kickstarter goal in early December. On December 20, I went to church for the first time since getting married because that was the theoretical date that my wife—along with every other woman—was supposed to have given birth. I wanted to be alone with others. Someone posted a video on TikTok from Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront, dubbing over Marlon Brando’s speech to say: “You don’t understand. I could’a had a piece of ass. I could’a been a school board member. I could’a been a son’s daddy”. It was juvenile and heartbreaking. By Christmas, the Surinamese government was already expelling its citizens, each of whom had theoretically been given a fraction of the funds paid to the government from the Tribe of Akna’s Kickstarter pool, and Salvador Abaroa’s lawyers were petitioning for international recognition of the new state of Xibalba. Neither Canada nor the United States opened diplomatic relations, but others did. I knew people who had pledged money, and when in January they disappeared on trips, I had no doubt to where. Infamy spread in the form of stories and urban legends. There’s no need for details. People disappeared, and ethicists wrote about the ethical neutrality of murder, arguing that because we were all slated to die, leaving the Earth barren in a century, destruction was a human inevitability, and what is inevitable can never be bad, even when it comes earlier than expected—even when it comes by force. Because, as a species, we hadn’t chosen destruction for ourselves, neither should any individual member of our species be able to choose now for himself. To the ethicists of what became known as the New Inevitability School, suicide was a greater evil than murder because it implied choice and inequality. If the ship was going down, no one should be allowed to get off. A second wave of suicides coincided with the debate, leading many governments to pass laws making suicide illegal. But how do you punish someone who already wants to die? In China: by keeping him alive and selling him to Xibalba, where he becomes the physical plaything of its citizens and visa-holders. The Chinese was the first embassy to open in Xibalban Paramaribo.
The men working on Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything continued working, steadily adding new variables to their equations, complicating their calculations in the hopes that someday the variable they added would be the final one and the equation would yield an answer. “It’s pointless,” Bakshi would comment after reading about one of the small breakthroughs they periodically announced. “Even if they do manage to predict something, anything, it won’t amount to anything more than the painfully obvious. And after decades of adding and subtracting their beans, they’ll come out of their Los Alamos datalabs like groundhogs into a world blanketed by storm clouds and conclude, finally and with plenty of self-congratulations, that it’s about to fucking rain.”
It rained a lot in February. It was one of the warmest Februaries in Toronto’s history. Sometimes I went for walks along the waterfront, talking to my wife, listening to Billie Holiday and trying to recall as many female faces as I could. Ones from the distant past: my mother, my grandmothers. Ones from the recent past: the woman whose life my wife saved on the way to the hospital, the Armenian woman with the film magazine and the injured son, the Jamaican woman, Bakshi’s wife. I focused on their faces, then zoomed out to see their bodies. I carried an umbrella but seldom opened it because the pounding of the raindrops against the material distorted my mental images. I saw people rush across the street holding newspapers above their heads while dogs roamed the alleyways wearing nothing at all. Of the two, it was dogs that had the shorter time left on Earth, and if they could let the rain soak their fur and drip off their bodies, I could surely let it run down my face. It was first my mother and later my wife who told me to always cover up in the rain, “because moisture causes colds,” but I was alone now and I didn’t want to be separated from the falling water by a sheet of glass anymore. I already was cold. I saw a man sit down on a bench, open his briefcase, pack rocks into it, then close it, tie it to his wrist, check his watch and start to walk into the polluted waters of Lake Ontario. Another man took out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. The man in the lake walked slowly, savouring each step. When the police arrived, sirens blaring, the water was up to his neck. I felt guilty for watching the three officers splash into the lake after him. I don’t know what happened after that because I turned my back and walked away. I hope they didn’t stop him. I hope he got to do what he wanted to do.
“Screw the police.” Bakshi passed me a book. “You should read this,” he said. It was by a professor of film and media studies at a small university in Texas. There was a stage on the cover, flanked by two red curtains. The photo had been taken from the actors’ side, looking out at an audience that the stage lights made too dark to see. The title was Hiding Behind The Curtains. I flipped the book over. There was no photo of the author. “It’s a theory,” Bakshi said, “that undercuts what Abaroa and the Inevitabilists are saying. It’s a little too poetic in parts but—listen, you ever read Atlas Shrugged?” I said I hadn’t. “Well, anyway, what this guy says is that what if instead of our situation letting us do anything we want, it’s actually the opposite, a test to see how we act when we only think that we’re doomed. I mean what if the women who died in March, what if they’re just—” “Hiding behind the curtains,” I said. He bit his lower lip. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that but, as a metaphor, it has a kind of elegance, right?” I flipped through the book, reading a few sentences at random. It struck me as neo-Christian. “Isn’t this a little too spiritual for you? I thought we were all locked into one path,” I said. “I thought that, too, but lately I’ve been able to do things—things that I didn’t really want to do.” For a second I was concerned. “Nothing bad,” he said. “I mean I’ve felt like I’m locked into doing one thing, say having a drink of water, but I resist and pour myself a glass of orange juice instead.” I shook my head. “It’s hard to explain,” he said. That’s how most theories ended, I thought: reason and evidence up to a crucial point, and then it gets so personal that it’s hard to explain. You either make the jump or you don’t. “Just read it,” he said. “Please read it. You don’t have to agree with it, I just want to get your opinion, an objective opinion.”
I never did read the book, and Bakshi forgot about it, too, but that day he was excited and happy, and those were rare feelings. I was simultaneously glad for him and jealous. Afterwards, we went out onto the balcony and drank Czech beer until morning. When it got cool, we put on our coats. It started to drizzle so we wore blue plastic suits like the ones they used to give you on boat rides in Niagara Falls. When it was time to go home, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. I almost got into a fight, the first one of my life, because I bumped into a man on the street and told him to get the fuck out of my way. I don’t remember much more of my walk home. The only reason I remember Behind The Curtains at all is because when I woke up in the afternoon it was the first thing that my hung over brain recognized. It was lying on the floor beside the bed. Then I opened the blinds covering my bedroom window and, through my spread fingers that I’d meant to use as a shield from the first blast of daylight, I saw the pincers for the first time.
They’d appeared while I was asleep. I turned on the television and checked my phone. The media and the internet were feverish, but nobody knew what the thing was, just a massive, vaguely rectangular shape blotting out a strip of the sky. NASA stated that it had received no extraterrestrial messages to coincide with the appearance. Every government claimed ignorance. The panel discussions on television only worsened my headache. Bakshi emailed me links to photos from Mumbai, Cape Town, Sydney and Mexico City, all showing the same shape; or rather one of a pair of shapes, for there were two of them, one on each side of the Earth, and they’d trapped our planet between themselves like gargantuan fingers clutching an equally gargantuan ping-pong ball. That’s why somebody came up with the term “the pincers”. It stuck. Because I’d slept in last night’s clothes I was already dressed, so I ran down the stairs and out of my apartment building to get a better look at them from the parking lot. You’re not supposed to look at the sun, but I wasn’t the only one breaking that rule. There were entire crowds with upturned faces in the streets. If the pincers, too, could see, they would perhaps be as baffled by us as we were of them: billions of tiny specks all over the surface of this ping-pong ball gathering in points on a grid, coagulating into large puddles that vanished overnight only to reassemble in the morning. In the following days, scientists scrambled to study the pincers and their potential effects on us, but they discovered nothing. The pincers did nothing. They emitted nothing, consumed nothing. They simply were. And they could not be measured or detected in any way other than by eyesight. When we shot rays at them, the rays continued on their paths unaffected, as if nothing was there. The pincers did, however, affect the sun’s rays coming towards us. They cut up our days. The sun would rise, travel over the sky, hide behind a pincer—enveloping us in a second night—before revealing itself again as a second day. But if the pincers’ physical effect on us was limited to its blockage of light, their mental effects on us were astoundingly severe. For many, this was the sign they’d been waiting for. It brought hope. It brought gloom. It broke and confirmed ideas that were hard to explain. In their ambiguity, the pincers could be anything, but in their strangeness they at least reassured us of the reality of the strange times in which we were living. Men walked away from the theory of everything, citing the pincers as the ultimate variable that proved the futility of prognostication. Others took up the calculations because if the pincers could appear, what else was out there in our future? However, ambiguity can only last for a certain period. Information narrows possibilities. On April 1, 2026, every Twitter account in the world received the following message:
as you can see this message is longer than the allowed one hundred forty characters time and space are malleable you thought you had one hundred years but prepare for the plucking
The sender was @. The message appeared in each user’s feed at exactly the same time and in his first language, without punctuation. Because of the date most of us thought it was a hoax, but the developers of Twitter denied this vehemently. It wasn’t until a court forced them to reveal their code, which proved that a message of that length and sent by a blank user was impossible, that our doubts ceased. ##!! took bets on what the message meant. Salvador Abaroa broadcast a response into space in a language he called Bodhi Mayan, then addressed the rest of us in English, saying that in the pincers he had identified an all-powerful prehistoric fire deity, described in an old Sanskrit text as having the resemblance of mirrored black fangs, whose appearance signified the end of time. “All of us will burn,” he said, “but paradise shall be known only to those who burn willingly.” Two days later, The Tribe of Akna announced that in one month it would seal Xibalba from the world and set fire to everything and everyone in it. For the first time, its spokesman said, an entire nation would commit suicide as one. Jonestown was but a blip. As a gesture of goodwill, he said that Xibalba was offering free immolation visas to anyone who applied within the next week. The New Inevitability School condemned the plan as “offensively unethical” and inequalitist and urged an international Xibalban boycott. Nothing came of it. When the date arrived, we watched with rapt attention on live streams and from the vantage points of circling news planes as Salvador Abaroa struck flint against steel, creating the spark that caught the char cloth, starting a fire that blossomed bright crimson and in the next weeks consumed all 163,821 square kilometres of the former Republic of Suriname and all 2,500,000 of its estimated Xibalban inhabitants. Despite concerns that the fire would spread beyond Xibalba’s borders, The Tribe of Akna had been careful. There were no accidental casualties and no unplanned property damage. No borders were crossed. Once the fire burned out, reporters competed to be first to capture the mood on the ground. Paramaribo resembled the smouldering darkness of a fire pit.
It was a few days later while sitting on Bakshi’s balcony, looking up at the pincers and rereading a reproduction of @’s message—someone had spray-painted it across the wall of a building opposite Bakshi’s—that I remembered Iris. The memory was so absorbing that I didn’t notice when Bakshi slid open the balcony door and sat down beside me, but I must have been smiling because he said, “I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you look a little loony tonight. Seriously, man, you do not look sufficiently freaked out.” I’d remembered Iris before, swirling elements of her plain face, but now I also remembered her words and her theory. I turned to Bakshi, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, and said, “Let’s get up on the roof of this place.” He grabbed my arm and held on tightly. “I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you mean.” It wasn’t what I meant, but I asked, “why not?” He said, “I don’t know. I know we’re fucked as a species and all that, but I figure if I’m still alive I might as well see what happens next, like in a bad movie you want to see through to the end.” I promised him that I wasn’t going to jump, either. Then I scrambled inside his apartment, grabbed my hat and jacket from the closet by the front door and put them on while speed walking down the hall, toward the fire escape. I realized I’d been spending a lot of time here. The alarm went off as soon I pushed open the door with my hip but I didn’t care. When Bakshi caught up with me, I was already outside, leaping up two stairs at a time. The metal construction was rusted. The treads wobbled. On the roof, the wind nearly blew my hat off and it was so loud I could have screamed and no one would have heard me. Holding my hat in my hands, I crouched and looked out over the twinkling city spread out in front of me. It looked alive in spite of the pincers in the sky. “Let’s do something crazy,” I yelled. Bakshi was still catching his breath behind me. “What, like this isn’t crazy enough?” The NHL may have been gone but my hat still bore the Maple Leafs logo, as quaint and obsolete by then as the Weimar Republic in the summer of 1945. “When’s the last time you played ball hockey?” I asked. Bakshi crouched beside me. “You’re acting weird. And I haven’t played ball hockey in ages.” I stood up so suddenly that Bakshi almost fell over. This time I knew I was smiling. “So call your buddies,” I said. “Tell them to bring their sticks and their gear and to meet us in front of the ACC in one hour.” Bakshi patted me on the back. Toronto shone like jewels scattered over black velvet. “The ACC’s been closed for years, buddy. I think you’re really starting to lose it.” I knew it was closed. “Lose what?” I asked. “It’s closed and we’re going to break in.”
The chains broke apart like shortbread. The electricity worked. The clouds of dust made me sneeze. We used duffel bags to mark out the goals. We raced up and down the stands and bent over, wheezing at imaginary finish lines. We got into the announcer’s booth and called each other cunts through the microphone. We ran, fell and shot rubber pucks for hours. We didn’t keep score. We didn’t worry. “What about the police?” someone asked. The rest of us answered: “Screw the fucking police!”
And when everybody packed up and went home, I stayed behind.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bakshi asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Because I have to get back so that I can shower, get changed and get to work.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“And you promise me you’ll catch a cab?”
“I’m not suicidal.”
He fixed his grip on his duffel bag. “I didn’t say you were. I was just checking.”
“I want to see the end of the movie, too,” I said.
He saluted. I watched him leave. When he was gone, my wife walked down from the nosebleeds and took a seat beside me. “There’s someone I want to tell you about,” I said. She lifted her chin like she always does when something unexpected catches her interest, and scooted closer. I put my arm across the back of her beautiful shoulders. She always liked that, even though the position drives me crazy because I tend to talk a lot with my hands. “Stuck at Leafs-Wings snorefest,” she said. “Game sucks but I love the man sitting beside me.” (January 15, 2019. Themes: hockey, love, me. Rating: 5/5). “Her name was Iris,” I said.

Iris

“What if the whole universe was a giant garden—like a hydroponics thing, like how they grow tomatoes and marijuana, so there wouldn’t need to be any soil, all the nutrients would just get injected straight into the seeds or however they do it—or, even better, space itself was the soil, you know how they talk about dark matter being this invisible and mysterious thing that exists out there and we don’t know what it does, if it actually affect anything, gravity…”
She blew a cloud of pot smoke my way that made me cough and probably gave her time to think. She said, “So dark matter is like the soil, and in this space garden of course they don’t grow plants but something else.”
“Galaxies?”
“Eyes.”
“Just eyes, or body parts in general?” I asked.
“Just eyes.”
The music from the party thumped. “But the eyes are our planets, like Mars is an eye, Neptune is an eye, and the Earth is an eye, maybe even the best eye.”
“The best for what? Who’s growing them?”
“God,” she said.
I took the joint from her and took a long drag. “I didn’t know you believed in God.”
“I don’t, I guess—except when I’m on dope. Anyway, you’ve got to understand me because when I say God I don’t mean like the old man with muscles and a beard. This God, the one I’m talking about, it’s more like a one-eyed monster.”
“Like a cyclops?” I asked.
“Yeah, like that, like a cyclops. So it’s growing these eyes in the dark matter in space—I mean right now, you and me, we’re literally sitting on one of these eyes and we’re contributing to its being grown because the nutrients the cyclops God injected into them, that’s us.”
“Why does God need so many extra eyes?”
“It’s not a question of having so many of them, but more about having the right one, like growing the perfect tomato.” I gave her back the joint and leaned back, looking at the stars. “Because every once in a while the cyclops God goes blind, its eye stops working—not in the same way we go blind, because the cyclops God doesn’t see reality in the same way we see reality—but more like we see through our brains and our eyes put together.”
“Like x-ray vision?” I asked.
“No, not like that at all,” she said.
“A glass eye?”
“Glass eyes are fake.”
“OK,” I said, “so maybe try something else. Give me a different angle. Tell me what role we’re playing in all of this because right now it seems that we’re pretty insignificant. I mean, you said we’re nutrients but what’s the difference between, say, Mars and Earth in terms of being eyes?”
She looked over at me. “Are you absolutely sure you want to hear about this?”
“I am,” I said.
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“Compared to what?”
“I don’t know, just stupid in general.”
“I don’t.”
“I like you,” she said.
“Because I don’t think you’re stupid?” I asked.
“That’s just a bonus. I mean more that you’re up here with me instead of being down there with everyone, and we’re talking and even though we’re not in love I know somehow we’ll never forget each other for as long as we live.”
“It’s hard to forget being on the surface of a giant floating eyeball.”
“You’re scared that you won’t find anyone to love,” she said suddenly, causing me to nearly choke on my own saliva. “Don’t ask me how I know—I just do. But before I go any further about the cyclops God, I want you to know that you’ll find someone to love and who’ll love you back, and whatever happens you’ll always have that because no one can take away the past.”
“You’re scared of going blind,” I said.
“I am going blind.”
“Not yet.”
“And I’m learning not to be scared because everything I see until that day will always belong to me.”
“The doctors said it would be gradual,” I reminded her.
“That’s horrible.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t want to find someone to love and then know that every day you wake up the love between you grows dimmer and dimmer, would you?”
“I guess not,” I said.
“Wouldn’t you much rather feel the full strength of that love up to and including in the final second before the world goes black?”
“It would probably be painful to lose it all at once like that.”
“Painful because you actually had something to lose. For me, I know I can’t wish away blindness, but I sure wish that the last image I ever see—in that final second before my world goes black—is the most vivid and beautiful image of all.”
Because I didn’t know what to say to that, I mumbled: “I’m sorry.”
“That I’m going blind?”
“Yeah, and that we can’t grow eyes.”
This time I looked over, and she was the one gazing at the stars. “Before, you asked if we were insignificant,” she said. “But because you’re sorry—that’s kind of why we’re the most significant of all, why Earth is better than the other planets.”
“For the cyclops God?”
“Yes.”
“He cares about my feelings?”
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking, but in a different way that’s exactly what the cyclops God cares about most because that’s what it’s looking for in an eye. All the amazing stuff we’ve ever built, all our ancient civilizations and supercomputers and cities you can see from the Moon—that’s just useless cosmetics to the cyclops God, except in how all of it has made us feel about things that aren’t us.”
“I think you’re talking about morality.”
“I think so, too.”
“So by feeling sorry for you I’m showing compassion, and the cyclops God likes compassion?”
“That’s not totally wrong but it’s a little upside down. We have this black matter garden and these planets the cyclops God has grown as potential eyes to replace its own eye once it stops working, but its own eye is like an eye and a brain mixed together. Wait—” she said.
I waited.
“Imagine a pair of tinted sunglasses.”
I imagined green-tinted ones.
“Now imagine that instead of the lenses being a certain colour, they’re a certain morality, and if you wear the glasses you see the world tinted according to that morality.”
I was kind of able to imagine that. I supposed it would help show who was good and who was bad. “But the eye and the tinted glasses are the same thing in this case.”
“Exactly, there’s no one without the other, and what makes the tint special is us—not that the cyclops God cares at all about individuals any more than we care about individual honey bees. That’s why he’s kind of a monster.”
“Isn’t people’s morality always changing, though?”
“Only up to a point. Green is green even when you have a bunch of shades of it, and a laptop screen still works fine even with a few dead pixels, right? And the more globalized and connected we get, the smoother our morality gets, but if you’re asking more about how our changing morals work when the cyclops God finally comes to take its eye, I assume it has a way to freeze our progress. To cut our roots. Then it makes some kind of final evaluation. If it’s satisfied it takes the planet and sticks it into its eye socket, and if it doesn’t like us then it lets us alone, although because we’re frozen and possibly rootless I suppose we die—maybe that’s what the other planets are, so many of them in space without any sort of life. Cold, rejected eyes.”
From sunglasses to bees to monitors in three metaphors, and now we were back to space. This was getting confusing. The stars twinkled, some of them dead, too: their light still arriving at our eyes from sources that no longer existed. “That’s kind of depressing,” I said to end the silence.
“What about it?”
“Being bees,” I said, “that work for so long at tinting a pair of glasses just so that a cyclops God can try them on.”
“I don’t think it’s any more depressing than being a tomato.”
“I’ve never thought about that.”
“You should. It’s beautiful, like love,” she said. “Because if you think about it, being a tomato and being a person are really quite similar. They’re both about growing and existing for the enjoyment of someone else. As a tomato you’re planted, you grow and mature and then an animal comes along and eats you. The juicier you look and the nicer you smell, the greater the chance that you’ll get plucked but also the more pleasure the animal will get from you. As a person, you’re also born and you grow up and you mature into a one of a kind personality with a one of a kind face, and then someone comes along and makes you fall in love with them and all the growing you did was really just for their enjoyment of your love.”
“Except love lasts longer than chewing a tomato.”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“And you have to admit that two tomatoes can’t eat each other the way two people can love each other mutually.”
“I admit that’s a good point,” she said.
“And what happens to someone who never gets fallen in love with?”
“The same thing that happens to a tomato that never gets eaten or an eye that the cyclops God never takes. They die and they rot, and they darken and harden, decomposing until they don’t look like tomatoes anymore. It’s not a nice fate. I’d rather live awhile and get eaten, to be honest.”
“As a tomato or person?”
“Both.”
I thought for a few seconds. “That explanation works for things on Earth, but nothing actually decomposes in space.”
“That’s why there are so many dead planets,” she said.
submitted by normancrane to cryosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.23 03:13 LetsRead_YouTube Backpacker Arson

On the 23 rd of June of the year 200, at around one o’clock in the morning, a guest at Childers Palace Backpackers Hostel in Queensland, Australia, found themselves stirring from their sleep. Bleary eyed and confused, they were initially annoyed that they could hear some kind of banging sound coming from the hall outside, and wondered just who could be inconsiderate enough to make so much noise in the middle of the night. But as they sat up in bed, they detected the scent of something distinct in the air around them, what might have been comforting if they’d known there were log fireplaces present in the hostel. Only there weren’t, and the smell of burning wood was accompanied by thick, black smoke trickling into the room from the crack underneath the door frame. As the guest threw himself out of bed, and shook awake his girlfriend who was sleeping in the bottom bunk, the realization only really hit him as the words passed his lips. “Get up, get up, the hostel is on fire!”
As the pair attempted to escape the building, crawling on their hands and knees to avoid inhaling the deadly black smoke, they pounded on the doors of their neighbours in an attempt to save as many lives as they could. There were no fire alarms blaring to warn the guests that anything was wrong, guests were only roused from their sleep by the warnings of others, and for some of them, those warnings came far too late. It was later reported that the hostel’s owner had actually installed fire alarms in the building, but they had all been deactivated in the weeks prior to the fire due to the systems malfunctioning, which had caused numerous false alarms. To compensate, the hostel’s owner had placed fire notes on the walls of the building, which showed the best escape route, and it was these that allowed the surviving guests to navigate their way out of the burning building. But the Palace Backpackers Hostel was a 100-year-old, two-story timber building, and the fire spread through the old, wooden structure with terrifying speed. The guest and his girlfriend fought their way out onto a first floor balcony, and luckily it was not too high of a jump, so they leapt to safety onto the ground below them, tucking and rolling as they landed to ensure they were not injured in the fall. They found their feet, and looked back onto the chaotic scene behind them. Those that couldn’t fight their way down to ground floor exits were forced to leap from balconies and windows onto the rooves of neighbouring buildings. Some were too weak to make the jumps, and landed in heaps of broken bones, their scream of pain only adding to the frenzy of flame and smoke. Around seventy backpackers managed to escape the hostel that night, with only ten of them suffering minor burns. The final escapees only managed to do so by the swift arrival of the local fire department, who raised ladders to the top floors in order for those trapped by the flames to climb down. However, fifteen backpackers, from all over the world, were not so lucky.
Immediately after the fire, residents of the local town of Childers donated food, blankets and backpacks to the survivors. A picnic bench in front of the building became something of a shrine to those lost in the fire, complete with flowers, heartfelt letters from those that survived, and fruit from the local farms. Twenty of the survivors returned a few days later to hold an impromptu memorial service with a local Catholic priest at the shrine. The service was broadcast all over the world, and made a huge impact in the news media. So much so, that Princess Ann of the British Royal Family visited Childers on the 2 nd of July, just a week after the blaze, to offer emotional support for the surviving backpackers and others involved in the disaster.
The surviving backpackers were taken to a nearby Cultural Centre that had the facilities to accommodate them, where they were subsequently questioned by local firefighters as to how the blaze could have started. Many of the survivors told them that they had simply woken up in the middle of the chaos, and had no idea how the fire could have started. There were no exposed flames, no candles or fireplaces in the entire hostel. But one survivor came forward with information regarding a strange figure who had been hanging around outside in the wee small hours of the morning, shortly before the flames ripped through the building. The guest told firefighters how he had woken up just after midnight to use the bathroom, when they had seen somebody standing outside by a burning trashcan. After noticing they were being watched, the figure extinguished the fire and the guest went back to bed, only to be awakened again about an hour later to banging sounds, shouting, and black smoke. The investigation quickly shifted from focussing on an accidental fire, to one of deliberate arson, and guests were then questioned by the police regarding any unusual characters that had been hanging around the hostel. Many then mentioned an aggressive local fruit picker by the name of Robert Long, who had been involved in a couple of run ins with his fellow guests, and was said to have a general distain for backpackers and tourists. Investigators also discovered that thirty eight year old Long had recently been evicted from the hostel after falling behind on the rent, and had vowed some form of revenge against the owners, although it as assumed that it was all just blustering and that he didn’t have it in him to actually seek retribution.
Police then publically announced that they wished to question Robert Long regarding with involvement with the fire, and asked the general public to come forward if they happened to know of his whereabouts. Five days later, an anonymous caller quickly tipped off local authorities that Long was camped out in some bushland, less than twenty miles from the town where the blaze took place. Police then drove out to the area, searching with a police dog until they found the suspected arsonist’s campsite. They approached the man, calmly asking if they could ask him a few questions surrounding the nature of the fire, as well as the threats he’d made against the hostel in the days prior. Long denied he was ever there on the day of the fire, insisting he had left the hostel on good terms and that the owners were trying
to make some kind of scapegoat out of him. But this contradicted the stories of many of the survivors, and Police then told Long he was going to be arrested on suspicion of arson. After hearing this, Long took out a knife and threatened the lives of the arresting officers. The police dog that accompanied them was then set on the suspect, but Long slashed at the dog so badly that the dog retreated from him and collapsed into the dirt. The officers then followed up the dog attack, trying to subdue the knife wielding arson suspect before he could manage to escape. One of the officers was stabbed in the chin during the arrest, and was extremely lucky that Long didn’t find their jugular vein. It was then that the other officer took out their sidearm, took aim, and put a bullet into Long’s shoulder to send him crashing to the ground, disarming him of the knife in the process. He then put handcuffs on the wounded suspect, and dragged him to the waiting police car so he could be taken into custody. All while his colleague tried to them the bleeding from their own wound, while comforting the injured police dog.
Just less than two years later, in March of 2002, Robert Long was found guilty of two charges of murder and arson, and then sentenced to life in prison by a jury of his peers. The trial judge said Long should serve a minimum of twenty years in jail for his “callous and cruel” crime. Although fifteen individuals died in the fire, Long had only been charged with two deaths in order to expedite the proceedings and to allow for other charges to be brought in the event of an acquittal. Shockingly enough, and in the face of overwhelming evidence, Long actually insisted on his innocence and quickly lodged an appeal, which was thankfully swiftly denied. However, in June of this year, Long became eligible for parole, although there has been no news regarding any parole hearings or any subsequent release date being confirmed.
As a tribute to those who lost their lives in such a senseless act of premeditated violence, Sydney artist Josonia Palaitis was commissioned to paint portraits of those who died in the fire. Josonia said it was “the most technically challenging and emotionally charged portrait I've ever undertaken”. Perhaps the artist's greatest challenge was to do the victim’s appearances justice, given that all she had were photos of them provided by their families. It was a painstaking process, but Josonia managed to arrange them in realistic poses, while maintaining the precise images from the photos. The background was researched by her to be typical of the Childers area fields where they had worked picking crops. It was a fitting tribute to the poor, unfortunate souls that ended up trapped in the Childers Palace Backpackers Hostel on the night it burned down. A horrifying avoidable tragedy perpetrated by a callous, evil man, who took the lives of fifteen innocents in a selfish, childish fit of rage.
submitted by LetsRead_YouTube to LetsReadOfficial [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 21:38 IAteYourLeftSock Information Age Release Details Confirmed

Details were posted on the forum, including the 300 level requirement to reach Information Age. Included is a new Parliament branch ("War Efforts") and new Alliance Perks (level 16-20) that affect everyone.
It appears Defense-focused but we'll see; consider not panicking yet :)
Note: the 300 level requirement was posted in a comment; and it appears comments require logging in to view.
The release date is unknown but likely will be September 21 or 22.
From the forum:
The Information Age
GCI Radar Fortify your base with the sleek new, lightning-fast GCI Radar trap
New Wonders This age comes with four new Wonders, each with its own unique benefits
New Library Techs
New Alliance Features
New Alliance Levels Perks Alliance Levels now include levels 16 through 20, with a unique perk included at each level.
Bug Fixes and Improvements
submitted by IAteYourLeftSock to Dominations [link] [comments]


2020.09.07 12:36 Ilusion_xc Please can someone make me a pc part list for me I'm struggling!

What will you be doing with this PC? Be as specific as possible, and include specific games or programs you will be using.
What is your maximum budget before rebates/shipping/taxes?
When do you plan on building/buying the PC? Note: beyond a week or two from today means any build you receive will be out of date when you want to buy.
What, exactly, do you need included in the budget? (ToweOS/monitokeyboard/mouse/etc)
Which country (and state/province) will you be purchasing the parts in? If you're in US, do you have access to a Microcenter location?
If reusing any parts (including monitor(s)/keyboard/mouse/etc), what parts will you be reusing? Brands and models are appreciated.
Will you be overclocking? If yes, are you interested in overclocking right away, or down the line? CPU and/or GPU?
Are there any specific features or items you want/need in the build? (ex: SSD, large amount of storage or a RAID setup, CUDA or OpenCL support, etc)
Do you have any specific case preferences (Size like ITX/microATX/mid-towefull-tower, styles, colors, window or not, LED lighting, etc), or a particular color theme preference for the components?
Do you need a copy of Windows included in the budget? If you do need one included, do you have a preference?
Extra info or particulars:
submitted by Ilusion_xc to buildapcforme [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 14:29 ParisHL FRL05R16 - Azerbaijan Grand Prix Preview & Submission Guide

Track Information

Track Layout
Information
Track Full Name: Baku City Circuit
Location: Azadliq Square, Baku
Country: Azerbaijan
Length: 6.003km
Laps: 51
GPS Coordinates: 40.372500 49.853333

Track Attributes

Engine Drag Downforce Overtaking
17 16 4 Easy

Weather

FP1 FP2 FP3 Qualifying Race
☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny

Predicted Results

Formula A
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Armand Hector Brickyard
2 Reyes Pinon Brickyard
3 Oliver Jacobsen WLD
4 Gil Salgado WLD
5 Elisha Izmaylov Red Bull
6 Fujiwara Nobuhisa Red Bull
7 Stanley Holden Ghost
8 Matthias Achen Pikainen
9 Teddy Dressler TVR
10 Luiz Silva Melo Ghost
11 Blanco Fiorentino Pikainen
12 Uwe Strauss Porsche
13 Brendan Maguire TVR
14 Peter Pallasmaa Chevrolet
15 Michael Howarth Harimau Racing
16 Michael Evans Chevrolet
17 Dominik Weyrauch Royal Awal
18 Moore D'Avis Royal Awal
19 Miron Pawlak Mercedes-AMG
20 Danny Bailey Porsche
21 Sabantsev Valentinovich Harimau Racing
22 Kristian Duff Mercedes-AMG
Formula B
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Adelmo Nappo Lotus
2 Scott Moore Honda Racing
3 Emanuel Batista Kaisersport
4 Zheleznov Valentinovich Lotus
5 Adrien Monier Honda Racing
6 Borys Zozulya BMW
7 Simone Marinelli Aston Martin
8 Kimi Samurakami BMW
9 Kristian Gottlieb Aston Martin
10 Sebastian Jaros Sovereign
11 Ferrau Mousseau Kaisersport
12 Jakob Kjeldsen Sovereign
13 Willem Krieger Scuderia Fiore
14 Amato Savoca Andrieux
15 Leon Ismail Dusk
16 Patrick Brennan Arcuri Motorsports
17 Alex Pope Tomkins Autosport
18 Hattori Torajiro Dusk
19 Faustino Acuna Andrieux
20 Bruce Holland Scuderia Fiore
21 Abbe Nystrom Mercury
22 Magnus Norgaard Mercury
23 Lionel Garcia Arcuri Motorsports
24 Eddie Hobbs Tomkins Autosport
25 Marco Florstedt Sokolov
26 Caleb Macdermott Sokolov

Race Weekend Strategy Submissions

User Activity
All team owners are checked for activity after each race weekend. From the commencement of the season, team owners that are inactive will receive the following penalties.
Any failure to submit a race weekend strategy will also incur a loss of 8 setup hours on each car.
A team owner can give prior notices for inactivity, for example a holiday or a known loss of internet connections. In such a case the team boss will not receive warnings. The notices have to be given by the team owner themselves to the FRL Presidents, others cannot do that for him/her! Also absences need to be reasonable in time and reason!
All warnings and strikes will be reset back to zero at the start of each season.

Submission deadline

All strategies must be received by 11:59pm Sydney, Australia time on the Thursday prior to Free Practice on the Friday.

Race Strategy

Prior to the date of the Practice sessions, you can submit a race weekend strategy, which will allow you to replace your main drivers with Test or Youth drivers for Free Practice, as well as focus on your team's car setup for both Qualifying and Race.
Free Practice
In Free Practice 1 you can rotate your drivers to get an understanding of their true abilities. For example, you may wish to run your Test Driver instead of your retiring Main Driver to judge his or her abilities to your other current Main Driver.
This is also an opportunity to give your youth drivers a run, but they can only participate on race weekends that don’t clash with Formula D race weekends. Bare in mind that Free Practice 1 & 2 is a gauge of your cars race trim whilst Free Practice 3 is run in qualifying trim.
Qualifying and Race Setup Points
There are two areas of the car for each user to set up, engine mode and chassis work. Higher BHP in the engine mode will increase a cars top speed whereas more set up time invested in chassis work will increase overall speed.
The user can spend between -40 and +40 BHP in both qualifying and the race for each car each weekend. At the end of the season teams will be charged 0.01m per BHP over zero for each car. Teams will be advised how much they have spent in total per car each race.
Users will also have a total of 143 hours of setup to spend on each car for either Qualifying or the Race for each weekend with a maximum of 8 hours per Qualifying and Race sessions (a maximum of 16 per race weekend). Teams can also upgrades their Mechanics Training Facility under factories to increase the effectiveness of chassis set up.
Once a team has exhausted their hours on a particular car, they cannot submit anymore setup hours but teams are also under no obligation to use all of their allocation.
If you sub out one of your main drivers for a Test or Youth Driver, they will have their setup points allocation halved, but it will still cost your the same amount of setup points. For example, if you allocate 8 hours each for both Qualifying and Race, but sub out the Main Driver for a Youth Driver, your setup increase will only be 4 and 4.
A driver must drive the car they have driven the most in that season.
Qualifying Run Times
Each car may set up to three flying laps in Q1 and Q2 and two flying laps in Q3. Each user is to choose the number of flying laps in each session ranging from 1 to 3 in the session for Q1 and Q2, and between 1 and 2 minutes in Q3.
The more laps each driver runs in a session increases the likelihood of mechanical failures and driver errors. Teams are under no obligation to run the maximum amount of flying laps but are encouraged to submit for all three sessions even if reaching later sessions seems unlikely.

How to Submit

In your private team channel, please type !strat and then your teams name all one word (or example, !stratferrari or !stratracingpoint) and fill out the form like you see in the example below.
As an example, your submission could look something like this:
Car A
FP 1 Driver: John Smith (Main)
Quali/Race Driver: John Smith (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours- Q: 4 , R: 6
Engine Set Up - Q: +12 , R: -5
Q1 Laps: 3
Q2 Laps: 3
Q3 Laps: 2
Car B
FP 1 Driver: Terry Johns (Test)
Quali/Race Driver: Harry McKirk (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours - Q: 2 , R: 8
Engine Set Up - Q: -10 , R: +10
Q1 Laps: 1
Q2 Laps: 1
Q3 Laps: 2
submitted by ParisHL to frl [link] [comments]


2020.09.06 07:33 fintaxgroup BOOKKEEPING

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The team at FinTax Group are accountants, offering a range of services, including bookkeeping, taxation & SMSF Accounting. We are fully compliant and flexible, able to customise our services to suit your business. Whether you’re using Xero, MYOB or any other accounting software, we are able to assist and happy to provide tutorials on the general use of the programs for your day-to-day management.

Arrange Bookkeeping Services in Sydney, Newtown, Camperdown, Erskineville, Marrickville and Beyond

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You can reach our Office on 02 80332327. Alternatively, please send an email to [email protected] and we will get back to you as soon as possible with the information you require. We look forward to hearing from you.
submitted by fintaxgroup to u/fintaxgroup [link] [comments]


2020.08.30 15:09 ParisHL FRL05R15 - Italian Grand Prix Preview & Submission Guide

Track Information

Track Layout
Information
Track Full Name: Autodromo Nazionale Monza
Location: Monza
Country: Italy
Length: 5.793km
Laps: 53
GPS Coordinates: 45.620556 9.289444

Track Attributes

Engine Drag Downforce Overtaking
20 19 1 Very Easy

Weather

FP1 FP2 FP3 Qualifying Race
☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny ☀️ Sunny

Predicted Results

Formula A
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Armand Hector Brickyard
2 Reyes Pinon Brickyard
3 Oliver Jacobsen WLD
4 Gil Salgado WLD
5 Luiz Silva Melo Ghost
6 Fujiwara Nobuhisa Red Bull
7 Blanco Fiorentino Pikainen
8 Stanley Holden Ghost
9 Elisha Izmaylov Red Bull
10 Teddy Dressler TVR
11 Matthias Achen Pikainen
12 Uwe Strauss Porsche
13 Brendan Maguire TVR
14 Michael Evans Chevrolet
15 Dominik Weyrauch Royal Awal
16 Peter Pallasmaa Chevrolet
17 Michael Howarth Harimau Racing
18 Moore D'Avis Royal Awal
19 Miron Pawlak Mercedes-AMG
20 Sabantsev Valentinovich Harimau Racing
21 Kristian Duff Mercedes-AMG
22 Danny Bailey Porsche
Formula B
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Adelmo Nappo Lotus
2 Zheleznov Valentinovich Lotus
3 Emanuel Batista Kaisersport
4 Scott Moore Honda Racing
5 Adrien Monier Honda Racing
6 Borys Zozulya BMW
7 Simone Marinelli Aston Martin
8 Kimi Samurakami BMW
9 Ferrau Mousseau Kaisersport
10 Sebastian Jaros Sovereign
11 Jakob Kjeldsen Sovereign
12 Kristian Gottlieb Aston Martin
13 Alex Pope Tomkins Autosport
14 Amato Savoca Andrieux
15 Willem Krieger Scuderia Fiore
16 Faustino Acuna Andrieux
17 Patrick Brennan Arcuri Motorsports
18 Leon Ismail Dusk
19 Bruce Holland Scuderia Fiore
20 Hattori Torajiro Dusk
21 Abbe Nystrom Mercury
22 Magnus Norgaard Mercury
23 Lionel Garcia Arcuri Motorsports
24 Eddie Hobbs Tomkins Autosport
25 Marco Florstedt Sokolov
26 Caleb Macdermott Sokolov

Race Weekend Strategy Submissions

User Activity
All team owners are checked for activity after each race weekend. From the commencement of the season, team owners that are inactive will receive the following penalties.
Any failure to submit a race weekend strategy will also incur a loss of 8 setup hours on each car.
A team owner can give prior notices for inactivity, for example a holiday or a known loss of internet connections. In such a case the team boss will not receive warnings. The notices have to be given by the team owner themselves to the FRL Presidents, others cannot do that for him/her! Also absences need to be reasonable in time and reason!
All warnings and strikes will be reset back to zero at the start of each season.

Submission deadline

All strategies must be received by 11:59pm Sydney, Australia time on the Thursday prior to Free Practice on the Friday.

Race Strategy

Prior to the date of the Practice sessions, you can submit a race weekend strategy, which will allow you to replace your main drivers with Test or Youth drivers for Free Practice, as well as focus on your team's car setup for both Qualifying and Race.
Free Practice
In Free Practice 1 you can rotate your drivers to get an understanding of their true abilities. For example, you may wish to run your Test Driver instead of your retiring Main Driver to judge his or her abilities to your other current Main Driver.
This is also an opportunity to give your youth drivers a run, but they can only participate on race weekends that don’t clash with Formula D race weekends. Bare in mind that Free Practice 1 & 2 is a gauge of your cars race trim whilst Free Practice 3 is run in qualifying trim.
Qualifying and Race Setup Points
There are two areas of the car for each user to set up, engine mode and chassis work. Higher BHP in the engine mode will increase a cars top speed whereas more set up time invested in chassis work will increase overall speed.
The user can spend between -40 and +40 BHP in both qualifying and the race for each car each weekend. At the end of the season teams will be charged 0.01m per BHP over zero for each car. Teams will be advised how much they have spent in total per car each race.
Users will also have a total of 143 hours of setup to spend on each car for either Qualifying or the Race for each weekend with a maximum of 8 hours per Qualifying and Race sessions (a maximum of 16 per race weekend). Teams can also upgrades their Mechanics Training Facility under factories to increase the effectiveness of chassis set up.
Once a team has exhausted their hours on a particular car, they cannot submit anymore setup hours but teams are also under no obligation to use all of their allocation.
If you sub out one of your main drivers for a Test or Youth Driver, they will have their setup points allocation halved, but it will still cost your the same amount of setup points. For example, if you allocate 8 hours each for both Qualifying and Race, but sub out the Main Driver for a Youth Driver, your setup increase will only be 4 and 4.
A driver must drive the car they have driven the most in that season.
Qualifying Run Times
Each car may set up to three flying laps in Q1 and Q2 and two flying laps in Q3. Each user is to choose the number of flying laps in each session ranging from 1 to 3 in the session for Q1 and Q2, and between 1 and 2 minutes in Q3.
The more laps each driver runs in a session increases the likelihood of mechanical failures and driver errors. Teams are under no obligation to run the maximum amount of flying laps but are encouraged to submit for all three sessions even if reaching later sessions seems unlikely.

How to Submit

In your private team channel, please type !strat and then your teams name all one word (or example, !stratferrari or !stratracingpoint) and fill out the form like you see in the example below.
As an example, your submission could look something like this:
Car A
FP 1 Driver: John Smith (Main)
Quali/Race Driver: John Smith (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours- Q: 4 , R: 6
Engine Set Up - Q: +12 , R: -5
Q1 Laps: 3
Q2 Laps: 3
Q3 Laps: 2
Car B
FP 1 Driver: Terry Johns (Test)
Quali/Race Driver: Harry McKirk (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours - Q: 2 , R: 8
Engine Set Up - Q: -10 , R: +10
Q1 Laps: 1
Q2 Laps: 1
Q3 Laps: 2
submitted by ParisHL to frl [link] [comments]


2020.08.29 18:20 IdolA29Augl Fa-st G-ay Spe-ed Da-ting Minn-esota

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2020.08.26 13:44 mortified_penguin- Upgrade on a $1800 AUD budget

Looking to upgrade my budget PC:
CPU i3-8300
GPU MSI RX 580 ARMOR 8G OC
Motherboard Gigabyte B360M H
Memory Corsair Vengeance LPX (2x4GB)
Storage Crucial MX500 1TB (2x)
Monitor Acer KG271UA 27" 2K
PSU Corsair CX550M
Case Cougar MX340
The RX 580 has sufficed for the most part but it's a bit noisy (and hot) on max settings for newer games and struggles with 1440p.
What will you be doing with this PC? Be as specific as possible, and include specific games or programs you will be using.
Software development and simulation games with some image editing.
IDEs:
Editors:
Games:
What is your maximum budget before rebates/shipping/taxes?
$1800 AUD (~ $1297 USD at the time of this post).
When do you plan on building/buying the PC? Note: beyond a week or two from today means any build you receive will be out of date when you want to buy.
Preferably sometime next week since I'll be on leave and have free time to build it. I can wait if there's something better on the horizon though.
What, exactly, do you need included in the budget? (ToweOS/monitokeyboard/mouse/etc)
Upgrading the CPU and GPU definitely. Mobo along with the case and RAM.
SSD, monitor and peripherals are not required.
Which country (and state/province) will you be purchasing the parts in? If you're in US, do you have access to a Microcenter location?
Australia, Sydney.
If reusing any parts (including monitor(s)/keyboard/mouse/etc), what parts will you be reusing? Brands and models are appreciated.
Monitor, peripherals and both SSDs. MonitoSSD brands are as above while the mouse/keyboard are Logitech M590/K120.
Will you be overclocking? If yes, are you interested in overclocking right away, or down the line? CPU and/or GPU?
Not interested in overclocking - neither now or in the future.
Are there any specific features or items you want/need in the build? (ex: SSD, large amount of storage or a RAID setup, CUDA or OpenCL support, etc)
None that I can think of at the moment.
What type of network connectivity do you need? (Wired and/or WiFi) If WiFi is needed and you would like to find the fastest match for your wireless router, please list any specifics.
Wired. I'll be reusing CAT 6 cables from the previous build.
Do you have any specific case preferences (Size like ITX/microATX/mid-towefull-tower, styles, colors, window or not, LED lighting, etc), or a particular color theme preference for the components?
Not concerned with the case's aesthetics (in fact the less LEDs/flashy addons the better). As for size, anything bigger than the MX340 with a decent number of fans would be preferred.
Do you need a copy of Windows included in the budget? If you do need one included, do you have a preference?
Not required. I use a licenced version of W10 Enterprise.
Extra info or particulars:
I would prefer the CPU to be Intel as Arma 3's engine favours it over AMD. But if AMD has something that runs just as well for a lower price then that's okay too. As for RAM, 16GB minimum with low timings (CL15 or less) and fast speeds (>3000 MHz) would be preferred as Arma 3 eats a tonne of RAM.
I'm open to getting a new PSU if required since I'm not sure about whether the current one will be enough.
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2020.08.24 07:13 lolpolice88 British Colonial Christianist Terrorist Coward stirred on by online Rightwing, White Power, Christianist, Terrorist Cells, Trumpscum, Church Cults, Skewed Historical Education and complicit media boosting scumbags like those Colonial Canadian Cunts for engagement. Racists free, Ihumatao etc targeted

https://www.rnz.co.nz/news/national/424269/a-loner-with-a-lot-of-money-a-look-into-the-christchurch-mosque-gunman-s-past
Tim Brown,
Warning: this story includes distressing details of the 15 March mosque terrorism attacks.
It's 1.28pm on a still and warm Christchurch Friday.
An almost entirely unknown 28 year old, who in coming days will be referred to in the most banal of terms in light of his actions - traveller, gym junkie, computer nerd - is sitting in his parked Subaru Outback in Leslie Hills Drive.
He is typing up his final post to the toxic online world of 8Chan.
"Well lads, it's time to stop shitposting and time to make a real life effort post.
"I will carry out and [sic] attack against the invaders, and will even live stream the attack via facebook."
The message is accompanied by a link to his Facebook profile and a 74-page 'manifesto'.
His actions over the next half-hour will make Brenton Harrison Tarrant arguably New Zealand's most reviled figure.
The shooting of more than 90 innocent worshippers on 15 March 2019 shocks the world.
Many people will not support our decision to tell this story, in fact many will be angered at us mentioning his name. But, while not seeking to glorify the killer's actions, we believe it is appropriate to try to understand him.
The story of Tarrant's descent from a quiet blonde-haired Aussie boy to New Zealand's first convicted terrorist is far more prosaic than the atrocity which brought him to global attention.
Born on 27 October 1990 to Rodney and Sharon Tarrant in Grafton, about 500 kilometres north of Sydney in regional New South Wales, he was the youngest of two siblings.
His father, a garbage collector, and his mother, a teacher, were well-respected in the community and the wider Tarrant family was well-known in the surrounding Clarence Valley area.
His parents separated before he was a teenager, but his cousin Donna Cox told 7News there was nothing in the family's background to suggest Tarrant would one day become the perpetrator of one of the world's deadliest mass shootings.
"He was never raised like that, in that sort of environment, you know? There was no violence. No family's perfect, but certainly nothing like that," she said.
He attended Grafton High School. But there was nothing remarkable about his schooling years.
He tried rugby league. But, again, he was unexceptional.
He suffered bullying at the hands of his peers.
"There was a time when he was picked on pretty badly. Grafton can be a pretty harsh place ... so if you're overweight and a bit what some people might call useless on the field, you're going to probably get picked on," junior rugby league teammate Daniel Tuite told The Australian.
Tuite said even back then Tarrant kept to himself.
After high school he landed a job at Big River Gym in his hometown. He worked there from 2009 until 2011.
The gym's manager, Tracey Gray, said Tarrant was dedicated to physical fitness.
"He would train a lot, and some could say quite excessively, but then he was passionate about health and fitness and making those changes in his personal space."
Fitness was a passion he shared with his father Rodney, an avid runner and triathlete.
In 2010, Rodney died at age 49 following a diagnosis of mesothelioma - an aggressive and deadly form of cancer.
According to all accounts Rodney and his son were close, and many speculated it was the loss of his father that started the younger Tarrant's descent.

Wandering the world, looking for purpose

About a year after his father's death Tarrant introduced himself to Aussie Stock Forums, saying he had came into the ownership of about $500,000.
"Recently came into contact with a bit of capital due to the passing away of my father.
"Really don't want to lose the money as he paid for it with 30+ years of his life," his introductory post said.
He asked for investment and life advice from those on the forum.
"You need to change your whole vibe, IMO," one user later told him.
"Based on what you're saying, you have no self-confidence or self-respect, but it's those very attitudes that are needed for success in any endeavour."
Tarrant responded: "My self respect is through the roof, I can truly do anything I put my mind to."
"I am a goddamn monster of willpower, I just need a goal or object to work towards."

On the forum he mulled joining the Australian Defence Force, getting into the real estate industry, or even operating some kind of Australia-wide online brothel.
None of it came to fruition.
Most of his posts were flippant and it seems by August he still had not found a goal or objective.
His calls for advice - financial or otherwise - ended.
Soon after Tarrant began to travel the world.
He visited vast swathes of Asia and Europe.
It appeared he was particularly interested in the countries which had sat on the shifting borders between the Ottoman Empire and Europe during the late medieval and early modern eras.
He visited many sites of historical battles between European nations and the Turkish caliphate.
His grandmother, Marie Fitzgerald, told 9News she believed those travels had changed him.
"It's only since he travelled overseas I think that boy has changed - completely to the boy we knew."

A recluse in New Zealand's south

Around August 2017 he moved to Dunedin, by which time - according to himself - he had already decided on carrying out some kind of extremist attack.
He claimed New Zealand was initially intended as only a training ground, but a month later he applied for a New Zealand firearms licence.
In October 2017 he was interviewed at his Somerville Street home by a vetting officer and a month later granted the licence.
Soon after he started stockpiling firearms and ammunition.
Neighbours of his Andersons Bay duplex flat said any interactions with Tarrant were brief and unremarkable.
He was polite, but kept to himself and no one recalled any other vehicles or people coming or going from the flat.
From early 2018 he practiced shooting at the Bruce Rifle Club, just out of Milton - about 50 kilometres south of Dunedin.
He was also a member of a South Dunedin gym.
A staff member described him as a "loner with a lot of money, but no job".
His membership was paid in full and put on hold in October 2018 as he took his final trip overseas.
He visited Pakistan, spending time in the north of the country along the border with Afghanistan.
His social media from the time suggested he also visited parts of Europe during the trip.
According to The Australian, his mother and her partner visited him around Christmas 2018.
She found him living in "hermit-like isolation" in uninviting conditions. There were not even sheets on his bed.
Marie Fitzgerald later recalled her daughter's details of the visit for The Sydney Morning Herald.
"They just thought he was in a bad place then because he got the guns out of the car and showed them that he had guns. If your son does things like that you think 'My God'. He said he was in a rifle club or something. It wasn't the best thing to be in but he had to occupy his time somehow.
"They never told me for ages [upon their return] that he wasn't in a good place. The place he had, there was no place for visitors. Sharon felt that he was in the wrong state of mind."
On 9 January 2019 he renewed his Subaru Outback's licence online, but he only paid for two months registration, though until 16 March 2019 perhaps indicating he had an end date in mind.
The day before the 15 March attacks he posted links on his Facebook profile to 43 different articles, videos and webpages which collectively give a glimpse into his hateful, racist and distorted anti-immigrant worldview, posting similar content to Twitter on the same day.
He also changed his profile picture to a meme of an Australian 'ocker' brandishing a beer bottle with the words "Hold still while I glass you" written across the image. A meme popular among a group of Australian white supremacists on Twitter.

Another Coward Christianist Colonial Mass Murder of brown people in Aotearoa

On 15 March 2019, firearms and ammunition packed into his Subaru Outback along with canisters of fuel, he made the 360km trip north to Christchurch.
On that afternoon he sent final farewells to his mother and his coterie of anonymous online acquaintances.
According to The Australian, he messaged his mother to tell her she would read and hear terrible things about him, but he had decided on his purpose and it was no reflection on her.
Just how alone he was at that moment was exemplified in his last message to 8chan.
"It's been a long ride and ... you are all top blokes and the best bunch of cobbers a man could ask for," Tarrant posted.
His friends were faceless, his interactions existent only in cyberspace.
At 1.33pm he began livestreaming to his Facebook profile.
Tarrant drove the short distance around the block from Leslie Hills Drive, in an industrial estate in the suburb of Riccarton - east of Christchurch's central city, to Deans Avenue where Al Noor Mosque is located.
At 1.36pm, he pulled to the side of the road only a few hundred metres from the mosque. He sat there for just over a minute before saying "All right, time's up", pulling back into the traffic and continuing towards the mosque.
At 1.40pm he approached the front door armed with a shotgun and semi-automatic rifle, and opened fire.
Six minutes later he left for Linwood Mosque to continue his attack.
In just 15 minutes 49 people were dead.
Soon after another died in Christchurch Hospital, and in the weeks following the toll rose to 51.
Forty more were wounded but survived.
Their stories will be heard over the coming days as New Zealand's first convicted terrorist is held to account for his horrific actions 529 days ago."
https://www.rnz.co.nz/news/national/424297/christchurch-mosque-attack-victims-address-gunman-we-did-not-deserve-your-actions
Tim Brown,
The bravery of Christchurch terror attack victim, Naeem Rashid, saved the lives of others.
Naeem Rashid charged at Brenton Harrison Tarrant as he sprayed bullets around Al Noor Mosque at worshippers attempting to escape the main prayer room.
Despite being shot Rashid crashed into the gunman, knocking him onto a knee.
Tarrant is being sentenced in the High Court at Christchurch today for the murder of 51 worshippers at Al Noor Mosque and Linwood Mosque on 15 March 2019.
This is the first time the summary of facts of how Tarrant carried out his crimes has been heard.
The 29 year old sat quietly and emotionless as his actions were detailed in court.
The summary of facts was read this morning, detailing the terrorist's bloody attack.
Heavily armed and wearing a full tactical vest with at least seven fully loaded firearms magazines and a bayonet-style knife attached, Tarrant entered the grounds of Al Noor Mosque and opened fire shortly after the beginning of Jumu'ah.
In his car were more firearms and incendiary devices fashioned from petrol cannisters.
The summary detailed how Rashid's actions saved lives by allowing others to escape the prayer room after Tarrant entered the mosque.
"The main prayer room is a large open-plan room with few exits. At this time there were in excess of 120 worshippers present. On hearing the first shots this large group had moved en masse towards the only two exits - one in the north-eastern corner and one in the south-eastern corner," the summary said.
"In these corners the worshippers were huddled together and on top of each other attempting to hide from the defendant as there was nowhere for them to escape in the open room.
"The defendant turned to his right and fired 32 shots from his AR-15 into the mass of people in the north-eastern corner of the room. The rate of fire was extremely high and the defendant moved the AR-15 across and back many times.
"While continuing to fire into this group the defendant turned his head and looked at a similar group of people huddled together trying to escape through a single-exit door located in the south-eastern corner of the room.
"The defendant turned the firearm towards the south-eastern mass of people. As he did this, Naeem Rashid ran at the defendant from the south-eastern corner of the room.
"When Mr Rashid was approximately one metre from the defendant, the defendant swung the AR-15 around and fired four shots at point-blank range with one shot hitting Mr Rashid's left shoulder.
"Mr Rashid crashed into the defendant and the defendant went down on one knee. The impact dislodged one of the ammunition magazines from the defendant's tactical vest.
"Mr Rashid's actions allowed a number of other worshippers to escape."
Tarrant shot the injured man three more times - killing him.
He murdered 44 people at the mosque and 35 others suffered gunshot wounds.
The terrorist then drove to Linwood Mosque, where he killed seven more and injured five others.
Prosecutor Barnaby Hawes told the court Tarrant was amused by what he had done at Al Noor Mosque.
"The defendant drove away at a high speed. During this journey the defendant was talking and laughing about various aspects of what had occurred and what was occurring as a form of commentary."

Planning and reconnaissance

The summary revealed Tarrant modified his high-powered rifles, purchased legally using a New Zealand firearms licence.
He utilised military-specification sighting systems and telescopic sights. He also modified the triggers to allow him to fire the guns at a faster rate.
He also bought some 7000 rounds of ammunition.
The terrorist used the internet to obtain information about mosques around New Zealand including detailed plans, interior pictures, and details such as prayer times and important dates in the Islamic calendar.
On 8 January 2019, he travelled to Christchurch from his home in Dunedin to carry out reconnaissance of Al Noor Mosque.
Taking a position across the road, he flew a drone over the mosque and recorded an aerial view of its grounds and buildings.
"The defendant then flew the drone back over the Al Noor Mosque, in particular the entry and exit doors," the summary of facts said.
"From this time the Al Noor Mosque and the Linwood Islamic Centre became his primary targets to attack. He also planned to attack the Ashburton Mosque after leaving the Linwood Islamic Centre.
"The defendant made detailed notes regarding the timings as to entry to the mosques and anticipated times for carrying out the attacks and travelling between the mosques.
"The planned time for entry was to ensure the maximum number of worshippers would be present.
"The defendant analysed the mosque layouts to determine likely exit routes fleeing worshippers might utilise."

The terrorist's explanation

Following the attack on Linwood Islamic Centre, Tarrant left along Linwood Avenue before turning right into Aldwins Road and right onto Brougham Street.
Two police officers in a patrol car were able to ram his vehicle and arrest him without resistance.
During his interview with police he admitted carrying out the attacks and said he went into both mosques with the intention of killing as many people as he could.
"He admitted that the incendiary devices were to burn the mosques down and said he wished he had done so," the summary said.
"He stated that he wanted to have shot more people than he did and was on the way to another mosque in Ashburton to carry out another attack when he was stopped.
"In his interview the defendant referred to his attacks as 'terror attacks'. He further stated the attacks were motivated by his ideological beliefs and he intended to instil fear into those he described as 'invaders' including the Muslim population or more generally non-European immigrants."

Attacker 'misguided and misled'

Victims of the attack have started reading their victim impact statements.
Gamal Fouda, Imam of the Al Noor Mosque, addressed the gunman directly as he read his statement.
Fouda was starting a sermon when the gunman entered the mosque.
"You were misguided and misled," he told Tarrant.
"We are a peaceful and loving community. We did not deserve your actions.
"We go to the mosque for peace and worship.
"Your hatred is unnecessary. If you have done anything you have brought the community closer together with your evil actions."
The convicted terrorist made eye contact with the Imam, but did not react in anyway.
He sat emotionless, shackled and surrounded by Corrections officers.
The parents of Ata Elayyan told the convicted terrorist they would never forgive him for taking their son's life.
Ata Elayyan was murdered at Al Noor Mosque.
Ata's father, Mohammad Alayan, recited the Quran to the court.
Earlier on 15 March 2019, he had swapped cars with Ata so he could move property from his apartment.
Alayan told his son to come to Al Noor Mosque early so "he could gain maximum rewards from this blessed day" and swap cars again.
"The day started beautifully - there is no match for Ata's wonderful smile to make a day," he said.
He had met with other organisers at the mosque before prayers began.
The details of the shooting were vague, but he remembered being in severe pain spiritually.
"I was in a state of deep worry about my beloved son praying to Allah that Ata was delayed from coming to the mosque and also in deep sadness for my beloved dead brothers next to me," he said.
They had no news about Ata that day.
"For three days we did not have any news on our beloved Ata.
"Then the devastating news came. Ata had passed away."
When he finally saw Ata's body he was "sitting in his casket as beautiful as an angel with a beautiful smile on his face".
Ata's mother, Maysoon Salama, told Tarrant he had not only killed her son, but his own humanity.
"You gave yourself the authority to take the souls of 51 innocent people. Their only crime in your eyes was being Muslim," she said to him.
"You terrorised the whole of New Zealand and saddened the world. You killed your own humanity and I don't think the world will forgive you for your horrible crime against humanity."
She called on Allah to ensure he would face the most severe punishment in the hereafter.
"You transgressed and you thought you could break us. You failed miserably.
"Our beloved ones are martyrs."
Ata's mother, Maysoon Salama, told Tarrant he had not only killed her son but his own humanity.
She said she doesn't believe the world will ever forgive him."
submitted by lolpolice88 to Maori [link] [comments]


2020.08.24 00:38 ParisHL FRL05R14 - German Grand Prix Preview & Submission Guide

Track Information

Track Layout
Information
Track Full Name: Nürburgring
Location: Nurburg
Country: Germany
Length: 5.148km
Laps: 60
GPS Coordinates: 50.335556 6.947500

Track Attributes

Engine Drag Downforce Overtaking
9 8 12 Normal

Weather

FP1 FP2 FP3 Qualifying Race
🌦️ Light Rain 🌦️ Light Rain 🌥️ Cloudy 🌦️ Light Rain 🌦️ Light Rain

Predicted Results

Formula A
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Oliver Jacobsen WLD
2 Reyes Pinon Brickyard
3 Armand Hector Brickyard
4 Gil Salgado WLD
5 Fujiwara Nobuhisa Red Bull
6 Elisha Izmaylov Red Bull
7 Stanley Holden Ghost
8 Brendan Maguire TVR
9 Teddy Dressler TVR
10 Luiz Silva Melo Ghost
11 Matthias Achen Pikainen
12 Blanco Fiorentino Pikainen
13 Uwe Strauss Porsche
14 Dominik Weyrauch Royal Awal
15 Peter Pallasmaa Chevrolet
16 Moore D'Avis Royal Awal
17 Michael Evans Chevrolet
18 Michael Howarth Harimau Racing
19 Danny Bailey Porsche
20 Miron Pawlak Mercedes-AMG
21 Kristian Duff Mercedes-AMG
22 Sabantsev Valentinovich Harimau Racing
Formula B
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Scott Moore Honda Racing
2 Zheleznov Valentinovich Lotus
3 Adelmo Nappo Lotus
4 Emanuel Batista Kaisersport
5 Adrien Monier Honda Racing
6 Ferrau Mousseau Kaisersport
7 Borys Zozulya BMW
8 Kristian Gottlieb Aston Martin
9 Kimi Samurakami BMW
10 Jakob Kjeldsen Sovereign
11 Sebastian Jaros Sovereign
12 Simone Marinelli Aston Martin
13 Willem Krieger Scuderia Fiore
14 Faustino Acuna Andrieux
15 Leon Ismail Dusk
16 Amato Savoca Andrieux
17 Bruce Holland Scuderia Fiore
18 Patrick Brennan Arcuri Motorsports
19 Hattori Torajiro Dusk
20 Lionel Garcia Arcuri Motorsports
21 Abbe Nystrom Mercury
22 Alex Pope Tomkins Autosport
23 Magnus Norgaard Mercury
24 Eddie Hobbs Tomkins Autosport
25 Caleb Macdermott Sokolov
26 Marco Florstedt Sokolov

Race Weekend Strategy Submissions

User Activity
All team owners are checked for activity after each race weekend. From the commencement of the season, team owners that are inactive will receive the following penalties.
Any failure to submit a race weekend strategy will also incur a loss of 8 setup hours on each car.
A team owner can give prior notices for inactivity, for example a holiday or a known loss of internet connections. In such a case the team boss will not receive warnings. The notices have to be given by the team owner themselves to the FRL Presidents, others cannot do that for him/her! Also absences need to be reasonable in time and reason!
All warnings and strikes will be reset back to zero at the start of each season.

Submission deadline

All strategies must be received by 11:59pm Sydney, Australia time on the Thursday prior to Free Practice on the Friday.

Race Strategy

Prior to the date of the Practice sessions, you can submit a race weekend strategy, which will allow you to replace your main drivers with Test or Youth drivers for Free Practice, as well as focus on your team's car setup for both Qualifying and Race.
Free Practice
In Free Practice 1 you can rotate your drivers to get an understanding of their true abilities. For example, you may wish to run your Test Driver instead of your retiring Main Driver to judge his or her abilities to your other current Main Driver.
This is also an opportunity to give your youth drivers a run, but they can only participate on race weekends that don’t clash with Formula D race weekends. Bare in mind that Free Practice 1 & 2 is a gauge of your cars race trim whilst Free Practice 3 is run in qualifying trim.
Qualifying and Race Setup Points
There are two areas of the car for each user to set up, engine mode and chassis work. Higher BHP in the engine mode will increase a cars top speed whereas more set up time invested in chassis work will increase overall speed.
The user can spend between -40 and +40 BHP in both qualifying and the race for each car each weekend. At the end of the season teams will be charged 0.01m per BHP over zero for each car. Teams will be advised how much they have spent in total per car each race.
Users will also have a total of 143 hours of setup to spend on each car for either Qualifying or the Race for each weekend with a maximum of 8 hours per Qualifying and Race sessions (a maximum of 16 per race weekend). Teams can also upgrades their Mechanics Training Facility under factories to increase the effectiveness of chassis set up.
Once a team has exhausted their hours on a particular car, they cannot submit anymore setup hours but teams are also under no obligation to use all of their allocation.
If you sub out one of your main drivers for a Test or Youth Driver, they will have their setup points allocation halved, but it will still cost your the same amount of setup points. For example, if you allocate 8 hours each for both Qualifying and Race, but sub out the Main Driver for a Youth Driver, your setup increase will only be 4 and 4.
A driver must drive the car they have driven the most in that season.
Qualifying Run Times
Each car may set up to three flying laps in Q1 and Q2 and two flying laps in Q3. Each user is to choose the number of flying laps in each session ranging from 1 to 3 in the session for Q1 and Q2, and between 1 and 2 minutes in Q3.
The more laps each driver runs in a session increases the likelihood of mechanical failures and driver errors. Teams are under no obligation to run the maximum amount of flying laps but are encouraged to submit for all three sessions even if reaching later sessions seems unlikely.

How to Submit

In your private team channel, please type !strat and then your teams name all one word (or example, !stratferrari or !stratracingpoint) and fill out the form like you see in the example below.
As an example, your submission could look something like this:
Car A
FP 1 Driver: John Smith (Main)
Quali/Race Driver: John Smith (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours- Q: 4 , R: 6
Engine Set Up - Q: +12 , R: -5
Q1 Laps: 3
Q2 Laps: 3
Q3 Laps: 2
Car B
FP 1 Driver: Terry Johns (Test)
Quali/Race Driver: Harry McKirk (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours - Q: 2 , R: 8
Engine Set Up - Q: -10 , R: +10
Q1 Laps: 1
Q2 Laps: 1
Q3 Laps: 2
submitted by ParisHL to frl [link] [comments]


2020.08.19 11:15 qldmaroon7 Match Thread: Western United vs Melbourne City (2019/20 A-League - The PPF/The 27 in 34)

WESTERN UNITED 1-3 MELBOURNE CITY
Western United Goalscorers: Besart Berisha (70' - P)
Melbourne City Goalscorers: Moudi Najjar (12'), Jamie Maclaren (57' - P, 86')
Competition: 2019/20 Hyundai A-League Regular Season (The PPF/The 27 in 34)
Venue: Netstrata Jubilee Stadium, Sydney, NSW
Date: Wednesday, August 19th, 2020
Kickoff: 7:30pm AEST
Referee: Tim Danaskos
Attendance: No spectators permitted (Capacity: 20,500 - COVID Capacity: 5,125)
TV Broadcast: Fox Sports 507 (AUS) & Sky Sport 7 (NZ)
Streams: Kayo Sports & My Football Live App
Matchtracker Link: Fox Sports
Post-COVID League Form Guide
WESTERN UNITED W L W W W Last Match: 2-1 vs Sydney FC
MELBOURNE CITY W D Last Match: 2-2 vs Adelaide United (N)
Last Time They Met: MCY 3-2 WUN January 3rd, 2020
Ladder Positions: 5th vs 2nd
Lineups (note: both sides allowed to make up to five substitutions)
WESTERN UNITED
Starting Eleven Notes Substitutes Notes
Filip Kurto (GK) Ryan Scott (GK)
Aaron Calver 61' Tomoki Imai 61', 73'
Tomislav Uskok Dylan Pierias 60'
Oskar Dillon 43' Joshua Cavallo 60'
Josh Risdon 60' Alessandro Diamanti 65'
Connor Pain 60' Thiel Iradukunda
Jerry Skotadis 65' Besart Berisha 65', 70' (P)
Sebastian Pasquali
Luke Duzel
Valentino Yuel 65'
Apostolos Stamatelopoulos Manager: Mark Rudan
 
MELBOURNE CITY
Starting Eleven Notes Substitutes Notes
Tom Glover (GK) Joe Gauci (GK)
Harrison Delbridge Scott Galloway 63'
Nathaniel Atkinson Idrus Abdulahi
Richard Windbichler Rostyn Griffiths 63'
Curtis Good 63' Ramy Najjarine 76'
Adrian Luna 89' Raphael Borges Rodrigues 89'
Stefan Colakovski 62' Lachlan Wales 62'
Joshua Brillante 63'
Connor Metcalfe
Jamie Maclaren 57' (P), 86'
Moudi Najjar 12', 76' Manager: Erick Mombaerts
Commentary
-15' The Hyundai A-League Regular Season finally comes to an end tonight as Western United play Melbourne City at Netstrata Jubilee Stadium. United have won four of their five games since the restart, and have the chance to go to third with a win and secure a date with the Glory - any other result will see them play Brisbane on Sunday. On the other hand, City have little to play for. They will finish second and have a bye straight to the semi-finals, but will want the hitout, having only played twice since the restart.
-2' The teams make their way out.
1' Maclaren kicks off for City to get the first half underway.
12' WUN 0-1 MCY GOAL - Melbourne City take the early lead! Metcalfe turns it over, and there's plenty of space out on the left, where Najjar receives the pass and he strikes a powerful left-footed shot through the legs of Dillon and into the back of the net.
22' Atkinson looks to curl one back from beyond the edge of the penalty area, but Kurto has it well covered and he tips it past the far post.
27' Pain slides a pass across to Duzel, who manages to get a shot away, but the ball takes a deflection off the City defence and bounces safely into the arms of Glover.
36' The United wall block the City free-kick, which comes back to Good. His effort gets blocked again and ricochets to halfway, where Yuel gets a hold of it and sprints towards goal. He runs out of gas, and his weak shot at the end of it all is easily saved by Glover.
43' Dillon clatters into Najjar and becomes the first player to go into the ref's book.
45' City send in a low cross from the left, which Calver somehow manages to head over the crossbar after sliding across the turf after being brought down. A spectacular, unintentional, defensive effort.
45' There will be one minute of stoppage time.
HT WESTERN UNITED 0-1 MELBOURNE CITY
46' Western United get the second half underway.
49' Stamatelopoulos stumbles awkwardly in midfield and he gets up very gingerly.
50' A swinging ball in from the left bounces in front of Maclaren who, at full speed, tries to steer the ball past Kurto, but the ball goes wide of the target.
53' With time and space, Luna unleashes a rocket from long range, but Kurto hurls himself to his right and the United keeper has come up with a terrific save.
55' Maclaren pulls the trigger from a difficult angle, but his shot has been well blocked.
56' PENALTY - In an attempt to contest in the air, the ball deflects off the raised arm of Uskok and Maclaren will line up from the spot.
57' WUN 0-2 MCY GOAL - MacLaren blasts his penalty attempt into the roof of the net, and with that, he goes into outright first in the race for the golden boot.
60' Trailing by two goals, Western United make a triple change, with Josh Risdon replaced by Dylan Pierias.
60' Also, Connor Pain leaves the field for Joshua Cavallo.
61' And Tomoki Imai on in place of Aaron Calver.
62' City also look to bring some fresh legs on with Stefan Colakovski off and Lachlan Wales on.
63' The flood of changes continue with Rostyn Griffiths to take the place of Joshua Brillante.
63' City's third change sees Curtis Good make way for Scott Galloway.
65' Western United continue to clear their bench with Besart Berisha on to replace Valentino Yuel.
65' And their last substiution sees Jerry Skotadis off and Alessandro Diamanti on.
70' PENALTY - Fresh onto the field, Berisha is cleaned up inside the penalty area by Windbichler and the referee does not hesitate in pointing to the spot.
70' WUN 1-2 MCY GOAL - Western United hopes soar as Besart Berisha sends the keeper the wrong way, and this game is still alive.
73' Just onto the field, Imai picks up a booking after he clipped the legs of Najjar from behind.
76' Some nervous moments for Western United who have used all their substitutions, but Oskar Dillon, after looking in a bad way following a head knock, looks to be ok to continue.
76' A fourth change for City with Moudi Najjar switching places with Ramy Najjarine.
81' Wales swings in a corner, but it's too close to Kurto, who safely plucks the ball from the air.
84' Diamanti swings a dangerous ball in from the right - making good ground and getting to the far post is Cavallo, but he can't keep his shot on target.
86' WUN 1-3 MCY GOAL - That should be the ball game! Wales skids a perfectly weighted cross across the face of goal, and waiting at the far post for the tap in is Jamie MacLaren.
89' A late change for City, their last substitution - it's Raphael Borges Rodrigues making an appearance, with Adrian Luna headed for an early shower.
90' There will be four minutes of additional time.
90+2' Metcalfe plays the ball forward looking for the run of Maclaren, who is on the hunt for a hat-trick, but there's too much weight on the pass and Kurto is able to gather it.
90+4' Berisha chests the ball off to Stamatelopoulos, who fires at goal with what will virtually be the last play of the match, but his effort was never on target.
FT WESTERN UNITED 1-3 MELBOURNE CITY
submitted by qldmaroon7 to Aleague [link] [comments]


2020.08.16 13:29 ParisHL FRL05R13 - Belgian Grand Prix Preview & Submission Guide

Track Information

Track Layout
Information
Track Full Name: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps
Location: Francorchamps, Spa
Country: Belgium
Length: 7.004km
Laps: 44
GPS Coordinates: 50.437222 5.971389

Track Attributes

Engine Drag Downforce Overtaking
17 15 5 Normal

Weather

FP1 FP2 FP3 Qualifying Race
🌦️ Light Rain 🌥️ Cloudy 🌤️ Partly Cloudy 🌤️ Partly Cloudy 🌥️ Cloudy

Predicted Results

Formula A
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Armand Hector Brickyard
2 Reyes Pinon Brickyard
3 Oliver Jacobsen WLD
4 Gil Salgado WLD
5 Fujiwara Nobuhisa Red Bull
6 Stanley Holden Ghost
7 Elisha Izmaylov Red Bull
8 Luiz Silva Melo Ghost
9 Teddy Dressler TVR
10 Blanco Fiorentino Pikainen
11 Matthias Achen Pikainen
12 Uwe Strauss Porsche
13 Brendan Maguire TVR
14 Peter Pallasmaa Chevrolet
15 Dominik Weyrauch Royal Awal
16 Michael Howarth Harimau Racing
17 Michael Evans Chevrolet
18 Moore D'Avis Royal Awal
19 Miron Pawlak Mercedes-AMG
20 Danny Bailey Porsche
21 Sabantsev Valentinovich Harimau Racing
22 Kristian Duff Mercedes-AMG
Formula B
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Adelmo Nappo Lotus
2 Emanuel Batista Kaisersport
3 Scott Moore Honda Racing
4 Zheleznov Valentinovich Lotus
5 Adrien Monier Honda Racing
6 Borys Zozulya BMW
7 Simone Marinelli Aston Martin
8 Kristian Gottlieb Aston Martin
9 Ferrau Mousseau Kaisersport
10 Kimi Samurakami BMW
11 Jakob Kjeldsen Sovereign
12 Sebastian Jaros Sovereign
13 Willem Krieger Scuderia Fiore
14 Amato Savoca Andrieux
15 Patrick Brennan Arcuri Motorsports
16 Faustino Acuna Andrieux
17 Alex Pope Tomkins Autosport
18 Leon Ismail Dusk
19 Bruce Holland Scuderia Fiore
20 Hattori Torajiro Dusk
21 Abbe Nystrom Mercury
22 Magnus Norgaard Mercury
23 Lionel Garcia Arcuri Motorsports
24 Eddie Hobbs Tomkins Autosport
25 Marco Florstedt Sokolov
26 Caleb Macdermott Sokolov

Race Weekend Strategy Submissions

User Activity
All team owners are checked for activity after each race weekend. From the commencement of the season, team owners that are inactive will receive the following penalties.
Any failure to submit a race weekend strategy will also incur a loss of 8 setup hours on each car.
A team owner can give prior notices for inactivity, for example a holiday or a known loss of internet connections. In such a case the team boss will not receive warnings. The notices have to be given by the team owner themselves to the FRL Presidents, others cannot do that for him/her! Also absences need to be reasonable in time and reason!
All warnings and strikes will be reset back to zero at the start of each season.

Submission deadline

All strategies must be received by 11:59pm Sydney, Australia time on the Thursday prior to Free Practice on the Friday.

Race Strategy

Prior to the date of the Practice sessions, you can submit a race weekend strategy, which will allow you to replace your main drivers with Test or Youth drivers for Free Practice, as well as focus on your team's car setup for both Qualifying and Race.
Free Practice
In Free Practice 1 you can rotate your drivers to get an understanding of their true abilities. For example, you may wish to run your Test Driver instead of your retiring Main Driver to judge his or her abilities to your other current Main Driver.
This is also an opportunity to give your youth drivers a run, but they can only participate on race weekends that don’t clash with Formula D race weekends. Bare in mind that Free Practice 1 & 2 is a gauge of your cars race trim whilst Free Practice 3 is run in qualifying trim.
Qualifying and Race Setup Points
There are two areas of the car for each user to set up, engine mode and chassis work. Higher BHP in the engine mode will increase a cars top speed whereas more set up time invested in chassis work will increase overall speed.
The user can spend between -40 and +40 BHP in both qualifying and the race for each car each weekend. At the end of the season teams will be charged 0.01m per BHP over zero for each car. Teams will be advised how much they have spent in total per car each race.
Users will also have a total of 143 hours of setup to spend on each car for either Qualifying or the Race for each weekend with a maximum of 8 hours per Qualifying and Race sessions (a maximum of 16 per race weekend). Teams can also upgrades their Mechanics Training Facility under factories to increase the effectiveness of chassis set up.
Once a team has exhausted their hours on a particular car, they cannot submit anymore setup hours but teams are also under no obligation to use all of their allocation.
If you sub out one of your main drivers for a Test or Youth Driver, they will have their setup points allocation halved, but it will still cost your the same amount of setup points. For example, if you allocate 8 hours each for both Qualifying and Race, but sub out the Main Driver for a Youth Driver, your setup increase will only be 4 and 4.
A driver must drive the car they have driven the most in that season.
Qualifying Run Times
Each car may set up to three flying laps in Q1 and Q2 and two flying laps in Q3. Each user is to choose the number of flying laps in each session ranging from 1 to 3 in the session for Q1 and Q2, and between 1 and 2 minutes in Q3.
The more laps each driver runs in a session increases the likelihood of mechanical failures and driver errors. Teams are under no obligation to run the maximum amount of flying laps but are encouraged to submit for all three sessions even if reaching later sessions seems unlikely.

How to Submit

In your private team channel, please type !strat and then your teams name all one word (or example, !stratferrari or !stratracingpoint) and fill out the form like you see in the example below.
As an example, your submission could look something like this:
Car A
FP 1 Driver: John Smith (Main)
Quali/Race Driver: John Smith (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours- Q: 4 , R: 6
Engine Set Up - Q: +12 , R: -5
Q1 Laps: 3
Q2 Laps: 3
Q3 Laps: 2
Car B
FP 1 Driver: Terry Johns (Test)
Quali/Race Driver: Harry McKirk (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours - Q: 2 , R: 8
Engine Set Up - Q: -10 , R: +10
Q1 Laps: 1
Q2 Laps: 1
Q3 Laps: 2
submitted by ParisHL to frl [link] [comments]


2020.08.12 22:33 CapybaraWookiee [S] Capy's Survivor: Vanuatu (S9)

Hello! Welcome or welcome back to Capy's Survivor! This season we are headed to the ever-so vast Vanuatu! We are once again playing the game of outwitting, outplaying, and outlasting your fellow castaways, whether that be by flirtatious behavior, backstabbing your opponents, or making plenty of allies. This is Capy's Survivor: Vanuatu!
MEET THE CASTWAYS:
Lopevi Tribe:
Yasur Tribe:
The Season: Capy's Survivor: Vanuatu
Episode 1: The camera zooms in onto a boat carrying castaway, approaching the beautiful island of Vanuatu. It moves over and there is the host, standing there waiting for the castaways to arrive on the beach, the basket of buffs in hand. The boat land on the beach and the 18 castaways step off. The host asks the castaways if any of them have ever seen The Amazon? They all nod, he tells them that is good because this season, they are bringing back the tribe divide by gender. He then hands everyone their buffs. He hands the guys, Bron, Clarence, Clay, Cristian, Evan, Lord of Random, Marshall, Flashman, and Tom, the red buffs, stating that they are on the red Lopevi tribe. He then hands the women, Blizz, Caitlin, Gem, Lori, Mari, Mrs. Evans, Talia, Nevaeh, and Whitney, the yellow buffs, stating that they are on the yellow Yasur tribe. He then informs them that they can head back to their camps.
At the Lopevi camp, things are already brewing. Clarence decides he needs some votes at tribal council and approaches some people with an offer of an alliance. He approaches Bron, as he seems like a strategic and psychical threat. Bron agrees that he needs votes with him this early on, and aligns with Clarence. Clarence also approaches Tom, who he sees as a mental player, and he could help them out with mental challenges. Tom, thinking the same thing as Bron and Clarence, agrees to join the alliance. But Tom might not be as smart as they think, because both Bron and Clarence are smart enough to decide not to put their full loyalty into the alliance, as the people, they allied with might change over the course of the season. While that is happening, Clay is also trying to find a power alliance. He manages to convince Evan to join his alliance and says the reason why is because he could use Evan as a mental shield. He also approaches Flashman and Cristian for psychical challenges, and as meatshields, they also accept, saying that they need allies this early on if they want to stay in the game, at least according to older seasons. Clay and Flashman also approached the Lord of Random to try to get him in the alliance, as he seems like a strategic mastermind. But he declines, saying that he doesn’t need allies, especially this early in the game. Clarence is the first one to find Marshall, who is over by the beach deep in thought observing a fish in the sea. He asks him to join his alliance, as he seems like a meatshield and a strategic threat. He declines, saying that he would really have to trust you, and even then, it is too early in the game to make a game-changing decision like that. Clarence understands, and promptly walks off.
Episode 2: The Yasur tribe gets all 8 of their members on the platform first, winning them the first reward challenge of the season, along with a comfort crate containing hammocks, blankets, and pillows. At the immunity challenge, Lopevi completes their puzzle, thanks to Tom and Lord of Random, and climbs their scaffolding first, meaning that Yasur will be going to their second tribal council in a row.
Marshall and Bron have a major fight over Marshall never helping out around camp. How he just sits by the sea and studies the wildlife, he says this is Survivor, not a business trip. Clarence and Tom are now thinking it is probably a good thing that he isn’t in their alliance, as he would put an unnecessary target on their backs. Lord of Random is out in the woods collecting firewood, when Clarence comes up to him and asks him if he still doesn’t want to join their alliance, the Lord of Random just sits there, no response. Clay, Evan, Cristian, and Flashman are strategizing about who to send home next when they go to tribal council, they all agree that it should probably be Marshall, because he isn’t aligned with anyone, and he doesn’t do anything, or Clarence, because he is the leader of the other alliance in the camp. At the Yasur camp, they are talking about who they should actually send home at that night’s tribal council. After defying her last episode, Talia is infuriated at Gem, and she thinks if they go to any more tribals, she is a goner. So she approaches the other alliance, telling them that for safety if they would vote out Gem. Because she is untrustworthy and a social threat. They tell her sure. But Nevaeh thinks they should vote her out, as she won’t be an easy target later on, and she just ensured herself safety for the person she wants to go home. They ignore her. Talia tells Gem and Caitlin that some people on the other alliance agreed to vote out Mari. Talia herself isn’t voting for Gem because she doesn’t want to be untrustworthy in Caitlin’s eyes, as she doesn’t know if they will both make it to a swap or the merge, and Caitlin will paint her as an untrustworthy person. At tribal council, by a vote of 5-3, Gem, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 3: The Yasur tribe wins their second reward challenge in a row, winning themselves fishing and snorkeling gear. The host also announces a twist right after the reward challenge. That both tribes will be going to a tribal council that night, and both tribes will be voting someone out. He also announces as the winners of the reward challenge, the 7 people of the Yasur tribe are the only people who can compete for individual immunity tomorrow. Lori wins the individual immunity challenge, and both tribes are headed to tribal.
At the Lopevi camp, Flashman and Clay bond slightly, and say that if they had to vote someone from the alliance out, it wouldn’t be one of them. At the Yasur camp, Talia approaches Mrs. Evans and starts talking with her. She tells her that she and Caitlin are voting for Blizz and that she should convince Nevaeh and Mari to vote with them, as Blizz is playing an “assassin” game, where she is going to be quiet at the start, and then win challenges at the end to get ahead. Mrs. Evans goes to her Nevaeh and Mari with this, but Nevaeh doesn’t want to have a target on her back and convinces them that Caitlin, as a psychical threat, needs to go more than Blizz does. They agree with her. At the Lopevi camp, they are talking about who to send home. Tom tells his alliance that Lord of Random is probably the biggest threat right now, as he is a threat all-around, and could easily win if he makes the merge, they approach Marshall with this offer. He agrees. The majority alliance talks about voting out Tom, as he is a mental threat, and he is basically running the other alliance, they approach both Lord of Random and Marshall, they both agree with this, and tell the alliance they will be voting for them. But, after both alliances have left, Lord of Random and Marshall talk about it and decide they don’t want to become too loyal to an alliance right now and decide to vote for a random person to throw away their votes. Both the tribes arrive at tribal council, the host tells the Lopevi tribe to sit and calls the Yasur tribe up to the voting area. After strategizing and the host asking questions, it is time to vote. At Yasur’s tribal council, by a vote of 5-2, Caitlin, the tribe has spoken. The host then calls the Lopevi tribe up to the voting area. Once again, after the host asking some questions, it is time to vote. By a vote of 4-3-2, Tom, the tribe has spoken. The tribes say goodbye to Caitlin and Tom as their torches get snuffed and say goodbye.
Episode 4: The Yasur tribe wins their third reward challenge, winning a day of advice from a local survival guide. The Lopevi tribe once again wins immunity, sending the Yasur tribe right back to the tribe. Back at the Yasur camp, Talia and Mrs. Evans have a major fight because Mrs. Evans, the teacher who is really coming out here, thinks Talia is not helping out as much as she should be. Despite this, they still make plans to vote Blizz out and approach everyone with this except Blizz. Lori and Nevaeh still think that Blizz isn’t much of a threat and that she could be an easy vote outcome merge, so they approach her and tell her about their campaigning. She finally speaks up and tells them to vote out Mrs. Evans, as nobody is going to vote her out, and if there are any mental immunity challenges, they aren’t going to be able to beat her. She also says that she is causing unnecessary drama around camp. They agree with her and go to Mari with this, she shockingly agrees with Blizz as well. At tribal council, by a vote of 4-2, Mrs. Evans, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 5: The host calls the tribes to the challenge area, and tells them about a twist. They are bringing back the tribe swap for this season, but there is an extra twist. There will be 2 chosen “chiefs” from each tribe who will decide the tribes. Yasur chooses Blizz, while Lopevi chooses Clay. The host says Lopevi can go first. Clay’s first choice is Cristian, as he is a physical competitor, who is also a close ally of Clay’s. Blizz chooses Flashman, as he is a meatshield, and could help the tribe out in immunity challenges. Clay’s next choice is Talia, as he has seen her in action at tribal council, and thinks she will be a great addition to the team for challenges and strategically. Blizz chooses Lord of Random, as she has seen him at tribal, and thinks that he is a good strategist and a good addition to the team challenge-wise. Clay chooses Nevaeh, as she is a great addition to the tribe for her strategic and mental prowess. Who is also very loyal to her alliances, if she trusts them. Blizz chooses Lori, as she is a close ally of Blizz’s who is also great at challenges and strategy. Clay then chooses Bron, as he is on Clay’s current tribe, and knows how to manipulate people, which could be handy at the merge. Blizz chooses Clarence, as he can be good in challenges, and she knows he is the head of an alliance at the other camp. Clay’s final choice is Evan, as he is a social threat, and that is what his tribe needs. Blizz chooses Mari for the same reason. Marshall chooses to join Blizz’s tribe (Yasur) because he has closer allies in that tribe, and he thinks it looks stronger than Lopevi.
At the Lopevi camp, Clay, Bron, Cristian, and Evan create an alliance, really only for safety and votes. Nevaeh and Talia also make an alliance, hoping for the best and hoping for swing votes. At Yasur, the same thing happens. Clarence, Flashman, Lord of Random, and Marshall create an alliance for votes. While Blizz, Lori, and Mari create an alliance and hope for a swing vote. The Lopevi tribe wins the reward challenge, winning themselves a trip to the waterfalls, with a basket of Pringles and beer. Though, in the immunity challenge, the Yasur tribe beats them out, sending the new Lopevi tribe to their first tribal council. The guy's alliance decides to vote out Talia, as she is a psychical and strategic threat, but once Bron leaves, they discuss their actual plan. Their actual plan is to get the girls on board and vote out Bron, as he is a psychical threat, and they know the merge is coming relatively soon. They approach Nevaeh and Talia and tell them this plan, but they think that Bron will be a good ally to keep in the game. So they approach him telling him this. They decide to force a rock draw by voting for Evan and hope for the best. At tribal council, there is a 3-3 tie between Evan and Bron. The revote is a 2-2 tie between Evan and Bron. The host calls Clay, Cristian, Nevaeh, and Talia up to draw rocks. He then tells them to flip over their hand and reveal the rock. At tribal council, by the draw of the purple rock, Talia, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 6: The Yasur tribe wins the reward challenge, winning themselves steak and eggs. The Yasur tribe also wins the immunity challenge, sending the Lopevi tribe to tribal council. After the last tribal council, tensions are high at the Lopevi camp. They all agree that they will vote out Nevaeh, but don’t think the alliance will last through the merge. Nevaeh knows about this little crack in the alliance, and approaches Cristian and Bron, telling them that Clay is more of a psychical threat and social threat. At tribal council, by a unanimous vote of 4-2, Nevaeh, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 7: The Lopevi tribe wins the reward challenge and a trip to a cafe, where they enjoy coffee, juices, treats, and letters from home. The Yasur tribe wins their third immunity challenge in a row. At the Lopevi tribe, they are trying to decide who to vote out. Bron thinks that Evan is the biggest threat right now because he is hiding behind his allies waiting to strike. Clay and Evan decide it will be best to vote out Cristian, as he is doing the same thing as Evan, but he is also a psychical threat, so he might actually win if they don’t get him out soon. They approach Bron with this offer, which he gladly “accepts”. Bron afterward goes to Cristian and tells him the other alliance's plan, alongside his own plan. Cristian agrees, but only because he knows if there is a revote, he will be safe. At tribal council, there is a 2-2 tie. After stating their cases, there is a revote. The vote is a 1-1 tie. The host calls Clay and Brown up to the stand and tells them to draw a rock. Evan and Cristian don’t care who goes home, as they are both threats. At tribal council, by the draw of the purple rock, Bron, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 8: The host calls the tribes to the challenge area, and announces what they have all been waiting for. The merge. He congratulates Blizz, Clarence, Clay, Cristian, Evan, Lord of Random, Lori, Mari, Marshall, and Flashman on making it to the merge. Blizz, Lori, and Mari reform their final three pacts. Clay, Cristian, and Evan keep their alliance from the last couple of tribes. Clarence and Flashman, now a man down in their alliance, ask Marshall and Lord of Random to join their alliance, they finally decide it's late enough in the game to start making loyalties. All 7 guys make an alliance, their goal is to get the girls out as soon as possible. Blizz also creates an alliance with her tribe of 7 from the post-tribe swap, just for emergency votes.
Clarence wins the immunity challenge. Cristian and Lord of Random have a minor fight about who should go home. Cristian thinks that Flashman should go home because he is a psychical threat. But Lord of Random thinks that Evan should go home, as he is relying on his allies, and at the last moment is going to start winning challenges, also stating that he is a social threat, and can make other alliances and loyalties easily. The girls, alongside his close ally Marshall, and Flashman (obviously) side with Lord of Random, whilst Clay and Evan side with Cristian. Clay goes over and starts flirting with Lori, Mari, and Blizz, trying to convince them that Flashman should go home. But they have seen how far someone can go by doing that, citing Audra in Thailand. At tribal council, by a vote 7-3, Evan, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 9: Cristian wins the reward challenge, and brings Marshall along with him, in attempts to gain his trust. Flashman wins the immunity challenge, ruining Lord of Random’s plan of evicting him. Clay and his alliance decide that Mari is the biggest threat to their game because she is a social threat. The girls approach Marshall and Lord of Random to try to get their votes. But they want to stick with the guys, so they don’t put targets on their backs. At tribal council, by a vote of 5-3, Mari, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 10: Cristian, Marshall, Clay, and Blizz win the reward challenge, winning a trip to a Vanuatuan village. Marshall wins the immunity challenge. Knowing they have the numbers, Clarence rallies to get Cristian eliminated, because he is a threat to the game, he manages to get Flashman and Marshall on board with him. Little did he know, Blizz and Lori had already rallied to have Cristian gone, getting Lord of Random on their side. Clay and Cristian approached Lord of Random, Flashman, and Marshall to vote out Clarence, as he has proven he can’t be trusted, and because he has shown he is a psychical and strategic threat. They tell him they agree but think voting out Cristian is the better route, as it would also hurt Clay’s game, who has been running the show up until now. At tribal council, by a vote of 6-2, Cristian, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 11: Clay wins the reward challenge, winning an overnight stay with a loved one at the camp. Marshall wins the immunity challenge. Clay, knowing there is really nothing he can do, just relaxes for his final day at the camp. At tribal council, by a vote of 6-1, Clay, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 12: Clarence wins the reward challenge, he brings Blizz and Lord of Random on the resort trip with him, to try to gain their trust. Lori wins the immunity challenge, foiling the guys' plans of voting her out as an all-around threat. Clarence and the Lord of Random decide that Blizz is their best target, as they know she is an extreme mental and strategic threat. They rally to the other guys and they agree with this. But Lori and Blizz have a master plan. Lori goes and she flirts with Flashman and Clarence, easily winning back Flashman’s vote, but Clarence still isn’t convinced. Blizz has already approached Marshall and has been having a conversation with him, in attempts to gain his trust. Flashman comes over and tries to convince Marshall to vote for Lord of Random, based on what Lori just said to him. With the 2 efforts combined, they get Marshall’s vote. Blizz then goes to Clarence, and tells him what she said to Marshall, and tells him to go talk to Flashman if he isn't convinced. Because he is close friends with Blizz, and after talking to Flashman, he makes up his mind. At tribal council, by a unanimous vote of 5-1, Lord of Random, the tribe has spoken.
Episode 13: Blizz wins the reward challenge, and a trip to Yasur mountain, she brings Clarence along, as he is her closest friend and she also needs to get his for-sure vote. Flashman wins immunity. When they get back to camp, Marshall is rallying to get Blizz eliminated because she is a strategic threat, but the one thing people didn’t expect her to be at the start was a social threat, but because of her close bonds with Lori and Clarence, and Lori’s flirtiness around Flashman, they have their votes secured. At tribal council, by a unanimous vote of 4-1, Marshall, the tribe has spoken.
Finale: The host calls the tribe over to the challenge area, and the first thing he does is congratulate Blizz, Clarence, Lori, and Flashman on making it to the final 4. He then announces the immunity challenge will be happening right then and there. Clarence wins the immunity challenge, and they head back to camp.
Back at camp, Lori, knowing she is probably going home next, decides to pull a Clay and just relax at camp on her final days. She makes weak attempts to flirt with Clarence to try to get his vote, but his friendship with Blizz is all-around just too strong, and by the time she decides to try to flirt with Flashman, he had already essentially been brainwashed by Blizz to vote with them for Lori. At tribal council, by a unanimous vote of 3-1, Lori, the tribe has spoken.
Clarence and Blizz stay up late into the morning, just talking and saying it's them in the final 2 together. That morning, it was a close competition between Flashman and Clarence, almost too close, but Clarence managed to clinch onto the win, making him the winner of the final immunity challenge. Because of his closeness with Blizz, and because he thinks he can win against either Blizz or Flashman, he decides to bring Blizz to the Final Tribal Council with him. At tribal council, by a unanimous vote of 1-0, Flashman, the tribe has spoken.
The Reunion: Clarence and Blizz state their cases. Blizz says she all-in-all played a better and more involved game than Clarence, and never hid behind her allies, like Clarence. Clarence fights back with Blizz has more blood on her hands, sure, neither of them played an exactly villainous game, but he has less blood on his hands than Blizz. After the jury questioning and voting, the votes are read. By a vote of 4-3, congratulations Blizz! You are the winner of Capy’s Survivor: Vanuatu!
Possible Returnees: Blizz, Clarence, Flashman, Lori, Lord of Random, Clay, Bron, Nevaeh, and Talia.
Leave your opinions about future all-stars, your favorites, and the season itself down below.
submitted by CapybaraWookiee to BrantSteele [link] [comments]


2020.08.09 12:41 ParisHL FRL05R12 - Austrian Grand Prix Preview & Submission Guide

Track Information

Track Layout
Information
Track Full Name: Red Bull Ring
Location: Spielberg, Styria
Country: Austria
Length: 4.326km
Laps: 71
GPS Coordinates: 47.219722 14.764722

Track Attributes

Engine Drag Downforce Overtaking
18 12 8 Normal

Weather

FP1 FP2 FP3 Qualifying Race
🌦️ Light Rain 🌦️ Light Rain 🌧️ Heavy Rain 🌦️ Light Rain 🌧️ Heavy Rain

Predicted Results

Formula A
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Reyes Pinon Brickyard
2 Armand Hector Brickyard
3 Oliver Jacobsen WLD
4 Fujiwara Nobuhisa Red Bull
5 Gil Salgado WLD
6 Stanley Holden Ghost
7 Elisha Izmaylov Red Bull
8 Brendan Maguire TVR
9 Luiz Silva Melo Ghost
10 Matthias Achen Pikainen
11 Blanco Fiorentino Pikainen
12 Teddy Dressler TVR
13 Uwe Strauss Porsche
14 Moore D'Avis Royal Awal
15 Peter Pallasmaa Chevrolet
16 Danny Bailey Porsche
17 Michael Evans Chevrolet
18 Dominik Weyrauch Royal Awal
19 Kristian Duff Mercedes-AMG
20 Michael Howarth Harimau Racing
21 Sabantsev Valentinovich Harimau Racing
22 Miron Pawlak Mercedes-AMG
Formula B
POS DRIVER TEAM ENG TYR
1 Zheleznov Valentinovich Lotus
2 Scott Moore Honda Racing
3 Adrien Monier Honda Racing
4 Adelmo Nappo Lotus
5 Borys Zozulya BMW
6 Emanuel Batista Kaisersport
7 Ferrau Mousseau Kaisersport
8 Kimi Samurakami BMW
9 Sebastian Jaros Sovereign
10 Jakob Kjeldsen Sovereign
11 Kristian Gottlieb Aston Martin
12 Faustino Acuna Andrieux
13 Bruce Holland Scuderia Fiore
14 Amato Savoca Andrieux
15 Simone Marinelli Aston Martin
16 Willem Krieger Scuderia Fiore
17 Lionel Garcia Arcuri Motorsports
18 Leon Ismail Dusk
19 Patrick Brennan Arcuri Motorsports
20 Abbe Nystrom Mercury
21 Hattori Torajiro Dusk
22 Magnus Norgaard Mercury
23 Eddie Hobbs Tomkins Autosport
24 Alex Pope Tomkins Autosport
25 Caleb Macdermott Sokolov
26 Marco Florstedt Sokolov

Race Weekend Strategy Submissions

User Activity
All team owners are checked for activity after each race weekend. From the commencement of the season, team owners that are inactive will receive the following penalties.
Any failure to submit a race weekend strategy will also incur a loss of 8 setup hours on each car.
A team owner can give prior notices for inactivity, for example a holiday or a known loss of internet connections. In such a case the team boss will not receive warnings. The notices have to be given by the team owner themselves to the FRL Presidents, others cannot do that for him/her! Also absences need to be reasonable in time and reason!
All warnings and strikes will be reset back to zero at the start of each season.

Submission deadline

All strategies must be received by 11:59pm Sydney, Australia time on the Thursday prior to Free Practice on the Friday.

Race Strategy

Prior to the date of the Practice sessions, you can submit a race weekend strategy, which will allow you to replace your main drivers with Test or Youth drivers for Free Practice, as well as focus on your team's car setup for both Qualifying and Race.
Free Practice
In Free Practice 1 you can rotate your drivers to get an understanding of their true abilities. For example, you may wish to run your Test Driver instead of your retiring Main Driver to judge his or her abilities to your other current Main Driver.
This is also an opportunity to give your youth drivers a run, but they can only participate on race weekends that don’t clash with Formula D race weekends. Bare in mind that Free Practice 1 & 2 is a gauge of your cars race trim whilst Free Practice 3 is run in qualifying trim.
Qualifying and Race Setup Points
There are two areas of the car for each user to set up, engine mode and chassis work. Higher BHP in the engine mode will increase a cars top speed whereas more set up time invested in chassis work will increase overall speed.
The user can spend between -40 and +40 BHP in both qualifying and the race for each car each weekend. At the end of the season teams will be charged 0.01m per BHP over zero for each car. Teams will be advised how much they have spent in total per car each race.
Users will also have a total of 143 hours of setup to spend on each car for either Qualifying or the Race for each weekend with a maximum of 8 hours per Qualifying and Race sessions (a maximum of 16 per race weekend). Teams can also upgrades their Mechanics Training Facility under factories to increase the effectiveness of chassis set up.
Once a team has exhausted their hours on a particular car, they cannot submit anymore setup hours but teams are also under no obligation to use all of their allocation.
If you sub out one of your main drivers for a Test or Youth Driver, they will have their setup points allocation halved, but it will still cost your the same amount of setup points. For example, if you allocate 8 hours each for both Qualifying and Race, but sub out the Main Driver for a Youth Driver, your setup increase will only be 4 and 4.
A driver must drive the car they have driven the most in that season.
Qualifying Run Times
Each car may set up to three flying laps in Q1 and Q2 and two flying laps in Q3. Each user is to choose the number of flying laps in each session ranging from 1 to 3 in the session for Q1 and Q2, and between 1 and 2 minutes in Q3.
The more laps each driver runs in a session increases the likelihood of mechanical failures and driver errors. Teams are under no obligation to run the maximum amount of flying laps but are encouraged to submit for all three sessions even if reaching later sessions seems unlikely.

How to Submit

In your private team channel, please type !strat and then your teams name all one word (or example, !stratferrari or !stratracingpoint) and fill out the form like you see in the example below.
As an example, your submission could look something like this:
Car A
FP 1 Driver: John Smith (Main)
Quali/Race Driver: John Smith (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours- Q: 4 , R: 6
Engine Set Up - Q: +12 , R: -5
Q1 Laps: 3
Q2 Laps: 3
Q3 Laps: 2
Car B
FP 1 Driver: Terry Johns (Test)
Quali/Race Driver: Harry McKirk (Main)
Chassis Setup Hours - Q: 2 , R: 8
Engine Set Up - Q: -10 , R: +10
Q1 Laps: 1
Q2 Laps: 1
Q3 Laps: 2
submitted by ParisHL to frl [link] [comments]


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