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Yes, I know this is for phr4r but I bet my ass na most discreet guys (or questioning, or maybe those in denial pa) wander around this sub. And magkaaminan na tayo, pare-parehas lang tayong sabik. It's just that masculinity in our society sucks ass and most of us need to build this facade.
I've been messaging (and been messaged) by guys na discreet, claiming straight and just wanna experience another dick, and guys na tago and ayaw malaman ng iba na sila ay queer rin or gusto lang ng landi.
For guys (like I was used to be) na under this umbrella, let me give you a guide on how you can get action, a decent response, and how to properly engage, disengage, and coordinate with such types of posts.
P.s. applicable rin to sa ibang apps and dating sites, slightly.
1) Pictures is a must - Pareparehas lang tayong tago, pero you can't expect a proper conversation if you can't even show a couple of pics. As another discreet guy, I am risking my identity as well when I'm posting my pics through pms. One thing yall scaredy cats didn't know is that there's this unwritten rule that no one fucking spreads your identity kahit nabisto ka. Ang logic lang dyan is kapag binisto ka nilang gay ka, ibig sabihin napatos rin sila sa M4M posts.
But in all seriousness, please do not hesitate to share even just 1 (proper and recent picture) because you can't expect us to meet you na hindi namin nakikita mukha mo.
2) Have the audacity to say NO - Basic lang mga chong, if you don't like a person then say NO before ka maglaho. I do say no when I don't like a person because that's what a proper person should do. We all know ghosting sucks pero bruh, pare-parehas lang tayo dito. Pahirapan pa ba tayo?
3) We know what we want, and so you should know what you want - Been there done that, if I'm gonna be honest mas less yung paki ko now if people would find out my real identity (but I still value privacy and sana lang wala bistuhan) kaya alam ko pakiramdam ng karamihan na bago pa lang sa galawan. So please, if someone posts wanting sex, expected that you will only respond if sex rin habol mo. If that person wants cuddles or landi, then that person expects those who respond to his posts will cater his needs. Hindi si OP ang mag-aadjust para sayo. And sayo naman, if highly doubtful ka pa then don't bother. Message only if you are almost 100% sure. You won't be able to face yourself if you won't take that first step.
4) The term "tripper" is so 2010 - Huwag mo nang itanggi. Huwag mo na rin iclaim na tripper ka lang and you still are straight after doing this para lang di ka mabansagang queer or gay after. Bruh, there are masculine gays and masculine queer guys. Gays can be gays without dressing up as girls or wearing make up.
5) Last but not the least, do not hesitate to experiment and try out stuff - Like what I said last time, hindi ka makakatulog ng mahimbing if bawat opportunity na m4m post na nirerespond mo eh hindi mo rin kakagatin kasi "takot ka at baguhan". Lahat kami galing diyan but we had balls to try it out. Trying out doesn't mean full pen agad. Puwede namang request ka muna ng side fun then slowly work your way through it.
Wag ka mag-alala bruh. We do all respect each other. Respect begets respect. Don't expect anyone to respect you if you can't even respect us.
Good luck on your next landi and you guys would find this informative.
Hello! May nakakaalam po ba kung paano mag refund? Nag bayad na kasi kami tapos biglang pag dating ng installer, puno na daw yung sa poste.
Di na kasi sumasagot yung agent na kausap ko. Kung meron rin siguro kayong active agent na kakilala, please paki-refer na lang po. Salamat!
Have u ever asked yourself na bakit antaas ng standards na hanap mo sa girl/guy at wala ka na mahanap sa dating apps and nakaka frustrate na HAHAHAHA Tall, pale and chinito lang naman hanap ko, paki dm ako if may mabebenta kayo thank u
I’m sorry if this post offends anyone or anything like that. I dont know where else to post this and i just wanted to talk to someone about this.
So i will be soon be moving to Pakistan for university and I’m unsure if i will be able to find decent guy friends. Over the years i have met a lot of pakistani guys who live in Pakistan and they all share a few things in common like the heavy drug use and the trying to become friends with benefits and so on. They are constantly criticizing girls on basically anything like a girls clothes, the amount of guy friends she has and just calling them hoes. Evenmore you hear alot of the guys refer to their girl friends as “bachis” (sorry if my spelling is incorrect) and not as actual friends. Also in the beginning they are usually very nice but slowly they start flirting and making sexual comments which i find really uncomfortable.
And the worst thing is that they can’t handle rejection. As soon as u tell them that you dont wanna date or you’re not interested they start telling everyone that they rejected you and how you wanted to hook up and spreading all kinds of stuff
Im well aware that not all pakistani guys are like that but these are some of the things i have noticed or experienced. Or it might just be my shitty luck which leads me to meet some of these weird pakistani guys. At this point I have lost hope of finding a decent paki guy friend in Pakistan. I know I will probably get downvoted for this but i just wanted to get it off my chest.
I would like to officially announce my EDL membership and denounce my PakiStrip affiliation. I have changed my user flair to reflect this.
This was not an easy choice but after you lot rizzed man for saying the n word approximately 1.6 years ago, we held my funeral on the discord server. At that moment I was rebirthed and I pissed on the grave of my former self.
Since Surrey and EDL had little to no members, I decided to boost their activeness and their funds by becoming an EDL GM myself.
To date I have deported ASavFromDa4s (he came back tho cah the immigration officers are set 8) and have kidnapped a random Bossman, who I now slap daily in my basement.
If anyone would like to join the server, EDL and Surrey are recruiting. Join the side of the most OJ man in this sub (excluding lampzworld).
Thank you for reading, I hope to see you soon.
Salaam guys, I'm really active on MM and I've been around since pretty much the beginning and always posting advice for the bros in here but I think it's my time to post my struggles and just get a few things off my chest since I can't really tell anyone this in person. I'm 24M in the midwest, Paki background but born and raised here. I've never dated, done drugs, literally no past. I pray, eat Z, have a light beard, etc. Would def say I'm a practicing Muslim. Obviously i'm not perfect. I'm overweight (not obese or anything but I have a belly) and that's because of how stressful my job is (I'm in cybersecurity) and barely get time to eat a proper meal and working long hours doesn't give me a lot of time to go to the gym. Ever since I was 19, I've slowly been losing hair not only in length but also in volume and def have a 5-head. (bad genes on both sides of my family) I have no problem with it personally and if it was up to me I'd probably shave it all and go bald. My parents want me to get a hair transplant which is like 10k to fix this. I also have vitiligo - which are like little spots of white that are on my hands and feet. Unless you look very closely you won't even see them but they are there. Combination of these factors gives me insecurity on whether or not i'll ever find a girl that I find attractive. I obviously know how I am (maybe 5/10, 6/10 on a good day), I'm 5'10, good family, educated, Urdu speaking, good personality, making good money at 24 aH.
I'm starting to get serious about marriage and basically told my parents that I'm financially and emotionally ready to get married and to start looking for me the traditional way (rishta auntie, ask around, etc). They were actually the ones who started the search before me and I in 2020 gave the green signal.
I've been shown about 5 girls in the past few months and I've said yes to all of them. I'm not that picky when it comes to selecting a girl. Religion and family are #1 to me, and if looks are decent then I'm game. But EVERY SINGLE time after we send my picture to them, they end up making an excuse. Today was my 6th rejection and am heartbroken. Literally everything was going excellent. My parents spoke to the girls parents. I liked the girl, they liked my biodata everything was great! We send a few of my solo pictures over and the girls mom says after a few hours that she spoke to the girl and she wants to focus on school...Before this girl was another girl was that they want the older brother to get married first. I'm so sick of everything going so smoothly and they see a picture of me and get a huge turnoff. I know for a fact it's my looks because everything is great until they see me and I am the problem. This has completely ruined my self esteem. I feel like a loser, I feel ugly, I feel unloved/unwanted and I want to cry. Nobody has ever approached my parents and said that I am worth marrying - I'm always putting myself out there and getting back nothing. I've tried the apps and get matches to people that I feel are way under my league and I'm not attracted to any of them. I hate this so much. I don't know what to do but just cry. I'm so ugly can't even get to the point where I talk to the girl or meet their family. Constant Rejection.
I created Facebook a month ago because my friends and family wanted me to be on there. I avoided social media like a plague because of my ex boyfriend. We dated for 2 years and broke up 3 years ago. He cheated on me and lied about wanting to get married and have a family. When we broke up he threatened me and I am afraid of him so I had kept a low profile online.
I created a Facebook and posted pictures of the usual stuff. My husband, our baby, my art, my garden etc. After two weeks I got a LONG message from some guy named “John Smith”. My mouth dropped and I knew right away it was my ex. It was like something out of a horror movie he said I was posting pictures of my family to make him jealous and I should delete my account. He said his current girlfriend wasn’t an ugly fat freak like me. He said he would have married me if I wasn’t ugly and I could actually cook. He called me a paki and other racial slurs. He said my daughter was a “half breed mutt” and my husband was ugly. He said a bunch of other stuff. I showed my husband (he’s a psychologist) and he said not to respond because my ex is clearly mentally unwell and to make sure my account was private (which I didn’t do).
I’m so angry I want to respond. Is it even worth it?
Kyle saw his ex Mary at the grocery store a week ago with her baby. They broke up four years ago and dated for a year. He then texted the group chat and told us that Mary was a fat pig and a Paki that’s probably a single mom and her “half breed mongrel” daughter was ugly. Kyle said he was happy he found a white woman because he only wants pure white kids (I blocked the chat)
Kyle texted me and asked if I knew where Mary lived. I said no and I asked why he wants to know? ( he has a girlfriend) Kyle said he was just curious to see the dump Mary lived in.
On Saturday Kyle called me crying (also drunk) and asked me if it was possible that Mary’s child was his and if Mary would take him back and be his wife? I was so disturbed because from what I understood Mary broke up with Kyle because he was unfaithful and not interested in marriage.
I have no idea what to do! I feel obliged to let both Mary and his current GF know. Is it any of my business?
TLDR-Friend is obsessed with his ex
Kyle (early 50s) saw his ex Mary (late 20s) at the grocery store a week ago with her baby. They broke up four years ago and dated for a year. He then texted the group chat and told us that Mary was a fat pig and a Paki that’s probably a single mom and her “half breed mongrel” daughter was ugly. Kyle said he was happy he found a white woman because he only wants pure white kids (I blocked the chat)
Kyle texted me and asked if I knew where Mary lived. I said no and I asked why he wants to know? ( he has a girlfriend) Kyle said he was just curious to see the dump Mary lived in.
On Saturday Kyle called me crying (also drunk) and asked me if it was possible that Mary’s child was his and if Mary would take him back and be his wife? I was so disturbed because from what I understood Mary broke up with Kyle because he was unfaithful and not interested in marriage.
I have no idea what to do! I’m his only female friend (shocker) and I feel obliged to let both Mary and his current GF know. I’ve blocked his number, but I’m scared he might do something.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Had two guys fall off the barge and they would have been killed, if not for their personal arrestors. We gave them loads of shit and it was decided those who fall, if they don’t die, will buy the first round that night. We had the usual cuts, bumps, and abrasions, but nothing requiring any more medical attention than a nurse’s kiss to the booboo, some mercurochrome or Merthiolate, and a bit of adhesive plaster.
Oh, and oral anesthetic. That went without saying. Lots of oral anesthetics. Even as a preventative. I lead by example.
Also, I was placing something a little special at the vertices of every four compartments. I was deciding to wire it into the Primacord grid or maybe do a radio detonation. We had all sorts of Indo-Paki army-surplus radio detonators. Just plug in a couple of triple-A batteries, tune to the desired frequency, set with a cap and super booster, and there you go. You could remote detonate one or a thousand with the proper transceiver.
Guess which way I went?
We spooled all the Primacord in record time. We used all of the new stuff that came with my last order, so we decided to use some of the stuff salvaged previously. I had Vis go to the truck and bring up a couple of cases of C-4. OK, six. May as well wire it all in as well since we were making such good time.
I went around and sphooted a shot of orange spray paint on conveniently placed holes. Here would go C-4 charges, all that would fit, with a cap, super booster, and a demolition cord connection to the Primacord. Once the Primacord was actuated, I was using Primaline demolition cord.
Primacord detonating cords are designed for use as trunklines and downlines in various mining, quarrying and demolition applications. Primaline det cords are flexible linear explosives with a core of PETN explosive encased in a plastic outer jacket. These carry the actuation to the Primacord. The velocity of detonation is sufficient to use it for synchronizing multiple charges to detonate almost simultaneously even if the charges are placed at different distances from the point of initiation. It is used to reliably and inexpensively chain together multiple explosive charges.
I would have 4 sets of these ready by tomorrow.
The cruise ship was less than 25 hours out. Time to get sparky.
We spent the rest of the day charging, priming, and setting the hulk. It rolled around 1700 hours, quittin’ time. I told everyone to get on the bus and head to the barn. I had a few more details that needed my attention.
I had Sanjay call HQ and get a couple of sets of guards out there. I didn’t much care to leave an old, rusty hulk sitting here with about a ton and a half of primed explosives, but due to the situation, I had no choice. I commandeered the truck so I didn’t have to walk to the Raj that evening.
I spent until dark probing around that old barge hulk. I found a few fuck-ups by my crew, but nothing a few extra lengths of Primacord and elephant shit couldn’t fix. I had 8 spools of Primaline up on top of the barge, at the highest point, out of harm’s and hopefully, nosy nose-poker-inners, way. Each one of them was tied to one section or another of the barge; one for slicing and other for dicing. It wasn’t terribly elegant, but damn skippy, it’s was quick, dirty, and essentially moron proof. It would work or my name isn’t…
The next morning down in front of the office, I had set up a blasting table. I had the 8-post blasting board and a couple of spare truck batteries. One side hooked to the Primaline, all eight runs, the other to a metal probe hooked up to the batteries. I hit a metal post, circuit’s complete, current runs down the demolition wire to the actuator, actuator sparks off the Primaline, Primaline sparks off the Primacord, Primacord sparks off the C-4
And the extra dynamite, PETN, and RDX I set the previous night.
That all sparks off and easy as cake, you have sliced barge. QED
, Robert is your avuncular relation.
It was going to be one hell of a show. Very noisy. It has to be, what with this tinnitus and all.
Plus, I had a radio detonator sitting next to me tuned to 39.170 MHz, the ‘Peter Popoff’ frequency
, for the back-up charges I set at all nine intersections.
My crew shows up, all togged out in their natty PPEs. I was impressed. A week and a half ago, this was a ragtag agglomeration of shipbreakers without a trace of PPEs or unity. Now, they’re like an elite corps. I instructed them to get comfortable back behind me and the office. There were chairs available if you hustled.
As much as I hated to, I was going to handle the actuation. If there was a problem, I could be the best situated to rectify the situation. However, there were not going to be any problems.
This was a Rocknocker production. We don’t tolerate failures or fuck ups. Die on us and you’ll never fucking work in this field again.
We have about 9 hours before this beach has to be empty. The way I figure it, I’ve got 7 D-8 Cats, 6 D-9s, and a couple of dragline cranes that can use to clear the beach of scuttled barge parts. Even if I can’t chop them into bite-size pieces, yeah, give me a couple of good cat skinners, and I’ll have this fucking beach cleared one way or the other.
I want to go back on-board the barge one last time for a final look-see, but with now the 2.3 tons of set, charged and primed explosives up there, that’d be a fool’s errand. And I ain’t no fool; last I checked.
I had previously examined my blasting machines, galvanometers, and personally inspected the thing several times.
Got to be happy with that. We have a schedule to keep and it’s getting close to showtime. Can’t keep the explosive demons captive much longer. We have this agreement, you see…
I go and have a talk with my crew and answer any questions.
“Yep. Eight big shots, and 32 pieces of barge where there was one before.”
“The Cats and cranes will drag them off, out of the way. Trucks will be sent to cart them off to another part of the camp for final chop-up.”
“I send you up with a lit candle to see what went wrong. Whaddya mean what happens if it fails to light? Sheesh. Go get me a breakfast beer.”
That done, I decided to get Mr. Maha to drive a couple of guys back to the commissary. I need donuts, pastries, and breakfast munchies before the shot. Besides, we’re ahead of the curve, we can afford to take things nice and easy; not crazed and shoddily. That’s the way I prefer to work, even with looming deadlines.
Which was a good idea in retrospect. Seems Goodgulf Grayteeth and some of his board buddies are here to jeer us on.
He’s got a boatload of cash riding on this job. It fucks up and they have to do some station keeping offshore with the cruise ship, it’ll cost him some layover cash. However nowhere near the bonuses I’ve worked out for my crew.
“So, Doctor?”, he smiles, predatorily, “Everything shipshape this morning?”
“Sure is, Gulfy”, I reply, “But not for much longer. Here to see how we do it downtown?”
“Yes, Doctor”, he replies glacially, “I’ve brought along some observers. Just to be on the safe side, if you have no objection.”
“Fine by me”, I say, “Just as long as they stay the fuck out of my way. Care for some coffee?” I ask, “We might have some tea floating around the office. Or a cold beer? Nothing hydrates better than a cold breakfast beer.”
“Ah, ha. Coffee would be fine, Doctor.”, he smiles carnivorously.
I offer them seats on the blasting table. There room for me, Sanjay, Gulfy, and his three cronies. It’s a literal ringside seat. Roll up, roll up! See the show!
I make some small talk whilst I devour several french donuts. I guess stress really makes one hungry. Gulfy and his second-in-commands nibble like nervous bunnies visiting Berechstgarden on their assorted breakfast pastries.
0800 rolls around and it’s time to get schwifty. A bunch of my crew insists on playing the music of my nation. They go through the Safety Dance with some real Indian flourishes. If it wasn’t so serious, it’d be hilarious.
I’ve got the galvanometer set up so the entire table can see it.
“This thing hits 88 mhos, you’re going to see some serious shit,” I mutter.
Gulfy heard and cringes.
Sanjay heard and just chuckles.
The Safety Dance is almost over. I give a couple of extra honks on the air horn as I know loud noises irritate Gulfy and his crew.
Then, there it is.
FIRE IT THE HOLE. Once, twice, thrice.
“It’s showtime” I smile. The galvanometer’s right where it should be, the firing board is primed, and I have the detonation probe wired and ready.
“FIRING ONE!” I shout and hold the metal probe against the wired-in metal post.
Slightly puzzled, I look around. Galv’s OK. We have connections. Batteries…
Batteries are over on the side of the table.
“Oh, dear”, I say, “Looks like someone moved his fucking chair and disconnected the goddamned battery. Simple fix. Some moron kicked the benchode
battery and it came undone. No problem.”
Accident or sabotage? It had to be an accident. These characters are too thick to think up anything as subtle as sabotage.
“OK, where were we?” I say, and check the circuit continuity with another meter.
We’re green across the board.
A thought hits.
“Hey, Gulfy? Want to give this a go?” I ask.
He hesitates but declines. If this goes bust, he wants it squarely in my lap. Plausible deniability?
“OK, fuck it. Thought I’d be nice…FIRING ONE!” and I hit the first post.
OK, maybe an entire spool of Primacord per cut was a bit much. Maybe the 4 boxes of C-4 per cut were somewhat excessive. But, holy mother of pearl, it gave some hellacious bangs.
“Shooting 3! Shooting 5! Shooting 2! Shooting 4! Shooting 6!”
The noise was horrendous. The shock waves set up seiches in our coffee cups, but we were well back and in the safe zone. Still, Gulfy and crew are going to need to get their suits dry cleaned from all the thrown fine sand and shmoo.
Slice one tottered, groaned, complained, and with a rip of marine sheet metal, fell. It hit the ground with a mighty thud and broke into four subequal parts. Slice two followed, then slice three, and slice four. They all followed suit.
They all hit the ground or sat on the beach and convulsed. What was one hunk of 250-ton ocean-going barge at a 450
angle was now more-or-less 32 sub-pieces, flat on the beach. Most were still connected by cables or hunks of torn sheet metal. It looked like a partial win for the Foam Town Team.
“But, Doctor”, Gulfy smiled predatorily, “These are huge pieces. It will take far too much time to cut them into small enough pieces to clear before the cruise ship arrives.”
I just smiled back and shook my head.
“That’s why I always insist on insurance.”, I said and held up the radio transceiver. “I always carry a backup piece.”
“If you will sit, gentlemen”, I requested, “The shock waves might be a little intense
I turned to my crew and asked for the chorus we’ve all been waiting to hear.
“Fire in the hole. FIRE IN the hole! FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
A full four hundred-weight of Pentaerythritol tetranitrate
detonated simultaneously. The shock waves were profound. The noise was deafening. The impact was hilarious.
The bits and pieces of the hulk shook, shimmied, and split cleanly apart along previously delimited and scored lines.
Now, there were 32 independent separate
pieces of the barge, all about 3-5 tons each, strewn about the beach.
Mere play-toys for the Cats and cranes I’ve got waiting.
“We’ll have this cleared by lunch,” I said. “I will, of course, expect payment immediately afterward.”
Gulfy looked at me with a cross of admiration, irritation, and downright incredulity.
“Remind me to never wager against you again, Doctor”, He says.
“Oh. Does that meant Friday night poker is off?” I laughed.
Gulfy and his cronies begin to depart, I remind him I needed 25 stuffed envelopes on my desk back at the barn by 1300 hours.
He nods in agreement and shuffles off.
“And I want them personalized!” I shout.
He waves gets into his company car and spins out of the area in a rooster tail of irritation and red dust.
I jump on a nearby D-9 Cat, fire it up, and back onto the playing field. I plug in a victory cigar, light up, and give a couple of celebratory puffs. I drop the rear ripper on one of the 32 sub-sections, punch a good grip on the thing, shift to forward and chug away dragging the hunk of the barge with me.
One down, 31 to go.
I drag it down the beach to a clearing, way the fuck out of the way of any cruise ship. Other Cat operators see my lead and are soon dragging or pushing hunks of the barge out of the way and into history. We didn’t even need the draglines.
We had that beach cleared in less than an hour. I was in such a good mood, I gave the crew the rest of the morning off, that is once they cleared the portable office and trucked it back to the barn. I made sure they left me a bucket with some hydration potions and noted that there was an imperative meeting at 1300 sharp. I fired up a second victory cigar.
I spent the next hour grooming that beach and actually building a V-door shaped ramp for the cruise ship which I could see puttering around just this side of the horizon.
“Beach Dog Green is open and ready for business”, I broadcasted over the company frequency.
I reluctantly returned the D-9 and hooked a ride back to the barn.
It’s 1245 and there’s a knock on the door. I answer the summons and receive a courier pouch that’s actually quite heavy. It’s my 25 parcels of pleasure for my crew.
They worked hard, kicked ass, and we had some laughs along the way. They earned every fucking biasa of this.
I smiled widely and shoved a new cigar into my gob. I sat down, did a quick tally, and realized that I had 1.5 lakhs rupees for each one of my guys. That was, at the time, i.e., a few weeks ago, about US$2,000.00 each. Sanjay would receive US$4,000.00.
All totaled, that was 52 large.
$52,000 in crisp, new US greenbacks
A king’s ransom for these guys that were used to working in rags, with shit equipment, in dangerous and deadly places, ass-deep in shit, for the equivalent of US$5/day.
I was fervently hoping that I was setting precedence here. This ship breaking company raked in billions
of rupees in pure profit per annum. The board didn’t look like they were hurting any.
“Time to spread the wealth, gentlemen.” I snicker quietly to myself.
All told, I probably, to date without my contract or pyrotechnics, have caused the company to expend some $250,000. Spread that out over 25 workers and that’s less than I care to think. These guys deserve a hell of a lot more than US$10K. I hope that when they begin training the next batch, they get recognized for their efforts, and are paid accordingly.
I will personally see to it that I make several such not-so-subtle suggestions to the board before I take my leave of this place.
It’s rapidly approaching the 1300 hour and the regular crowd filters in. They’ve all gotten out of their PPEs and everyone’s locker box is stored away nice and neatly.
“Hey, guys”, I said at 1301, “Good job on the barge. Sure we got a few cuts and bruises, but overall, I can’t be more pleased. So pleased, in fact, that we’re going to have a locker box inspection!”
The groans around the room were tangible. I think a few had an inkling something was afoot, but they thought it might be a day off or a bit of a bonus…
“Oh, OK. Now, yes now, we're going to do a locker box inspection! That is unless any of you got anything better to do. Well?! Anyone got anything they'd rather be doing than a locker box inspection?! Yes?! Govinda. What would you... rather be doing, Govinda?” I ask.
“Really, Rock; just about anything else. “ he replies.
“Under advisement.” I bark back.
“Rock?” Bhavabhuti asks.
“I'd quite like to read more in that Blaster’s handbook.”.
“Right! You go read your book, then! Now! Everybody else... quite content to join in... with my little scheme of a locker box inspection?!”
“Well, to be quite honest, Rock, I'd... rather be at studying some of the catalogs you’ve included as reading material,” Katyayana says.
“Would you, now?!”
“Yes, Rock” he replies.
“Right! Off you go! Now, everybody else happy with my little plan... of having a bit of locker box inspection?”
There are general murmurs around the room. I think I’ve confused them long enough.
“Or, I guess Sanjay could first distribute these. Sanjay?” I ask as I hand him half the stack of envelopes.
“Don’t open them until I give the word. Green?” I say.
“GREEN!” comes the explosive reply.
All are distributed and they all holding them up to the light, trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten into this time.
I reach inside my field vest and to the crestfallen, because he didn’t get one, Sanjay, I hand him his envelope. It’s quite a bit thicker. I ask him quietly to keep it on the QT.
“OK, gents.”, I say, “This is your…bonus for working that last job. I wrangled it for you and that’s why I pushed so hard. There’s now a Scandinavian cruise ship where our barge once set. I bet old Goodgulf your bonuses that we’d have the barge gone in 72 hours. Even with me taking off 24 for personal reasons, we did it with time to spare. Because of you and your diligence, hard work, and attitudes. Go ahead, open them. You deserve it.”
“HOLY FUCK!” was more or less the unanimous response.
Several of my crew just sat there. Stunned. Total cognitive shutdown. They’ve never imagined, much less seen nor held this much money at one time.
A couple of them whooped like Red Indians. I thought it was in poor taste to call them racist; I mean Indians whooping it up and making a scene? I guess you had to be there.
Many more of them just looked at me with tears in their eyes. OK, that one got me right square in the feels. I’m old, I’m jaded, I’m a crusty old curmudgeon. However, I wasn’t prepared for this. Not by a long shot.
The room was at a tipping point. Which way would it go? Total emotional implosion or explosion?
Sanjay looked at me and said soggily, after he noted his recent windfall, “Don’t just stand there, ya’ big ape. Say something profound.”
“OK. Um. Ah. Don’t spend it all in one place?” I joked.
That was enough to send the room over the top. There were hoots, howls, yells, and hurrahs leaking out of the barn for at least a solid 5 minutes.
“Well, this day is fucked”, I observed.
I could hear plans of buying this and buying that, as soon as possible. I figured it would be things like fancy watches, a new phone, something silly and absolutely necessary.
No, I was dead wrong. They were discussing buying space heaters, new brakes for their tired old cars, a new stove for the family, even a room addition and bedroom furniture for their homes.
Now I was pissed. I should have held Gulfy’s feet to the fire and gone for 2 lakhs each.
Amazing what living in different cultures can do to a person. Here I am, the tired world traveler and every once in awhile, even I get blindsided.
“OK, guys”, I said, “I know you’re itching to go spend your newly found wealth, but first, Chapters 11-15 of Thompson for tomorrow?”
That was greeted with general grimacing and unpleasantness.
“You can read that now, or join Sanjay and me in a cigar, and maybe a libation or two. Class dismissed. Go nuts. Your choice. See you tomorrow 0800 for discussions on underwater demolition practices.” I said.
I ask Sanjay to order up some libations. I have no idea how many will stay and how many are itching to dish out the doss, so I just order 6 cases of beer. Any way you count it, it’s not about to go to waste.
“Oh, and Sanj, add a couple-three of bottles of Old Benchode
as well,” I tell him on the sly. I’ve actually developed a taste for the stuff.
I mean, what the fuck? I’ve already read chapters 11-15 in Thompson.
The beer and booze arrive and while some are reading their chapters, it doesn’t last long. I fire up a heater and distribute them to all who desire. Only a few accept as clove cigarettes are a thing in these parts. I come out of class smelling like an Easter Spiral-sliced baked ham.
It’s not a “Whoop-de-doo!” sort of party. It’s more a sit around, have a few drinks, smoke a few smokes and ask the professor about some of his stories.
My Russian tales are the best received of the batch. They get the jibblies when I tell them of some of my Central Asian antics. They don’t care for my tales from China at all. It’s an odd response. Total neutrality on Mongolia, but mention China, and they all visibly bristle.
It’s getting on in time and I have an appointment down at the docks later this afternoon. I kick everyone out precisely at 1700 hours and ask Sanjay if he wants to accompany me.
“Where to this time, Rock?”, he asks.
“Down to the beach. I’ve struck a deal with some fishermen. They’ll take me out for a spot of fishing. I don’t want the fish, just the opportunity to get out, breath some salt air, and tangle with some finny denizens of the area.” I said.
“Good thing you told me”, he says, “They’d fuck you over greatly. Once you’re out of sight of land, they’ll feign getting lost, and try to terrorize you.”
I chuckle involuntarily.
“Fuck. Good luck with that”, I smirk…
“And they’d keep you out there as long as they could until you agree to pay. They basically kidnap you and can’t find port again until you cough up some dough.” He says.
“Oh, OK. Thanks. Well advised. Want to go with?” I ask.
“What? You’re still going?” he asks.
I reach in my field vest and pull out about 7 or 8 hunks of spare C-4 and an equal number of set-pull-forget pull fuses.
“Sure”, I smile, “Sounds like it could be major fun.”
“Rock…” Sanjay says in that matronly manner he pulls out when I want to have a little fun.
“Oh, geez”, I snarl, “You guys are always pushin’ me around. Never let me have any fun…”
Just as well. We get back to the Raj and I have a couple of phone messages. Seems the agency got a Twix on me and want to discuss a few things.
Besides, I need to call Es and have a chat. Plus, I should really update my field notebooks, files, and dossiers.
The thought of "You're going to have to pay for this, Ralph Phillips!" keeps running through my head.
“They never let me have any fun.” I grouse as I pick up the phone. “It’s like I’m stuck on Monkey Beach”
After a quick chat with Esme, as she and her mother are saying “Pffft!” to lockdown rules as they are being finally relaxed all over Baja Canada and they’re, wait for it…’ going shopping’…
I tell her of the guy’s reaction to my little scheme of getting the bonuses. She was also bewildered. She notes that even after living all around the world, we still get culturally blindsided occasionally.
“Birds of a feather”, I reply. We profess our mutual love and she mentions Turner’s for lunch. Now I have nostalgia pangs. I’d kill for a raw beef and onion Cannibal Sandwich and a couple-six ice-cold drafts from Turner’s
Next up are my Agency buddies.
“Yes? Hello? Take me off the damned speaker, Rack!” I say.
“That’s not going to happen. How are you, today, Doctor?” Ruin asks.
“Just dandy”, I reply, “And you? And your unsmiling partner?”
“Quite fine”, he says, “Enough of this idle banter. We have a chore for you.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I reply.
“Because you’re prescient, have second sight and you know us all too well?” Rack laughs.
“There is that…” I agree. “OK, what’s the job?”
“Your last report. The CEO of the shipbreakers, the one you refer to in the narrative as Goodgulf Grayteeth?” Ruin asks.
“Only because his real last name is eleven syllables long. And his first name isn’t much shorter. Besides, he reminds me of an ancient, crotchety, and less-than-effectual wizard. Besides, he looks like he fell off of a charm bracelet.“ I reply.
“That’s the one.” Ruin agrees.
“Yes?” I reply, “Get on with it?”
“Of course. The old American get-right-down-to-business attitude.” Rack titters, “So refreshing.”
They’re quoting back some snippets of my reports at me. This can never be good.
“WHAT!?!” I detonate.
“Oh, we’d just like every bit of dirt you can find on this character.” Rack replies, “We didn’t have much on him before you graced their shores. Now, he’s prominent in several of your communiques. Well, OK then. We’re interested. Skullduggery time, Herr Doctor.”
“Skullduggery?” I ask, “Who bought you a thesaurus for your birthday?”
“They’re company issue now.”, Rack replies, “Ever since we’ve had to deal with the likes of you.”
“Oh, I am insulted!” I roar, “I’m affronted. Slighted. Disrespected. Outraged. Offended. Shall I continue?”
“With your data collection? Yes.”, Ruin agrees, “With your current line of conversation, not so much.”
“Right,” I reply. “Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”
“Yes, there is as a matter of fact.”, Ruin continues, “Take the job here at the agency, become our boss, and get us big, juicy bonuses.”
“Oh, you heard about that?” I asked.
“Oh, yes”, Rack replies.
I had better sense than to ask “From whom?”.
I do know I’m not the only sneaky bastard around these parts. I don’t know any names, but I have my hunches.
“And don’t go offshore fishing anytime soon, Herr Doctor”, Ruin continues, “We need your reports. They’re such fun readings early in the morning after coffee.”
He’s insinuating that they read my dispatches in the john.
“At least you just read mine there”, I reply, “Your stuff is held in reserve in case the bog roll runs out.”
“Well played, Doctor.” Rack chuckles. “OK, bye now.”
And with that, they ring off.
I hate it when they do that. I’ve got so many more insults I wanted to use on them.
Wait one…what did he mean about going fishing?
The penny drops.
Now I have another one to drive crazy. I might have to send him to the far side of the breaker’s yard while I spend a little time rummaging around in his room.
“Sanjay, me ol’ mucker”, I smile, “You really should have told me…”
So, after a night of updating dossiers, field notebooks, and creating a new, non-repeating substitution encryption cipher for my notes, I relax in the Olympic-sized Jacuzzi. I take with a brace of cigars, couple-nine drinks, and the newly arrived issue of Surface Mining / Quarrying / Construction Drillers & Blasters Quarterly.
Heady stuff, to be certain.
The next morning, I’m watching what I say around the breakfast table. It’s tough knowing that everything you might utter could possibly end up in a coded transmission back to Virginia.
This only lasts a few minutes as I resign myself to the fact that I really don’t give a furry rat’s ass about the whole deal. Fuck it. I end up in someone’s report? So what? They already know, from my own detailed reports, what the fuck’s going on, for the most part.
“‘Mornin’ Sanj”, I say over a steaming hot mug of Greenland coffee. “Time for some chow before we need to scoot.”
Sanjay looks at me with road-mapped bloodshot eyes.
“Oh, my!” I say in my best, though still not very good, George Takei impression. “Look at what the feline dragged in. Go fishing without me?”
He looks at me with weary eyes.
“Rock”, he says, “I might need a day off. Personal reasons.”
“Sure, I’m not your handler,” I reply, utilizing the old agency term for field director.
Let him swirl that one around the old brainbox for a while.
He looks at me quizzically. But that wave blows over before it can form into anything coherent.
“Nah. I continue, “It’s all book learnin’ today. I can handle this easily. You stay here and get some kip. Looks like you could use some.”
“Yeah”, he snarls back, “Just like you and your little [finger quotes] problem
the other day.”
Gad, I hate that. He was insinuating I was, gasp
, intoxicated and needed bed rest.
For a supposed spook, he certainly hasn’t done his homework. I already told him I’m an EtOH-fueled organism.
“Yeah” I replied, “Mea culpa
. I didn’t know you had RRMS as well. It’s a motherfucker, ain’t it? That relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis is a real pain right square in the cunning linguals.”
Sanjay looks at me like I just sprouted durians.
“Yeah”, I continue, “I don’t carry on about on person’s foibles, maladies, or physical disfigurements. I just take them at their word. Guess that’s a major personality fuck-up on my part.”
Sanjay realizes he’s trodden upon some conversational real estate that is both quickmud and somewhere he doesn’t want to be right now.
“Well, bye”, I say. “Get some kip. Sounds like you could use it. But that’s just me and my flawed observations.”
I cap my coffee, stand up, shove a new cigar in my gob and walk out in a huff.
Sanjay sits there trying to figure out if I was really personally insulted. Slightly miffed. Or just yankin’ his chain.
Maybe I’ll let him know which sometime later.
Or maybe I’ll just let him stew for a while.
At the barn, it’s 0730. I ‘ve got the whiteboard finally wiped down. Sharpies aren’t the best things to use on them, I discovered. Oh, well. A little renatured, unflavored EtOH cleaned the board slick. It just keeps hiccuping at me.
It’s most disconcerting.
The class begins directly at 0800. I’m getting to the end of things I can teach these guys without delving more deeply into one or another subject. But there’s the rub. Unless they want to extend my contract, there isn’t time. And if they do want me to hang around, which subject would do the most good?
I announce that after lunch, everyone meets here and boards the Magic Bus. Mr. Maha will convey them to an open stretch of beach. I feel the need for some demonstrations. After all, I have to leave in 3 days. After that, these characters are on their own. Of course, I’m available by Email, but it’s difficult to diagnose difficulties in demolition via that direction.
Lunch hour hits and I’m off to the bunker. I found, ahem, an old Royal Enfield Bullet C5 Desert Storm motorcycle. Actually, I’m renting it for 100 rupees per day. What the hell, it sure beats walking.
I’m at the bunker, sitting around the desk and chair we got corporate to cough up. I decide I’m going to do a full-spectrum display of various pyrotechnics.
On a stick.
I’m going to borrow several of those 6-foot bamboo poles and attach to the top, equivalent amounts of pyrotechnics, beginning with some gunpowder and up to an including my old nemesis, liquid nitro.
This will be some fun.
Let’s see. Quick inventory. Some things have come in over the last few days…
Black powder, Blasting caps, Det cord, Primacord, C-4, 40% Extra Fast Dynamite, 60% Extra Fast Dynamite, RDX, PETN, ANFO, Kinestik, and DOUBLEHELIX.
Oh, look here. A full inventory has been taken. Let’s see what we all have to play with:
Nitrogen Based Explosives and Formula
• Ammonium nitrate (AN) H4N2O3
• Ammonium picrate (Expl D) C6H6N4O7
• Cyclonite (RDX) C3H6N6O6
• Ethylenediamine dinitrate C2H10N4O6
• Guanidine nitrate CH6N4O3
• Hexamethylenetriperoxide diamine (HMTD) C6H12N2O6
• Hexanitrohexaazaisowurtzitane (HNIW or CL20) C6H6N12O12
• Hydrazine nitrate H5N3O3
• Mannitol hexanitrate C6H8N6O18
• Monomethylamine nitrate CH4N2O3
• Nitrocellulose C6H7N3O11
• Nitroglycerin (NG) C3H5N3O9
• Nitrotriazolone (NTO) C2H2N4O3
• Octogen (HMX) C4H8N8O8
• Pentaerythritol tetranitrate (PETN) C5H8N4O12
• Picric acid C6H3N3O7
• Tetrazene C2H8N10O
• Tetryl C7H5N5O8
• Trinitrobenzene (TNB) C6H3N3O6
• Trinitrotoluene (TNT) C7H5N3O6
• Triaminoguanidine nitrate (TAGN) CH9N7O3
• Triaminotrinitrobenzene (TATB) C6H6N6O6
• 1,3,3-Trinitroazetidine (TNAZ) C3H4N4O6
• Trinitrochlorobenzene C6H2ClN3O6
• Trinitropyridine C5H2N4O6
• Urea nitrate CH5N3O4
• Other explosive types
• Ammonium perchlorate H4NO4Cl
• Lead styphnate C6H3N3O9Pb
• Triacetone triperoxide (TATP) C9H18O6
• Black powder Intimate mixture
• Tetraamminecopper perchlorate H24Cl2CuN4O8
• Kinestix Binary Solid
• Seismogel Binary semi-solid
• DOUBLEHELIX Binary liquid
Not that we needed all that for the job, but once you get locked into a serious explosives collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.
Whoever takes over my job when I leave is going to have him or herself some fun. I wish I had time to play with everything on the list. It would be most enjoyable.
Well, I don’t have that much time, so I’ll just go back to my original list and do some shopping.
Hmmm…Black powder, Blasting caps, Det cord, Primacord, C-4, 40% Extra Fast Dynamite, 60% Extra Fast Dynamite, RDX, PETN, ANFO, Kinestik, and DOUBLEHELIX.
I pack approximately 1 kilogram, where applicable, of each into my backpack. I somehow manage to get the bamboo shoots over to an area of the beach that’s currently unoccupied, as it’s just growing back from our little 9-ton ammo dump party.
I attach all the explosives to the top of the bamboo and duct tape them soundly to the little wooden platform on the top.
I key the mic on my radio and give a call to Mr. Maha. I explain that he should take his Magic Bus to the Barn, inform all my crew to board the bus and meet me over at the divot we created a few days ago. He knows the place, in fact, he tells me that the locals have taken to fishing there in the evenings as it’s a nice, shady area with a new geographic outlook.
Evidently the locals like a little change now and again.
At 1330, the incredibly hued Magic Bus arrives. I instruct Mr. Maha to park his polychromatic creation well away from the 12 bamboo poles swaying gently in the breeze.
He did not need to be told twice. He knows to take me literally, or greater, at my word.
I tell the guys that this is a practical demonstration of equal amounts of a dozen different explosives.
I tell them it’s also pop quiz time. Tell me, on a sheet of paper out of your field notebooks, what you think will be the biggest bang, and list from 1 to 12 the order of increasing energy.
Also, which are deflagrating versus detonating explosives.
I live for pop quizzes.
I give them a few minutes to get settled. Since I have each one set with a radio-controlled detonator, which I chose to be 10 MHz apart so we had no doubles, I have a sheet of frequencies and pole positions, if you will.
This isn’t like the US, Europe, or even Russia. There’s not much going on across the radio frequency spectrum, so I’m not too worried about having FM-ZOO radio setting anything off prematurely. Besides, I chose detonators well out of the broadcast band. Still, there’s always the chance of some joker of a HAM radio operator with a leaky linear amplifier bleedin’ all over the frequency spectrum.
They’d have to be able to overpower my hand-held, and since there’s no one line-of-sight working on a collinear or Yagi sort of antenna, I decide it’s a risk worth taking.
I’d never even think of attempting this just about anywhere else.
“All set?”, I ask and plug in a new cigar, “Smoke’m if you got’em.”
After I dispense a dozen or so cigars, we’re back on track.
“Oh, yes, how daft of me”, I swan, “First. The Hindi Safety Dance. Gentlemen?”
A group spontaneously arises and begins to clear the compass.
They just love doing the safety dance. They really camp it up. Perhaps because they know what’s coming immediately after…
Finally we hear: “किसी बड़े विस्फोट की चेतावनी देना!” “Kisee bade visphot kee chetaavanee dena!” “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
Once again, it’s Showtime. To be continued.
I’m 18, M and Pakistani living in North America. Summer break is here so I want to better myself when it comes to dating, self confidence, etc. I’ve heard a few things about dating paki guys from a couple female friends but they were kinda vague about it.
My question goes to the females that dated paki guys whether they were exmuslim or muslim, what was your experience like? What did you dislike about their mentality or behavior? Any advice for an exmoose like me trying to better myself? (Still got a conservative parent that I’m trying to deal with lol)
Just want to see what I can do to change myself so I’m not ruining shit for myself or other people like I have in the past :)
Tbh I don't talk to girls anymore ... God knows how long it's been.
And neither have I ever clued in my parents about my previous attempts to ascend to a higher plane of fulfillment ... not unlike many other brocels here ... but of course that doesn't stop them from accidentally finding out.
Story time ... and when they do find out, they SPERG OUT!
In this case, the girl I was talking to ... was Paki herself.
JFL can't even talk to girls of my own culture ...
By the way, nothing came of it as expected (never heard of Paki boys casually dating Paki girls, apparently she dated a white boy for a few months lol) but the point is that ethnic parents are bizarrely punitive towards their sons expressing even a modicum of their heterosexuality ... meanwhile no one bats an eye when ethnic women put out.
All posts relating to Naruto will be removed for the next 24 hours due to the current date
Bleach memes are allowed
No hentai, mild nsfw is allowed if you tag it
Rules will be more lax
I don’t know why paki guys especially the ones on my insta and social media all seem to be those New York Brooklyn boys who either go to hookah lounges at night and barely study and there’s also those guys who just look like they’re your type going to college being very focused but then have a shit ton of girls on their profile. So I get confused as how we approach dating someone or going into pursuing something when a) it’s difficult to meet someone genuinely face to face as a brown person who’s YOUR TYPE if you especially live in a non desi area and b) you’re never approached, despite being cute and having a personality, but with all the insta baddies I feel like the perception of who guys want to be dating is skewed a lot differently now, idk. I probably don’t make any sense but I’m hoping for a response lol
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