Brinsfield funeral home obituaries

So long after the funeral was over and everyone else had gone home, I was still there singing and dancing on her cold dead corpse.

I'm starting to think I should rename this to "INLAWS FROM HELL".
I do want to thank everyone for thier comments and condolences. I wish I could say things have been smooth sailing.
I'm angry. DH is angry. JNSIL is angry. JNMIL and JNFIL is angry. Everyone is angry.
It's just a shit show. Just a reminder I'm not a great writer and I'm also on mobile. Definitely let me know of any misspellings or if something needs calified.
I don't even know where to start. It's been a long 2 weeks. There were plenty of little things but here are the key incidents thus far.

1. DH's (dear husband) family is catholic. Part of the catholic tradition is to do the rosary for those who have passed. From my understanding this allows Mother Marry to take NSIL (nice sister-in-law) into haven. They had that on May 30th.
   

Now I'm not catholic. But even so, I know to be respectful and to not be on my phone. But apparently this was too much to ask of my JNFIL (just no father inlaw). About 30 minutes in, he took a phone call and started texting. It was super disrespectful. We were in the front row right where the priest could see. I mean this is his daughter's rosary. This is his baby girl. DH was beyond angry. Frankly, I am too.
2.
While NSIL's funeral is in our home town, she wanted to be buried in a completely different state. This wouldn't be a problem except that JNMIL ( just no mother inlaw) and JNFIL wanted to ride in my and DH's car. They wanted this because, it would cost less gas to carpool and JNMIL can get into our car without issue (she's in a wheelchair now due to the many strokes).
Look I'll be honest. I can't stand JNMIL and 8 hours in the car with her sounds like hell. I could get over that. But what I can't get over is that JNMIL and JNFIL are the most disgusting people I've ever met. I mean this woman literally coughed up egg in my face. I was picking egg out of my hair. I've seen them at my JNSIL's (just no sisterinlaw) house, and JNMIL just makes a mess. She leaves crums and take out food cups everywhere. They are also hoarders and currently still have a bedbug problem.
I don't want them in our clean car. However I wanted to support DH. I know he's grieving. He just lost his sister after all. So I put on my big girl panties on and agreed to have them in our car. We did come up with a few car rules.

1. No food or dink in the car. Bottles are ok.
   
2. They're luggage can't go in our car. It can go with JNSIL and Grandma. (This was to reduce the chance of getting bedbugs in our car. Grandma doesn't care about having thier stuff in her car)
   
3. If JNMIL were to throw up or pee herself, they would pay to have the car detailed. DH would clean any little things.
   

Now, when presenting these rules, we were very polite but firm. We did not attack them. We just said these are our car rules.
Apparently, these 3 rules were just too much for them. JNMIL and JNFIL especially had issue with rule number 1. That's the rule that hurt their feelings. I just don't understand this. Plenty of people have a no food and drink rule for thier car.
JNFIL has been giving DH grief the past few days over rule 1. Then last night, JNSIL calls DH and starts yelling about how inhumane we're being to JNMIL. JNSIL told us, that due to our no food and drink rule, JNMIL won't go to the burial at all. JNSIL was ranting about how unfair it was to JNMIL and how she didn't get to see NSIL before she died. I was pissed. JNMIL seriously won't see her daughter layed to rest because she can't eat in the car.
After the call, DH and I decided to just drop rule one. At this point I was just so done. Really I only agreed to drop rule one because I wanted to make things easier for DH. Funny enough he's the one who originally came up with that rule to begin with (but I totally agree with it).
All of this to say, this morning (morning of the trip) JNFIL calls to let us know that they will be taking thier own car. JNFIL said it was because there was too much "animosity". I was absolutely livid. While I'm glad they won't be in my car, DH and I have been bending over backwards to accommodate them just for them to be upset about 3 rules.
Now I'm in the car just dreading this whole trip. Wish me luck.

When I was twelve I got knocked off my bike by a drunk driver. I split my head right open and broke nearly every bone in my body. For four days I hovered between life and death. My parents said goodbye and even picked my funeral song. They held my hand and told me they were sorry for every silly argument, but I wasn’t there anymore, I was somewhere else.
I was in the in-between. I was connected to the hospital room by only a small frayed thread that with every passing minute threatened to snap. I could hear they’re voices but only faintly, not that they were a comfort anyway, there was no such thing as comfort where I was. It was impossibly dark in that in-between, and so cold you could feel the chill in the marrow of your bones. I can’t remember what it looks like exactly, that oddly empty place.
From my waning memory, I recall it as a formless mass of, wet, dripping, nothing; there was no left or right, no up or down. You’d float around like a kite in the wind with only that little string holding you down. It felt like I was there for years. Time just seemed to elongate there. Eventually my family’s voices faded into nothing and all I could hear was the loud deafening thud of silence. It was then I heard him."
“Hulqu-ša māru.” He said, over and over. His voice was soothingly consistent. I transcribe the phrase to you now accurately, though to my young, uneducated ears it sounded like a jumble of mismatched vowels. It was only in my adulthood that I found out that the voice he spoke to me in was Old Akkadian. Translated it meant; my child is lost.
Then I woke up. My eyes squinted from the bright hospital lights and my mother’s tears formed a puddle on my face. I can’t remember much following that, but my mum says that I kept saying “he’s real” over and over.
That’s why I know there is a god. He spoke to me, I walked in his kingdom and then I came back. Nearly eight-years later when I took my seat for the first day of my Religious Studies degree, I was perhaps the only one in that lecture theatre that knew with absolute certainty that there was a god. Was it the Christian God? The Islamic? Maybe no one has it right, but he existed. He was real. I knew that. I spent four years studying religion, and learnt nothing more important than what I found out when I was twelve.
“I have some concerns regarding your dissertation title Jeremy, Proving that God is Real, it’s… well it’s impossible to prove. We wouldn’t require faith if there was a burden of proof.” Professor Alcott said to me as he shifted through my research. “Personal anecdotes are also not sufficient subject to base an entire dissertation upon.”
“I’m committed to this research paper professor, I know with certainty that there is a god and I would like an opportunity to make this clear to everyone.” I said. “By next week sir, I will have more than anecdotes. Give me a chance.”
“I’m not one to quash academic innovation, if you would like to give this topic a bash, then I will not stand in your way. You are such a promising student Jeremy, I just don’t want you to waste your talent.” He said, looking dissatisfied.I left Alcott’s office with a seemingly impossible task. For centuries people have been looking for scientific proof in a higher power and all so far have failed. All I had was my own experience, I needed more. I scribbled down in my notebook the two most pressing features of a god with a puzzle knitting my brow together.
He’s everywhere.
He can’t be seen.
I was lying in my bed, in my dingy little student rent when I had my epiphany. Mould. It had followed me my entire life. Every room I slept in, it would curl up in the corner, an ugly black mass of reaching tendrils. It was watching me, haunting me. He was in the very air I breathed. I’m real, he was saying over and over, I’m right here. I’d been bleaching him away all of these years, drowning him in chemicals.
Mould, like mushrooms and other fungus, travels in spores, invisible to the human eye. It is said that there are fungal spores in every gulp of air we take. They grow only in conditions where they thrive, in the damp of a rundown house or in the soil at the foot of a withered tree. It made too much sense, how else could he be everywhere all at once? And with that I had a new dissertation title. Proving God is Real: The Mycological Evidence. Alcott was bemused but satisfied at least that he was in for an interesting read.
I wasn’t a mycologist when I began my dissertation, but I was by the end of my study. Fungus don’t need light to grow, in-fact there are some sources that suggest they thrive in the dark. All they really need is moisture. The in-between I’d hovered in as a child had been so damp and wet. With every new nugget of mycological trivia, the dot to dot I’d been solving my entire life was becoming clearer and clearer.
It all made so much sense. There are some suggestions from credible scientists that the consumption of psilocybin mushrooms had aided the evolution from home erectus to homo sapiens. He had nudged us, even then. Not to mention the countless ancient civilisations that had claimed to commune with gods through the burning and consumption of teas made from various fungus.I needed more, coincidences and anecdotes are so easily solved.
Armed with a little scalpel and a mason jar I scraped some of the mould off my wall. I added some water and sealed it. Growing mushrooms is exceedingly simple, as all budding recreational drug users and mycologists know.. “Give me a sign.” I said to it. “Please.”
I left it on my desk and let it fester, and it did. It grew and grew until nearly the entire jar was black. I don’t really know what my plan was for my little mason-jar experiment, I certainly didn’t expect what happened.
“Dude, that shit is rank. Stick in the bin.” My roommate pointed to my desk one day as he popped his head into my room. I had almost forgotten about it. I glanced at what he was looking at and felt my heart stop.The mason jar was smashed.
Sharp little pieces of glass were inter-mingled with thick moss-like mould that was now spreading all across my desk. It hadn’t been like that in the morning, it had to have happened recently, maybe even in the past few hours that I’d been napping. I briefly considered wiping it up with a cloth, but I couldn’t - it was god - I couldn’t clean up god.
So I left it there and charted it’s growth casually in my notebook. Until one day I returned from my morning lectures and saw something… disturbing. It had grown out from the table; it’s awful tendrils reaching out towards the empty air. If you squinted it sort of looked like a hand, oddly malformed and misshapen though it was. I started to spend my nights in the library as I was so unnerved by it.Then one morning, It was gone. The mould, it was gone, like it had never even been there before.
There's an animalistic side to all of us, one we don't realise we have until it's triggered. I felt it then, an overwhelming feeling of dread that built up to a crescendo where the very utterance of silence rang in my ears like alarm bells. I ought to have listened to it. But it was god, and god had a plan.
I went to bed that night with that feeling still tugging at me. Sleep did not come easy, in fact it did not come at all. My eyes narrowed from exhaustion, my room almost pitch black save for the small amount of light from my phone screen. I thought it was the silhouette of a jacket at first.
I stared hard at it, trying to discern any familiarity in it's shape.
I stared for what felt like hours. I felt as though I was being watched, like I wasn't alone. Then it came. Just the smallest of twitches. My finger danced over the torch button on my phone, but there was a comfort in not seeing, in the dark haze there was still a chance that it was my jacket or an odd shadow.
“Si unus extisat, sic facit alterum.” The shape said an inhuman voice that filled me with an overwhelming amount of dread. This wasn’t what I had felt when I was child, the voice of god was soothing not… wrong.
I turned the light on. All the horror films I’d watched told me that when you put the light on the awful things just… go away.
It’s a lie, a tired old trope.
Illuminated in the torchlight, It stood on hind legs, this black mass of awful clinging mould, and it looked at me, even though it did not have eyes, just empty holes. It tilted it’s head, like a dog trying to comprehend that the bag of treats had an end. It took a few steps towards me, like it had only just learned to walk, and it said it again, this time directed at my soul.
“Si unus extisat, sic facit alterum.” It said again and then, with odd movements, it slipped out my door. I heard the thud of it heading down my staircase and with every awful hoof on my steps, I felt as though I was being shot.
I knew the words this time, while the akkadian god had spoken to me in my youth had eluded me, this had not. My grammar school had a rather impressive latin department and I was close to fluent.If one exists, then so does the other.
That’s what it had said. It’s a simple turn of phrase that haunts me to this day. I wrote it all down. I turned in my dissertation with a heavy weight on my shoulders. Alcott offered me a place on his PHD programme, but I declined and he said farewell to me with an odd look glinting in his eye. He didn’t believe me, but he believed at least that I did. That’s faith for you.
He’s out there somewhere. The other.
By looking for god I had set him free and now he walks, on those unsteady legs. Maybe he’s that pile of oddly shaped clothes in the corner of your dark room, or the queer shadow that moves just slightly out of tune with your own, perhaps he’s all of these things and nothing. If one exists then so does the other. It is upon this uncertain balance that our world is built. I only wished I had met just the one.

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I feel like I need to get this off my chest and would also appreciate any advice on how to approach this situation with my partner. We have been together for 2 years and live together.I have a considerably more busy schedule then my partner and I feel like he isn’t contributing towards his fair share or household chores which is causing a lot of resentment on my end. He works from home and a lot of his 9-5 IT job is self study which in reality just means he spends 2-5hrs a workday gaming/whatever he wants.
Everything in my life is as streamlined as possible and don’t have the luxury of as much free time as him. I work retail which is physically exhausting long shifts and also studying my bachelors as well as trying to launch a small business.The household chores that I regularly do include cleaning the bathroom, kitchen, all dishes and I’m often the person who does errands/organises things.
The 2 chores that are left if vacuuming and laundry which seem to be a point of conflict constantly. He will always leave it last minute or not get the full job done.The most logical solution is to do these things first thing in the morning eg. washing laundry then hanging it on the line to dry instead of putting it in the dryer at night adding to the electricity bill. This means laundry isn’t put away or sometimes I have to wait for bedding or clothing I need for the next day to be dry. It disrupts my night routine.
He will use excuses like he hasn’t been downstairs yet and will do it then. I will ask him to do a simple task like hoovering at 10am and he won’t start till 4pm onwards usually after 6pm. I will often end up doing it myself or getting extremely frustrated as it feels like he’s taking the piss. I feel like he has poor time management and priorities gaming above all.
I’ve broached the topic of mental health with him and he even went on natural anti depressants (St Johns wort) which he said helped him feel a bit better. I did discuss my experiences with sertraline with him as I was on it when we started dating. This man genuinely brought such light and joy to my life till I felt mentally sane enough to not need to be on antidepressants anymore. I just went a clean home environment and not to feel like I’m always fighting with him over it.
I feel like I can’t do for him what he did for me and it destroys me.We used to take walks, have dates, game together and actually spend time together. He has actively chosen to not get therapy as he wants to prioritise saving more towards a house deposit for our future. He isn’t interested in anything besides spending the moment he wakes up till he goes sleep gaming. He will only come downstairs to eat and spend an hour watching TV during dinner before he retreats.
I’m genuinely struggling to figure out if he’s being lazy or depressed. I understand he’s in a job he’s not passionate about however he’s making zero efforts to change that. He could chose to pursue some type of further education/training to switch industries. He is reluctant to go out due to feeling shame about his appearance and we can’t go on holiday because of this. I’ve decided to go abroad alone but am a little disappointed he won’t be there but I can’t put my life on hold.
I’m just so frustrated as he has a loving partner, family, stable income and secure living situation. I get it he’s gained weight and he doesn’t like his job which isn’t ideal but it can be changed. I feel like he’s become really immature and ungrateful not the man I fell in love with. I remember last year on the train ride home from my dads funeral all he could do was complain to me that his expensive nerf guns he ordered hasn’t arrived yet.It was very insensitive and I let it go but now I’m starting to wonder if it is an indicator of how absorbed with himself he’s become.
I understand he’s struggling but I feel like I also need his support. I’ve also had a rough last year. I lost both my brother and dad unexpectedly. I continue to have a strained relationship with my remaining family and have had some health issues.
I would like to find a way to get through to him. I am willing to brainstorm a plan for action but I can’t help him if he’s not willing to help himself. It’s such a shame as he’s one of the most gentle kind people I know.Now I can’t even get him to pay attention to me or leave his room away from his PC.
Is there anything I can do to get through to him or is he purposely being incompetent?
TLDR; I (25f) am fed up with my partners (30m) dragging his feet when it comes to doing chores and generally being withdrawn from me.

My mom qualified for these benefits 2 years ago and we then went through a program that sourced and paid CNA’s to come to her home which she was still in. They deducted the money from her bank account monthly. When we moved her to assisted living the “level of care “ fee matched what she was getting from the VA. Now her LOC fee is $700 per month HIGHER and has been about 5 months or so. Anyway- we had to sell her house as she is running out of money to pay assisted living. Now there is 162K in her investment account. VA says you can have assists of 150k per my understanding. I’m going to go prepay a funeral for her and catch up some hospital bills but that probably would leave 6k left over. I really don’t want her to lose those benefits over a few thousand dollars. Any ideas on legal ways I can get that money down? She’s 94 and not able to travel, doesn’t really need anything at the moment.

I reached out online about a house I saw listed for rent online (Redfin), and immediately got a call from a man claiming to be an independent property manager of the home. Online, there was no move-in date or pet policy, and when I asked about those things he immediately told me my desired move-in date (August) and pets would work prefect. He sent over the application and told me the application fee, and then called back twice within 10 mintues telling me to fill it out. When I asked him who the owner of the houe was, he told me a name different from who is listed on the Asheville GIS (I found using avlmap.ashevillenc.gov). I asked to set up a time to go see the home and he pressed me to fill out the application.
Also when I googled this manager's (unique sounding) name, nothing comes up except for an obituary and a few other random people across the country.
Obvioulsy I'm not going to send any $, but does this give anyone else big red flags?
It's hard out here y'all!
​
Edit to add: I submitted a report to Redfin, hopefully they take the post down and get better about vetting their listings.
Edit again to add: I'm just gonna lightly dox this redfin listing in the off-chance someone else thinks about applying https://www.redfin.com/NC/Asheville/35-Ferncliff-Dr-28805/unit-N-A/home/185557510

Hi all,
I (34F) just found this subreddit after googling post-grief brain fog and am very much looking forward to reading your stories. My mom (57) passed away unexpectedly last Wednesday and I have been a bit of a wreck. When I first found out, I went into hyper-oldest-daughter mode and made my dad stay with me for a few days to take care of him. He was quite emotional but I was more of a robot than anything. I only cried when no one was around, so mostly in the shower. Since then, I made the appointment with the funeral home, did that meeting and paid for the services, made phone calls to let people know, posted on Facebook, started planning the memorial for late summer, and now I still need to write the obituary.
But I can't write it. I actually can't do anything that involves my brain. After my dad went back home, I dove into anything physical I could get my hands on. Cleaning the house, building some built-in bookshelves, gardening, running, anything really. But now that I'm back at work I find that I can't put a single thought together. I can't make myself do work. I just locked myself in my office with a Do Not Disturb sign up, but I'm just surfing the internet.
When does this get better? I'm a professional that many people rely on. I have no real boss, so I self manage, but I can't manage anything and no one is forcing me to work. I had to drop out of a funding opportunity, and everyone 100% understands, but I'm just beating myself up over this. And the obituary is looming over me. I have to write it. But how? I read articles about how to do it, but those are all about the content, not how you can move past the grief enough to just write. Damn it, I've written a book and a dissertation and I can't push myself to write 2 paragraphs!

TLDR: I always come spend time with his family no matter what - even if it’s uncomfortable or they treat me badly. He almost never comes with me despite my family pretty much worshipping him and me needing a bit more emotional support from him. We just had a death in the family and he’s refusing visit with me because he “doesn’t like the vibes”. I’ve told him I’m seriously doubting his commitment to me.
My Uncle just passed away under tragic circumstances. He’s refusing to come with me and saying he isn’t obliged to visit my family with me ever at all. We’ve been together 7 years and he says he wants us to get married and have children. He gets on very well with my family, they adore him. They even treat me better when he’s around. He is incredibly self centred when it comes to supporting me or visiting them. Members of my family keep asking me why I’m always there alone and my mother has started to feel disrespected that he wouldn’t come visit with me despite him being in town. I have to keep making excuses for him. Not only am I becoming embarrassed I’m starting to doubt his sincerity towards me and our relationship.
I’ll preface this by saying I’ve been to visit his family many many many times. There has been some occasions where a certain (extremely mentally ill) member of his family had been verbally abusive towards me, he didn’t have my back in these situations that were clearly not my fault. Although I appreciate and respect them, his family has caused me a notable amount of upset but A couple of times he’s admitted it was him causing conflict. For example: coming home drunk and acting abusive while I tried to sober him up and calm Him down. He then blamed me it for causing trouble with his mother. He apologised and admitted fault MUCH later on but it caused an insane amount of trouble. He seems to revert to acting like a child around his family and Ive told him I find it distressing and uncomfortable to be around. Despite things like this I still always come, always offer support and friendship because I was under the impression that these people are my future family also and I’m duty bound to treat them with kindness and respect.
I’d bought us a car because he was complaining he didn’t get to see his family enough. One day he awoke me to say his mother had taken ill and was in a coma. I awoke immediately- packed our bags. I booked hotels and transport. She died so helped his family arrange the funeral, even helped out buying everyone clothes to attend the funeral in. It cost me well over £1000 and I was there with him every step of the way.
Now I’ve just found out about the death of my uncle. He asked me to buy him another car. I said this time I will loan you the money but I’m return I’ll need you to take me to my family so I can help make arrangements. He said fine I’ll drop you off then leave. I said no please come with me for the day (I have many siblings and I’d like him to not only support me but also get some time in with my family as we’re supposed to be getting engaged. He said no. He can’t be bothered. I’m literally asking him to just be by my side through this - he shouted at me that it’s a waste of his time and he’d rather be doing something fun.
I have no words. I told him I’m saying to think about us splitting up over his selfishness and disrespect. I love him and want us to be together but I’m turning 39 this year. I don’t have time to plead with him to do the bare minimum. It seems like everything’s perfect but only as long as he always gets his own way and never has to make any effort. I honestly don’t understand why he’s behaving this way and I’m deeply upset. I’m going through a deep feeling of grief right now and thinking I’m going to have to leave the man I’m supposed to be marrying is starting to become an unbearable weight upon me. I don’t know what to do.

Girls: Izzy
Boys: Ezekiel, Mal
Episode 25: Planes, Trains, and Hot Air Mobiles
"Last time, on Total Drama World Tour!" Chris opened as the plane icon was shown flying northward from Rapa Nui to Alberta, Canada on the season's world map, and the jumbo jet itself was shown blowing past a precariously-balanced boulder and knocking it off its perch. "Alberta! It'll blow you away!" The barren pit in Drumheller they'd visited was shown, as was Topher sitting in the electric chair. "How could this happen?!" the host asked angrily over a clip of the plane exploding in the distance.
"Well first, Mal and Izzy bickered the whole challenge about their moralities," the two were shown teasing each other, "and Ezekiel started to doubt if Topher even liked him or not," Both were talking to each other as they dug. "But Ezekiel was able to let go of his suspicions when Topher rescued him from being squished by a boulder," Topher was shown tackling Ezekiel and himself away from a boulder.
"And Izzy confirmed herself as being crazy with a heart of good before voting Mal off," Izzy was shown telling off Mal, followed by the final vote against him being read. "Dude sooo would've been a goner. Except Topher," the Chris wannabe was shown slipping on the pool of oil and the candles on the cake hit the oil, "demolished my plane!" The host was shown standing in the moonlit wreckage of the Total Drama Jumbo Jet, bringing an end to the recap montage.
"Did I mention we've got no ride now?" Chris asked, he and Chef now sitting in the remains of the cockpit in their usual piloting outfits, the sun now shining overhead. As the host spoke, Chef grabbed the control stick, looked shocked as it immediately detached, and threw it away with wide eyes. "BECAUSE TOPHER BLEW IT UP?!" Chris continued angrily, slamming his hands down on the broken console and standing up towards the camera.
He sat back down, pulled out a paper bag, and started to breath into it. After a few seconds he calmed down enough to stop hyperventilating, letting go of the bag and looking back at the camera. "Our Final Three are jetting to Hawaii...," he said as the series's capstone music began to play, "without a jet, so...get set for some other kind of race to the million, right here on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
The camera zoomed out as always, showing the morning sun over the wreckage of the plane that was now stranded in Drumheller, Alberta. The front part of the fuselage, which had been intact enough for Chris and Chef to use the cockpit, promptly fell off whatever had been supporting it.
XXXXX
"The hot tub with my name spelled out in Italian tiles...gone...," Chris muttered despairingly, the episode opening on a pan across the wreckage of the plane to where the host stood with Mal and Izzy near the remains of last night's campfire pit. "My monogrammed sneakers!...gone...," he added, looking at the two uncaring contestants. "My custom-calibrated stubble-trimmer," Izzy and Mal looked at each other in boredom, "gone..."
"Can we continue the game now?" Mal suggested.
"I agree," Izzy chimed in.
"As usual," Chris turned to them, "you two are thinking of nothing but yourselves."
He looked to the side as Ezekiel grunted with effort, then pushed a large sheet of broken metal away from the wreckage. "Could I get some help with this?" he asked the others.
"What about the bigger humanitarian crisis?" Chris asked. "How am I supposed to keep this face fresh," he pointed at his stubbled visage, "without my hyperbolic chamber?"
With another grunt of effort, Ezekiel leaned down and lifted a bald and scuffed Topher out of the wreckage on his back. "Good morning," Topher said woozily. "I've always wanted to be the one carrying someone down, but the roles are reversed."
"Why were you even in there?" Ezekiel asked as he dragged the boy away from the jet's remains.
"I think some more stuff fell on me while I was asleep," Topher guessed.
"The plane is busted," Ezekiel said. "Are you okay?"
"I am emotionally!" Topher answered, "but physically, my bones are broken."
Ezekiel groaned, then collapsed under Topher's weight.
Confessional: Ezekiel
"I know Topher did some underhanded things to stay in the game, but losing your hair on international television is worse than harming an animal in his world," Ezekiel confessed in the remains of the restroom confessional.
Confessional: Izzy
"Topher needs some medical assistance, but given that Chris is a windbag who's as cheap as Mr. Krabs, I'll be his nurse until he gets home!" Izzy declared in a superhero pose. "You can call me…" she put an orange mask over her eyes, "Doctor Izzy!"
Confessionals End
The static cut away to show the camera focused on a wheelchair, pushed by a just-out-of-frame Izzy. "Here," she said as he reached Ezekiel and Topher and the shot zoomed out, "use this to help you." Ezekiel lifted the fanboy into the wheelchair, and Izzy put the hat from Rapa Nui onto Topher's head to cover his baldness.
"Does it make me look attractive?" Topher asked..
The shot cut to the wreckage and Chef pushed a giant metal box out into the open, earning an excited look from Chris. "Hey! My emergency kit! We're saved!" he declared, running towards the giant box with a hearty laugh. "That's right, kids," he turned back with a grin. "Get ready for surf, sun, and beauties in grass skirts, we're going to Hawaii!" He did a few short hula moves as the Final Three cheered.
"I know," Chris said as he walked over to Chef, "best host ever! Never doubt me." It was then that Chef pulled on the rope he'd been holding, causing the walls of the metal box to fall away and reveal the small red helicopter inside.
The four teens moved closer, and Mal was the first to speak. "That's a two-seater."
"That it is!" Chris replied happily. "Chef flies, I supervise."
"And we?" Mal followed up.
"Will be competing to get to the big island first, using only your wits, and whatever you find out here," Chris explained.
"But we're in the middle of nowhere!" Ezekiel complained.
"True," Chris told him, "so check these fancy dancy GPSes I'm generously giving you!" he said as he took a trio of walkie-talkies and GPS devices from the helicopter and tossed one each to each finalist.
Izzy raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the GPS; the screen showed a single yellow dot and nothing else around. "Middle of Nowhere, Alberta," she read before looking up. "It does work."
"Set 'em for Tijuana Beach," Chris told them. "It's right on the Mexican border. Now move it!" he commanded as the helicopter started up behind him. "Go! Go! Go!"
Ezekiel, Izzy, and Mal frantically entered the destination into their devices, and the shot moved over to a confused Topher. "Wait, what about me?" he asked the host.
"Make like you took the Drop of Shame," Chris answered angrily, standing in the doorway of the hovering helicopter, "and figure it out yourself!"
Topher gaped, then scowled.
Confessional: Topher
"First he makes me do these dangerous challenges," Topher said in the ruined confessional, still in his wheelchair, "then he disqualifies me because I unintentionally blew up his plane, and now he's willing to leave me to fend for myself?"
He glared at the camera. "Chris really is a jerk. When I get home, I'm throwing out all of my Chris merchandise and everything related to him."
Confessional Ends
"Don't worry!" Chris called out to the Final Three, "you're all totally gonna make it!" The helicopter finally took off, leaving the four teens to watch in stunned silence for a few seconds.
Izzy was the first to make a move, turning and heading back into the wreckage with Topher right behind her. "If I was able to find a wheelchair in the wreckage," she reasoned, "maybe we can find something to get to Tijuana."
"Good idea!" Topher told her. "And did you say 'we'?"
"Duh," Izzy replied, looking back over a large piece of sheet metal. "I'm not going to leave you out here. I have to take care of you until you get to an actual doctor, and I can create something for both of us to ride on."
"Makes sense to me!" Topher smiled, and the two went back into the wreckage.
The camera cut to Mal and Ezekiel, watching nearby. "So, is this the part where you team up with me to make the finale?" Ezekiel asked sarcastically.
"No," Mal answered. "You'd obviously say no."
"That's right," Ezekiel huffed.
"I don't need you or Izzy. I've gotten here on my own," Mal gloated.
"You could've been eliminated in Africa or Drumheller, but something else happens to conveniently keep you in," Ezekiel retorted. "Don't count your eagles before they spot on red, white, and blue stripes!"
"That's the wrong expression, but I'm not even going to bother with a fool like you," Mal scoffed.
Confessional: Mal
"The million dollars is in my grasp," Mal chuckled. "I'm gonna use the prize money to live like a real villain. In a tower. Preferably overlooking a volcano."
The camera zoomed in on his smiling face before diving deeper into his subconscious, where Mike and his personalities were standing in front of Mal's tower. On the top was Mal's sculptured head, the purple light coming out of his right eye. The camera panned down to feature the white horns spiking out of the tower and ground.
"Here we are. Welcome to the Tower of Mal," Manitoba presented the tower to the group.
"Uh, why ain't it guarded by bouncers or dogs or an ugly cat or something?" Vito asked.
"Mal just figured we'd never get this far," Svetlana deduced.
Mal looked at the poster on the wall featuring the silhouette head of Mal over five stick figures. "Check it out. This door's got five people on it."
"Five of us! This must be the right way!" Svetlana said.
Mike grabbed the handle and pulled. "C'mon, let's get-" he didn't get to finish since the door trampled him and his personalities.
"I knew it was too easy," Chester moaned.
The group of four hastily pushed the door with their strength. "Come on. Just a little... mo-!" Mike motivated, but they got crushed again. "Was everyone pushing their hardest?" Mike asked his alters.
"What? I got noodles for arms!" Chester defended.
"On three, everyone," Mike informed as they were going to free themselves again. "One... two..."
"Three!" everybody said at once, forcefully pushing the door on the opposite side of them. Once that was settled, they entered the tower, Vito carrying Chester along the way.
"Yes! Nothing can stop us!" Mike confidently spoke, only to see the number of stairs they'd have to walk up with a groan.
\
"I'm going off now," Mal said into his walkie talkie while walking away. "I do not wish you good luck! I wish for your downfall!"
"And I wish you could just leave the game already," Ezekiel retorted.
"You know, I can turn you off right now," Mal shot back.
"And I'm going to beat you to it!" Ezekiel cut the radio feed off by pressing the button. "Much better," he said. "He was only distracting me. Now to get to that million dollars. As soon as I find a way to get there..." He looked around a bit, then started walking in the same direction Mal had gone.
The scene moved to the wreckage of the first class cabin, where Izzy and Topher were searching through the rubble.
Izzy pulled out a large inflatable raft...with a hole in it. "Zodiac?" she said, putting it down. "Bicycle?" she said, pulling out a rusty bicycle...that promptly lost its front wheel. "Unicycle?" she said. She tossed the broken bike away, then sighed sadly. "None of this trash will get us to Hawaii," she told Topher.
"Obviously," Topher said. "I found this seat belt, meal tray, and parachute!" he held up the first item he listed.
Izzy's eyes widened in realization. "Topher, you are very helpful!"
"Really?" Topher said, the seat belt now wrapped around his head.
Another scene change took the focus to a large rock formation as Mal hauled himself up from behind it to get a better look. He smirked to himself as he looked down at the other side of the formation. "What do we have here?" The perspective moved over his shoulder to show the plane's wreckage, and more importantly two interns with a caged baby panda outside a truck. The camera zoomed in as the interns picked up the cage and loaded it onto the truck.
"Following that panda will be my ticket to victory!" Mal dropped back down behind the rock.
\
The camera cut to the blazing midday sun, then panned down onto Ezekiel. The homeschooler was walking through the cactus-filled desert with his eyes locked on to his GPS, until he suddenly tripped and fell over something.
"Ugh!" he said, the camera moving down to show him lying on train tracks. "What kind of nimrod leaves train tracks in the middle of nowhere?"
He looked to his right, and spotted a building and windmill next to the tracks off in the distance. "Trains!" he repeated with excitement.
\
The scene flashed to a head-on view of the truck, a walkie-talkie switching on inside it. "Attention 'competitors'," Mal announced, the shot cutting inside to show a monkey, baby panda, baby seal, and book-reading bear sitting in cages listening to the nearby malevolent one talk, "I am traveling south at 90 kilometers per hour. In other words, you all should give up."
Just as he ended his message, a caged sasquatch behind him reached out and pulled him into a kiss. He immediately pushed away and recoiled in disgust, but lost his balance as he backed up and tripped into an open crate...the lid of which promptly closed on top of him.
"When I get out of here, it is not going to be pretty!" Mal said over the walkie-talkie.
The camera cut back outside as he made his declaration, showing the trucking driving away and honking its horn.
\
Another flash took the focus to Chris and Chef in the helicopter, the camera quickly cutting in for a close-up of the host's master GPS device. It showed three dots moving along a simple roadmap: a yellow dot unmoving in the upper right; a blue dot on the road approaching it, and a red dot further behind unmoving on the same road.
"Ezekiel's ahead but stalled," Chris commented with a gleeful smile over his own walkie-talkie, "and the yeti's new boyfriend is quickly catching up! But Izzy can't seem to get her butt in gear."
\
The camera flashed to a shot of a deployed parachute, then panned to the right as Izzy was heard explaining "I just moderate the flow of fuel," as the pan ended on her pulling a lever on an orange fuel barrel, making a small flame appear, "and that balloon will go up or down."
"But you need a basket!" Topher replied. "If there was any grass," he said while looking around, "you could weave one."
"All I need is a chair," Izzy said thoughtfully. "And one with arms."
"I'm sitting in a chair with arms," Topher said. "Just sit in my lap and you're gold. My bones are broken, but it'll be worth it to stop Mal."
"Wow. You really aren't as self-centered as I thought you were," Izzy commented. "You're really willing to let me be in your wheelchair?"
"Are you really willing to lose the race?" Topher asked. "Now come on! We've got a beach to get to!"
Izzy smiled. "Let's go!"
\
Whoops and hollers of excitement were heard as the footage skipped forward, showing the makeshift hot air balloon in flight tied to the wheelchair. Topher was sitting in the chair, with Izzy in his lap and holding her walkie-talkie.
"Attention boys!" she said into it. "Izzy is flying sky high! I repeat! This girl is airborne!" she said as the balloon ascended off-camera.
\
"Airborne?" Ezekiel repeated, the scene cutting to him walking down the aisle of a train's passenger car and stopping in front of a young white woman dressed in black typing on a laptop. He sat down in the seat opposite the woman in black. "Is this seat taken?" Matthew asked the woman upon noticing her stare, prompting the woman in black to return to her work.
"Okay," Ezekiel muttered, sitting at the booth and grabbing a newspaper that was on the table.
The camera moved to the window behind them, showing a certain truck driving past. Cutting outside, the truck was shown dumping its cages and crates into a cargo car of the train, and Mal could be heard yelling in alarm from his wooden prison.
"Too bad he turned off his walkie talkie right before this update!" Chris said over his walkie-talkie as the scene cut back to the helicopter. "Advantage, Mal."
Back down below, the train let out a burst of steam and started moving. It blew its whistle, and the scene cut back to the car Ezekiel was in, now looking up and down the aisle with confused eyes.
"Hello, passengers!" an unfamiliar male voice came over the train's intercom system, immediately gaining Ezekiel's attention. "And welcome to this non-stop trip to Mexico!"
"Yes!" the home-schooled guy cheered. "In your face!"
The woman in black gave him a questioning look, to which Ezekiel replied "That wasn't directed at you!" The woman in black wasn't impressed.
Back outside again, the camera zoomed in on a boxcar, then cut inside to show the caged Total Drama animals... and the smaller wooden crate that Mal promptly and finally burst out of. "Finally," he groaned as he took in a breath of fresh air; kissy faces from the nearby sasquatch earned another groan and a quick spit and mouth-wiping.
"Now to end Ezekiel's trip here," he declared, standing up and stepping out of the crate. "Wherever here is," he added, looking around the room.
He made his way to a nearby doorway, but stopped upon hearing a dog-like whine from inside another crate. He opened it, and recoiled in shock when Ezekiel Clone lifted his head out of the crate.
"How did you get here?" Mal asked in wide-eyed disbelief, and the Clone muttered something unintelligible. "If you promise to act right, I will release you."
\
A flash took the scene back to Topher and Izzy, still sailing through the sky. "Stop giving it so much fuel!" Topher said to his companion.
"I'll do that after you stop pinching my body!" Izzy shot back.
"I'm sorry, but I want to survive!" Topher argued.
"So do I, but I'm not being a whiny pants about it!" Izzy sniped.
"LOOK OUT!" Topher cried in alarm as he pointed ahead of them, and the viewpoint changed to show that they were quickly approaching a certain red helicopter.
Izzy and Topher screamed in alarm, then Chris and Chef screamed in the helicopter, then Izzy and Topher screamed again, then Chris and Chef, and finally the helicopter swooped under while the balloon ascended, the two airborne groups safely passing each other.
"Um, Izzy? Bra?" Chris asked into his walkie talkie.
"Watch where you're going!" Izzy shouted.
"Are you sitting on Topher's lap?" Chris followed up, the helicopter moving to keep pace next to the newly-annoyed teens.
"So what?" Izzy replied.
"We've already got one cling-on named Ezekiel Clone," Chris continued. "We do not need two."
"Cling-on?!" Topher exclaimed in outrage. "Give me that walkie talkie!" he yelled as he tried to snatch the radio from Izzy.
"You said we could use whatever the heck we found back at the crash site," Izzy smugly told him.
Chef nodded, and Chris smirked. "Hey, it's your funeral," he told her.
He ended his broadcast there, just as a message came over the helicopter's radio. "Attention, an extreme weather warning has been issued for all aircraft," the voice announced.
Chris shut off the radio, then turned to Chef. "I should probably warn them," the host said, holding a smile for a second or two before he and his assistant burst out in laughter.
\
"Who knew winning could be so easy?" Ezekiel said to himself.
"Tickets, please! Tickets!" an unseen man called out, quickly earning Ezekiel's attention.
The announcement was answered by a more familiar voice, explaining "You see, my brother is not a wild animal. He's just a really crazy fool." The shot cut to Mal, standing before a conductor and holding Ezekiel Clone's hoodie as the clone sniffed at the conductor and bared his teeth.
It was then that Ezekiel saw them; immediately locking eyes with Mal in a horizontal split-screen.
"You!" the two exclaimed at the same time.
Mal let Ezekiel Clone go. Ezekiel turned and ran away, and his clone chased after him with Mal following behind.
\
"So I bought all of Chris's wigs at an auction!" Topher was saying as the scene cut back to them in the balloon. "I could have used that money to buy myself new clothes!" he finished.
The camera zoomed in on the two. "I do not know why you even idolized him!" Izzy exclaimed.
"I admired his hosting skills and charisma, but I'm done with him after that plane explosion," Topher claimed.
Izzy nodded happily before turning around and looking alarmed. "If we don't move now, we're going to get killed!" she screamed as they flew into a very dark and ominous mass of clouds. A bolt of lightning flashed as they disappeared from view, and the shot cut down to the top of the train as Ezekiel slowly backed up along the roof of a car.
"You won't push me off a speeding train, would you?" he asked as Mal advanced menacingly into the shot.
"I threw Owen off the plane in Jamaica and threw Cody off the cliff in Australia," Mal said as Ezekiel reached the edge of his current car and nervously looked over his shoulder at the gap to the next one. "I have no limits."
"Duncan, Sky, and the others have every right to hate you," Ezekiel said.
"Of course they do!" Mal claimed, advancing enough for Ezekiel to turn and hop to the next car of the train. He nearly lost his balance on the landing, but recovered quickly enough to turn around and proudly face down Mal over the gap. "You were too distracted with impressing Sadie and being cool to even see me coming!"
"But I still made it as far as I did!" Ezekiel replied.
A clap of thunder echoed ominously, and the sky opened up in a downpour of hail. Ezekiel, who'd started backing away again, slipped on one of the icy pellets and fell on his butt with a pained grunt.
\
Up in the clouds, Izzy and Topher were also being battered by the elements, screaming as they struggled to keep their balloon aloft in the wind and ice.
\
The hail rained down upon the windshield of the helicopter as well, but it only elicited a hearty laugh from the host and pilot. "Uh-oh. Will the game be called on account of deadly weather?" he asked the camera following him. "Will anyone be left to take home the million? Find out right after this break, on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
Lightning flashed right outside the helicopter, earning a panicked yelp from Chris.
\
(Commercial Break)
\

This is a whole mess of a story, but I’m going to try my best to make it cohesive. For some background, my half brother is 33. His gf/fiancée is 23. I am 25.
My brother is a grade-a psychopath. He will use you until there is nothing left and then throw you to the side. He is on domestic violence registry, sex offender registries, public databases in three states warning of violent crimes. All this to say, he’s a bad dude. I haven’t spoken to him in almost five years because my entire family had to disown him. His additions were getting out of hand and his theft was starting to affect all of us. The last straw was when he attacked my parents because they wouldn’t let him move back in. He didn’t want help, he wanted enablers.
My mom passed away a few months ago. It was the first time I’d spoken to him since the events mentioned above. I found out he has a girlfriend who has full intentions to marry him. Their wedding is set for October. It freaked me out that this woman is ten years younger than him, but that’s neither here nor there. I met her at my mom’s funeral and when we had a second alone, I told her to not marry him. That he is violent and unpredictable. That he has two children he’s never met. He’s manipulative and scary when he’s angry. He’s stalked women, he’s broken into their homes and destroyed all of their stuff after they broke up. That he’s violated so many restraining orders because he takes them as a challenge.
She said he’s changed. That she wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior. I sighed, but moved on. I tried to warn her just like I had tried to warn the past three women that he’s dated. Rose colored glasses and all that.
When I told my stepdad and his mom, they had different opinions. My step dad said it wasn’t really fair to bring all that up at our mom’s funeral because maybe my brother had changed. He is over 30 now and we hadn’t talked to him for years. He said it was kind of an asshole thing to do. My grandma disagrees and thinks it’s only fair she know what she’s getting into.
I recently found out the woman’s is having a baby girl. She is very excited and I’m happy for her, but I’m worried. My brother hasn’t been been charged with any crimes against children, but I know he’s committed them. I very purposefully made myself the “child watcher” for kids at family functions so he never had the chance to be alone with anyone. Even at my mom’s own funeral, I played with the kids out back almost the whole time so I could keep an eye on them. Because of this, I again warned the woman to please be careful. That her daughter needs to be first priority and if ANYTHING fishy happens, please leave.
I brought this convo up to my stepdad and he said the same thing—that I’m going too far, that I worry too much, that I’m not giving him the chance to change.
It’s a sticky fucking situation and idk what to do, but am I going too far? Am I the asshole? I just don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.

Season 2 Finale
“You look worried Bruce,” my producer jokes, moments before going live. “Even for you.”
This gets a chuckle from the crew.
“Quiet on the set!”
I’m already shaking in my shoes. Not a good sign. Working for the Devil is extremely stressful. And dangerous. And certainly not for the faint of heart. Why I took this gig is beyond me.
(Cue creepy music)
“Going live in five…four…three…”
I get the nod.
(Cut to camera one)
“Greetings Hell Beings and hell raisers. Welcome to the Season 2 finale of….”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
I wave my arms in the air.
The audience jumps to their feet.
Someone heckles.
“Alright. Knock it off.”
I serve up my best game show-host grin. It looks as fake as this cheap Hollywood studio.
“As you probably know, my name is Bruce Davie, and I’m the host of…”
(Cue audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
There’s a disturbance in the audience. A crew member forcefully removes someone. The commotion settles, and I get the go-ahead.
“Phew! A feisty crowd tonight!”
My painted-on smile takes up the entire screen. So does my gleaming bald head.
“Now I know what you’re thinking. What’s the Devil got in store for us this evening?”
The audience rumbles.
I shrug.
“Honestly, I wish I knew!”
This is true. But I’m sure it has something to do with me spending an eternity in Hell. It’s right there in my contract, which runs out after this episode.
(Cut to camera two)
“So, without further ado, let’s bring out tonight’s contestants, shall we?”
The audience roars.
“And yes, you heard me correctly. Tonight, for the first time ever in this show’s defamatory history, we’ve got two contestants!”
Audience is on their feet, whooping and hollering.
(Cut to camera three)
(Cue music)
A middle-aged couple promenade towards the podium. They’re dressed like cowboys, and walk with a sense of purpose.
(Split screen)
“Welcome, both of you.”
More like: Welcome to your funeral.
“Tell us a wee bit about yourselves, why don’t you?”
(Cut to camera four)
The woman speaks first. Her hair is amber, her complexion as pale as light beer.
“Well, Bruce. My name is Tammy. I’m a stay-at-home mom. This here’s my partner, Tex. He owns his own gun shop. We live in Austin Texas, with three beautiful children, who are with us here tonight.”
She points.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Two tall boys and a young girl, each dressed head-to-toe in denim, stand and bow.
The audience applauds.
(Split screen)
The other contestant approaches the microphone. He’s as tall as an ivory tower, with a voice like a banjo.
“Howdy Bruce. Good to be here.”
He tilts his cowboy hat. His square jaw and rugged good looks give Chuck Norris a run for his money.
I salute them.
(Cut to camera two)
“Well then, now that we’re finished with the formalities, I do believe it’s time to…”
(Cue audience)
“BRING OUT THE DEVIL.”
(Cue creepy music)
(Cue pyrotechnics)
The stage fills with fire and brimstone. Pentagrams slice through the air. The Devil appears suddenly, dressed in a shiny new devil suit, tailored specifically for tonight’s show. It’s jet-black, and leaves little to the imagination. His pitchforked tail follows closely behind him as he approaches the podium.
(Cut to Camera five)
The Devil wraps his arms around the two contestants, kisses them both on the cheek.
Tex, clearly perturbed, winces, then grudgingly wipes his cheek.
The Devil snarls, then looks him up and down.
“Looks like everything isn’t bigger in Texas,” the Devil teases. Suddenly, he’s grown over eight-feet tall, and is looming over the tall Texan.
(Cut to camera three)
The bright lights and furious makeup make me look like a cartoon.
“What an exciting night this promises to be!”
Tammy steps forward.
“You bet it is, Bruce. We’ve watched every episode. We just love…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
(Cut to camera three)
“Of course!” Damion boasts. “This is Hell’s most popular show. And for good reason.”
He slaps the woman’s backside with his tail, then raises his eyebrows mockingly.
The cowboy puffs out his chest, fists clenched, daring him to touch his wife again.
“Woah, easy there pardner.”
Damion nudges Tex.
Tammy is flushed. “Don’t mind Tex. He’s the jealous kind.”
“Oh really?”
Damion’s tail is now shaped like a lasso. With it, he snags Tammy and pulls her close. Her face turns tomato-red.
The cowboy grunts, pulling it off with one strong swoop.
The audience boos.
The Devil snickers.
I feel sick. If this is to be my last episode (or final day on Earth), I don’t want it spoiled by this denim-clad dude whose hat is bigger than his brains, or by Damion, who seems extra feisty tonight. Even for him.
(Cut to camera one)
I clear my throat.
“Tell us, Tammy and Tex…no, tell all of Hell…what it is your beating hearts desire?”
The audience is on the edge of their seats.
(Split screen)
The Texans exchange doubtful looks.
The wife takes charge.
“Well Bruce,” Tammy says. “We don’t want anything that might get us killed. Being from Dallas, we were raised with some common sense.”
The audience hisses.
(Cut to camera five)
The husband steps up.
“That’s right, Bruce. Simply put, we want to be famous for a day. That’s it. Then we can write a book and live off the royalties.”
The audience erupts into a frenzy of catcalls.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil’s eyebrows touch the top of his head. His voice slithers like a snake.
“Is that so?”
My heart plummets. These Texans are flirting with disaster. If they’d stuck to the script, they might be safe. They were supposed to ask for a lifetime’s supply of Super Bowl tickets. Easy-peasy. Who do these cowpokes think they are? Do they really think they can outsmart the Devil?
“Well then,” I say, shakily. “I’m sure Damion can arrange that.”
I raise my arms.
“What does the audience think?”
The audience goes ballistic.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil, still towering over the Texans, leans into the camera.
“Famous, eh?”
His lips smack against his face. When he touches the dude’s shoulder, the cowboy swipes his arm away.
The audience boos. Someone tosses an egg onto the podium, narrowly missing the contestants.
“Woah! Easy does it!” I spurt out.
All hell breaks loose.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The crew gets busy, disposing of both the egg and the agitator.
(Cut to camera one)
I wipe my sweaty forehead.
“Tough crowd.”
The audience hoots.
The Devil sneers.
“SILENCE!”
Flames flash across the room.
People shriek, including me.
(Close up of Damion)
The Devil, boasting his gambler’s grin, turns to the contestants.
“Yes, yes. You WILL be famous. But just for one day.”
The audience roars their approval.
I shudder. Never in all my years, have I felt so much animosity from an audience. I’ll be lucky to make it out alive.
(Split screen)
“Sounds like the Devil has a plan.”
I try to sound cheerful. But cheerfulness is the opposite of how I feel.
(Cut to camera one)
“Tell us Damion…and all of Hell…what you’ve got cooked up?”
The audience leans in.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil winks at Tammy.
“Well, I do believe it’s time for those two cowpokes to become famous. Am I correct?”
The audience jumps to their feet, chanting: “FAMOUS.… FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.…”
(Split screen)
Tammy looks pleased. Her partner, on the other hand, is showing concern. His shoulders are tense, he’s swallowed his bottom lip.
Damion dazzles the audience.
“Famous, y’all shall be.”
He snaps his fingers.
BAM.
The studio goes dark.
Someone in the audience screams.
Tammy gasps.
Tex grunts.
(Cut to camera one)
I shrug.
Is this Damion’s latest trick? Or did they finally cut the power? We give the impression that this show is hugely popular; but in truth, outside of Hell, this show is a dud. Cable and internet companies avoid us like the plague.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestants vanish under a cloud of fog.
A flaming pentagram floats across the stage.
“Well, isn’t that just dandy!”
The Devil points to the large screen behind the audience.
“Mister and Missus Cowpoke are about to jump the falls!”
He snaps his fingers, then he disappears.
My legs go weak. My heart is beating irregularly again. I still don’t know he does it. How any of this works. Suddenly, I’m alone on stage, shaking in my fine Italian boots, while the audience grows rowdier by the second.
Cameras mounted on drones are pointed at Tammy and Tex, who are trapped inside a large, steel barrel, with Niagara Falls looming below them.
Damion flies across the falls, lands next to Tammy and Tex. He taps the barrel.
“Ain’t she a beauty?”
The audience hurrahs.
The barrel is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Although it’s huge, and probably weighs a ton, it barely contains the two Texans, who are kicking and screaming, cursing up a storm.
“Get me the hell out of here!” Tammy’s voice rips through the noise of the falls. “NOW!”
Damion frowns.
“You wanted to be famous. Am I right?”
The audience chants, “FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.… FAMOUS….”
Tex pokes his head out of the barrel, cowboy hat and all.
“Now wait one minute, Damion. That’s unfair. We wanted fame. Not death.”
The Devil chuckles.
“The two are synonymous, am I right?”
The audience agrees.
Damion checks his watch.
“Well then…”
He slams the lid shut.
That’s the end of the Texans, as far as I’m concerned.
(Close up of Damion)
“Whatcha think? Should they jump the falls?”
The audience shouts, “JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP….”
(Cut to camera two)
My insides are melting. I’m petrified. You’d think working with the Devil would get easier over time. You’d be dead wrong.
“Looks like the people have spoken!” I hear myself say.
The audience continues their chant.
(Cut to overhead camera)
“Excellent,” Damion says, fiddling his fingers.
He looks over the cliff, and makes a sour face.
“Wowsers. That’s a long way down!”
“JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP….”
“And so much water!”
(Cut to camera one)
My worried-sick face appears on the screen.
I straighten up.
“Once they jump, Tam and Tex will surely be famous!”
Except of course, they won’t be famous. Not in this world anyways. They’ve been duped. Why these people sign up to die is beyond me. Perhaps we’ve reached a spectacular level of stupidity in human evolution.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion’s lips stretch across his reddened face, his arms flex like a weightlifter.
“I’ll give them a helping hand.”
He rolls the giant barrel to the very edge of the cliff, ignoring the banging and hollering coming from within the steel coffin.
“Tammy, Tex…” His lips stretch into a snarl. “Prepare for fame!”
The audience is on their feet.
Damion shoves the barrel over the edge.
(Split screen)
The barrel tumbles down the falls, disappearing into the fast-moving water.
The audience holds its breath.
(Cut to spy camera)
Inside the barrel, the Texans are shrieking. Their heads and arms and legs collide. Chunks of puke pour across Tammy’s sickening face, who’s calling Tex every name in the book, and it’s a big book. Meanwhile, Tex is like a frog in a blender. His face is green, his nose is broken; blood is leaking from every orifice.
There’s a loud crash as the barrel plunders underwater.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The barrel resurfaces, traveling dangerously downstream.
The audience is back on their feet, fist-pumping.
(Split screen)
What troubles me is how the pedestrians and tourists, crowding the streets, remain oblivious. To them, this is nothing out of the ordinary. Nobody watches, or even takes a pic. I’m starting to suspect foul play. Somehow, Damion is controlling this. He’s using dark magic. A spell. Maybe none of this is real. Except of course, it is real.
(Cut to camera one)
I’m trembling.
“What a jump!” my voice ricochets off the studio walls. “They’ll be famous in no time!”
The audience chants:
“FAMOUS…. FAMOUS…. FAMOUS….”
(Closeup of the Devil)
“Yes, yes. An excellent jump, I must say.”
He peaks over the edge.
“Looks like they could use some help.”
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion flies towards the barrel, which is bouncing off rocks and debris.
(Cut to spy camera)
Blood. So much blood in such a tight space. Tammy’s hair is in disarray. Her face is beyond repair. Tex swallowed his hat. One of his eyeballs is bouncing like a Superball. His left arm is flapping nonsensically. It isn’t attached.
(Cut to camera four)
The Devil scoops up the barrel, then flies to shore. When his feet touch the ground, he shakes off the water, cat-like, then glares at the camera.
“What a jump!”
He cranks open the lip.
(Split screen)
Tammy spills out. So does Tex’s left arm.
The audience gasps.
Damion applauds.
“Such valor and swagger!”
(Cut to camera five)
Tammy is flopping fish-like, barely clinging to life. Her mouth is full of blood and brains.
The Devil puts his foot on her head.
“SAY CHEESE.”
From out of nowhere, a photographer appears.
SNAP.
Damion, looking pleased with himself, is suddenly holding a newspaper.
(Closeup of newspaper)
The headline splashes across the screen: IDIOTS JUMP THE FALLS.
(Cut to camera four)
Damion shoves the newspaper in front of her face.
“Looks like Tammy and Tex are famous.”
Tammy's eyes twitch. Clearly, she needs medical assistance. I’m surprised she’s still alive. Her husbands brains are splattered across the inside of the barrel.
The very sight of this makes me gag.
Tammy tries to speak, but fails. Her eyes are filled with rage.
Damion tosses the leftover arm into the water, then shrugs.
“Sorry about your hubby.”
(Cut to camera two)
With wobbly knees, I face the audience.
“Looks like the barrel got the best of Tex!”
The audience bellows.
I continue to talk involuntarily.
“Gosh dolly. Look at all that blood!”
“MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD….”
I find myself chanting along.
Suddenly, my vision blurs. I clutch my chest. Maybe I’ll suffer a heart attack on live TV. Hell waits for no one, I suppose.
(Cut to camera four)
Tammy spits blood on Damion’s boot.
“Devil be damned.” I blurt.
Damion’s face twists into a ball of fury.
“Now, now, Tammy. That wasn’t very nice.”
He crushes her fingers with his boots.
Tammy yelps.
“I was gonna save your long-limbed partner over there,” he points. “Not anymore!”
The audience is bloodthirsty. Paper airplanes and rotten eggs whizz past me. I duck just in time.
(Closeup of contestant)
Tammy’s tongue is leaking from her bloodied face. She’s missing her front teeth. Damion digs his spiky heel deep into her blood-soaked abdomen.
“I reckon you’ll need medical assistance.”
He snaps his fingers.
Suddenly, they're back in the studio.
Damion is as happy as a filthy pig. Next to him is Tammy, who’s caked in blood and gore. Her corpse-of-a-husband spills from the gigantic steel barrel, taking center stage.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestant’s children rush the stage. They’re delirious.
The crew hurry out and drag them aside, along with Tammy, who's rushed to the hospital, where she will certainly die.
“Now that’s what I call speedy service!”
My voice appalls me. So does this job. If only I’d listened to my mother, and got into politics.
Damion snaps his finger, then disappears under a plume of dusty smoke.
(Cut to camera one)
“Well, there you have it folks. That’s the last you’ll see of Tammy and Tex. But fret not, they had their moment of fame…in Hell!”
The audience is tossing trash onto the stage.
I narrowly dodge a projectile.
“Hope you’ve enjoyed Season Two as much as I did.”
I hated it.
“And, unless the Devil strikes me down,” and he very-well might, “I hope to see you this Fall, for Season Three of…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
Season Two
Season One

Season 2 Finale
“You look worried Bruce,” my producer jokes, moments before going live. “Even for you.”
This gets a chuckle from the crew.
“Quiet on the set!”
I’m already shaking in my shoes. Not a good sign. Working for the Devil is extremely stressful. And dangerous. And certainly not for the faint of heart. Why I took this gig is beyond me.
(Cue creepy music)
“Going live in five…four…three…”
I get the nod.
(Cut to camera one)
“Greetings Hell Beings and hell raisers. Welcome to the Season 2 finale of….”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
I wave my arms in the air.
The audience jumps to their feet.
Someone heckles.
“Alright. Knock it off.”
I serve up my best game show-host grin. It looks as fake as this cheap Hollywood studio.
“As you probably know, my name is Bruce Davie, and I’m the host of…”
(Cue audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
There’s a disturbance in the audience. A crew member forcefully removes someone. The commotion settles, and I get the go-ahead.
“Phew! A feisty crowd tonight!”
My painted-on smile takes up the entire screen. So does my gleaming bald head.
“Now I know what you’re thinking. What’s the Devil got in store for us this evening?”
The audience rumbles.
I shrug.
“Honestly, I wish I knew!”
This is true. But I’m sure it has something to do with me spending an eternity in Hell. It’s right there in my contract, which runs out after this episode.
(Cut to camera two)
“So, without further ado, let’s bring out tonight’s contestants, shall we?”
The audience roars.
“And yes, you heard me correctly. Tonight, for the first time ever in this show’s defamatory history, we’ve got two contestants!”
Audience is on their feet, whooping and hollering.
(Cut to camera three)
(Cue music)
A middle-aged couple promenade towards the podium. They’re dressed like cowboys, and walk with a sense of purpose.
(Split screen)
“Welcome, both of you.”
More like: Welcome to your funeral.
“Tell us a wee bit about yourselves, why don’t you?”
(Cut to camera four)
The woman speaks first. Her hair is amber, her complexion as pale as light beer.
“Well, Bruce. My name is Tammy. I’m a stay-at-home mom. This here’s my partner, Tex. He owns his own gun shop. We live in Austin Texas, with three beautiful children, who are with us here tonight.”
She points.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Two tall boys and a young girl, each dressed head-to-toe in denim, stand and bow.
The audience applauds.
(Split screen)
The other contestant approaches the microphone. He’s as tall as an ivory tower, with a voice like a banjo.
“Howdy Bruce. Good to be here.”
He tilts his cowboy hat. His square jaw and rugged good looks give Chuck Norris a run for his money.
I salute them.
(Cut to camera two)
“Well then, now that we’re finished with the formalities, I do believe it’s time to…”
(Cue audience)
“BRING OUT THE DEVIL.”
(Cue creepy music)
(Cue pyrotechnics)
The stage fills with fire and brimstone. Pentagrams slice through the air. The Devil appears suddenly, dressed in a shiny new devil suit, tailored specifically for tonight’s show. It’s jet-black, and leaves little to the imagination. His pitchforked tail follows closely behind him as he approaches the podium.
(Cut to Camera five)
The Devil wraps his arms around the two contestants, kisses them both on the cheek.
Tex, clearly perturbed, winces, then grudgingly wipes his cheek.
The Devil snarls, then looks him up and down.
“Looks like everything isn’t bigger in Texas,” the Devil teases. Suddenly, he’s grown over eight-feet tall, and is looming over the tall Texan.
(Cut to camera three)
The bright lights and furious makeup make me look like a cartoon.
“What an exciting night this promises to be!”
Tammy steps forward.
“You bet it is, Bruce. We’ve watched every episode. We just love…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
(Cut to camera three)
“Of course!” Damion boasts. “This is Hell’s most popular show. And for good reason.”
He slaps the woman’s backside with his tail, then raises his eyebrows mockingly. The cowboy puffs out his chest, fists clenched, daring him to touch his wife again.
“Woah, easy there pardner.”
Damion nudges Tex.
Tammy is flushed. “Don’t mind Tex. He’s the jealous kind.”
“Oh really?”
Damion’s tail is now shaped like a lasso. With it, he snags Tammy and pulls her close. Her face turns tomato-red.
The cowboy grunts, pulling it off with one strong swoop.
The audience boos.
The Devil snickers.
I feel sick. If this is to be my last episode (or final day on Earth), I don’t want it spoiled by this denim-clad dude whose hat is bigger than his brains, or by Damion, who seems extra feisty tonight. Even for him.
(Cut to camera one)
I clear my throat.
“Tell us, Tammy and Tex…no, tell all of Hell…what it is your beating hearts desire?”
The audience is on the edge of their seats.
(Split screen)
The Texans exchange doubtful looks.
The wife takes charge.
“Well Bruce,” Tammy says. “We don’t want anything that might get us killed. Being from Dallas, we were raised with some common sense.”
The audience hisses.
(Cut to camera five)
The husband steps up.
“That’s right, Bruce. Simply put, we want to be famous for a day. That’s it. Then we can write a book and live off the royalties.”
The audience erupts into a frenzy of catcalls.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil’s eyebrows touch the top of his head. His voice slithers like a snake.
“Is that so?”
My heart plummets. These Texans are flirting with disaster. If they’d stuck to the script, they might be safe. They were supposed to ask for a lifetime’s supply of Super Bowl tickets. Easy-peasy. Who do these cowpokes think they are? Do they really think they can outsmart the Devil?
“Well then,” I say, shakily. “I’m sure Damion can arrange that.”
I raise my arms.
“What does the audience think?”
The audience goes ballistic.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil, still towering over the Texans, leans into the camera.
“Famous, eh?”
His lips smack against his face. When he touches the dude’s shoulder, the cowboy swipes his arm away.
The audience boos. Someone tosses an egg onto the podium, narrowly missing the contestants.
“Woah! Easy does it!” I spurt out.
All hell breaks loose.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The crew gets busy, disposing of both the egg and the agitator.
(Cut to camera one)
I wipe my sweaty forehead.
“Tough crowd.”
The audience hoots.
The Devil sneers.
“SILENCE!”
Flames flash across the room.
People shriek, including me.
(Close up of Damion)
The Devil, boasting his gambler’s grin, turns to the contestants.
“Yes, yes. You WILL be famous. But just for one day.”
The audience roars their approval.
I shudder. Never in all my years, have I felt so much animosity from an audience. I’ll be lucky to make it out alive.
(Split screen)
“Sounds like the Devil has a plan.”
I try to sound cheerful. But cheerfulness is the opposite of how I feel.
(Cut to camera one)
“Tell us Damion…and all of Hell…what you’ve got cooked up?”
The audience leans in.
(Cut to camera three)
The Devil winks at Tammy.
“Well, I do believe it’s time for those two cowpokes to become famous. Am I correct?”
The audience jumps to their feet, chanting: “FAMOUS.… FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.…”
(Split screen)
Tammy looks pleased. Her partner, on the other hand, is showing concern. His shoulders are tense, he’s swallowed his bottom lip.
Damion dazzles the audience.
“Famous, y’all shall be.”
He snaps his fingers.
BAM.
The studio goes dark.
Someone in the audience screams.
Tammy gasps.
Tex grunts.
(Cut to camera one)
I shrug.
Is this Damion’s latest trick? Or did they finally cut the power? We give the impression that this show is hugely popular; but in truth, outside of Hell, this show is a dud. Cable and internet companies avoid us like the plague.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestants vanish under a cloud of fog.
A flaming pentagram floats across the stage.
“Well, isn’t that just dandy!”
The Devil points to the large screen behind the audience.
“Mister and Missus Cowpoke are about to jump the falls!”
He snaps his fingers, then he disappears.
My legs go weak. My heart is beating irregularly again. I still don’t know he does it. How any of this works. Suddenly, I’m alone on stage, shaking in my fine Italian boots, while the audience grows rowdier by the second.
Cameras mounted on drones are pointed at Tammy and Tex, who are trapped inside a large, steel barrel, with Niagara Falls looming below them.
Damion flies across the falls, lands next to Tammy and Tex.
He taps the barrel.
“Ain’t she a beauty?”
The audience hurrahs.
The barrel is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Although it’s huge, and probably weighs a ton, it barely contains the two Texans, who are kicking and screaming, cursing up a storm.
“Get me the hell out of here!” Tammy’s voice rips through the noise of the falls. “NOW!”
Damion frowns.
“You wanted to be famous. Am I right?”
The audience chants, “FAMOUS…. FAMOUS.… FAMOUS….”
Tex pokes his head out of the barrel, cowboy hat and all.
“Now wait one minute, Damion. That’s unfair. We wanted fame. Not death.”
The Devil chuckles.
“The two are synonymous, am I right?”
The audience agrees.
Damion checks his watch.
“Well then...”
He slams the lid shut.
That’s the end of the Texans, as far as I’m concerned.
(Close up of Damion)
“Whatcha think? Should they jump the falls?”
The audience shouts, “JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP….”
(Cut to camera two)
My insides are melting. I’m petrified. You’d think working with the Devil would get easier over time. You’d be dead wrong.
“Looks like the people have spoken!” I hear myself say.
The audience continues their chant.
(Cut to overhead camera)
“Excellent,” Damion says, fiddling his fingers.
He looks over the cliff, and makes a sour face.
“Wowsers. That’s a long way down!”
“JUMP…. JUMP…. JUMP....”
“And so much water!”
(Cut to camera one)
My worried-sick face appears on the screen.
I straighten up.
“Once they jump, Tam and Tex will surely be famous!”
Except of course, they won’t be famous. Not in this world anyways. They’ve been duped. Why these people sign up to die is beyond me. Perhaps we’ve reached a spectacular level of stupidity in human evolution.
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion’s lips stretch across his reddened face, his arms flex like a weightlifter.
“I’ll give them a helping hand.”
He rolls the giant barrel to the very edge of the cliff, ignoring the banging and hollering coming from within the steel coffin.
“Tammy, Tex…” His lips stretch into a snarl. “Prepare for fame!”
The audience is on their feet.
Damion shoves the barrel over the edge.
(Split screen)
The barrel tumbles down the falls, disappearing into the fast-moving water.
The audience holds its breath.
(Cut to spy camera)
Inside the barrel, the Texans are shrieking. Their heads and arms and legs collide. Chunks of puke pour across Tammy’s sickening face, who’s calling Tex every name in the book, and it’s a big book. Meanwhile, Tex is like a frog in a blender. His face is green, his nose is broken; blood is leaking from every orifice.
There’s a loud crash as the barrel plunders underwater.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The barrel resurfaces, traveling dangerously downstream.
The audience is back on their feet, fist-pumping.
(Split screen)
What troubles me is how the pedestrians and tourists, crowding the streets, remain oblivious. To them, this is nothing out of the ordinary. Nobody watches, or even takes a pic. I’m starting to suspect foul play. Somehow, Damion is controlling this. He’s using dark magic. A spell. Maybe none of this is real. Except of course, it is real.
(Cut to camera one)
I’m trembling.
“What a jump!” my voice ricochets off the studio walls. “They’ll be famous in no time!”
The audience chants:
“FAMOUS…. FAMOUS…. FAMOUS….”
(Closeup of the Devil)
“Yes, yes. An excellent jump, I must say.”
He peaks over the edge.
“Looks like they could use some help.”
(Cut to overhead camera)
Damion flies towards the barrel, which is bouncing off rocks and debris.
(Cut to spy camera)
Blood. So much blood in such a tight space. Tammy’s hair is in disarray. Her face is beyond repair. Tex swallowed his hat. One of his eyeballs is bouncing like a Superball. His left arm is flapping nonsensically. It isn’t attached.
(Cut to camera four)
The Devil scoops up the barrel, then flies to shore. When his feet touch the ground, he shakes off the water, cat-like, then glares at the camera.
“What a jump!”
He cranks open the lip.
(Split screen)
Tammy spills out. So does Tex’s left arm.
The audience gasps.
Damion applauds.
“Such valor and swagger!”
(Cut to camera five)
Tammy is flopping fish-like, barely clinging to life. Her mouth is full of blood and brains.
The Devil puts his foot on her head.
“SAY CHEESE.”
From out of nowhere, a photographer appears.
SNAP.
Damion, looking pleased with himself, is suddenly holding a newspaper.
(Closeup of newspaper)
The headline splashes across the screen: IDIOTS JUMP THE FALLS.
(Cut to camera four)
Damion shoves the newspaper in front of her face.
“Looks like Tammy and Tex are famous.”
Tammy's eyes twitch. Clearly, she needs medical assistance. I’m surprised she’s still alive. Her husbands brains are splattered across the inside of the barrel. The very sight of this makes me gag.
Tammy tries to speak, but fails. Her eyes are filled with rage.
Damion tosses the leftover arm into the water, then shrugs.
“Sorry about your hubby.”
(Cut to camera two)
With wobbly knees, I face the audience.
“Looks like the barrel got the best of Tex!”
The audience bellows.
I continue to talk involuntarily.
“Gosh dolly. Look at all that blood!”
“MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD…. MORE BLOOD….”
I find myself chanting along.
Suddenly, my vision blurs. I clutch my chest. Maybe I’ll suffer a heart attack on live TV. Hell waits for no one, I suppose.
(Cut to camera four)
Tammy spits blood on Damion’s boot.
“Devil be damned.” I blurt.
Damion’s face twists into a ball of fury.
“Now, now, Tammy. That wasn’t very nice.”
He crushes her fingers with his boots.
Tammy yelps.
“I was gonna save your long-limbed partner over there,” he points. “Not anymore!”
The audience is bloodthirsty. Paper airplanes and rotten eggs whizz past me. I duck just in time.
(Closeup of contestant)
Tammy’s tongue is leaking from her bloodied face. She’s missing her front teeth. Damion digs his spiky heel deep into her blood-soaked abdomen.
“I reckon you’ll need medical assistance.”
He snaps his fingers.
Suddenly, they're back in the studio.
Damion is as happy as a filthy pig. Next to him is Tammy, who’s caked in blood and gore. Her corpse-of-a-husband spills from the gigantic steel barrel, taking center stage.
(Cut to overhead camera)
The contestant’s children rush the stage. They’re delirious.
The crew hurry out and drag them aside, along with Tammy, who's rushed to the hospital, where she will certainly die.
“Now that’s what I call speedy service!”
My voice appalls me. So does this job. If only I’d listened to my mother, and got into politics.
Damion snaps his finger, then disappears under a plume of dusty smoke.
(Cut to camera one)
“Well, there you have it folks. That’s the last you’ll see of Tammy and Tex. But fret not, they had their moment of fame…in Hell!”
The audience is tossing trash onto the stage.
I narrowly dodge a projectile.
“Hope you’ve enjoyed Season Two as much as I did.”
I hated it.
“And, unless the Devil strikes me down,” and he very-well might, “I hope to see you this Fall, for Season Three of…”
(Cue the audience)
“LET’S MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL.”
Season Two
Season One

“Just go dumpster diving at the funeral home.”

Hey Dudes, it's been a rough couple months for me. I'd been sorta losing faith, so to speak, in Dudeism because I couldn't find a way to abide and still deal with life. I'm still grieving, now experiencing some funeral-related financial troubles, AND I'm having trouble at home again. I've mentioned it before, but the toxicity had reached its breaking point a couple weeks ago and things had gone so downhill to where I had to call a crisis line. After a long talk with the operator (very Dudely herself), I decided to make some changes.
The operator gave me some helpful keywords, so since then I've been browsing other communities full of people in my same situation and reading the long resource guides that they've put together. Gonna be honest, it's a tough thing to get through. I'm not a reader, and it's really a lotta strands to keep in my head. Tons of information about my situation that I hadn't been able to comprehend on my own. I've been adhering to a strict drug regimen to keep my mind limber as I work through these issues in the same environment they're caused by.
However, as I'm reading through these guides to coping, I'm realizing - everything I need to know, I learned from The Big Lebowski. The tips began to read more and more like the lessons from the Abide Guide and posts I've seen on this subreddit.
One thing I'd always struggled with was how to deal with these strange, manipulative shouting matches. I always found myself entering a world of pain any time I entertained any single one of these delusions being thrown at me. There's a clear language problem here. So I asked myself:
What did the Dude do when being verbally assaulted by the Big Lebowski?
The Dude went into this conversation earnestly, expecting some calm and easy communication. Instead of staying focused on the Dude's actual issue, Lebowski immediately went for the insults and began shouting. At this point, the Dude realizes that communications have broken down. He puts on his glasses - quite literally shielding himself from Lebowski. He lets the guy talk, but he's filtering it out - this is not our concern, Dude. And in the end, he says "fuck it", and disengages from the situation. There's no point in arguing, since Lebowski is not willing to listen (as evidenced by how he continues to shout at the Dude while he leaves), so the winning move here is not to play.
Damn! New shit has come to light. As it turns out, this scene perfectly illustrates how to disengage from an abusive conversation.
At the same time, when dealing with abuse on a daily basis like this, you're gonna need to implement other strategies. The Dude is a master of self-care, so giving yourself time and space to recover is CRUCIAL. You gotta draw a line in the sand and let people know that this aggression will not stand. You gotta know when to say fuck it and go bowling. Even then, things can get dangerous so you gotta know when to leave things up to an expert to handle (calling 911, for instance).
Look at me, I'm rambling again. Since I hadn't seen many perspectives on abuse and coping through Dudeism, I thought I'd share some revelations I had over the past few days. Maybe if I can get all these strands sorted out in my head I'll write something a bit more coherent about it. For now though, it's just a matter of implementing all these strategies and abiding my way through the situation.
Keep your minds limber, Dudes.

I have been a big bag of swirling grief, anger and lonliness for the last 24 hours. I am a contract employee working 1000mi from home, and found out my grandmother died. She was a glowing light in my life. One of the few people that loved me for me. No more no less. My family basically said, we are not having a true funeral, but a celebration of her life on her birthday coming up. It is planned for her birthday next week. For the last 2 weeks I have been begging to get my schedule swapped or change a date to have a day off to go home for a day. I was turned down left and right and we do not get bereavement time. Also, if I call out of work I lose my housing stipend along with my pay for that day ($1500).
Take that, combine with yesterday being the 15th anniversary of my mother's death (on my dad's birthday). My heart started aching so hard. I drove to work last night, and had a panic attack and tears in the parking lot. I didn't want to come in to work. I called my husband (who's 1000mi away) he was able to calm me down enough to be able to walk in to work and keep it together for the night. I miss home so much. As much as I love where I am, I wish I could have some empathy and compassion and treated the way I treat people. If someone was to tell me they needed a shift swap for a family emergency I would change plans to the hest of my ability to make it happen. I won't let this stop me from being the person I am, but it feels so shitty compounded with the grief to not feel worthy of empathy or compassion. The literal word in my head was, "this is a prison". I feel like a prisoner asking for a leave ticket. Not an employee who hasn't missed a day of work in 8 months.