Halloween Jokes For Adults - King Halloween

My roommate Don is a 20-year-old man who sleeps on the bottom half of a bunkbed, and no one sleeps on top. Not even when he brings home company would he allow anyone to sleep above him, not that a girl would want to, it’s not very romantic. When we first moved in together, as a joke, I got on top of it. He'd been done putting it together and went inside the bathroom. When he saw me, he became a different person. Pulled me down, I hit the floor with a thud, and he yelled that I was a “piece of shit,” and that I should of asked before hopping on his stuff like that. It was a side of him that made me feel for a second I had moved in with a stranger. After he calmed down, he was so apologetic that it furthered that feeling beyond anything prior.
It’s a Don thing, and I leave it be. I have no idea why he reacted like that, and I’m afraid to ask. It doesn’t matter, because nothing like that ever happened again. It was that one thing.
See? People have their quirks, their instances of abnormality, and things happen sometime for no logical reason at all on surface, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a sensible reason if you dig. If I had additional information about who Don was, it would make perfect sense as to why he reacted like that, even if it hadn’t made sense at that moment.
That being said, there’s something that I’m dealing with that has me in a similar position. If you have any theories, any logical explanation, I’d say go for it. My life may depend on it.
It's a Friday afternoon in September. I’m in my cold-as-fuck, tiny ass apartment, or dorm, or whatever you want to call it. My walls thumped against the bass of Don’s stereo. I enter the living room, Don’s inhabitance -- the only other room in the apartment. The room smells like it’s bathed in axe body spray, but this is a good thing. Why? Because it means dickface is heading out soon. I’ll have the next few hours of peace and quiet before I head out for my 5pm sociology class –- my only class for the day. I go to our half-a-kitchen, make me an egg sandwich, and while doing so, the music cut off. Don came up behind and punched me in the shoulder. I flinch so hard half of the eggs in my sandwich drop to the floor. I glare at him.
“Oh, shit, my bad, bro. Leave it there. I’ll clean it up later, promise,” he said.
I can never tell if he’s being sarcastic, genuine, or if he’s really that stupid. None are a good look.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m guessing you're going to calc? Don’t wanna be late.”
“What? Nah, bro, I went this morning while you were out taking photos for your photography, whatever club.”
I sighed and retaliated that he didn’t even have class today to begin with. I tricked him. He’s going to a party or whatever the fuck with his drop-out clique.
You truly don’t know a person until you start living with them.
I digress, he tells me that there’s this party that’ll be going on from 5pm to late-as-fuck hours and it’s for a birthday of whoever. What’s important, though, is why he was so excited to go. There’s this girl named Brittany that Don has been trying to sly-dog maneuver ever since the semester had started. I immediately have a problem with this. Not because I also had a crush on her or anything, I have a girl of my own, but because I know Brittany shares my 5pm class. We had a mid-semester exam. I wasn’t friends with Brittany or anything, but I couldn’t imagine she was as much of a goof-off as Don is.
“Yeah, I don’t think she’s showing up,” I explained while pouring myself a glass of eggnog.
“What? Nah, fuck that, she’s coming. This is it, bro. I’m gonna score.”
He was so confident that she’d come despite my warning of the exam. His reason was sort of solid. Brittany’s cousin was the one hosting the party. I guessed the rhetoric here is that since her cousin is hosting, she would be more obliged to skip out.
So, whatever, whatever, a few hours pass. Don is gone, I’m dressed, I then walk-through campus, find my class, and we all wait for the professor. Sure enough, Brittany shows up. Yet another thing I’m right about. I snicker to myself of how frustrated my horndog roommate is gonna be. I’ll admit, I saw the appeal. Red, straight hair down her shoulders, wore black eyeliner masterfully, and had an obvious strict gym schedule. The professor goes on to announce that he’s ‘sorry’, but the exam is postponed due to some last-minute error I don’t quite remember. A wave of dismay erupted.
Brittany, like a fireball, lashed out. “Are you fucking me? I had my nose in that dingy book all night for what exactly?”
“Relax, Ms. Flowers. Not everything goes as plan. This isn’t elementary; it’s called being an adult,” our patronizing asshole of a professor said.
Brittany exploded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be so fucking upset if you taught like a damn ‘adult’. This college bullshit is so crummy now. Always delays, always miraculously show up a minute before we’re allowed to legally leave like it’s some practical gag.”
My first thought was: “here we go again." Whenever these two got into it, the class tuned in like it was WWE Saturday night with the boys. But, to give it to Brittany, I can absolutely see where she was coming from. Freshman year at this university was like a dream, but as time went on, the board changed. Updates on the school website were unreliable even to the point of precariousness. The website itself lagged and would log you out mid-usage. Same could be said about the professors. See, this university is new, so we sophomores were technically its first class, and we’ll be the first to graduate. There was this sort of euphoria to that when we first arrived, like opening up a new box of shoes. Professors smiled all the time, almost every one of them had this burst in their step, this ebb and flow in the way they taught. Almost to the point of creepy, to be honest. However, it was so unlike what we thought college would be. The lectures weren’t so tense, not overly boring either. Though, if we were bored enough, we learned that our teachers ate up bullshit excuses to leave early like doggy treats. In response, most would smile, then tell us what chapter in whatever book was relevant to the lesson of that day. Like, there was no burden, you know? Counselors were responsive, easy going, schedules were manageable and negotiable to a ludicrous degree. Our dorms were spacious, well painted, and had decent sound proofing.
But when we all came back for August, things took a 180. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t expect the magic to last forever, but I didn’t expect it to be like a flipped switch. The professors always arrive at-, well as Brittany said. Hardly teach anything, they sort of recount what’s in the books and somehow convolute what's already convoluted in them. We watch short films and sketches to the point where something like our sociology class is more of a film study. Before, the naps I used to take during a rare boring lecture felt ever nourishing than ones I took in my own bed, to then be kindly awoken by whichever professor sometimes a whole 15 minutes after the session was over. In second year, I awake from long-winded lucid nightmares, then wake up to migraines with maybe 15 minutes since the class actually begun -- sheesh. People didn’t even make excuses to leave anymore, they got up and left. The halls lost their glossy texture, decorations peeled off the walls, and vending machines eat my fucking bills as if I’m the one who's supposed to be feeding it. Our dorm? Spacious, yes, and was fine at first. Over time the paint on the walls cracked, things break, our door handle keeps popping off, and our room is technically underground so there aren’t even any windows. But that was unfortunate circumstances that Don and I were one of the last people to get a room.
So, when I say that I understand why Brittany had begun getting so hostile and argue-mongering, I really get it.
However, in a rare moment of good graces, before everyone was about to get up and nope-out, Hamilton – our Professor – promised a detailed study-guide for the test. We haven’t received a study guide from him since freshman year, and they were the best. I mean, talk about all of the answers to the test spelled out for you. None of us wanted to pass-up an easy A. We all stayed, even Brittany.
Poor Don, so close.
Sorry for the tangent, but I somehow have this foreboding sensation that I needed to vent. That it was relevant to what happens next.
I get back home, it’s about 8pm -- did I mention the classes were longer? I lay in bed, text three of my five siblings and give my girl a discord call because to hell with studying.
I get a text from Don.
“Yo, buddy. I’m bringing a girl over. You mind cleaning the pad a bit? Man, I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”
Fantastic. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Dude, I promise…thanks bud.”
Don’s living space: leftover wraps, spilled residue stained on the carpet, loose clothing, there's no telling the number of times I vacuumed after him. I get it done.
At around ten-ish, Don came back. I can smell the new flavor perfume. Of course, it ain’t Brittany. Her name was Diana. When she comes in, she’s glancing around the room with a blank expression, and she’s quiet. Don looks around the living room, sees how it’s cleaned up, and then gives me a wink. I roll my eyes. Typically, a girl who comes over has something snarky or funny to say about Don’s bunkbed, but Diana doesn’t say a thing about it, as if she has other things that outweigh any significance of his idiosyncrasy. Something about her mannerisms set me off a bit. Like I said, her expression came off as blank and pensive, but whenever Don said something to her, especially something of a typical goofy Don-ish one-liner, her expression changed in an instant.
This is gonna be an odd comparison, but have you ever seen the movie: "Spider-Man: Homecoming"? You know that scene where Liz, Peter’s prom date, are in a car and she shows him some picture of the cute whatever on her phone? Peter feigns a smile and says something like: “oh wow that’s really cute,” but when she pulls the phone away, he comically goes back to a stern, nervous, face because he’s realized their driver – her dad - is actually a crazy vulture murderer? It was just like that. Don would say something funny, call to her attention, then her dimples would punctuate, her eyes would gleam, but when Don had finished his point or took his focus away, she would look back straight ahead and continued that blank expression.
I asked if she’s okay, and she nods her head: 'yes'.
I pull Don to the side, inside my room to be specific. “Is she okay?”
Don doesn’t know what I mean.
“She’s acting weird. Like she doesn’t wanna be here.”
“What? No way, she’s the one who asked to come back to my place because Sal doesn’t like company.”
Sal is Diana’s roommate.
“Promise, bro. It’s probably because you’re cramping our style. She’s like a social butterfly when it’s just me and her.”
“Oh, what the fuck ever, Don. Fine, I’ll be in my room. You’re welcome by the way, asshole.”
I stay in my room, Don obviously doesn’t. We’re all asleep by 2:30am.
It’s bizarre, can’t fathom what woke me up so early. It’s a whopping 5:30am. Way to go, managed to wake up in 3 hours. I grunt, there’s no going back no matter what. Yes, am that type of person. Figure a cup of coffee and some Netflix should carry me through the morning. Whilst tiptoeing to get in our kitchen through the living room, I notice some slithers of light around the edges of the door. This indicates it isn't locked and closed all the way.
Idiot forgot to lock it behind him when they came in. I scoffed, noticing the knob was also loose.
Hadn’t paid attention the night before, but Don must have forgotten to be gentle when twisting it, thus reoccurring this pain. I play with it a little, wondered how much fixing it needed. I sigh with a smile when I’m able to firm it back into place after some toying. I try to make sure it functioned properly by opening and closing the door since it wasn’t a creak-er and thus wouldn’t make too much ruckus.
There was a “clack”. While it wasn't locked, I forgot stupid Don had a habit of only using the chain lock. Another one of his quirks. By instinct, I snap my head towards the bunkbed. Good, Don wasn’t disturbed. I push the door centimeter by centimeter until it’s shut.
Wait, what?
My eyes flare up, and I do a double take. Looked closer, felt creepy as I did, but it had to be confirmed. It was only Don.
My first thought was: “Man, she jumped ship early.”
Wasn’t surprised though, with how uncomfortable she looked night before.
Rest of my morning carried on without a hitch.
“What the fuck?”
I must have managed to doze off because I remember flinching hard over Don’s outburst.
“Yo, bro, you mind taking a look at this?”
Don stood by his bunkbed and held articles of clothing in his hands. Didn’t see anything wrong, but that was before the realization came about what type of clothing it was. A bra, panties, blouse, womanly items.
Don looked at me with a blue, pale face. “I’m a bit freaked out, man. She’s not here. She’s not here but her clothes are, what the fuck?”
The feeling of wanting to laugh and being concerned clashed inside me like two titan veterans.
“Well, I mean I noticed she was gone this morning. I figured you must have-“
Don interrupted me. “No, I was sleep all morning. I woke up like 3 minutes ago man.”
“Well, she’s been gone since this morning, Don. Pretty damn early too,” I said.
“Did you let her out?”
“No. She got up before both of us. Honestly, she was quiet about it… she could have took us out in our sleep,” I laughed.
“Not funny, man. Why would she leave? Why without her clothes? I mean, I knew she was a little odd, but this is crazy.”
“Told you she looked uncomfortable last night. She probably wanted out. Snuck out while you were sleep. I mean, you did leave the door unlocked. She could have waited till you were sleep, got up and-“
At that moment, mid-sentence, a thought flashed in my mind that halted my thinking process. The kind of epiphany that introduces a concept that raises more questions than answers. Some part of your logical mind attempts to answer those questions because the brain doesn’t want to process any suggestions that something out of the ordinary, something truly strange, has happened. So, I’m stuck there in front of Don trying to put pieces together in my head, but he then utters something that breaks the mood and made me laugh.
“So, is the bitch a nudist or something?”
Ever just had a thought slip away from you? After laughing at his remark, I tried thinking about what I was gonna say, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. Whatever it was, my mind would rather toss it aside than confront it head on.
In response, I suggested she probably threw one of his own sweatpants and shirts on. He checked to no avail.
It hits us that we have a problem.
“Drugs?” I said.
Don shrugged.
I go back to my room. We decided we would wait for her return. If she didn’t return by night, we’d have to call the police.
Hours pass. No sign of her knocking at our door. Like, this girl vanished. Started to feel my palms and neck sweat. We start calling friends who know of her. I tell Don to do it, and he does. People I also know of. He calls Tommy, Jessica, Rob, and finally her roommate: Sal. None seen her. On speaker volume, Sal says the last time she saw Diana was when she left with Don from Brittany's Cousin’s party.
Sal said she'll check with her parents and hung up.
…Alrighty then.
We left out the part about the clothes. I mean, for obvious reasons. Details like that are just…Yeah. Under panic-control.
Night came. Never thought a day of doing nothing could feel so long. 20 missed calls with the caller ID of "Mom" from the phone inside Diana's purse.
We call the police at evening.
Throughout the day, Don paced around the room. Didn’t play his usual video games. Couldn’t sit still while watching TV. Can’t lie, I was doing the same. Like, seriously, how the fuck could I end up in this position? I never talked to the police before in my life. A missing girl’s report, an eerie and suspicious one at that, was not how I wanted to start.
Don and I juggled mentioning the left behind clothes. In our situation, earnest folk would say: “of course you should tell them,” but in the heat of the moment, there are second, triple, quadruple thoughts that your mind pumps out. Don may seem dumb enough to sell a living butterfly with a two-month warranty, but even he can see obvious implications.
We end up telling the 911 operator everything. Minutes later, we hear a knock at the door. Had this false hope it was actually the girl, but a badge through the peephole slapped reality in my face. They were campus security. We told him the same thing we told the operator. Don brought her the night before. We fell asleep, we woke up and she was gone.
He gave no reaction to what was said. This dulled our nerves a bit. The thing about those clothes flowed into the convo smoothly. When done, the security man looked at us and said something along the lines of:
“Thank you. Everything is under control.”
He took out a plastic bag and requested he confiscate everything which was left behind by Diana. We follow suit. Before the man left, Don remembered something and pulled out a photo from his jacket. It was of him and Diana. Apparently, one of my photographer pals was at the party and took a surprise snapshot of them. The flash must have been pretty bright because Don had a big, cheesy grin, but Diana was squinting away from the camera like she were a vampire witnessing sunlight.
Photographic evidence of the last time she was seen, that’s actually useful.
That’s every relevant thing that happened between us and law enforcement. I had thought we would be taken for questioning; our faces would be on the news or some shit, but that didn’t happen.
Cool. But what happened to Diana?
Well, I’ll get to that, but before I do, it’s relevant to mention that the story doesn’t end there. There’s one more thing that happens that I need to talk about.
Brittany.
I’ll try to get through this one quickly.
The date was October 31st 2019. It had been some time after Diana’s disappearance. There’s no mention of her in the news or anything. She had calc with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I never saw her anymore. I tried my best to move on.
Anyway, Halloween night means Halloween party, but I’m home. Guess who isn’t? At night, Don comes home with another girl.
He finally scored.
Brittany was in our home, and to be honest, I was impressed. Didn’t think she would go for a guy like Don. But hey, I’m not hating. They’re both dressed for the occasion. Brittany has on a Dracula cape, some pointy dentures, a vest, and some bloody makeup. As for Don… I don’t know what the fuck he was going for, but he looks like an idiot. Just imagine it, I’m pretty sure you can come up with something better, for his sake.
Anyway, when I greet them at the door, Brittany smiles and punched me in the arm.
“I can’t believe this dork is your roommate. It’s ******, is it? You’re in my sociology class!”
“Yup, it’s me,” I said. “How was the costume event?”
“It was baller,” Don said.
“It was fucking lame. Humid air, cramped, so loud, and no one complimented me on my costume. Jerks. I’m only with Don cause I didn’t feel like going back with my bitch of a roommate.”
Still the fireball. Hey, at least it wasn’t as weird as Diana. Anything beats that. I chatted with the two for a bit. Longer than I expected to, Brittany really holds a conversation. She kept going on about her roommate issues and ranting about school. Her perspective on things was really something. But it was also kind of strange. See, when I say, “ranting about school,” it isn’t to mean she was ranting about the school itself. Y’know, all the shit I was complaining about. She was referring to the students. How ungrateful those who were complaining were. How, yeah things haven’t been as enthusiastic, but that our professors are very hard working. We can’t expect them to hold the same cheerful attitude for too long. That we were lucky to be accepted to a university with all these benefits. Honestly, she had a point.
The advertisements for this university were incredible in what they offered. Free of tuition, low cost of dorms and books. 70% of what would cost a fortune in other schools were drastically cut. My parents and I thought it was a scam, and I entered to be selected as a joke. Though, open-house was so impressive that we had no choice but to give it a shot.
While she made these good arguments, it was strange that this was coming from her mouth. The person who always argued with Professor Hamilton and complained to him about how things were ran.
I guess you really don’t know a person until you chat with them. Perhaps you can chop it up to burst of anger. She has a problem with Hamilton alone, I suppose.
Before I could go back to my room, Brittany stopped me. She wanted me to take picture of them both. I obliged, but I didn’t want to do it with a regular iPhone. Halloween is my favorite holiday, and this would have been the only year where I didn’t take any really good costume photos. So, I took out my best digital camera. Don and Brittany posed. The flash erupted from the lens, both of them smiled together like an old couple.
Brittany clapped at the results. Although I had planned on going to my room, she ended up questioning me about my passion and hobby for photography. I instantly turn into a chatterbox. This eventually diverged into talking about our high-school experiences.
Something changed. As the conversation between the three of us continued, I noticed Brittany was starting to get reserved. She begun inputting less, had been less snarky, and was to the point. Her face flashed constantly, the type of face you would make when you forget something important.
“You okay, Brittany?”
Got flashbacks of Diana.
“I’m okay, thanks. I just…need to use the restroom. May I?”
Tone of her voice was unsure, low. We allowed her to go ahead and do what she needed to do.
Don looked at me when she was gone. “Cramping the style again, bro.”
“Shut up.”
Back to my room, decided it was time to isolate myself. My girlfriend calls on discord to watch a movie.
We’re towards the end of a movie when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Hey, Brittany? Just checking to see if everything is alright,” I heard Don outside.
Didn't think too much of it. Girls usually take a while in the bathroom from my experience. I mute my girlfriend, pause the flick and check it out. Don had his ear pressed to the door.
When approached, Don shrugged. My turn. I call for her too, but she doesn’t respond. She may have passed out or something. My hands grasped the knob and I noticed I’m able to twist it all the way through. Get this feeling in me, like it’s weird that she wouldn’t lock the door behind her, but it’s put to the side as we creep in.
There’s never been a time where my first reaction was to wanna vomit.
Take a wild guess at what we see. Now a take a brilliant fucking guess at what we don’t see. On the bathroom floor lied the remains of everything Brittany had on, but no Brittany in sight. Her vest, her cape, everything she wore under, and even pair of pointy dentures.
We freak out.
We check everywhere for this girl, but there was no where she could have been but the bathroom.
I’ll skip details, what happens next is pretty much the same as what happened with Diana. Except, this time, before the police is called, I get the sneaking suspicion that perhaps he’s pranking me. I thought about it, it was the only logical conclusion at the time. This was an elaborate prank, and that security guard from last time was a poor actor.
“Alright, you got me,” I said.
At this point, Don looked like a wreck. He sat at the ends of his bottom bed, his face in two palms, and tapping his right foot.
When I announced my claim, he dragged his face up. “Are you kidding me? I’ll fucking kick your ass. Call the police, smartass. Look at me and say that this is a joke.”
Either he’s an amazing actor, or there’s something unexplainable going on.
But like I said, things happen like they did before. I call the police, a campus security guy comes over. This time, I’ll give him this, he’s a little bit more concerned. He’s digging for exact details to an extent he maybe should of last time. We end up telling him, step by step what happened. Like before, he confiscated everything. He even takes my camera. Actually, no, he takes all of my cameras. This didn’t make sense to me at first, but it did later on. If this girl was genuinely missing, I’d have the last photographic evidence of her whereabouts like Don had. Still, did he have to take all of them?
He doesn’t take us, and he doesn’t leave us with any indication that he’ll be back. Security sucks.
But yeah, I mean, guess that’s the end of this tale. Wish there was a satisfying conclusion, but we have no idea what happened to Brittany.
Oh, right. So, Diana -- I can't end this without telling you her deal. After the Brittany disappearance, things went back to normal. Though, Don isn’t bringing any girls over for now on, and I don’t think I’d allow it. To be fair, though, this has traumatized him in greater effect than myself, it seems. At least, that's what I like to think.
I managed to get in touch with Sal. Don’t know why this wasn’t tried earlier, but I was too busy thinking I was a possible murder suspect. However, thinking about it, that security guy said things were “under control”. If there was anything to that, her roommate ought to know. I caught Sal at a café in one of our buildings. I asked her what happened to Diana, and if she ever returned to her apartment. She said: “No.”
I pressed her further. If she knew anything, anything at all, she needed to tell me. Need a clear conscience. She did have an answer.
So, get this. Apparently, Sal was told that Diana had a “mental breakdown” and was sent home back to her mother in South Carolina. A group of security men came in about a week before Brittany came over to our house. They "moved out” every ounce of her stuff. Basically, Diana dropped out.
This made perfect sense to Sal. She known Diana was very homesick. For me, this story is a stretch. Because this means that between the hours of 2:30am and 5:30am, Diana – very silently – broke down, took off her clothes, and exited our apartment.
It’s ludicrous, but you know what? Fine. I can believe it. People do crazy things all the time, have instances of abnormalities. Nonetheless, it’s a logical thing, and authorities have confirmed she is fine. There’s a logical explanation for everything.
That day, I thought about everything Sal said to me while I walked my way home. I think about how authorities didn’t panic over Diana, and she’s confirmed to be fine. Same can be said about Brittany. Security wasn't too concerned, so she’s also fine. I thought about how unfortunate Don is to have this happen to him twice in a row. How crazy the odds are.
I’ll contact whoever Brittany’s “bitchy” roommate was, and she’ll have an explanation by the authorities that will make complete and total sense. Even if it’s a major stretch, at least it’s an explanation. I’ll put it in the back of mind. Don't care how much sense it doesn't make right now, it has to make sense later once I'm given additional information.
As I get to the front door, I’m so busy in my own thoughts that I forget to be gentle with the knob. It comes loose, and as it does, I freeze. A memory was jogged into me, something that I noticed, something that I attempted to wrap my head around before Don interrupted me with his stupid joke.
There's one giant hole in this story, in Sal's explanation she was given.
That day when I woke up and saw the door unlocked.
When I crept over and made sure the knob worked properly.
The chain lock was on.
I don’t think I’m safe.
Part 2
Part 3

Things that are TACKY, according to Eva:
​
Food trucks at weddings
Living with roommates
Winter
Beyonce: There is no one, and I mean no one, not even Coco or any Teen Mom, as tacky as Bey.
Smoking while driving
Posting about who you've blocked
JLo
Practical jokes
Sleeping in your car on your lunch hour
Wearing too much jewelry
Hot pink nails
Leah Remini
Female ultimate fighting
Celebrity Twitter wars
Naming your car
Waiting to get engaged
Having acid reflux
Opposition to the word tacky
The name Tiffany
Children's clothing with crazy designs/characters
Donuts
People who can't eat vegetarian for a night
Being proud of being a meat eater
College basketball
Coworkers who yawn loudly
Von Dutch hats
Skirt suits
Sayings on clothes
Demanding your SO's profile pic be a pic of you both
Short skirts
Nicknames
Casseroles (except lasagna b/c Italian)
Ranch dressing
Painting your face for sporting events
Needy men
Chris O'Donnell SPECIFICALLY
Breakfast for dinner
Saying "cheers" when there are no drinks (edit: only ok if you're British)
Everything that exists in Texas
Drive thru culture
Middle names
Using terms like "ain't" and "I seen"
Heatherette
The Paris Hilton era
Hair salons with booze
Underpants with cats on them
Media coverage of celebrity pregnancies
Having more than 2 kids
Piercings anywhere but ears
Smoking marijuana
Chrissy Teigen on social media
The name Connor
Short dresses (unless you're super thin)
Keeping the ring after you end an engagement
Celebrity makeovers for Coachella
4/20
Big earrings
Wearing sheet masks on an airplane
HoneyFunds
Couples with massive height differences
Froyo's baby blue cold shoulder top
Criminals in MLB
Too tight clothing
Colors ESPECIALLY
Carnival cruises ("like a floating jail, full of tacky fat criminals")
Not having a passport
Too Faced Better Than Sex mascara
The very existence of Too Faced as a brand
Having no sense of direction
Subway performers
Layers (hair)
Zebra cake
Rougned Odor in general, his facial hair in particular
Pants that are too long
"Fancy" flip flops and flip flops made of fabric
Tip jars
Achieving Starbucks gold member status in 4 days
People who don't know PowerPoint
Cutesy, rhymey names
Theme parks
Mariah Carey
Quitting your job at Apple to be a DJ
Drab, faded, misshapen dryer clothes
Eva herself during her Amerie-ringtone days
Talking on the phone in public in full depth convo
The Kardashians' old house
Silver shoes
Bows on shoes
Emma Roberts
Jack Astor's
Doing your makeup at work
Buying a refurbished laptop on eBay
Elizabeth Arden Red Door
Tramp stamps
Grey workout clothes
Showing up on a date with your gym bag
Not making your bed in the morning
Bras with lace and other adornings
Chocolate covered strawberries
White people getting braids on vacation
Painting a room any color other than grey or white
Clubbing dresses on grown adults
Lipgloss
Trying to fix botched hair color at home
Carrying too many bags on the train
Adults playing Pokemon Go
Having 10 bridesmaids
People who don't read
Newborn photo shoots
Drinking all day
Getting hammered past a certain age
Yard sales
Going to a bar alone
Themed weddings
Dry weddings
Wooden duck decoys as decor
Mayonnaise
Hoodies
Jeans on babies
Wearing makeup to the beach/pool
Head tables at weddings
The Baltimore Orioles logo
The Baltimore Orioles in general
Mugs with sayings on them
Platinum jewelry (b/c it can be mistaken for silver, the POVERTY metal)
Body con dresses
Australia's Olympic outfits
Garlic bread with cheese
Eating bread in general
Pets in hotels
Tons of photos/decopersonal items on your desk at work
Owls
Visible Band-Aids
Bikinis
Tankinis
Non-summer, non-weekend weddings
Teen moms (usually)
Going to someone's home for a beauty service
Red Bull
Consumer debt
Orange prison jumpsuits
Britney Spears
Pad Thai
Pumpkin spice lattes
McDonald's breakfast
Flavored coffee
'Burb people
Chris Brown and everyone associated with him
Costco
Pinterest life
Eating everything in one sitting
Any job u CANT BE AT WORK AND MUA (waitressing)
Colored wedding dresses
Engagement timelines
Outlet shopping
Making breakfast at work
Sparkly nail polish
Cat scratches
Salads with creamy dressing
Zero facial hair on men
People who are super into Christmas
Engagement rings
Lattes
Holiday cards
Eating fast food
Choreographed dances at weddings
Photo booths at weddings
Candy bars at weddings
Valentino studded heels
Theme parks
Gift bags (tacky and LAZY)
Novelty ties
Couples with large age gaps
Day drinking at pools (NORMAL people drink @ the beach)
Dave & Buster's
Halloween weddings w/ costumes
Mineral makeup
Red dresses
Ski poles (?)
Purple
Wet suits
Gender reveal parties
Babymoons (makes sense LOGICALLY, but calling it that is super tacky)
Getting a drink at Starbucks that requires them to ask your name
Mariah Carey's love life
Keurigs
Round toe ballerina flats
Brushing your teeth at work
Boob jobs
Co-ed baby showers
Worrying
Pina coladas
Androids
Sitting at a desk with headphones in
Target clientele
Wedding registries
Makeup obsession
Visible bra straps
Being late
Allergies
SO sending you flowers at work
Kate Moss's jewelry line
Reading your MOH speech off your phone
Bumper stickers
All formal wear on babies (HIDEOUSLY tacky!)
Not cutting your salad into smaller pieces if needed
Kraft dinner
Men taking mock pregnancy pics w/ their fat guts
Katy Perry
FB walls of Happy Birthday messages
Lurkers on MUA
Being bad with technology
PINK SUGAR
Driving to weddings
Foot ailments and issues
Yelp reviews (SUPER tacky to go write a review about someplace u just ate)
Working on a Saturday
Polo (the sport)
Hockey
Leaving tons of shoes under ur desk at work
Bare nails at work
Actual diaper bags
Dying ur hair red and/or unicorn puke colors
Rihanna trolling people on the internet
Doing MU on transit
Commuting with wet haiwet hair at work
Brown eyeliner
Body wash
Food delivery
People who get situated w/ someone whose family they don't like
Frozen fruits & veggies
Dessert Treats by Jessica Simpson
Riding boots
Americans
Recounting sexual events
Names ending in "ie" as adults
Reese Witherspoon
Demi Moore & Ashton Kutcher's wedding
Being HUNG up on one guy
Overeating
Red shadow
Keys
Too-full wine glasses
Rubber wedding bands (tacky level HIGH)
Birthstones
Eating your own placenta
Babies at ball games
Octomom
GoFundMe for college tuition
LilyRosemarie's dog
Guys with animals
Drinks with umbrellas in them
Pop (INCLUDING La Croix)
Re-gifting
Milk from animals (VERY TACKY)
Techno music (untz untz TACKY)
Canada Day
Fourth of July
Stiff blouses with cats on them
Overalls
Wearing your hair in a frizzy ponytail to work
Not sending thank you notes after a wedding
Fundraising to pay for a wedding
Beavis's soccer uniform, which he refuses to wear
Period sex
NFL
Shopping with people
Red jeans
Drugs, esp for men, all and any
Dating men in today's world
Kitchen Aid mixers
Anything BUT NUDE shadows are MF TACKY
Anything but black liner is MF TACKY
Eyelash curling
Poor guys
Using avocado as a bowl
Forgetting people's names
Buying in bulk
Showering at the gym
Halo style e-rings
Ginger cats
Game of Thrones: "It seems like a virgin neck-beard LOTR Harry Potter thing to me"
"Pretezles" (?)
Eye LOOKS (eyeliner and mascara ONLY)
Red cars
Trump merch
Leggings in tacky patterns and colors
KathleenLights (a TAD tacky)
Halle Berry
Cash bars at weddings
Banquet halls
Church ceremonies (b/c then there is a GAP in the day)
Phone sounds
Donna Karan
Real fireplaces
Being sensitive
Men who like football
Doritos
Dresses (ESPECIALLY sweater dresses)
Bright colored couches
Multicolored Christmas lights and inflatable characters
Adults dressing up for Halloween at work
Canned soup
Toothless people
People who put eyelashes on their car's headlights
Keeping health/financial info from a spouse
Bed skirts
SXSW
Disney weddings
Mods
Keds with a formal gown
The Bachelor
HUGE cups of coffee spilling over with napkins around the sides
Crockpots (ANYONE WHO'S ANYONE HAS AN INSTANT POT)
Getting white girl wasted
Horseback riding
Large families on flights
Detroit
Bennifer 1.0 ("I almost dumped JLo for that")
Dalmatians
Iced tea
"Cool moms" who put wine in their coffee cup at the park
Pot smokers
Husboo's black leather bachelor couches
Babies in bars
Orange cats
Wedges
Caboodles
Calling Nordstrom "Nordies"
Build-a-Bear
Coupons for anything less than $5
Animal print shoes
Tattoos of children's artwork
Getting excited about dresses with pockets
Winners
Winter sports
Hyphenating names
Old dudes having kids
Pets in weddings & wedding photos
Zoos
Sound alerts on messaging
Bridal showers
Melania Trump
Colorado Rockies with their purple uniforms

Sunday, April 25, Nederland Colo. 8:00 PM.
​
Twenty-four-year-old Margo Kelly awoke to something scratching at her bedroom window. She slid out of bed and drew back the curtains to investigate. "It's curtains for you, fella," she thought to herself, still half-asleep. Margo expected to see some variety of animal and was surprised when she saw the fleeting but distinctly human shape.
Margo, still in her pajamas, ran from her bedroom and into the dining room where she saw strange pencil drawn graffiti scribbled on her backdoor and some on the wall. She would later find that this vandalism consisted of crudely drawn pentagrams, trios of sixis and words like DEVIL, HELL and, most perplexingly, ASK MOTHER written in unrefined scribbles. The images themselves bore no special significance for her now as they would in the near future; as far as Margo was concerned, this was something to yell at the man for once she confronted him. She made it onto her back deck just in time to see the man disappear into the surrounding wilderness, but she made note of his curly black hair and this strangely conservative attire; a dark-blue collared shirt tucked into black slacks.
"Wait!" Margo shouted, not really expecting him to comply, but not knowing what else to say. It wasn’t long before she noticed that her ladder had been set up to allow access to the roof. She climbed the ladder and found more of the same graffiti scribbled on the tiles. Margo went back inside, took a moment to stare dumbfounded at her desecrated wall, and called the police.
The cops arrived in a matter of minutes and observed the evidence that Margo had been careful enough not to disturb. She described what little she saw of the perpetrator which she joked was just one notch above nothing. All anyone could do was speculate on his motivation. The deputy jokingly suggested that it may have been a very late April Fool's prank, Margo remarked on how Halloween would have been more appropriate and a light laugh was shared.
Margo insisted that she was not in need of police protection and that she was sure about it being just a one time prank. The police helped her clean up and went on their way. Still, when the sun descended and darkness began to engulf the landscape, she started to feel uneasy. Prank or not, the thought of a stranger decorating the interior of her house with satanic words and imagery while she lay helpless and unconscious in her bedroom was, to her, the very definition of unnerving. She remembered hearing about how the Manson family would sneak into people's houses and night and stare at them while they slept and the thought made her innards feel cold, a feeling which extended through her body until she felt as if she were being refrigerated from the inside. That night, Margo slept with the curtains drawn and doors and windows locked.
A week went by uneventfully. Margo had shared the story with her friends and co-workers; most stared at her in wide-eyed silence, sometimes with their mouths agape, seemingly for dramatic effect or to prove that they were listening. Once they had recovered from their initial shock, they joked about it goodnaturedly and gave her their support. Gradually, the event started to slip from her mind. She even began leaving her front door unlocked again.
​
Monday, March 2, 8:30 PM.
​
Margo was just leaving for work when her foot sank into what she at first believed to be mud. The realization came to her just as she was looking down that it hadn't rained anytime recently. In fact, it had been uncomfortably dry for several weeks. When her eyes saw what she had stepped in, she let out a short scream, pulled her foot up, taking it out of the raccoon's stomach, and kicked, sending a small string of intestine flying off her shoe and into the long grass beyond. She looked out over the property and was treated to the sight of several furry body parts and dry blackening organs scattered throughout. Margo went back inside, called the police, then informed her boss that she would be late.
The police had determined that around thirteen raccoons had been disemboweled and disfigured in service of the prank and when she got back from work and checked her messages she found that someone had left a song on her answering machine. She wasn't familiar with the work of Ozzy Osbourne, but she didn't have to be; the lyrics to 'Black Sabbath' spoke for themselves. In fact, she got the point so well that she didn't even have to finish listening to the song and she quickly erased the message; a strictly emotional response and one that she regretted immediately upon realizing her error. Margo slapped her forehead and cursed under her breath, laughing a little as she did so. She wasn’t fully ready to admit that she was afraid.
​
Friday, March 6, 10:00 Am
​
The police would come by to monitor Margo's house every so often and that made her feel a bit better if still somewhat queasy. She was staying up watching a movie on TCM. A Marx Brothers comedy; just what she needed to settle her nerves. It took her to an alternate universe where every problem could be solved with fast one-liners or exploding cigars. Where mean-spirited, condescending and humorless people always got the short end of the stick, where the only discomfort was irritation and where violence existed only in the form of slapstick. Every now and then her thoughts would circle back to the events that put her in such an uneasy state; the glassy, vacant eyes of a dead raccoon reflecting her own vulnerability back at her. She turned up the volume on the TV, the song still played in her head and when it was too quiet she could hear Ozzy's terror-stricken, "Oh noooo!" as clearly as if she were hearing it live. It made her shiver, the cold cutting so deep that she could almost feel her bone marrow freeze.
She went to bed as soon as the movie ended. The next morning she opened her cereal cupboard and found it full of moist soil, but what really got her attention was the human skull grinning at her from its new enclosure. She stumbled back and grasped her chest, feeling a constricting pressure within her breast like an internal vice squeezing her heart. The police were quick to inform her about the grave that had just been robbed at the Nederland Cemetery sometime last night and how, when two and two were put together, the skull would have to have belonged to a Mr. Herb Jenkins who just so happened to be a former member of the Hell's Angels. Needless to say, this guy’s shtick was getting old.
​
Sunday, March 8, 1:00
​
Margo had just gotten back from Church. She hadn't attended their services in quite a while, but felt it was needed. With a brave smile, she waved "Hello" to the officer standing guard outside her doorway, got out of her car and went inside. Everything seemed fine.
​
Sunday, March 8, 6:00
​
Margo was starting dinner when she heard a noise coming from the downstairs guest-room. It was a loud cracking sound like breaking wood. Margo came to a dead stop halfway between the freezer and the stove; a bag of frozen peas tightly clutched in her right hand. Mago constricted her breathing and tried to hold perfectly still, afraid to make the slightest vibration for fear that he might sense it.
Another part of her brain told her that her strategy was absurd; she wasn't so quiet a moment ago, so he must already be well aware of her presence. The best course of action would be to move; find a weapon, get out of the house, do anything but stand in one place and wait to be killed or in some other way violated.
Still another part of her mind tried to comfort her; it might just be one of the friendly neighborhood policemen or policewomen coming in to check on things, but that thought quickly vanished when she considered police procedure; they wouldn't just barge in, they'd make their prescience known and if they were there to check on her why would they be banging around downstairs instead of coming up to see her face to face? No, whomever was down there had predatory intentions, lying in wait like a wolf-spider burrowing just beneath the earth's surface, waiting for a hapless cricket to come within reach.
Margo's hand began to burn as she held the frozen peas for what felt like an eternity and a half. Where were the police that were supposed to be patrolling her property? Did they decide to call it a night already? If not, how did this lunatic manage to sneak past them?
These were the thoughts that occupied her brain only seconds after the first noise. They were soon interrupted by another loud snap and then another, followed by a series of bangs as if he were smashing something against the wall. What was most unsettling was the emotion she attributed to the sounds; this wasn't some punk kid or puerile-minded adult having fun with his ability to send someone else into an uproar like an elaborate epitome of an internet dick-pick. There was genuine malice behind these actions; a deeply-seated resentment for nothing in particular or, perhaps, everything at once. He wasn't a feral hick either. This man had resources, having access to a phone and recorded music as well as a shovel and pickaxe. The one thing he didn't have was an outlet--that‘s where Margo came in; she realized that now; she was being used as a tool for some twisted form of self-therapy. A living dumping ground for all the disappointments, insecurities and anxieties that he had acquired throughout his life.
Margo winced at each blow as if she herself were being struck. She could see herself in a crime-scene photograph; her face puffy and discolored by bruises, her eyes swollen shut and her nose and ears caked with dried blood. Soon other images of violence were flashing through her mind; news reports on school-shootings, gangland killings and police brutality. Her brain played clips from various action movies; Charles Bronson pumping bullets a one-dimensional thug, Steven Seagal breaking a man's leg with one well-placed kick to the knee while the audience reveled in his agonized screams and images of punk-rock concerts in which distraught and disillusioned youths danced in jerky, spastic motions, letting their bodies collide in an orgy of animistic aggression.
It was worse when the pounding stopped and the almost deafening silence left her to contemplate what his next move would be. Every meaningless bump and creek in her house suddenly took on a frightening significance. She suspected every sound, every shadow and every dark corner of harboring something sinister. When she heard the knock at her door, she gasped and dropped the frozen peas. Only then realizing how numb her fingers were.
"Ma’m, this is officer Craig. Is everything alright?" The officer's voice gave Margo the courage to move. She ran for the door as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels and threw it open so fast that a startled officer Craig almost reached for his gun. Margo gave a tearful and half-coherent account of what she heard downstairs. Officer Craig understood well enough he told Margo to stay where she was, then went outside to speak with his partner. He came back inside, gun drawn and quickly made his way downstairs just as his partner came bursting in through the downstairs door.
Margo heard them enter the guestroom and have a quiet exchange. They sounded surprisingly calm; there were no shouts of “Freeze, motherfucker!”--Margo thought cops used profanity to intimidate potentially dangerous suspects, but maybe that was only in movies--or anything else that would indicate an arrest taking place. Margo wondered if he could be hiding in a closet or under the bed, waiting to ambush them. She imagined officer Craig turning around to see his partner; a woman whom’s name she did not know, getting her throat slit from ear to ear. She could see the blood bubbling vividly from her throat and streaming down her shirt while the severed skin around the cut pulsated; opening and closing grotesquely as the dying officer sucked in her last breaths through the deep laceration. The killer would stand perfectly erect and still, allowing her limp body to slide down his, probably so he could feel her final desperate spasms and relish her weakening breaths as she made her way to the floor. Then, he would approach officer Craig who would be too stunned to act or think. His gun would drop helplessly from loose fingers as he watched the living embodiment of sadism walk over to him,one slow step at a time, savoring his horror. He would stop an inch away from Craig’s face and give him a grin; the ugly kind that would bare all his teeth. Dirty teeth; uncleaned since the beginning of his adult life, and unnaturally long and wide like crusty yellow pillars. Soon Margo would be gazing at those teeth herself. He would be on the floor or backed up into a wall, pushing his grinning mouth directly into her eyes so she could really see how much he was enjoying himself. How all his pleasure came at her expense.
He would speak to her while he tortured her body; relating to her the very source of his madness, sharing with her secrets that only the truly insane could ever know or comprehend. As the process continued and the angoy intensified, she would come to understand his every word. He would corrupt both her mind and body--driving her insane as she died.
These thoughts coursed through Margo’s head as she sat erect on her couch, her hands clasped together to stop them from shaking and wiping away the occasional tear as she listened intently; trying to piece together a coherent image of what was happening based on what little she could hear; mostly footsteps and light chatter. Occasionally, there would be a sound that she couldn't place and it would cause a cold sweat to break out over her forehead, but when nothing more came of them, she decided that they had to be inconsequential. The police officers came back upstairs without a suspect, but they did find the fruit of his labors--six wooden crosses that had been broken in half and scattered on the floor and a seventh that had been used to repeatedly stab through the drywall. The final cross was left embedded in the wall just below the following message, "GOD CAN'T HELP YOU", written with a series of carelessly broad strokes.
Officer Craig asked Margo if she had left the guest room window open and when she told him that she was fairly sure she hadn't, he determined that that was the suspect made his escape. There were other cops searching the area, but he had somehow managed to elude them. No one could come up with an explanation for how he had gotten out of the area so quickly. Craig’s partner made the observation that the suspect was "one sneaky son-of-a-bitch."
Sherlock Holmes himself could not have made a more accurate deduction.
His handwriting is for shit though, thought Margo to herself. The thought made her feel a little better.
​
Sunday, March 8, 10:00-PM
​
Margo slept soundly for most of the night. She wasn't sure that she could sleep at all, even with the police guarding her property more adamantly than before. It wasn’t until she had gotten into bed that she realized how exhausted she was. She took one last look around the room to make sure that nothing was amiss, then turned off her lamp and fell asleep.
​
Monday, March 9, 4:00-AM
​
Margo was rudely awakened by a gloved-hand clamping hard over her mouth. Her first instinct was to scream, more out of shock than from terror, but after hearing her own muffled voice, tasting the black leather of the glove and feeling the fingers sink into her cheeks, the situation became clear. She thrashed and kicked and suddenly another had wrapped itself around her throat and began to squeeze; gently at first, then the pressure gradually increased until her throat closed in and she could almost feel her brain beginning to shut down.
She was on the verge of losing consciousness when the hands suddenly realised her. She sat up with a violent spasm and took in a series of raspy, painful breaths while frantically switching on the lamp with one hand and wiping tears away with the other. She looked around the room and saw no one.
It occurred to her that it could have been a bad dream, but she still felt the pressure on her mouth and throat. She reached up to feel her the afflicted areas and drew her hand back quickly as touch only exacerbated the pain.
Cautiously, she got out of bed and went to the bathroom, still scanning the area to make sure that no one was there. Could she have done it to herself while in the midst of a nightmare? She had heard of things like that happening, but when she observed the bright red marks in the bathroom mirror, she found the outlines of her assailant's fingers too large to be her own.
​
Monday, March 9, 8:40
​
Margo felt tense and stiff behind the wheel. She willed herself to concentrate on the road, but still her mind wandered and on more than one occasion, she was forced to find a spot to pull over and take a few deep breaths before proceeding down the road. She drove as quickly as the speed limit would allow despite dreading to return home. The police had recommended staying at a hotel or with a relative and she had briefly considered it, but she didn’t have any relatives living anywhere nearby and was too tight on funds. Besides that, how long could she stay away while the police searched for a man that they may or may not ever be able to find? On one level, she knew that he was a mortal man, quite capable of being caught and tried, but on another level, she didn't. The police had offered to relocate her, but she declined. Margo wasn't fully aware of it, but the real reason had more to do with pride than anything else. She had a stubborn unwillingness to be chased out of her own house by some phantom thug. She wanted to fight, if for no other reason than to relieve herself of the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that permeated her being like a cold wind.
​
Monday, March 9, 10:59
​
Margo lied awake in bed awaiting her intruder. She had a bread knife clutched tensely in one hand. Her eyes were wide open and her breathing labored. She usually tucked the sheets in tight, but tonight she kept them loose so she'd be ready to throw them off at a moment’s notice. She remained in this state throughout the night. Occasionally drifting off only to awaken with a sudden jerk, as if she were actively fighting off sleep. Her thoughts drifted to the past; remembering all the times she wasn’t her best self and all the people she had hurt.
She remembered how in high school, she thought taunting the mentally challenged boy with the false-prospect of her affection was the height of humor. She remembered the tantrum she threw when her father wouldn’t let her go to a party after he had discovered her carton of cigarettes and how she had retaliated by taking the watch she gave him for Father’s Day and smashing it with a hammer. Every shame throughout her life came back to her at once; rotating through her head, one after the other, until she was sick with self-loathing. She wished she could go back and redo everything, find a way to rectify her ever trespass or, at the very least, forget them. She was finally brought out of her self-inflicted mental tourtre by the chirping of birds.
Margo slid out of bed cautiously, taking a broad step forward for fear that, if she stood too close to the bed, a pair of hands would slide out from under it and grab her by the ankles. Margo was often envious of people who lacked imagination. She gingerly peeked through the drapes and looked outside--morning at last!
She breathed a sigh of relief. Here’s to surviving another night! She was heading to her bedroom door when she heard a sound that stopped her in her tracks--the man was in her dining room.
What drew Margo's attention first was a laugh; a hysterical giggle that was quickly stifled like the laugh of a mischievous child brimming with excitement at the thought of his next detrimental venture. She pressed her ear to the wall and heard him muttering. His voice was low, his words mostly incomprehensible, save for a few; the usual cryptic gibberish about the occult. Margo began to move; she lightly tiptoed to the door, cringing at every small creek the entire way.
Margo's mind went through the various problems that could arise from her taking this course of action, but she took in a deep breath, pushed all thoughts of doubt to the back of her mind and threw open the door, rushing into the dinning room with the knife raised high above her head like a female Norman Bates.
There was no one there. Of-fucking-course there wasn’t! It was just as well, she would have looked ridiculous anyway.
It didn't take long for her to notice the large pentagram drawn on her wall with a black marker or sharpie. She let out a sigh that simultaneously indicated both frustration and relief. He was indeed one "sneaky son-of-a-bitch."
Margo stopped wondering where he had gone and how he had gotten there; she was beyond caring. So when a gloved-hand wrapped itself around her eyes, giving her, for one brief moment, the impression that the sun had just burned out, felt herself being pulled backward and the back of her head being pinned against the man's chest followed by the cold bite of serrated blade metal against her throat…
...Margo lifted her chin, allowing for easy access.

Y'all remember Spouse-a-tron? Fuck that guy. Seriously, run him over with a bus. It'll be funny.
When you've forgotten that image, I'ma need you to bear with me because yes I done gone and found myself a fucking FPS. The times I have strained under the mashed potatoes of life for you guys and it's because you are the salted sweet cream buttery lubricant of life.
So Be me (Cheszilla)

Dieted and exercised like a boss, 130lb 5'9 punk creampoof tattoo shop-bitch.

Also Be Cat Man

6', 140lb tattooed Sex Pistols extra, covered head to toe in tattoos.

Please for the love of all that is sweet and good and sugar free in this world, DON'T be:
Gart

6' 280lb dumpster fire human

Rash

His 5' nuthin baked potato wife

It's ok if you be
Orko

longterm audience of Gart's antics (I hesitate to use 'friend' because nobody likes Gart.)

CatMOM

Catman's mom, she's awesome.

So last year in the run up to the holiday season, Catman and I decide we should probs do that whole meeting each other's families thing, so we some crazy how manage to bag cheap as hell flights on Chrimbob Eve to his parents' AND get time off work with no notice.

So Christmas eve I open at the shop and then we do this crazy leg it thing to the airport but somehow arrive 6 hours early? WTF airports, I will never understand you.

We get to Catmom's house safely. Catmom is all "OH CATMAN I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER BUT I KNEW YOU'D COME HOME SOON." ETC. We're there for a week so I gear up for some hardcore pyjama olympics. The most effort I'm putting in is to change underwear at least once this week.

MF planning this whole vacation.

Day one goes by without a hitch, we open presents, eat a tonne of food, it's great.
Day two.

Boxing Day

So around lunchtime, I'm ass deep in a lazyboy watching Emperor's New Groove with nephew on my ipad and loving life when Catman gets a phone call.

Who the fuck even calls these days
LOL.1956
text like a real person

After a few minutes he reenters the room looking a little crestfallen.

Catman face when he tells me that was Gart
MFW he says "That was Gart
WTF is Gart? I have never met only heard stories.
Gart was childhood friend of Catman. Or rather, Their dads were friends and would plop the little rug rats together in diapers and they've kind of been around each other ever since. Let me be explicitly clear, nobody actually likes Gart, we're not even sure his wife Rash does. But he's one of these people that's such a dumpster fire you can't leave him unsupervised. Catman doesn't enjoy seeing him and his wife, hates interacting with him and just occasionally feels this guilt of "I knew you at 5 years old I guess I'm supposed to like you or something and I feel bad that I don't." Gart at least is kind of treated like a black sheep member of the family, and Rash is just...largely ignored until Gart makes a mess and nobody wants to clean it up. Then Rash steps in. She's just as garbage as he is though.

Gart is in town too, and has insisted we're meeting him for dinner and drinks tonight. Catman quickly adds that Orko will be there. Orko is pretty awesome so I think, "How bad can it be?" Besides, It's my first time in the city where Catman is from, so I figure a night of playing tourist is going to do wonders at keeping everyone calmed the fuck down.
On our way there, Orko texts us to tell us Rash is going to be there too.

MFW we're only a block away and you tell me this now.

We arrive and greetings are made.

GetOffMyFoot.fatass

Having never met Gart and Rash before, I don't really know what to expect, but a sad mashed potato pile with a button down shirt stretched around it's lumps and it's sidekick mini Double Baked potato mumu are not it.

ElbowMeOneMoreTime.Asshole

These are not the vibrant punks and graffitos of Catman's childhood. The closest thing to colour on these two is Diabetes that rampages through Rash's body leaving her constantly slightly pink with infection and the wino glow that flushes Gart's alcoholic face purple.

Rash told me all about her diabetes in her introduction. I couldn't stop her.

Dinner starts uneventfully, Rash and Gart are gross but not embarrassing yet.

Low Bar there

My history of living abroad comes up, and before I can specify that I lived in the UK, Gart and Rash start talking about how great Ireland is and how they want to live there because they're Irish. Loudly.

Oh ok
IS THAT WHY YOU CHOSE AN IRISH PUB FOR DINNER YOU OBVIOUS PLANKS?

Rash starts telling me graphic details about her diabetes and her family. She wants to move back to Ireland because they were wrongfully pushed out in the Famine.

She says this while shovelling corned beef and gravy into her face. She eats only the meat.
weird.exe

I cautiously ask her about the potatoes, thinking hahahahahaha I'll make a potato joke.

because irish and potatoes GEDDIT?
fuck it.

Rash gives me a confused look. "What potatoes?"

Nevermind, BACK THE FUCK AWAY

I look at the ceiling in hopes that a portal to another dimension has opened up so I can throw myself into it. Rash continues chewing in my ear and spraying food particles all over the table. "Oh I don't eat potatoes, it's an intolerance all REAL Irish people have since the Famine."

lolwat
What did I juts hear?

Rash proceeds to explain to me that the Potato Famine in Ireland was a hoax created by the English to corner the potato market and subjugate the Irish. The Irish were told that the potatoes were poisoned and the REAL Irish just stopped eating Potatoes and in the 150 years since the potato famine, a REAL Irish person will be unable to digest potatoes because they've not had to process them in their diet for so long. Since she is "real" Irish, she cannot digest potatoes and some kinds of vegetables, she explains, and they make her really really sick if she eats them. It's also apparently where her Diabetes stems from.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh.
Can't say anything she might take it as encouragement

Let's take a short break to process what Gart and Catman are up to right now. At this same table, Gart starts out buzzed and goes from buzzed to hammered fairly quickly. Gart has become an offensive bully, but as Catman and Orko have known each other for so long, they both know how to shut him down. Orko is on form and just deflating his enormous egotistical belly with sarky little one liners. Orko really only associates with Gart and Rash because he finds them so entertaining to watch.
Rash at this point has figured out that Gart is drunk. The three of us are wondering when she's going to make the call to take him home since we had already made that call about four drinks back when Gart was still mostly coherent. Rash is just ordering another plate of corned beef.

Clearly you're not done here.
Some of us would like to leave
like tonight maybe.
PLEASE?
nah bro she eating for two - Her inner crazy and her.

I start doing the whole yawn, stretch, "OH GOD IT'S SO LATE WILL WE HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO SLEEP BEFORE THAT SUPER EARLY THING WE GOT TOMORROW, GUY?" And Rash gets the hint.

Ok maybe not really.
She asks for the second plate to be brought out in a to go bag.

"I want to eat on the go" She tells the waiter.

REALLY

Within about half an hour of waiting for Rash's food, we've paid the bill and we're outside walking back to our various modes of transport. Gart gets a second wind out of nowhere, and demands we go to this bar called Lava Lounge. It's a popular sort of young people bar, it's not too expensive but I don't think I've seen anyone over 35 in there. It's nearby, so I would normally be up for it, but given how hard we just had to play at being tired to get Gart and Rash to leave, we just all roundly say "NO", except Rash who grabs me and says "You'll have a drink right?" and drags me off in the direction of the bar.

AWWW HELL NAW.
Nobodys gonna challenge her on this?
REALLY Y'ALL JUST LET ME GET DRAGGED OFF BY A STRANGE CRAZY POTATO?
Fine.

Lava Lounge is dim, it's loud, made louder by Gart awkwardly rubbing his fleshy limbs across my face and neck every time he reaches for a beer or glass. The drunk idiot has wedged himself in a corner and Rash has wedged herself between his corner (which he is too big for) and myself (who doesn't have any room on the seat because of these two clowns). Rash asks me if I'd like to hear how she met Gart.

How Do You Politely Say FUCK YOU GROSS and leave?

She tells me anyway, and I ignore it and tune out. She doesn't seem to notice that I'm not so subtly signalling to Catman and Orko that I want out ASAP. I tune back in again when she rounds back on Gart for "eyeing up other women" in the bar.

I didn't think he could see anything given how much he's drunk.
Like, I'm genuinely surprised he's conscious.
How can he see anything behind her giant body either, as she's sitting on his chest practically and blocking his view.

Rash doesn't let Gart complete a sentence. He doesn't interrupt again which makes it seem like he's used to this. I become the unfortunate and unwilling witness to their domestic dispute.
"Look Gart, you have to accept you're married to me now and that I'm the best you're gonna have. Nobody is gonna have the body that I do."

Half baked potato half human genetically spliced experiments are usually rare, yes.

"But Rash you're a fat slob."
"Shut up Gart, that's not what you said on Halloween about my sexy nurse costume."

Puke.mp4
Orko leans across the table to show me a photo on his phone. It's a potato in a sexy nurse PVC number.

Guys, I wish I truly could show you this photo. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, but I wish I could show you. There are gleams where there shouldn't be gleaming. There's bulges where a bulge should not be. There's duct tape holding this costume shut across the back because the sides to the zip don't physically meet. Guys, there's sweaty fat rolls over everything. And pit stains even where armpits can't reach.

HOW.WHY
NOPE.WTF
[email protected]

I attempt to extricate myself because I realise this is what my limbs are trapped under. Also I have to pee. Rash and Gart don't like that something is moving undenext to them, so they look at me and tell me to stop elbowing them and interrupting them.
"Sorry I have to pee." I mutter as I try to stand up.
I don't stand up. Gart is complaining that there's no room and Rash is giving me a look like I just stabbed a puppy. "Can you keep your personal events to yourself, we're trying to have a discussion and you're being GROSS."

Dagger staring champion 2015 bitches
MFW

I get up, go to the bathroom and clean up, then purposely sit down on the other side of the table with Orko and Catman. Orko gets up like a gentleman without being asked, to let me scoot in next to Catman, and to also shield my outer defenses from the potato people.
Rash and Gart carry on uninterrupted. Gart calls her some names, commenting that he can't be physically attracted to a fat roll, since she doesn't have curves, she is A curve. She calls him a drunken fat gut who doesn't realise she's the best he's ever going to do.

The only truth in that sentence was the part where they're the best each other can hope for.
Such awful people.

While this entire argument progressed, she ordered skittles drink after skittles drink. Every cocktail was bigger, rainbow-ier and sweeter than the last.

I would be worried about her diabetes but I've long ago stopped caring about her as a person.

After about an hour of this Catman and I leave with Orko to meet up with Catman's siblings who want to have drinks too and are nearby. We don't even say goodbye, Catman and Orko assure me this is pretty normal and we should just go.
The rest of the night was a blast.
A few days later, the friend requests come. Rash wants me to be her buddy on FookBook.

gross

no

Ugh but it's for Catman so....ok

She messages me instantly about the night we went out to dinner. Not a "it was great meeting you" or a "lets do it again sometime", but a warning to stay away from Gart. Because SHE was married to Gart and she didn't appreciate some stranger telling him to stop his diet and cut drinking and how touchy feely I was with him all night.
I show Catman. "Did you go out to dinner with them again or something?"

I made a backhanded comment about how I couldn't drink as much as Gart did since graduating college. Only comment made about eating or drinking habits all night that wasn't from Rash or Gart.

Rash tells me that she's made sure to tell the entire family about my behaviour that night so that Catman's family all know what a dangerous person I am.

OK

Rash lambasts me for ordering so much food and rubbing it in the face of two poor sick people struggling with diabetes and obesity. "How dare you, rubbing it in our face like that, we get it, you can eat whatever you want."

I was at that exact moment eating the leftovers of the one plate of salad I ordered and couldn't finish while sitting on the couch with Catman's mom.

Rash: "I am onto you. You can't steal my Gart from me."
I show Catman the message.
Catman laughs and says "Shit they've met some of my exes, even being a ho you're a vast improvement."
I give him a look. "Do we have to see these fuckers ever again? Catman shrugs. "I'd rather not, personally, if you don't want to."

....nah

TLDR
Five friends with big egos and slightly arrogant attitudes who run a neighborhood Irish pub in Philadelphia try to find their way through the adult world of work and relationships.

“Dad, just a few more houses, pleeeasseee?”
Why did I say yes? I blame myself every day, but how could I not? If you saw his face, if you saw those big beautiful brown eyes staring up at you I don’t see how you could refuse. My son, Daniel, dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow for the second year in a row, pulled and tugged at my hand until I relented. I agreed to a ‘just a few more houses, then we go home okay?”
I was weak, spurned on by love.
We had finished our third block of houses. His pillow sack was almost full of all sorts of candy, a fact I was reminded of every passing minute as I lugged it around on my back. He had one of those small plastic pumpkin carriers for the front doors, and then he’d run back to me and dump the contents into the pillow case. Our system was flawless, a perfect combination of team-work and strategy meant to produce maximum amounts of candy. Those answering the door would see an adorable Jack Sparrow with an empty bucket, and most of them would add some extra candy bars or gum packets to accommodate the poor pirate.
So he didn’t need more candy. He was just enjoying the night, an unseasonably warm October after so many years of miserably cold Halloween nights. I couldn’t say no. Children only have so many years of trick or treating in them, and I wanted him to make the most of each one.
We walked down an alleyway to the next block, the last street before the country fields took over. The first house was lit up with orange and white lights, fake spider webs draped over their hedges. He practically sprinted up to the door, not noticing the fake body sitting on the chair.
At least I thought it was fake.
It started to move. I tried to yell and warn Daniel but the body on the chair already grabbed my son’s arm, emitting a howling growl at the same time.
Daniel, Captain Daniel, was unfazed. He even started to laugh! I was so proud of him in that moment. After thanking the woman at the door and wishing her a ‘Happy Halloween!’ he sprinted back to me, excitedly dumping the contents of his conquest into the bulging pillow sack.
“Dad, did you see me? I wasn’t scared at all!”
“Buddy, you are a champ. If that was me a little bit of pee would have come out. Bet on it!” We shared a laugh together, and he threw his arms around me.
It would be the last time either of us would laugh.
I looked down at his eye-liner streaked face, his beautifully crafted hand-sewn pirate hat (courtesy of the Mrs.) and to my everlasting shame I said the words that haunt me every day.
“Okay little Captain, one more house.”
There were only three more on the street. The two beside the house we had just gone to were dark and had no decorations on them. Every child and parent knows this as the universal sign of ‘don’t bother coming to my house for candy’. So we skipped those two and ended up at the house at the end of the road. To his credit Daniel noticed that it also didn’t have any decorations, but the front porch light was on. He looked at me, silently asking for my approval. I didn’t get a sense that anything was particularly wrong or off about the house. Even though it didn’t have any of the lights or spiderwebs or fake bodies the other houses had, the outside light was on and we could both see a red and white candy striped bucket on the front porch. There was also a note above the bucket, and I could already guess that it instructed that you take a few pieces of candy and be on your way. But I was always cautious, ever weary. I told him to stay on the sidewalk, and I walked up to the front porch. I picked up the note. It read:
“If no one should answer when you ring the bell, please take a candy and I wish you well”.
There were no windows that I could subtly peer into. But the house on the outside was perfectly presentable. The porch was clean, the lawn crisply cut and clearly maintained. I peered inside the bucket and my eyes lit up. Even as an adult I knew that full sized chocolate bars were rare, but there they were. Snickers, Mars, Oh Henry. All of the classics, in full sized glory. I was so excited for Daniel. I turned around and went back to the sidewalk, where he was practically brimming with energy. Even after a long night like this one he was raring to go. I put on my best pirate voice.
“Alright Captain, the note says to knock on the door and if no one answers, you can take one of the treats from the bucket. Just one though, okay? Make it fair for the other children.”
“Aye aye, me matey”, he said back in his best pirate voice. We gave each other a fist-pump. He walked up the pathway to the front door. I made sure to watch him the whole way. It could be another setup, some clever house owners putting together an elaborate ruse to get the childrens guard down before they reveal the big scare.
My phone vibrated once in my pocket. No doubt it was a text message from my wife. I watched as my son knocked on the door and patiently waited. We agreed before the night began that if nobody answered within ten seconds, then it was time to move on. I remember every detail of those next ten seconds:
One.
I took my phone out of my pocket, still keeping an eye on Daniel.
Two.
I entered the code in without looking at the phone, unlocking the screen.
Three.
Daniel was still waiting at the door.
Four.
Through muscle memory I brought up the new messages screen, still not taking my eyes off my son.
Five.
He began to turn around.
Six.
He started to head towards the bucket left on the front porch.
Seven.
He smiled at me.
Eight.
I glanced down at my phone.
Sent: You and the Captain okay?
Nine.
Reply: On our way home.
Ten.
Daniel was gone.
I didn’t register it at first. I figured he was hiding behind...something. Daniel! I called out. DANIEL!! There was no reply. I ran up to the porch, but I found nothing. No clue as to where he had gone. There was no way he could have ran around the house, not in the span of one to two seconds.
No way.
I looked up and down the street but there was no one; no parents, no kids, nobody. Did someone open the door? Was he inside? I started to pound furiously on the front door, screaming my son’s name. I was screaming at the top of my lungs as I tugged at the door handle, trying to get it open. I must have screamed loud enough because the woman whose house Daniel was so brave at opened her door and yelled after me.
“Is everything alright?”
“No! Have you seen my son? The little boy dressed as a Captain?”
“Oh my goodness, no I haven’t. Should I call someone?”
Call someone
His cell phone. I smacked myself in the forehead. I forgot he had one on him. I grabbed the phone out of my pocket and dialed his number.
It went straight to voicemail.
I almost threw the phone away right then and there, but I tried to calm myself down. Tried to think back. But all I could picture was someone, some...thing, opening the door, grabbing my son and covering his mouth before he could scream for me. I dialed 911. I didn’t care if we found him later, if he was playing some trick on me. I just wanted him back.
I told the neighbour to grab a flashlight and help me look for him. When the cops arrived the neighbour and I had been looking all around the house, trying to find a way in. I was about to break a window when I heard the sirens. Those wailing screams echoing in the distance. I took such comfort in those sirens. I just knew in my heart that as soon as they got here, my son would pop out of somewhere, tell me it was all a big joke. I wouldn’t scold him, I wouldn’t yell at him. I would just hug and squeeze and hold onto him until he left for College.
I told the cops everything, down to the exact detail as I remembered it. They also pounded on the door, but when they saw my frantic behaviour, the impatience riddling my body, they went ahead and broke the door in. They told me to stay behind, let them clear the house. I wanted to protest, to scream at them, to tell them nothing could keep me away. But when they drew their guns and yelled into the house I knew they were taking this seriously. Five of the longest minutes of my life passed by. I don’t know when she did it but at one point I looked down and the neighbour was holding my hand. She had children of her own, she knew what was happening, what could be happening. When the two cops came out of the house the look on their faces said it all. I almost broke down there on the street, but I had to hold on a little longer. I tore into the house, past the outstretched arms of the officers and started yelling for my son, bursting in and out of each room with ferocious intent. It wasn’t until I went up the stairs into what was once a bedroom that I realized no one was living in this house. No one had been living in this house for years.
I ran down the stairs, almost knocking the officers down as I ran up to the woman, the helpful neighbour. I grabbed her and started yelling.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me no one was living here?”
She started to stammer, taken aback by my sudden turn, my aggression towards her.
“I….I didn’t know! I’ve only lived on this street for a few months. I never saw anyone come in or out but that could be for a hundred different reasons. I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”
I stood there, on the street, breathing heavily, holding onto the shoulders of a woman I only met a few minutes before. The officers placed their hands on my arms and I released her.
I looked back at the house, that two story monstrosity bathed in darkness, and I knew. However impossible it was, I knew right there and then.
Daniel wasn't coming back.
Things for me were dark, really dark, for many months afterwards. I don’t really remember all of the police searches, the news bulletins, the press conferences. I ignored the pitied looks of my friends, the suspicious glares of my neighbours. My wife and I, despite everything, remained strong together. Every night we told each other “no body, no death”. In our hearts Daniel was alive.
The initial investigation of the house amounted to almost nothing. The previous owner had declared bankruptcy and abandoned the house. The bank hadn’t been able to sell it to anyone, so it sat there collecting dust. No one could account for the maintained lawn out front, and the police never found any bucket full of chocolate bars or any note. I don’t care what they say, I know what I saw.
I know there were some on the police force that suspected me. I went through rigorous interrogations, but they came up with nothing, as I knew they would. I didn’t blame them. Were I in their position I would have suspected me as well.
After three months all things concerning Daniel dissipated, except for in our household. We still put out flyers all over the surrounding neighbourhoods every week. We still kept up to date with social media, pleading anybody and everybody to keep an eye out for our boy. I drained my accounts hiring private detectives to look into the house, the neighbourhood, anything that I thought could help. They all came up with nothing. No clues. No traces.
Daniel had simply vanished.
Every night I had the same nightmare. Someone knocks on the door to our house, and I race down, hoping against all hope that it’s Daniel. And every time I open the door it is Daniel, and he’s standing there in his Captain Jack uniform and his pumpkin candy carrier. I scream out in joy and grab a hold of him, except his flesh starts to melt and sift through my fingers. His body turns into sand, and suddenly my son is a pile of dust and dirt on the carpet.
Then I wake up.
Two weeks ago I was on the couch in the afternoon staring at the ceiling when I heard a knock on the door. I got up slowly, thinking it was a reporter coming to do a follow up, or some punk kid claiming to have seen my son, something that happened all too often. I opened the door and nearly screamed. Not out in joy but in sheer terror.
My son was standing there. Daniel.
My wife came barreling down the stairs, and screamed as well, but hers was all happiness. She pushed me out of the way and took Daniel up in her arms. I couldn’t move. I kept waiting for his body to turn into mush, his ashes spilling through my wife’s fingers. I kept waiting to wake up in my bed, sweating and crying.
But that didn’t happen. Against every single odd in the book, Daniel had been returned. Through all the crying and hugging and kissing, Daniel didn’t say a word. He was just...there. No expression on his face, nothing registering in his eyes. We put it down to shock. Clearly something had happened to him.
As each day passed, not a single doctor or therapist or police officer could find anything physically wrong with him.
“Everything should be in working order”, said one particularly pompous doctor after examining Daniel. “I can’t tell you where your son was, or what happened to him, but whatever happened nothing is wrong with him on the outside.”
Nothing was wrong with him on the outside? I nearly knocked out that smiling white coat right there and then, but I was so elated to have Daniel back that I shrugged it off, ignored it. Nothing mattered anymore.
Daniel was home.
Later that night, I was sitting at the dinner table after having tucked Daniel in when I came to the sudden realization that I wasn’t exactly happy. I should have been. I should have been screaming over the rooftops with complete joy in my heart. But something was wrong. Daniel wasn’t Daniel anymore. That happy, brave boy had come back...different. I tried to think about why. Obviously it had something to do with where he had been, what had happened to him. But there was something else. Something nagging at the back of my neck.
Then with a cold, sinking feeling I remembered. Daniel had said something when I tucked him in. He had whispered “I like it here”.
I didn’t register it at the time, but sitting at the table I didn’t like it. What did that mean? I ran up the stairs and opened his door. He was sleeping just as he should have been. I almost laughed out loud. What was wrong with me? My son was home. That’s all the mattered.
A few nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night to see Daniel standing in the doorway. He wasn’t moving. He was just...standing there. I looked over to my wife but she was sleeping. I turned back to Daniel.
“Hey there Captain, are you okay?”
He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at me and smiled, and for a second my blood turned cold. My flesh raised. That smile wasn’t my son. Then he whispered something. I couldn’t hear it.
“What was that?” I asked him.
Then he sprinted towards me. So fast. So quick. And he yelled “I LIKE IT HERE”. Then he ran back out of our room and into his, slamming his door.
My wife slept through the whole thing.
Last night was the turning point. I was just about lock the front door for the evening when my wife started screaming. And I mean screaming. I was convinced in the few seconds it took me to bound up the stairs that someone was killing her.
In a way, I was right.
I burst through the bedroom door to find Daniel standing over my wife with an axe. He had that dead smile on his face again. The axe was raised above his head when I tackled him. He started to scream, and I started to cry. He just kept repeating the same thing over and over again:
“You’ll like it there! You’ll like it there! You’ll like it there!”
Now, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do, who to turn to. And as Halloween approaches, I think I have to go back. Back to the house where it all began. I’m going to take Daniel.
Maybe he can show me where he wants us to go.

https://np.reddit.com/pics/comments/3qvbpc/kid_dressed_up_as_hitler_at_my_school/
A middle school student dressed up as Adolph Hitler for Hallowen and wore his outfit to school
In typical reddit fashion, the top rated comment thread is one long chain spewing every Nazi/holocaust pun in existence.
Getting those oh-so hilarious one liners out of the way, reddit begins to lament the school for sending the kid home.

I don't understand what's wrong with dressing up as Hitler. People dress up as mass murderers and tyrants all the time. If you can't separate a costume from the actions of that person, you're more of a child than the child wearing the costume.

Or maybe mature, responsible adults realize what incredibly poor taste this is and actually considered how this might make other people feel?

Not surprising, but stupid. You can dress up as all sorts of ghoul/goblin or a psycho, killer, etc. But dress up as an actual historical figure, and you get shit for it.

Because Hitler was a real monster. Jason Vorhees, Freddy and Dracula are fantasy, Hitler actually killed Millions of people.
Then comes the reddit paranoia of super scary SJWs.

Well... Fuck, why not? It's Halloween. Everyone gets to dress up as evil things... monsters, devils, zombies, Saddam Hussein, Genghis Khan, Vlad Dracula etc... Why is Hitler off the books? I mean it's not too soon. It's been 80 yrs.

The reply

Because people like to tell others what they can and can't do

No one should have to tell not to dress as Hitler and go out in public, you should inherintly know this

I mean, it's clearly joke, people are too easily offended.

Verified? (This bot cannot verify AMAs just yet)
Date: 2014-05-24
Link to submission (Has self-text)

Questions	Answers
Has anyone ever asked you "Can I give you a hand?" and then realized you were missing one?	Well, I remember one time in middle school, I told a tech teacher I had a cold and he said "Oh my gosh, are you going to need an amputation?" I didn't think it was awkward at all, but after class he came and apologized.
	Every awkward moment in my life has had nothing to do with my arm.
You should've steered into it and guilted the shit out of him/her.	EDIT: I'm a dummy.
Your teacher was a strange person.	He was my favorite teacher in Middle School because we had a lot in common. I was going through a really awkward phase but he would support me and make sure I was doing okay, and always answer my question. He had a learning disability so I guess he was a little weird, but because of that he made sure EVERYONE understood what they were doing, so they never had the same struggles he did.
	Mr. Garrett, if you're reading this, you're awesome.
How were you a baby in middle school?	Whoops, I commented on the wrong thing. Deleting that now...
He sounds amazing, I wish everyone could have a teacher like that.	I've had lots of amazing teachers, I'm very grateful for what they've done for me.
Does having one arm limit your sex life ?	I'm 15 years old, i don't have a sex life.
But you said you switch hand while watching movie and masturbating hahaha	Masturbating isn't really sex, is it?
When most Redditors say sex life...	They mean anything close to sex they can experience?
You're too young to know.	I think living with it myself for 15 years AND trying prosthetics three times is enough to validate my decision, thank you.
How do you click around porn websites while masturbating? That's like the best part of having two hands.	I switch arms.
How exactly does that work? Im having a hard time understanding the physics of you using your handless arm for either activity? Did you mean one activity at a time or did you tape a tenga to your arm?	What I mean is I just rub it with my arm, not grasp it. Like, rub the sensitive part so I don't lose my stiffy.
People like you are the reason I hate my generation.	Um, excuse me, but I never said I viewed this as a handicap. In face, I don't. I made this AMA not to brag, but to inform people what it's like to be missing a limb. You should be ashamed of yourself for calling out a child on the internet telling them to kill themselves.
Please strangle yourself, OH WAIT!!!	Please go fuck yourself with a cactus.
What is your biggest challenge, having no right (left?) arm?	First-Person Shooters and monkey bars.
I also have trouble with monkey bars but for different reasons. I'm fat.	The struggle is real.
Have you ever gotten weird looks in public? I can imagine people leaving you out because of the disability. Anyway, it's amazing to see how well you take everything and how easy life is for you (some people think that if one things wrong you're basically broken)	Most people think that it's actually pretty cool, and I've even had a parent with a baby with missing arms come up to me for advice.
	My mom said that there was this one time at a fair, when a mom pointed to me and said to her child "That's what happens to babies when their mommy does drugs." My mom didn't take too kindly to that.
It's definitely cool. It's like, it's there but not there #DEEP	Link to www.ripcitybadboys.com
Advances in prosthetics are being made almost daily. Are you interested in getting an artificial hand should the opportunity present itself?	No, I am not interested in prosthetics because since I've always had one hand, it would be more unnatural to feel like I had two than to just stick with one.
	I've tried prosthetics 3 times, and it's been a bad experience each time.
What about a bionic hand? Like the terminator.	Nope, don't want any kind of prostchetic.
What about a hook?	I would seriously consider getting a hook on my arm. Not lying.
How so?	Well, I'd have to re-learn everything, I'd have to wear it constantly being all sweaty and stuff, it's uncomfortable. It would get more in the way than help me.
What if it shot lasers?	Wouldn't that be kind of dangerous?
Not even a laser gun?	I don't like shooting guns. I'm all for the right to bare arms, but I'd rather use my Tae Kwon Do experience to defend myself.
	Link to imgur.com
But then there will be only one hand to talk to.	With my sass it's all I need. ;)
You say this, but we know you're lying. You know the second inspector gadget hands become a thing, you're getting one. Hell most people with regular arms would want one.	No really, I don't want one. That's like telling a gay person they'd want to become straight once people were able to.
You would? When would you consider that?	I'd be the most bad-ass kid ever. I'd be a human clothing hanger.
You'd be able to do so many more things. Like twice as many.	Very funny.
Imagine jerking off with a bionic hand that shoots lasers. okay, almost done... Here it comes... "HOLY SHIT NOT AGAIN!! GODDAMN LASERS TRYING TO BLOW MY DICK OFF!!"	Link to imgur.com
Dude..thats fucking awesome.	:)
But you would consider that when? Now? Or when you want to be bad-ass?	Probably when I'm an adult and I'd make it removable. No arm attachment, just a suction cup with a hook at the end.
You're gonna be a great adult.	I sure hope so!
What is the sound of one hand clapping?	Here's an audio sample of my clapping: Link to vocaroo.com
That sounded more like very aggressive fapping. But, so be it.	If anyone's fapping was that loud, I'd be concerned for his junk.
What is the most difficult part about living with only one hand?	It's not that difficult to be honest. It's like i'm playing /outside on moderate difficulty.
How do you play videogames? Do you even play games?	Yeah! I play lots of video games.
	I play video games with simpler controls like Mario, Pokemon, etc.
	I can't really play first-person shooters and most PC games because of the complex controls, like holding the A button and R button at the same time. I've tried to use my leg, but it never really works out.
	I don't like violent games anyways, so it's not like I feel like I'm missing out.
Ben Heck offers one handed controllers.	Amazing! Maybe he could do a Wii U controller?
You should play hearthstone!	I'll look into it. Not really into that magic-y stuff though.
I think what you want is the Stinky Board.	Wow! I never knew technology like this existed!
What's your favorite Pokemon?	Snorlax.
What Pokemon game are you currently playing ?	I'm not playing anything right now, but the last one I played was X. I beat it then got bored of it.
I played x too. I was upset when I realized there was nothing big to to after defeating the elite 4. I recommend playing either heart gold or soul silver 16 gyms!	I played that in the 5th grade but could never beat the Elite Four. :(
Are you at least excited for the remake of ruby and sapphire ?	Not really. I didn't like Hoenn.
Thanks. had my first when I was 3-4 years. Could not live without one. Only issue is if you gain/lose too much weight, it becomes too tight/loose If I hear some interesting news, I'll let you know.	:)
Easily my favorite region. What other games do you have for the 3ds?	Super Mario 3D Land, Animal Crossing, Tetris, Mario Bros. 2, and a few others that I can't remember.
Are you left handed or right handed and is that the one you actually have?	Um, my left hand is the only one I have, so I'm left-handed.
	You have on idea how many people have asked me this question. Then, I respond right, and they get confused because I don't have a right hand.
Do you ever make awkward moments for other people and play pranks on them? I read below You like to tell people you are right handed despite not having a right hand, but is there anything else?	No, not really. Sometimes I'll be holding things and be like "I wish I had two hands right now!"
Has anyone called you Jaime Lannister lately?:(	No, I don't know who that is.
I'm disappointed, son.	I don't really watch television, let along Game of Thrones.
I see some authentic cosplay in your future.	I'm not into Star Wars though...
	But, I do want to cosplay Tierno from Pokemon X/Y.
What do you do when a situation calls for a handshake? Do you just use your other hand? Do you explain why?	Depends. I used to just use my handless arm all the time since most people shake with their right, but now I'm more accustomed to just flipping my left upside down and shaking that way. My father wants me to do it that way to avoid the awkwardness of people not wanting to touch it.
I want to shake someone's nub so badly right now!	You can shake mine if you want.
How do you game?	By pressing the buttons.
Interesting concept, by I don't fully understand.	I use my arm with no hand for A, B, X, Y, and the R button, so I can't press another button and the R button at the same time, and I use my left hand for the joystick and L button.
	I am referencing a Wii U Controller and 3DS.
How did it happen? Did they say it was genetic or was it a botched medical procedure? Would you ever accept a new hand if it became medically feasible or are you like those deaf people who don't want to gain hearing?	My mother says it was Amniotic Band Syndrome. To be honest, I don't know if I'd accept a new hand or not. Sure it'd be nice, but I'd lose something that makes me part of who I am.
You could always try it out and then saw it off if it turned out to not be your thing.	I don't think it works that way...
My great-grandfather fought in the Greek Civil War and he lost his entire right arm. His son emigrated to the UK, and I never got to see him. He apparently killed himself, although I'm not too sure why exactly. Anyway, would you be able to drive a car? And if you could, would you do so?	Yes, I'd be able to drive a car, but I'm not sure how exactly I'd go about that. I actually got my permit yesterday and I start driver's ed. on the 27th.
Does this allow you to carry out any good practical jokes?	Do stupid jokes count?
Of course.	Yes. Lots of arm jokes and one-liners.
2.) If you could communicate with them, do you think that giant redwood trees, Venus flytraps, or daffodils would tell you the best jokes?	2) Venus Fly Traps! Redwood jokes would be too mature for me to find funny, and daffodils would just be giant dicks.
I laughed. Damn those asshole daffodils. Imgur.	I just set it as my desktop background. xD.
Have you ever thought about putting a hook or something similar on it?	If I could take the hook off, I think I would seriously consider it. I'd be the coolest kid on the block.
Do you know what caused this to happen?	I lost my hand from Amniotic Band Syndrome. Fun Fact: I was born 3 months premature, but that had nothing to do with my arm being lost.
So I'm assuming you don't have phantom pain then?	Nope. I'm not an amputee, so no phantom pain for me!
Have you ever felt embarrassed because you only have one hand? From the sounds of it, you seem like a confident guy.	Hell no! It's awesome!
No, you're awesome. After reading through all of your comments here, I wish I was as confident as you when I was 15.	I was actually pretty introverted and negative-spirited just 2 years ago. After middle school I opened up a lot. I still have blunders and embarrassing moments, but at least I stopped buzz-cutting my head.
	This was me a year and a half ago: Link to fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net
	This was me tonight: Link to scontent-a-sea.xx.fbcdn.net
You are one suave mother fucker. That is one helluva good head of hair.	Aw, thanks! I'm just hoping this isn't my "Peak"
	Edit: Emoticon fail.
What made you open up after middle school?	There was this AskReddit thread where this guy posted how to become more confident, and it consisted of dressing better, good posture, making small talk, etc. I realized that the reason I wasn't popular with anyone was because I wasn't making a good enough effort. And the new school year was coming up, so I thought it would be a great opportunity. Next thing I know all through September and October, I'm getting tons of compliments on my hair, clothes, etc. But I didn't just accept them, I complimented back, because I wanted people to feel good, too. I also started making friends with a wide variety of people, some of them are really introverted and stay on Tumblr or Reddit all day, and others are very social, hanging out with their girlfriends and posting to Facebook and Snapchat. It's kind of crazy that just inspiration from a simple post on the internet changed me so much over a year.
Just keep pushing yourself and always doing your best, and you'll never really hit your peak! Well, maybe eventually, but not until you're old and sick and dying.	I'll keep that in mind, thanks! I always have enough stress going on in my mind, I shouldn't be worrying about something else.
That's fantastic, and very mature. Instead of 'poor me' (regarding your social life) you took action on more than one level. Smart.	I just wanted to be cooler, to be honest. My whole motivation was to get more popular and stop being a loser. :0D.
Do you use the singular term when referring to your hand? Or do you still say hands? Like, "I was crawling on my hand and knees."	Yeah.
Did you cosplay Luke SKywalker during Halloween?	No. I don't like Star Wars. please don't hurt me.
How do you type effectively?	I use my index and middle finger and arm for the keys. I don't really use my ring and pinky.
Try to also use the ring finger and thumb and you'll be typing quicker than most people in your surrounding.	Ironically, I type better than most people in my tech classes already.
Have you ever been arrested or put in handcuff(s)?	Nope. Don't plan on it either.
Hey man! I also primarily use one hand (I have two hands, but my left is almost nonfunctional due to cerebral palsy) my question is, what is your favorite game system to use if you play video games? I like the wii remote myself.	I'm a HUGE Nintendo fanboy, so anything Nintendo related is right up my ally. Gameboy, Gamecube, Wii, all of it! Except N64, that controller is super funky. Please don't lynch me.
Nobody thinks the N64 controller is designed well.	Everyone thinks the console was the best thing since sliced bread, though.
True, but even people with two hands had too few hands to use that controller.	Link to images.nintendolife.com
Ahh yes. The minipad. You can also get a Superpad. They're really good. But there are two superpads- one that looks like this: Link to encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com and one that looks like Link to encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com The former is better. I still want one, but they cost a decent amount of money. Would it be easier to play N64 with such a controller? Especially for you, as someone with only one hand?	Yes, very much so.
How do you make sandwiches or butter toast and stuff like that without it sliding everywhere?	I place the bread on a surface then put my nub on the side of the bread and butter against it.
===SPOILER:=== ===SPOILER:=== ===SPOILER:=== Finn, the protagonist recently lost his arm. He seems to be doing well, but not everyone does. What would you like to say to a boy who also has to live with one hand?"	Well, if I had to give advice to another person who was living with one hand assuming it was amputated, it's no not give up. Sure, it's pretty weird, but it's really not that different from two hands after all, you can get a prosthetic if you want to, or choose to go on au natural.
What's your typing speed in WPM?	Depends. Anywhere from 45-60 WPM.
Do you have a pool? Is it hard to swim in it?	No, it's not hard to swim at all! It feels complete natural. I've seen a girl with no arms and legs win swimming competitions, because really all you need is some joints and a little meat on your limbs.
How long can you swim for?	Depends. Probably 3 hours or so, then I'd be really tired.
How much can you use your arm that doesn't have a hand? To what extent can you carry things, push things, etc with that arm?	I use it frequently, but not as much as my other hand. I can carry and push things just fine, that arm's just not as strong.
What caused it?	Amniotic Band Syndrome.
Has there ever been a moment when doing something when you've thought god damn this would be so much easier if I had another hand?	Sometimes. Like monkey bars are pretty hard.
Do you find it difficult to make friends because of your missing hand?	No. I'm pretty good at small-talk.
Do you have any career plans yet? Does your missing hand have any effect on those plans?	I'm not sure what I want to do in life, probably something in the performing arts. Being an actor with one hand would be quite the challenge, and I'd probably have to get a prosthetic. :(
Ever use your awesome stump during sex?	If someone's insides could handle it's girth.
How often do you think about how life could be bettegreater with another hand?	Almost never. Sometimes I try to think of what's it's physically like to have both hands, and I can't. It's too weird!
I'm asking the question for which we all want to know the answer. When you play the Wii, how do you use the nunchuck/Wii remote combo?	No. I use the rectangle thingy alone, and a classic controller.
Oh. Lame. Have you ever considered sending Nintendo a letter mentioning your emotional trauma in not being able to play Nunchuck-required games? You can fake it a little. Maybe you'll get a nice sum of money. I wouldn't recommend it and it probably won't work but it could be cool to try out.	I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not.
You sound like a real confident guy OP, i wish i had your confidence now at 19 :p Does this "handicap" had any influence on what you want to do with your future, in terms of for example plans for your job?	I want to an actor, but my arm might be a problem.
Boy, you're adorable. Confident and cute. What's your favorite subject? Are you a freshman or a sophomore? Fellow 15 Year Old Girl.	My favorite subjects are History and English. I'm a freshman.
Same fav subjects, but I'm a Soph. :) PS. Can you do a handstand on your one hand?	No, I can't. I'm not strong enough.
How do you feel about people who have it obviously a lot easier than you complain about their every day things?	I have my share of first-world problems as well. And life isn't really that hard. It's not like I need 5 extra fingers to breathe or something.
What's your favourite movie?	The LEGO Movie!
Do people stare at your arms once they see you don't have one hand?	Yeah, but most of the time it's little kids that stare. I feel bad because I know they want to ask a question, but they're too scared. So they just stare.
I've read through every comment on this thread, and you seem like the most awesome person in the world. I'm a 16 year old female. Can we be BFFs?	Aw, that just made my day! We can totally be BFF's.
Are you all right?	I'm great!
Have they made a prosthetic dick yet?	Actually, they have! :)
He's not legally allowed to look at pornography. No one should be viewing pornography at that age. It wires the brain in all kinds of bad ways.	Thank god for this comment. Now I'll stop watching porn and masturbate to my bedroom ceiling to save my brain.
Lol. That's pretty funny. Lets celebrate with a high twenty.	Had to get my old prosthetic hand for this one.
	Link to imgur.com
Lol. That's pretty funny. Lets celebrate with a high twenty-one.	No.
ITT: Nintendo and jacking off. Great AMA.	You know it.
What's life like with one hand	Well, it's pretty much just life with two hands. If you have something since birth, you just learn to adapt, and it never bothers you. You just live life like normal, I guess.
I'm sure the can get him a stump condom.	Link to i.ebayimg.comBBmV8QBRsubn18,!~~60_35.JPG)
Hi! 15 y/o in [nearly the same boat.] (Link to i.imgur.com Here's me: Link to i.imgur.com Would have made an album but it's like 2 am and I just had to comment.	Hello, fellow weird-armed brethren.
You must pleasure yourself with your left hand. How very exotic.	ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ.
Well donrme trenton. Pretty cool ..	I always like to get things donrme the best way.
I think you're actually perfect, but I digress. No questions, just thought I'd tell you that I think you have a lovely attitude and amazing sense of humor :)	Thaaanks!
How do u play league of legends.	I don't play LoL.
SORT UR LIFE OUT BOY.	I'm not into RPG's.
That looks pretty hard to live with, maybe someone could lend you a hand?	I get that all the fucking time. Even my principal gave me a paper "R" and said "I heard you need an R!" (Play on the word arm)

Last updated: 2014-05-28 15:03 UTC
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Date: 2012-07-08
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Questions	Answers
What policy does the CW have on children (you mentioned that it had changed in you post)? Thank you for your interesting AMA!	Back in the day, it was- are you an employee? Do you have a child? Well, come bring them to the costuming department once a year and have them fitted for their wardrobe. Now they only have volunteer programs (for any children, not only employees)called Junior Interpreters. It's a really great program!
Those are moose. Really? That's just sad :C.	Yeah working there makes you realize how little contact people have with farm animals. Also how little they know about their own country's history.
At what age does a deer become a moose?	Only after they die and come back as deer zombies... that's what a moose is.
I heard a story on NPR about a black man who played the part of a slave and said he couldn't count the number of times a white child would ask his parents to buy him so they could set them free. Any experience with this?	OH Man, yeah some of the stuff that is said to you will blow your mind. I think it's a rule that when people go on vacation they leave their brains behind. The worst I got was sexually inappropriate things said to me. However, I have black friends who got some pretty ignorant stuff said to them.
Didn't you say you only lived there as a child? D: people said sexually-inappropriate stuff to a child?	This was cleared up early in the thread. I also came back during my college years to work there on the summers, that's when the sexual harassment stuff happened, but it wasn't an everyday thing. I have no regrets growing up there and working there.
I presume you responded to the sexually-inappropriate comments by charging him with lewdness and sending him to the stocks?	Oh man! Should of done that.
"Sexually inappropriate things" - but weren't you no older than 8? That person likely had all kind of fucked up noise in their head long before they left for vacation.	No this is when I worked there during my college years.
You must stay after school and write "I should have done that" 500 times on the chalkboard, Miss Ewoktuna. :P	Ahhhhh... saw what you did there.
Were you home schooled? Are there people who have lived there longer, into their teens and such?	No I went to our local public school, about 500 kids (I have a picture of it in my proof). The school was right next to the governor's palace (right on the edge of CW) Almost all of the kid's parents work for the foundation (CW has over 1,000 employees) we all thought this was normal. On a side note, I used to get carriage rides to school.
Governor's PALACE? Looking at my paycheck and seeing the amount of taxes taken out has just made me very angry.	Don't worry, a Governor hasn't lived in that place for years... plus I think that's how the colonists felt right before the revolution.
Tell some stores?	My favorite is when my family moved out to the suburbs near Jamestown. The day we moved in my sister and I didn't go to school to "help" my dad unpack. In the afternoon all the neighborhood kids started to come home. Our new home was on a cul-de-sac so all the kids started to play baseball. My sister and I went out to join them and instantly made friends. However, when dinner time rolled around all the moms and dads started to call the kids into their homes. So we all decided to meet up after dinner. Well, being good CW kids my sister and i start hiding all the toys in bushes, behind rocks, and a porch near by. All the kids watched us and were like WTF, why you doing that? My sister and I tried to explain, "We need to hide them so THEY don't see. If THEY see we get in trouble." Totally freaked out the other kids. However, my sister and I were used to hiding our toys after we played outside so tourists wouldn't see our modern things. CW actually gave us designated hiding places for bikes, grills, trash cans and all and any outdoor stuff. If you go to the backs of the houses you will see theses fenced off, enclosed places, peek in and you'll see the future.
Why did you end up moving away from CW?	My parents wanted to have their own home.
Did you find that a lot of modern day luxuries were denied due to your living situation?	Very good question. The house we lived in had 20th century amenities (electricity, running water, plumbing) but we had to make it seem that it didn't. The house had three floors. The lowest floor was like a basement (mostly underground). This is where we did most of our living (Kitchen, washedryer, dinning room, Tv/living room) because it was where the visitors (tourists) couldn't look in. Our 2nd floor was all show (period furniture, no electronic appliances) This is where visitors could look in. The 3rd floor was our bedrooms ( i shared a bedroom with my sister).
Did you ever find yourself spending time on the 2nd floor? Just reading or recreating?	Yes, my sister and I would have friends over and dress them in our colonial clothes and have tea parties out in the garden. However, I was scared of our 2nd floor because we had these two paintings we call the Ancestors. They are of my mother's great great grandparents and they scared the loving poo-poo out of me. (My mother in a Masshole and has a direct line to the mayflower.) We are talking scary puritan paintings.
Do you have a photo of "the Ancestors"?	I wish I did they were terrifying.
What is a masshole, sounds terribly intersting.	It is a person from Massachusetts.
Direct line to the Mayflower eh? We might be distantly related then. My 13th great grandfather was William Bradford. Then again, thousands of people can say the same thing. BTW, I visited Colonial Williamsburg in the summer of 1989 when I had just finished up 5th grade. Were you there at the time?	Yup! I was 5 years old.
My mother in a Masshole and has a direct line to the mayflower. By a coincidence, I was reading about the Mayflower yesterday (I now have no recollection of why). Are you a member of the Mayflower Society?	My grandfather is.
I take it you've had no inclination to join yourself? Might I ask what is your opinion of the Society &/or it's members? I have the impression that they're very posh.	It is a lot of people obsessed with Genealogy. Which isn't bad, but yes there are some very posh people involved, but there also very normal working class people that are a part of it. There are a lot of decedents from the mayflower families, most of the time you are related to more then one family. He is a part of it because our decedent is Miles Standish (The captain of the Mayflower), he's very proud of this.
I had the impression that the Society was more of a general social club for posh people, than about genealogy. Is this a misapprehension on my part? For the record, I'm British, and I don't really know where I got this idea - maybe a movie I saw years ago, or something.	It's all about the genealogy...if you go to Cape Cod and meet locals (some of which own homes that have been in their families for a long time). They are some gruff, drive to the dump, yard selling, penny pinching working class.
I've heard that the CIA uses colonial williamsburg as a kind of practical field training ground for agents headed on assignment to foreign countries. Practicing how to follow people, dewdrops, and the like. Did you ever witness this?	WOW! I had not heard or seen this before (I guess they're doing a good job).
What's your thoughts on that guy from SF that bought that mansion (Carter Grove?) in CW and let it fall into disrepair?	That is the worst thing that has happened. That place is very dear to me for so many reasons. My father would take us out there every weekend because he had animals housed on the property (this is when CW still owned it). We would go down on the beach and collect fossils and sharks teeth. We would also go hiking on the property, climb trees that had huge bouncy branches and pick daffodils. I have been privileged in the fact that anytime I want to visit my child hood home it has been unchanged and will always be so, but this place I can not and that makes me very sad.
Did tourists constantly flirt with you?	When I was a child, NO! However, when I was in College I worked at CW during the summers and during those 4 years... yes! A lot of flirting (mostly unwanted). My favorite story was when a I was 20 a troop of boy-scouts collectively tried their one-liners out on me (they were all probably 11 or 12).
"Mind helping me out with my Poontang Badge?"	I wish they had used that one! Theirs were more like... "BOOOOOOBIES!!! they're cool." (they were 11)
Hi! I'm a student at William and Mary and I just wanted to say thanks for clearing up some of these questions! I had wondering if the off limits buildings were for show and now I know normal families live there. Where is your favorite place to visit in CW? Also love your username.	You're welcome. Also, congrats for going to the second oldest college in America (Damn you Harvard!!!). I LOVE ( like Pee-Wee-Herman marrying fruit salad kind of love) The Cheese Shop! Best Sandwiches in the world! Also I love driving on the Colonial Parkway and swimming on the beach. However, the best is the brick yard. I used to work in the brick yard and the Talbots in Merchant Square has all the bricks I made on the facade. (Side note, almost lost my toes in the brick yard, so those Talbots bricks have something extra in them.)
How awesome was it growing up there? Are there any blacks that work at CW? If so, what do they do? Who is your favorite historical figure? How do you go about applying to live there?	Hmmm, you're not from around these parts are you? Well Lets clear one thing up If by "blacks" you mean, people of African decent, then yes, they do work there. Yet, let me make this clear CW is an Equal Opportunity Employer so we have many people of different races, religions, sexual orientation etc... Now this is where it gets confusing. Not all Black employees are reenactors of slaves. Any body can be interpreters, managers, archaeologists, researchers... hell CW even has a film crew! Yet, Only Black employees can be reenactors of slaves, and there are so many different stories to be told during that time period; Freed Africans, Preachers, tradesmen... there's more to the past then what you think. However, I am glad that CW has made a point to make sure they show just how awful that period of our past was. For instance 60% of the population in CW during the 1780's was slaves. They were the majority of people living there. As a kid I was really effected by this. My friends, neighbors, most of my teachers and my local hero (an African story teller) were of African decent. Slavery and all of it's history was very hard for me to understand, especially when I was very little. Yet, I lived with it all around me. It is still something that haunts the bejesus out of me.
So, I'm someone who just loves historical reenactments but as an Asian American in the US I feel like if I participated in something like CW I'd have to play some pretty specialized role, if any, or visitors would have to really suspend disbelief around me. Were there ever Asians (or other minorities besides African Americans/blacks) at CW and what roles did they play?	YES! One of my good friends was an Asian (half white/Japanese) Interpreter. It is illegal to not hire you based on your race. So, they have to deal with it. Plus, this is ALL of our history, no matter what race, religion or what ever you are. If you're American, it belongs to you. If you love it you should be able to do it.
Did you ever like go to the mall or something in period dress and get made fun of?	LOL! If you have ever gone to Williamsburg VA you will always see people in period dress going to the grocery store, running errands, getting a beer after work. technically you're not allowed to wear the costumes outside of the museum, they are property of the foundation and very, VERY expensive. However, everyone does it. The most taboo thing you can do is work somewhere else in the costume without getting permission. (this is mostly the case for reenactors doing stuff on their own time.)
Thanks for answering all of these questions! Do you have any "historical skills" most people today don't? (ie spinning, etc) Also, dumb observation but you look like an adult version of Felicity from American Girl and that makes me happy idk.	LMFAO!!! When I was an interpreter almost every little girl holding an American girl doll would run up to me shouting Felicity! I would sit down with them and say I'm not Felicity, but I know her and is there anything you would like to tell her? I can tell her for you. Also I was a kid when Felicity became an American girl doll. They had a big ta-do in CW and put on a televised play. My sister was Lizzy her friend. Also I remember the actress who played Stephanie from Full House came. We got a picture with her, good time had by all.
Was this before stephanie tanner got into drugs and then ended up marrying some cop?	Before...I think. This was early 90's.
Did you ever get tired of yelling HUZZAH? My boyfriend works at CW making reservations, but hopes to move to a position that utilizes his history degree soon. He gets mad when we drive up there (We live in Newport News) and I yell HUZZAH at him every time I see a sign for the restaurant.	I WILL never get tired of screaming HUZZAH!!!
Alright, I live really close to CW and have gone there alot. But there is one thing I have to know. How the hell do you deal with the horse poo everywhere? Do you get used to it or have a trillion air freshners?	LOL! Wow, you see this is a huge joke in my family because for almost 30 years my father has worked with the animals directly. I grew up mucking, feeding all the animals there. I loved farming so much I even went to a farming high-school in Vt. So for me that kind of stuff is just life. Also it's authentic to the time period. Just be thankful CW doesn't go all the way and make it like it used to really be in the 18th century. The road went all the way up to the buildings (no sidewalk) and it was a foot deep of mud and crap (human and animal).
Are natives depicted at Colonial Williamsburg?	Not as much as Jamestown. By the time period Williamsburg is depicting (1690-1780's) most Native Americans had moved out to the Piedmont areas (central VA).
Is there any way the locals are expected to speak? Do you adopt an accent or a formal way of speaking?	NO!!!! Thank goodness. At Plymouth they all have to stay in character (accent, no modern knowledge of technology and so on). At CW Reenactors do that and they usually are representing a specific historical person. The Interpreters are the ones you will main see and interact with. They are like guides to the past. They wear the clothes and know the history but they are allowed to acknowledge the present.
Have you ever read Running Out of Time by Margaret Peterson Haddix? Or watched M Night Shyamalan's The Village? (not recommended)	When I saw the Village It really, really reminded me of home.
Did your home also have a stupid plot?	Only for the ghost tour.
I give (unauthorized, unofficial) ghost tours around CW. Is your house the one with the hedge story?	I don't know, please go on...
I'm a student at William & Mary too! I took the Ghost Tour when I first started going there, and still enjoy an occasional walk through CW. I used to work at the Bloom store (now Food Lion) on Richmond Road and would always see the "townies" come in wearing their colonial outfits going shopping. I didn't start until after you left, I presume, but I bet you came in there in wardrobe at some point, didn't you? Do you ever come back to visit? You mentioned in a comment that you had to hide your toys and everything. Has a tourist ever caught you doing something / in possession of something 20th century? While I'm on the subject, what's the most taboo or "bad" thing you've done with regards to the colonial impression you were supposed to be giving off? Did you know about this?	Yes I did go to it, but only when it was food lion. 2.Yes, my parents still live there. 3.I was a constant source of anxiety for my mom because I loved running around naked and I also had, what I lovingly called, barbie grave yards. I used to chew my barbies legs and arms off (because I chewed everything), cut their hair, and give them "make-up" (Sharpie pens). They did not look very good, but I loved them. I would go out to our yard (In CW), pop their heads off make little graves, place them in, bury them, put a stick in the ground to mark the grave and then place the head on the stick. I would spend a lot of time placing shells and flowers around them. My mom had a shoe box with "ewoktuna's barbies" written on the side and she would wait till I was done, dig them up and then put them in the box. I know many tourists saw this horrifying ritual many times. Also, I love that SNL Skit. Also was one with Britney Spears churning butter.
Did you go to Matthew Whaley?	YESSSSSS!
Student who goes to W&M here, lived in the dorm closest to CW. I just wanna say thanks for making an awesome place even more awesome. Funniest thing you've ever seen while you lived there?	The runners on DOG street. A group of men would wake up at 7am (when we would be getting to work) running in speedos. Got to get up early to catch the worm;)
Did the kids tell a story about a ghost in the attic when you went? That was the cool thing to do when I was in 1st grade there.	Yes the ghost of Mathew Whaley, and when we had Colonial Day the gym teacher dressed up as the ghost. So twisted.
I'm surprised it's not a more common choice for the kids' Halloween costume parade.	I LOVED THE COSTUME PARADE! When the Matthew Whaley kids would march down DOG street in their costumes! I loved that, Halloween is still my favorite holiday.
Crazy to see about half a thread about William and Mary! I love it. Any experiences with any of the haunted places there? Going to the maze is a great way to get a girl right in your arms :)	Well, when I was little our house used to be on the ghost tour... scared the living hoo-ha out of me. My sister convinced me that our attic had a ghost in it. I pointed out one day that the only noises that came from the attack were pigeon noises. She changed her story to that our attic was haunted by pigeon ghosts. I believed her.
Quite an interesting subject to do an AMA on! My question would be, do you and your family seem to appreciate modern things more, or take them less for granted, when you've grown up seeing how it was "in days of yore"?	Wow! Great question. I think it has impacted me in the way that I really don't like living with too many things and have always tried to be self-sufficient. I was brought up raising animals, growing our own food and knowing how to make things by hand. I love pickling and making jam, knitting and having a garden still. Also everyone in my family is obsessed with history.
What happened if/when people broke character?	I have never seen a reenactor break character, they are so dedicated.
Are you familiar with the South Park episode? Are they THAT dedicated?	I just re-watched this episode and I love it. We would only use the "what's that metal horseless carriage you got there." When we want a good laugh or when the visitor initiates... They love that stuff! CW mostly has Interpreters they know what year it is and are like time guides.
I got lost in the maze when I was 5 and thought I was going to die.	My friends and I used to jump over the brick wall that separated Mathew Whaley school from the governors palace, hide in the maze hedges and throw rocks at the visitors walking through. Thought it would make them think it was haunted.
AAAAH Do they still have that general store (on mainish street) that sells the kick ass (old fashion) ginger ale and cornbread? That was my favorite part of Colonial Williamsburg.	YESSSSS!!! and the best sugar cookies and hot cider around!!!!
Is there any part of the area that might be "off-menu", where it's a great place to see but it's not well advertised? My wife and I spent 3 days there, bought passes, and got to see almost all the major attractions, but what would you recommend? Thx.	Go to Jamestown, It is so beautifully laid out for the public. A GREAT MUSEUM. Also bike Jamestown Island, it is beautiful. Make sure you go to the mental hospital museum in CW, that's fun.
Going on honeymoon to Williamsburg soon, any places you would recommend to stay or visit in or around the area?	GO to History.org I would say if you have the money stay at one of the Inns!!! Fabulous! And For good-golly-molly go to the visitor center and get a good ticket that lets you go into everything. Get a weekly map (because they tell you the special events). Also go to Bucsh Gardens and ride some roller coasters! Have fun and buy some of their soap and candles (smell so gooooood). Plus if you see a big English man on an ugly bike that's my dad!
Do you eat/know how to cook foods from that era?	Some, but not really. I do know how to milk a cow by hand, make cheese and butter. I also know how to slaughter a chicken in the old style (And I've done it). They had a short curved knife that you stick in the mouth and then pull up through the brain. I also know how to sheer a sheep with hand sheers.
HUZZAH!	HUZZAH
You might be interested in the young adult book Past Perfect by Leila Sales, which is about a teen girl living at a colonial reenactment museum with a rival Civil War museum down the road. It's a great read for history nerds. Since you mention you now live in New England, do you think New England treats its colonial past differently than VA? If so, is it for the better or the worse?	Wow! Good question. I think not. But they definitely teach the civil war differently.
I love riding my bike through CW in the middle of the night. Is that frowned upon?	No! DOG street is a public street. Just don't scream HUZZAH at the top of your lungs.
I'm assuming you ate a lot of locally grown food. Did your family have their own garden? Was there a community garden? And what about produce and meat? How does one go about living and working at Colonial Williamsburg and is there anywhere that has more information about it? Favorite time of year in CW?	We had a huge veggie garden behind Christinana Cambell's Tavern, but we shopped at the grocery store too. However, we did do a lot of pickling and jam making. We went to this great farm called Bushneck Farm, great fruit trees and berry bushes. My dad also loved making his own bread.
That's awesome! My husband has recently been into making his own bread. He made his own sourdough starter and has been using that. I have to say, this is the most awesome AMA. My husband has been bugging me to get on Reddit and this is the AMA that got me hooked!	Yeah!!!I've been Redditing for a while, but never did anything big. My Husband made me do this AMA... go husbands!
Do you know how to make a candle?	Yes.
This may be a somewhat awkward question, but just how far did the accuracy of the wardrobe go? did it go all the way down to period acurate undergarments? if so what were those like?	I think I already answered this, but I can understand the curiosity. The Chemise or Shift was the "underwear". No underwear or bra's. Stays were the closest thing to a bra. For the people wearing the costumes, it is up to them how "accurate" they want to be. I wore underwear, they really tried to emphasize that it's ok to wear underwear.
Wow, this AMA is awesome; I LOVED colonial Williamsburg & visited whenever I was in VA Beach. Did you drink that home-made root beer everyday? salt water taffy? I would've. That shit was like crack. That smell of the wood chips use to really tickle my fancy, did you even notice it or was it just natural to you?	The smell of the tobacco pipes and the sell of the wood fires are some of my favorite smells and they remind me of my childhood.
Oh wow! I was an actor interpreter there for 6 months last year after graduating from William and Mary. Living in the past for work is one thing, but growing up doing it... What was it like when you left? Did you miss living like a colonial?	I was sad, but mostly because I couldn't go into work with my dad like I used to. My sister and I were brought up in the stables and it felt like a second home (plus always saw my dad), so it was sad when we didn't get to live close.
Why are there so many fucking pancake houses there?	My favorite is Mamma Steve's ... oh god that place haunts my dreams!
My family and I will be passing through CW in September, but would only have about 3-4 hours there... is it worth is to buy the passes, or just walk thru the town for free? Seems like the hefty price wouldn't be worth it just for a few hours. Is there a lot to see without buying passes?	Yeah walk through on DOG street and get lunch in a tavern or in Merchant Square. It's not enough time.
When I was a kid we would go to CW every year. I have very fond memories of the place. The hedge maze is awesome. Really, everything there is so much fun. But our family always loved the food in all the taverns - it was so delicious and just a blast. I remember one time we got the all you can eat pass (does that still exist?). But, my favorite food had to be the gingerbread cakes. I have heard that they recently changed the recipe and they are more like a gingersnap than a gingerbread cake. WHY?!	I know, I haven't tried the new ones so I can't say if everything is ok.
Do you want kids? And if so, will you raise them where you grew up?	I do and, I want to raise them in New England.
Does electricity amaze you or just frighten you?	LIGHTS!!!! BADDDDD!!!
Would there be any work for a guy whos chinese? (I don't think china was very active in the americas in the 18th century...)	Yes!!! It doesn't matter what race you are you can work at CW. They are equal opportunity employers. Plus they have non-costume jobs too.
But I was hoping to play a Qing merchant or dignitary thought both would be highly unlikely to appear in a then small colony.	YES, Please do this, I would love to just see you walk around DOG street like that!
My wife and I honeymooned in Williamsburg back in 2001. I love Williamsburg and the entire Hampton Roads area. Anyway, we were driving to a diner one night and got pulled over. The cops pulled their guns on us and started screaming at us. Long story short, they thought the "just married" sign, and car full of dishes and towels was suspicious. One cop tried to come up with a lame excuse that the road we were turning down was full of drug addicts. I turned onto that road because he pulled me over. I laugh at this memory, but that sure sticks out as a unique Williamsburg experience for me. Is there really a "rough end" of Williamsburg?	No, not really. Maybe out in the sticks, but nothing too bad.
Thanks. I knew those cops were coming up with stories to justify pulling guns on me and my wife.	That is crazy!
I went to Matthew Whaley and was in the same grade as your sister - your mother was our school art teacher and my father was a balladeer in the taverns, Small world!	YES!!!!!!! I'm going to tell both my mom and sister about this. My older sister lives in New Zealand now. She's going to love this.
Yes!!! It doesn't matter what race you are you can work at CW. They are equal opportunity employers. Plus they have non-costume jobs too.	I used to work in their film department.
I worked at CW last summer and I'll be doing my PhD in American history at William & Mary starting next month - great place!	Congrats.
We had a huge veggie garden behind Christinana Cambell's Tavern, but we shopped at the grocery store too. However, we did do a lot of pickling and jam making. We went to this great farm called Bushneck Farm, great fruit trees and berry bushes. My dad also loved making his own bread.	Go onto history.org and go to About us, and then Career at CW. Hands down the Winter is my favorite time of year there.
There should have been a clause that reverted ownership to CW in the event of negligence. Some lawyer was asleep at the switch.	Williamsburg doesn't have the money to take it back. That's why they sold it in the first place. That's why it's important to support places like this so they don't have to make decisions like that. We should protect our historic places.
I WILL never get tired of screaming HUZZAH!!!	HUZZAH!
The runners on DOG street. A group of men would wake up at 7am (when we would be getting to work) running in speedos. Got to get up early to catch the worm;)	Here's another funny story. Once, while interpreting outside of the windmill a family rushed up to me. Please tell us more about that pig in the field. We have never seen such a fuzzy pig and my children want to know more about him. The only animal out in the field was a sheep and she was a ewe.
Oxford commas! Leggings, puffy shirts, and bonnets for me.	To quote Vampire Weekend "Don't give a fuck about an Oxford comma."

Last updated: 2012-07-13 03:27 UTC
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