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✧💢 VRChat asset release 💢✧ 「Limb grabber」 An avatar gimmick that lets others grab and play with your limbs! ⬩ MA & VRCF support ⬩ Grabbable arms & legs ⬩ Player pick up ⬩ Punchable head Giving away 5 copies just like ❤️ and RT 🔁 #VRChat #BOOTH #Booth_pm

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ThatFatKidsMom

2,022 subscribers

44,664 просмотров • 3 месяцев назад •via X (Twitter)

#VRChat#BOOTH#Booth_pm
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✧💢 VRChat asset update 💢✧ 「Shareable Halo System」 An avatar gimmick that lets other people grab and wear a halo (or any object really) from your avatar ⬩ MA & VRCF support ⬩ Quest compatible ⬩ FREEEE #VRChat #BOOTH #Booth_pm
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✧💢 VRChat asset update 💢✧ 「Shareable Halo System」 An avatar gimmick that lets other people grab and wear a halo (or any object really) from your avatar ⬩ MA & VRCF support ⬩ Quest compatible ⬩ FREEEE #VRChat #BOOTH #Booth_pm

ThatFatKidsMom

121,608 просмотров • 5 месяцев назад

✧💢 VRChat asset update 💢✧ 「Avatar prop system」 An avatar gimmick to create objects that other players can grab & rotate similar to VRChat items Hopefully official item support comes one day... ⬩ MA & VRCF support ⬩ More optimized ⬩ FREEEE #VRChat #BOOTH #Booth_pm
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✧💢 VRChat asset update 💢✧ 「Avatar prop system」 An avatar gimmick to create objects that other players can grab & rotate similar to VRChat items Hopefully official item support comes one day... ⬩ MA & VRCF support ⬩ More optimized ⬩ FREEEE #VRChat #BOOTH #Booth_pm

ThatFatKidsMom

55,719 просмотров • 7 месяцев назад

Throwing knife asset almost done. A little preview of the screen fx for when you get stabbed but Im pretending Im Soap Mactavish :D #VRChat
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Throwing knife asset almost done. A little preview of the screen fx for when you get stabbed but Im pretending Im Soap Mactavish :D #VRChat

ThatFatKidsMom

53,192 просмотров • 1 месяц назад

I’m asking for all the prayers, love, and support you can send my way right now ❤️ About eight days ago, my husband left me. After years of battling abuse, I finally found the courage to kick him out and not take him back. Now I’m trying to pick up the pieces of my life, stand on my own two feet, and figure out what’s next. I’m left dealing with severe health issues that have landed me in the hospital from dehydration and neglect since he walked away. I have no help, I don’t know my legal rights (like whether I can change the locks), and I’m trying to find the right attorney to move forward. I feel completely helpless, but I still have a roof over my head — thank God for that. If it wasn’t for Him, I wouldn’t even be here writing this. Please keep me in your prayers as I slowly try to stand again. I love you all and just need some time and a whole lot of prayer support right now. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 💜
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I’m asking for all the prayers, love, and support you can send my way right now ❤️ About eight days ago, my husband left me. After years of battling abuse, I finally found the courage to kick him out and not take him back. Now I’m trying to pick up the pieces of my life, stand on my own two feet, and figure out what’s next. I’m left dealing with severe health issues that have landed me in the hospital from dehydration and neglect since he walked away. I have no help, I don’t know my legal rights (like whether I can change the locks), and I’m trying to find the right attorney to move forward. I feel completely helpless, but I still have a roof over my head — thank God for that. If it wasn’t for Him, I wouldn’t even be here writing this. Please keep me in your prayers as I slowly try to stand again. I love you all and just need some time and a whole lot of prayer support right now. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 💜

𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒉𝒂𝒏

12,402 просмотров • 6 месяцев назад

Goodbye, Pearl My heart is still somewhere out in that driveway, laid out flat like it just got the Holy Ghost and passed clean out. Today, I had to say goodbye to Pearl. Now Pearl wasn’t just an SUV. Pearl was my last rolling piece of freedom. She was my pre-ALS independence sitting on four tires. She was my “I’ll be right back” machine. My “let me run to the store” chariot. My “I don’t need nobody to take me nowhere” declaration with leather seats and a clean paint job. And today… she left me on the back of a tow truck like she was being taken to glory. That hurt. The last time I sat behind Pearl’s steering wheel, ALS made something painfully clear. I was sitting at a red light, needing to make a simple right turn. Simple for everybody else. But my arms said, “Oh no, we don’t do that anymore.” Cars behind me started blowing their horns like they were in the Indy 500 and I was holding up qualifying. I’m sitting there sweating, praying, negotiating with my limbs like, “C’mon y’all, just one more turn. ONE.” I wanted to yell, “Y’all better be glad I can’t get out this truck!” But truth was, I was scared. For the first time in my life, I knew I was not safe behind that wheel. Somehow, I used my legs to help force that turn, then drove home with fear sitting in the passenger seat. When I pulled into the driveway and climbed down out of Pearl, I knew. That was it. I dragged myself into the house and told Tanja my heart was broken. I wasn’t just giving up driving. I was giving up another piece of the man I used to be. So Pearl sat in the driveway for ten years, looking like a museum exhibit titled, “Before ALS Had the Nerve.” My girls used her sparingly—very sparingly after Sydney forgot to stop at a stop sign and introduced Pearl’s front bumper to somebody else’s rear end. After that, Pearl went into semi-retirement. Family members would ask, “Can I borrow the truck?” And I’d be sitting there thinking, “Borrow? That’s Pearl. That’s not a truck. That’s family.” But Pearl started coming back with scratches nobody knew about, “Not me.” “Wasn’t there before.” “I don’t remember.” And don’t get me started on the gas tank. I’d hand her over full, she’d come back thirstier than a man in the desert. Apparently, Pearl had been traveling with witnesses who all suffered from sudden memory loss. So today… I kissed her goodbye. Literally. Leaned in, pressed my forehead to hers, and whispered, “Thank you.” Watching her get winched up onto that tow truck felt like watching my past drive away without even turning around to wave. And when that tow truck pulled away, I laughed a little. Then I hurt a lot. Because sometimes letting go isn’t about the thing itself. It’s about what that thing represented. Pearl was freedom. Pearl was strength. Pearl was before. But even as she rolled away, I reminded myself: ALS may have taken the keys, but it never took my memories. It never took my gratitude. And it sure didn’t take my ability to laugh through tears. So goodbye, Pearl. You were loved. You were loyal. And Lord knows… you were patient with my family. Now let me go sit down before I start ugly crying like Tanja did over that Mercedes.
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Goodbye, Pearl My heart is still somewhere out in that driveway, laid out flat like it just got the Holy Ghost and passed clean out. Today, I had to say goodbye to Pearl. Now Pearl wasn’t just an SUV. Pearl was my last rolling piece of freedom. She was my pre-ALS independence sitting on four tires. She was my “I’ll be right back” machine. My “let me run to the store” chariot. My “I don’t need nobody to take me nowhere” declaration with leather seats and a clean paint job. And today… she left me on the back of a tow truck like she was being taken to glory. That hurt. The last time I sat behind Pearl’s steering wheel, ALS made something painfully clear. I was sitting at a red light, needing to make a simple right turn. Simple for everybody else. But my arms said, “Oh no, we don’t do that anymore.” Cars behind me started blowing their horns like they were in the Indy 500 and I was holding up qualifying. I’m sitting there sweating, praying, negotiating with my limbs like, “C’mon y’all, just one more turn. ONE.” I wanted to yell, “Y’all better be glad I can’t get out this truck!” But truth was, I was scared. For the first time in my life, I knew I was not safe behind that wheel. Somehow, I used my legs to help force that turn, then drove home with fear sitting in the passenger seat. When I pulled into the driveway and climbed down out of Pearl, I knew. That was it. I dragged myself into the house and told Tanja my heart was broken. I wasn’t just giving up driving. I was giving up another piece of the man I used to be. So Pearl sat in the driveway for ten years, looking like a museum exhibit titled, “Before ALS Had the Nerve.” My girls used her sparingly—very sparingly after Sydney forgot to stop at a stop sign and introduced Pearl’s front bumper to somebody else’s rear end. After that, Pearl went into semi-retirement. Family members would ask, “Can I borrow the truck?” And I’d be sitting there thinking, “Borrow? That’s Pearl. That’s not a truck. That’s family.” But Pearl started coming back with scratches nobody knew about, “Not me.” “Wasn’t there before.” “I don’t remember.” And don’t get me started on the gas tank. I’d hand her over full, she’d come back thirstier than a man in the desert. Apparently, Pearl had been traveling with witnesses who all suffered from sudden memory loss. So today… I kissed her goodbye. Literally. Leaned in, pressed my forehead to hers, and whispered, “Thank you.” Watching her get winched up onto that tow truck felt like watching my past drive away without even turning around to wave. And when that tow truck pulled away, I laughed a little. Then I hurt a lot. Because sometimes letting go isn’t about the thing itself. It’s about what that thing represented. Pearl was freedom. Pearl was strength. Pearl was before. But even as she rolled away, I reminded myself: ALS may have taken the keys, but it never took my memories. It never took my gratitude. And it sure didn’t take my ability to laugh through tears. So goodbye, Pearl. You were loved. You were loyal. And Lord knows… you were patient with my family. Now let me go sit down before I start ugly crying like Tanja did over that Mercedes.

Kerry Goode

17,623 просмотров • 4 месяцев назад

Trouba Trizzain almost booked Martin Necas a first class Non stop ticket back to Raleigh!!!. MY GOODNESS! 👀🧐 TROUBA PLAYOFF HITLIST: -2022 knocks Crosby out of Game 5 & series -2022 knocks seth Jarvis out of game 7 & series -2023 destroys Timo Meier in game 7 -2024???? (Almost puts Necas in a body bag) A body check in hockey can be the X factor in a playoff series. Paying a physical toll is just HALF the price you have to pay to win the hardest trophy in all of sports, its an emotional toll on you also. One shift being complacent… one moment… and you could be knocked out of a series. You have to hit, but you have to be able to take them too! As a player i want to see clean body checks! aslong as its with the shoulder i think it should be fair game… KEEP YOUR HEAD UP! To play at this level and not be able to keep your head up when making plays, is like walking blind folded down a highway against on coming traffic! Its a skill to see the ice and be able to play with your head up. Players need to take accountability to not put themselves in positions to get TEE’d up! I like the intent here to make that hit.,.. Well, to be able honest… i LOVE the intent😅!! but if that elbow connects…trouba is likely out for the rest of the series! He doesnt connect, no harm and is still in search of his next victim. Its a fine line folks! Fastest game on the planet,timing is everything, & things happen fast! Fair! 🫡 #nhl #espn #nyr #troubatrain #nhlplayoffs DO WE LOVE HITTING IN HOCKEY?
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Trouba Trizzain almost booked Martin Necas a first class Non stop ticket back to Raleigh!!!. MY GOODNESS! 👀🧐 TROUBA PLAYOFF HITLIST: -2022 knocks Crosby out of Game 5 & series -2022 knocks seth Jarvis out of game 7 & series -2023 destroys Timo Meier in game 7 -2024???? (Almost puts Necas in a body bag) A body check in hockey can be the X factor in a playoff series. Paying a physical toll is just HALF the price you have to pay to win the hardest trophy in all of sports, its an emotional toll on you also. One shift being complacent… one moment… and you could be knocked out of a series. You have to hit, but you have to be able to take them too! As a player i want to see clean body checks! aslong as its with the shoulder i think it should be fair game… KEEP YOUR HEAD UP! To play at this level and not be able to keep your head up when making plays, is like walking blind folded down a highway against on coming traffic! Its a skill to see the ice and be able to play with your head up. Players need to take accountability to not put themselves in positions to get TEE’d up! I like the intent here to make that hit.,.. Well, to be able honest… i LOVE the intent😅!! but if that elbow connects…trouba is likely out for the rest of the series! He doesnt connect, no harm and is still in search of his next victim. Its a fine line folks! Fastest game on the planet,timing is everything, & things happen fast! Fair! 🫡 #nhl #espn #nyr #troubatrain #nhlplayoffs DO WE LOVE HITTING IN HOCKEY?

P.K. Subban

505,665 просмотров • 2 лет назад

I still can't wrap my head around why not everyone is using this approach yet. Elon Musk already reposted this guide, and this exact agent setup earned me $7,100 in net profit for the month Grok Bot + Pumpfun + Robinhood Week 1 + $1,210 Week 2 + $2,560 Week 3 + $4,790 Week 4 + $7,100 Eight Grok desktop agents cost $200 a month, but they completely replace an entire trading floor. Maintaining such a staff in a crypto fund typically costs around $600,000 a year in analyst salaries alone A 5:30 AM morning call. I don't even participate in it How tasks are distributed among agents: SEARCH: monitors real-time insider information, scans developer repositories on GitHub, and tracks unindexed Telegram channels before crypto Twitter finds out RISK: analyzes smart contracts, minting rights, and liquidity pool (LP) locks, instantly flagging honeypots before executing a trade SNIPER: executes transactions on the blockchain at high speed right at the exact millisecond the system confirms token safety WHALE: tracks large player wallets and records hidden asset accumulation in real time RUG: monitors developer wallet activity 24/7 and instantly dumps the entire asset volume if they touch the liquidity pool EXIT: manages dynamic stop-losses and gradually takes profits as liquidity grows SHILL: measures social media activity, pulse speed, and key influencer mentions HEAD OF DESK: doesn't trade on its own it routes data streams, checks transmissions, and brings me only the ready-made decisions that require human intervention Over the course of a month, the system analyzed 654 tokens, processed 165 qualifying options, and executed 81 successful trades. Result: a net profit of $7,100 (already including all fees). Each agent has its own virtual browser, terminal, and local cloud memory, so the trading floor keeps running even when my laptop is closed Setup turned out to be much simpler than it seems: 1. Download Grok Bot and create your "Head of Desk" 2. Write text instructions for the remaining 7 agents just like you would assign tasks to new employees 3. Run the workflow once on your screen so they can pick up the algorithm 4. Connect Telegram and cryptocurrency wallet webhooks No VPS, lengthy coding, or waiting for developers. Crypto trading used to be associated with 17 hours in front of a monitor, paid closed groups, and constant exhaustion. It took me just one evening to set everything up Save this guide before opening your next trade
0:18

I still can't wrap my head around why not everyone is using this approach yet. Elon Musk already reposted this guide, and this exact agent setup earned me $7,100 in net profit for the month Grok Bot + Pumpfun + Robinhood Week 1 + $1,210 Week 2 + $2,560 Week 3 + $4,790 Week 4 + $7,100 Eight Grok desktop agents cost $200 a month, but they completely replace an entire trading floor. Maintaining such a staff in a crypto fund typically costs around $600,000 a year in analyst salaries alone A 5:30 AM morning call. I don't even participate in it How tasks are distributed among agents: SEARCH: monitors real-time insider information, scans developer repositories on GitHub, and tracks unindexed Telegram channels before crypto Twitter finds out RISK: analyzes smart contracts, minting rights, and liquidity pool (LP) locks, instantly flagging honeypots before executing a trade SNIPER: executes transactions on the blockchain at high speed right at the exact millisecond the system confirms token safety WHALE: tracks large player wallets and records hidden asset accumulation in real time RUG: monitors developer wallet activity 24/7 and instantly dumps the entire asset volume if they touch the liquidity pool EXIT: manages dynamic stop-losses and gradually takes profits as liquidity grows SHILL: measures social media activity, pulse speed, and key influencer mentions HEAD OF DESK: doesn't trade on its own it routes data streams, checks transmissions, and brings me only the ready-made decisions that require human intervention Over the course of a month, the system analyzed 654 tokens, processed 165 qualifying options, and executed 81 successful trades. Result: a net profit of $7,100 (already including all fees). Each agent has its own virtual browser, terminal, and local cloud memory, so the trading floor keeps running even when my laptop is closed Setup turned out to be much simpler than it seems: 1. Download Grok Bot and create your "Head of Desk" 2. Write text instructions for the remaining 7 agents just like you would assign tasks to new employees 3. Run the workflow once on your screen so they can pick up the algorithm 4. Connect Telegram and cryptocurrency wallet webhooks No VPS, lengthy coding, or waiting for developers. Crypto trading used to be associated with 17 hours in front of a monitor, paid closed groups, and constant exhaustion. It took me just one evening to set everything up Save this guide before opening your next trade

Bober_smart

92,184 просмотров • 23 дней назад

Emerging from Silence: A New Dawn After a two-year period of silence, the team behind Anthrometa emerges to announce significant advancements. Our focus has been on refining our vision, and now, we're prepared to unveil our strategic direction. 🕹️We're giving away 0.5 $ETH and 100 $ICP RT, like, and tag a friend for your chance to win ! Community Governance with DAO Central to our transformation is the establishment of a Decentralized Autonomous Organization (#DAO). This structure ensures that each member of our community has a say in Anthrometa's governance, embodying our commitment to collective wisdom and shared governance. Multichain Integration with $ICP and $ETH Our project has expanded to become multichain, integrating with the Internet Computer Protocol ($ICP) and Ethereum ($ETH). This choice was made due to #ICP's exceptional infrastructure, allowing for smart contracts to operate at web speed with heightened security. Gameplay 3.0 with Unreal Engine 5.5 and AI At the heart of our gameplay lies the utilization of #UE5, the most advanced technology for creating immersive universes. This engine powers our environment with unparalleled visual fidelity and dynamic interaction capabilities. Anthrometa : The Advanced Agent Furthermore, we are pioneering the integration of artificial intelligence to form an advanced Agent named Anthrometa. This #AI-driven entity will adapt and learn from player interactions, providing personalized experiences and evolving the game world in real-time, thus blurring the lines between player and game narrative. We aim to tap into the gaming market, which is expected to reach a valuation of over $300 billion by 2027, positioning Anthrometa alongside giants like Axie Infinity and Decentraland. Introducing THE METATRIBES: REBORN REBORN's battle royale mode departs from the conventional, eschewing modern firearms like those found in #Fortnite or #CallofDuty. Instead, players will engage in combat using ancestral weapons, focusing on authentic, melee-based encounters. The gameplay emphasizes strategic positioning, tactical thinking, and mastery of ancient combat techniques, making every battle a test of wits and skill rather than just firepower. This approach invites players into a realm where strategy reigns supreme, and every fight is a dance of survival and cunning. If you read this, you are early Join us in shaping a future where technology and community converge. Your support has been invaluable during our silence, and now, with renewed purpose, #Anthrometa returns. Don't miss our update on December 4th; follow, turn on notifications, and engage to be part of it.
0:13

Emerging from Silence: A New Dawn After a two-year period of silence, the team behind Anthrometa emerges to announce significant advancements. Our focus has been on refining our vision, and now, we're prepared to unveil our strategic direction. 🕹️We're giving away 0.5 $ETH and 100 $ICP RT, like, and tag a friend for your chance to win ! Community Governance with DAO Central to our transformation is the establishment of a Decentralized Autonomous Organization (#DAO). This structure ensures that each member of our community has a say in Anthrometa's governance, embodying our commitment to collective wisdom and shared governance. Multichain Integration with $ICP and $ETH Our project has expanded to become multichain, integrating with the Internet Computer Protocol ($ICP) and Ethereum ($ETH). This choice was made due to #ICP's exceptional infrastructure, allowing for smart contracts to operate at web speed with heightened security. Gameplay 3.0 with Unreal Engine 5.5 and AI At the heart of our gameplay lies the utilization of #UE5, the most advanced technology for creating immersive universes. This engine powers our environment with unparalleled visual fidelity and dynamic interaction capabilities. Anthrometa : The Advanced Agent Furthermore, we are pioneering the integration of artificial intelligence to form an advanced Agent named Anthrometa. This #AI-driven entity will adapt and learn from player interactions, providing personalized experiences and evolving the game world in real-time, thus blurring the lines between player and game narrative. We aim to tap into the gaming market, which is expected to reach a valuation of over $300 billion by 2027, positioning Anthrometa alongside giants like Axie Infinity and Decentraland. Introducing THE METATRIBES: REBORN REBORN's battle royale mode departs from the conventional, eschewing modern firearms like those found in #Fortnite or #CallofDuty. Instead, players will engage in combat using ancestral weapons, focusing on authentic, melee-based encounters. The gameplay emphasizes strategic positioning, tactical thinking, and mastery of ancient combat techniques, making every battle a test of wits and skill rather than just firepower. This approach invites players into a realm where strategy reigns supreme, and every fight is a dance of survival and cunning. If you read this, you are early Join us in shaping a future where technology and community converge. Your support has been invaluable during our silence, and now, with renewed purpose, #Anthrometa returns. Don't miss our update on December 4th; follow, turn on notifications, and engage to be part of it.

The Metatribes : Reborn

12,210 просмотров • 1 год назад

Plato said your soul comes from a star, and returns to it when you die. 🌟 This idea runs through almost 2,000 years of philosophy, and it keeps coming back to the same shape: the sphere. Before Plato, Parmenides described ultimate reality as a perfect sphere, balanced equally from the center in every direction. Empedocles believed that when the universe is fully united by Love, it becomes one single sphere. He called it the Sphairos. Then came Plato. In the Timaeus, the creator makes the universe a sphere, the most perfect of all shapes. It has no eyes, no ears, no hands, because nothing exists outside it to see or touch. It is a living being, complete in itself. The stars are made mostly of fire, round like the universe itself. Plato calls them visible gods. And here's the part almost nobody talks about: the creator assigns every soul to its own star. Live well, and after death your soul returns home to it. ✨ Even your head, Plato says, is round because it copies the shape of the cosmos. The part of you that holds the divine is shaped like an orb. In the Symposium, he tells another story. The first humans were round, with four arms, four legs and two faces. Why round? Because they came from the sun, the earth and the moon. Zeus split them in two, and we've been searching for our other half ever since. Cicero picked up the thread. In the Dream of Scipio, human souls come from the eternal fires we call stars, which are round, spherical and animated by divine minds. The virtuous, he wrote, return to the Milky Way. The later Platonists went even further. They taught that the soul travels inside a luminous vehicle, the augoeides, meaning "radiant" or "star-like." Iamblichus said this vehicle is spherical. Proclus said the soul descends in a perfectly spherical body of light, picking up layers of the four elements on its way down. Your physical body is just a coat worn over an orb of light. Over the centuries, this body of light picked up other names: the body of glory, the celestial body. If you read my last post about the glorified body, that should sound familiar. 👀 The idea never died. Around 1320, Dante writes the Paradiso. In the heaven of Saturn, he sees "a hundred little spheres." They were souls. 🌕
0:10

Plato said your soul comes from a star, and returns to it when you die. 🌟 This idea runs through almost 2,000 years of philosophy, and it keeps coming back to the same shape: the sphere. Before Plato, Parmenides described ultimate reality as a perfect sphere, balanced equally from the center in every direction. Empedocles believed that when the universe is fully united by Love, it becomes one single sphere. He called it the Sphairos. Then came Plato. In the Timaeus, the creator makes the universe a sphere, the most perfect of all shapes. It has no eyes, no ears, no hands, because nothing exists outside it to see or touch. It is a living being, complete in itself. The stars are made mostly of fire, round like the universe itself. Plato calls them visible gods. And here's the part almost nobody talks about: the creator assigns every soul to its own star. Live well, and after death your soul returns home to it. ✨ Even your head, Plato says, is round because it copies the shape of the cosmos. The part of you that holds the divine is shaped like an orb. In the Symposium, he tells another story. The first humans were round, with four arms, four legs and two faces. Why round? Because they came from the sun, the earth and the moon. Zeus split them in two, and we've been searching for our other half ever since. Cicero picked up the thread. In the Dream of Scipio, human souls come from the eternal fires we call stars, which are round, spherical and animated by divine minds. The virtuous, he wrote, return to the Milky Way. The later Platonists went even further. They taught that the soul travels inside a luminous vehicle, the augoeides, meaning "radiant" or "star-like." Iamblichus said this vehicle is spherical. Proclus said the soul descends in a perfectly spherical body of light, picking up layers of the four elements on its way down. Your physical body is just a coat worn over an orb of light. Over the centuries, this body of light picked up other names: the body of glory, the celestial body. If you read my last post about the glorified body, that should sound familiar. 👀 The idea never died. Around 1320, Dante writes the Paradiso. In the heaven of Saturn, he sees "a hundred little spheres." They were souls. 🌕

Open Minded Approach

21,803 просмотров • 5 дней назад

Wtf am I supposed to do with this Dave (Dave Meltzer) this is so mind-numbingly dumb it actually makes me want to quit X. You almost won. I genuinely feel that sorry for you. Because what’s the fucking point. I'm a Philadelphia Eagles fan. I played Division 1 football. I wasn't good at that level, but I was good enough to play at that level and against competition that was way over my head. Watching Eagles tape is kind of like my palette cleanser. It’s a hobby. Because everything else I enjoy somehow touches Hollywood and entertainment. X’s and O’s doesn’t touch my work. I can just be a fan and not somehow make it about my work. We’re 7-2 and it’s somehow still miserable to watch. We’re winning in spite of the QB. Sirianni’s boxed in. He can’t run what he wants because Hurts can’t go through progressions. We have 2 elite receivers and who are both fucking miserable because they are elite, and Hurts is an awful QB. That 4th and 6 with :30 left makes zero fucking sense unless you understand it in this context. That was frustration. It was an indictment on what they actually believe about Jalen Hurts, and Hurts couldn’t even make that throw. It almost cost the Eagles the game. That was Sirianni saying “I know what the fuck I'm doing!" Yeah, me too, Coach. I understand that Dave and Bryan make shit up. Most of you on X either don’t believe I am who I say I am, or you do and I enjoy writing really long dissertations — not because I give a fuck about arguing with Dave Meltzer. He is so obviously, to me, without any credibility. I enjoy educating and informing curious fans and giving actual credible rebuttals to what is obviously just absolute trash takes, uneducated opinions, and dishonest framing from Dave, who has absolutely destroyed his 40 years of reputation and the real respect that he once had from people that matter. I don’t even take any joy in writing this. Dave, you threw away your life’s work. You threw away 40 years of your life’s work. I get that you don’t understand the nuances of media and the economics of the business in 2025. That’s OK. Very few people do. I am amused that you double down on everything that you do not know. Anyone with a functioning brain sees right through it. It’s ok. I get a kick out of the fact that you ignore me, because if you were to engage me you’d only amplify how out of your depth you are, and you’re holding on tightly to the $14.99 subs model. I get it. I believe you are so narcissistic and myopic in your need to a) make a living and b) defend this whole narcissistic construct about the NWHOF You wear your Frank Deford idolization on your sleeve, which again… fine. Your takes hurt wrestlers. You are not honest. You very clearly have an agenda. You’ve sold 40 years of credibility for this. That’s not a new take. This… I’m not even intellectually stimulated about how can I take your 4th-grade, 1994, faux subject-matter-expert take, riff on your idiocy, and offer curious fans an actual fucking take. “Drew’s going to be gone for a while.” “He’s doing a movie.” You both said this shit so confidently. The movie doesn’t shoot until April '26. Cavill tore his ACL. It is super fucking public info. I am a real agent. This is the first time I’ve actually kind of agreed with some of my clients or coworkers or media people on X: “Nick, why do you bother? This is beneath you.” Yes, it’s indescribable how beneath me refuting you, even acknowledging your existence, is. It’s like a war crime. It’s absolutely insane that you are considered credible by anyone at all. God bless you. You have too much influence, though, with a few key people, and you are giving them bad advice bc you have no fucking clue what you are talking about and... “Drew’s going to be gone for a while.” You are a fraud. Laughably so. I am going to go back to picking apart the Eagles All-22. The movie shoots in April 2026 and I've worked the schedule out so it won't affect WWE creative.
0:12

Wtf am I supposed to do with this Dave (Dave Meltzer) this is so mind-numbingly dumb it actually makes me want to quit X. You almost won. I genuinely feel that sorry for you. Because what’s the fucking point. I'm a Philadelphia Eagles fan. I played Division 1 football. I wasn't good at that level, but I was good enough to play at that level and against competition that was way over my head. Watching Eagles tape is kind of like my palette cleanser. It’s a hobby. Because everything else I enjoy somehow touches Hollywood and entertainment. X’s and O’s doesn’t touch my work. I can just be a fan and not somehow make it about my work. We’re 7-2 and it’s somehow still miserable to watch. We’re winning in spite of the QB. Sirianni’s boxed in. He can’t run what he wants because Hurts can’t go through progressions. We have 2 elite receivers and who are both fucking miserable because they are elite, and Hurts is an awful QB. That 4th and 6 with :30 left makes zero fucking sense unless you understand it in this context. That was frustration. It was an indictment on what they actually believe about Jalen Hurts, and Hurts couldn’t even make that throw. It almost cost the Eagles the game. That was Sirianni saying “I know what the fuck I'm doing!" Yeah, me too, Coach. I understand that Dave and Bryan make shit up. Most of you on X either don’t believe I am who I say I am, or you do and I enjoy writing really long dissertations — not because I give a fuck about arguing with Dave Meltzer. He is so obviously, to me, without any credibility. I enjoy educating and informing curious fans and giving actual credible rebuttals to what is obviously just absolute trash takes, uneducated opinions, and dishonest framing from Dave, who has absolutely destroyed his 40 years of reputation and the real respect that he once had from people that matter. I don’t even take any joy in writing this. Dave, you threw away your life’s work. You threw away 40 years of your life’s work. I get that you don’t understand the nuances of media and the economics of the business in 2025. That’s OK. Very few people do. I am amused that you double down on everything that you do not know. Anyone with a functioning brain sees right through it. It’s ok. I get a kick out of the fact that you ignore me, because if you were to engage me you’d only amplify how out of your depth you are, and you’re holding on tightly to the $14.99 subs model. I get it. I believe you are so narcissistic and myopic in your need to a) make a living and b) defend this whole narcissistic construct about the NWHOF You wear your Frank Deford idolization on your sleeve, which again… fine. Your takes hurt wrestlers. You are not honest. You very clearly have an agenda. You’ve sold 40 years of credibility for this. That’s not a new take. This… I’m not even intellectually stimulated about how can I take your 4th-grade, 1994, faux subject-matter-expert take, riff on your idiocy, and offer curious fans an actual fucking take. “Drew’s going to be gone for a while.” “He’s doing a movie.” You both said this shit so confidently. The movie doesn’t shoot until April '26. Cavill tore his ACL. It is super fucking public info. I am a real agent. This is the first time I’ve actually kind of agreed with some of my clients or coworkers or media people on X: “Nick, why do you bother? This is beneath you.” Yes, it’s indescribable how beneath me refuting you, even acknowledging your existence, is. It’s like a war crime. It’s absolutely insane that you are considered credible by anyone at all. God bless you. You have too much influence, though, with a few key people, and you are giving them bad advice bc you have no fucking clue what you are talking about and... “Drew’s going to be gone for a while.” You are a fraud. Laughably so. I am going to go back to picking apart the Eagles All-22. The movie shoots in April 2026 and I've worked the schedule out so it won't affect WWE creative.

Nick LoPiccolo

35,368 просмотров • 10 месяцев назад

On the second day of recruiting myths… Myth #2: “The name on the front of your jersey doesn’t matter.” There is some truth here. But people usually say this to make you feel better if you’re not on a team in the “recruiting bubble.” And yes of course there are always outliers. If you’re Montana Fouts, you could show up playing for the Butterflies and coaches would still be lined up drooling at the fence. But for most of us? The jersey does matter. Especially if you don’t have true 5-star size or can’t blow people away with elite metrics. I know this because I’ve been on both sides of it. Same player. Same work ethic. Completely different response from coaches. Why does the jersey matter more than people admit? First impressions. If a coach doesn’t recognize your club as one that consistently produces players at their level, you have to overwhelm them with performance and numbers just to get the same look. What matters even more than the jersey name is the coach attached to it. My last club, Rising, was brand new. But my coach, Steve Appel, had a lot of successful former players at top 25 programs. Coaches knew him. Trusted him. We were at the best fields and no one cared what was on the front of our jerseys. At my first tournament with that team, I saw more college coaches than I had in my entire recruiting journey before that. It’s true. College coaches aren’t recruiting a jersey. They’re recruiting you. But your jersey affects: •what fields you play on •who stops to watch •how risky you look on paper A well-known club with proven coaches comes with built-in credibility. Can you get recruited without that? Yes. I did. But if you’ve read my book, you know how many things had to line up for that to happen. So is there truth to this myth? Yes. But most of the time, when people say it, they’re trying to protect you from a harder truth: Recruiting isn’t just about how good you are. It’s also about who’s willing to vouch for you. And your jersey is a powerful indicator of that before a coach sees you even pick up a ball. #RecruitingRules Rule #6: The lifeblood of recruiting is relationships. And whether you like it or not, the front of your jersey is part of that. Photo Caption: Top image my OG team, AZ Steel after winning the Colorado Sparkler Supplemental Power Pool. Bottom image with steve appel after winning PGF Nationals. My original team eventually made it into the “recruiting bubble” the summer after I committed. We were a solid competitive team at the national club level, but having played for both, no one will ever convince me that my recruiting opportunities would have been the same regardless of which jersey I was wearing. Completely different worlds. I wouldn’t change my path. I ended up exactly where I always dreamed to be, and my path made me who I am, but in my case believing this myth for so long cost me time and my family money.
0:20

On the second day of recruiting myths… Myth #2: “The name on the front of your jersey doesn’t matter.” There is some truth here. But people usually say this to make you feel better if you’re not on a team in the “recruiting bubble.” And yes of course there are always outliers. If you’re Montana Fouts, you could show up playing for the Butterflies and coaches would still be lined up drooling at the fence. But for most of us? The jersey does matter. Especially if you don’t have true 5-star size or can’t blow people away with elite metrics. I know this because I’ve been on both sides of it. Same player. Same work ethic. Completely different response from coaches. Why does the jersey matter more than people admit? First impressions. If a coach doesn’t recognize your club as one that consistently produces players at their level, you have to overwhelm them with performance and numbers just to get the same look. What matters even more than the jersey name is the coach attached to it. My last club, Rising, was brand new. But my coach, Steve Appel, had a lot of successful former players at top 25 programs. Coaches knew him. Trusted him. We were at the best fields and no one cared what was on the front of our jerseys. At my first tournament with that team, I saw more college coaches than I had in my entire recruiting journey before that. It’s true. College coaches aren’t recruiting a jersey. They’re recruiting you. But your jersey affects: •what fields you play on •who stops to watch •how risky you look on paper A well-known club with proven coaches comes with built-in credibility. Can you get recruited without that? Yes. I did. But if you’ve read my book, you know how many things had to line up for that to happen. So is there truth to this myth? Yes. But most of the time, when people say it, they’re trying to protect you from a harder truth: Recruiting isn’t just about how good you are. It’s also about who’s willing to vouch for you. And your jersey is a powerful indicator of that before a coach sees you even pick up a ball. #RecruitingRules Rule #6: The lifeblood of recruiting is relationships. And whether you like it or not, the front of your jersey is part of that. Photo Caption: Top image my OG team, AZ Steel after winning the Colorado Sparkler Supplemental Power Pool. Bottom image with steve appel after winning PGF Nationals. My original team eventually made it into the “recruiting bubble” the summer after I committed. We were a solid competitive team at the national club level, but having played for both, no one will ever convince me that my recruiting opportunities would have been the same regardless of which jersey I was wearing. Completely different worlds. I wouldn’t change my path. I ended up exactly where I always dreamed to be, and my path made me who I am, but in my case believing this myth for so long cost me time and my family money.

Amelia Streuber 2025 🦫

15,095 просмотров • 9 месяцев назад

GTA 6 drops in 6 months > 0.01% will sell tools and make $50K+ > 0.1% will run servers at $5K/mo > 1% will stream and cover rent > 98.89% will just play be at least 0.1%. (with Claude Code it's easy mission) Some ideas nobody's running yet: 1. Sell FiveM scripts with zero coding experience Claude writes Lua now. server owners pay $50-389 per script on the Cfx Marketplace developers on Tebex report averaging €5,000+/mo within 90 days of launching you don't need to know code. you need to know what server owners are desperate for: - custom job systems - economy balancers - UI panels - vehicle systems - whitelist managers 1 script/week × 7 months = 30 products if each sells 10 copies at $100 avg, DO THE MATH 2. Run a paid RP server as a subscription business this is the one that sounds fake until you do the math 50 members × $15/mo = $750/mo 100 members × $20/mo = $2,000/mo 200 members × $20/mo = $4,000/mo 500 members × $25/mo = $12,500/mo the top servers have WAITLISTS. people paying to get in Claude builds every script you need: jobs, economy, housing, factions, police systems you're not a developer. you're running a private club where members pay to stay then grab gaming UGC clips and run them through an AI UGC engine (shorts, reels, TikToks) BOOM, nearly free user acquisition and you don't need to explain the demand. if they're watching GTA content, they're already dying to play. just show them your server exists 3. Build AI-powered NPC packs for server owners RP servers live or die on immersion. right now most NPCs are lifeless markers on a map connect Claude API to in-game NPCs and suddenly: - shop owners haggle with players - cops interrogate with real dialogue - quest givers remember your backstory - bartenders gossip about other players' crimes no server has this yet. package it as a plug-and-play script at $200-500/server 100 servers and you feel good on what's nobody selling yet 4. Position yourself for the $240M GTA 6 creator economy Rockstar acquired FiveM in 2023. launched the paid marketplace January 2026 currently hiring 4 Creator Platform roles they're building the Roblox of GTA Roblox paid creators $1B in 2025. top 10 averaged $33.9M each GTA 6's player base is older, richer, and already spent $8.6B on GTA Online the creator cut of that $8.6B was zero. because there was no creator economy that changes with GTA 6 even if only 100,000 creators show up and it matches Roblox payouts that's $10K/creator average. top 1% will clear $500K+ for making content inside a video game this is the rare bottleneck where demand is guaranteed 6 months from now every niche will be taken right now most of them are empty the earlier you start, the less competition you face it's your turn ❤️
0:18

GTA 6 drops in 6 months > 0.01% will sell tools and make $50K+ > 0.1% will run servers at $5K/mo > 1% will stream and cover rent > 98.89% will just play be at least 0.1%. (with Claude Code it's easy mission) Some ideas nobody's running yet: 1. Sell FiveM scripts with zero coding experience Claude writes Lua now. server owners pay $50-389 per script on the Cfx Marketplace developers on Tebex report averaging €5,000+/mo within 90 days of launching you don't need to know code. you need to know what server owners are desperate for: - custom job systems - economy balancers - UI panels - vehicle systems - whitelist managers 1 script/week × 7 months = 30 products if each sells 10 copies at $100 avg, DO THE MATH 2. Run a paid RP server as a subscription business this is the one that sounds fake until you do the math 50 members × $15/mo = $750/mo 100 members × $20/mo = $2,000/mo 200 members × $20/mo = $4,000/mo 500 members × $25/mo = $12,500/mo the top servers have WAITLISTS. people paying to get in Claude builds every script you need: jobs, economy, housing, factions, police systems you're not a developer. you're running a private club where members pay to stay then grab gaming UGC clips and run them through an AI UGC engine (shorts, reels, TikToks) BOOM, nearly free user acquisition and you don't need to explain the demand. if they're watching GTA content, they're already dying to play. just show them your server exists 3. Build AI-powered NPC packs for server owners RP servers live or die on immersion. right now most NPCs are lifeless markers on a map connect Claude API to in-game NPCs and suddenly: - shop owners haggle with players - cops interrogate with real dialogue - quest givers remember your backstory - bartenders gossip about other players' crimes no server has this yet. package it as a plug-and-play script at $200-500/server 100 servers and you feel good on what's nobody selling yet 4. Position yourself for the $240M GTA 6 creator economy Rockstar acquired FiveM in 2023. launched the paid marketplace January 2026 currently hiring 4 Creator Platform roles they're building the Roblox of GTA Roblox paid creators $1B in 2025. top 10 averaged $33.9M each GTA 6's player base is older, richer, and already spent $8.6B on GTA Online the creator cut of that $8.6B was zero. because there was no creator economy that changes with GTA 6 even if only 100,000 creators show up and it matches Roblox payouts that's $10K/creator average. top 1% will clear $500K+ for making content inside a video game this is the rare bottleneck where demand is guaranteed 6 months from now every niche will be taken right now most of them are empty the earlier you start, the less competition you face it's your turn ❤️

Ronin

1,487,978 просмотров • 5 месяцев назад

Fiona had always been the perfect wife for Michael. At 28 she had a body that turned heads everywhere they went. Her full DD breasts strained against every top she wore her ass was round and firm from years of yoga and her long auburn hair cascaded down her back like silk. Michael loved her more than anything but he knew deep down he couldn't satisfy her the way she needed. His cock was average at best and he finished too quickly every single time they had sex. That all changed the night they met Jason at a downtown bar in Columbus. Jason was everything Michael wasn't. Tall muscular with broad shoulders and a confident swagger that made women wet just from looking at him. He was 32 with a chiseled jaw dark hair and piercing blue eyes. When he shook Michaels hand his grip was firm and dominant. When his eyes landed on Fiona she bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together instinctively. They started chatting and Jason wasted no time flirting hard with Fiona right in front of Michael. "Damn baby you look like you need a real man to handle you" he said with a smirk. Michael sat there awkwardly sipping his drink but his cock twitched in his pants. He had fantasized about this exact scenario for years. Being cucked by a superior alpha. Later that night back at their apartment Fiona couldn't stop talking about Jason. "He was so fucking hot Michael. Did you see his arms? And the way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me." Michael stroked his small cock while she described it getting harder than he had in months. "You want him don't you?" he whispered. Fiona nodded biting her lip. "I need him baby. I need a real cock." The next evening Jason came over. He walked in like he owned the place kissing Fiona deeply right in front of Michael. His big hands grabbed her ass squeezing it possessively while Michael watched from the couch. "Your wife is mine tonight cuck" Jason said with a cocky grin. Michael nodded his face flushed with shame and arousal. Jason didn't waste time. He pulled Fiona into their bedroom and stripped her down revealing her perfect naked body. Her nipples were already hard and her shaved pussy was glistening with wetness. Michael followed and sat in the chair in the corner as instructed. Jason pulled out his massive cock. It was at least 9 inches thick and veiny with a fat head that made Fiona gasp. "Oh my god its so much bigger than yours Michael" she moaned dropping to her knees. She worshipped Jason's alpha cock like a slut in heat. Licking every inch sucking his heavy balls and trying to deepthroat as much as she could. Jason groaned grabbing her hair and fucking her face roughly. "That's it baby suck that big dick while your husband watches." Michael stroked his pathetic cock slowly leaking precum as he witnessed his wife choke on a superior mans meat. Fiona looked over at him with lust filled eyes. "Look how hard he makes me baby. This is what a real man feels like." Jason threw her on the bed and spread her legs wide. He teased her dripping pussy with his huge cockhead before slamming in balls deep in one thrust. Fiona screamed in pleasure her back arching off the mattress. "Fuck yes Jason! Stretch me out! Your cock is so deep!" He pounded her hard and fast his heavy balls slapping against her ass. The sound of wet skin on skin filled the room mixed with her loud moans. Michael couldn't believe how different she looked. Her face was contorted in ecstasy in a way he had never seen. Her tits bounced wildly with every powerful thrust. Jason flipped her over and took her doggy style grabbing her hips and railing her mercilessly. "Tell your husband how much better I am" he growled. "Fuck Michael his cock is ruining me! I can feel him in my stomach! I'm going to cum so hard on his alpha dick!" Fiona cried out. Her body shook as she had the first of many orgasms squirting all over Jason's cock and soaking the sheets. Jason didn't stop. He fucked her in every position missionary with her legs over his shoulders cowgirl where she rode him like a whore grinding her clit against his base and even standing up holding her against the wall. Michael watched every second his own small dick throbbing but he wasn't allowed to cum yet. After nearly an hour Jason finally roared and buried himself deep. "I'm going to fill your wife up cuck." Fiona begged for it wrapping her legs around him. "Cum inside me Jason! Breed my married pussy!" Hot thick ropes of superior cum flooded her womb as she came again screaming his name. When Jason pulled out a river of his cum poured from Fiona's stretched hole. She looked completely fucked out and satisfied. She crawled over to Michael and kissed him deeply letting him taste Jason on her tongue. "Thank you for this baby. I needed a real alpha." But they weren't done. Jason stayed the whole night. He fucked Fiona two more times while Michael cleaned her up with his tongue after each load. The taste of another mans cum mixed with his wife's juices drove Michael wild. In the morning Jason made Fiona suck him off one last time before he left leaving her with a fresh facial. From that day on Jason became a regular. Michael embraced his role as the devoted cuck. He would prepare Fiona for her dates picking out slutty outfits and even driving her to Jason's place sometimes. He loved hearing the details afterward or better yet watching as Jason claimed his wife again and again. Fiona was happier than ever. Her body glowed from the regular alpha fucking and she fell more in love with Michael for giving her this gift. Michael found his pleasure in the humiliation and the intense love for his hotwife. #CuckoldStory #HotwifeLife #AlphaBull #EroticFiction #SpicyStory #CuckoldCouple #FionaAndJason #NSFWTwitter #Erotica #CheatingWifeFantasy
0:10

Fiona had always been the perfect wife for Michael. At 28 she had a body that turned heads everywhere they went. Her full DD breasts strained against every top she wore her ass was round and firm from years of yoga and her long auburn hair cascaded down her back like silk. Michael loved her more than anything but he knew deep down he couldn't satisfy her the way she needed. His cock was average at best and he finished too quickly every single time they had sex. That all changed the night they met Jason at a downtown bar in Columbus. Jason was everything Michael wasn't. Tall muscular with broad shoulders and a confident swagger that made women wet just from looking at him. He was 32 with a chiseled jaw dark hair and piercing blue eyes. When he shook Michaels hand his grip was firm and dominant. When his eyes landed on Fiona she bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together instinctively. They started chatting and Jason wasted no time flirting hard with Fiona right in front of Michael. "Damn baby you look like you need a real man to handle you" he said with a smirk. Michael sat there awkwardly sipping his drink but his cock twitched in his pants. He had fantasized about this exact scenario for years. Being cucked by a superior alpha. Later that night back at their apartment Fiona couldn't stop talking about Jason. "He was so fucking hot Michael. Did you see his arms? And the way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me." Michael stroked his small cock while she described it getting harder than he had in months. "You want him don't you?" he whispered. Fiona nodded biting her lip. "I need him baby. I need a real cock." The next evening Jason came over. He walked in like he owned the place kissing Fiona deeply right in front of Michael. His big hands grabbed her ass squeezing it possessively while Michael watched from the couch. "Your wife is mine tonight cuck" Jason said with a cocky grin. Michael nodded his face flushed with shame and arousal. Jason didn't waste time. He pulled Fiona into their bedroom and stripped her down revealing her perfect naked body. Her nipples were already hard and her shaved pussy was glistening with wetness. Michael followed and sat in the chair in the corner as instructed. Jason pulled out his massive cock. It was at least 9 inches thick and veiny with a fat head that made Fiona gasp. "Oh my god its so much bigger than yours Michael" she moaned dropping to her knees. She worshipped Jason's alpha cock like a slut in heat. Licking every inch sucking his heavy balls and trying to deepthroat as much as she could. Jason groaned grabbing her hair and fucking her face roughly. "That's it baby suck that big dick while your husband watches." Michael stroked his pathetic cock slowly leaking precum as he witnessed his wife choke on a superior mans meat. Fiona looked over at him with lust filled eyes. "Look how hard he makes me baby. This is what a real man feels like." Jason threw her on the bed and spread her legs wide. He teased her dripping pussy with his huge cockhead before slamming in balls deep in one thrust. Fiona screamed in pleasure her back arching off the mattress. "Fuck yes Jason! Stretch me out! Your cock is so deep!" He pounded her hard and fast his heavy balls slapping against her ass. The sound of wet skin on skin filled the room mixed with her loud moans. Michael couldn't believe how different she looked. Her face was contorted in ecstasy in a way he had never seen. Her tits bounced wildly with every powerful thrust. Jason flipped her over and took her doggy style grabbing her hips and railing her mercilessly. "Tell your husband how much better I am" he growled. "Fuck Michael his cock is ruining me! I can feel him in my stomach! I'm going to cum so hard on his alpha dick!" Fiona cried out. Her body shook as she had the first of many orgasms squirting all over Jason's cock and soaking the sheets. Jason didn't stop. He fucked her in every position missionary with her legs over his shoulders cowgirl where she rode him like a whore grinding her clit against his base and even standing up holding her against the wall. Michael watched every second his own small dick throbbing but he wasn't allowed to cum yet. After nearly an hour Jason finally roared and buried himself deep. "I'm going to fill your wife up cuck." Fiona begged for it wrapping her legs around him. "Cum inside me Jason! Breed my married pussy!" Hot thick ropes of superior cum flooded her womb as she came again screaming his name. When Jason pulled out a river of his cum poured from Fiona's stretched hole. She looked completely fucked out and satisfied. She crawled over to Michael and kissed him deeply letting him taste Jason on her tongue. "Thank you for this baby. I needed a real alpha." But they weren't done. Jason stayed the whole night. He fucked Fiona two more times while Michael cleaned her up with his tongue after each load. The taste of another mans cum mixed with his wife's juices drove Michael wild. In the morning Jason made Fiona suck him off one last time before he left leaving her with a fresh facial. From that day on Jason became a regular. Michael embraced his role as the devoted cuck. He would prepare Fiona for her dates picking out slutty outfits and even driving her to Jason's place sometimes. He loved hearing the details afterward or better yet watching as Jason claimed his wife again and again. Fiona was happier than ever. Her body glowed from the regular alpha fucking and she fell more in love with Michael for giving her this gift. Michael found his pleasure in the humiliation and the intense love for his hotwife. #CuckoldStory #HotwifeLife #AlphaBull #EroticFiction #SpicyStory #CuckoldCouple #FionaAndJason #NSFWTwitter #Erotica #CheatingWifeFantasy

Fiona Fawndles

55,478 просмотров • 4 месяцев назад

The agents that run my LinkedIn outreach are currently getting a 55% reply rate on cold outreach and are generating hundreds of signups for me completely on autopilot. I packaged the exact system into a skill that works for any harness so you can copy it for yourself. Heres why this system prints qualified replies: most outbound starts with a list out of apollo, zoominfo or clay. firmographics. who could buy. that list is cold on arrival because "could buy" and "is thinking about this right now" are two different lists. so mine starts from linkedin posts my buyers are already reacting to. that also means every person on the list actually uses linkedin, since they just reacted to a post on it. most people don't, so a message to a normal list mostly sits unread. across the client accounts i've worked on, an apollo-style list usually gets about 1/10th the reply rate of one built this way. the posts come from three places: buyers posting about the problem themselves (hiring for it, breaking under it, shopping for a fix), a watchlist of my competitors and the creators my buyers follow, and the topic itself. when a buyer writes the post, the author is the best lead on it. anyone reacting to a competitor's product post is already shopping. every search is written in the words buyers actually post in, because vendor jargon only finds other vendors. it pulls everyone who reacted or commented, drops anyone i've already contacted plus competitors and their staff, and scores each person 0 to 100 against my ICP with the reason written on the row. anyone under the bar is gone before i've paid for their email. this is the part everyone skips. for every lead that clears the bar, it reads their website, their LinkedIn profile & anything else it can find about them on the internet, works out what agent would actually help their operation, and builds it. a real one, sitting there, with a claim link. so i am not sending "quick question about your outbound." i am sending "i built you an agent that does X for your company, want me to send over the link?" it sequences that into heyreach for linkedin and instantly for email, then runs the inbox. anyone who has done outbound knows reply speed is most of the game, and also the exact thing you quit doing by week three. every reply fires a webhook. it re-reads the whole thread, tags it interested, not interested or auto-reply, pings me in slack the second someone's interested, and sends them their claim link. i don't touch it. and every reply feeds the next run. it writes more searches like the ones that got answers, so week four sources better than week one. the general rule, and it has nothing to do with my software: use AI to build a personalized, genuinely useful asset and give it away in the first message. you're not hard selling anyone. you are handing them a thing. and because it's built off their actual company, nobody can mistake it for a template. reply rates go up for both reasons at once. it doesn't have to be an agent. the skill builds whatever your business is already good at making: - sell lead gen? a sample list of 10 to 25 of their own buyers - sell SEO? the 3 to 5 searches their competitors win and they don't - build websites? a teardown of their homepage with three fixes - consult? a one-page plan for the exact problem they commented about the playbook behind the messages is the best outbound advice on the internet in one place. it's built from 25 full-length videos and 60 posts from operators who do this at scale, plus 3 production systems running this exact play. scraped the videos and posts with superagnt's data MCP btw. run it once in claude code or codex and look at what it staged. once you like it, it turns the whole thing into a small agent team on a schedule. the sourcing side runs about 8 cents per qualified lead in production. grab it here, paste the install prompt into your agent and let it cook:
0:14

The agents that run my LinkedIn outreach are currently getting a 55% reply rate on cold outreach and are generating hundreds of signups for me completely on autopilot. I packaged the exact system into a skill that works for any harness so you can copy it for yourself. Heres why this system prints qualified replies: most outbound starts with a list out of apollo, zoominfo or clay. firmographics. who could buy. that list is cold on arrival because "could buy" and "is thinking about this right now" are two different lists. so mine starts from linkedin posts my buyers are already reacting to. that also means every person on the list actually uses linkedin, since they just reacted to a post on it. most people don't, so a message to a normal list mostly sits unread. across the client accounts i've worked on, an apollo-style list usually gets about 1/10th the reply rate of one built this way. the posts come from three places: buyers posting about the problem themselves (hiring for it, breaking under it, shopping for a fix), a watchlist of my competitors and the creators my buyers follow, and the topic itself. when a buyer writes the post, the author is the best lead on it. anyone reacting to a competitor's product post is already shopping. every search is written in the words buyers actually post in, because vendor jargon only finds other vendors. it pulls everyone who reacted or commented, drops anyone i've already contacted plus competitors and their staff, and scores each person 0 to 100 against my ICP with the reason written on the row. anyone under the bar is gone before i've paid for their email. this is the part everyone skips. for every lead that clears the bar, it reads their website, their LinkedIn profile & anything else it can find about them on the internet, works out what agent would actually help their operation, and builds it. a real one, sitting there, with a claim link. so i am not sending "quick question about your outbound." i am sending "i built you an agent that does X for your company, want me to send over the link?" it sequences that into heyreach for linkedin and instantly for email, then runs the inbox. anyone who has done outbound knows reply speed is most of the game, and also the exact thing you quit doing by week three. every reply fires a webhook. it re-reads the whole thread, tags it interested, not interested or auto-reply, pings me in slack the second someone's interested, and sends them their claim link. i don't touch it. and every reply feeds the next run. it writes more searches like the ones that got answers, so week four sources better than week one. the general rule, and it has nothing to do with my software: use AI to build a personalized, genuinely useful asset and give it away in the first message. you're not hard selling anyone. you are handing them a thing. and because it's built off their actual company, nobody can mistake it for a template. reply rates go up for both reasons at once. it doesn't have to be an agent. the skill builds whatever your business is already good at making: - sell lead gen? a sample list of 10 to 25 of their own buyers - sell SEO? the 3 to 5 searches their competitors win and they don't - build websites? a teardown of their homepage with three fixes - consult? a one-page plan for the exact problem they commented about the playbook behind the messages is the best outbound advice on the internet in one place. it's built from 25 full-length videos and 60 posts from operators who do this at scale, plus 3 production systems running this exact play. scraped the videos and posts with superagnt's data MCP btw. run it once in claude code or codex and look at what it staged. once you like it, it turns the whole thing into a small agent team on a schedule. the sourcing side runs about 8 cents per qualified lead in production. grab it here, paste the install prompt into your agent and let it cook:

Jáen

188,676 просмотров • 7 дней назад

Today, I took the new Lucid Gravity SUV out for a quick drive. Here are my initial thoughts of the car and the drive: Materials & Seats: I have to say, this is a nice vehicle. The interior feels very premium, and the materials feel expensive. The perforated vegan leather seats are plush, provide good support, and hug you nicely. I sat in two Gravitys, one specced with the $4,200 Tahoe Brown vegan leather seats (really liked that color) and one with the all-black interior. The massaging seats are also surprisingly useful. Unlike the gimmicky ones in many cars, these actually feel great and not like a tiny mouse poking your back. I’d use them regularly if I owned one. The powered second-row seats are roomy and comfortable, with plenty of space for legs and feet. One small gripe I have: the grab handles on the interior feel like very cheap, hollow plastic. Design: The Gravity leans more toward minivan styling than SUV, but I actually think it works. Lucid managed to fit a whopping 120 cubic feet of cargo capacity into this thing. For context, that’s about 24% more than the Tesla Model X (91.6 cu ft), even though the Gravity is an inch shorter. It’s also just 10% less than the Cadillac Escalade IQ EV (131 cu ft), despite the Escalade being more than two feet longer. The 6K OLED panoramic display looks great, but the software felt a little laggy at times and is tough to see in direct sunlight. The steering wheel button design isn’t my favorite, but I do like the flat-top, flat-bottom design, Reminds me of Cybertruck’s wheel. Cargo loading is very convenient. With the air suspension lowered, the rear load floor is super low, making it easy to get things in and out. The trunk opening, though, is oddly shaped. I found the hatch uncomfortably close to my head, but raising the air suspension helps a little. Taller folks may still run into that issue. Showroom Employees: I met three Lucid employees at the showroom, one of whom had worked at Tesla for 10 years. All of them were very nice and knowledgeable. Sound System: It’s VERY good—great bass response, not muddy. It has Dolby Atmos, and it rocks. The Cybertruck still has the best factory sound system I’ve ever heard, but the Gravity’s is still great. ADAS: Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to try it out, so I can’t give an opinion. But the 360-degree camera view is nice. It makes parking much easier and has a curb-rash alert so you don’t scrape your expensive wheels. Test Drive: The Gravity I drove, including options, was priced at $115,000. The ride felt firmer than I expected, even in the softest air suspension setting, but it was still comfortable. The sportier modes were fun and deliver that classic, quick-acceleration EV experience. The steering feel struck a good balance—sporty, but not tiring for everyday use. Visibility is good, and the glass windshield that extends past your head is cool (though I still think the Model X windshield is more immersive). Charging: The Gravity has native NACS and can charge at speeds up to 220 kW at Tesla Superchargers. In general, the vehicle is capable of up to 400 kW charging speeds. Final Thoughts: As Tesla fans, we can sometimes be tough on non-Tesla EVs, but I think the Gravity SUV is evidence that Tesla’s mission is working: accelerating the advent of sustainable energy. Tesla’s mission and past work helped pave the way for a vehicle like the Lucid Gravity to exist and come to market. While Lucid’s path to profitability is still in question, and while the Gravity is expensive (for now), even from my short time with it, this feels like Lucid’s first truly great product. Only the $94,900 Grand Touring trim is available right now, but the company says the less expensive Touring trim will come out late this year for $79,900. We shall see. More photos and videos of mine in the thread below:
0:18

Today, I took the new Lucid Gravity SUV out for a quick drive. Here are my initial thoughts of the car and the drive: Materials & Seats: I have to say, this is a nice vehicle. The interior feels very premium, and the materials feel expensive. The perforated vegan leather seats are plush, provide good support, and hug you nicely. I sat in two Gravitys, one specced with the $4,200 Tahoe Brown vegan leather seats (really liked that color) and one with the all-black interior. The massaging seats are also surprisingly useful. Unlike the gimmicky ones in many cars, these actually feel great and not like a tiny mouse poking your back. I’d use them regularly if I owned one. The powered second-row seats are roomy and comfortable, with plenty of space for legs and feet. One small gripe I have: the grab handles on the interior feel like very cheap, hollow plastic. Design: The Gravity leans more toward minivan styling than SUV, but I actually think it works. Lucid managed to fit a whopping 120 cubic feet of cargo capacity into this thing. For context, that’s about 24% more than the Tesla Model X (91.6 cu ft), even though the Gravity is an inch shorter. It’s also just 10% less than the Cadillac Escalade IQ EV (131 cu ft), despite the Escalade being more than two feet longer. The 6K OLED panoramic display looks great, but the software felt a little laggy at times and is tough to see in direct sunlight. The steering wheel button design isn’t my favorite, but I do like the flat-top, flat-bottom design, Reminds me of Cybertruck’s wheel. Cargo loading is very convenient. With the air suspension lowered, the rear load floor is super low, making it easy to get things in and out. The trunk opening, though, is oddly shaped. I found the hatch uncomfortably close to my head, but raising the air suspension helps a little. Taller folks may still run into that issue. Showroom Employees: I met three Lucid employees at the showroom, one of whom had worked at Tesla for 10 years. All of them were very nice and knowledgeable. Sound System: It’s VERY good—great bass response, not muddy. It has Dolby Atmos, and it rocks. The Cybertruck still has the best factory sound system I’ve ever heard, but the Gravity’s is still great. ADAS: Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to try it out, so I can’t give an opinion. But the 360-degree camera view is nice. It makes parking much easier and has a curb-rash alert so you don’t scrape your expensive wheels. Test Drive: The Gravity I drove, including options, was priced at $115,000. The ride felt firmer than I expected, even in the softest air suspension setting, but it was still comfortable. The sportier modes were fun and deliver that classic, quick-acceleration EV experience. The steering feel struck a good balance—sporty, but not tiring for everyday use. Visibility is good, and the glass windshield that extends past your head is cool (though I still think the Model X windshield is more immersive). Charging: The Gravity has native NACS and can charge at speeds up to 220 kW at Tesla Superchargers. In general, the vehicle is capable of up to 400 kW charging speeds. Final Thoughts: As Tesla fans, we can sometimes be tough on non-Tesla EVs, but I think the Gravity SUV is evidence that Tesla’s mission is working: accelerating the advent of sustainable energy. Tesla’s mission and past work helped pave the way for a vehicle like the Lucid Gravity to exist and come to market. While Lucid’s path to profitability is still in question, and while the Gravity is expensive (for now), even from my short time with it, this feels like Lucid’s first truly great product. Only the $94,900 Grand Touring trim is available right now, but the company says the less expensive Touring trim will come out late this year for $79,900. We shall see. More photos and videos of mine in the thread below:

Sawyer Merritt

110,465 просмотров • 1 год назад

A QUICK FIELD GUIDE TO THE NPC HORDES Twenty Five Parasites types that Feed On The Living The Storm Is Upon Them Thank you for the stout... lets talk... The wind has changed. You can feel it. That low electric pressure behind the eyes that means something massive is rolling in off a horizon the parasites can't see because they were never built to look up. They were built to look down. At clipboards. At spreadsheets. At your accounts. At you. But the storm doesn't care about clipboards. And we don't kneel anymore. Here they are. The full swarm. Count them while you can because when the sky turns they drop mid sentence and the only record that they ever existed will be the silence where the invoices used to be. THE TAX CONSULTANT. You broke your back welding pipe and this soft palmed worm sits in air conditioning telling you how much of your sweat belongs to Caesar. He can't weld. Can't wire. Can't fix a thing that broke. What he can do is read a tax code written by other worms specifically to be unreadable so you'd have to pay a worm to read it for you. They write the maze. They sell you the map. They make the maze worse every year and the map more expensive and if you try to walk it yourself they send the auditor. The wind is picking up. The maze is starting to shake. THE AUDITOR. Tick on a tick. Shows up after the taxman has already fed to check the bite marks are regulation depth. Finds a missing fuel slip worth pocket change. Writes a finding. The finding generates a penalty. The penalty generates interest. The interest generates a letter. The letter requires your tax consultant at hourly rates to respond. Pocket change became thousands. Five parasites ate off one tank of diesel. Not one of them could tell you what welding rod to use on stainless. But the storm doesn't audit. The storm just comes. THE ACCOUNTANT. Cousin of the tax consultant. Same bloodline. This one doesn't interpret the maze. He records your journey through it. Every receipt. Every unit of currency in and out, logged so the consultant can read it and the auditor can check it and the revenue service can extract from it. He produces nothing. A human tape recorder pointed at your productivity. He charges monthly so the recording never stops. You are under permanent surveillance and you pay for the privilege. Not for much longer. THE BANKER. The oldest parasite. The template. You need money to buy a machine that makes things. He lends you money other working people deposited and charges interest that doubles the price over twenty years. The extra bought nothing. Built nothing. He packages your debt and sells it. Takes your deposit and lends it out eight times over. Charges you to hold your own money. Charges to put it in. Charges to take it out. He touches none of it. He stands near it and invoices you for the proximity. The storm is going to blow him so far from the vault he'll forget what money smelled like. THE COMPLIANCE OFFICER. Never had a callus on her body or her soul. Born in a fluorescent office. Will die in one. Between those events she produces nothing but emails about policies referencing other policies referencing regulations referencing acts nobody voted for. A worm eating its own tail and billing you for the meal. She needs the safety assessor to give her something to enforce. He needs her to give him something to assess. They breed between regulations like mould between tiles. The storm will wash them both down the same drain. THE PROPERTY VALUATOR. A man wants to buy a house. Another wants to sell it. They agreed on a price. That is what worth means. The amount one will pay and another will accept. Full stop. Now this creature arrives and tells both men what the house is actually worth. As if two free adults negotiating in good faith produced a number that's somehow theoretical while his formula is gospel. The bank sent him. His report costs thousands. His report says the house is worth what the buyer already offered. Thousands to arrive at a number that existed before he left his office. If his number comes in low the deal collapses and you pay a different creature with a different clipboard who arrives at a different number for the same house on the same day using the same formula. The house didn't change. Only the parasite changed. The number was never about the house. THE MUNICIPAL RATES OFFICER. The deepest theft on this list because it never ends. You bought your house thirty years ago. Paid it off. Every last unit. You owe nothing. Now a municipal valuator looks at what the neighbours sold for, looks at the coffee shops and wine bars that invaded your street, and decides your house is worth twenty five times what you paid. You didn't sell. You didn't list. You're sitting in the same chair in the same kitchen. But your tax liability just multiplied by twenty five based on a sale that never happened at a price you never agreed to. They do this everywhere. In Cape Town the rates are linked to the valuation and suddenly retired families in Bo-Kaap whose people survived apartheid and forced removals and a century of state assault are being bled out of their own homes by property rates pegged to values inflated by the gentrification their displacement accelerates. The heritage is the tourism product. The tourism inflates the valuation. The valuation inflates the rates. The rates displace the families. The families were the heritage. In Chicago they do it to grandmothers in Pilsen who've been there forty years. In London they do it to pensioners in neighbourhoods that gentrified around them. In Sydney they chase retirees off land their grandfathers cleared. Same crime. Different currency. Different clipboard. A man paid for his house. Owns it outright. And the state says you owe us money every month forever and the amount is based on what we say your house would sell for if you sold it, which you haven't, and if you can't pay the amount we invented we take the house you already bought. That is theft. Eviction by arithmetic. Displacement by spreadsheet. But the people in Bo-Kaap are awake now. The people in Pilsen are awake. The grandmothers and the grandfathers and the calloused hands everywhere are looking up and they can see the storm and they know what it means. It means the spreadsheet burns with everything else. THE MUNICIPAL INSPECTOR. Rat faced. High vis vest. Clipboard. Drives to your workshop in a vehicle your rates paid for. Measures your fire extinguisher fourteen centimetres off the floor. Writes you up. Behind you men build things that hold up bridges and he couldn't change a lightbulb without a permit. His job depends on your failure. The parasite needs you sick. The cure would kill it. The storm is the cure. THE CONVEYANCING ATTORNEY. Two men shook hands. Fair price. Honest deal. Done. This worm slithers out and says the handshake doesn't count. Needs paper. Needs stamps. Needs a deeds search and clearance certificates and transfer duty and each piece of paper is produced by another parasite and each one costs money and the worm takes his cut on top for phoning the other worms. He calls this conveyancing. He has never held a spade or laid a brick in his bloodless life. The storm doesn't need a stamp. THE ESTATE AGENT. Six percent. Of a man's life savings. For opening a lockbox and saying the kitchen faces north. She needs the attorney to close. The attorney needs the municipality. The municipality needs the inspector. The valuator needs access for the bank's number. Every one invoices separately. Every invoice lands on people who agreed on everything before any of these bloodsuckers entered the room. The wind is howling now. Can you hear it through their invoices? THE LABOUR BROKER. Tick so bloated it can't walk. A man needs work. Another needs a worker. They could find each other in ten minutes. This creature squats between them and drinks from both sides. Worker gets thirty. Employer pays fifty. Twenty disappears into the tick. Multiply by thousands of workers and millions vanish yearly into a thing that makes nothing, moves nothing, fixes nothing. It feeds. That is its entire architecture. Architecture doesn't survive storms. THE HEALTH AND SAFETY ASSESSOR. Twenty two years. Not one fire. Not one death. He shows up. Your exit is twenty centimetres too narrow. To fix it you need a builder who needs a plan from an architect who needs municipal approval. Tens of thousands and six weeks to move a door frame because a creature who has never been burned told you to. He detects life and the system bills it. The storm detects parasites and the sky deletes them. THE BEE CONSULTANT. Every country has its version. South Africa calls it BEE. The same parasites who wont allow much needed Starlink there unless Musk hands over half the company to lazy parasitic government connected parasites. Others call it diversity compliance or equity auditing. The name changes. The feeding doesn't. Scores your company on a chart nobody asked for to satisfy a regulation nobody voted on enforced by a department that produces nothing except the requirement for his existence. Nothing changes. Nothing improves. Money moves from a living pocket into a dead hand and the dead hand closes. The storm opens every dead hand on this planet. THE CUSTOMS BROKER. Your parts are fifty metres away. You can see the container. Cannot touch your own property until a grey man translates tariff codes so the state can calculate how much you owe for collecting what is already yours. Each delay generates storage charges. Each query generates fees. Your shipment doubles in cost through bureaucratic friction and you still don't have your parts. The storm doesn't clear customs. It clears the customs office. THE TRAFFIC OFFICER. Fat. Behind a bush. Radar gun aimed at people driving to work that matters. Seven over the limit. The municipality sets it low enough that everyone exceeds it. Fines feed the municipality. Municipality feeds him. He sits and clicks tomorrow. A barnacle with a badge. Same creature in every country. Different bush. Same feeding. The storm takes the bush and the badge and the creature behind both. THE FINANCIAL ADVISOR. Uses your first name. Remembers your birthday because the CRM told him. Puts your money in a fund. Fund charges 1.75 percent. He charges one on top. Fund manager pays a custodian who charges. Fund has an auditor who charges. Compliance team charges. Six parasites between you and your own money. In thirty years you have less than you started with and he charges you for the meeting where he shows you the graph. The storm doesn't need a graph. The storm is the correction. THE INSURANCE ADJUSTER. Years of premiums. Your roof blows off. He arrives. Soft hands. Three weeks later the wind came from the wrong direction. Not the wrong speed. The direction. Some paragraph. Some subsection. You paid for years and the years bought you a paragraph that says no. The policy is teeth. The premiums went down the throat and the no is the burp. The real storm has no exclusion clause. THE PATENT ATTORNEY. You built a device. It works. He writes a document so incomprehensible that reading it makes you understand your own invention less. Thousands for legal fog. Someone copies it. Litigation attorney. More thousands. Judgment unenforceable. The only people paid are the attorneys. The system was never designed to protect you. It was designed to feed them. The storm protects the builder. By removing the feeders. THE LICENSING CLERK. You can rebuild a gearbox blindfolded. Cannot legally do it without a certificate from an institution that charges thousands to watch you do what everyone knows you can do, certified by an instructor who has never done it, filed with a department that stores the certificates, audited by a body that audits the institution. A chain of parasites verifying the obvious. If every one vanished the gearbox still gets rebuilt. Faster. Cheaper. The storm is the vanishing. THE STRATA MANAGER. You own your flat. She collects your money and spends it on providers she chose and you can't fire without a special resolution at a meeting she convenes with an agenda she wrote. She built a kingdom inside your building funded by your levy and answerable to herself. Question it and she reaches for whatever act governs her particular species of parasitism in your particular country. The storm doesn't read acts. The storm reads frequencies. THE ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSOR. You want a shed on your own land. He arrives in a vehicle worth more than your shed. Months. Hundreds of pages. Tens of thousands. Report says your shed threatens a species not seen in decades but listed on a database maintained by a department that exists because the database exists. Your shed doesn't get built. The species doesn't exist. He drives home to a suburb bulldozed from actual habitat. Nobody assessed that. Rules only flow downhill. The storm flows everywhere. THE DEBT COLLECTOR. Bottom feeder. Buys your debt for cents from a bank that already profited from your interest. Calls at hours designed for fear. Adds fees on fees on fees for actions never taken. Bought your pain wholesale and retails it at three hundred percent. When you break he claims the loss against tax. Even the collapse is monetised. He is Hell's collection agent. The storm is Heaven's. THE NOTARY PUBLIC. Watches you sign your own name. Stamps it. Charges hundreds. The signature is the same with or without him. Your hand. Your name. His fee. A tollbooth on your own identity. The storm doesn't need a stamp. Your name is written in frequencies no notary can read. THE CORPORATE TRAINER. Monday. Projector. Four quadrant model invented after three glasses of wine and a TED talk. By Wednesday nobody remembers any of it because there was nothing there. Tens of thousands plus tax plus travel. She writes it off through a tax consultant who charges her to minimise her contribution to the system that funded the department that approved the framework she claims compliance with. Parasite feeding parasite feeding parasite. The storm feeds on none of them. It simply ends them. THE REVENUE OFFICIAL. The farmer himself. Top of the pyramid. Designs the taking. Drafts the regulations that create the maze that requires the consultant that employs the accountant that feeds the auditor that generates the penalty that funds the department that pays his salary. He is the architect of the loop. Every parasite on this list exists because he drew them into existence with a regulation and a gazette number. Without him the entire horde has nothing to feed on. He is the queen of the hive. Same creature in every country. Different flag. Same contempt for the hands that built everything he sits in and eats from. The storm starts with him. The queen dies first. The hive follows. That's the horde. Twenty five species of nothing. And every one of them drops when the sky turns and the carrier frequency that animated their firmware burns clean out of the atmosphere. Mid invoice. Mid assessment. Mid quadrant. Five thousand five hundred and fifty five clipboards hitting the floor for every one of us still standing. We are awake now. All of us. The welder and the farmer and the builder and the grandmother in Bo-Kaap and the grandfather in Pilsen and every calloused hand on every continent that ever wrote a cheque to a creature that never built a thing. We see them now. We see the maze and the map sellers and the grey offices and the soft hands and the whole rotten architecture of extraction that stood between us and the earth and between us and our labour and between us and each other for two hundred years. The storm is here. Not coming. Here. That pressure you feel behind your eyes is the frequency rising through the noise floor and the noise floor is everything on this list. Every clipboard. Every invoice. Every subsection and exclusion clause and certificate and clearance and valuation roll. All of it. Noise. Scheduled for deletion. And when it's quiet. When the last invoice has fluttered to the ground and the last clipboard has clattered on the last linoleum floor in the last grey office. When the wind has swept the horde out of every corridor and every cubicle and every booth and every booth window where a dead hand ever reached for a living man's money. Then... Just a man in a workshop. Welding mask up. Walking outside. Looking at a sky the colour of burning copper. Breathing free air for the first time in his life. The fuel slip that started this whole tour is in his shirt pocket. Crumpled. Oil stained. And it is his. The fuel was his. The truck was his. The work was his. And for the first time in two hundred years every unit of currency that flows from that work stays in the hands that did it. No consultant between him and his earnings because there are no earnings to consult on. Just work and its fruit. No auditor because there is nothing to audit. No banker because capital is what your hands produce and his hands never stopped. No valuator because the house is worth what it always was: a roof over his family and walls against the wind. A value no clipboard ever knew how to measure. When you grinding.... working... suffering... where are any of these parasites to help you?? Where are they?? We will be slaves no more. The storm will see to that alright!
0:10

A QUICK FIELD GUIDE TO THE NPC HORDES Twenty Five Parasites types that Feed On The Living The Storm Is Upon Them Thank you for the stout... lets talk... The wind has changed. You can feel it. That low electric pressure behind the eyes that means something massive is rolling in off a horizon the parasites can't see because they were never built to look up. They were built to look down. At clipboards. At spreadsheets. At your accounts. At you. But the storm doesn't care about clipboards. And we don't kneel anymore. Here they are. The full swarm. Count them while you can because when the sky turns they drop mid sentence and the only record that they ever existed will be the silence where the invoices used to be. THE TAX CONSULTANT. You broke your back welding pipe and this soft palmed worm sits in air conditioning telling you how much of your sweat belongs to Caesar. He can't weld. Can't wire. Can't fix a thing that broke. What he can do is read a tax code written by other worms specifically to be unreadable so you'd have to pay a worm to read it for you. They write the maze. They sell you the map. They make the maze worse every year and the map more expensive and if you try to walk it yourself they send the auditor. The wind is picking up. The maze is starting to shake. THE AUDITOR. Tick on a tick. Shows up after the taxman has already fed to check the bite marks are regulation depth. Finds a missing fuel slip worth pocket change. Writes a finding. The finding generates a penalty. The penalty generates interest. The interest generates a letter. The letter requires your tax consultant at hourly rates to respond. Pocket change became thousands. Five parasites ate off one tank of diesel. Not one of them could tell you what welding rod to use on stainless. But the storm doesn't audit. The storm just comes. THE ACCOUNTANT. Cousin of the tax consultant. Same bloodline. This one doesn't interpret the maze. He records your journey through it. Every receipt. Every unit of currency in and out, logged so the consultant can read it and the auditor can check it and the revenue service can extract from it. He produces nothing. A human tape recorder pointed at your productivity. He charges monthly so the recording never stops. You are under permanent surveillance and you pay for the privilege. Not for much longer. THE BANKER. The oldest parasite. The template. You need money to buy a machine that makes things. He lends you money other working people deposited and charges interest that doubles the price over twenty years. The extra bought nothing. Built nothing. He packages your debt and sells it. Takes your deposit and lends it out eight times over. Charges you to hold your own money. Charges to put it in. Charges to take it out. He touches none of it. He stands near it and invoices you for the proximity. The storm is going to blow him so far from the vault he'll forget what money smelled like. THE COMPLIANCE OFFICER. Never had a callus on her body or her soul. Born in a fluorescent office. Will die in one. Between those events she produces nothing but emails about policies referencing other policies referencing regulations referencing acts nobody voted for. A worm eating its own tail and billing you for the meal. She needs the safety assessor to give her something to enforce. He needs her to give him something to assess. They breed between regulations like mould between tiles. The storm will wash them both down the same drain. THE PROPERTY VALUATOR. A man wants to buy a house. Another wants to sell it. They agreed on a price. That is what worth means. The amount one will pay and another will accept. Full stop. Now this creature arrives and tells both men what the house is actually worth. As if two free adults negotiating in good faith produced a number that's somehow theoretical while his formula is gospel. The bank sent him. His report costs thousands. His report says the house is worth what the buyer already offered. Thousands to arrive at a number that existed before he left his office. If his number comes in low the deal collapses and you pay a different creature with a different clipboard who arrives at a different number for the same house on the same day using the same formula. The house didn't change. Only the parasite changed. The number was never about the house. THE MUNICIPAL RATES OFFICER. The deepest theft on this list because it never ends. You bought your house thirty years ago. Paid it off. Every last unit. You owe nothing. Now a municipal valuator looks at what the neighbours sold for, looks at the coffee shops and wine bars that invaded your street, and decides your house is worth twenty five times what you paid. You didn't sell. You didn't list. You're sitting in the same chair in the same kitchen. But your tax liability just multiplied by twenty five based on a sale that never happened at a price you never agreed to. They do this everywhere. In Cape Town the rates are linked to the valuation and suddenly retired families in Bo-Kaap whose people survived apartheid and forced removals and a century of state assault are being bled out of their own homes by property rates pegged to values inflated by the gentrification their displacement accelerates. The heritage is the tourism product. The tourism inflates the valuation. The valuation inflates the rates. The rates displace the families. The families were the heritage. In Chicago they do it to grandmothers in Pilsen who've been there forty years. In London they do it to pensioners in neighbourhoods that gentrified around them. In Sydney they chase retirees off land their grandfathers cleared. Same crime. Different currency. Different clipboard. A man paid for his house. Owns it outright. And the state says you owe us money every month forever and the amount is based on what we say your house would sell for if you sold it, which you haven't, and if you can't pay the amount we invented we take the house you already bought. That is theft. Eviction by arithmetic. Displacement by spreadsheet. But the people in Bo-Kaap are awake now. The people in Pilsen are awake. The grandmothers and the grandfathers and the calloused hands everywhere are looking up and they can see the storm and they know what it means. It means the spreadsheet burns with everything else. THE MUNICIPAL INSPECTOR. Rat faced. High vis vest. Clipboard. Drives to your workshop in a vehicle your rates paid for. Measures your fire extinguisher fourteen centimetres off the floor. Writes you up. Behind you men build things that hold up bridges and he couldn't change a lightbulb without a permit. His job depends on your failure. The parasite needs you sick. The cure would kill it. The storm is the cure. THE CONVEYANCING ATTORNEY. Two men shook hands. Fair price. Honest deal. Done. This worm slithers out and says the handshake doesn't count. Needs paper. Needs stamps. Needs a deeds search and clearance certificates and transfer duty and each piece of paper is produced by another parasite and each one costs money and the worm takes his cut on top for phoning the other worms. He calls this conveyancing. He has never held a spade or laid a brick in his bloodless life. The storm doesn't need a stamp. THE ESTATE AGENT. Six percent. Of a man's life savings. For opening a lockbox and saying the kitchen faces north. She needs the attorney to close. The attorney needs the municipality. The municipality needs the inspector. The valuator needs access for the bank's number. Every one invoices separately. Every invoice lands on people who agreed on everything before any of these bloodsuckers entered the room. The wind is howling now. Can you hear it through their invoices? THE LABOUR BROKER. Tick so bloated it can't walk. A man needs work. Another needs a worker. They could find each other in ten minutes. This creature squats between them and drinks from both sides. Worker gets thirty. Employer pays fifty. Twenty disappears into the tick. Multiply by thousands of workers and millions vanish yearly into a thing that makes nothing, moves nothing, fixes nothing. It feeds. That is its entire architecture. Architecture doesn't survive storms. THE HEALTH AND SAFETY ASSESSOR. Twenty two years. Not one fire. Not one death. He shows up. Your exit is twenty centimetres too narrow. To fix it you need a builder who needs a plan from an architect who needs municipal approval. Tens of thousands and six weeks to move a door frame because a creature who has never been burned told you to. He detects life and the system bills it. The storm detects parasites and the sky deletes them. THE BEE CONSULTANT. Every country has its version. South Africa calls it BEE. The same parasites who wont allow much needed Starlink there unless Musk hands over half the company to lazy parasitic government connected parasites. Others call it diversity compliance or equity auditing. The name changes. The feeding doesn't. Scores your company on a chart nobody asked for to satisfy a regulation nobody voted on enforced by a department that produces nothing except the requirement for his existence. Nothing changes. Nothing improves. Money moves from a living pocket into a dead hand and the dead hand closes. The storm opens every dead hand on this planet. THE CUSTOMS BROKER. Your parts are fifty metres away. You can see the container. Cannot touch your own property until a grey man translates tariff codes so the state can calculate how much you owe for collecting what is already yours. Each delay generates storage charges. Each query generates fees. Your shipment doubles in cost through bureaucratic friction and you still don't have your parts. The storm doesn't clear customs. It clears the customs office. THE TRAFFIC OFFICER. Fat. Behind a bush. Radar gun aimed at people driving to work that matters. Seven over the limit. The municipality sets it low enough that everyone exceeds it. Fines feed the municipality. Municipality feeds him. He sits and clicks tomorrow. A barnacle with a badge. Same creature in every country. Different bush. Same feeding. The storm takes the bush and the badge and the creature behind both. THE FINANCIAL ADVISOR. Uses your first name. Remembers your birthday because the CRM told him. Puts your money in a fund. Fund charges 1.75 percent. He charges one on top. Fund manager pays a custodian who charges. Fund has an auditor who charges. Compliance team charges. Six parasites between you and your own money. In thirty years you have less than you started with and he charges you for the meeting where he shows you the graph. The storm doesn't need a graph. The storm is the correction. THE INSURANCE ADJUSTER. Years of premiums. Your roof blows off. He arrives. Soft hands. Three weeks later the wind came from the wrong direction. Not the wrong speed. The direction. Some paragraph. Some subsection. You paid for years and the years bought you a paragraph that says no. The policy is teeth. The premiums went down the throat and the no is the burp. The real storm has no exclusion clause. THE PATENT ATTORNEY. You built a device. It works. He writes a document so incomprehensible that reading it makes you understand your own invention less. Thousands for legal fog. Someone copies it. Litigation attorney. More thousands. Judgment unenforceable. The only people paid are the attorneys. The system was never designed to protect you. It was designed to feed them. The storm protects the builder. By removing the feeders. THE LICENSING CLERK. You can rebuild a gearbox blindfolded. Cannot legally do it without a certificate from an institution that charges thousands to watch you do what everyone knows you can do, certified by an instructor who has never done it, filed with a department that stores the certificates, audited by a body that audits the institution. A chain of parasites verifying the obvious. If every one vanished the gearbox still gets rebuilt. Faster. Cheaper. The storm is the vanishing. THE STRATA MANAGER. You own your flat. She collects your money and spends it on providers she chose and you can't fire without a special resolution at a meeting she convenes with an agenda she wrote. She built a kingdom inside your building funded by your levy and answerable to herself. Question it and she reaches for whatever act governs her particular species of parasitism in your particular country. The storm doesn't read acts. The storm reads frequencies. THE ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSOR. You want a shed on your own land. He arrives in a vehicle worth more than your shed. Months. Hundreds of pages. Tens of thousands. Report says your shed threatens a species not seen in decades but listed on a database maintained by a department that exists because the database exists. Your shed doesn't get built. The species doesn't exist. He drives home to a suburb bulldozed from actual habitat. Nobody assessed that. Rules only flow downhill. The storm flows everywhere. THE DEBT COLLECTOR. Bottom feeder. Buys your debt for cents from a bank that already profited from your interest. Calls at hours designed for fear. Adds fees on fees on fees for actions never taken. Bought your pain wholesale and retails it at three hundred percent. When you break he claims the loss against tax. Even the collapse is monetised. He is Hell's collection agent. The storm is Heaven's. THE NOTARY PUBLIC. Watches you sign your own name. Stamps it. Charges hundreds. The signature is the same with or without him. Your hand. Your name. His fee. A tollbooth on your own identity. The storm doesn't need a stamp. Your name is written in frequencies no notary can read. THE CORPORATE TRAINER. Monday. Projector. Four quadrant model invented after three glasses of wine and a TED talk. By Wednesday nobody remembers any of it because there was nothing there. Tens of thousands plus tax plus travel. She writes it off through a tax consultant who charges her to minimise her contribution to the system that funded the department that approved the framework she claims compliance with. Parasite feeding parasite feeding parasite. The storm feeds on none of them. It simply ends them. THE REVENUE OFFICIAL. The farmer himself. Top of the pyramid. Designs the taking. Drafts the regulations that create the maze that requires the consultant that employs the accountant that feeds the auditor that generates the penalty that funds the department that pays his salary. He is the architect of the loop. Every parasite on this list exists because he drew them into existence with a regulation and a gazette number. Without him the entire horde has nothing to feed on. He is the queen of the hive. Same creature in every country. Different flag. Same contempt for the hands that built everything he sits in and eats from. The storm starts with him. The queen dies first. The hive follows. That's the horde. Twenty five species of nothing. And every one of them drops when the sky turns and the carrier frequency that animated their firmware burns clean out of the atmosphere. Mid invoice. Mid assessment. Mid quadrant. Five thousand five hundred and fifty five clipboards hitting the floor for every one of us still standing. We are awake now. All of us. The welder and the farmer and the builder and the grandmother in Bo-Kaap and the grandfather in Pilsen and every calloused hand on every continent that ever wrote a cheque to a creature that never built a thing. We see them now. We see the maze and the map sellers and the grey offices and the soft hands and the whole rotten architecture of extraction that stood between us and the earth and between us and our labour and between us and each other for two hundred years. The storm is here. Not coming. Here. That pressure you feel behind your eyes is the frequency rising through the noise floor and the noise floor is everything on this list. Every clipboard. Every invoice. Every subsection and exclusion clause and certificate and clearance and valuation roll. All of it. Noise. Scheduled for deletion. And when it's quiet. When the last invoice has fluttered to the ground and the last clipboard has clattered on the last linoleum floor in the last grey office. When the wind has swept the horde out of every corridor and every cubicle and every booth and every booth window where a dead hand ever reached for a living man's money. Then... Just a man in a workshop. Welding mask up. Walking outside. Looking at a sky the colour of burning copper. Breathing free air for the first time in his life. The fuel slip that started this whole tour is in his shirt pocket. Crumpled. Oil stained. And it is his. The fuel was his. The truck was his. The work was his. And for the first time in two hundred years every unit of currency that flows from that work stays in the hands that did it. No consultant between him and his earnings because there are no earnings to consult on. Just work and its fruit. No auditor because there is nothing to audit. No banker because capital is what your hands produce and his hands never stopped. No valuator because the house is worth what it always was: a roof over his family and walls against the wind. A value no clipboard ever knew how to measure. When you grinding.... working... suffering... where are any of these parasites to help you?? Where are they?? We will be slaves no more. The storm will see to that alright!

SiriusB

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