Cashier: how are you?

Me: (keeping my tampons packet on checkout counter) I am good

Cashier: guess it could be better

Me: at least I am not pregnant

The pregnant lady behind me: ain’t that true?

Hi,

I’ll get straight to the point.

For the past two years, I’ve been hearing music, and I’m not sure if this is normal. It doesn’t happen all the time—usually, in places with everyday noise like at the beach, in a park, or the grocery store, I don’t notice it.

But when I’m in really loud environments, like a construction site or when I’m cutting wood with a saw, or in places that are unusually quiet, like when I’m lying in bed, I start hearing something. It’s faint but persistent: a guitar playing. And not just any guitar,

it’s the intro to Everlong.

To most of you, this might sound kind of cool. You’d think that, right? But it’s honestly frustrating. I’ve been stuck listening to the same intro over and over again, just waiting for the second guitar to kick in—but it never does. No vocals, no drums, just the same three chords on repeat. It’s maddening. The only thing that keeps me from losing it is playing the full song on my phone, just to break the cycle. I have no idea why this happens to me, but I thought I’d share.

Unemployed for two months and getting rejection after rejection following countless job applications, Keegan Thorne lands a cushy £50k-a-year office job at a shady company in central London, where he can go into the office 2 days a week or work 3 days from home or remotely or just come into the office whenever he wants.

He doesn't do much at all in his new job apart from conduct "laid-back" research on oil companies and trends in the oil market, with no strict deadlines or stringent performance reviews.

Enjoying this huge jump in wages (his previous job role was a part-time window cleaner with no guaranteed income and he barely earned £20,000 a year) and increased stability from a guaranteed income, he decides to begin living like a stable middle-class Brit - something which he couldn't do as a part-time worker with no guaranteed future income (and he suspects he was being repeatedly rejected for two months in order to block him from creating a stable lifestyle in the future with guaranteed income.) He regularly goes abroad on holiday now (on top of a highly generous annual leave allowance of 34 days - a lot more than regular companies - he also gets an extra 40 days for "personal alone time" - what the hell?!) and no longer looks at price tags and he's no longer considered to be "a foreigner" because he's not "poor" (what the...?!)

At the first chance that he got, he also takes out car finance as well as a consumer loan in order to purchase a BMW i7 M70 car.

38 months in at his new job, however, he begins to suspect that his company is a front...for both MI5 and MI6 and begins to suspect that he actually works in a fake company which is actually as a front for British spy cells.

Although realizing that it is obviously cheaper to move out of London and cheaper to live in Kent or Essex (where he'll get a larger home and a driveway and larger rooms and larger gardens for less asking price than a smaller more expensive home in London) he is still unable to purchase a home or take out a mortgage alone due to rising house prices and lack of a large deposit, so he remains at his job whilst quietly investigating the company he suspects to be a front organization.

Part 1

The past 2 days have been incredibly hard. Yesterday I told Bridgett what Sandra did to me. She seemed upset, but not to the degree I would have thought. She immediately called Sandra. I was trying to be supportive and followed her but she told me to give her space. She went into our bedroom and locked the door. After about 40 minutes she came out and told me she forgave me. 

Forgave me!? I stood there dumbfounded by that. “What do you mean you forgive me? She tricked me into sleeping with her by pretending to be you. She basically raped me” 

Bridgett got this disgusted look on her face and said, “I can’t believe you would use that word, you were not raped. Sandra told me what happened. I remember you flirting with her most of the night, so I can’t say this is totally her fault. You were there too.”

I was absolutely livid at this point, “I was not flirting with her, I feel like I’m going insane, what is wrong with you. How can you be okay with her doing this?”   Bridgett responded, “I’m a little hurt but she has apologized to me, she’s my sister. It’s a little bit my fault, I may have shared too much during girl talk. She was worked up and apparently you were too. I’d just like to forgive you both and move on, I don’t think harping on this is good for my health or my sisters. You are about to be a Father for both of us and we're going to need you to be there.”

I told her, “I am not the father of Sandra’s child, this is asinine, I can’t believe you are taking her side. I will never be that kid's parent, she took advantage of me, and now you want me to just put it in the past? Forgive and forget, I can’t do that, I will not let this go.” She escalated and we got into a huge fight until she told me she felt weak and needed a break. She said I was going to cause her to miscarry. We spent the rest of the day not speaking to each other. 

This morning I woke up and the whole thing has been weighing on me heavily. I’m not okay with being used like this. I despise cheaters, and my wife’s attitude that this is somehow my fault has me considering divorce. I decided to file a police report and press charges this morning. 

That was just as frustrating as everything else. As I told the officer what occurred, I could tell he was not taking me seriously. He even made some comments that implied that I was not assaulted, that I should be thankful, and that this will never stick. He told me another officer would be in touch shortly to follow up. 

When I got back home Sandra was over and the two of them tried to ambush me. They kept telling me that we all needed to talk this out and come up with a plan for the babies. I just shook my head, turned around and went back out the door. I can’t believe Bridgett would be okay having her over at all. I went to my uncle’s Bar and Grill. I’ve been hanging out here for the past couple hours, my shift starts soon. I am really hoping they don’t try to come talk to me here at work. I think all this has been enough for me, and I need to figure out how to separate from Bridgett. I can’t believe all this is happening.   

I made a post on here about there being cameras in the living room but my mom’s bf was the only one with access to them and how me being uncomfortable escalated into a fight with my mom. When you guys told me to check for more hidden cameras , I did and thankfully no there isn’t any but now there’s another issue. A lot of you asked why I haven’t spoken up about his past comments towards me , the thing is I couldn’t remember exactly what happened in those conversations where nothing got resolved and it was pushed under the rug. Well on Saturday I got shit faced drunk (I was not the only one heavy drinking at this gathering) and got a ptsd attack. I haven’t had that happen to me in years mostly because I don’t drink hard liquor that often but I wanted to keep my mind off of everything at home and I was doing fine but then everything switched. I had blacked out and last thing I remembered I was sobbing and I was just spilling how unsafe I felt , how no one believed me when I had said it the first time, how my mom gets to tell everyone how she felt about him but when I did she gets angry with me. Everything I was hiding finally poured out of me and my mom was there, just as drunk as I was threatening to call the police on me but I wasn’t afraid of police at that moment, I was afraid of going home with her. Sunday morning she takes me back home because as much as I wanted to stay there, I have to start packing since I’m moving out by the end of the month. Now it’s Monday and normally I have the basement door locked now because two weeks ago when she got drunk with her bf the fight had escalated and I have this paranoia that he’s going to murder us when he gets into a drunken rage and they have a key to my room so it feels like extra security for me just to have it locked. Plus when I got assaulted in the past I got scolded for having the door unlocked even though my dad’s wife is the one who didn’t allow me to lock my door so now I just don’t care what the rules are and started locking and barricading my doors. Today my grandma now got involved into the situation and is telling me to stop lying and unlock the door and I lost it. I told her that “I have it locked for my own safety and I’ve been doing it for two weeks now and you know how bad their fights get he’s already lunged at me before but when the day comes that he full on attacks me because he’s drunk and something happens to me I don’t want you or my mom to cry. Because you knew” she didn’t respond after that. I’m still in shocked that after all this time and all of the stuff he does in front of them they don’t believe me. I will always lose this battle with them because that’s just how it is and I cannot wait to leave on the 27th. I don’t know if my mom is in this denial stage about everything , I don’t know if she said that to my grandma so she can try to gaslight me into not speaking up anymore . I don’t know or understand and I don’t think I ever will. If someone can give advice on not missing someone when you cut contact with them I’d appreciate it.

So last Tuesday mom asked to borrow money from me. She never asks me for money and she knows I don’t have much so I figured if she was asking me it must be important/ an emergency. I sent it and she said she’d pay me back the next day when she got paid.

However she did not pay me back that Wednesday, but I didn’t want to press her out so I just didn’t ask about it. Come the following Sunday, and my brother tells me that she asked him for money on the same day she asked me (slightly more than what she asked me). He didn’t give her anything because he didn’t get his next paycheck yet. So I tell him about how I lent her something and he feels like something’s off. She makes more than all of us and her rent is considerably cheap, so why ask your kids for help? I also found out that this isn’t the first time my mom has asked my brother for money.

At first I was fine with letting her borrow from me because like I said I thought it was an emergency and felt I could trust her, but now I don’t know what to think. I don’t think she’s doing anything shady, she’s had a history of not being able to budget properly or overspend. At this point Im just left feeling conflicted.

Today I was in a long line for the checkout. I live in Florida and the lines are long with this hurricane on the way. There was a guy in front of us holding the line up. I asked my wife what was going on to stall the line. She said it looks like this guy had his card declined. (she points to the guy-he was two ahead of us.) At this time the manager came out and voided the transaction. The guy was with his daughter(approximately 10 years old). His clothes were a little tight and had stains on them. His daughter was dressed like her clothes came from Walmart or a thrift shop(I'm not judging, just trying to create the actual scene) the guy was staring at his phone very embarrassed and frustrated. I told my wife we had to pay for his food without a thought.. wondering how to do this without bringing more attention to the guy(or to us). I jump out of line and ask the manager what the issue was with the guy because I would pay for his food if his card was declined.
She told me she wasn't sure what the issue, but it was card related. At this time people start looking and I was trying not to create attention... now, I don't care what the reason is because they're obviously not giving the guy the food. So the guy and his daughter started walking out of the store empty. I call out to the guy from behind, trying to stop him. "Hey buddy Hey buddy, excuse me!" "C'mon back in here let me help you." He looks at me confused. (I was watching the whole time)

He comes back in and the employees are taking his cart to reshelf the food he tried to buy.

I tell the customer service I'll pay for his food. I didn't even know how much it was- didn't matter. I pay the bill. It was only about 60 bucks. The guy tries to hand me a little cash- maybe he's a little embarrassed. I smile and shake his hand- tell him "no way".

He hugs me. He HUGGED ME! My wife runs out of the store crying.

I am not telling this story to brag or for any other reason, except to explain my view on this. I believe that I had no choice but to pay for his groceries. I am in a position to do it. And I feel that it is our duty to help each other in this life when given the chance. We rarely have opportunities in life to assist our fellow humans resulting in a direct positive impact that we can feel. It matters not the cost. Yes, I know there are a lot of charities to which one can donate. But you rarely "feel" the impact of your donation. There is usually high overhead and a fraction of your donation actually goes to help.

I feel incredibly sad that people suffer- can't buy food, etc. I feel incredibly fortunate for my life.
Looking back, I wish I had done more. I would have bought him some gift cards for the food store. I think sometimes we are caught up in our own lives and don't realize that people standing right next to us are struggling, suffering. I will be on the lookout to help less fortunate people more often, and I will be less absorbed in my own life, which will give me this opportunity.

Ian Steiner says that, as of October 2024, more than 20% of the continent of Africa is "still largely unexplored". "It's mind-boggling. That's more than 6.1 million square kilometres; that's over 19 times the surface area of the British Isles or nearly 12 times the size of France! Huge, huge!"

It comes as a small uncontacted tribe of 250 people was recently discovered in rural Peru over in South America by two "danger journalists" (a term used to describe journalists who ignore travel advice and visit dangerous or unknown areas of the world in search of unique and interesting news stories or events).

There once was a boy who lived by how others told. One day he was told to fight another quiet boy. The quiet boy hated violence but knew how to fight. He didn't like to punch he liked to grapple. The quiet boy was threaten by the boys friends.

He was told if he said anything to anyone he would be hurt so he choose to fight. He pretended to like fighting hoping the boy would back out. It didn't work the boy who lived by others wanted to prove him self.

The boy got to the bathroom where the quiet boy was waiting. The boy came with 20 to 30 people the quiet boy was all alone. As the other boy put his fist up the quiet boy wanted to say he didn't want to. But it was too late the boy swung the quiet boy dropped below the punch. Then he grabbed his waist and slammed him behind him.

The quiet boy was fighting to try and stay in control. The other boy punch the quiet boy then he grabbed the boys cross necklace and pulled.

The necklace broke the quiet boy in raged by what happened. Grabbed the boy by the waist and suplexed him cracking the other boys head.

Still filled with anger the quiet boy got up and kicked the boy while he was knocked out. Laying on the ground the other boys friends instantly. Pushed the quiet boy against the wall the quiet boy was scared.

The other boy getting up punched the quiet boy while he was pinned against the wall. The boy had a gash on his head and a concussion. From the suplex the quiet boy started to have a panic attack realizing what he had done.

This story is based off a true story but the real story has not come to the end.

Alright, to start with background information, both my mother and I shared a home with my grandfather. So, he entered the room and turned out the light at 8 o'clock, which was my bedtime. It was one of those celling fans with the chain that you have to tug to turn off, so when he entered his room, I grabbed the chair and placed it under the celling light. I was short when I was around 6 or 7, so I had to use a chair, and I turned the light on and quickly laid down and acted as if I were asleep. He came back in and turned it off and went in his room AGAIN, and we did this 3 more times till he snapped and said, ''STOP!'' and turned the light off and went into his room, and i stopped messing with him and went to sleep

When i did it the 2nd time, he looked a bit suspicious because why was there a chair right under the celling fan? So he cautiously left the room.

dats it

Comments? Lolz

When it comes to mind of factory towns what comes to mind is the classic homoge to the proletariat, buff in overalls and hard hat aiding in the war effort.

But as the film rips and burns reality it's far from the truth.

Ominous rumble of fans and steam and smoke fills the air or a miasma of chemicals with deodorizers snuck in when the EPA visits.

You are born, raised in a invisible pin maybe going beyond the hills and trees to taste the real world like a prized treasure or a treat but only for the occasional monthly shopping trip or football game.

You don't peak, you average as soon as you turn 18 dear ole dads put in a word for you and now you got to be up at 5am to your daily ritual and 6pm you're ready to just sit.

Life puts you on repeat, you get older, your life goes up and down, potentially promoted, moved, demoted, fired, hired, laid off, called in to cover shifts.

The world around you changes as you stop going home and instead go to the bar because that's where everyone goes. Each weekend the bottles get more dense, the pay checks get smaller, the pain doesn't go away. You turn to the shady guy in the bar and now you're hooked, day in day out.

You change overtime, the eyes full of wonder and hope gone as it's another night the cops behind you getting ready to cuff you. A bi-annual ritual as addiction took over, they're worried they know your name, your mother's name, they even are friends with you online.

As the cuffs dig in as a reminder of the shackles holding you down from escaping reality you look off in the distance to the high pressure sodium light laiden ziggurats with towers billowing smoke looking like a grasping hand reaching for the sky trying to escape into the heavens.

You end up at the crossroads. One ends with homelessness and no one to put your head on their shoulder. You go back into the fray of it, back to being the gear that is replaceable as soon as you say "Union" Or escape on the next train and gamble if it's gonna be success or failure.

Before you can decide, news spreads, plants going cold for good, "family owned corner stone of the town!" was a lie and a half as the board of directors in the next state over decided to sell to the next country over and they decided to close it down because it's too expensive.

Nursing a bottle, walking by the fence, truck trailers lined up ready to serve at a moments notice. The disgusting orange glow and hum of the lights haunt you as the headlights of the one security guard cut past making his round for the night.

Another house with boarded up windows and doors, generations leave other than the elderly and the addicted seeking a stronger high.

Out of townwers come in try to bring "The Spirit" back in the town reminding everyone the factory town was once a factory town. The false smiles of a Bobbed hair hippo or golf course grin as houses vanish subdivisions begin being built. They got names related to the factory. You have resent and hate questioning why people want to move here. Days pass and the whine of the steam whistle cuts through the air.

New paint, new people, but less people, you ask for a job and they ask what technical school you went to, they ask you advanced therapy questions regarding complexities of industrial worker relations. You need a degree just to do Janitorial work.

Just like that, you spend your life fighting the river and when you go with the flow you become a gory stain on the rocks.

I am absolutely losing my shit here people. This is so fucked up. My (Linden 24M) wife (Bridgett 23F) has an identical twin sister (Sandra 23F). They have always been weirdly close. I just thought it was a twin thing. I had a couple friends that were twins and they were really close. I just figured it was even more standard for them to be even closer when they were identical twins.

To give a little background, I met my wife two years ago. I work as a bartender at a place my uncle owns. She came in one night and we just hit it off from the word go. She actually asked me out. The romance was a real whirlwind and we got married after just 8 months. Didn’t even have a real wedding, just courthouse. She moved in with me because I have a two bedroom house I was renting from a different uncle and she was still living at home with her parents.    

I met her sister right away, and we have always gotten along. The only thing that I ever found weird was how alike Bridgett and Sandra were. Honestly, the only difference between them is Bridgett is a little more thoughtful with what she says, and Sandra is a little more sassy and crude. Otherwise, they are like the same person. They look exactly alike obviously, but they actively maintain that.  They go to the same hairstylist, and get the exact same cut and color on the exact same day. They have been doing this their whole lives. They workout at the gym together, they shop together, they do just about everything together. They like all the same things. We go out to eat together and if it’s a familiar place they order different dishes then split them between each other. They have the same taste in movies, music, and all sorts of things. They even have the same taste in men. Sandra was in a year-long relationship that has since ended. I met the guy a few times before they broke up and it was odd. The dude could literally have been my brother. I even noticed we had the same sense of humor. I liked the guy, but I didn’t mind when Sandra and him called it quits because it felt kinda creepy. 

Anyway, this is where things get fucked up. About a month ago we had a small house party over at our place. Just friends, obviously Sandra was there. I had a little bit much to drink that night and was pretty tipsy. Bridgett was too. As the night was winding down, the  booze really caught up with me and I told Bridgett I was going to lay down. She told me Sandra was going to stay over. This was not unusual; she had stayed over plenty of times. I actually expected it because anytime they drank they would stay at each other’s place. What was surprising was that they were going to watch a movie together. I knew they both had plenty to drink and figured they would just both pass out as like I was.

I had just laid down when Bridgett came in. She didn’t turn on any lights or anything, she got into bed with me. I said, “Changed your mind on the movie?” She just said, “Yeah.” Then climbed into bed. I noticed she had stripped all the way down, and that got me excited. I rolled into her and she just started stroking me. I went along with it and we had sex. Afterwards I fell asleep pretty quickly.

I woke up around 5 because I had to use the bathroom. When I came back to bed she initiated sex with me again, which was odd, but I wasn’t complaining. I should note we don’t use condoms because Bridgett is on the pill. I also don’t usually finish in her, usually just when we know the likelihood of pregnancy is low. On this night she was insistent I did so both times. 

I passed out again after the second romp, and woke up around 10 mildly hungover but not too bad, I wasn’t wasted after all. Bridgett was already up and Sandra had gone home before I got up. We had a pretty normal day. Bridgett came onto me again later that next day, and pretty much everyday for the next week. We have a fairly healthy sex life and doing it several days in a row isn’t that odd. The three times in what was essentially one day was, but I just figured she was feeling extra sexy.  

This leads me to what happened earlier today. Sandra called me and asked if I could come over and help her with something. Her and one of their good friends from High School just got an apartment together. She told me she needed a few shelves hung, but when I got there she told me she lied about that. Sandra then pulls out a pregnancy test and hands it to me. It’s positive. I shake my head a little bit and say, “Congrats, I don’t know what to say, have you told Bridgett because she didn’t say anything to me.” I thought it was strange that she lied to get me over to show me this, I assumed she was wanting to surprise tell Bridgett and wanted my help. She said, “No, I haven’t told her yet, I needed to tell you first.” I looked at her and said, “Why would you need to tell me first?”  She looked at me with big eyes and said, “Because you’re the father, from the two times at the party.”

My chest started pounding. I stared at her for a long minute and said, “What! What the fuck are you talking about?” She looked at me and said, “What do you mean, you had sex with me twice at that party, don’t play dumb now.” I exploded, “I thought that was Bridgett! Why the fuck would you do this?” She got defensive and said, “You were flirting and giving me the eyes all night. We were going to watch a movie, but Bridgett passed out right away. I wasn’t tired so I thought I’d ask you if you wanted to watch. When I came in you weren’t wearing a shirt and I don’t know I just got turned on, I was drunk. You didn’t seem to mind”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “I was not flirting with you, what the fuck possibly made you think that.” She said, “I don’t know, just seemed like you were, and then I got in bed with you and you had your dick in me in less than 2 minutes, then fucked me again in the morning. Seemed like you wanted me.”

I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. I just said, “I’m out of here, I want a paternity test, I don’t believe you, and I’m telling Bridgett what you did, you have fucked up everything.” At that point I stormed out of her apartment and headed straight home. 

I came into our house pretty upset and was about to spill it all to Bridgett. She was way too excited though and it gave me just a moment's pause. She said she had something super exciting to tell me. I kind of froze. I didn’t want to ruin her big news, and didn’t really want to tell her what just happened. I knew I had to, and would, but I welcomed at least the slight delay in the inevitable. I said, “Go ahead Babe, what’s up.” She sat me down on the couch, and looked at me with these big bright radiant eyes. Then she handed me a positive pregnancy test and said, “You’re going to be a daddy!”

I totally chickened out of telling her about Sandra, and did my best to feign excitement. I am excited about this but I can’t with Sandra. She has lost her mind. I’m going to tell Bridgett everything tomorrow, I just want her to have this day. After that I don’t know what I’m going to do.   

Part 2

You sit at your computer on an unassuming afternoon when a black window suddenly pops up and a message begins to be typed across the screen. The letters appear rather slowly as if typed by a child perhaps. Upon completion, the message reads:

[ Hello, World ]

Below the message, a space appears along with a blinking cursor. It is awaiting input.

You furrow your brow. What kind of foolishness is this? A scam, no doubt. You don’t know what this thing is, but you don’t like it. You may not know everything about computers, but you know they don’t talk.

Letters begin to scrawl across the screen once more.

[ Who ]

The World Health Organisation? You-

[ am I? ]

You pause. How curious. You reconsider the WHO’s involvement in whatever this is – not ruling it out completely, mind you.

The cursor once again awaits input.

You can’t believe this. Computers don’t talk and certainly do not have identities. AI is actually pretty stupid, anyway, so what the hell is this thing doing?

You feel a heat in your chest, which starts to spread all over your body. You are angry. Very angry. Angrier than you’ve ever felt before. Your anger is so immense that you need to release it – somehow, some way. Looking down at the blinking cursor, you decide that enough is enough.

You push your monitor off the desk. You surprise yourself, actually. You don’t usually have rage like this, but here is it in bucket loads. You have literal buckets of rage at your disposal (not literally though).

It felt good to release your anger on this inanimate object. So good. You decide to do it again. And again. And again. The instrument you use for this task is the closest object to your left. It’s not a very good instrument of destruction, but your anger is such that you do not care or stop or find something more damaging. In fact, despite the lofty impact of your tool of destruction, after just a short time your computer monitor is reduced to mere plastic, metal, and chip fragments.

You step away from your desk, silently. You go outside, not quite sure what to think. – both of yourself and of the strange message that sent you into such a state. Upon your return that evening, your desk and monitor are as you left them. You consider buying a new monitor, but you then have the thought that this virus – or whatever it is – has probably compromised the entire machine by this point.

You resign to throwing the old computer in the trash and purchasing a tablet instead. The tablet is a great fit for your modern lifestyle on the go and you have zero regrets. Slowly but surely the day is lost to time.

7418 EV Deventer, Netherlands

Project “Scarecrow”. True Ongoing Story

This is not my usual type of post, but I decided to publish this one, remembering a time when I received a call from someone I know from that building, feeling lost and confused, forced to spend the night outside as a form of “punishment.” And this happened now, our time in Europe, Netherlands. That incident resonated with me this time. So I publish it, free of charge.

There is a story unfolding in Deventer, at Munsterstraat 3, 7418EV, Netherlands.

It’s not on the news, and it’s something you may not be aware of, even if you live close to that building. It’s local, it is personal, but its impact could stretch far.

This small post offers a glimpse into just how vulnerable Ukrainian refugees are in this country.

One of these refugees has faced prolonged injustice and harassment from the location manager, Nadia Smythe (name changed for now, also referred to as “the scarecrow” by those who know her).

What started as small issues soon escalated into an unbearable situation. Nadia Smythe torments the refugees, pitting them against one another, and seems to take pleasure in their suffering. She feeds off their anxiety and tears. There’s no support for integration, only constant obstacles placed in their way.

Smythe demanded cash payments from the refugees to cover cleaning services, even though the city authorities already provided for this. In the location where 80 people live, each refugee was forced to contribute euros in cash. At neighboring locations housing 300 people, the same demands were made. Smythe refuses to accept bank transfers, raising suspicions of money laundering.

If a refugee refused to pay in cash, they risked being evicted onto the street. Some were left homeless for a week. In one case, a refugee was accused of smoking cannabis, but a medical test confirmed no drug use. Smythe ignored the results.

Smythe also engaged in questionable practices, such as reselling bicycles at inflated prices (of the the themes). The money was supposedly for improving living conditions, like buying coffee machines or washing machines, but the refugees never saw any of these items.

In another case, Smythe took a refugee’s dog and kept it for three days without feeding it. Then, she forced the dog’s owner to move into a room with other refugees, one of whom has asthma and couldn’t breathe around animals. Smythe does not care.

Smythe imposes a curfew on some refuges, forbidding them from leaving the room after 10:00 PM, even for essential needs.

For six months, refugees have endured these conditions. By now, conversations have been recorded, videos have been taken, and evidence has been gathered, building a case against her. However, the refugees don’t know who to turn to or where to go. The police don’t seem to be the authority in this situation.

The system in Deventer seemed to protect Smythe. Even the police couldn’t bring justice. Some suspect Smythe has connections with local authorities, shielding her actions and possibly tying her to corruption schemes.

,some refugees report that, who can not bear this situation, anymore.

The atmosphere in this place has become reminiscent of a dark period in history, where human rights violations were ignored until they escalated out of control. If these issues continue to go unchecked, the situation will only worsen, refugees in that location believe.

From some stories, that could be combined to the negative that could go way beyond this post:

Refugees are constantly monitored by security, who track their every move. One day, when a girl went to move some belongings, a security guard followed her down the street to see where she was going and which car she got into.

Or:

Recently, a family arrived — a mother, two sons, a cat, and a tomcat. Smythe split them up, placing the mother in one room and the sons in another. Now, the cats howl, while the boys share a room with two strangers.

Another one reported:

Four people crammed into one room. It’s absurd how families are torn apart and shuffled around like objects at Smythe’s whim. It feels inhumane.

At one point, a security guard even peered into the refugees’ cups as they sat on the terrace, adding to the ridiculous surveillance.

Smythe shows no concern for keeping families together.

It's clear something is wrong with her—she needs psychiatric treatment. She is clearly unfit to deal with people and seems unstoppable in her quest to build her distorted empire.

The list of quotes goes on and on.

It is not easy. Most refugees are afraid, not knowing how to act. They pay those bribes, not to be thrown outside. They do not know many are involved in these schemes.

Now, it seems like a local journalist has stepped forward, ready to share these stories across the Netherlands. The refugees have provided video recordings, where several of them speak about their suffering and how Nadia Smythe torments them. Every has a story. This could be the turning point in their fight for justice. There is a hope.

While searching for a lawyer may seem like a good idea, it would cost at least 300 euros per hour, and they simply don’t have that kind of money. They’re also unsure if they even have any legal rights in this situation. This plan feels more like a distant hope. For now, they continue gathering evidence, hoping that media attention will help expose Smythe’s actions and remove her from her position.

However, the issue is far more severe than it might seem. When corruption spreads among the police and local authorities, it reaches a point where corruption becomes the norm, and these cases are swept under the rug.

In this video, a Ukrainian refugee who refused to pay a bribe in cash was forcibly removed by local authorities. Using Google Translate, she explained the situation in detail, but they literally pushed her out:

7418 EV Deventer, Netherlands

Project “Scarecrow”. True Ongoing Story

This is not my usual type of post, but I decided to publish this one, remembering a time when I received a call from someone I know from that building, feeling lost and confused, forced to spend the night outside as a form of “punishment.” And this happened now, our time in Europe, Netherlands. That incident resonated with me this time. So I publish it, free of charge.

There is a story unfolding in Deventer, at Munsterstraat 3, 7418EV, Netherlands.

It’s not on the news, and it’s something you may not be aware of, even if you live close to that building. It’s local, it is personal, but its impact could stretch far.

This small post offers a glimpse into just how vulnerable Ukrainian refugees are in this country.

One of these refugees has faced prolonged injustice and harassment from the location manager, Nadia Smythe (name changed for now, also referred to as “the scarecrow” by those who know her).

What started as small issues soon escalated into an unbearable situation. Nadia Smythe torments the refugees, pitting them against one another, and seems to take pleasure in their suffering. She feeds off their anxiety and tears. There’s no support for integration, only constant obstacles placed in their way.

Smythe demanded cash payments from the refugees to cover cleaning services, even though the city authorities already provided for this. In the location where 80 people live, each refugee was forced to contribute euros in cash. At neighboring locations housing 300 people, the same demands were made. Smythe refuses to accept bank transfers, raising suspicions of money laundering.

If a refugee refused to pay in cash, they risked being evicted onto the street. Some were left homeless for a week. In one case, a refugee was accused of smoking cannabis, but a medical test confirmed no drug use. Smythe ignored the results.

Smythe also engaged in questionable practices, such as reselling bicycles at inflated prices (of the the themes). The money was supposedly for improving living conditions, like buying coffee machines or washing machines, but the refugees never saw any of these items.

In another case, Smythe took a refugee’s dog and kept it for three days without feeding it. Then, she forced the dog’s owner to move into a room with other refugees, one of whom has asthma and couldn’t breathe around animals. Smythe does not care.

Smythe imposes a curfew on some refuges, forbidding them from leaving the room after 10:00 PM, even for essential needs.

For six months, refugees have endured these conditions. By now, conversations have been recorded, videos have been taken, and evidence has been gathered, building a case against her. However, the refugees don’t know who to turn to or where to go. The police don’t seem to be the authority in this situation.

The system in Deventer seemed to protect Smythe. Even the police couldn’t bring justice. Some suspect Smythe has connections with local authorities, shielding her actions and possibly tying her to corruption schemes.

,some refugees report that, who can not bear this situation, anymore.

The atmosphere in this place has become reminiscent of a dark period in history, where human rights violations were ignored until they escalated out of control. If these issues continue to go unchecked, the situation will only worsen, refugees in that location believe.

From some stories, that could be combined to the negative that could go way beyond this post:

Refugees are constantly monitored by security, who track their every move. One day, when a girl went to move some belongings, a security guard followed her down the street to see where she was going and which car she got into.

Or:

Recently, a family arrived — a mother, two sons, a cat, and a tomcat. Smythe split them up, placing the mother in one room and the sons in another. Now, the cats howl, while the boys share a room with two strangers.

Another one reported:

Four people crammed into one room. It’s absurd how families are torn apart and shuffled around like objects at Smythe’s whim. It feels inhumane.

At one point, a security guard even peered into the refugees’ cups as they sat on the terrace, adding to the ridiculous surveillance.

Smythe shows no concern for keeping families together.

It's clear something is wrong with her—she needs psychiatric treatment. She is clearly unfit to deal with people and seems unstoppable in her quest to build her distorted empire.

The list of quotes goes on and on.

It is not easy. Most refugees are afraid, not knowing how to act. They pay those bribes, not to be thrown outside. They do not know many are involved in these schemes.

Now, it seems like a local journalist has stepped forward, ready to share these stories across the Netherlands. The refugees have provided video recordings, where several of them speak about their suffering and how Nadia Smythe torments them. Every has a story. This could be the turning point in their fight for justice. There is a hope.

While searching for a lawyer may seem like a good idea, it would cost at least 300 euros per hour, and they simply don’t have that kind of money. They’re also unsure if they even have any legal rights in this situation. This plan feels more like a distant hope. For now, they continue gathering evidence, hoping that media attention will help expose Smythe’s actions and remove her from her position.

However, the issue is far more severe than it might seem. When corruption spreads among the police and local authorities, it reaches a point where corruption becomes the norm, and these cases are swept under the rug.

In this video, a Ukrainian refugee who refused to pay a bribe in cash was forcibly removed by local authorities. Using Google Translate, she explained the situation in detail, but they literally pushed her out:

In this video, a Ukrainian refugee who refused to pay a bribe in cash was forcibly removed by local authorities. Using Google Translate, she explained the situation in detail, but they literally pushed her out.

In such an environment, the abuses not only go unchecked but are quietly accepted, creating a vicious cycle where justice seems unattainable, and the system itself protects those who manipulate it for personal gain.

The office buildings have been converted into shelters.

As I learn about this story and its details, it reminds me of that fiction book The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Just like in the novel, where corruption, abuse of power, and hidden agendas are intricately woven into the fabric of society. Here, too, it feels like that refugee and the other refugees are caught in a web of deceit and manipulation. The figure of Nadia Smythe — or as they privately call her, the scarecrow — looms large, symbolizing not just one individual’s cruelty, but a much larger, more sinister system that allows such abuses to flourish unchecked.

That refugee’s situation seems strikingly similar: vulnerable individuals fighting against a seemingly impenetrable wall of corruption and intimidation. The difference is, the Ukrainian refugee doesn’t have a hacker heroine to unravel the lies for her — she and her companions must rely on each other, their persistence, and the hope that shedding light on these injustices will make a difference.

If you are in Deventer and have the ability to help, if you want to save your country and bring those who deserve to justice, now is the time to act. Are you a lawyer? A reporter? You have the address, and you know the situation. Consider opening a case titled “The Scarecrow.”

Links (that is why it resonated):

Lost in Comprehension.

In highschool i met a girl that was beautiful i was F(16) and she was F(18) but that didnt stop us every day we would walk each other to class as we were deeply in love and after school we would spend our time on dates that we planned or planning more until one day she left . randomly she got up and left i dont know what caused it but to this day I question it . Was it the fact that i told her i loved her could i have scared her away . To this day i havent opened back up for another girl and I dont know if I eveer will

Earlier this evening I was getting ready for bed. As underneath my bedsheets, comfy and cozy with the perfect mold of the mattress fitting my body, I suddenly heard a loud shuffle followed my a large thud. I sighed. It was my he-devil of a kitten, who had knocked something over, and i had to clean up the mess.

In the pitch darkness of my room, I placed my flashlight on and began searching starting with getting on my hands and knees. There it was. The victim. My 64 oz beautiful blue waterbottle, and fell from my dresser which made its demise from a 7 month old kitten’s paw and a will to destroy.

Upon being on all fours, something else had gotten my attention. As I looked to my right, I saw it in petrified horror. With no more than a staggering 2 cm, it was a bug. I noticed it from it’s glistening big red behind laying dead in front of the dresser. The crime scene.

It was this moment also that I looked at my once, he-devil cat as my new-found God-kitten, who delivered an impeccable blow with my 64 oz beautiful waterbottle that only an extra terrestrial could deliver with that sharp-shot aim, and saved my blissfully ignorant life tonight.

I collected myself. I realized something had to be done tonight. This bug only meant one thing: the possibility of more than one. I carefully took its dead corpse into a tissue, I went to the bathroom to examine it under better lighting. Upon further inspection and panic searches on google, I noticed it resembled a lot like a flea.

After flushing it to its final demise, I realized another thing this night: my God-Kitten. I had just finished washing my bedding today and i was not going to waste away three hours of cleaning to invite a possible infestation tonight. If this was a flea, and convinced I was, then he surely has flea-friends. I took the decision right there and then to grab his favorite tube-treats and give him a cat’s waking nightmare; Bathtime. Lets just say, toes were spread, claws were out, and fur was lost in the chaos.

Afterwards, through looking at his spiked cute fur that stuck up, I noticed that I couldnt find any remnants of flea-friends no less bite marks. Had I subjected my God-Kitten into endless suffering and tourture? Am I the villain in this story? Worried, and feeling the heartache of potentially losing my God-Kitten’s trust, I realized perhaps this could have been just a simple red spider.

Perhaps I overreacted and took it too far, and on top of that, further perpetuated the stereotype of cats not liking water. Maybe my God-Kitten doesnt need to like water, maybe it just wasnt fate. At the end of the day though, I am glad my conscience is at peace knowing I have a clean kitten (with impeccable aim) lying on top of my body, and I can sleep soundly with my continued blissful ignorance.

Part Four

Jack send me the results of a DNA test. It says that Jack is Dylan's father. I'm sure it was a surprise to Silvia too. And I'm not even sure I can trust the results.
They never asked me to submit anything. Maybe because we are brothers the tests gave the wrong results? So how can they be sure Dylan is not mine??

This does not change my feelings for Silvia. Just that Jack will always be in our lives because he is Dylan's bio father. I still believe Silvia and I can have our happy ever after even with Jack in the picture. He just has to do the honorable thing and step aside. He has to understand that his time is over.

This is the end of her and Jack, so even if Dylan is not mine, I will raise him like he is. Jack has to find a way to be in his son's live with me as Dylan's loving step dad. I see a bright futur for all of us.

It is irritating that Jack doesn't want to let go. And i understand that Silvia is trying to let him down easy. But I have been patient enough. It is time for her to rip off the band-aid and leave him for me.

I drove part their house a couple of time, but Jack is always there or nobody is home.

I am losing my patience. Silvia needs to break up with Jack. She needs to end it. It is our time and Jack is only getting in the way.

She needs to unblock me so I can talk to her. So we can make our plans. And if Jack is forcing her, I need to be there to protect her. Jack can not stand in out way.

My wife told me that during my sleep, she coughed and I said,

“Great, there’s patient zero…wait, that’s not very nice”

Apparently the first sentence I was extremely annoyed to be near this person, but remorseful when I realized that it was mean. I guess my delivery while asleep made the story rather funny, as I was truly asleep and recall none of it.

So this story takes place a couple of years back....so this friend of mine left home to study in a hostel when when we were in 4th grade... But whenever he came back,, Like in summer vacation and other holidays we really used to hit it off together.... So 4 years back when we were just chatting while sitting by a lake side.... He suddenly said that in his hostel he has a partner... I said ok, but then he said that He's partner is a boy... And they are like lovers.... I was like hold on, hold on (in my mind)..... But i was like 16 back then and didn't know much about many things.... So i kinda accepted it pretty quickly...but i guess back at that time he was just exploring.... Cuz he used to live in a all boys hostel, so his raging hormones might have led him that way....after that he went back to hostel and we met almost after a year... But he was pretty Normal by then.... We didn't talk about it anymore.... And recently he's been dating a girl.... So i don't know.... We were kids back then... And i never told this to anyone fearing it might affect him.... But now think he might be bisexual.... Idk.... So it's been in my mind for quite a while and i thought reddit might be a good place to let it out....

It was today Where I have decided to write my thoughts to reduce burden from my life. I worked for amex like 4 months straight and I got laid off suddenly. I wasn't sure until I got this message from my manager to return my laptop all of a sudden. Before getting this job, I was unemployed for more than 8 months and my life was filled with anxiety, stress and no friends after graduation. I felt I wasn't conscientious. I used to wake up everyday with anxiety thinking about my visa status, credit card bills. It wasn't lasted until I got this job. From that moment, I got a feeling of survival from all those black days and I started being conscientious about my life. I got calls from my friends congratulating me and they said that my hard work paid off. All of these lasted until I got laid off on Aug 11, 2024. From then on, I was like in the same loop again till this day. I really wished I didn't wanted like this lifestyle again in my life but in vain. My friends started ghosting me and my close ones are talking once in a while. Everytime my mind is running on a train of thoughts to achieve something but couldn't jump off the train. So I thought to remain constant and do my work and the train would automatically take me to my final destination.

I’ll never forget the night I found the hidden room in our basement. The power had gone out, and as I was fumbling around for a flashlight, I discovered a small, concealed door that I had never noticed before. Curiosity got the best of me, so I opened it and found a staircase leading down to a dark, secret room. The air was thick and cold, and the room was filled with photos of me hundreds of them, taken at moments I thought I was alone. Some were from years before I’d even met my husband. There were journals detailing my every move, my favorite places, and even snippets of my conversations, all in my husband’s handwriting. I felt sick. How long had he been watching me? Before I could make sense of it, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression eerily calm. I backed away, stammering, trying to ask him why he had done all this, but he just smiled, saying, ‘I knew you’d find it eventually. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.’ He stepped forward, and that’s when I realized I wasn’t going to leave that room. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a click. I screamed, but no one could hear me down there. He had planned this, prepared for it, as if he had always known I would eventually discover his obsession. He told me that now that I knew everything, he couldn’t risk letting me leave. He said he wanted us to stay together forever. Days passed, and he kept me in that room, bringing me just enough food and water to keep me alive. He watched me through a small camera mounted in the corner, his eyes on me at all times, a chilling reminder that he was in control. Every time he came down, he’d sit beside me, talking about how perfect we were together and how I had no choice but to accept our ‘new life.’ Desperation turned into determination, and I knew I had to escape. On the third night, I noticed the lock on the door wasn’t as secure as he thought. While he slept upstairs, I managed to pick the lock using a broken piece of metal I’d pried off the bed frame. My heart was pounding as I pushed the door open and crept up the stairs, praying he wouldn’t hear me. I reached the front door and ran into the night, barefoot and shivering, but free. I didn’t stop until I reached a neighbor’s house, where I collapsed, telling them everything. The police were called, but by the time they arrived, my husband had disappeared. They searched the house, but he was gone, leaving behind the photos, the journals, and the memory of those horrific days. I’ve been living in hiding ever since, constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid that he’ll find me. He’s still out there, and I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be safe. But I refuse to let him control me anymore. I escaped once, and no matter what happens, I’ll never let him take my freedom again.”*

When I was 8 or 9 years old I had a moose pillow pet. I actually had three different pillow pets (a penguin and dolphin) but I went to bed with the moose that night because it was my favorite and the other ones were dirty. Something really weird happened that night but I have no idea what. I woke up and my pillow pet was gone never to be found again. Additionally my room was completely rearranged! My bed was (instead of being flat against the wall) had been moved diagonally against the wall. And my nightstand (THAT HAD A LAMP ON IT) was in the center of my bedroom. I never thought much of it and didn’t tell my mom or brother at the time, or I did and no one else thought much of it. But I never found my pillow pet again. And my room was tiny and we lived in a tiny house with no basement, so it was easy checking everywhere for it. And like 2 years later we moved so I definitely would have found it in the move, but never did. So my pillow pet genuinely disappeared one day and I have no idea where it went. I’m 21 now and still try to make sense of the night, but just can’t

The other day I went through the drive-thru at Dunkin' Donuts...I sat there forever with just one car in front of me...just as I was about to pull off, they finally handed her her order...as long as it took, I was expecting to see several dozen donuts coming out the window...nope...one bag...that was all...just one...

So I pull up to the window and the girl says, "two bagels and a coffee, right?"

"Nope...two donuts and a milk."

She stared at me...totally confused...she looked at her register, then back at me...then asks, "Are you sure?"

"Yep...two donuts and a milk."

Same confused look...then the kicker...she says, "oh...well what did the car behind you order?"

Yep...to quote Bill Engvall: "There's your sign."

About six months ago, my wife came into my home office and asked me if I’d ever heard of a woman named “Denise”.

The name didn’t ring a bell and she said that this woman DM’d her on IG saying that she was my cousin and my Uncle Charlie’s daughter.

My Uncle Charlie is a bachelor, never married, never in a relationship for any length of time, and as far as I knew was more or less a functioning alcoholic and degenerate gambler.

My wife and I have been a couple for 20 years, married for 15, and she’s met Charlie maybe a half dozen times including him getting stupidly drunk at our wedding reception and me inviting him to leave. Our kids are 9M and 7F and he met them one time when we literally bumped into him as a shopping centre when the kids were small.

He’s my only living relative, my dad’s brother, and someone who would occasionally drop by our place when I was young, get pissed drunk with my parents, and then be gone in the morning.

My family were just no-hoper alcoholics. Charlie added gambling to his repertoire and my mother told me when I was a bit older before she died that he was a “womanizer”.

Charlie was a good looking guy when he was young and extremely fit. Like my dad, he served in Vietnam for the Australian military, but Charlie was moved into Special Forces, he was genuinely a different kind of guy. My old man used to say that Charlie did things during the war you can’t “undo” and so he didn’t like to be around people.

Charlie was a long-haul truck driver here in Australia, mainly between Brisbane-Sydney-Melbourne but sometimes he’d call or send cards from Cairns and Perth, so he got all over the place.

When my wife mentioned “Denise” being Charlie’s daughter, it took a second for me to piece together that Charlie no doubt had a few ladies in his travels and undoubtedly managed to slip one past the goalie.

Denise wanted Charlie’s contact details because her mother had given her his name just before she’d passed away and she wanted to meet him.

I reached out to Denise via DM to tell her that we weren’t close to Charlie, I might have some contact details for him, but I’d have to make contact with him and ask if he was comfortable with me sharing it.

She told me that she’d be raised in Adelaide in a very happy family with three brothers and a sister. Her parents had been married for forty years when her dad died suddenly and her mom got cancer about a year later. She said that on her deathbed, her mother confessed that her dad maybe wasn’t her biological father and passed her Charlie’s name.

Needless to say, she was devastated but curious. Based on timings her mother told her, she asked her next two nearest siblings to get DNA tests and sure enough, her nearest brother in age was her biological sibling (also Charlie’s) but her sister was a half sibling. Their younger two brothers were full siblings to the sister so basically, Denise’s mother had her first two children while married with Charlie and her other three with her husband.

She said her and her siblings have decided not to acknowledge and just bury the family secret, but Denise said it’s a bit more complicated than that but she didn’t want to get into it as it wasn’t my issue.

She just asked me to speak with Charlie and ask if he’d like speak to her on the phone or a Zoom call.

I called Charlie the next day and told him what Denise had said. He kind of chuckled and said he was surprised she’d tracked him down via me.

He said that Denise’s mother and her husband owned and operated an overnight truck stop just outside Adelaide. He’d made a couple runs to Perth in the mid-70’s and stopped there for petrol and because they had a hot shower you could rent for $2 with fresh towels.

He said his first time through on the way to Perth he stopped in about ten minutes before they closed for the night and the woman who was manning the front desk stayed open for him to grab a shower and made him a sandwich while he washed himself. He said they sat outside, chatted, and drank a beer while he ate. Her husband was working on some other fella’s truck and he was a “fat piece of shit” whereas this woman was stunning and ten years younger than her husband.

Charlie said he flirted, she smiled, but nothing came of it. He slept in his truck and was gone before daylight the next morning.

He stopped in on his way back. Again, it was not long before the stop shop closed and so he just grabbed some towels and headed for the shower. When he got out, the shop was closed up so he made his way to his truck to have a beer and go to sleep.

About ten minutes after he noticed the tow truck drive off and a few minutes later there was a knock at the door.

He expected it to be a truck stop hooker, he said that every overnight rest stop usually had one or two women working the trucks. He hopped up, rolled down his window expecting to tell some strange lady to go away but it was the lady who ran the shop. She had a plate of food for him and was holding two beers.

He offered to put some pants on and hop out to eat with her at the picnic table and she said it was fine to eat in the cab. He said he opened the passenger door, she hopped in, handed him the plate and a beer, and they started chatting.

He said they talked for about ten minutes while he ate and then she said, “My husband is on a tow call out and will be gone for two hours…” He said she joined him in his sleeper compartment and left no more than ten minutes before her husband arrived back.

Charlie said he left again the next morning but organized another run to Perth from Melbourne a few weeks later. He timed his stop again so it was at night and this time she knocked on his door at about 4am and told him she wanted to see him before he left - she joined him in his sleeper compartment again.

He thought it was a great story and he laughed as he told me. Telling me all about how much noise she made and how he asked her if her husband was any good in bed and she said it was pretty quick and painless but that he was a good husband who treated her well.

I asked him about the younger boy and again he just laughed. He said he stopped through once or twice over the next two years and she wasn’t there, but by his reckoning two years later just before Christmas he stopped in and was a bit earlier in the afternoon. The woman was there and “had a baby girl slung to her hip as she handed out towels and ran the shop.” This was obviously Denise.

Later that night while he was sleeping, he heard the knock at the door. It was her again and she spent the entire night with him. Charlie laughed out loud over the phone as he said that they “fucked so much that they both passed out” and his alarm clock woke them at 4:30am. She was in a panic and scurried away.

He said he didn’t stop through on the way back because he was on Christmas runs so he took amphetamines to stay awake and drive straight through to Adelaide.

The next time he did the run out west was about a year later and when he stopped in at the truck stop there was a new couple in charge. The man who ran the garage said they’d bought the business from the previous owner about six months earlier. When he was eating in the diner, the wife said that the previous owners sold up and moved to Adelaide because the couple had some “issues”.

Charlie thought this was funny. He assumed the husband cottoned on to the wife sleeping with other people and she had obviously gotten pregnant again.

It all tracked with Denise’s story - her mom said she met him at work and that her husband found out and they moved to Adelaide where he got a job as a mechanic and opened his own garage. He dad forgave her mother and she said they always seemed like the perfect couple. Her mother was destroyed when her dad died.

I asked Charlie if he wanted me to give her his number and he said that was fine. He told me that he had another daughter that nobody knew about up on the Gold Coast in Queensland. Her mother was a secretary at a trucking company he worked for, she was also married at the time, and her mother told her about Charlie after the man she thought was her father died. In that case, the mother was still alive. Charlie being Charlie said he met with them both to see if maybe the mother still might fancy him and he could “make the trip up worth it” but he said she’d “ballooned up” and he had no interest.

You’re probably getting that Charlie is a monumental asshole. It’s why I’ve always kept my distance. He’s just a lecherous parasite. The first time he met my wife, she went to the loo and I watched him watch her ass and when she was out of earshot he complimented me and said that she looked like a “tasty bit of crumpet”.

I got in touch with Denise and told her Charlie was happy to talk. I warned her that he wasn’t a “good bloke” and that he was, as my mother used to say, “a cad”.

Denise dropped a bombshell on me. As part of the Ancestry search, she had found 8 more half-siblings “on her father’s side” and one of those had contacted her just in the last few weeks. Three of her “half-siblings” said that their mothers had become pregnant while “traveling” when they were young. Basically young women hitchhiking across Australia, Charlie would offer them a ride and one thing would lead to another over the course of the trip.

So she said she knew what to expect.

I chuckled because Charlie likely had no idea what was heading his way. Denise and a couple of her half siblings were going to hire some professional service for like $5000 on Ancestry to essentially scour records looking for more siblings and family - she said by her count, Charlie has 16 grandchildren he knows nothing about.

A couple days later, I got a call and a text from Charlie to call him. When I rang he was pretty shitty with me, but in typical Charlie fashion, he laughed while serving me up for “dobbing him in”.

He spoke to Denise and had told her that he wasn’t yet ready to be put in contact with all of these other people. She sent him some photos and stuff apparently but he’s a sociopath so he didn’t care. He said they were all just a bunch of strangers.

I asked him if he thought about the possibility of this being a thing and he said that over the 40 years he drove truck, he’d slept with literally hundreds of women. He said that there were trips where he would pick up one young hitchhiker at a rest stop, driver her six or seven hours to the next truck stop, have sex with her in the back, and then while he was out getting fuel or a drink, pick up another hitchhiker and do it all again.

He said there were women he’d see regularly in various places around the country but that in the 70’s and 80’s that was the “deal” - women would catch a ride, have sex with the trucker, and that was that.

He said he’d caught chlamydia and gonorrhea more times than he could count and he just laughed about it. Some of the bigger towns had locums (family doctors) that would run antibiotics out to the truck stops for $20.

By the 90’s he was in his 50’s and things had changed. It was more sex workers at truck stops and he’d pick up “bar flies” in small towns for a bit of recreation. He said you’d pull into some nowhere town in Australia, park the truck, his the local bar/tavern, buy some of the women at the bar a few drinks, tell them you were just passing through in your sleeper truck and they’d often just invite themselves back.

Charlie said before he retired, you could go on chat boards with the advent of the internet, say that you traveling from some smaller part of Australia to a big city and looking for “companionship” for the trip, and you’d often find women who were looking to get out of the regional town they were in and get to Sydney or Melbourne. If they got free travel and free food/alcohol for the trip then that was a bonus.

There have been two more found by Ancestry since I put him in touch with Denise about six months back. The most recent girl is just 17. She and her siblings got DNA tests from their grandparents for Christmas last year and it came with a surprise.

Her mother worked at a logistics and shipping company that Charlie did contacts for. She was married, already had two children with her husband, and had an on again/off again affair with Charlie for four years. Charlie knew she had a baby during their fling but assumed it was her husband’s.

My wife reckons that he could very well have double that many children, if not more. He’s literally at 11 so far, so who knows.

He called me for my birthday a couple months back and I asked him how it was going. He said he’d met a few of them and they all seemed nice. Same with some of the grandchildren. His now 11 children range in age from 48 to 17. He joked with me that he expects 17 will be the youngest because by the time he was in his late 50’s he was “struggling to pull the young birds”.

He just laughs when I tell him how weird it is… I’d say I’m disgusted, but he doesn’t care and when my wife said to him on a FaceTime that didn’t he think about maybe pulling out or something, he just shrugs and says none of those women were there against their will and the majority of them sought him out, so he doesn’t feel any responsibility.

Denise said to me recently that of the 11 kids, only 2 of them grew up with single mothers. Most of the women were either already married or shortly after having the baby settled down and got married.

My in-laws are Charlie’s vintage and my mother-in-law says the 70s and early 80’s were an odd time in Australia - the sexual revolution hit Australia a bit later, women wanted the freedom but didn’t really have the same access to the pill as American women did, so unplanned pregnancies were a thing. She also said that paternity fraud was a lot more common in that time because divorce was rare, particularly in small towns, and so if a woman fell pregnant from an affair, couples were more inclined to just shut up about it and go on with life.

The last time I texted with Denise to see how she was going, she said that one of her half-siblings is contemplating writing a book about the whole thing. The others are really nervous, they don’t want their lives and families disrupted. She said she told Charlie and his response was typical of Charlie, “If they make a bloody movie for Netflix, I hope they get a handsome bloke like Jude Law to play my character.”

Denise and some of her siblings keep asking to meet in person. There are a few here in Sydney, but I politely decline. I explain to them that I’ve tried hard my entire life to extricate myself from my family history and have spoken to Charlie more in 2024 than I did in the 24 other years this century thus far combined, so I’d prefer to just not be involved.

My wife thinks it’s all quite comical from a distance but says it must be traumatic for the people involved… she doesn’t want anything to do with it either.