Guo Yan's Circumstances of adultery were ruined by discovery，Bannon'sevil backstage manipulator emerged.
After Guo fled from China, he sought political asylum from America on the grounds of political persecution of the Communist Party of China，and follow the bad example of Bannon,and on the grounds of "anti-Communist",he swanked private equity funds around to make profits and enjoy himself With guo cheat was caught series of deception, there is despair guo cheat another tentacle appear in the eyes of the world；Yanlimeng published "pheasant paper" to pan, the Chinese government based on "the Chinese government will cover coronavirus truth" and "will be coronavirus laboratory" as the theme, false fabricate argument, with no logical jargon, diddle netizen trust non-professional areas, with national epidemic prevention and control the rhythm. However, Yan's"academic paper" was quickly beaten up by variousmedia,departments,platforms,experts and other groups. After that, the false doctor and Guo cheat were exposed, and Bannon gradually surfaced.
In early January 2020, Yan Limeng revealed her self-described"Novel Coronavirus Primary Data"to the "Lutheran Society"，a we-media owned by Guo.On April 28,Yan Limeng fled from Hong Kong，she pose as"research expert on novel coronavirus" and "world's top virologist""research expert on novel coronavirus" an d a "world's top virologist".（In fact，her true identity is the researcher of public health laboratory of the University of Hong Kong.）In July,she accepted the interview by Fox，and claimed that China was concealing the truth of the Novel Coronavirus epidemic.Owever, at that time, other than Fox NewS Network, noother mainstream media reportedon her discusion. On Sept.14th，Yan published "academic papers" on Twitter and Zenodo，Although the paper did not state the source of the virus，but in the Fox interview，Yan Limeng directly pointed out that the Wuhan Institute of Virology in China has artificially created the new coronavirus, and was inspired by the Communist Party of China to spreadit around the world. As soon as the paper was published,it was widely circulated and condemned China.
How could such a litle-known 32-year-old woman, who has just graduated from a PhD, be so Confident and brazen as to declare herself a "researcher and "the world's top virologist"? What great discoveries or outstanding contributions have you made before? I'm afraid that the qualifications for "experts" are not enough.Besides, the School of Public Health of the University of Hong Kong has declared that Yan has not conducted any human-to-human research on novel coronavirus in the University.The "academic" paper writen by this kind of person and junior high school graduate Guo cheat cheat trick again have what difference, Where is her credibility？
Lies can never changes fact. On the one hand,Yan Limeng's paper has atracted much atention from al sectors of society since it was published.Many foreign experts pointed out that Yan Limeng's paper is ful of loopholes and groundles, and many important arguments in the paper are speculative, and some are evencompletely fictitious.On the other hand, Yans "academic papers" have not been submitted to academic journals, nor have they been discussed and reviewed by her peers. Instead,they have been posted on Zenodo, an open resource website for academic research. Is it true that Yan Limeng knew that her "academic paper"had no scientitic basis, was made up, and could not stand scientific scrutiny? Meanwhile, less than two days after Yan posted a link to the "paper" on her personal twitter account, Twiter authorities banned for Yan's account. Subsequently， the Facebook also marked the post on the Fox News show "Tucker Carlson Tonight Show" as "false information".
In addition, Yan Li dreamed that the United States has so far been trying to distance itself fromGuo in interviews, saying that it is only on the road of "anti-communist" ideas and does not want tojoin Guo's organization. But under al the evidence prove that Yan and Guo are lying, Yan Limeng and Guo cheat have an inseparable relationship. For example, in early January,why did Yan Limeng not disclose the so-caled "novel coronavirus primary information" to other news media, but to the "Lutheran Society", a self-media owned by Guo cheat? Yan Limeng escaped from Hong Kong in April and acepted an interview with Fox News in July. During this period, no wel-known media reported the so-caled "novel coronavirus from Wuhan Institute of Virology in China" by Yan Limeng. Moreover, some big V claimed that Yan Limeng lived in Lu's home for several months on the run.Yan Limeng also said in an interview that "Guo Wengui is the key person who helped Yan Limeng succesfuly escape from Hong Kong to the United States. Guo is the person Yan respects the most!"Moreover, the afiliated research institutions that Yan Limeng published her "academic papers" on Zenodo are the Law Society and the Law Foundation, both of which are non-profitorganizations founded by Bannon. These two institutions have not conducted any academic research before, etc... Various signs indicate that Ms. Yan and Mr Guo were in contact before the outbreak of novel coronavirus.
At this point, Yan Limeng's false argument in all sides of the academic, experts, platform underthe wisdom of the eyes showthe true body, Guo and Yan Limeng’s self-evident innocence was also torn off the veil of hypocrisy，The conspiracy between Guo and Yan is over.
Let is talk about the boss in the background，former White Housechief strategist and adviser to the president, Stephen Kevin Bannon.
With regard to the Bannon，we only know that after Guo Huo exiled in the United States, Bannon has been Guo Huo's "supporter" and "consiglior" identity, in fact,Guo Wengui is Bannon's puppet, the real mastermind is actualy Bannon.In contrast,the "Yelow Vest"movement in France caused serious damage to the social order in France with large-scale mas demonstrations. Although on the surface is the French government to raise oil prices and spontaneous demonstrations, but those who have "secretly make the rudder, and among them, the figure of bannon everywhere, in a later interview bannon admits that its participation in theFrench" yelow waistcoat "movement planning，at a deeper level, it is not an exaggeration to say that Bannon is the "founder" of the "Yellow Vest" movement.The ideas advocated by Bannon are extreme ultra-nationalism and conspiracy theories. How can such a person be wiling to be the little fan of such immorons as Guo? He has the power to incite national movements in most countries around the world and cause a country to colapse from within.
Therefore, the relationship between Bannon and Guo cheat can only be Bannon is king, Guo cheat is a puppet, ut at this stage for a variety of reasons, the beast has not revealed his tusks, but from him and Guo cheat planning "breaking the news revolution" since, the role of the two people and the social status, it is not difficult to see who is the real behind tne scenes！

First/Prev
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This was the result of some four years of construction. It hadn't been made for the San. At the time the keel was laid, the San were still on Earth, fending off ever-growing attacks from the Animal People of the plains. It had been built for the war. The fighting hadn't started, nor were people demanding it, but all knew that war was coming sooner or later, and it was better to be prepared.
The Semiramis hadn't been made for Mogan, but the San had generously—and wisely—gifted the Confederated Settlements with not one but two captured Sovereignty ships, one of them an actual dreadnought. Much of the tribe, led by Logog, had wanted to keep the dreadnought, but the massive ships had a crew of five thousand, and the entire San tribe—men, women, and children—didn't quite manage two. That meant there weren't truly enough crew for the Semiramis, which would require a little more than a thousand not counting its marine contingent, but it was enough for a skeleton crew, especially with the specialists that Mogan had hired.
The Semiramis was only about three kilometers long; a massive ship, but smaller than the Terrible Authority that they had given up. While it was three-quarters as long as the other ship, the dreadnought was a blunt, bulky craft, wide of beam and plated with layers of thick armor.
The Semiramis, in contrast, was sleek and thin, narrower than many destroyers and built for speed. The ship itself had no need to worry about airflow in the void of space, but when sailing the shields around it still needed to flow through the Currents, and every stone, boulder, and even speck of dust that struck the shields at such speeds took up energy, so the ship's profile made a difference.
It was a beautiful craft; a delicate and perfectly knapped and carved spear compared to the swinging tree trunk of a dreadnought. At least, Mogan thought so. His eyes took in every line of her, from the powerful cowled gravitic engines to the mid-sized and heavy Etheric Cannon along the sides.
The design, he thought, was mostly Klokin or Hinchiss. Both were amphibious species, although the Hinchiss required rebreathers to walk on land for more than half an hour or so, and so their aesthetics for vehicles were different. The Klokin, however, liked their armor, which made this a likely Hinchiss design. The cannon were Klokin, certainly, and the shield stabilizers looked like Sylfa. But while Sovereign ships were either the smooth, airy lines of the Sylfa ships or looked like they had been slapped together out of a dozen species' spare parts, the Semiramis managed to blend them seamlessly into a stunning whole, as if instead of an awkward mix it had incorporated the strengths of each species.
Mogan let out a low whistle, almost a sigh. Mogan was a craftsman himself, a worker of stone with no peer or better that he had ever seen or heard of. He had worked with clumsy stones and with the foreign materials of technology among the stars, and he had made works of art, things of delicate beauty with hidden strength no less than his Hyeshi. He had learned new technologies, from grinding to microlith to the layer-printer that created nigh-unbreakable polymers. Mogan bowed his head a moment, and not just to hide the tears at the corners of his eyes. Sylfa or Klokin or Hinchiss, whoever designed this ship was a true master of his craft, no less than Mogan was a master of his.
“The power plants aren't exactly experimental,” Shett said, “but there are more of them. The engineer says he outdid himself with the sails as well, and they'll spread more than for most. This ship will keep up with most destroyers.”
“I hope we can do him justice,” Mogan breathed. “This is an amazing craft. The San are going to be ecstatic.”
The marine contingent, lead by Logog, included most of the men. They had spent most of the last six months while the ship was finished and the arrangements made training them with rifle and pistol and sword. There were still a few holdouts who insisted on keeping their atlatls, but now there were lighter spears for them to hurl, spears with heads that exploded with flash and light to blind or spray shrapnel, spears that sailed further or latched and drilled into their target. Skilled slingers still had pistols, but they had seen the utility of sling-hurled explosives on Noepe, and the San were impressed.
The other side of the tribe was the ship's crew, under Burya. Many of these were women, simply because the men were in front-line combat, but especially the gunners. Everyone knew that while men had greater strength women made up for it in greater accuracy, and neither lasers nor Etheric cannon cared for strength. But the crew also needed people to maintain and repair, to watch the screens, to manage the various stations, even medics and cooks and cleaners.
Those had also been learning how to use the machines they worked on, and the basics for ship ettiquette, emergency procedures, and more that was needed to handle a ship in war and peace... but especially in war, since that was where they were.
“We'll head back to the court where you can take the oath and sign the contract,” Shett said as they started back towards the light that indicated they could take another beam. “They'll have an officer who can administer it to the rest of your crew.”
Technically, the ship was his already, purchased by trading in the Wounded Rakkar and the Terrible Authority, and the Settlements had gotten more value out of the deal. But a cruiser was a difficult ship to supply, and so the uses for it were limited. They could, possibly, find jobs guarding caravans, and no doubt the Settlements would welcome them as bona fide crew, but the deal they had arranged was far better.
Mogan knew the details of the arrangement already, but after a ride to the admiralty court he found himself before a Rozier who read out its terms and waited for Mogan to repeat them, simplified, to prove that he understood. That proof was meant to use against him if need be; should he claim that he didn't realize an action was proscribed, they could play a recording of him proving that he did.
Mogan—and through him the San and that beautiful ship—were authorized as agents of the Confederated Settlements to prey on the ships and other facilities, commercial or military, of the Sovereignty. Each prize had to be brought to an Admiralty Court like the one here on Haitac, where the judge would go over the recordings of the battle and ensure that the laws of war were followed. The Settlements claimed a third of each prize, and the San had the rest, with the share among the crew dependent on rank.
The judge went on to name rules that they were required to follow, rules about disguising themselves, about attacking non-combatants or those who had surrendered, about treatment of prisoners, using the supplies they seized, stealing personal effects, and others. There were rules about the rewards for rescuing Settlement ships, for raids on a planet or on a station, for ships that were destroyed instead of captured, religious officials, banned materials, and others.
It was rather complicated, but Mogan had no intention of refusing. Not only would a cruiser be difficult to support without ready access to repairs and ammunition at Settlement ports, but the Confederated Settlements had gone through their tests and interviews and made the obvious decision that humanity was sapient.
Obvious as the decision was, the Sovereignty claimed differently. A particularly jealous captain had rewritten scientific papers to claim humanity was non-sentient, no more intelligent than livestock, and due to another enemy of Mogan's the Sovereign had given it his personal seal of approval. To even attempt to disprove the results was to call the Sovereign a liar, which was a deathblow to any scientist's career and possibly skull.
Humans were rumored to be the fourth species whose sapience the Sovereignty denied, and known to be at least the second.
The San tribe had arrived with a little more than three hundred of the Vishtali, and they weren't so much unwilling prisoners as the San were unwilling guards. A lifetime as property had stamped itself onto them, and even now not all of them had recovered. Many of them had chosen jobs in the Settlements, and more than a hundred and fifty had decided to stay with the crew. And two or three dozen simply could not make a decision without being told what to decide. Mogan strongly suspected that any hunter who found those need only say “come along” to take them back.
It was a situation that could not continue and could not end, so Mogan was content to let the mental experts of the Settlements deal with it.
Those among the Vishtali who were able to choose, like the San, had chosen the side that would acknowledge them as people, and so Mogan hoped that his tribe would help their new people as he began the final clause.
“I, Mogan, Chieftan of the San people and loyal citizen of the Confederated Settlements, do swear....”

I’ve constantly been ridiculed and made fun of by my friends and family my whole life so I have absolutely no self esteem. I’m not attractive. I have no confidence. I’m autistic and I’m not good at anything. I’ve always been the least favorite friend. I’ll never be able to recover from the relentless bullying I went through as a kid. I just don’t see a point anymore. I always saw my life as some coming of age story where eventually I would find my way and everything would be okay but it’s not. Because I’m still the same me. The other day I was in the car with my mom and she told me to turn on the defroster and I didn’t know what that is or what it looked like because I learned how to drive in Florida. She spent the next 15 minutes making me feel worthless for not knowing it. I’m just constantly a punching bag. I’m sure my family would be sad if I was gone but I honestly don’t care anymore. It’s not worth staying alive for other people. Because I’m so insecure I always hid from cameras my whole life so there’s very very few photos and videos of me. It would be easy for them to move on because there wouldn’t be much to remember of me.

When I was a few years younger, I came into possession of a bunch of bulk vending machines, which are currently just a weird decoration in my home, I realized they totally could be making me money, I've been emailing and calling around my town, but no one seems interested, any advice for who I should call? Or how to do a better pitch? I'm also considering getting into vending machines/ soda machines, but I want to make sure I am capable of landing a location before I fully commit.

FIRST

here's the crash log.

SECOND

Just to clear this up quickly, before there's any confusion in the two concepts:

1. Scene Collections are the things found at the top of the menu bar under "Scene Collection" and act as subgroups for organizing your streams into categorized clades. If you're into that. Which I am. These are not the things shown on screen, rather, they are the folders that hold those things.
2. Scenes are the things which you actually add content to, and swap in between during a broadcast. They contain the video feeds and the text and the goodies.

THE ISSUE

This started out of nowhere - and the only thing I can think of is that I downloaded the OBS Websocket Plugin, though I have it disabled.
I was certain it might be the scripts, but I've checked them out too, even removed them. I don't know how to fix it, and there's A LOT OF WORK in these scenes that makes me feel sick if they are gone forever.

MISCELLANEOUS

• I can create new scenes, but not switch to them, as it causes a crash.
  • On reboot, the new scene will about 1/10 times show up when starting.
  • If I swap back to the cursed scene I'm stuck in, no crash.
  • If I pick anything else, crash.
• If I export and import scenes into a new scenes
• The crash log is outfitted with a chat room and allows anyone to edit it. There are backup revisions though, which are easily accessed from the top right of the page.
  • Feel free to select a color, and anything you type will be shown on the page for easy commenting.
  • We can also interact in the chat if you happen to be there at the same time as myself.

​
ANY HELP AT ALL WILL BE SERIOUSLY APPRECIATED.
I just made affiliate and this happened at the worst possible moment. I'd love to get it fixed .
(PS - I'm a programmer and a technically capable person, but I am stumped here. That said, please don't shy away from programming jargon or anything of the sort, I can take it - I think?)

I was looking to change icons and clicked on the link in #1. How do I get rid of all the icons? It looks like #2. I thought that was just an example, not necessarily that it would make it look like that from the get go.
https://scribehow.com/shared/Adding_a_Custom_Icon_to_Google_Maps__yI_96ehnRbCGPJdcu-w3Og

"Increasing the minimum wage would worsen the inflation" "pAaNo nAmAn yUnG mGa sMaLL aT meDiUm buSiNesSes" "yoU dOnT uNdErStAnD eConOm1cs"
Since the early 2000s, our salary increase is VERY SLOW. Hindi pantay sa pag taas ng bilihin at rent. Average CEO pay is MASSIVELY increased pero ang sahod ng mga mangagawa ang maliit parin. Billionaires keep getting richer. Tech companies had MASSIVE increase in profit even before the pandemic.
"Dapat controllin ang presyo ng pagkain. Hindi solution ang salary increase" And how do you EXPECT the government to accomplish that? Hindi nga nila sinusuporta yung mga fisherman at farmers natin. Our agriculture is underpaid because of corruption.
Politicans are just puppets by billionaires. They are bribed to pass anti-union laws to keep our wages down.
Kung bababa ang presyo ng mga bilihin at rent, edi bababa din ang ating sahod? Please STOP making the "Increasing the salary would worsen the inflation" bullshit.

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Let me tell you, probably the biggest dilemma ever presented to me.
I am a student and in a year I will finish my university career, I had never really prepared to find a partner, I just focused on doing my best for me (considering only my intellectual side). But I have terribly neglected my romantic side, something extremely important in the life of any person, especially in the long term.
One of the main causes is that I am a brokie student, my country is extremely expensive to go out to eat and invite someone and wages are much lower than the real cost of living, so I feel insecure about that, Also because the university in which I study is high class in standards of my country, so the girls who attend have high standards in a partner.
For this reason I have not even tried to talk to a girl in romantic terms, I have many friends and people I know, it is not a problem, but I have never taken the step to the romantic. The biggest problem with this is that I don't know the seduction and flirting games that I should know at this point, but I don't know.
Overall I consider myself a good catch. I really have many positive points and in general I have a good feedback in my friendly relationships with many girls. But the financial issue I think slows me down a lot (I'm not poor or anything, I just know I couldn't make many dates in beautiful places or great experiences).
After giving you this long context, what do you think I should do?
I'm in a university, always surrounded by pretty women, but I don't know how to get to something romantic. But I have to do something now or I'll regret it.
How can I approach an interesting girl, unknown in the cafeteria or in university spaces?
How to take the next step?
How would they deal with the economic issue, what do couples normally do in that situation?
Sorry for the length of my message, but it would help me a lot to advise me about this. ♥️

My name is John, and I used to be a successful financial advisor with a promising future. But life took an unexpected turn when I went through a devastating divorce. The pain of separation tore at my soul, leaving me broken and lost. In my despair, I sought solace in the only comfort I could find—food. Slowly, my once-toned physique expanded, and I found myself trapped in the clutches of a vicious cycle.
With each bite, I felt a temporary escape from my inner turmoil. The food became my refuge, a fleeting moment of relief from the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me. But as the weight piled on, so did my self-loathing. I despised what I saw in the mirror, the reflection of a broken man who had lost control of his own life. "How did I let it come to this?" I would ask myself, the despair heavy in my voice.
The cycle seemed unbreakable, an unyielding force that pushed me further into the depths of my own self-destruction. The battle between my desires and my self-control raged within me, with each defeated attempt only reinforcing my sense of failure. "I'm trapped," I would mutter to the empty room, my voice filled with resignation.
As my waistline expanded, so did my isolation. Friends and family grew distant, invitations dwindled, and I retreated further into my own self-imposed prison. The more I ate, the more I withdrew from the world, sinking deeper into a sedentary existence. The echoes of my own loneliness reverberated through the empty rooms, each moment of silence a reminder of the emptiness I felt. "I'm alone," I would whisper, the weight of the words heavy on my heart.
The weight gain brought with it a suffocating darkness, shrouding me in depression and amplifying my sense of worthlessness. I felt like a shadow of my former self, robbed of vitality and purpose. "Who am I now?" I would question, the uncertainty in my voice palpable.
I felt trapped, both physically and emotionally, unable to break free from the chains that bound me. The cycle had become my reality, a vicious dance that dictated my every move. Little did I know that my darkest days were yet to unfold.
The days turned into a blur of desolation as my depression deepened. The weight of my self-inflicted misery grew heavier with each passing moment. There were moments when I would stare into the abyss of my own despair, feeling utterly consumed by the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of my existence. "Will this emptiness ever end?" I would cry out in silent desperation.
Hoping for a glimmer of hope, I sought help from a doctor, praying for a way out of the abyss I had fallen into. The doctor's words were filled with compassion but also stark reality. They advised me to make significant lifestyle changes—exercise, eat healthier, and take care of my mental well-being. It sounded simple, but I knew deep down that breaking free from this vicious cycle would be an arduous battle, one that seemed almost insurmountable.
I followed the doctor's advice and tried medications and counseling, desperately clinging to the belief that they would be the panacea to my pain. However, the pills only brought temporary relief, masking the underlying anguish without truly addressing its roots. The counseling sessions, though helpful to some extent, felt like merely scratching the surface of the deep-seated wounds that plagued me. "Will I ever find solace? Or am I destined to be trapped in this torment forever?" I questioned, the despair in my voice growing.
Just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, fate dealt me an even crueler blow. I suffered a stroke, a shocking wake-up call to the toll my unhealthy lifestyle had taken on my body. I found myself in a hospital bed, immobilized and stripped of any semblance of control. The fear of losing everything—my health, my independence, and any chance at redemption—gripped me like a vice. As I lay there, vulnerable and fragile, the weight of my choices bore down on me with merciless force. "Is this the consequence of my self-destruction? Have I reached the point of no return?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my trembling lips.
Upon being discharged from the hospital, I returned to a life that was unrecognizable. The familiar comfort of my home was replaced by the stark reality of an empty apartment. It was a chilling reminder that my ex-spouse, driven to desperation by mounting medical bills, had sold our house to cover the expenses of my care. The emptiness echoed through the vacant rooms, mirroring the hollowness within me. I stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loss, as the weight of my past mistakes settled upon my shoulders. "I have nothing left," I muttered, the words barely audible in the vast emptiness.
As I surveyed my new surroundings, a cold realization washed over me—I was not only stripped of my home but also my job. The once-thriving career that had defined my identity had crumbled under the weight of my personal struggles. I was now faced with the harsh reality of unemployment, further isolating me from the world and plunging me deeper into despair. The days stretched out endlessly, devoid of purpose or direction. "What am I without my career? Who am I now?" I wondered, the anguish in my voice reflecting my profound sense of loss.
In my isolation, I sought refuge in the vast expanse of the digital world. I found myself drawn to a large news website, losing countless hours scrolling through its pages. To fill the void within me, I created a horror-themed page where I could curate and share stories. However, instead of promoting the work of talented writers, I found myself inexplicably drawn to removing stories that evoked true terror, replacing them with frivolous and foolish tales that amused me momentarily. It was a paradoxical act—calling it a horror-themed page while actively sabotaging the very essence of what made a story truly chilling. It became a reflection of my own twisted state of mind. "I've become a purveyor of hollow scares, like my own existence," I mused bitterly, the irony not lost on me.
Amidst my bleak existence, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a peculiar offer. An anonymous benefactor reached out to me, promising a solution to all my problems—a magical exercise bike. Skeptical yet desperate for change, I cautiously accepted the gift, unsure of what awaited me. How could a mere exercise bike hold the key to my salvation? Still, a sliver of hope flickered within me, urging me to give it a chance. "Maybe this is my opportunity to break free from this cycle of despair," I whispered, the anticipation tinged with trepidation.
I watched as the old El Camino pulled up to my apartment building, its worn exterior bearing the marks of time. The air seemed to grow heavy with an otherworldly presence as the vehicle came to a stop. An elderly man stepped out, his features etched with deep lines, and his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic knowledge that sent a shiver down my spine.
Approaching me with slow, deliberate steps, the elderly man's voice carried a weight of hidden secrets. "I've come to deliver this exercise bike," he said, his words tinged with mystery. "It is meant for a divorced horror writer in need of reclaiming their life." His tone conveyed a deeper understanding, as if he knew more than he revealed. A sense of caution enveloped me as he continued, "This bike holds power beyond comprehension. It can grant you what you desire, but at a cost. The terrors that lie within must be faced, and the balance between fear and redemption must be maintained. Use it wisely, or the consequences will be dire."
Curiosity intertwined with trepidation as I gazed at the exercise bike, its sleek frame glinting in the dim light of my apartment. Unsure of what lay ahead, I nodded, accepting the enigmatic gift. The elderly man's lips curled into a cryptic smile as he handed it over, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a profound knowledge in his gaze, as if he had witnessed the depths of human darkness.
With a final nod, the elderly man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. The door of the El Camino slammed shut, and the vehicle rumbled to life, fading into the night. I stood in the doorway, clutching the handlebars of the exercise bike, contemplating the path I had chosen.
As the apartment grew silent, an air of anticipation settled around me. I placed the exercise bike in a corner, its presence looming over the room like a silent specter. There was an inexplicable connection, an unspoken agreement between man and machine. The promises of health, wealth, and inspiration danced in my mind, but a flicker of doubt pierced through my thoughts. What did it truly mean to reclaim my life? And what horrors awaited me on this enigmatic journey?
The night stretched on, and my curiosity wrestled with trepidation. The exercise bike stood as a physical manifestation of the unknown, beckoning me to unlock its secrets. The gleam in the elderly man's eyes, filled with wisdom beyond this world, lingered in my memory. It was a crossroads moment, a choice that would shape my destiny.
With cautious determination, I finally decided to embrace the bike's invitation. I approached it, my hand trembling as I took a seat on the padded saddle. The room's atmosphere changed, charged with an unseen energy. As my fingers curled around the handlebars, I felt a faint pulse, as if the bike itself was awakening to my touch.
A chill wind stirred through the apartment, the curtains whispering secrets in an ancient language. I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Casting a final glance around the room, uncertainty etched on my face, I took a deep breath and began to pedal.
The exercise bike hummed to life, its wheels spinning in harmony with my growing determination. A strange sensation enveloped me as I pedaled, a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Whispers, distant and ethereal, filled the air, weaving their way into my consciousness. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, their forms shifting and contorting with every turn of the wheels.
Yet amidst the disconcerting atmosphere, I felt a glimmer of hope. The pounds began to melt away, my body growing lighter with each revolution. A surge of newfound vitality coursed through my veins, rekindling a sense of purpose that had long been dormant. It seemed the exercise bike's promises were not empty after all.
But as I continued my journey on the bike, I became aware of the fine line I treaded. The benefits multiplied, yes, but so did the terror that accompanied them. The bike demanded more than physical exertion; it demanded a confrontation with the deepest fears lurking within my soul.
During the second use, my breathing became labored, and the whispering noises intensified. My weight continued to drop, but with each passing minute, I caught glimpses of grotesque figures in my peripheral vision. Their contorted faces and elongated limbs sent chills down my spine.
The third use pushed me further as the whispers morphed into chilling voices that echoed inside my mind. I felt a growing sense of unease, as if being watched by unseen eyes. As the pounds melted away, I caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures lurking just beyond my line of sight. A cold, ominous presence filled the room.
The fourth use plunged me into a realm of terror. The voices grew louder, their words distorted and filled with malice. Nightmarish visions assailed my senses as I pedaled, my body drenched in sweat. The weight loss accelerated, but each moment on the bike became an ordeal. I felt icy fingers brush against my skin, and a cacophony of screams filled my ears.
The fifth use took me to the edge of my sanity. The voices now screamed in my ears, their words a maddening cacophony. The room became a hall of mirrors, reflecting twisted versions of myself. I pedaled with desperate determination, feeling my body grow lighter and weaker. The nightmarish visions became more vivid as I was thrust into a macabre carnival of horrors. The weight loss continued relentlessly, as if draining not just my physical form but my very essence.
Each moment on the bike felt like an eternity, as if time itself had become distorted. My mind struggled to distinguish between reality and the phantasmagorical realm I found myself trapped in. The boundary between fear and redemption blurred, and I questioned whether the price I paid was worth the fleeting benefits I received.
But even as the terrors intensified, a stubborn resolve burned within me. I had embarked on this journey for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now. I had to face the darkest corners of my soul, confront the demons that lurked within, and find the strength to endure.
With every pedal, I pushed myself further, confronting my deepest fears head-on. The exercise bike became a portal into the abyss of my own psyche, an unforgiving mirror reflecting the shadows I had long avoided. It whispered secrets, dredging up buried memories and forgotten traumas, forcing me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
It was a grueling battle, both physically and mentally. The torment was relentless, but I refused to succumb. I had to prove myself worthy of the promises made by the enigmatic deliveryman. The weight loss persisted, shedding not just the physical pounds but the emotional burdens that had plagued me for years.
And then, as if sensing my resolve, the exercise bike released its grip on me. The whispers faded, the nightmarish visions receded, and the room returned to its familiar surroundings. I sat there, panting and trembling, my body drenched in sweat. The silence that followed was heavy with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
I dismounted the exercise bike, my legs trembling from exhaustion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a changed person. The physical transformation was undeniable, but it was the inner transformation that held the true power. I had faced my fears, endured the horrors that resided within me, and emerged on the other side.
But as the adrenaline subsided, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. What had I become in my pursuit of redemption? Had I lost too much of myself in the process? The exercise bike had granted me power, but at what cost? The line between triumph and tragedy was thin, and I had to navigate it carefully.
I took a step back, my gaze lingering on the exercise bike. It stood there, a silent witness to my journey, a constant reminder of the horrors I had faced. Its presence carried a weight of both temptation and warning, a duality that mirrored the path I had chosen.
As I stood there, contemplating my next move, I couldn't shake the feeling that the true test was yet to come. The exercise bike had brought me this far, but its enigmatic power still held sway over my life. It was up to me to wield it wisely, to find the balance between fear and redemption, or risk being consumed by the very horrors I sought to overcome.
And so, with a mix of trepidation and determination, I made a silent vow to myself. I would use the exercise bike sparingly, cautiously venturing into its realm only when necessary. I had learned the hard way that true transformation required more than shortcuts and supernatural assistance. It required the resilience of the human spirit, the willingness to face one's demons, and the strength to find redemption on one's own terms.
The enigmatic delivery had set me on a path I never anticipated, a journey into the heart of darkness. It was a path fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also a path of self-discovery and possibility. The exercise bike had become both my ally and my adversary, a reminder that the true horror lies not in the external forces that assail us, but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, with a deep breath and a newfound determination, I stepped away from the exercise bike, ready to face whatever lay ahead on this twisted and haunting road. The enigmatic delivery had changed my life forever, and now it was up to me to determine the ultimate outcome of this horrifying tale.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself grappling with the aftermath of my transformative journey. The weight I had lost began to stabilize, settling into a healthier range. My physical appearance had altered, but it was the internal shifts that intrigued me the most.
The horrors I had faced on the exercise bike lingered in my memories, haunting my dreams and shaping my thoughts. The visions and whispers, though diminished, still echoed within me, reminding me of the darkness that resided in the deepest recesses of my being. It was a constant reminder that I had confronted my fears but had not emerged unscathed.
In the wake of my transformation, a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration blossomed within me. The horrors I had experienced became fuel for my writing, infusing my stories with a raw authenticity that struck a chord with readers. My horror-themed website, once stagnant and overlooked, now garnered attention as I poured my soul into each chilling tale.
But with the success came a temptation, a seductive lure to exploit the supernatural power that had transformed me. As my audience grew, so did my desire for more, and I found myself straying from the path of authenticity. I began favoring shallow and amusing tales over genuine horror, seeking to please the masses rather than staying true to my newfound voice.
Blinded by my own arrogance, I reveled in the illusion of control. I believed that I had mastered the exercise bike's power, that I could harness its energy for personal gain without consequence. I became overconfident, ungrateful for the second chance that had been granted to me.
But fate has a way of reminding us of our fallibility. One fateful day, consumed by my self-righteous mission of curating the website, I inadvertently removed the latest story posted by my mysterious benefactor. It was the very last story, the final piece of their enigmatic contribution. The realization of my mistake hit me like a thunderclap, and a surge of panic coursed through my veins.
Dread gripped my heart as I comprehended the gravity of what I had done. The warnings of the old man echoed in my mind, his enigmatic words resurfacing with chilling clarity. The consequences I had dismissed as mere cautionary tales now loomed before me, ready to exact their toll.
As the realization sank in, I rushed to undo my mistake, frantically attempting to restore the benefactor's story. But it was too late. The story had vanished from the website, leaving an empty void in its wake. I had severed the connection, severing my ties to the very source of my transformation.
A deep sense of unease settled over me as I surveyed the now incomplete website, my hubris laid bare for all to see. The exercise bike, once contained and stationary, now broke free from its restraints. It defied the laws of physics, defying gravity as it levitated in the air before my eyes. Its presence loomed over me, a specter of my own making, an embodiment of the consequences I had unleashed.
I screamed, the sound of my terror reverberating through the empty rooms. But it was futile. The exercise bike had taken on a life of its own, carrying with it the weight of my arrogance and the burden of my choices. It was a haunting reminder of the price I had paid, a physical manifestation of the horrors that had consumed me.
As the exercise bike vanished into the darkness, leaving me in a state of desolation, my life spiraled into chaos. The job offer that had once held promise vanished, slipping through my fingers like smoke. My ex-spouse, sensing the shift in my demeanor, withdrew the possibility of reconciliation, leaving me alone with the consequences of my actions.
The weight that had once melted away returned with a vengeance, clinging to me like an oppressive burden. The pounds piled on, reflecting not just the physical toll of my choices but the emotional and spiritual toll as well. I found myself isolated and haunted, the memories of the bike's nightmares intertwining with the regrets that consumed me.
The horror-themed website, once my pride and joy, lost its allure. The twisted inspiration that had fueled my writing was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. My audience dwindled, questioning my credibility as my judgment came under scrutiny. I had become a mere shell of my former self, a cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris and the high price of redemption.
Each passing day unraveled me further, stripping away the fragments of the life I had built on the foundation of my arrogance. I was left to confront the consequences of my choices, a bitter reminder of the path not taken, the second chance squandered.
As I stood there, facing the wreckage of my life, I couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for redemption. The exercise bike, now vanished, had left its mark on me, a reminder of the horrors I had faced and the lessons I had learned too late. It served as a haunting symbol of the choices we make and the responsibility we bear for their consequences.
Time passed, and I found myself back at square one, facing the consequences of my actions. The exercise bike's absence served as a haunting reminder of my hubris and the lost opportunity for redemption. The weight returned, a physical manifestation of my failures, while the echoes of the bike's terrors continued to haunt my dreams.
I was left to ponder the lessons I had learned too late. The exercise bike, once a portal to transformation and possibility, now stood as a testament to my squandered second chance. With a heavy heart, I contemplated the cycle of my life, knowing that unless I broke free from my destructive patterns, history would repeat itself, and I would lose everything and everyone all over again.
The exercise bike remained a cautionary tale, whispered among those who dared to seek shortcuts to their desires. Its whereabouts remained unknown, its power left unchecked. And as I grappled with my demons, I realized that the true horror lay not in the bike itself but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, I stood there, amidst the remnants of my shattered life, knowing that true redemption would require more than a supernatural shortcut. It would demand that I confront my deepest fears, make amends for my mistakes, and forge a new path—one built on humility, empathy, and the unwavering commitment to face the horrors within myself without seeking external sources of power.
The exercise bike had been a catalyst, a twisted gift that revealed the darkness within me. It had taken me to the edge of my sanity and forced me to confront the demons that lurked in the depths of my soul. But ultimately, it was up to me to rebuild, to find redemption within myself and seek a life free from the cycle of fear and hubris.
As I took my first uncertain steps forward, I carried with me the lessons learned from the enigmatic delivery. The exercise bike had been a harrowing chapter in my life, but it was not the end of my story. With determination and a newfound understanding, I vowed to break free from the haunting grip of the past and embrace a future shaped by humility, growth, and the pursuit of true redemption.

Hey everyone! So like the title says, I don’t know if what im struggling with is simply identity issues or if this might be the presence alters. Ive been looking for osdd for about 2 years now, and as of recent, ive realized something, but again i dont know if this is just me and my identity issues or if theyre actually alters… I’ll try my best to explain exactly how I feel, but it might be a little confusing as im not the best at explanations :,)…
So since forever i’ve had a very complicated relationship with myself. I don’t have a sense of self at all and don’t really know who I am as a person, because Ive always felt like multiple different people at once, but as one individual if that makes sense. Basically, Ive felt like my “self” is cut up into a bunch of different “me’s” that, as a whole, make the full me, but that all these parts have behaviours that differ from one another and are their own people (like. Literally. ive Talked to them before) some of them feel certain emotions incredibly strongly compared to others, and may not experience a certain other emotion(s) or experience it very little… i dont know them very well, but from all my interactions with them some of them feel like their personality is more centered around a certain emotion, but more developed if that makes sense, but maybe thats because i dont know em all too well to rly know what theyre like apart from that. for example tho, one of these me’s carries a LOOOT of anger but its not just like needless anger and isnt just a “oh this is angry me”. they think for themself and have their reasons for their anger and feel like their own individual, and i have talked to them before as one would with another person. i dont know if theyre simply Just an angry person, but all my convos with them have been pretty harsh ones so. i dunno.
anyway, like i said earlier, ive always felt like these me’s were just fragments of my personality who, as a whole, make me and my Full personality, but then theres the issue where i sometimes switch between acting like one of these me’s to acting like another involuntarily. If these were really “fragments of my personality that made me as a whole” then id just be acting as the whole, no??? i wouldnt be switching between different versions of myself, id be the combination of All those versions !! yet im not !! i think the reason ive always considered these parts to be “versions of me” or “fragments of my full personality” is because it just felt so natural, as in, when id become a different me (involuntarily), that just felt like….who i always was? i dont know how to word that exactly, it just didnt feel like i just had a major mood swing thats made my behaviour do a 180, but that the way im currently behaving is just How Ive Always Been, that thats Always Been Me, even though just a couple days ago i was acting COMPLETELY different and, back then in that moment too, thats how i felt id always been like!! so i guess because it felt so natural i just said “well i guess theyre all just me because they feel like just who i am. theyre all really different tho, but thats probably because theyre all diff versions of me, so together theyd make my “self” i guess.” i really hope i explained that in a way that makes sense. its so hard to word how this feels!!!.!!
also, another reason i thought they were all “versions of me”, is cuz we all share the same basic identity, and by basic identity I mean name, age, pronouns, gender, appearance, etc. ever since I was a kid, I would talk to “myself” and told people that I was friends with “myself”, but i really meant that in a literal sense. I mean I would talk to this other person (internally), who shared my name, appearance, etc… but was completely different from me personality-wise and felt like theyre a completely different person that just Isnt me, they just happen to look like me and have my face, so thats why id say theyre “me” too. They act like different people, they have their own relationships with each other, they feel like theyre their own individuals, but i just dont know. is this just a heavy detachment from my “self” because of my terrible identity issues, that make it so that i perceive my “self” as being split up into a bunch of different individuals, when in actuality its just me, as a means of coping with my unstable identity? or is this a product of my emotional dysregulation and intense emotions that make me perceive myself to be a bunch of different people in order to cope with it, or are these “versions of me” not actually versions of me at all but alters???? i mean, like i said they have always felt like their own individuals Even if i called them versions of me, and ive literally had conversations with them, but i seriously just dont know anymore.
this was very long and incredibly messy so im super sorry!! but i still hope i somehow made sense… I tried my best to put these feelings into words, but its seriously so hard to explain. i seriously have no idea how to properly word any of this. this might also be because, for the majority of my life I would completely change my personality to please other people and that really screwed up my perception of myself, so maybe now i just see myself as a bunch of different people (that i can somehow interact with or “become” involuntarily?????) because of that??? but again i really dont know. any advice would be really appreciated, this is seriously stressing me out and it feels like my worlds been flipped upside down. i just want things to make sense ;_;

i feel like this would make the feature like 20x more useful as you could broadcast a note to a bunch of phones in a class (they dont even need to be able to draw just view) or meeting i think it would be really cool.
I seem to have not found a way to do this but i wonder if there is a way to copy the app from the device to use it on an android does anyone have any information on this or how to do it without hacks

My name is John, and I used to be a successful financial advisor with a promising future. But life took an unexpected turn when I went through a devastating divorce. The pain of separation tore at my soul, leaving me broken and lost. In my despair, I sought solace in the only comfort I could find—food. Slowly, my once-toned physique expanded, and I found myself trapped in the clutches of a vicious cycle.
With each bite, I felt a temporary escape from my inner turmoil. The food became my refuge, a fleeting moment of relief from the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me. But as the weight piled on, so did my self-loathing. I despised what I saw in the mirror, the reflection of a broken man who had lost control of his own life. "How did I let it come to this?" I would ask myself, the despair heavy in my voice.
The cycle seemed unbreakable, an unyielding force that pushed me further into the depths of my own self-destruction. The battle between my desires and my self-control raged within me, with each defeated attempt only reinforcing my sense of failure. "I'm trapped," I would mutter to the empty room, my voice filled with resignation.
As my waistline expanded, so did my isolation. Friends and family grew distant, invitations dwindled, and I retreated further into my own self-imposed prison. The more I ate, the more I withdrew from the world, sinking deeper into a sedentary existence. The echoes of my own loneliness reverberated through the empty rooms, each moment of silence a reminder of the emptiness I felt. "I'm alone," I would whisper, the weight of the words heavy on my heart.
The weight gain brought with it a suffocating darkness, shrouding me in depression and amplifying my sense of worthlessness. I felt like a shadow of my former self, robbed of vitality and purpose. "Who am I now?" I would question, the uncertainty in my voice palpable.
I felt trapped, both physically and emotionally, unable to break free from the chains that bound me. The cycle had become my reality, a vicious dance that dictated my every move. Little did I know that my darkest days were yet to unfold.
The days turned into a blur of desolation as my depression deepened. The weight of my self-inflicted misery grew heavier with each passing moment. There were moments when I would stare into the abyss of my own despair, feeling utterly consumed by the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of my existence. "Will this emptiness ever end?" I would cry out in silent desperation.
Hoping for a glimmer of hope, I sought help from a doctor, praying for a way out of the abyss I had fallen into. The doctor's words were filled with compassion but also stark reality. They advised me to make significant lifestyle changes—exercise, eat healthier, and take care of my mental well-being. It sounded simple, but I knew deep down that breaking free from this vicious cycle would be an arduous battle, one that seemed almost insurmountable.
I followed the doctor's advice and tried medications and counseling, desperately clinging to the belief that they would be the panacea to my pain. However, the pills only brought temporary relief, masking the underlying anguish without truly addressing its roots. The counseling sessions, though helpful to some extent, felt like merely scratching the surface of the deep-seated wounds that plagued me. "Will I ever find solace? Or am I destined to be trapped in this torment forever?" I questioned, the despair in my voice growing.
Just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, fate dealt me an even crueler blow. I suffered a stroke, a shocking wake-up call to the toll my unhealthy lifestyle had taken on my body. I found myself in a hospital bed, immobilized and stripped of any semblance of control. The fear of losing everything—my health, my independence, and any chance at redemption—gripped me like a vice. As I lay there, vulnerable and fragile, the weight of my choices bore down on me with merciless force. "Is this the consequence of my self-destruction? Have I reached the point of no return?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my trembling lips.
Upon being discharged from the hospital, I returned to a life that was unrecognizable. The familiar comfort of my home was replaced by the stark reality of an empty apartment. It was a chilling reminder that my ex-spouse, driven to desperation by mounting medical bills, had sold our house to cover the expenses of my care. The emptiness echoed through the vacant rooms, mirroring the hollowness within me. I stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loss, as the weight of my past mistakes settled upon my shoulders. "I have nothing left," I muttered, the words barely audible in the vast emptiness.
As I surveyed my new surroundings, a cold realization washed over me—I was not only stripped of my home but also my job. The once-thriving career that had defined my identity had crumbled under the weight of my personal struggles. I was now faced with the harsh reality of unemployment, further isolating me from the world and plunging me deeper into despair. The days stretched out endlessly, devoid of purpose or direction. "What am I without my career? Who am I now?" I wondered, the anguish in my voice reflecting my profound sense of loss.
In my isolation, I sought refuge in the vast expanse of the digital world. I found myself drawn to a large news website, losing countless hours scrolling through its pages. To fill the void within me, I created a horror-themed page where I could curate and share stories. However, instead of promoting the work of talented writers, I found myself inexplicably drawn to removing stories that evoked true terror, replacing them with frivolous and foolish tales that amused me momentarily. It was a paradoxical act—calling it a horror-themed page while actively sabotaging the very essence of what made a story truly chilling. It became a reflection of my own twisted state of mind. "I've become a purveyor of hollow scares, like my own existence," I mused bitterly, the irony not lost on me.
Amidst my bleak existence, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a peculiar offer. An anonymous benefactor reached out to me, promising a solution to all my problems—a magical exercise bike. Skeptical yet desperate for change, I cautiously accepted the gift, unsure of what awaited me. How could a mere exercise bike hold the key to my salvation? Still, a sliver of hope flickered within me, urging me to give it a chance. "Maybe this is my opportunity to break free from this cycle of despair," I whispered, the anticipation tinged with trepidation.
I watched as the old El Camino pulled up to my apartment building, its worn exterior bearing the marks of time. The air seemed to grow heavy with an otherworldly presence as the vehicle came to a stop. An elderly man stepped out, his features etched with deep lines, and his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic knowledge that sent a shiver down my spine.
Approaching me with slow, deliberate steps, the elderly man's voice carried a weight of hidden secrets. "I've come to deliver this exercise bike," he said, his words tinged with mystery. "It is meant for a divorced horror writer in need of reclaiming their life." His tone conveyed a deeper understanding, as if he knew more than he revealed. A sense of caution enveloped me as he continued, "This bike holds power beyond comprehension. It can grant you what you desire, but at a cost. The terrors that lie within must be faced, and the balance between fear and redemption must be maintained. Use it wisely, or the consequences will be dire."
Curiosity intertwined with trepidation as I gazed at the exercise bike, its sleek frame glinting in the dim light of my apartment. Unsure of what lay ahead, I nodded, accepting the enigmatic gift. The elderly man's lips curled into a cryptic smile as he handed it over, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a profound knowledge in his gaze, as if he had witnessed the depths of human darkness.
With a final nod, the elderly man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. The door of the El Camino slammed shut, and the vehicle rumbled to life, fading into the night. I stood in the doorway, clutching the handlebars of the exercise bike, contemplating the path I had chosen.
As the apartment grew silent, an air of anticipation settled around me. I placed the exercise bike in a corner, its presence looming over the room like a silent specter. There was an inexplicable connection, an unspoken agreement between man and machine. The promises of health, wealth, and inspiration danced in my mind, but a flicker of doubt pierced through my thoughts. What did it truly mean to reclaim my life? And what horrors awaited me on this enigmatic journey?
The night stretched on, and my curiosity wrestled with trepidation. The exercise bike stood as a physical manifestation of the unknown, beckoning me to unlock its secrets. The gleam in the elderly man's eyes, filled with wisdom beyond this world, lingered in my memory. It was a crossroads moment, a choice that would shape my destiny.
With cautious determination, I finally decided to embrace the bike's invitation. I approached it, my hand trembling as I took a seat on the padded saddle. The room's atmosphere changed, charged with an unseen energy. As my fingers curled around the handlebars, I felt a faint pulse, as if the bike itself was awakening to my touch.
A chill wind stirred through the apartment, the curtains whispering secrets in an ancient language. I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Casting a final glance around the room, uncertainty etched on my face, I took a deep breath and began to pedal.
The exercise bike hummed to life, its wheels spinning in harmony with my growing determination. A strange sensation enveloped me as I pedaled, a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Whispers, distant and ethereal, filled the air, weaving their way into my consciousness. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, their forms shifting and contorting with every turn of the wheels.
Yet amidst the disconcerting atmosphere, I felt a glimmer of hope. The pounds began to melt away, my body growing lighter with each revolution. A surge of newfound vitality coursed through my veins, rekindling a sense of purpose that had long been dormant. It seemed the exercise bike's promises were not empty after all.
But as I continued my journey on the bike, I became aware of the fine line I treaded. The benefits multiplied, yes, but so did the terror that accompanied them. The bike demanded more than physical exertion; it demanded a confrontation with the deepest fears lurking within my soul.
During the second use, my breathing became labored, and the whispering noises intensified. My weight continued to drop, but with each passing minute, I caught glimpses of grotesque figures in my peripheral vision. Their contorted faces and elongated limbs sent chills down my spine.
The third use pushed me further as the whispers morphed into chilling voices that echoed inside my mind. I felt a growing sense of unease, as if being watched by unseen eyes. As the pounds melted away, I caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures lurking just beyond my line of sight. A cold, ominous presence filled the room.
The fourth use plunged me into a realm of terror. The voices grew louder, their words distorted and filled with malice. Nightmarish visions assailed my senses as I pedaled, my body drenched in sweat. The weight loss accelerated, but each moment on the bike became an ordeal. I felt icy fingers brush against my skin, and a cacophony of screams filled my ears.
The fifth use took me to the edge of my sanity. The voices now screamed in my ears, their words a maddening cacophony. The room became a hall of mirrors, reflecting twisted versions of myself. I pedaled with desperate determination, feeling my body grow lighter and weaker. The nightmarish visions became more vivid as I was thrust into a macabre carnival of horrors. The weight loss continued relentlessly, as if draining not just my physical form but my very essence.
Each moment on the bike felt like an eternity, as if time itself had become distorted. My mind struggled to distinguish between reality and the phantasmagorical realm I found myself trapped in. The boundary between fear and redemption blurred, and I questioned whether the price I paid was worth the fleeting benefits I received.
But even as the terrors intensified, a stubborn resolve burned within me. I had embarked on this journey for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now. I had to face the darkest corners of my soul, confront the demons that lurked within, and find the strength to endure.
With every pedal, I pushed myself further, confronting my deepest fears head-on. The exercise bike became a portal into the abyss of my own psyche, an unforgiving mirror reflecting the shadows I had long avoided. It whispered secrets, dredging up buried memories and forgotten traumas, forcing me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
It was a grueling battle, both physically and mentally. The torment was relentless, but I refused to succumb. I had to prove myself worthy of the promises made by the enigmatic deliveryman. The weight loss persisted, shedding not just the physical pounds but the emotional burdens that had plagued me for years.
And then, as if sensing my resolve, the exercise bike released its grip on me. The whispers faded, the nightmarish visions receded, and the room returned to its familiar surroundings. I sat there, panting and trembling, my body drenched in sweat. The silence that followed was heavy with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
I dismounted the exercise bike, my legs trembling from exhaustion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a changed person. The physical transformation was undeniable, but it was the inner transformation that held the true power. I had faced my fears, endured the horrors that resided within me, and emerged on the other side.
But as the adrenaline subsided, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. What had I become in my pursuit of redemption? Had I lost too much of myself in the process? The exercise bike had granted me power, but at what cost? The line between triumph and tragedy was thin, and I had to navigate it carefully.
I took a step back, my gaze lingering on the exercise bike. It stood there, a silent witness to my journey, a constant reminder of the horrors I had faced. Its presence carried a weight of both temptation and warning, a duality that mirrored the path I had chosen.
As I stood there, contemplating my next move, I couldn't shake the feeling that the true test was yet to come. The exercise bike had brought me this far, but its enigmatic power still held sway over my life. It was up to me to wield it wisely, to find the balance between fear and redemption, or risk being consumed by the very horrors I sought to overcome.
And so, with a mix of trepidation and determination, I made a silent vow to myself. I would use the exercise bike sparingly, cautiously venturing into its realm only when necessary. I had learned the hard way that true transformation required more than shortcuts and supernatural assistance. It required the resilience of the human spirit, the willingness to face one's demons, and the strength to find redemption on one's own terms.
The enigmatic delivery had set me on a path I never anticipated, a journey into the heart of darkness. It was a path fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also a path of self-discovery and possibility. The exercise bike had become both my ally and my adversary, a reminder that the true horror lies not in the external forces that assail us, but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, with a deep breath and a newfound determination, I stepped away from the exercise bike, ready to face whatever lay ahead on this twisted and haunting road. The enigmatic delivery had changed my life forever, and now it was up to me to determine the ultimate outcome of this horrifying tale.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself grappling with the aftermath of my transformative journey. The weight I had lost began to stabilize, settling into a healthier range. My physical appearance had altered, but it was the internal shifts that intrigued me the most.
The horrors I had faced on the exercise bike lingered in my memories, haunting my dreams and shaping my thoughts. The visions and whispers, though diminished, still echoed within me, reminding me of the darkness that resided in the deepest recesses of my being. It was a constant reminder that I had confronted my fears but had not emerged unscathed.
In the wake of my transformation, a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration blossomed within me. The horrors I had experienced became fuel for my writing, infusing my stories with a raw authenticity that struck a chord with readers. My horror-themed website, once stagnant and overlooked, now garnered attention as I poured my soul into each chilling tale.
But with the success came a temptation, a seductive lure to exploit the supernatural power that had transformed me. As my audience grew, so did my desire for more, and I found myself straying from the path of authenticity. I began favoring shallow and amusing tales over genuine horror, seeking to please the masses rather than staying true to my newfound voice.
Blinded by my own arrogance, I reveled in the illusion of control. I believed that I had mastered the exercise bike's power, that I could harness its energy for personal gain without consequence. I became overconfident, ungrateful for the second chance that had been granted to me.
But fate has a way of reminding us of our fallibility. One fateful day, consumed by my self-righteous mission of curating the website, I inadvertently removed the latest story posted by my mysterious benefactor. It was the very last story, the final piece of their enigmatic contribution. The realization of my mistake hit me like a thunderclap, and a surge of panic coursed through my veins.
Dread gripped my heart as I comprehended the gravity of what I had done. The warnings of the old man echoed in my mind, his enigmatic words resurfacing with chilling clarity. The consequences I had dismissed as mere cautionary tales now loomed before me, ready to exact their toll.
As the realization sank in, I rushed to undo my mistake, frantically attempting to restore the benefactor's story. But it was too late. The story had vanished from the website, leaving an empty void in its wake. I had severed the connection, severing my ties to the very source of my transformation.
A deep sense of unease settled over me as I surveyed the now incomplete website, my hubris laid bare for all to see. The exercise bike, once contained and stationary, now broke free from its restraints. It defied the laws of physics, defying gravity as it levitated in the air before my eyes. Its presence loomed over me, a specter of my own making, an embodiment of the consequences I had unleashed.
I screamed, the sound of my terror reverberating through the empty rooms. But it was futile. The exercise bike had taken on a life of its own, carrying with it the weight of my arrogance and the burden of my choices. It was a haunting reminder of the price I had paid, a physical manifestation of the horrors that had consumed me.
As the exercise bike vanished into the darkness, leaving me in a state of desolation, my life spiraled into chaos. The job offer that had once held promise vanished, slipping through my fingers like smoke. My ex-spouse, sensing the shift in my demeanor, withdrew the possibility of reconciliation, leaving me alone with the consequences of my actions.
The weight that had once melted away returned with a vengeance, clinging to me like an oppressive burden. The pounds piled on, reflecting not just the physical toll of my choices but the emotional and spiritual toll as well. I found myself isolated and haunted, the memories of the bike's nightmares intertwining with the regrets that consumed me.
The horror-themed website, once my pride and joy, lost its allure. The twisted inspiration that had fueled my writing was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. My audience dwindled, questioning my credibility as my judgment came under scrutiny. I had become a mere shell of my former self, a cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris and the high price of redemption.
Each passing day unraveled me further, stripping away the fragments of the life I had built on the foundation of my arrogance. I was left to confront the consequences of my choices, a bitter reminder of the path not taken, the second chance squandered.
As I stood there, facing the wreckage of my life, I couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for redemption. The exercise bike, now vanished, had left its mark on me, a reminder of the horrors I had faced and the lessons I had learned too late. It served as a haunting symbol of the choices we make and the responsibility we bear for their consequences.
Time passed, and I found myself back at square one, facing the consequences of my actions. The exercise bike's absence served as a haunting reminder of my hubris and the lost opportunity for redemption. The weight returned, a physical manifestation of my failures, while the echoes of the bike's terrors continued to haunt my dreams.
I was left to ponder the lessons I had learned too late. The exercise bike, once a portal to transformation and possibility, now stood as a testament to my squandered second chance. With a heavy heart, I contemplated the cycle of my life, knowing that unless I broke free from my destructive patterns, history would repeat itself, and I would lose everything and everyone all over again.
The exercise bike remained a cautionary tale, whispered among those who dared to seek shortcuts to their desires. Its whereabouts remained unknown, its power left unchecked. And as I grappled with my demons, I realized that the true horror lay not in the bike itself but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, I stood there, amidst the remnants of my shattered life, knowing that true redemption would require more than a supernatural shortcut. It would demand that I confront my deepest fears, make amends for my mistakes, and forge a new path—one built on humility, empathy, and the unwavering commitment to face the horrors within myself without seeking external sources of power.
The exercise bike had been a catalyst, a twisted gift that revealed the darkness within me. It had taken me to the edge of my sanity and forced me to confront the demons that lurked in the depths of my soul. But ultimately, it was up to me to rebuild, to find redemption within myself and seek a life free from the cycle of fear and hubris.
As I took my first uncertain steps forward, I carried with me the lessons learned from the enigmatic delivery. The exercise bike had been a harrowing chapter in my life, but it was not the end of my story. With determination and a newfound understanding, I vowed to break free from the haunting grip of the past and embrace a future shaped by humility, growth, and the pursuit of true redemption.

I detest my direct supervisor. There are so many reasons that I don’t even have time to get into right now…but she is easily the most unethical, unhelpful person/supervisor I have ever had. I have 5 more months of clinical supervision before I meet my requirements for independent licensure. How do I get through it without losing my job or saying something I’ll truly regret? Last weeks supervision was the worst…I will share this: She always tells me other staff and patients have said things about me- I heard you told this person this, or This patient said you told them this…and I HATE that shit. It’s so passive aggressive and weak, and I know what she’s doing and it just pisses me off. It sucks too because my previous supervisors have been amazing and I learned so much from them. This woman makes me feel like I’m regressing as a clinician. Even writing about it to make this post has me upset. I kind of want advice, but mostly wanted to rant. One good thing-I’m learning all the things NOT to do as a supervisor.

I stupidly told my med doctor I tried to kill myself. She wanted me to use my safety plan and go to a daytime mental hospital for extra support, but I cant bring myself to do it. I don’t give a shit about myself, so why would I go out of my way to use a safety plan and hospitalize myself? Plus, the ratings are absolutely atrocious. It sounds like torture, and just the thought of going is making me feel panicked and suffocated. And theres no way Im gonna be able to pay for it anyways without my parents finding out. And if they do, they’ll take away everything I have. My meds, my therapist, my privacy, my school. They wont understand and theyll punish me.
Ive had this unbearable anxiety pressing on my chest the whole day and have had a hyperventilating panic attack. I tried to reach out to some friends for help cuz I just needed someone to listen, and none of them care. Literally only one of them responded, and it was with “oof”. It really fucking hurts fully realizing that nobody I care about cares about me at all. I dont know why I keep fucking forgetting this. Just finally acknowledging that I am completely alone has sent me into a hopeless panicked frenzy. I dont know how to describe what’s happening. Its like I am filled with overwhelming anguish and Im physically incapable of crying it all out and soothing myself so it just builds back up worse than before. I feel like I HAVE to die because of how worthless I am. I even lied to my therapist today about being okay because I dont think it’ll matter. Nothing will change, no one I care about will ever be here for me. I dont wanna put myself through this hospitalization. Its not going to change what I have in life. I dont want to be alone, but everyone always leaves me alone and turns their back, and neither the mental hospital or therapy can fix that.
I know most of you are going to tell me that you care, and I really appreciate being able to hear that, but I just really want the people I love to give a shit about me. Im so overwhelmed and scared I cant breathe.

I’ve had the stomach flu for 5 days. Kiddo was home sick 3 days last week and this week he’s out of school and our back up care fell through. I have a new job and wfh while watching kid is impossible. I must have some overstimulation issue, his cries and screams make me want to drive away, and tbh sometimes make myself disappear. It’s just too much. I have no idea how anyone is a SAHM, I can barely handle him alone for 1 day. It’s so hard, I’m not cut out for this. I want hurt myself or him. I love him but I regret this. I’m drowning. I have a great partner but no other village really. I just… want to go into a coma for a few days to rest.

I (16 male) started dating my gf officially a few months ago, it's great, I've been in love with her for almost 2 years now. 3 years ago, my ex (1 year older, male) ended things with me, but it was a slow process and I had a lot of unanswered questions and things left unsaid. He was the first person I actually fell in love with, so maybe that's why some small fraction of me still thinks of him. He was able to understand me better than anyone else at the time, I had crushed on him for years and it was my first relationship so I was all blushy and nervous all of the time, and he started to get a little impatient with that, I think, which brought an end to it, but he never outright said this. He just tried to drift away over time in attempts to make it hurt less, I think. We talked like a year afterwards and he recommended me some shows, things were like when we were just friends, and I realized how much I missed him. I want to talk again to see if this is just me thinking too much or not, and to be honest, I do really miss his personality. But I am cautious. He shows up in my dreams a lot. Sometimes they are sexual, sometimes it's just a normal setting. In a recent one, he started texting me out of the blue and asked what my feelings were. I just replied that I've always missed him and he would always be important to me no matter what, as a friend. I remember thinking in the dream, "what am I going to do. There is a chance I might love him again, I'm in a relationship and this isn't right. If he asks me to be with him I'll have to think about it, that isn't good."
Anyway. I think that this is happening because there wasn't enough communication back then. I want closure so I can move on fully. I love my girlfriend, I've been waiting for this. I want to make sure I don't fuck this up. How do I move on from here.

LPI (LP Information)' newest research report, the “Car Child Seat Industry Forecast” looks at past sales and reviews total world Car Child Seat sales in 2022, providing a comprehensive analysis by region and market sector of projected Car Child Seat sales for 2023 through 2029. With Car Child Seat sales broken down by region, market sector and sub-sector, this report provides a detailed analysis in US$ millions of the world Car Child Seat industry.
This Insight Report provides a comprehensive analysis of the global Car Child Seat landscape and highlights key trends related to product segmentation, company formation, revenue, and market share, latest development, and M&A activity. This report also analyzes the strategies of leading global companies with a focus on Car Child Seat portfolios and capabilities, market entry strategies, market positions, and geographic footprints, to better understand these firms' unique position in an accelerating global Car Child Seat market.
This report presents a comprehensive overview, market shares, and growth opportunities of Car Child Seat market by product type, application, key manufacturers and key regions and countries.
https://www.lpinformationdata.com/reports/729712/car-child-seat-2029
The main participants
Graco
Britax
Recaro
Joyson Safety Systems
Maxi-cosi
Chicco
Combi
Jane
BeSafe
Concord
Aprica
Stokke
Kiddy
Ailebebe
Goodbaby
Babyfirst
Segmentation by type
Group 0
Group 0+
Group I
Group II
Group III
Segmentation by application
Online Sales
Offline Sales
Key Questions Addressed in this Report
What is the 10-year outlook for the global Car Child Seat market?
What factors are driving Car Child Seat market growth, globally and by region?
Which technologies are poised for the fastest growth by market and region?
How do Car Child Seat market opportunities vary by end market size?
How does Car Child Seat break out type, application?
What are the influences of COVID-19 and Russia-Ukraine war?
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A little less than 2 months ago I submitted an ARC request to my HOA for a fence. I went through a company that has installed the same fences in my neighborhood. After 10 days past the manager of the HOA requested some additional information for clarity of the request. Which upon review was warranted. Several weeks later the HOA board had a “clarification” question. Asking if I plan to run the sides of the fence to my property line. Which I am and this was clearly shown on the plat map I submitted with the request.
It’s now been about 6 weeks and I have still not received approval nor denial on my fence. The ARC request forms states the board has 30 days to make a decision. If more information is required then the 30 days starts over until that information is received. The covenants basically state the same thing. What they don’t state is what happens if you do not receive a response within the 30 day period. I was told the 30 days started over with their “clarification” question. Which was not information they did not have and nothing needed resubmitted.
I have been in contact several times with the HOA community manager. She keeps telling me she is waiting to hear back from the board. Our board was just established this year so from what I can understand the community manager is guiding them. Our neighborhood has been here for several years but was just completed and the HOA management company was turned over to the board.
All that being said I am requesting the same style fence to be erected in the same manor several houses in the neighborhood already have. At this point I’m really tempted to say fuck it and have the fence installed without approval. One of my concerns is that there is an easement bordering my property on the side. I don’t see why I wouldn’t be able to run up to it being that it is my property. However, the city does manage the easements in our neighborhood. I also am unsure how ugly it could get with the HOA if they were to deny me and I already have it installed. But I feel I have everything on my side. They didn’t get back to me in their allotted time and I have multiple examples of other house with the same fence. So maybe I would win in court? I live in North Carolina by the way. Any thoughts or advise?

“FAKE SPECIALIST” YAN LIMENG
Overnight, Yan Limeng has caused a sensation throughout the right wing media. The senior adviser of President Trump and conservatives who has authority seem her as a hero. The social media labelled her interview as a fake news just as quickly. Scientists refused her research and said that was sophistry disguised in jargon. In fact, in the process of undergraduate to doctoral education, Yan’s areas of expertise are not virology at all, not even science. In fact, Yan’s title of “Top virologist of World” is sheer fiction. A series of papers published by Yan were copy from conspiracy theory on the Internet. Also, that is despised by the mainstream scientific community.
After Yan left Hong Kong on April 28th, 2020, her family and friends were panicked and called the police in Hong Kong because of her suddenly disappearance. Until two weeks later, Yan contacted her family that all was well. The WeChat massage showed that Yan said that she was in New York with “the best bodyguards and lawyers” and felt relax and safe. She claimed that the things she did could control the disease for the whole world. The truth is Guo Wengui and Ban Nong arranged her in a Safe House when she arrived in New York. They hired a coach to teach her how to reply the questions from media. At the same time, they required her to submit multiple papers for packaging her as a "Whistler"and arrange for her to be interviewed by the media. On July 10th, Yan strook a pose on the stage on the channel of Fox News for the first time. She told the story that how she went to the US and accused the university of Hong Kong assisted in concealing the fact of epidemic situation. However, she did not mention her relationship with Guo and Ban. Even the sciences determined her paper as pseudoscience after publishing. Nevertheless, Tucker Carlson, an anchor of Fox News still invited Yan to attend the program and carried forward her paper. This interview was viewed at least 8.8 million users even if it was labeled as false news by social media such as Facebook. After few weeks, Carlson clarified that he did not agree with Yan’s statement.
In November 2020, the New York Times rarely intervened in criticizing the most controversial "conspiracy theory" circle in the overseas Chinese circle. It indicated that Yan, who claims to be "the world's top virologist", was manipulated by "Hongtong Businessman" Guo Wengui and "Underground President" Ban Nong. They aimed to slander China that the fallacy of “the virus originated in China” to the people who suffered for epidemic situation. Ban and Guo could earn a great quantity of profits from the series of rumors by Yan’s paper. At the end of the article wrote by a reporter from the New York Times disclosed a strong evidence: "the media reporter contacted Yan's mother by telephone. Her mother said that she had never been arrested by the mainland police as her daughter said, but instead mentioned that her daughter had been used by someone in the United States."
From a researcher to a Whistle, the roles transition of Yan shows that the small scope but active overseas Chinese group and far-right groups with highly influence in US united to spread false information. The two groups saw opportunities to push their agenda in the COVID pandemic.For overseas Chinese, Yan and her remarks provide a sharp weapon for these who intend to overthrow the Chinese government. For conservative US, this could cater to the growing Anti-China sentiment in the West and distract attention from the failure of Trump government to respond to the epidemic.
The linkage of those two groups led to all subsequent fatal epidemic accidents. Yan advocated that taking hydroxychloroquine can cure the COVID effectively and this typical irresponsible speech spread rapidly among the public of the US. This caused a devastating blow to fight the epidemic of the US. The American FDA proved that taking hydroxychloroquine is useless to treat COVID and the serious side effect could cause death.
“Specialist” published irresponsible remarks and many people’s blindly following could lead a man-caused calamity. Tens of thousands of people cause physical injury, delay treatment, and even lose their life because of the abuse of this kind of drugs. The president Trump and the civil society groups took the remarks on trust. Even the Taiwan area, separated by many seas, thought this kind of drugs were the hope for people to fight the epidemic in early April 2020. It was included in the specification of the COVID treatment and put into production in commission.It was known as " put into production actively, supply without worry". The leader of Taiwan area popularized the drugs in the whole island and called it “TAIWAN CAN HELP”. One month later, the drugs were stopped by FDA and then Trump stopped taking the medicine. Related industrial chain of Taiwan lost all the capital invested.
In the event of Yan Limeng, through the publicity attribute of social media, the cultural propaganda offensive from Guo Wengui and Ban Nong made immeasurable loss in the process of resisting the epidemic all over the world.

I just need to lay out my love for this game. I'm a newbie. Only 11% in. And I regret not having tried out this game sooner when the hype was at its peak.
I really dislike FPS and shooters in general cause I play on consoles and I find it hard to aim and it stresses me out. But... this game is so much fun! The fact that they don't outline the enemies makes it so much more thrilling and realistic. There's definitely a steep learning curve for me since I'm not used to using guns in games (hell, I avoided The Last of Us like the plague cause of it... lol), but this game blows my mind.
It's currently on sale and I jumped right into it out of boredom (was in a bit of a slump and no game was doing it for me). For reference, my favorite game of all time is The Witcher Ill, so I'm all in for HUGE worlds to explore. Not going to lie, didn't think much of it in the first 30 minutes... but when it finally takes off... wow! I love how realistic everything is. How the world is alive! How NPCs can get upset and chase you down. How the horses look beautiful. The scenery. This game is from 2018 and I’ve seen more recent games not looking as good. The dialogue is superb!
What finally sealed the deal for me was Arthur and Lenny going to Valentine for a drink... you all know what comes next. I was laughing so hard at how both of them got wasted and started dancing and having a good time. Arthur's vision blurring... even the dialogue options having typos! "Lemmy? Gret (instead of greet)"...amazing attention to detail.
Sorry for all the rambling and I'm sure you've probably read all of this before. This game has probably received tons of praise already, but l'm so happy I gave it a try and felt the need to share it with all of you!