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Hey, folks, Steve here again. As my name implies, I'm a slot techician, which means I fix the machines and get asked if I can rig it to win so many times, it might as well be a Friday Evening, Pre-Recorded sketch.
Like my other stories, any names, brands, amounts, and locations that may appear have been changed for anonymity. Procedures and timelines may be changed if altering them does not break the flow of the story. Industry-standard terms (e.g. "TITO") have been left as-is.
This happened a few months ago, so some details are fuzzy.
It was a somewhat peaceful night so far in the casino. Calls for doors and other stupid-easy miscellany were down - so far, all save one or two calls were legitimate issues. At about 7:30, I was replacing some of the heads on the thermal printers (and chatting with $sup about the price of tea in China) when the radio crackled to life in my earpiece.

$radio: "I need a slot tech to 2-Charlie-1501 for a patron dispute."
$me: "2-Charlie-1501, be there in a minute."

I knew the voice on the radio as Jenny, one of the better attendants. She was one of the better ones out there; she'd troubleshoot and do everything she could before calling us, and if she called in a patron dispute, it almost always meant one of two things: either she herself did not understand (and in such a case she'd hang around while I dug through the game rules and explained it to the patron), or she had already explained it to the patron and the patron refused to believe her.
I set the printer parts aside and hiked upstairs to 2-CC-1501, where the patron was rambling on at her about how she saw this and how it did this and why didn't it pay her? Jenny saw me coming and stepped me aside to brief me:

$jenny: "She says she won several times while playing this, but I can't find anything in the game history."

I nod and Jenny goes back to deal with the patron while I check the credits on the game (zero), turn the audit key, and start doing my detective work. The game's history only goes back 20 games, so I start at the most recent and work my way back - there's some little wins here and there, but nothing on the scale that the patron was claiming - just ten credits here, fifteen there, so on and so forth - nothing out of the ordinary since they were playing 3 reels on a penny-denom 5-reel Royalty Mach 6 game.
After thumbing through all twenty games, I turn my attention to the game's internal logs. Nothing out of the ordinary shows up, just the usual start-of-play, end-of-play, start-of-play, end-of-play, ticket print, and audit stuff. And then I notice the timestamps.

03 Sep 19:34:36 2020 - Entered game recall 03 Sep 19:33:07 2020 - Audit mode - ON 03 Sep 19:26:51 2020 - Service Request - OFF 03 Sep 19:21:37 2020 - Service Request - ON 03 Sep 17:55:49 2020 - Ticket removed 03 Sep 17:55:46 2020 - Ticket print XXXXXXXXXXXXXX0001 $3.57 03 Sep 17:55:46 2020 - System authorization successful ... 

...Huh, that's over an h. I check the game recall screen's timestamps, and sure enough, the last play was a bit over an hour and a half ago.
By now, the patron's finished their tirade, so I turn to them.

$me: "How long ago were you playing?"
$patron: "A few minutes ago! Can't you see it?"

I turn back to Jenny, lean in, and softly advise her to call her manager. I hear her call for one and I go back to ticking boxes off the Standard Dispute Checklist - button test, video test, touchscreen test, the usual suspects. While I'm checking the logs one last time to make sure I didn't miss anything, Beth - the department manager on duty - arrives.
Beth was a good manager. She took care of everyone in the department, and I'm actually disappointed she left at some point between this story and now.

$beth: "Whatcha got, Steve?"
$me: "She says she was playing a few minutes ago and was winning - quite a lot - and it never paid her. Last game recall says the last game played was at 5:54 this evening."
$beth: "Okay. I'll call Big Brother¹ and get them to run back the tape."
$me: "Alright. Buttons all tested good, touchscreen's dead-on."

Beth nodded and dismissed me, and I went back to fixing the printers in the tech shop while she did the needful.
A couple of hours later, I see her back-of-house and talk shop with her.

$me: "So what's the story on that dispute at 2-Charlie-15?"
$beth: "Oh, it was the demo. Surveillance saw her watching the demo for a few minutes before she called an attendant."

Reels turn on, electronic bells ring, and most likely, someone up in the surveillance room was laughing their butt off that day.
¹ We use a discreet codename for Surveillance when we're radioing them. We don't actually call them "Big Brother", however - that's just the anonymized name I chose for them.

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

"Couples on Surviving Trauma and Loss: Five partners whose love has endured seismic changes, from refugees forced apart by war to a couple left with horrific injuries"
The first two stories in the article are legit: a couple in a terrible car accident and a couple separated by the Sudanese civil war. Then things start going to hell and get worse and worse. All of the things that FDS warns against are here: codependency, gaslighting, lying, cheating, excuse-making, blame shifting, martyrdom. Women continue to be conditioned to accept sub-par treatment by these kinds of narratives. The ladies of FDS refuse to help relationships "survive trauma" that is LITERALLY CREATED BY THE MAN IN THE RELATIONSHIP AND HIS SELFISH AND OVERALL TERRIBLE DECISIONS.

‘I was in prison for 2,192 days; she wrote to me almost daily’

Laure, 58, and Jerry, 62, survived his jail sentence for causing death by dangerous driving. They live in Alabama, and now run a support network for the families of prisoners.
Laure Jerry and I met in 1995 and married four months later. I tell him all the time I would marry him again, but faster. We’d both been married twice before and dating was the last thing I was looking for. But he ticked all the boxes.
I had two daughters and he had one. We moved our family from Tennessee to Alabama, to raise them in the country. We were living the dream. But on 17 March 2003, it was shattered when Jerry caused a head-on car collision which killed a young mother. He had been driving drunk.
I felt rage, betrayal. When we met, we were both recovering alcoholics, so I had only known him sober. Now a life had been lost. I didn’t want him dead, but I wanted him to hurt real bad. We lived in a small town, and I grieved for that family. I felt embarrassment. I had to get to the forgiveness part quickly so I could get through each day.
Jerry spent 10 days in the ICU. He pleaded guilty to manslaughter and was sentenced to six years in prison and 19 on probation. I was scared – emotionally, practically, financially, spiritually. I wanted to stay married but didn’t know how. I didn’t know what you do when someone you love is in prison.

His first year home, we argued all the time. I’d put my hand on his shoulder and he’d push it away

I wrote to him almost every night. I could afford one dollar-a-minute phone call a week and petrol for the 100-mile drive to visit every two weeks. I felt a lot of anger in those first years. I remember burying the cat, crying, saying, “This is a dad job.” I tried to experience the girls’ graduations for both of us.
His first year home, we argued all the time. I’d put my hand on his shoulder and he’d push it away; he was still in survival mode.
We’re grandparents now and enjoy our family immensely. We run a support network for prisoner families, called Extended Family. I started it six months into his sentence.
Jerry will still say, “You stayed with me all those years,” but I don’t think of it that way. I’m not going to make him do the dishes for the rest of our lives. We spent six years without each other; we don’t want to spend another minute apart.
Jerry On our first date, I took Laure and her daughters to see Cinderella at the theatre. When I got home, I wrote “She’s the one” on the back of the programme.
We had a good life. I had a small engineering business, work grew busy, and we moved cities. But I was in a mess. I got into narcotics but hid it from my family. The night of the accident, I had stopped at a liquor store. I was in a blackout. Moments later, a young woman was dead and I was airlifted to hospital. I was shocked, remorseful, disheartened.
My wife has a big and kind heart. I tried to protect her from the police investigation and the likelihood of prison. I didn’t want our girls walking around with the stigma of a dad who had killed someone.
In Alabama, incarceration is uncontested grounds for divorce, but there was never a question of Laure leaving me. On an early prison visit, I told her I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to leave. She looked at me and said, “I’d be more miserable than I am now.” I’ll never forget it.
I was in prison for 2,192 days and she wrote to me almost daily. There were guys that got nothing. I felt blessed and honoured. She would arrive every two weeks and I would put on a smile. But I pitied myself; I felt useless, unable to provide for my family.
When I came home, I was harsher than before. Meanwhile, this woman I loved had blossomed. I had to adjust. There’s a not a day that I don’t pay for my disastrous decision in some way, shape or form. We worked through the mess I made together, and we’re closer because of it.

‘It was a form of gaslighting. He led a double life’

Keith, 59, and Claire, 57, survived his gambling addiction. They live in Sussex.
Keith Claire and I had known each other in the 80s, and reconnected online 20 years later. Claire was living abroad, and I was on my way to broke. She’d make short trips to the UK, and we’d laugh through days out and long lunches. She was intelligent, full of life; a better person than I was.
I first entered a casino at 16. By 18, I’d borrowed, conned and stolen from everyone I knew. I was an addict. Through adulthood, I’d made and lost small fortunes and entire businesses. I’d play Monopoly for real money, or sit in a room of the club I owned, drinking brandy, snorting as much cocaine as I could.
I wasn’t a constant drug user or gambler. When Claire visited, I’d try to keep it together; but then I’d get desperate and make excuses to go to London for “work”. When she moved to the UK with her three kids in 2009, I’d disappear into a room of the home we shared for days, in a heady state of gambling, drugs and porn, too embarrassed to re-emerge. I had intermittent spells in Gambling Anonymous, but I found it hard to ask for help.
Claire paid for the house and put food on the table. I never stole from her, but I’m still surprised she didn’t walk out. By 2014, I’d had a heart attack and was nursing my mother, who had cancer. I would drive her to the hospital every day, off my tits, bring her home, make her food, then shut myself in another room and gamble online.
I couldn’t see myself in the mirror any more. I wanted to die. On 28 June 2014, I logged on to a website for people seeking affairs and used it for porn. That decision would almost end us: when Claire discovered the website in her search history, she sent me a Dear John letter. The next day, she drove me to residential rehab. The only rule I broke there was asking her to spend one night. I had to save the relationship.
I’ve been clean for six years now; Claire is part of the reason why. People talk about languages of love. For me those are quality time, acts of service. Boy, were there acts of kindness and service from Claire. Without her, I could well be dead.
Claire I was 18, and a poor student, when I first met Keith. He seemed glamorous, exciting, funny, intelligent. He was also a known gambler, but when we reconnected years later, that appeared to be in his past. Yet, with hindsight, nothing about the start of our relationship makes sense.
When I visited, he’d urgently have work or disappear into a room for days at a time. I’d spend hours on edge, struggling to trust him, but he would rationalise his behaviour, omitting huge details, claiming he’d simply drunk too much. It was a form of gaslighting. He led a double life.

When Keith decided on residential rehab, I knew that if I didn’t support him, there was no future

The first time I confronted him, I’d found an empty drugs packet, but he lied his way out of it. I became scared to ask, although we both knew he needed help. When his mother was unwell, he had the perfect alibi. He was an addict but he was responsible – and he took exquisite care of her. I was fearful but I had to get on with life.
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When Keith decided on residential rehab, I knew that if I didn’t support him, there was no future. I didn’t want significant time apart, but when an addict is serious about making changes, you have to put your own needs aside.
The most soul-destroying moment came when I found the affairs website. I had been betrayed by gambling and drugs, but my belief in the purity of our love had kept me going. I wrote to him saying it was over. From rehab, Keith proved to me it was only curiosity (there was no activity on his account), and I was open enough to reconciliation to visit him.
Emotionally, we’re more independent now, although we share bank accounts and he supports us financially. I’ve grown, too. I used to tell friends that Keith felt like an addiction to me. I’d waited years for a stable home life together: eventually, he walked the most difficult path in order to truly change.

‘Friends saw us as the perfect couple, but it was a lie’

Maryam, 31, and Amir, 33, survived his affair. They live in California.
Maryam When Amir had an affair, I had a thousand reasons to leave but looked for the one to stay. Our relationship had started as an affair, too. We had been couple-friends in our previous marriages and used to hang out as a group of four. Then, in February 2017, Amir and his wife broke up and he came on a trip with my husband and me. One night, we were up late, talking, while my husband slept. Amir opened up about his marriage and I began to sense he had feelings for me. I had relationship problems, too, and we started an affair. I ended my marriage.
Over the next 18 months, friends came to see us as the perfect couple. They would comment on how loving our relationship was. But I couldn’t forgive myself for how we’d started, and his divorce was a mess. He spent nights with his ex. I broke up with him several times. Things looked great on the surface but we both carried unresolved pain.
By the end of 2019, I became suspicious of his relationship with a co-worker. She was too intimate at the Christmas party and he was jumpy when she called. Then I found a credit card charge to a cafe, clearly for two people.

I loved him deep down but anger overwhelmed me. He asked over and over for a chance to prove he could change

It took me 10 days to get the full details from him. It had been going on for months and they’d slept together six times. I couldn’t breathe; I felt stupid. Everything that had gone before felt like a lie. I left him.
Amir telephoned non-stop and showed up at my parents’. I loved him deep down but anger overwhelmed me. He asked over and over for a chance to prove he could change. Eventually, I agreed to give him three months. We started individual and couples’ therapy and talked through every detail of our relationship. I couldn’t bear to sleep in the same room as him, but I could look at his face again. I agreed to more time.
I see the consistency and changes Amir has made, his commitment. When I discovered his affair, I was ready to give up on our relationship, but we have both grown. No one knows what the future holds and I have my fears. But, right now, I love the way he loves me.
Amir Maryam was the first time in my life I felt real love. But we were both married and I told myself it couldn’t happen.
As time passed, my ex-wife had an affair and my marriage died. Maryam had problems, too, and I made my feelings known. I admired her looks, the way she thinks. This wasn’t a game that I’d started; it was coming from the bottom of my heart.
I was born in the Middle East, in a war zone. As a child, I experienced sexual and physical abuse at the hands of my teacher, but told no one. The human psyche finds soothing mechanisms to alleviate pain. For me, that was sex.
I was in the most loving relationship with Maryam. The sex was amazing. We bought a house, enjoyed travelling. But the foundations were shaky and I unconsciously sought more.
When I got close to a co-worker, it turned into an affair, starting in May 2019 and lasting several months. It was pure sexual desire. This wasn’t someone I wanted to change the course of my life. We were opportunistic and, in those moments, I became blind to the consequences.
When Maryam found out, I tried to lie. I was naive about how much I was going to hurt her. She wanted nothing to do with me. She blocked my calls and texts, and told our family and friends all the details. Everyone who loved me looked at me as a monster. For the first time in my life, I started to wake up.
I made fixing myself and our relationship my only priority. I promised Maryam she would see a change, and started intense therapy, twice a week. I addressed my childhood trauma and sought support for sex addiction. I realised how much I was willing to do for Maryam.
At the beginning, it was simply about keeping Maryam; but it transformed into strengthening our bond. She has made sacrifices for me, been my guide and love. Every day, I’m more appreciative.
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/jan/30/couples-on-surviving-trauma-and-loss

Disgraced fashion mogul Peter Nygard's own SON is helping police investigate his alleged sex crimes By Guy Adams Investigates For The Daily Mail
15 Jan 2021
Link to article
'He has become my arch-nemesis. I no longer regard him as my father . . . He is a monster. I am now here to serve in any way I can, to support survivors and the justice process and also to help expose the people who covered up his crimes.'
Kai Bickle's world came tumbling down one night in May 2019, when he attended a dinner party at a lavishly decorated mansion overlooking the golden sands of Venice Beach in Los Angeles.
The host was his father, Peter Nygard, a Canadian fashion tycoon famed for the hedonistic lifestyle he pursued at a global portfolio of high-end properties, including vast residences in Winnipeg, Toronto and Montreal, as well as New York, and, most notoriously, a Mayan-themed 'private luxury resort' in the Bahamas.
Modelling himself on Playboy founder Hugh Hefner, the flamboyant Nygard, now 79, kept a revolving harem of girlfriends. Those caught up (often completely unwittingly) in this web had included actresses Susan Anton and Jennifer O'Neill, stripper-turned-reality star Anna Nicole Smith, and a former Wheel Of Fortune card turner by the name of Vanna White.
His Caribbean parties, meanwhile, tended to attract a better class of A-lister. Past visitors to the island property had ranged from Jane Seymour and Bo Derek to Robert De Niro, , Michael Jackson and Joan Collins, not to mention and , who were photographed there in the early 2000s on an innocuous family holiday.
The 2019 bash, during one of Peter's occasional business trips to LA, was to be a more down-to-earth affair. Roughly 20 guests, including Kai, 38, and his younger brother Jessar (one of roughly ten offspring Nygard has fathered via more than seven women) had been invited for food and drinks, followed by a late-night poker game.
That was the plan, at least. But Kai never made it to the card- table. Instead, he fled the lavish premises in a state of distress, shortly after dinner, believing that he had just witnessed his father attempting to sexually assault an eight-year-old girl.
Details of this ugly development are (it should be stressed) strongly disputed, and we shall examine them later. But the incident would kick-start an extraordinary chain of events that culminated just before Christmas, with the arrest of Peter Nygard on nine charges of sex trafficking and racketeering.
Currently behind bars, with his $900 million (£660 million) business empire in tatters and the FBI poring over his computer hard-drives, the fallen tycoon has now been accused of rape or sexual assault by at least 57 women. Several of Nygard's accusers were children when the alleged crimes took place, and many claim they were drugged.
At least 57 women have accused him.
He will appear in court in Canada next week, seeking bail as he fights extradition to the USA.
It is, perhaps, the most high-profile and shocking sex case since handcuffs were slapped on Jeffrey Epstein. And in a remarkable twist, it turns out that a leading figure in the increasingly public campaign to prosecute Mr Nygard is his aforementioned son, Kai.
Upcoming documentary: ‘Unseamly’ Canadian Designer Peter Nygård True Crime Documentary
Behind the scenes, I can reveal that Kai has spent the past 18 months secretly helping both the U.S. and Canadian authorities investigate his own father's alleged crimes. Keeping his role hidden from Nygard and his associates for several months, he has worked tirelessly to assist victims, and their legal teams.
On the personal front, he has changed his name (taking up his mother's surname to become Kai Zen Bickle) and used his influence over various Nygard companies to block efforts to move his assets offshore, fearing that would allow him to flee. 'We have been engaged in a brutal battle against my father and his enablers,' is how Kai summed things up when we spoke this week.
'He has become my arch-nemesis. I no longer regard him as my father . . . He is a monster. I am now here to serve in any way I can, to support survivors and the justice process and also to help expose the people who covered up his crimes.'
Perhaps most remarkably of all, Kai recently helped two of his younger siblings, one of whom remains a minor, to sue Peter Nygard over claims he 'engineered' the rape of his own sons. In an extraordinary lawsuit filed in August, the boys claimed that their leathery, multi-millionaire father instructed one of his long-standing girlfriends (who was also a sex worker) to 'make a man' out of them.
The first of these alleged attacks (which, again, are vehemently denied by Nygard) took place in the Bahamas 2004, when the son was 15 and the woman was in her mid-20s. The second occurred in Winnipeg in 2018, when the younger child was 14 and the woman was in her 40s. Court papers filed by the boys stated that the unnamed girlfriend was instructed to seduce Nygard's son by showering in his bathroom so that he 'could see her naked'. Then she raped him.
Afterwards, she allegedly told the boy he 'wasn't bad' for a 'baby.' The next morning, Nygard's girlfriend brought him breakfast in bed, kissing him on the lips and announcing: 'Mommy's got you.' Kai says he first became aware of this appalling incident last spring, and was 'sickened' to hear his brothers' claims.
He would often yell and scream at his staff.
'We all spoke and decided the best course of action was to file a lawsuit publicly in the hope that other survivors would feel safe to come forward and also file criminally against Nygard,' he says. 'We were originally going to have me in the suit as my young brother's guardian, but in the end decided not to because it would reveal to Nygard that I was working against him . . . At the time I was [secretly] doing everything I could to improve the odds that he would get arrested.'
To appreciate the extraordinary journey taken by Kai, we must wind the clock back to the mid-1980s, when his father was one of Canada's most talked-about self-made millionaires.
The son of penniless immigrants from Finland, Peter Nygard had launched his empire in the late 1960s, with an $8,000 (£6,000) investment in a struggling fashion firm. By the time he was 30, the company had become one of North America's most successful suppliers of leisure and sportswear, while his flamboyant eccentricities, which included keeping parrots in his office and filling the lobby of Nygard HQ with bronze busts of himself, turned him into an object of public fascination.
In 1987, the party-loving entrepreneur purchased a 4.5-acre patch of the island of New Providence in the Bahamas and set about turning it into a 'dream home' where he could indulge his champagne lifestyle. Over the ensuing years, he built 150,000 sq ft of Mayan-themed buildings, stretching over a dozen 'cabana-style' residences. The buildings at Nygard Cay eventually included a casino, a disco hut (with cameras beneath the dance floor, reportedly to shoot images of revellers from below), and the world's largest sauna, a 6,000 sq ft lodge made from 2ft-thick Canadian pine logs.
In the grounds were fake volcanoes that belched dry ice, a flock of peacocks, stone cobras which hissed steam at sunset, 60 ft towers festooned with hundreds of flaming torches (lit nightly by staff) and giant statues of nude women, purportedly modelled on some of Nygard's favourite girlfriends.
At weekends, he would host lavish parties, which appeared on various TV documentaries, including Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous.
The place became a magnet for freeloading celebrities and, while Kai believes they generally had the most fleeting and brief relationship with Nygard, photos of their visits were then plastered across company literature and websites.
Prince Andrew, to cite one example, was recorded for posterity wandering with the long-haired fashion magnate on the beach, wearing blue shorts and boat shoes.
Born in the 1980s, Kai spent the first three years of his life in the Bahamas until his mother, Patricia, left Nygard, with whom she'd had three children but never married.
They moved first to California and then to the Pacific Northwest in the U.S. Over subsequent years, he had almost no regular contact with the fashion tycoon aside from occasional visits during school holidays, where he met various half-siblings.
'He would have one family weekend per year at his lake cottage, and a few days set aside for Christmas,' says Kai of the somewhat unorthodox arrangement. 'During those times, the days were filled with activities like horseback riding or mini golf.
'He could be a very charismatic person when he wanted to be and the family weekends were very light and brief.'
In the very limited time he spent with his father during childhood, Kai saw nothing that gave him reason to suspect that Peter Nygard was guilty of criminality, though he did have a highly volatile personality.
'He would yell and scream at his staff often, and that always was upsetting to everyone around it, but he would describe his yelling as 'passion' because of his 'high standards',' Kai says.
Nygard's children were further told that he 'lived a consensual, non-monogamous lifestyle,' Kai says. 'He made speeches at dinner to family when we were together to talk about how he hoped everyone got a wonderful partner and wished that he could find that special someone, but that it wasn't the life for him.
'He also had girlfriends that were persistently with him, always two or three, and often they were around for years. He wasn't embarrassed about it. He flaunted it on TV, it was part of his brand, something he showed the whole world. He was proud of it.'
Be that as it may, rumours of predatory behaviour by Nygard —and worse — had occasionally reared their ugly head, only to be quickly suppressed: a relatively easy task before the internet.
In 1980, for example, he was charged with the rape of an 18-year-old, but the charge was dropped when the complainant refused to testify. In 1996, three female employees meanwhile filed sexual harassment complaints in the Canadian province of Manitoba.
It looked like his hand was on her thigh, rubbing.
One, a 39-year-old communications manager, said that, when called into Nygard's office, she would 'find him in a state of undress . . . with his hands down the front of his pants, fondling himself.' He settled by giving the women $18,500 (£13,600) and denied any wrongdoing.
Then, in 2010, a Canadian TV network put out a Panorama-style documentary about Nygard, focusing on alleged sex abuse and harassment of former employees.
It quoted a former stewardess on his private plane who alleged that on one journey — during which Nygard was accompanied by a troupe of topless women — he lost his temper with staff, shouting: 'You are nothing! You are garbage! I am God!'
The programme also alleged that Nygard had engaged in 'inappropriate sexual contact' with a young woman who had been brought to his home in 2003 from the Dominican Republic. Nygard denied that either incident had happened, and sued to stop the documentary being broadcast.
Fast forward to May 2019, however, and those ugly incidents were largely forgotten. Kai, who was by then in his late 30s, had worked for his father's companies for just over two years after leaving college, but quit to pursue a career in activism and health science.
Nygard's trip to Los Angeles afforded them a rare opportunity to catch up, so he attended the aforementioned dinner party in Venice Beach.
As the night wore on, he recalls becoming uncomfortable about his father's behaviour towards an eight-year-old girl, who was attending with her mother, one of Nygard's old girlfriends.
'He's got her sitting right next to him at dinner, which is usually his girlfriend chair. And he's a creature of routine. So I'm already thinking this is weird.
'He's trying to act like the Papa. It was just weird . . . I'm noticing things. I'm noticing that he's telling her little secrets at dinner. Putting his hand close to her ear and going all hush-hush.' At the end of dinner, most of the other 20-odd guests got up to adjourn to the card table. However, Kai adds: 'I'm still watching him. Her chair gets pushed back. He brings her round to him.
'She was on his right side. He brings her to his left side, with his arm around her waist, and I see his elbow change and start moving as if — it looked to me, I couldn't see, but it looked like his hand was on her upper thigh, and rubbing. That's what it looked like to me . . . Everything in my body told me he was doing something terrible.'
'I had a huge adrenaline rush and I immediately told the mother to get her daughter away from him,' he adds. 'I stood up next to him and looked in his eyes. At that moment, for me, it was like all the walls were crashing down around him . . . And I realised that, yeah, he's probably trying to groom that girl.'
Nygard vigorously denied wrongdoing, and even called Kai 'sick' for thinking as much. But Kai was unconvinced.
Then, in February last year, ten women filed a bombshell lawsuit in New York claiming that the fashion magnate had used wealth and status to 'entice underage girls' from 'young, impressionable and often impoverished backgrounds' into his home, where they would be 'plied with alcohol' and (some allege) date-rape drugs, before being taken to Nygard's private quarters, where he would 'assault, rape and sodomise' them. Court papers claimed they were then coerced into joining a globe-trotting harem of sex workers paid thousands of dollars from Nygard's company funds and trafficked around the world on his company's private jet, which reportedly boasts a stripper pole.
One alleged victim, who was just 14 at the time, claimed Nygard raped her and paid her $5,000 (£3,700).
Another said her encounter with Nygard began with him showing her pornography after which he raped her, 'causing her extraordinary trauma and pain', the suit states.
Three of his existing ten accusers were 14 at the time. Three more were 15.
Within days, dozens more alleged victims had come forward. By the summer, some 57 survivors were pursuing legal action — and the number of alleged victims had reached 100.
Kai again confronted his father, only to be told it was all 'lies' and asked to speak out publicly in his father's support. But days later a friend texted Kai to complain about a recent visit to Nygard's house in Los Angeles.
'He said he'd brought a female friend with him, who had one or two drinks and had started to feel very high. Nygard took her up to his room and aggressively had sex with her, not using a condom.
'When I heard that, I knew he was not only as bad as people said he was, but was a dangerous criminal and had to be stopped.' He duly alerted the authorities about the friend's message. In a podcast called Live To Walk Again, released this week, he revealed that he began helping both the police and the alleged victims' lawyers, who he regards as 'heroes'.
Over the summer, Kai also used official positions held in Nygard firms to block two apparent efforts to move assets overseas, amid concerns that the tycoon might flee to evade justice.
PODCAST EPISODE: Peter Nygard Discusses His Father
'Through the course of ten months I also helped several survivors to file criminally against him, and spent countless hours on the phone with survivors, lawyers and authorities,' he says. Last month Nygard was arrested on U.S. charges at a home in the Royalwood area of Winnipeg. He spent Christmas behind bars and has consistently denied any wrongdoing, saying he 'expects to be vindicated' in court.
Kai has renounced his inheritance and is working on 'making the world a better place' by campaigning to close legal loopholes exploited by sex offenders.
'I'm very happy earning my own money, as I have all my life. We've never had a trust fund or an allowance, and since his money has been made through pain and suffering, I won't accept a potential inheritance,' he says.
His father's cash, he says, should instead go towards compensating victims. 'My focus now is to help the healing process.'

On September 11 of 2001, 19 men hijacked four planes and crashed them into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and into an open field in Shanksville PA. These men were al-Qaeda terrorists doing the deeds in the name of a holy war against the West and not much about the attack remains a mystery unless you subscribe to the inside job theory, which isn't my case. What authorities haven't been able to explain is the hijackers' several trips to Las Vegas despite what has been dubbed to be the broadest investigation in city. All these trips happened within a few months before the attacks, but the men behind them left very little evidence of their activities in the area.
TIMELINE
May 24 - Marwan Al-Shehhi, the pilot who crashed the United Airlines Flight 175 into the South Towers of the WTC, arrived to Las Vegas from San Francisco and rented a room at Travelodge as a walk in customer. Once there, he called eight other motels.
May 25 - Al-Shehhi walked in the St. Luis Manor, a hotel that wasn't on the call list. At 12:52 pm, he rented a different car, but didn't return the first car until 3:58pm. The unaccounted mileage in both vehicles summed up to 29 miles. FBI believes that these unusual patterns were a conscious attempt to avoid detection.
May 27 - Al-Shehhi made it to New York.
June 7 - Ziad Jarrah, pilot of the United Airlines 93 that crashed in Shanskville while on its way to the Capitol Building, arrived to Las Vegas and rented a car at 3:13 pm. He was accompanied by an unidentified man described as "middle eastern looking". When Jarrah asked for directions to Circus Circus Hotel and Casino, the a rent-a-car employee tried to give him an answer but was interrupted by the unidentified man who suggested another route. The man's knowledge of the address suggests that he was familiar with the area or that he had been in Las Vegas before.
June 10 - Jarrah took a flight to the Baltimore Washington International Airport leaving his rented car with a mileage exceeding 200 miles and no trace of his Las Vegas whereabouts .
June 28 - Mohamed Atta, pilot of American Airlines Flight 11 that crashed into the North Tower of WTC and leader of the hijackers, arrived to Las Vegas at 2:41 pm and rented a car at 4:25 pm. At 6:40 pm Atta established an account at Cyberzone internet café and used the computer for one hour and thirty five minutes.
June 29 - Atta checked into Econo Lodge Motel at 1:01 pm. He logged in at Cyberzone again at 2:21 and 6:21 pm. Once done, the FBI believes he went back to his hotel.
June 30 - Atta accessed his Cyberzone accounts at 1:56 pm, 6:30 pm and 9:33 pm. The mileage analysis indicated that he returned to his hotel afterwards. This day as well as the day before, Atta had placed several call to Al-Shehhi as well as to two different number in Houston, TX. One number was unassigned and the other one belonged to a mobile salesman.
July 1 - Atta returned his rented vehicle at the airport at 5:12 am and took a flight to New York that connected in Denver. The vehicle had 73 unaccounted miles of usage which the FBI believes would cover a round trip to the Hoover Dam.
July 31 - Waleed al-Shehri, hijacker of the Flight 11, took a flight from San Francisco to Las Vegas where he stayed for 45 minutes while waiting for another flight to Miami. It is unclear to me whether this was a tactical flight - the hijackers were believed to take flights to study their trajectory as well as entrance to the cockpit-, or just a connection.
August 13 - Hani Hanjour and Nawaf al-Hazmi, pilot and hijackers of the American Airlines Flight 77 that crashed into the Pentagon arrived to Las Vegas at 11:18 am. At 11:58 am, Atta arrived to Las Vegas to and rented a vehicle at 1:46 pm. The FBI assumed that the three men met, but no activity from Hanjour and al-Hazim was recorded from that trip. Atta accessed a room at the Econo Lodge at 2:55 pm and connected at the Cyberzone at 11:26 pm, getting back to his room at 12:46 am.
August 14 - Atta returned his rented car at 11:09 am leaving no unaccounted mileage and took a flight outside Las Vegas. Hanjour and al-Hazmi boarded a flight at 11:29 am.
THEORIES
A) Al-Qaeda was looking to target Las Vegas area
As noted in Atta's first trip, the unaccounted mileage added up to a round trip to the dam from his hotel. However, Atta's vehicle was not among the recorded license plates in the parking garage of the dam. If the hijackers had connections in Las Vegas area, which seems to be the case with Jarrah, Atta might have traveled to Boulder City or any other town close to the lake and gotten to the dam with someone else in a different vehicle. It should also be noted that both Atta and al-Shehhi stayed in hotels close to the Stratosphere, a hotel and casino located in the highest building of the city. Being known as the Sin City, Las Vegas could have been a attractive target for jihadists looking to rebel against what they perceived to be the westernization of their home countries and culture.
B) Hijackers were exchanging information with other Al-Qaeda members
The FBI emphasized the short duration on hijacker's trip to Las Vegas saying that it was just long enough to exchange information. Authorities believe that Atta was not only looking at flight on the East coast but he also kept in communication with Ramzi bin al-Shibh, a potential 20th hijacker who had been denied entry to the United States and acted as an intermediary between Al-Qaeda and the other hijackers. Jarrah's mystery companion and the complete lack of evidence of his whereabouts point to possible terrorist acquaintances residing or staying in Las Vegas that are yet to be identified. The FBI summary mentions two persons of interest: Lotfi Raissi and Zakaria Hassan Ibrahim.
Raissi started attending the Sawyer School of Aviation in 1998 one month after Hanjour quit. Two days after Jarrah left Las Vegas, Raissi arrived to the city with his wife and stayed there until June 18. His stay didn't overlap with that of the hijackers and he claims he went to Las Vegas to celebrate his honeymoon. On September 21, Raissi was arrested near Colnbrook, UK, where he had been living at the time of the attacks. Prosecutor Arvinder Sambei claimed that the FBI had footage of him celebrating an event with Hanjour and that his flight logs from March 2000 to June 2001 were missing. It has also been claimed that Raissi was training five of the hijackers. No such proof was presented to the courts and the man in the footage turned out to be his cousin and not Hanjour, as it had been previously claimed.
Hassan Ibrahim had previously been convicted for trafficking in fraudulent passports and visas. He was the person to provide Mir Aimal Kansi, CIA headquarters shooter , and Mohammed A. Salameh, perpetrator of the 1993 WTC bombing, with fake documents. He was reported to have spent most of July in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, not much information about this individual is accessible so I could not verify if any connection between him and the hijackers was formally established.
C) Hijackers went to Las Vegas as a final pleasure stop before committing suicide
This theory was briefly mentioned by Evan Thomas, journalist, and quoted by criminologist Adam Lankford in his psychological autopsy of Mohamed Atta. According to the author, Atta and the other hijackers - Hanjour and al-Hazmi - might have visited Las Vegas because maybe " they wished to be fortified for their mission by visiting a shrine to American decadence".
While not much is known about Hanjour and al-Hazmi, Atta has been alluded to by the people who knew him as a sexually repressed man who experienced extreme discomfort around women and the mildest hint of sexuality. When years of repression build up an uncontrollable sexual urge, the individual might end up participating is risky sexual activities. Nevertheless, the circumstances of the trip make sex and gambling very unlikely motives. Their stays were short, happened across different months and there was no evidence of them visiting casinos or any similar venues. Strippers supposedly identified al-Shehhi as one of their patrons, but evidence was not conclusive. Furthermore, there is no reason to believe that a quick visit to the strip club was anything more than a fun opportunity while pursuing a bigger goal.
I personally believe that the hijackers visited Las Vegas to coordinate the attacks with other members from Al-Qaeda who flew under the radar (no pun intended).
SOURCES:
Las Vegas investigative summary
Theories on why 9/11 hijackers visited Las Vegas
David C. Henley: 9/11 hijackers visits to Nevada remain a mystery
Wikipedia entry for Mir Aimal Kansi
Wikipedia entry for Mohammed A. Salameh
Cracking the terror code
EDIT: Thanks for the awards people!

In the first season episode E2, Cooper saw a dream that an older version of him was in the red-curtained Waiting Room with The Arm and someone who looked like Laura Palmer. Giggling, The Arm revealed something cryptic.

The Arm: "I've got good news. That gum you like is going to come back in style."

The probable explanation whom The Arm called as "that gum" has been around for some time. In E21, Major Garland Briggs, in a drowsy state of mind, accidentally called himself as Judy Garland. The actress was born Ethel Gumm, her original family name pronounced the same as "gum". Since Garland and Gumm were interchangeable, then the Major would have been a Gumm, too.
In line with Cooper liking that gum, Cooper and the Major were in best of terms.
The question would then be was this also what Lynch had in mind. The closest we can get to answering that is by showing if everything around the gum ultimately led to the Major and if there was a meaningful purpose to this gum riddle.
In the third season episode P4, there was an offbeat exchange about "a kind of gum" between Lucy and Chad who promised to "chew on it". Earlier, I proposed that here the gum was used as a reference to Detective Macklay of Buckhorn police who apparently was an incarnation of Major Briggs. One for the Gumm idea then.
The Log Lady getting banned over her gum habits apparently was in reference to an odd subplot early in the second season when Lynch was still directing. In E8, the Log Lady spat her gum on the RR Diner table and then stuck it to the wall. During her next visit to the diner in E9, sitting on the counter next to Major Briggs and about to deliver him her log's message, she got reprimanded by Norma about her gum which she then swallowed. End of the gum subplot.
So then, each season had one gum gag. Chad and Lucy's riddle may have been there to help us make sense what The Arm and the Log Lady had been up to, or at least what they were made to have been up to all these years later. So let's chew on it.
Apart from Chad promising to do just that, something else got chewed in Sharon Van Etten's song Tarifa that they performed in the Roadhouse in P6:

"Chew me out
When I'm stupid"

It's a kind of gum if you can chew it. In the case of the song, the kind of gum would then have been someone acting stupid. The only character acknowledging he was stupid was Ray when he and Mr C were driving in the night in P8.

Ray: "It sure was stupid of me to get caught up like I did."

So, in this absurd word play, the kind of gum was Ray. Earlier, I proposed that also Ray Monroe was Major Garland Briggs himself, deep under cover and perhaps too deep to remember who he was any more, like the same song may have implied:

"Can't remember
I can't recall, no
I can't remember
Anything at all"

So, it seems that the gum keeps taking us to Major Garland Briggs who was next to the Log Lady when her gum antics got old.
Chad and Lucy drawing us back to that old second season diner counter scene appears to have been for a specific reason. In P9, just as the FBI team was about to see the Major's headless corpse, also Albert reminded us to keep that season in mind.

Albert: "What happens in season two?"

After swallowing her gum in E9, the Log Lady commented about "shiny objects" that the Major was wearing in his chest and then told him the Log's message: "deliver the message". Then in season 3, a lot of fuss was made about Dougie's wedding ring found in the Major's stomach, including the scene in the morgue with the FBI. Since the headless body apparently was that of the original Douglas Jones, an alternate Garland Briggs, that wedding ring was a shiny object the Major had been wearing.
This would also make further sense of the Log's message, "deliver the message". The Major swallowed his own wedding ring in order to send a message to those who would get his body, following the Log Lady's guidance when she swallowed her gum before mentioning shiny objects and telling him to "deliver the message". This perhaps was not what Lynch had in mind back in the day but creatively applied in a new context.
This then takes us to the meat in The Arm's riddle, that gum "coming back in style". This English phrase has several meanings of which two seem to apply, neither being the one we'd think about first.
Earlier, I proposed that also the mysterious Polish Accountant was the Major himself, indeed then coming back "in style" in P16 when he provoked a shootout on the street that left two dead.
Furthermore, I proposed that there were at least two different characters arriving to Las Vegas in Cooper's likeness, one being Cooper himself but the other being Major Garland Briggs who was there to take over his alternate family, the Joneses after his alternate self Dougie - lying headless in the Buckhorn morgue - had been killed. These two storylines - almost but not quite the same - were then edited together, the story constantly jumping from one to the other.
Then in P4, when Cooper was in Silver Mustang Casino, he met with some Bill Shaker who knew Dougie. Bill was astonished to see how the new version of him looked like.

Bill Shaker: "Man, Dougie, can I say, you look like a million bucks!"

If this Cooper was the Major himself, conveniently turned into a vegetable so that his real identity remained obscure, he had at least come back "in style".
To sum up, the idea about "gum" taken from Judy Garland's original family name Gumm and used as a reference to Major Garland Briggs appears to be as intended. The gum seems to have been used to stick together at least five of his incarnations in different storylines. These were one of the Coopers, Detective Macklay, Ray Monroe, Polish Accountant and Douglas Jones, each revealing a part of the fantasy epilogue that concluded his story, even if only a photograph was left of the original character.

This is a long review about Option Alpha. I tried to post this on Investimonials but that website was glitching so here it is on Reddit. I'm not riffing here on Option Alpha but trying to provide an unbiased review to the community. Hopefully this helps someone make a better decision before they part with their hard earned money.
A lot of people are getting into options, whether its theta gang or long directional option trading. My warning to everyone is that don't necessarily fall for option trading services/rooms specially when they don't list an accurate trade log and PnL account performance.
This review below here is more applicable to the Theta gang option traders/option sellers so if you are a option buyedirectional optional trader than this review won't apply to you.
Here is the TLDR - At the very best if you want very low single digit annual returns while taking huge risks and want to take the headache of making 100s of option trades, spend tons on trading commissions and subscription fees ($100 to $300 per month), waste time making option adjustments and then create a tax headache paying short term capital gains tax rates (your highest income tax bracket) on profits and filling out IRS forms at the end of the year then this is the service for you. Also the return on your time spent understanding option alpha and then implementing its strategies is negative.
Normally I would not write reviews unless I thought that subs were getting ripped off. Let me start of by saying that I don't think Kirk (the founder of Option Alpha) is running a scam per se, but he is basically bilking gullible subscribers who are very new to options trading and have been sold the dream about option selling as the ONLY proper way to make money in options.
This service is a total waste of time for the individual investor. The last few years the returns have been flat after all these trades (basically up a few % or down a few %). This is before accounting for option commissions, and taxes (selling options ie. premiums are always taxed as short term capital gains at your highest income tax rate so you get no benefit vs holding stocks or buying options over 1 year) and subscription fees. Accounting for all this basically makes this a negative return. In fact I think it is better to buy a balanced Vanguard index fund or VTI etf and just Dollar cost Average into that every month vs using this system. Atleast with VTI you can expect to make 6% over the long term. The simplest strategy which is to buy VTI etf will beat Option Alpha over the long term with fewer headaches and invested time and energy.
Let start of with the good stuff first. The option education videos are free, extremely well made so that even total beginners can understand option selling. Kirk is a gifted teacher and explains everything in simple language. If you are a complete beginner than these videos will help. Things I learnt that are useful - adjusting losing positions and how to beta hedge. However they don't get deep into the intricacies of options that professionals worry about.
The education is totally biased towards option selling strategies. They try to sell the Option Alpha system (where you are a net seller of options) to the subscriber as basically running a an insurance business or creating your personal casino where you make 100s of trades ever year to eke out a small premium for taking on the risk. They then go on to basically sells you the system as being better than buying and holding ETFs or stocks over the long run and - how option buying doesn't work 80% of the time and how buying and holding stocks is riskier than selling option premiums. This is all good in theory. But in practice it reminds me of this quote - "In theory, theory and practice are the same. In practice, they are not.". In reality, what they don't talk about is the fact that the success of option selling relies on harvesting variance premium in the option markets (historically around 3% or so). Unfortunately in recent years the variance premium has at times declined to negative levels. The sign for VRP can flip positive to negative for different underlyings and is not always positive every single month of the year. So making money with this system is basically entirely dependent on luck. Atleast the stock market tends to grow over the long term with earnings growth and GDP growth, but there is no guarantee that this will be the case with variance premiums which could be permanently arbitraged away by option sellers and brain dead option selling strategies such as Option Alpha. Option selling has to be done smartly or not at all.
The basic system is this:
Naively diversify by selling wide Iron butterflys/condors (this is the bread and butter trade about 80 to 90% of all trades) or credit spreads (about 10% to 20%) on these sector ETFs - SPY, TLT, XOP, XRT, EEM, OIH, FXI, XLP, XBI, GLD etc. Sell options about 30 to 45 days to expiration. I say naively because whenever markets crash everything goes down together so infact naive diversification is really di-worsification. Never have more than 5% of risk in any one ETF. They like to start out trades with a 1% to 2% risk per position and then scale in as adjustments are and will be needed. Good luck following this strategy if you have a small account as you will be taking greater risk. Then do this every single month or so without regard to broader macro conditions or IV levels or trend. Doesn't matter what EEM is doing or FXI is doing. Does Option Alpha look at price action, fundamental analysis, news flow, macroeconomics etc or anything else at the individual ETF level? No it doesn't appear they do. If and when positions move against you (which they regularly do) then waste time adjusting your positions and tracking credits to prove to yourself that you did make a tiny profit. They try to center the strikes as the underlying moves with adjustments and additional scaling in positions but honestly it doesn't work over the long term.
At the end of the year after 100s of trades (6 to 10 etfs x 4 (assume butterfly or condor) x 2 (opening and closing) x 10 (every 35 to 45 days) = assume 600 trades per year not including the adjustments and additional scale ins that will be needed), subscription fees (between $100 to $300 per month), broker commissions, pay short term capital gains and then waste additional time filling out dozens of pages of IRS forms with the 100s of option trades all to make a small single digit low annual return if lucky. The thing to understand is this, with option selling you generally risk $3 to $4 for every $1 of gains. So you can have 3 winning trades and then the 4th one will blow up profits. To counter this, they will show you how to make adjusting trades (only one side of the butterfly is underwater, so the whole position can be adjusted) or scale in so that strikes are centered around current underlying price. Even after adjusting which is not a guarantee of profits, the overall the results are just extremely lame. If you refuse to adjust positions it will be impossible to make any profit with this system. This is not to say other option selling strategies don't work (there are some that can work but they require a true edge) but its just that Option Alpha doesn't work. The free Theta gang on reddit or discord probably does a better job than OA.
As such there is nothing even remotely proprietary about Option Alpha. There is no edge. Because there is always a risk that all positions can simultaneously lose money in a crash as all assets trade downward, so Option Alpha advises that only use 40-50% of the account value for option selling and keep the rest as cash as a hedge against blowing the account up. Recently they advised having a 1% long VXX calls positions to hedge black swans/market crashes which I think is an improvement over the system of past few years.
I personally think that selling this system to gullible retail subscribers is extremely irresponsible. You can argue that option selling has a place within pension funds or other entities that have a lot of money who need yield income tax free and who have a proprietary system with an edge that can makes better risk adjusted profits but Option Alpha is basically gambling and praying for profits. If selling options is so good, how come I have not heard of a single Hedge fund that only does this with 100% of their capital? There were some crooks in Florida who blew up one fund that was selling energy options (you can look up Optionseller.com on google - website is defunct now). I'm not saying Option Alpha is pursuing similarly risky strategy since these are all defined risk trades and they do ask to hold 50% in cash. But it is conceivable that you can lose 100% of the amount you have put into selling options - that is the other 50% of the portfolio under a true black swan scenario. Maybe making adjustments etc will save the portfolio but its not really a guarantee. Btw the stock market can never goto zero. We can get another market crash and yes it could take a long time to recover but it can never goto zero (the businesses underlying these stocks have real value unlike options/derivatives). With stocks you have time to sell even with a 10% gap down overnight. Options will get blown up much faster.
This strategy is not at all the best way for the individual investor to invest. The only market where this system works is even Implied volatility is high ( so that you get extra compensation for selling time decay) and the market moves sideways. However in practice the market is either steadily marching higher and IV is low, or IV is so high (that you get a decent premium) but the market is rapidly moving in either direction so you will endlessly keep adjusting positions or keep taking losses. Options are complicated instruments and if you don't understand vol skew, statistics and probability, option greeks properly and can't backtest with good data than it is literally gambling and praying for profits. There is a real risk that naive option selling can blow up accounts. Option selling only makes sense in certain market regimes and only when done smartly. To tell retail traders that they should trade this way all the time for the rest of their life is extremely irresponsible.
Here is the thing. What I'm mad about is that Option Alpha has spent all this time very aggressively marketing this system and spent the last few years trying to develop an autotrading platform. It has been recently launched in Beta mode if you upgrade to lifetime membership for $2000-$2500. My hope is that the autotrading system will work and not blowup accounts due to software glitches like the Knight Capital software glitch fiasco in 2010.
I think they know these strategies don't work. The website claims that there have been 200k people who have signed up. I think at any given time they have 1000s of subscribers who come and go. If we assume 4000 subscribers per month at avg of $100 per month is $400k per month or $4.8 million per year. This is better than a lot of smaller hedgefund managers. For Kirk's own account, it appears that he trades a $300k portfolio, but his main source of income is selling Option Alpha subscriptions and doing real estate investing. How come his account is not millions of dollars now after almost a decade? But still around 300k? The simple reason is this doesn't work and instead he invests his income from Option Alpha subscriptions into other things/real estate investing etc.
The founder of OA has institutional experience trading and as such I would have expected him to focus on improving trading performance, creating new strategies, backtesting etc, interacting with members, rather than selling snake oil promises.
There isn't enough skin in the game. Option Alpha has forums where members can talk to each other and there are probably some legitimate strategies there (none are based on the Option Alpha) developed by members. But the OA founder has been completely AWOL last few years. Zero participation. Zero time trying to refine or improve his strategies on Option Alpha. They could have hired professional optional traders or even subscribed to institutional level stuff to help them out but no they have been focused entirely on making money. There are other free blogs and similar option newsletter services which also trade condors and butterflys which have shown much much superior results, however OA refuses to adapt their strategies or spend any time engaging with members. The focus has been on scaling the business and selling promises about the new autotrading system.
I think the founder has realized that this Option alpha is going nowhere and so has decided to pivot into autotrading. Gullible retail investors have been financing the build out of this service it seems.
Want another proof of what I'm saying? You can sign up for free membership and see the performance section. First the performance section does not tell you the performance from one year to the next. The only thing you can see is the meaningless numbers such as avg profit and loss on different option selling spreads and win rate. It is impossible to reconstruct PnL performance from these metrics. I think this is very misleading. Even Motley Fool shows their performance for their $100 per year newsletter. Almost any good newsletter and or trading/membership service shares performance/trade log for the past few years. If this is just about education then charge only for educational videos and don't have trade alerts and monthly membership/weekly elite calls etc.
Another note on some of the enhancements they up-sell on the website. The tools are almost totally useless. The backtester sucks. The scanner sucks. The forum is basically impossible to use properly.
The research reports (each priced at $400) are not worth the money.
Let me summarize the technical indicator report - use commonly used oscillators that everyone knows already at a medium term time-frame and buy at oversold condition and sell at overbought condition. I mean C'mon everyone already knows this. Does Option Alpha appear to use this research - nope!
The profit matrix report will tell you that there is no limited-loss option selling strategy that produces a CAGR (compounded annual growth rate) above a low single digit return. Not a single one. This is not surprising since the variance premium per academic research is around 3 to 4%. Shouldn't this be disclosed to regular subscribers instead of asking them to pay another $400 bucks?
Covered calls research report - sell short dated deep OTM calls. Viola! There is no actionable information in these reports. These reports are a few years old and the information is not updated. The reasonable price for such reports should have been $20-$30 not $400.
You can even find REITs or dividend paying stocks that have a higher yield than than option alpha strategies.
In fact I'm not even confident if Option Alpha has used proper back testing methodology and not made mistakes. You will learn more spending this money on a proper backtesting website that professionals use. Even Seeking Alpha and Reddit have better options strategies articles for free. A lot of academic research is available for free. Tasty Trade has similar trade ideas for free. The bottom-line is that Kirk is not a skilled trader. And has made no effort to improve or adapt to the market environment the last few years. All effort has gone into growing the business and up-selling membership with very aggressive sales tactics. He is a master salesman so be careful. Its really the case of the blind leading the blind.
Just blindly sell options every month without any edge and charge big money for it without any real view about the direction of the underlying or IV.
Just to be clear I do not have unrealistic expectations from a newsletter service/system. If I'm subscribing to an expensive service than I expect that I should have a reasonable chance to make greater than 10% on my account annually. I'm not expecting 100% nor even 20% - just a reasonable 10% to 20%.
The best thing about OA is the free educational videos and the podcast. Use that and skip the paid services. Time will tell if the new autotrading pivot will work well and I would suggest waiting until it is proven to work.

Seriously, Las Vegas is one of the closest big cities to the Hoover Dam. In fact, the Hoover Dam basically built Las Vegas. So I was thinking "what if a family wants to go see the Hoover Dam or any of the museums in Las Vegas, but don't want to go to a hotel with a casino?" or "What if someone knows they have a severe gambling addiction and knows that they would lose of their money if they went to a hotel with a casino?" Essentially, I was thinking, "What if someone wants to go to Las Vegas, but not to gamble?" Seriously, Las Vegas has Zak Bagans' Haunted Museum and one of the Madame Tussauds Wax Museums. So many museums are all around Las Vegas, some of which are great for families. And of course that proximity to the Hoover Dam. So I thought, "why not replace the Casino with an Arcade?" So maybe theme the entire hotel around video games? Have consoles and games be rentable for periods of time, including retro consoles like the NES, the Nintendo 64, the Sega Genesis, etc. Then, have the game companies create hotel-exclusive stuff like skins and stuff like that, which, if you log in to the console with your home account, gives you that hotel-exclusive stuff as kind of a virtual souvenir. It would work as video games have had location exclusive stuff for a long time (think about those times when video games had people go to stores in order to receive rewards). The consoles with the accounts would be specially designed that after the person is done, the accounts will be logged out and removed from the console. There will also be computers in each room to allow for people to use their Steam/other accounts and/or to plan out their day. Overall, it will be mostly for families, for those who want to go see the museums of Las Vegas without gambling, and/or for those who want to see the Hoover Dam.
So, what do you think? Is my idea feasible?

I found this sub many years ago, but the thought never occurred to post my experience with my NMom, especially since I doubted her abuse for years ever since I was a kid. I'm not sure where to start with this, but the thought only occurred to me hours ago after what happened. For context, I'm only turning 21 this year, I live in Singapore with my parents and my eldest brother who's a down syndrome. My second brother moved out of the house two years ago. It's been around 7 months since my NMom last talked to me, even though we live under the same roof. It's a cycle that constantly repeats since I was a kid, but I used to give in and talk to her first from the overwhelming guilt that she's my mother and I shouldn't go NC with her. However, only till this last occurrence where I just gave up in trying to mend things with her, that's when we stopped talking. In the end, it'll always end up in gaslighting me and saying that she's never done any of the things that she did to me, and will never regard it as abuse. She thinks she's far superior as a mother, and that I should always give in because mother>child. Ever since I disregarded her presence, she's stopped acknowledging me the same as before.
Like mentioned earlier, I always doubted her abuse ever since I was a kid. Being an Asian daughter, I thought getting beaten up for minor things were normal – getting caned as young as being 5 years old. Even till I enrolled in primary school (at 7 years old), getting constant screaming for doing things that weren't in her way such as folding the blanket wrongly (even at how small I was), folding my shirt wrongly or even doing absolutely nothing (eating, sleeping, watching TV) would trigger her in result to beating me, slapping me or pinching me till I bruise badly. I've always thought this was a common punishment, and always wondered why I did things wrongly and couldn't do things that were in her favour. I had to attend school in bruises, and my friends would question me. Accidents that happened at home were immediately blamed upon me, even if she found out that it was from my eldest brother's doing.
It wasn't just abused from my NMom that I faced at home either. I had to go for counselling in primary school since my form teacher found out that my math textbook was thrown away by my dad. He was never patient when teaching me homework I struggled with when I was around 9 years old. He'd rip the books in front of me, force me to follow him to the kitchen to see him throw it down the chute and tell me to drop out of school. At 9 years old. I did go to see the school counsellor then, I just told her the way my parents would have treated me at home. Sadly, the sessions shortly stopped after my NMom found out that I had been going for counselling, and she strictly forbid me from ever seeing the counsellor again. She threatened and told me that no one else was supposed to know about our family matters, and it would stay that way. I was genuinely pondering of just ending it all by constantly going to my brother's room and sitting at the window's edge, although I knew I wouldn't really die from jumping 6 floors down. There were other instances as well, such as when my NMom would force a handful of chilli padi in my mouth till I was on the floor, begging my dad to help, he'd just kick me and proceed to sit onto the sofa to read newspapers. He'd also beat me with a hanger if I wasn't cooperating with her or doing minor things wrongly as well but at a much lesser frequency.
About a year later, she attempted suicide by slicing her wrists with kitchen knives in the living room when my dad stopped her, which eventually caused a ruckus (a vase fell off a shelf and broke on her head) and woke everyone up in the house. I witnessed it alongside my second brother – with blood all over the sofa, my dad pinning her down with his knee, while she kept sobbing and screaming. The police came (the neighbours complained), relatives came and took her away – I was just confused and scared as a child and didn't understand what was happening. Only years later on did I realise that my dad had been cheating on her, so she wanted to take her own life.
Years later still (about 2012), my life was still controlled by her. I wasn't allowed to go out, have my best friend over (I didn't have friends at the time), I couldn't get by anything without her permission. I could only be home – which I found comfort in drawing or being online on the home computer. It wasn't all the time either, as she would get on the computer herself and be on Facebook almost the whole day. Starting 2013 when I would be 13, she started the habit of not giving/providing me food if she was angry or if I did something wrong to her. She'd purposely get food for everyone else except me. (She rarely cooked, so it was more of ordering fast food for everyone except me). This was really fucked up, considering I wasn't allowed to even go out and get my own food and that I wasn't allowed to use her kitchen too, so I'd usually starve till the next day.
Fast forward to 2016 when I was a little more let loose, I went on a date far from home that she was aware of, and she told me to be back by 10:00 pm. I only reached home about 5-10 minutes later with my phone in my bag, and I wasn't aware of her missed calls. I came home and she started screaming at me for so loud and long, about how I always came up with excuses that I didn't see my phone and that I would purposely ignore her. I got so fucking fed up and told her that it was only 10 minutes late and she was being unreasonable. She went out of sight for a while after going to the kitchen, got a hammer from the toolbox and started smashing my phone right in front of me.
I was scared shitless because my dad and second brother wasn't home, and my eldest brother was sleeping (although he couldn't do anything if he was awake either). She started yelling at me to fold my clothes or some sort (? memory's kind of foggy), so I went into my room and opened the cupboard to fold my clothes. She was still yelling, and I heard her storm into my room and she swung the hammer at me. I dodged, ran to the living room and grabbed the home phone to call the police. I remember at that point in time, my friend told me to call them any time I felt danger from her and to not be scared. So I did, I called them while she watched and laughed at me at the idea of calling the police on my own mother. There was a neighbourhood station nearby, and they said they'll be reaching the house soon. I remember sobbing so hard from how scared I was and told them to come quick.
The police then came, there were two officers (if I'm not wrong) and each of them questioned me and my NMom separately. I told the officer what happened, including the direction she swung the hammer at and that my phone got smashed by her (with the glass everywhere). I could hear the other officer that was questioning her bickering about how spoiled children were these days, and that my NMom were giving false answers to him as well. I yelled at the officer and told him the shit she said wasn't true, but they told me to focus on the officer that was questioning me instead. Could tell that the police could not give a single fuck about my welfare.
Shortly after, my dad came back (from the casino I think) and yelled at how selfish I was for not thinking about my eldest brother's welfare if my NMom got jailed. I was in true shock, just being 16 and having your own mother swing a hammer at you and hearing that sentence from your father who has done nothing to protect you your whole life. It was around 1 am at this point, they were putting cuffs on her and she called me out to see the moment and remember it for the rest of my life. That I was putting cuffs on my own mother. They eventually brought her to the station, and I was home alone. I couldn't sleep and had no means of communication to my second brother or my friends, I could only use his computer to log into Twitter and let them know. My dad eventually bailed her out.
Soooooo many fucked up instances has happened because of my NMom, but after that police case she did simmer down a little, only for a while though. She's gone back to how she was from square one. I had to even give away my bunny to my close friend that I got to keep and take care of for almost a year and a half, because of all her gaslighting and manipulation tactics by using the bunny against me. Till now, she's

1. Still not providing food, explicitly cleaning the whole house except for my room
2. Throwing my personal items away that I buy with my own money (including food)
3. Leaving anything that's mine untouched, even my washed dishes
4. Not allowed to use anything that's hers – including bedding, mats, her own toilet, food
5. Gets pissed when I get my own food or cook my own food
6. Gets mad when I don't wash the pots after cooking EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, even when I'm eating while she leaves the pots with food in it overnight (fucking disgusting)
7. Pissed that the only reason I'm home is to wash my clothes (that my dad helps, not even her that washes the load, isn't able to comprehend the logic of loads in washing machines)
8. Pissed that I'm nice to strangers? Because I thank food delivery rides at the doorstep?
9. Still screams in my disabled brother's face, beats him even sometimes

TLDR:
NMom is just unhappy with the fact that I exist and that I'm trying my best to survive. My second brother faced almost everything that's listed the same as I did. As someone who's still attending classes in college, with a decent 3.6 GPA and so close to graduating, attending competitions and getting minor achievements, I'm still overlooked as the worst daughter alive to her no matter what I do. I just don't get how someone could be so fucking cruel to their own child, with no communication, no welfare or even a drip of affection and to label their child as the worst. Just wanna move out and regard her as dead lmao

Overview

• Name of Run: the born loser
• Metaplot: krimewave
• Run Link: [krimewave] The Born Loser <2021-01-31> : NeonAnarchy (reddit.com)
• Date: 2021-01-31
• Time: 2200
• Duration: 2.5 Hours
• Threat: Semi-prime
• Scheduling: Impromptu
• GM: u/coy-coyote (c0z1)
• Runners: u/doubleharts (Killdozer), u/aztechnologypr (Aegean), u/tkul (ZDT), u/anubonk (Bubblegum), u/n4shwise (Aurora)
• Johnson: Pit Boss, Planet Horizon
• Relevant NPCs: Herbert Gerber, Market Analytics & metadata collation, NEOnet (VIP)
• Location: Planet Horizon Casino
• Opposition: Jarl, F10; Herbert (Decker)
• Casualties: 0
• Collateral: 0
• Synopsis: Runners are hired by the casino management of the Planet Horizon to quietly & politely remove Mr. Gerber from the casino floor and prevent his return to gaming by shifting his obligations elsewhere.
• Run Rewards: 60,000 nuyen -or- 90,000 nuyen gear credit: Misc. (Survival, Tools, Tools of the Trade, Lifestyle payments [advance]), Pharmaceuticals & Medical, [15 RVP] 5 Karma [5 RVP], 2 knowledge karma [F]
• Choice of Quality(s) up to 10 RVP value, at chargen cost, Free [10 RVP]: Alibi [4], Analytical Mind [5], Astral Chameleon [10], Biocompatability (Bio or Cyberware) [5], Barrens Rat [5], Battle Hardened [2], Blandness [8], Brilliant Heuristics [5], Catlike [7], Common Sense [3], Cynic [6], Daredevil [6], Drug Tolerant [6], Focused Concentration [4 per, max 5], Guts [10], Honest Face [5], Instinctive Hack [2], Juryrigger [10], natural Athlete [7], ninja vanish [5], Perceptive [1 or 2 ranks, 5], Quick Config [5], Shoot First - Don't Ask [2], Magic Resistance [6], Social Chameleon [7], Profiler [3], Observant [5], Outdoorsman [3], Perfect Time [5], Toughness [9], Spirit Whisperer [8], Tough as Nails [5, S or P], Astral Chameleon [10], Resistance to Pathogens, Toxins [4, 4, or 8], Radiation Sponge [5], Rad-Tolerant [3], Natural Immunity (Natural or Synthetic) [4 or 10], Natural Hardening [10], Master Debator [10], Empathic Listener [10], Vehicle Empathy [7], Reverberant [5], Practice-Practice-Practice [2], Will to Live [3], Golden Screwdriver [8], Go Big or Go Home [6], Fade to Black [7], Stunt Driver [4], Speed Demon [3], Steely Eyed Wheelman [2], Innocuous [5], Groupthink [5], Special Modifications [5], Prototype Materials [5], Redliner [10],Black Market Pipeline [10], Poisoner [5], One With The Matrix [10], Lightning Reflexes [20], Spike Resistance [10], Brand Loyalty (Manufacturer or Product) [3], Double Jointed [6], Sharpshooter [4]

Background
Metadata manipulation is Vegas is dangerous; especially when metagaming relies on accurate metadata for trending bet predictions and odds to be properly calculated.
Meet
Runners meet the Johnson at the Casino Grande online Mahjong Table #12.
Run
Runners make their way to Vegas courtesy of ZDT's cessna, landing in searchlight and getting their comped room at the Planet Horizon as well as a limo ride from the airport. VIP services checks them in, and ZDT and Aurora proceed to search the fuck out of everything they can, getting a little background on the Johnson while ZDT foments a plan.
Bubblegum and Aegean take turns on the casino floor attempting to surveil the Johnson, with Bubblegum sitting a few hands of poker to realize that he's dealing, yet again, with another person Dream Pacted by the Fae - a Jarl possessing the man spends all night up gambling while he toils his days away in his hotel room remoting in to work. ZDT decides to frame him for corporate collusion with a rival entity while the team agrees to the plan.
ZDT hacks the NEONet foundation, grabbing some project data linked to Gerber, escaping the foundation after a daring series of hacks and receiving some secondary host code from Aurora, who vacates the host after getting chased for encryption-cracking while helping ZDT get into the foundation.
Back in the hotel room, they decide to kick it in Vegas for a couple days, doing the touristy stuff like feeding the lions during the virtual Siegfried and Roy show with a Krime T-Shirt Cannon and generally fucking around till their edge comes back.
Two days later, ZDT and Aurora get on the hacks, putting all the copied compromised data into gerber's comms, masquerading them to forward the files to Horizon and copying the transcript log of the transfer, and then Aurora anonymously calls NEONet for the tip-off. Not even an hour later, Herbert is checking out of his year-and-a-half long room at the PH, forced to return to chilly boston as his bosses start screaming over his corporate defection. Nasty guest evicted!
Aftermath
A CFD-ridden, dream-pacted executive may be an interesting threat during the Boston Lockdown...
Expenses
Johnson covered room & board as part of negotiations.

Poker IDN is a short for Internet Protocol Name. The server providing this service is referred to as the ISP (Internet Service Provider). In other words, this address identifies every single computer that playing online poker games and any changes made in the address assigned by the server will be reflected on all the computers connected to the Internet using the IP (Internet Protocol), which are all the computers on the same LAN. While there may be only one IP address for every single computer on the LAN, still when a change is made, it is reflected in all the computers. Similarly, when a name is given, all the computers that are specified by the IP address will get the same name as well. So, if you have recently changed your name or address, and want to play poker games on a particular site, all you need to do is enter the new poker IDN and your old name and address will be removed from the list of IDN's and replaced with your new one.Poker IDN is also used to provide security to the players. The idea is that when you make a deposit into your online poker account, the website would check your details against its database of poker players and other relevant information and if there is any match, your details will be sent to you via SMS or email. However, there are some important things that you need to remember before depositing money into your online poker account. If you are using a credit or debit card, ensure that the details you provide are secure, especially when you are processing the credit or debit card payment.It is highly recommended that you should use PayPal, because of the security features it offers. PayPal has an option called Two Factor Authentication, which uses two factors, namely an encrypted password and a digital verification key. This ensures that the transaction is not possible to fraudulent means and there are no security risks involved, so that is why most online gambling websites, both in the form of poker rooms and casinos, are using PayPal for all the payment transactions made through their website. The other benefits of using PayPal include the fact that they have a very high rate of acceptance by both poker sites and casinos, which mean that you will get your money even faster if you play in the right website.Poker IDN is another poker game feature, which will help new members in learning the basics of playing online poker games. The most common among these poker game features is the ability to see the other players table streak. Most of the time, there are two or more players in each table, but in Situs poker there are only four players in each table. In order to view other players table streak, you have to click on their name in the chat box. Once you do so, you will then be able to see their picture in the center of the room, next to their name.There is also another useful feature of Poker IDN that you should be aware of. If you join a website with no members, and if there are no players in your room, when you try to log in you will see a message stating that there are no players in your room. This means that you will have to be physically present in the room in order to play, if there are no players in the room, Poker IDN can provide you with a virtual partner. A lot of poker online websites offer a "fish" or a "surfer" mode. If you are looking for a partner, you can just click on the fish icon and you will be given the option to choose a poker player.One of the major benefits of Poker IDN is that it helps players in earning more money through their bank accounts. When you play online poker games, you are constantly exposed to some deposit money. Through most of the poker rooms, you will be required to open a poker money bank account. Once you have been accepted to play in the poker rooms, you will receive an ID number. When you wish to make a deposit into the bank account, you will just need to give this number to the transaction manager. The transaction manager will transfer the money into your bank account.

(CW s*x mention, swear words, weight mention, actual encounter details)
Ok. So... I’m a bit intoxicated yet I feel extremely lucid. After many hours of re-entering the world of what used to deeply frighten me, I’m ready to talk “publicly” about what happened to me. I have way too many questions, and I’m hoping I’m in the right place to possibly glean some answers. I feel very sensitive and skittish at this moment in time. I currently live like... a thousand miles away from where this happened but I still somehow feel like I’m being “paid attention to” as I write this and prepare to post it.
This is a long post with a lot of seemingly random details. So I guess, uh... bear with me. Those of you who stick around or have, in the past, read a lot of these stories, may find this interesting or relevant or validating... I don’t know. It’s just long and detailed.
Background:
I am an “empath.” I’ve heard a short group of people describe empaths as “the world’s most narcissistic narcissists.” I think this is their way of trying to demonize me for being Sensitive. I also encounter “ghosts” or spirits or entities, but haven’t since my last successful attempt to escort a spirit out of my friend’s parents’ house last year. I have had many spiritual encounters but they are VERY DIFFERENT from what this story is about. My intuition is very strong. My mother has very strong “feelings”, able to identify dangers before they happen (including knowing that our house would flood in an area that hadn’t flooded in like... 60 years, got insurance and then like 4 days after the insurance kicked in we flooded lolll) and my grandmother on my father’s side was so keen with premonitory shit that she and my grandfather would be just shy of being kicked out of casinos because she would literally clean House in Las Vegas and they would just casino hop and make THOUSANDS off of her ability to predict... whatever. She would make money, never count it, hand it to my grandfather who would go drink and then once the House got slightly sus of her activity, they would bounce, go to the casino next door and rinse, repeat. Like, whatever. But she also was like, blessed with her “spook” as she called it. Once my father got horrrrrrrrible food poisoning (on the west coast, grandmother was on east coast) and was brought into the ER for fluids or whatever. My mother received a call that night, she picked up and it was my paternal grandmother. No “hello” no “what’s going on” just “WHY IS MY BABY IN THE HOSPITAL?”
This seems extraneous but I think, now, it is relevant to what happened to me. Still not sure why but... yeah.
Ok so to the THING the EVENT that happened to me. (It was very sus and I will explain why, I promise. This is a long post but just like... bear with me ok plz.)
I think it was 2011 MAYBE 2010, I was living in a dormitory in my own room (single bedroom, jus me) in downtown Oakland California. I was mentally in a very very bad place, and I believe it was shortly before this encounter that I had a full on hysterical existential crisis where I had called my then-boyfriend (now loving husband) on my cell phone while I was huddled in an exterior portion of an emergency exit doorway alcove at my San Francisco campus, convinced that I had unraveled the secrets of the universe in my sketchbook during my last class of the night. I don’t remember how I got there, I don’t remember my conversation on the phone, I’m pretty sure I blacked it out and I’m also pretty sure my partner blacked it out as well because I was so upset that it was traumatic to us both (and he was literally hundreds and hundreds of miles away and could not physically get to me.) I do remember the infinity symbol being very important in a superficial way, and also that it was so deep that I like... fell in.
So anyway.. somehow I recover from that, my boyfriend is concerned but can’t... do anything, so
One night, I wake up and my dorm room looks different. The only time I had ever seen my room from a similar perspective was when I was standing on my bed hanging up my faery lights around the walls near my bed when I had first moved in. The thing was, my dorm was SMACK DAB in the middle of the city, like... civic center was right fuckin there. Like middle of the city. I was used to the orange glow of the street lights pouring through my dirty and aged blue curtains of my fourth floor window. I was located right at the fire escape, which pleased my father because he knew I could gtfo super fast no matter what the emergency.
The ceilings of my dorm room were VERY high, maybe more than 9 or 10 feet, probably more, but the point is that if I stood straight up on my bed (which was also lifted for storage reasons so I had to climb onto a stool to climb into bed) I still had plenty of clearance between my head and the ceiling.
So
I wake up, and as I look around, I realize my vision is about 5-6 and a half feet above my bed. I didn’t realize this at first because I had a lot of information to take in. My room was dark, but my computer was still on because I would play David Attenborough’s Blue Planet every night to help me fall asleep. The hallway lights were on as always and I could see the light coming through under my door. The thing was, the normal orange streetlight coming through my curtains was a white-blue, and it was soft but filled my whole window. But because the curtains were drawn, it was still rather dark in my room. I saw, in front of me, my door, and the hallway light coming under the door, normal... but when I looked DOWN I saw my feet, and they were ABOVE my bed by like... at least a foot. Maybe more.
I suddenly realize that I am in the air, near the foot of my bed, and I immediately PANIC.
I took a HUGE heaving breath of air, eyes wide, and then suddenly the light went out and I SANK toward the floor as if gravity had been suddenly switched on, and BANG hit the floor. The floors were essentially like this black composite nerf shit, so while my ass felt it, it wasn’t like landing on hardwood. The worst part though was that I hit the floor, saw the room come up (as your environment does when you fall), and since I had been right next to the foot of my bed, I was also very close to the wooden leg post of the bed, which was like... 4 feet tall. I hit the floor and recoiled, my head snapped back and WHAM back of my head hit the bed leg post. I felt my teeth clack in my head from the impact, and I felt and heard the vibration of the floor resonate simultaneously with the impact of my body hitting the floor. I will NEVER forget the rattling of my teeth from that impact.
So: GASP, lights go out, drop, fall, bam hit floor, wham head hit bed leg, teeth clack, and then
wake up suddenly, it’s daylight on my Friday off, and I’m in bed, under the covers.
A few things to point out:
I have vivid dreams. They are usually very awful or completely unremarkable, and they all fade to some degree. This event never faded. The sound of my body striking the floor is still very clear to me. While I’m not sure if it’s related, a few weeks (months?) later a smol portion of my left incisor broke off for basically no reason, and the dentist noticed but didn’t ask questions. Just... announced out loud that I now had different tooth features to the tech who had taken my X-rays for that dental cleaning.
Another note, I have no history in my life of sxual abse. I was raised in a very comfortable home with parents that loved me and cared for me and made sure I did not suffer too much during their divorce when I was 11-12 years younger. I have a very dear friend who suggested I may have been suppressing memories of abse and that this encounter was a possible expression of abse as This Is A Thing That Happens. Not trying to detract from others experiences, this is just like... as far as I know, a known psych thing.
The most important thing:
I was NOT taken out of my dorm room.
I was NOT abducted. I did not SEE any figures or visitors or whatever you want to call them, the only thing I saw that didn’t belong was the blue-white light coming in through my curtains. And also the fucked up perspective provided by being literal inches from the ceiling.
This is why I call this event “my attempted abduction.”
More notes: I have the “ginger gene.” With 3 of my 4 parents being in medical, one of which who was a regular tech in the operating room, I learned that people with the red hair gene are like... less affected by anesthesia and pain relief. People who WAKE UP during surgery often have the red hair gene (either through prominent gene expression of red hair, or a subtle gene expression through a red tint. I have the red tint. I got this from my VERY Irish mother, who HAS woken up during surgery, is less responsive to chemical pain relief, and these features were passed on to me.) I also very distinctly remember undergoing mild but traumatic and frightening dental work, they gave me the gas and while I was unable to speak or move, I felt EVERYTHING and just... tears poured out of my eyes but no one asked me if I was ok. I just suffered, unable to move, and in excruciating pain, tears pouring down my face. Someone told me that gas is supposed to just relax you and not alleviate pain, which is fair, but at the same time, I was very aware of everything I just... couldn’t move or speak up. I mention this because PERHAPS this is why I woke up and came to in the middle of being removed from my room. I have no idea, but it just... seems relevant. I don’t know if they use chemicals, or anesthetics, or anything at all, but I wonder if the reason I woke up partway through this encounter was related to why my mother wakes up during surgery.
Even more notes: for those of you with Deep Lore knowledge, this may actually be relevant, and is a very resent development in my personal knowledge and MAY be important to what happened. After my father did genetic testing recently, he found that he (and therefore I) had a direct ancestor of a very famous Female Viking military leadetactician. You can search “Sweden Viking woman burial genetic testing” and learn about her. I am not directly descended from HER, but she and I share a common ancestor.
Ok
So I had just had this mental breakdown specifically about the futility of existence in The Universe, I wake up floating, gasp for air, lights go out, I hit the floor, blah blah blah, I wake up in bed, and I never have another encounter. Never again to this day even coming up on 10 years later.
About three years after this encounter, i finally told my psychiatrist and she very casually and carefully says “ok so... liiiiiiittle bit of psychosis” and prescribes me an antipsychotic for psychotic features. (Turns out this medication completely messed me up. Made me gain like 150 pounds, and NOT A SINGLE MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL suggested that this particular antipsychotic could be the culprit for like.... ALL of my subsequent medical issues, including NO MORE PERIODS, no sex drive, and dangerous weight gain that basically made me prediabetic. But that’s all another story for another day. Point is I’m taking a different medication now, doing better, mentally and physically happy, still fat but rocking it and loving it.)
Thoughts: why did they stop? I got this overwhelming sense that I wasn’t the only person panicking in the room. I got this feeling that the Ones who came to “pick me up” were just as shocked as I was. When I woke up and gasped for air, I felt panic, but I also felt like... THEY panicked too. Like “BRO SHE WOKE UP WTF DROP HER ABORT ABORT” like that was the feeling I got.
What did I have that they wanted? I was mentally unstable, but still an empath and a lucid/vivid dreamer. I was not exactly prime health specimen though. No congenital situations though, outside depression, anxiety and panic disorder. PTSD came about around the same time but for unrelated reasons. Some people indicate that abductors are interested in sex cells, skin cells, organ samples, etc. I was not necessarily special in that regard. Wtf did they want with me? Was it my brain situation? Did I have an ability or abilities that were valuable?
WHY DID THEY CHOOSE DOWNTOWN FUCKING OAKLAND to try pick a person up? Like that isn’t some classic backroads, back water, in the sticks, in the woods, on some dark road shit, where they could do their stuff without being noticed. this was DOWNTOWN bro. Like if I leaned out my window correctly I could seeeeeeeee the government offices. The neons of the newspaper building lit up my room (that light was red tho, so 100% ruled out to explain the light I saw.) I was NOT in an inconspicuous place where they could do their work without drawing attention.
So I’m left to ask again, wtf did I have that was valuable enough for them to try to take me out of my room in a metropolis downtown area where I was VERY PHYSICALLY CLOSE to other people? through the walls, other people were no more than 15 feet away from me at any given moment of the night.
I feel like...ok. I feel like I’m rambling and providing a LOT of information so if you made it this far through all the details that I HOPE were relevant, I commend you and I THANK you.
I’ve talked to my mother, my now-husband, my best friend, and my (now fired) psychiatrist about this event. Now I am telling You.
I am trusting You with this information because I feel in my heart that this is a place where people won’t call me crazy or whatever.
I don’t know. I’m feeling very shook up trying to sort my thoughts around this, and by typing it up in such a public forum I feel very vulnerable and weird. I also don’t even know if I’m in the right place because I technically was not abducted, I didn’t leave my room, but I stg someone or something tried to take me out of my room.
I don’t know if anyone here has any ideas as to Who the race was that might have been interested in me, or whatever it was I had that they wanted, or whatever. All I know is that it was Really Scary and that I’m glad it hasn’t happened again. My partner is skeptical but very supportive, told me I wasn’t crazy, etc... I don’t know. I know my talking about it spooks him though. but I just can’t ignore it or downplay it anymore.
If you happen to have ANY information that could help me understand my situation, or if you have encounters that were similar or.... anything.
I don’t know..
It’s very very late and I think I need to have a glass of water and try to sleep but I will log after I wake up and see if... ya’ll like... have anything. I don’t know.
I’m just really shook up rn.
Peace, blessed be you and yours, and may the New Year bring joy, comfort, love and good food to you.
Thank you for your time. I really really really appreciate it.

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