Bimql chhetry.

My office is right next to St. Jude’s—a 19th-century cemetery hidden behind an overgrown iron fence. Six months ago, burned out from staring at spreadsheets, I started sneaking in during my 45-minute lunch break. It was quiet, peaceful, and the only place nearby where no one asked me for anything. Eventually, I picked a spot: an old, flat mossy headstone tucked under an enormous oak tree, completely hidden from the main walking path. The tombstone belonged to a man named Arthur, who died in 1894. For months, it was just my secret spot. I’d eat my sandwich, listen to music, and enjoy the silence. Three weeks ago, I noticed something odd. A tiny, weathered stone was sitting on top of Arthur’s headstone, holding down a folded piece of yellowed paper. Curious, I opened it. Written in black ink was a single line: *"The noise outside the gate never changes, but the silence in here is always different."* I figured it was just poetry left by another quiet visitor or someone visiting...

A theater friend invited me to her Fourth of July party. I already had plans to see fireworks, but stopped by beforehand, brought drinks, and let her borrow my cooler. We played True American, drank, hung out. Completely normal party. I leave for the fireworks and realize after midnight that my cooler is still there. Cars are outside, lights are on, so I knock. My friend answers the door completely naked. Full disclosure: gay man here. At this point, I had never seen a fully naked woman live and in person. So I’m just like, “Oh. Okay. Hi. I’m just here for my cooler.” She drunkenly goes, “Oh yeah, it’s in the kitchen,” and leads me inside like there is absolutely nothing worth addressing here. I look into the living room. People are fucking on the floor. Shit you not. At no point was I briefed that this was to be an orgy. We get to the cooler, and I start unloading cans while my naked friend tries to help. She bends down. Tits hit me in the face. Okay. I keep unloading. She bends down...

I bought these THC gummies at a dispensary, and figured I’d use them on the weekends. When I first got them, I took 1mg, and just felt like my limbs were heavy and not much else. So this time, I decided to double the dose, and take 2mg. I thought “I’ll probably just feel even more relaxed.” After about 2 hours, I was laying on one end of the couch, my sister was sitting on the other end telling a story. As she’s telling the story I realize I can’t remember the last sentence she was saying. I didn’t know what was happening, I thought my brain was shutting off and I could be dying. My sister said she looked at my face and I stared blankly at her, she asked “what’s wrong?” And I just started crying hysterically. I could get no words out. She called my dad in, I’m just laying there sobbing. My dad said “it’s just side effects of the THC, you’ll be fine.” My sister said at that time, my heart was pounding so hard she could audibly hear it. My heart was slamming against my ribs. I was convi...

So you know how Thai restaurants usually have a scale of heat for when you order? Usually ranging from “mild” to “Thai-hot.” Years ago after getting COVID and losing my sense of taste I turned to excessively spicy foods. I built up my tolerance to the point I usually have to ask someone to taste my cooking before I serve it or else I’ll be at the table happily eating while my dinner guests are gasping for breath. So going to a Thai place I always ask for my food “extra Thai hot.” Well one night when trying a new place I asked my server how hot they could make my meal and the server says to me as his face shifts to empathetically dreadful concern “We have a secret spice level named after our owner, Susan. It’s ‘Susan hot.’’’ So ask for my phat phrik khing “Susan hot.” My sever reminds me that there will be no refund if I do not like it and walks to the kitchen to put in my order. I anxiously wait for my meal. At some point the ventilation hoods in the kitchen can no longer contain the ...

They literally spent 20 million dollars of taxpayer money to turn a regular street cat into a living, breathing cybernetic spy. The project was called "Acoustic Kitty." and honestly, it’s the most hilariously expensive fail ever. The plan was just wild. cia techs took a cat and did a brutal five-hour surgery on it. they shoved a tiny microphone inside its ear canal, hid a battery and a transmitter under the skin along its spine, and literally wove a long antenna into its fur all the way down the tail. the cat was supposed to walk into parks, sit near some russians on a bench, and beam their secret talks back to a surveillance van. But they hit a pretty obvious biological problem during testing. cats just don't give a damn about american national security. instead of spying, the cat kept walking away because it wanted to sleep, chase a mouse, or find food. Did the cia give up? nah. they just threw more millions at it. they put the cat through another surgery and literally...

I work as a telecom field engineer and often do physical-layer line audits. So half of my week is spent in dull basements that haven’t seen daylight since the fall of the Berlin Wall. What to do there? I tone cables, sometimes trying to figure out which unlabelled jumper wire is keeping an oldass elevator intercom alive. Last Thursday had a task to survey a wing of a municipal clinic built in 1976. The building is scheduled for gut renovation next spring, but the admin block next door kept experiencing intermittent ground hum on their PBX trunk. Down behind the main 100-pair distribution frame in that narrow deadspace between the asbestos paneling and the galvanized cable riser, I felt something stiff. I pulled out a cloth-bound A4 ledger with marbled covers. The spine was held together with dried electrical friction tape. It was an unofficial station log kept between October 1987 and November 1991 by an on-duty technician named V. H. I know staff in this district had a half-joking le...