Hey guys, less than two hours for the finale and there's a good chance I'll be wrong, but I still wanted to share my last prediction. I rewatched all the finales in the last few hours and tried to connect them with the verses of Dream Song 29 that are used as titles.
First of all, an introduction. The poem is about a man (Henry) who thinks he's killed someone, and is plagued by the guilt that comes from that; yet in the end he realises he did not. In other words, the potential for evil that torments him is just in his head, but he didn't really do it; or maybe he is not to blame for the death of someone close, but he thinks he is... the parallel between this and Kendall is pretty obvious, but I argue that Kendall's arc regarding the waiter is the reverse story, in the sense that first he doesn't think he's guilty but will slowly gain conscience that in fact he is. This is how I interpret each finale title:
"Nobody is ever missing" - the episode ends with Logan telling him that nothing happened, and covering up for him. The idea here is that he's avoiding dealing with the guilt, so it's as if nobody had ever gone missing.
"This is not for tears" - when Logan announces Kendall will be the "scalp", Ken says something on the line of "I deserve it, so I can pay for what I did", and Logan ofc disabuses him of this notion and tells him he would not make it because he was not a killer. Kendall later betrays Logan, avoiding having to go to jail. Again he rejects and rationalises the guilt.
"All the bells say" - this one is a bit too hard, but in the poem that sentence is followed by "Too Late", which imo is essential for the meaning. When Ken confesses he's a murderer to Shiv and Roman, they too try to say it's not that bad, and he's not really a killer, "just an irresponsibler", as Roman says. Ken himself says he "dived a few times" but he didn't make such an effort, and he's obviously saying that to shrug off the guilt. Five min later the siblings are in the car on the way to yet another failed coup attempt.
"With open eyes" - Now there are four different meanings I could think about this verse - the full version of which is with open eyes, he attends, blind. In the context of the poem, I believe it is supposed to either represent Henry going through his life ("open eyes") and trying to ignore the guilt ("blind"), or the opposite - him being nervous and fixated in the guilt, blind to life (which would make sense in that case since the poem indicates he's not really guilty). The situation is also more complicated because it could refer to the "grave Sienese face", a reference to Sienese medieval painting - in that sense, it could represent Jesus or Mary being "blind" to him, in the sense that they reject him for being a sinner. Anyway, all those three meanings could relate to Kendall's future, as well as a fourth meaning which I will explore below.

1. If the "open eyes" refer to being open to the world, and the blindness refers to being blind to his guilt, then the ending could be Kendall completing his transition into a horrible person and being crowned as CEO. He has eyes to oversee his empire, but is blind to having lost his soul in the process. I wrote before about why I don't think this would happen given the series' Shakespearean inclination, but also I think since Kendall's story is a reversal of the poem (this is also backed by the fact that the verses appear in Succession in the reverse order as they do in the poem) then the meaning of Kendall's open eyes should be something that conduces him to the first part of the poem, the overwhelming guilt and ache in the hard, and the judgement of the grave Sienese face.
2. This leads to the second meaning, which is the idea that Kendall will finally face his own moral failings and realise he is not a good person, and that will blind him to life. In this scenario, Ken would have a breakdown at some point, leading him to reject the path his father chose him. Maybe he would even come forward to the police and admit his crime as a part of self-punishment.
3. Now, one of the reasons (a weak one) why I think he might actually die is first of all the "grave Sienese face", which is a reference to Jesus/Mary. To receive the judgement of Jesus and Mary he must of course be dead, and so in that sense if the "open eyes" refer to the medieval paintings cited in the poem, this could mean that he's finally facing the judgement of death for his crimes. The idea that Ken will actually die is also supported by the fact that someone with "open eyes, but blind" is exactly someone who just died - they keep their eyes open, but can't see. I wouldn't be surprised if the last shot was dead Ken with his eyes open/someone closing them in the coffin.
4. Still I don't think JA would kill both Ken and Logan in the same season, which leads me to the final prediction which is a bit of a combination of both and a reference to Sophocles' play Oedipus Rex. The play is about a king who unknowingly killed his father and took his throne, which is very fitting for Ken and Logan. The city of Thebes which he rules is now going through a plague and to find out who's guilty they start investigating the past, eventually leading to Oedipus' discovery of his crime. Oedipus's achievement of self knowledge ("open eyes") leads him to gauge his own eyes in disgust of himself and to get banned from Thebes (interestingly, he is banned by his kids and by his wife's brother, Creon, almost like his sister's husband?). In that sense, I think Ken would perfectly fit in the role of Oedipus, and as such his act of gauging his eyes can be done either "literally" by suicide, or by coming forward to authorities in a kind of breakdown, potentially after being "banned" from Waystar after failing to block the acquisition.

So to summarise, I think all the multiple meanings of the Open Eyes are possible in this ending, but I personally believe Ken's arc is the reverse of Henry's in Dream Song 29 and, in that sense, he is bound to be plagued by guilt - the question is just how big of a toll will this guilt take on him.

I'd like to find somebody thoughtful, someone who isn't superficial. Somebody who appreciates the rich vastness of our shared multicultural past, and freely follows her curiosity in exploring it. Somebody who is trying her best to adhere to the guidance of her inner moral compass, and isn't so easily fooled by the distractions and illusions of the world.
One such illusion, that must immediately be mentioned (this is important, because it's led to a break for me, in the past): religion. Religion is man-made, and not of any higher authority. The Bible and the Quran all permit slavery—in addition to countless other horrid and divisive ideas—while claiming to be eternal wisdom, and that is indefensible. I still like to believe in the idea of some permeating higher morality, that imbues us with our general sense for justice, fairness, and empathy...but, I know that without outright proof, even my holding of such a notion can be deemed a flight of fancy, a residual remnant of a system so entrenched. However, it seems to me that life is often more than just what's on the surface. Um, but now, then—back to the person I wish to know...
I'd also love it if she were artistic. Singing, sketching, painting, writing, composing, creating. Someone who is trying to nurture their talents and passions. I know it can be difficult...
As for me, well... I adore music. Mostly voices from the past (the 1960s would have to be my favorite), because I find them to be humbler and more from the heart, at least in popular music. I’ll just give an example of something I’ve looked into, and this is nowhere near representative of my wider taste, but if you go back to early 1920s country music... (Here's an aside: a lot of what people think of as "country" today is a long cry from what the genre is actually like, historically. If you are into folk music—Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan—it is indelibly linked to "country", and if you'd like a popular example of a song that originated within the genre, look no further than the universally recognized "You Are My Sunshine", from 1939!)
Anyway. If you go back to that early period, where undiscovered niches of music were still sought out and first put to tape... a lot of those artists had no idea about anything to do with recording—no ego, no attempt to sound "cool". What came through instead was a bare expression of the life that had been lived—the inner beauty of their own personhood, and I love hearing that. It's so honest. A vulnerable and piercing expression.
So if you're into history or the beautiful music of decades (and centuries) past, if you have any aspirations for creating as a method of changing the world for the better, if you'd like to play games and watch movies together, if you'd like an accountability partner—or all of the above...please message me. I don't mind the chat function, either—in fact, it's probably easier. Also, to get this out of the way: this is what I look like.
I love beautiful things. Nature, music that tugs at your heartstrings or is so honest you're enraptured, experiences that heal. More specifically, here are some of my current interests:

• music (singing/playing an instrument/the Beach Boys are my favorite group—I also love Maybelle Carter, Cass Elliot, Pink Floyd, Lana Del Rey, The Cranberries, Sixpence None The Richer, loads of video game music, The Smiths, The Beatles, The Who, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, Harry Nilsson, Joni Mitchell, The Righteous Brothers, Judy Garland, Sam Cooke, Frank Churchill, Marty O'Donnell and Michael Salvatori... Here’s a brief go at the Beatles’ “Julia”.) And, if you liked that—a more recent one…
• drawing—here are a few I've done.
• video games (any era from Atari—I like exploring the history and evolution—to the Switch and PS4) [Currently playing, or starting: The Binding of Isaac, Catherine]
• Disney, especially the Golden Age and Renaissance—Pinocchio (my favorite movie ever), Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Aladdin, The Lion King, Tarzan. I love how handmade the early films look. And yet, how no expense was spared in creating these most precious and moving works of art.
• films/series/books I've enjoyed lately: The Sound of Magic, The Little Prince, Matilda, Love Hard, The Fundamentals of Caring, This Beautiful Fantastic, Donnie Darko, Alamut by Vladimir Bartol (this book was a key inspiration for the first Assassin's Creed), The Trial of the Chicago 7, Medici: The Magnificent, Pollyanna by Eleanor Porter, Judy

To close... I suppose I should say I've been afflicted with long-COVID for over two years. It'd be very nice to keep each other company, especially if we share any of the interests up above—we could watch favorite films, have shared listening sessions on Spotify, and it'd be a godsend to find somebody up to play on PS4 and Switch! Donkey Kong Country 2 and 3 on the secret hard modes, maybe? Or sculpting our own world from scratch in Minecraft? Or maybe we could act out Ocarina of Time's storyline using all the options available on Smash Ultimate!
I'd really like to know an intelligent person with a unique identity...who puts forth effort—though at the same time, no pressure on reaching out. If you are this type of person, but can currently only muster up a few words because, hey! Life is tough, and grueling, and we don't always have a ready-made letter in us to flip out of our pockets—don't be scared away by my tower of words. I absolutely know, firsthand, what it's like to want to communicate, yet not currently have the energy or the mindpower for it. Life can really sink you... I promise I will not judge. Please send me a chat message, if you're at all interested in chatting.

I'd like to find somebody thoughtful, someone who isn't superficial. Somebody who appreciates the rich vastness of our shared multicultural past, and freely follows her curiosity in exploring it. Somebody who is trying her best to adhere to the guidance of her inner moral compass, and isn't so easily fooled by the distractions and illusions of the world.
One such illusion, that must immediately be mentioned (this is important, because it's led to a break for me, in the past): religion. Religion is man-made, and not of any higher authority. The Bible and the Quran all permit slavery—in addition to countless other horrid and divisive ideas—while claiming to be eternal wisdom, and that is indefensible. I still like to believe in the idea of some permeating higher morality, that imbues us with our general sense for justice, fairness, and empathy...but, I know that without outright proof, even my holding of such a notion can be deemed a flight of fancy, a residual remnant of a system so entrenched. However, it seems to me that life is often more than just what's on the surface. Um, but now, then—back to the person I wish to know...
I'd also love it if she were artistic. Singing, sketching, painting, writing, composing, creating. Someone who is trying to nurture their talents and passions. I know it can be difficult...
As for me, well... I adore music. Mostly voices from the past (the 1960s would have to be my favorite), because I find them to be humbler and more from the heart, at least in popular music. I’ll just give an example of something I’ve looked into, and this is nowhere near representative of my wider taste, but if you go back to early 1920s country music... (Here's an aside: a lot of what people think of as "country" today is a long cry from what the genre is actually like, historically. If you are into folk music—Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan—it is indelibly linked to "country", and if you'd like a popular example of a song that originated within the genre, look no further than the universally recognized "You Are My Sunshine", from 1939!)
Anyway. If you go back to that early period, where undiscovered niches of music were still sought out and first put to tape... a lot of those artists had no idea about anything to do with recording—no ego, no attempt to sound "cool". What came through instead was a bare expression of the life that had been lived—the inner beauty of their own personhood, and I love hearing that. It's so honest. A vulnerable and piercing expression.
So if you're into history or the beautiful music of decades (and centuries) past, if you have any aspirations for creating as a method of changing the world for the better, if you'd like to play games and watch movies together, if you'd like an accountability partner—or all of the above...please message me. I don't mind the chat function, either—in fact, it's probably easier. Also, to get this out of the way: this is what I look like.
I love beautiful things. Nature, music that tugs at your heartstrings or is so honest you're enraptured, experiences that heal. More specifically, here are some of my current interests:

• music (singing/playing an instrument/the Beach Boys are my favorite group—I also love Maybelle Carter, Cass Elliot, Pink Floyd, Lana Del Rey, The Cranberries, Sixpence None The Richer, loads of video game music, The Smiths, The Beatles, The Who, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, Harry Nilsson, Joni Mitchell, The Righteous Brothers, Judy Garland, Sam Cooke, Frank Churchill, Marty O'Donnell and Michael Salvatori... Here’s a brief go at the Beatles’ “Julia”.) And, if you liked that—a more recent one…
• drawing—here are a few I've done.
• video games (any era from Atari—I like exploring the history and evolution—to the Switch and PS4) [Currently playing, or starting: The Binding of Isaac, Catherine]
• Disney, especially the Golden Age and Renaissance—Pinocchio (my favorite movie ever), Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Aladdin, The Lion King, Tarzan. I love how handmade the early films look. And yet, how no expense was spared in creating these most precious and moving works of art.
• films/series/books I've enjoyed lately: The Sound of Magic, The Little Prince, Matilda, Love Hard, The Fundamentals of Caring, This Beautiful Fantastic, Donnie Darko, Alamut by Vladimir Bartol (this book was a key inspiration for the first Assassin's Creed), The Trial of the Chicago 7, Medici: The Magnificent, Pollyanna by Eleanor Porter, Judy

To close... I suppose I should say I've been afflicted with long-COVID for over two years. It'd be very nice to keep each other company, especially if we share any of the interests up above—we could watch favorite films, have shared listening sessions on Spotify, and it'd be a godsend to find somebody up to play on PS4 and Switch! Donkey Kong Country 2 and 3 on the secret hard modes, maybe? Or sculpting our own world from scratch in Minecraft? Or maybe we could act out Ocarina of Time's storyline using all the options available on Smash Ultimate!
I'd really like to know an intelligent person with a unique identity...who puts forth effort—though at the same time, no pressure on reaching out. If you are this type of person, but can currently only muster up a few words because, hey! Life is tough, and grueling, and we don't always have a ready-made letter in us to flip out of our pockets—don't be scared away by my tower of words. I absolutely know, firsthand, what it's like to want to communicate, yet not currently have the energy or the mindpower for it. Life can really sink you... I promise I will not judge. Please send me a chat message, if you're at all interested in chatting.

Link - https://hoopshype.com/lists/2023-aggregate-nba-mock-draft-brandon-miller-taylor-hendricks-rising/

GG Jackson entered the combine, hoping to send a clear message to NBA executives at the combine. “What they saw during the season as far as me going on Instagram LIVE and the behavior issues isn’t the kind of player that I am,” Jackson said. “I’m just a competitive player who wants to win. I’m willing to do anything and everything to try to help the organization.”
After being the offensive focal point on a South Carolina team with a lack of overall talent around him, Jackson also wants executives to know he can fit into a system.
“My playmaking skills were very iffy this year,” Jackson said. “With the high usage rate, I felt like I had high expectations I put on myself to be the superhero, so a lot of shots you might look back and say, ‘What was that?’”
Jackson – who sees himself splitting time between the three and four positions – is working on his lateral quickness to improve his ability to stay in front of his opponent, tightening his handle and shooting off the dribble ahead of the draft.
Jackson interviewed with the Lakers, Knicks, Jazz, and Raptors at the combine.

I was pouring drink number three when my phone rang… I'm 20 years old, a little drunk and in about an hour, I will have almost shot my colleague in the chest in front of three police officers and two frozen dead bodies. Weird. I can't say that I'm mentally ready for what I'm about to see this evening, who’s ever really ready to walk into a garage with a Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullets and two frozen gang bangers inside. My name is Grant and These are My Funeral Home Stories.
Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
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Pirates @ Mariners - Sun, May 28

Game Status: Final - Score: 6-3 Mariners

Links & Info

• MLB Gameday
• Game Graphs
• Savant Gamefeed

	Pirates Batters	AB	R	H	RBI	BB	K	LOB	AVG	OBP	SLG
1	McCutchen - RF	4	1	1	0	1	0	3	.267	.363	.453
2	Reynolds, B - DH	5	1	2	1	0	1	3	.290	.343	.513
3	Joe - 1B	5	0	0	0	0	3	5	.241	.337	.455
4	Santana - 1B	2	0	0	0	1	0	0	.226	.322	.356
	Suwinski - LF	1	0	0	0	1	1	2	.232	.349	.478
5	Castro, R - 2B	3	0	0	0	2	1	2	.254	.364	.424
6	Hayes - 3B	5	0	0	0	0	4	6	.221	.275	.344
7	Bae - CF	4	1	2	0	0	1	1	.275	.329	.370
8	Owings - SS	3	0	1	0	0	1	0	.190	.190	.190
	a-Marcano - SS	1	0	0	0	0	0	1	.262	.333	.464
9	Hedges - C	2	0	1	1	0	0	0	.169	.239	.205
	b-Palacios, J - PH	0	0	0	0	1	0	0	.250	.318	.250
	Delay - C	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	.318	.370	.455
	Totals	35	3	7	2	6	12	23

Pirates
a-Flied out for Owings in the 9th. b-Walked for Hedges in the 9th.
BATTING: 2B: Bae (7, Gott). 3B: Reynolds, B (3, Topa). TB: Bae 3; Hedges; McCutchen; Owings; Reynolds, B 4. RBI: Hedges (8); Reynolds, B (33). Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Hayes 4; Joe. SF: Hedges. GIDP: McCutchen. Team RISP: 2-for-12. Team LOB: 10.

	Mariners Batters	AB	R	H	RBI	BB	K	LOB	AVG	OBP	SLG
1	Crawford, J - SS	4	2	1	0	1	1	1	.254	.365	.370
2	France, T - 1B	5	0	0	0	0	1	3	.260	.341	.410
3	Rodríguez, Ju - CF	5	1	2	1	0	1	2	.242	.307	.436
4	Kelenic - LF	3	1	1	1	2	1	2	.278	.337	.524
5	Suárez, E - 3B	4	1	1	3	1	1	3	.219	.325	.337
6	Raleigh - C	4	1	1	1	0	1	2	.238	.322	.456
7	Hernández, T - RF	4	0	1	0	0	2	0	.233	.269	.403
8	Murphy, To - C	2	0	0	0	1	1	1	.213	.250	.361
	a-Trammell - PH	1	0	0	0	0	1	0	.150	.277	.375
	Saucedo - P	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	.000	.000	.000
9	Caballero - 2B	4	0	0	0	0	1	2	.261	.376	.391
	Totals	36	6	7	6	5	11	16

Mariners
a-Struck out for Murphy, To in the 9th.
BATTING: 2B: Kelenic (14, Ortiz, L.L.). HR: Rodríguez, Ju (9, 1st inning off Ortiz, L.L., 0 on, 2 out); Raleigh (8, 4th inning off Ortiz, L.L., 0 on, 0 out); Suárez, E (6, 10th inning off Stephenson, R, 2 on, 2 out). TB: Crawford, J; Hernández, T; Kelenic 2; Raleigh 4; Rodríguez, Ju 5; Suárez, E 4. RBI: Kelenic (26); Raleigh (25); Rodríguez, Ju (28); Suárez, E 3 (34). 2-out RBI: Rodríguez, Ju; Suárez, E 3; Kelenic. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Suárez, E; Crawford, J; Raleigh. Team RISP: 2-for-10. Team LOB: 7.
FIELDING: E: Crawford, J (6, throw). DP: (Crawford, J-Caballero-France, T).

Pirates Pitchers	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	P-S	ERA
Ortiz, L.L.	5.0	5	3	3	4	6	2	99-60	4.35
Contreras	2.0	1	0	0	0	1	0	22-16	4.33
Holderman	1.0	0	0	0	0	2	0	14-11	2.33
Bednar	1.0	0	0	0	0	1	0	11-8	1.35
Stephenson, R (L, 0-3)	0.2	1	3	2	1	1	1	10-7	5.54
Totals	9.2	7	6	5	5	11	3

Mariners Pitchers	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	P-S	ERA
Gonzales	5.2	3	1	1	3	4	0	90-57	5.22
Brash (H, 5)	0.1	0	0	0	0	1	0	5-4	4.57
Speier (H, 7)	1.0	0	0	0	0	1	0	8-5	2.79
Topa (H, 10)	0.1	2	2	2	0	1	0	16-11	3.48
Sewald (BS, 1)	0.2	0	0	0	1	2	0	15-10	3.09
Gott	1.0	1	0	0	1	0	0	9-5	1.82
Saucedo (W, 2-0)	1.0	1	0	0	1	3	0	20-12	0.82
Totals	10.0	7	3	3	6	12	0

Game Info
WP: Ortiz, L.L.; Brash; Sewald.
IBB: Castro, R (by Saucedo); Kelenic (by Stephenson, R).
Pitches-strikes: Ortiz, L.L. 99-60; Contreras 22-16; Holderman 14-11; Bednar 11-8; Stephenson, R 10-7; Gonzales 90-57; Brash 5-4; Speier 8-5; Topa 16-11; Sewald 15-10; Gott 9-5; Saucedo 20-12.
Groundouts-flyouts: Ortiz, L.L. 3-4; Contreras 3-1; Holderman 0-0; Bednar 1-0; Stephenson, R 1-0; Gonzales 3-5; Brash 0-0; Speier 1-1; Topa 0-0; Sewald 0-0; Gott 1-1; Saucedo 0-0.
Batters faced: Ortiz, L.L. 24; Contreras 7; Holderman 3; Bednar 3; Stephenson, R 4; Gonzales 23; Brash 1; Speier 3; Topa 3; Sewald 3; Gott 4; Saucedo 5.
Inherited runners-scored: Brash 1-0; Sewald 1-1.
Umpires: HP: Marvin Hudson. 1B: Hunter Wendelstedt. 2B: John Tumpane. 3B: Ryan Blakney.
Weather: 56 degrees, Cloudy.
Wind: 6 mph, Out To RF.
First pitch: 1:11 PM.
T: 2:54.
Att: 38,219.
Venue: T-Mobile Park.
May 28, 2023

Inning	Scoring Play	Score
Bottom 1	Julio Rodriguez homers (9) on a fly ball to left field.	1-0 SEA
Bottom 4	Cal Raleigh homers (8) on a fly ball to right field.	2-0 SEA
Top 5	Austin Hedges out on a sacrifice fly to left fielder Jarred Kelenic. Ji Hwan Bae scores.	2-1 SEA
Bottom 5	Jarred Kelenic doubles (14) on a sharp line drive to left fielder Connor Joe. J.P. Crawford scores.	3-1 SEA
Top 8	Bryan Reynolds triples (3) on a ground ball to right fielder Teoscar Hernandez. Andrew McCutchen scores.	3-2 SEA
Top 8	Jack Suwinski walks. Bryan Reynolds scores. Wild pitch by pitcher Paul Sewald.	3-3
Bottom 10	Eugenio Suarez homers (6) on a fly ball to left field. J.P. Crawford scores. Jarred Kelenic scores.	6-3 SEA

Team	Highlight
PIT	Bullpen availability for Pittsburgh, May 28 vs Mariners (00:00:07)
SEA	Bullpen availability for Seattle, May 28 vs Pirates (00:00:07)
SEA	Fielding alignment for Seattle, May 28 vs Pirates (00:00:11)
SEA	Starting lineups for Pirates at Mariners - May 28, 2023 (00:00:09)
PIT	Fielding alignment for Pittsburgh, May 28 vs Mariners (00:00:11)
PIT	Luis L. Ortiz's outing against the Mariners (00:00:23)
SEA	Julio Rodríguez's solo homer (9) (00:00:31)
SEA	Cal Raleigh's solo homer (8) (00:00:29)
PIT	Austin Hedges' sac fly (00:00:19)
SEA	Jarred Kelenic's RBI double (00:00:26)
	Ji Hwan Bae's diving catch (00:00:16)
SEA	Marco Gonzalez's four strikeouts (00:01:10)
PIT	Luis L. Ortiz's six strikeouts (00:00:43)
PIT	Bryan Reynolds' RBI triple (00:00:22)
PIT	Reynolds scores on wild pitch (00:00:06)
PIT	Roansy Contreras K's Crawford (00:00:12)
PIT	Ji Hwan Bae's running catch (00:00:20)
SEA	Tayler Saucedo escapes jam (00:00:08)
SEA	Eugenio Suárez's walk-off homer (00:00:29)
SEA	Eugenio Suárez reacts to walk-off (00:01:43)

	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10		R	H	E	LOB
Pirates	0	0	0	0	1	0	0	2	0	0		3	7	0	10
Mariners	1	0	0	1	1	0	0	0	0	3		6	7	1	7

Decisions

• Winner: Tayler Saucedo (2-0, 0.82)
• Loser: Robert Stephenson (0-3, 5.54)

Division Scoreboard

STL 3 @ CLE 4 - Final
SF 5 @ MIL 7 - Final
CIN 8 @ CHC 5 - Final
Next Pirates Game: Mon, May 29, 05:05 PM EDT @ Giants
^{Last Updated: 05/28/2023 07:52:00 PM EDT}

I was pouring drink number three when my phone rang… I'm 20 years old, a little drunk and in about an hour, I will have almost shot my colleague in the chest in front of three police officers and two frozen dead bodies. Weird. I can't say that I'm mentally ready for what I'm about to see this evening, who’s ever really ready to walk into a garage with a Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullets and two frozen gang bangers inside. My name is Grant and These are My Funeral Home Stories.
Chapter Two: three drinks, Two dead & One Candy Bar
It's about six o'clock on the 3rd Tuesday in February and factoring in the windchill, it's negative 14 degrees outside. I've been off of work for about an hour and I'm not on call tonight…So naturally, I'm just finishing up my second drink and considering whether to order pizza or Chinese tonight. I use my finger to stop by drink from bubbling over and the phone rings. It’s Andy, one of the directors from the funeral home that’s on call when Ned and I are off AND apparently the person he's on call with this evening is unreachable…If it's your job to be on call, you don't want this to happen. It's almost the equivalent of a no call no show at any other job. If you're on call, the only thing you have to do is wait for the phone to ring and when it does ring, you answer it. It’s really not that hard.
Andy is calling me to ask if I would fill in and go on a police call with him. There was a shooting and apparently there are two frozen dead bodies in a car… inside the police station. OK. Why are they at the police station? Great question. Apparently it was too cold outside to investigate and process the crime scene so they moved the crime scene into a heated garage inside a police station. This all sounds incredibly interesting to me but there's only one problem… I'm drunk. Well, on my way to drunk and I'm not old enough to drink. I'm not going anywhere near a police station. I explained to Andy that I'm in no condition to drive to the funeral home and he'd have to find someone else. He interrupted me and said, “ but you're not old enough to drink. Stay put. I'm picking you up. See you in 10.” He hung up the phone before I had time to argue.
Welp. Looks like I'm going to the police station against all better judgment. I finish my third drink as I put on my black 3 button double breasted black suit by Chaps that I picked up at Kohls. (Side note: all my other suits were at the dry cleaners. I hate this suit. It makes me look like a walking rectangle.) It's our funeral home’s policy that we dress cleanly and professionally while in public. This means you ruin a lot of good dress clothes but at least you look sharp… and you can write off your dry cleaning as a job related expense.
I run a razor over my face sans shaving cream because I’m in a hurry and our funeral home also has a strict no facial hair policy. No mustaches, no goatees and definitely no beards. I'm not sure why this is a rule, It just is. I take an extra long look at myself in the mirror to make sure I have myself in order. The last thing I want to do tonight is walk into a police station looking like a sloppy, drunk unshaven underage mess. Could I get fired for getting an underage drinking ticket while on a death call? I sure hope not. I hear a horn honking in the driveway. I peak out the front window, Andy’s out front in our 2004 black Pontiac minivan. It’s a pretty slick…Instead of back seats, our van has a polished oak floor with rollers spaced evenly down the length of the van. These rollers aid in sliding caskets in and out without scratching the van or caskets.
I’m almost ready. I decided to wear a heavy wool four button top coat, scarf and rubberized dress boots by Ecco, all black of course. (Side note: Always spend extra money on ‘nicer’ boots. You don't want your socks wet on death calls.) Although I hate the suit I have on, I am wearing my favorite necktie. It's white, black and navy blue diagonally striped made from handwoven silk by Ralph Lauren. Very sharp. Remember this tie… my favorite tie, it’ll come up again later. On my way out the door I stuffed a handful of garlic flavored chips in my mouth and pulled a Nestle Butterfinger candy bar out of the pantry. The garlic will help cover up the three Jack and Cokes I just had and put a little food in my stomach. The Butterfinger…well, that's my reward. I'll eat it on the way home. I fucking love Butterfingers and why not reward myself for what I'm about to do? I'm not even on call tonight. I deserve it.
From my house to the police station, it’s about 10 minutes… a straight shot with no traffic. Andy starts nervously giggling almost immediately when my door closes and buckle my seatbelt. Funeral Directors are generally interesting people but our pal, Andy, he's a real card. I'm going to tell you a few things about Andy and hopefully won't sound too judgmental in the process. Andy had a gastric bypass surgery three years ago and as has lost about 150 pounds andI don't think he's gone clothes shopping since his weight loss. All of his suits look like they're about five sizes too big. His skin is loose around his jawline giving him a permanent droopy dog expression. It's weird seeing someone whose clothes and skin don't fit their body. He's a nervous guy and he's always afraid of getting in trouble…but somehow he's blindly confident. That's it for the positives.
Andy talks the most deliberate and malicious shit about everyone in the office. It's pathological at this point, I'm not sure he's even aware of it. You really have to watch what you say around this guy… I mean, if you don't want it repeated or used against you, don't say it around Andy. Andy's jumped from funeral home to funeral home around the country settling in towns just long enough to fuck things up and make a quick exit. He’s was a total creep and we found out a few years later that he was stealing from one of our funeral homes. He had his moments but for the most part, I didn't want anything to do with this guy…Especially after drinking almost half of my $36 bottle of Gentleman Jack. Actually, I'm probably just drunk enough to enjoy his company.
We turn on to Roosevelt, the police station is on our right. Andy has managed to keep the van under control even with the several inches of black ice and snow covering the roads. Andy tells me that we're to call a number when we're outside the police station parking garage and an officer will open the giant chain gate to let us in. The car with the dead bodies is in a separate heated garage inside the building to thaw out for processing.
It just dawned on me, I'm kind of hammered and last time I checked I'm still not old enough to drink… I feel my anxiety levels rising…I’m not super eager to walk into a police station in my current condition. My plan is to keep my head down and stay as far out of the officers’ breath smelling distance as possible. I'm so happy I decided to eat those chips before I left. I can still taste the garlic. Garlic breath is better than booze breath. I'm fairly certain they won't lock me up for having bad breath.
Andy calls the number, the gate opens and we drive down a pretty drastic slope and enter the garage filled with a fleet of police cars. There must be 40 decked out Chevy Impalas polished up and ready for dispatch. We pull forward and an officer signals us to stop next to a plain gray door in the center of a the cinder block wall on our right. Andy loaded two stretchers in the van this evening. One standard, one oversized, we get out of the van and unload both without incident. The officer walks to the back of the van and tells us to follow him.
We walk through the gray door and quickly move through three different beige hallways, no windows, just ugly plain cinderblock. I realized that I've completely lost my bearings. When we come to the end of the hallway with another gray door. I feel a combination of claustrophobia and vertigo hit me all at once or maybe that was drink number three kickin’ in. The officer opens the door and Andy and I wheel our stretchers into a 20 by 20 garage lit by the brightest fluorescent lights I've ever experienced. The temperature of the light in this room is unnerving among other things.
'Welcome to the crime lab garage' I think to myself. Immediately upon entering the room, I'm almost knocked to the floor by a smell that burns my nasal cavities. It wasn't the smell of rotting flesh or piss and shit, I’ve smelled all those things before. This was new. It’s so unique but the more Im exposed to it the more I realize I’ve smelled this before at the funeral home but I can’t place it….Then it hits me almost as intensely as the smell itself. Ammonia, that's it! It smells like someone took two or three large bottles of ammonia and just poured them all over the room. I look at Andy as we park the stretchers. We make eye contact and I pointed my nose while simultaneously making a confused face. “What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
Andy pulls two pair of blue heavy duty surgical gloves out of the front pocket of his stretcher, hands me a pair and then proceeds to blow my mind. He quietly tells me that the strong ammonia odor is coming from the blood. Apparently when someone dies suddenly all the blood cells in the body make one last screaming effort to stay alive and dump a ton of waste into the bloodstream. The waste is what gives the blood a strong scent of ammonia. You know when someone says they can smell blood in a movie or TV show? I think If this is what they're talking about.
Now that I have my gloves on and have adjusted to the smell, I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and tuck my tie between two buttons on my white dress shirt. This is simply precautionary. There is nothing worse than dipping your tie into something gross. It's almost always UNcleanable.
In this moment, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Perhaps it's the alcohol but something feels off. Under rows and rows of fluorescent lights there’s a maroon Chevy Cavalier riddled with bullet holes with all four of its doors and trunk wide open. Upon initial inspection, my eyes are drawn to two dead men in the backseat and rusted hood with a smattering of bullet holes. It seems that most of the shots were through the windshield, windows and door panels.The windshield is barely able to hold itself up.
Andy and I walk around the car to figure out our plan of attack. He flips open a black vinyl body bag, unzips it and places it on the ground next to the car and he tells me his plan. “If they’re frozen in a seated position, we won't be able to move em that easily… So we'll wiggle them out, lay them on the body bags and zip up the disaster pouch around them.” This sounds good to me. We move in.
We decided to start with the body in the driver's side backseat. The door’s already open and the hinges appear to be hyper extended. The crime scene techs probably bent the hinges while they were scrubbing the scene. Now up close, I’m finally able to take in the two dead men sitting in the backseat in front of me. These guys must have been a couple years older than me, both wearing Timberlands, black jeans and black jackets… like big puffy down jackets. One man has a New Era baseball cap on backwards while the other has a black stocking cap atop his head. I didn't see any logos but the brain matter, bullet holes and blood may have made it hard to notice. The ammonia smell inside the car is completely overwhelming. Blood is literally covering everything in the backseat. Chunks of thawing brain and meat are all over the headrest. I pick up a piece near the seat belt and squeeze it with my middle finger and thumb. It's still a little frozen so it crunches a bit before turning into mush between my fingers. I wiped my hand on a clean part of the interior.
Bullet holes are weird…For something that can end your life so quickly, they don't leave much of a mark on their way in…BUT the way out is a totally different story. I have no idea how many times these men were shot but they’re covered and destroyed by bullet holes. Chin, hands, thighs under the eyeballs and everywhere else. There wasn’t a part of either of these men’s bodies that didn’t have at least one bullet hole… I didn't see their feet though…if I’m being completely transparent.
This is gore. This is a complete horror show. Someone wanted these men dead… like seriously dead. Was it the driver or could it have been the front seat passenger? There must have been someone sitting in the front seat, right? Why else would two grown men sit in the backseat together if there was an open front seat? By the number of holes, I come to the conclusion that at least two people had to have shot up this car….Far too many holes for one shooter and it was definitely people they thought they were close to…
With half my body in the car, the smell of ammonia is blending with the smell of shit…which is undoubtedly oozing from one or all of the many holes in these men's stomachs. Thankfully, the taste of the garlic chips and whiskey I had earlier keeping me from gagging. Both men looked like they were sleeping like someone's dad or brother in the backseat on a road trip but riddled with holes and covered and smelly blood and falling human chunks.
There's only enough room for one of us in the car’s backseat door opening so Andy gets in the driver's seat backwards and reaches back around the front seat to help shimmy the body out. I press the button and unbuckle the seatbelt, it whips back into its home position startling Andy and I. Everything in this car is covered with blood or some sort of human matter. My gloves are literally covered in blood from just unbuckling the seatbelt and now the taste of the ammonia smell is dripping its way into my mouth through my throat. The officers are having some sort of quiet discussion standing by the door we came in earlier. It's not uncommon for police officers to be completely apathetic about crime scenes when the funeral home arrives. The investigation is basically over tonight these officers couldn't care less about their scene. They just wanted to get these bodies moved out of the garage so they could get home to their families. I get that… but their lack of supervision is troubling, especially with what happens next.
I am now completely hunched over the body in the back passenger seat while Andy is supervising from the front turned around in the driver's seat with his gloved hands on the headrest. I tell Andy that I think I'm strong enough to grab this man’s right forearm and slide his body out on my own. When I grabbed the man's forearm, I immediately feel something isn't right. I've grabbed lots of dead people's forearms before. None felt like this though. It was so hard and rigid….don’t get me wrong I understand this man is frozen BUT whatever I'm grabbing on to isn't human. It's something else. It's hard and feels like metal one of those cheap metal canes you'd buy at a drugstore. The three drinks circulating through my bloodstream make me curious but pensive. I tell Andy that I'm not touching a man's arm and that there's something else in this man’s jacket.
I interrupted the police officers conversation. “Hey, something isn't right here.” An officer and I switch places as he pulls out a tactical knife and starts cutting away the sleeve to the blood soaked down jacket. “It’s a FUCKING GUN.” I look over his shoulder and see the open sleeve of a jacket revealing a sawed off shotgun. The inside of the coat was some sort of bright orange material so the short barrel of the shotgun stand out…and so did the trigger but not because of its color. It stood out because of frozen dead man’s finger hooked over and frozen around it. Did I mention the gun was cocked. This means that the slightest movement would have caused a sudden discharge… The gun would have fired directly into the driver's seat, the seat where Andy was supervising from AND apparently Andy and I noticed this at the same time.
The next sound we hear was an officer saying, “Gun! Loaded gun!”
Andy and I step back while the officers deal with the gun… he's freaked out…I can tell by the blotchy greenish yellow color he skin has turned in the last 30 seconds. Andy says, “I don't like guns. I don't like guns.”
“It's cool, man. Nobody got shot.” I say not being too sympathetic. I'm definitely drunk now and the idea of a frozen dead man shooting my partner in the chest is kind of hilarious, even if it would have been my fault. I giggle internally. Andy quickly moves towards the door and says, “I need to get some fresh air” and scurries out like an asshole letting the door slam behind him. Almost at the same moment the door closed. The three officers approached me from behind, “We got it out….It was loaded. Your buddy's lucky you didn’t shoot him in the chest.” I just snicker and tell the officers my partner needed some air and that I'll make the removals myself. How hard could it be? I'll just grab and pull.
Frozen bodies move in one piece while regular room temperature bodies are just floppy deadweight. These fellas are frozen solid…they felt like moving a heavy chair or peculiar shaped table out of your friend's car. Square peg in round holes, it was actually considerably easier than I anticipated.
The sound of the two bodies hitting a cold cement after pulling them out was very satisfying…a simple loud hollow frozen thud. I'm surrounded by awfulness and all I can think about is how proud I am that I just handled this crime scene on my own. I can't wait to eat that Butterfinger waiting for me in the car. It's a fitting reward but also something to get rid of this ammonia and garlic taste overpowering my senses at the moment.
Andy still hasn't come back and we're about to zip up the last body bag. An officer had put on a pair of gloves to help me maneuver the second man's rigid bent knees into the body bag. This man's body was like a complicated Tetris piece. Once in, we each grab a zipper on either side of the black vinyl bag and zip our respective ends until they meet in the middle. I nod my head at the officer and say, “That's how it's done!”
The officer looks at me sternly and says, “Did you just come from a party?” I look at him confused and respond, ”What?”
The officer tells me that he just got a waft of alcohol. “It reeks like booze over here.” I closed my mouth quickly and my heart begins to beat out of my chest. I must smell like a distillery… so much for those garlic chips. Laughing, I say, “On a Tuesday? Come on, man!” The officer stands up and says, “Let's run a tox screen on these guys to find out how fucked up they were before getting blasted.”
Looks like a dodged a bullet. How did he smell my whiskey breath over the ammonia smell? Does my breath just smell like straight rubbing alcohol? I feel bad that these dead guys got blamed for MY alcohol breath but, at least, I won't be walking out of here with an underage drinking ticket.
Calming down and feeling relieved. I looked down on my shirt and see that my necktie, my very favorite Ralph Lauren necktie, had fallen out of my shirt at some point and had been dipped into some smelly smelly blood. Fuck! Of course I ruined my favorite necktie on a night I'm not even supposed to be working. I undo the knot and throw the tie into a biohazard bag. The rest of the removal was kind of a blur because I was laser focused thinking about that Butterfinger I left in the car. The alcohol plus all the blood smell I kind of made my stomach sour. My mouth starts to water thinking about that candy bar.
One of the officers helps me wheel the stretchers out to the van in the main area of the police station parking garage. I can see exhaust coming out of our van. It's on? Did we leave the van running? I open the back of the van to find Andy laying down in the center of the wooden roller board taking up the entire back of the van. The sound startles him and he quickly jumps up to a seated position and says, “I'm sorry man, guns really freak me out. I almost got shot…. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
I notice a yellow rapper sitting next to his right leg. He noticed that I noticed. “Oh yeah, I owe you a candy bar.” He says in a nonchalant manner.
All at once, my dislike for Andy hit me like a tidal wave. I ruined my favorite tie and this asshole ate my candy bar? Andy, sensing my disappointment and anger, didn't say another word and I imagine what it would have been like if that shot gun would have gone off.
My name is Grant and these are My Funeral Home Stories.
​
Here this episode wherever you listen to podcasts:
Apple - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/my-funeral-home-stories/id1462188362?i=1000437632125
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Looking for some confirmation I’m not insane here: I was farming the throne world lost sector this morning on my wife’s account to get some chest pieces for her hunter. I got four exotic drops total: the first three were omnioculus and raijus and ophidia, I didn’t think of it until my fourth, which was sixth coyote, dropped: but shouldn’t I have gotten gyrfalcons before the other ones? We definitely own witch queen but haven’t done anything past the first mission. Is the lack of witch queen progress preventing a season of plunder exotic from being in the loot pool for her?
We completed all campaigns on her warlock if that matters.

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"So we've got an extra million?" asked Finn, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, a light breeze sweeping the ash off his balcony. "Cool. Put it in the fund. If Arges plays ball, we'll have the I-75 fixed up by June." He stared down at a sheaf of documents beside him. "Alright, goodbye."
He hung up, slumping his shoulders. Taking up the sheaf, he squinted at the papers. "I really need to get my eyes checked." he muttered to himself.
Finn stubbed out his cigarette and turned to the door when his phone rang again. He groaned and picked up the call. "Finn Stevens."
"Hello, Mister Stevens, this is Adeline from N.A.S.A."
Finn perked up, quietly shutting the balcony door behind him. "Uh, hello Adeline. How can I help you? Is there a problem with the funding?"
Adeline chuckled. "No, don't worry; your donations have all made it through okay. I called in relation to a report we received from the scout party that launched about a month ago."
Finn sat down in the kitchen as he poured from the coffee pot. He tried not to get his hopes up. "Oh, is everything okay?"
"More than okay, Mister Stevens. We got word that your father's alive."
A jug of milk fell from Finn's hands and exploded on the floor. "... Come again?"
"... Your father's alive." Adeline repeated, a twinge of concern in her voice.
"Where? Is he okay?" asked Finn shakily.
A sigh made its way over the line. "Mister Stevens, all other information related to this operation is strictly confidential. However, I can assure you that Mark is alive and safe. I'm sorry if that's not enough for you, but it's all I'm permitted to say."
Finn's breath came in trembling bursts. "A-alright. Thank you, thank you so much."
"You're we-" Finn hung up.
The world reeled, Finn's head thumped and whirled, and his breathing grew more laboured. He slumped to the floor, his phone clattering down beside him. A hesitant smile forced its way onto his face, and joyous tears spilled down his cheeks. A slow, almost nervous laugh escaped his lips, slowly growing in volume and intensity, until Finn appeared mad, cackling and crying on the kitchen floor.
Margaret reached the top of the stairs with curiosity in her steps. Her face fell when she saw her husband sat convulsing in a pool of milk, and she rushed to his side. "Babe? Finn, are you okay? What happened?!" she asked frantically.
Finn seemed from the outside to slip from a trance, his gaze fixing upon Margaret. "H-he... He's alive, Marge! Mark's alive!" And with those words, his rapture overwhelmed him once more, and he clung to his wife, laughing and crying into her shoulder. In that moment, the mess in the kitchen fell away, and all the world seemed possessed by Finn's euphoria. Margaret held him tightly, feeling tears begin to well in her own eyes.
Finn's laughter wavered for a moment."He's alive."
---
The mess halls aboard Holy Krek'ka saw their usual midday bustle as prisoners lined up to be served lunch. Behn and Wora stood side-by-side as they waited their turn; the routine had become so rote that the most interesting thing to do was determine which lunch tray they held based on scratches in the plastic. <"... I'm telling you, I had this one two days ago; this mark here's from when that X'andi in Block 3 knocked into me."> Wora traced the shallow scrape in the tray as she talked.
Behn screwed her face as she tried to remember. <"I remember that being more off to the side, around here."> Her finger pointed to a scratch an inch away from the tip of Wora's thumb.
<*"No, that was a week before that. You said: If that girl's ass was any bigger, she-">* Wora's speech was cut off by a flash of movement in her periphery. She followed it to see a towering X'olandi woman, tray tucked under her arm, marching past the line. She stopped near the front of the line, and began menacing a X'andi woman half her size. It was impossible to tell what the pair was saying over the hall's usual din; it was, however, impossible to miss the sight of the smaller woman being thrown from her place in line, with her aggressor taking her place. The X'andi tried to regain her place, quickly being shoved aside. She then tried to appeal to the guards, who simply told her to join the back of the line.
Behn squinted, pointing a finger at the immense woman ahead of them. <"Hey, wasn't she taken out of gen. pop yesterday?">
Wora's face was stern. <"She was. No way she got off early for good behaviour.">
<"Friends working the desks?">
<"Maybe."> Wora's tone was heavy, as though her words were more than sound. She watched the woman as she picked out a table, and saw the point of a blue diamond on her ankle.
​
The day passed like any other, and the prisoners were sent to their cells. The couple's cell was quiet, save for Wora using the toilet. Behn leafed through her box of cards, confusion thick in her expression. <"Come on! I could've sworn Bloodletter was in this deck. Hey Wora, you think someone's sneaking in and nicking cards?">
<"Probably."> replied Wora distantly, pulling up her pants. <"My card pool's looking a tad thin, too.">
<"Mmm. You still up for a game?">
<"Nah, I'm just gonna go to bed."> said Wora as she ruffled her fur.
<"You okay?"> asked Behn, making her way to her lover.
<"Yeah, just seasonal shit. I'm always like this this time of year."> Wora turned. Her fur was unkempt and her every movement screamed exhaustion.
Behn stared at her with pity. <"I get it. You wanna take the edge off?"> she asked hopefully.
A weak smile came across Wora's face. <"Thanks, but no. Too tired.">
<"Alright."> said Behn, disappointed. <"You know I'm here for you, right?">
<"Yeah. I know."> Wora took Behn's hand and ran her teeth across it.
Behn mirrored this affectionate gesture. <"Sleep well.">
<"I plan on it.">
The lovers embraced, then left for their separate beds.
Behn had trouble sleeping, worries for Wora's mental and physical health plaguing her mind. Still, if she was to properly support her partner, she couldn't afford to neglect herself. Eventually, she managed to drift off to sleep.
Wora laid facing the wall, appearing to all as though she were in a deep slumber. When she was confident nobody was looking, she pulled Behn's Bloodletter card from deep within the fur on her chest, in addition to a card from her own box. She bit into the cards and tore them into uniform strips. Once more, she scanned for any onlookers, then lifted up the corner of her mattress and pried off the cap to her bedpost, where she removed two sharpened lengths of metal. She had gathered the metal from heavily damaged police equipment left beside that which she had been tasked to clean; waiting for the opportune moment had taken months. Each jagged piece had a crude handle held together by loose thread taken from clothing during laundry duty. The handles themselves were made for countless strips of More Than a Myth cards glued together with saliva. Wora silently apologised for the many thefts of Behn's property, but reassured herself that should the time come, Behn would forgive her. And not too soon, for if that incident with the Resh'Nilon girl was any indication, the gang had something big in the works.
​
In the dark of night, Ser'ke was escorted down to solitary confinement. The faux guards present were laughing amongst themselves with malice on their tongues, and Ser'ke could almost feel the prisoners joining them from behind their thick cell doors. He was let into the Lord's cell, where he was greeted with warmth and a glass of brandy. <"Ser'ke, my brother!"> The Lord boomed. <"The time is nigh! By the end of the month, Ta'X'rtana will be laid at our feet! And it's all thanks to you.">
Ser'ke paused mid-sip. <"Me, my lord?">
The Lord chugged from the bottle of brandy. <"Of course! Without yours and Ledrn's help, none of this would have been possible! Although we have friends on the inside of damn near everything in the city, moving to exert control on more than a few minor sectors at any one time would have given us away. But this? Using a time of crisis to completely remake the city in our image? Only a madman would think of such a thing! And only a madman would aid him in doing so. So I salute you, son!">
Ser'ke mulled on these words, continuing to sip his drink. <"So, how long now?">
<"Can't really say."> said the Lord frankly. <*"Could be tomorrow, could be in a week, could be tonight. Either way, know this: For your integral role in bringing this plot to fruition, I hereby grant you my protection.">*
<"Protection, sir?">
<"Should anyone lay so much as a finger on you without your say-so, come to me, and I'll have that fucker pay dearly. So long as you keep clear of the law, you'll make it through this without a scratch.">
Ser'ke watched his reflection in his glass. <"And afterwards, my lord?">
<"I'll have boys on the ground scrub your file. So far as the law's concerned, you've always been a law-abiding citizen."> He took a moment to think on his words. <"'Course, that won't stop you from getting up to some mischief should the mood strike you."> He guffawed, his immense frame seeming to bend his bedframe with each chortle.
Part of Ser'ke wanted to see the outcome of this bout of laughter, but his better judgement won out. <"That's good to hear, sir. If the time to strike is as imminent as you say, I had better get going. Thank you for your protection and hospitality, sir.">
<"Ah, hold on!"> Said the Lord frantically, wiping brandy from his chins. <"Have your hands healed up, son?">
Ser'ke flexed his recovered wrists and digits. <"They have, sir.">
A malicious shadow fell on the Lord's face. <"Then expect a package to be delivered to your cell later.">
Not wanting to start second-guessing the gleeful tint in his voice, Ser'ke took his leave.
​
It was in the early hours of the morning, while the lights remained off, that Ser'ke was awoken by a soft hum. By the time he roused from his restless sleep, he saw the last instant of his cell's energy gate thrumming back to life; Laying nearby the gate was a long chest. Ser'ke crept up to the container and quickly hurried back to his bed with it in tow. Checking to see if the coast was clear, he opened the chest, and his breath caught in his throat. Without a second wasted, he stashed the box between his mattress and the wall, tucking it beneath his blanket. His heart raced; he had thought he would never get to hold one again. He only hoped he wasn't too out of practice.
---
Beneath Ta'X'rtana, unbeknownst to any save the participants, the many Resh'Nilon Lords were in communication. <"We can spare a crew out west, but that's it."> said a rail-thin, elderly X'eti. <"Any more, and we'll be leaving ourselves open.">
An immense X'rtan woman huffed. <"Don't expect any more from us, Bol'kad, we're spread thin as it is hitting Ma'kerl and Goll.">
<"Cool it, Fila'mas."> chimed in the forgemaster beneath the mechanic garage. <"I have a few boys with nothing to do; I'll have 'em sent out your way, Bol'kad.">
<"Much appreciated, Agra'mil."> Fila'mas looked questioningly at the other woman in the call. <"Ulind'erak, you've been awfully quiet.">
The young woman stationed beneath the restaurant looked away from her second monitor. <"I have nothing to input; my men are stationed as best as I can. Do keep in mind that the escapees will provide support, so any shortages will be mitigated.">
Agra'mil clicked his tongue. <"Wukrof'in's lax, you know that. From what I've read, there's only a crew's worth of boys with designated drops; the rest are just gonna land wherever they want.">
An eyebrow was raised past the rim of Ulind'erak's glasses. <"That lack of coordination will disorient any cops left on the ground, while giving our crews ample cover.">
<"Ulind,"> chimed Fila'mas. <"Do you really expect a completely uncoordinated drop of prisoners to do the job for an entire city?">
<"In addition to our own crews."> retorted Ulind'erak with pointed annoyance. <"Not to mention gods know how many X'olandi.">
<"Enough."> said a fifth, faceless voice. The Lords immediately ceased their squabbling. <"It doesn't matter how many we have in the field; so long as our primary missions are accomplished, the day is won. Am I clear?">
The Lords replied in chorus: <"Yes, my Lord.">
<"Good."> said The Lord. <"Keep your ears open for the signal. Blessed be our charge; Our lands beheld.">
<"Blessed be our charge; Our lands beheld."> replied the Lords.
The call ended.
---
The commotion in Kaneti Square was palpable. Angry stall owners gathered behind barricades and hurled insults at construction workers, while those on break joined unarmed security in attempting to calm the crowd. In the square's center, scaffolding and thick sheets of metal were beginning to take the shape of a landing pad and an accompanying platform for welcoming ambassadors. A cubicle stood off to the side of the site, and K'ul was waiting patiently outside. The cubicle's interior was spartan, with only a desk and some minimal storage for documents. "How soon is this going to be finished?" asked T'aro, admiring the build quality of the desk.
<"Tomorrow at the earliest."> replied the thick-furred foreman as he took a swig from a mug of ramut. <"Sure, the platform'll be built by sundown, but it'll need testing for structural integrity. That can take half a day in and of itself, not to mention any potential alterations it'll need.">
T'aro sighed. "Just get it done; It'll still need furnishing and equipment setup before it's ready."
The foreman shrugged. <"It'll take as long as it takes, pal. Can't do ya any better than that.">
T'aro grunted. He nodded to the foreman, and left. K'ul followed him back to the car. "Remind me," said T'aro. "How many days now?"
<"Four, sir."> replied K'ul. He opened the car's door for T'aro. <"Assuming no delays.">
T'aro grumbled in response as he took his seat. He looked over the remaining items on the checklist with loathing. "I don't have enough booze for this." he groaned.
<"In four days, sir, nobody will.">
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Sorry for the delay. My computer crapped out on me so I had to type this by phone. It’s going to be shorter than I intended but I hope it’s still informative and appreciate everyone's patience.
A familiar theme for the Saints, unfortunately, continued this past season. Injuries helped ensure that Dennis Allen’s first season wouldn’t be a successful one. The defense lost a lot of players in free agency but it took a step back last season anyway and needed an infusion in talent. Offensively the biggest hole was filled by the signing of QB Derek Carr. The O line has talent and just needs to stay healthy.
Departures:
David Onyemata (DT) Marcus Davenport (Edge) Shy Tuttle (DT) Kaden Elliss (LB) Andy Dalton (QB) Deonte Harty (WR) Justin Evans (S) Marquez Callaway (WR) Kentavius Street (DT) Ethan Greenidge (OT) Andy Trautman (TE) (Trade)
Signings
Signed QB Derek Carr Signed RB Jamaal Williams Re-signed WR Michael Thomas Re-signed TE Juwan Johnson Signed DE Nathan Shepherd Signed DT Khalen Saunders Signed S Johnathan Abram Re-signed DE Malcolm Roach Signed CB Lonnie Johnson Re-signed QB Jameis Winston Re-signed P Blake Gillikin Signed RT Storm Norton Re-signed LB Ty Summers
Round 1 • Pick 29 - Bryan Bresee, Defensive Tackle, Clemson
By far the number one need for the Saints, headed into the draft, was IDL. Enter Bryan Bresee, the 6’5 298lb DT who was once the number 1 ranked high school recruit in the nation. Bresee’s college career got off to a great start. At the end of his freshman season, he was named the ACC Defensive Rookie of the Year, and an All-ACC first-team member. He was unable to build upon that success the following season, however, as he suffered an ACL tear, which cut his season short to only four games. The following season a kidney infection and the unfortunate and unimaginably tragic passing of his 15-year sister to cancer caused him to miss some games but by the end of the season, he started to resemble his old self. Many mocks tied Bresee to the Saints. He filled the biggest hold and fits the prototype that the Saints love. Great size and truly athletically gifted. I think his injury concerns are overblown. He only had one serious injury which was the ACL tear. The other that caused him to miss time was bad luck. His upside is great. He’s quick off the line, has great measurables, and is only 21.
Round 2 • Pick 40 - Isaiah Foskey, Edge, Notre Dame
Another pick that fills a need and makes sense. Some people believe that this was a slight reach but I disagree. I brought Foskey up as a great fit before the draft. Foskey was exceptionally productive at Notre Dame and broke Justin Tuck’s record for most sacks in the program’s history. Another ideal Saints fit as he also has RAS of 9.61 which means he is gifted athletically on top of being productive. Has good length which he knows how to use to not only get sacks but cause fumbles which he lead the nation in 2021. Needs to get a little stronger as an edge defender but has an ideal teacher in Cam Jordan. There is an open spot for the taking with the departure of Marcus Davenport if Foskey is ready but if not, there is still ample playing time available.
Round 3 • Pick 71 - Kendre Miller, Running Back, TCU
With the looming suspension of Alvin Kamara, Running Back was a need even with the signing of Jamaal Williams. Miller checks two big boxes in production and size. Ran for over 6 yds per carry all 3 years of college including last season where he rushed for almost 1400 yds and 17 tds. His biggest flaw is his lack of breakaway speed but he has good acceleration through holes. Needs to work on his pad level as he runs high sometimes. Also has some production as a pass catcher and the confidence to force his way onto the field. Only 20 years old.
Round 4 • Pick 103 - Nick Saldiveri, Tackle, Old Dominion
Saldiveri was a surprising pick to most, but when you look at his RAS score and his ability to play all across the O-line, he is another prototypical Saints pick. Doesn’t have the ideal length to play out at Tackle but the Saints do have questions on the interior. Guard Caesar Ruiz hasn’t been re-signed yet although if he plays like he did last season, I don’t think that will be an issue. Guard Andrus Peat has been an enigma for Saints fans. Between his injuries, salary, and play, most fans seem to be counting down the days until he’s off the team but the coaches have always seemed to think highly of him. Regardless, Saldiveri can offer a cost-effective replacement for either spot.
Round 4 • Pick 127 - Jake Haener, Quarterback, Fresno State
Jameis Winston is only signed for one season. A backup QB is a need going forward. Haener has the tools to be a good one. He lacks size and arm strength but has very good timing and anticipation. Also, did you see his rookie photo shoot? Those pouty lips justified the pick already. 😂
Round 5 • Pick 146 - Jordan Howden, Safety, Minnesota
A smart player whose timed speed was much better than expected. Generally always in the right spot and is a solid wrap-up tackler. The worst-case scenario is special team ace and spot starter is great value for a late-round pick.
Round 6 • Pick 195 - A.T. Perry, Wide Receiver, Wake Forest
An absolute specimen at WR. 6’4 200lbs and ran a 4.4 in the 40. Tall wideout with elite arm length but also shows a surprising amount of twitch for his size and a good understanding of shifting speeds. Has shown a knack for high-pointing the ball and is a hands catcher. Concentration lapses and inconsistent hands showed up on film and so far in OTAs but I would not be surprised for Perry to be the steal of the Saints draft. The Saints have a lot of options but Perry can play himself to WR 3 or 4 this season or higher depending on Michael Thomas’ health.

Link - https://hoopshype.com/lists/2023-aggregate-nba-mock-draft-brandon-miller-taylor-hendricks-rising/

GG Jackson entered the combine, hoping to send a clear message to NBA executives at the combine. “What they saw during the season as far as me going on Instagram LIVE and the behavior issues isn’t the kind of player that I am,” Jackson said. “I’m just a competitive player who wants to win. I’m willing to do anything and everything to try to help the organization.”
After being the offensive focal point on a South Carolina team with a lack of overall talent around him, Jackson also wants executives to know he can fit into a system.
“My playmaking skills were very iffy this year,” Jackson said. “With the high usage rate, I felt like I had high expectations I put on myself to be the superhero, so a lot of shots you might look back and say, ‘What was that?’”
Jackson – who sees himself splitting time between the three and four positions – is working on his lateral quickness to improve his ability to stay in front of his opponent, tightening his handle and shooting off the dribble ahead of the draft.
Jackson interviewed with the Lakers, Knicks, Jazz, and Raptors at the combine.

The article itself has GG Jackson 22nd.

At the end of season two, Bryce is dying and asks for Chuck to destroy the 2.0. While I’ve seen some comments suggesting why and in Chuck versus the Three Words, Chuck explains why he downloaded the 2.0, I still think it’s inconsistent with his character. For the first two seasons, he wanted to have the intersect out of his head and then he saw firsthand how his father used his wristband to fight Fulcrum without any additional special skill set, so he could’ve learned how to be an agent without a computer in his head (nor did he know the 2.0 would include martial arts and such), so I still don’t fully understand why he wanted to download the intersect. While it’s later revealed, he enjoys being a spy, he didn’t have the experience at the end of season 2 to desire being a spy, so I think that statement is irrelevant at the time. What’s been consistent is how much he loves Sarah and the last thing he thought of before uploading was how she told him “how many times do you have to be a hero to realize you are that guy” or something similar, so he either misinterpreted that as she liked him because his heroic moments at that point were rooted in him having the intersect or maybe he thought of himself (which supports him saying later he wanted to help people, but that doesn’t require him having the intersect). Either way, if he didn’t have the intersect, all three of them would’ve died by the ring, so it was convenient plot armor.
​
Second, if Sarah whispered her middle name to Chuck, spouted multiple times to him that spies don’t fall in love, or spies don’t share their real lives with anyone, why was she so quick to tell Shaw either her real first name or another alias? In Chuck versus the DeLorean, Sarah checked her phone and saw Chuck was nearby. Could she have done something similar at the hotel and somehow figured out Chuck’s mission may have to do with the hotel and he could hear her? I know that’s a stretch, but if she knew she loved him, why would she be so quick to open up to Shaw? He even asked her “Does Chuck know your real name“, so that stood out to me.
​
Next, in Chuck versus the Nacho Sampler, Chuck was quick to tranq Manoosh and send him to an underground bunker or so. If this was Season one or two Chuck, he would’ve complained and tried to find a way to let Manoosh have a normal life (like he wanted). Instead, he lost himself to his avarice to being a spy that he sacrificed his own personality to be one. Likewise, Sarah notices and doesn’t want him to kill, only for a few episodes later, he kills Shaw. Yes, he saved her and yes he came back from the dead, but if he truly died, Sarah is fine doing a 180 given the circumstance? The more I watch it, the more I find Season 3 very inconsistent from prior seasons (and I used to live season 3 the most when I first watched the show).
​
Last, and most important, Stephen J. Bartowski. I think Scott Bakula had another role that conflicted, so they had to write his character off (also why he was more of a guest than recurring character), but plot wise, they left out so much of his story. What happened between season 2 and 3 for him to disappear again? What happened to Orion’s wristband? Given his paranoia, when Ellie said she just missed him after contacting him through the newspapers, shouldn’t he have pressed her to explain like he did with Chuck and the intersect? Did Chuck and Stephen not have phone service for Ellie to call them if someone showed up? I think there are numerous things that could’ve happened to keep him alive (and of course none of the characters, but Shaw and the Ring knew they would kill Bartowski), but couldn‘t there have been one episode where all four members of the Bartowskis were together. Since dad died, they introduced mom and go from there, but even a flashback of all four would have been nice.

​
​
Why shouldn't you trust humans? First, they are ugly, have you seen them? they are devoid of fur except on their heads, they have no feathers, they have no scales, they only have a pair of eyes, the disgusting shape of their bodies when moving is unpleasant, they have no grace or elegance, they look like Valgros cubs. And they are also weird, they want to touch everything, they are always taking something apart to find out how it works and when they put it back together they always have pieces left over, disasters follow them wherever they go, an explosion here, , massive food poisoning over there, and if they really It's not your day, you're going to find yourself right in the middle of it all. I had to share a ship with three humans for four cycles, each rotation grateful to be able to wake up, grateful that they hadn't destroyed the ship while I slept. The ship was a Sulky, so you can imagine that I didn't have much space to dodge them, plus they always wanted to "share" with me, I'm a Shiavgon, we only share with our own species and that's during the mating season, but humans spend time together every day, at the beginning of the day they have a ritual to eat, and another one in the middle of the day, and then another and another, they eat non-stop every moment they are awake, AND THEY DO IT TOGETHER, eating food is done alone , that's a disgusting thing to do in full view of everyone.
And they're not just depraved, they act unnatural as well. For example, they use different types of substances so that a place, den or not, has a particular smell. They synthesize aromatic plants and fill a room or even the entire ship with that aroma, and that's not all, they themselves hide their own essence by masking it with these perfumes. According to a human, the natural scent that this species possesses transmits a lot of information, more than anything else it is important for mating, and even then they hide it. Only the foremost bio-researchers of our race can tell the male from the human female, but if they use these chemicals they become nearly indistinguishable.
You should not trust the humans, they say they are friends of the galaxy, that they come in peace, but they were the ones who decimated the Gragnors because Terra was going to be destroyed to create the greatest highway in galactic history, one that would connect the alpha sector with omega, reducing travel time from 2 weeks to 1.5 weeks, clearly they are against progress, couldn't they move?
And let's not talk about the fact that they don't have a culture like all civilized races, no, that would be too complicated for humans, they have thousands of different cultures. What is fine with one is an offense for another, for example, you enter a house with shoes but you must enter another without shoes because they are not the same culture, you give a percentage of the value of a meal to the slave who serves you in an establishment in a mandatory manner, but in the neighboring establishment this practice is not carried out because it is wrong. Human males should be greeted by touching the tips of their upper appendages to the tips of your upper appendages, but other human males should be greeted by placing your lips next to their faces on the fleshy part and letting them do the same. They are considered omnivorous, but some only eat vegetables, others vegetables and animal products, and others only meat. They are the race with the least sense that has ever evolved.
I've spent the last sixteen cycles doing all kinds of jobs, dragging myself for paltry pay, saving every penny so I can buy a ship, and I've finally made it. It's a Carriage class, but for me it's enough. I'm going to find a small planet in some far corner of this galaxy and live what I have left, I recommend you do the same. Good luck and may the humans not reach you.
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Microplastics, climate denial, contagious skin fungus, warlords, record temperatures, and wheat troubles. This is starting to get serious.
Last Week in Collapse: May 21-27, 2023
This is Last Week in Collapse, a weekly newsletter bringing together some of the most important, timely, useful, depressing, ironic, amazing, or otherwise must-see moments in Collapse.
This is the 73rd newsletter. Sorry it’s a bit later than usual. You can find the May 14-20 edition here if you missed it last week. These newsletters are also on Substack if you want them sent to your email inbox every Sunday.
——————————
Climate and soil scientists are warning that Europe’s soil won’t be able to absorb as much water now, after a season of terrible drought. The feedback loops spell disaster for the continent’s ability to weather the coming drought. France has given up aiming for just a 1.5 °C temperature increase, and are preparing for 4 °C rise by 2100. Scientists claim we are heading for total disaster, but the rest of the world apparently has bigger problems.
The world is allegedly on track for 2.7 °C of warming, and some experts predict that about one billion humans may be forced to migrate as a result of global warming, sea level rise, etc. Iraq is one such location, and countless migrants have already fled. On Twitter, climate scientists report seeing more hostility and climate denial.
Category 5 Typhoon Mawar blasted Guam, and took out electricity, but no humans were killed on the island. In Somalia, over one million people were displaced by drought within the last 4 months.
A ship’s draft/draught) is the distance between its waterline and the bottom of its keel/hull. This determines a ship’s displacement; the heavier a ship’s cargo, the greater its draft will be. The Panama Canal is reducing the allowed vessel draft because they didn’t receive enough rain in the last few months and cannot fully fill the Canal’s locks. As a result, more ships will be forced to make the long journey around Cape Horn—or load up with less cargo to transit the Canal. The supply chain feedback loops are compounding.
Chad saw its highest May temperature last week—47 °C (117 °F), and part of Samoa tied a new May temperature too—34.8 °C (101 °F) . New record temperatures in Southeast Asia again. The ocean around the Cayman Islands has hit 30 °C earlier than any previous year. The average sea surface temperature has been breaking daily records for every day for over two months.
Experts are warning that a heat wave would devastate Phoenix, Arizona, if it knocked out the power grid. Up to 800,000 people (half the population) would allegedly require emergency medical attention for heat stroke, etc. The study concluded that about 12,800 people would die as a result.
Although most of the world is warming, the upper atmosphere is cooling down, forcing scientists and generals to consider its potential impact on satellites and on our sensitive weather patterns. Temperatures beyond roughly 50km out in the atmosphere have been cooled by CO2 levels. Concrete implications from the study are unclear.
About 5,000 Congolese are still missing weeks after catastrophic flooding. Wildfire risk is increasing in Sweden. Heat wave alerts in Sri Lanka.
A study has claimed—again—that species are going extinct even faster than expected. About half of surveyed species have seen population declines recently (especially in the tropics), while 49% are holding relatively steady.
One species at risk of dieoff is the black sea urchin off the coast of Israel—and their dieoff hold grim implications for the health of coral in the Red Sea.
Tick season has begun, and researchers are worried that they can transfer prions from white-tailed deer to humans. Chronic wasting disease has not yet afflicted humans, though it exists in growing quantities among Canadian cervids.
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The danger from fungi is growing as a result of climate change, and the rise of Candida Auris—and a resistant, contagious skin fungus coming out of India—in the U.S. is alarming epidemiologists. The combination of compromised immune systems (from COVID, increased diabetes), climate change, distrust of health entities, health insurance problems, and healthcare worker collapse are creating a terrible convergence of circumstances.
Over 5,000 new species have been discovered in the ocean between Hawai’i and Mexico—and in two months, applications will be accepted to begin deep-sea mining extraction operations in the region. Meanwhile, Shell shareholders rejected attempts to accept new emissions targets, 80% to 20%.
German police are looking into classifying “Last Generation” climate activists as part of a criminal group, amid raids targeting the traffic-stopping activists.
Greenpeace claims that recycled plastic can be more toxic than first-use plastic—but don’t worry, only 9% of plastic is recycled worldwide. A study from Hazardous Materials Advances concluded that recycling plastics produces large amounts of microplastics which later contaminate our land, water, and even air.
The U.S. Supreme Court limited the scope of the Clean Water Act, to exclude certain types of wetlands. This opens up some wetlands to nearby development and pollution.
Some Kansas wheat farmers suffered so much drought and cold snaps that they are abandoning their crops. Across the country, one third of winter-wheat acres are being abandoned, the highest percent in over 100 years. Utah’s Great Salt Lake is drying up, and strong winds are blowing dust, sometimes containing heavy metals.
Locusts in Afghanistan are threatening the coming wheat harvests in an already famine-stricken land. Argentina will face a similar problem if they don’t get rain within a few weeks.
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South Africa is suffering from 33% unemployment and devastating, 10-hour load-shedding (routine power outages) every day. A senior politician is warning that the crumbling nation could become a failed state soon. Power grid troubles are expected to escalate later this winter, by August.
A teenage girl in Guyana set fire to her dorm and unintentionally killed 19 people—because her cell phone was confiscated. What will society do when their water and human rights are confiscated?
Russia is supposedly considering an export ban on gasoline, in an attempt to better control supply & prices within its own territory. Qatar warned Europe that they haven’t seen the worst of the petrol/energy crisis yet.
Global demand for goods is reportedly sinking, and the production of shipping containers is down. More and more Americans are struggling to pay bills as inflation rises. Germany is officially in recession now. South Africa’s interest rates are at a 14-year high.
Some experts are concerned that China may overtake the U.S. with AI development. Others are concerned about the implications of an AI future dominated by the United States. Experts are calling for regulation of AI before it destroys humans.
Cambodia’s ruling party is keeping the opposition party off the ballots in this July’s elections.
The ceasefire in Khartoum is largely holding, but sporadic violence by fighters threatens the fragile “peace” in the city. Once a War “begins,” what role do the civilians have in re-instituting peace—or keeping the conflict going?
The head of the Wagner Group is warning of revolution in Russia, a portent that may also be a threat. The mercenary group is currently handing over Bakhmut to the Russian Army, and claims that about 20,000 Wagner soldiers died taking the city. Meanwhile, a pro-Ukrainian group of ethnic-Russian soldiers made attacks inside Russian territory, and soon withdrew back into Ukraine.
Russia’s former President and PM claimed that this War could last for decades. Yet certain unspecified NATO member states will give F-16 fighter jets to Ukraine, and train about 20 Ukrainian pilots, in an effort to force an earlier conclusion. Yet their impact may not be decisive on the battlefield.
Seven U.S. states agreed on a three-year water-sharing compromise over the Colorado River’s water; whether the pact will hold when the Dust Bowl 2.0 begins is up in the air. Meanwhile, troops from Afghanistan and Iran exchanged machine gun fire and some mortars, over water rights in the Helmand River.
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Things to watch for next week include:
↠ It’s that time of the year again. American politicians posture over raising the debt ceiling, a massive political/economic struggle that usually ends with a last-minute compromise or a short government shutdown. The U.S. is set to default on its debt on June 1st, which would damage trust and cause market bedlam. What’s it gonna be this time?
↠ Uruguay’s capital, Montevideo, is rapidly running out of water. The city’s main reservoir only had 10 days left of water—5 days ago. So the city’s supply is set to be exhausted by next Friday. How will the government react—and what will the people do? This might be a signal of what lies ahead for the rest of us.
Select comments/threads from the subreddit last week suggest:
-China will be getting 65M COVID cases—every week—if you believe the claims made in this thread and its sources, which include the Chinese government. The world’s second-most-populous nation, once the last bastion against COVID, has resigned to letting rolling waves of coronavirus repeatedly infect the masses. So it goes.
-Some rich countries will fare very poorly in Collapse, judging by the comments on this thread. Do you see your nation among them?
-Climate change may be worse than you think, says a thread and its comments. Even some doomers will be taken aback by the speed and scale of the damage ahead. What are you doing to prepare?
Have any feedback, questions, comments, resources, Collapse tattoos, recipes, aches or pains, spam mail, etc.? Consider joining the Last Week in Collapse SubStack if you don’t want to check collapse every Sunday, you can get this newsletter sent to your email inbox every weekend. I always forget something... What did I miss this week?

The Raul Jimenez Award for Honest Work

Winner: Harry Kane, for scoring 30 goals in 38 matches, four times scoring more than once. Awesome season and if not for a certain someone, he would have been essential.

The Mo Salah Award for Turning Invisible

Winner: Mo Salah in GW4, running down the wing for 90 minutes while his teammates demolished Bournemouth in a 9-0 victory, not scoring a single attacking return. Although he nabbed 1 point for keeping a clean sheet. Kudos!

The FPL Golden Season Award for Being Essential

Winner: Erling Haaland, for being a robot.

The Dominic Calvert-Lewin award for going from Hero to Zero

Winner: Even though Diogo Jota went from 175 points to 66, it was mostly down to injuries and Jamie Vardy wins this by actually playing almost every game and still going from 15 goals and 3 assists last season to 3 goals and 5 assists. Age is a thing.

The John Lundstram Award for Being Played Out Of Position

Winner: Trent Alexander-Arnold, finally being moved into midfield about two years after everybody except Jürgen Klopp thought about it, while still being a defender in FPL.

The Lucas Digne Award for Undoing Your Own Defence

Winner: Lucas Digne in GW2 probably wanted to wrap it up early, scoring an own goal, wiping his team clean sheet, and also grabbing a yellow for good measure, ending the game on -1 points despite Villa winning the game 2-1.

The Bald Fraud Award for Changing The Starting Eleven The Most (Just To Screw With Us)

Winner: Pep Guardiola, by default.

The Emmanuel Dennis Award for Best Triple Captain

Winner: Solly March in DGW 34, playing a grand total of 82 minutes over two games, providing no returns and not even getting clean sheet points, being subbed in minute 55 in the first game, while having 4 assists and 450 minutes played in the 5 games before that.
These are my candidates. Who are yours?

--- Table of Contents ---
Spring 4984, 9 Kuromoth, Spring Equinox
“Archmage, I thought you had already gone…” Brom’s voice, beyond Her door. She didn’t move, didn’t bother to look towards the closed portal. Had it been months or years since he'd last come to sit with Her?
“I will be leaving presently…” Archmage Morndancer’s cold voice answered. She squeezed tighter into Her little ball in the dark corner. It didn’t matter that he would be gone. He left the tower often, but it didn’t stop Her punishment. Even as the season turned from winter to spring, She'd stayed locked in Her room. With no books and no company. Occasionally being taken out to give samples in a lab completely separate from that of Her treasures. Only their yowls and barks from down the hall offering any comfort.
“It’s an important day, isn’t it, Archmage? Perhaps Sellon will pass the test.” Ran’s voice. Did he sound nervous? Her head tilted, just a little, towards the door. The half-circle of light from Her window did very little to banish the darkness of the room. She hadn’t bothered to light the candles. What was the point?
Morndancer scoffed, “Doubtful. Ronni didn’t manage it. And just as his sister before him, Sellon will join the Mages Guild whether he passes or not.” Sellon and Ronni, Archmage Morndancer’s children. She'd heard of them from Brom and Ran. So they were Mages as well. Perhaps they would be the ones to come take Her blood and cut Her hair in future. It didn’t matter. Nothing had ever mattered.
“But a Wizard-Cleric of Saint Bede might…”
“Enough.” Morndancer interrupted Brom, “Bede is no god, he wasn't even a decent Mage, he was and is a villain. We would not have this responsibility to save the world if he and his lot hadn’t doomed it.”
“Of course, Archmage, yes.” nervous feet shuffled outside Her door.
“Even now, Shaloon is trying to locate the next storm.” Morndancer continued his chastisement, “They come more frequently and destroy greater swaths of land. If we continue to be as useless as the other Talons, there will be no world left to save. So rather than waste your time on prayers to usurper gods, you had best refocus and redouble your efforts while we are away. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Archmage,” Brom and Ran said in unison.
“Good. And be sure to return those to the library when you have finished with them.” the hiss of fabric on stone accompanied the Archmage's exit.
Her door handle jingled, and Her head came up a fraction, but, “Wait…” Brom’s whisper. Silence followed, and She dropped Her head again, pressing her closed eyes into Her knees. Minutes passed, or was it hours? Did it matter? Maybe She would crawl into Her bed and try to sleep. Time passed faster that way. Or maybe She would just stay here in Her little ball in the corner.
“He should be gone by now…” Her lock clicked, and the door creaked open, but She didn’t bother to look up, “Goldy? Maybe She’s sleeping…” Brom whispered.
“Damn, it’s dark in here. Red, can we get a light?” She didn’t answer Ran’s request. What was the point? They would find Her and they would take Her for samples. She didn’t have to help them do it. “Grab the candle from the table, Brom. My hands are full.”
She could feel the life of a tiny flame beyond Her door. Felt it draw closer and enter Her room before it flickered and died. “Oh, Goldy… please don’t…” the shuffling of feet moving carefully in the darkness came closer. She tried to pull in tighter, tucking Her head against Her chest and letting Her now shoulder-length hair fall forward to further hide Her face.
They crouched at either side of Her, Brom setting the useless candle down to Her left with a soft ‘tink’ of brass on stone. Something much heavier was placed on Her right, the familiar scents of hardbound leather, paper, and ink… “We brought you some books, Red…”
She lifted Her head, looking through the tangled strands of golden hair and seeing a pair of worried faces looming in the dark. “If you light up the room a bit, we can read,” Brom slowly pushed Her hair back, careful not to touch Her skin. As though She would burn him. She might have. If She could find the energy.
“You’re not supposed to...” Her voice crackled from lack of use, making Her whisper even more inaudible.
“What?” Ran leaned closer, but She didn’t repeat Herself, “It’s been months, Red. You’re not in trouble anymore.”
She blinked silently at him.
“Look, Goldy,” Brom shuffled forward, still in his crouch, “things can go back to normal now. The Archmage will be out for a few days. We can take you to play with the animals tomorrow.” She shifted Her blank stare to him. Brom waited for a moment, searching Her face for a familiar flicker of excitement. She didn’t give it to him. He sighed, “We’ll leave these with you then. You can read them when you’re ready.”
Brom made to stand, but She grabbed the hem of his sleeve, “Stay with me…” On the candle, the smallest of lights began to flicker to life. Brom sat down with a groan, and on Her other side, Ran plopped down even less gracefully.
He leaned his back against Her bed and picked the top book off the small pile they'd brought Her, “We can stay until lunch, Goldy.”
“But we still have a lot of work to do…”
It was enough. The candle burned brighter, and She shifted Her legs down, taking the book Ran passed to Her. Things would finally be returning to normal. As they always had been, and as they always would be.
***
Shon woke long before the kitchen servant would come to fetch him. Everything was the same, and yet nothing would ever be as it was before. Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his hair, only to realize that everything wasn't the same. The other two boys who'd reached maturity were also awake. It looked like Gaven hadn’t slept at all, his sandy hair tousled and his dark eyes bloodshot.
“This is it then… the last morning in the dorms?” Gaven whispered the useless question. Nan, the oldest by a month, nodded in silence. Shon didn’t bother with even that much, swinging his legs off the bed and kicking something. Another difference. A final gift from the Church. A leather pack for him to carry everything he owned.
Shon dressed in silence only broken by the shuffle of the other two joining him. After tying his boots, he started packing the bag. It was large enough to fit all of his clothes and even his seven journals, though the eighth made it a very tight fit.
“Should we make the beds?” Nan whispered. Again, Shon didn’t answer. Instead, he stripped the blanket and sheets from the mattress, folding them neatly and placing them with the pillow at the foot of the bed.
“Yeah… they'll have to strip them to wash anyway…” Gaven said, following Shon’s example.
They'd just finished when the door creaked open. Normally woken by the morning bells, Gaven and Nan both jumped, looking from the dark window to the door then at each other.
The servant girl who usually woke Shon looked in on them with some confusion, then hummed in understanding before holding the door open for them, “Come on then. There may be some leftover dessert you can have while we make breakfast…”
Shon doubted he could eat anything at the moment. His stomach worked itself in knots that put an uncomfortable pressure on his heart that in turn seemed as though it wanted to beat its way into his throat. The entire sensation made him feel a strange sort of nauseous. Nan and Gaven looked no better than he felt, and they both swallowed before exiting the room. Gaven took a moment to look back over his shoulder before shaking himself and setting his eyes forward. Nan seemed to rush from the room, too afraid to look back. Shon took one last look around before following, the door clicking closed behind them.
He let the other boys walk ahead of him and wondered what they were thinking. Gaven would be taking the test with him today, but Nan had been selected to join the Masons Guild and had opted to accept the offer right away rather than try for one of the divine orders first. Perhaps Nan was the smartest of them.
“We'll miss you…” the servant girl whispered so only Shon could hear, “It isn’t glamorous, but it’s honest work... if you want to join the Servants Guild…” the Servants Guild was a loose association of otherwise privately employed cleaners and cooks. It was the last choice for orphans, but also their most common destination. She'd meant the offer as a kindness, so Shon nodded in thanks, though nothing but the most desperate situation would ever see him join.
The head cook looked up as they entered the kitchen, nodding in understanding, “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked Nan and Gaven, who mumbled incoherently in response. To Shon, the cook smiled, offering only a silent nod.
The girl who'd reached maturity with them was already in the dining room, staring mournfully at a plate of hastily scrambled eggs and a few cookies from the night before.
“Hey Lara, couldn’t sleep anymore either?” Gaven asked with a strained smile. Shaking her head, she picked up her fork and tried to force down some of the breakfast. She'd been accepted into the Tailors Guild, but unlike Nan, had chosen to take the test with Shon and Gavin. Just in case.
The cook himself brought the boys their plates of eggs and cookies, and they ate in silence until the morning bells sounded. The three unused to being up early jumped at the sound, exchanging nervous looks. Their juniors and the priests would come flooding in soon, laughing and talking and enjoying another breakfast with friends and the closest thing they had to family. It would be the last time the four of them ate with the others in this room.
Shon didn’t know if he could take the bustle today, even if it was the last. Or maybe because it was. He stood, taking his mostly full plate and returning it to the kitchen. The cook looked from the untouched food to Shon and back again, then picked up a pair of cookies and held them out to him, “You might not be able to eat now, but you can save these for after.”
Shon took the gift, meeting the cook's eyes and nodding in silent thanks. The cook returned the nod and Shon left the kitchen without looking back. He slipped the cookies into one of the side pockets of his new pack as he made his way to the courtyard. He passed the bathroom, its wall lined with low-hanging sinks and a single long mirror. He'd practiced arching his eyebrows in that mirror...
Entering the courtyard, Shon hesitated, remembering his first early morning. When he couldn’t sleep for excitement at the mere possibility of training with a real adventurer. He'd wanted to learn to fight, but more than that, he'd wanted to learn how to train. After all, he would be doing a lot of that once he joined the Temple. It would be helpful to have a head start… Or, that's what he'd told himself back then.
Shon shut the door with a click of finality that rang in the still morning air. To his left were the classrooms where the city's children took lessons. Just thinking about his last lesson, with only those coming of age, still made him blush. To his right was the door to the chapel, where he'd sat with the other orphans through the weekly sermons. Shon respected the god of life and healing, but Soleil had never been his patron. Across from him was the clinic, where the Clerics of Soleil saw to the needs of the sick and injured. He'd only been sent there once, after breaking his arm trying to climb the tree in the courtyard.
Shon would have no need to pray to Soleil specifically, and the Temple kept their own clinic... if he passed. If he didn't... There was a chance he would see the clinic again, perhaps the chapel...
Shon stepped off the walkway surrounding the central tree, and a familiar voice sounded from its roots, “Feeling up to a few exercises?” Master Veon-Zih asked, rising from his cross-legged seat in one fluid motion. Shon stopped in their little clearing and nodded, letting his pack slide off his shoulder and flop heavily to the ground. “I take it there's nothing fragile in there then?” Veon-Zih asked with a chuckle.
The idea that a thirteen-year-old would have something valuable or fragile enough to break just by dropping the bag finally pulled Shon all the way out of his contemplations. He arched a skeptical eyebrow at his master.
“There, that’s more like it. You looked like a rather well-preserved zombie.” Veon-Zih took Shon by the shoulder, shaking him, “Not a thought in your head, or skip in your step.”
Shon shook his head, sinking into his horse stance to start his drills. He punched with his left fist first, and Veon-Zih took position just out of reach, so Shon’s knuckles barely brushed the fabric of his tunic. Shon held the position until Veon-Zih also threw his first punch. He aimed for Shon’s face, sending a wave of air and ki over his skin and nearly touching his nose. Shon didn’t flinch.
They worked through their punches in unison, nearly touching but never quite connecting. Shon worked in silence for a while then said, “Too many thoughts…”
“And none of them new, I’m sure,” Veon-Zih commented.
Shon nodded, “The same ones circle again and again. Even though I can’t do anything about them... yet.”
“Not until after the test.”
Shon had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat and nodded again, unable to speak even if he'd wanted to.
Veon-Zih moved on to the next strike, and Shon copied him. He'd lost count of the punches but followed his Master's lead. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about it?” Master Veon-Zih asked.
Shon shook his head but then sighed. Most people seemed to like thinking out loud, especially when troubled. He didn’t understand why, but his usual quiet contemplation wasn’t working, so maybe… “If I don’t pass…”
“I would think of all days, today would be the one to take a break!” Father Branston called from the chapel door. He began strolling towards them with a broad smile, “Do you think you’ll be done in time to join me?”
Was it time already? Shon glanced around, noticing Nan, Gaven, and Lara approaching from the living quarter, all looking pale, their lips drawn in tight unsmiling lines.
Veon-Zih hadn’t come up from his stance, so neither did Shon, but the Monk did laugh, “Keeping a routine can be soothing in times of great change.” he winked at Shon, “Even if it’s a positive change.”
Shon tried to smile at Veon-Zih’s apparent show of faith but wasn’t sure if he'd managed it. What if…?
“Well, I don’t want to rush you. Can I trust you to get Shon to the Chapel on time if I take the others now?” Father Branston laughed as though he'd said something particularly humourous, his great belly bouncing with mirth.
“We'll be there.” Master Veon-Zih assured Father Branston, and Shon nodded mutely, resuming his drills and trying not to watch the others leave. “We have plenty of time,” Veon-Zih whispered, “Take a few deep breaths. It's the end of your childhood, not your life.”
They moved from drills to kata. Master Veon-Zih stayed in front of Shon, moving with him and matching his routine strikes with the appropriate counters. “You were saying?” it had been awhile since Shon had tried to speak, though his head continued to spin with the half-formed thoughts.
“I don’t want to think about not passing,” Shon said, kicking high and hitting Veon-Zih’s waiting arm.
“Do you believe such thoughts will jinx you?”
Shon dropped his kick and punched as the kata dictated. Veon-Zih was right; working through their regular routines did seem to help calm his pounding heart. “I don’t know… Maybe? It’s stupid, though. Whether I pass or not was decided when I was born. It won’t change just because I think about it.”
“Emotions are rarely logical.” Veon-Zih smacked Shon’s punch aside at the last moment, and Shon moved smoothly from that strike to the next, “It’s normal to be nervous. One of your peers is just as nervous, and he already knows where he’s going.”
“They all do…” Shon mumbled, snap kicking straight in front of him, confident in his Master’s speed to dodge and counter.
Veon-Zih did indeed dodge, but instead of the usual counter he hooked Shon’s foot with his own and tried to pull him off balance. Shon only stumbled for a moment, shifting his form to a different kata and counter, his body moving before his mind could catch up. Veon-Zih spoke as they continued the different form without finishing the first, prompting, “Even those taking the test have other plans, just in case?”
“Lara was accepted by the Tailors, and Gaven is going to enlist in the guard…” They had sped up the pace, and Shon needed to concentrate, now on edge in case Master Veon-Zih decided to shift the practice again. A few more strikes in, the Monk dropped below Shon’s punch and swung at his ribs, forcing Shon to block. Shon switched the kata to his most recent on instinct, using the block to redirect the punch rather than stop it as the original kata would have dictated.
Veon-Zih smiled, his eyes twinkling at the move as he picked up the pace even further, “Both of those are honest jobs and noble callings.” Shon could only grunt in response, now moving too fast for him to think of anything but the exercise. Veon-Zih continued, “The enlisted make up the bulk of Hengist’s armies, and their loyalty is admirable. The Tailors Guild not only clothes the populace but often creates beautiful works of art that serve to enhance the natural beauty of the human form.”
The Master hadn’t even broken a sweat, but Shon had to gasp out, “But I don’t-” before he was interrupted by another unexpected punch. He countered but then disengaged, breathing deep and slow, “What will I do? If I don’t pass? I thought about joining the enlisted too but…” but the idea of being so close, and yet so impossibly far from his failed dream, pained him in a way he couldn’t put into words.
When Shon didn’t continue, Veon-Zih asked, “Will you reconsider joining me then?”
Shon blinked at the Monk, his eyes going wide. He'd thought he'd lost his chance with the Monastery when he'd denied Veon-Zih for the Temple three years ago, “You mean you'll still take me?” he stammered out.
Veon-Zih closed the distance between them and placed a firm hand on Shon’s shoulder, “So long as you are an obedient and willing student, remember?”
Shon’s eyes burned and another lump rose in his throat, preventing him from speaking. He nodded, and Veon-Zih smiled, turning away from him so Shon could rub his eyes without the Monk seeing. He still wasn’t comfortable with the thought of failing, but he felt a little more at ease, knowing he wouldn’t be alone even if he did.
“Shall we go then?” Veon-Zih scooped up Shon’s pack and held it out to him, “Destiny awaits no man.”
***
The Grand Chapel was dedicated to all the gods of the kingdom, and though today it was closed to the public, the doors were still crowded with families from every walk of life. Merchants and craftsmen mingled excitedly with one another while their children nervously awaited the start of the test that would determine the trajectory of the rest of their lives. A smaller group of only two families stood apart from the throng. Dressed in fine clothes and protected by private guards, the nobles surveyed the commoners with a detached air as though above the gods themselves. The boy Shon often saw at the Temple was among them.
Shon stopped just outside the crowd, arching his neck to try and see the doors. His quiet dread had turned to jitters of nervousness as he and Master Veon-Zih walked through the city. He wasn’t sure if he'd wanted to run or stop moving altogether. Now that they were here, he tried to distract himself by studying the faces and movements of those gathered. Though if he tried to draw them now, the shaking of his hands would probably make the pictures impossible to decipher.
The differences between the nobles and commoners, in particular, caught his eye. One of the nobles, a man of middling years, wore long robes with a high collar buttoned tight to his neck and looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here. Shon had just finished scanning up the man’s robes when their eyes met. A shiver, entirely unrelated to the general anxiety of the test, ran down his spine.
The noble’s eyes went wide, and he started for Shon, the edge of the crowd giving way for him like the sea before a ship. “You…” his voice was breathy, and he reached out. Shon stepped back and ran into Master Veon-Zih, “They are back, truly?” the strange man asked, his eyes fixed on Shon who could only stare in bewilderment.
“My good lord Morndancer!” Father Branston’s joy-filled greeting sounded from the side, “So your youngest has come of age has he?” the Abbot seemed to snap the noble from his focus, and he turned away from Shon as Branston made his way through the crowd, Lara and Gaven close behind.
“Yes, Abbot.” Morndancer surveyed the Cleric with what Shon could only describe as contempt, though the look hardly wiped the wide smile from Branston’s face, “Will we be starting soon? Sellon and I have business with the Mages Guild.”
“Though if young Sellon should find himself capable…” Branston started, but the noble snorted. “Ah well, to each their own.” Branston finished, turning away from Morndancer to address his young charges.
From a pouch on his belt, Father Branston pulled forth three small books that shouldn’t have been able to fit in the little bag, “I present to you, your papers.” He fanned the books out before him, and each of them took the one closest to them. They were bound in leather with the seal of the Kingdom of Daanlin embossed on the cover. The knight on the kingdom seal rode a horse and held a shield with the seal of Clearhelm on it, three tall pine trees in front of a snow-capped mountain.
Their papers were proof of their citizenship and would serve as a record of their lives and accomplishments. Master Veon-Zih had shown Shon his own papers months before. It held a record of every border he had ever crossed and every teleport he had ever taken, as well as proof of all of his adventures and every job performed for any of the kingdom’s organizations. Veon-Zih’s papers were a veritable tome compared to Shon’s meager notebook. Opening it to the first page, Shon saw his name followed by his presumed place and date of birth. It detailed that he had been raised in the Church in Smildna and when he had come of age. At the bottom was a place labeled but left blank for the date and results of today’s test…
Branston was still speaking to them, but Shon only partly registered the words, “You should keep your papers on you whenever possible. You will need them to reenter the city any time you leave…”
Veon-Zih placed a hand on Shon’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his boots in surprise. Leaning down, the Monk whispered in his ear, “Soon this book will be full of your adventures and accomplishments. Regardless of what happens today.”
“Abbot,” Morndancer interjected as Father Branston finished his explanation, “the test? Some of us have places to be.”
“Yes, yes, patience is a virtue, my dear Lord Morndancer. The sun will rise no faster with you tapping your foot at its pace.” he lowered his voice and continued to address the anxious children, “I am so very proud of all of you. Know that no matter what is discovered today, the light of Soleil will always shine with joy at what you have and will accomplish in your lives.” Shon wondered if any of the adults realized that their constant efforts to comfort their nerves seemed to be having the opposite effect. Shon’s palms were sweating as he closed his papers, and he had to wipe them on his pants to try and distract himself from his pounding heart.
“Follow me,” Branston turned away, walking through the middle of the crowd that had suddenly grown hush at his movement towards the door. Veon-Zih gave Shon one last pat, then slipped Shon’s pack from his back and tossed it over his own shoulder. Letting his student know without words that he would be waiting for Shon to return, one way or another.
Shon could feel the eyes of the noble Morndancer boring into him as he followed Father Branston through the throng towards the Grand Chapel. What was that man's problem? Who was back? Shon was too distracted by the test to dwell on it, but the man had made his skin crawl, and having him at his back wasn’t helping his nerves.
Father Branston turned to address the crowd as the doors began to swing open, “The testers will enter alone and present their papers to the clerks by the door. Families and friends may wait outside until the test is complete.” Nervous adolescents made their way forward, careful not to jostle one another, many accepting last-minute hugs and well wishes from their families.
Shon thought he remembered the Grand Chapel well from his visit almost six years ago, but was struck again by the beauty of its art. The masterwork statues and carvings were outshone only by the stained glass dome that painted the round floor in bright light of every color he could imagine.
Of the ten gods, eight representatives stood opposite the doors, waiting quietly while the testers handed their papers to the clerks and shuffled nervously in the middle of the majestic holy site. Neither the Temples of Horsa nor Saint Giorgos were present. Their absence wasn’t surprising. The Temple of Saint Giorgos only took those of noble birth and would give their tests separately, and the Temple of Horsa was openly shunned in Clearhelm, its only branch located in the capital city of Tarorn.
Shon handed one of three clerks his papers. She took them with only a glance, hastily scribbling Shon’s name on a long list before handing the book to one of the others who wrote the date in the spot allocated. By the time all the testers had filtered in, there were about twenty young boys and girls huddled in the center of the room.
The Cleric of Hengist, in robes of white and blue, stepped forward to address them. “You are gathered here today in the hopes of being chosen to serve. To serve the province, the kingdom, and most importantly, the gods. But before the gods can choose you to act as their divine hands and voice, you must train and study hard their tenants and virtues. And before even that, your body must be able to hold and direct their power. For a feather that cannot hold ink will never be a quill. This is not a test of your worth but of your natural, innate ability.”
As he spoke, two other Clerics, Father Branston of Soleil and a female in the colors of Lune, stepped forward, each holding something round covered with a dark cloth. The Cleric of Hengist continued, “Very few are born with the capacity to touch the divine, there is no shame in failing.” the Clerics of Soleil and Lune removed the protective coverings and everyone had to shield their eyes from the brilliant light that flared in Father Branston’s hand.
Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Shon could just make out an orb glowing in a bowl in the Abbot’s hands. The Cleric of Lune held a similar sphere, though it appeared dead beside the brilliance of the other. “When we call your name, you will touch the empty vessel,” the Cleric of Hengist gestured towards the unlit stone, “and then you will touch the vessel filled with divine magic,” with his other hand, he gestured towards the light. “Do not hold the stone for longer than a moment. If your body is unable to channel the magic it could do serious harm,” he warned.
“Trase,” one of the clerks called from the door, reading off the list they'd compiled. A tall boy stepped forward on shaking feet. He approached the Clerics, who nodded solemnly, all encouraging smiles gone. Reaching out, he touched the unlit orb, then with a deep breath, reached for the glowing vessel.
Nothing happened. Trase pulled his hands back, and Branston whispered -though all could hear in the stillness of the room- “It’s alright lad, you may go…”
“Anhala,” the clerk called, and a girl jumped before rushing forward to try.
The first six failed before a girl named Gena reached shaking hands to the orbs. As her fingers brushed the light vessel, the dead sphere in her other hand began to glow. She gasped, holding tight to both globes, now both shining brightly.
“Congratulations, my dear, you may choose an order…” the Cleric of Hengist gestured to the altars around the Chapel. Gena pulled her hands back slowly, and the unlit stone died once again. Shon watched as she walked to the altar of Soleil to await the end of the test before beginning her life as an adept in training at the Church.
“Shaclin Ebonheart,” the noble boy Shon often saw at the Temple stepped forward, rubbing his hands on his pants before reaching for the orbs. Nothing. He held on, and Father Branston gently removed the boy’s fingers from the light orb. Shaclin pulled away sharply, clutching his hand to his chest and whimpering. His skin had grown red and blistered.
“I’m sorry…” the Cleric of Hengist whispered.
Shaclin turned away without a word and strode for the door, still clutching his burned hand, silent tears staining his cheeks.
I won’t cry… I won’t… “Shon,” Shon closed his eyes, imagining himself in the Temple chapel with its calm silence and soothing scent of incense. He could almost smell it when he opened his eyes and moved forward.
Time slowed down… it took hours to reach the Clerics. Days to raise his hand to touch the dark orb. Now that he was closer he saw that they were actually crystals, tumbled into perfectly smooth spheres. His palm covered the dead stone, and it felt cool, as though it had just been dug from the ground by adventurous children. He reached for the stone bathed in light, feeling the warmth radiate off it before he even made contact. It wasn’t nearly hot enough to burn, and yet Shaclin’s hand had shown blisters.
Shon touched the stone. The warmth filled his fingers and crawled up his arm. It flooded his body like a vessel being filled with water before flowing out his other arm and down his hand. The dead stone came to life, its coolness replaced by the warmth of the divine magic, using him as its conduit connecting the two.
“Congratulations, son, you may choose an order…”
Time sped back up, and Shon let his hands slide off the stones. “Congratulations,” Father Branston echoed, nodding towards the altar of Hengist, “The rest is up to you.”
Only two others passed the test. A girl with long auburn hair and green eyes had joined the Temple with Shon, and a boy had gone to the Church of Saint Bjarki. They stood by their respective altars as the last of the failed testers left the Chapel. Gaven and Lara managed strained smiles at Shon as they left. He attempted to return them but wasn't sure if he'd managed it. The eight Clerics all breathed sighs of relief as the last left, and Branston and the Cleric of Lune returned the covers over the stones. Though still lit by the light through the colored dome, the Chapel seemed so much darker without the divine light to fill it.
“Four this year! An entire fifth!” the Druid of Cathbad exclaimed, her brown and green robes rustling as she danced in place.
“Yes, quite remarkable. Twice the average.” the Cleric of Saint Bede agreed. Though he resisted dancing for joy.
The Cleric of Hengist was also smiling broadly, though when he spoke, it was to the kids, “You may spend the afternoon with your families. Report to your chosen order before sixth bell.”
The girl who also joined the Temple of Hengist, Daisy, gave Shon a warm smile and hurried with the others to retrieve her papers. Now marked with their status as divine conduits. Shon walked behind them, his nervousness replaced with excited anticipation. He felt somehow full and empty all at once. With one door open, another had closed...
Shon stepped into the morning light to find the crowd had cleared. Only the three families of his fellows remained, hugging and kissing their children in joy. “We shall have a feast fit for the King!” Daisy’s father exclaimed, lifting her into the air as if she were no more than five. Shon’s stomach growled.
“Hungry?” Veon-Zih asked, stepping out from beside the door and presenting Shon with his pack. Shon felt his cheeks go red, and Veon-Zih laughed, rubbing his own belly, “I could use some lunch myself.”
Hastily Shon dropped his pack and rifled through the outside pockets, finding the cookies in the last one left to check. They were cracked and crumbled in some places, but he held one out to Veon-Zih regardless.
The Monk took it with a bow, “I am trying to resist being disappointed.” he confessed as Shon eagerly shoved his own broken cookie in his mouth.
He nearly choked, and Veon-Zih patted his back hard, not helping. Shon managed to swallow, then stammered, “Master, I…”
Veon-Zih interrupted with a laugh loud enough to fill the empty entryway, “Just promise me you won’t let your new studies dull your old. I plan on testing you with each visit.”
"Visit?" Something Shon couldn’t name filled his chest with warmth reminiscent of the divine light, "Test? You..." He thought he might burst with barely contained hope. No one could be so blessed... "You'll still train me?" Shon asked.
“I happen to be good friends with one of your future teachers at Hamerfoss.” Veon-Zih stated for the first time, “I’m sure he'll welcome my visits. If you'll have me…”
Shon didn’t have words for an answer. Instead, he lunged forward, wrapping Veon-Zih in the first and only hug he could remember giving anyone.
--- Table of Contents ---
All comments and communication are welcome and wanted.

Since I did not post this from last season; here it is: Lambs are Wilson Phillips! Let's discuss how the clue packages related to them.

• First clue package:
  • Golf setting = Chynna appeared in 1988 golf comedy film Caddyshack II.
  • “We practically grew up with … each other. Yeah, we’ve been Beverly Hills besties since day one.” = they were born and grew up together in the Los Angeles area / they appeared in a 2017 episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
  • “... turn into a massive career on stage and on screen.” = they are best known for their singing / Chynna started her career acting in films before she was a singer / Carnie hosted her own talk show / their cameo in 2011 film Bridesmaids brought renewed recognition to the group.
  • ‘Famous’ on jeans → famous genes = they are the daughters of Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, and John and Michelle Phillips of the Mamas & the Papas.
  • Venice = the video for the debut single “Hold On” was filmed in Venice Beach
  • “We’ve traveled the world….” = they’ve toured together as a group.
  • “...graced billboards….” = they appeared on promotional billboards together / four of the singles from their 1990 debut album went Top 10 (three of those to number one) on the Billboard Hot 100 / they won the 1990 Billboard Music Award for Hot 100 Single of the Year for their debut single "Hold On."
  • “... and grazed countless red carpets.” = among their multiple red carpet appearances together, they attended the Grammy red carpet when they were nominated for four Grammy Awards.
  • Diamond ring = their cameo in 2011 film Bridesmaids brought renewed recognition to the group.
  • Popcorn = their cameo in 2011 film Bridesmaids brought renewed recognition to the group / Chynna started her career acting in films before she was a singer.
  • “Now we’re playing dress-up all over again and we’re here to show you that we haven’t lost our swing.” = they haven't performed publicly together in several years.
• Second clue package:
  • “Winning the battle royale last week was bananas!" = Chynna’s mom, Michelle Phillips, famously protested The Ed Sullivan Show’s lip-syncing rule by eating a banana during the band's televised 1967 performance of “California Dreamin.”
  • “We have to stay hocused!” = their debut single “Hold On” was covered by Irish girl group B*Witched in 2019.
  • Popcorn = their cameo in 2011 film Bridesmaids brought renewed recognition to the group / Chynna started her career acting in films before she was a singer.
  • ‘Famous’ on jeans → famous genes = they are the daughters of Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, and John and Michelle Phillips of the Mamas & the Papas.
  • Diamond ring = their cameo in 2011 film Bridesmaids brought renewed recognition to the group.
  • “Before we rock out with our flock out….” = they have released music in the pop rock and soft rock genres.
  • Film reel / television set / clapperboard = they have appeared in several films and television shows, both together and separately.
• Third clue package:
  • Bedroom = prior to being Wilson Phillips, they would sing together in Wendy’s bedroom / their 2004 album included their cover of The Beach Boys’ 1963 single “In My Room.”
  • “And that’s something we’ve always known, even when we were young girls.” = they grew up together.
  • “We were young ladies when we hit it big.” = they were in their early twenties when their enormously successful debut album was released.
  • Platinum class boarding pass = their debut album was RIAA certified 5x-Platinum, BPI certified platinum, and MC certified 7x Platinum / their second album was RIAA certified Platinum and MC certified 2x Platinum.
  • “...we were so burned out that we started to have issues.” = they have taken several, years-long breaks as a band.
  • Fighting over christmas wreath = Wendy and Carnie released their 1993 Christmas album, Hey Santa!, during the band’s first break.
  • “We knew that going our separate ways….” = their 2004 cover of Fleetwood Mac’s "Go Your Own Way" peaked at number 13 on the US Billboard Adult Contemporary chart.
  • Friends forever book
  • “We’ve won other awards in our lives, but it’s been a very, very long time.” = as a band, their last win was the 1990 Billboard Music Award for Hot 100 Single of the Year for their debut single "Hold On."
• Fourth clue package:
  • “We’ve been on stages almost our entire lives.” = they were in their early twenties when their enormously successful debut album was released in 1990.
  • “Pet Sounds, Volume 2!” = Carnie and Wendy’s father is Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys, whose successful 1966 album was titled Pet Sounds.
• Fifth clue package:
  • “We spent 14 years apart and we went our own ways.” = between their multiple breaks, they were broken up a total of fourteen years.
  • “... we went our own ways.” = their 2004 cover of Fleetwood Mac’s "Go Your Own Way" peaked at number 13 on the US Billboard Adult Contemporary chart.
  • “We became mothers ….” = they have nine children between the three of them.
  • “...and carved out our own lives and careers.” = they have each released solo albums / Chynna started her career acting in films before she was a singer / Carnie hosted her own talk show.
  • **“**Music is in our blood….” = they are the daughters of Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, and John and Michelle Phillips of the Mamas & the Papas.
• Special clues:
  • Mask-Ray clue → Milk bottle
  • MaskPass clue → Beach Ball = Carnie and Wendy’s father is Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys.
  • DIslikes → Silence
  • Clue → Can’t Let Go = their debut single,“Hold On,” was the most successful single of the year in the US in 1990. It won the Billboard Music Award for Hot 100 Single of the Year for 1990, and was nominated for the 1991 Grammy Award for Song of the Year.
  • First performance:
    • “Hot N Cold” by Katy Perry
    • “Who is the biggest celebrity you've ever worked with?” → "We've worked with Paul McCartney, yes, we have." = they sand backing vocals for Rihanna, Kanye West, and Paul McCartney’s 2015 song “FourFiveSeconds.”
  • Second performance:
    • “Ironic” by Alanis Morissette
    • '90s Night Clue → Mix-tape from Lance Bass → "Go your own way and cruise the country with your besties! Turn those daydreams into… a reality!" = they appeared in their own reality show, Wilson Phillips: Still Holding On.
  • Third performance:
    • “Need You Now” by Lady A
    • Thanksgiving Clue → "Reunion" on cornucopia → "For a long time I didn't think that we would be singing together on the stage ever again, but I never gave up on the three of us getting back together. And it's unthinkable for us to not be singing together again for the rest of our lives. This Thanksgiving I'm grateful to all of you but especially to you both." = they have taken several, years-long breaks as a band.
  • Fourth performance:
    • “I’m Every Woman” by Chaka Khan
    • Big Time Clue → Bouquet of roses
  • Fifth performance:
    • “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner

Here is my ongoing accolades tally. It's still a work in progress, and I'm open to improvement suggestions!
What did I miss?